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archetypal-archivist · 3 years

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Grian- Boots for the Rain Gone Cold

Kind of a story idea for Ex-Watcher Grian, 3500+ words. This is what happens when you listen to the song Welly Boots on repeat for a couple hours. The premise is that Grian and the Hermits aren’t quite as nice as they seem, and when Grian has to flee Hermitcraft to keep his friends safe from the Watchers, his friends do some malicious compliance to take care of him while he is away.

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A story in which the hermits take care of their own, even beyond borders they should not be able to cross.

Take a standard story about Watcher Grian. See him come to Hermitcraft, lost and alone and afraid. He has been through Evo, killed a dragon whilst alone and afraid, was taken against his will, watched his friends Pearlescent Moon and Taurtis die. He knows how to take care of himself, but nothing more than that.

Hermitcraft changes that, for him. Standing outside a portal that is unlike any he had ever seen, even during his time as a watcher, seeing a team of 20+ walk out is terrifying. But they had seen him, looked at each other, then rushed forward to claim him as their own. In the beginning he is left alone until he tentatively reaches out, saving Scar's stuff after he has died. An action unlike him, but he had appreciated their kindness in letting him stay, so he does his best to repay that.

Tit for tat is something he understands from the Watchers, even if this is a kinder variant.

Grian watches as people start to reach out to him, watching him with admiring eyes as he builds his first shops, offering items he's never needed or touched before now. (Conduits are so cool and he'll deny the shiver of excitement that crept up his spine when Xisuma first handed him one to his dying breath.) He watches as they smile and laugh at his antics, rather than come at him and his with sword and shield for his pranks.

He watches. He is good at that. He is significantly less good at returning their kindness, a trouble-maker to his core, intentionally or no. But he tries, and in the eyes of the Hermits, that is all that matters.

Iskall feeds him, sometimes, when he is sick and delirious, screaming at the shadows in the corners. They do not let him starve himself to death. (He learns to hide half stacks of golden carrots in their chests, just enough to replenish their supply, but not enough that they'd notice.)

Mumbo is patient with him when he comes crashing into his base like a wrecking ball, sometimes plowing into the taller hermit's redstone face first in the process. He just helps Grian up, smiling and laughing, helping him brush the red dust away. (Grian learns that Mumbo cannot sleep without noise, too used to the ticking of redstone clocks and firing pistons to sleep in quiet. He learns to fly in on late nights when Mumbo's base is still lit up and talk with his friend, chattering away until Mumbo can find it in himself to turn the lag machines off and fall asleep to the sound of Grian's voice.)

Xisuma watches the world with all the focus and patience that Grian once used when designing stars and bedrock towers. For Xisuma, Grian will watch the world too and ease its updates when he can- one less burden for his admin to carry, taken and handled with silent, secret grace.

Joe reads and reads and reads, spinning tales of his finds to all who stand still long enough for him to pin down for a bit. For Joe, Grian will bring out some of his old high school textbooks for him on the days when the man runs out of books to read.

Zedaph lives in a cave, warm and dry, but without color, the only life being the experiments rattling around in the background. For Zedaph, Grian will sneak in mushrooms and moss, encouraging them to grow in the shadows until the cavern blooms with them.

For the hermits, Grian is kind. For the hermits, Grian will learn.

Then one day it all comes crashing down, perhaps in the face of a bedrock tower springing from nowhere, perhaps in violent, screaming outburst of purple fire, perhaps in the face of a friend he once thought dead. The Watchers had tried their damnest to stamp out his heart and they nearly succeeded, but just as they could not stamp out his free will they also could not stamp out his humanity, and people- regardless of shape or size or color or race or species- are born to love and be loved.

Grian loves his Hermits. To protect them, he must leave. And so he does, quietly and in the dead of night, the faint echoes of screams ringing in his ears. If he has it his way, never again will he hear his hermit's pain, imagined or otherwise. It would be best to just forget.

Grian settles in a rainy little single player server that turns out to not be as single player as he would like. It seems instead to be an abandoned multiplayer server, lost dogs and empty houses abound in the distant corners, and every once in a while a new player stumbles in, running from something, settling in long enough to call the server home. Sometimes, these new players stay. Sometimes, whatever is chasing them catches up and they are forced to leave. Grian refuses to care for these fellow vagabonds, even as he watches from under the eaves of his perfectly constructed rustic house, rain dripping down and obscuring him from their wondering, pained eyes.

Grian has given up on having happy ending, and if the ending the narrative seems to want to give him is a tragedy, then he will seize it with both hands and rewrite it himself. What he does not take into account, however, is that the Hermits don't take kindly to being abandoned.

Grian was once a Watcher, and while watching and mimicking are perhaps some of his better skills, he was still new to the server and as such there is much about his Hermits he never had a chance to discover. Their pasts in large part remained a mystery to him, as he had learned to mimic kindness too well from them to ever pry. (They would have told him, if he had asked. Love was another thing he had learned from them, and if he had been seen and not just watched, he perhaps would have noticed how strongly they cared for him too.)

But yes. Though Grian was perhaps the only one of their number on the run from literal gods, he was not the only one with a tragic back story.

Xisuma, who watched the Hermitcraft server with all the vigilance of a soldier who had watched his fellow troops and their enemies weaponize glitches against each other, to the mass extinction of both. Evil X, who ran from it all, only to end up in a place where nothing violent simply became nothing.

Joe, who read and read and read, devouring knowledge the way he once devoured worlds, eyes flickering white on the nights when hunger panged in his stomach worse than usual. Cleo, who also knew the pain of consumption, from both sides of teeth like knives.

Zedaph, who popped into existence one day, whole and unsullied, with a vast, empty void where his past ought to be, who forgot sometimes that people are supposed to have likes and dislikes and colors and an instinctual obedience towards the laws of gravity. Tango and Impulse, who watched their friend and each other with eagle eyes to keep their trio from slipping back into old, self-destructive habits. (Overwork, overclocking, over-stimulation. All were equally killer.)

Grian, who's first and best skill, even before his building, was causing mischief and creating fun. A welcome distraction from old pains.

They loved him, the Hermits. In whatever flavor they chose, they loved him. They knew his darkness, though perhaps not the exact nature of it, and they knew that he loved them back. And then he left them.

The Hermits were powerful with love and sorrow and determination. Grian thought he could leave them so quickly, uproot himself from their hearts like a ghost in the night? Ha.

As. If.

It begins like this- Grian wakes in his little spruce house in the middle of a mostly abandoned town. The rain is pouring outside as it nearly always is and the rushing of wind through the trees puts him in the mind of his old ship-in-a-bottle base, warm and safe from the wet outside. He wakes up, stretches, thinks of eating. Steps outside and-

a brand new pair of bright red rain boots, almost glowing in the grey mist of early morning. They are in his colors, Grian just knows they would fit him perfectly. A welcome sort of gift, perfect for a world drenched in rain. Perfect for him, gifted with thought, with care. His stomach curdles and he just knows he won't be eating breakfast today either. A curl of a finger and the boots go up in purple flames, the scent of burnt rubber joining the petrichor of the air. He goes back inside. Goes back to sleep. Tries not to dream.

The boots are back the next day, shining red and a little closer to the door to better keep them out of the rain. He burns those too.

The boots keep appearing. Always bright red, always perfectly sized to fit him- squeaky new rubber, perfect for keeping out the rain. In the face of that, red boots like clockwork, is it any wonder that Grian gets tired? His front porch stinks of burnt rubber and there are new planks wherever he had to remove the scorched oak. Perhaps it's the burning that causes a new pair to appear- if there are no boots, a new pair comes to replace them, so perhaps a different method of disposal is in order.

He throws the next pair into the river. A new pair comes back to him the next day, alongside the old ones, dripping with sea grass and mud. Hmm.

(Cleo has friends in the rivers and oceans. It's easy enough to call in a favor or three to get the boots returned.)

Creepers next. A loud hiss and an even louder boom has him flinching back, phantom burns dancing across his fingers, but the boots are naught but ash. Three pairs of boots next time, one of them a dark swirling grey rather than the traditional red, as if mocking their scorched past.

(Doc's work. He's had enough experience with accidentally blowing up his own tools to know how to make a blast protection charm strong enough to keep his clothes and armor safe in the case of an unfortunate accident. The grey starbursts left over the material are just a neat bonus.)

Lava. Concentrated spider venom. Flattened by pistons. Dropped into the void. Left under a lightning rod. Thrown up into a tree. Fed to a guardian.

Each and every time, the boots come back, usually with some change in pattern, color, or marking that signals just what they have been through. All in perfectly usual condition, even the pair he cut in half with an axe.

(Stress had a field day piecing that pair back together, using molten honey and mending enchants to stick the halves together again. She always had loved a challenge.)

Eventually, Grian's front porch is covered in boots in all manner of designs, and fed up with the mess, he sets the whole mess on fire again with his signature purple flame, the only thing sure to reduce the number of boots permanently. He sets his house on fire in the process. Hmmmm.

There's an influx of new people into Grian's world all of a sudden. A pair of twins jump in, bloody, battered, and exhausted, and not a week later a roughed-up blond boy joins, snappish and hurting. All three lack shoes.

Now, Grian very firmly does not want to interact with any of them. He had found true friends among the Hermits and if he can't interact with them, then he certainly doesn't want to interact with a trio of traumatized children- however, he does have a pair of boots to give and dropping them on the children's doorstep requires no interaction at all. The female twin puts them on, marveling at how big the red boots are on her while the other kids stand watch suspiciously. Grian watches this from his front porch, hidden by the mist but eyes glinting purple in the gloom so he can see comfortably. The male twin seems to spot this, shouting and pointing, and Grian goes back inside to avoid the mess.

The next morning, the boots on his doorstep are rainbow-striped and several sizes smaller, perfect for a child's feet. Grian stares down at them, something hurting and tremulous in his heart, but his face remains blank. These boots are placed on the trio's doorstep as well. The male twin wears these, and the last child ends up with a pair of blue and black spotted ones.

(False had had fun with the patterns, feeling a little bit of relief that she could hunt down some rubber in a pattern other than plain red.)

Rumor spreads of a purple-eyed monster in the woods that gave people boots to keep them safe from the rain, although Grian very carefully avoids such stories. The children begin leaving trinkets for their monster in hopes to repay him, and Grian ignores these too until one day, the children somehow manage to get an old red dog collar to give him. Upon spotting this, Grian's heart gives a squeeze as it reminds him of Rendog, and he pockets it to put on his rather empty bookshelf. Other things also get picked up, all things that remind him of the friends he had to leave behind.

An allium, pressed into a book of galactic picked up from a stronghold. A jar of electric blue ink dried into a gelatinous cake. A tiny knight figurine, scuffed and missing an arm. A handful of spicy red jellybeans. Eventually, as time passes on and on and the rain bears down harder on Grian's tiny world, a trio of heartfelt, thankful cards appear on his kitchen table, all three drawn in crayon and filled with cheerful scribbles.

It rains harder, and the world shrinks down to just Grian and the three children who call out into the gloom every morning, grateful for the boots and the glimpses of purple eyes and feathered wings in the dark that tell them that they are not alone. The boots stop coming.

In their place, new things appear.

A toaster. Firewood. New sweaters and combs and soap. Little things designed to make life easier, many of them children-sized or painted in rainbow stripes or blue polka dots or a shade of red just off from Grian's favored color. These too go to the children, and the number of gifts Grian receives increases, many of them built from the material that he gives the trio of children.

(If the Hermits cannot gift things to Grian directly, then they will gift them to people who will transform them into something their wayward friend would accept. They do so with equal parts love and spite, angry to have been rebuffed but unwilling to let Grian feel himself forgotten. The trio of kids end up with a rather odd assortment of things. Tango, for example, is fond of the easy-bake oven he sent them that always burnt the food it made. Grian got nothing but his favorite chocolate chip cookies for a week, all of them scorched.)

In time, Grian does his best to drive the children off, building traps and leaving weapons on their doorstep to scare them. The stories of the monster in the woods increase in number and many more children join the server, encouraged by tales of purple-eyed, winged beast that taught its charges to be wary and gave them tools to defend themselves. Grian's cabin remains hidden in the mist, but many more wooden structures join it in the forest.

New boots appear on his doorstep. They aren't made to fit him.

(His heart aches, but his eyes remain dry. Morning dew condenses on Grian's cheeks.)

It comes to a head like this- no world, no matter how small or safe, is fully protected from the Watchers' gaze, and in the end, they find him. Only now, there are people here that cannot leave, that Grian cannot leave behind.

The children scream for their monster to save them. He rises from the mist, eyes heavy and wings heavier, dragging upon the ground and leaving trails in the brick red mud. They think they are saved. They are wrong.

Chains shoot out from the mist, forcing Grian to his knees as a huge female Watcher, Astrid, stares down at him, mouth turned down into a tiny frown and the rest of her figure still as stone even as she floats in the air, white robes fading into the surrounding fog. The purple emblem on her mask glows like a brand. Grian watches her with purple eyes glowing dim and dull, resigned to his fate but unwilling to flee if it means the deaths of those who do not deserve to serve his sentence in his stead.

He thinks, quietly, that he will die here. He wonders if this- any of this- is worth it. He thinks, yes. Yes it is.

He is wrong.

A figure coalesces before him, clad in yellow armor and arms crossed, the very picture of annoyed defiance. It tilts its head back, hard light construct featureless but practically radiating scorn, and from the mists a voice echoes.

"You are going to leave him alone. He's not for you." Astrid hisses behind her mask, galactic crackling and vile from between her lips, and the sound of wingbeats thrums like a heartbeat through the clearing, bass-heavy and loud in Grian's ears. He winces, closing his eyes as more chains shoot out from the ground to attach to Xisuma's- for what else could it be but his admin projected across time and space (that stupid, crazy, wonderful man)- construct. They coil around it, doing their level best to drag it to the ground, but the figure remains still and hovering before Grian, entirely unmoved.

"No. You will leave him alone." Xisuma's voice again, commanding and stern even from a figure that looks more like a glowing yellow armor stand. "I'll ask that you don't test me, it took a while to put this projection together and it will not dissipate until it fulfills its intended purpose." Astrid merely hisses again, this time with an underlay of static beneath it, and Grian's wings are suddenly pulled back tight and away from his shoulders- all three pairs of them, not merely those he prefers to wear.

The sound of flesh and feathers ripping through one plane and into the next has Grian feeling sick. Wrong, his mind repeats on loop, screaming. Wrong wrong wrong. Xisuma's figure freezes at his pained squeak before unfolding its arms and going carefully still. It tilts its head to the side, considering and cold.

"Is that your game? You do realize that that is death sentence, right? We would never let you survive it." Astrid nods. The chains rise up again, clinking softly as they loop once, twice, three times around Grian's outermost pair of wings, the ones most used to the physical plane and with the most nerve endings besides. The damp air is cold and aching in his lungs.

A rip. A scream. And then everything shrinks down to a flicker of brilliant yellow light, the shrilling of broken violins, and the long, drawn-out death wail of a Watcher unused to pain. A computer crash in slow motion complete with a harsh base note as Astrid's wings fall to join Grian's in the mud.

The world expands again, overwhelming. Agony. Silence.

Chains clink to the floor, broken, as Xisuma's hard light construct comes forward to stand before the Hermits' erstwhile server mate, slumped over in a pool of blood but conscious, something in his purple eyes bent, if not a little broken.

A voice, hoarse, achingly loud in the quiet of the glade. "You didn't stop her."

"No."

"...Is this my punishment then?" A moment of quiet and then the figure stoops down to gather Grian into its arms, its featureless gaze doing little to ease his fear.

Then, gently, ".....No."

Grian slumps, the last bit of tension seeping from his limbs as the pain in his back begins to register, sapping at his will and leeching into his voice.

"I'm sorry, you know. I- I'm sorry. I didn't want to go. It just- it hurts. Hels it hurts, so much. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I know. I know." Xisuma's figure stands up, hoisting Grian a little higher up against its chest so that hiss remaining wings don't drag on the ground quite as much, then turning to face the cowering children. Eventually, a little girl in bright red rain boots stands up to meet its gaze.

She blinks back tears, scrubbing at her face to hide them, but her expression is brave. "Where are you taking him?"

The figure clutches the children's monster close, looking just as fierce as any dragon in a fairytale. "Home. Will you stop me?"

The girl pauses, considering. "No. Don't think I could, really."

"Will you try?"

"To keep going? Yeah, of fucking course, sure as my name is Clementine. To stop you? Not bloody likely, I like my head right where it is." Xisuma's figure nods, satisfied, and with a blink, it and their monster are gone.

Notes:

#hermitcraft #fanfiction #my writing #minecraft #grian #watcher grian

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-7: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation

“Destiny is like a gust of wind… Red leaves flutter, flying away in the face of it. And it is when the winds pick up ― That you meet once more…”

“Don’t refuse, don’t turn back. They’re watching you.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Osborn hadn’t been lying. The police soon returned us all missing artefacts not long after.

❖☆———————————★❖

It was already late at night when I left the venue after having placed the finishing touches on my work.

I’d just gotten back to the country, so I didn’t have time to properly go apartment hunting. Not to mention that the competition deadline was close, so all I could do was to rent a small apartment near where granny’s shop used to be. Although it was located on the outskirts of the City, it was still an area that I was familiar with.

MC: I wonder if granny would be happy for me, knowing that I entered the finals if she were still here…

The night breeze blew pleasantly, gently rustling the trees. It was as if the world was giving me an answer from the beyond.

Suddenly, the unmistakable, yet faintly discernible sound of footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned around. The moonlight shone down upon the alley, the surroundings were deathly silent, and there was no one else here but my shadow.

MC: Am I just imagining it?

I picked up my pace, heading towards the train station.

Not even a few seconds later, the sound of footsteps continued again. This time clearer and more concisely.

I tried slowing down, finding that those footsteps also followed suit. I sped up, panicking as it did the same.

… Am I being followed!? I could feel the cold sweat start to bead.

Passing the road mirror, I saw that there were a couple of men standing not too far off. The cigarettes between their fingers glowed faintly red in the darkness of the night.

Damn it! I’m still a ways away from the train station! I’m surrounded by alleys… What should I do?

Should I call the police? But it’s me against quite the number. Besides, I’ll be risking my own safety if I do something as rash as contacting the police. Doing so might just be enough provocation for them to spring on me.

MC: Good lord. I’m facing problems even at night! What’s up with my luck today!?

My heart raced, but I didn’t dare to stop, nor turn back to look at whoever was following me.

All I can do right now is to try and maintain neutrality and act natural whilst looking around to see if there are any nearby shops open.

Thud, thud, thud.

The footsteps coming after me from behind gradually sped up—

MC: !!!

❖☆———————————★❖

The melodious sound of windchimes graced my ears along with bright lights. A cafe stood in the silent night.

The night wind blew against the sweaty bangs that had stuck itself to my forehead, as I could hear my heart thudding ferociously against my ribcage.

❖☆———————————★❖

Staff: Hello, what would you like to drink?

MC: Hello. I’m being followed by someone o—

??: One Americano and one Latte, please.

A polite baritone interrupted me. Startled, I looked up. I didn’t know when he came, but there was a young man standing beside me.

Noticing my gaze, he responded with a gentle smile.

Staff: It’s a great night out, Mr. Lu. Is she with you?

Mr. Lu: Yes.

I glanced over at him in confusion and was about to refuse him when he raised a finger to his lips.

❖☆———————————★❖

Mr. Lu: Don’t refuse, don’t turn back.

Mr. Lu: They’re watching you.

I stiffened before realizing that he was referring to the people who had been following me. So… He’s trying to help?

I was still flighty, perhaps due to the aftereffects of my fear. I didn’t quite know what to make of the stranger before me. Thus, I tried to ascertain whether he had an ulterior motive judging by the look in his eyes.

MC: …Thanks.

❖☆———————————★❖

He shook his head, gesturing for me to take a seat with him by the side.

The shop was brightly lit, and there were many customers seated around us.

The coffee was soon served. I picked up my cup, taking a light sip from it. The mellow aroma of it truly brought one comfort. I breathed a sigh, feeling the nervous anxiousness that had been thumping wildly in my heart slowly come down from its high.

This was also when I was finally able to stop and truly contemplate the person before me.

He wore a single-breasted three-piece suit with only his tie as an accompanying piece. It was simple and made him exude just the right amount of calmness.

However, I couldn’t help but feel like something was lacking.

Maybe he could still afford to add a tie pin to his assembly? Something simple would do the trick. And colour-wise…

MC: Perhaps smoky grey would be better...?

Mr. Lu: Smoky grey?

He looked at me in slight surprise. That was when I realised that I’d accidentally lapsed back into letting my bad work habits take over.

MC: Sorry. I’m actually a fashion designer. Sorry if I offended you, really. I was just looking at your suit.

I hurriedly offered him my name card. Mr. Lu accepted it, smiling all the while.

Mr. Lu: Don’t worry about it.

Mr. Lu: Rather, what were you talking about when you said smoky grey…?

MC: A tie pin.

Mr. Lu: So, I’m taking it that I’m missing a smoky grey-coloured tie pin?

MC: Uh, yes… or that’s what I personally think, at least.

Mr. Lu: What type would you think works best?

MC: Huh?

He wasn’t mad at all. Instead, he was questioning me further about it with utmost sincerity.

He wasn’t being overly enthusiastic about it. Instead, he kept a respectable distance away, giving me space to breathe and not making me feel awkward or uncomfortable about it.

MC: A clip-on pin. The most normal-looking one will do the trick.

Mr. Lu: I see. Thank you, I’ll be sure to take note of it.

MC: No, no. You don’t have to, really. I just think that it’ll complement the vibe you have going on.

MC: And speaking of thanks, I really should be the one thanking you instead.

He smiled as usual, but this time with a more knowing edge to it.

Mr. Lu: You can call me Evan if you don’t mind.

MC: Okay, Mr. Ev… Evan.

Man: Will you stop saying “thank you”?

Woman: Okay. Thanks for your suggestion.

Evan and I both froze in unison, turning to see the screen of TV that had been mounted on the wall.

❖☆———————————★❖

It was an old movie where the male lead was a wholly independent, yet taciturn member of a crime syndicate.

He’d broken the door down to save a girl, his neighbour whom he’d only ever acknowledged through passing nods, in a moment of compassion, and had thus started living together. The movie was currently at the part where the man resignedly tries to help the girl correct her living habits.

It had only been a couple of lines, but almost every sentence had a “thank you” attached to it. The more I look at this… the more I feel like we were doing the exact same thing earlier…

Evan and I exchanged a look, unable to help the collective laughter that ensued.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-5) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-9)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 5 years

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Every Breath You Take - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki has been stalking you for weeks, and you have no idea why. One night, he decides to claim what is his.

Characters: Loki x female reader

Words: ~6300

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit language, stalking, dub-con and/or non-con smut (depending where you draw the line between those), breaking and entering, choking/breath play, fear kink, power dynamics, humiliation, praise kink, basically Loki being a dominant mother fucker

Author’s Note: Major song inspiration for this is “Every Breath You Take” by Devil + Winter. Yes, I know it’s a remake of an older song, but I looove that specific cover so much.

This might officially be my favorite oneshot I’ve written thus far, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Every Breath You Take

Glancing at the clock, you puffed out a breath at the late hour. It might be Friday, but you had refused to leave the office until all weekly projects were completed by their deadline, as well as a few extras that you wanted to finish ahead of schedule. You had snagged a government job, and there was no way in hell that you were going to slack off or cause anyone to second guess whether you were the most qualified choice.

Sending off an email to your supervisor with the attached completed work, you gave a triumphant grin before logging out of the computer system, grabbing your purse, and hightailing it for the elevators. Thoughts of a long, hot bath followed by curling up on the couch with delivery pizza and a sappy movie were beckoning, and after a week full of working early mornings and even later evenings, you deserved it.

Exiting the elevator and crossing the lobby, you waved and said goodnight to the evening security guard. He was unsurprised to see you leaving so late and wished you a good weekend. The sun had set hours ago, but the street was still semi-lit from the city lights, sections of darkness broken by circles of lamp light, car headlights, and the muted glow of lit windows.

And yet, he still managed to hide within the shadows.

You wouldn’t have even noticed, if it weren’t for the fact that he had been an unfailing constant lately. Each time you exited the office, even if it was just to run down the street to the nearest food truck, he was there. Standing right across the street from your work building, intense stare fixed in your direction, tonight was no exception.

The first time it had happened, you had been sure you were hallucinating. Especially because no one else seemed to notice the tall figure, pedestrians passing by with no acknowledgement. It was as if he didn’t allow anyone to see him. Just you.

Habit made you glance across the street again, and sure enough, the shadowed outline of his lean form was still waiting between the patches of light. It was as if he had molded them to his own benefit, wrapping the night around himself so that only the inhuman flicker of his eyes glinted at you out of the darkness.

Loki, the God of Mischief, had been silently stalking you for weeks. And you had absolutely no idea why.

Starting down the street, you felt his presence as a prickle on the back of your neck. He was there as you walked a block over to the bus stop, and it was only when you were safely on board and in a seat that the sensation disappeared. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, knowing he was gone. The reprieve was short-lived, since you also knew that he’d already be there when you got home.

Sure enough, once the bus exited the city and stopped near your block, the sensation of being followed returned. You walked quickly up the front path of your suburban home, hands shaking slightly as they fit the key into the front door. He never came too close, never followed you across the threshold, but the idea that he could made your mouth run dry. Once you were inside with the door closed and deadbolted, you went around double checking all the windows and the back door. Yep, still locked.

Peeking out between the blinds in the living room, your eyes scanned the moonlit yard, looking for movement. You didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there, lurking. For the millionth time you contemplated reporting him, but also for the millionth time you had no idea who exactly to tell. It wasn’t like you were highly-ranked enough to have Mr. Fury or the Avengers on speed dial. And the police would think you were having a mental break, since it seemed as though Loki could cloak himself from being noticed, even when in the middle of a crowd.

You had just started working for S.H.I.E.L.D a couple of months ago, as a low-level data interpreter. To say you were at the bottom of the totem pole was accurate, but you were prepared to work hard to elevate yourself within the organization. Sure, you’d never be an actual agent or spy, but there were upper level positions within your department that would one day have your name on them. You weren’t about to jeopardize those possibilities by creating waves while still in your probationary period, especially since you doubted your by-the-book, no-nonsense supervisor would do anything other than laugh in your face if you tried to tell him that a friggin god had chosen to follow you around. Hell, even your own family would probably assume you were overworked and delusional.

Which meant that you were stuck dealing with the issue of Loki yourself...and so far your grand master plan had been trying to ignore him in the fervent hopes that he would get bored and leave you alone.

Though he was impossible to totally ignore, you had made some progress with not lying in bed awake all night, staring at the ceiling and fearing the moment he’d decide to come inside the house. You still did this for about half of the night, but hey, progress. When he had shown no interest in crossing that boundary, you wondered if you were supposed to feel more terrified at his lack of intent, or safe with the knowledge that he was lurking around the house like your own personal security system.

And while you had at first been too scared to leave the office for lunch knowing he was out there, after a week of huddling in your cubicle you had been furious with yourself. It had been a piss-poor day anyways, and you had barely made it to an 8am meeting on time thanks to forgetting to set your alarm the night before (probably because you had been too busy stressing over the god lurking outside). Deciding that enough was enough, you had walked outside with head held high, ready to march down the street to the nearby deli. He had been there, of course he had, piercing gaze immediately zeroed in on you the moment you exited the building’s doors.

Lack of sleep and frustration making you feel bold, you had actually stopped and glared black at him. It was the first time you had been assertive enough to acknowledge him without any visible fear, and you were damn proud of yourself.

That pride had quickly turned to ash when the corners of his mouth curved slowly upwards, lips parting to showcase a sadistic smirk that caused your heart to drop into your ass, legs doing a 180 and practically sprinting you back into the building. Turns out you hadn’t been that hungry, after all. You had left the office for lunch a few times since then, but always kept your eyes pointed down at the sidewalk, never daring to nonverbally challenge him again.

Now, after checking for the umpteenth time that all the blinds were closed, you went through with your evening plans, the hot bath relaxing tense muscles and greasy pizza filling your soul as much as your stomach. And when you crawled into bed a few hours later and drifted off to sleep, you almost forgot about the powerful god who was stalking your every move. Almost…

~ ~ ~

Startling awake a few hours later, you sat up in bed and grabbed for the bedside lamp, flicking it on. Eyes squinting at the sudden brightness, you scanned the room with a pounding heart, relief washing over you at seeing that the corners were empty. It was just a dream, you soothed. It wasn’t real…

Said dream had been filled with flashing green eyes, lips twisted into a cruel grin, and a large, powerful form pinning you to the bed.

Licking bone-dry lips, you got out of bed and headed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. You didn’t turn on any other lights, both because you knew the layout of the house well enough to navigate it in the dark, and in hopes that your movement wouldn’t alert a certain visitor who might still be in the vicinity.

The microwave clock showed that it was a little after 3am, which meant you had only gotten a couple hours of sleep before the raven-haired god had once again disrupted your life. There were enough windows with moonlight streaming in through the blinds that you had no trouble navigating the kitchen. Not wanting to open the fridge and risk him seeing the light, you grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and went over to the sink, glancing out the small window above it but seeing only an empty yard.

The glass was half full when you felt every hair on your body stand up in warning. All those blinds had been shut earlier. You had checked them multiple times before going to bed. Your eyes flew back up, breath catching in your throat at the sight. Only seconds ago the view of the yard had been empty, but now…

Loki was standing mere feet away, on the other side of the glass. Moonlight lit up his features, the pale unblemished skin giving off an eerie glow as his emerald eyes burned into you through what, suddenly, felt like a pathetic excuse of a barrier. Shock and fear made your suddenly shaky fingers loosen their grip on the fragile water glass, causing it to fall into the sink and shatter. The noise was like a gunshot to your frozen state; you jumped and screamed in alarm before realizing the sound wasn’t from the window. Eyes jerked down to the sink, where pieces of glass lay scattered and sparkling in the dim moonlight. When you looked back up again, Loki was gone.

Suddenly, a wave of anger flowed through you, heating your blood and overtaking the fear long enough for you to make what, looking back, was a really fucking stupid decision.

You were so done with his shit, done with living in constant hypervigilance and fear because some god had decided to play with you like a bug in a jar. Without allowing yourself to fully process the stupidity of what you were about to do, you went over to the back door, opened it, and stormed out onto the porch.

Breath puffing with adrenaline, you glanced to your right, where Loki had previously been standing. Instead, there was only empty air. This served to piss you off more, as it was obvious that he was just toying with you. Well, you were done with the games.

“Listen up, asshole!” you shrieked at the empty yard. “I don’t know what your problem is, but-” you cut off abruptly as logic finally caught up to anger. Your brain was frantically waving a big, red ‘this is a really stupid idea’ sign and telling you to get back inside.

The flames of rage quickly fizzled out, replaced by an icy wave of fear when the asshole in question suddenly appeared in the middle of the yard, seemingly out of thin air. He stood silent and still as the night, all-black Asgardian clothing molded to his tall and proud form so that he blended in with the shadows.

You felt, more than saw, his eyes trail slowly down over your body, expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. You were suddenly very aware that you were only wearing a lavender tank top and grey sleep shorts, bare toes curling against the cool wood of the porch. The sheer vulnerability of your situation kicked-started the flight response, and you took a slow step backwards, not wanting to lose sight of what your survival instinct classified as a wild and unpredictable predator.

The plan failed instantly when Loki burst forward, black cape fluttering out around his form as he strode across the yard. You weren’t sure if he looked more like a fallen angel or avenging demon, but the effect was enough to jolt your body into motion as you turned and sprinted for the still-open back door.

Crossing the threshold, you felt a small spark of relief, thinking how he never came inside, that you just needed to get the door closed and…

He hit the wood with such force that you were thrown into the kitchen, stumbling back against the opposite wall when he stepped inside. His gaze zeroed in on you as he lifted one booted foot and kicked the door shut.

The loud slam made you jump, vocal cords suddenly coming back online as you opened your mouth to scream. He moved so fast that you didn’t even have time to consider fleeing, his hand cutting off the scream before it even left your throat. He slammed you into the wall, his palm so large that it covered the entire bottom half of your face and effectively cut off your oxygen. His other arm caged you in, palm flat against the wall right beside your head, making you feel utterly trapped. Eyes widening with terror, you clawed at his hand, fighting to breathe. You might as well have been an insect trying to stop an incoming shoe with all the difference your struggles made.

“You will be silent. Attempt to scream again, and I will choke the life out of you. Understood?”

His low, dark voice made you shiver with fear, but you were so desperate for air that you would agree to almost anything at this point, and so nodded frantically up at him. His eyes narrowed for a few moments, as if assessing your reliability, before sliding his hand down so that it lightly encircled your throat and anchored you to the wall.

Gasping in blessed oxygen, you panted up at him with heaving breaths, eyes shifting back and forth as you tried, and failed, to come up with an escape plan. If you thought he had been intimidating from a distance these past few weeks, it was nothing compared to the vision of him up close. He practically buzzed with power as his lean, muscular frame towered over you, the ebony-clad chest and shoulders blocking any view of the kitchen and back door. The fingers at your throat flexed slightly in silent warning, as if he could read your thoughts and was reminding you that escape was futile.

You looked up at him, still in shock and trying to process the fact that a literal god was in your kitchen. And not just any god, but one who had terrorized your city, made a crowd kneel at his feet, and declared his intent to rule the planet. His arrogance was legendary, his powers terrifying. And you were so, so fucked.

Glancing up, you took in his face, semi-shadowed in the moonlit kitchen. Flawless porcelain skin showcased features sharp enough to cut glass, your eyes scanning over his sternly clenched jaw and lips pressed into a tight grimace. They gave off a coldness that sent a shiver down your spine, but then you looked up past his straight, regal nose and found the blazing heat of his gaze. He was watching you intently, those cruel lips curving up the slightest bit at your obvious perusal.

Horrified to have been caught staring, your eyes quickly lowered, taking in the expensive fabric that covered his tall, powerful body. You felt him bend down, every muscle tensed in fearful anticipation when his face stopped right beside your own. You could practically feel the effort he made to reign in his strength, the capability for violence coiled tightly right below the surface of his skin. Still too scared to lift your eyes, you heard as he slowly inhaled through his nose before exhaling through his mouth, so that warm breath ghosted over the side of your neck and caused goosebumps to erupt across your flesh.

Holy crap, had he just sniffed you?!

He gave a dark chuckle at the noticeable shudder that ran through your body in response to his actions. The hand at your throat moved up to tightly grip your chin, tipping it upwards until your eyes fluttered up as well and were ensnared by his gaze.

He was taking you in, noting your eyes dilated with fear and mouth slightly parted as your chest heaved to take in panicked breaths. He seemed to catalog all of your reactions with a piercing intelligence, as if storing away the knowledge for later.

“Do you fear me, human?”

The low, rumbled words shouldn’t have been enticing, but you’d be lying to deny the stirring low in your gut that resulted from his voice whispering in your ear. It actually took a few seconds for the question itself to filter through your brain. Unable to nod with his fingers still gripping your chin, you instead gave a soft, breathy, “Yes,” which caused him to smirk.

“Good girl.”

Okay, now that definitely caused a reaction, your body heating up at the mixture of fear and praise he provided. Dear god, what is wrong with you?! Scream, fight, do something!

As if he could read the thoughts in your gaze, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Ah ah, little one. You’re not getting away until I allow it.”

Attempting one last ounce of bravery, you asked in a pleading voice, “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes lit up, as if he were impressed that you dared to question his motives. The fingers at your chin loosened slightly, his eyes watching as he moved a thumb slowly back and forth across your lower lip.

“This planet is exceedingly uninspiring, and I have found humans to be particularly boring. So I had to obtain entertainment in one form or another, didn’t I?”

Well that sure wasn’t the answer you had been expecting. All the weeks of following you around, scaring you to within an inch of your life as you tried to figure out what reasons he had for singling you out, and it was all because he was bored?

You were grateful to feel a spark of anger return at his callous response and utter disregard for what he had put you through these past weeks. Looking back later, you’d think that he had verbally poked at you on purpose, had wanted you to showcase a bit more fight to add to his entertainment of the situation.

Through gritted teeth, you said, “If we’re so boring, then why waste your time following me around?”

His fingers trailed back down over your throat, and for a moment you thought that your words had been a fatal mistake, that this was when he decided you weren’t worth the trouble and strangled you. Instead, his fingers flitted over the pulse in your neck, pausing there as if to measure its beating, before gliding further down and across your delicate collarbone.

“I said humans were boring.” The tips of his long, cool fingers slid underneath the right strap of your tank top, pushing it towards your shoulder. “I didn’t say that you were boring.”

Shocked into silence, you felt the fabric being dragged down over your arm, the neckline lowering with it so that the top swells of your breasts were visible. You felt like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s crosshairs, too scared to move outside the involuntary trembling that started in your knees and traveled up the length of your legs and torso.

“Please,” you whispered, staring up at him helplessly, beseeching him to let you go. Wanting this to all just be a dream in which he would suddenly disappear and you would wake up in your warm bed.

“Begging already?” he taunted. “But we’ve barely begun.”

With that, he grabbed the neckline of the tank top and yanked, the fabric no match for his inhuman strength as he literally tore it from your body. The cool air hitting your bare nipples was what thrust you into action, as you reached up to shove against his shoulders with all your might, hoping to make him stumble back long enough so that you could dart to the side and make a run for it.

Instead, you might as well have pushed against a stone wall, even the adrenaline-laced strength not making him retreat so much as an inch. The only reaction your action caused was him to huff out a dark laugh of amusement before he flung the tatters of the tank top to the side and leered down at your exposed flesh.

You watched, wide-eyed, as a large and surprisingly warm palm cupped your breast, testing the weight of it. The whimper that left your throat was purely out of fear, you told yourself, and had nothing to do with the sensation of him pinching your nipple between two of those slender and graceful, yet powerfully masculine, fingers.

“What delightful noises you make, pet. I’m eager to learn how many others I can wring from your lips.”

Oh god, this couldn’t be happening. The whole situation was too surreal, too overwhelming. Your brain couldn’t compute all the mixed signals it was getting from the rest of your body. Thighs trembled with fear and the desire to run, but your traitorous nipples were hard as stone, and not just from the chilly air.

Loki noticed as well, of course he did. He was a master of lies, and of reading them in others, so there was no way your body was going to fool him. A pleased look lit up his eyes, and the emerald blaze was too much, causing your own to squeeze tightly shut when he leaned in close.

The words were whispered from mere inches away, and they brought with them a pang of arousal that shocked you to the core. “Don’t fight it, girl. You were made to be ruled, to be owned. And I’m going to make you mine.”

You gave a little sob in response, but didn’t argue, didn’t struggle. Not even when the hand at your breast continued its pleasurable torment while his other hand left the wall to trail down over your ribs and waist until it met the top of your sleep shorts. The tips of his fingers hooked inside the fabric, and with one graceful movement he shoved both shorts and panties down over your hips, so that they fell in a pile at your feet and left your body completely bare.

“Step out of them,” he commanded, fingers dancing softly along your hip bone.

Frozen with indecision, your breath came in audible gasps as the mixture of fear, anxiety, and burgeoning desire made your head spin. The headstrong and independent mentality that was so self-ingrained insisted that you fight him to the very end. But there was another part of you, a hidden and previously unknown part, that wanted to do as he said. Wanted to give in and submit.

Before you could find out which side would win, the hand at your breasts leapt back up to your throat, the movement so quick that you barely had time to register it before your oxygen was cut off. Eyes flew back open in panic, but before you could even attempt to struggle, the long fingers of his other hand caught and held your wrists tightly together, effectively trapping you once again.

His face lowered directly in front of your own, his straight, white teeth bared as he snarled, “I said step. Out. Of. Them.”

At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked if it meant being able to breathe, and so obediently lifted first one foot and then the other out of the shorts and underwear. He used his own booted foot to shove the fabric so that it slid across the floor off to the side, but didn’t yet let up his grip on your throat.

Your vision was growing spotty from lack of oxygen as you choked and squirmed in his grip. He looked delighted at this, his gaze dropping down to watch your body’s involuntary twists and jerks before lifting back to your face.

“You’re a willful little human, I’ll give you that. But from now on, when I give an order, I expect you to obey. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded desperately, and when that didn’t seem to satisfy him, sputtered out a barely audible, “Yes”.

“Sorry, pet, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again.”

Certain you were about to pass out, you put all remaining energy into gurgling out another attempt of the word. It must’ve been enough, because he whispered ‘good girl’ at the same time his grip loosened, allowing you to cough and gag as your lungs frantically filled with air.

His hand stayed in place this time, splayed across your throat in silent warning, as his other palm released your wrists, coasted down the front of your body and, without any hesitation, delved between your thighs. When you tried to close them, he used his own leg to wedge yours back open, pressing his erection into your hip and making it clear where this was heading.

Those cruel yet seductive fingertips ran along your slit before dipping into the humiliatingly apparent wetness and spreading it up to your clit. He gave a hum of male satisfaction at your pleasured gasp, exploring your body in a way that made both shame and desire heat your skin. The tip of his finger teased at your wet opening, barely dipping inside. Your hips bucked, and you didn’t know whether it was an attempt to get away or move closer.

His voice was more raspy than before, when he asked in a condescending tone, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my pretty little girl?”

You hoped he didn’t notice the way your pussy clenched onto the tip of his finger when he called you ‘his’, but judging by his groan, he had.

Slow, achingly slow, he pushed his finger inside you, the long digit reaching places that your own hands never could. Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, baring your throat to him, as desire officially overtook the will to escape.

“Yes, that’s it,” he cooed, the thumb of his other hand tracing over the rapid pulse that beat in the side of your throat. “Show how you belong to me.”

His words should’ve scared you, and they did in a far-off and hazy kind of way, but you were more focused on how he was pushing a second finger inside you. He rubbed them with knowledgeable precision against the sensitive front wall, making you cry out when they found your g-spot. And when his thumb also started rubbing quick little circles on your clit, you decided that maybe belonging to him wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

He continued that way, relentless, his breaths coming in heavy puffs against your cheek as he finger fucked you roughly until the tension between your thighs coiled into a tight spring of need. Whimpering, you dimly realized that your hands were grasping desperately at his arms and your thighs had fallen open wide of their own accord.

“There you go, pet. Take your pleasure, be a good little girl.” The hand at your throat tightened slightly, just enough to make you have to work a bit harder to draw breath. “And then, I’m going to fuck you...and I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

The orgasm slammed into you unexpectedly, and it was unlike any you had previously experienced. The combination of his praise and threat, along with the motions of both his hands, sent your body soaring. Your cries were hoarse and strained from his grip at your throat, and your legs shook as you came all over his hand, his eyes flaring down at you with delight as your body convulsed against him.

He removed the hand from between your thighs, lifting his wet fingers to your lips and ordering you to open them. Still drunk off the orgasm, you did so without hesitation.

“Suck them clean. Taste your own desperation,” he purred, teeth nipping sharply at your ear as he ground his hips against you.

Once he was satisfied with your work, he removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop before reaching down to his crotch and starting to undo the fabric. You watched in silent awe as he removed just enough of the unearthly clothing to release his thick cock, the head a dark red and already glistening with precum. Despite your recent orgasm, you still felt a bit of apprehension, knowing it was going to be a tight fit. He gave it a few firm strokes with his fist before he grabbed your hips and twirled you around so that you were facing the wall, his feet pushing your legs open even wider, spreading you out for him.

It felt so taboo, his still fully-dressed, muscular body pressing into your naked back, his bare erection bobbing between your spread thighs. He was so tall that when the hand at your throat pushed upward, forcing your head to tip back until your face was parallel with the ceiling, he was able to lean down over you and make eye contact. You tried to look away, but his fingers pressed into your windpipe in retaliation.

“Eyes on me, girl. I want to see that little look of pain in your eyes when I press into you.”

Your eyes widened at that, causing him to chuckle. The tip of his cock notched at your opening, but he didn’t press forward, drawing out the tension of the moment.

“Who do you belong to?” he taunted.

Licking your lips with both anticipation and nervousness, you whispered, “You.”

He made a deep, approving noise in his throat. “Yes. Say it. Say my name.”

“Loki,” you answered with a cry, as he started to press his cock forward, your body twisting as it struggled to adjust to the wide head.

“No no, don’t tense up,” he hissed. “Take it. Take it all.”

With that, he pushed inside you with one long, slow thrust. You felt the slight burn as your body stretched to accommodate every thick inch. It must’ve shown in your face, because his lips curled into a smirk at the same time as he groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back.

“Mmm, you suffer so beautifully for me. Look at you, taking all of my cock like a good little girl.”

The bastard knew what his words did to you, panting out a chuckle when he felt you involuntarily clench around him in response. Your hands were braced against the wall, back arched as he grasped your throat and hip with his hands and impaled you on his cock. You felt so full, so utterly overtaken when he ground his hips into your ass, as if to see just how deep he could go.

He withdrew slowly before thrusting back in, quick and harsh, causing you to cry out with the sharp pleasure-pain. He did it again, pulling his hips back agonizingly slow until the tip of his cock was resting at your entrance. He paused for a moment before pushing back inside, as if to recreate that initial claiming thrust. After doing this about half a dozen times, he stopped teasing and set up a steady and deep rhythm, each thrust sending sparks throughout your entire body.

Your eyes had started to flutter shut, but his hand cutting off your air caused them to reopen and focus up at him, his chiseled features hovering over you in the dim light, gaze searing down into your own. This time, you didn’t panic, didn’t tug at his arm, just stared up at him with desire-glazed eyes and let him do as he wished. You could practically feel his approval of your surrender, his fingers loosening long enough for you to draw a few breaths before tightening again.

“You’re so pretty like this, surrendering to me,” he growled through bared teeth, once again letting up on your throat so that you could gasp in air and let it out with a moan. “Every breath you take is mine. Every gasp from your lips, every flutter of your pulse...it’s because I allow it. And now, I’m going to fill up this cunt and claim it as mine.”

Your whimper was cut off as his hand tightened once more, hips picking up the pace as he thrust brutally into you, his balls smacking your clit and fingers pressing so deeply into your hip that you knew there would be bruises to match the ones at your throat. The edges of your vision were starting to become fuzzy when he let up for the last time, his hand lowering from your neck to run over your breasts, tweaking the nipples until you whined before continuing downward.

When his fingertips zeroed in on your clit, you let out a pleading noise which, under other circumstances, would’ve made you ashamed at how needy it sounded. You weren’t sure what exactly you were begging for, but you did know that he was the only one who could give it to you. The harsh bite of his cock dragging against your sensitive inner walls combined with the fast and skilled movements of his fingers drove you up to the edge, forehead dropping to the wall as you moaned uncontrollably, his answering grunts sending shivers through you.

The hand gripping your hip came up to wrap in your hair, pulling your head back so that you were once again looking up at him, and you couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most glorious creatures you had ever seen. His features looked as wrecked as you felt, cords in his neck standing out with stark relief in his pale, moonlit skin as his jaw clenched tightly, eyes focused unwaveringly on you. It was one of the most intensely intimate moments of your life, his piercing gaze breaking you wide open with nowhere to hide.

You started shaking uncontrollably, body balanced right on the knife’s edge of pleasure and wanting so badly to fall over into the abyss. His lips twisted knowingly as your pussy started to flutter around his cock.

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me.” The hand between your legs pressed in harder, moved faster. “Come for your god.”

As if the words were the final push your body needed, the orgasm flowed through you. It wasn’t as volatile a punch as the first one; instead, it drowned you in waves of blissfully intense pleasure that drew soft cries from your lips, the sound mingling with his own strangled groan. Leaning down, hand still fisted in your hair, he bit into your shoulder as he came. You felt his warm cum filling you as he did just as he promised, and claimed you as his.

Mind floating from the high of your orgasm and body trembling with little aftershocks, you felt his hips slow then still, his mouth moving from your shoulder to lick a trail of sweat that was running down the side of your neck. Whimpering, you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into his, grinding onto the softening cock that was still buried deep.

He hummed with approval, his hands running up over your sides, tracing your body with possession for a few long moments as both of your bodies calmed. Taking your earlobe gently between his teeth, he whispered, “You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. Is that clear, kitten?”

Part of you wanted to deny him, wanted to find the strength to fight back, now that the orgasmic stupor was starting to lift. Instead, your body responded of its own accord, head nodding with submission.

His lips pressed softly to your temple, making you gasp at the gentle touch. You realized dazedly that it was the first kiss he’d given you all night.

“Good girl.”

The words were said a moment before his body moved away, his cock slipping wetly from your body. The cool air hitting your back made you immediately miss his body heat. You turned around, unsure what to do or say next…

But he was gone.

The back door was slightly ajar from him disappearing into the night, leaving you standing there, naked and shivering, his cum starting to trickle down the inside of your thigh. Grabbing your shorts and panties, you put them on before finding the tatters of your tank top and holding it to the front of your chest. Walking over to the door, you closed it with a click that sounded unnaturally loud in the empty kitchen.

You went around to the windows and re-closed the blinds, stopping at the last one to glance out into the yard. It was empty, completely undisturbed, but you knew he hadn’t gone far...and that he wouldn’t be gone for long.

Leaving the broken glass in the sink to deal with in the morning, you grabbed another one, filled it with water, and headed for the staircase. As you tucked back into bed, body already sore in places that made your skin heat with the memory, you thought back over his final words.

You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose.

You wondered when he’d return to make good on his promise...and as you drifted off to sleep, tried to ignore the dark part of you that hoped it would be soon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Afterword: This is meant to be only a one shot. I know, I know, I left it very open-ended. But I like to leave something to the imagination, so y’all can create your own fantasy idea of what might happen to “you” next ;)

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blindbatalex · 3 years

Text

proud to present the next installment of the carraville royalty au (masterpost; ao3) [[cw for implied past character death]]

~*~

Gary startled awake.

He had been stuck in the past again, in the grip of another nightmare, but the dream did not grant him so much as a memory of itself as it receded out of sight, leaving behind only that tell-tale dread that sits deep in your chest. He sat up in bed. It was dark, no doubt the middle of the night; he was alone; the only light came from the fire which was throwing strange shadows across the floor. Far too bright for this time of- he thought but he startled again before he could finish his thought.

“Hey.”

Jamie.

He was not alone in the room. Jamie was sat in an armchair he dragged by the fireplace. He was only a silhouette with the firelight behind him, more shadow than man. Gary got out of bed, and walked over to him, not bothering to hide his frown.

“Is your shoulder acting up?”

Not like him to be awake in the middle of the night otherwise; that particular honour was exclusively Gary’s.

“No,” Jamie replied and Gary noticed now the cup in his hand, the wine bottle on the floor—his flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes. His husband was wholly and totally sloshed by the looks of it. “Just enjoying myself some peace and quiet without your constant chattering.” He took a swig of his drink and smiled. “Was, anyway.”

Gary spared a longing glance at the courtyard visible outside their window. Things he would have given for some fresh air now, but alas, ‘Manc lord sneaks around Liverpudlian castle at night’ did not bode well for the tentative peace between their two countries. He sighed, and as he walked over to the table to get his own cup before dragging the second armchair across from Jamie, he pretended that was the only factor stopping him, that he would have been able to ignore how broken Jamie’s smile was and leave otherwise.

He poured himself some wine, opting to wait for Jamie to say something first. A drunk Jamie was a talkative one and indeed it barely took him two minutes before he said-

“The sighting of the first stork of the year is very important in my family.”

Gary didn’t know what he was expecting him to say, really, but it was not that. Then again he did have a habit of surprising Gary in the most unexpected of ways. Gary took a sip of his own drink and waited for him to continue.

“If the first stork you see is in flight, it means prosperity for the next year, but if it is sat on a branch or the ground, it heralds misfortune, and the more storks you see the more pronounced the effect.” Jamie’s eyes were lost in the fire. He was frowning and Gary had a strong urge to rub his eyes—all of this over storks?

“Last year, Stevie and I were travelling through the Merseyside woods when we sighted the first one,” Jamie said quietly. “Five of them. All perched on the branches of an elm tree.”

Ah. Half of a log broke off in the fireplace, eaten alive to its core by the merciless flames, and fell with a great crackle, in a flurry of sparks like a fallen warrior. Jamie did not speak of G.errard, not to Gary, not outside of a passing reference. Gary did not speak to him of David. They carried with them wounds no eye can see and no balm can heal but these were theirs to carry alone.

“We were making camp in a clearing for the night,” Jamie continued. “Stevie grinned when I pointed the storks to him.” Jamie’s lips curled up with the ghost of a smile, G.errard’s smile, maybe. “‘Don’t you worry, James,’ he said, ‘if any sorrows come to bother you, I will draw my sword and fight them off for you.’ Then he drew his sword and pretended to fight what I presume were the upcoming sorrows.” Jamie shook his head. “He never took it seriously. But he was like that. He was such a respected leader among the men, always so serious; you wouldn’t believe what he was like when it was just the two of us.” He chuckled, the sound bitter as it was wistful. “Five storks. I saw them and I let myself get distracted by his grin and-”

Jamie stopped with an uneven exhale. Gary could see him there, in that clearing, much younger even if it was only a year ago, smiling despite himself as G.errard fought off invisible enemies and light faded around them.

“Yes, indeed—if only you had, you could have singlehandedly stopped a war that was years in the making.”

Jamie’s gaze snapped to him.

“Don’t be smug, Gary,” he sneered.

He had warned Gary of his temper when they first met and yet Gary had only seen it in brief flashes so far, like now. He didn’t know if Jamie just did not show himself to him or if that part of him had died alongside everything bright and beautiful about them with their late husbands in the war.

Gary lifted his free arm in a show of surrender, and after a short moment, Jamie let his eyes drift back to the fire, jaw still clenched, still frowning.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were that of their breathing and the crackling of the fire.

Until they weren’t.

“David was the life of the party, of any party. He could charm the pants off of anyone and the king would regularly ask for our presence when he had a tricky foreign guest to entertain. Last feast we were at, at our own castle-”

Gary stopped as if his brain had only now caught up to his mouth. He did not talk to Jamie about David, he never had. The wine burned his throat but was already warm in his veins; the log from earlier had burned into nothing. He wanted to stop, but he could see it there so clearly, their great banquet hall, David laughing with his hair as golden as this fire in front of Gary, his head thrown back. It was so vivid Gary thought he could reach in and touch it if he only strained enough.

“After-” he continued, “we were one of the last ones to leave the banquet. On the way back to our chambers, I said something, I can’t remember what it was exactly.” He had thought and thought about it since, tried to recall what he said, but like water through cupped hands, it had slipped past his mind and was now gone. Like David. “I said, ‘everyone loves you,’ or some such thing, and he laughed. ‘Good thing I love you the most, then,’ he said.”

Mm, Gary had replied in return. He said he didn’t mind David glowing with attention, and he didn’t, but well, he couldn’t say he minded this not-so-occasional reminder either. Of course, so did David.

‘What do you mean, mm?’

Gary could not deny him anything he asked for, never could. He didn’t even drag it out.

‘Means I love you more than anything too.’

David’s head snapped to him then and he was grinning now, a grin that stretched from one ear to the next and sparkled in his eyes.

‘More than anything?’

He was more than a little drunk and so was Gary.

‘Yes, David.’

He was the most beautiful person Gary had ever seen, even in the dimly lit corridors of their castle.

‘More than the world?’

He was positively preening now.

‘Yes, David.’

‘More than-” David hiccupped and lowered his voice. ‘Mancunia?’

‘Yes, David.’

He gave Gary a skip and a curtsy.

‘More than…’ He snickered, ‘Mrs. C.antona’s snowcakes?’

Gary snickered too.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

Drunk as they were, he didn’t expect David to come at him like he did and pin him against the wall, hard enough for the stone to dig into his back.

‘Is that so?’

One of his eyebrows was cocked in an arch, challenging Gary, his cheeks rosy with the wine. Gary looked into his beautiful green eyes, and said

‘Yes.’

When he managed to tear himself away from the past, he found Jamie looking at him. staring almost.

“I just wish,” he said and he was more tipsy than he thought. He did not talk to Jamie about David. “Just wish I told him I loved him more than the cakes.”

Jamie laughed, a sincere full-bellied laugh that roared through the room, and it was now Gary’s turn to be offended.

It was silly, he knew that, but no sillier than storks surely, and time after time he had gone back to that moment, to that ‘is that so-’

Because David had kissed him next and they stayed there tangled in one another until they heard a servant scuttling past and came to their senses, and Gary never did revise his answer when he loved David more than any cake in the world.

“Oh come on,” Jamie doubled down. “You told him you loved him more than the whole world, and your kingdom, which I’m pretty sure counts as treason, by the way. Obviously he knew you loved him more than some bloody cakes.”

“Not just some cakes!”

“Fine, more than Mrs C.antona’s snowcakes, specifically.”

Gary was feeling daft now at having brought this up in the first place, and yet, stubborn as he was, he doubled down too.

“You never had them.”

They were served at their wedding but Jamie had not so much as touched them, even after Gary suggested he should.

“What does that have got to do with anything?”

At the very least, this was the Jamie Gary knew, stubborn and obstinate and not moping over storks.

“They are my favourite cakes in the world, which David knew.”

Jamie laughed again, although it was softer this time and shorter, as if a friend he loved had told a brilliant joke.

“If I had to choose between you and the cakes, for example, I would choose the cakes,” Gary bristled, but when he looked up, Jamie’s eyes were- he looked down quickly, at the stone floor, a canvas now for the patterns the firelight drew and retracted.

“Look, Gary,” Jamie’s voice, like his eyes, was fond. Gary really wanted some fresh air now, a way out of this room and out of the past. “I will say this once and only because I’m sloshed. I will deny it rigorously if you bring it up again, alright?” He groaned, as if steeling himself for something thoroughly unpleasant, and Gary found himself looking up again, too curious for his own good. What was the Scouser playing at?

“Alright,” Jamie muttered, mostly to himself, before he turned to Gary. “You are insufferable.”

Ah well, and here Gary was expecting something unexpected. His bad.

“Yes,” he replied pointedly, “you said so before,” but Jamie barreled on.

“Even leaving your kingdom aside, you can’t sit still, the kitchens have really had it both with your endless appetite for dessert but also for your attempts to improve things that require no improvement. I will honestly not be surprised if one of them kills you in your sleep one of these days.”

“Is there a point to this?” Gary felt the need to interject. Because he had heard all of this before, multiple times.

Jamie met his gaze.

“Yes,” he said. “But, you are a good man, simple as that. And if I can tell that in only a couple of months of knowing you, there is no way B.eckham didn’t know just how much he was loved.”

Five words, five simple words; he had spoken them so quickly and yet they had somehow reached in and lodged themselves in Gary’s throat. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say. Was it a trick of the firelight, this look in Jamie’s eyes?

“Well, your reason is just as dumb,” he scoffed eventually.

Jamie’s mouth curled downward, the look was gone, and, good, Gary thought to himself.

“There was no way you could have predicted nor stopped the war based a few storks and you know that.”

Jamie opened his mouth to interject but Gary didn’t let him. This felt good. Anger felt good, familiar like a well-used bow.

“A-a-a, I know what you are going to say. But if you had taken your ominous warning seriously, if you had known, then you would have used the time you have left so much better. You would have let him fuck you senseless each night and told him you love him every morning, over and over again. Memorised his smile, the colour of his eyes, every inch of his body. If you had only known.”

From the expression on Jamie’s face, Gary could tell he hit the nail on the head. “I know,” he said, laughed. “Well, life doesn’t work like that, alright? You couldn’t have known, not based on storks, not based on anything. None of this is your fault.”

Gary stopped and the silence that rushed in was deafening. Jamie wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic for they were shining now. Gary touched his own face and frowned at his own fingers when they came back wet. Across from him, Jamie’s shoulders rose and fell, just the once, in a quiet sob that Gary felt in his own chest. He wanted to do something he never had before, something like- like- to wipe those tears himself, or to cup Jamie’s cheek in his hands. Comfort him, like he had comforted Gary after so many nightmares that left him a broken, sobbing mess. But it was more than that. What he wanted- God. What would David think of him if he saw him now?

I miss his smile, Gary wanted to say, because he did, every day. He missed David and he loved David, so much. He wanted someone to know, to understand. And yet, here he was- God.

Jamie for his part, took in a deep and wiped his eyes again, and the moment had passed, leaving only something curling and pulling in Gary’s chest where his heart used to be.

“Let’s never do that again,” Jamie huffed and Gary agreed readily.

“Backgammon?” he asked; he didn’t think any of them could go back to sleep just then.

Jamie nodded, smiled even, and Gary stood up to fetch the board.

#carraville #football rpf #my fic #royalty au #this is far too long for tumblr #and i just wrote it in one go on a week day so #is it good? is it shit? who knows! certainly not me #but it demanded to be written #so here it is #and i will clean it up when im less delirious and x-post to ao3 #also man i want to talk about storks but...too tired

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kbstories · 3 years

Text

habits

(Or: Bakugou is a little shit and a dork. 1-A gets used to it.)

Read on: AO3 / Twitter

One lesser known truth about Bakugou Katsuki is that he's an unrepentant thief of snacks.

Class 1-A is blissfully unaware of this habit all the way up to their move to Heights Alliance. There, they not only share living space, but every meal of the day as well — a status quo that revealed many a peculiar fun fact about most classmates, really.

Bakugou's first victim by sheer proximity is Kirishima. They're hanging out outside after a weekend session at the gym, drinking their electrolytes and talking about the pros and cons of different brands of protein bars. Well, Kirishima is, at least.

Bakugou is huffing, saying, "It's all bullshit", as he gives the one Kirishima is currently eating the side-eye. "The food industry is one big scam, really. Learn to cook your own stuff and you won't need processed anything."

"Okay", goes Kirishima, long used to debating him on anything from hero rankings to the weather. "But consider this: I burn anything I cook. Anything, dude."

"That's factually impossible."

"...I burned water trying to make ramen once?"

"Shitty Hair. Water doesn’t— How the fuck?“

Kirishima laughs, waving the half-eaten protein bar around. "I don't know, but there was smoke, I swear! I set off the fire alarm and everything, my moms were so done. Life-long kitchen ban in my own home, that's me."

Bakugou groans a disgusted eugh sound. "Fucking understandable."

When it only makes Kirishima smile all the wider, Bakugou pushes at his shoulder, a shove too rough to count as affectionate by anyone's standards but Bakugou's.

"Fine. Normal people shouldn't eat protein bars. You shouldn't either, but you'd starve without 'em, apparently."

"Or, you could, y’know, cook for m—"

Another shove, enough to push a still-laughing Kirishima over. "Keep trying, dickhead. Pshh, cooking for you. In your dreams, maybe."

Kirishima hums and says nothing, his idle sip of sports drink interrupted by Bakugou pulling him to his feet.

"Who cares, c'mon. Don't think for a second I forgot about Thirteen's assignment."

A sputtering gasp from Kirishima. "Thirteen gave us an assignment?!“

"...Kirishima."

"Wait, no, listen. Why do physics have to, like, exist?", is Kirishima's brilliant argument. Nailed it.

Bakugou just stares. Then he snorts, "Fucking hell", shakes his head. "Whatever, I'm gonna make lunch and you're gonna do your damn homework. Maybe I'll let you have some. There's a faint chance. Very faint."

"Bro", Kirishima looks at him in wonder. "What about this, though?“

The glance Bakugou gives Kirishima's protein bar is downright offended if a little confused, too. "What about it?"

"Yeah, you're right. I'll just throw it awa—"

Bakugou moves so fast, all Kirishima sees is a blond blur.

Suddenly, the hand holding the snack is empty and Bakugou is chewing, having snatched the thing up with his teeth and devoured it like a beast from myths and legends.

"Problem solved, we're going. Huh, these don't even taste that shitty.“

Kirishima is too stunned to resist.

The Bakusquad is next in line when it comes to Bakugou's food-related crimes. Specifically, the croissant Kaminari is enthusiastically gesturing with to emphasize the point that yes, sneaking off campus for one (1) French pastry was definitely worth risking Aizawa's wrath over.

"It's perfectly baked. Look at its impeccable shape", Kaminari holds it up to his circle of friends like its his first-born child, "and the crust! It's so fluffy. I've been craving one all freaking week. This is gonna be so—"

Chomp.

Before Kirishima can even attempt to stop the tragedy waiting to happen, Bakugou has wandered back from his room, a stack of books under one arm and Kaminari's prized croissant in his mouth. The books are slammed on the table.

"Less talking, more studying", Bakugou snarks, somehow without getting crumbs of the stolen treat on anything. "Where'd ya get this from, anyway? S'good."

Kaminari’s jaw is on the floor, shell-shocked. "My… My croissant..."

"Sorry, bro", Kirishima sighs and pats his back. "He's just too damn quick."

The words are said with a look towards Bakugou, the that-wasn't-nice-man kind. Bakugou wrinkles his nose at him. (The very next day, an identical croissant shows up on Kaminari's plate during lunch break.)

Weeks fly by. By then, most of 1-A has been caught unawares by Bakugou's sneaky ways exactly once. They're training to be Heroes, after all — there's no way he'd get the drop on them again, at least not as easily.

Bakugou seems to be aware of this.

It doesn't stop him from snatching away Tokoyami's apple during movie night, smirking at both him and Dark Shadow with near-obnoxious levels of smugness. Tokoyami stares him dead in the eye while he grabs another one, one feathery brow raised in challenge.

Aoyama's handpicked brie is next, the guy's offended swearing almost as colorful as Bakugou's on his worst days. Bakugou outright cackles at that, obviously delighted by the prospect of someone else being subjected to Iida's no-cursing lecture for once, foreign language or no.

Speaking of Iida: It's his unopened cup of chocolate pudding Bakugou is eyeing like a cat does an especially oblivious mouse.

"Dooon't", Kirishima warns, hand hardened and ready to make a grab if needed. "I swear to Crimson Riot. Let the poor man have his pudding, or else."

"What has Iida even done to you, bro?", adds Kaminari, sliding his food tray into his usual spot across from them. "Like, I get it, I've pranked you enough times to owe you twenty croissants. And you're carrying Kirishima's entire academic career, so targeting him is valid, too."

"Hey! ...That's fair, actually. Carry on."

Kaminari winks at him. It's not like it's any different for him. "Iida, however, is wholesome, and—"

"Guys, you're making a great point and all that“, Ashido contributes over her bowl of natto. "But he's already gone."

Kirishima's head whips around. Indeed: No Bakugou. "No!"

"How is he this stealthy?!" Kaminari whines. "Bakugou, of all people!"

A few tables over, Iida is currently mid-story and too wrapped up in telling his audience of Momo, Todoroki, Uraraka and Midoriya about his adventures of googling what Aoyama had yelled out in sparkly rage the day before to notice a certain someone approaching.

Bakugou smiles, certain of his victory. Pretending to walk past them, he takes one hand out of his pockets and reaches out—

Only for his arm to be slammed to the table with a loud bang, mere inches from the desired snack.

"Kacchan", Midoriya pipes up casually, eyes still on Iida who — like everyone else at the table — jumped half a foot in the air from the sudden movement. "That's not yours."

Every member of 1-A is blatantly watching as Bakugou, food thief extraordinaire, is stopped in his tracks for the first time since his reign of terror began.

A collective breath is held. Surely, this will lead straight into a showdown of epic proportions in the middle of U.A.'s cafeteria. After all, any interaction between Midoriya and Bakugou tends to end in a shouting match, chaos or even bloodshed. And Bakugou does look intense, glowering at Midoriya as the muscles in his pinned arm bunch up and his palm starts to glow.

Then, he goes tch and rolls his eyes, grumbling: "Let go, Shitty Nerd. Figures you'd be the only one paying fucking attention."

Midoriya smiles and does as asked, pushing his own pudding cup closer to Bakugou right away. A blatant offer that's equally as blatantly ignored, as expected.

The actual food was never the point, after all.

Bakugou huffs off, lips upturned in somewhat of a smile of his own. Not that he'd ever admit to it as he rejoins his own friends, snapping at them to close their mouths and finish their lunch already.

Read on: AO3 / Twitter

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #BNHA #MHA #bakugou katsuki #BNHA fanfiction #my stuff #bakugou is a weirdo who doesn't know how to socialize pass it on

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stunt-lads · 4 years

Text

Tagged by @jimtheviking (tysm for tagging me)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors

(Under a read more due to length!)

★ Untitled - Wolvlock; Logan kicks in the door to the room he can smell Sherlock’s scent emanating from. He finds him, alive, moving, breathing but he shies away from the light streaming in behind him.

♥ Nonae - OC Backstory; He thinks he had a name once. Before he ran away. But leaving his realm, his home has left him empty.

★ Camping (Working title) - Streddie (IT); “So, we’re going camping this weekend right?” Richie can hear Eddie in the other room, double and triple checking to make sure he has everything.

“Yes, we’re leaving today actually, so make sure you take everything you’ll need for a week.” Eddie snarks from his bedroom across the hall. Richie thinks it's sweet he doesn’t even pretend to believe Richie’s packed already.

Richie smiles to himself as he haphazardly throws things into the bag. There’s something that makes him feel domestic in that.

♥ Vent - OC Style (ft. Carter, Declan, Peyton); The door creaking has him slowly waking up. It’s not common that someone comes into his room at night but maybe it’s dad or Declan in need of something.

♥ Untitled; He lays on his back, looking up at the stars and moon

The ground is finally dry enough from all the melting snow for him to just relax It’s still partially frozen and his clothes aren’t thick enough to stop all the water from seeping into his skin Cooling it in the cold night air But it’s worth it It’s so worth it to look up at the sky and see the vast array of stars.

★ Nitis - Penultimate Chapter; “Are you sure this is the right way?” Soot’s voice echoes slightly in the metal interior.

“I think so. It’s so hard to tell…” Dart sounds unsure of himself. Fern steels herself and steps forward at the same time Ash does.

They look at each other and nod.

“Follow Ash.” Fern’s voice is soft but confident, “Dart, you follow her and then me, and Soot if—“

“Yeah! I can use my antlers if I need to.” He lets them crackle softly to enunciate his words.

“Yeah. Ok.”

Dart inhales deeply, the four of them able to breathe easily even as the smog and black smoke surrounds them and prevents them from seeing clearly. Ash stops in front of him and looks back at them, her eyes glowing a soft green in the harsh red lighting.

“She wants to know which way to go.” Soot says, tilting his head curiously. He gently nudges at Fern’s hindquarters, “Get up next to her. You’re our navigator.”

“B-But I—“

“You can do it Fern.” Dart says stepping aside. Fern lays her ears flat back against her head and steps forward on shaky legs. Ash looks at her with a small smile and nods.

“Alright, ok. Uhm…” She closes her eyes and concentrates until the loud sound of the machinery around them fades away, until she doesn’t feel the rumbling of the behemoth moving around them.

“Right. And then the next fork we go left.”

“Alright! Let’s go!” Dart says excitedly as they all run deeper into the darkness of the metal monstrosity, Soot whooping as he brings up the tail end again.

★ The Thief and the Bard - OC story (ft. Caleb and Lysander); It’s dark now and the rafters creak under his weight as his eyes take in the empty store.

He’s been stalking it all day, watching the shopkeeper, learning his habits. He’s friendly enough, if intimidating. To be expected though. He’s a bear.

As soon as the candlelight went out, the torches were doused with a soft sizzle, and the light from the fire had died down to embers, he made his move.

He genuinely couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the window left open on the second floor. Climbing his way up had been easy enough and the cloud cover had left him invisible to anyone watching.

The fox’s nose twitches as his ears swivel and he waits before swinging down onto the log floor. He winces when the wood groans softly under his feet.

♥ The one where they’re queer - Stozier (ft. Trans Stan); Richie Tozier was a rambunctious boy. But it also wasn’t unusual or hard for him to make friends. Which is how he made friends with the nice girl down the street.

Her name was Hannah Uris and she was the only girl Richie ever liked.

✘ Omega Stan - Stozier; He doesn’t like being soft

He doesn’t like being vulnerable and when he presents his status he’s really pissed about it Especially since He’s the only loser who is an omega

★ FBI Stan + Richie, Witness Protection Eddie (Steddie); He’s had to relocate this dude liketimes and ‘Eddie’ is his new name and he has no friends and Stan feels bad for him

So he says “hey, why don’t I keep you company until you’re settled in and comfortable?” And Eddie goes from 😔 to 🥺 and Stan’s like oh fuck he’s cute

★ The guy next door - Reddie (ft. Trans Eddie); When he first moves in Richie’s already intrigued by him.

He looks perpetually angry and Richie is living for it. Richie makes his move when he goes to catch a box that nearly falls from his hands, the boxes stacked too high.

✘ Barry/Soso - Dark A/B/O; “Please, i dont want this, I asked you not to when I was in heat, sTOP!”

But Barry doesn’t listen and pins his wrists to the bed, after turning him onto his stomach and making him keep his face buried in the pillows.

✘ Corruption and blasphemy? Yes - Reddie (ft. Demon!Eddie & Priest!Richie); For a demon Eddie Kaspbrak is small, he’s unassuming, petite, he thinks he even heard a human refer to him as a “twink” once when he was in a gay club and looking for a hookup to ease his bloodlust.

He doesn’t really care what they call him, he just knows when he sets his sights on someone, they become his.

Must be the greed in him.

✘ Venting via proxy; it’s hazy, his memories, and that’s ok. or, well, it’s not okay, but he prefers the haziness to the vivid memories.

at least with the lapses in his memory he can pretend nothing happened. because even if something did, he doesn’t know what it was, can’t pinpoint it, doesn’t dwell on it late at night when the demons come for him in the darkness. all shadows and long arms.

♥ Christmas but make it horror - Reddie; “Do I have to stay, Richie?” Stan whines, throwing a pillow at him from the spot on his bed.

“You do.” Richie says cheerfully, throwing a wrapped gift in his direction, “And here’s your present you whiny baby.”

Stan tears into it eagerly. He tries not to laugh when he sees the hideous thing, “Thanks, Rich.” He deadpans and Richie presses an exaggerated kiss to his temple.

“Anythin’ for you toots.”

Stan shoves him away laughing.

★ Oceans Embrace - PotC OC/Canon story; what’re ye worried about in these waters? eyes flit to the darkening sky in answer ain’t no harpies for leagues and ‘fore you mention ‘em mermaids flock t’gether in shallower waters.

aye but there's somethin’ worse than harpies, worse than mermaids even. breaths are held, and work is paused as the second mate speaks, somethin’ that's the unholy mixture of the two.

✘ Soft Reddie; Eddie always wanted to believe in unicorns. He wanted to see one one day, a pure white animal, pristine and clean that only showed itself to those who it deemed worthy and good of heart?

Yeah. Eddie wanted that.

♥ Blurb/Ficlet - Reddie; It’s after Derry, when they’re all staying for a week with Richie, ignoring their obligations so they can catch up on things they’ve missed in their time apart. And Stan has brought along Patty and she and Bev are already getting along great. Stan is obviously smitten, if the way he looks at her and just holds her hand is any indication.

✘ Barry/Richie/Milo; He isn’t sure when the turning point is. When he decides he just can’t do it anymore. But he knows it starts when he’s on stage. Seeing the spotlight and suddenly snapping back to beneath Derry, frozen in fear and tense. He vomits on stage and there’s murmurs of “oh god” and “is he okay?” from the crowd and Richie Tozier, for one of the first times in his life, sincerely apologizes.

♥ But Trust me to take you home - Reddie; It’s funny, Eddie thinks, that as things change they still always sort of stay the same.

Key:

♥ - Completed

★ - WIP/incomplete

✘ Abandoned

Tagging: @ull-float-too @bimmyshrug @blueeyedrichie @fuckbitchesgetreddie @fuji09 and whoever else wants to do this! <33

#ecks speaks #tagged me #I’m so!! Extra!! I formatted this and made it so nice and now I’m mad bc It didn’t!! Save the colors!!#ANYWAY thank u for tagging me #noncon implied #for one of these oops 😬

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ashwindspires · 3 years

Text

[fic] Sani: Stone Secrets (2/??)

follow the ‘fic: stone secrets’ tag for part 1 // check the reboggle

The ashfall hadn’t stayed away for long. When the wind had kicked up, dust devils dancing over the ash-stained sand, Sani had pulled his goggles down and mantle up and pressed on. He’d considered taking wing, catching some of those thermals he had felt spiralling up from the arid plain, but a glance at the sky showed only swiftly encroaching black. The sky wasn’t so much clouded over as it was swallowed up by a roiling billow of ash and smoke. Part of him, the part of him that had grown up listening to stories of travellers and pilgrims and the vicious sandstorms that could sweep Dragonhome, considered stopping.

But though the sun disappeared behind the black, casting everything in a strange reddened shade, and though the wind tugged at his wings and sent sand skirling, visibility stayed... visible. Sani pinned his wings in tighter to his body and pressed on. It was disorienting, at first, the eerie lighting, the strange shadows and heat haze. Time felt unreal, slow and sticky and endless.

So Sani wasn’t certain how long it was before he thought to check his compass rune again. It hadn’t stayed, after he’d begun walking, fading away into the aether or the ground or wherever it was that magic went after it was cast. Sani’d always fallen asleep during the Arcana classes. He settled back on his haunches first, pulling a waterskin out of one of his bags. Three measured gulps only--the pilgrims had always spoken of the importance of rationing your water, even before you needed to.

Then Sani sketched his compass-rune again, sending the small pulse of magic to activate it with a splay of his fingers. Again, the pale jasper-brown glow. But this time, the rune... wobbled, spinning aimlessly over a shallow arc, the glow swiftly fading. Sani frowned and reached out, prodded the rune with one claw, sending another pulse of magic into it. It flared brighter and this time spun in a swift circle before settling on a direction. Sani frowned deeper. If that was north...

He’d veered off-course. Steered too far... east? Yes, east, the north was pointing a good 10 degrees west of where it should have.

“Oh shards,” he muttered. Well, that wasn’t the worst. He’d just head more west than he had been and it would all sort out.

- + -

The sun was setting. Maybe? Sani thought the sun was setting. He’d also thought he would have made a road by now, surely, or seen some sign of habitation. He hadn’t expected to make the Sanctum itself today, having disembarked the Singing Scamp when it was already nearing midday, but surely... surely it shouldn’t be this barren.

Soft volcanic rock crumbled beneath his feet, sending his claws skidding back down the slope of scree he was climbing up. He growled angrily and slammed his feet more firmly into the ground, digging into the earth and rock. He squinted through the tinted glass of his goggles. How much further to the top of this slope? He was off course again, he was pretty sure.The wind had died down again, but the thick cloud of ash still hung low in the sky. There was a crack of blue on the eastern horizon, but that was it. And now that seemed to be dimming, along with what light had filtered through the ashcloud. So. Probably sunset. Which meant he really should make camp for the night, however off track he was.

Hopefully those stories that old Snapper had been telling in the skydock tavern about ashwraiths and vengeful fire spirits had been just stories. Sani shuddered. His studies certainly hadn’t said anything about such things, and if there was any truth to them then surely they would have.

Such thoughts were not as reassuring now as they would have been when he first set out from the Monastery. Sani ignored the little twist of guilt at that realization and shoved both fear and guilt aside with the pragmatics of planning. Get to the top of this hill and the rocky outcroppings and decide where and when to camp. Even in the low light, he’d have a good view. Eat and drink. Shake some of the ash off. Take a really good look at his maps. Meditate, like his teachers back home had taught, though--there was that twist of guilt again--he’d been really bad for forgetting that.

With a last heave and scramble, wings flaring slightly for balance, he cleared the last of the scree and staggered forward on less precarious ground. Towers of natural stone, tall enough to double his not-inconsiderable height, spotted the crest of the hill like a strange stony forest. It did, oddly, look like sedimentary stone, layers visible in pale stripes. Not igneous or metamorphic. Perhaps this would be a good place for camp, here amongst the pillars of good, solid stone.

Sani was wandering through the pillars, contemplating, when he heard it. A sound that was not wind or the soft drift of ash or hiss of sand. Something--there.

Two thumps, and a scraping, like belly-scale on stone. Sani froze, tail lashing. There again, the heavy-soft drag of a body over the ground. Of a very large body. Behind him? Beside him? Sound echoed strangely over the peak and around the stones. Eyes wide, he strained to see in the growing shadows. The pillars, previously so welcoming, now loomed ominously.

A deep, damp snort from behind was the only warning he got. But it was enough. Behind him. Sani whirled, spiked wing-edges flaring, every spike on his body quivering with tension. Something massive and scaly and horned bellowed and lunged at him, twisting out from a stone pillar. Sharp hooves lashed out, catching Sani on his side but he hardly noticed, eyes locked on the gleaming fangs in the monster’s maw. Instinct had him rearing his head up and back and the fangs clashed shut on only air.

With an angry snort the beast coiled backwards and--yes, it was wrapped around the pillar, scales almost blending in with the grey and black. Ophiotaurus, his mind supplied, ectothermic mammo-reptilian, opportunistic omnivore.

He’d seen pictures of the things, of course. Precise pencil sketches, stiff lines of grey graphite. The pictures had never told him they were huge or hungry or that their eyes gleamed with a dark malevolence, fangs glittering in the fading half-light, that their nostrils flared with hot breath as they sized up potential prey.

But I’m a Ridgeback! The less sensible part of his mind gibbered. Heavy-weight dragons are the proven apex predators in every environment on Sornieth!

Sani had never been so very keenly aware of his lack of combat training as in that moment. The longer he stood there, the larger the ophiotaurus seemed to grow, and the broader the predatory grin on its face. It reared back, snake-like body seemingly endless, hooves drawing up into its chest and though he screamed at himself to turn to run, Sani couldn’t move. Muscles locked tight, heart racing in his throat, breath coming in short, tight gasps.

And there were scales scraping over stone behind him, swift and slick and oh stones, oh blessed fucking Pillar, there were two of them--

Sani whined, low in his throat, and closed his eyes.

#my fic #flight rising fic #fr lore #sani #fic: stone secrets

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onstarsandiron · 4 years

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Cannon Character Descriptions

Here’s a big master post of cannon character physical descriptions, for all your related needs. Let me know if there’s anything I missed/should add!

Ana

"She had warm bronze skin and wide golden-brown eyes, full lips, and a heart-shaped face. Her hair was as dark as space itself, but it always curled into tangles. She wore it atop her head in a long braid and shaved the sides. She was moderately tall, solidly built for a life of evading death at every turn, and wore hand-me-down coats like the red one she wore now and darned trousers that never fit right. She looked like a girl from any part of the Iron Kingdom—and nowhere all at once.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

“Tattered burgundy coat, a Metroid at her hip, long black hair in a renegade braid, and looking like she hadn’t bathed in a week—the girl must’ve been an outlaw.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

When Ana arrives at the palace and is shown to her new quarters she has a little break down in the bathroom -- and who hasn’t had one of those? -- and shaves her hair off. In SoS, 6-months have passed since the coronation day and her hair is describe merely as “short”.

As D09: “His hood was pulled low to disguise the slats and plates that made up his face, without a nose or ears or eyebrows. He was more dented than other Metals, having fallen through mine shafts on Cerces and been shot at by mercenaries on Iliad. She felt bad for a particular ding on his forehead, but she had apologized a thousand times for accidentally running him over with a skysailer.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

As Di/Dimitri: “Redheaded and dark-eyed, a strong jaw, and broad shoulders that filled a slightly-too-small lavender evening coat. He smiled at her—lopsided, imperfect. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place from where. ... So close, the individual strands of his hair looked woven with sunlight, his skin pale—but not like Jax’s, more like a boy who had never seen the sun." (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

“So she memorized how the light from the windows slanted across the sharp edges of his face, the way he leaned toward her like a shield, how there were a thousand stars in his eyes, which sometimes made them shine as silver as moonlight—as they did now.” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Di received a cut on his cheek during Coronation Day that is held with silver stitches during SoS to prevent the cut from revealing the metal underneath. He also has a little breakdown -- as one does -- in which he busts up the skin on his knuckles, which he hides then with gloves.

Throughout SoS, Di’s hair is often remarked very specifically as “Blood red”, and he wears quite a bit of black.

Jax

"A Solani. The one from the skysailer. He must’ve been close to Robb’s age, but his silver hair made him look old—ancient—and his skin shimmered as if starlight hid just beneath. He wore a ruffly purple evening coat, golden filigree decorating the collar to match the lining, and buttons so polished they gleamed. Underneath that insufferably garish jacket was a silk shirt, stained with what Robb figured was his blood. A pair of goggles sat around his neck.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Robb)

Wears purple often; after the event with Koren Vey, his skin literally glows. “”It’s a long story, but yes, I’m a glowlight. It makes reading in the dark riveting.” (SoS, III: Starless, Jax) Also in SoS, Jax has to chop his own hair off during the final fight, resulting in him sporting a shoulder-length cut during Erik’s funeral; according to Robb, he looks no less dashing for it.

Robb

“He looked the most like their father, broad shouldered and stocky, with hair that curled like the lies that fell from his tongue.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

Like his mother and brother, Robb also has olive skin and signature Valerio-blue eyes, often compared to the Erosian sky. In HoI, Jax threatened to make a short joke (mind you, Jax is tall); in SoS, Robb notes that he was always shorter than his brother, but a recent growth spurt had now made them eye-to-eye.

In the conclusion of HoI, Di -- then HIVEd -- made his tracking chip go haywire and an impromptu amputation was needed, cutting his right arm off between his elbow and his shoulder. Robb got a cybernetic prosthetic about a month before the events of SoS.

Elara

“She was around Ana’s age -- eighteen, maybe -- with shoulder length silver hair that partially shadowed her sharp face, and wide violet eyes rimmed with kohl. Her lips were painted black to match the rest of her wardrobe. She was short and curvy, with wide hips and thick legs that tapered into knee-high gravity boots. She was a Solani like Jax, but her skin was darker, reminding Ana of the cold deserts on Cerces. There was a wire that looped from her right ear down into her collar and disappeared. A hearing apparatus.” (SoS, I: Starship, Ana)

"Then -- like twin stars igniting -- moonlight-colored eyes flickered to life on a face made of metal slats, forming angular cheekbones and mouth and chin. There was a horrible, deep scrape across its temple that had been soldered closed. A Metal.” (SoS, I: Starship, Ana)

Malifare

“She walked with the grace of a dancer, floating without a sound. The pins in her flaxen hair matched her black dress. Floor-length, high collar, the insignia of the crown on her sleeve.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

“Flaxen hair, narrow face, wearing the deep purple of a royal handmaiden." (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Di)

Siege

“The captain’s black hair framed her brown face in wild, electrifying curls, glowing with interwoven fiber optics, simmering orange like a stoked fire— Oh, Ana could tell by the color that she was mad.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Siege has green eyes. When she isn’t mad her hair is typically a golden yellow, though it grows dull when she’s drained or injured, and can be blue though it happened very rarely. As a teenager -- in a very hazy recollection by Di -- she’s described as someone who never smiles.

Talle

“Talle—short and thin, with black hair in a pixie cut and hands so steady she could slit a throat clean while navigating the skyways of Nevaeh...” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

In Jax’s flashback in Soul of Stars, Talle is described as tall with long black hair, but I’ll just assume that Talle is simply tall compared to an 8 or 9 year-old Jax. (SoS, II: Starless, Jax)

Also, her voice is often noted as sweet.

Lenda

““Seriously?” Lenda groaned, brushing back her floppy dishwater-blond hair. She was solid, with narrow brown eyes and tawny skin with rosy undertones. She displayed the scars on her arms like trophies—battles won in the fighting arenas of Iliad. Lenda was twenty and unafraid of everything— Except, maybe for Palavar.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Riggs

"Riggs, fiddling with a ball bearing in his mechanical leg, grumbled a reply and heaved it off the table, setting it on the bench beside him. He’d lost his right leg to the Plague twenty years ago—cut it off himself right above the knee. He lost his family to the disease on Eros, and kept a photo of his daughter in a silver locket around his neck. Sometimes at night, Ana heard him talking to her in his dreams." (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Wick

““No one [likes Palavar],” rumbled Wick, who had a habit of being quiet. He listened, and that made him a talented communications specialist. He absorbed languages like a sponge, so many that Ana could only hope to wrap her tongue around a quarter of them. He was Cercian by birth, the markings under his eyes so faded Ana couldn’t tell which clan he hailed from, and he never told, having left that life years ago. His skIn was a shade darker than Siege’s, with a warm hue to it—like the dawn.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Barger

““Eh, don’t bother me. Three jacks,” said Barger, a stout man in his mid-twenties with a ginger mustache. His fingers were always grease stained, nails ripped short, the signs of a tireless weapons mechanic.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Cynthia Valerio

“Lady Valerio looked wicked, from her bloodred lipstick to her bloodred dress, as she gave a gracious bow.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

“Tall and thin, with olive skin and graying brown hair swept into a bun, cheekbones so sharp they could cut ice. She wore a finely detailed coat and trousers, a Valerio crest pinned above her heart. She appraised the small crew with shrewd blue eyes—he knew that color. He knew it achingly well. The color of Erosian skies.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Jax)

Mercer Valerio

Robb is his spitting image, except that Mercer wore a thick beard.

Erik Valerio

“At nineteen, Erik Valerio was dashing, popular, and conniving in a way that granted him whatever he wanted. He looked like their mother—tall and olive skinned, a sharp face, with straight dark hair and a smile that made you want to trust him.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

“His brother stood blocking the doorway in a deep brown leather jacket with mink fur at the collar and dark trousers. His boots were well polished and decorated with the Valerio insignia—a snake eating its own tail. He filled the doorway just like he had in Robb’s nightmares, his hair short, the sides shaved with celestial designs, and he narrowed his eyes like their mother always did—disapproving, but not surprised, as if nothing Robb would ever do would be worthy of approval.” (SoS, IV: Star Crossed, Robb)

Erik and Cynthia often match, both wearing red at the celebration for Erik becoming the heir, both wearing black at the pre-coronation ball, and both -- this time including Robb -- wearing white at the coronation itself.

Nicholi

“The Emperor, clad in royal purple, had a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He looked like all the pictures she’d seen in the newsfeeds. Golden-brown eyes and rich brown skin, like the Grand Duchess, a full beard over a strong face.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Ana)

Selena

“Beside him, his wife, the Empress, smiled out of the portrait, brown curly hair and Valerio-blue eyes.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Ana)

Rhys, Wylan, and Tobias Armorov

Ana’s three older brothers are described as having dark curly hair, and the youngest, Tobias, has Valerio-blue eyes. They’re described further in short snippets Ana recalls in the palace, chasing the ghosts of their voices:

“Rhys— He let her taste the sweets from the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon. Warm brown eyes, a melting smile. He used to kiss her bruises when her middle brother, Wylan—a cocky smile and a mess of black curls—knocked her down when they pretended to be outlaws. All the horseplaying would scare her youngest brother—Tobias. Valerio blue eyes and a small smile and a love of violins and sweet candies and stories.” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Lord Rasovant

“An older man, graying beard braided down his chest, appeared at the far end of the hallway. Dark eyes and deep wrinkles and ghostly-pale skin. The clank of decorative medals on his breast accompanied his footsteps. He was dressed in a simple royal-purple evening coat with uneven tails, gilded buttons and filigree across the collar and sleeves.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

The Grand Duchess

“Ana drank the woman in, from the delicate wrinkles across her face to her silvery-white hair pulled back into a simple bun, making her cheekbones look sharp enough to cut. Her skin was the color of soft earth and speckled with age, her hands bony knobs. She looked old, but in a terrifying and timeless way, the way mountains looked old but immovable.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

She also has “...stone-cut green eyes...” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Robb), similar in description to Siege’s

Wynn Wysteria

Wynn has a freckled face and long, curly strawberry-red hair. (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Viera

“She was tall, with white-blond hair and arrowhead-shaped markings under her eyes—heritage markings for certain Cercian clans.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

Messiers

“A patrol of six Messiers appeared in the doorway. They were sharp, metallic. Made of planes and slats she knew well, because they looked like D09. Like Metals. Because once, they had been. Now HIVE’d, the Messiers’ blue eyes blazed like virtue incarnate. They moved in unison, their blue-and-black uniforms pristine, shined boots making solid thumps on the masonry floor as they marched into the shrine.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

Mokuba

“A tall, burly gentleman in a stained long coat and trousers, the seams frayed and boots greasy.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

Redbeard

“He had been an imposing man, as thick as two men. He had a braided red beard that reached halfway down the front of his barrel chest, and it glowed with optics the way Siege’s did, although Ana much preferred the way they looped into her curls.” (SoS, III: Starlit, Ana)

Cullen

Ana spun around to the owner of the voice, a tall androgynous person with long black hair that reached well below their waist, and warm brown skin, decked in gold jewelry and a coat the color of a nebula. They grinned at her, and the neon implants in their cheeks glowed a brilliant teal. (SoS, IV: Star Crossed, Ana)

#heart of iron #hoi #soul of stars #sos #reference #descriptions

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mythicamagic · 5 years

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Handsome is as Handsome does - Rukiyui oneshot

Another writing commission for @s-e-kwan ^^

Yui’s fellow classmates throw a ‘Most Handsome Guy contest.’ Unfortunately, she becomes the deciding vote between Kou or Ruki’s victory. This prompts the girl to consider her captor's looks and what beauty is to her, while accidentally catching an eyeful of the eldest Mukami brother.

Rated T

Rukiyui

It was somewhat difficult to pay attention to every flight of fancy the teenage girls in her class latched onto. Being a literal blood bag for human-sized mosquitos did that to you. Therefore, when days passed and votes were tallied on the classroom board, Yui missed it all. She only started to leak back into reality when raised voices indicated ‘someone’ hadn’t voted.

A palm slammed down on the table, making her jump. The class president glared hard, standing over her. “Yui! It’s you, you’re the only one who didn’t vote!”

Vote?

“I’m sorry…what are we-“ Yui turned her head, blinking at the board. ‘The Most Handsome Guy Contest,’ had been written in bubbly pink letters.

Yui blinked, before her shoulders fell, expression flattening. Oh no. She could hear it already.

‘Obviously she’s going to choose Ore-sama!’

‘Ne, Teddy…if she doesn’t choose us, let’s rip her apart together.’

‘Oi, Sow! I don’t care about this dumb contest, but you better chose me!’

Thankfully, her fretting was somewhat saved. Ruki, who had dragged her into his class ever since she’d been stolen by the Mukami Brothers, tapped her hand. “The finalists have already been chosen,” he muttered, clearly unenthused.

“Yes, exactly!” The class president huffed. “The whole school has been voting, get your head out of the clouds! We’ve narrowed it down our top two picks.” She blushed but gestured with a flourish to Kou, who looked much like a grinning Cheshire cat. “One of them is Kou Mukami! Not surprising because of his idol status and charisma!”

Yui titled her head. “And the other is…?”

“Me,” the voice wrapped in steel beside her replied, always so calm. She looked up in astonishment at Ruki. Not because he wasn’t handsome, but that he were even allowing them to judge or measure his looks.

“And you’re the deciding vote, Yui Komori! The two boys are at a tie at the moment. It’s up to you, this is life and death!” The class president pointed at her sharply. “You have one day to choose!”

---

The decision felt surprisingly weighty the moment she was cornered by Kou in the hallway back at the mansion.

“M neko-chan~ you gotta choose me! No one else commits to their looks like I do! You gotta agree I accessorise the best and put the most effort in. Sooo, that commitment should be rewarded with some acknowledgement, hehe~” The thrill of his voice was playful, but Yui hugged her books tighter to her chest. His attitude could change on a dime.

“Y-you do,” Yui admitted. “But I…don’t want to make any hasty decisions. Otherwise it won’t be a genuine choice,” she stalled.

“But I’ll treat you like a Queen if you do,” he grinned, invading her personal space and tugging the book free from her hands that acted as a barrier. “Treat you to lunch, go shopping. How bout it?” Kou rose a brow playfully, right eye starting to glow red.

“It doesn’t matter who she choses,” Ruki muttered as he approached, hands buried in his pockets.

Yui stopped to consider them both. Kou did accessorise well, his general look appeared chaotic but stylish. The hot pink colours he usually chose were complimentary of his beautiful blonde hair. That blue gaze appeared mischievous but intoxicating. Face handsome in a youthful, boyish charm that held undertones of a trickster.

Ruki on the other hand…

He didn’t stand out, even compared to his brothers. Yuma turned heads with his height and Azusa was covered in bandages. Ruki blended into crowds in order to observe, choosing dark blues and muted tones. And yet he carried himself in such a way that was eye-catching.

“Ehh, of course it does!” Kou whined. “My fangirls would tear her apart if she didn’t pick me.”

“And they’d also tear her apart if she did. It makes no difference, I don’t have any intention of sharing prey with the likes of them.” The elder brother walked by, and Yui felt him pass like a physical sensation brushing her skin.

His gaze pinned her in place. “Choose who you want, Livestock.”

---

Later that evening, her feet thundered down the hallway. Azusa’s quiet, mournful voice trailed behind her somewhere, beckoning to cut him again.

Yui hurried on, ducking into a room sharply and pushing the door shut behind her. The space looked familiar, but she wasted no time in diving into the closet, huddling down in the dark among jackets and trying to control her laboured breathing.

Hearing a noise, she pressed a hand against her mouth. Peering through the thin gap between the doors, she spied movement.

Ruki came into view, running a hand through dark hair. He shifted, removing his crisp black school jacket.

Her cheeks flushed when pale fingers loosened his tie, slipping it free. No, no, no- he wasn’t going to-!

He was. Unbuttoning his shirt casually. Rose-pink eyes widened, and Yui internally screamed. This was not good. Ruki would be furious if he knew she were peeping. In fact, it was a sin to watch. She squeezed her eyes shut.

But the rustle of fabric had her curious, and she cracked an eye open, seeing him loosen his belt, carefully setting it down.

It was almost…nice. As unconventional as it sounded. Ruki rarely let his guard down, to be observed so freely. Like this, she could see his form more intimately than she’d ever considered before. Getting bitten by attractive men lost it’s appeal quickly, to the point she hardly noticed their looks anymore.

Yui tilted her head.

There was something quiet and sombre in his lowered gaze, heavy with thoughts. Yet his hands were strong, firm fingers prying at the fabric. When he pulled the shirt free and turned, his bare back came into view, and her breathing hitched.

Those scars she’d seen only been permitted to see once. When she’d stayed in his room as punishment. They were old. Jagged and curving down his shoulder-blades like the remnants of angel wings.

Beautiful…

Some part of Yui felt that she really must have become…strange in her time with vampires. Because even when he stood fully nude, she didn’t look away.

The waning light from the window caught the shift of his muscles, the shadow of his ribs and build. Even his dark blue-grey eyes and unruly yet neat hair. His cruel, sensual mouth and cold, patient features.

Yui stared, before jolting when realising she could see everything. Trying not to spontaneously combust, she breathed out with relief when he finally padded to the bathroom and the sound of running water could be heard.

Sneaking out, Yui dashed for the door and escaped, feeling her heart thunder.

---

“Well? What did you decide?”

Yui looked down at her desk, feeling the attention of her classmates weighing heavily upon her. “I-I um,” she stammered. Inhaling, she raised her chin. “I choose Ruki.”

A commotion broke out, with fan-girls calling out their outrage. Kou played the part of a nominee Oscar-winner, smiling and laughing off his loss.

Slowly, carefully, Yui raised her eyes to the spot beside her.

Ruki stared, gaze fixed. Palpable shock skittered over his expression, before it became unreadable once more.

The class continued on once the Teacher stepped in. Yui’s shoulders fell slightly, wondering at the discontentment curling in her stomach.

That was that. There was nothing more to say.

---

That evening after school and dinner had passed, Yui padded down the hallways of Mukami mansion once more. She knocked on Ruki’s door, fighting to control her reaction when a quiet ‘enter’ called from within.

Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her. “Y-you wanted to see me?”

Ruki looked up from the book cradled in his hand, sitting in the rich leather armchair. “Yes,” the book snapped shut. “…Care to explain yourself, Livestock?”

“H-huh?”

He gestured to her previous hiding spot. “The closet. Voyeurism is an interesting habit, isn’t it?”

Her heart gave a distressed thud, leaping in her chest. “You knew I was there the whole time?!”

“Of course. You breathe like an ox when you’re nervous.” He rose from his seat, padding closer. “So? Did it impact your decision on the contest at all?”

Yui avoided his eyes, lips pressing together. “Maybe a little.”

Glancing up once more, she noticed he didn’t appear angry. A rare, relaxed ease touched his features as he stopped before her. “Heh…Kou would insist in a do over if he knew. Perhaps he’d even strip in-front of you, to make it even.”

“I wouldn’t…want that.”

Leaning down, Ruki’s voice lowered into something clandestine. He’d never looked at her that way before. No one had ever looked at her that way before. “Is it just my body you want to lust over, Livestock?”

He looked at her like she were beautiful too. But maybe that was a delusion from tamed prey. Yui held his gaze, murmuring the truth. It hadn’t been an impartial vote at all.

“It’s not like that. I can’t really explain it, you just looked…different.”

On that night, the remnants of his dead humanity had lain so close to the surface. It had made her consider what she felt even was beauty. And it wasn’t looks for her, but nature. The desire to know, to touch, to want and understand that which was beautiful.

“I just want you, Ruki-“

It wasn’t a bite, but a kiss that claimed her lips, cutting her off. Yui’s eyes widened, slowly fluttering shut, the butterflies launching into flight within her stomach.

When he pulled away, his intense attention strayed to her neck, teasing. “Such loyal Livestock. Perhaps I’ll reward you for being so bold,” he kissed her again, harder. “But first, I can’t overlook voyeurism. It’s time for your punishment.”

#Rukiyui #diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #Yui komori #kou mukami #mukami brothers #diahell #dialovers #diabolik lovers fanfiction

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moonysfrexckles · 6 years

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All The Gold In Between (OR The Marauders: Fifth Year)

July 1976

The roar of euphoria was deafening, spilling from grinning lips and erupting from horns and clappers that crackled every time someone ragged them above their heads. Students decked out in red and gold made their way up the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, feeling the familiar buzz of triumph settle in their veins and thanking their lucky stars that, whilst Slytherin might have caught the snitch, James Potter existed to grasp victory in the firm hold of his Chaser's gloves, reigniting their reign every time he potted the Quaffle through the hoops.

"Potter! We're going to crack open McKinnon's Firewhisky stash- you coming?" Davey Gudgeon yelled, hanging back and beaming like a lunatic.

James ran a hand through his hair. It was windswept, made cold from the rush of air that had breathed life into it just moments before. The grin sparking at his lips was legendary.

"No, I'm not drinking tonight," he said, adjusting his grip on his broom and jogging backwards to the changing rooms. He twirled around, cape kissing his ankles, and called, as an afterthought, "But save me some! I might change my mind."

He couldn't hear the reply over the din of his House, still cheering and chanting and singing songs about lions and snakes. His heart was thudding dangerously quick in his chest, beating so hard against his ribcage he was half-scared it would squeeze through the bone and pop out of his body completely. It would be easy enough to find it, James thought. If it wasn’t lounging in his Common Room with his brothers, it would be underneath the stars, spread out on the pitch he was leaving now. Or sidling up to a certain redhead, with absolutely no qualms about being rejected for the third time this year.

He winced at that, unstrapping the dragon hide gloves from his hands once he shouldered open the door into the changing room. It was empty. Sirius must’ve already buggered off to meet the others. James huffed an affronted laugh at the thought.

His ears were still ringing, and he shook his head to try and regain some sense of reality. Life always seemed to stop when he was flying; the wind would continue, patting his back as it raced on by, cheering his name and planting cold, sobering kisses on his skin. The ground would shrink below him, and the sky would beckon invitingly, stretched out like a wide, blue promise. He never knew what exactly it was promising, but he vowed to find out. One day, James would take to the skies and he’d never return.

“Honestly, Prongs, you’d think you were moisturising with how long it takes you to get fucking dressed!” exclaimed Sirius Black from the doorway.

James whirled round to grin at him.

Sirius had already shrugged out of his Quidditch robes, though he remained in the cream leggings and Gryffindor striped jumper; his boots were laced up to his knee, hair still somehow impeccably in place (a feat James never seemed to manage, even when he tried) and arms folded across his broad chest.

“Perhaps if some bloody prat hadn’t left me, I’d be ready sooner,” James replied indignantly.

Sirius pushed himself off the doorframe. “We both know that’s a lie,” he said. “You’d purposely take longer to punish me for not redirecting the Bludger Pucey aimed at you.”

James scowled at that, reaching up absently to stroke the whisper of a bruise left on his arm. “That fucking hurt,” he murmured.

“I don’t doubt it,” responded Sirius, eyes glinting with amusement as they surveyed his friend. “That’s kind of the point of them, is it not?”

“Then what’s your job?” James inquired. “To fly there and look pretty?”

Sirius brushed his hair from his eyes, lavishly extending his arms. “Well, if you must know-”

“Shut up, Black.”

The two boys shared a secret grin, eyes meeting in an incendiary collision of euphoric momentum. They were both burning.

"A certain redhead looked awfully pleased when you winked at her today," commented Sirius, idly picking at something under his fingernail.

James tried to keep his voice neutral, though his ears perked up regardless. "Oh?"

"Yes. And a certain greasy haired bat couldn't look more disdainful if he tried. He set Peter's robes on fire again you know. Just before the match started."

"Oh."

James felt a frown pull at his face.

"Don't worry, Remus managed to put him out before the fire could spread," assured Sirius. "But still... it's more the fact this is the eighth time he's gotten in our way just this month. Really, Snivellus needs to be put down."

"He gets as good as he gives," James reminded him softly.

Sirius spluttered in outrage. "We retaliate. It's called defending your honour, James. Something that the Snake clearly doesn't have-!"

"Still," James sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. Sirius' eyes followed the action. He often pondered on whether his friend's hair was just naturally as stubborn and stuck up as it was, or whether years of worrying it like that had caused it to remain fixed in position from pure habit.

"Don't tell me you're starting to feel sorry for Snape," he said finally, tearing his eyes away.

James shot him a look that obviously implied he was barmy. "Of course not." He started pulling off his helmet and chest gear. "He chose his path. We chose ours. I don't want to be affiliated any more than I have to with someone who dabbles in the Dark Arts for fun."

Sirius was quiet for a moment, and all that could be heard was James' occasional scuffle and huffed swearing as he struggled to disrobe.

"Leaves no question about whether he's going to join that Anti-Muggle group on the rise, does it?" Sirius asked finally. His tone was flat and it seemed he wasn't really asking at all, more stating it as fact.

James paused. "I just don't get what Lily sees in him," was all he said, before dropping the subject entirely.

It didn’t take him long to shove his broom and gear into a locker, planning to return for them later, and he and Sirius left the changing room, hearts still fluttering with the excitement of flying and the thrill of victory. James slung an arm around his friend, dragging him close. Though Sirius was tall, he could still fit snugly under James’ chin and the latter seemed to enjoy hauling him into his side and laying his cheek against the top of Sirius’ head. Sirius would allow himself to melt for just a second, eyes closing in the embrace, before he would wrench away, indignantly spluttering that he was a man! Goddamnit! A tall, six foot man who would not be namby-pambied! But- no, James don’t leave-

They made their way across the grounds, separating from the few stragglers still meandering up to the castle from the pitch, and bee-lined to their tree by the Black Lake. It was tucked away, not necessarily secret as the tree was visible from almost any window you bothered to look out of. Even so, the Marauders had claimed it as their own, occupying the small grassy mound, where the lake lapped the flowers and the sun soaked into the naked branches of the spindle tree. It seemed to have been charmed, for it was the only tree, in the whole of Hogwarts, that shivered in summer and bloomed bright, beautiful flowers in winter.

Sure enough, they could see the other two of their group lounging in the shade of it, and sped up their pace to meet them.

“Did you get waylaid in the changing room or were you just that drunk on victory that you lost your senses?” questioned Remus Lupin, not even bothering to open his eyes when their shadows blocked out the sun. He was laying on his back, hands cushioning the crown of his head.

Peter offered them a wave from where he was stood at the water’s edge, skimming stones across the shimmering black surface of the lake, trousers rolled up to his knees.

“Both, since you asked,” replied Sirius. “James attacked me as soon as I walked through the door. It was passionate and steamy. I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Lovely,” Remus cracked an eye open at that, regarding him distastefully. “That was just the image I needed to pervade my mind on this fine day.”

Sirius grinned at him. “What can I say? It’s a service.”

James shook his head, throwing himself down beside Remus. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a rather rumpled looking Snitch. It fluttered its crushed wings, stretching them languidly, and he let it go, watching with keen eyes as it sped around his head, before his hand shot out and he caught it again. Remus’ eyes followed the action, before he turned his head away and scoffed.

“School property, James,” he reminded. “I could report you for this.”

He tapped the glowing Prefect badge pinned to his robes.

“But you won’t. I’m making the most of my resources. As a Prefect, would you dare get in the way of education?”

"I'm not sure how that works."

James merely sent him a dazzling grin, before making a grand show of releasing the snitch again. Remus rolled his eyes.

Sirius sat down beside the pair of them, stretching his legs out and tipping his head back. The sun beamed down on him, warming his face with ephemeral bliss. He felt his joints ache and clench from the match, and his heart beat steadily against his chest. He could hear a bird singing nearby and the gentle skip of the stones Pete sent flying across the lake, tripping over the dark water. Sirius could feel all of life's intricacies as though they were a part of him; the water trickled through his veins, the sun blushed his cheeks, each of Peter's stones dropping down his gullet and thudding against his ribcage, in tune to the beating of his heart.

He opened his eyes, and looked around. James was leaning against the tree, head back as his eyes followed the little snitch as it buzzed around him. Occasionally, his hand would dart out to catch it, but he mainly sat still and watched it fly, a pensive expression softening his angular face.

Sirius' eyes fell on Remus then. His friend was looking worse for wear, more tired than usual, with purple crescents weighing down his eyes and white skin. Something snagged in Sirius' throat and he swallowed thickly to clear it.

He knew what night it was. They all knew. Though the topic barely left their lips, it haunted each of them and had done since third year. Sirius didn't know his class timetable, but he knew every moon cycle.

"You're staring at me," Remus murmured suddenly.

Sirius jumped and looked jerkily away. Remus' eyes peeked open. His lips quirked upward, but there was a minuscule strain that made his smirk resemble more of a grimace.

“I don’t mind,” he added and in a dry voice said, “I have been told I am a wonder to look upon.”

Sirius snorted. "You sound like me," he noted in amusement.

Remus only looked mildly offended before his face split into a grin. There was no hint of pain this time. "You've rubbed off on me."

"Please, you rubbed off on me more like!" Sirius exclaimed. "I thought for sure your angelic, innocent act was legitimate. And then not two days later, you'd blown up Nott's cauldron for calling Evans a Mudblood!"

"Don't mistake angelic for just, Padfoot. The two are very different."

They stared at one another for a moment, a slight crease between Sirius' eyebrows as he regarded his friend.

"Hey, Prongs!" yelled Peter abruptly, and Remus tore his eyes away.

James caught the snitch easily and looked at their fourth friend. "Yeah, Pete?"

Peter grinned. His bulbous cheeks, red from the heat of summer, lit up in pride and he waved the stone in his hand up in the air and said, "Watch this."

Screwing his face up in concentration, he flicked his wrists a few times before stopping and shifting his grip on the slim stone in his hand. Then, he swung his arm back and it went flying across the water.

One.

Two.

Three.

James sat up straighter.

Four.

Five.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Six.

Seven.

Sirius' mouth dropped open.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten and the stone sunk.

Peter spun around, eyes alight with obvious glee. He held his short arms out and said, "What was that? ‘Oh, Peter, you’re so talented and exceptional at throwing stones. I’m so lucky to be your friend!’?”

Remus let out a small laugh and commented, “Because throwing stones really wins you the ladies, Peter. You should show your impressive skills off to Mary someday.”

“You mean, when he finally manages to speak to her,” said James, raising his eyebrows. Peter blushed, arms dropping back to his side.

"What about you and Evans?" he demanded, but there was no real heat to it, more of a stammer.

James frowned, and he released the snitch, lulling it into a false sense of security; four eyes tracked it then-

His hand closed around it tightly, and the feathers shivered from between his fingers.

There was a moment of silence and then James held it up cockily for them all to see, and said, "She's warming to me. You just wait. I'm going to marry Evans if it's the last thing I do."

"Judging by her contempt for you, marrying her would be the last thing you'd ever do," rationed Remus, pushing himself up. He winced, and Sirius fought the urge to reach out and stabilise him.

"Yeah, she'd murder you on your honeymoon," added Peter, once he stepped out of the water and started making his way towards them. Sirius slid his wand from his pocket and cast a drying charm on his legs, earning a grateful grin from him as he tumbled to the floor with them and began rolling his trousers back up.

The four boys sat there, basking in the summer sun, wishing this was a carelessness they could afford to drown themselves in. Alas, it was not.

“Are you ready for tonight?” asked James delicately. His eyes remained adamant on the snitch, but the worry creasing them was obvious.

Remus didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to stare up at the branch-fractured sky, face blank as a slate, before he said, “I don’t think I will ever be ready for it.”

And the conversation was left at that.

It was only hours later, when the sky began getting streaked with oranges and pinks that they clambered to their feet and trudged their way up to the castle; James made a quick detour to drop the snitch off and collect his Quidditch gear. Dinner was well underway, and they heard the din of chatter through the slit in the heavy oak doors but passed straight by and headed instead to the kitchens. So caught up in their newfound determination for the oncoming night, and the anxious coil of their stomachs, they did not see the black eyes that followed them, nor catch the malicious sneer tainting his face.

They didn’t waste much time in the kitchens, only ate what the House Elves had saved them, before they were hurrying back through the castle to the Common Room. They only reached the Entrance Hall when they were stopped.

“Sneaking off again, are you Lupin?” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Remus’ body seized up. James slipped his wand into his hand, twirling it through his fingers as Severus Snape stepped into the light.

“Oh, Snivellus,” delighted Sirius, though the snarl was biting and sharp. “Shouldn’t you be playing with your chemistry set?”

Snape’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be running off to get ready for whatever you wander off for once a month?”

Remus swallowed thickly, eyeing the Slytherin. His face was waxy and pallid. “What do you want, Snape?” he asked tiredly.

“Nothing you, nor your equally dim-witted lackeys, could give me, I assure you, Lupin.”

“Then, please, have some courtesy. You go back to your dormitory. We’ll go back to ours.”

It seemed this had gotten through to him, for he didn’t reply and the Marauders turned on their heel to leave, just as Snape called out, “It’s a full moon tonight. Are you aware, Lupin?”

Sirius whirled on his heel and he was upon Snape in an instant, shoving him roughly into the brick wall. He relished in the way the other boy winced, no doubt as the stone dug into his back, and a trickle of fear lighted his dark eyes when Sirius’ wand pressed into the hollow of his throat.

Then, Snape began to smirk.

Sirius ragged him forwards by the scruff of his shirt and rammed him into the wall again.

“I don’t know what games you’re playing at, Snivellus,” he spat, bringing his face close to Snape’s and speaking in a deadly, low voice so that no one else could hear, “but you need to learn when to keep that abnormally, large nose of yours out of other people’s business.”

“What happens in the Whomping Willow, Black?” Snape asked silkily.

Sirius smiled at him, and it was twisted and ugly. His murmur was barely distinguishable but Snape heard it nonetheless. “Poke the knot at the bottom and find out.”

“Sirius,” James warned, for what seemed like the seventh time. As he was about to drag his friend off the other boy, Sirius stepped backward, dropping Snape and he tumbled against the wall roughly. “That’s enough.”

Sirius’ eyes didn’t waver from Snape’s until James hauled him around, and the Slytherin watched darkly as the Marauders continued down the corridor, before disappearing around the corner. Snape reached up and touched the delicate spot at his neck. He was burning.

He climbed to his feet, ignoring the stinging of his skin, and set off in the opposite direction, cloak swishing behind him.

oOo

The grounds were silent, tucked up in a blanket of obdurate darkness, where nothing stirred nor dared to whisper in the moonlight. There was something tempting about the night, however, as though it were simply holding its breath with anticipation. Trepidation lay heavy and thick on the air.

And then, movement. The door to the castle breaking open- there was a pool of light that flooded onto the grass, before it was swallowed once more in shadow. A figure, swathed in black, made its way across the pathway, descending the small hill, before stopping just out of range of the dozing tree.

The tree did not seem sinister. It shook off dead leaves, every now and then, but other than that, remained peaceful. The figure cast an immobilising spell on its branches just in case.

When he was sure it was frozen, he edged closer to its trunk, kneeling down and fumbling for the knot in the roots. His hand found it and he pressed down, silently cursing when nothing happened. But surely enough, the tree’s branches seized up and a small opening presented itself at the very base of the trunk. Though he knew he didn’t have much time, his fingers grazed the scratch marks engrained deep in the wood, and a nasty sneer twisted his lips.

He crawled inside.

The tunnel was so obviously fashioned by magic, for the walls were smooth and held up by no visible force. His knees tripped over protruding rocks, and he could feel the dirt stick to his hands, but he made himself continue on, only stopping when the hole he had climbed in through was a mere pinprick of satin midnight, and he reached a trapdoor above his head. He pushed it open and pulled himself up.

This was not what he had expected.

He was somehow sitting in a house, of some sort, however dilapidated it might be. The floor was filthy and scuffed, the walls were wooden panels that were falling apart and every window had been barred, once or twice over. There were no lights, and Snape cast a quick ‘Lumos’ so that he could see. He got to his feet.

The more of the house he saw, the clearer it was that no one had stepped foot in here in years, decades even. Every room he peeked into was barren and neglected. It seemed as though the house had been dead for a long time, with no flicker of life to taint it.

That was when he heard it. A low whining. Coming from somewhere ahead.

Snape continued his perusal, wand held in front of him, cloak clipping his ankles. With each step, the whining grew louder and more desperate. There was a panicked scratch at the door just ahead of him. The whining stretched on, increasing in volume and vigour.

His hand reached for the handle-

Someone wrenched him back, fist tangled tightly in the material of his robes, ragging him about. Snape grappled for the doorknob but whoever was holding onto him had a secure grip and was not letting go. He tried to kick behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

He stopped. He recognised that voice.

“Potter?”

Sure enough, when he managed to get free, and could turn around to face his assailant, he saw James Potter standing in front of him. Though perhaps ‘standing’ was the operative term, for the taller boy was leaning against the wall as if for support, clutching his side and wincing every time he breathed. His hair was a mess, more so than usual, sticking to his forehead from sweat, and there was dirt clinging to his cheeks and hands.

“What are you doing here, Snape?” he asked once more. Though visibly shattered, his eyes remained clear behind his glasses.

Snape sneered at him. “Black invited me.”

James’ face went white. He shook his head, and muttered, more to himself, “Sirius wouldn’t do that.”

“Really? Then how would I know to press the knot at the base of the-”

James blinked, seemingly remembered he was there and said, “Sirius would never tell you.”

Snape scoffed condescendingly. “Then how am I here, Potter?”

But James couldn’t reply. There was a bang, a crash from further down the hallway, before a howl cut through the silence. Both boys shot to look in the direction it came from. The sound echoed through the night.

James didn’t waste a second. He leapt forward, grabbing hold of Snape and shoving him in front of him, pushing them both back to the trapdoor.

“Whatever it is you’re hiding here, Potter, you won’t get away with it. You, or your merry band of imbeciles,” Snape snarled over his shoulder, though he found his feet more than willing to comply with James’ ushering.

James glanced behind him. He was deadly serious. “You can’t comprehend anything past your vicious prejudices and sick fancies, Snape. You have no idea-”

When they got to the trapdoor, Snape hauled himself away, holding his wand against James’ throat. James eyed it cautiously, lip darting out to wet his dry lips.

“No idea about what?” he demanded.

As if on cue, a howl cut through the house again, only this time it was followed by a splintering thud, louder and heavier than the last. Both boys watched the ceiling shake, sawdust raining down.

A rat scuttled along the bannister and past their feet. James’ eyes followed it.

He looked quickly back at Snape and said, “Go back to the castle. Climb into bed and pretend this never happened.”

Snape let out a derisive laugh. “And let you get away with whatever you’re doing here? No. This will get you expelled Potter. I’m sure of it.”

But instead of flustering, James just shook his head, almost sadly, and said, “Snape… I’m going to ask you one more time. Please. Leave.”

Snape smirked. He raised his wand, and pointed it right between James’ eyes, a curse brewing at his lips.

The opportunity was ripped away from him as there was another bang. James’ eyes widened, and his chest heaved. He jumped down into the trapdoor, wrapped his fingers around Snape’s ankle and lugged him down with him. Snape kicked to relinquish his hold, swearing and hissing, trying to twist so he could use his wand and curse the bastard-

Then, from around the corner, something appeared. It was huge, scrawny but tall, spanning the doorway above them. Its eyes gleamed yellow, narrowed to slits, and it was panting and drooling. Snape could only stare at the beast, feeling his heart stop in his chest.

James tugged the door down, hastily sliding his wand out and locking it tight.

“Werewolf,” Snape murmured. The trapdoor above their heads shook violently and he jumped. James just stared at the ground unflinchingly. “It makes sense.”

“Are you happy now?”

Snape looked up to stare at James’ blank expression.

“You nearly killed yourself. If I hadn’t been there-”

Snape scoffed. “Oh, spare me, Potter. You saved yourself.”

James’ face changed then, and he shook his head. “Yeah. Because I was scare I would get the blame for this when there’s nothing at all to incriminate me. Some things are more important than reputation, or a petty feud.”

“Like the full moon?”

Snape’s face contorted into a smug and sickening sneer. James simply said, “Tell anyone and I will make whatever fate could have made of you up there look merciful. I will make you regret the day you walked into my compartment on the train. Do you understand me, Snape?”

Snape’s lip just curled, and he began to crawl back along the tunnel, ignoring the way the trapdoor still shuddered and jerked from the other end every few minutes, and the rumbling growling. Just before he clambered out into the cool night breeze, he heard James’ voice float back to him, dejected and tired:

“Oh, Sirius. What have you done?”

oOo

“What were you thinking?”

The words were hushed and stolen, spoken to the silence and Remus knew, blearily, that he was not supposed to be able to hear them.

“James.” That was Peter, quiet, timid. “Keep your voice down. Remus is sleeping.”

There was a shuffle from beside him, the scraping of a chair against the stone floor. It made his head ache, and he wanted nothing more than to burrow deeper into his pillow, but he kept still. Though his body ached all over, and there was something stinging, and he knew he should rest, he needed to listen to this conversation.

He heard James swallow. “You know how he gets in that house! He goes stir-crazy!”

“I didn’t mean-”

Sirius.

“You didn’t mean what?” James demanded in a whisper. His voice was strained, almost agonised. “You knew what would happen! There was only one possible outcome to that… Are you stupid? Are you actually stupid, Sirius?”

There was no reply. Then, there was a long, strenuous sigh.

“Why did you do it?”

Nothing.

Then-

“I wasn’t thinking.�� The excuse was small, intangible. Then, it grew in desperate vigour. “I was just so fed up with him looking at us like he knew us, acting like he could set Peter on fire whenever the fuck he wanted, like he knew about Remus and could treat him however the fuck he wanted- you heard him, he mentioned the Full Moon-”

“He was grasping for straws, Sirius,” said James tiredly. “He was monitoring you for a reaction.”

“Then why-”

“You didn’t see his face. You didn’t see Snape’s face when he saw it.”

James’ voice was so low, Remus almost didn’t catch the words. Almost. They sent a ripple of panic through him, hurting more than any scratch or bruise or broken bone could, feeling as though someone had winded him. His eyes grew hot. He wanted nothing more than to be alone.

It.

He’d been called that before. More than once. The first was by his father, in another conversation Remus shouldn’t have been listening to. His father had been arguing with his mother, claiming that this wasn’t natural in the Wizarding World, this… infliction. Remus had heard the shouting from his room and had crept out of bed and sat at the top of the stairs to listen, fighting the urge to run and hug his mother when he heard her start crying. His father had broken down and told her he couldn’t do it, that whatever was sleeping in his son’s bed, it wasn’t their son.

That had broken Remus’ heart.

“You’re just much more extraordinary than you realise.”

This felt like setting it on fire.

Sirius

The burning spread across his heart quickly, devouring it in agony, soaking it in a betrayal so profound and cutting he could only ask why.

Why did you do it?

When his friends had first shown him their animagus forms, he had cried, sobbed. The thought that someone, never mind his three brothers, loved him enough to do that had rattled him to his core. He had never thought anyone could love a monster. Remus had never thought anyone could ever love him.

And yet, his friends had disproved that. They’d kept his secret, bandaged his wounds, brought him hot chocolate when he was feeling low and handed in their homework under his name if he was feeling stressed about the Full Moon. They had loved him with so much vigour and passion, Remus was sure he had felt it resonate inside of his soul and perch there like a butterfly.

That butterfly fell limp now, landing in his gut with a dull thud.

Snape knew.

Oh God. It was over. Word would be out tomorrow, and the owls would come flooding in. Parents wouldn’t want their children gallivanting around with a werewolf. The mere notion was taboo. Dumbledore would have no other choice. He would never see his friends again.

Remus started crying, and when his friends realised he was awake, he moaned in pain and pretended it was the agony of his joints forcing tears from his eyes. He couldn’t even look at Sirius, as Madam Pomfrey was alerted and she bustled over to force a few more nasty tasting potions down his throat, but he caught James’ eye. He’d always found James the unwavering candle in the darkness, like some sort of pillar to lean against and look for in times of need, but even his eyes were poison. They held pity and, worst of all, they held fear.

Pure, undulated fear.

oOo

There were no owls.

Though Remus had held his breath and closed his eyes each time the mail came soaring in through the open window, there had been no gasps of horror, no frightened looks shot his way. He sometimes felt Snape’s eyes on him, though he ignored them. Things almost went back to normal.

There was that word again. Almost.

He had not spoken to Sirius properly since that night, nearly two weeks ago. It wasn’t that he refused to, simply that he had convinced himself he had buried the pain, and it was easier to leave it in the ground than to drag it all up and face again. Remus pretended that the image of his betrayal festering in his bone marrow did not keep him up at night, alongside images of his werewolf self mauling Snape before being carted off to Azkaban.

They had been sitting under their tree again, sunshine drying up any conversation they might’ve had. Lunch was nearly over, however, and it was with heavy legs that they’d decided to head back up the grounds to the school.

“Snivellus!”

Remus felt his breath catch in his throat. His heart dropped.

James had his wand out first, eyes deceptively clear of the disdain that marred his face. Remus didn’t know why he was doing it; he could see the reluctance coiled tight in the set of James’ broad shoulders, and how his knuckles were turning white.

Snape eyed the four of them with open distaste.

“Potter,” he spat.

Without warning, he was hoisted into the air, held at the ankle by an invisible rope. His books fell from his arms, bag slipping over his shoulder. He spluttered furiously.

James kept his wand trained on him. “I learnt that from you. You wrote it in the margin of your Potions book, remember? I’ve been curious to know what it does for a while now, and honestly, I was expecting something darker.”

He swallowed, moving closer, pulling Snape down so he could murmur, “Remember our deal.”

Snape spat at his shoes. “What deal? I don’t recall making one with you-.”

James’ lips tightened into a line. He jabbed his wand sharply, and Snape went hurtling to the ground, stopping short when his head was a few centimetres away from colliding with the dirt. A crowd had assembled at some point, and there was a ripple of gasps across them.

“Don’t tell anyone, or this will only get worse.”

The two stared at one another, as colour rapidly rushed to Snape’s head. Finally, he relented and snarled viciously, “I’m not going to cross my heart, Potter. Lift me back up!”

James did so, realising this was the best he was going to get to an unspoken promise. The counter-curse was about to touch his tongue, when his attention was snagged by a certain redhead barging her way through the throng of people watching.

“Potter! Let him down!”

Lily Evans stopped directly ahead of him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with fury. They flicked up at Snape, and she faltered ever so slightly before her glare hardened and she refocused on James.

“Evans, this has nothing to do with you,” Sirius told her disinterestedly.

Remus had to check himself to hold back the laugh that had nearly forced its way out of him. If Sirius thought he could use that tone with Lily Evans and escape unscathed, he clearly hadn’t learnt anything in the past five years. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Don’t you dare, Black! This has everything to do with me!” she fumed. “I am a Prefect! If you think your tyranny of this school will continue next year, then you are sadly mistaken-"

Sirius lowered his wand a little. "Did she just call us tyrants?" he asked, amused.

Lily wasted no time. She took full advantage of his distraction and disarmed him in a heartbeat, catching his wand in her free hand. Remus rolled his eyes. They made it far too easy for her.

"Now, put him down."

James just stared at her. There was a small crease between his eyebrows, as though some sort of battle was being waged within his eyes, something that was causing him stress. It disappeared too quickly for Remus to place what it was, and his cocky facade slipped back on in no time.

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," he grinned.

Lily regarded him in disgust. "Not even if it was a choice between you and the Giant Squid!"

"Hey now!" Sirius called, pointing a finger at her. "That's not fair! One's a handsy, hideous face-sucker and other is a ridiculously large squid. That's no fair comparison. It's the squid every time."

James shot him a look.

Lily chewed on her lip, glancing up at Snape again, who had stopped wriggling and was turning purple.

"I mean it, Potter! Just put him down! This stupid war has gone on for long enough-!"

"Stop it!" Snape spat out. The blood rushing to his head made his words gargled. "Just stop it! I don't need help from a filthy, little Mudblood!"

James, who had been in the process of lifting his wand to utter the counter-spell, stopped. His face grew murderous; there was no flicker of doubt across it.

"How fucking dare you," he said quietly, then roared, "She is twice the witch you will ever be a wizard!"

He started forward, fuelled on his rage, eyes livid and set on his target, hand wrapped tight around his wand. Lily ran in front of him.

"No!" she screamed. She pointed her wand at his chest.

Her face was red, almost as red as her hair, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. James deflated, arm dropping to his side.

"Lily, I-"

"No! Potter, I don't need your help! You are nothing more than an arrogant, bullying toerag!" declared Lily vehemently, throwing herself away. She dragged her sleeve across her eyes.

"Lily-" Snape began, and his voice was low and desperate.

She straightened, hand still clutching her wand. Her eyes slid to him. "Do you still intend to join the Death Eaters?"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. The two best friends stared sullenly at one another.

At his prolonged silence, Lily's eyes widened fractionally, as if she hadn't truly believed it. Her face grew cold soon after and she said, "Have fun, Snivellus. Let's see how you get out of this one without your 'filthy Mudblood.'"

With that, she turned on her heel and started back towards the castle. Remus could hear her small whimpers, and shook his head, wishing his hearing wasn't so in tune to the suffering of the world. James' eyes followed her the whole way.

"You fucking idiot," he said, looking at Snape with thinly veiled disgust. "Did you not listen to what I said to you?”

Snape could only stare at him, hatred bubbling in his black eyes. James raised his wand, let it linger between those same eyes, and Remus sucked in a breath. There was a stolen second of silence where the world dropped away, and Remus was sure it was just Snape staring at James and James staring at Snape; two boys on different sides of a brewing war, two ideals boiled down to the basic symphony of school rivalry.

Then, James’ arm dropped to his side, and he started walking away, calling over his shoulder, “Hang in there, Snape,” though his usual vehemence was absent. Sirius followed after him, directing a quick spell and Snape’s pants flew down to his ankles. He struggled violently.

Remus started forwards. “James,” he began. The other boy didn’t even slow his pace. Peter patted his shoulder as he passed, giving him a small, hopeless look.

He continued after his friends, head down, feeling his head spin and his stomach grow cold. As he passed, he paused, eyes sliding over Snape’s discarded wand. Remus clenched his jaw before he swooped down and picked it up, holding it out for Snape to take.

The Slytherin eyed him for a moment of disdain.

Remus sighed. “Are you really going to let pride stop you from taking it? You’re hanging upside down with your underwear on show.”

Snape snatched his wand and Remus nodded tiredly, not staying to see him mutter the counter-curse and fall to the ground, as he set off up the hill to the school.

oOo

August 1976

It was a stormy night. Ravaging winds and eviscerating rain had swept in from the West, following a summer of nothing but eternal sunshine and hot spells. The skies were dark and swirling, and the road shone slick with water.

The old manor house stood largely unaffected, solid and unwavering in the face of such an onslaught. The trees groaned, shifting with the weight of the wind ploughing into their trunks, and there was a little broom shed that’s foundations looked as though they would be pulled from the earth and the wooden panels of the walls would go splintering. Other than that, there was nothing.

Until a figure appeared out of nowhere.

It was largely unremarkable, for the wind made one’s eyes hard to trust, but one minute there was solitude and silence, and with the next bout of storm, a boy stood in its place.

He was relatively tall, though his body was racked, and he was shivering violently. He ran with fear lacing his strides, clutching tightly at the thick cloak wrapped around him and lugging after his heels an old leather trunk.

The boy stopped only when he got to the house, collapsing against the doorway, gasping sharply for air. He knocked desperately.

There was no answer. Nobody even stirred.

But then, a light flickered on above him. And another. It was like a game of dominos, each light lit quicker than the last, until the door was flung open and a yellow warmth devoured him.

“Sirius?”

James Potter stood in the house, glasses shoved onto his nose, tired eyes slowly widening. His hair was stuck up in all possible directions.

Sirius tried to smile, but he could taste blood and knew it was more of a grimace.

“Dear Merlin,” James whispered.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Sirius offered quietly.

It was only then that James noticed the trunk behind him. He didn’t waste another second, throwing the door wider and ushering his friend inside, taking the trunk from his cold and clammy hands and hauling it into the entryway. The door slammed shut behind them.

James had seen many things in the five years he’d spent being friends with Sirius Black. He had seen him thrash around in the dead of night, pleading to an invisible man to stop, flinching and crying out when they didn’t. He had seen him determined and loving ferociously, stopping at nothing to make sure that Remus Lupin was not alone when the rest of society seemed to believe he should be. He had seen him cold, when the hatred burned through him, black as his namesake and eyes. He had seen him euphoric and free, laughing like nothing in the world could touch him and at one time, James had believed that to be true.

He had never seen him like this.

Sirius’ eye was swollen, purple and bulging, protruding from his ashen face like a stone from water. His lip was bust, still oozing blood, and there was a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, ugly and grey and pink. James knew that if he lifted Sirius’ shirt, even a fraction, he’d see identical bruises, like a meadow spreading up his skin.

He was shaking, trembling so vigorously, James was sure he would burst. He was convinced that Sirius would explode and everything he’d ever felt, everything he’d held inside of him, would come ricocheting out, all the red and gold and black traversing through his veins.

“I tried calling you,” he murmured. “On the mirror. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know where else to go-”

“Sirius,” whispered James, and he felt his throat close up. Without saying another word (he wasn’t sure he could), he pulled the smaller boy into his arms, hugging him so closely, so tightly, as if this embrace would make all of Sirius’ broken parts fit back together. But then James wondered if he wasn’t whole to begin with.

The two boys stood there, clutching onto one another so firmly they left marks. Sirius sobbed into James’ shoulder, fingers clenched around the material of his pyjamas and James didn’t mind that he was now as drenched and cold as the storm outside. His brother was safe in here, in his arms, and if it meant he had to hold him for an eternity, James would do so in a heartbeat.

“James, darling, what-?”

Euphemia Potter stopped at the foot of the stairs. She breathed in sharply, and her words were lost.

“Sirius, love, is that you? What’s happened? What’s-? Oh my.”

She didn’t wait any longer, rushing over and she bundled both boys into her arms, hugging them to her body as though they were till children in need of a mother’s embrace, and she felt Sirius cling to her, melt into her warmth.

Euphemia realised he had probably never felt the love of a mother’s embrace before. She made sure to hug him tighter.

She patted his back to let her go, pulling away and wiping at her eyes, sniffing resolutely. She cast a drying and warming charm on him, smiling softly, holding his face tenderly in her hands. “Love, we need to get you out of these clothes. You’ll freeze to death if not. James, run and get him some of your pyjamas.”

James seemed hesitant to leave his friend, but his mother’s eyes urged him and he set off at a sprint, returning mere seconds later with a pair of clean Quidditch nightclothes, emblazoned with snitches and Puddlemere United. Sirius hardly had the effort to jab at James’ shocking allegiances.

“Can you walk, dear?” Euphemia asked him, brushing away some hair by his eyes. Though her face didn’t show it, she wanted to flinch at the sight of him. A child. And yet, here he was, beaten and bloody, almost a pulp. She tried to lead him upstairs, but he collapsed in her arms. “No, it’s okay. We’ll get you on the settee for tonight and move you upstairs to your room tomorrow.”

With James’ help, they gently led Sirius over to the settee, and Euphemia procured blankets and pillows to wrap him up with. She flicked her wand and a fire leapt in the hearth, bathing the room immediately in heat.

“I’ll just go and get some balm for his eye, and see if we have any potions for his bruises. I-”

“Mum,” James cut her off.

She fell quiet and the two looked at the broken boy on their settee. He had settled into the cushions, burrowing into their warmth, with the blanket tucked right up to his chin. In the firelight, the purple of his face made him look haunted, nearly dead. James’ throat clenched up at the thought and he cast it away instantly, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

Euphemia felt her heart melt. A sad smile formed at her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Luckily, because they had a son as danger prone as James, their medical cupboard was well-stocked, and she was returning in no time with the necessary balms and potions and a warm cloth to wipe away any blood, but as she stepped back into their living room, she stopped in her tracks.

James had climbed under the covers beside Sirius, and was snoring peacefully, the smaller boy tucked against his chest. He had his arm draped over her son’s waist, and every now and then, his hand would seize into a fist and he’d clutch the material of James’ shirt. James absently stroked Sirius’ hair.

Euphemia faltered.

She and Fleamont had always had trouble having children. They had thought, as old as they were, that they might be condemned to live in a big, empty house, happy and in love, though missing something, missing the echoing of laughter and the high-pitched glee that followed it, spiralling out of control, and yelling after ghosts that sprinted down the hallways and slammed doors and made messes in the kitchen, and trailed mud into the house after a day spent dancing in the rain-

The day she found out she was pregnant with James was the happiest of her life, and though he was her blessing and her joy, it had come at a cost, and she was warned that another childbirth would kill her. And so, the dreams of a big family with several children had bubbled down to one child, whom she loved with all her heart.

Now, however, she thought that wasn’t true.

She laid the tray of medicines down on the coffee table, before quietly moving over to her boys. She pressed a lingering kiss to each of their foreheads, and pulled the blanket further up, making sure it covered their feet.

Euphemia stopped in the doorway, looking back once more at her sons.

No, she didn’t have one child. She had two.

#Marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #lily evans #severus snape #prongs #padfoot #moony #wormtail #snape #marauders era #marauders headcanon #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #jily #wolfstar #Harry Potter

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-7: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Evan brainrot... meet Evan!! ( TωT )ｳｯ… *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Osborn hadn’t been lying. The police soon returned us all missing artefacts not long after.

❖☆———————————★❖

It was already late at night when I left the venue after having placed the finishing touches on my work.

MC: I wonder if granny would be happy for me, knowing that I entered the finals if she were still here...

The night breeze blew pleasantly, gently rustling the trees. It was as if the world was giving me an answer from the beyond.

Suddenly, the unmistakable, yet faintly discernible sound of footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned around. The moonlight shone down upon the alley, the surroundings were deathly silent, and there was no one else here but my shadow.

MC: Am I just imagining it?

I picked up my pace, heading towards the train station.

Not even a few seconds later, the sound of footsteps continued again. This time clearer and more concisely.

I tried slowing down, finding that those footsteps also followed suit. I sped up, panicking as it did the same.

… Am I being followed!? I could feel the cold sweat start to bead.

Passing the road mirror, I saw that there were a couple of men standing not too far off. The cigarettes between their fingers glowed faintly red in the darkness of the night.

Damn it! I'm still a ways away from the train station! I'm surrounded by alleys… What should I do?

Should I call the police? But it's me against quite the number. Besides, I'll be risking my own safety if I do something as rash as contacting the police. Doing so might just be enough provocation for them to spring on me.

MC: Good lord. I'm facing problems even at night! What's up with my luck today!?

My heart raced, but I didn't dare to stop, nor turn back to look at whoever was following me.

All I can do right now is to try and maintain neutrality and act natural whilst looking around to see if there are any nearby shops open.

Thud, thud, thud.

The footsteps coming after me from behind gradually sped up—

MC: !!!

❖☆———————————★❖

The melodious sound of windchimes graced my ears along with bright lights. A cafe stood in the silent night.

The night wind blew against the sweaty bangs that had stuck itself to my forehead, as I could hear my heart thudding ferociously against my ribcage.

❖☆———————————★❖

Staff: Hello, what would you like to drink?

MC: Hello. I’m being followed by someone o—

??: One Americano and one Latte, please.

A polite baritone interrupted me. Startled, I looked up. I didn’t know when he came, but a young man was standing beside me,

Noticing my gaze, he responded with a gentle smile.

Staff: It's a great night out, Mr. Lu. Is she with you?

Mr. Lu: Yes.

I glanced over at him in confusion and was about to refuse him when he raised a finger to his lips.

❖☆———————————★❖

Mr. Lu: Don't refuse, don't turn back.

Mr. Lu: They’re watching.

I stiffened before realizing that he was referring to the people who had been following me. So… He’s trying to help?

I was still flighty, perhaps due to the aftereffects of my fear. I didn't quite know what to make of the stranger before me. Thus, I tried to ascertain whether he had an ulterior motive judging by the look in his eyes.

MC: ...Thanks.

❖☆———————————★❖

He shook his head, gesturing for me to take a seat with him by the side.

The shop was brightly lit, and there were many customers seated around us.

This was also when I was finally able to stop and truly contemplate the person before me.

He wore a single-breasted three-piece suit with only his tie as an accompanying piece. It was simple and made him exude just the right amount of calmness.

However, I couldn't help but feel like something was lacking.

Maybe he could still afford to add a tie pin to his assembly? Something simple would do the trick. And colour-wise...

MC: Perhaps smoky grey would be better?…

Mr. Lu: Smoky grey?

He looked at me in slight surprise. That was when I realised that I’d accidentally lapsed back into letting my bad work habits take over.

MC: Sorry. I’m actually a fashion designer. Sorry if I offended you, really. I was just looking at your suit.

I hurriedly offered him my name card. Mr. Lu accepted it, smiling all the while.

Mr. Lu: Don't worry about it.

Mr. Lu: Rather, what were you talking about when you said smoky grey…?

MC: A tie pin.

Mr. Lu: So, I'm taking it that I'm missing a smoky grey-coloured tie pin?

MC: Uh, yes… or that's what I personally think, at least.

Mr. Lu: What type would you think works best?

MC: Huh?

He wasn’t mad at all. Instead, he was questioning me further about it with utmost sincerity.

He wasn’t being overly enthusiastic about it. Instead, he kept a respectable distance away, giving me space to breathe and not making me feel awkward or uncomfortable about it.

MC: A clip-on pin. The most normal-looking one will do the trick.

Mr. Lu: I see. Thank you, I'll be sure to take note of it.

MC: No, no. You don’t have to, really. I just think that it’ll complement the vibe you have going on.

MC: And speaking of thanks, I really should be the one thanking you instead,

He smiled as usual, but this time with a more knowing edge to it.

Mr. Lu: You can call me Evan if you don't mind.

MC: Okay, Mr. Ev… Evan.

Man: Will you stop saying "thank you"?

Woman: Okay. Thanks for your suggestion

Evan and I both froze in unison, turning to see the screen of TV that had been mounted on the wall.

❖☆———————————★❖

It was an old movie where the male lead was a wholly independent, yet taciturn member of a crime syndicate.

He'd broken the door down to save a girl, his neighbour whom he'd only ever acknowledged through passing nods, in a moment of compassion, and had thus started living together. The movie was currently at the part where the man resignedly tries to help the girl correct her living habits.

It had only been a couple of lines, but almost every sentence had a "thank you" attached to it. The more I look at this… the more I feel like we were doing the exact same thing earlier…

Evan and I exchanged a look, unable to help the collective laughter that ensued.

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-5) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-9)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #Dreams of Light and Night

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xxsanshinexx · 5 years

Text

Of Gods and Monsters: Mystics of the Night

Characters: God! San x reader

Words: 3700

Warnings: Mobs, mentions of death

Summary: Your grandmother, since you could remember, always spoke of things no one could understand. Once the people begin to piece the puzzle together about her words; it means a world of trouble for you and all the answers you had been searching for.

The village elders had always warned of the night. Of monsters and villains lurking within the natural confines of the forest, hidden away in the dim lighting of midnight. Rumor had it that people had perished in unimaginable ways in the forest adjacent to the village; all in the darkest hour of night. Despite the idle chatter of the habits of the night; there had been no proof. There was nothing to say that the elders were not saying the truth yet there was no real reason to say they were. If not for the eerie feeling the dark forest gave, there would have been more curiosity towards such a dark place.

That’s where you stood, watching from your back porch at how the wind moved the trees. The Alder Forest had been off limits to everyone inside the village for as long as you had been alive. The only person you knew who had walked in there and had survived was your grandmother, a woman of many words that never made sense. She had never tried to recite the tale of what had happened in the forest, for there was always a otherworldly look in her eyes.

You frowned as small finches flew from the darkness of the forest, making it seem almost inviting in an aspect. Truly no one was allowed beyond the first tree. There was occasionally a curious soul who ventured close to the tree that marked the beginning of the Alder Forest, yet they always turned around. You had watched it happen several times; some young sprite felt the need to prove their courage and yet as soon as they got to the base of the trees they were already turning away, much like they forgot what they were doing.

“You’re curious again, aren’t you?” A frail voice spoke out against the darkness. You turned your head only to meet the glossy eyes of your grandmother. They were always watery and laced with years of exhaustion.

You smiled at the old woman softly, “I always am.”

“You know I cannot say much…. For the memory is blurry.” She frowned and toyed with the bracelet on her wrist, one of intricate braids of silver and black, “But it was not a bad time.”

“If not for the villagers, would you let me follow in your footsteps?” A conflicted face appeared on your grandmother's weathered skin. She tilted her head from side to side until eventually nodding.

“I wouldn’t say anything. If that is what you are asking.”

“I just don’t think it is as scary as people say.”

A rather forced laugh came from your grandmother, “Night is not as scary for some as it is for others.”

You nodded, a smile making it’s way onto your face, “I suppose you are-”

“Well if it ain’t the old crazy widow!” A loud voice burst the quiet you were having with your grandmother. Your smile fell into a frown as you turned to meet a majority of the villagers, all with angry expressions. Your eyes drifted towards your grandmother who seemed to have expected something like this. She was nonchalant, not giving the mob in front of us the time of day as she began to play with her bracelet again.

“Grandma..?” You whispered, a fear rising in you as you continued to watch your grandma relax. Who could be so comfortable with a mob of angry people in front of them?

“I expected my ceaseless talking to eventually be solved.” She sighed, the bracelet once wrapped around her wrist now folded nicely in her hand. Her head turned towards yours and she gave you a fond smile, “It’s seems the past has caught up with me child,” She gestured for you to take the accessory out of her hand and you did so with teary eyes. “It’s no surprise you are so drawn to that forest. It’s in our blood.”

“Enough of your talking you crazy old bat!” The man in front, Suleiman, screamed and walked forward menacingly, “The Elder’s figured out what you were saying after all this time. Do you really expect us to believe you met the God of Night!?”

You stifle a gasp while your grandmother laughed, though there was no heart in it, “The God of Mystic actually, but yes-”

“No need for technicalities!” He screamed, getting within a five foot radius of the two of us, “If you made contact with him you have doomed us all!”

The God of Mystics was one of fear for the village. They said he roamed the lands before humans were alive, spreading and creating whatever he wanted. The villagers had always preached that he was the creator of nightmares, of the death of crops and the things that scared us so badly. That God was one everyone feared, so why did grandma not?

“I have not doomed anyone,” Her voice was strong, stronger than you had heard it in the years you had lived alongside her. “If anyone had forsaken anyone, it is yourselves. He helped me live, allowed me to see the world beyond the small confines of our daily lives; and most importantly he got me home safely. There is no reason to be scared of the night, only reasons to be scared of humans.”

“You’re still just as crazy as when you were speaking gibberish!” His eyes trailed to you, who stood in bewilderment at the way your grandmother was speaking. “I bet she’s tainted you with this nonsense as well! Is that why you’re parents died? You and your grandmother made a deal with the devil?”

“I-I don’t I can’t- I just don’t understand what’s…” You cried, tears of fear beginning to form despite your inward protests. You just wanted an answer and for the mob that was growing angrier by the second to disappear. “Grandma what’s going on?”

“Time has caught up with me, Y/n.” She said, turning her head to look back at you, a serious expression you had never seen before on her face. “Run to the forest and don’t you dare look back. I promise you nothing bad will happen, just don't. stop. running.”

You stepped forward towards her but she shook her head and turned around, her shoulders straightening despite their old age. “I have to face this alone. Now run y/n!”

“But grandma-”

“I said run!” She commanded with such ferocity that you turned and ran, the sound of the screaming mob blurring in with her words. You did exactly as she said, knowing that she always had a rhyme to her reason, and took off straight towards the tree that marked the edge of the forest. Time seemed to automatically slow as you came to the tree line, a whisper in your mind to turn around and help your frail grandmother. You halted at the tree line, the winds streaming through the trees making you afraid yet comforted, and took a deep breath. There was still sounds of screaming coming from behind, though it now sounded more like a faint chant than the roaring it had once been.

Your feet took steps on their own, due to your brains unwillingness to signal to move. A thought kept stabbing you in the head, telling you to turn around and go back. Your heart kept you moving along, arguing against your reason and pride that your grandmother had you flee for a reason. Despite the turmoil raging inside your body, you continued moving- the forest becoming a blur of darkened trees and the smell of wood. Every so often you thought you saw a pair of glowing eyes, larger than a humans and following you at every turn.

The snapping of twigs caused you to finally hault your frantic running. Your brain turned off of autopilot and the fear finally began to set in. Around you was nothing but forest, and darkness, and an entirely unfamiliar landscape. Tears ran down your face in an instant and you could do nothing to stop their flowing. The twigs snapped again and you spun around, stumbling backwards as you stared out into the vast darkness of the trees.

There again was the glowing eyes that had followed you from the beginning of the forest. They were a bright yellow, contrasting against the black sky and woods. Every second they seemed to grow closer and you could only watch as a creature of unimaginable size stalked out from the shadows. At first glance, it was nothing more than an odd looking wolf; though upon further inspection, there were horns- almost like an elk- adorning its head and strange wisps of fur coming off of it. The area around it seemed to darken as soon as it’s large paws touched the ground.

It growled at you, revealing a maw of sharp and albeit bloody teeth. A strained gasp escaped your lips as your tears of fear continued to slide down your cheeks. Out of all the ways you had thought you would die, at the maw of a abnormal wolf was not one of them. In an instant, it had broken into a long leap, the massive paws colliding with your shoulders and forcing you to the ground. It pinned you down and lowered it snout to your body, sniffing at the unfamiliar scents you exuded.

Your tears had stopped as you stared into the narrowed eyes of the beast. They were beautiful, the most fluorescent golden color you had ever seen. You figured you should at least focus on something lovely in your final moments. The golden orbs turned from inspecting your shoulder to your eyes, the menacing look now gone and replaced with one of interest. The wolf gave you a little nod before moving it’s head down to to your hands, huddled at your chest and cradling the bracelet from your grandmother. One whiff of the bracelet and it had backed up, almost in shock, and shuffled a few feet away from your paralyzed body; the sneer now present again on its face.

“That’s enough Shiber.” A new voice, sounding like every voice you had ever heard before mixed together, stopped the growling of the wolf. You closed your eyes in fear, for whatever had been able to tame such a beast, you did not want to meet it. Light footsteps crinkled against the fallen leaves, coming to a stop right above your head.

“I understand Shiber is intimidating,” The voice seemed to filter itself, now merging into one of a male- a voice that was honey-like and playful. “But he’s as docile as a lamb.”

You frowned, still not opening your eyes even though you could feel the presence of someone right above you, “Tell that to his teeth.”

A small laugh fluttered out of whoever was above you, “I suppose I can accept that,” You felt a hand, light as a feather, brush a strand of hair away from your eyes and despite the situation, the action made you relax, “Now, can I see those pretty eyes of yours? I promise I am not so hideous.”

The voice coaxed you enough to open your eyes slightly, making out the figure of a smirking man above you. He was beautiful: dewy skin, soft pink lips, and twinkling eyes that made you open your own more. There was something ethereal about him, and maybe it was the crown of elk that rested atop his midnight black hair, but the moonlight seemed to shine brighter than it had before. He was dressed in black and purple, colored jewels resting along his throat and collar bones; and a cape that seemed to almost be made of shadow itself was draped over his shoulders.

Upon noticing your wandering eyes, he smiled, one that was brighter than the light he seemed to radiate. “It is not nice to stare, my dear.”

“I-I’m.. I’m not staring,” Shiber let out an undignified snort at my attempt.

“I am sure you weren’t,” He smiled, and stood from his crouched position to offer a hand out towards me. I stared at his hand, still frightened by the whole ordeal, and he cocked his head in confusion. “Has it been so long that this is not a gesture of help anymore?”

“What do you mean by that?” You said, voice barely a whisper as you took his calloused hand in your own.

He pulled you up like you were nothing lighter than a pillow, “I haven’t seen another human in more than a decade-” He still held your hand as he turned it over, revealing the twisted bracelet your grandmother had given you moments before. “She was the last I had spoken to.”

“You’re the God of Mystics,” Your eyes widened and it took all you had in you not to step away in freight. Despite the stories that had been laced with terror, this man before you was nothing like the stories depicted. He was no man of complete shadow, ugly and hideous, and said to be the monster that lingered under children’s beds. You frowned at him, squinting slightly which caused him to raise an eyebrow in near amusement, “You’re not as… fearsome as I would have thought.”

He laughed, head tilting back wash his entire face in moonlight, “I see everyone still has the wrong story about me.”

“They say you create nightmares and kill men in there sleep.”

“Only bad men, I do have morals.” He smiled, and you could have swore his eyes changed in color for a moment.

You pursed your lips, eyes falling to the twilight that seemed to never leave his side. Between that and the crown of antlers, you had no doubt he was a God. “I suppose that’s better than merciless killing.”

“You suppose?” His eyes twinkled with delight, “I am not someone to fear. Though you humans seem to fear me all too much, I’m sure my brother of the storms would have you shaking in terror at the very thought of him.”

“You keep saying I shouldn’t fear you yet there's literal night drifting off of your body.” You gestured to his cloak which was indeed made of pure shadow.

He grinned and ran his hand right through the material, passing through it as if it was a cloud. He plucked a small wisp off of his grand cape and let it slide through his fingers as though it were a game, “Shadows aren’t so bad. Truly,” He held his hand out and the small wisp fluttered towards your face, making a spiral upwards until it fizzled back into moonlight. You were in awe at just a simple act and the God before you held a soft smile at your mesmerized state, “There is nothing wrong with the night, nothing to fear. Humans just crafted the ideas for their own sick uses and to confine the natural life of this world.”

“You sound like my grandmother.” The thought put a frown on your face and you sighed slightly. He seemed to notice and began to play with the shadows again, his hands weaving in and out creating shapes and small creatures you had never seen before.

He finally settled on a small dog, sending it off to run around your head as if to chase of your sadness. “She understood the nighttime and the beauty in it. I can tell she passed it down to you.”

His flattery didn’t work very well as you thoughts began to consume you. Your lips seemed to have settled into a permanent frown, unsure of how you felt about the man before you. He was suave and casual; and despite it all, he knew the reason to what had happened moments ago. The screams and your Grandmother’s final words ran through your head and you looked away from his comforting eyes. Without thinking, your words flooded out of you on their own, “What happened.”

His joyful demeanor seemed to vanish, taken over by something far sadder and serious. “You’re talking about your grandmother, aren’t you-” you gave a small nod in response that harbored a sigh from him, “She wasn’t lying when she said the past had caught up to her. Neither were the villagers who said she made a deal with the devil, though I wouldn’t consider myself a devil.”

“What deal.” You shot down his attempt at lightening the situation.

“A deal of life,” He frowned, treading his fingers over the weathered bracelet which was still in your open palm, “Infest something with newfound life, before it went so far away from this realm that even I couldn’t save it. I advised her that it was reckless, though no one seems to listen to reason anymore. You see, I merely deal the magic and the price that comes with them,” He looked up, a dark look in his eyes, “Most individuals who seek me for help tend to ignore the consequences that come from seeking divine advice.”

“What was the price,” You voice was a whisper as you found yourself getting lost in his captivating eyes. This was the first time you had heard anything of the sort. If you grandmother had made a deal of life though, you could only imagine the dire consequences that could potentially follow; and the guilt on the Gods’ shoulders.

“Life,” His voice mirrored yours, though it was much more sorrowful, “A life for a life. I told her the rules and yet she was reckless enough not to listen. She cared not for her husband's life- which i do not blame her for, he wasn’t a nice man- but... she cared not for him as much…” He trailed off, silencing himself before he said more and looking away guiltily.

A frustrated expression made its way onto your face as you were so close to figuring out what was going on with your grandmother, “As much as what?”

He looked up at you, closed his eyes and looked away, “As much as you.”

The comment seemed to knock you upside the head, and you stared at him, almost not comprehending his words, “She… she made a deal… for my life?”

“Magic comes with a price, love, that no one seems to caution. You’re grandmother was just one of the many victims to it’s wonder.”

“Stop talking in proverbs! You’re saying my grandmother swapped my grandfather's life for my own?” You said and took a step back from him, though you knew it was not his fault.

“Yes.” He glanced back at you and saw the tears forming in your eyes, a wince befalling his face, “You’re grandmother should have told you, not the God who made the awful deal.”

You nodded, gulping down whatever tangle of emotions that had begun to suffocate you, “She should....She should have told me everything instead of leaving me in the dark- but...but now she’s gone. I suppose the deal is also what ended her own?”

“The news got out, and the villagers had a right to be angry. She ended the life of a able farms man for a dying child… no offence.”

“None taken.”

“But now,” He stepped forward, closing the distance that had come between the two of you, “It’s just you… how funny the world works. It is just you, the girl who should be dead and the God who made the deal for your life.” He smiled bitterly, looking up at the moon which shown full and bright above them, “I hate fate, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t call it fate.”

“An awful prank by my brothers?”

“It’s more fitting than fate.” He nodded, and stepped back, extending a hand outwards which you did not hesitate to take this time, “There’s nowhere for you to go this time, am I right?”

You nodded your head solemnly, feeling an uncanny trust for this ethereal being before you. Maybe it was due to his magic which you now knew coursed through your veins, “I don’t even know where to start.”

He smiled, brighter than the moon above, and his hand wrapped around your own tighter, though it was comforting considering the night you had just had. You could understand why your grandmother had ran off to him for help; he was charming, he seemed caring enough, and understood the world. You had never met any other Gods before this though, so you had no comparison; but you figured he was one of the better ones.

“There’s no harm in bringing you along with me,” There was a sparkle in his eyes as he spoke, like he hadn’t had this much enjoyment for a while, “Us outcasts should stick together, shouldn’t we?”

“I don’t even know you….” You whispered, a war waging around inside your brain at what your next step should be. Go with this mystical god or find your own way out of this forest and most likely die, “How could I go with a God? How would… how would it even work?”

“Well for one, stop calling me a god. I like my name better.”

“Which you never told me.”

“Are we seriously that forgotten nowadays,” He sighed and looked back up to you, a small smile on his perfect lips, “My name is San and it’ll work like this; you can go where I go and they’ll be no harm. As long as you’re with me, I won’t let anything happen to you. I need a companion anyways, Shiber smells bad and eats to many poachers to hang around often.”

There was an annoyed growl from the creature somewhere in the depths of the forest.

“Another deal with the devil,” You sighed but your heart was racing in excitement especially as you looked down at your intertwined hands, “What’s the catch?”

“You’ll lose track of time and humanity.”

“Perfect.”

He grinned at you, tugging you slightly to get you to start walking into the depths of the forest with him. “I’ve never traveled with a human before! This is going to be fun! Come on Shiber!” The sound of heavy steps began to sound behind us as we walked through the dimly illuminated trees, “Where should we go first?”

“Anywhere is better than here I suppose… though I do want to ask something of you before we start this endeavor.”

“And would that be, love?”

“Can I have a antler crown like yours? It’s growing on me.”

His laughter was a joyous sound, one that illuminated the world around you. Perhaps, all you needed to be able to feel some light was a God of the night.

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years

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The Witcher Fic - Give Me One More Chance (Part 5)

Author: Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: The Witcher (TV Series)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer of Vengerburg, Geralt of Rivia & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Jaskier|Dandelion & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier|Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Yennefer of Vengerburg, Roach

Rating: Teen Audiences and Up (Swearing, Mild Gore)

Warnings: None Apply

Additional Tags: Post Episode S01E06: Rare Species, Emotionally Constipated Geralt of Rivia, Pining, Touch-Starved Geralt of Rivia, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt & Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, Canon-Typical Levels of Violence, Monsters, I really put Geralt through the wringer here, but I am ok with that because poor Jaskier did not deserve it, I do acknowledge though that Geralt is multiple levels of screwed up and maybe thought he was helping them both when he was actually hurting them

Summary: After the dragon hunt, Geralt tries to cope with his actions. And misses Jaskier a lot. But refuses to deal with his feeling even when it almost kills him.

Alternate title: 5 things Geralt misses about Jaskier + 1 he didn’t need to

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389734

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

*****

Traveling together with Jaskier made the void Geralt had been feeling since the dragon hunt feel a little smaller but at the same time, just as deep as before. For the first few days, Jaskier barely acknowledged Geralt or Yennefer. He was also quieter than ever, though he maintained a constant stream of conversation with Ciri. He answered every question she threw at him, sometimes with outlandishly impossible answers that had her giggling. At night when they made camp, he took over cooking whatever ingredients Yennefer had bought in the previous town and whatever meat Geralt hunted.

He sang his songs, well, every song that did not have to do with Geralt in any way.

He did not touch Geralt. He did not speak to Geralt. He scarcely looked at Geralt.

Geralt wanted to shake the bard, beg him, plead for an accidental brush of their hands, a question out of habit, a peek from the corner of electric blue eyes.

But Jaskier gave him nothing. Demonstrating a mastery over his bodily reactions Geralt had not known the bard was capable of, Jaskier ignored him completely and intentionally.

Jaskier was even cordial with Yennefer, never outright cutting her with sharp words but not sparing a word that was not needed. Geralt would even venture to say they might be friends from the good-natured teasing he heard when he was out of their earshot.

Ciri saw all this, but surprisingly, or maybe totally unsurprisingly, after all how well did Geralt actually know her, the little princess took Jaskier’s side. Or perhaps not side, but she seemed to find his actions justifiable. A few times when Geralt was returning from a hunt, she heard Jaskier and Ciri rummaging about in camp. He heard her trying to convince Jaskier to give him a second chance. Jaskier stayed quiet.

///

After nearly three weeks of traveling together, of too quiet camps, non-music filled walks through possibly enemy woods, of distances so easy to close yet so insurmountable, Geralt was at his wits end. Yennefer had portaled herself and Ciri away, claiming that she had a friend who could help her with training for Cirilla and that the princess needed to remember what a bed felt like. Geralt had a suspicion based on the pointed glare both girls sent his way that they were actually conspiring to grant him some time alone with Jaskier.

Jaskier was mute as he watched the portal closed, getting back to setting up their camp in the same efficient way he had done when once upon a time it had always been just the two of them. Geralt knew he had to be the one to talk, since Jaskier was obviously not going to.

“Jaskier, we have some spices left, and I hear a deer nearby. What do you say we have a meal with some flavor for once?” Geralt asked, wincing at his own pathetic excuse for conversation.

Jaskier just hummed noncommittally. Geralt resisted the instinct to growl or run a rough hand through his hair. Was this what he had subjected Jaskier to all these years? But he did not have the talent the bard did to draw words out of others. Much less from someone who typically could not be stopped from talking. Needless to say, Geralt was frustrated and reaching the bottom of a very shallow pool of ideas.

Which is what he chose to blame for why he completely missed the sound of a monster approaching. Night had fallen, and both were sitting on opposite sides of the camp. He was brushing Roach while enjoying the absentminded strumming of Jaskier’s lute, the bard obviously composing inside his head. Geralt finished brushing and turned, only to feel his breath catch in his throat. Jaskier was glowing by the campfire, his pale yellow doublet casting golden shadows over his delicate features, the shadows making him look all the more unearthly. He was humming something under his breath, and Geralt had to strain his ears to catch it.

Had the bard always been so… lovely?

He was so enraptured in the blue of the bard’s wide open eyes that he entirely missed the alarm in those eyes. Roach’s neighing and shove with her snout was the only reason the endrega did not behead him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier screamed. Geralt did not even have time to enjoy the sound of his name passing through his bard’s lips in nearly a month before the endrega advanced, pinning him to the ground with on of it’s claws.

Geralt freed his arms enough to quickly sign Aard and throw the monster back against a tree. That dazed the creature long enough for Geralt to dive for his silver sword. Now armed, Geralt threw himself at the monster, swinging his sword and managing to cut of one of it’s claws. The endrega retaliated by smashing into him with its mace-like tail. Geralt’s unprotected skin tore easily under the spikes in the monster’s tail. A pained groan escaped him, but his training ensured he did not drop his sword.

The monster clawed at him again, executing a sharp cut into his right shoulder.

“Hey ugly! Try this on for size!” Jaskier shouted, voice dripping with fear yet underlined with the same steel as Geralt’s sword. When Geralt rolled his eyes in his direction, he saw Jaskier holding said sword, arms shaking with the weight but keeping the sword steady. Geralt vaguely recalled Jaskier saying he was nobility, he would have been taught the sword. Or at least fencing. His stance looked firm even if the sword didn't.

The creature snarled before dropping Geralt against the tree and advancing towards Jaskier. Just as Geralt feared that he was going to watch his bard get eviscerated, Jaskier threw something into the fire between him and the creature, making the fire roar up before transforming into a thick green cloud.

Geralt coughed as the smoke enveloped him thoroughly, grimacing as he pressed his abdominal wound closed. On the other side of the fire he could hear the creature screaming and screeching before steel sang through the cacophony and the noise cut off abruptly.

He was still coughing when a pain of hands grabbed him from below his shoulders. He yelled but the body behind him did not stop until they were clear of the camp and the smoke. Geralt was breathing hard and pale as the moon that shone through the trees when Jaskier deposited him against a tree.

Through the haze he saw a cut on the bard’s upper arm, but Jaskier brushed away his arm and cut open Geralt’s shirt with the small knife he always kept on him. He swore when he saw the extent of the bruising. Pressing firmly, he guessed at least two broken ribs, possibly three based on the volume of Geralt's groans.

“Damn it Geralt. Wait here. I will be right back, I need to find your potions.” Jaskier complained as he rose, only to yelp when Geralt yanked him back towards him, nearly sending the both toppling into the forest floor.

“Ow you bastard, I am only trying to help!”

“You… are…hurt…” Geralt rasped.

“Yes and you pulling me by the arm that was injured is not going to exactly make it better now is it?”

“Monster…”

“Is dead. Or at least it better be, the thing was in two pieces last I saw it. Plus we left poor Roach and my precious lute at the camp. Let me go check on them!” Jaskier said.

Geralt groaned but relented. Jaskier stumbled as he was suddenly released but stood up and tugged his doublet into place. “Thank you. I will be right back. Just… try not to get killed will you?”

Saying so, Jaskier disappeared between the tree lines. Geralt groaned again as he closed his eyes and lets his head thump back against the tree. Tonight had not gone at all as he had wanted.

True to his word though, Jaskier came back to where Geralt was, loud enough to wake the forest.

Cursing as he nearly tripped over a root he didn’t see, Jaskier dropped beside Geralt.

“Ok I have all your potions here. What do you want?” Jaskier asked, holding up Geralt’s potion bag. Geralt winced as he shifted against the tree, pretending to do so to get more comfortable and not because this way, Jaskier was leaning more heavily onto him.

“Dark green one. And clear potion in the square vial.” Geralt grit out.

Jaskier rooted around the bag before crowing victoriously as he held out his prize, quickly uncorking the two potions and helping Geralt swallow them. Geralt hissed as he felt the potions rushing through his veins, but settled as his healing was further boosted by the potions.

“Use my tunic.” Geralt slurred. Jaskier looked up confused from where had settled into Geralt’s side.

“What?”

“You are bleeding. Use my tunic. It is ripped.”

“Oh.” Jaskier said. He looks at his own injury, the wound a graze that has almost stopped bleeding. Deciding not to argue with the Witcher for once, he did as told and ripped up the shirt, wrapping the make-shift bandages around his upper arm. with the left over cloth, he wrapped them around Geralt so as to make sure the open wounds did not get infected.

They stayed like that for another moment until Geralt grunted and tried to shift.

“Come on, let’s get back to camp.”

“Are you sure? Can you walk?”

“Jaskier. It is cold and I don't have a shirt. We will both freeze overnight.” Geralt growled.

“Fine, fine off we go to the camp with the dead monster, why not?” Jaskier said as he placed an arm around Geralt’s waist and let the Witcher lean his weight on him as the two made their way back to camp.

Jaskier had Geralt sit back against the tree that Roach was still tied to while he went and reignited the fire that had almost been put out during the fight.

Geralt tried to push away Roach when the horse started to nibble on his hair, patting her nose to comfort her.

The endrega was lying several feet ahead of him, cleaved clumsily in half, his steel sword embedded haphazardly in it's abdomen. Jaskier was quiet as he set about cleaning the campsite, giving the monster’s corpse a wide berth.

“Should we be worried of more of those things coming after us?”

Geralt grunted. “Endregas are solitary creatures.”

“Oh small comfort I guess. Anything else going to attack us while we sleep?”

“No.”

“You sound confident.”

“If something comes for us, I will stop it.”

“Geralt I know I say…used to say you could defeat monsters in your sleep, but I didn’t actually mean it.”

“I am not going to sleep. You sleep.” Geralt bit back, trying to cover the hurt from Jaskier’s correction.

Geralt could make out a vein in Jaskier’s forehead, which was new, and he knew the timing was awful, but he found it equally amusing and adorable.

Jaskier took a deep breath and exhaled it before sitting in front of Geralt. Geralt felt oddly cornered with no escape. Which actually wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“What was your plan?”

“Plan?”

“Plan for whatever you wanted to do without the girls around. And don’t insult my intelligence by saying us being left alone was not planned.” Jaskier said.

Geralt swallowed. The bard perpetually surprised him with his perceptiveness. He sighed.

“I told Yennefer to take Ciri it would be nice to have a couple nights for just us so we could have a chance to talk. So I could apologize.”

Jaskier groaned before mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘stupid Witchers with skulls thicker than the mountains they get thrown against’.

Jaskier sat up from his slump and sat closer to Geralt, making his heart beat tick up. So close, Geralt felt like he would burn from the intensity of the gaze that seemed to pierce right to his soul.

“Before you start apologizing, I want to say that you're an idiot.”

“Hmm.”

“And I kind of hate you right now.”

Geralt flinched internally but kept his face blank. “I understand.”

“No you don’t you self-loathing bastard. I regret the 22 years that I spent with you.”

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek. Was this how Jaskier had felt when Geralt had screamed at him on that mountain that accursed day? Like his heart was being ripped to shreds, and his world was becoming darker with each passing breath? How had the bard ever found it in him not to chase Geralt out of his life in that village? But Geralt heard the slight change in Jaskier’s heartbeat and held on to it like a life line.

“That's not tru-”

Jaskier cut him off. “Okay, that's a lie. But you've really hurt me, Geralt.”

Geralt had a feeling that the expression on Jaskier’s face was yet another that would haunt him in his nightmares, in addition to his face on the dragon mountain and that stupid doppler that stole Jaskier’s visage.

Geralt weighed his words carefully before speaking. He was walking on a tightrope and he had this sharp feeling in his gut that if he messed up this conversation, he would never get his bard back. “I... I know. I'm sorry. You... You didn't deserve any of it.”

“Keep going.”

“You've always been good to me... You're the reason people don't hate me anymore... You were by my side when nobody else was.” Geralt verbalized slowly.

“Glad you finally noticed that, but it doesn't really sound like an apology.”

Geralt clenched his fist. Jaskier was making this unnecessarily difficult. But this was a problem that could only be solved with words not steel or silver or grunts and looming appearances.

Closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see Jaskier’s face, Geralt inhaled deeply and laid his heart out for him.

“I'm sorry I didn't appreciate it. I was a fool. Now I get it. You were always kind, thoughtful, loyal. All you wanted in return was to go on adventures and find inspiration for your songs. I should have respected that. But all I did was treat you as a nuisance and a bother. When you might be the only true friend I have had who chose to be my friend out of his own free will and not because you had a duty to put up with me or were tied to my by something.” Geralt finished, gasping. His hands were so tightly clenched he could feel his nails making crescent indentations into the rough skin of his palm.

Jaskier stayed quiet in front of him. When he pried his eyes open, and hesitantly looked up, the bard was sitting in front of him with a stunned expression and a gaping mouth.

“Jaskier?”

No response.

Geralt tentatively released one hand and barely brushed it on Jaskier’s hand before the bard seemed to crash back into reality.

Geralt and Jaskier froze, hardly daring to breathe. The millimeter of skin Geralt had pressed against the bard felt as though it was on fire.

Jaskier finally gasped out a soft “Oh, you idiot.”

Geralt hardly got the words “What did I say-” before the bard was crashing into him. Geralt tensed up for a minute before feeling all his stress melt away in the bard’s arms. He wrapped both arms around Jaskier and pressed the bard in close, burying his nose into soft brown hair that smelled of sweat and faintly, lavender. In his current position, Jaskier was practically straddling Geralt, his body a line of heat that warmed Geralt to his core.

Jaskier sobbed into his ear “You idiot. Geralt... I... Yes, I wanted those things, but it wasn't what mattered. I... All I ever wanted was you.”

Geralt felt a lump in throat, his heart matching the wild thumping of Jaskier’s own. Today had started off as a nightmare where he had been sure he was going to loose the bard, and now Jaskier was telling him, what? That he…cared for Geralt?

Geralt whispered, scared that if he said the words any louder this moment would break, or worse he would find out it had all been an illusion “All these years... Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought that this was... I thought that once you satisfied yourself, got all the songs and stories you needed out of me, I mean-” Geralt grunted tightening his arms around Jaskier’s waist as he mulled on what to say. “I thought you will get bored with me eventually. I didn't think that you'd… that you might have feelings for me. Beyond friendship. Or companionship. And it is fine if that is all you feel for me Jaskier. I just want to travel with you again. I… I have missed you far too much.” He confessed, his secret out now, no longer weighing him or eating at him.

Jaskier stayed quiet once again, and Geralt feared he had once again said the wrong thing. He loosened his arms even as every muscle in his body was screaming at him to hold on and never let go. Jaskier smelled of confusion, and underlying it was his personal scent of honey and sunshine.

Geralt was so focused on his own thoughts he nearly missed Jaskier’s faint voice

“Feelings? For... How long?”

Geralt tried to suppress the hope blooming in his chest at Jaskier’s own hopeful words, no disgust or rejection in them.

Shrugging, Geralt said “Give or take five to six years.”

Jaskier jaw opened and closed a few times as he lip synched Geralt’s admission before unexpectedly punching him in the arm with the injury.

Geralt groaned. “What was that for?

“Shit sorry. But seriously? Five to six YEARS? You unbelievable idiot, Geralt why the hell would you not tell me?”

Geralt shrugged again, barely not wincing as the movement jostled his injured shoulder.

“You- oh, oh you just-” Jaskier sputtered, slapping his own forehead before pinching his nose. “Ok listen to me you thick-skulled buffoon. I am in love with you. 1000% gone on you. Pining after you so bad the whole continent could see it.”

Now it was Geralt’s turn to gape. He let out a strangled “What?”

Jaskier’s shoulders slumped. “Geralt, we are not made for monogamy. I know that. We have had far too many paramours to pretend otherwise. But do you know why Yennefer was always the one that got under my skin?” At Geralt’s silence, Jaskier continued “She was the one who had a chance. God Geralt, look at her. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life, she is terrifying and powerful, and knows what she wants. She is as immortal as you.” Jaskier’s voice was frail for his next declaration. “How could a mere bard stand up to all that?

Jaskier’s head dropped, and he wrung his hands until Geralt covered them with one of his, the other cupping Jaskier’s jaw and setting his every nerve on fire.

“How long?”

Jaskier whispered “From the moment I met you.” Geralt spied a few tears gathering in Jaskier’s eyes. “Gods. I can't believe it. So much wasted time…”

“Guess we're both idiot.” Geralt offered before pulling Jaskier in closer until they could feel the other’s breath on each other’s faces. “Can I kiss you?”

Jaskier’s breath hitched before he nodded. Unable to wait another second, Geralt closed the gap between them.

It was a simple kiss, just a press of rough lips against dry ones, but both men felt a joy foreign to them flood them and threaten to drown them. They broke to merely gulp a breath before diving into a second kiss that was far more passionate.

As both men fell back against the tree, uncaring of the rough bark, Roach snorted something that had they been paying attention could almost have been interpreted as “Fucking finally.”

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #geraskier fic #i'm done with the fic #i'll be updating daily #let me know what you think!#part 5

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