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aemondsbabe · 11 months ago

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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kinokoshoujoart · 8 months ago

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CORRECT TAGS‼️‼️‼️‼️ @rn0na-lizard you are so so so correct….. my favorite ‘Normal Girl’ in hmds…….i almost never see anyone talk about these aspects of her let alone also love her for them as they should.

i feel like Leona/ DS lumina gets mischaracterized super often which is understandable bc out of all the DS candidates leona is the least like her ancestor (who i also love, for different reasons).

in AWL lumina was the only kid in the valley for a very long time, but many of the DS residents have lived in the valley their whole lives. while lumina had accepted her role as a proper young heiress by chapter 3 of AWL— and when DS begins Leona already at this point of her life— lumina still had a lingering sense of uncertainty and angst and loneliness and doubt, and unresolved worries about her parents. absolutely none of this is present with leona

in this world leona starts with Lumina’s 22 year old appearance, she’s just rich as hell and living her best life (as she deserves), she’s unabashedly shallow, puts herself first always, speaks so politely and affably yet she can be so casually cruel in the most genuine cute way and out of touch with reality and and i fucking love her and i’d die for her. my beloved girlboss girlkeep girlypop

more iconic Leona Moments

when muu/muffy asks for beauty advice leona’s recommendation is “this brand of mail order beauty cream is simply divine! and it was quite inexpensive too, just 100,000 G 🥰” everyone else looks uncomfortable and muu is like “you’re as frivolous as always….”

aside from the 3 who take literally half your money (Witch💖, moi, and thomas) leona and panama (romana) take the most money from you if they carry you home when you faint. just a couple of girl bosses holding on to their girlpire (btw shout out to sebastian, the only resident in the entire valley who carries you home for free)

neither panama nor leona attend the harvest festival, they send sebastian there by himself to test the food first lmao (if you poison it like the witch they’re harboring on their property requires you to do, sebastian is just like “i can’t serve this to Mistress Panama…”)

once again sebastian attacks mukumuku for her sake, this time not to make her a paintbrush but she told him to get her the best slippers and this was apparently the easiest way. sebastian gets fucking mauled btw

leona has hands down the best romance route in hmds. all her scenes are incredible but god the slow burn friends to lovers with your DVD player….

in her purple heart event she shows up at your house because she heard you have a DVD player, asks you to show her how it works, and then just leaves after she’s done playing with it

in her yellow heart event she has sebastian fetch van so she can buy a DVD player for herself but van’s like “i’m so sorry …. Pete… bought the last one….”

leona is so unable to stomach the idea of other people having things she doesn’t that she starts to cry and the only way to placate her is to tell her she can go to your house anytime she wants just so she can use your DVD player. that’s not a setup to a budding romance that’s her final heart event

it’s the most incredible romance arc in the world like girl you have infinite money you can just. buy a DVD player somewhere else?? “i want to watch DVDs at my house just like you!” leona you have three entire bedrooms

“rich girl love interest who has everything except love, win her heart by having genuine conversation with her”: done to death, tired, i don’t have time for that

“rich girl love interest who has everything except a fucking DVD player, win her heart by giving her expensive stuff and ‘relax tea’ and access to your DVD player”: audacious, intriguing, never been done before, innovative

if you deny her god-given right to access your DVD player she is like “Is that so……………Just let me be alone for a little bit.” incredible tragedy i understand. take as much time as you need to grieve darling

oh but her first heart event asks you to pick a side in an argument she’s having with panama and the correct answer is to say “sebastian is the one who’s wrong” (sebastian has said nothing wrong this whole time and yet both of them have just been yelling at him to shut up)

and her blue heart event is “help me find this heirloom necklace… boohoo…” and when you find it she’s like “perfect! now grandma won’t get mad at me. hmm, you seem pretty dependable…♡” augh she’s way too good at this…….!!! i’ll do anything for you!

when you propose she says “of course, i always dreamed of having a romance and a wedding♡” and says nothing abt how she feels about you <3

also if you marry her, once a week she goes to hang out at her ex love interest’s place for 6 hours straight and comes home saying “whew… i had so much fun that i must have lost track of time… i’ll hurry on home”

if you marry another girl she starts flirting with you like “I’m so envious of your wife, having such a fine husband… Pete.” (or whatever your name is)

i’ve become obsessed with her and romeo’s horrible trainwreck soap opera marriage since replaying cute in jp… it’s SO… i have so much to say about them that it should be its own post but i’ll just give the cliffnotes

shotgun wedding vibes. romeo is surprised by his own wedding. they’re childhood friends but he himself has never considered marrying her. her words to him at their wedding are “Make me happy♡” (command)

she understandably can’t stand his terrible table manners or his clothes or anything about him (except that she wants to watch him surf and have his child. but he instead walks in circles all day. coward) and he’s both really good at accidentally stepping on landmines and just ever so slightly majorly terrified of her after marriage (“but surely her angry outbursts are just her way of showing love hahahahaha” you’re going to die. she’s going to kill you). the only positive things they say about their marriage are extremely shallow. they can’t communicate with each other because romeo always says the Dumbest Shit obliviously and leona always responds by cutting him out of her life forever!!!!!! (for 5 seconds) while he has no idea what happened

they are both so melodramatic and they both just do nothing except make each other worse and run away from each other and push each other away but they can’t escape each other. neither of them ever has to grow or change if they marry each other because an elderly overworked man is sustaining both of their existences and neither of them can take care of themselves and i love them your honor

also romeo’s first crush as a kid was apparently her mom, and if leona falls for YOU she flirts by mentioning that sebastian says you look like the spitting image of her dead father. dear fucking god

they’re the epitome of “You're both just enabling each other's mental illnesses. You're both perfect for each other. Never change. Just never involve anybody else in what you've got going on.”

romeo really does feel like her stupid lackey. like the karen to her regina. they even had this dynamic in the games they played as kids… she was the Harvest Goddess and he was Servant A/Minion A (they might still be playing this game as adults…he calls her lady/mistress sometimes after marriage…)

btw leona’s best friend (wife) marivia is also just as… there’s an event where they just gossip about all the mineral town ppl and marivia says ann would win a gluttony contest and they both giggle

there’s also an event where marivia casually walks into Witch’s hut and just interviews her so she can write her into a novel. witch is left completely drained by this exchange. leona and marivia both are so chill about the horrible cruel villainess living in leona’s shed who wants the town poisoned and rewards you for killing animals and hurting yourself and is putting curses on everyone (and they’re right. she’s never done anything wrong in her life)

#i also feel like leona and marivia summoned Witch (just girlypop things summoning hot evil ladies from hell)#i’m a marivia x leona x witch truther. the evidence is out there. evil yuri triad (real)#i also love to believe that witch is fucking with all the rival couples in the valley but ESPECIALLY romeo x leona #since she’s petty about her crush (leona) choosing the village idiot of all people #she can’t affect gustafa and nami because gustafa is like a garden gnome type that wards away evil #leona would make coquette edits of phantom skye/steiner #man i really have a lot of overlapping ships but i just like thinking about everyone together in some way #marivia was interviewing witch for a girls love leona x witch sequel in that series she wrote that has the main character based on leona #(this was revealed to me in a dream)#bokumono #harvest moon ds #hmds #harvest moon #story of seasons #hmds leona #hmds lumina #i’m sorry for going ham about your tags i promise i’m normal #^_−☆#hmds cute #i feel like everyone collectively forgot what hmds was like which is understandable because it’s a fever dream #or maybe we misremembered it from our childhoods #but replaying the girl and boy versions in english and japanese has really refreshed my views on the characters #i have so much to say about everyone mostly the rival couples #love the dysfunction and bad vibes in this game #poisoned water supply type of townsfolk #girls hour (meet up in the mines to beat each other up and slaughter various animals and humanoids to eat)#it’s such an evil game #haunted by natsume malware ghosts

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canonrpfinder · 2 months ago

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hello there! currently having strong brain rot for none other than critical role since i recently caught up with the third campaign…

a little about me: i am 25+, she/her! my happy spot is writing somewhere between 300-700+ words and i’m happy to go even longer, but i don’t mind keeping it short either. no one-liners. i like to have a good chunk of introspection going at all times, so i’d consider myself adv. lit. and i hope to find partners who are the same. activity wise, i hope to find something low maintenance, i’m very chill with taking a while between replies, as long as we keep ooc communication open. i currently have a lot of time in my hands so i can do rapidfire some days, but it’s never a requirement for my partner!

this is a request for 21+ writers, and the muses will be 21+ (i love to play older muses in the 40+ range as well). bonus points for anyone who’s also a pinterest and playlist fiend (i’m only the former, but i will share with u every hozier song known to man). i love using fcs so i’ll gladly hear any ones you may have, but i’ll probably go faceless and base myself (at least vaguely) on official character art and fanarts. and i love chatting ooc and i’m dying to get some more critter friends to discuss the new episodes with (but also totally cool if you’re not caught up, i won’t spoil anything lmao)

so, for the pairings i’m interested in! bolded is who i would prefer playing, if i have a preference at all, otherwise i can write either:

laudna x imogen

orym x dorian (current brainrot tbh)

percy x vex’ahlia

fjord x jester

these are the classics in my heart but i am a lover of a rarepair if nothing else, so if you have other pairings/characters you’re dying to write, try me please!

when it comes to themes, i am a big fan of angst and hurt/comfort vibes, so i am not the one if you’re looking to only write fluff, but i love working towards a good HEA. i plan to brainstorm plots with my partners, but if you have any specific plot you’re itching to write, bring it over here! i also don’t mind a good crazy au or canon-divergence.

this will be written on a private discord server. i have writing samples ready to share and i hope you can do the same, so we can see if we match! like this and i’ll find you!!

✒️

#rp #roleplay #critical role #21+ age range #discord rp

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villain-sympathizer · 2 years ago

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I was wondering if you write Magne? There isn’t a lot of fics about her so I was wondering if I could make a request?

Maybe Magne and reader are shopping buddy’s, but reader has feeling for her cause she so beautiful (cause she is), and maybe Magne feeling like she isn’t loveable (just for angst), and maybe the reader prove her wrong by just letting out all they’re feeling for her by accident, then leading to them kisses her. And Magne is just 😳

Sorry, I just love her so much and I think she deserves the world.

YES YES OF COURSE, magne needs so much more love than she has 💕💕💕 sorry it's a lil short, i've got a lot on my plate recently that needs all my brain power lmao

────── ･｡ﾟ: .☽ . : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

[Magne x GN!Reader]

[Contents: GN!Reader; No gendered descriptions for reader; Written in third person with “[Name]” instead of “y/n” so OCs can be included! Fluff; Accidental love confessions; Mutual pining; AU where Magne doesn’t die cause shes a bad bitch]

[Content warnings: Brief moment where Magne is insecure about her gender identity, but it's pretty short; MC uses the "womens" dressing rooms but still remains gender neutral, as they're going with Magne to make her feel more comfortable]

────── ･｡ﾟ: .☽ . : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

The city streets weren’t very busy, seeing as it was the middle of the week in the early afternoon, and the majority of folks were still at work with the exception of some stragglers. It was perfect for a shopping trip according to Magne, since less people were likely to be roaming about, and thus less Pro Heroes to recognize her. Ever since the raid on the League of Villains hideout and their debacle with Overhaul, keeping Magne’s identity a secret out in public required a lot more effort. Though, it seemed to be a blessing in disguise – pun intended – since this allowed her to experiment more with her fashion tastes and overall gender identity, like she’s always wanted.

Which is why a shopping trip was so important to her and [Name], her best friend and emotional support throughout both their time in the League. Mr. Compress and Giran had managed to fence off some stolen goods to support the League now that AFO was locked away, and Magne decided to spend her rations alongside [Name] on clothes shopping. They said it was for proper disguises, which is true, but it was mostly to regain a sense of normalcy in such a low point of their lives. Horrible coping method, sure, but it brought some light on their darkest days, so who cared?

“Ohhh, I know a good thrift shop that has a ton of styles and trends!” Magne says to [Name] as they make it out of the busiest part of the city without being recognized. Both were clad in baggy, old sweatpants and rugged hoodies to hide their body types from security cams and the public alike. With Toga’s help, Magne was able to look at least a little more put together, with her hair temporarily dyed a darker shade of red and styled in a more trendy, casual way. Her iconic sunglasses were replaced with a different pair, something more similar to reflective green aviators. [Name], on the other hand, simply wore a cloth mask to hide their appearance, with some colored contacts and cut hair for good measure.

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way, beautiful,” [Name] responded to her, the nickname used in a teasing manner that held a genuine truth within it.

Magne giggles at the compliment, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t make me blush, bestie,” she chirps, before leading them both in the direction of the shop, an excited hop in her step.

---

The thrift store was small and quaint, but true to Magne’s word, held plenty of old-fashioned-yet-trendy clothing styles. The two were currently heading towards the fitting rooms, discussing their outfit possibilities before Magne stops in her tracks just outside arcs to the fitting hallways. [Name] gives her a confused look, before noticing why she was seemingly debating with herself.

The fitting halls were separated by “male” and “female” options, which was unfortunately expected. Magne was typically very confident in her gender identity, especially around her friends, but there were still times where she doubted her physical appearance – especially since it wasn’t mainstream “feminine" enough for most people. And in cases like a dressing room, where body types always seemed to matter the most to everyone in range, her worries flared up instantly.

Realizing why their friend was having an internal debate, [Name] reached over and gently rested a hand on her arm. “Choose whichever makes you most comfortable,” they assure her. “I’ll join with you in there, and if anyone gives you any shit, I’ll make jewelry out of their teeth to go with your outfits.”

Magne’s small but genuine huff of laughter calms [Name]’s nerves a bit, glad to have broken her out of her spiraling thoughts.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” Magne says to them, a comforting smile on her lips as the two of them head into the hall marked “ladies”.

---

Outfit after outfit was tried on, [Name] letting Magne have most of the spotlight, despite the taller woman cooing and fussing over the outfits her friend also tried on. However, they seemed to notice Magne had lost the confidence she carried when the two of them were picking out the clothes earlier, seemingly nitpicking every little detail that pertained to her body.

“It’s a little too small.” Or “My arms are a bit too thick for this shirt, don’t you think?” Or “This dress would look better if I had tits…”

“Magne,” [Name] spoke up when the red-head changed back to her street clothes, exiting the dressing room with a dejected expression and a pile of “rejected” clothes in her hands. “You know clothes are supposed to make you feel pleased, not others, right?”

An embarrassed blush crosses the woman’s cheeks when she realizes her sour mood had been that obvious. She pouts a bit and turns her face away. “I know, but-“

“And you know your friends adore you no matter what you look like, right?” [Name] gently cuts her off, reaching a hand up to her shoulder comfortingly, glad that the fitting hall was empty so the two could have a heartfelt moment. “You shouldn’t have to force yourself to be appealing to the very people who want to see you in Tarturus. The only outfit they want to see you in is an ugly orange jumpsuit that totally wouldn’t bring out your eyes.”

Taking Magne’s short bark of laughter as a good sign, [Name] continued their reassurances.

“You’re a beautiful woman, no matter what you do with your appearance, no matter what cloth covers your body. No one else’s opinion matters,” they pull down their mask to give her a soft smile. “I love you, Magne, y’know that?”

Magne’s head shoots up to look over at them, the blush on her cheeks growing redder at the confession. “Wait- you mean… as like, more than…?” She stutters out, unable to form a proper question through her shock.

[Name]’s smile turns into a lopsided grin, their own blush rising to their cheeks a bit. “More than a friend? Yeah, exactly that. This isn’t how I wanted to confess, but I felt like… you needed to know, now more than ever, that I’ve always saw you as the most gorgeous and confident person in the world.”

In an instant Magne had them scooped into her strong arms in a bear hug, the red-head burrowing her face into [Name]’s neck as she lifts them from the ground.

“Ohh, bestie, I love you too! So, so, so much!”

#magne x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha magne #mha magne #x reader #bnha #mha #dame writes #Anonymous

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bbsourchef · 11 months ago

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intro!!!

hihi! :D i am chef mio (it/itself or she! but mostly it!!)!! of class 3-2!! it is!! so very nice to meet you all!! on this little screen. it must be oh so cramped in there :(

but hi! hihi!! uh. what can i say about myself?? hum. well! i like pincurchin! they are!! friend shaped!! my partner pushpin is the one i am closest to. :) but they are not the only ones i like! it is!! good!! to have varying taste in pokemon. it improves team percentage, or something?? but i want to have the highest percentage in pokemon friendship :D

it requires being smart though!! so i'm a part of a few different clubs!! the biome club is where i usually am though! i am overseeing a project now! it's very cool! but i'm also a member of the cooking club!! because i want to improve!! my cooking skills for people and pokemon!! even if i mostly just want to make all of the world's best sour foods :D

hum. i think that is enough for now! but i want to make lots of friends!! with people too!! so i hope to be able to talk to lots of them! i'm good with food and biome research! but i will try to answer anything asked of me! :) byebye for now!

((ooc info below the cut!!))

Another character in the Sable's Pokemon IRL Cinematic universe, apparently people really liked her, so! I have made a blog for Mio! Basically, she was supposed to just be an NPC for Ren's Orthworm project and my hand proceeded to slip and make a whole ass design. Whoops.

Anyway, Mio is a minor! For the love of god no NSFW or I will block you on sight.

Pelipper Mail/Malice are on, Musharna Mail/Malice are off. The Pelipper one may change, but the Musharna will not.

If you want your character to have history with Mio, please, feel free. Her blog is probably gonna be updated the least out of my four (yes i have a fourth in progress don't you DARE at me), but she is a background NPC for the people okay.

To basically sum her up: she's a girl who worked at the Sinnoh Battle Factory and learned a lot about utilizing Pokemon from a young age, serving as one of it's trainers up until she started attending Blueberry Academy. She basically got there on a scholarship, lmao.

Mio is a very silly lil chef who's basically to sour food as Crispin is to spicy, but she's genuinely a good cook! Like with Pokemon battles, a meal must be well balanced.

She's also a member of the Biome Club! I will probably have to google-fu any answers to advanced questions but Mio knows a hell of a lot about Pokemon adaptation and environmental effects of invasive species and the like. She's just below the Club's leader in terms of intelligence, pretty much.

Mio. Absolutely comes off as a dumbass with a weird typing style, but she basically makes up for it in competence in what she does best, and the work ethic of a god. This is a girl who multitasks her way into straight B+s and nobody knows how.

Feel free to throw some silly shit this way, this blog is very unlikely to dip into the high stakes waters at any point. This is a firm Silly Only zone. (maybe with some minor drama/angst but we're mostly gonna be silly here)

Any long absences are going to be explained by her phone breaking. She's a walking techbane but literally only for phones.

#pokemon irl #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #rotomblr #mio talks

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nire-the-mithridatist · 2 years ago

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18, 36, 39, 45, 48, 49, 55, 68 & 75

sorry for going kinda ham on this lol. don't feel pressured to answer all of them!

I love this energy anon, never change ❤️

18. Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

Not particularly, which is why I have yet to write a fic set in a real historical period. (I didn't count sxf fics since in canon there's a bunch of anachronisms anyway.) Give and Take (Vincenzo fandom) is probably the fic that required the most research for me. I had to look up Korean governmental structures and gun calibers and strike team tactics (my husband, war nerd that he is, helped me create an action sequence where, as I requested, the main characters could escape by the skin of their teeth, mildly injured but otherwise well enough to have sex afterwards lmaooo)

36. What fic are you proudest of?

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) was a fic I wrote for the Vincenzo fandom where I really gave it my all. I pushed my genre comfort zones, I tried out a concept I had never written, I rewrote half of it into a different tense when I realized it wasn't working. It's nowhere near my most popular work but it is very near and dear to my heart, I really think I did a good job with it.

39. What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

I'm currently writing a fic tentatively called marrieds with benefits on my gdocs (currently considering spousal privilege as it's ao3 title) where. Well. Loid and Yor have sex a lot but it's totally platonic, and their feelings for each other are definitely unreciprocated, they're absolutely just fake marrieds who sleep together all the time no big deal it's fine it's fine it's fine

It's slow going because I've been busy and not very physically well, but I'm having fun!

45. What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?

Angst with a happy ending, for sure. I like writing something that hurts like pressing on a bruise hehe

48. Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

Currently Loid. This has not changed. My favorite character to read/watch is Yor, but I find writing her not as easy as writing this spy guy who lies to himself and everyone a lot.

49. What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

wakes as the world sleeps is not very long, falls about in the middle in terms of my writing quality ranges (imo anyway, i know others might disagree), and has the kind of vibes I like to write. It's a good starting point I think?

55. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

God yes. My characters like to smile and avert their eyes/look into the other eyes a lot. Those kinds of gestures, you know? I also tend to make them stumble over their words when they're emotional or unsettled. As for themes... Love against reason. Love against better judgement. I think often when I make them fall in love they would at least angst about it a little for whatever reason, lmao. But ultimately: the character finding the one person who understands them the most.

68. Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

Hmm, none come to mind. I mean, I've read my fair share of fics and I'm sure I get influenced by at least some of them, but I don't remember reading a fic and going hmm, I'm going to go and imitate that style!

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

Really didn't expect readers to like Operation: Tin Foil as much as they did, because it's not my usual fare (more comedy and fluff, not a single angst particle in it) and a POV I didn't write a lot (Anya's). But also, I have learned to not expect anything when I put my work out there, because there's really no predicting how people will react.

Writing Ask Game

#ask game

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riflesparked · 2 years ago

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Get To Know The Mun

------The Basics!

Name: Hex

Pronouns: she/her

Zodiac Sign: big three are cancer, cancer, and libra (there's a lot of crying)

Single/Taken: married to my love, Theo. <3

------Three Facts!

1- i've been roleplaying for what must be close to 18 years at this point. My favorite fandoms are, of course, Transformers, Tolkien, and Warhammer 40,000. I've been writing privately on Discord for the last five years or so and mainly finding partners through Reddit (god help me i am scarred), and this is my first venture back into the "public" sphere since then.

2- I've lived in five states, collectively. Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, and now Maine! Maine is by far my favorite and now I get to work in the public sector indirectly helping those with disabilities as support staff for my department.

3- i am big audhd so uh that's why i'm big weird. also probably why i've had a hobby that supports and directly influences my hyperfixations for nearly 20 years lmao.

------Experience!

Platforms Used: back when AOL messenger was a thing, i used that, followed shortly by proboards and various other forums, then Tumblr, then Discord.

Plotting / Winging It / Memes: all. legitimately, i have just as much fun with plotted storylines as i do with things that develop organically.

------Muse Preference!

Gender: female.

Multi or Single: definitely single. i definitely pick up NPCs as they're required but I find I do my best writing when I'm focused on one singular character.

Least Favorite Faceclaim(s): i definitely find myself leaning away from real people (though for certain things like holoforms this is perfectly fine), but i generally prefer artistic renderings more. i don't have a specific person i don't like as a faceclaim.

------Fluff / Angst / Smut!

Fluff: i admit, there's not a lot of this in my writing right now because suffering is a large part of how i develop my characters, and since fluff is one of my favorite things, it seems a little too self-indulgent? idk, i struggle to bring myself to write things that others might find uninteresting or self-indulgent.

Angst: adore it. *gestures* all of my characters live in the angst swamps in the middle of angstland. i am a one trick pony and i develop them using angst lol.

Smut: i love writing smut. again, it's one of those things i find too self-indulgent to pursue too much (even if i would like to). any smut to be written will be written on discord or through DMs only.

Tagged by: @blackwldcw

Tagging: @mastermegatron, @photobombingcryptid, @twcwheeler, @x-de-con-struct-ed-x and anyone else who wants to do it! c:

#[ ◈ ] out of character.#[ thank u tak! <3 ]

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detective-gum-chew · 4 years ago

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okay okay okay

i know this isnt an orginal idea by any means but roleswap!narumitsu is just so good

so youll have to indulge me because this lives in my head rent free and i want to write it down concretely somewhere (also this gets LONG so ill pop a cut in here)

alright so:

1. at least in my writing of it, this is also a no-dl6/gregory lives au. but as well at that, miles and phoenix didnt go to school together

2. this means that there was nobody to defend phoenix at the class trial (yes i know the money stolen was edgeworths but shhh lets pretend it was someone elses, kay?) this lead to phoenix becoming not only bitter, but somewhat obsessive over the idea of punishing people that do wrong

(if someone can find that quote where phoenix talks about how he could have become a prosecutor because of the trial i will give u a gentle kiss on the forehead)

3. Edgeworth was raised by Gregory and ends up becoming a defense attorney

4. in this, Von Karma goes down and Franzy is adopted by Gregory, and she assists Miles in his cases. (she can still have a whip, as a treat.)

5. anyway with that set up, lets get into some cases

6. Larry gets accused of Cindys murder, Miles defends with Franzy

7. Lets say Mia was in the crowd of that trial and decided to contact miles, seeing as he appears to be another uncorrupt lawyer and asks him for his help in taking down Redd White

8. He agrees, and she sets a time for him to meet at her office so they can talk. Mia then calls her sister and updates her on how shes going to recruit another person (Redd White hears this)

9. Much like the original case, Mia gets murdered, but this time, Maya isnt here to be blamed. Instead, its Miles himself, as the name that White heard over the phone (so basically we’re speed running to the “defend yourself in court” part)

10. the prosecutor today is Phoenix Wright.

11. but before that lets go into some backstory actually. Phoenix had encountered Mia previously during the Terry Fawles case. He had respected her as a peer, if not for just her determination and deductive skills. (After all, he was young at the time and solely focused on punishing the wicked) After Diego’s poisoning, he had briefly reached out for condolences

12. but anyway, Phoenix had distantly respected Mia, and now that she was dead, he was going to be tough on whoever he thought murdered her.

13. Miles proves his innocence, although it takes some baiting to get Redd White out of his building and actually into court.

14. Wright is... not pleased about this, but theres not much he can do. His displeasure for Mias murder has shifted, but theres a new displeasure for Miles, the man who could beat him in court. (”well well well, you managed to save your own skin. But you should hope you get as lucky as you did in your next case”)

15. Next case! We know Miles is a steel samurai fan, so even without Maya it takes very little convincing for him to take the case. (Fran is not as amused but trusts her brother... enough.. to follow his lead)

16. Case proceeds mostly as normal, with Phoenix requiring Dee to re-do her testimony (maybe something deep within him still itches to put the true bad guy away, even if its harder than the accused)

17. I dont think Phonix would deliver the unnecessary feelings line, although there definetely is that moment in the lobby where hes like “hm. maybe you arent a bad person, but that doesnt mean i have to like you.”

18. and now, now now now, we finally get to the part where i somehow managed to put the most thought into. (for context it is nearly 2 am when i am writing this)

19. sleep schedule aside, you couldnt have thought i would made this WITHOUT some good angst, so here we go. case four is similarly structured to the original, but with an extra side of Phoenix angst.

20. Miles wakes up to Franzy shaking him. She points to the television. the news is on, but the voices are drowned out by a distant ringing as he stares at the image on the screen.

Famed Prosecutor Phoenix Wright Arrested For Murder

21. it just doesnt make sense. So he gets out of bed and into the closest clothes he can find and out the door with his sister in tow. He sits in the cold detention room, thinking about the other side of the glass.

22. Phoenix Wright looks dull. He asks what they want. Miles says he wants an explanation. Wright sneers and asks why. For some reason, that pisses Miles off. He slams his badge to the glass and Wright looks surprised.

“Do you know what this is? It’s my attorneys badge.”

“the badge doesnt mean youre a good lawyer.”

“Well Mr Wright, its 2-0, so i dont think you have any right to say that.” Miles glares at him and Wright sits back in his seat. He watches Miles for a long time.

“If im going to defend you, you need to tell me what happened.“ Wrights eyebrows shoot up and Franziska squawks at his side

“What do you mean defend him!”

“What she said.”

Miles narrows his eyes at Wright as he ponders to himself the answer. Why is he doing it? the answer comes to him.

“Because i dont believe you did it.”

For all his snark, Miles cant bring himself to believe that the man in front of him would kill someone. Theres something about him, either in his eyes or the way he carries himself that makes the idea itself preposterous. Wright looks at him for a long time after he says it.

“Very well.”

21. Miles doesnt seem him until court, but at least he testifies. The next person up, a red head by the name of Melissa Foster, gives a testimony that seems airtight.

22. that is, until he looks over at Phoenix, who is pale as he looks at the woman on the witness stand. Phoenix catches his eye, and very carefully, very slowly, mouths one name.

Dahlia Hawthorne

23. (I really wish i could continue with the more narrative parts of this but im honestly running out of steam and ill get to the point lol. Maybe ill finish it later.)

24. Terry Fawles dies on the stand. Diego Armando falls into a coma. Dahlia Hawthorne walks free. Even after what happened to Diego, Phoenix is convinced he can do better. He sets up a meeting with Dahlia.

25. Doug shows up, trying to persuade him away from it, saying he overheard Dahlia’s plan to kill Phoenix when she arrives. Phoenix is cocky, and the pair fight. Doug gets shoved into the powerline. Phoenix, thinking him dead, panics and runs.

26. Dahlia, having overheard, goes back and finishes him off, drops some poison into his mouth perhaps. With an accidental death with a cause so obvious, nobody bothers to run blood tests (until Miles)

27. Its years later, and Phoenix gets a note that tells him they know what really happened to Doug. Phoenix arrives to a meeting place to find a dead body. He picks up the vial of poison almost absently.

28. After all, Dahlia had gotten rid of Diego and Mia was dead. Now all she had to do was get rid of Phoenix

29. It plays out similarly to case four, with Phoenix being absolved of the first murder, then confessing to the old one. Miles has gone through the work to save his life once, that he cant not do it again.

30. but happy endings (ish) for all, with Phoenix being freed, Dahlia imprisoned and Miles having a better understanding of both him and Phoenix.

31. maybe more happens but we’re at bullet point 31 so its time to stop for now lmao. uh but yeah! roleswap au..... brainrot really.

#lmk what yall think #sorry to maya for writing her out but i couldnt find a way to put her in ;-;#sorry if it gets repetitive towards the end i did not edit this at all #roleswap au #defense attorney!miles #prosecutor!phoenix #ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #aa au

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senju-sekhmet · 4 years ago

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The Leash (Part 9)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6000 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut! more updates. is it really a disclaimer still, i wonder lmao

DISCLAIMER! we are nearing the grand finale of this fic!! please stick until the very end okay?! i know this chapter might be a little bit of a drag - it’ll get better, promise. <3 Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ Leaving you had been a real test of will. Not only were you in such a deplorable state overall, but also your request - it was quite obvious you were putting on a brave face, but the truth of the matter was you weren’t faring well, at all. It was the little signs that gave you away - the slight tremor in your voice sometimes. The gallows humour. He didn’t want to think about what the withdrawal had been like for you. But he could well imagine. And as per usual, he was helpless except to unravel how to produce more of this damned leash. He couldn’t even heal you or alleviate some of your exhaustion at this point.

By the time he had reached the laboratory he was frustrated beyond measure, sick from guilt and his heart was aching that if he didn’t know better, he might as well think he was sick. He wasn’t, of course. But eliciting such bodily responses due to his emotional state was something entirely foreign to Tobirama. He was - always had been - subject to his moods, sure. And the people around him would know his sour moods, especially. But would he carelessly act on them, or physically feel them like this? No. Luckily it was the middle of the night and there had been nobody around to witness the somber scowl he was wearing. Not that he cared, anyway.

In the grand scheme of things, that was the least of his concerns.

He had contemplated testing his newest result on another prisoner, but ultimately decided against it. The best he could hope for was a prolonged time of muting the victim’s chakra. What he really needed to start working on now was to weave the second component in, the disruption. And since he had four vials available, that offered a variety of options. He’d leave one untouched, to be safe - and work on one for now to start with that.

The first problem was to imagine how he’d want the disruption to kick in. He knew from examining your blood and also the reaction you’ve shown that it took some time for the disruption to kick in. He had deduced it must be because of the chakra muting component - it covered the disruption up to leave a timeframe in which a victim was not threatened by it. When it faded, only the disruption remained, the lethal withdrawal kicked in. Therefore, the chakra needed for this would need to last longer, adhere to the victim almost like a brand and be intense enough to cause these effects. He did have a vague idea how to achieve this - but to compress it into such a small vial was… daunting.

What’s new, he somberly figured to himself.

And just as he imagined, this proved to be even more complicated than weaving the first component in. Not only did he have to treat delicately, but also be extremely careful to not destroy the structures he had worked so hard to get into that vial in the first place. He didn’t quite succeed in that - partly, the muting component took damage. The whole process felt as though he needed to weave chakra inbetween what was already in the vial - as if he was transplanting it onto the already delicate structure he had created. It was endlessly frustrating. Frankly everything about this was so demanding, at times he wondered if there really was no other option to get a cure.

Like torturing the prisoners to a maximum.

The more time he spent threading the more he became convinced there must be some trick to it. That, or it required an intense amount of training. If it was the latter, then he’d be facing a new problem.

He’d deal with that when it came to it. His plate was full as it was.

Once he got a hang of how to weave it in without wrecking the delicate structure of the first pattern, his gaze swept to the clock. It was long past midnight. Time for a small break. As much as he hated it, he didn’t want to use his clones yet again - he needed to figure this out more, firstly. If he had no real idea where to truly go with this, his clones’ works would just ramp up more exhaustion. More he needed to sleep off. Besides, this would not be so much of a break - though you were stable, he simply didn’t like the thought of leaving you alone. Not after your request - not after seeing you in your frightfully weak state. He had to check on you, as he promised.

He teleported back into your dimly lit room. Briefly, he gazed out of the window - the sky was clear, the moon shone bright and there were a million stars alongside it. It was beautiful. Silently, he walked to your bedside again to find you had your eyes closed. Finally - finally your face seemed peaceful. Gaunt, for sure, but not in pain. Tobirama settled down into his chair and laid his hand on yours, as lightly as he could to not wake you up. Very slowly he let his chakra skim over your network to find it dormant as well, pleased you still were asleep. Equally slow, he increased the connection to examine you as softly as possible. As usual, the injuries, microscopic tears, tissue damages and healing bits were too numerous to count. And there also was the general lack of reserves overall - a result from the strain put on you by the stretching of the interval no doubt. Even so, your cardiovascular situation was superior and no organ showed any sign of dysfunction. A pleasant surprise - compared to before, you were doing even better. Seems that aside from the exhaustion you had recovered well from their first stunt. He withdrew quickly before you could notice his presence and leaned back in his chair.

Had they gone by their normal schedule, you’d be left with four and a half days now. And Tobirama hadn’t even yet produced something that was anywhere near the leash. For all the grief it had put you through, it was a small victory. Admitting this felt wrong, though - despicable. It was the method. And he wasn’t sure how much time they’d gain from this, overall. His medical expertise wasn’t comparable to his brother’s, but he didn’t think you’d keep up lengthier intervals. Maybe if you’d been in peak physical condition.

He groaned slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

Part of him didn't want to think anymore, now. He felt stretched out, thin. Spent. But of course, his mind wouldn't stop.

He vividly remembered the first time you went into withdrawal. The torment you had been going through. Just because you hadn’t been writhing or screaming now didn’t mean it was more bearable - no. You had been sedated this time. Tobirama was quite sure the whole procedure was hell for you, nonetheless, and all that kept you together was your unbreakable will to live.

If that ever faltered…

An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. He closed his eyes. Already his heart pumped painfully against his ribcage, he had expected it. The all too familiar ache, the grief. The guilt.

I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.

It was all he could do. Though he caustically surmised, so far he had done a less than stellar job.

He returned to the lab as soon as his concentration felt up to the maddening task yet again. Having seen you again quite possibly helped a great deal to spur him on again despite the hour and how daunting it all felt - he just had to produce some kind of breakthrough now. He knew it. He could feel it. This is the way. He didn’t allow himself another break from the delicate weaving process until finally he inspected a vial containing both components now. Using his sensory skills he sent a weak, short-range chakra pulse through it.

The substance was not like the leash, no. If the leash was shining like a beacon, his copy was a torch, at least. It was progress, compared to the last time. He silently wondered if adding the second component had done this. Then came the next test - examining it directly. Again, the result was that his vial seemed inferior: while the chakra swirled in it in a quite complicated pattern, finely woven, he did distinguish the two different components after a little bit. The liquid made it difficult as it stayed ever in motion, but it was as though he was seeing two different colors.

It was a step forward, at least. He’d be testing this soon. Based on that - and the test subject’s blood work - he’d draw new conclusions. Still, there was more time to work on this vial further. The weaving itself was becoming something of a craft - with each moment he’d learn new tricks to it. A taxing one that seemed entirely focused on details, tiniest nudges and using small amounts of chakra at a time, but a craft nonetheless.

Had he not been so pressed for time, he might’ve actually found it interesting. But right now, all he felt was your torment breathing down his neck, wrenching his heart around and stealing his breath.

He wanted this over with.

It was early morning when he finished his work - not that he’d call it that, but he decided there was more merit to testing it out now. Even so, he’d check up on you again first. The world lurched with the use of his hiraishin seal, and a moment later he was in your room.

The first rays of dawn filtered in already, drenching the wooden hospital furniture in red hues once more. Low rustles were coming from your bed. Tobirama stepped over swiftly to find you stirring under the sheet irregularly, your head tilting from side to side. Briefly, he wondered if you were having a nightmare - but your eyes were open.

And recognizing him. “Tobirama,” you breathed, surprised.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?”, he inquired, wasting no time to step closer even, the worry already growing.

“Just … trying to get more comfortable,” you whispered, attempting a weak smile. “Looks like my strength returned a little bit more.”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t force it.” He couldn’t have prevented the sternness from seeping into his voice if he wanted to.

You sighed. “No,” a light shake of your head, “Just help me get on my side. Please?”, you extended your left hand for him to take, which he did with a small sigh. At least that way you wouldn’t try to do it yourself. And while he was extremely adamant, as Hashirama had eloquently put it, about your rest, it still tormented him to see you lacked the strength to turn on your side by yourself. Of course he knew it was common for patients in your condition - but this was you. He placed his right hand around where your hip and the small of your back would be under the blanket after his left had grasped your hand and pulled you towards him very slowly and gently so you tilted onto your side. You groaned a little, but sighed once you had adjusted to your new position.

“Thank you,” you hushed, meekly almost. The lack of strength was just as obvious to you. Tobirama took his seat at your side again and shook his head dismissively.

“Of course.” He still frowned, though. “How are you feeling?”

You closed your eyes and sighed again. “It’s… starting again. I can feel it. I’m feeling dizzy and… weaker.” Your voice shook from a slight tremble. Fear, Tobirama concluded.

He clenched his teeth and breathed through the tight feeling in his chest. “Y/n, we don’t need to stretch the interval as much-,”

“No,” you interjected firmly, eyes snapping open, giving him a sharp look. “We do. You know it. I know it.”

Now was Tobirama’s turn to close his eyes. “I don’t want you to suffer,” he whispered, his baritone voice near breaking again just from uttering these words and yet firm all the same. The tight feeling became worse

“I know,” you replied, haunted. “I know.” Your gaze was sorrowful. Knowing. Tobirama leaned forward to grasp your hand again and enclose it in his, letting his chakra coat your networks in the familiar, warm way. He didn’t know what else to do for your comfort. “Thank you,” you muttered again, forming yet another weak smile.

His head hung low as he simply basked in feeling you like this. The small nudge you were giving his sensitive network made him gasp slightly.

The moment was interrupted by the door swinging open. Tobirama’s head shot up to find his brother standing in the doorway. Looking more rested than he himself did, most likely. When he had reapplied his face paint after washing himself, there definitely had been dark rings under his eyes.

“Good morning,” Hashirama announced warmly, rounding the bed to stand beside Tobirama when he realised you were on your right side. “How are you?”

As you explained your condition to him, Tobirama gently grazed over your chakra network once more before drawing back slowly to free your hand. He’d be on his way soon, anyway.

Hashirama nodded. “Very well. I singled out a few medications that should help us stabilize you, as I mentioned. It’d be best to take them while you’re still, ah, responsive.”

“You mean when I’m not spitting it back at you?”, you deadpanned. Tobirama near froze at the image. All he could think of was how his hand had forced your mouth open, then poured the torture drug in and forcefully constricted your airway to make you swallow it.

Hashirama cleared his throat. “Well, you haven’t managed that so far.” Tobirama snorted in quite a cynical way then, earning him an arched eyebrow from you. Hashirama shot each of you a meaningful glance before continuing slowly. “Still..., it might be necessary to draw additional seals to release the medications transdermally.”

Tobirama’s head whipped to the side to stare at his brother. “That will aggravate the overload.”

Hashirama held up his hands defensively already. “The seals I have in mind for this purpose only add very, very little of the user’s chakra to the patient.” Tobirama wasn’t quite convinced yet as his scowl indicated. But then forcing things down your throat wasn’t gentle, either.

“And we’re also going to modify your nutrition, accommodating for the duress you find yourself in,” he added softly, but no less serious.

That made you snort now, but in a disgusted way. “Oh, I know what that’s going to taste like.” Every shinobi in the field on long missions knew that, in fact.

Tobirama wasn’t having any of it though. Already, he became riled up. “Y/n, we're not going to discuss-”

“I know, I know,” you already deflected exasperatedly, waving your free hand to calm him down. He leaned back in his chair then and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright. Now that that’s out of the way,” Hashirama sighed, stepping closer to you. “May I?”, he extended his hand to take yours.

That was Tobirama’s clue. He wasn’t of any use here right now. He leaned closer to you yet again, expression mellowing. “I’ll be back soon, Y/n,” he promised for the lack of a better phrase. Anything else - anything mundane like ‘take care’ - just seemed wrong at this point. You nodded, trying another brave smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Tobirama hoped his did.

He left the hospital to head straight for the interrogation and information headquarters, then, after having picked up his latest experiment with him.

It was already bustling with activity despite the early hour. Perhaps another mission finished. He didn’t dwell on it, really. Instead he headed to where he knew to find Ikuro; nodding towards the few familiar faces he made out. Apparently news about his task had made the round since nobody stopped him on his was through the small corridors past various offices. For a group that was euphemistically described as ‘interrogators’, everything seemed awfully quiet here. The walls must be thick.

Ikuro indeed was behind the desk in the sparsely decorated office that adjourned the cell block holding the six prisoners. He greeted Tobirama with the oddly warm smile and a nod. “Back again,” his voice was quiet, deceptively soft.

“Back again.” Tobirama repeated, raising an eyebrow. Exchanging pleasantries was something he really had no time for - given his - your - predicament. Any waste of time felt like a crime at this point. And then again, he never liked chitchat much. “Any news?”

Ikuro shook his head. “Not regarding your problem, I’m afraid, given we know Zenji is the only one to interrogate about that. I take it you made progress, however.”

That was unsurprising. Despite all that happened, it had only been a day. A single day. “Something to test out, yes.”

Ikuro’s smile spread slightly. Tobirama wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but quickly decided he didn’t care enough to form an opinion just yet. “There is one question though,” his smile faded. Tobirama frowned. “Now that we know Zenji is the only one who knows how to make the leash, do you want to use it on him again? I know we did the last time, however, if we permanently injure him…” He trailed off, but Tobirama well caught the implication.

He crossed his arms then. A fair point that he hadn’t considered yet. Since there were six prisoners in total, he had more than enough test subjects to choose from. But picking Zenji had the additional possible merit of gleaning more information about the leash during the interrogation, at the cost of, well, risking him. It all boiled down to whether Tobirama was confident enough in his work to not harm a person permanently, or not.

He hated it. But, “The substance I brought with me today will be more aggressive than the one I used last time. So, no. Let’s pick someone else. If it works well, we’ll focus on him again.” He was set on giving that man hell until he gave up his secrets. Or Tobirama had figured it out himself. Either way.

Ikuro nodded then. “Alright. We’ll pay a visit to Kimi.” The smile was back again.

Tobirama instead scowled, his tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Why do I get the fleeting notion that is the loony one from the far end?”

Ikuro bellowed a sudden laugh that startled him, both eyebrows rising. He wouldn’t figure this man’s humour out, really. “You are as perceptive as they say, Tobirama.” Then he rose to full size and Tobirama followed with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. The walk down the cell block was accompanied by the well-known feeling of eyes on him. Not that Tobirama cared for those, either. Except for one pair.

Zenji’s. His scarlet eyes darted to the side when they passed the middle cell. Tobirama was satisfied to find his black-bruised jaw was swollen. The look the man gave him was nothing short of hateful. He never broke his stride and followed Ikuro, surprised Zenji didn’t holler anything after him. Perhaps the jaw just hurt too much, hm.

Finally they reached Kimi’s cell. Like all the others, she also was chained up and sealed away. Her gaze seemed empty, staring a hole into the ceiling. That would soon change, Tobirama knew. Ikuro unlocked the cell. “Kimi,” he greeted warmly, like she was a friend.

“Go fuck yourself,” she shot back instantly but perfectly nonchalant. Tobirama’s eyebrows shot up. So much for friends. Her blue eyes locked with Tobirama’s. “Oh,” suddenly, her tone was infused with a shrill kind of adoration. “A high visitor!” Tobirama had to refuse the urge to cover his ears. “Tell me, tell me,” she chanted, swinging back and forth in the chains that held her. “How’s Y/n, how is she? Mhm?”, she exposed surprisingly bright teeth in a grotesque smile.

Tobirama didn’t even find her worth talking to; he could only roll his eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Enemies like this he knew to take serious - erratic behaviour covered up some of the most impressive techniques. But this wasn’t a fight. And he wasn’t about to try and converse with the likes of her. Not even in a cynical banter. He gazed at Ikuro. “Shall we?”

Kimi moaned loudly. “Awh, come on!”, it was an obscenely wanton sound. “Gimme a shred, please, please, please? I’m missing Y/n so, so much!”

Tobirama started to wonder if he had to break another jaw here. The ire that started to burn in his veins again surely provided enough fuel. His head tilted forward slightly as his stare narrowed, darkening.

Ikuro was already next to Kimi, shaking his head. He must’ve guessed at Tobirama’s thoughts - not that his body language wasn't enough of a giveaway.

Kimi wasn’t helping her situation. “Tobirama Senju doesn’t find me worth talking tooo!”, she screamed then in a most offended way, loud enough for probably everyone in this building to hear. Not that she was wrong in any way. This woman would be better off without her vocal chords.

“Kimi,” Ikuro began, still sugary sweet. “You’re going to help us a little.” His hand seized the back of her head already, grasping her brown hair firmly.

She stiffened immediately, but the smile that spread over her lips now was nothing short of malicious. Typical, Tobirama figured - completely mad behaviour, but far from idiotic. “Oh.” It was a sharp sound. “My turn to get your itty-bitty-wannabe-leash?”

Tobirama’s mien remained completely impassive. “Are you going to open your mouth or are we going to have to force you, like your compatriot?”, entirely unfazed by threatening her with violence.

Not that she was fazed, either. And smart enough to know better than to put up a fight now. “I always wanted to taste the stuff, mhm,” she tried to nod her head, but Ikuro’s grip was iron already. “No need to break my jaw like dumb Zenji’s. Show me what y’got, Tobirama Senju, show me,” she then moaned again, lasciviously almost.

Tobirama’s lips drew into a disgusted scowl. “Good grief, how do you work with these people,” he scoffed. Ikuro was grinning widely. “I should’ve picked Zenji,” he added almost inaudibly. Kimi opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, licking over her lower lip in distasteful ways. Still, he didn’t trust her for one second. And the contents of this vial were too precious for this maniac to spit back at him, which he was sure she would. His free hand seized her jaw tightly so that if she bit down, she’d seriously injure her cheeks. Kimi already spluttered. The moment Tobirama felt she wanted to speak more, he simply applied more pressure. He had enough of this nutcase.

Swiftly, he poured the contents of his vial into her mouth and in a well practiced move pressed down harshly on her nose and mouth to force her to swallow. Her eyes became glassy - luckily, he had been wise enough to keep her mouth shut, because he was perfectly sure she’d have licked his hand or done something equally disgusting had he not.

Not that much was needed. Obediently, she swallowed.

Followed by a shrill scream. Tobirama’s patience was a candle that burned on both ends at this point. He didn’t even put it past Kimi that this was precisely what she was aiming for but by all that he believed in, it worked. The woman let out a heavy tirade of sexually loaded metaphors about what she was seeing and feeling that might have turned a more innocent person bright red on the spot.

It elicited nothing but fast growing annoyance out of Tobirama, however. And Ikuro was grinning as he closed his eyes. He gave him a dark glare. The man had known, for sure. This better yielded good results. When he reached for her throat to examine her, his hand grasped so tightly Kimi’s voice got stuck in its tracks and all that remained was a small rivulet of obscenities at Ikuro, who had begun to invade her mind again. Squeaks, no more.

Much more bearable.

Now to examine her. He made no effort to be gentle about this whatsoever. Ikuro’s work was marvellous as before. Unsurprisingly, Kimi’s mental defense was nothing short of impressive. Perhaps Tobirama was imagining it, but Ikuro’s methods seemed different here - more brutal. More smothering. Akin to what he had done to Akio - less thought to the risk he was running. Was Ikuro himself fed up with her? The thought darkly amused Tobirama.

Kimi stayed completely stable throughout the whole procedure. Her chakra flow was almost as muted as yours was after indigestion of the leash, however it picked up again during the session. Tobirama had expected it, but with the additional experience in the whole weaving process, it gave him clues on how to improve on that. Briefly he stopped monitoring her to take a blood sample. Not an easy task as there was no patch of skin exposed save for her neck and head, so he had to go for the jugular artery as the veins would be collapsed. It bore a slight risk - but none that Tobirama even cared about. Unceremoniously he stabbed the needle in where he felt the pulse after having released his choke hold on her throat - an opportunity she used to gargle out profanities at both him and Ikuro, but the mental assault heavily impaired her ability to form coherent sentences. What was coherent by her standards anyway, Tobirama figured. After he had gotten what he needed from her neck, he continued to monitor her. The half-frozen state of her chakra remained steady for a while before it dropped more.

Ikuro began to retreat then, slowly.

“Wait,” Tobirama instructed. His presence lingered then, still keeping Kimi in a mental choking hold.

As her chakra became less and less mute, the disruption kicked in more. And with it, for the first time there seemed to be genuine distress in the prisoner, indicated not by crude insults, but a genuine groan of pain.

“Interesting,” Tobirama muttered, smugly, almost. Kimi whimpered while Tobirama took time to thoroughly investigate how her chakra tried to repel his disruption, over and over again - and each time, the reaction became worse for it, accompanied by a never ending stream of pained expressions. Watching the agony unfolding inside of her.

He felt no satisfaction, no. But he was pleased. A success, finally.

After a while of monitoring, he took another blood example. Ikuro was frowning now. “I’m not sure how much more she’ll take, mentally,” he announced.

“Well, physically, she’s well off. I won't say anything about her mental state, that has been debatable to begin with," Tobirama grunted. This was nothing compared to what you went through. The plight they ultimately had put you in.

Ikuro withdrew then, but Tobirama had to stay. After all, the disruption first had to fade at some point. He knew it would - this wasn’t the leash, yet . But it was the right way. Slowly, Kimi’s body started to clear out the disruptive components alongside her chakra - another fascinating realisation that was different to when he had examined you. In you, the leash stuck - no matter how much your unmuted chakra and body battled it, it just kept on disruption and repelling it, thus causing the detrimental health effects. But Kimi’s cleared Tobirama’s out.

He withdrew then. Ikuro raised an expectant eyebrow. “She will be fine,” Tobirama announced, turning on his heels to leave the cell. He had new material to work with.

Ikuro followed swiftly after locking the cell containing the now limp Kimi.

The glare Zenji gave Tobirama now was decidedly murderous. Tobirama grinned back, darkly. Arrogantly. Zenji might as well know he was on their heels. His threats have not been empty. He almost had passed the cell, when Zenji’s strained voice echoed through the cell block: “Four more days, Tobirama fucking Senju,” the pain was obvious. Good. Nobody had healed the fracture, then. “Don’t think for a second you’re anywhere near perfection yet! Y/n’s gonna die so fucking miserably!”

Tobirama kept on walking, ignoring the new flare of ire in his veins. The urge to turn on his heels and break his jaw in new ways. Hell, rearrange his damned face. No, Zenji was beneath him he kept telling himself as he ground his teeth so hard his own jaws hurt. Back in the office, Ikuro closed the door. “I’m impressed, Tobirama.” His gaze was appreciative. For a split second, he believed this to be about reigning his temper in and was about to reply in a most impolite way to such a condescending remark, but he quickly realised this was not the case.

“Thanks.” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The praise for his work was hollow when he reminded himself why he was doing this - and that it was far from perfect yet. “I’ll be back soon. I trust you didn’t learn anything pertaining to my task?”, not that he thought so, but he had to ask anyway.

“Sadly, no. It was a fruitful session, especially considering it was Kimi, but it seems Zenji’s slip up was not a false lead. She really does not seem to know about the leash’s creation.” Then, he frowned. “But, she adamantly guarded anything relating to the leash. Perhaps there is more to glean from her.

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, then we know to build up more pressure.”

Ikuro nodded, surprisingly somber now. “Indeed. I’ll inform you if anything from the other prisoners might come up.”

Tobirama bowed slightly. “Thank you.” Ikuro was a good man to work with.

A second later, the world lurched and the hiraishin seal transported him back to your room, where the little victory he celebrated dissipated swiftly.

The mood was dreary - and the innate hum he felt due to his sensory skills had picked up from the last time. It could only mean one thing. By now it was high noon and the sun’s light reflected off of the room’s pale furniture. Hashirama’s back was turned to him but the blanket was pushed aside - revealing your marred legs. On them, more seals, which he couldn’t make out precisely at this distance. Instantly, Tobirama rounded your bed swiftly, to find Hashirama working on the heart seal. Still, he couldn’t help but gasp when he saw your whole form revealed like this: a shadow of your former self and almost no part of you that didn’t bear a barely healing mark of torture. It didn’t deter him from analysing the situation, but it’d never fail to drive a proverbial blade through his heart.

Your breaths were quick and shallow again and Tobirama was sure to hear a rumble in there. Not good. Your lung was affected. Combined with the fact your body definitely was paler than before and the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, the situation was obvious. You didn’t move - and in your face, the grimace of pain was etched into your skin.

It was worse than before. And they hadn’t stretched the interval as much as before, yet.

Hashirama’s gaze swept up to him when he had finished what Tobirama guessed was strengthening the seal that supported your heart. His mien was grave. “We can’t wait much longer.” He gave Tobirama a quick rundown of what had happened: the withdrawal had kicked in again as before, but the symptoms developed faster, and more severe. As he had guessed, your lung was starting to suffer damage not just on the slight, microscopic level Tobirama had witnessed during the first stretch but in a greater margin. Your cardiovascular system required more support as your heart struggled, too. He still hadn’t intervened directly, yet.

Tobirama swallowed finally and nodded and nodded. Then, he looked down on your legs. Each bore another seal meant for transdermal release of the agents the seal in the middle was soaked in. “You drew more seals?” he inquired, terse again.

“We had to,” Hashirama explained, his hand back on your arm and his eyes closed. “Her lucid intervals are too short to ensure her taking the medication by herself. This is more effective and safer.”

“Safer?”, Tobirama shot back, sternly. “There are six seals on her now. Which means we barely have any room for additional chakra based options, if any, without overloading her.”

Hashirama clicked his tongue. “I am well aware, Tobirama,” a slight hint of strain had snuck into his voice now. But instead of angering him, it did the opposite - Tobirama realised how serious your condition was for his brother to even let a sliver of exasperation slip into his tone. And besides. He didn’t say any more.

All they were doing here - it was all dangerous. Too dangerous. They were running into dead ends, either way - be it the leash or the withdrawal of it. And to make you suffer, for a few precious hours? Tobirama swallowed hard against the shortness of breath that gripped this thorax tightly suddenly. “Anjia, I don’t think we should continue. Y/n is suffering and I -,” he swallowed again as his scarlet gaze swept to your face and the hurt in his heart was near unbearable again, “I cannot condone this.”

Hashirama’s eyes flew open and he gave Tobirama a deep frown. “She doesn’t want us to stop. So don’t.”

His gaze wandered to his brother, frowning himself now. “If she dies from the withdrawal, then it was pointless,” he nearly growled, voice stern again, if just to cover up for the gaping hole that the ache was boring into his chest in a most agonizing way.

“She’s not dying. Have more faith in me, Tobirama - and most importantly, her,” he gazed back at you then, voice becoming softer, fonder. Tobirama would never fail to be amazed by his brother’s optimism.

In a very sarcastic way.

“I’m not doubting you or her, anija,” and the sheer notion of him doing so did well enough to distract him from the terrible heartache simply for how furious it made him, “What I am doubting is what we’re up against - effects of something I haven’t fully understood yet or been able to recreate!”

Hashirama took a sharp breath. “On the other hand, we can evaluate her condition, react accordingly and adjust the figurative sails. We will not run a risk. You said so yourself. That, we do know.”

Tobirama looked back on your tormented form. Then he closed his eyes slowly. He hated it - he hated all of this - but he knew, deep down, he knew it - they’d need to continue down the path they had chosen. All of this - it would end soon. Either way. All he could do was to ensure it ended favourably, swiftly. And for as long as it lasted he’d need to remind himself of the promise he had made to you. No matter what. If Hashirama found your condition stable enough to continue - he’d trust him. He had no other choice but to.

“How much longer until the next dose?”, Tobirama asked then, the numb feeling spreading again. He welcomed it. The numbness muted all of the grief, of the ache. His focus returned.

“Not much. Might as well prepare it.” Hashirama instructed, politely refraining from commenting on Tobirama’s falter further.

He nodded and made for doing just that. Not twenty minutes later, they administered it - again, you were stirring from the force with which Tobirama had to pry your mouth open to pour the hated liquid in. The pained way in which you groaned echoed quietly in the sparsely furnitured room as he focused on not spilling a drop while gripping your jaw with vice strength again and holding it open. Uttering apologies he knew you couldn’t hear but he made nonetheless. After he made you swallow it you stilled again.

It had whatever brief respite - if it could’ve been called that - they had gained by stretching the intervals and thus making for more time null. Impressively, it had been shown you paid the price in proverbial blood and if it continued, literal blood might follow.

Tobirama’s only rest would be when he literally crashed, now.

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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jksangelic · 5 years ago

Text

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

GENRE: fantasy, fluff, smut, a hint of a soulmate au, light angst

PAIRING: village daughter!reader x seraph!yoongi (alternatively, an “angel”)

WARNINGS/TAGS: lots of overthinking/past angst regarding both reader and yoongi separately (yoongi especially), tae is involved as an important plot side character but he’s barely in there i’m sorry, surprise aggression from yoongi because u get in his personal space, slow burn smut but the smut is nice and flavorful, explicit sexual content, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), virgin!reader, clumsy cute smut uwu, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), several positions, unintentional temperature play?, lots of love and respect up in this house and lots of other things i probably forgot.

also i wrote a lot for the intro you can skim idc lmao.

SUMMARY: your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

WORD COUNT: 18,600

NOTE: welcome to my slice of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls Collaboration!

it’s always really an honor to be able to work with other writers and i’m really grateful that they allowed my butting-in )))): thank you all!!! make sure to check out everyone’s stories in the link above and let us know what you think!

(uhhh i just..... i spent way too much time on research and the politics behind this fic for it to still be aLL oVer tHe plaCe but please cut me some slack. might i throw in that this has no religious/cultural affiliation and instead has more of a fantastical theme to it that is entirely fictional. especially for the concept of the Offering and how i loosely throw around the word “angel” and “heaven” and etc.)

((might i add that i recently discovered that i am *terrible* at describing geography and am totally basing it off of video-game visuals........ cough cough zeldabreathofthewild))

(((this last one’s kinda important!!!!: yoongi is described to be larger than you bc he’s this magical bird being. i always try to keep reader insert broad in description but if you’re taller than irl yoongi boongi, pssst, you’re not in this universe sorry but i make the rules)))

((((this is currently unedited. @14statelier get to work.))))

Part One

The snow falls slow and thick. The children catching it on their tongues and compacting it to shoot at each other, screaming and wailing all the same as it continues to pile. It fell particularly early this time around, normally nothing more than cold bitter to the skin and clouds stirring prediction of the oncoming winter. You were always a heavy sleeper despite the beauty of first frost, long past your days of childish amazement through fogged windows and warm fires but you watched the icy cotton substance pile since dawn this morning. Not even drowsiness will overrun your excitement for the day ahead.

“You light three incense and make sure they burn all the way through before you turn around,” Taehee states.

“Find some stones on your way. Use them to hold the tapestry down as you set up. It looks especially windy today,” Mina adds.

Yoona finishes tucking your hair back rather tightly, “You should stop by Jin’s and pick up some extra bread. You know he’ll give you some of his fresh batch if you asked for it.”

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

You chew on your fingers, a nervous habit. Taehee pulls your slobbered index from your lips with a wrinkled forehead, “You better remember this, dear. You only have to do it once but if you do it right, it’ll be worth much more.”

You recite drearily, “Follow the path, set up the altar, say our prayers, return home.”

“Once the incense is out, Y/N. You mustn’t forget.”

“And you cannot explore the manor. Don’t walk around. Don’t look through the windows—”

“It’s a manor? How big do you suppose?” you ask with newfound interest to your words.

“That doesn’t matter, girl. You don’t wander. You don’t explore. You do what is told of you and nothing more. What matters is that you don’t spot a seraph, and that the seraphs don’t spot you.”

You never understood that rule. If the seraph tribe was so kind as to help your country win a rather one-sided war, then why the invisible boundary? To be in alliance and never interact was an odd sense of unity to you, if any. “Have you ever seen a seraph? Is it true they have two sets of wings?” You’d always been curious to the subject, a fairytale-like existence just waiting below the peak.

“The elders claim they do. A large and small set. Some say it’s necessary for having human proportions. You know, they say it’s bad luck to stare at a seraph’s wings. ” Mina says in awe in correspondence to the way she suffocates you with your robe’s sash.

You swat her away, forcing down a smile, “I don’t believe that, you haven’t even seen one! How do you even know they exist!”

“Hush! You’ll get into some real trouble if an elder catches you saying that. They exist. And they live up the mountain. And you will do the Offering with utmost delicacy and respect. Besides, you’re the only one coming-of-age this year! A girl to do it by herself is surely something the leaders will appraise of you.” You avoid their scrutinous, expectant gazes.

You could say you’ve been cursed at birth. Weak in basic skills in which an adult, regardless of age, is identified by. You lacked time management and a sense of direction, you harbored a bad habit of looking down when you spoke, you couldn’t even wash the dishes without chipping a glass. Your legs worked against you at random times, quite literally tripping you up and deeming you as a clumsy, pitiful thing. As you grew older, the only skills you were able to contribute were to the fields, where things were organic and didn’t require fragility.

“I am not as useless as you think of me,” the words come out unprompted but true and exposed.

The women gawk and babble like hens in a flurry of angered denial or soft apologies but you no longer have time to discuss unimportant matters.

In the midst, rough, giant hands encase your face. You don’t realize you’re looking to the floor until Taehyung props your chin upwards, met with smiling eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. His name rolls off your tongue in surprise.

“Hey, don’t start moping before you even start. It really isn’t a big deal. You hike all the way up to the riverbank more than the others and that’s a long way. This is no different. And think, when you come home everyone will come to realize how much they’ve missed you! Me included.”

“It’s not that I’m…” You start haphazardly. Well, it’s not that you’re reluctant to do the Offering. To adventure otherwise prohibited land and by yourself, to prove that you can handle life just fine and don’t need to be seared by the judgement of deploring eyes. Some time to enjoy solitary peace. It wasn’t even a whole day, dammit, but you’ll take what you can get. You choose to lie, “I guess I am a bit nervous. I’ll make sure to pace myself. Besides, I’d run myself short if I finished in half-a-day like you.”

Tae puffs, a little proud of himself, “What can I say… I’d like for the little ones to look up to me.” You roll your eyes, scanning your bed for your scarf. Taehyung eyes the cloth as you wrap it around, a rare moment of quiet. He stares, entranced, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so focused. As you think about inquiring his statue-like manner, you notice that more of the silence is due to the disappearance of the squawking hens. Those sly, evil matchmakers.

You suddenly pull him along and towards the exit, “You can’t be in here. You’ll get us in trouble.”

He blinks dumbly and slumps against your ministrations. “Your aunts seemed to be fine with it. And it’s not like I haven’t snuck in your window a few… several times.”

Your expressed sheepishness is his favorite source of entertainment, “Goodness, as kids! You make it sound so rebellious.” He winks as if you share a grand secret, all to his imagination of course.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was the village’s be-all and end-all. Born to work and carry everyone else on his back. He stands tall with his shoulders wide and prominent, chestnut waves that reached his cheekbones now. Shirt tight around his torso in ways that could excite anyone that risked a glimpse. You can’t help but find it amazing how much of a crybaby he was when you were young and how sturdy and dependable he is now. He was humorously your polar opposite.

You try to shoo him once more, “Anyways. I’m getting ready and you can’t see me. Go wait with everyone else!” His pout is jarring paired with his hard, strong build. Like a teddy bear with abs and palm blisters from years of physical labor.

His body moves on his own at some point, reluctantly reaching for your door handle, “No parting kiss upon my cheek, fair lady?”

It’s obvious he’s being more daring these days. With frequent visits and gifts on your doorstep, and now requested kisses. The whole town knew you were likely to marry him, a relief for most. But on your hand, you’ve just known him for so long. Practically since you were born. You’ve already shared kisses, you’ve already had those butterflies in your stomach; but the kisses were stolen in secret and the butterflies were stagnant. And although it was never a consistent nor official courting, you felt as though Taehyung was already a route taken. You know better to never admit that into the air, though. Not when everyone expected your cooperation with marriage at the least. To care for someone so special, and to bear his children plump and healthy.

What a static life to live, you try not to think. You instead try to blame such thinking on your inferiority complex, to at least ease some of that horrible guilt in your stomach. You should be grateful for your life. Talentless yet adored. A village princess that was easy on the eyes and sought after by those looking for that beauty and its accompanied dowry.

A proposal was near, that much you could tell with his efforts. In his perspective, the sooner the better lest he want someone else to steal you from him. Contradictory to your own reasoning, the only relief you find is that it is him, your dearest friend. Perhaps the only one to disregard your shortcomings and want to fill your empty spaces as much as he can. He cared about you and that could be enough. So you try to convince yourself of that.

You kiss his cheek softly and without hesitation. Not so much as a blush. He suspects nothing less than mutual adoration and takes his leave like you request, leaving you alone in silence for a relieving twenty seconds. Then the hens come back inside and squabble about who will be able to sew together your future gown.

Part Two

It starts under the old pine tree on the far side of the village. A crowd gathers as you wait under the swaying branches, mutters and looks of excitement apparent. A cleric waits beside you with three elder women who prepare your things: a woven satchel loaded with the items that you are to lay out, things like dried flowers, fruits, fine wines, tapestries, collected crystals, baked goods and the incense. A replica display of what little the humans had presented at the foot of the seraphs. Untouchable beings with class and power much above your own. Kindness as well, so it seems; to be provided with just this and offer unparalleled assistance to a hopeless cause in the old wars. You wondered if they still watched from afar, curious to the well-being of their mortal neighbors.

"Dear, keep your mind with us. You'll be off shortly," one of the grandmas whisper, placing a carved selenite athame into a leather holster and slipping it into the confines of your robe, "For protection." You smile and thank her kindly, tuning back into the ceremony and waiting for the second elder. They continue to adorn you in charms and traveling goodies, eventually piling on unnecessary weight that will, for sure, slow you down in the process. The trek was basically a day’s trip. If you moved efficiently, you should be home no later than when the sun begins to set, in time for supper even. As much as you’d like to stay out longer, you dare not risk a night in the mountains.

“—this year’s representative will be just as prosperous. May she bring good fortune and health onto our town just as the many before her has done so,” the old cleric roars into the audience, just about finishing his speech as you start to listen. You hope he didn’t say anything too significant. Can’t possibly hang on to every dry word when you were so close to tasting temporary freedom.

You make your way into the parted sea of people, some who grip your hand as you walk by to invoke strength as you move along. A few grumble good luck’s and come back safe’s. Then an angry baker charging through helpless bodies.

“Take this, you stupid girl. You were supposed to stop by the bakery this morning,” Seokjin whines, thrusting what seems to be a warm pastry wrapped with cheesecloth into your hands.

“Thank—Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bug…”

Jungkook pops in from nowhere, hitting your shoulder a little too playfully, “Chin up, love. Don’t be back too soon.” You nod shyly as he distances behind. Jungkook always had a strong nose for your facades but he also always kept your secrets. Clutching your things tightly, you watch your boots as they pick up speed through the mess of attention.

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

You leave northbound until you no longer hear their cheers. Until the snow no longer has indented prints and you think you’re alone and off to the races. A sudden tension snaps when you release your sore cheeks from an artificial smile, not even aware you were sporting one in the first place. There was always a heavy pressure when you presented yourself to the public, and while you were no damn princess, everyone ensured that you at least feel the looming responsibility of one. Curse your family’s political ties and all that, otherwise you wouldn’t give a damn if you seemed like an old witch spotted once in a blue moon.

When you reach the border gate is when you see Taehyung for the last time today. It comes as a surprise to see him waiting for you like a loyal dog, dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes, red cheeks a striking contrast against the bright setting. If you were more grateful, you’d think he looks particularly good today. If anything, it strikes you more that you failed to see his face at the send-off.

“Hey. I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else… and today of all days but if I don’t right now, I don’t think I ever will,” he jumbles. In his hands hold a scarlet scarf, the same one you had seen as a child when his mom would occasionally take care of you, let you help bake, and playfully dress you in her accessories. All but that scarf, folded neatly and tucked into a corner or her closet.

“Oh! Don’t touch that, love,” she said, “That’s something my mother-in-law made for me.”

You had pouted then, a spoiled brat of sorts. But Taehyung’s mother’s eyes were always warm and she spoke softer than cashmere, “I have to give that to my son when he decides to marry. Will you make sure he finds the right one, for me? You are his best friend, aren’t you?”

You remember the challenge you felt, yelling without hesitation, “Taetae will marry me! When we grow up I’ll be his bride and you won’t have to worry!”

She giggled in contentment, eyes squinted in a wide smile and petting you lovingly, “Ah, of course. I know you’ll be a wonderful wife, Y/N. Taehyung will be in great hands.”

“I had been there, you know,” Taehyung chuckles, “When you claimed you’d be my wife when we got older. I was hiding in the hallway and initially, I thought, ‘I’ll never marry my best friend!’. But, now… I just can’t imagine wanting to marry anyone else.”

You grin at him sadly. Of course he had been holding onto this his entire childhood.

“Taehyung…”

“We’re still young, I know that. I just want to give you this for your trip to make me feel more at ease and so you can think about it. You can take all the time that you need. I know Mother wouldn’t mind, especially for you.” You nod. It’s all you can do. Taehyung pulls you into a tight embrace and kisses your hair. When he pulls away, he wraps your neck into the warmth of the scarf you’d always wished to wear. But it’s almost suffocating now, locking in your fate before you even step out of the village boundaries.

“For now, just come back to me. I’ll be waiting for you no matter what you decide.”

You can fathom the communal disappointment of rejecting your strongest suitor. More importantly, you would be shameful to turn down his proposal. Once it was out there, there was no “decision”.

You can imagine your aunts now, squealing in delight and sewing from their best cloths.

Part Three

Though you never had the chance to explore much, this really was nothing you've ever seen before. An ominous stairway carved into rock weaved in and out of your trail which made it fairly easy to follow along. You can't imagine the labor that went into sculpting this far ahead and all the way up the side of the mountain; it was truly something mind-boggling. As the air begins to thin, the amount of snow starts to grow thicker. If you had waited any longer into the winter you wouldn’t even be able to see the path, you’re sure.

You only need to stop twice to catch your breath and sit down. Snacking on the bread Jin gifted you only a few hours ago. It’s satisfying to look back at the area you’ve covered, how small things look from your height and the beauty of a fresh snow blanket. The scenery to the riverbank was nowhere as near breathtaking to that of the mountain. A dreamscape of evergreen trees and varying shrubbery, crossing over a short wooden bridge floating over a near-frozen stream, even occasional wildlife prancing into view. The summit itself wasn’t terribly high. It was manageable to hike for the most part, more so that your goal wasn’t to reach the peak.

You could travel all the time, you think. Hike or take a horse somewhere farther than here but that’s not very practical. There was nowhere really to go and you didn’t have the luxury to just up and leave your household, and now Taehyung. The knots in your brain seem to loosen, blame the inclination and dry air infiltrating your head. Knowing your life was to be faced someday and all your immature ambitions to leave the village now seeming childlike and unattainable. The pessimism had yet to blow out your weak flame of philosophical rebellion but it was surely keeping you in check.

Judging by the sun's position, it's midday. Meaning it shouldn't be long before you catch sight of the "manor" and thus will be halfway finished with your journey.

You nearly walk off the cliffside before you notice the route's abrupt change and how it slithers deeper into the eye of the mountain. The farther you walk, the closer the earthy walls begin to shut in on you in a trench-like structure. It's even more unbelievable coming upon a short archway, perhaps man-made and mined through a boulder that could have fallen from atop one of the peaks. Being here, you realize, makes you feel small. Slithering through the terrain like a fairy in the tales your mother had told you at night. Of beasts and cryptids that could appear in the tangles of forest and vanish all in the same. There was a sort of dreamlike trance you found yourself in as you walked under the rock as if it were a portal.

And, unexpectedly, it's there. Atop a few more dreadful flights of stairs, hidden between an odd bundle of trees and beneath a fresh veil of snow, you can barely make out the silhouette of a house. It's still a bit far and eerily surrounded by fog but it's there and it almost looks as if it's... floating. Like a gateway to a secret nook of heaven.

It's one of those odd, puzzle-like mirages when you climb more steps to think you're only getting farther from the house. The swaying of branches keeps you from determining just how big it is and what it could possibly conceal. Even the atmosphere, chill and intimidating, makes your heart skip in perplexed anticipation. Having been at this for hours, if the staircase hadn't just ceased you would have kept walking straight into the dark wooden door.

But your aching legs find relief in the stretching flat surface of a porch and your exhilaration to reaching such a majestic destination that you could squeal. Of course, you don't, and instead get started at the task at hand.

You kneel onto the cool floor and begin to unload your things, neatly and without the need to rush. You lay stones on each corner of the tapestry to hold it down, you lay out the contents in somewhat of an aesthetically manner, you strike a match to light the incense and you mumble your thanks on behalf of the village, all as you were told. The snicker under your breath comes unwarranted as you finalize the display, even Taehyung couldn't have done this well.

It feels a little anticlimactic; a little short-lived. To have come up this whole way and spend a maximum of five minutes in somewhere you could spend days exploring. Idling, you can practically hear the warning clucks of your aunts engraved into your brain.

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

"Even think of doing anything funny and I'll have Seokjin roast you alive."

Maybe it's why it's even more satisfying to you when you ignore them altogether, standing from your position and just dying to see the rest of the manor's exterior. One peek, one peek and I'll never stray from instruction ever again, you think. Just my last burst of freedom and then I promise to be a good girl with no more personality than a wet dish rag.

So you tiptoe to the massive door and lean your ear against it as if you could hear anything with its size and the strong winds. You questioned if anyone even lived here, void of any decorations or signs of recent activity. Maybe the deer would get to the food you laid out before someone even stepped foot on the property prior next Offering.

When there are no obvious indications of life do you weasel your way around the corner, an extension of the porch wrapping around the side of the house to much of your assumption and revealing an expanse of space. The cabin was two stories at the least, maybe even three if not had been for the first story windows and how incredibly tall they were. You could only imagine the comfort of being inside such a space, being able to wake and watch the snow behind a glass wall of incredible proportions. While you ogle the window do you, of course, fail to realize that it's transparent and startle a bit when something begins to move.

The reflection makes it a bit difficult to pinpoint, a large dark figure shifting ever so slightly in its confines. Like a complete buffoon, you near the wall even closer with squinted eyes just making out the shapes of an entity.

Whatever it is, it's incredibly large. A heart in shape and composed of monochromatic blacks, reaching the floor and surely much taller than you. It was killing you that you couldn't figure out what the hell it was, well-near leaning against the glass as you peer into the private space.

You freeze in place as the elongated heart is really in the shape of wings, accompanied by a body as they’re dragged behind it like a veil. Long and dark and ruffling occasionally as their owner rotates a bit...

But you don't get to see his face. The man in which you firmly believed could be nothing but a myth; as propaganda by the village elders to keep your actions in check. Rather, the seraphs were more authentic than you could have ever imagined, and as magical and inspiring as it may be, so are the Offering rules that are now proved and justified, and that could only mean that this was very, very unfortunate timing to be snooping around property that was not yours.

Your feet scramble backwards in attempt to flee out of sight, instead graciously slipping against the frozen wood and causing you to land quite harshly on your side. Your hip burns at the impact but more horrifyingly important, the crash rattles the side of the floating stoop and his eyes burn into your pathetic body. The moment is wedged between fractions of a second, eye contact barely existent but it's enough to see the daggers in the seraph's irises. It's enough of a warning for you to get back onto your feet and sprint as carefully as possible away from such a gaze that could light this winter wonderland into disastrous flames.

All that comes across your mind as you rush down the steps is how wrong you were. How you unjustly became more and more skeptical of the stories and legends of the creatures that existed in the crevices of the mountains. How numb you became to the warnings as your age drew near for your rite of passage. How much of a taboo you would become if you were to ever tell a living soul that you witnessed a seraph and its marvelous wings. Not that you would.

Your ability to run brings you to the realization that you forgot your things but it was beyond you now. For once in your life, you cherish the idea of being home and hiding under the covers in the tranquil warmth of a familiar fireplace. To dream away the moment that dark angel caught a sly fox trespassing into his territory and, rightfully so, looking as if he craved to skin it alive.

You yelp at the sudden caw of ravens as they fly overhead. Their screeches send shivers to your bones, a sudden chill slowing you down. Rustling in the nearby trees deem you completely terrified, a gut feeling deducting the possibility of winds blowing that strong in the middle of dense shrubbery. Your heart drops once more; your athame was left in the abandoned bag.

The last time you had seen a wolf was when you were barely a toddler, sleepily held in the arms of a younger (and much kinder) Mina. It lurked in the woods just past the fields, a little young and possibly separated from its pack. But wolves were smart and they knew better than to make trouble in a town of loud humans. You remember the way it pulled its ears back and slinked back into the sanctity of its wild home and never to be seen again.

These wolves were smart too, howling their announcement upon finding a small, weak girl all alone and oozing dread. Two pairs of eyes track you as their corresponding bodies stalk out of the bushes, large and sleek and beautiful. Both grey and both incredibly hungry, they begin to pace around you maybe 100 feet away. You startle back and up a stair, most favored option to return to the cabin and retrieve your bag, maybe stay near for a bit until the creatures leave but then another, black and larger than the other two, barks harshly and stands its ground on your sacred steps. You are royally trapped.

“Stay… Stay back,” you warn dumbly, looking to the only open direction in the woods. You wouldn’t be as fast as on the path as long as you had to maneuver through the snow but you could possibly break off a hefty branch. Enough to ward them off to get back to the cabin and pray that the seraph doesn’t pose more of a problem than flesh-eating hounds.

So you sprint, robes clenched in your fists and boots sinking into the pillows of ice, disappearing into the trees and disregarding the snarls that start up behind you. You look desperately for something, anything to help you. Snow begins to find its way into your shoes each time you trip over yourself, wetting the soles of your feet. Hands scraping against bark with each twist and turn and your fingers burn. You only look back occasionally, seeing no more than one pair of eyes at a time at a short distance. This must have been a fun game to them, howling their contents into brisk air.

The black dog truly appears from nowhere, a flash of teeth from your left peripheral before it tackles you to the ground the same moment you find a dead branch and thrust it into its snapping jaw. It all happens too fast. You yipe as you roll through the fall, wolf teeth still digging through your only weapon and snapping the poor thing to two. In pure desperation, you dig the sharper broken half into whatever it’s willing to hit. Fortunately enough, the wolf whimpers and tumbles off you. Then you’re off once again, adrenaline ringing in your ears as you don’t even care to recall which way is which, as long as it’s away from, what can you assume was, the Big Bad Alpha.

More howls from them, more cries from you.

You’re able to return to the path without another spotting. It turns out you were going the wrong way when you’re also met with the narrow exit and that cursed archway. A gateway to inevitable death.

Halfway through the gap in manic rush and you’re face to face with a beast so pale that it camouflaged with the flurry encasing you both. Eyes clear as water and almost… comforting. Even with the low rumble in its throat and one paw in front of the other in a slow, tantalizing chase. The others growl behind you, an enraged black-furred monster bleeding from its right eye socket turned quite smug now knowing that you were completely, utterly trapped.

It’s when the white wolf soundlessly drags a deep wound into your thigh while the three merely watch is when you ascertain that it is, undoubtedly, the pack leader. You fall back as the beautiful thing toys with you, snatching the front of your thick robe and shredding it with a sickening rip. You scream for the first time this entire chase, grabbing at Taehyung’s scarf in fear that it got caught along with it, caring for it more than your own life at this point.

The scream must have been piercing enough to discombobulate your attacker, it’s large ears flitting around as it jumps away from you. It’s even more of a shock when they all flee out of the divide, leaving you bleeding and too traumatized to move an inch. Whatever alarmed them devastates you even more.

The ravens caw loud and the ground vibrates. Watching the birds circle in the sky, you notice the way pebbles begin to crumble from each peak, how snow begins to over pile on such weak grounds and the way it begins to slide inward.

It’s an odd sound; snow sliding against other layers of snow and having so much weight that it pulls a few small trees with it. And this trench-like area only had so much space and you were positive the amount of white that begins to hurl towards you would fill it like a water cup; bury you with absolutely no chance of being able to dig your way out. Despite your fear, you cower at its charge and wait for the weight to hit.

And then your head lolls back against something wonderfully warm and dry. You were completely soaked but too exhausted to shiver. In your last moments of consciousness, with your neck craned uncomfortably, you see the ground as the sky and the sky as the ground and feathers as feathers. You think of home. Think of warm summers where you would dip your feet in the riverbed. Think of bonfires with Jungkook and Jin and Hoseok and even Taehyung. But everything is still snow and you think you’re beginning to loathe each damned flake. The only comfort you find is the homeliness of the carmine red material that blows softly against your face. With that and the fleeting thought that you might be righteously transported to heaven do you finally pass out.

Part Four

Yoongi wasn’t particularly fond of humans. Unlike his brothers and sisters that sympathized with such weak creatures enough to put their own lives at risk, it was just something he would never come around to understand. Species were organized and separated for reasons and intermingling was a curiosity that died ages ago for him.

Which is all a hypocritical contradiction when he sees you sleep soundly on his common room couch, changed into dry clothes and buried beneath a heap of duvets. Whatever had possessed him to go after you was pure impulse after the stunt you pulled on him. Prowling around on private property and, more importantly, breaking the village’s strict ritual rules. Catching him going about on what would be another unmomentous day in his schedule, creating enough of a ruckus to capture his attention, and then fleeing as a feeble mouse.

It’d be a lie if he had said he didn’t watch you scramble away down the steps from the comfort of his front door and a fresh coffee in hand, watching you stumble over nothing on your way. It was more when you had left your things like a pure imbecile, food and tools and all, and left without even waiting for the incense to finish burning. It was then that he came to the conclusion that you were incredibly clumsy and that served as entertainment to him.

The howls were his test of will. Knowing the dogs were way farther up the mountain than they normally were and supposing they had followed your poor, unfortunate soul during your trek, waiting for the perfect time to strike. And you were practically handed to them on a silver platter, considering you’d left your only knife on the cold wood of his porch.

Maybe he had come down, grumpily disturbed from his peaceful Saturday, more to save himself from cleaning the remnants of someone eaten in his vicinity more than the compassion to save you. But that was a tad bit too cruel, even for him. He thinks it was more of that uniquely curious glint in your eyes as you practically skipped into his sight. Daring enough to ignore those rather ridiculous warnings and try your luck. Delicate as a deer in hunter’s perspective. As often as he’d go out to restock supplies in neighboring towns would he never come across a visitor in his own domain. Call him quaint, but it was a mediocre surprise.

He prods the fire, making it crackle and reflame with more vigor. It had barely been a few hours since he’s saved you by the skin of his teeth, almost caught in the landslide himself.

He checks the wound on your leg once more, cleaning it again before securing it in bandages. If only he had gotten there faster, Yoongi tsks, but you’d strayed from the path and he could only follow the prints so quickly before they were covered by the flurry. By the time he found you again, you were knelt in front of the pack and submitting to your death. Had he not been on a hill, had he not been able to utilize his useless wings to glide down before the snow had claimed you first…

You groan softly, unable to roll around without a searing poker sinking into your thigh with each attempt. Contrast to the icicle state the rest of your body sported. You felt like hell. Like hell in hell guarded by those hounds. Hell in your thigh and hell in your head and hell in—

“Don’t move too fast. You have a fever and I just replaced your bandages,” a disembodied voice orders. Your eyes snap open to tall, wooden ceiling. Sitting up is your first horrible mistake, dropping back down immediately with a pained wheeze.

“I just said not to move too fast. If you can sit up normally, you should drink some water. I have some here,” it speaks again. You try again cautiously, blurry spots ruining your vision the farther up you scoot. A silhouette is kneeling beside you, maybe a cup in his hand but you’re too jumbled to confirm.

Yoongi tries his best to fold in on himself, lowering the obvious limbs stuck to his back and appear as human as possible. You wouldn’t be able to run again in your state but he tries his best to be courteous to your skittishness anyway.

“Where… Where am I?” You dazingly question. You don’t really… recall too much. Last memory somewhat muddled between your send-off and contact with those treacherous wolves, very few in between and serving no importance if you couldn’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe in my house. In the mountains still. You passed out pretty good out there, been out for a bit. Now drink.”

It’s easy to do as your told with you’re running off little brainpower, downing the water hastily.

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

At some point, you can see again. The blankets that cover you and the large room you inhabit. Of course, the seraph from earlier that awaits by your seat. His seat. But you feel no urgency to scurry into safety. You were discombobulated, sure, but you knew enough that this man was kind enough to bring you into his home and care for you. So you fold back the material slowly and watch his face contort into confusion as you try to stand.

“I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for treating me.”

“Woah now. You’re in no condition to be standing. Besides, the path is blocked. Snow was too heavy and caused a slide. I doubt it’ll clear until the spring,” he informs, looking out the window as if to drag your own attention to it. The snow stopped but it’s fallen a few feet, at least. The path, you remember, chased by wolves and led into an ice trap. The few split moments in which the man must have scooped you up before your demise, remnants of being carried back towards his estate.

His place, in which is even more amazing inside than it was outside, a luxurious wooden mansion of sorts, tall and spacious and filled with those incredible windows that displayed better than you could have ever dreamed. The man himself that sits beside you draws full attention. Despite his position, he was large and still intimidating as the moment you crossed sights for the first time. Hair matching his wings in dark palette, soft and delicate looking. His face anything but, sharp eyes and thick brows, lips that curved into a simper. Above all, he looked more human. Even as radiant and prepossessing as he was, if the cape of wings didn’t follow him where he went he would look just as human as the rest of the population.

“Are you a seraph?” You ask dumbly. Dumb, because he laughs and because he obviously is.

“Are you a human, pretty thing?” He retorts. There’s no condescending lilt to his words but it makes him seem otherworldly to you. With such a provoking question and your lightheadedness, he seemed a blessing to be inhabiting such an earth.

You melt into the cushions once more, leg throbbing and eyes heavy. You watch his wings as they bob with his breath, “They say it’s bad luck to lay eyes on the wings of an angel…”

“Why would that be?,” he scrunches his nose, maybe a little appalled by the idea, “Such a misleading myth. Besides, I’m no angel.”

You don’t know why he stands to leave the room after that, unnoticing how you fall back into sedation a minute later.

Part Five

You wake with clarity. Check your thigh to find it almost completely healed over except a now lingering scar. All’s left is a dull soreness but god it felt so much better. Enough to stand and stretch in the empty room. Enough to coherently realize that you only wear your underwear while the rest of your garments hang torn and sadly on the fireplace screen. It’s not as unbecoming if it had to be done for the sake of your health and wellbeing, right?

Getting dressed is easy when you don’t even bother with your robe, the gash decreeing it useless and instead tying Taehyung’s scarf around your shoulders as a shawl over your tank. You’re lucky it didn’t get torn.

There’s a fleeting moment where you really think you miss Tae, feeling a little regretful to being so afraid of his proposal in light of the recent accident. You’re sure he must be worried sick; must think you’ve perished under the debris and snow if he’s come to look for you. As his best friend, you solemnly wish he was here to hug you close and promise that it would all be okay. To fend off your shame and welcome you back into the village with teary eyes and a warm smile.

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

You whip around to discover fox eyes in the door frame, poorly lit now that it’s nighttime. The moonlight pairs well with how it sits on his milky skin, almost something out of a painting.

“It’s Y/N. Not ‘human’.” You answer a little sharper than you mean. He notices too, quick to wave it off since he really had popped up out of nowhere. He tries your name once on his own tongue, a satisfying thing to say.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, in case you don’t want to call me seraph all the time.”

You suddenly grab your thigh, rubbing it over your pants in questionable disbelief, “How long have I been asleep? My leg is almost fully healed…”

He rubs at his eye, a little nonchalant about the scene at hand, “Only overnight and throughout the day today. It’s probably quarter to nine about now. I had medicine to help your cuts heal over nicely. Call it, uh, advanced seraph technology.”

The gashes hadn’t been incredibly deep to begin with, thankfully not going any further than the first layer of skin and just really causing some bleeding, but it was still amazing. The feeling is short lived. Even if only a day, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Thank you, um, Mr. Min. For saving my life and everything after that. I’d like to repay you sometime. But for now I’m afraid I should be heading back, I’ve stayed for too long. I’m sure I can find some way over the path.”

It dawns on you that Yoongi is a little facetious, especially when he purrs a, “Well you can do whatever your little heart desires, but I’m here to remind you that there is no path. Here, look out the window.”

You do, tiny bit distracted when he stands by you to point out the ridges of the mountains that surround you. “See those? How they curve in towards the top and how it sort of resembles a bowl? This area was made only for seraphs to get in and out of generations ago; flight only. Trying to climb it would be suicide on both sides. The path that goes through was strictly for human use, and if that’s blocked, there’s no way out, little one.” You weren’t the shortest in your village but Yoongi truly was massive, both lanky and filled-out somehow. Like there’s underlying strength to his lean build. You’re sure if you were to stand directly in front of him, the top of your head would barely surpass his sharp shoulders.

You disregard his name for you, a bit annoyed at this point, “Could you not fly me over the pass?”

Yoongi repeats in disbelief of such a daring request, “Fly… You over the pass… No. I’m sorry. I won’t do that. If you truly want to figure it out, you should do so soon. It's storm season."

Gritting your teeth, you express your discontent for once. What did he save you for, then? For points? You didn't know members of the almighty seraph clan were so keen to half-completed deeds. "And why not? Wouldn't you rather I be on my way? What am I supposed to do if I can't leave?"

"You forget yourself, Y/N. Did I not save your life? Chase after you and save you from being crushed? Buried alive?" He takes a second to straighten himself out, aware of how you look to your feet in frustration.

"Hey," he starts again, "I know you'd like to go home. I only tell you the truth of your situation in its entirety. If I could fly you over the pass I would but unfortunately, I'm out of commission."

You feel heat in your face, embarrassed of the way you address a complete stranger even after all the things he's done for you. But this was frankly a sticky situation to find yourself in, trapped and unable to get Yoongi to help you any further. Though you do wonder what he means by his last statement...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't mean to make demands. I'm just scared and in a place I'm not used to and I'm not quite sure what I'm to do from here. Is there no one else who can help me over?"

Yoongi averts his gaze before he shakes his head, "I'm the last one in this country."

That's even more odd to hear but you don't prod for information that isn't yours to learn.

In silence, you contemplate the work that even went into carrying another human body by use of wings that were structurally built for the owner's own weight and possibly nothing else. Now was not the time to be ignorant.

“What am I supposed to do?” You mumble weakly. Yoongi watches your gears turn warily, stress surely beating down on you.

He rubs his neck, ruffles his left wing, “Listen. I promise I’ll help you back come spring. You won’t be able to make a dent in the landslide as long as it continues to build with snow every night.” He tends to forget that humans are pack animals, often lost without one another and feeble in the hands of species not of their own.

Your doe eyes, beginning to well with tears, convince him over tenfold, “I’ll help you in any way possible to pay you back for all the things you’ve done. I know I’ve caused nothing but trouble but if you have the room, is it possible I stay here?”

And Yoongi had enough vacant rooms to house a whole herd of deer now that he’s been alone for these sum of years. It really was no trouble… and he could make use of you as long as you stayed. His brow shoots up, “You can stay.”

Your grin is enough to light the whole room encased in night’s darkness, looking back down to the ground now knowing you had some hope to hold onto in such an eventful day. A whisper of a thank you Mr. Min is thrown in and Yoongi can feel his fists tighten.

He clears his throat, standing a little taller than he already is and acting strict, “But there are some rules. And you can just call me by my first name.”

Part Six

It's always a little weird trying to adjust to new scenery. Though your past experiences have been anticlimactically different than this; not exactly the first time visiting a friend's house or dropping off delivered goods from Seokjin's shop and awkwardly facing an elder who forces you to stay for tea.

Yoongi had shown you around the areas you needed to know. Offered you the closest room to the main part of the house with a king bed, fresh sheets and your own majestic window to stare out of. The living room which you had rested in before and the kitchen, grand and spacious just like everything else. He showed you a greenhouse out back that was utterly ginormous. Stone walkways and a hot compost keeping it from freezing, rows of plants you both have and haven't witnessed before. And again, he showed you what you needed to know.

That goes onto the chores he assigned you as long as you stay, to help him clean come Sundays and manage the plants throughout the week which served as no problem. At least with horticulture you proved some use, struggling throughout the weekend to do anything else but cause Yoongi a bit of a headache.

Tuesday rolls around and Yoongi stops by your room with stationary. Tells you he has a messenger bird to deliver any letters you desire to send home and you hop on the opportunity quicker than the landslide had tried to eat you up.

Of course, it was an exceptionally long letter. Longer than the papers Yoongi had given to you and he had to fetch more when you looked absolutely devastated sitting at your desk. You began with the simple phrase, "I'm okay." Filling it with a volley of explanations and apologies, how you were nearly killed, how the seraph had scooped you up to safety and how you inhabit his home now until further notice. You write how you talk, sure the recipients are sure to read in hushed mumbles and run-on sentences. You explain that there's no use to try to get home now while the clouds continue to precipitate and gate your only exit from the bowl-like wonderland. You end with how you miss them already, a request to send back an update or two every once in awhile, and a final wish to have a happy winter without you (though you're sure they won't appreciate that joke).

You think, if they really receive the letter, how terribly furious they'll be with you. Taehyung and Jungkook will probably come hiking up the mountain to try to put a dent in the debris and fail miserably. Your aunts and how they must feel even the tiniest bit of guilt for thinking you so small and helpless. Mina and her jealous wonder that you've done it now, how you've seen a seraph before her and you're positive she'll have a flurry of questions when you return. When you return.

You come out onto the balcony to pay your respects to your so-called "messenger", pretty white thing large and wide-eyed. Humorous is the familiar to another winged being, bird of a feather, you chuckle to yourself. Yoongi pays no attention when he murmurs directions to the bird and sends it off, straight in the direction you were hoping.

Thursday and you think you finally have your routine down. No longer unsure in the hallways and able to sit when your work is done without feeling completely out of place. It's only when you're around the other member of the cabin do you feel a little subdued, reminding you that you burden him and quickly finding something to do out of that guilt.

❋

Today you feel a bit sluggish. You drag yourself down the corridor, opting for the bath until you see a dark head in an open room. Yoongi sits in his study, presumably reading with his back facing you. You can't say you've seen this room before, ceilings just as tall and walls just lined with books, journals, art pieces and things of the like.

"You can come in," he snickers suddenly, maybe feeling the heat from your eyes boring into the back of his head and warming the space entirely.

"This is amazing... Your collection, I mean." You force yourself down in a chair, hands trapped underneath your thighs in case they feel like touching anything.

"Thank you. It took quite a bit of time to build it up. Not by myself, of course."

It makes you ponder. If he's mentioned his state of loneliness twice, then your questions were expected.

"There were more, right? Family of yours? Why are you the only one left?"

"One question at a time, yeah?" He swivels around and takes off a pair of reading glasses that you would have liked to inspect on his face a bit more, "I can't leave because I can't fly, remember? They left because they held no other duty tied to this land. That's all."

You quiet. He returns to reading whatever it is on his flat desk. "Why can't you fly?"

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

"A story of a girl with a terrible habit of too many inquiries."

"You know, I loved to read when I was a kid. All kinds of things. Novels, studies, maps even. Now I never have the time for such pleasantries." A wistful sigh leaves your lips.

Yoongi eyes you beneath his lashes, watches as you survey the room with giddiness and hands taut underneath your bum. "Why's that?"

You frown, "Too many things to do. Jobs and cleaning and family and stress. If I have time to read, I have time to be doing something more important."

His lips curl, amused at this little play-thing in his room. Like a child scolded all her life, whining and pouting in front of a stranger. Yoongi stands tall and shrugs his sweater tighter around him, "Well then, you'd better hop to it."

"Hm?" You squeak, chewing on your lip when you meet his eyes. So innocent.

"You only have the winter to read these. I'd get started soon. After work is done and you want to poke around in here, feel free to do so. Take them to your room if you'd like, just please return them."

And he swears he sees damn stars in your eyes before he turns and leaves the room. He hears your immediate footing once he's halfway to his room, little yelps of excitement enough as his thanks. Yoongi can't help but smirk, eventually floating away and speaking way out of earshot for you to hear.

"Nothing is more important than the things you want."

Part Seven

After a month, you find it a little boring. After receiving a teary letter of how your family misses you, not one ounce of scold or chastisement more than it was just wholesome relief to see familiar handwriting, their only wish was for you to stay obedient and not write so often as to waste poor Yoongi's paper. It was typical, somewhat stress-relieving. And that was that.

It was often you spent your quiet interest reading of botany and romance (in what little you found of it) preferably in his study on days he's holed up in his room. At this point, he still remains somewhat of a mysterious entity, conversing when he must and accidentally showing his face once or twice like a ghost. The only times you really see him are for Sundays with idle chit chat.

One particular evening you find an old, ratty recipe book. Handwritten and falling at the seams and that's how you know that there are some golden tips in there for you to test out.

You choose pumpkin bread. Something to warm the palette while ice continues to build outside. And working in Yoongi's kitchen by yourself was oddly fulfilling, no one to correct you or send you off to another job if you fail to do the first. It's probably why your bread turns out perfect, slicing the loaf and placing a piece on a small plate for a friend.

Rather, someone you'd like to establish as a friend.

You haven't seen him once today; not odd but a little lonely. Pacing on the carpets and looking for an open door with any sign of a sly angelic being. Even after a month, it's the first time you've freely made something with intents of sharing with him. Was that rude of you?

Coming upon a jarred entrance, you speak softly, "Yoongi? Are you in there?"

No reply.

You clear your throat and toe the door open just enough to stand in its frame, "Yoongi? I made some pumpkin bread for us—"

Thank your soft voice does it not wake him, still a snoring log in a bed even larger than yours. His limbs sprawled widely, laying on his stomach and breath soft and slow. Sleeping in the middle of the day while his guest slaves over the stove must be quite nice, huffing subtly and placing his plate on his night desk. Sure to be spoiled even more when he wakes to a treat.

As you turn, your eyes can't help but dawdle over the expanse of his wings. One covering a naked back and one hanging off the side of the bed, a marbling effect of muddled sepias and ink blacks, occasional golden ochre pigments seeping through the deepest layers of feathers. It was utterly breathtaking. This has to be one of the first opportunities you've had to inspect them so, equating staring at his monstrously large wings the same as blatantly staring at his junk.

You draw close like a moth to a damn flame, checking to assure he's still sound asleep. Reaching delicate fingers, you dare to lay a palm on the mass. It's surprisingly strong, an odd firmness as you slide your hand down silky plains and watch as the feathers ripple by your touch.

Then, as if you weren't dumb enough to foretell the upcoming events, he wakes.

A whirl of darkness encases you, whips you around so fast that you see stars in the middle of day, completely flipped and pinned to the bed beneath you. The intense heaviness makes you recoil, unable to budge your wrists and legs with Yoongi's strength.

And his face of unadulterated fury is one that would be ingrained into your memories forever. Pupils dilated and nose scrunched like prey warding off predator. Yoongi was surprised to say the least, a scared frenzy of confusion as he growls down at you.

"What were you doing, human?"

Your weeping gains no mercy, "Ow, you're, you're hurting me!"

"What the fuck were you doing?" He spits.

Incoherence is not what he asks for but that's all you can give, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't touch them again I was just—"

His wings which were so beautiful to you before, makes you feel nothing but fear now, flapping angrily as he keeps his balance and shrouding you in shallow lack of light. When he lets up on his grip, you gasp like he also held your breath. Immediate relief streams through your blood, though he continues to trap you between his thighs. He asks you again and you sob.

"You know what happened the last time I let one of your kind close? Nearly fucking killed me for no reason. You know why I can't take you down the mountain? Why I'm stuck here by myself? Because a goddamn human stole my ability to fly. I can't fly anymore, do you understand me? That's all that I was and they took it!"

Yoongi sees the pity etching onto your face like some sort of charity case. With your pathetic excuse for tears that claim to sympathize with him and it makes the bile in his throat grow. As for you, you could have never imagined such a travesty. Those words that seem to bounce around in your skull, to be wholesomely one thing and to be rid of it by someone else's doing, you could never relate to that.

You itch to relieve his pain in some way as if he never lashed out on you to begin with. Like you were the one truly at fault here even though you know it's a two-way situation. Your hands struggle to not touch his face, to attempt to alleviate those dark, regretful feelings. "Yoongi, I'm so sorry. I would never—I would have never known--I'm from one of the villages where we look up to the—"

"Yeah, well I don’t trust people," He cracks, lungs filled with muddled sorrow.

Both of your breathing is ragged. He takes his leave off your body and sits on the edge of the bed, wings lamely drooped.

"Leave." So you do.

Part Eight

You find the most beautifully carved wooden bow the next morning. Sun barely risen and adventuring around in nooks you haven't looked through before. You find it, accompanied by plenty of arrows, leaning against the wall right outside the backdoor. Though it's been months since you've last hunted, you ache to make use of yourself. Wearing bundled layers of the clothes Yoongi let you borrow from what was left and bounding through the condensed areas of the woods behind the cabin.

Food isn't scarce to hunt for, you've come to realize. Rabbits abundant and easy to kill once you got the hang of it once more. Two are struck and red seeps through white. You always sink your knees into the ground after each kill, whispering your thanks before you move back to the house.

Taehyung's father had taught you the basics of hunting and fishing and everything that came after that. Skinning and cooking and preserving the flesh something everyone in the village should learn to do, he had said. Even after your mistakes, even after your hesitation for your first kill, he'd always pat you on the back and reward you with the first bite of fresh food.

You miss them all, especially now. It wouldn't be long until you saw them again with maybe a bit of heightened skills. You hope they'll be proud of you.

Yoongi wakes a little after you're finished cooking the first rabbit. He stumbles in quiet and groggy, as if having no recollection of the previous altercation. But he doesn't speak, doesn't so much as look your direction before he plops at the head of the dining room table and begins to sulk in an odd inner-turmoil state.

You wait a minute or two by garnishing the meat unnecessarily; perhaps he was waiting to say something. To apologize. To ask questions. To kick you out once and for all. Well, you'll beat him to it then.

You set his plate down in front of him, the jarring sound breaking his trance enough where he can finally meet your face.

"I hope you don't mind I used your bow. I cleaned the arrows afterward and put it back where I found it," you hesitate. "I appreciate your kindness thus far; to take me in like this. I was a complete stranger and you gave me shelter anyway, so I thank you. I've packed and cleaned and I—I think it's time I leave now. I'll find a way to get over, I don't care. And I'm, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Yoongi. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but I overstepped my boundary way too far yesterday and I apologize profusely."

You find that you dig your nails into your palms as you talk, head craned parallel to the floor and you wonder if Yoongi could even hear you when you were so rudely speaking to the rugs.

"Stop, you don't... You don't have to leave. There's still no way you can get over the snow." He massages the back of his neck, tense in his own skin.

"I'm so sorry," you repeat. "I let my stupid curiosity get the best of me and I can very clearly see how that made you feel alarmed and uneasy and—"

He cuts you off, "You know the myth, right? How it's bad luck to see a seraph's wings?"

Confused, you nod.

"It's not literal. It's a metaphor that it's bad luck to see our vulnerabilities. Our faults. Years and years and years ago, when the war was still active, I got mixed up with a human. Within enemy boundaries. I was naive and trusting and they made use of that. They sought out my weaknesses, ate 'em up and covered my suspicions with false adoration and love," he says the word like it's an illness, "But then. But then one night, they put something in my water. Drugged me. Something was wrong and I didn't fully go under. I suppose their original plan was to take me, probably torture me as a prisoner. But I caught on and still had a bit of composure and when they realized the drugs didn't work, they sought to kill me instead. Used a dagger and plunged it into my back as hard as they could. Right," he reaches an arm behind and massages a spot, "Right in the cross-section of where all four wings meet. I should have been paralyzed but we're tough. I can still move them but I haven't been able to fly since. Thank heavens I wasn't killed but..."

You can tell by the way that there’s no emotion in his statement, how true it rings, "That day, I might as well have been."

You wipe the pools of tears with your scarf, heartbroken for the shattered man that sat in front of you. Having to bear the sight of his wings every day and full-knowing he would never be able to use them again.

His voice croaks, "In their eyes, my own family's eyes, I commit a sin just by making such a fool of myself. The war ended and I was punished. They left me here and claimed loneliness is what I deserve."

Yoongi then realizes he sounds as if he's trying to justify yesterday's actions and literally sinks to the ground, "This isn't supposed to be a pity party. I just thought you might want to know why I am the way I am and how I had no right to snap like I did. I know you're from the north most village. And that you would never try to do what they did and I was wrongfully paranoid."

Then, out of all things unexpected, he grabs a bare ankle and lifts it out of the length of your dress. When you hobble, he grabs your gentle hand with his other to balance you. He can see the marks he left, not too dark but enough to tell and he can't help but despise himself. In pure remorse, he presses his lips softly to each bruise, not lingering for more than a second, before cowering to the ground with his head low.

"My sincerest apologies, Y/N. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I prefer if you wouldn't. I'd like to get to know you and redeem myself, as selfish as that may seem. Maybe, until spring, I can make up for the things I've said and done—"

You sputter, voice too high and full of embarrassment as you struggle to pull him up, "Please! P-Please get up! I am at fault here! Don't kneel, please! You have nothing to make up for!"

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he watches you yell your affirmations and weakly tug on his arm. It was like watching a little kid throw a fit and that makes him chuckle aloud, how could he have ever suspected you as harmful? When your large eyes shed tears like no other and you impulsively make decisions for others before yourself. You were kind and he could see that. He laughs hard and you stop your squawking.

In disbelief you fall to your knees right beside him, looking plain stupid while you're at it. It occurs to you that you've never heard him laugh like this, smile so wide that his eyes crescent endearingly and it just lights up the room. After watching his handsome face radiate forgiving happiness, you join in too.

You eat rabbit together. The conversations from there on out easier to come up with, more emotional and found in the midst of tranquil understanding. Like you now shared a bit more of each other than before.

Occasionally, you think of all the sadness he must have accumulated until now. Of the things that happened to him that shouldn't have, and those years of isolation and abandonment that he suffered. But now you realize, too, how he's able to laugh and continue on despite those melancholy winters in a desolate place that he once called home. How it's all he can do as his only sign that he's still alive.

Part Nine

The weeks after that seem to breeze past you; time racing when you have more things to do and someone to do it with. Yoongi really meant it when he said he would try to make up for his past harshness; never daring to miss a meal, spending more time in the livelier rooms if it meant that it was to accompany you, going as far as helping you out with your own chores if he hadn’t taken them over entirely. It was a polar opposite of who you knew before.

The first time he joined you to hunt again, in favor of how you had cooked his meat the last time, he layered himself in clothing that made his appearance softer than you’d ever imagined. Leaning towards darker garments that contrasted against his opalescent skin.

In some haughty attempt to show off your archery skills do you aim for a squirrel in a less-than-mediocre angle, letting the arrow fly without a second thought and piercing good ol’ trunk. Yoongi had a fabulous time laughing at your mishap, yanking the wasted arrow from the bark and handing it back to you.

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

The temperature of your cheeks could have melted the snow, taking the thing with shaky, embarrassed hands, “I was being hasty.”

“You got two rabbits. I know you’re good. Let me just show you some things.”

You walked behind, letting him tread through the snow first so it was easier for you to fall into his prints.

“There. Squirrel,” he whispered. Probably the same one, mindlessly crawling up and down trees like target practice.

“Let me see your form again.” You aimed, self-conscious and probably showed it. You shivered when he swiped a hand under your grip arm, pushing it back.

“Keep it aligned with how the arrow is facing. Completely centered. You can widen your feet a little too,” his voice soft. “Don’t completely lock your elbow but tighten your back muscles before you hold. Does that make sense?”

“Mm. It won’t stop moving though, the squirrel.”

“Watch this.”

Then Yoongi had dug through the snow for a small stone with enough weight to throw. Aiming for a far tree to the right, he tossed just hard enough to cause a knock to echo in its vicinity. The squirrel halts, presumably looking for what caused the noise in its unknowing last thoughts.

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

He watched you silently each time you had knelt next to the victim and mutter your thanks, both sorrowful and appreciative. It was the first time he ever witnessed someone, frankly, talking to dead animals and at some point he asked you why you did so. You responded with a giggle, briefly claiming how all living creatures deserve the same respect, to be mourned, to not be wasted. Yoongi finds interest in the concept of valuing each as their own and of the same importance in the Grand Circle of Life, probably something his family would never have stopped to think about. The seraphs had always placed themselves above others in a deserving, self-righteous kind of way. It made him think.

❋

A particularly windy night and you caught him in the seat of his study's window, drawn to the mirage of colliding trees and listening to the croaks of the house on its plot. A muddled bottle sat on his desk, its glass counterpart being twirled in his hand.

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

"I didn't used to," he answered, unfazed by your sudden entrance, "Caused problems a lot of times. But I think they're pretty fun nowadays. And you?"

"I like when there's thunder and lightning."

Yoongi faced you at that, your twiddling fingers and the way you scanned the dim room.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Although it was a question he poured you one anyway, barely anything more than a few sips worth. Obliging, you took the liquid. Pride a little stung in all honesty, pretty aware of your high tolerance.

He tittered, "Don't pout. You can pour as much as you'd like. But this stuff is ancient, concocted from poison and the desire of Death itself. Watch yourself."

It was always a trait of yours to take on a challenge, though, ignoring his warning and foolishly gulping it down. The burn was subtle despite its awful, awful taste, yet you poured another and let Yoongi watch you spiral down the rabbit hole.

Two stories and one half-glass later and you draped yourself very unladylike on his desk, too warm and too moist and too loud.

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

"Min... Min. Mr. Yoongi."

"That's wrong but that's me."

"Yoongi you have to keep a secret. That I'm going to tell you! From Yoo—from Yoongi!"

"Wait, that you're trying to keep a secret from me or—"

You must had forgotten, instead focused on bunching your skirt and tying it higher up your thighs, "Soooo hot. Too warm. I'm going to leave it like this, ‘kay?"

"You don't have to pass it by me. They're your clothes," he said, biting back laughter. His accidental peak of pretty, bare legs could have made him think different though. Reverting his gaze back out the window, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning that night.

Taking his eyes off you wasn't his best idea. Hobbled out of his chair and sneaking to his place with hands buried in feathers before he could shy away. Yet the wonder stained your eyes with childlike amusement and he wouldn't dare change that face. So he idled in a flustered mess, relaxed in the way you unknowingly massaged his muscles.

"Pretty wings, Mr. Yoongi... Can I touch them?" You asked stupidly. Yoongi grumbled.

When you finished evaluating, you swiveled awkwardly and tripped over his knee, a yelp escaping your lips as if he wouldn't catch you in one swift motion and onto the safety of his lap. Yoongi could smell the bite of alcohol that stained your breath; could see how swollen and red and beautiful it had made your gentle face. The proximity was deadly and your innocent, apologetic features could have slain him right then and there. You didn't even make another peep, eyes drooped in what he assumed was embarrassment for your clumsiness.

In which he thought wrong, your hands slapping each side of his face and squishing it together horrifically. "Pretty face, Mr. Yoongi."

"Alright, time for bed."

You fought all the way until he tucked you in, out with soft breaths and sprawled arms. Even after he had laid you down to rest and calmed back in his lair, there was no slowing the fondness that grew in his ribs.

❋

You don’t know when you’ve started looking forward to Sundays, springing out of bed in the morning with a green thumb and a will to dig, or so you imagine. You knew Yoongi would be waiting for you in the greenhouse and spent a little extra time rinsing your face, doing your hair, and double-checking nothing was in your teeth.

Yoongi was already checking the pots when you had gotten there, wrapped in black per usual and winking as you walked by. The familiarity by now was tangible. There was always a nice flow to your conversations and Yoongi doesn’t back away when you naturally find yourself in his space like he used to. It was both a prideful accomplishment and an endearing new relationship that sparked joy every time you were able to do something together. To step back and see the difference over your time spent here, the things you’ve done, and the way Yoongi warms up slowly.

He watches you mindlessly hum as you harvest what you can, voice soothing when most times it would have been dead quiet. That’s what it felt like being around you: like a void suddenly filled, his whole being gravitating to your aura. You were addicting, if he had to admit.

The scarf, somehow pristine despite how often you wear it, is shuffled up your neck as you do one thing or another. Like a constant reminder that it’s there, you always feel the need to touch it.

Yoongi points to it, “Did you make that yourself?”

“Hm?” You follow his line of sight and crumple the red thing in your hands, “Ah! No. It… It was a gift.”

“Ooh, from a suitor?” He doesn’t mean any harm when he jests but it prompts the things you’ve left at home. No matter how much you’ve tried to suppress it down and not nitpick on the responsibilities you’ll have to return to. Awful as it seems, it makes you take notice to the sun and how it begins to peak out more with every day. You push the thought down once more.

Instead you laugh nervously. Yoongi knows immediately when you say nothing but, “Mmm…”

His gut twists from a melting of surprise and disappointment. How could he be so dim? To not even hypothesize the mere possibility of someone else being in your life. Though the feeling weighs heavy on his head, he speaks lightly and with a smirk.

“You must miss him then.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ve known each other since birth and have been best friends for as long as I can remember!” You chuckle, “He gave this to me right before I left and claimed we could get married once I returned. I was so shocked that I made myself sick thinking about going back. Just nervous, I suppose.” Taehyung, as expected, never said anything in the occasional letter updates to you. He meant it when he said he would only wait to talk about it for when you came home but you ponder how he feels now; what he’s been doing. If he’s changed his mind once he’s realized how incapable you are that you couldn’t even do the Offering correctly, but you know that isn’t true. Maybe just wishful thinking.

You throw dead leaves in the compost and Yoongi eyes you.

“’Shocked’? It’s not something you’ve been looking forward to?”

You look down, “It’s not that I—I don’t know! I just have seen him as family for so long and then there’s this sudden proposal without even talking about it beforehand… And everyone expects it. For me to just be married and have a family and all of that but I just, I just don’t see that for me so soon.” Your words begin to jumble and Yoongi hasn’t seen you so stressed within the span of twenty seconds before.

“Forgive me and my input but isn’t the most important thing what you want? You could just turn down his proposal,” He suggests like it’s the easy answer, hoping you don’t suspect a hopeful tone in there.

“Does it really matter what I want?” You stop to think about the people who matter to you and what would ease their minds most when it comes to your future. Marrying Taehyung seemed like the only option. “I can’t turn him down simply because I don’t want to. That’s selfish.”

“That doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Well,” you sigh, “in the village it’s courtesy to accept a marriage proposal regardless of how you feel. It’s the receiver’s obligation to be grateful towards—”

“Is that how humans treat their women?” Yoongi spits, agitated just by the thought. He leans against a table next to you, arms crossed like he’s simply not having it, “To ignore your own say and force you to think you should just be appreciative? That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s not as serious as I’m making it seem it’s just…” You think of your aunts and the elders and Taehyung’s mom. How you’ve grown into a nuisance, lacking here or there. The time where you were supposed to return to the village after a successful Offering and marry and finally be someone to be proud of. “In my case, especially, it’s probably better off I’m just someone’s wife. I’ve never been much to begin with.”

And that’s truly heartbreaking for Yoongi to hear, so much that he becomes enraged with whatever twisted society you grew up in, “Y/N. What have you been doing these last few months?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, what have you been doing? Just sitting around? Watching me sweep circles around you? Serve your meals on a silver platter and draw your baths? No, because you’ve been doing that yourself. For yourself. By yourself.” The look of confusion on your face causes him to huff before he continues. “Sure, you were a little rough around the edges with some things but who isn’t? You hunt, you cook, you read like no other, you do a lot of great things and it’s not because you’re trying to do it right. You do it right when you like what you’re doing.”

“Yoongi, I understand. Thank you but you don’t have to—”

He walks toward you, lecturing on. “I know it’s by unwanted circumstances. But has your time here been horrible? Have you despised being here and doing these things?”

Your answer is immediate, “No. Not at all.”

“Has it not been nice to have your own space and do things simply because you want to? Because you were thinking of yourself?”

“I-It has been… I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Your legs hit the corner of another table and you notice he’s backed you up into it.

“So, you go back and you do what you want like you have here. Don’t worry about what they think. Wait until you’re ready. Marry for absolute, unwavering love. Be a little selfish,” Yoongi hooks your chin with his index and props it up. You didn’t even realize you were looking to the ground. “Look up.”

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

So Taehyung is his name, Yoongi thinks. He frankly does not care.

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

“Perhaps I was mistaken. Do you want to marry Taehyung because you truly love him?”

You see his lips before you hear his words, parted and nearing you bit by bit. So close that you feel his warmth, aching to close the distance. “I…”

A shovel clatters onto the stone and Yoongi removes his arm that’s found its way around your back, shuffles backwards and lets your hand fall from his face. It was natural to touch him, you realize, unaware that you feel distant and cold when he’s away.

Yoongi picks the damn thing up and curses. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, close to doing the unimaginable to you. You, who was involved with someone else. Heading towards the door, he ruffles his wings like he’s restarting.

“Forget I said that,” he requests, “I’m going to wash up.”

You nod, frozen in your spot with legs too unstable to dare walk. Without even knowing you had reached for him, so close to doing something you’ve only been secretly daydreaming about of recent and how incredibly wrong it was for you to think this way. But in another sense, you would feel worse lying to yourself by saying you weren’t attracted to the seraph. It was a twisted contradiction of emotions and you could scream.

Needless to say, you don’t see Yoongi until the next day, and even then nothing is mentioned of the almost.

Part Ten

On Tuesday, the bird returns with a letter from your family and Taehyung. It’s brief, with evident relief that the snow is melting and how happy they’ll be to see your face. Your heart sinks at how much you miss them yet how angry you are to receive the letter. To what extent would they be happy to have you home? Until you dare humiliate Taehyung when you turn him down? To dishonor your name and his parents and gain the glances of people who care more about your failures?

You calm and shoo such immature feelings away. Yoongi is confused when you don’t send a letter back and you return to your room early that night.

❋

You haven’t had a full night’s rest that entire week. You’re sure Yoongi notices the tension and that makes you feel horrible, but the lingering necessity to run to him and never go back to the village is too prominent to just face head on.

He’s been checking the trail every day, making dents on the softer parts of the snow when he can and updating you when he returns. You know he doesn’t want you to leave and you know he thinks you feel the same. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said anything about the proposal that day.

Flipped onto your back, you stare at the ray of moonlight that floats atop your bed. You would miss it here, so much that it hurts your throat. You would miss the windows, the kitchen, the greenhouse, the library that Yoongi was happy to share. It goes without saying that you would miss him the most.

Unprompted imaging of a possible future with him interrupt your thoughts, something so uncertain and fortuitous in comparison to the stone-set fate you have now. What the stoic seraph would think if you just asked him to stay a little longer, until you know you would never leave. The landslide and how much you had hated that unfortunate event seems so insignificant now, replaced with a dimmed appreciation for this life detour, no matter how short lived it will end up.

You’re probably on the verge of sleeping now, thinking of the incident and it’s wild connection to your present out of pure lunacy. You could bet your entire existence on the fact that you were meant to meet him; your entrapment by the snow no mere coincidence. Neither was Yoongi’s endless solitude atop this mountain. It had to be fate that you two were to meet at this moment and your heart feels it so strongly.

Even for you this could be too far-fetched, or maybe you were just trying to cover up the way your heart is undoubtingly falling for Min Yoongi.

Final Part

You prod the logs, provoking them to catch more of the fire. In your last night do you decide to pour a glass of wine, kneel on a pile of blankets and snack on the charcuterie board you made for yourself. In the past, you used to be so hesitant about helping yourself to the manor’s amenities, having no problem doing it now.

The lame, weak fire is your only source of light in the large living room, clouds blocking the moon from shining through. You feel, immaturely, just as cloudy. Set in your intentions to leave your feelings locked away as to not cause more trouble, confusion, and inevitable heartbreak.

“You look quite comfortable,” Yoongi surprises you and he can tell when you jolt. Speaking of the devil. He looks great in the dark too, leaning against a wooden pillar with folded arms.

“Well, it feels like I’ve lived here for quite a bit. Just,” you break to sigh with exaggeration, “soaking it in before I leave. Too beautiful to not.”

If not for the crackling between the wood, it’d be dead quiet.

“Would you like to join me?”

He titters, rolling his eyes before he walks your way. Laying on his side, you offer him your glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I used the wine from the ritual contents. With the stuff you normally drink, this must be nothing.”

“Like water to me but I’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

You cheers to nothing with one glass to share. Occasionally picking off meat and fruit from the board and enjoying how the fire builds up.

“Your family will be so happy to see you.”

You hum. You suppose they would. Avoiding the bitterness you still associate with the thought.

“And I’m sure Taehyung will be too.” He says a little clipped. Not in a way to be facetious or sarcastic but because he feels the need to address it.

Yoongi is caught on the carmine scarf again, downing the rest of your poor wine.

Forcing a smile, you speak faintly, “Let’s not talk about that.”

At this point you both know. He nods to keep you happy, but there is no hiding or pretending. In front of the flames, your lies and justifications seem to melt away unspoken. Changing the subject, you shove him lightly, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I don’t think you’ll ever learn to bake as well as I do.”

He tuts, which is refreshing. “I’m great at cooking and baking, I’ll have you know. It was just nice having someone else do it for once.” You feign betrayal and scoff aloud. He mumbles low, “But I’ll miss you for more reasons than that.”

And he breaks an unmade promise not to bring it up again. Feeling the need to throw it out in the open and even with the simplicity of admitting that he’ll miss you, you really know what he means. The seraph feels for you. He feels deeply. Yoongi doesn’t expect a response, just pops more food in his mouth and rests his eyes.

You contemplate, following suit with a bite to a grape and thinking hard. What to do. What to say. How to say it if you did. You weren’t supposed to feel this way and it goes way beyond the rule of even coming in contact with a seraph, let alone unconsciously falling in love with one.

But that’s just it: how you live by assumptions and rules based off the words of the ignorant villagers and the elders, how they all believe the seraphs are all still here, how they think there’s a direct relation to the Offering and a year’s good harvest, how it’s bad luck to see a seraph’s wings when it’s brought you anything but. If you learned anything from this winter, it was that you found you own way of living, thank the curiosity your home curses you for. Making your own path instead of aimlessly walking one that was already paved. You learned to trust yourself a little more while Yoongi propelled you forward and believed you deserved it all. You learned you did deserve more. You learned what love really felt like when it was new and fresh and exciting and real. And Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi was the wine to your previously empty glass, and this winter with this man, it was heaven.

You decide the realization is enough for you. Have been gifted with so many things and blessings that you’re grateful for the chance to have met someone like him.

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tastes bitter in his mouth. He felt that if all these years left alone in a manor of silence and rejection was to eventually meet you he would do it a million times, but if all you could reciprocate was this then it just wasn’t meant to be for him. It felt unfair but it also wasn’t his decision. He takes the sourness with him and stands. “I suppose I should head to bed.”

Your sad stare breaks his heart, even more so when you give up and nod. The fire catches your attention as it pops and you leave it at that. He tries to walk away, footsteps haunting, until he stops altogether.

It comes unexpectedly when he wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his knees into your back. A weird sight it is to see his wings unfurl and curl around your rigid body. “Are you satisfied? Is this enough for you?” His voice is soft, like he could take either answer as long as he heard it from you directly.

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, how could I possibly ask you for more?”

He hisses liar into your ear. “Is it your family?”

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

Here you are again, faced with a question that tore you apart in the garden while you ached to be with Yoongi anyway. But there were no distractions here; nothing to interrupt your thoughts. Just you, Yoongi and your truth. He loosens his grip so you can face each other, knees between knees. Instinctively, you reach out for his feathers and indulge yourself with their softness. He pushes his wing into your hand as if to bribe you like a child.

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

A quick glint in his eye, a sort of relief, and then he finishes what he’s started and kisses you. It’s wrong how right it feels, lonely lips moving in tandem to find comfort in one another. Yoongi leans into it, absolutely devastated by your simple touch. The strength of the wine remains on your lips and he can’t help but lick into the flavor, drunkenly entranced by such luxuries. Yoongi’s hands can’t stay, snaking up your back, caressing your face, dragging his knuckles across your jaw and finally grabbing at the scarf. Carefully, he unwraps it from your neck, slow enough to feel it tickle your shoulder blades, before he folds it respectfully and places it elsewhere.

You sigh, more weight taken off your shoulders than there should be.

“Is this okay?” His voice raspy, speaking into the corner of your mouth. You’re stiff, nodding shyly and lacking the fire you brought up until this point.

He rewords, “Do you want me?” Yoongi feels the need to confirm, waiting for this moment for so long that it seems superficial. Like if he’s not careful, you’ll disappear into another one of his many short-lived dreams.

“Of course I want you, Yoongi. I want you more than anything…” But your eyes flicker to the ground, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Then what’s wrong, lovely? You don’t have to.”

“No! I want to, I just… I’ve never done this before. I want you so bad but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—”

His laughs are light, his hand on the small of your back as he dips you onto the floor. Holding himself above, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I want you and we’ll go slow and if you decide you don’t want to anymore, we won’t.”

The way he makes you feel, how gentle he is, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for this to happen. It eases you slightly, letting your arms snake around him in an attempt to let your guard down. He’s patient and wonderful and you mumble about it. “Mhm, okay.”

The night robe he’s gifted you now poses a problem, his slender fingers looping through the bow that keeps it wrapped, “Can I?” You nod again, and he unties you like his own present. The feeling of being bare in front of him becomes apparent when he sucks in and the heat from the fire dances against your skin. Other than that, you look to the window to avoid his face.

“My love, look at me.”

His commands are easy to follow but you cover your breasts to hang onto your last bit of pride, granting eye contact at the least.

Face flushed, you can tell he, too, is trying his best. “You’re incredible. More prepossessing than I could have ever imagined. You shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of me.”

“Well,” you retaliate, “it’s hard not to be when I’m the only one naked.”

He grins at the challenge, sitting up to shed his layers, never noticing his garments having to wrap around in a way to accommodate to his wings. You just thought it was just a more ornamental way of dressing that the seraphs took to. He’s left down to tight underwear that hugs him incredibly, beautiful milky skin exposed and tinted with golden light. “Satisfied?” He lilts.

“You look like an angel,” you trace indents of faint abs. Wide shoulders that taper into a tiny waist, a slim build that you could study forever.

He kisses your words away, pushing you into plush comforters and pillows. A makeshift nest unintentionally built for the two of you. A groan rewards him when he licks your bottom lip teasingly, taking your wrists swiftly to pin them above you. “Pretty thing, I don’t have a halo.”

He starts from the top, kissing each inside of wrist before moving down your arm, slithering onto your shoulder, then into the crook of your neck with gentle suckles. Teeth grazes before puncturing, eliciting a yelp from you that satisfies him. He does this over and over, decorating the canvas of your neck.

“I want to burn you into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget this,” he moans with a wake left down until he meets cleavage. His muscles were relentless, impatient and eager, wanting to worship ever square inch of your body as you rightfully deserved. Your squeaks serve his purpose, his muse as he continues his ministrations down.

Out of nowhere, “I don’t want you to leave me, Y/N.” The profession makes you giddy, happy you’re not the only one who feels so. A hidden insecurity acknowledged and lifted.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

He reaches your stomach and doesn’t hesitate to nibble there too, flinching when your hand flies to his head and buries itself in his hair. He ditches his current plan to grab your hand and plant a kiss to your palm in a second, making you giggle.

He admits, “I like when you touch me.”

“I want to. I feel so useless letting you do this alone.”

“You’ll get a chance if you’d like later. But right now, it’s all about you.” Husking it out. Of course, the idea sounds blissful, but the scene of having you cum by his actions sound better. “Need to cherish what’s in front of me properly.”

So he dips dangerously, laving at the skin above the hem of your panties and hooking his fingers under the sides, “Please,” he breathes.

“You… can do whatever you’d like to me. I want it all.”

He tugs his lip between his teeth, pulling it down. An unexpected wetness strings between your skin and the cloth and you both see it; him amazed, you horribly mortified. You stutter trying to explain yourself, oblivious that you could even feel as aroused as you do now. But his forehead falls onto the jut of your hipbone and you can hear subtle teasing in his tone. “I-I’m just as nervous and that was so incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can go on, shit.”

You laugh stupidly. “Quiet! Not another word! Just hurry up and—”

That terrible habit of looking away becomes your biggest fault, unprepared for Yoongi to filthily bury his tongue into your heat. He flattens his tongue and tantalizingly drags up until he can just barely flick your clit with the tip. Growling in the process.

“You are so sweet. The sweetest I could ever have. You will be the end of me.” Rushed in panted breaths as he does it again. And again. And again. So much that the growing sound of wet against wet echoes in the empty room and renders you paralyzed.

The feeling of it makes you squeamish, like you want to move, buck your hips, pull his hair. Despite the lewdness of having his rough tongue against you and lapping you clean, you could never ask him to stop.

“You just… keep getting… wetter…” He says between turns. “You really wanted me this much?”

“Yoongi—ah! Please, I can’t. It feels weird.”

“You don’t want me to continue, my love?” He asks lightly, blowing cold air onto damp skin and really forcing you to buck.

“No! I just… I have never felt like this. I want you to but I can’t sit still.”

“Oh? Let me help you then. But you have to let me finish.” So you shyly nod and loosen your legs. He uses the prompt to scoop them underneath his arms and attach the back of your knees atop his shoulders, your hips curving up and towards him in a new, tight position.

“Yoongi!”

“No matter how you feel, just let it happen.”

Sultry wails are music to his ears when he brutally sucks on your clit, licking your folds here and there and using all his strength to keep you in place. He spells out his love with his tongue, digs it into you sweetly. His power, though, anything but kind.

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

Unveiling your view, his stare immediately burns into your veins. Looking at you under dangerously slanted lids and that sinful mouth. Holding you in place with strength that could leave prints into your soft legs. With one roll of your clit under his teeth, you feel in ways you never knew how, as if all the pressure that built up in your abdomen suddenly overflowed with a tight burst. Choked sobs and hand gripping his hair enough to make him moan into you, vibrating wonderfully as he works you through it.

He lets you go, remnants of syrupy arousal trickling down his chin; watches your legs fall open widely and your chest heave for air. Your features bring him joy, loving the way your hair sticks to your face with sweat, eyes closed, and brows knit together in concentration. He loved seeing you painted in warm hues and although he was never an artist, he could replicate this scene exactly how it’s displayed in front of him.

“How do you feel, lovely?”

You respond with a weak smile. “You’re so cruel… Min Yoongi.” You felt flimsy; weightless. A feeling you could come to love too much if you aren’t careful.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” slithering back up to rest his head in your neck, giving you more kisses like you haven’t had enough. You’re happy he’s back, massaging your hands over his torso, up his neck, down his spine. And then you hit it and he tenses.

Thick and raised, an area between his wings that softly juts out. It was fairly large and the texture varied from the rest of his beautiful planes of skin. It was a scar. Wide as a dagger.

“I wish it wasn’t there. I know it’s—”

“Yoongi, baby.” You nudge him to lift his head and he does unwillingly, face turned away. “My Yoongi, it’s nothing. What happened was horrible but it’s over. And I will do everything in my power to make it up to you by giving all of me.”

His lips stop you tenderly, a whisper of affection that pours out love, “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you’ve made me better. I wasn’t able to feel anything for a long time until you. So. Thank you.”

Any remaining embarrassment vanishes. Not when Yoongi’s done his part and you would do anything to take care of him.

Sweat molds your bodies together, heat emanating from a fire that’s ablaze now. There’s a private summer in this room while winter continues outside and it feels special to you. It’s hot here, hot when Yoongi scrapes his teeth against yours, hot where his pelvis lays. You take notice to the hard thing twitching against your thigh, making you flinch.

“Ah, I’m sorry. And we’re in A Mood and all.” Yoongi snickers.

“Don’t be,” you purr, feeling a bit lustful and reaching down to grab it through the cloth.

He hisses, “Fuck! Fuck, please, I’m so sensitive at the moment.”

Ignoring him, you unskillfully maneuver your fingers around him. Just touching to be familiarized with it. He surges forward accidentally, sighing in your ear as he shamelessly humps the space between your groin. You use his distracted state to pull his shorts down, the sudden reality of his skin touching yours bringing about sensual noises from the both of you. A sudden spurt of precum makes it easier for him to drag his heavy cock against your hip.

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll help you.” You stare down as you flick your wrist, encircling him with fingers shaped in an o and pumping him slow.

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

“Is it… supposed to be this large?” It’s a stupid question to ask, especially when you’re not entirely clueless. You know his size exceeds average proportions.

“Don’t spoil me. Seraphs have always been larger than humans. Height wise, I was the smallest of my brothers though.” Which seemed unimaginable to you, not when he towers over you and could easily devour you in a hug. Cock hanging low and barely able to keep in your single hand. He must be acting coy.

“Now you’re just bragging!”

“I’m just being honest. I’m automatically pleasing to the likes of you,” he chuckles.

The dampness overflows, smears over your skin in incredible amounts and how you wish you could taste out of pure curiosity, but he has other plans for you.

“I don’t think I can hold myself any longer. Please.”

“That’s… fine. Um, should we? Like this?”

“It’s so hot, could you flip on your side?” You roll and he figures he’s made a mistake. Entranced by the way your weight, breasts and soft curves, naturally gravitate down in a seductive pose.

“Like this?” You ask, unaware that he could simply die right now.

He lifts your leg to rest on his shoulder again, easy to stretch. “Perfect, my love. I’m going to go slow. If it’s too much we can try again another time, okay? No rush.”

Challenged by his kindness, you shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m ready.”

Whatever’s left of the arousal between you both is more than enough to let him enter easily. Head of his member no problem to push past that initial tension.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

But it’s his shaft that makes you keen, entire length seeming endless as he fills you and overloads your maximum space. You cry, nerves making you writhe, “It’s not going to fit all the way—hah…wait.”

Yoongi struggles to hold himself back, perspiration dripping down his nose, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It doesn’t need to, I’m pretty close to being all the way in anyway.”

“I’m fine,” you pant, head lolled to the side as he stretches you out in an odd, numbing way. “You can… you can move.”

His hips test it, pulling out so little to only be sucked back in with a leveled grunt. “Baby, you’re barely allowing me to.”

“It feels so tight,” you sigh, worried that if you move it’ll really begin to hurt.

“Ah, really? Let’s do this then.” He quick to please, wanting your pleasure before his own and getting you to flip, propped onto your elbows and filled from behind. Smooth chest meets your arched back, him hiding a kiss below your ear while he’s there. A moan aches in your throat as his dick unintentionally digs deeper inside, easier to move and to the hilt.

“Is this better, Y/N?”

“Hah… Yes. Yes, so much better. So good. Please move.”

His hips roll, just enough to grind into you which feels nothing but euphoric in itself. You mimic each other’s lusty whimpers with every movement. Caving into each other’s kisses and licks and pants that you feel synchronized.

Yoongi grows impatient with himself, exaggerating how he pulls out and slams himself back inside. The mere force that he fucks into you sends you forward, opting to lay on your chest and bite the blankets beneath you to keep from screaming. “You feel so good. So, so good. I’m sorry it hasn’t been long, but I feel like…”

His wings fall at his sides and cover you in shadow. It’s weird to see them like this, in a way you could imagine the perspective of having them yourself. But it covers you in unnecessary warmth and makes you grunt.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a quick breath, “Let me on top. I’ll finish.”

The way his member slides out; the way it leaves you tensing over nothing is a sad, needy feeling. You don’t slow at the chance to lay him down and take control, straddling him and watching his face contort in loving awe.

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

❋ masterlist ❋

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morwensteelsheen · 4 years ago

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WIP wednesday thoughts:

willow cabin is utterly fucked because i changed my intended ~moral~ halfway through and now im stuck trying to integrate this shitty political intrigue plot into what should’ve been a more interesting story about éowyn adapting to life in gondor. hugely fucking annoyed by it and just totally unsure how to proceed. i could significantly increase the chapter count, but im worried that because the initial framing device was this bandits shit that closing out that plot and then still going for ages afterwards would be really shitty? i honestly don’t know, it’s so difficult. really i just need someone to read my outline and tell me if im being a dumb twat about it lol

meanwhile I know exactly where I want to go with AFTA but for some unaccountable reason im stressed that my ass is gonna get roasted for the direction i want to take it in. it’s all based in both tolkien’s personal politics and (some) historical precedent, but im worried people are gonna see it as a marysue-ification? but also im hoping to do sthg of a sequel to afta to practice the political intrigue writing so i don’t make the same mistakes i did in wc, and to do that it would require this specific set up in AFTA. im gonna put my AFTA thing under the cut so don’t click read more unless you’re gucci with potential AFTA spoilers!!

this royal affair au is definitely gonna get published at some point but im trying to decide if i want to do ~tasteful~ smut that drives a longer narrative or if im really just gonna do a whole 3,000 word build up to some run of the mill, old fashioned PWP lmao

okay so i have spent a Lot of time thinking about what impact i think éowyn and faramir would have on each other in a pre-ring war setting, and the honest to god conclusion ive come to is that they would somewhat inadvertently egg on each other’s (wildly divergent) idealism.

faramir’s an idealist politically in ways that, as Big D rightly points out, are not super productive in a wartime scenario. but so far as im concerned, the war doesn’t feel as warlike until they have to blow the bridge at osgiliath. until that point, there’s not really anything to say that faramir’s whole throwback optimism isn’t a perfectly justifiable position to have.

but what that idealism is and how it manifests are two really important considerations. the crux of his idealistic politics is that he looks at númenor and sees something valuable in it, and looks at gondor and sees a lot that he thinks is fucked up. outside of articulating a general angst towards the glory hunting, it’s not like he’s spending time talking about his specific policy prescriptions. however, we do know a few things that can guide us to a more coherent reconstruction of his politics:

he’s pretty rigidly hierarchical (when it’s convenient for him). as seen in: him basically telling sam to fuck off and stay in his lane in WOTW, and in how and when he chooses to refer to his father as ‘father’ vs ‘my lord’ or ‘lord of the city’ in the aftermath of the osgiliath retreat and then before he gets his ass sent back there. i don’t want to go into too much detail here but if i go with this i’ll definitely justify it more thoroughly in the footnotes.

so we’ve got faramir’s emphasis on hierarchy and his occasional (when convenient) belief that the upper echelons of a hierarchy are there because they’re intellectually and/or morally better. or, maybe to remove the causation from that instance, because they are in those upper echelons, they have an obligation to be more morally/intellectually upstanding, and the people in the structure below them have an obligation to show deference. unless you’re faramir and you’re dealing with denethor in which case that all goes out the window. classic.

we know there is some sort of nascent pseudo-democratic tradition of popular sovereignty in gondor. we know this because faramir asks the masses at aragorn’s coronation if they’ll accept him as king. faramir is a lot of things, but he is certainly not a progressive political radical, and i cannot imagine any situation in which he cooked up that rigmarole himself. that then implies to me that it’s building on some sort of political/cultural expectation in gondor. so: some sort of relationship to popular legitimacy. the people of gondor are subjects, but perhaps not as totally passive and unconsidered in the power structure as we might assume given the comparability to feudal europe/asia.

given those two things, i want to use AFTA to argue:

that faramir, in looking to assign blame for the faults he sees in gondor, would not directly assign blame to the lower classes, but rather to the aristocracy, because he will have seen them as failing in their moral obligations to the people they rule over. this is not to say that he isn’t fucked off about The People™ valorising war, but i think he’d take the position that they couldn’t possibly be expected to form those values and opinions of their own volition, and the fault lies in their rules. faramir: not gramscian.

faramir lacks any power that is non-military, and even that is of questionable worth because the rangers seem to be fairly distinct to the general structure of the army, and are not exactly a huge force.

faramir lacking any political power isn’t necessarily a huge concern for him (as in, he’s not actively trying to change that), because he knows he’s not going to lead a moral revolution and isn’t interested in taking up the responsibilities having political capital would engender because he’s stuck dealing with this war, that he fucking hates btw has he mentioned that he hates it?

however, given that he is apparently eminently versed in lore and scholarship, he is probably keenly aware that there is this incipient notion of popular legitimacy somewhere in gondor’s culture. it’s not, for most of his life, knowledge that actually does anything for him, but it is there.

éowyn, meanwhile, doesn’t really have many strong political convictions (yet). not because she’s a dumbass or whatever, but because she looks at court politics as kind of a farce, and doesn’t believe that power legitimately emanates from anywhere that isn’t a Big Fucking Army. and why, strictly speaking, would she not think that? the event that brought about the creation of her kingdom was not careful, soft spoken negotiation, it was her ancestors being in the right place at the right time with a Big Fucking Army.

and the internal politics of the Riddermark actually seem to be fairly stable, all things considered. i sincerely doubt that Théoden or Théodred are having to negotiate complex politicking in the way Denethor and Boromir are. so where, then, would éowyn see that kind of political behaviour outside gondor? with gríma.

éowyn, then, will see the immediate contrast between gríma (backroom dealer, manipulator extraordinaire) and théoden (owner of Big Fucking Army). and gríma goes and fucking wins that fight. that forces éowyn to confront the fact that, jesus christ, maybe there are different types of power.

at the same time, she’s going to be in minas tirith and needing to cover for théoden letting his shit get wrecked. not just because she’s prideful, which of course she is, but because if denethor/gondor think that théoden is too weak to hold up his end of the bargain, why would they ever go help the Mark? éowyn, seeing that théoden’s f-f-fucked, knows that there’s a very very good chance the Mark will need help.

against her feelings about courtly politics, she starts to accept that she’s going to need to do something to get power in gondor. not anything substantial, it’s not like she’s trying to overthrow anybody, but enough that when push comes to shove she can force denethor to help out the Mark (if he doesn’t do so willingly).

but, as ive sort of already shown in AFTA, she’s a bit of a dogshit diplomat. good for a little big-brawny-enforcer stuff, but not exactly brimming with cultural sensitivity. by the time she realises théoden + the Mark are fucked, she’ll have burnt quite a few bridges with the gondorrim nobles, and it’s not like she’s the sort of person to go running cap-in-hand begging for mercy.

so: she has to look elsewhere. and wow! a chance for faramir to do his favourite thing — talk about his opinions! and by god, his weird idealistic politics are… actually kind of helpful? because he’s like, look, you’re never gonna be a diplomat, but there are other ways of consolidating power. and one of those ways is by appealing to The People™. so why not work that angle?

and actually, we know that this is a viable route for éowyn because hama, in arguing for her to take up the mantle of théoden’s heir when théoden and éomer fuck off to helm’s deep, basically says that The People™ love her and would have willingly chosen her to lead them.

we also know, based on faramir’s middle men speech, that the people of gondor and the mark have grown alike in nature. not totally unreasonable to then think that the people of gondor would take to her like the people of the mark did.

éowyn, then, in various ways begins to try to win over the people of minas tirith. i need to do a little more research on this bc what ive got on the practicalities of that so far are a bit, uhhh, sketchy, but the least jargony way to describe this is to point to when natalie dormer’s character in GOT gets out of the carriage to go hug and kiss some babies. (marc bloch, eat your heart out)

this would later segue into a potential sequel where, while trying to secure the way for aragorn’s coronation, éowyn actually plays an interesting role because she’s fallen into this incidental Diana, People’s Princess™ role and so is better positioned than almost anyone to go advocate on his behalf. wow! cool! éowyn getting to be politically useful in more ways than just getting hitched!

so yeah. that’s how i am thinking it might play out. this would obviously have a rolling impact on the remainder of AFTA and how certain (🔥) events pan out later, but i think that building up part has to begin pretty much now, narratively. also this lets me get in a reference to “and then her heart changed, or else at last she understood it” and have it not be almost entirely about wanting to shag faramir, but actually about her gradual evolution from valorising war above all else to being like, hmm, maybe there are other ways of being powerful. which i think still largely captures the “no longer I will vie with the great riders” stuff, but more subtly and without feeling quite so… deferential, I guess? Like it’s not that she’s swapping one form of power (violence) for nothing (gardening?? healing?? tolkien accidental articulation of necropolitics??) but swapping violence for a different type of more sustainable power.

yeah. that’s the take, basically. who fucking knows.

#e writes

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dalishkadan · 3 years ago

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writers tag game

got tagged by @noire-pandora and i was going to do this yesterday but SURPRISE SURPRISE I FORGOT LMAO

1.How many works do you have on AO3?

uh *mumbles* two hundred and thirty-seven ... (though seriously considering taking one of them down at least for a little while to sort out what i want to rewrite and also the tags)

2.What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,373,295 (eep!)

3.What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

groove is in the heart - 551

it's always been you - 373

wrong number (or "what happens when you accidentally send your boss a dick pic") - 327

angel, interrupted - 321

sudden realisations - 305

(it is no surprise to me that these are all in the supernatural fandom and all but one is destiel asdfghjkl)

4.Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i always do! i don't always get back to them right away but i always want to let a commenter know that their comment is appreciated because it issssssssss <3

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i would have said too heavy, a fic where anders mourns his lover hawke that was left in the fade, but i'm actually planning a sequel that will make it happier, so technically it won't really be ... i'd therefore say where fate led them, because two lovers breaking up is one thing, but breaking up by one person blowing up the other's airship and then ending up in a quickdraw duel with them where one kills the other is a whole other level.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

i don't really count my one-shots because the smutty ones naturally have a happy ending of sorts (hurr hurr hurr) but of my multi-chapter fics ... i'd probably say dark legacy. marane loses some of her brotherhood brethren but she exacts vengeance for them in the dread father's name, kills the emperor of cyrodiil (and gets all the fame and notoriety that goes along with that), gets a whole new sanctuary, and basically gets to rebuild the dark brotherhood from the ground up in the night mother's image. plus a new lover in the form of cicero. is there anything else a good listener needs?

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

do modern characters in fandom worlds count? lol if not then no, i don't think i have yet. yet being the operative word, because i do have things planned. but i have a lot of things planned, so.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

i did once, but it wasn't really bad and i'm not sure i would classify it as hate. basically someone read part two of a series and lamented certain things in that story that are also present in the first story and are just clearly a part of the series aesthetic. i get it, it's not for everyone. not sure why they felt the need to read 160k of posted work before saying so, but to each their own. i do think i circumvent hate comments by requiring folks to be signed in to leave one. i'm sure i probably miss out on comments by guests, but for my mental health's sake, i'd rather leave it to logged in users only. put your money where your mouth is ... or, in this case, your account.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

oh yes, i write quite a lot of it, too, and in a good variety! from vanilla to kinky to even dangerous (and appropriately tagged).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of, thankfully

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i've been told, at least lol

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, though a friend of mine have gone back and forth with a dao canon divergence. both of us are just at different points in our writing right now, though, so who knows if/when it will see the light of day. i don't usually co-write, though, because my writing muse is so finicky, it's not really dependable.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

i don't think i could choose, don't make me!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

honestly, at this point, it's unfortunately one i felt very passionate about: angel, interrupted. i had started slowly writing it and building up this au when the poor quality of the show just began wearing on me and the fandom in general wore on me even further until i've ... kinda just fallen out of love with it. :/ i don't hate it, not at all, i guess i just need more time and separation from the bullshit. at least i hope that'll help. i truly do want to finish it, i just feel absolutely no drive to do so right now.

What are your writing strengths?

angst, definitely lol

What are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue and certain characters

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think it's cool and i like to incorporate it when i can. i am kinda leery and cautious when i don't actually know the language well, myself, tho. i don't wanna muck it up lol.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

in general? star wars. that i posted on ao3? harry potter.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

it feels like i keep harping on this one lol but the path we choose is just one i'm so, so proud of. the examination of guilt and regret in the form of a one-shot set against the mojave, with the courier discussing their issues and joshua graham offering support and comfort. one of my friends called joshua (in this fic) a shepard rather than a hand of vengeance, and i really do like writing him that way. plus zelda needs all the help she can get lol and really, we all do.

i tag @dreadfutures, @warpedlegacy, and @dumbassentity! if you were tagged before, sorry :P and no pressure if you don't wanna partake. and if anyone wants to do this, consider this your tag!

#writer #writing tag #writing stuff

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

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Rejected Requests Part 1

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8).

Hey everyone! I hate to be making this post, but I unfortunately have reached the point where I think it’s in everyone’s best interests if I just... Start rejecting things I’ll probably never write. I’ll link this post on my Masterlist and, if I ever get around to it, a requesting guidelines post 😅

I understand this is very disappointing for many of you (especially those that have been waiting for a long time). If you are off anon, you will be receiving a message from me personally explaining why I’m rejecting sometime in the next week or so. I promise it has nothing to you, and mostly it’s just because my brain has decided it doesn’t want to cooperate.

As for the anons, I will post the rejected fics below the cut. I want to give you the opportunity to ask another Author (check the list of Authors currently seeking requests here!)

Otherwise, here is the list for anyone who might want to pursue the request with someone else, or for any writers that are looking for inspiration. If you do write one of these, PLEASE comment here so the original Anon might be able to find it!

1. Lies & Lila: Reader has a talk with her boyfriend about him kissing a literal movie star.

I unfortunately am just very uninspired by this request. I thought I might be able to think of something with cheating Reid, but I can’t. I’m not a fan of any cheating fic. That being said, I have heard other writers say the idea is interesting. You can probably find someone to write it!

2. Abnormal: Princess!Reader is going undercover and learning how to be “normal” from the worst possible teacher.

This is a cute idea, but for whatever reason my brain is just broke with it. I REALLY think you should ask someone else, cause I’d probably read it! It is more a series idea, so I’ll probably never get to it.

3. Flarpy Blunderguff

I’ve always found the idea of oil-based paints and fruit kinda icky. I bet an artist could come up with something good, but my drawings look like a chicken drew them.

4. Probably-Not-A-Request

I’ll probably never write this, and it probably wasn’t a request, but I kind of want someone else to write it, lmao. Write this for me.

5. Almost Lover(s): Reader has a different reaction than the rest of the team when she finds out about Maeve.

I’m rejecting this purely because I’ve seen it written at least a couple dozen times. I don’t think there is anything new I could contribute that would inspire me enough to write it.

6. New Orleans: Ethan/Spencer.

Sigh. I love these boyfriends so much, but I’d like to keep my fics as just Reader/Spencer at this point. That being said, I’m trying to do more Male!Readers!

7. Solidarity: Platonic. Spencer/Gay Male Reader

Same as I just mentioned above - I’d like to keep my pieces romantic Reader/Spencer for now. Platonic pieces do SO horribly on this site, so it’s really hard for us to feel inspired to write them.

8. Secret Weapon: Reader’s only smart when she sleeps, but she never really does that.

I unfortunately don’t really have a reason for this beyond it requiring a LOT of research from me, and I’m lazy, lol. I think someone should write it with a Reader who works the graveyard shift. It’d be funny.

9. Also-Probably-Not-a-Request

Another one I kept in my inbox in case it was a request but it’s probably not. I do want someone to write it, though. I think it would be a fun exercise of writing the different characters.

10. Application Anguish: Platonic. Young!Reader asks for Spencer’s help in applying for Uni.

Once again, I’m sorry that I am unfortunately trying to keep my fics majority romantic now since platonic fics do SO poorly. I’m also a bit caught on this because I haven’t filled out applications in a really long time, and I’m afraid I had a very different experience. I don’t think I could do it justice - but I know someone else can and would probably enjoy it!

11. Red String

I’m done with kidnapping fics. I’m so sorry, but they bore the ever living hell out of me. There are thousands of them and I cannot think of anything that hasn’t been done. Also, I asked this anon a question in a post before but unfortunately never heard back so - if you want this, go for it!

12. Mistakes and Memories: Spencer sees Nathan Harris again, still at the other end of a service weapon.

Again, I want to try and keep it Reader/Spencer from now on. Also, writing Anton makes me sad : (

13. Cinderella: Spencer talks Reader down from her traumatic event and reminds her that life isn’t a fairytale. But years later when they run into each other again, neither can deny it’s a little bit of fate.

There is a lot going on in this request. Unfortunately I think I would have to take it in a very different direction and I’m not sure you’d be satisfied with it. It is a unique premise, though, so I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else to write it!

14. Cheating Fic

I unfortunately have been cheated on too many times to want to write this 😂 and even though Spencer canonically cheated on Max, it still feels so out of character for him. I’m POSITIVE you can find someone to write this, though. A lot of people like heartbreaking angst, apparently.

---

If you’ve read this far... Thank you! Sorry for all of you that I denied, but I hope that this clears you to ask some of the other authors here!

Thank you! I love you all.

#spencer reid request #reid request #requests #answer #answered

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years ago

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summer sizzle | darlin, adam page [m]

[ prompts used ]

** again, one day I’m going to sit down and locate every single list I used to write all these one shots. Credit to the amazing prompt makers on the internet, I love you guys. The plot / the unnamed OC belong to me.**

Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap + heavy making out/dry humping + after an injury - of the emotional sort + chair sex - almost happened but did not + calming the other’s anger with sex + locker room - technically, it’s the bar room set from backstage, but.. We’re making it work darn it. - ( bonus points, kayfabe is real… for the angst.)

[ warnings ]

18+ only. All children, hit the bricks. Go play outside. Something. You know the drill. Swearing, sex - of the unprotected variety, semi public setting, angsty / hurt comfort -if you squint and I did my job right (probably not lmao), biting, body fluids, slight body image issues ( Oc is curvy bc OC here is basically my ass with changes ) and hangman’s anxiety, ftw. Oh yeah, and alcohol is involved here.

[ authors notes ]

Look, I really did like writing this, it was like a self-soothing thing for me. I’m lowkey proud of how this came. Things are gonna end on a bit of a cliffhanger, but... perhaps if people actually like it, I’ll find a way to continue it at some point. I wanted to give it an actual end, but honestly, this worked out better in my opinion... Anyway, yeah. if enough people shout at me to go somewhere with this, i just miiiight?!?

[ pairing ]

Adam Hangman Page x curvy!unnamed ofc, - it’s hinted at throughout.

[ tag squad ]

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting

@writertoo18

@thatnerdwriter

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@unabashedwrestlefics

@wardl0w

@missjenniferb

@wrestlingthot

[ tag list doc - if you’re not on there/ haven’t said you wanna be tagged, you’re not tagged, so.. | masterlist | about page ]

D A R L I N’ - ADAM HANGMAN PAGE,

“Did you see where Hangman took off to?” my question was met with a scowl from his former friends. I glared right back at the group of them, arms folded over my chest, my foot tapping against the tiled floor, the soft click of my heels almost matched to the way my heart was about to beat right out of my chest at the moment.

“Does it look like we care?” Kenny started to ask the question but Matt nudged him, a warning look and the shake of his head. The two shared a look and then they both fixed their gaze on me. “Don’t know what good it’ll do, but he’s still down at the bar area. Typical.” Matt muttered the answer to my question quietly and I asked hesitantly,“Is he alone?”

“Yeah. As soon as the interviewer got what she needed and we spoke our piece, we bailed. Are you sure you wanna go down there right now?” Matt questioned and I didn’t bother with a reply, instead I wasted no time in taking off, glad to be out of their way.

“I cannot fucking believe he just stood there and let it happen.” I mutter mostly to myself as I shove open the door to the bar and peek into the room. The shattered mirror caught in the dim lighting above and Adam was sitting there, a bottle of Jack in front of him.

“Adam?” I called out to him, barely raising my voice above a whisper.

“Better if y’ go.” Adam didn’t even bother looking up from the half empty glass in front of him, choosing instead to raise the glass to his lips and finish it off, shaking his head a little as soon as he had.

I stepped into the room, shutting the door behind me and locking it softly. He tensed but he didn’t turn around. His fingers dug against the wooden bartop and he sighed quietly. The sound seemed to hang in the air.

Our eyes finally met in the mirror and when I saw the pain and frustration in his, I bit my lip, a hand raising from my hip to drag through my tall teased hair.

My mouth opened and closed and he gave this bitter and quiet laugh. “If you’re gon’ lecture me right now, don’t.”

“I didn’t come to lecture you. For the record, what you did out there was pretty damn stupid, but honestly… I get it.” I found myself fidgeting under his intent gaze as it roamed my body. I tugged down the clingy black spaghetti strapped dress because of it. The air was getting thicker between us by the second. Rather than stand there and gawk at just how truly beautiful the man is, especially in a semi-darkened room with that angry gleam in his eyes, I fixed my eyes on the bottle of Jack and nodded to it. “Think you can spare some of your drink, cowboy?”

He eyed me, a brow raised. To prove that I was being serious and I had no intention to leave anytime soon, I settled down on the stool beside the one he’d been sitting on. I let the stiletto heeled boots on my feet settle to the floor with a quiet clank and I eyed him, finally reaching for the bottle on my own. As I twisted the cap off and poured the liquid within into both our glasses, I stared at him almost defiantly. Daring him to do anything to try and make me leave.

Rather than argue, he gave a tired flop onto the stool he’d been sitting on before I came in. After a few seconds of both of us drinking in silence, he spoke up.

“Didn’t you have some hot date tonight with a biker?” Adam asked the question through a tightly clenched jaw. He made it quite clear that he’d rather be alone right now, but I chose to ignore that.

The guy needed a friend right now.

,, sure. And this has absolutely nothing to do with your thing for him..” my brain scolded and yes, I chose to ignore that too.

I threw my head back and laughed. “Me? Right.”

“You said so earlier when I was in your chair gettin my hair tended to.” he spoke up again, a brow raised as his eyes met mine. Almost as if he were questioning not only why I was here, but whether he wanted me to stay or not.

“Oh, yeah. I did.” I trailed off, muttering a soft “Fuck.” under my breath. Honestly, when I said it, I hadn’t actually thought he was paying me any kind of attention… Pretty much as usual.

My brow raised as soon as it sank in that he’d heard me and he hadn’t been sitting there with earbuds in. He hadn’t been as absorbed in his phone as I tended to think he always was. Before I had the courage required to ask him about anything else he might have heard me tell Stella Kay, I shoved it out of my head.

So he heard me tonight. Didn’t mean anything other than that. I reminded myself of that too. I shotgunned about half of the drink poured into my own glass and reached for the bottle again, but his hand shot out and he stared me down.

“I say you could come in and help yourself to my Jack?” Adam was still angry, I could hear it seething through in his tone when he spoke. It hurt. I didn’t know how to deal with Adam like this… Hurt and angry and confused, broken like the mirror in front of him.

,, to be fair, he did bring a little of this on himself.” my brain scolded again and again, I ignored it. He may have been going off the rails for the past few weeks, but this chain of events, at least in my eyes, that was all started by friends who teased and ignored him.. Made him feel like less when honestly, he was so much more than the lot of them combined. They may have started to try and change at the end, but by then, it was clearly too late. Adam was lost by that point, drowning in his own misery. And Adam lashed out. Or he started trying to.

“No, but… I’m thirsty, I’m obviously not going out with a biker tonight and I need it. You’re not the only one with problems, you know.” I pouted at him, shaking my wrist free so quickly and easily that it had him blinking a little, and I uncapped the bottle again, pouring myself a little more to top off.

“So I’m selfish on top of everythin’ else. Good to know.” the tone in his voice and the fact that he didn’t even bother meeting my gaze had me sighing and swearing, even rolling my eyes a little in frustration. Every part of me wanted to scream at the guy “No, but obviously you’re fucking blind and a little dense, because I’ve been trying to start conversations and stuff with you for weeks now.. I’ve tried to build you up when they were tearing you down, but you ignored it because it’s not what you wanted to hear.” - but I managed to keep that internal.

I didn’t want to kick him while he was already down. I care far too much about him to do that.

,, and maybe you want to be the one who makes him forget about tonight, even if it’s only a few hours. Says a lot about you.. Mainly how pathetic you are.” my brain was at it again, scolding me for what I wanted. And again, I ignored the noisy scolding thoughts.

Instead, I focused on the glass filled with amber liquid sitting in front of me. Circling my black tipped fingers around it’s edge as I just let my mind sort of wander and hoped to God that it’s wandering came back with some form of game plan beyond the one I’d had coming in here to find him. Because literally all that had been was getting to him. Because it hurts me to see him hurt. He’s a sweet guy. A good guy. ,, A guy you could love if only you weren’t so scared to reveal your feelings.” this time my brain was taunting me. If I never actually do anything about my feelings, I’ll never have the chance to know.

And maybe that internalized taunting was enough to make the remaining shred of any pride I had left snap in two.

“Adam.” I spoke up quietly, snapping my fingers lightly at him to get his attention.

“What?” Adam answered, eyes locked on me and in a daze. I bit my lip and leaned in a little, smoothing a blond curl out of his eyes, letting my hand catch on the side of his face. Catching sight of the two of us in the shattered mirror out of the corner of my eye had me giving a soft smiling laugh and shaking my head.

Just the contrast there, me with my dark crimson lipstick and the little black dress and the dark hair… The curves and yet still somehow inherently plain to look at according to most. The grumpy demeanor most of the time, the dry wit and sarcasm that’s more than once left many an other man eviscerated in public..

Him with the sunny blondish brown hair and the dancing baby blue eyes, the gentle words and rough hands.. The holes in his jeans and the boots on his feet..That big heart and all those good intentions.

My laughter had him raising a brow, of course. I shrugged and raised the bottle to my lips, keeping my eyes locked on him the entire time I did it. I still somehow managed to miss the way he was leaning into me, teeth tugging at his lower lip, eyes darting from mine to the bottle raised to my lips. Until he was reaching out and trying to drunkenly pull me from my stool to his lap. I nearly choked mid-swallow and laughed out, “What the hell are you doing right now? This stool is not gonna hold my thick ass and you, sir.”

“Figured since you keep takin my damn bottle, woman..” Adam managed a weak smile that still somehow managed to completely light up the space we were in. He finally got me settled on his lap and I bit my lip, finding myself hyper-focused on his mouth.. The way his upper lip forms this little almost perfect little v. I must have been too obvious with my staring, because he cleared his throat and nodded to where I’d tossed my red covered cell phone.

Which was now playing Fiona Apple’s Criminal.. Which obviously meant it was ringing, shit, fuck, shit, fuck…

What Adam said next absolutely surprised me. And it proved just how little I knew about how much he might know about me. He chuckled and nodded to the now silent phone and after a second, he took the bottle from my hand and raised it to his own lips again. We were sitting so close by now that we nearly pressed together, despite all earlier voiced objections about my size and the stool being able to hold both of us up.

“Didn’t you sing that song when you were out with Allie one night?”

“I..” I wrinkled my forehead and thought about it, giving a sheepish laugh when I remembered. “Yeah, I did. It sounded like cats dying.”

“Didn’t.” Adam muttered, taking another sip from the bottle, staring me down intently. I wrapped my hand around his wrist, guiding the bottle away from his mouth and towards my own and I took a sip as he tilted the bottle a little to allow me to do so. After I swallowed the bitter liquid, I laughed softly. “I most certainly did, sir.”

“You like t’ argue.” Adam chuckled softly, cocking his head to the side slightly, still staring at me intently. His gaze moved from my eyes down to my mouth and I swallowed hard, licking my lips on instinct.

“I’ve heard that now and again, yeah.” I wiggled around on his lap a little, trying to get a more sturdy seat because I was trying to keep a conservative and safe distance between us, but that was making me nearly fall off his lap.

He sat the bottle down and scooted the stool closer to the bar, putting my back into it. He was inching closer, little by little. “Why?” he asked quietly, his breath warm against my lips, almost brushing against them when he mumbled his question.

“Why what?” I answered his question with one of my own, barely restraining a whimper at the fact that suddenly, I wasn’t sitting on his knees anymore, suddenly I was… So much closer.

Had I moved closer or had he moved me closer? Because I remembered his hands kind of resting at my hip but I’d honestly been so caught up in our back and forth -and the fact that it was actually, ya know, happening, that I didn’t remember him moving me. I pulled away from his face just slightly because our faces were so close that our lips nearly brushed every time one of us said something to the other.

“Why’d you come in here? I know it wasn’t just to drink up all my whiskey. Or maybe it was.” Adam’s usually thick accent was… Much thicker. A slow and easy drawl that had me getting wetter with each word he spoke. When he reached for the bottle again and nearly fell into me, my breath caught in my throat but I held the bottle up and put it behind me, where I thought it would be out of his reach.

And after lightly grabbing at his stubbled jawline and guiding him to look at me, not down or around the empty room, I bit my lip and took several shaky breaths. I swear, I meant to go with an attempt at humor, but the look in his eyes, the raw pain there, I just… Couldn’t.

When my mouth opened, the truth just started to pour out.

“You’re right. I d-didn’t come down h-here to drink all your booze. I don’t even l-like this shit, honestly. I p-prefer Tito’s tequila.” I stopped to breathe because my words were tumbling out and I just needed to figure out a way to put what I knew was going to come pouring out at any second.

But nothing came.

Actions seemed easier. Actions, I was infinitely better at.

Obviously, right?

I was leaning in a little closer, his jaw still in my hands. The kicker here was that he wasn’t backing away like I half thought he would. No… He was leaning in too. His fingertips squeezing into my hips gently were what kind of bought me out of my own head and into the moment again

“If you’re gonna do somethin, do it already, darlin.” Adam’s mouth brushed right.against.mine. Literally right against the corner. And it lingered there just long enough for me to whimper quietly as I slowly exhaled, my breath shaky. My eyes popped open wide and he bit his lip, eyeing my lips and then the bottle with this look in his eyes that made me think he couldn’t decide which he’d rather taste more right now.

And that crazy random thought took hold in my tipsy brain. As he started to back away, afraid he’d crossed a line, I gently grabbed hold of his face, resting a hand against each side, my mouth colliding against his, tongue darting out and tracing the shape of his mouth lazily. His lips fell apart easily and one of his hands left my hips to tangle in my hair, making me pout against his mouth and whine playfully, “Seriously? I just spent thirty minutes on teasing that up..”

“Ya didn’t have to, either.” his tongue was now clashing against mine, colliding and battling for control of the kiss as he continued to drag his fingers through my hair and tug at it a little here and there. I suspect that he may have been doing it just to get a response from me, but I was too caught up in kissing him to give a damn. I wiggled in his lap a little, my legs wrapping around his hips and he sucked in a sharp breath, bucking into me from below.

If I thought his fingers were wound up in my hair before, now he was tugging a little more urgently, his hand on the back of my neck, pulling my mouth into his all over again so deep that I almost didn’t know if I was breathing on my own or he was doing it for me.

It was desperate, needy and yet, somehow it was still gentle and careful. Cautious. Like he wanted to do it for a while now, but he’d finally been presented the chance to do it.

The actions of a man who felt he had absolutely nothing left to lose.

I rubbed myself against him, whimpering into his mouth when I felt the way he strained hard at the blue jeans he wore. His mouth broke from mine to trail down my neck, muttering softly against my skin, teeth hooking in spots and patches and gingerly leaving clumsy little marks.

His other hand wandered down, slipping up the short hem of my little black dress and I nipped at his lip, rubbing myself against his lap even more. His hand crept higher, cupping my core, squeezing and rubbing the flat of his hand against it and sending shivers rushing through me. “Mmm.” his tongue rolled around the edge of my ear, his lips catching on my earlobe as he muttered a quiet, “Stop me if..”

“Now why would I want to do that, hm?” I managed to breathe out the words, rocking myself against the hefty bulge in his jeans and the way he continued to squeeze and rub my aching cunt. I knew he had to feel the way I was dripping, literally flooded already.

The stool gave a foreboding creak and I tensed a little against him. He chuckled and nodded to the half circle bench and the table nearby. “Okay, alright.” he stood up, my body wrapped around him with me clinging to him and my nails lightly digging into his shoulders because me, with the trust issues, has never really… let anyone carry me before… For any reason.

“I’m not gonna drop ya.” Adam stated quietly.

“I know, just… never really let anyone carry me.” I muttered against his neck, my lips latching on a little, daring to leave just a hint of a mark behind. He sucked in a sharp breath and sat me down on the tabletop, stepping between my legs, his hands all over me.

The Jack Daniels sat on the bar across the room, getting warm. Neither of us were worried about it anymore.

He leaned into me a little more -or maybe I was clinging to him still, either way, and his hand was back up the hem of my dress. My head fell back and my eyes fluttered open and closed as I rocked myself against his hand. I gripped hold of his shirt and pulled him into me more, muttering against his mouth, “If you’re going to do something, Adam, do it… Please?”

“You’re sure?” Adam questioned breathlessly, fingertips brushing past my soaked panties, grazing right up and down my center as his mouth dove down, fixing on the front of my throat, leaving a tender little line of marks in the path his lips took down.

“Please?” I begged, my voice raising to a quiet moan that died to a laugh when our foreheads bumped together. He bit his lip and pulled back a little, staring at me for a few seconds that felt like they stretched out into forever. I eyed him right back, my heart kicking up a storm against my ribs, on the verge of nervous fidgeting and suddenly self conscious about every single little thing about me to the extreme.

I was a breath away from slipping off the table he’d sat me on and walking out but just as I got to that point, he seemed to sense it and step forward, looking down at me and then back at the door. “If you’re changin your mind, darlin. There’s the door.”

He was appealing to me one last time. Giving me one last chance to back out. Considering that neither of us have anything to lose, I wasn’t about to take him up on it. I eyed him, a brow raised, clearly confused as to why he kept giving me opportunity after opportunity to leave and then, oh.. Then it hit me.

And I ached for him.

Not just in the physical sense like his touches had driven me to. In the mental sense because I knew exactly where his mind was going right now… I knew it because it was a state my own seemed to stay in when it came to other people and the habit I have of judging myself against them. Often unfairly.

“Oh, Adam.” the words punctured the sliver of space between us softly, his name lingering just a second or two. I raised my hand to his cheek, letting my fingertips move over the sharp outline of his face, making my last stop his lips. As I dragged my index finger over the outline of those very kiss swollen lips, I made an effort to move myself as close to him as I could get, letting my legs circle his waist all over again. My head fell to the right slightly, exposing the left side of my neck.

I wasn’t an idiot, I saw the exact second those baby blue eyes settled hungrily on exposed and unmarked skin. Lowering my fingertip, I finally spoke again.

“If I were going to walk out, I never would’ve bothered coming in here, Hangman.” I took a deep breath that tried to hang in my throat a little at what I was doing and I rose up a little straighter, the hand resting against the side of his neck moving to the back of his head. Fingertips tangling gingerly in soft blondish-brown locks, tugging his mouth closer to mine. Adam leaned down a little, his lips clumsily ghosting along my neck, catching sporadically here and there. “This is really okay.. You.. Want this.” he asked the question quietly, the warmth of his breath and the drawl in his tone sending shivers through me.

I locked eyes with him as he pulled back slightly. “I’m not smashing my knee into your nuts, am I?” I gave a soft laugh at the end so he’d be able to differentiate between my usual grumpy demeanor and gentle teasing. A lot of people can’t where I’m concerned and the way Adam is hurting right now, I want the way I feel to be perfectly crystal clear.

I don’t want him to have a single reason to second-guess or keep stalling. I guess maybe in some ways, I was trying to force him to have to be the one to politely say this had gone too far and he wasn’t interested. Because like he needed to hear me say such a thing, I needed to hear him say it.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone had. I braced myself for him to find some polite excuse to put all this to a grinding halt, but instead, I got a quiet chuckle and Adam leaning in all over again, nearly putting my back flush with the table. When he bucked himself against me, I shivered and my teeth caught on my bottom lip as I stared up at him. His hands roamed up and down my thighs softly, a ginger attempt to push my little black dress upwards to my hips was made. My strap was slipping up top and Adam’s eyes caught on to that face. When his teeth grazed against my skin as they tugged the pesky falling strap completely down, I whimpered, squirming against him, desperate for more friction.

His hands dug into my hips, grinding me against him even more and at feeling the hefty bulge formed and straining against his jeans, I found myself whimpering even more, breathless, desperately arching my body and rubbing against him harder and faster. His grip on my body tightened and he bucked right back against me, his mouth moving over each of my collarbones and then right back up the front of my throat again. One of his hands slipped down to the exposed thin waistband of my underwear and with a careful tug, those were being torn away, tossed out onto the floor.

As soon as it hit me that he wasn’t backing down or bowing out either, I reached up, pulling the front of his shirt apart, tugging it down his arms. It hit the floor beside my panties and as my lips latched onto his neck all over again, my hands dropped between us, going for the belt buckle at his waist. The soft clink of the metal buckle as I pulled it open echoed when it hit against the button below it. With slightly shaking fingers, I worked the button free and then the zipper. Adam’s mouth dug deeper against the breast he’d managed to expose a few minutes before and my head fell back, a sharp and prolonged whimper filling the air as soon as his jeans settled around his ankles and he was scooting me towards him on the table, his cock grazing right between both my dripping folds and sending a shiver of pleasure racing through my entire body.

“Wish we didn’t have t’ hurry, darlin.” he drawled as his tongue circled my nipple, teeth scraping at it, tugging until it stood at a point. I was clinging to him by now, my arms around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. I met his gaze and swallowed hard, nodding.

Every part of me wanted to make some clever remark about a next time, but at the same time, every part of me didn’t dare because I knew this might just be happening due to the alcohol and Adam’s current emotional state and my own feelings about him.

I desperately wanted to believe there would be a next time. God did I want to. But I was realistic enough to know that there most likely wouldn’t be. And in that moment, I decided to just find some way to be okay with that.

“Darlin?” he’d pulled away, he was studying me with a concerned look. I distracted myself with running my fingers over the outline of his muscular chest because I was mostly afraid if I looked up at him right now, I would wind up making this deeper and more emotional than it had to be.

But then he was raising a hand, tilting up my chin and making me look at him. He repeated himself a third time. “You’re sure…” his voice trailed off and he tensed a little, I could feel it because he was still holding me close to him as he could get me. I smiled and nodded, my fingers digging into his hair again, pulling his mouth back down to mine. “I’m absolutely sure. I want you. So much.”

And I meant every single word when I said it.

My answer seemed to satisfy him and I rubbed myself against him a little more impatiently, urgently. “Please, Adam?”

“Fuck.” he gasped against my skin as he started to buck against me, the tip of his cock sinking into my cunt, making a moan bubble up from the depths of my throat as I dug in my fingertips just a little, adjusting to the size of him. He captured my mouth in a desperate and deep kiss and sank his cock in a little more, his fingertips digging into my hips as he pumped himself in and out, quietly groaning, growling my name, nipping at the side of my neck.

“Feels so good, darlin. Hope,” his voice was drowned out by my needy whines and whimpering as he started to fuck into me deeper and a little faster, his cock strking against my spot and making me curl my toes against his ass just to get any kind of actual grip on anything and maybe alleviate the ache and desperate need for more friction. “You hope what?’ I asked the question softly, my words ripped from me in breathy gasps as his hips snapped against mine, burying himself even deeper inside with each thrust of his cock.

“Hope I’m makin you feel good too.” he took a few seconds to say it. I took his face in my hands, our mouths colliding as I used my heels to drive him in even deeper, my back arching as I focused on kissing him until neither of us could breathe. As the kiss broke and we pulled our mouths apart to catch our breath, I muttered against his ear, “So amazing, Adam.” to answer his question. “Don’t fucking stop baby, please.” I urged him to keep going, harder and faster, and he obliged, picking up the pace with each time my heels dug into his ass. “Ugh, Adam, fuck.. You’re so fuckin big.” I moaned out at one point, a little louder than I meant to. Adam was quick to lean in, his mouth meeting mine again, swallowing up my loud moans and swearing in ecstasy as he chuckled against it, his own grunts and quiet needy groans being swallowed by me when I deepened the kiss and rubbed my body against his over and over again just because I love the way it felt… Softness against hardened muscles.

“Darlin, fuck.” he moaned out at one point and I whimpered in response, “Adam, don’t… Fuck, don’t stop. Right there.” as my head fell back and my fingers toyed with his hair and dug into his shoulders even more. He was really slamming into me at this point, the booth top I sat on creaking quietly, making me tense a little when I first noticed it.

Adam slowed slightly when he noticed me tense up at a particularly loud creak from the table, a quiet chuckle against the shell of my ear. “Stop doin that.”

“I can’t help that this table sounds like it’s on it’s last legs, Adam.” I answered, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Trust me, darlin. I’m not gonna let you hit the ground.” Adam muttered as his lips locked on my upper lip, sucking. He started to slam into me all over again, erratically, faster and so much harder. When he scooted me even closer to the table’s edge, I caught myself making a surprisingly minimal effort not to tense up.

To do as he asked and trust him not to drop me. It surprised me that trusting him was a lot easier than I thought. He chuckled as he held me up, a leg over each arm, continuing to plow into me with erratic hip snaps met by my own erratic thrusts in response. My breath kept catching in my throat and every single time I thought I’d be able to breathe again, he’d manage to bottom out, his cock striking against my spot a time or two and sending me even closer to an orgasm so intense that I ached to let go.

“I’m so close.” he growled against my ear while staring into my eyes. I clung to him desperately, rocking my hips greedily against the deep drives in and out that his cock made, my stomach tensing a little more with each second closer I got to my orgasm finally shattering me. “Fuck this feels so good.. Ahh.” I moaned out as my head fell back and Adam sat me halfway onto the table’s edge again, tilting my hips and letting my wrap my legs back around his waist, his hands pumping my body up and down on his cock, his fingertips leaving red marks against my skin as they dug in harder. His cock bottomed out and I felt myself starting to shake, my body tensing as I fought to keep from getting off.

“Let go. C’mon, darlin.” Adam grunted lazily against my mouth as he went in for another kiss, his breathy groan swallowed by my mouth when I returned the kiss and wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers going to his hair, tugging at it lightly. He didn’t need to repeat himself, with another deep drive into my dripping cunt, my orgasm was shattering through, leaving me breathless and clinging to him, my teeth grazing against his collarbone as I rested my head against his shoulder and continued to fuck through my orgasm while pulling myself together….

#adam page #adam hangman page #adam hangman page fanficiton #adam hangman page oneshot #adam hangman page one shot #adam hangman page fanfic #adam hangman page fic #adam hangman page imagine #// no one under 18+#// mentions of alcohol #// unprotected s*x #// another one I'm lowkey proud of but afraid it's going to flop hard.

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free-pool-trash · 5 years ago

Text

angel - warren worthington iii

My first Warren fic, woah okay. I remember seeing apocalypse in the cinema when I was 13 (I was almost 14 :')) and being so happy to see Warren because I was such a little nerd and I used to religiously read a book from the library about the x-men and it had a whole section about Warren and I was crazy about him. So I was so in love with him when I saw him on screen (I guess I've been in love with Ben Hardy since before I actually knew he was Ben Hardy 😳) and I was SO upset with how dirty they did him in Apocalypse. Also upon further inspection that entire movie was a hot mess and X-men peaked with days of future past.

Anyway Ben Hardy put me back on my X-Men bullshit so here we are.

Here is the idea that was sent in by the lovely Anon for this fic: Honey!! 'cause I can't have enough of your work and since you said it was okay to suggest any ideas for warren, I was thinking, what about him letting the reader pet his wings. Since he is emotionally distant and stuff? (idk if that could work to develop a whole fic) anyway, i'll love some angst and love. Just bless us bringing our bird boy back 🤭. keep doing amazing darling ♥️

Word count: 5k (shes a long one alright)

Warning (s): swearing, mentions of blood, plane crash, platonic!Peter :) (also i didn’t really proof read this and it’s 3:44am lmao)

comments and feedback are much appreciated! <333

masterlist

Your breath came out in labored heaves as Kurt bamfed the final one of your teammates into the plane, all of you were more or less safe from Apocalypse now that you had the professor back in your custody, that's what you'd thought anyway. You hadn't anticipated what was to come.

Once you caught your breath after being dropped into the plane by Kurt, you spoke up, "Anyone need a pick-me-up?"

As you looked around at the group, most of whom were all close friends of yours, you noticed the vast majority of them littered in only small cuts and bruises, all except Charles who was still unconscious from Apocalypse's assault on his mind, but there wasn't much you could do about him, for now at least.

Your mutation was, according to Hank, "essential for field work" and by field work he actually meant high intensity missions that made you feel like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. You had the ability to heal both people and animals of any outward affliction, you could cure inward wounds too but taking on anything more than a headache was dangerous for you, so you mainly handled cuts, bruises, burns, stab wounds, bullet holes (provided the bullet was already removed) and the occasional broken bone, y'know, the small stuff.

It was a pretty incredible power to have, only it also came with a not so incredible bonus of amplified empathy which meant you could feel people's emotions, read people's energy and usually you could tell people's intentions too. It all got a little tiring sometimes.

"No save your energy, (Y/n), Peter or Raven might need you later." Jean responded just before pounding started coming from the roof of the jet as some sort of blade pierced through the metal.

Sparks flew and you shared a worried glance with the rest of your teammates as the roof of the jet was torn open and two of Apocalypse's minions appeared, only one of them entered the plane, however, the one with the wings- you didn't know his name. Being on the edge of the group, you took the defensive, the winged man was bigger than you but you could probably kick his ass if you needed to. You were so busy squaring up to the bird boy that you didn't notice the panic happening behind you.

"Just get us out of here." You heard Jean say, followed by the all too familiar sound of Kurt's teleportation.

They'd left you.

Your eyes widened when you felt the plane plummet, the pilot, along with everyone else gone, only yourself and your winged enemy were left on the aircraft, his partner in crime seemed to have lost her balance and got swept away by the wind.

Despite being together you were both alone. You wouldn't lie, you were scared, he was too. You could feel it.

"Fuck!" You shouted trying your best to reach the controls of the jet before it impacted the ground.

Unfortunately before you could reach the console, gravity did it's thing and you found yourself being hurled violently against the plane's windshield and the next thing you knew you were shielding your face, bracing for impact then everything was black.

-+-+-+-+-

"Ow, fuck." You groaned once you came to, laying on the hard concrete of the ground which, of course, was covered in glass shards from the window you'd been thrown through.

The glass dug into your back painfully, you'd have to figure out some way to pick the shards out before you could heal.

Blinking your bleary eyes until you could open them and actually see clearly, you stood up as gently as you could, trying to avoid getting cut by any more glass.

The air was smokey and thick, it filled your lungs and made your eyes water. Your head was spinning, the feeling of dried blood on your temple ever present as you struggled to keep your balance.

The plane was destroyed, completely wrecked to the point where it's insides were now it's outsides, the roof had been blown off and the seats were nearly disintegrated.

Swallowing thickly, you remembered that you hadn't been the only one on the plane when it crashed. Heaving a sigh, you closed your eyes tightly, please have gotten thrown out the windshield you prayed silently to yourself.

Sure you didn't know the boy or like him all that much from what you did know of him, but you didn't want him to have died alone in a fiery wreck.

When you worked up the courage to finally open your eyes you let out a gasp as you noticed the winged boy not burned to a crisp but laying face down in the shards of glass, unconscious, a few meters up from where you had woken up.

Please don't have a punctured lung. Please don't have a punctured lung.

Please don't have glass lodged in your neck.

Oh my God what if he already bled out?

Oh fuck what if he's already dead?

You panicked internally as you limped over to the boy, his face was covered in blood, but you imagine you didn't look much better.

Kneeling down as you reached his body, you brushed away whatever glass you could before you turned him over so he was laying on his back.

"Thank God." You muttered as you could see his chest rising and falling, the movement was slight but all that really mattered to you was that it was there.

Gently you picked out all of the glass that had gotten embedded in the boy's pale skin, you had to hand it to him, he sure was pretty when he wasn't trying to kill you. Not wanting to waste time staring, you placed both of your hands softly onto his chest, a golden light radiated out from under your palms onto the tattered material of his clothed chest, within a few seconds his gashes began to close up and his heartbeat became stronger against your palms, he definitely had more injuries than you could physically see as your energy had been all but gone once you finally removed your hands.

Another downside to your mutation- it requires a lot of energy.

A few minutes passed before you heard a soft gasp coming from beside you, the blonde boy's eyes opened and he glanced around frantically, green eyes shining in the light of the setting sun, he picked a good time to wake up as you didn't particularly want to be waiting out in the cold night time air. His metal wings meant he was too heavy for you to drag to any kind of shelter, especially now after using up all your energy to heal him, you wouldn't make it far on your own never mind with someone else.

"What happened?" He asked with a groan, this was actually the first time you'd heard him speak, he had an accent- he must've been from England.

"You and your little buddy busted our plane, my teammates ditched and you and I got left to die. You almost did." You explained in as few words as possible, you didn't paint your friends in a very good light but you needed the winged boy on your side, you couldn't have him leaving you in the middle of nowhere with open wounds and no energy.

"Why didn't I? Die I mean." He asked, eyeing the wreck with a grimace before meeting your eyes again.

"I healed you, that's my mutation." He raised an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

"Why did you save me? We're on opposite sides." The boy inquired further, you tried your best to entertain him but your energy was running extremely low.

"The fights over and judging by the fact that the world isn't burning I'm assuming that your side didn't win. Besides we both got left on that plane, I didn't want you to die alone." You explained, your voice becoming slurred as you ran out of steam, eyes struggling to stay open.

"You look awful." The boy stated to which you just nodded, drowsily.

"Mm, feel awful." You responded as he stood up, glass crunching under his heavy boots.

"Come on." He demanded and you felt him tugging you into standing position, you weren't really sure what was happening but you didn't fight against it, you were simply too drained.

"Jesus, why didn't you heal yourself?" He asked, staring at your tattered backside in a mixture of horror and disgust, you assumed it looked as bad as it felt.

"Couldn't get the glass out." At that your head lolled against the boy's neck as he wrapped your arm around his shoulder and hoisted you up with his arm around your waist.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Warren dragged you to a nearby house, the surrounding area had all been abandoned during the fight between Apocalypse and the X-Men which you were apparently a part of.

He couldn't quite figure out why you'd spared his life, he had been the reason your plane was abandoned in the first place. It annoyed him really, he was supposed to be your enemy but you'd shown him so much blind kindness despite the stress he'd caused you and your team in the past couple of days. His reasoning for joining Apocalypse in the first place was because he'd given up on being shown any form of kindness, by anyone, and in the space of ten minutes and less than ten sentences from you his head was spinning.

The regret was almost too much for him, you should've let him die.

Before he could spiral any further he decided he had to help you first, you'd saved him first after all.

Warren, as gently as he could, laid you down on a bed in one of the house's bedrooms, on your stomach. The boy, who didn't even know your name, began to pick the glass out of you as you'd done to him, he didn't have any healing powers but he was used to fixing himself up after fights back in the cages. He removed all the glass, cleaned the cuts and covered them as best as he could without having to undress you.

Warren noticed that your gashes began to close up by themselves, your back glowing golden. You kind of reminded him of an angel, the kind of glow he'd seen in a Renaissance painting back in Berlin, the kind of light that represented heaven.

You were still completely passed out, it was dark by then and Warren debated on just taking off into the night, but his gut forced him to stay with you, this girl who got forgotten by her own team then saved the guy she was supposed to be fighting against, it was kind of poetic to be honest. So he set up a makeshift bed on the floor of the same room you slept in, and laid down, staying vigilant in case anything or anyone were to attack while you slept.

-+-+-+-+-+-+

Light steamed through the window of wherever it was you were, you couldn't remember, wherever you were you were comfy.

Cracking your eyes open you looked around the room, noticing the winged boy laying on the floor beside the bed you slept in, awake and staring at the ceiling.

"Morning." You whispered to the boy, and he immediately turned his head towards you, "Good morning."

"Thanks for taking the glass out." You thanked him with a soft voice and a small smile as you looked at him.

"Just repaying a favour." He responded, a smile of his own playing on his face, you could tell he was trying to fight it, but it peaked through.

Reaching your arm out toward him, you laughed as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm (Y/n)."

Finally letting himself smile, the boy let out a chuckle as he took the hand you held out to him and shook it, "Warren."

"Thanks for not ditching me here." You spoke quietly as you withdrew your arm, picking up on his energy, he was unsure but decided to stay by your side anyway.

Warren's gaze returned to the ceiling, "We'd both been ditched enough for one day. Thanks for not letting me die, didn't get a chance to thank you yesterday before you passed out."

"Right. Sorry about that, healing people tends to take it out of me. I'm glad I healed you, though." You told him gently, as he scoffed.

"Not 24hours ago we would've killed each other on the spot, now we're having bloody pillow talk." He grumbled out, the accent you'd picked up earlier really coming through.

"Would you rather we tried to kill each other?" You inquired with an airy laugh, the contrast between today and yesterday didn't bother you, you'd felt him when you healed him, he was good, just has a lot of demons, like every other mutant you know.

"I'd rather I didn't try to kill you at all." He confessed, his lip trapped between his teeth, eyes never leaving the ceiling.

"It's not your fault. I felt it when I healed you, you're just like the rest of us, you needed something to believe in. I can't blame you for that." You tried your best to soothe him, you could feel the regret in his voice, you knew many of your friends at Xavier's school had been in similar situations before eventually joining the good fight.

"Doesn't change the fact I was ready to watch the world burn so I could feel some sense of purpose." His voice was filled with self loathing and you didn't know why exactly but you couldn't stand it, you didn't like that he hated himself so much.

"From your perspective the world deserved to burn. I've been there too, the world hurts us and we'd love nothing more than to hurt it right back. You wanted something better than what you had, you got brainwashed by someone who promised you everything you wanted, it's not your fault, if I wasn't with the X-Men I probably would've joined too- if he had asked." You admitted to Warren, it was strange, you trusted him with what you were saying and you could see that he was absorbing every word you said, he trusted what you were saying.

"Aren't you pissed? That you're stuck out here with me?" You knew what he meant, he wanted to know how you felt about all of your friends bamfing away and leaving you to crash and burn with Warren, the supposed enemy.

"It hurt a little yeah, but I understand, Kurt was scared, he'd never teleported so many people at once before, I was too far away from the rest of the group anyway," you shrugged before going on, "I'm not pissed that I'm stuck out here with you, you're pretty cool for a henchman." You teased, the way he shook his head at your statement caused you to giggle.

"There's a place for you at the school, if you want it." You floated the idea towards him breaking the silence that had filled the room, because to be honest you didn't want to part ways with the bird boy just yet, turns out almost dying together was quite the bonding experience.

"You sure? They'd forgive all this shit?" He asked you disbelievingly to which you nodded, "They'll understand. Charles forgives Erik and Raven every five minutes. Besides if they have a problem they'll have to deal with me."

"Thanks, (Y/n)."

-+-+-+-+-

It took you both a few days but you eventually managed to make your way back to the school for gifted youngsters.

You and Warren had bonded quite a bit during your trip and you'd developed an understanding of each other. Nights spent at sketchy motels and shared take out containers the symbols of your blooming friendship.

He told you about his original wings, he'd tiptoed around the fact that he wanted them back, he didn't give you a direct answer when you'd asked but it was clear to see that his metal wings didn't feel right to him anymore, they were a reminder of his lapse in judgement. And in return for his truth you'd shared some of your own, how you sometimes struggled with the aftermaths of healing someone more than you let on to your team, you told him that you had a hard time maintaining your energy when they sometimes asked too much of you on missions and even in the school's infirmary.

It had only been a few days spent together but you considered him a friend, you had a lot in common and you couldn't quite tell yet, but you felt as though Warren started warming up to you from the second he'd opened his eyes after the plane crashed, he was so quiet and reserved but he had a certain vibe about him, he had this sort of protective energy around you and you couldn't lie, that feeling of security grew on you very quickly.

You promised yourself as you both walked into the school that if anyone had anything negative to say about him joining the team, you'd kick up a storm.

The atmosphere in the school was somber when you walked in, Warren stayed close to your side as you walked towards the Professor's office, you needed to get Warren set up.

The pair of you didn't make it very far before you heard a gasp from in front of you, you didn't even see who it was before you were being crushed in a hug.

"You're alive... Oh my God you're alive!" You recognized the hugger and smiled, hugging him back tightly.

"Yeah, Hank. I'm all okay." You reassured the bigger man. Hank was like an older brother to you, ever since you joined the school you'd spent so much time in the infirmary and since you were so much younger then, Hank had taken on a brotherly role to you, he'd essentially become your mentor. He loved you like a sister and by the tears that were soaking into your shoulder that really showed.

"We thought you died, I'm so sorry (Y/n)." Hank sniffled into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly before pulling away, revealing his puffy eyes and red face, it looked like he'd been crying on and off for days.

"That why everyone's so gloomy?" You questioned, glancing around to see the majority of people that occupied the hallway staring at you in shock.

Hank swallowed thickly and nodded. You just smiled and nodded your head in Warren's direction, and Hank immediately stiffened.

"No worries, Warren took care of me." You assured him and he could tell by the look that you were giving him and the fact that aside from your over-sized clothing, that definitely didn't look to belong to either you or Warren, you were in good condition and the boy had in fact had a change of heart. If he truly was the reason you'd gotten home safely the older man was in no place to be skeptical, so instead he nodded gratefully to Warren who returned the gesture, not speaking.

After reuniting with Hank, he brought you and Warren to see Charles, who was like everyone else, in mourning.

You'd never seen him smile as bright as he did when you entered his office, the relief on his face made you laugh as he wheeled toward you.

"Thank goodness, darling girl." He exclaimed, grabbing your hand tightly in both of his own, without having to be told his eyes met Warren's, "Thank you, Warren. Come, sit." Charles invited him but the boy in question looked at you skeptically.

"Go on, he's okay." You assured him, smiling as he sat down in front of Charles' desk, fidgeting with his hands like a child who was about to get in trouble.

Charles turned to you again, a gentle smile on his face, "Peter is in the infirmary, his leg got injured during the fight. I don't need for you to heal him but I've never seen a boy cry so much in such a short amount of time. Go and say hello."

You smiled sadly and looked to Warren, "You okay if I go check on him?" Warren only nodded again, he'd become even more quiet than usual but you could feel his energy, he was nervous yet hopeful, optimistic even.

"Could you show Warren to the infirmary once you two are finished up?" You asked Charles who nodded, "Of course, go on now, we'll be ok."

Nodding again, you left the office and made your way to the infirmary, not meeting anybody along the way. Thankfully. At the moment you just wanted to see your friend and talk to him about everything that had happened within the last few days.

As you walked into the infirmary you saw Peter, a cast wrapped around his leg and a red and puffy face. Silently you leaned against the doorway and watched your closest friend in the school stare blankly at the ceiling.

You were so used to seeing him energetic and happy, you'd even told Warren about him, you wanted them to be friends, they were the exact opposite of each other but Warren liked to sound of Peter when you'd told him about him, you were all the same age- give or take, and you wanted Warren to be able to just act his age and let loose, Peter Maximoff, and yourself of course, were the perfect people to help him do that.

Shaking your head at his low mood, that was as a result of thinking you were dead, you pushed yourself off the doorway and made yourself known, "What's with the long face, speedy?"

You laughed at the look on his face when he heard your voice, and saw your face. The feeling of relief flooding over you as a result of his own.

"I knew you weren't dead!" Peter shouted, shooting up into sitting position and smiling brightly at you as you raised an eyebrow, pulling him into a hug.

"That why you been crying for two days straight?" You teased him, as you squeezed him tighter, Peter scoffed and gently pushed you away.

"Nah I was crying of happiness that I finally have some peace and quiet." He shot back matter of factly, his usual mood already returning as you joked around together.

"Don't get me wrong I'm glad you're alive and all but how'd you survive the crash?" Peter asked as you sat up on the edge of the bed he was on.

"I got thrown out the windshield, so did Warren. We were both pretty fucked up, I healed him up then he took care of me, made sure I didn't die in the desert after I passed out." You explained to Peter and rose an eyebrow at him as he smirked at you.

"Warren, huh?" He teased and you couldn't stop the laugh that left your mouth.

"What about him? We almost died together it was quite the bonding experience," you told him, still chuckling before calming down and going on, "You're gonna help me settle him in. I told him lots about you, we're gonna be one super weird little trio." You told him definitely and he chuckled at your optimism.

"Right, a kleptomaniac, an empath and a reformed henchman." Peter nodded approvingly at his own deduction and you laughed, "Exactly. Perfect."

Not long after Charles and Warren appeared in the doorway. Warren greeted you with a small smile, and nodded to Peter who waved at him, a friendly smile on his face.

"Warren has decided he'd like to stay with us." Charles spoke up proudly, happy to have a new mutant joining his side.

Smiling brightly you listened to Charles continue, "He'll be staying in the room across from Peter's for the time being but I'd be more than happy to make different arrangements should further developments take place." Charles' lips curved into a knowing smile, which Peter mimicked while yourself and Warren shared confused glances.

"I'll leave the three of you to get to know each other."

-+-+-+-+-+-

Weeks passed and Warren settled nicely into the school, he didn't talk to many people, mostly only you and Peter, sometimes Charles or Hank but he tended to only speak if spoken to first.

He'd been thinking a lot lately, looking hard at himself in the mirror and not really liking what he saw. His metal wings were starting to weigh him down and the tattoos that adorned his face were driving him crazy. He hated himself for buying into the notion that he needed his wings weaponized in order to fight when he knew that he could fight perfectly well without the blades.

You'd offered to try and restore his original wings and he knew you'd be able to, but he knew doing something that big could be potentially dangerous for you so he turned down your offer at the time but he wanted to change his mind now.

Still, the need to keep you safe far outweighed his want to get his wings restored. Being at Xavier's school saved him but that was all down to you, to him you were an angel and he'd both kill and die for you if it ever came down to that, he knew it was ridiculous though, you didn't need his protection but he still wanted you to have it.

He eventually decided to bring the topic up with you again one night when it was just you and him. You were in Warren's room, just chilling together as you did most nights, Peter usually joined too but he hadn't that night for whatever reason.

You sat on Warren's bed, cross-legged as a record spun on the record player, Warren's favourite band playing through the speakers as he sat beside you, his eyebrows furrowed while he worked up the nerve to ask you what he wanted to ask you.

"I want my old wings back." Warren spoke out suddenly, causing you to lift your head from the book you were reading.

Smiling, you closed the book and set it on his nightstand. Finally.

"You're sure?" You asked gently, although you were ecstatic that he was finally allowing himself to heal. To properly heal.

Warren nodded and swallowed thickly, looking at you pleadingly. He didn't realize how much he'd really wanted his wings back until he'd said it out loud and seen the smile on your face once he did.

"Well, I haven't healed anybody so far this week I've got enough energy… we could do it now?" You offered, smiling as he nodded rapidly.

You instructed him to get comfortable in the center on his double bed before you crawled over to him, "Do you mind if I sit here?" You asked, motioning towards his legs, as close as you'd grown over the past few weeks Warren was still on the fence about physical affections of any kind, he longed for it, especially with you but he just hasn't been ready.

Which sucked since yourself and Peter weren't shy about hugging each other, or kissing each other's cheeks, or throwing your arms around each other and it wasn't that Warren was feeling excluded or anything, no he knew that if you both thought he'd be okay with it you'd be showering him with hugs too, he trusted the both of you enough to know you'd never hurt him but being so vulnerable in front of anyone just hadn't been in the cards for him.

Deciding to let you help him get his wings back was the turning point for him, he was finally letting you all the way in. So he nodded and gave you a reassuring smile, the kind of smile he reserved only for you.

Returning the grin you straddled his legs and seated yourself comfortably on his thighs, his breath hitched as you placed a hand on each shoulder, you bit your lip as you looked into his eyes, "This might be a little uncomfortable, hold onto me if you need to."

As soon as your hands began to glow, Warren felt the sting of your powers against his back, it felt like he was burning and without thinking about it Warren's hands moved to grip your hips and his head buried itself in the crook of your neck and he bit his lip harshly.

"Sorry, War. Almost there." You whispered sympathetically in his ear, placing a gentle kiss on his temple, hoping it would make him feel better.

Watching the feathers replace the knives was incredible, his wings were beautiful, he was a literal angel and the way the glow of your powers illuminated his body almost made you cry. He looked like something straight out of heaven.

Soon, your palms stopped glowing and the fatigue hit you like a truck, every ounce of your energy had gone into Warren but it was worth it.

Slowly, Warren removed his head from your neck to stare at you, amazement painting his face. Your smile grew impossibly wide when you noticed his face was completely clear, the tattoos gone.

"Guess the wings and the tattoos were a package deal." You murmured happily before your eyes rolled back and you collapsed into Warren's chest.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-

After you passed out Warren carried you to the infirmary to rest, his wings twitched every now and again but they felt better, he himself felt lighter, physically and mentally.

Warren stayed by your bedside until you finally woke up, you'd slept for an entire day and your self proclaimed protector was becoming restless.

"Morning, angel." You whispered with a soft smile on your face, he looked different now with his wings back and his tattoos gone, he looked happier.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. I'd say good morning but it's nine o'clock at night." He greeted, returning your smile.

"How're your wings feeling?" You asked, you wanted to reach out and touch them but you decided against it, you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Noticing the twitch in your fingers Warren bit his lip and gently moved his hand to hold your wrist, "Why don't you see for yourself?" He prompted you, moving your wrist towards his feathers.

Moving your freehand, you grabbed his wrist which held your wrist, the two of you now in a strange wrist lock. Warren looked at you strangely as your eyes shone brighter than he'd seen them shine in the weeks he'd known you.

"You're sure?" You asked him, genuine happiness laced your voice and Warren couldn't help but laugh at you, "I'm sure. I want you to."

Warren could barely contain himself when your face broke into the most incredible grin, the kind of smile that felt like sunshine despite the fact that it was 9pm at night and the sun had long since set. Warren had thought he'd been doing an incredible job of hiding his feelings toward you, but he was sure that the way he was looking at you now gave everything away and the funny thing was, he didn't care, he wanted you to know.

Slowly you sat up in the bed and reached out to touch his feathered wing, fingers gliding gently over the arch of his wing. They were so soft and warm and felt so nice under your fingers, your eyes had been so transfixed on the angelic feathers that when you raised your eyes you didn't realize how close you'd come to Warren's face.

His eyes met yours and if you ever had a doubt that he was designed by God himself they melted away when his green eyes looked into yours before flicking down to your lips, then back.

You could feel his breath against your lips, he was intoxicating to you, like a drug, you didn't know how you were going to stop yourself from kissing him this time. You'd often found yourself wanting to kiss your winged friend but you always respected his boundaries enough not to, this time was different though, you could practically feel his lips on yours.

Warren, feeling the conflict but more importantly, the longing, radiated from you, decided to finally place his lips on yours.

His lips moved against yours softly at first but became more urgent when he felt your lips moving in sync with his, the way he kissed was possessive but soft and if he hadn't of pulled away when he did you're sure you would've moaned right into his mouth.

"I want you." Warren whispered, face still close to yours, his hand cupping your cheek, his smile was contagious as you found yourself copying his action.

"You can have me." You giggled out, chasing his lips, connecting them with yours once again.

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #x-men #x-men x reader #x-men apocalypse #peter maximoff #peter parker x reader #ben hardy

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