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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years ago

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Kickstart My Heart Pt.1 (Racer! Yeosang)

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Pairing: Racer! Kang Yeosang × Waitress/Fuckgirl! Reader (Female)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, 80s AU.

Summary: During an era known for its vibrant colors, eccentric fashion styles and rise of new yet unconventional genres of music, the young generation of that time was infamously known for their need to rebel and live their lives rather scandalously and Y/N is no exception. So when a new and attractive man moves into her town, she has her eyes set on making him her next boy toy.

Word Count: 4K+

Warnings: Dumb attempts at crackhead humor, reader is a cold hearted bitch, guy gets dumped in public, reader's friend is lowkey creepy.

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Throwing on the last article of clothing that had been discarded the night before, the young woman shook out her hair, still damp from the quick shower she just took. Picking up her bag, she looked over at the figure still sleeping soundly, the subtle hint of a smile on his face. With a pitied pout on her lips, she walked over to the edge where his face was. Taking out the lipstick tube from her bag, she applied it all over her lips, painting them in the dark burgundy color that she fancied so much and had practically become her signature hue. Bending over, she pressed her lips against the corners of his mouth, giving him the faintest whisper of a kiss before pulling away. A satisfied smirk was plastered on her pretty features as she stared at the lipstick mark on his face, the only memoir she'd leave him with as she had done with countless others.

Closing the front door behind her, she pulled her denim jacket tighter on her body, shivering slightly from the early dawn's breeze that blew across. It was always like that even though summer had just begun, the early morning hours still feeling obnoxiously cool and then transpiring into slightly uncomfortably warm afternoons that had more than one soul in that quaint town grumbling and fussing about the weather. But oh did the evenings feel absolutely refreshing, and that's when everything would start bustling to life.

Having finally made it out of that small residential area and finding one of the main roads that helped her locate where to go, she started heading south towards the all too familiar diner where she had been working in ever since her school days, first starting part time and eventually transpiring to full time when it came time for her to spread her wings and fly out on her own, a feat she had been most anxious to do to get away from the overly controlling nature of her parents. She knew they cared about her, but she herself cared very little about the morals and principles they had raised her with, a common trait all the young people in that town shared: their rebellious and headstrong nature to not conform and go against everything they had been taught thus far. Live their own lives as freely as they chose to do.

And she definitely lived as she wanted to, even if it ended up with a rather bad reputation and ugly labels that rather than infuriate her, she openly embraced, as others had come to as well.

The light twinkle of the bells above the glass door let the person at the register know someone came in and they immediately plastered on their business smile, which quickly faded when they saw who it was.

"You're late Y/N." The minuscule raven haired waitress informed her, eyes never leaving her coworker's figure that came behind the counter and started punching in her number.

"Only by like 7 minutes." She waved her slip at the nonchalant looking girl before placing it back in its respective slot.

"One day it wouldn't surprise me if you just didn't show up because you got too caught up in.... something else."

Chuckling softly, Y/N walked up behind her coworker, hands coming up to ruffle the cheekbone level bob cut hair framing her unusually small face.

"Awww come on Lynn, you know I'd never leave you hanging here to attend customers by yourself. You're my bestie." Y/N assured her, playfully poking her lips out as she tried to place a kiss on her friend, the poor girl craning her neck away as she tended to dislike physical affection.

"I will squirt ketchup on you." Lynn threatened as she picked up the cherry red bottle as a last resort to get her attacker to back away. A rather noisy struggle ensued between both girls, catching the attention of the owner and cook behind the two doors, prompting her to come out and see what was the cause of such ruckus.

"Well I'll be darned. I don't remember paying you youngsters to simply slack off and behave like the hooligans you are." The middle aged woman spoke up, her thick accent becoming more prominent. Although she had a stern look and hands placed at her hips, the girls knew she was not in reality angry at them.

Looking over at the recently arrived girl, the owner closed her eyes and sighed deeply when she took in the attire she was wearing: low cut white tank, ripped denim shorts that left little to the imagination if she bent down, fishnet tights with a few holes in them, and her beloved denim jacket that was almost always on Y/N's body.

"I swear to god, Y/N , everytime I see you wear them rags you call clothes, I feel like my body is about to collapse. Why must you insist on dressing like a common street worker?"

Y/N wasn't at all offended by her words, having grown used to and becoming fond of her boss's abrupt, direct and honest manner of speaking.

"Gotta start looking the part if I'm going to dedicate my life to the occupation." She giggled at her own joke, resulting in the older woman taking the rag off her apron and smacking her with it.

"This little runt, talking nonsense like that- get your ass back in there and change into your uniform. Can't have you prancing around here in those skimpy clothes and have all these men that come here say disrespectful things about you. Nuh uh, not to my girls." She shook her head.

"Yes Miss Audrey." Complying with the woman's wishes, she pushed open the swing doors leading to the back and quickly made her way to the corner where all the employee's cubicles were located. Grabbing the necessary items, she turned and went inside the bathroom to change into her uniform, consisting of a knee length crimson red dress, which she had actually altered so it would be shorter and display her thighs more, the cap sleeves slightly puffed up and the torso part had a trail of white buttons going all the way up to the modest v-neckline, usually most buttons were left undone so her cleavage would shamelessly peak out. Exchanging her black Doc Martens in favor of her white Nike sneakers, Y/N tied her apron around her waist, making sure it was as tight as possible so it would accentuate her curves and give her body a more flattering appearance. As she made her way out, she quickly piled her hair up before securing it with one of the many elastics she kept around her wrists, leaving out a few tendrils to fall on her temples.

Coming back out to start her daily work, she stood in front of Lynn, who merely spared her an unamused glance.

"How do I look?" Y/N asked.

"Like a total slut." Her friend answered in her usually rude way.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N grabbed a spray bottle and a rag. Making her way over to the table that had just finished being used, she quickly picked up the plates and glass, bringing them back over to where Lynn was, who took them so she could wash them in the sink. Spraying the top of the marble piece, she had began her task of wiping down the table when the ringing of the bell signaled new customers had arrived, and rowdy ones at that too.

"Damn! Is today's special fluffy sponge cake? Cause I would sure love a piece of that ass."

Y/N recognized that annoying voice even from miles away, belonging to none other than one of her old classmates, Jung Wooyoung, whom she considered a friend, if he didn't manage to irk her too much. Turning around, she of course wasn't surprised to see him surrounded by his crew of equally idiotic and adrenaline junkie friends, whom she had to admit were pleasant and fun to hang out with.

"Sit your asses down already, I'll be over in a minute to take your order." She told them before resuming her previous task, earning a scoff from the most dramatic of the group.

"Fine customer service! Don't think you'll be getting a tip from me." His words made her nearly burst into a fit of giggles.

"Wooyoung please, you never ever tip whenever you come. None of you, except Yunho." It kinda saddened her that said male unfortunately wasn't there with them at the moment.

"He doesn't tip you, he tips short stack over there." His friend with cat like eyes pointed towards Lynn, who upon overhearing him held up a rather explicit finger in his direction.

"I'll poison your food San." She threatened with a sing song tone.

"Like I wouldn't know that you already spit on it." San spat back, sticking his tongue out in his immature and infantile fashion.

"Can you guys hurry up and order already? I'm starving and we gotta head to the tracks as early as possible." The fiery red haired male known as Song Mingi blurted out, fingers tapping impatiently against the top of the table.

"If little miss g-string would care to hop her luscious ass over here, maybe we could."

Strutting over to where they sat, Y/N harshly threw the dirty rag on Wooyoung's face, causing a faint grunt to come out of his mouth.

"No matter how many times you mention my ass, I'm still not letting you tap it." She firmly stated, making Wooyoung slightly purse his lips outwards in a disappointed grimace.

"So anygays-" Mingi began.

"Umm I think you mean anyways." San corrected him.

Leaning in towards him, Mingi locked eyes on the shorter male and stared him down with an intimidating glare.

"Did I stutter Choi?"

San immediately shook his head rapidly. With a victory smile, Mingi reclined back in his seat.

"I'm just going to get the breakfast platter with some orange juice."

Y/N couldn't stifle her snort when he said his choice of drink, the other two men looking away in embarrassment.

"You've been drinking orange juice since you were in grade school Mingles, don't you think you outta start taking something more grown up? Like coffee?" San suggested and Mingi did not appreciate it.

"Coming from the one who still brings a plushie to sleep with him, your suggestion holds no value or power." He retorted.

"OK SHIBER IS NOT A PLUSHIE, HE'S FAMILY YOU JACKASS!" San sprinted up from his seat, nearly leaning across to grab Mingi by the color, but he was held back by Wooyoung.

Lynn, who had thus far stayed quiet, promptly came up with a spray bottle and consequently doused the untamed boy on his face.

"Bad kitty, bad kitty." She reprimanded him, unable to resist the opportunity to attack her long time frenemy.

"Lynn!" Y/N looked at her with surprise.

"You're welcome." Lynn replied rather monotone before going back to her place behind the counter like she didn't just spray San with disinfecting water.

"There's too many germs going around anyways..." She muttered under her breath.

Without any further interruptions, aside from the rumbling coming out of the boys' stomachs, they finished ordering what they wanted and Y/N sent it over so they could be prepared. Not wanting to be near their loud asses, Y/N went back over to where Lynn was, peeking over to see what she was currently reading in the magazine she held.

"What you reading?" She casually inquired.

"Horoscope section." Y/N wasn't surprised, her friend tended to be into more mystical, eccentric and rather.....extreme with her taste in fashion and music. If Y/N was the one who turned heads for her scandalous attire, Lynn was the one people turned away from in fear when they saw how she dressed. It was a sight that truly made both of them laugh at people's foolishness, well at least made Y/N laugh. Her friend rarely had any other expression plastered on that wasn't utter disdain for society and life.

Unexpectedly, another customer came in. Both girls looked at each other in confusion when neither of them recognized him. Their town was rather small with few people living there, so they deduced that he must be a traveler who probably got lost on his route. He himself looked around nervously, eyes barely lifting up. Y/N couldn't help herself as she took in his perfect face. Big, round eyes with crystal clear orbs, small face with a V-line jaw, perfectly sculpted nose with no sign of defects, skin smooth and blemish free, he looked like a prince out of a fairytale. He was incredibly pretty, yet stood there so awkwardly that it was almost comical.

"Hey Yeosang! You made it! Sit down! I ordered for you in advanced!" Wooyoung surprised both girls when it seemed he knew the stranger and even waved him over to where they sat. The other two boys also seem familiarized with him and welcomed him to sit with them, chatting up a storm already with him.

"Who's that?" Lynn was the one to finally ask out loud.

"Beats me.....but he sure is adorable."

Noticing the way her lips curled upwards, Lynn could already see the wheels inside Y/N's head turning.

"And I bet you're going to go over there and find out- aaand there you go." She ended up answering her own deduction as she watched Y/N happily walked over with a more bright expression on her face, that soon soured when her boss came out of the kitchen and beat her over to the table, laying down several plates of food.

"I knew as soon as I saw the orders that it had to be the lot of you." She scoffed softly as she looked at the boys' grinning faces.

"You know us Miss Audrey, we wouldn't ever think of eating anywhere else but here. You're the best cook in all of town." Wooyoung praised her with a sparkling charm that could have fooled anyone else but not the robust woman in front of him.

"Boy stop trying to tickle my ears, I've known you since you were in your soiled diapers being carried around by your mama, running around and creating chaos anywhere you went. Flattery may work on them poor girls you play with but me? I can see right through ruffians like you."

Turning her head to finally notice the new addition to the group, she looked him up and down.

"Boy who might you be?" She questioned him, earning the ears of the girls nearby to listen in for any valuable information.

"I'm..... Yeosang Kang, nice to meet you." He introduced himself, tilting his head slightly down when he said that.

"He just moved into town this week! He's the new guy who is going to work with us down at the car shop and help on the race track!" San enthusiastically shouted, making the older woman cringe.

"I may be old, but I still haven't gone deaf for you to yell in such a way boy. So...." She crossed her arms and looked at Yeosang again.

"You a racer too?"

Now the girls, particularly Y/N, were more interested in what his response would be.

"I- yes. So it seems." The poor boy looked so flustered, obviously being more of a soft spoken individual, contrasting starkly to the other 3 boys.

Miss Audrey let out a seemingly displeased hum at his answer.

"As if we needed anymore hooligans running wild. We already got enough with the 3 Stooges over here."

The girls couldn't help but snicker at their boss's words, always having a blast whenever she put the boys back in their place. They however looked displeased, glaring at them intensely.

"Shouldn't you both be off somewhere cleaning dishes or making sandwiches?"

Snatching one of the knifes, Lynn held it up and was about to jump over, but Y/N came up in front of her.

"Lynn, no. Just calm down ok? You know they're just being idiots." Y/N reminded her.

Grumbling something in a foreign language no one knew for sure if it was real or not, Lynn put the knife back, squinting her eyes at them before turning around to not look at them again. Y/N giggled softly, finding it absolutely cute whenever her friend lost her cool and collected form cause it reminded her of a chihuahua, barking and yelping at anything larger than itself trying to establish dominance.

Noticing that in her display of aggression, Lynn had inadvertently knocked over a few of the brochures that were on display for people to take, Y/N stooped down and proceeded to pick them up in a casual manner. Standing up, she neatly arranged them properly, making sure they all faced the same direction and the sides weren't poking out anywhere. Feeling as though someone had been watching her all along, she looked at the table of boys, half expecting Wooyoung's smug grin to greet her, but she was completely wrong as it was none other than the new guy who seemed unable to keep his eyes off her figure, staring intently at the length of her skirt. When he realized she noticed, his eyes went wide, cheeks burning up with utter embarrassment. Y/N however seemed unbothered by this. Wanting to test something, she pretended to accidentally drop one of the pamphlets. Bending over, she made sure he could get a perfect glimpse of her cleavage, if he payed enough attention, he'd be able to see that she was in fact, not wearing any bra. Coming back up, Y/N looked over to see the results, smirking when the agape mouth of Yeosang confirmed to her that he had indeed noticed everything.

"Oh sweetheart, you're gonna be too easy..." She had already made up in her mind that Yeosang would be her next target, and she had to put her plan in action. Placing the brochures down, she was about to go over and start flirting with him, until a familiar voice called for her.

"Y/N! There you are!"

She internally groaned when she heard him, wondering why on earth did he not get the hint of ditching him like that, especially when he very well knew about the reputation she had. She tried ignoring him, but of course, he had had to be the persistent type, no doubt thinking he was going to have a different ending than the rest before him.

"I thought you'd be here. You could have told me you were going to be gone early. I would have made you breakfast."

Knowing she had to say something, Y/N grabbed her pad and gave him the fakest smile she was capable of donning.

"Hi, what can we get started for you today? Waffles? Eggs and bacon? Coffee to start off with?"

The trio of friends, having no choice but to witness the interaction due to it happening right in front of them, snickered amongst themselves.

"Oh shit. He's in for it." San whispered lowly.

The boy obviously looked extremely confused, his smile lightly falling off, but then returning to its hopeful state.

"Why are you acting like this candy bear? Pretending like you don't know me?" When he tried to reach a hand to pull her close, the girl simply pushed him away with one of her fingers.

"Look, clearly you're too stupid to understand so let me spell it out in a language you can understand." Letting out a tired sigh, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, a sour look displaying on her pretty face.

"We had a nice time together, and last night was... average to put it nicely."

"Oh man. That was a total burn." Mingi couldn't help but snort, some of the orange juice being spit back into his glass.

"But that was all it was and all it's ever going to be. So why don't you do yourself a favor and just go back home to your Star Trek figurines and watch the latest episode of Thunder Cats?"

The not so discreet snickering coming from the table behind them only made the humiliation for the man multiply significantly. Turning red with utter despair and rage, he quickly brushed past Y/N rather brusquely.

"Fucking bitch." She heard him mutter under his breath, a phrase she had grown accustomed to hearing among many others.

"Oh god. Homegirl struck again." Wooyoung laughed, swirling his milkshake in his hand.

"Ayo why you gotta do Thunder Cats like that? It's actually pretty entertaining." San commented.

Looking over at the time, the guys quickly stood up, dropping their share of bills onto the table.

"You guys get paid today too right? Come meet up with us at the track." Wooyoung suggested.

"Why on earth would we want to go see your greasy, oil smelling ass after dealing for nearly an hour with you already?" Lynn questioned him, eyes never peering up from her magazine.

"Because Yunho would be there?"

Still she didn't respond, the only movement made was her finger turning the page.

"Bro we been knew she don't give two shits about him." Mingi reminded them.

"Because we're going to the drive in theater after work, they're playing a horror movie."

Lifting her gaze, Lynn closed the magazine, although still stone faced, her eyes seemed to brighten up.

"My interest has been greatly piqued." Her lips showed the faintest whisper of a smile that gave a rather eerie and chilling feel down the people's spines.

"Maybe we should rethink inviting Satan's offspring." San leaned in towards Mingi, shivering significantly.

"Great! So we'll catch you gals later."

The boys quickly dispersed themselves, save Yeosang who still sat quietly, keeping mostly to himself. His fingers fidgeted with the half drunk cup he was holding, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. Looking up, he was attempting to work up the courage to talk to Y/N, but before he could even get the chance to gather strength, the owner came out from the back, whispering a few orders to her and gesturing for her to go tend to a situation in the kitchen. With a defeated sigh, he got up to go join the rest of the gang outside who were waiting for him. Slumping his hands in the pockets of his pants, he moved out of the booth with a solemn gaze.

"Hey."

His steps came to a screeching halt when he heard Y/N call out to him. Looking over, she smiled sweetly in his direction.

"Hope I see you later." With a flirtatious wink, she bid him goodbye as she disappeared into the back.

Yeosang stood there stunned momentarily, replaying her words over and over again in his mind, pondering endlessly at their meaning.

"Little pussy cat sure got you brain dead, didn't she?"

Startled by the unexpected voice next to him, he jumped when the face of the kind yet stern old lady studied him carefully. With a disapproving shake of her head, she decided it'd be best to warn him before he started getting ideas in his head.

"Listen, you seem like a sweet and sensible young man, so it's best for you to listen to me and stay away from that darn girl. Don't let them sugar coated lips of hers sweet talk themselves into your heart. You'll just end up heart broken like all the lovers she's had."

Picking up some of the plates, she gave him one last look, pointing an accusatory finger at him to get her point across.

"She's dangerous." Finally saying what she needed to say, Miss Audrey headed back with plates in her arms, slapping away Lynn's hands when they attempted to pry them off her, barking instructions at her to watch the counter and leave her be.

"Dangerous....." Yeosang thought to himself, the warning the good intended woman gave him sinking deep in his mind. Although he took her words to heart, something about the way she glanced at him pulled at the strings in his chest, taking his breath away when he remembered the risque position she was in that purposely allowed him to view more than he should have. That memory tinted his cheeks pink, lips unable to suppress a small smile. He knew that he should heed the old woman's advice.

But he had to admit that he loved danger and the thrill it came with.........

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Taglist: @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @brie02 @galaxteez @multidreams-and-desires @deja-vux @hanatiny @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie @ateezbabysitters @mingismoon @rainteez02

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airi-p4 · 4 years ago

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Ice Dreams - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ...

Lukanette Figure Skating AU? Lukanette Figure Skating AU.

I’ve been planning this for more than one year already ( @mamanabeille knows ) but Freya’s recent art for me fueled me to finish the first 2 chapters (out of more than 60...)

Header art is traditional art drawn by me about one year ago - Full pic HERE.

Summary

Despite being very talented and loving to skate, Marinette is determined to quit Figure Skating after the lack of decent results and the great amount of stress and pressure on her shoulders.

On the other hand, Juleka and Luka are average skaters in pairs category who, after years of hard work, have finally started showing some good results. But suddenly, Juleka is forced to retire, leaving Luka at the verge of retirement because of his need for a partner.

Can Juleka convince Luka and Marinette to give figure skating a second chance? Can they form a bond strong enough to reach the top and accomplish their dreams? Could something more than partnership spark between them?

AO3

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CHAPTER 1: Marinette

Figure skating can appeal to people for many reasons: the competitive part, the artistry, the music arrangements, the performances…

For Marinette figure skating was everything- her whole life.

When she was happy, she would love to skate. When she was sad, skating never failed to cheer her up. She was athletic, flexible and talented, gifted by both technique and artistry, as well as tenacity to work hard and never give up. Skating was an irreplaceable part of her life.

WAS.

In past tense.

Because even when it’s pleasant to watch the beautiful programs the skaters have to offer, there’s something that never changes during competitions: the scores are what really matter. Fail one element and you're screwed. Keep the program perfect but with minimum difficulty, you're off the podium. Do perfect in practice but fail in front of the judges: it's over.

This was Marinette's case.

Recently, consistency always failed her in competitions, and it had been a letdown to see how the past seasons had been going blank for her, without any outstanding accomplishment, despite her being on top almost all of her childhood. Her effort, and full potential didn’t show off on her competition results.

Marinette's parents and her coach, Miss Bustier, associated her disappointing results to her mentor’s and grandmother’s passing. But Marinette was well aware that the main reason behind her failures wasn't only how much she missed her granny; the real cause had a girl’s name: Lila Rossi.

It had already been 2 years since Lila joined her training classes under Miss Bustier's teachings. And everything had gone downhill after that.

It's not that she hadn't already been enduring bullying from Chloe Bourgeois, but Lila's bullying was at a whole different level.

The pressure, the expectations, the stress, the bullying, the injuries and damaged property, the struggle her parents went through to pay for her classes and competitions, how she had to sew her own dresses because she didn’t have the money to buy them, how she almost had no friends left... Everything piled up for years and made her finally crumble. Her skating consistency was affected and led only to constant failure.

In the end, she was exhausted, and no matter how much she loved ice skating, she reached her limit. She surpassed her limit.

Lila Rossi had won.

For two weeks now, since her last failure at a National Competition, Marinette had been skipping her skating classes. Coach Bustier was always exceptionally kind to her, and had been considerate (in her own way) this time as well, suggesting she take a few days to rest and get back again when she felt confident again.

But Marinette didn't intend to return under her coaching. Instead, she had set her mind to resign from her classes and, probably, even quit figure skating too.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

The most talented skater of the decade was seriously considering quitting skating for good. And it made her sad, but she couldn’t see any other way out of the spiral of failures she was caught in. No one was there to get her out of the dark hole she was buried in.

She certainly didn’t expect a second chance in figure skating.

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During the days she didn't go to her classes, Marinette always spent her time at the Miraculous Ice Skate Rink, where her 'grandfather', Master Wang Fu worked as a manager, taking care of the installation and the opening and shutting down hours, along with the material to rent and the tickets for open to public times. Being her mother’s uncle, she had been babysat by him and his wife since she was a little kid. It was, in fact, Marianne Lenoir, was the one who taught Marinette the skating basics and the one who made her start practicing and love figure skating since she was 3 years old.

Marinette loved her grandparents a lot, and the passing of Miss Lenoir still pained her everyday. After her tragic loss, they became even closer, especially when Master Fu gave Marinette his late wife's earrings as a memento - he knew she would have given them to her at some point, since she loved the dark-haired girl a lot. And with no children on their own, Marinette was the closest they had to a daughter or granddaughter. Marinette had promised to treasure the earrings. They had a ladybug’s design engraved on them, only visible when light illuminated themfrom a certain angle. They were very mysterious and unique, and Marinette had loved them since her eyes had fallen on them. After becoming their owner, not even once she took them off. She felt the luck on her side as long as she wore them.

Except, that wasn’t the case anymore.

Marinette had her own theory of how Lila might have corrupted them when she touched them once, since all her luck was now gone from her side from that moment onwards.

On the ice, Marinette skated a little. But when she attempted to jump, a memory of her last competition crossed her mind and she fell down. Instead of standing up like always, she stayed seated on the floor, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Marinette! Are you ok? Did you get hurt?" asked Fu, worried. Rushing (as much as his old legs allowed him to) to aid her.

"Master-! I- I-... I can't skate anymore!" She broke down to cry even harder.

"That's not true, Marinette. You're just feeling discouraged now because of your recent results in competition. It's normal to feel like that. It will be ok"

"No Master… It's not just competitions… It's everything… Lila, Chloe, my coach, my parents, my friends…and I miss Granny Marianne so much... I'll never be able to follow her steps now… I should just be realistic and give up..."

"Don't say that, dear. You have luck on your side. Like a ladybug. Lady Chance. You are talented enough to overcome this. I’m sure Marianne would be proud of you, even if you don't follow her steps. And you know? There's no need to compete if you don't feel like doing it. Many people just skate for fun or minor competitions. I’m sure the future has good things prepared for you. You just need to keep moving and you’ll find the right path to follow. And whatever you choose to do, we'll be proud of you. The doors to this ice rink are open for you to come whenever you want to"

That's right. She could skate without competitions. She could focus on something else and have skating as a hobby. Maybe she could make a living out of a figure skating outfit designer…

It was settled. She was quitting. And she was telling her parents tonight.

"Thank you, Master. I know what I want to do now" she answered, giving him a heartfelt hug. Fu smiled at her and patted her back a little, happy to see her smile was back on her face and how his granddaughter's tears had finally stopped.

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Marinette was very nervous when she arrived home. She tried to sneak to her room without being noticed, but her mother had been waiting for her, with a deeply worried expression on her face. Marinette gulped. 'She has probably found out I've been skipping my classes' she thought, but her mother's mind was focused on something else- more serious. Something the girl didn’t expect or could have imagined.

“Marinette. Calm down and listen to me. Are you still friends with Juleka?”

Marinette blinked: that was not the question she expected. She sighed before answering, confused about her mother’s unusual distress.

“Yes, mom. It’s been a long while since we’ve last seen or talked to each other, but she is my friend”. She paused for a second. “Why do you ask? You’re scaring me...”

Sabine Cheng took a deep breath before answering “Marinette… Juleka is at the hospital”.

Marinette’s mother’s grip on her shoulders wasn’t strong enough to keep the girl from jumping in shock, neither stopped her from panicking a second later.

“What!? What happened to her!? Is she ok!?”

“Calm down, Marinette. She’s ok. She just fainted. She…” Sabine paused, hesitating, before continuing with the explanation. “She’s been diagnosed with an eating disorder”

Marinette felt a rush of mixed feelings forming inside of her: but between sadness and worrisome, anger was the first emotion to come out of her body.

“No…! No way! I’m sure it’s all Chloé’s fault! She used to make mean comments about her body since we were little. Her ideas must have grown bigger in Juleka’s mind! Just because she was taller and larger than many of us…! And now Juleka is…! Juleka is…!”

The spiral of emotions she was feeling ended up falling in the form of tears, again, in a crying whimper. Sabine, worried for her daughter, cupped her cheek and let her cry until she calmed down a little. It was not easy for her to wait patiently to ask her what she had really wanted to know after she had heard about Juleka’s condition, but she knew the girl needed to let it out, even if it hurt her to see her daughter crying like that. It almost felt like there was something more behind the salty water spilling from her eyes, but she remained silent until her sobbing sounds ended, being engulfed by the silence of the living room. When the wait finally was over, Sabine Cheng spoke again, looking straight to her eyes.

“Marinette, I need to ask you something. And please, be honest with me" Marinette gulped and nervously nodded. "Are you eating properly? You’re not throwing it out, aren’t you? I know you’ve always been thin, but I can’t help it but worry about you… You know how common eating disorders are in figure skating… And with what happened to Juleka and how discouraged you look recently…”

Marinette tensed at her mother’s question, more offended than shocked. “Of course not, maman! I’m properly eating what you put on my plate! I would never waste what it takes you so much work. I’m grateful I always have freshly baked bread on my plate”

Marinette’s mother relaxed at her daughter's answer, hugging her.

“Good. That’s good. I’m so glad. So relieved. Thank you, Marinette”. She spoke again after breaking the hug. “I think you should pay Juleka a visit. Here’s the room number and the hospital address. You should be there for her”

“Thank you for telling me, maman. I’ll visit her tomorrow morning”, the girl said, grabbing the paper with Juleka’s hospital contact from her mother’s hand.

“Good girl. I’m proud of you”

“Thank you, maman…” the twin-tailed girl managed to answer, feeling both happy and nauseous for the trust in her mother’s eyes. The thought of seeing disappointment on her parents' face terrified her.

‘No… I definitely can’t tell my parents yet…’ she thought.

_______________________

When Marinette arrived at Juleka's hospital room, she wasn't alone. The door was partially opened and she saw a blue-haired boy standing beside her. As soon as she knocked on the door, the boy noticed her and approached, with an interrogative and sad expression on his face. He was handsome despite his sad expression, Marinette thought, distracted for a second.

"I- I'm- Juleka...?" She managed to say, and the boy just nodded.

“Juleka, you have a visitor. I’ll let you two talk privately" he said, turning his head to the girl in the bed. "Thank you for coming,” he solemnly told Marinette before leaving the room.

“Thank you” she said when getting inside, without looking at him.

It had been a while since Marinette had talked to Juleka. It had been more difficult to keep in touch after she switched to pairs skating some years ago, even if they still exchanged messages and hung out together sometimes.

“Juleka, how are you? I heard you fainted and…” Her feet moved slowly towards her friend as she greeted her, but she gasped when she saw her figure: she couldn't be healthy looking the way she did.

“Marinette. Thanks for coming” Juleka weakly smiled.

“Juleka, look at you! You look so skinny! You have to eat! You shouldn’t listen to what people or magazines say, it’s dangerous! You need to be healthy.”

“I am healthy" she assured her, but Marinette's worried eyes made her admit her problem. "But… you’re right. There’s no need for me to keep throwing out my food. I’m retiring from figure skating”

"What?" Marinette gasped, and Juleka reaffirmed her words with a nod. “Oh no, Juleka! I know you loved it… I’m so sorry for you…” The baker's daughter sympathized.

“It’s Ok, Marinette. Thank you… I’m actually more worried about my brother. We were a team and now his dream is crushed because of me… He can’t compete without a partner and… I’ve wasted everything…”

“Oh, Juleka…”, she warmly hugged her friend.

Not wanting to talk more about her eating disorder, Juleka asked Marinette a question.

“What about you, Marinette? How are things going? Are you getting closer to your dream? You were always first place no matter what! I bet you’ve been improving and setting even higher scores by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could even land a triple axel!”

“I can land it, actually! It’s just… for some reason I can’t seem to land any of my jumps lately during competitions… I keep failing over and over… and then there’s Chloé and Lila… You know… I’m thinking of quitting…” she said in a sigh.

“Oh no, Marinette! You can’t quit! You are the most skilled and talented skater I’ve ever seen. Your scores as a child were in another league! You are bound to make history in figure skating, I know you do. You can’t quit!”

“It’s not a matter of skill anymore, Juleka… It’s a matter of results and wasted effort. I just… I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep my parents overworking to pay for my skating classes with me failing every single jump in competition. I can’t look at their disappointed looks every time I fail their expectations. And Lila’s bullying only keeps escalating while my coach never believes anything I say… I’m not motivated anymore. I don’t have the strength to keep trying...”

Marinette looked devastated as she spoke. Quitting figure skating couldn't make her happy. Juleka knew she would be feeling even worse than herself. She didn't like to see her friend like that.

“Are you sure, Marinette? Because I think it’s a waste. You could win an Olympic gold medal if you aimed for it. It’s just… so frustrating…”

“Juleka…”

After a long silence, Juleka set her determination and faced a surprised Marinette with a serious look on her eyes.

“No. Marinette, I can’t let you quit like that! Look at me. I’ve been forced to quit because of my condition. I wanted to keep skating! I didn’t want to stop! And yet… you say you want to quit. My brother says he wants to quit. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? You have no consideration for me or for yourselves!" She yelled and then paused to take a deep breath. "Marinette, look at my face and tell me again you want to quit! Can you do it?”

“I-... I want to… " Marinette paused, unable to lie. "I want to keep skating!" She finally admitted. "But I can’t anymore, Juleka! I’ve tried to endure it, I’ve tried so hard! And yet… Nothing! It’s just useless. What’s the point when I’m starting to feel that skating is not fun anymore?”

“Oh no, Marinette, you can’t say that! You can’t give up your dream so easily. Who was that skater you admired? Your grandmother? Miss Lenoir? You dreamed of being like her someday! Graceful, elegant yet strong; sliding on the ice like if you were an angel coming from heaven, announcing salvation to all the graceful public crying tears of joy at your beautiful movements. I know you can do it, Marinette. You just need something or someone to…" Juleka paused for a moment. "Wait, I… I have an idea. Why don’t you try pairs skating for a while?”

Marinette was taken aback at her friend's suggestion.

“What? What are you talking about? I told you I want to… to quit…”

“No. Listen to me. You just need to try it out. You try, and I won’t oppose you quitting if you decide to do so after you’ve tried it out.”

“What’s the deal…?”, Marinette said, unconvinced.

“I want you to take my place. I want you and my brother to help each other recover your motivation, your goals, your dreams. We just got a decent score for international competitions and I… I messed up. He did his best and improved a lot. He could score high, to the top maybe, with the right partner… and I think you’re a better fit partner than I could ever be” she said in a weak sigh.

“But- I don’t even know your brother. And I’ve never done pair skating before! And most importantly- there’s no way I could fill in your place! Nobody can! I'm sure you’re important for your brother, and he doesn’t even know me! He won’t want me to pair with him anyway” Marinette protested.

“That’s my part. I’ll convince him to give you a chance. So I need you to give pairs skating a chance, too. You both still have a second chance in figure skating. And I bet you can reach the top in a few years'', Juleka smiled. Her eyes showed conviction in her words, but Marinette had doubts.

“Are you sure he-?” she started, but Juleka cut her, knowing how the question ended.

“I’m sure. Just give it a try. For me. For our friendship. I want you to skate on my behalf. Please... I’m begging you, Marinette. Just one week. One more chance. I’m sure you won’t regret it. No, I promise you won’t”

“Ok, Juleka… I’ll do it. Just one try. No more. I’m quitting if I can’t keep it up. Or if your brother doesn’t like me…”

“He’ll like you. He just needs to meet you.” she smiled in reassurance and Marinette hugged her.

Marinette, noticing the time, broke the hug and spoke again. "I have to go now, but I’ll come again next week. Get well soon, please”

“Thank you, Marinette. For coming and for accepting my selfish request. I’ll send you a message later.”

“Of course, you are still my dear friend, Juleka. Get well soon, ok?”

“I’ll try… Thank you for coming”, she answered, waving her goodbye. ‘Now I need to convince Luka…' she thought, eyeing her friend crossing through the door.

#my fic #fic: ice dreams #lukanette figure skating AU #airip4 #lukanette fic #endgame lukanette #my art #I can't believe I'm already posting this #it's been sooo long #Blame Freya for rushing me XD #lukanette #Pro LukaMari

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atinyarmyzen · 4 years ago

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𝒸𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓂𝑒?

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭!𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: brief mention of injury, some swearing

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: period setting, angst, fluff, you are the only child of a noble family who is an aspiring writer (much to your mother’s distaste), and one day to run into an old friend.

𝐚/𝐧: this took way too long to write so sorry if you’ve been waiting a while, this idea popped into my head and I started writing it like a month ago on and off. I hope you enjoy this v fluffy dramatic ghost au!

You don’t know him, but he knows you. Yuta had been a lingering spirit in this house for over a century, and he has grown quite fond of you over the years. He used to be your “friend” when you were little, but you had long since forgotten him. It broke his heart, but he still loved watching you while you wandered around the huge manor, he loved your singing and watching you read by the window. He had grown content with the arrangement, him admiring you and you never noticing, until one day- you do.

Your family had lived in the house for a couple generations, though the huge manor has been there for hundreds of years before you. Your mother and father were nobles who owned a sizable chateau in the countryside. You were expected to be a debutant and were to be married off to some other noble. It felt more like being sold in your eyes, and you wanted no part of it. Rather than going to parties and balls you preferred to read your books and run around barefoot in the huge meadows. It was lonely considering you were the only child, but you didn’t mind. You preferred the people in your books, and would often visit places all around the world through the stories you read.

Yuta had been the spirit of the house for as long as he could remember. He could barely recall his mortal life, and his life as a spirit felt like eternity even though he had only been dead 100 years. He knew you since you were quite small, and you knew him. You were the only person that had ever actually seen him, and your sweet friendly soul made him feel like wasn’t alone - trapped on the other side of existence. You would often run down the long hallways together, laughing and giggling the whole way. To your parents, it just looked like you running around alone, and they often just passed it off as you being having a wild imagination.

Those were the best days of Yuta’s existence, but it was not to last. As you grew older, your “imagination” began to fade away. One day, Yuta found you where you normally were, in the library by your favorite window. He smiled as he snuck up on you, prepared to playfully spook you like he always would. Except when he jumped out in front of you, you didn’t move a muscle. You kept your eyes trained on the book as if you heard nothing.

“Y/N?” he questioned. Nothing.

He kneeled down in front of you, his big doe eyes looking up into your face as your eyes continued darting across the page. “Y/N?, what’s wrong?” he asked again, thinking you were just giving him the cold shoulder. “Have I done something wrong?” he pleaded, his brows knitted in concern. Yuta reached out his hand and cupped your face, he noticed the sun rays seeping through his ghostly form as he touched your soft cheek. Instead of meeting his eyes, you simply shivered and pulled the window shut as if there was a draft. Yuta drew his hand back, can’t you see him?

He heard your mother call you from the other room, your head immediately perked up in response. “Coming mother!” you announced as you closed your book and got up to leave. Yuta watched in horror as you walked right through him out of the room, his eyes pricked with tears as he watched his best friend leave. His heart shattered, he had never loved anyone so much and it seemed like you had all but forgotten him.

Years past and you grew into a young adult. You attended school, went to parties - or rather forced to go by your parents, and talked to what seemed like hundreds of bumbling idiots who just wanted to marry you for you family fortune. The only solace you found was in your library where you could escape to far off places in books, or running around with your small dog in the fields. Yuta had no choice but to watch you grow, and soon his fondness for the small child he knew grew into love for the beautiful angel that graced the halls of the estate. He had become content with his situation- as long as he got to admire you from afar, it did not matter if you could not see him.

Until one day.

You had become absolutely fed up with your parents incessant need to marry you off. Dinner, like always, turned into a debate over your free will.

“I’d rather chew glass than marry that fool.” you spat as you pushed the food around your plate.

“Y/n, stop being so ridiculous. Don’t pretend you never expected this time to come.” Your mother retorts.

“I’m sorry darling, but we have already discussed the arrangement with his family, you can’t pull out now.” Your father added.

“I wish his dad pulled out but here we are.” You quipped under your breath.

Your father choked on his food and tried his best to stifle his laugh at your little joke. Your mother was less than pleased and scowled at you from across the table.

She shot daggers at your father. “I blame you for her mouth.”

“Would it really be that horrible if I didn’t marry? My literature instructor says I have a talent in writing and that I should consider publishing my stories. I could be so much more than somebody’s prize.” You said with an almost pleading tone.

“I won’t have my daughter becoming some kind of spinster lady. Can’t you see what’s best for your family?” Your mother said, sounding deflated. Your father kept his gaze down.

“I think “what’s best for me” are the words you’re looking for.” you seethed before you loudly pushed your chair back and sped out of the room.

You were too upset to even think about where you were going so your instincts took you right to the library where you sat on your seat by the tall glass window in a huff. All of it, the anger, frustration, sadness began to come to a boiling point. It felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest. Tears pricked your eyes and despite your best efforts they began to fall.

Yuta had heard the whole exchange at dinner, and watched from the corner of the room as your body heaved in sobs. It felt like someone was shoving a spike through his heart- he knew you. He knew you better than anyone, they way you prefer animals to people, your favorite books that you read through so many times the pages have worn, the way your eyes light up when you find inspiration for your stories. He knew what your dreams were- and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He felt helpless, he decided he would do his best to comfort you even if you couldn’t see him, maybe you could feel him. Just as he started towards you he knocked over a stack of books. He cringes at the sudden noise which instantly made you jump and whirl around.

“Hello?” you said, startled.

Yuta dashed behind a bookshelf, although he mentally kicked himself for it because you couldn’t see him anyway. You got up and cautiously stepped forward.

“Mother?” you called. There was no way the wind knocked that huge pile over.

You felt the hair on your arms and neck stand up. You realized that you were supposedly alone, but the sickly chilling feeling in your gut said otherwise. Despite your every nerve screaming at you to get the hell out of the room you moved closer to the corner where the noise came from. You were stopped dead in your tracks when you heard a faint shuffling behind the tall book shelf. You gulped and peeked into the shadows.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you thought it was going to be something that would haunt you forever. Instead, you found nothing but what looked like a young man sitting on the floor with his hands covering his eyes. He looked just as scared as you were. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you studied his appearance a little closer. His form was shifty, as if he was not solid, he looked though he was dressed from a hundred years ago. He had long, sliver tresses that reached down the nape of his neck and brushed his forehead. He had delicate features and full, pink lips. You smiled at the boy, there was something so sincere and endearing about him.

You decided to clear your throat to announce yourself, “Ahem”.

The boy gasped and ripped his hands away from his face. He looked up at you with huge, sparkly dark eyes and you were sure you could see your reflection in. Something about his eyes struck you- they were oddly familiar. You stared at each other for a while before he snapped out of his trance and quickly stood up. You were taken aback at how you were suddenly looking up at him, he looked to be about your age.

“You can see me?” He finally spoke.

“Of course I can.” You replied as if you see him everyday.

“Do you remember me?” Yuta said quietly.

“Remember you? I’ve only just met you.” You stared at him quizzically

Yuta’s heart sank, he thought maybe after seeing him for the first time in years you would recognize him. Still, he was thrilled you could see him at all.

“Are you afraid?” the boy asked.

“Should I be?” you retorted.

He chuckled. “No, not of me at least.” He grinned.

This was the second time he made your heart do flips in the span of 30 seconds. His smile was enchanting. It made you feel safe, warm, and again- he seemed oh so familiar. You felt like you could trust him with your life, and you had no idea why.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Good. I’m y/n.” You said, reaching out your hand.

Yuta stared at your hand for a minute before he took it in his and lifted it to his lips. You were taken aback, expecting a handshake. He pressed a kiss to the back on your hand while keeping eye contact with you. You gasped slightly, his hands felt cool, but his lips were warm. His gaze was so intense compared to moments ago, and it sent shivers up your spine.

“I know. I’ve known you since you were quite small.” He smiled as he straightened up again. “I’m Yuta, I’m the spirit that lives in this house.”

“Well Yuta, it’s nice to finally know you. How can I see you?” You asked

“Very few humans can at your age, usually it’s just children.” Yuta explained.

“I see.” You reached out to touch his face. “May I?”

Yuta nodded. You gently touched his cheek, it felt like a thick, cool air. He lifted his hand to cover yours. You noticed you could see your hand through his shifty one. “Can you feel anything?” You asked curiously.

“Barely, I can only feel warmth, but no sensation like I did when I was alive.” He said flatly.

“Wow.” You said, astonished that you were actually speaking to a fully materialized spirit.

Yuta chuckled at your child-like wonder. “You know you don’t have to go through with it.” He said after a short silence.

“What?” You say, puzzled. “You heard that?”

Yuta smiled shyly. “Yeah, most of it.” He said fidgeting with his hands. He then looked up at you with wide eyes. “Not that I eavesdrop or watch you all the time- I just- well- “ He began to panic. You laughed and reached up to “touch” his shoulder comfortingly.

“Don’t worry- I don’t think you’re a pervert.” You said, giggling.

Yuta sighed. “Oh, good. I didn’t realize that sounded rather creepy.” He laughed nervously.

You laugh again. “I’m glad there’s someone I can get along with around here. I would tell you to make yourself at home but you were here long before me.” You turned to pick up some of the fallen books and start putting them back in their respective places.

Yuta leaned his shoulder against the shelf with his arms crossed, smiling fondly at you as you move around the room, going on about the different books you’ve been reading. I felt like no time had passed, like everything was right in the world again.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

From that day forward, Yuta became your confidant. Being as you were the only one that could see him, you figured there was no harm in telling him all of your secrets, fears, and dreams. On top of that, there was something about Yuta that felt incredibly safe. Even if he were alive, he would still be your closest friend.

If you spent a lot of time alone before, it was like you were a hermit now. You really left the library, and sometimes it even sounded like you were talking to yourself. Your mother pressed her ear to the large wooden door, curious as to who you were talking to.

“That girl, she worries me.” She said, knowing for a fact you were alone in there.

Despite the growing concern of your parents, you were the happiest you had been in a long time. Yuta was always with you, he made you belly laugh until your ribs hurt, always wanted you to read him your stories, and he told you stories from when he was alive.

“I am 125 years old you know.” he said after he finished telling you about his childhood.

“You don’t look a day over 25.” You said sarcastically.

“Oh stop, you make my blush.” He said exaggerating his gestures.

“If you could even blush.” You quipped

He feigned a shocked gasp. “How rude Miss Y/n. I thought you were a lady.” Yuta fired back with a smirk.

You snickered. “If being a lady means I have no sense of humor, then I’m no lady.”

Yuta chuckled at you, your unapologetic attitude was one of the things he adored about you. His gaze lingered for a bit as you concentrated on the book in your hands.

“You know you don’t have to go through with it.” He said suddenly changing the subject.

You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“You don’t have to marry that pompous ass if you don’t want to.” He clarified.

You scoffed. “Yuta, you of all people should know the world doesn’t work like that.” Your eyes went back to your book.

“I wish we would have lived at the same time.” Yuta’s voice suddenly became softer.

You looked up to meet Yuta’s eyes- they could be so intense sometimes. Words were suddenly lost on you, your lips parted but nothing escaped. You were suddenly aware of the proximity of his face to yours. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then tracing your jaw with his finger until he reached your chin. You felt goosebumps erupt on your arms, the cool air suddenly making you shiver.

Yuta noticed and pulled his hand away. “Sorry.” he breathed. “I forget how cold I am.” He said sadly, his eyes downcast.

You gently brought you hands up to his face, causing him to meet your eyes. He looked surprised.

“Me too.” you said quietly. “Maybe in another life, I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you for a husband.” You smiled.

Yuta’s face lit up with a huge grin that reached his eyes. He laughed breathily.

“I suppose this would be a good time to tell you I have loved you since you were small.” He brought a hand up to hold yours against his face. “But I’ve been in love with you since you’ve grown up into the beautiful person you are now.”

There was a moment of pause as you stared in the galaxies that seemed to be swirling in his eyes. All you could hear was your breathing growing shallower and your blood rushing in your ears. He was perfect.

Now or never.

You leaned in slowly, as if being magnetically pulled. Your lips hovered over his; he stayed still. Both of your eyes were half-mast as you stared at each other’s lips.

He pulled away.

You deflated. Yuta kept his gaze down. “I can’t.” He said in a thin voice. “And why not?” you retorted. He met your eyes with his glassy ones. “If I am going to kiss you- of which I want nothing more- I want to be able to feel you, and you me. You deserve that.”

“I don’t care Yuta. You have already given me what I know I will never have in this life.” You breathed, feeling tears begin to prick your eyes. “I love you.”

Yuta blanched at your words. He had gone too far, let his own selfish desires to be with you again get in the way. If you really wanted to be with him, what was the cost? He could never give you what you wanted from him. “You deserve someone who can give you a real life, a human one.”

You stood up abruptly with your back to him. The tears that had been gathering in your eyes spilled over, suddenly it was hard to breathe. Why was he doing this? You spun around to face him. “Then why?” you said with a shaky voice. “Why did do all of this? If you knew all along that you loved me why would you wait until the moment I realized that I loved you too to break my heart?!” Your voice began to rise as you spoke.

Yuta looked at you with a helpless look on his face. “I’m sorry.” was all he could choke out before his head fell into his hands and he began to sob. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at his any longer before rushing out of the room.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You hadn’t seen Yuta in weeks. You barely spoke, your appetite was all but gone, and you cried nearly every night. You had forgotten how lonely it all was before him. You had become completely apathetic to your situation, allowing the your betrothal to become official. The wedding was in a week, and you were dragged to countless meetings with your dress designer, dance lessons, and wedding plans that your mother was far more excited about than you were. You spent any other time you had locked away in your room writing. At least in the world of your own creation, the heroine was able to have the life you wanted. She could have a career, travel the world, walk along the streets of big cities, and still have the love of a lifetime without having to sacrifice a single thing.

One day, you sat at your writing desk by the tall window, watching your tears fall to the paper below in soft patters. You looked up into the mirror, you didn’t even recognize yourself anymore. You were frail and your skin had taken on a dull sallowness. You could feel yourself slipping, the constant despair causing your to fray at the seams. You closed you eyes for a moment before opening them to see a head of silvery hair standing behind you. His eyes were just as doe-like as ever- they looked at you with such sadness. With a sharp gasp you turned only to find nobody behind you. You looked back to the mirror to see only yourself reflected back at you. There was no way of knowing if you imagined it or if he was really there. It all became too much, and with a pained scream you shattered the mirror in front of you with your fists.

Where is he?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Despite the fussing of everyone around you and your mother’s scolding, your lacerated hands hardly concerned you. You sat in your nightgown still, in your usually chair by the window in the library. You fiddled with your bandages on your hands before one of the house attendants had come in.

“Miss Y/n?” he spoke softly.

You quickly snapped out of your trance, “Yes?”.

“A letter for you, miss.” He said as he handed you a small envelope with a seal.

You offered him a small smile, “Thank you.”

Your literature professor had told you to send off one of your stories to a publishing company in New York City. You eyed the wax seal on the envelope, and broke it.

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒴/𝓃,

𝒲𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝒴𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝓊𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜��𝑒𝓁. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓈 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝓎 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝐻𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃.

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈,

𝐸𝓁𝒾𝓏𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓉𝒽 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝒾𝓃, 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝒞𝒽𝒾𝑒𝒻

Holy shit. You thought, quickly folding up the letter and going to your room to hide it in your desk drawer. This was surreal, never did you think you could actually get published- by one of the largest publishers in the country no less. Your wedding was in a week, what could you possibly do about it now? You slightly cursed yourself for being so resigned about your engagement. Until you remembered Yuta’s words:

“You don’t have to do it you know, I think you know that too. You could leave it all behind and be perfectly fine on your own.”

You turned to your bed to pull out a large suitcase, throwing it open before shoving every possession you could fit inside. Your life wasn’t here, especially now that Yuta had gone. You thought of your family- their disappointment. Your mother’s you could deal with, but when your mind crossed your father there was a slight tinge of guilt. You paused your movements for a moment. He understood you, and he always stood up for you when your mother would get particularly overbearing. Still, you knew he wouldn’t stop the engagement. You snapped out of your trance and continued to pack until were interrupted by a knock at your door.

You jumped at the sudden noise, suddenly aware you could be discovered. “Yes?” you called.

“Supper is ready Miss” someone said from the other side of the door. “Be right there!” you shouted.

Shit. You thought. You quickly shut your suitcase- which took a fair amount if effort due to how utterly stuffed it was. Shoving it under the bed, you fixed your slightly disheveled hair and left your room to meet your parents who were already sitting at the dining table.

“You look flushed, dear.” Your mother commented upon looking at your face. “Is everything alright?” She asked while sipping her wine.

“Yes, mother. It’s just rather chilly today.” You lied. You father just looked at you with a raised eyebrow before going back to pouring his own wine.

You were on edge the whole time, your leg constantly bouncing while mindlessly pushing food around your plate. You could barely stomach the idea of food due to house nervous you were. You were making your escape tonight, you thought. All you have to do is wait till dark. As soon as supper was over you quickly excused yourself and shoved your chair back before leaving the room without another word.

“She has barely said a word for weeks.” Your mother said lowly. “What on earth has gotten into her.”

“She wasn’t meant for this life.” You father mumbled. “She’s far too smart and stubborn.” You mother continued to watch the door where you had walked out. Her eyes narrowed before she finished her wine. “I blame you.” She said bitterly.

You rushed to the library to gather the few books you new you couldn’t live without. You dashed around the room, stacking them in your arms before you came to your usual spot by the window. You looked at the scattered books and your scrapped pieces of your writing. Your eyes stopped on a small drawing you had sketched while you and Yuta were spending one your usual days lazing around the library. He was facing you, his gaze turned out the window in front of him. Though you’re no artist and you could never do his angelic features justice, you could still very clearly remember the scene. You stuffed it in your pocket before heading back to your room to get the rest of your things together. For the first time in your life you had never felt so sure of something. Although you might never see Yuta again, he could never leave your memory- no amount of distance nor the passage of time could change that.

You bittersweetly smiled to yourself as you made your way down the hall to your room. You struggled to open the door with all the books in your arms and barely noticed someone sitting on the chair at your desk.

Your mother.

She was holding the letter.

All of the breath left your lungs, there was an icy feeling in the pit of your stomach. All of the hope you had deflated in a matter of seconds.

“After all I’ve done.” Your mother started, still staring at the letter. “You still are adamant on destroying our family.”

There was silence for a several moments. You had tolerated her snide remarks and constant distaste for everything that made you happy. You played along with her ideas for your entire life, and for what?

“No, mother.” you said in a low voice. “You are adamant on destroying me.”

Your mother quickly stood up and rushed over to you. “How could you be so selfish?!” She seethed, her face just inches from yours. “Do you honestly expect that you could survive in this world all on your own? Don’t you know that isn’t possible for us?!” She said in a mix of anger and tears.

“Just because you gave up on your dreams doesn’t mean you can get in the way of mine.” You said in a flat, low voice.

Your mother shook with rage and tears before she pushed past you and stopped with her hand on your door handle. “I will not have my family be a laughing stock just because you have silly delusions. You will stay in this room until the wedding if that’s what it takes.” She spat before slamming the door.

“NO!” You heard the faint sound of a lock from the outside. You slammed on the wooden door with your fists in rage until it eventually turned into tears of frustration. You eventually slumped against the door, exhausted.

Hours passed and shadows stretched across your room as the sun sank into the earth. The only light coming from the small lamp in your room. Everything was numb, all your fight had left you. You leaned back against the cool wood of your door, still sat the same spot you slumped in. You let out a sigh before felt yourself falling backward. You yelped as the door opened behind you and you fell out into the hallway.

“What the hell-“ you began before you looked up.

Yuta.

You stared for a few seconds in disbelief thinking it was just another one of your hallucinations. Yuta’s brows were knitted as he stared down at you.

“Well? Don’t just lie there, you don’t have much time.” He said. You looked at him quizzically before it dawned on you: he was helping you escape. Yuta seemed to notice your moment of clarity and offered his signature smile. You got yourself off the floor and looked him in the eyes. Tears pricked your eyes as you smiled at him. Without really thinking you threw your arms around him, and you were surprised to feel warmth rather than the coolness of his shifty figure. It didn’t quite feel like a typical hug, but more like being enveloped in warmth.

“I missed you.” Was all you could say. You both stayed there for a few moments before you felt his warmth pull away from you.

“I never left.” He said with a warm grin. “Now hurry up, lady. I don’t pick locks for just anybody.” He winked.

You grinned widely before running off to grab all of your things. It was probably just before dawn by the looks of it, Yuta lead you to a small doorway that you had never seen before. “This was how I sneaked out.” He told you. You huffed in amusement before grabbing a hold of the handle, it was old and probably hadn’t been opened in years. You had to use all of your strength to slide it open, it was slowly beginning to inch open before you heard a voice.

“Y/n.”

You jumped and fell backward before looking up to see your father with an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart was leaping out of your chest, you looked around and saw Yuta standing next to you with a panicked expression on his face. If you weren’t screwed before, you definitely were now. \

“Where do you think you’re going?” He said in a grave voice before walking over to you. He helped you off the floor, and you kept your eyes glued to them.

“Without this?” He continued. Your eyes snapped up to see him holding an envelope. You met this eyes with your brows knit together, utterly confused.

You took it from him and opened it. Inside it was a train ticket and some cash. Your mouth fell open before you looked back up at your father who was smiling fondly. He took your face in his hands and gingerly kissed your forehead before meeting your eyes with his glassy ones.

“Go.” He said with a wide, proud smile.

You kissed his cheek before telling him you loved him and that you would write when you got to New York before you scurried out the door. You came out the other side to see the garden just outside your favorite window by the library. You took a deep inhale of the crisp morning air and saw the sky begin to tinge with orange as the sun began to rise. You opened your eyes to see the window open and Yuta staring at you with a fond look on his face. Despite your joy, your heart deflated when you made the realization.

Yuta would probably never see him again. You ran over to him placing both your hands on the window sill as he leaned down on his elbows. “Come with me.” You said through the tears painting your cheeks. Yuta gave you a sad chuckle before he reached his hand out to your face. You leaned into the warmth and closed your eyes. “I can’t.” You voice broke. “Not without you.” You opened your eyes to meet his and scanned his features for a moment, desperately trying to engrain his beautiful face in your memory. The sunlight shone faintly through his slightly transparent figure, giving him an ethereal glow.

He was the first to break the silence. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll see you again soon.” You were confused. “How?” you asked.

He chuckled again. “I’ve waited a hundred years to meet you, what’s another few decades?” You smiled at his jest. Yuta brought his hands to your face, they felt almost real this time. “Go, I want you to live. Be the heroine in your stories. Go on adventures. Break hearts. Feel heartbreak. Laugh till you can’t breathe. Feel it all, the greatest joy and the deepest pain. Write your stories. Then, after you’re old and grey and it’s time for you to leave this world, you can tell me all about it.” You let out a shaky laugh between your sobs, never had you felt more pain and love at the same time. Yuta leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. This time, you swore you could feel the plushness of his lips and his fingertips grazing your jaw and neck. You felt his pull away and opened your eyes to meet his. They never failed to put you in a trance.

“I love you.” You said in a voice just above a whisper. You saw his pupils dilate as he heard your words.

“If you only knew how much I loved you.” He said with the most beautiful smile that lit up his eyes like stars.

“Now beat it, you have a train to catch.” He joked. You chuckled. You abruptly turned to leave to save yourself from further torture. You ran across the meadow to your horse. You strapped down your things and hoisted yourself up before taking one last look at the window. Yuta was still there, he gave you a small wave. “See you soon.” You whispered before spurring your horse forward into a brisk run.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ • ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Snow fell softy outside your window, the city took on a unique charm during the winter. The lights glittered and the people bustled down below, never stopping for a heartbeat. You looked around your home that you had called your own for decades. There was a piece of you here that would never leave, given you had written some of the most bestselling novels in history within these walls. All of the fame had made for an extraordinary life, but even in the moments of utter chaos time would slow to a crawl when he would cross your mind.

Over the years you wondered if it was all your imagination and if you ever actually would see him again. You reached to the side of your bed and picked up a small compact you kept with you all the time. You opened it to find the drawing of Yuta you had made all those years ago, it was your only way to remember his face as the years went by. Then you looked over to the mirror in the other side and saw your face. You were no longer the youth you once were, you looked over the way time had wore over your face. You smiled, it was proof you had kept your promise to Yuta, or leaving it all behind would have been for nothing.

You closed the locket and held it to your chest as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. It felt strange like, you were being enveloped in warmth, the noises around you starting to blur and echo, as if you were under water. You heard a voice whisper right before everything turned black.

You woke with a gasp. It felt as though you had slipped into a deep ocean and couldn’t stop yourself until all of the sudden you were brought back to the surface. The room your were in was flooded with sunlight and you squinted as your eyes adjusted. What soon came into focus was the library from your family home. Everything was the same, except it felt different. Lighter, dreamier, as if time didn’t really move here. Looking down at your hands, they were no longer veiny and wrinkled from time, but youthful again. You turned your head to the window, a boy sat there. A boy with silver hair. As if he knew you had spotted him, he turned his head to meet your eyes. He smiled as if he was expecting you.

Yuta.

He stood up as you ran to him and nearly knocked him over as you embraced. He was real, you could feel his solid form as you buried your face in the hair that dusted his neck. He smelled exactly how you imagined and he was so, so warm. You felt the vibrations of his low laugh as you clung to him desperately. He pulled back to look at your face before he kissed you, gently brushing his thumb along your neck where his hold was. You were finally home.

You pulled away from each other before letting out a giggle. “I have so much to tell you.” You said. He smiled. Not a thing about him had changed.

“And I can’t wait to hear all of it.”

203 notes · View notes

cupofteaguk · 4 years ago

Text

i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice

FROM THE PETALS COLLECTION

[pairing] :: jungkook x fem!reader

[genre] :: percy jackson au + angst

[word count] :: 7.3k

[note] :: attempted a son of hades!jungkook storyline. vaguely inspired by nico di angelo’s character arc if you’ve read the books (because coughs well this use to be an unpublished nico di angelo fanfic don’t at me LMAO), but you don’t need to remember the character slash be an expert in the story to read this fic! Also this is a friends to lovers fic hidden behind my attempt to write a story of grief. pls enjoy!

When Jungkook is fifteen years old, he arrives at Camp Half Blood with pennies in his pockets, one Kim Taehyung on his back, and monsters on his tail. There are all kinds of creatures that have been following him for weeks—some with wings, some with clubs, but all with the intent of murder in their eyes as they chase Jungkook up the hill. Taehyung had warned him about this happening, that starting this journey would attract lots of unwanted attention from lots of dangerous half-breed monsters. Something to do with Jungkook’s scent, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

In the beginning, Jungkook hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t known what Taehyung meant by strange creatures and a camp just for him. Even right now, as he is running as quickly as his legs can take him with his lungs feeling like it’s about to burst—he doesn’t really understand.

What he does understand is that he has been alone his entire life. With a childhood filled with no father and a frightful mother, Jungkook has grown up spending time by himself in the company of his own thoughts and emotions. With such a strange (and lacking) family dynamic, it exposed him to lots of bullying and snide comments from peers, most commonly seen during school or walks home. The first half of Jungkook’s childhood is defined by this—by the teasing for being different, for failing classes, for being awkward and shy, for never knowing his place. The second half of Jungkook’s childhood is filled with sleeping on the streets, with stealing food at convenience stores, on how he’s been truly alone since he was thirteen.

That is, until Kim Taehyung corners him at the midnight strike of his fifteenth birthday—which leads the two of them to this current moment.

Jungkook doesn’t understand much right now. All he knows is that he needs to run.

As Jungkook approaches the top of the hill, he sees a group of people surrounding an archway. They’re all bundled up in gears of shields and swords, and each of them turn towards the boys as the monster thudding grows louder and Jungkook’s calls become more clear.

Half of the group near the archway break off, immediately making their way towards Jungkook and Taehyung. There are a few questions thrown here and there, before the main objective is just to make sure the boys get to safety. Taehyung’s weight gets distributed between Jungkook and another person, and together the bigger group makes their way across the hill. They cross a tall pine tree that Jungkook hardly notices, because he’s completely out of breath, wounded across his entire body, with legs that feel like jello.

Taehyung’s weight shifts entirely to the other person as Jungkook trips and falls to his knees. Quickly, Jungkook whirls around so his butt and his arms are on the ground. With his eyes directed towards the hill, his heart crawls up his throat as he sees the monsters making their way up towards him. His body moves before his mind does, his arms moving him closer towards the archway.

Someone settles themselves right behind him. “Woah, hey.” Your voice is soft, your hand between his shoulders is comforting. “You’re okay, you’re safe now.”

“B-But!” Jungkook stammers, pointing shakily towards the creatures now growing closer and closer to everyone. “Those monsters! They’re coming!”

As soon as he says that, the monsters stop in their path, right next to the pine tree from earlier. Their collection of beady eyes glare angrily down at Jungkook, their screams are hollow cries that press painfully against his ears. This conveyance of frustration continues on for a few seconds, before one by one the monsters turn around and make their way back down the mountain.

Jungkook’s breathing is frantic, along with his heart rate, as he watches the creatures disappear below the dip. “W-What the hell…?”

You angle your head toward in order for Jungkook to look at you—you wear an expression of softness, of understanding, and Jungkook momentarily sees stars.

That, however, could have also been from the excess oxygen in him, and the fact that one of those creatures had landed a swipe to his head.

You gesture to the pine tree. “You see that tree? That’s Thalia Grace’s tree—a long time ago, she and some of her friends were trying to get here, and Thalia sacrificed herself to ensure her friends could be safe. She was a daughter of Zeus, so he turned her into a tree that would protect the camp. Monsters just like those can’t get in anymore.”

Jungkook feels the adrenaline fading, along with his ability to follow conversations. Daughter of Zeus? Like, Zeus from those Greek mythologies? The camp? Had this been the place Taehyung told him about?

It’s all too much to keep up with. Jungkook faints before he can ask his question, in which the last thing he sees is your eyes, concerned and twinkling. He passes the thudding in his heart off as pure and utter exhaustion.

Jungkook wakes up on top of a white hospital bed a few hours later, head swimming and Taehyung situated at the foot. He offers a cup of something called ambrosia that immediately clears the headache. “Woah, what the fuck?” He asks, holding the cup away from him and staring at it with wide eyes. He looks over at Taehyung. “What is this? My headache went away as soon as I drank this. Also, it tastes like banana milk. Is this a dream?” Without waiting for an answer, Jungkook leans back and takes in his surroundings. He looks to be an infirmary, beds with white sheets along the walls and light shining in through the windows. There’s a few other people lingering about, hovering over occupied beds.

“Jungkook.” Taehyung’s soft voice pulls his attention back. “We’re in Camp Half Blood. You brought us here.” Taehyung’s smile is sad, but confident. “You brought me back, even though it was my mission to bring you here. Thanks.”

Jungkook stares. “So… you weren’t lying about the camp. T-This is all real?”

It is then that Taehyung explains everything to Jungkook. Explains that the Greek gods Jungkook learned about in class are real, and that sometimes they come down from Mount Olympus to mingle with mortals—which is where their demigod children come from. Demigods are part god, and therefore have enhanced physical ability as well as some level of control or skill over the realm of their godly parent. Taehyung goes over this information as slowly and as calmly as possible, but Jungkook still has trouble processing the information. In a way, it makes sense that Jungkook would be in this position. He’s always known he was different, always felt like he could never fully belong in the mortal world he spent so long occupying. He just could never label his feelings with a concrete answer.

Until now, that is.

Jungkook decides to ask Taehyung one more question. “Why couldn’t you explain any of this to me on the way over?”

Taehyung seems to be choosing his next words carefully. “As we kept going, you were attracting more monsters. That’s something that normally doesn’t happen, unless the demigod the creatures are tracking is one that’s insanely powerful. Like, a demigod that’s born from the Big Three—Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades. I read accounts of what happened to us happening to other kids that were born from any one of those three gods. I figured that the less you knew, the better. A demigod who doesn’t know they’re a demigod is a much less serious threat—your scent isn’t as strong as it could be if you know about who you are.”

Jungkook ponders this. “So my dad could be Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades?” He’s definitely heard of those gods. The ruler of all gods, and his two brothers.

Taehyung presses his lips together, leaning forward in his seat so his forearms rest on his knees. “Maybe,” He says. “It’s pretty rare, though, so I don’t want to give you an answer only for it to not be true. Only time will tell.” He must see the lost, the confused, the anxious look on Jungkook’s face, because Taehyung takes a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “Hey, JK, cheer up.” The usage of his nickname makes the corner of Jungkook’s lips turn up. “While we wait for your dad to claim you, you can stay with me in my father’s cabin. My dad is Hermes. He’s a patron to travelers, so all campers who come here are welcomed until they’re claimed by their godly parents.”

Jungkook can only manage a nod at this. He still has many questions, still does not fully understand. With what Taehyung is telling him, Jungkook is not even sure he will belong here, or if he will be ostracized once again for being different amongst the different.

But he trusts Taehyung—so he’ll follow Taehyung.

Jungkook is at Camp Half Blood for a week before Taehyung is called for another assignment. It’s due to a prophecy given by the Oracle who lives on the campgrounds—the figure grants quests to campers to undergo a series of dangerous adventures in order to accomplish something for the long term benefit of demigods, the human race, the Greek gods themselves, anything of the sort.

In the case of Taehyung, he is chosen by fellow camper Kim Namjoon to join him in and travel west and retrieve stolen items from a museum collection. It seems like an easy quest. At least, that’s what Jungkook is told.

Kim Namjoon is a son of Athena, someone whom Jungkook met a day into his arrival at Camp Half Blood—friendly and smart and answers Jungkook’s questions about mythology with ease. It had been good when Jungkook first met the former, because he had many questions, some of which couldn’t be answered by Taehyung. Namjoon is someone that Jungkook immediately grows a fondness and admiration for—only leaving him that much more confident that the quest will go smoothly.

“You guys will be okay… right?” Jungkook asks Namjoon, as the latter is shouldering his backpack. He’s not the only person seeing Namjoon and Taehyung off on their quest, but Jungkook had been one of the first people to show up. After all, when your only friend is leaving on an adventure, it tends to bring in the worry and the anxiety. “And you’ll watch Taehyung, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Namjoon reassures, tight smile across his lips but he distracts Jungkook with a hand on his shoulder. “Taehyung and I have been doing quests together for a few years. We got each other’s back.”

Taehyung slides in next to Namjoon, glancing over at Jungkook with all the care in the world in his eyes. “Hey JK, just promise me you’ll do your best to be comfortable here, okay? Keep trying out those different skills we were working on, okay? Your dad will claim you, I’m sure of it.”

Jungkook looks down at his fingers, wringing the hands together. “I-I’ll try my best.”

Namjoon and Taehyung exchange glances, partaking in a silent language exchange, before Taehyung looks back at Jungkook. “I know someone who can help.”

Taehyung leaves Namjoon with his backpack before stepping away from the group, making his way down the hill back towards the camp grounds. Jungkook follows shortly behind. It’s still early in the morning, most campers are inside their cabins sleeping away the mist, but there’s a small group of campers near the archery grounds. There’s some laughter as a new person steps in to ready the bow and arrow. Jungkook watches as this new archer aims as the target, pulls back the bow, and—!

“Y/N!” Taehyung calls.

The person at the archery station flinches, sending the arrow a few centimeters away from the center of the target. You whirl around, and Jungkook’s stomach drops because it’s you—the person who helped him when he more or less crashed into Camp Half Blood.

You gape, still holding the bow in your arms as your eyes narrow into a glare as you continue to stare straight at Taehyung. “Kim Taehyung! Where are your manners!” You call out. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a quest now?”

Taehyung slings an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “I need to borrow you for a second, it’s important.”

You seem to be saying something to one of your friends, because you hand the bow to a friend before walking over to the two boys.

As soon as you reach your destination, you look at Jungkook and give him a bright-eyed smile of recognition—one that brings him back to the first time he met you, when he saw stars. “Hey!” You exclaim. “I remember you, you came in with Taehyung last week. You looked like you had been through a lot—are you feeling better now?”

“I-uh…” Jungkook tries to form words.

“He had some ambrosia, he’s fine,” Taehyung cuts in kindly, sending Jungkook a look he can’t decipher. Taehyung goes on a momentarily rant, explaining that Jungkook would just need someone to help him further adjust to life at camp, as well as help him figure out who his godly parent was.

Taehyung says a lot of words, but Jungkook isn’t entirely paying attention. His gaze is fixed on you, taking in your easy smile and bright eyes. He can feel his eyes widen and the flush crawl up his cheeks the longer he lets himself look at you—yet, he doesn’t understand what it means. He’s never seen someone like you before, in his years of school and in his years living on the streets.

“So, I just need you to help him out. Hopefully his dad will claim him before we get back.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” You reply, sounding genuinely excited for that. You turn your full attention to Jungkook this time and smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Nice to finally meet you!”

He takes your hand. Fifteen-years-old, and he wears his emotions in his eyes. “I’m Jungkook.”

Jungkook is at Camp Half Blood for three weeks when he starts getting nightmares.

Not only that, but it’s the same kind of nightmare—something horribly realistic and chaotic and messy but so painful that Jungkook finds himself waking up with tears dusting itself in his eyes.

It always starts off the same: Namjoon and Taehyung on their quest. They appear to be in a room of antiques, each boy looking cautiously at the collection around them, with their backs pressed against each other. There is a low hum in his dream, where the voices emit a low frequency and sound like static—like he’s hearing the conversations underwater. Suddenly, a burst comes from above, a shatter of something in the room, a clatter of hollow bangs and clashes, and a yell. His dream always turns blurry after the fight starts, but it always ends the same—Namjoon pulling Taehyung away from a fight. And the latter is badly wounded.

And Jungkook always wakes up at the sight of Taehyung. And it’s the same question that swirls around in his mind, over and over again. Did Taehyung die on the quest?

At first, it’s easy for Jungkook to write off the dream as a dream—nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps his subconscious playing tricks on him, playing around with his fears and turning it into videos to play in his brain. But with each passing night, a voice starts to ring in his mind.

My dear boy. It’s a deep voice, husky and low and full of pitiful sadness, like it can sense the pain that Jungkook is trying to internalize. Don’t you understand? Kim Namjoon let your best friend die.

There’s something about the voice that is familiar, like he’s heard it before.

The voice plays in Jungkook’s mind over and over again, like a record, and it shakes him to the core. The potential of what the voice is and what the voice could mean frightens him, and it shows.

It shows in when Jungkook just outright misses the target with his bow and arrow in the present day. The pair of you are out on the field today, and you’re furrowing your eyebrows together.

“Are you alright?”

Jungkook stares at his arrow, somewhere flung off to the side, before his gaze shifts to you. You’re always so sturdy, so concerned, so worried for him. Besides Taehyung, who else cares so much for his safety and wellbeing—?

He stops, lowering the bow. He wears a serious expression. “Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers.

You furrow your eyebrows at his tone. “Of course. Is something bothering you? I know your father hasn’t claimed you yet, but the gods can be really busy around this time…”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that.” He steals himself for speaking the words into reality. “I had a dream that Taehyung died, even though Namjoon promised me nothing would happen to him.” He doesn’t miss the way you flinch at his accusation.

You don’t reply to him at first. You stare at him, eyes conflicted. Jungkook stares back, briefly wondering whether you’ve had the experience of knowing death. He doesn’t voice the question, choosing instead to maintain steady eye contact with your nervous expression.

“Perhaps it was just a dream, Jungkook,” You say carefully. “Namjoon always keeps his promises. He and Taehyung have been working together on quests for years. And Namjoon is the smartest person I’ve ever met. If they ran into a situation Namjoon thought they wouldn’t be able to handle, he wouldn’t even think to risk the lives of the people he’s with. He won’t let you down.” You’re smiling tightly, clearly trying to keep the tension light but Jungkook suddenly finds that his heart is not in the mood.

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe in Namjoon. But he knows what his dreams are. And that voice. These are things he cannot ignore no matter how hard he tries.

But the thing is, his dreams are real—Kim Namjoon does not keep his promise. Jungkook can see this across his face the moment Namjoon returns to camp, alone.

“Not only did they know we were coming,” Namjoon explains quietly to the camp counselors, late in the night, at a meeting spot reserved for higher ups. “They had taken over the museum a few weeks before we showed up. It was an ambush. I… I couldn’t save Taehyung.”

No.

“No!” Jungkook cries out, standing up and making his position known—loitering in the background of the meeting.

Namjoon meets his gaze from across the gap that separates them. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s head is spinning, his breath coming out in gasps, as he backs up slowly away from the growing crowd of camp counselors. “Y-You promised me!” He accuses loudly, pointing at Namjoon. “You promised nothing would happen to Taehyung! You lied to me!”

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.” Namjoon steps out from amongst the group of counselors, a hand out in front of him as if approaching a frightened animal. “We were overwhelmed. If I could take it back and save him, I would—!”

“Shut up!” Jungkook cries louder, running his hands through his hair. He should have known, should have known that weight in his gut was a warning and not a feeling. The tears in his eyes make it blurry to see anything to understand anything—because Taehyung is dead, along with his kindness and compassion and the safety he brought. “I hate you, I hate all of you!”

Suddenly, there’s a rumble in the ground, a shake in the Earth so intense that a hushed silence falls over the crowd. At once, the ground splits open and a roar of fire explodes up from the pit, threatening to drag in anyone who gets closer. There are screams from the campers, from the counselors, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s so angry, so hurt, so lost. He doesn’t hear any of it.

Until he hears your voice. “Jungkook!” You scream across the gap.

Jungkook stills upon hearing you, lowering his arms and opening his eyes. Blinking away tears, he feels his heart rate slow back down to a manageable pace. The split in the ground closes before he looks up. He sees the camp counselors up ahead, equal looks of fear and horror across their eyes.

He turns just enough to see you. You, with your wide eyes, looking confused and upset by what he has just done. And Jungkook feels nothing but disappointment. He has never done anything like this before, and he doesn’t know what it means.

So he runs away. He runs away from Namjoon and this god forsaken camp that he knows will remind him of Taehyung.

He runs away from the whispers from campers, a representation to serve that Jungkook will never truly belong here.

He runs away from you, the only other person he would think to trust from now on. He can’t handle any of this anymore.

Two weeks after Jungkook runs away from Camp Half Blood, and a shadow of a figure appears to him in the midst of the evening air. It’s a ghost with a dark twisted smile, who calls himself Min Yoongi—a king in a past life, who now resides in the Underworld as a judge for all souls.

He tells Jungkook that Jungkook is a son of Hades—which explains why he knew about Taehyung’s death, why he split the ground open all those weeks ago. There’s something borderline dangerous about Yoongi’s smile.

Every fiber and nerve in Jungkook’s body is begging him not to trust this ghost. But, of course, Jungkook doesn’t listen. He stopped listening to things a long time ago.

Besides, Yoongi soon makes offers that Jungkook cannot escape from. A way to bring Taehyung back, a way to strike revenge upon Kim Namjoon, a way—!

Jungkook blinks the thoughts away. He had dozed off again, something he’s been doing a lot lately.

“You should sleep,” Yoongi advises, his voice more of a whisper than anything else. There’s a touch of eerie to him, in his paper white skin and gray eyes.

Even though Jungkook doesn’t desire sleep, far from it, he settles with listening to the ghost anyways. So he curls up on a makeshift pillow crafted from his beaten down (stolen) leather jacket, and closes his eyes.

But instead of the previous nights, where he dreams about death and destruction, dreams up different ways Taehyung could have survived, dreams up Namjoon not caring about Taehyung’s death—he dreams of you.

Dreams about you are such a rarity now, but they always make him feel warm. Content. Almost satisfied.

In the dream, the pair of you are situated underneath a big tree at the edge of the forest. You’re in the middle of teaching him about Mythomagic—a card game he had immediately developed an interest for—and he realizes he’s dreaming about a memory this time. When he steals a look at you, he sees sunlight curling around your form, lighting up your hair and your eyes. He hears your laughter and sees the crinkle in your eyes. He can feel your happiness and the innocence in the air around you. He remembers the peacefulness, the calming nature of you.

He misses it—he misses you.

A cold chill running down his spine startles Jungkook awake as he springs into a sitting position. The fire before him has long since been put out, and Min Yoongi is floating in front of him. The latter wears a sharp look. “You’re dreaming about her again, aren’t you?”

Jungkook sighs. Good things in his life could only last for so long. He runs a hand through his hair and turns to gather his jacket into his arms. “I thought I asked you to stop peeking into my mind.”

“You were smiling,” Yoongi observes quietly.

“That’s none of your business,” Jungkook snaps.

“It must have been a good dream. I couldn’t see the contents of the dream, just the subject.”

“Stay out of my head!” Jungkook hisses, standing up and sliding his arms into the jacket.

“You care deeply about her.”

“What do I have to say to get you to stop talking about her?” Jungkook retorts hotly, feeling his temper rise. It had been a good dream. The best one he’s had all week.

Yoongi looks at him passively. “Just answer one of my questions,” He settles calmly.

Jungkook grunts. “Fine. What is it?”

“Why exactly do you care so much about her? You hardly know her.”

Jungkook slides his backpack over his shoulder. He ignores the touch of passive aggressiveness in Yoongi’s tone. “She was the only one at camp who went out of their way to make me feel like they actually gave a shit.”

“She cares more about Namjoon than you,” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “She and Namjoon have been friends for longer. She only talked to you because of Namjoon, after all. And don’t you hate him?”

“Shut up.”

“You worry she doesn’t care for you the way you do. Haven’t you wondered why she hasn’t tried looking for you?”

“Shut up.”

“She was only nice to you because Namjoon asked her to be nice to you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jungkook explodes, turning towards Yoongi with his arm out in a striking motion. His arm cuts clean through the ghost, and he watches as the pieces wisp away into the air. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Yoongi will be back soon, probably to reprimand him, but mostly to carry on as if this hadn’t happened—to continue asking questions and continue trying to piss Jungkook off. It doesn’t matter. Jungkook could never bring Yoongi any harm. The latter is a ghost, after all.

There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand.

Jungkook calls off his deal with Yoongi shortly after the You Incident—in which a series of dreams about you sent Yoongi on an accusatory streak that sent him back to the Underworld where he rightfully belongs. It’s good because he doesn’t want a ghost meddling in his personal business, and his personal feelings.

It’s bad, however, because Jungkook no longer has an evil ghost by his side that offers up revenge.

This leaves him to do the next best thing—try and summon Taehyung.

As a son of Hades, his powers do include communicating with ghosts like Yoongi and cracking holes into the ground, but it also involves the ability to summon deceased souls. All that is required is a pit, some food, and a cantation in Ancient Greek. It’s supposed to be simple, and in a way it is.

Except when the soul he’s trying to summon doesn’t want to be found, which is exactly how it has gone with Taehyung. He’s tried to get Taehyung’s attention for weeks now, to no luck. And he’s tried everything.

Jungkook scowls to himself as he takes in the local convenience store to buy the various items he’ll need to attempt another summoning. Animal blood is one of the best tools for this type of power, but animal blood doesn’t exactly like up on shelves in aisles of grocery stores—so Jungkook has settled with fast food meals, chips, or anything cheap he can get his hands on.

He glares at the lineup of sodas in front of his gaze, trying to focus but he finds his mind wandering against through his memories, picking the ones that are most guaranteed to make him feel like shit.

His mind settles on a line Yoongi said to him countless times regarding you: She was only nice to you because Namjoon asked her to be nice to you.

His hands shake in his pockets, determined not to believe it, but finding himself pool with doubt nonetheless.

“Jungkook.”

He jumps out of his skin at the familiar voice he’s spent the past many months thinking about, as the sensation rings through his body. He experiences brief flashes of emotions he hasn’t undergone in awhile: peace, warmth, hope. He turns on his heel and can’t help the way his eyes widen at the sight of you.

The months that have passed since his disappearance really does wonders to your face. You look older. You look wary, but well prepared. Most of all, your eyes are still that bright light he remembers more often than he cares to admit. But you also look sad, like the sight of Jungkook is worse than you expected.

“Jungkook…” You say again, quieter this time.

You saying his name again brings him back to reality, brings him back to where he is and why he’s here. He doesn’t need you. Like Yoongi said, you’re friends with Namjoon—and Namjoon is the reason why Taehyung is dead. His voice sounds hollow. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same question.”

His scowl deepens as he settles for a Mountain Dew on the rack. “That’s none of your business.” He catches the hurt that flickers in your eyes, but he turns towards the cashier before he can feel sorry for you.

You trail after him. “Please don’t shut me out,” You plead gently. You stay behind Jungkook as he pays for his food. “I came here looking for you.”

“Awfully convenient—but I don’t think you should be wasting your time,” Jungkook grumbles, bounding out of the shop and stopping along the sidewalk. “Why don’t you go back to Namjoon and keep being his best friend and just leave me alone?”

A sort of realization seems to settle in your eyes, as if you’ve just confirmed something. “I’m not leaving,” You say firmly after a moment. “I’m here by myself, Jungkook. No campers, no Namjoon, it’s just me. I know you’re mad at Namjoon, and you have every right to be upset. I know why you cracked a hole in the ground. I understand all that now. But I really think you should stop blaming Namjoon and hurting yourself. Namjoon didn’t mean to let Taehyung die—!”

Jungkook whirls around, his eyes a twin set of fire. “Don’t say his name,” He snaps roughly, but falls silent when you don’t even flinch.

How could he raise his voice at the only person who has gone out of their way to ensure his safety?

He turns away. He doesn’t apologize, and you don’t ask him to.

The pair of you don’t say anything for a long moment—Jungkook just makes his way down the sidewalk and you follow along.

He stops after a moment. He turns himself just enough so you can see his profile. “Fine,” He says, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest when you flash him an appreciative smile. “I’ll let you tag along. But only because I feel bad for snapping at you. I’ve just…” He sighs. “Been going through a lot.”

You step forward to stand by his side. “We can talk about anything you want to, Jungkook. I’m still your friend.”

He swallows thickly at your offer, hoping that you don’t notice. If you do, you remain silent. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

Two days after you join Jungkook’s travels, you seem to decide he is calm enough for a sensitive question. But you’re sneaky about it. You wait until the night, when both of you are curling around a fire—you in your sleeping bag, and Jungkook with his signature leather jacket makeshift pillow underneath his head. “Why are you so afraid to talk about Taehyung’s death?”

He flinches at the mention of Taehyung’s name, knowing that snapping and causing a scene would do nothing to stop you from asking the question over and over again. You had given him a few days, but something about your tone tonight tells him that you won’t take no for an answer.

Jungkook turns his head to look at you. Your eyes are flickering against the fire. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Sure.”

He sighs, momentarily stumped. “I’m afraid that if I admit it, or let other people admit it in front of me, it’s true and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back.”

“I don’t think Taehyung would want you to bring him back, Jungkook. He saved Namjoon that day; he sacrificed himself for a reason—!”

“Okay, my turn,” Jungkook interrupts, refusing to hear any of it. “Why are you here? Really?”

You are quiet for a second. “I was sent on a quest to come find you,” You reply after a moment. “The oracle told me about a prophecy where you were in danger. It said you had made a deal with Min Yoongi, said you were considering a soul for a soul trade to get Taehyung back. I was scared for you, Jungkook.” You sit up in your sleeping bag, leaning across the space between the two of you. “My turn. Why don’t you want to believe that Taehyung sacrificed himself to save Namjoon?”

“Because why would he do that?” Jungkook retorts back. “Why would he leave behind everything he cared about? Why would he leave me—?” The words choke in the back of his throat as his heart rams painfully against his chest, the underlying reason for his bitterness surfacing up again. He thought he had smashed his grief down far enough where it would never have to see sunlight again. “It’s nothing. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

You are quiet, watching as Jungkook curls into himself and turns his back to you. “When are you going to start letting me in?” You whisper. “I didn’t accept that quest for no reason, Jungkook, I came because I care about you. I want to help you.”

I’ve already let you in, far more than I wanted to, Jungkook thinks to himself instead, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

“I know that Taehyung would have never wanted to leave you. He cared about you a lot, and saw you as the little brother he never had. You guys deserved more time. You deserved more time to have the family you never got to have. You wanna know the last thing Taehyung said to me, after introducing us to each other all that time ago? He said that you guys only knew each other for a short time, but you were the strongest person Taehyung had known. I know how much Taehyung wanted to be there for you. But he also had other responsibilities.” Your fingers twitch as if you want to reach over and grab onto Jungkook. “Namjoon had been the leader of the quest, he was the main priority. Taehyung had to make the call. He would never have wanted you to take the guilt for a decision he made on his own.”

Jungkook hesitates, before rolling onto his back. “Why does Namjoon deserve my forgiveness?”

Finally, he spares a glance at you. You’re still looking at him, gaze sharp over the fire. It distracts Jungkook momentarily, as his mind thinks about how different you are from fire. Fire can be harsh, blunt, unforgiving, and relentless. Like him.

But you are like the sun—bright, warm, longing. You refuse to give up on him.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” You whisper. “Because everyone deserves a second chance.”

He stares at you. He doesn’t know what longing dances behind his eyes, but you seem to know, because you avert your gaze and grumble something about going to sleep.

He watches you turn to your side, and he wonders.

Jungkook has tried to summon Taehyung a grand total of ten times in the weeks prior to his run in with you. Each time is met with failure, because it seems like Taehyung does not want to be summoned which is disappointing and disheartening. To be honest, it makes Jungkook less and less enthusiastic to keep attempting something he cannot guarantee.

But as you stand next to him over an empty pit the pair of you have spent the last thirty minutes digging up, you take your hand in his. You smile at him, nodding. “It’ll work this time.”

So Jungkook pours in the Mountain Dew and dumps out the bag of chips he’s acquired into the hole. As he repeats the same cantation he’s said for the past ten times, the food starts bubbling as spirits from the Underworld fight to get a taste of the offering.

“Show me Taehyung!” Jungkook calls out, although he sounds worried and unsure.

At once, a spirit with a bright light, brighter than the others around it, shines through. It slides to the front to drink from the food at the bottom of the pit. The figure morphs and forms into Kim Taehyung.

Despite everything, despite the long hours that Jungkook has committed to summoning Taehyung, the sight of his friend does not fill him with joy. It fills his eyes with tears.

You notice, you always do. You squeeze his hand, but you also let go of him. “I’ll leave you two.”

So Taehyung talks. He talks and talks, about his quest, about his sacrifice, about Namjoon, about forgiveness.

This is something Jungkook has wanted for weeks. Yet, the longer Taehyung talks, the deeper he can feel the rifts of frustration.

Frustration at Namjoon, for whom everyone is telling Jungkook to forgive.

Frustration at Taehyung, for leaving him drowning in the sorrows of his own nightmares. For leaving him, even when he wasn’t ready to be left.

Frustration at you, for always caring about him, even when he’s sure he doesn’t even care about himself anymore.

When Jungkook releases Taehyung back to the Underworld, he feels like a hollow shell. He simply stands there, in front of the pit that brought forth his best friend. His mind is whirling with questions, with a curiosity.

You approach him slowly. “Jungkook…”

“You should go back,” He mutters.

You actually look shocked at this now. “What?”

He turns on his heel to address you properly. “Go back to camp.” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the words come out like a snap. He tries to reprimand the situation when your face falls just a fraction. “Go back to camp,” He tries again, a little softer this time. He keeps his gaze on you, even when you look up to stare at him. “It’ll be okay. I just need a little bit of time.”

At this, you nod slowly. You try for a smile. “Come back home, okay?”

He thinks he knows what you mean, but you disappear before he can ask you.

He returns to Camp Half Blood after a few days, with his leather jacket and black iron sword. The campers that guard the border part for him like the Red Sea—with the exception of one camper. He’s an older camper, who even in the dark shines brighter than the moon overhead. It’s a son of Apollo quality. It belongs to Jung Hoseok, a camper Jungkook met when he first arrived at camp. Hoseok is like sunshine—he’s always bright and cheerful with a positive disposition.

Today, despite still having that glint in his eyes, the boy wears a much more solemn expression. Almost as if he’s seen everything that Jungkook has gone through. Or, at the very least, has heard about it. “Hey Jungkook…” Hoseok greets. He doesn’t leave much room for conversation, because he gestures past the archway entrance, down the hill, towards the Big House—the main meeting place for campers, the central point of Camp Half Blood. “She’s waiting for you.”

He doesn’t need a list of camp names to know who Hoseok is talking about. Jungkook just mumbles his thanks, trying not to draw too much attention to the flush against his cheeks as he follows the pathway down into camp. It’s late, so the grounds are devoid of people, making it easier for Jungkook to step onto the porch of the Big House.

You’re on the porch, pacing back and forth with your thumb in between your teeth and you look nervous. You’re mumbling something underneath your breath.

But your ears are just as good as your eyes, because as soon as Jungkook steps on the wood, you’re whirling around to face him. “Jungkook!” You exclaim, approaching him with tentative steps. “Y-You came back.”

He levels you with a look, feeling a bashfulness overcome him. “You asked me to,” He says. There’s a slight pause. “I told you I needed time to think, and I have. You were right. Everyone deserves a second chance. It wasn’t fair of me to go after Namjoon the way I did.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Jungkook continues to stare at you, feeling a fondness overcoming him. “Thanks,” He finally settles with. “For, you know, finding me. For not giving up on me.” He looks down, scratching the back of his neck. “I should probably go find Namjoon and apologize.”

You wave away his concern. “Namjoon is asleep.” You angle your head towards the oceanside that surrounds the camp. “Want to take a walk with me?”

So you lead him through the camp, past the cabins of campers, past the archery set, past all that, to finally the beach located along the outskirts of the camp. It’s home to many boat races, surfing adventures, and firework displays. Currently, it’s devoid of activity. Right now there is merely a wooden pier that stretches out into the ocean, one that you and Jungkook walk down before you settle down at the edge.

You pat the spot next to you, and Jungkook sits down. Since you don’t say anything, he allows himself to stare out at the horizon, and the movement of the ocean. When you still don’t say anything, Jungkook dares himself to look at you. The moonlight is cascading across your features. You look like home. You feel like home.

You look at him suddenly, and knit your eyebrows. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh, uh, no…” He trails off, forcing himself to look away from you. Should he tell you? Not tell you, but… “Hey Y/N,” Jungkook speaks before he can think otherwise.

You look at him. “Yes?”

Jungkook straightens his back a little. “I-I think I should tell you… I didn’t come back just for Namjoon. Actually, I came back to tell you that I, uh, well, I missed you—I mean, hanging out with you—I wanted to be a better person because of you—I mean, not just because of you, but—!”

You start to smile at that, before you do something unexpected. You lean over and kiss his cheek.

He feels like his body has just been shocked, the sensation dancing up and down his spine. “W-What was that for?” He’s trying to sound confused, but his nerves immediately start getting the best of him.

Your smile is still present, but it’s a kind smile that touches your eyes and assures him of his choice to return. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. You still wear your emotions in your eyes. That’s one that hasn’t changed over the past year.”

He scoffs, but his face feels hot and he’s sure the effect he’s trying to go for is lost anyways.

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts angst #traci writes #collection:petals

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mintseesaw · 4 years ago

Text

Aurora | 4

Pairing: general!jungkook x reader!princess x prince!jimin Genre: angst, fluff, historical au, forbidden love affair au Word count: 8.3k Warnings: themes of abduction and insurgence, imposing abortion as a punishment, story setting is heavily patriarchal // rating: 18+

translations of unfamiliar words will be provided below ^^

*unedited

masterlist

Previously...

“Did you miss me, Princess ________?” You heard him greet from behind. The sultry yet sweet tone of his voice, compelling you to face him as if your unwillingness to meet him so suddenly wasn’t there, anymore.

With a graceful turn, your solicitous expression caused by your unintended tryst last night gone in a flash tipping your chin forward to display a false confidence in front of the prince.

The amusement on his face widens, taking notice of the exceptional glow radiating from the princess. Have you been dolling yourself up just for him? The certain strangeness in the dark of your orbs igniting fire in him before he blinks and it vanishes, gone without a trace of acknowledgement from the weight of your stare.

He crosses the offending distance, smiling sweetly before he took hold of your hand and kisses your knuckles with an ardent gaze clashing against yours that harbor the coldness he had grown accustomed with.

“My lord,” an old man hurriedly attended to Jungkook just as he took an empty table without a word. Must be the owner of the stall. Uttering his request, the owner bobbed his head low before vanishing from his line of vision.

He was supposedly going to have breakfast with you after having tediously cooked the dishes, himself. The lack of light in your eyes and your dead enthusiasm had spoiled his appetite, and severely wounded his soul. Nothing could probably ease the ache sitting beneath his ribcage. Not when the intimacy he shared with you the night before and your cold treatment of him earlier painfully reverberated in his head like a roaring thunder in the sky.

You, giving him mixed signals, confused the hell out of his weak, young heart.

What am I supposed to do with you, Jagiya?

Perhaps, it was the uncertainty that was instigated by your emotions. That must have been the only reason.

Shortly after, the old man came back with an empty cup, pouring it full with rice wine from the bronze pitcher he brought with him. Jungkook mumbled an audible thanks before chugging down the alcohol like an angry man on his bad day.

“This isn’t something we both have a choice of.”

Your voice echoes in his head. A sweet, delicate voice that could easily slice his heart into two with your mere heartless words. A smirk made its way on his face, despite the amusement never reaching up his eyes.

There is nothing left to decide on because you’ll be with him in the end. He wouldn’t leave you, again. He wouldn’t lose his only chance he has to claim you as rightfully his. When he almost lost you back in the days you were young, right in his arms, before his eyes— it was the day he promised to show you what his heart truly desires. Whatever the cost may be.

He had never been that frantic in his life. Not even when he saw with his own eyes the deep cut in his arm gushing too much blood when he was young. Not when two poisonous arrows almost killed him in the battlefield.

When he stripped the covering off of the suspicious cart in search of any sign of you, the last thing he was expecting to see was your unconscious body, with your restrained arms and a piece of cloth stuffed in your mouth. With your aristocratic braids gone, he couldn’t see much of your face as your hair hung loose covering half of your face as your body lied down in a foetal position, as if you tried to make up with the little space the average sized cart provided which was filled dominantly by materials of what looked like rolls of linens of various colors.

He knew it was you.

Despite the filth covering your attire down to the skin of your bare hands, and your seemingly thinner frame, the mere sight of the body screams everything about you.

At the time, his younger self was almost sure he was going to explode at any moment from the excruciating constriction in his chest.

His eyes were livid while they scanned over the blood bathed bodies scattered around the cart that were slain by the sharp edges of his sword, looking for another sign of danger. When he was certain that none of the rebels on the ground were moving, he dropped his weapon.

“Princess!” He calls out, his bloody hands leaving imprints of the dirt-covered article of your hanbok as he shook your shoulders none too gently, desperate to wake you.

To no avail, you remain unconscious. The sight of you in a devastating state dreaded him. His younger self thought his world right there and then was collapsing, his surroundings slowing down and his gaze shrinking and focusing into you alone. Not even a pittance of fear shook him despite killing a group of rebels, none of the fact that he stood there alone fighting for his life did. None. Not until he pulled the bamboo mat off of the cart.

Where the fuck is that old man?

It’s been hours since Lord Min suddenly came up to his residence, forcing him out of his slumber at dawn without telling him the purpose of his abrupt disturbance.

When the scholar said he found another lead, Jungkook only took it lightly—not knowing it would turn out to be the key to finally locate you.

Lord Min led him to a trail behind a group of merchants who were supposed to exchange goods on the capital’s port with Mongolian merchants. When the suspicious group split into two directions— it left him and the scholar no option but to part ways as well. However, Jungkook insisted on following the merchants who particularly brought their supposed cart of goods.

As soon as he took his outer layer of robe to cover it on your shivering body, the morning breeze hits him mercilessly. Discreetly, he gathers you in his arms. As he sets you on his lap on the ground, he removes the cloth in your mouth, while pressing a trembling hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat.

“Your Highness,” he tried once more when he sensed a faint beating against your chest. His hands shuffle to remove the tie around your wrists.

“Come on… open your eyes for me, Princess.” He whispered desperately, tears freely rolling down on his cheeks without him ever noticing.

He gasped when he caught the slightest bit of movement from you. He thought he might have been hallucinating out of his desperation to see you alive. But then, you proved him wrong as your heavy eyelids slowly peeled open, before they closed shut, again.

“Your Highness! Please… do you hear me? Can you open your eyes again?”

You did, and with your slightly parted mouth, you drew a breath in heavily.

“W-Who are you?” you managed to rasp, almost inaudibly. However, he was too close not to miss what you said. Too close to be deemed righteous around the lady he desires. He didn’t care, because your cold body needed as much as heat from him. Nothing else mattered more to him than to save your life.

“It’s me, Jungkook. I am Prince Taehyung’s friend—“

“I-I… must… be dreaming,” you croaked in between dry, painful coughs.

“You’re not dreaming. Please, don’t talk. It's hurting you.” He chokes back a sob.

“Is this real? You finally noticed me,” you pause, only to breathe through your mouth once more. “I’m… tired, I want to rest,” you say without opening your eyes. But the moisture pooling out of your eyes meant one thing to him. You’ve been suffering from immense pain.

“No, no, no. Please, stay with me. Lord Min is coming to get us. He’ll be here soon,” he coos, not caring how he sounded a little more desperate, taking your cold hands up in his mouth to warm them up.

Jungkook continuously rocked your shivering body back and forth on his lap, never removing his eyes on you. He wanted to embrace you tight, cover you with his body to protect you from the horrible cold of the morning weather but he was afraid he would crush you.

He waited, waited and helplessly waited. Lord Min would come find him. That was what he reminded Jungkook as before they parted ways in the woods.

It was him and Lord Min who found you, even when the King had ordered a mass search for his missing daughter.

---

Although your disappearance was largely perceived as abduction, neither evidence nor eye witness was found to support the claim, hence stirring the urge to find you, himself. Roughly 10 days after you were last seen, not even a single trace of your whereabouts had been identified. Something was definitely off with the way the case was being handled. The lack of progress on the investigation drove the King in extreme desperation as well as the court in anguish due to the King’s adverse political decisions.

In spite of the rumors of insurgence spreading like a common gossip story in the villages surrounding the capital, the rumors fall on deaf ears in the court on the possibility that your disappearance was plotted by the rebel forces. As if the missing person was not a princess whom the rebels could use as a pawn to bend the King on his knees.

Jungkook spent most of his days in the capital, inside the gambling houses, pretending to play with men of all sorts of class. On some days, he visited the courtesan’s house capital marketplace under the disguise of an interested guest due to the rumors that some gisaengs, at the time, were avid followers of the insurgence. At nights, he pieced together the collective stories he tediously gathered during the day.

One day, he decided to make progress on his investigation, spying on a group of merchants trading with Jurchen merchants who were pretending under the guise of Mongolian heritage. It was Mina, a gisaeng whom he somehow befriended when his visits at the courtesan’s house had frequented, who shared her discovery of a Mongolian merchant accidentally revealing his identity when he fluently spoke a dialect she distinguished as her mother tongue since she was a Jurchen-born immigrant.

He didn’t find any suspicious or illegal goods being traded on the port nor could he confirm the real heritage of the merchants. However, on his way back to the capital, he was cornered by a man he recognized as one of the merchants in the port.

To his surprise, the merchant was strangely skilled enough to defeat him in a fight— scoring a severe cut on Jungkook’s side. He didn’t think the merchant would be merciful enough to let him live when Jungkook fell to the ground after what seemed like several minutes of intense sword-to-sword combat. Strangely enough, the merchant was forgiving and instead of ending the life out of him, the merchant took his time to scrutinize every item inside the satchel Jungkook brought with him. By then, he had already sensed that the man was anything but a mere trader.

Breathing heavily, he pressed his hand hard to his bloody waist as he watches the merchant curiously unfold a piece of hanji. It was the trade map he had drawn a few days ago, alongside the location where the camp can be found.

Jungkook knew it was over for him as he saw a glint of recognition in the eyes of the merchant.

After what seemed to be a long moment of silence, the merchant looks at him. “What is this map for?”

Jungkook laughed dryly and as his shoulders shook a little, a surge of pain shot in his core. He winces as the sensation doubled over his effort to make fun of the act the merchant was pulling in front of him.

“Are you one of them?”

If the merchant understood what he meant, he simply chose to ignore it. “I’m asking you a question, kid.”

“You’re one of them, are you not? I’m most certain you know what that map is.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth as the pain on his side intensified, spreading like a magma on his midriff.

By now, the merchant’s focus zeroed in on him. “You know about the camp? Who do you work for, kid?” The merchant interrogates, further. Though the man remained passive, Jungkook found it odd to notice the slightest bit of awe in the eyes of the strange man.

“You tell me, you act like you know my every activity.”

The merchant only raised an eyebrow. “Well, here’s the truth. I’m not a rebel. I’m not a merchant, either. I will help you if you tell me what you have gotten about the camp so far.”

Jungkook darted a glare at him. “As you can see, I’m heavily wounded, literally. You think I still care?”

“You’ll live,” the merchant dismisses nonchalantly, which made Jungkook scoff in disbelief.

“Look kid, I’m not going to kill you. But in exchange for your life, you’ll help me follow the movement.”

“It’s not like you gave me an option to decline.” Jungkook weakly contended.

The merchant effortlessly helped him up from the ground, “Come on, my grandfather is a physician. He’ll tend to your wound.”

Jungkook learned that the merchant who introduced himself as Lord Min turned out to be a scholar. He was writing a case relative to the alleged insurgence centering mostly in poor villages in the capital. Although he didn’t fully trust the scholar, sparing Jungkook his life was enough reason for him to disclose the true nature of his investigation to the scholar who was, at the time, penning colloquial stories about the insurgence.

Lord Min paused his scribbling, throwing a look of surprise at his new-found friend. “Did I hear you right? You believed the princess was abducted by the rebels?”

Jungkook only shrugged, already concluding what the scholar would say next. “It’s not the first time someone thought I was going crazy for telling them that.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I have been following the movement for months now,” Lord Min asserted, which prompted Jungkook to look back at him. “And since I heard about the sudden disappearance of the princess, it was the only theory I could come up with. Unless…” Lord Min trailed, taking notice of the interest glinting in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Unless?” Jungkook echoed expectantly.

Lord Min pretended to be in deep thought before adding up, “There is a lover involved.”

In disbelief, Jungkook threw a scornful look at him. “There’s no man in her life, I’m sure of that.” He remarked with conviction, folding his arms in his chest.

To his surprise, Lord Min hollered into fits of laughter, only severing the look of disdain on Jungkook’s expression. “For a young soldier like you, you seemed to be a little more concerned about the princess.” The older man remarked, meaningfully.

---

“Isn’t it too early to be drinking on your own, kid?” Taunts a voice, forcing him out of his reverie. With a lift of his head, his eyes landed on a commoner seemingly older than him adorned in a daffodil shade of a simple robe. Half of the man’s face was covered in conical shaped hat and just as the man tipped it high with his fingers, Jungkook immediately recognized the person standing across his table.

Your breath hitches on your throat as the warmth of his mouth sends tingles straight through your veins. With a subtle tug of your hand from his hold, the prince almost didn’t take your silent plea, not without his companion guard clearing their throat that snapped him out of daze.

If there’s particularly one thing that stood out to him aside from his aristocratic, --almost polished physical features, it was his forthright admission of his feelings on you. The was the he had made a move in regards to feelings. You appreciate the way he had not once tried to break into your boundaries for his satisfaction.

After what had happened, the least person you expected to see is him. The only man who had the guts to be with you despite the rumors that tainted your reputation. Guilt thrums heavily through your veins more than the throbbing of your muscles in your body.

Jimin deserves someone far better than what you can offer. Not with your heart, and most definitely not with your broken chastity.

“Your Excellency,” you greeted, tilting your head low in a subtle bow. Your eyes stayed firm on the ground, refusing to return his stare as you murmur, “I trust your journey has not been too much for you?”

You missed the way your concern roused a smile up on his flawless face or you would have flushed right away. “It was as expected. I am an impatient man, but it was worth the trouble now that my reward is standing in front of me.”

Taken aback at this teasing remark, your mouth unconsciously parted. You didn’t have the time to retract from the proximity he initiated just as he extended his arm, his palm meeting one of your cheeks as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. The pad of his thumb feather lightly caresses the softness of your skin there.

The abruptness of his move left you immobile for a moment, the heat coming from his hand involuntarily eliciting goosebumps to come out on your covered arms.

“Have you been well, little flower? I couldn’t be at peace knowing your health is not in the best condition. I was a thread of breath away from forcing my way into your quarters just to check on you myself, but you may never forgive me for if I ever disrespect your privacy.”

“There’s nothing to worry of. Mayhaps... my body has not been reacting too kindly to the cold weather. I had since taken herbal teas to help me recover.” The lie glided smoothly out of your tongue, piercing your lower lip with your teeth to prevent yourself from throwing up out of disgust.

The way his head bobs up lightly made you believe he bought your excuse. “Very well. Will you allow me to accompany you?” He whispers, as if it’s possible to turn down a powerful man like him.

“Of course, Your Excellency.” The smile you plastered on your face was enough to conceal your fears for now.

At your answer, the court ladies immediately hurried towards the recreational area, pulling the wooden chairs for you and the prince to sit on.

You take the opportunity to pull back from his touch as an excuse to occupy one of the chairs.

Mimicking your move, he settled on a seat, one that was the closest to yours. He then motions a dismissive wave on the watchful eyes of his guards, giving him and the rest of the court ladies a silent order to leave you two alone. With a bow, everyone retreated back down onto the ground, obediently.

As he turns his attention back at you, he asks, “Do you like to tease me, Princess?”

“W-What do you mean?” Your stutter evoked a subtle grin to reappear on the corners of his mouth. While your insides are a mess, the delight shining in his eyes lets you know he couldn’t see right through your miserable heart.

The subtle smile on the corners of his mouth stretches wider, “You know I like it when you call me by my name.”

His teasing once again scores a twin stain on your cheeks. Although you remain placid with his remark, he didn’t miss the immediate rush of blood coloring your face that, in return, earned a smirk from him.

Blinking, you straightened your back. “Why are you not appropriately dressed for the season, Your Excellency?”

Prince Jimin beamed in your attempt of changing the subject, eyes glimmering in glee. “My attire is fine. Mayhaps, if you are concerned, I can put on another layer of thick robe.”

Quickly, you shake your head. “There’s no need for such if you don’t feel like the weather is too much for you. Winter has just begun and only a few weeks more before the weather becomes unbearable, especially for envoys like yourself.”

“I can only imagine how our departure would be like.”

“You chose to come to the kingdom during the winter. Is there something that’s urgent on your purpose not to delay it until the weather has calmed down?”

”The only urgent thing I found was to see you. Have I not made it clear from the beginning?”

You purse your lips, afraid to voice out your thoughts. On the other hand, Jimin was way too deep in the subject to notice the slightest bit of trouble reflecting in your eyes.

“I didn’t think any woman would stir my interest after having my heart broken when I was young. You know, my brother—the Emperor gifted me a marriage in exchange for my service in the military. I was supposed to leave the palace for a while to visit my bride. The Emperor halted my plan only to have me represent him on his behalf during the coronation of Queen Soheon. If I didn’t come here, I would have been married by now.”

Burying your trembling hands on your lap, you distracted yourself with the beauty of the winter blooms on the pond, swallowing the gasp that threatened to spill as an involuntary reaction. His revelation left a lasting impact on you. In your head, you could hear yourself screaming the truth in front of him. He shouldn’t be this infatuated over you.

“Perhaps, you are well enough to company out of the palace? You still owe me a tour to the capital.” The prince posits all too suddenly.

Swiftly, he stood up and offered a helping hand in front of you. The sun is barely out, concealed with the thick layers of clouds to which is a great opportunity to wander around in the marketplace. Your false confidence slowly faltering as seconds turn to minutes with his gaze sweeping on your whole length. You accepted his hand, granting his wish. It was the least you could do to make up for him travelling a thousand miles to see you.

The following day, an event is set to be held in Changdeok to pay tribute for army’s victory in defeating the rebel forces in one of the borders in Joseon. Hours earlier than the customary outset in the palace, the finishing touches on the day’s festivities have already been wrapped up by the court ladies even before the sun rises on the east.

Historically, the day held no significance to the royal court nor to any prominent military figure in the nation. However, some weeks prior to the present day, the king received a letter from the young general relative to the army’s arrival to the capital, hence, the sudden establishment of a dogam to organize a jinchan for the returning heroes from the northern border.

With the anticipated attendance of the royal family in the morning banquet, you were forced to rise at dawn to prepare for your participation for the festivity.

Shortly after the attendants have finished braiding your hair, your morning tea was served just before you are set to leave your quarters.

“There will be two more banquets after the event in the morning, Your Highness.” Hyowon, one of the court ladies attending to your daily nourishment answers when you absentmindedly voiced out your thought as she pours a tea on your cup.

Fortunately, you were not foolish enough to utter the name of the man who’s been haunting your dreams since time immemorial. She may only be a distant relative of Jungkook, but the same blood runs thick in their veins and you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of anyone, much less to anyone related to him.

You nodded, taking your cup and hold it up to your lips.

Traditionally, the nighttime festivity is said to be the most anticipated from all sorts of celebrations as the audience who are commonly from noble descent look forward on the performances of high-class entertainers. Jungkook is obligated to attend all the events for the day as one of the honorary guests of the jinchan.

The supposed banquet is going to be your first attendance in a political gathering ever since you were given the title of a gongju on your seventh birthday. The thought was making you uneasy in some way in case something unforeseen transpires during the celebration, that it would be denunciated by the curse you were forced to live with in your lifetime. However, the thought of him present in the same room with you brings more in disarray.

A court lady from the dogam came to escort you to the reception afterwards. And not long after the arrival of Queen, the massive doors of the dining hall flew opened, revealing the King as he enter the premises.

Perhaps, you would still have had a clear view on whole expanse of the dining hall if not for the ivory article covering the totality of the platform where you and the rest of the royal palace women.

Meals have been simultaneously served just as the King had announced the ceremonial toast indicating the beginning of the celebration. An instrumental piece played by the musicians proceeded after, keeping the atmosphere pleasantly solemn despite the audible chatters in the hall.

From your seat, you could only see the king’s back as he led the banquet—sitting at the head of the table while the rest of the state and military officials sat in two long sets of vertically-arranged sobans. Despite the barrier, it was not difficult for you to locate where the man of your thoughts was settled at just by the mere sight of his silhouette. There he was beside Prince Taehyung, seemingly fascinated with the performances on the center if not occupied with something Prince Taehyung was telling him.

You could never change the way you treated him so poorly, yesterday. Your hostility was uncalled for, but perhaps, it was enough to displease him enough to lose his interest in you.

“You are not eating your meal, Gongju. Are the dishes not to your liking?” Princess Consort Sooyoung asks. Unlike you, your sister-in-law seems to enjoy the sumptuous serving on the soban, as opposed to your lack of enthusiasm on the food.

“It’s not that. Perhaps, it was too early for me to consume anything solid after I had my morning the tea.”

You drag your hand up on the table, picking up the pair of chopsticks to nestle them in between your fingers. To ease her worry, you attempted to touch the sweet flavored delicacy among the servings.

The banquet progressed rather slowly. As hours passed by, your legs grew numb from the lack of physical movement. It didn’t help that the remnants of muscle aches from your intimacy with Jungkook still lingers. Your sister-in-law caught the discomfort in your expression.

“Gongju,” Princess Consort Sooyoung calls for your attention, once more.

Tearing your gaze away from Jungkook, you tilt your head on the side to meet her solicitous eyes.

“Is your breathing alright? I noticed your heaving has frequented.”

“Uhh...I’m alright, Bubuin.” You falter. Instinctively, your eyes flew back to where he was situated. Your sister-in-law followed the trail of your gaze, and it was only then that she had pieced together the reason.

She chuckles softly, “I thought you were having difficulty with your breathing.”

Your face incredibly flushed with her words.

She didn’t attempt to speak to you after that, seemingly distracted in one of the ceremonial performances of the banquet.

Three hours later, the first phase of the jinchan had finally come to conclude to your relief.

When it was your turn to be escorted out of the hall, you couldn’t help but skim your eyes across the expansive lot. Of course, the chances of running into him are very slim to none. Not only that he was in a rush to leave the reception, but he would also take the path on the west out of the palace while you would take the opposite direction to go back to your quarters.

You thought wrong. Because the moment you arrive at the entrance of the Gyeongbok, you catch on the back of his frame on the small stretch between the library and the tall concrete wall.

Your heart instantly jumped at the mere sight of him adorned on the same uniform he wore the day before. But something didn’t make sense. What is he doing in the main palace—hiding there right after the banquet has ended?

The court lady remained still behind you as you tried to build up the courage to approach him. Perhaps, apologize for your behavior yesterday. But then as he shifted on his feet, you caught a glimpse of a hanbok across him— appearing nothing like the clothing of any man. A lady.

“You have the freedom to choose any woman in your life.”

Your own words hurriedly came rushing back on you, nearly losing your footing when the weight on your chest grew heavier. You couldn’t breathe.

“Princess—” you jumped at the sound of a low baritone voice from behind, the same voice you’ve known by heart since you were little.

Sheepishly, you turned to face your brother, his forehead crumpled causing his eyebrows to meet into a line.

“You looked like you’ve seen an apparition,” Prince Taehyung jests, with his face remaining passive without a trace of playfulness despite his obvious teasing.

That’s because you did! You seethed, internally. With an ugly emotion slowly seeping through your veins, you find it difficult to display indifference as if something—someone was not putting you in an emotional distress.

“Your Excellency,” you greeted half-heartedly.

“You are aware about the luncheon tomorrow, right? I am expecting you in my courtyard, little flower.”

“Of course,” You briefly answered. His face finally stretched into a grin, ruffling your neatly braided hair before bidding a farewell.

When you spun back to peer at the spot where Jungkook and his female companion were standing— nothing. No one was there anymore. Jungkook is gone, and so is the lady he was with.

The scene remained etched in your brain the rest of your day. Being unable to stay still in the confines of your quarters, you decided to do readings in in the library.

You were alone, just like what you have asked to your attendants, with the exception of a guard outside. Shortly after going through the shelves in the House of Yi section, you once again stumbled upon a book of biographical sketches after secretly reading the book several years ago. The sight of it alone refreshes your memory of the things you have discovered written in the pages of the books—specifically about Princess Moyoung, your grandfather’s eldest sister who slowly died in the hands of her husband who was born from a fourth class family.

It was said to be the matter that pressured the next royal generations to marry off any king’s daughter to a yangban which was prohibited prior to the princess’ unfortunate case to avoid any arising political conflicts.

It was the same thought that bothered you even when you had gone back in your quarters, bathed, and dressed in your night robe. If your father were still living, would he insist on keeping you in the palace? Or would he allow your supposed matrimonial union with Jimin over one with Jungkook?

However, you understand that either selection is a sacrifice. Life is about losing something to gain something else. You know what will be taken from you if you were to possibly end up with Jungkook. But what could you have possibly gained if you were to lose the man who owns your soul? An extravagant life with the prince?

The ache in your heart has sat idly in your chest since this morning. Your time in the library seemed to have worsened your distress as pain starts to sear in your head.

You stood up. Your attendant mimicking your movement to smoothen the sleeves of your silk robe. “I do not wish to be followed,” you simply say. They crouched their upper body low, conveying a silent message of obedience.

As you pass through the L-shaped corridor leading to the outdoor of your quarters, the rectangular hallway making up the main pathway of the courtyard is eerily quiet and empty. With subtle luminance provided by the light torches on each post you passed by, it was just as exactly the way you expected Gyeongbok during this time around. The reason why you chose to be alone since no one else will run into your way this time of night.

However, at your third turn, just as you enter the borderline of the queen’s courtyard, you hear a distinct sound of door opening from afar followed by the heavy, collective footsteps ringing in the air. As the footsteps grew louder, you hurriedly ran to the side of the greenhouse to hide, afraid of being seen without a companion to look after your care.

“Your Majesty!”

You bite your lip as your heartbeat picks up at the sound of a male voice—assumingly the queen’s eunuch, as if in desperation to stop Her Majesty to wherever she intends to go at this hour.

You didn’t know how long you were hiding there at the side of the greenhouse but it wasn’t long enough for you to be able to hold your breath until the traces of the footsteps were fading.

When any sign of human sound was out of earshot, you finally heave a sigh out of relief, taking a solid peek through the corner of the wooden wall to confirm your guess. Considering the pathway clear and safe from any presence, you cautiously proceed back to your footpath.

Merely focused on either side of your vision, you failed to sense that someone was making their way onto your direction. Their presence became known only when your arm was snatched from behind and a calloused palm right away covered your mouth, losing your chance to call for help. Panic immediately surges through your veins, your shock causing you to freeze momentarily.

Even without having a single look at your perpetrator, the feel of his thick arm around your waist lets you know you don’t stand a chance against their immense built and incredible strength. Just as you recovered from your shock, you frantically squirmed about against their hold but the more you struggle, the tighter their arm gets around your waist, pulling you flushed against their body.

“Why is Lady Yi- being punished?” Demanded Queen Soheon the moment she stepped foot inside the King’s quarters.

King Namjoon sprang up to his feet to meet her half-way, concern stirring immediate in him at the sight of his wife, noting the way her voice unusually croaked and holding such heavy emotion. He silently curses, taking notice how upset she had seemed to be over the scandal the concubine had caused all to herself.

“Sit down, my love. You shouldn’t allow your emotions to run high, it’s not good for your condition.”

Queen Soheon is always calm and graceful no matter how grave the situation is. He had not once witnessed her lose her innate grace ever since he married her, with the exception of the times he was intimate with her.

“Why?” She repeated, her eyes burning with fire.

“My love—”

“Jeonha, please… stop with your sweet filters and answer me why you didn’t stop them from forcing her to drink the medicine?”

He sighs just as he attempted to place her in his embrace. To his dismay, she pulled a good amount of distance between them, clearly setting the line of her anger on the matter, right straight to him.

How can he possibly be sure you would never find this matter out when only a slip of a tongue can give her the idea of what transpired some hours ago.

“You know I cannot disrespect Halma-mama’s power when it comes to the women in the inner court.”

As the Grand Royal Dowager Queen holds the highest rank in the inner court, it would only be necessary to say his grandmother ordered the punishment, when in fact it was never her idea to impose a harsh discipline on the concubine. However, the appeal of the elders in the inner court to decide on the fate of her unlawful conceiving resulted in a consensus decision to abort the unborn child. Unless the queen is proven to be sterile, the inner court strictly prohibits the harem to carry a King’s child.

“She is carrying your child!”

He knows that, very well. But he wished his wife would refrain from carrying the weight of her emotions as it might put a toll on her health and consequently affect their unborn child. “Calm down,” King Namjoon prompted cautiously.

He could never forgive himself for failing to protect his unborn child from being stripped off the chance to live in a world where his/her father rules out a kingdom. Never in this lifetime and in the next would he ever learn to spare himself the forgiveness.

“You know, Lady Li and I are both with child. If I were not your queen, you’d simply allow them to get rid of my child, would you not?”

He reaches out, once more. “No, no. Of course, not. Not under my watch.”

But the queen was quick enough to retract from the close proximity.

Perhaps, he was right. He cannot have the power to overrule the inner court, but why does his words feel insincere? It made her suddenly fear for her own child’s life despite the position she holds. When her mother warned her about the sickening life in the palace and the doctrines in the inner court, she never thought it would come to this extent.

How can she look at his family and pretend everything is alright. One wrong move and might lose her child as well.

All too suddenly, she could feel herself slowly being overwhelmed with disgust, needing the urge to throw up.

She couldn’t stand being here, to see anyone just yet. She fixes a glare at her attendants, warning them not to follow her. Her eyes lingered on him for a second before she took a swift turn, exiting her way out of the vicinity.

With quick strides, he followed her trail, only to spin back around, skimming through each one of servants in his quarters.

“No one must follow me or the queen,” his eyes particularly burned at his eunuch. “Do you understand?” He glowered, not waiting for them to answer as he too disappeared into the halls of his royal residence.

When you felt their grasp loosening, you began thrashing out as fear dominated your senses. Even with their hand pressed firmly on your mouth, you could hear your own sobs croaking out of your throat. And as if your pellucid fear had triggered them to stiffen, their hold around your waist loosened. But the adrenaline running in your senses all vanished the moment they finally spoke.

“Jagiya.”

Your eyes went round, recognizing the owner of the voice. He lets his hand fall from your mouth.

”J-Jungkook?” you hesitated. While you remained flushed against his body, you couldn’t be sure of their identity.

Swiftly, he spun you around to confirm your assumption for yourself. The light torches were a little far where you two stood but there was no denying it was him, judging by the little features of his face you could make out through the help of the vibrant moon lighting up in the sky behind him.

Yet, his action had already shaken you up, feeling the loud beating of your heart. All of your emotional baggage rushing all at once, you couldn’t help but lash out to him, seeing his chest as a target to release all your frustrations.

“Why did you do that?! I thought I was being kidnapped,” you anguished, horror remained etched on your face.

He took all your hits without a fight as guilt all too sudden consumed him after realizing the effect of what he had done. “I’m sorry, Jagiya. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmurs, drying the moisture on the corners of your eyes with his thumbs. The moon was like a spotlight focused solely on yours, giving him the clear view of your weary face.

It wasn’t long before you calmed down. Now, all you feel is shame as your anger washes out of your system with every hit of your fist against his chest. Your head bobbed lower, “Just... don’t do that, again.”

Hearing him whisper a promise not to repeat the same mistake, you all but give him a curt nod, allowing the silence to fill in the moment.

Jungkook, once again, made you upset, the second time he had gotten himself close to you after his return to the capital. Must he keep making you in anguish just whenever he’s around you? It was wrong of him to catch your attention the way he had just done when he could’ve simply called you out to do it. But after seeing the queen and her maids passing by the same path you’re about to take, he didn’t want to make an unnecessary sound in case anyone’s lurking around without him seeing through the vicinity covered in almost pitch black.

He wondered why you seemed determined to go on your way despite going on around without a company.

“Where are you going—”

“What are you doing here—”

You stilled just as he was surprised to hear you spoke the same time he decided to break the silence.

“I saw you going out of your quarters.” He simply answered. It was true. He left the festive banquet at the east to randomly visit your residence. He knew it would be unnecessary to invite himself into the premises so he just stood there, particularly waiting for nothing to kill time before he leaves the palace.

But then he saw the outermost doors of your residence opening, revealing none other than the subject of his thoughts. Then the rest was history.

“W-What? Are you spying on me?”

“Spying?” He chuckles at your choice of your words. He would’ve honestly accepted stalking better. “The banquet’s getting too loud to my liking. I’d rather spend my time with you. Mayhaps, luck is finally on my side when I saw you just in time— going out.”

Hearing his words earned a scoff from you. Wasn't he just with a woman this morning? Not to mention, it was one of the reasons why you randomly sought the need to breathe in some fresh air on a cold, winter night.

“I guess if you’re not distracted with your prince, you would have immediately caught the sound of my footing. Where are you going, anyway? Will you go see him?”

Your mouth parted in disbelief, “You didn’t hear anything from me when you were the one hiding with a woman just this morning.”

Hiding with a woman? For a second, his forehead crumpled in thought, recalling his activities prior to this moment. He couldn’t seem to remember when he actually hid with a woman. He didn’t even talk to any woman earlier in the morning, except for a friend—

“Ahh,” He hums in understanding, “Jagi, I’m not hiding with Mina—”

“Mina?”

He recalls speaking with Mina after the latter who belonged to the group of gisaengs during the banquet who recognized him inside the reception and was only able to catch up after him at the entrance main palace. Mina enthusiastically dragged him behind the closest infrastructure to briefly speak to him in peace without potentially attracting an audience.

“I met her a long time ago. Jagiya—“

“Forget it,” you immediately dismissed, but with him not missing the way color bloomed on your cheeks. “It’s not my business to hold it against you. You’re free to do as you wish.”

Are you being serious? How can you think he can be possibly interested to another woman?

He tilts your chin up so he can see your pretty eyes, clearly. “What are you saying, Jagiya? I thought we’ve already established that I’m yours. Have I not?”

He heard no answer from you, but didn’t miss the subtle shake of your head.

“No?” He echoes, the frown on his face deepens. Still, you refused to speak nor return the heavy weight of his peer.

“Our lovemaking wasn’t enough, was it?” His sudden brought up to the matter which should never be spoken of made you dart your eyes back up at him. There it was again, the same emotions reflecting in your eyes the morning when you put a cold shoulder at him. He couldn’t quite decipher the signals you were giving him.

“Jungkook, we’re not together anymore.”

“Then would you rather be with the prince over me?”

You look away, even though you really wanted to give an answer.

“I haven’t seen your beautiful smile since I came back, Jagi. But you were smiling a lot around him. Gods, was I jealous when you showed him of such privilege I was deprived of.” He groans, slowly inching his face closer, as if testing your reaction to his advance.

He took your lack of withdrawal as a sign to keep going. Silently, you gave him the freedom to intrude your personal space.

“You saw us,” you murmur, confirming it to yourself more than throwing it as a question to him.

Your jaw went slack, shamelessly anticipating for his lips to touch yours. Closer. Until your noses bumping, his mouth a breath away from touching your plump lips. It almost happened. Almost. Because just as he shifts his head a centimeter forward, finally capturing your awaiting lips with his, a cry of protest loudly resonated through the air, echoing as the sound bounces back from the empty silence.

“Stop following me!” The voice was undoubtedly owned by a woman.

If Jungkook didn’t recognize the voice, you certainly did. Her voice was too familiar for you not to identify her as the Queen, forcing you to draw back from the proximity immediately. Once again, panic courses through you, rapidly consuming your senses as fear worsened your capability to think rationally in a situation such as this.

Your wide eyes stared back Jungkook in a silent plea.

It wasn’t clear to you how far she was from both of you, but the nearing claps of footsteps tells you the queen and whoever was following her are passing by behind the greenhouse. If they decided to take a turn right across where you two stood, they will certainly not miss the sight of you seemingly in a rendezvous with Jungkook.

“I said—Jeonha!”

You gasp, slapping a hand to your mouth, utterly stunned at what you just heard. Jeonha? Does that mean she was addressing her order to your brother?

“The K-King is here...” you stammer.

He hushed you, silently telling you to keep still as he cages you against the outer wall of the greenhouse, as if shielding you from any potential eyesight. He was too close as he let his head hang low just beside the shell of your ear. You could hear his heavy breathing, the warmth oozing naturally from his body seemed to calm your nerves in some way, nearly forgetting about the predicament both of you are in, nearly missing the silence lingering in the air.

Are they gone?

Despite your pellucid reaction, Jungkook seems not one bit shaken by the fact you two are a thread away from being seen together in the dark.

Suddenly, he shifted onto your left, breaking his manmade territory around you to move further away from where you two were supposed to be hiding.

“Jungkook!” you desperately called for his attention in a panicked whisper.

Nervously, you watch his back as he extends his neck to peep behind the greenhouse. It didn’t take him long before he whirled back around, and in a flash, grapples your wrist and dragged you into the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

Though Jungkook could hear the agitation in your tone, he ignored your question, averting his focus to hide you and make no sound at all. The couple turned out to be closer than he had guessed them to be.

Just as he stopped in front of the doors of the greenhouse, he heard you argue about his choice of hiding spot, but ignored you for the second time.

In a calculated shuffling on the rusted bar keeping the twin panel of doors closed, he flicked it up, allowing him to push one of the doors open. The firm grip of his fingers on your waist was all you could focus on as he urged you to enter inside the greenhouse. Carefully, he pushed the door back closed, dragging you with it as he pressed your back against the cold surface. His hands on both sides of your head as he rests his forehead against the door, just above your shoulder. You couldn’t see much of the view behind him because of the lack of light inside. But the moonlight seeping through the transparent roofing of the greenhouse was enough to give you the faintest possible light to make out the features of his frame.

“It was too quiet, isn’t it? I thought the queen and king were gone.”

“We were intruding them,” he simply replied.

“W-What?”

He shifted his head to the side and before you knew it, a pair of warm lips touched yours in fervor. Jungkook has never been this bold before to break your personal space nor touches without asking your permission.

Years without seeing him, you understand that he might have grown into a persona different from what you know of him. When you saw him that weary day after four years, you picked up a sense of strangeness in his aura. Perhaps, it is his confidence or the powerful aura he naturally emits that made you speechless.

Groaning as the feel of your mouth accelerated the temperature of his body, Jungkook deepens the kiss with his tongue pushing passed your parted lips.

The way he held you in place, with his hands on your face and his torso locking you firm against the door, you didn’t expect him to withdraw from the kiss so soon which resulted in a soft breathy whine to slip out of your throat.

“Perhaps that answered your question,” he says, picking up the teasing tone in his voice. Jungkook dipped his head lower, burying his head on the crook of your neck to press a warm, wet kiss on the same spot he bruised purple two nights ago.

grand royal dowager queen - spouse of a former king; presently the king’s grandmother Halma-mama - how the royal grandchildren address their grandmother gongju - title of a princess bubuin - title of princess consort (wife of a prince) gisaeng - female entertainer yangban - any nobleman holding a government position dogam - a committee/body authorized to organize a royal event jinchan - other term for royal banquet soban - other term for a traditional table used in joseon era hanji - other term for traditional korean paper Changdeok - East Palace Gyeongbok - Main Palace/main residence of the royal family

note: after posting 4 chapters of the series, im finally opening a tag list skskssksjsj hahaahaha if u lovelies want to be tagged in the future chapters, send me your url here.

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themusicplayedherlife · 4 years ago

Text

to love is the greatest gift

3. The Child

pairing: obi wan kenobi x f!reader (past!din djarin x reader | past!obi wan kenobi x satine kryze) characters: f!reader, din djarin, baby djarin obi wan kenobi, anakin skywalker-amidala others word count: 6k+ warnings: angst, fluff, death, longing, slow burn, guilt summary: au! It has never been the right timing for you and obi wan, but maybe this time will be different. a/n: so, this was planned and partly written before we knew grogu’s name, and there’s actually a reason why baby’s name is baby, but probably won’t come up lol — now we’re just upping the ante and I’m not sorry lol if you have any questions about this story or requests, send them my way and I will try my best to answer ☺️

Then.

The loud noises of the bar were swallowed alive by the cars that rushed by and the occasional helicopter that flew overhead—faint music thumping from all directions; neon lights so bright like artificial stars, fading headlights moving in all directions.

Pretty. Picturesque, but not what you focused on for too long.

You moved fast, hand pulsing with pricks of pain and refusing to listen to Obi Wan, who followed closely behind, pleading for you to stop and—will you listen to me? Your determination to get away from him, the bar, and find his stupid piece of junk car in the packed parking lot drove you forward. He already dragged you out, might as well leave altogether—if only Anakin and Padmé would hurry!

“What were you thinking?” he asked after you, voice thick with worry and indignation as he kept up with your quick pace.

“He was being an asshole!”

“So you decided to punch him?” He heaved a sigh, grabbing your wrist and keeping you from continuing (or from running away from his impending lecture). “A man twice your size?”

You jerked away from his hold, refusing to meet his gaze and find disappointed blue eyes staring back at you. “You didn’t hear what he was saying—”

“Oh, I heard perfectly, my dear, but I wasn’t about to engage with some drunkard.” He said it so dismissively and judgmentally that you recoiled, the anger you managed to release earlier coming back tenfold, but this time for a different reason.

Why did he always have to be so non confrontational, so unlike Anakin and his hit-first-think-later personality? Why couldn’t he allow himself to get angry even for only a moment? Why did everyone else have to get angry for him? More importantly, why did you have to get angry for him? You don’t understand!

“How are you not mad then?” you outcried, throwing your hands up in the air. “He called you—”

“Why would I be?” He smiled, like he knew something you didn’t, and it only made you more frustrated. “I have you to defend my honor.”

“That's—Obi Wan! Seriously?” Maker, he was too much! “Take this seriously, will you?”

He chuckled and reached for your hand, the same one that had glocked the giant’s jaw. It hurt, a lot, much more than you were willing to admit, but in Obi Wan’s hands, the pain felt nonexistent.

“I didn’t expect you to hit him.” You wished he looked at you, showed you what he was thinking. He squeezed your hand in his, inspecting it gently. “Could’ve gotten hurt.” He sighed again. “I wanted to—needed you safe.”

“I wasn’t going to let him get away with saying those things about you,” you murmured, the cold air harsh in your throat, hard to swallow, but his hand was warm—he was warm.

“I know.” He ran his thumb over the area, careful to not cause you more discomfort—always so careful and sweet with you. But there was something swimming in those eyes of his, a hint of something you couldn’t quite place as they followed the movements of his thumb.

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” you murmured.

“You could never.” He lifted your hand higher and you allowed him to—let his warm breath fan over your stinging skin. “My little warrior.”

Lips connected with your knuckles—soft, plush, delicate, and your breath hitched—he was never this bold with you, always keeping you at a certain distance for as long as you could remember—his darling, but never truly his.

“I am envious of the person you will choose to spend the rest of your life with,” he said, hesitant—barely breaking through the blood rushing in your ear—wanting to say more than what he was allowing himself to; hand dared to push back a stray piece of hair that couldn’t stay in place, choosing to dance with the wind. “Your future family will be lucky to have you.”

Now.

Din’s love can be powerful and kind. But he is also a man with too many layers and shields up to protect himself from the onslaught of cruelty life can gift to one human being.

Someone once told you (joked really) that loving him was like the age old question of how many licks did it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop. It was a stupid analogy then and it’s still a stupid analogy now, but it didn’t make it any less fitting.

Anakin never understood your relationship with Din, seeing only the surface level of the man you were once in love with. Padmé saw beyond the gruff and tough exterior, but she grew worried that you’d expend too much of your love and energy to get to where he could finally return it with equalness.

And she was right.

Sometimes, it was too much, and the selfish part of you wanted to walk away many times; wanted to give up the patience that you had thought you’d nurtured and grown over the years. But you’d fought against that selfish part of you, stood strong and tall as you worked through all of his layers of armor. Loved him and his toddler that you saw as your own (because he was, he was much more yours than the mother that left him on Din’s doorstep a couple of years ago).

It was Din who gave in first, the struggle of having someone wanting to be part of his life, wanting to give their all to him was so foreign to the poor man that sometimes he didn’t know what to do other than fight against it—against your love.

Even if he was the one to end it, there was no denying he had loved you, loved you in ways that were intimate, kind, and sweet. He made you feel things that no one else had, made your mind and body sing in ways that you sometimes search for in other partners.

Although the love you share now is different, like friends that have seen each other grow and blossom into who they are today, you don’t regret the time you spent learning and loving each other. He’s the first real, adult relationship you have ever had (and in a way you’re his first too), after all. You don’t regret any of it.

You don’t think he does, either.

“Are you sure you can watch Baby?” His fretting is still as cute as ever, worried that he’s asking too much of you. He knows Baby is yours as much as he is his, but his insecurities always get the best of him.

“Yes, yes!” You wave him away, too busy focusing on your little one with his chubby hands grabbing at your necklace. Maker, how you adore him. “I don’t have any meetings today”—thankfully—“I only have to go over the checklist for the Winter Charity Gala.” You finally spare him a glance as he hovers by the door. “Besides, people love babies, and if they don’t we could just switch guides or kick them out—either or, isn’t that right, my little womp rat?”

Baby giggles, slapping your chest gently in excitement, his little legs squeezing your middle as you balance him with one hand holding him and the other holding his leg. “Yes!”

He sighs heavily, muttering your name like he used to when you “sacrificed” nights to help him when Baby was teething and wouldn’t let him sleep.

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Stop it, Din. It’s fine. My work is flexible and besides, I've been wanting to spend more time with Baby during the week, anyway.”

His expression falls and his eyes fill with remorse, and stars are you a horrible person. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad!

“Din, I didn’t mean it like that.” You would never blame him for spending time with his son. The fact that he even lets you take him on weekends or even spend days with him during the week is such a huge thing. You’re not Baby’s mom, but Din lets you be his mom. “I just meant I love spending time with Baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks.

“Don't be! You do more than enough,” you assure him, berating yourself for even making him think you don’t appreciate what he does for you. “You don’t need to let me spend time with Baby, but you do. You make sure I do.”

“Of course, I could do no less,” he says, soft and warm, like the blankie you and Din bought Baby when he turned one. “You are Baby’s buir. Blood or no blood.” He closes the distance between you and wraps his arm around you and Baby, pressing his forehead against yours. “We are family.”

You look up at him with glassy eyes, and he smiles down at you, kind and tenderly. His own eyes glassy and the area around his eyes red. “Family,” you repeat, heart bursting in your throat.

“Family!” Baby exclaims, making you and Din burst into wet laughter.

“That’s right, ad’ika,” Din says, rubbing Baby’s back. “Who am I?”

“Papa!”

“And who am I?”

“Mama!” It never gets old hearing him call you that.

“Our Baby is so smart,” you coo, kissing his chubby cheeks loudly, making him giggle and lean into you for more kisses that you’re willing to give. “So, so smart!”

There’s a knock on the door and Din moves just slightly to where you could see the door as you ask who it is.

“It’s, uh, Obi Wan.” Your breath hitches, the hold you have on Baby tightening slightly—I’ve missed you, my dear. I will see you soon; warmth on a cold night, hands brushing hair away from eyes and tears away—shit.

“Who?”

Glancing at Din, you realize you haven’t told him about Obi Wan’s sudden return… visit… whatever this is, not two nights ago when you showed up at his apartment and asked if you could spend the night or yesterday morning when you woke up with puffy eyes and made them a breakfast too large for a family of three.

His eyebrows furrow in question, trying to figure out who Obi Wan is on his own. He practically knows everyone you work with or are friends with except for Obi Wan, whose picture he has definitely seen and name he has definitely heard offhandedly from Anakin and the others but can’t quite place.

“Come in, Obi.” It’s a slip of the tongue, an affectionate nickname that you can’t quite stop yourself from saying even in the presence of an ex-lover.

“Obi?” Din mouths.

You really owe him an explanation.

“I’m sorry about my sudden intrusion, darling. Anakin”—of course Anakin has something to do with this—“had hoped we could have lunch together. He’s sent me—” The door opens slowly and Obi Wan peers into the room, almost as if afraid to enter. And with good reason, when he sees Din and Baby his mouth falls slightly agape at the unexpected sight and he trails off. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company, if I had known—”

“It’s fine, Obi Wan,” you interject softly, hiking Baby higher on your hip. He’s getting bigger and heavier now, harder to hold, but it doesn’t stop you from carrying your little one. “You’re not interrupting.”

“I was just leaving,” Din follows, glancing at you with intrigue and the silent question of—who is he? You exhale softly.

“Din, this is Obi Wan Kenobi, an… old friend of mine and Luke and Leia’s godfather.” Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Obi Wan, this is Din Djarin.”

“It is nice to finally meet you.” Din moves away from you to offer his hand to Obi Wan, who accepts it. “I have heard a lot about you.”

“As have I,” Obi Wan says, stern and firm, guarded and completely unlike the Obi Wan you once knew.

Din raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything while you groan internally. What exactly has Anakin been feeding Obi Wan?

“What about Baby?” The little one in your arms squirms indignantly and you laugh, finding him looking at you with a scrunched up face, displeased that you haven’t introduced him, yet.

“I’m sorry, honey.” You nuzzle his little button nose with yours, closing some distance between you and Obi Wan. “Obi Wan, this is Baby Djarin, Din’s son.”

“Our,” Din corrects, shooting you a look.

“Right.” You bite your lip to hide your wide smile, ducking your head before nodding. “Our son.”

Obi Wan blinks, taken aback by the sudden information, and you don’t blame him. You’ll have to explain this situation to him, since apparently Anakin and Padmé chose to omit this part of your life from him, at a later date. (You ignore the fact that you have as well, but then again, you weren’t the one that kept in touch with him after he left the second time, and it’s not like you’ve had a chance to tell him since he got back either.)

He clears his throat and a smile settles on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is a pleasure to meet you too, little one.”

Baby is absolutely delighted that Obi Wan is offering his hand, practically jumping out of your arms to shake his hand. Din quickly balances him and you by placing a hand in your back and another on Baby’s tummy.

“Careful,” he murmurs, which makes Baby pout and mutter, “No, thank you,” even though he’s straightening up. Chuckling, he ruffles his son’s curls. “I should get going.”

“Good luck,” you tell him, watching him lean down to kiss the top of Baby’s brown curls. “There’s no doubt you’ll get the job.”

He sighs, a corner of his lips lifting into an unsteady smile. He’s nervous. “I hope so.”

“Hey, you’re going to do great,” you assure him firmly. “You know all the ins and out, and have Cara and Greef vouching for you. You are more than qualified for this position.”

He cracks a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right.” He doesn’t sound super convinced, but he still manages to nod resolutely and picks up his sling bag, but then he pauses. “You sure this is fine?”

You roll your eyes again. “Yes, Din. It’s fine. Baby being here is no trouble at all. The team loves him.”

“Okay. Okay. Just—I’ll try to head back as soon as I’m done.”

“Take your time and don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

His head tilts slightly, but then he nods, finally relenting. Turning to Obi Wan, he says, “Again, it was nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” Obi Wan supplies back, it’s still tense and stern, but there’s something else too, something detached and unfocused.

Din doesn’t let it bother him, instead focusing on his son. “Bye, Baby.”

“Bye, Papa!”

“I’ll see you both later.”

“Yeah, yeah, go!” you urge. He shoots you a look and you laugh. “Go.”

Din finally slips out the door but not without another kiss to Baby’s head.

“Son?” Obi Wan breaks his silence as you put Baby down.

He’s quick to run to his bag and pull out a blanket, handing it to you to place for him on the floor, in front of the blue, grey loveseat. Din and you always place it on top to make it easy to take out, and after seeing you and his dad do it so many times, Baby just knows his ground blanket is always on top.

“Yes.” You spread the blanket out, smoothing it, and Baby tries to help by grabbing the corners and tugging.

“How old is he?”

“Hey, Baby,” you faux whisper, “wanna tell Obi how old you are?”

Holding up four fingers in Obi Wan’s direction, he practically yells, “Thwee, almost four!”

Obi Wan chuckles, thoroughly amused at how excited Baby is to share his age and his inability to truly say the letter r. “Wow! You’re so big.”

“Yes,” Baby says, dropping himself onto his bottom once he’s satisfied with how you’ve laid out the blanket. “Very big!”

“He’s turning four in a month,” you inform him with a smile, sitting down next to your little one. “It’s why he’s starting to put up four fingers. Luke and Leia have been teaching him.”

“So Anakin and Padmé know?”

“Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they?”

His eyebrows furrow and he looks away from you for a moment. “They didn't mention it to me.”

“Oh.” Probably because Anakin didn’t think they’d be part of my life after Din and I broke up. But that’s not what you voice, instead you say, “I figured they hadn’t with how you reacted earlier.”

“Baby is from a previous relationship of his?” He wasn’t, not exactly, but Obi Wan doesn’t need to know what isn’t your information to give. “And you and Din are co-parenting?” He raises an eyebrow, a perfectly arched eyebrow, and it reminds you so much of the young Obi Wan Kenobi that you’d try so hard to impress with your ever growing knowledge.

You’re sure he doesn’t mean to sound like he’s being judgmental, but it sure as hell sounds like it when he stares at you like that—like he’s questioning your choices. You don’t like it. Never did.

“Baby was only a few months old when he came into our lives.”

“You have grown attached.” It isn’t a question, it’s a statement, a heavy loaded statement, one you don’t know if you even want to begin to decipher.

You sigh slowly and say, “Yes, Obi Wan. I am attached.” Baby slaps his hands on your thighs, grinning toothily, and you smooth his hair away from his wide, brown eyes. “How could I not be? We are family. Blood or no blood.”

“I see.” He wants to say more, you can tell by the way he speaks his words slowly, with restraint.

Something bubbles in your stomach, nothing pleasant. It's anger and frustration and this need to yell at him like when you were both younger and less mature. It only ever happened when he wasn’t listening to you, treating you like you had no idea what you were doing or saying. It was rare those moments, mostly born from lack of sleep from all-nighters focused on essays and exams, or sometimes born from nothing at all, just bad luck and circumstance.

It makes you want to push, just like then; to force him to tell you exactly what he wants to say. It’s never stopped him before, so why now? But Baby babbling in full sentences to himself while trying to pull his toys out of his bag reminds you that you are not that person anymore, haven’t been that person in such a long time. And maybe it’s for the best.

“Wed truck?” Baby asks, showing off the newest toy in his collection, and when you place your hand out, thinking he wants to give it to you, he stands on his two little feet and walks over to Obi Wan, careful to not trip over the blanket. “Cheer up, pwease. Wed truck will help!”

Any hint of anger or frustration or hurt that may have remained, dissipates as Baby looks up at the standing man, his little hand holding onto his pant leg and the other holding up the truck.

Obi Wan stares down at him, and that earlier aloofness, that stern way he regarded Din, and even you with, is gone, replaced by something tender, warm and soft. “Thank you, Baby,” he says, dropping to his eye level and gingerly taking the truck from chubby hands—the toy that seems so big in Baby’s hand completely swallowed by his larger one.

Baby lets out a pleased giggle and tilts his head, grabbing onto Obi Wan’s knees. “You're very welcome!” With a random smooch to Obi Wan’s nose, he moves away from him and makes his way over to you, grinning proudly.

Obi Wan stands, watching the little boy fondly as you ruffle his hair, giving him a wet kiss to his cheek that makes him laugh loudly. “You’re raising a wonderful boy, both you and Din.”

You pause your onslaught of kisses—Baby managing to slip away from your grasp—and you watch him closely, love filling your chest. “I like to believe we are.”

Baby moves to his bag and pulls out his learning tablet, immediately plopping down with it and opening up the case to pull up one of his many learning apps. It had taken you and Din a long time to finally give in and get him the darn thing, but Padmé had vouched for the item. Now Baby can’t have enough of it, always curious about everything and waving the thing in your face occasionally to ask you a question.

“I always knew your future family would be lucky,” he says, far away look in his eyes and smile barely lifted—there, just not wide. Your breath stutters. “You and Din make a lovely couple.”

Did he not know? Is this why he didn’t know about baby?

“Obi—” Your eyebrows furrow and you find yourself standing, tentatively reaching for his hand—and why do you feel like easing whatever turmoil he is in?—“Din and I… we care for eachother, deeply. He is my friend, the father of my child, but he and I—we haven’t been together in such a long time.”

“Maker.” He breathes in and out, squeezing your hand and lifting it to his face. “I have no right to be—I have been gone for too long, haven’t I?” He rests it against the slope of his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. “Missed out too much on your life. You’ve grown so much.”

“So have you,” you whisper, allowing him to press kisses to your palm, wanting nothing more than to weave your hands into his hair. You repeat the words, because it’s true. You can see it in his tired eyes, how they don’t shine as they once used to—the lines that have appeared at the edge of his eyes and the beard he’s starting to grow out, keeping it nice and trim.

“Not as much as you think, my darling.” He chuckles, kissing your wrist one last time and just allowing your hand to cradle his cheek. “Appearance wise, maybe. But mentally…”

“That can’t be true. You wouldn’t be here if it were.” Even if it’s only for a couple of days.

“Perhaps.”

Baby giggles and you briefly glance at him. He’s perfectly content, mouthing words and sounding them out.

“If I,” Obi Wan starts, stealing your attention from your baby, “if I told you I wanted to stay, what would you say?”

Your throat swallows—dry, like sandpaper, eyes wide as they study him, searching for a semblance of uncertainty or lie in his words. Perhaps for a confirmation that this isn’t a cruel joke meant to tug at your heartstring and pull them apart until you’ve become undone. There is nothing in his clear, blue eyes that tells you it is.

But you know that Obi Wan wouldn’t say something like this without it holding some truth.

He waits patiently for you, eyes searching yours just as intensely—but he’s worried, eyes wavering, unconfident.

This isn’t you. This isn’t him. This topsy-turvy, unstable relationship where you’re trying to figure out the other person, learn who they have become in the years lost without asking or finding a reason to talk. No, your relationship was always about comfort, knowing the other by watching and observing, of making the other feel safe—at home.

You know how to respond, “I would say: welcome home, Obi Wan Kenobi.”

“I’m home,” his voice hoarse and thick, “my little warrior.”

Your mouth falls open—the words, the question: “are you truly staying?” stuck in your throat and trying to form on your tongue, but you’re in disbelief. “Obi-Wan, what—”

A small arm slivers around your leg, and you stumble forward from the startle and momentum, knocking into Obi Wan. Strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you upright and steady against his chest. Your eyes lock onto blue ones in surprise and he mumbles a soft, “Hello, there.”

You huff under your breath, mumbling your own, “hello” and he smiles at the sound. Ignoring the flutter in your tummy and chest (blaming it on the stumble you almost took), you glance down to find Baby with an arm wrapped around Obi Wan’s leg and yours, hugging you both tightly.

“Welcome home, Obi,” he exclaims when you both glance down.

Obi Wan laughs loud, head thrown back and hair falling over his eyes—your heart constricts at the sight. When was the last time you saw him laugh like this—not in pictures or videos but in person?

Too long, your heart supplies in a broken whisper.

“Why thank you, little one.” He slowly untangles himself from you and crouches down in front of Baby, brushing his curls away from his face. “Would you like to see a magic trick?”

“Magic?” Baby claps, letting out an excited chirp of agreement, ready to be wowed by whatever Obi Wan was about to show him. “Yes, please!”

Warmth takes over you as you watch how gentle Obi Wan is with Baby, which doesn’t surprise you. But it hits differently when it’s your own child he’s being sweet to. Is this what it would’ve been like if he had given you both a chance? Kids of your own? Marriage?

Your phone rings, pulling you out of a spiral of thoughts you would rather not go down when he’s present. You thank the maker for the timely call and answer without a thought—“Anakin.”

“Where are you?”

You sigh, turning away from Obi Wan and Baby to focus on your shelves full of astronomy books. “I’m not coming to lunch.”

Baby squeals in delight and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as he grabs the quarter Obi Wan produced from thin air.

“Is that the little womp rat I hear?” You hummed in agreement, briefly explaining why Baby is with you and not his father. “That usually doesn’t stop you from coming out to lunch with me.”

Baby shows you the coin and you mouth an excited, “Woah, that’s amazing!” He laughs giddily and returns it to Obi Wan, asking him to do it again.

You briefly glance at Obi Wan and Baby and lock eyes with the former. You offer him a small smile before quickly turning away. “You have something to tell him, don’t you? You said you would.”

“I—I know.”

“Not so easy, is it?” you murmur, trying to make a joke out of it, but it falls flat, and you know it does when he sighs.

“I’ll do it. I will,” he affirms. “Rip it off like a bacta strip.”

“Ani, you don’t have to.”

He’s quiet for a moment and when he breaks it, his voice does too, “I owe him this much.”

This much. Clean—the air was too clean when there was blood and death and—stop!

You shake your head and your heart drops to your stomach. Stars. You should’ve figured this had nothing to do with Obi Wan but everything to do with Anakin. Maker, how stupid could you have been? You were so worried about you and Obi Wan that you neglected Anakin completely!

“Ani—“ your breath stutters.

“Darling?” You turn around, and Obi Wan stands only a few steps away from you, Baby sitting on his forearm as if weighed nothing—blue eyes watching you worriedly. “Everything all right?”

No.

“Yes.” You clear your throat. “I think Baby and I will be joining you for lunch, afterall.” Anakin says your name, and you cut him off. “We’ll meet you by the pendulum.” Anakin once more says your name, but you hang up on him.

“Shall we get going?” You meet Obi Wan’s gaze with a shaky smile, pushing your hair away from your face.

There was never a dull moment when it was you, Padmé, and Obi Wan. Your headmistress used to call you and Padmé trouble, wondering how it was possible you two could influence each other so badly and still keep up with your grades—as if sneaking out and fooling around occasionally was so blasphemous.

Things only got livelier when you graduated and Anakin moved to Coruscant. Thankfully for your headmistress’ blood pressure, you were long gone, starting university and finally moving into the apartment your parents had promised you would be yours (and Anakin’s). Instead, you were giving Obi Wan headaches and Padmé heart palpitations.

Much to their dismay and your amusement.

“Remember when you punched the guy?”

“Don’t remind me!” You groan, clutching your hand. “My hand still hurts whenever I think of that night.”

“If I remember correctly, Anakin also punched him,” Obi Wan says pointedly in Anakin’s direction. “And that ultimately got us banned from the bar.”

“To be fair, he was asking for it.” Anakin shrugs. “I only finished the job she started.”

“Go!” Padmé yelled, louder and with much force than Anakin.

“What?” You didn’t even get to finish the word as the large man you had punched emerged from the bar, blood caked to his face and eye swollen beyond belief—which you know for a fact you didn’t do. And he wasn’t alone; four other men with menacing mugs followed after him, heads whipping in different directions—until they landed in your direction.

Your eyes widened and your heart dropped to your stomach—that’s not good. “Kriff!”

Without waiting for the others, Obi Wan took your hand in his and began to lead you away from the parking lot, ignoring your sudden yelp at being tugged in the opposite direction of where you were positive he parked his car.

“What did you do, Anakin?” Obi Wan yelled back at the twenty year old, who looked far too amused by the situation than he should’ve been.

“Gave him a little taste of what he deserved!”

Padmé yelled something, voice drowned out by a motorcycle rushing by you, but it was followed by laughter so loud it overpowered the sounds of the ever alive city.

“What was it that Padme said while we were running?” you ask, trying to remember with narrowed eyes.

“That they couldn’t take us anywhere nice,” Anakin says with a shit eating grin.

You scoff, muttering, “That’s right,” while turning to Baby to make sure he was finishing his soup.

“And she was right.” Obi Wan shakes his head. “Having to pick up my car from the tow yard was a nightmare the next morning.”

“Hey! Padmé and I thought you two were already in the car.” Anakin gestures between you and Obi Wan. “I was kind of chancing on our getaway car being ready, but no, instead you two were just standing there in the middle of the parking lot.”

Lips connected with your knuckles—soft, plush, delicate and your breath hitched—he was never this bold with you, always keeping you at a certain distance for as long as you could remember—his darling, but never truly his.

The corners of your lips drop and you try to pick them up again as best as you can, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. It does. You know it does with how Obi Wan’s smile wavers and Anakin glances between you with a raised brow.

“Well,” Obi Wan starts, hoping to remove the uncomfortable veil that has fallen over you, “it’s a birthday I’ll never forget.”

“It was a good one, wasn’t it?” Anakin takes the bait, recalling that night fondly. “But nothing beats turning 18 and finally moving to Coruscant, for me.”

You laugh under your breath and Obi Wan chuckles, both sounding a little strained, but Anakin doesn't seem to notice. Probably for the best.

“All done,” Baby suddenly celebrates, raising his arms with glee in your direction.

“Good job, you little womp rat!” Anakin reaches for Baby and cleans his face with a napkin, your little one allowing him to do so, unlike when you try to do it. While Anakin might have some thoughts towards Din, there was no denying Baby holds a spot in Anakin’s soft heart.

“I’ll get the check,” Obi Wan offers, waving to get the attention of your waiter. You’re about to refute him, but Anakin nudges your shoe and shakes his head. Sighing softly, you close your mouth and watch him give up his card to the young man that had been serving your table.

“Thank you,” you whisper gratefully and he smiles at you.

“It’s my pleasure, darling.”

With your meal paid and Obi Wan’s card returned to him, you exit the restaurant with Baby holding your hand and walking, refusing to be held and carried to the trolley. It means you’ll be walking slower, but maybe this is exactly what you need to be able to tell Obi Wan—more time.

You and Anakin exchange looks and he gives you a little nod while you let out a sigh—it’s now or never.

Rip it off like a bacta strip, little one.

“Obi Wan,” you start slowly, “there’s something we need to tell you.”

He pauses mid walk and steps aside to leave an area of the sidewalk free for people to walk by. It’s a busy day, even for a weekday, but it’s not surprising. The plaza and park near the Observatory are always busy on bright, sunny days.

“We’ve been—we’ve been having—” Anakin lets out a growl of annoyance, struggling to be able to form the words. His eyebrows scrunch up and he scowls, and you gently pull him back with a squeeze of his shoulder. He glances at you and you tilt your head to the side.

He sighs and steps aside, taking Baby from you and leading him over to the grassy field to distract him for a few minutes.

“Is everything all right?” There’s a hint of panic in Obi Wan’s words and you quickly nod to try and dispel it.

“Yes!” He’s taken aback by the volume of your voice and you soften your next words, “Everything is fine. There’s just something he’s—we’ve been wanting to tell you for quite some time.” Now that your hands are unoccupied, you wring them and keep your eyes leveled with his chest. “Every year, for the past few years, we—we’ve been visiting your father’s resting place,” you whisper, afraid of what speaking these words aloud might do to him. Last time you tried telling him, he shut down the idea before you could even bring it up completely.

“I—I see,” he answers with trepidation, unsure.

“Everyone gets together to clean the area and replace the flowers we leave for him when we visit.”

“I—I appreciate it.”

“And when we’re done we go home and we—”

“You honor my father,” he says hoarsely, finishing it off for you.

“It’s what he wanted,” you murmur. And it was. He knows this. He was present when Qui Gon said so. “We would—we would like it if you joined us, Obi Wan. Everyone brings a dish and we have live music, and we share stories—”

“I—I see… and when is this happening?”

“The day before—”

“The day before he passed,” he once again finishes for you and you nod hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze, and although he’s already looking at you, his eyes are glazed over, not exactly focused on you.

“Obi—”

He takes a step back and clears his throat. “I’m sorry, darling. I—I need to go.”

Not again. Please, not again!

“Obi—” you try once more, reaching for his hand, but he jerks away and your hand falls, grasping the empty space between the two of you—again.

“Please tell Anakin I will speak to him soon.” He turns on his heels and swiftly walks away—shoulders tense and never once looking back.

“You must let go when the time comes, little one.”

Your shoulders sag, letting out a shaky breath as Anakin comes to a stop beside you. There’s no need to look at him to know he’s been hurt by Obi Wan’s reaction, because you have been too. But what is there to expect of a person who doesn’t want to let go of the dead?

Obi Wan was right, he hasn’t changed at all, and you were a fool to hope otherwise.

“Let’s go,” you break the silence, taking Baby from him and placing Anakin’s hand—that hand—in yours, not missing the way it trembles in your hold.

Mando’a translations

Buir = parents/son/daughter

Ad’ika = my child

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #reader insert #obi wan kenobi imagine

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

Text

Sanguine Nocturnus | 1

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : I know I said I’d wait. But y’all have been clamoring...

Death has a way of manipulating time. Moments meant to go slowly end in a blink, while junctures that ought to speed past, linger like dew on the vine...

Carla Montanari stared at her mother’s corpse, waiting for her to move. Waiting for the only family she’d ever had to open her eyes and say it was all a joke. Her mother had always had a cutting sense of humor; no topic was off-limits, and as she aged, death was a favored punchline. Now, it seemed, her mother had pulled off the ultimate prank, though Carla failed to see the humor in it.

The mortician had done an excellent job all things considered, but Carla could still pick out the differences between the body that lay at the altar of Saint Vincent’s and the one she had grown up with. A jaw that had been given too much lift, makeup that was a shade or two darker than what her mother normally wore, wrinkles that had disappeared when her face had been sewn back together. She’d been told she was lucky to get an open-casket service at all, given how much trauma her mother had suffered, as if it were some sort of consolation prize.

Looking behind her, Carla did a headcount of those in attendance, smiling softly when she saw that her mother’s bingo group were all in attendance, each woman donning their Sunday best in order to pay their respects. What her mother lacked in family, she’d more than made up for in friends who were all cut from the same cloth. Good, salt-of-the-earth people. Carla had always envied how easily her mother made friends, how she could chat up anyone, no matter how different their background and find something in common. It was a skill she hadn’t passed down, leaving her daughter to carve out a small handful of friends who were more acquaintances than anything else.

Crossing herself, Carla took a deep breath, looked down at her mother once more, and finally leaned down to kiss the cold, clammy skin of her forehead, doing her best to ignore the faint waft of formaldehyde that filled the casket. A solitary white rose tucked beneath her mother’s hands was Carla’s final act before turning away.

Time blinked, and she found herself seated across from her mother’s lawyer, a slab of mahogany separating them, the coffee she’d been offered growing cold as the AC hit it from overhead.

“I suppose we can do away with formality, since it’s just you,” the older man said, his smile tight and distant. Carla nodded, feeling as though the man wanted to be done so he could attend to other, more important, matters.

“Your mother left all her possessions and accounts to you, no surprise there. She gifted her friends each an item from her apparently extensive purse collection, so we’ll facilitate that for you. The accounts are all in order, and what isn’t used to pay off her final bills, will be transferred to your account by the end of the month. Lastly, there’s the matter of the inheritance. This may be news to you, but your grandmother set up an inheritance in your name when you were born. Initially, it was meant to pay for college, but when you got your full ride, your mother decided to keep it going until her passing. Her hope was to give you a nice nest egg for retirement, or your first house...something to that effect.”

Carla looked down at the document, counting and recounting the total in disbelief. Her mother had always been terrible at keeping secrets, having given away things to her friends that had mortified Carla when she was younger.

Guess you were better at it than I thought.

Inhaling deeply, Carla sat back in her chair, hoping the meeting was over. The quicker she could get out into the fresh air, the better off she’d be.

“There’s one more thing,” her mother’s lawyer said, keeping Carla rooted to her seat even as the muscles in her legs twitched in readiness to stand up. “Your mother wanted to ensure you were aware of the fact that you have legal claim to Italian citizenship, if you should ever choose to take it. They call it Jure Sanguinis; Right of Blood. The process can be expedited, given that you’re only second generation American. Sign here and we can get it in motion for you.”

Carla signed blindly, eyes unblinking as she tried to process the information. Her mother had always been a planner, but had never once mentioned so much as a will to Carla. Now, seeing everything packaged up so neatly, her mind spun wildly.

“Think you know a person…” She muttered mostly to herself, the lawyer giving her another one of his performative smiles, his eyes going to his watch for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes.

Leaving the office with a folder and the untouched coffee, Carla couldn’t help but feel time begin to crawl, reinforcing the feelings of numbness and solitude that would haunt her for weeks to come.

Working steps from Wall Street had its perks. Tips were usually far more generous than in other parts of town, fights were rare, and drunk girls crying over their shitty boyfriends were nonexistent. None of that made it any easier, however. Frat boys turned into day traders, socialites grew even more entitled as their brunches turned into botox appointments, and there was never a shortage of patronizing stares for those that had to actually work for a living. For Carla, navigating the catcalls, one-liners, and straight-up sexual misconduct was easy enough; it was the entitlement that never failed to get under her skin.

“Um, hello? Waitress? This is wrong. I asked for a Negroni.” Looking up, Carla swept her long black hair over her shoulder as she processed the words that were spoken. Having decided to keep living life as though things hadn’t irrevocably changed, Carla was doing her best to ignore the stress that had been slowly creeping higher and higher each day. Busy nights at the bar were proving the worst, with Carla coming through the door at the end of her shift ready to rant about the night to her mother, only to find the place pin-drop silent and utterly empty.

Looking down at the drink, Carla gazed back up at the woman with the blond, news anchor hair and cocked her head to the side in confusion.

“That is a Negroni.”

“Uh,” the woman snorted in disbelief, “no it’s not. Remake it, and do it right this time.”

“This is a Negroni. One part gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari each, with a peel of lemon.” The woman laughed condescendingly and Carla could feel her patience start to disappear.

“No, a Negroni, if you knew anything about bartending--which you clearly don’t--is made with Rye and dry vermouth.”

“Lady, I make at least ten of these a night. I work six nights a week. You’re the first, and only, person to ever tell me it’s wrong. You’re thinking of an Old Pal, and I’d be more than happy to make that for you, but this? This is a Negroni, which is what you asked for.”

“Fine, we’ll see about that.” The woman huffed, her manicured hand slicing through the air in a dismissive motion.

“That’ll be $10.99.”

“Absolutely NOT! I’m not paying for your mistake. Make it again, make it right, and make it now!” The woman crowed, her hair imobile as she shook her head, looking for all the world like Carla had slapped her.

“It’s a different drink. You paid for a Negroni, you got a Negroni. You want an Old Pal, you pay for an Old Pal.” Carla replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for the woman to make up her mind.

The alcohol burned Carla’s eyes and she stumbled back in shock, moving towards the large sink she knew was behind her on pure instinct. Washing her face to get as much of the cocktail off as she could, she knew she’d reached her breaking point.

Any other time and she’d have brushed it off, had security kick the woman out and gone about her night. Now? She’d had enough. Moving slowly to the back, Carla took off her apron, hung it up next to her coworkers’ and slipped out the back door.

Nearly sprinting the whole way home, it was only as she stepped through the door of her apartment that the tears came unbidden. Sliding down the wall, Carla cried for the first time since her mother’s passing.

The next morning, after calling in her notice, Carla allowed herself a day to simply be. To scream, to cry, to let out all the emotions that had befallen her since answering the phone that fateful night and hearing that her mother had died in such a vicious and preventable way. She let rage fill every vein as she thought about how the person who hit her hadn’t even bothered to stay at the scene. She lamented every missed moment, every fight, every what-if. Finally, she curled up in her mother’s robe, and cried herself to sleep.

Knowing she couldn’t handle another day at a bar like the one on Wall Street, catering to bratty adults who’d never been told no a day in their lives, Carla began leaning more and more towards escaping it all. Her now-empty apartment, her routine assortment of familiar faces (none of whom had even bothered to call and offer condolences), and more than anything, the city itself; all of it seemed worthless and foreign without her mother’s smiling face. As she sat and scrolled through picture after picture on her phone, the promise of a new life in Italy seemed more feasible, and more and more necessary.

On day three, after a day spent mostly in bed, dreaming about the possibilities of what life could bring now that she was committed to leaving, Carla put in a call to the lawyer, vaguely remembering the document she’d signed. There was nothing but relief when she was told they were simply waiting for a few more documents to finalize it all.

With the foundation for her new life in place, Carla began to flesh out the bones, focusing her research on where to live, and who was hiring. Though the inheritance was enough to live comfortably for several years, Carla didn’t want to squander it. Moreover, she still wanted to work and feel useful in some way; early retirement could wait.

While she was spoilt for choice when it came to renting, a job was harder to come by. Carla started her search with the lofty goal of finding something where she could put her history degree to good use; a research assistant, a curator, hell, a tour guide. When it became clear that her lack of experience was a hurdle she wouldn’t be able to cross so easily, Carla reluctantly turned to what she knew.

Weeks went by like thick molasses as she looked at bar after bar, finding that they either weren’t hiring, or looked like the kind of place people went into and never came out of. Her options were narrow to start with, since Carla had her heart set on Rome, the need to entrench herself in one of the world’s oldest cities, one she couldn’t possibly ignore. With each day that passed, she felt her dream beginning to slip away. Carla was nothing if not tenacious, one of the few traits she’d shared with her mother, and despite feeling discouraged at her prospects, she kept looking.

Finally, as the clock nearly ran out on her deadline to provide proof of employment, Carla found the perfect spot. Though the bar catered to a higher-end clientele, gone were the stockbrokers and lawyers, and in their place, a younger, cooler set. Attracted to the dark, almost feral, atmosphere the bar promised in its advertising, Carla applied, crossing her fingers in the hopes that they’d call.

She was still browsing the site when her phone rang and the owner greeted her in a thick, Italian accent. Breezing through the interview questions, Carla’s eyes roved over the pictures of all the beautiful people that frequented the night spot, pulled in by how effortlessly cool each of them looked. With the promise to call her by the end of the week to confirm the position, the owner ended the call, and it was all Carla could do not to jump for joy.

Flopping back on the bed, she couldn’t help but let herself feel true happiness, happiness which she’d unconsciously been denying herself while she mourned her mother’s death. Though she’d been dealt a life-changing blow, Carla felt as though, slowly but surely, time was going back to its usual pace, and her life was taking a turn for the better.

With a smile from ear to ear, she sat back up and emailed the lawyer, confirming she’d gotten a job, an apartment, and a plane ticket to Rome. As the message zipped away and the window closed, Carla found her eyes drawn back to the website, and her new place of employment.

Romulus

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals #sanguine nocturnus

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woah-were-halfway-there · 4 years ago

Note

What was Mia first bath like? Are you able to give a little small blurb on them giving Mia her first bath. Just how soft and delicate they would be🥺 please! Unless someone already asked for this and you’ve already written something like this that I’m scrolling past?❤️

Ok, so I've been asked to write this little scene a couple of times but just haven't gotten around to it BUT figured why not throw a little something together. (Also, this is written in third-person instead of second cause I'm too tired to change it)

Word Count: 1.4k

"I don't think I want to do it," Auston said from where he leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, looking at Y/N as she stood in front of the mirror while holding Mia all wrapped up in a towel. "Nope."

"What do you mean you don't want to? We have to do it, babe."

"What if we accidentally drown our child?"

"We're not going to drown her!" She gasped before spinning around to look at him incredulously. "God, Auston, now you're stressing me out."

"Well, you're the one making it seem so simple," he scoffed as he pushed off the doorframe and stepped towards her so he could take Mia, who was a fresh three days old at the time.

"It is that simple. We're bathing her. Now, please put her in the water before it gets cold."

Auston gave her a pointed look but listened. He was messing around with his fiancée, and she knew it. Although he was a little stressed about the situation, he knew they were in it together and that there shouldn't be any issues.

The two of them then knelt beside the bathtub in the en-suite of their condo, and Auston carefully unwrapped Mia from the towel, then gently placed her in the little newborn tub that was partially surrounded by water. They froze for a minute as they waited to see how Mia reacted to the water, and when she let out a little happy squeal and started moving her legs around, Y/N and Auston knew they good.

"Ok," Auston breathed out a sigh of relief. "We got this."

It was Y/N's turn to give him a pointed look then and shook her head slightly.

"Do you think the water is ok? It's not too hot?"

"Yes," he replied and leaned over to kiss to steal a kiss from her. "You did great, babe."

"Thank you," she said as she smiled against his lips and quickly pecked him again before looking back down at Mia, who seemed to be enjoying her time in the bath. "Could you pass me the baby soap, please?"

"Yeah, here. Make sure you don't use too much."

"I know, Auston. I read those baby books too."

She winked at him as he handed her the soap, and he teasingly nudged her with his shoulder, then watched as she put a tiny bit of soap on a facecloth she had wet with the tub water and carefully started washing Mia with it.

Auston observed her the entire time, taking in how gentle and soft Y/N was with their daughter and couldn't help but become overwhelmed with affection. From the moment they found out they were expecting Mia, he already loved his little family more than anything. But with for her to actually be there with them, that love has grown more than he thought was ever possible.

Seeing Y/N transition into her role as a mom made it that much more special. He didn't think he could love her more than he already did, but that's exactly what has happened, even though she undermines herself at times.

"Hey," he spoke up softly and glanced at his fiancée. "I think we're doing pretty ok at this parenting thing."

"You think?" Y/N let out a small chuckle, then rang out the cloth and hung it over the tub since she was done washing Mia. She then looked at him and smiled as he nodded. "I do too."

Without saying anything else, Y/N laid her head against Auston's shoulder as the two of them went back to watching Mia as she happily splashed around.

However, the moment was short-lived as Mia kicked her legs a bit more aggressively than she had been and ended up splashing water all over her parents.

"Mini!" Auston gasped as he pulled his soaked shirt away from his body, making Mia let out another squeal. "What was that for?"

"Mini?" Y/N asked with a curious look on her face as he glanced at her. "That's a new nickname."

"Yeah," Auston smiled before looking down at their daughter again, a very faint blush tingeing at his cheeks as he did so. "Cause she's like my little mini-me."

"Very true," Y/N replied, then glanced down at their wet clothes and stood up. "Take your shirt off, and I'll put them in the laundry basket."

She then took her top off, leaving her in only the pair of track pants she wore.

"Oh?" He asked as he took his shirt off too and handed it to her, smirking.

"Don't get any ideas. I'm still recovering from giving birth. The doctor said to wait at least a month, remember?"

"I know, babe. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy the view and admire my hot ass baby mama."

"Ok, Matthews," she shook her head as she tossed their shirts into the basket, but this time it was her turn to blush a little bit. "Think it's time we get your mini to bed?"

"Probably not a bad idea. Frank must be wondering where the hell she went."

"For real. I can't get over how good he's been with her. It looks like he may have a bit of separation anxiety from her."

The two of them looked over to the doorway and saw Frank laying on the floor in their bedroom, looking a little mopey as he waited for his humans to be done whatever it was they were doing, especially his littlest human.

"Can relate, Frank," Auston stated as he stood up from his spot. "I already know my separation anxiety is going to be in full swing when I have to leave after bye-week."

Y/N's smile fell at that.

"Aus-."

"I know, I know," he continued. "I won't let it bother me until it's happening. I'm lucky that I get over a full week off with my girls, so I'm not complaining too much."

Auston then leaned over to take Mia out of the bath and hold her to his chest. He kissed the top of her head and began swaying back and forth as he started talking away with her while snuggling her nice and close.

Y/N watched them and felt as if she could cry.

With being born a week and a half early, Mia was the average weight of a baby; but on that average's lower end. She was just so tiny and delicate and seeing her dad hold her made her seem even smaller. But Y/N loved it. She loved the two of them with her entire existence.

However, she quickly snapped out her trace and moved to grab Mia's towel so that she wouldn't get cold. Auston winked at her as she placed the towel around Mia's back but just held it around her instead of swaddling her in it right away. Y/N didn't want to interrupt Mia's and Auston's skin to skin time one bit.

After a moment, Auston said he could feel her getting a little cold, so he and Y/N worked together to get her all wrapped up again. Once they were done, Auston carefully shifted Mia in his arms then walked over to stand in front of the mirror.

"You did it, Mia!" He said as he looked at his daughter's reflection in the mirror. "You've officially had your first bath."

At that, Y/N smiled. She then walked up behind Auston so she could wrap her arms around his middle, pull herself close so that her chest was pressed against his back, then made eye contact with him in the mirror as she placed a kiss on his shoulder.

"I love our life," she said softly, which made Auston grin as he turned around in her hold.

"I do too," he responded and leaned down to give her a proper kiss, still being mindful of Mia, of course. "And I love you, more than anything. I wouldn't change a thing."

"Me neither. I love you so, so much."

"Glad the feelings mutual," he chuckled before kissing her once more.

"Now I think it's time we get this little one to bed, and then maybe we can watch an episode of One Tree Hill before we sleep too."

"I love that plan."

#auston matthews fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #auston matthews imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl imagine #nhl rpf #hockey imagine #concepts

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dismalzelenka · 4 years ago

Note

For DADW: "Either way you choose you cannot win" for Handers. "I choose to not understand these signs" for Nanders.

Played around with some more canon divergent Journeyverse AU 😌 first @dadrunkwriting prompt I've taken in probably three years and it goes absolutely nowhere and also the prompt has been VERY loosely interpreted but here we are 🥂 bottoms up kiddos

“Either way you choose, you cannot win,” Fenris hissed.

“We are far past the point of winning,” Anders shot back.

Hawke rubbed her eyes with her palms. She was mostly concerned about the fact that they were still in the Deep Roads, and she was being completely honest, she was only half paying attention to the argument unfolding in front of her. It happened enough; she already knew how this would play out. They'd yell it out and then reluctantly slink back and apologize and everyone else would breathe a sigh of relief for some fucking peace and quiet. It was positively formulaic at this point.

She was far too preoccupied with other matters today: namely, the Grey Warden archer carefully fixing the fletching on his arrows at the edge of camp.

His name was Nathaniel. He'd served with Anders in Amaranthine.

They'd been lovers.

Quite frankly that last part bothered her less than she'd have expected, but beneath the faint prickling of jealousy that wove its way beneath her skin whenever he and Anders locked gazes, there was far more fascination on her part than anything else. The secrets were what ate away at her more than anything else, but she'd grown up being taught the importance of keeping them enough to let well enough alone.

It helped that he was easy on the eyes.

“Is something the matter, my lady?” he said quietly.

“Just — Hawke,” she croaked. “I'm not a — it's just my — Hawke is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I'm — going to go over there.” She pointed vaguely in the opposite direction and wandered that way immediately.

Alright, with a voice like that, she was pretty sure she couldn't blame Anders one bit, she decided with a huff. She kicked a stray piece of stone and watched it bounce down the edge of an overhang into the darkness below.

Sure hope that didn't awaken something.

“You alright, Sparkles?” Varric's voice floated over her as she scuffed her boot into the stone.

“I would be if you'd stop calling me Sparkles,” she shot back automatically.

He laughed, a hearty sound from the center of his chest. “Trust me, you'll like the alternatives I came up with even less.”

“Try me,” she muttered.

—

She'd been beginning to nod off against the rather large rock she'd slumped against when someone shook her awake by the shoulder. “Are you alright, love?”

Why did everyone keep asking her that?

“Just tired,” she mumbled automatically. Maybe if she convinced enough people, she'd start believing it herself.

“Have you even eaten yet?”

“Why, were you too busy picking fights to notice anything else around you?” Ouch. That wasn't fair, and she winced the second it came out of her mouth. She squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I'm — I didn't mean that. This place makes me jumpy. I don't know how he stands it.” She jerked her head at Nathaniel, casually reading something by the firelight. She was babbling and she knew it, but she was too wound up to make herself stop.

“Journey. Breathe.” Hands on her shoulders, gentle touches drawing her back to reality. “I'm fairly certain the Deep Roads could make an arse out of Andraste herself.”

“Are you so smitten, that I could insult you to your face and you would still compare me to Andraste?” she teased as she tipped her head back and finally met his eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that and I'd let you get away with a lot more than insults,” he breathed before planting a kiss on her forehead and pulling her to her feet. “And you haven't eaten, have you,” he said finally with a flat stare.

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“It's a very exasperated healer who doesn't wish to see the light of his life waste away into nothing before we see daylight again.”

“You're certainly one to talk,” she grumbled, but she let him lead her back to camp anyway with minimal complaint. “Light of your life, you say?” she prodded with a grin when he thrust a bowl of beans into her hands. “What colour?”

“Hmm.” He paused thoughtfully. “D’you know the moment you open your eyes in direct sunlight after a night of drinking so much you forget your own existence?” His grin broadened. “That colour.”

She smacked him on the chest in offense. “Prat,” she snorted.

She trailed off when she looked up and saw Nathaniel watching them with an odd expression on his face. Anders cupped her face between his hands. “I'm with you,” he said firmly. “Past be damned. This is just a favour for an old friend. Nothing more.”

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just squeezed his hand and left it alone.

—

It was impossible to mark the passage of days in the Deep Roads; Hawke awoke from a markedly troubled sleep and helped tear down the camp in exhausted silence. The entire place reeked of death and rot tinged with the sickly sweet scent of something that wanted to be enticing but managed to land well on the other side of foul. It reminded her of her first trip into the Deep Roads, and of her less than glamorous voyage to Kirkwall before all of this ever began.

“Where did you learn how to fight?” Nathaniel asked curiously after a skirmish with darkspawn left her winded and depleted enough she managed to knock back an entire lyrium potion without gagging. Sweet, metallic, and unnaturally cold as it slipped down her throat like distilled sweat. The taste still made her shudder even as she stuffed the bottle back into her pack.

“My father taught me,” she said with a grimace. She spat the last of the taste onto the ground. “Ugh. Awful stuff.”

“Was your father also an apostate?”

“Of course not. The Circle gave him permission to traipse about the countryside with a wife and three children. Sometimes they sent Templars after him, but only as a friendly little game.”

“I'm choosing to interpret that as a joke that wasn't at my expense.”

“So you're an idiot and a poor comedian.”

He snorted. “And you're remarkably short tempered for a Champion.”

“You didn't think I killed the Arishok with my winning personality, did you? I'm sorry to say you're going to be awfully disappointed.”

“You're working so hard to win me over,” he said dryly. “And here I've been told I'm quite likeable beneath the scowl.”

“Is that so?” She squared her stance in front of him and planted her hands firmly on her hips with a smirk. “What happened to the last person who tried to win you over?”

His gaze flickered ahead of them to Anders as his expression darkened. “I watched him die,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “We're falling behind. We shouldn't linger.”

#dadrunkwriting #f!handers #past nanders #eventual nahanders #this is probably my least developed AU of the three of them #weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

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minerstatus · 4 years ago

Text

Teyvat’s School for the Gifted

Summary: He's cruel, mean, and sadistic. Lumine cannot fathom why he has the followers he does, but she won't fall into his hands like the rest of them. It was unknown to her at that time how such a stance would cause the biggest uproar the schools ever seen.

This is the silly drama filled high school/college parody AU nobody asked for filled with Lumine not giving a shit and Childe trying to buy his way out of problems.

Ship: Lumine/Childe

Tags: Highschool AU, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Jealousy, lots of side ships.

Status: 5/? on Ao3

Chapter 1

The school located on an island inside the neutral zones between nations is a blessing for anyone without a swimming pool filled with mora. Without money you have to be gifted a vision to attend. That is why Lumine thought she would never be accepted to such a place. Instead cursed to live her life on a small farm on the outskirts of Mondstadt, killing small monsters for money to aid her ailing mother.

She had become quite the prodigy around the area. Her sword work was nothing to be trifled with. Some would even gush about what it would be like if she did have a vision. Then it happened, a strange string of life changing events.

She enjoyed spending her free time sitting under the statue of the seven in windrise. It gave her a reprieve from her day-to-day life of school, killing, then sleep. She polished her blade most days she sat there, enjoying the sounds of the wilderness around her.

As she sheathed her blade, wistfully thinking about what it would be like to magically summon and desummon it as a vision user, a light began to shine behind her. There was a flash, she thought maybe a vision might appear in front of her. But this was no test or life changing event. It didn’t make sense.

Wind surrounded her body, lifting her skit in the breeze. She turned, it followed with her. She lifted her hand as a power surged through her. A burst of wind jetted from her palm and sliced across the water. It trimmed the tops off the over grown grasses lining the ponds edge. The wind died down and left her for elsewhere as the light slowly faded out of existence.

Befuddled, she stared at the palms of her hands. She felt a power emanating from her core. With a trembling arm she raised her palm again, calling forth on the energy. It darted from her as before. Shocked, she tried it again and again, smiling gleefully with each blast of wind. She twirled around, searching for her vision, but came up empty.

That is how the first visionless anemo user was born. At first people didn’t believe her. Delusions were not unknown to the common folk of Teyvat. They were a staple favorite of the mafia families across the regions. But she quickly smashed those theories to pieces. Not only was she a poor farm girl fighting to survive, but where on earth would she have the money to afford such a thing. She allowed an inspection of her things and a pat down to prove it.

After the authorities decided that she did not have a vision she was free to do as she wished. That was until the head master of Teyvat’s school for the gifted showed up on her doorstep. The scholarship she was offered would give more money to her mother per month than she could in six months of hunting. She took it without question.

That’s how she ended up here, gawking at the building in front of her. The school defied the rumors. Statues carved from marble, fountains that defied gravity, even the wood it was built from looked impossibly expensive. Heck, the wildlife looked like they ate from golden platters.

The only thing that held her from running right back to the boat was a woman pinning her down with a chemically assisted cheerful gaze. A shiver ran up her spine as she waved her over. She obliged only because her eyes looked a hair away from snapping into crazy land.

“Welcome to Teyvat’s finest Lumine!” She cheered and began to clap.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, intimidated by her nature. She looked like a robot. Sleek black hair, not a strand out of place. Perfectly pressed blazer and pencil skirt in matching shades. Her glasses glistening in the sunlight, even if they were just plain black frames. She hoped not everyone in this school looked or felt this way.

“Follow me and I'll take you to your dorm. Then it’s a trip around campus!” She quipped then turned on her heel. Even her footsteps were a perfect tempo.

They walked through the faculty building, which thankfully looked normal inside. The site quelled her turning stomach. It was into the garden next that, as expected, looked immaculate. They even had a massive sand garden. Back in Mondstadt something like that would be destroyed in seconds.

Eventually they came upon another wooden building with a large ‘girls’ over it. The woman stopped and spun so fast on her heel Lumine almost let out small scream.

“This is the girl's dorm; your roommates are waiting for you inside with your things. I'll be back in thirty minutes for the rest of the tour,” she said, smile never once faltering as she left Lumine to her own devices.

Her roommates were nice, they greeted her in the common room just as her guide stated. Amber was a bit too enthusiastic for just about anything. Barbara was a very cheerful girl but was more reserved. It was a breath of fresh air to see two friendly faces. They led her to their dorm to get settled.

“So, what do you think?” Amber asked as Lumine began to unpack her luggage. Placing her uniforms carefully into her small closet along with her own casual clothing. Her own things almost felt dirty comparted to the schools uniform she was provided. And the room was much bigger than what she expected from a dormitory.

“It's overwhelming,” She admitted.

“You'll get used to it,” Amber laughed.

“Are you?” Lumine began to ask.

“Scholarship,” Amber answered, holding up her vision, “They keep the poor kids together so we don’t infect the rich kids.” She laughed.

“Hey!” Barbara yelled at her. Lips pointing into a pout.

“Except for Barbara, she requested to room with me. She's the exception.” Amber smiled at her friend.

“So, it's exactly how I thought it would be,” Lumine grumbled. This school was probably dripping with rich kids causing trouble for the normal folk, like she expected.

“Some of the students are alright, indifferent you might say. But there are,” Amber held up her hands as air quotes, “those types.”

“Will you guys be in my classes?” She asked.

“Nope, third years!”

Lumine felt her insides twist. Great, now she would be alone on her first day. At least her dorm would be nice. Amber was warm and friendly and Barbara seemed sweet even if she wasn’t talking as much. The pair would only be a year below her so they were still close in age. Hopefully she wouldn’t be moved to another dorm with the ‘adults’ if she attends the next four years after this one.

“You don’t want to be in our year anyways,” Barbara laughed.

“Whys that?” Lumine felt a small smile form for the first time since she set foot on the island. Barbara wiggled her eyebrows and gleamed over at Amber. She turned red in response and threw a pillow at her.

“Stop! Its not my fault!” She shouted.

“It’s gross the way he drools over his desk for you,” Barbara added.

“Mind filling me in?” Lumine asked.

“No!” Amber shouted.

“She has this wolf boy that follows her around and causes trouble. Its adorable,” Barbara said anyways.

“I didn’t ask for it he just did it!” Amber defended herself.

“It's like a comedy slash horror show every day,” Barbara giggled.

“Stop teasing me,” Amber whined.

“Wolf boy?” Lumine asked. Mondstadt had a steady population of people descendant of shape shifters or animals, but she had never seen a wolf before. Most of them were cats. Granted, she did keep to herself and didn’t really mix with the town folk, even at school.

“Half werewolf, half human, grew up in the wild before coming here earlier in the year,” Amber explained.

“He can smell everything, it's awful,” Barbara moaned, “one time I tried to bring some leftovers from lunch and he almost ripped apart my bag looking for it.”

“Sounds like a nice boyfriend,” Lumine said, hiding her smile as she sorted items into her desk drawers. Amber gasped from behind her. She swallowed a laugh.

“H-he's not my boyfriend!” She yelled. Lumine busted and began to giggled along with Barbara. She was interested in seeing the exchanges between the two now.

“Very funny guys, I'll make sure to make fun of your pain in suffering next time I get the chance.” Amber crossed her arms.

“Alright I'll stop,” Barbara waved her hand at her. A sharp knock on the door quickly soured the cheerful mood. The door swung open and Lumine’s guide walked in.

“Fantastic, I'm so glad you are getting along with your new housemates. We must complete the tour now.” The woman said, still as cheerful as ever. Lumine noticed Barbara and Ambers shoulders fell on her entrance. “I'll be waiting out front,” she chirped and left.

“God, Mrs.Lee always gives me the creeps,” Amber said.

“Glad it's not just me,” Lumine laughed as she stood.

“Good luck! See you at dinner,” Amber waved as Lumine exited the room. She heard faint whispers of gossip as she left but knew it was nothing bad, those girls didn’t have a mean bone in them.

They walked around campus and Lumine slowly became accustomed to the wildly expensive taste. She was shown the inside of the year one through four buildings, for the fourteen-to-eighteen-year old's. Then the outside of the adult facilities. Mrs. Lee assured the only real difference between the two was the uniform requirement and some extra freedoms.

After taking the tour she felt less overwhelmed, but it was the final stop that really cemented the reality most of the students lived in. It was the cafeteria of the school, but should have been classified as a food court. There was the line for the scholarship students where they could use one of three free meal tickets per day, or a snack coupon, all loaded onto her school ID. Wich was normal, same thing that she had in Mondstadt, minus the dinner.

What was different was the restaurants lining the walls. Everything you could imagine from each region on tap. And the prices were nothing to scoff at. A Fishermans toast was going for ten thousand mora, she could make that for less than three hundred back home. Lines scaled out to the isles as students waited, eager to be robbed for food.

“Lumine!” A familiar voice shouted. She sighed in relief. A distraction to this insanity was required right about now. She carried her tray adorned with less appetizing food from the school over to the table Amber sat at.

“This place is crazy,” Lumine sighed in exhaustion.

“My first day I ran away,” Amber laughed. She placed a spoon full of mac and cheese into her mouth.

“Those prices are more than I make in three weeks back home,” She said as she began to eat. Pleasantly surprised that even the free food was delectable. The pasta was perfectly cooked, cheese sauce an ideal creamy texture. She moved on to nibble at her cookie, baked expertly with a crispy outside and a gooey center. “God,” she murmured, savoring the taste.

“I told you, you get used to it,” Amber smiled sweetly. A book bag slamming down on the table instantly cleared her face. She looked up to see what she assumed was the wolf boy from earlier discussions. Lumine wondered why Amber felt it was bad to have his attention. He was attractive, silver hair and red eyes, giving him an exotic look. His arms were coated in scars and a massive one gashed his face, not a bad look if your into that type. Some of the girls back home would swoon over the attention.

“Why,” She groaned as he pulled out a seat, pushing it right up against hers as he sat a plate of meat and potatoes down. It must have been one of the free creature meals from the school line. He sat, making sure he was as close as physically possible to her.

Okay, maybe that’s why. Lumine began to understand.

He tilted his head like a new puppy, “Why?” He asked, voice thick with an unknown accent.

“We talked about this,” She shoved his chair away. “This is Razor,” She sighed as he sunk into his chair to pout. Lumine nodded and greeted him with a smile.

“I bought brownies!” Barbara sang as she skipped over to the table, “For our new friend,” She handed out the sweets, “And beef jerky for you,” She said as she handed Razor a slim piece of dried meat. He perked up and took it, chewing on it greedily. After the experience with the cookie Lumine thought the food couldn’t get better. But the brownie was smooth decadent layers of velvet chocolate that melted in her mouth. She had to suppress a groan.

There was a pickup of chatter in the room that pulled her from her chocolate induced fantasy. She looked towards the entrance of the café where a group of boys walked in. They were followed by a gaggle of other students, mostly female, all adorned with an expensive accessory or more.

Lumine was an honest person and she did not deny to herself that these boys looked like royalty. They walked with an air of confidence even through the crowd, knowing that the sea of students would part for them. She counted each of their visions, anemo, geo, cryo and hydro. There was a distinct leader to the group out of the four. A redhead who wore his vision on his belt, showing it off by messily tucking in half of his unkept shirt. Like he wanted people to see it, unlike the rest of them that wore them on chains by their side, as did everyone else in the school.

“Don't stare,” Amber hissed. Lumine snapped her eyes to her friends.

“Who are they?” She asked. Amber eyed her wearily before divulging the information.

“Sons of the school's elite,” She glanced back at the group to ensure they were distracted with food or girls before continuing, “The shorter one with green hair is Xiao, the son of the wangshu inn owner. The geo looking guy is Zhongli from the Wangsheng funeral parlor. Blue hair is Kaeya, one of the sons from the dawn winery.” Amber stopped speaking as she got to the last subject. Lumine quirked a brow as both Barbara and Amber swiveled their heads to check on the group again.

“It's not really them you should be weary of though; besides Xiao they are nice. Xiao has always had a stick up his butt,” Barbara added to the conversation.

“Then what is it, why are we acting like we are defusing a bomb?” Lumine asked.

“It's Childe, the redhead,” Amber whispered.

“Childe? That’s a dumb name,” Lumine thought out loud. The girls hissed at her to keep her voice down.

“He smells mean,” Razor added. Amber pulled on his ear.

“I told you not to talk about him,” She growled at him. He grasped her hand in his, forcing her to release.

“But you are!” he argued.

“Thats because we are warning her!” Amber explained. Razors eyes darted from Ambers to Lumines and he resigned himself back to his half-eaten steak.

Amber rolled her eyes and turned back to Lumine, “It’s not his real name, no one even knows his real name.”

“Childe is an awful nickname,” She whispered back to her friend.

“He’s mean, and evil, once he has you in his sights there's no stopping it.” Amber warned her.

“What about his friends? Don’t they say something?” She asked.

“They are rich, us poor folk don’t matter to them even if they act cordial towards us,” Amber told her as she leaned back, “Besides you don’t have a vision, he will probably just ignore you.”

Lumine widened her eyes, “well...” She felt a tint come to her cheeks, “Actually...”

Amber slammed her fists on the table, “NO WAY! YOUR THAT GIRL!” she screamed. Drawing the attention of half the students.

“Show us!” Barbara insisted.

“Ah, I don’t think now is the best time.” Lumine tried to quell her friend's voices but both girls were oblivious to the attention they were attracting. She glanced over at the red head she was warned about to make sure he was still entranced at whatever activity he had chosen.

“Awh comon I wanna see!” Amber whined.

“First anemo user in history without a vision! Don’t hold out on us!” Barbara added.

“Fine! Just stop yelling at me,” Lumine finally conceded. She put her palm face up on the table and gathered a small amount of wind to it. It tinted green with her power as it swirled into a miniature tornado in her palm.

“This is so cool!” Amber gasped.

“It's the same as anyone else,” Lumine said, closing her hand to cease the wind. She was more than a bit tired of people going ballistic over her powers.

“Let's get back to the dorms,” Amber suggested, “We have much to talk about,” She smiled gleefully. Razor whimpered next to her, “fine you can come too,” She sighed. Razor looked up with a beaming smile.

“Boys are allowed in the girls dorms?” Lumine asked as they gathered their trays and bags.

“Only until eight with a strict open-door policy,” Barbara told her.

She hummed in response as the group made their way over to the trash bins. Eyes were on her now, some searching for a vision trinket she didn’t possess. She was the last one out the door when a chill tingled down her spin. She grabbed the back of her neck and turned, expecting a cryo user to be standing there with a smirk on their face.

Instead, she was greeted with sea blue eyes cutting through the crowd. He smirked when they made eye contact. The chill went down her entire body. She glared as the door to the building swung shut, cutting them off.

Shit.

#chilumi #childe #lumine #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction

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io-kj-cr · 4 years ago

Text

Decisions

Now on ao3 and has a companion piece from m9's perspective by amateurwordbender here !

So I had a line bouncing around in my head and the only way I could sleep was to write it down, and the only way for it to make sense was to write some fic around it, so this happened. I don’t have an end to it. I’m just here for the angst and Blumentrio. AU for 128

---

It had been the only way.

Caleb knew that. The other ways out were too dangerous, he had to make the decision that would keep his friends and their families safe.

Walking out of the Tidepeak tower- alone, unarmed, his spellbooks left behind with Veth to keep what he learned hidden- he saw him. He looked as he always had. Tall. Thin. Frail. But the power Trent Ikithon radiated didn’t rely on physical presence.

“Bren,” his voice caressed the name, making the hairs on the back of Caleb’s neck stand, “so good of you to come back to us. You know you can always talk with me. I simply want to help. Now let’s set this unpleasantness behind us.” His smile was too stretched, too wide, too false, but what could Caleb do.

“My friends...I am here and will go with you...willingly... but my friends...they do not need to be involved. Let them be.” Caleb made himself look his nightmare in the face as he spoke, keeping the exhaustion and fear out of his monotone voice. “They will stay and I will come with you.”

“Why of course,” Ikithon crooned, “You know you only need to ask, I’m happy to see you’re back to your senses. It was so painful to sit beside you all those years you were unwell. As for your...friends...if that is what you wish, we’re happy to accommodate.

Isn’t that so, children?” He turned to Astrid and Eadwulf who had come up beside him. Neither had looked directly at Caleb yet, looking instead to somewhere in the air between the two wizards.

“Bren.” Eadwulf’s solid voice came as he nodded a short greeting.

“It is good to see you” Astrid’s voice was softer as she finally met his eyes.

“Yes, it is good to have you all back together again.” Ikithon’s voice cut into the small moment, “But now let us return to Rexxentrum. I’m sure we have much to catch Bren up on, as he has much to share with us.” He turned to Caleb, “I’ll leave you in their capable hands for the night and we’ll reconvene in the morning to discuss your return to the empire’s service, and how we can best use your new talents. You’ve show some impressive skills, I’m eager to see what you’ve learned in your time away.

But I’ve other matters to attend to now that we’ve reached this understanding, and I’m sure your old friends can reacquaint you with our service. See children, am I not generous to give you this time to yourselves?”

“Yes Master Ikithon,” came Eadwulf’s quick reply, “Thank you, we’ll return to our tower with Bren and be ready to meet with you in the morning.”

Nodding, he and Astrid stepped up to Caleb’s side and waited as Ikithon cast a final eye over him, before turning and disappearing.

---

Caleb, or was he Bren now? Had he ever really been Caleb? Bren was who Astrid and Eadwulf knew. Bren was who studied with Master Ikithon. If this was the decision he had made, to throw Caleb away to save the rest of the Mighty Nein, did he deserve to be anyone other than Bren?

Bren looked to Astrid and Eadwulf and nodded as they took his hands in theirs to step through the portal Eadwulf created. They appeared in a simple tower entryway.

Astrid and Eadwulf dropped his hands and stepped back slightly, looking at him with concealed expressions, to see how he would react now that Ikithon was gone.

They needn’t have worried.

Bren looked around before asking “is this yours?”

“Yes,” Astrid sounded slightly relieved, although her expression never wavered, “Eadwulf and I were given this tower some years back. We aren’t here much of the time, but it’s a small sort of home.”

“Come, let us show you.” Eadwulf’s deeper voice cut in as he walked towards the stairs.

The decorations were beautiful, the furniture expensive, but most of the tower had a faint unlived in air to it. There were few personal touches to the rooms. The library had seen the most use, here there were books piled on the shelves and tables, the chairs were comfortable and worn, and the thin layer of dust over some of the other rooms was markedly absent.

Not so in the next area they stopped at.

Eadwulf pushed open the door to a set of rooms off of the hallway on the next floor up. “These are your rooms.” He said quietly. “We always hoped you would, well, you would get better and come back. We wanted you to have a place to come home to.”

The rooms were plain with the necessary furnishings, and some small pieces of art on the wall that showed an idyllic farm scene.

“My rooms are through there,” Astrid gestured to the door to the left of Bren’s room, “and Eadwulf’s are there to the right.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted this to go, or how we hoped you would come back, but we’re happy that you’re here, Bren. It’s been so long, and we’ve missed you.” Her face now showed the sincerity behind her words, as well as some of the fears she held.

Eadwulf’s face was strained as well. They’d lost their friend some time ago, and now he was back, but not how they’d imagined.

Caleb knew a bit of how that felt. Losing Mollymauk and then having Lucien show up had thrown them all. It was odd to see a stranger wear the face of someone you’d cared about. And he had only known Molly for a short time. Bren, Astrid, and Eadwulf had grown up together. How much more did this hurt them to not know if the man standing before them was their long lost partner, or just another enemy.

The silence between them stretched out as he stared into the room. Caleb wanted nothing more than to run and shut the door behind him. Shut the door and cry or scream or bleed the emotions out of himself. But he couldn’t be Caleb anymore. Caleb was part of the Mighty Nein, and he was here in Rexxentrum. Here with Astrid and Eadwulf.

Bren turned back to the pair. “Please. Stay.” he said in Zemnian as he leaned back into his room. He didn’t want to be alone right now. He couldn’t be. And despite the years of fear and shame and loneliness, Bren was happy to be back with Astrid and Eadwulf. It felt right. As nothing else in this situation did.

Tomorrow he would deal with whatever tomorrow brought. Tonight he wanted to feel some of the comfort the trio had brought each other throughout the years.

He was glad to see the small flicker of joy in Astrid’s eyes as he spoke, the softening of Eadwulf’s face, as they followed him in.

---

In the morning, he woke with Eadwulf’s arm over his chest, Astrid’s hair in his face, and Jester’s voice in his ear.

“Caleb! Are you alright? Where are you? Are you hurt? Are you in Rexxentrum? I’m sorry I had to wait until today to send to” the message cut off mid sentence.

Cale- no Bren. He was Bren. And what could Bren say to Jester Lavorre? What could he say that wouldn’t cause more pain than he had already brought? He buried his face in Astrid’s hair and let the silence stretch on, until he felt the spell fade.

In his arms, Astrid stirred, then rolled over to look at him.

“Good morning Jester. Bren is well and unharmed. He is here with us and under no restraints or compulsion. He is home now.” She let the spell end as she looked him in the eyes from inches away. There was a sadness and understanding there, and pity, which hurt more than he cared to think about.

It was his turn now to roll over, turning to face Eadwulf. There was no pity in his eyes. Merely a sort of resignation to the pain he could see Bren was going through. Eadwulf laid his hand along Bren’s face in a gentle benediction, as Jester’s voice came back.

“Please, tell me something, tell me anything, tell me you’re fine, or dead, but please we need to hear from you, we need to plan-”

Bren remained silent.

“I’ll keep messaging you, please Caleb we’re scared and worried, please tell us where you are, we can fix this, we can get you back.”

Bren closed his eyes under Eadwulf’s steady gaze. “I am well Jester, returning was my decision and I am unharmed. I need you all to stay away. Stay safe. I am sorry.”

#critical role #caleb widogast #astrid #eadwulf #eodwulf #blumentrio #ikithon #angst #fic #text #caleb

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iwrestlenow · 3 years ago

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It All Starts And Ends With You, Chapter One (Stories from THE EMERALD)

TITLE: It All Starts And Ends With You, Chapter 1

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: The nature of a drake, human versus dragon, isn't just tragic backstory. The supernatural halfbreeds are a living duality, two creatures in one skin. Every drake is, essentially, a twin soul.

Unlike most twin souls with a Necromatic match, however, a drake can choose.

For Janus, giving Patton his human soul was easy...but a secret from his past means that his choice has consequences...consequences he was never supposed to face, because Patton would never be free.

So much for a sure thing.

SHIPS: Moceit (Patton/Janus), Dragon Witch/Original Male Character and background Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Future smut--warnings for all pertinent chapters will be posted.

...so apparently there's going to be a few side stories in this series? This takes place shortly after MANY MORE TO DIE, but it's not the big sequel. It's very much a side quest type thing because Janus Has Backstory and I Have Moceit Feels(TM). XD

Also, later on there WILL be smut in this story, but the chapters will be labeled--and I'm planning to make them skippable if I can. Otherwise I'll summarize plotty things in the end notes. So you filthy minded animals can have your debauchery, and those less inclined can still have all of my feels. :P

Per usual, unbeta'd self indulgent drivel, all mistakes are mine. ONWARD TO SHIPPYTOWN!

Also located at AO3 over here.

1019, A.A.

“Jay! A word?”

Eleven year old Janus Ormor looked up from the book he was reading on the floor of their living chamber. Father was captain of the guard, and as such they had better quarters in the palace than some other soldiers—shutters on the windows, softer beds, and the rug in their living chamber was far more comfortable than his bed, especially with a fire going.

Janus always had trouble staying warm—which never seemed right, since he was half dragon, but if Father wasn't worried then neither was Janus.

Marking his place carefully, Janus set his book aside and got to his feet so he could dash across the room to crawl into his father's lap. Yeah, it was kind of juvenile—he was eleven, Shadow's sake—but Father ran hot, and Janus was not above stealing a little of that warmth from him.

Knowing that, Timothy Ormor smiled and loosened the top couple buttons on his collar, allowing Janus to press his forehead to the curve of his neck as he crowded close with a satisfied sigh.

“What's going on, Father?”

“Nothing, really, just...well, your birthday is in a couple days.”

“Uh huh! I'm really excited! I love surprise parties.”

“How did...”

Janus looked up at his father with a smile, earning one in return. Father finally laughed, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I forget how good your ears are, wriggle worm.” Father sighed, tugging Janus closer. “No matter—yes, we're throwing you a surprise party. Think you can pretend?”

“I'm real good at pretending!” Janus assured him before cuddling up to Father's chest again.

“Well, that's good...but, uh...we need to talk 'bout something else.”

“What's that, Father?”

“Well...you know the story I told you about how you were born?”

Janus nodded, tucking his head against Father's neck again. “You and Mother loved each other very much, so you--”

“Not that part, imp!”

Giggling, Janus continued.

“--after Mother found out she was with child, you guys let me be born in the way of the dragons: she changed form, carried me for a year, and I was hatched a few weeks after the egg came. I didn't get my human form until I was a month old.”

“Well...that's the thing, kiddo...Shadow's Balls, there's no easy way to say this...”

“Say what, Father?”

“I...damn it, but I promised her you'd know your people. Thing is, Jan...your mother didn't have you with me.”

Janus felt his stomach get cold inside.

“What do you mean? You...you're my father.”

Timothy ran a hand through his son's hair, staring into his bright and confused little face. He wasn't overly fair, but his jet black hair washed out his complexion some, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

He was so easily mistaken for human with that beautiful face—until he heard things no child his age should. Until he stuck his hand in a fire and came away unburnt. Until he grew slow and lethargic in the cold...until those dark eyes bled yellow as daffodils, pupils lengthening into reptilian slits.

“I'm your dad, wriggle worm,” Timothy confessed, “but the truth is...I'm not actually your father.”

********** 1033, A.A.

“Sneak attack!”

Janus dropped his book as Patton rushed straight at him, flinging himself into Janus's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck to squeeze tight.

“I could see you coming, sweetie.” Janus pointed out with a sigh that didn't match the fierce swell of affection in his chest, hot and restless, compelling him to hold Patton in return with arms wrapped carefully around his waist.

Patton's giggle, right in his ear, sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. “But you didn't know I was gonna hug you!”

“Your arms were open for one.”

“So?”

“You also do this at least three times a day.”

“Only because you said four was too many!”

Patton drew back to pout at him this time, and that hot swell of affection stretched in his chest to the point of pain. Since Mori's death and Roman's installment as regent until the coronation, Logan and Patton had been given free reign of the castle, along with a few other Necromata prisoners the pair had vetted. Until their freedom was voted on by the citizens, they couldn't be released, but they could at least be made comfortable, and given room to reclaim some shred of normalcy.

Which meant Patton could, and did, visit Janus far too often, greedily devouring every hug, cuddle, hand hold, or simple hair ruffle he could gain access to. Janus could hardly deny him...and Janus wanted it all just as much.

Gods, Janus wanted, too much and too soon and too...inhuman.

Staring into Patton's face, Janus's vision was tinged with rays of gold. A gilt to every dark curl on Patton's head, flecks of gold in those deep blue eyes turning them into true lapis...shimmering gold lips pooched into a mock scowl, gold dusting the faint array of freckles he was acquiring after a few weeks of sunlight...

Pressure. Warm, steady, gentle...

Janus blinked, realizing Patton had his forehead pressed against Janus's. He was talking, words Janus couldn't hear but felt, soft and soothing and endless to fill his ears and press back the shimmering film over his vision.

The gilt edges faded away. His eyes were blue, deep and still and endless. He was Patton again, not...not some worthless hoard.

Just Patton, soft and sweet and bloodthirsty, infinitely more precious.

“...got you, Janny, my beautiful Janus. I got you, you're doing so good, you're so good for me...”

...okay, that couldn't be allowed to go on. Not when it made warmth pool far lower in Janus's body, made him want something entirely different—and wow, he was not ready for those kinds of personal revelations today.

Clearing his throat, Janus reached up to gently touch Patton's cheek.

“I'm all right, Pattycake. Promise.”

Patton watched him dubiously, a far more serious version of that pout forming on his face again...Gods and Souls, he wanted to run a fingertip over that lush lower lip. Or maybe bite it.

“You were growling.” Patton replied suspiciously. “And you were feeling cold. You're never cold, you're always warm as toast.”

“It's nothing, truly. I was just...distracted.” Janus tried again. “Work related, got me a little upset is all.”

Patton narrowed his eyes—then leaned back in to hug Janus again. Janus hugged him back without thinking...and felt his breath catch when he swore, swore to all the dragon gods, that he felt the tiniest press of lips against his neck before Patton burrowed in, pressing his face there.

“No one's 'llowed to upset my pretty dragon.” Patton mumbled against his throat. “Gonna eat their liver.”

Janus knew enough to know that was a very genuine threat, petulant as it sounded—and the promise of bloodshed should not make his heart throb with the softest pulse of tenderness and adoration. And yet...

“No more cannibalism, remember, darling?”

“It was one time, and it was an accident!”

Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Patton drew back to whine at him in protest.

“Yes, darling. Of course—entirely accidental. Naturally.”

“Humph. Not talking to you anymore.”

“Understood.”

“...the Lord Father is here to see you.”

Janus felt his blood turn to ice at that.

“Janny? You okay?”

With a sigh, Janus gently patted Patton's knee.

“No, but this was inevitable. Up, Paddock darling. I've business to attend to.”

********** He seemed bigger than Janus remembered.

Walking into his office, he was unsuprised to see Josiah Crofter standing within its walls, back turned as he stared out the window, arms folded across his chest. He wasn't, technically, allowed to be here and leave free, but Josiah had made it clear to the prince regent he knew how to access the castle at will—and had been given leave to do so whenever he wished to see his family.

When Janus was thirteen, he'd been a hungry giant, and now...now he was exactly the same despite the fact that Janus was now a grown man. Tall, too, thanks to that seven foot frame in his ancestry. Somehow, even still, Josiah himself was the bigger, the prouder, the more intimidating.

Clearing his throat, Janus announced his presence. Josiah didn't even turn around.

“You got good men servin' you, Deceit.”

“Do not call me that.” Janus replied flatly, sauntering over to his desk. “The walls have ears. Granted, most of them are mine, but loose lips and all. Unlike the rest of you, I take protection of my True Name very seriously.”

“Unlike the rest of us, son, it can't be used to hurt you. Not anymore.”

“Yes, you saw to that, didn't you?” Janus bit off tersely, sinking into his chair.

Josiah fell silent, taking a moment before he finally turned to face him. He was a stoic wall for several seconds before his expression just...melted, cold gray eyes going smoke-soft as he watched him.

“You look so much like your momma it hurts.” Josiah murmured, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “It's a good hurt, mind, but...I know you don't believe me, but seein' you's a balm on old wounds, little ember.”

That caught Janus by surprise—and he hated that. He was the one with the surprises, the tricks, the knowledge...but this man had things he never would.

Father knew who Janus was, but Josiah Crofter...he knew where Janus came from. He knew the why, the history and the parts and how they worked together, because they were a part of him as well. They were, quite literally, part of his soul.

“Which part?”

The question left Janus without his permission, torn from the small, secret part of him that had been inexorably drawn to his birth father's doorstep from the moment his human half had truly awakened for the first time.

He wasn't sure what he even meant, but somehow Josiah knew all the same.

“Both. All.” he replied, deep voice heavy with affection that settled over Janus, warm as fire and soft as the heaviest flannel blanket. “You got her scales and her hair—and in human form, her eyes were always that same shade of yellow you got on the one side.”

The knowledge hit him hard, formed a fist and plunged straight into his chest. It was comfort, it was agony...and it was a much needed reminder.

Josiah Crofter knew him as even his own father couldn't—and far too late, Janus learned to fear him for that reason. Far too late.

Janus's True Name was proof of that.

“Is there a reason you're here to see me, Lord Father?” he replied instead of addressing the observation. “Or did you come her to merely wax sentiment?”

A flare of hurt, then anger passed through his expression, clinging to his bones with its painful familiarity. Timothy Ormor was a man slow to anger, patient and steady—unlike Janus, whose swift mind was only outpaced by his heart, burning with the fire of the dragons.

Lashing out with anger instead of grieving or showing fear. This man was where he got it from.

Like Josiah did now, composing himself and folding his hands behind his back, he would default to a steady and inscrutable mask, cover the truth with strength and decorum.

“I came here to check on you.” he replied evenly. “Your situation with the Morrel boy ain't exactly a common one. Does he know?”

“About my condition? No.” Janus replied flatly. “And he never will.”

“That ain't an option, and you damn well know it.”

“It is if we aren't together.”

Josiah's brow furrowed, expression clouding with confusion. “You a Jadeheart?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “That term is archaic as all Seven Hells—no, I am not aromantic. Nor am I asexual, which is hardly your business—oh, I'm sorry, Soultouched.”

“You love that boy. You're bonded to him.”

“Your point?”

“...so you did give him your human soul.”

Janus fell silent, stubbornly holding the other man's gaze until he grit his teeth with a growl.

“Ah, Hells...”

Janus didn't like the way Josiah's breath left him in a rush, the way he cursed as if he'd just lost something precious. He didn't like the way he hung his head, shoulders slumping in something like defeat.

Janus didn't like the way he felt suddenly like he'd done something to deliberately hurt him.

“He was a Black Dog with a pure heart.” Janus hissed. “The purest heart...anyone who didn't know would assume he had a soul already, how could I give him anything else? How could I kill that human heart with a monster's soul?”

As he said it, he felt the reality of it sink into him for the first time, saying it out loud like that.

Because unlike most twin souls, a drake could choose.

And when Janus gained an inkling of what might be happening, when he felt that moment come—to give of himself, to release something of himself into Patton's care, of course—of course he chose to give Patton, to trust Patton, with everything in him that was human.

“You know what's gonna happen if you hold yourself away from him, son.” Josiah warned.

Janus narrowed his eyes at him, but could no longer bear up under Josiah's scrutiny, his eyes flicking down to his desk.

“Tell me this, Father: if you knew that you were going to become every foul thing the Animator stood for, if you knew that you were going to turn into your own father, would you have married my mother? Would you have exposed her to that monster?”

There was no answer from Josiah. Janus didn't expect one.

The closer he grew to Patton, the worse it got—and now that the sweet little killer was no longer safely tucked away in the dungeons or sequestered in a single wing of the palace, Janus was slipping.

Consumed by the hunger for possession. Tormented by visions of riches. Haunted by the knowledge that, if given half a chance, he would consume Patton whole just to sate his growing thirst for more.

Without his human soul, Janus was losing his grip on himself—and if he couldn't do something soon, the dragon—Deceit--would be all that was left of him.

#janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #sanders sides #fanfic #necromancer au #fic series: the emerald #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

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neapolitanadonna · 5 years ago

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cottagecore has taken over my life. can i request a scenario where human au England is living in this little cottage in the flower fields and he sees this strange girl in the fields all the time? He just kinda watches her and admires her and stuff and cute soft cottage core things ack I'll leave the creativity to you THANK YOU!!!

Oh you KNOW my cottagecore ass had fun with this one. I genuinely felt soft writing this so I hope everyone feels soft too. I love getting the opportunity to make imperialists look soft, its by far my favorite hobby of this quarantine.

Also this is a bit long, so remember to click keep reading!!

Arthur was a hardworking man in the government who, despite practically signing his life away to it, hated the government. His London flat, aggressive cabbies, black coffee at 5 in the morning, three piece suit everyday life was something that got him far in life, it was a shame that most days, he couldn’t care less about it.

After his grandmother passed, she left him her small brick cottage in Painswick. At first he thought of selling it, not that he needed the extra money, it would just be a shame to leave empty real estate. He didn’t think he would ever spend his days in the little place, but in a time where he tried to manifest nothing but peace, the universe brought him to the cottage.

He spends his weekends there. It isn’t big government buildings and the bustling streets of London, but to him, it’s perfect. If he wasn’t tethered to the responsibilities of being an adult, he would pack up everything he had and move to the cottage. He considered it often, he had nothing left in London for him, anyway. He lived alone in London and in Painswick, but Painswick felt less lonely.

His grandmother's cottage was relatively secluded, far enough from the little village to be truly alone, but close enough if he needed to walk to get anything. However, oddly enough, even if there were no other residences near him, one particular creature always showed up in his backyard.

He wasn’t a fan of judging a woman by her physical traits, but he remembers the first time he laid eyes on her perfectly. It was cinematic, and if it was a film, he would watch it again and again. She wore a baby blue dress with a flower print that fell just above her knees. Her hair was pulled back into braids with two little bows the same color as her dress. He couldn’t quite see the color of her eyes from his window, but they held some sort of power in them even from afar. As she gently walked through the flower fields, she tucked the wildflowers she picked into the weaves of her braids, filling them with Bluebells, Columbine, Daisies, and Cornflowers. She didn’t trip over plants or roots that peeked through the dirt. She seemed to thank the earth each time she picked a flower. As he watched her card through the flowers, spin in the field, then sit under the Crab apple tree up upon the hill, he figured he must’ve been hallucinating. It had been a long week of work, he had gone through so many rough emotions that it was possible she was an angel and he was on the verge of death.

Until she showed up again.

Her visits to his field were almost scheduled, but sporadic all at the same time. She would come, sometimes pick flowers, others leave them alone, but dance among them either way. She would sometimes bring little baskets of peaches and bread for herself, other times she came with nothing but herself. She once got close enough to a deer that it let her pet its head, the same thing happened another time with a rabbit. His grandmother used to tell him stories and lore about Painswick, how faeries disguised themselves as humans to lure them in. He couldn’t help but wonder if his grandmother wasn’t just telling old tales. There was no way this girl was human.

She seemed devoid of any human flaw. She couldn’t have been any older than 20, but even though Arthur was 23, his position aged him five years. She always seemed so happy, so carefree, like nothing in the world could have made her upset. If anyone else came through his property to take his flowers, he would be sure to lecture them, but she was his only exception.

It was a Saturday morning when Arthur woke up feeling less on edge than usual. He was so used to having a migraine that waking up without one felt like a giant weight off his shoulders. The light filtered through the old blinds just perfectly, hitting the old paintings of flowers on the wall. It occurred to him that he did more staring out his window into the fields than he did outside. Maybe today would be the perfect day for him to spend a day out there, no stress, no work, and definitely no migraine.

The sun was still rising as he walked out into the fields. He never noticed it before, but bumble bees danced around every honeysuckle and corn flower. He supposed they would be hard to notice from far away.

He set down his little blanket at the base of the crab apple tree. It made him feel a certain sense of anxiety knowing that this is where the ethereal girl usually spent her time, that he was sitting in her spot despite it being his property. He looked out on the fields, the sun rising behind them, and began to realize why the girl loved it here so much.

He spent a good while like this, staring off into the fields, down at his cottage, the trees and wood that extended beyond the fields. He only stopped daydreaming when he heard humming.

He recognized it as Donovan’s “Sunny Goodge Street” before he processed who the humming could have possibly come from. When his brain finally did process, yes, it had to be none other than the voice of the girl, he felt his heart leap into his throat. She must’ve been coming up from behind, and his best option was to sit absolutely still from the other side of the tree hoping she would walk the other way around and avoid him completely.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, but he couldn’t quite admit that he was afraid. She had all the odds of the universe on her side, she might’ve been mother nature herself, and who was he compared to that? Unfortunately, his desires came to a fault. Her humming stopped, and her footsteps got louder. A soft, faint giggle could be heard from behind the tree.

“Hello?” Arthur’s heart leaped to his throat again. Such a sweet voice she had, too. In retrospect, he should've moved, stood up to greet her and introduce himself, but he was frozen. He spent all week talking and negotiating with big government hot shots, yet he couldn’t face a silly girl who spent her days in the flower fields.

“Are you hiding from me?” She giggled again, and then she was next to him, standing above him. He couldn’t help but exhale deeply the moment he saw her. His cheeks were for sure red, such an embarrassing thing for a grown man, he thought. She wore the same blue dress she wore the day he first saw her, her hair let loose and gently curled around her shoulders, instead.

“Are you the funny man who lives down in the cottage there?” She asked, taking an uninvited seat in front of him on his blanket. She smelled like honey, roses, and the morning. She was even more beautiful up close than she was from his bedroom window.

“Lots of questions you have for me. I should be the one asking who you are. This is my property” Arthur replied. The moment he said it, he felt a pang of guilt. He had a hard time talking to somebody without being defensive anymore. The girl didn’t seem to care.

“I’m really sorry.” She smiled, almost solemnly. “I’m __. There was this sweet old lady, Mrs. Kirkland, who lived here quite a bit ago. She was a regular at my nans flower shop in town, she used to invite me over quite a bit to have tea. Before she passed, she told me I could still visit the fields whenever I wanted. It never occurred to me that somebody else would be living here after she…”

“Oh, don’t worry, __.” Was all Arthur could muster up saying. The way her name spilled off his tongue sent a shot of adrenaline up his spine. __. So very fitting.

He found it strange from the start that his grandmother left him her cottage, of all things. Maybe, somehow, this was her funny little way of playing matchmaker for him. The blush rose back to his cheeks.

“I’m Mrs. Kirklands grandson, Arthur. I’m sorry for making accusations.”

“It’s alright.” She smiled. “I’m sure if I saw some strange girl on my property I would be curious, too.”

“How did you know I lived here?” Arthur asked, meeting her bright __ eyes.

“It just feels less lonely when you’re here.” She smiled. “That, and I heard you drop your mug one morning. Your reaction wasn’t all that discreet.”

She giggled, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, for fucks sake, you mean to tell me you saw that?”

“I promise I’m not a stalker,” her smile seemingly permanent on her face. “Just observant, is all.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of being one.”

“Oh, but I can tell you’ve thought about it.”

Arthur wanted to tell her he didn’t think any malice of her. He wanted to tell her that even if she was stalking him, it was the best intrusion of his privacy he’s ever had. He wanted to grab her little hand that rested upon her knee, but he knew he couldn’t. He’s never felt so intimidated by another person in his life.

Arthur said nothing to her in response, and instead for a moment, __ studied him, then stood up.

“Don’t leave.” He said, suddenly. It wasn’t even his intention, it came out of him on instinct. She looked back down on him and smiled, and shook her head.

“I wasn’t planning on it, darling.” She giggled. “I’ll be right back.”

Arthur watched her as she tumbled down the hill to the fields, the tall grasses and flowers welcoming her like she was a part of them. He finally had the opportunity to sigh, and run a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stop thinking about how his grandmother probably set this whole thing up for him, she was always a clever woman.

__ came back a few minutes later with hands full of flowers. She sat back down in front of him, and carefully broke the stems of the flowers to make them shorter. He wanted to question her process, but instead just watched her. He finally made a noise when his breath hitched as she moved to push some of his hair out of his face.

“You have the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.” __ marveled, her own eyes gentle as they looked into his.

“I- Thank you.” Arthur held back a stammer. She brushed his hair from his face again, then gently placed a daisy behind his ear.

“Perfect.” She giggled, pushing his hair away from the other side of his face to make room for another daisy.

“You’re ridiculous, woman.” He shook his head, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Who on god's earth are you?”

She shook her head, and shrugged.

“I’m just trying to enjoy the life I was given. No use in living unless you spend every day the way you want.”

“Do you work?”

“At my nans flower shop, yes. It’s not as much about money as it is enjoying my time with my nan.” She shook her head. “Besides basic bills and the likes, everything I need I make myself.”

“Do you drive?”

“A bike. I never felt the need for a car.”

“Do you have a cellphone?”

“Of course, I like to live naturally, that doesn’t mean I’m a barbarian.”

“I was just wondering.” Arthur chuckled, making the bold move of pushing her hair out of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut and a small smile spread across her face. He grabbed a cornflower and tucked it behind her ear. He felt breath against his arm, there was something so intimate about her breathing. It had barely started to occur to him that this was the girl he’s admired from afar for months.

“Perfect.” He teased, eliciting a giggle from her. His hand still touched against the softness of her cheek, lingering there, but she didn’t seem to mind. She gently reached for his hand, lowering it from her face, and instead threading her fingers in between his. The softness of her skin, the warmth of her smile, the sweet little chime in her voice, everything about her overwhelmed him.

God, he wished he could thank his grandmother for this.

#hetalia #hetalia x reader #APH England #aph england x reader #hetalia headcanons #hetalia scenarios #hetalia imagines #arthur kirkland #england x reader

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bibliocratic · 5 years ago

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Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion. He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully. He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion.

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights. On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #tma #prompt fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #soulmates au #sort of #episode 160 minor spoilers i guess

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