#Dreams Reveal a Weightless World | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilacwatchguard · 1 month ago

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The Blue Glow Softens You And Me

If this looks familiar it is also on my ao3 under the same name by Lexitennant2 :)

Relationship: Jayce x Viktor

Warnings: 18+smut, most if not all are in tags but; sex, praise kink, dom/sub undertones, pwp, use of 'puppy' as term of endearment but could be interpreted another way if you really want to, I'm not here to judge

Summary:

Jayce feels dirty.

He's only known Viktor for a week now but the man is constantly in his thoughts. He wants to touch him, to bask in his partners attention and hang off his every word. He's obsessed and he thinks he'll never get a chance with Viktor but then...Viktor sees him in the shower and he sees his own wants reflected back at him.

Maybe there is hope.

Word Count: 15,189

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Jayce feels dirty.

Physically , he’s still sweaty from the forge, the small towel for his face hanging limply around his neck. There’s black tingeing his fingers; could be oil from the machines or any other number of countless substances lingering in the forge. His white tank top clings to his chest and he wants to pull it off, feeling itchy from the cooling sweat, but he’s walking the halls of the academy and he can’t walk through it shirtless. It’s probably taboo that he's not in his uniform, but he forgot his change of clothes in the lab he shares with Viktor.

Which is where he’s heading now, keeping his head ducked low to ignore the stares he’s getting - some appreciative, some disgusted - and hurries his pace.

Not because he wants his clothes - well that’s not the main reason, he would love a chance to shower, the hot water hitting pleasantly sore muscles, changing into academy issued sweats so he can keep working in the lab - but because Viktor is still there.

Mentally, he’s dreamt of fucking Viktor on their work bench, the blue glow of the hextech highlighting every sharp angle of Viktor’s face, and giving him a soft ethereal glow. It kind of scares him, this wanting , he has for his partner. His science partner. He wants to bite and chew on that stupid mole that sits a little above his upper lip. He wants to lick and trace the curves of Viktor’s angled nose. Jayce wants to sit him in his lap and tear him apart, slowly. Wants to know what sounds he’d make, if he’d bite his bottom lip like he does when they’ve reached a snag in their research.

Fuck, it’s only been a week since councilor Medarda gave them their chance to stabilize the hextech. Seven days since Jayce’s ears started ringing when he registered Viktor’s excuse later in the night, after they’d finally found a way to come back down.

Oh this isn’t my bedroom.

Who fucking says that?!

Jayce had already been a little hot under the collar, the exhilaration from the weightlessness, of his Arcane dream finally, finally coming to fruition. The leftover adrenaline from getting caught outside Heimerdinger's lab.

He’d started out picturing Mel.

She was stunning. Only an idiot couldn’t see it. Her eyes were sharp but playful, her lips full. The glittering gold that shimmered on her face made her seem like a dessert, brushed with gold dust. A rich cake that Jayce wanted to try. But when his mind drifted to her waist, imagining grabbing the white fabric of her dress and bunching it up to pull it up, to reveal her to him, the waist had changed.

There was no white dress anymore, the white now the vest of the academy’s uniform. The waist was slightly larger now but still ridiculously small for who it belonged to.

Jayce hadn’t even paused with palming at his cock, which was hardening faster.

Jerking off to Viktor had made him cum so hard he saw stars.

He’d laid in his bed, in the aftermath, panting heavily and feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.

He felt guilty. He shouldn’t have even been jerking off to the councilor let alone Viktor. These were two people he knew , arguably not that well, but it was clear their future’s would become intertwined after this night.

And they had.

He doesn’t think he’s left Viktor’s side for more than a couple hours over the span of the week. They both were night owls, though Jayce at least tried to get some semblance of sleep with naps on the lab's saggy couch.

It was with sleep delirium that Jayce spent half an hour unsure if he was actually tracing Viktor’s face with his fingertips, or if he was hallucinating the entire time. Viktor never brought it up but Jayce could’ve sworn he’d felt the beginnings of stubble under his fingers; a warm cheek in his palm.

Jayce takes the towel around his neck and uses it to wipe some more sweat off his forehead. The towel is soaked in his hand and he grimaces.

Clothes bag. Shower. Something to eat. Stolen glimpses of Viktor at the chalkboard, his long fingers twirling the chalk in one hand while he leaned heavily on his cane.

Jayce pushed open the lab doors, slinging the towel on the table, wincing when it made a wet smack.

“Ah good thank you, I always thought our notes needed a biohazard intermingled with them,” Viktor says dryly, not even looking up from where he’s sitting, hunched over the lab table with notebooks strewn everywhere.

“It’s just sweat Vik,” Jayce says lightly, though he does go over and pick up the towel again, spinning in a half circle to figure out where to put it. He should’ve just left it at the forge. They had a basket for used towels there but Jayce had wanted it for the walk over.

Viktor lifts his head up and raises an eyebrow.

He looks Jayce up and down, sending a fire straight to Jayce’s groin and he has to think of naked Councilor Hoskel to stamp down anything stirring downstairs.

“Yes well, your sweat just got several pages wet,” Viktor says, licking his lips and looking at the papers that indeed have a wet splotch on them.

“Shit were they important?” Jayce asks, deciding to just drop the towel - he’ll deal with it later - and walks over to scoop the papers up.

Viktor waves a dismissive hand and sighs.

“No, no. Just more useless equations that make me question if I ever knew math in the first place.”

Jayce sets the papers down in a neat pile and rounds the table to stand behind Viktor. He doesn’t really think much of his actions as he puts both hands on Viktor’s shoulders and gives them a harsh squeeze.

Viktor tenses under his touch and lets out a slow breath.

“How long have you been working at it? Since I left for the forge?” Jayce asks, bending over Viktor so he can get a better view of what his partner is working on. The back of Viktor’s head is now pressing against Jayce’s chest but for once he’s not focusing on all the places their bodies are touching. He’s more focused on trying to remember when the last time he saw Viktor take a break was. The other scientist was always pushing himself to the brink and it was up to Jayce to reel him back.

Viktor seemed to forget he was only human.

“Yes,” Viktor says, his voice sounding oddly choked to Jayce’s ears and he gives Viktor’s shoulders another squeeze.

“You feeling ok V? You know if you work yourself too much you’ll get sick,” Jayce says, worry in his tone as he takes one of his hands off Viktor’s shoulder so he can put the back of it against Viktor’s forehead.

“You don’t feel that hot,” he mutters out loud and Viktor shudders against him.

Jayce is suddenly aware of how he’s looming over Viktor and he pulls away reluctantly, giving Viktor space.

“Right well, I’m going to quickly shower and get changed, in the mean-time think about what you want for dinner. We can order in.”

Jayce is half-way across the room by the end of his sentence, his heart beating fast and his ears starting to get hot with embarrassment. He locates his duffle bag under a chair and heads off to the decontamination showers.

After the stabilization of the hextech, Viktor and Jayce had been given one of the larger labs in the academy. It was meant for practice labs with up to ten students so it was quite large and had its own decontamination suite. There had been some changes made since it was only two men working there instead of a class, but there were still a few showers and sinks for safety reasons.

Jayce threw his duffle bag onto a bench and started stripping off his clothing, letting it all pile onto the bench next to the duffle.

“Jayce, do you think you could-”

Jayce stops himself from turning around fully by just a hair and looks over his shoulder.

Viktor is standing in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock.

“That was fast,” he murmurs, his eyes staying level with Jayce’s upper back

Jayce feels the heat from his ears traveling down to his cheeks. He coughs, awkwardly, wanting to shield himself. Another part of him wants to present himself to Viktor instead. He knows he’s good looking, he’s not arrogant but he’s not stupid either. But he’s not just going to flash Viktor just because the other scientist is eyeing him like he’s something to eat-

Wait.

Viktor is leaning against the doorway now, his eyes at half-mast, his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s looking up at Jayce through long eyelashes, a soft blush to his cheeks.

“Do you think I could what?” Jayce asks, his voice hoarse as he keeps his body tilted away from Viktor’s stare, his neck straining from how far he's looking over his shoulder.

Viktor holds up the fucking sweaty towel in his hand, his grip on it tight enough that Jayce can see the whites of his knuckles.

“There’s a laundry basket in here,” Viktor says, adjusting his stance against the doorway.

“Figured this was the best place for it,” he says, clearing his throat and tossing the towel at Jayce who whirls around to catch it, realizing his mistake at the last minute. He tries to shield himself but he over-corrects and his feet are sliding on the tiles. He lands on his stomach and a whoosh of air rushes out of him.

“Fuck, Jayce are you ok?” He hears Viktor ask and tentative steps of Viktor’s loafers hitting the tile.

“Never fucking better,” Jayce says into the floor, letting out a low groan and turning his head so his face isn’t smushed into the floor anymore.

“You were airborne,” Viktor teases, crouching down carefully by Jayce’s face.

“Just leave me here,” Jayce whines, his knee starting to ache from the fall.

He feels long fingers moving through his short hair and he squints up at Viktor.

“We can do something eh, simple for dinner. The fish place outside the university?” Viktor asks and Jayce does his best to nod as he melts under Viktor’s touch.

“Go take a shower then, you reek,” Viktor’s nose twitches and he pushes off the floor. It’s clunky and there’s a wince on his face as he relies heavily on his crutch, but today has to be one of the better days that he even entertained the idea of squatting for less than a minute. Jayce waits until Viktor is officially gone before he heaves himself off the floor and glares at the offending sweaty towel.

He picks it up and tosses it in the laundry hamper and stomps over to the showers.

He doesn’t even wait for the shower to get lukewarm before he’s under it’s spray, wanting to wash away the embarrassment of that moment.

Viktor’s face flashes behind his eyelids and he rests his forehead against the tiled wall.

The way Viktor had been staring at him had been hungry. He had been looking at Jayce like he had wanted him.

Fuck, that couldn’t be right could it?

He hits his head softly against the tiles, trying to shake that image out of of his head but it’s unmistakable.

Jayce reaches blindly for the soap dispenser and gets a good handful before slathering it all over himself.

He needs to think of something else, anything else.

Viktor’s plush bottom lip with the imprint of his slightly crooked canine; eyelashes long and thick over doe shaped eyes, a warm chocolate color; bitable cheeks a pretty pink.

Jayce can’t help the groan that escapes his lips as he feels himself hardening.

If Jayce had approached Viktor would the other man have stayed put? Would he have let Jayce push his naked body against him, pinning the slighter man against the doorway. Jayce’s hand moves down his stomach to his hardening cock. He gives it a rough stroke, shifting on his feet as the heat in his stomach pools lower and lower.

He growls in frustration and reaches for the shower knobs. He twists the cold all the way to the left and lets out a yelp as icy cold water blasts him directly in the face. It’s pleasant to his burning skin for a few seconds and then he’s dancing in place as he freezes his ass off.

Jayce finishes his shower, properly, with lukewarm water and washes his hair as well.

When he finally dries off and has his sweats on, Viktor’s already sitting on their lumpy couch, a take-out menu in his lap and a pencil tapping against his bottom lip.

“The fish place is closed, apparently there was a robbery and several people were killed,” Viktor says and Jayce stumbles to a stop.

“Oh my god, what? How have we not- oh very funny,” Jayce huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as Viktor lets out a chuckle.

“Relax Jayce, they just aren’t open on Tuesdays,” he says and pats the space on the sofa beside him.

Jayce flops onto it dramatically and lets his shoulder rest against Viktor’s.

“Your sense of humor is lacking,” he says and grabs the takeout menu out of Viktor’s hand.

“Sushi? Seriously Vik,” Jayce scoffs, eyeing the menu with distaste.

Cooked fish was bad enough but raw?

He could already sense the puppy dog eyes from a mile away so he stubbornly reads the item description for one of the foods.

Caviar, cream cheese, eel sauce -

“Please Jayce, you know how the upper city food makes my stomach upset,” Viktor pleads and Jayce rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s why you can plow through enough sweetcakes for a man twice your size,” he says and Viktor nudges his shoulder sharply.

“Jayce,” He whines, and it’s not sexual. It’s not , but Jayce has been finding it harder and harder to not lump his lab partner and carnal thoughts together. Especially after not getting off in the shower.

“Sure, ok,” he huffs and drops the menu in Viktor’s lap, getting off the couch so he can take a moment and breathe.

“They have other food options,” Viktor says, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Jayce can hear him flipping through the pages of the menu, and Viktor starts to ramble.

“There see! They have noodles and rice, that spicy chicken dish you like. We don’t actually have to get anything from here if you don’t actually want to-”

“Viktor it’s fine,” Jayce says and goes back to sit next to Viktor.

“It doesn’t seem fine,” Viktor says softly and Jayce wants to smack himself in the face.

He’s pretty sure he’s the only one who can get Viktor to second guess himself. It’s not a power he likes to wield, it makes him feel guilty that Viktor seeks his approval.

“I had a long day,” Jayce says as an excuse and Viktor makes an ahh sound.

“Did you meet with councilor Medarda again?” Viktor asks and uses his pencil to start filling out his order.

“Huh?”

Viktor puts a checkmark next to some salmon sushi before he speaks.

“She’s a very beautiful woman Jayce, it didn’t escape my notice how you looked at her,” he says.

But you’ve missed how I look at you every time, Jayce thinks.

“Viktor, come on,” he says and feels Viktor shrug against his shoulder.

They sit in silence as Viktor hands over the pencil and menu to Jayce. He flips to the back to the cooked food options that he can stomach. He knows sushi is the closest thing Piltover has to what Zaun eats but he doesn’t like fish. Raw especially makes his mouth pucker and he wants to gag it up. He’s eaten it before to humor Viktor but Viktor put a stop to that once he realized just how badly Jayce disliked the food. They only got fish or sushi when Viktor was really craving it, and the place had other foods Jayce could get.

He scratches haphazardly at the box next to the spicy teriyaki chicken and ponders over rice or noodles when Viktor speaks, breaking the silence.

“Do you find her beautiful?”

Jayce tenses and stares intensely at the menu.

“Do you?” he asks, tapping the rice and the noodle option, back and forth, hesitating on which one to go for.

“As much as anyone else,” Viktor says, his answer hesitant.

Jayce isn’t expecting that and he looks up from the menu finally to look at Viktor.

“So that’s a yes then?” Jayce asks and can’t help but let disappointment settle in his chest. Which is hypocritical of him seeing as he’s had dreams about Mel.

“Eh…” Viktor trails off and won’t meet Jayce’s eye which makes Jayce feel confused and almost a little hopeful.

He decides to extend an olive branch, provoked by the earlier moment when Viktor had stared at his naked back.

“She is really beautiful but she’s not who I’m interested in.”

And fuck that was too much. He doesn’t mean to word it like that and he prays Viktor doesn’t pick up on it but it’s Viktor.

Viktor cocks his head to the side, causing some of his hair to fall in his face and Jayce resists the urge to brush it back. To tuck it neatly behind Viktor’s ear.

“There’s someone you’re interested in now?” he asks, his voice low and rumbly. There’s a look in his eyes that Jayce can’t grasp and he feels a strange tension in the air.

“Um…maybe?” he says, his voice squeaking at the end.

“You haven’t said anything,” Viktor says and there’s a slight hardness in his tone that has Jayce wanting to sink to his knees.

He’s never seen Viktor like this before.

He should probably be getting annoyed. They’ve known each other for a week, Jayce didn’t owe Viktor anything. If he was actually interested in anyone else it wasn’t like it was Viktor’s business, but Jayce liked this side of Viktor. It was almost like he was jealous.

Viktor’s leaning closer in his space now and Jayce leans back.

He’s aware of the couch digging into his back, of Viktor’s hand resting in between the space between their thighs, his long fingers almost touching Jayce.

There’s a knock at the door and they both flinch and sit further apart.

“Come in!” Jayce calls, clearing his throat.

Sky stumbles in, a pile of folders in her arms.

“I’m so sorry about this but Heimerdinger wanted me to drop this off before I go home.” She waves the folders at them earnestly and Jayce gets up with a sigh.

Probably more legal shit they needed to sign.

He takes the folders gently from her and rolls his eyes internally as he reads the first few lines of the top folder.

It is more legal papers. The council sends it to the older yordle and then Jayce and Viktor receive it. Godsforbid either of them actually be involved in the rules and regulations of their own research and invention/

“Um, it is getting late,” Sky says shyly and Jayce looks up at her but her gaze is focused on Viktor.

“Did you have any dinner plans?” she asks Viktor, her tone hopeful.

Jayce feels his blood freeze.

“Actually, he’s coming by my place for dinner,” the lie comes out smoothly and Sky’s eyes widen and she puts up a small smile but Jayce can see she’s disappointed.

“Oh ok, maybe next time?” she asks, and Viktor softly replies, “next time.”

That has her spirits up again and she leaves the room with a cheerful goodbye and that she’ll see them in the morning.

Jayce picks up the menu again and selects the noodles.

“I’ll go and give this to Callisto and they’ll pick-up the order for us-”

“What was that?” Viktor interrupts, his voice deceptively casual.

Jayce clenches the menu tighter in his hand.

“You getting hard of hearing V? I said I’ll go and give-”

“Don’t be obtuse Jayce,” Viktor snaps and he’s standing up now. The crutch stays tucked tightly under his arm as he walks the few steps to stand before Jayce.

“You just lied to Sky.”

Jayce scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“You don’t want her to think that we live in the lab do you Vik? Like bats? Lab bats,” he chuckles at his own stupid joke but it dies down quickly as Viktor stares up at him.

“Jayce,” Viktor says, his voice low again and Jayce can’t take it.

“I’m going to give this to Callisto!” he says, his words rushed and walks calmly out of the room.

That’s a lie.

He speed-walks, attempting to appear casual but he hears Viktor call out after him and he all but sprints to get out of there.

His clothes feel tight and he’s getting sweaty again, but he manages to calm down when he gets to Callisto.

They’re standing at their usual booth and accept the takeout menu and charge Jayce’s student account. They say the food will be ready in forty minutes and Jayce keeps a hysterical giggle from escaping.

Forty minutes, there’s no way I can avoid Viktor for that long, he thinks to himself. He lingers outside for the booth, long enough that Callisto is eyeing him weirdly, so he finally leaves and heads to the lab. He realizes he's left the pencil at the booth downstairs but he decides against wasting time to get it, he needs to just face the music.

When he lets himself in, Viktor is waiting.

He pushes Jayce against the doors as they shut with a click.

Viktor isn’t the strongest, but he’s caught Jayce off guard. He keeps his hand spread flat against Jayce's chest and stares up at him defiantly.

“Talk. Talis.”

The words are clipped and harsh.

“Viktor please,” he says and he doesn’t know what he’s pleading with Viktor not to do.

There’s a line they’re about to cross, Jayce can feel it. They have the potential to be great partners, no matter what kind, but Jayce has been too scared to take that step further. To solidify what direction and what type of partners they will be.

He wants Viktor as a friend but he also wants him as so much more.

It’s probably insane given their short time together but Jayce is certain of this. He doesn’t half-ass things, he dives head first but he’s been hesitant because he hasn’t been able to get a good read on Viktor. They’re learning each other surprisingly fast but not fast enough for Jayce to know where Viktor stands.

Until today.

Until earlier when Jayce saw his own hunger reflected back at him in Viktor’s eyes.

“Who are you interested in?” The hand presses harder against his chest and Viktor leans up slightly, making Jayce take some of his weight.

Jayce swallows hard.

“If it’s not Medarda is it…is it Sky?”

Viktor looks unsure now, no longer determined and confident. He blinks rapidly like he’s trying to gather his thoughts and then he’s wincing.

“Oh shit it is Sky isn’t it, Jayce I’m sorry-”

Jayce doesn’t let him finish. He presses his lips harshly against Viktor’s. He wants to be gentle but he misjudges how close they are and his own eagerness.

He knows where Viktor is getting the idea from, he thinks because Jayce lied it was to stop Sky from having dinner with Viktor because Jayce wants Sky. But it’s the opposite. Jayce wants Viktor.

He will always want Viktor.

It seems to click in Viktor’s mind as he lets out a soft moan and he starts kissing Jayce back.

His lips are slightly chapped and have grooves where he’s bitten the skin off, but there’s soft patches too and the juxtaposition is driving Jayce wild.

He breathes in heavily through his nose, stubbornly not wanting to take his lips off of Viktor’s now that he has him like this.

The hand on Jayce’s chest closes around the fabric of his sweatshirt, holding on for dear life it seems. He hears the distinct ting of the metal crutch hitting the floor and then Viktor’s body weight is leaning fully on him, his other arm snaking up to cup the back of Jayce’s head, a pillow between the door and Jayce’s head.

Jayce holds Viktor around his waist to support him, one hand staying firmly locked around the man while the other dips down to rest partially on Viktor’s ass.

Jayce licks at Viktor’s lips, pleadingly.

Viktor moans again, pressing closer and opens his mouth.

He tastes sweet and bitter. Like black tea and honey, coffee and cream. Jayce doesn’t know if it’s just his taste or whether there’s a mug of sweetmilk lying around somewhere but he doesn’t care. He wants more, no, needs more.

He let’s his tongue take over. It’s like he’s a desperate man searching for a drop of water in the middle of the desert. His tongue nudges at Viktor’s, wanting a response. When Viktor hesitantly greets Jayce’s tongue with his own Jayce let’s out a low moan. He suckles at Viktor’s tongue until they both pull apart.

They’re panting heavily, their chests raising and falling together.

Viktor has drool in the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, Jayce leans in and laps it up.

Viktor lets out a whine and Jayce feels heat rush straight to his dick.

“Not…Sky then,” Viktor huffs out, letting his hands move to Jayce’s shoulders.

“Not Sky. Only you,” Jayce says and Viktor smiles so wide that Jayce feels like he’s staring at the sun.

He leans forward and nips lightly at the mole above Viktor’s lip just because he can .

Viktor let’s out a disbelieving laugh that’s mixed with amusement.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” he practically purrs, his slender hand coming up to cradle Jayce’s cheek.

Jayce shyly looks away and Viktor adjusts his hold so he can grab part of Jayce’s chin and make him look back at Viktor.

“I’ve seen you looking at me, hard not to with all the time we’ve spent together. You’re not subtle Mr. Talis,” Viktor says, pulling Jayce in for another kiss.

So he has noticed, Jayce thinks, feeling giddy.

This one is slower, more dragged out, but it doesn’t lack any of the heat or passion of their earlier kiss. Jayce tightens his grip around Viktor and starts to walk them back towards where the couch is.

“How could I not look at you,” Jayce mumbles against Viktor’s lips.

It’s a little awkward with Jayce having to support most of Viktor’s weight and he’s not exactly paying attention to where he’s walking, he’s just aiming for the general idea of where he thinks the couch is.

Viktor let’s out an oomph as they walk straight into a table.

“Maybe open your eyes puppy,” Viktor says and gently taps Jayce’s cheek. Jayce sheepishly blinks them open and carefully walks them over to the couch.

He lays Viktor down, making sure his bad leg is stretched out on the couch. He kneels in between Viktor’s legs and Viktor’s good leg hooks around his waist as he settles down over Viktor. He uses one elbow and forearm to prop himself up, his hand by Viktor’s head, as the other hand wraps around Viktor’s arm.

“Good boy,” Viktor whispers, pushing up his pelvis to meet Jayce’s.

Jayce whines, hiding his face in Viktor’s neck as the slender man wraps an arm around Jayce’s back to bring their bodies closer together.

“See how you make me feel Jayce? Feel how hard I am?” Viktor says harshly into his ear as he thrusts up again.

Jayce nods fast, attaching his lips to Viktor’s exposed neck.

Viktor shudders under him and tilts his head up so more of his neck is available for Jayce.

Jayce is greedy now that he can touch Viktor. He sucks and licks, trying to leave as many marks as possible. He discovers another mole, one hidden usually by Viktor’s high collars and cravat. He’s not wearing a cravat today and his top button is undone so Jayce has easy access. He nips at the mole, giving it the same treatment as the one on his partner's cheek.

“Gotta get this off of you,” he mutters, slipping the hand not supporting him down between their bodies so he can untuck Viktor’s shirt out of his pants.

“Impatient,” Viktor says with amusement, turning his head to kiss Jayce’s knuckles.

“You have to remove my vest first,” he says and raises an eyebrow when Jayce pauses his frustrated searching for skin under Viktor’s white button-up.

“Um, right,” he says and shakily pulls away from Viktor, sitting back on his heels. He doesn’t want to be away from Viktor for too long but he needs their clothes off faster. He starts unbuttoning Viktor’s vest and sneaks glances up at the shorter man.

Viktor is looking up at him, his mouth slightly parted and his cheeks flushed. His hair spreads out against the arm of the couch and some shorter strands have fallen forward, just shy of covering his eyes.

Jayce reaches up and brushes them away, letting out a sigh when Viktor hums contently and nuzzles into Jayce’s touch.

“Look at you,” Jayce whispers and Viktor’s eyes flash in the dim lighting of the lab.

“You can do more than that,” Viktor says earnestly.

He tilts his head up and takes Jayce’s thumb into his mouth.

Jayce blanks out, his other hand clenching down on Viktor’s vest as he watches Viktor start to suck on his thumb.

Viktor’s mouth is a furnace, his tongue soft and silky, catching on the rough pad of Jayce’s thumb.

Jayce is pretty sure all his blood has gone to his dick as he watches Viktor’s cheeks hollow out, his eyes fluttering, and he starts to feel light-headed.

Viktor pulls off with a pop , looking utterly blissed out.

“Hurry up,” he commands. It’s soft but definitely an order and Jayce goes back to the last two vest buttons. He helps Viktor wiggle out of the vest and then practically rips Viktor out of his button-up, his patience running thin.

He’s covered in moles.

Jayce really needs to figure out what his obsession is with the man's moles but he’ll deal with that later. He takes off his own sweatshirt and preens at how Viktor looks at him. It seems like Viktor can’t settle on where to look for long, his eyes bouncing from Jayce’s pecs, to his arms, to his stomach.

There he feels a little self-conscious and struggles to not cover himself.

He’s fairly muscled, his years in the forge making his body chiseled but he’s always had a layer of soft fat that doesn’t seem to go away. No one’s ever complained about his stomach before and it’s not like he’s fat, but the v of his hips are not flat and he is able to pinch his stomach and hold some of it in his fingers.

Viktor on the other hand is slender and lithe. His arms have some muscle built up from having to support himself and he’s not underweight but Jayce can see the shape of his ribs. He shifts under Jayce’s gaze and Jayce tracks the movements of his muscles, the flex of his stomach and the soft shudder that wracks his body.

“Are you just going to stare at me all day?” Viktor asks. He’s not looking at Jayce now, instead looking at the back of the couch where his fingers are twisting and pulling at a string that’s come undone from the backing.

He sounds defensive and Jayce hurries to remedy the doubt that seems to have crept up between them.

“I can’t help it V. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you, and now you’re here and your m-mine.”

He can’t help but stutter over his words because is Viktor really his? Could Viktor possibly crave him as much as Jayce wants him to? Call him a helpless romantic but when he’s pictured himself in a relationship he wants it all; he wants to walk down the streets with Viktor’s hand in his. He wants to argue about how hot or cold they need to keep their bedroom. He wants to bring him over to Caitlyn’s and have a family dinner, he wants Viktor to meet his mother and have her fuss over him. He wants to know every crack and crevice in Viktor’s body and his mind. He wants to be known too. He wants the knowing looks they’re already sharing to blossom fully. Viktor already knows his coffee order and he’s already cataloged every micro expression Viktor has when he’s irritated or annoyed.

Something must show on his face because Viktor’s face softens and he sits up, unraveling his leg from around Jayce.

He pushes at Jayce until he has him sitting how he wants and then he sits down on his lap.

Jayce tries to protest but Viktor waves him off.

“If my leg starts bothering me I’ll let you know,” he says firmly and cups Jayce’s cheeks in his slender hands.

“We should talk about this, what this means for us,” he says, removing one hand so he can motion between them and then puts it back.

Jayce swallows, his head a little foggy with how their dicks are pressed against each other even closer than before. Viktor seems to sense this and moves his hips back a little but not too far because Jayce’s hands quickly grab onto his hips to keep him there.

It’s torture but he knows he’ll lose his mind even more if Viktor moves too far away.

“I think I’ve done most of the talking so far,” Jayce says, squeezing Viktor’s hips.

Viktor sighs and drops his hands from Jayce’s cheeks. They fall into their laps and Viktor starts playing with the strings of Jayce’s sweatpants, keeping a careful distance from Jayce’s straining cock.

His knuckles keep brushing against Jayce’s stomach though and he’s having a hard time concentrating.

“Vitya, ” he pleads, the name falling out from his lips and Viktor inhales harshly.

“I will not be some…notch on a bedpost yes? I believe that’s the saying,” Viktor says, his nose scrunching in distaste and Jayce remembers how thrilled Viktor had been when he’d learned about ‘crank it’. He thinks about those other students and the lockers he’s punched, overhearing how they talk about his partner, like he’s an object and not a person.

“I don’t believe you’re like that, you don’t think of me as some fetish, some new thing to fuck and add to a tally of life experiences,” Viktor snarls out and Jayce knows the anger isn’t directed towards him, it’s towards the whispers he must’ve heard ever since he stepped foot into the academy.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t still fall into a one night stand category,” he says, and Jayce squeezes his hips encouragingly when it looks like he’s not done speaking but he’s been silent for a minute.

“If we do this, we can’t pretend this never happened. I can’t pretend.” Viktor stresses, his hands moving from the strings to rest firmly against Jayce’s stomach. He jolts at the coolness meeting his heated flesh and Viktor waits, the question unspoken but hanging in the air.

But it’s not even a question because now that Jayce has him, he’s never letting go.

Even if one day Viktor turns into some mad scientist or decides to start wearing dresses, Jayce would follow him into eternity.

His mind halts on the image of Viktor in a dress, one of the clingy ones that councilor Medarda wears that show off her legs…

Viktor clears his throat and Jayce comes back to reality, realizing his nails are digging into Viktor’s hips.

“That’s a lot of thinking going on in that pretty head of yours Jayce,” Viktor says, pointedly looking at Jayce’s hands on his hips.

He eases his grip, apologizing.

“I can be intense,” he starts out and Viktor gives him a ‘yeah-duh’ look and he scrambles to get the rest of the words out. “When I like someone I give them my all. My mom says I wear my heart on my sleeve, so all this that we’re doing together, it’s because I want all of you Viktor, and I want you to have all of me .”” Viktor looks at him like a deer in headlights, like he’s stunned by the possibility.

That Jayce could want him so badly that it hurts.

“I’m obsessed with you V. You say you’ve seen me watching you in the lab yet you look surprised,” Jayce says gently and Viktor leans forward, digging his hands into Jayce’s stomach. He looks like a bird, studying its prey. He’s got a calculated look on his face like he’s analyzing Jayce.

Jayce can’t resist and leans up to meet him, licking at his nose.

Viktor sputters as Jayce’s tongue traces over the curves of his aquiline nose.

“You really are like a fucking puppy,” Viktor says, swatting Jayce’s face away so he can rub the saliva off his nose.

Jayce sits back feeling proud of himself. That’s two fantasies he’s completed in the short amount of time they’ve been together. Which reminds him, the food.

“We have about twenty more minutes,” he says, looking at the clock on the wall behind Viktor, bouncing his knee so Viktor will pay attention to him again. Viktor slides down so their crotches are pressed against each other again, as Jayce’s leg dislodges him from where he was sitting. Jayce drums his fingers against Viktor’s hips and looks at him adoringly.

“I want our first time to be in bed,” he says shyly and Viktor’s smile is perfect. Crooked and small but still one of the best things Jayce has seen. Second only to the Arcane.

“I’m sure there are other…activities we can familiarize ourselves with,” Viktor says cheekily, the heel of his palm moving from his stomach to his cock, Viktor’s touch sending a bolt of pleasure through Jayce.

“Yeah. Definitely,” he pants out and surges forward to kiss Viktor again.

Jayce finds himself losing himself in the kiss again, the world around them turning sluggish. He tries to keep his touch light but Viktor protests at every turn, shoving his lips harder against Jayce’s, grabbing Jayce’s larger hands and pressing them into his waist.

Jayce knows Viktor’s not a doll and would hate to be treated as such, but Jayce can’t help it.

Viktor huffs in frustration, momentarily breaking their kiss when Jayce once again meets Viktor’s thrust but with a subdued passion. It’s taking everything in him not to just toss Viktor over one shoulder and have him against one of the lab tables or the workbench.

“Jayce,” Viktor says quietly, a warning in his tone.

Jayce can sense where this is going and he sighs and wraps his hand around the entire circumference of Viktor’s wrist.

“I know I won’t break you V but don’t you want me to be gentle?” he asks. Maybe it’s only because he’s been with girls before and there were certain expectations with how rough he could be. He liked it too, being gentle with them and getting to cradle them and draw low moans from their throats. The pressure just shy of too hard only when he started rubbing circles into their heat.

But maybe it needed to be different with Viktor.

“How about you tell me what to do,” he says eagerly, before Viktor can say anything.

Viktor looks at him, considering what he’s said.

“You want me…in control.” He says it as a statement and not a question but Jayce nods.

“Sex is a learning curve and I’ve always been a fast learner,” Jayce teases, flushing when he sees how interested Viktor looks now.

“We can work with that,” Viktor says softly and then starts to get up, pulling a whine from Jayce.

“Ah-ah-ah,” He tuts, shaking a finger at Jayce.

“If I’m in control of this then we’re putting me fully in control. If you don’t like something, tap my arm three times, or if you’re able to speak then say…” Viktor trails off looking at Jayce expectantly.

Jayce’s head is already in the clouds at the implications of what Viktor is suggesting. His partner seems more confident now, like he’s slipping into a role Jayce only really sees when he’s deep in the throes of his work. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he looks up at Viktor.

“A safe word Jayce,” Viktor prods gently.

“Um right…” Jayce says as his mind rushes a mile a minute.

Fuck he needs a safe word? Ok something cool, something not embarrassing

“Sushi,” he says and then stares at his hands in abject horror.

Sushi is what he’s going with?!

“At least it’s not your own name,” Viktor smirks, standing in between Jayce’s spread legs and tilting his chin up with a finger. “That’d be even more egotistical than signing every page in your notebook.”

Jayce huffs, willing the urge to stomp his foot, like a child, to go away.

“It was just one notebook,” he pouts.

Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“Ok a few of them and really it’s smart ok. Especially after we’ve created the hextech together I mean, anyone could have found my notes and done who knows what with them,” he says defensively.

“Of course baby,” Viktor says, brushing his hand through Jayce’s hair.

There’s a curl of something in Jayce’s stomach as he realizes there’s no mocking in Viktor’s tone. It’s not sarcastic or teasing, he’s just being comforting.

“Right well…what do you want me to do?” he asks, his throat feeling thick like he’s about to cry.

“You want to be such a good boy for me don’t you,” Viktor says, the hand leaving Jayce’s hair to cradle his jaw.

“Yes,” Jayce breathes out, surprised he isn’t stammering.

“You always make sure I’m taken care of, what’s one more chance for you to do the same here hmm? Do you want to make me feel good Jayce?”

Jayce nods and there’s now a finger prodding at his lower lip. He opens his mouth to let the finger in but it barely goes in, staying teasingly just out of reach, barely pressing against his teeth.

“Take off your pants,” Viktor says and steps away, giving Jayce more than enough space.

He hurriedly unties the strings to his sweatpants before realizing he needs to take his boots off. He toes them off with haste and shimmies the pants down, cantering his hips upward with a grunt so they’ll slide off faster. He leans over to pull off his socks and then sits there in just his underwear. His fingers rest on the waistband but Viktor makes a soft noise and Jayce looks up.

“Stand up.”

Jayce does so, trying not to seem too eager. He’s aware of how hard his cock is straining in his briefs, leaving not much to the imagination.

Viktor steps up to him and trails a finger over his clothed cock. He inhales sharply and tries not to buck under Viktor’s wandering fingertips.

“Look how hard you are already,” Viktor says, the palm of his hand working gently against Jayce’s cock. He can feel it getting heavier, the ache getting stronger. If Viktor keeps this up Jayce fears he’s going to cum in his underwear like he’s a teenager all over again. He tries to see how hard Viktor is but Viktor’s pants are a darker brown than his and he can’t really discern the shape really well.

“Can I touch you?” Jayce asks and Viktor shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he says completely composed and Jayce wonders how he can be so calm right now while Jayce is short-circuiting like faulty wiring. The hand on his cock slides upwards to the waistband of his briefs and Viktor slowly pulls them down, revealing red and angry lines where the waistband has dug into his skin.

Viktor hisses in sympathy, rubbing at the sore spots with such tenderness the urge to cry is back again.

“I’m getting you a new pair,” he says though it sounds more like he’s talking to himself out loud rather than to Jayce.

He motions for Jayce to pull his underwear down the rest of the way and he wastes no time doing so.

He’s now completely bare in front of his Viktor.

It’s oddly thrilling to be looked at like this. Normally he’s the one undressing the women in front of him, taking time to delicately undo their corsets and peel away their lacey underwear. But now he’s the one undressed and standing before Viktor. He puffs up his chest, can’t help but pose a little.

Viktor smiles, noticing what he’s doing and exhales softly.

“My man of progress,” he says softly.

Jayce’s dick twitches a little and he groans, which makes Viktor take that final step to press himself against Jayce.

Jayce’s hands move of their own accord, trying to grab the fabric of Viktor’s pants so he can pull them off, but Viktor shakes his head softly and grabs both of Jayce’s wrists in each hand.

Jayce knows he can change their positions easily. Even if Viktor tried to put force on his grip, years of the forge and Jayce’s own size would easily overpower Viktor. But Jayce lets him maneuver his arms so they hang at his side. Their chests rise and fall together and Viktor releases Jayce’s arms, giving an unspoken command for Jayce not to move.

He moves his hands slowly across Jayce’s torso. His fingers slide over collarbones and flex over Jayce’s pecs. He’s like a canvas, Viktor’s fingers the paintbrush. Viktor takes his time, learning every curve and dip of Jayce’s exposed chest. His fingers linger in space between Jayce’s chest and stomach, his diaphragm, and then his left hand lays flat there while the right continues its tortuous path. His body shivers and Viktor’s left hand drifts down to Jayce’s stomach.

Jayce feels self-conscious again with the attention Viktor is focusing on his stomach. His cock is leaking precum, looking red and eager for Viktor to pay it attention where it curves up, but Viktor pays it no mind.

The right hand joins its partner on Jayce’s stomach and Viktor gives Jayce’s stomach a soft squeeze and Jayce lets out a squeak.

“Viktor,” he admonishes, but Viktor pays no heed to his harsher tone, leaning up to nip his lower lip.

“I plan to worship all of you Jayce, that’s what will please me I’ve decided,” he says, his breath hot against Jayce’s mouth.

“And for me to do that I need to appreciate all of you, will you let me do that? You want to be good for me don’t you?” he says hotly and starts kissing Jayce in earnest.

A whine, high-pitched and needy is pulled out of Jayce’s chest and escapes his mouth without thought. He didn’t think he could make those sounds.

Viktor’s cool skin is starting to get warmer, but nothing can match the burning Jayce is feeling from within.

He’s being led back to the couch, the back of his calves hitting the low couch making him stumble. He lands on his ass and he takes a minute to catch his breath as Viktor stands above him.

The lab lighting doesn’t do him justice but he’s still gorgeous. His hair frames his red face, his upper body getting a light flush as well. There’s a mark on his neck from where Jayce had sucked and he’s pleased with himself. He wants to mark Viktor more.

“Hand me that pillow,” Viktor commands, pointing to a square plush purple one. Jayce hastily grabs it and offers it up.

Viktor puts it down at Jayce’s feet and carefully kneels on it.

Jayce has a brief moment to wonder where Viktor’s crutch is, in case he needs it anytime soon, but then Viktor’s hands are on his ankles and slowly trailing upwards in deep caress and he loses his senses again.

Viktor doesn’t so much dig into his legs as almost caress them with a reverence Jayce never would’ve expected.

Jayce can’t really see his face but he can for sure feel him, his nose dragging along Jayce’s calf, his mouth leaving the barest of kisses; butterfly kisses. His thumbs rub mirroring circles on Jayce’s ankle bones between each kiss. His hair is all Jayce can see until he starts to move upwards.

“Such a pretty boy, my Jayce,” Viktor purrs, his accent sounding thicker to Jayce’s ears. When he reaches Jayce’s knees he gives them two soft kisses on each one. He taps the inside of Jayce’s left knee and Jayce hesitates before lifting it. Viktor presses in closer, moving Jayce’s left leg up further so it hooks over his shoulder. He starts leaving open mouthed kisses against the soft skin of Jayce’s inner thigh. Starting at the top of the thigh and working his way up.

Jayce feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He’s starting to pant again, groaning with each gentle lick Viktor administers to his inner thigh. Viktor squeezes his right knee, the fingers actually digging in this time as he bites down on Jayce’s inner thigh.

Jayce lets out a yelp and shudders. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he wants them on Viktor so badly. They are basically one with the couch cushions with how hard he’s clenching them, gripping them like a lifeline as Viktor licks at the bite, soothing it.

He taps the right inner knee and Jayce raises an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” he pants out and Viktor looks up at him with dark brown eyes, the pupils almost taking up the entire irises.

“Move Jayce,” he says and as soon as Jayce has his other leg over his shoulder he moves swiftly, attaching his lips and giving the right inner thigh the same treatment as the left. His hands hold onto the outer sides of Jayce’s thighs, keeping them spread open to his liking.

It could’ve been hours, or it could have been minutes, but Jayce loses track of time until he is brought back to awareness by Viktor nuzzling his nose deep into the space where his pelvis and leg connect. He was right there, but he expertly avoids touching Jayce’s cock, only his hair brushing against the underside making Jayce tremble and grab the cushions harder.

“Please,” he whimpers, not knowing what he’s asking for.

Viktor huffs and gently kisses the spot before leaning up more so he can rest his chin on Jayce’s stomach.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Viktor whispers, his gaze adoring.

Jayce bites his lip and Viktor watches the motion with an intensity that has Jayce almost cumming on the spot.

Viktor trades bites and kisses across the supple flesh of Jayce’s stomach, paying the most attention to the rolls that have formed because of how Jayce is sitting. His nose dips into every crevice.

He pauses his ministrations, flinching and trying to hide it by resuming his kisses but Jayce never misses any of Viktor’s motions, he’s attuned to them. He could also feel the flex of Viktor’s hands on his thighs.

“What’s wrong? Your leg?” he asks, licking his dry lips.

He’s guessed right judging by how irritated Viktor looks.

“It seems I cannot be granted this simple pleasure with my…imperfection reminding me of itself,” he hisses out, wincing and letting go of Jayce’s thigh so he can massage his own leg.

“ Vitya ,” Jayce says, carefully bringing his legs down. Viktor's attention snaps to him but he looks defeated.

“I’m sorry,” he says bitterly and Jayce releases his hold on the cushions, flexing his fingers. It hurts from how long they’ve been curled up and the strength at which they were holding on to the cushions, but he pushes that pain aside. He reaches out for Viktor, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other goes to cradle Viktor’s cheek.

“It’s not an imperfection,” he says harshly, stroking the sharp line of Viktor’s cheekbone with his thumb.

“You have no imperfections in my eyes Viktor.”

Viktor leans in to his touch, turning his face to press a fleeting kiss to Jayce’s palm.

“I wish I had your confidence,” he says and uses Jayce’s knees to push himself up.

He stands there for a moment seemingly lost in thought. Jayce is about to call to him when hungry eyes find him and he’s at a loss for words.

“Jayce, you trust me, yes?” Viktor asks and Jayce nods eagerly.

“With everything.”

There’s that flash of surprise on Viktor’s face and then it’s gone.

“Scooch over then,” he says, flapping his hands at Jayce until Jayce makes room on the couch.

Viktor hobbles over a few steps closer to the couch and sits down carefully. He quickly removes his shoes and socks and unbuttons his pants. With a grimace he gets them off.

Jayce can see more moles trailing down the expanse of Viktor’s legs. His bad leg looks a little thinner than his good one but there’s nothing else to distinguish the two.

He takes off his underwear too.

Jayce has never found a cock nice to look at. Not that he makes a regular habit of looking at any besides his own, but when he was younger he did some exploration of himself. He may have only had experience with girls, but he had magazines still stashed under his bed of naked men.

Caitlyn had been the one to get it for him, though she never revealed her source. It was in their late teens that Caitlyn had confessed to him that she didn’t like men, after another awful male suitor her parents had arranged for her to meet.

Jayce had never really put much thought into his own sexuality. He liked girls, had slept with some already by that time, and no man had ever turned his head but he took it anyways. For science was his excuse.

It lay untouched for a long while, before Jayce casually decided to browse it. He could see some attractiveness in some of the naked males but nothing really gripped his attention until one particular slender male. Jayce still remembered the photo, the man draped suggestively over a chaise lounge, his skin dark and glistening, his cock in one hand while the other tugged at his collared shirt - the only thing he was wearing.

That was the first time Jayce jacked off to a man.

After that discovery, he still leaned more towards women, but every now and then he’d try to capture a guy's attention but he always failed miserably.

Caitlyn said it’s because he exudes a straight aura, whatever that means.

But it’s never been a man’s cock that has drawn him to a man, and he never really understood the allure with some of the girls he slept with, their mouths eager to taste him, but now.

Well now he had an inclination of what it was all about.

Viktor’s cock looked beautiful to him, the urge to touch and taste growing stronger the longer he looked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the elegant curve, the color, the precum that leaks from Viktor’s tip and drips down the base as Viktor lays himself down on the couch, oblivious to Jayce’s stare.

“Alright Jayce, I need you to sit on my chest,” Viktor says and Jayce coughs.

“Um..you want me to…huh?” he asks and looks at Viktor in disbelief.

“Sit on my chest. This is the most comfortable position for me right now I’m afraid, so I’ll need you over here so I can suck your dick,” he says, patting his chest like an owner calling their dog to them.

“I’m not sitting on your chest ,” Jayce hisses, and Viktor has the audacity to roll his eyes.

“You said you trusted me, yes?”

“Well of course but-”

“Then why aren’t you trusting me to know my limits? We’re running out of time Talis,” Viktor says, jerking his head in the direction of the clock and Jayce gives up.

“Fine, fine, but if my big ass crushes you it’s your fault,” he grumbles. He slowly crawls on all fours, hovering over Viktor and hesitating for a second before he sits back, his knees on either side of Viktor’s chest. He doesn’t lower down though, his nerves getting the best of him.

Viktor’s hands snake around and grab Jayce’s ass, giving both of his cheeks a firm caress.

“Your ass is rather nice,” Viktor says, giving one a squeeze.

“I’m not going to break,” Viktor says after Jayce still hasn’t sat down.

“I’m just, uhh, getting more comfortable,” Jayce lies, making a show of shifting on his knees, thankful that even though the couch is relatively old and shitty, it's quite wide and soft. There’s no added stress to Viktor’s back and they’re not at threat of falling off.

“ Sit ,” Viktor barks out, not believing his bullshit.

Jayce sits.

Viktor lets out an oomph and Jayce immediately tries to get back up but Viktor holds him by the ass, his nails digging in.

“See I told you,” Jayce complains, feeling guilty as Viktor looks up at him with a slightly pained expression. He manages to get off of Viktor, hovering once more.

“That’s because you just dropped on me, you overeager puppy.”

Jayce flushes.

“Now, slowly, sit down,” Viktor says patiently, guiding Jayce with his hands.

Jayce’s cock is hovering right by Viktor’s lips and he swears he can feel Viktor’s heart pounding under his ass.

“Look at this, all just for me,” Viktor says, his breath hitting Jayce’s cock, making it harder than he thought possible.

“ Vitya, please,” Jayce pleads, starting to get fed up.

“Say that again,” Viktor demands and Jayce is helpless to comply.

“Vitya, please for the love of everything, suck my fucking cock right now or-” his words are choked off by Viktor almost inhaling him into his mouth.

His lips pull off before Jayce can even register what’s happened.

“Whose in charge here Jayce?” Viktor says, his dark eyes demanding under his long lashes.

“You are,” Jayce whines and presses his finger against the mole under Viktor’s eyes.

“And whose setting the pace?” Viktor asks, allowing Jayce to trace around his mole.

“You,” Jayce says breathlessly.

“Remember that Jayce. I know you’d look so pretty begging for me, but that’s for later, so don’t give me a reason to make you beg sooner,” Viktor warns before his mouth is engulfing Jayce’s cock again.

Viktor’s mouth is hot . It’s just like when his thumb was inside Viktor’s mouth but his cock is more sensitive and the sensations all feel new. It’s velvety soft in there and Viktor’s tongue is exploring with tentative licks and prods. He’s careful off his teeth, barely grazing them as he takes Jayce in deeper.

The heat in Jayce’s stomach starts coiling and more precum comes out. He knows he’s not going to last long like this. It’s embarrassing and he tries to warn Viktor but he doesn’t know if he should use the safe word or just tell Viktor to release him.

Viktor does something with his mouth, a mixture of tongue and teeth that has Jayce hearing the blood rushing in his ears. He moans out some gibberish words, managing to get out a ‘I’m close’ and ‘I’m going to cum’.

This seems to encourage Viktor and he doesn’t pull off, instead he’s sucking with abandon, his cheeks hollowing more and Jayce can’t hold it in. Not with Viktor sucking him off like he’s the sweetest treat in all of Piltover.

He cums with a shout, the world going black and filled with stars as he cums into Viktor’s mouth, only vaguely aware of Viktor’s hands clamping onto his sides, his fingers sinking into the fat of his love handles.

“Fuck,” he shudders and watches through half-lidded eyes as Viktor pulls off of his cock, giving the tip a gentle kiss.

“You did so good for me Jayce, you were wonderful,” Viktor purrs.

Jayce slides off of Viktor and nudges the other scientist until he’s trapped between the couch and Jayce.

“What about you?” Jayce asks, trailing a finger up and down Viktor’s side and ribs.

He looks down between them and is shocked to see Viktor is flacid.

“I came with you,” Viktor says, looking at Jayce smugley.

Jayce kisses him desperately, not minding the taste of his seed mingling with the taste of Viktor.

He wants to lay here forever, his face pressed against Viktor’s cheek, his body draped over the slender man, but there’s a throat clearing and Viktor nudges him gently with his shoulder.

“The food will be here shortly,” he says and Jayce sighs heavily.

“I forgot about that,” he confesses and Viktor laughs.

He feels Viktor’s laugh reverberate through his whole body and he smiles, brushing sweaty hair off of Viktor’s forehead and gives a kiss to each of the moles on Viktor’s face.

“We still have time to clean ourselves in the bathroom,” Viktor says and Jayce reluctantly rolls away and hops off the couch. Viktor barely has time to sit up before Jayce is scooping him up in his arms, holding him bridal style.

“Jayce,” Viktor scolds.

“You took care of me, let me take care of you. Didn't you say that's what I like to do?” Jayce asks, easily carrying him and navigating around the lab to the showers.

He sets Viktor down gently onto a bench and grabs a clean towel, soaking it in the sink before taking the time to gently wipe away any of Viktor’s cum from Viktor’s body. He wipes himself off with a new towel as well, feeling sticky from the sweat their coupling had produced.

“Are you going to carry me back?” Viktor asks, not seriously, as Jayce throws their towels in the hamper.

Jayce raises an eyebrow and easily has an armful of a spluttering Viktor in his arms again.

“You are being ridiculous!”

Viktor’s face is a stunning shade of pink and Jayce kisses him, savoring the feeling of his lips before bringing them back into the main room.

He lets Viktor down so they can get dressed, sneaking glances at each other.

There’s a knock on the door just as Jayce smooths down his hair and Viktor goes over to the door, crutch secured under his arm once more.

Callisto is at the door as Viktor swings it open. They eye the scientists with disinterest and hand over the large bag of food. Viktor thanks them and closes the door with his shoulder.

“Great timing, I’m starving,” Jayce says and walks over to Viktor to take the bag from him.

“We have to fill you up with something for now until I can later,” Viktor says, patting Jayce’s stomach and walking around him in the direction of their mini fridge.

Jayce is frozen in place, his mind processing what Viktor just said and he almost drops their food.

His cock gives a twitch of interest, images of Viktor fucking into him long and slow fill his head and he can't help the sound that slips from his mouth.

“Jayce,” Viktor says warningly, looking over his shoulder as he stoops to dig in the fridge for drinks. “Food first, the rest later. ”

Later, there’s going to be a later, Jayce’s mind does a dance of happiness and he rushes over to start spreading the food on the table.

There’s plenty of sushi for Viktor to focus on and Jayce catches himself staring at Viktor’s lips as he slurps up some sashimi. He hurriedly shovels the chicken into his mouth. Normally he’d like to savor the food, talk to Viktor about their lab work or some gossip he’s heard, but he’s impatient. The promise of what Viktor is going to do to him is exhilarating.

“Relax puppy,” Viktor reaches across the lab table to squeeze Jayce’s forearm.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jayce flushes and chews his food a little bit slower.

Viktor starts talking about the Kiramman gardens, expressing curiosity in what grew there. The conversation morphs into Jayce telling Viktor about the misadventures Caitlyn and he shared. He talks about how at twelve they had been racing each other. They’d been too close to the ponds and Caitlyn had elbowed him, trying to get him to slow down. The momentum had sent Jayce flying and he’d grabbed onto her by instinct, taking her down with him. They had both fallen in, getting soaked instantly.

Viktor laughed with his whole body, tilting his head back and his shoulders shaking.

Jayce doesn’t think it’s that funny, but he loves watching Viktor laugh. He rests his elbow on the table and props his chin in his hand, content to watch Viktor.

Viktor shares his own stories of growing up in the undercity in return.

“I’d have liked to have seen the boat you made,” Jayce says and Viktor looks at him surprised.

“It wasn’t anything special,” he says shyly.

And there’s that uncertainty in Viktor again that Jayce wishes would go away. He’s usually so confident. He’s professor Heimerdinger’s assistant afterall, that’s not a position the yordle just gives out on a whim, but something like designing a mechanical boat as a toy in his childhood trips Viktor up. Kids around that age would still be struggling to fold paper to make airplanes - Jayce knows this from experience, a childhood annoyance of never being able to fold the lines just right to get them to go far.

“Can you imagine it? I would’ve been able to get you scraps from my family’s forge and you could’ve made us an army of boats,” Jayce says, excitement getting the best of him and Viktor looks a little less shy now.

“I think I would’ve appreciated that,” he says softly, and returns his attention back to his sushi.

They eat the rest of their meal in companionable silence. They sort out their leftovers and clear the table. Jayce throws everything away while Viktor puts their containers in the fridge.

Jayce stands, uncertain now as he watches Viktor close the fridge.

“Um…your place or mine?” he asks, his usual suaveness is gone.

“My place is closer,” Viktor says and goes to gather his things. Once he’s loaded with his notebooks and his bag, they both wordlessly leave the lab.

They take the elevator down and Jayce sneaks glances at Viktor the entire time.

“Are you nervous?” Viktor asks and Jayce jumps at getting caught.

“A little,” he confesses and Viktor shuffles his papers so he has a hand free. He reaches down and intertwines his fingers with Jayce’s, gripping firmly.

“It’s just me,” he says and that’s just it.

It’s Viktor. It’s finally happening and it’s Viktor.

The touch helps ground Jayce but not that much.

They walk the streets of Piltover holding hands. Jayce is now holding Viktor’s notebooks and carrying his bag, there was no feasible way Viktor would be able to hold his crutch, his belongings, and Jayce’s hand while walking.

It’s late enough that not many people are out but it’s not like Jayce wants to hide away this simple affection. Hell, he wants to race down the streets with Viktor in his arms, shouting to everyone how lucky he is.

He settles for walking as close to Viktor as he can, which earns an annoyed and amused noise from Viktor as he keeps messing up the scientist's strides.

“Do I need to tell you to heel,” Viktor mutters and Jayce stumbles. He keeps to himself after that, careful not to walk into Viktor again, feeling ashamed.

He’s done it to Caitlyn before and his mother and well, anyone he’s close with while they’re walking. He gravitates towards their space and suddenly they’re walking further to the side than where they started and he hasn’t even realized it. Caitlyn usually shoves him and his mother gently reminds him of his space but he and Viktor haven’t ever walked together for long stretches of time like this one, so it hasn’t happened. Or at least it didn’t happen for long enough for Viktor to comment on it.

Viktor sighs and releases Jayce’s hand.

Jayce gets a sour taste in his mouth and his shoulders start to sag, but then Viktor is in his space, hooking his elbow around Jayce’s arm.

“I didn’t say I minded it,” Viktor says and they walk the rest of the way like that, bumping into each other every once in a while making Jayce smile and feel light.

Viktor’s home is one side of a townhouse near the edge of the academy district. There are flower pots on the stoop but it’s too cold for anything to be in them. Inside there’s a fire that automatically lights when Viktor turns on the lights. The kitchen is simple but has a certain charm to it with darkwood and dark blue accents. The table is piled high with textbooks and notebooks. There’s a new set of kitchen tools on the table that has Jayce puzzled. He walks over to it, noticing a post-it on the box.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Viktor asks, opening one of his cupboards and Jayce makes a noise of agreement.

“Sky got you kitchenware?” he asks, tapping the see through screen of the box.

“Oh yes, she saw how old my last set was and bought me a new one,” Viktor says, sounding bashful and he scratches at the mole under his eye.

Jayce feels something hot flow through him but it’s not a pleasurable warmth. No this is an angry warmth.

“She’s been here before?” he asks, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice but failing.

Viktor sets two mugs down on the counter and leans back against it, setting his crutch off to the side where there’s a custom made nook for it to rest in.

“Sky and I grew up together. We were closer when we were younger and reconnected at the academy,” he says slowly, his gaze steady on Jayce like he’s trying to understand him down to his core.

It feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on Jayce’s head. This is new information that he should be tucking away, he wants to learn everything about Viktor after all, but this particular information curls around his heart and makes him unsteady.

He didn’t even know Viktor liked to bake.

“Jayce, come here.”

He hesitates, his eyes glued to the post it note.

I found this cute set at Nobles and thought of you! I can’t wait to taste what you’ll create next

- Sky

There’s even a little heart doodled next to her name.

He turns away and walks over to Viktor.

“Closer,” Viktor huffs and Jayce goes until the tip of their shoes touch.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation to be honest with you,” Viktor says, a disbelieving smile on his lips and Jayce cocks his head to the side, confused at the reaction Viktor has to his jealousy.

“Sky is nothing more than a friend , Jayce. I need to tell her in blunt words but I…I’m not used to others holding affection for me. Really, I only took any notice of it today when I saw how you reacted to her asking me to dinner.”

He rubs his hands up and down Jayce’s sides and Jayce relaxes.

“I’m being silly-” he says but Viktor cuts him off.

“No, it’s natural for someone who likes another person to…eh…” he trails off and looks embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with the slightest of color.

“When two people love each other,” Jayce teases, meaning to say like and not love but now it’s there in the open between them.

“Yes,” Viktor says, his eyes wide and hopeful as he looks up at Jayce.

“I was jealous when I thought of anyone holding your attention,” Viktor whispers, licking his lips.

Jayce leans down, caging Viktor in by putting his arms on either side of his slighter frame and slotting one of his legs in between Viktor's.

“Yeah?” he asks, his breath coming out as a long exhale, causing Viktor’s hair to stir.

“You don’t like it when I’m not giving you all my attention,” Jayce states.

They hadn’t had many interactions with others since they’d spent most of the week in the lab, only really leaving for their apartments - or in Jayce’s case, the gym and the forge as well.

But there had been one time, when one of professor Heimendingers students had come to the lab instead of Sky or Heimerdinger. He’d been starstruck by Jayce apparently and Viktor had made a blunt comment to the boy about his overeagerness. Jayce had chalked it up to Viktor just being fed up with the boys floundering all over Jayce, not any actual jealousy because he’d become distracted by all the compliments the newcomer had been giving him.

This new angle was intriguing. It seemed that Viktor was just as caught up in Jayce as Jayce was caught up in him.

“No,” Viktor says simply, his hands playing with the short strands of hair at Jayce’s nape.

“Then you have my attention,” Jayce says, closing the distance between them to kiss Viktor.

With his lips still on Viktor's, he uses one hand to nudge the mugs off to the side. He then gently but firmly grasps Viktor’s hips and lifts him up onto the counter.

The angle is better this way and Viktor molds his upper body to Jayce’s wrapping one good leg around his waist like when they were on the couch.

“I could take you right here,” Jayce pants out as Viktor breaks the kiss and moves down to kiss at his jawline.

“Hmm but you said a bed Mr. Talis,” Viktor says, moving further along Jayce’s jawline until he reaches Jayce’s earlobe. He nibbles it gently, before pressing a tender kiss just under Jayce’s ear.

“And I’m still the one in control,” Viktor says.

Jayce’s knees feel weak and he leans his forehead onto Viktor’s shoulder. The other man continues his ministrations to Jayce’s earlobe and down to his neck.

“You are still ok with that, right?” Viktor asks, pulling away and pushing at Jayce’s shoulders until the bigger man lifts his head up.

“We can always renegotiate, have you inside me.”

Jayce shakes his head slowly.

“No, no it’s ok. I like the idea of you inside me just as much as I like the idea of it the other way around.”

Viktor looks at him critically.

“Next time then,” he says and Jayce can’t help but nod, the butterflies in his stomach swirling around.

Next time.

“Let’s go to my room then,” Viktor says and Jayce moves back only enough to allow the man to slip off the counter and onto the floor. He immediately starts kissing the shorter man, crowding him against the counter again.

“We can’t- Jayce you need to-” Viktor tries speaking but Jayce is determined with his kisses.

Viktor gives a particularly hard nip to his lower lip and he pulls away reluctantly.

“At least let's take off our shoes, I’m not having dirt trekked all over my house,” Viktor pants, running a hand through his hair trying to tame his tresses. It’s really no use as Jayce’s hands have made good work of messing up the thick wavy hair.

They toe off their shoes and Jayce tries to be patient, he really does. He follows Viktor, who is using his cane now instead of his crutch. They almost make it all the way down the hall before Jayce figures he’s been patient enough and scoops Viktor into his arms again.

“Is this going to become a…thing?” Viktor asks dryly, one arm around Jayce’s neck and the cane still in his other hand.

He kind of looks like he wants to smack Jayce with the cane.

“If it makes you feel any better I’m just impatient and you’re light. I’d do this with any partner,” Jayce soothes and a complicated span of emotions show on Viktor’s face.

Jayce is telling the truth though. He knows a part of Viktor assumes he’s doing this because Viktor isn’t moving fast enough or he thinks Viktor is weak and needs to be carried. Jayce’s mind doesn’t see it like that, he just wants to hold Viktor and get to the bedroom too. The simplest solution is to just carry Viktor to satisfy those needs in him.

“Alright,” Viktor says, sensing the truth there and carefully stretches to lean his cane against the wall. It still falls but it makes less of a clatter than if Viktor had just dropped it.

“Proceed,” he says and waves a hand for Jayce to continue.

“Um, Vik, I’m not a mind reader,” Jayce chuckles. “Which one is your room?”

Viktor points to the door that slightly ajar at the end of the hallway and Jayce speedwalks to it, his steps only faltering when Viktor starts licking and sucking on his previous lovebites he’s scattered across Jayce’s neck.

They’re both going to need to wear turtlenecks for the foreseeable future.

Jayce guesses where the light is on the first try, flicking the switch with the back of his arm. It’s awkward and the switch digs into his arm making him wince but no way in hell is he letting go of Viktor. He closes the door with his socked foot and neatly side-steps some clutter on the floor.

The bed is massive . There’s also a ton of pillows, some of them longer and more squished so Jayce assumes they’re support pillows for his partner's leg. He pauses, trying where best to put Viktor down.

He sits Viktor down onto the edge of the bed and starts taking pillows and placing some of them on the floor after he can’t find a good enough spot. Viktor starts taking off his clothes while Jayce starts putting the rest of the pillows not on the floor against the headboard. He makes a nice mountain and catches the tailend of Viktor taking off his briefs.

He makes a mental note that a lot of the pillows had silk cases.

Viktor hadn’t struck him as someone to have those kinds of luxuries but maybe that’s why his hair was always so silky looking and felt so nice under his hands.

Viktor wordlessly scoots across the bed and beckons Jayce forward with a finger.

Jayce quickly undresses, taking everything off so he’s naked too and crawls over to Viktor. Hell even the comforter under them is soft as fuck.

Once he’s propped up comfortably against the pillows, Viktor is on him.

He’s a good kind of weight on top of Jayce and he gets lost in the sensation of all that flesh against his.

It seems Viktor is impatient now that they’ve finally reach here, as he soon is slipping his hand in between them and grabbing both their cocks so they rub up against each other with each thrust. His thumb swirls the tip of Jayce’s cock, rubbing smoothly because of the pre-cum.

Jayce moans and holds on tight to Viktor’s shoulders, his head thrown back into the pillows.

“Do you think I could make you come from just this?” Viktor asks, his lips pressed against Jayce’s pecs.

Jayce just whines.

“Answer me,” Viktor commands, his lips finding Jayce’s nipples and playing with the bud there. He sucks it into his mouth and tongues at Jayce’s nipple while the taller man tries to get an answer out of his mouth.

“Yes Viktor but…please, I need you inside,” he keens as Viktor sucks harder, his hand releasing their cocks so he can brush his fingers teasingly against Jayce’s balls.

“What do you want me to do?” Viktor asks and Jayce thrusts his hips up, jostling Viktor so their cocks still slide against one another without the other man's hand on them.

“Please,” he begs, the heat in his stomach coiling and spreading.

Viktor’s fingers are against Jayce’s lips and he opens his mouth without thought. This time Viktor slips them all in.

“Suck,” he commands.

Jayce is eager to obey, coating the digits in his saliva as he licks and sucks. The fingers taste slightly salty from sweat and metal. He loses himself in the feeling, his eyes crossing as he tries to stare down at the fingers in his mouth.

“So good for me Jayce, such a good boy. You’re going to look even more beautiful on my cock,” Viktor rasps, stroking the side of Jayce’s face.

Jayce keens again and sucks harder.

“Oh pretty boy,” Viktor coos and pulls his fingers out of Jayce’s mouth, replacing them with his tongue.

Jayce can’t get enough, the kiss getting sloppier and wetter with each passing second.

“Have you done this before? Even just to yourself?” Viktor asks after they’ve broken apart and he’s scooted down to lay down between Jayce’s legs.

Jayce shakes his head no, feeling shy.

“It’s going to be uncomfortable and there may be a little pain. I’m going to stretch you and take care of you though, and you just tell me if you need a break or it’s too painful, ok?” Viktor says.

Jayce nods, feeling heady with how careful Viktor is being in this situation.

“Tell me with your words Jayce,” Viktor says and Jayce chokes out a yes.

“Ok, good boy,” the praise rolls off Viktor’s tongue so easily and it shatters something in Jayce each time.

Viktor tells him to bring his legs up and he does, revealing his hole and giving Viktor easier access.

Viktor kisses Jayce’s hole, making him shudder and the muscle to flutter, and then Viktor’s saliva coated finger is breaching.

It’s a strange sensation to say the least, having Viktor’s finger up his ass, wiggling around to start stretching Jayce out, and he can see his own chest starting to get red from how flushed he is.

“You’re doing so good baby,” Viktor says, inserting a second finger. This one makes Jayce feel a little uncomfortable and he shifts a little.

Viktor coos softly and kisses the underside of Jayce’s cock. He mumbles soft affirmations and slowly starts a scissoring motion inside of Jayce.

He withdraws his fingers, leaving Jayce feeling strangely empty, and dips his fingers in his own precum and Jayce’s so they’re slick again, before interesting them back in.

Jayce moans low in his throat and clutches at the pillow behind his head.

A third finger goes in and he hisses, starting to feel a fullness he’s not sure how to process yet, and then VIktor’s finger curls and his knuckle brushes against something that makes Jayce shout.

It’s pleasure beyond belief, the uncomfortableness gone as he’s gotten used to the feeling of Viktor’s fingers inside him.

“More,” he gasps out and Viktor looks up at him hungrily.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Viktor asks, his fingers stilling inside Jayce.

Jayce nods fast, wanting Viktor inside him. He needs it to happen like he needs to breathe, he needs to have that feeling again.

Viktor’s fingers withdraw and there’s a hollowness now inside Jayce and he whimpers. The whimpers turn into senseless pleading as he watches Viktor lick his fingers.

Viktor makes a pleased noise and Jayce feels the desire spark again in his stomach at Viktor liking the taste of Jayce’s cum.

“There’s lube in the top drawer, can you be a good puppy and fetch it for me?” Viktor asks, giving a kiss to the inside of Jayce’s thigh.

Jayce hurriedly moves, nearly kneeing Viktor in the face in his haste to get up and grab the lube. He starts apologizing but Viktor just laughs and there’s a twinkle to his blown pupils.

“My eager sweet miláček,” Viktor says fondly and waits patiently for Jayce to hand him the lube.

“What’s that mean?” Jayce asks, watching intently as Viktor uncaps the bottle.

“Little love, or darling,” Viktor says, leaning over to kiss Jayce sweetly on the lips.

“I like it,” Jayce says.

“Do you have one for me?” Viktor asks, spreading Jayce’s legs wider with his free hand so he has room. His cock is right at Jayce’s hole and he starts squeezing the lube into his hand.

“ Mi vida , my love,” he says easily.

Viktor smiles a bright and lovely thing.

“I like that too,” he says and starts covering his cock with the lube. Jayce watches in a trance.

Once Viktor is satisfied he lines himself up and takes the base of his cock in one hand and starts to push in. He takes his time, watching Jayce’s every bodily twitch and facial expression, keeping a slow and even pace until he’s fully bottomed out.

“You feel so good, so tight,” Viktor says, and leans down so they’re pressed chest to chest.

He kisses Jayce, hugging Jayce to him almost desperately. Jayce wraps his arms around Viktor’s back, feeling each notch of his spine as he trails his fingers across each one. He plays a large hand on Viktor’s ass and another one on his lower back. He feels a divet in Viktor’s back and explores it more with his touch.

Viktor has back dimples.

Jayce can’t wait to explore more of this gorgeous creation he’s so lucky to have as his.

“You can move,” Jayce says, finding himself aching from the lack of movement.

Viktor starts moving, his hips dragging slowly as he thrusts in and out. It’s a pleasant feeling, this added fullness and the slight burn of having something larger than Viktor’s fingers inside of him. But any pain dissipates as Viktor starts to speed up and he hits that spot again.

Once he finds it he keeps hitting it. Jayce digs his fingernails into Viktor’s back and ass, trying to get him even closer, like they could merge and become one if he just cradled Viktor close enough.

The room is filled with their harsh pants and skin on skin. Jayce is lost to the sensations, the same for Viktor.

Jayce is not even sure they’re really kissing anymore, it’s more like they’re breathing each other’s air and sometimes their lips make contact as the force of their bodies keeps them brushing against each other.

“Jayce yes, uhhh, my little sweet thing, you’re so pretty, so good for me,” Viktor says, over and over, more and more compliments and praises fall from his lips as he pounds into Jayce, hitting that spot over and over and over again.

Jayce can feel his stomach tightening and he whimpers.

He squeezes Viktor’s ass again, kneading the soft flesh there and whispers that he’s close.

Viktor makes a delighted noise and the praises get lost to the rushing in Jayce’s ears.

He feels Viktor shudder against him and the most beautiful noise escapes Viktor and then there’s cum filling him up. Viktor looks beautiful, his arms digging into Jayce as he releases inside of him, his eyes closed and his kiss swollen mouth slightly open.

“Jayce,” he calls out and that does it for Jayce.

He cums too, and his vision goes black.

He comes too with Viktor pulling out of him.

He almost begs Viktor to stay inside but holds his tongue.

“Let me get a rag to clean us off,” Viktor says, brushing a tender kiss on his lips before sliding off Jayce to get off the bed.

He doesn’t make it but to the edge of the bed before he lets out a muffled cry and his hand falls to his leg.

Jayce sits up instantly, post sex haze clearing at seeing his lover in pain.

“I’ll get it,” he offers softly, pressing a reassuring kiss against Viktor’s neck.

“The room to the left,” Viktor says, sounding put out as Jayce crawls out of the bed and heads towards the bedroom door.

The bathroom is as comforting as the rest of the house, the light over the mirror a welcoming yellow. He lets the water run until it’s warm and then runs a washcloth under it. He turns off the faucet and twists the washcloth to remove the excess water before going back into the bedroom.

Viktor has taken off the top comforter - clearly they got it dirty - and it’s folded neatly on the floor by the end of the bed.

Jayce takes his time cleaning Viktor’s stomach and the inside of his thighs.

He blushes when he realizes there’s fluid leaking from his ass and he blushes as Viktor takes the washcloth to clean him up.

Once Viktor is satisfied, he tosses the washcloth on top of the comforter and pulls Jayce into the bed.

He has one of his long pillows already in the bed and Viktor situates himself before tugging Jayce more firmly into his side. The mountain of pillows have also already been rearranged so they won’t wake up with sore necks from sleeping with too many pillows, though Jayce is more than happy to use Viktor as his pillow.

Viktor doesn’t seem to mind either, pressing his lips against Jayce’s forehead as Jayce snuggles further into his lean body.

“I think this is the first time we’re both in bed by three am,” Jayce says and Viktor snorts.

“Maybe we can make it a habit,” Viktor says, holding Jayce tightly and urging Jayce to tangle his legs with Viktor’s good one.

“How do we turn off the lights?” Jayce yawned, stretching his body before curling back up against Viktor. He rested a hand on Viktor’s stomach while his other one stayed between the two of them. It was probably going to fall asleep and give him pins and needles, which he hated , but he’d sacrifice it if it meant staying like this with Viktor.

“Did you know that I am somewhat of a scientist?” Viktor says and claps his hands, descending the room into pitch dark.

Jayce almost squeals because that’s so cool.

He settles for kissing Viktor’s collarbone instead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Viktor says, not a question, but a fact.

“See you tomorrow,” Jayce answers back, sleep finally catching up to him and dragging him under.

They have all the time in the world now. They’re young, they have the hextech and each other in their futures, and Jayce has never felt so safe and content before. It would be him and Viktor, in all timelines and in all possibilities, them .

#jayvik #jayce x viktor #plot what plot #plot with smut #ao3 fanfic #jayce is obsessed with viktor #viktor nation how we doing?#praise kink go brrrr #bottom jayce #top viktor #dom/sub undertones #viktor's moles

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winxanity-ii · 1 month ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 18 Chapter 18 | cerberus' song⌟

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The world twisted and folded around you, a disorienting rush of cold air and weightlessness pulling at your senses. Falling and floating all at once, your body felt unmoored, your thoughts scrambled and scattered.

You shut your eyes tightly, clutching the lyre like a lifeline as the sensation overwhelmed you.

When the ground finally met your feet, it wasn't with a thud but a soft, disjointed sway, as if the space itself were still settling. You stumbled, legs weak and unsteady, as your surroundings began to sharpen into focus.

The air was heavy, dense with the faint metallic tang of iron and the distant echo of something shifting—stone, water, or maybe both. As you blinked to clear your vision, jagged stone arches emerged from the darkness above, their surfaces shimmering faintly as if carved from obsidian.

A chill crept up your spine, and you instinctively hugged the lyre closer, its warmth grounding you.

Behind you, the faint glow of the mortal world shimmered through a small tunnel of golden light. The sight made your chest tighten. It was both comforting and distant, a fragile reminder of what you had left behind—and what you might not return to if things went wrong.

"Okay, ____," you murmured, your voice trembling as you tried to steady your nerves. "You're here. That's the first step."

The words sounded hollow in the vastness around you, but saying them aloud gave you something to hold onto. Taking a shaky breath, you forced your legs to move, each step unsteady as you followed the narrow path ahead.

The ground beneath your feet was uneven, cold. Polished stone patches gave way to jagged edges that forced your steps to be cautious. Silence pressed against your ears, broken only by the occasional whisper of air or the faint hum of resonance that emanated from the lyre.

You focused on your movements—the sensation of your steps, the weight of the lyre—anything to keep your thoughts steady.

The path curved downward, opening gradually to reveal the river. The familiar, sluggish expanse of dark water shimmered faintly under ethereal light. Mist curled along its surface, twisting and rising like ghostly fingers, adding to the unsettling stillness of the scene.

You stopped, breath catching as the memory of Hermes' words resurfaced. "Regrets. Broken promises. Forgotten dreams. Everything people left unresolved in life."

The slow-moving shadows beneath the river's surface rippled, as though sensing your presence. One slithered closer before vanishing again, and you instinctively stepped back, your pulse quickening.

Ahead, the rickety pier came into view, its weathered structure jutting into the murky water. Your chest tightened at the sight—this was where you had seen Charon before. The silent ferryman had unnerved you last time, and now, without Hermes' playful banter to guide or distract you, the weight of the Underworld felt heavier.

Each step toward the pier was deliberate, the lyre's faint hum your only comfort against the oppressive silence pressing in from all sides. Mist swirled as you approached, rippling like it anticipated your arrival.

Whatever lay ahead, you reminded yourself, you had chosen this. The reasons might not yet be clear, but turning back wasn't an option.

Then, almost as if he had sensed your thoughts, a figure emerged from the fog.

The sound of water lapping against a wooden hull drew your gaze, and your breath hitched as a boat glided forward. A lantern at its prow swung gently, casting an eerie green glow that danced across the river's surface. Shadows pulsed in rhythm with the light, deepening the atmosphere of unease.

Your stomach dropped as the ferryman came into view. His cloaked figure was imposing, wrapped in tattered black layers that fluttered as if caught in a wind that you couldn't feel. His very presence seemed to chill the air, drawing it tighter around you.

The lantern's glow illuminated his gaunt, skeletal hands—more bone than flesh—as they gripped a weathered oar. Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, the faint glow of ghostly green eyes burned through the shadows, locking onto you with an unrelenting gaze.

You froze, your limbs stiff as stone, as the boat drew closer. The boat itself looked ancient, its wood warped and cracked, yet it glided effortlessly across the water. When it stopped in front of you, the lantern swung again, its creaking hinge breaking the oppressive silence.

One of Charon's four skeletal hands extended toward you, slow and deliberate. His voice, deep and gravelly, reverberated through the mist like the groan of collapsing stone. "...Fare..."

The single word vibrated through your very bones, sending a shiver down your spine. You stared at his outstretched hand, breath caught in your throat. Every detail of him felt surreal—the void beneath his hat, the eerie fluidity of his movements, the way his presence seemed to drain the light from the air.

The silence stretched unnervingly, and for a moment, it felt as though the Underworld itself had paused to watch.

You snapped out of your stupor, your hands fumbling for the small pouch tied to your side. Used for paying the palace seamstress, it now held the only thing standing between you and the ferryman's silent judgment. The coins inside clinked softly as you pulled the pouch free.

Your fingers trembled as you untied it, the motion painfully slow under the weight of his piercing gaze. Those pale, glowing eyes seemed to bore into you, unyielding and inescapable. With a shaky breath, you reached inside and withdrew a single coin, holding it up for him to see.

For what felt like an eternity, the ferryman remained motionless. The sharp angles of his shadowed frame loomed against the faint green glow of the lantern. His sunken face, half-hidden beneath the wide-brimmed hat, seemed carved from the very darkness around him. The eerie glow of his eyes cut through the mist, pinning you in place as though daring you to falter.

Finally, his bony fingers moved, reaching for the coin with a deliberate, unhurried grace. The sound of metal scraping against bone echoed unnaturally in the still air, sharp and grating, making you flinch.

A shiver raced down your spine as he plucked the coin from your trembling hand, his touch impossibly cold, as if he carried the chill of the river itself.

Without a word, he turned, his tattered cloak billowing slightly as he moved, fluid as smoke and just as intangible. The lantern's faint glow swung with him, casting warped reflections across the rippling waters.

One skeletal hand rested on the oar as he glanced back at you, his hollow gaze unwavering. His other hand rose, gesturing toward the boat with an unmistakable command: Come.

You glanced over your shoulder, toward the fading tunnel of golden light that marked the mortal realm. Doubt clawed at your chest, but the ferryman's expectant presence left no room for hesitation.

Swallowing hard, you squared your shoulders. You had made your choice. Whatever lay ahead, there was no turning back now.

Taking a tentative step forward, you placed a trembling foot onto the boat. It creaked under your weight, the sound reverberating through the stillness like a warning. The aged wood was damp beneath your sandals, the faint scent of decay mingling with the mist.

You lowered yourself onto one of the worn benches, your hands gripping the edge tightly, as though it might anchor you against the unsteady currents of fear swirling within.

Charon took his place at the stern, his skeletal fingers wrapping around the oar with a practiced ease. The lantern swung again, its ghostly green light casting fleeting shadows across the water—shadows that seemed to shift and pulse with a life of their own.

With a single, measured push of the oar, the boat began to glide forward.

The river's dark waters parted silently, the mist curling and thickening as the boat slipped further from the shore. Behind you, the faint glimmer of the mortal world was swallowed by shadows, leaving only the rhythmic splash of the oar and the lantern's eerie glow.

You sat rigidly on the bench, your heart pounding in your chest. The silence pressed in, broken only by the occasional sound of the oar cutting through the water. The ferryman stood at the helm, his cloaked form a dark sentinel, his movements precise and unhurried, as though he had made this journey countless times.

The further you traveled, the more the mist seemed to close in around you, muffling even your own breathing. The air was thick with anticipation, the shadows pressing closer with every moment.

A cold realization settled over you as you clutched the bench tighter. You could only follow the ferryman's lead now, trusting that the shadows would reveal what you sought—when they were ready.

☆ ✩ ☆

Time stretched and blurred as the ferry glided through the unending mists. The soft splash of the oar against the dark water became a hypnotic rhythm, lulling you into a heavy stillness.

You didn't dare speak, nor did the Charon seem inclined to break the silence. The faint green glow of his lantern was your only guide, its ethereal light carving fleeting patterns into the murky depths. Though your grip on the bench had loosened, your fingers still twitched occasionally, betraying the restless churn of your thoughts.

When the boat finally slowed, the change startled you. You nearly jolted upright, your muscles stiff from sitting so long in tense silence. The ferry's hull scraped lightly against an unseen shore, the jarring sound echoing sharply through the oppressive quiet.

You turned to Charon, who stood motionless at the stern, his gaze fixed on the horizon—or perhaps something beyond mortal sight. Slowly, he raised a bony hand, gesturing for you to disembark.

The ground beneath your feet was uneven and ancient, the chill of the stone seeping through your sandals. It felt firm but unwelcoming, a stark reminder that this was not a place meant for the living.

You hesitated, glancing back at Charon, but he had already turned away. His lantern swayed gently as he prepared for another journey, its light casting warped shadows over the dark water. Without a word or farewell, the ferry slipped back into the mist, its silhouette fading until it was gone, leaving you utterly alone.

Your breath puffed softly in the chill air, the faint mist curling around you like restless tendrils. You scanned the unfamiliar terrain, trying to orient yourself, but everything felt vast and disorienting, the darkness stretching infinitely in every direction.

Fragments of memory stirred—recollections of the path Hermes had taken during your chaotic journey here before. His quick pace, light-hearted commentary, and seemingly effortless navigation of this otherworldly realm had once been your anchor. Now, you clung desperately to those fragments, hoping they would guide you again.

Taking a deep breath, you started forward, each step cautious and deliberate. The air felt heavier with each movement, thick and harsh, as though the realm itself resisted your presence.

You retraced what landmarks you could remember: jagged rock formations that rose like skeletal hands from the ground, faintly glowing pools of water scattered across the barren landscape, and ghostly trees whose pale branches hummed with an unnatural energy.

You passed a cluster of those trees now, their twisted forms reaching overhead like skeletal fingers. The faint hum they emitted seemed to brush against the edges of your consciousness, sending an involuntary shiver through you.

Fixing your gaze forward, you resisted the urge to look back over your shoulder, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against your senses like the realm itself was watching.

It wasn't long before the path began to shift as you moved. The jagged rocks smoothed out, the glowing pools became sparser, and the oppressive silence gave way to faint whispers carried on the still air.

Ahead, a pale light began to glow, muted and distant, like dawn struggling through heavy clouds. Relief and unease mingled in your chest as recognition dawned.

The Asphodel Fields stretched out before you, an endless expanse of muted silver and grey. The mist clinging to the ground thickened here, swirling around your ankles as you took hesitant steps forward.

The ghostly forms of souls drifted aimlessly through the field, their movements slow and unhurried. Some gathered in small clusters, their translucent figures flickering like dying embers, while others wandered alone, their forms barely distinguishable from the mist.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you gazed over the field, its muted whispers and flickering souls a stark reminder of your isolation that came with being alive in a place meant for the dead.

The weight of your task pressed heavily on your shoulders. You scanned the misty expanse, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Somewhere out there, among the countless wandering souls, Cleo was waiting.

The thought rooted you in place and spurred you forward all at once, the tangle of emotions tightening in your chest.

Inhaling deeply, you steadied your nerves. "Alright," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the faint hum of the field. "Let's find her."

With that, you began to move, your steps careful but purposeful as you delved deeper into the endless grey expanse.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Each step through the Asphodel Fields felt heavier than the last, your resolve thinning with every stretch of indistinguishable terrain. The pale mist swirled lazily around your feet, its persistent presence adding to the disorienting monotony of your surroundings. Ghostly figures drifted silently, their movements aimless in the muted glow of the Fields.

But no matter how closely you looked, none of them were her.

Your thoughts drifted as you walked, memories you'd tried to bury rising unbidden. At one point, your pace faltered, and you hesitated, glancing around the endless mist. A flicker of a thought whispered in your mind—what if, instead of Cleo, I went to look for my parents? The idea caught you off guard, tightening your chest with its fragile promise of seeing them again.

You shook the thought away forcefully, the weight of your task grounding you. You couldn't afford to get distracted. Not now. Cleo was the reason you were here. Your parents would remain locked in memory, waiting for another time—if such a time ever came.

You pressed on, your feet aching with every step. The silence around you was broken only by the faint whispers of the souls that drifted nearby, their movements occasionally drawing your attention. Yet, every flicker of hope dissolved into disappointment.

Doubt began to creep into your mind, clawing at the edges of your determination. What if you couldn't find her? What if she was lost among the countless wandering souls, unreachable in this endless expanse?

What if—

"____."

Your heart stilled, then surged as your body went rigid. You turned sharply, your eyes scanning the misty expanse behind you. For a moment, there was nothing but the familiar swirl of fog, its muted glow barely illuminating the surroundings. Then, like a figure stepping out of a half-remembered dream, you saw her.

Cleo.

She stood across from you, her form pale and translucent but unmistakably hers. Mist curled around her ankles, and the dim light of the Fields clung to her like a fragile halo. Her blonde hair, now dull and lifeless, still fell in loose waves over her shoulders. Her green eyes, once alight with mischief, now held a haunting stillness that made your breath catch.

Neither of you moved. The distance between you felt insurmountable, though it couldn't have been more than a few paces. You didn't know what to say, what to feel. Emotions swirled in a chaotic storm—anger, sadness, relief—leaving you rooted in place.

Finally, you took a hesitant step forward, your voice shaky. "Cleo... is it really you?"

Her lips parted slightly, her green eyes meeting yours and for a fleeting moment, she looked just as she had in life—your friend, your confidant, the one who had laughed with you under the moonlight and shared whispered secrets.

You thought she might smile, or speak, or even reach for you like she had so many times before in life. But then, her expression crumpled, and she collapsed to the ashen ground, her knees buckling as if the weight of this place had finally crushed her.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice raw and broken. Her trembling hands reached toward you, her spectral form shaking with desperation. "Please, ____, get me out of here. I don't belong here."

The plea cut through you like a blade. You stared at her, frozen, your breath catching in your throat. "Cleo... I-I don't understand," you whispered. "What do you mean? How can I—?"

Her head snapped up, her expression twisting into something sharp, angry. "You don't understand?" she spat, her voice rising with venom. "Of course, you don't. You've never understood. You don't know what it's like to be trapped, to be forgotten, to wander endlessly in this... this nothingness!"

Her sudden anger made you step back, the force of her words leaving you stunned. "Cleo, I—" you tried, but she cut you off, lashing out with venomous intensity.

"You don't deserve the life you have," she hissed, her translucent form flickering with fury. "You have everything, ____. The favor of a prince, the favor of a god. Do you even realize how selfish you are? How unfair it is that you stand here, alive and whole, while I'm stuck in this wretched place?"

Her words struck like a whip, each one leaving you reeling. "Cleo, that's not my fault—" you began, but she surged forward, her form closing the distance in an instant.

"It was supposed to be you, down here," she snarled, her face inches from yours now. Her voice cracked with the weight of her anger and grief. "It's supposed to be you reduced to nothing! But instead, gods themselves bend over backwards to change your fate."

The accusation left you breathless, your mind reeling as her words twisted the air around you. The endless grey of the Fields pressed in closer, amplifying the suffocating weight of her fury. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped, your throat dry and tight.

You wanted to deny her claims, to say something, anything, that could bridge the ever-widening chasm between you. But before the moment could spiral further, a figure emerged from the mist behind you.

"Enough," a familiar voice commanded, firm but quiet.

You turned to see Polites stepping forward, his weathered face set in a grim expression. His piercing gaze flicked between you and Cleo as he approached, the tension in the air palpable. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind.

"You need to go," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated, glancing back at Cleo. Her form flickered, her green eyes burning with a mixture of anger and anguish. She didn't speak again, her hands curling into fists at her sides as Polites guided you away.

Each step away from her felt heavier, her words echoing in your mind. The mist swirled and shifted around you, a silent witness to the turmoil churning in your chest.

"Polites," you finally murmured, your voice shaky as you glanced up at him. "What did she mean? What did Cleo mean when she said... it was supposed to be me down here?"

Polites' steps faltered slightly, his jaw tightening as a flicker of guilt crossed his features. He didn't meet your eyes. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh.

"Maybe... you should ask Hermes," he said after a long pause.

Your heart sank at his evasive answer, but you didn't press further.

The silence between you was heavy as Polites left you standing at the edge of the Fields. His retreating footsteps faded into the mist, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the weight of the unspoken truths hanging in the air.

You ran a trembling hand down your face, exhaling shakily as you tried to make sense of it all. Twice now, you'd heard of this supposed favor from a god—first from your parents, and now from Cleo.

What were you missing? What had they seen or known that you didn't? The question gnawed at you, a seed of doubt taking root deep in your chest.

Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself, "Alright. One thing at a time." Maybe it was best to return home, to think in familiar surroundings. You needed space to figure out your next move.

Just as you turned to leave, a deep, guttural growl rumbled through the mist. You froze, every muscle in your body locking at the sound.

Slowly, you turned, your breath hitching as a massive shape emerged from the haze.

It was huge—easily towering over you—and as it stepped closer, the details sharpened, each more horrifying than the last.

Three massive heads loomed above, their glowing eyes burning like embers. Coarse black fur covered its hulking form, and its massive paws left deep impressions in the ashen ground with each step. Saliva dripped from its snarling jaws, and the hot, foul stench of its breath made you want to gag.

Your lips parted in disbelief. There was no mistaking it.

"Cerberus," you whispered, the name trembling on your lips as you stood frozen in place, the monstrous guardian of the Underworld looming before you.

All three heads turned toward you in unison, their fiery eyes locking onto you with unnerving precision. Low, guttural growls rumbled through the air, vibrating in your chest.

Panic seized you, your thoughts spiraling. What am I doing here? Why did I think this was a good idea? You stumbled back, the lyre slipping slightly in your sweaty hands. I should have waited for Hermes to come back. I should have asked more questions. I never should have come down here alone.

Cerberus took a deliberate step forward, the crunch of its paw against the ground snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. You sucked in a shaky breath. Think. ____! Think! you urged yourself, but your mind was a chaotic mess, your fear making it impossible to focus.

Then, a flicker of a story crept into the back of your mind—something you'd read long ago. Orpheus. Your breath caught as the memory took hold, fragments of the myth piecing themselves together. Orpheus had journeyed to the Underworld to retrieve his beloved Eurydice. And how had he passed Cerberus? He'd used music. His lyre.

Your gaze flicked down to the instrument in your hands. It wasn't much, and you certainly weren't Orpheus, but it was all you had.

If the myth held any truth, it might work. And if not... well, the alternative stared you down with six glowing eyes and razor-sharp teeth that could tear you apart in an instant.

You licked your dry lips, fingers fumbling clumsily over the strings. The lyre felt heavy in your hands, almost alien, despite the countless hours you'd spent practicing. Swallowing hard, you steadied your breath as best as you could and strummed a soft, trembling chord.

The growls faltered, quieting slightly.

Encouraged, you adjusted your grip and strummed again, the sound ringing out through the silence. This time, you began to hum, the melody unfurling unbidden, as though it had been waiting for this moment.

"Rest now, guardian of the gate,

Droop your weary heads, abate.

The night is calm, the shadows deep,

And the calm shall bring you plenty sleep..."

Your voice wavered at first, the words faltering as fear gripped you. But as the melody unfolded, you found a rhythm. The lilting tune floated through the air, gentle and soothing. The fiery glow in Cerberus' eyes dimmed slightly, its heads tilting as though listening.

"You'll dream of rivers, dark and still,

Of gentle winds on shadowed hill.

Allow the world fade far away,

And greet the dawn another day..."

The great beast's posture relaxed. Its massive heads lowered, ears flicking forward as the melody wound through the air. You played on, your fingers gliding over the strings with newfound confidence, your voice steadying with each note.

The lullaby wrapped around Cerberus like a soft blanket. Its breathing slowed and the tension in its massive frame eased as the melody worked its magic.

The last note hung in the air, fading into the stillness of the Underworld, and for a moment, everything was utterly silent.

Then, the guardian let out a low, plaintive whine. It shifted its massive weight, shimmying forward on its colossal paws, sending a ripple through the ground beneath you.

You froze, gripping your lyre tightly as Cerberus closed the distance. One of its heads crept closer, its glowing eyes half-lidded, tongue lolling like an oversized, lazy hound. The sight was so absurd that it sent an involuntary laugh bubbling up from your chest.

The sound seemed to embolden the creature, its middle head nudging forward. The damp, cold nose bumped into your torso with a force that nearly sent you sprawling backward. You stumbled, catching yourself with one hand as the other clutched the lyre tightly.

"Alright, there, there," you murmured, half to yourself, half to beast. "You're just... a dog, aren't you?"

At your words, all three heads perked up, tongues lolling and tails wagging in unison. The sight of the Underworld's fearsome guardian behaving like an overexcited puppy was almost too much to process.

Hesitantly, you reached out. Your fingers brushed against the soft fur on its maw. The enormous body lowered to the ground, all three heads leaning in, their eyes closing in bliss as you scratched gently. Each head let out a contented rumble, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath you.

"Of course. The Underworld's greatest guardian... is just a giant dog."

Cerberus' middle head licked your arm in response, the force of it knocking you back. You couldn't help but laugh this time, the tension in your chest loosening as you regained your balance and kept scratching its face.

For a brief moment, everything felt oddly normal—peaceful, even.

But then, without warning—"Cerberus!"

The voice boomed through the Underworld, deep and commanding, shaking the very air around you like thunder. Cerberus' contented rumbling stopped abruptly. All three heads perked up, ears swiveling toward the sound.

Before you could process what was happening, the beast moved. The middle head dipped low, jaws opening wide enough to engulf you.

A startled yelp escaped you as the ground disappeared beneath your feet, the sensation of wet fur and sharp teeth surrounding you—but not hurting you. It wasn't trying to harm you; it was protecting you.

The next thing you knew, the guardian surged forward, its massive paws pounding against the ashen ground. The shadows of the Underworld blurred around you as Cerberus carried you deeper into the unknown.

You clung to the lyre, your thoughts a chaotic tangle of fear and disbelief. The Underworld raced past in a whirlwind of darkness, and all you could do was hold on.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

The mist of the Underworld blurred past as Cerberus carried you, his paws thundering against the ashen ground. The rhythm echoed in your chest, leaving you feeling small and fragile in comparison to the sheer power of the beast. Shadows and faint glimmers of light pulsed around you, the surreal expanse of the realm disorienting in its vastness.

Finally, the pounding slowed, then stopped altogether.

Cerberus lowered his middle head with surprising care, depositing you onto a cold, smooth surface. You stumbled as you landed, your palms bracing against the polished marble beneath you. You blinked, disoriented, before lifting your head to take in your surroundings.

The room was otherworldly, its ceilings stretching into darkness.

Pale grey light filtered in from unseen sources, illuminating a floor of black marble so polished it seemed to drink in the faint glow. Massive pillars lined the space, their surfaces carved with intricate, haunting designs—twisting vines, sorrowful faces, and scenes of life and death immortalized in stone.

At the far end of the room, a grand dais loomed. Two thrones stood upon it, each a study in stark contrast.

The first was dark and foreboding, carved from black obsidian that seemed to absorb the faint light rather than reflect it. The seat itself was simple yet commanding, its edges sharp and unyielding, exuding an air of finality that sent a chill down your spine. Seated upon it was Hades, the ruler of this realm.

His pale skin appeared almost translucent, stark against the jet-black hair that framed his sharp features. His dark eyes, fathomless and piercing, bore into you with an intensity that left you rooted to the spot. Though weariness hung about him like a heavy cloak, it did nothing to diminish the quiet strength that radiated from him.

Beside him, on a throne of shimmering alabaster, sat Persephone. Where Hades exuded darkness, she seemed to glow with a soft, ethereal light.

Golden waves framed her face, and her gown shimmered in hues of green and gold, like a garden in bloom. But her face, though youthful and radiant, was devoid of the brightness you might have expected from such a being. Her expression was distant, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the room, as though she was physically present but emotionally elsewhere.

The air grew colder as a low, gravelly voice echoed through the room, snapping your attention back to the dais.

"Why do you travel to the Underworld, mortal?" the voice rumbled, the sound filling the space like distant thunder. "You do not belong here."

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you realized the voice came from Hades himself. The weight of his words pressed down on you, your heart pounding as his piercing gaze seemed to strip you bare. The meaning of his stare left no room for doubt—he demanded answers.

Persephone, meanwhile, remained silent, her delicate hands resting on the arms of her throne, her gaze flickering to you only briefly before she returned to her faraway thoughts.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive as you glanced between the two thrones. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to say something, anything, to justify your presence.

Finally, Hades' gaze shifted to Cerberus, who stood at your side. "Why did you bring her here?" His tone sharpened, cold and commanding. "Have you forgotten your purpose, beast? Incapable of doing your job?"

Cerberus let out a low whine, his three heads dipping low in unison, ears flattening against their skulls. His massive frame seemed to shrink under his master's displeasure, his paws scraping at the marble floor in a gesture that looked almost contrite.

The sight stirred something in you—a pang of guilt for the creature that had, in its own way, tried to protect you.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you stepped forward and bowed deeply. "M-My lord," you began, your voice trembling but steady. "Please don't blame him. He acted only to protect your realm. I am the one at fault." You glanced briefly at Cerberus, whose heads perked up slightly at your words. "I—I mean no harm, I swear it. I only... I only found myself lost."

As you spoke, you clutched your lyre tightly against your chest, the smooth metal cool beneath your trembling fingers. Unbeknownst to you, a faint glow began to seep from the instrument, its soft light catching Hades' attention. His dark eyes narrowed as they flickered to the lyre, though he said nothing.

Persephone's voice cut through the tension like a blade, soft yet piercing. "What is it you hold in your hands?" Her gaze, sharp and curious, locked onto the instrument cradled against you.

You blinked, her question catching you off guard. "I... it's a lyre," you stammered. "A gift I was given." Your words faltered, and then, as though compelled by some invisible force, you added, "From the god Hermes."

The room fell into a charged silence, the weight of your words pressing down like a tangible force. Hades' expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a glance with Persephone. She tilted her head slightly, her golden hair catching the dim light as her gaze returned to you.

"Play me a song," she said simply, her voice carrying a quiet insistence.

Your heart leapt into your throat. "I—I beg your pardon?" you stuttered, uncertain you had heard her correctly.

"Play," she repeated, her tone softer now, almost wistful. "If Hermes gave it to you, then surely you must be worth hearing. It has been... so long since I heard music."

You glanced at Hades, hoping for some reprieve, but his gaze remained steady, unreadable as though daring you to deny his queen's request. Refusal was not an option. Swallowing hard, you bowed your head. "As you wish."

Your trembling fingers brushed the strings of the lyre as you positioned it carefully. Your mind raced as you searched for the right song, something that might please the queen but also calm the heavy tension that hung in the room. And then, almost instinctively, your thoughts turned to Penelope. The song you had often played for her came to mind, its melody soft and bittersweet—a reflection of longing and resilience.

You began to strum the strings gently, the first notes echoing softly through the vast throne room. The melody filled the cold, empty space, weaving its way through the shadows and carving out a moment of warmth amidst the gloom.

As the melody grew, so did your confidence. You began to sing, your voice trembling at first but finding strength as you continued.

"I weep for you, my lost love, across the endless sea, and still my heart will find you, where the wild winds are free.

Though night may fall, and stars may fade, I'll search till break of day.

Where moonlight bathes the restless waves, my love will find its way."

Persephone's expression shifted as she listened, her gaze growing softer, her hands clutching the arms of her throne. Even Hades seemed to relax, the sharp lines of his face easing ever so slightly.

When the final note faded into silence, you let out a shaky breath, lowering the lyre as your hands trembled.

A soft sniffle broke the stillness. You turned toward Persephone, whose delicate hand rose to wipe at her eyes. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold back tears, but it was no use. "Your voice," she murmured, her tone trembling. "It reminds me of Orpheus. He sang with the same yearning, the same pain. It's... haunting." Her words hung in the air, heavy with emotion.

Your lips parted, unsure of how to respond to such a vulnerable admission. The Queen of the Underworld, so poised and otherworldly, now sat before you with tears in her eyes, stirred by your song. A lump formed in your throat, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. What could you possibly say to that?

Hades cleared his throat, his deep voice slicing through the moment, though it lacked its earlier edge. "Why are you here?" he asked again, this time softer, more curious than accusatory. The shift in his tone caught you off guard, and you hesitated, clutching your lyre a little tighter.

You thought about giving the same answer as before—that you didn't know, that you were lost. But something about the way he looked at you, expectant yet patient, made you pause.

Finally, you sighed and bowed your head. "I'm chasing something," you admitted. "Answers. Closure. I don't fully know what I'm looking for, but I can't leave it unresolved." You lifted your gaze to meet his. "I don't know how I got here, not entirely. But this is my second time in the Underworld."

Hades' brow arched. "Second time?"

You nodded. "Hermes brought me once before," you said quietly.

A low, humorless chuckle escaped Hades as he shook his head. "That meddlesome trickster."

Persephone glanced at him, her brows furrowing slightly, but she said nothing. Hades turned his attention back to you, his gaze lingering on the glowing lyre still cradled in your arms. He studied you for a long moment, as though weighing his next words carefully.

Finally, he straightened in his throne, his voice firm but not unkind. "Cerberus will escort you to the gates," he said, gesturing toward the massive beast that still lingered near the edge of the room. "You do not belong here, and it would be unwise for you to linger any longer."

Relief washed over you, and you bowed deeply. "Thank you, my lord," you said earnestly. Cerberus let out a low rumble, his middle head nudging you gently as though urging you forward.

As you followed Cerberus out of the throne room, Persephone's voice lingered in the air behind you, soft but unmistakable.

"That lyre... doesn't it look familiar? Doesn't Apollo have one just like it?"

The doors closed with a resounding echo, leaving her words to settle heavily in your mind.

A/N: ilolol i didnt want to split this into another chapter so surprise, 7k words lolol, sorry if everythigns too hectice im not tryna waste anymore time lol; also charon is based on hymnoeides's fanart on tumblr, plz check them out (idk yall i might have to make a lil short fic for him lolol i mean 4 hands!?!)

Tag List nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world

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u6is · 3 months ago

Text

"you cut your hair but you used to live a blonded life"

part 1

warnings: profanities, drug-use

— kylian mbappé x reader: angst

The lights of the club swirled in a dizzying array of colours, casting shadows that danced with the music.

It was a typical Friday night in Paris.

Your friends had claimed a table in the corner, your laughter bubbling up like a geyser of joy. You clinked your glasses together, the sound of ice cubes chiming like a celebratory bell. The whiskey burned a warm path down your throat, loosening the grip of the week's tension.

There was something unique about tonight.

Through the throngs of partygoers, the VIP corner, a bastion of opulence in stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the main floor. It was where the elite came to play, cordoned off by velvet ropes and stern-faced bouncers. Inside, the football players were celebrating their latest victory, and the air around them charged with excitement.

They were the kings of the city for the night, and everyone knew it.

The strobe lights painted the room in brief snapshots of reality, a visual symphony that only made the music feel more alive. You felt like a bird released from its cage as you moved through the crowd, your movements fluid and unrestrained. Your arms stretched out, as if you could touch the stars above.

You are as unbound as a bird in flight, weightless and free.

Kylian Mbappe, the soccer star everyone talked about, stood in the VIP section, his eyes scanning the dance floor. His restlessness was palpable, even from afar. He craved the pulse of the city's nightlife, the unscripted moments that made each night unique.

He slipped out from the VIP section, a playful grin tugging at his lips, and vanished into the sea of faces. The whispers grew louder as people recognized him, but he was already lost in the rhythm, just another soul seeking the essence of the night.

Suddenly, a flash of color caught his eye.

You, with your hair dancing in untamed delight, your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the disco lights.

He felt the music in your soul.

He approached you with the same swiftness he used on the field, weaving through the tightly packed bodies as if they were mere obstacles. As he reached you, the music dropped to a whisper in your ears as he leaned in to be heard over the din. You felt a rush of excitement as you recognized him, but you played it cool, not wanting to reveal the racing of your heart.

You two spoke, completely absorbed in the sound of each other's voice. His eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment it felt like the whole club had stopped moving.

It was an ordinary Friday night in Paris, yet that night held a quiet magic all its own.

It began so swiftly, your bond with him, like a spark that caught fire. What started with a simple meeting at a party spiralled into something more, something fast.

One moment, you were in the stands of a grand stadium, cheering for him, his invitation still ringing in your ears.

The next, you found yourself in the warmth of his arms, tucked away in the peace of his home, just you and him, lost in the stillness.

The bond grew stronger with each shared experience. In the quiet moments, you'd catch glimpses of his vulnerability, a side the world didn't get to see behind the glitz and glamour of his soccer career. He spoke of his love for the sport, his fears, his dreams, and the weight of expectations that sat upon his shoulders like a crown. You, in turn, revealed your passions, the dreams that kept you awake at night, and the fear of not making a difference. Together, you found solace in the understanding that everyone had their battles, even those who seemed invincible on the field.

"I want to dye my hair white."

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his spontaneity.

"White?" you repeated, trying to picture his iconic buzz cut in such a stark color. He nodded eagerly, a childlike excitement lighting up his face.

"Yeah, like the moon. It'll be perfect for the next game."

The following evening, he arrived at your small apartment, a stark contrast to the opulent mansions he was used to. He brought with him a box of hair dye and a determination that was contagious. You led him to the bathroom, which was a cozy space filled with the scent of your favorite lavender candles and the faint sound of the neighbor's television. As you mixed the solution, the anticipation grew. The air was thick with playful tension as he perched on the edge of a stool, you nestled between his legs.

You painted the dye onto his buzz cut with a gentle touch, each stroke a silent promise of support. He leaned back into your touch, his eyes closed, a contented smile playing on his lips as the conversation flowed like a river between you.

He spoke of the pressure to perform, the weight of the nation's hopes and dreams, and you shared your fear of being forgotten in the hustle of the city. The strokes grew slower as you both lost yourself in the comfort of the moment, the world outside fading away.

The laughter grew louder as you accidentally smudged some of the dye on his forehead, creating a streak that looked like a rebellious warrior's paint. He playfully grabbed the brush, threatening to return the favour. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and the sweetness of your shared laughter as you danced around the bathroom, dodging his playful swipes.

Each kiss stolen felt like a victory, a secret shared only by the two of you in the sanctuary of your little apartment.

The game came and went, a blur of excitement and nerves as Kylian took to the field with his new white hair. The crowd erupted when he scored, the flashes from cameras creating a constellation around him.

Days later, the vacation invite came, a simple text message that felt like a ticket to the stars.

"I've got a week off, and I want to spend it with you," he wrote.

"How does a getaway to the Maldives sound?" Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the tropical paradise.

A week in the sun with the man who had captured your heart, it was like a dream you hadn't even dared to dream.

You replied with an enthusiastic "Yes!" before you could overthink it, your thumbs dancing across the screen.

The Maldives was a world away from the cobblestone streets of Paris, a place of azure waters and endless skies, where the only thing that mattered was the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun.

The private jet, the endless horizon outside the windows, it was all so surreal. Kylian sat beside you, his hand in yours, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as if to reassure you that this wasn't just a fleeting dream.

The resort was a symphony of bungalows floating on the water, a serene sanctuary that whispered secrets of tranquility to the soul. Each step closer to your destination felt like a step closer to paradise, a place where the chaos of the world was a distant memory.

As you stepped onto the pristine white sand of the Maldivian beach, the heat of the sun kissed your skin, and the scent of the ocean filled your lungs with a salty embrace.

Kylian looked at you, his eyes reflecting the same excitement and disbelief.

"This is all for us," he said, gesturing to the horizon. "A whole week of just us and the sea."

He took your hand, leading you to your private bungalow, the gentle sway of the wooden walkway beneath your feet. The moment you stepped inside, your breath was stolen by the sight of the vast expanse of turquoise water beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was adorned with tropical flowers, a romantic gesture that made your heart swell.

As the sun began its descent, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange, you found yourself drawn to the beach. The warm sand felt like a lover's caress beneath your feet as you made your way to the water's edge. He followed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Without a word, you both waded into the warm embrace of the ocean. The waves kissed your legs, beckoning you further. He pulled you closer, his hands resting gently at your waist, the water rising to your chests.

Your foreheads met, the only barrier between the silent whispers of your thoughts. The horizon was a canvas of light, the setting sun a fiery ball of passion that mirrored the intensity of the moment. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore served as a gentle soundtrack, a natural symphony that drowned out the noise of the world. The salty kiss of the ocean spray mingled with the sweetness of his breath as you both floated in the embrace of the sea.

For the first time, he broke the silence with the words you'd hoped to hear.

"I love you."

They hung in the air, suspended in the warmth of the moment, echoing the rhythm of the waves. Your heart raced, a crescendo of emotions crashing over you like the tide. The world around you seemed to still, the very fabric of reality bending to the power of those three little words. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but found only the truth reflected back at you.

You felt the warmth of his love like the sun on your skin, a gentle reminder of the bond that had grown between you amidst the chaos of the city.

His confession was a soft melody in the symphony of the waves, a declaration that resonated through every fibre of your being.

"I love you, too, Kylian." You murmured your voice a tremulous whisper that seemed too small to hold the weight of your feelings.

His smile grew brighter, lighting up his entire face, as if the stars had descended to kiss him.

The days in the Maldives passed in a blur of bliss. Each sunrise painted a new picture of beauty, a backdrop for your burgeoning love. As you watched the sunsets melt into the horizon, leaving behind a canvas of pinks and purples that stained the sky. The nights were filled with stargazing, the constellations above whispering ancient secrets as you lay entwined in the soft embrace of the beach. The world had shrunk to the two of you, and everything else was just noise.

But eventually, the vacation had to end. You both returned to the city, to the bustling streets of Paris that seemed so much more alive with the vibrancy of your newfound love. Kylian's schedule picked up again, training sessions and games taking up the bulk of his days, but the nights remained yours.

His touch was a gentle reminder of the warmth of the sun you had left behind, his whispers in the dark a sweet symphony that lulled you to sleep. You watched him from the stands, his white hair a beacon of light as he ruled the soccer field, his every move a declaration of his love for the game.

The parties grew grander, the crowds more suffocating. His teammates' laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses became the soundtrack of your life together. Each night was a passionate dance, a celebration of victory and friendship that swirled around you like a tornado of glamour.

Kylian was adamant about keeping your relationship a secret.

His smile was for everyone, but his love was for you alone.

He'd sneak glances at you from across the room, his eyes speaking a language that no one else could understand. You felt like the keeper of a precious stone, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, cherished only by the two of you.

Yet, as the weeks turned into months, the bars of the cage grew heavier. Each time you watched him leave for training or a game, a pang of sadness gripped your heart.

You were a spectator in his world, a silent cheerleader whose love could only be whispered in the shadows.

The night of the Ligue 1 final, the tension was palpable, a living creature that breathed in the air of the stadium. You watched from the VIP section, your heart racing with every step he took on the field. The crowd was a sea of noise, a symphony of hope and passion. And there, in the stands, were his parents, proud and stoic, watching their son play the game that had made him a star.

When the final whistle blew and his team emerged victorious, you felt the urge to celebrate with him, to share in the joy of his triumph. Yet, when you approached his parents to introduce yourself, Kylian's mother looked you up and down, her eyes cold and assessing, her smile forced. It was a look that spoke volumes without a single word.

You felt like an outsider, a mere shadow in the glaring spotlight of their family's success. Kylian was swept away in a tide of congratulations, leaving you to navigate the social current alone.

The sting of his mother's dismissal remained with you long after the game, a bitter taste that lingered like an unfortunate aftertaste. When you brought it up, Kylian was just apologetic but firm.

"They just need time," he'd say, his eyes full of hope and a hint of desperation. "They're protective."

Same thing happened, the excuses grew old, and the distance between you and your friends grew wider. Each time you suggested Kylian meet them, he'd find a way out. Training, games, press conferences, and the endless string of responsibilities that came with his stardom. The walls of his world grew higher, and you found yourself feeling like you were the only one making sacrifices.

The quiet moments of your solitude grew into a crescendo of doubt.

Was this really what you wanted? To be the hidden lover of a man whose every move was public property?

The silence in the car was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city outside. Kylian's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched in a way that spoke of his own internal war. You knew he felt it too, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"You never told them, did you?" you finally said, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You never told your parents about us." The anger simmered just below the surface, a pot ready to boil over at any moment. Kylian's grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he didn't look at you.

He had, in fact, spoken of you to his parents. But his mother, with a dismissive shrug, simply urged him to stay focused on his game, reminding him of all they had sacrificed for his success. To her, your bond was fleeting, a mere ripple in the tide of his life—nothing more than a momentary distraction.

"What does it matter?" he replied, his voice gruff with frustration. "They'll come around."

You couldn't hold it in anymore. "What matters is that I'm not some secret you hide from the world! It's like I don't even exist outside of these stolen moments." The words hung in the air, sharp and accusatory.

He sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving the road. "You know it's not like that."

But you didn't know. You felt like a shadow in his life, a secret to be kept hidden from the glaring lights of the world. The anger grew hotter, a fire in your chest that threatened to consume you. "Then tell me what it's like," you demanded. "Make me understand why I can't be a part of your fucking life without hiding!"

Kylian's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his breathing was shallow.

"I am at the peak of my career!"

His voice was sharp, frustration cutting through every word. "I told you about this whole privacy thing," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "And you agreed! You said you were fucking fine with it!" The tension in the air was almost tangible, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Not with your parents, at least!" you shot back, your voice rising as anger flared within you. The words left your lips before you could stop them, sharp and unyielding, matching the tension that filled the car. You stood your ground, meeting his fiery gaze, unwilling to back down from the storm brewing between you.

His voice rose, laced with frustration he couldn’t contain. "God, you’re so damn clingy sometimes," he snapped, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "I can’t just drop everything for you, alright? I have a career to think about—I don’t need you acting like a stupid bitch about it."

"Stupid what?" you interrupted, your voice rising as you turned to him, disbelief flashing in your eyes.

"Yeah, you heard me," he shot back without thinking, his frustration spilling over. "Stupid ass bitch."

Your breath caught, his words hitting harder than anything he’d ever said to you before. "Stop the car," you said, your voice shaking with anger.

"Stop the car!"

"Yeah, I’ll stop the fucking car!" he barked, slamming on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt by the side of the road.

Without hesitation, you flung the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, slamming it shut behind you. The sound echoed, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. He sat there, gripping the steering wheel, his heart sinking as the weight of his words crashed down on him.

Realization hit like a tidal wave, and he threw the car into drive, creeping slowly to match your pace as you stormed down the street.

He kept the car rolling beside you. “You’re really gonna walk out on the car like that?"

You didn’t stop, didn’t even look at him. “Fuck you!” you shouted, your voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“Come on, babe,” he called out, his voice softer now, laced with regret. “I can’t leave you like this. Let me take you home.”

You stopped in your tracks, turned to face him, your eyes blazing. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you screamed, each word sharp and cutting. “I don’t wanna see you anymore!”

He stopped the car, watching helplessly as you walked away into the dark, your words echoing in his mind. He sat there, paralyzed by regret, knowing he might’ve just lost the one person who truly mattered.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The darkness wrapped around you like a shroud, the only light the flicker of the streetlamp outside your window, casting shadows on the walls like a silent movie of your tumultuous thoughts. His words echoed through the empty space, a symphony of doubt and anger that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. How could he treat you like this?

The realization hit you like a cold shower.

The man who swept you away under the dance floor's glow,

Who held you close in quiet rooms, where whispers grow,

Who heard your first "I love you" by the Maldives’ gentle tide,

Was absent in the leathered luxury where his ego would abide.

Now, stats and numbers steal his tongue, your dreams left unsaid, a stranger in the driver's seat, where your heart once led.

Kylian had become a star, and in doing so, had forgotten the gravity of the simple moments that had brought you together.

The quiet moments of shared laughter had been drowned out by the roar of the stadium, and the gentle strokes of his hand had been replaced by the firm grip of his ambition.

Kylian blamed himself. He let his anger consume him, a wildfire burning through reason and restraint. When he finally told his mother about you, he hoped for understanding, maybe even support. Instead, her words cut deep, embedding themselves in his mind like code in a machine. From that moment, he felt programmed to meet her expectations.

Be the best, Kylian.

Her voice echoed endlessly in his head. It wasn’t a choice anymore; it was his identity, the role he was born to play. The weight of their pride, the legacy, bore down on him, suffocating his own desires.

He wasn’t just Kylian; he was their Kylian, the greatest thing they had ever created, and he couldn’t let them down.

But in trying to be perfect for them, he wondered if he was losing the parts of himself that mattered most. The parts that belonged to you.

Weeks turned into months, and the silence between you and Kylian grew louder. The only bridge between you now was his messages, desperate and pleading.

"I’m sorry, baby. Can we talk? Please?"

Your replies were short, distant.

"I can’t. I’m busy."

Winning Ligue 1, another trophy to add to his collection. But the victory was hollow.

The nights were the worst—endless hours spent scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, smiling again, surrounded by friends. That radiant face he had first seen in the club, now only a memory behind a screen. Not in his arms. Not his anymore.

"I’ll never mess up again, I swear. Just… call me."

Your reply came, cold and final.

"We’re over. Stop contacting me."

His thumb hovered over the screen, disbelief washing over him. He dialed your number, hands trembling, but each ring dragged into silence. No answer.

"Did you block me!?" he typed, panic seeping into his words.

Still nothing.

"Answer me!"

But his words only reached the empty void of delivered.

That’s when the rage bubbled to the surface. His fists clenched as the realization struck like a thunderbolt—you were gone. Truly gone. The medals and trophies that lined his shelves seemed to mock him now. All lost in the suffocating shadow of his parents’ expectations.

Kylian slammed the phone onto his desk with force, the ache in his chest unbearable. No victory could fill the void you left behind.

And as your presence faded further into the past, he realized the cost of trying to be perfect. It was too high. He had lost you. Forever.

The party lights flickered, reflecting Kylian’s distorted thoughts as he drove recklessly through the streets. Fueled by anger and a dangerous cocktail of drugs, his mind spiraled into chaos. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see past the image burned into his mind—you, smiling in someone else’s arms.

While scrolling through your friend’s Instagram story, he spotted you with a man, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, and you were smiling.

That picture had pushed him over the edge, and now, nothing else mattered.

Parking haphazardly outside the party, he stormed in, his eyes darting frantically through the crowd. And then he saw you—ascending the stairs with the man from the photo. His fists clenched, his pulse pounding as he watched from the shadows. When you reappeared alone, heading to the bar, he seized his chance.

He approached swiftly, his grip firm on your arm.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, irritation clear in your voice.

“I’m trying to talk to you, but you blocked me. Why would you do that?” His words were sharp, almost desperate.

You yanked your arm free. “I blocked you because we’re done, Kylian. There’s nothing to talk about.”

But he didn’t back down. “Did you fuck him?” His tone was cold, accusatory.

“What?” You stared at him, stunned.

“You heard me. That guy upstairs. Did you fuck him?”

The confusion on your face deepened. “Who—Alex? Are you serious? He’s one of my best friends. He’s gay.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice rose, disbelief clouding his judgment.

“It’s not! And the drinks I was getting? They’re for my friends. You’d know that if you ever bothered to ask or get to know them!” Your frustration boiled over.

“You only care about yourself!” you added, your voice trembling.

“I only care about myself?” His anger flared, but you didn’t wait for his retort. Turning on your heel, you started to walk away.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” he growled, grabbing your arm again, pulling you into an empty room.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, your voice breaking.

Kylian’s grip loosened for a moment, his expression flickering between fury and regret. “Baby, just listen to me. Please,” he pleaded, his hands shifting to your shoulders.

“I’ll tell my parents. I’ll tell my friends. I’ll tell the world. I don’t care. Just come back to me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No,” you sobbed. “I can’t. Look at you!”

You saw it in his eyes—bloodshot, clouded, a haze of intoxication stealing the clarity they once held.

"You think I want a life with you? Just look at yourself!" Tears streamed down your face as your voice cracked with emotion.

“What do you mean, look at me?” His anger reignited, his voice sharp and cutting. “I’m here, aren’t I? I'm here for you, bitch."

Your gaze met his, hollow and disbelieving. “Stop calling me that!"

His anger surged again, and before he could stop himself, words he didn’t mean escaped his lips.

“You’re such a selfish bitch!”

Your slap echoed through the room, sharp and startling. You didn’t wait for his reaction; you pulled away, trembling, your tears blurring your vision.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” you choked, your voice filled with fear and heartbreak.

Something shifted in Kylian’s eyes then—realization, maybe. His hands fell to his sides, his body frozen in place as you stepped back, wiping the tears from your face.

As you walked away, his chest felt hollow, his world unravelling. As the drug coursed through his veins, it claimed his body in a haze of surrender, weaving a spell that blurred the line between control and chaos.

He watched you disappear into the crowd, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. For the first time, he saw it clearly—you weren’t just leaving. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.

—

Years passed, but time never dulled the weight of his regret.

When you left, he stripped himself of the colors you gave him. The bright white streaks that once danced through his hair—your touch, your light—faded like the ghost of a dream. He dyed it back to black, the shade of before, as if erasing every trace of you could silence the ache.

Kylian had it all—his name immortalized in football, his dream club in Madrid awaiting his arrival. Yet, in the silence of his nights, the triumphs felt hollow.

Sometimes, when the ache grew unbearable, he’d find himself scrolling through your Instagram. There you were, in Germany now—living the dream you used to whisper to him about, the life he should’ve supported. A home and a man who held you the way he never could. A picture-perfect, framed in a happiness he no longer dared to imagine for himself.

But it was the Maldives photo that truly broke him. It stayed tucked away, a relic of the love he lost. In it, you stared straight at him, your eyes warm and alive, as if seeing straight into his soul. He could barely look at it without choking on the memory of the first “I love you” whispered under that endless sky.

On the loneliest nights, when the roar of the crowd faded and his medals gleamed like mocking ghosts, he clutched that photo and prayed.

Not for forgiveness—he didn’t deserve that—but for you. For your happiness.

And maybe, just maybe, for you to haunt him.

"Come out and haunt me."

Lying alone in his cold, empty room, he whispered those same words into the void, hoping they might somehow reach you.

Haunt him with the sound of your laughter. With the light in your eyes. With the love he destroyed but never stopped yearning for.

But they didn’t. They never would. Because you were gone, and he was alone.

Because even in the echo of his greatest victories, it was your absence that screamed the loudest. And he knew—he would carry that hollow ache, that haunting memory of you, for the rest of his days.

this fic is deeply inspired by Waves (2019), directed by Trey Edward Shults.

the film brings me a sense of comfort, and the inspiration to write this story about kylian is exactly what i needed 😣

part 2

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader

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obsessedwhyyes · 3 months ago

Text

A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (2)

Chapter 2: Looking Glass

Summary: The lingering tendrils of Astarion's enchantment take Elysia firmly in their hold. His glances, his gestures - they must surely be signs laid out just for her. Determined, Elysia sets off to find the elusive ringmaster, but confrontation, mystery, and reflection await her instead.

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5134 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU. Chapter 1 can be found here.

A/N: This is what I like to affectionately call, ‘The Delulu Chapter.’ She will only be insufferable for a little while, I promise. She’s just having her Alice in Wonderland phase - she’ll grow out of it.

A thousand breaths caught in perfect unison.

A thousand hearts skipped the same beat.

Gasp. Cheer.

Sigh. Swoon.

The sounds rippled through the crowd in perfect synchronicity, rising and falling like the tide.

Elysia couldn’t recall sitting down, nor how she’d come to be in this seat, surrounded once more by the plush velvet and soft murmur of the audience.

Thoughts of the past felt, simply, weightless, drifting beyond her reach.

She was here now. And that was all that mattered.

The Ringmaster spoke, with sweeping gestures befitting a man of such grandiose.

"Now, while I'm captivating enough on my own..."

Elysia's lips curved upward. She hadn't chosen to smile.

"... I suppose I should share the stage with our other little wonders. Our family has prepared something special for you tonight.”

With a flourish, his cane conjured a shimmering curtain of starlight. The glowing veil parted to reveal the first performer.

“May I present… Aurelia, mistress of flames.”

A woman stepped forward, her crimson and gold costume gleaming like embers as hoops of fire encircled her body. The flames licked and coiled around her, alive, feral, yet completely under her control.

Elysia’s heart fluttered. Aurelia was extraordinary.

But she wasn't Astarion.

“... Leon, who gives weight to dreams.”

The strongman emerged next, the stage dimming as his large frame became the focal point. His arms, broad and powerful, lifted a shimmering, gilded ring that seemed impossibly heavy, its edges glimmering as it reflected the light of Aurelia’s fire.

Elysia’s pulse quickened. Leon was a marvel.

But he didn't wear the crowd’s adoration like Astarion wore his charm.

“... And Violet, who dances between stars.”

A silver hoop descended from above, and Violet with it. Suspended high in the air and wrapped with silks, she moved with an ethereal grace, her body twisting and arching as though weightless.

Elysia couldn't help but gasp. Violet was breathtaking.

But she didn't enchant like Astarion did.

He stood apart, just behind the performers, his cane in hand, mask gleaming faintly in the ethereal glow. He wasn't the one leaping or spinning or commanding the elements. Yet, he was the axis on which everything turned; the force that made the whole performance possible.

His eyes found hers in the crowd as she watched him.

Or did she imagine that?

Surely he saw her.

Surely he felt it too.

Elysia had often wondered if love at first sight truly existed.

Often, she told herself it was simply the fancy of poets and dreamers, a comforting illusion woven to make life feel fuller. No - to Elysia, love was something that grew slowly, like tending a garden through the seasons. Something that needed patience and time to truly take root.

Yet here, now, she had never been so certain of its existence.

Was it not love to hold a person the way Astarion held her? To pull her close, until her world narrowed to his smile, his lips, his gaze? He was like a vision from a dream half-remembered, and he held her there, suspended, bound by starlight and shadow, captivated.

Yes. Yes, this was surely love.

If it wasn't love, what else could it be?

The performers took their positions. At Astarion's signal, they began.

They moved as one, their acts weaving seamlessly together like threads in an intricate tapestry. Violet soared through the air on her silver hoop, her silks trailing in elegant arcs as Aurelia’s flaming rings spiralled around her, fire and starlight intertwining. Below, Leon’s gilded ring spun like a celestial anchor, catching and refracting the light as Violet leapt from her perch, her movements mirrored by the rise and fall of the flames. A dance of fire, silk, and shadow. Three acts became one impossible dance.

The stage was like a living dream. It compelled her to...

Rise.

The audience stood.

Lean forward.

Their bodies tilted as one.

Hold your breath.

Elysia's lungs burned with the others'.

A thousand faces turned at once, a thousand smiles stretched in unison.

The finale built higher as a crescendo of daring and grace. Violet dove through a ring of flames, her silks igniting in a burst of golden light as Leon caught her descent.

Colours blurred. Sounds merged.

Fire and shadow. Music and motion.

How long had it been since Elysia felt this light? This free? The weight that normally pressed against her shoulders - responsibility, duty, the relentless presence of death - had dissolved like morning mist in the summer sun. Here, she felt as though nothing could touch her. Not grief, nor guilt.

Looking at the audience, she saw faces slack with wonder, eyes glazed with absolute adoration. They were gleeful in their rapture, yet none of them had danced with him as she had. None had felt his magic against their skin, the intimate press of starlight binding them together.

None of them had what Elysia had with Astarion. Of that much, she was certain.

Fire and starlight spiralled together as the performers created their final masterpiece of the night.

Then everything stopped.

Light itself seemed to hold its breath. Violet hung suspended between earth and sky, caught in Leon's impossible hold. Aurelia's flames froze mid-flicker, crystallising into fractals of burning light. For one eternal moment, reality balanced on a knife's edge.

At Astarion's gesture, the frozen tableau shattered into pure starlight. The performers emerged from the glittering cascade, moving in perfect synchronisation as they took their final bow. Above them, the last fragments of their magic rained down like falling stars.

The audience erupted in applause.

Elysia’s hands moved to clap with them before she realised.

She couldn’t resist. She would never want to resist.

“Thank you, thank you, dear souls.” Astarion held his hand to his chest, dipping his head once more in a theatrical bow that made the light catch in his silvery hair. “May your dreams find you, even as you find yourselves.”

His gaze swept the audience one last time.

Elysia could have sworn his eyes rested on her for just a moment longer than the others.

The slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers traced the handle of his cane - they can't have been mere gestures.

They must have been a silent invitation. A promise.

Elysia could never miss such glaring signs, clearly made just for her.

The need to understand, to unravel the mystery surrounding him, pulled at her, stronger than the remnants of the spellbinding performance.

It wasn’t just curiosity - it was a hunger. To know him - to be near him - felt as necessary as breathing.

Astarion was leading. Elysia must follow.

As the lights dimmed, the audience, still humming with awe, began to drift toward the exit, their faces glazed with dreamlike adoration. But Elysia hung back for just a moment before beginning her descent towards the stage on subtle steps, her gaze fixed on the velvet curtain where Astarion and the performers had disappeared. Her breath caught as she saw them slip through, leaving a ripple in the fabric.

But what caught her attention was the faint, rhythmic chime that followed each figure as they passed through the curtain.

Her eyes narrowed. Bells. A line of small, silver bells was strung along the top of the curtain, barely visible unless you were looking for them. They swayed gently with each movement, their delicate chimes swallowed by the crowd’s applause. The purpose was clear: the faintest disturbance would alert those beyond.

Clever, she thought. But it was not enough to deter her.

Elysia’s heart could never be deterred.

She studied the curtain for a moment longer. The performers moved with such grace that the bells just barely sang as they passed. The key was clearly precision, not speed.

She waited until the crowd’s murmurs swelled, the noise rising like a tide. Then, as carefully as a surgeon threading a needle, she slipped forward. Her steps were deliberate, her movements measured. She placed her hands on the edge of the curtain, just below the bells, and pushed it aside with the lightest touch, letting the fabric shift naturally around her.

The bells quivered. Elysia froze, holding her breath.

But no sound came.

She sighed in relief.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she eased herself through the opening, the dim light of the backstage area welcoming her into its shadows. She let the curtain fall back into place, the bells swaying gently above her head.

No one had noticed. Yet.

The backstage air was a stark contrast from the grand theatrics of the stage area - muted, cooler, dimly lit by flickering lanterns. The faint scent of smoke and incense tickled her nose as she pressed herself against the nearest wall. For a moment, she allowed herself a quiet breath, her heart still racing.

She made it in.

Now, she just had to find him.

Elysia moved deeper into the warren of corridors, each step careful and measured. This place felt like another world entirely - a place where magic shed its glamour and revealed its seams. Props leaned against walls like sleeping creatures. Costumes hung from hooks like shed skins, still holding the shape of their wearers.

Gaps in curtains revealed brief glimpses of the performers as she explored. There was something oddly intimate about seeing them outside the allure of their performance - like seeing a bird folding its wings after flight.

But then a familiar voice caught Elysia’s attention.

Following the sound, she found herself near an ornate door left slightly ajar, golden light spilling through the gap. She pressed herself against the wall beside it, drawn forward by the familiar cadence of his voice.

Astarion. She had found him.

Though, his voice was accompanied by another.

“... and there you go again.” This other voice - it too was familiar, though dripping with barely contained contempt. “Such pride from someone who–”

“Who actually holds their attention?” Astarion cut in. “Yes, how terribly proud of me. Tell me, Petras - how does it feel to be forgotten the moment I take the stage?”

Petras. The name stirred something within Elysia, but she couldn’t work out what. Had they met before?

"At least I know my place," Petras spat. "I don't delude myself with dreams of–"

"Delude myself?" Astarion's laugh held no humour. "How amusing, coming from someone who spends his nights rehearsing my routine. Tell me - has my shadow filed a complaint yet? Though I suppose it must be used to you chasing it by now.”

Elysia risked a glance through the gap and had to stifle a gasp.

The dressing room was filled with mirrors. They were everywhere: lining the walls, standing on ornate frames, creating an illusion of infinite space. Each reflection caught and multiplied the candlelight, creating a kaleidoscope effect that was both beautiful and disorienting. She caught a glimpse of the two men, and the contrast in them was uncanny. Petras’s simple gold mask seemed plain, almost crude, compared to the intricate filigree of Astarion's.

"You forget yourself," Petras said. "The master has schedules for a reason. And when you deviate–"

"The master," Astarion's voice took on a strange tone, "has more pressing concerns than your petty jealousies over a few minutes' delay, don’t you think? Or have you forgotten last month’s little incident?"

Silence as Petras’s words seemed to fail him momentarily.

This was it. This was Elysia’s chance.

"I’m sorry to intrude." she stepped forward tentatively as she spoke, her voice hopeful. "I hoped I might find you..."

Both men turned sharply in her direction.

Astarion’s fingers brushed the silver filigree at his throat before smoothing out the coif of his hair in one fluid motion. "My, my… aren't you the determined one?"

Petras appeared rather vindicated. "The master needs to hear about this.”

"Must he? And I suppose you'll explain how she got past your... what was it you called it? Your 'enhanced security measures'?"

The blond man stiffened. "I hardly think–"

“No, you so rarely do.” Astarion's smile didn't waver, but his eyes kept darting to the shadows behind Elysia. "Perhaps we should discuss your recent performance evaluations while we're at it?"

Something in the threat landed. Petras's eager reporting instinct warred visibly with self-preservation. After a moment of tense silence, he backed towards the door, pausing only to give Elysia a look that might even have been pity if it hadn’t looked so much like bitter indignation.

Elysia found herself quickly irked by him.

“This isn't over, Astarion,” Petras said as he slipped out the room, punctuated by the sound of the door latch clicking into place as he closed it.

Being alone with Astarion felt different than she'd imagined - more real somehow. Her heart fluttered against her chest like a trapped bird.

But she was nothing if not determined. She knew she was right where she needed to be.

His smile brightened, though there was a tightness to it that Elysia couldn't quite place. “Forgive the uncouth display, darling. Some people simply can't help but be tiresome.”

"I came as quickly as I could," Elysia said quickly, watching as his fingers drifted again to his collar, then to adjust his already-perfect hair. “I know I should’ve waited for a proper introduction, but sometimes…” She felt heat rise to her cheeks at her own boldness. “Sometimes the heart knows when something is important.”

"You know," he began, "most admirers content themselves with flowers. Or swooning. Swooning is traditional. But you had to make things interesting, didn't you?"

"I suppose I'm not very traditional." Elysia smiled, her heart fluttering as he approached. In the mirrors surrounding them, a thousand reflections of Astarion moved in perfect synchronisation. And Elysia’s reflection was there with him.

They were a study in contrasts - Elysia in her simple dress and blouse seemed grounded and unadorned, like earth; Astarion, in his intricate attire, was otherworldly in his theatrical splendour. Yet somehow the juxtaposition felt right - as though her very plainness made his ethereal beauty more striking, while his presence lent her simplicity a kind of grace.

Her lips parted as the thought flitted through her mind: We look good together.

“Our dance earlier - I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Few have. The magic of the festival is rather unique, wouldn’t you say?”

"And the way you commanded the stage..." Elysia began, but something in his posture made her pause. Even in the mirrors, she could see the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Command?" His laugh was almost musical. “Darling, I merely... suggest. Guide. Though speaking of guidance..." His eyes darted again to the shadows behind her, quick as a heartbeat. "You realise, of course, that I'm being remarkably generous about this whole affair. Most who find their way backstage discover a far less..." Another touch of his collar. "...accommodating reception."

Elysia’s pulse steadied, her smile turning faintly knowing. Of course, he had to maintain this necessary pretence - charm wrapped in formality, words dipped in grace. It wasn’t for her benefit, not truly. After all, what would the others think if they knew he'd invited someone backstage? No, these little warnings were just another performance, meant for any eyes that might be watching. Beneath it all she could feel it - something unspoken.

"I know this is a little unconventional…”

"Unconventional? What a delicate way to phrase it. You do have quite the gift for making impropriety sound almost charming."

Elysia’s smile faltered as she met his gaze. “I just thought…” Her voice softened, the words catching like a hesitant breath. “I thought you wanted me to find you. It– it felt like I had to.”

Why? The question rose sharp and sudden in her mind. The urgency that had drawn her here felt familiar somehow, like an old song played in a different key.

“And here I thought I was the one with a penchant for dramatics,” Astarion said. “You give me far too much credit, my dear.”

His words were laced with humour, yet, he hadn’t denied it. The pull she’d felt couldn’t have been imagined. It was too strong, too undeniable. Surely he had wanted her to find him. Surely he’d left some trace, some sign meant just for her.

Hadn’t he?

Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say dissolved before they could take shape. She glanced away, her gaze catching on the mirrors around them. Her reflection stared back infinitely, as though mocking her uncertainty.

And Astarion… there was something tight in the way he held himself now, like a performer who'd spotted a crack in their stage.

"Come, darling. Let’s not tempt fate by lingering here any longer. You’ve already wandered somewhere terribly dangerous.”

He took a step closer, his presence commanding her attention as though he’d physically pulled her from her thoughts.

That silken voice.

That perfect presence.

He's so close.

Her thoughts - those pesky doubts - scattered like startled birds.

He offered her his arm, a gesture so effortlessly charming that it made her heart flutter.

He was right.

Of course, he was right.

There was nothing for her here.

Only him.

And so she followed.

She hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His closeness brought with it a scent she hadn't noticed before - herbal and bright, with citrus and the faintest hint of something darker, richer; elegant as everything else about him. The kind of scent that made you want to lean closer, to search for its source. It took all her composure not to do exactly that.

"Consider this a gift. My generosity in exchange for your… discretion.”

He paused at the room’s threshold, glancing as though expecting something to appear from the shadows. “Shall we? The night market is particularly enchanting at this hour. All manner of delights to distract from more... dangerous pursuits."

"The night market?" Something about his insistence made her heart beat faster.

The dim lantern light flickered as he escorted her through winding corridors, throwing his silhouette into sharp relief against the shadows.

"Oh, the things you'll see there," he continued, speaking faster. "Delicacies that would make your finest confectioners weep. Treasures that would make merchants' hearts stop. All manner of pretty little diversions. Much more interesting than these tired old backrooms.”

His steps were swift. Hasty.

Elysia fought to keep pace.

“And of course,” he said suddenly, his voice carrying a cheerfulness that teetered on the edge of too bright, “there’s a spectacular display of silks at one of the stalls. Ah, you’d adore them - exquisite craftsmanship, really, though I must admit I’ve never been terribly partial to magenta myself.”

The sounds of laughter and music drew closer.

He glanced at her briefly, his eyes catching the light before darting back ahead. “Oh, and Dalyria with her card readings, the truths she reveals are quite– ah, but did I mention the night market?”

“You did.”

“Well, it bears repeating,” he replied too quickly. “Because it truly is a marvel. So much to see. So much to enjoy.”

The cane in his free hand tapped out a rhythm that didn't quite match his steps.

“Perfectly harmless, of course,” he added, his gaze darting briefly to the shadows behind them, before he turned back to her with another dazzling smile.

They emerged from behind the heavy curtains into the festival proper, where the eternal twilight cast everything in soft, dreamy hues. Something about the change in lighting made the shadows under his eyes more pronounced – had those been there during the performance?

"There now," Astarion said. His fingers found his collar one final time before dropping away. "Isn't this better? All the wonder, none of the... complications. Though do remember, darling - you now owe me quite the favour."

"Will I see you again?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Astarion stilled for the briefest moment, his smile frozen in place. Then he laughed.

"Oh, darling, the festival has a way of bringing people together, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t fret too much about when or how."

His answer wasn’t what she wanted, and something in her bristled. "That’s not what I meant," she said. "I think… I think I need to see you again."

That made him pause, his eyes catching hers. There was something almost imperceptible in his gaze - whether it was curiosity or resignation, Elysia couldn’t tell.

"Need is such a dangerous word," he murmured, tilting his head just slightly. "You sound so certain, yet you hardly know me."

"But I do..."

Did she? The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.

"... I feel like I do," she continued, looking to her feet.

"Do you, now?" he asked, his voice soft, almost indulgent. “What is it you think you see in me?”

“I…”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he closed the space between them in an instant. He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her head so she was forced to meet his gaze. Her breath caught, the world narrowing until there was only him.

He leaned in, his gaze holding her captive. “Or perhaps you don’t see at all. Perhaps there’s something else you want.” His hold on her jaw firmed for a moment. “Ah. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, heat rising to her cheeks as she struggled to find her voice, but it was useless.

He held her gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

But then he sighed.

"I thought so," he said quietly, almost to himself. "They always do."

He stepped back, his hand falling away.

"You’re bold, love," Astarion said at last. "It’s a charming trait, truly. But sometimes boldness gets people hurt."

"I’m not afraid.” Elysia held his gaze as steadily as she could muster.

"Of course you’re not," he replied, his smile broadening slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Fear rarely has a place here. It’s part of the magic, you see. But magic is just smoke and mirrors, isn’t it? It’s the truth underneath that tends to cut."

She felt the weight of his words but couldn’t fully grasp their meaning. His presence seemed to drown out everything else.

"The festival is a place for dreams, my dear," he said, taking a step back and sweeping into a graceful bow. "Don’t waste yours chasing shadows."

And then he was gone. The ripple of velvet curtains was the only trace of his departure as he returned to the shadows of the Big Top.

Elysia was alone.

The festival’s brilliance seemed to dim in his absence, its colours muted, its magic just a little less potent.

The crowd moved around her, their faces alight with joy and wonder, yet, with the Ringmaster gone, she felt curiously untethered. She glanced up at the sky, expecting some shift in its eternal dusk, but it remained unchanged. The colours of twilight bled together seamlessly, the horizon a perpetual liminal space between day and night.

Just how much time had passed?

A flicker of movement at the edge of Elysia’s vision caught her attention. She turned her head - an elderly woman brushed past her, a golden locket swinging from her neck.

Elysia blinked, confusion blooming in her chest. She looked strangely familiar.

The realisation came slowly. She had seen this woman before - on the journey to the festival. In the carriage. But the details of that memory felt slippery, like trying to grasp water in her hands. The more she reached for it, the more it eluded her.

Her movements were strange, almost mechanical, as though her body remembered how to walk but her mind had forgotten why. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, and her lips moved soundlessly.

Elysia’s heart stirred with unease. She didn’t know why, but the sight of the woman set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t name the feeling, only that it was urgent and wrong. Her instincts flared, urging her to follow, even as another part of her hesitated.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not your concern.

No, Elysia thought. That’s not right, is it?

Elysia’s steps moved before she could think, her feet carrying her toward the woman. She didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish. But the woman needed help. Elysia didn’t know how she knew that - she didn’t know much of anything anymore - but the certainty burned fiercely in her chest.

“Excuse me! Miss?” she called. “Wait, please!”

The woman didn’t respond.

Elysia pushed through the thinning crowd. The further she followed, the harder it became to focus. It was like wading through molasses, her thoughts sticky and sluggish, her body pulling toward retreat.

The woman turned down a dim, narrow path that branched away from the bright stalls. Elysia froze at its threshold. The glow of the festival barely reached this place, its light casting weak, flickering shadows that clung to the walls like cobwebs. Something about this place felt hidden. Forbidden.

But the woman was already disappearing into its depths.

“Wait!” Elysia called again, stepping onto the path despite the gnawing unease in her chest.

Go back. It’s not your ti–

No. She’s unwell.

Her legs kept moving. Her pulse raced. It thrummed in her ears as she quickened her pace.

The path twisted unpredictably, narrowing with every turn. The vibrant energy of the festival dimmed further with each step, the laughter and music fading into a distant hum. The air smelled stale, yet sickly-sweet.

A glint caught Elysia’s eye.

The locket around the woman’s neck caught the light as it tumbled to the ground. She didn’t seem to notice.

Elysia bent to retrieve the locket, its metal surprisingly cold against her palm. When she looked up again, the woman was already disappearing down a narrow corridor she hadn't noticed before - a space between tents that seemed to fold in on itself, as though reality had developed a crease.

"Wait!" She started forward, locket clutched tight. "Please, your–"

The passage seemed to narrow as she followed, the walls of fabric pressing in until she had to turn sideways to continue. Each step forward made her heart beat faster, a creeping anxiety that whispered she should turn back, return to the lights and music and…

The thought slipped away as she caught sight of something ahead - not the woman, but a glint of light where there shouldn't be any. A broken mirror propped against what might have been a wall, its surface reflecting impossibly deep shadows. Something about its angle seemed wrong, as though it were reflecting a space that didn't exist.

She reached out, meaning only to steady herself against its frame.

But then her hand went through.

And then, she was tumbling.

The fall lasted both forever and no time at all.

Darkness rushed past her like silk against her skin. Stars wheeled overhead, though there was no sky - only the endless sensation of tumbling through space. The air grew thick, sweet, then suddenly thin, as though she were passing through layers of different worlds.

But then she landed as though caught by unseen hands, placed in a world that was eerily still.

When she stood, she found herself in a sprawling room filled with broken reflections. Mirrors upon mirrors. But they were broken, fractured, warped, split into jagged shards.

She moved through the space carefully, each step stirring motes of dust.

Around her lay forgotten remnants of the festival - tattered banners drooping limply from hooks and, scattered like silent witnesses, old stuffed animals. Two of them caught her eye. Two foxes, one bound tightly in rusted shackles. It seemed so small, its fur faded to a dull grey. The second fox lay unshackled, its chains broken and discarded at its feet. But it was no better off. Its seams were split, its stuffing spilling in soft piles onto the floor.

Her gaze flicked back to the rippling mirror she had stepped through. Unlike the others, it was untouched by age or damage, its liquid-like surface shimmering faintly in the dim light.

The air felt… different here. Clearer. Like breaking the surface after being underwater for too long - that first gasp that makes you realise how thick the water had been. Like waking from a dream you can't quite remember.

Like… shattering an illusion.

She took a step back. The clarity struck her like ice water. She could think here. The enormity of it made her stomach twist. What had been clouding her mind before? And why did the thought of returning to that haze terrify her as much as it tempted her?

Elysia pressed a hand to her heart, desperately trying to will away that ache that lingered in her chest.

Looking up, she saw her reflection watching her, the fractured edges of the mirrors around it splintering her image into countless fragments. Some stared back with clarity, others with a dazed, almost blissful expression. She reached out toward the nearest shard, then stopped herself, her hand trembling.

‘Lose yourself’…? She recalled Astarion’s words.

The foxes seemed to watch her in silence.

Astarion looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The Ringmaster stared back.

Isn't it funny how, with all these reflections, you can never truly see yourself?

He tilted his head slightly, studying the masked man before him. The sweep of his silver hair, the gleam of his skin, the curve of his lips - all perfect.

As they should be.

He sighed and allowed his gaze to drop, breaking the spell of his own stare.

He was alone.

As he should be.

His eyes fell to his hands. They rested on the dressing table, pale fingers curling loosely around the carved wood. Such pretty lies they weaved tonight.

The silence of the room pressed against his ears, but he welcomed it.

It was better this way.

No expectations. No deceptions.

His hands tightened on the table.

The sound came softly at first. A faint jingling. Like the rattling of bones.

His stomach twisted.

No.

It wasn't his turn.

The sound grew louder, steady and deliberate. The delicate chime of something unnatural.

It can't be my turn.

Mist began to coil at his feet, swirling around his boots. The sickly-sweet scent of it clung to the air.

He'd done the right thing. He'd kept his smile, he’d played his part.

As he always should.

The jingling stopped.

He willed his face into stillness, smooth and unreadable.

A new sound emerged, sharp and distinct.

Tap.

Pause.

Tap.

Pause.

Claws against wood. They tapped slowly against the wooden door frame behind him.

Astarion raised his head slowly, forcing himself to meet his reflection once more.

The Ringmaster. Perfectly composed. Perfectly in control.

A thousand masks, a thousand lies, and somewhere beneath them all, a scream that never ended.

But, in his periphery, he saw him.

Standing in the doorway, motionless, bathed in shadow.

Watching him.

Smiling.

No Pressure Tag List: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary @bite-me-tonight @transparentkittenheart @hfxgamora @bg3-fanfic-reblogs

Masterlist can be found here!

#never not gonna be nervous af when uploading chapters of this haha #there's something about longfics that feels like you're baring your heart and soul #ah well!#hopefully you enjoy #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x female oc #bg3 fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion smut #bg3 #circus au #bg3 au #ringmasterstarion #a tale of fools and tricksters #baldur's gate 3

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koffeesfancy · 4 months ago

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13. "that's not the point" | Riri Williams x Reader

Summary: For the first time tonight, you realized just how deep you were in this.

Rating : Mature (for language)

Genre: Romance, angst

Word Count: 1001

A/N: Back with another installment of the Thug Riri universe, lol. The word count for this is a bit longer, although I intended for this series to have very short chapters. Whatevs. Interactions always appreciated. <3

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright @onyxstones-world @pvnks0ul

The night had started perfectly. You and Riri had been out for hours, laughing and holding hands like you used to in the old days. She’d taken you to a little Italian spot, one of those candle-lit restaurants that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world. She kept smiling at you, that mischievous glint in her eyes, making you remember why you’d fallen for her in the first place. For the first time in months, everything felt right. Riri was back to being the girl you’d known when you first started dating—the girl who brought you flowers for no reason and planned surprises just to see you smile.

Now, as she drove you through a fancy neighborhood with big houses and manicured lawns, your heart was light, almost weightless. You watched the streetlights flash by, the rows of expensive homes looking like something out of a dream. Riri had one hand on the wheel of the Charger, the other resting comfortably on your thigh.

“One day,” she said, her voice soft but full of confidence, “I’mma buy you a house better than all these.”

You glanced at her, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah? Better than all of ‘em?”

“You already know,�� she replied, squeezing your leg gently. “You think I’mma let us live in that tiny ass apartment forever? Nah, baby. I’mma get us something real nice. Somewhere you can have that big-ass kitchen you always talking ‘bout.”

Your chest tightened, but in a good way. She was talking about the future again, like she used to before everything got messy. For a moment, you let yourself believe it—let yourself imagine a life where Riri made good on her promises, where the two of you could leave the struggle behind and live the life you’d both dreamed of.

Riri leaned over and kissed you at a stop sign, her lips soft and warm, filling you with that same old rush you’d almost forgotten. For a second, you were lost in it, in her, and it felt like everything was finally turning around.

But then there was a tap on the window, cutting through the moment like a cold blade. You both froze. Slowly, Riri rolled down the window, revealing the police officer standing outside, flashlight in hand.

“License and registration, please,” the officer said, his tone stiff.

Riri’s demeanor shifted in an instant, her easy confidence replaced by something sharper. “Oh, uh, this my cousin car,” she said smoothly, grabbing a folder out of the glove box. “I’m just borrowing it for the night.”

You glanced at her, your stomach tightening. The officer took the files and stepped back toward his vehicle, giving you both a moment. Riri’s hand immediately shot to the console, lifting the top tray and digging in the bottom until she pulled out a large bag of weed, shoving it into your lap with urgency.

“Put this in your panties,” she hissed, her voice low but insistent.

Your heart stopped. “Are you fucking serious right now, Ri?” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Riri’s eyes were wide, her face tight with frustration. “Just do it, aight? Ain’t no time to argue.”

You stared at the bag in your lap, your mind spinning. How the hell had things gone from perfect to this so fast? Your hands trembled as you stared at her, but she gave you a hard look, leaving no room for debate. With a deep breath, you did as she said, flipping up your skirt to tuck the bag into your underwear, the weight of it making your skin crawl.

The officer returned, shining the light in the car again, his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long. “Everything alright here?”

“Yeah, we good, officer,” Riri said with a tight smile. “Just out for a drive.”

The officer squinted, clearly suspicious, but after a tense few moments, he handed the paperwork back and waved you off. “Drive safe.”

As soon as he walked away, Riri put the car in gear and sped off, her shoulders finally relaxing. You, on the other hand, were shaking, your mind still stuck on what had just happened. Riri turned to you, grinning like nothing was wrong.

“See? I told you I got us. Ain’t nothing happen,” she said, but you could barely hear her over the sound of your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.

You stared at her in disbelief. “Nothing happened? Ri, what the fuck was that? You almost had me locked up. Again!”

Riri scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Chill, Ma. I got us outta there, didn’t I? Ain’t no reason to trip.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, your voice rising with anger. “You don’t get it, do you? You always doing shit like this, putting us in danger, and then acting like it’s fine because we didn’t get caught.”

Riri’s face hardened. “We didn’t get caught though, so what you mad for? I did what I had to do to keep us safe. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “I can’t do this no more, Riri. I’m not tryna end up back in jail. I’m done.”

As soon as you got back to the apartment, you headed for the closet, grabbing a bag and stuffing it with clothes. Riri watched you for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“And where the fuck you think you going?” she asked, her voice low, almost a growl.

“I’m going to stay with my homegirl for a while. I need space.”

Before you could react, Riri stormed over and snatched the bag out of your hands, her grip tight and angry. “Nah, you ain’t going nowhere. You stayin’ right here.”

You pulled back, your heart racing. “Riri—”

“Ain’t no Riri,” she snapped. “You mine. You ain’t leaving me.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time tonight, you realized just how deep you were in this.

#wlw #sapphic #wlw post #riri williams #riri williams x reader #fictober24 #fictober 2024 #fictober

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lvllns · 3 months ago

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She is falling.

This is not new, the sensation of weightlessness as the ground slips from beneath her bare feet. Slick rock, wet from the river that pours behind her back, and an unsteady gait are a dangerous combination. She has not quite yet mastered how to maneuver the wilds with one less arm. Constantly reaching out to steady herself with a hand that no longer exists in flesh and bone.

(Sometimes she still feels the fingers. Tendons and ligaments desperate to feel the weight of her bow between them once more.)

So when Navain becomes unsteady and extends her left arm, she finds herself staring at the stump beneath her elbow as the world vanishes.

“Shit.”

She is falling.

Fast, too fast even. Smooth rock gives way to sand gives way to dirt gives way to water again. Navain inhales, gulps of air before her head is submerged. Swallowed by the sea.

Wait.

The sea?

Navain blinks. Opens her mouth and inhales. Air floods her body, scattered bits of saltwater on her tongue. She is no longer falling. She is swimming, or, well, treading water. Eyes on her. She can feel them, she knows them. They are familiar and if she would turn to look, she is sure there would be a brief flash of purple before inky black devoured them.

She is falling.

Up this time at least. Out of the water, cresting the surface and there is sand beneath her feet. Fine grains warm against her soles as she sighs. Runs her left hand through her hair and ah. Navain holds her arm out in front of her. Wiggles her fingers. Swallows hard as she feels her eyes go a little bit wet. It has only been four months and the adjustment, if she is being kind to herself, has been…rough. The hunter, the assassin, the archer who could pin an enemy to the wall through their eye socket has been defanged.

Harding has spoken to her about a prosthetic, something laced with magic that pulses and moves, but Navain cannot bring herself to do it. To wear it. So she embraces the wound, the missing part of her, and sometimes sits in her dreams to look at her whole hand. The bumps of her knuckles, the freckles that dot her skin, nails a bit longer than they should be because she was always terrible about keeping them in shape. Even her pinky turns in at the top and she cannot do this.

The waking world burns in her throat and the dreaming world envelopes her in warmth and she knows it is him. That familiar warmth of his magic draping over her like the furs he would lay over her when they were out and she began to shiver. Huddled in a tent, frowning and reading missives and forgetting to layer up and forgetting to eat because the world watches her waiting for any kind of misstep. Shivering, teeth clattering, jumping when a wolf pelt (it was always the fucking wolf pelt) settles, tickling her ear lobes and sticking to her back. A gentle hand to the top of her head, fingers threading through her hair for just a moment, so fast she believes she imagined it and—

She is falling.

The tent springs up around her, a small pile of letters and guttering candles. Wind whistling, Navain can smell the cold sharpness of snow outside. She does not know where she is, when she is. Deep breath. Another. One more before she pokes her head out, glancing around camp and she sees him.

Broad shoulders shift as he moves, turning away from her—away—and she chokes on his name. Honey thick, it is stuck in her throat. Her tongue does not remember how to form the vowels, the consonants, the word for pride has been lost to her.

His ears look the same. The tips sharp enough to cut her finger on. His waist, his hips, his thighs. Green breeches, linen shirt, his feet wrapped in leather. He looks the same and so different and she knows she will not get another chance to see him. That this has been a miscalculation on his part. He lingered a moment too long, just a split second of indecision, and he revealed himself to her.

Time is odd in dreams.

He explained this to her. A few times. She never truly understood but she does now. Watching this moment take fifteen years as neither of them move nor speak. Her breathing goes shallow, unsteady, soft and quiet. He is so stiff and unmoving and everything hurts. Her heart hurts. Her eyes hurt and she is crying, she can feel the tears on her cheeks.

“How am I supposed to let you go if you never let me be?”

Cracks and breaks and the way your voice goes thick with unshed tears. Navain’s voice shatters the moment. Vase exploding on the kitchen floor and—

Wolf fur tickles her ear lobes.

She is falling.

#reed.txt #writing tag #dragon age #this is solavellan okay let me. let me live.#this has NOTHING to do with veilguard u do not need to worry about spoilers #i locked in and wrote this in like. 30 minutes.#navain x solas

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soulofapatrick · 11 months ago

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I Know Who You Are - Raphael Santiago x female reader

Summary: Simon manages to sneak Raphael into the institute for you

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: none really

Notes: I'm falling into a shadowhunters phase oof

Y/N’s POV

As I collapse onto my bed in the Institute, the weight of the day’s revelations presses down on me like a leaden cloak, suffocating and relentless. Tears stream down my cheeks, tracing paths of anguish as the truth echoes relentlessly in my mind, a discordant melody of disbelief and confusion.

Carstairs. Brother Zachariah. My father.

The words, once distant whispers of a past shrouded in mystery, now thunder through my consciousness with the force of a revelation. I clutch at the sheets beneath me, seeking solace in their solidarity as my world trembles on its axis.

Outside my door, Simon’s voice calls out, a lifeline in the storm of emotions, “Open the door Y/N, please let me in.”

The plea in Simon's voice tugs at my heartstrings, a poignant reminder of the bond that binds us together as parabatai. With a heavy sigh, I push myself upright, the weight of guilt settling like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach. Simon knows me better than anyone, his empathy a double-edged sword that cuts through the facade I so desperately cling to.

As Simon’s sigh resonates through the room, a pang of guilt tightens my chest. I can sense his frustration and hurt, his desire to help me, but also his understanding that sometimes, despite our bond, there are wounds too deep for even a parabatai to heal. With a heavy heart, I listen ass his footsteps retreat down the corridor, leaving me alone with my tumultuous thoughts.

Alone in the quiet of my room, I succumb to the weight of my emotions, allowing the tears to flow freely as I sink back onto the bed again. The darkness presses in around me, a suffocating shroud that threatens to consume me whole. Despite my best efforts to push them away, memories of the day's revelations dance behind my closed eyelids, taunting me with their impossible truth. The image of Brother Zachariah, his face a mask of sorrow and regret as he revealed the truth of my lineage, burns bright against the canvas of my mind.

But amidst the chaos of my thoughts, exhaustion creeps in like a thief in the night, stealing away the last vestiges of my resistance. As my eyelids grow heavy and my breathing slows, I surrender to the embrace of sleep, seeking refuge in its comforting embrace. In the quiet of my dreams, the pain and confusion of the day melt away, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility. For a fleeting moment, I am weightless, free from the burdens that weigh me down in the waking world.

I must have fallen into a fitful sleep as I wake with a start, a cold hand caressing my hair and soft words being whispered. I sit up with a shout of surprise, my heart pounding in my chest as I register the unexpected presence of Raphael. His dark eyes, pools of shadow in the dimly lit room, search my face with a mixture of concern and understanding.

“Raphael?” I whisper, my voice barely a breath against the backdrop of the night, “Where are you doing here?”

He offers me a small, reassuring smile before scooting up the bed to sit beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions, “Seems Simon has a way with blondie.” He murmurs, his voice a soothing murmur against the silence of the room, “I thought you could use the company.”

His words catch me off guard, a glimmer of gratitude flickering to life amidst the turmoil of my thoughts. Despite our differences and the tensions that often simmer between our worlds, Raphael has always had a knack for offering unexpected kindness in moments of need.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the words barely audible above the steady rhythm of my heartbeat, “I… I appreciate it.”

Raphael’s gaze softens, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that binds us together in this moment of vulnerability. I turn my head to study Raphael, the subtle play of shadows dancing across his angular face in the dim light of the room. There’s a quiet strength in the set of his jaw, a sense of resolve in the depths of his dark eyes that draws me in despite my best efforts to resist.

Raphael’s physical presence is a study in contrasts, a blend of strength and vulnerability that captivates me despite my attempts to keep my emotions in check. His jeans fit him snugly, accentuating the lean lines of his frame, while his T-shirt hugs his torso in all the right places, hinting at the toned muscles beneath. With each movement, the fabric stretches and shifts, offering tantalising glimpses of the chiseled abs that lie beneath.

His jacket hangs casually on the back of the chair across the room, a stark contrast to the precision with which he carries himself. It’s a testament to his effortless confidence, a reminder that even in the face of uncertainty, Raphael remains steadfast and composed.

His pale skin seems to glow in the soft light of the room, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounds us. There's a vitality to him, a vibrancy that belies the fact that his heart no longer beats in his chest. Despite the absence of a pulse, he exudes an aura of quiet intensity, a magnetic presence that draws me in with an irresistible pull.

His black hair is a little messier than usual, strands falling across his forehead in a disheveled cascade that only serves to enhance his rugged appeal. There's a rawness to him, a rawness that speaks to the depth of his emotions and the complexity of his character.

In this moment, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, I find myself acutely aware of the warmth of his presence beside me, the steady rhythm of his breath, despite him not needing to breathe, a comforting cadence in the stillness of the room. And as I take in the sight of him, something shifts within me, a subtle realignment of my emotions that leaves me reeling in its wake.

Gone is the ache of my shattered illusions, replaced instead by a longing, a hearing for the vampire sitting next to me with a small, enigmatic smile playing on his pale and oh so kissable lips. It’s a realisation that catches me off guard, this sudden surge of attraction that pulses through me like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

But amidst the chaos of my thoughts, one thing remains clear: there’s something undeniably magnetic about Raphael, something that draws me to him in a way I can’t quite explain And as I meet his gaze, a silent understanding passes between us, an unspoken acknowledgment of the tangled web of emotions that binds us together in this moment of vulnerability.

With a trembling breath, I reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, the touch of my fingertips against his cold skin sends a shiver down my spine. And as our eyes meet, locked in a silent exchange of longing and desire, I know that this is the moment that can make or break this weird bond.

As I cup Raphael’s cheek in the palm of my hand, feeling the coolness of his skin beneath my fingertips, a rush of anticipation courses through me, singing with the raw intensity of our shared desire. His dark eyes seem to seeping in hue as I brush my thumb across his plump bottom lip, a silent invitation hanging heavy in the air between us.

“If you do this…” He doesn’t finish the warning, both of us knowing, sending a shiver down my spine, a potent mixture of fear and longing swirling within me. There’s a finality to his words, a recognition of the irreversible shift that this moment represents. But despite the uncertainty that tugs at the edges of my resolve, I know that I can’t ignore the pull of the connection that binds us together.

With a trembling breath, I lean forward, closing the distance between us until our lips are mere inches apart. The air crackles with tension, electric and charged with the promise of what’s to come.

And then, with a boldness that surprises even myself, I take the plunge, pressing my trembling lips to his in a tentative kiss. At first, there’s a hesitation in his response, a flicker of uncertainty that lingers in the space between us. But, as if a dam has been unleashed, Raphael meets my kiss with a hunger that sets my soul ablaze. His lips move against mine with a desperate urgency, a silent plea for more as he pulls me closer, his hands tangling in my hair with a possessiveness that leaves me breathless.

As Raphael responds to my kiss with a fervour that ignites every nerve ending in my body, I feel myself melting into his embrace, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of our desires. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he lays me down, his body fitting over mine as if we were made for each other, our limbs entwining in a seamless dance of passion and longing.

His lips continue to move against mine with a hunger that borders on desperation, a silent plea for more as he explores every inch of my mouth with a fervent intensity. The taste of him is like a drug, addictive and intoxicating, leaving me dizzy with desire as I lose myself in the heat of the moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressing against mine, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of our clothes. His touch is electrifying, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me as his hands roam over my body with a reverence that leaves me breathless.

And then there's the scent of him, a heady combination of musk and spice that fills my senses, leaving me intoxicated with lust. It's a scent that I know I'll never forget, a tantalising reminder of the passion that burns between us.

In this moment, with Raphael's lips on mine and his body pressed against mine, I feel more alive than I ever have before. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word sends waves of pleasure crashing over me, threatening to consume me whole.

And as I lose myself in the intensity of our connection, I realize that I can't seem to get enough of him. He's become my addiction, my obsession, the one thing that I crave above all else.

“I can deal with being a Carstairs if you stay with me.” I gasp, pulling away as unlike vampires I had to breathe.

As Raphael's lips ghost over my pulse point, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me, I feel my heart race erratically in my chest. His words wash over me like a soothing balm, a reassurance that transcends the weight of my newfound identity.

"I don't care if you're a Carstairs or not. I know who you are," he murmurs against my skin, his breath sending tingles of electricity dancing along my nerves. In that moment, with Raphael's lips pressed against my neck and his arms wrapped around me, I feel seen, understood, and accepted in a way I've never experienced before.

But the sudden interruption of reality crashes down upon us like a wave, breaking the spell of intimacy that had enveloped us. I pull away from Raphael’s embrace, gasping for breath as the need for air overwhelms me. His dark eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of concern and understanding,

“We should probably get some sleep," he suggests softly, his voice a soothing melody in the silence of the room. "It sounds like Simon and Alec want to tear my throat out currently for touching you.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips at his words, a silent acknowledgment of the complications that come with our newfound connection. With a nod of agreement, I settle back against the pillows, feeling Raphael's warmth beside me like a comforting embrace. As sleep begins to claim me once more, I find solace in the knowledge that despite the challenges that lie ahead, I have Raphael by my side, a constant source of strength and support in a world that often feels uncertain and unforgiving

And as I drift into the realm of dreams, I know that tomorrow will bring new challenges and obstacles to overcome. But for now, in the quiet of the night, I allow myself to simply be, to exist in this moment of connection and possibility, where the boundaries between friend and something more blur and fade into the ether. With Raphael by my side, I know that whatever lies ahead, we'll face it together, bound by an unbreakable bond forged in the fires of adversity.

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

#raphael santiago x reader #raphael santiago #the mortal instruments #raphael santiago x you #raphael santiago x y/n #raphael santiago smut #raphael santiago fluff #raphael santiago agnst #raphael santiago angst #raphael santiago tmi #David castro #shadowhunters #shadowhunters tv #downworlders

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grimoirey · 4 months ago

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🌬️ The Air Journey 🌬️

Visualization:

Journey to the Realm of Air

Let’s take a journey to the realm of air—a place of lightness, freedom, and clarity. This visualization will connect you with the wisdom of the Air Spirit and the qualities of openness, perspective, and inspiration.

🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀

Preparation and Centering

Begin by settling into a comfortable position and closing your eyes. Take a few gentle breaths, feeling each inhale and exhale fill you with a sense of lightness. Imagine the air around you becoming fresh and cool, filling you with clarity and openness. With each breath, feel yourself growing lighter, more expansive, as if you’re preparing to take flight.

Opening the Gateway of Air

As your breath deepens, you begin to feel a gentle breeze swirling around you, soft and inviting. With each inhale, the breeze becomes stronger, until you’re surrounded by a soft vortex of wind. You feel it lifting you slightly, as if carrying you upward. Slowly, you let yourself rise, following the wind as it spirals higher and higher, guiding you into a new, ethereal realm.

Entering the Skies of the Air Realm

You find yourself suspended in an endless sky, surrounded by soft, drifting clouds. The air here is fresh and filled with a subtle hum, like the sound of wind moving through trees. You float effortlessly, weightless and free, feeling the gentle currents of air lift and carry you. Birds glide around you, wings outstretched, moving with graceful ease. Above you, the sky shifts in shades of soft blue, lavender, and gold, creating a sense of vast openness and possibility.

Finding the Heart of the Air Realm

As you drift through the sky, you feel a gentle pull guiding you forward. Soon, you come to a clearing in the clouds where the air feels particularly alive, charged with an energy that seems to hum through every particle around you. In the center of this space, a figure begins to emerge—a form composed of swirling winds and soft light, constantly shifting yet stable, embodying the essence of freedom and clarity.

Meeting the Spirit of Air

The Air Spirit stands before you, its form graceful and ethereal, radiating a presence both light and powerful. Its energy feels like a gentle breeze, yet also like a forceful wind capable of sweeping across vast distances. The spirit gazes at you, eyes clear and bright, filled with wisdom as ancient as the skies themselves. When it speaks, its voice is soft, carrying a clarity and lightness that resonates within you.

The Wisdom of Air

The Air Spirit’s voice flows through you, a melody of freedom and perspective. “I am the breath of life, the bringer of inspiration. To walk with air is to move with openness, to embrace the power of change and adaptability. Let yourself flow with life’s currents, to see with fresh eyes, and to find beauty in the unknown.”

Its gaze grows brighter, as it reveals a deeper truth. “Air teaches you to release what you no longer need, to let go of burdens that weigh you down. Just as the wind clears the skies, so too should you let go of limiting thoughts and beliefs. Release them, and you will make space for new ideas, new dreams, new ways of seeing.”

The spirit’s presence feels like a gentle breeze around you, lifting your spirit. “Remember, clarity comes from perspective. Rise above your worries, and see them from the height of the skies. With each challenge, each thought, step back, rise above, and see the bigger picture. There, in the vastness, you will find your peace and your path.”

Receiving a Gift of Air

The Air Spirit extends a hand, and within it, a delicate feather appears, glowing softly with a silvery light. You take the feather, feeling its lightness and energy of freedom. “This feather is a gift,” the spirit says. “It holds the essence of air’s wisdom. Let it remind you to rise above, to flow freely, and to open yourself to inspiration and clarity.”

Returning to the Physical World

The Air Spirit gently dissolves back into the swirling winds, merging with the endless sky. You feel the breeze around you once more, guiding you back along your path, carrying you softly down. The realm of air begins to fade as you feel yourself gently returning, the lightness of the sky giving way to the familiar world.

Grounding and Reflecting

Take a few deep breaths, feeling the sensation of air filling your lungs. Bring your awareness back to your physical body, feeling solid and present. Gently wiggle your fingers and toes, grounding yourself in the present moment.

🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀

When you open your eyes, hold the gift of the feather close in your heart—a reminder to be open, to flow, and to see the world with a fresh perspective. Carry the spirit of air within you, letting its wisdom guide you to clarity and inspiration in all that you do.

Other Elemental Journeys:

💫 Spirit Journey

🔥 Fire Journey

🏔️ Earth Journey

🌊 Water Journey

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hisui-dreamer · 2 years ago

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serenade of serenity

Pairing: Riddle Rosehearts x gn!reader

Synopsis: Despite everything, he had found himself a love as gentle and comforting as a warm embrace, and he couldn't be more grateful.

Tags: fluff, drabble, reader has hair, bot proofread

Word count: 644

Notes: just some self-indulgent riddle fluff hehe

Masterlist

"Riddle..."

A fond smile graced Riddle's lips as your slumbering form stirred, murmuring his name in a hazy dream. You were right next to him, your arms curled up on the desk as you slept. The warmth of your body was a gentle, comforting heat that suffused through his own as he bent studiously over his work, the only sound to be heard in the room was the soft rustle of pages turning and your gentle breathing. His gaze would often flicker up from his notes and settle on the peaceful expression on your face, as if he couldn't help but be drawn to the tranquility that seemed to radiate from you.

He admired the way your hair fell perfectly over your face, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and the way your lips parted slightly as they slept. He felt a sense of contentment that he had never experienced before, grateful for your understanding of his working habits. Though he could be overwhelming at times, you never failed to offer a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on. While you may not have shared the same perspective as him, you always made an effort to understand where he was coming from.

As he finished his work and turned off the lamp, he tenderly wrapped his arms around his sleeping lover and lifted you up, your weight a comforting anchor against his chest. He could feel your warmth seeping through his skin, like a cozy hearth on a cold winter night. With each careful step towards the bed, Riddle felt your body press against his own. He felt a powerful urge to protect you, to keep you safe from the harsh realities of the world beyond your cocoon of blankets.

Riddle's touch was as light as a feather as he laid your body onto the soft bedding. He pulled the covers up around you like a warm embrace, tucking you in with care, making sure you were comfortable and warm from the night's chill.

The dim light of the room cast a gentle glow over your face, revealing a serene expression that made Riddle's heart skip a beat. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, the touch as soft as rose petals.

Right as he turned to leave, he felt a sudden tug on his shirt sleeve. He turned back, drawn to your sleeping form, and saw your hand outstretched towards him, beckoning him to you.

Caught between the desire to respect your peaceful slumber and the pull of his own heartstrings, Riddle felt his own hand gravitate towards yours, gently interlocking his fingers with yours as if they were two puzzle pieces meant to fit together.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should disturb your peaceful slumber. But then he saw the content smile on your face, and he knew that he couldn't resist.

With utmost care, he climbed into the bed beside you, feeling your body shift slightly as he settled in. Riddle wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close, relishing the sensation of your head resting on his chest. His heart swelled with love as he felt the softness of your breathing against his skin and the gentle beating of their heart. He felt as though he were floating on a cloud, weightless and free from the constraints of the world.

It was as if each caress, each sensation, was a note in a symphony of tenderness, building up to a crescendo of pure, unadulterated love. Riddle felt his worries and fears slip away as he surrendered himself to the intimacy and comfort of your embrace, cherishing the moment and the person before him.

With a gentle sigh, Riddle closed his eyes and let himself relax into your embrace, your steady heartbeat gently lulling him to sleep.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland riddle

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saccharine-serpent · 22 days ago

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Closed RP W/ @abyssalmarked / @izzyfromdeadspace

How long had it been? He couldn’t remember, time was a hazy thing and fickle like sand held in the hand; it trickled between his fingers and bled away into obscurity along the beach. He had been earthbound for so long until a group of humans took it upon themselves to take his home for their own, binding him in a coffin of black stone, the surface black and glasslike, it shimmered and reflected light as if trapped within only to fade into darkness. His body began to shut down to preserve itself, time would not touch him and so he fell into slumber.

A slumber in which he was thrust into an abyss, a deep sea of horrors and monstrosities, of endless night and the deepest forests. A sea of black trees enveloped him until he too became overgrown with moss, riddled with fungi and growths. He was subject to whispers and stalking predators as prey, he dreamt of monstrosities unimaginable and nights so cold they bit. Eyes ever watching in the trees and the skies, the shadows rippled and flowed like water amongst rotten roots and lush growths formed from constant decay. He behold an eternity of oblivion, the end of all things… Until his stone coffin, contents forgotten by age, was sold left his homeworld far away as a mere antiquity.

This antiquity found its new home in an estate luscious and grand, as intricate the stone had warped into wonderful shapes growing from dreams of the deep. But one fateful day in an act of the establishment owner’s devotion, to the very being he dreamt in the bowels of, the casket became soaked with blood that seeped through the cracks. Crimson life stained the ancient vampires lips and woke him from what would have been eternal slumber, falling he woke desperately starving lapping and hungering for the sweet relief of food. Stone cracked and hummed, the marker it’s kindred lit up a deep verdant green the scent of the deep forests rolled as a fog of thick cold air spread from the crumbling coffin before stone erupted violently and scattered around, form revealed the vampire freed.

Floating and weightless, hazy from eons of slumber, he was bathed in the light of the marker and touched by the void he dreamt in for so long. Connections rooted so deep they were nigh inseparable, the whispers still hushed to his ears that twitched before he landed and sank to his knees breathing crisp air shaky and cold. Finally free… At least that’s how it should have been. Instead weakness swallowed him and more time bled by, but droplets of moments, foreign words lost to him and hands pulling and holding his lift form aloft. Sweet suffering woke him next, pure agony having him scream as metal tore his back asunder, metal and tech woven into tender flesh. His world and life, his dreams and voices howled and flashed, memories of his own and something far greater then him bursting through his mind like divine vision.

The sound of the cane snapped him to, the vampire stood like a ghostly figure by the window draped in black and reds of the deepest hue, serpentines eyes cold stared at his new captivity, his owner so he was told. Cruel metal curled up his neck and face, coiling around his ribs and sides, encasing his back. The vampire crossed his arms over his chest, the gaping open front of the dress just like the mouth of the god they both served. “ What dost thou want from thy now? ” He hissed out, curt and cruel, he despised this man who thought he was nothing but property. This man who caged him in a way other than stone; gods he hated humans and would eagerly await their ends, he was tired of being trapped, tired of being a hidden trophy for sick obsession.

#// fanged serpent //#// abyssalmarked #// izzyfromdeadspace #full of venom // ic #// start

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nathanieldorsky · 26 days ago

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Explanation of the films listed as Original Kodachrome only

This separate series of films, listed within my filmography, are films that are not quite films as such, but are, in their own way, very special and a total delight for the eye when projected as camera Kodachrome original.

My attempts to print these films was not very successful and I observed that much of their charm came from seeing them projected as camera original Kodachrome. In fact, these films are a bit more like journals rather than films as such, and their original Kodachrome nature is appropriate for their genre and syntax.

Two are travel films in the traditional home movie sense. Another is a purification journal upon the passing of Stan Brakhage. Two of them, that are the most complex, are made from scraps and out-takes of films shot in Kodachrome. And finally there is a portrait of Nick Hoff, who assisted me in writing Devotional Cinema, a portrait that preceded my portrait films made a few years later.

The reason I am not making these films available for rental is simply that every projection of them could be their last. Once these films are scratched or damaged they are gone, and in most cases not repairable.

I have only shown them publicly a few times in the Maya Deren theater at the Anthology Film Archive in New York where they have a most excellent James Bond projector and archival level technicians to project them.

Lux Perpetua I (2000-2002 / 2016, 23 min) Original Kodachrome only Lux Perpetua II (1999-2002 / 2016, 31 min) Original Kodachrome only

Other Archer (2003 / 2016, 9 min) Original Kodachrome only

Death of a Poet (2003 / 2016, 21 min) Original Kodachrome only

Ossuary (1995-2005 / 2016, 43 min) Original Kodachrome only

Dreams Reveal a Weightless World (2016 / 2024, 23 minutes) Original Kodachrome only

The filmography page, along with the listings on this page, have direct links to the stills, the technical information, and Nathaniel’s descriptions of each of these films.

#nathaniel dorsky #kodachrome #Lux Perpetua I #Lux Perpetua II #other archer #death of a poet #ossuary #Dreams Reveal a Weightless World

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somepsychopomp · 1 year ago

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toxic yuri custody battle pt. 1

As promised, I'm trying to write a fic where bubblegum and marcy survive the fall at the end of The Star and Bonnie is stuck raising Finn.

This first chapter is just to set up the rest of the fic but in the future, I'd love for Bonnie to get intensely attached to Finn & for Marcy to constantly threaten to turn him just to get back at Bonnie (and maybe she likes them both despite them being prey...)

(There will also be lots of rage-filled toxic love/hate yuri)

Excerpt:

“...you could join me…”

All day, the only thing Bonnie could hear was The Star’s mocking tone echoing in her dome.

Her knuckles were bruised dark pink from punching vampires and, more than once, her own tank out of frustration. Repairs were going painfully slow, far longer than the original sixteen hours that Tank originally proposed. After all, she was working alone, was still recovering from her injuries, and had to handle attacks from stray vampires foolish enough to consider her easy prey.

And then there was the child.

Word count: 1822

+++

Bonnie only barely escaped with her life.

Her plan gone to shit, the fall, The Star…

In those moments of weightlessness, she was ready to accept her own death in exchange for The Star’s demise. When she was young, she had visions of rebuilding the world after the extinction of the vampires at her hand. A permanent home, perhaps even her own nation. Peace and prosperity under a blue sky.

But with the non-vampiric population crashing, with all plant life withering and dying out from the endless dark skies, Bonnie was willing to lay her dreams to rest along with every other ally she watched perish.

She was ready to put this all behind her.

But she didn’t die in the fall. And she couldn’t kill The Star, either.

The horde of vampires sent to save their princess pulled Marceline from Bonnie’s grip and left her to plummet to her death. Before she could think, her centuries of survival instincts kicked in and she unsheathed two of her stakes. Bonnie gouged them into the side of the vampire hive to slow her fall before making her escape into the decrepit tunnels and sewer system below.

The vampire drones chased her, of course. They sought vengeance for their princess and the approval of their king.

But even then, Bonnie refused to die. She returned to her tank with her clothes in tatters, none of her stakes or other weapons remaining. Covering in wounds oozing sugary syrup.

All she wanted was the armored safety of her tank. What she didn’t expect was that damned child.

“Ah, ma’am!” the Tank A.I. said, “Your heart rate is erratic and you are bearing at least five wounds that will require immediate-”

“Can it!” she said. Bonnie could feel her hands shaking. She walked past the baby playing on the floor, almost stepping on him. The interior of the tank was listing from side to side. Or was that her?

The panels within her mobile home slid open to reveal their stockpile of medical supplies. She sat herself in the little alcove and tried to focus on what to do next. Bonnie’s first instinct was to reach for the jet injector already primed with anesthetic.

She hesitated.

When she had a team, she could immediately dose herself with pain killers and trust that either Huntress or Martin would patch her up in her addled state. Now, she had no one.

Without a word, Bonnie grabbed one of the hundreds of stakes they had and clenched it between her teeth. She set to work cleaning and sewing her wounds herself. All the while, Tank kept talking to her. She was updated on the auto-repairs the tank was able to make on its own, primarily to internal systems. But the treads and other exterior damage would take at least two hands to fix. So on and so forth. She wasn’t really paying attention and Tank knew it, too. But it helped to have something fill the silence, something other than her labored breath.

When she was done, the stake she used as a bit was pockmarked with imprints from her teeth. She threw it to the ground, spat out some splinters, and finally allowed herself to reach for the anesthetic.

“Oh, ma’am.”

She snarled and clenched her fist. “What?”

“The baby!”

She looked. In between long and slow blinks, she saw the human child waddle across the floor. He was reaching for the stake. Bonnie didn’t think it was a big deal, she wielded a stake herself the moment she was big enough to hold one. But the pointed end was much sharper than the baby’s discarded toy sword, and because of her biting, the wood had splintered a bit.

Bonnie, unwilling to get up from her seat at the infirmary station, merely kicked the stake farther away. The baby paused and looked at her with bewilderment.

She narrowed her eyes and thought, If you start crying, I sweat to-

Then the child changed course and came right up to her. He put his hands on her bloodied boot and slowly raised himself to his feet. He smiled at her.

“Where… where’s the others?” Bonnie asked. She was beginning to slur her words. One way or another, she wasn’t going to keep awake for much longer. Her wounds and fresh stitches throbbed beneath their itchy bandages.

“What others, ma’am?” Tank asked.

Bonnie swore under her breath. Those strange outsiders from another world, they didn’t make it, then. And they left their fucking baby in her tank.

Tank said, “Please, you need to rest. I can keep watch over Finn.”

She blinked. “Finn?”

“My recordings indicate that at least once, our new friends referred to the child as Finn.”

“Oh,” she said, tired. Bonnie would have to decide how to handle the situation later. She finally injected herself with those blessed drugs and crawled into her sleeping tube. As she began to lose consciousness, Bonnie heard the hydraulic slide of her tube doors opening. She wanted to tell Tank to close them, but she could no longer find her voice.

What she did detect were two chubby hands feeling their way in the cool darkness of her tube, pawing at her dirty boots and ripped pants, before coming to rest near her hip.

Bonnie fell asleep to the sound of her guest’s shallow snoring.

+++

“...you could join me…”

All day, the only thing Bonnie could hear was The Star’s mocking tone echoing in her dome.

And then there was the child.

Against what would usually be her better judgment, Bonnie left the entrance to the tank open. She had to come in and out too frequently to keep it closed, but despite Tank’s best efforts to keep the child occupied, the baby was still determined to crawl outside and get himself killed.

There used to be a good few human settlements at a distance from the vampire hive. A handful with populations in the hundreds. One with a population in the thousands, well guarded and heavily armed. More than one would’ve been happy to take in the baby, to give him to some parent who’d lost their own child to disease or vampires.

But as Bonnie said to The Star, the population was crashing. Had crashed, even. Those settlements were almost all gone now. All that remained in this wasteland were loners and tiny groups of survivors.

There was no one else who could take in the child.

And as much as Bonnie was concerned with the big picture -slaying The Star and the Vampire king, driving their kind to extinction- not even she could simply abandon an infant to the elements.

That still didn’t mean she was happy to have him around. Humans aged slowly, it’d take at least a decade before he’d be able to fight.

Bonnie grunted and heaved as she refitted the tank’s metal plates, ignoring the way the stitches in her side pulled and ached. It wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as when she had to replace the treads or get the tank off its side.

A little voice in the back of her head asked her, what was ten or so years to the hundreds she already lived?

She had survived alone, in groups, as a child, and as an adult. Martin and Huntress and all the allies she had before were all born into this world, too. And they put up a good fight. She still never would’ve condoned bringing a child into this world, but he was already here now. And he was stuck with her as much as she was stuck with him.

A shrill voice giggled behind her. Speak of the devil.

Bonnie raced back to the entrance of the tank and caught the baby before he could tumble over himself. She set him back inside.

“Stay,” she said, as if he were a dog. As if there were any dogs left in this world.

But the baby only cooed at her. He brandished a small, wooden sword and waved it through the air. It looked like a stake that Huntress hadn’t finished whittling, but in the hands of a little kid it might as well have been a mighty blade. Bonnie hadn’t noticed it when she first returned, but her tank was littered with ripped up toys and more than one damaged A.I. sensor.

It seemed like the baby ran out of worthy opponents in the tank and sought a greater challenge elsewhere.

Or he was just restless and Bonnie was merely projecting on him.

The baby babbled his nonsense and seemed to ignore her. He slapped his sword against the floor of the tank as he gazed up at Bonnie.

Then he hiccuped and made a series of alarmed sounds.

Bonnie felt a shiver go down her spine and spun on her heel, stake already sailing through the air.

She missed the vampire that’d snuck up on her. It hissed and lunged, but killing was like second nature to her. Bonnie had another stake in her hand before she knew it and a moment later, the vampire was replaced by a cloud of dust.

“Excellent eye, young man,” Tank said.

Bonnie went to retrieve the stake she threw. “Hey, I was the one who got it.”

She sheathed her weapons and absentmindedly touched her eye-patch. Since losing her eye, she was loath to admit she lost some of her depth perception. Hitting targets at even a mild distance was a little more challenging than she was comfortable with.

So she made up for it by expanding her arsenal and improving her hand to hand combat.

Bonnie returned to the child and picked him up for the very first time, examining him.

He smiled at her, his free hand grabbing at the air. He seemed interested in her pink hair.

“Sugar’s bad for babies,” she said.

The child ignored her.

Bonnie sighed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rebuild her team again, get herself some more people she could rely on.

“Sorry you had to wind up in this world. But maybe…” she said, staring at his innocent eyes, “Maybe you’ll do alright.”

Bonnie would never call herself the nurturing type, but she liked the idea of having someone who could carry on her work if she were ever to bite the big one.

The Vampire King had his ward, maybe what she needed was one of her own.

Letting his fist close around her finger, Bonnie said, “Welcome aboard, Finn the human.”

#fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #princess bubblegum #marceline the vampire queen #bonnibel bubblegum #marceline x bubblegum #bubbline #finn the human #apocalypse au

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potato-girl99981 · 2 years ago

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Don't Let Me Drown: Prologue

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x pilot!reader

Warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of depression in future chapters, eventual smut

Reader's callsign: Valkyrie

I'm lost on the sea

Drifting away

Trying not to drown

In the emptiness of today

You're like a ghost

Hidden beneath the waves

Dancing alone in a dark room

Imagining you're here with me

Words never said

Touches never received

I'm dancing with my ghosts

The ones I've lost and the ones

I've never got to meet

You are only but a shadow

Always dancing next to me

What I would do to finally give in

Let the waves cover me

Sink into the depths of my mind

And never let you go

With every new heartbreak

I feel more and more numb

They all have some of you in them

Your eyes, your smile, your humor

But it's never you

Always disappointed

Heart broken once more

How much can I take?

I fall for people that don't exist

Trying to see a glimpse of you

I see you in every movie I like

Hear you in every song I listen to

I wake up alone in a cold bed

I fall asleep, afraid of the silence

Because I can't hear you breathing next to me

Are you still out there somewhere?

Sometimes I fear

That we are not meant to be

Forever searching

But I don't even know your name

I don't know your face

But still you're always there

In stranger's gaze, in friend's joke

A line in the book, a note in the song

Stories that never came true

Dreams long forgotten

The depths are calling me

Cold and dark

Singing my name

I feel you in my dreams

Always present

But never revealed

The pain in my chest growing

With every breath I take

Without you by my side

Sometimes I want to know

If you feel the same

Do I also haunt your dreams?

Call out to me

And I will find my way

Every night is a new dive

Deep into my mind

I'm trying to find you

But it's too dark

The water's too cold

Are you even real?

Year after year

I'm losing hope

Losing myself in those moments

That I get to spend with you

When the sky is dark

and my eyes are closed.

Never fully living, only existing

A prisoner of my own imagination

I would do anything

To finally find you

Before the waves take me

Dance for the last time

Words finally said

Touches finally recieved

Taking my last breath

Drowning in the feeling

-----

The ocean was her sanctuary. Its depths were where she found peace, a respite from the chaos and noise of the world above. As a naval aviator, (y/n), callsign Valkyrie, was no stranger to danger and excitement, but beneath the waves, everything was different. The world was slower, quieter, and infinitely more serene.

She descended deeper and deeper, the pressure building around her as she swam. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of her heart, a steady metronome in the darkness. She felt weightless, free from the constraints of gravity and the expectations of others. In this moment, she was alone, and that was exactly how she wanted it.

Valkyrie had always been drawn to the water. As a child, she would spend hours swimming in the lake near her home, losing herself in the cool embrace of the current. It was there that she first discovered her love of diving, of plunging into the unknown and exploring the mysteries of the deep.

Now, as a trained and seasoned naval aviator, she returned to the water whenever she could. It was a reminder of her humanity, a way to reconnect with her true self amidst the chaos of military life.

As she dove, the world around her grew darker, the sunlight fading away into obscurity. But she was not afraid. In fact, she welcomed the darkness, the sense of isolation and solitude that it brought. She felt alive in a way that was difficult to describe, connected to the universe in a way that transcended words.

For a moment, she forgot about everything else. The call back to Top Gun, the fear that came with each mission, the weight of expectation that always seemed to be on her shoulders. In the depths of the ocean, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the moment, the quiet and the calm, the sense of absolute freedom.

As Valkyrie continued to dive, she felt herself losing touch with the world above. Her body felt lighter, her mind clearer, as though the water was washing away all of her fears and doubts. She knew that she would eventually have to return to reality, to the chaos and noise of her everyday life. But for now, in this moment, she was content to simply exist, to be at one with the ocean and the universe beyond.

But then, as Valkyrie began to ascend, the weight of her reality hit her like a ton of bricks. She thought about coming back to Top Gun, the adrenaline, the pressure of flying a fighter jet. She thought about the danger, the stakes, the constant need to prove herself. And she realized that in some ways, freediving was a metaphor for her life as a naval aviator.

Just like in the deep, she had to constantly push herself to go deeper, to go faster, to go further. She had to navigate the unknown, the darkness, the pressure. And just like in the deep, she sometimes forgot about the world around her, about the people who loved her, about the things that truly mattered.

Valkyrie couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as she broke the surface of the water. She had found peace in the deep, but it was a fleeting peace. She was a naval aviator, and she would always be a naval aviator. She couldn't escape that reality, no matter how deep she dove or how long she held her breath.

As she swam back to shore, the weight of her reality settled over her like a shroud. She knew that she would have to return to Top Gun, to the call signs, to the danger and the pressure. She knew that she would have to put on her mask, her helmet, her flight suit, and become Valkyrie once again

#glen powell #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick fic #hangman fic #jake seresin fic #don't let me drown

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kiliinstinct · 1 year ago

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Chapter 22:

Rating: R for mentions of Blood from Wounds Pairing: Nalu FF.Net || AO3 [Ch: 1] ||| [Prev] | [Next] - Next Update: October 15th

---

He hazily thought he was in a dream.

Listless and floating in a blank expanse. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not. No light existed, but he suspected he wouldn’t need it.

There was nothing to see. Nothing to feel. Just a yawning emptiness that wrapped around him, held him still and deadened his limbs as it slowly crawled within, filling him with the same hollowing void. The chill of the air held barely touched his senses. Licking at the edge of his skin, the waning heat of his own body protected him from its freeze.

In that great nothingness, Natsu felt peace. It washed over him in a drowsy wave like high tide.

Then again… perhaps not.

Something tickled the edge of his senses. The faintest whisper beckoned to his conscious, an insistent prickling that demanded his attention. His head felt full, too heavy as he strained his eyes in search, weakly trying to catch sight of anything.

After a lifetime in the darkness, he saw a dim light that faintly glimmered at the edges of his half-lidded eyes; It was gentle, wiping away the darkness that covered him in sweeping waves of blue. It pulled at the hollowness carved into his chest with each calming thrum. And with each pulse the light the expanse seemed to sigh as it melted away from his vision. It slowly released its hold on him after every beat. His eyes snapped open, wide and fearful when it stopped.

Terror clawed at his heart without it.

He- he needed it back. That calming, gentle light, but when he tried to shout and beg for its return, all he received was a shot of pain ripping through his damaged throat. (It was damaged? When? How? He couldn’t remember.)

Without the warm comfort of light, the dark expanse felt suffocating. It squeezed into his lungs, and forced its way past gritted teeth. It gnawed into his flesh and seeped deep into his bones. It threatened to drag his weightlessness form down into nothing, urging his eyes to close, but they couldn’t, not now. Not again.

The voice, still whispering in the back of his mind, was louder now, echoing over itself in haunting commands, a maddening cacophony that ordered his awareness to stay tethered in place.

There would be no sleep. No rest. Not yet.

‘You’re not ready yet… I will not take you.’

The eyes of a stranger flickered in his mind, but they were hauntingly familiar in their thoughtful crinkle at the corners of their smile. Natsu choked on a gasp, inhaling sharply as air rushed through his lungs. The darkness receded, melting away bit by bit to reveal the calming light he yearned for.

His body grew heavy, dragged down and further down until reality shifted and his dark world flipped until he could no longer make sense of the endless emptiness. Only the light remained, too scorching and bright and suddenly painful.

It burned.

‘It’s time to wake up, Natsu.’

A slender hand covered his eyes, cool and lifeless. Another rested gently over his barely beating heart. With a jolt, a shock of magic stabbed through his system that spiraled him into the depths, forcing him back into his body.

The weight of his soul was stifling.

Cold night air forced its way into his lungs with each desperate inhale dragging its claws through his raw throat. He tried to scream, to release the tension and agony that laced his broken voice, but every attempt caused another bout of strain to tense his muscles and stab through his being like thousands of knives. Natsu thrashed and writhed, delirious from the pain and confusion that clouded his head. With shaky fingers he kicked and scratched at anything he could reach, doing what he could to distract his mind from the jolts that never ceased to attack him.

“If you’re going to crowd me, the least you can do is HOLD him down!”

“He’s thrashing too much-”

“Wendy, you need to hold-”

“ I can’t! He's moving too much!”

“Move, I’ll hold him.”

“Oh, thanks, Gray!”

Firm hands grasped his shoulders and another pair his ankles, trying to lock his heaving body in place. He vaguely caught the sounds of strained shouting amidst the chaos, fighting to be heard over loud sobbing. Tears burned his eyes in a never ending stream as it hit him: It was his deafening sounds. His screams and sobs shuddered out of him, mounting to a volume that rang his ears. It was all him struggling to voice his pain with words he couldn’t put together.

Natsu couldn’t make heads or tails of who was speaking or for what.

There was an intense pressure on his esophagus that was maddening. It drowned out the sparks of pain shooting through his veins and overwhelmed his senses. There were voices shouting garbled commands and panic he couldn’t make sense of. There wasn’t a single moment or source of comfort from any direction he could observe and the realization bubbled in his chest like a pile of heavy stones.

He was too cramped. Too suffocated. Too… everything.

Instinct prevailed. Demanded his response. Demanded he attack. To set himself free, he summoned the vestiges of his magic, humming frantically beneath his skin. A burst of fire flared in dry heat. It forced the hands away from him as a string of curses peppered the air. Taking advantage of his new freedom, Natsu reached for his neck, clawing for relief as the last vestiges of his fire curled away from him. The magic continued to thrum beneath his skin, threatening to strike out of control once again at any second, but before he could give more power in his next attempt to clear space, another magic struck against his own.

It was an antithesis to his desperate need to escape his suffering.

“Natsu...” A comforting chill poured into his vein. It soothed over the heat that threatened to boil him. Blinking, he struggled to see through his blurry eyes and caught a vague silhouette leaning over him. Drops of water landed against his cheek and a golden curtain surrounded him from all sides. He couldn’t piece together what he was looking at, his eyes swimming. But he felt shaky fingers run along his forehead, cool balm along his feverish skin. “It’s okay. You can calm down now… you’re okay. It- it’s going to be okay, I promise.”

That voice… It cut through the confusion and Natsu recognized Lucy. She firmly held his head in place, her fingers sifted through his hair as the hum of her magic matched frequencies with his own, providing a sense of calm. The pins and needles stabbing at his nerves deafened and the numbing effects of Wendy and Porlyusica finally worked through his system as strong hands quickly pulled him away from his throat. The numbing brought force an exhaustion so deep in his bones that he could hardly resist the call, eyes straining to focus on those around him. Their scents hit him then, one by one and Natsu realized the truth to Lucy’s words. He was safe. They were safe. She was safe. He’d done it then. Things were okay after all. The satisfaction of his victory was enough to lull him back to sleep, gaze lingering on Lucy’s above him just enough to crack a grin.

He couldn’t speak, voice too raw, too damaged, but his expression said enough.

It was all okay.

He thought he heard another voice, still tickling the back of his awareness, matching his relief.

‘Yes. Safe… it’s all okay now.’

He made a note to ask the identity of them later, but the memory slipped from him the moment he shut his eyes.

When Natsu finally slumped back into deep sleep, the others in Porylusica’s hut heaved a sigh of relief. His thrashing had reopened multiple wounds the older draconis had hurriedly stitched and the risk of losing more blood was too great to be gentle a second time around. Especially now with fresh scratches at his neck wound, beading new lines of red.

In their haste to staunch the flow of blood on his neck, the more minor cuts and lacerations remained untended along his torso and arms.

Lucy hated it. Every second. Out of the darkness and under light, the expanse of his injuries were worse than she thought. He’d almost thrown Wendy off in her attempts to hold him down when she reacted on instinct, grasping his face in a futile hope to soothe him. At that moment, things shifted minutely. He’d froze in her touch, eyes shifting up to meet her own, glassy and unseeing. Or so she thought while her eyes misted over in unshed tears.

He’d seen her. Or something, in her posture, finally relaxing as his gaze rolled back. Natsu’s body still twitched as the other two worked and Gray was awkwardly following their directions, using his strength to hold the Draconis down anytime his nervous movements threatened to go overboard once more. When the rush settled into repetitive industry, Lucy was free to fall into her own thoughts. By then, she’d been asked to sit down, lamely swinging her legs over the mattress while Natsu’s head rested upon her lap.

“He’s quiet, so keep him there for the time.” Porly had explained and Lucy shamefully ignored the way it made her face heat up.

Now wasn’t the time to get embarrassed over something so simple.

Tireless work. No time for rest. No time to slow down. Lucy desperately tried to keep her attention as they worked, flinching when needle and thread pierced his skin and pulled it taut. His ragged breathing stabbed her heart and took her breath away. But every time she began to fall into the mire of guilt, she’d be pulled back by mumbles from the Draconis, eyes flickering behind his lids.

His ramblings turned to slurred indecipherable speech, but the fresh sweat on his brow could be attested to more than just the work spent healing him. Running her fingers through his damp hair, Lucy marveled at the temperature, too warm and clammy to be a good thing. “Does he have a fever?” She hesitantly asked, wincing when Porlyusica answered with a scathing glare. “It’s possible. I’d be surprised if he didn’t.” She snapped, returning to her work without a second glance, ignoring the worried knit to Lucy’s brow.

Gnawing her lip in earnest, Wendy took over, voice a soft balm to Lucy’s frayed nerves. “It’s not much higher than his usual. Fevers are normal, but he runs hotter than most. It won't harm him anymore than he already is.”

It was a small comfort, one she shared with Gray, who shared a brief glance her way before he resumed holding the Draconis’ legs in place.

Silence overtook them once more laced with background mumblings of Natsu’s delirium. The time for talk would come later, when every bit of damage was disinfected, stitched and bandaged. When his head was finally laid to rest against a feathery pillow, and the sheets and blankets were removed to be cleansed of their bloody stains.

Only when night was fading to morning light, was the cottage full of gentle snores from all corners of the room.

Wendy curled against her aunt, overcome with sleep hours before as the elder doctor finally succumbed to her own need for rest, slumping in their shared chair as Gray took purchase in a corner. He lazily waved a tired hand over a small trail of burns that ran up his arm, covering them in a thin layer of chill before falling to sleep. The world outside was an unknown territory to them. Erza’s status, Cana’s report to Makarov, the state of the forest and all those in the village, a mystery until the residents of the healing cabin would awake once more, but most of all, caught up in the head of the cottage, still nestled atop the bed, was Natsu’s pained grunts of medicated sleep, and Lucy by his side, head lolled as her fingers still laid tangled in his hair. She’d awake hours later with a stiff back from her position, but that was an issue she’d save for later. For now: they had rest.

–

The rest of the village slept, ignorant of the true events over the night after they’d been reassured by Cana and Makarov that no fires would come near, having already fizzled out in the forest above.

They went to bed with uncertainty heavy in their hearts, but trust they would learn the truth in the morning. Laxus, exhausted in ways he refused to admit, stayed at the keep, arms crossed as he feigned sleep against the stone walls. Makarov paced listlessly in the other room, having claimed he would rest and observe Natsu’s status in the morning, but worry kept sleep far from the old man’s grasp.

Likewise, the burly blond couldn’t bring himself to relax. Anger was a constant emotion broiling inside, but behind the stormy frustration was a hint of guilt in his dark eyes. His magic was destructive. A fact he took in stride with careful discipline, tightly holding the reins on his magic at all times. And yet…. he refused to look at the very hands that could control the static. Instead his fingers dug into his skin.

He knew full well he’d used more force than necessary in his attempt to strike Kage down. As one of the warriors of the tribe, he’d seen many succumb to his abilities. Witnessing a member of his own clan struck by those damages was a different feeling entirely.

He recalled the clear accusation in Erza’s voice when she asked for Kage’s location. Remembered the pain of grinding his teeth as he accepted the results of their battle. Natsu had sacrificed himself for a win he failed to give and his attempt to revenge Freed, protect their home had been wasted. Grumbling, the muscles in his arms tensed to every thought that fueled his adrenaline until the copper tang of blood entered his mouth.

Flinching from the accidental bite to his lip Laxus changed tactics, pushing off from the wall to do the only thing he could deem as useful in that moment. His determined steps left sparks of magic in his wake, destined for the edge of the town. Erza said she would continue the search for Kage, but a second pair of eyes would work better. He’d already failed to catch where the danger would come from after Kage’s incarceration, he refused to fail again by brooding.

Laxus ignored the festival streamers hanging limp and lifeless from the poles as he passed.

Heavy footfalls thudded into the gravel without a care for those sleeping in their homes nearby. Tension kept the night still and stagnant.

It stifled him. It was best to leave and be useful. To focus only on the task at hand and not how easily his home had been invaded, its joy snatched away in a matter of moments. Worry got him nowhere.

Which is precisely why he missed the hunched figure, resting against a stool in the shadows; their piercing, green-blue eyes spied him through the early morning haze with a vigor they hadn’t had the night before.

“You’re up awfully late,” Freed’s voice rasped from his perch, quietly observing, still as a statue. Laxus’ footsteps paused, digging into the ground as he turned to meet the other, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” He demanded, quickly assessing Freed’s appearance from what Erza had relayed to him earlier. The man’s face was gaunt, sunken in and gray as if the very loss of his energy had taken his color with it. His countenance, that was usually a scene of perfect posture, was a haggard being, barely able to stay awake with half-lidded eyes puffy and red at the corners. Laxus scoffed at the sight. “You’re smarter than this, Freed, get to bed.”

Freed chuckled, unperturbed by the order. He made no attempt to move from his post. “I’m fine here, thanks. Besides, despite my appearance, sleep is escaping me,” a yawn broke free just in time to contradict himself, but he ignored Laxus’ judging gaze, “I’ve been upholding a barrier underground for months and attacked by a dastardly shadow fiend. Allow me to bask in the fresh air for now.”

Laxus shrugged, “Fine. Not my business anyway.”

“No, I daresay it’s not.” Freed’s reply was curt and through pursed lips he softly seethed, “but I think yours is currently fretting alone while her siblings comfort her.” The implication to his words was obvious, coupled with a pointed stare that bored into Laxus as his eyes swept away to avoid it.

“Don’t put your nose into my business if I’m sticking out of yours.” He snapped, body shifting uneasily while he forced himself to stay put. He was restless. He still wanted to patrol, to chase after Erza and catch that reprobate himself, so why was Freed attempting to stop him? “Stay there and die from a cold for all I care, I’ve still got to clean up your mess.”

He regretted the verbal attack as soon as the words fell from his mouth, but there was no taking it back. He was too proud for apologies, and Laxus knew better than to pretend Freed would wipe all insults away at the drop of a hat. In the past, their travels had led the two to understand each other on a level deeper than most, and despite the other’s calm demeanor, his ability to hold a grudge was second to none.

Through another yawn, Freed blinked his eyes repeatedly to block out tears the action summoned, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself from his seat with a huff, balancing on wobbly legs. “On second thought, perhaps I will go to bed. Telling a stubborn man like you to pay more attention to his partner was a ridiculous notion after all.”

In the early morning’s haze he moved slow, steps pointed as he kept his head up, blinking back the clear exhaustion that seeped into his bones. Freed didn’t spare a glance to the other when he ambled past, stopping just a few feet short to deliver his parting words.

“Pardon the unsolicited opinion, but… if you keep hiding behind your responsibility and mistrust to shoulder everything on your own, it’s only going to push you farther away from the rest of us. Even now, you refuse to trust others to get the job done where you fell short.” Another yawn interrupted him, but it did nothing to dampen the sharp glint of anger in his sharp eyes, “That stubbornness will do you in one of these days and I won’t be surprised if Mirajane dances for someone else next year; someone with more sense and care. Be careful, Laxus- or she’ll leave a bull-headed fool like you behind.”

Laxus stood still for quite some time, feeling off-kilter at the scathing remarks that made guilt claw at him more than his own earlier blunder did.

Freed’s insults were a rarity, but he couldn’t deny it had struck home. Gnashing his teeth together, he listened for the fading footsteps of the other, only walking off the main road once he was sure the enchanter had long gone. He was stubborn. He knew this. Even now, his mind kept creating reasons to rush back to the woods and ignore Freed’s warnings. Kage was a slippery bastard who hid himself in the shadows and Erza was just one person. Could they risk him escaping by not sending enough to catch him? He couldn’t hold still. Each second spent not acting was another that brought Natsu’s limp body to the forefront of his mind, still twitching from the full force of the sky brought down on him. The gushing blood he barely held at bay and tearful cries of the blonde who begged for the draconis’ safety that he couldn’t even say was assured.

They haunted him with each step further towards the trees.

He could have held back, he knew this, and realizing his over exertion of energy had been for naught rankled his nerves like sour fruit. How could anyone blame him for wanting to push it out of his mind?

Mirajane would understand that. She always had… hadn’t she?

The corner of his lips curled into a self-loathing sneer, Freed’s words echoing in his mind despite all other arguments. Cursing, he turned down another alley and left all thoughts of the woods behind him. Instead, he considered his own home, how it would possibly be full of three, white-haired mages desperately trying to come up with answers Makarov had yet to give them. Freed was right. But he’d keep the admission to himself: for now.

Lucy hadn’t expected Porylusica to allow them to stay through the night, let alone most of the morning. Exhaustion lived in her bones and each involuntary twitch of her body stretched stiff muscles. A weight was on her lap, Natsu’s head, she surmised. He’d grown antsy in his sleep away from her and so she’d resumed her earlier position, sitting up against the wall.

She could hear the soft breathing of Gray and Wendy, but the older woman was already shuffling about, slightly clinking pots and pans together as the familiar crackle of wood fire being brought to life met her ears. She was cooking breakfast.

These were just guesses. Lucy was too tired to open her eyes to confirm, but the familiar scent of bacon tipped her off regardless. Another twitch of her muscles and she groaned, finally peeking an eye open to blearily glance about the room. It was much the same as it was the night before, with window panes tightly shut to block out the light and springtime bugs. The healer's small hovel resembled a humanized cave, quietly urging Lucy back into the throes of sleep.

Unfortunately, the crick in her neck refused to let that sweet solace pull her back into its depths. Rolling her head from side to side, Lucy winced and wondered what insanity had compelled her to sleep as she had.

A light grunt from the wounded roma brought it all crashing back down on her.

Oh, of course she hadn’t moved since he’d finally relaxed. His breathing was still uneven with a pained hitch every other breath, but his body was covered in bandages and the sheet placed upon him was far cleaner than the rags he rested upon, still stained from the previous night. She remembered being offered a chair to rest in, but she’d denied it in favor of staying in place, anxiously watching Natsu drift in and out of feverish dreams.

She was glad he was resting, despite the obvious clenching of his jaw she spied after blinking away the fatigue. From time to time, she thought his groans turned to muttering, but she couldn’t make out the words. Sighing in relief, her fingers sifted through his hair, matted from the night before. There were still bits of dried blood coating his fingertips and under his broken nails. He was in dire need of a bath, but they could worry about that later.

“Ah, awake are you?”

Porly’s voice startled her, sweeping her eyes towards the fireplace where the healer’s eyes crinkled, peering at her from over her cooking pots. She nodded in lieu of a verbal reply, not wanting to risk waking the others. The doctor wasn’t half as concerned at the concept, rolling her shoulders as she clicked her tongue. “I’d tell you to get over here and help me, but he might start screaming again if you move and I like my quiet. So keep him there will you?” It took Lucy a couple of confused seconds to realize who she was referring to, clearing her throat as heat dusted her cheeks. “Don’t tell me that embarrasses you. It’s not the first time he’s slept on someone's lap before, you know.”

Lucy chose to ignore the lurching response her stomach gave at that, biting her lip instead. “It’s not that. It’s just-”

“Girl spare me the rambles,” her interruption was as sharp as a knife, “I honestly don’t care.”

Then why did you bring it up? Lucy wanted to ask, frowning instead, a pained grunt from Natsu made her fingers loosen in his hair, belatedly realizing she’d begun to pull at the strands. Muttering a quick apology, she soothed out the hair and cleared her throat, “Thanks for letting us stay here. I know there’s not a lot of space.”

“Hmm, better that then you all falling down the hill and busting your heads open in the dark. It’d leave me with more on my plate to fix than just the blockhead there. Besides, you can all leave after you wake and have had breakfast.”

“And Natsu?”

“I imagine Makarov will want to keep him here until we’re sure he’s stable.” She snorted, “Knowing that old goat he’s going to fret and want him to overstay just in case. Then it’s back to his own hovel so I can have peace and quiet again.”

“Ah,” Her gaze swept back to Natsu, gnawing her lip until it felt raw, “That makes sense, I guess.”

“And you? I noticed your cane is gone.”

Lucy blinked, surprised, “I.. I forgot. My magic was there last night, but- ”

“A good first step then.” She cut her off, dexterously flipping the bacon with her bare fingers. The small burns from the night before hardly seemed to bother her, grabbing more slices to toss in the popping oil. ”Make sure you don’t trip over my rug when you leave then. I’m not in the mood to fix you again and I haven’t a spare to lend you.”

Lucy’s voice lowered as her ire rose, “Are you always like this?”

Porylusica fixed her with a droll stare that overthrew Lucy's irritation, “Get used to it if you plan on staying here, girl.”

Lucy’s silence damned her before she could find the words to stammer out. The old doctor’s eyes were sharp, catching the pull of her eyebrows that knitted in uncertainty. It spoke on a volume she wished the old woman hadn’t caught.

The older woman barked a hollow laugh, shifting the pan off the flames to crack a few eggs into the sizzling mass. She didn’t want to admit that Porly’s eyes felt too all-seeing in that moment, leaving her drowning a silent shame.

“So that’s how it is.” Despite her angered tone, she managed to sound disappointed, tearing her gaze from Lucy’s to focus on her work, “I didn’t realize you were industrious enough to use our help then leave, but even an old woman like me can be wrong from time to time it seems.”

Lucy’s eyes whirled, her earlier shame shifting to agape denials, “That’s not it at all! I want this place to be my home, m-more than anything!”

The crack of another egg sounded like a whip in the air, making Lucy flinch. Porlyusica tossed the empty shell aside in a pile with the rest, “Is that so? Then why the hesitation?”

She wanted to stay silent, shame and guilt burning in her lungs, all-too aware that one wrong rise in volume would awaken the others in the room. She didn’t want that.

They all deserved their rest, not to wake up to Porylusica’s interrogation or her own doubts, but the longer she kept her mouth shut, stubborn pride corralling her broiling emotions, the more the doctor’s ire seemed to raise.

“Are you that much a fool? If you leave, you’ll be caught, and who knows what will come of you then. Are you that suicidal?” She thundered, finally slamming her pan to the side, “Well?! Are you?”

Her tongue felt numb, paralyzed on words and thoughts that traveled through Lucy’s mind too fast to grasp. Wildly, she looked over Gray and Wendy, still curled up in their corners, still deep in sleep. A small mercy, but Natsu twitched, body tensing as he whined again, his body heat rising from a dream currently plaguing him. His eyes rapidly moved beneath his lids, drawing her attention.

“... somethings bothering him,” Lucy murmured distracted from her thoughts enough to rustle his hair once again, leaning forward to catch the mumbling words tumbling from his dry mouth. Too disjointed and hard to catch, “It’s not safe for him to be talking, is it?”

“Can you really stop a man in his sleep?” Shuffling around, Porylusica began collecting a small set of wooden bowls, hidden beside the hearth, but Lucy didn’t miss the derisive snort as she turned her back on the other. “As long as he’s not screaming and stays quiet when awake, he’ll heal. Mine and Wendy’s abilities aren’t to be trifled with. Now, my question. Or are you looking for another excuse to avoid giving me a straight answer?”

Lucy winced, “... I’m not wanting to hurt myself. That would be an insult to my own parents' sacrifice to protect me.”

“.. and what of our own?” That sharp voice grew smaller, a husky anger that filled the room in a grisled tone that spoke of experiences far beyond Lucy’s years. “Do we mean so little to you?”

The words were harsh and full of a truth that left Lucy’s heart clenching. A sob wrenched from her closing throat. Wet hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head, “I- I don’t want you all getting hurt because of me… is that so wrong?”

“... don’t insult that boy's sacrifice for you, fool.”

She couldn’t bring herself to reply and Porylusica didn’t prompt her for further conversation. Instead she muttered beneath her breath and shambled about, settling plates full of breakfast onto a nearby table. Whatever energy the older woman had to spare on conversation was long gone as she moved to gently prod Wendy’s shoulders, ushering the girl awake before roughly striking Gray across the back of his head in a swift motion. He woke with a startled yelp.

“Ah-! What the hell old lady! No mercy for the help?!”

“Get up and eat before it gets cold, I’m tired of you taking up space in my home!”

“Geez… grouchier than usual.”

Lucy bowed her head, shielding her face from the room in a blanket of golden hair. That was her fault too, wasn’t it?

The chatter and clanking of plates filled the room, and despite Wendy’s sleepy attempts at greeting everyone, Lucy only managed a small nod of her head. Lost in thought, she missed the drop in the smaller girl's expression, moving away to eat the meal that had been prepared.

Not a second later, the wafting scent of breakfast food filled her nostrils as a plate was placed before her, hovering above Natsu’s face as it broke through her curtain of hair.

It was a shame she missed the scrunching of Natsu’s nose, but his increased verbal mumblings was enough to prove he’d caught the scent as well. Glancing up, her eyes met Gray’s tired blues, head tilted with an encouraging smile as he held her plate aloft, waiting in silence.

“... thanks.” She croaked, fingers shaking as she accepted, “I could have gotten it later.”

“You’ve got a snuggly moron on you, don’t worry about it.” She almost choked on a bacon slice at Gray’s answer, coughing the bite down her throat as he chuckled, “don’t look so down. It’s going to be okay, yeah?”

Was he aware of their earlier conversation?

Searching his expression, Lucy decided that no, he must have just thought her worry was for the wounded draconis on her lap. She forced a smile, taking another bite to ease his own worries.

“Yeah. I know. The worst is over.” She wished she could believe her own words. A few, awkward seconds passed by with Lucy stiffly eating and Gray diligently watching. She couldn’t read his intentions at that moment, but after Wendy called him to his cooling dish, he shrugged and moved on, muttering a quiet ‘take care of yourself’ before he left Lucy’s proximity.

Maybe.. He did hear some of it? She swallowed down the rising panic with a bite of egg, grimacing at the over salted taste.

“Will we be going to see Makarov today?” Wendy asked once half her plate was cleaned, eyeing her Aunt curiously. The healer humphed, exhaling as she quickly consumed her own meal.

“He’ll be coming here, I imagine.” She said after a time, casting a searing glance towards Gray, “Which is why I want at least one of you gone before he gets here.”

“I get it,” He griped, stuffing the last of his bacon into his mouth and chewing angrily, “you’re really making me feel ganged up on, Granny.”

“It’s only because Lucy’s helping to keep Natsu calm,” Wendy muttered sheepishly, “You know how she is.”

“Hmph, if you know, then why are you offended? Finish your food and get out.” “Aunt Porly, please - “ Wendy chastised, face flushing, “He helped a lot last night, the least you can do is be nice.”

The older woman grunted, falling into a quiet agreement that only made the air more tense. Gray swallowed down the rest of his eggs in an air of indifference and the chatter ended. Lucy ate slower than the others, poking and prodding at her meal as her stomach tied into knots, refusing to feel hungry.

After a few, forced bites, she placed the plate beside her, eyes watching carefully to ensure no jostling of the bed would tip it over. Perhaps Natsu could finish it when he woke -

No, she paused on that thought. Not with a damaged throat like that. He’d be better off with liquids, she guessed. Sighing, she turned her attention back to the resting draconis, head ringing with the sharp words Porlyusica had used as a weapon against her.

Was she being unfair to him? That certainly wasn’t her intention, but something was still gnawing in the depths of her mind, demanding a response from her in regards to his injuries, but she couldn’t put a finger to it.

Natsu’s distressed mumbles broke through her thoughts.

A sudden sweat had broken along his brow, nose and eyes scrunching together as he ground his teeth. Startled, Lucy placed her cool fingers against his cheeks, noting his temperature had spiked once again and continued to climb with each frantic inhale. He struggled to move, wincing from the strain as a low whimper escaped him. His fingers curled tightly in the sheets, tearing the fabric trapped in his grasp.

She called out to the others then, both hands now on his face, trying to soothe the creases on his forehead. Was he all right? What was happening? “Something’s not right!”

Lucy dimly heard the screech of chairs toppling over, but at the same time, another whine escaped Natsu.

It was small, reminiscent of a broken child begging for comfort as wetness gathered at his eyes and dripped down passed his ears. Before the others could reach them, his whine turned into a broken, garbled cry, blood spitting from his mouth as he called out a name foreign to her ears but said with such despair it made her heart clench. “I-Igneel,” He croaked, desperation tinting his pleading tone, “help!”

As if winter had returned, a cold chill ran up Lucy’s spine as Wendy, Gray froze in their steps, eyes wide.

“Don’t just stand there, you two,” Porylusica barked, already checking his fever and, keeping his mouth open with her gnarled fingers, inspecting the inside of his mouth as she kept his airways clear. “ You boy! Ice now! Wendy, get the rest from the cellar. Hurry!”

Like the night before, the rush had began again, but Lucy’s heart stammered as she looked upon Natsu’s crying eyes squeezed shut. The name rang in her head, unrecognizable, but the desperate cry, the broken, empty pleading for help.

It reminded her of another time, when she was hidden beneath a broken cart, begging the slumped figures of her parents to move, anything to prove they were alive. Horror gripped her at the revelation and she robotically tried to soothe him, calling vaguely for her magic yet it stayed frustratingly out of her grasp. Questions tumbling from her mouth before she could think, “Who is that?! Whose he is asking for?!”

Undeterred from her work, but also unwilling to explain further, Porylusica snapped, “A man long dead, who else?”

#Fairy Tail Fanfiction #FT Fanfiction #Nalu Fanfiction #NatsuxLucy #Nalu #Natsu Dragneel #Lucy Heartfilia #Flame's Desire #My Writing #fanfiction #Fairy Tail

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dagger-n-ravvi · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter Two: Under the Sea

Riddle wakes up in an unfamiliar bed with no memory of having gotten there.

No warnings for this one but Riddle is maaaaaaad XD

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A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47890741/chapters/120739675

The world is dim and quiet. Riddle’s bed has never felt more comfortable~ He’s weightless and warm, pressed in gently on all sides by a blanket tucked snugly all around him. His head does ache a little, but it’s a distant and mild discomfort when everything else is so perfectly cozy.

“Mmmmm…” He basks longingly in the coziness. He wants to stay here, but he knows that he needs to get up and help get everyone organized to go home for the summer holiday. What time is it? His alarm isn’t going off, so he can’t be late…

His headache needles him. With a soft moan, he tries to rub his face into the pillow to ease it. But instead of a pillow pressing into his face, he quickly finds that there is not, in fact, anything beneath his head at all. Worse, moving around has made his entire body start drifting backward in a slow, vertigo-inducing roll that CAN’T actually be happening. What on earth…? Oh no, is he still suffering from the effects of the alcohol?

His back and shoulders lightly tap against a cool, smooth surface behind him, bringing his rotation to a gentle stop. He blearily opens his eyes, feeling as though he just fell in slow motion down a rabbit hole. "Wha-?"

His eyes widen, and then widen again. "What... where am I?"

Above his head is a curved wall about six inches away from his nose. It’s made of a smooth, white material with thousands of beautiful, abalone tiles pressed into it like a mosaic. They’re an iridescent, blue-green colour that glows soothingly as gentle light plays across their surfaces.

‘Am I dreaming…?’ He reaches out and touches one of the tiles with his fingertip. It’s about the size of a sugar cube, and it feels very solid. It’s been inset into the surface so carefully that there isn’t a sharp edge or seam to be felt. The entire wall is perfectly smooth and continues around behind him in a tube shape, like a tunnel.

‘This… can’t possibly be right. Wait, my… MY ARMS!!’

"WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!" He stares at the backs of his arms, then frantically presses both hands down the front of his body. He’s covered with tiny, slippery scales. Snowy white and glossy crimson form dappled stripes over his biceps and chest. They weave into a heart shape that stretches across his chest from pec to pec and down to his belly button. He is also STARK naked, which is alarming, but also makes it easy to see the delicate, crimson fins that flare from the end of a fish-like tail where his feet ought to be. Matching fins curl downward from two points just below his hips, like little stabilizers. As he stares at them, frozen in shock, they all flare outward with a feeling of tension so strange that it makes him shiver. His legs are supposed to only have three joints in them! These fins have… he can’t even tell how many joints they have. Clearly TOO many!

“Trey? Cater? Anyone?!” He presses against the hard, reflective surface, trying to find a way out. It’s extremely obvious now that he’s underwater, hence the feeling of floating. His body is neutrally buoyant, and wants to rise until it's just off the floor of the tunnel. At least his koi fish-like body can breathe, because he’s starting to panic and do an awful lot of panting. Why is it suddenly so dark…?

He looks down at himself again, and notices that the light in this tunnel isn’t coming from beneath him. It’s coming from him. His red markings are all bioluminescent, and bright enough that they throw soft light upward to reflect off of the tiles and reveal the shape and size of this tunnel. But now they appear to be going out, and he has no idea why, and the more concerned and scared he gets, the more they dim until they’re nearly out and if they go COMPLETELY out, then this tunnel will fall into pitch darkness-

“No…” He hurriedly casts low-level spell to cast some light and make up for the difference- “AH-!” He squeezes his eyes shut as a tiny ball of pure, white light appears over his chest, and immediately blinds him. He didn’t put that much power into it! Why is it so bright?!

Gritting his teeth, he turns it down until he can flinchingly open his eyes again. To his surprise, the blot from the spell hasn’t collected in the pit of his stomach, like it would have if he didn’t have a magestone. Instead he can feel that it’s all gone somewhere near his shoulder…? He reaches up, and his fingers quickly bump into a snug bracelet around his upper arm. It’s coarse, and made of elaborately knotted string. He rotates it around, and sees an aquamarine magestone tied firmly into the strands. That’s a small relief, at least. He can do magic safely.

He sighs and relaxes a little. The bioluminescent stripes along his tail and chest begin to glow again, making his witchlight unnecessary. He lets it go out, then looks around the tunnel with a thoroughly irritated sigh. So he’s been kidnapped, transformed into an aquatic mer-creature of some kind, and imprisoned WITH a magestone? What kind of captor would be so stupid as to leave HIM with the ability to cast magic unhindered? And if they were that stupid, then how did they even manage to do this to him in the first place?! The last thing he remembers…

His expression darkens into a furious glare. AZUL’S GIFT. The ‘eat me’ candies. That… THAT SCHEMING BASTARD-

"Azul... I will get you for this." Riddle snarls, craning his neck to look around. Above his head, the tunnel opens into a dimly lit room. He can’t make out much of it from here, but it looks bigger than this alcove. He tries to move his tail to swim into it…

“Oof-!” He jolts forward a little and spins upside down. He throws out his arms to palm the tunnel walls and stabilize himself, then scowls down at his tail. How is this ridiculous thing supposed to work? Azul should have been considerate enough to leave him with written instructions…

“Gooooooldfishie! You finally woke up!”

Floyd giggles as he peeks into the tunnel, then rotates around until he’s upside-down to match Riddle. He’s in his eel-mer form, and the bioluminescent stripes on his own chest and arms further brighten the tunnel as light bounces off the mirrored tiles.

"Floyd!?" Riddle lets go of the walls and furiously tries to spin himself back upright. Unfortunately, he flicks his tail too hard and ends up sideways instead before he can catch himself with his arms. “EXPLAIN.”

“Explain what?” Floyd rotates with him in a maddeningly unhelpful way.

"Why am I here!? What has Azul done to me? What have YOU done to me?!" Riddle holds himself in place, panting furiously. He feels a little sick...

“Gave you a vacation! Azul was sooooo impressed that you beat him out for the Valedictorian spot. He set this up so you get to spend three days in the North Coral Sea!” Floyd cheerfully reaches into the tunnel and grabs onto Riddle’s arm to tug him out. “C’mon, you gotta get out of bed before breakfast escapes.”

"Vacation? Three days? Escapes?" Riddle gasps as he’s hauled out into the open. "I didn't agree to this!"

“No…?” Floyd pouts at him. “It was your unbirthday-slash-graduation present, remember?”

Riddle’s eyes narrow. “You… A contract?! The candies?! How did you…? THAT SHOULDN’T HAVE EVEN COUNTED AS IMPLIED CONSENT?!! Where the hell am I?!”

He looks around wildly. This larger room is made of smoothed, white stone with a scooped floor. There’s an entrance to a second, small tunnel beside the first, also lined with reflective, abalone tiles. Pretty shells, coral, and carved stone toys are piled neatly into several cubbies carved into the walls. Riddle’s clumsy tail movements stir them slightly, making the shells turn over and rock back and forth in the current.

“This is mine and Jade’s old room. I forgot how teeny it was,” Floyd beams. He’s claustrophobically big for the room. His shoulders are hunched, and his tail swishes in slow, careful movements to keep from knocking into the walls.

“Your… old room?” Riddle blinks, not understanding.

“Gave you Jade’s old sleepy cubby! I picked a bunch of my mirror bits off when I was five and mom had to glue ‘em back in. They were all crooked after that.” He peers fondly into the other tunnel (sleepy… cubby ?) and tries to swim inside. He gets stuck about waist deep, and then squirms back out with a giggle. “HA! So teeny~”

Riddle stares at him, confusion rapidly boiling over into seething anger. He’s been tricked. Made a fool of. And now to make matters worse, he’s been imprisoned in… in what looks like a mer-person’s nursery!

“How dare you… HOW DARE YOU TRICK ME INTO SIGNING A CONTRACT AGAINST MY WILL!” He screams, then hurls a fire spell at Floyd.

“AK!” Floyd’s eyes widen as the spell explodes in a shock-wave of superheated water. It blasts him backward into the wall and sweeps the toys out of their cubbies, sending them spiraling gently to the floor.

“Vacation contract! It was a gift!” He gives Riddle an infuriating smile.

“MY MOTHER IS GOING TO THINK I WAS KIDNAPPED!”

“YEOUCH!” Floyd backpedals as he gets slapped by another dense shockwave of hot water, exiting rapidly through the open door of the room.

“GET BACK HERE!” Riddle’s tail fin shimmies as he speeds off after Floyd… and straight into the wall. He pushes off with his hands and lunges forward again, zig-zagging down the hall after Floyd’s infuriating face.

“We told Trey where you are!” Floyd offers, backing away with a giant, stupid grin. “He said he hopes you have fun!”

“Trey knew about this!?”

“Yes! Wait no…” Floyd frowns. “We told him afterward-AAK! Heeeee, missed me~”

“Haaa… haaa… I’ll get you…” Riddle snarls, holding his tummy as it gives an especially nauseating flip.

“I stashed your clothes and brought you here. Jade was the one who told Trey- AAK!”

Floyd darts sideways, ear fins pinning back as Riddle’s spell surges just past his shoulder.

“I’ll get you… you're so huge . How do I keep missing?!” Riddle groans, raising his hand. He feels like he’s going to be sick…

“Almost got me that ti- OW!” The next spell hits him square in the chest and he goes flying back into the wall at the end of the hallway. He looks up in surprise as Riddle finally manages to corner him, one hand held up threateningly.

"OFF WITH YOUR--- urp!" Riddle presses both hands over his mouth, then doubles over, puking into the water. "Uuuuuugh..."

He stares weakly at the cloud of brownish sludge, whimpering softly at the mess. Oh no, now what is he supposed to do?

“Eeeeew,” Floyd carefully curls his tail behind Riddle, and draws it down with a sharp flick. The messy water swishes away from his face and into a series of slits in the floor, where it’s gently sucked away. “I’ve got some tummy medicine if you’re feeling sick. How many jello drinkies did you have last night? Ten… eleven?”

“Three.” Riddle holds his stomach, watching the cleverly designed house clean up his mess. He does feel a lot better now…

“THREE?!” Floyd doubles over with a wheeze. “Only THREE. Goldfishie, you were SO drunk. Ahhhhh, I’m sorry. Jade spent, like, MONTHS planning how to get you drunk and he was soooooo worried it wouldn’t work, but it only took three . Him and Azul both wanted to trick you ‘cause Azul needs your unique magic for a thing.”

“… is that so?” Riddle glares at Floyd.

“Yep! But like…” He frowns, and fretfully grabs his elbow with the opposite hand. “It’s a fun plan, and it worked and all, but I didn’t wanna make you this mad. You always looked real interested whenever me or Jade talked about the Coral Sea, so I wanted to show you around. Vacation! But…”

He shrugs, looking disappointed, and for once, completely serious. “If you swim back up to the surface and go onto dry land, the spell will break and you’ll go back to normal. Poof! Vacation over.”

Riddle stares at him, taken completely off guard. He isn’t a prisoner?

“You… Why are you telling me this?”

“Just told you why. I don’t want you to be mad at me.” His ear fins fold back and he sighs deeply. “This is gonna be a huge drag if you don’t wanna be here. It’s not MY fault Jade and Azul couldn’t come up with a better way to get your unique magic. Even Azul said the contract was suuuuuper sketchy. It barely worked.”

He grins wickedly. “So? You wanna leave? I’ll show you where to go. Left your clothes and stuff in a SMTC locker in the Sunshine Lands. Azul will be pissed but screw him.”

“SMTC?”

“Sunshine Lands Merfolk Transition Camp.”

“Oh…” Riddle lightly traces his magestone bracelet, anger slowly fading into reluctant curiosity. Floyd might be a chaotic irritation, and a constant source of stress, but he isn’t the lying type. So Riddle truly isn’t a prisoner, he’s a guest. Floyd doesn’t want to upset him, and… well, he actually is interested in the Coral Sea. There’s very little that’s been written about the deep-sea cultures in particular, and he’s had so few opportunities to travel.

“Well…” Riddle hedges. ”That’s good to know. But I…” His stomach makes a noisy gurgle, loudly reminding him that it’s empty now. “Can we eat first before I make a decision?”

“Oop-!” Floyd lightly hits himself in the forehead. “Yeah, they probably all escaped by now. C’mon!” He flicks his tail and swims rapidly down the hall, making a sharp right turn and disappearing from view.

“Again with the escaping! What does that MEAN?!” Riddle swims after him, struggling to keep up. His first attempts still make him zig-zag a little, but through trial and error, he manages to reach the end of the hall. It helps a lot to hold his hands down and at his sides. The moment he tries to raise them, his body tries to flip itself over again.

“Floyd? Where are you?” He peeks around the corner, clinging hesitantly to the doorway. There is a wide strip of decorative mosaic under his fingers that lines the doorway, and makes a stripe along every wall at shoulder-level. It’s made with squares of polished, green glass, tiny shells, and more abalone tiles. Like the sleeping cubby, it’s mirror-bright, and reflects his bioluminescence back at him. Quite handy when he is the primary source of light.

He lets go of the doorway and swims forward. It also helps that his eyes are MUCH better at seeing in the dark than they’d otherwise be. He has no problem seeing the large, domed room past this door. And especially its centerpiece: an enormous, round table made of polished granite. A thick, glass tube runs from the ceiling to the floor, and directly through the center of the table. It’s so wide that Riddle could barely touch his hands together if he wrapped his arms around it. It’s filled with tiny, floating lights that glow through the glass, and brighten the room like a beam of sunlight.

Riddle swims closer. As he does, he can see that the lights are actually minute, bioluminescent creatures. They flit through the water in lazy, graceful movements as they catch and eat bits of debris floating through the tube.

“ Ohhhh… ” he peers into the glass, entranced by the vision before him. One of the creatures eats a bit that’s shaped oddly like a strawberry seed. It begins to glow pink, and several of the ones nearby change their glow as well, dancing more vigorously through the water as they all spin in funny little cartwheels.

“Get back here, breakfast!!” Floyd zips by with a messenger bag slung across his shoulder, chasing after a small fish that is hell-bent on avoiding his claws.

“Floyd?!” Riddle’s eyes widen and he grips the table in both hands to avoid getting knocked around by the current created by Floyd’s tail. Breakfast?! That fish?! Floyd expects him to eat that?!

“HA!” Floyd successfully captures the fish and shoves it back into the bag. “No more escaping!”

He swims back over and sets the bag on the table. With a little flourish, he turns a section of it inside-out, revealing a tightly-woven net made of glossy string. Inside is a generous collection of fish and crabs, all alive, wiggling around, and pinned tightly in their little prison.

“‘Kay! To do this, you reach inside and grab what you want-“ Floyd casually reaches into the top of the bag and grabs a palm-sized fish with silver and black scales. “Then you eat it!” He eats the fish in one bite with a smack of his lips, and a satisfied sigh.

“I reach… and then… eat?” Riddle swallows hard. But they’re all so alive, and.. and wiggly.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Riddle swallows again, gathering his courage. If this is the custom here, then he shall honour it. He grits his teeth, reaches inside the net, and tries to snag a fish, like Floyd did. It squirts out of his fingers, so he grabs a slower-moving crab instead and pulls it out. “And I just… bite? But won’t the shell…? And the bacteria? Isn’t this going to hurt me?” He holds it up between two fingers, baffled and a little alarmed as its claws snip at the air in front of his nose.

“Ehh… prolly not. Do this.” Floyd opens his mouth at Riddle, showing off a double row of needle-sharp teeth, and a hard plate covering the roof of his mouth.

“Ahh… okay?” Riddle tentatively opens his mouth. Whether he likes it or not, Floyd is his guide here, for now. But if this is a trick…

Floyd peers into his mouth with an odd little grin and nods. “Yeah, you’ll be fine. You got the right teeth, and your spit should have venom in it. One bite, and crabby should go night-night. I told Azul to make sure you were a deep-sea mer. That means you get glowy bits and better eyes, and REAL teeth.” Floyd grins fiercely, then frowns with a thoughtful look. “No nipples though. So that’s kind of a shame.”

“Why would nipples be important?!” Riddle reflexively covers his chest with his free hand, face flushing. As though sensing his distraction, the crab pinches his finger with a claw, making him flinch. “Ow-“

“‘Cause they’re fun!” Floyd enthuses as Riddle lightly shakes his hand. “Jade and me never had nipples before taking the transformation potions. Silly little nubbins. They’re just hilarious.”

Riddle frowns at the angry creature, carefully ignoring how Floyd just described nipples as little 'nubbins.' “This crab… is rather persistent.”

Floyd tugs it off of Riddle’s finger and pins it to the table for him with a single finger. “Don’t play with your food Goldfishie! It’ll get away.”

"Right..." Riddle stares at the pinned crab, watching as its claws angrily snip at the air in front of Floyd’s fingers. How is he going to approach this? Should he treat it like a tart? No… there’s no crust. A cookie? Maybe. A crunchy and angry cookie.

He takes the crab from Floyd, then hesitates and turns it around so that it’s facing away from him. It seems more polite to not bite its face...

Trying not to think about it, brings it up to his mouth, and closes his eyes. ' It's... a cookie... urp. W-with legs...' Riddle teeth slowly close over the creature’s shell, and he reflexively keeps his tongue back, trying not to think about the legs.

"MMMM..." He squirms in place as something deep inside him strongly objects to the thought of eating a live creature. But this is the custom here. He must. PERSIST!

He bites into it. As Floyd predicted, the angry cookie goes limp the moment his teeth pierce the shell, dying instantly to his venom. His teeth sink into it with ease, making the texture feel more like a crispy tortilla chip than the hard, sharp shell he’d been envisioning. He must have a plate on the roof of his mouth like Floyd does, because it doesn’t hurt any more than eating a nacho would. And the taste ~

“Crabs are great,” Floyd snags one out of the net for himself and eats it in a single, happy bite. “Mmmm… I tried to do this as a human oncd and almost broke my teeth. Heeeee~”

Riddle barely hears him. His eyes have dilated as the flavour washes over his tongue. Buttery, smooth, and sooooo satisfying. It’s like eating a rich, savoury custard. The meat melts in his mouth with a warm, full-mouthed flavour that makes his tummy feel soothed and happy.

"Ohhhhh..." He double-takes at the crab’s body. What is all this flavor ? Is it the type of crab? Or perhaps his aquatic mouth is picking up on different tastes than his human version is unable to sense? He takes another experimental bite, then pops the whole thing into his mouth and chews. His stomach feels so much better.

"They are wonderful! There's a buttery taste but... It's raw? I thought this was going to be strange and awful, like… like a meaty fish cookie. But it’s nothing like that!” Riddles goes for another crab, and with more courage this time, takes a bite. His stomach is growling.

Floyd looks absolutely DELIGHTED as Riddle digs in. “Has to be raw. No way to cook stuff in all this.” He waves his hand through the water. “You can ferment fish and crab meat in glass jars, but that’s like… for old people. Weird and slimy and icky.” He shudders, then takes another fish and eats it, leaving the crabs for Riddle.

"What strikes me here…” Crunch~ ”…is that I believe I’m tasting flavors…” Munch munch~ ”…that as a human I would never pick up on. Is that the case?" Riddle muses between bites. "And the rawness doesn’t bother me nearly so much as I thought it would. But…wait a minute. Doesn’t Azul's mother own a restaurant? I remember him saying that during his birthday interview."

“She does! We could even go there if you want,” Floyd offers, lazily eating another crab. “Ceto - that’s Azul’s mom. Most of what she does is more like farming than cooking. Her suppliers feed the fishies special foods to make ‘em taste different in special ways. She does a little cooking with fire magic too. Suuuuper expensive, and real tricky. They blew the top off the restaurant once before they got the trick for it figured out. And like… it’s neat but not that good?”

He frowns, popping another fish into his mouth. “I snagged these tasties myself this morning to make sure they were super fresh. That’s the best way to make stuff taste good down here. Catch it live, eat it fresh. On land, you can put crazy flavours into food and cook it in sooooo many ways to make it different. But we don’t really have spices the way you do. Ceto mostly parboils things, and it’s more of a gimmick than something you HAVE to do to make the food safe and tasty. You try it once, and then it’s kinda boring.”

"I see…” Riddle shakes his head. “I never realized how privileged I was in terms of food."

He continues eating, glancing around the room as he does. Like the nursery and the hallway, this room has a mosaic border that reflects the light from his body, along with decorations made with carved stone and beautiful, coloured glass. There’s a conch shell larger than his head sitting in a cubby above the door, and the area below the table is covered in blue, glass pebbles. Tiny fish dart over them as they eat, gathering up scraps and polishing the floor. One lightly nibbles at the tip of Riddle’s tailfin, and he jumps at the unexpected tickle.

"Where are your parents Floyd? I assume I am in their house, if I was sleeping in your old room,” Riddle asks, carefully pulling his tail away from the little nibblers. “I doubt your parents were happy about a last minute ‘guest . ’"

“Nah, mom was THRILLED when she heard I was visiting with a friend. She and dad are both away for a business thing but Grandma Lassa is around. She’ll probably be back from town in a bit. It was her idea to put you up in the nursery,” Floyd snickers.

"So that IS a nursery." Riddle petulantly crosses his arms. He is considered so small that he fits in the nursery. This is ridiculous. HE ISN’T THAT TINY! "You and Jade must have been big babies."

“Actually we started off about this big,” Floyd sniggers, holding his hands barely four inches apart.

“You’re KIDDING me,” Riddle says flatly, refusing to believe that. Floyd grins, but before he can answer, there’s an odd scraping sound, and a woman’s voice calls out from somewhere deeper inside the house.

“Floyd, is that you and your friend?”

“Yeah, we’re eating in the center room!” Floyd calls out cheerfully.

“Oh my goodness!! I didn’t think you’d be up until after I got back!“

Riddle’s ear fins perk up immediately at the new voice, and he settles himself in a way he hopes is polite. “Oh. Uh… hello?!”

His voice trails off in shock. Riddle thought that Floyd was big, but the eel-mer who swims through the door is so, absurdly large that she makes HIM look small. She’s nearly TWICE Floyd’s size, with slender, tattered ear fins, and silver-white hair that floats around her face like a halo. Her stripes are faded, and her face is heavily creased with age, but her yellow eyes are piercingly bright. Her bioluminescent stripes flare brightly as she pulls Floyd into a fond squeeze, then turns toward Riddle and wraps him in a brief, loving hug.

“Hello! Floyd, your friend is so handsome!” She holds him out at arm’s length, beaming. Her hands are so large that they cover him from shoulder to elbow. Her teeth are pointed, and several are missing. “He didn’t tell us you were coming until last night or I would have fixed a guest room for you! He’s so forgetful! Always has been~”

She lets Riddle go and gives Floyd’s hair a fond ruffle. He ducks her hand with a little hiss and a mortified “Grandmaaaa!!”

#goldfishie #fanfic #twisted wonderland #disney twst #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #merfolk #aged up characters #romance #floyd x riddle

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