#for extra content. because like. i cannot be normal about this au. i need to show more of the dynamics and just. zam.

[pyrriax]

i think i'll spontaneously combust when i hit 20k posts on this blog. what the hell. (my queue is putting in the work. also the multiple reblogs of the same posts because i have a Point to make.)

[lilmissnatcat24]

finally writing a shakarian regency au, because regency aus get me hot and bothered

Lord Vakarian sauntered out of the room-- as he always did. It seemed as though he were physically incapable of walking like a normal person, resorting instead to strutting, swaying, and swaggering. His suit was wrinkled awfully, the buttons not clasped near his cowl, exposing a muscular set of plated just below his neck. He situated himself at the bar of the parlor, just next to Shepard’s table, an awfully pleased look on his face as he ordered an ale. 

“Lovely day for you, Lord Vakarian?” Ashley asked. She was always the most bold out of all of them, never having the fear to call across a room full of people to chide a viscount. Shepard felt her cheeks redden as Garrus turned in his stool, willing so that he would not notice her nor make comment on her impending and unfortunate prospects of marriage. 

“A pleasantly normal Tuesday evening, I would say,” he said conversationally, the stomps and curses from the asari still in earshot. “High humidity, but we cannot want for everything, I suppose.” 

He was all haughtiness with not a lick of humility. Shepard had not known the Viscount all too well. A conversation here, an obligatory dance there. He was a playboy, and a notorious one at that. He cared for nothing more than his dalliances with the opposite sex, so much so that it didn’t matter where those dalliances took place. In the closet of a ballroom, in a private shuttle back to his manor, on top of the parlor table only minutes after a game of cards had concluded. Shepard always admired a more subtle approach to romance, while Garrus seemed to run head-first into the first wall he could see. 

To her immense dissatisfaction, his eyes landed on her. Much to her chagrin she blushed, willing that her body would shrink and shrink until she was no bigger than a grain of sand. His eyes were most striking, slate blue against gray plates and a single monocle, giving the impression that when he looked at you, it was through your clothes and skin to the bone and muscle itself. His mandibles flicked out once-- never a good sign when Viscount Garrus Vakarian wanted to strike up a conversation, as if often meant either an insult or sexual proposition was incoming. 

“My word, Miss Shepard,” he said, turning his stool to face her directly. “I heard a shocking bit of gossip recently. So shocking that I myself immediately dismissed it as libel. But the more the rumor lingers in the air, the more legs it seems it has to stand upon.” 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you, my lord, that gossip is akin to wickedness?” she said, willing so that the blush would leave her cheeks as soon as possible. It always appeared when she was forced to talk to people, especially of the brazen and bold variety. 

“I hear it’s hot and terrible where I’m bound in regards to my penchant for a hushed rumor. But what’s even stranger is the contents of said rumor. A claim that you yourself have marked your eligibility for the marriage mart. Is there any factuality in these ugly whispers, or do I need to have a word with my family’s doctor over my decaying hearing and addled mind?” 

“Your hearing, I’m pleased to say, is perfectly fine. It’s true I’m entering the marriage mart this season. Although, I would keep the doctor on standby for your mind, you seem to have a fair bit of extra prattling going about behind your skull,” Shepard added sincerely. 

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hiii Mickey! B4 I request smt I just wanna congratulate you on 500 (u deserve sm more) your writing is literally heaven. Shakespeare who? 🤔 Anyway, b4 I completely forget what I came to request and start yapping on about how ur a literature god, may I pls req jealously hc on SitH characters?

Sincerely,

friedrichswifegirlfriendfiancesidechick

── SOMEBODY'S JEALOUS!

Synopsis: Headcanons about how some of the SitH boys act when they are jealous.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Colt x Reader, Friedrich x Reader, Hadrian x Reader, Marek x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Content Warnings: 3/4 of these characters are ocs from a specific fic i wrote so that ig?? also friedrich is a menace but what's new

A/N: you're too sweet anon AHAH thank you so much!! i can't believe you like sith sm that you want to request for it...that's actually so crazy to me but means sm thank you again!! i wasn't sure which characters you wanted so i just did my favs hehe

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Colt Grice

i think he would be the pouty type of jealous if that makes sense

like he's not going to say anything outright but he lowkey acts like a child

becomes super clingy in the moment

afterwards is all like "why don't you love me anymore 🙁"

"what does he have that i don't 🙁🙁🙁”

he's cute about it though like you can't even be mad at him because he's genuinely so worried that you like this other person more

definitely would try not to make it your problem though like he recognizes that it's his own issue to deal with so he's not going to get upset with you just for talking to someone

will probably refer to himself as your boyfriend in front of whoever he's jealous of just so that they know their place and he WILL be petty about it

he's a pretty chill guy overall so i don't think he would be too horrible but he definitely has his moments of insecurity and doubt

would not hesitate to fight a man if you expressed that you were majorly uncomfortable though. he literally goes to the gym JUST to be able to beat a man up if necessary

otherwise though he trusts you to handle it

just be prepared for him to be extra affectionate afterwards

Friedrich Visser

unlike his best friend he turns into a supervillain if he's jealous

like friedrich 99% of the time is this sweet, adoring boyfriend (setting aside how sassy he is and how much he definitely teases you)

he jokes around a lot and is relatively unserious most of the time so you literally get whiplash when a guy starts flirting with you and all of a sudden your goofy bf is replaced with his evil twin

he's very tall and he will use that to full effect

modern au friedrich is a boxer so he gets bonus intimidation points for that and canon friedrich is a warrior candidate so at that point any guy might as well give up LMAOAO

he's also creepy looking (STILL HANDSOME GUYS I PROMISE HE'S HANDSOME HE JUST HAS A CREEPY VIBE TO HIM THAT FREAKS PEOPLE OUT) and normally he wishes he was more approachable but now?? it's exactly what he needs

he'll start whispering quietly in a foreign language and the person thinks he's cursing their bloodline (he's literally just reciting the irregular verbs in the preterite tense in spanish)

a glarer. he has a crazy death stare and he will take advantage of it

creates such an inhospitable atmosphere that the person literally just runs away out of fear

then he's back to his regular self and asks if you want a sweet treat or something

he's paying ofc because he's the best boyfriend in the world and you could never dream of wanting someone else. right??? 🤨🤨🤨

Hadrian Amata

to be honest i cannot see him being jealous or at least acting like he is

he is far and away the most emotionally mature person on this list (and probably in the entire sith-verse tbh)

like if someone is hitting on you he'll literally agree with them and tell them he thinks you’re pretty too

he might hold your hand or hug you or something in front of them just so that they leave you alone, but that's about the extent of it i think

he’s not a pushover though. if someone isn't taking a hint he will tell them to leave and then escort you away himself because he doesn't want you to have to deal with that kind of bs

he was raised with a sister so he knows better than to be possessive or controlling

he wouldn't want someone treating xanthe like that so he's not about to treat you like that yk??

major green flag but that was to be expected from him

Marek Birdwhistle

this depends on what universe we're looking at

if it's a modern au where he doesn't get scarred or pre-athyae then he's funny and lighthearted about it

he is canonically the best looking character in the story (besides y/n) pre-athyae incident so if we're talking about a world where he doesn't get tortured and whatnot then honestly just the sight of him near you will be enough for people to back off

like no wayyy are they flirting with you when MAREK BIRDWHISTLE is right there

honestly you might be the one who gets jealous i bet he gets mad bitches 😭

but he pretty much ignores all of them...he only really has eyes for you so although he's friendly to anyone he'll (very politely) reject anyone who makes serious moves

if someone does have the guts to approach you he'll lowkey judge them

he's going to be subtle about it but he won't hesitate to point out their flaws and ruin their self-confidence

now if this is in canon, especially post-athyae...i don't think he gets jealous necessarily because he literally just hates himself so much that it would only make sense if you want someone else

i’m not going to describe his injuries in this because they're pretty horrific and you’ve all read the chapter but yeah. he genuinely does not believe that you love him when he looks like that

he went from constantly being praised for being handsome to people being horrified by half of his face (which is generally kept bandaged but still) so it is a HUGE change for him

he would require reassurance that you are with him for more than just his appearance and that you don't find him hideous at all

omg pls be nice to him fr he deserves better i think the only characters who can claim to be treated as poorly by the narrative as him are the haas twins 😔

[thefanbasewhore]

Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

[sunflowerstalks]

Maybe If Remus Had a Plan in the First Place This Fic Would Have Had a Name, Too

Remus is Remus, Roman is tired, and there’s a cat, too. Expected chaos ensues.

This is my gift for Pigeon, @the-pigeon, for @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I hope you enjoy your gift, and i hope your holidays were and continue to go well! Also, happy new year!! :D

word count: 2125

rating: teen and up (for slight language/innuendo)

content warnings: slight innuendo/language typical of remus, hair pulling as a stim, descriptions of bad things happening to animals (as an intrusive thought, it is dealt with accordingly), slight anxiety attack/sensory overload moment

relationships: platonic sides (all of em) with brotherly roman&remus focus, implied/background romantic roman/virgil and romantic patton/remus but it’s pretty subtle

characters: roman, remus, virgil, patton, logan, janus, c!thomas (meaning both character!thomas and cat!thomas asfhjakfh)

additional tags: high school au, punk au, heist fic, like slight conflict and then mostly fluff and comfort. also, side note, cain and abel are the twins’ cats sdhjgdskfh

“Remus.”

“Roman.”

A beat.

“Any chance you could explain… any of this?” Roman gestures wildly to the pile of metal scraps, receipts, the feral cat, and assorted other trinkets strewn across the sidewalk in front of Remus, before crossing his arms and impatiently awaiting an answer without his usual air of, well, put-together-ness.

“Well, I’d actually gotten around to finally cleaning my wallet, when—”

“The cat, Remus! Whose cat is this? Why do you have it? Why is it surrounded by trash?” Roman’s voice increased in both volume and shrillness as he went on, hands reaching unconsciously to tug at his hair.

“Hey, don’t do that shit,” Remus tugged at the cuffed jean at Roman’s ankle for emphasis, “Anyways, like I was saying, I was cleaning my wallet when I remembered that I was like, eighty assignments behind in anatomy, so I figured I could do some cool art or somethin’ with a cat! For… extra credit or something.” Remus faltered for a moment, “In all honesty, I didn’t think I’d get this far.” He had thought getting the cat would be the hard part, so now he was stuck in the swing of success without a direction to turn. Roman, however, was still stuck on the small details (in Remus’ humble opinion).

Roman took a deep breath, muttering something that sounded a lot like a prayer for forgiveness, before looking down at his brother yet again.

“Remus.”

“Yes, brother dearest?”

“Whose cat is this?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

Roman looked moments away from manslaughter, yet managed to nod anyways. Remus’ face broke into a shit-eating grin;

“I have no fucking clue.”

---

“Let me get this straight—”

A chorus of ‘good luck with that’s and similar sentiments echoed Logan’s statement, much to his chagrin.

“Okay. Redo.”

“You can’t just say ‘redo’ IRL, Lo,” Virgil chuckled, not even bothering to look up from his phone—he had already checked out from the drama, but stayed for the simple pleasure of experiencing the familiar banter—and in fear of being called to the dean’s office for cutting class. Mostly the latter.

“And I would argue that you cannot say ‘IRL’ in a verbal conversation, yet here we are,” Logan paused for emphasis, adjusted his necklaces for the umpteenth time, and smoothed his hands over the table again before continuing, “Regardless. The situation that you—and I mean you two,” he gestured to the twins, “there is hardly a ‘we’ fault-wise here—have gotten into, is one of... feline larceny, without a known victim? Is that correct?” Remus nodded sheepishly—or as sheepish as his wolfish features could get, all teeth and eyes—while Roman just stewed in rage. Remus’ backpack laid halfway zipped on the lab table, and every once in a while a pink nose and whiskers would find its way into the light before being shoved back by a flurry of hands, aware of what yet another detention would mean for the twins. They couldn’t all just skip, though—they learned that the hard way from the last time one of Roman and Remus’ harebrained schemes had made its way from “a slight nuisance” to “an unignorable thorn in everyone’s side that also somehow ends with arson.” So, they had some past experience in handling the, well, experience that the twins brought along with their company—but they normally had at least a lead to work with.

“How,” Janus started, massaging his temples despite only just then contributing to the wreck of a conversation that their art class had devolved into, “do you steal a cat, and not know who from?” Remus just shrugged.

“It wasn’t intentional. I needed a cat, a guy had a cat, I didn’t ask questions. Was I supposed to?” Remus asked, eyebrows drawn together—normally, he’d be a sarcastic shit that would drive the group insane on (some level of) purpose, but now he just seemed genuinely afraid—of the consequences of his own actions, but, still—progress. Logan opened his mouth to offer his advice, but was silenced by the jarring ring of the bell. He sighed. This was going to be a long day of way more stress than he was qualified for—the twins were going to owe him another stick and poke if he had any say in the matter.

---

Remus must have been a wonderful, wonderful man in his past life. He had to have been. Because, somehow, by some good grace, he managed to make it through another two classes on his own, and to lunch in one piece, with a living cat by his side—well, in his backpack, but the merit stands. Logan could honestly say he was impressed—not that he would tell him that, though. Nevertheless, the six friends reconvened at lunch—still without a direction to turn.

“I could just put him back where I found him,” Remus started, attempting to break the icy silence at the table with a jackhammer as always.

“Do you even know where that is?” Roman scoffed, incredulous.

“Well, no, but I could get close.”

“This isn’t helping,” Logan interjected, “How about you bring it to a shelter? One nearby where you found it?” The table nodded in general agreement, but Remus only frowned.

“But that isn’t where I got it from. What if it has an owner? What if the closest shelter isn’t a no-kill shelter, and we go to all the trouble of saving the cat only for the fucks at the shelter to hurt it?” Remus’ pace picked up with his heart rate—despite only having this cat for maybe six hours, if anything happened to it, Remus had a pretty good idea of what he’d end up doing.

“We can check for that, can’t we, Lo?” Patton chimed in, placing a calming, steady hand on Remus’ shoulder, which sunk, relieved, at the touch.

“Possibly. But, regardless, it isn’t Remus’ cat. Our priority is to get it back to its original owner, if it has one,” Logan pointed out, “If that isn’t possible, then we need to reevaluate our plan, come up with another, and settle for a different goal.”

“Have we at any point today even actually had a plan?” Virgil snickered, ever the pessimist—it wasn’t like he was really helping as he was, once again, staring at his phone.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve done much besides stare at your phone today, edgelord,” Remus snarked, though it came out as more of a mumble—his face was pressed into the table, and his eyes were on the cat in the bag.

“You’re gonna have to get better nicknames, Dukey, we’re all edgelords here,” Janus deadpanned, smudging an unhealthy amount of eyeshadow around his eyes while Virgil and Remus argued over their respective contributions.

“Okay, can you, my brother,” Roman pointed to Remus, whose teeth clacked with how fast he shut up, ”and you, my boyfriend,” he pointed to Virgil, who could only look the smallest bit abashed,  “calm all the way down? Stop arguing, holy shit—” Roman took another breath, relishing the silence that had fallen over the table before pushing on, “—how about we all go, together, and fix this shit? I mean, what could go wrong?”

---

The answer was a lot. A fucking lot could go wrong when six seventeen-year-olds tried to coordinate anything, let alone an amateur heist.

Remus managed to get through the rest of the school day without much incident, but the rest of them were not so lucky, managing to receive a grand total of three detentions and six failed tests from lunch to the end of seventh period between the five of them. The teens recounted the horror stories of sixth period; Patton gesturing wildly from the driver's seat, Remus sat quietly (for maybe the second time in his life) in the passenger seat, and the remaining accomplices squished together in the back seat (which would fit three people at most for any group that wasn’t them). Also in the back seat was the cat, who had been dubbed “Thomas” for the time being—he was sat in Janus’ lap, curled up around an abandoned ball of yarn that had been left under one of the seats. The car ride across town would have been incredibly tense and unbearably long without the feline, and for that, Remus was grateful—even if he still had a sinking feeling of guilt swirling in his stomach.

---

           After a surprisingly uneventful car ride (except for the stop at a drive through for a morale boost (Patton’s words) of coffees and drinks which ended, after a rather nasty pothole, with a massive stain on the roof of the car), the party settled into the waiting room at the—no-kill, Remus triple checked—animal shelter. There weren’t enough chairs, so the group made more of a pile around Thomas, some of them standing, and the others sitting both on chairs and the floor. Juxtaposed with the sterile white of the walls, they stood out like the emo cousins that they basically were. Remus bounced his leg, up, down, up, down, over and over. He kept knocking his knee against Janus’, which jostled Thomas every time he did.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, trying to focus on holding still.  But it itched in the back of his brain, guilt and stress and fault and all the wonderful, terrible feelings churning, over and over. The clock behind the desk was too loud, and Remus couldn’t do anything about it because they wouldn’t even have to be here if not for him. So he kept his mouth shut and tried not to cry—for all of two minutes, because that was when Janus decided that he had had enough, and shoved a ball of fur into his arms. For a moment, Remus was terrified he was going to fuck it up, hurting Thomas or himself or causing some other inevitable disaster, but Thomas just pushed his warm face into Remus’ palm, and suddenly, somehow the only thing Remus could feel was loved. He choked out a wet laugh, unable to contain the bubbling build-up of emotions that had been brewing since he first saw Thomas that morning. His friends all looked at him, concerned at first, but all they could do was coo at Remus being the softest they had ever seen him. He sniffed, and gave them all a watery smile.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Sincerity? In my brother? It’s more likely than you think!” Roman teased, poking his brother in the arm. Remus stuck his tongue out at him, and the teens devolved into familiarity, playful taunts and sincere joy, waiting to be called back for Thomas’ check up.

---

While the veterinarian had been momentarily taken aback at the request for all six visitors to be in the room during the appointment, she also hadn’t seen a reason to say no at the time. Thus, once again, like the clowns they were, they piled into the room and crowded around the table, Thomas at the heart of it all—confoundingly calm given the situation, at least to the onlookers.

The veterinarian introduced herself to each of them, and began examining the cat for any injuries, microchips, or anything out of place.

“He seems to be healthy, no broken bones or infections…” The doctor said, reaching for a handheld device, “If he’s microchipped, and I’m able to reach the owner, you boys will be off the hook, okay?” Remus cringed, but nodded—he needed to remember that Thomas wasn’t his before he got hurt. She ran the scanner over Thomas’ back, and hummed.

“I’m… actually not finding anything. You said he was lost?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Remus confessed, “I found him on the street, so he could be a stray.”

“It seems he was a very lucky one, for sure. Most cats his age are incredibly susceptible to outside bacteria—finding you guys likely saved his life.” Remus’ eyes widened, and his hand reached for Thomas almost instinctively.

“You said that he doesn’t have an owner?”

“Not that I can determine, no. Did he have a collar, any sort of identification?”

Remus shook his head.

“Well, there are two options in the meantime; we can hold on to him, and put him up for adoption through our services, or you could adopt him. He needs to be immunized and neutered, first, but where he ends up is up to you guys.” Remus thought to himself for a moment.

“Hey, Roman. How mad do you think Mom would be if we brought Cain and Abel home a new friend?”

---

The answer? Not mad enough to outweigh her happiness at Remus’ smile with Thomas in his arms. And even though he didn’t end up getting the extra credit in anatomy, Remus’ circle of best friends grew by one, so he thinks he did alright in the end.

[freddiesaysalright]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 5

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @namelesslosers, @headl0ng, @captvianswaan, @folietracksix​, @baltimoresweethearts​, @killer-queen-87​, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil​, @misslolasworld​, @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen​

A/N: It’s the grand finale! Thank you again for all the lovely responses to this fic! I can’t believe I’m almost done with the Disney AUs already! also i barely proofread this because i was so excited to post it so if you see a typo no you didnt

Warning(s): brief descriptions of abuse

Moodboard

Prologue  Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

Frank and his daughters came home about an hour after you did. You were already back in your servant clothes and waiting by the door. You took their cloaks and bags, and began hanging them on the rack in the main hall. 

“How was your night?” you asked politely. 

“It was a splendid evening, Y/N,” Frank answered. “More than you could ever hope for.”

“I’m sure it was,” you returned, holding back a smirk. If only he knew. 

“I’m relieved to see you have not stolen anything else from my wife’s closet,” he sneered.

You shook your head. “No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve been thoroughly educated.”

“Very good,” he said, seeming displeased that he couldn’t goad you. 

But nothing could spoil this night. It was perfect. 

“Is there anything you need before going to bed?” you asked. 

“I’m fine, but you’ll of course help the girls get changed,” he said. 

You nodded again. “Absolutely.”

He watched you suspiciously as you followed your step sisters up the stairs. You were calm. Too calm. And you were humming, which you didn’t normally do. Plus the tune was something he had heard somewhere - but no event would have had you in attendance. His frown deepened. Something was up.

***

Gwilym returned to the palace two hours later, empty handed and broken-hearted. Rami and Ben were waiting on the steps for him, but as he walked up, he only shook his head. They sighed, disappointed for their friend. Thankfully, the remaining guests had all gone home. 

“Sorry, mate,” Ben said. 

“There was no sign of her?” Rami asked. 

“No,” Gwilym said. “Even the carriage tracks just seemed to disappear. It was like she just vanished.”

“So, all we’ve got to go on is the shoe?” Ben wondered, holding it up. 

Gwilym had only entrusted his best friends with it, and they had kept it from his father. 

“It’s made of glass,” Gwilym said. “Which means it only fits her.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Rami asked. “Try the shoe on every woman in the kingdom?”

“Only the single women,” Gwilym said, as if it were obvious.

Rami and Ben shared a surprised look. 

“I hope you’re joking,” Ben said. 

“Far from it,” Gwilym replied. “I’m going to find that girl, and I’m going to marry her.”

Rami sighed. “Very well, then. But let’s start in the morning.”

“Thank you both,” Gwilym said, relieved. They had every reason to leave now. Both had duties at home, and had done what was socially expected. With the ball over, there was no obligation to stay. “Really.”

“Of course we’re gonna help you,” Ben said. “But I’m with Rami. Starting tomorrow.”

“You guys go on up, I’ll be right behind you,” Gwilym insisted. 

His friends shrugged, but did as he requested and went inside. Gwilym remained, holding that glass piece of you carefully in the crook of his arm. He looked out into the night sky, hoping somehow you could feel his desperation. 

“I am coming for you, my darling,” he said quietly. 

***

You yawned as the sun peered into your room through your curtains. You were feeling unusually light this morning. Like you were still floating just above the ballroom floor. With a contented sigh, you stretched and forced yourself out of bed. Frank and the girls would be needing their breakfast soon, but you knew you had a little extra time today. They’d certainly have a bit of a lie in after the late night. 

You threw your dress and apron on. You did a spin around your room, giggling as you imagined Gwilym there with you. Then you had to slow to a stop. It was a fantasy, nothing more. One glorious night. But now it was time to return to reality and your true life. Still, you could cling to the dream for one morning.

Humming to yourself, you put the pot on to boil and began prepping plates for breakfast. You set a pan atop the stove to start some sausages when you heard the jingle of a bell. You looked at the wall. It was coming from Eleanor’s room, so you guessed she was up. You asked Elsie to start the food and went back upstairs to get your step sister dressed. When you reached the landing, you saw Frank emerging from his room, already dressed. 

“Good morning,” you said kindly. 

“Y/N, what did you get up to last night?” he asked. 

“Why, nothing, sir,” you said. “I cleaned up, as you instructed, changed clothes, and got a head start on some other chores. When those were done, I occupied myself by reading.”

He seemed skeptical. “I see. I hope you weren’t reading anything too fanciful. You mustn’t fill your mind with...unrealistic dreams and fantasies.”

Your brow furrowed with confusion. What was he implying?

“No, sir,” you said. “I try to keep everything practical.”

“Good,” he said. “Now get to work.”

You nodded, a bit perplexed, but continued into Eleanor’s room.

***

In the morning, Gwilym was the first up. He hardly slept at all. He wrote a decree for his father to send out, that he and Ben and Rami would be making the rounds through town and the countryside to find the owner of the missing shoe. They would begin today, and search until the prince had found his lost love.

To his shock, the king agreed to this. He read over it at the breakfast table, nodding at each point. The ladies were to try on the shoe and if it fit, it must be the girl who Gwilym met at the ball.

“Very well,” he said. “You’ll begin today?”

“Yes,” Gwilym said. “I want to find her as soon as possible.”

“Alright, son,” the king replied. He looked at the prince and offered a sincere smile. “And best of luck.”

Gwilym beamed. “Thank you, Father!”

And so, they began their search within the palace, where the out of town noble guests were staying. Gwilym had his doubts about those girls because he met them before you even came through the door. But he knew everyone deserved a fair chance. When the shoe fit none of those women, they made their way into town, with a few guards along for protection. 

***

Frank received a letter from the palace early in the morning. He looked it over and you saw a flash of...something cross his face. You couldn’t place the emotion though. It seemed almost like a glimmer of hope. His eyes glanced over at you before quickly turning to his daughters. 

“Girls, get yourselves looking nice,” he said. “We’ll be having visitors from the palace this afternoon.”

“The palace?” you questioned, without meaning to, but you could hardly help yourself. 

“Yes, but that isn’t any of your business, Y/N,” he snapped. “Get my daughters ready and then proceed with your chores as usual. You are not to make your presence known while the visitors are here.”

You nodded apologetically. As you made your way back to the kitchen, you wondered if the visitors Frank referred to could be Gwilym and his father. Was he looking for you? Something in your heart told you he was, but you hardly even dared to hope. Such a thing was the stuff of dreams. And yet, the ball seemed like a dream too, but it was as real as the tea kettle you carried. You began devising a plan. 

As the day wore on, you completed your chores quickly. You wanted to prepare yourself as well. Your gut was telling you Gwilym was on his way to take you away from here. And you had all the proof you needed in that slipper that was hidden beneath your bed. So when you finished sweeping the entrance hall, you ran up to your room to get it. Only, when you opened your door, you came to an abrupt stop. Frank was sitting on your bed, holding the slipper by the heel. One wrong move of his fingers and it would fall, risking a break. 

“Well, well, well,” he said darkly. “I had a feeling you had made your way to the ball. You’ve been far too dreamy to have had as dull a night as you claim.”

Your heart rate quickened. 

“That’s mine,” you said, feeling childish as the words left your mouth. “It was given to me.”

Frank laughed humorlessly. “Oh, likely story. I suppose this is another one of my wife’s things you stole.”

“You cannot stop me from this,” you said, ignoring the accusation. “The prince loves me.”

“Against his better judgement, I believe that’s true,” he admitted.

You blinked, surprised at your step father’s nonchalance about this. Did that mean he would accept it? No. There had to be something else he was getting at. 

“As it is, though,” he said. “You’re spoken for.”

You frowned as your stomach dropped. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked. 

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he said, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket with his free hand. “And mine alone.”

A chill ran down your spine. Was he really saying what you thought he was saying?

“I’m not a slave, Frank,” you said. “I am free to do this.”

“I do not intend to make you my slave,” he said. “I intend to make you my wife.”

Your body went rigid as the blood ran out of your face. The very idea made your stomach churn. The thought of being his wife, sharing his bed, bearing his children...you nearly heaved right there in front of him.

“No,” you said firmly. “I won’t.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” he said. 

“It’s sick!” you cried. “I’m your daughter!”

“Step daughter,” he said. “I will have this estate, Y/N. You will do for me what your mother could not. My son will be the true and rightful heir, and start a new line.”

“Are you not happy with the children you have?” you wondered, completely rocked to your core. “Why do you insist on a son?”

“Sons are the only useful offspring,” he scoffed. “Daughters are just mouths to feed until you can marry them off, and even then, what’s theirs will never belong to their family. It belongs to their husbands. Well, I am not going to lose everything because my previous wives were too weak to give me what I want.”

“I will not,” you refused again. “I’ll run away.”

“And leave behind your home?” he taunted. “The one your father built so lovingly with your mother?”

“It will no longer be a home to me if I am trapped in such a marriage,” you said. 

“I’m not giving you a choice, Y/N,” he sighed. “I’ll keep eyes on you everywhere, I’ll lock you in your room, whatever it takes. Or, you can submit to me now and become mistress of this house as you were born to be.”

“I’ll die before I marry you,” you spat. “I’ll die before I bear any child of yours. I’ll -”

“No need to go on,” he said. He was being alarmingly calm about this. “I know the rest. But you will marry me, Y/N. You will have my son, and you’ll do it all without complaint. Just as you have with everything I have ever given you.”

You blinked again. So everything he’d put you through was a test? A way to manipulate you into obeying his every command? He was...grooming you? Your stomach gave another lurch.

“But first,” he said. “We will need to squash your dreams of Prince Gwilym.”

“What do you -”

He cut off your question by hurling your slipper into the wall. It shattered with a crash, which drowned out your anguished cry. You sank to your knees, hopeless. 

“There now,” he said. “I’m only teaching you the harsh lesson of reality.” 

Tears fell freely down your cheeks. You heard loud knocking at the front door, but barely registered it. 

“That’ll be him,” Frank said. 

You snapped to your senses and started to rise for one last desperate escape attempt, but Frank was faster. You felt the blow of his palm against your cheek before you even saw it coming. You fell to the ground, face throbbing. You wanted to scream, or cry, or swing back at him, but you were completely numb from the shock. You couldn’t feel anything but the sting on your skin.

“Do not resist me again, Y/N,” Frank warned. 

With that, he walked out of your room, and you heard him turn the lock. You were trapped. You curled into a ball on your floor and wept quietly. 

***

Gwilym was relieved when the door finally opened. This was the last house of the day. He saw a man there, whose smile was...unconvincing to say the least. He bowed. 

“We are happy to see you, Prince Gwilym,” he said. “I am Frank Tarleton, and I believe one of my daughters is the girl you’re searching for.”

Gwilym raised a brow. “But you don’t know which?”

Frank blinked, taken aback, and then laughed an empty sort of laugh. “Good one, your highness. Please, come in.”

Gwilym looked at Ben and Rami who both shrugged. They followed Frank inside and into the drawing room, where two young women sat on the couch, looking nervous. Ben explained everything, with Frank nodding eagerly along. Something about the man struck Gwilym as slimy. He was too polite, too eager to please, and it seemed even his own daughters were made uncomfortable by him. Gwilym sighed. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled. 

He was beginning to lose hope. Who was left, if not these girls? And yet, neither of them struck him as the one he was looking for.

***

You listened carefully at your door, not daring to make any more noise. If Frank returned, he might do worse than strike you. But you could listen to what was happening downstairs. 

It was a bit maddening to hear, though. To be so close to Gwilym now, and yet so far. To be a prisoner now in your own home was worse than being a servant. And the worst part was seeing the proof of your identity lying in pieces beside you. You felt like the slipper. Broken. Completely in pieces. Like your dreams too. 

You heard the front door open and close again. You went to your window and watched Gwilym mount his horse, his friends on either side of him, and trot away toward town. Was that truly the last time you would see your love?

It couldn’t be. Now, you could hear Frank’s familiar footsteps coming back up the stairs. You knew you had to make a break for it as soon as he opened the door. You braced yourself. You had no time to pack anything, no time to grab money or valuables. You would have to break away with nothing but the clothes on your back and a prayer. 

You watched the doorknob turn, feeling as if everything was in slow motion. It creaked slowly open and Frank’s body appeared in the door frame. He reached for you, but you ducked under his arm, darted down the hall, flew down the stairs, and straight out the front door. 

You ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even daring to look back to see if Frank was in pursuit. You just hurtled toward town, hoping that anyone could help you. You would give up your home, and everything you knew - you would even give up your life - before marrying Frank. You had to escape, even if it meant becoming a beggar. 

You burst through the back door of the tavern, tears streaming down your cheeks, and chest heaving. Flying through the kitchen, you threw open the doors to the dining area and found Zelda behind the bar. She looked up at the commotion you were making, took in the sight of you, and her brow furrowed. 

“Zelda, please!” you cried, frantic. “I need help!”

You went to her, and she took you in her arms. 

“Y/N, what’s -”

She didn’t get to finish her question before Frank came barreling through. He must not have been far behind. You let out a scream. Zelda pushed you behind her and you cowered at her back. She put her arms out to shield you further. 

“Zelda, remove yourself if you know what’s good for you,” Frank threatened. 

“Don’t, Zelda, please!” you begged. “Don’t let him take me! He’s going to force me to marry him! Please!”

She stiffened in front of you. “Oh, no you don’t, Frank. I will not stand by and let you do this.”

“Stand back or you’re fired,” he warned. 

“I don’t care,” she shot back. “I won’t let you have her!”

“I’m afraid it’s not up to you,” he returned harshly. 

He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to move her, but Zelda was a stout woman with considerable strength. She resisted him, taking hold of his biceps and forcing him back several steps. Her advantage was clearly gained by the element of surprise. 

“Run, Y/N!” she cried. “Get out of here!” 

Panicked, you leapt over the counter and wrenched the door open. You threw yourself out of it, trying to ignore the sounds of the struggle behind you. You darted into the street and sprinted as fast as you could away from the tavern. You had no idea where you would go from here - but you could not stay and be forced into a lifetime of Frank. 

You glanced back. To your horror, you saw that Frank was emerging from the tavern and had spotted you right away. With a gasp, you turned back around and sped up. Only, as you turned, you didn’t realize what was in front of you. You ran right smack into a man’s back. The force of the collision put you on your rear in the dirt. 

Wincing, you looked up. Your jaw dropped. It was Gwilym!

He met your gaze and froze as well. For a moment, you were both back at the ball, when he’d come up to you on the stairs and asked you to dance. He recognized you instantly. 

“It’s you,” he whispered. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but a sudden stinging on your scalp caused you to cry out instead. Frank had fisted his hand around your hair and dragged you to your feet. 

“Your highness!” he gasped, noticing Gwilym. “I do apologize. My servant here has forgotten her manners.” He looked at you and continued through gritted teeth. “And her place.”

He yanked your hair on the last word for extra emphasis. Gwilym’s chest tightened as he watched Frank manhandle you. He briefly imagined himself drawing his sword and plunging it right into Frank’s chest, but he refrained. 

“Release her,” he ordered. 

Frank looked at the prince, bewildered. 

“I’m sorry?” he questioned.

Gwilym’s expression darkened. “I told you to release her.”

Frank hesitated. 

“Now!” Gwilym shouted. 

You relaxed when Frank finally let go. Your scalp still itched with soreness. You desperately wanted to throw yourself into Gwilym’s arms but you were still afraid of what Frank might do. You did take a cautious step back. 

“Your highness, I’m dealing with an unruly servant girl,” Frank said. “But she is mine and I may do with her as I please.”

Your lip trembled and you shook your head. 

“That’s not true,” you sobbed. “You know it’s not, I’m your step daughter and you’re forcing me to -”

“SILENCE!” Frank roared, and raised his hand.

You shrieked and covered your face with your arms. But the blow didn’t come. You peeked out, lowering your shield just barely. Gwilym had taken hold of Frank’s wrist. Rami and Ben, who you just noticed being present, both had their hands on their swords. Now was your chance. 

“Don’t let him take me back,” you begged again. “Please, your highness, don’t let him.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Zelda trotting up the street. She halted when she took in the scene before her. 

“Sir Tarleton,” Gwilym said, releasing Frank’s arm. “We were at your home and I asked you if you had any more women residing there besides your daughters. You lied.”

“It wasn’t a lie, really,” Frank argued. “Just an omission. You see, there’s no way this girl was at the ball when I forbid her from going.”

“If that’s true, then you are still in trouble,” Gwilym said. “All eligible maidens were to attend.”

“She’s only a servant -”

“I know you’re lying, Tarleton,” Gwilym interrupted. “Now stand down.”

Frank stepped away from the prince, shooting glances between him and you. Gwilym turned to Ben.

“The slipper please, Ben,” he said. 

“No!” Frank protested, starting toward you, but Rami stopped him.

Ben handed Gwilym the slipped you’d left behind on the staircase. You wiped your cheeks, clearing away the dirt and tears, and held your prince’s gaze. You smiled at him.

“I knew you were the girl from the tavern,” he said gently. “I knew I recognized you.”

“And the cemetery,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I remember.”

“How did someone like you even notice someone like me?” you wondered, amazed. 

“Because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” he told you simply. “Inside and out. And from that moment in the cemetery I saw what you truly are - a princess.”

You flushed, looking bashfully at the ground. 

“I’m not really a -”

“Maybe not by birth,” he said. “But in heart.”

You met his eyes again. Those eyes that from the first time you saw them, told you the kindness of this man’s soul. 

He knelt down onto one knee, holding out the slipper. It made you ache for the lost one Frank smashed, but you were relieved that you had left one behind at the palace. You toed off your boot and raised your leg. Ben stepped closer to help you balance and you shot him a grateful look. Then, you slid your delicate foot into the glass slipper. It fit perfectly. 

Gwilym’s face lit up like a firework. Ben let go of your hand as Gwilym laughed, took you up in his arms and spun you around. You giggled with joy as well. He lowered you gently to the ground.

“Now, will you please tell me your name?” he asked. 

You chuckled. “It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated, and cupped your cheek in his palm. “How beautiful.”

“No!” Frank shouted again, and this time Rami had to grab him to stop him. “No! You cannot take her from me!”

“The girl does not belong to you,” Gwilym said sternly. He turned and faced Frank. “I see very clearly now that you have been mistreating her. She is free to choose whatever she likes.”

“I’m her father!” Frank insisted. 

“Step father,” you said. Then you looked up at Gwilym. “I choose you, my love.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied. “Sir Tarleton, you’ll be taken into custody.”

Frank’s eyes went wide as the guards moved to take him from Rami. They clapped iron rings around his wrists. He seemed too shocked to struggle. 

“Take him to the dungeon to await trial for his crimes,” Gwilym instructed. He faced you again. “And you, my darling, may come with me to the palace.”

“For how long?” you wondered. 

“Forever, if you wish it,” he assured you. 

“I could hardly wish for more,” you said happily. 

He took your hand and helped you onto his horse. Together, you headed for safety, and building a life together. In true love.

***

You and Gwilym married as soon as possible. The whole kingdom was thrilled at the wedding. Frank was tried and convicted for his abuse, but would not serve a life sentence, so instead of prison, he was banished from the kingdom. Even so, early in your marriage to Gwilym, you frequently had nightmares where your stepfather returned. 

Gwilym was as loving and patient a partner as you could hope for. He let you talk through your trauma, and he made sure to never do anything that caused you fear. His support helped you to truly heal. 

Your step sisters had to move from the estate, which was now yours entirely. Eleanor and Miranda were surprisingly happy to take over their father’s first business, the tavern, which they ran successfully with Zelda. They both eventually found merchant husbands and lived peacefully, and you were genuinely happy for them.  

But the greatest joy Gwilym ever gave you was your children. You had two boys and two girls, and they were the light of the whole kingdom’s eye - but especially the king, who lived a long and healthy life with his grandchildren. You had no other description for your life besides happily ever after.

[ahatintimepieces]

what are your favorite ahit aus? you can answer for as many as you'd like idm-

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh so many and im scared ima forget one hmmmm also hope it’s okay i tag everyone im terribly sorry to trouble you incredible people but ur aus are cherished in my heart forever and always

Okay in no particular order and under a readmore because I realize this is going to get long because I refuse to not ramble about why I love them I can’t just make a list like a normal person so HERE WE GOOOOO

- @doodledrawsthings both “Oh The Humanity!” and “““““Coffeeshop au”“““ mean so much to me and I love Snatcher being thrust into a situation where he’s forced to grapple with his past self and then I can’t get enough of Luka and those good old baleful polymorph tropes anD WHAT A DAD THO. Truly a soft au that I am soft for.

- @toxic-lavender gijinka/Dadtcher au and Stitched au and Vamp prince au are all so delightful. Vamp prince has so much thought and attention to detail in the curse and world, and then Stitched au hits me in the gut with feels aND THE GIJINKA/DADTCHER AU I really enjoy seeing more modern takes with these characters and there’s something about Snatcher (cursed and magical as a result) trying to take care of Hat and hold a job while needing to eat souls that is just so engaging narrative-wise.

- @fedoraspooky weresnoodle au. I love it. Very much. Lukas is a sweet bean and Hattie is so clever and strong and I have a weakness for any were-creature story in which the were-creature is constantly anxious about their monstrous form hurting or hindering others and strive to keep everyone else save by secluding themselves only to realize that no matter what at their core, they are good BECAUSE they constantly choose to be kind and that carries over no matter their form. I just <33333333

- @berryfartsart What To Expect When You’re On the Run (single dad Snatcher au) I’ve mentioned it before for EXCELLENT Dadtcher content and cannot recommend it enough for how it seamlessly blends A Hat in Time with a modern twist. The world building is clever and delightful AND Snatcher is incredible as a poor dad trying to take care of Hattie and I love it.

- @doodleimprovement victorian au and Beware the Frozen Heart (frozen au). The Victorian au has SUCH amazing worldbuilding and the magic of the forest and having to give something to it is such a cool idea and i am a humble Jane Austen loving girl at heart so you KNOW im gonna love it. And then Beware the Frozen Heart IS TOO SWEET and the Dadtcher is strong and delightful and I love it dearly. (Also one of the earlier ones I read and thus extra special <3)

- @levshany A Glitch in Time au iS GORGEOUS and incredible and I love Beta kid and Moonjumper and love Levshany’s take on the Horizon and how lovely it looks and getting to see how the beta content is used is incredible and it’s lovely. The art and story are captivating and I can’t say lovely enough when talking about this comic.

- @xxfaylinnxx Time Traveling Hat Kid au is absolutely a delight and warms my heart. The Prince is a sweetheart as an adopted dad and Hat is wonderful and determined and there’s so much hope in this one and I cannot stress enough how warm the story and it’s characters are. And THE ART!!!!!!! is so faithful to the core of A Hat in Time that I instantly smile the moment I see it.

- @cheesytrishy The Owl House au and the Hobo Snatcher au (The link is to probably one of my favorite animations) are really delightful. The Owl House works SO well and how her art and concepts capture the fun of the owl house is just splendid and the Hobo Snatcher au is more fantastic Dad content I LOVE this concept so much.

OKAY IM VERY TIRED SO IMA STOP THERE. There are of course many lovely aus and these artists and more have other incredible stories/ocs/content but I think these cover the aus that really... helped me this year. Not to be cheesy but I mean it when I say I cherish these aus. They got me through some really rough moments and still help me to smile when I’m feeling low. So, thank you! To you lovely creators. AND thank you Anon, for asking!

[jksangelic]

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 ❋

[cno-inbminor]

adsentio - stagnation

a/n: we’re back with prince!akaashi, royalty!au, extra part. i promise i was writing the wedding scene, but then it started storming pretty heavily...and my brain said, “no, Kay. it’s rainy hours. write angst. you know you want to.” and...this happened.

NOTE: for this specific scenario, it’s not 100% necessary to read ‘adsentio’, the main story. however, there are details that reference it and subsequent parts. the basic idea is: you and prince akaashi had been set up to marry since you were children, and while the both of you were against it for a while, feelings changed for the better.

summary: after a few years of being married, you find yourself firmly concluding that indeed, akaashi no longer loves you.  

genre: angst!! with happy ending though. wc: ~2.9k

main story: adsentio (pt. 1) | bonus letters (pt. 1.5) | the masque (pt. 2)

Whenever torrents of rain cascade over the kingdom, down the vine-ridden castle walls and pattering upon the lake, many will pause in their tasks and gaze out the nearest windowpane. Thunder may rumble and lightning may strike, yet everyone registers the same twist in their stomachs. An unease lies beneath their skin; a chill that wickedly summons horripilation. In an effort to battle the shadows, fires begin to roar, one by one through the castle. Aches and pains arise in bodies as the masses wait with bated breath for the rainbow to appear as it always does.

Smoke floats through the chimneys and taints the air, evident by the wisps of gray and onyx. Yet they are unnoticed and in stealth on this dreary night where everyone must succumb to the understanding that there will be no rainbow. The controller of the tides will peak above the midnight clouds and attempt to shine, but never strong enough to guide the nightly travelers.

Even with the tamed inferno in the chambers, a puff of visible air leaves your lips. Your hands clasp tightly together, your fingers intertwining with each other in your lap as you sit in front of your vanity. Raindrops beat against the glass of the balcony doors, glistening in their trail towards the ground. Yet as soon as they fall onto stone, the drop shatters and colors the surface. It paints and paints until the blemishes appear and the imperfections glare towards the skies.

Jewels sit heavy on your figure, your crown resting on a cushion atop your vanity. But in this moment, nothing weighs more than the wedding ring on your left hand. It’s crushing, suffocating; it burns a print and imprisons your appendage, reminding you of unspoken promises ghosted against your ear. The gems hold decades of memories, being passed down from queen to future queen, and you wonder if any of them proceeded with what you plan on doing.

Akaashi had entered the room as smooth as a serpent, silent like a zephyr. Your only warning of his presence is the raised hairs on the back of your neck, your body tensing just as his hands placed themselves on your shoulders from behind. Another breath is drawn from your lungs as he peers into the mirror at you, the faintest expression of happiness drawn from his lips. But it’s lifeless. It’s the one he reserves for meetings and pleasantries, for when he disagrees with his father but has no choice to comply. His eyes are darkened with death and dissatisfaction, and has been for almost two weeks now.

His brows only marginally furrow with concern at your lack of reaction, how you seem to be looking past him. Your own expression comes off as solemn yet nervous, as if you’ve committed a grave sin.

“Is anything wrong, my dear?” He asks gently, watching carefully.

Your lips purse as you turn your head towards the hand on your right shoulder. They no longer provide the warmth and comfort that they did so many years ago, but only serve to freeze your soul and weave together the insecurities that you had painstakingly unraveled. Akaashi continues to gaze at you in silence as you stand from your seat, wordlessly beckoning for him to take your place. With guarded hesitation, he does as you say. Instead of standing behind him as he did you, you instead take the space on his right, facing his side profile. Feeling unnerved, he turns to face you rather than his own reflection.

In times of vulnerability, you have always struggled to find your footing, to feel that you are powerful. You believe there is a strength in possessing self-awareness and having the ability to convey those thoughts to someone who cares and knows. Just because you feel small in the moment does not mean you must be small. You can tower over the other person as you do now, forcing your prince to lift his chin to speak to you.

“You are unhappy,” you whisper ruefully.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he fibs, his eyes wavering as he directs his gaze away from yours. In that brief moment of eye contact, you had seen the show end, but the curtains lifted, the gears turning and unveiling his chaotic despair.

“You cannot lie to me, milord. And only you are incapable of doing so with me.”

He lets out an arduous sigh and slouches his back, a pose of defeat and exhaustion. A dagger twists his heart at the title, but his reticence allows you to continue.

“I can only imagine that there have been many women in my position before, where they must continue to rule with locked lips and the key thrown. There must have been many who were as hopeful as me, and yet as time aged us, we had to turn the other way and simply learn to accustom ourselves to the new surroundings. With how long we have known each other, I know almost everything about you. To most, you may only have a few sitting postures. But to me, you have tens. Each little movement indicates something different, something you happen to be thinking or feeling at that moment. It’s ingrained into my brain by sheer force and repetition, and I’m beginning to wish I was more oblivious. Perhaps, then, I would at least have been a happy fool, content with my misguided beliefs.”

“What are you trying to say?” He enquires as he dares to face you again. With regret, loss, and grief, he watches as your eyes begin to shine with tears and the most bittersweet smile on your face begin to form.

“You no longer love me.

“And I have no objection to that,” you continue, raising a hand to stop any of his interjections. “I should have known that you would eventually tire and wish for what I had voiced all those years ago: some freedom, some choice. As much as you had convinced yourself that marrying me was unequivocally your free will, you no longer believe it. All of your interactions with me scream so, and I have no intentions to attempt to convince you otherwise. Doing so would be hypocritical of me. So for now,” you pause, looking down at your hands while catching your breath.

Akaashi can hear the tremble of your lungs over the crack of thunder and the beating of the heavens. But everything deafens when your right hand hovers over your left ring finger. They hesitate and shake, reaching then reclining, before grasping the ornate band and slowly, lamentably removing it. You then extend a hand to gently grasp one of his, placing the piece of jewelry in his open palm, then curling his fingers closed around it.

“For now, I shall return this to you. You may do as you wish, as I will not stop you. Perhaps…we were not lucky enough for love.”

You sleep with your back to him that night, unwilling to face him when only mere inches exist between you two. You miss how Akaashi turns to face your back, how his arm tentatively reaches to wrap around your waist before pulling back, and can only slip into his dreams when counting the strands of your hair.

-

“The Prince urgently requests that you meet him in the library, Your Highness.”

“Now?”

“Preferably, yes.”

“Very well, I shall be there shortly,” you sigh, your turning away signaling the messenger’s dismissal. Your head bends down to take one last look at the embroidery in your lap, your fingers finishing some last few stitches for an appropriate stopping point. Fingers cautiously smooth the wrinkles of your day dress, and you take one last deep breath.

The journey to the library is painstakingly laborious, as though each step you made had been done with shackles around your ankles. There is a weight to the sound of your heels clicking against the ground. Maids and butlers shuffle past you with heads bowed, though you seem to deep in a trance to observe.

Much of the energy and power that you felt you had exuded those nights ago had soon dissipated from your body. Your body resembles an empty shell, devoid of a plan to stand on your feet and continue with your normal activities. Your left ring finger screams into the numbing void, the missing weight almost bearing its own scarlet letter. You stayed in your room as much as possible, requesting meals to be delivered to the chambers. Akaashi nearly always needed to be away, taking care of kingdom affairs in preparation for his inevitable ascension to the throne. The only times you were ever near him were in the mornings and nights. You understood he was allowing some space for you, yet to request your presence…

Soon, you stand in the doorway of the royal library, the wooden entrance left ajar. The space acts as a safe haven for anyone in the castle; you gently press it open with the pad of your fingers. Hundreds of books on shelves line the walls with a few tables and lounging couches, yet it is eerily empty. Typically, there would be another person climbing one of the ladders to reach a high book, but even those are gathering dust for now.

Akaashi is in the farthest corner by the window, small stacks of bound journals and novels on almost every available space of the surface. He stands tall by the glass, looking out towards the gardens with his hands clasped behind his back. You take this moment of his oblivion to appreciate the back of the man before you, choking back and battling the agonizing twist of your heart. It is a moment you feel that you no longer deserve, but whatever it may be, the matter seems far less urgent than what the butler had told you.

You near him and clear your throat, the noise causing him to spin on his heels. He looks somewhat taken aback, but quickly composes himself as you curtsy. “I am here, Your Highness. I was told you had urgent matters to discuss.”

Akaashi sighs somewhat before sitting in the chair, beckoning you to come closer to the desk. His complexion seems pale and almost gaunt, and in turn, you frown. Was he not sleeping? Or eating? Has his father been putting too much pressure on his shoulders?

“I must confess,” he begins softly and refuses to meet your eyes. “The matter isn’t as urgent as I made it out to be. But I wanted to see you as soon as possible as it is still important and does concern you.”

“Did I…do something wrong?”

“Of course not,” he immediately denies, taking a hasty glance towards you before turning back to the books on the desk. “If anything…I am the one who has wronged you, and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me,” he continues, his voice trailing towards the end of his confession. The desperation for forgiveness and repentance drown his words until they are all you can feel, yet you were so unsure of why he was seeking those. Did he pity you? Your emotions?

“I believe there is no reason to forgive you, as there is nothing you should feel sorry for,” you say stiffly, hands subtly wringing together.

“I must concur,” he kindly retorts. “Here, please have a look at this.”

He hands you a journal from the top of a stack, encouraging for you to take it. The leather feels aged and worn, but it is one you recognize from many, many years ago.

‘You could consider it a memoir.’

“Open it, please. And read what’s inside it.”

With a curious look, you unwind the ties and peel back the cover. The first page holds nothing, but when you turn the yellowing parchment, familiar handwriting greets you. A date sits in the top right corner, marking it a little less than a year before your eighteenth birthday.

‘I must say, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from the princess. In my mind, she would have better things to attend to than to reply to me. After all, we both have our own duties, and in addition to hers, she must be attending some of her father’s meetings. I cannot deny the fact that my heart began to race swiftly when I saw her signature at the bottom of the letter. Even in her writing, I could hear her voice in my head, reading it the same way as if she were speaking to me. How I long for the summer months to quickly come.’

The beginning entry ends there, but as you thumb through the other pages rapidly, they are filled with his writing in neat, onyx ink. You begin to recall the days when you both were here in this very room, him scribbling away as you read your subject of interest. Your eye the other similar-looking journals and he confirms your unspoken questions.

“They’re all about you,” he smiles, though it seems sad and apologetic. “As you can see, I filled quite a few journals over the many years, but…unfortunately, as I grew busier, I was unable to write as much. When you said those words to me that night,” – a grimace on his complexion – “I couldn’t believe myself. Did I truly not love you anymore? At first, I struggled to find an answer…until a few days ago. I have spent much of my time reading through these pages, seeing what I have written.”

“You read…all of these? There must be almost twenty journals here,” you say in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“I couldn’t quite put them down, I must admit. Some of my best work, perhaps.”

He stands from his seat and walks around the desk until he���s in front of you. Those pools of cobalt blue still find it difficult to meet your own eyes – they swim with contemplation and hesitation, but a sheet of determination soon clouds them. After you recognize that, he grasps your left hand with both of his and kneels on one knee, his forehead bowed down onto your knuckles either out of embarrassment or absolute respect.

“Keiji, what are you—”

“I was wrong. I had been so wrapped up in my own affairs that I failed to look after you as I had promised at the altar. I neglected you and unwittingly led you to believe that I no longer loved you. You do not deserve such a foolish man, so ignorant to forget how good you are to me, how there can be no other woman because you are my perfect match. I have been reminded of all the reasons of why I love you, and I swear on my existence that I love you more than I ever have.

Yet the truth is, I shouldn’t need to be reminded. You should never need to question my loyalty to you, and for that…I can only give my deepest apologies,” his voice trails to a volume so soft, yet so shaky with remorse. “The regret that I feel can’t even begin to hold a light to the pain that you must have kept bottled inside you, where you kept the cork in for as long as possible as to not burden me. I have failed you, and I will spend the rest of our days correcting my wrongs. In this very moment,” he pauses, inhaling a deep but quivering breath.

“I desperately and humbly request of you to give me this one last chance, to prove that I can be the man you deserve. I am begging you, my future queen, to forgive me.”

Your breath hitches with the last statement.

A prince never begs.

Yet he was here to lay it all out for you, imploring that you stand by his side, again, in more ways than one.  

“Please rise, Your Highness,” you call out softly, your hand reaching out to try lifting his chin and meet his gaze.

He stubbornly shakes his head. “Not unless you give me your answer.”

“Keiji, you don’t need—”

“Your answer. Please,” he beseeches with the last word, breath held. You know that when Akaashi becomes insistent, he never backs down yet somehow still allowing the other person to have a choice in the say. No thinking needed to be done, as your answer should be quite obvious.

“How could I ever refuse you, Keiji?” You tease softly with a smile.

Since the first moment he had kneeled before you, he looks up to see your face. Unshed tears glisten from the sun’s rays streaming through the glass. Your words are more than enough for him to stand on both feet again, soon wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into your shoulder. These acts of affection are only a small portion of what you had sorely missed, and you were counting on Akaashi to fulfill his vow.

“You are everything to me,” he breathes unsteadily into your neck. “And I will make certain that you never forget this, even after we pass.”

“I can trust you?”

“Yes. I promise.”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Orchestrations

AU-gust Day Twenty-One: Professional Rivals AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: T

Summary: The members of Storybrooke Chamber Orchestra are taking bets on how long it will be before sworn rivals Belle French (flute and piccolo) and Cam Gold (cello first chair) finally admit their feelings towards each other…

Orchestrations

The general membership of Storybrooke Chamber Orchestra were not entirely sure how it was possible to have a rivalry across entirely different sections of the orchestra, and they were impressed that Gold and Belle had managed it. 

Rivalries within instruments weren’t uncommon. There was always someone in the first chair leading the section and there was always someone else who wanted to be in that position instead. 

Rivalries within sections weren’t unheard of, although it was usually a friendly rivalry stemming from the fact that the violins got all the good melodies whilst the cellos were stuck with the harmonies. (Pachelbel’s Canon in D was often brought up as an example whenever these arguments occurred.)

Rivalries between sections themselves… These were not as likely unless rehearsals had gone spectacularly wrong and all the sections were blaming each other for the mistakes. Of course, there was always the casual one-upmanship of strings being better than brass or woodwind being better than strings, but deep, personal rivalries? Definitely not as common. 

Which was why the open professional rivalry between flute player Belle and cello player Gold was so much of a mystery to all of their colleagues. 

Several people wondered if it was not so much a rivalry as personal hostility that had been translated into something more professional for the workplace. 

Trombone first chair Cara Mallory, who had been with the orchestra for longer than most of the other members and who knew Gold very well as a result of their longevity in their current positions, had hit upon another idea. 

“I think they’re flirting.”

Rory looked up from cleaning her flute and raised an eyebrow. The two of them were sitting in the auditorium after rehearsals, watching the interplay on the stage between the two rivals. Well, Mal was watching. Rory had decided, ever since she had joined the orchestra two months ago and been initiated into the strange spectacle that was Belle and Gold, that she wasn’t going to get involved. 

Unfortunately, since it appeared to be the most frequent topic of conversation among the other orchestra members, it was getting increasingly hard to remain detached. She did have to admit that there was something intriguing about the whole affair. 

She looked over at Mal, who was still watching Gold and Belle arguing on the stage. From this distance they couldn’t be heard, but if pushed, Rory would admit that it was entertaining. 

“Are they at it again?” Ursula and Carrie came into the auditorium, taking seats next to Mal. “You know, the next time this happens we really ought to bring popcorn. It’s turning into a wonderful comedy of errors.” Carrie sighed. “Do you think we ought to lock them in a cupboard together to get them to admit their feelings for each other? Then it really would be something out of a film.”

Ursula rolled her eyes. “For at least the fifteenth time, Carrie, no. I’m sure that they’ll come to the realisation that they’re madly in love with each other in their own time. Well, madly in lust at least. The UST is almost palpable.”

“But waiting is so boring!” Carrie groaned as she flopped back in her seat, staring at the ceiling for a while. “I want to start planning their wedding now!”

Mal laughed. “Carrie, don’t you have your own wedding to plan?” Ursula cleared her throat pointedly, and Carrie waved the concerns away.

“Yes, yes, that’s all in hand. That planning is done. Now I need something more! Besides, I don’t think that Belle and Gold would want the kind of nuptials that I’ve been working on for me and Ursula. It would be a challenge to come up with something that suits them both.”

“Anyone would think that you were a professional party planner rather than playing the violin for a living.”

“It always pays to have an extra string to your bow, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“Are they at it again?” This time Mulan had come into the auditorium, sitting down next to Rory. “Can we draw straws as to who yells ��just kiss you morons’ at them?”

“No one will be yelling anything at them!” Ursula was getting increasingly frantic. “We need to leave them alone or we’ll scare them off! Whatever happened to watching things in their natural habitat and not interfering? You lot would make the worst naturalists ever. I said naturalists, Carrie, not naturists.” 

Ursula buried her head in her hands as Carrie continued to snigger. 

On stage, whatever the latest feud between Gold and Belle was had finished and Belle had walked off whilst Gold was fastening his cello case. Presently he looked up and saw the gathered crowd in the auditorium, giving a visible sigh. 

“Mal, you’ve got to stop this,” he called. “And you’ve got to stop encouraging everyone else as well.”

“I’ll stop watching you when you stop being such a wonderful spectator sport.” Mal smiled beatifically and Gold stomped angrily off the stage. Carrie sighed. 

“Well, it looks like the show’s over for today.”

With the entertainment over, people started leaving the auditorium, although Rory stayed where she was, mainly because Mal was giving her a lift home and Mal was showing no inclination to move. A couple of minutes later, the two of them were alone again when Gold came out, leaving his cello on the bottom step and trudging up to meet them.

“One of these days I’m going to get back at you for all this,” he said. “I don’t know how yet, but mark my words, it will happen.”

Mal just patted his shoulder. “I know, Gold. You say that every time we catch you playing slap-slap kiss-kiss with Belle. Although you haven’t quite made it to the kissing part yet. I’m sure you’ll get there soon enough though.”

Gold stared at Mal with a very affronted look on his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mal rolled her eyes. “Come off it, Gold. It’s blindingly obvious that you both have a crush on each other and you’re trying to hide it by bickering all the time instead. Rory will back me up here.”

Rory threw her arms up in defence. “I’m staying out of it.” All the same, she was very intrigued to hear what Gold and Belle’s thoughts on the situation were. She just didn’t want to be the one to initiate that conversation. Mal, apparently, knew no fear and was very content to keep poking her friend.

“Gold, of all the people to pick fights with, why would you choose a flautist? You cannot have a rivalry with an instrument you can’t play that lives on the opposite side of the orchestra to you.”

“It’s not the instrument that’s the problem, it’s the player,” Gold muttered.

“Hmm. And what exactly is the problem with Belle French?” Mal was evidently very amused by the turn that the conversation was taking; Rory could see how hard she was trying not to laugh.

“She’s just so… so…”

“Beautiful? Witty? Not putting up with any of your nonsense? One of the only people able to go toe to toe with you when you get into one of your moods? Although, you know, I think you’d both get on a lot better if you started talking and stopped just needling each other. Face it, you’re perfect for each other.”

“We are not!” Gold spluttered. “Besides, she probably thinks I’m just some curmudgeonly old man with outdated ideas about orchestra composition, I don’t stand a chance.”

“So, you admit that firstly, you’re a curmudgeonly old man, secondly, you care about what Belle thinks of you, and thirdly, you would like to be in with a chance?”

Gold opened his mouth to say something in his defence, but under the force of Mal’s knowing smile, he visibly crumpled. “Ugh. Yes. Fine. I like Belle French, but we got off on the wrong foot on her first day, so I’ve been forced to keep the charade up ever since. There, are you happy now?”

“Perfectly.” Mal reached out and patted his arm. “Just tell her how you feel, Cam. I’m sure that you can get it all worked out.”

“I can’t if she hates me,” Gold pointed out. “The rivalry does go both ways, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I know. Believe me, we all know. We’ve been watching it for months now, and you’re not the only one we’ve been watching. I think you might be pleasantly surprised by how easy it’ll be to get yourselves straight if you actually have a normal conversation for once.”

Gold sighed. “Are you sure? I very much like playing for this orchestra and I don’t want to have to leave in embarrassment because I can’t face the flute section having laid my heart on my sleeve and had it trampled on.”

Mal rolled her yes. “You are the most dramatic person I know; did you know that? And I know Carrie de Ville, so that’s saying something. You’ll be fine. Trust me. Besides, Rory here happens to sit next to Belle in rehearsals so I’m sure that she can sound out her feelings in the same way that we have sounded out yours.”

“Stop bringing me into this!” Rory protested. Although, that said, having heard one half of the story, she was very intrigued to hear Belle’s point of view. Maybe she could get Mulan to help her tomorrow. The idea of locking the two of them in a cupboard together seemed to be looking ever more likely if they were ever going to get to the bottom of this.

X

“Belle.”

“Yes?”

“You and Gold.”

“Yes, what about us?”

“What’s going on there?”

It was the next day and Mulan had readily agreed to help Rory to work out what was going on between Belle and Gold from Belle’s perspective. As aloof as Gold could be at times, he really was a brilliant cellist, and no one actually wanted him to leave the orchestra as a result of romantic humiliation.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing going on there, why would there be, you know we don’t get alone, it’s a professional rivalry, there’s nothing more, it’s just what you see.”

Belle had gone distinctly pink and was avoiding everyone’s eyes as they set up on the woodwind section. Rory saw the moment that her eyes glanced over to Gold in strings and then quickly back to her own instrument on her lap.

“Belle, you can admit that you fancy him,” Mulan said, completely matter of fact. “I think it’s been obvious to everyone for a while now that you keep fighting with each other in an attempt to hide your feelings for each other. Wouldn’t it make life a whole lot easier if everything was out in the open and you didn’t have to keep bickering all the time? You could get onto much nicer things. Like kissing and hand-holding and all the other more licentious aspects of dating. We’d have a true orchestral romance on our hands, like Carrie and Ursula.”

Belle sighed. “Do you really think that would work? I mean, he’s him, and I’m me, and we’ve been on each other’s nerves for so long now that it would look strange for me to now turn around and say that actually, my feelings towards him are very different to the impression he’s been working with for the last few months.”

Rory shook her head. “No, I really think you’ll be fine. Honestly.”

“Honestly?” Belle raised an eyebrow. “Do you have some kind of insider information that I don’t?”

“Well, remember that Gold is good friends with Mal, and Mal is currently my taxi service whilst my bike gets fixed.”

Belle looked from Rory to Mal to Gold in such quick succession that Rory was concerned she’d get whiplash. For a long while, nothing was said, and even when she spoke again, the only word out of her mouth was ‘right’.

At that point, the conductor arrived, and all notions of professional rivalries becoming professional romances were put to the side as rehearsals began.

X

Despite the fact that, for once, there was nothing happening on the stage, there was still an air of anticipation among those who were hanging around in the auditorium, Rory, Mulan and Mal among them.

“I think I ought to start taking bets,” Mal announced presently. “Who thinks that they’ll make a move tonight, and who thinks that they’ll get cold feet and wait a bit longer?”

“Well, whatever happens, we’re hardly going to see it if we’re in here, are we?” Carrie sighed. “Why are we all in here instead of wherever they are?”

Ursula batted her arm. “We’re giving them some peace and quiet in which to make their anguished declarations of love. I think that’s best done without an audience.”

“We had an audience,” Carrie said.

“Yes, but that’s because you never do anything by halves. Although I do have to admit that proposing on the conductor’s rostrum was a nice touch, as embarrassing as it was at the time.”

“Hey, you said yes. It can’t have been that embarrassing.”

“IT’S HAPPENING!”

Jefferson raced into the auditorium, no mean feat whilst dragging a double bass along with him, and he waved the gathered group frantically towards the theatre foyer. “All systems are go, we have lift off, it’s happening!”

Everyone looked at each other for a moment before there was a mass exodus from the auditorium, everyone grabbing their instruments and rushing out into the foyer, where Gold and Belle were locked in a kiss that could under no circumstances be classed as chaste.

Rory was not quite sure who started the cheering, but it was probably Carrie and if not her then Mal. Soon everyone was swept up in it, but despite the racket, Belle and Gold didn’t appear to have noticed.

“Well, it took them long enough,” Mal said. “All in all, I think we orchestrated that quite nicely.”

Rory could only agree

[siren07tucker]

OK more children!

You guys know the deal go to the cool person @petrichormeraki that made the big brother AU

Contents warning amputation (don’t know if I spelled that right? Or if I really need to put a warning for it)

This is Fin The adopt a kid of Sam! They have a Lotta nicknames, but only Tommy can call him Finny and Sam is the only one that can call him kit. Fin  is the same type of hybrid Sam is but unlike Sam fin cannot retract their back legs or extra arms to appear more human.  fin was found when he was five on the same server Djali was found on. Fin still has no clue what a dad is? You lived with his mother before she died which is when he lost his leg, to this day fin will refer to Sam as their mama Sam doesn’t care because that’s what his kit is comfortable with. Doc is fin’s godfather, Ponk is their stepdad, George is fin’s adopted brother, Tommy it’s like Vince younger brother even though he’s older! Fin likes red stone in building out of Blackstone and obsidian but Fin’s favorite thing to do is enchanting which they is a natural at it along with banner making!  like Sam they uses a type of saddle bag to store items but since fin’s back legs are permanent they use more of them. Fin works part time at the prison And has the second highest rank instead of being a normal prison guard Fin is called the overseer their job is confidential. For the longest time no one knew that fin even existed because Sam was worried that People would use his kit as leverage against him so Sam constructed a large room that looked like a flower forest and built a little cottage for Fin to grow up in, The idea was for Fin to learn in a safe area so the fake world had caves and different sections that helped fin learn different skills to survive the actual overworld. (It was never a secret that this was not the real outside) like most creeper hybrids fin has no junk.  fin met people the day Sam was trapped near the egg he Kinda met Captain puffy and Tommy at the entrance of the egg room it was their first time leaving home so they were jumpy but when they explain they were there to save Sam, fin trusted them but they figure it out that then with Sam’s Child when Sam started complaining about moving to a bed and he just wanted to sleep on the floor but fin called him mama as they begged him go to a bed. I just realized that most creeper hybrids that I have made so far are both very tall non-binary and can hit like A freight train but are just heavily traumatized baby! 

[ibijau]

Burn it down AU // on AO3 // extras on AO3

Extra: Nie Huaisang looked at the possibilities before him, and made a different choice

warning for implied suicide

There had been a setback with the corpse-finding spell, Nie Huaisang had written. One that had ruined over a year of hard work and would force him to start everything again from scratch.

The letter had been sent to Lan Xichen, but specified that it was for Lan Wangji's eyes only, that it was the only way he had thought of to write in a way that would not fall into A-Yuan's hands. Lan Xichen had still read it, not noticing in time that it wasn't meant for him, and the contents had alarmed him enough that he had interrupted Lan Wangji's reading of the rules to the junior to share it.

The letter was short, and spoke of little aside from the spell's failure. But the manner was oddly emotional, the calligraphy uncertain, and it contained Nie Huaisang's confession that he simply did not know if he would be strong enough to avenge his brother and protect his family, not with his low cultivation.

“This isn't like him,” Lan Xichen said. “He has never been one to give up.”

“Hm.”

There was at least one thing on which Nie Huaisang had given up, as Lan Xichen would know better than anyone else. It would have been cruel of Lan Wangji to bring that up when his brother was so worried though, and in truth, he was worried as well. Nie Huaisang lacked strength in the traditional sense, but he more than made up for it in sheer obstinacy and dedication. This letter, combined with the state he had been in the last few times that Lan Wangji had seen him, brought a foreboding feeling that something was deeply wrong.

“We will visit him,” Lan Wangji offered, and instantly his brother relaxed.

“Thank you. I would go myself, but... I think A-Yuan and you can bring him more comfort than I would.”

That A-Yuan had a more soothing effect on Nie Huaisang than anyone else certainly was true. As for the rest... Lan Wangji still half resented his brother sometimes for refusing to explain to Nie Huaisang what had happened years before, and he remained convinced that a few words from Lan Xichen would have gone very far in lifting some of the darkness that so often clouded his husband's heart. He had once told himself that it would need to wait until their quest for justice was settled, but seeing how Nie Huaisang kept getting worse and pushed away any attempt to help him... perhaps Lan Wangji would need to meddle with this sooner than planned.

It would all depend on how bad Nie Huaisang would be during this visit.

--

There was an air of agitation around the Unclean Realm when Lan Wangji and A-Yuan arrived there. Of course, Qinghe Nie always tended to lack the calm that characterised Gusu Lan, but instantly Lan Wangji felt this wasn't just the usual difference between the two sects. This was confirmed when Nie Huaisang's first disciple ran to him as soon as he was informed that his sect leader's husband had arrived.

“He's locked himself in his office for two days,” he explained. “He won't say why, just that he is waiting for your visit. He also asked that only his husband should see him at first,” the man added, glancing at A-Yuan. “If Master Lan allow, we can take care of the young master until the matter is settled.”

Lan Wangji's eyes widened at the request. In all their time of engagement and then marriage, Nie Huaisang had never once refused to see A-Yuan. Even when busy, he would at least see the child and explain it to him, because it mattered to him that A-Yuan never felt neglected. This was wrong.

And yet, considering Nie Huaisang's state this past year, it should not have been so surprising.

He allowed A-Yuan to be taken to meet with the Qinghe Nie juniors, and followed the sect's first disciple to Nie Huaisang's office.

“He's been odd for a while,” the man confessed. “But it suddenly got worse recently. We could hardly get him to eat or sleep, and quite frankly, some of us were thinking of writing to you, Master Lan. He's always more reasonable when you're here. But then last month he left for a while and when he came back he was... very odd. He started putting all the sect's affairs in order, made sure the finances were right, that all the bills were paid. We were very worried, but he said you'd be coming to visit soon and he just wanted to make sure he'd have time to play with his son. It sounded like something he would do, right?”

“Hm.”

It was normal for Nie Huaisang to free as much time as he could in preparation for a visit. But Lan Wangji hadn't had time to warn that they were coming, he had left the morning after receiving that unsettling letter. Of course Nie Huaisang was smart enough to have guessed that his husband might be concerned, but there was still something off about the situation.

When they arrived in front of Nie Huaisang's office, his first disciple sighed.

“Two days ago, he just got in there and said he wasn't coming out until you were here. Said it had to be you only, that A-Yuan should not see him. This is really... please, Master Lan, in the name of our entire sect, I beg you to deal with this. It has been hard to see our Sect Leader struggle so much since his brother's passing, we just want him to be better.”

“I will do my best,” Lan Wangji promised, trying to ignore the ever growing uneasiness he felt. Even by Nie Huaisang's standards, even counting his paranoia against his own sect, this behaviour was simply too odd.

The door to Nie Huaisang's office was kept close not by a lock, but by a talisman, the power of which only dissipated when Lan Wangji touched the door. This, too, struck him as unusual. Nie Huaisang was not one to use spiritual techniques when there was another way, and he had little taste for talismans in particular. Still he opened the door and went inside.

“Close it!” came the immediate order.

Lan Wangji obeyed, sliding the door behind him, then turned his attention to his husband. Nie Huaisang was sitting at his desk, a mess of papers before him. It would have felt almost normal, if not for the stunned expression on his face.

“Lan Zhan!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, springing from his seat. “So you really came!”

Lan Wangji froze, and stared at his husband. In five years, Nie Huaisang had never once used his personal name, just as Lan Wangji had never used his. It simply did not feel right, Nie Huaisang had explained once, not when he knew there had only ever been one person before bold enough to use that name.

“You were unwell,” Lan Wangji stated. “We came. Why refuse to see A-Yuan?”

Nie Huaisang flinched, his legs swaying under him and forcing him to sit again.

“So he's here?” he whispered. “A-Yuan is here?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji retorted, wondering if he should call a healer. There was something unspeakably off with Nie Huaisang, from the tone of his voice to his posture. “He missed you. Should I call for him?”

“No! No. Not yet. Lan Zhan, this is... he said I should tell you the truth, that I should trust you. Lan Zhan... Nie-xiong did something very, very stupid. He... he left a letter for me, and one for you. I think... he'll probably explain it better than I could.”

For a moment Lan Wangji's lungs, his very heart perhaps stopped working as his brain tried to reject what he was hearing. His eyes then fell on the letter than Nie Huaisang was holding out for him, his fingers trembling. In an instant Lan Wangji crossed the distance between them and snatched that letter, opening it so fast he nearly ripped it in two.

'Honoured husband,' it said

'I hope you will forgive me for not saying goodbye to you and to A-Yuan, but I knew you would try to stop me if you knew what I had in mind. You are too soft-hearted for your own good, but I hope in time, you will see that this was the best solution to all our problems. You will get the husband you always wanted, while my brother will have the revenge he deserves, now that there is someone capable of truly dealing with what was done to him.'

'My only regrets are the fact that I will not be here to see Jin Guangyao die like the dog he is, and that this might be a little difficult for A-Yuan. It might be best not to tell him the truth. Pretend I had a Qi deviation and it changed me, it will be less hurtful to him. In the end, I know he will recover from this. He is a good, strong boy, and finally he will have both of his fathers again to guide him and help him grow. I know the three of you will be happy together, and at such a small cost.

I hope you will not resent me too much for acting without consulting you.'

'Nie Huaisang'

'PS: I have one more selfish request to make, as if it weren't enough to make you pursue the revenge I cannot obtain on my own. If you can, do not tell your brother what I did. Just like A-Yuan, it would be better if he thought I suffered a strong Qi deviation that left me altered. Let him think that you and I found our own happiness. I never managed to decide if he ever held any affection for me, but I know he would feel guilty if he knew what happened. Keep this secret for me, Wangji. Your brother has lost enough, I do not wish to add to it.'

Lan Wangji dropped the letter and stared at the man wearing Nie Huaisang's face, only to find him looking back with concern.

“I'd have refused if I could have,” the man who wasn't his husband said. “Lan Zhan, I wouldn't have... we weren't so close him and me, but I would never have wanted him dead. But that ritual is very powerful and he says he was running out of options. He says he was worried about being discovered and not being able to protect you and A-Yuan. It's one of his requests to me, to make sure you two are safe. That and murdering Jin Guangyao, but I think he counted it as part of keeping you safe, anyway. He... hey, Lan Zhan, say something? Ahah, you're starting to freak me out a bit here.”

“Wei Ying?”

The man who had stopped being Nie Huaisang grinned uncomfortably but nodded anyway, looking worried.

“Sorry. Your husband was replaced by... me. Listen, the ritual he used forces me to comply to his demands, but once that's done I won't bother you, we can find a way to...”

Rather than to let him finished, Lan Wangji pulled Wei Wuxian from his chair and into his arms, half hoping that the shock of such an unusual behaviour might make Nie Huaisang break into laughter and apologise for the cruel joke.

Instead the body in his arms stiffened, one hand came up to awkwardly pat his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Lan Zhan. I know it can't be what you wanted, being stuck with me.”

It was, in fact, everything that Lan Wangji had wanted. Being married to Wei Wuxian, having a chance to raise A-Yuan together... Nie Huaisang had been right about this.

He had also been wrong: the cost at which this would come was much higher than what Lan Wangji would have been willing to pay, had he been given a choice.

[svt-writers-club]

idk i've i've obsessed with the villain au and... i've been wondering about what happened to villain! jihan

TRIGGER WARNINGS IMMINENT! if you’re triggered by/are not comfortable with blood, violence, gore and overall violent descriptions and imagery, then STOP HERE and move on to something else, thank you! (Feel free to message me if you think there are other trigger warnings I should add to this post)

what do you mean i’m not allowed to pile all the angst on villain au!jihan? where’s that rule book? i don’t see it, i do not know. even if there is a rule book, i simply cannot read.

it’s a halloween miracle! two posts in a day! how long will this craziness go on!

- Jeonghan once saw a future with Jisoo.

He doesn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t tell Jihoon, or Seungkwan, or even Chan. He doesn’t even dare breathe it to Baby, who he knows will never betray him for anything, even if he could speak.

He doesn’t tell anyone, but he still knows.

For a time, he could see a future with Jisoo. He could see them having dinners and anniversaries. Waking up together and falling into the same bed at night. All that domestic shit.

Then Jisoo broke his heart. (And his legs. And left him for dead.)

- Jeonghan isn’t like the other crazies he calls colleagues. There’s nothing wrong with his brain – not like Wonwoo or Jihoon or even Seokmin and Soonyoung. He wasn’t experimented on, wasn’t tortured, wasn’t just born with an unlucky hand. Jeonghan was once normal and he wanted normal things.

Then Orion Pharmaceutical fired him. That was fine, except he’d injected himself with an experimental drug that gave him his abilities. He could talk to plants and he could control them and he was angry. He was so fucking close to what he was working to and they fired him because he wasn’t fast enough. If synthesizing a cure for cancer so damn easy, they should’ve done it themselves!

But of course they wouldn’t. All they cared about was profit and the bottom line. Who cares about the greater good when they could be thinking about their greater wallets.

Jeonghan still grins when he remembers the pictures of the entire board of directors, strung up and hanging off the roof of his company building. It’s crass, compared to the other things he’s capable of, but it’s the one thing he’s proudest of.

- Jisoo came along not long after that. At the time, Jeonghan was still new on the scene and hung around Pleiades and Andromeda for lack of anything else to do. Jisoo had swept in with a cool gaze and sat at Jeonghan’s table while he was nursing a half-empty bottle of beer.

“I’ve seen your work,” Jisoo had said with a polite smile that hid sharp teeth.

Jeonghan had smiled back, unwilling to hide his fangs even if he wasn’t a career villain (yet). “Can’t say I’ve seen yours.”

Jisoo’s smile flattened as his voice sharpened. “Oh,” he said airily, “I’m sure you have.”

- Who hadn’t heard of The Gentleman? He’s a villain pretending to be a hero, excusing bloodshed for justice. As far as anyone can tell, the only real person Jisoo helps is himself. His code of “morals” is about as straight as the Han River.

Still... compared to the other assholes Jeonghan knows, Jisoo is the most normal. He actually has a concept of right and wrong. Sure, it’s twisted as fuck, but it’s still there.

Wonwoo does things however he wants and usually causes as much carnage as he wants. Chan has about six different faces and Jeonghan can’t tell which one he’s talking to until he’s too late. Jihoon is Jeonghan’s best friend, but he cares about doing what’s right about as much as Wonwoo does. Don’t even get him started on Seungcheol.

- It started with small gifts. Rare flowers, a cleared out park just for Jeonghan. Once, Jeonghan got caught by a detective and was handcuffed for two hours before giving them the slip. The next day, Jeonghan found the detective gutted and strung up with his own intestines on City Hall.

Jeonghan doesn’t know when he started finding that romantic. (He knows when; it was when he’d gotten desperate and injected himself with a drug he’d developed after too much Red Bull and too little sleep.)

Then they did the occasional heists together. Not that often – Jisoo is still too droll to work with, what with his morals and his rules – but often enough that they have inside jokes. Jeonghan puts in extra effort into what he wears on those days and Jisoo’s smiles look more genuine.

Then they started fucking.

That’s not a problem. Jeonghan loves fucking. He’d gladly sleep with anyone who gave him the time and date. He knows he’s hot. Of course Jisoo knows he’s hot. He’s a villain, not blind.

The problem is when they meet up outside of heists. Outside of causing trouble just because they can. Jisoo knows where Jeonghan lives and he drops by. Jeonghan slips in and out of Jisoo’s extravagant penthouse like he belongs there.

- Jeonghan thought he was special.

That’s another problem.

He was too used to one side of Jisoo. Too used to having Jisoo alone to himself.

Jeonghan wouldn’t let go of taking down Venus Industries. He couldn’t. He’d found their experiments. He’d known what they were doing to children. (Jeonghan hadn’t been a researcher for years at that point, but he’d held the very, very small hand of a child as they faded, chest rattling, and something in him seethed.) Jisoo couldn’t let go either. He’d found out they were the ones who’d been ferrying all kinds of drugs into the city. Jisoo didn’t care about druggies; he only cared that the druggies didn’t care that they were in Jisoo’s neighbourhood, too out of it to be respectful.

Jeonghan forgot.

He forgot that Jisoo didn’t like “civilian” kills. He didn’t even hesitate; the CEO was dead before he finished his shout, throat pierced through with rose thorns. Jeonghan made sure he died nice and slow (just like the little boy whose hand he held).

If only they’d been alone. Jeonghan had stupidly agreed to join Jisoo’s team because all he could see was the small hand in his and the rattling coughs of a dying child. He hadn’t seen Seokmin or Jihoon crashing into each other as they skidded into the room, didn’t see Soonyoung’s delighted grin or the widening of Seungcheol’s eyes.

All he knows is that one moment he was watching the light in the fat pig’s eyes go out and the next, he was thrown against the wall. There was nothing holding him up.

“What are you doing?” Jeonghan had spat, glaring at Jisoo.

Jisoo’s face was blank. “I told you we only needed to kill the researchers.”

Jeonghan struggled uselessly against Jisoo’s mental bonds. Jisoo had never used his powers on him before. The anger in his chest threatened to sputter out, but Jeonghan stubbornly fed it. He couldn’t let himself feel fear.

“And I told you,” Jeonghan gritted out, “that the problem was the pigs at the top.”

Jisoo’s lips thinned.

Jeonghan had never seen that expression on Jisoo’s face. He’s seen a host of other expressions – happiness, arousal, bliss, contentment – but not this one. Because this expression isn’t meant for Jeonghan.

Disappointment wasn’t meant for Jeonghan.

“You disobeyed me.” There was steel in Jisoo’s voice.

Jeonghan, the fool that he was, quirked an eyebrow. “So what?”

- Jeonghan didn’t feel the pain, at first. He’d been in shock at the nothingness on Jisoo’s voice.

No regret.

No pain.

No emotion.

Jeonghan thinks he didn’t feel his broken legs because he was too busy feeling his broken heart. It had hurt, more than the sharp pain of a broken bone, of seeing jagged white stick out of his flesh and through his jeans.

Nothing will ever hurt more than being thrown in a desert.

Discarded, like trash.

Left behind, like a regret.

- Jihoon came back. He’d come back just before Jeonghan was sure he was dying of blood loss. Jihoon, with his deceptively weak stature, carefully cradling Jeonghan against his chest as he looked for a way to get him to Chan.

Jeonghan was grateful – is still grateful – that Jihoon never said anything about the dirty tear tracks on his cheeks.

He’s still amazed, how quickly the flutterings of love can turn to hate. He sees in his mind’s eye, clear as day, Jisoo’s back as he just left. No I’m sorry, no I’ll come back when you’ve learnt your lesson. He’d just walked away like what they had didn’t mean anything. Like Jeonghan didn’t mean anything.

- These days, Jeonghan would sooner spit on Jisoo’s face than kiss it. He feeds his anger carefully, keeps it roaring so it can never go out. He’ll never let himself be brought down that low by anyone ever again.

He’ll never let Jisoo hurt him like that ever again.

(He still remembers the night before Venus Industries, when Jeonghan had stayed awake as Jisoo slept. He’d brushed Jisoo’s hair out of his face; Jisoo didn’t even stir. They’re both dangerous people, but Jisoo has no problem sleeping soundly with him.

Jeonghan can’t hold back a smile, pressing a kiss to Jisoo’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmurs against the slightly sweaty skin.)

[kittensjonsa]

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU. 

Summary: Flashbacks. A discussion on consent, freedom and independence. Jon finds his heart again -  and the burden of feelings that comes with it. 

Note: Some angst and a backstory.. before the hot smut can begin, of course! Hence, the length of this one. Sorry not sorry. Rated M.

Chapters 1 - 6 

Chapter 7

THREE YEARS EARLIER

“Sansa!”

Sansa wanted to run. Run away from it all. From everyone and especially her mother.

“Honey, please.. just let her be,” Sansa heard her father’s calm voice behind her as she stomped past the hallway and out the door.

Yes, just let me be. Be my own person and away from anything Winterfell or anyone named Stark.

It wasn't so much of the place or the people, it was just the fact of the importance of being a Stark she has had to deal with all her life. Grow up, live and breathe Winterfell. True that she was indeed very much a Northern girl and every bit a Stark but she still had her own character and personality, her own person - didn't that count for anything?

“So, here's our new guy, Jon Snow. Someone you all are familiar with I am sure,” Jeor gave Jon's shoulder a firm squeeze as the introductions made their rounds at the table. Jon smiled and nodded at the elderly gentlemen and a lady seated with them. Jon spoke very little and merely listened throughout the dinner. Jon realised very quickly that it was all business and had little to do with him, managing polite yes-es and a laugh at every dull joke every once in a while. Besides, he was far more concerned about getting his affairs in order and with so many accounts under his name, Jon feared he desperately needed an assistant. My brain can only handle so much, great as it is.

It had only been two weeks since the move into the swanky corner office of Mormont & Sons Publishing and it had been dinner every night as Jeor insisted on making sure Jon and his talent was right smack in the faces of the right people. Small price to pay for being the new hot shot editor in town.

“Hey Ryan, if you have a minute, send me some resumes my way would you? You know, for the opening for the exec assistant? Haven't heard anything from HR.”

Jon was ignored as Ryan, the HR head only continued his conversation on his phone. A token nod greeted Jon as Ryan finally waved a hello to him, patting down a pile of papers in a corner of his desk, his ear still glued to the phone. Jon wasn't sure what that meant but perhaps he was pointing out to the resumes the department had received along with the personal assistant posting. It was obvious Ryan did not really care if he existed or not.

Jon Snow was just another name on the payroll, amongst hundreds of others. Ryan had his work cut out for him indefinitely, though Jon couldn't care less, as long as he got the right person he wanted for the job. Another name on the payroll. Sorry, Ryan. Jon decided to help himself to the pile seeing how busy Ryan was, the active lines on his phone on hold blinking impatiently.

“Oh right, yeah. So, there are already some here you might want to look at. Sandra already found hers and these were the shortlisted ones. They seem promising.”

Sighing, Jon took the messy folder off the desk.

“Right. Of course. I'll look through them then. Thanks.”

No thanks.

Jon was about to say something about scheduling appointments when he saw Ryan going back to ignoring him as soon he got on the phone again.

Looks like I'm on my own. Story of my life, ain't it.

Jon stared tiredly at the piece of paper before him. This was the last resume from the pile of rejects Sandra had left him. The only piece of resume was from, quite possibly the only candidate left worthy of any attention. Jon was exhausted, realising this was tedious work - from the mingling dinners every night to reading manuscripts one after another - he was quite content with an extra pair of hands really. He hardly looked after himself recently. And if he had to eat from another take out box and sleep on the office couch again, he'd quit. So done. There was no way he could do everything himself. Especially the phone calls. Waking up in bed with his phone on his face was something he'd like to avoid as much as possible.

“Sansa Stark, let's see if you're the one,” Jon skimmed through the cover letter.

University of Westeros. Okay good enough.

“Please, please say you can start immediately.”

Jon rubbed his tired eyes as he clicked 'send' and decided he was done for the day. His head was pounding away, drained from all the reading he had done and all he wanted was his bed. He'd check for any emails from a Sansa Stark first thing in the morning. Right now, he needed to sleep and at home, not another night on the couch in his office.

Sansa Stark. God, I need you. Save me.

The blaring alarm had Jon spring out of bed and while he was normally up quite early for his workouts, he was not feeling quite up to it that morning.

Stumbling about, Jon grabbed the first shirt he found his hands on in the closet. It looked decent enough with yesterday's suit jacket over it.

Right, twenty-four hour dry cleaners. That's going on the list.

Twenty four hours never seemed enough ever since he started his new job with the Mormonts. Exhausted was an understatement. Although, now he was a little relieved, looking forward to the next few days when he could sleep a little easier thanks to Sansa Stark. Well, hopefully.

“Mr Snow, your 8.30 is here.” A bored tone greeted him the moment he stepped out into the lobby.

It was too early to choke on his triple shot espresso. "My what?"

“Mr Snow? Hi, I got your email yesterday and I replied, though I wasn't sure if you got it. So... hi, I'm Sansa Stark.”

Oh.

“For the executive assistant post? I figured the HR department knew about our appointment but looks like… nobody's quite in yet.”

A tall, leggy redhead with blazing blue eyes and a smile that lit up the sky.

Ahh...right.. Sansa Stark.

---

Her sultry drawl that lingered on a breathy rasp was his reckoning. Say my name. Again and again. Jon gently brushed away the soft copper locks from the creamy skin of her neck and kissed it. He inhaled deeply, as deep as he could drink her in, hungrily desperate, because this might the first and only time he'd have with her.

Her scent was unmistakable. A heady mix reminiscent of lavender and rose, Jon recalled how it greeted him every morning, almost every day the past three years. He had grown fond of it, comforted by it, knowing that she was a constant at his side. How he looked forward to seeing her leap into his office and greet him with a smile and his favourite coffee. How he noticed the way her lips pursed, poring over pages of manuscripts whilst sat next to him with her long slender legs crossed ever so daintily. Little bits and pieces of her, that if only she knew he'd taken a liking to- Sansa probably wouldn't have despised him so much.

He had chosen this life. He was good at it. There was no compromise on his career because it was the only thing he ever had that was his and his alone. Jon refused for it to be taken away for the sake of a mere whim or an itch to scratch. Years and years of hard work had him where he was right now, and it would have all gone to dust, if he were to ruin everything for the sake of feelings. Feelings he had buried so deep within that are now on the verge of imploding, teetering on losing the one thing he yearned for all his life. Acceptance. And if fate wasn't cheeky enough, it was all Sansa gave him and it was exactly what he needed.

It was fortune that smiled on him, chancing upon a resume his former editors had passed on due to her clear lack of experience. It was his first week at Mormont & Sons and it was clear, with all the new accounts thrown at him, the golden boy of print and press, that he was in dire need of an assistant. As long as they were willing to put in the time and work, Jon wouldn't be picky. Even a naive, inexperienced fresh graduate would do, he told himself that. It was just assistance he needed, nothing more.

Only thing was, he didn't expect a tall beautiful redhead named Sansa Stark to step into his office, all eager and enthusiastic and willing to do whatever it took to be an author of her own right one day. The day Jon couldn't possibly forget. And now, the one person Jon could not lose.

“Sansa…” Jon nibbled at her ears as his hands roamed to parts of her he once longed to touch while his lips quickly found their way lower to her bosom.

Sansa seized a fistful of his curls as his mouth hovered closer to her teats, soft yet hard from arousal. Heaving full mounds of soft flesh so scintillating Jon couldn't help but open his mouth wide and devour them still clothed. She was perfect in every way, just like he had pictured in his mind.

“Oh god… Jon..”

The kiss had gone further than they imagined as Jon and Sansa laid on her bed, a tangled mess of legs and arms caressing every inch of the other. Sansa writhed at every contact his lips made with her skin, with the hem of her dress shifting higher and dangerously above her hips, where his hands and mouth were only a breath away from a place no man had been before.

Sansa groaned at the clothed yet growing hardness stroking against the sides of her thighs as Jon's body moved along with his lips pecking lower and lower below her stomach. Jon had to pause, because if he went on, there would absolutely be no stopping him. He needed to be sure. He needed her to be sure. It was happening indeed, despite his best efforts to control himself.

“Sansa… please.. for the love of God... tell me to stop.. right now.. if you want me to… because I... cannot,” Jon muttered at the end of every kiss as he made his way up to kiss her lips again. Sansa groaned at his touch and responded with a deep kiss, like the one he gave her moments ago. Sansa hissed as Jon's mouth left hers and back to her lower body.

“Jon… don't.. stop.. but.. I have to tell you something,” Sansa answered in between gasps and hisses, her skin burning hot at every lick of Jon's tongue on her belly.

“Tell me… what?” Jon continued in bliss as his mouth found hers again, this time his eyes gazing deeply into hers.

“I…. haven't... done this.. so.. be gentle?” Sansa confessed, blushing as she cupped and kissed his face.

Jon could hear the sound of tyres screeching in brakes in his head. “W-wait… what?”

No... Hold on. Wait.

Jon sat up immediately the moment the reality hit him. He refused to face up to it but he now he had to. It took a moment before Sansa opened her eyes and found Jon sitting at the end of her bed watching her with a frown.

Oh God, what now?

“Jon? What.. why.. what's wrong?”

Jon bit down his lip. Should he ask? Should he say it? Perhaps not. It was an amazing moment they both shared and she gave her consent. True, that was enough, but why did it feel so awfully wrong? Sansa waited but grew impatient. It was a look she had never been acquainted with before and it worried her.

“You mean to tell me.. you haven't done it yet? Shit.. this is not happening.”

What?

Sansa felt the usual annoyance rising in her again and this time it was seething. Suddenly she felt naked and stupid. From a high she didn't want to come down from, it only took minutes to feel like she had been spat out onto the ground.

“What.. why are you being like this, Jon? Why.. why does that matter? I said yes didn't I?” Sansa dared to ask, her eyes filling with tears she didn't expect. Jon only sighed and looked away. Shame. She knew that look well enough.

“Why.. am I not good enough now?”

Jon panicked and hastened to cool the growing tension. “No, that's not what I meant, Sansa. It's just-”

“Just what? How ridiculous it is that I'm here almost topless and you giving me a hickey seconds ago and then.. for posterity's sake, I say I'm a virgin, because you know, I just wanted to let you know since I've never done this before, ever.. and then all of a sudden, you stop and GROW A CONSCIENCE?!”

“No, Sansa that's not what-”

“Then, what the hell do you mean? Because it was was as clear as day when you had your tongue down my throat seconds ago!”

Jon gulped, his eyes slowly meeting hers. “I just.. didn't expect us to-”

“To what? Have sex?” Sansa asked, her voice wavering.

“Sansa, look.. let me just explain, please?” Jon pleaded, lowering his tone and voice, hoping Sansa would do the same. The last thing he wanted was an argument about sex with Sansa under Ned Stark's roof and everyone else hearing them.

“Just say it... I'm not good enough am I? Well, screw you, Jon Snow, you're on your fucking own.”

Sansa wiped away her tears as she hastily put her dress back in order and stood up, wanting to leave. Sansa flinched and almost elbowed him as Jon reached out to console her. He didn't know what to do or say exactly and he did not want to leave nor did he know how. They had come this far and certainly this can't be it. This has gone way, way off course.

“Sansa, please.. listen to me. I.. I don't want to impose anymore than I already have Sansa. Please try to understand that. I can't… lie to your family and then.. take you.. like that... Under these circumstances. This.. just doesn't feel right.. I can't do that to you.”

Sansa blinked as she tried to comprehend what Jon was trying to say.

“Take me? What the hell am I to you? Cattle? So, you're saying if I wasn't untouched and pure like you said, you'd do it? And all of the above?!”

This wasn't going well at all.

“No." Jon paused.

"You're on thin fucking ice, Jon. After all I've done for you.”

Sansa knew the right words to hit right back. Ouch.

“Yes and you deserve better than this! Than all of this right now! You've been.. everything to me since we met. I don't want to ruin this just because I needed dick relief!”

Dick relief. Some editor you are. Jon groaned, exasperated. He was losing, fast.

“How would you know what I want or deserve? Don't I get a say in this? I chose it, yes. I played along with this, yes. Did I want to be intimate with you? Yes! What part of me telling you not to stop meant anything but?”

Sansa sighed and watched the trees sway in the chilly breeze from the balcony. She couldn't face him now. She had become just another conversation, an afterthought.

“It's 2019, you know. My body is mine to give, Jon. It's not for anyone to take. And I wanted to give it to you. It was my choice.”

Ah, fuck. Touché. And I wanted it.

Sansa could hardly believe what was happening. From pure passion one moment, to wiping away tears the next. Of course, it had to be Jon. Sansa had cried tears over the tyranny of the workload he dumped on her, but this.. this was something else.

Sansa turned and sat back down on the bed, seeing Jon seated at the bench, his face in his hands.

“Let me tell you something, mister. Do you know how hard I've worked to find my own two feet? Moving to the city and be a writer some day? All this, without relying on my parents, while being a Stark? Do you know how much I had to give up to get here? I did that on my own, because I chose to. Without any help from my family, knowing how much it hurt them. All my life, I've been told what to do, what to be and how to do it and for the most part, I played along and obliged. But one day I decided, no. I'm going to do my own thing. Myself. And from then on, I decided whatever I choose to do, it would be me who says so."

Sansa sighed, recounting the numerous arguments she had with her mother and the times she's had to skip Skyping her brothers just to prove her point on how well and busy she was doing on her own.

Jon had no idea how it had been for her but he understood what she meant. Sacrifices.

He raised his hands in surrender. It was getting far too deep and deviated away too much from what they had in mind - this wasn't how he wanted the weekend to go. They had one plan and no matter what, they both had to stick to it.

Sansa bit down her lip, struggling not to say too much before it was too late. She had said enough to make her point. Enough of everyone telling her how she should live her life. Enough. Besides, there was nothing to be ashamed about it, Jeyne consoled her once. The whispers behind her back, how she was the ice queen of the North, the ways they all stared at her in university the moment she stepped foot there. Sansa Stark, pride and joy of Winterfell - what shame if she was ruined. Sansa couldn't do that to herself and her parents. Being the eldest daughter of the North's power couple was already hard enough. Sansa assured herself constantly, how there was no one remotely interesting enough to spark any interest anyway. Plus, the Stark name was repellent enough. Everyone knew who her parents were, so nobody dared to try.

“So, all this, fake fiance bullshit? Yeah, I chose it. Me, working for you and staying on despite your royal douche-ness, I chose it. Why is that such a strange concept to you.”

Jon wanted to strangle himself if he could. Or kick himself in the balls, as it would be appropriate. Pretending to be fake-engaged with the threat of five years in prison looming over their heads was one thing, if only he could explain how taking Sansa's untouched body was quite another. And to think he was so close to ruining every single area of Sansa's life just moments ago. He couldn't do it to her.

“Sansa… you don't know.. how much I owe you for this. All of this. And.. man.. the things I want to do to you..” Jon scoffed at the irony of it all.

“Well, now you're just saying that,” Sansa huffed indignantly at the revelation.

Jon reached out to grab her hand but Sansa pulled back.

“No, I'm not this time. Listen, let's just-”

A loud knock jolted both of them back to reality. “Sansy? Can Jon come out and fish with us? Can he? Please?”

Ah, shit. The family.

Jon looked to Sansa for an answer. Clearly they both had forgotten about the day's program.

“Uhh.. yeah. We'll be out in a minute.”

Sansa sat on her bed, watching Jon deliberate his next move.

“Well? Don't make my dad and brothers wait,” Sansa prompted.

Fair enough. “Sansa, please.. can we talk when I get back? I promise I have a point to make. I'm just failing badly at making it right now.”

Sansa couldn't listen to anything, not to a single word he'd say, anyway. Time apart would be good. She needed to think, go over what had just transpired and perhaps how to move on from there. Surely she didn't want to lose her job if Jon went to jail, that was a fact whether she liked or not. Crawling back to Winterfell with her tail between her legs, hearing her mother gloat how she had been right all along, was hard to swallow too. Damn decisions. All after that speech about independence, Sansa Stark. Great.

“I'll be in the treehouse. It's behind the shed. Find me there when you're done.”

Jon nodded and grabbed his coat as he headed out.

All Jon wanted to do was tear his hair out. If only she knew how much I want her right here, right now. But the fishing call was a good save, he'd might have said worse things and dug a deeper hole than he was already in. He would think about what to say and how he'd say it. It was clear that this little adventure to meet the family, to convince some immigration officer and avoid going to prison was turning into something else entirely.

It was a nice but cold day out on a rocky boat that Jon mustered enough will to survive. He didn't like the water and certainly not the icy cold one at Winterfell and he longed to see Sansa again, counting down the hours.

He needed to do right by her, at least in keeping the boundaries, though they were already crossed. But that didn't matter as boundaries were boundaries. He had to do something. If he truly was a cad through and through, he'd have her four ways to Sunday, against the wall in her own room, in her parent's house where she grew up, having her scream his name for her mother and all to hear - and then leave and go back to normal once the visa got approved. But we can't go back to how things were, can we? Not after that kiss.

But he wasn't a cad, safe to say and he was proud of it. He actually cared for Sansa. Infuriating, smart-mouth and gorgeous Sansa Stark. He'd end the whole charade right now, if he had to do the right thing. A small part of him feared that it perhaps was already over.  Whatever it may be, he'd rather go to prison in Dorne than put Sansa through all of that on top of everything he had dragged her into.

I would. She deserves better than this.

“Well, I guess better luck next time eh?” Jon turned to hear Ned's voice call out to him. He was talking about the day's poor catch but to Jon, it meant something else.

If there's a next time, indeed. So help me, God.

[chelsfic]

Trustfall Part 2 - August Walker/Reader - Mission: Impossible Fallout fanfic

Image: Stock image of multiple locks on a door beside an image of Henry Cavill with scruff and mustache and a curly lock of hair falling over his forehead. The Henry pic came up in a Google image search, but I think it should be credited to: @kinghenryviii-i-am

A/N: You’ll notice from some details (references to dollars, stores, elementary school) that this fic is set in the U.S., not in London. I felt it would be more authentic for me to write within my own frame of reference rather than try to manhandle English colloquialisms and such. You can think of it as AU. Or, I can just admit that I’m a bit lazy. Either way I really hope it doesn’t take you out of the plot.

P.S. I’ve never had a plan in my entire life. Somehow, this is the Home Depot episode of Trustfall. Enjoy!

Part One

***

You make up the guest room because that’s what you do when you have a guest. Never mind that the guest is a (former?) terrorist...a double agent and a traitor. Never mind that you don’t strictly want him here and he’s less of a guest and more of a...passive captor. Never mind all that. Making the bed with fresh sheets and putting out clean towels is what you do when you have...a guest.

“So...,” you gesture to the open doorway. The same doorway where you stood frozen, three weeks ago, while he pointed a gun at you. The memory rises like an unwanted specter before your eyes and you need to take a steadying breath before you can go on. “This will be your room. Th-there’s a bathroom attached. The linen closet is just across from you if you need more towels or blankets. I had an extra toothbrush so I put that on the sink for you….a-and the kitchen is downstairs just across from the living room if you g-get hungry…”

You’re rambling and this really is absurd. The bastard may be paying you but there is no reason you have to be nice to him. It’s like your brain is short-circuiting. You hate him for what he did to you and for making you feel scared in your own home. But you’ve never had it in you to seek out conflict when you find it so much simpler to take the high road and be able to live with yourself as a “nice person.” It’s a dysfunction. You should probably see a therapist about it. Or hit him. Maybe you should hit him. 

In an effort to assert yourself you add, “And keep out of my room. And my office downstairs. I’m not agreeing to you having access to every inch of my personal space.” 

The effort is somewhat diminished when you spy the unreadable, hard expression on his face and tack on a “please” to the end of your demand. Damn it.

“Of course,” Walker smiles and how can it be allowed for him to look so boyish and charming? He’s a criminal! “This is still your home, Y/N.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It sure doesn’t feel that way.

***

It’s amazing how quickly you can become accustomed to the most bizarre changes. Before you know it a  week has passed. Walker...August...keeps to himself in his room. He’s gone out a few times, always at odd hours. Sometimes he’s not back yet when you wake up in the morning. But for the most part he’s just...there. All the time.

You’ve spent every night since he came here laying in bed with your hands fisted in the blankets and your eyes locked on your door. His room is just on the other side of your bedroom wall and you can sometimes hear the muffled noises of him moving around at night. So far he’s respected your request that he not invade your space more than necessary but that can’t last, can it? You find yourself mentally reliving those terrible moments. The cold apathy in his eyes as he stood over you. The false concern in his words before he pulled the trigger. Why would he say he was sorry? If he was sorry...if he’d cared he wouldn’t have done what he did.

In the mornings, you feel tired, wrung out. This can’t go on. You’re due back at work on Monday and you can’t teach a class of second graders on no sleep. Friday afternoon you drive to the hardware store and purchase a sliding lock kit for your bedroom door. August is in the kitchen when you get home. He watches you set your bag on the kitchen table and remove the contents. 

You look up at him feeling absurdly guilty. You force yourself to square your jaw and look him in the eyes, “It’s for my bedroom...I can’t...I can’t sleep at night.”

August’s eyes flash with emotion before he carefully schools his features. He’s been trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible. For all he manipulated you into this situation he isn’t a sadist--he doesn’t want you to feel afraid. He just doesn’t know what he can possibly do to reassure you. 

He nods sensibly and comes over to inspect your purchase. It’s a simple sliding lock like the kind you’d see on a public restroom stall. He picks up the package turning it over in his hands. He’s standing right next to you, looming, and you’re aware again of his massive presence. You can feel the heat of his body and you can smell the scent of him. He smells like fresh soap and gun oil. You’re suddenly aware that he’s wearing casual clothes, a t-shirt and jeans and thick, white socks. The outfit makes him seem so normal, so human. Without your permission you feel your body sway toward him like a mosquito flying toward an electrified lamp. Why are you attracted to something that can hurt you?

“Smart,” he remarks, setting down the package, “but this type of lock won’t do much to keep out someone who’s determined.”

“What?” you ask sharply with a look of suspicion. Surely he must realize the lock is meant to keep out *him.* From the apologetic look he flashes you, you can tell that he does know. So why is he telling you this?

“Why don’t we head back to the store and find something more heavy duty?” he suggests.

***

Walking through Home Depot with August Walker at your side pushing a big, orange shopping cart is surreal. There’s no way you can forget who you’re with either because he draws attention. He’s tall, muscled and striking; people’s eyes are drawn to him like magnets. You wonder how he ever got by working under cover. 

He swings down aisle after aisle with a purposeful stride that leaves you nearly tripping over your crutches to keep up. When you reach the aisle with locks, doorknobs and other odds and ends he selects a heavy metal deadbolt from the wall display and tosses it into the cart.

He turns to you, looking doubtful, “Do you have a power drill at home?”

“Err...no,” you reply sheepishly.

He moves on: screws, drill, drill bits, a hole saw. Then he’s leading you to the back of the store and down an aisle lined with different style doors. You hook your hand into the crook of his elbow to slow him down.

“August!” you exclaim, practically out of breath trying to keep up with him. “I don’t need a new door.”

“Yes, you do,” he says simply and turns back to display. He selects a heavy steel door that looks more suitable for a jail cell than your bedroom.

“That’s hideous!” you snort, forgetting your anxiety and nerves.

August huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “It’s secure.”

When the cashier rings everything up the total comes to over six hundred dollars. You widen your eyes and reach into your pocketbook with trepidation. You just don’t have that kind of extra money. August pulls out his wallet and hands over a stack of hundreds without batting an eye. You stare at him in shock and he just shakes his head as if it’s nothing. You are going to have a talk about household expenses. 

***

You watch him hang the new door, greasing the hinges and testing the swing of it opening and closing. You’re perched on the end of your bed and he’s standing in the doorway wearing a tool belt and changing out the bit in his drill to start making the hole for the deadbolt. You let yourself enjoy this bizarre, peaceful moment. Watching him do home repair is so...oddly calming. August could be your handyman or...your husband. 

But...he’s not, you remind yourself. No, this man is the reason you need a steel door installed in your bedroom in the first place. The reason you can’t sleep at night, the reason you have nightmares that cause you to wake up with tears in your eyes and a sob in your throat. You can’t--you cannot forget that. 

August finishes up installing the lock and the doorknobs. He takes his time tightening the final screws and checking that the lock slides effortlessly into position. As he fiddles with these adjustments he watches you from the corner of his eyes. You’re seated on the bed with your good leg tucked underneath you, chin resting on your palm and paying attention to everything he’s doing. Your posture is looser than he’s seen it since his arrival and he feels a rush of warmth in his chest that he can’t identify.

 All he knows is he hates seeing the flash of fear in your eyes every time he catches you unaware. He hates seeing how tired you are in the mornings. And he really, really hates the muffled sounds of sobs that come from your bedroom late at night. He wants you to feel safe again. He knows he robbed you of that feeling. When he came here a week ago it was with the calculating intention of taking advantage of the damage he’d done and forcing you into a position of being at his mercy. But since he’s been living with you and witnessing the consequences of everything he’s done all he feels is an unfamiliar guilt eating away at his stomach and making him feel like worse than vermin. 

He swings the door closed and twists the lock into place with a satisfying click. He turns to you with a smile and a feeling of accomplishment that he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

“There,” he says, twisting the lock again and opening the door so that you don’t feel trapped with him in your bedroom. “Now you’re safe.”

Tag List:

@thorins-queen-of-erebor @viking-raider @onceuponathreetwoone @angelic-kisses13 @afangirldaydreams

[beerecordings]

How do we recognize ableist content like that? I've never been in situations like that, so something that look pretty harmless to me could be in fact quite shitty. I don't want to share stuff like that and be unaware of it, how do I learn?

well thank you for asking!!! but the first thing I’d like to do is make it clear that while I do trust myself to recognize many common ableist errors/choices, I do not pretend to be an authority on this issue any more than anyone else who’s done some research, talked with other people, and worked to recognize things. I need help sometimes too! Also I’d like to reiterate that I am able-bodied and people with disabilities are free to correct me.

The second thing to notice is that SOMETIMES these things are context-dependent. For instance, while I usually gag to see Jameson made into like the son of somebody the same age as him, if you’re actually writing an au where Jameson and maybe another character or two are actually children to another character, that can be pretty cute!!! In that case an adult is not being infantilized and he is not made into a child because of his disability - he’s being made into a child because he’s a literal four-year-old and that’s the premise of the story (and he still can’t talk). Alternatively, maybe Jameson needs extra attention and love and protection from older brothers after a traumatic event - but at some point, that Jameson should begin to regain his independence, should still experience a wide range of emotions, and should not be condescended to about his emotions or ability to function alone. However, please be careful with this… don’t use context to make excuses if you’re actually pulling ableist shit.

I think that list I gave in the post I made is a good (but not comprehensive!) starting point for some of the things to look for that are offensive to people with disabilities (some of these are specific to mutism). Let’s take another deeper look at these points:

Before reblogging something with Jameson in it, for instance, ask yourself - does this infantilize the character?

Is Jameson unable to function alone in society beyond the reasonable limitations we would expect of a person with a disability? Is Jameson babied to a ridiculous degree by the other egos? Does Jameson only experience basic emotions? Does Jameson ever stand up for himself or display “unpleasant” and unromanticized emotions such as anger, desire to isolate, desire for violence, ugly grief and sorrow, etc? Disabled adults are still ADULTS. Don’t treat them like little kids!!! If you want to portray Jameson’s trauma reactions - and you should!! he’s been through a lot!! - make sure this is more complex than just reducing him to a sweet needy baby who needs a hand to hold twenty-four seven. He should have ugly reactions too and be more complex than sad sometimes because he’s disabled and needs more attention. Otherwise you are infantilizing his mutism and romanticizing his trauma.

Does this erase Jameson’s disability completely or partially?

I have had people tell me it’s okay to erase Jameson’s disability because “they just wanted him to have a cute British accent.” I have had people to tell me to “chill out” because it “isn’t a big deal” that people erase his disability. I’ve heard people say “I couldn’t really get into Jameson for some reason, he just wasn’t my favorite character - so I decided to make him my own and give him new powers and let him talk and now I like him a lot!”

FUCK OFF M8

DON’T WRITE HIM IF YOU AREN’T WILLING TO INCORPORATE HIS DISABILITY AND YOU HATE DISABLED CHARACTERS. WHY ARE SOME OF U LIKE THIS. HOW DARE YOU qUITE FRANKLY

DO NOT SUPPORT CONTENT WITH A SPEAKING JAMESON UNLESS ANTI IS ABOUT TO SHOW UP AND CUT THAT BOY’S THROAT OR MAYBE IT’S AN AU WHERE SOMEBODY ELSE HAS THE DISABILITY BUT I’M NOT A HUNDRED PERCENT SURE ABOUT THAT ONE -

When you erase Jameson’s disability, you are telling every disabled person who might come across your writing that there is something wrong with being disabled and that they need to be fixed, as well as warping your own perception of the disabled people you will meet in your life. Do not use magic spells to erase Jameson’s inability to vocalize. Do not just decide you prefer a vocalizing Jamie.

Is this a respectful and accurate representation of a character who cannot vocalize?

If you are not disabled, you probably should not write pieces deeply exploring his relationship with his disability, because you just can’t do it right. I’m tired of seeing people write like ten thousand words of whump about how sad Jamie is about being disabled and how he longs desperately to just be normal like everyone else!! If only he didn’t have to sign!!! And he never seems to make any progress at accepting himself, he never seems to have any righteous anger at the people who treat him like shit, he always seems to let himself be comforted by other people telling him how to perceive himself instead of coming to terms with it with the help of both others and his own internal development. Incorporate his disability, and yes, it’s okay if it upsets him that other people react poorly to his inability to vocalize sometimes, but avoid stories which focus on him dealing with his disability exclusively if you are not disabled. If his disability is the only thing that ever makes him sad or makes him experience a negative emotion, you have fucked up again and you are using his disability for whump points like an asshole instead of seeing him holistically. I get upset sometimes because I see people will get prompts about JJ and it will be like… “job interview!” so they write one where Jameson gets turned down for a job because of a disability or it will be like “mourn!” and it’s about how he mourns his lost voice and “spell!” is about Marvin trying to fix him and just….. I guess it’s okay to write that stuff every now and then, but it’s a BIG RED FLAG if someone takes every single prompt or thought about JJ and makes it about him being sad about his disability.

Is this a respectful and accurate representation of sign language?

Please be aware that Jameson speaks BSL, not ASL! I think most people mess that one up just because they don’t know, not because they’re ableist, so it’s great to spread awareness! If you are writing something about Jamie, though, you really should know. You should also try to learn a little about the way people sign and just do some research! Also, when writing Jameson, be aware of the signing. If he is in another room than Jackie, then remember that Jackie can’t “hear” him. You just forgot he couldn’t talk! Double-check your work or ask someone to beta and this one is avoided easily. Be open to someone pointing out “actually, Jameson couldn’t do that, he was downstairs!” and work to accommodate him.

If I were unable to vocalize, would I be offended by this representation?

Many of us have disabilities of our own. Think about the things that bother you and how they apply to mutism or even other disabilities like Chase’s depression. One thing that always helps me (though I am not in a wheelchair!) is comparing this to people in wheelchairs. Would it be okay for me to write a fic where a person had their legs magically fixed after a lifetime of not being able to walk and then everybody liked them better and they finally found purpose? Would it be okay for me to write ten snippets in a row about how sad they are they can’t walk? Would it be okay for me to just decide they can walk now because I’m annoyed when I have to write in their wheelchair? Is it okay for me to say that they can’t wheel themselves around or that they use magic to move at all times and would not be able to move at all if someone were not pushing them or they lost their magic? Is it okay for everyone to treat the person like a helpless baby because they can’t walk? Honestly, I think we know more than we think if we take a moment to critically examine. Trust your gut.

Does this contain common problems in portrayal of characters with disabilities/mutism such as derision or lamentation towards sign language, making the character defined entirely by their disability (always a cheerful character except when reminded of their disability, for example), having other characters explain things about their disability to them, or treating the character as childish, needy, and unable to function in society because of their disability?

Pretty self-explanatory, but well worth repeating.

Do not show derision towards sign language (though a villain might, if it was clear that they are the villain and doing something wrong!). We have already discussed the complexities of lamentation and I suggest that you avoid that as well, especially if you are going to make his character flat. If you are not disabled, you really can’t portray it well, and it’s ableist to focus so much on the disability that you do not give the character any other complexity. Do not make the disability the “tragic backstory” of the character’s life. Complexity is important because it means you are seeing the person as more than their disability! You should know things about the character other than “they are happy and sweet and sugary and never get angry or make mistakes!! except sometimes… they are sad because they can’t talk uwuw poor baby” you look that shit in the eyes and you tell it to fuck off, you hear me? It’s great to have a sweet, nice, sugary baby brother Jameson as long as he is more complex than that, with real independence and abilities of his own and complex emotions and character! His disability should not be his one weak spot or his tragic backstory or some shit!

ALSO DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT REFER TO JAMESON AS “THE MUTE.”

like dude even “the mute man” is pretty fucking shifty because why do you feel the need to define him by that??? but definitely not “the mute moved down the hallway” i will block you on sight and you will deserve it that is SO offensive would you call a person who can’t walk “the cripple???”

Don’t have a speaking character explain things about disabilities to characters with disabilities. Speaking characters should not be condescending towards the character about much of anything, really, or else you’re infantilizing - if you need someone to explain things, obviously that’s okay, but do it in a way that recognizes that this is a mature and independent adult.

The character with a disability should be able to function in society past the limitations that are to be expected. No, Jameson isn’t going to magically start talking, but if he wants to go on a walk alone, he can. Let him do things like writing or texting. Don’t be afraid to give him a cool job and awesome hobbies. Let him have independence. If you can’t imagine JJ living on his own because he can’t speak, you’re doing it wrong. Look for signs that Jameson is capable of things other than making tea and kissing his brothers good night.

It’s okay to have a Jameson with a slightly childish personality, and I love it when he’s a sweet boy! But there should be more to him than that. I’m just going to say it - you know when Jameson is being treated like a baby. You know the difference between infantilization and a nice friendly man with sweet cute hobbies and interests. You can see it. Trust yourself. Don’t buy it when you see it and if you’re writing him, make sure there is complexity instead of just sugar-sweet with a sugar-sweet filling. He’s an adult. Remember that and remember that it’s harmful to pretend otherwise.

Geez, that was a rant and a half. Again, I am not the perfect authority. But there are some tips.

Does that help at all?

Feel free to add on to that if you have seen specific things in the fandom that I might not have seen or you have a disability and have experience with being discriminated against.