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aheckinmess · 9 months ago

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(One-shot series 1/3 chapters posted - posts regularly on Saturdays. If anyone knows who to credit for the Hizashi fanart, please let me know!) Read on AO3.

Tags: Graphic violence, Hizashi Yamada x OC, Present Mic, Present Mic saves the day, Hizashi Yamada is a ray of sunshine, angst, hurt/comfort, scared reader, pro hero rescue

Word Count: 4,364 words

Summary: Ichijiku Aoki has lived in hell with Kigai as her captor for three years. During a chance encounter at a dance club, she runs into her first breath of fresh air in years: Hizashi Yamada. Kigai makes it clear that Ichi belongs to him, so dare she hope for a better life and an escape from her prison?

Author's Note: I haven't posted fanfiction in years, but after a two-year obsession with My Hero Academia, I have more than enough content to share. This first series is pretty dark, but there's some comfort and sweetness along the way. Enjoy.

TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual, Physical, and Emotional Abuse

Chapter 1: Time Signatures

Ichijiku (Tigress)

In another life, listening to the pulsating beat of the music in the club might be fun. I might feed off of the voices singing at the top of their lungs, or delight in the changing colors flashing all around the dance floor.

But I’m not living in another life. I’m living in hell.

“Give her another shot.” Kigai’s voice rises over the crowd as he gives me a look. Don’t you tell a goddamn soul what I’m doing or you won’t live to see the sunrise. His quirk stretches into my mind and reminds me just who I belong to. Of course, the bruises littering my thighs are testament to that too. Kigai would never let me go out in anything other than skinny jeans, so it’s not like anyone can see, though.

No one ever sees.

The bartender gives me a smile and I play the perfect part of being his playful partner, leaning over to give Kigai a kiss on his cheek, a loving gaze, and a swat at his butt while bile turns over in my stomach. I throw back the shot of tequila before Kigai puts his hands at my hips and looks directly at me. You’d better get out on that dance floor and pretend you’re having a good time. People have started looking at you. “Why don’t you go have some fun, sugar? I know you don’t feel good, but the dance floor has always helped you clear your mind.”

He plants a slow and tender kiss on my lips, but all I feel is dread. I want to feel happy. I want to feel a flutter in my chest. I want to feel anything. Anything but Kigai.

You’re mine, Ichi. And don’t you forget that. His eyes bore into mine and then he turns away, laughing at a joke Shihito tells him. I can feel his gaze follow me as I put on my brave face and walk through the dance floor.

In some ways, I’m grateful for the tequila. Otherwise I’d never be able to play like everything’s fine. Winding my way through the undulating bodies feels easier to bear than seeing that look on Kigai’s face. The threat that always lingers there. In this mingling of bodies I can close my eyes and lose myself to the music, feel the beat move in conjunction with me instead of forcing me to move with it.

The only time I’m conscious of is the time signature in the music. Minutes could pass, or it could be hours. What’s important is that Kigai doesn’t cut in and I can’t see those eyes trapping me in their domineering gaze.

For the first time in three years, I’m reminded of the better parts of life.

And then the better part of life bumps into me.

“Whoops! Hey there, little lady. Sorry for the intrusion.” A blonde man with a broad smile and glasses apologizes to me. “Did I hurt you?”

For a moment my breath is taken away and my façade cracks. The best way I can describe him is pure sunshine. He only looks at me for a moment with that grin but the warmth seeps into my skin and makes me yearn for a normal life. My throat gets tight. Help me. I want to say. Please make him leave me alone.

“Woah, hey, is everything okay? Did I really hurt you?” His puts a soothing arm on my shoulder as he makes himself heard over the crowd. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

“No!” I panic, forcing a grin on my face and hoping that he’ll shake it off as me being drunk. That’s what everyone else has done. “Really, it’s okay. I just get emotional when I’m drunk. I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise.” I shake my head as if trying to clear my mind and turn away from him. You’re too pure for someone like me, too beautiful for this world. If Kigai knew I slipped up…I can’t drag you down into this. You could get hurt.

“Hey, wait!” I hear him call behind me, but I ignore it and keep moving.

My feet rush towards the bathroom. I head inside and slam the first stall door I see before heaving into the porcelain bowl. Get it together, Ichijiku. I’ll kill Kigai. We can’t. I sob in the stall. We can’t do anything. Kigai has my family on his radar. We’re stuck! What a foul sack of shit. He’s not worth the stripes on my skin. I want to die. I know, Little Cub, and I’d surely embrace death knowing that you didn’t have to suffer this any longer. But we have to hold on. Change is coming. I can feel it in my bristling fur.

There’s a banging at the door that I know means I’m in trouble. I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks frantically and flush the toilet before wetting a paper towel and dabbing under my eyes. Breathe. Get it together. We’ll survive. I’m right here with you.

I step out of the bathroom and Kigai’s hand wraps around my arm as he pulls me aside.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He puts on a concerned simper, feeling my forehead with his free hand. You’re supposed to tell me where you’re going and why. You were trying to run away, weren’t you, bitch? “I thought you were hurt. Did you get sick?”

“I think I drank too much.” I sniffle, looking down so he can’t use his quirk and I don’t have to listen to his haunting voice in my thoughts. It’s a mistake.

His hand comes under my chin. To an outside party it might look like he’s being a tender lover, but there’s bite in the way his fingers dig into my skin. You know I hate when you look away from me, whore.

“Honey, you only had one shot. When did you become such a lightweight?” He laughs. I’m sick of your damn excuses. He runs his fingers through my hair and his hands cup my cheeks as he kisses my forehead. “But if you need to take a seat, go ahead.” Stay where I can see you.

“Thanks, love.” I return his gesture of affection with a hug and a peck on his cheek.

For a while, I sit at the bar again, scrolling through my phone to look busy. I can’t see Kigai, but I don’t need to. His gaze always follows me, even when he’s not in the room.

“It looks like you needed a break, huh?” The blonde from earlier takes residence in the seat next to me.

I turn to look at him as I nurse a lemonade. He’s like a breath of fresh air.

“Yeah.” I look down at the table again and trace around the rim of my glass. “Sorry about earlier. I think I’d been dancing too long and was getting overheated.”

“Yeah, the dance floor can get overwhelming if you’re not used to it.” He laughs. The sound sings through my bones.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Yamada Hizashi. But you can call me Hizashi.” He tilts his head like a puppy and the lights around him make him appear almost angelic. “What’s yours?”

“Ichijiku.”

“Nice to formally meet you, Ichijiku.” He answers. “Was that your boyfriend I saw earlier?”

“Yes.” I smile into my cup to hide the disgust in my eyes. God, I wish he wasn’t. “He was making sure I was okay.”

“Ah, good to know. From back there it looked like he was going to hurt you, but I was obviously mistaken. I’m glad you’re safe, you know?”

Something about the way he says it makes me look up at him and feel more hope than I have in a long time. I feel seen and heard. After a cursory glance around the club without seeing Kigai, I feel safe enough to answer.

“Kigai’s not a dangerous man. He doesn’t hit me and he likes to make sure I’m taken care of.” My eyes scream the opposite. I hope he catches it. I hope he doesn’t. “He knows my favorite colors and we watch my favorite movies all the time and he loves me. He never calls me names and he always asks before he touches me; Kigai doesn’t want to hurt me.”

Hizashi’s hand moves closer to mine and when I look at him I don’t feel sick.

“So you don’t need my help at all, do you?” He asks. He doesn’t break my gaze.

My lips part in a relieved gasp; I’m ready to tell him everything, but my eyes hold terror as Kigai catches my gaze from across the room. What the hell are you telling him? His smile follows me even though he’s standing beside the DJ. Abruptly, I stand and move away from Hizashi.

“It would be better if you stayed away from me.” I hiss under my breath, cursing myself for wishing for a normal life. Cursing myself for dreaming that I’d ever be able to get away from Kigai. What was I thinking? If Kigai finds out, it’ll be my head. But at least Hizashi knows. Maybe he can get help! Why would he help me? He probably has no idea I need help. I was reading too much into it. No one ever notices the bruises. Or they make excuses if they do. That’s right. No one cares about you. Who cares about a stupid whore? She’s not a whore. Kigai’s a manipulator and a rapist, and that’s all there is to it, fiend.

“Are you looking at my girl?” I’m suddenly face to chest with Kigai. Shit. He was closer than I realized. Fuck!

“Kigai, honey, it’s okay. I was just coming to find you. It’s fine.” I place my hand on his arm and squeeze, trying to redirect him.

“No, it’s not fucking okay.” Kigai growls, glaring bullets into Hizashi’s eyes.

“Hey, man. You have the wrong idea.” Hizashi puts his hands up, looking composed and calm. See? He knows nothing. Everything you told him went straight over his head. “She bumped into me earlier and I was just making sure she’d gotten back to the bar safely.”

“She bumped into you? Or were you trying to cop a feel?” Kigai snarls, dangerously tense.

“Kigai, please.” I beg, pulling at the front of his shirt to make him look at me. Why the hell did you let him get close to you, huh? You know you belong to me. Not some sleaze who’s just going to fuck you and leave you out to dry. After everything I’ve done for you. His words reach into my mind and I do the only thing I can to get out of the situation. I reach up around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Thankfully, Kigai seems to take the bait. He becomes more possessive, gripping my hips so hard I know there’ll be bruises there in the morning. His tongue invades my mouth and he tugs fiercely at my lip. When he pulls back, he still turns a fiery glare onto Hizashi.

“Don’t you get near my girl again, got it?” Kigai wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him. My eyes lose their shine. I guess that’s it. We’re stuck again. All in good time, Little Cub. All in good time.

He pulls me away and I risk one last glance back at Hizashi. One last hopeful plea begging him to help, but he’s not looking back at me.

. . . . .

Six months go by that Kigai refuses to take me out again. For six months he beats the lesson into me.

“You were trying to be a clever little whore, weren’t you?” His foot connects with my jaw, but I don’t make a sound. I take it. “Thought you had a savior. Someone to take you away from me, right? But you’re mine! If you left me do you know what that would mean for your family? For you?” He yanks me up by my hair. “They’d be up shit creek without a paddle and it’d be all your fault!”

“I’m sorry, love.” I whimper out, hating the taste of the words on my tongue. “It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.” He lets go of me and I catch the brunt of my weight on my arms. Tears trickle down my cheeks and then suddenly he pulls me into his arms and then onto his lap on the bed.

“You know I love you, right?” He coos in my ear, saying the words that my heart wants to hear in the most twisted tones. “It’s just…seeing you with that other man…mmm…I hated seeing that. You know he was just trying to manipulate you, right? Use you when you were vulnerable?”

You’d know all about that wouldn’t you? I wish I could have been more specific…told him something more concrete. Then maybe I wouldn’t be stuck here. It’s not your fault, Dear One. “I know, Kigai. I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling good and I just wanted someone to talk to.”

His grip tightens on me. “You could have found me.”

“You were busy, Kigai, I didn’t want to ruin your time.” I turn and kiss his cheek to make the comment more believable. “I love you.”

“Mmm, that’s what I like to hear.” He kisses under my ear and it burns. Nauseous flames swim along my body until he leaves me broken under the covers. I curl up into a ball as he gets up from the covers and starts grabbing his clothes. “C’mon, baby, get your clothes on. I think you’ve learned your lesson. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I don’t question it. I’m silent as I pull on my clothes and fix my hair. When I’m ready, I take the arm he offers me.

“You’re gonna like this, baby.” He rubs a small bruise he made at my neck, smiling as we head out into the street and he looks at me. You’d better not tell anyone it’s anything other than a love bite, got it? Or I’ll have your family hunted down with a snap of my fingers. “Look at how beautiful you look with my marks on you. Everyone will know who you belong to, yeah?”

“Of course. Only yours.” I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

Before long he leads me to a karaoke bar. The sight of it puts a pep in my step; even though I’d rather be here with anyone else except Kigai, this is the most I’ve gotten out in months. I’ll take what I can get.

“A karaoke bar? How did you know?” I giggle, kissing his cheek as I slip into the assumed role.

“I know my babygirl.” He pauses to kiss me roughly outside the door before pulling me inside. He pays for the two of us before we’re taken to a private room where a few of his friends are waiting. “I hope you don’t mind, some of my buddies came to join us.”

“It’s okay.” I promise, even though seeing all of them makes my heart sink. “As long as they don’t bother me.”

“They’ve already been warned, babe, they’ve already been warned.” Kigai winks at me. Don’t test those waters after I’ve let you out. “Would you like to go first?”

“Yes, please.”

Once again, the music distracts me from my own crumbling little world. Life seems full of more promise as the notes spill from my lips.

“Hey, Takamaru! I’ve gotta take a piss. Keep an eye on my girl, okay? Make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble.” Kigai chuckles and glances at me before he leaves. Don’t do anything stupid.

“Sure, man.” Takamaru doesn’t even look in Kigai’s direction. He’s too busy focusing on Shihito’s selection. “What the fuck, man?! You’ve sung homura three times already! Pick something new.”

“Shut up, Taka, it’s the only song I know.” Shihito huffs, pulling up the microphone again.

“Hey, do you guys mind if I go grab a snack?” I ask, wanting to get some fresh air without Kigai hovering over me. If he gets back before I do, I can always blame Takamaru. He never goes too hard on his buddies.

“Sure, Ichi. Can you grab me a granola bar while you’re at it?” Takamaru tosses me a couple yen.

“Sure thing.” I nod and head towards the vending machine on the balcony.

I walk by a room where I hear such sweet sonorous notes I can’t help but glance into the window. Hizashi?! My feet stutter and I nearly trip. I have to keep walking. Kigai is liable to beat him up if he even sees he’s in the same building. If I were to stop and wave? Impossible. I force myself to keep walking until I make it to the machine.

Once I’ve got a pack of crackers and Taka’s granola bar, I hang over the railing and take a deep breath. When did this all start? Why did I let myself get roped into this? I hate this… None of this is your fault, Little One. Kigai is a manipulator and a fiend. And his quirk makes it inanely difficult to give any sort of proof to the authorities of your predicament.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Hizashi’s voice joins me on the balcony. I jump back as if stung and start backing away from him. His moves his hands from his pockets and holds them up in surrender. “Woah, hey, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” I turn to look and make sure Kigai isn’t headed back to our karaoke room and then back to Hizashi. “You can’t be here.”

“Is he hurting you?” He asks me bluntly, eyes somehow fierce and kind all at once.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I choke out, starting to speed walk back into the building. This can’t be happening. Kigai’s going to kill him if he sees him anywhere near me!

His hand grabs my wrist and I’m forced to pause and turn back to him.

“Is he hurting you, Ichijiku?”

The first time I saw his gaze in the club, I nearly lost myself. Seeing it now, so intentional and worried…I feel I have no choice.

“Yes.” I hiss, eyes watering. “Yes, he hurts me. All the time. For big things, for little things. But I take it, okay?” Part of me is angry. Not even at Hizashi, just everything in general. Why the hell am I in this predicament? What did I do except love people and want them to love me back? It’s okay. You’re allowed to be angry. Especially at this situation. “I take it because Kigai says he’ll hurt my family if I don’t. Because they’ll die if I don’t suck it up like a good girl, alright? And he’s going to hurt you too, Hizashi. He’ll hurt you really bad if you so much as look at me. If you’re so much as seen with me.” I keep glancing back, waiting at any moment for Kigai to round the corner and exact his punishment. “So go! Leave me alone. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt for my sake…please.” I beg, finally yanking my hand free of his hold.

When I hear Kigai’s voice down the hall, I don’t look back. I rush back into the room just in time and hand Taka his granola bar. I start nibbling on my crackers so I can compose my face before he walks in. I smile at him and offer him a cracker.

“Oo, got me a snack, baby?” He takes the whole pack and leaves me the one. “Thanks.”

The rest of the evening, I’m too nervous to sing like I want to. I pick one or two songs to make sure Kigai’s off my scent, but mostly I watch him and his friends sing. In reality, I keep watching the door to make sure Hizashi doesn’t walk by.

By the time we get ready to leave, it’s dark. I assume that Hizsahi is long gone, because as we walk by his room on our way out, it’s empty and quiet. Thank you, Lord. He deserves a better lot in life than this.

“Damn, Kigai, every time we go out for karaoke I forget just how shitty of a singer you are.” Taka teases as we give the desk lady her key back.

“Hey, man! I’m not that bad. At least I can carry a tune.”

“Barely.” He snorts, before nudging Shihito. “And this fucker only has one song he can sing!”

The ribbing continues as we walk out the door. I keep my eyes down and my arm wrapped around Kigai’s until a group of voices convene on us and someone suddenly pulls me out of Kigai’s grasp.

“Police! Get on the ground, now!” Someone barks out, and my brain struggles to keep up.

Kigai and his pals look shocked to say the least. Kigai is the only one who tries to struggle, of course. “Get the fuck off me! Let my girl go! Babygirl, tell these fuckers to get off me!”

“Don’t hurt him!” I call out, aching heart bleeding for him even in spite of all the bruises he’s left on my heart and my body.

“Get on the ground.” The cop repeats, needing two more officers to help bring Kigai down to the ground. “Sir, you’re under arrest.”

The world around me sways. My breath gets shaky and I start crying as I beg them to leave him alone. What am I doing?! I want them to take him but… He’s a manipulator. He’s made you afraid and obligated to him. I want him out of my life. I don’t ever want to see him again. My pleas ultimately die down as my sobs get louder.

The weather is colder in the darkness. My body starts shaking and I start swaying.

“It’s okay, ma’am. We’ll get it taken care of. You’re safe now.” The woman holding me rubs my shoulders and starts looking around. “Can one of you grab a jacket for–”

“I’ve got it taken care of.” Hizashi’s voice melts into my eardrums as the police get Kigai into the back of their cruiser. I wrap my arms around myself and then he’s got something warm and soft wrapped around my shoulders. “Here. Take my jacket.”

I turn to Hizashi and then back to the police cruiser. I look at the woman.

“Excuse me, Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Th–That man…Kigai…he…he said he’d hurt my family if I ever turned him in. Are they–”

“This young man here told us the story. We’ve got a unit at their house.” She assures me, rubbing my shoulder. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, honey. We’ve got it all covered. We’ve been trying to find definitive evidence to put this guy away for years.”

I look at her, disbelieving. “H=How did you find any evidence?”

The officer looks at the cruiser as Kigai is hauled off, before she looks at Hizashi with a smile and then back to me. “Your friend here said that he recorded your conversation in the karaoke place. He said he’d previously met you and was suspicious of the situation.”

“I hadn’t seen you in months. I was scared I was too late to do anything, so when I saw you…” He pauses. “I started recording on my phone before I walked over to talk to you. I was hoping that maybe if I was blunt enough…you might tell me what was going on.” Hizashi admits sheepishly. “So we left as soon as I got the evidence just in case your group was planning on leaving soon.”

For a long time, I just stare at him. I memorize everything I can about him. The way his hair frames his face and the small, pampered mustache making his smile pop out on his face. Then there’s his eyes.

One look and my body works without my permission. I wrap my arms around him, tackling him into a hug and feeling three years of pain and grief claw out of my chest and manifest as sobs.

“Thank you, Hizashi.” I hold his back in a death grip, and I feel him pat my back delicately.

“I couldn’t sit by and watch you get hurt without doing anything.”

“Ma’am, would you like me to walk you to your home?” The officer asks me, also reaching over to rub my shoulder.

“I don’t have anywhere to go right now.” I admit with a sniffle. “But if you can go with me to grab my stuff from Kigai’s, that would be great.” I turn to Hizashi. “Will you come with us? Please?”

“Of course. I won’t leave you alone right now. That a problem with you, Officer?”

“Not at all.” She assures.

When we make it to Kigai’s house, there’s blue and red lights flashing there too. Hizashi steps with me inside as the officer gets debriefed on other things found out about Kigai’s dastardly affairs. “It’s just down this hall.” I assure him.

Going back into Kigai’s room sends a cold chill down my spine. You’re mine, whore. You belong to me, understand? I pull Hizashi’s jacket tighter around me, before steeling my nerves and grabbing my bag and stuffing it.

“Anything you need me to grab?” Hizashi asks as he looks around.

“No. I don’t have much.” I toss in my phone and charger, a few changes of clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, and a few other necessities. “I think that’s all.” I say once I’ve got everything together. When at last I turn to him and meet his gaze, I’m expecting to hear foul words stabbing into my brain.

He is not Kigai, Little One. It’s going to be okay.

My nose quivers as I look at him. “He’s really gone.”

“He won’t hurt you anymore, Ichijiku.” Hizashi nods. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

I don’t have to be afraid.

Continue Reading -> Ch. 2

10 notes · View notes

thespacebetweenworlds · 4 years ago

Note

so... i’m not actually in the witcher fandom, nor do i know the most about it...but i still think you should write witcher!hyunjin + bard!jisung. i just approve of the notion idk

I WROTE IT!!!! lmao, be proud of me! this was a whole ride and I loved every second. I hope you’ll find this amusing, too!

Here's the tags: KPOP RPF, Stray Kids Fanfic, Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin, rated T, warnings for violence and blood, Witcher AU, 5k, complete. Read it on ao3 here or continue forth below the cut.

Inspired by this Witcher!Hyunjin edit. Beta’d by Reltic, who writes very good skz fic y’all should go read it <3

Anyway let me know what you think :]

Hyunjin punched him in the face.

… by accident. That was important. Or it would be important, if Hyunjin didn’t wish he could punch the annoying bard a second time.

Unfortunately, they were currently caught and bound in the bandits’ cave, back to back, and if Hyunjin wanted to break free fast, the knife in his arm guard would also stab the annoying bard in the back. And he had to admit that that annoying mouth was currently the only thing preventing the bandits from slashing their throats and leaving them to bleed out in a ditch.

Fuck.

So Hyunjin lost himself in the memory of the bard’s stupid soft cheek on his knuckles, the impact he felt before the bard’s head snapped back and he stumbled away. The blood on his teeth when he smiled up at Hyunjin, who had honestly (oh, his past self new nothing) meant to punch the lackey of the village’s head who refused to pay him. The space around the bar had been packed, and someone was pushed into the lackey just before Hyunjin hit him.

The annoying bard.

Hyunjin, feeling sorry and embarrassed, had kicked the lackey a few metres away, relishing in the thump of a body against the wall and then the following slump to the floor accompanied with the sudden scared quiet of the room. And then he’d glared at the guys who had been pushing the annoying bard and escorted him out, meaning to apologise. He had not meant for the annoying bard to follow him on the dusty dirt road to the next village and never stop talking.

“You really should let us go, my dudes,” the annoying bard laughed – Jisung, oh how Hyunjin wished he didn’t know that name – “I mean come on, have you ever seen a man as beautiful as him? It would be a crime to kill us, a crime.”

The first that hit Jisung’s bruised face after that was deserved, and Hyunjin wished he was the one who did the punching.

“You trespassed into our territory, we will do as we wish,” one of the bandits crossed his head and lifted his chin as if he was almighty. For the moment, he was. “We have heard of a witcher with ties to the queen, and we can’t let him run to her and tell her about our secret drug ring.”

Hyunjin closed his eyes and groaned quietly. Life was just out to get him specifically.

“Ah, we don’t kiss and tell,” Jisung said, and Hyunjin just knows he’s winking and putting on his ‘flirting’ face. “Wait, Hyunjinnie, you know the queen? Me too!”

Hyunjin wished he could close his ears too. Those were definitely the words the bandits needed to hear right now. Yes. Good thinking there, Jisung.

“Who are you that you know the queen?” Another of the bandits spoke up, walking closer. “Maybe we can exchange your dead remains for money.”

Jisung, at least, had nothing to say to that. “Ahaha, a joke, of course! How would I know the queen! Why would he know the queen? He’s a witcher, not a witch.”

Hyunjin groaned. “The queen and I are on bad terms right now, and I won’t tell her about your drug ring because I will kill you all.”

Finally, blessed silence. Hyunjin counted his heartbeats and breaths, relaxing his shoulders. Quiet. Nice. Now if only there was a breeze carrying some fresh mountain air.

“Hey,” Jisung hissed, “don’t encourage them!”

And the room broke in frantic yells and panic as they tried to decide what to do since both their prisoners apparently knew the ruler of the kingdom, except of course if they were lying. Hyunjin sighed.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung whispered, shuffling around, “how do we escape? You have a plan, right?”

Hyunjin took a deep breath. “I have a knife in my boot,” he told Jisung quietly, “if we stand up at the same time, I can take it, and cut us free.”

Jisung let out a breath. “Oh, that’s good! I knew you got this.”

Hyunjin just brought his legs under him, swiping the dagger from his boot – really, what kind of bandits didn’t tie their prisoner’s legs? – and as he stood with Jisung scrambling to his feet himself, he cut the ropes tying them together.

The bandits noticed a second too late, and drew their swords a second too late. Two put up half a fight, but soon they all lay dead on the floor, blood splattered all over Hyunjin. Hyunjin wrinkled his nose, and made an attempt to wipe the blood off of his daggers on the only bandit who still had a clean shirt.

“Where did that second dagger come from?” Jisung, his wrists still bound, interrupted Hyunjin.

“You’re still here?” Hyunjin shoved the daggers back, one into his boot and the other under his arm guard where it was concealed under black leather.

“Wait so you could have broken free all along with the dagger in your sleeve? Why didn’t you…” understanding slowly crawled across his expressive face, followed by a bright smile. “Hyunjin! I knew you care about me!”

“I don’t,” Hyunjin said, but somehow couldn’t stop himself from untying Jisung’s hands. He took his sword from where the bandits had tossed it in a corner and drew the blade. More bandits would still be outside. Jisung picked up his lute and hugged it close to his chest.

As Hyunjin had expected, a few bandits were in the surrounding woods, just far enough to not have heard their companions’ dying screams. Hyunjin killed the ones that attacked him and let the others run away.

When he reached the road, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Loud breathing and stomping reached him not much later.

“Hyunjinnie!” Jisung emerged behind him, cheeks flushed under his bruised face, lute strapped to his back. “I don’t understand how –” he gasped for air, “– you can run through the woods so fast. Wait for me.”

Hyunjin, however, only had eyes for the beauty that approached him now. “Kkami!”

Kkami was his trusted companion and only friend. And a horse. But she was the best. Better than all humans he ever met. A good listener too. And quiet. Unlike a certain annoying bard.

“Oh, pretty,” Jisung stumbled towards Kkami, who neatly stepped around him as if he was just an unusual kind of tree.

“I’m so proud of you,” Hyunjin whispered to her, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking her long neck. Kkami was truly his only friend.

Hyunjin climbed up on her back in one smooth move. He patted the parts of her neck he could reach and steered her down the road with his legs alone. She started walking in a comfortable walk, one that she would be able to hold for days. The sun was high in the sky, the trees green, the birds singing. It was calm now. The breeze smelled of forest and moss and rotting leaves and flowers in bloom. Hyunjin could hear his own heartbeat as well as Kkami’s, their breaths aligning like they so often did on long journeys.

It was wonderful.

Except that his and Kkami’s weren’t the only heartbeats he heard.

“Oh, can I also ride on your horse? No? Alright then, it’s your horse, I understand. Did you call her Kkami? That’s so cute. Like you! You were so badass back there, I had literal goosebumps. I must admit the blood splattered clothes fit you very well. And did you see their faces when they realised we got free? And oh, we busted a drug ring, if you were on good terms with the queen we could totally go to the capital and receive money for doing good deeds in the name of the crown. But alas, we’ll have to live as vagabonds! Lonely heroes on their way to defeat evil!”

Yup. There he was.

“I should write a song about it. I can write a song about us. I will write a song about you! Hyunjin, how do you feel about songs? I promise I’ll also credit Kkami with defeating a villain, of course, she’s lovely. Do you think a long ballad would be suitable? Or a drinking song? If you don’t mind, I’ll try some freestyles, yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, but I write my songs by freestyling! I just start singing, play some chords, and continue until I find sounds and words I like. You know, as a starving artist with only my lute, I can’t rely on making notes and writing my lyrics down, I have to memorize them as I come up with them! So talking to myself helps with that, obviously. And now I have you, too! You will help me, right?”

Hyunjin contemplated kicking Jisung in the face. It would… even be possible, he realised as he studied the distance between his leg and Jisung’s head. He’d have to stretch weirdly though, and unless he shifted his weight, the kick wouldn’t be very strong. The movement would surprise Kkami though, and while she definitely wouldn’t mind or be inconvenienced, Hyunjin was sitting comfortable and breathing in synchrony with her.

Why mess that up? He could just pretend he wasn’t hearing anything, anything at all. A fly, maybe. A bee. Human voices? The last time he heard a human speak was one of the bandits, before he stabbed him in the chest with his sword and left the body in the shrubbery.

Oh, the calmness of the forest… so quiet… so nice.

In the late afternoon, the trees gave way to the next village, with fields spreading out into wasteland and far away mountains. The village was just big enough to have a bit of stone ground in the middle, with a river and a mill. An inn sat in it’s center.

Hyunjin sighed. He had exactly no money, which meant he’d have to ask for a job first before he could rent a room. However, he had yet to see a village that didn’t have at least one monster to get rid of. It just meant he’d have to go monster hunting before he could go to sleep for a day.

“Oh, are we staying here, Hyunjin?” Jisung stood in front of Hyunjin when he jumped off Kkami. And Jisung grinned. He swaggered towards the door of the inn. “I don’t have money, but I’m sure I can get us a room in exchange for entertainment! I’ll sing of your victories, witcher, and the town will love you!”

“Uh… bard,” Hyunjin said, because he’d actually have to warn him, didn’t he? “Jisung.”

Jisung turned to him with wide eyes and his grin turned into a soft smile.

“That might not help. As a witcher, people don’t usually… like… it… when I’m around.” Hyunjin gestured to his appearance, dark leather armour splattered with blood. Long white hair bound together but he knew there were leaves caught in it. It really spoke for itself. His glowing eyes didn’t help his case. “I’ll ask for a monster to kill, which will hopefully get us a meal and a room, and Kkami a place in a stable. That’s all, and only if we’re lucky.”

A look of something crossed Jisung’s face, there and gone too fast for Hyunjin to read. He squared his shoulders and bared his teeth. “Trust me on this, Hyunjin.”

And Jisung sauntered into the inn as if he owned it.

Hyunjin and Kkami shared a look. “I don’t know either, Kkami, sweetheart,” Hyunjin sighed.

Kkami neighed quietly.

“I know, I know, I better go and save his ass or something,” Hyunjin cringed. He was actually going to, wasn’t he?

Kkami snorted.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Yah, don’t laugh at me! Wait here, okay? If anyone comes at you, you know how to drop kick them.”

Jisung had maybe one minute alone in the inn. Somehow, Hyunjin expected there to be fire and screaming and new bruises on Jisung’s annoying face.

One minute, and yet what Hyunjin found when he opened the door was Jisung pointing a finger at him, yelling, and cheering from a crowd of mostly drunk farmers and a handful of young women who curiously turned their heads.

“That’s him!” Jisung was laughing, too. “He saved my life.”

Hyunjin didn’t have time to process that before he was shoved next to Jisung by a smiling man with a long beard and a cup of beer was handed to him. The women oohed and aahed.

“Jisung-ssi, why didn’t you say he’s pretty?”

“Mr Bard, he truly looks as beautiful as you said! A hero!”

“To have defeated a Barghest! I’ll drink to that!”

Jisung cheered with the small crowd, and Hyunjin lifted his beer in cheers, setting it back down when it seemed like most people were briefly shifting their attention to their own drinks. Alcohol did nothing for him, and he didn’t like beer. Jisung swiftly switched his own cup with Hyunjin’s, and when Hyunjin brought the cup up to his face, he noticed it was water.

“I told you to trust me, Hyunjin,” Jisung said quietly.

Hyunjin could only nod.

“Oh, your hair is so pretty,” one of the older women said, sliding into the seat next to him. “I’m the co-owner of this establishment, by the way.”

“Um, thank you,” Hyunjin swallowed a mouthful of water. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you had a job for me here.”

Jisung, now a few metres away, strung his lute and started singing a catchy song about ‘that time a handsome witcher saved me from the beast’ which, despite his raspy throat, sounded good – if you could ignore the terrible text. And the fact that it was all lies. Well, Hyunjin had to admit that he did save Jisung from certain death, but there was nothing heroic about it, and Hyunjin also hadn’t taken off his clothes to use his undershirt to bind a cut on Jisung’s ankle.

“We are uncertain still,” the woman quickly tugged Hyunjin out of his thoughts with her serious tone. “A monster dwells upstream. Sometimes the river is dyed red, or pieces of ripped clothing will pass the village. My niece disappeared two weeks ago. One of the farmers went up to see what was causing the issue last week, and he never returned. One of his shoes did, though.”

“Hmm,” Hyunjin nodded. “I have a few ideas of what it might be, and none of them are good.”

The woman nodded, smiling worriedly. “If it really is a… monster, as you say, we will of course pay you accordingly. For now, your drinks are on us – see it as a gesture of good will for saving that bard.”

With a polite smile, she turned to attend a group of newly arrived villagers.

Hyunjin eyed the sliver of fading daylight streaming in through the dirty window. If it really was a drowner, it might move closer to the village when hungry. Drowners lived in streams and ponds and sewers, but if this one was upstream it might not take long for it to decide to live closer to the village. Hyunjin remembered the mill. There must be a body of water directly connected to it.

And if the last death was already a week ago, then he’d have to hurry. He finished his water and got up.

“Jisung,” he said when he reached him and Jisung had taken a small break from singing to hydrate. “I’m going after a monster here. I will be back by moonrise.”

Jisung smiled a gummy smile, eyes sparkling. “You’ll be back?”

“I’ll be back,” Hyunjin agreed, wondering if it would destroy his fragile positive image in the village if he punched Jisung in the face right now. Why bother though, Jisung’s bruises were just reaching their darkest point, another one wouldn’t even be visible.

Hyunjin turned and left, hearing Jisung loudly announce that Hyunjin was going to defeat the monster.

Kkami was eyeing him.

“What,” he grumbled. “So, he was right. So what. I still have to go kill a monster now.”

Kkami snorted judgingly.

Together, they swiftly galloped towards the mill, and in a slower tempo they followed the water upstream.

There were a few hills there, some shrubbery that quickly turned into tall trees, the river courving and going into the forest. The smell was the first thing that told him something was wrong here, so he got off Kkami, drank one of his witcher potions – never a fun experience, the way his insides twisted and bones shuddered just wasn’t a good vibe – and he felt his sight sharpening, eyes turning black.

Kkami, unbothered queen that she was, turned to snack on some leaves.

Hyunjin followed the smell of blood and death deeper into the woods to a clearing. A dark pond greeted him, and yes, this was it. He would never get the smell out of his hair.

He kicked a pebble into the water.

The water made waves, but not the ones physics predicted the pebble would have created.

In the end, killing a drowner wasn’t that much different from killing a human. They were, after all, human shaped with extra gills and fins. Somewhat. The difficulty didn’t lie in their superhuman strength, but Hyunjin was a witcher, and he had drunk his potions. Not even the coldness and darkness of the water surrounding them really bothered Hyunjin.

The difficulty lay in the fact that Hyunjin didn’t like the quiet that came after. He waded out of the pond, wet and cold, hair plastered to his forehead, the slippery head of the drowner in his arms, and what greeted him was cold starlight and absolute silence.

He walked the way back to the village. Kkami was waiting where he left her, but he didn’t want to ruin his saddlebags by getting them wet with smelly pond water and the drowner’s blood.

The moon rose just as he made it back to the village.

And when he opened the door to the inn, the first thing he saw was Jisung’s annoying face. Could his day get any worse after this?

“You’re back!” Jisung smiled again (why did he smile so much, and why did he smile at Hyunjin?) and then he saw the water dripping down his clothes and the monster’s head in his arms. Naturally Hyunjin couldn’t really grab the head in one hand, it was too fishy for that. Jisung winked at him, before turning back to the room. “The witcher defeated the monster! Your village is safe now!”

Cheers sounded through the room, which seemed to be packed with the whole village and not just the handful of farmers from earlier.

“Should I leave the head outside,” Hyunjin asked the woman who had spoken to him earlier.

She took a look and briefly looked nauseous. “Yes, just leave it outside, thank you. I’ll prepare a room and a bath for you, master witcher.”

Hyunjin blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever been addressed with this much honest respect. “Thank you.”

“Follow me.”

Through a crowd of mostly drunk cheering, the owner led him up a narrow stairway in the back, and opened one of the doors for him. There was a fairly big bed, a small window with curtains, and a tub behind a paper screen.

“Uh, excuse me,” Hyunjin stopped the woman just as she walked past him with the promise of getting someone to bring up hot water, “my horse, she’s outside. Could you send someone for her? If it’s too much trouble, is there a stable I can bring her to?”

The woman smiled. “Of course, dear. I’ll send my son, he’ll take good care of your horse.”

Relieved, Hyunjin started to undo the straps of his armour, putting the pieces on the clothes rack next to the tub. Hopefully the leather would be dry by morning. When he was down to his undershirt and pants, the woman returned with two people following behind her, all of them carrying buckets of steaming water.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin smiled politely, only to be told thanks in return, ‘for saving the village.’

… Jisung must be composing an epic ballad.

Tired, Hyunjin decided to not care about that right now, and fully undressed. He was just starting to relax in the hot water when the door behind him opened. Jisung’s familiar heartbeat sounded in the room. Hyunjin closed his eyes and sighed.

“Are you – oh.”

“What,” Hyunjin groaned. “Don’t tell me they only have one guest room and thus you simply must share with me.”

“Ah, yes, actually. How did you know?” Jisung crossed the room and sat next to Hyunjin, keeping his eyes strictly on Hyunjin’s face.

“Just – a hunch, I don’t know. Are you blushing?”

“No.” Jisung blushed.

Hyunjin hummed and started to cover his arms and chest with soap. It smelled too strongly of flowers, but maybe that would cover the lingering smell of blood and forest. He moved on to wash his hair, getting his fingers tangled in the knots.

“Wait,” Jisung interrupted, “let me do that.”

Stunned, Hyunjin didn’t move when Jisung grabbed the soap out of his hands.

“Your hair is really pretty,” Jisung murmured. “I want to braid it and give you a flower crown. Did you know that one of my aliases is Dandelion?”

“I did not,” Hyunjin said, because Jisung’s aliases were the most conceivable piece of information he just received.

Jisung laughed and used his hands to wash the soap out of Hyunjin’s hair. “You pretend you’re all tough and dramatic but really you’re a big softie.”

“Are you talking about yourself,” Hyunjin replied, because really, he did not come here for an emotional evaluation.

“Aw, no,” Jisung lightly splashed water in Hyunjin’s face, “I never pretend to be all tough and dramatic, I am all tough and dramatic.”

Hyunjin wrinkled his face in disgust. “You’re annoying.”

Hyunjin noticed how Jisung’s musician’s fingers lightly lingered on the scars on his shoulders and back when he washed the soap away. He let Jisung hold his hands and massage a pleasant smelling oil into his skin after he dried and got dressed in a long nightshirt the inn had kindly provided for them. He sat still as Jisung used a towel to gently dry Hyunjin’s hair, and in the absence of a comb used his fingers to disentangle the worst of the knots.

Jisung, for once, blessed Hyunjin with silence. Hyunjin still noticed Jisung. Even when he wasn’t talking a steady stream of nonsense, his presence was still… loud. Strong. The many buttons on Jisung’s jacket were undone with skilled fingers, and Hyunjin pinched himself when he finally remembered to look away. He walked through the room, closing the curtain, locking the door. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and looked everywhere except at Jisung, who pulled the nightshirt over his bare skin.

“You don’t mind sharing the bed, do you?” Jisung asked at last, sitting down next to Hyunjin.

“If I did,” Hyunjin replied, raising an eyebrow, “I’d have removed you from this room already.”

Jisung’s annoying mouth formed a big, heart shaped smile.

Hyunjin wanted to punch him. With his mouth. On Jisung’s mouth. He shuddered internally. Oh no. This wasn’t happening. He was definitely not going to kiss the annoying bard on his annoying mouth. Nope. Not happening.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Jisung said, serious. “Not just from the bandits, but you also kinda saved me back at the other village. You also punched me, but I know that was an accident.”

“I will punch you again,” Hyunjin grumbled, getting under the covers and scooting to one side, “it just won’t be an accident.”

Jisung laughed. “You’re really funny, you know that? I think most people don’t even notice, which is a shame.”

“You’re not funny,” Hyunjin yawned.

“Is that a challenge? Keep thinking that, then. I’ll make you smile.”

Hyunjin didn’t dignify that with an answer. He closed his eyes.

“Sleep well, Hyunjinnie,” Jisung murmured, burying himself in the blanket just a hand width away.

“Night,” Hyunjin returned after a pause.

It didn’t take long for Jisung’s breath to even out and his heartbeat to slow. Hyunjin listened to the muffled and fading noises of the inn for another while before he allowed himself to drift off. Even witchers needed sleep.

When he came back to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the early morning light streaming in from behind the curtain. He still had his eyes closed and felt no need to move for the moment. Jisung’s heartbeat sounded steady, his breaths warm against Hyunjin’s neck. Hyunjin was warm and comfortable in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, the sheet comfortable around him.

Arms tightened around him, and a voice in the back of Hyunjin’s mind started screaming like the house was on fire. Except Hyunjin really didn’t mind burning houses, he was a witcher, why was his brain screaming? He firmly told himself to shut up and enjoy the lingering sleep. Awake time would be later.

“Hrngg warm,” Jisung murmured, and threw a leg over Hyunjin’s hips.

That woke Hyunjin.

Wide eyed, he stared down, only to see Jisung half on top of him. He realised that it wasn’t the blanket that was so comfortably warm and soft, but Jisung, because Jisung was draped all over him.

Carefully, Hyunjin tried to extract himself, but Jisung only tightened his hold on him.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin whispered.

What did one do when one woke up with a human octopus attached? Hyunjin didn’t know, so he tried to breathe normally and not disturb Jisung further. The bruises on his face were thankfully already fading into lighter shades of purple, but Jisung must have been exhausted. One of Hyunjin’s arms was free, and he’d left a bruise balm on the small table beside the bed, in case he hadn’t healed fully in the morning.

Carefully, Hyunjin reached over, scooped a bit up with his finger, and very carefully started to cover the bruises on Jisung’s cheekbone and temple. Jisung didn’t wake.

After a while, Hyunjin closed his eyes and fell back asleep. When he woke up again, it must have been late morning – golden light illuminated the room. Jisung was staring up at him, wide eyed.

“You drool in your sleep,” Hyunjin told him and gently pushed Jisung off him.

Jisung blushed furiously and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, eyes not leaving Hyunjin.

Hyunjin stretched and stood. He opened the curtain, squinting against the bright daylight. When he turned to Jisung, he found Jisung rubbing at his eyes, looking lost in the center of the bed, blanket pooling around him. His hair stood around his head and looked – despite all logic – fluffy.

“I – uh, did I sleep on you?” Jisung averted his eyes.

Hyunjin hummed, turning to his clothes. His armour was dry, luckily, but he’d hate to wear the same undershirt and pants again. He’d have to find a river where he could wash his clothes soon.

“I’ll go find the toilet,” Jisung mumbled and left for the door. He almost stumbled in the doorway. “Oh, clothes! The nice lady must have left them for us.” In front of their door, indeed, was a neatly folded pile of clothes. Simple linen undershirts and pants, nothing fancy but of good quality.

When they had fully dressed and Hyunjin had wrenched his hair into a bun, they made their way downstairs just to find the barkeeper grinning widely at them, reminding Hyunjin that this village thought him a hero.

Thankfully, Jisung did all the talking, and Hyunjin could eat as much breakfast as he liked. Maybe he should keep Jisung around.

A handful of villagers came together to bid them goodbye, and the woman from the inn for some reason apologised for being unable to pay him, but instead offered a horse. A cute, mischievous black mare that had been her niece’s favourite, and as such had never learned how to be a proper farm horse. Jisung thanked the villagers profusely and loudly, and sang another rendition of ‘the handsome witcher saved my life’ as they left.

Out of sight and out of earshot of the last farm belonging to the village, Jisung’s voice went high and panicky.

“Hyunjin! I don’t know how to ride a horse!”

Hyunjin just looked Jisung up and down slowly, making his point. Jisung was, after all, sitting on his horse. Sure, he was also hugging his lute to his chest and also gripping the saddle with white-knuckled fists.

“Ha! I did it!” Jisung whooped then, and pointed a finger in Hyunjin’s face. “You smiled!”

Hyunjin wiped the smile off his face, furrowed his brows and glared. “No.”

“You did! I clearly saw – Hyunjinnie you’re so cute when you – ah!” Jisung blanched and cowered over his horse, who had just made a bigger step than usual to nose Kkami in the face.

Hyunjin laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Jisung was confident, or good at bullshitting confidence, and pretty, and annoying, and brave. And he was afraid of riding on a horse.

He leaned back just a bit, letting Kkami know to stop just by shifting his weight. Jisung’s horse also stopped, probably because it had decided Kkami was the best living being on the planet. What a smart horse. Hyunjin jumped off and patted the black horse on the nose, smiling at her.

Kkami snorted loudly.

Hyunjin grabbed the reins of Jisung’s horse and started walking. “Just relax, Sungie,” he said without looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“What about Kkami?” Jisung sounded very relieved and adorably worried about Kkami.

Hyunjin hummed. “She’s the best. The smartest. She’ll walk with us on her own. You’re the one that needs to learn how to communicate with your horse. What’s her name?”

“Uh,” Jisung paused. “I forgot? Or they didn’t say.”

“Well, then you should start by naming her,” Hyunjin replied, and then started to talk about horses. What they liked to eat, how to care for them, what they did when they felt good and what they did when they felt scared, and what to do to calm a scared horse down. He talked about saddle care and the different kinds of signals most horses learnt from humans, and then he talked about Kkami.

Jisung listened.

And Hyunjin, the complete and utter fool that he was, talked himself hoarse (ha, get it, horse?) and taught Jisung how to not fall off his newly acquired companion.

In the afternoon, they rested by a stream, Jisung complaining about sore legs the entire time and whining when he tried to sit climb back up on the horse. Hyunjin laughed at him, which made Jisung smile brighter than the sun in the sky, and they decided they’d just walk next to their horses to relieve the stress put on Jisung’s legs. After a while, Jisung started singing again. Maybe it was chronic. Still, Hyunjin found himself enjoying the company, and if his ears didn’t betray him, Jisung’s lyrics were better now, too.

As the sun set behind some mountains in the distance, the annoying bard’s voice cracked from dehydration every few minutes. Jisung settled for humming melodies. Hyunjin caught a small animal for them to eat and build a fire on a clearing off the road. Jisung found an apple tree. As night fell, they huddled close together under Hyunjin’s thin blanket.

“I’m seriously unironically glad to have met you,” Jisung’s loud voice startled Hyunjin, who’d gotten used to the quiet and the fire’s crackling. “I forgive you for punching me in the face, too.”

Hyunjin took it all back. The annoying bard was annoying and Hyunjin did not enjoy his company at all. He sighed, pouring all his long suffering pain into the release of air.

“But only because you’re pretty,” Jisung continued his monologue.

That was it. Hyunjin couldn’t listen to another word. He leaned in, punching Jisung in the face. On the mouth. With his mouth.

Jisung made a strangled noise and returned the kiss with a small smirk in the corner of his lips.

#stray kids #han jisung/hwang hyunjin #hyunsung #uhhh not that people will be able to easily find this because i put links into the post and tumblr hates those #ummm #skz fanfic #witcher au #long post #my ao3 is tinystreetlamp! come say hi #uhhh now idk what to tag #like. lmao #there was only one bed #enemies to lovers #well not really #it's not really enemies to lovers they just don't know how to show attraction without being ... like... the way they are #as my tags on ao3 say: tender yearning and crack #... it is kinda cracky #fluff #because I am incapable of writing anything without fluff #i write what makes me happy! or i try to lmao #like there is sad backstory that you can guess at if you know anything about the witcher #i just don't talk about it because this is about falling in love with the most annoying person you can find on this rock #shoutout to Kkami! she cute #i love u all and pls take care of yourselves!!! even if u think you don't need it #do something for you mental health today #and tomorrow #and like. every day. because you need it. there i said it #live laugh love lee felix

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dilfbane · 3 years ago

Text

It Gets Better(A Silky Pearl)

Summary: It’s been a long time since things have gotten this bad. Loki, returned from his latest mission, lets you know that, with help and support, you can overcome the worst of things, and makes sure you know that he’ll be there with you to get you through it, each and every day.

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Reader in this fic struggles with eating disorders. Thoughts and feelings related to these(specifically to anorexia and bulimia), are made throughout the fic, especially those that, in my personal experience, people with these disorders experience. I cannot stress enough that this will be discussed/referenced/talked about, sometimes explicitly(Though not graphically) and sometimes implicitly, so please be aware of that and know that it’s OK to take care of yourself and skip this one if that would be triggering to you!

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I want to preface this by saying that there are a LOT of people, both here and on AO3, who have made some amazing Loki/reader oneshots where the reader is struggling with mental health and/or physical health issues, that really provide a sense of warmth and fluff and support to people who may be going through those things themselves, and I’ve taken a lot of comfort in those fics over the course of the pandemic(I’ll be shouting out a couple of them in the tags!). I want to acknowledge that these exist, and that they’re awesome and have partly inspired my own writing, before talking about this little project I’m embarking on.

Because, while I have gotten a lot of comfort out of many of those pieces of writing, there are definitely some things which I feel like aren’t talked about as much in pieces like these which I have gone through, and which a lot of other people have gone/are going through, and…. I figured that maybe I could take a crack at trying to provide that hit of fluff for people dealing with those things, if I can, and hopefully use my own experience with them to do it in as respecful and accurate a way as possible.

All that being said, the first oneshot in this little project is going to be dealing with a pretty heavy subject, that being eating disorders. The reader in this fic does struggle with eating disorders - specifically anorexia and bulimia. I will not be actively describing anything too graphic about these disorders in this fic, except to highlight through implication and some sparse details that this is what’s happening here, as well as show some of the inner thought processes of the reader, but there definitely is enough in here to show that that’s what’s going on, so if anyone would be triggered by that, please take care of yourselves and give this one a pass! Also, I will further disclaim that there are many types of eating disorders, and everyone’s experience with them is different. In this oneshot, I wrote based off what I know to have been true during the time in my life when I struggled with the same conditions, and I really tried to make the fluff and support as kind and encouraging as I possibly could. If for ANY REASON there’s something that I did badly at, or something that’s disrespectful, anyone reading this may feel more than free to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it! I don’t want this fic to be a place where anyone feels hurt or disrespected, that isn’t my intention at all, and if I make a mistake in that regard for any reason whatsoever, I would really appreciate knowing so that I can correct it!

Anyways, after that extremely lengthy A/N, just… please know, if you’re going through something like this, that you’re not alone, that help does exist and is out there, and that you are seen and heard. And take this Loki fluff, because honestly, there can never be too much of that in the world!

You know that he worries about you. Even before his latest, three-week mission, you know that he worried about you. In the mornings, as you pour your coffee, you watch him watch you with careful nonchalance, gaze boring into the back of your head, slight furrow creasing his eyebrows, frown pulling small at his lips. He dresses early, because he wakes early; it is a battle, most mornings, for you to get out of bed. And so what, if you take your coffee with more creamer than is necessarily normal - it has to last you a long time, this coffee. You need the sugar of it, to get you to that clean pain. It is sharper, more real, than any scalpel, any knife that Loki keeps concealed by his armor; all that fine Asgardian leather, green and supple and him. It gives you back the control that you lack. Lets you be the person that you would be.

It’s not that you’re afraid of your body, but you are ashamed by it; cannot fathom, even now with his gaze on you, that Loki could love somebody so dreadfully overweight.

Today, though - Today, you had thought, you had hoped, that it might be different. You don’t know why you have that hope, but it brims up in you; a physical need, a visible yearning, for you to be enough for once. Someone that Loki can stand to look at. Someone that Loki can love. He is looking at you now like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you flinch from the frown that creases his piercing gaze, unable to bear how it roves up the planes of your body; silhoutted in the light coming in through the window, you can feel each ounce of fat that stretches over your sinew, cartilage. (You know that Loki hates your body - He traces it sometimes like he’s probing you, trying to find where your bones are. You wish that you could call him on it, and know that you never could).

You stand at the counter, and turn from him; rummage in the cabinet for your coffee mug with shaking fingers; you almost feel like they’re rubber. Blue and cold, like his Jotun skin, but you know that it isn’t enough. Pins and needles prick at them - you can almost convince yourself that it’s only your guilt and shame, but you cannot hide from the pain suffusing Loki’s voice when he speaks.

“Darling,” He says, on a shaky breath, “We need to talk about this.”

“I know -” You tell him - you know that you can’t run from this, anymore. He knows how you look, how nothing you do is fixing it. And now, he’s going to leave you. “I know, Loki - I tried, Loki, I’m so sorry -“

The agony that wells up in you threatens to overwhelm your ability to speak, and you feel your knees buckle the second before you fall. Your kneecaps slam against the cupboard underneath the sink, your head hitting the edge of the counter as you slide down hard to the floor. It hurts. But every part of your body hurts, these days. It’s as constant as your worthlessness. And something else, too -

He is there, on the floor with you, in less time than it takes place to blink, pulling you hard and desperate into his arms; you don’t understand why, and you try to wrench yourself from him, sobs bubbling up and spilling out from your tightly shut eyes. You can feel the bruises starting to form on you, a lump throbbing at your temple.

“Love,” He is saying, “Y/N, sweetheart, come back to me. Come back to me, darling, please.” He is stroking your hair; you feel his fingers at its strands, thin and brittle. God, you think, how pathetic you are - you can’t even keep yourself pretty for him, for this god and all the sacrifices that he’s made. You cry harder, unable to stop your own wailing. When you finally do, you’re exhausted - it takes everything out of you.

“Loki,” You say, on a wretched whine, “I’m so cold.”

“Hush,” He says, “You’re alright. You’ll be warm soon - We’ll sort it, darling, I promise.”

You don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t something you can sort, but somehow you know, deep in your heart, that Loki understands. Still, his voice is so sweet, and the shudders that wrack you begin to halt in the steady hold of his embrace; the tender brush of his fingers over your skin. You feel like you can look at him, now, so you do it, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth to steel yourself for the cruel things you’re certain he’ll start with. But Loki’s gaze isn’t angry at you, not full of fury or disgust. They sparkle with unshed tears and concern, emerald in the daylight. It takes you a moment too long to realize all that pain, all that worry, is for you; when you do, though, you flinch away. Feel Loki’s fingers drop from your hairline to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head up so that you can’t run and hide.

“I’m losing you, love,” Loki says. His voice is low, and steeped in sorrow. It is his turn to look down, with guilt and shame, and you feel a pang blossom, raw and red, in your heart. He sighs, and straightens his shoulders. He is filled with some new resolution, some new determination you can’t wince away from.

“I need to know,” Loki tells you, “How long this has been going on. I need to - I need you to tell me why, love. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

“I can’t,” You say, blinking back a fresh torrent of tears, “Tell you why. It’s not - I can’t - I don’t know.”

But you know, and Loki does, too. It’s the god of lies, holding you - of course he can tell that you’re lying. It is something other, and runs deep, this bone-y reluctance. A complex game of mental gymnastics. How could you ever tell Loki about the control that it gives you, the desperation with which you used all your calorie-counting and aching restraint to regain the love that you lost? The nights bent over toilet bowls; the way that, sometimes, you empty stomach made you dig your nails hard into your palms ’til they bled, to stop yourself from crying out at the pain. And he loves you - the part of you that craves his affection, that yearns to burrow fast and fierce into Loki’s embrace and spill all your secrets to him, makes sure to remind you of that.

“Y/N,” Says Loki, soft and tender, yet infused with a note so harsh that you would wince, if you could. “You can tell me anything. You need to.”

You notice things, now, in the face of his determination. You notice that Loki is looking at you like he’s in physical pain, and that there’s something sticky and red on the pads of the fingers that brushed up against your head.

“I’m bleeding,” You say. It comes out soft, horrified.

The frown that creases Loki’s face would bring you to your knees, if you weren’t there already.

“It’s just - a thing that I do,” You tell him, too ashamed to look at his face as you reveal it. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“That’s not enough for me, love.”

Loki’s lips are pursed tight, and the wound in his eyes has hardened to steel. The you part of your body - the fleeing part, the one who knows how to survive - seizes its’ chance and you duck out of his embrace, with far more strength than you had possessed in what felt like, potentially, years. Scrambles, backwards, like a cornered animal, over the tile floor, before heaving itself up to standing. It faces Loki, and its’ breath comes in stabbing-sharp. It is hard to remember that you have to call it ‘myself’. You feel older than you were, yesterday, and you cannot, quite, get air to come into your lungs. That’s not enough for me, you hear your lover say, ringing in your ears like a hyena’s howl.

You’re not enough for me, love. Your fingers spasm, clutching the sides of the kitchen table white-knuckled. You wonder, fleetingly, what Loki would do if you died. The thought makes you cry out in pain, a whimper ripping out from a throat rubbed fingernail-raw, but Loki does not move to stand.

“Come back to me,” He tells you, spiked with sorrow and need. And, perhaps for the first time, you admit it - to yourself, as much as to him.

“I don’t - I don’t think I know how.”

He smiles the smiole of someone who’s seen his own pain, faced his own lashing demons, and you pause to take him in fully, this god who says that he loves you, the man he is trying to be. You catch on hixs eyes, those bright emerald coins, his hair like the feathers of crows. His high, pale cheekbones, and his silver-tongue cut like glass. The pads of his fingertips, slender and cold, tender and fierce on your skin or the hilt of a dagger. You breathe in the smell of him, parchment and iron; peppermint tea and the smoke from a lorn, crimson fire. Wet leaves, after a rain. You feel your resolve start to waver.

“Well,” He says, all thoughtful, all trickster, “Sitting down, I believe, would be a good place to begin.”

The teasing lilt of his voice - an act that he is putting on, and all for you, always for you - cajoles you, coaxing you to lever your elbows and slide back down onto the floor, your weary legs feeling unimaginably grateful. Loki shoots you a new smile now, light and proud. He beckons you, with a cock of his head and a slim, fond gesture, to him - Of a sudden, the tiles beneath you seem like a desert, an ocean. You feel the weight of your emptiness. It laughs at you, its’ white teeth filed and barred. In your head, your failure is heavy; a hot and cackling creature with seven-foot claws pressing down on your chest, restricting your matchstick limbs. You are lost to the unyielding insistence of it, trapped in the maw of its cage, and Loki’s words, when they come, sound as far away as the shores of a country ancient and foreign.

“I was hardly gone,” He is saying, but you cannot answer him. “How could it have gotten this bad?”

It is that - that sadness, that fear in your lover - that breaks you, and you take the thing at a clumsy, terror-steeped sprint, not caring how wretched you look, so long as you can reach him - So long, you finally let yourself think, as there is something left of you for Loki to hold in his arms. Your body hurts worse than anything. You feel every scrape and bruise and chill on it; the pins and knives working at oxygen-starved nerves, and the gnawing clamp of your hunger, a brand pressing into your gut; and you know that Loki can’t save you. But maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to save yourself. And his fingers are there, going up to your hair, thumb rubbing at a hollow cheek and catching the salty dirge of an errant tear.

“It gets better, you know,” Loki tells you. He gets you onto his lap; you feel his heartbeat under your palms where you clutch tightly at his shirt to hold yourself up. A steady, thrumming proof that he is alive. And when he says it, you get the sense that, somehow, you’ve always know it, this whispered secret he’s weaving into your soul. “If you get proper help for it. If you want it to.”

He speaks casually, but there is a weight to his words. Miraculously - you’re not quite so sure how - you find yourself able to meet them.

“I want it to,” You tell him. “I didn’t, before - “ And here his eyes widen, and he shakes his head like you’ve shot him - “But I do. I want to -“

“Alright, love,” He tells you, running a soothing hand down over your side, past the hard planes of your collarbone, “Alright. It’s okay. You’re such a strong person- It’s going to be hard, for awhile, but I know that you can get through this. I’ll be right here with you, darling. Right here, by your side.”

“You will?” You ask him, voice cracking, hardly daring to hope that despite all this, he would stay. He chuckles, sadly, as if your thinking it hurts him, and he is deadly serious when he tells you,

“Y/N, of course I will.”

Somehow, though he’s the god of lies, you don’t doubt his words for an instant. You nod, and the nodding takes effort. Yet you are certain he understands what you mean.

“So,” Says Loki, “Can you - Tell me about this?”

You have to think, for a minute. Can you tell Loki about this? You know that he’s telling the truth, that he isn’t going to leave you. Still, you’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, not even in bed, and the fear in you won’t be put to rest so easily. You shake in his hold, and realize, with a frigid shock, how you must look to him - how badly you are hurting him, and how badly you’re hurting yourself, by keeping your feelings inside yourself and leaving your body to rot. You know, now, that Loki will help you through this - that he will be there, kind touches skirting the bad days; warm, mischevious smirks smoothing the wrinkles of your persistent self-doubts. There was a time when you needed to do this - there will, probably, still be days when you feel like you need to do this, to get a firm hold over your life, and keep the jackals at bay. There are other words to keep yourself safe, though. Loki’s breath in the dark is more home to you than anything you’ve ever had, and his open waiting, here in the daylight, makes you brave enough to speak.

“Maybe… Over lunch?” You offer. You bite your lip and hold out the query, a silky pearl in your hand. For one moment, Loki seems to consider; after all, he is the trickster, and a man not given to acting rashly, or stripping the drama from his complicated schemes. If this is a scheme, you think that you might forgive him - Later, when his lips are on your frame, when you’re there with him, again. His lips twitch into a grin so affectionate and proud that you know- you know - that if you seek proper care and really want to get better, you’ll get through the days that feel like walking on broken glass. You’ve done so much for me, that grin tells you. Let me do this for you.

He reaches out, and takes the pearl. You hardly recognize the man who rained hell down on New York, who snorts and jabs with sarcasm at every word that comes out of Iron Man’s mouth.

“Breakfast?” He counters, shooting a pointed glance at the microwave clock. It is a dare and a promise - a challenge, but never a trick. It tastes like honey on your tongue.

“Fine,” You say, “But you’ll have to cook.” Some kind of joy is creeping its way into you. Your voice, you find, barely trembles.

“Midgardians,” Lok says, with an eye-roll - a friendly, loving glint in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who burns water.” The joke prods your tender, new understanding, reassures you that he is still Loki; that he isn’t going to treat you differently, like a child, just because you’re suffering. The smile comes full onto you, and you wriggle, stretching your arms over your head and yawning, exaggerated for effect to add to the banter.

“I never said that I couldn’t cook,” You tell Loki, “Just wanted you to do it.”

“Mm,” He says, “And what will you be doing, then, while I cook?”

You chew at your lip, and choose to answer before your nerves make you panic.

“Finding the right words,” You admit, laying the truth bare to him.

His hands are wending through your hair now, and his lips are unberarably gentle on yours. He tastes like embers and ink. That sweet, slightly metalic tang that you’ve come to associate with his magic; cinnamon, tinged with steel. He kisses you for a second or two, before pulling away, but you could live in those seconds - Unfold it, like a blanket, and let the care of it warm your thin, freezing bones, if Loki weren’t here to show you that, with the right help, you can learn how to do it yourself.

“Finding the right words,” Loki muses, vaulting himself up to stand in a movement that’s unfairly graceful. “I’d much prefer yours, to be honest.”

He holds a hand out, and you take it, letting him pull you up. The floor, underneath you, feels solid. The sun is coming through the clouds, and out there in the wide world you can hear bird-song, the low, sugared sway of the breeze. There is something else there, too:

You let it wrap its tendrils around you, and you decide that it’s hope.

#loki/reader #loki/female reader #established relationship #eating disorders #mental health struggles #not me writing 3k plus words of loki helping the reader come to terms with the fact that they can recover from their eating disorders #because that's what I wanted to have when I was going through it #soft loki #i mean seriously #yeah there's angst #BUT #also just an unrepentant amount of loki fluff #he says it in the fic but i'll mention it here too:#if you're going through anything like this #know that you don't have to do it alone!#and that not only is it okay to get professional help #it's a good and positive thing that can be a very important part of recovery!#you have so much love and support in your life #because you're a beautiful amazing strong person and it's NOT YOUR FAULT that you're struggling with a mental illness #fics mentioned in the beginning as inspirations for writing this(and the next couple oneshots I have lined up) include:#The 'Loki's Lullabies' series by kaoerin on AO3 #and the 'As You Are' series by hopeless_romantic_spoonie/yespolkadot_kitty #also on AO3 #if any of you are on tumblr i'm so sorry i don't know your url's #but y'all should go show these fics love

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chelsfic · 4 years ago

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I’ll Just Look on Through My Love - Guillermo x Reader x Nandor One-shot (Dom/Sub, One-shot)

Sorry for the gif lmao

Sequel to A Familiar’s Familiar

WWDITS Masterlist | AO3

Summary: Guillermo and Nandor punish you. Nandor thinks Guillermo is far too lenient with you.

Warnings/Tags: Dom/sub, choking, humiliation, Gender Neutral Pronouns/Descriptions

Nandor’s hand is gigantic. It wraps practically all the way around your throat. His fingers and thumb dig into the tender flesh under your jaw bone, forcing your head back against his broad chest. Guillermo’s hand is smaller, but more vicious. His blunt fingernails cut into your sensitive skin. You’re sandwiched between them, Guillermo’s weight pressing into your chest and Nandor’s ice cold breath creeping over the nape of your neck. Their bodies hold you up, your feet dangling, barely scraping the floor of your little bedroom under the stairs.

“Look at you, chiquis,” Guillermo’s voice is stern but there’s a tremor in it that betrays how affected he is by this scene. Not to mention his achingly hard erection, currently rocking against your pelvis. “Weeping, whining, falling apart. Is this what it takes to teach you respect?”

Nandor growls into your ear, his beard scraping roughly against your cheek as he leans over you and grabs Guillermo up in a broken, feral kiss. Their hands loosen around your throat and you sob as the blood rushes painfully back to your oxygen-deprived brain. Shadows and brilliant sparks of light fade from your vision as you recover yourself, suspended between your master and his master.

Nandor snarls into the kiss and Guillermo responds with a breathy, needy moan. Hearing the way your master responds to Nandor’s attentions sends a pulsing ache to your groin. But you’re still weak and weepy with the sorrow of disappointing Guillermo. You fist your little hands into the fabric of his sweater and bury your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him and begging for forgiveness. “I’m sorry,” you repeat over and over again.

Nandor’s chest rumbles with low laughter and he begins thrusting to the rhythm of your cries; his firm erection rubs against your ass through layers and layers of clothing. “Your familiar is spoiled, Guillermo,” he chides, pulling back from the kiss, his mouth painted with blood. Guillermo’s lips are a beautiful ruin. “They think they can run around this house disrespecting vampires and just say they are sorry ?”

Nandor wraps his arms around you, replacing his hand around your throat and pulling you away from your master. You sob pitifully at the separation and try again, “Please, I’m really sorry, Master. Master Nandor. I won’t ever roll my eyes at you again. Please…”

“It’s too late for that!” Nandor grouses. He squeezes his hand on your throat in a petulant warning before letting his fingers relax. “You think I don’t know you don’t give a shit about me? Well, it’s pretty clear. Look at you, so sad and desperate for Guillermo. Well, guess what? Guillermo doesn’t want you. He wants me. Isn’t that right, Guillermo?

Your master is undressing, responding to some unspoken command from Nandor’s eyes. He removes his clothing with neat precision, folding and setting each item down on the little nightstand beside your cot. “Yes, master,” he answers with a needy moan, finally working the skin-tight boxer-briefs down his curvy legs and standing naked and exposed before you.

Guillermo’s body is so perfect it hurts. Your eyes linger over his heaving chest, the round slope of his plush stomach, the shape of his heavy erection jutting out between thick thighs. The only other time you’ve seen your master nude was that night...months ago when he’d offered you the job. But it had been dark and he’d been in a rush. Still. The memory of his words sends a shiver down your spine, If you want this job...you’ll need to lose your virginity first...

Nandor speaks and you snap back to the present. You can practically see the open-mouthed leer on his lips as he hisses in satisfaction. “Look at you, Guillermo! Your cheeks are so rosy...and that fat cock is ready for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, master.” Guillermo backs up until his knees hit the edge of your pitiful little mattress. He lays down on it, his legs spread open and you might faint. Your beautiful master, naked and yearning, laid out in the place where you sleep every night! He ghosts a hand over his dick and pants, “I want you, master. I’ve been good.”

“Hm, debatable,” Nandor mocks. He’s grinding himself into your ass and you feel yourself responding, subtly rocking back against him. “You can’t even keep your own familiar in line, after all. I have to do everything for you, do I? Guillermo, prepare yourself for me while this pitiful little thing watches.”

Guillermo groans in delight, shoving his hands between his spread legs. The air rushes from your lungs at the sight and Nandor laughs over your head. “He’s not for you, little human.”

You watch as Guillermo glances over at your nightstand and back at you with a questioning arch of his brows. Oh god…

“I-in the drawer, master,” you tell him, face burning as he reaches into the drawer and pulls out the bottle of lube you’d purchased with rather unrealistically hopeful expectations.

He smirks at you as he pours the liquid over his fingers, “My familiar is keeping secrets from me, too? What are you doing in here all by yourself in the middle of the day with this, huh?” Guillermo’s fingers trace past his cock, inching between his legs. “Do you touch yourself and think about me? What do you think about? Getting fucked by me?” His fingers disappear and he regards you coldly. “No...it’s something else isn’t it? Something sadder. You think about rutting against me like the pathetic, mewling underservant you are? Fucking yourself on my thigh while I ignore you? Is that what gets you off?”

Guillermo’s working himself open as he speaks and Nandor’s hand has fallen from your neck. He’s holding you in a bone-cracking bear hug as he frantically humps you from behind. Warmth pools between your legs and every little motion causes your underwear to brush against your sex, sending an electric jolt through your core. You could come without ever being touched.

“I hope you’re ready for me, Guillermo. Because I cannot wait any longer.” Nandor drags you forward and throws you down on the narrow bed beside your master. You lay there, frozen and unsure, next to your writhing, panting master. Nandor climbs on after you, kneeling between Guillermo’s spread legs. “You’re going to lay there and watch while I fuck your master into the mattress. Won’t that be nice?” When you don’t answer Nandor’s face turns stony. “What do you say when a superior does a kindness for you, mortal?”

“Thank you, Master Nandor.” Your voice is small.

You curl onto your side so you can face your master; maybe you can pretend it’s just the two of you. But Guillermo ignores you, staring up at Nandor with his eyes blown. His face is slack and he squirms wantonly, begging with his body for his master’s attention. What would it be like, you wonder, to be the object of Guillermo’s adoration? Your hands lay limp on the mattress, twitching every now and then with the desire to reach out and touch what you can’t have.

Nandor unbuttons his fly and pulls out his straining cock, already glistening with pre-cum. He lines himself up without ceremony and rails into Guillermo’s soft, pliant body. Your master cries out, his hands bracing against the wall behind his head as Nandor starts plowing into him with unforgiving force. You watch, rapt, your face only inches from Guillermo’s on the pillow. Nandor is a writhing, brutal force of nature, but you only have eyes for your sweet master. His face scrunches up so adorably in pain-pleasure. His pouty lips are parted and little mewling cries spill out with every breath. Nandor is, as always, relentless. You want to scream at him to kiss and hold your master the way he deserves. But you swallow the instinct, dreaming instead of being the one to kiss his swollen, bloodied lips.

“You need to learn, little human,” Nandor huffs, his hands digging cruelly into Guillermo’s fleshy thighs. “I’m your master’s master. You disrespect me, then you disrespect your master! Understand?”

A sob tears from your throat and you bury your face into Guillermo’s sweaty shoulder, hiding your overwrought emotions from the vampire’s cold gaze. Guillermo coos at you soothingly, even as he takes his master’s cock deeper inside of him. He drops one arm down onto your shoulders and hugs you to his side.

“You’re too lenient with your familiar, Guillermo,” Nandor growls, his voice hiccupping with the intensity of his human’s hot, tight body wrapped around him.

Guillermo gasps out a laugh and says, “I wonder where I learned that?”

Nandor roars at the impertinence just as his climax takes hold. He frantically grabs for his familiar’s neglected cock. He strokes with precise, inhuman speed that carries Guillermo into a rapid, overwhelming orgasm of his own. You cling onto your master, sniffling and crying into his shoulder as he shakes and gasps.

Nandor slides out of Guillermo, his cock still throbbing and pulsing out hot ropes of semen that splatter over the human’s inner thighs and belly. He waits until the last drop shoots onto Guillermo’s flushed skin before tucking himself away and standing with a ridiculously dignified air considering what he’s just been doing.

“I’ll expect you in my crypt in an hour to get me ready for coffin,” he commands, turning on his heel and disappearing behind the flimsy curtain.

The quiet in your little room is deafening and it makes it all the more apparent when Guillermo’s soft, panting breaths thicken into silent sobs. You raise your head from the cradle of his shoulder, watching his beautiful face collapse in anguish as he cries. Something inside of you breaks. You forget your own angst--the misery of disappointing Guillermo and the terror of his vampire master taking control over your punishment. Your master is hurting and it feels like someone has cracked open your chest and ripped out your heart.

“Oh, master!” you plead, reaching up and wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Please, don’t cry.”

Guillermo takes another minute to regain control. It’s probably taking advantage of his compromised state but you put your arm around his chest and hug him to you. You need to comfort him and, maybe, you need the comfort of his soft warm body as well. When his sobs finally abate, he tries and fails to attain his usual cold, mean demeanor. You’d take a dozen more punishments if it would heal the broken tremor in his voice that betrays him. “Clean me up, familiar.”

You dash down the hall, returning in moments with a damp washcloth. Guillermo shifts over on the cot, allowing you space to sit at his side as you gently wipe away the drying gobs of Nandor’s semen from his chest and stomach. You blush a little when he parts his thighs and motions for you to clean him down there as well. But, as much as you lust after your beautiful master, that isn’t what this moment is about. You move to kneel between his legs and clean him with a reverence that feels sacred and pure. Touching him softly, you hiss in sympathy when you notice the finger-shaped bruises forming on his thighs. Guillermo stays utterly quiet throughout, staring into the middle distance.

“There,” you say, dropping the cloth onto the floor by the bed. “Good as new, master.”

Guillermo says nothing, his face is a blank mask but you notice that he’s shivering.

“Are you cold?” you ask, tugging at the blanket and covering him with it. You feel suddenly nervous. This is unknown territory, you’ve never actually witnessed the private side of his relationship with Nandor. You can’t help but compare the way Nandor fled afterwards with the way Guillermo let you sleep in bed with him that night after he first punished you…

Feeling uncertain, but desperately wanting to offer comfort, you climb under the blanket with him and cautiously snuggle into his side. You expect him to push you away, or perhaps to lay rigidly beside you. But Guillermo accepts your touch, allowing you to pillow your head on his soft, scarcely-haired chest. He lets out a shaky sigh and his eyes drift closed.

“Is this alright, master?” you ask, your voice trembling. “Just for a little while, until you feel better?”

Guillermo doesn’t answer out loud. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and drops a kiss onto the top of your head. Your lips split into a painful smile. You bury your face in his chest, pressing your lips to his smooth skin and kissing directly over his heart. You think you could endure a thousand nights of having to watch, with pitiful yearning in your gut, if your master will only hold you like this and kiss you sweetly each time.

“Good familiar,” he breaths into your tangled hair and your heart swells.

#guillermo de la cruz x reader #Guillermo x Nandor #guillermo x reader x nandor #smut #cursed fanfic #this is not a joke you are now cursed

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national-nobody-writes · 4 years ago

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2020 Creator Wrap

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

I was tagged by the oh so talented @irolltwenties!

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I’m not a particularly prolific writer (WIPs for days, but completed projects? Not so much). Somehow in this hell year though, I did manage to complete more fics than in any previous year for a total of seven new works (~49k words, all on ao3), plus a chunky chap of a long running WIP (~20k words) so I’m actually pretty damn proud of myself! I also made some new fandom friends in 2020 which has easily been one of the biggest delights of the year & has definitely helped my creative momentum, so ty all for that. <3

Counting down from 5, here are my favs:

5. Downtime

I have endless love for JayRoy and it felt so good to finally finish something for them for once this year! All of my past WIPs primarily focused on them ended up firmly in my graveyard folder, including the fic that this one shot was originally meant to be connected to. I liked the way this turned out well enough to clean it up and post it on its own though, so at least now I can say that I have something published for them at last.

(Also it got me back into the JayRoy headspace enough to outline a whole YJ/Earth16 JayRoy fic that I’m excited to start drafting in 2021, so we’ll see where that goes...)

2.3k NSFW; A mix of playful sweet and roughness, just like them.

4. Mirror Image

Bluepulse Week really saved me this year in terms of forcing me to just write, damn it! Did I finish all the prompts this year? Nope. Did it get me to complete a handful of fics that I ended up really loving? Yes. This was one of them.

This fic zoomed into existence entirely out of necessity as an alt idea to a prompt that I had a much longer idea for, but didn’t have time to complete. It then got a positive enough reception that I decided to turn it from a crack-adjacent, passable one-shot to a slightly more developed two-shot by request of one of my commenters. Really, it was writing that second chapter that ended up endearing the fic to me.

6.3k Humor, time travel shenanigans & accidental dating. This fic is the sweetness of teenage crushes, the confusing mess of discovering your sexuality, & laughter with your best friend.

3. Soft Wesper One Shots

Would you look at that, another nsfw piece. Could it be that I’m starting to get to the point where I can look back at completed nsfw fics without cringing terribly? Love that for me.

This fic took me by surprise, tbh. I wouldn’t consider myself a part of the grisaverse fandom (I’m utterly ambivalent toward the OG trilogy & have no plans to read them), but I did fall deeply in love with the whole Six of Crows gang earlier this year to the point of having quite the book hangover afterward, unable to pick up anything else except related fanfic for a couple weeks straight. These fluffy, nsfw scenes were born out of that, and I was pleasantly surprised to see such a positive response to them in the comments. The whole SoC gang has my heart, but the dynamic between Jesper and Wylan in particular got my writing fingers itching.

3.7k Domestic, post-canon fluff & tender sex with flirty Jesper & blushing Wylan abound.

2. Stick With Me

Ohh, I still get warm fuzzies thinking about this fic! If I’m only low-key proud of the first three on this list, this is one I’m legitimately very proud of. I had this idea on the docket already from a convo with @ivyxwrites early this year (or maybe last year? who knows, time means nothing anymore) but used Bluepulse Week as the excuse to finally get started, and I ended up adoring the process of writing it far more than I anticipated.

As much as I love planning out meticulously crafted, plotty stories, sometimes all you want to do is pick some well-loved tropes out of a hat instead and run with them (in this case: stuck in a cabin, only one bed, & heated argument leading to confession). It was freeing to just mess around and have fun with this fic, knowing pretty much right from the get-go how I wanted it to unfold and seeing it so vividly in my mind. It also probably helped that I was writing it for Ivy; it’s much easier for me to stay motivated when creating directly for my friends.

Finishing this was also such a serotonin-filled burst of pure victory for me since, as previously stated, I’m terrible at finishing projects--particularly multi-chap fics, particularly within a decent timeframe.

25.5k A showcase of the essence of what I love about the best friends-to-lovers dynamic. Part character study, part wires getting crossed & uncrossed, and whole idiots to lovers. This fic is the warmth in the pit of your stomach from a yearning made real & the sudden clarity of realizing what you were looking for had already been there all along.

1. The Rest Pt 1: Delicate (Remember Me Chap 4)

Oh, Remember Me. Of everything I’ve ever written, this story remains the one I’m most proud of and certainly the closest to my heart (not to mention the longest running, whoops). The first iteration of the beginning of this story was actually drafted back in 2017, but I walked away from it for a couple of years before deciding to dust it off and try again. It has spiraled into something far bigger in scope than I originally planned for, but I’ve come to love the path it’s led me down so far, and finishing this whopping 20k chunkster of a chapter was like breathing a huge (if temporary) sigh of relief.

This chap was particularly cathartic to write because it allowed for a number of convos between the boys that had really needed to happen, and was finally the ‘getting together’ moment the fic had been building toward for a while. It’s also so sappy I could die, but I will not be apologizing for that, lol. I was really hoping to get Chap 5 up this year as well, but y’know. Sometimes things just don’t work out like you plan for and that’s okay.

Chap 5 does have 17k done already (with prob another 5-8k still to go) & I’m itching to share it, but no sense in rushing if the end result would suffer for it. Luckily, everyone in comments has been kind enough to beat me over the head with ‘take your time, we don’t mind/we’ll still be here!!!’ which I’m immensely grateful for. So, at least the pressure to hurry up and get it done is purely self-inflicted.

Of all my works, this fic has not only gotten the most passionate responses, but has also been the main gateway for me to interact with other bluepulse creators, which has been a real joy. Nothing brightens my day like the essays people leave me over there from time to time after discovering the fic. That kind of engagement is the highest praise, & responding is very self indulgent fun for me (bc, clearly, I could go on and on about this fic & YJ in general forever).

54.8k total so far (WIP). Bart & Jaime’s relationship journey from beginning to ‘current day’ (aka the moment the fic begins), using amnesia/memory restoration as a framing device. The high highs and low lows of first love, navigating a 3 yr age difference, and the long, winding road from best friends to lovers as the years roll on. Slow-burn-adjacent (in terms of both the boys’ relationship to each other and reader’s relationship to the fic bc of how long I take between goddamn updates).

Tagging @ivyxwrites, @incorrectbatfam, @paintingwithdarkness, @bluepulsebluepulse

#writing #fanfic #dc #young justice #bluepulse #jayroy #wesper

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unlockthelore · 4 years ago

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Restless Nightly Pursuits

Idly restless through the night, sleep is impossible to find when answers are roaming the palace halls. From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3, and part of the Talking To The Moon fic. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog. For more of this fic, follow the talking to the moon tag.

How could I have not known?

The question was at the forefront of Sesshomaru’s mind as he stormed through the halls, attempting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the study. He could feel Rin’s presence at his back. Hear wood rattling in its frame as the door slid open and her scent �� gods, her scent. She always smelt of blossoms and woodlands, ink and paper, the ocean and all its arcane wonders, but beneath it was what he’d been ignorant of.

A child.

Children, if his mother were to be believed.

Girls.

Twins.

And his wife knew, but she deemed him unfit of such knowledge. For how long?

His skin crawled, claws brushing against the palm of his hand as his fingers curled into fists beneath the drape of his sleeves. Gentle words and tender touches to guide her from her studies to the comforts of the bath he’d drawn for her were mottled in the disgusting bitterness soured on his tongue. Poison burned beneath his claws, and the fissures gathered on his heart widened as pain throbbed with every beat. His fur rippled wildly on his shoulder as he drew in a deep breath, forcing the molten touch of his poison away from his claws in order to slide open one of the doors.

Outside.

Fresh air.

He needed to find release before something untoward came forth. Traitorously, his feet led him further from the open flatlands near the forefront of the castle. Terraced land, dipping into a grassy hillside where at the base rested a thicket of trees meandering around a rocky cliffside — The expanse of the ocean was open to behold past the veritable wall of nature, and it was where Sesshomaru intended as he took to the skies.

Distance.

He needed distance from all which lingered behind him, but he couldn’t go far. His wife, the mother of his children, lingered on the grounds, and he would be loath to abandon her.

Abandon Rin?

As quickly as he took to the skies, he landed on the thick and sprawling grassland. Bade himself not to think of the water glistening upon curved blades of grass speaking of the earlier rainfall. How his wife would have buried her toes in the soil and called for him to do the same.

If she is with child, would she not grow ill if —

Sesshomaru clenched his jaw to stifle the surging growl and marched down the hillside, unperturbed by the incline. If he closed his mind for a moment and pretended the trees surrounding him as he stepped into the thickets were that of the forests he used to roam, then perhaps it would ease him. Thoughts of the castle, of the woman who was waiting for him or perhaps searching for him, set aside.

How could he yearn for her as much as he wanted to be upset with her?

Does she not trust me?

Bright-eyed Rin with her wit and smiles, always at his side, assuring him with soft touches and imploring glances. She coaxed him to calm more than once, showedfaith in him to protect her, and later on, entrusted him with her body and soul . Sesshomaru’s eyes shuttered as he turned his head away from the notion of distrust. His wife was loyal to a fault. Even if her very life were in imminent danger, she would put her faith in him just as she had done time and time again.

So why now?

He tried to breathe in, but the air was thick and humid, refusing to slip down his throat, instead clogging and suffocating. What was this feeling? He hated it. Hated this urge to lash out — to question her on why — to see beyond the smiles that constantly blinded him with their beaming radiance .

Will that change once they’re born, or will I—

Sesshomaru drew in a large breath to steady himself. What would she say then? Did she regret this? What they had done, what they had created together? A burning pain cracked at the fissures in his heart, and he turned his head away, forcing the rippling of his fur to cease.

No. She hadn’t said it, he hadn’t felt discontent in her heart, but she’d been hiding this.

Hiding from him.

Regardless of what anyone may claim, Sesshomaru was not born for the sake of an heir.

And his mother knew. He wanted to scoff. Of course she knew. She always knew what others didn’t and kept the information to herself until it suited her needs to reveal it. But this revelation explained much: whyshe was adamant in helping him with affairs, bidding Rin to rest, or insisting that they spend time together. During all that time, he hadn’t noticed a thing.

I expected to find myself weary of being tethered to this helpless and needy being, eventually finding him to be a burden, and kill him when it suited my needs.

Why?

The tip of his boot caught on a root while the other skidded in the grass, jerking him forward. Silver-white hair veiled half-lidded eyes as he stared listlessly at his own shadow. It wasn’t a secret. He knew inuyōkai weren’t always accommodating or wanting of their offspring. His mother’s affections were peculiar, to say the least, while his father’s were occasional. Did Rin find fault in that? The scandalized way in which she gasped, the indignation in her voice — was it out of concern, or did she doubt what he would desire?

Children. Did she think he would abandon them as his father abandoned him?

No matter how desperately he tried to wrap his mind around it and force her away from thought, she would always return, and he would find himself staring into the memory of her eyes, her smile gone and replaced by a sullen thoughtful expression. Brown irises darkened, pupils dilated and dreadfully saddened —

Sesshomaru.

He twitched upright and jerked his entangled foot forward, ripping forth the sunken roots and flinging dirt into the air. His energy crackled. Teeth elongating, then shortening painfully,he tried to keep himself from transforming as he briskly strode through the forest until the sky opened up before him and the cliffside was centimeters from the tips of his boots. From the precipice, he could view the foamy darkened depths crashing against the shore, then receding. His breaths were short; shoulders rising, then falling slowly; red tinging the corners of his quivering, swimming vision. Looking up to the sky, the moon was dreadfully familiar.

Mikazuki.

A crescent moon, just like the one he’d been born with.

What would it be like for them? His daughters. Would they have the same moon as his birth, or would they be without it? Perhaps they would have ears as his half-brother did, or take on their mother’s appearance...

He wouldn’t have known.

Ruefully, his lips pulled back into a sneer, blinking slowly to chase away the stinging heat gathering at the back of his eyes. He wasn’t sure for how long he stood there or when the clouds began to roll across the sky, dimming moonlight washing over him. Left in semi-somnolent darkness, Sesshomaru inhaled , then closed his eyes as the sound of wet grass squelching underfoot accompanied a quiet voice.

“You heard.”

He knew this conversation would come, but he hardly wanted it to ensue.

No, I did.

Knowing would set these bitter feelings aside, yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her. Out of not wanting to show her this side of him or to feel compelled to forget and draw her into his arms.

Answers.

What he needed were answers.

“Did you intend for it not to reach?” Sesshomaru asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Rin was quiet for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was filled with an assurance and stability he envied. “I had to be certain of what I wished to do,” she said.

Sesshomaru bristled at that. What she wished to do. His mother had made it clear that they created life, yet she kept him ignorant. Complacent. And for what? His jaw clenched painfully, fang pressed to the skin of his lip.

“Then it was needed to deceive, Rin?” He asked, barely able to keep the contempt from his voice. “To keep me ignorant of their existence.”

Do you not trust me, Rin?

“What are you saying?”

Sesshomaru blinked, and despite all of his composure, all of his struggling to not look at her, he glanced over his shoulder. Rin was staring at him, her brown eyes narrowed . True, he’d seen her withering glares, brows furrowed as she began to unleash fury upon someone foolish enough to insult her. But it was never directed toward him. Not until today. Rin glared at him scathingly — disbelief, hurt, and anger deadened in chilled, honey brown eyes.

“This isn’t something I can simply be prepared for, it isn’t an eventuality I expected. I never considered being a mother. We never spoke of having children — “

Sesshomaru scoffed, turning on his heel to face her, feeling the venom on his tongue as he spat. “You never asked.”

Rin recoiled, her face crumpling for a second, then she rose , her shoulders tensed and hands balled into fists. “Because I know you…” She trailed off, the words tense, and bit into him for as they left her lips, he saw the sheen in her eyes. “You despise hanyō.”

And there it was. The fact that he’d overlooked this entire time. His wife, his beloved wife who would be the mother of his children was human. Half their child’s blood would be hers, and the other would be his own. A voice, whispering from the distant past, told him it would be disgusting. The proud bloodline of his father’s would be sullied by yet another hanyō, and this time, it would be of his own making.

He wasn’t sure what expression he showed, but Rin’s face fell and her eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. Sesshomaru tried to force the air to course through his lungs.

“I had no desire to follow the path of a normal girl,” Rin hissed, stamping her foot in the soil. “No man nor woman I cared for long enough to lay with and consider a family until you began to travel with me again.”

Sesshomaru jerked his head away. He didn’t want to hear that. He’d come to terms with the idea that Rin had loved others. It was within her rights. He made her a promise, but gave her the room to search her heart. To explore what it is she wanted from the world that had denied her the right to live . If he’d come back to the village where they parted ways and found her married with child —

“I’m frightened, Sesshomaru.”

Those words wrenched him from his thoughts, and he tugged his head up. Senses heightened as he became acutely aware of the world around them. There were no threats he could cut to ribbons with his claws or melt to nothing with poison. No. The only threat present was Rin looking at him. Her voice rose above the crashing waves against the rocky cliffside.

“I am scared more than you know,” she seethed, and the hurt cracked at her voice just as the threshold blocking the tears she’d been blinking away began to falter. “You have every right to be angry, I won’t deny you that. But I do not want to do this without you.”

But she would. The words unspoken weren’t a threat. No, they were a promise. Rin was independent of him in both mind and body. She would make her own choices as she deemed fit — as she’d always done — as he once bade her to do. Even in this, with the lives that they created, she would take it into her own hands. Sesshomaru stiffened his jaw, stamping down his turmoil at the scent of her tears.

How could you think to do this without my involvement, Rin? I am always —

“I need to know that you are beside me, that you can set aside this silly prejudice.”

His thoughts spilled from her lips, and he recoiled with such ferocity that his heel clipped a deep crevice in the earth.

“Silly?” He uttered in a tense graven tone, shocked and exasperated at being referred to in that manner.

Rin didn’t seem swayed by his tone or otherwise, her arms folded loosely over her chest. Sesshomaru’s gaze flicked to her wrist where the sleeve of her yukata fell back, exposing smooth skin without the cloth bracers she’d don into battle. He didn’t expect for Rin to take arms against him. Never once had she raised a hand to him, albeit she was adept at making her words sharper than her knives.

“And what would you call it?” She demanded fretfully, a wrinkle in her nose as she tipped her head to one side. The uneven fringe of her bangs darkened the shadows around brown eyes, which were almost glowing in the dim light. “What reason could you have for hating hanyō as you do? You feel they are beneath you? Just as humans are — as I am?”

Before he could think to rein in his tone, Sesshomaru growled. “You are not beneath me.”

How could she say something like that? For a second, the displeased look gave way to one of fleeting affection, and he brieflyyearned for the Rin who smiled at him warmly. Not the incandescent woman who glowered at him a second later, unapologeticallyerasing the kindly expression of his beloved wife.

“I am an exception then?” She shifted her stance to set her hands upon her waist, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her fingers lingered at her abdomen. “Will your daughters also be an exception, Sesshomaru? How will you justify it to them?”

He almost wanted to say that he did not have to. When they were born, he would protect them with all that he had because they were theirs. Part of them was Rin, and he loved her. That they were hanyō was unavoidable. Why was that not enough for her?

“Where does this stem from, Rin?”

He had to know: whatdrove the wedge between them that she could not speak to him as candidly as she did now? He stared at her, and she looked away. It was enough to loosen his tongue, but he bid himself not to say a word. Give her time. Give her a choice. Even if she seemed keen on taking his own away with nary a word.

After a moment of painfully long silence, resignation flickered across her face. “Inuyasha.”

Sesshomaru scoffed at the name and turned his head away, but Rin wouldn’t allow him to evade thr topic . She hardly ever did. Now, as they stood on the precipice with only the sea behind them and their home before them, there was nowhere for either of them to flee .

“He is the root of all of your hate towards hanyō.”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Sesshomaru.”

The image of her displeasure in his mind paled considerably in comparison to the dark, terrible expression marring her face. She flung a hand aside sharply, the grass bending upon the breeze as if answering her call.

“You felt scorn toward your brother for your father’s demise — because he fell protecting him and his mother —”

“He was a fool—”

“He was a father protecting his child,” Rin gestured aggressively to her abdomen, curling her fingers in the silken fabric. “It didn’t matter if Inuyasha’s blood was tainted by humanity, he loved his son. And you hated your brother for so long, enforced this idiotic belief that he was beneath you to wallow in your own pain and justify your actions against him.”

Sesshomaru turned his head away. He didn’t want to hear this. Not from her. Though, when he closed his eyes, he could see Inuyasha and the priestess Kagome as she’d been then. A wide-eyed andterrified teenage girl clinging to his half-brother’s sleeve.

“You used his mother’s image to trick him.”

Inuyasha’s eyes, golden and glazed over, unseeing him but someone else. He couldn’t see past the demoness’ guise. It was according to his plan, a foolish mistake on the hanyō’s part. Sesshomaru suppressed a tick of annoyance at how he referred to his brother then. Inferior, lacking, sentimental.

What he saw was the face of his dearly departed mother. The woman who caused their father’s demise all so that he could live. And what a wretch he’d grown to be.

He isn’t any longer.

Why the Mu-on’na protected him, Sesshomaru couldn’t understand at the time , but the pain in Inuyasha’s eyes when their gazes met — he felt satisfaction.

Now, it was a acrid memory of his failures in the pursuit of what would have never been his. Slowly, he met Rin’s eyes . Her shoulders undulated heavily, and the smell of tears had only grown stronger. Pain. She was in pain.

I am the cause.

No, this started with her deceit. Hadn’t it?

“Are you my judge then?” Sesshomaru questioned in a low tone, almost lost to the night with how airy and light his voice had become. “Is this your punishment — to withhold this from me? Shame me?”

He could see them before, but now as the clouds rolled past, moonlight spilled into their small pocket of the world and glistened on streaks of silver tracking down her cheeks. She shook her head slowly, the corners of her lips twitched upward, but there was no mirth to be found. Her eyes were wet, lashes heavy and fluttering shut as she closed her eyes.

“This is my evidence. My evidence of what I need from you…”

His fingers twitched at his side. The urge to reach out and wipe away her tears stilled by her own hand raising to do the deed itself.

“Set aside your prejudice, learn from your mistakes, and be better for it…” Her shaky breaths were beginning to even, and when her hand pulled away, the disheartened woefulness in her eyes was replaced with a fierce assertion. “Because you were wrong.”

The tight grip on her yukata eased. Silk smoothed out with gentle brushes. His gaze transfixed on each sweep of her fingers as if he could see past the tranquil veneer she’d set.

“Because if you raised a hand to these children as you did your own brother, I—”

Sesshomaru’s eyes widened, and Rin’s face fell. Their eyes met, and not a word had to be said. He could feel the intent behind her pause . Her calm mask had cracked, replaced with a horrific and fearful expression. His own facade schooled into neutrality despite the sudden upset at the implication.

“Would you threaten harm to me…” His voice trailed off as he watched her shift from one foot to the other, her gaze falling to her feet. Disbelief crept into his voice as he called out to her. “Rin?”

Her eyes closed. “To protect our daughters?” She started resolutely, a fatigue and sadness engulfing her face as she met his eyes. Her brown almost deepened to a murky black.

“Without question.”

Sesshomaru straightened and this time, when he turned away from her, he didn’t look back. Rin’s footsteps were deafening. Each one guided her further from him to the thicket of trees and beyond to the palace.

Standing alone on the edge, Sesshomaru looked to the crescent moon in the sky.

#inuyasha fandom #sesshorin #sessrin #sesshomaru x rin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #sesshomaru #rin #affections touching across time #talking ot the moon

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loptyrs-moved · 4 years ago

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Wilted Flowers and Jilted Lovers

Rating: Teen Word Count: 2,435 Pairing: Seth Hyde/Original Character Tags: complicated relationships, lovers to enemies, enemies to lovers, making out, aphrodisiac, hurt/comfort, angst

Original Post Date to AO3: 12/01/2019

Preview: Gladiolus: Symbolizing strength and moral integrity; also represents passion and infatuation

They know how this goes, and it's always the same. They can't bring back the past. Their love is gone, and lost to memories. But Seth is a sucker... and he's absolutely hopeless. But so is she.

Sunset washed Cradle in rich red, purple and gold. The warm breath of summer had just ghosted over the land, bringing a heat in the breeze. Spring had been forgotten —as quickly as it came, it faded away. Seasons passed by.... just like fleeting affections of time passed. The forest had been their place of solace — their oasis in the desert. A diamond in the rough. But not even the strongest of diamonds could withstand the fallout that came billowing over when everything fell to pieces. And since then, their place lost the magic it once had, even though it hadn’t changed much at all. The rocks were all the same. The magic crystals still grew plentifully amidst the trees.

And for several years, a pair of former lovers met here. They quarreled. They fought. They made love here… like time didn’t slip through the cracks of their fingers all those years ago. But old habits die hard. The setting sun washed over the land, streaking the cloudless sky with pink and orange against the cerulean blue. Hushed whispers echoed in the clearing. Rustling of leaves and the shuffling of feet made this forest a familiar scene between the two lovers. And like always, it hurt more than salt being rubbed in fresh wounds.

She was pinned against one of the trees, mind hazy, nerves singing from the overload of pleasure he gave her. It was sweet… and yet each kiss stung more than the last. Hands pulled at each other desperately trying to get closer without going too far. Fingers tangled in sky blue hair, pulling him deeper into their kiss. Lips and teeth spoke the truth of needing the other more than their next breaths.

“S-Seth… we… we shouldn’t be…” a breathless voice whispered as the man holding her in his arms pressed loving, tender kisses along her neck. His teeth nipped at her, leaving the most subtle of marks against her warm, russet brown skin. Sinewy, gloved fingers dug into the fabric of his black and blue military jacket as she tried her best to keep her balance, for her legs weakened from the impending threat of giving out from underneath her. She knew better. She knew better than to seek the Ten of Spades out, since the outcome of these encounters always ended up with one of them being on the other side of a blade. Or two.

It was always the same. Either one or both of them would be hurt. Was this their punishment? Did the gods find them to be their tools of amusement? What sort of sin did they commit in the lives previous that they were doomed to continue this vicious cycle of heartbreak?

The graze of his teeth against her collarbone forced a soft moan to bubble from within her chest. “Seth…”

He pulled away for just a moment to meet her gaze. Melancholy swirled in her mismatched gold and brown eyes. They called for him. Yearned for him. The setting sun caught the specks of gold in her irises, dragging him further into their depths. How he missed this — how he missed her. He missed the sensation of her skin flushed against his, and how her chopped, messy brown hair felt like between his fingers. How he yearned for her to be at his side once again.

But alas, such selfish wishes would never come to fruition.

No matter how many times he tried to push her memory out of his head, they seemed to always linger behind, tormenting him with sleepless nights and dreams of the love that escaped him. It had been years since they parted ways. Three if anyone was counting. And in those three long, agonizing years, Seth never forgot the feelings he had for Camille Fontaine. Despite their turbulent history, he still loved her. He always would. Seth loved her more than anyone could even possibly begin to fathom.

Loving Camille was natural… like second nature. And he had a hard time kicking the habit of losing himself in the heated kisses they shared. It didn’t help that they met in the same place where vibrant red and orange gladiolus grew wild. They infected the air with their subtle scent as the wind spread their pollen across the land—a rare type of pollen that made even the most composed of people lose themselves to their most carnal desires. And the former lovers were no stranger to it.

Camille and Seth knew this part of the forest like it was the back of their hands. It was a home to memories long passed. Wildflowers once grew in abundance here. A special breed of gladiolus flourished here, making this place special. Magical even. However… like most spells, the magic fades away, leaving behind a gilded memory best left in the past. There was only the sun, shining its bright light of all the memories they should have left buried behind, casting a shadow of what they both had become now—a farce… and the angel of death.

Seth swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. His hand cupped her cheek, caressing her. “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” he said, his usual light, airy voice now hoarse with desire. There was a sadness that brewed behind twin hazel irises. “And I know yours haven’t either.” Her eyes avoided the earnest expression in his warm ones in fear that if she looked at him directly for too long, she would burst into tears.

Her heart screamed for her to tell him she felt the same, for it was the truth.

Camille never stopped loving Seth. How could she?

The love they have—had—was one that only came around once in a lifetime. But it was over… the moment she signed her life off to the most sadistic man in Cradle was the absolute breaking point. There was no way she could allow the man she loved for so long, and with every fibre of her being to be involved in the darkness than he already needed to be. She only did it to protect him. Why couldn’t he see that?

It was best if they forgot each other. It would have been better if they had never met.

But she knew it wasn’t what she really thought. She would have rather died knowing him for even just a moment than to live for centuries without meeting him at all.

She bit her lip, the sensitive skin threatening to split if she pressed her teeth down any harder. The taste of iron seeped into her mouth as blood oozed from the cracked skin. It was only to keep herself from letting the dams holding back a torrent of tears from splintering, and ultimately shattering.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” Camille repeated, avoiding his gaze. Her voice was but a whisper, fearing that they would be overheard. “We shouldn’t. We can’t keep meeting like this, Hyde. ”

We don’t have the luxury to love each other anymore.

The cry of the birds echoed above as they flew above in the pink, twilit sky filled the air. They were free, soaring through the warm winds that carried them to places where it was warmer, and safer than where the lovers lost were. The sound of Seth Hyde’s heart shattering into a million pieces was like a bullet cutting through the air before it pierced its target, lodging itself deep within the flesh, and muscle as it bled with no mercy. Love was merciless. Cruel. It tore people apart. Poets sang of how it conquered all, while it was the reasons why nations went to war with each other. Love was blood splattered across the battlefield. Love was the harsh and deafening clang of swords clashing as steel met. Whoever said it would overcome any sort of conflict was a liar. A fake. A fraud. Just like the Ten of Spades.

And yet… he couldn’t help but tilt her head up to meet his tired eyes. The hint of a smile flashed in his sad, hazel irises. A thumb stroked her scarred cheek slowly. Lovingly. “You always say that, Cami. But you were also here waiting for me, weren’t you?” A hand took hers in his and squeezed. gently. Seth’s ached, and heart bled every time he and his former beloved met like this. He wasn’t a masochist, but living a life without Camille in it pained him more than anything. It nearly killed him to see her on the other side of him, threatening to kidnap the Alice that had fallen from the stars and landed in the middle of their pathetic war. To see the one he called his love fight in his name was a punishment worse than death itself.

Yet he still sought her out, wanting to rekindle things—to fix things. There was a part of them that desperately wanted things and people they couldn’t have. But just like her, he wasn’t immune to that man’s reach. Seth Hyde was caught in a vicious whirlpool, and there was no way out. They used him just as they used her for their biddings, whether it was under the guise of being a carefree and high-ranking military officer, or an assassin whose only home was in the shadows. They were two sides of the same coin, and the Jabberwock was the one deciding which one would be the other’s demise.

They could be each other’s ruin if he so wished it to be.

Camille chewed the inside of her cheek. She withdrew her hand from his. Gold and brown eyes grew cold as the sun disappeared off beyond the horizon. Night was approaching, and neither one of them could be caught out here, reliving memories that should have been discarded many years ago.

“You know why I’m here. You missed your check-ins with Dalim the last two times he came looking for you,” she said, her words sharp like the tip of her sword. “And it’s getting old.”

Seth winced. She straightened herself and slipped from his arms. The dark look on her face was one that he had grown accustomed to in recent times. The ray of hope was gone from her eyes, leaving icy cynicism in its place. “You’re wasting everyone’s time, and he’s not pleased about it. You’ve grown sloppy, Hyde, and it’s been ever since you’ve joined that little army of yours.”

Each word was a dagger, cutting into him, stabbing him — leaving his scar-ridden heart bleeding. His brain screamed for him to take her back in his arms, and hold her tight so that she wouldn’t slip away from him again. He couldn’t bear the idea of the one he called his beloved serve that sadistic monster like she was personal attack dog. But what could Seth Hyde protect? Who? He couldn’t even keep his dear sister out of their clutches, so what made him think that he could keep Camille out of their grasp.

She was too hot headed for her own good, and one day, she would fly too close to the sun and fall headfirst into her own demise. But she didn’t want his help. Camille was just as stubborn as he was. It was the reason why he loved her so much… and why he was so reluctant to let her go.

“Cami… I…”

She took a step forward, giving him a murderous glare. She slipped past him, putting a distance between them. Her hand slipped into his coat pocket, and took his written report that was long overdue, slipping another in its place. “So I suggest you get your head out of the clouds and do your job instead of fooling around. Time is of the essence. Don’t forget who you really work for, Ten of Spades.”

Words were stuck in his throat. This wasn’t the first time Camille broke his heart, but it still tore him to shreds nonetheless. He couldn’t even cry, no matter how choked up he was. Nails bit into the skin of his hand, drawing blood. He wanted to argue back with her, but how could he when he knew she was right? It would be futile now. So he remained silent as he watched Camille walk to the far end of the clearing.

“He’ll be expecting an update in the next two weeks,” Camille said nonchalantly, casting a last glance at the man she once loved. And in her eyes, Seth saw tears. If she stayed any longer, there would be no telling what would happen next. They could end up in each other’s arms… or at the opposite end of blades — like it had been for six long, painful, heart-wrenching years. But time was of the essence. And their employer was an impatient man.

“Don’t disappoint him. ”

Seth Hyde stood alone as he watched Camille disappear between the gnarled trees and all their hideous branches. Twilight blanketed Cradle. The moon was rising from where the sun sank, casting her glow on the land. The subtle scent of the gladiolus filled Seth’s nose. And it made him feel sick to his stomach. Acid rose in his throat as his chest throbbed painfully. This place was tainted. Tainted by greed. Sullied by a toxin that choked the life out of everything it touched.

He couldn’t stand to be there any longer… leaving it behind in the past… where it belonged. Tears threatened to fall as all those memories came crashing down on him with no mercy, like an avalanche. He grit his teeth. Damn it. Damn that bastard who held those he loved in the palm of his hand, threatening to crush them whenever he felt like it.

Seth shoved his hands in his pockets and a shaky exhale shook through him when he noticed a scrap of paper in his pocket. It was torn. The late report was taken by Camille when she left him in the dust, but this wasn’t part of it. And when Seth pulled it out, his eyes widened. His legs felt weak as he read the scrawl on the slip. The dams were destroyed. Tears ran down his handsome face. Hazel eyes were puffy and red, and were blinded by the torrent of overwhelming dread and fear as the words branded his brain.

He knows about us… and he’s watching. So please… let me go, so that I can let you go too. Please Seth, if you love me, forget about me. Hate me if you must. But let go of me so that I don’t hurt you anymore. Please…

#seth hyde #seth hyde ikerev #seth hyde ikemen #ikerev #ikemen revolution #cybird ikemen #fic

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beauvoyr · 7 years ago

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Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 4

blooming | the world in their hands Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, and an inappropriate amount of references to video games and classical music and literature titles, no beta we die like men ;;v;; Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

THE WORLD IS ONLY BLACK or white. There are no greys in between, no room for grey areas, no room for doubt, no room for mistakes. A mistake isn’t as easily removed as a pencil scratch, remedied by an eraser. A mistake on the chess board comes with expending a pawn to conquer each chequered land, building an empire on the corpses of others. It starts small, consuming the infantry—the pawns. Then it comes with sacrificing the rook, letting it fall. Then, like a plague, it spreads—claiming the life of a knight, a bishop. Yet, even with its people disposed and the kingdom in tatters, the king and the queen shall not fall.

They must not fall.

And it is your task to ensure they will never fall.

That is the world you live in.

“he is your butler from today onwards.”

you chance a glance at the pale, white man. illuminated by the morning sunlight, he stands in attention with his hands behind his back and his long ponytail over his shoulder, unsmiling. his startling paleness looks very out of place in this room, you realise, for other manservants wore bleak blacks for their uniforms, whilst his is white. white, just like everything he is. strange, white hair, with sideswept bangs falling over his forehead and a ponytail—and even stranger eyes, for the greys are flecked with watery reds. almost like clean water seeping with blood. you’d know, because you’ve washed your hands before.

he must’ve felt your questioning gaze, but he’s been trained to ignore it. everything owned by father is trained by his own two hands anyway, so you’re not surprised this new butler of yours is just following instructions. it doesn’t matter. nothing matters. nothing ever matters in this house except for father himself. still, among all these wan-faced servants and a dour father, there is a face you yearn to see once again. just to see that familiar smile of hers, and to feel that familiar warmth in your hand.

you turn to father, fingers nervously toying with the hems of your shirt. “where’s mama?”

as always, father remains an expressionless figure whose face betrays nothing of his thoughts. you can’t get a good read on him—but what can a five-year-old fathom anyway, except for the love of her parents and the numbers on her fingers? he doesn’t answer, instead choosing to stride towards your butler. the strange white man straightens up on his feet, face forward, even as father stands as an imposing presence before him.

and with a clean, solid crack, father slaps him.

you shriek, hands slapping over your clamour. your gut twists and turns, your heart in your throat, your stomach on the ground under your feet, just the same way when you last held mother. the trembles that once wracked her overtakes your limbs, rendering you a quivering mess. the butler, to his credit, doesn’t flinch, nor does he show any signs of pain. but you could see the reds rising to his injured cheek, washing over the white of his skin.

father turns to you once more, and the faintest smile upturns a corner of his lips. father hardly smiles. and you hated that expression—you hated it when he finally shows his expression.

“did i forget to mention?” he says, light and airy with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “he is your whipping boy as well.”

“A REVENANT WEAPON!? DUDE, THAT STUFF’S LEGENDARY!”

There they go again. Ignis doesn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know what they’re talking about; with King’s Knight theme song playing and two overly hormonal young adults lounging on the sofa, there are more than enough contextual clues for him to follow the line of conversation.

“Yep, I just got mine today,” comes Noctis’ voice, coloured with a tinge of pride. “See? It’s the Revenant sword. Still didn’t upgrade mine though, so it’s stuck at Stage One—for now anyway. C’mon, Prom, let’s get yours too.”

“Oh you bet your sorry ass I’m gonna get my Revenant dagger! I’m gonna get so strong!” Prompto crows, and Ignis winces a little at the reminder of how loud the blond can get when he’s too excited. Flailing on the armchair, he is the very image of a humanized chocobo if there were such a thing. By now, he’s already withdrawing his phone and seconds later, a second King’s Knight background music joins the fray, with Prompto shoving his phone to Noctis’ face. “Quick! Show me how to get one!”

While Ignis doesn’t laugh at the sight, he does hide his smile as he continues busying himself with marinating the tender garulesa meat.

There they are, a prince and a commoner, enthusiastic over a mobile game. Noctis is every bit an ordinary man who’s buried in university assignments and keeping tabs on the latest release of Justice Monsters series. A simple glance at the sight of him and Prompto bantering back and forth on King’s Knight would’ve passed for just two young adults trying to get a hang of life and its bizarre mechanics of being a full-fledged adult. Ultimately, it hides little of the fact that he is a prince whose lean shoulders carry the weight of a decaying kingdom in a ruined future, unconsciously waiting for the day his father will pass on.

A foreboding sense overcomes him at the thought and just as quickly as it comes, Ignis shakes it off. Doubting himself won’t do him any good now. There is no room for doubt now, and he prefers it that way.

He sets the tray aside just in time to hear Prompto screeching. “What!? The boss has over 3.2 million HP!? Noct, buddy, I’m gonna get my ass handed to me here—we can’t deal enough damage with just the two of us! Call for backup!”

“You worry too much,” is Noctis’ easy reply, and Ignis looks at him from the corner of his eyes, seeing the prince wearing a smug grin now. “Hold on for a sec—yeah, here she comes.”

A comical trill flits in the daunting boss battle music, one that Ignis recognizes as someone else joining their party from whenever Gladio plays with them. Only—Noctis mentioned ‘she’ and definitely not ‘he’. Raising a brow, Ignis observes their interaction as he grabs some nutmeg from the spice rack. Bending over to inspect the pineapple tarts baking in the oven, the Advisor keeps an ear trained on the conversation, picking up the bits and pieces of their voices.

“Uh, Kaliva? Who’s that?” Understandably, confusion is evident in Prompto’s voice. “And what’s with the weird username? The Architect?”

“The Architect—that Quintus’ daughter we talked about? It’s her,” Noctis explains offhandedly, like it describes everything the world has to offer. Unconcerned, his slim fingers continue tapping on the screen, probably coming up with a reply on the in-game chat system. “Met her again today and she was playing King’s Knight too so, meh, she helped me with my Revenant weapon. Raiding dungeons will be easier with her in our party since she mains Kaliva. Lots of AOE skills at her disposal.”

Today? That’s an interesting information. While it had only been last week since their last encounter, to think Noctis would make good on his promise this week. How odd. Pestering Noctis for answers wouldn’t bring him anything, not with how distracted he is with King’s Knight, so Ignis continues busying himself with his handicraft. Satisfied with how the tarts are browning in the oven’s heat, he brings the nutmeg over to the garulesa meat and sets to work, sprinkling in a dash over the mixture.

In the distance, Prompto blinks, alternating glances from Noctis’ phone to his. “Does she have a name? It’s kinda weird how we just keep calling her as that Quintus guy’s daughter but we don’t really know who she is.”

“Dunno, she didn’t tell me.” The prince mumbles, blue eyes trained on his phone screen, fingers nimbly keying in a reply. Unconcerned again, much like everything else he does. When it comes to King’s Knight, he’s hopeless. “Heads up Prom, she’s telling you to ready your debuff skills. Start with poison and I’ll lower the defense, then I’ll tank it. She’ll go on major DPS once the aggro is on me. Just make sure to stay out of the boss’ AOE and go for ranged attacks.”

“R-Right, sorry!” the blond sits up ramrod straight. “I’m ready now! Let’s goooooo!”

As they go about their little dungeon spree, Ignis continues watching from afar, lost in thought.

ALL I EVER WANTED WAS FRIENDS, but no one ever wanted me back. So when I finally found people who did want me, I did everything I could to make them stay.

It sounded pathetic. Pathetic Prompto, isn’t that such a nice ring to it? Somewhere inside, he gives a self-depreciating laugh at his inner monologue.

Pathetic Prompto doesn’t have many friends. He knows he’s well-liked, friendly, and cute to boot—if Prompto may say so himself—and girls flock to him as much as they flocked to Noct, but he knows this well: He doesn’t have anyone else other than Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. And, of course to a certain extent, befriending the prince comes with his personal advisor and bodyguard too, like a Buy-1-Free-2 deal at the local supermarket. And freebies don’t count.

Without Noct, without Gladio, without Ignis, he’s nothing. After all, who’d want to make friends with the fat, ugly, and insecure boy from a decade ago, right?

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

He knows he’s changed, dramatically changed from his pudgy body to a lean one. Swapping dorky glasses for contact lenses, slathering hair gel and wielding hair dryers in the morning, dressing up in tighter shirts and stylish coeurl-patterned pants, nobody could put two and two together if they didn’t know him back then. Jogging every morning as a routine, counting his calories obsessively, joining Noct on his training for standard Crownsguard stuff, nobody knows under this plastic skin, the pudgy boy smothers his nerves when he receives handshakes and makes jokes about himself at the expense of his self-esteem.

It’s pathetic, just like Pathetic Prompto he is.

And then there’s this straitlaced person over here—

—well, straitlaced is a bit of a stretch. Indifferent is more accurate, he thinks.

There’s nothing about you that struck his interest. A smudge on the walls, a cloud in the skies. Someone seemingly ordinary stationed behind the table, poring over a paper with a pen behind your ear, casually dressed in a shirt and sensible pants. A reading glasses sits on the bridge of your nose, and your eyes trail over one sentence after another on the report, nodding all to yourself.

Somehow, standing here makes him nervous—heck, the air in your room feels weird because who even listens to classical music while working anyway? Then, an answer struck him wide-eyed: Only psychopaths in thrillers do because that’s what all stereotypical psychopaths do—and Six, Prompto’s already praying that you’re not one because he’s sure as hell he’s gonna be wrapped up in one of Noct’s many messes again.

“Hey, busy?” Noct calls out from his left, and Prompto almost jumps a little at how his voice rebounds throughout the vast expanse of your room. “If you’re busy I can leave.”

Prompto doesn’t know if you actually noticed that they came in through the door like a few minutes ago. Even if you did, you made absolutely no signs of acknowledging their presence. And Noct looks like he’s very much used to your quirk. He’s not even irritated, for crying out loud. All you do is to nod at Noct’s general direction, eyes still intently staring at report, untuck the pen from your ear, and scrawl in some words on the paper before slotting it into your drawer. After all that’s done, only then you rise from your chair, removing your reading glasses with a hand massaging your arm.

“Nah, nothing that important.” You stretch a little at your spot, flexing your fingers and rolling your wrist. Must’ve been from a long day’s work, Prompto thinks, watching your little exercise play out. You finish off the little stretching routine with a crack of your neck, heading over to the kitchenette. “Anyway, the usual. Shoes and socks off, sit down and make yourselves at home. Coffee, tea, canned juice, or soda?”

Seeing how Noct’s already halfway removing his boots and toeing off his socks like it’s an unspoken agreement between you two, Prompto hastily unlaces his own boots and rolls off his own chocobo-dotted socks. He only utters a silent prayer that you don’t judge him by his socks, or worse, make fun of him for wearing them. They were on sale, damn it. Because, seriously, psychopaths don’t judge people by their socks, right? And chocobo socks are the epitome of coolness.

“Soda for me and Prom, I guess,” Noctis answers, setting his boots to the side as Prompto meekly mimics his movements and places them by the door lest he triggers your sudden urge for murder. “Oh, by the way, this is Prompto, the guy I was talking about. He’s the Toby from yesterday.”

“You mean that Toby with the username Chocoboy?” you call out, looking over your shoulders briefly to meet his eyes—and Astrals, there’s something about you that makes him jump—before you return to whatever it is you’re doing with the mugs. “Good thing the Revenant dagger dropped after we farmed about seven times, huh? He’s lucky.”

“That’s Prom all right.” Noct chuckles, and they both move to occupy the section closest to your television and the shelf of video games. “He’s always the lucky one.”

Always the lucky one, ha. Prompto swallows a nervous gulp. Sure, he’s lucky all right, being friends with the prince and getting access to the Citadel whenever Noctis brings him along, but this? He chalks it up as an unlucky streak because your presence is just soooo unsettling, what with the weird look in your eyes and that empty face of yours, and all he wants to do is to go home and roll around with his chocobo plushies and forget this ever happened. No such luck though, because you’ve already loaded the mugs on a tray and brought them over, kneeling down on the floor.

“Here you go guys, cold soda.” Without missing a single beat, you serve Noct his drink, to which the prince accepts with a small thanks, while Prompto gets a cute cat mug with the frothy soda bubbling inside. “And that’s yours, lucky guy. Congrats on the Revenant weapon, by the way.”

Is that really a thing worth to be congratulated on? It’s not like he saved the world or something since it’s just a game. Still, Prompto bites back a nervous laugh and settles for a lopsided smile. He hopes it’s friendly enough to camouflage the jumpy chanting in his head of no murders no murders no murders don’t murder me please— “Thanks, I guess? I mean, we couldn’t have beat that boss up without your Kaliva though. Your Kaliva’s too OP.”

“Meh, well,” you wave it off with a bat of your hand, sitting down cross-legged with them, “that’s just because I don’t have anything else better to do than playing games in my spare time. King’s Knight is fun but it’s a special kind of hell if you’re serious about it. All the grinding is annoying, the raiding, catching up on past events. And the 1.6% drop rates are crap… ugh.”

“Didn’t even know that the boss drops Revenant weapons though,” Noctis chimes in, taking a sip from his soda. “Is it a secret drop or something?”

You lean back, rubbing your nape as your eyes drift skywards, probably searching the ceiling for answers. That or you’re already conjuring 23 ways on how to murder them with a mug. “Nah, not really. It depends on your time and your damage, actually. It’s more of like ‘if you finish so and so within X minutes with minimum Y damage, you get Z drop’, so if you finish it quicker with higher damage, your chances of getting five-star drops are high.”

Prompto only nods at that, following Noct’s example and taking a swig of his drink. Tooootally not thinking about the sluggish drawl in your voice. Totally not thinking about murders. Totally not overthinking every single sentence coming out from your mouth. “Right.”

“Mhmm.” A noncommittal reply from your side. “Gotta work hard for those five-star drops.”

And then silence.

This is weird I totally hope she doesn’t kill me Six please protect Noct because he’s my best buddy and he’s also the future king thanks in advance Astrals, Prompto delivers a swift prayer to the skies above as he takes yet another gulp of his soda.

As much as he hates to be that guy, he just can’t help it. With Noct, conversations come as easily as sporadically vomiting whatever from the top of his head, chatting about chocobo mating rituals and whining about assignments as Noct long-sufferingly listens to his every tale. With you, Prompto just can’t summon the courage to look you in the eyes because—is it possible to sound that dead and look that emotionless? The only one who’s managed that feat around here is none other than Noct, the Prince of Apathy, and only his close friends could discern that his monotone hums are sounds of interest in all actuality.

“Anyway,” you start again, gaunt eyes gazing at him in that vacant way a ghost usually does, and it takes every bit of Prompto’s courage not to throw in the towel because Noct invited him here, damn it, and where his best friend goes, he’s going—and that’s final. “Sorry, but I kinda noticed something just now. Mind if I ask you some stuff?”

“You already did,” he blurts out, automatic wit loaded on the tip of his tongue because he’s usually the one countering Noct’s sheer assholery, and Astrals he’s already regretting it when you’re subjecting him to that look. “Uh—yeah, I mean, sure man! Go ahead!”

As much as Prompto’s tried throwing a desperate, pleading look at Noct’s direction, hoping his man would wing this out together with him, Noct the Asshole is only draining his soda and contemplating stealing some more from your untouched mug. And you’re actually enabling him by handing over your very own mug, depositing the crimson ceramic right in his hands, and shrugging wordlessly when he nudges you in thanks. Something about the strange harmony between you two made him think about ulterior motives and—Gods, please, that better not be poison inside that ominously red mug of yours—and too late, Noct’s already drinking away, polishing off your drink in just three gulps.

“—right,” you say, utterly oblivious to his internal meltdown, “so I was just wondering about your socks? The chocobo ones. Where’d you get them? They’re cute, I kinda want a pair too.”

If this were a comedy sequence, there’d be a freeze frame with a comical scratching record sound effect. And then the title will pop out like some retro-vibed TV show on the afternoon slot called ’Prompto’s Misadventures’ with some kweh kweh accompanying the title screen.

Because seriously—what?

“Socks?” he hears himself echoing dumbly, faint. “My socks?”

And you’re still oblivious to his entire life orbiting before his eyes like some catastrophic flashback scene. “Yeah dude, socks.” Your lingering gaze darts over to his shoes, where his folded socks are lying in a hapless pile by the side, examining them in great curiosity. “I like cute stuffs. The mug you’re holding? That’s limited edition Neko Atsume stuff. Cute cats, cute game. Had to collect ‘em all.”

This bit has Noct snorting under his breath. “You mean that cat-gathering game? You actually played it?”

“Don’t judge me, Prince, this is a No-Judging Zone,” you warn accordingly, already averting your face from Noct the Asshole, who’s probably already hell bent on teasing someone once he finds the secret weapon to be used against them. “The music’s cute. The graphics are cute. Everything’s cute.”

Sure, everything’s cute and Prompto’s a huge fan of cute stuffs too—but the monotone in your voice failed entirely to deliver your apparent enthusiasm about the topic. Prompto’s not sure if he should be butting in the conversation, not when Noct’s already palming his cheek and grinning from one side. And when Noct gets That Look™, he’s never going to let go.

“You like cats, huh?” says Noct, lazylike but not without a notch of keen interest playing subtly in his tone. Still with that unrepentant grin, Prompto almost feels sorry for you because you’re gonna be in for a ride and then some, with how Noct usually is. “Just cats, or?”

“Animals, all sorts of ‘em,” you say, blank. And nope, not an ounce of emotion right there, ‘cause Prompto Scanners picked up zilch. “Dogs. Chocobo. Coeurl. Anak. Cats too. Crazy Cat Lady in the making, that’s me.”

And oh boy, without a word of warning, Noct turns away from you and sets those devilish eyes of his on Prompto and all Prompto can do is not scream because why is he suddenly involved in this again? “Then Prom’s the Crazy Chocobo Man in the making. You two have a lot in common huh.”

He loves his best friend.

He truly does.

He swears by the Six he won’t nail Noct in the shin after this.

…maybe next week because he’s probably too petty when it comes to defending the chocobos’ honour.

“Noct, chocobos are cool. Do yourself a favour and buy yourself a pair of chocobo socks, then you’ll see what I mean. It’s a life-changing experience, I swear,” Prompto shakes his head with a melodramatic sigh, the back of his hand nursing his forehead like he’s got the worst headache ever from dealing with Noct. To you, he thumbs at Noct’s general direction like seriously get a load of this guy? and you’re all sympathetic nods, wrinkling your nose. “ ‘neways, got my cool socks for half-off at the Crown City Zoo merch store. They had other colours too but I was broke at that time, so I told myself two pairs and that’s it.”

“Crown City Zoo huh,” you muse, a hand over your mouth in deep thought. “Is it far from here?”

Is it? Prompto scratches his temple, rattling his brain’s storage space for the exact coordinates of the place. “Not really, if you know which bus to take,” he says after a while, “but you gotta be careful not to get off at the wrong stop. Boy, was I in for a ride when I accidentally took the wrong interchange and found myself almost inbound for Leide!”

“That bad?” You flinch.

The blond stifles the urge to emit a theatrical groan and rolls his eyes. “Nah, not really. Just that I was really dead broke at that time and ate peanuts for breakfast—“

Well, of course, given the chance to talk, Prompto prattles on and on and on enough to make up for three people’s worth of conversations, but then his eyes drift over your pensive expression as you remain all ears for his tragic tale, and then he comes across Noct. Noct who’s hiding half of his face behind your emptied mug, dark blue eyes watching, and he has this knowing smile on his face as if he accomplished a great heist or something.

And oh.

Oh.

Somehow, amidst his blabbering, amidst all the disastrous details he’s dishing out for you, amidst all your slow nods and quizzical tilts of your head, Prompto can’t stop the fond smile from seizing his lips when he thinks about it, thinks about Noct and Noct the Prince of Apathy and Noct the Asshole who kept egging him on.

Because, truly, Noct is his best buddy in the end, his wingman in all desperate times, and no one comes close.

“what’s it like outside there?” you ask him, swinging your dangling legs from the armchair. “is the world still big like what mama showed me?”

fingers thread through your hair, raking a comb through your locks. byron’s gloved touch is warm even with his icy colour. he’s warm, just as warm as mother, but mother is the sun to your earth. and byron, byron is the star watching over your world. he remains steadfast as he cards his fingers through your hair, gently unravelling the knots in preparation for a braid, already equipped with a ribbon hairclip to finish off the look. for a moment, he is silent, formulating a response.

watching his reflection on the ornate vanity, you couldn’t help but to bite your lip and turn away. his cheek is swollen from father’s harsh slap, but he carries on with his duty without complain. the maids from lunch whispered bad things about him, about his street rat upbringing, about the permanent scars littering his knuckles, about father’s kindness of taking him in. how the holes puncturing his ears are past hints of his earrings, how his high-collared shirt hides a silver chain underneath.

“sort of, i guess?” he answers, sounding rather unsure of himself. “i mean, the kingdom of lucis is big, that’s for sure. why’d you ask me that, milady?”

how can someone who touches you so gently be someone so rough? they’re all lies. they must’ve been lies father fed the servants again. byron isn’t like that. byron isn’t like that at all.

clenching and unclenching your hands, you didn’t miss how his ruddy eyes flit over to meet your gaze, making the heat bloom in your cheeks. “well, mama took me to galdin quay once. father didn’t like that. so he took mama away from me.”

if your sombre answer affects him, he doesn’t say anything at all. instead, byron hums. “galdin’s real pretty, if you ask me.” he removes the comb from your hair and parts your generous locks in three sections. always deft with his fingers, byron makes braiding into a work of art as he sets to the task, twining one after another. “the sun, the sea, the beach, i miss it all. we should go there again, just the two of us. how’d you like that?”

you’d like that. you’d like that very much. he must’ve seen the hope in your eyes, the faintest glitter of bliss, since he smiles—though he winces, because his cheek’s all puffed up—but just as soon as that, you remember your place and all hope crumbles away. because here is your place, here is where you live, and here is where you’ll die.

“I wanna go. i wanna go with you. i wanna go with mama too.” you begin worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, tangling your fingers in your shirt. “but… father’s not gonna let me out of the house. he said i can’t go out, no matter what.”

you almost expected him to laugh. because what would a nineteen-year-old man understand from a five-year-old child anyway? he doesn’t understand father can be a cruel master to those who oppose him. he doesn’t understand father took mama away from you, and he can take byron away just as easily too. and if you overstepped your boundaries, then there’d be a price to pay. a price slotted under byron’s tab, to be paid in full.

but all byron does is to continue smiling that mysterious smile of his, and it quells all of your fears in an instant.

“someday, milady. someday, i’ll take you to galdin.”

THERE IS A MESS WAITING FOR him when he steps through the doorway, and it’s such a peculiar sight until Byron stops dead in his tracks to stare. He’s known you for practically all of your life, and messy is definitely not one of the words he’d use to describe you. Pillows, comforters, bowls of cereal, and mugs of soda are strewn in clusters near the television, roughed up like someone threw a party in here. And the subject of suspicion is napping harmlessly on the floor, curled up on one side with a blanket pooling loosely around your ankles.

Really, it’s so odd until Byron tilts his head to the side and almost wants to scrutinize this crime scene from every angle. Closing the door behind him, he sets the bagful of grocery on the kitchen counter and decides to approach the spot, careful not to make any noise. Sure enough, upon closer look, he sees three mugs near your head paired up with three more bowls of cereal, all in varying degrees of emptiness. Silver spoons, fruity cereals, milk, and soda. What an odd party indeed.

But a meal of three, really? With who?

Bathed in the light of Insomnia’s sunset, ambers and scarlets dance on your skin as you slept, entirely unconscious of his questions. Sleeping so soundly, Byron thinks it’s a waste to rouse you from your sleep.

Kneeling on the floor, he gently pulls the blanket up to your shoulders and pats your head.

This time, he doesn’t smile.

[tbc.]

thank you very much for sticking around and reading! things pick up in the next chapter when noctis pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong 8)

PREVIEW: You’d seen him before—or rather, more accurately, you had read news with his face on it. A brooding prince printed in both colour and monochrome, eyebrows straight and lips pressed into a firm, thin line. Long lashes curtaining hazy blue eyes, complementing flawless expanse of skin. All sultry dips of collarbones, broad shoulders, and sinewy arms. Whenever he shows up around here, he’s always in a dark shirt and cargo pants, sometimes looking like a sweaty mess, and sometimes looking like he’d just stepped out of shower. With your chastising, he’d set aside his boots and claim your television area as his new territory, playing a game or two.

#noctis x reader #noctis/reader #final fantasy xv fanfic #final fantasy xv #ffxv #Noctis Lucis Caelum #prompto argentum #noctis #prompto #ignis scientia #ignis #lazy people

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