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beforeoursunsets · 3 years

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aud. i'm so obsessed with literally EVERYTHING on your masterlist. ugh chefs kiss af. as for the request: since i haven't seen this trope on your account yet, what about some good ole amnesia? like one day draco gets wiped OUT by a bludger, wakes up, and forgets being in love with the reader. i just know you'd do this justice ILY

Amnesia - d.m

a/n: hiiii anon! tysm for the love you are so kind and i hope i didn't totally butcher this request!!! also im too tired to come up with an original title,, lol enjoy <33

house: slytherin

word count: 1.7k

warnings: just amnesia but idk if that counts, oh and a sorta open ending dont kill me

-----

You almost fell out of your seat, a cry escaping you as Draco plummeted nearly fifteen meters to the grass below. The astounding crack and thud sent the entire stadium quiet, Madam Hooch and her surrounding professors racing to the unconscious blond.

“Is he…” Pansy breathed, “...alive?”

Concern, etched on both of your faces, felt like a complete understatement compared to how you actually felt about the incident. Grabbing the coat you’d almost left behind, Parkinson followed along as you went straight for the infirmary.

Minutes later she had to slow down, unable to keep up with your running pace. Once she was finally able to catch up, Pansy found you bickering with Madam Pomfrey, begging her to let you inside the hospital wing.

“No you listen,” The matron scowled, “you can visit him tomorrow morning. Mr. Malfoy needs ample time to rest.” She said with finality.

You gave up, irritably walking towards your panting friend while dragging her back in the direction she had just come from. Tears stained your cheeks, but the weeping was gone momentarily, replaced with newfound disdain for Madam Pompfrey.

“She won’t tell me anything.” You complained, pacing in the Slytherin common room. “From what I know they could be embalming him right now!”

“Y/N, I think we both just need to relax right now. I don’t think Draco’s dead,” Pansy reassured you. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

After a long night of restless tossing and turning, you were out of bed the minute the sun rose. Thankfully it was a Saturday, and with no classes to attend you could spend the entire day in the hospital wing. Once you were inside, she would have to drag you out of there herself.

You pulled one of your boyfriend’s sweaters, holding it close to you as the cold morning air nipped your skin. With your best friend at your side, you pushed open the infirmary door, eyes searching for the injured boy.

Madam Pomfrey motioned for you to stay quiet, narrowing in her eyes as she did so.

You found Draco quickly, as he was the only other student in the room. His arm and left leg were bandaged up, his neck in a brace to hold it steady. The mere sight of him made your knees grow heavy, threatening to send you to the ground if you weren’t clutching onto his bed.

Pansy put a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you, “Hey, look, he’s waking up.” She whispered.

Slowly, his eyes opened, grimacing at the room’s lighting. Draco looked down at his hand entwined with yours, hesitantly recoiling it.

“Pansy? What’s going on?” He asked, his voice raspy.

You were almost taken aback. Never had you been insecure about his friendship with Parkinson, but it was like he didn’t even see you standing beside him. She looked almost uncomfortable, dealt with his awkward inquiry.

“One of the Ravenclaw beaters took you down with a bludger…” She prompted, trying to kickstart his recollection of last night’s quidditch game.

“Oh.” He responded simply.

“Are you serious?” You cut in, “You almost died and that’s the best you can say?”

Draco had finally made eye contact, looking back at you incredulously, “Why are you wearing my sweater?”

“And why is L/N even here?” He asked Pansy, turning away from you.

The matron picked up on the conversation, now concerned herself. “Miss L/N, I think it’s best for you to leave.”

“Of course I’m here, I’m your girlf--”

“I said, I think it’s best for you to leave.” She reiterated.

You were utterly confused, sending Pansy a look of near despair. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Leave. Now.”

After you had begrudgingly left the hospital wing, Pansy stayed behind as requested by Madam Pomfrey. Draco had seemed to recognize his friend, unlike you, who had only befuddled him.

She pulled your friend to the side, beginning to explain Draco’s condition now that you were out of sight. “I’m starting to believe that Mr. Malfoy here has suffered a brain injury after his fall. For how long have he and Miss L/N been together?” She inquired.

“Over a year,” She responded quickly.

Returning to his bedside, Madam Pomfrey began asking Draco a series of questions, trying to pinpoint how far his memory had recoiled. “What year are you in?”

“Fourth, obviously.” He drawled, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“And what was the last thing you remember?” She prodded.

“The goblet of fire,” Draco responded, “bloody Potter managed to cheat the damn thing.” He spat.

Pansy looked at Madam Pomfrey with concern, that had happened two years ago.

“Would anyone care to explain what bludger you’ve been blabbering about? And why has L/N stolen my jumper? Can someone tell me what’s going on!” Draco quickly grew frustrated by the women’s secretive conversations, demanding answers at once.

“Draco,” She began, “you’re a sixth year--and Y/N--she’s your girlfriend.”

-----

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember me?” You cried out in exasperation.

“He knows who you are,” Pansy explained, “he just has no memory of your relationship. It’s like he’s still a fifteen year old.”

Never had you imagined Draco could forget you so suddenly, so entirely. It was like one of your worst nightmares had sprung to life. “I need to talk to him.” You responded, getting off your bed.

He had been released from the hospital a few hours prior, now on strict bedrest. You knew he’d be in his room, and luckily, you had a key.

Unlocking his bedroom door, you knocked on the oak wood as it slowly creaked open, signalling that someone was there. “Draco?”

He was laying on top of his comforter, nose buried in his journal. Clearly he was trying to piece together the last two years of his life, your life together. You had hoped that something in there could possibly trigger his memory, a hope that would only set you up for disappointment.

“You can come in,” He spoke gruffly, his eyes still trained on the ivory pages littered with his handwriting.

You sat at the edge of his bed, the distance between him and you feeling so foreign. “I write about you a lot.” He almost chuckles, scanning one last entry.

“You really don’t remember?”

He shook his head regretfully, “No, I don’t.” He apologized, “But I really wish I did, honest. From what it looks like, I was seriously in love with you.”

I was, his voice repeated in your head. Who would’ve thought that one sentence could pierce your heart so deeply. “If it helps--” Draco piped up.

“I still fancy you, even now--or back then--I don’t really know how to talk about it.” He rambled, somehow eliciting a small laugh from you.

“Well I’m just happy to hear you confirm it, I’ve always had my suspicions about our timeline.” You smiled softly, the air filled with a bittersweet tension.

“You know, I can come back.” Getting back on your feet, you went for the door, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

Draco held a hand out to stop you, softly closing the journal to his left. “No, don’t go.” He pleaded, “I have so many questions.”

You sighed, tentatively sitting back down a few feet away. He cleared his throat, and by the look on his face Draco was actively trying to pull back a memory, any sort of recollection of you he could muster.

“How did it, you know, happen? Us, I mean.” He asked after a moment.

Fighting a smile, you replied with “Well, you and I both know we had fought since the moment you stepped foot in the common room, it wasn’t just two years ago.”

“How could I forget?”

“At the end of our fifth year you got into a bit of a tussle with Cormac again, something about how you were the only one allowed to bully me.” You laughed, “After that, I had my own personal bodyguard--on the rare occasions you were being decent.”

“People were messing with you? Why?” He asked, suddenly concerned.

“There were a lot of rumors going ‘round back then, most of them about my romantic affairs.” Rolling your eyes, you added “All about you, of course.”

Draco’s fallen smile was back and brighter than before, “Nice to know I’ve always been a nuance.”

“It wasn’t always that way.” You clarified, “We had some really good times, and no one--not even Pansy or Blaise--expected you to be such a romantic.”

He sighed, “I just wish I could remember it. It’s all there, I know it is, but no matter how hard I try the memories stay locked up somewhere.”

You moved closer, placing a hand over his, “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure they’ll come back sooner than later. Besides, I won your heart once, I have full confidence that I can do it again.”

“Did the part where I mentioned my current massive crush on you just fly right over your head?”

“How could I forget?” You mimicked, “I’m just glad you’re okay, Draco, your fall had us all freaked out.”

“Is it weird?” He asked out of the blue, “Talking to me?”

You thought about his question for a moment, as there aren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe exactly how it all felt. “It is weird, I suppose. Honestly, if anything I’m scared, scared that your feelings for me won’t be the same after the accident. I have all these memories of the last year with you and the only thing left of them is that journal of yours.”

“Believe me, I’ve read it.” He assured you, “The moment Madam Pomfrey released me I was practically glued to it.” Draco finally pulled you into a hug, the long awaited embrace feeling like a weight being lifted off your chest.

“It's awful to say, but I feel so lucky right now.” He mumbled into your hair, “I’m experiencing you all over again.”

taglist (link in my bio/nav if you want to be added): @gwlvr @thatsassyhufflepuff @dracoswhore007 @eunoniaa @darlingmalfoy @dracoscene

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padawanlost · 3 years

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Is this idea that the Jedi are "found family" actually true to Lucas vision or is it fanon? I believe Anakin actually outright says they're not his family a couple of times, but that might be in Legends.

It’s fanon (at least for the pt-era jedi)

The Jedi had a age rule and removed infants from their families at the earliest age to avoid attachments. It would make no sense for them to immediately go be a family. They were a community that care for each other. But they weren’t a ‘family’, not the classical family (with emotional attachments). You don’t forbid Anakin to have any contact with his mother than go be a mother to Anakin.

‘… and Master, [Anakin]’s mother is dead.’ Yoda nodded, short and sharp. 'Yes. But mothers die, Obi-Wan.’ - KAREN MILLER [THE CLONE WARS: WILD SPACE]

Same goes for everyone else. Obi-wan, Ahsoka, and all the other had biological families. They weren’t found by the Jedi so they could a be a family. they were taken to be trained because the jedi believed force-sensitive with attachments could be a potential danger. Plus, found family is about people choosing to come together.

After the Jedi Masters decided that it was too dangerous to train anyone familiar with fear, anger, and any other emotion that might lead to the dark side, it was agreed that Force-sensitive juveniles, adolescents, and adults would no longer be eligible for enlistment or conscription. Instead, they sought out and adopted Force-sensitive infants who would be raised and trained at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant; to prevent any emotional attachments that might cloud judgment, most recruits would never have any subsequent contact with their families. - RYDER’S WINDHAM’S JEDI VS. SITH: THE ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO THE FORCE

Infants have no agency, they didn’t choose anything.

When Jonava recovered and learned of her daughter’s kidnapping, she used her meager funds to travel to Coruscant and formally petition the Jedi Council to return her child. The Council refused, citing Ludi’s beginning of Jedi training as far too late to return the girl, who was now named Aris-Del Wari. “They said it was dangerous,” she said, choking back tears. “I’ll never understand, in a million years, how my daughter can be a danger. They’re guardians of peace and justice. Well, how is letting me see her again a threat to peace and justice? Who is the monster? Is it me? Is it her? I don’t think so.” [x]

And they certainty weren’t allowed be all loving attached:

“And Ahsoka …” [Anakin] felt his heart thud. “Tell Rex—tell all of them—that anything less than a full recovery is unacceptable. Tell Rex I—” He had to stop. Obi-Wan was in earshot, and they were not supposed to care so much. But Ahsoka cared too much, too. She didn’t need to hear the words. “I will. Don’t worry.” Karen Miller’s Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth

Who wept their tears on the inside, where they would not be seen. To weep for a fallen comrade was to display unseemly attachment. A Jedi did not become attached to people, to things, to places, to any world or its inhabitants. A Jedi’s strength was fed by serenity. By distance. By loving impersonally. [Karen Miller. Wild Space]

As previously noted, Jedi of the Old Republic were generally forbidden to engage in romantic relationships. Although they did not dismiss love, they were cautious of emotional attachments, and knew that various possessive aspects of love could lead to the dark side of the Force. [Ryder’s Windham’s Jedi vs. Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force]

Nobody asked the obvious—whether clone troopers were everyone else or not. Joc looked from Ahsoka to Rex and back again. “What’s wrong with attachment?” he asked. “Why can’t you have attachments? You mean love, right?” Ahsoka looked at the clones wide-eyed but in slight defocus, as if she was trying to recall something. “Love is acceptable,” she said at last. “But not attachment.” “What’s love if it isn’t attachment?” “Attachment is … putting personal relationships first, caring about the people you love so that it influences how you act.” Ahsoka seemed to be picking her words carefully. Coric stared back at her. “You know, it affects your judgment.” [ No prisoners by Karen Traviss]

How can you be a ‘found family’ when you can be a family? When you can form personal bonds with the people you’re living with?

But if you still don’t believe me, you can always believe this guy:

[…]Qui-Gon hasn’t given up on the fact that Jedi are supposed to care and love and that that’s not a bad thing. The rest of the Jedi are so detached and they’ve become so political that they’ve really lost their way and Yoda starts to see that in the second film. - Dave Filoni

“Not that Luminara is indifferent, but that Luminara is detached. It’s not that she doesn’t care, but she’s not attached to her emotionally. And at the end of the day, one of the questions that I guess I pose is, is that really a good thing? Is Anakin’s way of being so compassionate wrong? Because on a certain level, you have to accept that the Jedi lose the Clone War. So there is something that they’re doing that’s wrong.” Dave Filoni

“I’ve always felt that one of Anakin’s downfalls, like it’s never that Anakin was innately going to be evil, but the people around him, the Jedi, in their lack of compassion, in being so selfless that they almost forgot to care.”— Dave Filoni

“So as far back as Anakin, there is a seed of an idea of love and compassion, which admittedly in Attack of the Clones, the Jedi say they’re lacking because they’ve become arrogant and very sure of themselves. As Ahsoka gets older, her first big challenge comes when she’s abducted by Trandoshans and put an island [to be hunted for sport]. Anakin is put in a position where he can’t help her, and he obsesses over trying to find her, and there’s nothing he can do. But she survives anyway, and at the end of that she says, “I was only able to do this because of your teachings. Because the other Padawans I was with, boy, they were completely messed up. They were cracking.” So again we see this comparison of where Ahsoka is at because of Anakin, and where these other Padawans, which represent the other Jedi, are at.” Dave Filoni

I think it’s an important thing because a lot of people, when they watch the movie, they go, “Well how can he turn his back on these people? They’re like a family to him.” But when you give the greater context of this series, you see, “Well, it might be a family, but the family doesn’t trust him. The family doesn’t believe in him fully. The family often isn’t as much a family as Palpatine is a grandfather.” Dave Filoni

#ask #englishlady #sw meta #jedi culture #jedi order #txt #meta: fandom

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jamespotterthefirst · 3 years

Text

Auld Lang Syne (Ethan x f!MC)

aka the fake NYE date

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 3.5K (sorry) Warning: some language

Premise: Ethan pretends to be her date (yet again) for her family’s NYE party. Part II of As Long as You Love Me So

Author’s Note: *gestures grandly* Look at all those chickens fanfic tropes. Thank you to @aestheticartsx for pre-reading this mess!

4:00 pm

Impossibly, he was there with her, in an over-embellished cabin in Vermont, staring at the bed as though it would sprout claws and teeth any minute now. For lack of anything else to say or do, Ethan cleared his throat rather loudly.

“There's only one…”

“Yep,” she returned quickly, voice sounding strangled with barely controlled worry.

They had been in that exact situation before, not too long ago in Miami. Except when that happened, they had never kissed before. At that point, Ethan had no idea how her lush, warm lips would feel against his or how every swell and dip of her body would fit so perfectly under his touch.

Ethan was convinced she was remembering that experience as vividly as he was. They had made it out of there with their dignity and professionalism in shreds. Now, they had somehow managed to stumble into an even worse scenario.

Lilac finally tore her eyes away from the mattress and threw him a furtive but defeated look.

“It makes sense, I guess. My cousins are not as old fashioned as our parents. They think we sleep together all the time.”

Ethan almost coughed, but thanks to acting skills he did not know he possessed, he managed to keep his face neutral. Desperately, he steered his mind away from thoughts of Lilac in bed with him and all the magnificent things they'd do.

“I'll take the couch,” he managed, throwing his bag atop the plump cushions. The loud thud of its landing served as irrefutable finality to his statement.

Now that he was here, he would get through the evening at her side, careful to keep his meticulously constructed guard up. After the festivities, that couch would be his only respite from the magnetic pull that always made itself known when he was near her. And in the morning, they would drive back to Boston, where he could focus his attention back on Naveen and the slight improvement of his case.

Just one night.

He just had to get through tonight and then he could go back to putting as much distance between them as possible.

5:00

“You're kidding,” Lilac said, eyes trained on the sparkling silver fabric her cousin dangled before her. The bleak sunlight pouring from the window hit the dress and sent iridescent beams of color all about.

Natalia all but shrieked with excitement, clutching the dress close to her.

“You can't tell me he won't love it!”

Lilac said nothing, examining the outfit and trying her best to figure out how so little fabric would amount to a whole dress. It looked to her more like a long, backless shirt than anything else. And typically, the garment would be just her style, particularly when trying upstage her horrible cousin Griselda at her own party.

Today, however, she couldn't help but second guess everything. Her stomach bottomed out just at the thought of Ethan's eyes on her in that dress.

As though reading her mind, Natalia grinned at her.

“He loved that pink dress you were wearing at dinner the other night,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Lilac remained silent, fighting back the persistent need to ask for more detail. Natalia, however, did not need an invitation to offer it in a giddy rush.

“He couldn't keep his eyes off you, Lilita,” she gushed. “The way he looked at you when you weren't looking…” She trailed off, as though words were not enough to properly describe the heated, stolen glances of that night. “God, you can just tell he lo—”

At this, her cousin halted abruptly, throwing Lilac a sheepish look. There was no way for her cousin to know if they had said the words to one another yet in this made-up relationship.

A sharp, painful wave of longing settled in Lilac's stomach at the thought. What would it be like to hear Ethan Ramsey utter those words, striking blue eyes looking down at her as though she was the only person in the world?

“Anyway,” Natalia tried again. “You can tell Dr. Ramsey was feeling that dress the other night. I bet I can guess what you did when you got home.”

Lilac sincerely doubted that unless Natalia knew she had been so mortified that night when she got to her apartment that she downed half a bottle of wine and stuffed her face with Sienna's brownies.

“Fine,” Lilac agreed at last, taking the garment from her cousin. “I'll wear the dress.”

Natalia squealed her excitement and Lilac couldn't help but smile at her cousin's contagious joy.

“I can't wait to see the stupid look on Griselda's face. She's been in an awful mood getting everything ready for tonight. When she sees you in this, arm in arm with your hot doctor, she'll have a conniption.”

6:00

The familiar burn from the liquid was a welcomed relief from the many thoughts plaguing him. They alternated between thoughts of Lilac and his concern for Naveen, despite the many texts from the latter assuring him he was fine. Now that he was alone, he was beginning to understand just how much of a mistake this had been.

Ethan took another drink. Despite how much he disliked Lilac's pretentious cousin, he had to admit she kept the cabin's home bar stocked with exceptional scotch.

“Glenmorangie,” a voice said from behind him.

Ethan did not have to turn around to know it was Griselda, standing a few feet away as though summoned.

“Eighteen year,” she continued, eyeing the glass in his hand. She paused, as though awaiting praise for her excellent taste.

Ethan determinately offered none.

Lilac's cousin sighed, moving closer to the bar. The clamor of her heels against the floor echoed around the cavernous space of the otherwise desolate living room.

“I'm impressed, you know,” she said in a deliberately causal tone. She took the bottle of Glenmorangie and poured two fingers in a glass. “I didn't think you'd actually show.”

Unfazed, Ethan kept his eyes ahead and took another swig. “I can't imagine why.”

Griselda let out a low, humorless laugh. “See, I didn't think a world renowned doctor would be interested in acting for a whole weekend, all for the sake of a lowly intern.”

The words were delivered with unmistakable triumph, each of them striking Ethan like the ominous tolling of iron bells.

With experienced impassiveness, he turned to face her. Griselda wore a victorious smirk, dark eyes glittering as she took in the expanse of his chest with unveiled interest. Her smile turned coy, concealed briefly by the crystal of her glass as she took a drink.

When he glanced away wordlessly, she pressed on.

“You can drop the act, Doctor Ramsey. I'm not an imbecile.” Her voice was a deadly whisper. “My pathetic little cousin would do anything to impress me. Even fake a relationship with her medical hero to fulfill her pitiful little fantasies.”

His fingers clutched his glass with such force that the decorative ridges dug into his skin almost painfully.

“How she roped you into her juvenile scheme is beyond me.” She had gravitated a lot closer to Ethan. “Lucky for you, however, you are free to act as you please now that I know.”

He could see a blood-red nail moving closer to his hand on the counter. Ethan raised his scotch to his lips, his grip so tight on the glass now that his knuckles shone white.

“I'd never fake a relationship in front of you,” he muttered at last, carefully choosing his words.

This had the intended effect because Griselda perked up, intrigued.

“And why is that?”

Ethan set his glass on the counter, facing her full on. Summoning his most charming smile, the same one that had a visible effect on many recipients, he leaned in close.

Griselda's breath hitched expectantly.

And then, very carefully, so carefully that there would be no room for her to miss the words, he whispered—

“Because you're not that special.”

7:00

With one last glance at her reflection and a sharp, shuddering exhale, Lilac trekked to the dining room where most of that night's guests were already congregated. Many pairs of eyes landed on her as she entered, the din of conversation ebbing slowly.

Griselda, who was chatting with her work acquaintances, stopped mid-sentence as her eyes fell on Lilac, the faux pleasant smile falling from her expression at once. There was something different about the furious glare her cousin bore into her like a knife. It was unabashedly disdainful, even hateful.

Lilac would have enjoyed it any other night but instead, she was far too busy scanning the crowd for—

“Dr. Ramsey, there you are,” exclaimed Natalia, eyes falling over Lilac's shoulder.

Before she could swivel around, a pair of strong, warm arms enveloped her from behind. His hands rested at her hips and his intoxicating scent cast such a heady spell on Lilac that she was lucky his strong chest offered her support. She had no hope of getting any words out, least of all when he leaned down and whispered in her ear—

“New dress?”

8:00

Ethan realized far too soon that the distracting silver dress was the least of his worries. Unsettled as he was, however, he would occasionally find his attention hopelessly caught on the tantalizing fabric and the way it adorned her figure perfectly. He wasn't blind after all.

Lilac laughed at something Sebastian said. She was far more relaxed after a few drinks, laughing with ease in a way that made Ethan's pulse quicken.

“I bet Doctor Ramsey would love to see those,” Sebastian said with a laugh of his own.

“See what?”

“Some videos of young Lilita singing Selena songs at karaoke, complete with signature dance moves.” Sebastian accentuated the last two words with easy movements of his hips, gracefully spinning in a full circle. “Remember La Lavadora?”

Natalia laughed. “We used to tie up our shirts and pretend we were wearing her famous bustier.”

Just then, Ethan caught Griselda's eye from across the living room. Her dark eyes fell to the space that separated Ethan and Lilac where they stood, a satisfied smile starting to dawn on her face.

With a sudden rush of determination, he cupped the small of her bare back and pulled her close, his blood fizzing at her proximity. Lilac jolted slightly, turning a surprised glance at him.

“Is this okay?” he whispered in her ear.

Lilac glanced at him through heavy lids, her eyes falling to his lips for the briefest of seconds. It was enough to make his pulse a roar in his ears.

“Yes.”

As if on its own accord, his thumb traced lazy circles at her back. Blushing, Lilac parted her lips and looked at him so intently, Ethan was convinced she was two seconds away from dragging him into their shared bedroom.

He would gladly let her.

“Get a room,” Sebastian teased, prompting Ethan to remember her cousins were still there.

From across the room, Griselda scowled, downing her drink in one gulp.

“Luckily they have one,” Natalia added with a laugh and a wink for Lilac.

9:00

Griselda's undisguised hostility grew more tangible by the hour. Their dislike was no secret to anyone in the family, but even Natalia and Sebastian couldn't deny something was different today. So different in fact, that even her unsuspecting guests, who had no background on her family, started to notice.

“What's up her ass?” Natalia joked over the music.

Lilac shrugged and took another sip of her champagne, despite Ethan's constant reminders that the drink was pitiful.

“You're getting drunk off of garbage, Rookie,” he commented from where he stood at her side.

His hand rested on the curve of her waist, burning through the fabric. Lilac was convinced she was getting drunk off of him, his touch, and the way his eyes pierced through her with each glance.

Natalia perked up at the nickname. “Rookie?”

“His nickname for me,” Lilac explained.

Natalia, looking a bit tipsy herself, cooed, “Aww! That's so cute!”

Luckily, she didn't ask for further explanation. Instead, Natalia moved to chat with a family friend, one Lilac was increasingly convinced she harbored a crush for.

“Something's different,” she commented to Ethan quietly. “Ever since dinner, you've been… just… different.”

Instead of responding, Ethan's eyes scanned the crowd.

“What's going on?”

His eyes softened when they met hers. Gently, he leaned in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't move his hand away, the pad of his thumb tracing lazy lines along her cheekbone.

Lilac held her breath, too afraid that any movement might scare him away. Their faces were so close together, his eyes taking in every inch of her face, as though memorizing it. Until at last, they rested on her lips.

“Ethan—”

And then the blinding flash of a camera forced them to spring apart.

“Shit. Sorry. That was supposed to be without flash!” Natalia said. “It's a cute picture, though.”

10:00

Pretty green eyes made his blood warmer than any fine scotch ever could. He leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh and that made him drunker still, the sound making him feel weightless.

Ethan's hand alternated from her waist, back, arms. His skin all but burned anywhere he touched her, white hot and electric.

At some point throughout the night he had stopped checking if her cousin was watching. He no longer cared if she was buying the act.

Not that he had been acting for a second anyway. Every touch, every whisper, every smile had been genuine.

More genuine still was the urge to kiss her.

11:30

“Estúpida!” Natalia shrieked at Griselda, drawing the attention of most of the guests. She had jumped back to avoid the splash of red wine headed her way but she had not been fast enough. Her lovely champagne colored dress was ruined with an ugly splotch.

“Sorry,” Griselda said, not sounding sorry at all. “If it makes you feel any better, it was an accident.”

Lilac doubted that very much.

On second thought, spilling wine over Natalia had been an accident because the intended target had been Lilac.

From beside her, Ethan sighed loudly, pulling her close. “Are you alright?”

Before Lilac could offer any form of reply, Griselda let out an exaggerated coo at the sight of them. Keith, her boyfriend, lurked behind her, looking embarrassed and like he wanted to intervene but wasn't entirely sure how.

“Gris, you're drunk,” he said, gently taking her elbow.

Griselda purposely ignored him, eyes zeroed in on Lilac and Ethan. In the chaos of Natalia cursing up a storm and Sebastian looking around their immediate proximity for something to help her soak up the mess, Lilac could not properly study the unmasked disdain on her cousin's expression. All she saw were fierce dark eyes sinking into here's, glassed over from a full evening of drinking, and an unrelenting snarl.

“Que hermosa pareja,” Griselda commented quite loudly. No one, not even those who didn't speak the language, could doubt the sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Lilac thought her cousin must be very intoxicated to allow her native language out so freely.

“You two are almost…” Griselda trailed off deliberately. “...too good to be true.”

A horrible sense of dread sunk in her stomach like a stone.

She knew.

Her cousin's words, drunk and slurred as they were, insinuated that she knew about their fib.

Panicked, Lilac glanced up at Ethan and was surprised to see him unfazed, as though the information was nothing new for him.

“So happy for you, primita,” Griselda went on, swaying slightly on her feet. “If you do end up marrying this one, I must help you plan the wedding.”

A nasty surge of panic speared through Lilac, her pulse drumming chaotically at her ears. She could see Ethan's confused frown from the corner of her eye.

“I got my hopes up with the last one,” Griselda continued, words accompanied by a dangerous smirk.

“Griselda, shut up,” Sebastian snapped furiously.

“Until he cheated on you. What a shame that was.”

The room went dead silent.

Lilac's throat constricted painfully and to her horror, her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Her breathing, which quickened dangerously, came out in chocked little gasps and it took every ounce of her strength to stifle them.

“And then when you took him back and he cheated again, I just didn't—”

SLAP

Lilac's palm had connected with her cousin's airbrushed face with a resounding crack. She didn't pause to see Griselda's shock dwindle into hatred, or to hear any of the words Ethan was saying. Furiously smearing away the tears that had finally spilled, she turned on her heel and ran.

11:50

It was ten minutes before midnight when Ethan finally found her, a lone figure in the middle of the backyard's gazebo. She didn't move as he approached, eyes fixed on the dark outline of the forest beyond.

It was a particularly clear night for winter in Vermont, the remnants of the last snowfall nothing but grey sludge on the ground. Still, the biting chill of the night whipped against their skin and the only thing protecting her was a flimsy fleece throw blanket.

Without a word, he removed his suit's jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Lilac merely looked at the fabric and let out a small humorless laugh.

“Back to where we started,” she muttered.

It dawned on him that he had done the very same thing the night this whole fantasy started.

After a short, peaceful pause, Ethan opened his mouth to offer some kind of comfort. Before the words could leave him, however, she stood up from her seat on the bench with a renewed sense of purpose.

“Let's get the hell out of here.”

Ethan nodded once. “We can go back to the room—”

But Lilac was shaking her head. “Back to Boston.”

A beat.

“Rookie, that's crazy.”

“No, what's crazy is this whole stupid scheme. Pretending to date? Who does that?” Her voice flared briefly with her temper, only realizing this belatedly. She looked away from Ethan.

Ethan remained silent, giving her as much time as she needed. After a minute, she exhaled sharply and met his eye again. “I'm really sorry I dragged you into this.”

Ethan wasn't sorry at all. He dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand.

More silence.

Lilac leaned against a wooden beam and let out another ironic laugh. “The funny thing is it didn't even work.”

“It worked.”

At his side, his hands flexed instinctively, yearning to touch her just like he had all night. There was no question in his mind that everyone, including Griselda, was convinced of his feelings for Lilac.

Lilac, meanwhile, sent him a questioning look and his pulse accelerated at the mere thought of telling her just that.

“That's why she lashed out,” he said instead.

She nodded once, deep in thought.

The way her shoulders pinched with tension and the slight quiver of her lips left no doubt that she was recalling Griselda's lashing words. And though Ethan was insurmountably curious, he refrained from asking.

“Earlier,” he started quietly. “She confronted me about this being an act.”

Her head snapped to look at him. After a few seconds, understanding dawned on her beautiful, moonlit face.

“That's why you…” she trailed off, looking slightly embarrassed. “That's why you put on a hell of a show.”

They could hear the swelling of voices from inside the cabin. Someone inside announced there were only their seconds left until midnight.

Neither of them looked away from one another. Ethan's eyes descended to her petal pink lips and then back to her eyes.

“It wasn't for show.”

Her breath hitched.

“Lilac, you already know that I—”

In the distance, the party-goers began their countdown.

“Ten!”

His hand found the dip of her waist, as though magnetized.

“Nine!”

Eyes never leaving hers, he pulled her closer to him.

“Eight!”

“Ethan,” she whispered. A plea and the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

“Seven!”

Their bodies were pressed so close together, he wondered if she could feel the way his thunderous heart beat for her.

“Six!”

Lilac's perfume caressed his senses as her delicate hands clung to his shoulders.

“Five!”

“Lilac,” he murmured, sounding agonized to his own ears.

“Four!”

Her hand moved to cradle his jaw and Ethan briefly closed his eyes.

“Three!”

Delicate fingers danced along the planes of his face with a featherlight touch.

“Two!”

Ethan basked in her touch, convinced there was nothing better.

Nothing except—

“One!”

And he kissed her at last.

Translations:

La Lavadora : “The Washer Machine”/ a dance move

“Estúpida!” : Stupid bitch

“Que hermosa pareja,” : What a beautiful couple

Primita: little cousin

Author’s Note: Ah! So there will definitely be a part 3. However, I still haven’t decided if I will work on that first or on the next Picta chapter. It depends what this volatile inspiration of mine decides!

Thank you so much for reading this!

And thank you so much to everyone who put up with me, my blog, and my writing this year. Your support means everything. Seriously, writing is one of my greatest joys. Before truly immersing myself in this fandom, I thought I’d never write again because of work and other responsibilities.

Thank you everyone for giving me this gift back.

Happy New Year, my loves! I wish everyone success, happiness, and excellent health. Now, let’s all quietly walk into 2021 and not touch anything.

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jawritter · 3 years

Text

Where The Green Grass Grows

Chapter 2

Summary: Life changes, nothing ever stays the same. With most change comes with some degree of pain, that’s how we grow. Jensen thought he had his whole life planned out, written for him in the bright lights of Hollywood. One failed marriage later, and a lifetime of lessons learned, lead him home to a place he thought he’d left behind him when he was only a teenager. He thought his life was over. He felt like he’d lost everything, but who knew one little trip to the local diner that had just opened up outside of town would turn his whole world upside down. All because he met you. Maybe a little slower pace of life isn’t such a bad idea after all…

Warnings: Language, Angst, mention of past OC character death, mention of grief, dealing with a divorce. Drinking. I think that's about it for this chapter.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2065

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine!!Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! Feedback is golden!

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“Fuck me,” Jensen mumbled as he rolled onto his back from his stomach and looked up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom.

His head was pounding, and his stomach was more than a little woozy. He desperately needed to stop drinking so damn much. He was just getting too old to do it anymore like he did when he was in his 20’s, and the hangovers were no joke anymore.

He was thankful that his mom had redecorated his bedroom over the years, and that it was set up as more of a guest room than it was his old bedroom. It helped to not have to face all those memories he had shoved way down, and just pretend it was a holiday or another family gathering where he had to stay over for a while.

He knew his time in Hollywood had come to an end for the foreseeable future because he was still having trouble keeping his emotions in check, and as long as he was doing that drinking had been his go too. It was a natural spiral for him, he was glad in a way the public didn’t have a chance to see just how bad he was. Alex was right about one thing, home had been a good place to hide.

He couldn’t hide from everyone here. That was the only problem. His family could see just how bad of a clusterfuck his life had turned out to be. He knew they knew he was drinking heavily, he saw it in the way his mom looked at him every morning when he finally dragged his back from the dead ass out of his room, and down for breakfast.

A loud rap on the door nearly made him fall out of the bed and with three heavy thuds he was brought back to reality.

Jensen looked up just in time to see his dad come into the room, and sit down in the small chair next to the window before turning the lamp on there. Jensen shielded his eyes from the assaulting light that flooded the room and groaned as he rolled himself over to hide in his covers.

“Morning,” his dad said, crossing his legs as he watched Jensen struggle to adjust to the light and refocus his gaze on his father.

“Morning,” Jensen finally mumbled, sitting up on the side of the bed, and running his hands through his sleep tousled hair.

“Mom’s got breakfast ready downstairs, and some slacks and a dress shirt ironed for you in the laundry room,” Alan said as he watched Jensen get up and stumbled his way towards the connecting bathroom, leaving the door cracked so that he could yell back over his shoulder to the older man sitting in the chair.

“Where are we going?” Jensen yelled before flushing the toilet and making his way to the sink to wash his hands and throw water on his face.

He didn’t like going out in the public eye right now. Someone always recognized him, and always had a damn camera ready.

“It’s Sunday, and as long as you live under this roof with us you know you will have to go to church with us,” Alan said simply as Jensen made his way back to sit on the foot of his bed. “That was the agreement when you moved back in here remember?”

Jensen tried to push down the annoyance that rose up in him surprisingly quickly.

Church? He hadn’t been to church in years. Hell, he didn’t even know after everything that he’d gone through if he even believed there was a God anymore.

Jensen licked his lips, attempting to choose his words carefully. This was his father’s house, and he had agreed to it when he’d moved in, he just didn’t anticipate Sunday coming so damn soon.

“Dad, I don’t know If I’m fit to walk into a church house this morning,” Jensen said, locking eyes with his father, and doing everything he could to convey without saying it out loud that he’d rather do anything than go to a church service.

He wasn’t really, he was doing all he could not to throw up right there in front of his dad.

“Eating will help with that hangover, then you can get a shower before we go, I’m confident you will be just fine.”

Jensen shook his head and let out an annoyed huff. Just like when he was a kid, there was no arguing with him. There was no pleasing him. So he just gave up like he always did. That’s one reason why he didn’t want to come back here. Here he was, a grown-ass man in his 40’s, and his dad was still telling him what to do.

“Jensen, look, I know you don’t want to go, but don’t do it for me, do it for your mom. She was so excited this morning when she got up to make breakfast that you were coming with us. She wants to make a whole day of it. Go out to a little diner just outside of town once it’s over, and just have a family day. Just... give her today.”

His dad stood up and made his way towards the door before turning around to look back at him.

“The only way you're ever going to move on from this son is to pick yourself up and just do it. No matter how much you want to just roll over and give up. If you do that, Danneel wins. Pick yourself up, shake it off, find a pretty girl to go out with to help you get over her, and put the bottle down for Christ stakes. It’s only going to cause you more pain in the long run.”

Jensen watched as his dad excited the room, his mind reeling with what he said to him. He knew he was right, he was never going to move on as long as he let himself wallow in what happened. He had to get past this. He wasn’t the first man to ever go through a divorce, and it wasn’t like it was all sunshine and roses while they were married.

Jensen forced his aching body to its feet and made his way towards the shower to rid himself of the smell of alcohol. They say what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, but right now he didn’t feel so strong.

Five hours later, all the way across town, you had just finished cleaning up from the first lunch rush. Sundays were always a big tip day, and you could really use the money, so you didn’t complain not one bit about the almost constant on your feet that the day was sure to bring.

Most church groups came in all together, which made for large orders, and large tables. Today was not different. As far as you could tell there had already been seven church groups come through, and seeing as it was close to 1:30 pm, it wasn’t anywhere near over for you.

You were just contemplating taking a break before the next wave of customers, but you must have contemplated a minute too long because the dinging chime above the door announced the arrival of more guests.

It was a party of about seven adults and a few children. You could tell that they were all family just by looking at them, so it would probably be an easy table.

“Want me to grab that table?” Jess asked as you through the cloth you were wiping tables with in the bin behind the counter and started to make your way towards the table they had chosen with our pad and pin to start taking their orders.

“Na, It’s not that big of a table, I got it,” you answer her and she nods at you with a smile.

“Y/N, hold up a sec,” she says, running over to you to whisper in your ear. “You see that guy with the black shirt, the one who just took his shades off?”

Your eyes trained over the extremely attractive man with broad shoulders, brown, almost auburn hair, and the most astonishing pair of green eyes that seemed to sparkle even at this distance.

“That guy is Jensen Ackles, have you ever heard of him?” she asked, the smirk growing over her face as your eyes raked over the gorgeous specimen of a man sitting at the table looking at the menu that was already there. You watched him swat at the young girl you assumed was his sister playfully when she leaned over to annoy him.

“No, and right now who he isn’t important, what’s important is the tip I’m gonna get when he’s done.”

“I hear he’s recently divorced,” she said, but you cut her off, and made your way towards the table to take their drink orders, and introduce yourself. You didn’t need to know his history. The guy was way out of your league, and you weren’t an idiot.

“Hi, my name is Y/N, and I’ll be your waitress for this evening,” you announced as you came to a stop at the head of the table next to the oldest man, and the man that you were informed was Jensen Ackles.

Jensen’s eyes met yours and you swore to god for a moment you forgot how to breathe. He was so heartbreakingly handsome up close, and the moment he smiled at you, a swarm of butterflies was turned loose in your belly, and you haven’t felt like that in a very, very long time.

“Can I get you guys started with drinks?” you asked, clearing your throat, and quickly looked down at your pad to hide the blush creeping up in your cheeks.

“I’ll have a Dr. Pepper,” Jensen said, starting the roll call of drinks your way. Once everyone had their drinks, and you had brought their food to the table, you went to hide behind the counter, and try to catch your breath.

Every once in a while you would catch Jensen looking at you, and when he caught you looking back at him he would smile warmly at you, making those butterflies take flight all over again.

“You’re blushing, Y/N,” Jessica said, elbowing you playfully as she followed your gaze.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and went back to refilling the ketchup bottles in front of you.

“He keeps staring at you ya know, maybe you should go ask him out.”

If looks could kill the look that you were giving her would have done the job. You didn’t have time to respond to her, because the sound of a throat being cleared behind you made you nearly jump out of your skin.

“I’d like to go ahead and pay if that’s okay?” Jensen said, as you turned around and the smirk Jensen gave you nearly made you fall flat on your ass.

The man was insultingly handsome, and he knew it.

“Sure,” Jessica said, turning to the register and giving him his total. His eyes barely left you as he paid for his meal, and you made your way over to start clearing the table they were sitting at.

You thought you had to escape him because you can’t think straight when he’s looking at you for some reason. You should have known better than to think it was over that quickly.

Looking down at the table as you picked up the plates you saw a folded napkin set in the center of what was Jensen’s plate with a note scrawled on the napkin, and a $100.00 bill tucked inside that simply said, “For the prettiest girl in Dallas.”

You turned around just in time to catch his eye as he winked at you, and followed his family out of the door. The look on your face must have been priceless because Jessica came running your way shaking your shoulders to get your attention.

“What is it? Talk to me Y/N!”

You showed her the note wordlessly. Your head was swimming with emotions as she squealed and jumped up and down with excitement next to you.

You were too stunned to do anything but stand there, how the fuck could you have a crush on someone that you had barely even spoken to? How the fuck could he have such a hold on you already?

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allthingskakashi · 4 years

Text

• YEARNING •

[ Kakashi x Reader]

Summary: A sparring session with Kakashi takes an unexpected turn as you reunite after years.

Tags: Smut

Words: 3.3k

*************

You shift the angle of your stance, trying to assess the best position to attack from. You see Kakashi a few feet away, trying to do the same. His eyes are contemplative, focused. Both of you wait in anticipation of the other’s attack, reading each other’s every move carefully.

The two of you have been at this for a while now but neither of you has been successful in throwing a direct blow at the other. The air surrounding you is humid. Beads of sweat are beginning to form on your forehead.

A smile escapes your lips. This brings back so many memories.

Images of a young skinny kid flash through your mind. A younger rendition of the man standing in front of you now. You’ve known Kakashi since childhood. The two of you went to the Academy together. You were the only one in your entire batch who could match his speed and strength. Kakashi was never much of a talker, he liked keeping to himself. But the two of you shared some memories. Most of them are from when you trained together, although that was never a planned encounter. Usually it would be whenever the two of you ended up being in the training spot at the same time. You had the same training spot as Kakashi’s and sometimes your timings collided. And in those times, the two of you decided to spar and most of the time it ended up just like right now. With the both of you unable to land a single blow on the other. It was frustrating and the exertion was immense. By the end of it you’d usually be so tired, you’d just sit side by side resting for a while, watching the horizon in silence, letting the cool evening air soothe your warm skin. It was a strangely pleasant memory.

Kakashi’s voice breaks your chain of thoughts. “Giving up already?”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “I’ll make you wish I had”, you say, charging forward towards him, kunai knife lifted, ready for attack.

Kakashi corresponds your move, and within a few brief seconds, the two of you are face to face, your own kunai knives in front of your faces, blocking the other’s. You sigh. Yep, just like old times.

You make your other hand into a fist and throw a punch directed at Kakashi’s stomach. He blocks it. Clasping your fist in his palm, he flips you around with force and hurls you away, making you go sliding backwards, creating a trench on the ground as you go, to hold your balance. He comes near you in a single leap and you see him pull his fist in, getting ready to throw a punch. You somersault backwards but he catches up, wheeling around ahead, and throws a roundhouse kick to your head. You swiftly lift your arm to your side and block it with the back of your hand. He has the knife ready and you see it come swishing towards you. You swing the arm blocking Kakashi’s kick sideways to fling his foot away and immediately raise your own knife for attack. The metals clang as your knives block out each other’s. Again.

You can’t help but notice how toned his arms are as he stands so close to you. The bulge of his bicep. The veins in his forearm. You feel your stomach flutter. Whoa this is new.

Even though you considered Kakashi a formidable opponent in terms of skill, you’d always known him to be rather cocky and rude to others. But looking at him now, you could see a change in his eyes, a difference in his demeanour. You could tell he is not the same guy he once was. Well...how could he be? After everything?

You hadn’t been in touch ever since you left the village after your parents’ death but you’d heard things. About his father. About him. Kakashi the friend killer, Kakashi of the Sharingan. So much must have happened in his life to change him. His reputation preceded him. Praises of him as a shinobi were sung across all the nations. You’d hoped that somewhere along the line your paths would cross again. But it never had, until now.

You belonged originally from the Hidden Mist, although you always considered The Leaf to be your true home. Back when the Hidden Mist was in cooperation with The Leaf, your parents were sent here on a few years’ mission. That’s when you were born. You grew up here and studied and played with all the other Leaf Village kids. It was the only home you’d ever known. But after their deaths, you were sent back to the Hidden Mist. And now again, after all these decades, you had the opportunity to come back.

And coming here again in your old spot today to train, running into Kakashi, seeing him after all these years, sparring with him…you felt like you were home again.

But this isn’t the same cocky Kakashi you once knew. For starters, he’s become hot. Crazy hot. It took you a little by surprise when you first saw him again. And of course, there’s the change in his eyes.

“Y/N.” Kakashi’s voice brings you back again.” It looks like you may have softened up since the last time we met.”

Retracting your kunai, you take a few steps back, strategizing about your next move.

Kakashi lunges forward again. You duck down at the nick of time just as his kunai is about to make contact, and slide through between his legs. “I’m sorry, you were saying?” you raise a smug eyebrow.

Kakashi turns around and you notice a twinkle in Kakashi’s eyes. He’s enjoying this.

You stand up and charge towards him again, kunai pointed in his direction. he deflects it with ease. “The same trick again?”, he says, making himself sound bored. The you in front of him poofs away in a quick cloud of smoke as the real you appears behind him, knife to his neck.

“Shadow clone. I see.”

“Uh huh. Got you”, you say triumphantly, preparing to make another remark when the man in front of you vanishes, leaving a log in his stead.

A substitution. Of course. Kakashi’s classic move.

A voice appears in your ear, behind you. “Not so fast.” Dammit.

You can feel his hot breath on your ear. You try to move away but you find yourself unable to. Kakashi has you tied up with an invisible thread around your body, with the end of the thread held in his grip. Your arms are wound tightly parallel to your sides so you can’t move them. That’s fine, you think, reaching for the kunai kept within the bandage on your right leg, in reachable distance from your right hand. You take the knife out and swirling it between your middle finger, index and thumb, throw it high up in the air behind you, through the distance between you and Kakashi.

It comes back down, pointy end sliding across your back, cutting the loops of thread with fine precision as your clothes remains unscathed.

“Not bad”, you hear Kakashi say behind you.

The both of you are drenched in sweat now. The sun is blazing above you.

Kakashi takes several steps back readying himself as soon as you turn around to face him, freed now. “So you like me tied up, do you?” you say, smirking.

You can see that the comment takes Kakashi by surprise. You use this moment to direct three shurikens at him.

He gathers himself almost immediately and moves out of their way but you throw three more in the direction in which he moves. He bends backward to get out of their trajectory but not before they make slight contact with his vest, shredding it up in places and leaving a gash in the t shirt underneath. He steadies himself, an amused look in his eyes. He takes off the shredded vest and lets it fall to the ground, panting a little.

“Well, I just did you a favour. It was getting too hot for that.” you say, subtle hints of mischief spreading throughout your voice and all across your eyes.

“Oh?”, Kakashi says, matching your tone. “In that case, allow me to return the favour”.

In the sudden blink of an eye, before you can even react, you notice a few shurikens approaching you. You crouch, but it only causes one of them to make contact and cut a slit through the front of your t shirt, exposing your cleavage. You let out a laugh. You see Kakashi looking pleased and smug in front of you. Well, he always did have good aim.

You stand slowly back up. Your surroundings suddenly start to feel charged with an unusual energy. Your insides feel like it’s buzzing with the same energy. Unusual, but oddly exciting.

You look at him and an inexplicable feeling engulfs you. What is this feeling?

Yearning, you find your subconscious answering. The realisation startles you.

Not wanting your opponent to catch a whiff of your emotions, you recompose yourself and scream out a perfunctory jeer. “Just give up already, Kakashi”

“Make me”, he answers with a smile, stretching the words out slowly, his voice teasing.

Jeez. He’s not gonna make this any easier, is he?

You run towards him at full speed, hurl yourself into the air and aim a kick to his chest. He swivels his leg clockwise in front of him, blocking your kick by deflecting it to the side. You fall to the ground on your knees with a thud.

You look up to see Kakashi’s hand extended towards you, his eyes soft. You take his hand and pull yourself up as he pulls you as well and the combined forces cause you to topple forward on him, accidentally stepping on his foot with yours. Kakashi staggers a little and holds your waist to regain balance. The tip of your nose brushes against his briefly and you feel your eyes widen at the sudden proximity and suddenly become very aware of the feel of his hands on your waist and yours on his chest. You watch him look equally stunned by this unexpected outcome and after what feels like forever, the both of you detach yourselves from each other, averting your eyes to avoid eye contact and get yourselves into battle stance again.

You look up at him self-consciously, only to watch his eyes reflect a strange look of hunger that you feel inside you. You gulp.

The sky above seems to also have taken an unexpected turn. The blazing rays of the Sun have disappeared and dark clouds hide the Sun behind them. A light drizzle comes to pass.

The two of you dive towards each other, back in battle mode again. You put your focus on his right hand holding the kunai and concentrate on deflecting it with yours, but instead of attacking directly with the knife when he comes near you, he grips the wrist of your kunai holding hand with his free one and turns you around , twisting your arm behind you with your back to him. He’s got the advantage now.

He holds your wrist firmly in place behind you, and bends it slightly so your grip loosens and the kunai falls from your hand. You try to snatch the kunai in his right hand with yours but he throws it into the air and catches it with his mouth. He takes your free arm and brings it behind you, both your wrists criss-crossing each other now. He holds both your hands in place behind you with his left hand and takes the kunai back into his right from his mouth. You’re panting heavily now and you can feel him taking heavy breaths behind you. He gives your wrists a tug and you stumble a few steps backwards, getting even closer to him.

The rain is pouring angrily now, gradually drenching the both of you, bit by bit. The water feels good against your warm skin.

You can feel the tight muscles of his chest behind you through his shirt, and sweat and water from his hair drips down to your shoulder drop by drop. Your heart beat rises as you feel the tension thicken between you and Kakashi. You bite your lip unknowingly. The rain wets your clothes but your clothes aren’t the only thing you feel getting wet. Kakashi brings his face closer to your ear but doesn’t say anything.

Just the sound of his heavy breathing and your heart thumping in your chest, and nothing else.

Slowly, he lifts the kunai and brings it in level with your neck. You wait, holding your breath. He lowers it down slowly to make the tip of the knife touch the area between your collar bones. The hot metal slightly burns your skin. He traces the knife down in a straight line down your chest and along your cleavage and stops where the slit in your t shirt ends. With a swift movement, he drives another straight line through the slit of your t shirt, all the way down to the end, ripping the front of your t shirt in half. Your heart is racing so fast now, you can barely breathe. You hear Kakashi drop the kunai on the ground. You want to see his face but you’re so astounded by this sudden turn of events, neither your mind nor your body is working. The air surrounding you is ripe with tension now.

Kakashi loosens his grip on your wrists and lets them fall free. You turn around slowly to face him and look up to meet his eyes. He has a strange look in his eyes. It makes your heart skip a beat. You quickly rewind the past few hours’ events in your mind and stifle a smile.

Well that certainly was a turn of events I didn’t see coming.

You feel a sudden rush of inexplicable emotions flow through you. You steady yourself.

We’ll deal with the emotions later, this fight isn’t over yet.

You watch him looking at you with interest, anticipating your next move.

Your upper body is exposed now except for the sports bra that you had on underneath and the ripped t shirt hung loosely on your shoulder. Your wet clothes stick to your body, making patches of skin visible through the them. You see concentration replace the strange look in Kakashi’s eyes as you pretend to reach behind to your empty weapons bag. He changes into a defensive stance. You smile inside, he’s falling for it.

Taking one step forward towards him, as you pretend to draw out a weapon, you angle your foot behind his and drag it forward with yours to break his balance. As soon as you see him loose his footing and trip slightly, you leap forward into the air and throw yourself on him, legs astride his waist, pushing him backwards with your body and making him fall to the ground with the force of your weight.

Just as his head is about to touch the ground, you instinctively put your hands at the back of his head to soften the blow of the fall. You feel it in your knuckles instead. He looks at you with widened eyes, surprised at the gesture. You feel surprised yourself at your own subliminal act.

He lays flat on the ground now, his eyes wide as he comprehends what happened. It’s your turn to look smug. You smile, victorious. You sit astride his lower abdomen, hands beneath his head. You feel the softness of his wet hair in your fingers. You lean forward a bit and withdraw your hands from the back of his head. He tries to move, so you quickly pin his hands to the ground, holding him in place. He starts to laugh a little. Your face is inches from his and you can see all the details of his face up close. You’re panting now. Your throat is dry, you take a gulp.

He has long curled eyelashes, you never noticed that before. His water glazed face makes his skin glisten. You can make out the outline of his lips through his mask. You let your eyes linger on his face and allow yourself to marvel at how handsome he has become. You feel something in your heart again. You watch his eyes linger on your face in the same way.

You notice a droplet of water trickling down his forehead, through his eyebrow, just about to enter his eye. You lean forward further and blow on his face lightly to change the path of the drop, keeping it from entering his eye. He closes his eyes and you see his lips stretch into a smile beneath the mask, you smile a little yourself.

You start to sit back upright again but you take your time doing it. Drops of sweat from your body; your face and your chest drip down on him, becoming one with his. He doesn’t look as if he minds. You let your nose lightly brush against his and let your lips hover just inches over his before you sit back up. You feel a sudden stiffness underneath you where you’re sitting. The realisation makes you get hot inside, blood rushes to your cheeks. Your heart rate goes up again and you feel a wet, warm sensation fill you, down there. You look at him, unable to hide your desire. Come on, y/n. Get a grip.

“So.” You say, clearing your throat. “Who’s soft now?” you finish, with a smirk.

“Well, certainly not me”, Kakashi answers slyly, his tone thick with innuendo. Oh god. God save me.

You raise an eyebrow at him, barely concealing your amusement; looking flustered and impish at the same time. “But I’ll admit defeat this time. I have indeed been slacking on my physical training. I’ve been too fixated on trying to control my Kamui. Although it’s about time I started working my body again.”

“Got any ideas for that?”, he adds, his tone puckish.

“Oh yes. So many.”, you say, your voice teasing, unable to hide the thirst inside you.

The bulge beneath you grows bigger. You shift around a little, on purpose and watch as Kakashi writhes and closes his eyes.

“But before that”, you say “There’s some unfinished business I need to take care of”. He opens his eyes and looks at you. You reach across and find your kunai knife which had fallen on the ground earlier. He looks on at you, waiting, a look of curious anticipation playing across his face.

You pick up the knife and bring it to his chin. He doesn’t avert his gaze from your face. Pointing the knife down vertically, you run a line through his drenched undershirt, causing a tear till the middle of his chest. You throw the kunai aside and rip the remaining part with your bare hands, exposing the pale, smooth skin beneath. He looks a little baffled, almost impressed and you can see an expression of amusement in the way his eyes twinkle. Now we’re even.

You lay your hands on his damp chest, feeling the tight muscles underneath and lock your eyes with his.

He glides his hands up the sides of your thighs and stops at the waist of your skirt, just below the region of exposed skin of your stomach, holding you by your waist. You can feel just the tips of his fingers on your skin, but even that is enough to send a shiver through you.

“y/n. you’re soaking wet”, he says, smiling. Innuendo unmistakable in his voice again.

“yeah, I am”, you answer in the same tone. You lean down towards him, a ghost of a smile on your lips, before continuing in a whisper, “Guess we better get out of these clothes.”

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

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

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

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

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

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

❖☆———————————★❖

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

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

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

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

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

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

MC: Am I just imagining it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thud, thud, thud.

The footsteps coming after me from behind gradually sped up—

MC: !!!

❖☆———————————★❖

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

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

❖☆———————————★❖

Staff: Hello, what would you like to drink?

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

??: One Americano and one Latte, please.

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

Noticing my gaze, he responded with a gentle smile.

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

Mr. Lu: Yes.

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

❖☆———————————★❖

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

Mr. Lu: They’re watching you.

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

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

MC: …Thanks.

❖☆———————————★❖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Lu: Smoky grey?

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

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

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

Mr. Lu: Don’t worry about it.

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

MC: A tie pin.

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

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

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

MC: Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MC: Okay, Mr. Ev… Evan.

Man: Will you stop saying “thank you”?

Woman: Okay. Thanks for your suggestion.

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

❖☆———————————★❖

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

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

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

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

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

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

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

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val-aquenta · 3 years

Text

Here for the prompt: Crossover for Mace Windu appreciation

On a side note, can you guys tell I don’t know anything about the MCU....

Here on ao3

“Leaving hyperspace in 3… 2… 1… exited.” Obi-Wan reads out, gritting his teeth as they exit hyperspace, the ominous rattling of the ship increasing in real space. “Earth, Master Windu. Inhabited, but with low tech.” He notes quickly as gravity begins pulling them to the green and blue planet. “No communications established between the Republic and its inhabitants.”

Mace sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before looking back at his screens. The alarms screech a bit louder. “No other alternatives?” He asks futilely.

“No, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says, flicking a switch and getting the emergency brakes working. They kick in, jolting the ship back even more. They hurtle closer, dipping past satellites and into the atmosphere. The air burns in front of them as they enter the atmosphere. “Outer shields heating fast… managing,” Obi-Wan says.

At least, Mace thinks, they won’t also have to deal with a melting ship. “Steering still down?” He asks, leaning over to flick on back thrusters as they approach the white clouds.

Obi-Wan tries the wheel before saying, “Still down…” There is little else they can do as they hurtle down towards a large green expanse in the middle of a large continent. The map has almost no information except for the basic knowledge gleaned from fly-by’s in space. They descend past the cloud layer, shooting through the white fluff. Underneath it, the green ground opens around them. The ship slows and slows, back thrusters doing their work. The alarms blare still, and Mace wishes he could turn them off. “We’ll make it. Brakes and back thrust still functional.” Still, Mace stretches out a hand, feeling in the currents of Force for the threads that could pull the ship to a stop. Of course, such a feat would tire him, so he only wishes to use it as a last result.

“How much altitude, Obi-Wan?” He asks from behind gritted teeth.

“Over 10 klicks.” Obi-Wan’s voice strains past the rumbling. “We’ll slow before then,” he assures, hands rushing over the controls fast. Mace finds himself often forgetting Obi-Wan’s prowess with technology as it pales in comparison to his Padawan’s. He supposes Qui-Gon’s lack of training in that area had meant Obi-wan had to be the pilot and the mechanic of that duo. “Nine klicks…” Obi-Wan says, reaching up to reroute some energy to the thrusters. “Eight… seven,” he counts down. Mace grimaces. The green expanse, a flat seemingly uninhabited plane stretches from horizon to horizon.

“The landing will be controlled?”

Obi-Wan eyes the steering wheel critically, “With the steering down it is hard, but not impossible. If the thrusters are rerouted fast enough, and with some help from the Force, I should be able to land it well.”

Mace sighs in relief, “That’s good. We want minimal damage in order to signal the Republic or end up fixing the ship.”

Obi-Wan nods before saying, “Five klicks.” He checks the speed, “On target for a controlled landing. Four klicks… three.” The details of the plane are not entirely visible. Other than a few trees, it seems mostly uninhabited. “Two klicks… thrusters fired at full, angled up…” There’s a tug in the Force that Mace recognises as Obi-Wan manipulating the Force just a hint to push the ship into position. “Switching power to vertical… one klick.” He reads out dutifully, and Mace finds himself wondering if he ever did the same with Qui-Gon ‘I only ever interact with plants and animals’ Jinn. “Landing extensions out… touching down…” There’s another jolt in the Force this time directly upwards as Obi-Wan hovers the ship for a moment before letting it down gently.

Mace is impressed. Most Masters are decently good pilots, but many would have drawn on the Force a lot more to land the ship. Obi-Wan, despite his claims of hating piloting, sees somewhat proud of his landing, judging by the small spark of joy in the Force. “Good job, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan looks at him from where he slumps in his seat, eyes blinking tiredly.

“Oh, uh… thank you, Master Windu.” He says face pressed into a strange mix of embarrassment and happiness. Obi-Wan lets out a mild groan, pressing his hands to his face before unbuckling his belt and standing up. “Well, out of the ship and onto the planet?”

Mace leans over his controls, observing the various flashing lights before standing as well. “Some kind of issue in the hyperdrive, perhaps one of the valves fueling the engines?”

Obi-Wan nods. It does make sense. “An easy fix.” They wrap themselves in their cloaks. “Hopefully we’ll be able to make it off-planet soon enough before they notice.”

Mace feels something like laughter from the Force and groans inwardly, “I had hoped you would not say that…” He takes a moment to observe Obi-Wan and, mainly out of habit, reaches out to straighten the tabards just a bit before folding the robe over. His hands smooth over the brown fabric. “There… perfect.” His brain catches up after a moment. Depa and he had always done that, and he feels almost embarrassed having done the same to Obi-Wan if not for the happiness floating in the Force around Obi-Wan.

Embarrassment, however, soon flares up in time with a red flush on Obi-Wan’s face, “Umm… sorry, Master. I did not know my robes were askew.” He hesitated with his hand in the air between them before hastily darting forwards and tugging the robe tighter around Mace, folding it so the green embroidery on the front collar, courtesy of Depa, was visible. If possible, his face turns even more red. Mace finds it endearing, though he hopes sometime in the future that Obi-Wan will get used to his presence and that they will be equals in his eyes.

“Thank you,” He says, nodding gratefully. Obi-Wan just blinks before coughing into his sleeve and following Mace off the ship. Mace takes a moment to breathe out of the ship, the cool air around them refreshing after the stressful landing on Earth. “Alright… repairs?” He’s not exactly certain where to begin, unfamiliar with the schematics of ships nowadays. As a Padawan, he had learnt the mechanics of older models of ships.

Obi-Wan raises a brow and, with a shrug, moves over to some panelling. He pats the metal to test the heat, finding the cooling system still intact and keeping the outer shell cool. He summons one of the screws from the bag he’s carried outside and starts undoing the intricate closing system. Mace watches, intrigued but mostly keeping an eye out for anyone else in the Force. He’s not exactly certain whether their entry has been caught, but if someone does come for them, he’d rather be prepared than caught off guard. Obi-Wan hums as he works, unconsciously it seems. He goes from old lullabies in the creche to some kind of instrumental from a famous holo. It’s rather soothing to listen to, and Mace finds himself almost meditating to it while keeping an eye out.

Soon enough there’s a whirring whine in the air and the approaching tell of a person. Mace jerks and pokes Obi-Wan a bit in the Force, alerting him to an incoming person. Obi-Wan jerks away from the panelling as it slides free with a hiss. Their heads snap up in synchronisation as they realise the sound is coming from up above them. Obi-Wan’s hand twitches to his lightsaber, but Mace’s hand resting on his shoulder stops the movement. “We’re not looking for a fight.”

“Sorry…” Obi-Wan sighs, tracking the movement of the golden-red blur.

“No worries,” Mace says before also tensing as a second, lower hum joins the first. In the distance, a large blob makes itself known, possibly a ship. It’s rather loud and not exactly stealthy. It makes him uncomfortable, the idea that whoever they are have enough confidence to announce their arrival. The discomfort is quickly pushed aside, miscommunication here could lead to some kind of violence.

Obi-Wan is younger and, despite his maturity for his age, is startled too. He stands behind Mace in the position of a Padawan, two steps backwards and to the right. His head tilts towards Mace, waiting for his action. “Master Windu…? Should I continue repairs, or…?” He trails off, hands fiddling nervously within the confines of his robe.

“We’ll greet them together,” Mace decides after a moment of deliberation, though he does move closer to this ship, going beneath the shade. There’s a dull thud paired with a heavy clunk as the red and gold humanoid hits the dirt, kneeling dramatically before standing and looking at them. The helmet’s eyes stare ominously. Mace hears and feels the other ship land behind them, and feels another group of people spread out behind them. Obi-Wan tenses, he can feel it in the Force, swirling with the hostility from the others. It clouds the Force, making it difficult to think. He takes a deep breath, centring himself before stepping forwards and bowing respectfully. Obi-Wan follows suit. “Greetings.”

The machine man steps forwards, little hisses and clunks following the step. “Who are you?” The voice is low, obviously going through some kind of filter that slightly changes the sound. The mouth on the man does not move. “What are your intentions here?”

“We crashed,” Mace begins to explain, his voice somewhat dry, “our hyperdrive valve disconnected due to tampering and we were forced out of hyperspace.” He blinks a bit at the silence before filling it again, “My name is Jedi Master Mace Windu, this is Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan shoots a small smile at being introduced, shuffling a bit closer to Mace.

The machine’s head tilts sideways a bit, “Hyperwhat?” Mace blinks in surprise, oh right, they aren’t as advanced in tech yet.

“It’s… difficult to explain. Think of it as an advanced form of transport,” Obi-Wan says, clearly remembering the small bit of information, “Suffice to say, we’ll be off-planet after the ship is repaired.” He raises his screw with a smile, “It should take perhaps a cycle at most. It is an easy fix, as well as an easy way to tamper with a ship. You see, the probabilities of actually crashing onto a planet with breathab-” He cuts himself off before grimacing and adding, “sorry…”

The man stands for a moment in silence before a staticky sigh fills the air and the face peels back to reveal a human’s face. “Well, team, we all suited up for nothing it seems.” Without the helmet interfering with the sound, his voice is a bit easier to understand. The strange accent is more noticeable. A man, blonde with arms about as big as Obi-Wan’s torso and a large circular shield sighs, though it appears to be aimed at the metal man, not Mace and Obi-Wan. “So… tell me about this hyperspace you got going on.” The man asks before blinking and letting out a chuckle, “Ah, sorry, my name’s Tony.” He introduces himself. The other man sighs again, his hand reaching up to rest against his forehead. The redhead woman next to him looks between the two with an annoyed expression.

“Well…” Obi-Wan trails off looking to Mace, and when Mace says nothing, continues, “It’s hard to understand without the basics of dimensional physics… But I can try. Just… let me get back to work fixing the ship.” He moves to the ship again. Tony completely steps out of the suit, wearing an immaculate looking suit, not wrinkled by the journey here. Mace watches them leave with a somewhat surprised face before turning as the other members of this… welcoming party appear. There’s the blonde man, the redhead woman, another blonde man this time with long hair, and a skittish looking black-haired man.

“So… you guys been chased or something?” The woman asks, “Oh, I’m Black Widow, but call me Natasha.” Mace wrinkles his brow, testing out the two names with no little amount of confusion.

“Not exactly. The last planet we were on had a civil war brewing, so Obi-Wan and myself were dispatched to prevent it.” Mace pinches the bridge of his knows, the cracks around the group here are giving him a headache. The black-haired man looks at him with… sympathy? “One extremist must have thought our death would hasten a civil war, but it would not change anything.” She nods, before leaning back with a sigh. “And you are… protectors of this planet, Earth?”

“We’re the Avengers, well… some of them.” The long blonde haired man says, “I’m Thor.” Mace blinks a bit, swearing he’s heard that name.

“Thor… you wouldn’t be from…”

“Asgard.” He finishes, bouncing the hammer from hand to hand.

Mace blinks before bowing hastily again, “Apologies. I knew the name was familiar. You must be the god of… was it thunder?” Thor nods, seemingly pleased and rather smug that someone’s recognised him. His attention turns to the skittish man at his side, “So… you must be Loki? His… cousin? No… brother.” He settles on. A dry smile stretches across Loki’s face as Thor pats his back, pounds it considering the amount of strength on those arms.

“In the flesh.” He says softly. Mace blinks, something tickling the edges of his feeling in the Force. “You would be the warrior monks.

Mace winces a bit at the description. It’s not the truth, but it is what most of the galaxy at large considers the truth. Jedi are a lot more than just warriors or monks, but few seem to understand it. “I… not exactly, but yes.”

“Warriors? These two?” Thor looks incredulously between Loki and Mace, “Did you see the other, he was practically the size of my finger?!” Loki looks pleadingly at Mace, as though asking him for forgiveness on Thor’s behalf. “Not to mention the lack of weapons. Man of iron has all those guns across his suit, but these two? They’re dressed in mother’s curtains.” Mace blinks. That’s a first.

“They’re touched by what they call the Force.” Mace nods at Loki’s words. Gifted, cursed, there’s a multitude of ways people have referred to their Force sensitivity. “And a blade of… light.”

“Indeed,” Mace confirms, pulling out his hilt. “A lightsaber.” He does not ignite it, only clipping it back to his belt.

“You fight with… swords? Out in space?!” The man with a shield says.

“You fight with what appears to be a shield…” Obi-Wan says, materialising quietly behind Mace. He has quiet steps, like most Jedi, cushioned ever so slightly with the Force. “I don’t think you’re in the position to judge.”

The man chuckles, chagrined but still in good humour, “I suppose not…”

“Master Windu. The repairs are done. Whoever tried sabotaging the ship did a truly awful job. I did not even have to replace it, simply jolt it into place.” Obi-Wan reports dutifully, idly floating the instrument towards the open bag. The team follow the movement.

“Well, it appears we should be going,” Mace said to the group, bowing lowly. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” The man with the shield says. Loki only stares at them, eyes unnervingly fixed on them. The rest of the team offers farewells. Tony, it seems, was rather impressed by the machinery if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by. Loki, Thor, Natasha, and the shield man all pile onto the ship after a while, lifting off and hovering some distance away. Tony results and similarly goes to the ship, floating beside it as Obi-Wan begins to pilot out of the planet.

“An interesting planet,” Mace says once they’re comfortably in hyperspace, hurtling down back to Coruscant.

“I suppose we’ll be hearing more from them soon enough. It seems that the man, Tony, might be able to create something similar to hyperdrives. At least… he was confident he could.” Obi-Wan says before flicking the autopilot on and slumping in his seat.

“Go take a break. I’ll keep an eye on the controls.” Mace says upon feeling the fatigue in the Force. Obi-Wan lights up with embarrassment but complies, standing up and walking to his quarters. Indeed, Mace muses in the quiet cockpit, what an intriguing planet.

#star wars fanfic #fanfic #mcu #mace windu #mace windu appreciation #mace windu appreciation week #obi wan #tony stark #loki #thor #natasha #stave rogers #y'all #I don't know shit about the mcu #so have this ...

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - NW Project (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains spoilers from an R&S (NW计划) which has not been released in EN 🍒

Heavy angst warning... T-T

To follow along with the narrator: here

[ Chapter One ]

The NW Project - “New Weapons Project” in full. This project was first put forward 20 years ago.

Even though I’m the main person in charge of this project, the person who raised this project wasn’t me. Neither was it an outstanding scientist. Instead, it was this man in front of me.

Patiently, I finish reading the agreement in my hand, which spans dozens of pages. Before putting my pen to the page, I lift my head to look at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

The man looks straight into my eyes. Without a hint of retreating or wavering, his tone is calm as he responds, “I’ll take complete responsibility for the consequences.”

“You aren’t afraid of permanent infamy?”

“This is our only chance. Exchanging the lowest cost for peace experienced by the most number of people. Black Swan doesn’t leave us any choice.”

I fall silent, but the man doesn’t give me an opportunity to probe further.

“This is the second time I’ve made this decision.” He continues speaking calmly. “Ever since the first step was taken, there has been no room for backing out in this matter.”

I pinch the pen with force, the weight in my hands a little difficult to bear for a moment. I take a deep breath, finally signing my own name on the paper, underneath the name already written on it.

I’m very clear that we have no room for retreating. We have to move forward!

After signing, the man hands me an archive envelope. “This is the first experimental subject this time round.”

I open the archive envelope directly. When I see the name written on the materials, I lift my head to look at him in shock. Before I can speak, he responds. “There’s nothing wrong with the materials.”

“Right now, he’s the most suitable candidate.”

“But-” I continue finding it difficult to believe.

“You can return to make preparations. He’ll be here soon, and the NW Project can officially begin.” There’s absolutely no change in his expression. He’s so calm that it’s as though he’s talking about someone who is insignificant. But the tenseness of his body faintly reveals his inner perturbation.

I suppress the shock in my heart, not adding anything else.

Returning to the office, I open the file once again, reading it seriously--

Gavin, 24 years old, Evol ability is wind control. His Evol was awakened at 17 years old. During the tests two years ago, his ability levels were determined to be of the highest rank.

In the attached photograph, a young man wearing the white Special Task Force uniform is facing the camera. His eyes have a knife-life fierceness and a trace of unruliness. Even when separated by the photograph, they bring with them a certain sense of oppression.

This is a resolute person - that’s what I conclude. But when he undergoes the modification in this project, whether it’s successful or not, would he be able to remain as resolute?

I’m unable to make a determination, but I hope he does. After all, he’s their child...

[ Chapter Two ]

The restarting of this project, which had stopped for decades, was beset with difficulties. But no matter how difficult it was, this project had to be pushed forward.

A month later, as Black Swan’s activities grew increasingly frequent, the man, in the capacity of commanding officer, led the team himself, leaving the base. He kept his promise, bringing the first experimental subject back - the NW Project could officially restart.

Gavin stands in the middle of the laboratory quietly. His familiar appearance causes me to have a lapse in concentration. But very quickly, I retract my emotions and explain what the first phase of the experiment entails, and its possible effects.

When he hears the cruel wording I use, he has no reaction, no wavering, and no fear. His back is straight, and there are still speckles of dried blood on his body. I’ve only met his eyes once before averting them quickly. That pair of eyes shrouded in shadows suppress far too deep, and far too heavy emotions. Yet, they reveal a certain odd sense of calm, as though he has calmly and fearlessly accepted his fate.

“Gavin, are you ready?” The man, who has remained silent all this while, finally speaks. In an incredibly cold voice, Gavin responds. “Yes.”

The man turns his head towards me, nodding slightly in indication. “It can begin.”

We’ve been waiting a very long time for this experiment. Before the experiment officially begins, the man’s footsteps leave hurriedly.

All procedures proceed in a systematic and orderly way. Underneath the cold lights of the laboratory, Gavin, who has been injected with the drug, is submerged into transparent phosphate buffer. Dozens of metal patches are linked up to his body, monitoring the slightest change in data.

As the experiment carries on, something peculiar happens quickly. The fluctuating lines on the electrocardiogram gradually slow down. After a sudden jolt, it becomes a flat line. Just like the final glow of light in the darkness extinguishing suddenly, although we had already prepared ourselves for this, I still find my hands trembling when this moment arrives.

A researcher informs us that Gavin’s vitals are falling, and that his Evol fluctuations are barely able to be captured. All the data cruelly tells us that this experiment is about to fail, and the death of this young man will be announced soon.

I pound my hands onto the wall heavily to prevent my fingers from trembling, and direct everyone to carry out all possible rescue measures. But as time passes by - one minute, two minutes... his signs of life have completely vanished.

“Gavin...” Quietly, I watch that young man, whose eyes are shut tight, and recall when this departed person had said this name to me.

Suddenly, the lines on the electrocardiogram fluctuate for a moment, and someone exclaims in surprise. I frantically observe the screen, watching as the degree of fluctuations gradually increases. It’s as though a hand has forcefully pulled him back from the fringes of death, finally bringing him back to normal. Everyone heaves a long sigh of relief.

After the experiment, I assume the task of observing Gavin’s situation. On the sickbed, the young man who has experienced death has a face void of colour. Even in an unconscious state, his eyebrows remain deeply furrowed.

I tidy the items that were collected from him: A phone which is turned off, a set of keys, a Special Task Force ID... and a photograph which was originally in his breast pocket. This photograph seems to have been taken unawares. It has already turned slightly yellow, and has a pretty-looking girl on it.

After a while of thinking, I place the photograph next to Gavin’s pillow.

Perhaps this way, he can have a good dream.

[ Chapter Three ]

It has been a week since the experiment ended.

A few things surpassed our initial expectations: Within the first 30 hours of Gavin awakening, his state of mind temporarily went into chaos. At the same time, the strength of his modified Evol left us unable to control him, and he destroyed the entire laboratory. Fortunately, he recovered at a certain point. But he became deficient in terms of emotions, and turned extremely cold and distant. It’s as though he had become the strongest “weapon” as we conceptualised.

“Thud--” The sound of something heavy falling drifts from the tightly shut door. The hand I’ve placed on the door pauses. After waiting for a few minutes, I push the door open.

Gavin is standing in the middle of the spacious underground training room. A pair of cold and indifferent eyes look over. Even though I’ve experienced this several times, my heart still jumps, and my body tenses up involuntarily. All the cells in my body warn me - he’s extremely dangerous.

I maintain a set distance, and advise, “You should act according to our designated plan to undergo this adjustment process.”

Gavin doesn’t speak. Black wind encircles his surrounding, the swirling air slicing the walls and floor like knives. In an instant, it ripples through the entire room. I reach out to touch the blood oozing from the new wound on my face, quietly putting even more distance between us.

I watch silently as he exhausts his Evol, waits for it to be restored, and repeats it again. This is an incredibly painful process, no different from breaking all the bones in his body and forcing them to straighten. Such capacity for violence often results in harm to himself. Very quickly, his whole body is riddled with scars, and his entire person appears as though he has been pulled out from a sea of blood.

“Today’s training should be over.” I speak up once again, stopping him.

But what I get as a response is the sound of a ear-piercing report. Stunned, I look at the patch of white appearing before Gavin. Everything in that region has completely disappeared - there has been a change in his Evol. According to the plan of the experiment, he should only reach a breakthrough after half a month.

This time, Gavin finally speaks. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

This seems to be a thought he is clinging onto. Sometimes, one’s thoughts can destroy a person, but can also strengthen a person.

I don’t know who is the person waiting for him, nor do I know how he obtained such a belief. But it enables him to persevere in this cruel project.

--The NW Project can stimulate the experimental subject’s Evol gene to its highest degree, enabling one’s Evol ability to reach its strongest state in a short span of time. But its pitfall is just as obvious. There’s a large possibility that an experimental subject wouldn’t be able to withstand the weight of such strength, and face a decline after his Evol reaches its peak.

Right now, the strength Gavin has obtained after the modification has far surpassed approximations. None of us are able to predict what ending awaits him should his Evol start to decline.

Gavin finally stops, sitting on the steps in exhaustion. I can’t help but ask, “Why did you accept this project?”

“I need strength.” He says this without hesitation.

“Is obtaining strength necessarily a good thing?”

“Not to most people.”

I understand the meaning in his unfinished words, because he is even more certain than we are that he can control such strength.

At this moment, I suddenly look forward to his future, even though an experimental subject from the NW Project will only become a “weapon”. And the future of a weapon is only to destroy or be destroyed.

[ Chapter Four ]

It has been two weeks since the experiment ended.

The modification in the NW Project has reached its final phase. From Gavin’s body, we’ve collected large amounts of information, supporting the future development of this project.

At the same time, Black Swan’s sudden appearance on the surface leaves us with no choice but to speed up the process of the NW Project, and search for the next batch of experimental subjects. But this is an incredibly difficult matter. Every person who accepts the modification has to possess a sufficiently firm willpower. They have to persist through the agony of such destructive strength, and have to endure the temptation such strength brings.

During this special period, Gavin suddenly looks for me. Seeing the documents placed in front of me, I lapse into a long silence before speaking. “If you’re clear on the consequences this would bring, I’ll sign it.”

“I’m very clear.” Gavin stands up straight, the resoluteness in his eyes not wavering even once. Without further questions, I lift my pen, signing this agreement solemnly - to allow NW717 to be dispatched, and carry out missions.

“If you insist on choosing this path.” I take out a set of seemingly normal-looking gloves and place them on the table. “They can help you control such strength.”

Gavin freezes slightly, and it looks like he has been taken aback. But he doesn’t ask further questions either, putting on the black gloves, the leather material fitting every finger seamlessly. He looks at his hands, a hint of cloudiness flashing across his eyes, though it dissipates very quickly.

This is a strength which shouldn’t exist on this earth, yet it has surfaced due to various incidents.

The next time I see Gavin who has returned from a mission, all the staff have already left the laboratory. The assistant had given me a warning beforehand, but I’m determined to be here.

What I see is a Gavin who is on the brink of collapse. His body is bowed, both fists balled tightly, veins evident, as though he has sustained a blow which is difficult to bear. I understand the cause of such a situation, and it’s exactly the consequence I had warned him about before he left on the mission--

The drugs used during the NW Project modification are especially fierce. Before they are completely assimilated, the backlash is also especially fierce. Right now, perhaps every blood vessel and every cell in his body are bringing him incredible pain. Such pain far exceeds the very first experiment by multiple folds.

“You need to stop the pain.” I take out the injection needle, prepared to give him a cortisone shot.

“No need.” Gavin doesn’t even lift his head. His tone is perhaps even calmer than mine, but his voice trembles almost imperceptibly. “I’ve seen your report. I need this chance.”

He’s betting on that one glimmer of hope. I respect his wishes, setting down the cortisone shot. Instead, I give him the final dose of drugs for the experiment. After all of this, I await the final outcome from afar.

Gavin remains silent from start to end. The sound of his breathing is so light and faint that it seems to disappear, only the data on the equipment displaying the radical changes in his body. Just like this, my eyes are wide open as I observe the entire night. At the first glimmer of dawn, Gavin stands up. Because he has been maintaining the same posture for a very long time, he staggers for a moment, almost losing his footing.

I do a complete examination for him, and discover that he has indeed grasped that one thousandth of a chance. In our plan, the degree of completion of the modification will hover at around 80%. But right now, Gavin has far surpassed this numerical value.

With a complicated expression, I look at the final verdict. Before Gavin leaves, I warn him once again. “It could engulf you in the end.”

The air surrounding Gavin permeates with danger, but his eyes are as calm as ice. “I can’t retreat.”

This project doesn’t leave him any room for retreating.

I know that the success of Gavin’s modification also represents drawing the curtains on an expansion of the NW Project. I’ve stored all the data and reports related to him in a file, ready to accept the next experiment.

[ Chapter Five ]

Along with the implementation of the NW Project, the effects of the modified individual increasingly got out of our control. This caused us to start pondering on how we should handle those people who accepted the experiments once everything was over.

Someone asked me about what I planned to do, and my answer was that I would perhaps find a place where nobody recognises me, and live the rest of my life with a guilty conscience and remorse.

As the very first successful experimental subject of the NW Project, Gavin’s choice came even earlier than I expected.

I reach the doors to the commanding officer’s office. Just before the door closes, I see an insignia on the desk at a glance, along with that pair of black gloves.

When we cross paths along the corridor, Gavin gives me a slight nod. I hand him something - the Special Task Force ID which was collected from him when he had first undergone the experiment. Gavin seems to find this unexpected. Very softly, he says a “thank you” before leaving without taking it.

From behind, I watch his retreating form - his back is very straight when he walks. At this moment, his footsteps gradually turn from heavy to relaxed. I watch as he takes out his phone to make a call, disappearing into a corner of the corridor.

I hope this will be the last time we meet.

With anticipation in my heart, I push the door to the office. The man stands at the window, as though waiting for something.

“Why did you choose to let Gavin leave?” I ask.

The man returns to the desk, the NW symbol on the wall behind him seeming to become the heaviest shadow, caging him. He says calmly, “Behind this position, I’m also a father. Even though I’m not qualified.”

He pulls open a hidden drawer, retrieving a yellowed photograph from inside - I know that what’s on it is the image of a beautiful woman who remains in the memories of everyone.

I recall the night on which he knew Wardia had passed on, and recall the child who had splinters all over his body, his face filled with resistance and despair. It was such an endless, heavy night. The next day, the man had already collected his wavering and crumbling self. It’s as though all the pain I saw was just an illusion.

That child from back then has already grown up. He has grown up to have an indomitable spirit, and to the point where nobody can overlook him.

Just like what his mother had anticipated, he has become a strong protector.

For an inexplicable reason, I suddenly speak. “Actually, the two of you are very similar.”

The man immediately shakes his head. “He’s more outstanding. Back then...”

At this point, he seems to sink into a short contemplation, and doesn't continue.

I don’t harp on this topic. Taking out the file, I give him a report on the final verdict of all the experiments in the NW Project.

The original intention of this project was to utilise absolute abilities to get rid of rebellious Evolvers, and reduce the damage between civilians and Evolvers. During the project, we fulfilled this original intention, though it also brought about several inevitable problems. And right now, perhaps it’s time for it to leave the stage.

After waiting for a very long time, I finally hear the man’s announcement. “The NW Project will officially end one week later.”

Perhaps we have already been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I pack up the files, and give him a salute - as well as to everyone who has contributed to this project and to this world.

Very soon, this project will be covered in dust and enter the vast and long tide of history, and will never be spoken of by anyone.

Only those glistening stars continue to illuminate the boundless and long night.

A translated comic based on (but not entirely) on this R&S: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #this hurts so good

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supernaturallyobsessedchic · 3 years

Text

Finding Him

AU!Dean x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping/taken, angst, mentions/implications of rape, mentions of blood, gruesome I think, maybe. (If I need more warnings, I’ll add them. Not sure what I need for warnings right now) I would recommend to being at least 18 to be safe.

Summary: Dean doesn’t come home from a supply run. Sam and the Reader find the Impala, but no Dean. Who would take Dean? Why? Clock’s ticking.

Word count: 2,400-ish

a/n: Inspired by a fic called Lost by @talesmaniac89, only I switched the roles and the whole premise of the story in comparison.

Finding Him Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

His vision blackened by the dark hood that covered his head.

“See boss, I found him, one of the Winchester boys.” A male voice says. As if he were expecting a prize.

“Yes, I see that, you were also to get his little brother you nitwit!” another man shouted.

Dean could hear growls in the distance. Meaning he was dealing with more than just one monster. Also, what kind of monster?

“But doing this draws out his brother. Once he is out and about, I’ll get him.”

“You better, but watch out for his mate. I hear she’s feisty.”

Y/N, they knew her as well. But she was only with the brothers for, not even, 6 months now.

“Why again are we doing this? Why don’t we just swarm their base now? I mean, we can use his scent to lead us there.” A female voice was heard this time. She sounded rather annoyed by the whole situation.

“Because, it’s her I want.”

“Why?”

“She’s a half-breed. First of our kind. Her mother was human. They say half-breeds are weaker than their pure bred counterpart. But I beg to fucking differ!” the boss man got furious at a memory.

Y/N’s a what? Dean thought. He could only huff against the gag in his mouth that was tapped in by duct tape. His hands were bound by all kinds of bindings. Rope, tape and even chains. These werewolves took precautions to prevent Dean from escaping or fighting back.

Y/N must have done something to piss this guy off. He thought.

“Just bring the other Winchester, Lure this bitch out. I want her now!”

“Sam, I found the impala but no Dean.” She said into the phone.

“Store clerk said no one was following him in the store. So it must have happened outside of the store on the way home.”

“I don’t like this Sam, who would take him and why?”

“I don’t know. Come swing by, pick me up and I’ll drive Dean’s baby home.”

“Sure thing, then we’ll get hunting for your brother.”

She hung up the phone. She could smell it. It’s faint but it’s werewolf. Maybe it’s time to come clean about her lineage to Sam. It might help in finding Dean.

“So you’re a half breed. Half human, half werewolf? How’s that possible?” Sam asked. Not a hint of malice in his words, no hint of anger or hostility in his body language.

“My mom was human. My dad was an alpha werewolf. But my mom died giving birth to me. I never really had a mother. But there’s this other pack, my dad went rogue on them when they started killing humans. He’d kill his own members to save humans.” She explained.

“Your dad sounds like a good man.”

“He was. Then his alpha found us. Tried to take me. He fought back. Or, tried to. I managed to get away. But in the woods I could smell my dad’s blood. He kill him. I’m more than sure, he’s the one that took Dean. He’s trying to lure me out.”

“He really shouldn’t underestimate the Winchester way of doing things.”

“What do you have in mind, I do see those wheels in your head turning?” she asked.

“We’ll need Cas’s help. I’ll even see if Bobby or any of the apocalypse hunters are up for some fuckery.”

She smiled, what does this guy have in mind, must be awesome.

Weeks pass.

Sure he’d feed Dean, give him water even. But the alpha has a plan. And it’s not a great one.

He’s building an army.

“It’s my daughter, Alpha. She’s presenting, and I feel she is suitable for bearing a half breed.” Said a woman behind the door.

“Once she is fully presented, we’ll put him to work. And soon she will bear a half breed. Because if that bitch won’t come to me, we’ll come to her, with an army to boot.”

Dean swallowed thickly.

Already several scared girls had come in, he was forced to impregnate these girls. In hopes of making werewolves just like y/n.

He’s not dumb, half breeds are not as weak as people or other monster claim them to be. Because of their human counterparts, they don’t give up.

“How many have we made so far boss?” the same wolf that kidnapped Dean asked.

“9. Nine half breeds. And 5 of us. Two omegas, one beta, and two alphas. The half breeds don’t even need to present. That’s the thing we need to research further.”

“I’m sure our doctors in the sandy hills would love to look at them, and this girl of yours.”

“I’m sure. But, she’s mine. Mine to tame, mine alone. I’ll make an omega out of her.”

“You want to see what offspring you and her would produce?” he asked. Seeing his masterplan now.

“We need an army. Those British hunters already got the drop on us and have killed most of ours. But now, with us being mostly half breeds. We’ll see how much of a match we are to them.”

“Impervious to silver. But they’ll die like any normal human.”

“Maybe so. But we’ll train them in combat. We will win this.”

His comrade nodded.

A low growl could be heard from y/n as she paced the library.

“Weeks Sam, it has been weeks. We need to find him.”

“I know, Bobby’s trying to round up everyone.”

“I can feel them doing something to him, it’s not good. We need to hurry.”

“Like what?”

“I can’t describe it without making you feel uncomfortable. But it’s not good. Let’s just put it at that.”

Sam’s phone rang. Caller ID, Bobby.

“Hey, Bobby, whatchyou got?”

“Sam, bring your girl and come to our hide out. It’s getting bad out there.”

“Bad, bad how?”

“We’re out numbered. The amount of werewolves is growing. More than what we can keep up with.”

“Okay, we’ll pack what we can and meet you out there.”

Sam hung up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Their numbers are growing.”

“I told you it was bad.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s making an army of half breeds. Like me. And he’s using Dean to help in that process.”

“You mean, he’s forcing these wolf girls to rape my brother?” Sam asks, growing sickened and angry.

“Yes. Which is why we need to hurry. Let’s just go where we need to go. I’ll tell you what we can do to win.”

“Great, not only are you like a human, but impervious to silver. So our bullets and knives won’t kill you.” One of the male apocalypse hunters fumed.

“So how do we kill them?” Meg asks.

“Just like how you’d kill any human. An ordinary weapon. But don’t injure them. Or Don’t waste time on the kill. They…we can heal quickly.”

“You have to have some kind of weakness.” Bobby says.

“Well, we’re not totally impervious to silver. I learned that the hard way from you hunters.” She says. “Just before I met Sam and Dean, I ran into a hunter. He learned of what I was. And tried to kill me. His silver blade slashed my arm. I had this nasty looking infection. But really it was poison.”

“Dean brought you back, and we healed you up.” Sam added. She nodded with a sad smile.

“That’s why you didn’t tell us. You were afraid we’d do that to you.” Sam says. She cast her gaze to her feet, fiddling her hands at her waistline. She felt Sam’s hand at her cheek. Coaxing her to look up at him.

“You had our backs, you saved Dean from shifters and wendigos. You saved me from vamps and werewolves. Cas from angels. Hell, even our own mother from a number of monsters. We wouldn’t have hurt you darlin’.”

“When he saved me, Dean. I imprinted on him.”

“How’d you…”

“I’m not sure. He felt safe. I felt safe. It was after he saved me, I’ve been able to feel what he feels. Know exactly where he was. Or is. Some say imprinting anyone, a wolf or human, is done by sex. But we didn’t do anything. He just held me. Safe in his arms.” She explained.

“Could be that. Could be a soul thing.” Bobby says. “Soulmates.”

Sam and Y/N nodded.

A moment passed. Y/N shook her head out of her thoughts.

“We need to get Dean back before the Alpha kills him. When he deems Dean no longer useful. I can, feel him. He does feel far. But I’m sure I can find him.”

“Well, let’s do this. Bobby, you, and the hunters try to get their numbers down. Kill as many as you can. Y/N and I will get Dean out of there. Then after—”

“I’m killing that Alpha, once and for all. More lives are in danger with him alive.” She growled.

Sam could only nod.

A shot rang out.

“All the guards outside are half breeds. Aim for the head.” She ordered the hunters that came along.

Shot after shot rang out.

She took in their scent. They weren’t that old, freshly presented. She stared at them in confusion. Half breeds don’t present. Unless a certain gene allows them to present or not enough research went into half breeds.

“Sam, you and I we need to move in. now.” She ordered. Sam nodded.

“Keep them from entering.” She told the hunters.

“Sam, let’s go!”

And they ran their way inside.

“Get the human!” the alpha ordered.

Dean, looking a bit rough from weeks and weeks of rough sex, little food and water and no sleep. The wolf picked him up by the collar, Dean grunted against the motion as his hands were bound behind his back since the day they brought him in here. His wrists have been cut up and bloodied from his struggles.

“I’d be happy to rip his heart out for ya boss.” He sneered.

“NO!” The alpha shouted.

The wolf shuddered.

“He’s mine.”

He threw Dean at the Alpha’s side.

Dean landed on his side with a hard thud and grunt. He was too weak to play the tough guy. Too weak to give a witty comeback.

He just laid there, waiting for his death.

Sam, preoccupied by other wolves in the warehouse as Y/N walked into the Alpha’s Domaine. His den, his ‘Throne Room’. He stood on a balcony meant for loading large machinery. It had no railing on one side.

She could smell his blood. Causing a growl to emerge deep within her chest. Her fists clench so hard she could draw blood.

“There she is.” The alpha growled.

“Here I am. Do you want to end this or should I?” she asked. Glaring down at him.

“You dare talk like that to your Alpha?” he growled.

“You are not my alpha, I’m no one’s alpha. You are a murderer.”

“Now, I’d beg to differ on that. You killed your own kind.”

“I have two kinds. Human and wolf. Humans seem a lot better than you.”

He growled at her remark.

“You mean, like this human!” he pulls Dean up by the collar. His sheer strength alone allowed him to hold Dean in the air, hanging him by his collar. He hung him over the ledge with no railing. Intending on letting him either hang to his death or drop him.

Her heart dropped.

Dean kicked, trying to get free. He began gagging for air.

“He’s weak, just like your father was. Your father was infatuated with a human and it weakened him. He was my right hand man!” he shouted.

She tried to keep a good poker face going. But Dean’s eyes began to roll as he was loosing more and more air.

“You are just like him. Infatuated with a human.”

“Let him go.” She says. Demanding.

The Alpha cocked his head, cocking an eyebrow, smirking. Oh, she thinks she’s going to have it easy. He thought.

“Please, I’ll turn myself over to you willingly. But you have to let him go. Alive!” she demanded.

“Hmm, such a tempting offer.” The Alpha says playfully. “But, no. I think I’ll pass.” He says.

He repositions Dean so he could easily wrap his hand around his throat. She could tell he was squeezing the life out of him, he kicked furiously, desperately trying to get free.

I hope this will work. She thought.

She darts, climbing up a stack of crates leading up to the platform.

She managed to get on the platform without him noticing. She could see the color to Dean’s face changing. His eyes rolling.

A fire burned in her eyes. He’s not going to take him from her.

With her claws now drawn, she forces her hand through the Alpha’s back and through his chest.

He can see what looks like silver nails on her claws.

The impact causes him to drop Dean.

He drops on to his back with a hard thud.

The Alpha gags as the poison from the polish is coursing through his veins.

“You really should have taken the deal.” She says. Pulling her hand from his back the Alpha drops dead with a thud. On the concrete ground below.

“Dean!” she gasps. Seeing him not moving.

She rushes to him, cutting him free. She brings her ear to his mouth. He’s not breathing.

“No, no, no. Dean, please.” She begs.

She works him over her shoulder as she get’s him to a more flat surface.

“Dean!” she heard Sam shout.

She laid Dean flat on his back and began doing chest compressions.

“Sam, Bobby, we need to get him help.” She begs as she worked on him.

“Cas!” Sam prays out loud. “Cas, if you hear me please, we need you to save him!”

“Cas!” she adds on. “Please, I can’t lose him!”

“Sam, Y/N.” Cas says behind her.

“Cas, help him.” She begs. Her eyes blurring with tears.

“I will try.” He says.

He places two fingers to his forehead. Only to see limited injuries healed. But Dean took in a deep, much needed, breath.

Cas falls back, weakened.

“I do not have enough grace to heal him completely. My grace has been depleting lately. Once I am fully regenerated, I’ll heal him again.” Cas says.

“Thanks Cas, it’s something.” Y/N says. “Let’s get him home.”

Part 2

What’d you think? Want more? Let me know either by ask or reblog. Remember, feedback is fuel.

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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3.6k

Masterlist link here

AO3 Link here

Genre / Pairing: Romance, Akaashi / Reader

Summary:

Loosely based on the anime filme ‘Your Name’, also known as Kimi No Nawa.

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

He is seventeen again.

Practice is hard especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from her. His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘the tragedy of latchkey kids - the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’.

It can’t be, he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen. It can’t be, he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV.

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

(It can)

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

(It is)

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

(She’s dead)

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table.

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut burns from the realization that she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it.

Wait a minute.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his omamori, before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for more time, a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot.

(Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead)

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the ema, hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree.

‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer.

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room.

But the problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

Damn it all - he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her yesterday or is it her today - he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done this countless times before, waking up in her body in her yesterday while she wakes up in his today which resets when he then wakes up in his own body tomorrow -

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it.

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him.

He cracks his eyes open.

Ah, he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust -

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead.

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’ he hears her whimper. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both.’

‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words.

‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’

‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back.

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist, slams his face back against the floor.

Crack.

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the pain that blooms across his face.

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm.

‘Don’t give in to him’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before.

Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think!

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have some sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’.

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade.

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the irori. This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it hurts to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –

Thank the gods it works, he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body, what the hell is he going to do –

‘Store room’, he hears her gasp.

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet.

’Move, Keiji!’ She shrieks, the thud of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously.

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit’, only stops to breathe when the lock clicks in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage.

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’

‘What should we do?’ he asks her desperately.

‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’

‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’

‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’

It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows exactly what she means. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He breathes, horrified.

‘Do you have any other ideas?’ she retorts.

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready when you are.’

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’.

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience (thank you, Bokuto-san), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front.

‘Stand back or I’ll set you on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock.

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from her. It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s mine to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather - her nose) and - oh gods pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat.

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘fire is life’ smolders in his mind. The gods must feel some pity for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

Everything goes up in flames.

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire everywhere, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts - but he already knows what hell feels like, this is nothing compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede.

He’s alive. She’ll survive.

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well, her body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted.

The grass rustles. The wind blows.

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

Oh. Thank the gods.

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole.

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine.

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and he doesn’t know if either of them are alive or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead –

‘Keiji, you idiot!’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor.

He’ll thank the gods again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive -

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You fool! You dummy! You scold me for being reckless, but what if you died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘

‘You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin.

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled.

His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean you think so?’

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's the faint beeping of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m here. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and oh gods -

He’s in love with her.

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest.

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals.

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died - because he loves her, this silly scrap of a girl.

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words.

I love you – he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – nay, for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry.

His heart stutters to a painful stop.

He can’t remember her name anymore.

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank. It can’t be. He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse.

How could he have forgotten her name?

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face.

Beep.

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the Kodama in the trees echo his name. Keiji, they call. Keiji, she calls again.

Beep.

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes.

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again - Keiji, Keiji, Keiji and he wants to respond with her name, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -.

Beep.

His memories of her are golden hued and bathed in starlight, but slowly they all wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s hopeless -like trying to capture the sea with his bare hands.

Beep.

He thinks of her, dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light.

Beep.

He thinks of her, singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine.

Beep.

He thinks of her, brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and love - and gods -

Beep.

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks -

Beep.

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

Beep.

His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

Beep.

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes.

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because I love you - I love you, you fool.’

Beep.

It’s the last memory he forgets of her, her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He wakes up with a gasp.

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole decade since he was seventeen but finally - he remembers her.

Taglist

@animeflower26 @forgetou @kageyamakock @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

Text

part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k || rating: sfw || genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

------

Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

#jungkook fanfic #hoseok fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namseok fic #namkook fic #hopekook fic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #namseok fanfic #namkook fanfic #hopekook fanfic

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

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is it okay if you do one about the reader who is 13-14 going with Bella to save Edward and when Alec see's her, he realizes that she's his mate and tries talking to her and her being scared but after sometime they have a sweet bf/gf relationship? Thank you, and your writing is awesome, sorry if I bothered you

Hey hi hello, you most certainly have not bothered me at all 😊 You’re very sweet and I’m glad you enjoy my writing, I hope you like this piece just as much as the others!

Just as a wee reminder to yourself and others who wish to request anything Alec related from me, when I write for Alec, I do tend to write him as the 13-14 year old book version. The only time I age up Alec and Jane to the 16+ year old movie version is if I receive an NSFW request for them. I am still figuring out what I’m comfortable writing in terms of the level of explicitness, so while I figure out what sort of NSFW requests I will and won’t take please be patient and don’t be rude about it if you send me something I don’t think I can deliver, there’s plenty of other really incredibly writers out there I’ll happily link you to if I don’t think I can provide what you want.

For now, have this fluffy little piece.

Forever Yours:

Words: 5416 (oopsie) Warnings: There is some description of injuries later on and a lot of descriptions of fear and distress in the first half of this fic.

Alec was not one to dwell on things he didn’t find interesting. In his human life he had been pigeon-holed into farming, the manual labour something that would support his family and one of the few occupations he could actually get training for, since it meant sending him into a field and leaving him there to work alone most of the time. His village was not a welcoming place to people like him and Jane, and despite his vocation to be a blacksmith his dreams were shelved in order to provide for his mother and sister. The end result was an insatiably curious young teen desperate to break free of the tedious field work and explore what else the world had to offer him, a trait that had only been solidified by his transformation.

Currently he found himself fascinated by the readings surrounding physical Geography, the formation of the world brought to the forefront of his mind after passing through a village that had suffered an Earthquake on a mission not a month earlier, and studying such things was how he spent the majority of his evenings now. Then in the Cullen boy came, bedraggled and smelling like three week old garbage he was pleading for the end of an existence far greater than his human one could have ever been, and Alec’s mind was set whirring into motion once more.

He couldn’t begin to fathom the mind-readers motives for wanting to end his immortal life, not when it had offered Alec so much. Over the course of centuries, he had accrued wealth and knowledge, prestige, and authority that the boys in his village could only ever dream of given the circumstances they were born into. Immortality offered an eternity to pursue what interested you without the disruption of sickness, or fear of being left out of doing what you love due to injury; Alec never have to worry about being unable to train because he’d sprained his ankle after all.

No, no it was simply incomprehensible as to why the Cullen boy would throw away his immortal existence so readily, and when the reason why was finally revealed to them it only left Alec all the more baffled. A human? He wished to end his life because a human had done the same? Humans died everyday in droves, most of them tripping over their own feet and into their graves. They were weak, fragile, dim-witted enough that most actually deserved the cattle-like status his predatory nature accredited them. For Edward to willingly choose one as his mate had been foolish from the start and Alec had to wonder if this wasn’t some sort of cosmic ‘I told you so’. Surely a human couldn’t be the true mate of a vampire? Alec had never pondered over the mating bond before but as Demetri and Felix silently followed after the boy to see to it he did nothing foolish, he began to wonder about the nature of such bonds.

Aro and Caius had both turned their mates, as had Chelsea. They had all felt some form of affection for their mates as humans but had the bond solidified before or after their transformation? Were the red strings of fate he’d read about in varying fantasy novels real to some extent? Venom hardening them to form the strong bonds that allowed vampires to mate for life? He couldn’t imagine ever loving anyone to the point that Marcus had, where they became the only thing his world revolved around and left it collapsing once they were gone. Humans surely weren’t capable of loving anyone with that kind of depth, were they? Not with their flawed design.

“Dear Jane, please go and see what’s taking them so long?” Aro requested. Jane gave him a sugar sweet smile in response, kissed Alec’s cheek and floated gracefully down the steps and towards the door. Alec watched her go before returning to his thoughts, the conundrum still fresh in his mind, but Aro did not let him remain there, a drawn out sigh escaping him as he steepled his fingers to rest his chin on his hands.

“Something bothers you, Master?” he asked, tilting his head. Maybe he was having similar thoughts and they could brainstorm together. Aro stared at the doors ahead of them, his expression completely impassive. Alec was treated with the deference his gift and status demanded but out of them two of them, he knew Jane would always be the favourite, and he was okay with that. He would serve loyally as long as he lived, grateful for all the Masters’ had given him, but he did not need to be valued in the way Jane did.

“I hope Edward does nothing foolish. He would be a great asset to our little household.” Aro responded. Alec kept his face impassive, mind immediately turning now to the tactical advantage telepathy could offer. Edward’s gift was indeed powerful in its own way, to hear over great distances would compliment Demetri’s tracking ability well and override Felix’s tendency to impulsively use his brute strength without identifying priority targets first…

“Undoubtedly.” Alec agreed. Aro chuckled slightly.

“Your mind is preoccupied Alec, perhaps you ought focus it?” he suggested lightly. Alec forced back an eye roll, inclining his head to indicate he had heard him before stepping down from his place beside his throne. He retraced his sister’s footsteps, following the main hall along until he reached the secretary’s desk. Gianna glanced up, standing to greet him with the professionally polite smile she was obliged to give him, even though her heart was thundering in her chest.

“Have the others returned yet?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head.

“No Alec, they have yet to come back this way.” She answered. Alec hummed thoughtfully, engaging his senses and straining his ears to listen to the stumbling footsteps approaching. There were the usual graceful taps of his sister’s dainty steps, the tell-tale smoothness of vampires moving along stone, but the clumsy thudding that followed was definitely human in origin. What cause did they have to bring humans back into their home? That was Heidi’s job after all, and she would be returning home soon enough to slake their thirst.

“But Bella I don’t-“

“Just…not now.”

Bella? Isabella? The human mate? Now that perked his interest. Alec watched with keen eyes as the doors slid open to reveal his siter first, and a brigade of people behind her. Felix and Demetri brought up the rear as Gianna greeted Jane with the same professional courtesy she had him, the golden-eyed Cullen’s following along behind her. The two humans they had brought with them were corralled between them. One clung to Edward like a barnacle to the underside of a ship, spindly arms thrown around him despite her chattering teeth and goosebump riddled flesh. She was quite ordinary in appearance, plain even, yet the way Edward stood made it abundantly clear that this human was something extraordinary to him, something he would protect. The other was...oh how to describe her?

She captivated him almost immediately, Alec unable to take his eyes off of her approach. Was she always that pale or had the situation leeched the colour from her face? Was she always so wide-eyed or was it fear that had blown those (Y/E/C) irises wide open? She was smaller in stature than the other, yet similar enough looks wise it was clear they were siblings, one older one younger. She was perhaps his physical age with all the wide-eyed innocence that entailed, gangly limbs she hadn’t really grown into yet carrying her along with a bit of encouragement from Felix’s proximity, and the Cullen woman’s guiding hand.

“Sister, they send you out for one and you bring back three, such a clever girl.” He teased, Jane’s scent invading his nose and helping refocus his mind. Her eyes rolled, but she still embraced him as she always did with a trill of laughter to boot.

“They made it all to easy.” She responded. Alec could see the malice in his sister’s eyes and guessed that she was not appreciative of having to wait for the humans. It irked him more than it should, that the young girl had potentially unintentionally incurred his sister’s wrath, the mere notion that perhaps Jane’s thoughts of her were less than savoury something that made every protective instinct he had ever had for his sister flare and extend to this stranger.

“Edward, you seem in a markedly better mood.” He said, hoping to distract himself from the sudden, unnerving discovery.

“Marginally.” the mind-reader agreed, though his voice was blunt and cutting. Clearly Edward was not in the mood to talk.

“But Alice I still don’t know-“

“Shhh Y/N, not now.” Alice Cullen, the seer that Aro had raved about from the moment he had learned of her existence. Alec should have been interested in her, should have been evaluating her as a threat and a potential ally, but his mind had been thoroughly distracted by the small human once more. Y/N…it was a good name, a name that felt pleasant in his ears and rolled easily off of the tongue.

“But Alice-“ the urgency in her voice tore at his heart and Alec had the strange urge to comfort her. Did she truly know nothing? If she knew nothing of their kind she had broken no law and there was no reason to put her through any of this, it was unnecessary suffering.

“Is this the cause of all the trouble?” he asked, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice as he took in her unremarkable sibling. Isabella seemed to shiver under his stare (much to his amusement) though it was the younger girl whose reaction he was more interested in. Her head turned his way, (Y/C/H) hair swishing with the movement as wide (Y/C/E) eyes latched onto his own and refused to let go. The scent that was wafted up his nose was almost unbearably tantalising, the controlled burn in his throat flaring to a raging inferno that he almost choked on for a moment before he caught himself. Edward’s stare was penetrating, Alice Cullen tightening her grip on the young girl in her care in case he made a move. He swallowed back the fire but there was no hiding the way his eyes had melted to black, and the sweet tinge of fear in her already too appealing smell only made him want to give into his urges all the more.

He hadn’t realised he’d taken a step towards her until she flinched back from him, and for the first time in a long time Alec felt genuine pain. The fear on her face was obvious, the rampant thudding in her chest tangible proof that she was terrified, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it and he didn’t like that he didn’t like it because she was just human, flawed and breakable and pathetic so why oh why did it pain him so to see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes?

“Y-your eyes…they just – your eyes just…Bella what did you get me into?” her voice wavered and something inside him just snapped. For once, Alec didn’t feel the apathy that came with taking a life seen as less valuable than his own, he didn’t take any sort of joy in watching her be afraid of his advance. He couldn’t deny it, not when the feeling was so deeply rooted and burned so fiercely, like a flower that been laid dormant beneath the Earth suddenly bursting from the soil to bloom brightly. He was protective of this human he barely knew, and it was terrifying to feel so connected to someone he had never met before.

“I mean you no harm, I give you my word.” The promise had escaped him before he had really thought it through and he was well aware he could not keep such a promise, but she didn’t care to hear it anyway, cringing even more into Alice since Bella seemed to refuse her in that moment. It only made him angrier. He was angry with himself for suddenly losing the emotional control he had gained over a long millennium of living, angry that he was making promises he couldn’t keep, and he was angry at the stares he was receiving from those he would call friend. Jane looked the most outwardly shocked before she quickly covered, but the one person he would have hoped would react positively just didn’t. Y/N was too afraid to see sense, and he supposed given the pie-crust promise he’d just made that might be a good thing, even if it hurt. He was angry to that her sister ignored her obvious need for comfort.

He let his sister take the lead as they headed back to the throne room, trying to fight through the sudden swell of confusing emotion and sensory information. His nose seemed attuned to her scent, suspiciously close to his favourite smells of lemongrass and gooseberry, his eyes magnetised to her form to the point he turned his head to glance back at her so frequently that Demetri felt the need to motion for him to keep his head turned forward. Humans radiated heat anyway but she felt scorching, a mini-sun whose tendrils reached out and left warmth lashing down his spine. His ears were full of her heartbeat. She was so thoroughly distracting he could barely take his eyes off of her after he had taken his place by Caius, the blonde man staring with such distaste at the both of them that Alec felt a strong urge to step between them and absorb the glare himself.

He could only half pay attention as the conversation unfolded around him, because Y/N wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was the devil incarnate and it bothered him immensely. He had dealt with it his whole life, a social pariah for his links to witchcraft and someone whose gift left him with few friends since they feared the authority it gave him. He had handled it then, and he handled it now, he could deal with other people looking at him like that but not her, anyone but her.

“Alec!” Jane hissed his name and Alec snapped to attention, mist unfolding from his palms so he was ready to take down any threat that came at him. Demetri snickered loudly enough it reached his ears and Alec’s glare was so deadly it drew a soft whimper from her. He almost groaned. Could he do no right by her? Y/N had started trembling a while ago but now there were full body shakes wracking her from head to foot, her teeth grinding together so loudly he worried the teeth might snap under the strain she was putting on them. Aro’s laughter clattered through his head and he turned to face him, at a loss as to what to do for once. He didn’t honestly think that he could hurt the girl if asked.

“My dear boy it would seem you are quite distracted by young Miss Swan. Oh to be young and in love once more!” he tittered. Alec froze, every muscle locking in place as the distinct feeling of distress rose through the confusion and anger and pain he’d been desperately trying to wade through. Love? He definitely did not love the girl, it was mere curiosity and nothing else, the same curiosity he applied to his studies.

“Love?” Jane’s voice was equally as harsh and Aro seemed surprised by her reaction. Alec was not. For centuries they had had only each other, the centre of a small world where they seldomly let others join them. The very notion another might be welcomed into his heart would be not just repulsive, but very troubling for her.

“Why, don’t tell me you cannot see it? Already the bond between them has set, the thread connecting them tied at both ends. Are you not happy for your twin to have found such a rare and beautiful thing?” Aro wondered. As if Aro had perhaps waved a magic wand his mind settled. His brain had tried to fight what his body already knew, his subconcious screaming the word while his rational mind raced a million miles ahead to try and outrun the answer until it could run no more, and the two collided. The aftermath of the explosion was calm, almost wonderous, for he would finally get the chance to study something he had never studied before.

“You’re my mate.” He breathed. Even he could hear the awe in his voice, though nobody but him seemed to find it wonderful. Jane hissed, both Cullen’s tensing up while Bella recoiled from her sister like she was diseased, and Y/N…Y/N just cried. Alec’s world ground to a halt, the pain his mate spilling out and into him. He descended the stairs with every intention of stopping her tears, hoping to calm her perhaps and explain exactly what it meant to be mates, but Y/N didn’t let Bella refuse her this time and sought refuge in her sister, sobbing all the while.

“Wh-what did you do! Why d-did you bring me h-here? I d-don’t want to st-stay with him!”

The words were a hard blow, they struck him in the gut and it was the closest he’d felt to nauseous in centuries.

“I have no desire to keep you here, but if you would please-“

“Leave me alone! I w-want to go home!” she cried, not so much as turning to look at him. If he hadn’t been a vampire he would probably have missed all of the muffled words she heaved into her sisters shoulder.

“You can still go home yet-“ he had paid enough attention to know Bella was not being executed at least and as his mate Y/N was exempt of that fate to, “-all I would like is a chance to talk.” Alec’s plea fell on deaf ears, his hand shrugged off of her shoulder.

“No!”

Alec straightened, wiping his face of any and all expression, he didn’t so much as give any of them a farewell before he left the room. The sudden rejection stung worse than the fire that had once burned his flesh from his bones, and the hollow that opened in his gut grew wider and wider with every moment that passed since the second he’d left her. He put down his books, spending his nights envisioning her tear-stained face and wondering what would have made her smile instead. He craved to know every like and dislike, to hear her voice when she wasn’t consumed with horror and fear, to learn more about her life and contrast it with his own. They had all tried to talk him round in the intervening months, but Alec couldn’t find the strength to drag himself out of the numbness that had enveloped him. Not until Marcus came by to see him anyway.

“What do you require of me, Master?” he asked, staring aimlessly out of the window at the Garden’s below. Marcus seated himself at the desk across the room, the one littered with books Alec hadn’t had the heart to open since the fateful day his mate had left him.

“Didyme was not immediately drawn to me either.” He rasped. Alec’s head whipped around at that, the shock on his face obvious. Marcus had been nothing but a shell in all the time he had known him, grieving a lost love so profound Alec was sure that their story must have been the greatest romance ever known. To hear Didyme had not readily accepted him was both astounding and…it gave him hope.

“She didn’t?” he hedged. Marcus glanced to him, a wisp of smile floating from his lips before his expression fell flat again.

“She was a headstrong woman, and for a while she resented Aro for what he did to her, to me. She could not revel in her new state as we did, this world was so different from the one she had known…it took time for her to adjust before she truly opened her heart to me.” His words were like a soothing balm on the raw wound her rejection had left behind.

“I might find it more encouraging if I was sure I might yet see her again.” Alec frowned slightly as Marcus pushed to his feet.

“There will be opportunity enough to visit her yet, you might yet be surprised.” He answered, floating from the room like dust on the wind. Alec stared at the door, his mind mulling over the cryptic message before the briefest hint of a smile twitched his lips upward. Hope was a beautiful thing, and it only grew in his chest as Aro deployed them to Seattle not a day later to deal with a mess created by a gaggle of newborns. When stressed, vampires did not fidget but rather became motionless and immobile, but while he sat rigid as stone in his seat for the flight over his mind became restless. Where would he find her in this city? If Marcus’s cryptic message had been for him then surely he knew he would find Y/N here? Demetri’s hand on his arm made him pause before he stepped off of the jet.

“She’s in the city Alec, if you need a guide.” His voice was low enough nobody but him would hear him. Alec fully planned to take him up on the offer once their work for the night was done, it wasn’t often the tracker was rendered unnecessary, but Alec didn’t need Demetri’s gift to know when he had found her.

Her sobbing was ingrained in his memory after all.

The rage that built in him was blinding, his body unable to move fast enough to put himself between Y/N and the newborns dragging her mangled body from the wreckage of a car they had flipped. All around him was the screaming and snarling of newborns, the metallic screech of hardened skin coming apart as they put an end to the atrocity. His mist had exploded outward, rippling in every direction and he had only just enough sense of mind to ensure it didn’t harm his coven mates as he tore apart the newborns who had dared lay a hand on his mate. Chest heaving and throat blazing, Alec felt the blood on the ground soak his trousers as he collapsed beside her. She was screaming, body contorting in awful ways as her face turned red, veins popping in her neck as it strained. Alec placed a cool hand shakily on her forehead, beyond furious with the grotesque bitemark marring her shoulder.

“What were you thinking brother! Now that we have destroyed this group we – we…oh…oh Alec…” the rage that simmered in Jane’s voice very quickly dissipated when she saw the state he was in. His head was swimming, the appealing scent of blood hanging heavy in the air while his gut twisted and fury and terror raged war in his heart. She was turning, there was no doubt about it, the venom was leaking out of the wound with her blood. She was turning and it wasn’t his venom.

“I – I can take away the pain.” He stammered. He had wanted someone to do that for him when he burned. It was the greatest act of mercy he could think of, perhaps the greatest way for him to show his love for a girl he barely knew but wanted to oh so badly.

“You will starve yourself before she completes the transformation. There is hardly enough venom in that bite Alec.” Felix pointed out. Y/N let out another tortured shriek, body twisting. He heard the broken bones in her legs crunching at the movement and said a silent prayer to thank whatever deity was watching over her that the venom was excruciating enough she wouldn’t have to feel broken bones on top of it.

“So what do I do? Leave her like this? She’s in agony!” he snapped, “She’s in agony and I can end it!”

“It is a natural thing brother.” Jane said quietly.

“But it does not have to be endured forever.” Demetri weighed in finally, “Give her some more Alec, shorten the process and if you find yourself unable to stop…well, we will stop you.” Alec could only give her an anguished stare, loathe to cause her anymore pain but knowing Demetri was right. The longer the change dragged on for the less likely it was she would survive, but if he bit her again, gave her more of his venom to override what little was already diffusing through her blood, it would shorten the process considerably. He could already feel the acidic liquid pooling in his mouth and he hoped she could see just how apologetic he was, though he didn’t think it likely given how her eyes had rolled back into her head as she convulsed with a shout.

“Stop me Jane, forget our oath this one time and do whatever it takes to stop me.” He demanded. Jane looked horrified by the very thought but Alec didn’t wait for her to consent to his plea, cradling Y/N close and closing his eyes as he bared his teeth, ready to bite into the buttersoft sinews of her throat…

“What are you thinking about so hard?” her voice was melodic in his ears, a symphony he never grew tired of. Startled from his reverie, Alec had to pause a moment to gather his thoughts and remind himself where he was. Volterra was bathed in sunshine once more and his skin refracted it beautifully against the walls of the garden, the book in his lap long since discarded as his mind began to wonder. It had been a while, since he’d recalled that fateful night.

“You’re back,” he noted with a small smile, “I was thinking about you of course, as I always do when you’re not around.” Her smile could have lit up New York city, and Alec adored it. Y/N hadn’t been happy upon waking up in Volterra, Alec by her side as he quietly explained she had been made immortal in desperate circumstances. It had taken her many months to get over the traumatic incident but since she had started to bounce back to her old self, Alec had discovered a rather beautiful, happy person he really rather liked. Since she had been forced to spend so much time with him, letting him coach her in the new way of life she had to adopt, she had taken quite a liking to him to it seemed.

“You should be proud of me, I got to the nomad before Demetri so we all got to come home sooner. You should have seen his face!” She giggled. Alec couldn’t help but smirk, smug and proud as he pulled her down to rest between his legs, back pressed flush to his chest. Her scent dragged him under, a tranquil wave settling those restless parts of him that recognised how incomplete he felt without her around. He buried his nose in her hair to take a deep lungful of the addictive smell.

“I’m always proud of you.” He promised softly.

“Have you just been reading all the time we’ve been gone?” she wondered. Alec hummed, picking up the book he had discarded and reopening to the page he was on.

“It was the one you recommended to me. I’ve just gotten to the chapter where Sephy realises Callum is one of her kidnappers.” He revealed, and without hesitation he dropped his cheek atop her hair and began to read aloud. She melted into him, her hands mindlessly reaching for the ground every now and then while Alec focused his energy on his book, the peaceful atmosphere remaining unbroken for a chapter more before she shifted. He relinquished her immediately, knowing his mate was never one to stay still for too long, only to be surprised when she turned on her knees with a ring of daisies in her hand. Alec raised an eyebrow and she grinned.

“I hereby declare you King Alec of Castle Volterra!” she announced. The daisy crown was placed daintly atop his head, only to fall and get stuck on the bridge of his nose. Too big to be a crown but too small to be a necklace. Her face fell into a pout as Alec began to laugh, very gently rearranging the daisies so they rested at an angle and were slightly weighted down by some of his brunette hair.

“I, King Alec, declare I cannot rule without you, Queen Y/N,” he proclaimed, offering her his hand. She giggled as he pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. She was forever going to be shorter than him, just a little, and he loved that. “Now, as our first royal duty, that dye you ordered came. I decree it’s time to give our guard matching uniforms!” He was bolstered by her obvious enthusiasm, crimson eyes sparkling.

“It came? The neon green one?” she asked eagerly. Alec nodded, unable to keep his laughter at bay as she bounced up and kissed him so quickly she almost broke his teeth with the speed she moved at. He didn’t get to voice his protest because she was already dragging him by the hand back towards the castle. Before he had met her, schemes like this would have made his nose turn up in distaste. How childish these endeavours were, how wasteful of their time. Y/N had changed his perspective on a great many things, and it was rather nice now and then to give into the childish ways his physical age demanded he give in to every now and then, he had gotten so good at repressing those throughout the centuries but she seemed to bring out the playful side of him. If anything had managed to convince Jane she was a good addition to their family, it was tallying how much more Alec had smiled since she came into his life to stay.

“I can pilfer the shirts, they’re far less likely to suspect I am up to any wrong doing than if they smell you in their rooms.” Alec pointed out in hushed tones. She nodded, her head tilted up as they walked close together, co-conspirators to anyone looking in.

“Okay, you steal the shirts while I mix the-“

“Mix the what, exactly?” Demetri’s voice came from behind them and with wide eyes Y/N yelled ‘Scatter!’ before the tracker had the chance to grab either of them by the collar. Alec bolted after her down the corridor, just ever so slightly lagging behind her since she still had her newborn strength and speed. She grabbed his wrist without warning and Alec felt Demetri’s hand swipe right through his head before she tugged him straight through a wall and they began to freefall into the courtyard below. Demetri was cursing up a storm inside, her gift having turned them both immaterial long enough to allow them to pass through the walls in a way he couldn’t. Collapsing in a fit of boisterous laughter the pair lingered in the sunlight, eyes bright and smiles wide. For a moment, anyone passing them by might have forgotten their glittering skin and vibrant red eyes, mistaking them for two normal teens experiencing the euphoria of puppy love.

“Did you see his face!” she gasped. Alec could only smile at her, hand reaching to tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear so he could have an unobstructed view of her face. Her smile faded slightly, expression growing more sheepish instead.

“I was too busy looking at yours. I think I would like to spend every day I have looking at your face over his. I love you Y/N, at least, I think this is what love feels like.” His brows furrowed, the confession falling from his tongue without his permission. He wondered if perhaps it was too soon, too big a word to label the affection they held for one another, but seeing the way her face lit up told him otherwise.

“Pinky swear it, Alec. If you don’t pinky swear it’s not real.” She said, holding out her hand. Alec rolled his eyes but looped his pinky through hers, cementing his promise with all the binding legality the pinky swear had to offer.

“I swear it Y/N. I’m forever yours.”

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #alec volturi fanfiction #volturi fanfiction #alec volturi #jane volturi #felix volturi #demetri volturi x reader #alec volturi x reader #we all know he's a soft boi #deep deep down #and a bookworm

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iamcayc · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: Kids

Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Gojo Satoru/Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Flirting, Developing Relationship, Original Character(s), Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Strangers to Lovers, annoyances to lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Vaginal Fingering, Heavy Petting, Gojo Satoru is a Little Shit

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The phone ringing startles you as you’re sitting on your couch, a true crime documentary on the television as the soundtrack to your night of grading essays. There’s still half a stack of essays to slog through, and only one more glass of wine left in the bottle on your coffee table.

You glance at the screen of your phone, frowning at the name you see.

“What’s up, Nanami?” The phone rests against your shoulder as you scribble a barely-passing grade on the paper in your hand.

“You busy?”

Well, this isn’t going to end well.

“I’m almost out of wine and have twelve more essays to suffer through before I can call it a night.” Nanami chuckles at your predicament. “So, yeah, I guess you can say I’m a bit busy. Why?”

Nanami sighs and you can just see him rubbing his temple as he tries to work out a way to ask you something he knows you aren’t going to like.

“Spit it out, would ya?” you probe with a sigh.

“Satoru wants your help with a mission.”

Your frown immediately deepens. “I already told him that I’m not a sorcerer.”

A muffled series of thwumps and thuds force you to hold the phone away from your ear before a new voice chirps through the device.

“Technically, you only told me that you have asthma,” Gojo says brightly. “You didn’t say anything about not being a sorcerer.”

Your eyes narrow at nothing in particular. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re the kind of guy who likes to point out technicalities?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound a warm caress through the phone. You’re fairly certain that’s mostly the wine reacting, but you aren’t taking any chances.

“Regardless, let me make it perfectly clear to you: I am not any kind of practicing, jujutsu sorcerer,” you say slowly, clearly. “I received enough training to keep my energy in check and help out where I can as a Window since I work at a school and know what to look for. Now, if you’d be so kind as to return my cousin’s phone, I’d like to tell him to make himself available for you since he is sorcerer.”

A soft grunt sounds as you listen to the phone getting passed back to Nanami. “I’m sorry, Kaya. I tried explaining—where the fuck are you going? Satoru!”

As he shouts Gojo’s name, a polite knock sounds at your door. You leap to your feet, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Kaya? Kaya, are you there?” Nanami’s voice sounds tired. “Do not open that door. You give this guy a fucking inch and he takes a mile.”

“Are you telling me that the random-ass person knocking on my door right now is Gojo?” you ask tersely. “Because I’m pretty fucking sure I live a solid distance away from your school.”

Nanami sighs and mutters a series of graphic swears as the person at the door begins to knock on the door to the beat of “Mary had a Little Lamb.”

“I can’t tell you if he’s being so stubborn because he genuinely needs your technique, or if he’s only thinking with his cock, but you do not have to answer that door.” You snort, not buying for a second that Gojo has any intention of giving up so quickly.

“I’m never having dinner with you again,” you hiss into the phone before hanging up. As far as you’re concerned, this is all Nanami’s fault for allowing Gojo to crash their weekly dinner. You toss the phone on your couch before stomping towards the door and yanking it open to reveal a casually-dressed Gojo leaning against the jamb with a grin.

“What the fuck do you want?” you ask with thinly-veiled hostility. Gojo ignores the venom and grins wider.

“I have to say,” he remarks, “I think you’ve got the most beautiful eyes when you’re irritated.”

You haven’t wanted to throttle someone in so long, you forgot what it felt like to have your blood boil.

“What do you want?” you ask again, this time through gritted teeth.

“Your help.” Gojo tilts his head innocently as he looks at you. “Pretty please?”

The bubbling frustration with this man isn’t something you need your neighbors witnessing, so you step aside and yank him through the door, surprised that he allowed you to grab hold of him at all, considering what you know of him.

You ignore his chuckle as you stomp back into your living room and pause your documentary, knowing you’ll likely have to restart the whole thing since you missed so much thanks to the asshat currently making himself comfortable on your couch. He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, tilting his head back to look at you.

“You’ve got a nice place for a teacher.” You stare at him. He did not just backhand compliment you. “Though, the sound proofing tiles are a little odd.”

“You’re an asshole,” you tell him with a glare. “And now that I am fully aware of the fact that you have highly selective hearing, let me say this one more time: I have absolutely no interested in joining your mission.”

“Because of your asthma, right?”

Dear fucking god, you want to punch him.

“And the fact that I’m not a fucking sorcerer. I have never and will never work as one.”

“Why not?” Gojo watches you as you sink onto a pillow on the floor at the coffee table. “Nanamin isn’t anywhere near my level and he still makes a solid living doing exorcisms.”

You look at him as you pick up your red pen. “If you had to quantify the actual size of your ego, how big would it be?”

The jab is ignored with a dismissive wave. “Your cursed technique, it’s based on sounds that you personally create, right?”

“I mean, it’s definitely bigger than your dick. There’s no way that thing is bigger than a handful of centimeters, considering the way you carry on every time I have the displeasure of seeing you.”

“But that can’t be it, because if that were the case, you would be wreaking havoc on the populace if you so much as farted.”

“I wonder what that server thought when you finally whipped it out, after doing everything she could think of to get your attention? Ha! I bet she was so disappointed.”

Gojo leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he grins at you. His aura is practically dancing around him; he’s loving every second of this.

“You really didn’t like her, did you?”

“I really didn’t care either way.” Half-truth, but who’s counting? “I just got tired of seeing her tits every time she came to check on us. That, and her aura was starting to make me motion sick with the undulating and buzzing.”

He raises a white brow. “You can see auras?”

“I heard them first. I’ve always been sensitive to sounds.” You frown at the introductory paragraph of the paper in your hand. Did you students even read the assignment? “I only started to see the auras after training with Nanami.”

“I’ve never heard of someone hearing an aura... what’s mine sound like?”

You look up at him, surprised to see that he’d taken off the sunglasses he’d been wearing to pin you with those eyes. Why is someone so far up their own ass this hot?

Setting down your pen, you take a breath to center yourself, allowing your own aura to reach out to his. You let your eyes guide the edges of your aura along the edges his, like a bow across a string. If Gojo feels anything, he doesn’t say; he just watches you with an intense expression.

At some point, you let your eyes meet his, and that’s when his aura begins singing to you.

“You sound like a cello’s mid-range, that sweet spot of notes on the G and D strings.”

“What does your sound like?”

The question throws you off. No one has ever asked about yours before. It’s not that you don’t know how your aura sounds, but rather, you aren’t sure how to explain what you hear.

“It sounds like me,” you reply plainly. “I sound like... just me.”

He regards you quietly before letting his cheek rest on his fist. His gaze softens as he looks at you, sending whatever traces of annoyance you feel towards him scattering into nothing.

“There have been reports of a cursed human loose in a residential area outside of Hidaka. Some sightings have it listed as a child, others say it's a few adults. But all the witnesses agree that whatever it is, it’s luring children from the area into the woods.”

“Is this the part where you tell me why Six Eyes needs me to find some cursed human in the woods?”

He shrugs. “I’m not good with kids.”

You snort. “You’re a teacher.”

“And you’ll notice that my students are well above the age of 6 years old.”

“So are mine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Pot, meet kettle.” You set down your pen and look at him seriously. “And before you throw my whole aura-sight at me, I’ll point out that you seemed to have no idea that I could see auras until a few minutes ago. So, tell me why you want my help on a mission you and your students are more than equipped to handle on your own?”

Gojo leans back against the couch once again and sighs. You let silence creep into the space between you. His aura isn’t singing anymore, but it isn’t agitated, so you haven’t totally pissed him off. Yet.

“I want you to lure the curses out and get them to bring the missing kids with them.” One of his hands slides through his hair. “At least, that was my initial idea. But, if you can see and hear auras, that might help us get the kids out before shit goes south with the curses.”

You frown. “That original plan assumes that I can control more than one curse at a time, which isn’t the most fool-proof, either. I’m not being modest when I say that I’m not a sorcerer, I’m being honest. Your dark-haired student’s aura is more powerful than mine, and he wasn’t even trying to let me see his aura.”

Gojo considers you quietly, his blue eyes shimmering in the artificial light of your apartment. You’re tempted to examine the shifting colors of his irises up close, until you remember that you know better than to let your body anywhere near a man that self-confident.

“I’d say you’re an upper Grade 3, just as you are now. Properly motivated, maybe a Grade 2. Still, that’s more than enough to draw out a few curses. I don’t need you to exorcise them, only get their attention and make them a bit more docile for the kids to take out.”

“You really aren’t going to let this one go, are you?” you ask him, sighing as you rest your chin on the heel of your palm. He flashes you a bright grin, sending an armada of butterflies up your stomach and into your throat.

“Nope.”

You lean back on your palms as you look at him. You have no interest in telling him that you’ve already decided to help since there are missing kids involved, so you let him watch you watch him. Because, maturity.

“And what do I get out of this? Other than a potential asthma attack?”

His grin slips into a smirk. “What do you want?”

You raise your brow, knowing full well what he’s insinuating. “I don’t touch sloppy seconds, thanks. I was thinking more along the lines of a few bottles of really nice wine, or maybe an expensive whisky. Or, if you’re feeling really guilty about triggering my asthma, never asking me to help with your job ever again.”

“Since I’m feeling generous, why don’t you decide after you’ve helped me out? You know, see how much effort you have to put in and get the most reward for your buck.”

You don’t trust that new sparkle in his eyes as you agree to his terms.

You only agree to meet Gojo and the others after school the next day because the sooner you’re done with this favor, the better. Then, you can get back to watching Netflix specials on serial killers and grading piss-poor essays on the Baroque movement in peace.

The grounds of the Tokyo Jujutsu High School are well kept, despite there being so few students enrolled. The spans of the campus practically begged to be bustling with chattering students, but all it gets is the occasional grumpy alumni and sporadic admissions.

It wouldn’t hurt to plant some flowers either.

“I told you she wasn’t going to show up with a flute or drum!” You glance over your shoulder and see Gojo leading the two boys from before and a new addition, a girl with down-turned eyes and a bored expression.

Gojo inclines his head towards you by way of greeting. “Kaya, you saw these two yesterday, Yuji and Megumi.” His thumb points out Pinky first, then the dark-haired kid whose temperament you like. “This is my other first-year, Nobara.”

You wave with a polite smile, your teacher’s smile. “Nice to meet you all.”

Nobara peers at you a little longer, her eyes sweeping up and down your outfit with analytical eyes. You couldn’t wait to hear what a sixteen year old has to say about your clothes. You chose to swap out your black jeans for a sturdy pair of athletic leggings to increase mobility, though you are acutely aware of how tight the pants are, especially around your ass.

You pick at an invisible lint on the sleeve of your jacket. Gojo is doing a marvelous job of surveying your… assets.

“I want you to design our new uniforms,” she declares boldly. You blink in surprise since that is definitely not what you were expecting. Not sure what’s so stunning about leggings and a rarely-used running shirt, even if it has Gojo eyeballing your butt with enough heat to send his aura in languid waves around him.

“Thanks, I think.” You slip on your leather jacket and look over at Gojo with an arched brow. “Are you finished gawking? I have classes to teach tomorrow, and there’s nothing worse than trying not to make a bunch of teenage girls cry when you’re too tired to tell them their god-awful piano composition sounds like something out of a third-rate anime.”

If they thought Nobara offers up some hot takes, they need to see you with less than six hours of sleep and a full day of classes on the horizon.

Gojo chuckles as he rubs his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. There is something unfairly sensual about the motion, and extremely predatory. Frowning slightly, you turn away and hand the kids the the earplugs you had stuffed in your pocket before you’d left the apartment.

“What’re these for?” Yuji asks, inspecting the bits of foam like you just handed him cocaine. .

“Maestro, here, uses a cursed technique rooted in sound.” You feel Gojo sling his arm around your shoulders. “Though, seems like she didn’t bring enough for me to get a pair, too.”

You shoot him a look. “You know precisely why I didn’t bother. Now, can we please get a move on?”

Wordlessly, the kids gather around and latch onto Gojo’s jacket, and you brace yourself for the gut-punch that comes along with teleporting. Nanami graciously informed you of Gojo’s aptitude for warping after a series of threats of bodily harm that exponentially increased in severity the more he dodged your questions. In that time, you realized that Gojo’s perpetual use of Limitless could stop your technique without a thought.

You’re in the midst of replaying a particularly entertaining memory of Nanami squealing like a pig after you started to make him juggle kitchen knives when you feel a strong hand press you against Gojo’s chest by the small of your back. Sputtering with utter indignation, you glare up at the grinning man, wishing with every fiber of your being that your knee could make contact with his balls at that moment.

“Ready, maestro?”

“Fuck off, Gojo.” Yuji snickers from behind him. Gojo watches you expectantly and your glare deepens. “I’m ready.”

“There’s a good girl.”

“Dude, keep that shit up and she’s going to find a way around your Limitless to kick your ass,” Megumi mutters from the right. “And Lord knows, the majority of us will sell tickets to that show.”

You don’t hear Gojo’s reply as you're lost in trying not to hurl all over the man as he yanks your body through space. The surrounding trees whisper and rustle in the evening breeze, the low glow of the sunset making the setting feel eerie. You hope the missing kids are okay, but you’re jaded enough to know better. Rolling your shoulders, you shake off the creeping shadows of memories you’ve worked hard to ignore on a daily basis.

“You’re up, Kaya.” Gojo nods at you as he removes his blindfold, his eyes more aquamarine in the dying light. “Think you can tag the auras for me?”

“Everyone got their earplugs in?” you ask the teenagers behind you. They all respond with solemn nods, their expressions resolute. You glance at Gojo, his eyes unseeing but all-seeing as he looks out into the forest around you.

“When I start singing, Six Eyes should pick up any auras my technique hits, like sonar.” It’s been over a year since you last sang, but you’d prepped your vocal cords most of the day with hot tea and a couple shots of bourbon before heading to the school. “I’ll also be willing whatever hears me to come to me as I sing.”

He looks at you with slight concern. “How long can you sustain that?”

You set square your shoulders and look back out into the darkness ahead. “As long as I need to. My priority will be the kids, you guys can deal with the cursed human.”

He nods as you take a deep breath to settle the flurry of nerves in your stomach. Why are you so nervous about singing in front of Gojo, of all people? His opinion has never mattered to you, since the moment he crashed your dinner. Who cares if he doesn’t like the song choice or if he thinks your voice is garbage?

“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors is a go-to warm up song for you. It sits right in your chest range, so it’s easy to project as you start walking slowly into the woods. Besides, you know how it feels to beg someone, anyone for help but end up ignored instead.

Gojo’s footfalls are nearly silent as he stalks behind you, but your voice makes his aura pulse against your own. It’s a comforting feeling, lending you more courage than you were feeling, that’s for sure.

A sharp rustling to your left makes you pause, the movement too harsh and erratic to dismiss as an animal. The icy blue of the aura halos around a tiny form, the fear tinkling like a shrill bell being shaken by a child. Gojo stiffens behind you, but you raise your palm before shooing him back.

Without faltering in the song, you crouch down in the direction of the stumbling child, pulling a small handbell from your other jacket pocket. A steady, calming beat in time with your singing pulses forward, coaxing the child out slowly as her aura shifts from pale blue to a saturated cobalt.

A little girl, no older than six or seven, flies into your arms, making your stumble in your singing. She’s coated in dirt and gods know what else, clutching your jacket so tight that her tiny knuckles turn white.

“You caught the culprit’s attention,” Gojo chuckles as you soothe the frightened child into letting go of your jacket. She clings to your leg when you stand, her snot and tears soaking into your leggings. You try not to cringe, but Gojo catches your obvious distaste and laughs, earning him a glare.

“There’s a cluster of black auras there,” you tell him quietly, gesturing further into the woods, to the east. “I can see them, but they’re silent.”

He hums as he nods, stroking his chin thoughtfully before he looks at you again. His eyes flick to the little girl, whose grip on your leg is starting to get painful, and it’s in that moment you realize two things.

First, that you get to tell Gojo, “I told you so.”

Second, in relation to the first, the tiny girl death-gripping your leg has an aura that is shrieking and melting into an opaque black.

Fuck.

Without a second thought, you send a surge of your cursed energy into your aura, ballooning it up rapidly. You swing the handbell down sharply, a clear, piercing note with the demand to be let go striking the tiny cursed human, tossing her away from you a good 30 yards.

A dull ringing pulses in your ears as you struggle to keep your balance. You shouldn’t have used that move so soon out of semi-retirement.

Arms scoop you up before you hit the ground. Muffled voices bicker as you barely hold onto your consciousness, but they fade away quickly as you’re overtaken with another bout of nausea that pulls you back towards consciousness. You try to move, but the arms hold you tighter against what you learn is Gojo’s chest.

“Easy, easy.” His breath warms your face as he calms you. “Shocked you’re not passed out yet.”

You don’t have the energy to remind him that he’s the pot and you’re the kettle when it comes to stubbornness. Based on the bits and pieces of the room you can see through still-blurred vision, he had warped you both back to your apartment.

He lays you down on your bed, checks your pulse, then slips out of the room long enough to get you a glass of water and a banana.

“I told you I wasn’t a sorcerer for a reason,” you mumble as you push yourself up slowly. The dizziness is gone, but exhaustion presses against your bones at this point. Gojo sits on the edge of the bed as he watches you sip at the water and peel the banana.

“Your stamina is shit, yeah. But you know what you’re doing.” You break apart the banana bite by bite. Like hell you’re going to eat an obviously phallic fruit in front of a man with the maturity level of a teenage boy. “I’d say with a bit of training, you could hold your own without passing out again.”

You shoot him a look that hopefully conveys how little interest you have in making that a reality. He only gives you a small smile before he stands.

“Better go check on the kids, make sure they didn’t completely fuck that simple exorcism.” He pauses at the bedroom door, lifting his blindfold just enough to look at you with one eye. “Thanks for your help, maestro. Think about what you want for compensation. I’ll be in touch.”

He winks at you with that one azure eye before he just blinks out of sight. Your thoughts start replaying your time in his arms, a coveted location, you’re sure. He smelled like cedarwood and eucalyptus, but on the designer fragrance side of the spectrum, which surprises you considering how boring his attire generally is.

Sighing, you fish your phone out of the inner pocket of your jacket and swipe it open. No new messages, but a couple of missed calls from Nanami. You’re too tired to both giving him a lecture, so you just tell him he’s your personal chauffeur tomorrow until you can pick you bike up from the school.

And if you even THINK about sending Gojo in your place, consider yourself a eunuch the next time I see you, got it?

You don’t bother to see if he responds. Instead, you shed your clothes and crawl back under the covers, setting a few different alarms, just in case. Yawning, you curl onto your side and let your eyes drift closed, willing your brain to just shut the fuck up with the semi-intrusive thoughts. Falling asleep now would get you a solid 7.5 hours, more than enough for another round of compositional reviews.

I wonder what he thought of my singing…

#jjk #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #archive of our own #fanfiction #ao3 #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x oc #nanami kento #also on ao3 #itadori yuji #fushiguro megumi #kugisaki nobara

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carrotycake · 3 years

Text

the world put you in front of me (and we aligned)

A chance encounter at an Ishgardian dance, and Ysayle finds herself falling in love all over again.

4.1k words | Rated M | FFXIV | Estinien/Ysayle pairing | AO3

It’s funny, Ysayle thinks. She has spent so much of her life fighting and despising everything the nation of Ishgard stood for, that to be standing here, on the balcony of one of Ishgard’s largest manors, feels a tad hypocritical. For the first time, she appreciates the beauty of the land stretching out in front of her, the late-night sunset (which is as close to a summer as Coerthas gets) casting orange and pink hues across the grey pointed spires of the city itself. She rests her arms on the balustrade, observing the chatter of guests down below. It is oddly peaceful, despite her protestations at being invited in the first place. And still bitterly cold, of course, despite it being summer. Ysayle, shivering, rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm herself up; she had left her coat inside and the thin fabric of her gown was not nearly enough to ward off the freezing night air.

She sighs, her breath exhaling into a cloud of mist in front of her. Had she not gone by the name ‘Iceheart’ for years, revered by her heretic followers? She had survived many harsh Coerthas winters, only for her to shiver now at the merest hint of a breeze. Admittedly, she had found the warmth of the ballroom inside to be a little much, packed as it was with nobles, commoners, and politicians alike. The fresh air, cold as it was, was extremely welcome.

It was Aymeric, of course, that was behind the ball, and her invite to it – the Warrior of Light’s dear friend, and perhaps the most influential man in the city. Endlessly charming, he had persuaded her that it was an olive branch, of sorts, to mend the rifts between heretics and men. And – well, she had wanted to make amends. Lead those who walked after, and all that.

“Out here enjoying the festivities, I see?”

A familiar voice drags her from her thoughts, and she turns to see the tall, lithe body of Estinien crouching carefully on the gables above the double doors leading back into the ballroom. She frowns, irritated that he had caught her unawares in a moment of introspection.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

He shrugs, getting to his feet and gracefully hopping onto the ground beside her; ever the dragoon, she notes. He’s not in the armour he wore the last time they had seen each other, before Azys Lla. Like Ysayle, he is dressed in an approximation of Ishgardian formal wear, his long white hair tied in a loose half-ponytail. He’s handsome, her mind helpfully supplies, and she wills the thought away before it becomes trouble.

“Long enough,” he replies, leaning on the railing a fulm or two away from her, his gaze distant. He frowns. “Formal…balls aren’t really my thing. I needed some air. And – a break from drunk nobles trying to get me to dance with their offspring.”

Ysayle chuckles, despite herself. “I must admit, I did not recognise you at first. You clean up well, when you’re not head to toe in dragon blood.”

He bows his head. If Ysayle is not mistaken, she sees the hint of a blush colour his pale cheeks.

“Well,” he mutters, “You are the opposite, Iceheart. I believe there was not a soul in that room that did not notice you upon entering.”

She raises an eyebrow. “In a good way, or a bad way? Pray, do elaborate.”

Estinien splutters for a second. “Well, I – It is a nice dress. That is all I meant. No doubt the haberdashers will be inundated with requests for similar styles by tomorrow morning.”

A slightly backhanded compliment, but a compliment, nonetheless. “Damned by faint praise, I see.”

She turns to look back towards the sunset. “It is actually one of Tataru’s creations, so they’ll have a hard time prying the pattern from her little hands.”

Tataru had taken over creative control of this project, because formal dances were certainly not Ysayle’s area of expertise, and the Lalafell had been only too happy to help out. The light, drapey cerulean fabric of the dress belied the traditional Ishgardian style, but Ysayle had never cared much for tradition anyway. It was pinned and tucked beautifully, with embroidered details on the neckline and hem. It even – scandalously – showed off a little cleavage, something Ysayle wasn’t necessarily unhappy with.

They stand like that together, a little distance apart, for a few minutes; enjoying the last rays of the sun in what appears to be a companionable silence. How many times had they done this, a mere few months ago? Accompanied by Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light, of course, but together nonetheless. Sunsets always seemed even more spectacular when seen on islands beyond the clouds. Ysayle had never thought to see such beauty again in her lifetime; she had expected to die on Azys Lla, one last act of service as Shiva.

The gods, as it happened, must have had other plans, as she’d fallen from that great height and landed in the middle of a Vanu Vanu outpost; the last remnants of Shiva’s protection shielding her from further harm in the fall. Word had gotten back to Camp Cloudtop of her survival, and she had eventually woken in the infirmary in the centre of Ishgard. Mere days after her own discharge, and Estinien was staying there under the very same care as she had.

She had avoided visiting, though, despite Alphinaud’s almost-insistence that she do so. She had never thought this far ahead in life; now there was peace, real peace, and her old role was no longer needed. Lord Aymeric, introduced through the Warrior of Light, had requested her help in rehabilitating the remaining heretics and repairing the city in exchange for a pardon for her crimes, and she was not about to turn down such an offer. The Scions had allies, and she herself was still blessed with Hydaelyn’s gift, so she might as well make herself useful.

In quieter moments, however, her mind always drifted back to Estinien. She admitted to being a little disappointed when he disappeared from Ishgard without a trace after his recuperation; the small, naïve girl within her longed to believe that they could have been…something, more than just acquaintances passing in the night.

“You are deep in thought, my lady,” he says, a statement more than a question. Ever with the formalities, even when they were at each other’s throats with opposite ideals.

She shakes her head. “Just reminiscing. My life has taken on a trajectory I could not have anticipated before I had met you and your allies. I have much to be grateful for.”

“I admit, I was – glad to hear you had lived. My own fortunes were, you could say, not so lucky after our victory on Azys Lla. I did not hear about – you – until after I had awoken in the infirmary.” Estinien looked – embarrassed, perhaps? Ysayle could not tell, in the dim light of the evening.

“I-” He falters, swallowing. “I wanted to apologise. For things I have said. Knowing now the full truth of the war betwixt man and dragon, I – I said some unkind things. ‘Twas not your fault that I was ignorant.”

Ysayle takes a moment to think on his words. They were not the people they once were, after all. The truth, she thinks, has changed them both. She looks at him, then – he does not shy away from her eye contact – and nods.

“Apology accepted. For what it’s worth, I have a great deal to apologise for as well. My conscience is not clear, by any means.”

Estinien cracks a small smile. (She tries not to think that a smile suits him. It really does.)

“Aye, that is true.”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted by a change of music from the ballroom – a slightly faster tune, reminiscent of folk tunes Ysayle heard as a child at communal dances in Falcon’s Nest. It was clearly designed to bring more couples onto the dance floor, and was so far having the intended effect. Ysayle could see the Warrior of Light, dressed in finery (another of Tataru’s creations), swinging Alphinaud a little too fast round in circles on the dancefloor. Aymeric could be seen, too, dancing politely with Hilda; commoners and nobles alike danced merrily to the band’s music. If this was their new republic, Ysayle thinks, then she quite likes it.

It is this train of thought that compels Ysayle with more bravado than she has; not thinking about where it might lead, she turns to her brooding companion.

“Well, when all is said and done-” She holds out a hand to Estinien, “Care for a dance?”

His brow furrows. “I’ve never- I mean. Forgive me, Ysayle. I’m not much of a dancer.”

She smiles lightly. “Neither am I. But we are alone, for the time being. Indulge me.”

“As you wish,” he frowns, still a tad reluctant, but he takes her outstretched hand regardless and pulls her close and Ysayle thinks, oh.

Oh no.

It has been a long time since she has been this close, physically, with anyone, and she wonders if Estinien can feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest. They stumble at first, taking a few attempts to figure out the rhythm of the song versus the clumsiness of their feet, but eventually settle into a gentle waltz.

Ysayle is acutely aware of the position of Estinien’s hand on the small of her back; its warmth – and he is so warm – practically burning through her dress. They are closer than they need to be, exactly, for the formality of ballroom dance, but Ysayle finds that she does not mind. He is avoiding her eyes now (deliberately, she thinks), so she instead concentrates on the position of her hand on his shoulder, her other hand clasped tightly in his as they circle aimlessly together across the balcony.

“So,” he begins, uncertainly, once they’d found their rhythm, “Where did you learn to dance, then? You seem to have more of a head for it than I.”

Ysayle smiles. “A little, as a child. And we had plenty of impromptu dances when I was-” When I was with the heretics¸ she would have said. Another time, in another life. Estinien, evidently noticing her hesitation, raises an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I simply cannot imagine a band of heretics indulging in such trivial things as dances whilst plotting the fall of Ishgard.”

“You are a fool, then, if you believe that we did nothing but sit around and curse the Holy See whilst getting drunk on dragon’s blood,” Ysayle scowls, swinging Estinien round a little more forcibly than she had intended. He stumbles, a little, before righting himself.

“I did not give much thought to the heretics unless they were forcibly attacking the city,” Estinien says, his tone serious, but the quiet glint in his eyes relaying a certain kind of humour. Ysayle rolls her eyes. He always knew exactly how to push her buttons to get her riled up when they were travelling together, and it seems not much has changed.

“I’ll have you know,” she huffs, “Lord Aymeric himself requested my assistance in restoring the city-”

“To avoid a jail sentence, yes,” Estinien has an eyebrow raised, smirking. He positions his arms just so, allowing her to dip backwards as part of the dance. His arms are secure, holding her in place perfectly before swooping her back up. They continue their circles together, Estinien chuckling at Ysayle’s irritation.

“For someone of little skill, you have picked up this dance remarkably fast,” she comments, her face flushed – from the exertion of the dance, or from Estinien’s attention, she was yet unsure.

“I’m a fast learner,” he says, and was it her imagination or was he a little closer to her than before? He stares resolutely ahead, his expression faintly jovial, and Ysayle tries not think about how good his arms felt holding her up.

The upbeat song currently playing comes to a close and, after a brief interlude, a new one starts up, slower than the previous one. Adjusting their pace accordingly, she thinks back a few months to their expedition together. Gods, she had not cared for the dragoon upon first meeting him. He was narrow-minded, and brash, and had been all-too willing to fight and kill the very creatures they were trying to make their allies without a second thought.

And yet – she had grown to like him, over those many days travelling. At first, the attraction had been purely physical. He was handsome, after all, and Ysayle had caught a peek of him removing his armour to see chiselled muscles and a wiry frame; something inside of her had fluttered, momentarily, when he had removed his helmet in front of her for the first time, revealing uncharacteristically soft, fair hair and deep-set blue eyes.

“Don’t get used to this,” he’d muttered, noticing her looking at him. “I can’t eat your soup with a helmet on.”

She’d blushed, then, almost as much as she was surely blushing now.

Even with Estinien’s growing connection to the Eye of Nidhogg – she’d felt it, creeping, growing, gnawing at him even as they travelled together – and his insistence that killing the wyrm was the best solution, she had caught glimpses of a kinder man underneath his harsh determination. Alphinaud had seen it too, as had the Warrior of Light. It endeared him to her, whether she wanted it to or not. And in the long weeks that had followed her miraculous survival, there had been much time for her to dwell on these thoughts.

Halone’s tits, she was in it now, wasn’t she?

It occurs to Ysayle, just then, that the slow pace of the current song meant that their little, secluded waltz had become less of a dance and more just – swaying gently, endlessly circling, not really paying attention to any kind of rhythm. The whole world, for a second, felt like it was just the two of them, the stars aligning to bring them together in a single moment.

“Your hands are cold,” Estinien murmurs, and she forgets for a moment that she still had one of his hands in hers. Usually a woman of great eloquence, she suddenly finds she is tongue-tied, she cannot speak-

“Y-yes, well. Perhaps it is you that is warm,” she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat as he brings her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. He almost seems surprised at his own boldness, his eyes crinkling in a rare bit of humour at her response.

“Mayhap,” he replies. The night is almost completely upon them now, the only light illuminating their faces being the candlelight from the outside lanterns and the ballroom itself. Their eyes meet, Estinien’s expression unusually soft.

Ysayle is not sure who makes the first move but suddenly his lips are on hers, her arms snaking around his neck, his hands on her hips, guiding them in a new kind of dance. In the end, it does not matter, because she is kissing him, and it is suddenly all she can think about. How long had she thought of this moment? How long had she imagined what Estinien’s kiss would feel like? It was, in truth, longer than she would care to admit.

He kisses with the air of someone who does not have a huge amount of practice, but makes up for whatever experience he lacks with strong, guiding hands; Ysayle soon finds herself pressed up against the iron railings of the balcony, the coldness of the metal on her back in sharp contrast to Estinien’s warm embrace. She feels goosebumps on Estinien’s neck where she is touching him; – yes, her hands are always cold, so cold – she moves a hand round to his lapel, using it to anchor herself to him and pull him closer, ever closer.

They break apart to catch their breath, and she looks up at his face, flushed as red as she’d ever seen it, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you, perchance, have a residence in Ishgard, Ysayle?” he breathes, still so close to her. Ysayle knows where this is going, knows where this might end up. And she wants it, Halone knows she does.

“That depends,” she says, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. Estinien exhales, almost impatient.

“On?”

Ysayle pulls away, just enough to see his face fully. “Is this…something you want? Truly?” Am I someone you want? She doesn’t say it, but the words settle between them anyway.

He frowns, a trademark scowl, and grasps the hand currently playing with his hair.

“It is. I am not one to deliver undue suffering to a soul such as yourself. And-” He looks flustered, struggling to articulate, “-this is something I have thought about often. In times of difficulty. The possibility of…something more.”

Oh.

“Well then,” she murmurs, his answer more than satisfactory, “In that case, I have a small apartment in the lower wards of the city.”

“I would very much like to get out of here,” Estinien replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek, another along her jawline. She lets her nails scratch the back of his head, just a little, privately enjoying the effect it seems to have on him.

“If you would permit me, my lady-” He breaks away suddenly, a spark of mischief in his eyes, and scoops her up bridal-style. She splutters, wriggling.

“What are you doing?!”

He peers over the edge of the balcony cautiously. “Avoiding any odd stares we might receive from my good friend’s guests. Now, hold still.”

Before Ysayle has any chance to protest, Estinien bends his knees and leaps, and Ysayle’s heart is rushing, the wind howling in her ears momentarily, and it is not far off what a dragon in flight feels like-

He lands, gracefully, some distance away from the mansion, and places her back on her feet with an uncharacteristic amount of care.

Hand in hand, she leads him through the lamp-lit streets, following well-worn paths to the lower area of Ishgard. More than once he catches her against a wall in a bruising kiss, so the walk takes considerably longer than it normally might on one’s own, but Ysayle is too busy wrapped up in Estinien’s arms to care.

The night is fully upon them now, so upon reaching Ysayle’s apartment there is a small amount of stumbling in the dark until she manages to find a lantern. Estinien, helpful as ever, is predictably distracting as she reaches for a pack of matches, hindered by his hands on her waist as he caresses her from behind.

“You know a lantern isn’t really necessary,” he growls, apparently eager. She rolls her eyes – realises too late that it was a gesture he could not see – and bats him away, momentarily.

“I don’t know about you,” she retorts, “But I like to see my lovers when I’m in bed with them.” She manages to strike a small flame into the lantern, illuminating them both in dim, soft candlelight.

Estinien raises an eyebrow, tailing after her as she leads him to the bedroom. “And has the Lady Iceheart had many lovers, in the past?”

She places the lantern down on the chest of drawers with a thunk. “A few. Borne out of convenience, mostly. Some out of love. All enjoyable, for the most part.”

It might have been a cold way of looking at it, but her time leading the heretics had come with its perks, namely that there was no shortage of people interested in her and her powers. She would never have dared manipulate anyone into sex or abuse her power in any way, but she had not been without company, had she so wanted it.

“And what about the famed Azure Dragoon?” she says, her tone a little more defensive than she had intended, “I’m sure the position comes with its own amount of attention.”

“Some,” he concedes, “But for the most part, I preferred to spend my free time training. A few dalliances, here and there. Nothing serious.”

Ysayle nods. Fair enough, she thinks. You’d have to be out of your mind if you actually wanted to sleep with that grouchy, stubborn arse of a dragoon anyway. Yet here she was.

“Well then,” she says, instead, “I still wish for your company tonight, if you’ll have me.”

Estinien is already against her, capturing her mouth in his and lifting her – a little roughly, not that she minds – onto the bed. “I was hoping we would get to that eventually,” he grins, wickedly.

“You’re an arse,” she replies, but there is no heart in the insult, not really. There’s not much time for thinking, after that, and she is happy to lose herself in Estinien’s arms for the time being.

Ysayle wakes from what might have been the most restful night’s sleep she’s had in some time. She casts a sleepy glance over her small apartment; the curtains had been left half-drawn the night previously, and the morning light was casting a bright glare across her bed, and the sleeping souls that lay within.

Ah, right.

Estinien is still sound asleep next to her; they must have moved apart in slumber during the night, but she distinctly remembers falling asleep in his arms. For the first time, she sees him and all of his scars in full daylight, and fights the urge to trace them gently with her fingertips. She settles for brushing his bangs out of his eyes; he is so peaceful in sleep, she thinks, his usual furrowed brow replaced with one of general content.

There are bruises too, newer ones, scattering across his neck and chest. Ysayle blushes, a little, because she knows that she is the one who put them there, and that there are similar marks on her own body. They will be covered with clothes, eventually, but for now they sit as a reminder of newfound passions and a lover she can’t quite forget.

His eyes flutter open, and an immediate scowl crosses his face as he adjusts to the bright light streaming in.

“Gods, do you always wake this early? To this kind of racket?” His voice is raspy with sleep, his long hair a little dishevelled.

She throws him a mock-frown. “Usually I remember to shut the curtains. I might have been…a little distracted last night.” She runs a finger along his jaw, lifting his chin so that she could lean and kiss him. He leans into her touch, a different kind of reverence.

“Ah,” he says, softly, when she pulls away, “Yes, that would make sense.”

Their clothes, haphazardly rumpled on a nearby chair would also suggest a measure of distraction. They had only paused long enough last night for Estinien to peel off Ysayle’s dress and his own clothes and place them somewhere off of the ground before continuing his ministrations.

“I don’t have anywhere to be today,” she says, by way of invitation, unsure as to how her overture would be received now that it was morning. Morning, bringing with it clarity, and the uncertain light of day. Estinien may not want anything more than whatever the previous night had been.

To his credit, though, Estinien reaches for her and brushes a few strands of silver hair behind her ear.

“Me neither,” he says, and Ysayle’s heart thuds in relief, “What activities have you planned? Lunch out, mayhap?”

This elicits a laugh from her, despite herself.

“Mm,” she smiles, “Maybe later. For now, I want you all to myself.”

Estinien responds in kind, using his advantage of strength and centre of balance to hold her firmly by the waist and flip her over, laying on her back.

“That can be arranged.”

His eyes are dark with want, and Ysayle finds that it pleases her greatly to be able to obtain this kind of reaction from him. She wants – well, she wants Estinien. All of him. Now. Obviously.

What she really wants, though, is Estinien for longer. Knowing that they might have something to come back to, a home found in each other’s hearts – the thought terrifies her, as it wasn’t something easily articulated to her stoic lover. Still, she thinks, perhaps in time.

For now, she has the man she wants in her bed, and that is enough.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #final fantasy 14 fanfiction #estinien x ysayle #final fantasy 14 heavensward #carroty writes #this is me remembering i used to post my fanfic on here so here we are i guess #this is extremely self indulgent and i will not be criticised

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