So like... what if they were dieties and you were a warlock and they were your patrons???
[Image ID: A figure stands stoically center frame, hand over chest and looking upwards, other hand holding a staff. Behind them hover the glowing disembodied figures of Sun and Moon. Sun is wearing a red capelet with a yellow shirt, and Moon is wearing a blue tunic with a silver cape, his signature hat on his head. Both Moon and Sun’s eyes are glowing and looking in the same direction. End ID.]
Genre: Fantasy AU!
Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader
Prologue
According to the old stories, the Moonchild’s Mother had conceived with a Moon deity. When she gave birth, she hid the child, afraid that the deity would steal him away. Heartbroken that she loved the child more and angry with her for keeping it away, the deity cursed the baby so that everything he touched would die. As the child grew, so too did his ruining power. By the time he was a young boy, without a figure to guide his magic, his Mother began to fear him as well. She feared him so much that she attempted to take his life, only for it to end in tragedy. The Moonchild had tried to stop her, grabbing her wrists. In the throes of turmoil, his power unchecked, she slowly turned to ash.
“There is magic in everything.” You had whispered to yourself, index finger gingerly running across the words on the page. With your bottom lip between your teeth, as it always is when you’re focused, you mull over the words staring back at you from the yellowed, faded pages of the book.
Suddenly, you stand and close it with a dull and dusty snap, waving your free hand around your face while you try to cough as quiet as you can. The old librarian peeks at you over the rim of her even older glasses from across the room, expressionless as ever.
The resident feline of the tiny library, a lithe grey striped bob-tailed sweetheart, has woken from his nap basking in the windowsill beside the chair you rose from. He stretches his back and looks up at you through tired golden eyes. You’ve always enjoyed the cat’s company when you come to return old and borrow new scrolls or books.
After you’ve corralled the heavy books into your bag, you huff, giving the cat a swift scratch behind his ears. It’s always hard leaving this place, loitering around the room before you have to rip yourself from your favorite getaway. You glance back at the massive shelves of literature and can’t help but admire the way the particles in the air catch the glowing dusk sunlight.
Tucking a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear, you adjust your pack and head for the door, boots muffled against the wood floor. You steel yourself just in time to open the heavy barrier, where you’re immediately met with the sounds of the busy road just two feet away.
Lofty, brisk autumn air feels wonderful as it soothes across your face, mussing the strands of hair you just fixed. Walking back to your lonely corner of the world is the same as always, and yet you can’t help but notice the details everyone around you so blatantly seems to ignore.
How the last fragments of the sun’s glare are warm and welcoming, or how the cadence of the town’s activity creates a steady rhythm so comforting that it washes away any worries because you’re alive and well. The smell of rich earth freshly overturned in the fields just behind the general store. The magic of life, right before your eyes.
There’s a gentle, but sad smile on your face as you turn your back on the world outside, closing the door with a quiet thud. Before you get started, you reach for a sprig of sage, still hanging from the twine in front of the window facing the sun. You’re not sure why, but you’re more than nervous as you light a few candles to illuminate your work station. A curse passes your lips as you heave open the heavy leather scripture on the book stand shoved in the corner beside the work station. Several rare ingredients are scattered in bottles and strung along the wall from twine.
There’s a crystal with six smooth sides and tapered points on either end resting in the fold between two pages of your ancient copy of The Language of Flowers. You can’t help the fond smile that graces your lips as your eyes land on it. Anyone else might assume that it were just a beautiful paperweight, valiantly guarding your place between the spine of the book. You get lost in the memories of the crystal as it catches the soft glow of candle light, nearly swirling the color into brilliant, flickering shades of color that are always reminiscent of the sky at sunrise.
Your Mother gave you that crystal as a child when you were just beginning to hear her tales of wonderment and magic from the old stories she would read to you. Your favorite had always been about the Moonchild, a human warlock who ruined everything he touched. His story always fascinated you, even though it was littered with tragedy and sadness and pain. It wasn’t the warlocks fault that everything he touched began to wither, wilt and die.
According to the old stories, the Moonchild’s Mother had conceived with a Moon deity. When she gave birth, she hid the child, afraid that the deity would steal him away. Heartbroken that she loved the child more and angry with her for keeping it away, the deity cursed the baby so that everything he touched would die. As the child grew, so too did his ruining power. By the time he was a young boy, without a figure to guide his magic, his Mother began to fear him as well. She feared him so much that she attempted to take his life, only for it to end in tragedy. The Moonchild had tried to stop her, grabbing her wrists. In the throes of turmoil, his power unchecked, she slowly turned to ash.
In panic and despair he shouted, slamming his fists into the stone of their home, upturning everything within reach. The townspeople gathered at the commotion, watching in shock and horror as they saw the Moonchild turn everything he had touched into a storm of gently swirling ashes, dunes of it at his feet. Even with such a pained expression and tear-stained cheeks shining in the pure moonlight, they turned on him, a boy, howling threats of hanging or burning at the stake.
So the Moonchild fled into the forest. The townspeople were uneasy, but let him go out of fear for their own lives to turn out the same as his Mother’s. After some time with no further threat, the town settled back into ease, assuming the Moonchild had been killed by the dangers that lurked in the wild. Surely his power held no candle to the flame of a wild pack of hungry wolves they thought.
With a deep sigh and the pulling of your heartstrings, you wrench yourself out of your own head. Your arms flail around your head to clear the thoughts and pangs of sadness for the warlock’s story. “There is magic in everything.” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your stone mortar and pestle. The smooth, cold surface and heavy weight calms your nerves as you release a breathe you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
You begin to hum a melody you remember as a child, although you’ve never been able to remember where it came from. It always soothes you. Your hands run on autopilot, pouring this or that into the mortar, sprinkling something alongside it to sizzle. You add two drops of a noxious smelling substance, letting them fall into the bowl from a twig you snapped between your closed fists. More grinding. Then you crush a small bramble of dried leaves between your hands, letting the flakes float to the concoction you’re creating.
The herbs are ready. Next, as you still hum, you scoop the lavender colored liquid out on two fingers, lathering it across the only piece of your Mother you have left, an old pewter ring she always had dangling from a chain around her neck. With a gentleness you did not know you possessed, you place the ring into the small canvas bag of soil and crushed berries you’d collected earlier that morning. You add the sprig of fresh sage to finish it off.
You stop humming. The crystal sitting unassumingly between the book pages now rests in your closed palm. With one last shaky breath of released nerves, you hold the canvas bag between your palms, using your thumbs to press the crystal firmly against the contents inside.
The incantation slips from your lips easily, overflowing with feeling. Your skin prickles as you speak the ancient text from the heavy book resting on the stand. You’re sure something must happen this time with the raw power you can feel swirling around somewhere inside. Continuing, it takes all of your focus and willpower not to get discouraged or frustrated when you can still feel the fog of it not being quite right. You were sure the spell would work this time. It was the only option left from the hundreds you’d tried over the last eighteen months.
Something happens a moment later, and with great shock, you drop the crystal. Your precious magical item. Everything is mute, but there’s a distinct ringing in your ears, as if you’re slowly regaining your auditory sense after hearing a bomb go off directly beside you. Still in shock, you’re eyeing your left hand where you could have sworn something cold touched you, and you’re sweating profusely.
Brow furrowed in confusion, you huff a dramatic sigh and throw the bag from your hands to the work table. The helpless feelings of fatigue overtake you as they always do when you're trying desperately, recklessly to cast a spell and make your Mother rise from the dead. Necromancy is a dangerous game, and one you would give anything to win. Just once.
You sink to the floor, slumping over and pulling your crystal to your chest where you clutch it tightly. The tears flood you instantly and the loneliness you feel crowds in on you like a tidal wave, burying you deep beneath the weight of it where nobody can hear your screaming.
________________________________________________
A sound so shrill and loud it breaks the stone mortar on your table rips you from your fitful slumber, and then everything you’ve worked so hard for explodes. Almost in slow motion you watch as all manner of material splinters as though thousands of tiny, silent bolts of lightning are rippling them into separation. The floor beneath you begins to vibrate with unknown intensity, followed by the an audio force so deep and frightening, it knocks the very breath from your lungs.
The tiny corner of the world you’ve worked so hard to keep for yourself is no longer there, awash in the winds whipping around you in a ten foot vortex. The only thing left is you and the crystal you hold onto for dear life. You’re shell-shocked, your entire body sore from the toll attempting to spell-cast always takes and the effects of it failing yet again.
You’re sure it must mean something. Very suddenly and with perfect clarity, you see the beauty of this catastrophe. There is beauty in pain and suffering and it feels almost as though the idea of your world being completely ruined is a burden lifted from your shoulders. You’re standing among the fine rubble, smiling to yourself.
Like a punch to the gut you’re knocked from your stupor by a shout, “She’s a witch!”
Another cry from the crowd now gathering outside what was your life mimicking the same sentiments.
“Grab her!” they holler, shaking their fingers in your direction.
You watch as they come toward you slowly, claws outstretched in a wary attack. You feel lighter as you step out of their reach, watching the squat, greasy man they're attached to trip over the debris at your feet.
“Burn her at the stake!” Another woman shrieks in horror.
Those words are all it takes for you to snap back to the reality that you’re in danger if you don’t escape. You know those words.+
Without a second thought you’re running down the backside of the heap towards the fields.
It takes ten minutes and an overwhelming amount of sheer willpower to escape the townspeople hunting for you. Lucky for you it is night, and their torchlight casts dark shadows in the deep brush, making your stealthy escape possible as you pause to catch your breath against the back of a large boulder. You are certain that had it been daylight you would have passed out from running non-stop long ago.
Squeezing your eyes shut tight for a brief moment, you inhale a large gulp of oxygen before you’re off again, holding your breath and sneaking between the shadows cast against the foliage.
It is in this moment that you’re blessing your curious nature, happy that you know this forest like the back of your hand from all of your time spent mapping it and collecting your ingredients.
However, the moment of joy is fleeting when you realize that there isn’t anywhere for you to escape completely without crossing over the hulking mountains that your little town sits in the valley of. You swallow hard, chancing an anxious glance at the jagged edges of snow-capped rocks gleaming in the lavender color of the moon.
You don’t have a choice.
You know what you have to do.
You don’t hesitate.
Plucking a small stone from the cool soil, you kiss it for good luck before reeling back your arm and aiming for somewhere across the trees. The moment the hollow knocking sound and rusting of the stone falling through some leaves hits your ears, you’re running in the opposite direction.
Those people you used to know are left behind, searching for you from where the stone landed. There are too many emotions swirling around inside as you grapple up the side of a twelve foot cliff face and begin your adventure in unknown territory. In a twisted way, you’re worried that the townspeople won’t know how to get back into town from this deep within the forest.
Once you’re over the side of the cliff and out of view, you look up at the mountain before you. The forest that blankets it is thicker than the one you know, and it prompts an eerie feeling in your heart. It is only now, as you clench your fists that you realize you haven’t let go of your Mother’s crystal all this time. You stare at it in wonder and nearly choke on a sob before smiling at it. You take three breaths to calm your nerves, swallowing down the bundle of emotions churning your gut, and begin the ascent.
________________________________________________
It takes three days of horrible, awful luck before anything happens. You are not sure where you're even wandering to, but you know you need to either find a place to lay low in the mountains for a few weeks, or just keep moving before someone finds you.
You’ve lost weight, you can tell, as the clothes on your frame are already beginning to feel a bit too loose. You can’t even imagine the state your hair must be in. The only bit of luck you’ve had was finding a whole turtle shell lying in the brush. It needed cleaning, but you were still able to use it to catch rainwater for drinking during the storm the night before.
A deep growl sounds from your stomach, reminding you of the strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right. You hadn’t seen or heard a single animal in at least a full day. Not even birds. Oddly, the brush was still crushed in certain areas, and some wild raspberries had been freshly plucked from a bush you’d also collected your meager breakfast from.
You were fairly certain you’d also seen some wild animal tracks in the mud this morning. One set from a deer and another from a fox.
Continuing on for some time, you hum your familiar, soothing melody to yourself to ignore the persistent growling of your gut as you walk. The sunlight is dampening in favor of the moonlight the longer you travel. You close your eyes briefly and tilt your chin to the sky, basking in the last flecks of daytime.
Without warning, you’re suddenly overcome with a great wave of nausea. Your eyes nearly snap out of the sockets as your entire body wretches forward to expel the bile from your stomach. It leaves you reeling and you’re very much hyper aware that you can feel a strong force thrumming in your veins.
And you’re not alone.
There’s a series of voices speaking in various tones. Some sound shocked, while others sound mildly irritated and one or two even sound giddy. You think they’re talking about you, but you can’t be sure as a hazy fog overcomes your brain and makes you swim. You smile, feeling warm and loose, like you're drunk.
You collapse into the dirt with a dull thud and some crunching leaves. As your consciousness slips from you, all you can see is a large black wolf walking towards you cautiously. It’s eyes are the same iridescent color as the moon.
anonymous: 48 and 49 with witch!reader and warlock!heechul?
Your sleep was rudely interrupted by your partner ripping the blanket from your body and throwing himself down next to you.
“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” he groaned, throwing an arm over your waist.
“Do what?”
“Mate talk.”
“He’s here again?” you frowned rolling to look over at the glowing numbers of the clock on your bedside table. “Can’t it wait?” you threw Heechul’s arm off of you, trying to get comfortable so you could fall back to sleep.
Of course, you didn’t have the chance, as he jumped up from the bed, grabbing your arm to lead you to the waiting vampire.
You sluggishly padded behind him, not bothering to sort out your bed hair or change from your pyjamas. You were ready to give the vampire a scolding for coming at this time and for once more getting his hopes up, but the sight of his full face stopped you.
“You really found them?”
The question made Baekhyun beam and nod his head. “They’re in my bed right now. I need help on the asking out part.”
“We’ll make a potion. Just slip it into their drink,”
“We’re not drugging his mate!” you pushed past the warlock to flop down in the throne at the centre of the room, earning yourself a scowl from the warlock. “When they wake, just explain. If they’re really the one, they’ll feel the same. You can spend some time in bed to get to know eachother, or you can take them out for a breakfast date”
The immortal mentally planned out what he would do as he listened to you, the smile growing on his lips as the scenario played out in his head. When he was happy with his plan, he approached your chair.
“You’re the best,” you were wrapped in his arms. “I don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you,” he sighed dramatically before his lips pressed to your cheek, an action that the eldest in the room became jealous of.
“Or you,” he was behind the warlock in seconds, giving him the same treatment you had.
The sound of crunching boots comes closer until you hear them stop directly in front of you. In the quiet you realize you can feel things pull every time he is near enough.
He clears his throat, crouching in front of you. The scent of him is hard to describe, but you think you like it.
“Hey.” he whispers.
Wearily, you look up at him. His expression is still a little guarded, but it is far kinder than it was seconds ago.
“Who are you?” you ask.
You watch on, clearly reading the emotions that pass his face. He curls his lips inward, mouth stretched in a taut line as he regards you with narrowed eyes. As if he’s trying to read you and weigh how to answer that question.
Finally, with a sigh, “I’m Namjoon.”
He smiles a little when you do, raising his brow to prompt you, “And you are?”
You feel light, as if you’re floating and there’s nothing at all wrong in the world. There’s a warm softness soothing your body, and you realize that your stomach doesn’t feel empty anymore. Your throat isn’t parched, and you somehow can’t bring yourself to even begin to harbor the worries you’d been holding on to for who knows how long. You’re at peace.
There’s something firm and warm curled against your back, and as you open your eyes, you’re met with a wet nose. Two pairs of eyes stare down the length of it, and you feel a sense of calm while you take in the hues of amber and green in their brown depths. When you smile and scoot away, breaking contact, your expression falls immediately and it feels as though you were doused with a bucket of water.
Whirling on your weary legs, it is clear that the... deer in the bed you just rose from had you under some sort of calm spell. It stares back at you and you’re vaguely aware that it looks like it might be smiling warmly at you.
A sound of metal banging outside shocks you into breaking eye contact with the strange creature, although your eyes gaze at it when it rises from the bed and walks toward the door. It gives you a moment to take it all in, waiting by the heavy wood of the door.
The room you’re in is large. The ceiling is a mix of stone and... perhaps tree. Old, ancient tree that rounds down the sides and creates three of the rounded walls. More stone fills the gaps where the wood does not. The floor is divided like marble, much like the walls. Wooden beneath your feet, but one step to the right and it’s smooth stone. Where it dips toward the door, it becomes packed earth.
It is someone’s home, that’s for certain. From the drop into what you’re assuming is the kitchen, a large hearth in the center of the front wall sits unlit, although you can faintly smell freshly snuffed out ashes. There’s a large table beside the hearth with several stools shoved against the wall beside it. Many scrolls and papers are scattered across it’s dark surface.
The bed beside you is large and more inviting than it should be with it’s plush looking pillows and blankets, all in various shades of rich earth tones. Briefly, you resist the urge to crawl right back into it. A darker line cuts between the wood of the wall beside the bed, and it takes a moment before you realize it’s an oddly shaped door, made to fit perfectly with the wall.
Twisting shelves of varying depths have been made from the wood curling up the side of the house. Some have clean, stacked dishes, but most of them are filled with books, and a strange, Leopard spotted cat sits on the highest shelf, watching you with a lazy yet intuitive expression. Otherwise, it doesn’t move.
There are clothes draped across the back of a large, comfortable looking chair, framed by a basket full of more clothes and a small table on either side. A pair of glasses sits folded on top of a book on the table.
The heavy wooden door the deer stands before has a small window, and you notice that there are more panes of glass tucked between some of the other places where stone and tree do not meet in various colors. It paints a very pretty, glittering image as the sun dances brightly outside.
Inside your head, you’re actually a little cautious of why you’re not more guarded. Why do you feel so right?
The deer kicks at the door impatiently, waiting for you to join it. Your curiosity is the winning party, and you take it in stride. You descend the two stairs to the side of the room to follow it. Gently, you touch at it’s back, giving a little pet before pushing the door open.
You can’t be sure you didn’t hear a small grunt of joy as it forces it’s head against your palm before it moves so your hand is now splayed on it’s back as you both walk forward.
The glare of the sunlight through the canopy of trees is brilliant. Your guide stops after a few feet, staring ahead at something. Your eyes follow the direction until you’re met with a man standing very still and watching you in return. He looks young, perhaps your own age. Upon his approach you realize how tall he is, and how the sun catches in the golden hue of his tanned skin.
You wait just a moment to take him in. He’s wearing what you would say is a normal Autumn weather set of clothes. A t-shirt and jacket, the sleeves of which are rolled up slightly as he worked on his task. His trousers tucked into his boots which are barely laced up properly.
The only thing you find a little strange is his hands. They’re encased in dark colored wrappings that extend half way up his forearms. You think it would be rude to ask about them.
The animal at your side removes itself, and you’re left with this stranger. He speaks to you, cautiously and in a language you do not know.
You tilt your head to the side as you apologize, “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you.” You feel sheepish, realizing he probably can’t understand you either.
“Ah, no, I apologize, miss.”, he says slowly. There’s a brief pause as he meets your eyes before he begins again, raising his hand to rub at his neck and looking away.
“I wasn’t sure which language to use first. You’re the first person in human form I’ve spoken to in years and since you just so happened to walk into my home as if there wasn’t a very powerful illusion spell to keep people out and-“
“Excuse me?” you cut him off, your lower jaw suddenly lax.
He stops his rambling, “What?”
“Did you just say there was an... illusion spell?” You tuck away the other question about you being the only person in human form he's spoken to in years.
He stares at you incredulously, “Yes?”
You blanche at him, completely confused by his words and expression, “I... I’m sorry, what?”
He covers his smile when he chuckles, averting his eyes again, “Why is that so strange? You cast a spell, too. To counter it. Otherwise you’d have walked right past and never known we were here. Magic or not.”
You blink rapidly a few times, sucking in a sharp breath. You try to speak, bringing your hand up to emphasize your phrasing, but nothing comes out.
For the moment, you accept that you're having a conversation about real magic. Trying again, your fingers pinch together as your force out a thought, “I can’t cast anything. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
His brow knits together in confusion, “You did, though.”
Before you can further argue, his expression hardens and he speaks again. Only this time, there’s a chilling difference in his tone.
“Now I must ask you, who are you and what are you doing in this place? What are you after?”
The chill that seizes your spine makes you wince. His eyes are a deep brown, nearly black with the cold hardness behind them.
Your body screams alert and your blood runs cold and you try not to let the fear waiver your voice as you reply, “I’m nobody. I’m not after anything and I just happened to wander into your camp on accident.”
A sound similar to a warning growl rips from his throat, “Liar.”
He steps closer, looming over you in a very threatening manner. You gaze up at him and in your close proximity, you can feel a thrumming in your veins. A pull. A lock of his silvery fringe hangs in his eyes, and when you peer into them you feel it again.
Those eyes are staring right back into yours when you breathe, “Honest.”
Something akin to guilt flashes across his face at your sincerity before the expression hardens again and he whirls back, stepping away with a frustrated grumble.
“Then how did this happen?” his voice drips with authority as he gestures, dark clothed hands sweeping all around. He quirks one eyebrow, waiting. Oddly, it makes him appear more charming.
“I don’t know how any of this happened.” You say, voice cracking half way through the last word. The implication of your words is heavy, but he doesn’t know what you’ve been through so it’s lost on him.
“I- ” you swallow thickly, crouching down. You bring your head between your knees and hug them, wishing to just have some answers.
The sound of crunching boots comes closer until you hear them stop directly in front of you. In the quiet you realize you can feel things pull every time he is near enough.
He clears his throat, crouching in front of you. The scent of him is hard to describe, but you think you like it.
“Hey.” he whispers.
Wearily, you look up at him. His expression is still a little guarded, but it is far kinder than it was seconds ago.
“Who are you?” you ask.
You watch on, clearly reading the emotions that pass his face. He curls his lips inward, mouth stretched in a taut line as he regards you with narrowed eyes. As if he’s trying to read you and weigh how to answer that question.
Finally, with a sigh, “I’m Namjoon.”
He smiles a little when you do, raising his brow to prompt you, “And you are?”
You startle, “Oh, sorry. I’m ________.”
“Okay.” he says, standing and extending his hand out to you for only a second before he retracts it and looks at it with a horrified, disgusted face.
“Come on, let’s get you something to eat and talk.” he says instead, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and kicking some leaves around with his boot.
As if on queue at the word ‘eat’, your stomach growls terribly loud.
A big smile spreads on his face when you look at him in horror. You notice the charming dimples of his cheeks, and maybe you feel that pulling again.
He leads you to a makeshift cooking station where there’s a silver pot of something delicious boiling so hot it’s about to go over the side.
Namjoon rushes to remove it from the fire without much thought, touching the metal handle.The wrappings don’t protect him from the scorch. He calls out, then hisses a curse briefly, hand jumping back from the pot as he sticks his wrapped finger against his lips.
There is a thick, rough leather glove sitting on a small table beside you. Handing it to him, you try to hide your amusement when he mumbles a thank you around his finger, eyes flicking to yours before his brows draw together in concentration.
“Go sit over there, please.” he asks quietly, pointing to a hammock tied between two low hanging branches.
As you approach, you realize the branches are all attached to the same absolutely giant tree that makes up sixty percent of the house you emerged from. The trunk has to to be twenty feet wide as it stretches up and to the right. The house is tucked into the right side of it, and you can see grass from where the tree splits into giant branches overhead as if there’s a hill to climb up on the other side of it.
You’re broken from your small observational reprieve when Namjoon stalks toward you with a small smile and a soup mug of stew in his hand. He doesn't pass it to you directly. Instead, he places it on the ground at your feet, where you pick it up.
“Thank you.” you return the smile.
He pulls up a smaller stool made of wood and stretched canvas, lacing his fingers in front of him as his elbows rest on his knees.
“So,” he begins. “I might have read into it, but when you said you didn’t know how any of this happened, it seemed like you meant a whole lot more than just breaking down my spell and wandering into my home.”
You blow on the spoonful of stew as you inch it closer to your mouth, nodding once the spoon exits your lips.
“Tell me.” he says warmly. You’re not sure how a command like that can sound so gentle, but you’re compelled to tell him regardless. You feel like you need to get it off of your chest, and since it involves magic, which he apparently thinks is normal to possess, he is your best bet at finding some answers to your story.
You suppose he needs a few small details to understand why you did what you did that catapulted you into this insane situation.
A deep breath, “Well. For starters, my Mother died about two years ago. She was... magnificent.”
His expression is unreadable when you tell him, and you assume he is focused intently.
“She was my world. She believed that there was magic in everything and always told me fantastic stories laced with it.” you trail off, eyes downcast.
“I grew up believing and seeing the magic in every single part of our world, but could never wield it. I wanted to so very badly, could feel that I needed to possess it.” you said.
Namjoon’s expression softens a little as he watches you.
A brief pause for more stew before you continue, “So when I was maybe six or so, one night after telling me stories of Warlocks and Witches and magic, she gave me th-” you dig into your pocket, realizing it’s weightless.
Panic crosses your face, “Where’s my crystal?” you ask.
The man in front of you furrows his brow in confusion. Then, realization.
“Ah.” is all he gives you before whistling delicately. Then he says something in a language you can’t even begin to guess.
From the other side of the house comes that same Siberian Roe Deer. The sun shines a little brighter against his back as he approaches with your crystal in his mouth.
When he reaches you, he drops it directly into Namjoon’s large, waiting palm. You stare at them both. If you were not mistaken, you would believe they were both staring at you with amused faces.
“Thank you, Hoseok.” Namjoon says softly, running his fingers over the back of the deer’s neck.
“Hoseok?” you ask. You’re a little on edge when the deer’s head snaps in your direction, waiting intently.
Namjoon chuckles at you, handing the crystal to you and watching you curiously as you instinctively hoard it to your chest.
You put the soup down, “Why do I feel like he can understand everything I say?”
“Because he can.” comes Namjoon’s simple reply.
Your mouth is agape, “You can?” you ask the deer pointedly.
He nods with his whole neck, bucking his front legs up and down a bit in an excited reply.
“What.” is all you can manage.
Namjoon sighs, his hand hovering over Hoseok’s neck as he makes himself more comfortable by lying down against his legs. Once settled, the gentle scratching continues.
“Well, your Mother wasn’t wrong. There is magic in everything, to put it simply. Now tell me what else happened?” he says, attention back on you.
The soup is back in your grasp as you go on, “First, thank you for returning this.” you say as you tuck the crystal into your pocket. It’s weight is comforting.
“Anyway, when I was a kid, after she gave me this, something happened. I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but it felt like what I assumed was magic.”
“When I touched it for the first time, a surge of something in me snapped and I ended up sick on the floor, and then, at the hospital for three days. When I got better and asked where my crystal was, my Mother swore in horror that I’d never see it again since it made me so sick.”
“She thought I was crazy that I wanted it back. I remember crying for a long time and telling her that whatever happened was magic.” You laugh lightly at the memory, setting your now empty soup mug on the ground.
“A year later, I found it tucked away in her room in a bag shoved into a hidden, hollow book I picked up accidentally instead of one with a similar spine from her shelf. For whatever reason, when I touched it this time, the surge of energy was still there, but I guess by anticipating it, I didn’t get sick.”
Namjoon’s hum of understand is his reply, urging you to continue.
“It’s been frustrating though.” You say, tilting your head to the side, “I can still feel whatever power is there and I’ve read dozens of books and scrolls on magic and I still can’t make anything happen. I’ve tried every suggested method.”
“Why do you feel like you need to make something happen?” he asks curiously.
You stare at him, “I feel like I am meant to. I feel this,” you clutch at the center of your chest, gently patting yourself there with your palm, “This pull. Every time. And, now, here in this place, I can feel it too. I felt it horribly when I first accidentally stumbled into your home.”
“So that’s why you got so sick when you first broke my illusion.” he muses, nodding to himself.
“I didn’t do it. My crystal must have.” you correct.
The look on Namjoon’s face says otherwise, but he doesn’t argue.
“Anyway. So, I suppose, without anything left to lose, I tried desperately for months, specifically reading books on Necromancy, to bring my Mother back.”
The ease and nonchalance with which you said it concerns Namjoon, although he says nothing.
“I know, not the right thing to do. I was desperate. I tried somewhere around 300 times over the last year and a half. Every time, I’d get horribly sick immediately after. Nothing ever happened other than that though. The energy I would feel was different, yet similar each time, too.”
He nods when you look over to him, prompting you further.
“After awhile, I got used to it enough that I didn’t hurl after, but I would still get very tired. I’m certain I passed out once or twice, too. But this time was different.” you whisper.
When your eyes flick to Namjoon, both he and Hoseok are focused on you, waiting.
“This time, when I last did it a few days ago, I fell asleep. When I woke up, my entire house shattered into splintering debris with a sound so loud I thought I went deaf. Something powerful happened. Nothing was left except for this crystal.”
Namjoon’s eyes are watching you with a piercing gaze.
“Of course, my entire town came rushing. Seeing me standing there, oh god...” you muse, hanging your head in your palms, “They called me a witch. And the-” your throat catches.
“And the hardest, most fucked up part, is I wish I was.” you say through clenched teeth.
Both of them are silent as they watch your face roll with a tide of emotions.
“They threatened to burn me at the stake. So, I ran. Wandered for a few days and here I am.” you say, rubbing your hands over your thighs with a deep sigh.
“Well,” Namjoon starts, leaning back and letting his head roll from side to side, “Good thing you are a witch, then.”
He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like there was no chance in it being untrue. The way you gawk at him makes him laugh fully, and you're sure you feel that pulling in your chest this time.
“I am not. This crystal is a magic item. I just use it.” you say in a somber tone. You stretch high, your full stomach a pleasant weight in your center.
“I promise you, as someone who has known magic for longer than you've been alive, it’s not the crystal.” Namjoon says from his seat.
“What are you saying? Are you some kind of ancient Warlock? Going to tell me you’re a hundred years old and that you live up here all alone like a hermit?” You laugh, rolling your eyes.
Namjoon’s mock offense at your joke makes you laugh out loud.
“Actually, it’s two hundred years, thank you very much.” He says with an dimpled, shit-eating grin.
You splutter, unable to expel the saliva you had swallowed down the wrong pipe at his statement.
“The rest is pretty accurate, wouldn’t you agree, Hobi?” he asks the deer at his side.
“You’re definitely joking, right?” You look at him disbelieving.
The crinkles of his eyes as he smiles big and wide tell you he is, in fact, not joking. He seems giddy that you know.
You have to sit down again to process this new information. Namjoon fidgets with his lips, thinking while you are processing.
“Uh,” he clears his throat, “You can, um... stay here if you like? If you don’t have anywhere else to go.” he says in a smaller voice, clearly insecure about asking someone he just met to live with him.
“We can make you your own area and I can maybe teach you some stuff, or...” he trails off, head down but eyes looking at you through his fringe.
You feel like you’re getting whiplash with the emotions he’s given you in such a short time. You’ve only just met hours ago.
Twisting your hands, you’re also unsure about this. However, “I don’t really have any other options, Namjoon. If that is alright, I suppose we could try it.”
When you realize you made it sound like a last resort, you add, “And I’d very much like to learn what you want to teach me.”
He smiles a bit at that. You've already noticed when it's more genuine, it reaches his eyes.
“Forgive me if this has been strange. I just... it’s been a long time since I talked to anyone that wasn’t trapped in an animal’s body.” he says before freezing, realizing the information he passed to you.
Your eyes go wide, then down to Hoseok. You rush to stand, and so does Namjoon, now in a slight panic at your outburst.
“He’s a human?! Trapped in that body? How? Why?” It makes a little bit more sense as you recall the question you tucked away earlier.
Hoseok’s eyes are glued to you both, watching in what you assume is pure glee at the uncomfortable situation Namjoon put himself in.
“Uh... long sto-” he is interrupted by a loud crack behind you as you stand there looking like you’re about to argue.
You can’t see what it is, but the surprise on Namjoon’s face makes you take some hesitant steps toward him, subconsciously sneaking your hand down to grip your crystal in your pocket. Hoseok remains still, only his eyes glancing to you when you peek at him as you stop not three feet from Namjoon.
Another loud snarl. “Is it the wolf?” you ask in a whisper as you turn. You miss the flicker of amusement that crosses over the man's features as you turn fully.
You’re met with a large, terrifying tiger, crouched low and teeth barred. None of you move.
It stalks forward a few paces. You bring your fist up to your chest, clutching your crystal. Apparently, you moved too quickly.
It sets off the tiger, lunging at you with a growl. Before you know what you’re doing, your hand comes up in front of your face.
“Please don’t!” you scream.
The tiger crashes unceremoniously against something solid and invisible. You’re surprised, Namjoon is surprised, and most of all, the tiger is surprised.
As it sits up, it huffs and looks up at you both with wide eyes, then raises a massive paw and gestures to you while looking directly at Namjoon behind you. It makes some strange deep noises from the back of it’s throat that sound an awful lot like complaining.
Namjoon barks a loud laugh, bending over with his eyes squeezed shut. The tiger doesn’t look amused. Hoseok is making a strange, high-pitched grunting sound that you chalk up to being as close as he can get to outright laughing.
You’re still breathing hard, not sure what just transpired.
“Uh.” you start, swallowing the slight nausea thickly. “Okay, yeah, let me get this straight.”
Namjoon is still cackling as he brushes past you to clap the tiger on the shoulder, scratching his fingers through the fur between it’s ears.
You cross your arms, crystal still snugly curled in one fist, “Is this one of your friends also trapped in an animals body?”
Namjoon’s dimpled smile says it all as he sighs happily, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye.
“Mmhm. This is Taehyung. As you can see, he likes to joke around.” The tiger is beaming you a bright, boxy smile.
“Pretending to eat someone is not funny!” you scowl at him.
Namjoon chuckles, “But then it got better because you totally shut him out with that barrier!” he interjects.
“Yeah, about that...” you trail off.
Hoseok stands beside you, taking a defensive position and lightly jabbing at Taehyung’s side with his antlers.
“You didn’t even know you were doing it, did you?” Namjoon asks, a little more serious.
With a shake of your head, you turn. A smaller figure is stretching it’s back just outside of the door to Namjoon’s little home. You realize it’s the Leopard Cat from earlier.
It seems to be annoyed, and if you weren’t mistaken, nearly rolls it’s eyes as it gracefully slides back inside through the open door.
Beside you, Namjoon begins speaking in a different language, even different from the one he used with Hoseok earlier.
You deadpan, “Don’t tell me you’re speaking Tiger dialect.”
Taehyung’s answering sounds tell you that is exactly what he is doing.
“Is it all the same language?” you ask, now genuinely curious.
“Not quite. Each species has it’s own. For example, Taehyung here can speak freely to Yoongi since they’re both feline, so it's the same. That’s it, though. Otherwise, I have to mediate and translate for them all, or they just speak with gestures to each other.” he explains.
You nod along even though you’re confused about several things.
First, “Is Yoongi that tiny Leopard that lives in your house?”
Namjoon clicks his tongue, “Yes.”
Second, “So, please, can you explain why your friends are all trapped in animal bodies and you’re not? What happened?”
He pauses, not sure how to answer, “It was my Father who did this to them. His Magic doesn’t affect me since it’s the same as mine.”
“What kind of Magic do you mean?” you ask quietly.
Namjoon gestures back to the little seating arrangement, plopping down with a sigh. Taehyung and Hoseok don’t follow you.
The Warlock in front of you looks tired suddenly, weary. “I’m a Warlock, yes, but since you seem to know so little about magic, let me explain.” he begins.
“Typically, each Magic user garners their power from a source. Like a deity or a temple. Something of worship. We draw our power from that. It doesn’t mean you have to go pray or be religious about it, it’s more like an affinity. You can only have one type, so you dedicate your Magic to it.”
He draws a breath, his hand outstretching to show you his flat palm. A small... something happens there. Like the iridescence of a bubble’s surface, you can see translucent surfaces shifting as they catch the glinting sunlight.
“For me, my affinity is the Moon. That makes me a Moon Warlock. We each have one, and if I’m going to teach you anything magic, we’ll have to figure out what yours is, too. You have to have one already, since you're able to cast."
You can’t help the ripple of excitement that bubbles in your chest at his seriousness in teaching you.
"Still just the crystal." you remind him.
“My Father was a very powerful Moon Deity, and since our affinity is the same, it renders spells of the same type useless. So, his curse didn’t work on me this time.” he says lowly.
You don’t miss the hurt and remorse in his eyes when he says that. “What do y-”
Namjoon cuts you off deliberately, saying instead, “Anyway. So, yeah. My Warlock friends are all trapped in animal bodies.” He scratches at the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eyes.
Your heart sinks at the loneliness he must feel. “Who are all of your friends? I mean, besides these guys.” you say, gesturing out with a small smile at the pile of deer and tiger gently wrestling on the ground.
“Well, you saw Yoongi. Here are Hoseok and Taehyung. Seokjin should be around here somewhere, probably hunting.” he says, eyes scanning the edge of the clearing.
“Ah, then there’s Jimin and Jungkook. I don’t know when they’ll be back. I asked them to get some rare herbs for me and they’re the fastest. They left this morning, but they were here when you first walked through my spell.”
“What kind of Warlocks are these two?” you ask, laughing quietly as you observe them.
Namjoon sits up straighter, calling to Hoseok first in the dialect specific to him.
The deer disentangles himself from the tiger, who wiggles around on his back and swats at him playfully.
Hoseok opens his mouth, various tones of grunting directed at Namjoon.
“I was just asking him if it was alright for me to tell you. Sometimes it’s not always polite to ask other users what their type is.” he explains.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” you say, blinking sheepishly at Hoseok.
The deer raises one hoof and sets it gently on your knee.
“It’s alright. He said it was fine anyway. Hoseok is a Sun Warlock. Much the opposite of me, although we compliment each other well.”
Hoseok makes more grunting.
“Fine fine, yes. He wants you to know it was him that healed you. That’s what he does.” Namjoon says.
You nod, “Thank you, Hobi.” You reach out to scratch him. He steps beside you, laying his neck across your lap, inviting you to pet. Your arms instinctively wrap over his head, using both of your hands to absentmindedly scratch at both sides of his face and head.
Namjoon watches fondly, “With each sign comes spell-types that are our Major and Minor spell-casting types. For Hobi, Healing is his Major, and Harvest is his Minor.”
“Would Taehyung mind if I asked his, too?” you peer at the tiger chasing his own tail in the dirt. At the sound of his name, he perks up.
Namjoon speaks to him in tiger dialect, asking the same thing he did to Hoseok you assume.
Without a moment of hesitation the tiger is bounding to you, stopping short to sit directly in front of you. Even sitting in a hammock with him sitting down in front of you, the tiger’s eyes are level with your own.
He makes some grumbling noises and Namjoon translates, “He wants you to guess.”
You scoff, watching Taehyung puff out his chest and flash you a fierce yet smug expression, “Uh, I don’t know. He seems to think he’s very important.” He looks very regal with the setting sun and the glowing fire at his back.
Namjoon laughs, “Well, he is pretty important. What do you know about tigers?” he prompts.
“They’re protectors.” It clicks without any other clues.
The Moon Warlock clarifies, “Yes, they are. Taehyung specifically is a War Warlock. War Warlocks have high offensive” Taehyung animatedly mimics a vicious attack.
“And defensive” The tiger now puffs his chest and puts one huge paw over it, “Abilities, but they only have one spell-type and that’s Alteration. To cast on themselves to increase their physical abilities. Essentially, he is the pinnacle of physical harmony. An elite fighter and swordsman.”
You pout you bottom lip and raise your eyebrows in an impressed look, “Very impressive.”
There’s a thick atmosphere suddenly as you and Namjoon both seem to realize where that leads you.
“So... now that I know you’re a Moon Warlock, would it still be considered rude to ask what your Major and Minor are? Can I assume one of them is Illusions?” you peek at him quietly.
With the sun now set, it would be hard to see his face much, and Namjoon is willfully staring a hole in the ground, refusing to meet your eyes, “Illusion Magic is my Minor.”
He huffs quickly, resolutely bringing his eyes to stare directly at your face, “If Hoseok is a Sun Warlock and their Major is Healing and I’m the literal opposite of him...”
The way he says the last words are bitter and hateful and about himself. You notice the pain and shame on his face as he squeezes his eyes shut for a second. When he opens them, it's like everything slows down and the moon brightens drastically in the canopy overhead, catching his irises and making them glow.
“You’re beautiful.” you whisper, too late in clamping a hand over your mouth as you realize you said the words aloud.
Namjoon’s gaze is startled as he stares back at you with an unreadable expression, perhaps hopeful?
“Uh,” you scramble for an excuse, “I mean, your eyes. They’re practically glowing.”
Hurt flashes across his face so quickly you’re not sure you didn’t imagine it, and then he stands. There’s something in his expression as he looks at the Moon that makes you reach out in what you hope he will think is comforting.
When your fingers brush against his wrapped hand, he jerks it away from you, making you gasp. “Don’t.” he says simple in a low tone. The authority in his voice is absolute, eyes piercing. You know those eyes.
You tilt your head, “You’re the wolf, aren’t you?”
Taehyung averts his big, round eyes, deciding now is a good time to leave. He grumbles at Hoseok, now asleep with his head in your lap. The two saunter off into the darkness.
The lack of response and the other’s reaction is all the confirmation you need that Namjoon is indeed the wolf, and the Alpha.
Namjoon doesn’t answer you, and for some reason, his choice to ignore your comforts rubs you the wrong way.
“I was just trying to comfort you.” You stand to say, rounding to stand in front of him. If you're going to figure out how to live together, he can't just cut you off or get angry with you every time you do something that makes him uncomfortable. You realize you need to tell him so, since apparently it has been so long without humans around.
He growls, “I don’t need or want your pity.” His eyes are still glued to the moon. With his throat stretched up, his Adam’s apple bobs with the words.
“Namjoon.” you say.
“Go inside and go to bed.” he snarls with an air of finality.
You blink up at him, unmoving as you challenge him. When he realizes you haven't obeyed him, his eyes bore into your own.
"You can't just keep cutting me off every time something makes you uncomfortable." you say matter-of-fact, crossing your arms and taking a step closer.
A growl slides up his throat like a warning as his sharp gaze doesn't waver from your face.
You uncross your arms, reaching for him again, "I just want to help." you whisper.
He doesn't say anything at first. Just takes a step back, pinching his eyes shut. You can clearly see his throat bob as he swallows thickly.
"Please," he begs, voice barely a whisper. "Just don't. Not right now."
And although you've only known him for one day, the way he says is breaks your heart all at once. You feel that pulling ache from the now empty space where it was.
You don't know what else to say, or why you feel hurt the way you do, but you turn and stalk back into the house.
When you shut the door with a quiet thud, you fling yourself back into the bed and pull the covers over your head, determined to sleep off this lump in your throat.
“How could I ever forget about you” with Warlock!Heechul please? (He gives me life ty for such an amazing idea!!)
send me number + an idol’s name and i’ll write a drabble for you!
Moving was one of Heechul’s favourite things to do; pack up and move to a new place, see new people to not interact with, use the environment in his magic. This time, things were different. He had something in this city that he loved, something keeping him here longer than his usual stay. He wanted you to go with him, be at his side as you both made the new place a home, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to.
He spent days planning how he would tell you. How could he make it hurt less? His final plan was to make you angry at him, to make you never want to see him again. He could live with you being angry at him, but not with you being upset.
He arranged for you to meet late at night at the park you loved so much. Once you were comfortable on the bench, he broke the news to you. “It’s time for me to move,” he announced. “Been here long enough. If I stay longer, people will start to question things,” his hands shoved into his jacket pocket. “Will you be coming back at all?” you questioned, to which he shook his head. “Nothing of worth here for me to come back for.”
Your eyes followed him as he paced cooly infront of you, looking as if he had better things he’d rather be doing. You couldn’t decide what hurt more, him seeing you as nothing more than another human that he had spent time with, or the fact that he wasn’t bothered by leaving you behind.
“I’ll try forget about you… Like you’ll forget about me,” you spoke quietly after a few moments, keeping your head bowed. “Forget about you?” It was his turn to feel hurt. “How could I ever forget about you?” he breathed, finally let his act drop. “You’re the best human I’ve ever met…” he moved to kneel in front of you, a hand resting on your thigh. "I’ll remember and cherish every second of our time together until my last breath,” he offered you a small smile as tears filled his eyes. “Don’t be sad, okay? You’ll move on. You’ll grow, you’ll become happy… you’ll… find somebody that can treat you the way you deserve.”
His hand moved from your thigh to cup your cheek. “I might even come crash your wedding if the alcohol selection is up to my standards,” his attempt to lighten the mood worked, he was rewarded with the sound of your laughter. “Promise me you’ll be happy and healthy?” his thumb rubbed slowly over your skin. “I promise,” you whispered, mirroring his action and cupping his cheek, wiping away a tear that escaped. “Let’s stay here and talk until dawn…” he suggested. “Let’s stay here and talk until dawn,” you nodded.
