#hisoillu fic

[anticanonhearts]

for "My Valentine" by Blue23Lace on ao3 <3

no but fr this fic is so amazing. So Amazing. And it's only 3 chapters and only has like 6 kudos. Pls pls pls read. <3

[anticanonhearts]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Happy HisoIllu week!

Chapter 2 of "You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison" is out!!:)

pls check it out, im rlly into the direction it's going, it would mean the world!

[anticanonhearts]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

first chapter of my hisoillu prison au:))

Itd be so cool if any of you checked it out! good things are in store <3

[anticanonhearts]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison"

new chapter, "Mercy", is out!

<3

[hisokun]

I guess you can say that this is sort of a preview of the titanic au that i want to do. hisoillu of course. 

( warning: slightly vague sex scene below. )

     A hand rises, fingernails clamping over Hisoka’s back. 

     Their moans are greeted with a series of shudders, exchanged in the middle of their breaths as their mouths infinitely connect. Their parted lips are creating fog under the septic light of the engines. Illumi’s body is arched - stomach brushing over stomach, legs tangled, shoulder blades dampened with sweat. He finds himself counting all the seconds before his hands start to shake; his heart is burning at the taste of Hisoka’s name. 

     Shadows dance as Hisoka moves over him. 

     His thrusts are gentle, but surprisingly desperate. Illumi feels like he’s yearning for their hips to abridge. As if there’s a thread in between the shape of his ribs, and their bones are simply finding their way back to perfectly fit. In return, he wraps both of his legs around the man’s waist, letting Hisoka lift his body slightly upwards to gain more leverage. Pleasure shocks through him, tightening his muscles. 

          “Hisoka.” 

     The man’s hand flutters over his chest - flightless, the laziness of morning, bodies golden.

     Hisoka’s voice comes, softer than warmth, mouth closing over teeth. 

          “Illumi.” A touch - raspy, certain, trembling. “Je t’aime.” 

[hisokun]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

(Two years ago)

There’s something melancholy to waking up to an empty room, Hisoka knows, because when he flutters his eyes open, all he can see is a ghost.

The morning is still dim, the clock on his nightstand blinking 5 a.m. Cold air is uncomfortably clinging to his body like a second skin, making the hair on his arms rise up in unfamiliar greeting. Hisoka’s golden eyes are lazily catching the light strewing from the windows, balancing through the small sift of the curtains where the sun unevenly glows. Hisoka blocks the light streaming like needles on his face, ignoring the burn of the empty space beside him.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, feeling the soft fleece of the blanket wrap around his feet. But to his left, he feels nothing but the bare breath of where Machi used to sleep. His hand roams the spot where Machi’s body used to sink in in the evening before she left, his eyes unable to stray away from the ceiling as if every memory they made is there.

Okay, so I finally finished the fic, and I finally have the courage to post it. I know it seems like another hisomachi fic judging by the start of this sequel, but fret not, because it isn’t. 

This is the ending that should have happened, but I didn’t give. So, to thank you all for your support for this fic, for all the fanart, for the kudos, the comments, the hits, and the messages - every single show of support you have given to this (asshole) fic author, I dedicate this sequel to all of you. 

Is this the happy ending you wanted? I hope so. 

[hisokun]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter Four

November 2015

6:06 a.m. – Zoldyck Mansion

Ghosts don’t sleep. Or, at least, Illumi doesn’t.

Instead, he lurks behind the hard plasters of the walls, lingers in the picture frames, the family photos and paintings hung on every corner of the hallways. He pretends that his ribs are made of literal bones, that his skin doesn’t seem transparent when he looks at his palms. He tells himself that he’s always been invisible, even back when he was still a human.

He doesn’t like staying in one place. There isn’t much to do in one place. He has to hop from one room to another in order to occupy himself. Sometimes, he lets every memory he’s remade vanish back into his skin, so that when he takes another look around the mansion, he’ll feel like he’s forgotten everything. But there are things he can’t seem to get rid of, things he can’t seem to swallow down his throat.

[hisokun]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter Three

October 1897

11:34 a.m. – Carriage on the way to the Freecs’ residence

Illumi wishes that it would rain.

The skies overhead are brewing with a dreadful sense of patter. The clouds are draining out the light from the sky, inhaling the breath of the sun as they slowly turn dark. Illumi’s eyes are blurring past the buildings enclosing the road, watching the people walk on the sidewalks with their umbrellas curled on top like a teacup. If he closes his eyes, he can almost block out his mother’s voice and listen instead to the chatter outside. He can hear the faint sounds: the horse’s hooves stomping against the cobblestones, its feet pushing away the pebbles; the perky ring of the charms hanging over some of the stores in the city; the hushed laughter of the group of girls covering their mouths with their fans and handkerchiefs; and the beating heart of the city of Kukuroo, the shadows of the chase, the taste of chaste and misery on his throat.

He knows it now: if he were to let his feet guide him, he wouldn’t be able to find home.