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cherrywoes · 3 years

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dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x fem! vessel! reader x oc.)

iii. yugen.

— a profound awareness of the universe that triggers feelings too deep and mysterious for words.

rating: mature.

warnings: mentions of forced child bearing, violence.

YOUR NEW HOME was small, but much larger than the tiny closet that you had been sleeping in for the past several years. A bed with a mattress lay in the center of the room, the headboard pushed against the wall, and a desk and nightstand were the only other furniture to occupy it. It was much more modern than you had expected, but still kept to the traditional layout that most of the campus had to begin with. It smelled of wood polish, cleaner, and a faint incense that was making your stomach roll unpleasantly.

“They burned sage here,” Sayaka explained quietly. She stood behind you right before the threshold of the door, holding your bag while you scoped out your new abode. The rest of the ten minute walk had been silent between the both of you, filled with Ama-no-Kagaseo’s malice, Sayaka’s worry, and your disturbing apathy at the event. She kept running her fingers over the rope handles of your bag, working at each stray strand until it fell apart. “The previous tenant passed away violently and had lingering energy in the room.”

It was a convenient lie. Sorcerers didn’t ‘haunt’ in the same way that humans would haunt their homes, families, or killers; they did not remain behind at all. Wherever they went, there was no trace of them left behind. You knew that much from a book you’d snuck from Yaga when you were younger, before you were ever a vessel. Sayaka likely didn’t know that you were aware of that fact, nor would you allow her to be. You had to be clever now; you weren’t going to lose your freedom so easily now that you had it. And if that meant hiding things from Sayaka for now, then so be it.

“I see.” Ama-no-Kagaseo’s energy swept through the room and extinguished the incense burning in a corner. The smoke dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, floating up between the slats in the ceiling and encouraged to vanish by an incorporeal hand. You would have a headache later because of the smell, but you already felt better because it was gone. You, like Ama-no-Kagaseo, had an extreme sensitivity to anything purifying or cleansing in nature—although it couldn’t kill you, it could severely cripple your senses enough to the point where you would black out. Whether or not Ama-no-Kagaseo took over was his choice after that. You had discovered that little factoid after accidentally touching a blessed object in an elder’s office. “What am I to do here? I know they wouldn’t just let me stay here without some caveat in return.”

Sayaka followed you inside and set your bag beside the door. “There were whispers of having you keep an eye on Gojou and Itadori Yuuji, but I don’t know if they ever came to an actual decision over it.”

Oh, it was too convenient—in the off chance that Gojou would wield Yuuji to take down the elders and crooked system of clans and power, you would be there to keep them in check, to counterbalance the scales into neutrality’s favor. It was a good plan, a smart one, but you highly doubted they had factored in one thing: Ama-no-Kagaseo did not follow orders.

“Right. Of course not.” You pressed your fingers into the mattress, testing the softness. Beneath the fabric, your fingertips gave way to springs, hard and slightly broken in from where someone else had slept in a specific position. It groaned beneath your slight weight and you pulled back, eyes darting around the room to search for a futon—that would be infinitely more comfortable than this bed. “So, if I’m not going to do that, then what am I going to do? Sit here and rot until they call for me?”

You were bitter, and understandably so. Your freedom was on the leash of the elders who held the other end, usually with an iron fist and heavy hand. You were always raised to never bite the hand that feeds, but it was looking far too tempting right now. You could understand Gojou, just a little bit, and his frustration with the way things worked among the sorcerer society, but it did not make you feel guilty for what Ama-no-Kagaseo did to him. Not quite.

“Just…” Sayaka sighed and sat down on a cushion at the foot of your bed. She hid her hands in her pockets, fiddling with something that sounded vaguely like a chain or chain links clinking together like windchimes. She didn’t seem nervous, for once, but more exhausted—lethargic, even. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than usual, her cheeks sunken and a little wan in the light. You hadn’t paid much mind to the changes in her appearance, but when she let her guard down it was apparent that she was tired. “Be careful. The president of the Kyoto campus is coming soon for the events—no, I didn’t ask—and he’ll want to see you, presumably.”

For just a moment, you had thought she would open up to you. Your gut tumbled with disappointment.

“When am I ever not careful?” With a slight scoff and a roll of your eyes, you evaded the cushion next to her and opted for sitting at the windowsill instead. It offered a perfect view of the courtyard and a small garden out behind it, flowers just barely peeking out over the stone paths. The wood was rough and unsanded, but you tolerated it just to maintain distance between yourself and Sayaka. “My entire life has been nothing but ‘careful’. You don’t have to tell me that, Fujiwara-san.”

You could feel her flinch at the sound of her last name. You never used her last name, at least not in private, much in the same way she only ever used your last name and never your first. It was new, bizarre, and foreign, because she knew, just like you knew, that the tiny chasm that Sayaka herself had made was starting to fissure into something bigger, something that wouldn’t just close on its own.

“Right. What was I thinking?” The sorcerer rubbed her face and exhaled a long breath. With a second glance at you, she got to her feet, shrugging off the vulnerability she had shown and replacing it with the Sayaka you knew. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Dinner is at five; you can join Gojou, Itadori-san and I if you’d like.”

With that offer lingering in the air, she stepped outside your room and shut the door behind her with a quiet ‘snick’ of the lock. It wasn’t locked, but the idea was there—after all, there were no tumblers on the inside of the knob.

“Indecisive.” Ama-no-Kagaseo manifested before you in a bright spurt of black flames, stars writhing inside each individual lick of heat. You reached up to allow him to hover over your palms to which he did so gladly, the fire oddly cold against your skin in comparison to the heat in the air around him. “She knows not what she wants.”

You huffed a breath. “I know. It’s her choice to make, though.”

“Mm.” A brief flash of fire and he was reaching for his human vessel against your chest. He lingered close to it for a moment, but you could feel his thoughts churning in the connection you shared, ponderous and curious. “Interesting.”

“What is?” You inquired, watching as he allowed his human body’s eyes to slide open for the first time in decades. They were completely black and enveloped with stars, much like you had been told how you appeared, and a single blue dot appeared beneath his eye.

“Nothing. For now.” The eyes slid shut and the flame retreated back into your open palms. “Hungry?”

Your stomach was rumbling, but a glance at the clock on your new desk revealed it was just four-thirty. You wondered if you could get away with eating early and retreating to your room again without ever having to run into Gojou or Itadori, although that was highly unlikely. Avoiding anyone here was as impossible as the moon rising before the sun.

“It’s a bit early,” you said instead, leaning against the windowsill and tucking your knees to your chest. You rested your hands on your knees, watching Ama-no-Kagaseo flicker curiously at your denial for food. “It’s okay, I’m not that hungry.”

A quick rush of flames indicated he didn’t believe you, but he went incorporeal afterwards, reverting back to a cool breeze that lingered in the air around you. He likely had nothing else to say or nothing on his mind that was important; he had a habit of doing such lately, though you could never pinpoint why. You supposed that it was not important for him to retain some physical manifestation while he was thinking, or that it was not his priority if he was too deeply in thought.

With a sigh, you sat back and stretched out your legs. You weren’t sure what to do now; years without freedom had put limits on your movements and hobbies. To now be handed that freedom on a silver platter, probably with later conditions, you almost wanted to go back to being stuck in that closet room all day and night. But you couldn’t do that, not when opportunity was already in your grasp.

What did people your age do? You stared outside the window at the stone path, eyebrows furrowed in thought. You were certain they didn’t have a Curse, that’s for sure, and they definitely weren’t a vessel for the world’s most evil being in creation. They also dressed differently from you—you, who looked like you had stepped out of a mystical, traditional Japanese fantasy novel—even when they were required to wear uniforms. Their sense of style and overall mood, just from meeting Itadori Yuuji, was different from yours. You wouldn’t fit in in modern society, or even the sorcerer’s carefully monitored one.

You were stuck, in a sense, in an era that you weren’t born in.

Ama-no-Kagaseo lifted a strand of your hair with an invisible hand in comfort. He was not quick to offer a solution and merely left you to ponder on all of the possibilities within your combined power. After all, they had to be your decisions to count to the council, not his. Any hint that he was persuading you in any way would force them to lock you up in a sealed room and execute you on sight.

But that was the issue, wasn’t it? There weren’t any other female descendants. You were the last remaining female Shiraishi. The men in your clan, while unrelated to you and having married in, were too old or uninterested in obeying the whims of the elders, as was their right. You had no choice in the matter. If you wouldn’t produce an heir willingly, they would make you do it by force—you had been told that they would sweep the women away to a clinic in Tokyo and create a child artificially, guaranteeing a female offspring. You weren’t, but your father was nonexistent in your life and may as well be as dead as your mother.

“Then I’ll just have to end it,” you mumbled to yourself. It was the only right conclusion. You would stop subjecting innocent girls to being vessels and you would simultaneously release Ama-no-Kagaseo in the process. But to do that, you would need help and information from Ryoumen Sukuna. He was, after all, the one who developed the technique to seal Ama-no-Kagaseo into a human body in the first place. He would be gone as soon as all twenty fingers were found, anyway, so there was no risk for him to be resealed again. You would just have to bide your time and wait carefully until the time was right. “What do you think, Ama-no-Kagaseo?”

In your connection, you felt him full heartedly agree—but there was also reluctance there, hesitation.

“What is it?” You inquired softly. He surprised you by completely manifesting—a childlike version of his personal form, indicative of his tumultuous emotions because, even though he was a god, he experienced emotions on a childlike level, experiencing them for the first time—and pushing himself into your arms, uncaring of his actual physical form against your chest. “Amatsumikaboshi?”

His white hair, turning a dark blue and then black towards the ends, brushed against your arms as he further wormed his way against your side, just small enough to fit on the window seat with you. He wore a drastically oversized yukata decorated with a dragon scale design, expensive, and of the same fabric as your kimono. A golden eye, as gold as doubloons, peered at you from behind a fringe of snowy white strands, and atop his head sat two sharp horns, each as white as his hair and darkening to blue towards the points. He was not as intimidating like this, but you still held the same respect for him, and he you.

“No.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow and rested a hand on his head, combing through the strands soothingly much in the way he would yours when you were tired. “‘No’, what?”

Amatsumikaboshi—not Ama-no-Kagaseo, for this was no normal representation of a false identity—fixed you with a determined stare. He was of so few words that you only understood him through his emotions, new and unexplored as they were, and he was keeping them from you for some reason, fixed on the idea that he was going to tell you himself.

“No separation.” He frowned, then, and reached for your heart, and traced it back to his. “No split.”

“Oh.” You blinked at him, then, tilting your head to further meet his eyes. His pupils were unusual slits now, some link to a dragonic form you didn’t know of. “But we will part some day, Amatsumikaboshi. I’m only human.”

He seemed angry at that fact, eyebrows furrowing at being reminded of it. He never liked being reminded of your very finite life, at risk every time you got sick or ate something that could have been laced with poison. He glared—glared at his human form—and all at once, seemed to come to a conclusion. Some invisible future began playing out in his head, all of his own creation, and whatever it was, it made a smile appear on his face. It was the first time you’d ever seen him smile out of happiness, at least in a physical body you could see. You’d felt the others against your skin or hair, but seeing it was a different thing entirely.

“Do not worry,” he said after a few moments of silence, meeting your concerned gaze once more with disturbing intensity. “I can fix it.”

“Fix it?” You echoed. You reached forward and adjusted a fold of his yukata that threatened to crease, usually out of habit of doing it to your own. He grabbed your hand and placed it back on his head instead, waiting patiently for you to resume petting him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Yet.” He rested his head against the juncture of your shoulder and chest, a hand creeping up to rest against your heart and feel the gentle beat against his fingers. “For now.”

Blinking, you were about to question him further when your stomach interrupted you. A loud growl tore through the momentary silence and Amatsumikaboshi snickered, sitting upright, all questions and thoughts forgotten—or at least ignored.

“Eat,” he said, a hint of a smile still on his face, and leaning forward, brushed a kiss against your cheek. And then he was gone in a rush of blue, black, and white sparks, as incorporeal as he was before.

You sat on the windowsill, a blush creeping up your neck, and touched the tingling skin on your cheek in slight shock. You knew he was watching you, amusement rushing through your connection, and something else—so fast you couldn’t even guess as to what it was—and probably laughing to himself.

Embarrassed, you got to your feet and slipped on your shoes, heading down the hall towards the room where Sayaka had invited you to eat with her, Gojou, and Itadori Yuuji. Hopefully they didn’t mind you being a little late.

Before you could even turn a corner, a man was staring at you—dressed entirely in black and wielding a dagger in his right hand.

“Who are you?” You demanded. He didn’t answer.

Instead, your vision went white, and before you knew it, you were back inside your consciousness, inside Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain, except you were keenly aware of your physical body hitting the floor and Ama-no-Kagaseo’s true form standing right beside you.

“Ama-no-Kagaseo,” you whispered, shock weaving into your voice as he carefully enveloped you into his arms, much like you had earlier. He was two heads taller than you in this personal representation of himself, warm, and lean. “What happened? Why am I here?”

He hummed against your head thoughtfully, dark and insidious. “Someone is trying to break my connection to you.”

“What?” You pulled back to stare him in the face, watching those golden eyes flicker over your face as if memorizing a dream. “What do you mean ‘break’ it?”

“Don’t worry.” Ama-no-Kagaseo smiled indulgently and pulled you closer again, your ear pressed against his chest—and to your shock, the steady beat of a heart sounding against your ear. “No power in this universe will ever separate us.”

And for once, you didn’t really believe him.

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taglist: @picturethosesmiles (open)

#ryoumen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji

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iamdarkness · 3 years

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After the Storm

My Birthday gift for Alfonse's Day. I am one day late because I didn't know about it.

NSFW 18+

Lif x Summoner. A little bit of Alfonse x Summoner x Lif .

This can take place after the summoner is rescued and back in the castle. It also may or may not be part of To Feed a Tiger and Letters From Fodlan. It is all up to you.

He was standing right there, just in front of you….so close…and yet so far away. Dark blue hair and silver-ish tips swaying over his ruby red eyes, while he slowly approached you. His gauntleted hand reached slowly for you face. It was cold and smooth as leather, the metal fingernails not reaching your skin, he had made sure of that.

-We meet again. I thought you would not want to return.- You say and your face lean on his touch.

-I had to see it for my self…See you. That you were safe and sound. - He answers softly with that oh so deep voice that never fails to make you sway where you stand. It is true his voice had made you tremble from the first time you had heard it, he did not know it was not from fear. He had touched your soul from the beginning and drew you in like a moth to a flame. And what a magnificent flame he was.

The moonlight bathes you both in cool silver light, but you find the glow of his body a more compelling sight. You knew how insecure he had always been and knew that now he thought himself a hideous monster. If only he could see himself through your eyes; how beautiful you found him. You touch his face and you can hear the intake of breath he takes. His mask slips from his face and he tries to turn away. You use your other hand to turn it to face you.

-You are so gorgeous Alfonse.

-No I’m…

-No. You are gorgeous to me. I love you so much…- He looks down at you searchingly with knitted brows, expecting to find deception. How can someone like you find someone like him, attractive. He doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want your pity. Yet he finds only love in your eyes and even more than that. He can see desire and this surprises him and dare he hope?- Alfonse! Why are you like this? Why can’t you understand that to me, you are amazing and sexy! Your intellect and your skills and god Alfonse you learned a whole new sword style! You are so amazing. Even before, you always thought I liked other men better and…

-That was before…but now…

-Alfonse! No matter what shape you have, you are still my Alfonse and I find you gorgeous. Don’t you remember what I sang to you the first time we were together?I still love your precious heart …-You gasp. You were not suppose to say that and he catches on quick as smart as he is. He knows this Askr’s Alfonse and you had never been together. It had only been Death’s first attack; that had given Alfonse, now Lif the courage to leave all formalities behind and you had become lovers for the last weeks of your life. The words from that song had stayed with him and kept the little sanity he still had. His eyes blaze with that inner fire you had seen when he is either very angry or very exited. The deepest of passions have always lay hidden within him; restrained by the weight of his position and reputation. Lif had neither of those restrains.

-________. You are my _______!My Summoner!- There were so many feelings passing through his mind. He was surprised and happy and so angry too. He wanted to laugh and cry, but he also wanted to yell at you and hurt you. How could you not tell him the truth after everything you both had gone through? Did you prefer to stay by Alfonse’s side instead? Do you love him more? Is it because of how he looks? Of course you would prefer to stay with him. Whole as he is and not a monster like him.He was alive and could give you everything he always dreamed of giving you. He does not realize it, but the same hand that was caressing your face was now squeezing hard enough to hurt and his nails beginning to scratch.- Why did you not tell me this? Do you..

-I am not sure how it went. I lost my memories of my life in our Askr. I didn’t know and I did not want to hurt you and Alfonse. I know it has something to do with Breidablik. All the memories started coming when I was using it or when I was asleep.

There is a silence in which he looks deeply into your eyes. He sees no deceit in them but he has been hurt so much, he doesn’t dare believe. He sights and his head lowers to rest on your forehead. He did not think he would be able to cry any more ever, but he feels the wetness roll down his face.

-I wanted to heal you, not hurt you. I was willing to let you go and help you from afar but you never let me.

-I am here now…- He did not mentioned he was not letting you go now. He had given up his hope of saving his own people to help this Askr, and he was not going to give you up too. He kissed you now, deeply and full of need. The restrains now gone. Your hand lets his mask fall to the ground and you embrace him. He forgets he needs not breathe and you do need it and his kiss last so long you feel dizzy. You make to let go but he follows with a moan of protest that was almost a whine.

- Air…-You say and smile, while peppering his face with butterfly kisses. He gives you a low growl in return and kisses your neck instead. It gains him a moan he returns in kind. He hears your whispered plea and stiffens. He separates to look you in the eyes.

-Here?- He asks and he sounds scandalized. Nothing really changes.

-You do not remember that kitchen cupboard? Or the tactics tent after the meeting?- He splutters and turns a little away. It might just be you, but it looks like his light brightens.- They were not my ideas either.- You add and take this time to slip your hand under his belt close to where his abs can be felt by your knuckles.

-I remember.- He turns to you and takes his time looking at you. Then he close his eyes and takes his hands off your face to undo the clasps that hold his fur cloak. He lays it on the moon bathed grass and looks at you again.- Are you sure?- You nod. He steels himself and adds.- I…it is all of my body and half my face as you can see…

-Alfonse…I am not afraid of you or your glowing body. I find it perfectly amazing. Here, let me help you...-You tell him and go to help him take off his armor. He stops you and just takes his top hard armor as if by magic and is left with some low cut under armor pants and boots. You take a long look at him. As you had seen before, he had grown a lot. His chest and back were broader and even though you could see his bones there was a light in all of him that did not let you see through him. You could see his shape as If he was very muscular as well.

You were aware that you were staring, but you could not take your eyes away from him. He was so perfect. There was an intake of breath that was more a reflex than a necessity. He must have seen the desire in your gaze when you looked him in the eyes.-God Alfonse! Have you no idea what you do to me?

His shyness relents with your confession and he reaches up to you and kisses you deeply again. His hands roams your back. He kisses you until he reaches under your night shirt and you feel him lift the fabric. You are wearing nothing under and he caresses your skin on his way to lifting it off of you. When it is off, he looks down to you perked up breast. They had hardened with need and the night breeze. You feel his heated gaze on you as it explores once again your chest. His hands take hold of you pants as he pulls them down he leaves a trail of kisses down to your hip.

He gets up again kissing your body up to your neck. Your thigh, hip, lower abdomen, belly, between your breasts, chest, neck. All the while his hands trail up your side and back, like the sweet caress of flower petals.

His mouth reaches yours and his right hand takes your breast and squeezes gently, gaining a moan from you. He hungrily kisses you harder and starts lowering you down to where his fur cloak waits for you. You feel the weight of his body, the firmness of his glowing skin, soft and cool against your heated one. You shiver, not precisely because of the cold. It had been so long since you wanted to touch him and be touched by him. So long since you wanted to tell him how much you love him and how much you needed him.

He has taken your panties off along with his pants and now his head is between your tights and he kisses your womanhood. His tongue starts twirling around the pearl of your clitoris. His sparkling red eyes find yours as he gives a growly moan.

-Already so wet for me ______. Tell me how much you want me.- He licks at you. You had forgotten this man went from hiding his face out of bashfulness to pounding you vigorously into the mattress. He was a possessive, kinky, dominant lover with the drive to make love to you all night and the daring to take you in the riskiest of places.

-Oh …I want you please! I need you! I have waited so long for you! Mmm…aah- He introduces a finger inside you and then the second. You see him smirk while you moan and squirm.- Oh please! - His fingers go in and out in a merciless rhythm while he bites the inside of your legs, your hips, your stomach, suck at your breast and then bites you neck.- Aah …Alfonse please!- He growls at that.

-Not Alfonse!Alfonse is a child! Say my name! Say it!

-Mmmm Aaah! Lif! Lif Please! I can’t…I …- He has you seeing stars and the way he talks to you in your ear is enough to make you come. You shudder and moan his name again.

-Yes. Come for me ______- You are still shivering when you feel him lift your leg and position himself between your legs.- Are you ready for me?- He asks in your ear; then bites it. This ignites the fire within you once again.

-Yes. Please. I need you.

He looks into your eyes. -We will become one. Do you accept me? Will you be mine once again? Will you re-new our vows? - He asks, his voice full of emotion make your heart melt. You feel this moment as if this was a promise. Your wedding night. No going back. Your eyes water. How can you say not to him. The love of your life. Once you had pledged to be with him in a” till death do us part” promise. Now you knew he had gone beyond death and so had you. If there was a” for ever”; you wanted it to be with him.

-Yes. Only you. For ever.

He kisses you; tenderly this time and just as tenderly you fell him enter you. Here ,now while his hips moved so sensually against you, and he kisses you like it is the fist time; you feel him become Alfonse once again. The man that had asked you once, to promise him to never leave him. The man who had promised to never be with anyone else but you. The man who had said his wedding vows before making love to you for the first time, because there was no time to have a wedding.

He moves inside you while he utters your name like a mantra, proclaiming you as his. You respond to him that yes, you are his and cling to him for dear life because this is too much, too fast for you. Soon enough you feel the pressure build inside you and you climax again. He stops a second and gives a small rumble of a laugh.

-My _____. As passionate as ever. -He feels you shiver against his flesh and your moan of release was silenced with a long kiss. Suddenly while still kissing you he starts moving, but this time faster to reach his release. His moans are, so sensual to your ears.-You are so warm. Come for me again dearest! Come for me! Only for me!

-Oh Lif you feel so good! You are so good! - He came undone with this. He bit your neck long and hard enough to bruise and you came again right there alongside him, while he reached into the deepest part of you and you call his name.

You both ride your high clinging to each other, entangled like ivy. Your hands roam his strong back in a soothing motion. He hides his face in the crock of your neck and you hear his whispered plea.

-Run away with me. - Oh how you wish you could. You hug him tighter.

-I gave him my word. I will leave with you once the war ends.-You tell him.

-You can not return to him after this. Stay with me.

- I gave you my word. I am yours, but I need to save this Askr. I can not fail twice. I will not. I swore to you to serve you till death and I did. I will fulfill my promise to him and I will return to you. Please let me do this. If we play this right we can save this world and return ours to life.

-Ours.- he says with emotion.- I knew you would say this.- He kisses you and then he kisses your ear. Once he is close enough he whispers.

-The gods are plotting to end us. They specifically want to end Alfonse’s line. I am working with them to find their weakness. -He makes a shushing notice when he feels you stiffening.- Do not tell him anything, but prepare. Trouble comes and it comes fast.- He kisses you again and then he keeps on whispering.- I will come to you. I promise.

He separates from you and say coldly. - So you will not come with me?

-No. I… I am sorry Lif.- You play along. He just nods and gets up. You are left there feeling cold and empty. He starts dressing up and you do the same. Once you both are again standing dressed and ready to leave; he takes your cheek in his hand and with the other he touches the bruise left on your neck.

-Does he know where you are?

-Yes.

-Now he will know who you belong to. Although this will not deter him, I know him well enough to understand this.- He sighs and turns to leave.- Until we see each other again Summoner.

He does not turn around and he is gone.

~*~

You stand looking out of the window. Children run around laughing in the garden. A strand of hair comes undone from your bun and tickles your cheek. You feel a hand take the graying strands to tuck it behind your ear. You turn to see deep blue eyes watching you fondly. Alfonse’s blue hair is graying too. He looks out the window and smiles. Among your grandchildren a tall figure stands up (1). Lif’s dark blue hair swaying in the winds while he talks to a young man that looks remarkably like a young Alfonse. He looks down to a child clinging to his left leg. A blond haired and greed eyed girl of around five years. He picked her up and she giggled. His face turns to look at you and his crimson eyes twinkle in the sunlight. There is happiness and love in them. You blow him a kiss and Alfonse chuckles at your side.

With how endless you had felt the war, you never thought you could reach a happy ending and here you were. In that moment; there was only happiness.

1. It is my belief that anyone as a summoner would find that there were a lot of casualties of war and many orphaned kids. Used to so much people in the castle and with most of the heroes gone; the summoner opened up an orphanage and ended up adopting some of the kids, along side of whoever she married. At the end it is not only her biological grandchildren, but also the kids of her adopted ones.

#feh #feh fan fiction #feh alfonse x summoner #feh alfonse x reader #feh alfonse x kiran #feh lif #feh lif reader #feh lif x summoner #feh lif x reader #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem heroes #alfonse x summoner x lif #feh lif x kiran #feh kiran #feh summoner #fire emblem fanfiction #kiralfonse

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westmoor · 3 years

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we see what we seem

↞ ↞ | ao3 | ↠ ↠

He hasn’t realised the extent to which the afternoon light has faded to night until he is standing in a clearing lit by a dozen tiny flames.

They’re hung at various heights and distances, each eliminating the shade cast by another, staving off a darkness nearly viscous in its profundity, like an encroaching mass clinging to the trees and closing them in. So dense it might’ve crawled through and snuffed each light, if not for her.

She stands opposite him in the clearing, calm, skirts of a long green dress collected in her hands. A wreath of elderflowers and beech leaves are perched in her golden hair like a crown.

Closer up he might tower over her, he thinks, yet she looks as tall as the trees, her bare feet in the moss as deep as their roots. She says nothing, only waits for him to speak.

“I want no trouble,” he says, unsure whether that’s the proper way to start, or if there is one. “Only to collect what the girl stole.”

She tilts her head to the side, a movement he can’t place, the quirk of her lips is all too familiar.

“We do not steal. Only borrow, or give back.” Her voice is so clear the air seems to stir at it - or maybe the air is so still it stirs at her voice.

He smothers his unease, in case she’d take offense to it. “I will still need those potions back.”

”Will you?” Her fingers, long and delicate, smooth over the fabric. “Surely, I can offer you something better in return?”

Geralt of Rivia is not a lad in his first year on the path, and he won’t be mistaken for one.

Of the things he can draw from his surroundings, he is certain of these: First, that the beautiful woman in green is no more human than he is. Second, that he is well past the boundaries of the world he knows. And third, that he is far, far out of his depth.

At his chest, the wolf medallion hangs listless.

There are species, he knows, that look human or can make themselves human enough to pass at a glance, and whose glamours are so delicate they go undetected.

These last months have been harsh lessons in that.

There’s a faint rustle from where she moves across the forest floor, a gentle sound that brushes against his senses like a caress. She takes her time in pondering her offer, studying him intently with eyes which colour he can’t make out, only that there is too much of it, too bright.

He can’t tell if it’s the lanterns making her seem luminous, or if they are lit by her.

There have been stories of creatures beyond their bestiaries, clever and tricky ones that no Witcher could hunt. Ones that burrow their way into grooves and crevices and make their homes there, steeped in magic so old and so deep they become worlds of their own, whose thresholds can only be found by those who know how to cross them. Those whose power is gleaned from the pull of roots through the earth and the draw of the moon upon the sea, entwined with the gilding of barley and bursting with each epochal bud in spring.

He had never believed in such things.

Maybe if he had, he would’ve known.

“I will offer you this,” she says, finally. “The finest gloves your mind could conjure, from a calf who knew no sickness or hunger, for a traveller’s needs are many and dire.”

A game.

There are instances in which Geralt is rather fond of games. Even fancies himself good at games.

He isn’t convinced this will be one of them.

A smile tugs at her lips when he declines.

“Very well.” She continues her pacing, tapping a long index finger against her lips in thought.

The woods are eerily quiet save for a distant rush of wind, leaving all his senses trained on her in anticipation and noting every detail, every whisper of movement from her leafy crown and something like a tail, lush and red, sweeping under the hem of her skirt at every turn.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“How about this, then? A long road behind you and longer ahead, I’ll give you a steed who is sure of its tread; never shall it go astray and never will it tire.”

Geralt shakes his head, first in rejection, but then to clear it.

The air that felt so thin moments ago has now grown far too thick, accumulating just behind his forehead and weighing it down, a dull thud picking up at the back of his skull. By instinct he feels for his medallion, but to no avail. It’s cold and still against his fingertips. Only the thrumming in his head grows louder.

He already has a mount, back at the campsite. Doesn’t he?

“I see.” Her smile is kind, but her eyes are sharp. “Then I have one final offer.”

She holds her palms out towards him, open and inviting. “That which you once set aside, for now you’ve searched both far and wide; You’ll have the object of your heart’s desire.”

Geralt tries to remember Vesemirs lessons, to conjure up his mentor’s voice in his mind as he taught them about foils and tricks, about moves presented as one thing only to turn out to be distractions.

His mouth is dry.

He tries to remember tales from his brothers, warnings told by firelight in an abandoned keep. Their faces slip like sand between his fingers, dreams he hadn’t written down.

There is a voice calling his name, but it’s far away, grasping for the threads of his consciousness like curtains billowing in the breeze from an open window.

But he knows that voice.

He remembers a man in a darkened forest, a horse nickering softly behind him, his own blood soaking the ground.

It grows in his chest and fills his lungs like a song, until he can’t hear the beating of his heart for the rise in his ears.

He sees him next, at the corner of his eye, stepping into the circle of light with determination.

He doesn’t know him.

He’d know him anywhere.

He wears a doublet laced with yellow flowers, and Geralt knows his name.

Jaskier has never looked less human. The memory of the man that night, when remnants of a foreign magic bled into his veins and lit his eyes like stars, is but a candle to the sun, the spill of a kettle to the crashing of the ocean to the shore.

This is a wild thing, a terrible and beautiful thing far too much for a man to grasp, and Geralt can’t turn away.

Not even when the thing that is Jaskier turns to the woman with the golden hue and speaks in a tongue not meant for his ears. But he knows it still, its tone and cadence and fury familiar but never spoken with such strength, reverberating through the grove and shaking the leaves above.

There is an animal inside him that howls in tune.

Too-bright eyes turn to find his and they soften and he sees his bard, now, at the heart of that storm is a youth in a tavern, a man at a banquet, a keen wit and reckless spirit, ceaseless and unbridled and foolishly brave.

“You need to leave,” he says, but Geralt can’t,won’t, not yet, even if he knew how. He has a thousand questions and has never cared less about an answer.

Whatever he does, he can’t chance another loss, for this one to be final.

He knows his next words should be chosen carefully. That there are a host of things he should say, and a whole other Jaskier needs to hear, to start crossing the desolation that has formed between them.

But there is no time, no space in the moment for what it needs to hold, and what instead leaves his lips is too thin and too shallow to contain any of it.

“Wait,” he says. Come back to me, he doesn’t, but it sounds like a plea nonetheless.

And Jaskier, marvellous Jaskier, who has spent all their years together speaking too much without saying nearly enough, who has read novels in the lines of his brow -

Jaskier looks at him and something passes over his face, something like doubt or perhaps a realisation, and for a fleeting moment Geralt allows himself to hope.

“Go,” he says, brokering no argument. Geralt opens his mouth to protest, but is silenced by the bard pushing closer, grabbing his hand and wrapping it around an object, cold against his skin. “Take this. Leave this place.”

He senses someone - or perhaps the forest itself, a flick of red or a hundred - move around them, but he can’t turn to look. Doesn’t look down to see what has been pressed into his hand, warming slowly to his palm. Can’t dredge the will to turn his attention from Jaskier, this Jaskier, whose eyes are too deep and hollow and yet lit like pools of clear water when the full moon hangs high in the sky.

“Geralt -” The urgency in the bard’s voice should snap him out of it, but instead he only allows himself to be manipulated, for Jaskier’s nimble fingers to wrap around his wrist and raise his arm between them.

It’s a silver bell. It gleams in the light, transfixing.

Its chime shatters every light in the clearing.

When Geralt opens his eyes, he’s alone, head thick and heavy like in the aftermath of a spell.

Roach is where he left her, picking at a patch of clovers and past her lie his packs, still open on the ground, surrounded and dirtied by the tracks of an unusually large fox.

In his left hand is a bundle of white heather.

In his right, a broken silver bell.

#one day i'll post something at not-4am and i'll even proofread it but not tonight lads. not tonight #geraskier #*gestures vaguely*!jaskier #jaskier #geralt #the witcher ficlet #folklore inspired

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kienava · 3 years

Text

Randivor has me by the throat and won’t let go. Romance-heavy smut under the cut.

_______

Everything Else

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Eivor couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a sound she often heard coming from herself outside of mead-soaked feasts or on the heels of a successful raid. Even then, in halls filled with drunken friends and by riverbeds lined with fallen enemies, there was always an air of performance, a twinge of bold, fanged cruelty that came from victory.

Not tonight, though. Not with Randvi.

Their bedchamber was not a raised stage or a proving ground. There was no performance to be put on here.

Randvi’s touch was sharp, precise as a whetted blade splitting flesh. Where no blood spilled, a more delicate sensation lingered on Eivor’s scars. With muscles spent and nerves singed by a rush not unlike the storm of battle, Eivor could only gaze up at the ceiling. And laugh.

“What is it, my love?”

Eivor would never tire of this. Odin’s halls of glory were nothing to the glow of Randvi’s skin.

“Look up,” Eivor said. She pointed lazily. “There’s a face in the wood.”

Randvi settled the hand that had been tracing a tattoo on Eivor’s bare hip. Her palm burned against it as an ember.

“A face?” Randvi said, skeptical.

“Look,” Eivor repeated.

Careful to keep her head where it was on Eivor’s chest, Randvi glanced up. “Where?”

“Right above us. See the eyes and the mouth?”

“Is it meant to be frowning?”

“Hm. It does look displeased. I’m afraid I cannot empathize.”

Randvi pushed herself up on one elbow, taking her warmth with her. She stared down at Eivor, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. It was a familiar expression, one she could not resist making whenever Eivor arbitrated a ridiculous quarrel with a perfectly straight face. “Have you not noticed this face before?”

The dregs of a laugh caught in Eivor’s chest, rumbling deep and pleasant. “Sleeping in my own bed used to be more a privilege than an expectation.”

“Hm...” Randvi’s fingers trailed up to Eivor’s ribs. “Maybe you’re just spending more time on your back nowadays.”

Eivor’s breaking grin was interrupted swiftly. Randvi kissed her, long and full, the heat of her skin enough to melt tension that was already hours since dissolved.

“I am hardly opposed,” Eivor muttered.

Randvi’s hands betrayed no hurry - Ravensthorpe was well-stocked, thanks to recent river raids, and the Ostara Festival was coming to a close. Everyone was happy and drunk, off dancing until the sun came up and telling stories.

“Have you not had your fill for one night?” Eivor teased.

“We have many nights to make up for, darling.” Randvi’s mouth landed on the scarred line of Eivor’s throat. It was as a feather, tickling and tantalizing. “And I would expect Ravensthorpe's prized drengr to have more stamina.”

“Sweetness and salt, all at once,” Eivor prodded, head lolling back on a rumpled pillow. “You are a difficult woman to argue with.”

“Good.”

The woman with the wildling soul was pleased to reclaim her own freedoms. Time for exploration was something she treasured, she was already well-versed in traveling south.

Her gaze burned from between Eivor’s legs, twin blue flames as if the sky itself were alight. Eivor could let it consume her, she thought, and die breathless and content.

Randvi could hold her own in any fight, but she needed no blade to take a warrior apart.

When a shiver struck and made Eivor’s legs quake, Randvi did not miss it. “Who would have guessed the great Eivor Wolf-Kissed would fall to such a lightness?”

It was unusual, compared to how it had been with others. Strength was Eivor’s native language, something to strive for and admire. She’d always met opponents and lovers with the same shows of force.

But never Randvi. Hers was not an arena where power was proven with dominance.

Where drengrs roared and raised their fists, Randvi’s voice and hands were soft. Battles chewed steel and shattered bone, but this was a quiet and sure balm to the most harrowing of wounds unseen.

How amusing that Eivor knew she had wanted this for so long, yet she never minded when Randvi took her time.

Between gasps, Eivor asked, “Tell me - Randvi - when did you know?”

Randvi shifted as water, fingers flowing to where her mouth had barely left. “I know many things. You'll have to be more specific.” Her lips pressed together, shining into a smirk.

Eivor managed to think her question into form. “When did you know you wanted this?”

As the moon commanding a ruthlessly gentle tide, Randvi’s assured smile waned into softness. “I’ve always known, Eivor. Since the first moment I saw you. So hardened, so fierce. I wished to know what was underneath it all.”

“Oh? And so you - ah.” Bold to try and taunt from such a compromised and vulnerable position, but Eivor did not relent. “So you always wished to be as a dagger... to my sheath?”

Randvi paused - a warning. She sat upright, but her fingers remained still.

The way she regarded Eivor, as a wolf might a sheep - it sent sparks up the taut column of the sheep’s spine.

“A wise woman can make use of any tool, I think,” Randvi said finally. She knew she’d won the point even before her fingers dipped and curled, a flourish as graceful as a spinning silver sword.

Eivor’s back arched, and she was as a sheath, seeking. She conceded, “And wise you are.”

Fortunately, Randvi loved hearing such things, especially from Eivor, and it was a sure way to bring out a sly grin that thinly shielded a deceptively fragile part of her heart. If there was one thing Randvi deserved, it was praise. She’d gone unappreciated for too long - even a moment was a sin - and yet she never shied from her post at the heart of their town. It would never have become more than a pile of bricks and stray ships without her guidance.

“The oldest trees must envy you,” Eivor went on.

“Must they?”

Eivor would not have the chance to say more if Randvi was allowed to continue, the waves building. So Eivor sat up to see her face-to-face, pulling her into a narrow straddle and kissing her, first on the forehead.

“For all their years, you are sager,” Eivor said.

She took Randvi’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm.

“For all their strength, you hold firmer. And for all their roots,” one last lingering kiss over her heart, beating wild, sealed by the same steady, guided palm, “yours run deeper.”

Randvi said nothing for a moment, her expression one of pure, quiet awe. Then, she shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on Eivor’s. “Your poet’s soul is a dangerous thing.”

Eivor took her by the waist, revering the way she could look up at this woman who put the staunchest, most resilient trees to shame. “Even so, when the possessor is in truth the one possessed?”

“Especially then, you minx.” Randvi bumped their noses together, a novel gesture that Eivor was suddenly very fond of.

“I am afraid I cannot offer an apology.”

Randvi was the one to initiate their next kiss, though it was as fleeting as a bird over a river. “It is a beautiful thing, my love. I would accept no apology for it.” Her voice grew stern as she continued. “But nor do I possess the possessor in question.”

Eivor needed only gesture to their position. “Ah, but you do have me, do you not?”

“Cheeky,” Randvi chastised. She poked the side of Eivor’s face for good measure, and her touch trailed down to the jaw. “If that is the frame, then you are mine only insofar as you are your own.”

“Then I am yours - and my own, and the Raven’s - entirely.”

Randvi hummed, considering this, playfully cryptic.

“Do you find these terms of alliance agreeable?” Eivor joked.

“Ah, is this how you made us so many friends?”

“Well, these Saxons are less stubborn with their bellies full of mead and their mouths full of--”

With a kiss, Randvi cut her off and confirmed their jest of a treaty.

“I have made but one pledge in this way,” Eivor said for the sake of clarity. “And it is to the woman I call my wife.”

Randvi would have embraced her again and sent them both toppling onto the bed furs, but Eivor held her rooted in place.

Eivor’s hand snuck between them, finding its purchase as Randvi settled and relaxed against honed callouses. She had no qualms with the roughness - quite the opposite, actually. They built a pace together, painstaking, but with all of agony’s antonyms. Randvi’s breaths came faster, shallower, as she clung to the unwound remnants of Eivor’s dark braids and a shaky imitation of control.

“I must ask you,” Randvi exhaled all at once.

“Anything,” Eivor interrupted.

“Tell me when you knew.”

“That is not a question.”

Randvi nipped at Eivor's neck - not wolf-kissed, this time, but something close. “Petulant.”

“When did I know, or when did the gods know?” Eivor asked. Rarely did she have such a perfect set of conditions to toy with the greatest strategist the snows had ever produced.

“Either. Both,” Randvi managed.

“I cannot speak for the gods.”

Randvi grasped at the smooth muscle of Eivor’s back, blunt nails scraping across the flat planes of her shoulder blades. Her breath came hot against Eivor’s ear, along with her next words: “When did you know you loved me?”

The drengr’s iron resolve to taunt and pester shattered, armor falling away to reveal the poet’s vulnerable heart.

“I must be honest, you were the faster study between us, Randvi,” Eivor began. “I could not name the thing that pulled me to you, even when it was like a vine around my marrow, so ingrained that I could not walk without feeling its tug.”

“More,” Randvi said. “Tell me more.”

“Everywhere I went, I heard the flowers sing of your beauty. The trees whispered about your wisdom. Great dark clouds and lightning proclaimed your unwavering strength and loyalty to all those you care for.”

Randvi said no words, but she was not quiet.

“And these were pieces, pieces - only fractured shards of a reflection.”

“Eivor...”

“I did not realize they were my own heart-thoughts the world had given voice...”

A barely stifled moan.

“Until the wind itself called me back to you.”

With that, a broken groan slipped from Randvi’s throat and her rigid fingers dug in, bruising, driven by the sheer desperation for release. Her purgatory lasted, fueled by a merciless hand, until - “Eivor!” - less a name than a surrender to catharsis.

Eivor was braced for the collapse, easily keeping Randvi from falling limp into their bed. Somewhere in Eivor’s mind, there was a witty crack brewing about stamina and poetry and how’s that for wisdom, but the peaceful flow of Randvi’s breathing as it steadied and deepened was too lovely to cut short.

Eventually, Randvi righted herself, every inch of her covered in a fresh, fine dew.

“And you thought I was fierce,” Eivor said. She started to brush a piece of sweat-stuck hair from Randvi’s forehead, but the distance between them vanished quickly.

Randvi was not capable of sloppiness in anything she did, but this - crashing their mouths together while still working to catch her own inhales - was the closest she ever came. “I stand by it,” Randvi sighed as she rested her forehead against Eivor’s.

“I’ve thought of another question for you,” said Eivor.

“Hm?”

“Are you trying to wake the whole town?”

Randvi’s laugh was a delicate wisp, but not lacking bite. “And just how many times have you cried my name tonight?”

“You assume I can count that high?”

“If either of us wakes the town tonight, it will be you, my love.” Her thumb stroked the sharp corner of Eivor’s jaw before another promising kiss. “And that is as much a threat as it is a vow.”

“So be it,” Eivor said, lying back, arms splayed freely by her head. “Let them know for whom their jarlskona bends the knee.”

***

[cross-posted on AO3]

#randivor #randvi x eivor #eivor x randvi #randivor fic #assassin's creed valhalla #acv #my writing #valhalla #if you saw me take this down and then repost it no you didn't<3 #asscreed

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weirdfanaus · 3 years

Text

The Path that Leads Home

Summary: Azriel, on a mission in Day Court, finds himself in a moment of weakness, but somehow he finds his way back home with a life-changing dream in mind.

Rating: Mature

Words: 3347

Pairing: Azriel (ACoTaR) and Original Character

Author’s Note: All characters except the original one are from A Court of Thorns and Roses. The original one was created by a friend and she allowed me to use her in this story. You can find her under @majolishdustybooks .

No spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames

Also on Ao3

Azriel didn't know what to do.

He had always known what was going on, but now he was lost.

He was in the middle of nowhere, had muddy attire, no trace of the target he was chasing and a mood at its lowest.

He sat down on a stump and felt how his syphons hummed in agreement; they needed a break too. He sighed, combing his hair with his fingers and angled his head towards the warm light.

The sun shone and through the dome of leaves, its rays got to his tanned and tired face.

And the only thing he wanted was to sleep.

Azriel and his spies had been chasing his target for more than three months. And when they found that they had been hiding in a forest over the border with the Day Court, he didn't care who was supposed to take care of them. Thus, he winnowed near the frontier and used his connections and knowledge about that court to pass it as silently as possible.

But the mission after passing it… was not as easy as it was supposed to be.

The Day Court had always meant something else for the Spymaster. He was feeling closer to home, calmer and even younger. His instincts were different than usual and his lazy syphons, having a mind of their own too, were enjoying their time in the court of light more than they should.

He was sitting against another tree, half of the front of his leathers open due to the heat and was trying to find the will to fight the sleep that was slowly conquering his whole body.

A voice broke the silence of the forest, the birds stopped singing and the Illyrian opened an eye and looked at at the owner of the voice:

"Wow! The Night Court's Spymaster sleeping? During daylight? I've lived to see this day! I thought that you, bats, slept only during the night. Is the Night Court no longer good for you, old man? Decided that you preferred the sun over the moon and the stars?"

His siphons suddenly woke up.

"Nice to see you're alive too, Cyra," he replied with a tougher voice, sleep already clouding his body.

"Darn! You really must like me, if you are still half asleep right now."

If it were autumn, her proximity would've been alerted by the fallen leaves. But because they were still enjoying the calm weather and longer days, the summer gave Azriel the lisp of the leaves’ help.

"One of our guards caught Edgard trying to break into the main building." That sentence was a wake-up call for the Spymaster and when he stood up, back in the middle of the clearing, he noted how close he was to the female.

The silence was familiar. He didn’t like to talk too much when it wasn’t needed, but her presence demanded it and his heart and mind was happy to oblige.

And that's why, even though it was not needed, Azriel's right corner of the lip rose and a "Hi" broke the silence.

Cyra's hazel eyes sparkled at his tone and, because of the light, they became greener. Her lips curved in a smile too, while saying: "Hello, Azriel. Nice to see you alive and well. Heard you made new friends."

The male shrugged and stretched his wings lazily, while the female was assessing him, looking judgely. He knew that his wings were something meaningful to her, not only because they were his, but also because of her Illyrian heritage. His wings, scarred and darker than wet tree branches, connected her to her mother, whose wings brought the late female more pain than freedom.

“Can we go to where you hold him? I need to winnow him to the Court of Nightmares and get him to talk.” Cyra was somehow caught by surprise by his voice, but she shook it off fast.

“Yeah, he is kind of asleep now. You hit him hard.” Her voice was calmer, her body more relaxed than usual, not as guarded as she was the first time he met her. Back when she was cold, young and with strands of brown hair flying in the bitter winds of the Winter Court’s mountains, possessing a look in her eyes that would’ve killed him right there.

“It’s of no surprise that you look like you got hit by a volley of arrows. Yeah, minus the blood. That’s all mud and probably… poop.” her hands moved with such speed, while she spoke, that only by looking at them, he felt more tired than before.

“Cyra… I know I look like actual shit, but can we not talk about my attire right now? I would prefer to sleep, I haven’t slept five hours continuously for days and I think that I might pass out.” He stepped towards her in a manner very unlike him and Cyra’s face turned into an open book, worry filling its pages.

“You smell…” was her reply when she caught him right before he could fall. It was a sure thing that she was thinking whether she had a dead man in her arms or not, but his head moved against her hair, white strands finding their way through his dark locks and some even reaching in his mouth. He tried to get rid of them without using his hands, but when he realized there had been no progress made, he tried to use his hands, but the female moved faster than him. “And still act as a baby.” Azriel’s face was empty of any sign of emotion.

One moment they were in the middle of a clearing, in the forest, under the sun and the other they were in the middle of a living room. Warm colours, browns and a lot of white surrounded them then.

He would never get used to the great number of plants in that house. Even though in the years he had known her and they had started to get closer to each other, his house back in Velaris was almost as crowded as the one he was in. Stalks, leaves and flower petals covering almost every surface.

He asked her once, while she was bringing yet another potted plant into his apartment, back in Velaris: “Why are you so keen on growing a forest inside my apartment?”

Cyra just shrugged and while he waited for the more elaborated answer, which was coming, he watched how she played with one of the white hair strands that were framing her face, the rest of it was kept together with a clip.

"More oxygen won't hurt you."

"Yeah, but when there is no light outside, they use my oxygen. So…?"

She made an annoyed face then and raised a finger in his direction. "You are already dark and broody, why not brighten the place a little bit?"

"I get that you don't like my colour preference, even though we are in the Night Court, sweetheart. You didn't have to fill this place that much that I don't have any place to even stand. And it's my apartment!"

The female shrugged, pissed off by his statement. She bit her lip and looked at the plant she was still holding.

"Plants show us that even after weeks of cold weather, there is still a moment when the sun will come and we will have our moment to be reborn. They bring us all joy. I thought you needed some joy in your life, Az."

He had always known, deep down, that happiness would come at some point, even though for much time he had lived in darkness, hurting.

Cyra, with her bright hair and hazel eyes, sometimes even the colour of the plants she loved and cherished, was like the light at the end of the tunnel for him. She brought him joy, freedom and he felt like light, weightless, although he was always in the shadows.

And then, in the Day Court, surrounded by plants and flowers and vegetables, he was home.

But he was still unsure what to do next.

The female started walking around the room, moving blankets on the sofa, opening cabinets and pulling out packages, cans, jars, utensils and plates.

The water was boiling on the stove when he finally decided to talk.

"I should've gone to sort the problem with Edgard."

"Don't worry about him, he will be there after you take a shower and have something to eat. We need to catch up. It's been a while. I want to know everything about your brand new High Lady." Cyra didn't raise her eyes from the cutting board, where vegetables started gathering. But her tone showed that she was in the mood to gossip.

"I heard she likes soup." She rose her eyes to him and cleaned the tomato juice off one of her fingers.

Azriel chuckled at that.

There was a joke between the Inner Circle, about how Feyre gave Rhys canned soup when they sealed the mating bond. And Azriel knew that there was no way, the Spymaster of the Day Court would not find out about it.

She lived off tormenting his friends, usually the males.

"Can I at least have a bite… small bite… from what you have decided to cook?" He tried, but he was very aware that he was full of mud, probably smelled of deer poop and looked like he had got run over by dozens of wild horses. He knew Cyra very well and her eyes told him that he needed to get cleaned as soon as possible and there was nothing else to discuss.

He puffed, sad that he had lost that ‘battle’ and aimed for the bathroom.

The bathroom was the same as he had seen it last. Toiletries spread out on the counter by the sink: toothbrushes, razors and different kinds of soaps, each specially created for certain use.

He swiftly undressed himself and lowered in the already filled magical pool. The water was always warm and his muscles sighed in approval for the moment of peace. The last week had been filled with the smell of grass, branches and flowers. Their pollen sometimes disturbing his senses, a problem, which was once a disadvantage but had been redeemed by knowing the woman in the other room. After all, he basically had a garden in his house back in Velaris.

He rubbed all the mud off and when he decided that he had spent enough time in the bathroom, he got out. And with a towel around his waist, he walked into the bedroom linked to the bathroom.

Sunlight bathed the room and the plants were sprawling towards it. On the bed placed against the wall, right in the middle of the room, sat a pile of clean clothes, black pants and underwear and a white short-sleeved shirt, which he put on.

Back in the kitchen, the female, now with her long white hair bound, was mixing something in a bowl, the water in the pot boiling behind her. He reached it and the smell it emanated was a sign that its contents were done. Opening cabinets with familiarity, Azriel strained the vegetables and dumped them in an empty, clean bowl, placing it on the counter. He seasoned them and watched Cyra take a tray with meat out of the oven.

"Take a plate and pick your favourite." She said, tray in one hand and a fork in the other, gesturing towards a cupboard where he knew she held plates.

Minutes later, the two of them sat at a table by the window, plates before them, glasses filled with lemon water. The sun was covering everything on the table, the flowers in the vase spreading their petals in approval.

Everything in that house loved the sunlight. He preferred it over the darkness of his past and shadows.

"I've heard that Rhysand got a mate." Cyra, even though she wasn't a fan of talking, was the one that usually started a conversation between the two of them.

And this conversation wasn't something he felt like doing after the week he had just had.

"Yeah, he did," was what left his lips as he chose to pick at his vegetables and steak instead of looking at her.

"When?" she stopped eating altogether, now sitting in the chair in a way that favoured conversation.

"When what?"

"When did the mating bond go… boof." she moved her arms as if she had just finished a magic trick.

"I don't know… maybe around the annual snow fight? We were in the Steppes when Feyre found out that Rhys kept the fact that they were mates from her. “

“So, she is what… angry at him, takes some time off from all of you and they sort it out?”

She jumped in, making her usual assumptions, and Azriel just nodded his head in approval. “And they do the whole cook a meal thing and stuff like that.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘something’?” she looked at him confused.

“Cans.” the word made her burst into pure laughter. She moved her hands and was almost going to spoil a glass’ components on the table, but Azriel caught it just in time.

When she calmed a little, she wiped some tears from her eyes while saying: “If Cassian gets the same treatment, I swear to the Cauldron that the three of you are destined to have mates that know nothing of the culinary arts.”

Azriel just puffed at her statement, which made Cyra shrug and plaster a small smile on her slightly tanned skin.

“She will learn…” he said hopefully, but Cyra just continued to look at him, smiling.

“It’s not like she will starve by not knowing” They looked at each other longly, thinking about a night around 200 years ago in a cabin in summer court, during a horrendous storm and a bag of potatoes.

“At least I knew how to mash potatoes,” she added a second after while grabbing another bite from her serving.

Her words, her tone and her actions right after she said that, made Azriel burst into a laughter of his own. He didn’t stop for a while, thinking of the awkwardness that went on between the two of them that night. Possibly thinking about that she started laughing too.

Still laughing, she collected the dishes off the table when they were finished, his plate almost empty, except for some leaves she used for seasoning.

“How’s Cas?” she asked while cleaning the dishes. Azriel walked around the counter, right from the dining area and propped himself against the now clean marble.

“In the Illyrian Mountains. He is trying to help Feyre's older sister figure life as Fae out.” he said while crossing his arms.

“Oh… is he all right? After what happened during that last battle…”

“It’s been a rough period of time for all of us. And I also know that I should’ve come by sooner…”

“I knew that you were alive. I could feel that you were also well, as much as somebody can be after a war… That’s what mattered,” she told him while drying her hands with a cloth. They looked at each other for seconds that felt more like hours. The silence was familiar, calm and it assured both of them that there was still time left, it wasn't running out, just yet.

“I think…”

“We should…”

They started talking at the same time. And sharing a mind connection had never been weirder and more useless before. But they held their minds from each other most of the time and that path that connected them was used in the most important situations.

And that was one of the reasons why they were that day together, because, in his state, Azriel used that connection to call for help. Help that he knew would come unconditionally.

They had decided decades ago that for this eternity to not be a burden, they needed their space. Also, the secrets of their Courts were bigger than them and they needed to be kept safe.

But the last war woke up something in him. Something that he had known since he had first met her during that mission in the Winter Court.

“You say first.” As she could feel the fight that went on inside his head, she broke the silence. Cyra looked off guard, something that he wasn’t used to, but he had seen before.

His hands were sweating, he was nervous and he didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like that was the first time they shared their hopes, dreams and insecurities with each other.

They were mates.

“I think… I think that we should try to have a baby.” He said. His voice small, eyes partially filled with fear, scared of rejection. He didn’t expect her to be always on the same page as him.

But Cyra didn’t look as angry as he had expected. She played with her fingers, one holding her wedding ring with a blue stone, the same colour as his siphons, which shone in the midday sun. And when she raised her eyes, hazel mixed with silver, she just nodded.

"I think so too."

And his whole world became even brighter than before.

He hugged her and kissed her whole smiling face, forehead, cheeks, nose, eyelids and lastly her lips a couple of times.

Their last kiss was longer than the previous ones, minds open to each other, secrets still hidden in the darkest depths of them, but happiness was buzzing between them.

Their foreheads were together when Cyra opened her eyes to look at him. He could feel her eyes on his face, his olive skin, the scars on his brows and cheeks, the circles under his eyes, but also the wrinkles created by the smile still present.

He started kissing her skin again, but this time his lips took a different path. Her throat was covered by his warm, chapped lips and in their trail, the skin was left wet and sometimes red, from sucking. She brought her arms closer to his neck, fingers running through his dark locks.

Small sounds were leaving her full lips when Azriel’s hands gripped her thighs and she was lifted off the floor and carried to the bedroom.

The sound of a closed door was followed by the rustling of clothes. Laughter filled the air again when the Illyrian stuck his shirt in a talon of his wings, but she helped and they kissed again.

The world seemed to be suddenly set on the right path when they finally joined. His kisses covered the inked skin of her chest, their marriage tattoo set right over each of their hearts. And with each step they took in their dance, they got closer and closer to the end.

Her legs hugged his waist, her arms, his neck, hands massaging his scalp, his elbows on the mattress, one hand at her nape, the other keeping him from crushing her, lips glued and their hearts were over the other, skin on skin, tattoo over tattoo. His hand searched blindly for hers when he felt that they were close to the climax, his movements speeding up. When their fingers laced through each other on the bed, the moment came.

Ragged breaths replaced the sounds of pleasure and their foreheads were once more against the other, bodies still joined and coming down from the high.

“I love you.” Her hoarse breath broke the silence. Her hand covered his cheek, trying to wipe some sweat off of his face. In a movement so similar to a cat’s, Azriel nuzzled his nose, face and hair against her damp face and placed his head in the crook of her neck, kissed the pulse point and hugged her body even more. She replied to his action by moving her hips higher and squeezed his middle. He muffled a swore in her now wild hair.

I love you too. Filled her head and a smile crept on her lips.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #acotar #acofas #weirdfanaus

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lordoftermites · 3 years

Text

THE FOX & THE THORNBUSH

Part 2: made this one a flashback (and probably should do with part 1 as well) since I just finished reading A Visit to the Impossible Lands. We’ll just pretend I knew exactly what I was doing when I wrote it.

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: A bit of G-rated fluff between Roiben and Kaye, because these two never have enough of that in their story and they fucking deserve it even if I gotta do it myself.

Part 1 here.

―――――――――

“Oh, come onnnn. Just try it,” Kaye says, nudging the paper cup nearer to his lips. Steam rises in lazy swirls to dissipate into the cool air of the brugh. It smells faintly of a berry Roiben thinks is familiar but can’t place, and even less like the coffee she promises it’s made of. “I mean, you liked the bacon and honey blend last week, and that was absolute garbage. This is the best one so far, I swear.”

Roiben inspects the cup in his hand, at the artwork representing Moon In A Cup—Kaye's coffee shop in the mortal world.

Printed on the side of the vessel is an intricate drawing of a tea cup. Its well is designed to look like the cap of a toadstool—a deep indigo, with silver speckles of varying size. Woven branches of spring-green thorn make up the handle. Inside the cup, on a wave of black coffee, floats a crescent moon. It seems to reflect the light of the hall, like a stolen sliver of moonlight. Just above that, as if drawn to the silver glow, a miniature green-winged moth hovers.

On the corner of the left wing is a letter H, written in a pastel pink flourish: Roiben takes a guess that Kaye must have finally managed to track down and enlist the talents of her favorite comic artist. Indeed, it’s fine work.

Kaye pushes the cup toward him again. “Would you stop looking at it like it might be poison and just take a fucking sip already? It’s going to get cold—and I’m not trying it until you do.” Somehow, only she can make the avid impatience of a pixie an endearing trait. Roiben suspects he might have a small bias.

Although, her admission to not having tested the brew herself first is rather dubious.

Roiben raises a brow at her, but concedes with a small grin. “I was just admiring the new emblem,” he says, before taking a tentative sip of the still-actually-very-hot contents. It scalds the tip of his tongue, but to his surprise, it really is coffee. It’s light, and there’s a bitter, but pleasant aftertaste—something familiar.

The burnt spot on his tongue is beginning to dull, replaced by a slight tingling sensation that spreads upward. He frowns, contemplating. Kaye is watching him intensely, those moonless eyes of hers glittering with anticipation. She's very near to vibrating herself right off of the arm of his throne.

They’ve made it to her favorite part of the testing: having Roiben guess the flavors—and hidden tricks—of her new concoctions. He grins again: he was incorrect only once, and that had been for the simple fact he hadn’t known, at the time, what a Goo-Goo Cluster was.

“Ah,” he muses softly. “Rowan berry.” He smiles, and Kaye looks positively crestfallen. She huffs, but it’s a brief sulk; try as she might to be a sore loser, she inevitably cheers when Roiben chuckles and pulls her into his lap. He even takes another, longer sip of the coffee, to which her smile becomes full and genuine.

There are few things in his life that can warm the residual frost in his bones, and quite nearly all of them either begin or end with that smile.

He runs a finger across his lips. As he’d thought, it wasn’t just the coffee’s temperature prickling his mouth. While he’s had a brief education of what the berries might do, he’s not, until now, had to put that information to use. “A mortal safeguard from glamours when dried and strung,” Roiben says, “it seems it also contains much of the same dilutional properties when consumed by fey.”

Kaye frowns, so he elaborates, pointing to his mouth: “I can’t feel my tongue.” There’s the lightest slur in words there, a confirmation of mild insensibility.

The usual emerald green of Kaye’s cheeks have washed out to something closer to pistachio. Roiben’s laugh rings through the otherwise-stillness of the brugh, escaping him before he can help it; perhaps the berries offer a maddening effect as well. “And you said it wasn’t poisoned.”

“But... Ravus said!” Kaye exclaims, panicked and snatching the “poisoned” coffee from him. She looks at it as though it is an enemy, a vicious foe that must be slain in earnest. “Ravus said the berries are only poisonous if they’re eaten off the plant. And even then, you won’t like, die or anything—they just cause… stomach problems. He said, and I quote, ‘as long as they’re cooked, they’re one-hundred percent safe to eat.’” She huffs again, the forced air puffing her green cheeks, and sinks back against him with a sullen glare at the cup in her hands. “I was going to run a special—Free Biodegradable Necklace With Each Purchase—y’know, some rowan berries for the mortals that come into the shop.”

Roiben knows all too well the potion-maker would not have given Kaye information with the intent to deceive; for a start, of the meager list Roiben keeps for friends, Ravus has proven himself, far and away, a creature of honor and loyalty—self-exile notwithstanding. Moreover— and more importantly, Ravus now has the greater duty of being a father; no doubt he would be remiss in a few, finer details. Roiben is almost certain he would be, should such a day ever come (though he lingers not long at all on that thought and does not allow himself the further consideration of what touching Impossibility feels like).

He knows, too, that the rowan berry will do no more harm than it already has: as some mortals have adverse reactions to the pollen of flowers, the fey suffer something similar with rowan, with only a more... mystical variant. Should the berries be ingested, the ability to glamour by speech is thoroughly subdued, until the berries are expelled one way or another. Roiben had learned of its effect on their kind years back, when Ravus had been a lone, exiled alchemist beneath a bridge, and Roiben had been naught but a fool in a king’s costume, taking many an ill-advised risk to win an unwinnable war.

He had proffered sanctuary to the exiled fey in the city then—of which that asylum had extended to Ravus and his mortal lover. And now, their small child of clay and air, with her curls of flaming copper, aurelian eyes and horn-tipped ears, carried with her the protection of the Court of Termites in its entirety; from Unseelie borough to Seelie grove, the girl would be safe.

Roiben had not, neither then or now, forced fealty, and not for more than one night and one day had he requested the man’s aid in the plan he had used to thwart Silarial. A faerie sigh, Ravus had called that brief servitude. How on the mark that turn of phrase had been—Roiben is still not so sure he had taken a single breath at all that day.

“Fret not, little fox.” The private moniker brings Kaye’s ink-black eyes back up to him. Her brows are woven together in real worry. Roiben gives his consort a pitying look, and brushes a wild lock of deep-green hair from her face. “It’s…—ah, an allergic reaction, I believe mortals call it?” Kaye exhales a wavered breath of relief, before nodding affirmatively. He kisses her pout and smiles; she tastes of honey chapstick, and a phantom of roasted dandelion tea—his favorite.

“It’s very possible,” he says, taking back the newfound nemesis and holding it out for careful examination, “as it is rarely put to use by our like due to the nature of the thing, Ravus meant it’s only safe for human consumption, and likely did not think you would try it outright on your own monarch.” Roiben winks down at her, but she doesn’t seem to enjoy the joke.

“In any case—”

With a shocked gasp of dissent from Kaye, he grins, tips the cup to stinging lips, and drains it to the dregs.

“You were right: it’s much better than the bacon.”

He smiles at her—or, at least, he hopes he’s smiling. He can’t tell: his mouth has gone entirely numb.

#i get to this point with everything i write #where i'm d o n e writing it - whether or not it's properly tied up or not #and that will be my downfall i stg #ok time to get on the pain train for the next chapters #hope yall don't wanna kill me for them bc i know i'm gonna wanna do it myself #rath roiben rye #kaye fierch #kaye x roiben #modern faerie tales #the folk of the air #mft #tfota #the wicked king #tfota fanfic

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

WHASTA DAT TONGUE DO?: Jiang Cheng x Jar Jar Wedding Night

There are some stories the world needs told.

This is not one of those stories.

Here it is anyway.

Jar Jar removes his inner robe, and Jiang Cheng inhales sharply.

He’s beautiful.

Every inch of the tall, stately Gungan is pure perfection.

Jarcheng - E - Read on AO3!!! 1st Fic - 1st Fic podfic

* * * * * NSFW * * * * *

The sun sinks beneath the distant mountains, painting the sky with a riot of pink and gold as the river settles in for the night.

The moon rises slowly as the sky darkens. The brilliant silver disc fills the star-studded sky, faintly illuminating the room with silver radiance and infusing everything it touches with a sense of peace.

A night bird hoots in the distance.

The breeze rustles through the treetops.

Lying in bed, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, savoring the stillness even as his heart pounds in delicious anticipation.

“HEYO! MEESA SHU JIANGA CHENGI! DID YOUSA MISS MEESA?” Jar Jar Binks stands in the doorway of the bridal suite, arms filled with wildflowers. “LOOKY WHAT MEESA BROUGHT MEESA BOOTIFUL HUBBY!”

He locks the door and strides across the room to where Jiang Cheng is lying in bed. As always while watching his husband, Jiang Cheng is struck by the Gungan’s effortless grace, by the grandeur of his noble bearing, by the majestic flapping of his vast ears as his entire body bobs up and down like a tall, handsome stork.

“HAIR, JIANGA CHENGI! A LOB FOR MEESA MELLI SHU!”

“Thank you, A-Jar.” Jiang Cheng accepts the bouquet with a bashful smile, marveling again at what a captivating creature his husband is. He buries his face in the flowers, inhaling their sweet aroma. “They’re very beautiful.” Almost as beautiful as you are, he wants to add, but he’s still shy about saying things like that. Instead, he plucks a flower from the bouquet and tucks it under one of Jar Jar’s impressively fan-like ears.

Jar Jar giggles, coyly batting his bulbous yellow eyes. “OH, JIANGA CHENGI, YOUSA SO CUTE! LIKE DHA ITTY-BITTY FROGS IN LAKE PAONGA!” Leaning forward, he kisses Jiang Cheng, the tip of his long pink tongue just brushing Jiang Cheng’s.

A sudden rush of heat turns Jiang Cheng’s body into a blazing inferno of desire.

“Are you ready, A-Jar?” he asks, almost pants.

“AM YOUSA READY, MEESA BEAUTIFUL JIANGA CHENGI?” Jar Jar responds seductively. “MEESA’VE BEEN READY SINCE DHA MOMENT MEESA SAW YOUSA! MEESA JUST WANT TO MAKEN SHU TO YOUSA AND MAKEN YOUSA SMILIN AND TAKEN CARE OF YOUSA DHA GUNGAN WAY!”

Dha Gungan way. Jiang Cheng shivers with anticipation at the words. Dha Gungan way…

With teasing slowness, Jar Jar removes his red and gold wedding robes, one layer at a time. Jiang Cheng is in an agony of suspense as he watches, arousal burgeoning with greater and greater urgency as each layer reveals another enticing glimpse of moist orange skin.

“Faster!” Jiang Cheng begs. “Please!”

“WELL EXSQUEEZE MEESA!” Jar Jar wags a playful finger at him. “HOW WUDE! JUST FOR DAT, MEESA’LL GOS SLOWER!”

Jiang Cheng groans to himself, his mouth suddenly dry. He’s been waiting for this moment for months.

Months of anticipation, of fantasizing, of dreaming of the moment when A-Jar would fully be his—

Jar Jar removes his inner robe, and Jiang Cheng inhales sharply.

He’s beautiful.

Every inch of the tall, stately Gungan is pure perfection.

His narrow shoulders.

His muscular orange legs with their thick, meaty ankles.

The saggy yellow-white skin on his chest and inner thighs.

The blue nails of his saucer-like feet.

His buttocks, like two large, firm oranges wedged tightly together.

The meaty flesh dangling between his legs, like an awe-inspiring carrot.

He’s truly breathtaking.

Jiang Cheng only hopes he can live up to Jar Jar’s expectations in return.

Trying to hide his shyness, Jiang Cheng pulls invitingly at the bedcovers beside him.

“OHO, JIANGA CHENGI! MEESA BEAUTIFUL HUBBY!” Jar Jar climbs in beside him. “CAN YOUSA BELIEVE IT? WEESA HERE!”

Jiang Cheng reaches out and traces Jar Jar’s delicately-ridged neck with his finger, trailing his fingertips up over Jar Jar’s delicately curved throat and along his jaw.

Jar Jar trembles with pleasure as Jiang Cheng touches his ear.

“You like that, A-Jar?” Jiang Cheng whispers.

“MEESA LIKEN DAT BERRY MUI! A GUNGAN’S EARS ARE BOMBAD SENSITIVE!” As if unable to contain himself any longer, Jar Jar rips Jiang Cheng’s inner robe off, tearing the delicate red silk. He slides his large orange hand over Jiang Cheng’s chest, and Jiang Cheng swallows hard at the feel of the cool, clammy skin, at the sight of the beautiful blue nails against his own pale skin. “DO IT AGAIN, MEESA SHU!”

Jiang Cheng slips a hand around Jar Jar’s long narrow face and licks his ear.

Jar Jar releases a shuddering sigh. “PLEASE DON’T BE STOPPIN! YOUSA TONGUEY FEELEN LIKE AN ITTY-BITTY WORMY MAKIN SHU TO MEESA EAR!"

Paying back Jar Jar’s excruciating slowness in undressing, Jiang Cheng slowly runs his tongue along the length of Jar Jar’s ear, relishing how scaly the skin feels, the batwing-like ridges, the moans of pleasure Jar Jar releases with each teasing swipe.

Jiang Cheng’s own pleasure pump rises higher and higher with each toe-curling moan, until it stands tall and straight like the mast of a proud ship ready to set sail.

Jar Jar, ever attentive to his husband, notices right away.

“OHO, MOOLE MOOLE! LOOKY LIKE LITTLE JIANGA CHENGI IS COM OUT TO PLAY WITH MEESA PADDLEWOMPER!” He grins at Jiang Cheng, the moonlight glinting off his tombstone-like teeth and making his yellow eyes shine like opals. “MEBBE NOT SO LITTLE, HUR HUR! DHA THIRD PRIDE OF YUNMENG, INDEEDY!"

"You're not too bad yourself," Jiang Cheng mumbles, blushing.

“ISA OUR NEW FRIEND READY FOR SPLISHY-SPLASHY, AS WEESA CALLS IT ON NABOO?”

Jiang Cheng nods, blushing harder, and Jar Jar’s tongue shoots out, wrapping itself around the Third Pride of Yunmeng.

Jiang Cheng gasps as Jar Jar’s thick, pliant tongue wraps itself around the most sensitive part of him, the slippery wetness squeezing tighter and tighter, jerking up and down until he comes with a cry. As he comes, every inch of his body alight with pleasure, he reflexively bites down on Jar Jar’s thick, rubbery ear.

Jar Jar releases a long, resonant, and utterly titillating honking noise.

As soon as Jiang Cheng is spent, spluttering out onto A-Jar’s tongue, he starts to apologize, only to be stopped when something sticky squirts up at him.

Jar Jar’s cum is thick and yellow, with a fragment smell reminiscent of delicately-rotting fish. The precious fluid is splattered over Jiang Cheng’s face, dripping from his upper lip and into his mouth. Jiang Cheng licks his lips, trying to catch as much of the delicious liquid as possible.

“OHO MEESA SHU, MEESA BOMBAD SHAMED! MEESA DIDN’T MEAN FOR DAT TO BE HAPPENEN!” Jar Jar looks down at himself, eyes wide. “ITSA JUST BEEN A LONGO TIME, THAT'S ALL!” The sweet fishy liquid is still dribbling down A-Jar’s glorious “Paddlewomper,” and, seized by a sudden fit of desire even greater than the fiery passion he’d already burned with, Jiang Cheng leans down and licks Paddlewomper’s long orange side, then slides the enormous girth into his mouth and sucks hard, straining to extract every last drop of the delectable liquid from the hot slick tube of erotic delights.

“OIE BOIE! DAT FEELS SO BERRY GOOD, MEESA SHU! DON’TEN BE STOPPIN!”

Jiang Cheng raises his head. His cheeks are pink, eyes hot. “I feel—I feel—” He pounces on Jar Jar, peppering his face with kisses as he grinds his groin into the ravishing Gungan’s shapely leg. “What is this, A-Jar? What’s happening to me?”

“OHO! MEESA THINK MEESA KNOW!” Jar Jar’s opalescent yellow eyes are wide. “DERE’S AN OLD GUNGAN TELLO DAT GUNGAN SQUEEZLE IS MAKEN BOMBAD DESIRE FOR HUMANS, BUT MEESA NOSA BELIEVED IT! AND NOW IT SEEM LIKEN IT BE WORKEN DHA OTHER WAY ROUND TOO!”

Jiang Cheng’s response comes in the form of a whimpering moan. “A-Jar—A-Jar—I need more, A-Jar—I need more—”

In a flash, Jiang Cheng is flipped over onto his stomach. Jar Jar’s strong hands raise him up onto all fours, one hand around the Third Pride of Yunmeng, his other hand firmly around Jiang Cheng’s chest, holding him in place. A squelching sound, and one of Jar Jar’s thick fingers enters Jiang Cheng’s love canal, preparing him for the entrance of Jar Jar’s meaty paddlewomper.

“DISA OIL SMELLEN GOOD! ONLY DHA BEST FOR MEESA SHU! SPECIAL LOTUS SEED OIL TO HELPEN DHA WAY!”

Jiang Cheng grips the silken bed sheets as Jar Jar’s thick finger grazes the pleasure pod nestled deep within his secret place. “A-Jar—oh, A-Jar—“

Jar Jar’s paddlewomper enters him with a single quick thrust, stretching Jiang Cheng around its enormous girth. Jiang Cheng cries out at the delightful intrusion, spreading his legs slightly to allow his husband's powerful Gunganhood to enter him more fully. Jar Jar thrusts forward, sliding his thick paddlewhomper in and out of Jiang Cheng, faster and faster as the flame of their fiery passion grows into an erotic inferno of desire.

“OHO, JIANGA CHENGI, MEESA NEVER WANTS TO LETTEN YOUSA GOS!!”

Desperate for more friction, Jiang Cheng rocks his hips, grinding down into Jar Jar's hand. “Harder, A-Jar, harder—”

Jiang Cheng is cut off by a hot slick something sliding inside his open mouth, filling his throat with wet, slippery heat.

A-Jar’s tongue. A-Jar’s muscular, alluringly prehensile tongue, pink as a lotus flower, warm as honey on a summer day, wet as the morning grasses bejeweled with warm dew.

Jiang Cheng almost comes on the spot.

Frenzied with desire, Jar Jar thrusts into Jiang Cheng from both ends, the sloppy wet sounds of their lovemaking filling the room like a symphony dedicated to their passion. Jiang Cheng moans around Jar Jar’s mouth-filling tongue as Jar Jar's paddlewhomper plunges deeper and deeper into the very core of his being, activating the tender love button throbbing hotly in his depths.

Jar Jar spills himself inside Jiang Cheng, marking the innermost recesses of Jiang Cheng’s being with proof of his passion. At the feel of the wet heat inside him, Jiang Cheng comes too, his erotic instrument shuddering desperately in Jar Jar’s hand and spurting its liquidy cargo over the red silk sheets.

Jar Jar pulls free of Jiang Cheng with a loud wet pop.

“ARE YOUSA OKEY-DOKEY, MEESA SHU?” He peers down into Jiang Cheng’s flushed face. A-Jar’s beautiful yellow eyes are bright, his orange face dark with pleasure and exertion. He is the very symbol of virility, radiating potency and strength. “YOUSA NEEDEN MORE LOTUS SEED OIL OR ISA MEESA SQUEEZLE ENUFF?”

“More?” Jiang Cheng gasps.

“IF YOUSA’RE UP FOR MORE SPLISHY-SPLASHY, MEESA IS TOO!” Jar Jar glances down at his husband. Little Jiang Cheng is already back in firing position, the Gungan aphrodisiac pumping through its master's veins. “Paddlewomper” is standing up too, glistening enticingly in the moonlight and casting a long shadow on the wall.

“Yes, please, please, anything you want—"

“JUST SPAKE ‘DOPWOPEE’ IF YOUSA NOSA LIKEN, OKEEDAY, AND MEESA BE STOPPEN!” And Jar Jar’s tongue shoots out, wrapping itself around Jiang Cheng’s hands and binding his wrists to the bedframe above his head. “YOUSHA LIKEN DISH, MEESHA SHU?” Jar Jar asks around his stretched tongue. "ISHA OKEY-DOKEY?"

“Yes, yes, please—”

“AHA, MEESHA ITTY-BITTY LOTUSH FLOWER ISHA EAGER! MEESHA LIKEN TO SHEE IT!” With a coquettish toss of his ears, Jar Jar raises one of Jiang Cheng’s legs onto his shoulder and, coating his magnificent paddlewomper with more fragrant lotus seed oil, thrusts deep inside his husband with a juicy squelching sound.

Back arching, Jiang Cheng strains at his slippery pink bonds. “Don’t stop, A-Jar, never stop—”

It’s almost dawn before either of them are satisfied. The bed broke somewhere between their fifth and sixth rounds, and now they lie in the sticky tangle of sheets on the floor, hand in hand.

“YOUSA HAPPY, MEESA SHU?” Jar Jar asks Jiang Cheng, smoothing his sweaty hair away from his face. “ALL BEING GOOD? NOSA OUCHIES?”

Jiang Cheng laughs. His throat is sore from hours of screaming in the throes of carnal ecstasy, his feet are cramping from all the toe-curling, his back hurts from when the bed collapsed, he’s dehydrated, chafed inside and out, and limp as a wet rag, but despite that he’s filled with a sense of bone-deep peace.

“Nosa ouchies, A-Jar,” he says.

And there never will be, not ever again. Not ones that truly matter.

Not so long as he has A-Jar beside him.

Snuggling up against his husband, Jiang Cheng falls asleep.

* * * *

TANKEN FOR READING!! COMMENTS MAKEN MEESA BERRY SMILIN! DON'T BE SHY!!

#jiang cheng #jarcheng #jar jar binks #jar jar #I did tell you you could block the tag so you have no one but yourself to blame here #lotus after dark

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lemoncherrypop · 4 years

Text

To Build A Home

deatheater!seungcheol x gryffindorprincess!reader

notes: i’ve been creating a harrypotter au with seventeen in my head for the longest time, and i thought i’d finally sit down and write it out. warnings: this will get dark and heavy. there will be character deaths, and lots and lots of angst. i will write out specific warnings before every chapter. thanks to my beta @minigum for always listening to me rant about seventeen 🖤 my most precious girl, i love you 🖤 length: 1.8k

Series Masterlist

One l Two l Three | Four | coming soon...

Chapter One

Run.

Run until your lungs collapse. Run until your legs break in half. Run until your body bleeds dry.

And even then, you must run.

They were coming for you. The castle was under attack, and the place you’ve called home for the past seven years was on fire. With the roaring flames behind you, you wept as you ran away from Hogwarts. Ignoring the burning glow on your back, you gripped tightly onto your wand.

There were two of them trailing right behind you. You cursed under your breath, the anonymity of the Death Eaters who hid behind their masks striking more fear in you than you’d like to admit.

“Stupefy!” You blasted right behind you, sparing yourself the tiniest of glimpses for the chance of a decent shot.

You hear a violent thud, and grin, knowing that you managed to knock down one of them. Good.

“Goodbye, Cicero!” The remaining Death Eater jumped over his fallen comrade with glee, almost skipping with delight as he chased you away from Hogwarts.

Cicero. You've seen that name before. His name was one of many who had gone to Azkaban for torturing over a dozen muggles right at the center of King’s Cross. If a wizard was unhinged enough to use dark magic in one of the most crowded muggle places, who knew what he would’ve done to you? You thank your lucky stars that you had gotten him before he reached you.

“Keep running, mudblood!” He screamed, sending another red light your way. “I’ll catch you! I’ll catch every last one of you!”

You shouted protego over and over again, the shield procuring itself to deflect all the fired spells. It was easier to defend yourself than to attack when you could only face forward to escape. But endless hexes were being shot your way, left and right, and your shielding charm could only protect you for so long. You needed to reach the portkey. Fast.

Running alone, and fighting off a crazed Death Eater, you thought of your best friend. You desperately wanted to find her. You wanted to make sure she was safe, but you knew you couldn’t do anything. At the moment, the only person you could worry about was yourself. After all, you made a promise to her, and you intended to keep it.

“Your port key is an old silver necklace, okay? It’s an old rusty thing, but it’ll be hanging on that tree you crashed into during our third year.” Jean, your best friend since year one pulled you into a hidden alcove. Her words were spilling out of her lips in a harsh whisper. “At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the big sycamore tree split in half, that’s where your necklace is.”

“What are you talking about?” Your stomach drops. “What portkey? Where am I going?”

“I can’t tell you, but you can’t stay here,” she shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears threatening to fall. “Just trust me, please. Remember this, tomorrow night, after midnight, you need to run. You remember, don’t you? That tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest?”

You try to swallow down your rising panic, nodding fervently, “I do, but—”

“No questions!” She cuts you off, her tears escaping down her cheeks. “I’m doing this for you! Can you do this for me?”

“Am I— am I leaving?”

“Yes.”

You let out a shuddering breath. You knew the war was coming. The school hasn’t been the same since it started a month ago, but you didn’t think battle would come so soon. At Hogwarts no less.

“What about you?” You grab her hands, dread sinking into your heavy heart. “You’re a muggle-born too! It’s not safe for either of us.”

“I’m running as well. It’ll be you and me.” Jean tries her best to smile. “But I will have a different portkey. We have to leave separately, it’ll be safer for us that way.”

“Where is your portkey then?”

“I can’t tell you, I want you to only focus on yours,” Jean says. “Remember, the necklace hanging on the tree at the edge of the forest. Don’t forget it.”

You echo her words, repeating her instructions like a mantra. Jean quickly wipes her tears away and hugs you.

“This won’t be goodbye,” she says.

“I’ll see you again,” you promise her, lifting your pinky finger.

Jean brings up her own pinky, intertwining it with yours for only a few short seconds, and briskly walks away to leave you in your own tears.

The run to the Forbidden Forest was an excruciatingly long one. You’ve managed to go past the Whomping Willow successfully, and your legs were burning just as much as your lungs. With a quick twist of your wrist, you send a hex behind you, but it barely skims the Death Eater on the arm. The hex only encouraged the mad man even more, and his cackles grew increasingly louder, continuing his frenzied run after you with no sign of exhaustion.

Blood was pumping in your ears, and the deranged laughter of the killer behind you nearly echoed in the open fields. Red flashes streaked by you, and a few of them had scraped your neck and your arms, the skin tearing open in a painful sizzle. But despite all the open wounds on your body, all you could feel was the urgency to find the necklace, and the will to stay alive. The pain would come later.

“Expulso!” You blast and narrowly miss the Death Eater, clumps of dirt flying into the air as it hits the ground behind him. His smile only grows wider, running with undisturbed blitheness as he gains in on you by the seconds.

Perhaps the fact that he was getting closer to you was distracting him. The Death Eater stopped shooting spells at you entirely, only calling out mudblood, mudblood as if it were a song. He sounded too delighted at the thought of capturing you alive that his wand was simply waving about in his hand and nothing else.

Up ahead, you could finally see the Groundskeeper’s Cabin. It was right behind there where the sycamore tree would be, holding onto the precious portkey that would whisk you away from death’s grip.

Keeping your eyes focused on the path in front of you, you muster up every last remaining bit of your energy and ran. Faster than you had before, you bolted towards your portkey at almost an inhumane speed, the adrenaline was coursing throughout your body.

You jump past the small pile of chopped wood next to the hut, making a beeline straight to your destined tree.

It was right there, right in front of you.

“Come now, mudblood!” The Death Eater called after you. “I have plans to play with you!”

The moon was bright tonight, and you could see the necklace. The metal sheened even through the rust, and you dashed towards it.

“Master said I could take my time with you,” he cackled. “Said I could do anything I wanted!”

Closer, and closer. You could almost feel his claws scratching the back of your neck.

“I could round you up with all my other little toys!”

You reached your hand out, fingers stretched out desperately to the dangling chain.

“The other boy cried out so delightfully—”

The air twisted around you violently, whisking you away from the Death Eater’s grasp and out of his wickedness.

The portkey dropped you on a hill surrounded by cornflowers and verbenas. It was storming, and the clouds weighed heavy in the sky, darkening the land below it.

With a sob, you fall to your knees and hug yourself. Burying your face into your hands, you tremble from both the cold and the waning fear with your brush with death itself. You had escaped your home successfully. You had made it out alive. But you were alone.

Lifting your head, you couldn’t see much. Everything was so dark, both the rain and your tears blurring your vision. After much effort, you pulled yourself back up to your feet and looked around. There was a house ahead of you, and you slowly walked towards it. It was absolutely decrepit, the roof was broken in, every window was shattered, and the front door was hanging by a single bolt. No one could ever live in a house like that.

You wept even more, feeling more lost and helpless than ever. What plans did Jean have for you? And why did she send you to a broken-down house in the middle of nowhere?

“Over here.” You hear a voice, and your eyes snap up towards the source.

It was Mingyu, your tall Slytherin classmate and also Jean’s boyfriend. You knew him, you could trust him. Mingyu was standing just a few meters away from you. “Come follow me,” he said, beckoning towards you. “The house is this way.”

“Lumos,” you muttered, lighting up the muddy flowers in front of you. You trudge forward, your calfskin boots get caked with dirt, and a heavy ache begins settling deep into every muscle of your body.

There were no greetings when you reached him. He only nodded somberly and walked ahead, towards the crumbling home. You walk only for a moment before he stops in front of you.

Mingyu reaches for your hand. “You need me to go through the wards.” and he walks forward.

The air rippled around you, and you could immediately feel a warmth radiating from the house in front of you. Before you stood not a house in ruin, but a beautiful old stone cottage. Slabs of rocks were cemented together to form chimneys that go high up towards the sky, arched windows with intricate designs adorned every wall, and a lovely flower bed that was currently getting overwatered by the storm was lined up on all sides of the cottage.

It was two stories tall, and as you faced the home, you realized that you were looking directly into the cottage.

The stone cottage was, well, mostly made of stone, except for the giant sheet of glass that took up the majority of the front of the home. Chunks of granite were pebbled on all four edges of the glass wall, which seemed to be built for the living room. To the right of the transparent front was a wooden door, and a detailed carving of an anilius snake curved itself into a giant S.

“The others are waiting for you.” Mingyu made his way to the front door, and turned the bronze handle.

“Others?” You hastily wipe your tears and your snot filled nose with your sleeve, and found it to be completely drenched. Mingyu has already made his way inside, and you wipe your face clean to the best of your ability and hurriedly follow in after him.

#seungcheol scenarios #seventeen fic #harry potter au #seventeen x harry potter #seventeen harry potter au #scoups scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #seungcheol #scoups

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strawberryswalker · 3 years

Text

@unlicenscd

It was nighttime in the mountains of Ambarino. The chill of an early fall was present, and makes the old man feel comfortable. Thaddeus holds the reigns of Old Ben. Now nearing twenty the poor horse probably didn’t have much longer. But he was still good for a mosey around. But up this mountain, Thad would rather just walk him. They both know these hills, they have been traversing them all their lives together. Ben and Thaddeus.

Though the chill does not bother Thaddeus, he is bundled up to the point of sweating. It has been many years but one thing he always remembered, was to double bundle up. so he can give his layers to Dante who would be forever suffering in the cold.

“Almost there boah.”

Thad encourages the old mustang, bringing a hand up to rub at Ben’s muzzle with affection. The smell of iron had been in the air for about an hour now. And Thaddeus had gotten used to that, because it normally meant. Dante was near.

The woods are dark, but Thaddeus doesn’t need much light. The moon was plenty. He could see the light of a campfire just up the hill. And with a faint chuckle he knows he is close. The hill was a bit steep, but he and Ben both manage to walk up to the camp.

There Thaddeus see’s a few melting banks of snow, probably from yesterdays light snowing. But he also saw a lot of blood on said snow. And dark spots in the dirt. Which he could only imagine was blood as well. Dante was sitting at the fire, his eyes reflect in the flames like a snakes and a cats combined.

The old man looks to the then pile of bodies that were in a pile and see’s the ever familiar green colors of his past. Thaddeus lets go of Ben’s reigns. Knowing the horse ain’t goin’ no where. And he moves to sit next to Dante by the fire. Taking off two of his coats and draping them round Dante’s shoulders before he sat down. Dante is so cold all the time, he doesn’t know if giving Dante his jackets ever help..but Dante hasn’t ever said nothing so far, so Thad would always be a gentleman. And try and warm his man up.

“You know we get more money for them alive.”

Thaddeus teases softly and then leans to plant a kiss to Dante’s cheek. His graying mustache was rough against the others cheek, but Thad's love was as warm as his jackets were too. Maybe a bit musky from him sweating in them.

Dante’s hand moves to Thad’s thigh and they both lean into one another’s sides.

“You smell like blood.” Thad chuckles, not ashamed of his lover, just amused.

“And you smell like..Poppies?”

Dante turns his head to his old man, his oldest lover, and best friend throughout so many years. And it was still nice, to see him smile. He may look mean and crotchety, like his daddy. His face may be half burned and he may look like and act like a monster sometimes. But deep down Thaddeus was still that idiot who he loves..And who loves him back no matter what happens. Monster or not.

Dante moves a hand into his lovers silver hair and grips the locks playfully, leaning in and taking in a deep breath as he nuzzles Thad’s neck. Sure he can hear the blood flowing, but he fed off six men, so he won’t take a drop form his old man.

Thaddeus purrs as he feels Dante nuzzle into his burned side of his neck. Kissing and breathing him in. Thaddeus just gives a throaty laugh, his hands moving over Dante’s back to hold to his immortal lover of the bayou.

“I rubbed a buncha’ flowers on mahself cuz I knew I'd be sweatin with them jackets on for you. Didn’t wanna be some gross old man, just coming up for some nookie with his man..Gotta’ be a little classier in mah age ya know. Gotta’ keep you interested still.”

That makes Dante laugh, only Thaddeus would think that rubbing flowers over his body as a perfume would keep him interested. Well, the dumbass was right. Thaddeus laughs because he knows he is silly! But he aint got fancy perfumes in Strawberry! That was a Saint Denis luxury he aint had in a long while.

“You know, you smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Dante praises, and as expected, even in the firelight, he can see a hint of a blush on Thad’s cheeks.

“And thank you for the jackets, I’ve been freezing up here.”

He lies tenderly, because he knows that if, Thaddeus knew the truth. Well there was a chance sweet moments like this would be gone. And he’d rather get to wear Thad’s sweaty, flower smelling sweat and coat, than just the blood on the wind. The warmth behind the jackets, and his lovers love did warm him plenty though.

Thaddeus and Dante sit by the campfire, and canoodle by a pile of dead O’driscolls. Tomorrow they will bring the bodies in for some cash. For now, they catch up, and don't let one another go.

#drabble #just felt like writing a drabble for them and make it a little spooky as it tis the season #unlicenscd

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henryobsessed · 4 years

Text

The Widow and The Witcher Chapter 11

Summery: Geralt goes to fight the Bruxa and Julia is bonding with Ciri

Word Count: 2500

Warning: Fight Scene, Supernatural event

A/N This is my first fight scene so if this is your thing would love some pointers :)

Chapter 11

It had taken a full morning to gather his items from the merchants, and the Villager had met Geralt in the marketplace at noon. After eating a quick meal, they set off. It was a quiet Journey, the Villager whose name was Nial only spoke when necessary which suited Geralt's mood. That night they bedded down at a tavern in the next town. Geralt didn't sleep well, instead, his mind kept running through his plan of attack. The Bruxa had uncanny speed and invisibility so he would need the element of surprise, to catch it in the act of enticing someone. He would only have one chance, once it knew he was there he would have to act fast. Hopefully, striking it with his silver sword and if not then last resort allowing it to bite him which was not an option he wished to pursue.

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The day Geralt had left, Julia thankfully had no clients. During the morning Ciri and Julia had distracted themselves in the kitchen with Nessie learning how to bake Nessie's famous chocolate chip cookies. That afternoon Ciri stood in front of a Tobias and 10 other men, she held her sword and instructed them in the art of defensive sword techniques. "Remember to block your opponent, then think strategically don't just act out of anger." Dividing them into pairs they then began to practice her sword movements. Geralt had left instructions for Ciri to teach Tobias and any servants from the estate who wished to learn so there would be more than one prepared to fight.

While they practised Renee and Julia walked in the gardens picking flowers to brighten the bedrooms and the dining hall. As Julia was admiring the vivid colours of the roses, Renee settled her basket next to hers "Julia, I have to tell you something." Julia turned regarding Renee, her young friend seemed to be bursting at the seams with a joy that seemed to radiate from her being. Renee placed her hands on her belly and just smiled at Julia nodding. Pulling Renee into a hug she squeezed her friend, who she now considered as a daughter. Smiling she said "oh Renee, that is so exciting. How long have you known?" blushing Renee said, "I think this is a honeymoon baby"

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The following two days Geralt and Nial travelled at a steady pace arriving at his Village late on the third day. The weary travellers were greeted by Nial's wife Anna along with their youngest daughter. Anna led them into the small cottage. They were not poor, but it was a modest home with a single area that served as a living and eating area, as well as the kitchen. Off to the right of this room were two doors leading to the bedrooms one for the parents and one for the children. They shared a simple meal together of steamed vegetables. Together they sat on cushions on the floor around a small low table which held the steaming bowls of food and their cups of water.

Even though they had a terrible loss, there was a palpable love that was shared between them. It was made evident by a look, a gentle touch, and words of praise as Nial said "Anna, this is a beautiful meal. I have missed your cooking while we have been apart." Once the meal was finished Nial's daughter curled up in her father's lap a peace falling over the child's face as the adults talked. Nial making sure his daughter safely tucked in his arms was sleeping directed a more pointed conversation to Geralt "How are you going to catch and kill this monster. What will be your needs to accomplish this?"

Geralt looked to both Nial and Anna expecting to see anger, revenge on their faces but instead saw only sadness. Anna had moved to lean into Nial at this point and the family unit made Geralt's arms ache for Julia and Ciri. Lowering his head he looked at his hands, unsure of how to answer Nial's question. Looking back up to the grieving family he spoke "I will need to be diligent to keep watch to see if any more young men are enticed away from the village. Once I see that I will be able to follow and dispatch the Bruxa. They are cunning and unless they feel safe will not venture near again. I will sleep in this room as the window faces the forest. I should be able to see from this vantage point."

At this the small group fell silent, the weight of what was ahead for the Witcher weighed heavily on his mind. The small family also sensed this and quietly went about setting up for bed. Geralt watched as Nial stood his sleeping child in his arms. A look of love on his face as he gazed at her while walking to her room. Anna moved silently and quickly, setting up a pallet for Geralt to sleep or rest on as he kept watch from the window. She came to his side and placing a small hand on his arm whispered "Thank you for coming, we are praying to the unnamed God that you are successful in your hunt. We don't want any more families to have to endure the pain we have felt." She shyly reached up and kissed him on the cheek before exiting the room.

Geralt's hand went to his cheek, this was the first time outside of Wolnosci that he had been treated with such care. What was it about these people who sprouted homage to this unnamed God! Frustration was building in Geralt, he missed Julia, missed Ciri, and even missed the dam mundane of the estate. Looking out the window he tried to focus to adjust his eyes to the night. An hour passed as he tried to keep his mind focused and then he saw movement.

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Julia had not been able to relax since Geralt had left three days ago. Renee and Ciri had tried everything to distract her and Renee had almost succeeded with her news. However here she was again full of worry. Ciri, Renee, and Tobias were doing sums over at the table in the library when Ciri looked over to Julia. She was sitting in her chair staring into the flames again her hands balling in her skirt brow furrowed. Wishing she could do something to ease Julia's worry she spoke to Tobias " Can I be excused, I think I need to go talk with Julia" seeing the concern in Ciri's eyes he excused her.

Ciri walked over to Julia and knelt by her chair, taking Julia's balled hands in hers. This startled Julia who looked down at the child with surprise. Seeing the child wanted to be with her she moved to the rug on the floor just as she would have with Geralt. Maneuvering themselves so Ciri was cuddled into Julia, her arms around the young girl Julia sighed. How did this precious child know she needed this physical contact? Ciri spoke quietly "Julia, Geralt will be ok. He's one of the best of the Witcher's." The young girl's voice held so much conviction Julia could not help but be soothed. Sighing Julia stroked Ciri's arm and responded "I know Ciri, but when you care about someone so deeply. It's hard to trust that they will be ok. You want the best for them, and you want to protect them. I hate that he is putting himself in harm's way. That I'm not there to help him if he is injured." Ciri knew what Julia was saying. She herself had pleaded with Geralt to take her with him so she could fight alongside him. It had only been Geralt extracting a promise to stay and protect Julia that made her agree to let him go.

The clock over the mantel struck 10 and as they all prepared to retire for the night Ciri looked to Julia. Feeling Julia needed more comfort Ciri asked: "Can sleep with you tonight?" Julia also sensing the child needed comfort agreed. Together they walked back to her room. Changing into there nightgowns they moved between the warmed sheets and Julia tucked Ciri into her arms. As Ciri's breathing started to even out, indicating she was falling asleep, Julia looked at the child in her arms. This child who had been unexpected had grown on Julia, and right now she was feeling a warm maternal love growing deeper inside her heart for Geralt's child surprise.

Geralt moved silently amongst the trees, just ahead of him he could see the young man and the tall raven-haired beauty. Her skin so white it glowed under the moon's rays making her hair stand out even more stark against her silhouette. She and the boy stood amongst the trees, her body leaning toward the young man who had fallen on his knees before her. Geralt knew he would only have one chance, one opportunity to kill this creature of the night. Confirming it was a Bruxa he took the vial of Black blood from his small bag hoping this would not be how he would kill the monster. Wanting to cover all his options he swallowed the foul concoction. As he crept closer, he could hear her gentle coaxing, her lullaby of song that held the young man transfixed. Sword in hand he stepped into the clearing and took aim.

The blade connected with the flesh of the creature causing her to scream. The sonic sound echoed through the quiet night. A piercing wave reverberating within his head, causing Geralt to drop his sword, and hold his hands over his ears. The beautiful woman who had been standing in front of the young man now turned into a hideous black bat-like creature. Its hands becoming talons apart from the one which had been removed by the Witcher's first blow. Regaining some equilibrium Geralt dove for his sword as the creature turned from the Man towards its assailant. Grabbing his sword Geralt turned and took another precise swing, slashing the torso of the Bruxa. She screamed again causing Geralt to fall to his knees the sound almost piercing his eardrums this time. He just needed to get close enough to stab her through the chest Geralt thought, as the Bruxa jumped on him trying to tear his armour with its good talon. Reaching for his sword Geralt realised it was too far away. He struggled with the Bruxa trying to gain control as the creature looked like it was going for his neck.

Julia sat up in bed in a sweat, she had seen in her dream Geralt fighting with a dark creature. It had him pinned on the ground ready to strike. Ciri also sat up sensing Julia in distress and having also had a bad dream about Geralt. Panting Julia shared her dream, Ciri with surprise confirmed she had also dreamt the same. Julia trying to think what this could mean said "Ciri, we can't do much from here, but will you pray with me. It is all we can do for him" tears running down her cheeks Ciri nodded to Julia and together they held hands. Shutting her eyes Julia spoke with urgency "Unnamed God, we urgently seek your help, please send your angels to assist Geralt. Send them to his aid. We ask for his deliverance from this dark creature" as she spoke Ciri turned to her, her eyes turning a strange colour and she spoke with a different voice. "I hear you, child, do not fear" at that Ciri fainted into Julia's arms.

Geralt was desperate to get his sword or to loosen his hand enough to get his small dagger from its hidden place in his armour. When he thought all was lost and the creature was going to rip into his neck it looked up. Screamed at something in the trees, whatever had distracted the creature it gave him the advantage. He was able to get his silver dagger and plunge it into the Bruxa's chest. Hearing a final scream from the dark creature it fell to its side no breath left in its lungs.

Geralt assessed his wounds. The creature's talons had connected with his skin on his leg and the side of his neck. However, nothing that would not heal. He looked around and found the young man curled up in a ball hidden behind a tree. Kneeling down he spoke softly and with kindness "its ok, the creature is no more." Placing a hand on the young man's shoulders he turned and looked up. Fear emanated from his eyes. "Come", helping the young man up the two of them walked back to the creature. Geralt needing to complete the job got some matches out from his bag and lit the creature alight. Looking around he saw the talon laying on the ground collecting it as proof he and the young man headed back to the Village.

Nial and Anna met him at the door to their cottage, seeing the young man Anna took him inside to warm him up. Nial saw the talon in Geralt's hand and uncharacteristically started to cry. Not sure what to do with the emotions of the man Geralt dropped the talon and awkwardly believing this is what Julia would have done, gave the man a side hug. He comforted Nial until the man had stopped his weeping, and drew him into the house.

The following day Geralt was taken by Nial to meet the alderman of the town. He was a burly man with a full mop of curly hair hidden under a funny tall hat. He greeted Geralt with a warm handshake and a big smile "Thank you Witcher for riding us of this terrible creature. Here is 3,000 Oren as thanks for your work" Geralt went to refuse payment as Julia had said they didn't need it. However, at the last moment, he had a thought, Geralt took the bag with thanks and turning to Nial said "Do you have a jeweler in town?" a smile crossing his face.

By lunchtime, Geralt had visited the local Jeweler and found exactly what he wanted. With the rest of the Oren, he bought provisions for the way home. With what was left he went to give it to Nial as a blessing to his family. Nial's face burned "no I can't take this Geralt, that's for your family." Geralt knowing this is what Julia would have wanted him to do put the bag in Nial's hand. "Please take it as a blessing from my house to yours" at this Anna gave Geralt a hug. They waved him and Rose off as he began his journey home, home to his family.

Previous Chapter Ten Next Chapter Twelve

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#thewidowandthewitcher #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #henry cavill

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vsuvia · 4 years

Note

okokok asra dealing with catatonic mc fic please~

i am SO SORRY this took so long, but i really wanted this to be special and i really enjoyed writing it! i hope you like it

As soon as you open your eyes, you know. You just know.

It’s going to be another one of those days, the ones where moving feels as hard as climbing a mountain. Where the night before is a haze of pain and magic — your head still feels tender, the light stings your eyes — and the morning is something you don’t want to face. You will your eyes closed but they won’t go.

Some time later, Asra wakes; you can hear his breathing change, stutter out of the slowness of sleep. He stretches out, his movements languid, beautiful as always, until he remembers the body next to him and stops mid-yawn. Worry takes over his features, and he turns to search your face. Once, twice, he says your name, and when the only thing you do is blink in response, he curses softly under his breath. His hand touches your cheek, rubs under your eyes, the dark circles there. “I’m so sorry.” He leans in to kiss your forehead, and you want to lean into him, you want to so badly, but your body won’t behave. “We’ll figure this out, I swear it. I swear it.”

With the creaking of the bed frame, he leaves you, coming back a few moments later with a flask full of the potion he keeps on hand for when you get like this. It doesn’t help you move, but it keeps the headache away, and you’re grateful for that. So gently, he sits you up in bed, tilts the stuff down your throat. It’s been sweetened with honey, which isn’t necessary for the recipe, but he knows you like it. And the feelings hit you all at once: guilt for making him take care of you like this, frustration that you can’t stop it, and longing so deep and powerful it knocks the wind out of you. You want to apologize to him, to thank him, to kiss him until you forget that you’ve forgotten everything important in your life.

But you can’t, so you just try to use your magic to push even an iota of the feeling towards him and let him know. When he pulls away and goes to wipe your mouth off, his thumb brushes your lip and he jumps back like he’s been shocked, then looks down at you, expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize. Or thank me. I get to be here with you, to take care of you. How lucky am I?”

It’s too much, you don’t deserve it, and heat rises to your cheeks as he tucks the blankets around you, props another pillow behind your neck. From the basket at the foot of the bed, a purple head emerges, and then Faust slithers up the covers towards you. She must ask about you, because Asra grimaces as he puts the emptied flask on the counter. “Unfortunately.” Another silence, then: “The same thing we always do, Faust. Take care of her. Make her as comfortable as we can… There’s nothing much else we can do. I hope it’s enough.”

Of course it’s enough. The words sit on the back of your tongue, collecting unsaid. Faust makes her way onto your chest and curls up, a comforting weight above your heart. Her tongue flicks out as she meets your eyes, and if you could make any movements, you’d smile back, maybe stick your tongue out too.

Asra sits down beside you, his arms full of books now, and spreads them out on the bed. “I was thinking books and travel stories, hm? There’s still so much magic to learn, together. And I have a lot I still haven’t gotten to tell you yet.” He runs a hand lightly over the heavy, gilded covers. “If you get bored, you can just go back to sleep. I would understand.” You could never get bored; even if he told you the same story a thousand times, he’d find new details to put in it, new ways to tell it, and his face would still light up the room in a heartbreakingly magnetic way.

So that’s how you pass the time, as rain begins to fall outside the window. The shop stays closed, no bell tinkling to indicate a customer, no chores done. Instead, Asra spends all day reading to you, rubbing your back as you fall in and out of sleep (although the touch of his warm skin through your clothes does little to help you drift off), tilting potions down your throat that lessen your pain and make the world feel just a little more real.

The sun’s gone down and the moon is shining in through the window as he lights the candles in the front of the house, then holds his hand over the big silver washtub to fill it with steaming water. “We never really… talk about this when you can talk, other than you saying you liked it,” he says, walking back over to the bed to stand in front of you. “But your aura goes… this beautiful shade of lavender when you’re in a bath. Not that I’m looking! At you! Just, I can feel it.” His face goes red as he sits you up and wraps an arm under your shoulders to get you on your feet, determinedly looking everywhere other than your face. You try your best to keep your thoughts from leaking into your magic and letting him know how your heart is pounding wildly.

He waves his hand and bandages appear over his eyes, obscuring his vision, though his face still flames underneath the magically-summoned cloth. Fingers shaking ever so slightly, he unbuttons your sleep clothes and pulls them over your head, exceedingly graceful despite his lack of vision. Then, a little more clumsily but with no less care, he lowers you into the bath, his arm burning where it touches your bare skin. It’s a good thing that he only does this when you can’t respond; you might never let him let go if you could move.

As soon as you’re submerged, he turns his back, sinks against the side of the tub, and magics away his bandages. The water flowing around you, warming you, is incredibly comforting; it even smells like your favorite flower. The things he does for you…

A few minutes later, Asra speaks. “I hope you know. How sorry I am for hurting you, and having to take away your memories.” He sounds anguished, in a way he never usually lets you see. “I want you to know your past… I hate keeping things from you. I don’t want it to seem like I’m in control of your life. You’re so strong. You can do it yourself, and I hope — no, I know that one day you’ll be able to. And I’m going to be so proud of you when that day comes.” He sniffs, and his voice sounds thick. Is he crying? Your heart aches. You want to reach out, touch him, but you still can’t, and you’ve never hated every muscle that won’t obey your commands more than you do right now.

“So until then… just please, know.” A short sigh, full of so many things that can’t possibly be put into words. Around you both, your auras are swirling in your minds’ eyes, mixing colors, a deep navy blue of regret and a dark pink-orange of longing, so muddled together that it’s impossible to tell which is coming from where — or maybe there’s not really a difference. “This hurts me, too. But I’d do it… I’d do it a thousand times over. Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

Even if you could speak, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask what he means. Asra sounds devastated, raw, like he’s been cut open, pinned to a table like a butterfly in a collector’s book. The silence hangs, heavy and muddled in the air, until he gets up again, blindfolds himself, dries you with magic and dresses you again, still not speaking. And when he blows out the candles and lays you in bed, he crawls closer to you than usual, his hand finding yours in the darkness, holding it as if it’s tying him to the world.

Sometime in the night, feeling returns to your body, inch by inch, molecule by molecule, and the first thing you do is squeeze his hand in return.

#asra #asra alnazar #asra the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana #asra the magician #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #asra x reader #my writing #asks #doggonudez

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 4 years

Text

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter One

Smoke and Mirrors: a magician’s trick, the art of making an entity appear to be floating through the use of smoke and mirrors. In figurative speech, something which, once examined, is proven to be an illusion. Like the moon reflected on water, or a flower reflected in a mirror. Unable to be touched.

Description: Listless idol Jeon Jungkook has lost his creative spark. Something just feels...missing. And between jet-setting across the world and constantly evading public scandals, Jungkook’s life up until now has felt like a movie. One thing Jungkook can count on, however, is video games. Y/N has been gaming forever. And when a new VR game called Arcana is released, both Y/N and Jungkook are all over it. But what will become of Jungkook’s online persona when life forces the two to work together? And will Jungkook manage to keep his identity a secret from one of his closest Internet friends?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (gender unspecified) Reader

Word Count: 12.1k

Tags: Solo Idol!Jungkook, Gamer!Jungkook, Makeup Artist!Reader, Manager!Seokjin, Florist!Hoseok

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Haha....ha....ha....um, well this is awkward isn’t it? I haven’t been active on here in a long, long time! But God does it feel nice to return. In the time I’ve been away, I’ve been working on a lot of things at once. Too many chefs in the kitchen, except the chefs are projects/responsibilities and the kitchen is me and is also on fire. I think right now more than ever, I’ve leaned into writing to help me feel a bit better about the world. So if this story can make you happy that’s honestly all I can ask for. I don’t think I’ll be keeping a posting schedule, as that feels like too much for me right now, but maybe in the future I’ll come up with a schedule that doesn’t feel overwhelming! Regardless, I’ve missed you guys and I’ve really missed posting my writing here. I hope you all still remember me! And I hope you enjoy this story. Really. As always, please feel free to send me any thoughts or concerns! Questions, critique, comments: send them all my way! I can’t wait to get chatting with you all again.

And I’m on Twitter! I’ll put the link here if you want to follow. I’m very active over there!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

“On God, if you don’t start healing me-!”

“I’m working on it! Christ.”

“Well work harder, damn. Tiki’s about to go down,” you say, gritting your teeth as you whip around toward the dragon staring your party down.

It circles you, never once looking away, several stories tall with glowing yellow eyes that seem to leave trails behind in the darkness of the cavern. You feel at once impossibly small and impossibly fragile in front of such a behemoth, all purple scales and saliva stringing across pointed fangs.

“Just focus on offense for now,” says Sapphire, grunting as he lunges sword-first toward the dragon.

Your brows shoot sky high as Sapphire, a DPS like you, runs straight for the enemy. His silver knight’s armor clanks in his wake. “Wait!” you call, but it’s too late. Your teammate has his sword plunging in and slicing out and slashing wild before you can even prep your next spell. “Jesus, Saph!”

You hear his laughter like bells echo through the cavern, seeming to bounce against the domed ceiling and drip like water from the clinging stalactites. “Tiki! Distract!” you call as the dragon whips wildly: first toward Sapphire and then toward you. “Shit,” you whisper, examining your mana with a hiss. “I need a second to recover!”

Tiki, a massive green orc and also your team’s tank, rushes in with his battle axe. Upon the first hit, the dragon writhes in pain and turns toward Tiki, ire in its yellow eyes. Tiki says nothing, just lets out a string of labored breaths as he swings his heavy weapon. Sapphire is quick to attack at the dragon’s heels. The dragon opens its mouth to spew flames across the charred cavern, aiming right for Tiki, but before it can Zero finally heals him with a flash of white light and a bolt straight to his broad green chest. You jump, turn to the side to see Zero is standing beside you about twenty feet from the dragon.

“Get spelling, Nova!” he shouts, long blonde hair flying in the breeze his spell created.

His voice, deep and gruff, doesn’t suit his pretty, dark-skinned elven body: particularly the well-rendered female…curvature. Every time he talks, it takes you off guard. You shake it off and nod once.

“Loli! Get punching!” you call to your resident monk as she idles near the dragon’s tail. She says nothing. You sigh, rest a hand on your hip. “Loli!”

She jumps to attention. “Sorry! My roommate needed me,” she says with a laugh, rubbing the back of her half-shaven head.

“Tell her to piss off!” calls Tiki as the dragon, halted by Zero’s healing spell, recovers and swings a mighty paw his way.

Your mana is finally restored and, shutting your eyes, you summon a bolt of ice. With a shout, you spin your staff over your head before slamming it down with a thunderous clap. Ice splinters dizzyingly fast from the ground beneath your staff and crawls like frost until it hits the dragon, stunning it still for a few seconds.

“Health’s low! Saph, go for the kill!” Lolita shouts as she lands a solid punch on the dragon’s belly that shatters your freezing spell.

Without waiting a second more, Sapphire shoves his sword into the dragon’s heaving chest as it writhes from pain. It looses a cry that sends vibrations through the cavern. A few rocks tumble from fissures in the cave walls, and a stalactite cracks and careens toward the ground where it explodes into shards.

And, with that, the massive beast falls to its stomach, its head clunking to the ground in front of Tiki’s feet. The ensuing silence rings in your ears as the five of you stand completely still, waiting. It wouldn’t be the first time an enemy has fallen only to reveal a dormant ability that results in a second battle. None of you says a thing until the massive body before you begins to dissolve into pixels, leaving you with only the skull as a prize and a bag of loot in place of a carcass.

Lolita is the first to break the silence with a loud hoot. “Wooh! Hell yeah!” she shouts, clapping her hands.

You chuckle, lean on your staff. “Loli, you can only celebrate halfway since you missed half the fight,” you tease with a fond sigh.

She rushes toward you, wipes off her blue robes and crosses her arms. “My roommate came in!”

“And you didn’t warn us,” Zero chides as he smooths a few flyaway hairs, smiling. That model of his is just too pretty…

“I-,”

“Guys!” Sapphire shouts, jumping once as he examines the loot bag. “Look at this!”

You spin your staff in your hand and jog to stand beside the knight. His red eyes are bright, digging through the bag until he produces in one gloved hand—

“Is that a Philosopher’s Stone Fragment?” asks Tiki, similarly enraptured as he comes up beside Sapphire’s flank.

Sapphire nods. “Which means—,”

“Which means we’re one step closer,” you say, and you lock eager eyes with Sapphire who only nods. “Well shit!”

“Also means we were right to come this way,” Lolita says, holding up one finger as if correcting us. “And whose idea was that?”

Zero shoves Lolita by the head and turns back toward the loot bag. “Anything else?” he asks.

Sapphire digs around before shrugging. “A shield,” he says.

“Don’t need it,” Tiki says.

“And…mm…,” he pauses, brow furrowing as he pulls out a piece of paper. He purses his lips, runs a hand through his blue-black hair, cocks his head to the side. “Schematic?”

“For what?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, turning to you as he hands you the paper. You look it over and scoff. “Superior elemental staff.”

“Cuts down the mana I need to do spells,” you say, rolling your eyes as you pocket the paper. “Coulda used that today.”

Sapphire claps your shoulder. “Next time! We’ve still got three fragments to find before anyone else does.”

You nod. “Well, with that settled…,” you begin, itching to use the bathroom.

“Ah! You gotta leave?” asks Sapphire.

You nod. “Got work in the morning.”

“Eugh,” he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Me too.”

“Me three,” says Zero.

“Ah, the working world. We’re lucky, huh Tiki?” Lolita says with a wistful sigh as water from overhead drips onto her shoulder. She jumps a little, but settles easily. “Don’t you miss your reckless college days?”

You laugh. “I only graduated last year,” you say, turning toward Sapphire. “Speaking of which, Saph did you ever go to school?”

He stiffens. “Ah, uh…,” he begins, glancing at his feet. He’s quiet for a moment. “No. Not past high school,” he says with an almost sheepish nod.

You don’t say anything, but it seems like there’s something he’s keeping to himself, something he doesn’t want to share. Sapphire is always like that, but this feels a little different.

“Hm,” you say, sensing his discomfort. “Welp, I’m gonna peace out for the night. Message me when you guys wanna go for the next fragment. I’ll keep researching where it might be.”

“Mm, sounds good,” says Tiki. “I’m starving. Loli, wanna get some food?”

Lolita glances at Tiki out the corner of her eye. “You mean, like, real food?”

Tiki sighs. “Obviously real food. I don’t wanna waste money on game food.”

She laughs and nods. “Alright. I’ll meet you at your dorm.”

“Mm.”

Without another word, both Tiki and Lolita blink out, leaving nothing behind them. You turn toward Zero and pat his back. “Sorry for getting on your case tonight,” you say. “I was worried Tiki would fall and then…well, you get it.”

Zero shrugs, examining one of his perfect fingernails. “No, I wasn’t on my game tonight. I’ll be better next time.”

“Me too,” you say, waving as Zero too blinks out.

You turn toward Sapphire and offer a smile. “Sorry for asking about college,” you say.

He stiffens, brows raised. “Hm? Oh, no it’s fine,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “It’s just, uh…well, you know my dad always wanted me to go to college so…”

You wave your hands, shake your head. “Forget it, alright? I won’t bring it up unless you do first.” You smirk. “You played tank tonight, didn’t you?”

He laughs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Don’t do that shit,” you say, but you can’t help your smile. “What would we do if we lost you in the middle of a battle?”

You can see his posture go a little straight. He turns to you, blinking. “You…?” he begins, but cuts himself off with a laugh. “Ah, mm, well…I’d better get going.”

“Mhm. Message me if you get any new info about fragment locations,” you say, then chuckle. “Or if you just wanna talk about The Bachelor or something.”

He laughs with you. “I don’t watch The Bachelor!”

“Well, whatever you watch!” you call as you jog a few paces away. You offer a wave which Sapphire mimics before pressing the disconnect button on your headset.

You shake your head, disoriented as you return to your bedroom, your window sitting before you, the outskirts of Bucheon spreading out in spindly arms around you. Your head throbs a little and you wince, removing your sensor gloves and setting them gently on the light wood table beside your computer. You guide one of the philodendron leaves to the side so it won’t tickle the gloves. You shuck off the sensor jacket too and leave it draped over the back of your gaming chair. Slowly, you return your attention to the window, smiling down at the sea of lights undulating in the dark. It’s a nice evening, you notice as you press the pads of your fingers to the cool glass.

Your phone, until then sitting dormant on the tabletop beside your potted jade plant, pings to life with a notification. Your eyes widen and you grab for it, stretching your torso as you do to work out your aching muscles. Tonight’s session with the group had gone long, and the fatigue on your back is severe from slumping in that gaming chair like a shrimp. And even though you have to move your upper body to activate the full range of Arcana’s sensor controls, your ass feels like you’ve just sat through back-to-back, four-hour lectures.

BeastSlayers™

SacredSapphire: miss u guys already :-(

You laugh, watch as Tiki begins writing a message in response.

TikiTikiRoom: ..

TikiTikiRoom: dont be soft bitch ill kill you

You pad down the hallway, watching your phone as you stumble through the dark apartment with one hand on the wall bracing you. You connect your phone to the TV speakers and play some lofi something or other, bop your head as you enter the kitchen and flip on a flickering yellow light. You rifle through the freezer, produce a cherry red popsicle. You press it to your lips and smile.

Lolovely: I haven’t even made it to Tik’s dorm wtf why are you being sappy already?

CodenameZer0: Looool, Saph? More like SAP.

TikiTikiRoom: press f

SuperNova: I think it’s sweet :’)

SuperNova: Wanna voice chat?

SacredSapphire: nonono

SacredSapphire: someone’s coming over lol

Lolovely: ominous…

You chuckle and take a bite of your popsicle. But as you do, the thing turns to mush and slides from the stick like slop, staining your white shirt and your lips red. “Shit!” you exclaim, then rush to the freezer.

With a sigh, you notice that a layer of ice is frosted over the back. And as you jam your hand in, you can feel that the temperature is higher than it should be. Hence, melty popsicle. You groan, take to it with a knife from the creaky drawer. You chip away at the ice and keep chipping until the back of the freezer is visible once more.

“Cheap piece of crap,” you mumble, kicking the fridge with your socked toe.

You return to the group chat to a slew of messages.

TikiTikiRoom: WAIT SAPH DO YOU HAVE A BOY/GIRL/THEYFRIEND??

TikiTikiRoom: IM GONNA HAVE AN ANEURISM

Lolovely: !!!!!!!!!

Lolovely: ??????

CodenameZer0: Hohohoh

CodenameZer0: Could it be?

SacredSapphire: NO!!

SacredSapphire: i don’t have a boy/girl/theyfriend! i’m too busy, rip

SacredSapphire: it’s just someone

SacredSapphire: don’t worry about it lol

Lolovely: sus…

Lolovely: nova’s better at this stuff

Lolovely: interrogation

Lolovely: think if i scream hard enough nova will come back?

Lolovely: NOVAAAAAA

You laugh and take a few photos. First of the old laminate floor which now resembles a crime scene in cherry popsicle red. Next of your shirt, now streaked in slush. Third, of your face, lips stained like you’ve smeared lip tint on your skin. You pull a pout before snapping the shot, then send all three together.

SuperNova: I crave death.

SuperNova: Stupid cheap fridge. Freezes over literally monthly.

SuperNova: I hate it here.

Lolovely: oooh that pic…

Lolovely: kinda….sexy hehe

SuperNova: ???

You set your phone aside and take to cleaning the floor. Last thing you need in this shithole is an ant infestation. Your music bumps gently through the sound bar beneath your TV. Sure, your apartment is decked out in tech, but the place itself?

You glance around the kitchen, a sanitary white with pretty fixtures, and suppress a sigh. It’s all for show anyway, this apartment. Like almost all the others in the area, it only looks nice. The reality, however…

Well, it’s melted popsicles and a shower that only runs lukewarm.

You check your phone with a hip against the countertop.

TikiTikiRoom: lewd lol

SuperNova: Shut up lmao nothing lewd about my shitty fridge.

SuperNova: Anyway, no I’m not gonna help you bully Saph.

SuperNova: Leave him alone or I’ll bite your ankles.

Lolovely: !!!

Lolovely: qu'est-ce que pas?

Lolovely: Nova…you’ve been defending Saph lately…

Lolovely: hold on i’m seeing something…

CodenameZer0: Don’t threaten my ankles.

SacredSapphire: nova baby ur the only loyal one here

Laughing, you type your response and make your way to the couch, falling flat on your stomach with an unpleasant thump.

Jeon Jungkook sits still, swiveling in his gaming chair with a soft smile as he watches the messages surge through the Discord group chat. Even though they’re busy teasing him, Jungkook can’t help the swell of fondness in his chest for his group mates. He leans back precariously far, the room nearly pitch black save for the shifting LEDs on his keyboard and the purple screensaver on his monitor.

SuperNova: It’s you and me, Saph.

SuperNova: Now come here and get your kith :3

Jungkook chokes a laugh with his hand, covering his mouth as his eyes squint. He tosses his head to the side, lets out a sigh. Quietly, he touches the photo you sent and lets it spread across his screen. He chuckles, examining your expression. Displeased, you eye the camera with furrowed brows and a pout. Briefly, Jungkook considers telling you it’s cute.

But he quickly clicks out of the photo, clears his throat, and catches up with the chat.

CodenameZer0: God, barf.

TikiTikiRoom: no kithes for zero

Lolovely: lolol i want a kith :(

SuperNova: Get in line then. Saph first.

SacredSapphire: i….*blushes*

SacredSapphire: N-N-Noona!

CodenameZer0: FUCKING BARF GOODBYE

Zero’s icon goes offline and Jungkook laughs in earnest now, his head lolling back. But before he can respond, the door to his studio opens with a robotic jingle. He jumps a little, turning his whole body toward the door. He nearly falls off the chair as he swivels.

In the doorway, Kim Seokjin shuffling across the threshold with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He looks a little disheveled, hair windswept and eyes scanning the room round and round. His gaze lingers here and there: resting on Jungkook’s wall of figurines, then on the futon still pulled down and covered in a messy heap of sheets, then on Jungkook’s face as he sits perfectly still, perfectly redhanded. Jungkook’s mouth agape, his fingers poised to type another message to the group chat, his computer monitor showing no lyrics, no notes, no Ableton. Just his screensaver.

Jungkook had planned to pull up his WIP song before Jin arrived, but the opportunity to do that has long since passed.

“Uh…,” Jungkook says, dumbfounded with round eyes glowing in the flashing keyboard lights. “Hey, Seokjin.”

Jin’s nostrils flare, his expression fiery. His attention flashes to the sensor gloves, the controllers sitting beneath them, the sensor jacket left astray on the ground, haphazard.

“Jeon Jungkook-,”

“I can explain!”

Seokjin glares at him, cocks one single brow. “Uh-huh?”

“I…,” Jungkook begins, flustered as he rises to his feet. He feels like he’s in school again. Seokjin’s gaze is disarming, intense, and his knuckles are white as he crushes the cardboard handle of the coffee carrier. “Uh…I was taking a small tiny little break.”

“A small,” Seokjin begins, placing the coffee on Jungkook’s work desk and resting his palm beside it, “tiny,” he continues, leveling his eyes with Jungkook’s, “little break?” Jin’s jaw is clenched.

Jungkook swallows hard. “Mhm…”

Jungkook expects Seokjin to bare his canines, to sneer at him, to scold him to kingdom come. But his manager simply eases into a sigh and leans away from Jungkook, rubbing his forehead. It’s clear the will to fight with Jungkook is slowly leaking, and before long Seokjin has fallen backwards onto the futon, crushing the blanket mountain in his descent.

“Listen,” Seokjin says, fatigue in his voice. “You’ve got…so much going on in the next few months, you know?”

“I know!” Jungkook says, quick to sit beside Seokjin, brows knitting. He feels like a kid again, and the disappointment laced through Jin’s words feels like his childhood. “Trust me, I’m not just…like, procrastinating. It’s not that.”

Jin eyes him sidelong. “Then what is it?”

Jungkook stiffens, his back straight as a board. He clears his throat, stares at the coffee. “Let me get those,” he says, rushing to his feet with a clumsy stumble and grabbing the coffees before returning to his spot beside Jin. He hands Jin a coffee, expectant and, begrudgingly, Seokjin takes it and sips.

“Don’t avoid the question,” he says, stern. “If anyone’ll understand, it’s gotta be me, right?”

Jungkook nods. “No, you’re right!”

“Like, we’ve gone through some hard shit and where have I been? Right behind you. From day one,” he says, leveling a serious look at Jungkook. The lighthearted mood has fled from the room through the cracks in the walls. “All I’m asking is for you to put in the effort.”

Jungkook sighs, rests his forearms on his knees, laces his fingers around the coffee cup. He stares at the space between his toes. “I just…,” he begins, voice choked with insecurity. He doesn’t want to say it. In fact, he’d rather do just about anything else.

Because, after all, saying it means it’s real.

And if it’s real, then it’s a real problem.

“Listen,” Jin begins, patting Jungkook’s back. “I get it. Making music…it can be really tiring, right?” he says. Jungkook can only shrug. “And sometimes you might not feel like you can do it. Like you don’t have the inspiration.”

“Mm…”

Seokjin gives another pat, stronger this time. “But that’s how life is, Jungkook. Work doesn’t just wait. You’re an adult now. You’ve got adult responsibilities. And when you make a passion into your full-time job, you kinda sacrifice the freedom. Deadlines are a thing. You can’t just…be flippant and casual about it.”

“I’m not being casual,” says Jungkook, and for the first time since Jin walked in his voice is strong and steady. He sits up straight and meets Jin’s imploring eyes.

Seokjin offers a small smile. “Good,” he says. “I trust you. And, you know, you’ve got a whole team of producers behind you who wanna see you succeed. All you’ve gotta do is call.”

“I know.”

“You’re not doing it alone, alright?” he asks, and Jungkook’s throat tightens a little. “That’s the good thing about making your passion into your full-time job, huh? Now…well, now it’s not just your responsibility. It’s divided.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…,” Seokjin says, patting his thighs as he pushes to his feet. “Just wanted to drop by and check on you.”

Jungkook offers a smile and nods, standing with his manager. “Yup.”

“You do remember what’s on deck for tomorrow, right?” asks Seokjin, cocking a brow as he takes another swig of coffee.

Jungkook nods again. “Screen test with the drama people.”

Jin smacks the side of Jungkook’s head and crosses his arms. “Not the drama people!” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s IJBC.”

“IJBC, right,” Jungkook says as he tenderly rubs the side of his head. “I remember.”

“Do you even know the name of the drama?” The younger boy falls silent, sheepish. “It’s called Give Up Generation, Jungkook.”

“I remember,” Jungkook says, pouting a little. “I just…forgot for a minute.”

Jin can’t help chuckling. “Get to bed early then so you don’t have dark circles,” Jin says with a smile, nodding as he turns toward the door. “Ah!” Seokjin pivots around, casting a disdainful look over Jungkook’s shoulder at the foldout futon. He pulls a scowl. “Sleep at home tonight, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Alright. Stop nagging now,” he says, patting Jin’s back as he guides him out the door and into the hallway. “Bye, Jin!” he calls, not awaiting a response.

Slowly and with his head down, Jungkook shuffles back inside and slumps into his gaming chair, staring at his screensaver. He heaves a deep down sigh, lets it escape through his lips nearly pinched shut. Like exhaling cigarette smoke.

His phone pings to life with an incoming message.

SuperNova: Alright, I had your back before but I don’t cosign the Noona Agenda. I don’t even know if I am your noona.

Lolovely: seconded.

Lolovely: plus it’s icky.

TikiTikiRoom: boooooo

SuperNova: Wait, I think I just heard something in the hallway. Hold on.

Lolovely: SCARY!

TikiTikiRoom: burglars lol

Lolovely: ctrl z yourself, tiki

Lolovely: what if it is though…?

TikiTikiRoom: doubt it.

SuperNova: !!!

SuperNova: Lol it was a package…?

Lolovely: so late…?

SuperNova: Yeah…Lemme open it hold on.

The next message that comes through is a photo you send. Jungkook sits up straighter, opens it quick, and grins once he realizes what it is. A cardboard box, relatively big, sitting torn open on your kitchen floor, the photo features a look inside at several pretty makeup palettes and brushes. Jungkook doesn’t know the names of everything he sees, but he knows why it’s a big deal.

SacredSapphire: !! they finally sent it!!

SuperNova: They did!!

Lolovely: wait what? what did who send?

SuperNova: Lol, sorry. Uh I guess I only told Saph. But the brand I’ve been communicating with actually sent me a PR package! I’m gonna use it on my next job.

SuperNova: This shit’s super expensive too, so I’m lucky I’ve been in contact with a rep.

SuperNova: Gotta use the best to be the best!

TikiTikiRoom: i forgot ur a makeup artist lol

TikiTikiRoom: .-.

SuperNova: …

SuperNova: We’ve been group mates for like four months jfc

SuperNova: Anyway, yeah I’m glad. I guess they sent it to the wrong apartment? So my neighbor brought it over. He just got back from work.

Lolovely: neighbor?

Lolovely: cute neighbor?

SuperNova: He’s like seventy so no, not really my type.

SacredSapphire: nova, that’s super cool. i’m sure you’re gonna get big gigs soon.

SuperNova: Well, I can hope haha.

SuperNova: No, well…all I can do is work hard.

SuperNova: >:-)

All you can do is work hard, huh?

Jungkook tosses his phone to the side and rubs his hands up and down his face. He pinches his eyes shut and relaxes into the back of his chair, feeling the lull of sleepiness finally pulling at him.

And instead of going home like Jin asked, Jungkook simply pads over to the futon and, without moving the blankets, collapses atop them and falls asleep where he falls.

“I’m very sorry.”

“No…uh, no it’s fine.”

“Of course, you can keep the fees or whatever.”

“Oh, um, I…no, I’ll refund those too.”

“Really? I’ll give you a really good review!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m really sorry.”

You sigh, plant a hand on your forehead and heave a sigh. Forcing a smile, you shake your head and press your phone into the crook of your shoulder, bending down to give your fiddle-leaf fig a hose down with your watering can.

“It’s fine. Things come up, you know?”

The girl on the other side of the phone, a young independent model going in for headshots, had called you an hour ago and had spoken at length about why she has to cancel her appointment with you today. How the photographer did this or that, how she actually watched a few tutorials online and figured she could do it herself, how she felt so so bad. You feel bad for her, of course. Kind of.

“Listen, I’ll give you a shoutout on my page, alright? I’ll tag you in my story,” she says.

You shake your head. “No, that’s fine. Just, um…you know, take care. Remember to clean your brushes.”

At this, she laughs. “Thanks for being so cool. I was actually super nervous to call and cancel. I’ve had to cancel a few things like this before, and I’ve had bad experiences,” she says. “Anyway, I’ll recommend you!”

“Alright.”

“Thanks!”

You nod as she hangs up the phone. Gently, you rise to your feet and set your watering can aside on the kitchen table. You set the phone beside it, pausing to glare at the black screen. Well…there goes your Sunday. You turn over your shoulder, pad to the window, crack it open a little. A bracing breeze whistles through, cooling your skin. You shut your eyes against it — only for a moment — before you turn on your heel, shove your feet into your sneakers sockless, swipe your phone and house keys, and shove out the door.

The florist’s is a healthy walk away, but the weather is nice enough and you’re too tired to brave the subway even if it’s only a few stops. You pass buildings and parks as the landscape becomes more and more urban and the high rises look like they could puncture the cloud layer. Before long, you’re standing in front of Happy Garden and, stepping through the sliding doors that are always left open and all-but nonfunctioning with the lush green plants climbing all around. You breathe a sigh of relief, pat your chest a little as the fresh, grassy scent settles your heart.

You aren’t there for more than half a minute before Hoseok stumbles out from the back room, grinning wide with a bouquet of hydrangeas in his hands, wrapped in butcher paper and twine. He curves around the stumbling greenery littering every surface and encroaching on every walkway and comes to a stop in front of you. He smiles.

“Hey,” you say before he gets the chance. You hold up one limp hand in a lazy wave.

He glances up and down, from your head to your toes, and sighs. Still holding the hydrangeas, he rests a hip on the checkout counter and cocks a brow.

“That is the opposite of encouraging,” you remark with a scowl.

He chuckles, pats your arm. “What’s up?” He jerks his head toward the front of the store where bouquets are displayed and you follow behind him as he leads you there. “Unsuccessful raid?”

“Contrary to popular belief, my life doesn’t revolve around video games, actually,” you say, but his laugh wipes the grimace from your face.

His fluffy hair bounces as he bends down to add the hydrangeas to the display and when he stands upright once more he crosses his arms. “You know what I mean. You’ve been in here a lot lately.”

“Pardon me for trying to raise plants,” you say with a pout.

Again, he laughs. “Jesus, stop trying to pick a fight!” he says. “You must be in a really bad mood if you’re here acting like this.”

“Well what’s that supposed to mean?” you begin, outrage all over your face, before locking eyes with Hoseok and composing yourself. You sigh, nod your head. “Yeah, no I’m being annoying.”

He smiles, heart-shaped, and the apples of his cheeks grow rounder. What a joyful guy, you think to yourself with a wistful sigh. “Tell me about it then.”

He pulls one of the empty display boxes over and offers you a seat as he begins tending to the plants all around. You oblige, settle in, and sigh again. “It’s just…everything kinda feels like a dead end right now.”

“Hm?” he asks over his shoulder, graceful hands guiding a waxy leaf back in place.

“Like with my work,” you say, then shake your head. “No, that’s not it. Not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…things are okay, you know? I’m getting PR gifts. I’m growing my following on Instagram. I’ve got consistent clients,” you say, nodding. “Like everything is fine, you know?”

“But something feels…missing maybe?” Hoseok offers as he moves to spraying the ferns with water.

You shake your head. “More than that, it’s…like, I feel like I’ve hit the ceiling of what I can do, you know? Like what if this is the best I’ll ever do?”

“Is that bad?” he asks.

You sigh. “Not bad, just…disappointing,” you say. “I wanna work on movies. Red carpets. Editorials.” You rest your chin in your hand and your elbow on your knee. You stare up at Hoseok, now trimming brown leaves from another plant across the store. “I don’t wanna be stuck doing birthday parties forever.”

Hoseok hums, turns toward you with his hands in his apron pocket. He offers a smile. “You sound like a brat.”

You stiffen, eyes wide. “I-,” you start, but there’s really not much you can say to retort. So, softly, you slump once more and shrug. “Yeah…”

“And if you keep that attitude, you’re never gonna be an editorial makeup artist. I can promise you that,” he says with a nod as he approaches once more and crouches before your knees, still smiling. “Everyone has to grow somehow, you know? Be grateful you’ve got opportunities to build your resume.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“What brought all of this on?”

Shrugging, you glance away toward the big croton plant in the corner, basking in morning sunlight, leaves all stiff and red and green. It’s a pretty plant. You tilt your head to the side, stare longer.

“That model bailed,” you say, but you’ve almost forgotten the self-pity of a moment ago. You stand to your feet and wander toward the plant, hitting halfway up your thigh. You crouch before it and look it over. “Hoseok, this is a really big croton.”

He laughs. “Mhm.”

“How much?”

“With the pot and given its height, it’s going for thirty-five-thousand won.”

You raise your brows. “I expected worse.”

“We’re fair here!” he protests, wagging his finger at you as he comes to stand beside you.

You smile softly, run a finger along the edge of a leaf. “It’s really pretty.”

“Suits you,” he says.

Without noticing, your anxiety begins to subside. “I think I’ll take it.”

“I’ll give you five-thousand off since you’re having a bad day,” he says, patting your back.

You turn to him with a smile. “Thanks.”

He chuckles. “I’ll loan you the dolly so you can get that thing home. Just bring it back before two.”

You stand up, stare down at the plant, nod once. “Mhm.”

Hoseok makes his way toward the cash register, punches in a few numbers. You linger a few steps behind, still staring at the croton. You get a good feeling off that one. Hoseok would tease you if you said as much, but you know when to listen to your intuition.

“Your big break will come Y/N,” Hoseok says as he rings you up, not once glancing to meet your eyes. “Just keep going.”

Jungkook sits with his head leaning against the rattling van window, eyes half-shut. Seoul blurs past him in shades of silvery grey and it’s all he can do to keep himself from falling asleep. For all his nagging, Seokjin had been right about one thing: Jungkook was sporting purplish bags beneath his eyes from a restless night’s sleep. Jin sits beside him now, frowning at his phone as he scrolls through Twitter. He’d given Jungkook a very stern talking to once he’d seen him, and really Jungkook deserved it. He knows that.

“Your voice is in good condition, right?” asks Jin.

Jungkook sits up straight, clears his throat. He shrugs. “Yeah. Why?”

Still stewing over his phone, Seokjin waves his hand without looking up. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jungkook sighs, leans back once more, gazes out the window once more. His phone buzzes once and he grabs it quickly, eager to distract himself.

BeastSlayers™

SuperNova: [image attached]

SuperNova: check him out OJO

Jungkook clicks the image you sent and chuckles as it loads up. The photo features nothing of you save for one hand, reaching out from behind the camera, throwing up a peace sign. Behind your hand, a houseplant. A pretty big one at that.

Jungkook smiles and drafts his reply, but the others are quicker.

CodenameZer0: Another plant? Lol isn’t your apartment overflowing with them by now?

SuperNova: Hush. Look at him.

LoLovely: cute!

LoLovely: does he have a name?

SuperNova: I don’t name my plants.

TikiTikiRoom: lol

TikiTikiRoom: because THAT would be weird

CodenameZer0: At least Nova can care care for a plant in the first place.

CodenameZer0: Let’s be honest here, Nova’s probably the only one among us who is even remotely responsible enough.

SacredSapphire: Nova it’s cute!

SacredSapphire: name him after me ;3

SuperNova: Sapphire?

SacredSapphire: hmmm say my name hehe

CodenameZer0: STOP IT FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST

CodenameZer0: IF THE FLIRTING DOESN’T STOP I’M GETTING YOU A TWO-WEEK BAN ON ARCANA

SacredSapphire: SHIT okay okay, let’s just take it easy

SacredSapphire: talk this out like adults…

SuperNova: Once I’ve finished setting up my new plant, I’m gonna play Animal Crossing. Anyone free to join? I’ve got oranges and mums.

SuperNova: Also had a meteor shower last night and have leftover star fragments first come first served.

The offer is tempting, to be sure. Not only would he receive star fragments, he’d be able to wander your island with the others. It might feel like you guys are side-by-side for real. Jungkook reaches into his backpack, slumped between his knees, and rifles around for his Switch. But as he produces the case, Seokjin shoots him the evil eye.

“If you’ve got time to play games, you’ve got time to review your lines,” he says, cocking a brow.

Jungkook sighs a little, slides the Switch back inside his bag. “I’ll look them over again.”

“Good.”

He takes one last look at his cell phone, checking the group chat with a frown that pinches the sides of his lips.

TikiTikiRoom: MEMEMEME

TikiTikiRoom: if any of you fakes get there before me ill go apeshit

TikiTikiRoom: i need so many

LoLovely: don’t need fragments, just wanna see ur cute face hehe

SuperNova: /blushes

SuperNova: I’ll open the gates once Sapphire Junior is nice and settled.

CodenameZer0: I’ll come too. I wanna shop.

SuperNova: Can’t you be cute like Lolita?

CodenameZer0: /gags

SuperNova: You coming, Saph? I’ll save a few fragments for you.

TikiTikiRoom: FAVORITISM

SuperNova: I am transparent about my favoritism toward Sapphire.

SuperNova: Because he is indeed my favorite.

LoLovely: *shocked pikachu face*

SacredSapphire: soz :-( i can’t

SacredSapphire: working

SuperNova: :-(

SuperNova: Next time we’ll all come to your island.

Jungkook tries not to feel that twinge of melancholy that tugs at his chest. That one he always gets when his friends go out for barbecue or grab drinks and hit the karaoke rooms. The one that feels like he’s really, deeply, fundamentally missing out on something important.

No, he doesn’t feel it. Instead, he focuses his attention on the printout Seokjin had given him three days ago. He scans the lines over and over, committing them to memory.

“No! That’s the thing, she didn’t even tell me!” says the girl below your brush.

You attempt to guide the highlighter across her cheekbones, but before you can make contact with her skin she’s jerked away once more, talking so animatedly that you can’t even tell if you’ve made her eyebrows even.

“That’s shitty,” says her friend beside her, likewise preoccupied as Jieun struggles to match her skintone.

The two of you lock eyes, both hovering over the two women as they chat over matching cups of coffee. Jieun puffs out her cheeks, raises her brows, and goes back to work, smoothing foundation on to the client’s chin with a brush.

You stand in a nice apartment — all marble floors and high ceilings and windowed walls overlooking Seoul. When you’d gotten the offer for a Seoul gig with Jieun, you’d been hesitant. The subway ride is long and you prefer to stay relatively local. But something made you agree. You don’t know exactly what. Call it divine intervention or epiphany or Jung Hoseok, but the words just keep going had been replaying in your brain since you last saw your friend. The pair of women — likely in their thirties — had booked both you and Jieun to do their makeup for a Sunday luncheon.

“And you know she’s looking out for him,” says Hyejin with a scoff. “As if I’m gonna bite the kid’s head off.”

“Maybe you will,” jokes the other woman, laughing just as Jieun reaches in to apply some liquid blush to her cheeks. “You know she’s got a soft spot for him.”

“Yeah well it’s a soft spot in all of our wallets if he doesn’t get his shit together,” says Hyejin, sighing. There is real woe in her expression and you can feel from the shift in atmosphere that things have turned serious. “He’s talented, you know? But…sometimes I think she goes too easy on him,” she continues, and this time her tone is decidedly softer, the movement of her face less pronounced.

You use the opportunity to work some powder beneath her eyes with a sponge. “Well, that’s motherhood for you,” says the other, flippant.

“Have you seen what the folks are saying on Twitter?” asks Hyejin as you apply shadow to her eyelids. “About his voice.”

“Hm?”

“Well some of his bigger hate communities have been compiling all the footage of his stage mistakes and they’re spreading it around,” Hyejin says with a huff. “Stupid, honestly. They’re making it out like he makes those mistakes all the time.”

“Netizens are like that, Hyejin,” says the other woman, now easing into her chair with her eyes shut as Jieun can finally get to work setting her base.

“Still…”

“Now you’re the one defending him,” she remarks with a laugh.

“It’s not that,” Hyejin says, scoffing. “It’s just…like if he doesn’t prove himself soon, all those commenters are gonna have more ammunition, you know? Which is annoying for all of us.”

“Sounds like you care a little bit.”

“I dont.”

“Hm.”

You focus on Hyejin’s full lashes, applying mascara with delicate, steady strokes. She hums a little as you use the pad of your fingertips to tame stubborn eyeshadow into blending more seamlessly. It seems, at least, that the conversation has died down. For that, you are very grateful.

“Say, do you two know anything about k-pop?” asks Jieun’s client.

The two of you lock eyes once more. It’s true that you are well-versed in pop culture: video games, TV shows, YouTube drama. But you’d be lying if you said you tune in to Inkigayo every week. And despite Jieun’s age and her trendy look, you know she’s not the type to keep updated on current idols. And you see in her brown eyes your own shock mirrored.

“Um…no, not particularly,” you answer for the both of you. Jieun releases a breath she’d been holding and smiles her thanks. “Do you two work in the field?”

Hyejin waves her hand and sighs. “Don’t go bothering them with those sorts of questions,” she says, and you notice for the first time the easy poshness that this woman has. Even with her head tilted back and her eyes shut tight, she seems sure of herself.

You envy her just a little for that.

“What? They’re young,” says the other woman, grinning with her eyes shut as Jieun works on her eyeliner. “You ever heard of RTE?”

“Hey now,” says Hyejin, warning in her voice.

“I’m just curious,” the woman continues with a sigh. “Look us up if you haven’t.” The woman chuckles, reaching out blind to smack Hyejin’s upper arm. “Hey, maybe even tweet something nice about our artists!”

“Knock it off and let them work,” Hyejin says, prying open one eye to meet yours. She offers a smile, apologetic, and sighs. “She’s just playing around. You can ignore her. It’s what I do.” She nods her head and leans it back once more.

Quietly, you get back to work. But you can’t help but feel like this woman’s incredible presence makes you paler somehow.

“What’s the point if it makes me unhappy?” Jungkook shouts, brows knitting, eyes growing watery. “The money, the lifestyle…what good is it?” his voice settles into a bare whisper, cracked.

“You only say that because you’re young! You’re stupid! You’re naive! You think things work out just because you want them bad enough?” says his costar, glancing down at the script every now and again as the two stand across from one another.

The set bustles on behind them, crew carrying tall lights and fixtures as they scuttle by. But Jungkook and his costar — a man named Namjoon acting as his older brother — continue their scene under the watchful eye of the cameras, trained right on them. Less of a screen test and more of a chemistry check between actors, Director Lim watches the monitor closely with his scrabbly chin in his palm.

“So what if I fail?” Jungkook asks with a quiver, referencing his script once to make sure he got the line right. “What’re you gonna do? Tattle on me to Dad?”

“I won’t have to,” Namjoon says, sighing as he grips the bridge of his nose. “He’s got his watchdogs trained right on you.”

Jungkook stiffens. “He’s been…following me?”

“I told you you’re too naive for the real world, Jiwon.”

Director Lim claps his hands and in an instant the tension and the scene are broken. Jungkook takes a respectful step back from his costar, and Namjoon offers him a bow of the head. Jungkook returns it, fighting off a nervous grin, and turns to the director as he circles around the equipment to stand in front of them. He’s a middle-aged man, handsome in a way with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that seem to grab you and hold on like a snare. Jungkook is pinned in place like a bug in a shadowbox.

But Director Lim’s face splits in a crooked smile and Jungkook feels himself ease, exhaling long and slow. “Great job, boys!” he says, clapping both of their shoulders. “You were selling it well.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Jungkook replies too quick, like an eager child.

Director Lim chuckles, pats him again. “I’m praising you, kid. Don’t look so scared.”

He swallows hard. “I…I know. Um…thank you, Sir.”

Behind the trio, a group of stylists cart a rack of costumes quickly to the other side of the set, snagging the back of Jungkook’s shoe as they do. Jungkook stumbles to his knees, caught off guard, and the girls jerk to a stop as they catch themselves on the clothing rack. The two stare down at Jungkook, wide-eyed, and each of them covers their mouths. Immediately, they bow their heads in apology, both muttering sorry, so sorry almost too quietly to hear. Jungkook shakes his head and stands to his feet.

He too bows his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been standing there,” he says gently, hoping to assuage their concerns.

But the girls remain bowed, as if too afraid to even lift their heads. Jungkook, puzzled, leans down slightly to meet their eyes, but they glance away so quickly that he can’t even get a proper look at either of their faces.

“Um…it’s really not a problem,” he says, but before he can say more Director Lim approaches with a grim severity in his eyes. Jungkook, quick to stand up straight and face the director, stutters a little as he settles himself in front of the stylists. “It’s no big deal,” he says to Director Lim, but it’s like the man can’t even hear him.

“We were distracted, Sir,” says one of the girls, raising her head slightly to meet Director Lim’s gaze. “We are very, very sorry.”

“It really isn’t-,” Jungkook begins.

“You think it’s appropriate to crash into my actors? In the middle of a conversation about their performance?” Lim asks, but it’s clear the question isn’t meant to be answered. His tone has shifted into something cold. “You could have very well injured Jungkook.”

“I’m fine-,”

“But what if you weren’t?”

Jungkook shuts his mouth, staring helpless at the girls as they both stand up straight once more, eyes on the floor and hands knitted in front of them. He feels a hand on his back between his shoulder blades and jumps a little, turning quick to find Namjoon standing close.

“Don’t,” is all he says, voice terse and so quiet Jungkook almost doesn’t hear it, before dropping his hand and taking a half step back.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his hands work into balls as he stares. The lighting is low, dramatic as if a scene composed by Lim himself. The two girls lift only their eyes to gaze up at him.

“We’re very, very sorry, Sir,” says one of the stylists, guiding a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“Mhm,” he says, looming. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Can’t afford to replace two stylists and a makeup artist in the same week.”

Jungkook simply stares, Namjoon’s warning freezing through him like ice. His limbs feel leaden. And as the two girls rush off, dragging their rack behind them, Jungkook focuses again on Director Lim.

He swivels back around to the two actors with a bright, fatherly smile. “Pardon me,” he says, waving his hand with a warm laugh. “Gotta keep the crew in check otherwise they’ll slack off.”

“Ha,” Jungkook puffs out in response, smiling in turn.

Namjoon hums a little. “Why don’t we try the reconciliation scene?”

“What in the world do you mean?” Hyejin yells into her phone just as she ushers you into her apartment. You eye her as her face grows red, her brows coming together. “He’s not quitting!”

Hyejin pauses to offer you an apologetic smile. She’s dressed in a modest pajama dress, padding barefoot along the cool marble floors. She leans against the arm of a nice black leather sofa, raises a hand to her flushed cheek, looks at her toes with vexation. Carefully, you set your makeup kit on her kitchen island, meeting her eyes with raised brows as if asking permission. She waves her hand, nods once before pinching the bridge of her nose between her index finger and her thumb.

“Listen, we knew Lim was difficult. But this is a huge opportunity for his career.” Hyejin rubs her kneecap, massaging. Her short hair falls along the line of her jaw as she dips her head in a deep sigh. “I know you know that, Seokjin. But you’re his manager. You’ve gotta keep convincing him.”

You begin unpacking your things, setting them neatly along the edge of the countertop, and try not to eavesdrop as Hyejin continues letting out chopped sighs. You can hear her fidget around the apartment behind you. She’d called you again, only a few days later, to secure you for another important event. A meeting, she’d said. You didn’t want to agree. Wanted to say you were too busy, that the commute was too much.

“Hey,” she whispers behind you. You jump, but turn nonetheless to find her cupping one hand over the phone’s receiver. Her eyes are severe, jaw clenched. “How long can you stay? This call might take a while.”

You raise your brows, think back over your schedule. “Hm…,” you respond, then shake your head. “I’m free all day. But…when’s your meeting?”

She stiffens, eyes flashing to the clock on the oven. “Shit,” she mutters. She approaches you with a frown. “I’ve only got two hours to get everything ready—Yes! Yes, I’m still here Seokjin. Stop panicking, for Christ’s sake—,” she says, her shoulders pinching. She glances at you again. “Um…”

You glance around the apartment. It’s spotless, as usual. But you spy in the corner beside a massive potted umbrella tree a taupe pantsuit, hanging beside a steamer. You’d have thought someone in her position would have sent it to the cleaners to be properly steamed, but perhaps it had slipped her mind. With the way she’s pacing around the apartment, still dressed in her pajamas, you wonder if perhaps she’s not as put together as you thought.

“I’ll steam that,” you say with a nod, pointing to the suit.

She stares at you, wide-eyed. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do something like that-,”

You shake your head. “No problem. What else do you need done here?” you ask, consulting your wristwatch with a hum. “If we keep it light, I can have your makeup done in forty-five minutes.”

She blinks at you. “Uh…well…,” she begins, then jumps a little as a voice in the phone shouts loud enough for you to hear. “No! No! Can you relax? I’ll talk you through it in just a minute! I’ve gotta sort some things out,” she shouts back at the phone. She turns her attention back to you with a sheepish smile. “Um, I need to steam the suit, wrap the fruits — they’re a gift for the client —, call the restaurant to confirm the reservation, shine my shoes, organize our documents chronologically and set them up in a binder,” she says.

You have to admit that the sheer volume of busywork has you taken aback. But you steel yourself with a bracing sigh, nod once, and offer her a smile. “Consider it taken care of,” you say.

“Ah! I…I really feel bad dumping all of this on you,” she says, crossing her arms with knit brows. “Normally I’d have my assistant doing all of this, but she’s ill.”

“Not a problem,” you say, smiling once more. “Just take care of your phone call and leave the rest to me! As long as we’ve got forty-five minutes for makeup, we’ll be fine.”

She lets out a sigh that seems to deflate her, shoulders slumping as if in profound relief. She nods once, smiling, and turns on her heel. “I’ll be in my office, alright? I promise I’ll be out in time!”

You give one wave as she rushes through a clouded glass door and shuts it behind her. You roll up the sleeves of your sweater and get to work on the suit.

Two hours later, and you’re accompanying Hyejin out into the apartment hallway. She pauses as the door clicks shut, waiting for it to give a chime, and turns to you with a sigh. She looks pretty. You had to rush a bit once she emerged from her office, and after taking care of the other chores you found it difficult to focus on her makeup, but you’re proud enough of your work given the circumstances. You’ve managed to match her eyeshadow to her pantsuit with gentle oranges and reds.

Since you were rushing to finish everything in time, the two of you hadn’t had a chance to exchange words. Perhaps you are curious — just a little — about the emergency she had to quell over the phone. Or maybe you just want a proper thank you. So you linger beside her in the well-lit hallway, you let your eyes wander to a potted fern in the corner by the elevator, wait for Hyejin to say something.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sighing. She glances at you through her lashes.

Your eyes go wide. “Hm? What for?”

“For having you do all of that,” she says, flitting one manicured hand. “I feel guilty.”

You shake your head. “No,” you say with a smile. “It’s no problem at all, honestly. You had me booked for an hour and a half anyway.”

She sighs again. “I really feel bad.”

“Don’t worry about it…,” you say, eyeing her. She crosses her arms, vexed, and purses her lips a little. “Um…was that call about an artist?” you ask.

She snaps back to herself, glancing at you. “Oh? Yes. That was about our biggest artist actually,” she says. “I think I’ve got it taken care of though, thanks to you.” She guides the two of you to the elevator. “I’ll pay you extra, alright?”

You laugh. “No, no. It’s fine! I’m just glad it all worked out.”

She stares at you, scanning you for a very long moment as the elevator rises to your floor. You try not to fidget, not to shrink under her scrutiny, but you feel yourself recoiling just a little. Her gaze is intense, knowing, as if she can see right through you and she’s looking for something. And as the elevator arrives, she gives a hum that sounds contented and you wonder if she’s found it.

Jungkook glances around the empty pavilion, scanning the cobbled streets for any sign of escape. From above, a dark mage is laying waste to the small shanty town. Not a single player has ventured out this way, all following a lead in the Elysian Forest to the west. But after you had mentioned a tip you got from researching at the Library of Arcana, you’d suggested visiting the seaside nook on the far south of the map. A legendary evil slumbers hidden, you’d recited over voice chat with a laugh, Sounds about right.

Only now, Jungkook’s alone. His hands are sweaty around the controllers in his palms and the realistic graphics are serving only to make him more nervous as the mage swings low near the central fountain and sets off a spray of fire just in front of him. Jungkook can almost feel the heat.

Jungkook had set out to do some scouting. Nothing extreme. Just a simple peek about, seeing if he could find any clues. He sent a message to the group chat, but he hadn’t waited on a response before he signed in. He’d had no idea that the Big Bad herself would come flying from the fountain the moment he touched the water with his sword. And now she’s circling him like some sort of hawk. Quickly, Jungkook calls up his inventory menu and searches through his items. A few extra swords he picked up, some ritual herbs, his old chainmail armor, some healing potions and…

The fragment…

If this mage takes him out, he’ll end up dropping his entire inventory. Including the fragment.

And by the time he can make his way back over here, other players will have come running from the commotion.

And the fragment will be gone.

“Shit,” he hisses out, dismissing the menu and focusing back on the mage as she releases a chilling cackle.

The quaint village is smoking, with thatched roofs catching fire and whole storefronts crumbling into piles of simmering stone. The sky is nearly blotted out with ash, and all he can see is that mage, swirling around up there in billowing black robes and shiny white teeth exposed in a wicked grin.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder toward the street he’d taken in to the village, but it’s too smokey to see anything more than the outlines of ruined buildings. There’s no way he’ll be able to navigate his way out of here without a lantern. And if it’s this smokey, he’s absolutely positive that nearby players have noticed. Which means more competition.

And more people to snatch his fragment when he falls.

The mage gives a cry, shouts her line, “Not enough yet?!”, and swoops down at a dizzying pace. Jungkook stumbles back, but he’s not fast enough. She’s approaching in a dark blur, too quickly for him to counter. A flash of regret washes through him as he squeezes his eyes shut inside his VR headset. He doesn’t want to see this.

He waits for a tense moment that way, anticipating the melancholy piano chords that accompany in-game death, but none come. Instead, he hears very keenly the sound of the mage grunting as if in pain. And, in an instant, he opens his eyes wide to see standing on the other side of the fountain, a small, white-haired mage, staff searing with frost and ice as the dark mage clutches her chest.

His heart kicks up. “Nova!” he calls to you.

You turn toward him and, to the extent that you’re able in a video game, square him with a sour look. “You moron!” you shout back.

But he can’t help his grin as he stares at your character. “How’d you get here so fast?”

You launch another ball of ice toward the dark mage, sending her hovering just above the cobblestone in front of the fountain. “I saw your message and figured you’d already gone ahead like an idiot so I logged on right away.”

He laughs, but you’re too focused on dealing ice damage to reciprocate. It seems of all his allies, you’re the best equipped to deal with a dark fire mage. He notices in your hand the staff you wield has changed. Where before you used a gnarled tree root with a rune, now you’re swinging a cool white metal staff with a glowing blue gem.

“New staff!” he calls, pointing.

You nod. “Mhm. The schematic from last time,” you say, dealing another blast. The dark mage falls to the ground, groaning. Jungkook is too excited to see you to notice his cue to act, but your head is very much in the game and you jerk your staff toward the fallen mage. “Well? You gonna slash her or what?”

Jungkook stiffens, jumping back into action. He hoists his sword and lunges, giving the mage a few good hits before recoiling back as she rises into the sky once more. The dark mage sends out a barrage of wild, uncontrolled fire that manages to miss Jungkook and hit you.

“Shit!” you call, pausing to glance through your inventory like Jungkook had before. “Dammit! I’m out of health potions,” you say. He notices your health bar is looking low.

“Why are you so hurt?” he asks as you rush toward him.

You sigh. “I ran into some boars in the woods on the way over here and they drained my health a little.”

“Shit,” Jungkook repeats.

“Yeah,” you say, watching as the dark mage readies another spell. “This is why I wanted all of us to go here together.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, his cheeks flaring hot. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh again. “Don’t worry,” you say, flitting your hand. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to start the battle.”

Jungkook is quiet, thinking. You’d always been this way. From the first time the party played together, you’d been generous with him. With everyone. When Tiki fell in the party’s first battle against some goblins, you’d been the one to retrieve his stuff and give up your armor for him. When Zero — the richest player by far — forgot about your scheduled meeting to gather supplies, you’d paid for everyone’s health potions and weapon repairs in his stead.

He shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t have gone off on my own.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you say, humming. “You need to remember you’ve got a whole team of people who have your back.” He can hear a smile in your voice.

“I-,” he begins, but you cut him off.

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do for now. She’s at half health, so I’ll just wail on her with my ice until she’s within melee range and then you slash her,” you say with a nod. “And if I fall, I fall. Hopefully by then she’ll be low enough health that you can finish her off alone.”

“No, no. If it comes down to it, I’ll take the hit. I’ve got more HP and you’re the one who can do ranged attacks anyway,” Jungkook replies.

There’s no more time to argue, however, because the dark mage turns her fiery eyes toward the two of you and screams before pointing her staff right at Jungkook. Startled, Jungkook glances over at you to see you’re watching too. Neither of you has a chance to say anything before the blast hits, sending the two of you flying back against the fronts of buildings turned to ashy rubble. You let out a shocked gasp through Jungkook’s headset and, as the dust settles, he turns to see your health bar is dangerously low.

“Oh!” he shouts, pulling up his inventory. “Let me grab a health potion! You can have it—,”

“Alright, now I’m pissed,” you interrupt, sidling up to the fountain with measured steps. You consult your inventory and heave a sigh. It seems like you’re mulling something over, but it’s impossible for Jungkook to know what exactly is on your mind. “Use your health potion, Saph!”

He stares at the back of your character’s head, at the capable set of its shoulders. And he feels somehow like he’s really looking at you. The real you. Silhouetted against grey smoke, with a dark mage glowing black and orange in the air above you, he can’t help but think you seem…really cool.

He recalls what you said before. That he has a team of people who have his back.

You grumble something under your breath before deftly swinging your staff around a few times and launching a powerful icy blast toward the mage. She cries out and before she can ready another spell, you’re hurling another ball her way.

“Whoa! Nova, how’re you doing that so fast?” he asks.

“Shut up and heal now!” you shout, and he’s quick to oblige.

You send another blast toward the mage’s chest, and it’s just enough to get her in melee range. But as you do, the staff you’re holding shatters and breaks into shards. The force of the break seems to have some kickback, and you take a few points of damage as you stumble back half a step. You’re down to your very last HP.

“Oh my God! Did it break?” Jungkook asks, stunned.

“Go hit her!” you bark.

Jungkook sends his character rushing the mage once more and gets in a few heavy hits with his sword, pressing furiously on the controllers and moving his arms about wildly in his chair.

He expects her to fly back into the air. Rinse and repeat until she’s finally dead. But this time, perhaps since she’s so low on health, the dark mage simply hovers in front of him. Quickly, she swings her staff back and rears it forward once more, the black orb embedded in the top glowing red.

“She’s gonna hit you!” you shout, and in his shock Jungkook can only turn to look at your character.

Before he can blink, however, you’ve blurred in front of him in a flash of white hair and when the dark mage deals a mighty, close-ranged fire attack, you take it straight to the stomach.

And just like that, your character blinks out of existence, spilling your entire unequipped inventory on the steaming cobblestones in front of Jungkook’s steel shoes.

“Nova?” he calls out, but of course you can’t answer. You’ve warped back to the nearest infirmary somewhere past the woods.

He curses underneath his breath and swings his sword a little wild once, twice, three times until, at last, the dark mage lay prone on the ground, wailing ghostly. She lets out one final scream before withering into pixels. And there, beside your lost inventory, is a canvas loot bag. Jungkook grabs it and pulls from inside a multi chrome shard, glinting in the light refracted through smoke. He examines it. There’s no doubt. It’s a Philosopher’s Stone fragment. Which means your hunch was right.

It also means your party it one step closer to completing the legendary stone, receiving more gold than any of you could ever spend, maxed out HP, and a permanent plaque in Central Square with all of your usernames.

Jungkook sighs as he puts it away in his inventory. He scans through the other loot. A crossbow, some alchemical herbs, and an Imperial Knight’s sword. He pockets everything and, pausing to save, immediately logs off and yanks the headset from his eyes. He drops his controllers, removes his gloves, and sets the sensor jacket aside as he reaches for his phone on his studio desk.

He types in your name in his contact list and calls you right away. Lucky for him, you answer on the second ring.

“Did you get her?” you ask, not sparing even a moment for hellos.

Jungkook stutters a little like an old engine firing up before replying, “Dude what the hell did you do that for?”

You sigh. “I figured you’d have a better shot killing her since I broke my staff.”

“Yeah, but why'd you break your staff?”

“How else were we gonna get her down?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment. “You spent a long time crafting that, didn’t you?”

You hum. “Not too long.”

“Liar,” he says, but you don’t reply. After a few moments of silence, Jungkook sighs. “I got her.”

He hears you laugh through the phone, followed by a satisfied exhale. “Hell yeah! Then it was worth it.”

“I got the fragment too.”

“She had it!”

Jungkook can’t help but smile a little, staring at his computer screensaver. “Mhm,” he says. “Thanks for taking the hit. I would’ve dropped the first fragment if she’d gotten me.”

You pause. “Oh, you had the first fragment on you?” you ask.

And Jungkook realizes something crucial as the words come crackly through his phone. You didn’t know he was holding it. You didn’t know he could have lost it. You’d jumped in front of that mage not to save the fragment in Jungkook’s inventory, but to save him. He swallows hard, because the silly, stupid sentiment of it makes his eyes a little misty.

“Um…yeah, I did,” Jungkook says slowly, as if testing cold waters.

You sigh. “Why’d you go on your own anyway?”

Jungkook’s shoulders pinch like he’s been struck. Truthfully, he’d logged on after a particularly frustrating call with Seokjin. After begging his manager to let him out of his contract with IJBC, Jungkook had been forced not only to continue working with Director Lim, but to keep good behavior lest the company seize their promotions of his previous album. But after chatting with you, Jungkook’s work is the furthest thing from his mind.

“Um…some issues with my work were getting to me so I figured I’d scout around a little,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you guys to tell me not to go.”

You laugh. “Turned out okay in the end,” you say easily. “But…your work?”

“Yeah…”

You’re quiet for a moment. While the silence isn’t awkward, it certainly feels thoughtful. “You don’t talk much about your job, so…I guess I was just curious. Like…what sort of issues…,” you continue, voice trailing off.

Jungkook thinks for a moment. What can he safely share without divulging too much? “Um, it’s…like this guy I’m working for is just kind of a dick,” he says, nodding once. “He’s awful to the employees and he’s been firing staff who piss him off. Just the other day he almost fired two people because they ran into me.”

“Oh?” you say, pensive. “So you’re pretty high up then?” you start, then let out a soft grunt and a laugh. “Sorry, I’m prying. Um…he sounds awful. It’s been bothering you working for him?”

Jungkook nods and picks at the skin around his thumb. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s only for a few months, but if it’s this bad after only a few days I don’t really know what to expect. I’m thinking about quitting somehow.”

“Well,” you begin, and Jungkook can hear the sound of things shuffling on the other side of the phone. “Here’s how I see it. If you quit, that’s one less person looking out for the people below you, you know?”

“Hm?”

“Like…if you’re there, maybe you can do some good and prevent other people from getting fired. But if you’re gone, you can’t really help anyone,” you say, then sigh. “I dunno. Just…if you’re forced to work with the guy, I figure you can try to find a way to turn it around. Maybe make things better for the people under you.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long, pregnant moment. He lets your words seep into his skin like a plant photosynthesizing. He really chews on them. “I…I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

You hum. “It’s okay. I can understand how working with someone like that would be really hard,” you say. “But…imagine how hard it is for the people who can’t just up and leave? The folks who have to sit there and take it and don’t have the option to quit, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, brows furrowing. He crosses his arms. “That’s true.”

“I mean, obviously you’re an adult and can do whatever you want, but…I dunno, I guess it would be pretty cool of you to stick around and try to help where you can,” you say. Before Jungkook can respond, however, you gasp. “Oh! I got a text from a client.”

“Oh? Who?” he asks.

“Ah, a woman named Kim Hyejin. She works for some entertainment company or something,” you say, and Jungkook’s blood runs cold.

Kim Hyejin. As in Rooftop Entertainment’s Kim Hyejin? As in Jungkook’s manager’s boss? The reason Jungkook can’t quit? He shakes his head, swallows the lump that’s growing in his throat, tries to silence the incessant thumping in his heart. It can’t be her, right? Surely not. But…really, how many Kim Hyejin’s work for ‘some entertainment company’ and require personal makeup artists? Even if the name is common, that’s just too sensational.

“O-Oh…um…is she the client you saw this morning?” Jungkook asks, but his mouth feels cottony. If you, of all people, were to somehow find out about him…

He shakes his head to clear it.

“Mhm, hold on a sec I’m trying to read it,” you say.

Jungkook doesn’t want to hold on. He doesn’t want to sit and wait for you to answer. He wants to end the call and throw his phone on the futon. He wants to take a long walk around the company building. He wants to delete his Arcana account.

But something keeps him on the line, like a string wrapped around his chest. He’s captive to your every word, desperate to know what Kim Hyejin has to say to you. Has she perhaps found out about Jungkook’s online friends? About the Beast Slayers? About you? Is she reaching out to make you sign an NDA? Did she approach you under the pretense of getting her makeup done only to lure you into accepting some sort of bribe to keep his identity secret?

Is she going to force you to stop contacting him…?

“Holy shit,” you say under your breath.

“What? What is it?” Jungkook says, too quick, too breathless.

You scoff. “Holy shit.”

“Please tell me,” he begs, voice frail. His hands are shaking.

Just when he’s found a group of people who he can connect with, who he can play with, who he can feel comfortable with, something has to come in and ruin it. Jungkook’s heart aches with the dread of anticipation.

“Dude,” you begin, but he can tell you’re smiling. “She just offered me a job on a TV show.”

Jungkook feels that same chill from before creeping up his spine like frost across a windowpane. “What show?” he asks.

If not a premeditated approach, then this has to be…

“Give Up Generation.”

Some sort of divine joke.

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