#helps that these stones are much finer than my old ones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingfics-passingtime · 3 years ago

Text

Playing the Part

~8300 words of steamy Loki tickle fluff

PG13 for this one, kids. Lots of making out.

CW: some swearing, suggestive humour, mentions of murder/death, alcohol consumption

Every job has its ups and downs, and every employee their good days and not-so-good days. You’d hardly classify yourself as an employee because you didn’t get a paycheque, your entire occupation was a hazard unto itself, human-resources was punching it out on the sparring mat and your boss was either a 100-year-old super soldier or an eccentric billionaire, depending on the day and who was wearing what suit.

Wait… should I be getting paid for this?

Looking around your room that you paid no rent on, in a multi-billion dollar superhero compound, you decided that wasn’t a question you were ever going to ask. The question of the hour was which dress would best conceal your thigh-holstered gun.

Today, your job entailed one of those tasks that could be fun if you decided it would be, or hell if you had a bad attitude about it. You prided yourself on always being up for any mission, so that answered that question, though infiltrating some black-tie gala undercover was never as exciting as fighting alien forces.

You gave up feeling guilty about being a little excited when Earth faced threats long ago; no one had to know that impending planetary destruction was your favourite kind of mission to help out on.

Selecting a red strapless dress from the middle of your mission closet (which was differentiated because most of these dresses were bulletproof) you slipped it on over your underwear and thigh holster. A knock came at your door as you were reaching behind yourself to zip it up.

“Come in!”

“Agent, we- oh… Oh.” Loki’s featured turned from surprised to playfully smug in a matter of seconds.

“Can you get this zipper?” You winced at the stuck metal. He nodded and approached, you turned and held the fabric up. Before he even made it halfway to you he gave a brief wave of his hand and used his magic to unstick the zipper, bringing it to the top.

“Thanks,” you smiled, familiar with that particular kind of help from Loki. “Can you see my gun?” You did a little spin and he shook his head. “Great. You look nice," you commented, gesturing to his impeccable black suit.

“As do you.”

“Ready?”

”I suppose there are worse charades to play on a Saturday evening. Ones that don’t include fine wine and the prospect of a tussle with a Midgardian security man.”

You shot him a look as you two walked towards the garage together. “You said no Midgardian wine could be classed as fine.”

“Save for one region in Italy, I’ve discovered.” Loki shrugged, tightening the fastener on his cuff link.

You gave him a mock look of shock. “Are you telling me… you were wrong?“

“Smugness is not becoming, Agent,” Loki playfully warned.

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes. “Looks like I’m spending too much time with you.”

You bickered and bantered good-naturedly as you entered the garage, which was more like a hangar but only for cars. This mission would be you, Loki, Natasha, Sam and, strangely enough, Tony wanted to drive the van. He gave some excuse about wanting to test some new equipment and spend time with his team. Though you knew it was because Pepper wanted him to attend her aunt’s seventieth birthday, and Tony had a long-standing feud with that particular aunt ever since she went on a forty-five minute tirade about how much she hated Led Zeppelin. You weren’t sure if it was the sentiment behind it, or the fact that she could talk for forty-five minutes straight without the awareness to stop. Either way, Tony was on the job tonight.

“Black Widow is already onsite,“ Tony handed you three some photos as you entered and took your seats. “Your names are on the door, fake ones obviously, here they are.” Tony pulled up some information on the screens and then commanded the self-driving van to go with a few taps at a holographic control centre.

You went over the plan, the objective, who to avoid at all costs, where the gun was supposedly hidden. There was a gun used in a murder of a journalist - the employee of an old friend of Tony's, a young guy working on an exposé of a filthy-rich family dynasty in New York City. The journalist was sure the McDane family money came from arms dealing, but he was found dead just a few short months after he started investigating. The following week, Charles, the charming and likeable newly-married eldest son of the family, announced his run for mayor.

Whether Charlie McDane ordered the murder, or if he didn't even know it happened, Tony's source said this family kept trophies of their victories and the murder weapon would most definitely still be in the house.

On the face of it, it was an unusual assignment for the Avengers. If you didn't think that hard about it, you could have just sent Nat in alone. However, the McDane family was even more powerful than they loved to show on the surface, and this wouldn't be a simple theft. Hence, a small team was going in to avenge the fallen journalist.

Natasha had been planted on the inside, posing as an event manager for a soirée the family was hosting to celebrate Charlie’s birthday and, since he’d invited everyone in the political and social scene, it was the perfect chance to enter the mansion; there’s no way he’d know who each and every person was and should be.

As you walked down the road with your arm slotted through Loki's, you eyed the metal detectors at the front entrance. You gripped his arm and slid your hand into the pocket of your dress, but the pocket was hollow and only existed as easy way to grab your gun. Wordlessly, you passed it to Loki and he concealed it with his magic in the exact same way you planned to smuggle the murder weapon out later that evening.

Maybe it was Loki's elegance or your years of training that started when you were very young, but the way you two could instinctively weave around each other's thoughts, ideas and actions without so much as a glance was something special you didn't take for granted. You both had keen senses, but there was some kind of unexplainable energy that made them align perfectly.

You never let your mind wander on nights like these. On missions. Perhaps if you were less professional you'd take a moment to fantasise about what it would actually be like to go to a party with Loki. If the way he led you through the room with a gentle hand at your waist was more than a ploy to look like an adoring couple, or if he knew your favourite wine because he cared, instead of just having heard you order it a million times before.

He kept things light with jokes and little jabs, never once crossing a boundary when fake-flirting with you, but it wasn't lost on you that it was unusual to have this kind of working relationship that had all of the chemistry with none of the awkwardness. It was almost as if it was second nature now for him to pull you a little closer when you were in a nice dress, considering you'd only worn them in front of him on missions. And so he did pull you closer as you approached the bouncer to give your names.

You spied Nat at the front, leaning around a security guard's shoulder to point to something on his list. She always played her parts so well. She stole a glance at you and Loki through her fake glasses and that was it. No indication she knew you, no special treatment, no way she'd do anything to blow this. She walked up the outdoor staircase as you gave your aliased names to the guard and flashed fake drivers licenses that were pretty much real, considering the government had created them.

Loki declined the arrival champagne for the both of you, immediately leading you to the bar. You looked at him as if to remind him that you weren't here to drink, and his subtle smirk replied that he didn't care. He ordered two glasses of a merlot from the one region in Italy that'd won his respect, passing the glass to you once it was laid on the bar.

"To the finer things," he cheers'ed your glass and you scoffed with a laugh, taking a sip of the wine. The rich flavour burst through your mouth. It was dark and deep, spiced with... with... "Cedar," he offered, reading the analysis on your face. "Rosewood, cedar and some sort of stone-fruit."

"Nectarine."

He smiled and took another sip. "We don't have that on Asgard."

"This wine is good," you nodded as you two turned and deconstructed the room and all of its guests.

It made you kind of sick seeing all of these wealthy people in one place pretending to give a damn about Charlie McDane's birthday. It's not that you liked the guy, not at all, it just felt weird to know that every person in here was the exact kind of person you hunted down. Power-hungry. This mansion may as well be a lion's den. But full of naïve lions, who had no idea two apex predators just walked in.

Just when you started wondering how many people in your line of sight had also committed murder to protect their wealth and power, you saw Natasha give a subtle signal of which way the room with the safe was. Loki saw it too.

It was upstairs, but there wasn't much cover to get upstairs. The great foyer's ceiling was three stories up, the two floors above the ground floor you were on had square balconies that let the people upstairs peer downwards into the masses. Nat's fingers adjusting her hair told you that the room was on the second floor. Thankfully, there were guests on the second floor. Under the guise of admiration for the architecture and a desire to explore the great house, you pointed out works of art to Loki as you ascended the stairs together. When you walked past Natasha she smiled politely, like a good host, and asked if you were enjoying the wine.

"It's most divine. Though, I believe my beloved may be in search of a room to powder her nose."

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual choice of asking for information if you weren't aware that security's eyes were everywhere. Even on the event manager.

"You might find what you need up the stairs, down the first hall, third door on your right."

The way her hands were motioning didn't match her hushed description, so you followed the instructions in her voice instead of the way her hands were telling you.

You allowed Loki to lead you upstairs, down the first hall. When you two were certain there were no eyes, he concealed you two with his magic. The hallway was darkened. He pressed his hand against the lock and unfastened it with an unseen pure magic and you two slipped inside. It was a large office with grand mahogany furniture, decorated exactly as you'd expect Old Money Americans to decorate their office. Right down to the bear head above the fireplace and the first edition novels sitting proudly on the shelf, probably unread by their owners. That also made you a little sick: great words sitting unread as trophies.

Scanning the room for any obvious signs of the safe, your eyes settled on a panel in the wood on the side of the desk. There was a slightly smaller gap in the wood on one side, indicating hinges. You held your hands up to Loki and he conjured thin gloves to grace your fingers, then you pressed gently on the wood to engage the latch. The panel swung open to reveal the safe. Shifting out of the way, Loki took your place and placed a gloved hand on the dial. In less than three seconds, it spun rapidly in each direction before clicking open.

"We should really consider robbing banks," you whispered as the black metal door swung open and you were met with stacks of paper and envelopes.

"Need I remind you I am a Prince? If it's gold you want, darling, say the word."

"Eh," you shrugged, feeling around for the gun. "I meant more for the thrills."

Loki chuckled as your fingers found a familiar-feeling package. You pulled the envelope out and peered inside before showing Loki the sight of a small pistol. He nodded and took it from you carefully, then concealed it in some unknown magical space close to him.

You closed the safe carefully and then your gloves disappeared. Moving quietly back to the door, you listened for several moments to make sure no one was coming. Then, you both slid out and began walking down the hall like a loving couple.

Suddenly, a guard appeared at the end of the hallway. Thinking fast, you opened the closest door to you and pushed Loki inside. There was a shout you vaguely heard before you shut and locked the door again.

"Shit," you hissed. You were in someone's bedroom. Or maybe it was a guest room, considering how clean and un-lived-in it looked. There was a fireplace, like in the office, and a large four-poster bed against one wall. In the middle of the room were two plush couches that faced each other and were side-on to the door. You two walked over to them to get the vantage of being in the centre of the room and quickly searched for an exit.

"I'll cast an illusion," Loki whispered, ready to wave his hands and make it look as if you two weren't here.

"No!" You whispered, eyes wide. "They already saw us come in here. If we disappear, they'll know something's up and lock the place down."

"Then what do you propose?" He held his hands out, annoyingly unbothered by the prospect of blowing a mission. The doorknob twisted and you both snapped your heads towards it, then back at each other.

"Sit," you hissed and shoved him back onto the sofa right behind him. He stumbled and fell with a small indignant noise of surprise. You heard the tinkling of keys and your heart beat in your chest.

"Agent?"

Knowing the security team was about to enter, you acted fast. "I'll never hear the end of this," you mumbled before sliding forward to straddle his lap. His eyebrows shot up his forehead as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and looked at him with nervous urgency. "Kiss me."

Loki didn't question it, and he certainly didn't need to be told twice. His hands found their place. One at the small of your back, one firmly gripping the hair at the nape of your neck. Then, he pulled you in for a fiery kiss.

You barely heard the door open as you lost yourself in the strength of his hold, the steady and eager grasp with which he held you. His hands found their places as if they'd been there a thousand times before, as if he knew exactly how you'd feel the safest, feel the most desired. You pulled him deeper by the back of his neck and could have sworn he made a small noise of satisfaction.

Oh no.

He kept kissing you, you kept kissing him, even after the head of the security team had cleared his throat a number of times. As much as you knew you'd already sold it, and boy you sold it well, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Were all Asgardians this good at kissing, or was it just Loki?

Oh. No.

"HEY!"

The sudden loud command pulled you away and, much to your internal mortification, you didn't need to feign how flustered you were.

"O-oh my," you squeaked and looked up at the man, blushing profusely.

Okay, the squeak was fake, but it felt almost real.

You stayed put where you were straddling Loki's lap and grimaced when you saw Natasha, still in character, entering the room. "What's going on, I need you downstairs to- oh!" She looked a little taken aback by your position atop the prince who, you were fuming to see from the corner of your eye, had the audacity to be smirking.

"My apologies," Loki drawled in his growly regal voice, trailing his hands around to your sides. "I simply couldn't control myself, seeing my queen in this dress..." He punctuated it with an "Mmph" and a firm squeeze at your hips. You flinched and squirmed a bit under the ticklish touch, trying to keep your composure but letting a small giggle slip out. Then, catching the pleased and mischievous glint in his eye, you dug your nails into the back of his shoulder to warn him off trying that again.

"This room's off limits," the guard tilted his head towards the door and you made to move your way off of Loki's lap. Instead, with his incredible strength, he stood with his hands still at your hips, lifting you to your feet before turning and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He looked the guard up and down, "Of course, good sir." You bit your lip and blushed, cowering in Loki's hold as you exited the room together. Nat smirked at you and winked before proceeding to fall back into character and tell the guards there was a belligerent drunk man downstairs needing to be kicked out. That man would be Wilson, who was playing his part as tipsy distraction.

Loki led you down the hall and you rounded a corner, then you broke off from him and held a hand to your chest. "That was too close," you breathed deeply once, then met his eye. You glared when he saw him smirking at you.

"Do I have lipstick on my face?" He asked, feigning worry.

"Oh, shut up," you swatted his shoulder. "I did what I had to do."

"I never knew you had the passion in you, Agent," Loki smirked again. You glared once more and peeked around the corner, only to jump and hold in a yelp as Loki's pinching fingers found your hip. "I also never knew you were so ticklish."

"That's not something people advertise- cut it ouhout!" You swatted his hand and squirmed away from him as he prodded his fingers into your side. "We have the gun, let's get out of here."

"Tsk, you're no fun," Loki scoffed.

You exited the party and made your way down the block towards the van, knowing that Nat's glasses had broadcast at least the last part of your little tussle with Loki. Steeling yourself as you gripped the handle, you reminded yourself that you were a professional, and this was sometimes a hazard of the job. You needed to play it cool when the eventual teasing came.

"Hey, lovebirds," Tony quipped the second he saw your faces.

"Hey," you chuckled, stepping inside and removing your heels the second you found your seat. "We got it."

"Here," Loki closed the door behind him and pulled the enveloped gun from the magical space he'd hidden it. "So you saw the Agent's display of passion, did you?"

"You wound me, Loki," you deadpanned. "I thought we had a mutual connection."

Perhaps those words were a mistake considering all the truth behind them. However, all the best lies were founded on truth, and for now you needed to convince everyone in the van that you weren't totally freaking out because you'd felt the most passionate attraction you'd had in years with a former villain. I mean... how predictable.

Loki looked at you suspiciously as he took his seat, but something in his gaze told you he wasn't going to prod deeper on this. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone.

Nat and Sam joined the fray five minutes later and you all got a move-on back to the Compound. Nat poked more fun at the position she'd found you two in, and you laughed good-naturedly at all their jokes. Loki was uncharacteristically silent, and seemed to always be looking at you when you laughed and instinctively checked to see if he was laughing too.

The jokes shifted to Sam and the wine he spilled down his shirt, then the conversation shifted to the next steps of what to do with the gun, then you all arrived back.

Tony got to work dismantling his rig, declining your help, and so you took your field weapons over to the cabinet to put them back in their places. As you were unclipping the magazine from your pistol, you felt a presence behind the door. You peered around to see Loki.

"What's up?" You raised your eyebrows and snapped the case shut, then closed the door.

He looked at you meaningfully, quizzically, but didn't say anything.

"Okay..." you chuckled uncomfortably and put the latch on the door in place. "I'm going to shower."

You made to walk past him but he grabbed your upper arm, stopping you by his side. Facing different ways, he leaned in a little closer and spoke quietly. "I can spot a lie from lightyears away."

Turning to look at him, you'd probably have been caught off-guard by how close his face was if it hadn't been for the events of earlier. You shrugged, pulling your arm from his grasp. "I didn't lie."

He scoffed and also turned to look at you, eyes flitting once down to your lips, then back up to pierce your gaze with his. "You know what I meant."

You were proud of how composed you kept yourself when you shrugged again and kept walking, swallowing hard.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Never one to waste water, you took an uncharacteristically long shower. Haphazardly smearing face wash over your skin to scrub the makeup off, scrub away the flustered energy. But no amount of scrubbing could help you forget the feeling of his kiss, and shampooing the hairspray from your head only made you remember the feeling of his fingers in your hair.

You reminded yourself that it had been a very long time since you'd kissed someone. You were probably just desperate, definitely a little touch-starved in general, so the fact that it was Loki didn't matter as much as the fact that it had happened.

That's what you told yourself over and over as you threw on sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. It was cold and the marble floors could be unforgiving, so you thought it best to go for fluffy socks, but then pulled some slippered boots over the top. You didn't bother brushing your wet hair, letting it fall where it wanted as you made your way to the kitchen.

"That smells good," you commented as Nat pulled some dish out of the oven.

"Mmm," she agreed with an excited smile. "Nico is my favourite," she admitted slyly, referring to one of the chefs Pepper would call in to prepare a bunch of heatable meals during busy periods. Delivery app drivers would probably cancel the order if you tried, thinking it must be a joke that a super solider was asking for a Big Mac to be delivered to the Avengers Compound. Besides, by the time it was scanned and made sure to not contain a deadly poison, it would be cold and stale. "There's enough for you too," Nat said, pulling out another plate and serving you a steaming slice of vegetarian lasagne.

"Thanks," you smiled, still a little distracted. Of course, with someone as perceptive as Nat, that wouldn't be allowed to slip by.

She leaned against the counter and poked at her meal, not meeting your eye to keep it less direct. "You alright?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, and so did she, then you looked back down to your food and shrugged. It was no use lying to her. "I think I'm lonely," you laughed humourlessly, nervously, sadly.

"The kiss got to you," she said knowingly, placing her fork down to give you her full attention. You didn't return the favour, nervous about what you'd say if you were really talking about this. Which, as long as you were here eating dinner, you weren't really talking about it.

"It's not like I haven't kissed a fellow Agent before to keep cover," you sighed a little, shaking your head. "It's just been a while, I guess, since I've had... anything... or, someone."

"I get that," she nodded, picking up her fork again. You two ate in silence for several moments. "This is really good," she declared through an extra-large mouthful. You chuckled and nodded, swallowing another bite. After several more moments, she said quietly, "It's okay if you felt something."

That made you choke a bit. Noticeably, unfortunately. You shook your head, but didn't deny it. "No. It's not okay."

"Why not?" She asked as if you were crazy.

"It's not okay," you repeated firmly, stabbing your fork again at the lasagna. "It's not."

Before she could attempt to pry for more information, Thor and Loki entered the kitchen together. Great.

"Good evening," Thor beamed a toothless smile.

"There's more in the fridge if you're hungry," you looked up at them in an attempt to not seem as regressed in on yourself as you felt. Thor looked at your plate and nodded in approval, opening the fridge. Then you looked at Loki, fully expecting to see some kind of calculating stare as before, but his expression was soft. He looked you over, probably noticing your out-of-character hunched posture and the way your head hung a little lower than usual, and he gave you a look that was subtly laced with sympathy.

Now that made your blood boil. Who was he to feel sorry for you?

He seemed to notice the way your jaw clenched under his gaze, and opened his mouth to say something but Thor spoke first.

"There's a film Stark wants us all to watch this evening."

Nat chuckled, finishing off her dinner. "You say that like he's showing us training videos. He's just trying to bond the team over some cheesy nineties movie." She looked at you and nodded to your clothes. "You look ready for a movie night."

Before you could explain that you'd rather go to bed, Thor beamed again. "Excellent, then! We'll all be there."

Thor was always kind to you, so you didn't want to disappoint him over something so inconsequential. You smiled warmly at him and nodded. "I'm gonna go claim a good spot," you excused yourself, aware it was almost time for it to start. You quickly did your dishes and left the kitchen, making sure to get a seat on a large armchair so you made it clear you'd rather have some personal space right now, even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Maybe it would be good for you though, to remember that you were alone for a reason. That this life you chose wasn't kind too love.

Gods, love. Why did you think of that word, of all the ones out there. You were spiralling. Sentiment, you corrected yourself with a swift reprimand. Sentiment, loneliness, desperation.

You busied yourself chatting to Wanda as people filtered in, taking note of how she seamlessly wove herself in and around Vision as they sat on a two-seater next to you. Determined not to look at or think of Loki or romance or kissing or anything like that, you trained your eyes on the screen as the movie started.

But you spiralled.

There were these two main characters in the movie with this undeniable bickering co-worker chemistry that reminded you of Loki, the jokes he’d whisper into your ear during meetings, the harmless mischief he’d pull to make you laugh, the way his hand felt at your lower back- NO. You couldn’t think about that.

Wanda and Vision were in your line of sight from the corner of your eye and you saw her fingers lace through his, you then saw him place a silent kiss on the crown of her head. Biting down on your tongue, you remembered Nat and Bruce, Pepper and Tony, Thor and Jane, Clint and Laura. All those people who seemed to find love, even temporary love, in the midst of all this madness.

So maybe it wasn’t this life. Maybe it was just… you.

Biting your tongue a little harder, you reminded yourself how powerless you were compared to all these super-people. Sure, many of them were human like you, but all the other humans seemed to have someone who loved them.

It felt hopeless, knowing the only person in this room who you wanted close was so extraordinarily out of your league. He was a god. You were a human. Your life was a flicker compared to his, of course he’d never waste time indulging the likes of you.

But it felt real.

Halfway through the movie you decided you couldn’t sit there and see these buddy-cop characters fall in love. You couldn’t watch Wanda and Vision so enamoured with each other. What you needed was to hit something hard, and then go to sleep. So you excused yourself without a word or a glance at anyone. It was late, anyway. You weren’t even the first one to leave.

A turn of a black-haired form told you that Loki noticed you leaving, but the lack of footsteps behind you as you walked down the silent hall told you that he hadn’t followed you.

Slipping into your room and then into some workout clothes, you jammed your headphones into your ears and put on some classical music; you weren't sure you could stand to hear any words right now. You laced your shoes a little tighter than normal and practically sprinted to the gym, very unwilling to have anyone notice you were gone and decide to come check on you.

Hitting the bag felt good. It was the perfect consolation prize for what you'd actually prefer right now, but with every crushing of your knuckles against the thick canvas you found it easier to forget how it felt to have your fingers looped through his hair. The sweat dripping down your face replaced the feeling of his breath against your skin when you'd broken the kiss, and the aching in your obliques from your tensing and turning to hit the bag took the place of any memory of his hands at your waist. The aching was here, and he was almost gone.

After a half-hour of interval sprints, it was just past midnight and you were exhausted. Not knowing how you felt about no one coming to check on you, you traipsed back to your room in silence. The faint echoing of your footsteps through the hallways made you quiet yourself further, stepping as lightly as you could to prove to yourself that you were still a good spy. Good spies don't get caught up with feelings. Your footsteps fell, dead quiet, and you regained some confidence.

Your muscles stung the next morning but in a delightful way. You'd treated yourself to another hot shower when you got back to your room, so this morning it would probably be best to have an icy one.

As the cold water hit your skin, you felt okay again. The boxing and running last night had really shaken everything out of you, only the smallest lingering of lonely desire remained and it could easily be ignored. Of course, that was easy to say. The second you walked into the kitchen to see that Loki had heard you coming and poured you a coffee you felt a tug at your chest.

His hands closed around the mug to pass it to you and you remembered how his fingers had closed around your waist. He smiled good morning and you remembered how his lips felt against yours. Holding it all in, you smiled and took the coffee, then proceeded to have a short conversation with him like a normal person would. He made jokes about last night, but not about that, and you chuckled at them. After perhaps too short a time for how long you usually chatted, you excused yourself to go do some paperwork. You caught the way his brow furrowed a little, but he didn't question you.

The next few days were more or less like this. You'd try to engage with Loki normally but spiral a little more, convincing yourself that the more you continued like you always had, the more normal things would be again. But he was just so... beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful and now you couldn't help but notice.

One evening, nearly a week after you'd kissed, you were having a bit of a vulnerable day and you walked into the kitchen for some ice cream. Loki had just finished cleaning up after his dinner and turned to say hello, but you couldn't do it. You just turned and walked right back out again. He called after you but you didn't stop. It's not like you were going to cry in front of him, but you just couldn't do this right now.

Seeking refuge in your bedroom, you shut the door and slid down to the floor with your back against it. An immediate soft knock frustrated you, especially knowing who it probably was. You sighed and stood.

“Hey,” you greeted Loki with a nod when you opened the door, immediately turning away to make it look like you were about to do something else. “What’s up?”

Loki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, which made you stop and give him your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied.

He squinted for the faintest second and smiled a little sadly. “Light years,” he reminded you how he could spot a lie without harshly calling you out. It pained you that he didn’t. That his lack of sarcasm indicated that he saw you as a bit fragile right now.

You sighed a little and ducked your head to the side, conceding the point. “I’m a little haywire,” you admitted. “I think I need to get some stress out and go to sleep.”

”What troubles you?”

Ah. What a question.

You didn’t want to shut him out, but you certainly didn’t know how to explain that one simple kiss undercover had brought a massive crashing wave of insecurity and anxiety that made you feel completely unlovable. Or... maybe you could just say that?

You were silent for so long that Loki spoke again.

“I’d like to offer my apologies,” he said very diplomatically. “If I overstepped the bounds of our relationship.”

“I’m the one that made you kiss me,” you winced. “I should be apologising.”

”I didn’t mean that,” Loki shook his head. “I meant after, when we returned. When I cornered you.”

You had to laugh. “You didn’t corner me, Loki. I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but you have nothing to apologise for.”

”Very well. But you didn’t make me,” he replied firmly.

“I know, I know…” you rolled your eyes. “A god submits to no one, I just meant that I put you in a situation that I shouldn’t have. Believe me, I’m paying the price.”

That last part came out a little faster than you’d intended it to. In fact, you didn’t really mean to say that last part out loud at all. Or maybe you did. What a perfect Freudian Slip. Quickly collecting yourself, you spotted your headphones and went to pick them up but noticed that Loki was taking slow steps towards you.

”Paying the price?” He asked carefully. You stopped and folded your arms, shrugging.

“People poke fun, you know.” You bit your tongue. Then, you saw him smirk a little. Ah. Lightyears.

“I thought we had a mutual connection,“ he raised his eyebrows, teasing you with your joke from That Night. You gave him a firm stare, but couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t that far away now.

“Loki, that was-“

“A thinly veiled truth,” he interjected, leaving no room for debate. He also left very little room between the two of you. You opened your mouth to respond, seemed to not be able to, and he smirked at your speechlessness.

"Y-you can't." You shook your head. "There's no way."

"There's no way, what?" A smiled tugged at his lips at the way your eyes widened when he took a strand of your hair and wrapped it once around his finger.

"... Mutual?"

“Now that we won’t be interrupted…” he brought his hand up next to his face, flourished it, and you heard your door’s lock click shut. You held your breath as a mischievous grin graced his lips.

Oh gods, you were looking at his lips. You couldn't seem to look away.

He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Might we finish what we started?”

With the smallest nod of your head, he immediately ducked his head to press his lips against yours. Your small noise of surprise made him pull away for a second and grin, before he playfully growled and lifted you from the ground. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he walked a few steps and firmly shoved your back against the wall. Your breath hitched as his hand found that place at the back of your neck, and this time, you kissed him. Eagerly, hungrily, feeling so overwhelmingly euphoric that this was even happening.

It had to be a dream, you thought as his lips trailed along your jawline, his hot breath hit your neck and his strong unwavering arms kept you above the ground and level with his gaze. He kissed you not just like a god or a great lover - he kissed you like he wanted you. Like he‘d also been waiting to do this for an unspeakable amount of time. It felt like relief.

Pulling you both back from the wall, Loki's lips didn’t relent as your fingers tangled once again in his hair. He walked backwards and found his seat on the end of your bed, sitting with you in his lap as he had at the party.

“Gods, you enrapture me,“ he pulled away, a little breathless. He grinned and his eyes were hazy. He looked at you intensely before looking back at your lips, subconsciously slipping out his tongue to wet his own. Before you could respond, he was kissing you again. You could have melted into his touch. In fact, you were fairly certain you just might.

He leaned back and you both fell onto the bed, you on top of him. You laughed at the sudden impact and you pulled away for a few seconds to catch your breath. You looked at his adoring gaze and blushed. “I never thought someone like you could want someone like me.”

He furrowed his brow, unsure if you were about to reference his nefarious past.

”You’re so… mighty. You’re a Prince, a god, you’re wickedly smart and powerful and… and I’m just a human.”

“Watch your tongue,” Loki scolded somewhat seriously and held you a little tighter. “Don’t speak of yourself as if you’re insignificant.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, giving him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do, I’m wickedly smart,” he smirked and you playfully swatted at his chest. He smiled contentedly and ran his hands firmly down your sides to settle at your hips. It was an innocent romantic gesture, one to position you for further making-out with Loki, but your eyes widened at the memory of his discovery the previous weekend and the assumption that the God of Mischief was about to turn the tables.

Unluckily for you, your flustered expression rendered it a self-fulfilling prophesy.

“Loki…” You warned as you saw the glint in his eye.

“That’s right…” His smirk widened to a devilish grin.

”How about you keep kissing me, huh?” You laughed nervously and leaned in closer. Loki laughed and nodded, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your neck as you pressed your lips to his. Once your arms were around his neck, he deepened the kiss and rolled over, putting you underneath him. Still on the edge of the bed, your feet barely skimmed the floor. Then, he suddenly became the classic Loki you knew.

“Mmmhmhm!” You whined and giggled a little into the kiss as the fingers belonging to his arm around your waist started ever so gently scratching at your side. “Mmnnoho!” You broke away and gave him a pouting look. He lifted his head and smirked.

Gods. He’d never looked so unspeakably hot.

Messy curls framing his face, that look he gave you that said You’re In Trouble in his distinct Loki way, mixed with the desire in his piercing blue eyes; you’d gladly endure his torture if it meant he looked at you like that.

But maybe that’s because you had no idea what was coming.

“Darling,” he cocked his head and kissed your cheek before kissing just below your ear. “I am the God of Mischief….“ he kissed your neck in a way that you were sure was intended to tickle. You giggled and bit your lip. “And now that I've got my hands on you, you simply cannot expect me to not exploit this little weakness to its fullest extent.”

“L-Loki!” You blushed at the very real threat and he chuckled.

“How about you guide me, hmm? Where should I start?”

“I’m not playing this game,” you laughed nervously, squirming a bit underneath him and resting your hands on his shoulders to push away the ticklish kisses.

“Aw, come now,” he lifted his head and that same beautiful smirk made your heart beat quick. His hand behind your neck slid down under your shoulder blade until it sat at your upper ribs. You stole a glance down to where it may be, even though you couldn’t see it. He cocked his head again. “No? Alright, I’ll choose.” With a wink his thumb slipped around the side and up into the hollow under your arm.

“LOKI!” You gasped, clamped your arm down from instinct and immediately started squirming and giggling, even though his thumb wasn’t even moving. He grinned again and kissed your lips once more.

“You've been down all week, love. Let's have a bit of fun,” he whispered, then sprang his hand at your waist into action, scratching and grabbing at the soft skin hidden beneath your shirt. You gasped again and started laughing softly, then squeaked when his thumb started wiggling into the hollow under your arm.

"NOHOHO!" You shut your eyes and then squealed loudly when his fingers underneath you began clawing into the back of your uppermost ribs. Damnit, you thought he may start easy on you, not go for three different places at once. You were already in a desperate cackle, bubbling incoherent pleas spilling from your lips as you writhed underneath his amused self.

"I'm honestly delighted you're so ticklish," Loki teased with a chuckle. "It's adorable, really. So professional all the time, yet..." He finished his sentence by intensifying his touch and speed at all three sites of attack, drawing a small shriek from your laughing lips and a jolt from your body. "Has it always been this easy to undo you?"

“OHMYGOHOD!” You shrieked, throwing your head against the bed and trying to buck your upper body against him to no avail. He paused his torture and kissed you deeply again, lips curled into a smile as he pressed his lips to yours. You shook your head and broke away, still laughing. “Youhou’re ridiculous! We were hahaving such a nice moment and y-you ruined ihit,” you whimpered. He kissed to again to silence your complaints.

“What did you expect?”

“I-I expected a nice romantic moment!” You laughed and brought both arms between you and him to shove at his shoulders. “Now,” you gave him a stern look. “Do you want to tickle me, or kiss me? You can only choose one.”

He scoffed. “I don’t do ultimatums, darling.”

“You do now.”

“Bold.“ He stuck his tongue against his cheek then ducked his head to the side in consideration. He then looked at your face, which you’d been attempting to hold in some semblance of a firm glare. He lowered his lips to your ear and you heard him chuckle once. “Far too bold for someone so ticklish.”

He whipped his arms out from under you and pressed his weight down again, trapping your arms between your bodies as he clawed into the front and sides of your lowest ribs.

“NOHOAHAH!” You immediately fell into desperate belly-laughter as his fingers drilled and clawed into the spaces between your bones. Your feet kicked helplessly, merely grazing the ground as laughter kept spilling from you. “NOHO! NO! LOKIHI I CAHAN’T!” He shifted his hands further up your ribcage and snuck his fingers around to dig in at the back and, after one more shriek, your laughter went silent. It was trapped in your chest as his squeezing and vibrating fingers found every sensitive space on your ribs that made you want to melt into a little puddle. You were gasping for air by the time he halted his attack, squeaking and wheezing as you tried to regain your breath.

It was torture, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you if it was worth enduring to have him this close. If he could spot a lie from lightyears away, how much easier could he spot it when he was close enough for you to see the flecks of green in his eyes.

”You’re… you’re gonna kill me,” you hiccoughed. He smirked and leaned in for another kiss. “Nuh-uh,” you pulled your finger up as much as you could from where your arms were trapped. “You made your choice.”

He grinned and slid his hands down your sides with a wink, "Oh? Then I'll gladly continue."

"W-w-wait! I dihidn't th-WAHAIT!"

His thumbs drilled relentlessly into your hips as Loki joined in with your loud laughter. You finally managed to wiggle your arms out from where they were trapped at your chest, shooting them down to grab at his fingers. Your feet having no traction and his near entire weight pressing you to the bed made it impossible to buck or lift any part of your torso, so you were completely trapped with nowhere to go as he gripped and grabbed at the skin of your hips, kneading at the pressure points that made you squeak and squirm beneath him.

When he tired of your fingers trying to grab his, he did a devilish swift lift of his own body and slotted his hands between the two of you, settling them palms-down over the majority of your belly. You made a huge gasping noise and started frantically giggling and squealing even before he'd moved his hands. You shook your head and begged for him to kiss you instead, nervous high-pitched giggles interlacing your words.

"N-noho, Loki just kihiss me, kiss me plehease! PLEASE!" You squeaked, cupping his cheeks and gently pulling him towards you. He chuckled and grinned, gently digging a few fingers in just once. You thrashed and renewed your struggling and squealing efforts. "Dohon't you DAHARE! I won't kiss you agahain if you do this!" You threatened. He cocked his head and leaned in a little closer to look deep into your eyes. Then, he grinned and whispered:

"Lightyears."

You thought for certain you'd pass out from laughter when Loki's fingers sprang into action and rippled against your hypersensitive stomach. You laughed loudly, completely powerless to stop his fingers from digging in wherever they pleased. After not much time at all, your laughter went silent and you weakly batted at his shoulders, sides, face, anything your hands could find for themselves since your eyes were shut so tight. Any words your brain even began to think of forming got lost as laughter ripped through your chest from the electric intensity of his fingers against your body.

When your hands finally found both sides of his face, you used all the energy you had left to press your laughing lips against his and, finally, he relented. You fell back with a loud gasp as he retracted his hands with an amused chuckle and took his weight mostly off you, propping himself up with a hand planted either side of your head.

"Alright there, darling?" He teased as you coughed weakly and wiped the tears of mirth from your cheeks. You gave him a scowl, but he found it adorable.

"Thihis isn't fair," you crossed your arms defiantly.

"No?" He smirked. "Pray tell, my love. What isn't fair?"

Oh. My love. His love.

That took any breath you'd managed to get back in your lungs.

"Y-you... you..." But your words were lost in the bliss of being his. He seemed to quickly understand how his words touched your heart, and it softened his teasing demeanour, and softened his smirk into a smile. "You found my worst spots so soon," you managed to murmur through rosy cheeks.

"Was only a matter of time."

"But now you have the upper hand."

"Dear heart, this isn't a struggle for power," he laughed heartily. "I do not seek to rule over you. Anything you ask of me, anything in the Nine Realms, I will give to you."

"Tell me where you're ticklish."

He chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before falling down beside you. He hummed in contentment as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you as close as you could be.

"Anything but that."

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki tickle fluff #ler!loki #ticklish!reader #marvel tickle #marvel fluff #marvel reader insert

357 notes · View notes

bokubear · 3 years ago

Text

meet us at the torii gate

pairing; atsumu miya x reader x osamu miya ( in a sense )

sypnosis; praying to the fox inari spirits for you grandmothers health, fantastically transported to the midst of the forest to encounter two twin spirits, atsumu and osamu miya, guardians and gods of mischief.

*kitsune!au

this small town was homey, comforting in a way; but boring. the action was as big as a tree falling down into an old farmers strawberry field.

nothing really, exciting.

you were living with your grandmother in this old countryside for a bit, aiding her in cooking and farming.

your grandmother was a thrill-seeker. that is what she told you.

she also spoke of the inari. two spirits that stood at a torii gate in the depths of the forest welling near the house. parents and grandparents alike warned their children to never follow this influence. children loved the mischievous spirits, but the adults of the town found them insatiable and an opening to bad behavior.

your grandmother was a black sheep. she always smiled when the inari spirits were mentioned. quoting how a little mischief in life makes it fun.

peeling potatoes, you worked up the courage to ask her a question that has been weighing on your shoulders.

“grandmother, why don’t you visit the inari torii if you are seeking mischief.”

she stopped peeling and smiled thoughtfully at that ground.

“i am far to old in age to experience a span of mischief as i would when i was young.” she would say.

“perhaps a youngin’ like yourself would make for a finer candidate.” the sparkle in her eye peculiar.

—

it was early morning, the sun just hardly peering through the clouds. the air was cold, leaves colored beautiful oranges and reds for rise of autumn.

you cooked breakfast, placing the bowls of rice porridge on the kotatsu* table. sparing a glance at your sleeping grandmother, you smiled lightly.

“i will be back.” you whispered.

—

it has taken you longer than expected to find this inari torii gate. when you did you were left speechless. the floral red bright against the dark forest background. the stones adorning it’s floor cracked and molded, moss littering these cracks.

kneeling to your knees, you prayed of good fortune and healing to your grandmother.

“please let her enjoy these last years of life, you have provided her with hope and prosperity for these years, for that i thank you.” taking a few moments to simmer in the words, when you opened your eyes, you weren’t where you remember being once before.

now you were deeper in the forest, where not even the evening sunlight could reach. the trees towered.

“scared?”

the voice caused you to spin around with shock.

breathless.

two thrones casted before you. it seemed the yellow-haired man and spoken. his golden locks parted to one side. a sneer sat on his lips, he was cloaked in a brown robe glittering with unreadable emblems.

on the other throne sat a grey-haired man, his lips tight, unchanging. he had on a grey robe with whitened emblems, his hair parted it the other side than the other.

“w-where am i?” voice wavering cautiously.

wait. there was no way. they had ears?! tufts of fur sat atop their head. the puzzle pieces smashed together at an alarming rate.

these were the inari spirits. woah.

“you caught on huh. this is our territory, ‘haven’t had a visitor in a while sweet-cheeks.” his sneer widened.

“visitor?” you questioned. biting your lip.

“yep, ‘ya prayed to us, that means yer ours now.”

“atsumu, you’re talking to much.” the grey haired man said, frowning at the yellow-haired inari.

“shut it ‘samu you’re ruinin’ my moment!” the yellow inari shouted angrily.

“-wait! i need to get back to help my grandmother with dinner! she can’t farm on her own!”

the thought of your frail grandmother handling the farming on her own troubled you.

“well, too bad darlin’-“ ‘tsumu.”

“WHAT FOR THE SECOND TIME WHAT.” the yellow-haired inari, atsumu shrieked.

“think about it. how ‘bout she comes to us after helping her grandmother, then she can stay with us until she needs to leave again.” he suggested, cold, domineering stare boring into his twin.

“yes! please yes! thank you sir!” you smiled hopefully, thanking the grey-haired inari, osamu profusely.

“and he gets to be called ‘sir’?! now i’m just feelin’ left out. “ atsumu cried, flailing his limbs like a toddler.

then he stopped, placing a hand on his chin. he looked to both of you, you were attempting to persuade him with the puppy eyes, and osamu just stared at him.

“aaugh. fine. but she comes back RIGHT after helpin’ the hag.” atsumu sighed, burying his face in his hands.

you thanked the inari gratefully, nearly crying out with excitement.

“crap! it’s almost dark! i need to go back home to make dinner!” you called out, as if asking to leave.

osamu nodded curtly while atsumu pouted.

you raced from the forest, to where you could remember the direction of your house being.

“she’s cute.” osamu observed. atsumu nodding in agreement.

—

the sound of cutting vegetables flowered your attention when you stepped inside. the familiar door creaking.

while you diced up carrots, your grandmother kept that ever-lasting smile.

“y/n dear, did you get into any mischief today?”

oh you had gotten into some mischief alright.

*kotatsu: a japanese low wooden table frame covered by a futon.

-maak

plagiarism, repost, and editing is prohibited ©

#kitsune #🌾🌼#hq #the miya twins #hqxreader #haikyuuxreader #maakwrites.#atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #osmau x reader #osamu miya

91 notes · View notes

mercurygray · 2 years ago

Text

Unquiet

There is a new ghost in Whitehall.

There are many ghosts here, some as old as stones, fluttering around the court like so many little birds, a flock of swallows rising in the air to perch upon the ramparts.

But they are not sociable, the ghosts. They do not keep each other company; they care only for the living they have left. And now Catherine Parr is one of them.

She never cared much for this palace - it was everything she never wanted, crowns and jewels and kingly rounds. Chelsea was her home, the place she made with Tom - but Chelsea also killed her. Ghosts go where they were most unquiet, and court unquieted Catherine - as it unquiets her now, the whispers and deceits. Tom always helped her laugh through it - but Tom is dead now, too, gone to the Tower, and the block. She did not see him die. Death is not as kind as that. When he was living she would stay at his shoulder, but now he has gone where she cannot see. Nothing of earth would bind him here - he was too mercurial for that. But Catherine has too much unfinished business - her children all need mothering still. How is little Mary Seymour, now fatherless and motherless? Who comforts when she cries? How is Elizabeth, deprived twice over of the same? How is Jane, who lost nothing but still wants for better? How is Edward, whom everyone devours?

She wants to hiss and bite at Somerset and Dudley and the rest as they lead her chicks astray. Come now, you are cleverer than them! Where are those jewel-bright minds I polished? Where the wits I nurtured?

I never had a chance to be a mother, and what chance I got I wasted! I should have taught you how to take their eyes, the softness of their beards and bellies. I should have taught you how to make them bleed.

She sees Edward, tiny in his throne, dwarfed by all around him, big shoulders and big voices, and wants to hold him close, remind him that he is for love as well as leadership. She sees Jane in her father's shadow, more silent than a ghost, and begs that she will speak. She sees Elizabeth's eyes follow that Dudley boy, and thinks of her own fine eyes, how they followed Tom. Oh, Bess, my best one, take a care. Girls were ruined on better men than him. Worse, too, but just as often better. What does his father want of this? What does he? Will he be who you married when a finer face comes by? If my death brought one lesson with, I pray you learned from Tom how dangerous men are. He loved me - and he killed me, too. Death by a thousand tendernesses, and each one tender still.

Sometimes, at night, she thinks that they can hear her - the flickering of a candle, the rustle of a quill. She stands beside Elizabeth at her writing desk and wishes she could make the ink run red. She makes the candles burn out when it is time for bed, and combs advice into her hair. Be secret, Bess. Be safe. Let no man rule you, heart or head.

When you die, let them leave wondering.

#i have written a thing #catherine parr #mercurygraypresents

7 notes · View notes

thran-duils · 3 years ago

Text

Key to the Garden (P.1)

Title: Key to the Garden (Part One) Summary: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Witch Reader (main pairing), but on the side, Dark!Tony Stark x Reader, Dark!Sam Wilson x Reader, Dark!Zemo x Reader. Y/N lives in one of the many fringe covens with her family along with a few other small families that did not want to be roped into the powerhouse coven community, Shield, ran by the Maximoff, Stark, Wilson, and Zemo witch and warlock legacies. Y/N’s grandmother had a run in with the coven community in her youth and she is mostly mum about the incident, but makes it clear that Y/N should stay as far away as she can from them. But when the Shield community discovers where their community is and demands they send someone to teach at their school for upcoming magical beings with threats and when it is demanded that someone from the Y/L/N family be the volunteer, Y/N does not resist to make sure no one else is subjected to them, much to her grandmother’s dismay. Little does Y/N know that a particular head in the community had been searching for them for a very long time and she is going to satisfy a very, very long held grudge. Word Count: 1,893 Warnings (more may be added): Non-con, dub-con, emotional manipulation, imprisonment, orgy, forced pregnancy, death, violence, 18+

Introduction || Part Two || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

Your grandmother grasped your hand tightly as you told the soldiers you would go with them in her stead. Your grandmother had foolishly thought that you would allow her to go from the coven to the Shield Academy, the place she had warned you about since you were able to walk. Locking eyes, you saw the terror in her eyes and guilt washed over knowing you were making her feel that. But you were also doing this for her so she did not have to go. She deserved to be able to relax in her old age and live out her days protected in your coven. You had decades upon decades ahead of you.

Tearing your hand from hers, you told her, “Be well. The willow rejuvenates.”

Tears that had been gathering at the corners of her eyes spilled over as she saw you turn away, being guided into the carriage to take you away.

<><><>

Wanda came down the spiral, stone stairs from her tower in a rush. The servants of the academy went against the wall when they saw her coming, backs straight, giving her a deep bow. The hallway was at least fifteen feet across, more than enough space, but it was done out of respect and custom. They would be berated if they walked past her or any of the other leaders. The custom was not bestowed upon merely the teachers.

Turning the corner to face a flight of stairs, she spotted Sam waiting at the bottom. He was waiting for her having known she had been up in her tower for the better part of the morning.

“Heard that they’re back with two carriages from the other covens,” Sam said to Wanda, falling into side beside her as she walked.

“I didn’t see a second, but I saw the one,” Wanda replied.

“Was it who you were hoping? Was it Elena?”

“No.”

Sam’s face screwed up in confusion and said, “Well, maybe they screwed up.”

“They didn’t,” Wanda said clipped, which only served to confuse him more. She sensed his bewilderment and she offered tightly, “I know she’s from the right coven. It was like I was seeing a ghost when she came out of the carriage.”

Sam ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, contemplating as they turned a corner towards the front door. The students in the hall parted seeing two of their leaders, giving them curt bows that Sam and Wanda ignored in turn. Much like with the servants, they were not equals to their leaders.

In quieter tones, Sam asked, “Well, do you think she is going to be able to provide the same—”

“I’m not sure, Sam,” Wanda cut in sharply, an air of annoyance about her.

She was high strung, that much was clear to Sam. She had been ever since she had figured out where Elena was and sent their soldiers out to retrieve someone from the coven, preferably Elena. Wanda had given instructions to suggest her, wanting Elena to make the decision on her own because she knew how altruistic Elena was. She wanted Elena to choose to come back to her, even if it was through unscrupulous means.

The other leaders of the academy – Sam, Tony, and Helmut – knew of the shared past with Elena and Wanda. She had not shared the finer details of their relationship past they had worked together, but Wanda knew the men were not daft – they could discern the intimacy that Wanda and Elena had shared. Had shared… before Elena pulled away, taking her power and just as important, her affection with her, leaving Wanda alone.

When Wanda stepped down into the entrance hall and was faced with this woman, she felt her skin was on fire. All the past touches, and late nights wrapped in each other’s arms came rushing back to her. It took everything in her to not stride forward and encompass the woman to her as if she was coming back from a long journey and was finally back home safe. Wanda only outwardly flinched in her fingers in her inner turmoil.

The young woman’s features were even more strikingly similar to Elena up close. A picturesque witch that threatened from the moment Wanda laid eyes on her to drag her under her spell. Wanda’s lips parted, feeling as if her breath was stolen from her. She was stronger than this, she need not fall under this woman’s spell. But her nose, her lips, the hair… it all tugged at Wanda. The eyes were different though. That may be for the better, Wanda thought to herself. It would help her to prevent herself from confusing the two completely and allowing her past feelings to overtake her in the presence of this woman.

Behind the woman trailed a Cross fox that was curiously looking around the entrance hall. Wanda admired the coloring of it. Its face and legs were black, with trails of black throughout the rest of its orange fur. It was sleek, its eyes piercing. She would need to be careful around this creature.

The woman came closer to Sam and Wanda, reading the signs from the surrounding guard that they were the people she needed to be greeting with how they were standing erect and leaving them their space. She smiled warmly and Wanda felt a pang. The smile was so similar to the one Elena used to give her lovingly.

“Thank you for the comfortable carriage,” the woman said in an even tone.

Wanda saw past the civility though; she was not happy she was collected and taken away. And that was only prodding gently at her mind because she was unable to penetrate further. Wanda’s jaw ticked; Elena had certainly trained her family against mind manipulation; she was going to be unable to capitalize on that. The girl had a solid wall up and all Wanda could do was scratch at the surface.

She gave a curt bow and Wanda gave a tight lipped smile in return. Sam was ever careful about his reactions, gauging what he should do depending on Wanda. Sam bowed his head in acknowledgment towards the girl.

“Your name?” Wanda asked.

“Y/N.”

Wanda savored the way the name would roll off her tongue, her mind flashing to whispering the name in late night corridors, beckoning her to her chambers.

“I’m Wanda. This is Sam. We are two of the four leaders at the school. The others – Tony and Helmut – you’ll meet later at dinner. Along with the other teachers of course.”

“Pleasured. I’ve heard a lot about the reputation of this school. I sadly never attended due to the nature of my coven.”

“Every coven has their own rules, and we respect that.” That was a lie. Wanda wanted every coven under her rule, but it served her now to lie. “You must be tired. Can they gather your things, and you can come inside to have us show you to your quarters?”

Y/N patted her thigh and ordered, “Ember.” The fox came to her side and sat down obediently.

“An impressive choice for a familiar,” Sam told her. “Not very conspicuous to have one trotting after you.”

With an amused smile, Y/N told him, “Oh, she is not a familiar. She’s my pet. My familiar Nyx is somewhere. My cat. She took off as soon as I opened the door, but she will come back. Is that frowned upon?”

“No, familiars are allowed to roam as long as they don’t cause trouble,” Sam answered.

“I promise she won’t. I’m not expecting danger here.”

She was calculated that much Wanda was gathering right now. That last sentence especially was insinuating she was on her toes with the flash in her eyes, ready for them to betray her.

Wanda gestured towards the front door, “We can give a brief tour on the way to your rooms. They’ll bring your things, don’t worry about that.”

Y/N walked forward, the fox following behind. Wanda was taking note the fox looked extremely protective of Y/N. She would soon have to figure out how to separate them or gain the fox’s trust. The latter seemed more likely if she played her cards right.

On the way to her rooms, a long-haired white cat came running up the hall and came to stride in front of them, tossing looks over its shoulder at Y/N, Wanda, and Sam.

Wanda’s brow furrowed; she had never seen this cat before. And that is when she realized it was Y/N’s familiar. The cat was leveling Wanda with a hard gaze even in its brief glances at both her and Sam; it did not trust them, She could sense that.

Playing it cool, Wanda gave a little chuckle, catching Y/N’s attention.

“You named a white cat Nyx,” Wanda commented, amused. “You’ll need a sense of humor around here.”

<><><>

After settling Y/N into her chambers, Wanda had brought Sam away to go towards the south tower where Tony and Helmut were prepping for the spring equinox. Spell bags were scattered along the table, ones they would hand out to select students and allow them to cast them themselves to they could bring renewal to the academy.

Tony caught sight of them entering and noticed her demeanor. “What’s going on?”

“The new recruits we sent for are here.”

“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?” Helmut questioned, a layer of confusion in his tone at Wanda’s stiffness.

Wanda grabbed a handful of jasmine petals from the stone bowl at the end of the room, heading towards the alter. “We are still going to need a sacrifice. Maybe a handful until she gets on board.”

Tony shrugged, “We were expecting that. But light at the end of the tunnel. With Elena here now, you’ll have to work less eventually.”

“She’s not here,” Wanda clipped, her body stiff with her frustration.

Tony’s brow furrowed, “What?”

“She didn’t come.” It sounded like it was difficult for her to admit that. Like she had personally failed.

“Then what is going on?” Helmut asked, taking a step forward towards her away from where he was prepping.

She held a hand up and he stopped. His eyes flicked to her palms, knowing what she was capable of. The three men were powerful, but they could not hold a candle to her if they took her on on their own.

“The plan is going forward as we planned.”

“How without Elena?” Tony asked, sounding short of patience now.

“I have her blood still.”

“Did you go drain her?” Tony asked, his tone getting tighter, breeching on sarcastic. He was an impatient person and had little room for the appetite to put up with people toying with him.

“No,” Wanda said dismissively, walking past them to go throw her petals into the alter for good fortune and protection.

Sam came up beside Tony and Helmut, hands in his pockets. Out the corner of his mouth he said, “The granddaughter came. Wanda is in a tizzy. She expected a crone, and she got the fertile, spitting image.” Tony and Helmut both were heedful at the mention of fertile and Sam did not miss it, a smirk breaking out. Finally turning his head, he met Tony’s eyes and then Helmut’s briefly each before walking forward and grabbing the jasmine petals to offer.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl @namjoonwatcheshentai

Fic tags: @ivybarns

#dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dark!tony stark #dark!sam wilson #dark!helmut zemo #dark!baron zemo #dark marvel #my shit #tony stark x reader #sam wilson x reader #baron zemo x reader

114 notes · View notes

wherethewordsare · 4 years ago

Text

Till the Fever Breaks

A very happy birthday to @unremarkablegirl I hope you enjoy this!! <3 <3 <3

“This place looks like it hasn’t seen a living being in a century,” Jaskier whispered, following close behind Geralt.

“Just about. But it might have some records Vesemir has been looking for.” He held the torch a little higher, turning slowly. Around them, shelves with crumpling scrolls and molding books flanked work benches and long dead potting plants.

“Don’t touch anything,” he growled, carefully stepping over a pile of shattered glass.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. This place gives me the creeps.” Jaskier held his own torch a bit higher, letting the light throw the table in the center into a mess of shadows and grimey reflections.

Geralt scanned the shelves, kneeling to try to make out the old ruins on the side of one volume as his hand braced against the shelf above him. It barely took any pressure but he felt it as it went under his weight.

“Jaskier, get out!” he barked as there was a crash of glass and wood. Dust from the shelf fell into Geralt’s face and he coughed, struggling to get back to his feet for a moment as the taste of ash flooded his nose and mouth. The shelves around him seemed to fall apart as he scrambled out after the bard.

They both hunched over, gasping for fresh air, blinking into the bright morning as the cacophony of collapse rang out behind them.

“Don’t touch anything?” Jaskier looked over, smirking.

“Shut up, Jaskier.” But there was no heat to it. Geralt felt like his lungs were burning and his vision couldn’t seem to focus. He looked out towards where he had left Roach and blinked hard, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what had been in that dust but it couldn’t have been good.

They paced back to the road and Geralt found that Jaskier was easily pulling ahead of him, his strides even and sure where Geralt was starting to have trouble navigating the ground.

“Hmm.” He stopped, looking back at the building and finding that the stone looked unfocused and hazy, as if a fog had been put between them. He turned and found that he could no more make out Jaskier, even as he drew nearer.

“Fuck.” He felt as though the ground had shifted under him and his legs were quickly losing the battle of keeping him upright, his armor and swords feeling heavier against his frame than they ever had.

Then Jaskier was there, his arms under Geralt’s holding him up, his face only inches away. Geralt had only a moment to think how strange it was that he couldn’t quite make out Jaskier’s eyes the same way he had that morning.

“We got to get you to a healer. Something’s wrong.” Jaskier half carried him towards Roach as the world seemed to shift and crumble under him. “Shit, Geralt. You’re burning up.” His voice hitched with worry and he pulled Geralt a bit closer to support him.

“I’ll be fine Jaskier.” Geralt tried to reason but the ground was swirling now and everything seemed too hot, too much.

“Of course you will be,” Jaskier promised. “Of course.”

Geralt wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more. It didn’t seem to matter as he felt his body finally give out and he collapsed.

When he came to, he was tucked into a warm bed with the covers to his chin. He could feel the trace of fingers against his scalp and all he wanted to do was lean into them. So he did, groaning as those same fingers brushed his hair out of his face.

His whole body ached, a headache pounding behind his eyes as he tried to look around. Jaskier was sitting beside him on the bed, a book balanced on his knee while his hand still idly brushed through Geralt’s hair.

“Jask?” Geralt croaked. He made an attempt to sit up but he could not seem to find the strength in him.

“Well hello there,” Jaskier said simply. He pulled his hand away and Geralt thought he might have whined at the loss. Before he could make any verbal protests, Jaskier was sliding the book into his lap and sighing.

“Mages,” he explained simply. “They must have been some of the first to help create the witchers. I think they were trying to find ways to undo it. Why, I can’t tell, but,” and he pointed to a set of ancient ruins that Geralt could barely make out, “Whatever that dust was that hit you, they made.” Jaskier’s leg was bouncing under him, an anxious tick. “I think they only tested it on younger witchers.”

Jaskier twisted his hands for a moment before leaning in and helping Geralt sit up, piling the pillows behind him and readjusting the covers.

“Where did you get this?” Geralt let himself be propped up on the pillows, wincing at how stiff and frail he felt.

Jaskier cleared his throat, not meeting his eyes directly on. “Might have gone back in and found the shelf the powder was on.” He rubbed the back of his neck before glancing at Geralt. “Good way to brush up on my elder?”

Geralt only glared at him. He would cross his arms were he able but he hoped the scowl would be enough.

“Oh, scary witcher!” Jaskier chuckled. “Try again when you’re not laid out flat, darling.”

“The powder was supposed to do what?” He struggled against the blankets around him to bring his hands up in front of his face. Even as his vision seemed to fail him, Geralt could still make out the firm muscles and calloused pads that he knew to be his.

“Drains them- you? Makes the witchers men again.” Jaskier’s hand came up covering Geralt’s and squeezing gently. “I think only temporarily?” he plucked the book back from Geralt’s lap, flipping through pages. “They never fully succeeded it seems.” He showed the next page of ruins, splattered ink and water damage.

“And if the witcher was a few decades older than that?” Geralt dropped back against the pillow. His body shook for a moment but there was that hand again against his scalp, steadying and firm.

“Temporary, Geralt.” Jaskier nearly snapped but his hand remained gentle. “You’re going to be fine, remember?”

“Hmm.” Geralt gave in, pressing as much as his weak body would allow up into the hand, marvelling quietly as it came down and cupped his cheek. It was warm and slender and it was all he could do not to turn his face and nuzzle into it.

The powder had to wear off soon. Geralt realized that not only had it drained his strength but every ounce of his carefully maintained control seemed to have vanished with it.

Jaskier never left his side, only long enough to bring back meals and water. He was constantly hovering over Geralt, his hands never far from an easy touch. And with every touch, Geralt could feel his determination slipping. As weak as he was, there was no other weakness he knew greater than the one against the gravity that was Jaskier’s casual affections. Part of him wished that the powder would simply drain him so completely so that when this was over, at least he didn’t have to face the bard.

For days, Geralt laid there, his strength gone though his body did not show the same betrayal. He found that his senses had all been dulled as well. He was no longer able to catch the steady rhythm of Jaskier’s heartbeat or hear his footsteps on the stairs as he went for broth and ale and fresh linens.

All the while, he burned, his skin feeling as though it were on fire. He had tried to pull the covers away, just managing to do that only to find that the air around him was freezing. Geralt groaned and turned restlessly in the bed.

“You’re worse than my sisters when they catch a cold,” Jaskier teased, pulling the covers back up over Geralt’s shoulders.

“You could just give me one of my potions and we could be done with this,” he groused but shifted, chasing after the tips of Jaskier’s fingers with his shoulder. The touch was back, easily given and Geralt all but melted under it. It felt like he was duping Jaskier into the contact but he couldn’t find the strength in him to care.

“No witcher powers, Geralt. It would be over because you would be dead.” There was something distressed and anxious in Jaskier’s voice and then he was hovering again, pressing the back of his hand to Geralt’s forehead, fingers cool against the burning skin.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier made a soft sound in the back of his throat as he let his fingers slide into Geralt’s hair, pushing it back from his face, tucking loose strands behind his ears. “The powder’s going to wear off any time and you’ll be back to your old brooding self in no time.”

“Hmm, wouldn’t mind you keep doing this too,” Geralt sighed, letting himself settle into the comfort of Jaskier’s attention.

He remotely registered the press of a fresh cloth to his face, damp and cool and gentle. Cracking an eye he could just make out Jaskier’s face. He wondered if it was a trick of the light or his dulled senses that had made that look feel like it was just for him. He thought maybe it was best not to know and he tucked the image in the far back of his mind. The fever would break soon, his strength would return and he would lose those caring hands.

Jaskier was slumped over the edge of the bed, his doublet discarded and his hair rumpled. Geralt could make out his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of the cook below preparing the stew. He had to squint against the light that flooded into their room but he was able to sit up. He felt exhausted but there was strength in his own hands again.

So he used that strength, leaning forward and letting his own fingers card into Jaskier’s hair. It was softer than he had imagined, finer hairs at the nape of his neck brushing against the side of Geralt’s hand.

Jaskier stirred and for a moment he thought about snatching his hand back. Maybe he hadn’t returned to his full self. Not quite at least as he found that he no longer cared to restrain himself. Under his fingers, Jaskier turned his head to look up at him, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Good to see you’re feeling better.” He sat up slowly, almost careful not to dislodge Geralt’s hands as he pressed the back of his own fingers to Geralt’s forehead then his cheeks. “The fever broke.” There was something small and sad about the smile he gave him though. “Guess the training is going to need a bit more time to catch up, hmm?”

Geralt slowly pulled back his hand, flexing it for a moment before it dropped back into his lap. There was a pang in his chest he was having a hard time ignoring. He felt as though he had been caught out somehow.

Jaskier slid into the bed next to him, checking him over slowly the same way he had over the past few days, waiting for the magic to wear off. His touch was still careful, turning Geralt’s hands over, squeezing and waiting for Geralt to squeeze back. When he did though, Geralt didn’t let go. He squeezed back at Jaskier’s fingers and then held on, letting his thumb brush over the back of his knuckles.

He found that he wasn’t ready to let go of this. The thought that the touch Jaskier gave him while he was sick was only temporary churned his stomach and made the need to cling only stronger. The consequences were coming for him, he knew, but he was still too weak still to stop himself.

Maybe that had been the problem. Maybe he had always been too weak when it came to Jaskier. The bard had stayed far longer than Geralt thought he would and for all that time he had struggled to maintain that last distance. Now he found himself buckling under the weight of of a need he had no right to. If he pushed, he knew he was going to lose Jaskier.

“Love how you just sit there and brood,” Jaskier chuckled as he bent down, sliding off his boots. He shifted under the covers, his hands tugging at Geralt’s shoulders. “Come on then. You’re not quite up to snuff and I desperately need a nap.”

It was all the explanation he gave Geralt before rearranging them to where Geralt’s head was resting on his chest, Jaskier’s arms wrapped around him.

Slowly, Geralt let himself slip back off to sleep, realizing that those touches weren’t lost, he just had to be strong enough to let them stay.

#geraskier #sick fic #the witcher #accidents with mystery powder #touched starved geralt #hurt/comfort #happy birthday mars

167 notes · View notes

doubledgesword-2 · 4 years ago

Text

Expectations

This is a request from someone on wattpad! It was before the announcement so I will reiterate it since this has to do with it: Due to some personal reasons I will not be doing extra mega super ultra explicitly detailed smut. Smut will happen but it will be more implied than anything and there will be no more character x character fics. I will focus more on one character x readers. I apologize if these teas are not everyone’s cup, I understand, but I’m doing it for me and I will still deliver amazing teas no matter what flavor they are!

No warnings! Soulmate au enjoy!

To say you were nervous was an understatement; you were almost sweating bullets.

"We're going to my parents, as my soulmate and wife, you have to meet their approval," Illumi told you one day in the middle of training.

You stopped mid-punch and got a swift and powerful kick to your stomach, making you fall backward a couple of feet away. Illumi was in front of you in a second, questioning why you left yourself open right when you were about to attack.

But there was no answer, except your pants and heavy breathing.

Illumi raised a fine eyebrow, letting out a breath as he picked you up in his arms, coming inside to the cottage for a nice bath. After all, you had to be presentable and at your best to meet your future in-laws.

He set up the warm water while you were undressing. You let out a groan when taking off your shirt; the huge purple and already forming bruise on your stomach hurt quite a lot. Illumi turned once the water was warm, and all the soaps were mixed with it. His unwavering and monotonous eyes scanned your body. You have become stronger under their tutelage, but that didn't take away your pain resistance. Your overall physique had improved monumentally, but your body was scarred and bruised from training. He didn't mind in his eyes you were perfect, and he knew in his mates' eyes you were gorgeous. The corners of his lips quirked up in a gentle yet small smile as he looked at you. You didn't notice though, you were too busy trying to rub on your stomach.

When Illumi noticed your actions, he knew it wouldn't be long before he tried to take you to bed. Just imagining you rubbing your growing belly with his child inside sends chills down his spine. But now was not the time. He needed to get you ready.

You didn't notice when Illumi was standing right in front of you; you were looking down at your ugly bruise. That's when Illumi took your hand in his, making you look up. His was expressionless as always, but in his eyes, you could see the amount of tenderness and desire he felt towards you.

He guided you to the bathtub letting you sink under the warm water. It was oddly relaxing. The nice smell of lavender, mixed with the water's perfect temperature, not too warm to boil but not too lukewarm to disappoint. You let out a sigh, eyes close and leaning back against the porcelain. It was cold, but you didn't gasp at that; you gasped at the lingering kiss Illumi placed on your head.

"You have nothing to worry about, my love. I'll be with you" he gently whispered like a secret lover, his hands scrubbing your arms with care.

Another kiss to your neck as he washed your chest.

"No harm will come to you as long as you do as I say. They will never lay a hand on family."

Illumi grabbed your face in his hands, and that made you open his eyes to look into his ever swirling ones. He kissed your forehead.

"Finish here. I will prepare your clothes, and then we leave."

And that's how you find yourself here, in between Hisoka and Chrollo looking at Illumi. The limousine was nice, but the luxury and the entirety of the situation were so overwhelming you couldn't focus on the finer details. That's why you didn't notice Hisoka's hand on your thigh rubbing circles on it.

"Hisoka" Illumi's voice sounded annoyed for once, and Chrollo lightly slapping Hisoka's hand away woke you from your anxiety.

Hisoka shrugged his shoulders, giving Illumi a playful look, eyes closed, and a close lip smile.

"Whatever did I do?~"

"Hisoka, don't play games now. Our little darling is frightened enough."

Chrollo opens his hand, laying it palm up and offering it to you. You took it and clench it hard while this thumb rubbed your knuckles.

"That's what makes it fun; she's too tense. Wouldn't it be better if I loosen her up?~" he asked Chrollo, tilting a bit forwards with his finger on his lips as if questioning things.

"No. Now sit back. We're almost to the mountain. If you behave, I'll reward you."

"Mmmm," Hisoka licked his lips. "Oh goodness~."

Once Illumi opened the huge stone doors, which left you aghast, the four of you walked inside, getting into another car. This one was less spacious, but it was still luxurious. But none of that mattered. Every ride and minute that passed brought you closer to them. Dread settled in your stomach like a boulder, pressing down on your stomach. Chrollo never let go of your hand as you all came to the mansion.

There was no time to think, no way out, and no matter how much you wanted to run in your (color of choice) lolita dress, you doubted you would even make it far inside that dense forest. Not to mention the huge wolf you saw stalking the SUV as you all made your way to the mansion.

Your breathing hitched when the butler opened the door, and Chrollo exited, holding your hand to help you out. Hisoka placed his hand on your shoulder once he was out.

"Don't worry, little fruit, you'll be fine," he whispered.

Illumi came behind you, putting both of his hands on your shoulders. You thought it was out of comfort, but he merely straightened you and rubbed the wrinkles away. Your hand clenched Chrollo's, who chuckled and let go. They all thought you looked adorable, being stressed and nervous when in reality, you seemed as stiff as a cat who just got dumped in the water.

As you were contemplating everything, you noticed the old man standing in front of the enormous house. He had an amused look on his face, and his whole demeanor screamed he was more powerful. That just made it worse.

Illumi pushed you forwards, and the four of you walked towards his grandfather.

"Afternoon, gentlemen, miss," you gave him a small nod/ curtsy; your nervousness was blatantly obvious, and it amused him greatly.

"Silva is expecting you," he stated and opened the door with all of you right behind him.

At the mention of Illumi's father, you thought you would die.

After a series of turns through different hallways, you arrived at a nice garden area. There was no denying the place was stunningly gorgeous and breathtaking. The pond with the fish, the nicely cut grass, the different flowers with all the colors you can imagine, and even the cement wall covered in a blanket of vines added a touch to the paradise-like place. You let out a breathtaking everything in and didn't even notice the small smile gracing your lips; the trio did.

"Illumi," an authoritative voice pierced your bubble, and it reminded you why you were here. "We're glad you could make it; your mother and I are anxious to meet your soulmate."

Your breath hitched as Illumi approached his father and left you in between Chrollo and Hisoka. His father was so tall, much taller, and stronger looking, and you thought he would disintegrate you the moment he looked at you.

"Illumi!" A shrill voice called, and this time you turned to look at a woman approaching quickly. The way she was dressed made you think you were all in a Jane Eyre novel, now your clothing choice made sense. She came to her husband with practiced grace.

"My dear beloved son! Illumi, mother had missed you deeply. Ever since most of my children have left me alone, it has been dreadful. Oh, why must everyone leave!"

You raised an eyebrow at her. 'What the heck,' that's when she turned to look at you as if you had called her.

"Who is that, and what are those criminals doing in my house?"

Both of your eyebrows were raised as she approached you, and her aura didn't give you good intentions.

"Mother, they're my soulmates. All three of them."

Silva's eyes widened for a split second before his lips turned up in a greeting smile. He knew who Chrollo and Hisoka were. He had fought the first one and had seen the second one lingering about his son. But you, he didn't recognize, and that intrigued him as well as annoyed him.

"Why all three of them?! This is unacceptable, not at all respectable. What would everyone think about the Zoldyck family when they hear our son has three soulmates!"

"Kikio, that's enough," Silva's authoritative voice resounded, and Illumi's mother stopped dead on her words. "Outside these walls, they're whatever they may be, but here they're Illumi's mates as well as our guests. So behave accordingly."

"Yes, darling," her honeysuckle voice came back as if nothing had happened, and she grabbed your hand, leading you to a nearby table already set with tea and pastries.

"Have the butlers arrange another pair of chairs and refreshments for our guests."

"That would not be necessary, sir. If you excuse us. We will be fine in the lounge, after all, we have met before, and our darling is the one you don't know. It will be better if you four converse." As refined as always, Chrollo replied, making Hisoka pout. He dragged the jester away, who follow a butler inside the house.

Alone amongst strangers. That's how you felt; even though you knew Illumi and have been with him for almost a year now, it still felt weird.

"So dear, what's your name?"

"(Y/n-n), sir."

Silva chuckled at your nervousness "there's no need for you to be nervous. After all, we're family."

You nodded. Illumi grabbed your hand under the table, and you felt a bit relieved.

"Dear, I must say your dress is quite lovely. At least my dear llumi's mate knows how to dress," Kikio chuckled afterward, "do let me take you out to my best tailors. You simply must have a dress made by each of them."

"That would be lovely, ma'am" you sipped a bit of the tea even if you felt you couldn't stomach anything at the moment.

"I'm sure you will look beautiful for our dear son. So tell me (Y/N), Why is there no information about you anywhere?" Ahh, here come the important questions.

"Oh, I understood my soulmates' jobs and didn't want to intrude in their lives. After all, anyone could've used me to get to them. So I simply disappeared from the system."

"Interesting"

"Well, now we know. If anything were to happen to you, no one would know," Kikio giggled gracefully after that statement, and even if she meant it as an apparent joke, you were terrified.

"When are you going to marry? You certainly must be married to ensure the Zoldyck legacy carries on. What about children? Silva and I are very excited to have grandchildren, now that you can actually have them."

"Kikio, you're going to overwhelm her" you were already on the verge of hyperventilating.

"We will marry very soon, and we will carry on with the Zoldyck legacy, mother. You have nothing to worry about."

"Lovely"

After that particular conversation, you felt faint. Children? Marry? What? Once the conversation ended, and you were approved by the parents, all four of you were lounging around. The parents had given you an entire wing of the mansion during your stay. Chrollo and Hisoka had their own rooms since Kikio was aghast at fate. You and Illumi shared a room as fiancé's should. While you were breathing normally for once today, Illumi was putting away some of his clothes he had brought from his room.

"Now, what?"

"We get married, of course."

"But Illumi I-I don't exist, there's-"as you turned, Illumi was in front of you. You gasped and looked up into his eyes. He grabbed your face.

"We will marry, all of us, accordingly, and when we do, we will continue the Zoldyck legacy as it's expected from us..." he kissed you tenderly. Still, you felt the underlying fierceness and possessiveness.

"Without complaint, hmm?"

"Without complaint," you mumbled back as he hugged you close.

Thanks you! Request might lag a bit since these two coming weeks I’m gonna have a lot of school work! But don’t despair!

Remember this is the last adult trio together in a relationship fic I will make due to personal reasons.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you #fanfic #hisoka #hisoka fanfiction #hisoka x reader #hunter x 2011 #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter fanfic #hunter x hunter 2011 #illumi hunter x hunter #illumi x y/n #illumi x you #illumi x reader #x reader

236 notes · View notes

arrivisting · 3 years ago

Text

I have decided that the only way to fix my next scion fic, in which Gil-galad goes to visit in the house of Felagund, is to scrap all 17k of garbage and to start afresh, which I think is a very sexy decision and not at all insane.

anyway, have a bit of the discard, after Gil-galad taxes Finrod with why he swore his oath to Barahir at all:

“We’d have to go back to the Flame if I was to explain,” Felagund said. “I would rather not! It was such a terrible time. We’d been dreading it for hundreds of years, preparing – it was always just about to happen – and at the same time, I think we’d almost convinced ourselves it wouldn’t happen, for it would have already, wouldn’t it? Then it happened all at once, in great gouts of fire and poison and armies of black orcs, and it turned out that we’d never been ready at all: the flames consumed Ard-Galen like it was made of torchwood, and they would have taken Hithlum and Dor-lomin but for the mountains. They were all everywhere at once, fire and sword. My brothers died, and I nearly did; they had me neatly pinned in the Fens of Serech. I told my sister, years before, that I would die in Middle-earth and leave nothing behind. I had always felt the darkness ahead, into which I knew I would pass, and then pass away. The Flame – well! It was clearly time to die. Our work in Beleriand was overturned; my brothers were dead; I was ready to join them. And then – Barahir came.”

[stuff]

“You swore no oaths during your own long lordship, did you?”

“None of us did, who remembered Beleriand.”

“Wise,” Felagund said. “Would that we had learned as much.”

“Easy enough for us! We had examples to draw from.”

“And what examples they were,” said Felagund, and showed his teeth briefly. “Well! I will tell you how it was, and you may judge me then, if you like. After we fought free, I found myself standing in the twilight, lashed with blood – not mine –with only a few of the men I’d taken north with me still alive. Barahir was standing before me, and his losses were more grievous still. He was grief and rage itself, his breath steaming in the night air.

“He looked at me with such pain – he’d chosen to save me, and I don’t think he regretted that choice, but he regretted what it cost dearly. I was so glad to be alive – amazed! – and I wished to give him anything in my gift to make up for his losses. But nothing I had could ever begin to do so. I owed him everything and I could give him nothing! He had spent so much to save me, and were mortal lives meant to weigh less held in accounting against those of the Eldar? I thought not – I never counted them lightly – but it seemed to me then that perhaps they had been taught to think so, though I never meant the lesson.”

“Perhaps he had merely made a strategic choice, given your lordship of Nargothrond?”

“Perhaps,” said Felagund. “And perhaps not. What could I do at that moment for Barahir of the house of Bëor, all but the last of that line I had loved? He would not take my gifts. I could not lift the siege upon Dorthonion; I was spent, and so was the fighting force I had ridden out with. I could only flee homewards to undeserved safety, leaving him and his to fight on in a long war he must have known was doomed. Of course I wanted to promise him my aid, to be a helping hand in the dark when least expected and most needed, as he had been for me; but why did I swear it?

“I still don’t know. I can only tell you that I looked down at my hand and saw my father’s ring on my finger – something I had worn so long I never noticed it particularly any longer – and my gaze stuck there. It had changed. For a moment it seemed suddenly old and battered, the gold bearing a thousand fine scratches. The serpents were worn, the detail of their scales lost, the edges of the petals less crisp. The stone was the same, but chipped – emerald is fragile, compared to diamond or even sapphire. It fractures so easily. It felt old to me, like something that had seen many things and been worn on many hands, touched by many fingers – and then I blinked, and it was only my own ring again, as softly shining as it had been when I received it from my father. I felt without knowing why that I should give it to Barahir, and that in doing so I would be only the first link of a great chain, and that the ring would go farther than I. It would see lands and triumphs and Dooms and adventures I never would – and I curled my hand a moment, as if in keeping the ring I could claim them for my own, and then I drew it off my finger and gave it to Barahir.

“I swore to him then that I would do whatever I could for the bearer of that ring, and I meant it, and even as I said the words, I felt the shape of my fate settle around me more tightly than it had in the Fens. I had not escaped it after all: I had only brought it on the more. And still I felt it was right to swear him that oath, although I knew better. I did know better.”

Felagund sighed. “I had no child then, of course. I never thought to. I wanted children, dearly; but I never thought to see Amarie again. I felt free to swear myself away as I did, and free, too, to pass on my father’s ring. But it wasn’t long after the Flame that we made you, in defiance of the dark; and I should perhaps have kept it for you, whatever foresight told me.”

“I thank you for the thought; but I had Dooms enough of my own! And rings enough. More than enough.”

He had sent Narya to Cirdan, and given Vilya to Elrond. Had he passed on a Doom with that gift? It had been less a gift than a vouchsafing, a surrendering of a treasure that was both a weapon and a weakness, that needed to be protected for the sake of their people, and yet also offered a chance of protecting them. Elrond had had burdens enough: but it had felt right, the dark blue gleam of Vilya on his hand in the moment after Gil-galad had given it to him.

The ring had thought so, too, shaping itself to Elrond’s finer fingers as closely as it had to Gil-galad’s, like it was making itself immediately at home.

He could still remember the feeling of Elrond’s brow under his lips as he bade him goodbye before the battle. He hadn’t meant it to be forever; but he had felt, after all, that it might be. He would not have otherwise given him Celebrimbor’s ring.

“I don’t judge you,” he said. “Felagund – Finrod! – You may have tied one knot in the web of your Doom, but the others were tied by hands other than yours. And there are times –” Was he ready to speak of this? He couldn’t. “Sometimes you can only do as you feel is right, and trust that the voice that speaks within you is greater than your own.”

25 notes · View notes

millysaurusrex · 4 years ago

Text

Oath

Ash falls from the sky and Arya can’t help but think of how it looks like snow. White and pure as it coats all around her. If she wanted, she could imagine she is in Winterfell, in the summer snows, laughing with her brothers as they tossed snowballs at a scandalized Sansa, with mother and father laughing. But, she is not in the north and mother and father and Rickon and Robb are gone. She is in King’s Landing, or perhaps one of the seven hells, and she leans against the stone wall as smoke and ash blanket the city streets around her.

How had she gotten here? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. Sandor. She remembered the Hound marching with her into the Red Keep. Remembers him stopping her, begging her. Live. Live. Choosing to live.

Then chaos.

Screams of men, women and children burning alive echo in the air, still warm from dragonfire. Swords. She can still hear swords. Men shouting. Death. She thought the House of Black and White had shown her death, but here in King’s Landing is the temple of death. Where father died. Where her sister’s innocence died. Where all men died.

Valar morghulis.

But, like this? If this was the God of Death’s plan, well -

She yelps as she’s pulled from the alleyway. A chainmail fist knocks into her her face splitting her lip, and thrusts her against the corner of the wall. More blood rushes down her face, but she grabs Needle, swings it around to meet the Lannister soldier’s sword. He looks manic. Primal, like an animal. He’s screaming at her, slamming his sword down over and over.

He is not particularly strong and any other day, Arya could have easily overpowered him. But she’s lost so much blood already, and her lungs hurt with the taste of ash and smoke. Anger - or fear - have strengthened the Lannister man, and he catches her with his sword, ripping into her side. It stings as sweat and dirt seep into the wound, but she doesn’t stop. She isn’t going to die here in King’s Landing. Not when she promised the Hound she’d chose life. Not today.

Her muscles ache but she meets each of his blows, counters them, hits him with all her strength. He kicks her hard in the chest and she stumbles back. Needle slips from her hand. She’s quick though, and she reaches for her discarded sword. But then there is a sudden sickening crunch of bone, and the Lannister soldier falls dead to the ground. His skull is mush in his helmet, blood pooling into the dirt below.

Arya glances up and her breath catches in her throat, because she did not expect this. He’s as tall and as broad as he’s always been, but he looks different, and she isn’t sure if it’s because he’s covered in dirt, blood and ash, or if its because of the stag sigil stitched into much finer leather armor than he’s ever worn.

He knocks his war hammer into his left hand and offers her his right, pulling her up with ease. She opens her mouth to thank him, to maybe quip sardonically that she had the guy, the way she might have when they were two children on the run. But, the words die in her throat because he’s pulled her to him, embracing her in a one armed hug.

It feels good which is ridiculous because they’re standing in the middle of a massacre, but she allows herself, just for a second, to revel in the feeling of his arm around her.

The moment is over as quickly as it began, as a voice calls, “Lord Gendry.”

She notices them then, a small circle of soldiers circle them, on guard for another Lannister or maybe a dragon. They bear the same stag sigil Gendry wears. Stormlanders. His men.

The thought of Gendry with his own men is almost laughable, and if the world wasn’t ending right now she might have, but Gendry pulls away from her and nods. “They’re burning the city down. The dragon queen’s army, they’ve...” he visibly swallows and she ridiculously wants to reach out and touch that place on his throat. Perhaps she’s delirious from the blood loss, but his words snap her to. She saw what the dragon queen’s army did. Saw what the northmen did. Did he -

“No one is massacring anyone on my watch,” Gendry says, as if reading her mind because of course he knows what she’s thinking. She smiles fondly and glances at his men.

“The gates of the city are blocked. We’ll have to find another way out.”

Gendry nods again, grips his hammer and says, “There is another way. Follow me.”

And his men don’t hesitate to follow. They follow him the way northmen followed father. The way they follow Jon. And Gendry is every bit a lord then. A storm lord. Perhaps, a rightful heir to the throne in another life.

You will marry a king and rule his castle...

She smiles at the memory. That’s not her. But, that’s also not him. He is Gendry, lord or not, and he’s followed her enough. She will follow him now.

Jon killed the dragon queen. Put a sword into her heart as they embraced. Or so she’s heard. It must be true, because the surviving dragon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon.

She wanted to march into the dungeons where he was being held, dare her army captain to even try and stop her from rescuing her brother - cousin, but she doesn’t. Jon has chosen his fate. So has she.

She sits in the tent and cleans her sword. There is no need for battle right now, but she does it all the same. It calms her mind.

The city had nearly burnt to the ground with all it’s people in it. The dragon queen had taken the iron throne with fire and blood. Arya snorts. Old nan always said that history has a nasty way of repeating itself.

The tent pulls open then and Gendry makes his way in. He’s managed to clean his face a bit, but his leathers are still caked in ash and blood. In an odd way, it’s fitting. She wonders briefly if this was how his father might have looked, many moons ago. Tall, strong, dangerous. Handsome even.

“They’re looking for you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to ask. She’s in charge of what’s left of the Stark army now that Jon is incapacitated and Sansa’s in the north.

“They can wait,” she responds.

Gendry only nods and makes his way across the tent. She watches him as he rifles through a stack of letters on the makeshift desk and rolls her eyes. She didn’t realize he could read.

If he can, he must not understand what is in the scroll, because his face scrunches up the way it always does when he’s thinking hard, and it has her sighing and sheathing Needle before making her way over to him. She places out a hand and raises a brow.

Gendry rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’ve been a bloody lord for all of two moons. Haven’t really had time to learn the little things, now have I?”

Arya shakes her head, unimpressed. “You’ll have to do better than that, if you plan to rule a castle, Lord Baratheon.” It’s teasing, and it gets the proper response, because he’s smiling back at her, the first smile she’s seen since that freezing night in Winterfell.

“Yeah, Lord Baratheon. Can’t order me around now, can you, Lady Stark?”

“I never order you around.”

That earns a full chuckle form him. The sound is gentle, like music after all the screams and death.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since we met. How’d you think I knew you were a rich girl? Always so bossy.”

She laughs, too, and it feels strange to be laughing in a place like this. After what they’ve just witnessed.

“Now you’re the one bossing around men.”

Gendry sighs. “Don’t bloody know why. I’m no war strategist. I’ve never lead anyone into anything before, much less a war. Felt like an idiot trying to convince a bunch of men I’d never met before follow me into battle under orders of a queen they didn’t acknowledge.”

“But they followed you,” She adds.

“Aye, some.” He runs a hand down his face and looks exhausted. She supposes they all are. “Not sure why they did it either.”

“I told you, you make a wonderful lord.”

He pauses and looks at her and she steels herself because this is it, this is when they’re going to discuss what happened in the Winterfell grain store what seems like ages ago.

“Aye, a wonderful lord. But, still an idiot.” He sighs again before falling heavily into a chair at the desk. “What I said that night...it was stupid. All these years, I’d like to fancy that I knew you better than I’d known anyone. You’re no lady, and you’d certainly never be mine.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust herself to say a word. She just kneels before him, touches his face the way she did that night. She studies him, taking in the new scars that litter his face. There’s one above his eyebrow, identical to hers, and dried blood crusts there. There’s another one on the left side of his jaw, deeper and still an angry red. She runs her finger along it gently, and he shivers beneath the touch.

“Arya,” its a whisper, almost a prayer, and she tilts her head up, kisses his sweetly. She won’t say it. She’s never been good at words. But, she tells him all the same, as she deepens the kiss, spilling all of the words and feelings that would never come out right if she tried. It is a confession. A proposal. An oath. But, he understands. He’s always understood.

He knows her better than anyone else.

#gendry x arya #gendrya #not sure where this came from #I need more gendrya in my life #sorry if this was crap

61 notes · View notes

thekitchensnk · 4 years ago

Text

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 23)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence - sadism, murder Pairing: Gin/Ran Part 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12 Part 2: Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 Part 3: Chapter 22, Chapter 23

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

What kind of beast are you, Ichimaru Gin?

What are you becoming?

(What could drive a man to kill a god?)

Aizen played white. Gin played black.

He held territory on both corners of the board, but it wasn't enough. He could see the tide beginning to turn against him, white beginning to eat away slowly at his lines. Aizen was closing in. There could be no escape.

The board and the pieces were finer than any he had ever played on. The stones were not, in fact, stones at all, but rather perfectly carved pieces of bleached and blackened lacquered wood. They felt smooth in his hands, hands that had once been rough and calloused from the filthy work of keeping himself alive.

It was quite the step up in the world, he thought idly, to be playing on an actual wooden board, and not some scrap of cloth on which he'd had to draw clumsy lines - and quite something to be actually playing someone who as proving a challenge to beat.

He was going to lose, he realised distantly, and on his first time playing on an actual board as well. He hadn't been playing his best, but it still rankled him to be beaten. He frowned in concentration at the board, and seeing no path to victory, chanced a quick glance up at his opponent.

That was a mistake - Aizen caught his eye and held his look, and there was a glint of casual, entertained cruelty there.

He knows, Gin realised, brows furrowing only slightly. He knows he's got me beat. An’ worse, he knows I know he knows. What does he want? Where do I go from here?

There were four games going on; the game of go, with all its exciting swapping of pieces and setting of traps; the game of minds which had always existed above the game of go, the manipulation above the game at which Gin had always excelled, and then -

Aizen's game. Gin's game.

He’s won the first game, and probably the second. But they don’t matter, he thought with a hard stare. This one does. This matters. I’m beat, but -

“I forfeit.”

Something dark lit up in Aizen’s eyes, like an ember suddenly come to life in a breeze.

“You’re very good,” he said appreciatively.

Gin shrugged carelessly. “An idiot could have seen it comin’.”

Aizen gaze was dark and his tone mild. “Could they, though?” he murmured. “You’d be surprised at how much an idiot does or does not see. You played well, for what it’s worth. Up to the point where you didn’t.”

The man paused, and he leaned forward.

His eyes were brown, Gin couldn’t help but notice; a warm brown, like honey, like rich wood. There had been a Rukongai girl with eyes like those, once upon a time, and Aizen had killed her. Her essence had faded into the air like tea in hot water.

“Why did you kill the third seat?” Aizen asked, the look in his eyes searching.

A lie came to him easily. It came easily because had it been any other person he had murdered, it might not have been far from the truth.

“Jus’ felt like it,” Gin said simply.

That seemed to entertain Aizen. “Oh?”

“Ain’t no ‘oh’ about it. That’s it. I killed him because I felt like it. Because I was strong. Because he was weak. Because I was bored.” Gin waved a hand abstractly in the air and stretched out.

“And that’s all?”

“Yep. Sounds about right.”

Aizen considered it a while, and then he smiled patiently.

“Are you a beast then, Ichimaru Gin? Is that all you are? A creature that blindly follows its impulses? Nothing but a creature of nature? An animal that eats when its stomach growls, kills when the impulse befalls it, and defecates when its bowls tell it to?”

Is that so far from the truth? Gin wondered.

He let himself fall backwards towards the tatami mat with a delighted laugh. There was still blood on his eyelashes and under his nails.

“I think that’s exactly what I am, Vice-Captain Aizen.” Gin informed the man, grinning. “I see that the armband of yours ain’t just for show.” He rolled over onto his stomach, and let his chin fall into his hands. “Yes. I’m a beast. Let me be a snake,” he said playfully, and the words rang with truth. “Cold of flesh and devoid of heart. My tongue flicks back and forth, always in search of new prey, and if I like what I find…” He caught Aizen’s eye and grinned for him this time. “…I swallow ‘em whole.”

He sighed theatrically. “Poor old Mr Third Seat.” The words rang with menace, and the grin was like a sickle. “Poor, poor third seat. I did like him. Best be careful, Vice-Captain. I might end up take a likin’ to ya’ too.”

Aizen looked down on him, and smiled strangely.

“A snake...” he considered, weighing up the notion. “A snake. Yes. Slithering through the mud on its belly, rising to strike; vicious, poisonous even...” His voice trailed off. “But a small snake yet. Sit back up.”

There was a command as strong as iron in that voice and so Gin dragged himself from where he had been lying. Aizen took a slow, thoughtful sip of his tea.

“You were messy. I can’t help but wonder at that. You were not so far removed from the fifth division barracks that no one would stumble upon you at work. Like a beast indeed, to kill so openly and without thought. Strong, to have bested a third seat. Skilled, to have graduated in only a year. And clever...” He looked down at the go board. “Without a doubt, clever.”

He looked Gin straight in the eye.

“It will be a shame when I tell Hirako what you’ve done.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he bared his teeth.

“Ah,” Aizen said, a dark gleam in his eye. “Were you labouring under the impression that I wouldn’t turn you in? That we’d play a while and I’d let you go on your merry way? I’m afraid not. They’ll send you to the Maggot’s Nest for this.” He paused. “It will be an absurd waste of talent, don’t you think? Verging on criminal itself. But they must have their justice. And it costs me nothing to give it to them.”

The irony was not lost on Gin as he gritted his teeth. It had been a long shot, he knew, playing to Aizen’s hunger for knowledge, his sense of intrigue, in the hope that he would take him on.

But it was not over yet. Black still had pieces on the board.

“Must they? Why? Why bother?” he asked lazily.

“‘Why bother?’” Aizen said in imitation, a small, victorious smile playing about his lips. “Why am I going to turn you in, you mean?” he said casually. “Because you’ve lying to me, and it would offend me to let you think I hadn’t noticed it from the instant we began this conversation. Trying to lie and failing, for what that’s worth, though you surely must realise that now. I’ll ask once more, and only once: why did you kill the third seat? Lie again and I’ll know.”

Gin was silent for a long moment.

“Well?” Aizen said, triumph in his eyes.

“I-“

Let him see something of the truth. Let him see what kind of beast you really are.

All of a sudden, he felt his muscles relax. He let himself fall forward again onto his forearms, slouching comfortably again on the floor.

“I wasn’t lyin’,” he objected. His voice sounded half a whine, but at least it didn’t tremble. “Got caught up in a passin’ fancy when I saw Mr Third Seat out and about walkin’ so late. But ya’ right, Mr Vice-Captain - very forgetful of me, would forget my own head if it wasn’t stuck on my neck. Missed a bit out of my story, didn’t I?” He paused dramatically, grin back on his face.

“I wanted ya’ to see me, Vice-Captain. Wanted ya’ to see me with your own eyes so that ya’d know what kind of beast ya’ve got on ya’ hands, so that when the moment came and I asked, ya’d know.”

He leant in conspiratorially.

Aizen’s brow darkened. “I’d know what?” He asked dangerously, patience running thin.

“Aah. What a helpful boy I can be.”

Aizen paused a moment, his eyes searching Gin’s face intently.

“You know?” he said, realisation immediate, words fraught.

“Bingo,” Gin said, delighted.

Aizen gaze was soft with menace. “Oh,” he murmured. “But of course you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Gin confirmed with a grin.

“And I take it you’ll take no pains to divulge to me how you learned of such things?”

“Ya’ a smart man, Vice-Captain.”

“A smart man would not let you live long, Ichimaru-kun,” Aizen said, and the threat was delivered levelly.

“Maybe, maybe. But there’s more than one way to gut a pig if ya’ a creative sort, and I think ya’ know that.”

Aizen leant back and considered him in silence. His chestnut hair hung about his face and his glasses gleamed in the lamp light. He made no move to speak further. It was a dangerous silence flung at him.

Gin shifted impatiently where he sat.

“I want in,” he said bluntly. “Don’t throw away a tool ya’ can use, Vice-Captain. Mr Third Seat wasn’t even third rate. He was trash. His guts were on the floor before he even thought ta’ suspect me. He was shit on someone’s boot. You want me quiet, then keep me quiet – but I think ya’ve got more about ya’ than to resort to somethin’ as borin’ as killin’ me, not when ya’ could try me out.”

Aizen’s silence was heavy and threatening.

Nothing from him. Nothing at all.

Let him see something of the truth. Let him see what kind of beast you are.

“They’re weak,” Gin said suddenly. “All of them. Worse than weak. They prate and they shuffle about to do your biddin’ and they bleat “Aizen-sama, Aizen-sama” like sheep. When they kill, they don’t kill for you. They don’t even kill for themselves. They do it because they’re nothin’ and they want to be somethin’ so badly and they’re so – so small that they can’t even grasp the kind of something they want to be, how pathetic what they desire is, how little they know how to become it. They’re so pathetic that they’re not even worth hatin’. They’re just… Nothin’. I don’t understand that. I’ll never be nothin’.”

It took Aizen long moments to speak. An expression began to pull at his lips. His smile was slow and predatory - and yet something of an alien humour danced in his eyes.

There was nothing gentle about the look. Gin had never seen its like before, and had he no knowledge of the man, he might have called it a kind of respect.

Riding high for a moment, he did not anticipate the question that came next.

“Nothing? Really? If they’re all so small, then why do you kill them, Gin? If they’re nothing at all, then why bother? Why even notice them? If they’re so small... Why do you do what you do?” Aizen asked softly.

He’d said too much and realised it a second too late. Panic began to creep up his gorge and sweat pricked at his skin.

Because that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? The suffering he inflicted – what it revealed – it was interesting. It was fun. They... were fun.

But no one else could know that. They would kill him if they knew.

The question pried at places that were too secret, too intimate to see the light of day– warm, dark places into which light had never shone, places so murky that they would swallow up the light. He had never before let himself be uncovered as blatantly as this, allowed himself to be so exposed - not to someone he then hadn’t gone on to kill.

There had been one time – a time long ago – when he had killed four men in town and had trudged back to Rangiku doused in their blood and smelling of their burnt flesh. It had ruined his yukata and the blood had settled into his shoes, never to be washed out. He had trembled to think of what she might say to him, certain that she would leave. She hadn’t.

But she hadn’t acknowledged the truth either.

Here and now, the question could not be avoided. Not if he wanted to see her again. Not if he wanted to make her whole again.

The price of tangling with the devil had always been to stake your soul. He knew, down in his gut, that he could never have expected to escape unscathed. But for a moment, he let resentment boil up in him.

For a moment, it was aimed at her too.

“What I-“ he stopped, and he drew in a deep measured breath. He found that despite his immense self-control, he could not keep looking Aizen in the eye. When he found the breath to speak again, his voice was low. “When I kill I – I see somethin’ true. In their eye. Ya’ see them dance. Ya’ see the truth they’re always hidin’.”

Aizen’s expression was warm. It was appreciative. The hair on Gin’s arms raised in a shiver of disgust. “That was the most honest thing you’ve told me all evening, Gin,” he murmured. “I appreciate your honesty. Truly.”

He rose slowly from where he sat and moved to look at the moon still hanging overhead in the sky, bloated and corpulent like fruit gone foul.

“Mutual bondage in co-conspiracy, you and I,” Aizen said slowly. His voice was low and rich. “No detail that you could divulge for fear that it would stick to you too. For every finger I drag through the dirt, a corresponding trace on your fingers; a stain for every stain of my own. An elegant, symmetrical solution. You know that your age will stand as no defence were you to betray me, and you know that I know where the bodies are buried.”

Aizen turned to him, and Gin knew suddenly that the wage had been deemed paid.

(Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.)

Black was still on the board.

“The position is yours. We start again tomorrow.” Aizen smiled. “I look forward to working with you, Gin.”

---

And just like so, he became a shinigami and apprentice to Aizen Sosuke.

And for a time – the first time, in fact – Matsumoto Rangiku began to fall slowly from his mind.

---

#Bleach #GinRan #gin ichimaru #sosuke aizen #Rangiku Matsumoto #kitchen snk are you seriously busting out chess metaphors in 2021?#it's an iconic cliche alright???#Aizen u fancy bastard #Spider Lilies

86 notes · View notes

vanserraseris · 3 years ago

Note

END OF PART II - Everyone was so nice and supportive and I appreciate it so much!!! Warning, Eris has friends (soldier friends cuz I just think he’s close to his soldiers) and because I don’t like the idea of him being lonely. There’s a time skip from the last part, but we get baby Lucien. Thanks so much, Ruchi :)

im loving this sm and YES give eris friends. love you lots ash <3

Prince of Ashes. Part II.

masterlist.

“Stop that.” The words were no more than a low growl.

Micah let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back to look up at Eris from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the couch and cheek against Eris’s knee. He’d been leaning on Eris’s leg the whole night, tapping annoyingly on the top of Eris’s foot with pale, scar-flecked fingers. Enya, one of Eris’s hounds, was sitting by Micah, his other hand idly stroking her sleek fur.

“Asshole,” Micah mumbled, running a hand through his now messy, chestnut brown hair. With a groan and one final pat of Enya’s back, he pushed himself up off the floor and sat on the couch right next to Eris, their shoulders touching. Lagos was leaning against the arm of the couch, his legs tucked in close to his chest so as not to touch Eris. He’d been sitting there quietly the whole night, braiding and then rebraiding his long, dark hair.

Grass green eyes on Eris, Micah said, “Just because your little brother’s a walking faelight doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole.” Eris felt the sudden urge to hit Micah upside the head with the flimsy book in his hands, but he knew better than anyone that Micah wouldn’t be too bothered by it. Having known his friend for centuries, Eris was almost positive Micah would just laugh. Eris shut the book, it was useless anyway, and settled for jolting the leg Micah had seen fit to sidle up against.

With a bare foot, Lagos kicked Eris on his thigh. “I’m telling you, this is Day Court magic. You can read a million more ancient books from your little library, and I’d still be right.”

Eris could have hit him with his book as well. “When I find the fucking bastard, I’ll kill him.”

“You’d kill your younger brother’s father?” Micah was always trying to convince Eris, and perhaps himself, that Eris wasn’t some horrible monster. Sometimes, Eris grew tired of it.

“I’d kill my own,” Eris said with a shrug, “You really believe I’d be uneasy about killing someone else’s?”

“I don’t think anyone here believes that,” Lagos mumbled. Eris glared at him, no real hate in the look, but one that might convey the feeling that he regretted having befriended Lagos in the first place. Lagos simply flashed him a dimpled grin, before he turned to look at Lucien. Widge had the little runt sitting on his knee, he looked entirely relaxed.

Lucien was smiling, his red hair a mess, his tiny fists reaching out to grab the harmless little fox that Eris had made out of his flames to bounce around them. Eris had never disliked his mother more as Lucien beamed like some sort of pixie in the dimly lit sitting room of his cottage. Beron would kill them all if he saw this, Eris knew, and had practically stolen Lucien from The Forest House before anyone took notice of his new talent.

Eris scowled as he struggled to think what might have set off the strange magic. Eris had been sitting in front of the fireplace, Lucien caged between his long legs as he crawled in the small space. Eris had, in a moment of weakness, let Lucien curl his chubby fingers around one of his own. Lucien had let out a little shriek, lifting Eris’s finger like some sort of trophy, and much to Eris’s horror, had started to glow. Not even a year old, and Lucien was already causing trouble for Eris.

Widge looked at Eris then, his copper brows raised and his dark eyes wide, “Do you glow like this, too?”

Eris had to stop himself from snapping an irritated “no.” Widge was always a little stuck in his thoughts and almost never paid attention to what was going on around him. Eris shook his head and Widge simply nodded, eyes going back to Lucien.

Lucien laughed, red curls bouncing as Eris willed the fox closer to his youngest brother. If it was possible, Lucien became even brighter.

Eris snarled, a sound that came deep from his chest, as he tried to remain calm. The little fox instantly disappeared, the book in his hands burst into flames, the fireplace flared on the other side of the room. So much for keeping calm, Eris thought, as Lagos moved his foot so that it was no longer on him. Beron had finally stopped thinking that Lucien was another male’s son. Eris was just starting to feel like he could let down his guard, that he no longer had to hover over his youngest brother and ensure Beron didn’t get his hands on the tiny thing. Eris didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that there were flames dancing in his eyes, he breathed in through his nose. Eris didn’t want to look in a mirror anyway, he found he looked most like his father in anger.

The gentle hand that squeezed his arm had Eris clenching his eyes shut. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, his lips pressed together as he tried not to sneer. He wanted to tell Micah to move his hand. Almost as if he’d sensed it, Micah’s fingers tightened only briefly before he took his hand off of Eris.

“Is it just me, or does the runt smell like a fucking heir?”

Eris might have been losing his mind.

“Your nose has been broken one too many times,” Lagos muttered. That was probably true.

Eris had never been more glad to have met Micah as he spoke with a confidence that could reassure Eris in the worst of his moods. “We’ll figure this out.”

While Eris may not always share his carefully crafted plans with his friends, he had no doubt that they’d have his back.

Eris faced Micah, frowning. He was beautiful, the traditional Autumn Court tattoos shining gold against the pale skin of his throat, bringing out the lighter strands of the shoulder-length brown hair that framed his sculpted face. Eris hadn’t loved Micah as anything other than a friend for centuries, but he was always struck by how lovely Micah was. Not only that, but Micah was steady; One of the only dependable and constant things in Eris’s long life.

Micah flashed him a warm smile, clear green eyes on Eris, his head tilting just a bit, “So try not to worry over it. I hear that if pretty males frown and furrow their brows, they get wrinkles.” Eris couldn’t help but scrunch his nose, he couldn’t care less about wrinkles. Lagos spoke again, Eris could hear the smile in his voice, “And if you get all wrinkled, that bewitching female you’ve been trying to bed will lose whatever interest she has in you.”

“What female?” Widge questioned.

“The one Eris can’t stop talking about,” Lagos replied. Eris didn’t think he talked about her that much. The face Widge made suggested that he had absolutely no idea who they were talking about. Eris felt slightly validated, but coming from Widge, that confusion meant absolutely nothing. Lagos knew that as well. “Come now, Widge, he’s been talking about her for months,” he added, his grin widening.

“Bit offended, mind you, he never talked about me like that,” Micah grumbled, his shoulder knocking into Eris’s.

Eris scowled when Lagos leaned over him to mouth “he did” at Micah. Eris shoved Lagos with a hand, his friend yelping as he tried not to fall off the couch. Eris could have sworn on the cauldron that he hadn’t talked about him too much either.

Widge just furrowed his brows, “The last person I remember Eris talking about was that human general.”

“Cauldron, he’s talking about your obsession with Jurian over 200 years ago.” Lagos sounded very pleased by this.

Eris could feel his ears heating. Not one of his finer moments, and not like he’d call it an obsession, but Lagos liked calling it that. “I got over him quickly,” he defended.

“Yes,” Micah smiled, “Only to throw yourself at a river nymph.”

Eris rolled his eyes, still relatively frustrated, but feeling much better than he had before. “I’m out of ideas,” he announced.

“How in the hells can you be out of ideas, we’ve given you so many,” Lagos said, exasperated.

“None of which were even a little helpful,” Eris raised his brows, looking at Lagos.

Lagos shrugged. He’d had the most useless one, suggesting that Eris move to Vallahan with Lucien. “Two birds, one stone,” he’d stated. “You leave the throne to Cato like you’ve always wanted, and you keep your vow.” Much easier said than done, but as the night wore on, Eris was finding it the most appealing option.

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, “I should just kill him.”

Micah stiffened at Eris’s side, Lagos almost snapped his neck to turn and look at Eris with wide eyes.

Widge tucked Lucien into his chest, almost as though to shield him from the heir of the Autumn Court. “You wouldn’t,” he said disbelievingly, “Eris, you wouldn’t.”

“Not the child,” Eris snapped, he crossed his arms, feeling very offended that his only friends thought him capable of killing his own little brother.

It was no secret that Eris wasn’t above murder, wasn’t above killing Beron, but killing one of his brothers seemed to be a line he wouldn’t cross. “I was talking about our well-loved High Lord.”

“Yes, because you were so successful the last time you tried,” Lagos patted Eris on the knee.

Micah eased back, “If you’d been talking about the child, I would have been very angry with you.”

“Whatever would I have done,” Eris said under his breath.

Micah and Eris had argued quite a bit when they’d first met. It was definitely Eris’s fault for the most part, but Micah was headstrong and stubborn. Micah had spent 50 years climbing the ranks of the military only for Eris to waltz into the role of commander. He’d been extremely irritated at having to deal with a spoiled prince in his war camp and Eris had taken great joy out of bothering the experienced general.

Micah smiled, “Probably sit and brood.”

“You could always just tell the High Lord he’s been cursed by a witch,” Widge offered. He was a bit behind on the conversation, but at least he was thinking about something other than his formulas.

“Smartest male in all our armies and he comes up with that,” Micah muttered.

Eris frowned. It wasn’t like anyone else had come up with something better. Perhaps he should just tell his mother, let her deal with it.

Lagos suddenly launched off the couch, nearly tripping on the edge of the carpet as he fell to his knees in front of Widge. “You brilliant, brilliant oaf,” both hands cupping Widge’s freckled cheeks as he shook him slightly.

“Care to share, Lagos,” Micah asked as Lagos placed an exaggerated kiss on Widge’s forehead. Widge’s eyes were wide, both his eyebrows raised, as he moved Lucien away from Lagos. Eris was glad to see that everyone else looked just as confused as he felt.

“We can put a spell on him.” - The whole room seemed to freeze, even Lucien had stopped blathering.

“You’re not going to curse my brother,” Eris thought that would have been rather obvious.

Lagos grinned, “No, definitely not. I don’t want your ire directed at me, ever.”

Eris scowled, reaching for Lucien. “Then I’d advise you—” Eris took Lucien into his arms, the fireplace flaring. He pointedly glared at Lagos, “Not to curse the child I’m sworn to protect.”

Lagos only smiled, wiggling his fingers at Eris as a warm glow radiated from his brown skin. “My mother is from the Day Court, dumb ass.” Eris was still glaring at him, not like he’d forgotten. “She specialized in protection spells at one of the academies,” he dipped his chin, “Not curses.”

It couldn’t hurt to casually ask Lady Morai some questions about the whole thing. Eris frowned as he looked at Lucien, speaking to Lagos as he gazed fixedly at Lucien’s glowing little nose.

“And this is normal?” Eris tried to keep the concern from his voice.

“He is a bit young,” Lagos didn’t look too worried about it, “I started doing that at about half a decade.” He smiled, “Scared the shit out of my father.”

Eris looked at Lagos again, “Can you honestly fix it, then?”

“Not sure it’s something that needs to be fixed,” Widge countered.

Before Eris could bark an irritated “no one asked you,” Lagos raised his hands, taking a step closer to Eris.

“We take him to my mother, she can suppress his magic, she did the same with mine.” Of course she had, Eris thought, knowing very well that being different in the Autumn Court was oftentimes a death sentence. “Just until he grows old enough to break the spell, no fixing is needed and nothing is permanent.” It sounded so very simple. Eris had always been wary of things that seemed too easy.

Eris bit his lip, thinking on this new proposal. He’d met Lady Morai, had been to her home on more than one occasion, but he didn’t necessarily want to trust the female with something like this despite the liking he’d taken to her. Telling his friends was one thing, telling anyone else …

“But no harm will come to the child, correct?” Micah sounded like the general he was in that moment. Eris was glad Micah had asked the question he’d been thinking.

“Precisely.”

“And your mother won’t tell anyone?” Eris didn’t want to have to kill the parent of one of his only friends. He hated himself for even thinking it.

“She thinks you’re the Autumn Court’s fucking saviour, the Mother only knows why.” Lagos raised his brows, “She’d take this to the grave, I swear it.”

No one spoke as Eris considered this option - it was the best one he had. “And you’re sure she can do this -”

“Sure enough,” Lagos replied.

Eris snarled.

“She knows what she’s doing,” he reassured.

Eris hoped that was true.

Lagos held out his hand, golden tattoos on each finger of spell-cleaving characters, “I’ll winnow us.”

“And we’ll be here when you return,” Micah glanced at Widge. “Maybe we’ll feed the hounds.”

Lagos flashed Eris a smile, hand still outstretched, “Come on, you can trust me.”

Eris did. Lagos had been the first person Eris had ever truly befriended, having arrived at the war camps in the same year Eris had been sent there. They’d grown as close as brothers.

With one last look at Lucien in his arms, Eris tentatively reached out to Lagos, holding his hand. Lagos closed his eyes as the magic in the room swelled, warm and gentle and nothing like the crackling flames of the Autumn Court. Eris turned away from the bright light when he could no longer look at it, and for the first time in over two centuries, Eris prayed to the Mother.

44 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

Text

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

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

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

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

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

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The path lifts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

#jungkook fanfic #hoseok fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namseok fic #namkook fic #hopekook fic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #namseok fanfic #namkook fanfic #hopekook fanfic

107 notes · View notes