#look. this guy's nose is clogged all the time. i think he should look like he got hit by a truck
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Runningnose, cleric of ShadowClan.
#runningnose#the prophecies begin#the new prophecy#yellowfang's secret#warriors#warrior cats#wc#warriors designs#shadowclan#medicine cats#clerics#stealing the term cleric from bonefall cause its just so much better#canon#razorverse#look. this guy's nose is clogged all the time. i think he should look like he got hit by a truck#maybe its bc i dont get sick often but when i do i am the most miserable being ever and doing anything is like pulling teeth#but this guy just lives like that. among the Other Horrors#i used to not like his scenes actually cause id imagine his pov and get kinda grossed out tbh sdklfdsf#anyways yeah i imagine him to be constantly groggy and out of it and exhausted. and therefore easy to manipulate#kinda imagine hes sticky too
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the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects ; suguru geto
synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.
word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened either nobody look at me 💔)
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33
a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!
like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.
images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight.
(or… a wolf?)
before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.
and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence.
he looks a little lonely.
and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.
the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —
and that’s when you wake up.
”your highness!”
a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears.
above you waits a familiar face; impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you. and she isn’t pleased.
but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath. ”a wolf…”
silence.
the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows.
”… excuse me?”
”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.”
she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”
ah. of course.
a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”
”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”
”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”
following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.
”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”
from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain; heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour.
but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close.
a bitter taste blooms on your tongue.
(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)
”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”
and she brightens, visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze. for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”
a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. humorous. ”i bet they are.”
”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now; you will yourself not to shrink. ”we almost lost you.”
”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”
again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air. ”do you have any idea who that man was?”
the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was?
”… he was hot.”
sigh. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct.
”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”
”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.
”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”
”behave.”
with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah — there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience. you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit. all humans have one; a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs.
over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.
”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”
and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath her sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”
for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing? the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.
so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”
before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.
(hmph.)
”where is your maid?”
in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you.
and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to.
”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”
the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.”
”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”
an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite.
”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”
he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows.
yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.
but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”
you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane.
then you groan.
”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ”please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”
”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”
you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”
your father pretends not to hear you.
”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”
your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember.
that is what royalty means — absolute dominion.
(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)
”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”
a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”
”your majesty.”
…
the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”
”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”
behave.
behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.
(you might as well be a pet.)
the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago.
automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.
you’re just about to part your lips, when —
”… am i interrupting?”
you still.
a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds.
the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”
when you turn around, you see a knight.
he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind.
and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.
(ah. he’s one of those knights.)
”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”
(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)
”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”
the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. but, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”
finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.
but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.
you feel a little nauseous.
”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.”
he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew. ”forgive me; my name is suguru geto. your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”
(suguru geto. you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)
his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours; to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything. nothing, other than studying his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar.
it’s a smile you know well.
so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”
silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.
interest?
”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”
that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.
”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”
he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny.
”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”
ah. the sympathy card.
before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”
… ugh.
to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”
a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.
they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.
but before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.
it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”
(indefinitely.)
a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”
suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”
but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.
to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.
”my lord.”
”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”
”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”
you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”
but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.
”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.
”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”
”oh?”
”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”
he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”
”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”
suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him.
(”you’re a bad actor.”)
the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.
but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake.
”from now on, i serve you.”
when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.
suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.
”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.”
there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”
the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.
”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”
you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.
(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)
an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”
and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.
you watch him, silently.
then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.
behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.
”good morning, your highness.”
blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.
black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile.
the gears of your mind finally click into place.
a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.
but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”
a muffled groan. ”leave.”
”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”
”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”
a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.
”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”
…
slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order.
it’s tempting. dangerously so.
(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)
”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. (but you are.) ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”
a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”
(suddenly, you get an idea.)
a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased with yourself.
silence.
then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”
when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat. that’ll definitely make him quit.
— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.
before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing. with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented.
for just a moment, you’re entirely speechless. he really went ahead and got you some of everything.
stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”
he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”
you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.
but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.
when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh.
it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”
”... better than usual, i guess.”
despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”
…
you pale.
silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?”
”yes.”
another pause.
”… like. all of it?”
”mhm.”
your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.
wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.
”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”
”ugh.”
a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”
”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”
”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”
”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”
and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.
but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”
you give him a look.
he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.
you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips.
then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”
”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. reassuring you. ���no kissing involved.”
a handshake.
(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)
after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him. ”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”
suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”
kento? now, why does that sound familiar…?
”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”
”that’s not happening.”
”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”
hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.
but then you remember the tale.
so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…
”… is it true?”
he tilts his head.
”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp.
”… pull it out of a stone?”
a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”
and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”
”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets said about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as good, anyhow.”
(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)
in a matter of seconds, you seem to deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”
”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”
…
”wait, really?”
the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.
”depends,” he quips, shooting you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”
(... oh. he was teasing you.)
an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”
suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.
”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”
he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.”
”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”
suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat.
”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”
when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.
a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”
”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.”
a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips.
”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”
suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.
once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.
anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.
— a week passes with no particular developments. you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods.
he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being. the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken.
(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)
a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.
as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctively, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour.
he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.
and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods.
as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf.
finally, your knight opts to break the silence.
”you’re quite talented.”
it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.
suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.
but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.
stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf.
from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.
”what?”
suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”
a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….
(something in his tone convinces you not to.)
”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”
silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? a sense of regret mixes with the paint.
the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?
”… huh.”
a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.
then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.”
you quirk a brow.
but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all. a sorry spectacle of teeth.
— a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow, still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep, a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.
the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.
it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.
fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.
what a mess.
when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth.
it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other.
he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. so he doesn’t hurt himself. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”
he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.
you sigh.
after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor.
there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.
a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.”
he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”
”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”
a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief.
when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile.
(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless.
what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)
just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.
”your highness! what have you done now?”
there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.
”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”
she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”
”… i mean. i do kind of own this place, don’t i?” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”or i will. so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”
”… my lord —”
”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”
he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.
(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)
it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.
the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.
the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.
a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.
”your highness.”
he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness.
(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)
he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks.
”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”
…
”… huh?”
he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”
a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.”
but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”
another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly.
just what the hell is happening?
”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”
”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes.
you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life.
”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”
nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”
he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”
”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”
no one does.
and that’s fine. you don’t want them to.
(you just want him to stop looking you so fondly.)
”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.”
he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult — scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”
a scoff. desperate. ”no.”
”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”
”not me.”
”your highness.”
…
the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.
he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks.
”that was very, very kind of you.”
silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.
(someone saw through the act.)
”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.”
suguru bites back a coo.
as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet.
it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted.
you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through. and then he’s catching up to you with long strides.
(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)
sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame — you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it.
maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.
or, well — sometimes.
”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes.
the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was. effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes.
suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”
a beat.
”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”
”still no, sweetheart.”
a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”
you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.
”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”
he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”
your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.
”… thanks for breakfast.”
suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence.
”you’re welcome, my lord.”
…
(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)
peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.
today, he sounds a little hesitant.
”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”
you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant.
”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums.
”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”
you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.
”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”
you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.
”… so?”
you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.
”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.
a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting.
your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper. ”… i wanna swing a sword.”
suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?
you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.”
a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.
then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”
you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear.
when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.
(tantalizing.)
he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.
and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself.
giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.
suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes.
you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.
but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.
ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.
”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”
to your horror — it flusters you terribly.
you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two.
”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”
”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”
for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring.
a mellow excitement simmers in your bones.
you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.
”suguru!”
the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be.
when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips.
he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.
”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”
your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests.
”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”
”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”
he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him.
his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”should we get started?”
haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”
a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”
”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”
in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half.
you’re a little awestruck.
and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”
barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.
that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”
— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.
silence.
haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.
”… i was gonna say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”
”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, knows you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”
he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”
a tiny pause.
(you’re being childish, again.)
brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.
suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”
”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”
”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”
he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.
a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”
from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.
but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement.
as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun. he looks like he’s having fun.
he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun.
for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash.
and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth. you huff. heat crawling up your neck.
show off.
”excuse me, your highness?”
the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.
(uh oh.)
— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties.
it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.
slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.
so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”
haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”
but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore.
he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.
(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)
in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.
with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”
the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.
and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”
before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”
(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)
with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.
as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”
you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”
”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”
still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time.
”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”
”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?”
”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”
a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip.
”… i haven’t.”
he turns to look at you. raising a brow.
”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”
your knight falls silent.
so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.”
closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”
…
he only hums. ”i see.”
(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave.
you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.)
— that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.
when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.
”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen little camellias. ”for you, my lord.”
blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.
it’s mesmerizing.
”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”
when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”
it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth. and you’ve had more than a couple suitors, men and women, eager to gain your favour.
but this — this particular gift…
…
”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”
suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”
and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.
that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish — a wish to see more of it.
”are you trying to sneak out again?”
owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.
a gulp. ”… no?”
and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken.
”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”
”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”
resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore.
like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.
(why can’t you just accept that?)
the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide.
”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”
he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”
you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.
”… the woods.”
suguru blinks. a little caught off guard.
his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit. misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”
but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something,” he stifles a chuckle. “it's the woods that you're so curious about?”
you pout. ”… you can see them from here.”
his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”
”they sell their fur,” you state.
(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)
suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”
a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.
”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”
he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”
you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. ”… if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”
”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”
”mhm. you’d be my first target.”
that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you.
a sudden urge overtakes you.
”… i wanna know about something else.”
”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”
”you.”
…
for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”
suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair.
a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”
anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence.
”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.”
he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”
you cock your head. ”being a knight?”
”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”
the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.
(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)
”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”
he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”
you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.
”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”
”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice.
(he looks a little enamored.)
”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”
”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”
”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?”
a yawn. ”it would.”
low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”
rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”
an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.
lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly.
”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”
”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”
he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his.
— one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles. it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart.
but for once, it works in your favour.
”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”
he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble.
but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.
”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”
he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“
”what are you, stupid?”
”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”
”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”
you sigh.
”it’s just so suffocating.”
suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something.
moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.
finally, he makes up his mind.
”okay, okay.”
when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”
…
you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.
”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”
he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”
another moment passes.
(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)
a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”
suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”
(his ears burn a cherry red.)
”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”
”yep.”
”if anyone asks, you —”
”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”
your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget.
sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour.
and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest.
when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company.
everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.
suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.
”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”
you tilt your head, feigning confusion. ”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”
the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated.
then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”
suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it.
his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete.
when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.
”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”
under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.
your protector.
finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth.
he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm.
”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”
his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.
”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”
and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step.
”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”
and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”of course,” he croons. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”
the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — as if wishing to engulf the world. a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.
all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.
only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.
the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.
so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun.
(you wonder if he feels the same.)
”hey, suguru?”
he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.
”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”
he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips.
”obviously.”
…
your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.
”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”
before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical.
gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak. his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. i exist for you, and you alone.”
suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”
and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”
”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”
another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…”
(you do, though.)
suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”
something bitter settles on your tongue.
but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”
a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he chuckles, raspy, amused. ”possessive little thing…”
that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind.
and he always, always kneels.
such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.
”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
”i kinda do.”
a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”
a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”
”don’t be disrespectful.”
”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”
suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes.
”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”
”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”
silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.
suguru always kneels.
but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.
sometimes, he feels like your best friend.
careless, careless, careless.
how could he ever be so careless?
everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.
(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)
the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to.
suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue.
suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.
suguru is hunting — for you.
and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.
but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —
and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.
when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you.
what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.
suguru.
bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.
he’s saying your name.
there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat.
(he finally said it.)
you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise.
it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.
”oh, thank the heavens.”
another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped.
then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. a firm grip, comforting, stable. desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety, by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.
only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt. and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.
suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in dashing armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.
so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.
he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball.
”i’m sorry.”
and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed.
he looks sad.
with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them.
you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.
but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful —
because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.
”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”
and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.
suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.
until your voice breaks him out of it.
”it’s not your fault.”
he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.
he gulps.
”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”
”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”
(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)
a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”
”it wasn’t your fault.”
…
”your highne —”
”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”
he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”
he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.
”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”
it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.
he places his palm over yours.
a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you.
”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”
you blink. he continues.
”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…”
his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”
silence.
your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”
he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.
”a fox.”
…
”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”
your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.
(well, maybe not quite all.)
”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”
he stills.
then he’s burning up.
”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.
you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”
suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”
he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.
”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”
he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears.
so he settles for using cheap tricks.
”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”
”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever.
(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)
”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”
it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.
he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.
that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished.
before you lies a field of stars.
you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song.
everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.
(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)
the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.
there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil.
you clear your throat to get his attention.
like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale.
you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.
“… okay. you can open them, now.”
he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.
he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”
”thank you.”
you raise your head.
suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin.
”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”
his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy.
until his smile drops.
”uh, actually — i…”
now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper.
then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”
with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.
it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.
it’s a sketch of a fox.
wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?”
you point to yourself.
suguru only chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.
”like i said; i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”
”i’m gonna frame it.”
…
”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”
”please don't —”
”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”
”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”
a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, albeit a little hesitant.
”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”
he sighs; relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”
”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”
you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall.
finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz.
as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue.
”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”
mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”
”uh oh.”
silently, he gives you one of those flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. he quirks a brow, exhaling amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.
”i retract my earlier statement.”
when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.
”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere.
he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place.
”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”
his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.
and then he’s smiling.
”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”
silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.
”… suguru.”
he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.
”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”
an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry.
“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”
”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”
he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.
“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”
before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.
his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is.
but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue, a touch of restraint. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”
”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”
and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.
suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”
a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him.
one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.
”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”
(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)
so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.
and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.
#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#geto suguru x reader#geto fluff#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x y/n#knight!sugu literally means the world to me… this specific version is a lil mischievous <33 and so so protective <333#most of all he’s very veryyyy wolfy…… this fic is BRIMMING w canine symbolism like i put SO much thought into it 😭😭#knight!sugu is a wolf pretending to be a dog and royalty!reader is a fox forced to behave as a lamb <33 that’s their dynamic!#and yk…. dogs herd sheep…….. sugu guards reader………. (from wolves & foxes…. dramatic irony…….)#but in reality they both feel most at ease when they’re running around in the woods and baring their fangs :33#i LOVE this reader btw i really hope they come off as endearing despite their brattiness LOL i think they’re soooo cute 🥺🥺#sugu and his brat taming tendencies… his ability to seek out the most guarded people and make them feel safe in his presence…….#he means the galaxy to me. king wherever u may be… i hope u are getting the love u deserve
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Self-aware au
I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!
WARNINGS: Yandere, implied cannibalism, poison, vomiting, manipulation, obsession, murder, blood, posessiveness
Your totally normal isekaid househusband
What can I say? Life is good
Ok, maybe the circumstances the two of you met are a bit... “unusual” to say the least but hey, your marriage is more than beautiful
You go to work, bring home the bread and butter and Trey is happily doing house chores all whilst baking cakes for you
Sometimes he even gives some of those cakes to the neighbors
For some weird reason he won't let you eat those but who am I to ask such things?
The two of you are absolute darlings to the old ladies of your place
Always behaving like the perfect couple, never fighting, never having any problems...
Although you two do get a bit stressed whenever someone asks how you met
I mean, it is a bit unbelievable to say “One day he literally fell from the sky through my roof leaving a huge hole behind. Yes, that is why I needed a new roof that one time.”
So it's always just like “He had a bakery in a town far away from here and we just met there.”
Trey is also great with the neighborhoods children
What else did you expect? The guy has siblings and even though he says “baking with love is nonsense” does not mean he is an emotionless rock
Ah yes, baking... for some reason he refuses to let you enter the kitchen on some days
But that is not important. Maybe he is just deep-cleaning the place. You know, keeping it clean. What is important though are the disappearances of some of your neighbors
That old creepy guy that had eyed you with that look in his eyes? Suddenly gone. But it's sad that the elderly lady who had always spoiled you with sweets, even though you were over the age of that typical stereotype, was also gone
You just hoped she had moved to another place and forgot to tell everyone about that... uh... rather unlikely but hope dies last
Lately you had seen light from the kitchen on some nights only for your dear spouse to come out before you could enter and send you back to bed
He was surely just busy. Ah, what luck you had, meeting him even though it should be impossible
You aren't the only one who thinks like that. He himself knows that your meeting goes against all the odds, and even more, him becoming your partner
Trey is a realistic person. He doesn't realize things so he is also aware that if it was you falling into his world you probably wouldn't even have taken notice of him
And oh, does he love your attention. So much in fact that he can't help but stare through the window at the noisy little bas- ahem, lovely neighbor from behind the curtains, molten gold drilling holes into their head
The first time he did it Trey had to vomit, the stench of iron and something that makes a human run away because it screamed their mortal demise clogged his nose
But he continued, in the morning he had a pretty cake
When he handed it to the older lady he almost felt guilty, then he remembered the time they stole from you which could be spend with him
Then he repeated the process the next evening
When you had asked him about the cake baking in the oven he had told you that it was not for you, a new recipe that he wanted to give another neighbor to try before giving it to you
Good thing you haven't found the bottle of rat poison in the back of the shelf. A special ingredient filled with love just for your neighbors. Isn't he such a great husband caring for the community?
Never for you though. Sorry, darling
#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twst x reader#self aware au#twst#twst x reader#twst trey#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland trey#yandere trey x reader#yandere trey clover#trey clover#yandere trey#trey clover x reader#tw: yandere#tw: blood#tw: obsession#tw: murder#tw: vomit#tw: cannibalism#tw: manipulation#tw: poison#tw: possessiveness
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[ the things i do for you–; let’s just say missing out on the limited edition tcg card of your boyfriend is a bit... devastating ]
“you’re crying.”
“no, i’m sniffling. my nose is clogged,”
“because you’re crying,”
“no, i’m sniffling because my nose is clogged. i said so,”
“no, you’re sniffling because your nose is clogged because you’re crying because you couldn’t get the limited edition tcg card... of me?” alhaitham’s voice had an edge of... well, in order to not sugarcoat it, judgement. he couldn’t fathom why a silly little illustrated piece of cardstock of him of all people was something to cry over.
on the other hand, kaveh, who was having the absolute time of his life over his roommates confused stupor, patted your back from across the tavern table in attempt to comfort you.
“it’s alright!” he exclaimed boisterously as he handed you a hankerchief. it was your second, actually, since you’d ruined the first one alhaitham had given you before. “there’s better cards to get! besides, uh, do you really want to build a deck around... well, him?”
“says the guy who doesn’t even have a card made after him,” alhaitham shot back, only to garner a dramatic gasp for kaveh.
“i– listen here, you! up until today, you didn’t have a card either, so how are you better than me?!” he jabbed an accusatory finger at alhaitham, who barely flinched from beside you.
“firstly, i never said i was better than you, though that is quite the astute observation on your part. i’m glad to see you’re growing your self awareness. and secondly, i am better than you in terms of the current subject because i do in fact have a card. you can try to argue, but your lack of cards sharing your likeness is simply irrefutable.”
the scarlet rage on kaveh’s face matched his red cape, and he slammed his fists down on the table. “you know what? i give up with you! good luck to you–,” he said to you, with considerably less ire, “– and good riddance to you!” he snapped at alhaitham.
you watched as kaveh marched out through wet eyelashes. usually, you’d laugh a bit at their bickering, but the fact you couldn’t get ahold of the alhaitham tcg card did make you sad. it was a bit childish, but with a glass of wine warming up your throat, maybe you were a bit extra emotional.
“... does the card matter that much?” alhaitham asked, ignoring kaveh’s departure completely. there was an uncharacteristic awkwardness in his voice, not because he was mocking you, but because of his genuine lack of understanding of your sorrow. “i’m right here.”
“yeah but like it’s cool. i mean you’re cool too. but like, there’s only 10 of the cards, and only 5 of them have the holographic and gold detailing and it’s just so pretty...”
idly, he wondered if should be offended that you simply regarded him as cool as a holographic piece of cardstock.
“but it’s simply a card. i’m sure it doesn’t have very good combat– er, tcg– prowess anyways.” even he flinched lightly when you dropped your forehead against the wooden table. one of the waiters looked over at you two with concern, but alhaitham simply shook his head.
“yeah, but its a card of you! ugh, how do i say this in a way that makes sense?” you cried, making grabbing motions with your outstretched hands, despite not raising your head. he wordlessly passed you a glass of water. you didn’t drink it, but you lifted your head and pressed the cool surface against your forehead.
“it’s priceless because it’s you. and you’re really cool, you know! cool enough to get a limited run of tcg cards made of you even though no one in this country knows jack shit about you! and it’s just lame that of all the people to not have the coolest card of you is me. and think about it! we don’t even have a kamera, so i don’t even have a picture of you.”
“you could get a portrait done,” he said pointedly, but you snorted.
“look me in the eyes, ‘haitham, that you’d pay money and sit down for someone to paint a portrait of you,”
he didn’t reply for a moment, humming quietly under his breath. at first glance, you would’ve assumed he was agreeing with you, but the careful glint in his eyes was that of careful consideration.
“... if you’d like, we can do that.”
“huh?”
“did i stutter?” ah, there’s the signature bite. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “you wanted a painting, didn’t you? we can get one done.” as he spoke, he was looking into your eyes, unwavering confidence in the emerald and rust. “and let’s make a deal, shall we? if you stop crying, and take care of the hassle of locating a genuine copy of the card, i’ll foot the cost and get it for you. how’s that sound?”
you looked like fish with how your mouth hung wide open, eyes widened with an unbridled kind of shock. alhaitham, decidedly, liked that look a lot. he much preferred it over your crying face and drunken stupor. he especially liked that you broke into an elated grin, all but throwing yourself at him.
“thank you, thank you, thank you!” his face remained passive, calmly sipping his wine though his arm did snake around your waist so you didn’t fall out of your chair, even though he knew your embrace around his shoulders would probably provide enough stability. “don’t worry, i’ll do my best to look for one!”
“good,” alhaitham had a smug sort of smile playing on his lips as he finished off the last of his wine, before gently prying your hands away from him with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness though he did keep ahold of your wrist as he stood up. “boss, put the bill on my tab if you would– not kaveh’s though. he only had a glass, i’m sure he can pay it off.”
he pulled you up, making sure you didn’t fall as you waved and he nodded at the owner, walking swiftly away. you giggled to yourself, knowing he’d been planning to leave for a while– alhaitham preferred a strict schedule after all, and he was a determined man who wanted to get his 8 hours in before work.
“what?” he asked you, eyebrow arching up as you weaved through the streets, hand in hand. it seemed like you were staying at his home that night.
“no, i’m just wondering if you even knew where to find a painter who’d agree to sit down with you,” you chirped, laughing until you caught the smirk on his face. you peered at him curiously.
“oh, i don’t need to find one. what good is living with an artistic freeloader if not to get his services in exchange for shirking off a month’s rent?”
#genshin impact#genshin impact scenarios#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin alhaitham#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham scenarios#hahaha yeah what was that *cups ear* uhuh yeah mhm uhuh i promised a kaveh x reader fic was coming?#surely you jest#nope ofc i didn't make a mini post to make sure i finished ofc i didnt hahahahhahahahha#enjoy a mediocre alhaitham piece bc i guess i am hook lined and sinkered#wc:1140 words#my writing#my post
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Mending Shadows // Chapter 19
Summary:
Y/N was a simple Scavenger of Lucis, until meeting a deadly blow at the hands of an infected creature. At the crossroads of death, they are found by Niflheim’s cryptic Chancellor with his own agenda. Now bonded to Ardyn Izunia, and tossed into the world of Niflheim, Y/N struggles to cope with their new life as an Imperial Icon all the while battling their feelings toward their fate and that of Ardyn’s.
Click here to read on AO3
Ardyn wanted nothing more than to destroy the red sylleblossoms in one fell swoop.
He didn’t care if an Imperial Help was in the way. Nothing would get him to yield his incredible anger and grave sadness. Not when the corpse of his beloved tip toed in and out of the present. Not when her bloodied form taunted him like the flowers. Not when the image of Ifrit burning his eyes from the sockets of his skull played in tangent.
Ardyn put every fiber of his being into the hit. His pupils shrunk to the point where the color of his eyes were barely faint. The energy release drowned him in a euphoria. He had bested his opponent that made a beast out of him.
The moment of triumph was short lived when Ardyn winced, feeling his head suddenly splitting in two. His left hand covered the side his face, teeth gritting so tight against one another he hissed through the small gaps of his gums. He couldn’t hear anything else, but a scream. A scream that carried for eons.
Ardyn’s heart pounded thunderously in his chest while he ran. His breath was so thick, it was suffocating. He could hear several footsteps trailing behind him as a whirl of curses and yells were thrown his way.
“What were you thinking coming to Galdin Quay like that!?”
“You broke our trust!”
Ardyn let out a yelp, tripping and falling forward. His face met the ground, teeth and tongue tasting the scratchy texture of sand. Disgust had to wait another time, for he quickly turned around and began crawling backwards in desperation; trying to get away from the several women and men who showed up with weapons at the ready. He never felt so awestruck and horrified in his life.
“Guys, please,” Ardyn pleaded. He reached up a shaking hand, offering surrender. “I came here to say goodbye. I didn’t come here to harm you!”
“If you had half a mind, you would’ve turned yourself in to the Glaive and written a letter! How dare you endanger not only us, but everyone at the Quay?! How could you be so selfish!?”
“Selfish for wanting to see my friends in my final moments?!”
“Friends?! Friends!?” One of the women exclaimed, her cheeks so inflamed with blood she looked like she’d pop. “Friends don’t bring the godforsaken scourge to their doorstep! This thing has killed many, and you’d risk our lives to suffer like you!?”
“I can’t infect you!” Ardyn yelled, trying to overpower the raised voices. “If I could, I wouldn’t be here! I promise! Please, just let me say something! I can’t die without telling you all that--”
“Run, Y/N.”
“What?”
“Get out of here. Leave Galdin Quay, turn yourself in to the nearest guard, and don’t come back.”
“But--”
“We’ve made our peace!” The woman yelled. “You should make yours while you have time! Go now, before we make the call for you!”
The heartache was so strong, that Ardyn could feel it in his throat. Fear pulled him to his feet, and out of desperation he ran. He ran for so long, and so far, that his knees burned and his bones felt weak. All the while, he was crying so hard that his nose was clogged, and breathing became a chore.
The coast of Galdin Quay shifted into a cold facility. Sand was replaced with vinyl flooring. Walls began to slowly grow into an endless maze of metallic silver and red. Ardyn could hear the violent whistles of an alarm going off. Gunfire was in the distance, and he bounded for the left corner, trying to avoid meeting the end by a bullet or gods knew what else was lurking about. A stoic voice boomed over several intercoms, somehow surpassing the loud noise coming from the alarm system.
Generator shutting down. Please standby. Generator shutting down. Please standby.
The lights began to flicker on and off, until there was nothing but darkness, save for the red light near the end of the hall that continued to be a beacon of hope in Ardyn’s peripheral. He was so close to the exit. So close to escaping this hell, until a tall figure silhouetted in shadow suddenly appeared several feet ahead. Every time the red light blinked, the being got closer and closer. Suddenly, Ardyn felt a strong hand wrap around his neck, hoisting him halfway into the air. He struggled to breathe, legs kicking out in a vain attempt to escape. Through gags and cries, he forced himself to gaze down at his attacker, only to be met with a pair of black and yellow eyes that glimmered in the void.
“Where do you think you’re going, my dear?” The rich voice taunted with a dark chuckle. Ardyn felt the scourge in his body lurch forward, and he let out a hoarse scream. It felt as if his very organs were trying to explode out of his body, if only to escape the thousand and one bites from an unforeseen attacker.
“The fun is just beginning!” The voice hissed with a violent euphoria.
“No!”
Ardyn gasped loudly, returning to the present. His ears rung, and the tempo of his pulse was explosive. Seconds felt like hours as he slowly reintegrated back into his own body and mind. Confusion danced across his hardened expression, feeling like a newborn babe who had finally seen the light, and taken his first breath. This world was unknown to him, yet all too familiar.
“Oh no…” He murmured to himself, remembering all too well what this experience was. A bleedthrough.
As he glanced around the kitchen--finally hearing the sound of his own breath--did he hear Tuti yelling and saw her cradling the body of another. In disbelief, Ardyn shuddered when he witnessed Y/N clasping onto the left side of their face, screaming at the top of their lungs as if they had been stabbed a million times over.
Ardyn winced from the intrusive sound, unsure of what to make of the spectacle, until he remembered. He remembered what he had done. His guard, fears and confusion as to what happened moments ago in his head were pushed aside. He quickly knelt by Y/N, and attempted to grab them, wanting to assess the damages he caused. He knew he screwed up.
An onslaught of slaps prevented Ardyn from continuing further as he fell backward, glaring at Tuti who was hovering over Y/N like a guard dog. The fury in her eyes was annoying, much like her voice.
“What do you think you’re--!”
“You stand back!” Tuti said with all the might her voice could give. As Ardyn tried yet again to intervene, Tuti used her feet to kick at him. “You’ve done enough! Don’t come any closer, I mean it!”
“I beseech you to let me see Y/N! I can--”
“Do not think for one minute I will allow such a thing to pass! Not after what you’ve done! Don’t you hear them screaming!?”
“You are treading in dangerous waters, my dear. If you know what’s best for your very life, you’ll step aside and--!”
“You can be the damned Emperor himself and I’d still tell you the same thing! Get out! Out, out, out!” Tuti violently pointed toward the kitchen exit, yelling at the top of her lungs until her squeaky voice sounded malevolent like a storm.
Ardyn was beside himself. The temper in Tuti’s voice had him both dumbstruck and in awe, not expecting that sort of rage to fester out of an Imperial Help. In shock, he glanced between Y/N and Tuti. His eyes lingering on the former. A quiet sadness began to grow behind Ardyn’s amber eyes while he watched them writhe, and he could feel the sting of his own hit upon his very cheek.
Glaring at Tuti, he growled under his breath and rose to his feet, storming out of the kitchen and slamming the doors behind him.
---
“Chancellor?”
Ardyn blinked while he scanned over the meeting memo.
“Chancellor?”
“Hmm?” Ardyn forced himself to peer up, meeting the eyes of a few councilmen who were awaiting further instruction. He found it difficult to concentrate, especially with a burdened mind.
“Can we count on your signatures by the end of the week?”
“But of course!” Ardyn smiled, trying to save face. “Consider the task complete!”
“Thank you, sir!”
He honestly had no idea what the proposed scripture was, nor did he care what it entailed. All he could think about was the experiences Y/N had unintentionally plagued him with. Especially the one regarding himself, and what happened at MedZin. His fingers grasped at the paper, bracing himself.
Am I truly that frightening…?
“Chancellor,”
Ardyn blinked a few times, and he met Aldercapt’s tired yet spirited gaze. It seemed that last nights festivities gave the old cat back one of his nine lives. The thought humored Ardyn if only for a moment.
“Excellency?”
“You seem to be elsewhere.” Aldercapt commented with a smile, like one a grandparent would give to their naive grandchild. “I take you indulged the drink quite often last night?”
There were some chuckles here and there. Everyone was more or less guilty of coming into work with a hangover, or feeling like they had gorged on enough food to make their stomachs distend. Ardyn played into it, beaming with pride as he let out a tired breath.
“Alas, you’ve caught me red handed!” He slyly confessed, feigning guilt. “I do apologize to the council for my inebriation. I swear on the six I am heeding the wills of the empire!”
“I do understand you must be exhausted,” Aldercapt cleared his throat. “However, I would like to kindly ensure that we are on the same page regarding our affairs in Accordo?”
“Yes,” Ardyn muttered with a nod. He stood up from his chair among the meeting table with the other advisers. He was so fixated on his misery and his duties, that he hadn’t noticed the concerned look of suspicion that was on Verstael’s face from afar.
“After speaking at length with the envoys from Accordo, they’ve come to an agreement. To ensure our alliance remains strong, they’ve purposed a marriage treaty. One between their finest citizen and that of ours. I've taken the liberty to draft the official proposition.”
“What perfect timing!” One of the councilmen interrupted, earning a raised brow and confusion from Ardyn. “Last night, the Lucian made their debut as an Imperial Icon. They would be a great choice for the union!”
“I’m afraid the seed of such an idea won’t come to bear fruit.” Ardyn cleared his throat. “A mate has already been chosen, and the betrothal customs are underway.”
“Excellent work, Chancellor.” Aldercapt complimented. “Who is the lucky citizen of this honor?”
“A charming young woman who is a Lead of Office of military branch 5A. She is of good breeding familial wise. Her lineage has been dedicated to the empire since it’s founding roots.” Ardyn stated proudly.
“While this is good news it’s also unfortunate,” The councilmen frowned. “A bargain like this with the Lucian could’ve been prosperous. It would give Niflheim ties to both Accordo and Lucis in this manner.”
Ardyn imagined the councilmen’s head exploding off his very shoulders. It took him every ounce of restraint to not make it a reality.
“While I do admire your tenacity,” Ardyn began. “Y/N has just become an Imperial Icon. As of their debut, they have formally renounced their Lucian roots and would be considered an Imperial by law. That by itself would null the connections you were hoping to make with Accordo. An Imperial Icon is not an appealing match versus someone who is in military or subsequent branches. If anything, betrothing Y/N would guarantee we’d lose power. I’d argue that doesn’t make Niflheim look strong while we are in the midst of a war.”
Lastly, they are not yours to trade…Ardyn thought bitterly to himself. He was finding it hard to keep a straight face.
“The Chancellor is right,” Verstael croaked, earning the eyes of most. “We would hold much more power through a military citizen than we would a socialite. We can further use the betrothal of this Lead of Office as a means to keep tabs on Accordo’s policies. In betrothal contracts between the empire and a foreign country, a military citizen being married off is still duty bound should Niflheim call for aid.”
While the councilmen made their remarks and agreements, Ardyn studied Verstael carefully. The old man was quite collected yet his fierce eyes gave away that he was troubled. With how pissed Verstael had gotten before the Gala, Ardyn didn’t expect him to have his back. It was almost out of character for the likes of Verstael, and Ardyn braced himself in mind to metaphorically pay up later.
“I believe we should move onto matters concerning the scourge epidemic,” Aldercapt cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the room. “Let us begin with finding out how our enemy is handling the plague.”
Several hours passed, and by the time the meeting was adjourned, everyone made a beeline to the door. Subtleties be damned especially with the majority of the council feeling the after effects of last night. Ardyn and Verstael were of no exception to the rule. Both men sighed in relief with groans when all was said and done as they ventured down one of the corridors.
“The last of the meeting was abysmal, wouldn’t you say? It could’ve been solved via a letter chain rather than a formal sit-down. Aldercapt is losing his grace.” Verstael sighed bitterly, turning his head to Ardyn while they both walked down the main hall of the palace.
“The man loves to hear himself talk.” Ardyn quipped with a snort. “I’m afraid not even the best of us can subdue him.”
“You seemed rather subdued yourself back there.”
“Hm?” Ardyn did a double take.
“I am referring to your general demeanor at the meeting,” Verstael furrowed his brows while his eyes studied Ardyn carefully. “I’ve never seen you look so glum when you’re putting on a show for the ensemble.”
“Oh, I hardly noticed.” Ardyn sarcastically stated while he made a face and shrugged. “You need not concern yourself on my behalf. I’m fairing just fine on my lonesome.”
“Elusive as ever,” Verstael huffed with a smirk. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Ardyn when he noticed the mischievous smile that formed on his associate’s mouth. They both rounded the corner.
“How is your Lucian doing on their meds?”
“They need a refill on their prescription as soon as possible.” Ardyn stated.
Verstael hummed in agreement. “Consider it done. I’m heading to the labs to check on the status of our projects. I assume you will be joining me?”
“No,” Ardyn shook his head.
“No?” Verstael raised a brow. He came to a halt, watching Ardyn follow suit. The dispassionate tone of Ardyn’s voice had Verstael taken back. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown bored of the fruits of our labor. You're usually eager to get your hands dirty!”
“I simply have another arrangement today,” Ardyn sighed. He hummed as if he couldn’t be bothered with Verstael’s outburst. His gaze traveled away from Verstael, now focusing on a large window leading to Gralea itself. “With your brilliance at the helm, I doubt my being there would do much to further progress.”
Verstael felt a twinge of worry take root as he begrudgingly sighed. “Pray tell what you'll be occupied with this afternoon?”
“I’m going fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Yes, fishing.” Ardyn smiled.
“You never fish…”
Ardyn couldn’t help but snort hearing how flabbergasted Verstael was. He cleared his throat, trying to stifle a laugh.
“I’d gladly like to inform you, that I do have hobbies outside of being Chancellor and your personal help for conquest. Besides, after the Gala, I need a good break from being social. I assure you dear friend that me enjoying a simple pleasure won’t deter what’s already been laid forth.”
“I’ll be…” Verstael was still having a hard time processing that Ardyn partook in such things. Then again, Verstael never bothered to ask Ardyn if he did much outside of politics and experimentation. The hobby didn’t seem out of the realm, a bit old school for Verstael’s taste but he wasn’t the 2,000 year old in the room.
“Well, before I let you meander, I want to give you an update regarding your blood samples I took long ago.”
“Oh?”
Verstael nodded. “This morning the last of the tests were performed. Do you want the good or the bad first?”
“Never one to rip the Band-Aid off in a swift motion, eh?” Ardyn made a face, crossing his arms while he sighed in defeat. “Give me whatever tickles your fancy.”
Vertsael huffed, and then reached into his left pocket, drawing out his personal cell. A few clicks to the device, and a small hologram with various data points rose up from the screen; giving both he and Ardyn a visual of the end results.
“I’ve found evidence that the serum MedZin injected you with, suppressed a high count of your white blood cells, and other immunity receptors responsible for your advanced regeneration abilities. Your baseline still exceeds that of a common man, but if you were to be wounded, I hypothesize healing will no longer be instantaneous. Maybe it would take two or more days. Your scourge to blood ratio is slightly out of equilibrium as well. The base genome I found in the serum belonged to something viral related. There’s trace evidence that MedZin may have retro engineered this thing from the scourge itself or a similar viral entity. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are trying the fire v. fire method to battle the scourge; where a virus is pitted against another virus in the hopes that they will cancel each other out.”
It didn’t matter how many years had passed, nor how many research projects Ardyn participated in, Verstael unloaded so much jargon that it hurt his brain.
“Could you perhaps give this to me in layman’s terms?”
“In layman’s terms,” Verstael mockingly teased. “You’re more or less…sick, or as sick as an entity such as yourself can become. If you stay the course, I foresee this being similar to catching a cold for the likes of you; albeit a long one. However, given your unique circumstances outside of this particular situation, I do have some recommendations.”
“Pray tell what?” Ardyn smirked.
Verstael sighed. “You’re not going to be appeased.”
“Oh come now!” Ardyn gestured with his arms out as he laughed. “This is your opportunity to strike me down for giving you slim pickings of the surplus! Surely you can’t be getting cold feet?”
Verstael scoffed. “Now who said I wasn’t still going to do that? Since you are feeling bold, I’ll give it to you straight: you should sever your bond with the Lucian.”
“For what reason?”
“Several,” Verstael forwardly stated. He put his phone back into his pocket and crossed his arms, letting out a sigh. "If you sever your connection, your body could put more resources into restoring itself to full power versus keeping someone alive. If a bleedthrough or some other anomaly were to pass, I theorize it would make your condition worse; maybe even strip you down to being near mortal again given the energy expenditure that comes from your end at the cost of bonding with another daemonic entity. You are essentially the life source after all. Either way you look at it, you’re taking a huge risk carrying a dead weight at the end of your chain. Besides, they’d have a good run for a while before dying. You sure as the six hells wouldn’t have to tend to this elaborate Imperial Icon facade any longer.”
“That cannot happen.” Ardyn stiffly commented.
“And why is that?” Verstael raised a brow before he gazed over Ardyn, as if trying to find a slip behind his mask.
Ardyn rolled his eyes and gesticulated. “I’ve ran some experiments myself. When I am within close proximity to Y/N, my scourge is invigorated. I am assuming this is due to the hive mind at work; subconsciously and telepathically working with pieces of itself to repair extensions of itself. While I may not be able to feed off Y/N any longer, there’s still value in them being near to ensure I don’t falter to my feet like a mortal. And sad to say, even if I were to sever them off, that would undo much of what has already been laid out to get the wider audience of Eos to side with the empire. Knowing Aldercapt, as much as he loathes the Lucian, he knows their value is priceless at this time given the strife we’ve been dealing with from all fronts. If push comes to shove, I’ll happily end it but alas these bloodied hands of mine are tied.”
It took Verstael much effort to not roll his eyes at Ardyn’s grand explanation. “Would you be able to procure official testament to such experiments on your end?”
“Absolutely!” Ardyn grinned. “I’ve been compiling notes as we speak! Why, accusing me of not being scientific is out of the question! Considering it was I who helped you discover the magic bullet for daemonic application in the first place!”
“No need to get theatrical old friend,” Verstael had an inkling that Ardyn was speaking rubbish, but he also had no reason to doubt his honesty here. After all, he was the one living with the sickness at the end of the day and knew his body better than anyone else. “Remember, if it gets worse, you must cut them off.”
“But of course!” Ardyn gave a slight bow with his head out of respect. “With that said, I must be off for my much needed break. I’ll best be seeing you come end week.”
Ardyn lightly tipped his hat toward his colleague and ventured off. His chest began to thrum hard, and he felt a dull aching pain sway against his spine. Ardyn’s brows knitted. He could feel that Y/N was in the midst of a scourge flare, a nasty one if he might add.
A wave of guilt began to sink into Ardyn’s stomach. He once more recalled the morning. The outburst he had toward the sylleblossoms weighed heavily on his mind just as it did all throughout the meeting. He couldn’t let it go. His brain analyzed the memory so many times that it drove him mad. Ardyn let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as he came to the end of the hall. His heart skipped a beat, knowing he wouldn’t rest until he did something about it.
“Izunia!” Verstael hollered.
Ardyn pivoted, turning his body around, and raised a brow at Verstael.
“Yes?”
“Do give your little Lucian my kindest regards,” Verstael smirked as he raised his voice. “I’m sure your time with them will be far more pleasurable than being trapped in a cold room with yours truly. After all, you must have big plans for their debut as Niflheim’s propaganda piece in Accordo.”
Ardyn made a fist all the while keeping his calm composure. If he didn't know any better, Verstael almost sounded jealous. He smiled big, as if he couldn’t be bothered with the suggestiveness of Verstael’s words, and let out a laugh.
“I’ll be sure to tell them you won’t be snatching them away into the night like the other Lucians who dared to cross your path!”
“Farewell, my friend!” Verstaek laughed as he made a right, heading for another room of the palace.
As soon as Verstael was out of sight, Ardyn allowed some of his anger to pass through. He carried a glare that could cut through thick glass. He didn’t like this. That Verstael was beginning to see through him when it came to Y/N, even if his tone and statements were in jest. Gods forbid he ever find out a bleedthrough had already happened. He'd be further pissed at Ardyn's elaborate lie regarding proximity. If Y/N were to be seen as a threat to the plans Verstael and he had for Niflheim, Ardyn knew the potential consequences would be dire.
What exactly am I afraid of…? Ardyn furrowed his brows as he pondered. There was nothing to hide from Verstael, yet there was everything to keep from him. The same could be said for Aldercapt, and even the whole damn empire when Ardyn thought on it hard enough. His vexation was further ignited when he reminded himself of his little display in the council chambers. How resentful he felt at hearing Y/N potentially being traded away. The thought alone made Ardyn uneasy as he growled under his breath, shaking his head at himself. He muttered bitterly as he stormed off.
“The hell have I gotten myself into?”
#mending shadows#ardyn izunia#ardyn lucis caelum#ardyn x reader#ff15 fanfic#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#final fantasy xv#ffxv#ffxv ardyn#gender neutral reader#canon x reader#ffxv fanfiction#final fantasy xv fanfic#fanfic writer#ao3 writer
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Giants are hot
Tw: mild emetophobia warning, depressive episode, angst with sorta happy ending
(@somerandomdudelmao took my writers block and suplexed it. I just have SO MANY thoughts on what's going on in Oscar's mind that it became a tiny fic. If I get it wrong, that just means I get to write another that's more right later!)
Oscar curled up in his bed, trying not to think about the slightly-different gravity this cool spaceship created. It wasn't obvious if he kept moving, and he could forget about it right up until he laid down on something soft. Different gravity meant a different planet size, right? Ward could probably crunch the numbers and piece together the exact size of the Marmor home planet if he wanted to based on some funky science.
Ah, Ward, he was glad the guy was safe now, snoring away just like he had aboard their last, far less cool ship. “We humans need to be around other humans…” he muttered to himself.
It wasn't fair. He and Ward barely knew each other, and for all he played up their “friend” status to others, it was a joke at best and a lie at worst. They were opposites in so many ways.
It wasn't fair. Oscar clenched his fist and tried to will the tears away. It was only supposed to be a fun trip. Harass the big, gorgeous nerd so that when their social circles inevitably tore them apart back on Earth, it wouldn't hurt Ward. Oscar knew better than to think it wouldn't hurt himself, but he knew he could manage. He'd gotten over these things before. These crushes.
It wasn't FAIR! Oscar rolled out of his bed, deciding to go for a walk. “It's not fair.” He muttered as he left, playing as if he hadn't noticed the lack of snores. So what if Ward heard? The guy just thought he was a heartless killer with blood on his hands now.
Not a fool who'd went and fallen for the unattainable nerdy giant. Not a scared man just trying to make use of his only skill to keep them all alive. Not a dude hiding his tears over the image of Ward restrained and terrified and oh, so much like the flying-
It wasn't fair, Ward didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be lightyears away from those he would call friends. He didn't deserve to be stuck with someone like Oscar. He should have been safe at home, fuming that some dumb rich kid stole the chance to go into space and disappeared.
But those were always the options, weren't they? Be hated for stealing the show, or be despised for failing to be useful. So, he stole the show, made friends with the dangerous, and indulged in whatever joy he could find at any moment.
Ecliptica was beautiful and powerful, conniving and sweet. She was someone who would eat him alive for the slightest infraction. It reminded him of home, just a bit less metaphorical. The blatant honesty of that was intoxicating.
Giants were hot. He had a crush on one who would never hug him, and one who would. The alien crush should supersede his failed crush, but it only worsened things both ways. He wished that Ecliptica could care about him more than just a useful pet. And he wished that Ward could look that happy to see him.
Oscar pressed a hand against the wall, letting himself break. Tears welled in his eyes and he saw Ward’s hard stare, unforgiving of the cost the “birds” had paid for their current freedom. The girl screaming for help. The masses torn skillfully from living, breathing, speaking people into just. Meat.
His stomach revolted, and he breathed heavily through the wave of nausea. It didn't help that his tears clogged up his nose. It was like his whole body wanted to punish him.
Ecliptica found him. Of course she did. Her pet was sick.
It wasn't fair.
Where was this comfort for Ward? For the guy with a heart of gold beneath the wary sarcasm? Where was the care and tenderness for him?
Oscar could only hope that it would come from their newest roommate. He wasn't sure how much alone time he could offer them now that he knew how quickly the loneliness and guilt could strike. He couldn't afford to be useless to the Marmor. They all couldn't afford Oscar being useless to the Marmor.
Ecliptica tutted softly as Oscar emptied his stomach again. She would have to be more careful not to let bird blood splash on him in the future and said as much.
“Yeah, I guess I won't get to know the difference between the normal and the tasty ones.”
“We’ll help you grow a stronger stomach.”
Oscar was glad he was too drained to panic from that statement. He simply passed out to the feeling of being held close and tenderly carried somewhere. In his fleeting consciousness, his heart won out and he imagined it was Ward carrying him back home. Safe, nothing asked of him, nothing caused by him, just held like a precious living thing.
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Hold on and Stay Safe ~Carl Grimes x OC~ Pt3
While grappling with the death of his brother in the Woodbury Vs Prison war. Gavin has to learn to live his new life with the people who killed his only living family member. Even once Gavin started to feel like he was creating a home at the prison things go awry and he's forced to flee on foot while trying to keep a promise he made before it all went to hell. As Gavin wanders the woods and fields alone, he manages to find his way to a new safe haven, Alexandria. Where he is taken in and cared for, and while those around him try to tell him otherwise Gavin still holds on to hope that his group is still out there. That Carl is still out there.
I do not own any of the characters or plot points that are not of my own creations, all credit for those go to the owners and writers of The Walking Dead.
The story will also have Carl and all others around his age (ie. Enid and Ron) aged slightly so by the end all "kids" will be 18-19 years old.
Full story on Wattpad
Carl and I didn’t talk for the rest of the day. The few times we did make eye contact he quickly looked away from me, his face expressionless. I guess that’s what happens in the apocalypse, you either shut down your emotions or learn to live with them. As the day came to a close I wandered my way up to my cell. I slipped off my boots and quickly got changed, placing my clothes either in the dirty laundry pile or back in the dresser if they weren’t too dirty from the day. After that I flopped down on my bunk, my face in the musty pillow I slept on. I flip to my back, thinking I probably shouldn’t breathe in whatever bacteria were in the pillow. As I do Patrick walks in, pushing aside the bed sheet pinned up above our door, letting in a few rays from the slowly rising moon that filtered through the windows of the main cell block. He looks at me and smiles, letting the sheet fall behind him, once more concealing the rays of moonlight. As he does I reach over and light the candle next to my bed to give us some light. While my eyes were adjusted to the darkness of the room I wasn’t sure if Patricks were. He quickly gets changed, his back to me. I stare up at the metal frame of the bunk above me, thinking about the conversation I had with Carl. I wasn’t hiding my confusion so once Patrick turned back around and saw my expression he asked. “Hey what's wrong…? You look worried.” I look over at him and sigh, sitting up slightly against the wall behind my bed. “Has…Carl ever talked to you about before we came here? Like, way before, like when he first got here?” Patrick looked a bit surprised by my question but thought for a moment. “Well, not really? He-“ Patrick let out a hard cough, looking like it surprised him as much as me. “Sorry I don’t know what that was.” He said sniffing and shaking his head. “But no he’s only ever really talked about his life before the prison I guess. Why?” He asked sniffing again, his nose sounding pretty clogged up. “Well, after you left us alone earlier today, we got into a bit of a tiff about people turning and having to…” I paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase the rest of it. “Deal, with them.” I finish softly, leaning my head back against the wall. I hear Patrick move around the room and my mattress shift as he sits on the edge of my bunk. “That sounds pretty heavy.” He says as I sigh looking back at him. “Yeah…it wasn’t anything too bad but he wouldn’t look at me the rest of the day and I couldn’t get a read on how he was feeling,” I say with a small shrug, looking over at the slowly burning candle on my bedside table. “We’ll probably be back to normal tomorrow, it was just kinda weird and I was wondering if you guys have talked about it at all.” I see Patrick shake his head from my peripherals. I look over and shrug again. “I’m sure it’s fine, we should probably get to sleep, it’s pretty late and you're starting to sound pretty congested.” Patrick shakes his head and stands. “No I’m fine, it’s probably just the pollen and everything floating around.” He said, rubbing his nose. “But you're right, we should go to bed soon.” I watched as he slowly stood and started climbing into his bunk. “Hey, Patrick?” I ask softly, causing him to stop and look at me. I take a deep breath. “Thank you…for always being here and…” I pause once more, thinking for a moment. “Thank you for being my brother…” I say looking up at him. “After everything with my mom and Josh, I know I became kind of distant and we don’t talk as much as we use to but, I don’t know what I would do without you here,” I say fidgeting with my pj pants. Patrick didn’t speak for a few seconds, then smiled at me. “Of course, thank you for letting me be your brother.” He said then climbed up into the bed. I take a deep breath, letting out all of the anxiety of finally being able to fully open up to Patrick. I lean over and blow out the candle on my bedside table and slowly drift into sleep
#rick grimes#the walking dead#twd#carl grimes#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x oc#fanfic#fanfiction#the walking dead daryl#the walking dead fanfiction#hold on and stay safe
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voices in the fever dream
Title taken from the poem Sickbed by Alan R. Shapiro.
Prompt: Failed Escape
TMNT 2012.
(tw sickness, implied torture, implied noncon, gaslighting, captivity, manipulation, bad caretaking)
You can find the whole collection on AO3 here.
"Just where," a voice asks, "Do you think you're going?"
Leo pauses at the doorway, turning with a sheepish expression. "Hi, Don." He tries to make it sound smooth, but what with the snot in his nose and the frog in his throat he probably sounds like he's been to a glass-eating contest instead.
His brother stands behind him with a pissed-off expression, eyes flickering over Leo's shoulder. "It's fucking hallucinating," he calls.
"...What?"
Donnie bustles to his side, grabbing Leo by the shoulder. "I said, are you fucking hallucinating? Did you hear me say, Yeah, everything's fine, Leo, your fever-ravaged carcass totally won't self-destruct if you go and hurl yourself off a building?"
"Well, no, but--"
"Of course, you didn't, because your shell is supposed to be firmly glued to your bed right now." Donnie takes him by the shoulder and yanks him away from the door, hard enough that Leo almost stumbles. "Cowering before my divine wrath, like a good turtle should."
"Go easy on a guy, willya?" His feet are killing him right now....actually, he's kind of aching and throbbing all over, now that he thinks about it, but his feet especially so. They feel kind of weighed down, almost, and it's hard to move them very far apart. He looks down and swears he sees something glinting between his ankles--
Donnie grabs his chin and jerks his head up, pressing a temperature gun to his temple. It beeps and he pulls it away, turning it over in his hands to look at the readout. "It'll live," he says over Leo's shoulder. "We'll get it some medicine, hot food; when was the last time it ate?"
Leo blinks, rubbing his eyes--or tries to, because his hands are hard to move, too. His ears are ringing, he's shivering all over, and it's hard to think clearly about what Donnie is saying. "What'll live?"
"You will, dummy," Donnie says, tugging him to a halt. He glances down and curses. "Someone get me some blankets!"
"I've got blankets, Don," Leo points out. Doesn't he? He looks down, frowning at the floor where his bed should be. The room looks a bit emptier than he remembers, blurry through his crusted eyes. A lot of dull gray with some brown and red mixed in, none of the glitter of sci-fi posters or comforting ripple of parchment.
He's got some red on him too, Leo thinks. A lot of ugly red, peeking out from behind crisp white bandages. Did he get in a fight before getting sick? Why can't he remember it? He looks down at his plastron, a little caught off guard by how...precise the marks are. Some of them look like cuts or burns, others like bruises from hands or a needle.
Leo tries to get a closer look, but lightheadedness swoops through him and he stumbles, hissing as his hands don't come up in time to keep his shoulder from hitting the freezing wall. It's cold in here, so cold, and smelly too.
Donnie's still talking, his voice rippling and muffled as if through water. "Stop bitching and help me, okay? It's not dying until the Master says it--"
"Donnie."
"What?" His brother turns to look at him, and is there something different about his eyes? His voice? Leo thinks his ears might be clogged, too. Or, who knows, perhaps his brother was right about him hallucinating.
The urge to cough hits him and Leo braces himself awkwardly against the wall, trying to speak between coughs into his shoulder. "I-I-there's s-something. Something wr-wrong."
Donnie huffs. "Obviously, dumbass. You're sick, and you're making things worse by exerting yourself."
Leo shakes his head stiffly; there's no rustling of cloth across his neck, where did his mask go? "Something..." he repeats, swallowing and licking his lips. "My hands don't work right, Don. Or my feet."
"Yes, they do. Your body just isn't letting them move them right now." Donnie sounds so calm, so sure--almost condescending. Not worried at all, although he usually gets so anxious when they're sick, convinced they've got one of a hundred exotic diseases, that Leo sometimes has to calm him. "You have to rest."
His eyes are different, too. Sharper, darker. Less of Don's familiar brown and red, like from a different creature altogether. Leo can't look at them.
He turns away, propping his cheek on the freezing wall. "I have to do something," he grits out, squeezing his eyes shut as his legs quiver beneath him; the bad one in particular feels a little bit like it's on fire. "I have to--I have to do something."
"Do what?" Donnie asks, softer now. Leo cocks his head, trying to get a good look at him. If only his head stopped aching, if only he could think.
"I have to..." He shakes his head, trying to think of all the things he should be doing right now. Washing the dishes, sweeping the dojo, training, talking with Sensei, sparring with Raph, playing video games with Mikey, making coffee--coffee for Donnie...
"....I have to do something," he repeats, lamely.
"Do you?" Donnie's fingers wrap around his chin, and it's strange, like there are too many of them and not enough at once. Donnie tugs his head up, making Leo look straight into those strange eyes. "Have to go somewhere, maybe? Like home?"
"H-home?"
"Yes, Leonardo. Home." A finger moves across his cheek, rubbing gently, and the motion feels...odd. Familiar, but not Donnie-familiar, familiar in a way that makes Leo feel a little bit sick, like the word Leonardo in his brother's mouth. "If you tell me where it is, I could take you home."
Leo blinks, the world fluttering before his eyes. "But we are...home," he says carefully. "We are home," and more confidently this time, because it has to be true, and his brain isn't letting him focus on any other possibility. "You didn't want me to go anywhere, remember, Donnie?"
His brother stares at him for a few seconds, then pulls away with a sigh. "No," he says, and the disappointment on his face stings. "I didn't."
"'M sorry," Leo mumbles, not sure what for. He just knows that he's probably failed his brothers in some way, again.
"It's all right." Donnie's smiling at him now, and his eyes look normal, if a bit larger and brighter than usual. "We'll talk more about it, okay?"
Leo closes his eyes. "I have to," he murmurs, feeling kind of stupid now, but not quite able to make himself stop. "I have to--"
"Hey, whatever happens, we can handle it, all right?" From a distance, Leo can feel a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down. Donnie's hand, probably though the angle isn't quite right considering the direction of his voice. "We're not helpless, Leo. You don't have to look after us all the time."
"I know that," Leo mumbles automatically. He sucks in a breath as his battered body tumbles to the hard ground, barely cushioned by a tangle of crisp, starched blankets, and wrinkles his nose at the hospital scent as they're tucked into place around him.
"Then rest, okay? Your body will burn through the fever soon." Donnie's voice is coming from everywhere at once, sliding in and out of years, dragging along the inside of his skull. His brother looms over him, smiling, and Leo smiles weakly back. "You're very resilient, little one. Trust me."
Leo can't think about what that means, exactly, barely twisting his head free of the blanket bundle in time to spit phlegm across the floor. He wants to wipe his mouth, but his hands are stuck. Everything's stuck.
"All right, stick it," someone says from far away, and a needle sinks into his wrist. Leo opens his mouth, but before he can remember what he wanted to say exhaustion crashes over him like a wave. He slumps back into the pillow with a sigh, suddenly boneless, and no longer feeling that concerned about what he does or doesn't have to do.
Through fluttering eyes, he can see feet making their way out the door, four or two or a hundred. "Thought for sure you were gonna jump it right then and there, sick or not," someone says, their voice echoing as if down a mine shaft. There's an ugly snicker, and a little voice at the back of Leo's mind whimpers with bad memories.
"Oh, shut up," another voice says, and then they're laughing the way his brothers laugh when Leo's not sure of the joke. The door closes with a slam that cuts all the way into his bones.
Leo's eyes slide shut, and he turns his face into the blanket, curling up as tight as he can to keep out the shivers. You're safe, he reminds himself, and it's surprisingly easy to believe as sleep takes him under.
#tw sickness#tmnt#angstpril2022#angstpril#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt 2k12#tmnt 2012#implied torture#implied noncon#captivity#manipulation#bad caretaker#leonardo#leo#donatello#donnie#the foot clan#imprisonment#gaslighting#tw gaslighting
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Chapter Thirteen of My Everlasting Light
A Stardew Valley fan fiction about the relationship between Sebastian and my farmer, Lily.
Synopsis: Sebastian enlists the help of Sam to create a beautiful gift for a distraught Lily
Cast: Original Female Character, Sebastian, Sam, Emily, Emily's Parrot
Contents: Established Relationship (Dating), Mental Health Issues, Friendship Dynamics, Love, Romance, Comfort
Warnings: None
A Garden for Lily
"So, when did you become such a pro at gardening?" Sam asked, mopping his brow and taking a moment to rest by leaning on his spade. It was a cloudy day but still quite hot and they were trying to plant out an entire flower garden after all.
"I didn't really," Seb said, carefully filling in around the roots of the dahlias he had just nestled into place. "But I have been picking Evelyn's brain for a good week now. I think she kind of enjoyed the chance to plan it all out actually."
"Pity you couldn't get that grandson of hers to come help with all the digging," Sam groaned as he started up his work again.
"Alex? Hah, he's too busy with his gridball training. He seems like an okay guy but I swear he's got muscles where his brains should be!"
"That's what I mean," Sam pulled a rock out of the ground and flung it aside. "We could use a guy like that right now."
"Well, I'm not exactly on good terms with him," Seb said with a wry smile. "I expect I'm just some weird emo to him. I don't think we've ever exchanged more than a handful of words in all the time I've lived here."
"Hah, just my luck I'm your best friend then, I get to do all the hard work!"
"I thought you were gonna ask Abby to come too?"
"Huh, well, not that she would have been much use, but her nose has been so far out of joint since I told her to back off you and Lily that I didn't think she'd really want to come over and help plant a garden for her."
"She's still not over that?" Seb lifted a weary eyebrow.
"Uh, dude… you haven't noticed that she hasn't visited you once since the flower dance?"
"To be honest I've just been enjoying the peace and quiet."
Sam snorted with laughter at that and stood up straight again, knocking the clogged dirt off his spade. "Yeah, I know she can be a bit much at times, must be all those teenage hormones! It would be nice if she'd finally get over it, though. I can't believe how long she's dragging this out." He grabbed two cans of cola from the nearby cooler and offered one to Seb who took it with a quick word of thanks and sat down cross-legged to pop the tab.
"Ah, seriously, I know what you mean, Sam, but I just don't have the headspace for her crap right now." He took a deep breath and looked up into the sky. "Lily's been so upset since that ex of hers turned up and all Abby's ever done is make her feel bad. I'm not particularly well disposed towards people like that right now."
"I hear you, man," Sam said, dropping to the ground beside his friend. "You'd think all this stuff with that Barry asshole would have softened her up a bit but she doesn't seem to care about anyone's feelings except her own. Hell, I've already told her a hundred times over that if she just gave Lily a chance she'd like her but she won't listen." He tapped the side of his can awkwardly, seeming to consider his next choice of words carefully. "Aaaanyway… I know you don't care right now, but she made me promise to tell you that she's thinking of leaving town soon, so if you want to say goodbye to her…"
Sebastian groaned and rubbed the cold can over his hot forehead. "For fuck's sake, seriously? Does she think I'm going to go rushing to her just because she's threatening to leave?"
"Probably," Sam frowned, cracking open his own can. "You know what a drama queen she can be sometimes. I think she has this dumb idea that if she acts like she's leaving you'll all of a sudden realise it's her you're in love with and leave Lily to dash to her side."
"Don't even say that as a joke," Seb exclaimed, eyes flashing. "Not now, not ever. There's no way in hell I'd ever leave my Lily, least of all for Abigail!"
Sam looked shocked at his outburst and lifted his hands in defence. "Woah, I know that, dude. I'm just saying what's going through the crazy goth girl's mind, that's all!"
Seb heaved a deep sigh and looked down at his own hands, covered in dirt and bedding soil. It had been a long day's work so far.
"Sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just… I'm really on edge these days."
"You really love her, don't you?"
"Yes," Seb said. He looked out at all the flowers they'd already planted. For her. All for her.
She'd been so brave this last week. Every day she fought her anxiety so hard it exhausted her and it hurt him to see her struggle so. After all she'd been through all he wanted to do was make her happy again and he'd been spending as much time with her as he possibly could but it never seemed like enough. He wanted to do more for her. So much more. Which was why he was making this garden. Something beautiful for her, something to make her smile and forget all her fears, even if just for a little while. Something to show her just how much he loved her.
"I do. She means everything to me."
"I envy you, man."
Seb stared at him in surprise. Sam's head hung low, his hands dangled loosely between his thighs. He'd never seen him look so serious.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm stoked for you, dude, I really am. But I envy you too." A wistful smile played over his features. "When I see the way you look at Lily… well, I want that for myself, y'know?"
"I thought you and Penny…?"
"Nah," Sam laughed, finished his drink, crushed the can and tossed it into the bag they'd set aside for garbage. "It's nothing like you and Lily. What you two have is special, man. It's magic." He looked at his friend meaningfully. "Don't ever let it get away."
"I don't intend to," Seb said quietly, wondering if Sam somehow knew the crazy idea that had been taking root in his mind recently. He shook his head. No, there was no way he could know, he hadn't discussed it with anyone. Still, he'd never known his friend talk like this before.
"Come on," Sam pushed himself back up. "We'd better get on with this or they'll be back before we're done!"
Seb climbed to his feet too. "We'll be okay," he said, shaking off his momentary confusion and picking up the next tray of flowers. "I asked Emily to keep her busy till late evening."
"Heh, you're conspiring with everyone these days!"
"Gotta keep on Emily's good side, she's Lily's best friend, besides which, I need her help for the second part of this plan."
Sam laughed, attacking the ground with fresh vigour. "See, this is what I mean, I'd never go to this much trouble for Penny."
"You are going to this much trouble for me, though!"
"That's different," Sam said. "You're my bro, bro!"
The two young men high fived each other before turning back to their work in the rapidly expanding garden.
Lily smiled wanly as Emily emptied out her many bags on her sewing table and launched into excited chatter about the varied contents. They'd spent all day in Grampleton at the annual craft fair and Emily had been in her element, flitting from stall to stall like an excited and extremely colourful butterfly. Lily, on the other hand, had struggled constantly just to manage to not run away screaming. The incident with Barry was still far too fresh in her memory and every day felt like a battlefield to her at the moment. All the work she had done to cope with her anxiety since coming here felt like it had been undone in an instant and although logically she knew that wasn't the case and that if she just remained patient she would get better as more time passed, she felt nothing but relief to be back in the relative peace and safety of her friend's bedroom.
Relative because Emily's fervour was contagious and her parrot was soaking up the atmosphere, hopping from foot to foot on its perch and squawking loudly.
"Now shush, parrot," Emily tapped its beak. "You'll have Haley in here complaining at us if you carry on!"
"You really should give that parrot a name, Em," Lily said, forcing herself to smile more broadly. She knew she needed to fight to overcome this, she had been through so much to get to where she was now and she refused to go back to being the emotional wreck she used to be.
"I don't want to give him an identity crisis," Emily said seriously. "He already knows who he is. Who am I to rename him?"
Lily held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm so glad I never had these issues with Nyx!"
"Ah well," Emily beamed. "Nyx is different, you're her momma after all!"
Lily laughed lightly and carefully rummaged through the materials Emily had brought back with her. "You have some really great pieces here, what are you going to do with them?"
Emily looked around after settling down her parrot, surreptitiously pulling aside one wrapped bundle. "Oh, I have some ideas…" she looked cautiously at her friend. Thank goodness she hadn't noticed. Seb would be so disappointed if she gave away that part of his plan.
She remembered what he'd said about keeping Lily busy as long as possible and glanced at the clock. She smiled, remembering the energy that had been coiling around him as he told her all his ideas. A beautiful mix of soft peaches, pinks and sunset reds. She'd give him a little longer, just so that everything could be perfect.
"Here," she pulled out a large sketchbook of her designs. "I'll show you some of them."
"Oh wow!" Lily exclaimed as she turned the pages. "These are all so lovely, I wish I could afford to commission you for another dress."
Emily smiled again. 'Ah, Sebastian,' she thought to herself. 'You're going to make Lily so happy with all of this.'
"Holy shit!" Sam thumped his spade into the ground and stood up, hands on hips, looking out over the garden they'd created. "Did we actually do all this?"
In the space of one day they'd turned a bare corner of the farm into a little terraced garden, complete with arbour, trellises and bench, all courtesy of Seb's mom, plus a tiny cobblestone path running through the grass they'd laid around the many flower beds.
"We did," Seb sighed. It had been a long day but worth it. He couldn't believe they'd actually managed it. It seemed like he'd been planning this forever and now, finally, it had all come together.
He turned to look at his friend in the fading evening light. "Thanks, Sam. I couldn't have done this without you. Any of this. You know, back at the house that time as well. Just… thanks."
Sam slapped his friend on the back. "No worries. I got you, bro," he grinned. "Now, for Yoba's sake, let's go get cleaned up. I'm so filthy I can't stand it!"
Seb laughed and together the two of them slung their spades over their shoulders, gathered up their rubbish and headed back to the farmhouse.
By the time Lily arrived back at the farmhouse it was just starting to get dark and she was relieved to see the porch lights burning as she approached. She knew Seb would be there waiting for her, he always was these days, and she was eternally grateful for his constant, comforting presence, still too scared to spend her nights alone at the moment. Thankfully, she felt a little distracted from all that right now as she had passed Sam on her way home and he'd grinned so much when she asked what he and Seb had been up to all day that she was burning with curiosity despite her anxiety.
"Lily," she heard his rich, melodious voice as she approached and saw him standing in the doorway, holding a lantern in one hand. His pale skin glowed in the golden light, storm coloured eyes large and lustrous as he reached out to welcome her home, drawing her in with his free arm and kissing her gently.
"Sebby," she sighed softly as they momentarily broke apart. "I missed you so much." She reached out to touch his cheek and hair, letting her fingers trail through the silky waves, never tiring of the way he felt. She was so glad to be back with him again. Truly, the only time she felt safe these days was when she was in his arms.
"I missed you too, baby," he said with the sweet little smile he saved only for her. He kissed her again, for longer this time, pulling her closer with a sigh of his own.
"Come with me, Lily," he took her hand, eyes dancing with anticipation. "There's something I want to show you."
Curiosity flaring anew she let him lead her away from the farmhouse and out into the dark night, the warm light of the lantern casting a gently swaying beam in front of them. She felt a little bewildered as he led her away from the land she was currently working on. Where was he taking her? There was nothing down here but a narrow, tree- lined path and some empty land that she planned on turning into a garden if and when she ever found the time.
She blinked in confusion, she could see lights ahead. What on earth was going on? She was sure there was nothing to see out here.
"Seb? Where are we going?"
He didn't say anything, just led her carefully down some small steps and under a pretty white arbour that she knew had definitely not been there when she left that morning.
"Oh!"
She lifted her hand to her mouth. More softly glowing lanterns lit up a small but beautiful garden, a seemingly endless variety of colourful blooms nodding delicately in the night breeze, their scent drifting sweetly on the warm air. Wooden trellises lined the sides and a little bench nestled in the middle of a sea of lush grass, watering can sitting nearby, as though waiting for her to start tending the flowers.
She couldn't believe it. In just one day? He'd done all this? Was this what Sam had been grinning so excitedly about?
"Sebby," she looked up at him, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "You did all this… for me?"
He smiled nervously, placing his lamp by his feet. She could see a small flush forming on his cheeks. "Well, I had a lot of help from Sam, and my mom, and Evelyn." His flush grew brighter, his words faster, more apologetic. "I know it's not perfect, the climbers need more time to get established, some won't bloom for very long, it's too late in the season really, although I did try to make sure that a lot of them are perennials, and some of the plants kind of wilted when we transplanted them but…"
"Oh Seb!" she flung herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. "Thank you so much! It's beautiful, just beautiful! I love it and I love you!"
He laughed along with her and picked her up, lifting her into the air, gazing up at her with so much adoration that for a moment she forgot all her pain and all her fear and just lost herself in the sweetness of his love. He brought her back down and she buried her face in his chest and held on to him for all she was worth.
If she had him, if she just had her precious Sebby, then maybe she could finally get through all of this and make it to the other side.
Read Chapter Fourteen
Cute little page dividers by @chachachannah / Boring old plain green ones by me!
#stardew valley sebastian#sdv sebastian#stardew sebastian#sebastian stardew valley#sebastian sdv#sebastian stardew#stardew valley sebastian fanfic#sdv sebastian fanfic#stardew sebastian fanfic#stardew valley sebastian fanfiction#sdv sebastian fanfiction#stardew sebastian fanfiction#stardew valley fanfic#sdv fanfic#stardew fanfic#stardew valley fanfiction#sdv fanfiction#stardew fanfiction#stardew valley sebastian x original female character#sdv sebastian x original female character#seb x lily
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September 14, 2022
A journal blog is a failure, a poor idea. A journal blog is last resort and a procrastination.
Can’t finish a short story/ novel/ essay like a ‘real’ and ‘paid’ ‘writer’ can.
I write in notebooks, margins of novels, on newspapers, and receipts. It’s usually not very good but I look cool doing it.
The writing is bad or even worse, illegible.
What defines ‘bad’, you ask?
Bad is when it’s not funny or interesting and instead boring and hard to follow. Bad is when the spectacle is not spectacular. No one is transfixed, no fictional dream achieved. Bad is when you realize you’ve wasted your life doing something dumb. When art is not funny or interesting and instead boring and hard to follow, it’s embarrassing for the producers, the spectacle and the audience, which triggers hopelessness in everyone.
(a.) Excuse me, but don’t you think you’re inability to write how you wish might have to do with how you’ve been diagnosed with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS), resulting from a traumatic brain injury in July 2022, and are currently seeing an occupational therapist to identify your ‘deficiencies’ and regain prior brain function?
(b.) No. And don’t be dramatic you fucking transvestite, I was like this before.
When was the last time an adult skid their knee? Or fell hard on their palms? I always had beat up palms and knees when I was a kid and now all I have is a deep throat and a passport.
You’re bombing sweetie. That’s hack. *Clown reference*. Most likely crap. The sentence structure in my scribbling’s are typically clogged, and confusing.
My favorite time to journal is when I want people to look at me. Every human is predictable, looking for validation. I write down how I watch others seek acceptance and how I compare. The fat comedian chugs beer after his killer set, surrounded by three women who he bullies for finding him funny. They screech at his impression of their cadence, portraying them as moronic and irrelevant squirrels. They flip their shiny hair and the comedian sweats. I watch the performer who bombed standing next to him. He smiles into his soda water, scratching his neck until its red.
Do the women know they’re being made fun of? Am I judging them too? Am I judging everyone or loving everyone? Performers distrust their own fans because of how much they don’t believe in themselves, right? Falling in love is supposed to help you fall in love with yourself. Appreciating them makes you appreciate yourself.
and what we should do about it.
Men gargle yellow spit with their pants down to their knees asking if I can spare a dollar. I’m at a bus stop, a wrinkled woman growls at me. I’m holding a pen and she’s holding a bottle of pee. ‘Is it her own pee?’ I write around people I’ll never see again and those I wish would grab me hard to give me a kiss. Press your hips into me, I write about the guy sitting across from me. I scribble about the tragedy of a disconnect next to fire pits and on a sidewalk curb.
“I’m sorry but I just have to ask, what are you writing about?” The guy I didn’t notice until now asks.
“You”, I tell him.
These boys can’t read what I write but they see my desperation. It’s an act.
This journal blog is a rambling of incomplete ideas, as I move unedited. Personal and crude. Finger pound and twiddle these keys, copying down what the fuck happens inside your brain. What goes on inside my brain is unfinished and empty, hungry and tired.
Example;
Walks into a bar to write;
Blonde lady who is sad and lumpy in feather headband. She reminds me of yellow pudding. These barstools are all ripped and fucked up I wonder if someone has ever gotten ripped open and raped here. I have gotten raped at least that’s what I tell people but did I just fuck on cocaine and he didn’t listen when I told him to stop in the middle wait this music is good and this bartender is beautiful because of how ugly she is. Lopsided face with a fat nose. What a bird, what a Jew. Black people have wide nose holes. I ask her how her day is and she responds well can’t complain I am free and employed. I say yeah yeah there is always space to complain, it’s really hard out here but we’re all doing ok. Right? I beg her while simultaneously giving her hope because of how cute I am. I feel always ready to cry because of how alone I am and how to quell this feeling I want everyone to get the fuck away with me from me by me but I just keep smiling and this calms a situation because I am a leader. I hope I grow old, always in the wings preparing for my cue to enter. Stage fright. Stardom. The director. This is total crap but gives you something to do
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omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3
here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)
didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3
pairing: jock!jk and oc
warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)
soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz
(titled — honeymoon fades)
Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.
It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).
“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.
“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.
“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.
“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”
You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.
“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”
She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.
“Huh.”
“What do you mean ‘huh’?”
A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”
“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words
“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”
“But he should!”
“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”
And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.
“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”
“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”
“But I do! He knows this.”
“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.
You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.
That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.
So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.
It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.
“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”
And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.
Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.
“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.
You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.
“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.
“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”
You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.
“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”
“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.
“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.
“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.
“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”
Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”
“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.
His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.
“Do you really?”
“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.
“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.
“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”
“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.
“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”
He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.
“You don’t love me.”
“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”
“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”
You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.
“I think we should break–"
“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”
His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”
“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”
He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.
“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”
Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”
He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.
“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.
“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.
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Female! Reader with a deep voice|| ‼️
irl / in-game
Genre| fluff? maybe? I’d say fluff-
o n e-s h o t||
Sypnosis|
Y/N has never once hinted at they’re gender, and with not doing a face reveal, and having a rather deep voice makes her friends believe shes a guy. It wasn’t one day till they we’re goofing off on her stream that the internet learns the truth.
Photo Editor| me!! I edited them myself! Just supposed to be little photos to depict Tommy, Dream, George and Sapnap respectively. (Also would you guys like to see me edit more stuff for posts? I’d love to know!)
Requester: @m0on-blue!! Thank you for the request, this was a really fun idea!
Warnings: swearing!!
ft. Phil, Wilbur and Tubbo!
It was another day, and another stream. Y/N was currently messing around with Tommy, Dream, George and Sapnap on the SMP. The joyful sound of laughter could be heard all throughout their headsets, spinning in they’re chairs, banging on desks, and many more antics we’re shared between the five.
Y/N was currently doing a Media Share stream, and her fanbase was not afraid to send her into a wheezing fit. Wether its the “cheeto” video or a funny moment SMP animatic, they truly had no mercy. The five we’re all having a good time, sharing laughs and passing back and forth witty, sarcastic banter.
“I- i dr- *wheeze* dropped kicked that child in self defeNSE-“ Dream wheezed out, banging on his desk as his microphone picked up his laughing fit. “Its not even that funny Dream, calm down big man.” Tommy laughed, looking to his camera then back to his monitor. His face was slowly turning red from the amount of laughing he was doing.
“Tommy i just think your jealous that Dream finds Techno funny and not you.” Y/N giggled, they’re in game avatar sprinting around in front of Tommy’s house where they all sat, laughing they’re asses off. “OI DICKHEAD- HEY DICKHEAD I HAVE YOU KN-“ The blonde brit started screeching, snaking his fingers through his fluffy blonde hair. He soon got cut off by Sapnap telling him to shut up, as George laughed in the background, jumping on the fence that surrounded the landscape. His facecam simply showing him in his grey hoodie, with his iconic ‘clout’ goggles.
Another video soon played on Y/N’s stream, it was a tiny animation with a very cute, round, soft aesthetic style. It was simply a all white character, no hair, clothes, the only features the person had was simply eyebrows and a mouth.
The little character sat in the bottom left of the screen, a coral background making the character pop out even more. The character seemed to be thinking, when text soon appeared on the video.
“is Y/N a boy or a girl? Why not... both?”
The screen then showed a female character doing a tiny dance, as she soon switched genders in the middle of the screen, Y/N then appeared on the other side as a boy, as he danced, flipped his bangs and grinned, the video soon cut off as Y/N’s chat flooded with messages.
katty_kat103: woman Y/N pog?? 👀
fangirlinnit: okay but male Y/N is low key hot ngl
asleepyfans_inc: headcannon that Y/N can switch genders whenever :]
The chat was clogged up with messages, dono messages much the same. Y/N simply laughed, hearing Wilburs text-to-speech message.
“Wait i thought Y/N’s gender was an enigma that only gender-cryptids like them can know”
Y/N giggled again, clicking keys on her keyboard as she sprinted around in-game, soon stopping to eat.
“Listen all I’ll say is the male gender bend looks pretty poggers.” Y/N said, adjusting they’re mic and fixing they’re headset.
“Wait what-“ George said, his eyes widening in shock ad he stared off to the side before looking back up to his camera.
“WOMAN POG???” Tommy yelled, looking away from his monitor to his other, as he soon became a mumbling, incoherent mess. “CAN WE GET SOME PRIMES IN CHAT BOYS?? CAN WE GET SOME PRIMES FOR THIS VERY SPECIAL OCCASION? LET THE PRIMES FLOOD I- YES!!” Tommy yelled, shifting in his seat, rolling around.
“Wait Y/N your female?” Dream asked, sprinting around her while eating. She simply snorted, “always have been, piss baby.” Dream and Sapnap laughed at her snarky remark as Sapnap suddenly said,
“Y/N gender reveal?? NOT CLICKBAIT!” Which got Y/N laughing harder, so bad to the point she almost fell out of her chair and onto the floor. All of them giggled, this whole situation came out of left field, yet left them more hysterical than any of the other moments in the stream.
It was only a few minutes that passed, them all calming down and going back to chatting, courtesy of George asking them to not bust his ear drums. It wasn’t even a second that passed until 3 other members entered the call.
“Y/N YOUR A WOMAN?!??” Tubbo yelled, as he logged into the Dream SMP, running towards where they all were. Wilbur started to yell “Y/N Gender Pog!!!” As he stretched his sentence out, as Phil simply laughed in the background, a huge grin on his face as he shook his head, fingers grasping his nose as he laughed harder at his action.
“Yes Tubbo, yes i am a woman.” Y/N laughed, as she went to go grab her drink from the side of her desk. Y/N sipped on her drink, but Wilbur soon perked up, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Wait is this canon? Like a canon event?” Wilbur talked, the mic practically picked up his smug smile as Y/N spit her drink over to the side, as she choked a little.
Tubbo and Phil were hysterical, Dream turned into a kettle, Tommy started yelling, his mic cutting in and out as Sapnap laughed and a drowned out “what” from George all happened at once. Y/N sat back in her seat, staring wide eyed at her ceiling as she thought,
“This SMP is filled with a literal bunch of adult-children AND LITERAL children.”
She wouldn’t have it any other way though.
a/n: hello again!! This was my first ever requested fic!! Pog!! :D
Anyways, i hope i did this request justice. I wrote this at 3:28 AM so it might not be that good, as well as i got road blocked in multiple parts of the fic, so im sorry if it came out as OOC or bad!!
Anyways, i should probably go to bed, if not god knows what will happen to me lol my sleep shcedule is already all over the place. But i hope you all have a wonderful day/night wherever you are!! Make sure to hydrate and have a snack, stay happy and simp for Wilbur :]
#mcyt x reader#mcyt imagine#mcyt fanfiction#dream smp x reader#dream smp imagines#dream smp fanfiction#dsmp x reader#dsmp imagine#dsmp fanfiction#dreamer posts ♠️
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Falling in Love again.
Fandom- Bleach
Ships- Kisuke Urahara x Reader
Warnings- Some language, Implied Sexual Assault, Past sexual Assault.
Summary- Imagine a tally mark appearing on your skin every time you fall in love. When your tally mark is Red then it's onesided, Black then the love is returned. If it is scarred then your love ended traumatically.
You have a scarred tally mark and a red tally mark, the red one being for Kisuke Urahara.
Word Count- 3,928
You led in bed staring down at your wrist where a single red tally mark decorated your skin. In this world, a tally mark showed your love. People who fell in love easily were littered with marks, whereas the people who were only in love with one person would have one. If the mark is red it's unrequited, if it was Black then the person you love returns your feelings.
Your singular red mark was for Kisuke Urahara, a friend of your friends. You went to his shop with your friends whenever they needed something from him seeing as that seemed to be your only excuse to see him. You didn't want to come across as weird for visiting on your own. Especially when you have no real powers like the others.
Annoyingly you had one other mark on your arm, a scarred tally mark, one from your ex. In this world a scarred tally would mean that your love for them ended very abruptly and traumatically. No one knew about that tally, you were very good at keeping it hidden, whether it was with a well placed bracelet or a long sleeved shirt.
Rolling onto your side you let out a huff. It hurts, it shouldn't but it does. Knowing that the one man you love doesn't feel the same way. You barely get to see him since your friends don't visit that often. But you'll take whatever time you can with him even if you don't get to talk.
Well, only time will tell.
---
"Y/N!!!" A fist slammed against the door multiple times as Ichigo's voice yelled your name. "C'mon man! We've gotta get to Hat 'n' Clogs!" Sleepily, you raised your head taking a glance out of your open window.
"Wh-what for?" The early morning rasp in your voice made it a note or so deeper than it actually was. You stretched out and hopped out of bed throwing on the nearest clothing you had, which happened to be a (f/c) long knit sweater, a pair of black leggings and some brown boots.
"Y/N! We haven't got all day, move your ass!" You shook your head and ran out of the house not brushing your hair, figuring you could comb it down with your fingers on the way there.
By the time you got there you realised there was no point fixing your hair until you got inside in the first place. It was so windy outside that your hair just kept blowing around which made it worse than before. "Hey, come in guys." You froze for a moment as heat rushed to your face, you brushed a small amount of hair over your face, hoping he didn't notice it.
Quickly yet quietly you walked into the shop following behind Ichigo whilst you brushed down your hair. Kisuke stopped you briefly "You missed a spot." and with nimble hands, he began to flatten down your hair. "There, done." He gave you his signature grin, placing a hand onto the small of your back leading you to the rest.
Once Kisuke leads you to your friends he then gets down to business. “So, I am assuming you guys are here for the training grounds, right?” The ginger he questioned nods his head. You didn’t have any special abilities at all, but your friends knew you were great moral support and a generally good person so they let you in on their secret.
Most of the time you find days like this one quite boring, sure you’d get to see Kisuke but you usually have nothing to do. On some days you would help Tessai, Jinta and Ururu with their work or well, in Jinta and Ururu’s case, you would do their work for them.
When your friends finish training and all head home Kisuke typically gives you something for your time. At first he would give you the equivalent of minimum wage for the amount of work you do but recently (due to finding out your love for (favourite collectable)) he would end up getting you those instead.
The boys and Orihime go down into the training room, leaving you upstairs in the shop with Kisuke. “So, um… Is there anything you need me to do today?” you asked in your typically meek voice. Being with Kisuke made you so nervous you could barely talk, so being able to say that was a blessing.
Kisuke tilted his hat back with his thumb as he thought about things you could do around the shop. “Not that I can think of, for once Jinta and Ururu did the work I assigned for them.” You fake gasped at his comment. They finished their work… Early?
“No way, Jinta and Ururu finished their work? Damn that never happens.” Kisuke laughed at your comment and squeezed your shoulder. Yeah, when you did hang out with Kisuke alone you did have a lot of fun, but you still don’t like to intrude if you don’t have a reason to.
“Tell me about it.”
“Well what am I meant to do then?!” You dramatically waved your arms in the air in exasperation. When you did so Kisuke caught sight of the two tally marks and promptly grabbed your wrist.
“A Scar and a Red tally mark. I’m sure those are both fun stories.” He lightly massaged the scarred tally on your wrist making you flinch. He looked up at you in concern, dropping your arm. “Sorry.”
“It is fine, I’m just- No one has ever seen that before, as you can imagine I’m not particularly keen on anyone seeing that one..” You explain, rubbing the scar to try and ease some of the emotional turmoil.
“Does anyone know? Ichigo? Orihime? Chad?” He listed off some of your friends and to each one you shook your head. No one knew this, and you were planning on keeping it a secret from everyone, not even Kisuke was meant to know. “Would you mind telling me?” You shook your head once more. You didn’t even want to remember the scar, much less the asshole who caused it.
Kisuke rubbed your shoulder, trying to soothe your pain with a small smile on his face. "It's fine, you don't have to talk about it. But if you ever need to, I'll be happy to listen." Tears start to pool in your eyes, you've never spoken about it to anyone outside of your family, maybe it would be good. But not now.
You gave Kisuke a tight hug, the tears in your eyes spilling out. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." You kept repeating over and over into his chest. Kisuke was shocked at first but wrapped his arms around you, rubbing his fingertips up and down your spine to calm you down, his cheek pressed into your hair.
Both of you stayed that way for a while until you finally calmed down, letting go of the tall, green clad man. "I'm sorry about that- I should probably head home." You scrubbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your jumper with an appreciative smile on your face.
"Hey, it is fine." Kisuke messed up your hair with one of his hands. "It is nothing to worry about, just know that I am here if you need to talk. Just because you don't have powers doesn't mean you can't come here whenever you want to." He cups your face in his hands with a grin "YOU are an absolute pleasure to have here, okay?" You nodded your head, still too upset to really speak properly. "Good."
Kisuke walks you to the door once you calmed down enough and saw you out. "Hope to see you here soon, Y/N." You nodded your head.
"That will probably be when they come here again." You smiled at him, waving your hand as you walked home.
------- Timeskip to a week later. -------
You walk home from the shops as you keep looking down at the shopping list, making sure that you have everything. Your mother had asked you to go down because she forgot some ingredients she needed. It was getting a little dark and it was kind of scary being by yourself, but at the same time you did enjoy the peace and quiet.
"Ohhh, Look who it is." Your face paled, you knew that voice anywhere, he was the reason for the scar. "Why do you look so scared, don't you remember the fun we had together?" You bit your lower lip harshly, weighing out your options. Urahara's shop wasn't that far away so you could make a break for it, but you knew he was a fast runner.
With a groan you made your choice and dashed to the shop. "Oi! Get back here you stupid cunt!" Of course, you could hear the sound of heavy footfalls hitting the asphalt behind you, this was inevitable. But if you got close enough to the shop you knew that you'd be able to at least get someone's attention, whether it was Jinta, Ururu, Kisuke or Tessai.
"Oh, Y/n I knew you enjoyed our time together, you remembered how much I enjoyed the struggle. Although you were so much more compliant when you slept." You stopped dead in your tracks, you hated him, you hated thinking about him... About the things he has done and the fact that you loved him once. He laughed at your stop, you were almost right outside of the shop by this point, but that didn't matter.
"Do you finally agree with me Y/n? Do you finally see that it is all you're good for?" You were trembling by this point, not from fear, oh no; from pure hatred. You dropped the bag you were holding in your dominant hand and with a quick turn you put all of your anger into your movements and punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor.
Your body, however, was still shaking. You wanted to hurt him, you wanted to hurt him bad. How was it fair that he got out of the relationship with nothing yet you with a heart full of anxiety and fear. You readied yourself to hit him again with the fist that already had blood on it since you broke his nose when you heard a voice call out to you.
"Y/n? Y/n? Are you okay?" Your head turned towards the store, and stood in the doorway was none other than Kisuke Urahara. You didn't even look down at him. You sprinted as fast as you could to Kisuke, pushing him inside of the building before sliding the door shut.
You led your back against the door as you slid down it, landing yourself on the floor. Your eyes were wide, frightened- Kisuke has never seen you with that expression, you looked terrified. Knowing something was up, he locked the store up and left the room, coming back with a warm cup of tea, sitting next to you.
He handed you the cup and spoke with a quiet voice, trying not to scare you. "What was all that about? Are you okay?" You shook your head, keeping your face directed towards the cup in your hands, which were still trembling. "Did you want to talk about it once you're calmed down?" You nodded your head, Kisuke was silent for a few seconds, as if contemplating whether or not he should say anything. "Did you want a hug?" You nodded again.
Kisuke wasted no time wrapping his left arm around you to pull you into his side, he used his thumb to rub little circles into your side as his head rested on top of yours. "It'll be okay, Y/n. You'll be okay, just breathe. Whatever happened won't happen anymore, you're safe here." He kept whispering to you.
Eventually, you finished the drink he made you and hugged him back. His face was now completely in your hair as he kissed the top of your head. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Y-yeah, thank you..." You stuttered out, tired from what had just occurred.
"Good, if you want I can run you a bath and get you some fresh clothes. You can stay the night if you don't feel safe to head back, okay?" You nodded your head, but then you remembered your mother. As if reading your thoughts, Kisuke spoke up again. "I'll phone your mum while you're in the bath and fill her in, how does that sound?"
"That sounds good, thank you Kisuke." He rubbed your head and stood up, offering you his hand.
After your bath you had calmed down considerably, no longer shaking and being able to speak. Kisuke left some of his clothes folded up in the bathroom for you to change into (which you did). You sat on Kisuke's bed cross legged, trying to comprehend what happened today when there was a knock at the door. "Come in."
Kisuke walks into the room with your phone in his hand. "So I spoke to your mother, she said you could stay here for the night and that I should walk you home at some point tomorrow, or whenever depending on how long you want to stay." He sits next to you and continues. "She also told me who that guy was. Nothing about what happened, she just said that he is the scum of the earth."
You laughed "Yeah, that sounds about right. Due to what happened I don't ever call him my ex. Whenever anyone mentions him we just call him twat." Of course, Kisuke was very confused as to what happened but he already asked a few times so he didn't want to push it, but the look on his face told you everything. "I'll tell you what happened."
"You don't have to." He protested quickly, not knowing if it would upset you to talk about it.
"It is fine, I just have one condition. This is a very touchy subject for me so I was wondering if you could um--- how do I put this?" Kisuke chuckled, knowing what you meant, sitting back with you on his bed, pulling you into his side, much like when you were against the door.
"Take your time."
You took a deep breath and began. "He was my first boyfriend, if I can call him that. He was controlling, manipulative and abusive in more ways than one. He didn't let me talk about any guys, if I played a game wrong he would stop me from playing it. If he was horny I'd have to do something about it and so on... Well anyway, it got to the point where I-- I didn't want to do anything like that. He said he was fine with it... But-" Your breathing got heavier the further into explaining, tears began to form and fall from your eyes. You hated remembering this, but you were hoping that maybe this would be good in the long run.
"Hey, look at me." You hear Kisuke say gently as he turns your face to him. "I know it may not mean or do much but you're safe here, nothing is going to happen to you, I'll look after you, okay? There is no need to worry while you're here, but I do understand why you are." He rubs your head affectionately, hugging you tighter. "Like I said, take your time."
You relished in that hug and composed yourself before continuing. "He said he was fine with it, but one night I woke up and his hand was somewhere it shouldn't have been and his other hand was--- y-yeah. He was with me for a while after that since I was too scared to break up with him. Then I met someone I really liked who was so nice to me, and I realised that I didn't want to be stuck with someone like him."
Kisuke made a noise of understanding. "So that is the red mark then, it is hard to believe that someone would be so thankful for a red mark."
"Yeah, I know. But I really am, and I'm thankful for the help from him too." You smiled, running your finger delicately along the red tally mark.
"Doesn't the red tally mark hurt though? That the person who saved you from that twat doesn't feel the same?" He asked, and yeah it was painful.
"Yeah, it is really painful. But I always think to myself I would rather have this red tally mark and be friends with him than have none at all and still be with twat. Anything is better than that even if it is not reciprocated love." You shrugged your shoulders trying to come across as nonchalant when all you wanted to do was tell Kisuke that the mark was him, but you decided against it. You let out a yawn that caught Kisuke's attention.
"I should probably let you sleep then." He gets up from his spot and you huddle under the covers. Kisuke grins at the sight, fixing the blankets over you and kissing your forehead. "Today has been a rough day so if you need anything just shout, okay? Even if you think it is dumb." Despite everything that happened you slept well that night.
----Time skip 3 days----
"Y/n! Let's go! Hat n Clogs is waiting!" Ichigo yelled up to your window, pulling you from your sleep. You rush to get dressed, throwing a jumper on with leggings like before and you ran from the house.
You opened the door and outside waiting for you was Ichigo and the gang. "Well? Come on!" With that you all went back to Kisuke's shop. Over the 3 days you and Kisuke got closer, he'd constantly phone your mother to check up on you. (since he phoned your mum before and not you so he knew her number) It bugged her so much that she gave you Kisuke's number so she wouldn't be bothered anymore, which was sweet.
Everyone walked into the shop and greeted Kisuke. "Ah, Y/n!" He wrapped his arm around your shoulder playfully, a smile playing across his lips. "Everything okay?" You could see his eyes from the angle so you knew what he meant and you smiled back at him.
"Yeah, I'm okay." He let go of you and began talking to the others about Gigai upgrades. As you tidied around the shop you heard the bell chime indicating someone had come in, you looked up and that someone was twat. Your eyes went wide as you dropped the broom you were holding, alerting the others.
Kisuke's carefree smile and attitude completely dropped when he saw who was there. He grabbed your shoulders, pushing you towards your friends, they noticed something was up there and they stood in front of you. "Get out." He shakes his head, walking around the store as he was being stared at by everyone. "I said get out."
Twat laughed, "I'm a customer here, you can't tell me to get out, I want to buy something." Kisuke got closer to Twat, who was starting to clearly become intimidated by your friends.
"I have the right to refuse people. Customers are typically human, and sadly you don't qualify for one of those, so get the fuck out of my shop." With each sentence Kisuke got closer to him until eventually he got so intimidated and fled. Kisuke locked the shop door and ran over to you, avoiding the strange looks from the others.
"Are you okay?" You appear to be in a state of shock, you feel like you can barely move or speak, you just stood there, trembling. Kisuke continues to ignore the others as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "I am going to tell them if that is alright, just make any sound for a yes, okay?" He heard a small sound come from you so he begins to explain to your friends what happened.
-------
By the end of the explanation you came back to reality, since you weren't paying attention to anything other than Kisuke's arms around you, you were able to pull through pretty quick. Your friends all looked really mad at him for everything he did and thanked Kisuke profusely for helping you out through this. After a while, the others finally leave, giving you a hug and giving you a word of advice, they even offered to teach you how to fight which you decided to take up.
You sat with Kisuke in his room as you usually do after something like that happens. You were talking about nothing in particular when Kisuke stopped you. "Um- Y/n, that person- they return your feelings." You laughed
"No they don't, the proof is in the pu---" You lift your sleeve to show the proof when you noticed that he was right. The telly mark was Black now. You stare at the mark in utter shock. "I- What?" Your eyebrows furrowed together. "That is impossible, why would he like me?" Kisuke smiles at you, messing up your hair like he normally does.
"Probably because you're a fantastic p-" He stops dead in his tracks when he stops a completely new mark on his arm, the arm that was totally clean, in all of his years of living he has never fallen in love. You look up and wonder why he went quiet when you notice him staring at his arm, he must have realised who that tally mark is for. "That-" He gestures towards your mark. "That is for me, isn't it?"
You flush, you never thought you'd end up in a situation like this one. "Y-yeah it is." You bite your lip in worry, you knew he liked you as well, I mean you could literally see it, but that doesn't mean that he would want to be with you. Kisuke smiled softly at you as he ran his fingers through your hair.
"I always thought you were pretty, and I knew that I would absolutely fall for you, I could feel it. So I'm honestly glad it is returned. But um- We don't have to be in a relationship yet if you don't think you're ready for one." Kisuke was the sweetest and that is why, without a doubt in your mind, you knew that you were ready.
"I am ready, I've wanted to be with you for a long time now, I love you Kisuke." You blushed heavily. You think those words often enough but you didn't think you'd ever say them out loud to him.
"Since we have that sorted- can I kiss you?" Kisuke asked, his thumb running across your jaw, your skin tingling from his touch.
"Yeah, you can." His thumb moved, holding on lightly to your chin to pull you close. You were a hair's width away from kissing but he stayed there for a few moments with a look in his eyes that said 'You can still back off if you want to' but you didn't. He took your stillness as an invitation to continue and planted a soft kiss to your lips, his hands moved to cup your cheeks while your own remove his hat so they could rest in his hair. After a few moments of his soft kiss Kisuke pulled back, only to kiss you one more time.
"I love you too, Y/n. I'll make sure nothing bad will ever happen to you again."
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Love is a Verb
His dick knew things.
In general, thinking with your little head not your big one got a bad rap.
But for him? The opposite seemed to apply.
Of course he’d been mortified when he sprung to life in her hand the night before, with Scully in full on doctor mode, acting so clinical and detached. While he was so very very exposed.
A wave of anger arose in the wake of his humiliation. At her. Which wasn’t fair. She was doing him a favor, after all. Examining him, because they were stuck in a crap motel in the middle of nowhere Florida, the day after a hurricane, flights snafued, roads clogged with debris. And him with a sea monster bite on his neck and an angry itchy red rash on his dick to match. She was caring for him, just like she always did. Even though neither one of them was exactly comfortable about the prospect.
But now, considering what that moment of vulnerability had led to, he was glad it happened. And hardly surprised.
And when his big head has been muddled and confused on a night a few weeks before? His dick had shown the way forward. When a different woman had laid her hands on him, slipped her tongue into his mouth.
He didn’t want her. He felt like a block of wood as she kissed him and touched him. And yet he let it happen. His mind filled with a fuzzy gray static as she whispered to him how she needed him, how she’d never stopped loving him, until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She opened his pants and he let her, hungry for something she was offering. He would think a lot about that later.
But then his dick was in her mouth. And she worked it, employed all her little tricks. And still it stayed soft.
Until, giving up, she stood. She crossed the room and poured herself a scotch. He tucked his junk in his pants and zipped up. Not even embarrassed.
“You love her,” Diana said, her back to him.
He nodded. “I do.”
“But Fox,” she said, closing the distance between them, sitting down next to him, “She doesn’t know you like I do. There’s so much I want to give you...”
She launched into the pitch he’d heard from her before. Since she returned, she’d been whispering to him whenever she could get him alone, offering him access. “There are so many things we can accomplish together, Fox. Why would you want to keep toiling in the dark when you can shape the future of the human race? You’ve more than earned your seat at the table. And your voice is needed there...”
Though he never really felt engaged in these conversations, his big head listened to what Diana had to say.
But the little one was more persuasive. Not to mention more persistent. The truth was, Scully had been the only one able to get him off for months. Though of course she hadn’t touched him.
His extensive collection of salacious videotapes these days stayed tucked in their hiding places, moldering in their cases. The magazines delivered to his door each month, Penthouse and Hustler and Escort and Razzle and Club, remained stacked on his entryway table, their spines uncracked, their pages unperused. Most with the black no-see-um wrapper still intact.
A fact Scully discovered while visiting his apartment a few weeks before. She turned up on the late side one evening, work on her mind, files in her hand, her body tucked dutifully away in some dark suit.
“Oh that,” he said when she placed her palm on the towering cache of smut, popped an eyebrow in his direction. She had spent enough time in his space to understand that this was a departure from his usual behavior, where his porn was concerned. Whereby he’d rip the covers off the mags as soon as they arrived and leaf through them, looking for anything particularly good. He’d turn down the corners of memorable pages then leave them piled haphazardly around his place: on end tables, under the fishtank, next to his bed.
The explanation was not something he was prepared to share. So he thought fast, and invented something on the fly that seemed remotely plausible. “Yeah, the boys tell me that those are going to be collector's items soon. Print is dead, Scully. Everyone making the switch from atoms to bits and bytes. Paper’s so pulpy and inefficient. I have a book on it somewhere...” He riffled through his bookshelf, glad to escape her excruciating gaze. He plucked out a book and handed her a copy of Being Digital by Nicholas Negroponte. “He’s a smart guy. You should check it out.”
His effort to distract her was in vain. She put the book aside without glancing at the cover and continued to silently cross-examine him. He pretended to be interested in another book he’d pulled at random, but the moment stretched on uncomfortably. "I thought I could get more for them if they remained in pristine condition,” he said as he paged through the book he wasn’t reading. For all he knew he was holding it upside down. “You know how people keep their Star Wars toys in the boxes with the cellophane on?”
She shrugged, unconvinced. But she moved on, willing to let it go. Her stacked heels clacked obnoxiously against his hardwood floors as she slowly made her way into his living room.
He doubted she wanted to know the real reason. Though he was pretty sure he could turn the tables on her if he blurted it out. It would serve her right for the way she roamed around his apartment and let her eyes light on his stuff, storing her little data points in that mind, trying to figure him out. But maybe one day the tea leaves of his pitiable life she seemed so eager to read would finally speak to her. Maybe it would occur to her what was actually going on.
Which was that every time he touched himself, he imagined it was her hand. And he would try to switch things over, open one of his skin mags— his trusty strategy for years when it came to getting his thoughts off his partner and back where they belonged —but it wasn’t working anymore.
He’d listlessly page through the glossies, looking for a promising spread, land on some blowjob scene and eyeball it for a while. But when he got down to business it, was her mouth on him, warm and receptive, her eyes on his face, his hands in her coppery hair. He’d smolder for a while, thinking of her lips, her strong small hands, and always her eyes, then feverishly work himself up. And the magazine, forgotten, would slip away onto the floor.
On the bright side, his inappropriate intrusive fixation on his FBI partner was saving him two hundred bucks a month he used to spend on phone sex. The last time he dialed in he couldn’t even get it up. So he spilled his guts to one of his regular providers, droning on for forty-five minutes about how he had it bad for his partner, all the things she did that made him crazy, the reasons he couldn’t tell her. Realizing even therapy would be cheaper, and feeling like a terrible cliché, he’d quit calling those numbers.
His videos were his last line of defense. Their absorbing input had always been able to capture his attention, so he’d try one of those. It might work for a few minutes, but the real action was behind his eyes. In his mind it was her heels digging in to the small of his back as he plunged into her tight little cunt. She’d be beneath him hot and panting, open her mouth to moan and he’d stuff his fingers in, slide them wetly against her tongue. Soon he’d be picking up the pace... The television would blare fruitlessly in the background, rife with bad dialogue and silicone silo tits and oh babys. The money shot would come and go, unseen by him, and the screen would fade to black.
The reason porn had quit working was simple: in his fantasies, she always comes too. Usually more than once. He’d start slow, imagine he was taking his time kissing his way down her body. That could take a while. Then he’d tease her, rubbing the fat head of his cock up and down her slit. When she begged him to, he’d slip inside her and slam his hips forward. He’d hold there, bottomed out, and kiss her sweet mouth. Then he’d slide it in and out, looking into her eyes, feeling every inch of her.
Soon he’d need to fuck her harder, faster. He’d reach down to tease her clit until she was thrashing and pleading. Then she’d say his name, and her face would change, and she’d come on his dick. He’d watch her ride it out, humming with pleasure as her warm wet circles broke against him and travelled up his body in waves. Till his nuts and his gut and his heart and his throat and his brain were replete with her. Finally he’d come, imagining he was cradled by her hips and rocking, buried deep inside her, spilling his secrets into her ear.
In his dirty busy mind he’d already had her so many places and ways: in showers and motel beds, in cars and elevators, bent over his desk at work, the door unlocked, her skirt bunched around her waist, her drugstore pantyhose dangling from her ankle. Quick or slow or sweet or mean, acrobatic or missionary, rough or tender. Or both. God. Even boring. Just the two of them in his bed, nose to nose under the covers, whispering and giggling and whiling away a Sunday morning.
And the most pathetic and woebegone detail? Sometimes his fantasies contained no sex at all. He wanted to watch a movie with her feet parked in his lap. He wanted to shop for groceries with her and hold her hand on the walk home. To spend a weekend with her on the Vinyard and show her his old high school. He wanted to rub her back when she was sad and play footsie with her under the table during boring budget meetings. He wanted to gather her close and kiss her eyelids and hold her in his arms as she fell asleep. To watch her to rise naked from his bed and pull on his clothes she’d just stripped from his body. On red eye flights he wanted to leave the arm rest up and snuggle with her under those dingy felt blankets. To read to her while she soaked in the tub and find the nooks and hollows of her body where she was ticklish. He wanted to make her giggle, make her laugh, make her cry happy tears. He wanted to make her wet just with his voice. To lay in bed and watch while she got dressed for church. He wanted to kiss her in front of her idiot brother, maybe even slip her a tasteful amount of tongue. To shower with her before work, to soap her up and shampoo her hair. He wanted to stock his fridge with an assortment of her gross non-dairy yogurts.
Scully. Before she’d even descended into his office and introduced herself, he assumed she was a plant. Or a dupe, a patsy. Why else would a promising and talented young agent be conscripted to his lonely, disrespected division? Most likely she’d already agreed to keep tabs on him, to cast his work in a negative light. And even if she hadn’t, he was certain she’d be manipulated, using the lever of her obvious ambition, into doing so. He also suspected, since she’d spent most of her time thus far in the FBI in the lab or the classroom, that she was a house cat. The kind of agent who might hold romantic notions about working in the field, but who would soon balk at the grueling, unpredictable hours, the endless travel, the physical grind. And blanch at the dangers. It’s no kind of life for anybody who wants a life.
By the time their flight touched down in Oregon on that first case, he knew for sure that she was fun to spar with. And all kinds of smart. And even sort of cute. And while it can obviously be helpful to have a partner if things go sideways, he remembers hoping that didn’t happen to them before she washed out and retreated back to the lab. Because he suspected this itty bitty pathologist with zero field experience and impractical footwear? Would be more likely to become a liability than properly cover his flank.
After they’d worked a half dozen cases together, it was fair to say he’d reconsidered the hasty assumptions he’d made about Scully. Which is to say she surprised him at every turn. Except on the couple of occasions when she’d astonished him, leaving him flat-footed and slack-jawed in her wake. Against all odds, he had himself a partner. Which is not to say he fully trusted her. Not yet. And he doubted she’d hang around much longer.
But still. He’d learned that she was game. Skeptical and rational, but up for anything. She never complained about bad food or lumpy beds. And courageous, staring down firearms pushed in her face without blinking. She was fearless and cagy, and could take a punch or dish one out. And in the next moment she could soften, to connect with a suspect or a victim, to care for a child, or for him. She believed deeply in what she was doing. When he bumbled into trouble, which he seemed to have a knack for, she more than had his back. Yet when she’d sided with him and blew off her buddies from the Academy? It wasn’t loyalty to him she was demonstrating, but to the victims. To the truth. Above all, Scully was honest.
In some ways, he knew her so well. Yet all these years later there was there were aspects to her he could only guess at. Scully, he’d come to understand, was a deeply private person. Didn’t give pieces of herself away in idle conversation, like most people do. The fact that he was a trained and skilled profiler didn’t seem to help. In his fevered mind he’d become preoccupied with the things he didn’t know about her. Like how, exactly, does she like to be touched? He thought about that a lot. Is she a morning sex person? (God he hoped so.) Is she loud in bed? Or more quiet and intense? A little repressed, or wild and uninhibited? He could imagine it either way. Is she bossy? Submissive? A little of both? What does she taste like? Does she talk dirty? Will she like it when he does? (Because he definitely does.) How would he tease her? What are her kinks? Does she like it rough? And if he wanted to go down on her for hours, would she be okay with that?
So, yeah. He loved her.
That switch had been flicked for him on a steamy summer evening, a moment when he’d been staring down the real possibility of losing her. She walked away. He followed her, flew out his door like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Stormed up to her where she’d turned to face him in his hallway. Fists clenched, voice raised, he was in full on fighting mode. But he wasn’t fighting her. He was fighting to keep her. So instead of telling her off, as his body language suggested he might, he told her what she meant to him. How he needed her. Things he hadn’t even realized before they came out of his mouth. But all of it the truth.
She’d been girded and resolute, her body rigid and self-contained. But then she broke, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, she softened and stepped into his embrace. He looked in her impossibly blue eyes glinting with tears and realized with dreadful certainty that, Christ, he was going to kiss his partner. More than that, if she let him, he was going to pick her up and carry her back through the door of his apartment and lay her down and fuck her.
That plan had been derailed, but the urge for him remained. And not long after, he gathered his courage and, with all the earnestness he could muster, he’d looked her in the eyes and confessed.
So he’d told her that he loved her. But had he shown her?
That was a thorny question, and it made him uncomfortable to consider it. Because he had to admit that for the most part, he hadn’t.
It was strange, but once his feelings for Scully had shifted, his behavior toward her had become less loving. For one thing, he didn’t let her in on that fact that she’d become the only featured player in his secret late-nite fantasy theatre. But more than that, he found himself especially irritable with her. Dismissive. Self-centered. Sometimes even cold.
When he was looking for an excuse to be angry with her, he told himself a story that she’d rejected him. Because, oh brother. But he’d seen her eyes go wide for an instant, felt her animal panic. She’d pored over his hospital chart and had to know he wasn’t high. So he’d concluded that she didn’t want him. Didn’t love him.
And Fowley’d chosen that inopportune moment to skip back over the pond and make a play for his ass. And though he had no interest in rekindling that relationship, just having her around reminded him of all the reasons it just might be a bad idea to get tangled up sexually with your partner.
More than that, even though he knew that Scully felt insecure because of Diana for several legitimate reasons, he hadn’t bothered to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. When Diana called him and invited him downstairs for lunch, he’d go. Mostly to be near his files, and to mine the trashcans for cases when her back was turned. But he’d steal away from the bullpen, not tell Scully where he was off to, or why. He let her twist in the wind, wondering who Diana was to him and what her reappearance meant for their partnership.
It would make sense that once you’ve discovered the person you love, the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your days (not even to mention nights), the person who is, quite possibly, it for you? That you would try to make that happen. To lock that down. And yet he seemed to be doing everything but.
Even after she’d been shot by Ritter, and he’d almost lost her again.
And why was that? How to explain this puzzling behavior.
Maybe she didn’t want him, and he was just protecting himself.
The thing was, when he was being honest, he knew that wasn’t true. When he’d been about to kiss her in his hallway, she’d looked confused at first. And then concerned, with real fear flashing in her eyes. But by the time his lips were hovering over hers? They were on the same page. She’d gone molten in his arms, and her mouth awaited his, wet and ready. His body remembered how she’d opened to him, with her sweet breath and her fingers on his neck. He knew in his bones how that encounter would have ended, if not for that stupid fucking bee. Recalled it every chance he got.
As a psychologist, looking at the situation objectively? He’d have to conclude that he was engaging in some epic self-sabotage. Yup.
That night in her apartment when Diana had made her intentions clear, he’d agreed like some kind of docile sheep to join her. To scrum up with the other chosen few at El Rico Air Force Base as Armageddon loomed and save himself at the expense of the rest of humanity. And Scully, even though he wasn’t by her side where he belonged, was still fighting. For him, For them. For the truth. For the future.
And to repay her for her steadfast faith in him and devotion to their work? He was flirting with the one thing that could tear them apart. With inflicting a betrayal that could send her packing for good.
They’d dodged a bullet that night. More than that, they’d gotten their files back, and were free to resume their work. And by any measure he should have felt relieved. But he woke the next morning with a hangover worse than any he’d ever gotten from liquor. He looked in the mirror to shave and realized he couldn’t even meet his own gaze. He was ashamed. And he had to admit that he’d been seduced by Diana after all. Not into bed, but into complacency.
Needing some time and space to think things through, he called Skinner and redeemed a few vacation days. He threw some clothes in a bag and set out driving, not sure of his destination.
On the road, heading north, armed with this new clarity, he mulled things over. How was he going to feel, he wondered, when he succeeded and chased her away? That seemed to be his end game, after all. He knew what he’d do. He’d track her down to wherever she’d absconded to and interrupt her as she attempted to reboot her life. Then, looking desperate and half mad, he’d profess his love.
But it would be too late. She would conclude, quite logically, that he only wanted her when she was leaving. And even if she loved him like he hoped she might, she would not settle for that. Not Scully. And it would be selfish of him to ask her to.
It hit him then, with complete and utter clarity, that he had no idea how to love someone. He’d had bad models and a dearth of life experience in that arena. He knew how he felt. But love is a verb. It’s about what you do. She had taught him that.
He was good with the grand gestures, sure. Tracking her down at the bottom of the world and fishing her out of an enormous alien vessel, for example. Then breathing life back into her and hauling her to the surface while sidestepping rabid lizard monsters who swiped at them with razor-edged claws? Check.
But she needed more. For him to find mundane ways to express his care and concern, perhaps. To show her how much she mattered to him. How much he valued her and all the ways she contributed to their work. To his life. She needed to see that he put her first. She deserved these things. She had earned them. And he knew wouldn’t let him glimpse her secret self, let him know her like he desperately wanted to, until he gave them to her.
He wasn’t sure he could do it. But he knew he had to try.
He decided to start right away. He’d been thinking of her all morning, of course. About celebrating their return by pressing her her against a wall in their office and pushing into her, fucking her breathless and senseless before lunch, to be exact. But he hadn’t thought of her at all, he realized. Not really.
Scully. She’d be there right now, in the basement waiting for him, their first day back where they belonged. Wondering where he could be with half the morning gone. Bewildered as to what might be keeping him from reclaiming his precious turf. Maybe she already talked to Skinner and knew he was taking a few days off. Maybe she’d be worried. Or pissed. Or worse, wondering if he was enjoying a morning lounging in bed with a treacherous leggy brunette.
At the next rest stop, he pulled off and powered up his cell phone. He was relieved to see that he'd missed a call from her. She hadn’t given up on him yet.
Rather than listen to her message, he dialed her back. She answered on the third ring.
“Hey Mulder,” she said.
“Hey Scully,” he said. “Are you in the office?”
“I am,” she said. “Where I thought for sure you would be. Skinner told me you were on vacation. What’s going on?” Her voice was brittle. Defensive.
“I will be, Scully. I’ll meet you there. And soon. But I need to take care of a few things first.”
“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “What kinds of things?”
“I, ah, I need to get my head straight before coming back. I’ve been mixed up. About some stuff.”
“I see,” she said.
They were both quiet for long seconds.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Me?” The question surprised her. “I’m good. Enjoying the quiet. Working on expense reports. Glad to be out of the bullpen.”
“You sure? You were popular, Scully. I think Agent Kargoll was working up the nerve to ask you out.” Mulder would glare at him as he brought her a donut on a little plate in the mornings. He’d leave it on the corner of the desk if she wasn’t in yet, like an offering to the high priestess.
“Yep,” she said. “I noticed that too. Reassigned in the nick of time...”
“I did my best to scare him off...”
“He was persistent, I’ll give him that.”
“He seemed like a nice enough guy. You could do worse than landing a boyfriend who arrives bearing gifts every morning...”
“I could do better, too.”
“No doubt,” he said. “What would be better than that?”
“Hmm. Why do you ask?”
“Research,” he said.
“Research,” she repeated. “Okay. Let’s see. The bearing gifts is ok. But maybe someone with some sense of what I actually like?”
“Let me jot that down,” he said. She snorted a little laugh. Which warmed him all the way through. “It’s true, Scully, you’re not a big fan of donuts. I benefitted from his crush on you more than you did.”
“I tried to wait until he had his back turned before handing those off to you...”
“You’re very kind,” he said.
Just then a truck blew by on the highway, laying on the booming brake, rocking his car.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I, ah, hit the road this morning. Just to think. Just to drive. But I suppose I’m heading home. To see my mother for a few days.”
“Everything okay?” she asked. He heard the concern in her voice, the fear that she’d be needing to tend to him trepanned and shocky, bail him out of jail. The usual.
“Yeah,” he said. “Or it will be. I really think it will be.”
“Allright Mulder,” she said after a long beat. “I’ll be holding down the fort. Drive safe. And keep in touch.”
“I will. And save me some of that paperwork, Scully.”
She laughed and hung up.
He had, in fact, visited his mother. She was glad to see him, and he stayed a few days, helped her out with some chores around the house. Got on a ladder and plucked the muck and leaves from the gutters, shifted some dusty furniture from the basement to the curb.
And he absorbed the silences of that house, his mother’s sadness, the way every possession, every exchange seemed steeped in a deep, abiding misery.
He remembered his mother different. Laughing, for example. Playing bridge with her friends, toying with her strand of pearls as she leaned in to gossip. Teasing him with a glint of joy in her eyes. Before Samantha had been taken.
It had broken her. Broken all of them. Now she ghosted around her own home, tending to her roses, watching television. Always alone. He lived much the same way. This was all that was left.
All because his father had been unable to protect them from the men he worked with, no matter how noble his intentions. The same men he had been tempted by Fowley to join up with, if he was telling the truth. Now they were reduced to ash. He had no idea what remained, but he knew he and Scully would find out.
By the time he climbed in his car to come home, he was committed to not making his father’s mistake. And to living differently. Less stubbornly solitary. To inviting some goodness into his life, no matter how strange it felt.
And last night, when it was actually happening, when he was wrapped up in bed with Scully in real life, it had been so vivid, so peculiar. As he rolled his naked frame against hers, time slowed down. In his head he heard the seconds ticking away distorted by doppler effect, whomp whomp. Felt his stiff prick slide against her buttery thigh, painfully slow. Pressed his ear to her chest. Imagined the steady squeeze and release of her heart beneath her breastbone. Heard the whoosh of her blood through her veins.
Looked up at her flushed face, this beautiful untamable breakable beast.
And he loved her.
He’d told her so.
Now he needed to show her.
Thanks for reading. Check it out at Ao3
This fic stands alone, but is also chapter 10 of Bedside Manner
#the x files#today in fic#msr fanfic#msr#mulder x scully#x files#fox mulder#dana scully#x files fanfiction#the x files fanfic
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Sweating It Out - Leone Abbacchio x Reader (Kinktober Day #19: Sex Pollen)
NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader, no pronouns. Sex pollen / sex under the influence of sex pollen. Established relationship.
You and Abbacchio are hit by an enemy stand, and there’s one way to . . . flush out the effects.
You can't decide whether to curse Giorno Giovanna for doling out this mission to your boyfriend, or to thank him for it.
It had seemed all above-board and typical at first; Abbacchio is often sent on physical missions like this. Despite the fact that Abbacchio has been instructed to rough up this perpetrator, Giorno hasn't forgotten the position that said man once held within Passione - and so sending one of his most trusted lieutenants is a courtesy that has been extended. The man had recognised Abbacchio - it is only when you'd seen the smirk on his face that you'd realised that Giorno had made a grave error.
Abbacchio is only sent on these missions when Giorno is certain the person who needs to be taught a lesson is not in possession of a stand. Despite Abbacchio's physical prowess, Moody Blues is not primed for combat - and though Abbacchio's fighting skills are enviable, there's little he or Moody Blues can do against preternatural fighting abilities.
You had gone with Abbacchio because you had nothing else to do that day, figuring you would be backup if something did happen - when you'd imagined something happening though, you'd thought about using your (non-offensive, healing, just as useless in a battle as Moody Blues can be) stand to fix up a broken nose or a joint knocked out of place.
It had not been so simple.
You had called out the moment you'd seen the stand materalise behind Abbacchio's victim, but it had not been quick enough - the humanoid creature had already thrust it's hands forward, and plumes of dark purple smoke were already beginning to obscure your vision. You had rushed forward in earnest, despite knowing that Abbacchio would not want you to risk yourself - and in the accompanying scuffle, the proposed victim had escaped.
You and Abbacchio had crawled out of the alleyway on your hands and knees as the smoke had begun to dissipate, coughing - but looking, you had thought, mercifully unmarked by the event. The smoke had tasted like berries, clogging up your throat, making you struggle to breathe - but that had been all. Neither of you had seemed injured.
You and Abbacchio had straightened yourself up and brushed off your clothes and looked at each other with your lips pursed.
"Well," he'd said eventually. "I guess all we can do is wait and see."
You'd still called out your stand, just in case, once you were in the car - but she had been unable to find a single injury or illness to cure, and you and Abbacchio had been left, instead, to the frightening inevitability of waiting.
"We'll wait it out at home," Abbacchio said, decisively, putting the car into gear - you didn't know, then, how grateful you would be for his decision when the effects of the smoke revealed themselves to you.
It had started in the car as a persistent heat across your brow that was not cooled by the air conditioning - when you had asked Abbacchio to turn it on, your boyfriend's lips had twisted.
"Yeah," he'd said, "I'm feeling kind of hot too, actually."
The next step had been the restlessness - the way that your legs were vibrating and your fingers could not seem to stay still. Step three was the prickling of your skin, like someone was breathing lightly across the back of your neck and making you come all over gooseflesh and wanting. Step four had been the shortness of breath, the way that your vision was focusing and unfocusing - you had been about to say something to Abbacchio, about turning back from where he'd pulled the car in to park in front of your place and going back to Giorno's place to beg for help, when step five had kicked in and you'd realised exactly what was happening.
Because step five was the ache between your thighs.
You can feel it in Abbacchio as he steps too close to you as you get out of the car and you feel the heat radiating off of him in needy waves. He brings his hand to your waist, gripping you with all the possessiveness you've come to expect of him in the bedroom brought to 'just outside your front door, in full view of everyone'.
Your mouth goes very dry.
"I think I know what the stand did," you say, very carefully, though all of the moisture in your body seems to be collecting between your thighs. Abbacchio snorts humourlessly, his voice low gravel as he replies;
"No shit."
-
You try and resist the pull at first. Your body aches to be touched and petted and kissed and caressed, the friction of your thighs rubbing together as you move maddening - but you can't help but worry about what might happen if you give in. What if the stand is going to take advantage of the both of you when incapacitated? You swallow thickly and try and ignore the fact that Abbacchio's shirt is clinging so tightly to his muscles today. That when his hand brushes across your lower back you want to lean into it and beg him to touch you more.
Your eyes keep straying to the part of him between his own legs, clearly defined as it rests stiff and needy beside his muscular thighs. The idea of taking it into your mouth, or running your fingers along the thick shaft - you press your thighs together again, wincing when it sends a brand new jolt of heat and need right through you.
You make it ten minutes before it begins to hurt. It begins to ache, inside you - sweat beading on your brow, your body crying out for something. You can only liken it to the feeling of starving - there is a yawning, gaping chasm inside of you. Your body is craving something.
And you got the faceful of the smoke after Abbacchio did. You've been under the influence for a shorter time. You peek at Abbacchio, sat beside you on the sofa attempting to read a book ("We should ignore it," he'd said. "There's no telling what will happen if we give in.).
Well.
He'd once been attempting to read a book. Now, the tome lies forgotten on one arm of the sofa and his fingers are digging into his own thighs, the knuckles white and tight. You shift closer to him, soothed briefly by the press of his body against your arm.
"Leone," you say, so softly that it's barely a breath. "Leone, I can't--"
"We have to," he replies, ragged.
"Leone, it hurts--"
It does. It does hurt! If he doesn't touch you, your body - you're sure of it - will pull itself apart.
"Touch yourself instead," he rasps. "O-one of us has to keep our wits about us . . ."
There's a note of desperation in his voice. His eyes fasten on a picture of the two of you hung on the wall, ignoring you as you give in to your urges and let your palms skim along the curve of your breast. You trace your own waist and hips, trying to imagine that your hands are the heavy weight of Abbacchio instead - but it's not enough.
On top of clothes isn't enough. You drag at your shirt, wiggling out of your bottoms without any thoughts except touching your own bare skin. The fabric clings to your sweat-slick legs, but you are determined.
Abbacchio breathes deep.
"I can smell you," he growls, low in the back of his throat. "Fucking hell--"
You're not surprised. As you peel your sodden underwear away from you, you think it's a miracle you're not sitting there in a puddle. Your sex is so wet - you don't think you've ever been like this before, and it's not as if Abbacchio isn't good in the bedroom--
Your fingers skim over the slit, teasing yourself before you give in with any attempts to do such a thing and delve between your folds, toying with your clit, slipping a finger inside of you to the first knuckle (you take it so easily--).
But.
It's not right.
Oh, you feel it, sure - you're aware of your dampness and your fingertips and the way your body clenches around the digit. But it does nothing to assuage the ache that's deep in your bones that keeps whispering; "you need to be fucked, you need to be fucked, you need to be fucked--"
You whine aloud, the hand not touching yourself coming to rest on Abbacchio's thigh, squeezing needily. Your boyfriend is still trying not to look at you, and you know that it's because if he does look at you and give in he will throw you onto your sofa and rut you like a wild animal.
He's trying to be the good guy. He's trying to be responsible. His jaw is clenched and his teeth are grit and every single inch of him is on high alert. You know you you're playing a dangerous game, naked next to him in needy pieces, getting more and more lascivious by the moment.
"Leone," you whine, again. The hand on his thigh travels up his arm, to his jaw - oh, you shouldn't do it. But then, you're gripping his chin and turning his face to look at you and whimpering with tears caught in your throat; "It's not enough! I need--" Tears form in the corner of your eyes. "I need you to fuck me--"
There's a flash in his eyes, a moment in which he argues with himself - but the ache that you know must be prominent within him too wins out.
And then, Abbacchio snaps.
He pushes your hand away from his chin to take ahold of yours, pulling you into a bruising kiss. He mouths at you like a man starved, as if your lips have the elixir of life upon them - suckling and biting, uncaring of how you're moaning into his mouth and pulling him down, spreading your thighs for him.
Your bare sex presses against the front of his leather trousers, where the stiff heat of his cock through the material is tantalisingly close and yet not close enough. You helplessly grind into it, the sensation strange but amazing.
"You're making a mess," he murmurs, though his throat is so thick with lust you can barely make sense of what he's saying.
"Take them off, then," you reply, petulantly - and Abbacchio wastes no time.
You can tell from the tense way that he's holding himself and the slight stumbles of his motions that he's just as close to the edge as you are - just, you suppose, better at controlling it. Abbacchio has been a man who lets his feelings take precedence in the past, but now . . . now he is granite cool and detached, from being moulded carefully into a better man thanks to the influence of the people around him who saw something in the shattered man he once was that was repairable.
He does. You pull impatiently at the ties of his shirt, and that's the next to go too - and then he's on top of you, just as naked as you are, his silky hair damp with sweat as it brushes along your skin.
"Fuck," he breathes, as you nip at his neck, breathing in the heady, masculine scent of him. "You feel so good--"
He's not even inside of you, just pressing his shaft against where you're aching and wet, and already you can feel the slightest lightening of your need. Your own hands and fingers were simply not enough - whatever this weird sex pollen stand has done to you, it knows when you're touching another person.
You reach a hand down to encircle his cock, gently, and he lets out a whistling exhale of breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering closed. He groans as you pump it once, twice - as you gently rub the slit of his cockhead where precome has soaked him. You shift impatiently beneath him on the sofa.
"Put it in me," you tell him, all bossiness - and Abbacchio, who would usually growl at you for being such a brat and then rub his cock against your folds without ever entering you, does as you ask without the slightest backchat.
The head of his cock stretches you open briefly at the entrance, but both of you are slick and needy enough that there's no ache beyond that - he glides into you as if you were made to take him.
And oh, it feels like that is exactly the case. He slots inside you like your channel was moulded to the imprint of his cock, snug and hot and wet and perfect. He groans aloud as he fills you, feeling the way that the painful ache of desire is lifting to be replaced with the pleasant ache of getting what you want.
You stop speaking. You stop doing anything except your mouths meeting messily, your fingers tangling in each other's hair, your hips rocking against one another in constant search of more of the delicious friction that's already building up inside you.
Abbacchio does not go at you gently. Every roll of his hips has the cushions beneath you abrading your back, and you're grateful you bought a nice sofa - you're going to have to clean it pretty hard after this. You have nothing to grip onto except Abbacchio's broad shoulders, your nails digging into his skin and leaving little crescent moons - Abbacchio doesn't complain.
When your fingers flex, actually, he moans, the sting clearly helping him along. Your boyfriend has always liked things a little rough. There's a light in his eyes that has your toes curling with every thrust.
You don't think you've ever been so close to coming so quickly in your life. You could chalk it up to Abbacchio's face and voice, his body - but you know in your heart that it's the weird smoke, making you extra sensitive and easier to rile up. Maybe, you think, the need will subside once you've come--
But you're wrong. Your orgasm tears through you with almost no warning but the swoop of your stomach and the wail that's suddenly being tore from your lips, your channel squeezing Abbacchio's cock, milking him for all he's worth - and the milking certainly works. Abbacchio swears in between gasps of your name and then his cock is twitching inside you, filling you messy and deep, his hips chasing the spurts and pushing his come deeper inside of you with every powerful pump.
"It's not working," you breathe, even as you realise that his cock has not softened a whit. You wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him in closer and deeper. "I'm still--"
"Me too," Abbacchio rumbles. He crushes your body beneath him, a heavy, reassuring weight. "Don't worry. We'll just have to . . . keep going--"
The way he says it sends pleasant shivers all through your body. Deep inside of yourself, you know that you should try and get away from the heady, hazy effects of the sex smoke - but another, deeper part of you is much more interested in Abbacchio continuing to pound you than anything else.
"Okay," you say, with no backchat. "No complaints here, caro--"
Abbacchio's breathless laughter is soon swallowed by other noises. The grunts and groans issuing forth from his mouth as he uses you like a toy - the moans of surprise when you hit back with corkscrewing your hips a certain way or clamping your channel around him again, tightening the cavern that's hugging his cock so deeply inside you.
The slap of skin on skin. The wet noises as he continues to fuck his come inside of you - the stutter of his breath as he comes again, twice and then three times. You can feel some of his seed leaking out of you now with every thrust of his powerful hips - but you've come four times and your body is shaking and trembling, and you can't bring yourself to think of anything else.
Now, you can feel that you're less entrenched inside the fog of need. Your hips ache a little from exertion and not from aphrodisiac stand bullshit. But your body is still prickling, just a little - and you tangle your fingers into Abbacchio's silky hair and say, all coy and fluttering eyelashes and bitten lip.
"I think it's starting to work."
Abbacchio looks down at you, his lipstick smeared, his eyes blown wide and dark, and the lightest smirk playing on his sculpted lips. He says, wicked;
"We better be sure though, right?"
Oh.
You decide that he's right.
As you feel his hips begin to rock once more inside you, you conclude that you two are in for a very long night.
#not sfw text#writing#leone abbacchio#leone abbacchio x reader#sex pollen for ts#kinktober collection#afab reader#neutral pronouns
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my version of the “ok but in the finale eddie gets shot, right?” fic
to touch the sky [ao3 link]
eddie/buck, finale speculation. major injuries. mentions throwing up.
Eddie can see the sky.
Is he supposed to see the sky? His ears are ringing and there’s a hazy quality to all the noise, like it’s coming from a long way off.
Move, Eddie tells himself.
There’s a dull ache beneath Eddie’s breastbone, a tingling in his fingers, and he’s finding it hard to breathe. Something about that should scare him, but it’s too hard to focus. He grunts, remembers his training; pinpoint one noise, one feeling.
Sirens. Eddie winces, wants desperately to cough but can’t.
A voice. Buck.
Choosing Buck’s voice is easy; Eddie focuses everything on it, on trying to move his head, but he doesn’t need to. The sound of something scraping and then Buck’s head appears above him, eyes wide, panic in his expression.
“Eddie,” Buck says, but it sounds murky. Eddie blinks, licks his bottom lip as he tries to solidify Buck’s face. Instead, his eyes drift down his body and he notices that Buck’s not wearing his uniform. Why? It’s something Eddie should know and he’s frustrated that he doesn’t. What’s happening? “Eddie.”
“I’m fine,” Eddie tries to say; but it comes out a gurgled mess. There’s blood on Buck’s hands when he touches Eddie’s face. He looks scared. Eddie hates it when he looks scared. “Shit.”
“Don’t swear,” Eddie tries. Again, it doesn’t make sense even to him. He can’t focus on why that is, just the terror in Bucks eyes.
Buck is still touching him, hands wet and red, and he’s shaking. “You hold on for me, okay?”
Can do. Not that he knows why he needs to. Eddie’s done it before. Thinks if Buck asks, he’d hold on forever. That sparks something in him; he is waiting for Buck. He’s been waiting, but about what drifts just out of reach. He wants to—
Pain explodes in Eddie’s chest and he makes a noise, one that makes Buck’s face screw up. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” Eddie tries. Some of it must slur out because Buck’s gaze sharpens, a little hope. “You’re bloody.”
Something crumples in Bucks face. Eddie thinks it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen.
“It’s yours,” Buck says, his voice high. “Eddie, it’s yours.”
Oh. That doesn’t sound good.
Drifting for a while, Eddie stares up at the blue, blue sky. It’s bright, sunny, and it’s a nice day. The park. Eddie’s supposed to be taking Chris to the park tomorrow, his day off. Alone, because someone else, someone who comes with them somtimes, isn’t there anymore, but the name drifts away, just the image of a smile, a name he doesn’t like.
“Eddie?”
It’s a lot of effort to move his head but Eddie does. Buck’s crying and Eddie wants to reach out, wipe the tears away. His fingers are still tingling and all he can manage is a weird jerk of his fingers.
“Stay with me, alright? I need to get you on the basket so it’s gonna hurt.”
“Nothing hurts,” Eddie tells him, but for some reason that makes Buck close his eyes, take a few breaths. “Okay?”
A laugh, sad. “Yeah, Eddie, I’m okay.”
Eddie groans when pain shoots through his chest. He ignores Buck’s muttered apologies, focus on the way the sky tilts, his eyes taking in a building, the side of another.
“You got him?” Chimney. Chim’s here?
“We at work?” Eddie asks. Buck doesn’t answer for a moment. “Buck?”
Eddie can’t help the way his tone banks into panic.
“Easy,” Buck says immediately, and his face reappears. “I just had to get the harness on, Eddie, alright? I’m still here.”
Eddie stares at him. Harness? Nothing about this makes sense. When whatever he’s laying on sways, he feels sick. “M’gonna throw up.”
“Shit,” Buck says. “Alright, Eddie, do what you gotta do, okay?”
“M’kay.” Eddie blinks. “Glad you’re here.”
Buck laughs and again, it sounds funny. “You and me both, buddy.”
There’s a lot more swaying, and nausea bubbles up until it’s overwhelming. “M’sorry,” he mutters as he throws up, chest flaring with pain until it’s all he can focus on.
“Hey,” Buck says, his voice cutting through whatever’s whining. “Eddie, listen to me, Eddie, you need to focus, okay—HOLD THE FUCKING WINCH—sorry, I know that was loud.”
Eddie closes his eyes, embarrassed, but there’s a hand in his hair.
“Eddie,” Buck says, his voice gentle, and the swaying is less.
“Buck,” Eddie manages, and the whining’s stopped at least. “Feel funny.”
A pause. When Eddie opens one eye, he can see Buck hovering over him. He’s wearing a helmet, blood on his forehead, his shirt, but he’s there. He touches Eddie’s face. “I know. We’ll be at the hospital real soon.”
Hospital. For Eddie?
“Yeah, for you,” Buck says, voice cracking.
“’kay,” Eddie mumbles, and closes his eyes. He can feel the rocking, the noises filtering back in, but Buck’s hand is on his forehead the whole time.
“Don’t sleep,” Buck says more than once.
Eddie tries. He tries so hard. “Just a little—”
“Eddie,” but Eddie can feel the tug of sleep taking him over.
-----
Buck’s hands are shaking.
“Hey,” Hen says, resting a hand on his thigh. “You need a coffee?”
“No,” Buck says immediately. He’s staring down at his sneakers. They’re covered in blood. Eddie’s blood. Like his hands—he’s tried cleaning them—like his shirt, his everything. “How long—”
Buck’s phone cuts through the silence, Chris’ familiar ringtone drifting out of his pocket. A couple of people glare at him, but Buck ignores them, grits his teeth as he answers. “Hey, buddy.”
“Buck,” Chris says, sounding scared. “Abuela said Daddy—”
“He’s hurt,” Buck says, not wanting to scare Chris more than he has to, but he’s not lying. “I’m in the hospital right now, okay?”
A pause. “Can you come home?”
Buck closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Home, like he lives there. Like there’s not been a steady distance building between him and them for weeks. “I need to be here for your dad, alright? As soon as I know anything, I promise I’ll FaceTime, okay?”
“Okay,” Chris says quickly, which means he knew. “You’ll hold his hand?”
Ana will, Buck thinks viciously. Out loud he says, “Both of them. For me and you.”
Chris doesn’t stay much longer; Isabel takes the phone.
“I’m sorry,” Buck starts.
“Don’t be silly,” Isabel says, in the way only she can. “Eddie is strong. He will come back to his family.”
“Yeah,” Buck breathes.
Isabel makes a frustrated noise. “To you.”
“I don’t think,” Buck starts.
“To you,” Isabel says again and hangs up.
Staring at his phone, Buck wonders if Isabel knows about Ana. She must? Eddie’s not the kind of guy to not tell his family and he’s met Ana, so surely—
“Buck,” Hen says, tapping his leg.
He looks up, sees the doctor walking towards them and abruptly realises they need someone here, Isabel or Pepa, he should have kept them on the phone. He realises, with growing dread, that Ana might be Eddie’s emergency contact.
“Is there a Mr. Buckley here?”
Buck startles, almost drops his phone. Hen and Bobby share a look. “I’m Buck. Uh, Mr. Buckley.”
The doctor nods, approaches. “Is it okay to have a private word, Mr. Buckley?”
“You can,” Buck starts, frowns, doesn’t know what to say. He looks pleadingly at Bobby.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, with a sense of urgency and patience that Buck doesn’t think he could ever master. “You are Mr. Diaz’s agent, are you not?”
Buck almost says no, but he’s too surprised, too shocked to do anything but stare. Hen pinches his thigh and he nods in reaction, says, “yeah.”
“Good,” the doctor says. “We’re about to take Mr. Diaz into surgery to treat the pericardial tamponade. I need to confirm whether there’s a DNR in place?”
Buck doesn’t know.
“I,” Buck starts. He thinks, tries to recall Eddie ever saying—
"I don’t have a DNR,” Buck says. “Do you?”
“Are you kidding?” Eddie snorts, nods at Chris. “Neither of us is allowed to go anywhere, Buckley.”
—“No,” Buck says. “Please, he doesn’t wanna die.”
“Alright,” the doctor says. He says something else, something Hen and Bobby are listening too, squeezes Buck’s arm and disappears.
“What’s a pericardial tamponade?” Buck asks, he knows, but he needs them to say it.
Hen doesn’t look at him.
“Compression of the heart,” Bobby says instead, approaches slowly.
Buck’s glad of that a moment later when his legs almost give out.
“Easy,” Bobby says, lowering him into a chair. “Breathe, Buck.”
“Why am I,” he gasps out. “He made me his POA, and I can’t—”
“Of course you,” Bobby says carefully. He squeezes Buck’s hand and Buck squeezes back, probably too hard, but he needs something to ground him. Eddie’s got a fucking heart compression and Buck knows that’s bad, so bad, but he can’t—
“Bobby.”
“Listen to me,” Bobby says. “Of course it’s you. That man loves you—”
“Don’t,” Buck says. “Please. I know you mean well, but Ana.”
There’s a silence Buck can’t explain.
Hen sits down next to him, looking concerned. “Buck, Eddie broke up with Ana this morning. He didn’t tell you he was going to?”
“No,” Buck says, unable to comprehend. They didn’t speak that morning because Buck’s phone went off and he was with Taylor and they’d gone for coffee. “I’m gonna throw up.”
Someone moves something close and Buck throws up, feels guilt and horror well up in his stomach. Eddie’s in surgery, a doctor asking about resuscitation, and Buck didn’t know he’d broken up with Ana because he was celebrating Taylor’s promotion.
_____
Numb.
There’s a steady beeping in his ear (hospital) and a rustle of sheets (his own?)
He tries to open his eyes. Nothing. Making a noise of frustration, he tries again.
“Hey,” someone says in his ear. “Eddie, you can do it.”
Something is clogging his throat and he can’t speak, it hurts, something thick and it hurts.
Someone says something, but his chest is tight, his panic palpable and then nothing.
When he next wakes, his throat hurts but he can breathe. He wants to sob with relief. This time, he can open his eyes. The lights are too much and he abruptly shuts them, makes a noise in the back of his throat, and shifts.
“They’re off,” someone says quietly, and he feels a hand in his hair. “You wanna open them again for me?”
Eddie wants to say no but his mouth won’t cooperate so he makes a noise.
“Please?”
The voice is trembling. Afraid? Eddie doesn’t want anyone to be afraid. He cracks open his eyes, grateful when the lights are off. He turns, ignoring the floaty feeling in his head, his body.
Buck.
“Buck,” Eddie croaks. His throat hurts. Buck must realise, because he holds out an ice chip. Eddie takes it, sucks on it gratefully, but can’t look away from Buck. He looks exhausted, a cut on his forehead, and his clothes look rumpled and bloodstained. “Okay?”
“Fuck,” Buck mutters, letting out a watery laugh. “Of course you’re asking if I’m okay.”
Eddie doesn’t know what that means. “Awake before,” he manages, before Buck’s shoving another ice chip at him.
“Slowly,” Buck admonishes. “I need to alert the doctor.”
“Stay,” Eddie says, sudddenly panicked.
Buck abruptly moves, puts his hand in Eddie’s hair. “I’m not leaving. Just pushing a button, okay?” Eddie nods and Buck does so, but he doesn’t move away. “God, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” Eddie says. Then, “woke up before.”
“I know,” Buck winces. “They intubated but didn’t know you were gonna wake up so soon. They had knock you out so they could take out the tube.”
Eddie tries to focus on that, but the words drift away like smoke.
“You had a cardiac tamponade,” Buck continues, as if he can’t see Eddie’s confusion. “They weren’t sure you’d be safe to consciously handle—”
The doctor interrupts him, striding in and taking over.
Eddie tries to focus, to pay attention to what the doctor’s saying, doing, but he just clings to Buck, hopes Buck’s paying attention.
“I got it,” Buck whispers in his ear. “You can rest if you need to, okay?”
“Stay?” Eddie says, scared.
Buck leans down, kisses Eddie’s forehead. “I’m never leaving you.”
Eddie falls asleep with those comforting words in his ear.
#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buddie fic#buddie#fic by me#can you tell i studied today?#lmao bye#911. 911 spoilers
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