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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 3 years

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A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head.

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you.

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks.

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication.

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile.

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed.

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it.

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly.

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off.

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically.

He glares.

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar.

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks.

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible.

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole.

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-”

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye.

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands.

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent.

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line.

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water.

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there.

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you.

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat.

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls.

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you.

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers.

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble.

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens.

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy.

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered.

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #rick flagg #bloodsport #bloodsport x reader #robert dubois x reader #robert dubois #idris elba #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #dc #dc smut #dc fanfiction #fanfiction #smut

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livia-dovehallow · 3 years

Text

future talks - gabrily

in honor of yours truly managing to score tickets to MARINA’s virtual concert next month with an afterparty pass and t shirt before they sold out, here is a un-related fluffy piece for our favorite shadowhunter couple to have ever existed !!!

Characters: Cecily Herondale, Gabriel Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Time/Place: 1882, London, England, UK

Documents scattered the library table in an unorganized shuffle of thoughts. Cecily scanned the names of each sheet of paper before her looking for the one she needed in that moment, growing more and more frustrated the longer it took her to find it.

Gabriel sat beside her searching as well. He had not made any sound of frustration as she had been doing but his face gave away that he felt the same way. Only Gideon across from them remained calm, though if a bit exasperated. “It’s not here, Gideon,” Gabriel stated for the third time in the last five minutes. He tossed the stack of papers he had in his hand back onto the table with a sharp slap. “How could it be missing? It’s the most important sheet of paper in this mess!”

“There’s no need to get cross,” Gideon said calmly, which only aggravated his brother more.

Cecily set her hands on the table, palms pressed against the solid wood, and inhaled slowly. Both boys ceased their bickering. Gabriel set his hand over hers gently. She looked at him, then at Gideon. “Is it possible to get a new one, Gideon?” she asked, tired. “If there is a fee, you can charge it to my brother.”

Gabriel let out a short puff of air meant as a laugh and squeezed her hand. Gideon began to gather his own set of papers, organized as he kept them always, and began to stand from the table. “I will go see if they can provide a new print now, that way if it will take time to arrive, we can still get it in before the ceremony.”

“Thank you,” Cecily said and smiled gratefully. Gideon nodded, and with a quick smile and wave, he left the library to the Hall of Records in Alicante. She turned to Gabriel, who still had her hand in his, and squeezed his fingers. “It’ll be all right,” she assured him.

Gabriel nodded and dropped his tense shoulders. She’d noticed how stressed and tense he had become over the last few days. Their wedding was only days away, and after years of courting and engagement, she knew he was as restless as she was to finally be married. “I know,” he answered with a small smile. “I just want everything to go smoothly. No hiccups or problems.”

Cecily laughed and threw her head back onto the backrest of her chair. “When has there ever been a no-problem event among this group of people, hm?” She turned back toward him and admired the way his cheekbones were enhanced by the witchlights in the library. “Gideon will find us a new marriage certificate and everything will be well.”

“Should you still be called Mrs. Lightwood if there is no marriage certificate?”

“I can do as I please.”

Gabriel smiled, affectionate and genuine this time, and turned back to the papers across the table. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself, and reached for the first paper he saw. “That makes me feel better. We can work on the other documents while we wait for Gideon.”

Cecily pouted. “What else is there to do?” she lamented. “Mundane marriages do not involve nearly as much paperwork.”

“Do they?” Gabriel asked absently, shuffling through his pile. Cecily groaned. Over the course of their engagement, they’d completed a variety of forms and documents needed to make their union official in the eyes of the Clave. Providing birth certificates (which proved more difficult than Cecily would have liked. How was she supposed to know that her mundane-issued birth certificate had been stored in special forces?), filing for an officially sanctioned union, choosing wedding decorations and food, and not to mention the ages she spent finding the perfect wedding dress. And yet there was much to do—including having their marriage certificate ready for signing at the end of their ceremony.

“What is this?” Gabriel asked suddenly, pulling Cecily out of her half-asleep state. She blinked at him and took the page from his hand, reading the type as it came into focus.

“’Ensure your future husband is ready for life,’” she read aloud. Below was a list of topics one was meant to discuss with their betrothed prior to engagement. Cecily giggled. “It’s from a mundane women’s magazine,” she explained to Gabriel, who clearly had never touched a mundane magazine before. “Sophie or Tessa must have thrown it in with our files in jest. It’s meant to be taken at the time of engagement.”

Gabriel took back the page and studied it. “These are all quite important topics indeed,” he commented. “’Finances and Dowry, Size of Home, Duties, Children.’”

“I don’t have a dowry,” she said and raised an eyebrow at him. “That isn’t going to be an issue, is it?”

“Of course not,” Gabriel answered seriously. Cecily giggled again; she was only joking, but Gabriel was always serious about being a modern man. “And if you did, I would reject it.”

“Truly?” Cecily questioned, intrigued.

“Truly,” Gabriel answered. He turned to her. “Others see marriage as a business transaction. Indebted men seek plentiful dowries to pay off their debts, nothing more. I do not want any part of that.”

“My father would be pleased to hear you say that.” Cecily reached up and kissed his cheek gently, feeling his face lift with a smile beneath her lips. “Besides, I am proud of you for giving up most of your inheritance to Tatiana. Angel knows that girl is not deserving of your kindness.”

Gabriel’s eyes were sad. “She’s my sister,” he said with a heavy sigh. “And I hope she uses it to take care of Jesse. I think that is the primary reason I did what I did. She had a child and no salary.”

“You’re a very loving uncle,” she whispered to him. “I know you’d give anything for the little ones. I think you’ll make an excellent father.”

Gabriel flushed red and avoided her eyes, fidgeting with the magazine in his hands. “Speaking of children in the same building where your brother is present seems likes a death wish,” he said.

“For you,” she chirped with a shrug and fully turned in her seat so her entire body faced him. “Don’t worry. He’s all talk now.” Cecily paused then bit her lip. “Do—Do you not want children?”

Gabriel jumped in his seat and jerked his attention toward her once more, looking frazzled. “No!” he said quickly, then shook his head. “I mean, no that’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “I-I just never thought I’d have the opportunity to—you know—have children, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever get married,” he answered quietly, with a pink flush to his cheeks. Cecily felt her heart squeeze at his tone. “It was always Gideon who was groomed to carry on my father’s legacy. I was just backup really. I thought I would have given my life in the field before I was ever mature enough to get married.”

Cecily brushed her fingers through his ever-toussled brown hair and admired him. He’d changed so much over the years and she only continued to fall deeper in love with him as he did. “Did I change your mind, then?”

Gabriel’s face lifted as did the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he confirmed with a short laugh. “I may actually grow old now.”

Cecily rolled her eyes but she laughed, happy to see him in a better place in his life than he had been when she met him. “I am glad,” she said.

“I do want children,” he added, squeezing her hand once more and looking into her eyes with those comforting green ones. “Especially with you. You’re right. I love being an uncle and being around the little ones. It’d—be very nice to have some of our own.”

Her heart burst in her chest with more happiness and love than she ever thought she was capable of. Without hesitation she surged forward and took his face in her grasp, pressing her lips to his. He smiled against her and held her steady as she leaned out of her chair. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you, too.”

She pulled away from him reluctantly. “I think I need to be an aunt, first,” she said.

Gabriel blinked. “You’ve been one.”

“Not officially. We are not yet married.”

“The girls call you Aunt Cecily.”

“It needs to be official.”

He laughed and nodded. “All right,” he caved, pressing another quick kiss to her before setting her back into her seat. “Anything else you wish for upon marrying me?”

“Besides children and an official Aunt title?” She teased.

“Yes, besides those.”

Cecily pretended to ponder long and hard about her answer, despite the fact she knew exactly what it was before he even asked. “I want you to stay with me.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? Seems easy enough.”

“And also tell me how wonderful I am every single day.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“I am not expensive to please.”

“I can see that.”

Cecily grinned at him, unable to contain her excitement to spend the rest of her life with him. She wanted a love as strong as her parents’ and she had found it. “Is there something you want from me?”

Gabriel seemed surprised by this. “Anything I want?”

“Yes, you.”

He mocked her pondering expression from moments ago, prompting her to huff in faux annoyance. “I also want you to stay with me.”

“I can do that.”

His smile was sweet and vulnerable, an expression she knew only she got to see. She hoped one day he’d look at their children with that expression as well, but until that day came, she was content being the only person in the world he looked at with such love and affection. She began to imagine what their children together would look like in her mind. Whose eyes would they inherit? Would they get her black hair or his brown? Would they have all girls or all boys or a mix? Oh, Gabriel with a daughter would be so sweet—

“Cecy? What are you thinking about?”

“Our children.”

Gabriel flushed red once more and quickly looked away and back toward their documents. “One step at a time, Cecy. We need to get properly married first.”

“Details.”

#gabrily #gabriel lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #gideon lightwood #will herondale #the infernal devices #the last hours #fluff fic #tsc #tid #tlh

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jksangelic · 4 years

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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takara-kaneko · 4 years

Text

Fluffweek Day 2: Nightmare

To Continue with our Sevian fluff, @deijnar and I present you with our next story, only slightly late for Day 2 of @mmfluffweek

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy it!

Sevian Day 2: the Princess’ Problem

A scream dies in my throat as I startle up from my bed. On my neck there’s a cold layer of sweat, my breathing is ragged and my hands are shaking. To no surprise, I find my cheeks being wet as I touch them.

But the dream, the nightmare, that has shaken me so greatly, is escaping me. Not that I want to remember the pictures that made me cry in my sleep but it feels… kind of worse to not know. Like I am missing something important, like I have to know, like I should know…

I feel terrible. My skin is tingling in an unpleasant way, I am freezing and sweating at the same time. Before I can really think about it, I grab my phone and type a message.

WizardPrincess, 02:47

Are you still up by any chance?

SpaceKnight, 02:47

The Defender of Justice always hears the cries of those in need of him!

WizardPrincess, 02:48

That’s good because I really need you…

SpaceKnight, 02:48

What’s wrong? How can I help?

WizardPrincess, 02:50

Ah, actually I’m not sure, I just had a really bad nightmare I think and I just… really wanted to talk to you, is all ^^;; what is the Defender of Justice doing at this time of night?

SpaceKnight, 02:51

Do you want me to call you?

WizardPrincess, 02:52

That… would be wonderful but I don’t want to stop you from doing whatever you’re up to.

Incoming call…

SpaceKnight

The littlest hint of a smile appears on my face as my phone starts ringing in my hand immediately. “Hey there…”

Hearing his voice already calms down my frantically beating heart. “Hey, cutie. My godly senses tell me that my Wizard Princess had a nightmare tonight.”

A very short, weak chuckle escapes my lips as I slowly lay back down. “As always, your godly senses are perfectly right.”

There are some rummaging and rustling in the background but I only concentrate on his voice and try to calm down my breathing. At least my hands aren’t shaking anymore.

“Just hold on a little bit longer and your knight will be there.”

My eyes widen and I sit up straight again. “What? No! I’m sure you’re doing something important, you really don’t need to drive all the way over here just for this! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you…”

The answer is immediate and it causes my heart to skip a beat. “There’s nothing more important than making sure you’re okay, Viv.”

So much for getting it to beat calmly again…

I need a moment to let his words sink in before I take a deep breath and smile. “Okay. Drive safely.”

“My dear madame, the Defender of Justice always drives with the utmost safety.” The stern tone of his voice makes me laugh and I stifle it with my hand. As always, I decide to play along with his funny and, admittedly very cute, antics.

“But of course, how could I have forgotten this universally-known fact? Hopefully, you can forgive my sloppiness.” I’m so much into the act that I actually do a little bow despite the fact that he can’t see it.

“You are forgiven this time because you are in a compromised condition. It’s not the duty of a princess to know all of her humble servant’s qualities.” Although he is still talking in a playful manner to try to cheer me up, there is a deep, underlying softness in his voice that fills my chest with warmth and makes me feel a bit dizzy. And maybe that dizziness causes me to say something I normally wouldn’t dare to say out loud.

“But you’re not only my favorite servant, you’re my overall favorite person. I want to remember all the little, random facts about you!”

After realizing what I’ve just said, my eyes widen and I purse my lips. For a split second, I consider hanging up, feeling my cheeks heating up like crazy. But if I did, I wouldn’t be able to listen to him anymore… So I’ll just have to bear this awkwardness I’ve just caused.

The soft laugh that echoes through the speaker is more than enough to make it worth living through any kind of awkwardness as it speeds my heartbeat up again in the best possible way.

“Then tell me, what is it you want to know about your loyal knight, my princess?”

As I realize that this is a true chance to get to know something special about him, I take a moment to come up with a good question. So, first, I have to buy some time for myself. “Hmm, let’s start with something easy. When is your birthday and how old are you?” I should probably know these things but it’s 3 a.m. and I really can’t remember right now...

“It was the bright morning of June 11th when I was born. My mother was a simple milkmaid back in the 8th century, but she knew from that moment, I would be a knight.” His voice is giving away how much he dives into his own story and it causes the smile on my lips to grow. Texting him was obviously the best choice I could have possibly made. “Of course, it’s been over a century since then… So, to keep my identity hidden, I just claim to be 21.” Weirdly enough, the mysterious tone of his voice truly makes this silly story kind of intriguing. “But because you ask, I shall tell you the truth. My true age is 1,320! I look surprisingly young, wouldn’t you agree?”

To stay in character, I gasp dramatically. “1,320?? You truly don’t look your age! I can only imagine how many people you have saved in all those years!” As I say this, I make sure to separate the real information from his jokes in my head. I really want to remember this…

“I could tell you about the duke I heroically rescued. But none of my tasks so far have been nearly as important as the one to keep you safe.”

This statement makes me close my eyes and causes me to place a hand over my mouth to not let out the squeal that is trying to let him know how flustered and unique his words make me feel. It’s probably stupid but… I guess I just want to know.

“Have you ever protected a princess like me before?”

As soon as I’ve asked the question, I feel dumb for doing so. Even if he said yes… What exactly would that mean? And what do I expect to gain from this knowledge? Would I seem even more stupid if I took the question back…?

The longer the silence on the other end goes on, despite it being just a few seconds, the more nervous I get. “I’ve never gotten to protect a princess before. You’re my first, my lady.”

My breath hitches in my throat and once again, my cheeks heat up as my heart hammers against my chest. The butterflies in my stomach dance with each other and whirl around, causing an excited tingling in me that I have never felt before. This feeling is exactly like I’ve read so many times in my novels before.

“I’m really glad it was you who first found out I’m a princess so you’re also the first and only one to be my knight.” Hopefully, he can even understand what I’m saying, my voice is barely more than a whisper anymore.

According to the sigh of relief that reaches my ear, he did. “And I’m glad I found you too.” I take in a sharp breath, hoping he overhears it due to the dull noise in the background. “By the way, you want to let me in?”

Prompted by the soft knock on the door that accompanies his question, I jump out of bed so quickly that the room around me starts to spin for a short moment. Impatiently, I hurry to the door and end the call, eager to be able to not only hear his soothing, lighthearted voice but also see his sparkling eyes.

Without a second of hesitation, I tear open the door. But as soon as my eyes lock with his, I freeze in place. There’s nothing I want more at this moment than to wrap my arms around him but… would that be weird?

When his gaze lands on me, he lowers his phone from his ear. “I said I’d always be here for you, Vivian.” And as if these words weren’t enough to fulfill my dearest wish, he also takes the one step forward that is needed to close the distance between us and he embraces me in the most heartfelt, tight hug I have ever had.

Unable to put the simply inexplicable feeling that is surging through me at this moment into words that would even slightly do it justice, I lean into his touch and hide my face in his neck, holding him as close as possible. “Thank you.”

“And if the magical powers of this hug aren’t enough, I also brought you some mochi.” Maybe the light kiss he places on the top of my head would have caused my brain to stop working entirely only hours ago but right now it fills me with nothing but happiness and I fully relish in the sensation of his lips against my skin.

“I doubt I need anything but you right here to feel fine but the mochi is still greatly appreciated.” With a chuckle, I reluctantly let go of him. “Come in, I can’t leave my knight standing in the hallway!”

His chuckle makes me feel even more at peace. “I’ll follow wherever you want me to go. And we can share the mochi!!”

With a grin on my face, I motion for him to step inside. “In that case, I want you to follow me to the living room so we can share the mochi and the couch!”

We enter the room together and he prepares the couch for us, placing and fluffing up the pillows to create a perfect, comfortable nest while I bring my fluffiest blanket. By the time we are seated on the couch, I’ve calmed down completely and my eyes keep falling shut. Too sleepy to be shy about it, I snuggle against him and lean my head against his shoulder as he puts his arm around me. But before I drift off to sleep, I still get to take a little bite of the mochi he offers to me.

“This is really sweet…” I mumble with a content smile, my eyes closing as I wrap my arms around him too.

***

I stroke her hair until she falls back asleep. And while I never have had much good luck, I wish with all the power in me, that her dreams this time around will be pleasant.

Maybe it's because it is so late, or maybe because she's so warm and soothing, sleeping next to me; but I feel comfort that I never have before.

With my eyelids getting heavy, I stop to look at Vivian. Her small body is resting comfortably. It's impossible for me to feel anything but at ease with her, apparently, even in her sleep.

Careful not to stir her, I place my hand over my lips, catching the kiss I want to give her. And with trembling fingers, I gingerly place my hand-caught kiss to her lips. Gliding my hand to stroke her cheek, a sudden wave of exhaustion falls over me.

My eyes fall shut and my mind is being lulled to the rhythmic sounds of her breathing. Maybe sleep like this would be better for both of us.

#mysme #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfiction #707 #mysme fanfiction #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme fanfic #mystic messenger 707 #mm 707 #mysme fluff #mmfluffweek2020

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jamesashtonisbae · 4 years

Text

Why Not Both Pt. 7

Word Count: 2740

Pairing: Bryce x MC (Bentley Rogers) and Rafael x MC (Bentley Rogers)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, sexual content - like not safe, lemon content

Summary: Bentley cannot decide between Bryce and Rafael. Will she have to?

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Pixelberry studios.

Link to Masterlist

Part 7

Bentley and Bryce stumbled through the door to her apartment. They hadn’t taken their hands off each other the whole way back. When they pushed through the doorway completely, they ran right into Danny and Sienna, who were wrapped in each other’s arms.

Both couples jumped apart, glancing at the other pair, embarrassed at first. Well, except for Bryce, who was never embarrassed. Sienna’s shirt was pushed up and her midriff was bare. Danny’s belt was unbuckled, and his pants were unbuttoned. Bentley quickly became unembarrassed, and instead became excited for her friend.

“Oh hey, we were just coming here to change our clothes and go out to get drinks. You two, please carry on.”

“Danny, let’s just, go to my room,” Sienna said, not making eye contact with Bentley or Bryce.

“No, no,” Bentley said, taking Bryce’s arm, “you deserve to make out in the living room. God knows we’ve done it plenty of times.”

Bryce grinned and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Bentley’s lips, “Yeah, you two have had to put up with us far too many times.”

Bentley’s mind flashed to Rafael and her doing the exact same thing recently as well. Dating two guys was weighing on her, and she hoped Sienna and Danny wouldn’t mention it. Not that Bryce would care.

Bryce took her hand and tugged her down the hall gently, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Just still worrying about this whole ‘dating two guys’ thing. I don’t know what to do to make myself stop worrying about it. Like in that moment just now, all I could think about was the fact that the most recent guy Danny and Sienna have watched me make out with in the entryway wasn’t you. It seems like we talk about this every time we’re together, but I’m struggling with this, so hard. I love you, and I love him. And this is going to sound weird, but you’re also like my best friend, so I kind of want to talk to you about how much I love him? I want to share all of that with you, because I just want to share everything with you…”

Bryce took her hands and guided her to her bed, the pair jumping when they heard Sienna’s door slam closed. They broke out of their serious moment and laughed together softly for a couple of seconds. She leaned onto his chest and gazed up into his eyes.

“Bentley, you know I love you. I want to hear about everything in your life, and that includes Rafael. It’s not awkward for me, Bentley. I know this will sound cocky, but I am not threatened by Rafael, because I’m confident in what I have with you. All I’m worried about is the possibility of wanting to spend the night with you when you’re spending it with him. And I’m worried about you getting burnt out trying to date two people.”

“Why are you always worried about me when it comes to this? You’re so selfless. You’re far more than what I deserve.”

“Bentley, what’s it gonna take for you to believe that you deserve everything this world has to offer and more?” Bryce slipped an arm around her waist, gently pulling her in a little closer. “I want to give you everything I have.”

Bentley leaned her head up and pressed her lips to his softly. The kiss started tender and loving, but when Bryce laid down and tugged her on top of him, they started kissing with more and more intensity - on their way towards not making their plans to get drinks. Her hips started moving against his involuntarily, his rising to meet hers--

“Ohhhhhhhhh, Danny…” Sienna moaned from next door. Bentley pulled away from Bryce, her eyebrows jumping with his as they heard Sienna’s bed frame begin knocking against their wall. She stifled a giggle as she buried her head into Bryce’s neck before letting her laughter out. Bryce joined her laughing, quietly, before burying his face in her auburn curls and giggling too.

After a few moments of awkwardly listening to Sienna and Danny, Bentley turned to look at Bryce, “I should pack an overnight bag so we can go.”

Bryce reluctantly released her and she got up to change out of her scrubs and into a black dress and her favorite jean jacket. She could feel Bryce’s eyes on her as she grabbed a clean pair of scrubs and some undergarments to wear the next day.

“Bryce…” she called as she started towards the bathroom to grab her toiletries. “Will you pick out a nightgown for me to wear tonight? Top drawer. And if you want to push some stuff to the side, you can use it too.”

“A nightgown?” she could hear him scramble off her bed and throw open the drawer from down the hall. She could also hear Sienna and Danny and thanked the heavens that they were finally together. Sienna and Danny were her favorite couple on the planet. They were so cute together, and every day she could tell that they were becoming inseparable.

Bentley tossed her things into a small bag she could fit inside her overnight bag, then rounded the corner to her room at light speed, meeting Bryce’s wide grin as she entered.

“Hey! You look happy…” she said a bit hesitantly.

“This is my favorite drawer, Bentley. I tried to pick something that looked comfortable but I would love to revisit it at some point.”

“Oh no, what did you choose?”

“Just this pink satin one… do you think that’s okay?”

She laughed and took him in her arms, “Of course I do, I told you that you could pick what you wanted,” she reached around him to take the pink slip and fold it into her bag.

“I know you’ll look sexy in anything, but I’m assuming this will be for after we have sex and not before.”

“You’re right,” she said, kissing his cheek gently, then maneuvering around him. “I need to change my underwear quick.”

She opened a drawer, simultaneously pulling off her panties and tossing them in her hamper. Making a show of it, she pulled out a strappy garter belt and a matching thong, pulling them on and attaching them. She felt Bryce reach out for her, but she spun away and grabbed her bag, “Okay we’re good.”

“You absolute tease…” he groaned as he followed her.

They hurried across town, dropped off her bag, and found themselves huddled in a booth in the back of some bar down the block from Bryce’s apartment. Her legs were draped over his lap as she nursed a moscow mule Bryce had insisted she try. He had ordered his usual, which had been nagging at Bentley a little bit.

“So… ‘the usual’? Do you come here a lot? I’ve never been here with you before…”

“Yeah, I used to,” he cleared his throat, looking away from her for a minute, “I used to bring girls here for drinks back when I first moved to Boston.”

“And, did you take them home with you too?”

He coughed again, “Sometimes.”

“I see,” she fiddled with her straw, but didn’t move out of his lap. It didn’t bother her when she thought about how she was also seeing Rafael the whole past year, but if she hadn’t been, she would have been upset. More of what was bugging her was the fact that she’d never really gone out on a date with Bryce, she had just gone about her life and slept with him whenever they had time.

“What’s wrong, B?” he asked, taking her drink out of her hand and holding it in his.

“Nothing - you should have dated whoever you wanted. I guess I just feel bad that you and I never really dated, we just kind of were around. It was never anything really intentional. And now I’m on a date with you and I’m complaining that we never went on a date.”

Bryce laughed, “Bentley, I intentionally spent every spare moment with you. But I thought you had something with Dr. Ramsey, so I tried to date other girls so I would stop myself from falling too fast for you. That’s why we didn’t date. Because we didn’t need to. I was just always around because even then, I knew I was hopelessly in love with you Bentley Rogers.”

Bentley kissed him softly, “You’re so damn soft for me, Bryce Lahela.”

He threw his head back in laughter before turning back to kiss her back, “What have you done to me, Rogers?”

She rested her forehead against his, gazing into his eyes, “This was my evil plan all along… get your defenses down… make you fall in love with me… spend the night at your place… and rob you blind. It’s foolproof really.”

Bryce kissed her forehead softly, then whispered, “It’s all yours… take it all.”

They sipped their drinks a while longer, talking about their patients in common, some they didn’t have in common. Bentley protested when Bryce tried to convince her she should be a surgeon, that way she wouldn’t have to babysit her intern Esme. Bentley argued back that she was on the best diagnostics team in the country and babysitting an intern was worth the opportunity she had to work with Dr. Ramsey and Baz and June.

“But Bentley, you could work with Dr. Harper Emery, the premier neurosurgeon in the country! I don’t understand why that isn’t enough of a draw to get you to switch.”

“I work with the premier diagnostician in the country, Bryce!” she exclaimed, setting her drink down and throwing her arms around his neck. “The quality of professionals I work with matches, if not bests, the ones you work with!”

“Well, the best resident at Edenbrook is a surgeon. You would get to work with him.”

“The best resident at Edenbrook is a junior diagnostician and you know it.”

Bryce’s grin was radiant, and Bentley knew why. He had tried so hard to get her to believe in herself, and now she did. It was all because of him and how much effort he put into building her up to be this confident. She could always count on him to make her more confident.

“You’re damn right she is…” Bryce wrapped his arms around her back and tugged her up so she was straddling him in the booth. Their mouths met in a heated kiss, and when he was sure she was anchored to him, Bryce moved his hands to her thighs, running them over her with that expert touch of his. She groaned and he took the opportunity to meet her tongue with his. His hands crept up her thighs until his thumbs rested lightly on her hot core. In response to his touch she felt a gush of wetness between her legs and she pulled away.

“We gotta get out of here. Now,” she commanded, grabbing a twenty out of her wallet and slapping it onto the table. With equal intensity, she grabbed Bryce’s arm and pulled him out of the booth and back to his apartment.

They barely made it inside the door when Bryce tugged off her jacket and threw it into a corner somewhere. With an unexpected reverence in the heat of the moment, he pulled off her dress as she tried kicking off her shoes.

“How are you so goddamn beautiful?” Bryce asked, sinking to his knees in front of her as she backed into his door.

“Just trying to keep up wi--” she cut herself off with a moan as she felt Bryce’s lips connect with her wet slit through her crotchless panties. He hiked her leg up and over his shoulder, giving himself better access as he worked his tongue skillfully against her. Their eyes met in the dark of his entryway and if she could think about anything other than his lips and teeth on her she would have wondered how he always managed to get her completely naked before he lost a single item of clothing. Her breathing became labored as Bryce tugged at her lower lips, teasing her and getting her as wet as possible, his saliva and her own wetness mixing together, before he latched his mouth to her clit and sucked. The door vibrated behind her as she slapped her hand against it when Bryce would not relent. She arched her back, thrusting her hips towards his face, barely staying up with one very wobbly leg planted on the ground. Bryce knew she was getting close, so he reached up with one hand to grip hers as he moved his other to hold her steady. Her free hand snaked into his hair, gripping it firmly as he coaxed an orgasm from her. She groaned loudly as Bryce kissed her lips over and over again until she was sufficiently down from her high. In an instant, she was in his arms and he moved her to his couch.

He leaned over her, smattering kisses on her face as her breathing returned to normal. With expert ability, she latched her leg around his and flipped him underneath her.

“Now it’s your turn to sit back and let me do my job…”

“Bentley, please, I just want to be inside you…” he groaned as she palmed him through his jeans. In one deft move, she had unbuckled his belt, tugged it off, and pushed his jeans and boxers down. She rose to pull off his shoes and his clothes, moving up and sliding off his sweater and the shirt he wore underneath it in one fluid motion.

Before Bryce had a chance to react, she had slung her legs over him and was grinding her still wet pussy against his very hard dick. His eyes rolled back and he groaned at the feeling of her sliding over him. With a tap on the chest, she drew his attention back to her and she rose slightly, taking him in one hand. He didn’t look away when she guided him to her entrance, the warmth of her so close he could almost feel it. She lowered herself slightly, encasing just the head inside her. He let out a raw, guttural moan and she lowered herself all the way.

When he tried to sit up, she pushed him back gently, “Just watch. And enjoy.”

With a wink, she tossed her head back, her auburn hair flying out behind her. The white column of her neck was exposed, and Bryce licked his lips, hoping he would be able to lean up and place soft bites all over it, marking her as his, but he was under strict orders to lie there. She bounced up and down on his dick, moving side to side on occasion, her breasts moving with her and drawing Bryce’s eyes down. Once he broke out of his trance gazing at her as she rode him, he reached down and pressed two fingers to her clit. He knew her so well, and he knew she would struggle to finish from penetration alone, no matter how good a job he did, and he wasn’t doing much of anything right now. It was the least he could do as she gave him the ride of a lifetime.

Within seconds, they both approached their climaxes, and Bentley tugged him up so she could place her lips on his as they came together. She held him close and kissed him desperately until he shoved her away to look into her eyes, “I love you, Bentley.”

“I love you too, Bryce,” she whispered, kissing him, then letting him lean in and rest his head on her breasts. After a few moments, he started placing soft kisses on her bare chest, then began roaming up to where he was kissing her neck. The kisses turned to gentle bites, and Bentley started getting wet again. “Take me to your bed, Bryce. Take me now.”

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as they moved to his bed. With great care, he set her down, then pressed his body against hers.

It was a long time before they finally fell asleep, but with her head on his chest and their thirsts quenched, Bentley and Bryce slept like rocks their first night being fully in love.

#choices open heart #choices fanfiction #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #rafael x mc #bryce lahela x mc #open heart

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theworkofxanderking · 4 years

Text

The Originals: Bad Blood (Alternative Season 5)

Episode Eight – Legacies: Blood of Our Blood

Warnings: I do not own the original content to “The Originals”, “The Vampire Diaries” or “Legacies” or any of the characters from the television shows.

15 plus, displays of Violence, Gore, Torture, M/M, F/M, F/F.

It had been two years since the events of “From Here to Hell Town” and a lot had changed over that course of time especially for Hope Mikaelson who had spent the last two years training as a wolf, a hunter and a witch at the Salvatore Boarding School with the help of her aunt Davina Claire-Mikaelson who was the Magics teacher at the school and her uncle Kol Mikaelson who reluctantly joined the school to teach the young vampire students after being convinced by his wife.

She also had the expertise of vampire hunter Alaric Saltzman who was the headmaster at the school and the guidance from vice headmistress and guidance counselor Caroline Forbes-Salvatore who often helped Hope to try to have more of a life outside of the school despite Hope’s protests.

Hope’s relationship with her mother Hayley Marshall remained as strong as ever with Hayley visiting often when she could get breaks from ruling the city of New Orleans but her relationship with her father Klaus Mikaelson had once again become strained. Klaus’ visits to the boarding school had became fewer and farther between over the course of these two years which were a relief to many attending Salvatore Boarding School but a cause of pain for Hope even though she knew her father was doing everything he could to find a way to free her aunt Rebekah from Helton better known as Hell Town.

So, Hope dedicated herself to the school and becoming the best of the best so she could one day help her father reunite with his sister and break her free from her cruel fate which had happened by her own doing.

Hope found herself running in the woods of Mystic Falls turning into a grey werewolf effortlessly during mid run before the wolf in her began running faster and faster through the woods of Mystic Falls before the ground beneath her swallowed her and she found herself falling through the dirt before crashing into an underground cave.

Hope woke up naked within the underground cave and eager to find something to clothe her started chanting something in Croatian until a ball of light appeared above her showing the underground cave to have nothing in it but a ancient cloth covering a coffin which Hope quickly wrapped round her to cover her modesty.

She found herself enchanted by this centuries old coffin with the initials S.S marked into it as she wondered why a coffin would be abandoned here by itself before noticing how she could smell something inside of it which made her grow more curious as anything other than bone should’ve rotted away centuries ago.

She was hesitant for a moment before deciding to open it shocked to find a desiccated male vampire with dark hair inside the coffin wearing clothing fitting of many centuries before.

“Just my luck to stumble upon a coffin while running.” Hope moaned as she found herself still memorized by this beautiful lifeless man. “I guess I should probably get you to the school and see what Alaric and Caroline make of you.”

“Oh my god my life is ruined!” Lizzie Saltzman moaned aloud while looking in the mirror in her joined bedroom with her twin sister Josie within Salvatore boarding school as she wore a plain white satin dress which she was clearly not amused with.

“Lizzie I’m sure you will find the perfect dress in time for our sweet 16.” Josie said with a smirk while sitting on the edge of her bed clearly amused by her sister’s dramatics.

“That’s okay for you to say your not painfully single for you own sweet 16 although I’d rather be single than dating that she bitch Penelope Park.” Lizzie replied while her white satin dress changed its color to red.

“She’s not a bitch Lizzie she’s just headstrong.” Josie snapped back at her sister as she stood up from the bed. “Besides she broke up with me last night.”

“Hold up that little slut thinks she can break up with my sister I think not.” Lizzie declared while turning to face Josie. “Did she cheat on you? She did, didn’t she? Don’t worry Josie I’ll give her the worst case of magical crabs anyone’s ever heard of.”

“She didn’t cheat on me she found out about my feelings for Hope.” Josie responded with a sad sigh.

“Seriously? You’re still crushing hard on Hope after all these years?” Lizzie asked. “Ironic how her father chased after our mother for years and now your chasing after her.”

“I am on the verge of moving on from my stupid childhood crush but it sure doesn’t help when girlfriends go snooping into my diary.” Josie moaned.

“The she devil herself broke into your diary what a complete and utter bitch.” Lizzie replied. “That’s a serious betrayal of trust.”

The twins’ conversation was quickly interrupted by a knock on the door before the door opened to reveal Hope standing in their doorway.

“Hope Mikaelson as I live and breathe, we were just so happening to be discussing you well you and other monstrous annoyances in my life.” Lizzie snapped at her clearly not happy to see the Tribrid.

“Nice to see you too Lizzie.” Hope replied sarcastically.

“Sorry about Lizzie she’s just annoyed because the white blushed her out and the red will never be allowed.” Josie apologised for her sister who looked at her with a huffy expression making it clear she wasn’t happy her twin was apologizing for her.

“I need your guys help shifting something.” Hope told them both.

“And please tell us why we would ever consider helping you?” Lizzie asked as her dress changed color once more, this time to black. “Now black is a color that suits my bitchy heart.”

“I need help shifting a body.” Hope revealed.

“Oh, count me in!” Lizzie replied with excitement in her voice.

“Really, Lizzie?” Josie said to her twin unimpressed with Lizzie’s excitement.

“Well I’m already dressed for drama and what’s more dramatic than Hope killing again.” Lizzie said to Josie.

“I didn’t kill this one thank you very much I just found it in the woods.” Hope told her stating her innocence.

“As statements go that one’s pretty weak even for you.” Lizzie replied while rolling her eyes at the youngest member of the Mikaelson family.

“Look are you guys going to help me or not?” Hope asked them.

“Of course,” Josie replied with a smile. “This body it isn’t somebody we know is it?”

“No,” Hope laughed. “Although he’s somebody we may want to know.”

“Oh my god my babies’ sweet sixteenth is going to be totally ruined!” Caroline said with a gasp after being told Penelope had broken up with her daughter Josie after learning about her feelings for Hope.

Penelope Park sat across from Caroline’s desk in Caroline’s office giving the vice headmistress an annoyed look making it clear through her facial expressions that she was far from impressed by Caroline’s reaction to her news.

“Sorry,” Caroline replied with a sigh. “I can’t begin to imagine what you must be feeling right now. Emotions are heightened are your age trust me I know that far too well and maybe Josie’s crush on Hope is just that.”

“Yeah I think it’s more than a crush,” Penelope responded with an eye roll. “I’m sure you can understand why I won’t be at the part tonight.”

“Of course, but if you change your mind the party is open to all Salvatore Boarding School students not just the ones dating or friends with my daughters. I’d hate for you to miss out on a party over a heartbreak and when it’s a party I’m planning it’s bound to be spectacular.” Caroline advised Penelope as Penelope stood up from her chair.

“Yeah thanks but no thanks Mrs Forbes-Salvatore.” Penelope replied before walking out of Caroline’s door just as Alaric stormed in past her holding an envelope and looking far from impressed.

“Please tell me this is some kind of joke!” Alaric shouted while waving the envelope about in the air.

“I guess you got Klaus’ RSVP then.” Caroline said with a sigh as she stood up from her chair.

“Why the hell is Klaus invited to my daughters’ sixteenth birthday parties?” Alaric asked clearly furious by the thought of Klaus being at his twin girls’ birthday.

“It was your idea to invite all students and their parents to this party so that no student felt left out was it not?” Caroline snapped back at him. “Last time I checked Hope Mikaelson was still very much a student your favorite student I may add and last time I checked both Hayley Marshall and Klaus Mikaelson were her parents.”

“She’s not my favorite student,” Alaric scoffed fooling to convince himself or Caroline. “I don’t have favorites.”

“I invited Hayley and Klaus with no belief that Klaus would even come however it’s Hayley who’s busy with affairs in New Orleans.” Caroline explained to Alaric. “Bonnie’s too busy to even be here and don’t get me started on Damon and Elena choosing now of all times to go on holiday with little Stefanie.”

“Most of our students that know about the Mikaelson’s are terrified of them it’s been hard enough keeping Hope in this school because of her association to them and now you want to bring the worst one to our daughters’ birthday.” Alaric moaned.

“Hope is a good kid and an excellent student you tell me this all the time so her parentage shouldn’t be an issue. As for the other students I’ll make damn sure that Klaus is on his best behavior I’m certain he won’t do anything Klaus like with his daughter around.” Caroline told Alaric.

“You’re right.” Alaric sighed. “Klaus is Hope’s father whether I like it or not, but I swear to god if he puts one foot wrong…”

“I’ll make sure that he doesn’t.” Caroline promised.

“What was Penelope doing in here anyway?” Alaric asked.

“It’s seems Josie’s still very much infatuated with Hope so much so that her and Penelope have broken up.” Caroline revealed before going on to say. “Is it awful that I wish this drama unfolded after their party?”

“No Caroline it’s not awful.” Alaric smiled before walking over to her and giving her a hug. “What’s awful is the thought our baby girl could marry into the Mikaelson family and I can’t even stop it because the Mikaelson in question is a great kid.”

“Their teenagers one of which is only recently single let’s not marry anyone off just yet.” Caroline laughed while continuing to hug Alaric.

Hope, Lizzie and Josie were walking through the woods of Mystic Falls eager to relocate the spot which Hope discovered a mysterious tall dark and handsome not to mention desiccated vampire man.

“I’m not assigning any blame here but I’m just saying if you did let your murderous nature take over once again, I mean dad already covered up your last kill.” Lizzie said to Hope as the three girls continued looking through the woods.

“Lizzie would you please just stop calling Hope a murderer already and actually be helpful.” Josie snapped at her twin.

“Trust you to stick up for her I guess sisters mean absolutely nothing when it comes to the girl you’ve been crushing on most of your life.” Lizzie snapped back at her sister not realizing the extent of what she said until it was too late.

“You have a crush on me?” Hope asked Josie with a soft smile making it clear she was flattered as the three girls stopped walking.

“Of course, I do,” Josie replied reluctantly. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Guys I think I just found the spot, thank god.” Lizzie revealed while pointing over to a large hole in the ground. “Now please remind me Hope why your wolf senses didn’t pick up on this way sooner?”

“Who says they didn’t?” Hope replied with a sarcastic smile before a look of worry became clear on her face. “Oh no, Alaric and Caroline are going to totally suspend me.”

Hope, Josie and Lizzie rushed over to the hole in the ground before looking at each other as if to signal one of them to go first.

“Normally I’m all for going headfirst into danger but dirty underground caves is where I draw the line.” Lizzie stated to them both.

“Very well just be ready to pull the coffin up when you see it.” Hope said before jumping down into the underground cave.

“I’m so sorry Josie I never meant to let that slip but hey I’ve kept that secret for like years now can’t a girl get some recognition for that?” Lizzie attempted to apologize only for Josie to give her a furious stare before jumping into the underground cave after Hope. “Fine then but if you get a date for your sweet sixteenth because of my blubbering mouth I’m going to be the one pissed at you!”

Caroline walked into the front foyer of Salvatore Boarding School looking around as her students passed her by before she felt a gush of wind on her neck as Klaus vamp sped his way over to be by her side.

“I must say this place is rather impressive, but I’ve come to expect nothing less from you Caroline.” Klaus said to her. “However, inviting me to your daughters’ sixteenth was quite the shock I must admit.”

“I didn’t just invite you I invited all my students’ parents.” Caroline replied as she turned to face him. “You just happened to be amongst the parents who said yes.”

“Ouch considered me deeply wounded by your words.” Klaus responded with a sarcastic smile. “Can I presume a woman as wonderful as you, already has herself a date?”

“You’ve got to be joking me,” Caroline laughed. “You’re here for less than two seconds and you’re already asking me to be your date at my daughters’ party.”

“Now Caroline one does think a little too much of themselves I was simply inquiring about your life.” Klaus replied. “I’m here for my daughter and perhaps a little help from my sister in law regarding a sister of mine who along with an entire town has vanished off the face of this earth.”

“Oh, I heard about Rebekah,” Caroline said with a sigh. “Bonnie filled me in on Hell Town, Malus witches and the return of your long-lost brother Henrik. I’m sorry things didn’t work out better for everyone.”

“Yes, well that’s story is far from over yet despite giving my sister many reasons to abandon me she never gave up on me and now I refuse to give up on her.” Klaus admitted to her.

“Well I hope Davina has some answers for you that neither Bonnie nor Freya could find.” Caroline replied with a sincere smile. “I really do.”

“Thanks.” Klaus replied. “Now where is my darling daughter?”

Hope chanted in Croatian re-enacting the spell from earlier while standing in the underground cave with Josie before a ball of light hovered above them both only to expose an empty coffin and a different lifeless corpse lying next to it clearly having their blood drained from their neck.

“Okay so clearly leaving opened ground with a vampire unguarded was probably not my greatest idea.” Hope stated while looking at the lifeless victim in front of her. “I guess we have another killer on the loose in Mystic Falls now.”

“You’re not a killer Hope what happened to MG was a terrible accident.” Josie told her to ease Hope’s conscience. “What happened to him could’ve happened to anyone.”

“I know that I do but it doesn’t help his ghost lurks around the school for some unexplained reason reminding me everyday that he’s dead because of me.” Hope replied with a sigh. “And it sure as hell doesn’t help Lizzie declaring me a killer all over school.”

“She’s just being Lizzie nobody takes her seriously when she’s being a bitch neither should you.” Josie explained to her.

“Did I just hear my name?” Lizzie shouted from above them.

“You’re right.” Hope responded with a laugh before looking Josie up and down. “Do you really fancy me?”

“We should probably focus on the vampire running loose.” Josie replied with a smirk.

“Okay but then we’ll have a talk.” Hope agreed.

Lizzie stood above the opened underground cave staring down to see nothing but darkness before a tall dark mysterious man vamp sped to appear on the other side of the hole knowing instantly he was the vampire in question noticing his medieval clothing which was now stained by fresh blood.

“If you think I’m another one of your snacks your going to be severely disappointed.” Lizzie warned him before shouting. “Hope, Josie I found the vampire.”

“Vampire is that what I am?” He asked her.

“I don’t know what they called you back in your day but nowadays we call your kind vampires.” Lizzie said to him while trying not to notice how handsome this deadly stranger was.

“You look familiar to me.” The vampire said before vamp speeding over to Lizzie, so he was now standing next to her. “May I tell you you’re quite the exquisite beauty?”

“Yes, you may,” Lizzie replied with a smile before touching the vampire’s chest and siphoning him “but this beauty doesn’t come in snack form.”

Lizzie lifted her hand chanting in Croatian magically snapping the vampire’s neck as Hope climbed out of the underground cave pulling Josie up with her.

“Typical show up after the vampire’s been dealt with.” Lizzie snapped at them both. “Now can we ditch this guy in our dungeon and get back to preparing for the party?”

The doors of the Salvatore Boarding School swung open before the unconscious body of the vampire Lizzie had just taken down flew into the school his body hitting the ground harshly as Hope, Lizzie and Josie walked into the school grabbing the shocked attentions of the students the noise making Caroline and Klaus vamp speed in from different directions of the school.

“Girls, what is going on?” Caroline asked them.

“Dad,” Hope said noticing her father. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“Clearly.” Klaus replied with a smile.

“I was just minding my business when Hope came knocking on our door desperate for me to help her chase some boy.” Lizzie explained to Caroline clearly ignoring Klaus’ presence.

“Your chasing boys now?” Klaus asked Hope not amused with the prospect of his daughter dating.

“He’s a vampire we found in some underground cave in the forests I wasn’t chasing him because he’s a boy I was hunting him just like the others.” Hope admitted to her father.

“We were back up in the whole hunting shenanigans.” Josie admitted to her mother.

“You girls aren’t supposed to hunt your too young to be hunting anything let alone some random vampire.” Caroline told all three girls.

“Weren’t you and your friends trying to kill me at that age?” Klaus said while smiling at Caroline causing her to sigh once again.

“So, you’re allowed to hunt original vampires, yet I’m not allowed to help out Hope.” Lizzie moaned at her mother causing Klaus to laugh.

“Firstly, we never hunted them they hunted and tried to kill us.” Caroline stated before smugly smiling at Klaus. “We just kept getting the better of them until they fled town.”

“That’s not quite how I remember it.” Klaus replied.

“My point is, no hunting!” Caroline said while looking at all three girls. “Now put him in the dungeon before he wakes up and start getting ready for the party. I’ll deal with the questioning.”

Hope and Klaus walked into the Stefan Salvatore dedicated library within the school Hope looking clearly unimpressed with her father.

“So, suddenly you want back in my life?” Hope snapped at him. “I barely ever hear from you and now you want to attend a party at my school?”

“Hope I’ve always been in your life even when I haven’t been around.” Klaus replied wounded by his daughter’s words. “You know I’m just doing everything I can to get Rebekah back I’m sorry that means I’ve not been around much.”

“It’s not my fault Aunt Rebekah’s gone.” Hope cried. “I just did what was asked of me I didn’t know it would mean we’d lose her.”

“Hope I have never once blamed you for Rebekah’s situation.” Klaus told his daughter before hugging her. “Rebekah knew the risk when she went back in none of this is on you.”

“Then why does it feel like it’s all my fault?” Hope asked as she hugged her father tighter. “I miss her so much!”

“I know,” Klaus said while stroking his daughter’s hair “I miss her too, but we will get her back that’s why I’m here to see Davina.”

“Dad, Davina doesn’t know anymore than she did before.” Hope replied while breaking off the hug. “Nobody seems to know anything about the kind of spell I used that day, nor does anyone know anything about Malus.”

“That was before Freya finally got her act together and stepped out of her suburban life with Keelin and their twins Elijah and Nik.” Klaus revealed.

“Aunt Freya has been working to find Aunt Rebekah just has hard as anyone else you can’t argue her happiness with her wife and kids.” Hope snapped at him. “What did she find out anyway?”

“The spell you cast though more ancient and complicated than most prison spells, was in fact a prison spell written by a witch within the Gemini Coven.” Klaus admitted. “Which means a certain set of twins are more than likely the keys to getting Rebekah back.”

Suddenly an arrow was launched into Klaus’ chest causing him to scream in pain much to Hope’s shock before falling to the ground revealing Alaric behind him holding the crossbow in which the arrow that wounded Klaus was fired.

“Really Mr Saltzman was that necessary?” Hope asked him.

Caroline stood in front of the gates within the dungeon underneath the Salvatore Boarding School looking over the unconscious vampire laying within the cage as his neck snapped back into place and he quickly rose to his feet.

“You clearly got unlucky when you came across my girls!” Caroline told him. “Now it’s up to me to work out whether you deserved to be hunted by them and their friend or whether your confused and innocent.”

“My name is Sebastian, I think.” He replied.

“You think, how does somebody forget their own name?” Caroline asked him. “How long have you been down there?”

“Yes, my name is Sebastian, Sebastian Salvatore.” He revealed much to Caroline’s own horror.

“That’s not possible Stefan never told me about any other vampires within his family.” Caroline replied. “You’re lying.”

“Who the bloody hell is Stefan?” Sebastian asked making it clear he had no idea who Stefan Salvatore was.

“Caroline!” Alaric shouted from above her.

“Just great,” Caroline sighed. “What has Klaus done now?”

“Release me now!” Sebastian demanded.

“I’ll be back for you but first I have to deal with an original pain in my ass.” Caroline told him.

“Well hurry back so you can explain to me why that witch looks so much like my Isobel.” Sebastian revealed.

“Which witch?” Caroline asked.

“Blonde and very violent.” Sebastian went on to say.

“That’ll be my Lizzie,” Caroline replied with a sly smile showing a sense of pride.

“She must be a Gemini witch then tell me does she know of the impending merge?” Sebastian asked her.

“What do you know about the merge?” Caroline quizzed him desperate for answers.

“Release me and find out.” Sebastian replied with a wicked smile.

#klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #alaric saltzman #hope mikaelson #lizzie saltzman #josie saltzman #the originals #the originals fanfiction #vampire diaries #vampire diaries fanfiction #legacies #legacies fanfiction #klaroline #hosie #mysticfalls #alternativeseason

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alicederauge-blog · 5 years

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The Siren ~ Alice DeRauge

Hello hello!!! I’m Jolie and I am honestly so excited to be here and create some amazing connections with you all, as well as read about and learn about all the amazing characters you have created. Below is some information about my girl Alice, who is also known as The Siren. I’m always here for plots, interactions and creating interesting connections!

A young woman leans against the slightly rusted rails of the small, Parisian apartment, the cigarettes drawn to her ruby red lips as she stares at the world passing by below her, watching as the ash falls from the tip of the cigarette and down to the earth below, the smoke billow up above her as she is caught in the middle of it all. The faint shouts of her parents an echoing reminding behind as she brings the cigarette to her lips once more. If a girl falls in the city, and no one sees; did she really fall?

Alice DeRauge was the only child born to two Parisian artists, them claiming that little Alice was merely a manifestation of their love and their art brought together. She was truly like something from an artists mind, with her pouted lips and wide dark eyes- she was like something from a dream state even as a child.

Despite her parents being passionate people, they did very little to provide for Alice growing up. Their art very rarely selling for a high enough price for them to live contently. The small family of three living in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of Paris where it was always too hot during the summer and too cold during the winter nights. Despite having a small child to care for, they still very much lived under the starving artist mentality. There was always never enough food in the cupboards and empty wine bottles littering the apartment.

Despite the hardships that were faced, Alice was a relatively happy child. The cobblestone streets of Paris becoming her playground, finding kindred spirits among the other children who the world seemed to have left behind. They would run through the streets well into the late evening, stealing candy from corner stores and cigarettes from their parents. They were content with the small lives they had created for themselves but young Alice always craved something more.

As she get older, Alice fell into darker habits. Sharing beds with men twice her age after spending the day drinking two bottles of red wine. The pills were always readily available and she indulged in this small escape, knowing she could get away with it, her parents having a complete disregard for what their daughter truly got up to in the evenings.

Alice was a mere seventeen years old when her mother declared that she was finally leaving her father for good, forced Alice to pack a small duffel bag and shoving a one-way ticket to America in her slightly, hungover face. The brief hug she shared with her father being the last time she saw him as Alice’s mother made promises of a brand new life for both of them.

It didn’t take long for Alice to adjust to American culture. Enjoying the wild parties that were thrown every weekend, the drugs that were happily supplied to her and the various males and females who showed a physical interest in her. She indulged in the popularity she had as being the exotic French girl and everything that was given to her with ease.

She was eighteen when she had first rehab stint, it was the average eight week program that introduced Alice to the twelve steps but really, it just taught her how to be more sneaky about her habits and the things she did when no one was looking for her.

Despite all the issues and the need for rebellion, Alice always managed to get good grades- something that helped her get accepted into St. Etinne on financial assistance, majoring in classic literature and wanting to live like the authors she worshiped growing up. The likes of Jake Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and the likes of the rest of the beat generation who opposed everything around them.

It was halfway through her second semester when she was sent to rehab once more after a harrowing incident where she was found unresponsive at a frat party. It was there that she met Daisey, the two girls becoming fast friends and confiding deeply in one another about everything they had been through and what they hoped to achieve in life.

What Alice didn’t expect was to return to school and find Daisey acting as if the two were strangers, that they hadn’t spent sleepless nights sneaking cigarettes and talking about everything Alice had never spoken of before; missing her father, missing Paris, her resentment towards her mother- things she would never dare say aloud without the comfort of darkness.

Though Alice merely pushed it aside and acted as if Daisey were nothing more than the spoiled, entitled child everyone else viewed her as. Keeping their stint in rehab together a dark secret, though she would often catch the female eyeing her when she thought Alice wasn’t looking yet no words were ever exchanged between them. The two clearly being from two separate worlds.

The night the incident with Daisey occurred, Alice had reluctantly been attending the party, sneaking outside for a cigarette when she saw a car speeding away and then the commotion from inside. She then spent the next eight hours at the police station with no coffee or cigarette breaks, something that annoyed her greatly.

Down the rabbit hole:

Is very much a hopeless romantic but also a very big cynic due to being jilted in the past, though her heart often overrules her head.

Very much tries hard to live the beatnik lifestyle, resenting modern trends and pretending to despise the use of social media. Dreams of living a wild life like her favorite authors.

Her mother has recently become engaged to a man, something that Alice resents her deeply for. Since moving to America their relationship has become very strained.

Likes to play the role of the femme fatale but often ends up falling for the person she is seducing.

Very much pansexual and open about her attraction to all people.

Has never been able to hold down a steady relationship; either she is too distant for the person or ends up cheating on them or vice versa. Tends to fall into very toxic relationships with people.

Is a popular student yet no one truly knows her. Keeps things very close to her chest.

Rarely seen without a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a glass of cheap red wine.

Often seen wearing a red beret; considers it her trademark.

Misses her father deeply but has not been able to get in contact with him since she left Paris.

Always wanting something more. Never content with what she has.

Is a sucker for a good foreign film and obscure art expeditions.

Is honestly just an overall hot darn mess.

#veritasintro #tw age gap relationships #tw drugs #tw cheating

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veritas-alice-blog · 5 years

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The Siren - Alice DeRauge

Alice was a mere seventeen years old when her father declared that she was finally leaving her mother for good, forced Alice to pack a small duffel bag and shoving a one-way ticket to America in her slightly, hungover face. The brief hug she shared with her mother being the last time she saw her as Alice’s father made promises of a brand new life for both of them.

It was around her first year of college when her father announced that he engaged to be married to a woman, something that shocked Alice but begrudgingly accepted especially with an introduction of a step-brother into the mix though she believes as far as step-siblings go, he isn’t too bad.

Down the rabbit hole:

Is very much a hopeless romantic but also a very big cynic due to being jilted in the past, though her heart often overrules her head.

Very much tries hard to live the beatnik lifestyle, resenting modern trends and pretending to despise the use of social media. Dreams of living a wild life like her favorite authors.

Likes to play the role of the femme fatale but often ends up falling for the person she is seducing.

Very much pansexual and open about her attraction to all people.

Has never been able to hold down a steady relationship; either she is too distant for the person or ends up cheating on them or vice versa. Tends to fall into very toxic relationships with people.

Is a popular student yet no one truly knows her. Keeps things very close to her chest.

Has a slightly strained relationship with her step-mother and father especially after her second rehab stint. Though she does tried to keep the peace as best as someone like Alice can.

Rarely seen without a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a glass of cheap red wine.

Often seen wearing a red beret; considers it her trademark.

Misses her mother deeply but has not been able to get in contact with her since she left Paris. Can you scream mommy issues??

Always wanting something more. Never content with what she has.

Is a sucker for a good foreign film and obscure art expeditions.

Is honestly just an overall hot darn mess.

#vertiasintro #drugs tw #cheating tw #tw age gap relationships #nothing has actually changed #I just wanted to reblog on this account #so I can edit later if needed!!

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coquelicoq · 4 years

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Lol what are your top wangxian fics

lol. i’m going to assume that you are referring to this post in which i said it’s impossible to narrow down my favorite wangxian fics but offered to give new recs each time i am asked this question. and if you were not intending to refer to that comment, well, that’s still what i’m doing! also you didn’t specify top 5 or top 10, so i’m going with 10 because i really got a backlog to work through here.

these are all complete and none of them have a tragic ending because i am not about that right now. and without further ado, anon, let’s get this wangxian.

depression is kicking my ass currently, so have some of lwj's and wwx's experiences with grief and mental illness:

Sun in an Empty Room by lightningwaltz (T, 10k). a contemplation on what it would be like for a traumatized and grieving young man to raise a small child, and how wanting to be better for him and watching him grow aren't enough to heal such a deep hurt, but they do make a difference. wwx's resurrection happens about halfway through. there's some really lovely imagery in this, and the tone is such a good match for the content. favorite line is maybe “Lan Wangji’s pain is a greedy thing, and he lets it call in its debts as the sun glides across the sky.” oof.

stay by queen_gee (G, <1k). very true to the experience of waking up and just feeling...wrong. i always love fics that show one (or both) of them struggling with trauma or grief or depression that doesn't magically go away just because they're together. healing is more complicated than that and i like to see that reflected back to me by fictional characters. that said, i also appreciate seeing how they can ease the way for each other, even if they can't fix it.

Convalesce by incendir (G, 4.8k). lwj has wwx back now, safe and sound, so he assumes the nightmares he's suffered for 13 years will go away. they do not. he doesn't want to worry wwx, so he tries to hide them - but then something reminds him of an especially traumatic moment, and there's no hiding a panic attack from wwx. this fic is really about how hard it is to talk about your pain and how much worse it is, on top of whatever it is that’s causing your pain, to feel like your emotions would be a burden on others. of course, when it comes to lan zhan, wwx doesn't see it that way. and we probably all need to hear that from time to time.

jc? in MY wangxian fic? it's just as likely as you think:

drawn to the blood by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (T, 5k). this is like the opposite of hurt/comfort: hurt/being dragged out of a monster lair by your brother-in-law who you hate and then being forced to accept his medicine that probably has pocket lint all over it because otherwise you'll die and your husband will be sad. this is jc pov and he is VERY grouchy. he has to keep reminding himself that he is on purpose trying to save lwj's life so he can't be TOO petty or lwj will just up'n die out of stubbornness and that would defeat the purpose. i'm making this sound like a whimsical romp but it's really more thoughtful than that, i am just always amused by jc angrily saving people and convincing himself he’s doing it against his will. these two emotionally constipated dudes have a SERIES of conversations (plural!) and end up coming to an understanding! this is a fairly short fic that still manages to give jc a very convincing emotional arc and i love that for him. (tbh this is more of a jc-lwj fic than a wangxian fic, but wwx does show up at the end, and of course reluctantly caring about wangxian is jc's motivation for saving lwj, so i'm counting it.)

post-canon getting together:

home is a person by leafings (G, <1k). ahhhh this is such a satisfying read on the last scene of cql! i'm obsessed with wwx's obsession with the way lwj says his name. wwx's relief and excitement blend together really naturally here. short and very sweet.

Deeper grows my longing by feyburner (T, 4.5k). part yunmeng bro defrosting, part wangxian getting together. jc offhandedly mentions wwx's husband and wwx is like "my WHAT NOW??" and that's how he finds out that lwj is into him, lol. wwx decides to teleport himself directly to cloud recesses using an experimental talisman because he simply cannot wait another second to see lwj. the wangxian banter in this is so delightful. lwj even manages to sneak in a barb at jc, even though he's not present and he just did lwj a huge favor actually?? gotta love this consistency. the setting in the lotus pier portion is really fleshed out - i was impressed with how tangible the author was able to make not just lotus pier itself but also wwx's nostalgia for it.

a couple of REALLY GOOD aus:

upon metal by astrobandit (T, 7.3k). wwx is a genie and lan zhan is the modern-day man who stumbles across his amulet. wwx doesn't know what to make of this quiet, sad person who doesn't want anything from him - in fact most of his wishes turn out to be about making wwx happy. this is just really sweet and also fairly suspenseful as it counts down to the final wish. i absolutely love the worldbuilding in this and the way canon events are adapted to fit it.

a theory of creation by bogliasco (NR, 9k). steampunk au in which wwx's heresy lies not in desecrating the dead by harnessing resentful energy, but in bestowing automata (robots) with souls and personalities and (gasp!) free will. this premise is SO creative and SO well-realized, i am super impressed. i love an au that translates the story into its world rather than just dropping the characters into a totally unrelated setting. and it's from lwj's perspective, so we still get the experience of certain plot elements coming as a surprise. also omg the author's note about jc is such a cool idea for this au and i hope the author expands on it in their follow-up WIP!!

the stars in the hazy heaven tremble above you by cicer (G, 64k). cinderella au, with lwj as the prince and wwx as a thief who sneaks into the palace disguised as mo xuanyu to do a bit of stealing from the rich to give to the poor. he really shouldn't draw any attention to himself, so he's just gonna slip in and slip out and...whoops! he's in love with the prince now!! that's awkward. i adore the jc content...wen qing is so great in this...wwx keeps fucking suggesting that lwj should marry mianmian...and everything lwj says when he's convincing wwx that he loves him back is?? so much?? just. dissolve me????? i can't believe i haven't seen this on tumblr yet (it was only completed two weeks ago, so maybe that's why?). i truly believe anybody who reads wangxian fic will adore this and should bump it to the top of their reading list immediately.

and i always want to include at least one laugh-out-loud-funny fic per rec post, so please enjoy:

the recesses by theinfamouswordsmith (T, 7k). lwj takes wwx home to meet the family. wwx: am i...living the plot of "get out"??? i laughed so much while reading this. wwx's internal monologue is hilarious, jyl's and jc's skeptical responses are hilarious, the lan sibling banter is hilarious, the perfectly self-assured and apparently self-unaware oddness of the lan family is hilarious. it's funny because of course wwx is being ridiculous, of course the lans can't be a cult, but also...are they?? a family with lxc in it could totally be a cult. he's just so fucking earnest. and they homeschool all their kids and live in a compound in the middle of nowhere. wwx's reactions to each new piece of evidence are priceless. i want to quote my favorite line but it would be impossible...just to give you a taste, please be advised that wwx calls lwj both "sugar tits" and "fire of my loins." i love it when wwx moves past his fear of being axe murdered right into dismay that he's never axe murdered anyone before so oh no, what if his boyfriend's family doesn't like him?? i wish i knew this guy in real life so i could lovingly laugh in his face and tell him he's ridiculous.

as always, more recs can be found here. happy reading!

#i quadruple-checked all the links this time and i swear tumblr is fucking with me #it deleted two of them and moved another one (though that one was probably my fault somehow)#the untamed #wangxian #fic #these are a few of my favorite things #asks #anon #links #linked to #wangxian fic #i actually said in that last ask that i would rec recent fics i had enjoyed but some of these are several months old #they've just been languishing in my drafts and i wanted them to languish no more!#i still got several old ones but considerably less than before #and at least three of these are pretty recent #to be clear i don't think jc would be carrying around medicine with pocket lint on it #i just think that lwj would be trying so hard to imagine something wrong with it so he could resent it #that he would maybe decide that the herbs are covered in dust etc. even in the absence of evidence

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eightpoundsofhair · 6 years

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Lapidot Week Day 5

Yay! My favorite prompt of rthe week is finally here!

It is Costumes/Decorations

you can read it below or here on AO3

@lapidot-week

Peridot was very excited for this "Halloween" festivity.

Steven had arrived a few days earlier and had explained this event to her and Lapis, and invited them to go "trick or treating" with him. He had said they needed to go in a disguise of some sort, which seemed a bit unnecessary to Peridot, but she agreed regardless. He also suggested that the roommates should get in the Halloween spirit by decorating the barn.

He had left them a bag of plastic insects and bones, as well as artificial spiderwebs. Peridot had spent a long while analyzing the contents of the bag after Steven had left, trying to figure out what each piece should be used for.

When Lapis retired from a flight, the pair had a small debate about what do do with the items, Peridot insisting they had to spread them throughout the barn, and Lapis arguing that they should just make one meep morp our of it.

Peridot and Lapis eventually decided, after a few more hours of heated conversation ending in frustration, that one meep morp was better. After all, why would someone place tiny plastic spiders all over when they would only have to pick them up later? Besides, Pumpkin would probably eat the small items if they had scattered them anyway.

After the pair had finally decided, they skillfully crafted a piece together.

It was an amalgam of skeletal bones, held together by tightly wrapped spider webs, with plastic insects stuck here and there. It was propped up against the wall, as it was too large and lengthy to stand on its own.

Peridot was happy when it was completed, feeling prideful of her and Lapis's work, but felt a sliver of worry that Steven would be angry that they used their materials for a different purpose then she assumed he had meant.

Steven approved however, agreeing that their meep morp was much more interesting than many of the decorations on the homes he had seen.

Peridot felt her pride swell, "It is pretty great," she smiled, as she looked upon the large object. Lapis chuckled behind her, nodding in agreement with a smile on her face.

Steven invited Lapis and Peridot to help him decorate his home a few days later, stating that he wanted their skillfully artistry to make his house extra spooky.

They arrived on a cold fall afternoon, and Steven cheerily greeted them. He offered the pair 'hot chocolates', some kind of sugary drink, as they entered the house.

Peridot refused, not interested in eating, and lacking the skill to do so in the first place, but watched in interest as Lapis tried the sugary drink on a dare from Amethyst.

"Is it good?" Amethyst asked, eyes wide in excitement as Lapis took a cautious sip.

Lapis swallowed loudly and stared down into the mug.

"I guess," she eventually decided on, shrugging her shoulders and taking another experimental sip.

The group talked as Lapis, Amethyst, and Steven finished their drinks. Pearl took the group's mugs as they finished and washed them.

Steven jumped up, once all the mugs were gone, and grabbed Lapis and Peridot's arms, pulling them back outside.

He left the two alone briefly, running back inside before returning with Amethyst and a garbage bag full of decorations. Pearl and Garnet followed behind with more decorations.

Steven divvied up the decorations, and the group set to work.

Peridot and Lapis had been assigned the job of putting spiderwebs up on the deck of Steven's home, while the others made a graveyard in the sand below. The only thing asked of Lapis and Peridot was that there was a way to enter the house.

The pair quickly went to work, pulling apart the spiderwebs, and wrapping the stretchy fabric it was made of around various areas of the deck, mindful of leaving a path that was possible to walk through, if with mild difficulty.

They managed to do so with little troubles, minus when Peridot got wrapped in the webs and found herself not being able to get out.

"Peridot?" Lapis asked, while unwinding another bundle of spiderwebs after the fiasco had been sorted out and Peridot went back to work.

"Yeah?" Peridot asked, wrapping a piece of web around a beam of the railing.

"Can you come help me with this?"

Peridot agreed, quickly turning around to approach Lapis. She took a step forward, and misstepped, tripping on a spiderweb on the ground instead of over it like she planned. She ended up falling right into Lapis and knocking her over.

Lapis let out a small "oof" as she stumbled backwards and began to fall to the ground, and Peridot blushed furiously as she tried to prevent landing with her head on Lapis's chest.

In doing so, however, she scooted so far up so as their faces awkwardly smushed together, their lips touching.

A second or two passed, both gems' eyes wide open in shock, and faces flushing madly.

Peridot jumped off of Lapis after another moment, with a shouted "Sorry!", and she scooted back, turning around to face the other way, blushing furiously.

The two sat for a long while in silence, running over what had happened in their heads, until Steven called up to them from the ground bellow, asking if everything was okay. They both stood up quickly, assuring him that everything was fine, and went back to work in silence, standing on opposite sides of the deck until they were finished.

They followed the others inside when everyone else had finished as well, still silent and as far apart from each other as possible.

As the group sat down to watch movies Peridot and Lapis sat on opposite sides of the room, and they both made a conscious effort to not look anywhere near each other.

Peridot tried to watch the movies, she let her eyes follow the characters and she mindlessly listened, but her mind wouldn't seem to stop wandering. The only thing she could focus on was the feeling of Lapis's lips pressed against her own, soft and silky.

She felt herself flushing, and she decided to try and hide her face, pulling her knees into her chest, and she squished her face in between her legs. She wanted to groan, as the vivid memory floated through her mind again, but knew that she would bring attention to herself is she did so, so she sat in silence, flushing madly into her legs.

Peridot ended up being the only one to "finish" the movie marathon, Steven falling asleep halfway through the second, quickly followed by Lapis, and then by Amethyst. Garnet and Pearl left some time while Peridot was hiding her face, and by early morning Peridot was the only conscious person.

She envied Lapis's ability to sleep at a time like this. Peridot shook her head quietly to herself, she probably didn't even remember what had happened. Peridot felt an uncomfortable mix of jealousy and bitterness at the thought, and she tried to shake it off.

She failed however, and found herself angrily staring at the television set. Angry that Lapis could shake off what was playing on a frustratingly endless loop through her mind, and upset that something so big and catastrophic in Peridot's mind could be ignored and forgotten in Lapis's.

As she continued to replay the memory, she realized with horror and guilt that she had liked the feeling of kissing Lapis, even if it was accidentally. She felt her flush deepen, and the replaying image continued on. Peridot felt bad as she imagined kissing Lapis again, and even more frustrated that Lapis could possibly sleep at a time like this.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by Steven, who came and sat down next to her, a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice soft.

"Of course, Steven. Why do you ask?"

"Because you're blushing and staring angrily at the tv," Steven pointed out, a slight chuckle at the end of his sentence.

Peridot felt her blush deepen, as she looked away from the boy, "I am not blushing,"

Steven laughed again, before accepting defeat and heading back to the couch, "Tell me if you want to talk about it,"

Peridot nodded, flapping a hand at him as she wrapped her other around a knee, pressing it into her body.

She took a deep breath, and tried to shake off the memory that replayed in her head again.

A few hours later, Lapis woke up, and she and Peridot left for the barn soon there after. They both hugged Steven goodbye, and he thanked them for their help, before warping back to the warp pad closest to the barn.

They walked to the barn in silence, and parted ways upon entering the building. Peridot shoved off pumpkin, who barked at the pair upon arrival, and tried to busy herself so as to avoid Lapis.

This worked for a while, almost a full day, but as the sun began to set Lapis put a hand on Peridot's shoulder.

Peridot flinched, lips tingling as she remembered again the last touch she and Lapis had had.

"Come outside with me?" Lapis asked, voice quiet in a near whisper.

Peridot let out a soft whine, "I'm busy, Lapis," she shook off Lapis's hand.

"Please,"

Peridot put her work down slowly, and reluctantly rose to her feet, heart pounding. She followed Lapis outside, and squeaked when she was picked up and flown to the truck placed in the wall of the barn.

She was placed softly down in the vehicle, and Peridot scooted to one side, avoiding looking at Lapis and pretending that she wasn't blushing.

Lapis sat down on the opposite side, and stared off into the sunset.

A few minutes passed, of quiet, calming peace. Peridot found herself gazing too at the sky as the day shifted to night, the sky brilliant hues of color.

"Can we talk?" Lapis asked, as the last of the sun faded, the moon the only light, reflecting off of Lapis's hair and skin in a beautiful manner.

"About?" Peridot asked, although she had a feeling that she knew the answer already.

"What happened at Steven's house," Lapis answered, Peridot looked briefly at her, trying to read her face, but found no sign of emotion in her gaze at the night sky.

"Sure," Peridot finally said, and she felt her frown deepen at her weak tone of voice.

Lapis didn't say anything for a long while, staring into the distance with a straight face. The world was quiet, a cool breeze rushing through the air. Peridot stared up at the stars.

"I liked it," Lapis's voice was incredibly soft, and if not for the near silence of the word around them, Peridot might have missed it. Her heart skipped at the words, and her face flushed further.

She opened her mouth, and after a few seconds let out a shaky, weak, "Me too,"

Lapis hummed in response, and another long silence overcame them.

"Can I kiss you?" Lapis finally asked, turning to look at Peridot for the first time sense they had sat down.

Peridot blushed madly, nodding her head.

Lapis leaned in, her breathing heavy. Peridot felt her heart erratically pounding, and Lapis's warm hands grabbed her cheeks.

She placed a quick little peck on Peridot's lips, and both of their breath hitched. When they pulled away a bright blushed covered both their faces, and they breathed heavily. They stared happilly at each other for a few more seconds.

"Woah," Lapis laughed, and she brought a hand up to her face, her thumb rubbing across her own lower lips softly as she sat up a little straighter. A large smile covered her face, and Peridot couldn't help but smile brightly back.

"Woah," Peridot echoed, a smile in her voice.

Lapis giggled, and brought her hands back to Peridot's cheeks, and she brought their faces together once more.

#lapidot #lapidot halloween week #my writing

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hansolmates · 7 years

Text

vernon; get lost in the rhythm of me

Summary: She had less than a month to finish a project she should’ve finished ages ago, and on a whim decides to interview the campus radio show. Little did she know she’d get locked into the Thursday Night Lockdown with a certain campus cutie. Wow I’m sorry I suck at summaries please send help.

Characters: fratboy!Vernon/Original Female + various

Genre: Fluffity fluff (and if you count student stress a lil wittle angst)

Word Count: 5896

01 | 02(?) | 03 (m)(?)

“There’s that dance team that covers songs, you can write about them?”

“I already checked with their e-board, they’re too busy for an interview.”

College Avenue was littered with students after the final 4:10 session, the kids excited for the week to be over as they walked around like busy ants. Despite the nippy weather, Greek Row was still going strong, so strong that we couldn’t get past the student center without hearing the cacophonous noise pollution coming from the different houses. I totally got it though, considering it was a hard week of exams for everyone. It was lucky enough for us to go to a big university where students could cry and party together. A little part of me itched to go grab a drink from one of their coolers, but I promised myself that I couldn’t have fun until I figured out my final project topic for Media Studies. The topic that I was supposed to have down over a month ago.

(Last Tuesday, 4:33:

“I’m doing a compilation on popular YouTube artists,” Joshua informed, taking a long sip of his iced Americano. .

“Ah. Should I get the small or medium?” I asked distractedly, my eyes calculating how much more content I would get in my smoothie if I got the bigger size.

“I’m almost done with my project, maybe you should start soon.” he continued, probably glaring holes into my back because I wasn’t paying the least bit attention to him.

“Do you think I should get extra bananas in my drink? How can you even tell if there’s extra bananas when it’s all mixed up?”

“And I’ve also discovered aliens are real.” Joshua drolled, unamused as he swirled the caramel in his drink. “Their mothership came to my dorm last night, and now I’m pregnant with the Queen’s future heir to the throne. So nice knowing you, I’m glad to have a friend who’s always willing to listen to me!”

Needless to say, I didn’t have my work cut out for me.)

Joshua stopped in his tracks, and by my demise I had to stop in front of him, my neck narrowly missing the sharp corner of his textbook that was sticking out of his backpack. “Did you see that?” he asked, practically pulling my arm from the socket so I’d be right in front of him.

Sigma Tau (notorious for having the prettiest pink house on Row) had a lawn practically spilling with loud students, with equally loud music drowning out their block.

On the makeshift plastic and metal stage, a guy with flowers was on one knee looking like the high heavens as his lips moved in some sort of proposal. The girl who was forcefully dragged up by her sisters looked absolutely mortified, cheeks ruddy, face sunken, and her pale limbs hugged around her t-shirt that was now way too skimpy for her comfort level. The guy was absolutely smug however, looking like he just won a trip to Mars as he practically dipped the rose petals in her palms. But everyone was watching, cooing and making eager, alcohol-laden cries of encouragement, and she had no choice to accept, her face tilted away as she reluctantly grabbed the bouquet.

“Seungcheol is so embarrassing,” Joshua muttered under his breath, pulling them away from the lawn and back onto the sidewalk, “She looks terrified up there.”

I frowned at the childish proposal, watching the couple (?) pull away from the stage and melt between the thick crowd. “I feel bad for her.” I frowned, forcing my gaze to the DJ. The rosy-haired student flipped a switch in his soundboard, and played another upbeat mix, effectively bringing the mood back to a million.

Joshua bobbed his head to the everlasting beat as they walked further away, in that cute non-party boy way that looked more like he was walking down Disney’s Main Street, U.S.A. with birds and sunshine rather than a Thirsty Thursday on campus. “Oh, I got it. What about the radio show?” he suddenly asked, his face glowing with excitement.

“Radio show? Like the campus one?”

“Yeah, there’s one for every day of the week. You can probably go tonight and see if you can snag an interview or something.” Joshua dragged us to the pizza place by one of the main classroom buildings, the aroma of garlic buttered dough and tomato sauce notifying my empty stomach like lightning.

“The mac n’ cheese pizza looks good,” I murmured, my eyes glazing over the shiny window display.

“Are you paying attention? You should go before their show starts because we have to have our topics before class tonight and—oh shit that does look good. Let's get two slices. With garlic knots.” his large cat eyes widened at the specialty pizza, ready to pull out his wallet. “I can spot you this time.”

Nudging his shoulder with mine I giggled, “You're a lifesaver.”

I blame the food coma from that sinful pizza, because after napping in the dorms it nearly escaped my mind that I was supposed to go to the radio station after class. By napping, I mean sleeping. Missing the first campus bus, it took an extra fifteen minutes to get to the Communications Department. It looked like any other building on campus, faded brick walls which veiled a treasure cove of our student talent. The lights that led to the station upstairs were a dim deep yellow, bathing the atrium that led to a series of dark hallways.

“Excuse me,” I said, careful not to disturb the student in the lobby who was currently alphabetizing records behind their desk. “Are you, DJ Suga?”

Said boy took his sweet ass time to turn around, his glazed eyes giving me a look that wondered why on earth I was here so late. He wore a dark denim jacket with a poorly painted uterus on the back, with a very subtle wording of “fuck the patriarchy” in fine white script. “Yeah, I am.” he said, his pebbly voice wracking my form and waking up all the hairs on my arms. DJ Suga was the de facto head of the campus radio, and at best I hoped he could be a tad less irritable to my outreach. “What of it?”

“I was wondering if I could get an interview with one of your DJs? If there’s time.”

The ebony haired student tilted his head, as if he were momentarily stuck in dreamland, before pulling himself away from his desk. “Let’s see,” he hummed, more to himself as he walked down one of the dark hallways. He returned in a matter of seconds, his petite form looking absurdly high and mighty from his lazy smile, “Sorry, doll.” he murmured, jerking his head back in the hallway. “I got a kid who’s going to be on the air in a few minutes. But I think you’re better off listenin’ to their show before you get the interview, y’know? Feel their vibe.”

My eyes darted to the big digital clock that sat fat in the middle of his desk. 11:52. Wow, I slept longer than I thought. I suddenly felt a little silly, barging in so late with the faintest idea about how to go about this project. With a quick thanks, I hitched my bag above my shoulder, going across the radio floor and to one of the study lobbies. When I made sure I found a nice corner desk where no one would bother me I threw my laptop on and shoved my headphones over my ears, finding the university station. I hoped after coming all this way here in the middle of the night, I could at least try to “feel their vibe.”

Some techy music signaled the start of the show, and to my lack of anticipation the most velvety voice filled my ears, causing my chest to jerk involuntarily.

“What’s up, College Avenue. I’m Vernon and we’re back with The Thursday Night Lockdown.”

His voice was something out of the city and back, with purpose and history. It wasn’t raspy like DJ Suga’s, but it definitely had that low timbre that probably could melt people like butter if he used it right. Adjusting the volume on my laptop, I closed my eyes and let DJ Vernon have his evening.

“I hope you guys submitted those assignments. I’m tellin’ ya freshmen, that 11:59 deadline will close on your ass if you don’t press that red button.” a small smile played on my lips, and I subtly kicked my sneakers under the table, tucking my legs in a comfortable position. I’d imagine Vernon would be just as comfortable, feet on the desk, loose sweats, totally in his element. “I didn’t really have a set plan for tonight, considering it’s midterms and there was a lot of stuff to do this week. I know a lot of us are out drinking their livers out, but for the rest of us I was thinking we could all wind down together. Listen to some playlists, I’ll take some calls and talk about life.”

He talked a little bit about his first playlist, saying it was his favorite cool down mix after a hard day of classes. Everything he said rolled off his tongue like molten chocolate, and I belatedly realized that my fingers curled after every other syllable, his eagerness to spread his enjoyment seeping into my tensed muscles. When his voice faded to silence and soft acoustic music rose, I felt myself momentarily transcend in the surprisingly soothing setlist. I opened up a new tab and started working on some homework, feeling myself get in the zone as I let my mind bounce comfortably between assignments and The Thursday Night Lockdown. This was pretty cool, actually. I never made the time to listen to university shows, but this guy was a natural. Vernon made off-hand comments between songs, reading some comments from their forum page like a conversation with friends or ad-libbing on certain songs. It was a welcoming distraction on particularly rough parts of the work.

“Ah, but one thing that I really need to get off my chest today.” Vernon’s low chuckle rumbled in my ears, “I’m incredibly annoyed at what went down at Sigma Tau today. My boy Coups was brutally rejected for formal on stage this afternoon.”

Shooting up from my nylon seat, its wheels rolled farther from the desk causing my ears to tug painfully from the wire. Pulling myself back to the wooden desk, I furrowed my eyebrows as my focus blurred from my literature paper, concentrating on what Vernon had to say.

“I mean, he did so much for her, Got her flowers, played her favorite song right before he asked, and even got her sisters on it, But once she got off the stage she apparently got so angry, and walked out on him! Seriously?” he scoffed, the once enjoyable sound of his voice feeling like a grating chalkboard forced against my ears. “It was so rude of her, I hope she apologizes to him soon because no one deserves to be treated that way.”

White heat boiled my blood, my jaw pulled so low in shock that it ached. My fingers twitched with a sudden urge to rip at my textbook that I’ve left on the side for the last ten minutes, finally putting it to good use on my sanity.

“Feel free to drop some comments on the forum or shoot me a call, let me know your opinion.”

With pleasure. My fingers typed at lightspeed as I searched up the radio’s number, then with equal pace as I tapped on my cellphone with a bit of unnecessary force with each key. Pulling out one bud, I pressed my cell to my ear. The dial tone was Drake’s Fake Love, which made me even more irritated as I waited for him to pick up.

“And then I was craving—oh, we got our first phone call of the night!” A small, cruel smile nipped on the edge of my lips at Vernon’s innocence as he prepared to pick up. Ripping out the other earbud, I slammed my laptop shut, the lid echoing in the small cubicle. “Good evening, Caller 10.” Vernon sing-songed, “Welcome to The Lockdown. What’s up?”

“Hello, Vernon.” I replied with an equally cheery voice, drumming my nails against the lid of my computer. “I presume you were there when Seungcheol asked that girl to formal?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course I was there.” his voice perked up, probably eager to vent out his frustrations of this afternoon. I was equally armed.

“So I guess you’re blind, then?” I bite, my voice still laced with a sickly positivity.

I felt his breath hitch slightly, probably undetected from the rest of campus listening, but against my ear his surprise was blissfully palpable. “E-excuse me?” he said.

“Because if you had eyes, you would’ve seen how absolutely uncomfortable that poor girl looked on stage. She looked like she was about to cry.” I prayed that the girl from this afternoon wasn’t listening in, and if Seungcheol was supporting his friend like I’d imagine, I hoped he’d feel every ounce of my venom. “How dare you insinuate that girl was wrong. She doesn’t have to apologize, and in fact it’s your friend that should be apologizing.”

“Whoa whoa, hold up Ten.” I blistered at the fact he referred to me as a number, but let it slide considering it was my first time on his line and I was attacking him. “You don’t even know the whole story—”

“Oh, I don’t need to know the whole story to know that your friend is immature and delusional. And so are you, if you think some flowers and a grand confession is any consolation for a date. She had every right to say no.”

“You have no idea,” I felt his voice go dangerously low, like the way a predator would test the waters. Eliciting that sort of reaction from the originally happy Vernon, was satisfying. “How much Coups likes that girl. He would do anything—”

“Bullshit.” I spat, fingers curling around my phone. “If he really liked her, he wouldn’t have put her on the chopping block. He wouldn’t have let her stand on that damn stage, forced to say yes on the spot. She was doing your friend a favor,” I said slowly, my words careful and deliberate. “And made sure she wouldn’t embarrass him like he was embarrassing her.”

I knew Vernon was hanging on a thread, trying to be mighty and defend his friend. Despite my subconscious telling me to let this poor boy off the hook, it’s not my business and it’s his show, I couldn’t let him continue to talk as if he knew everything.

Vernon scoffed, and I could imagine him practically groveling in his studio, grappling for a comeback. “You really think he was trying to hurt her? Coups wouldn’t hurt a fly.” he said.

“Then if it’s not you or me, Seungcheol is the blind one. If you had asked me out on that stage, you better believe I wouldn’t have been as nice to you as she was.”

“Good thing that won’t happen, ever.” Vernon shot back. “I don’t think I’d want to date someone like you.”

Low. Blow. “Excuse me?” I hissed. Screw being quiet in the study room, I got up, smacking my palms against the desk as if Vernon was right in front of me. “You’d be so lucky to date someone like me—”

“Oh!” I heard some rustling, plastic, prickling against my ear. And then the call ended.

Ripping the phone away, I whipped open my laptop and turned on The Lockdown.

“The call dropped.” Vernon’s A-class acting reverberated through my speakers, his candied voice strained with concealed stress. “So, so sorry that happened, Ten.” he cooed. I was fuming, half-tempted to fling my laptop across the room if it wasn’t so expensive. “Anyway, I hope she comes to her senses. The exams must be getting to her, but on more important—”

I closed my laptop with another huff, throwing it in its case and shoving my books in my bag. Unbelievable. It was hard to get me riled, but my face was burning so hard with embarrassment and anger that my cheeks hurt. No way in hell was I letting this guy get to me. He was probably a complete idiot who didn’t deserve the satisfaction of making me angry, and was probably sweating in his studio for being such a coward and ending an argument that he was destined to lose. Throwing my jacket on, I left the study area as fast as I could. I needed food, a hot shower, and Vernon’s stupid voice to be erased from my memory.

I passed by the lobby, avoiding DJ Suga’s smirk as he lazed against his desk.

“Nice show, doll.” I heard him say to my retreating back. “You’re a natural.”

“So, I heard the radio show last night.” Joshua’s voice was like a meek puppy, molasses slow as he weighed my expressions.

“Can we not?” I sighed tiredly, taking a sharp stab into my bubble tea. My straw pierced through the tight plastic with a satisfying ‘pop’ and I gave a hard sip of my thai.

The small bubble tea shop felt even more suffocating than usual, the arylide yellow walls closing in on me through Joshua’s motherly gaze. There was nowhere to go when you’re trapped under his chocolate eyes. People who have never done a wrong thing in their life would plead guilty if Joshua was chastising them.

“Minghao’s in Sigma. He said that Vernon was practically fuming when he got back.” he informed, both of his hands clutching in his mango yogurt tea. “Apparently he doesn’t get angry often.”

“Well, I’m glad I was able to tap into his newfound emotions.” I replied tartly, looking away to focus on the black framed window. The sky was a dull blue-grey, signaling the end of another day. Clouds blanketed the campus, fat and eager for a reprieve. “Josh, can you please stop looking at me like that? I did nothing wrong. I only spoke my mind, or is that against your moral code?”

“It’s not.” Joshua huffed. “But you messed up your final project by picking a fight with him. You don’t have much time.”

“It’s fine. I’ll ask Suga for help. He found my little stunt entertaining.”

“His show is about underground rap. What on earth do you know about underground rap?”

“Okay, what about Woozi?”

“Not after what happened last night. Vernon and Jihoon are friends, no way is he going to help you.”

“Alright, Grapevine.” I looked up at him through my lashes. “I was impulsive. What do you want me to do, apologize for telling the truth?”

“Stop attacking me. I'm just saying for the sake of your grade, you should try making peace with him.” Joshua took an obnoxious sip of his tea, emptying his plastic cup with a loud slurp. “You already declared radio as your topic, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I glowered, shifting in my uncomfortable metal stool. “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

Seemingly satisfied, Joshua threw away his finished drink and put on his backpack. A little part of me envied how put-together my friend always was, the perfect poster student in a baby blue button down and Dockers oxfords. He gave me a pleased smile and waved to the owner, pulling out his portable umbrella. “I gotta go to glee club, but think about what I said alright?” he patted my head, mussing up my hair. Before I could growl in his face he was already out the door, waving cheerfully.

Once he was out of sight, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Feeling a whole lot more heavier and weighed with the whole world against me, I slumped in my chair and leaned over my laptop. Ordering another round of tea, I vegetated in that little hole-in-the-wall shop all evening. Mulling over my unfinished radio project, the layers and upon layers of other subjects I had to handle, and to my bitter acknowledgement, The Lockdown. Had I made a mistake, lashing on a fellow student when I really did have no clue what was going on? I only said what I saw, and while I wasn't going to take it back a little part of me felt guilty for putting that guy on the spot.

It was already past ten when I finally decided to go home. Popping my joints in all the right places I packed up my things, bumping into other customers who were trying to get something to drink before the shop closed. Bubbling myself to repel the happy students lazing around the sweet smelling shop, I walked outside where the rain was at its peak.

Thunder popped across the sky, and I flinched, clutching the straps of my bag tighter around my shoulders. I didn’t have an umbrella and my windbreaker definitely wasn’t large enough to protect myself and my laptop. Water droplets bounced like millions of tiny scintillating diamonds across the sidewalk, and I had to take half a step under the canopy to stay dry.

“The rain isn’t going to stop anytime soon, but a little water never hurt anybody.”

That voice. The pops in the sky, the lightning streaking across the midnight blue sky suddenly made a race into my chest, electrifying me and rooting me to the spot. An umbrella was suddenly draped over my head, the inner lining decorated with pearl white clouds and a clear azure sky. I looked up to the speaker of that insultingly attractive voice, and it belonged to DJ Vernon of The Thursday Night Lockdown.

There were a number of things that confused me on a daily basis. The people who order iced water at Starbucks, or why the detergent pods couldn’t be used in the laundry rooms because they were so damn convenient. But today it was Vernon, I couldn’t fathom why I couldn’t look at him and get mad like I did last night. It was like he was a completely different person, the way he smiled like he was the sunshine steering away tonight’s rainfall.

He was cute. Really cute. I felt trapped under his aura, which felt tons warmer than the cold rainy night. Eyes like caramel coffee, both energizing and sweet. A smile so disarming I was struck as much as the lightning to a tree, a little part of me felt like he was being betrayed because I didn’t deserve such niceties.

“Uh, are you okay?” his smile quirked in confusion, and I realized he probably felt really uncomfortable that I was staring up at him like he was some beacon in a fog. He tilted his head, the dark bangs shifting slightly in his neon orange beanie. One hand held the handle of the umbrella, the other with a large strawberry yogurt boba. If I moved a centimeter closer I would surely be bumping into his arm. As fate would play dirty tricks in life, it was inevitable that I would end up meeting him the night after I called him out.

Feeling like cotton was being shoved in my throat, I said quietly, “Hey, Vernon.”

And I couldn’t comprehend the sinking feeling in my stomach when his face fell slightly at my words, recognizing my voice just as quickly as I had. “Oh, Ten.” he said with a sort of glazed wonder, his umbrella dipping slightly to let the water dribble off the edge. “You look, a lot less scarier than I imagined you to be.”

“Scarier?” I gaped, wondering exactly how angry I made this guy.

“Yeah. When you’re not talking, of course.” his voice was devoid of any distinguishable emotion, blending with his barely there smile and off-putting gaze. “You look, kind of sweet actually. But unfortunately for you, looks are deceiving.” he deadpanned simply.

And he dropped me like a bowling ball, pulling away from me and walking into the rain.

My eyes followed his quickly retreating trail, looking about as dry as a sheet of paper as he walked into the street. I swallowed back a sigh, half-expecting Vernon to walk away upon discovering I was Caller 10. He had every right to leave me stranded, but it felt even crappier watching him walk off in the rain. I looked up into the suffocating sky, the dark clouds giving me no hope of getting back to the dorms without being drenched. Maybe if I stared hard enough, the rain would stop. Maybe I could do a raindance, at this point dignity was non-existent.

The tic-tic of rain suddenly turned into harsh splashes, and I looked straight to find Vernon retreating his footsteps and making his way back to me. If he noticed his Timberlands drowning by the neck in grimy water, he made no notice. He looked like he was talking to himself, his cheeks glowing pink in the midst of the grey city as he quickly pushed himself back to the front of the store. My heart rate seemed to multiply in double time the closer he got, and I fought the urge to go back inside the warm shop and avoid him altogether.

“Okay, shit. I’m not that much of a dick.” he looked guilty, biting his bubble gum toned lips. There it was again with the eyes, I thought in frustration as he stared in the remnants of my soul. They reminded me a little of Joshua’s, they way he’d stare and be completely willing to share the world. Vernon placed the umbrella over both of our heads. “I’m not gonna let you walk in the rain alone. Are you heading to the bus stop?”

“Yeah.” I said quietly, still surprised he actually came back for me. What exactly was this guy?

“Cool. C’mon then.”

I followed his footsteps, doing my best to match his long legs which were covered by a light pair of cuffed jeans. I don’t even know what I was thinking, walking with the guy I practically trashed on the night before. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing either, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he walked to the stoplight. It seemed more like his morality was forcing him to be generous to me, and it was only more aching on my conscious knowing he was being nice to someone who probably didn’t deserve it.

“Wow,” I murmured against the thick rain, soft enough for only the two of us to hear. “You’re really nice.”

A small grin tugged on Vernon’s lips as we rounded the corner. He refused to look at me, his gaze dead straight on our destination. “Why, did you think I was some evil radio host?”

“No.” I snorted, “Believe it or not I actually thought you were pretty nice back then, too. Anyone who’d stand to defend their friend no matter how bad they messed up, is a pretty good guy in my books.”

He didn’t reply after that, and I didn’t mind. He probably thought I was tricking him or something. We stood in front of the bus stop next to the other late-stragglers, waiting for the next bus to take us back.

I tried not to notice the wary look he gave me, not because I looked threatening, but because I was pretty far from him. As big as his umbrella was, I kept edging away from the center to give him his personal space. My left shoulder was exposed, water spilling on the wicker fabric of my windbreaker. I did my best to ignore the subtle way Vernon would try to cover it.

“Your show is nice.” I continued to fill the lack of conversation, might as well while we waited it out. “It was my first time listening to it. I thought it was great, I like your music taste and you really sound like you’re enjoying it. I was actually supposed to write about your show for a project. Still am, actually.” I added with a little bit of remorse, willing for the bus to come faster. “It’s too late to change my topic, but I’ll figure my way around.” The familiar red and white bus turned into the stop, and I shied away from Vernon’s space, finally looking at him with as much sincerity as I could muster. “Thanks for waiting.”

And as I climbed on the bus, Vernon finally spoke.

“Turns out the girl broke into tears after. Coups really fucked up.”

My head snapped to him in surprise, Vernon still rooted on the spot. While I didn’t want to be right, knowing I was made the situation feel a lot more real. Our fight wasn't in vain. I didn't understand why Vernon felt the need to tell me that, so I bit my lip and replied, “I'm sorry to hear that happened.”

“You were right about Seungcheol. I talked to him today.” he looked up through his lashes with nothing but pure guilt, “While I’m still angry for you talking trash about my friend, I’m sorry I was quick to judge.”

Before I could even let his words sink in, the glass doors barriered us, and the buss whirred back to life. I gripped on the handle of the railing, watching Vernon wait for his bus as mine drove away. Vernon certainly was a character, I couldn’t even tell if he liked me or hated me. But he said sorry, and it wasn’t even his fault, and that only fueled the aching guilt inside me that would haunt me for the following week.

The next Thursday felt more like a Monday, the most painful Monday-Thursday in my entire college career. There was just so much work. I felt like I was drowning in it. Drowning in sleepless nights, drowning in coffee and all the various types of teas in the hope to keep myself conscious for even five seconds. I couldn’t retain any information my professors were giving me. My projects were crap, my life was a mess, and I could hardly breathe.

So that’s how I ended up in my dormitory’s laundry room at 3 A.M., curled up against the washing machine. My laptop was strewn across my slippers, my headphones connected to them and wound over my ears.

I’m sure it was normal for students to have their obligatory breakdown midway through the semester. When everything feels like it’s crashing down on you and you have no idea how to get up. I pressed my back further into the rumbling washing machine, the cool metal burning through my thin pajamas. I turned my music up up up, all the way to max volume until I couldn’t hear myself tear.

Crying’s a good thing, I tell myself.

It’d be even worse to let myself bottle up and explode in the worst possible way. I wasn’t even entirely sure as to what I was crying about, all I knew was that I was sad and I needed to let it out. Was it the piles of work? The fact that I missed home? My subpar projects? My shoulders shook like a chilled autumn leaf, brittle and vulnerable, my throat constricting and my face puffy and wet with stress.

I wasn’t exactly sure how long I was crying for, but I remember hearing the music breaking to a MultiVitamin commercial, forcing me to change the station on my computer.

“We’re at the last hour of The Lockdown.” Vernon’s voice purred in my ears, willing me to lift my shoulders up a centimeter.

I exhaled tiredly, wiping away the tears that still wouldn’t cease their race down my face. My fixation to his radio show since that time in the rain definitely wasn't healthy, it was one of the main things distracting me from my studies. Although I would like to convince myself it was because of my Media Studies project, and not a certain beanie-wearing DJ.

“I'm not exactly sure how many of you are up with me, but if you are—that's lit!” I suppressed the small smile at his infectious enthusiasm. “Because now you get to listen to a little something I whipped up with Sigma last month. It still needs a little bit of work, but you’ll like it either way.”

Vernon wrote music?

“This is for everyone who's going through a hard time right now. That you'll always have someone to lean on.

If I am in your heart If I am really in your heart Wherever you are I will follow you Even if we’re so busy That we can’t see each other often If we get drunk on each other and fall asleep In the dreams, don’t hesitate Lean on me.”

When he started rapping, I realized there was way more to radio than I thought. Way more on the inside to the puzzle that was Vernon. At the time, the one thing that I was absolutely sure of was that I seriously underestimated him. There was so much passion in his words, the messages he wanted to share, his declaration was nothing more than genuine. It only caused my emotional self to get even worse, tears bubbling down my face like water boiling over.

As soon as he finished his song I pulled out my phone, and tugged off the plug of the speaker. Vernon’s bashful self started explaining the origins of his song, the speakers echoing throughout the cramped laundry room. Pressing my cell to my ear, I waited to the all-too familiar dial tone of “Hotline Bling.”

“Oh. We have a caller! I didn’t think anyone would be awake.” he chuckled awkwardly, and I wondered what he thought about his rapping if he only decided to sing when virtually no one would be listening. “Welcome to The Lockdown… Ten?”

Surprise, surprise. “Hey, Vernon.” I sniffed, trying my hardest not to whimper according to my weary throat.

“Are you, are you crying?” there was disbelief laced in his voice, honest surprise. He spoke as if this wasn't public radio, like a one-on-one phone call between two friends. “Was it that bad?”

“What? No?” I hiccupped, rubbing my raw nose between the paw of my sweater. “You’re amazing. I loved it so much. You’re so talented.” the words rushed out in impatient whispers, as if the laundry room had ears and would eat up my words if I didn’t speak fast enough. “I had no idea you could write songs.”

“Thank you.” he murmured, his words lingering in the air with no intention of ending the conversation.

“And I’m sorry. Sorry for talking shit on-air, sorry for thinking so badly for you, sorry for everything and anything. And if it’s okay and if you think I’m not so much of a scary person as you imagined,” his warm chuckles reverberated through the airwaves, and I stuffed my face in my sweater in embarrassment, “I know you said you’d never want to go out with me, but do you think you could take those words back for one afternoon? So I can apologize in person.”

I could practically hear his smile from the other line. “It’s a date, Ten.”

#vernon #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #svtcreations #svtnetwork #hansol #vernon scenarios #vernon fic #seventeen fic #hansol scenarios #hansol fic #hansol vernon chwe #get lost in the rhythm of me #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop fic

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pumpkins-s · 7 years

Text

Not As Simple As A Happy Ending

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters On Tumblr Here

It’s just a ribbon.

Just a plain red ribbon, absolutely nothing special about it.

At least, that’s what Sans tries to tell himself as Frisk stares up at him, their expectant look slowly morphing into confusion while he sits there frozen.

In which Frisk isn’t the first human Sans meets, nor the first he befriends, nor the first he kills.

And being Sans in general is complicated.

Fandom: Undertale

Characters: Sans, Papyrus, Alphys, Undyne, Frisk, Toriel, Asgore, W.D. Gaster, Grillby, Flowey, Chara, Blue Soul Human, Light Blue Soul Human, Yellow Soul Human, miscellaneous

Warnings: Canonical character death, non-graphic violence, bucketloads of angst (y’know the drill)

Other Things Worth Noting: Non-linear Narrative (though primarily set pre-canon), canon compliant, assumes post-pacifist run following an almost-genocide run for post-canon settings, Sans-centric with other characters being viewed through his eyes

Chapter 18: Conjecture

((Author’s Note:

Heyyyyy. Long time, no update!

(I'm back.)

Apologies for the interim between updates, it's been a weird few months for me, and I really needed a break from this fic to clear my head by working on other things and to deal with some personal issues. Given that, and the fact that this chapter (and the one following it) are possibly two of the most important chapters in Act 2, and I really wanted to do it right, finishing the update took a while.

Before we begin, some extra content and fanart to present!

First up on fanart: Adorable character cards Celestialfeathers surprised me with at Emerald City Comicon this year! You can check them out here!

Next, two gorgeous sketch sets of Wind, Rose, Sans, and Integrity by katthesmall, which you can see here and here!

We also have, by lieu of me googling Not As Simple on a dare, some pieces of fanart featuring Integrity I discovered by saphira123 (If the artist is reading this, I don't have accounts on any of your preferred media to thank you directly, but just know I found them and I love them!!). You can check out their gorgeous art of Integrity here, here, and here!!

In terms of bonus content for you guys, more exciting stuff!

First, to accompany the last chapter, Wind now has her own playlist here!

Second, and possibly most excitingly, Not As Simple now has its own song!! My little sister commissioned one of my favorite independent musicians for me as a Christmas present, so I am overjoyed to present to you guys Lost Time, the official song for Not As Simple, which you can find here!! (The musician in question is amazing and I would absolutely suggest checking out the rest of her stuff!)

That's it! Now, I'm happy to present to y'all chapter 18! ))

“I’m… pretty sure that’s wrong.”

Gaster frowns, turning and squinting at the whiteboard. “…No?”

“Nah, he’s right.” Wind says from the table next to Sans where she’s perched, legs crossed and thick book open in her lap. “Top row, G. You didn’t carry the four.”

Gaster hums, tilting his head and staring up at the section in question. “….Bollocks. You’re correct. I can’t believe I missed that.”

Wind snorts loudly, turning a page in her book, and Sans rolls his eyes, going back to entering the data on his notepad into the computer in front of him.

Sans is fifteen, and some days it feels like they’re no closer to breaking into the rules of the barrier than they were when he first came to the labs.

…Ok, no, that’s wrong. It’s not a case of what he feels, though that certainly plays an inevitable factor.

No, it’s more like they logistically, honestly have little more of an idea of what the fuck they’re looking at than they did three years ago. Never mind the fact Gaster had already been working on this puzzle for at least another two decades and then some before Sans was even a factor.

It’s exhausting, and frustrating, and Sans knew the mystery of the space-time bubble that is the Underground wouldn’t be solved in a day, but sometimes it feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind.

Then again, he notes idly, as his eyes flicker to the two other people in the room, it’s not like this was a job built for the sane and healthy. To learn the truth, to even get close to it, you had to be willing to become damaged goods— And that’s just what they are, him and Wind and Gaster, the byproducts of witnessing the unfathomable and walking out the other side.

Smugly, Wind points out another error in Gaster’s math, laughing loudly at his outraged spluttering, and Sans can’t help but stare quietly, drinking in the bright sound of Wind’s laughter, her rustling wings as her shoulders shake with mirth. Across from her Gaster is loudly animated, coat twirling as he turns and chucks a marker at her, shouting indignantly.

They are so alive. Sometimes Sans has trouble understanding how he got lucky enough to be graced with this.

Wind had become something of a staple in many of his and Gaster’s research sessions ever since their little heart-to-heart during the first annual inspection he was present for, slipping into the mix of languages Gaster meshes together on accident during his ramblings and partaking in the easy, insulting banter, with a grace that alludes to her experience with it. It speaks to just how long she’s been around Gaster, Sans thinks, and of how much time she’s had to learn his patterns. Perhaps it had always been like that, before Sans had arrived. He hates to think he accidentally made Wind feel she could no longer be Gaster’s first support, that whatever had come of sharing her memories led Wind to feel she had a permission, one that she never needed in the first place, to be around them, but at least… things are alright now.

Honestly, Sans had never realized the true depth of Wind’s intelligence until she had quietly intruded upon his and Gaster’s work sessions, offering corrections and assistance. She may not be a scientist, but there’s a clear kind of innate brilliance and quickness to Wind that makes sense for someone Gaster would take an interest in.

Regardless, her presence definitely helps, and there’s a kind of openness in what she’s seen, what she’s chosen to stand for, that makes it easy to share with Wind the research into the barrier, into human souls, that they cannot with the others. She has thrown her lot in with humanity as much as himself or Gaster, and there’s an innate kind of trust that comes with that.

The only research Gaster pointedly does away from all eyes but his own and Sans’s is of that into the timelines. Even Wind is kept well away from every piece of it, and while Sans was never shared Wind’s memories of her time with Gaster as his assistant, she does not, as far as he can tell, know of this one little secret. For all that she may know of the barrier, of the deaths of the humans and of the blind loyalty of the guard, this piece of the puzzle is one Gaster has kept hidden.

It’s protection, Sans thinks. There’s a kind of closeness between the two of them, one that makes sense with the knowledge Gaster has known Wind since she was a teenager, and for every moment Gaster seems parental-feeling towards Sans and Papyrus, there is something of a matching moment there for Wind too. Gaster may not ever admit to it, defensive bastard that he is, but it’s plenty obvious he desires to care for the people around him. And for Wind, who has already seen so much of this nightmare, this is the only shielding he can offer her.

Sans doesn’t know if it’s right, to keep the truth from Wind like that, or from any of them really, but he does understand it. He has done, and continues to do, the same for Papyrus, for Grillby. He cares about them too much to ever tell them, as hypocritical as that sounds.

No, the secret of the timelines was one Sans shared only with the human, and now, he supposes, with Gaster.

Sometimes it feels like a bit of a sick trade off— Sans lost a sister and gained… What? A parent? A father?

That word brings hesitation, whenever it crosses Sans’s mind, much like when Rose’s touches to his cheek feel too maternal. He’s… scared. To risk that label, with all the consequences and costs it could bring.

A guardian, then… A guardian in Gaster, and in Rose, in a way. Someone to trust, in Wind, people to call something like family, in Gamma and Ficus, and a friend, in Alphys.

He has all this, and it is invaluable, and yet what he wants most is something he cannot have back. How selfish.

Still, while he cannot change the past, at least so far as he knows, Sans is painfully aware of the variability of the future. If they want to protect the next human who will inevitably fall down here, they must beat the clock, and crack the barrier first. It’s the only option.

…If only it wasn’t so fucking complicated.

Alphys’s familiar stutter paired with an aggressively loud voice greet Sans when he enters the main lab, leaving Sans gritting his teeth against the assault on his hearing, only adding to the headache that’s already been lingering the last few hours from watching Gaster work through walls of data without any success. Sans is well aware not every day is going to produce some sort of breakthrough, even a minor one, and most days don’t, but today has been… particularly frustrating.

And now this of all things.

A startled squeak followed by a nervous-sounding “Sans!” alerts Sans to the fact that Alphys has noticed his arrival, and, reluctantly, Sans stops in his tracks, turning to face her and her guest.

“Oh, it’s you.” Says a second, rougher voice, its occupant hovering just behind Alphys, arms thrown over her shoulders.

Sans sighs. “Hello to you too, Undyne.”

She grins, sharp and wide. “Fuckface.”

“Fishbitch.”

“Please.” Alphys says despairingly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose in a sign of exasperation she no doubt picked up from Rose. Undyne whines in complaint, dropping her head against Alphys’s shoulder, causing Alphys to flush pink, and Sans shrugs lazily, earning himself a glare from Alphys.

“She started it.” Sans says easily, ignoring Undyne’s outraged squawk of protest. Alphys rolls her eyes, and he snorts. “I’m just getting something from Wind’s study, anyways. Just go back to… whatever you two were doing. Or… whatever you were doing that Undyne was creepily watching you do?”

Alphys twitches in annoyance, an embarrassed blush scrawling further up her cheeks, and Undyne pops her head back up to point angrily at him. “I’m not creepy!”

“Nah, just annoying.” He answers, walking past them and shutting the door to Wind’s office firmly behind him. Leaning against it, Sans lets out a small sigh of relief, dropping his head and staring at the floor without any real purpose or recognition. Running into Undyne is always a bit jarring, her presence loud and demanding no matter how somewhat used to it he may get. Which is exactly why Alphys is supposed to give him some kind of warning before bringing her over, Sans thinks with a kind of half-hearted annoyance.

Honestly, it’s amazing things between them have even progressed enough that Sans is able to tolerate Undyne’s presence, and Undyne the same for him, even if she still seems to take a kind of vicious pleasure in insulting him (Not that he, admittedly, doesn’t do the same). He blames Wind, really. After seeing her memories he couldn’t help but look at Undyne’s position through new eyes. He still isn’t really clear on the details, but Undyne does seem to spend basically every day hovering around Asgore, and while Sans is pretty sure she isn’t living with him like Wind had been (particularly given Alphys had off-handedly complained about Undyne’s group home once or twice), Asgore does seem to be all she has.

And… Sans can’t fault her for that. Not when he knows what it feels like to be alone and desperate for anyone to place your faith in, and not after Wind. Undyne isn’t to blame for what Asgore and their world taught her— Asgore makes victims, both intentional and unintentional, out of everyone he touches, that’s just the way it is. The Underground is poisoned with his hate, and as it stands, most monsters are just too blinded by faith or too stupid, whichever or both, Sans doesn’t know, to question what has been done.

To turn, monsterkind will have to see the truth, and that’s what Sans and Gaster and everyone else in the labs are here for, after all.

Besides, it also doesn’t hurt that Undyne has calmed down some over the last couple years. Not much, but she’s at least stopped trying to fight Sans at every given opportunity, has learned not to shit-talk humans in his presence. And in turn, Sans has learned to bite his tongue when she slips up and praises the Guard and the future death of humanity.

It’s all… a work in progress, at the end of the day. But they’ve reached this, at least. A place where they can easily insult each other and shove each other around cheerfully and, most importantly, stand in the same room without trying to kill each other.

It’s almost ironic really, Sans thinks. The two of them have achieved this kind of mutual truce, and yet they stand in such opposing positions. Undyne hadn’t joined the regular guard when she turned fifteen, or even when she turned sixteen or seventeen, like Sans had thought she would, instead she stayed at Asgore’s side, training directly under him. There were whispers around the castle, Alphys told him, that Asgore would step in and immediately promote her to Captain once the current head of the guard retired.

And then there was Sans. Sans, who trained under Wind and learned under Gaster, who had a soul that lived not just for the future of monsterkind but for humankind as well. He is the product of Asgore’s greatest mistakes, his greatest betrayals to people that once loved him, and he has every intention of being the thing that takes Asgore down, one day.

In essence, Sans is the epitome of everything Undyne is not, and yet, he thinks, they’re not completely different in their positions. They just placed their faith in different people.

…Of course, Sans likes to think his own choices in what company he keeps are markedly much improved over Undyne’s. She is just a pawn in Asgore’s Underground, and Sans… he is no one’s to use. Not even Gaster’s.

Sighing, Sans straightens up, getting off his resting place against the door and taking the few steps he needs to drop heavily into Wind’s desk chair, sparing a small grin when it spins a couple loops as his weight hits it. Never let it be said Wind didn’t make excellent interior design choices. Her swivel chair was one of the best things in the labs upwards of the ridiculous shit that could be found on Gaster’s floor.

Speaking of… bending down, he trails his finger-bones down the drawers on the left side of the desk, pulling open the third one. There was an old storage drive Wind had somewhere here with some old work she’d done on studying shield magic like her own and comparing it to the barrier that she thought might help. Spotting the item in question, Sans grins and grabs it, sitting up and allowing himself a victory spin on the chair. Glancing at the door, leading back to where the others wait for him, Sans takes a deep breath and stands up.

He cannot become bogged down in introspection and frustration. He needs to do this, there is no one else but himself and those waiting for him in front of Gaster’s whiteboard who can.

He must do this.

Sometimes, Sans can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Admittedly, he’s always been a bit like that, and his time in the loops with the human had only made him more paranoid, fearing an enemy at every turn, but this is… different.

It feels more like an observer, than an impending threat, something unobtrusive and invisible, but undeniably there. It’s an odd sensation, to feel as if there are eyes on him but find nothing, and too often he chalks it up to his worries getting the better of him.

Occasionally, at night, he dreams of a presence, one that sits across from him in the hollows of his consciousness, hidden by shadow. It’s hard to put a name to it, really. It reminds him instinctively of the human, the same kind of curling, inexplicable power in its form. But… More than anything, when he reaches out and pokes at its consciousness intruding upon places it should not be able to, it feels most like himself— Not a perfect match, but close. Like looking in a distorted mirror. In a way, that makes sense. Sans, in his glitching, sparking magic, can jump through the spaces between reality without hesitation, and this… thing, in its own way, is doing something much similar.

It doesn’t belong to the physical Underground Sans lives in, and yet it walks in and out of it, hovering on the very edge anyways.

Its visits are infrequent, and sporadic. Sometimes, it feels as if something is following him for days on end, and on other occasions he’ll go months with only the barest flicker of its presence once or twice in that whole time for only seconds.

When it happens, he is reminded of the creature that once wandered into his nightmare, years ago, abolishing the shadow-form of his sister with ease, and of the ghost Wind had joked about after she’d shown him her memories.

Most of the time, Sans thinks he’s being obsessive over something that is not there, so set on finding another enemy he must keep his guard up around that he’s gone and invented one. Or… perhaps so desperate for another ally he’s done the same thing. It’s hard to tell which.

Occasionally, though, he feels as if there is another player in the chess game he and Gaster only fleetingly understand the rules to. Something else moving pieces as himself and the others hurriedly do their best to find a way to checkmate Asgore.

He… doesn’t know what to do with that potential concept, beyond hope that whatever it is, if it actually exists, is on their side.

God, he hopes it’s on their side.

Sans hits the ground with a yelp of pain, shoulder colliding painfully against the stone floor before he rolls over it and up, tensed in a crouch and magic crackling readily at his fingertips as he braces them on the ground and glares up. Across him, Wind straightens up, sighing and stretching an arm over her head languidly. “You’re way too slow. That wasn’t even a glancing blow, I hit you dead-on.”

Sans huffs, curling his spine up and resting his forearms on his thighs, still crouching. “If you just taught me shielding magic— “

“My shielding magic is a kind unique to my species, and one that takes years to master.” At Sans’s scowl, Wind’s expression softens. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, Sans. Your magic reserves are the kind most monsters couldn’t even dream of. I’m just saying it would likely be exceedingly difficult, not to mention strenuous as hell. Shielding takes up enormous energy, it’s not the kind of thing you do frequently in fights unless it’s your specialty or you have no other choice.” She tilts her head. “Look at it this way. Have you ever seen me maintain my shield between blows?” Sans reluctantly shakes his head, and Wind beams. “Right, because it’s the kind of thing I wouldn’t risk draining my energy unless I had no other choice to keep it sustained indefinitely. Shielding magic is incredibly useful, but it’s not reliable as your only form of defense. Hence...” Wind sweeps down, lowering herself until she’s crouching at Sans’s level, leaning forward with her wings spread out behind her for balance, a picture perfect form of a lithe, graceful soldier. “We learn to dodge. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sans grumbles, and Wind grins.

“Good. Now, again.”

Wind flies forward, leaping up and at him with purpose, and Sans barely has a second to dive sideways and roll out of the way before Wind’s foot slams into the spot where his head was moments ago. Jumping to his feet, Sans ducks under Wind’s arm as it makes an arc over his skull, and manages two steps to the left before a wing curves in from the right and hits him solidly in the chest, sending him flying through the air. Sans barely has a moment to brace for inevitable impact against the wall and send a quiet thought of apology to Papyrus for dying on him so soon, before a pair of wiry arms catch him and the buffet of wings catching on air fills the sound around him. Carefully raising his head and opening his eyes, Sans stares at Wind’s concerned expression as she gently lowers them both back to earth, setting Sans down slowly once her feet hit the ground.

“That’s six times I’ve gotten you today, Sans.” Wind says patiently, in an annoyingly forgiving way that makes Sans grit his teeth in frustration. “If I was a Royal Guard, that’s six times you’d have been dead.”

“I know, I know.” Sans mutters.

“Do you?” Wind crosses her arms, frowning down at him. “In a real fight, your opponent isn’t going to give you a chance to catch your breath, and you may not have anyone to watch your back for you.”

“I know!” He snaps. “It’s not like I’ve never fought for my life before or anything!”

Wind winces, and Sans sighs, ducking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, you’re right.” Wind says. “I should be the one apologizing. I was… pushing you too hard. If you don’t want to do this I— “

“No!” He yelps, head snapping up to stare wide-eyed at Wind. “I need this. I need to be ready. Don’t start babying me because of one rough day. I asked for your help and I’m going to keep asking until I’ve learned everything I can.” Taking a deep breath, he takes a step back, assuming a defensive position. “Again.”

Wind hesitates, and then lunges forward. Sans ducks under her leg as she aims a flying kick at him, diving behind her and jumping up onto the wing that sweeps out at him, using it as a platform to propel himself up and over Wind’s head. He hits the ground rolling, jumping up and breaking into a sprint as Wind takes off after him. He’ll lead her around the room, he thinks, tire her out— Survival is the name of the game with this exercise, the idea being to evade Wind’s attacks for a full five minutes. He grins at the sounds of Wind behind him, confident for once that he’s got the upper hand, and then there’s the flapping of wings and a tall figure slams into the ground in front of him.

—Guards everywhere, cornering them in the tight caves of Waterfall’s hidden crevices. He dodges right to avoid a barrage of flying arrows, the human right behind him, hand in his, he searches the perimeter desperately, looking for a way out, frantically moving until— There! On the left, a gap between the soldiers stands out, leading to the entrance of another cavern. He dives forward, dragging the human behind him, sights set on the route of escape. They’re going to make it, they’re so close, and then a guard slams into view from seemingly out of nowhere, wielding their spear as they thrust it forward and straight into Sans’s soul, shattering his conscious instantly. He hears the human scream, but everything is going black, and he can’t move—

Sans comes back to himself stretched out on the floor of the training room, head pillowed in Wind’s lap and limbs spread out haphazardly. He flinches as cool fingers prod the edges of his skull clinically, checking for injuries, probably, and slowly Wind’s worried face swims into view above him.

“…Sans? You back with me, buddy?”

He winces, sitting up carefully, Wind’s hands going to his back to steady him. “Yeah, more or less.”

“Where did you go?” Wind asks, voice knowing and soft as she runs a gentle hand down his spine, patience and understanding in her whole being.

He shrugs helplessly. “Back.”

Wind purses her lips, choosing not to press him. “I think that’s enough for today.” Sans opens his mouth to protest, and she shakes her head. “You’ve been out of it all morning, and it’s never a good sign when you start having flashbacks. Trust me, I’d know.”

“I suppose not.” Sans mutters reluctantly, and Wind sighs.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged, kiddo. You’ll burn out if you press too hard. So you’re having a bad day, that’s fine. Take a break for once, yeah? Clear your head.”

Sans snorts. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I feel like every time I leave this room I’m staring at more dead-end equations.”

“Then get out of the labs for a bit.” At Sans’s incredulous look, Wind rolls her eyes. “I know you hate being in Asgore’s potential sights, but the Underground’s a lot bigger than his immediate reach. It’s not healthy to live your life down here fulltime. There’s reasons why Rose always bullies Gaster into doing sample collections for her outside the labs, a little change of scenery is good for him, and, for that matter, for you. Take the day off— Go visit Grillby in Snowdin, go to a market in the Capital, go… Fuck around Hotland, I don’t know! My point is, do something.” Wind pauses, sighing. “Sometimes the way to solve a problem is to come back to it with fresh eyes.”

“Yeah, alright, point taken.” Sans says, ducking his head. “I’ll— I’ll try.”

Somehow, Sans suspects when Wind advised him to take some time to himself, this isn’t what she meant.

Muttering under his breath, Sans curses as he trips over another outcropping of rock, stumbling none too gracefully over the thin stream running through the ground beneath his feet. It’s embarrassing really, just how clumsy he’s gotten. What he once navigated with deadly precision and artistry now leaves him falling over his own feet— This is the first time he’s set foot in the lower pools in… God, months.

He’s been neglecting it, and his place in it, this expanse of caverns that was once his home. Was once their home, his and Papyrus’s, his and the human’s.

It was only a few years ago, when he knew the watery songs of this place down to the marrow of his bones, and the core of his soul. Frequently now it feels like a lifetime ago, sometimes it feels like it all just happened.

Very occasionally, Sans still wakes up and expects to see a cavern ceiling and feel the weight of a hand on his sternum, to find the world has reset itself and turned back time once again.

…Honestly, Sans doesn’t know now whether he would be relieved or horrified if that happened. Maybe both.

He has not accepted her death; he will never accept her death, not for how it happened or what was done to her, and in turn to him. And yet, he doesn’t know if he could ever go back to that time. This is so much bigger than one life, one soul to save, now. He’s seen and learned so much.

This is not just about Sans himself or the human he came to call friend and sister. This is about all of them. Humans, monsters, the souls lost to Asgore and the people of the labs he now calls something like family and the fates of the next to fall. There are individuals to protect, those he loves and those he has not yet met but sworn to guard with his life when he does, and there are whole nations to save, that stand to fall if he doesn’t find a way to stop this war.

Patience, he reminds himself. The barrier wasn’t built in a day, and neither will it be destroyed as such. Nor, he thinks, is it as simple as pulling a switch and shutting off the power to whatever keeps them trapped here. Destroy the barrier without learning how to control it and they will only unleash Asgore’s war between humans and monsters that much sooner. They need that power to bend it to their will, to use the barrier as their bargaining chip against the crown. Right now the cards are stacked in Asgore’s favor, and they desperately need to produce an ace.

“Will you kill him?” Sans remembers overhearing Wind ask Gaster in a hushed discussion one night, when the overhead lights were dimmed and they believed he’d fallen asleep in the plushy chair in the corner with his book.

“Not unless I have to.” Gaster had said. “His words have considerable sway among the people, sway that can be played to our advantage if we can control his message to the public, and regardless I’d rather not stoop to his level.”

“What will you do, then?”

“Get him to step down from power, obviously.” Gaster snorted. “He’s too dangerous to try and control him while he holds power. You and I both know we could never successfully make a puppet king out of him. We’ll have to cut the strings or risk getting strangled in them.”

“…Then what?” Wind had offered eventually, her words quiet. “Who will replace him? Monsters have never had democracy, we have told our needs to the royal family and they provided. Our supposed good nature kept us in peace with one another. They will balk at such a human way of government, and in the wake of the destruction of the barrier it will not be the time to try it out. They will need a leader.”

“Yes. They will.” Gaster agreed.

“So I ask again. Who’s going to lead them, Gaster? You?”

“Me? God no. Never. Never me.”

Wind had frowned, crossing her arms. “That’s not an answer and you know it.”

Sans sighs, sticking his hands in his coat pockets and staring up at the cavern ceiling above him, contemplative. He’d couldn’t help but ask Gaster, after Wind had left and the other had come to pick him up and tuck him into his bed for the night.

“Who will lead?”

“…So you were awake.” Gaster had stilled, hesitating and then picking Sans up anyways. He’d squirmed halfheartedly, wanting to protest he was not a small child and yet enjoying the soothing contact too much to protest it.

“Who will lead?” He asked again, once he was settled in Gaster’s arms, his small stature even for most young monsters easily dwarfed by Gaster’s considerable height.

“…Wind will lead.” Gaster had said finally. “She is strong, and intelligent, and has the heart to hold a whole kingdom. Her status as the last of an elite military family, and of a revered species of monster, will give her the backing she needs to reasonably take control, so long as her old records disappear.”

Sans blinked, and as if sensing the unasked question, Gaster bowed his head slightly. “I will advise her, if I can, but my reputation as the nutcase who protected a human proceeds me. Wind’s hands are cleaner, less involved in this mess.” He sighed. “It is more than possible that Asgore will not relinquish his power easily, and if things go wrong someone must take the fall. I will go down as the one who destroyed Asgore’s throne if I must, and from the dust Wind will rise as their savior.” His gaze fell to Sans’s firm glare. “If that happens, Sans, you must let it. Do not go trying to save me from my own choices.”

“The entire Royal Guard and half of Asgore’s advisors know me as the kid who fought their troops for a human.” Sans said, tinges of something close to wry amusement crawling into his words. “My hands are no cleaner than yours. If you fall, I’ll damn well plan on falling with you.”

“Sans—“

“If you want to protect me then don’t let anything happen to you.” He returned firmly, cutting Gaster off. “Do not ask me to… Do not ask me leave my family again. I won’t. I can’t.”

“…I know.” Gaster said. “I know.”

Wind isn’t aware of Gaster’s potential plans for her, Sans knows, and it leaves him with an uncomfortable taste in his mouth at the thought. She would refuse if she knew, he’s sure, which is likely also exactly the reason Gaster never chose to tell her, and in knowing this much about Wind himself too, Gaster has also bought Sans’s silence, prudence winning over his desire for transparency.

Ironic really, given all the times Sans has pressed Gaster for honesty between them.

Sometimes, Sans looks back on the memories Wind had shown him, of her first meeting with Gaster, and wonders if the other had planned this from the beginning, the very moment he met Wind and saw what she was, what she offered.

It would not surprise him if that were the case, honestly. Gaster acts continuously in the best interests of the future, but that can drive him to be manipulative, to keep his cards close to his chest, even if largely unconsciously. After all, the initial agreement between them that brought Sans to the labs was more a business arrangement than anything else, a peace treaty between temporary allies. The later developed familial affection was an unexpected consequence, or bonus, depending on how one looked at it.

Regardless, those are both matters of the past, and of the long-awaited future. He cannot change Gaster’s actions in the past even if he sought to, which he doesn’t, really, and the potential scenarios where Wind might find herself granted Asgore’s royal power, chosen or not, look to be years away. It’s a non-issue for now, at least until they find a way to break the barrier.

…Which leads him to why Wind had booted him out here to get some metaphorical fresh air in the first place.

The utter frustration at their lack of progress, the frustrating itch in his soul telling him he is missing important clues, puzzle pieces he needs to find the answer.

The presence, Sans thinks, the one that haunts him like a half-imagined daydream, or perhaps a lingering nightmare, would know, does know.

He’s not even fully confident it actually…. well, exists beyond the scope of his paranoid delusions, but if it does, if it is real, then it holds the answers he seeks. He is inexplicably, completely certain of that.

It’s crashing into a sign that smacks him firmly in the face that pulls Sans from his musings.

“Ow, fuck.” He growls, tripping blindly away from the offending obstacle and rubbing at his sore skull. After a moment of cursing and waiting for the pain to dull down, he opens his eyes, spots the sign, and groans, slumping forward.

Of course... Of fucking course.

“Why.” He deadpans, staring at it.

It seems he really is just as consistent as Gaster in some behaviors.

And apparently, when he needs the hard answers, Sans’s subconscious only knows one place to get them.

The head Tem’s sharp-fanged smile borders on gloating when he comes to her, eyes trained on him and expecting, as if she knew he would come here.

…On second thought, he decides, scratch the ‘if’. She was the head Tem, she knew about everything that got within even a fifty-foot radius of her village the second it did so. She knew he was coming here before he himself even did.

“Ah, my favorite expendable life-form.” She drawls, voice sickly-sweet. “How lovely.”

“Save it.” He sighs, flopping down into the chair across from her and fighting off a shiver at the predatory curiosity in her gaze.

The Temmies, Sans has come to realize over the last couple years, seem to… like him— As much as Temmies can like something aside from themselves, at least. At best, he figures, he’s something between an amusing distraction to them and an obedient pet they’ve grown fond of. At worst, a toy they’ve decided is worth not breaking during their play.

Honestly, none of the above descriptions stick out to him as particular definitions of valuing a person’s life, but from what he had gathered from Gaster, the first time the latter came back from meeting with the head Tem to sort out Sans’s potential debts to them, the Temmies showed a certain lenient interest in preserving his continued existence they didn’t really hold for most monsters outside their own kind. It appears those years of work for them had paid off, in their own way.

Still, even knowing he holds something like their favor, that doesn’t stop Sans from being fucking terrified of them.

…And with good reason, he thinks, as he watches the disarmingly small form of the head Temmie as she sits across from him.

“What can I do for you?” She asks, tilting her head faux-innocently, and Sans snorts. As if the Temmies do anything without a cost.

“I need information.”

The grin on the Temmie’s face grows wider. “Information is expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” He pauses. It’s useless to ask about the barrier, of course, that he knows. If it was as simple as bartering an answer out of the Temmies, then Gaster would have done it years ago. There’s some things even they don’t know, he supposes.

No, it is something else he seeks explanation on, and yet something just as elusive.

“…This is something I’m not sure even your Temmies will know anything on.” He says, choosing his words carefully, and winces when the head Temmie twitches slightly at his words, clearly less than flattered at his implication that her knowledge of the Underground is less than complete. “Not that your sources are… lacking. I’m just not sure any record of this thing even exists.”

The Temmie raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Sans groans. “Look. If you have something to offer, I’ll do the work for it, but if I tell you about this thing and you don’t have any information, can you take our longstanding… business relationship into consideration and just be honest with me before I go and do a job for you that’s not going to give me anything.”

The Temmie sniffs haughtily. “Tems do not lie, especially about information. That is not a part of our principles. In light of the benefits you have served to the Temmie agenda in the past, I will tell you if I can, in fact, offer you anything on the subject of information you seek.”

He sighs, slumping. “Thank you.”

“So,” She quirks an eyebrow, looking borderline intrigued by the concept of something so mysterious that Sans could think even eludes her, “What is it you seek that you find so confounding?”

“It’s…” Sans pauses, trying to think of a way to accurately describe the presence. “…A creature. I’m not sure if it’s monster or human in origin, or… something else. Hell, I’m not completely sure it’s real.” The Temmie’s eyes narrow, and he shrugs helplessly. “I’ve only met it once, it invaded a nightmare and intervened.”

“And you’re sure this wasn’t just your subconscious taking pity on you?”

He winces. He had considered that for a long time, but… “No. My nightmares… Don’t ever stop like that, and it’s only happened the once. It wasn’t me, it was an outside consciousness with autonomy over my dreams. Or, at least, it had that power in that moment.” The Tem nods, and hesitantly, he continues. “I don’t know what it looks like, it was like it was cast in shadow and its face was just…” Sans waves his hands around his own pointedly. “Not there? Distorted. It had a magic signature, though that was kind of static-like too, as if it wasn’t flowing properly— Powerful, I could tell that much, at least… similar to my own, maybe? I’m not completely sure, I’d never felt anything like it.”

“…And did this creature have a name?”

“It called itself… a remnant.”

The Tem frowns, brows furrowing, and Sans watches almost hopelessly as she looks down at her desk and taps it with an idle paw, considering his words. There’s frustration scrawled across her features, and that’s enough to basically give Sans his answer. Temmies as a rule are in the business of knowing everything, and the only thing that truly frustrates them even more than a situation out of their control is something in the Underground they know nothing about, a true wild card.

“No,” She says at length, “I can’t say I have heard of it.” She jumps off her desk, causing the two Temmies standing at the entryway corners of the room to straighten up almost imperceptibly, but she simply pushes open a crudely-painted bright orange and blue door set against the back wall amongst the rabble of overly-cheerfully colored things in the room, and disappears inside, voice slightly muffled as it rings out again. “You said it had a powerful magic signature?”

“Ah…” He shifts, glancing at one of the guarding Tems, who looks as confused as he does, from what little he can gain of their expression, at least. “Yeah.”

There’s a shuffle, and then the sound of something being pulled off a shelf and of pages being thumbed through. “You live in the castle laboratories, yes? You interact with incredibly strong monsters on the daily. Would you classify it as more or less powerful than the stronger signatures you’re familiar with?”

“I… More, maybe?” Sans frowns, and shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, not more, just… Different? Monsters’ signatures all hold some similarities, even slight ones, but this was completely its own equation.”

“Estimate, then. Just on your initial impressions of raw potential.”

He shudders, doing his best to recall the fading glimpses of the remnant’s magic that single time it had interfered in his mind. “At least around Asgore’s, boss monster capability levels of magic.”

“Hm…” The head Temmie hums, pushing back into the room with a large, well-worn book balanced on her head. “Interesting.” She jumps back into her seat with surprising grace, the book barely wobbling from its position before she lifts it off her head and sets it with a none-to-gentle thump on the desk, flipping through the pages with purpose. “Did it have a soul?”

“…What?”

She peers up at him, a distinct lack of amusement scrawled across her features. “I said: did it have a soul?”

“No, I heard what you said, I just…” He runs a hand nervously over the back of his skull, fingers catching on his jacket hood and drawing it over his head on instinct. “It must have, right? Nothing can survive without a soul.”

The Temmie blinks. “Do you remember the presence of a soul?”

“I—“ He slumps. “No, I don’t, but I wasn’t exactly looking for one, anyways.” He feels a shiver up his spine at the implications of his own words. “What are you getting at?”

With a slight frown, the Temmie looks back down at the book, finally landing on a page and smoothing it out before turning the book around to face Sans. “It is not an exaggeration to say my knowledge of this Underground and its inhabitants is likely second to none. If such a powerful creature were loose in these caverns, no matter how elusive it may be, I would have heard about it.”

“…Alright.”

The Tem sighs, nodding to the book, and Sans’s gaze falls to it, eyes widening at familiar handwriting. “There is a… theory, one that was originally developed as a matter of study on the surface before the war, about the nature between consciousness and soul, and whether they can be separated. “

Sans leans forward, grabbing the edges of the book and pulling it forward. “This is… Gaster’s handwriting.”

“But of course.” The Temmie nods towards the book. “The theory was all conjecture originally, but it became a matter of interest for the first Royal Scientist, whom your Gaster studied under. It was thought that if the theory could be put into action, it might offer a way to a means of escape from the Underground.”

“The lost soul effect…” He mutters, reading the words at the top of the page and peering over the book, taking in Gaster’s messy handwriting in the odd-shaped symbols of his native language. “You said it was about separating the consciousness and the soul?”

“Yes. It is generally assumed the consciousness resides in the soul, particularly in regards to Monsters, as our physical forms have no definable neural systems as humans do.” The Temmie pauses. “This research, however, postulated, among other things, that it might be possible to disconnect the consciousness from the soul, and to exist as a separate entity, so long as the soul remained intact.”

Sans furrows his brows, glancing up at her. “Is it?”

“Do you really think that, were it proven possible, we would not have capitalized on it?” The Temmie says pointedly, and Sans winces in answer. “The theory is absolutely impossible to prove correct within any reasonable bounds of experimentation— Monsters souls are the culminations of their beings, to attempt to separate a monster from their soul would result in an overwhelmingly likely chance of death, and, even back on the surface when human souls were accessible, the conjecture was still too risky to test on them. The only way to prove it true is if a naturally occurring case was found.”

“…And you think…?”

“What you described— A creature capable of thought but without a physical form, with a magic signature but no discernable presence of a soul tied to it, what does that sound like to you?”

“But…” He frowns, fingers running over the symbols at the bottom of the page. “It says here that magic is connected to the soul, not the consciousness, and that severing the two would cut off a monster’s access to magic. This thing definitely had magic.”

The Tem tilts her head in acquiescence. “Magic is channeled from the soul, but the assumption that separating consciousness and soul would separate consciousness and magic is conjecture. It is sound, logical conjecture, yes, but only conjecture. As is this.” She purses her lips, shaking her head. “I am not positive on what it is you believe yourself to have found, but if what you say is true, then whatever it is, it is outside our constraints of how monsters and humans work. It takes incredibly powerful magic to influence the psyche, and to interfere with your sleeping conscious this creature would have to share some bond with your own soul, or at the very least your magic signature.”

Sans’s eyes flicker back down to the page, darting over scattered symbols for soul, magic, mind, body. “…It knew my name. It knew me.”

When he looks to the Temmie, she only stares back impassively, and he sighs, idly flipping the page in the book, and scanning the contents, taking in a similar set of notes and charts. “…What’s this?”

The Temmie glances at the book, and blinks. “Ah. The even more outrageously speculative sister theory to the previous one we just discussed. It suggests potential ways to keep a monster’s consciousness alive during the loss of a soul.”

That catches Sans’s attention, and he skims the page, grimacing at the overly-complex diagram filled with a multitude of numbers and symbols revolving around a central circle with only the symbols for what roughly translated to will-to-live variable set inside it. “How would you give a monster a will to survive after they’re already dying?”

“Human souls survive after death, by the means of something within their own makeup.” The head Tem offers. “This was the idea that, if said something could be isolated, and given to a dying monster, it might revive them. Or, in its more wild concepts, that an object given that isolated human element that allows the soul to persist might allow the object to develop a consciousness.”

Sans shakes his head, sitting back. “That’s more fantasy than logic. Maybe, maybe, you could revive a dying monster, if there were some miracle drug sourced from human souls, but you can’t create a living being out of nothing, that’s just like… something out of one of Gaster’s bad animes. Hell, you could sprinkle monster dust over that item and you still wouldn’t get anywhere, not without a soul, or a residual magic signature at the very least.”

The Tem hums in agreement, and he groans, bringing his hands up to rub wearily at his eyes. “I can’t believe Gaster never told me about any of this, half of our fucking research revolves around the nature of souls.”

…Admittedly, that research was focused on the timeline properties of human souls, not on consciousness and soul, but… Well. It’s not like the Temmies needed to know that little tidbit of information.

“It is possible that he did not remember.” The head Tem says, leaning forward and shutting the book. “These were inane theories his predecessor studied for a short period of time then abandoned, nothing more. I doubt he even remembers trading a spare copy of the research notes in exchange for… a favor.”

Sans grunts in something like concession, not bothering to ask why the Temmies would want the notes to such a seemingly pointless bunch of theories. To them, such things didn’t have to be practical or applicable to be desirable. They coveted knowledge, in all its forms.

“Yeah, I suppose. Not exactly the type of thing someone would try out for a laugh, even him.” Sighing wearily, he pulls his hands away and cracks an eye open. “So, how much do I owe you for even showing me that?”

“Nothing, so long as you inform me of anything further you discover on the subject you came asking me on.”

He blinks, sitting up and staring openly at the Temmie. “Wait, really?”

She scowls. “Do not take this as some foolish form of kind-heartedness. I dislike not knowing about anything in this Underground, particularly things that may have more power than they seem. This creature you speak of… It has peaked my interest, to say the least.”

“…Huh.” Sans returns at length, mentally shrugging and deciding not to question the small mercies in life. The less time he has to waste doing odd jobs for the Tems, the better. “Alright, deal.” Almost idly, he stands, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well, I should get back, I was only supposed to be out for a quick walk.” The head Tem tilts her head, granting him permission to leave, and he turns, ignoring the ever-unsettling gazes of the guarding Temmies as he goes.

He makes it to two steps before the door when the Temmie’s voice calls out again. “Sans.” He startles slightly, because the Tems almost never use his name, and goddamn is that creepy to hear, and looks over his shoulder, meeting the glimmering stare of the head Tem.

“Your Gaster has never tried to give an inanimate item consciousness or tried to revive a dying monster, true, but that does not make him any less of a stubborn fool, or as forgetful as you or I might give him credit for.”

He swallows nervously. “…What do you mean?”

The Temmie grins, sharp and wide, and once again Sans is reminded of the cold, calculating being she really is. “The dog. Toby. It is not like the other dog monsters of the Underground, you know this— But that is because it is not a monster at all.” Her fangs glint. “It came here many, many years ago, with the human Gaster called his own, and the dogs of the surface, mere pets, do not have such long lifespans as their masters. That dog should, by all reason and logic, be dead, and yet it is not. Do you understand?”

It takes a moment, and then the bottom of Sans’s stomach plummets, a horrible, lurching feeling taking over as the implication of her words, of the words on that book still clutched between her paws, fall into place.

“…No idea what you’re talking about.” He forces out, turning and yanking the door open. “I… I have to go.”

He runs, seeking the quiet of Waterfall, away from this place of cursed ideas and suggestions and of obnoxious facades, away from theories on time-worn paper that bring fear and nervous realizations and paranoia crawling into his throat.

Above all, he pretends not to hear the laughter of the Tems as it chases his heels.

#hI THIS FIC ISN'T DEAD YET #Undertale #Undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #Sans #my writing #Not as Simple as a Happy Ending (Undertale)

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