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miya-park · 1 year

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It's all for you

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader, Aegon Targaryen x f!reader

Warning: canonical violence and incest, blood, mention of death family problems, the reader is older

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Summary: When you first meet the princes, all you want to do is avoid them and quietly serve Helaena and Alicent. But when at your age of ten and six you see for the first time how brothers break down one by one, you can't stop your love for them. And you will do anything to protect Alicent's children.

word count: 3,2k

A/N: Let me know what you think about it. Thank you for reading! (English is not my native language, not edited)

First chapter

Time flowed differently in King's Landing than in your homeland. It was probably for the reason that you felt like a part of something here. It was a small part of a large mechanism.

To match the mechanism, you changed your daily routine. Waking up early in the morning, you went to the library, choosing a book for a week for yourself and a couple of textbooks for the princess. Then you had breakfast in her company, telling her about yourself or about those heroes whose stories you read during this time. After that, you walked in the garden, embroidered under the supervision of the septa, or if it was a school day, devoted yourself to the sciences. You studied something new with interest, tried out poetry, so that in your free time there was something to fill the silence between you and the princess.

Helaena grew up a kind and gentle girl, but even you were sometimes frightened by her detachment. It was as if she was here and not here at the same time, but her dreams also alarmed you. She didn't say anything specific about them, just vague and vague phrases. Phrases that made you feel cold, and at that moment your skin was covered with goosebumps. But you fell in love with Helaena. You loved her as if she were your sister. She's not that shrill and naughty girl in your homeland.

And if you treated her with tenderness and awe, then you tried not to cross paths with her brothers once again. Even though you were older than both Aegon and Aemond, you knew that at least one of your wrong words, wrong gesture or look, then you would either lose your already precarious position at the Royal Court, or you would be kicked out with a stain on your honor. Recently, Prince Aegon inspired terror in all the young maids and many did not want to serve in his chambers. Although there were girls who were blinded by his beauty and social status. The Queen and her father spent an impressive amount of coins to hide the fact that the prince had already been caressed by a woman's hand more than once.

But when you live next to the cause of these rumors, nothing passes by. You tried to be as inconspicuous and invisible as possible to Aegon's drunken eyes, kept in the shadow of the princess and the queen. And luck was on your side also due to the fact that Aegon did not visit the princess often, preferring to do other things.

And if you could be invisible to Aegon's eyes, like a wall or a carpet, then to Aemond you were just another servant of his sister. And you were happy to stick to that title.

It's been several moons since the princess' birthday before you noticed the tense atmosphere between the brothers and the rest of the royal family. Aemond was already ten when you realized that he was different from the other Targaryens. He didn't have a dragon of his own. You didn't know what the reason was and didn't mind your own business, but the sight of a sad prince being bullied by an older brother made your heart shrink. Passing by him, you always looked down, not wanting to face his angry eyes. Aemond always following Aegon, despite the cruel words that his older brother used against him, was perhaps the sweetest and at the same time the most pathetic thing you watched.

The situation also worsened the relationship between Queen Alicent and Princess Reynera. Politics didn't interest you. You were indifferent to the quarrel between them, considering it your duty only to take care of Helaena, to create a comfortable space around her. You wanted political strife not to touch her snow-white hair with drops of blood and the smell of violence. And the closer you got, the more you realized that this girl did not deserve everything that awaited her in the future.

Over time, your position at court has also changed. You have been allocated other chambers. They were much more luxurious and richer than the previous ones, and the view from the window overlooked the neighboring tower. Sometimes you missed that piece of the garden that you watched in the old chambers, but you didn't complain. The queen began to trust you with the small cares of the younger prince, Daeron, although you preferred to serve only the princess.

Not soon, but you came to terms with the fact that the princess was strange, was fond of various insects, talking about them non-stop, but the servants found it strange and repulsive. And not even all members of the royal family condescended to Helaena's hobby.

One day, you were walking past the courtyard after a feast held in honor of the tournament, when you heard someone's voices over the noise of the fountain. You stopped, recognizing the voices of the princes.

“I can't understand why Helaena and I want to get married,” Aegon said heavily, examining the bottom of the bowl in his hands. Reaching for the flask, he poured himself a glass of wine, immediately taking a greedy sip. “Let's be honest, brother, she's an idiot.”

You froze when you heard an insult in the direction of the one you served so faithfully, as you believed in the Seven Gods. Hiding in the shadow of the walls, you wanted to go out and tell him, the drunken prince, that he was the only idiot, and not Helaena, whose beauty began to blossom every day; whose eyes were now calm as a field of purple hyacinths on a sunny summer day, and wise, as if she was not ten and one, but much, much more.

“She's your future queen. If I had my way, I would have done my duty by marrying her,” Aemond objected, watching him. In his eyes, there was no longer the same idolatry and adoration towards his older brother. “But I can't go against my parents' will”

“What a fool,” Aegon spat, getting more irritated by the second. “Although, I have to admit, you would make a great couple: a prince without a dragon and an idiot princess.”

Aemond panted as he took a step forward, but a lazy slap from Aegon stopped him. He staggered back to a large stone pillar. The eldest prince stood up, straightened his hair.

“Too small to compete with me. We'll meet tomorrow at the training ground, but don't look for me today. I hear the cook has two new maids now. A great reason to visit this place forgotten by the Seven.” Aegon grabbed the cup with the goblet and left, disappearing into the night.

There are two left. You and the quiet Aemond. Lowering your eyes, you took a handkerchief out of your dress and squeezed it in your hands, not knowing whether to offer the prince help or better to get away, forgetting about everything you heard. Shaking your head, you hid the handkerchief in your sleeve and turned around to leave.

“You don't have to hide your presence,” Aemond said loudly. His voice trembled slightly, and so did you. Lowering your head, you stepped into the light, standing in front of him. The dress rustled in time with your steps.

“Excuse me, my Prince, I was just passing by, to my chambers…” you pursed your lips, finally looking up. His lower lip was bleeding slightly, but the boy himself did not pay attention to it.

“And the altercation of the two princes made you forget the way?” he asked sharply, watching you look away in shame.

You were much older than him by moons, but you were almost as afraid of him as you were of your mother.

“It doesn't matter anyway. Pretend you didn't hear anything and get out. Otherwise, tomorrow the entire royal court will see your head on this spot.”

You hurriedly curtsied, without taking your eyes off his face. Everything inside you was itching unpleasantly, and your heart was pounding rapidly while you were feverishly thinking about your next actions. Noticing your gaze, he raised his eyebrows irritably.

“What?”

“Your lip, my prince… it's bleeding”

“And what?”what is it?" he asked touching the wound. Aemond's face didn't even flinch when he touched her.

“If… if you would allow…” you said, taking a hesitant step forward and taking out your handkerchief. “I would like to help you. It's not right for a prince to walk around with blood on his face during a celebration”

The boy was silent and you perceive it as a signal for action. You move on as silently as your dress allows, soaking the handkerchief in icy water. This is certainly not the healing ointment of the meister, which at least calmed his aching pain and helped the wound heal faster, but it was impossible to leave just the wound. After wetting the corner, you squeeze it out, letting the water flow between your fingers, burning the skin with cold. You flinch slightly, but you return to the prince, kneeling in front of him. Face to face. The dress immediately crumples and gets dirty with yard dirt, and you mentally ask forgiveness from your maid.

His gaze is hostile, but at the same time calm — you guess that he knows that you are just doing your job as a servant. You're just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And he was obviously hurt that you were there at the moment of his obvious humiliation.

Gently taking him by the shoulder, you lightly touch his lower lip — the prince does not even wince or twitch when he feels cold — and concentrate on wiping his blood. His eyes are looking straight at you and you feel uncomfortable, trying to wipe his lip as quickly as possible. Just a few movements and there are absolutely no flaws on his beautiful face, except for a slight swelling.

“You know, Prince… It's quite selfless that you think about your duty at such a young age,” you say slowly, getting up and trying to shake off your dress. Aemond takes a few steps back. “I couldn't do that”

“And what does that mean? What is it?" he asks, wiping the water off his lips with his sleeve.

You put the handkerchief in your sleeve, adjusting the lace. Mentally you choose the right words.

“That you are very brave.”

“Well, someone has to be like that in our family,” Aemond replies. “Although bravery is nothing before seniority.”

You hear the bitterness in his words and your heart contracts. He is first of all a child, and only then a prince.

Involuntarily you remember Helaena. A girl who should marry her older brother. You clearly understand that no one will be happy in this marriage — although it is quite easy for you to make her happy. But Aemond isn't like that. It cannot be said that he always blindly followed Aegon, but the influence that his older brother exerted on him was enormous. This was before there was wine in Aegon's life and the need to spend nights not alone.

“Well, my prince, you should be proud of her. I am also not the first child in my family, and even more so I do not have the courage that you have.”you stop talking, and then you blush. “Although it is superfluous to compare you and me. Please forgive my mistake, Prince Aemond.”

Aemond shakes his head and you exhale. It cannot be said that the thoughts you voiced were correct or supportive. But you knew that Aemond deserved to be comforted.

“I think it's time for you to come back. I'm sure the feast is about to end, and you probably would like to dance some more.”he says and you get the hint.

Suddenly you laugh and shake your head. Where do you go before these holidays!

“Oh no, I'm not going back there. Princess Helaena has already retired to her chambers, which means I have nothing to do there.”you say, turning towards the corridor leading to the hall. “It's best you get back before the queen goes looking for you. Good night, Prince.”

He nods in response, turning and disappearing into the darkness after Aegon. You look after him, listening to the sound of his footsteps fade away and you are left alone.

In silence and darkness.

After that night, it seemed that Prince Aemond had changed his mind about you. His eyes started noticing you if you crossed paths in the hallway or in the princess' room or somewhere else. You had to nod politely so as not to provoke anger for not observing etiquette. And you didn't know whether to rejoice at such crumbs of his attention or to be afraid. To be afraid that someday Prince Aegon will notice Aemond's gaze directed in your direction. But you suppressed this fear in yourself, although it was no longer possible to remain unnoticed as before. If Helaena noticed a change in her brother's behavior, she was silent, for which you were grateful to her.

But Queen Alicent did not remain silent.

Her tenacious gaze clearly caught the way Prince Aemond looked thoughtfully in your direction, so when Helaena was under the supervision of the septa, she invited you to her solarium under the pretext of helping her with choosing clothes for the younger prince. Suspecting nothing, you went to her chambers, anticipating the bright smile and laughter of a child. Alicent loved to tickle his stomach and stroke his round cheeks.

Entering the solarium with the royal permission, you curtsied and froze, waiting for her orders. Daeron was not in the room and you looked at the woman questioningly. She nodded to the maid and she hurriedly left.

“Have a seat, lady,” Alicent invited, sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. There were two mugs on the table next to it. Slowly, you approached her, not knowing exactly where to sit, but in the end you chose to sit on the edge of the sofa.”Daeron is with the babysitter, she will come with him soon. I'd like to talk to you.”

Everything inside you turned cold and you turned pale. The fear of being misunderstood possessed you, but you were silent.

“Lately I've noticed that my son, Aemond, has changed his attitude towards you, his sister's servant,” she began, carefully watching your reaction. You straightened up from the direct hint in her voice.

“It seems your eyes are letting you down, my queen,” you replied, clasping your fingers in your lap. “Prince Aemond and I don't even talk unnecessarily.”

Alicent looked at you for a minute. Her gaze was penetrating, but you were not almost afraid, because you had nothing to hide.

“To be honest, I would like you not to doubt my loyalty to your children, my queen.”you said, trying to prove it to her. “I treat almost everyone as my wards. And I have no ties with any of them higher than the love of a servant for her masters.”

“I don't want you to belittle yourself like that, lady,” Alicent finally replied, taking a sip of tea. “Helaena is delighted with you. She likes your courtesy and willingness to help her.”

“Glad to hear it” the color flooded your cheeks.

“But alas, I have to admit that as a mother I made a mistake,” she began. Getting up, she walked around the table and went to the window. “My eldest son… He grew up a dissolute drunkard. And I don't want my other children to see the ugliness that he represents.”

You frowned, not quite understanding what she was driving at.

“Your loyalty to my daughter is… amazing. I am glad to know that there is a person who will take care of her in different life circumstances. Especially when they, like the children of the king, have enemies who want to harm them and change the political situation in Westeros. Princess Rhaenyra and I are trying our best to prevent this from happening, but I cannot be sure of your loyalty based only on words. And so I want to ask you something..,” Alicent moved away from the window and stood in front of the fireplace. You nervously licked your lips, waiting for her words. “To demand such a thing from a child… It's crazy, but my daughter loves you and you are my hope for her bright future. I want you to take the oath of knightly loyalty to Helaena.”

“What?” you asked quietly, involuntarily getting up from your seat.

“My children have dragons. But Aemond… I can't guarantee that he will get his own, although I hope for it and ask the Gods for it.” These words were not easy for Alicent. You didn't comment on it in any way, knowing full well the prince's plight at court. “But the dragons won't be able to protect them here in the castle, where they may find themselves at the center of intrigue. Attracting famous houses to their defense is stupid, because the situation between me and Princess Rhaenyra remains too tense for them. And we are working to ensure that as few people as possible know about our… Truce. But you are an exception.”

You bit your lip, not knowing what to say in response. Everything the queen said was unexpected for you and you didn't know how to react.

“All I ask is that you think about my words. We will provide you with proper training, a salary - everything you need.”

“Do you want me to become Helaena's bodyguard?” you asked in bewilderment and Alicent pursed her lips.

“I want you to protect my children when the time comes. Any of them.” she said.

You opened your mouth to answer when there was a knock on the door. The Queen irritably allowed you to enter, casting a warning glance at you, and you expected to see the nanny with her youngest son together with her. But instead of them, Maester Mellos came into the solarium.

“I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, my queen. But a raven has just arrived.”

“With good news, I hope?” Alicent asked while you sidled to the door, thinking that your conversation was over for now. If Alicent wanted to, she would have called you later, after Mellos left.

“The news is not for you, my queen. And for this lady.”with these words, the maester looked at you and you stopped. “Your mother sent a raven with news for you to me personally because she wasn't sure if you would read her letter.”

You pursed your lips. Relations with mother deteriorated several moons ago when her demands became prohibitively high. And you stopped accepting her letters, sending the ravens back.

“I'm sorry she decided to disturb you, Maester. Have you sent the letter back to her yet?”

“No lady, this concerns your family, not just you.” His hands slid down into the hem of his robe and he took out a parchment. “Your older brother died two days ago late at night.”

You felt the world quickly spinning around you.

“What?”

“And your mother is going to arrive at King's Landing in two weeks.”

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chihoshisai · 11 months

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A Desire to Live

Pairing : Snape x you / genre : angst, fluff, hurt-(no)comfort (depends on the chapter), (dark) comedy

summary : Everyone knows not to defy a Death Eater for murder is all that awaits them. You found yourself treating one in the intimacy of your home. Severus Snape, recently injured. Thankfully he let you live out of gratitude yet ironically, you couldn't help but to cling to someone who brought death and disaster on their path in order to ensure your survival.

A/N : This is only a part of chapter 1 which is around 3.1K words and I felt it was a bit too long to post on tumblr and didn't want to break it down into parts like my other fic. If this sneak peak interests you, you can continue reading here on ao3 !! There are a couple of chapters uploaded already. If you're waiting for a lonely flower amidst a garden update no you did not see this

word count : 1738

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You had just finished a good reading session. This is what you liked the most about living in the countryside, endless fields, nature and most importantly a well deserved suspension of the usual buzzing sound that came from cities and human interactions. Even if everything was far from you, the peace and quiet from your surroundings made up for it. As you held your book loosely by your side, you saw a figure covered in dark clothing limp in the distance, clutching their lower abdomen. You slowed down, now hesitantly putting one foot before the other. Thanks to Voldemort, the entire wizarding world lived in darkness, fear and chaos now overtaking every citizen. Being wary of anyone outside of family members and close friends was now the norm. The fact that you were adventuring outside was already dangerous. Except that you lived in such a recluse area that it never crossed your mind that danger would come, until you saw that black figure hobble in the direction opposite yours.

The source of your worries collapsed on the ground. Rather than feeling relieved, you felt panic surge inside you. You rushed over the individual to see a puddle of blood forming around the body. Long black hair, as dark as the robe he wore, the figure indicated that of a man. You kneeled before him, careful not to soil yourself in the pool of blood.

“Are you alright?!” You raised your free hand towards him, as he groaned for an answer causing you to stop in your tracks. You could tell by the amount of blood spilling that it was only a matter of time before this man was at death’s door.

“Damn it.” Forget about the dark times and being wary of strangers, there was a person about to die in front of you and if anything, enough of them had died already. With enough luck, this might just be an Auror and you could be rewarded handsomely if you saved his life. You carefully threw your book a few feets away from you, making a mental note to come back for it later whilst you grabbed the now unconscious man by the arms before disapparating so as to appear in front of your house.

You struggled to open the door. In fact you struggled as you dragged him all the way to your room. Thankfully your little cottage only had one floor. With difficulty, you took off his robe and his shirt revealing the true nature of his wound and most importantly, the Death Eater mark on his arm. You backed away, an almost inaudible shriek escaping your lips. You stared at the man in pain with horror as you debated what the correct course of action was.

“Lily…”

The unexpected wailing brought you back to your senses. Having regained consciousness, you saw the eyes of the man fixated upon you, sweat dripping all over his face while his eyes reflected tenderness, seemingly at the thought of mistaking you for someone else. You remained motionless. Right, these people also have loved ones. And right now it seemed to you that your only chance of survival was to play it off as his while the misunderstanding lasted.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He panted, and winced in pain, making you feel bad for him. Slightly.

“I don’t think you should speak.” You could feel your palm getting sweaty by the second. Whatever happened to him, he probably deserved it being a Death Eater and all but still, seeing a man at death’s door in your room didn’t leave you indifferent.

“I know. I simply wanted to tell you–” He coughed, spitting blood. You twitched at the sight of yet more gore sullying your neatly polished room.

God no. It sounded like the last words of a man ready to die. “I told you not to speak. I won’t let you die.” You reluctantly said. Your mind had made a decision, but your body refused to cooperate.

“I see. If it’s not too much trouble then, I’m in your care.” He gave you a smile that seemed to cost him all his energy, before he turned his gaze to the ceiling.

You stood there for a while. It took a lot of willpower for your body to finally move. You knew you were heading to an early grave, yet you couldn’t find a way out of this. If you left him alone, his death would weigh on your mind for the rest of your life and if he lived well, at least you felt satisfied with the number of books you had the chance to read.

As you exited the room, you wondered if his wand was in his robe you just took off or hidden somewhere in his pants. You shuddered at the thought. You fetched a bucket of water along with multiple towels, alcohol, bandages and painkillers. You steeled your nerves as you were about to reenter the room, ready to lay hands on one of the most wanted criminals. If anyone were to learn of your forthcoming actions, Azkaban would most likely be the outcome.

You treated him with caution, thanks to your love for books, you had gathered knowledge on the matter. Yet, your hands remained uncertain and his simple movements were enough to make you whimper in fear. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to take notice of it.

“Do you remember the day we first met?”

Nope.

You clutched the bandages tightly in your hands as you wrapped them around his wound, having helped him into a sitting position with much difficulty. “Yeah.” You made sure not to meet his gaze, and prayed he didn’t ask for the exact circumstances. Dammit, why couldn’t he just stay silent?

“I feel like I’m meeting you again for the first time. Weird isn’t it.” His voice sounded less painful thanks to your medical attention yet was still that of a wounded man.

You gave a nervous laugh in response. What nonsense was this man saying? You wanted to run out of the room as quickly as possible. So you did.

“Alright, I’m done.” You helped him lay down before adding, “I’m gonna get these cleared out.” You grabbed the bucket and handful of other things you brought along with you. Walked to the door with such speed while saying just as quickly, “do call me if you need anything.” You shutted the door behind you knowing damn well he couldn’t properly call for you in the position he was in.

“I’m doomed.” The thought of death didn’t scare you, hence why you merely sighed as you made your way to the bathroom, before taking in the full impact of the blood trail this individual had left on your floor whilst you dragged him around. Suddenly death by the hands of a Death Eater seemed like the least of your concern as you quickly grabbed all you needed to disinfect your cottage.

Evening’s colors started creeping from the windows, soon announcing the dread and fear that nighttime now brought for everyone. This made you remember that one of those instigators of nightmares was now residing in your chamber. You grabbed a couple bandages on the way, thinking his might need a change. As you opened the door to your room, you found him in a sitting position. This will make things easier, you thought. Except that you noticed the gentle gaze he had before was now replaced by a dangerous glare.

You stood in the doorframe. “Your bandages need to be changed.” You mechanically said.

“Right.” He said in a manner just audible enough. “Do come over then.”

You carefully walked, taking notice of the wand that rested in his right hand, ready to attack at any given moment. You also noticed that his robe weren’t how you previously left them. So his wand was in his robe all this time. Nonetheless, you cursed yourself for not taking it back with you earlier. You consoled yourself by thinking that anyone gutsy enough who isn’t an Auror trying to defy a Death Eater is delusional. Better listen and execute their request than risk dying.

You took care of him with steady hands, now more careful than ever not to hurt him. He remained silent, simply doing motions with his thumb on his wand, as a reminder.

That you were at his mercy.

That you could die at any moment.

“You’re a bad person aren’t you?” A stupid question to ask really, but the silence was making you suffocate.

“It depends.” He said.

“On what?” Now you were starting to play with fire and you knew it.

“On you.” He gave you a glance and you instantly understood what he meant. He would let you go if you didn’t cross any line. What a relief.

“Oh. But do tell me your name then.” You ignored the warning look he gave you. “I’m not going to sell you out or something. If I wanted to do so I would've done it by now rather than save you. I’d just like to know the name of the Death Eater I had the fortune to save.” You introduced yourself first, thinking it would make him more eager to tell his name.

Yet, he remained silent as you finished treating his wound. He put his clothes back on with difficulty, refusing your help as you stepped away from him. You felt a sense of relief seeing that he was finally about to leave. He crossed the room to reach for the door. “You will speak of this to no one. Understand?”

You nodded in approval.

He gave you a last glance, just as he was about to close the door behind him. “The name’s Severus Snape.”

Your knees gave up and you stumbled on the floor. Severus Snape huh? You certainly would remember him for the rest of your life. You felt your heart pumping in your head, despite the reassurance that your life was now free of danger, while also taking deep breaths so as to calm yourself. You distracted yourself by an intense cleanout of your room, refusing to sleep in the eventuality that he might come back to claim your life. This was the biggest incident to ever happen in your existence after the death of your parents, as you hoped it would be the last anomaly in your little country girl life.

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whinlatter · 1 year

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Hermione —> Overrated? Or underrated?

Do you think Harry or Ron would have been incapable of finding the Horcruxes without Hermione? Do you think their capabilities are overshadowed by Hermione since she’s so smart? When they became Aurors do you think they flopped or thrived without Hermione?

Anon are you trying to start a war in my ask box with this one…

You know, I think I would say Hermione is increasingly underrated in certain fandom spaces, after a long time being maaaybe idealised to the point where her character had all her flaws erased and the backlash was bound to happen. I love Hermione as a character, talents, flaws and all. I love thinking about her arc, her motivations and emotions and relationships that we don't glimpse through Harry's narration (her friendship with Ginny being a great example - I loved loved loved playing with it in Orchards). I just always enjoy exploring her inner life and her joy and fears and more intimate feelings when writing or reading fics (something this recent piece, something so tender (i can't explain) by @incalculablepower, does so so well). When I was much younger I used to be a bit ambivalent about Hermione as a character, for reasons that are almost cliche now: a reader who are themselves a bookish girl seeing too much of themselves in Hermione's worst moments and not enjoying the invitation to look inwards that those moments prompted, lol. (I remember little me reading the part where Ron mocks Hermione for jumping up and down in her chair while putting her hand up in class and being like sorry do other people... not like it when I do that in class... oh no oh no)

The boring answer is I don't think Harry or Ron would have been able capable of finding the Horcruxes without Hermione, but I also definitely don't think Hermione would have been able to find them on her own. Back in the day in fandom spaces, I think Harry and Ron were a bit caricatured as useless clowns bouncing off walls with Hermione being the only one with any sense. These days, at least in the fandom spaces I interact with, there've been a lot of big steps towards giving Harry and Ron their completely deserved credit for being smart, strategic and impressive throughout the Horcrux hunt (digression but I was doing a re-read of Malfoy Manor chapter the other day and sorry Harry and Ron double act in that scene is so impressive when they're dealing with Wormtail. Auror skills absolutely at work in that moment). I think Harry and Ron would do well in those early years as Aurors without Hermione, in part because they have learned from her over the years, but not solely because of it.

For me, it's so interesting to think about how a lot of Hermione's character growth and arc would happen after the war. Although I don't think the transition to Auror life would have been straightforward for Harry and Ron, I think Hermione would really struggle with going back to Hogwarts. It definitely makes sense that she would want to go back and try and get back on her pre-war track, but you know what they say: you can never really go home. For Hermione, going back to school would have been extremely dislocating and challenging, for so many reasons: the absence of Harry and Ron socially (and ofc being long-distance with Ron), but also the experience of going from being a war hero on-the-run back to the very controlled and arguably infantilising life of a boarding school, alongside peers who lived a very different war to her and went through Hogwarts under the Carrows. Hermione would have her own post-war traumas to deal with, but no longer be alongside the two people who shared hers most directly. Then there's also the context with her parents... I think the 1998/1999 academic year was a rough one for her, in ways that are so interesting to think about as a writer.

(Now if only someone... would write a fic... about the girls at Hogwarts in their seventh year... where we might explore these themes... that might begin with b and rhyme with feasts... maybe... might be nice...)

#absolutely shameless self promo from me there sorry anon #interesting provocative question thank you!#hermione jean granger i will always love you my little bookish posh prep school girl daughter of dentists rock star #hermione granger #meta #ask

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dk-wren · 4 months

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Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "dk-wren"?

Hello Anon!

Thank you so much for the ask. I really wish I kept better track of the fics I've read and enjoyed for myself, as well as to answer your question a little better. The 10 I've chosen represent both a mix of my all time favorites and some of my recent favs.

(I'll link all of them at the bottom of the post for the sake of formatting and to help with the flow of reading. Also, if you are the author for one of the fics I've listed and would like to be tagged, please let me know! I'd be more than happy to!)

Buddy Daddies

Let's Make this Last Forever & Practice Makes Perfect by ZsBrainrot

Love these fics as they both explore Rei and Kazuki's relationship and some of their earlier moments as a couple (or as they begin to realize their feelings for each other). Love their other BD works too, but if I had to narrow it down, I'd say these are my favorites from Z.

Every Reason Not To by Jenanigans1207

Just a sweet little fic of Kazuki talking to Rei about how he is nothing like his father and that he is loved and wanted by both Miri and him.

Bolt from the Blue by AlexiasRei

Fun crossover with Spy x Family and the Forger family. Also, love how all the parents get a little slice of action to show off their (some more than others) hidden identities.

Spy x Family

Cold. by MyriadOfThings

I remember this being one of the first Spy x Family fics I read and it has continued to stand out to me. The angst of Twilight still having to leave the Forger family after Operation Strix was a success, seeing Yor as Thorn Princess going to any length to find out where her husband is, and the ending!

The Woman in Red by nightofmynyx8

I think this was the first series I read on AO3 as it was being released. Literally, remember being so excited whenever I saw a new chapter dropped. Also, loved seeing Yor take center stage in this mission and protective Loid.

Trigun/Trigun Stampede

Take Care by Lunarame

I'm always interested in how different artists explore Vash's wings and how he reacts to their appearance. For most of his life, Vash has constantly been on the run, so I love the tenderness of Wolfwood just wanting to take care of Vash and his wings in this fic.

Waiting at that shallow grave by riotintheheartt

I really enjoyed this piece from the Vashwood Big Bang that took place recently (and still might be taking place). This is the first one I started and quickly fell in love with it. I was super intrigued by the premise and loved how it was told in a non-linear way.

Banana Fish

I always wanted to protect you - Flying by Enora_Wings

Shorelines by snowcapped_detours

Guess who just watched Banana Fish? Me! And guess who's been reading fics to cope? Also me! Jokes aside, these represent some of my more recent faves, especially for the Banana Fish fandom. It's also fun(?) because they sorta represent two sides of the scenario of what if Ash reunited with Eiji.

As for your second question, Anon, yes, there is a story behind my name Dakota (or DK) Wren.

Dakota (and the nickname DK) was the name of my favorite doll growing up. Looking back, I realized how much the scenarios I would imagine in my head and how I would dress her should've been a big indicator of the geeky, fandom lover I am today. I knew others would play like school or mall with their dolls, and then you had me dressing her up and pretending she was going to SDCC, Star Wars Celebration, etc. In a way, playing with Dakota when I was little was the first time I could really embrace this side of my personality without feeling the need to simmer it down or pull back on how I expressed my love for all these things. That's why, when creating this name, I knew right away I wanted Dakota incorporated in some way.

As for the "last name," Wren, that was pulled from one of, if not my favorite character, Sabine Wren from Star Wars Rebels. I discussed why I love Sabine so much and what she means to me in a previous post, but basically, I loved how she used art as a form of resistance. For her, the power of art could cause as much change as physical power. And for someone who spends a lot of time in the arts, I just really loved this aspect of her. Likewise, I loved how she was portrayed in Star Wars Rebels as this character who was both strong and emotionally vulnerable. The complexities of her past, and how she must deal with them in the present, is what caused me to love her even more. Since Dakota Wren was going to be my pen/writer name, the way her artistic side is emphasized throughout Rebels, and my general love for her, is what caused me to pick Wren as the second part of my name.

Thank you again for the ask! I hope you enjoy the fics if you take the time to read them. I've only really gotten into reading fics from these fandoms (even though I'm in a few more) so I apologize if you were hoping for fics from a fandom I didn't list above. Also, if you (or anyone else) has any fic recs from these fandoms, please send them my way!

Thank you as well for asking about the story behind my name, it was really fun to talk about! Maybe not the most interesting or elaborate, but both parts of my name mean a lot to me, so I'm glad I could share the story of how I created my name!

-Dakota Wren

Links to the all the listed fics:

#asks #favorite fics!#buddy daddies fic #spy x family fic #trigun fic #banana fish fic #story behind name

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hollandorks · 2 years

Note

If thinking about Battinson and motn was a job I’d be a multi billionaire bestie. Here are some headcanons I have in my silly noggin.

I could just be saying it because I’m a cat person, but he’s definitely a cat person. I picture Bruce on the inside being like “look how cute it is! Look at those little paws!” He’d definitely make a pact with himself to protect the little boy at all costs. On the outside I can picture him being like the memes of a dad with the cat he didn’t want if that makes sense. Him and the cat are best friends.

Also Bruce Wayne loves cinnamon rolls. Freshly baked cinnamon rolls. His mom used to make them homemade and it’s a comfort food for him. It’s cannon. I don’t care if it isn’t—it is. Also omelettes are now a comfort food for Bruce for obvious reasons.

In the most recent one shot you mention that she reads while waiting up for him. I can see him totally showing interest in what she’s reading. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a big horror fan, and on my tbr pile for this year is Tender is the Flesh. It’s supposed to be a gruesome novel. It should be. Cannibalism is legal in it. I can’t wait to read it. Anyways, I can totally picture Bruce being like “man, that’s fucked up. I love her so much.”

We talked briefly about both her and Bruce being sick, but here’s an angsty thought. Okay, so ever since I found out your appendix bursting can kill you I’ve wanted that shit removed. I don’t need it and it could possibly kill me? Get it out. Not to brag but I’m kinda known for not taking care of myself. Imagine her needing surgery because of something like that. I feel like it would take Bruce out. Her being in surgery would remind him of the gala, and he would hate it.

Speaking of the gala, I know in one shot of Bruce’s pov throughout chapters 28 and 29 he had a small interaction with Gordon. I picture Gordon routinely checking on her before she wakes up for the first time and trying to make small talk with Bruce because he clearly needs it. He’d be kinda awkward because Bruce Wayne is just sitting there like a statue. Alfred would engage with Gordon. Honestly Alfred and Gordon having a conversation would be funny.

What do you think their first fight as a couple would be about?

Her and Alfred definitely co-conspire on how they can get Bruce to eat three meals a day.

Bruce definitely loves taking a nap with her.

Anyways thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

🦇

I. Love. This. So many ideas!!! I was actually toying with having them find a stray cat in the sequel 😂 He would TOTALLY be like the grumpy dad who didn't want a cat but actually loves it with his whole heart!

He definitely has comfort foods like that. But he never ever asks for them. But she learns quickly how much he loves it because he just can't quite pretend not to be excited about it

He would also be like that re: a horror book. Or like a fucked up true crime documentary. "That's fucked up....love it and her"

If she ever needed any kind of surgery or hospital visit again he would have so much PTSD about it. He would act like she was dying all over again even if she wasn't! "I'm kinda known for not taking care of myself" 😂 you're just like Bruce

Yes to the Gordon part!!! He'd try so hard to interact with Bruce (because Bruce was so obviously fucked up over it all) but Bruce probably wouldn't even notice Gordon was there. So then Alfred & Gordon would probably bond. I bet Alfred would give Gordon parenting advice 😂

I'm not sure what their first fight as a couple would be about. Something dumb probably. Like when I got married our first "fight" was over whether or not to close the toilet seat lid. I don't even know why we fought about it but we argued about it hard. I've been told that that's normal after the whole honeymoon phase though 😂

Either that or they would fight about something with Batman. Like I think I mention in the epilogue or something her finding his journals--he would catch her with them and freak out because, hello, emotional vulnerability and he's also so worried about her shying away from his darkness & violence. It would definitely be an argument.

Her & Alfred 100% conspire to keep Bruce fed. And ways to get him to relax more. Like in the movie where Alfred just brings him a juice or whatever--they just keep setting various foods in front of him while he's distracted so he doesn't give any thought to eating

The naps are also how she gets him to rest more! She'll be all fake-pouty and ask to cuddle, say she doesn't want to be alone or something, then pretend to sleep until he falls asleep.

I love this. I love imagining these little domestic scenarios with them. I want to write them all. MOTN is 120,000 words and I could easily write 50,000 more of just pure domestic fluff!

#asks #anon #motn #my favorite 🦇#🦇 anon #🦇

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

Text

Inevitable (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected sex but be safe please!)

Chapter Word count: 6.9k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: Couldn’t stop thinking about how Yang Jungwon’s role model is Jungkook and they have similar features (especially as kids) and the sweetest smiles! Hence, the little angel we have here. I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Also, you can message me if you want to be part of the taglist!

Series Masterlist || Previous || Next

You stare at the grocery list, eyes squinting to try to read the words you’d half-mindedly written down this morning.

Your boss convinced you to take Friday off when it slipped that Jungwon has been having separation anxiety lately, as he hasn’t spent time with his mother this whole winter break.

You’d been doing overtime - on weekdays and weekends - and your boss, a mother herself, knows that overworking would take its toll on you and your son, especially as a single parent. It’s why you’re here now, grocery shopping with the little one, something he enjoys doing with you, too.

Still, it’s just one day and it’s not really enough to compensate for all the other days you work your ass off at the company, but the pay is good and the people are kind; those have been enough for you to stay the past two years.

A smile forms on your face once you decipher the crooked words on the piece of paper you’re holding up. You can make out the word ‘banana’ right before ‘milk,’ ‘choc’ somewhere near ‘ice cream,’ and ‘bron’ just next to ‘cereal.’ Brown cereal? Did he mean cocoa pops?

Jungwon has improved his writing and vocabulary and you pat yourself on the back for the times you’d forced yourself awake during your Sunday rest time just so you could guide him on his workbook. You congratulate yourself for thinking of showing him flash cards while he scrubs himself in the makeshift tub during bath time. And you thank the heavens for your best friend Taehyung’s bright idea of setting up a blackboard on the wall on Jungwon’s side of the bed so he can doodle until he falls asleep.

“Am I not the best uncle, muffin?” Taehyung had asked the little one then, who always knew what to answer.

“You and uncle Joonie are the best,” Jungwon had said.

Your kid is a ball of fluff, you’d almost think it’s genetic because you definitely are not one, but the other half of him is.

You brush away that thought before your chest begins to tighten. You choose to think that Tae and your older brother Namjoon, whom Jungwon spends the most time with apart from you, are true softies and he’d definitely gotten it from them.

You’re still smiling, insides warming enough to brave through the January cold until you realize that you’re no longer hearing your son’s buzzing sound that he does when he plays with his airplane. For all his softness, he does give you a heart attack every once in a while because of his tendency to scurry somewhere that piques his interest. It was probably the aisle that had those chocolates he wanted so you pick up your basket and rush to the one right next to where you are.

Your heart drops to the floor at the sight of your son standing in front of a man who’s crouching down, tinkering with the toy. It probably disassembled again and this does not earn you a pat on the back this time for forgetting to buy Jungwon a new one that’s more age-appropriate, and for not paying enough attention.

You’re partly shocked and partly curious - he’s a shy kid, tends to run back to you at the sight of an unfamiliar person, wide eyes usually on full display when someone tries to get his attention.

But not right now. He’s still wide-eyed but he’s sporting a shy smile, one he tries to suppress by biting his lower lip. Wonder where he got that from. Such mannerisms aren’t genetic too, right?

The mystery man hands him the toy airplane, which Jungown clutches to his chest. He bows at the man and whispers a ‘thank you.’ If that man wanted to do something bad, he would’ve taken Jungwon already but he hasn’t. You’re glad that at least a kind man has found your son.

“Jungwon, sweetie. Come here, please,” you call out, moving a bit to try to get the man’s attention to express your thanks but he’s sporting a hoodie that’s engulfing his face. Maybe you should’ve been more scared.

The stranger shakily stands up and turns as Jungown runs to you with his eyes not leaving his little toy.

Your eyes, on the other hand, can’t leave the figure standing just a few feet away from you, like a bad dream but that isn’t exactly a nightmare.

He’s here. He’s home. And he looks just as gorgeous as you remember - expressive onyx eyes, pretty thin lips, defined jawline, muscular build...

His own eyes move from you to the kid next to you, trying to come up with explanations, mind reeling at what this could mean. You sounded so tender, so loving, so… motherly.

“Jung—”

“Your—”

You both say at the same time. His eyes are fixated on Jungwon, probably trying to figure out who the child is to you.

“I’m babysitting,” you panic.

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow and just as he’s about to open his mouth to say something, Jungwon decides to not be shy in front of a supposed stranger.

“Mama, that man fixed my plane!” He excitedly says, and you hate to crush his little moment of joy.

Jungkook’s eyes are now saucer-like, not at all minding that you were caught in a lie but that you, the woman who’d broken his heart all those years ago, have a child. A child whose eyes uncannily and painfully resemble his.

You and Jungkook both seem to be in a daze, your own thoughts swirling in your heads at the situation that neither expected would happen.

You stopped watching his baseball games about two years ago and had avoided whatever news about him would come up. Except recently when you’d heard about him possibly signing with a South Korean baseball team. Looks like did because he’s here, and he hasn’t been in years.

You’d heard from your brother that Jungkook had been doing well with the LA Dodgers and you hadn’t expected that he’d up and leave what had been his home the past four or so years to, well, come home. You’re glad he is but you also aren’t prepared for this.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had tried his best to forget about you soon after you walked out on him that December evening, almost succeeding multiple times until he gave up altogether. He came home last week, earlier than what he’d told the media, since he knew they’d be hampering him about his homecoming, given his recent signing with the Doosan Bears, one of Seoul’s professional baseball teams.

He’d spent the past few days in Busan to visit his mother and arrived from his 4-hour drive just an hour ago. He’d hoped to reach out or run into you but didn’t expect it to actually happen today. He definitely didn’t expect you’d have a son, too.

“Mama, did you get my banana milk?” Jungwon asks, breaking the bubble of confusion and shock between you and Jungkook, both unbelieving at the reality of you finally being in the same space, breathing the same air after so long.

“Yeah, I—” you start, placing the basket down and picking up your son, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Your mind is a puddle of thoughts and you just know that incoherent words will escape your mouth if you don’t leave right now so you make a run for it, or at least try. You walk briskly, clutching Jungwon tightly with his arms wrapped around your neck, so you don’t see him smiling at the man following both of you.

Jungkook calls out your name, prompting Jungwon to state that the man who’d fixed his plane knows his mother.

There are more people with their pushcarts near the exit, making it hard for your quick escape. Jungkook is catching up and upon realizing you won’t turn back to acknowledge him, he talks to Jungwon instead.

“How old are you, buddy?” Jungkook asks, legs clearly made for this. He’s panting though, you can hear it in his voice.

You can’t make a scene so you just try to walk faster.

You feel Jungwon release an arm and you know he’s putting out the ‘four’ sign, something he likes to do.

“When is your birthday?” Jungkook asks shortly after.

Oh god, you think. Jungwon loves this question. “July 6!” He exclaims.

The footsteps become faint and you’re brave enough to turn back as you near the exit doors. Jungkook stands there, dots connecting, mouth agape at what this means.

You leave the supermarket and run to your car, hurriedly placing Jungwon on the car seat and driving away, willing the tears not to fall.

“Who was that, Mama?” He innocently asks.

You admit that you’d thought about the day you’d see Jungkook and let him know about the little one too many times, but this isn’t how you planned it to happen - in public, when you’re incredibly tired, and when you haven’t thought about what you’d say.

This isn’t how you planned on telling Jungwon, too, so you tell a half-truth, like what you’d done a few times before.

“He’s a friend, sweetcheeks. He’s just a friend.”

The tears eventually fall about 5 hours later.

You got home from the grocery - without your groceries, watched cartoons with Jungwon, had food delivered, then prepared him for bed.

You’re now sat on your couch, wine glass in hand, as you try to make sense of the overwhelming emotions of seeing the man that was once your world. Technically, Jungkook still is, considering that your son is half of him.

But it’s different now. Too much has changed since you broke up with him, since he left 5 years ago to chase his dreams of playing for the Major League Baseball in the US, the dream he’d shared with his father, the dream he’d spent his whole life chasing.

Baseball had always been Jungkook’s world; a given, you always thought, since his own father was a baseball star himself, whose dream of playing for the MLB materialized during a trip to Boston as a teenager, the blinding lights and massiveness of Fenway Park and the roars of the crowd cheering for the Red Sox so alluring that he’d made it a point to watch a live game at least once a year.

His own career as a professional player for the South Korean league had been commendable, leading his teams to championships and even playing for the 1996 Olympics. That had been the second best experience of his life, the first being Jungkook’s birth two years prior. Marrying his wife was a close third, and it was something the pair always laughed about. You know this because Jungkook raved about his parents a lot, used to talk about them like he just lived next door to his mother - whom he called everyday, like his father was still alive.

His father didn’t have the luxury of getting scouted by American teams because baseball wasn’t as big then, but his dream of playing for the MLB never faded. Just like what his own father had done, he’d taken Jungkook to a live game every year since Jungkook was six, and tried to watch in every baseball park of every major league team.

They’d only make it to seven though. By that time, the cancer had been debilitating and he had to give up that annual date with his only child. Watching the Lotte Giants in their hometown of Busan had been enough for 13-year old Jungkook, who’d likewise been fascinated by the game, so was waking up in the wee hours of the morning to still catch MLB games on TV.

Jungkook was 14 when his old man passed.

He rarely talked about his father’s death. He also rarely talked about his father outside of baseball. He was a father-coach, Jungkook used to say, not the scary, stage father type who pressured him but the incredibly supportive, only slightly critical one. He’d made Jungkook fall in love with baseball, made him have a reason to wake up everyday, made him have something work hard for, fight for.

After he passed, baseball became something Jungkook hung onto, something he used to remind him of the man that made him who he is today. It became the most sacred part of himself, not for the popularity it gained him nor the praises he received, but because it showed the best parts of him, which were also the best parts of his father - his self-confidence, his tenacity, his grit, and his resolve, his passion for his craft.

Baseball taught Jungkook the value of hard work, of commitment, of focus, while at the same time reminding him of his physical capabilities and limitations.

It’s why he took his Sports Science course seriously, knowing that until his last breath, he would live for the sport. He’d play until he’s physically able, and do everything else when he can’t.

Jungkook had always been a good leader - another trait he got from his father, served as the pillar of strength of every team he’d been a part of because of his vulnerability that allowed others to trust him, to believe him.

His self-confidence may border on arrogance, his forcefulness and intensity may be perceived as aggression, but behind his intimidating aura on the field - partly personality, partly physical prowess - is a tender human being who gets excited over sweets, gushes over Ironman merchandise, likes making blanket forts, squeals over baby animals, enjoys bear hugs, and who just loves to love.

Those were what made you fall for him in the first place. They were what made your naturally cold exterior dissolve until your heart had become bare for him, until your insecurities had become insignificant, until you’d exuded almost the same joy that he had.

Seeing him today just brought the memories back, as if nothing has changed with what you felt for him, as if the pain you felt when you told him it was over, when you walked out and he let you, was just a breath away.

You didn’t realize just how much you missed him until you saw him again, until his proximity reminded you how his laugh used to sound, how his wide eyes and sweet smile looked like, how his sensual touches used to feel.

The tears fall again. That pain, that love - it’s like they never went away.

“Uncle Tete!” Jungwon squeals as your best friend picks up your son from the floor, swinging him around in a circle, soft laughter reverberating through the walls of your cozy apartment. It only takes a few rounds before Taehyung puts him down and complains that his arms already hurt.

“What happened to working on arm exercises?” You chuckle.

“Don’t remind me, you know I hate lifting weights. Plus, like that would make much of a difference,” he exclaims, slim arms out, being swallowed by his sweater. “I’m not an athlete, you know?”

You flinch at the comment and so does he.

“Sorry, too soon?”

“Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes and settling in the kitchen, a bit farther away from Jungwon, whose eyes are now fixated on the TV.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have known Jungkook was back if he hadn’t decided to revive our group chat yesterday after 2 years to ask everyone if they’ve seen you recently because you apparently have a kid and he believes he’s the father.”

“Pretty straightforward, huh?”

“He didn’t wanna waste time. Didn’t even care that your brother is in the same group,” Taehyung shrugs.

“Probably knows Namjoon won’t check.”

“True. But still, how bold of your ex.”

“What did the guys say?” You ask, curious if they ever caught on. Your twice a year appearance since college graduation seemed to be enough for them.

“Yoongi cursed. Jin spammed with theories because he’s convinced you haven’t had a boyfriend in years. Hoseok sent a video message of his reaction, which was really just him freaking out. Jimin acted surprised.”

“And you?”

“I left the group chat.”

You smack his arm, earning you a scowl. “Real smooth, Kim Taehyung.”

“Well, what was I gonna say? ‘Yeah, Jungkook. Your ex-girlfriend was actually pregnant when she broke up with you and you’re totally the father?’”

“You could’ve feigned ignorance, you know, or like denied it until I figured out what to say.”

“___,” he deadpans. “One look at Jungwon and it screams Jungkook. His name isn’t actually subtle, okay? Look at your kid, he even dresses up and eats like the father he’s never met!”

You motion for him to tone it down but Jungwon is busy watching the Avengers cartoons in his Ironman pajamas while sipping his banana milk.

“I’m not projecting!” You say, defending yourself because you know that’s what Taehyung is gonna say.

“It’s not my fault that my kid chose Ironman as his favorite Avenger no matter how many times I pushed Captain America to his face, okay? He didn’t even mind the shield I bought,” you pout.

“And he won’t drink plain milk. If it’s not banana, it’s chocolate. And he loves sweets, loves to hug people, has the cutest laugh…” You sigh, still racking your brain on what parts of your son he got from you.

“Maybe the universe is the one projecting, you know? Like it just had to find a way for Jungwon to be connected to Jungkook, if not physically then by other ways.”

“Your theory is sweet but I doubt it, Tae.”

“My theory is backed by evidence. And a father’s instinct because that shit’s real. Jungkook was still around during those first two months, the bond probably developed then.”

“Jungwon was the size of a raspberry. It’s highly unlikely.”

“Can you just stop deflecting? The father of your son is here. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know! Get my shit together and figure out what to say? You know I’m not ready for this,” you exclaim.

“Funny that you knew exactly what to say when you broke up with him but now you don’t,” Taehyung cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you my best friend or are you out to get me?”

“I’m just saying. You made that decision all on your own. Didn’t even confide in me,” he pouts. “I could’ve thrown some other options that didn’t require you breaking his heart and yours too, and going through all this by yourself.”

“Except I didn’t go through all this by myself,” you pat his head. “I had you and Namjoon. You were all I needed. Still do.”

“We can never take the place of Jungwon’s father, you know that right?”

“I know, I just… He’s not just my kid’s father, Tae. He’s my ex-boyfriend too. The man I loved.”

“You mean love. The man you still think about, and miss terribly.”

You squint at him as if in question. It’s been years since you and Taehyung had shared an apartment where he’d seen you cry almost everyday. It was something he wasn’t used to because you don’t cry, especially in front of others, not when you found out you were pregnant, not when you walked into Jungkook’s apartment only to walk out of his life. Not when Jungkook skipped graduation and left early for the US.

Everything changed after Jungwon’s birth. It’s like all the tears you never cried decided it was time. And you had years’ worth of it.

“Your kid’s a lot more perceptive than you think. He tells me sometimes that he sees you cry when you’re in bed or when you’re watching TV with him, and why else would you be crying if it wasn’t for that man?”

Of course he does. Jungwon, again just like his father, is thoughtful and pays you a lot of attention. Seriously, what about you did this kid inherit?

“The dam breaks every once in a while, I can’t help it.”

“Now you can,” Taehyung says as he gives you a hug. “You should talk to him. And soon. You know he deserves it.”

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, unwilling to move from the comforts of his bed. Head throbbing from the bottles of SoJu he downed with his older cousin, Jin, last night, the events of the day before are mighty clear in his mind.

He’d really seen you, the woman who once laid residence in his mind and his heart that he could not get rid of no matter how hard he tried, because you’d broken every possible thing you could when you decided to break up all those years ago.

He remembers that night so clearly, how he’d been excited to finally spend time with you so he could ask you to go with him to the US. You chose to break his heart instead, deciding by yourself that it wouldn’t work out. The only reason he agreed was because he’d been too hurt to even think of another way, but whether he agreed or not, he knew you would’ve walked out of his life regardless.

But there you were yesterday, dressed in your favorite-colored down jacket, hair longer than he remembers, little kid in tow calling you Mama.

Mama.

He’d just gotten back in Seoul after a visit to his mother. He’d made sure to be sneaky, as he wanted some peace and quiet before all the interviews and events he’ll need to attend because of this “homecoming” that everybody seemed to be making a big deal out of.

He was doing well with the LA Dodgers, even had meetings and possible offers with the Boston Red Sox, the team his father obsessed over. Jungkook was well on his way for bigger things in the largest baseball league in the world.

He decided to sign with the Doosan Bears instead, not even his hometown baseball team. He’ll chalk it up to missing home, maybe breaking ground so he can play in the Olympics, too, just like his father.

He was gonna seek you out, that was definitely part of the plan. He still considers the breakup as partly one-sided and he wanted to know how you were doing. He also knew he was bound to run into you because there was no escaping your circle of friends, who apparently seemed clueless as well.

Except for Taehyung, obviously, because he’s your best friend and he definitely would’ve known. But you’re here in Seoul, how did you dodge the rest of them? And Namjoon had really been able to keep everything a secret?

There were so many questions. Jin took it upon himself to be his confidante last night because surprisingly, Jimin, his best friend, had been mum about it. Jungkook and Jin spent the rest of last night scouring through social media for any trace of you and that kid but there had been none.

Jungkook is desperate, not just because he wants to see you but the child… looked like him.

The grocery was a few neighborhoods away from his, but it was next to the bank he was in so he decided to just do his shopping then. He’d been going through the sweets aisle, ready to fill the pantry of his new apartment with his favorite snacks, then he heard a thump and a soft quivering voice.

He turned to see a little boy looking sad over his toy airplane whose one wing had been clipped off. An adult didn’t seem to be around and he definitely trusts himself more than any other stranger so he’d approached the kid and asked if he needed help.

Curious doe-eyes met his questioning gaze, until the little kid took the airplane and its broken wing in his arms and cradled them.

“It’s hurt,” the kid had said, and he felt his heart burst at the cuteness and softness of this child. Jungkook took the toy and easily fixed it, the sliding slot probably too hard for his little hands to maneuver. He was about to ask for the kid’s name when he heard a familiar voice call out, the kid looking up and scurrying away from him.

And then there was you.

Everything felt hazy until the kid called you his Mama. You’d picked him up and started walking away before Jungkook could even greet you. He’d seen your abandoned grocery basket, which he could easily pass up as his own because of the same things he’d buy for himself.

The wheels were turning in his head and it wasn’t until the kid, apparently named Jungwon, stated his age that Jungkook pieced everything together. Or at least the possibility.

Could Jungwon be his child?

At the thought of this, Jungkook froze, watched your figure disappear from his sight, the eyes of the child boring into him as you walked away again. The kid let out a small smile and Jungkook had seen enough pictures of himself as a little kid in the news the past few weeks to be reminded of how he looked like, and he looked like that. It was unmistakable.

The scene plays in his head again and Jungkook feels the throbbing of his chest match the throbbing of his head, the need to confirm his suspicions and know the whole truth seeping through his veins. He tries to calm himself down, which is difficult, but he knows he needs a level-head if the truth is what he wants from you.

It’s just past lunchtime and he calls Jimin for help. As he enters the passenger seat, Jimin asks his friend for the destination.

“Take me to Taehyung’s place.”

Jungkook is running on adrenaline. With a sober mind now and a still-aching chest, he’s willing his body to relax but he’s unable, focused only on finding the truth.

There’s concern and an air of acceptance in Taehyung’s face when he opens the door to Jungkook, the idea of him showing up here having something that Taehyung has considered. Jungkook has at least half a mind to reach out to someone else before going to you.

Taehyung welcomes him in, knowing better not to argue or match the other man’s emotions. Jungkook doesn’t ask questions though and instead heads for the refrigerator, bites his lips at the sight of the same brand of banana milk he’d seen in your grocery basket.

He walks around the apartment, not missing the small basket of toys by the window. He opens a room that’s actually Taehyung’s art room and sees a paint set for kids, a framed photo of him with Jungwon placed on a shelf and next to it is a painting, the words “Jeon Jungwon” written at the bottom. It’s all the confirmation that he needs.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Taehyung asks, arms on his waist now, a bit of annoyance seeping through at the disrespect being shown to him. He gets that Jungkook is upset, but Taehyung knows him, knows he’s probably coming up with his own conclusions in his mind.

Before Jungkook could say anything, they hear the front door open, Namjoon’s deep voice calling out.

“Tae, did you get to drop off the groceries at ___’s? Jungwon’s been asking for his milk since yesterday and—” Namjoon stops as he stands by the door, eyes wide at Jungkook standing there, no doubt trying to keep himself together.

“Are you Jungwon’s father now?” He directs the question to Taehyung, the bitterness in Jungkook’s voice not lost on all the men present, including Jimin who’d been having his own battle in his mind because pretty soon, the anger will be directed at him, too.

Jungkook is the kid’s father, he’s sure of it now, yet the thought of another man taking that role causes an ache in his chest.

“Jungwon sleeps here? Does art with you? Does he call you—”

“He calls Tae ‘uncle,’ Jungkook. The same thing he calls me,” Jimin says, essentially coming out.

“You knew? This whole time?” Jungkook yells, fists clenched as the anger builds.

“Just a few years ago but—”

“And you said nothing to me?”

“It was just 2 years ago.”

“And you’ve visited me twice a year since then and you never thought to tell me that I have a son…” Jungkook flinches at the word, unbelieving that it’s something he’d even say.

“Look, just calm down, okay?” Jimin tries, but he knows it won’t do much.

“Calm down? I’m fucking livid. I have a…” Jungkook stops himself, willing the tears not to fall. All this time, you had a child that you’d kept from him, without a care of how he would feel.

“Jungkook, just take a breath, yeah?” Namjoon says this time, walking towards the younger man and pulls him in for a hug. “It’s a lot, I know. But just breathe for a bit.”

Jungkook pulls away, a mix of anger and sadness in his eyes. “How could she keep this from me?”

“Only she can answer that,” Namjoon sighs.

“I need to see her,” Jungkook states after a long pause.

“I can ask when she’s free—” Taehyung offers, ready to get his phone.

“I need to see her now.”

Jungkook finds himself in Jimin’s car, with Taehyung in the backseat talking to you over the phone, saying that he’ll take Jungwon for the rest of the afternoon and that they’re on their way.

Jungkook listens to Taehyung talk to you with so much care, the way he always had all those years ago. Nothing has changed, really.

Back in college, people tried to keep their distance from you, afraid of your resting bitch face and usually cold demeanor. Jungkook had heard about you from Jin, a good friend of your brother’s, and couldn’t quite reconcile the incredibly friendly and gentle Taehyung as your best friend.

It was one of the things that intrigued Jungkook, and he’d find out later on, after pulling all the stops with his flirting and finally getting you to agree on a coffee date, that you really did have a bitch face and you were cold if you wanted to be.

But you were so unapologetically you that it was refreshing. It wasn’t a defense mechanism or anything, it was just really who you were, but that wasn’t everything about you - you were also caring, protective, generous, extremely hardworking, and very confident.

Jungkook had fallen in love faster than he could throw a baseball, and he knows he can throw past 90/mph.

You complemented each other so beautifully that fights were easily resolved, if any, dates were always exciting, and moments together were never boring, even if it was just you quietly working on a paper and him noisily studying his games.

Taehyung was relentless in befriending you and you caved in pretty easily. “Look at the smile,” you’d said once. “Who can resist that?” You always had a soft spot for your best friend and Jungkook never minded; he’d trusted your relationship and you when you said that he never had to worry about Taehyung.

Except now. Because Taehyung seems to be a father figure to his son, being what Jungwon had needed all these years, while Jungkook had been clueless about it.

The night you broke up with him, you left him a weeping mess and begging behind closed doors to please don’t go. He felt he’d lost a big part of him, felt the soul-crushing feeling of losing someone again.

The loss of you was something he couldn’t prepare for and he’d spent years trying to put the pieces again, all on his own, in a foreign country, while chasing his dream. It had been hard but after some time, he rationalized in his mind that maybe you were right, maybe it would’ve been very hard for the both of you given the distance, the time difference, the busy schedules. It wouldn’t have been fair; he’d accepted that.

But keeping his child from him like this? This is too much. This is ruthless. You made a decision again. All by yourself. And he’s angry.

Everyone is thankful that Jungwon is asleep, although it’s a chance for Jungkook to see the little one in slumber, looking like the most adorable boy in the world.

Jimin and Taehyung agree to leave first, Jungkook not wanting them to wait, although he’s unsure how long this conversation with you is going to last.

You’ve been pacing back and forth since Taehyung called, informing you of the impromptu visit and Jungkook being unrelenting in his decision to speak with you today. You would’ve wanted to wait, although you know that Tae is right - Jungkook needs to know as soon as possible; he deserves that much.

In your more than 2 years together, you barely saw Jungkook angry - that was more of your thing because he enjoyed annoying the hell out of you every time and you always gave him shit for it.

But you two barely fought - you understood his busy schedule and were never really the jealous type, despite the presence of his “fans” (except maybe around Sora who’d named herself as the president of Jungkook’s fan club like that shit still flies), while Jungkook always knew how to make it up to you. He rarely complained, too if you ditched him to work on your projects.

But this Jungkook is different - his nostrils are flaring, brows are furrowed, jaws are clenched you’re afraid he’d break his teeth.

You’re different, too. You’re nervous, more reserved, not with your usual crossed arms but with fingers fidgeting at the loss of control.

You lead him in the living room and motion for him to sit down but he dismisses you.

“Hi, Jung—”

“I need to hear it from you,” he breathes out. “I know, god, I fucking know but I need to hear it from you.”

You take a deep breath and you say the words you’ve practiced in your head. “Jungwon is our son.”

You see him close his eyes, bite his lips, and tilt his head. It’s how you know he’s trying to control his emotions.

The silence is deafening but you give him time to process.

“How? I mean, you were on birth control and you said you never missed…” He stammers.

“Pills are not 100%, Jungkook. It just happened,” you explain, racking your brain for days right after you took the test over how it might’ve happened. At one point you stopped; it was no use.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s the big question, the one he’s been losing his mind over. It doesn’t matter that it happened; he just doesn’t know how you could make that big of a decision all on your own when it concerned him, the other half of the child.

“You were on your way to the big leagues. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“But you thought it was alright to take away years with my son?” He seethes. “Fuck, ___. That wasn’t your decision to make.”

It wasn’t, not fully at least, you knew it. But he wouldn’t make that decision, so you had to.

“I made it anyway,” you respond, tone more stern now.

With all the pain and struggles it brought, it’s the one thing you stand by; it’s a decision you never regretted. Watching Jungkook play in the ballparks his dad never got to take him to, seeing him blow a kiss to the sky before and after every game, and catching him mouth the words ‘I love you, dad’ after his interviews have always been enough to trump everything else.

Jungkook had been living his and his father’s dream. It had always felt worth it.

“Why? I would’ve stayed,” Jungkook yells.

“Exactly. You would’ve,” you yell back. “I was sure that the moment you knew, you would’ve passed up a dream you worked your whole life for. I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t let you make that decision.”

“So you made it for me, by giving me none at all?” He scoffs. “Real brave, ___. And real fucked up, too.”

“It was the only way for you to go!” You exclaim. “If you had known, you wouldn’t have left, you would’ve settled, stayed behind… You would’ve given everything up.”

“Because that’s our child, ___!”

“And we didn’t plan on having him!” You shout, tears prickling on the corners of your eyes now.

“You’ve known baseball your whole life, Jungkook. Everything you’ve ever done was so you could play in the MLB and you did. You made it happen because you had the best opportunity and you took it, worked hard, got to where you wanted to be,” you rationalize.

He’s panting as he processes your words, mind going again to that night when you walked out on him, making sense of the reasons why, those you verbalized and those you didn’t.

“I know you, Jungkook,” you sigh, your voice taking him back to the present. “You’d take responsibility because that’s the kind of man you are. You would’ve insisted on taking care of us, on letting go of everything else for us, for your son. And I couldn’t let you give up on your dream, the one thing left of your father…”

“Don’t you fucking dare bring up my father,” he snaps at you, eyes so cold and you feel so small.

“You wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if you let that dream go for us.”

“Then you don’t really know me, ___. Because the hell would I give us up just like that. The hell would I give up time away from my son.”

He pulls his hair out of frustration, then lets go, tears now streaming down his face.

“I was 14 when I lost my dad, ___.”

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t know. And you aren’t sorry,” he retorts, his back facing you as he tries to get himself together. “I had to watch him wither away, had to stay by his bedside and watch him take his final breath because my mother couldn’t. I was 14 and I had to be strong for my parents. And I cried, every single night, for months,” he heaves.

He turns to face you, wants you to know how much you’ve hurt him.

“I almost quit school because I wouldn’t get out of my bed, wouldn’t talk to anyone. I told you I suffered, that I lost my way,” he continues, weeping.

But you didn’t know this, didn’t know he suffered like this, that he lost his way like this.

“But the dream kept you going, didn’t it?” You try. “It gave you purpose; you had something to live for, Jungkook,” you continue, reminding him of what the dream meant to him.

He’d been young but he had so many memories with his father about baseball; it had been the core of their relationship, the thread that kept them connected years after his death.

“In return for what?” He barks. “Fuck, I would’ve given anything to have my father again. And that includes that dream, ___.”

You stare at him, his body now crouching down on the couch, unable to fully lift himself up. You’d never seen him like this. He was never afraid to cry but this is different.

Your own tears are relentless, as if telling you that this is all because of you and you deserve this pain. You had broken this man, and you’d done so without regret.

He looks up at you, wipes his tear-drenched face, illuminating the pain, the longing, the anger.

“You took four years of my life away from my son. You robbed me of that chance. You didn’t even give me a choice. How fucking selfish are you? You had no right, ___,” he huffs.

“I just… I know you, Jungkook. You would’ve stayed and then what?” You say, trying to stand your ground, but even you don’t believe your words, at least not anymore.

“You’ll regret it down the road? Resent us because you had to stay? How would we feel? How would Jungwon feel, knowing that his father gave up his dream for him?”

“Really? You’re absolutely sure that’s what would happen? As if I’m not resenting you now?” Jungkook scoffs.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone be taken from you, to not have enough time with them. But yeah, you need to have the last say always, right?” He says coldly, allowing the silence to let you take in his bitter words.

“You can’t ever feel like you don’t have control so you make all the decisions by yourself. Hurting those in your wake before they hurt you. But it’s all good right because you stand by it? As long as it’s enough to rid you of the guilt even if it hurts everyone else?”

This is how he hurts you - peeling away your layers and throwing them back at you, until there’s nothing left but all the parts you didn’t want anyone to see. But Jungkook had seen them, accepted them, loved you despite them.

But he’s standing in front of you. And there’s no love in his eyes. You don’t think you deserve it anymore.

You give him this, the last say. And he takes it. And he leaves.

Like countless times before, you fall to the floor and cry. You cry until your sounds are loud enough, until you can no longer hear your own heart breaking.

Taglist: @fluffyjoons @jwlmnbt @koremis @mrcleanheichou @kooafraid @purplepommy @btstannies @jeonwiixard @songshin @joondala @hobiade @di0rgguk @fan-ati--c @yn-the-reader @spicybangtanwings @njkbangtan @jeoncookie-bts @miniaturecloud @revehosh @preciouschimine @sherlynxx @dimreads

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

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jamaisjoons · 3 years

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of oleanders & honeysuckle I ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 when one of your coven sisters, malise, had first mentioned your soulmate, you’d been young and unbothered - preferring to chase the elusive seduction of power. now, you’re twenty-five, and having established yourself as a powerful witch of the sisters of elysia, you've grown tired of the cold embrace of power. looking to settle down, you move to carelia in search of the one destined for you. within days, you come across the charmingly handsome apothecary owner, and warlock, kim namjoon. something about him magnetises you. but is he the one the universe has fated for you? 〞strangers to lovers au. supernatural au. witch/warlock au. soulmates au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: witch!reader x warlock!namjoon

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ∝ fluff ∝ future smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 12k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of death, oc has a traumatic™ childhood, oc is also an orphan so mentions of parental death, brief mentions of religious persecution? (yn’s parent’s coven is destroyed by knights from a new religion), brief depictions of fighting/violence, there’s no smut in this part but namjoon is hot as fuck, namjoon in leather which needs a warning in itself, use of magic ofc, namjoon is I N S A N E and im simping for him

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this was,,, supposed to be a oneshot but fneorifnge i’ve been so lazy and i haven’t been writing as much so in order to post something I’ve decided to split this into four parts! also sorry there’s no smut in this chapter but the next three parts all have smut yeehaw 🤩

⏤ beta read by the lovely @yeoldontknow, @nightshadevinter, @inthecrescentmoonight and @jjungkooksthighs

⟴ Series Masterlist

It’s the dead of winter. Snow crunches under your soles; the muffled sounds of your footsteps intermingling with the odd cracking branch, and crinkling leaf-litter as you navigate through the Forest of Ingredeen. The sky above you is bleak: faint wisps of smoke-grey clouds obscuring the otherwise stark, white canvas; and the harsh light causes your eyes to squint in the slightest. The thick blanket of snow that surrounds you doesn’t help; the pristine-white coating only further reflecting the brightness. Despite the austereness of the sky, life continues thriving around you. Barren skeletons of deciduous trees are juxtaposed by evergreens of pine, fir, and yew – the latter of whose verdant branches still boast succulent needles of jade and viridian. Some of them, most notably the yew trees, still bear fruits: the scarlet berries adding a splash of colour to the contrary dreary scene.

Stillness befalls the entirety of the forest, and the eerie silence only amplifies the sounds of snow crunching under your feet. The air is equally stagnant, with not a single gust of a howling gale, nor a gentle wisp of a susurrus breeze, drifting through the atmosphere. Though, that's a small blessing you’re thankful for; because even with the absence of the wind, the frigid bite of the cold settles into your bones. As a matter of fact, you’re dressed in a thick-piled winter cloak - the black material lined with fur – as well as your woollen dress and leather boots. Yet, you still feel the brisk chill kiss your skin, the surface turning icy as it prickles with goosebumps.

Curling further into the warmth of your cloak, you pull the piled fabric further around your body and continue walking through the dense thicket of trees. The quiet is strange, and heavy, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the woodland was devoid of all life. Nonetheless, every now and then, the shrubs around you move: their foliage rustling as hares and squirrels scuttle about, and wintertime birds flit through the canopy: sweet chirps of birdsong and languid flaps of wings resonating through the air. Albeit, they come infrequently, with long, gaping silences between. But they still come, and that settles the inkling of unease that flutters through your stomach.

You’ve only just moved into the large province of Carelia; the nation nestled between the much smaller territories of Alphana and Eyres; the latter of which had once been your previous home. Of course, in spite of Carelia being a large country – abundant with diverse wildlife and vast expanses of wilderness – the population of inhabitants itself was fairly small. In fact, throughout the entire country, there were only five human settlements; a significant decrease from the almost overpopulated country of Eyres. Naturally, that wasn’t the only difference. No, here, in Carelia, magic was bountiful – the very essence of life so palpable that you could feel it thrum in the air. Not that any of that was surprising by all means. No. After all, nature was plentiful here, and as a result, it meant that the innate magic of life was equally as powerful.

Taking a deep breath, you watch as your breath fogs in front of your face, causing your nose to scrunch at the sight. You had chosen to leave your previous coven, of your own volition. It had been a spur of the moment decision, after one of your past sisters, who’d specialised in oracles and premonitions, had suggested through thinly-veiled euphemisms that you’d find your destined soulmate here. When she’d first prophesied her vision, you’d been but a young wiccan, at the tender age of eighteen, a mere two years after your initiation into your coven, and you hadn’t cared too much. Back then, the idea of love, soulmates, and destiny had been far out of your mind. Rather, your entire being burned with the need to learn, to hone your magic and see just how far you could take it.

Your past coven had been a famous one, known by the entire world as the Sisters of Elysia. It had been an elusive coven, shrouded in mystery and repute, and one that was only open to the most powerful, or promising, female witches. In fact, it had been so exclusively prestigious, that it could only be joined by invitation from the High Priestess herself; a powerful seer with the ability to seek out the potential, innate magic of a witch or warlock. Though of course, the Sisters of Elysia had only been interested in an all-female coven, and even the most powerful warlocks had been turned away. Not that they’d even consider joining, though. No, they had their own coven for that – the Brotherhood of Requiem.

Being discovered by Mardella, the High Priestess, at the age of fifteen had been a blessing, and an honour; and having been told you’d had an incredible affinity for the Destructive Arts and Alchemical Restoration, two powerful schools of magic, had been even more of a privilege. As such, Mardella, and the rest of your sisters, had taken you under their wing, and taught you all about witchcraft for a year. And then, the very day you’d turned sixteen, you’d been formally initiated into the coven.

After that, you’d spent years upon years training your two schools of magic, honing them to the skill they are today. For the vast majority of your young adulthood, you’d chased the beguiling essence of magic – learning as much as you could about the two different archetypes – and soaking every ounce of the information into the very fibre of your skin. Power was a seductive thing, something far more enticing than the notion of love, and readily, you’d fallen into its clutches. Naturally, it was only made easier by being part of the Sister of Elysia.

You see, your previous coven had been a nomadic one – and its migratory nature had made learning all the more easier – especially since at the age of twenty-five now, you’ve traversed almost the entire world, and seen more things than an ordinary witch of your age would have. At first, the vagrancy of your previous home had been exciting. You’d loved travelling the globe, visiting different countries, and learning all types of cultures while simultaneously acuminating your magic. As a matter of fact, you had craved it – and wandering about the different kingdoms had whetted your own innate wanderlust; as well as the desire to learn as much as you could.

The Sister of Elysia had been your home, and you’d loved the family you’d created – after all, the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. Or so, you’d been told all your life. Nevertheless, despite all your attachment and adoration for your coven – you couldn’t help but find that something was missing. You see, your blood-related family had been torn from you at the young age of ten, the coven of your parents razed to the ground by Knights of the Seven Lights: a new religion that had swept through Eyres, and in the bloodbath that had followed, you’d lost everything.

Orphaned from childhood, you’d spent the next five years living in the abandoned church that your parents’ coven, Mages of Mirror Lake, had occupied when they’d still been alive. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Eyres had a warm temperate, and winters were non-existent. Hence, even though you were essentially homeless, you’d somehow survived. By all means, you’d had to forage for scraps of food, clothing, or any other basic necessities – sometimes even needing to find a neighbouring human settlement and stealing whatever you could get your hands upon – but you’d survived. Moreover, you’d even continued sharpening your skills in witchcraft, using the ruined library of the church in order to continue your schooling.

For five years, you’d lived like that. Using the school of Destructive Arts, you’d kept those who would harm you, typically members of the Knights of the Seven Lights, at bay. And using the school of Alchemical Restoration, you’d heal and look after yourself; as well as the odd human who was desperate enough for a treatment to an ailment that they would turn away from their new religion and back towards the Magic of Old. Eventually, though, you’d met Mardella, who’d sought you out and brought you back to the Sisters of Elysia. And that was where you’d found your home, happiness, and solace.

That was, until now.

In the recent years, your magic had grown listless, and you, yourself, had grown restless – until eventually, you found yourself at an impasse.

You no longer found joy in travelling, and considering you’ve travelled everywhere there was little more you could learn that way, and even less that you could discover. You’ve reached the peak of your power. You’ve spent an entire decade garnering your knowledge, immersing yourself in the seductive lure of the Black Arts, only to hit a culmination. And now, there was nowhere else you could go except down. Of course, you could always consider learning a new school of magic if you so wished to continue chasing power. Except, lately, that deep, insatiable need for it had started diminishing; the searing fire dwindling until it was nothing more than weak flames licking at your being.

You still loved to practice your witchcraft, of course you did. You’d never really lose your love for power or magic. But your hunger for it had ebbed, its cold seduction releasing you from its tantalising embrace – and the moment that had disappeared, you’d found yourself lost. For the longest time, power had been your only vice, the only thing you had sought after, and cared for. But with that thirst gone, you had no idea what to do; or where to go anymore. More than that, you'd found yourself craving for some sense of home, of belonging. You had that with your coven, of course you did. But it just wasn’t the same.

A while now, there was a small, distant part of you that craved what had been stolen from you from a young age. A family. Love. You craved a sense of belonging; the affection of a lover, and the comfort and safety that they afforded. Something that was out of your reach with the Sisters of Elysia. By all means, it wasn’t as if there were rules that forbid romance. No, of course not. It was more, with how elusive the coven was, and with the doctrine that knowledge was power, and power was prestige; it meant that while romance wasn’t frowned upon, it just wasn’t something that was frequently entertained. Especially since the Sisters of Elysia had no room for men. Though, of course, if you fell for one of the sisters, that was a wholly different matter.

Which had all been well and good when you were younger. But now, you’re older, and you no longer covet power. Rather, you yearn for a sense of security, of home, of stability.

And thus, lately, you’ve found yourself going back to Malise’s oracle; the seer having foreseen of your soulmate almost a decade ago. You see, everyone in the world has someone fated for them – the knots of destiny tied by the Moirai long before even your own grandparents were born. Naturally, not everyone who was bound together actually found each other; after all, the world is large, and the universe was rarely ever so kind. No, more often than not, soulmates could be born miles apart, or even countries apart – and as a result – very few people found love with their soulmates. That is, of course, if you’re a human with no ties to the Magic of Old.

For witches and wizards, it was different.

The natural essence of the universe – the energy that made up the Magic of Old – was what guided practitioners of the Black Arts, and it was that very power that had bound the two beings together. And as such, for witches and warlocks, it was easier to find soulmates. Easier. Magic was mysterious, and the universe very scarcely answered definitively. Oracles were particularly attuned to the cosmos, hence their ability to catch glimpses of the future. But that’s all they were, mere glimpses and vague inklings. It was very rare for a seer to be able to clearly see the future – which is why Mardella was so powerful: she was particularly harmonious with the world.

However, Mardella very rarely involved herself with matters of the heart. As the High Priestess of the Sisters of Elysia, she embodied the fundamental teachings of knowledge and power; and as such her prophecies were seldom about the frivolities of romance or soulmates. Malise, however, was another matter. Frequently, the seer would have visions about soulmates, and she could even control them to a degree – having them at will. The first vision she’d had of you and your destined lover, had been involuntary; the fortune triggered randomly. She’d tried to speak to you about it, even offering to look further into it. However, you’d quickly dismissed her. After all, back then, you hadn’t cared.

Now, though, was a completely different matter.

Thus, a week ago, you’d sheepishly slunk into her chambers, and quietly asked if she’d be able to find out more about your soulmate. Her response had been eager, and she’d conducted her divination swiftly. As usual, her vision had been vague – veiled in euphemisms and cloaked with mysticism – the universe purposely responding to her questions with ambiguous answers. All she could say was that it was a man, a warlock to be specific, and that he lived in Carelia. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The idea of moving and settling down in Carelia – a kingdom so rich in nature and magic – immediately had excitement flourishing through you. Your earlier listlessness quickly faded, and with a new sense of purpose, you’d formally, and abruptly, left the Sisters of Elysia before you made your way to Carelia.

Naturally, there’s not much you know about your soulmate – because, really, living in Carelia and being a warlock was barely any information to go off of. Nevertheless, as mentioned before, despite how large of a country it is, Carelia only had a small population of humans inhabiting it. More than that, despite the abundance of magic, there was only one coven that was still prolific in the nation: Coven of the Evening Star. Moreover, out of curiosity, and before you had moved, you’d brewed the Essence of Venus; a potion that took on the scent of your destined lover. Each fragrance is wholly unique, customised purely for the individual, and completely memorable. In fact, you doubt you could ever forget the scent.

Thick notes of a pungent scent made up the bulk of your soulmate’s fragrance. Despite the sharpness of it, it was fruity and warm; with subtle hints of rich honey and ripe citrus. The fragrance was sharp, deeply intoxicating, and incredibly comforting. The telltale scent of honeysuckles in full bloom. Undercurrents of morning dew and fresh soil cut the effluvious aroma, adding a depth of light freshness and earthen musk to it that had your stomach flourishing with warmth. The first time you smelled it, you'd completely melted into the scent - something about it calling to the very recesses of your being, and soothing your soul - and you'd wanted nothing more than to sink into it.

After that, you'd immediately found yourself daydreaming about the mysterious warlock it belonged to. Lost in your fantasies, you wondered what his name was, what he looked like, and what he was like. You wondered what kind of magic he practised, and what he liked to do in his spare time. Moreover, you wonder just why he smells the way he does - and whether the scent of honeysuckle was wholly natural to him or artificial. Momentarily, you wonder where the fresh soil and morning dew comes from too. Mainly because, none of the notes that make up your soulmate's scents are common, or ordinary. Though, that's something you're thankful for, because hopefully, just hopefully, it would make finding him all that bit easier.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don't notice the dense thicket of woodland start to thin: the space between the trees growing further and further apart; until, all of a sudden, you're thrown out of your thoughts by the sight that greets you. Out of the blue, you find yourself in a large clearing. The glade is spacious, fringed by shrubs and bushes that make up the understory of the forest. Above you, the once thick canopy has cleared up, allowing dense beams of stark-white light to flood the ground: the sky's radiance bathing over the forest floor and casting its harsh brilliance over the structure that makes its home in the middle of the meadow.

When had you reached home?

Your cottage is moderately sized, and homely, but nevertheless, a sight to behold. The roof is gabled: made up of thin, multi-shaded hues of black slate, and the walls are smooth: made up of clay and stone of varied shades of beige. Flowering vines scale the exterior of your home, from the climbing roses that frame the oakwood entrance to your home, to the branches of clematis and moonflower that intertwine together over the side walls. Trumpet vine hangs over the edge of the roof, the lush foliage draping over the large windows that peek into your home. A wooden fence encloses your land, with the only entrance a small gate that breaks up the stakes. Bushes fill the space between your home and the timber barrier, however, being the dead of winter, only a few still bloom: the large shrub of daphne in the corner by the chimney, little clusters of violas nestled between clumps of cyclamen, and the vines of winter clematis that creep over the walls.

Carelia is large, and there are few settlements littered around the wild expanse of the wilderness. Nevertheless, your home is still secluded from even the nearest community - your new coven. Most people would be daunted by the fact that you're living alone in the woods. However, you? Not so much. After all, with your proficiency in the Destructive Arts, it would be hard for someone to get the best of you. Not to mention, that you had lived by yourself in the woods from the ages of ten to fifteen. No, to you, living alone in the forest, is somewhat comforting, and nostalgic.

At the comforting sight of your home, the corners of your lips curl into a slight smile, and you begin walking down the thin, winding dirt path that leads through the gate and to your home. Getting to the entrance to your cottage, though, you abruptly stop; the smile on your face falling. A small wicker basket sits on the shallow concrete step at the foot of your door. Curiosity colouring your being, you place your own basket of firewood and food down, before cautiously pulling back the soft linen cloth that covers the contents. Seeing the items inside, however, your curiosity is swiftly replaced by surprise.

A pot of lilac makes the centrepiece, the four-petaled flowers blooming in soft shades of periwinkle and blush despite the mid-winter atmosphere. Next to the pot lies a bundle of dried lavender, wrapped in a piece of plain brown parchment and tied with silk black ribbons. A few of the desiccated petals litter the base of the wicker basket, and in spite of its dryness, the thick, piney-floral scent of the bulbs intermingle with the cloying - almost sacchariferous - scent of lilac into a delicate floral aroma. The last items in the basket are three muslin sachets that contain a mix of rosemary, sage and cloves - the bag tied shut with red thread.

Thanks to your background in Alchemical Restoration, you’re well versed in the craft of herbalism, and from your extensive knowledge, you know that all the items signify protection. Lavender for purification and healing of the soul, lilac to banish malicious spirits or malevolent intentions, and the sachets to ward off negative energy. Having only moved into your new home yesterday, you haven't had a chance to properly ward off your property, and as such, the protective charms that keep you safe are basic and easily penetrable. Thus, the gift of the flowers and herbs is incredibly sweet. If a little strange, considering you have yet to meet any of your new coven members, or even announce your arrival. Nevertheless, you don't sense any negativity radiating off of the basket. In fact, if anything, you can feel a soft aura of safety enclosing the items - the gifter having clearly cast a few more wards of protection around them.

“Hello,” a voice suddenly speaks, and not expecting it, you immediately startle. Instantly, a rush of adrenaline surges through you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge, and a swell of power to flood through your fingertips. Before you can even consider your actions, lightning begins crackling around your fingertips: small bolts of bright, purple-hued sparks arcing around the pads of your digits; your magic involuntarily manifesting itself in a bid to protect you.

Spinning on your heel, you thrust out your hand on instinct, causing a large bolt of lightning to appear out of thin air. The moment you turn around, however, your eyes blow wide and despair courses through you. The newcomers are dressed in two large cloaks, their coats effectively hiding their forms from you. However, from the design of the brooch that fastens their coverings - the emblem of an intricate silver star - you know that they’re members of your new coven; most likely coming to greet you. Nonetheless, the damage is already done - your magic having flooded out of you and into the air.

The lightning bolt surges towards the two and you watch as the female’s hands move in a flash, a spell immediately slipping from her lips as she erects a shield in front of her and her partner. It appears just in time - your own magic colliding directly into the middle of the barrier. To the witch’s credit, the shield manages to deflect your attack, and the force of the collision causes the lightning to bound into the stratosphere. A large flash of blue blazes through the sky, accompanied by the thunderous sound of lightning cracking, before your magic dissipates and ebbs back into the atmosphere; a terse silence once again shrouding the forest.

The moment it disperses, the aura of power around you fades away, and your shoulders immediately tense. Clambering to your feet, “Sweet Earth Mother, I am so sorry,” you quickly splutter. Adrenaline still coursing through you, your heart continues beating rapidly and your hands turn sweaty. Though, this time, rather than fear, it’s out of trepidation: a ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. This was not a good way to greet your new coven members.

The shorter of the two, the woman, pulls down her hood, and you’re met by mesmerising, cat-like eyes and a mischievous smile, “It’s okay. I kinda startled you on purpose,” comes her coy response. Nervousness replaced by confusion, your eyebrows furrow as you regard her in puzzlement. Beside her, the taller of the two lets out a little sigh and pulls down his own hood. The first thing you notice is that both of them have identical features: the same, sharp eyes; smooth, glass-like tanned skin, and small, pouty lips. Twins, no doubt.

“Yeah, and you almost had us killed. I told you not to startle her,” he chides, causing the woman’s cheeks to puff in a pout.

“Hey! I saved us, didn’t I? If it weren’t for my shield, we’d both be ash,” she backfires. The man simply scoffs and shakes his head.

“If you hadn’t scared her, we wouldn’t have needed the shield in the first place,” he retorts. The woman opens her mouth to retaliate, however, not having a comeback, she quickly closes it.

“Fair enough,” she concedes with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“Purpose? Test?” you reiterate softly, breaking their little spat.

“Well, yes, of course. Your reputation precedes you, ____. I just had to see if the famed Witch of Ruin was truly as powerful as the rumours made you out to be,” the woman replies. Hearing her words, you let out an awkward chuckle.

Witch of Ruin.

Gods, you hadn’t heard that in a while.

You’d first gained the epithet during your years in Eyres, after you’d single handedly defeated a small group of the Knights of the Seven Lights, who’d come to ‘purge’ you of evil. After that one event, you’d gained infamy as the Witch of Ruin; rumours of a child born of chaos, lightning and fire, spreading through the country. As a result, more and more groups of the Knights would come looking for you, and one by one, they would fall at your hand. By all means, it had all stopped once you’d been rescued by Mardella. Nonetheless, being initiated into the Sisters of Elysia, of all covens, had only caused your fame to grow. After all, it was a coven that prized themselves on power.

Still, you haven’t heard that epithet in a while; having stayed your lust for power a while ago, and falling more into your love of Alchemical Restoration in the recent years. In fact, if you were being completely honest, you’d tried your hardest to put the nickname, Witch of Ruin, behind you. Mainly due to the fact that it had been born out of your need for survival. Not to mention, your anger, and what could only be considered ‘teenage angst’, over your circumstances from when you were an adolescent.

The man in front of you bows, the movement breaking you out of your reverie abruptly. “I’m sorry about my sister. I’m Min Yoongi, and this is Yoonji. We’re here to welcomeyou to the coven,” he apologises. Then, straightening out his back, he glares at his twin pointedly through the corner of his eyes, “Welcome. Not test,” he mutters. His words cause Yoonji to pout and stick her tongue out.

Eyes blowing out, you quickly shake your head while waving your hands dismissively. “No, no. It’s okay! Would you like to come in?” you ask as you gesture towards your home. This time, it’s Yoonji who shakes her head.

“Usually, we’d love to. But we don’t have long today. We need to get back to prepare for the coven meeting tomorrow,” she replies, her mischievous smile curling into an apologetic one. “We’re only here to drop off your initiation robes, as well as let you know that your formal induction into the coven will take place tomorrow, at evening’s twilight, in the Lunar Grove,” she continues.

Eyebrows knitting together, you cock your head to the side, “Lunar Grove?” you repeat, causing Yoongi to smile at you kindly.

“Someone will come collect you around dusk and bring you to the meeting spot,” he supplies, and you nod in understanding.

“Do we not have a building to convene in, or…?” you find yourself asking before you can stop.

A tinkling laugh slipping from her lips, Yoonji shakes her head. “The Coven of the Evening Star reveres nature first and foremost. We feel that buildings impair our ability to connect with both nature and the universe. So, while we aren’t a nomadic coven, we do not have an official church building to worship in either,” she explains. Mouth forming a little ‘o’, a ripple of sheepishness washes through you. You remember Malise telling you something about that, however, in your excitement to move and settle down, you hadn’t completely researched your new coven; a blight on your part.

Sensing your mortification, “Don’t worry about it too much. Our coven is very different from your old one, so I’m sure it’ll take you a while to get used to everything anyway. In the meantime, we’re here to help you with whatever you need,” Yoongi speaks, his voice low and comforting. A grateful smile curls onto your face as you thank him.

“Not to mention, everyone is excited to meet you. It’s all anyone can talk about lately. About how we’re not only going to meet a previous member of the Sisters of Elysia, but that she’s also joining our new coven. Not only that, but she’s also the fabled Witch of Ruin… I can assure you, that almost every member of the coven will travel to view your initiation tomorrow,” Yoonji chuckles lightly. The moment her words slip out her mouth, you let out an awkward laugh, and hearing the sound, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that daunting, don’t worry. And Yoonji is exaggerating, I doubt that many people will turn up,” he says while pointedly glaring at his sister through the corner of his eyes. Before she can say anything, however, he’s cutting her off, “We really must get going now, though. We still need to complete preparations for your initiation,” he continues before thrusting a neatly wrapped bundle of fabric towards you. “These are your Initiation Robes for the ceremony tomorrow. We look forward to having you join us,” he finishes.

Taking the bundled material from him, you smile at him once again, “I’m looking forward to joining,” comes your reply. With their business complete, the two of them turn on their heels and begin walking away. All of a sudden, however, a thought springs to mind, and you quickly call out to them. Immediately, they stop and turn back towards you, a look of interest on their face. With a wave of your hand, you gesture towards the wicker basket still laying on the porch of your door. “Did you send me this, by any chance?” you ask as you point towards your gift.

The twins glance at each other, a knowing glint flashing in their eyes as they silently communicate amongst one another. Simply watching them, you await their response. You don’t have to wait long, however, because a few short moments later, they’re both turning back to look at you; their heads moving eerily in sync - almost as if they’d planned it.

“It’s not from us, no. It’ll be from Namjoon,” Yoonji explains.

“Namjoon?” you dumbly repeat.

“Mhm. Kim Namjoon. He’s a warlock in our coven. He specialises in Herbalism, and he runs the apothecary that supplies us with the ingredients we need for our rituals, spells or potions. It’s probably a gift welcoming you to the neighbourhood,” she explains. For the umpteenth time today, confusion colours your face.

“Neighbourhood...? I didn’t think I had any neighbours,” comes your response. The land you own now, once belonged to the human settlement that borders the Forest of Ingredeen. When you’d purchased this area of land from the chief, he’d tried to explain that it was a secluded property and that a powerful coven lived in the Forest - and one that could take offense to a strange witch moving into their territory. Of course, once you’d explained that you were soon to join the coven yourself, you’d assuaged his fears and he’d easily bequeathed the land to you.

“Oh, theoretically, you don’t. But Namjoon’s home is the closest to you; he’s about a ten, maybe fifteen minute walk north-west from here. The rest of us live deeper in the forest,” Yoongi explains, his hand lifting as he points towards the general direction of Namjoon’s home. Eyebrows quirking, you turn your gaze back down to the gift as you look at it in interest.

“It’s a wonderful gift,” you mutter under your breath. Despite it being the middle of winter, the pot of lilacs are in full bloom: the velour petals still brightly coloured despite their pastel hue; the leaves still succulent, and a vivid shade of pine-green. Not to mention that the quality of the dried lavender is some of the best you’ve ever seen. Fully dessicated lavender usually tends to lose some of it’s scent, and with the deep, dusky-mauve shading, you know they’ve had all the moisture removed from them. Nevertheless, the camphorous scent of it is still strong; wafting into the atmosphere in soft waves.

“He’s incredibly skilled in what he does,” Yoongi responds, his voice laced with pride. Then, after a short pause, he continues, “He’s similar to you. He was raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem, but moved here and joined the coven, hmm… maybe two and a half years ago?”

Stilling at his words, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. If he was part of the Brotherhood of Requiem, he’d have to be incredibly skilled as a warlock; not to mention powerful. Mind casting back to Malise’s oracle, your heart flutters at the discovery. Could Namjoon be the one you’re destined for? Suddenly, you find yourself itching to go look for him. Though, of course, you wouldn’t know unless you smelled him. And it’d be a bit odd to walk up to a stranger and simply sniff him. Especially if it turned out he was not your soulmate. Still, his gift was sweet, and generous, and that in itself is enough of a reason for you to go meet him.

“If that’s all?” Yoonji asks, her words cutting you out of your thoughts. Startled by her voice, you snap your head back up and grace them both with a sheepish smile.

Scratching the back of your head, “Yes! Sorry to keep you,” you quickly respond. Neither of them say anything. Rather, they smile kindly before once again turning around and walking away. You watch their backs retreat, until their figures disappear into the dense woods that surround your home. Once they’re no longer in sight, you bend over and pick up both your gift, as well as your basket of firewood and food, before entering your home.

As soon as you’re inside the warm comfort of your cottage, you let out a soft sigh. Considering you’re about to leave soon, in order to go thank Namjoon for his gift, you leave on your heavy cloak. Instead, you pad further into your home - dragging in the snow on your boots with you - and into the kitchen. With a casual wave of your hand, the two baskets begin floating in the air before following your figure, and with another flick of your wrist, the firewood sails through the air and towards the fireplace; your food sorting itself out into the pantry and fridge.

Left with only the gift, you carefully place the basket onto the wooden counter of your kitchen island. Gently, you pick up the lilac pot, and the moment you touch the ceramic vase, your eyes widen. A soft thrum of magical essence flitters through your fingertips - travelling from your extremities and down your limbs, only to settle into your core. A sensation of comfort fills you, as well as a spark of energy, and immediately, you know that both spells of protection, and vitality, have been cast upon the pot. The former is obvious - the protection wards boosting the natural magical essence of the lilacs. The latter, however, probably explains just why the lilacs are still in bloom; their life force is most likely supported by the magic cast into it.

Thoughtlessly, your fingertips graze up the side of the vase, along a plump leaf, and towards a supple petal. Another spark of magic jolts through you, and as the calming sensation washes over you, a smile unknowingly curls on your face. It wasn’t often that witches and wizards could imbue feelings into an object; and even less often into a living organism. He really must be a powerful wizard. As you place the vase onto your windowsill, a small frown mars your lips. How are you going to pay him back?

Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind. Swiftly, albeit carefully, you empty out his wicker basket and once it’s empty, you wave your hand; summoning small empty mason jars and your own blend of different tea leaves. The items soar towards you, and with another wave of your hand, they precisely land onto your kitchen counter. Eyes flicking over the different tea leaves, you promptly decide on three different blends - your most favourite ones. In the first one, you scoop in your special blend of cardamom, nutmeg and cinnamon: the laden scent of aromatic spices diffusing into the air and flooding your senses as you fill the jar. The second one, you fill with a blend of chamomile and jasmine; a soft aroma of a floral fragrance replacing the previous, headier one.

With the first two done, you turn your attention to the third, and final one. A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes. Lavender and oolong. A fine homage to his own gift. Opening up the last container, you fill up the last mason jar: the delicate, fresh scent of the lavender intermingling with the sweet, elegant one of oolong. When you’re done, you quickly shut all three jars, wrapping the neck of the containers in a satin ribbon, before attaching a manila label to them. Summoning a pen from one of your drawers, you quickly scrawl on the names of the teas in blue ink.

Once your thank you present has been packed, you cover them with the cloth and grab the handle of the basket, before making your way back out. As you step into the cold once more, the gelid air kisses your skin, causing a soft shiver to run down your spine. Huddling further into your fur coat, you begin walking in the general direction of Namjoon’s home. You’ve no idea what it looks like, or how far it realistically is. Yoongi had mentioned a ten, perhaps fifteen minute walk, but considering you didn’t know the forest very well yet, you weren’t sure how long it would take. You hope it really is a ten to fifteen minute journey. And, of course, that you don’t get lost.

Thankfully, after faithfully sticking north-west, it’s not long before you happen upon what you believe to be Namjoon’s home. The glade of the property is similar to yours: the dense woodland clearing up into an open expanse. In the middle, and a little towards the left, sits a quaint little cottage; with a gambrel roof made of dark brown wood shake, and stone walls of greyed-white to match. Unlike your home, this one has large square windows around the entire property, allowing thick shafts of light to filter through. Yet, despite the panes of glass, you can’t see into the building: the thick cotton curtains blinding your view of the interior.

The area surrounding the cottage is wild, and almost overgrown - in a strange, coordinated way. An organised mess if you would. Small trees skirt the property, growing near the moss-clad, brick fence that separates the forest from Namjoon’s own land, while smaller brushes and shrubs litter the spaces between. One section is covered in flowering perennials, another with potted plants and herbs, and the last third with low growing blossoms. Eyes widening at the sight, you take in a deep breath, only to be filled with a renewed sense of vigour.

Breath hitching in the middle of your throat, you look at the property in surprise. The magic in the air is thick; so palpable that you feel the very cells of your being begin to vibrate with power. Not only is it potent, however, but also pure - the quality of life’s essence so refined that it’s almost suffocating. In fact, you have to physically keep your magic in check, lest it fritz and grow out of your control. Taking a deep breath, you purposely subdue your inner magical core - dulling it towards the vigor of the energy in the air.

Fingers clenching around the woven handle of the basket, you grip it tighter as you step onto the property, a faint ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. With the potency of magic in the air, you desperately hope you don’t trigger any protective wards surrounding the land. When you safely cross the boundary between the forest and Namjoon’s home, your shoulders tense and you immediately come to a halt. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge, and a nervous edge tinges at the corners of your being as you wait for something to happen.

After a few moments of silence, you let out a relieved breath. The wards, if there are any, have accepted you. With that knowledge, you begin your descent down the brick path, from the outskirts of the property and towards the arched front door. Stopping by the dark wood entrance, you lift your hand and gently rap your knuckles on the surface, before stepping away as you wait for an answer. Long, drawn out moments pass, and when you get no response half a minute later, a frown descends upon your lips.

Is he not home?

Lifting your fist, you knock once again; and just like before, you don’t get an answer. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you shuffle to the side and towards a window. Then, stepping onto the tips of your toes, you attempt to peek into Namjoon’s home; looking for any signs of life. However, with the curtains drawn shut - only a sliver of an opening between the two, thick pieces of fabric - you barely have a sufficient view of the inside. Shoulders drooping, you let out a deep exhale and flick your gaze down to the wicker basket in your grasp. If he’s not home, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Disappointment settles into your bones, and for a moment, you consider abandoning your gift on his front porch - just like he’d left his. The thought only lasts a brief moment, however, because suddenly, you hear a small commotion from the back of his home. Startling at the muffled cluttering noise, you raise your eyebrow. Maybe he ishome. Intrigued by the noise, you follow after the sound. It leads you around the perimeter of his home, and getting towards the back, surprise colours your face as you see another building behind his cottage.

The emporium is fairly small, almost the size of a large shed, and made of a beautifully preserved walnut: the timber panelling still ripe with its rich colouring. Walking further towards the building, and to the front, you come to a halt at the entrance. Large panes of glass fill up the front wall, but in spite of the glass, your view of the interior is partially obscured: the dark-tinted, translucent surface preventing your complete view into the shop. Two large pots of firs sit on either side of the door, and just above the tips of the tree, hangs a banner made of dark linoleum. ‘The Blackthorne Codex’ it reads; the letters gleaming in burnished shades of bronze under the stark brightness of the sky.

Steadily, you approach the shop, and placing your hand on the brass handle, you push it open. The tinkle of a bell chimes through the air, and the moment you enter, you're assaulted by an onslaught of sensations. A balmy heat greets you immediately, the warm air rushing past your face and immediately heating up your numb skin. Following the heat is a sacchariferous fragrance: notes of a fruity tartness flooding your senses. Currents of a warm, woody scent coalesce with the stronger aroma; the piquant spiciness of what you know to be cloves weaving with that of dried black cherries into an amalgamation of intoxicating aromas. The incense is strong - almost overpowering - and wholly unique: perhaps a blend of his own concoction. It's so potent in fact, that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue: tinges of a pungent sweetness dyeing your tongue and causing you to salivate.

"Sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." The deep voice comes out of nowhere, the sound breaking the silence and causing you to jump.

Taking heed of the voice, however, you walk further into the shop, simultaneously letting go of the door handle and allowing it to shut behind you. Once you're into the heart of the shop, prickles of heat sting at your skin, the chilled surface quickly warming up - and from the magic charged in the air, you have no doubt it's thanks to some warming enchantment. Carefully placing your woven basket onto a table near you, you unclasp the heavy cloak around your shoulders before quickly shrugging it off and draping it over your arm. With the thick material off of your body, you let out a sigh of relief - your body quickly cooling down.

More comfortable with the temperature, and with the man - who you assume to be Namjoon - still keeping you waiting, you take a moment to look around the shop. Neatly stacked shelves of mahogany line the entire perimeter of the shop, the surfaces chipped and faded with age. Nonetheless, despite their worn appearance, they're not decrepit. Rather, they're antique - with a rustic feel to them. Glass containers of all sizes line the shelves: large jars of preserved tree barks and animal products occupy the top shelves, smaller sized flasks of various herbs, botanics and minerals fill the next few ledges; and little vials and ampoules of oils, extracts and essences litter the final racks. Each one is faithfully marked with a black label, the nature of their contents scrawled in gold ink.

Hand sketched drawings are strewn across the very tops of the walls, the drawings depicting a variety of beautifully illustrated, and incredibly detailed, plants and flowers. Looking closer at them, you can even spot labels, along with scrawled annotations, pointing out to different parts of the plants. They’re vivid, and colourful: the dazzling hues contrasting with the darker shades of the interior. Turning your gaze, you carefully peer at the counter that separates you from the back of the shop.

Similar to the rest of the store, it's made up of wood, with a white marble tabletop that offsets the walnut wood of everything else. One half of the wall behind is filled with a stack of drawers, each one labelled in black ink; the other half holding a door that undoubtedly leads to the back. A cash register sits in the left corner; the till glinting in polished shades of murky gold and varnished oak. On the opposite side, sits a small book rack stacked with aged tomes and grimoires. Next to it, are a few pestles and mortars, some made of marble while others are made of stone - each one with its own specific purpose.

As you’re admiring the interior, a man suddenly slips out from the back. He appears out of nowhere, causing you to jump. The moment you spot him, however, you freeze. He’s tall. Incredibly so. And his size is only emphasised by the corded, bulging muscles that fill his frame. He’s dressed in black leather trousers - the tight material clinging to his full thighs - and with each step he takes, you could swear the material threatens to tear. Moreover, the snugness of his trousers only emphasise the length of his legs: the toned limbs seemingly going on forever. His top is simple, a plain white t-shirt. Yet, despite the simplicity of it, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

Similar to his trousers, the cotton fabric of his shirt clings to his broad chest, highlighting the smooth, yet prominent, outline of his pecs. From how taut the material is, the garment straining against his upper body, you can spot the faintest hint of his dark nipples - the sight of them causing your cheeks to tinge with specks of heat. A simple leather apron is tied around his hips; the hide straps emphasising his trim waist and slender hips. Gaze travelling further up his body, your eyes lock onto his, and this time, you gulp audibly.

He is, perhaps, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

And you’ve traversed the world.

Tanned skin - as smooth and delectable as dulce de leche - glows under the ivory light filtering through the window. It casts a halo of argentate around him - the silvery hue juxtaposing his delicious, honey-kissed skin in the most enchanting way. Dark locks of silk, as black as coal, fall in choppy waves around his face, the front tips kissing his eyelids, and the back ends grazing the nape of his neck. They frame his face, accentuating the elegant slant of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose, and the angled definition of his jaw. His eyes are hooded, and heavy, with a deep-set crease at the inner corners that only highlight the sharpness of them.

Irises of obsidian peek from between his keen eyes, the inky depths freckled with specks of silver and jade that only add to his allure. Eyes glimmering, he radiates an air of power: waves of soft, yet dominant, energy seeping off of his being. If you didn’t know better, you would say his aura practically thrummed with the same lively essence of the very forest itself. Sucking in a sharp breath, the cloying scent of black cherries and cloves floods your senses as you lock eyes, and effortlessly, you sink into his dark gaze.

A look of surprise paints his features, and in a once over, his stare sweeps over you. In one, long glance, he takes you in in your entirety, from the very tips of your boots, to the top of your head, and then back onto your face. His features are carefully stoic as he observes you - his eyes giving nothing away. But then, all of a sudden, it changes. A strong, thick eyebrow rises, and sensual, voluptuous lips pull into an impish, lop-sided grin. It’s wolfish, practically predatory, and almost as if he could devour you whole with a single look.

In two, swift strides, he moves closer, and pressing both hands onto the edge of the marble counter, he grins at you. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze immediately flicks from his eyes and towards his sinewy arms. So enamoured by his handsomeness earlier on, you hadn’t noticed the identical tattoos that brand each of his biceps. Three bands make up each tattoo. The outer ones are simple - embellished with geometric patterns and alchemical runes - and made up of the blackest ink; the colour so rich, it soaks up the light into its ebon void. Framed by the two simplistic bands, however, is an inner one - this tattoo more intricate, and vibrant. Thick, unassuming vines of pine-green form the bulk of the design, with supple foliage of fern-green and moss engraved between.

“Hello. Welcome to The Blackthorne Codex. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man greets. His voice breaks you out of your trance, and instantly, your eyes lock back onto his. Then, features twisting into one of apology, “Sorry about the wait. I had a slight issue with some stock in the back. How can I help you?” he asks.

For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind completely blank, and your face effectively illustrating it’s emptiness. His voice is low, and baritone, with a mellifluous undertow that threatens to drag you under and drown you in its beguile. Of course, the enchanting lure of his magic does nothing to help. Neither of you say anything, Namjoon waiting for you to reply, and you waiting for your mind to process the Adonis-like man in front of you. Eventually, and once you realise he’s staring at you, your brain finally kicks itself into gear.

“Oh. Oh!” you quickly splutter out, your cheeks tinging with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t… expect you to be so young,” comes your reply.

Arching an eyebrow, “Young? I’m twenty-eight years old,” he replies, a playful inflexion to his voice as his smirk deepens. Finally getting a hold of yourself, you simply roll your eyes, a coy smile curling onto your own lips.

“Hmmm. Well, when I heard about the man who lived in the forest, and was dropping off welcome gifts at my house, I couldn’t help but assume he was an old man,” you counter. That has Namjoon pausing.

“Wait. You’re ____? The Witch of Ruin?” he asks, his strong eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he gazes at you in incredulity.

Taken aback by his surprise, you cock your head to the side, “Is that such a surprise?” you ask while lightly waving him off. Scoffing in response, he simply shrugs.

“I just expected you to be…” he begins, only to halt as he ponders his next words. After a short pause, “More menacing,” he finishes.

Once again, you roll your eyes, before waving your hand dismissively, “Well, I guess we both had incorrect assumptions about each other.”

“Touche,” Namjoon laughs. “So, what brings you to my humble apothecary? Need ingredients so soon, already?”

Placing your basket onto the counter, you slide your present over to him. “Hmmm, no. I come bearing a thank you gift,” you reply. Namjoon chuckles, and for a moment, you feel your abdomen stir with a fuzzy warmth. The sound of his laughter is enchanting: deep, rich, and thick like honey as it drips from his mouth like viscous ambrosia. His eyes flash with mirth, and he angles his head down to look at you through his sharp, hooded eyes.

“A thank you gift in response to my ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ one? Your parents must have raised you right,” he jokes. His tone is light, and airy, and you know he means well - realistically knowing nothing of your past. Yet, you still find yourself gracing him with a rueful smile. Though, there’s only a faintest hint of bitterness laced through it.

“They did. Up until their final moments,” you respond. At your words, Namjoon immediately halts, and visibly, you watch every single one of his muscles locking; the corner of his jaw simultaneously twitching.

Face immediately dropping, Namjoon glances at you for a moment - his eyes carefully guarded, and giving away none of his inner thoughts. Unconsciously, you bristle; in preparation for his pity, and the meaningless words that tend to fall out of people’s mouth when you speak of your traumatic childhood. They mean well. You know they do. But it’s been close to sixteen years. And you’re tired of the constant condolences and well wishes. Tired of the way they walk on glass around the issue of your parents. After all, you’ve long since come to terms with it.

To your utter surprise, however, Namjoon’s face immediately relaxes, and his - what you assume to be trademark at this point - wolfish grin once again creeps onto his pillowy lips. “Well, then I’m sure they’re happy you’ve retained your manners then. Or they’d probably rise from their graves and haunt you,” comes his breezy response. That’s it. No ‘I’m sorry’s’ or sympathetic looks, or that tone people take when they find out you’re an orphan. Just a lighthearted joke. Perhaps, to someone else, he may seem insensitive. Perhaps, someone else would be offended. But you? You appreciate it more than he could, or would, ever know.

“Hmmm. Considering my mother was a necromancer… you’re right. She’d definitely be the type to raise herself from the dead just to lecture me on societal etiquette,” you deadpan - your voice purposely flat as you retort. Eyes bugging wide, Namjoon splutters as he chokes on his own spit.

“A necromancer? Please tell me you’re joking,” he replies, a look of bewilderment colouring his visage. Features twisted almost comically, it’s all you can do to laugh.

“Of course, I’m joking! What do you take my mother for? She birthed the Witch of Ruin. There’s no way she’d be foolish enough to practice necromancy,” you laugh in response. Hearing your reply, Namjoon immediately relaxes, and seeing the relief on his face, you can’t help but laugh harder. Necromancy was a false school of witchcraft, one only perpetrated by humans who wished they could practice magic. However, they had one thing wrong. There was no magic that could raise the dead. None.

After all, magic came from nature, and the cosmos, and life itself. It’s why most, if not all, witches and warlocks worship some aspect of the natural universe. Some worship the sky, others the sea, a few the mountains, and many the earth and forests. But no self-respecting practitioner of the Magic of Old, would ever worship the dead. Or even consider bringing the dead back to life. Mostly because it was an impossible feat.

Once a living creature reaches the end of its life, the magic that sustains it fades away. Instead, it returns back to the universe, only to be rebirthed into a new form of life. Sometimes that’s in humans - the species having faint tethers to the universe - or what they’d call their ‘souls’. Sometimes, it’s in witches and warlocks - a child born particularly talented in an archetype of magic. More often than not, though, it’s into the very cosmos, as the sea, or the plants, or the stars. Or really, any component of life, or power, that makes up the universe.

“You have me there,” Namjoon concedes with a chuckle. Then, turning his attention to your gift, he gestures towards it. “So, what do we have here?”

Cheeks flushing with heat, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and begin to chew on it while Namjoon unravels the cloth from the wicker basket. When he spots the three, neatly wrapped jars, he flicks his gaze to you in surprise. Suddenly feeling far too self-conscious - was the gift too much? - you suppress an awkward smile. “I don’t know if you drink tea… but these are some of my own special blends,” you explain, your voice a few decibels above a whisper, and laced with your unsureness.

You watch as Namjoon picks up one of the jars, only to open the lid and take in a deep breath of the aromatic fragrance. “God… that smells good. Is that lavender… and oolong?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Floored by his deduction, “How did you even… you can barely even smell the oolong,” you point out. You’re not lying. The scent of lavender is always strong - and overpowering - and no matter what ratios you blend of the two ingredients, you can’t seem to find a way to bring out the oolong. At your obvious shock, Namjoon laughs.

“I spent my day tending plants, or selling them, ____. I know what most of them look, and smell, like. Even if it’s subtle,” he replies.

Intrigued by his words, you look at him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking… what school of witchcraft do you practice?”

Snapping the lid back onto the jar, he places it back into the basket. Then, eyes flashing mischievously, his lips curl into a teasing smirk. Gazing at you with his smouldering eyes, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Sisters of Elysia? I thought they were supposed to be incredibly knowledgeable. Or perhaps… they don’t hold a candle to the Brotherhood of Requiem,” he provokes. Jaw dropping in surprise, you instantly bristle.

“W-What’s that supposed to mean?” you splutter in indignation. “The Brotherhood of Requiem is not better than the Sisters of Elysia,” you continue with a hiss.

“Hmmm… not if you can’t guess what my magic is,” he backfires easily. Huffing at his response, you roll your eyes. Though, there’s no real ire to it.

“Well it’s obvious you practice Herbalism. But with the potency of the magic surrounding you, that can’t be all you practice,” you reply smartly.

Laughing, “I guess you’re right. Botanic Arts. I also practice the Botanic Arts,” he explains. Ah. That would explain the aura of life that surrounds him.

Contrary to your Destructive Arts - a discipline that was focused on elements of chaos, such as lightning or fire, in order to bring about calamity; the Botanic Arts was a discipline focused around the elements of life, such as earth and nature, in order to bring about life. Nonetheless, even with their juxtaposing natures, they were both two incredibly powerful schools of witchcraft, and if used correctly, even the Botanic Arts could be wielded as a cataclysmic magic. A notion only emphasised by his incredibly imposing presence; as well as his sheer confidence.

“How about you?” he asks, his words breaking you out of your thoughts.

Lips twisting into a wry smirk, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem?” you mock, throwing back his own words at him.

With a snort, Namjoon looks at you pointedly. “Well, everything I know about you is from rumours. The witch of ruin, a child of chaos, birthed from lightning and fire. So… I’m assuming you’re proficient in the Destructive Arts. But… considering you just brought me tea leaves I doubt it’s just that,” he says, imitating your own sentiments. Tongue poking out, you swipe it across your lips as you feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“Alchemical Restoration. The teas have healing properties,” you reply as you try to suppress your grin.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon is unlike any other witch or warlock you’ve ever met. In your life, you’ve travelled the world, and you’ve met many of your kind; from all different walks of life. As such, you’re not new to a little flirtatious banter, nor were you unknown to the pleasures of sex, or a budding romance. Nonetheless, it was rare for it to go past that. The moment they found out who you were, who you truly were, they would immediately lose interest in you - either by their own jealousy, or intimidation, or insecurities that you were most likely better, and more powerful, than them.

However, here was a man, who knew who you were, and still continued showing an interest. Or well, at least what you hoped was interest. Though, with the way his eyes subtly roam over your figure every now and then, and with how he keeps his attention focused on you, and only you, you doubt you’re wrong. Namjoon is different. Because even knowing who you are, and knowing about your past, his demeanour hasn’t changed. He’s not the least bit intimidated, nor insecure, or resentful. If anything, you have a feeling you’ve only stoked his interest. And that has a fuzzy warmth blooming within the pits of your stomach.

“A remedial discipline? Didn’t take you for the type,” comes his immediate answer. Then, eyes flashing in mirth, “Though… I can’t say I’m mad. I don’t even want to thinkabout what your gift would be if you just practiced the Destructive Arts… perhaps you’d set my apothecary on fire for daring to intrude on your property?” he teases, and as the words slip out of his mouth, you can’t help but hear the flirtatious intonation.

Your conversation is ordinary, and full of pleasant niceties. Yet, buried between both your tones, is a touch of something deeper; something heavier. Perhaps it’s the playfulness of his entire demeanour, or the coquettish nature of your own replies. But no matter what it is, you can’t help but feel the spark between the two of you. You don’t know where it’s come from, or why. After all, you’re both strangers, and this is your first time meeting. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel drawn to him - a baser need, something more corporeal pulling you towards him. A flutter of excitement flits through you,

In response to his words, you childishly stick your tongue out. Then, “Yes, well, as much as I adore the Destructive Arts and the power trip that comes with it… I’ve just… somewhat grown tired of it,” you find yourself confessing - the words falling from your lips before you can even stop them. That has Namjoon’s devilish disposition dropping, his features twisting into one of inquisitiveness.

“Oh? Why is that?” he asks.

Once again, and before you even realise what you’re saying, you find yourself shrugging. “Honestly? I don’t know if I ever really even wanted to learn the Destructive Arts. But after my parent’s coven was destroyed, and once the Knights of the Seven Lights began hunting me… I had no other choice, you know? I learnt it because I had to. Because I needed to survive. It was born out of my need to prove something… that I could endure everything, and that I would still come out on top,” you confess. All of a sudden, you pause.

Eyelids widening in the slightest, you quickly halt your tongue as you realise what you’d just blurted out. It’s not often that you talk about your past. You’re over it. Or well, you’re more numb to it. But it wasn’t often that you brought it up - wanting to leave the past… well, in the past. Hell, the only reason the Sisters of Elysia had known, was because they’d saved you from that life. But you never spoke about it. At least, not of your own accord. And certainly not to a random stranger you’d just met. So really, you’re not sure why you’d suddenly, and completely out of the blue, truthfully spoken about your past. Especially in a casual meeting like this.

Nonetheless, something about him calls to you. You don’t know what it is, and you can’t accurately place it. But there’s something about him that you find reassuring. He’s a stranger, and realistically, you know nothing about him. Yet, still, you can’t help but trust him. There’s an air of power around him, yes. It pulses around him in an enticing fashion: a refined aura of magic that is both completely sensual, and commanding. However, woven between that presence, is a sense of solace. The kind that’s filled with a promise of safety, and home. The kind you’ve been desperately searching for all your life. It beckons to you, and effortlessly, you find yourself magnetised to him.

Momentarily, Malise’s words echo in the back of your mind. About how you’d find your soulmate here, and fleetingly, you wonder if it’s him. A part of you is desperate for him to be. For him to be the one you call your home. Yet, even with that yearning that tingles through you, you can’t bring yourself to put any real hope on it. He’s enchanting, and you’re completely enamoured by him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s your one. The universe has a twisted sense of humour, and seldom did it ever play to one’s hand. Soulmates aren’t perfect. And just because you’re fated for someone, doesn’t mean that you’d work out. Love wasn’t that simple. Thus, with the attraction that you do feel for him already, a weird, twisted part of you doesn’t wantto know. Just in case, he’s not the one destined for you.

A heavy air befalls the two of you; the tension intensifying until it’s so thick that you almost suffocate within its hold. Jittery under the sudden pressure, your hands turn clammy as you begin shuffling from foot to foot. You want to say something, to make a casual joke and immediately diffuse the stiffness in the atmosphere. Nonetheless, your throat is tight, and your mouth dry, and you simply can’t bring yourself to force the words out. Sensing your awkwardness, however, Namjoon quickly comes to your aid. The corners of his lips tugs, and the plush petals of his mouth pull into an easy smile as he points back towards your gift.

“Well, they seem really well-made, and I can already tell just how high quality these are. I’m looking forward to trying them,” comes his airy response. Then, after a brief pause, an impish smirk teases at his lips. “... And giving you my honest opinion,” he taunts. A sense of relief washing over you at the return of his playful demeanour, and with the tension quickly diffusing, you grace him with your own coy grin.

“I’m sure you’ll find them to your standards. It’s not like I could give you something subpar after your lavish present, after all,” you counter. Eyes lighting up suddenly, “Which, speaking of high quality, the lilacs and lavender… where did you get them?” you question. A deep, throaty chuckle emanates from the middle of Namjoon’s chest, and you watch his speckled onyx eyes glint in amusement.

“I didn’t get them anywhere. I grew them myself,” he responds. Taken aback by his answer, you blink at him owlishly. He’d… grown them himself? Well. You hadn’t been expecting that. Though, now that you think about it, it makes sense. Initially, you’d thought that perhaps he’d only enchanted the lilacs, in order to keep them blooming. However, with the sheer life imbued into them, you realise that for that level of magic, he’d probably have to grow them himself. Which, with his mastery in the Botanic Arts, paired with his expertise of Herbalism, would be a feat easier said than done.

With a fleeting glance, you flick your gaze around his shop, only to catch his eye once again. “Do you grow most of your stock?” you ask, astonishment evident in your voice. Once again, Namjoon chuckles, before nodding easily.

“A lot of it, yes. If not most. The things I can’t grow, I have to source from the human settlements. Though, it’s mostly animal products or minerals,” he begins, a look of thought crossing his face. “The minerals, because I don’t have time to go mine for that… Nor do I want to,” he laughs. “And I can’t bring myself to hunt for animal products myself because everytime I do, I end up not wanting to hurt them and letting them go. So I rely on humans a lot for those kinds of things. It’s why, unlike the rest of the coven who lives deeper into the forest, I live closer towards the edge… and also why I’m your only neighbour,” he continues his explanation.

Mouth forming an ‘o’, “That makes sense,” you reply.

“Why do you live so close to the edge? I’m sure High Priest Torin would have offered you a home in the coven’s territory?” Namjoon questions.

With a nonchalant shrug, “I just needed a change I guess. With the Sisters of Elysia being nomadic, we never had an actual home. And so we’d always live in temporary homes while sharing living spaces. Moving here, I knew I kinda just wanted some more privacy, you know?” comes your answer. Once again, there’s nothing but truth in it, and internally, you wonder just what kind of bewitchment he’s cast on you, for you to be so honest. Though, it’s probably just his natural charm.

“Plus, I’m focusing more on my Alchemical Restoration, and I want to be able to help as many people as I can. Both, our coven, and the humans in the country,” you continue. Then, letting out a sigh, “Except… I’m still new to the area and the Forest of Ingredeen is huge and I have no idea where the human settlements are,” you finish. Then, after a small pause for thought, “Other than the Sundale settlement, that is,” you ponder out loud.

“Oh. There are a total of five in the entire country, and they all border the Forest of Ingredeen since it’s the oldest and most ancient woodland,” Namjoon points out. Taking his hands off of the counter, he shuffles towards the book rack on the tabletop, and pulling out a large scroll from the corner, he unravels it flat onto the surface. A large map greets you; the parchment yellowed and the ink faded with time. Still, you can make out all the details of the cartograph. It’s of Carelia, you note, with the human settlements clearly illustrated, as well as the paths to them.

“These are the general routes that you can traverse. Though, not all of them are in use anymore. And newer ones have been created. There’s also no real roads to follow,” Namjoon explains, a small frown marring his lips. Then, flicking his gaze towards you, he looks at you through hooded eyes. “If you’re free tomorrow, I can show you around? I doubt anyone knows these woods as well as me” he boasts.

Lips pulling into a flirtatious smile, you loll your head to the side before cocking your eyebrow. “Like a date?” comes your glib suggestion. Your voice is light, and airy, and your tone completely casual. And of course, you don’t expect him to actually agree. Still, to your complete disappointment, Namjoon shakes his head

“Not like a date,” comes his quick response, his voice causing ripples of devastation to tinge at your being. However, “A date,” he continues. Instantly, your disappointment is replaced with delight, and your heart simultaneously flutters.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you chew on the soft petal in a bid to suppress your grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

a/n: SCREAM god fneorngeoirgnoeig i dont know why that was so long when absolutely nothing happened but i hope y’all liked it ahhh 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 i’m hoping to get the next part up next weekend but jfneronorign no promises rip ♡

⇥ Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Like my work? Consider buying me a Kofi!

#bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #bts namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #bts namjoon smut #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon angst #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #bts fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #i fucking hate coming up with tags on god

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saezurufeels · 3 years

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3 little reminders - a prep kit for the upcoming chapter 🙈

1. Recently I’ve become more interested in yakuza culture, so I started paying more attention to hierarchies and conventions within the yakuza that my little girly brain conveniently sidestepped before. So, maybe this stuff isn’t new to anyone and I’m making the most obvious observations, but 🤷🏻‍♀️

Although all yakuza bosses are good judges of character, I believe no one is as good at it as Yashiro. That being said, it occurred to me that, if what Kamiya said about Yashiro channelling funds to Doushinkai is correct, it would make sense that Yashiro is trying to find Kido before anyone else, since part of the money he owes goes to Misumi. Further, if that is the case, Yashiro knows that the only way he can temporarily keep Misumi happy without being his underling, is with money.

It’s no coincidence that Misumi came knocking at Yashiro’s door at the beginning of volume 7 when he heard that Yashiro had amassed big sums; wasn’t Sugimoto depositing 300k prior to their meeting like it’s nothing? That being said, if Yashiro completely broke ties with the yakuza, Misumi would lose a big income. Nanahara didn’t say that the yakuza runs on money and reputation in chapter 41 for nothing

Misumi’s visit to Yashiro’s casino had a specific purpose. Even leaving his bodyguards at the door was strategic; snatching up Yashiro on his own turf, with his own underling standing right next to him, unable to stop one old man, was a deliberate display of power. Misumi’s sudden outburst was a warning, and Yashiro knows as much, despite easing the tension.

Actually, I have no doubt that Yashiro is giving some of his earnings to Misumi, considering his thought that Tsunakawa wants to earn Misumi’s favour by splitting the proceeds of Kido/Yamakawa’s debt 60-40 in Yashiro’s favour.

Which brings me back to my previous point; the only way Yashiro is managing to stay half-way out of the yakuza is by supplying funds to Misumi, and the mere mention of possibly leaving the yakuza triggers a violent display of power. Misumi might be putting up with Yashiro’s fantasy, but for how long?

Off topic, but Yashiro seems pretty miserable post-timeskip. He looks extremely lonely in the blackness of the car in chapter 36, (the same blackness he imagined when Doumeki left the car to get an umbrella, pre-timeskip), and made at least two references to wishing he was dead-- once in the car and again while speaking to Tsunakawa.

2. The other thing I started thinking about was the idea of Yashiro being a sadist that wants to hurt Doumeki’s feelings and if you’ve read my other posts, you’d know how I feel about Yashiro’s empathy and protectiveness. I also believe that Yashiro is misinterpreting his own emotions to the point that he doesn’t understand himself as well as he thinks he does.

Yashiro basically only gets off when he thinks about the people he likes, their tender touches or facial expressions.

So in his mind he thinks he’s a sadist for imagining Kageyama crying at his dad’s funeral while jerking off, but really, he’s so touched to be feeling someone’s affection and gratitude; he’s getting off to feeling loved lol (😫)

When Yashiro told Doumeki to “shut up” at the warehouse, cause he was asking too many questions, Yashiro turned to look at D and asked, “did that hurt your feelings?” and D said, “do you want to hurt me?” and Y says, with some effort, “who knows.” I think Y was chasing that emotional high he got in the car while trying to get rid of Doumeki, only to have him push back stubbornly and declare his determination to stay by Yashiro’s side, even if it’s just as an errand boy WELP. In the end Yashiro had to give up trying to get D to leave on his own, because he was pulling at Yashiro’s heartstrings too much.

Yashiro is the softest boy, give him a hug and a smile and he will secretly cherish it forever.

However, since Doumeki grew up, it doesn’t seem like Yashiro will be able to hurt his feelings that easily 🥵 (unless he talks about other guys). Yashiro might just have to accept that what he really wants is to be wanted.

3. Ok and I just wanna talk about Kamiya for a bit. It usually takes me a while to warm up to new characters, but I think I’m ready to declare my love now :-)

From what I gather, Kamiya is the type of person who wants to understand things, and gets frustrated when he doesn’t understand things. Wow, what a precise, earth-shattering observation clap clap clap..but I’ll explain lol

It’s too early to tell what Kamiya’s true motives are for volunteering to track down Kido and Yamakawa, because I’m not sure if he wants to understand Doumeki better, or if he wants to earn Tsunakawa’s favour; maybe both. Probably both.

All I know for sure is that he’s sooo bothered by Doumeki’s secrecy and strange behaviour, haha. Yashiro really hit the nail on the head when he said that it must be frustrating to be partnered up with a guy that doesn’t give you even one facial expression no matter what you do.

Kamiya is always watching Doumeki and he’s hypervigilant of D’s reactions, expressions, pauses, word choice, phone calls, etc. This man is working overtime to try to understand Doumeki.

Even after Tsunakawa had his conversation with Yashiro and confirmed that Doumeki isn’t a disgraced former member of some other group, Kamiya stood outside the bathroom to eavesdrop on Doumeki and Yashiro. Did Tsunakawa instruct him to, or is Kamiya just curious?

Kamiya got super upset about feeling left out by Doumeki when they ran into Yashiro and Nanahara, to the point of hitting Kido’s brother.

When Yashiro plainly asked if Doumeki knew they were after the same guy, Doumeki answered truthfully and without hesitation; then a shot of Kamiya looking like he’s about to cry reminds us that Doumeki has been straight up just lying to Kamiya’s face throughout their entire investigation, not to mention the fact that he knows literally nothing of Doumeki’s personal life. Poor guy probably feels so insignificant rn

Kamiya had a good time being cheeky and teasing Doumeki afterwards; he was indulging in Doumeki getting absolutely roasted by Yashiro the entire day lmao; this is payback for all of Doumeki’s secrecy in the last 4 years and I honestly don’t blame him.

Yashiro says Kamiya is “rebellious, but obedient” and Yashiro is always right, so I expect to see more push and pull in coming chapters heheh

The fourth thing on this list should be Doumeki, but I’m waiting to see what more the next few chapters have in store for us 😮‍💨 This man...always a mystery

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #oops did I say 'little' ?#analysis #yashiro #doumeki #kamiya

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foilfreak · 3 years

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Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1

A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

Summary:

Now, I’m sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which he’d been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.

The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.

This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.

Chapter 1: Mother's Gift

Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.

A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.

Mother had a gift for him.

Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these ‘family meetings’ they’d been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely he’s been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.

Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded man’s confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.

Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?

“Moreau” Mother Miranda’s voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatore’s brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.

“Y-yes! W-what… is it… M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you… j-just like you asked” Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.

“So you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my children” the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatore’s soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.

“Y-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would… I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need… I’d d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!” The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when he’d arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his mother’s hands.

“I know you would, Moreau,” Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatore’s head, “which is why I’ve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.”

Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?

‘Too long’ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.

“Moreau. Look at me” Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.

The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatore’s perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Miranda’s figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.

“Y-yes... Mother?” Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.

“Are you ready to collect your gift now?” The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.

Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Miranda’s question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the woman’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m ready Mother… I-I’m ready for... my g-gift now… can I… c-can I have it n-now… p-please?” Salvatore begs, pulling at Miranda’s hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded man’s cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.

“Of course, my child” Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatore’s and instead placing it along the man’s hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.

As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didn’t have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?

It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.

Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.

Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.

Oh how wonderful that would be!

#salvatore moreau #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil 8: village #mother miranda #beauty and her beast #fic #mine #chapter 1 #re8 #re8 village #re village #salvatore moreau x reader #moreau x reader #moreau x oc #salvatore moreau x oc

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draconic-ichor · 3 years

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In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 25: Odd Ailment

Warning: strong language, sexual themes, fingering, vaginal penetration, cream pie, mentions of death, grave robbing, mild explosions

Summary: Juniper’s sickness doesn’t go away…leaving her wracking her brain for answers.

Feedback appreciated. 18+

In the days following, Juniper’s nausea did not go away. It would lull at times, giving her the confidence to try to help out in the shop again. But, inevitably, when she caught the smell of the rotting blood and old organs, it would hit her like a heavy stone all over again.

She was still hungry and never developed a fever. Heisenberg insisted it was the cadou, that it could do damn near anything to her system, and at first she believed it to be true.

As the days dragged on, that belief waned more and more.

Heisenberg on the other hand was determined to just wait it out, giving her space and refraining from asking for help with Soldats. He was long used to working alone so fell back into the routine easily.

Being able to return to the apartment to see Juniper and sleep beside her at night was more than enough for him, for the time being at least.

He sat before the many monitor screens, waiting and watching. There were multiple cameras in the village itself, set up at key points of interest: the church, town center, the cemetery, the ceremony site, and every way in or out.

His pale eyes scanned over them all, silently hoping for someone, somewhere, to fuck up enough to put them in an early grave.

While he waited, he worked on other things. Today he worked on making improvements to his Panzer designs. Determination fluttered in the pit of his stomach, unwilling to let these new creations turn out like Sturm.

Eventually as the day ticked on there was a commotion in the town center. Heisenberg set his pencil down, glancing up. There was a crowd of people gathering around a cart, one villager trying to calm an obviously spooked horse.

Heisenberg turned a knob to zoom in and get a better look. There was a villager on the ground, unmoving and bleeding. It looked as if the cart or horse had run them over. Heisenberg smiled, a new body he could snap up.

He stood from the desk, gathering up papers and his stray hat as he headed back to the apartment.

“Honey I’m home!” He burst through the door, his voice mimicking an old family sitcom.

Juniper looked up from her reading, face brightening at his chipper tone.

“You seem awfully happy today.” She commented as he strode forward.

“It’s a fine day.” He smiled back, making a show of removing his hat and glasses, “Guess what just happened.”

Closing her book, she gave a guess, “New project idea?”

“No.”

“Soldat?”

“Nope.”

“Sturm finally started working properly?”

Heisenberg snorted, “As if. All wrong, buttercup.”

“Oh just tell me, you silly man.” She exclaimed with a smile.

He leaned on the table, placing his weight on his palms, “Now where’s the fun in that?”

She purses her lips in annoyance earning her a chuckle from him before he finally gave her the answer, “Alright, alright, I’ll go easy on you. Someone just died!”

“And that’s why you’re so happy?” She almost scoffed.

“Well yea.” He shrugged, “I finally caught a young one getting smoked on the cameras.”

“Young one?” Juniper’s eyes were full of concern.

“Not a kid!” Heisenberg corrected quickly, “I’m not that evil of a bastard.”

“I suppose not…” she murmured, her mind clouding with other thoughts.

Juniper went to the counter, leaning against it as she looked out the tiny window over the sink. She gave a heavy sigh, hearing Heisenberg come up behind her. Gloved hands wrapped around her middle, pulling her back against his broad chest.

“Such a big sigh for my little wife.” He murmured into her ear.

“Mmmm.” She hummed, placing her hands over his own.

He rocked her a bit, asking, “How are you feeling today?”

“Better.” She nodded then more quietly admitted, “But still not good. It comes and goes.”

“How are you right now?” He asked before he dipped his head in to give her a rough kiss on her neck. She keened softly when his teeth nipped the sensitive skin.

“It’s mostly gone now.” She spoke breathily as he moved to the crook of her neck.

“Then how about,” he trailed his lips back up until he whispered the question into her ear, “We waste some time before I have to go, hm? Right here in the kitchen, even.”

“You’re terrible.” She gave out a little giggle.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you are being so sweet?”

“Sweet?” He echoed, “Would you rather me be rough with you? One comes much easier, buttercup, so be careful.”

She pressed her ass into his groin, giving a cheeky reply, “I’ll take my chances.”

Heisenberg gave a growl, moving forward to trap her body between himself and the counter.

He ground his hips into her own, cursing the fabric between them. Usually he would give her a chance to remove her dresses, to avoid getting chastised, but today he gave her no such mercy. After her playful provocation he ripped through the material of her skirt. Before she could curse him he forced her face into the counter.

She mewled when he shoved two fingers into her already moistening hole.

“Look at you, already a mess.” He jeered, finger fucking her and making her thighs shiver. He did this for a short time until he was satisfied she was prepared enough. Heisenberg undid the zipper of his pants, pulling out his hard cock. He coated his member with her slick, lining himself up to her core.

Without warning he pushed forcefully into her. Juniper’s cry caught into her throat as she held onto the counter.

She heard him groan over her as he pulled back slightly just to rock forward again.

He set a brutal pace, leaving Juniper crying out in pleasure. He forced her head down, the counter cool against her burning cheek.

“Like being fucked rough do you?” Heisenberg bared his teeth, not letting up, “Tell me whore.”

Juniper made a warbling gurgle, earning her a quick smack to the ass with his free hand.

“Y-yes master!” She managed, cunt clenching his cock.

Heisenberg’s lips twitched into an ever bigger smirk, his hips fucking into her own hard enough to bruise. The sound of their skin accompanied by the clinking of his metal charms filled the kitchen.

His thighs shook as he emptied in her, nostrils flaring like an angry horse. He took a few more heavy, ragged breaths before he pulled free from her heat. He looked proudly down at the thick string of come that connected their sexes, straightening his hat.

“I have to head out, Buttercup.” He patted her sore ass.

She gave out a weak reply, still trying to recover.

The nights were much warmer, mud soaking into Heisenberg’s boots. It made the digging fly by. The glow of the cigar’s hot cherry illuminated his dark shades as he watched the haulers get closer and closer to breaking the bottom.

“Keep going you stupid bastards!” Heisenberg growled, walking in a circle around the grave. The sickening feeling of grave robbing someone’s loved ones long since jaded from his mind, replaced with excitement over the prospect of new materials.

‘Materials’…Fuck he really was a monster.

He thought darkly. It didn’t have long to ruminate in his mind, a hollow thud sounded. Heisenberg ordered the haulers to pause, they made little screeches as they backed away from the hole.

Heisenberg took a shovel from one of the closer ones, jumping down into the hole. His boots made an echoy thud, as he took the shovel and scraped away the last layer of sediment. Using the blade he jimmied the coffin open. The smell of dried flowers hit his nose when it opened. The body was already starting to bloat slightly, unprotected by winter’s grasp.

He brushed away the flowers and coins on the man’s eyes, turning the body’s face in his hands.

Not big enough for his Panzer design but he would definitely make a good Soldat.

His lips twitched into a smile as he straightened, gesturing with a finger for the haulers to start the retrieval.

As they neared the factory, passing the scrapyard, something caught Heisenberg’s pale eyes in the moonlight.

He paused, the haulers deftly pushing the cart past him. The shape of a jet stuck out of the nearest pile, rusted and bent.

“Hmm.” He pursed his lips, an idea flashing in his mind. A glorious idea, a flying soldat!

“Get him inside!” Heisenberg yelled, turning fully towards the old jet. He raised his muddy, gloved hands. The object of his desire began to rattle and rise free. His lips split with the exhilaration of the new prospect.

The pale dawn filtered through the small windows when a Juniper awoke, Heisenberg had long since returned and went again. She looked at the muddy boot prints tracked across the apartment with a grimace.

Juniper started to stretch, stopping short when a light stinging pain tugged at her chest.

She sucked in a breath, cupping her breasts. They felt swollen and tender, more so than she could remember.

Worry pooled in her gut as she kneaded the flesh. Everything was adding up in a way she didn’t like, but she couldn’t be certain….

She finally broke down and asked the Duke for a special item. She made sure no prying ears were close, and Heisenberg had indeed trusted her to pick up the current shipment. This request was for the Duke’s ears only, he had an air of trustworthiness about him that Juniper felt she could ask him anything without fear of judgement.

When she made her request the Duke simply nodded, warning her such an item would take time to acquire.

Juniper nodded, no other choice but to wait.

So she waited, as patiently as one could with so much worry in her guts.

The weeks while she waited Heisenberg had started a new project. He had the terrifyingly brilliant idea to make flying Soldats. It ate up most of his time, trying to formulate the right type of core to allow flight.

The morning of the next shipment Juniper headed down to the workshop. The heat still affected her but since he wasn’t currently working with bodies it made it more tolerable to her recent tender stomach.

But today the smell of smoke and sulfur came from the shop. Her footsteps quickened, bursting through the door to see Heisenberg cleaning up after another small explosion.

He looked up at her sourly as he swept.

“What happened?” Juniper bent to pick up the nearest chunk of charred core.

Heisenberg’s lips were tight, “It blew up in my fucking face.”

“Honey…” Juniper came closer.

“Don’t start.” He huffed, turning towards her. Now that she could fully see his face she made a little sound of surprise. He looked up curiously.

“Oh Heis…your eyebrows had just grown back.” Juniper frowned.

Heisenberg threw the broom down, “Well they’re fucking gone again!”

He was simmering and fuming as she tried to help him clean. He finally cooled a bit to speak to her more calmly, “It’s almost time for the Duke’s shipment. Let’s go meet him.”

A thin sliver of alarm shot through her as she quickly spoke, “You have a lot going on down here, let me go get the shipment.”

He gave her a long look, but the morning had dulled his desire to argue.

“Fine…fine.” He waved her off.

Relief washed over her as she ascended the stairs back towards the elevator.

Blinking into the spring sun, she was surprised to see the Duke’s cart already waiting in the factory yard.

She quickly made her way over to him, hopeful.

“Hello Duke.” Juniper looked at her boots, worry heavy in her green eyes.

“Good day my dear.” He spoke, “I have the Lord’s shipment all prepared.”

“And the-?” She began to ask but the Duke cut her off.

“Of course.” The man picked up a small package from beside him, placing it in her hands, “Not the easiest thing to find all the way out here, but I have my ways.”

Juniper nodded, shoving it into her pocket, “T-Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled, “And Lady Juniper?”

“Hm?”

“Good luck.” His voice was genuine.

They said their goodbyes. Juniper quickly brought in the delivery, not taking the time to go through it. She rushed onto the elevator, not wanting Heisenberg to question her absences.

She paced in the bathroom, anxiety eating up her core. She kept looking down at the small plastic stick on the sink. It felt like the longest two minutes of her life.

Her heart dropped, seeing a second little pink line staring back at her. She picked it up with a shaking hand, tears pricking her eyes.

Heisenberg said it wasn’t possible. She wasn’t human anymore, neither of them were.

The room span, she held her stomach.

She was a monster, full of infected parasites.

Juniper felt bile rise in her throat. Running from the bathroom onto the balcony.

Death was all around them. Mother Miranda twisting all those around her into nightmares.

She looked down at the stick one last time.

Maybe it was a mistake?

She knew it wasn’t.

Would Heisenberg tell her to leave? Would he hate her?

Tears ran down her cheeks as she threw the test off the balcony, it becoming lost in the piles of scrap far below.

Why them? Why were they so stupid? Why hadn’t they been so careful?

Questions thudded in her brain.

It wasn’t possible.

But it happened.

She was pregnant.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart #resident evil #heisenberg smut

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leviiattacks · 3 years

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Two Faced | Chapter Two

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 2.6k → click here for the next part !

You're apprehensive the first few days. Peering over your shoulder when you walk through the halls of the Duke's estate. You often find yourself fiddling with the only real possession you have remaining from the entire ordeal - a silver locket given to you by your mother, it hasn't stood the test of time, it's littered in small scratches and it's clearly seen better days. Neither does it shine the way it used to but you need it to feel at ease.

Currently, sitting in the estate's library you attempt to focus on reading the book in front of you. It details the life of an orphaned child, the rest of the plot is a blur to you as this task is not done with the intent of enjoying the literature but with the purpose of distracting yourself.

You've been avoiding Duke Ackerman for days on end now. He's made the occasional visit to your quarters, always politely asks if he's permitted to speak to you - allowed to take even a second of your precious time. You decline every single request, your excuses range from "I'm feeling particularly ill today." to"I would like to rest early.", He never inquires after you've responded. You do however find he communicates in a variety of different ways ; Meals of the finest standard, A luxurious place to live, the maids also offer you the opportunity to venture out into the beautiful gardens but you know he's asked them to do so.

Quite frankly, you're still petrified and are unable to fathom what happened that fateful day, you had never been one to put much faith in God especially after all he had put you through, but maybe there was a God or a higher being or a somebody who helped you in your moment of despair.

Eyes darting from your page to the door of the library, you swear you see the door knob twist and you hastily double take. Nothing looks out of the ordinary so you allow yourself to shake it off. Your eyes droop shut as you knead your shoulders attempting to relieve some of the tension you feel. Recently, you find it to be an ordinary occurrence for your muscles to seize at the worst possible opportunities.

"May I speak to you?" A beaming voice enters the room from behind you but never had such a cheerful voice made you freeze in fright. It's him.

At his appearance you begin to think of all sorts of scenarios and outcomes but the specific thought you've been actively ignoring slyly slips into view. What if the spell weakens?

Fate is an ever changing entity, one minute it may be in your favour, the next... you'd rather not delve any deeper into that alternative.

Jumping to your feet you don't look in his direction trying to keep the contact you have with him minimal.

He audibly huffs and just as you're about to scurry away he speaks again. "Halt your movements."

Something about his voice beckons you to do so and you anxiously face him.

"Did I come off too bold?" The expression he makes is unlike any other you've seen from him before. His eyes twinkle and it looks as if he's holding his breathe expectantly. It's almost comical how different he looks and you can't stop your cheeks from flushing. He's quite adorable under this spell.

But then a flashback is presented to you. The anger in his eyes, the cold feeling of his sword, if he were any closer he would have been swiftly slicing your neck open. Y/N, you were seconds away from becoming a corpse you remind yourself fiercely.

"I'm not doing very well at courting you, Am I?" He frowns as he asks but he's not upset, perhaps disappointed.

Looking at the floor you hear him bombard you with even more questions, he's crowding around you now like a swarm of bees - somehow he manages the job of an entire hive on his own. No one has ever taken such an interest in you.

Your conscience tells you that you will regret this later on down the line, it tells you this will come back and bite you incredibly hard, you will regret being so ignorant and trusting yet you yield. Is it so wrong for you to consider feeling affection? When the Duke snaps out of this spell he will promptly execute you and you're aware of that fact, so what reason is there to cower away in fear?

For all your life you have never experienced the true feeling of love. You had mother's maternal love, which hadn't lasted very long at all. Never would you have any other opportunity to experience the romantic intimate kind involving a significant other. If you were to die you may as well play the role of his wife for as long as this spell wills it. Perhaps he'll receive his memories back so late he forgets or simply no longer cares. Part of you hopes he doesn't remember at all.

"Would you like to..." you pause already regretting what you're doing but before you can continue the Duke cuts you off.

"Have tea together? Explore the gardens together?"

What really sticks out to you most is how he casually emphasizes the word together. He really doesn't care what activity you engage in as long as it's with him. You feel your heart twist in your chest. This is dangerous.

He's eager, leaning forward with wide eyes. It feels odd having someone care about your input, even more odd seeing that person smile at you with the same spirit of an elated child. It's bittersweet knowing his true character.

"Let's have some tea."

A few months have passed since then. Surprisingly you're still alive and the spell shows no signs of wearing away any time soon.

After the raid at your palace he's been nothing but sweet towards you. At first many people were against him courting you and a handful of his advisors attempted to steer his sights away due to suspicions and speculation that you were a "sinful witch" who had manipulated or even seduced him.

The day he had heard those rumors he caused an uproar and had fired the royal advisor who spread them around. "Impertinent fools have the audacity to make such comments about my Duchess." You would usually add in you were not worth such respect considering you were not officially a Duchess but the fiery blaze in his eyes had stopped you.

"Hey Lev, lets go have some tea they've learnt their lesson." You shot the gossiping maids a sympathetic look.

Being under the spell does not make him more tolerable towards other people is what you learnt that day.

Multiple women all with visuals worlds more appealing than your own approach him, some even sent by his advisors to set you up. They test if his love is strong enough to withstand the attacks of others. Time and time again he proves everyone wrong and doesn't think for a second to give up on you.

You're glad for that because through these few months you've ascertained how much you love the Duke for who he is. Well, who he's acting as. You want to slam your head against a concrete wall repeatedly when you think about the level of affection and tenderness you hold towards the man but you can not lie and say you hate him.

The fact that before meeting him you lived a life lacking of love and affection does not help your case either. It only makes it harder.

But it's painfully obvious to you that this is all truly one sided. You aren't really in love with the Duke but you're in love with the magic holding him hostage.

You share these thoughts to yourself as you take a short sip from your tea cup. Sasha has left the room to fetch some pastries and sweets. She takes her job seriously as head maid (you never address her as such because really she's just a friend to you). It's a chilly day hence why you've covered yourself up in a shawl, it coincidentally matches the beige drapes.

Suddenly a boy who you recognize to be one of the young apprentices by the name of Eren bursts through the doors of your tea room. His hair is all over the place and he's panting as he tries to formulate a sentence.

"Duke." Puff. " Duke Ackerman" Puff. "Refuses to return to the Imperial Palace and is threatening the Emperor stating he won't return to his duties!"

You ignore it and try to keep to your own affairs because who are you to interfere in military business? It's looked down upon to involve yourself in such matters.

You send him off and in the mean time Sasha makes her way back.

A few minutes later as the both of you are munching on a particularly sweet macron the palace's butler bursts in the same way as Jaeger and tries to get a word in but Sasha manages to interject first.

"My lady, perhaps you should check in on the Duke." she suggests.

You try to speak but the Butler cuts in abruptly.

"Duchess. I'm afraid he hasn't ate a meal in five days. Please talk to him."

"Mike there is no need to call me a Duchess when I hold no such title...wait the Duke hasn't ate for five days???"

You find it unbelievable that Levi has forgotten to eat or possibly starved himself for something.

Making your way to his office you enter with a speech prepared about how eating is one of the blessings you've been given and how it should be appreciated but instead you're met face to face with a trail of rose petals that lead to the Duke.

You stare at him in confusion. He holds a bouquet of roses in his hands and they kiss his chest, He gives you a look of admiration that can only be described as the look that is reserved for your one true love. His eyes glimmer and they shine along with his glossy raven hair. You look him up and down in astonishment.

He's arranged all this for you.

"I'd do anything to have you be by my side for all of eternity. Will you honor me with the opportunity of taking your hand?"

Just looking at this entirely different version of the Duke, you feel relieved and in the moment you recklessly accept his proposal. You know it's stupid, you know it's ignorant, you know you should be denying him but you can't make yourself ignore the will of your heart.

"I hope to live a long life. One with you present." he whispers into the shell of your ear, it tingles.

After weeks of the Duke's courting you accept his marriage proposal and the both of you quietly wed two months later.

He's so kind and affectionate that you're plagued with nightmares where the spell wears off.

In your nightmares he continues what he left unfinished. Every time he's about to plunge his sword into the depths of your chest he wakes you up and caresses your face in between his large hands. He wraps his arms around you after some time. Once your breathing relaxes he asks what has made you cry and you can't do anything to explain. It only hurts more seeing his concerned expression. The way his eyes flick between your eyes and trembling lips, you want to tell him the truth, instead you state that you"had a nightmare, and don't wish to talk about it." You don't want him asking questions over it.

It's another Wednesday and you're pacing back and forth in front of his office door arguing with yourself about whether or not you should enter. Finally, you decide to make your entrance and peek inside. You hear him arguing with his advisors as normal.

"Instead of blithering like a idiot and making excuses why don't yo-" he's midway through his sentence when he sees you at the doorway.

Dropping the previous matter he rushes over towards you and scoops you up in his arms. Smiling up at you, you smile back sheepishly ignoring the stares of his staff.

"Honey, why did you leave me? Where did you go?" He whines into your neck and you try to push him away shyly but he won't budge.

Everyone around you grimaces at his usual mood swings as well as the heavy flirting that he's targeting at you.

"You haven't come to eat dinner with me for three nights. You're the workaholic who left me." You swiftly retort his point and you pout at the end of your sentence. He pouts back and you can see his cheeks are tinged a blushed pink.

"Then we must dine immediately, you should have informed me that I had made you feel so neglected, my darling!"

After making your way to the dining room you and Levi are conversing happily as per usual when you spot his highly agitated secretary Mikasa. It settles in that she's been standing there for a considerable amount of time, time flies when you and Levi speak. She's clearly waiting for him to report back to duty.

The first time you had met Mikasa she was highly suspicious of you and would keep an eye on your movements at all times (literally) , you thought she perhaps fancied the Duke but later learnt that she was related to him and that was probably why she was on edge at the appearance of a new individual. Besides all that she's sweet really, sometime she joins you and Sasha for tea and you happily converse. She isn't much of a talker, more of a listener which works out well considering how extroverted Sasha is and how you love to story tell. You've shared many fond memories with her.

That's why you place a hand on Levi's shoulder and interrupt him.

"Why don't you return to your work? It's about time I send you back now." You suggest but he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Why do you keep on trying to get rid of me? I want to stay for a little longer. After all you are my wife. You count as one of my duties. If not the most important duty of all!" He's about to break out into one of his embarrassing speeches and you want to save Mikasa from that.

"Mikasa really needs you to complete your other duties. Do it for me Lev." You try and butter him up with the mention of his nickname. As expected he perks up and stands up to leave, not before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Ah Lev, I'll be taking a short trip out today. Is that alright with you?"

You don't specify that 'out' means the Sunday Market place, he'll ask question after question.

He holds onto your chin with his thumb and leans in for a chaste kiss.

"Of course my darling. Be careful."

He giddily waves at you as he leaves and you wave back with the same enthusiasm. You giggle at the sight of Mikasa practically gagging at the two of you and glaring daggers at Levi.

The door then shuts and you're left alone.

All that accompanies you is silence and you purse your lips together trying to keep it together. Recently as soon as he turns away from you all you can think about is how this love of his is a hoax.

He doesn't really love you.

That doesn't stop all the sweet words he's ever uttered from flooding your memory.

"You're mine and I'm yours."

"My beautiful love."

"I love you I mean it." It hurts. He doesn't mean it.

But you'll keep the charade up. You'll find a way to keep him this way forever. It's selfish but you can't be blamed, It keeps you safe and happy.

Love is nice but you would prefer to live.

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