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captainsy-cookiemonster · 4 years ago

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Sugar We’re Going Down

Summary: staying at your boyfriend’s place for the first time, you’re in for more than you bargained for. (yes, this is a reference, and yes, it will show up in the story)

Pairing: Guitarist!Mikey x Reader (2nd person POV) (both are in their early 20’s, ca 20-23)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: +18 minors dni, SMUT!, there is sex, protected sex (wrap it, kids!), yes talking and descriptions of condoms bc i try to keep my stuff as realistic as I can (*cries*), fingering, slight edging, light complaining about parents, teen/ young adult stuff, play-fighting, Mikey being a cheesy little shit, fluff, hickeys, me picking up writing again after major writer’s block should also be a warning in itself

Not your thing? Don’t read! There are warnings. Read them.

A/N: thank you @emyearns for unknowingly inspiring this. You’ve been a great help in the creation of this and I love you for it. I can’t thank you enough, baby💖💖💖. And another big thank you to my amazing beta @fearlessindigo! You’ve been an amazing help💕💕💕. Also, I kinda did a lot of research for this, this is set on April 29th 2005, about 2 weeks after Sugar, We’re Going Down by Fall Out Boy came out (told you I did a lot of research). Also, there’s a floorplan of Mikey’s apartment here. I really put a lot of work into this so please don’t let it flop.

Word count: 5.6k

Disclaimer: I do not own Henry Cavill or his characters! He owns me tho (or they, lol). This is a pure work of fiction! Neither do I own "Sugar We're Going Down", it belongs to Fall Out Boy.

Title: Sugar, We’re Going Down

Enjoy💕Writers live off validation, so if you liked it, please like, comment and reblog💖

April 29th, 2005

Today’s the day. After countless dates at the mall, the local diner, your place (always with your parents downstairs in the living room, much to your annoyance), hell, even the park, today you’d be at his place. Alone. No interruptions. Only the two of you. For the whole weekend. The moment he pulled up to the curb in front of your home, your knees were shaking with excitement. So much that you were a little scared he’d notice. You couldn’t tell why you’re so nervous, and it doesn’t matter really. As soon as you’re in the passenger seat and give him a quick kiss in greeting, along with an awkward hug, (thank you whoever made the front seat of his car so small!) he placed one hand on your knee and the shaking stopped.

“My parents are not that excited. That we’re at your place. Alone,” you snort a minute into the drive, kicking the bag at your feet lightly. Mikey shoots you a quick look before focusing back on the road. “They still think you're a bad influence, ‘a distraction from things that really matter’,” you mock your mom’s complaints, “but they say that about all my friends, really. Ugh,” you end with a frustrated sigh.

Mikey gives your knee a little squeeze. Turning your head, you see him looking at you. His face is flooded by the red-light, a sweet smile on his plump lips. Oh, you could just melt when he looks at you like that!

“You’re grown up, sweetcheeks. You can make your own choices. If they still want to treat you like a kid, it’s their problem,” he tells you, then focuses back on the road when the light turns green.

You nod, more to yourself, and cover his hand on your knee with yours, squeezing lightly. Still you sigh. “Yeah, but-”

“No ‘but’s,” he cuts you off, smirking to himself when his mind wanders miles off this conversation, “Your life, baby. Not theirs.”

Sighing one last time, you relax against the seat, just concentrating on your boyfriend and the way the sunset’s pink-orange glow cascades over his handsome face – somewhere between boyish and mature– ethereal. Your mom calls him a bad influence, a distraction. You call him the reason behind your smile that lasts almost 24/7, your new found source of confidence and your way to sit through even the most boring lecture, because you know he’ll pick you up after it, take you out for dinner at your local diner before making out in his car in parking lot. In short, he’s your happiness.

“What?!” Mikey’s laugh rips you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?” you hum, blinking rapidly. Only then, you notice the car is parked and Mikey’s seat belt is already unbuckled.

“You were staring, baby,” he grins at you.

“No, I wasn’t! I was thinking!” You try to sound upset, but you end up laughing.

“Sure you were,” he winks (terribly) before getting out of the car. You let out a small huff, then smile when he opens the car door for you, takes your hand and helps you out of the car. You laugh at his cheesiness, but even though it’s exaggerated and more or less a joke, you can’t help the heat creeping up your cheeks.

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle as you bend over to retrieve your bag from under your seat, then straighten up again to slam the car door shut.

“Guilty.” Mikey grins, locking the car. He takes your hand and leads you the way up to his apartment.

You must say, you’re feeling a little awkward; in the four months you’ve been dating, this is your first time at his place, and you don’t really know what to expect. Would it be like his car? Small and littered with all kinds of junk, ranging from snack packages to CD collections? Or would it be completely different?

Finally, his front door swings open, revealing a small kitchen. Again, Mikey does a cheesy, exaggerated gesture for you to go in first.

“Mi casa- fuck it, I don’t speak Spanish,” he says, stepping in after you and closing the door.

His apartment is small, the tiny kitchen on the left turns into a small living room at just the turn of your head. It’s simple. One couch, a coffee table and a TV.

“- es su casa,” you finish for him, smiling at your boyfriend, “Babe, it’s lovely. Much more mature than I expected,” you finish with a giggle.

He arches a playful brow at you. “And what’s that supposed to mean, sweetcheeks?”

“Nothing,” you sing-song, rounding your eyes and playing with your hair, innocently.

He lets the playful banter drop, giving you a sweet smile. “C’mon, shoes off, leave them by the door, and gimme your jacket.”

He takes your jacket while you toe off your shoes and drop your bag, watching him, amused as he shuffles around the small space to hang his and your jackets on the rack.

“Would milady like the grand tour?” He grins at you, making you giggle like a little schoolgirl, and you nod. Mikey takes your hand and pulls you to the middle of the room.

“So this,” he points straight ahead, “is the kitchen. And this,” he turns you around, “is the living room. The door next to the couch is the bathroom. And this,” he pulls you after him, opening the last door, “is the bedroom.”

He lets you step into the room first. It’s sparse but cozy; a bed, a dresser and a desk. No decorations either – not that you had expected any – apart from a few movie posters and… a Playboy calendar. You crook a brow at him, but he just shrugs.

“Really?” you laugh.

“It was a gift!” He grins back at you, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why would I buy that? When I already have the hottest girl there is as my girlfriend?”

“You tell me,” you chuckle, but you can’t help the warmth growing in your cheeks.

He only hums before capturing your lips in his, letting them mold together. Your eyes flutter shut as you sling your arms around his neck, pulling him in. Mikey takes that as a sign to go further. He leans in even closer, one hand slipping deeper to squeeze your butt. You gasp, pressing even closer against him. You can feel the smile on his lips before he parts them and licks into your mouth.

Oh, that tongue! Always so eager. Always so damn good. He can send your head spinning with just his tongue against yours; slow, savoring you, leaving you breathless.

And then his hands are on your hips, spinning you around and pressing your back to his front, his plump lips latched onto your neck, searching for the spot that would make you putty in his hands. Panting and whimpering softly, you open your eyes again, curiously scanning the room you’d spend the weekend in. The way he’s mapping out your neck with his lips tells you as much; you’re not leaving that bed for the next two days.

So you trail your eyes along the wall, not memorizing anything, for the most part, not even really seeing, too lost in the sensations Mikey is giving you. That is, until… your eyes land on the banged up electric guitar leaning against the wall.

“You play?!” you gasp, breaking away from him abruptly, stepping closer to the teal colored instrument.

You’re more than giddy when you turn back around to face your boyfriend. You certainly hadn’t expected him to know how to play. Sure, his fingertips are slightly calloused, but that could have whatever reason. And oh, how they feel inside you! What he could do with them. Fuck! You have to bite back a moan at just the thought of the two of you in the backseat of his car, parked at the side of the road in the forest; usually how horror movies start, but oh so fucking hot!

“Yeah, a little,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head.

“Can you play something? For me? Pleaseeee?” you squeal, bouncing on your feet, feeling like a little girl who was just promised some cotton candy. You see him hesitating, and round your eyes innocently. “Please, Mikey?”

“Fine. Don’t laugh,” he huffs finally, trying his best to hide a smile. Little do you know that he’s just as excited as you are to show you his talent.

He takes the guitar from its stand and plugs the amp in, turning it on. An electric buzz fills the air, heightening your anticipation as Mike sits down on the edge of the bed, while you drop down on the carpet, sitting criss cross applesauce in front of him, staring up at him in awe before he even starts playing.

Your jaw drops once he does. Fingers flying over the tabs while he strums the chords, all you can do is gape at him. You’re amazed; at a total loss for words. So much so, that it takes you a good moment to recognize which song he’s playing. Once the familiar tune registers in your mind, you feel as if you could squeal. But you decide to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt him. Oh god, you don’t want him to stop. Please, you beg him in your mind, please keep playing.

Shifting your gaze from Mikey’s hands to his face, you notice his concentrated expression, broken only by the soft movement of his lips. Those soft, plump lips. Is he-? He’s mouthing along to the song, too shy to sing the lyrics in front of you. But you… you could sing, but don’t. He’d stop playing, for sure. And you don’t want that. You want him to keep going. So you try your best to keep quiet.

But once he gets to the chorus, the words just burst out of you.

“We’re going down, down, in an earlier round. And sugar we’re going down swinging!” you sing at the top of your lungs, like you had for the past two weeks, whenever the song played on the radio. You love those car rides with him, aimlessly driving around, listening to the radio, singing along – well, you do – until you find a secluded spot to make out, and maybe a little more. “I’ll be your number one with a bullet. A loaded god-complex, cock it and pull it!”

A little startled by your outburst, Mikey sets the guitar down, making your smile drop a tiny bit. You wish he’d keep going.

“You know how to play that?! Baby, that was… Fuck! That was amazing! And how did you learn that?! It came out like two weeks ago!” you ramble excitedly, watching him put the guitar away and turn off the amp.

“Well… you seem to like the song… so I learned it,” Mikey explains almost shyly, “For you.”

Finally allowing the squeal to escape your throat, you tackle him to the bed, kissing all over his laughing face.

“Baby, thank you so much! I love you!” you squeak out between kisses, “You’re the best!”

“Hey, hey. Tone it down a little,” Mikey chuckles in return, shuffling more onto the bed. You both know where this is headed.

He awkwardly scoots up the bed, with you on top of him, stopping when his head hits the pillow. You sit up a little, straddling him, your hands firmly planted at the sides of his head, looking down at him. And oh, he’s a sight! Dark curls splayed out on the pillow below him, soft lips slightly parted and those beautiful blue eyes gleaming with admiration as he stares back at you. Stunning. You can feel him too, growing harder beneath you. Rolling your hips against him, you give him a mischievous smile, widening when he groans softly.

“Still want me to tone it down?” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him once again, on his lips now. He returns the kiss, eager as always, nibbling softly at your bottom lip, begging for entrance. And who are you to deny him? With the sweep of his tongue in your mouth, he steals your breath and replaces it with him. You don’t need to breathe; you need him, more of him! It makes your head spin. And suddenly it’s the room that’s spinning.

No, it’s not. Not really. But you find yourself lying on your back, pinned underneath the tall frame of your boyfriend, one forearm supporting his weight, the other hand on the side of your neck, holding you, pulling you in deeper, needing to be so close.

“Fuck no!” he pants once he breaks away, answering the question you asked what feels like ages ago– still want me to tone it down?. And with that, he lets his hands wander, watching your expressions change. Your lazy, dazed smile is replaced by a gasp when he squeezes your breasts roughly through your sweater. He keeps kneading them, and fuck does he know what he’s doing! You could melt into a puddle underneath him then and there.

His hands wander lower, along your ribcage, and even though there is still a layer of clothing separating you, goosebumps spread all over your skin and you shiver. And then he reaches your hips. And a little lower, the top of your thighs. He squeezes them lightly, making you buck your hips. Just a bit. But enough to free the hem of your sweater, inviting his ever-searching hands to slide underneath.

Your breathing gets heavier. The calloused tips of his fingers inching up your skin leaving you breathless. And now you know why. Now you know why his fingers feel like that. A little rough. And fuck, that’s so hot! Once again, he grabs your tits, holding them firmly, making you whimper quietly. He stares down to where his hands are underneath the thick fabric, a hungry look on his face. He wants to see you.

It happens quickly. He pulls you up, one hand behind your back, supporting you, while the other nearly tears the sweater off you, tossing it to the ground. You lift your arms to help him, but barely register your own movement. When he lowers you back down, it’s with his lips smashed on yours, tongues dancing.

Too soon, he breaks away to let both of you breathe, just to steal the breath from you again with his lips on your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin with vampiric hunger. He’s determined to leave his marks on you, to show your parents you’re not their little girl anymore. They call him a bad influence? He’s gonna show them. Show them he takes good care of their girl. His girl.

“N-no,” you mewl halfheartedly, “They’ll see.”

“And should you give a shit? No.” he gives you a shit-eating grin. You just look back at him, mortified. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to go lower,” he ends with a smirk.

Oh no.

Carefully, he pulls the straps of your bra down your shoulders, exposing just enough of your breasts to him.

“Here they won’t see,” he says matter-of-factly, already slightly muffled by your skin. And fuck! He really knows what he’s doing. Alternating between soft and harder nibbles, sucking on your skin before soothing the pleasant sting with a soft kiss or lick, he leaves you a mess already, bucking your hips against his to gain some friction. You need him. And you need him now.

He gets the message. Of course he does. But even if he didn’t, the way you whined his name didn’t leave any open-ended questions. Almost pouting, he ditches your tits for your stomach, leaving little bites here and there, but now he’s got a goal: the sweet treasure between your legs.

Oh, if only he knew you’ve been soaked the moment he picked up his guitar!

After what feels like an eternity later, he finally reaches the waistband of your leggings, dipping his fingers beneath it, but not pulling down just yet. He stares up at you, writhing on his sheets, gripping onto his pillows with your eyes closed. He’d be lying if he says he doesn’t feel just the slightest bit of possessive pride. Okay, maybe even more than just a bit. His girl in his bed. Oh fuck yes!

When you sit up to see what he’s doing, you’re met with an almost love-drunk face smiling at you. He’s too adorable sometimes! Returning his smile with a huge one of your own, you lean down to first give the tip of his nose a little peck and then his lips. Breaking away, you take hold of the hem of his t-shirt at the back of his neck.

“We won’t need that, will we?” you purr, laughing when he hurries to fling it somewhere into his room.

“Those neither,” he grins, hooking his fingers back under the waistband of your leggings, this time pulling them down. You let yourself fall back against the pillows and lift your hips up, helping him pull the pants off you. Only to notice he’s pulling off your panties as well.

“You’re getting right to it, huh?” You crook your brow, but grin at him.

Mikey… oh dear god, what is he doing?... fishes your panties from your leggings, showing off the quite big, soaked patch. “Well… apparently you don’t seem to mind, do you?”

“Not really, no,” you beam, sitting up once again, to get him out of his pants. After fumbling with the button for a moment, you’re finally able to pull them down… well as far as you can with him kneeling between your legs. A little helpless, you look up at him when you can’t get his jeans lower than mid-thigh. Giving you a quick peck to the lips, Mikey gets off the bed. Before he can push his pants all the way down, your hands are on them, sliding them down just as teasingly slow as he had done with yours. He steps out of them and climbs back onto the bed, on top of you.

“Aren’t you going to take these off?” you ask, playing with the hem of his boxers between your fingers, letting your hand glide lower, stroking him through the fabric. He’s so warm in your hands, so ready. But Mikey has other plans.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. You’re wondering what he’s up to, but then you feel it. Those lightly roughened fingertips sliding down from your neck, down the valley of your breasts – not without giving one a generous squeeze – and down your stomach all the way down to your soft mound. You’re shivering in anticipation, goosebumps covering your skin.

“You sure? Doesn’t it hurt by no-? Mhhh.”Once again he cuts you off with his lips on yours. His mouth muffles the gasp that leaves your lungs when he lets his fingers wander lower.

“Oh you’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, spreading your petals with two fingers, diving them into your silky warmth, “But I can get you even wetter.”

He takes you by surprise, crooking his fingers, finding that one special spot in a matter of seconds. You’re mewling, bucking your hips up against him, electric currents running up your spine.

“That’s it baby, ride my fingers,” Mikey whispers into your ear before kissing a trail down your neck. Soft kisses. A harsh contrast to his fingers inside you, stroking all the spots that make you see stars, playing you just like the guitar before. And just like the instrument, he has you singing sweet melodies.

Soon enough, he has you writhing underneath him, close to the edge of pure bliss. The fire in your core is burning, begging to erupt. But Mikey won’t let that happen, yet. Asshole.

He pulls his fingers from your clenching little hole, begging to be filled again. Bringing his fingers up to his face, he inspects them, while you’re glaring up at him. You were so close, and he just- Ugh!

“Ah yes,” he grins proudly, “Knew I could get you wetter.” He makes a show of licking your juices off his fingers. “Mhh, and you taste good.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groan. You need him. You need him now. He left you hanging at the edge and with every passing second, you can feel your high slipping away. But you always knew sweet, cocky Mikey was a tease.

“Oh sweetcheeks, I’m going to.” He grins before kissing you deeply, making you taste yourself on his tongue. You melt into the kiss, even moan into his mouth, only to pull back.

“You got protection, right?” you ask, seriously, your hands on his chest, pushing him away so you can really look him in the eye. Mikey might have been your first, but you sure as hell weren't his. You don’t want to assume anything, hell no, but you also don’t want to risk catching anything; not an STD and definitely no pregnancy.

“Yeah,” he grins proudly, “bought on the way home from our first date.”

“You’re horrible,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Well, you said you love me, so…” he shrugs and gets off the bed, walking over to his desk. You watch him opening a drawer and taking out a little foil package. With his eyes fixed on your shaking, nearly trembling body, he slowly saunters over back to the bed, waving the little package through the air.

Oh, that cocky grin. Ugh.

“You know… if you don’t hurry, I could finish myself off in less than a minute…” you threaten playfully, growing frustrated with his behavior. It’s hot, but… He teased you way too much before for you not to get impatient now.

“You wouldn’t,” Mikey almost growls as he crawls back on the bed, between your legs, caging you in.

“I might. Wanna risk it? Really?” you purr.

He dips his head down, your noses almost touching. “You wouldn’t,” he whispers again, before smashing his lips onto yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing back eagerly, pulling him in closer. Ever closer. And then… you stop.

He looks down at you, confused and maybe slightly alarmed, when you push him back a little, but that look quickly fades when you reach one hand behind your back.

“We should probably…” you pant lightly, unclasping your bra. You’ve rarely seen Mikey move that quickly. In nearly the blink of an eye – well, maybe a little longer – he pulls down his boxers and tears open the condom package. You watch as he pumps himself a few times, before rolling the silicone down his shaft.

“Ready, baby?” he grins, leaning down over you, one arm bracing his weight next to your head, while he uses the other to guide himself to your folds.

You gasp when you feel the head of his cock swipe through your petals, all the way up to your clit. It makes you buck your hips and glare at him. You’ve had enough of his teasing. Still, he does it again, with just a little more pressure this time, opening you up further for him. And then, with the third stroke, finally he positions himself and gives you a look to check in with you again. You nod.

That’s all he needs to finally push in. He enters you slowly, making you feel every inch, every vein and ridge. The stretch still stings. It would take you some more time to get used to him. But oh fuck does he feel good!

Your drawn out moan turns into a small whine when he bottoms out. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust to him.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispers between the soft kisses he dusts all over your face. Once he has covered every inch of your face, he leans his forehead against yours, breathing with you to help you relax. You put your hands on his cheeks, smiling to yourself.

How did you get so lucky? Who would have thought the tall handsome dork with the fuckboy reputation would be the sweetest, most caring and attentive boyfriend ever? Sure, he still mostly has boobs on his brain, but besides that… it's only you.

“You can move now, baby. I’m ok,” you murmur after a good minute, slipping your hands from his face to his shoulders, clinging to him.

He starts. Slow, deep. Just grinding his hips into yours, watching every little twist of your face. He pulls out, to push right back in. Not fast. Not hard. But enough to pull a sweet gasp from your lips. So he does it again. Another gasp. A little harder. You dig your nails into his shoulders. It’s beginning to feel addictive. The even withdrawal and surge, like the tide. Both of you moving in sync. Pulling back, meeting in the middle, pulling back, meeting again. It’s indescribable. A dance of bodies and souls.

You’re both sweaty. Hair sticking onto each of your foreheads. You can’t tell how long you’ve been doing this. And you don’t care. This feels eternal.

Soon enough, he has you moaning. Incoherent words among profanities and his name, nickname and whatnot. You are reduced to a babbling mess. The pressure in your guts begins to grow and you find yourself bucking your hips more rapidly.

“More,” you gasp out between heavy breaths, “Please, baby. Harder.”

Mikey doesn’t need to think twice. He’s been waiting for this. For you to tell him what you want. He shifts, planting one hand firmly into the mattress next to your ribs, the other holding your hip. You’re gonna take him now. He’s gonna give you what you asked for, and you’re gonna take it.

With hooded eyes, you watch him, how he moves. Gradually speeding up, you feel him in your soul, you can hear the bed creaking quietly with every of his thrusts.

“Oh, baby,” you moan, still holding onto him, your nails digging into his flesh. He winces, slightly, and picks up his speed even more. “Fuck! Yes!”

You’re answered with a grunt as he focuses on keeping up the pace. The flame in your belly licks up your spine, igniting your whole being. You pull him down to you a little, and crane your neck to meet his lips in an urgent kiss.

Mikey drops to his forearm, sneaking his hand up until it holds your head in a gentle grasp. Doing the same, you pull him closer by the back of his neck.

What he built up in speed is lost again, but he is still thrusting hard, passionate, pulling gasp after whimper after gasp from your lips, swallowing them and replacing them with his own moans.

It’s perfect.

“Baby, you’re being such a good girl,” he groans, “You feel so fucking good. So good, baby.”

You want to answer that oh fuck you feel the same about him! But all you can do is gasp once more. With feather light touches, he slides his hand from your hip to where you two are connected, a little higher up, softly touching your – ooohhhh – your clit. You buck your hips up, only for him to gently push down on your mound, wordlessly telling you to stay still. And you do. You relax back against the bed, letting Mikey do whatever he wants to you. He owns you. You’re his.

So you let him do what he does, your moans getting higher in pitch with every push of his hips, perfectly timed with each stroke on your clit. By now, the pressure in your gut is nearly unbearable. You can’t take it much longer. As good as this feels, as long as you want it to last, you’re close. So so very close.

“Mikey-” you want to tell him, but he interrupts you, cutting you off with a deep kiss.

“I know, baby. Do it.” He starts rubbing your clit faster. “Do it, baby. Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

The hot coil in your gut twists tighter and tighter, your muscles growing stiff as you cling onto Mikey for dear life, nails biting into his skin, but that only seems to spur him on. Moans rising higher in pitch and volume, you’re seconds away from bliss.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me, good girl,” you hear Mikey’s words through the veil of euphoria, the last push, sending you over the edge.

“Baby, ah-!” you mewl when the sweet rapture takes you. Your vision goes white from the intensity of your high. You’re flying, floating, warm all over. It’s amazing. The best feeling. You never want to feel anything else.

Slowly, this feeling begins to fade. You open your eyes to see Mikey watching you, the way your face changes with your high. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He had slowed down his pace during your fall. He knows you’d be sensitive. While you’re lying here, underneath him, he waits for you to catch your breath to give him your okay, to now chase his own high.

Panting, you nod up at him, and that’s all it takes, kissing you, so sweet and so deep, he drives into you, harder and faster. Just a few thrusts until his movements start to falter. You pull back carefully, gently guiding his head next to yours, so he could focus entirely on his own rapture. Almost absentmindedly, you let your fingertips circle on the back of his head, softly, like petting a puppy.

“That’s it,” you coo into his ear, placing a soft kiss just below it, “That’s it. Cum for me,” you repeat what he said to you, “Cum for me, my good boy. That’s i- Oh!”

Encouraged by your words, he pushed in as deep into you as he could, hips stuttering, sweet, whiney little whimpers escaping from his lips, muffled slightly by the skin of your neck. You can feel his breath, hot and rapid against your skin, little whimpers still coming from him. He drops his weight on you, his arms snaking around you, holding you close to him.

“Baby,” he mutters against your collar bone, “that was amazing.”

“Hmm,” you hum, still dazed and blissed out.

A minute passes where you’re just basking in the last remnants of your high and the warmth and presence of each other, before you perk up.

“Mikey?” you whisper only to be answered with a sleepy hum. “Baby, the condom. You need to…”

You don’t have to finish the sentence. He lifts himself up, one hand securely on the silicone as he slowly pulls out. You both wince slightly at the loss of contact. It feels so good to be connected like that. Nevertheless, you can’t stay like that forever, even though you wish you could.

Mikey gets off the bed and sits at the edge, carefully slipping off the condom and tying it. When he starts towards the door, you’re hot on his heels.

“I need to pee,” you explain. Oh, that boy seems to know a lot about girls, but not everything… judging by the surprised look he gives you.

Together you make your way over to the bathroom. While you… do your business, Mikey throws away the condom, standing in the doorway a little awkwardly, wanting to let you have your privacy, but needing to be close to you.

“So,” he drags out the word, “What do you want to do now? We could cuddle?” he comes back into the room, hugging you around the waist while you wash your hands. “We could cook, or we could order something?”

“Hm,” you hum thinking, stepping away from the sink, so he can wash his hands.

“Can we order something? I’m too lazy to cook now,” you chuckle, watching him as he dries off his hands.

“Sure.”

Both of you go back to the bedroom, putting on some clothes. You settle for Mikey’s t-shirt and a fresh pair of panties. Oh the look he gives you. It has the heat creeping up your cheeks again.

Mikey calls to make the order while you lay the table. Then you two settle down on the couch, cuddling and watching TV while you wait. When the food comes, you eat, talking and joking around. It feels right. Just you and him, in this tiny apartment. Together.

Once you’re done, you go straight to bed. Mikey has you climb in first. So you wouldn’t fall out of bed in the middle of the night, he claims. So you lie there and wait for him to join you, the exhaustion of your… activities catching up with you. You close your eyes, ready to doze off, when you feel a weight on your chest, an arm draped over your stomach. You take his hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, while your other hand gently rests on his head, fingers tangling in his beautiful curls, you softly scratch his scalp. Mikey sighs quietly, and you smile to yourself.

“Aww, sweet puppy,” you coo, playing with his curls as his head rests on your chest. “Good night.”

“Good night, baby,” he whispers, tightening his arm around your waist, needing you to be closer, “Love you.”

“Love you too, little puppy.”

~ THE END~

#mike (hellraiser)#Mike (hellraiser) fanfic #Mike (hellraiser) smut #Mikey fanfic #Mikey smut #Mikey x reader #henry cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #Henry Cavill

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cherubchoirs · 2 years ago

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What are Cyrus’ hobbies?

aaaa i've been thinking about this lately!! first, the freebies: i think that canon (or at least official sources) point to him liking reading and electronics. if the books in his grandfather's house were his (and given their subject matter, they likely were), it seems he read a lot as a kid and i like to think he'd still find it enjoyable as an adult. however, rather than fiction, he leans much more into informational reading and he collects DOZENS of books on whatever topics he's interested in to research them as deeply as possible. he hates feeling his knowledge of any topic he's fascinated in is incomplete, so the more books he can get explaining every minutiae of a subject, the better. as for electronics, cyrus has an obvious interest in technology and it's been shown pretty clearly in sources like pokemas where he discusses his love of machines and seems to get along with sophocles as an inventor. i imagine he makes all sorts of things from scratch based on his own designs, as well as taking things apart regularly to see how they work and fixing up broken pieces he might come across. additionally, it's very likely he had a rotom for a partner pokemon, so i like to think he made several devices that only work fully when inhabited by one. however, it's something he's sort of fallen off of by the events of the game due to the (apparently) traumatic loss of his rotom...although tbf, i imagine he's too consumed by his goals (and his depression) to do really any of the hobbies he used to enjoy. now...for something tangential to canon, he deeply loves astronomy and outer space. he's an avid stargazer and will absolutely travel for prime viewing conditions if there's an event, plus he just finds a lot of comfort in how solitary the hobby is. it's late, it's quiet and dark...he can just look out onto the universe itself without another living thing to interrupt him, so it's very meditative and one of the few things that still inspire any sense of wonder in him. and finally for my own thoughts, model kits and video games 100% he absolutely seems like someone that would take pleasure in focusing on an intricate model kit, building it to perfection with a lot of care and (too much) attention to detail. i just feel he loves delicate work and slow-paced projects that require steady hands, so complicated kits give him that ability to be totally absorbed into something to the point of filtering out his thoughts as well allowing him to explore some creativity (which i do think he has!!) and for games, he leans a lot more into sandbox, exploratory, and building games rather than anything that involves too much fighting or more traditional mechanics. of course i. i really think of something like no man's sky, which is very a much open to how someone plays (and it's a whole galaxy!!! man!!!), but anything that's heavily focused on crafting and creating is what he sinks his time into (can u IMAGINE his animal crossing island.....) i'm so sorry for rambling this much but BOY...i love him

#there's some other things too....#like he's one of those ppl that solves complicated math problems #and invents his own formulas for different problems #he also definitely enjoys robotics and programming #BUT space is truly his greatest love...his special interest....#cake answers #cyrus #long post

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fairyoftbz · 4 years ago

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Bord de mer | k. younghoon

🧇 pairing: bf!younghoon x fem!reader 🧇 word count: 1.8k 🧇 genre: pure fluff, established relationship 🧇 tw: none 🧇 synopsis: after an intense day of working and studying, you decided to spend the evening out with your boyfriend. 🧇 requested: yes! thank u! 🧇 a/n: i’m a big softie for this man, i love him so much 🥺

╰☆☆☆☆╮

"Finally," you whispered, taking off your headphones after listening to a required documentary for your master's degree, stretching the muscles in your neck as you raise your arms above your head. Drinking the remaining of your glass of water down in one, you sighed and rose from your chair, massaging your temples with your fingertips. Usually, you didn't mind sitting at your computer watching a series or entertaining yourself all day but listening to a record on a boring topic was extremely tiring.

Opening your office door, you closed your eyes and smiled at the good smell that invaded the apartment. You were happy to know your boyfriend was home, feeling even happier when you didn't have to cook.

Younghoon was quietly bustling about behind the hotplates, a kitchen cloth resting on his shoulder. He was still in his outfit from work, his white shirt nicely tucked into his office pants. You walked up to him, stroking his shoulder blades in a gentle, slow motion, your boyfriend turning towards you with a smile. He kissed your forehead as he maintained to keep an eye on the food that was cooking in the pan, a fond smile on his lips.

"Good evening, baby," you said in a soft voice, kissing his cheek. "Honey, you've finally come out of your cave," he joked, and you let out a chuckle, guiltily biting your bottom lip. "I'm sorry, I had a lot to do, and I didn't see the time going by," you confessed and Younghoon shook his head, putting an arm around your waist to pull you to him. "I was kidding, Y/N, I know you are very busy. Is your project progressing well?" "I sent the third corrected draft to my professor assistant, I have a meeting with him sometime next week," your boyfriend listened and nodded at your words before bringing the wooden spatula to your lips after blowing on it. You opened your mouth and tasted if it was cooked, and you smiled at your boyfriend, approving while chewing on the food.

Younghoon handed you the cutlery and glasses that were in a cupboard out of your reach, and he pulled out two plates to set up the succulent dish he had prepared. You were about to get up to help him, but he was faster than you, setting two plates on the table, a bottle of homemade lemonade tucked under his arm. A succulent scent ran through your nostrils and you sit down in your chair, eager to taste what he had prepared for you.

"There you go, my dear," he smiled at you, placing your plate in front of you.

You thanked him by circling your arms around his neck, prompting him to lower himself so that you could kiss him on the cheek. He smiled at your gesture, quickly pressing his lips to yours before settling down in front of you. Planting his fork on his plate, he watched you out of the corner of his eye, chewing your eyes closed as you savoured the moment, your taste buds kicking in as multiple flavours entered your mouth.

"This is super good, Hoonie," you said as you grabbed his hand, "you did the job of a chef." He beamed at your compliment, taking a bite of meat. "Thank you, darling," he winked at you and you smiled back at him, reaching out to hold your hand. "My little researcher deserves a good meal after all her efforts," you chuckled at the nickname and continued to chew on your bite, losing yourself in your boyfriend's brown orbits.

Younghoon was a man of action. Rather than singing you songs and promising you the moon, even if it was something that he loved doing, he did everything possible to make you happy. If you wanted a pot of ice cream in the middle of the night or some croissants for breakfast, he was ready to go across town for you. He loved doing a lot of things with and for you, though whispering sweet words to you and how much he loves you in your ear remained one of his favourite hobbies. His heart and mind were still occupied with your presence, his happiness increasing as soon as you showed any sign of life.

After this dinner filled with words and tenderness directed to the other, you went to slump on the sofa when Younghoon offered to go out.

"You haven't been outside all day, it will only do you good to see the outside world a little bit," your boyfriend argued as you were giving him soft, pleading eyes, trying to seduce him to not leave your little comfortable cocoon. "But I'm tired," you pouted back, but he didn't want to hear anything. “Come on, let's go,” he punctuated his sentence as he turned on his heels, leaving you no chance to reply. You sighed but got up anyway, following your boyfriend to your bedroom.

Once dressed to go out, Younghoon grabbed your hand and you walked into the garage, the elevator slowly descending into the lower floors. Your boyfriend was leaning against the wall, his head resting against the mirror where you could see your reflection admiring his slender figure. He let out a small, flustered laugh at your intense gaze before taking your arm to pull you to him. You stayed the rest of the descent in his arms, the familiar scent of your laundry making you feel great. It smelled different on him like he had the power to make that scent a source of comfort for you.

The elevator ding stopped your train of thought, Younghoon took your hand and lead you to the car. Once fully seated in the vehicle, he drove off and out of town, gradually approaching the coast. Lowering the passenger window, you could now feel the sea breeze gently caress your face, requiring you to close your eyes at the sweet sensation that invaded your body. Younghoon let his gaze linger over your face, a thin smile decorating his lips as his eyes shifted back and forth between you and the road.

The air smell quickly changed to something fishy and you opened your eyes again when you discovered your destination: the harbour. It was a place where you liked to take a walk during the summer after dinner, to take in the last rays of sunshine and a bit of peace from the city centre. Letting out a sigh as you got out of the car, slamming the door behind you as Younghoon walked to the front of the car, you admired the ocean landscape looming in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, your head coming to rest against his collarbone, feeling him tightening the embrace around you, kissing the corner of your head before rubbing your back.

"Shall we go for a walk?" He grabbed your chin with two fingers, smiling as his eyes turned into two beautiful crescent moons. You nodded and took his hand, forcing him towards the harbour. He laughed and managed somehow to lock the car before walking up to you, circling his arm around your shoulders.

The docks of the harbour were sparsely populated, almost deserted. Parents walking their children in strollers to lull them to sleep, or adults gathering in groups of friends to have a drink or celebrate a raise, hence the sounds of clashing glasses and the disgusting smell of tobacco.

Your stroll was soothing and beautiful, the boats mooring alongside were worth stopping to admire, some yachts making you dream of a life that seemed unreachable. You turned your head towards your boyfriend, who was taking a picture of one of the boats, turning his phone towards you. You gave him your best, natural smile even though you still weren't comfortable in front of the camera, light shivers running through your body as Younghoon looked at the snap with a big smile, happy with his picture of you.

You continued to walk along the docks, watching the boats sway gently in the gentle lapping of the water. The wind had started to blow, but that was not a factor in shortening your ride. Your boyfriend just hugged you closer to him, his hot breath hitting your ear. His embrace was nice, you could almost feel yourself melting into the crook of his arms.

At the corner of a turn, a sweet smell will invaded your nostrils, making you hungry despite the heavy meal you had just eaten. A waffle stand was open, and you enviously watched the pastries bake in the waffle iron. You prevented Younghoon from walking away from you by grasping his hand tightly, his attention immediately turning to what was making your mouth water. You looked at him for a few moments with pleading eyes and he smiled, shaking his head, pulling his wallet out of his inside coat pocket.

"One with chocolate and another with maple syrup, please," you smiled lovingly at him as he placed the order and hugged his arm, thanking him in a whisper.

You grabbed the waffles once they were ready, and hurried to the end of the dock, shoes sinking into the still-warm sand of a beautiful day. Holding the waffles over your head, you dropped into the floor with the same delicacy as an elephant in order to protect your snack from the grains of sand.

Younghoon sat down next to you, rubbing and slapping his hands vigorously to remove any dirt that had clung to them. The waffle was still hot, and the chocolate was melting in your mouth, making you happy and focusing on the present moment with your boyfriend without thinking about your project.

"It's beautiful," you pointed out, looking at the sea stretching out in front of you as far as the eye could see, your heart filled with happiness as the last rays of sun came to illuminate the sky and the saltwater with magnificent orange and pinkish colours, offering a magnificent spectacle to this part of the world.

Younghoon nodded and finished his waffle in three more bites, wiping his fingers with the small paper towel the seller gave you. He shifted closer and sat behind you, a leg on each side of your body as his arms crossed over your stomach.

"You're as gorgeous as this sunset," he whispered into the hollow of your ear, mouth still half-full and you suppressed a chuckle of embarrassment, elbowing him gently as he giggled while being careful not to drop your precious waffle. "Stop your nonsense," you whispered, and he shook his head side to side with a smile, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

Younghoon didn't have time to reply as a great gust of wind blew your hair up and you hurried to finish your waffle before it got sandy. The sea started to stir, waves increasing, the clouds were crossing the sky at a slightly accelerated speed, but that didn't stop you from sitting in the sand in each other's arms, smooching and cuddling you until the sun disappeared from the horizon, leaving you in a darker light to whisper sweet words in your ear.

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hey-hamlet · 4 years ago

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BNHA AU Ideas : Fair Folk

Also on AO3!

TL;DR:

Iida, Uraraka, Bakugo, Kirishima and Midoriya taken away by quirk traffickers, convinced they are a family of specialized quirk users. Turns out, the truth is a little bit more complicated than that: they're fairies. With Midoriya the only one able to get free is up to him to find help. Who better than the hero All Might, a man so famous among the giants that even the fae know of him?

The Folk are born with weak but variable magic, able to learn almost any class of spell but without any great talent in any area. Sometime between the ages of 4 and 15 (they age at the same rate as humans but live a touch longer) their magic specializes into an area they have a calling for. The strength of this specialization is varied, with some Folk being totally unable to use magic outside their niche and others with only a reduced aptitude for anything unrelated to their field. There has never been a case of one of the Folk not specialising.

Kirishima: Gem Creation and Rock Manipulation - gem creation is just an aspect as he can alter the way the molecular bonds in rocks are formed

Bakugo: Fire - with a particular aptitude for explosions

Iida: Wind – his control isn’t particularly powerful but hes very good at using currents of wind to propel himself to incredibly impressive speeds

Uraraka: Flight - very rare aptitude. Not only can she give wing’s their enchantments, she can make other things float. Very useful for moving heavy things.

Izuku: Nothing.

Culture (brief):

They hide from the ‘Giants’ - humans - and see them as dangerous and strange, particularly as they terraform massive areas, stripping them of their natural magic.

Settlements are found in forests, abandoned places and parks, hidden from sight with a mix of magic and clever design. Children shouldn’t leave the safety of the settlement without an adult at any time.

Wings are not actually something they are born with - instead, they are fashioned from other things and bound to their magic. If they run out - spend too long away from a source of magic + burn through their own ability to create it - they fall away and that member of the Folk can no longer fly, at least until they find more magic. It’s traditional to use leaves for a baby’s first set of wings. Wing makers are valued and rare with skillfully made sets of wings being traded from settlement to settlement in exchange for other goods. They can be made from anything really, and are mostly made from a mix of natural materials and things scavenged from Giants.

Our Folk:

Uraraka is a fledgling wing maker - too young to have an actual shop, she makes wings for her friends. She’s very good at what she does: most wings are form over function but she takes care to make sure they are just as practical as they are pretty. Iida’s are made of spider’s silk - light and strong, good for reaching high speeds. Kirishima’s have beetle wing cases to protect them from dislodged rocks. Bakugo’s are fire-resistant, Midoriya’s are balanced so they’ll be practical no matter his specialization.

Kirishima wants to help people! He uses his magic to build houses and walls and often visits other settlements to help with their protections.

Iida wants to be a guard like his older brother - guards protect the settlement from animals that might want to eat them, natural disasters and help hide them from Giants. As the five of them are currently the only children in the settlement, hes assigned himself big brother.

Bakugo has 0 idea what he wants to be, but he’s skilled in just about everything he tries so it’s not a big issue for him.

Midoriya wants to research giants and magic and try and discover all it’s forms. Folk can only specialize in types of magic they know about, so he wants to know everything that can be done to help other Folk struggling like himself. Despite the fact he doesn’t have a specialization yet, his magic isn’t half bad and the number of forms he knows is staggering. He mightn’t be particularly good at anything, but he can do everything. He’s also a big fan of heroes, even if his knowledge of them is limited to torn scraps of newspaper and thrown-away toys.

Inko passed away when Izuku was 10 (he’s now 13) and he’s lived with the Bakugos ever since. Izuku and Katsuki have a pretty brotherly relationship and give eachother shit all the time.

Plot:

kids get kidnapped by quirk traffickers who think they are just a little group of specialized quirk users. Izuku is the only one who can get free (courtesy of teleportation magic, letting him blink through the bars of their cage). Lost, hurt and so far from home, he has nowhere to go. All Might ends up saving him from a crow. Izuku - recognising the hero - asks for help. Thus begins the journey of them trying to find the quirk traffickers and All Might accidentally acquiring a tiny magic son.

The first thing All Might does when he finds Izuku (after like, saving him and making sure hes ok) is has a quick crisis bc holy shit hes so small and so sweet and fuck he’s so t i n y. Then he panic calls Nighteye, a man who he has not spoken a word to in 3 years.

dude just nighteye being like "all might why are you so focused on this one group" and all might, the worst liar to have ever existed, a miracle that he made this far, responds with "oh you know just reasons not like i have a tiny son-boy who is totally not some sort of fairy like creature hahahahahahahah" and nighteye just fucking stares at All Might while he tries to process this nonsense.

All Might can lie but no to people he knows lmao, one look at Nighteye and the man just crumbles. Izuku, who was literally just hiding in All Might’s backpack, pops out to say hi! Both Nighteye and Izuku have to take a moment because Izuku forgot just how tall Giants are and Nighteye is trying to process ‘four inch tall flying boy’. He has to sit down.

Izuku, the helpful soul he is, summons a nice, cool breeze for him because he looked pale, then Nighteye has another quiet freak out because this definitely isnt a quirk.

Nezu gets involved in the hunt for the quirk traffickers and quickly realises something is Up with All Might hunting down this random group so single-mindedly. He gets Aizawa to take a look into it. Aizawa runs into Izuku who, upon seeing a Giant he thinks is going to try to kidnap him again, throws dirt in his eyes and bolts. Aizawa is Displeased.

Yeah! All Might fills him in and he’s super embarrassed and ends up leaving a tiny ‘I’m sorry!’ note on his bedside table.

Ignoring all the stuff that happens in the middle, after the Fair Folk are saved and like, find their settlement and let everyone know they aren’t dead, the five of them actually join UA! 50% because their time with the quirk traffickers was scary and they want to save people from that, 50% because Izuku is so enthralled with Giants and their world he’d be heartbroken if they never got to return.

Under the cover of them being siblings with variations of the same quirk, they do all end up in 1A and become heroes in their own right. While they are getting caught up to speed on normal school stuff they missed, Izuku kinda ends up with 3 whole dads including Nighteye, same with the other kids to be honest. They like to hide in Aizawa’s scarf.

Some random things:

Izuku, the smallest of the bunch, is not quite 4 inches tall.

The group of them sneak out together to collect things - Izuku’s favourite thing is a tiny but detailed golden fox charm he found near a shrine.

Uraraka’s room is covered in half-finished wings and designs.

Bakugo secretly wishes his specialization wasn’t so destructive - he accidentally burnt a hole in Izuku’s second set of wings.

Iida secretly loves racing the birds nearby. Hes not meant to because they can be very dangerous, but by now they are used to him and look forward to when he shows up.

#full au #bnha au #Fair Folk AU

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feeling--pink · 4 years ago

Photo

My Sweet Ride is an amazing episode of Phineas and Ferb and the only thing bad about it I that I wish we could have seen more people in full out 1950s clothes!! So I did that!! (Also including some MML kids because I love them and don’t draw them enough!)

Anyways!! If y’all want to see me rant about 1950s stuff for a very long time because I had a blast doing research for this project you should click the keep reading!! :D

Okay a quick prelude!! Not only am I going to talk about outfits I designed, but while doing research I was blown away about the attention to detail the original designers had for these outfits and characters so I’m going to talk about their outfits too! :D

Here are my sources if you want to look into this btw!! :D

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-teenager-fashions-girls-fashion-trends-and-clothing-styles/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-teen-boys-clothing/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-hairstyles/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-dress-styles/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-womens-hats-by-style/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-womens-shoes-style/

Candace

Okay I’m going to start out by saying I just adore this outfit

That has nothing to do with anything I just really love it!!

I’m thinking I might make one of my own for Halloween but that’s off-topic

Okay- 1950s clothing!!

Candace is wearing a blouse (?) with a cardigan over the top, and a pleated swing skirt.

This is a classic 1950s girl’s style

More specifically its also a classic “preppy good kid” look

Which Candace absolutely is!!

Y’all should notice that all the skirts are past knee-length, which was standard of the time.

Candace also has a neck scarf, a common accessory, and a headband.

Ribbon headbands were still a thing in the 50s but the hard plastic headband was also coming into style in the later 1950s.

She’s wearing a pair of saddle shoes which were one of the popular options of the time among boys and girls

Her hair is long with curls at the end, another classic teenager look in the 50s!

While short hair was more popular among adult women, teenage girls often kept theirs long with slight curls on the end!

Bangs were also standard, but usually shorter than how I drew them

Sorry that bit’s inaccurate through all of them, it’s just easier for me to draw long!

Finally, in case you had any doubt about Candace’s outfit being time period, here’s an advertisement from the article I read:

Vanessa

To start off we have a blouse and pencil shirt for Vanessa

Pencil and swing skirts were the two most common skirts of the time

She’s also wearing a belt, which I modified slightly to look like-

The wide contour belt on the bottom right!

She’s also wearing a pillbox hat, one of the popular hats of the time!

Hats were generally not worn by teenagers because they were seen as “mature”

But that fits pretty well with Vanessa’s character

It’s the same story with the pumps, which I also changed lightly to match time period ones a bit more

Now what made me make my original post about the outfits in My Sweet Ride was actually the hair

Specifically, Vanessa’s hair is modeled after the Bettie Page style

This hair wasn’t actually that popular with the masses because it was seen as too simple, not classy, etc.

BUT it was popular among rebel girls in the USA

And like!!!!!! Y’all the designers did SUCH a good job to get down into details like that!!!!!!!!

But yeah her outfit’s great!! Next one!

Stacy

For Stacy, I decided to change things up slightly and give her a dress!

Specifically, it’s a shirtwaist dress, which I modeled after the reference below

Why the shirtwaist dress you may ask? Idk I think they’re neat

I thought it fit the vibe I was going for so I did that one I don’t know what to tell you jkdshsf-

Okay so generally, the belt wouldn’t have been a different color but I wanted to tie the green I used in a little more

Btw sorry I changed her color scheme a bit

I honestly haven’t fully figured out her original color scheme so I modified it a bit so it would look nice for this!

Pastels were very popular in the summer after all

I tried to stick to everyone else’s original color scheme though!

Stacy also has a headband tied up into a bow, which was standard

And to change things up I put her in a ponytail (with the end curled) which was popular with the teens!

Sklsdjhdkj I sound very “how do you do fellow teens“ while writing this that’s unintentional sorry

Shoes are penny loafers, another popular shoe at the time

I liked the little bows on the ends of some of the ones I saw and thought it was very Stacy!

That’s about it for her!

Phineas

This has nothing to do with anything but I love drawing Phineas

He’s just a funky little triangle!! I love him!

I’ll admit here that I didn’t look into men’s hairstyles, so you won’t hear about that from me sorry!

Phineas is wearing a black button-up, standard.

Black and white matched everything so they were the most common undershirt colors

Over that, he has a jacket that looks to be varsity jacket inspired, which was seen as super cool!

Full jeans were coming into popularity in the 50s but only with the younger generations

Finally, he also has saddle shoes like Candace does

So yeah it’s a solid 1950s outfit!!

Ferb

Ferb’s a greaser, need I say more?

No, really he has everything

The white t-shirt and jeans combo is exactly the greaser look, so much so that most teenagers avoided it to not fall into stereotypes

Tighter fit jeans were coming into style in the later 50s, so that’s also accurate

The leather jacket just amplifies the greaser look

The one thing is that for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what shoes he was wearing

So I gave him a pair of sho-loks and called it a day!

More about sho-loks in Milo’s portion!

Isabella

Isabella makes an appearance with the first (and only) poodle skirt of the group!!

Poodle skirts, while definitely what most people think about when you say the 50s, actually weren’t that popular among teenagers

The embroidered designs were seen as childish, so children and preteens wore them the most

But here’s a fun tidbit you may not have caught from the show, Isabella is, in fact, a child

(I don’t know why I built that up so much sorry ldksjfhkds)

Anyways I decided if I was going to give anyone a classic poodle skirt it might as well be Isabella!

I modeled it after this poodle skirt:

She’s also wearing a blouse with a peter pan collar, the most popular collar of the time

Another headband tied into a bow because it’s Isabella I had to give her a bow

Standard belt (nothing really to say about that)

And another pair of penny loafers with little bows because they’re cute gosh darn it!

Milo

Okay, I’ve been writing for a while but honestly a lot of the rest of these I just drew directly from reference so…

I did say I would talk about shu-loks here though and I will!!!

Now we know Milo is shoelace-adverse

And while there are plenty of slip-on options I found the shu-lok to be fascinating!!

As you can see above, the tongue snaps down to keep the shoe on your foot!! Isn’t that cool? :D

So yeah I gave Milo those!!

Zack

We know Zack plays football so I gave him your standard sporty outfit

Sorry I just find girls outfits infinitely more interesting so I kinda focused on those skjhgfdss

Oh! I do have something to say here!!

Converse were your typical sports shoe for the 50s so he has those!! Almost forgot that tidbit!!

Yeah, thick soles with wrinkles and stuff were seen as cool among teens so they got popular!

Melissa

Finally, we have some patterned pants!!

Yeah- checkers, plaid, stripes, polka dots, etc. were all very popular!!

I just didn’t want to draw them a lot ‘cause it’s hard sksfjdhgs-

But I gave Melissa checkers because it would get the black and white of her color scheme and I liked the way the checkered pants looked!!

Girls did wear pants at the time by the way!!

During summer and weekends mostly since they weren’t allowed to wear them to school

Short-sleeved turtle necks were also a thing and I thought that combo would look neat!!

Also, converse because it went with the outfit and that’s kinda what she’s wearing in the show!

Hair in a ponytail and side part bangs, both popular!

Yeah okay, that’s about it for Melissa!

Amanda

By this point, y’all are hopefully getting the gist of 50s fashion so we’re going fast now

Blouse, swing skirt, penny loafers (different style but still penny loafers), headband

(here’s what I modeled the whole thing after:)

I do want to mention the pullover sweater because I thought I should include one and I really like the flower embroidery on them

Then finally we come to her hair!! I already mentioned the headband but I was specifically modeling her hair in the pageboy style which looks like this:

Obviously, it looks a little stylized but what can you do?

And that’s it!! I had so much fun doing research and designing this and I think they all turned out pretty good!! I’m going to do more go this in the futures so if there's someone in particular you’d like to see let me know!! I’m planning on doing Cavendish, Dakota, and Sara at least in the next batch!!

#I had too much fun with this hope yall can tell #phineas and ferb #milo murphy's law #candace flynn #vanessa doofenshmirtz #stacy hirano #phineas flynn #ferb fletcher #isabella garcia shapiro #milo murphy #zack underwood #melissa chase #my art stuff #my sweet ride

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glitterytidalwavedragon · 4 years ago

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Expanding into my other Fandoms (I’m gonna have to take a stance) Read the whole thing please.

One of my oldest and most beloved anime is Inuyasha. As of late I have been binged watching the hell out of it as I am getting my BFF into different anime shows. We are really close to entering the Yashahime part of the series, and she asked if I planned to write fanfiction involving the one character which made me even watch the show as a 10-year-old.

Sesshomaru

The first episode I ever watched involved this aloof, entitled dog fighting his brother over the sword in their father’s grave. Specifically, it was part 3 of that whole episode series were Kagome pulled out the sword. I at the time had 3 dogs of German Sheppard/wolf hybrid, they were MASSIVE dogs, fell in love with the big white fluff that was Sesshomaru’s demon form. I use to sneak staying up and watch the show faithfully to see the goodest boy as it was only on at 11pm EST on adult swim. Which meant it was bad and I was breaking the rules, I felt like a rebel.

Now I hesitated answering that question. She has no idea of what is in Yashahime, she is being careful not to spoil it so I told her I didn’t know. Recently, to find out what the feel is for Sesshomaru content, I looked into the tag on tumblr…

OH MY GOD.

Sesshomaru’s tag is FLOODED with hate. Like every four post, there is hate, distain, and attacking happening. As someone who watches Yashahime, I quickly knew why.

Sessrin.

Even now I sigh. And I sigh HARD. I am not for, nor am I against the Sessrin train. Same for the Sesskagu train. I think both sides need to look at things on a logical prospective. I plan to do just that. I know I will get hate from the either side and maybe some support as well. But if I am going to do anything in this fandom (as I like doing ships and reader inserts) it will come up.

So, like my Kaiba post, and my Sebastian Heel post, I will use my research skills as well as my COLLEGE DEGREE WHICH HAS BOTH ART AND MEDIEVAL HISTORY labelled on it to explain why this progression in the story is normal to anti-Sessrin fans and why this isn’t a crime by story standards nor should we look at it as a crime.

AS WELL

Explain to Sessrin fans why it is so weird for non-shippers to see it play out and why so much hate formed.

As I let out another sigh, we shall begin. Let’s start at an historical prospective. (Links at the bottom).

PLEASE READ THE WHOLE THING! I’LL BE ABLE TO TELL!

I will start with the information I can access right away.

While finding charts on the life-span of common folk in 1590’s Feudal Japan is rather difficult, Ancient.edu states that the average lifespan was about 50. To put this in perspective, the average lifespan of Europeans at the time was somewhere between 40-45 with the latter being rare. Since most of us reading are not from Japanese descent, I will through Europe in this first.

If we look at the same time frame of 1590, we are looking at most of Western Europe had now entered the age of Renaissance. According to sources from Learning Resources in association with the National Gallery of Art, marriage was not what TV drama’s from HBO or Hulu depicted. By today standards they would be a crime, as the average age for marriage of an adult female was age 14…

The reasoning behind the young marriage age had multiple factors. First being, females were considered an adult once they were menstruating. Birthing also proved to be fatal, and since the lifespan was at best 40 and 45 if they were lucky, there was really no room to wait. Also Europe at the time had became hugely focused on making sure blood lines were legitimate, meaning to ensure the girl was a virgin, the moment she was able to reproduced she was married off. Those they married were not young teenagers either. Most marriages, a man would be in their thirties, and had probably multiple wives as women died more than men when not counting the battle field.

To make matters worse for the Renaissance Lady, these marriages would leave many young males unable to marry and if their husband died in battle, well, unfortunately they were not seen as desirable. This was due to the idea of a ‘free woman’. Should the girl not have a father, brother or uncle to return to as they too died, a widow had her freedom. But that freedom came at a cost. She would be assumed to have slept around, and in many writings, such as the Canterbury Tales, where Geoffrey Chaucer writes about a Window on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land survived her five husbands and the men in her family. In short, she was made to be a slut and to be looked down upon as no man controlled her.

The point of talking about Europe is because that is something most of us Non-Asian or Japanese people consume and like to paint in large romantic brush strokes of knights and magic. Honestly, reading G.R.R.Martin Song of Ice and Fire, he uses this model as we see the Queen of Dragons, Danny start off at age thirteen shortly after she had her first menstruation.

Now let’s look at Feudal Japan.

As stated before, the lifespan was around 50 years. In some populations, this was even shorter. Nagaoka, Hirata, Yokota and Matsu’ura’s on demographic data at the Yuigahama-minami area in Kamakura, Japan and found both male and female remains that suggested life expectancy to have ended around age 24-25. This was largely due to living conditions and public health. In areas like these, it would make the most sense to marry and repopulate quickly as the expectancy of life was half the national average at the time.

To my frustration, I could not find a clear marriage age for Japanese women at the time of the edo period. HOWEVER, where there is a will there is a way. I took a look at famous Lords or Daimyo’s of the time. The average age of marriage of their wives was between 12-14. Much younger than I expected, but it made sense considering this is a time where war ran the show and marriage was strictly about political gain. One of these Daimyo’s was Masamune Date, who was also 13, but then as he got older took concubines who became considerably younger than him as he became older. The goal was to have as many children as possible for hires and for political marriages to gain power.

Now lets look at Inuyasha the MANGA

Lets get the manga timeline proper here. The whole adventure took place in 11 months, a month shy of Kagome’s 16th birthday. Doing a few estimations, Rin would have travelled with Sesshomaru about 8-9 of those months. But before we get into the relationship, lets look at something the ANIME made a huge mistake with in the beginning and tried to fix as the story went on.

For some reason I could only fine gifs for the Early appearances of Sesshomaru so bear with me.

Early appearances in the manga

^ He was so fickle and a trickster then...

Now early apperances in the anime.

Later appearance in the manga

Laster appearance in the anime

Notice the issue here?

Sesshomaru was CONSIDERABLY younger looking in the start of the manga. In the anime, he started off looking like an fully adult male. But as the anime went on, they tried to make Sesshomaru look younger with subtle changes to his jaw line, eye size, and his height. Yeah, his height had changed. They made him shorter.

While in the manga, we see this young-teen looking demon, slowly mature over 11 months to look like he is in his later teens and by series end, closer to being in his late teens or twenty. Yes, art changes over time, but the anime went a reverse route. I can only guess they spoke to the author of Inuyasha about her ships, as they did Drama CDs, and realized the mistake that was made in making him more mature than he was.

You can’t tell me he doesn’t look closer to his manga self in the final act, because he does.

Since we are on the topic of the anime, lets be clear. The anime timeline and manga timeline are very different. The story in the anime (in the English) suggests that OVER a year has past since Kagome started her journey. They try to fix this in the final act, but it was still so muddled as previous seasons are to be taken as cannon. This could have been due to an translation error in the early production when the anime no longer had anymore manga material to reference. But whatever the case, for English viewers the time the group spent together felt much longer.

So now we come to the heart of the issue.

Because of the mistakes of the anime, a lot of anti-sessrin see the relationship as father daughter. I’ll be honest, watching the anime and solely the anime as a teenager and as an adult (as the manga was on hold for a very long time due to author’s health. I was in college when it finished.), I too thought it was just a father-daughter relationship and Jaken the nanny who got punched all the time. In fact, the English took hard liberties with Kagura, as the English dubs often do with characters, and made it very clear her feelings for the demon lord and Sesshomaru very much recognized them (though he never responded). Even in her death scene, it felt as if he was saying good bye to a friend more than love interest. But who really knows, as there are things that point otherwise. When another demon mock’s Kagura’s death, Sesshomaru gets super pissy.

The manga did also play with this fact when it came out in English, idk if the wording or message is different in the Japanese. Translation errors happen a lot even in todays releases, look at Kuroshitsuji. So of course most anti-sessrin’s did not see this coming in Yashahime when Rin was named mother. In fact it felt like a betrayal as we were sure Sesshomaru had no romantic feelings.

Then there was the Kohaku/Rin mashup that was hinted left and right. The English anime, with its overly dramatic and blunt emotions made it appear one way. That in the end the two kids would probably be married. Then the anime as a whole made Sesshomaru older than intended. I can see why and understand how this became a problem.

On the other side of that coin.

If you followed the dub, seen ‘Swords of an Honorable Ruler’ and read the manga… Sesshomaru was not fatherly to Rin at all. In fact, Jaken picked up all of that leg work. Rin worried for Kohaku, but clearly loved Lord Sesshomaru. Sesshomaru cared about Kagura but he almost CRIED when he lost Rin.

We have to remember that Sesshomaru and Rin’s relationship must have been very hard for the demon. While we never see his mental process expect for a few rare times, we have to remember he hated humans. In the movie, he blamed a human for the early death of his father, Sesshomaru killed without mercy. It made sense that he wouldn’t be fatherly to Rin as her just being there should have caused countless inner conflicts. Hell, he even says his father’s weakness was humans, and look who picked up that trait.

Sesshomaru was designed to, someday, walk in his father’s footsteps. So sess/rin, not a surprise. Also when you see it in a historical perspective, Rin having kids around age 15-16, makes sense. In fact you could argue he waited too long for the time period.

We also need to look more at the manga when concerned with Yashahime. 8-9 months is all Rin travelled with him and he was like hold up, and left her at the village because he KNEW she needed to come to her own conclusion. That no matter what she picked he would live with and protect her. Unconditional love on his end. She cannon wise spent YEARS living with humans and MONTHS with Sesshomaru. Again, by manga standards of cannon.

Now I can already hear the screaming about age and what not. Some sources say Sesshomaru is over 900, by the rule of thumb, if we look at anime and movie releases, we have Sesshomaru being over 500 with no define age and Inuyasha around 270 years old being more pinpointed due to the movie. Just by going by ANIME CANNON. Kagome and Inuyasha, you have a 15 year old with a 270 year old man. If you say being pinned to the tree doesn’t count, then you have 220.

Also, here is something very interesting. In the episode where Inuyasha meets the unmother, he tells her, thinking it was his mom, she died when he was very small and we have flash backs later in the series of him being small running from demons. Demons clearly age much slower than humans, even half-demons. Inuyasha can be 270 but mentally and physically be 15, the same logic works for Sesshomaru, who in the manga is not much older than Inuyasha.

In the manga, there wasn’t any grooming, in the anime, there was a ton of mess-ups but no grooming.

Would this fly in todays world? HELL NO! NO, its gross, she’s a kid. Stop.

I know any fanfic I write will lean heavily on the side of father/daughter because that is what I grew up seeing on the screen. I can’t think of Rin as an adult because years of seeing her as a cheerful little girl. It’s like seeing G.O.T Arya about to have sex for the first time in season 8… I remember when she was a kid on the show. It was way to weird and I had to look away until it ended. But that’s my 2021 mentality.

But Inuyasha is not taking place in 2021. Feudal Japan is a whole other era with its own beliefs, morals and way of life. Those who understand this have nothing wrong with them. They just understand history.

Also, just to bang some nails in…

Anyone remember Bleach? Remember the MOST accepted couple was Ichigo and Rukia…. Rukia who was hundreds of years old and Ichigo who was 15… or Ichigo’s mom who was a teenager and his dad also hundreds of years old.

Most of this also boils down to Sesshomaru being a dude. As in reverse roles in animes its accepted and they don’t have the same historical context. Inuyasha is based off of historical context of Feudal Japan.

We need to stop spreading hate. We can’t accept some forms of literature because its European fantasy but bash other fantasy based literature for doing the same thing.

Sure, its weird for those who were use to seeing the father/daughter dynamic. Yes, there are extreme sessrin fans who post really questionable illegal content when they decide to leave Rin as an 8-year-old…

But this wasn’t ever meant to be perverted. The story was meant to make sense on a logical and historical base.

I hope everyone takes the time to read this. I love Inuyasha, I love Sesshomaru. I am just sick of seeing so many people fighting over what should be the revival of a beloved series. While yes, there is still room for sess/rin not being a thing, until it is stated otherwise, why hate each other? This fandom will only lose people by doing this. Calling people names or accusing them of illegal endorsement can hurt someone these days over social media.

Tumblr allows you to block tags. You don’t have to read anything or watch anything you don’t like. We gain nothing from attacking each other but can lose so much by doing so. Fanart, really good fan fiction, friends, ideas, sharing fond memories. Both sides have the right to feel as they feel, but no right in hurting each other.

A fandom is meant to bring people together. Not start a war…

Thank you.

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/ajpa.20402

http://www.italianrenaissanceresources.com/units/unit-2/essays/husbands-and-wives/#:~:text=Marriage%20not%20only%20reflected%20order,to%20ensure%20the%20bride's%20virginity.

https://www.ancient.eu/Canterbury_Tales/

https://www.ancient.eu/article/1424/daily-life-in-medieval-japan/#:~:text=Just%20as%20Japanese%20people%20today,in%20Western%20Europe%2C%20for%20example.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Date_Masamune

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Megohime

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5-seconds-of-bucky · 4 years ago

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Glad It’s You (Shawn Mendes Soulmate!au)

A/N: We got all kinds of classic tropes and au’s in here. Coffee shop, friends to lovers, soulmate. Also, let’s appreciate the fact that it’s actually of decent length this time :) My longest fic yet!

Also, I’m aware that the timeline of some events that correspond to real life aren’t perfect but for the sake of my sanity please go with it

Summary: Shawn lives in a world in which he believes he doesn’t have a soulmate until he starts feeling the emotions of someone else. You live in a world where undiagnosed social anxiety prevents you from finding yours. After not seeing each other for three years, the bond you once had is no longer as strong. How does Shawn tell you that he thinks you’re his soulmate when you’re still scared to talk to him like you once did?

Word count: 8.9k+

Warnings: Reader is heavily implied to have social anxiety, swearing, descriptions of an anxiety attack

*Disclaimer: The depiction of social anxiety is based off of my own experience and research and may or may not accurately reflect the experience of other people with SAD*

It was hard to tell if soulmates made life infinitely better or perpetually more difficult.

The discrepancy probably stemmed from the fact that not everyone had the same soulmate indicator. Some had the tattoos of the occupation of their soulmate. Some couldn’t see color until they met theirs. Others could feel the emotions of the other person. There was an endless array of indications. Oftentimes, soulmates had different indicators. It wasn’t rare for someone to have a tattooed name while their soulmate could feel the other’s emotions.

Since the day you were born, the initials S.M. were tattooed on the inside of your wrist. As a child it was a game. You asked every person you met what their name was, your mind consumed with the idea of eternal love that had been ingrained from a young age. There was always a moment of disappointment when they would tell you “Sammy Jones” or “Eric Miller”. With all the adults romanticizing the idea of soulmates, it was hard not to look for yours in every place you could.

For a long time, Shawn thought he didn’t have a soulmate. There were no indicators while he was growing up to show that he could have one. He could see color and there were no special tattoos marking his body. It was a source of shame when his friends would ask, “What about you?” after telling him about theirs. Watching his friends talking about their indicators and finding their soulmates was frustrating. He was a normal kid. What did he do to deserve a life of loneliness that only a soulmate could fill?

Even when his career as a singer launched and he started to understand why it was possible that he might never find love, it was hard to comprehend that he was destined for no one. Was he really that undeserving of love?

He was twenty when he started feeling someone else’s emotions.

It came out of nowhere. He was celebrating the release of his third album and he couldn’t have been happier. He was on cloud nine, meeting everyone at the party with an enthusiastic smile and hug. He felt complete, even. He had stopped dwelling on his lack of soulmate and instead focused on putting everything he had into his songwriting.

It was the best choice he’d ever made. His music blossomed and his mental health was better than ever. All the anxiety of being alone and hoping that something, anything, would pop up to show him that he was meant for someone had started to fade to the background. Maybe he would never truly be over the fact that there was no perfect match for him but he could try to block it out of his mind.

There was a point in his life when he thought that maybe he did have a soulmate. That the system was screwed up and he did have a person. He was 16 and his career was already taking off but he couldn’t help but think that he was falling in love with you, his best friend, while he also fell in love with making music.

You were by his side through it all: random nights when he’d ask you to come over to help him come up with lyrics, days when it started to get a little too much, evenings when he just needed a quick break. You were the best of friends and there was a bond you thought would never be broken.

One day, he realized that he didn’t need some tattoo or the ability to read your thoughts; you were meant for each other. Neither of you could deny the pull you felt when you were together and random people who didn’t know better often mistook you for a couple.

But he realized too late. He went on his first world tour and wasn’t sure how to tell you his feelings when he was constantly so far away. You liked plans and stability; his life didn’t offer that in any capacity.

And then it was too hard to stay connected. He was touring and you were still trying to finish school. There just wasn’t time for you to talk to him at 3:30 in the morning. So you lost touch. There was a text every once and awhile. An empty promise of “we need to meet up” or “wanna talk?”

You both decided in your minds that it wasn’t meant to be. That you had a different soulmate and he had none. It’s been three years now since you were together to have a real conversation. You were beginning to grow frustrated with the search for your soulmate and Shawn had given up all together.

That was, until he felt a surge of anxiety hit him like a truck in the middle of his party. It lasted no more than three seconds but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling after it passed. He had no idea where it came from. One second he felt on top of the world, the next like he couldn’t stoop lower.

It had only been an hour and a half but you were ready to leave the party. It had been an eventful night by your standards. You had talked to two people besides your roommate, which was two more than usual. Your roommate, Alana had been by your side the whole night, a promise she had to make before you agreed to come, but she eventually had to go to the bathroom, leaving you leaning against a wall by yourself. She had only been gone for three minutes, you could feel all the anxiety creeping up on you.

Do they think I look lonely? My friend will be back in a minute, I swear!

If I look at my phone they might think I’m just chilling.

They probably think I’m that weirdo that stands against the wall the whole time and doesn’t talk to people.

Calm down. Nobody cares what you’re doing. They’re all doing their own thing.

. . . They looked at me funny. They think I’m weird.

Oh can we just go home?

As much as you tried to tell yourself that no one cared that you were standing against the wall by yourself, there was that part of you that convinced you that they cared a lot. You were already exhausted purely from being around all the people and loud music. Alana had been gone for three minutes and in those three minutes you had begun to shake and sweat just the slightest bit. You knew that nobody was judging you, it was irrational, but in the back of your mind told you otherwise.

Shawn excused himself from the room, taking a minute to gather his thoughts. While it wasn’t completely abnormal for random bouts of anxiety to hit him, this one felt different. Foreign, as though it wasn’t his own emotions, rather, someone else’s.

He wiped his hands on his pants, confused as to why they were so sweaty all of a sudden. It wasn’t particularly hot yet he felt warm. Maybe he was worrying too much. It was probably nothing. He ran a hand through his hair before going back to the party, putting a smile on his face and the past ten minutes behind him.

“Hey man, you alright?” Brian asked as he approached him.

‘Yeah, just needed to go to the bathroom.”

“You sure? You look a little shaken.” He wasn’t blind to how Shawn’s eyes were darting around and how he appeared a little more closed off than usual.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He turned his head when someone else called his name and nodded to Brian before heading over to them. He spent the rest of the night doing his best to look excited, but those three seconds plagued his mind the whole time.

While Shawn struggled to keep his hopes of a soulmate under wraps, you were more desperate than ever to find yours. It seemed like all of your friends were finding theirs and you were perpetually alone.

With the way you tended to shy away from meeting new people, most people assumed you didn’t want to find your soulmate. That you would rather live a life alone, or that maybe you were never assigned a soulmate to begin with.

You had met a few potential soulmates after losing touch with Shawn. Every time you heard an S.M. name your heart stopped. Maybe you had finally found them. You pushed past the fear of approaching them, rationalizing it with the thought that this could be your only chance to find them. It never worked though. They all had an indicator pointing towards someone else, leaving you upset and embarrassed.

There was always a small part of you that thought Shawn could be your soulmate, even if he didn’t have any indication of one. You were sure he thought the same way but you lost touch before either of you could really say anything about it.

You thought about asking him to meet up when he was in town a few times but something stopped you every time. The thought of what if he doesn’t remember me? or worse, what if he doesn’t want to talk to me? was enough to keep you from sending the text.

It was easy to ignore your loneliness when you could bury yourself in schoolwork, which you had a tendency of doing. It was the easiest excuse to get out of everything. Don’t want to go to a party? Oh, I have to finish editing my essay. Alana tried to set you up on a blind date? I have tests coming up I need to study for.

Alana was determined to help you find your soulmate, even if you didn’t want to cooperate.

“Come on, Y/N. Maybe they’ll be at this party! I promise there won’t be a ton of people there and I know you finished that essay last night cause you told me about it and said that you were looking forward to a work free night,” she said, closing your laptop so you couldn’t “work” on your already finished essay.

“But I want to go over it a few more times to make sure everything is right,” you replied. “Besides, we went to a party last month.”

“Exactly, last month. Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You’re never going to meet your soulmate just sitting at your desk and pretending to work on an essay.”

“It’s not entirely impossible.”

“Y/N.”

So that’s how you ended up at the party, looking around for a potential soulmate. You insisted that they wouldn’t be there; they never were, but Alana insisted that a night out would be good for you, no matter the soulmate circumstance, and dragged you along.

Truth be told, it was a good thing she forced you to attend. If you had it your way, you would spend most nights in your room, ignoring the rest of the world and sitting on your phone. You were fine hanging with close friends every once and awhile, but a night in was always more appealing.

According to Alana, however, that wasn’t normal, and you needed to go out in the world and talk to people, unless you wanted to be alone forever.

You would say, “But I do want to be alone forever. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t even like going to the bank, much less a party filled with people I don’t know.”

And she would say, “Please, I know that you want to find your soulmate and the only reason you don’t like going to the bank is because it makes you nervous and you’re worried that the people working there are going to be mad at you for no reason.”

So you would say, “I’ve probably met all the potential soulmates already. What’s the chance that some random person is going to show up to the party and just happen to be that person?”

And she would tell you, “People randomly meet their soulmates all the time. Yours isn’t going to walk through this door without knowing you first. If you don’t at least leave this dorm you’ll never meet them. Think of how lonely they must feel, waiting for you to come out of hiding.”

And, as much as you wished you could, you couldn’t really argue with that. The real problem after that was talking to people. You argued that you’re already there, so there’s no reason that if your soulmate was at the party, they couldn’t come find you. Alana tried to get you to socialize by walking around with you and introducing you to new people, but they were usually more interested in talking with her than you.

That’s how you ended up against the wall, allowing yourself to overthink while Alana went to the bathroom.

Shawn continued to experience those random emotions throughout the tour. Random flashes of feelings that weren’t quite his. He would be lounging around when he would suddenly feel excited and energetic, only for it to pass by within a few seconds. One time, he was feeling particularly miserable when a surge of adrenaline and anger came through him.

He had no idea where the feelings were coming from. He was starting to think that they were somehow connected to his soulmate.

A glimmer of hope after years of desperation and disappointment.

Part of him wanted to dismiss it, thinking that no, I can’t have a soulmate. I’ve worked way too hard to get past this to dwell on it again. The other part wanted to take the idea and run with it.

He tried to argue with himself that it couldn’t be soulmate related.

It’s not like it happening all the time or constantly in the back of my mind.

How would this help me find them anyways?

It’s all in my head.

Still, it did little to block the thought that maybe, just maybe, it was related.

It was a quiet day at the coffee shop. Granted, most days were fairly quiet, as the shop was located in a secluded area, but still. You assumed it was mainly attributed to the fact that exams were coming up and people didn’t have time to drive down to the shop when there was a Starbucks much closer to the dorms. You were in the same predicament, having your books splayed out on the counter to study in between customers.

You and Shawn used to come to the coffee shop every Friday after school. Even after Shawn left to go on tour and live life as a rockstar, you made sure to visit the shop at least once a month. Afterall, you were friends with the owner, Eileen, and you would hate to just stop coming and never see her again.

You eventually landed a job there. It was a little bit of a drive from the dorms but you knew that when Eileen offered you the job, you wouldn’t be able to find one with as good pay and flexible hours anywhere closer. Sometimes being friends with the owner for a long time has its perks.

There was a collage of photos on the wall behind the register that made the place really feel like home. There were tons of random photos ranging from when the shop first opened to when Eileen took a picture of a slice of cake she insisted had a face in it.

You appeared on the wall a few times, but your favorite picture was the one of you and Shawn right before he left for tour the first time. You were both laughing in the picture, Shawn’s arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. It was the last time you went to the shop together and you remembered just how fun of a time it was. It always left an ache in your heart when you looked at it, remembering all the good times you had together.

You didn’t have many other close friends, so once Shawn left for tour you felt a lot lonelier. Your mom tried to get you to make new friends, but it wasn’t as easy for you as she insisted it was.

“Why can’t you talk to the people across the road? They have a girl your age.”

“But she already has a friend group. We’ve lived across the street from each other for years. It would be weird if I suddenly introduced myself and tried to break into her friend group.”

“You’re never going to make friends if you don’t talk to people.”

“I have friends.”

“But don’t you want to hang out with more than two people?”

“No, I have my friends. That’s all I need.”

More often than not, you did wish you had more than two friends, or that Shawn would come back and eliminate the need to make new ones, but wishing did nothing to help your loneliness. You made a few more friends once you went to college, and you were completely okay with your small group, but it never satisfied the longing to see Shawn again.

“What are we doing here?” Brian asked as Shawn pulled into the parking lot of a worn down but homely looking building. “And what is this place?”

“It’s a coffee shop I used to come to every week. I haven’t seen Eileen in years,” Shawn said with a wistful look as he parked the car.

“Eileen?”

“The owner.”

Brian huffed, realizing that they would be stuck there for a while if Shawn knew the owner. He liked to talk to people. And when he talked, he talked and talked and talked.

“Relax, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

They both got out of the car and walked into the shop, Shawn smiling when he heard the bell above the door ring. He looked around for a second, noting how almost nothing changed since he’d last been there a few years ago. The chairs and tables were still in the same places, same coffee smell, even that stuffed cat that Shawn gave Eileen as a joke was still sitting on the windowsill.

The only big change he noticed was the photo wall. There were a lot more photos than he remembered. He wondered if he would still be able to find that picture of you and him.

He looked to the counter and saw a girl with Y/H/C hair, her head buried in the textbooks that were scattered across the counter.

“Dude, we getting coffee or what?” Brian said with a teasing smile, walking closer to the counter to read the menu posted on the wall behind it.

You were so invested in studying that you didn’t even hear the bell ring when they came in, only looking up when you saw someone approaching the counter out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, hi, sorry ‘bout that. How can I help you?” you said as you looked up, met with the face of an oddly familiar young man.

“Can I get a-”

“Y/N?” Shawn questioned from behind him, confusion painting his face. He hadn’t seen you in three years but you didn’t look all that different. A little more mature, sure, but he could tell it was still obviously you.

You furrowed your eyebrows at the familiar voice, glancing behind Brian to see Shawn. Your eyes widened at his appearance, no longer a boy but now a man. “Shawn?”

“Hey, Y/N, can you empty the garbage and put it out back?” Eileen asked as she walked out of the small kitchen area that was closed off from the rest of the store. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Shawn, a smile taking over her face as she took in how he’d grown up over the years. “Shawn Mendes, is that you?”

“Indeed, it is,” he said with a shy smile. “How are you Eileen?”

“Pretty good if I do say so myself. How are you? How’s the rockstar life treating you?”

“It’s pretty great.”

Meanwhile, you were still staring at your former best friend, mouth slightly agape as you took him in.

“Well why don’t we get you two some coffees? On the house of course. Y/N, stop staring at the poor boy. It’s not like you’ve never met him before.”

You looked at the ground for a second and blushed, smiling at the sound of Shawn’s giggle.

“Alright, what can I get you guys?”

They gave you their orders and you got to work, denying the ten dollar bill Shawn offered you to pay for them.

“On the house, remember? Or are you Mr. rich guy now?” you asked with a slight surge of confidence. You hadn’t seen him in years, but the urge to tease him every chance you got was still there.

“Ooh, okay. You think I’ve changed that much?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I am the exact same person as I was three years ago.”

“I’m not too sure about that, but okay.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and put the bill in the tip jar. “Alright, coffee girl. I would like my coffee in two minutes flat. No more no less. Brian is on a very tight schedule so we have to get him home in time for his nap.”

So Brian was his name. “Your wish is my command, good sir,” you said, bowing at him before turning around to start the drinks. You could hear Shawn giggle behind you, sending an eruption of butterflies to your stomach.

Shawn felt a slight nervous tinge as well. One that wasn’t quite his. He felt completely natural around you but maybe his soulmate was somewhere else feeling nervous about a presentation or something.

You gave the boys their coffee, sticking your tongue out at Shawn when he commented on how it took three and a half minutes instead of two and demanded his money back. You returned to the counter, trying your best to focus on studying. You kept getting distracted by Shawn’s voice, which carried across the shop, as he talked to Eileen. He was sitting in the same two person table against the wall that you used to sit in during your weekly visits.

“You need to go talk to him.” You jumped slightly when you noticed Eileen next to you.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” you replied tentatively, flipping the page of your book in hopes that it would make it look like you were actually studying. The burst of confidence was gone and you came to the reality that you were both no longer the same person you used to be, therefore, you couldn’t keep that same dynamic.

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. Just a feeling.”

“Go talk to him. I know you want to.” She gave you a knowing look and you sighed. “I’ll take over for you for a bit. Go talk to your best friend.”

“But he’s with Brian and I don’t really know Brian and what if they don’t want to talk to me they just wanted to hang out and-”

“Y/N.”

Suddenly, the butterflies grew, and it became more of bird wings than butterflies. You took a deep breath and made you way over there, praying that it would be over quickly and you could go back to studying by yourself.

You quietly pulled up a chair and sat in it, waiting for Shawn to finish whatever story he was telling Brian.

“Y/N, just in time,” he said with enthusiasm. “I was just telling Brian the story about Willy the window cat.”

“Ahh, a classic.” Shawn could sense your unease and quickly introduced you to Brian. He was well aware of your lack of people skills and how uncomfortable you got around new people.

You spent the better part of the rest of the hour catching up with each other, Shawn doing a lot more talking than you, which you were completely fine with. You tried your best to not show how nervous you felt.

Even as you tried your best to hide it, Shawn was picking up on the nervous habits. Your lifestyles might’ve changed but you were still the shy girl who subconsciously picked at the inside of her elbow and bounced her foot excessively when nervous. It didn’t matter if you hadn’t seen each other in years, he still knew you like the back of his hand.

There were days, back when you were really friends, where he would reach over and grab your hand so you would stop picking, or place his hand on your knee to stop the bouncing. He chose to ignore it now, realizing that you had grown apart, and now wasn’t the time to jump back in so intimately. You were always self conscious about the habits and he didn’t want to make you more nervous by pointing them out.

Even though he was more focused on you throughout the conversation, he noticed how Brian was seemingly getting more and more bored hearing him talk. As much as he wanted to stay and talk to you, he knew he should probably get going. This was supposed to be a quick pit stop to drop in and say hello, not an hour long catch up with the girl he used to be sure was his.

“We should get going. I think Brian is going to walk home if I stay here much longer.” Brian’s head perked up at the mention of his name and Shawn chuckled.

“Meet you at the car. Nice meeting you, Y/N.” He was up and out the door in a matter of seconds, causing Shawn to chuckle again.

It didn’t sit all that well with you though.

Oh no, he doesn’t like me.

He thinks I’m some weirdo who doesn’t talk.

I barely know the guy and he already hates me.

“We should meet up, just the two of us, sometime. I’m on a break from tour if you’re free anytime soon,” Shawn said, breaking you out of your thoughts. “And don’t worry about Brian. I think he’s just tired.”

It did little to ease your fears but you smiled like it did anyways. Were you that easy to read? “Uhh, yeah. I have exams next week but we can meet after that.”

“Alright, how does the eighteenth sound?”

“That works.” You stood up and put your chair back at the table it came from, turning around to find Shawn closer than you expected him to be.

“Awesome. Text me your address so I can pick you up and take you somewhere.”

“Okay.” He threw you his signature smile and it made you melt a little.

“It was great seeing you, Y/N. Tell Eileen I said bye.”

“Good seeing you too and you got it.”

He pulled you into a quick side hug and left.

As much as you tried, you couldn’t study for the rest of your shift. Only three more customers came in within the two hours you had left, so you spent a decent amount of time staring at the wall and stressing about meeting up with Shawn. Two weeks gave you plenty of time to stress about it, which led to thinking of ways to get out of it.

Maybe if I don’t text him the address, he’ll forget, you thought as you stared at your phone the next day, messages open to Shawn’s name, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. It could work. That was enough to convince you to turn off your phone and worry about it later. You went back to working on the presentation you were working on, only pausing when you felt the buzz buzz of your phone telling you that you got a text.

From Shawn: Hey, what’s your address? What time do you want me to pick you up?

You panicked slightly, upset that your plan had already fallen apart. You decided to ignore it for the time being. You would worry about it later.

“Hey, Y/N, can I borrow your phone for a second? Mine’s dead,” Alana asked as she came into the dorm.

“Sure,” you said as you handed her the phone, not bothering to look away from your computer.

“Who’s Shawn and why is he asking where you live?”

Your eyes widened as you realized you forgot to clear the message. “He’s just an old friend. We’re uhh meeting up since we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“Well are you going to text him back or do I have to do it?”

“I will, later.”

“You’re actually going to do it?” she asked with a curious smile. “And you’re actually going to meet up with him?”

“Yeah . . .”

“I’m holding you to this.”

“What, why? I’m capable of handling my own social life.”

“Sure you are. You’re not getting out of this though. I know that look.”

You sighed and glared at her. She knew you too well. “Do you actually need my phone?”

“Yes, I need to call my mom.” She sent you a sweet smile and you shook your head. “Thank you.”

You texted Shawn at 9:12 that night, six hours after he sent the original message. 9:12 specifically so it looked like you just saw it and responded as soon as you did, not like you ignored it and were planning to send it at a specific time, like 9:15.

He responded thirty seconds later with a thumbs up.

The day of the meetup was stressful. You had already been in your head about it for the past two weeks, but you really started worrying when you realized you had no idea what was going to happen.

Shawn refused to tell you where you were going, only telling you to dress comfortably and that you would only be gone for a few hours. Being a person who liked schedules and knowing exactly what was going on, this didn’t make you too happy. It sounded a lot like a date, which only made you more stressed.

“Do you think this will be okay?” you asked Alana. You were wearing jean shorts and a semi-cute top. Not too fancy but not too casual.

“Is this a date or friend meetup?”

“Friend meetup.”

“You look great.” She could sense the hesitation as you looked in the mirror, deciding if you agreed with her or not. “You’re gonna be fine. From what I’ve heard, you were best friends for a long time. You’ll be back to that in no time.”

“I don’t know. It’s been so long and-” You were interrupted by a text from Shawn telling you he was there if you were ready.

“Go have fun. Take a deep breath and stop worrying about it, alright?”

“Okay.” You gave her a smile before putting your phone in your back pocket and leaving. You could see Shawn leaning against his car and looking at his phone once you left the building.

Shawn had been quite excited to hang out with you again. There wasn’t any part of him that was nervous until he went to get drinks for the two of you that morning. It had been slowly building up all day, but it felt more like his soulmate’s than his own.

“Hey, you,” he said with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“You bet,” you smiled back at him, walking to the other side of the car to get in.

“I got you a frappuccino.” He gestured to the cup holder. “I don’t know if what you like has changed but it’s what you used to get so I hope it’s okay.”

“My taste hasn’t changed a bit,” you chuckled. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Of course. What better way to rekindle our friendship than by reliving the old times?”

“True, true.” You discretely wiped your palms on your shorts, unsure if it was from nerves or the heat. “Want to tell me where you’re going?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.” His eyes had a mischievous glint to them. He knew how much it was bothering you.

“This feels like a first date,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. You knew that Shawn was like this by default, but you couldn’t help but feel a little extra awkward anyways.

“Not my intention,” he chuckled. “I just wanted to be nice.”

“I know, I’m just awkward.”

Shawn laughed and shook his head.

You didn’t drive for much longer, arriving at a small park no more than fifteen minutes after you started.

“I figured we could walk and catch up, if you’re good with that.”

“That’s good. Why didn’t you just tell me we were going to the park though?”

“Wanted you to get worked up about it.”

You gasped. “That’s mean.”

“Gotta balance the niceness out somehow.”

You spent two hours walking around and catching up. You felt yourself ease up as you talked. He was still your Shawn and he barely changed from the last time you talked. The evening ended with a hug and promise to hang out again soon.

“See,” Alana told you when you told her how well it went. “Sometimes you need to just give yourself the push.”

The more and more time you spent together, the more and more Shawn became sure that you were the mystery soulmate whose emotions he had been feeling.

He would feel a twinge of extra excitement before you hung out or right before you texted him I got an A on that essay!!!!!

He was never completely sure though and never told you about it. He wanted to test the theory but wasn’t sure how he could do it without you knowing.

Meanwhile, your search for your soulmate slowed. You came to terms that they would come when the time was right and that you needed to enjoy life as it was. Your best friend was on a break from his hectic life for the first time in a long time and you wanted to spend all the time you could with him. You felt a little less anxious when you were around him, which could also be attributed to the lack of school work due to summer break, but you liked to believe he was helping.

The great thing about Shawn was that he knew not to push too hard. Alana didn’t always know when to stop pushing you towards doing things out of your comfort zone. You’ll admit, it was sometimes good for you. Other times, it caused way more anxiety than necessary and you would be out of it for the rest of the day. Shawn, on the other hand, could tell when something really could be too much and would stop.

There was only one time when he knew he was pushing too hard but continued anyways.

“You wanna be my date to the Grammys?” You had discussed his nomination earlier that day, but he never mentioned bringing someone with him before.

“Date?” You had a playful smirk on your face and Shawn just rolled his eyes and nudged your shoulder.

“Do you wanna be my extra person who’s my best friend, not date, cause I don’t have a date, date?

“As amazing as that sounds, I don’t think so. Way too many people.” You hoped he would just drop the subject.

“Come on, it would be fun. Besides, how often do you get an invitation to the Grammys?

“Never . . . because I don’t want to go.”

“Please, Y/N. I don’t have anyone else to take and we would have such a good time.”

“Take Aaliyah.”

“She probably has stuff going on.”

You have tons of other friends. Take one of them.”

“Yeah but you’re my best friend and I want to take you.”

“Shawn I really don’t think I should. There’s gonna be a ton of people there and I don’t have the money to buy a fancy dress-”

“I’ll buy you a dress and stay with you the entire night.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. Besides-”

“Please, Y/N. I will beg you every day until you say yes. Just this one time, then I promise I will never ever make you go to a party or awards show of any kind.”

“Fine,” you sighed. You knew that it was a bad idea but you also knew that Shawn would hold true to the begging.

“Thank youuu.” He reached over and pulled you into a hug

“You owe me.”

The week before the Grammys was more anxiety inducing than anything in your entire life.

You got your dress a month ago but was starting to have second thoughts on it. Was it fancy enough? You had scrolled through endless pictures of past Grammy looks and everything looked so much more elaborate than your midnight blue dress. Tiffany had picked out the dress for you, noting how you wanted something elegant but nothing that would make you stick out.

You had to admit, you loved the dress. It fit you perfectly. You were yet to show Shawn but you knew he would love it. There was just one part of you that thought that everyone would think it was too simple and know that you had no business being there.

Shawn was doing his best to help you through the anxiety.

“Think of the best possible situation,” he told you.

“Nobody notices me and I stay completely under the radar or they note that I’m your friend who’s been seen with you before and leave me alone.”

“Now tell me the worst possible situation.”

“I do something embarrassing and stick out so that everyone notices and realizes that I’m obviously not supposed to be there.”

“See how the worst case scenario is so much more unlikely to happen?”

“Shawn, I know it’s irrational but I can’t help it. No matter what, I’m going to have a worst case scenario.”

“I know you are. Y/N, I do too. But think for a second,” he said. “Everyone else is too caught up in their own affairs to give a flying shit about what you’re doing. Unless you walk the red carpet with me, they probably won’t even notice you.”

You knew Shawn was right. You knew the worst case scenario was irrational, you just couldn’t help but dwell on it; you were so scared of embarrassing yourself. You were once again planning excuses for not being able to go. I’m really sick and throwing up everywhere or There’s a family emergency. I can’t go.

But even as you worried more and more, you knew how much you needed to do it for Shawn. He had done so much for you. You could do this one thing.

“You ready?” Shawn asked with a huge grin. He had been getting more and more excited by the day. The happiness blocked the intensely anxious feelings of his soulmate to the slightest. At this point, he was almost positive you were his soulmate. Of course, anyone could be this anxious for a long period of time and it just coincidental to yours. He wanted more time to think about it though and if it was true, to tell you at a time when you were in a better mental state.

“Not really, but I don’t think I have a choice,” you said through the door. You had to admit, you felt absolutely beautiful. Your thoughts of sticking out because of your dress were fading with every look in the mirror.

“I’m sure you look absolutely fantastic.”

“That’s not the problem but thank you.” You both giggled at that and you wished you could get over yourself and go out there.

“You know I’ll be with you the whole night, right?” His tone changed to a more serious one, and it was comforting to know he cared so much.

“I know, but still.”

“Can I see you now? This is easier when I can see your face.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, opening the door slightly before taking a deep breath and stepping out. You grasped your hands behind your back and smiled shyly as Shawn stared at you in awe.

“Wow,” he whispered. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you looked down to your feet.

“Come here.” He pulled you into a hug, his head resting on your head as yours was on his chest. “You’re going to be amazing tonight, okay? So stop worrying so much and enjoy it as it comes.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are, I just wanted to remind you.” He squeezed you tighter for a second and drew back, smiling widely before completely letting go.

You both said nothing as you got into the car to go to the show, allowing yourselves to try to relax before the long night ahead of you.

“Good luck,” you grinned as he prepared to get out of the car for the red carpet.

“Thanks, see you soon.” He took your hand and squeezed it, causing the butterflies in your stomach to explode. He stepped out of the car and winked at you, laughing at the finger guns you sent him before he closed the door.

You both agreed that it was best for you not to walk the red carpet. You didn’t want to be bombarded with questions asking if you were in a relationship and Shawn didn’t want to have to deal with the drama it would cause afterwards. You decided to meet inside, which led to you awkwardly standing around and waiting for him to come in.

After what felt like a lifetime and a half of avoiding eye contact and trying to look like you belonged, Shawn appeared at your side.

“How’d it go?”

“Good. Took some really hot pictures I think people will enjoy.”

“How is that possible? You can’t take hot pictures.”

“As if I haven’t caught you ogling over pictures of me before.”

“As if,” you scoffed and Shawn let out a loud laugh, which made you laugh as well.

“Alright, sassy pants, let’s find our seats.”

The show went well and you eventually realized that you got worked up more than you needed to. You didn’t have to interact with many people and you were able to sit in a seat and enjoy the show more than you thought you could.

What you should have been worried about though, was the afterparty.

Shawn said you didn’t have to go but you could see how much he wanted to. You also knew that if you told him you were going to go home but he should go to the party, he would opt to go with you. So, against your better judgement of what you were up for that night, you decided to go under the condition that Shawn would stay with you the whole time.

It was a little too loud and crowded for your liking but you did your best to hide the discomfort. The faster you got out, the better, but you were going to try to enjoy the party the best you could.

Unbeknownst to you, Shawn could definitely sense your discomfort. Something inside himself was telling him he should take you home, but everytime he suggested you leave, you insisted that you wanted him to have fun and that you would stay until he wanted to go. You knew he came with intentions of talking to other people and refused to leave until he did so.

“But I’ll have fun with you.”

“Shawn Mendes, if you do not socialize tonight, you will spend the rest of your life regretting it so I suggest you start mingling.”

“I feel like that’s an overstatement, but fine.” He started walking away but turned around when he noticed you weren’t following. “Come on, wallflower, I’m not allowed to leave you by yourself.”

You rolled your eyes but pushed yourself off the wall and made your way towards him anyways.

He made his way around, talking to friends and a few people he didn’t know, making sure you were close at all times. You were quiet the whole time, only speaking when asked a question. Like with Alana, people tended to be more interested in the person you were with than you yourself.

Shawn caught you picking at the inside of your elbow a few times. Part of him wanted to scold you for doing it, but he knew it was a subconscious habit and that you couldn’t do much about it unless he pointed it out. He would wrap his arm around you, gently placing his hand over the spot so you couldn’t pick at it. You would sigh once you realized you were doing it again and Shawn would squeeze your upper arm lightly, as if to say, it’s alright.

He eventually gave you a water bottle to keep your hands busy and you accepted it graciously, secretly in awe of how he knew you so well. He was about ready to go after that, drained from the long night, when someone called his name. He made his way towards them and you tried to follow but got blocked off by someone walking in between you. In a split second he was gone, and your anxiety only grew as you struggled to find him.

You found yourself standing next to a table, texting Shawn to tell him where to find you once he was ready to go. You hoped it wouldn’t take too long, but the voice who called him sounded like Niall’s, and you knew they would want to talk for a while.

Shawn was too busy talking to Niall to notice the growing anxiety coming from his soulmate. He didn’t even notice that you weren’t next to him.

You tried your best to blend in, something you thought you were doing a good job of, when someone who looked very vaguely familiar tried to talk to you.

“That dress looks quite lovely on you,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said rather quietly. There was an awkward pause for a second and you wondered if he was waiting for you to say something else.

“Enjoying the party?” He stepped slightly forward to let someone pass behind him.

You stepped back to keep the space, forgetting about the table and knocking into it full force. A loud clanging noise could be heard as a few platters flew off and your eyes grew wide at the realization of what you just did.

The man in front of you laughed but his attention was quickly called elsewhere.The people around you looked behind themselves to see what was going on. The looks of confusion and giggles probably lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was enough to send you into a full panic.

The lights were suddenly too bright and all the noises around you jumbled into a muffle. You pressed your back against a wall as you tried to gain your composure, panicking more when you couldn’t. The music was too loud for anyone to hear your rapid breathing but you wanted nothing more than for someone to come help you; for Shawn to come help you.

“Yeah we definitely need to meet up sometime soon,” Niall said to Shawn.

“Totally. I’m-” He was cut off by a paralyzing burst of panic. He didn’t even have to think to know it was you. The urge to protect you came over him and he quickly excused himself from Niall to find you.

It didn’t take long to see you standing against the wall and curling in on yourself. He felt like he couldn’t get there fast enough. There was nothing he wanted more than to take the worry away from you but it felt like there were a million people in between you.

“Breath, Y/N, breath,” he said once he finally made it to you. Your eyes locked with his and he could see the absolute panic in them. “I’m going to take your arm so we can go outside, okay?”

You nodded frantically, allowing Shawn to guide you to outside. The cool air was a relief but did little to calm you down. Shawn gently leaned you against a wall and put one of your hands on his chest.

“Breath with me, sweetheart,” he said, exaggerating his breathing to help you. “You’re okay. Just focus on breathing.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered once you calmed down and your breathing returned to a normal rate.

“Y/N, no. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I messed up your night and-”

“It’s not your fault. I know exactly how you feel and I promise you, it’s not your fault.” He could see from the look in your eyes that you didn’t believe him and it broke his heart. “Come here,” he said as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, one around your waist, one pressing your head to his chest.

“I know you think it’s your fault, but you did absolutely nothing wrong,” he said lowly, leaning his head down close to your ear so you could hear him. “If anything, it’s my fault for not realizing you weren’t with me.” He felt you tense up and rubbed his hand up and down your back. “You are amazing and wonderful and so strong, Y/N. We all have our low points. Nobody is blaming you for anything.”

You didn’t say anything and Shawn took that as a sign to stop talking. He held you in his embrace for a few minutes longer, relaxing a little when he felt your arms wrap around him.

“Let’s get you home.”

“You should stay.”

“Y/N.”

You dropped it and let him call an Uber, hugging him again once he finished. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt yourself once again wishing he was your soulmate.

After a long talk with Shawn the next morning, you decided to go to the doctor to get an official diagnosis. The social anxiety diagnosis also came with the recommendation of therapy. It was time to take control of your anxiety and your life.

Shawn was there for it all. Helping you through the bad days and celebrating the good ones. You were celebrating a good one today and Shawn could feel your happiness before you even walked through the door.

“You won’t believe what I did!” You exclaimed once you were seated on the couch. “I needed this tomato sauce but I couldn’t find it anywhere in the store but I knew they had it somewhere. So instead of not getting it, I actually asked one of the people working there where it was.”

“Good job!” The smile on his face was huge as he gave you a high-five. “Was it really that scary?”

“Yes, but I did it, which is more important than if it’s scary.”

He was so proud of you. It had taken a few months, but therapy was doing wonders for you. It might have been small progress, but even small progress was big progress.

He had held off on telling you about the soulmate situation, wanting you to be in a better space before he dropped the bombshell. Now felt like a good time to do it.

“Not to take away from you, but I have some good news myself.”

“Tell me!” The eager look on your face made him even more nervous for some reason, but he knew he needed to do it.

“A few months ago, I started feeling these feelings.”

“Oh wow.”

“Shut up,” he giggled. “They were emotions that weren’t mine. Like, they felt like someone else’s.”

You nodded your head, having an idea of what was coming: he finally found his soulmate and it wasn’t you.

“And at first I couldn’t figure out who they belonged to but then I met you again.” He looked up at you but your face was blank. “And then I was starting to feel feelings you were experiencing. Like you would text me about being happy and that background feeling of extra happiness would be there but I wasn’t sure if it was really you.”

“Are you trying to test it out now?” He could see you trying to put the pieces together.

“No, I kinda already did in a way?” You looked even more confused so he kept going. “When we went to the Grammys I could feel how anxious you were. And then we went to the party and I could feel it but it wasn’t anything that was too overwhelming. Then, I went to talk to Niall, which is when you had that panic attack, right?”

You nodded.

“And I was fine but then there was this really really intense second of pure panic and I just knew. Some kind of protective instinct went off in me and I just had to get to you.”

There was a pause as he let you process what was happening.

“Y/N, I think you’re my soulmate.”

There was a deafening silence but Shawn was too scared to look at your face to see your reaction.

“You really think?”

“I know it sounds crazy but-”

“Could we really be soulmates?”

“. . . yes?” He finally looked at you to see a smile creeping its way along your face.

“Holy fucking cow.” You both burst into laughter, leaning into each other as you did.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Shawn said once your laughs turned into tiny giggles. He looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s you too.”

357 notes · View notes

missroserose · 3 years ago

Text

Summertime Thing

Okay, so really I should be working on the first chapter of this (which I actually have a hard deadline for on the 18th, sorta—more on that later), but I promised @laveracevia and @redmyeyes and @notwhatiam (and also an anonymous Tumblr person) that I'd post the bullet point outline for my angsty wincesty teen Sam novel so here it is, all three-thousand-plus words of it. Still tentative and with a fair amount to fill in, but that's what makes it an outline. (Has anyone yet beatified the SPN showrunners for setting the bar for research so ridiculously low? Praise be unto them! 😂) So, without further ado:

• It’s the summer of 1999 and Sam is sixteen.

• They’re living in rural Arizona for the summer, in a little town in the Chiricahua Mountains called Bisbee that I definitely didn’t live in for three years.

• Bisbee’s a weird place. It used to be a wealthy mining town, but in the ‘70s the company pulled out and the economy crashed. Some of the residents are old mining families, some are old hippies and artists who moved there due to the picturesque scenery and bargain-basement real estate, some are early baby boomers looking for an inexpensive place to retire. There's a surprising amount of live music, an absolutely thriving conspiracy scene, and the local police blotter is a smorgasbord of weirdness.

⁃ John picked it because it’s the county seat (which means lots of local records) with cheap housing and residents who don’t ask too many questions. Dean loves it because it’s straight out of the a Western—several famous movies filmed on Main Street, and the theme-park-town of Tombstone is half an hour’s drive away. Sam hates it, but in fairness, Sam kind of hates everything right now.

• Sam’s getting regular beatdowns with the puberty bat—he’s growing what feels like an inch a week, his voice is randomly cracking, he’s ravenously hungry all the time, and his moods go from happy-go-lucky kid to moody teen to full-on young-adult angst on the turn of a dime.

• Most terrifying of all, his relationship with Dean is fracturing. Dean can tell he’s having a hard time of things, of course, and tries his best to cheer Sam up. Sometimes they get on great; other times, even being in the same room as Dean makes Sam feel like his skin is three sizes too small.

• The frustrating part is, no matter how much of a shit Sam is, Dean won't give up on him entirely, just gives him space for a day or two and then reaches out, like—“hey, come keep me company while I give the car an oil change,” or “hey, sounds like there’s a hell of a party going on up the gulch—let’s go sneak in, I bet they have booze, maybe we can get you laid,” or “hey, Dad said we can take the car, let’s drive to the new mall in the next town and go see a movie. Anything you want.”

⁃ Sam definitely picks Cruel Intentions, intending to make Dean sit through something he’d find boring, but it backfires—the incest subplot ends up making him even more uncomfortable and Dean, predictably, digs watching Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair make out onscreen.

• Dean is having the time of his life this summer. The town is picturesque, the bars don’t look too closely at his fake ID, Sam’s old enough to fend for himself mostly, and he even gets an evening gig as a bar back a few nights a week, which means he has a little cash. Sure, Sam’s been weirdly moodly lately, but it’s just puberty, it’ll pass.

• Sam, meanwhile, is on his own a lot, with John either out working, out drinking, or buried in his notes; he spends a lot of time walking down to the library over the post office, which is surprisingly extensive, but more importantly, air-conditioned. If he has a couple bucks he might go to the new coffee shop by the library and buy an iced tea for lunch.

• At some point when John’s gone, Dean brings home Tina, a local bartender. Weirdly, they don’t seem to be sleeping together, at least initially; mostly they just hang out, easy with each other in a way that makes Sam jealous.

⁃ Sam hates it when Dean brings home girls (for the obvious reason that he gets kicked out of the house, of course), but he actually hates it more when Tina starts hanging around regularly, all the more so because she’s always very sweet to him—but Dean’s into her and that means Dean’s attention is on someone other than him.

⁃ Tina keeps working on Sam, and eventually he confides in her—he hates their life, hates lying to people, hates the ceaseless travel and string of anonymous motel rooms and constant scrambling for cash, but Dean loves it and he loves Dean. She mentions having a sister that she has a complicated relationship with, too.

• One day John announces that they’re taking a day trip as a family together, and they drive up to the Portal-Paradise area, which is a sky island—a mountain forest surrounded by desert, surprisingly lush and peaceful, with stunning views from the peaks.

⁃ It’s also a fairly cursed place, with bullet-riddled “KNOWN HUMAN TRAFFICKING AREA” signs and a cluster of boarded-up hovels from the ghost town of Paradise that definitely don't look like a Bender compound waiting to happen

⁃ After they've wandered around a bit, taking in the gorgeous landscape and sheer relief of being amongst so much green after months in the desert, John has them all pile back into the car and takes them up to Sugarloaf Peak. As they're climbing the mountain, he mentions that the fire watch station at the peak is a great place to watch for {insert signs of supernatural phenomenon here}. Sam gets upset at that, accuses John of using their family time for hunting. Dean points out (quite reasonably) that their family time has always been hunting together. John goes into Marine mode and shuts down the conversation, Sam grumbles something about "just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right," and goes into a sulk.

⁃ As he's sulk-climbing up the peak, Sam becomes convinced at one point that he hears running water. John tells him that’s unlikely before monsoons start, and to keep climbing. Sam keeps hearing it, though, and asks Dean whether he hears it; Dean listens, but doesn't hear anything. Sam falls further behind, trying to see the source—he catches a glimpse of something shimmering amidst the few trees and strikes off looking for it—but there’s nothing there, only a cliff that he nearly goes over. Dean comes up behind him a minute later, urges Sam back up the trail.

• The next day at the library, perhaps driven by Dean giving him shit about hallucinations, Sam starts looking into the history of water in the area—they’ve driven over the San Pedro River but it always just looked to him like a muddy creek. He learns about the 1877 earthquake that broke the water table and reshaped the water in the area, lowering the San Pedro's level and transforming St. David from a malaria-ridden swamp into a town of artesian springs.

• Later that week, Sam’s sitting outside the coffeeshop possibly reading Flowers in the Attic when he hears the older woman at the table next to him insisting that mutants are living in Paradise, only coming out at night, kidnapping people and murdering them, mutilating their bodies and leaving them for the sheriffs to find (and cover up, naturally). Sam is only half-listening—conspiracy nuts are a dime a dozen in this town—until the woman's friend asks patiently where they're getting water from, and the woman says something about haunted springs in the forest. He pretends he’s Dean for a moment, cuts in on the conversation, says he’s doing an independent study project over the summer. The woman fills him in on not just the one disappearance, but several over the past decade, mostly border-jumpers and itinerants.

• Reading between the lines, Sam starts to wonder if there’s a vampire nest in Paradise; he takes down some names, starts putting the research skills he's been learning to good use. He looks up some of the newspaper records on microfilm, finding records—occasional mentions in the Bisbee Observer (and before that, the more legitimate and much less typo-filled Bisbee Daily Review) of people missing, reading up on the history of Paradise.

• He comes back from the library, excited to tell Dean and John what he’s found, only to find John gone and Dean and Tina halfway through a case of beer she brought; they invite Sam to join them, and Sam does. Drunk!Sam ends up talking a lot about how cool the sky island forest is and trying to convince Tina to come with them to see it, but Tina seems oddly resistant. She changes the subject, tells them about her sister, how she was so dominant that she couldn’t tell where her sister ended and she began. Sam starts to feel a sort of kinship with her.

• The next morning he wakes up, discovers that Tina and Dean are gone. He wanders out to where John’s working in the living room, tells him what he’s found. John, who got in late the previous night and is singularly focused on demon activity, is a little condescending towards Sam—there’s dozens of conspiracy theories circulating through town, and besides, if there were actual vampires in Paradise he'd have found some direct evidence by now, they’ve been here more than a month.

• Sam is adamant about going anyway—"you always say it's our job to look into things nobody else will"—and maybe John's a little swayed by Sam's passion (or maybe Sam threatens to steal a car if John doesn't take him). As a sop, John gives Sam the keys to the Impala and tells him to come back if he needs help; as he's about to leave, John calls Sam back, gives him a tenner and reminds him not to head out to the middle of nowhere without supplies. Sam stops at the Circle K, packs a couple jugs of water and some nuts and jerky, and takes off; he’s a little pissed at Dean for ditching him the previous night (and also for, he assumes, sleeping with Tina) so he doesn’t bring him along.

• A couple of hours later, he’s jouncing up the road. The road is empty, as usual, the sun is hot, as usual. Sam gets to the border of the sky island, where the sun is less ferocious, and pulls off at the first group of abandoned houses. He goes to investigate; the first two are empty, barely more than hovels. The third looks empty, but he spots a table with no dust on it; looking closer, he finds a trap door down to a cellar.

⁃ Sam knows he should go get Dean, but he’s still feeling jilted, so he goes and grabs a machete from the Impala’s trunk

⁃ Carefully, he makes his way down the rickety staircase into the basement, shining the flashlight around—and is nearly jumped by a middle-aged woman, yelling at him in Spanish. He has some high-school Spanish but not much; he manages to ward her off, convince her he’s not ICE or Border Patrol. She still doesn’t trust him, but he notices the two children in the corner, the chains holding them there. In Spanish: “Why are they held?” “Coyote,” the woman spits. “Went to demand more money from my family. Should have been back three days ago. Probably drowned in a bar.” Sam doesn't 100% understand but gets the gist—the empty water jug in one corner and stinking bucket in another tell most of the story. The disappearances, the mutilated bodies—it's nothing supernatural, just people doing awful things to each other.

⁃ Sam picks the locks on the chains, tells the woman to wait a moment; he goes out to the Impala, gets the food and a jug of water, gives them to the woman. She’s still wary, but accepts the gifts. She tries to give him a warning, something about water, though his Spanish isn’t quite good enough to make it out; she also presses on him a small figurine, clearly very old, something that looks like a mermaid.

• He gets back around twilight, finds Dean and John bent over photocopies of local records. John sees him come in, asks him if he found anything. Sam opens his mouth, intending to tell him about his day…then decides against it. Just says there’s no vampires. John grunts in acknowledgement, mind already elsewhere.

• The next morning, Dean's missing again, so Sam stalks off to go swimming at the community pool. He’s doing laps, trying not to think about anything, but Dean keeps coming to mind, the way his eyes met Sam’s when Tina was talking about her sister, the way they felt almost hungry. It keeps haunting him, something about that hunger—he's walking back down Main Street, past some of the shops and galleries that sell local art to tourists, when he sees a large painting of La Tlanchana that bears some resemblance to the mermaid figurine—the woman’s warning comes to him again, and two pieces click together in his mind.

• He starts researching La Tlanchana and her various legends and beliefs about her over the years, particularly drawn by the darker and more vengeful incarnations that the Aztecs worshipped. He starts formulating a theory about the disappearances, that they’re linked to…what? A haunted spring? A mermaid? He’s so tantalizingly close…

• He comes home when the library closes, all excited to tell Dean what he’s found and get his input, but John and Dean are both gone; Dean’s bed is rumpled, and the sheets smell like…well, they smell like Dean and Tina, in a way that makes Sam’s stomach flip with jealousy. It's not that he hadn't guessed that they were sleeping together, but...he’d thought Tina liked him. He’d thought…Dean belonged to him. Little things like the hollow of his hip when his jeans rode low, or the way his knees bowed out when he walked, or the tightness around his eyes when he was trying to hide something—

⁃ —does horny uncomfortable 16-year-old Sam sit on the bed and envision his brother and Tina together and end up desperately rubbing one out right there on the bed? Oh yes he does. Afterward, roiling with several emotions (of which only some are shame), he half-considers going to the bar to look for Dean—but he has more trouble passing for twenty-one, and besides, what is there even to say?

• The next day, Sam intends to sleep late to avoid Dean, but his brother comes in at ten or so, in a disgustingly good mood. “Come on, Sammy, you’ve been cooped up in that library too long. Tina was telling me about a cave up on Mule Mountain, supposed to be a great place for a picnic.” John is still gone, and Sam’s in no mood, but can’t really say no to Dean.

• The brothers strike out over Mule Mountain, watching out for snakes and wildlife, looking for deer. Sam tries to explain to Dean his half-formed La Tlanchana theory, but Dean just humors him. Sam, nettled, starts griping about Dean’s navigation skills, about the way he sounds like their father, about all the time he’s spending with Tina, etc.

⁃ Dean deflects, but Sam’s upset about a lot of things he can’t acknowledge, so he starts in on the major sore point in their relationship—ripping on John for trapping them here, for never letting Dean be a kid, for always demanding their unquestioning obedience and loyalty, etc. Dean tolerates Sam’s griping to a point but once he starts in on their father it’s only a matter of time before he’s threatening to kick Sam’s ass; when Sam gets to the “he’s never let you be independent” part, Dean informs him with no small amount of anger that John has offered to give him the Impala, let him take jobs on his own—but he refused, because he’s been taking care of Sam—

⁃ They’re so caught up in arguing that they miss the way the sky’s going dark—it’s not until the first crack of thunder splits the sky overhead that they shut up and look at the sky, which is incredibly threatening

⁃ Sure enough, a moment later it starts pouring, with all the ferocity of a full-on faucet. Dean whoops, shedding his shirt like it’s an old skin, and dashes for an overhang that might shield them from the worst of it

⁃ Sam swallows and follows, soaked to the skin and shivering as much from fear as from cold. Cue the most miserably sexually-charged moment possible—Sam tryiing desperately not to notice all those little intimate physical things about Dean that he loves, Dean oblivious and in his element watching the storm transform the landscape

⁃ There’s a moment—maybe Dean says something like “Whatever it is that’s been eating at you, spit it out, Sammy—“ where Sam almost confesses. But cowardice, or perhaps intuition, hold his tongue—some secrets don’t need to be told. So instead, he passes it off as moodiness, apologizes. Dean confesses that he’s not actually all that into Tina—she’s fun, and all, but he knows they’ll be moving on soon enough. He lets slip that John’s halfway convinced that there’s no case here, anyway; they’ll probably be moving on in a week or two. Reluctantly, they allows things to revert to the status quo; as a consolation, they find a waterfall and eat slightly soggy sandwiches alongside it.

• The next morning, Sam wakes up to an entirely different town—the hills are starting to turn green, people in town are making plans to picnic by the waterfalls, everyone’s mood is lighter. Sam realizes he’s already looking at the town differently—as yet another place that’ll be in the rear view mirror soon, not as a place he inhabits. He’s coming to terms with that—glad for it, in some ways—when something tips him off that things aren’t right. Maybe the crackpot dude tells him the cycle is beginning again, or he overhears some gossip about how Tina didn’t show up for her shift last night, or sees something in the police blotter. Regardless, he ends up convinced that Dean and Tina have run off to the sky island and that Dean is in danger. Sam once again channels Dean, steals a county truck and floors it out to the sky island, this time forgetting to bring any supplies.

• Sam arrives in Paradise but sees no sign of Dean or Tina. He realizes he's parched (even flooring it out to the sky island, it's a good hour's drive); he listens for the water sounds. Instead, he hears Dean’s laughter, low and beckoning. He follows it, finds Dean standing shirtless in a spring, the version of Dean that terrifies him, untouchable and threatening and irresistible. For a moment he's almost taken in—but he knows Dean like nobody in the world, and thus knows a copy when he sees one. Not-Dean smiles, shimmers, reforms into the more familiar mermaid form.

• La Tlanchana (or this version of her) tells Sam how he puzzles her. She usually kills violent men, and Sam has a lot of violence in his past, and a destiny of violence in his future—but he was kind to the migrant mother, and undid some of the horror she’s seen done in her land. She sings for him, a lullaby of sorts, luring him away from his life of violence and yearning—

• Sam’s about to submit to her song when Tina appears, tells her to stop, that Sam’s destiny is his own to choose. La Tlanchana sneers at her, the same way you did? and Tina says yes—I’ve chosen you. It’s been more than a hundred years, and you’ve seen so much horror, grown vengeful—but I still love you, your kindness, the way you give life in the desert. They sing together, their voices intertwining, until they turn to water, melding together.

• Sam shakes off the daze, goes back to the truck; a few minutes later, he finds the Impala, bogged down in the rutted post-monsoon roads. He shakes him awake, questions him to see what he remembers—Dean appears to have been hypnotized, or something similar. He uses the truck to pull Dean out of the rut, tells him to return to the town, everything's over. Dean will have questions later, but for now he goes.

• Once Dean is gone, Sam goes back to the pool, now a perfectly mundane little monsoon-fed spring. He takes out the little figurine of La Tlanchana, sets it on a rock nearby, tells both Tina and her sister goodbye, and thanks them for their help.

• Epilogue: Sam is beginning his junior year in yet another new school. The smell of the school is the same, as are the lights (flourescent) and the lockers (stamped metal that echoes when it slams); he finds the guidance counselor’s office, lets himself in. The counselor looks up at Sam, comments on both his excellent grades and his peripatetic record. Sam: “So, if I wanted to go to college…”

#supernatural #sam and dean #wincest #summertime thing #my writing

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demi-shoggoth · 4 years ago

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COVID-19 Reading Log, pt 18

Man, this past month has been a heck of a year, hasn’t it? I’ve still been reading books, but my pace has ebbed and flowed, and I forgot to update this for a while. So here’s my thoughts on ten of the most recent books I’ve read.

91. The League of Regrettable Sidekicks by Jon Morris. I had no idea this book existed until I was doing image searches for this project for the other “League of Regrettable X” books. This one covers the sidekicks, minions and goons of comic history. Unlike the other books by Jon Morris, the spread is more even of Gold/Silver/other ages of comic books. After all, the 70s is when Jaxxon the green rabbit appeared in Star Wars, and the 80s had a shape-shifting penguin named Frobisher in the Doctor Who comics. It also feels like it’s a little looser about what makes a character “regrettable”. Some of the sidekicks in its pages, like Woozy Winks and Volstagg the Voluminous, are legit great characters.

92. Encyclopedia of Things That Never Were by Michael Page and Robert Ingpen. I wanted to like this book; I really did. For one thing, it was recommended to me by @listmaker-lastcity, who I was working with on commissions. For another thing, it was fairly pricy used. Thirdly, to its merit, it is gorgeous. Michael Page, the illustrator, is credited first, and rightly so. But for an “encyclopedia”, it makes up a lot of stuff. It opens with a disclaimer that “the creators of this book have… unlocked their own fantasies”, which means that it invents Arthuriana and Greek myths wholeheartedly. Several of the entries do not exist outside this book, and others are so distorted that their actual folkloric origins have been clouded and obscured by people using this as a source. For material I’m not familiar with the primary sources of, like Gulliver’s Travels, I have no idea if it’s reflecting the source material accurately, or making things up whole cloth. As a fantasy, it’s intermittently fun; some rather nasty misogyny does sneak in and the book is wildly anti-science. As a reference work, it’s useless to the point of actively harmful.

93. Solutions and Other Problems by Allie Brosh. I was a huge fan of the “Hyperbole and a Half” blog back in the day, and knowing Allie Brosh’s history of mental health problems, I was worried when she seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Her release of a second book was a pleasant surprise, but also showed that some worry was appropriate. This collection of essays, cartoons and heavily-cartooned essays is sadder than the first collection, as it was written during and after a series of family tragedies. It is still very funny in parts, however, and has an overall message of self-care and love that turned out to be extra relevant in the nightmare year that is 2020. It’s the only book for this project that I read in a single sitting. Highly recommended.

94. Mozart’s Starling by Lyanda Lynn Haupt. This book is half memoir, half biography. The composer Mozart owned a starling during some of his most productive years as a composer, and even wrote an elegy to it when it died. The author used this as a launching point to adopt her own starling, and to examine how this invasive species is seen in American birding culture. The writing is humanistic and charming, and very self-aware (the author worries that her starling is going to die, because that’s what always happens in “this animal changed my life” books). The message is one of respecting all other creatures and of valuing the lives of animals, which is not much of a surprise from the author’s other books (I covered The Urban Bestiary earlier in this project.

95. The Butchering Art: Joseph Lister’s Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine by Lindsey Fitzharris. The subtitle says it all; this is a biography of Joseph Lister, focusing on his research into antisepsis and promotion of sterile technique in surgery. It takes ample digressions to talk about other major surgeons of the time, the state of hygiene and disease theory in Victorian England, France and the United States, as well as things like labor conditions and women’s rights. These bits and pieces are woven in successfully, so they feel like appropriate context setting. Fitzharris is empathetic despite the often grisly subject matter, but readers with a sensitive stomach and a low tolerance for gore might want to skip this one.

96. Twice the Thrills! Twice the Chills! by Bryan Senn. This is a big book, 400 pages in full sized paper. It is an overview of the horror/SF double feature, covering every movie released initially in that format between 1955 and 1974 in the United States. As such, it reviews more than 200 movies, with behind-the-scenes anecdotes, critical opinion and box office, and general coverage of trends and themes in genre cinema at the time. I enjoyed this book greatly, especially since it covered some movies I’d never even heard of. The timing is perfect, too, as I read this book just before @screamscenepodcast covered the first entries in it, Revenge of the Creature/Cult of the Cobra. My one complaint is that the author seems biased against Japanese films. He discredits the special effects and monster suits in kaiju movies compared to even movies like Attack of the Giant Leeches and The Killer Shrews, and complains about acting and scripts in Japanese films much more than he does for other dubbed films. He also consistently refers to Ishiro Honda as “Inoshiro Honda”, which is how his name was misspelled in the 60s. That level of disrespect for some of my favorite genre pictures is a constant low-level irritation in what is otherwise a fine resource.

97. Cursed Objects by J. W. Ocker. This is a fun catalog of objects said to be cursed, including the whys, supposed effects and current locations of these artifacts. The book is sorted into categories, like “cursed objects in museums”, “cursed furniture”, “technological cursed objects”. It takes a skeptical, folkloric look at the topic, being more interested in the stories than in any legit supernatural powers. It even talks about things that “should” be cursed because of their odd appearances or eerie provenances, but aren’t, like the Crystal Skull forgeries. The book is a pleasant and breezy read, and the author has a good sense of humor on the topic. He curses the book itself with an epigram against thieves, and buys a cursed dog statue on eBay that sat on his desk throughout the writing process.

98. Death in the Garden by Michael Brown. This book is wildly misnamed, being light on both the “garden” and the “death”. It’s supposedly a social history of poisonous plants, but is more interested in English herbals specifically. It refers to the authors by name extensively as if we should have all of these memorized, and the only place where the prose has any energy is in the biographical section for these herbalists. There’s very little information about the actual plants and their poisons. I would use the word “doddering” to describe the prose style, which is simultaneously rambling and boring. The photography is pretty, though.

99. Ripley’s Believe it Or Not! 1929-1930 by Robert Ripley. IDW puts out lovely volumes of vintage American comics, and this is no exception. Being a kid into weird facts and trivia, and an adult who is still into them, the Ripley franchise was a major part of my childhood. This is the first modern collection organized chronologically, covering the first two years the strip was in national syndication. The strips cover the typical Ripley mix of sports trivia, weird facts, word riddles and puzzles, misleading statements and the occasional outright lie. The book has a warning about the racial attitudes of the time, which is fair, but it’s not nearly as bad as I feared. Ripley’s habit of drawing from photographic references means that people in ethnic minorities look like real people. But the language is decidedly “of its time”, with slurs used to identify foreign ethnicities (particularly Asian ones). So be warned.

100. Unlucky Stiffs: New Tales of the Weirdly Departed by Cynthia Ceilan. I’m ordering material to pick up from my local library again, which is great! This book was actually recommended by the library website based on the morbid slant of some of the other books I was putting on hold. Unfortunately, this book sucks. It’s pitched as a “weird deaths” book, something like a more literary version of the Darwin Awards. But the deaths are often not all that bizarre, instead being typically sad accidents or murders. It just comes off as mean spirited and misanthropic. Not recommended.

#reading log #ripley's believe it or not #b movies #comics #medical history

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saundraswriting · 4 years ago

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Missed Signals Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Reki might have a problem. He gets hyperfixated. He is too loud. He has a delayed sleep schedule. He forgets to eat and drink sometimes. He zones out a lot, and even more when he tries to pay attention. He fidgets with his hair and his clothes and his skin to the point of injury. His brain works, sometimes. Other times he has to fight it. He has learned to cope enough over the years but just like everything else, some days are better than others.

WARNINGS: Nothing too grand, descriptions of ADHD symptoms,

NOTES: I am trying to cope with what I am thinking is undiagnosed ADHD by projecting onto my favorite characters. I mean no harm and no offense.

Ao3 // Missed Signals Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Next Chapter

With the sound of the last bell, Reki and Langa tore off to the skate park. They had just finished mid terms. Both boys were lookin forward to the three day weekend. They both missed going to 'S' and the skate park and even Joe's place, trying to studying as much as possible. Langa was still terrible with his Japanese and Math even though he was getting better. Reki's English and Biology scores were dismal, but he seemed to be scoring consistently well on his other tests.

"Hey, Langa, Reki! Over here!" Joe called. "Long time no see." The four other skaters were standing near a bench in the skate park all seeming to wait for the two high schoolers.

"Joe! Cherry!" Reki's bright grin was visible to them from the entrance.

"Shadow! Miya!" Langa was a little more subdued in his greater but no less enthusiastic.

Both boys felt a weight shift off their shoulders at the presence of their friends. They were really finished with midterms, they had three days to hang out and skate with each other. Their week of hard work seemed to finally pay off.

"Hello there, boys. How did midterms go?" Cherry asked. He was dressed in his robes but had his hair up.

"I think we did okay. It helps that we struggle in different subjects. I am glad we decided to take the days to review things." Reki said.

"It was a smart idea to use past test to study off of, instead of just notes. Your notes are also so lacking but you do so well on the tests." Langa commented absently as he bent to retie his shoe.

"What do you mean?"' Joe asked Langa. They all watched as Langa fiddled with his shoelaces.

"Oh. Um. Reki often forgets his homework or his notes are very scattered. Rarely does he remember his homework and take good notes. But he scores high on his tests. I even overheard the teachers discussing that if he applied himself and did his homework and took better notes Reki easily could be a top student." At the second mention of his name, Reki stopped looking at his phone and came back to the conversation, glancing at Langa who was sighing at his shoe.

"Langa, your aglet is broken. You'll need new laces. but for now I think some tape will do." Reki said. Everyone looked at him confused. "What? The thing on the end of your laces is called an aglet. It is derived from old French meaning 'needle' or 'pin' designed for lacing shoes or bags easier. Originally they were for ornamental reasons." Reki rattled off unprompted into the silence. His face grew pink at the attention of the others.

"Reki, why do you know that?" Miya asked.

"I had a period of time where I customized shoes for people. I liked how different it was from doing a board. I could show off my art skills better and helped steady my hand a bit more." Reki shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

"You know the old French origins of a part of a shoe no one cares about but you can't be bothered to learn English?" Cherry demanded.

Reki shrugged again, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassment evident. "I don't mean to not do it. I sit down and I get ready to do it but then my mind blanks. Sometimes I can force myself but then I am frustrated quickly and easily irritated. Sometimes I work on it at school but then my notes are shitty." Reki rubbed his forehead, voice hard. "Sometimes the lights are too bright. Sometimes my brain says no to English but yes to physics and even sometimes my brain says no to everything and I just sit there telling myself all the things I need to do but it is all too much and not enough." Reki's hands begin to shake, while Joe and Cherry share a look over his head.

"Skating is the only thin that helps. But when I skate I give up time that I could be studying or working on the homework. I don't mean to be bad at school, just sometimes I can't help it." Reki seemed to curl in on himself, drawing his shoulders up and ducking his head down. His voice grew small and weak.

"Reki we didn't mean to make you upset. We were just curious. You aren't the only person that has issues organizing their thoughts or staying focused. Has this been an issue for a while?" Cherry gently asked. Reki seemed to relax when the group stayed quiet, seeming to expect derogatory comments.

"I think I began noticing in my second year of middle school." Reki spoke to the ground, unable to look at anyone in the eye. Langa could see his muscles tensing, sensing Reki's desire to bolt.

"That is enough of that. We came here to skate. Let's skate." Joe broke the tension seeming to sense Reki's urge to flee.

"Yes! I have something I want to show you slimes." Miya skated off after joe towards the halfpipe, throwing taunts over his shoulder as he went. Reki and Lana flew after him, throwing their own teasing comments at Shadow, who deemed himself the adult supervisor of the rowdy children.

Cherry and Joe hung back a bit, watching them all tear off. The previous conversation still lingering in the air. Both adults tracking a brightly laughing Reki as he skated around Miya and Langa.

"Poor kid. That must be so frustrating. He tried to make it out like it was no big deal but even if he learned some coping mechanisms, they won't work all the time if he doesn't know what the source of the problem is." Cherry said.

"He won't. He isn't self aware enough to know that he even has symptoms. He seems to have an executive dysfunction though." Joe said, thinking back to his high school days, where everything was too much and not enough, the days of skating until the small hours to hopefully be able to focus, the cooking and baking he did to keep from tearing things apart.

"Maybe we can help him? Maybe if we play our cards right he will even let us. He is so smart, it must be terrible to be stuck in your own head like that." Cherry said, finally picking up his board. Joe followed suit.

"The hardest part is the executive dysfunction. You need and want to do the thing but because you're frontal cortex didn't develop fully you completely freeze and your brain checks out and you are worthless all day. No one else can really get it unless they know. It is hard to explain it to neurotypicals." Joe tried to explain to the best of his abilities. Cherry nodded and made a mental note to research neurotypicals and neurodevelopment disorders.

The two adults finally made it over to see everyone was in the middle of a trick imitating game. Miya was keeping the tricks to a lower difficulty than normal so Reki wouldn't get to disheartened Joe noticed. Langa was doing pretty well, some of the more subtle footwork tripping him up since he wasn't a long term veteran. They skated for a few more hours before finally taking a water break. They were leaning against the fence or the bench or even each other in Reki and Langa's case. Langa had his full attention on Reki as he lectured on another topic, Cherry wasn't sure but it seemed to be about the manhole covers in the streets.

"They have to be round cause any other shape will fall in when turned upright. It is to save the people who are in the pipe below it." Reki was saying. Langa soaked up every word, and Cherry almost felt sorry for how gone the kid was for Reki.

"Honestly kid, why do you know that?' Joe said, looking just as interested. Cherry could only sigh and hope he wasn't as readable on how gone for his idiot gorilla.

"I collect interesting facts. I like to keep them in my brain, never know when you need them." Reki said. Joe just smiled down at the young man, fondly.

"Of course you do, kid. Of course you do."

#saundraswriting #sk8 the infinity #renga #reki kyan x langa hasegawa #adhd!reki #Domestic Sk8 family #matcha blossom

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jksangelic · 5 years ago

Text

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

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

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 18,600

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part One

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

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

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

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

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung…”

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

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

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

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

Part Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More howls from them, more cries from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Five

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

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

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

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What were you doing, human?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Leave." So you do.

Part Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confused, you nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Nine

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

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

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

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch this.”

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

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

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

❋

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

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright, time for bed."

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

❋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must miss him then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

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

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Ten

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

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

❋

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Part

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to join me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

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

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

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

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

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

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

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

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

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My love, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

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

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

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

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

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

“How do you feel, lovely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

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

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

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

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

“Now you’re just bragging!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this better, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

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