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writingsfromhome · 2 months

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Dos and Don’ts III

A/N: firstly apologies for the wait and secondly I absolutely did not want to cut this into another part but here we are 😢 I think this will change some ppls opinions oops dont hate me

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

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I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was off in my life; I felt disconnected from myself, my friends, and most importantly from Gray. But getting Gray to communicate when he didn’t want to could feel like pulling teeth. And I was no dentist.

I figured the solution was to stubbornly throw myself into work. After all, with Harry’s European tour starting March there was always a lot to do.

“Nice of you to get here so early,” Harry says as I step off the elevators just before 9–an hour later than I usually do.

“I had dry cleaning to pick up,” I ignore his sarcasm. “Your tour fits aren’t going to magically appear in the penthouse as nice as that would be for me.”

I keep my tone light, joking, but it’s passive just as he is. And he can’t call passive out.

That’s what working for Harry has been like since December. It was winter outside these walls and inside.

I had originally decided to let it all go after sitting with the party’s events that weekend but upon arriving to work Harry had been particular asshole-ish and I decided two could play at the game. It was like the holiday party never happened. And I was okay with that.

“If they did, I wouldn’t need you would I?” Harry takes on the same tone I do.

Asshole, “yeah, how nice would that be.”

I walk away to his closet to hang up the garment bags.

“You still have two fits that need final fitting. For today, you’ve got a 2pm for your ear plugs and monitors,” I say as I walk back into the main living space. I take in Harry in his bathrobe and bedhead and realize he must be hungover. Which meant extra grumpy. “Also a meeting before noon with Jeff—he’s sick so he’ll do a Zoom. And rehearsals start tomorrow at 8am.”

The long-awaited tour he was rehearsing for was 2 months long and with his tour manager joining him I’d be kind of redundant. We agreed I’d start the tour with him, and then end it as he came back to the UK but I’d take a break in between.

“Good,” Harry sits on a barstool and as the robe parts I hoped he was wearing something underneath. “Are you joining rehearsals?”

“Tomorrow yeah,” I instinctively start tidying the coffee table littered with Harry’s activities from last night. There’s empty bottles and unused rolling papers, takeout containers and unopened bottles.

“Can you stop that,” Harry snaps. He’s wincing when I look up. “The clinking—it’s too loud.”

His second statement comes out softer but it doesn’t make him any less irritating.

“I’ll just toss these ones,” I take the ones I’d gathered in my hand.

“So,” he carries on with the earlier conversation. “Just tomorrow yeah?”

“Yep, to make sure everyone’s there, forms are signed, and all that. Jeff will drop by too. Otherwise I’ll just be there once a week or so since I have other things to complete.”

“So you’ll enjoy the full glory of the show once it’s live on stage?”

“I guess.”

“Please y/n reign in the excitement, it’s just too much.” Harry flexes his sarcasm again.

I look up from the other side of the island and lock eyes with him. With one bottle still in my hand I don’t put it in gently, instead letting it drop onto the others in the bin. His face twists in pain and I get my hit of satisfaction.

“I am excited,” I continue. “I’ll be more excited when you get on tour but right now I’m buried under an insane amount of logistics and stuff. So I’m just pacing myself.”

“Glad you got that out of your system,” he slides off the stool. “Are you sure you want to join tour? It takes a toll.”

“What? Am I taking up the space you reserved for groupies?” I goad.

He pretends to think, “No…we’ve got a whole other bus for that.”

“Great,” I smile. “Then I’ll definitely be there for the start of your tour, cheering you on.”

“Not too hard though,” Harry grabs a water from the fridge and heads towards the bedrooms. “Can’t have all of y/n’s enthusiasm overshadowing my fans.”

I roll my eyes behind his back and choose not to respond, as tempting as it was.

By the end of the week I’ve met everyone that’ll be joining the tour, taken copies of a million contracts and filed a billion papers.

It’s Saturday night and we’re heading home from the studio. Harry, in a twist of kindness, offers to drop me home.

“You don’t live too far,” he comments as we get closer to my building.

“Yeah, I was surprised with that.” It was a stroke of luck having a short commute.

“How does Mr. Duran feel about you coming on tour?”

I throw him a look but he sits there smug, waiting. “Well he’s not keen on me being away from home for so long but otherwise he’s fine.”

“Is he?” Harry extends his knee to nudge mine, irritating me. Just a few more minutes.

“Yes.” I turn to look out the window, no longer interested in the conversation. In reality Gray had been pretty upset that I’d be travelling the continent with womanizer Harry Styles. I’d soothed his fears but he was hard-headed about it.

Originally I’d saved the conversation to be had after New Year’s to not ruin the holidays but Josie had brought up tickets for the tour during Christmas dinner and although I played it off then, he’d been in a mood since.

“You’re an awful liar,” Harry says. I don’t respond. Luckily I��m home.

I figured Sunday, on my day off, Gray and I could catch up and spend quality time together. Maybe iron out some of our kinks. But he tells me he had a few sessions and I’m left alone for most of the day, convinced Gray booked them on purpose but not wanting to admit what that meant.

The following Thursday night, Gray and I finally collide after I’d spent the week stewing in my anger and anxieties.

“Why won’t you just talk to me? I feel like I’m living with a stranger these days.” The conversation starts out semi-tamed as we wash up for dinner.

“You feel that way? Well I’ve seen my fiancée for less than 48 hours a week this last year. Talk about being a stranger.”

“I’ve been taking more time off,” I wonder when he decided to count the number of hours. But it was true—I’d started doing a half-days on most Saturdays and coming home earlier on week nights. Like tonight, I’d been home by half past 6. “I’ve been trying to spend more time at home.”

“Too little too late,” Gray mutters.

“What?”

“I just mean,” he sighs. “I…y/n, we barely get time together. We’re like flatmates these days aren’t we? We haven’t-“

“Don’t you dare Gray,” I wasn’t having this. I refused to hear what he was trying to get at.

“Y/n don’t be difficult-“

“Difficult!? You can’t go radio silent on me and then decide 3 years can just go down the drain.”

“I’m not saying that-“

“Then what are you saying!?”

The silence rings to the corners of our kitchen. The dishes are long forgotten, suds drip down my elbow and onto the floor, and Gray’s towel hangs like a white flag beside him.

“You knew what this job meant—you work with the same clientele, and you encouraged me to go for it. I’m trying to be better I don’t get it.” I finally say.

“I’m saying something needs to change.”

What takes me back the most is the even—even apathetic, tone. It’s the fact that he must have been thinking on this for long enough to be so level-headed about it.

Who has he talked to, I wonder. His sister? Our friends? Who’s advised him to go in this direction because the Grayson I know wouldn’t do me like this. Couldn’t.

Are you even the y/n Grayson knows, a small voice asks in my head.

“We’ve changed, I get it.” My tone takes a pleading ring to it and I hate it. “But you can’t just decide this isn’t worth fighting for Gray-“

“I’m not Y/n,” he puts the towel to the side and grabs my arms. “I’m not throwing anything away but we need to bloody figure something out because…I’m unhappy. And can you really say our relationship is the same? Can you call what we’re in a relationship?”

“Why not?” I whisper, tears choking me. “I thought we love each other and we support each other and-and we see each other through thick and thin.”

“I love you,” Gray squeezes. “And I know we’ve seen each other through thick and thin but…I don’t know if I can keep supporting you at the expense of us.”

“Well what do you want?” I look up into his brown eyes. They’re steady like they usually were.

“I want you, selfishly. I want all of you.”

He had what he wanted, didn’t he get that? He had me. I don’t know what more of me I could give him. And that thought tears me right through.

“What happened to setting a date?” Gray steps back and takes his steady grip with him. I sink into the countertop behind me. “What happened to planning for our future? Marriage and kids and buying a home and doing something more?”

His voice raises as he talks.

“I feel like I’ve been living in limbo for the last year! Just waiting around for you. I don’t know how much longer I can wait-“

“We can set a date,” I say. “We can do all that! You-you haven’t brought up any of it either! If it’s been weighing on your mind why don’t you ever just say something!?”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

I’d hit a nerve. We’d had this conversation a dozen times.

“Of course you do! Like, I’m not a mind reader you’ve been stewing in these feelings for god knows how long and now you’re telling me you’re thinking of-of-of ending things!?”

There, I’d said it.

His face contorts into a flurry of emotions. My body feels ragged just saying these things out loud.

“When I spoke to Stewart and Bex they said-“

“Stewart and…” I was right he’s been talking. “You were talking to Stew and Bex!? Since when did you spend time with Bex?”

“Since I had a lot of time alone at home.”

Fuck, he managed to get the upper hand all the time with that one valid point he had.

“They both agreed with me that this isn’t right. I’m allowed to be upset and ask you for something to change-“

“But why didn’t you talk to me!” The switch to anger is quick when he admits he was talking to our friends. I think about the last few times we saw them—had they been judging me? Had Gray told them by then?

Gray tries to brush past and tell me more about his validated feelings, about how things had changed. I can’t hear anymore.

“This decision you seem to want to make for both of us should involve me too and yet you make it the talk of the town before consulting me. I’m so goddamn tired of the way you shut down Gray I-“

“I’m tired!” He butts in. “I’m tired of watching things change and being forced to move past it.”

I stare at him. He’s not bending whatsoever. He’s not even understanding the frustration at being the last to know his feelings on our fucking relationship. Didn’t he understand how iced out that made me feel? When I’ve been trying to be as mindful as I can?

“You know what Gray,” I sneer. “You talk about us changing but did you ever think that we’ve been changing since we first met!? The only thing that’s different now is we stopped talking!”

I throw the rest of the dishes into the soapy water and storm out to the only safe haven I had right now—our bed.

Everyone wanted parts of me I couldn’t give and I felt torn to shreds! I hardly recognized the girl in the mirror, I hardly remembered what it felt like to be me.

The only time I felt centered, a bit of calm, was here. With Gray.

And now I knew the feelings weren’t mutual. He’d been thinking of ending things while I had curled in his arms. While I had kissed him goodnight and hello. While we had dinner or drinks. While we hung out with friends who were privy to all the cracks in our relationship. Who knows how long it had been a one-sided feeling.

I bury my head into my pillow wanting to scream and cry at the same time. My head hurts but mostly my heart hurts. I feel betrayed by my bestest friend and the person I love the most.

You’re no better, the ugly voice in my head shows up again. You’ve done things you should be ashamed of.

I block the voice out. I block it all out until all I feel is numb.

Gray doesn’t come to bed at all that night. I drag myself out of the nest I’d created some time around midnight, thinking he fell asleep on the sofa. To tell him to come to bed since I knew our sofa wasn’t long enough for him to even fit on.

I sway in the middle of the empty living room. There’s nobody here. Definitely not Gray. He’d left altogether, to wherever he’s been finding refuge recently.

It hits me; I think I’ve done this to myself. I was alone. Really alone.

***

The scowl is permanently etched onto my face as I go about my Friday morning. I feel Harry’s eyes on me a few times but even he doesn’t broach the subject. We silently maneuver around each other until he leaves for rehearsal.

I think about calling my friends to talk about this but I realize all my friends who were up to date on my life had become interwoven with Gray’s. And I already know Gray complained about my job to them based on a few parties last year. So they definitely wouldn’t be unbiased listening to anything I said.

I regret then, not staying in touch more with my friends back home. For the first time in years I feel a bit homesick.

I decide busying myself with work would be the only thing to keep me sane so I throw on headphones and get down to business.

As the day starts to come to an end I put on Harry’s stereo with the mournful songs that had been comforting me today and grab a seltzer from the fridge. He wouldn’t be home until 8 tonight and he’s always been open about using whatever was in the general living spaces.

So I nearly have a heart attack when I see a shadow from the corner of my eyes around 6.

I give a shout when it comes with a voice and once my senses return I realize it’s just a sweaty Harry back early from rehearsal.

“What? Are you doing here!?” I press on my pounding heart. “Alexa music off.”

He’s grinning at the way I reacted and now he laughs, it’s a bending-over laugh and I chuckle myself as I replay how dramatic it all was.

“Wow.” He says when he finally catches his breath. “I wish I had that on video.”

“Jesus,” I swear. “I thought you’d be home a lot later.”

“So this is what happens when I’m not home,” he teases.

“Only on Fridays,” I collapse into the closest chair and tilt my head back. “God, I thought there was like, an intruder or something. Or a ghost.”

He laughs again, moving to the kitchen for a water. “Good thing ghosts don’t exist.”

“They so do.” I reply.

“There’s no proof that’s ever convinced me they exist.”

“You live a sad skeptical life Mr. Styles.” My breathing is finally regulated and I sit up to look at him. “I’ve seen one myself when I was a teen. I wish I could be a disbeliever like you.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story,” he leans on the island looking very amused.

“I will,” I accept his challenge.

“I cut rehearsals short,” he continues. “I’m knackered from this week. I just want to be one with my couch and get drunk and not worry about what moves to do and what song to sing.”

“Yeah,” he looked tired and his hair was getting a bit shaggy. He runs his hand through the damp curls. “I need a shower and I think I should do a trim.”

“Consider it booked,” I pull the phone towards me and text his usual stylist. I hear him move around the space and pause before he disappears down the hall.

“Are you heading home soon?” He asks.

“Hm?” I kill time responding, acting like I didn’t hear his response. I didn’t want to go home at all. I didn’t even know if Gray was home or not and I didn’t want to find out. Harry repeats his question. “No. I wanted to wrap up some things. I can move to the office if you wanted the space to chill out?”

He shrugs and tells me I could go where I want.

I wanted to be out of the way, and not home. So I move to the office. The same office where weeks ago I’d teetered on the edge of a fatal decision and now was faced with the possibility of that decision made for me.

I slump in the seat and take a moment to just decompress. A headache creeps around my eyes and I just feel lost and hurt and alone.

When I break the laptop open again I move like a slug, scraping the barrel of effort and coming up with nil.

“Uh y/n?” Harry’s head pops into the door a while later.

“Yeah?” I blink up at him, still in slug mode.

He stares at me a second, “Do you have plans tonight? You could…join me in doing nothing?”

When was the last time I did nothing? I couldn’t remember. And it sounded like a distraction—not a good one, but one that helped me avoid home for longer.

“Sure?” I respond.

Harry blinks. “Oh. Brilliant. Finish what you’re doing if you’d like or you can join me now. Oh. Could you also order us some pizza or something that’s greasy and bad for us?”

I liked the direction of this. I feel my sluggish feeling slide away. “I can do that.”

“Good. Great. This is going to be a good night.”

He moves away as he talks and his last sentence is shouted from down the hall. I smile, relieved to do something like this.

I consider texting Gray, but decide against it. He left last night without a word, making me worried and today there’s been radio silence. I wasn’t in the mood to take the high road.

I do as Harry asks. Meanwhile Harry had put on some peppier music and brought out a six-pack from the fridge. His head is buried in the pantry rummaging through.

“What do you need?” I come up behind him.

“Oh,” he pops out. “Looking for some sweets. I’m sure I have some somewhere.”

“Oh yeah!” I close the doors he’s looking in and open the top cabinet. His eyes light up when he spots the options. “Food’s on its way by the way.”

He rubs his hands and starts pulling things off the pantry. It’s a different energy than any before, he’s not picking on me or ordering me around. He’s just inviting me to be on the ins with him. My instinct is to stay quiet and see where it goes but I shake it off.

“Are we just playing with beer tonight or is wine on the menu?” I ask. I hated the taste of beer.

“It could?” He unloads the pile in his arms onto the island and starts rummaging through the wines. “How about this one?”

A white. I take it from him and head for some glasses.

We end up making a buffet for ourselves on the coffee table and when the pizza comes we settle in, chatting occasionally about the things around us.

“So what does doing nothing involve?” I ask when we’re situated on the couch. Harry’s left a few feet of space between us which is very appreciated. I pull my feet up. “Because I have to say it’s been a while and I don’t know how to do nothing.”

He laughs, throwing his head back. I find myself grinning in response.

“Touché mon amie.”

“Okay I actually got that,” I nod.

“Do you speak french?” He asks as he opens the wine and pours us both a glass, mine’s a lot more full than his.

“No but I spent a month in Paris when I was in uni,” I savour the sour flavours of the wine as it coats my mouth and settles me down. “So I learned the bare minimum. Now all I can say is bonjour, ca beigne? And also un verre du vin s’il vous plait?”

“So you cut right to the chase—hey are you alright? A glass of wine thanks. Now leave me alone.”

We laugh and I hold up my glass, “I was hoping you’d get the hint. Why is mine so full anyway?”

“I’m just drinking some so you don’t have to drink it alone. Then I’m gonna crack on with the beer.”

“Oh!” There he had to go and be thoughtful again. “Forget it, I will happily drink the bottle. Drink whatever you want.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward to put his glass down.

I lean over and pour his measly amount into mine. “There, you’ve done the sharing part.”

“So y/n,” he asks after we’ve grabbed our respective snacks of choice. “Can I ask why you were listening to all those ballads before I came in?”

“I need to get a bit more drunk before I do that,” I down some more wine, already feeling the buzz of it. Obviously this was not the cheap wine I generally had.

“Alright we’ll get you there,” he promises. His eyes flicker from his phone to me and back to his phone. “Uhh could I show you something?”

“Like what?”

“We’re releasing the MV for one of my songs a week before I go on tour right.”

“Right,” I name the single that’s been thrown around countless times this week.

“I got back the deck for what it’ll look like. I’m excited can I show it to you?”

It’s endearing, in a way, how eager he is to show it. His cheeks even have spots of pink.

“Uh yeah! Let’s see it!”

“Cool,” he grins. He turns on the TV and casts whatever video is on his phone to the screen. He gives me some background on how it was setting up a whole storyline and how they’ve already started filming some of the scenes.

“The shooting starts the week after this one right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in Scotland for a few days. You’re joining me right?”

“Yes! I’m excited to see all the action myself.” I had signed up for the 4-day trip with zero hesitation. As someone who’s always been making up stories and concepts to most music I listened to, getting to see the bts for an MV was a dream come true.

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah, it’s real excitement I promise.”

“You’re interested in it?”

“Yeah! I love music videos, it creates a whole new experience for a song we’ve probably listened to on repeat. It’s cool!”

“So this is y/n really enthusiastic,” he leans back in the cushions to get me in full. “Now I really know you couldn’t give a rat’s arse about tour.”

“Stop saying that!” I laugh. “I was just stressed. I am excited about all of it okay?”

“So you say,” with a final glance he presses play and I’m entranced as the narration takes us through the plan.

“Umm all I can say is wow.” I turn to him when it’s done. My wine glass had been emptied and my brain had been itched with the most beautiful location and storytelling I’ve seen in a while. “That’s like a mini movie.”

“That’s what I said!” He exclaims. “It’s going to blow everything out of the water.”

“Look at us, doing nothing.” I realize we’d turned around and talked about work.

“Bollocks we’re no good at this.” Harry slides a hand down his face and I laugh at the dramatics. “Let me refill you at least.”

I happily oblige.

We talk about the mv some more, and move onto the tour. Harry asks me about the concerts I’ve been to and we get the kind of excited when you’re tipsy once we find out we were both at a Coldplay concert four years ago in London.

“That would’ve been before the success so I would have been just another bloke to you,” he notes.

“Yeah, imagine we crossed paths then? That would be crazy.”

“If we did, we might still be doing this tonight, just as mates,” he points to between us. “Or you would have fallen in love with me and I would have sacrificed my music to raise our kids.”

“What!?” It’s so absurdly ridiculous that I nearly snort my wine. “Where did that comes from!?”

“Admit it,” he puffs out his chest. “That would have happened. And I’d be so committed-“

“Well you’re assuming that in a 4 year time-span we would get to the point of having kids. So firstly no, secondly who said you had to sacrifice your career?”

“I-“ he stops mid-sentence, looking into the distance.

“Exactly!” I shout. “You’ve got nothing. You’ve just made up a story that makes you sounds good and noble!”

“Fine,” he settles down. “Fine! We never meet and you end up with your Duran bloke and I end up a musician.”

“Is that all I’m reduced to?” I raise my brow. “Who I’m with?”

“No!” He leans between us to pat my leg. It tingles. “No I didn’t mean it like that. You’ll do great things. I just mean the person you end up with isn’t superstar Harry Styles.”

I roll my eyes, “I need more wine if I’m gonna be subjected to any more of this bullshit.”

“Bullshit?!”

“Mhm,” I pop a gummy into my mouth and ignore the look of shock on his face.

“Fine. Then tell me about your bullshit,” he raises his can. “What’s happening to make you so ferocious this morning.”

Oh god. I hold up a finger and shimmy forward for some more wine. I’d drank 2/3 of the bottle and I was definitely tipsy. Maybe I’ll just sip this one.

“Fine. If you want to hear it.”

“I do.”

“I got into a fight with Gray.”

He raises a brow, I continue.

“He’s upset with me and complaining that I work a lot and that he feels like I’m his flatmate!”

“Flatmate with benefits.”

“Shut up!” I groan. “Not the point.”

“Sorry!” He holds his hands up.

“I don’t think he realizes how much of my head is just Gray like, I’m always thinking about him, about what I could do for him and say to him just to make sure he feels seen and reassured and loved! You know I’ve asked you for half-days on Saturdays when you don’t have a lot going on-“

“Mhm,” he nods along.

“I’m like, making sure I’m being a good partner. And apparently he’s been upset and not saying anything.”

“The old silent on the home front.”

“Yes!” I nearly drip wine as I pump my hand. “Yes, on the home front he’s bloody broody and quiet. I knew something was on his mind but like always he’s tight lipped. Even when I asked him a week ago he said he’s just been working a lot. What a liar!”

I complain about how it felt to be iced out of my partner’s emotions and having to guess all the time.

“Then I find out he’s been talking to all our friends to get advice.” Harry raises his brows in judgement and leans back into the sofa, and the small gesture makes me feel so validated. I didn’t realize how much I needed a third-party to just listen to my side of things. Until now, I’d literally not had anyone to talk to about this especially since I avoided talking about work with Gray. I get misty eyed.

“And when we’re talking he’s like so-and-so said this as if I want to know. And!” Now I was on a roll. I put my glass down in fear of spilling it on the pristine sofa and get on my knees to emphasize my frustration. “And the girl he quoted? Get this, I met her—Rebecca—at a job I did like a year ago? And we got along fabulously and I invited her to this party we threw right because she was new to the city and all that. She met my other friends and she fit in so well they invited her the next event. I got her into the group and now she’s talking shit about me with my fiancé behind my back!”

“She’s probably got a thing for your man,” Harry suggests.

“Oh she definitely does!” I’m animated as I continue. “She so does! I’ve caught her making eyes at him before, and laughing a lot whenever he makes a joke. I even mentioned it to him once but he said he didn’t notice.”

“He probably didn’t,” Harry shrugs.

“I know, the male species is a wonder. You get big flirts like you and then otherwise they’re completely oblivious.”

“I’ll have you know when I was a teen, a girl literally gave me a valentine cupcake and I just thought—well I knew she liked to bake, so I thought she just had extras. I didn’t understand why she didn’t speak to me the rest of the year.”

“No way,” I laugh—a lot because the wine was definitely sloshing around in my head, but also I couldn’t imagine Harry being that aloof. “I guess it comes with the ego territory. Were you less of a jerk as a kid?”

His jaw drops. “You just called me a jerk right now. To my face.”

“I did,” I say with glee. I stand to get the full picture of an offended Harry. “And I don’t regret it. So? Were you nicer as a kid?”

“No I’m not answering until you take that back.”

“What! You are a jerk…sometimes! I’m not taking it back!”

“You have to take it back otherwise I will cut you off on the wine.”

I take a step back and stumble as he speaks. Which makes me laugh more. “I think I should cut back. I am a hot mess.”

“At least you’re laughing,” Harry stands too. “It’s world’s different from this morning.”

Just like telling someone not to think of an elephant, I think of the elephant.

“Noo no don’t do that!” Harry rushes towards me and bends down to look me in the eye. “I liked it when you were smiling just now c’mon.”

“Well you reminded me why I was so upset-“

“Can’t stay grumpy, just give me another smile. One smile! Small teeny tiny smile—there it is!”

I can’t help it with his face in mine and the way he’s putting on a voice to get me to smile my face splits in a grin.

“You’re soooo annoying!” I push him but unstable and drunk I fall backwards.

I don’t know what happens next but I’m on the floor looking up into Harry’s concerned face.

“Y/n? Y/n!?”

“Yeah,” my head pounds as I try to make sense of where I am.

“Fuck,” I hear Harry say. He moves away and the overhead light attacks my eyes so I squeeze them shut.

I hear him, panicked, on the phone.

“No!” I try to call out. “M’fine! Don’t even worry-“

“Stay down Y/N,” he’s back by my side. I try to prove to him that I’m okay and sit up but a few inches off the ground and my head feels like it’s full of bees.

“So many bees,” I murmur as I go back down, now a pillow behind my head.

A few minutes later Harry’s helping me up gently. I tell him I wanted to throw up and he helps me to the toilet where I do. Gah. Why did I drink so much.

“I think I’ll head home now,” I hear myself saying to Harry like I was miles away.

“No,” his hands are around my shoulder and holding me upright as we walk out. The lift increases my nausea but I keep my eyes shut.

“I’m going home now,” I tell Harry when we get outside.

“No you’re getting checked out.”

“No!” I shove him away and nearly topple over myself. Why did he have to boss me around all the time? “Stop telling me what to do! My head hurts I’m going home!”

He tries to grab my hand but I yank it off. “Stop! Just stop!”

“Y/n,” Harry’s voice is low and comforting as he gets down in my ear. He smells nice too. “You passed out and you have a headache we have to get you checked out.”

“You’re no fun,” I cross my arms but follow him, only because my headache is so bad. As we get in the car I close my eyes shut as the lights assault them. Harry doesn’t let me sleep on the ride home even though his body is warm and steady beside me. I barely know where I am.

Harry’s POV:

I keep telling myself she would most likely be fine, just like the doctor reassured me but it’s hard not to beat myself up.

I shouldn’t have let her get that drunk, especially upset. I shouldn’t have gotten in her space and caused her to tumble back. I should have done something else.

The guilt is added to when I think of how I spoke to the doctor, demanding they do every scan and not to skip any. I hated who I became sometimes, when I pulled the famous card, but I thought it was necessary right now. Even y/n would give me a pass for using it.

I can’t stop replaying the thud as her head hit the hardwood floor, her eyelids fluttering as I rushed to her, her slack face when she lost consciousness for a moment.

It’s been hours since we came in. The doctor finally heads my way.

“Mr. Styles, your girlfriend is alright,” he holds up his hands before I’m fully standing.

I may have had to say she was my girlfriend after they wouldn’t let me have any say tonight…

“She’ll be alright, you did the right thing getting her here right away.”

“But?”

“No but,” he smiles. “Obviously it’s serious she has a moderate concussion but if she doesn’t exasperate any symptoms—takes it easy the next couple weeks, she’ll be right as rain. We can discharge her once the neurologist confirms. She’s just finishing with another patient right now-“

“She should stay overnight,” I cut him off. His cheeriness was starting to irritate me I felt like he wasn’t taking this seriously enough.

“Oh well,” he laughs but I know I’m irritating him right back. “She will be alright. I can provide you and her with a followup plan-“

“Doctor,” I say. “She’s staying overnight. If I need to rent a bed I’ll do that, tell me what I need to do, but she should stay under observation. Get the care she deserves.”

He pursues his lips, and I wait for him to agree.

“Yep,” he sighs. “I’ll tell the nurse. Just follow me and we can sort the details.”

We do that, I even take a selfie for the nurse’s daughter which grates on the doctor’s nerves even more. He leaves shortly after.

I get y/n’s room and walk there slowly, wondering how to apologize. Ever since December we’ve been playing a game of tennis with words and tonight I felt both of us relax onto the same note. Then this.

She’s sleeping when I get to her. My watch says 1am. She looks peaceful and it hurts even more.

The truth was despite acting like I didn’t, I did like Y/N but she was complicated, and the more I tried to untangle her web the more sticky things became for both of us. I didn’t want to make more mistakes than I have in the past so I’d kept my distance. Even if it hurt both of us.

Tonight was good though. Until it wasn’t. This was why I shouldn’t blur lines. You would think I’d have learned that by now.

I step by her bed, hesitating. Someone has wiped the remains of her makeup off and she looks so much younger. Like a sleeping cherub. My heart gives a squeeze.

I push back a strand of her hair, my hand wanting to do something. I settle for taking her hand in mine, it’s not the first time I’ve held it but like it always does, a flood of warmth rushes through me.

I never understood Victorian romances until her; just touching her hand got my blood pumping.

With a stroke of my thumb over her knuckles, she stirs. I freeze.

Her eyes flicker open, “Hey?”

My voice disappears. There’s too much that I want to say and nothing I’m allowed to say. Maybe a sorry. I open my mouth but she squeezes my hand. I forgot I was still holding hers.

“So much for doing nothing huh?” She cracks a smile and it breaks the marble I’d become encased in. I laugh and collapse onto the sliver of the bed.

“We should never do nothing again.”

“Nope,” she smiles, closing her eyes again.

“Y/N I’m really sorry for tonight. I feel awful-“

Her mouth parts. She was asleep.

I want to sit here with her until she wakes again, until the doctors kick us out. Something about seeing her so vulnerable here makes me want to confess the thing that’s been lodged in my chest for a long time.

I release her hand and move away from the bed. This was dangerous. Maybe I could wait in the waiting room until she’s released. Then take her home.

Something vibrates. It’s not my phone, and then I notice the purse I’d brought with us. Y/N’s.

I peek inside for the phone and her fiancé’s face takes up the screen. He looks younger. And then I remember, it’s like stepping out of the fog this night had put me in and into reality.

I pick up.

“Y/N it’s nearly 2 in the morning just tell me you’re alright? You haven’t been answering your texts I-“

“Hi,” I clear my throat and the line goes dead silent. I decide to continue. “Hey uh this is Harry. Styles. Uhm, don’t panic or anything because she is okay but she’s in hospital and-“

“What?” He comes back with a boom. “Why is she there what happened? Which hospital?”

I tell him which one, explain she bumped her head and I had to take her here. That the doctors said she would recover and be herself again soon. He simply swears and tells me he’d be there soon.

This was Y/N’s life. This was the right thing to do. Still, I stay in the room with my head in my hands and think about the whole evening again and again.

“Just tell me the bloody room…I don’t care about the time…”

The voice travels through as doors open and close in the hall and I look out. Grayson. Like a pitbull. I can see him through the rectangular window demanding to see Y/N.

I open the swinging doors and his nostrils flare as he spots me.

“Why the hell is he allowed in and not me?” He continues his tirade. “Does hospital policy not matter when it comes to the rich and famous now? I want to see her doctor and-“

The nurse turns to me, annoyed but before she can ask the question the doctor is out.

“What’s all this? Do you know the time sir, please follow me and we can talk-“

“I don’t want to fucking follow you. I want him gone and I want to see my fiancee.”

Looks are exchanged between the doctor and the nurse, finally landing on me. I imagine what they’re thinking—just another homewrecking famous rockstar, do we tell the fiancé or act cool?

“He should be able to see her,” I say in an even tone. I can feel the eyes on me, especially the laser beams from Gray.

“I thought-“

“Okay. Visitor pass him and let him in,” the doctor cuts his nurse off as she stares at me. Maybe her daughter wouldn’t get that photo tonight after all, and instead be told to pick better role models. It doesn’t matter to me. Not tonight.

I watch Gray get sorted, watch him walk down and to Y/N’s room. To his fiancée’s room.

I wonder how he feels, fighting with her last night just for y/n to end up here tonight. I wonder if that’s why he was so vocal tonight—the guilt.

But I suspected he was the kind of man that called himself easy-going and only got this raucous when another man was threatening his public image. It was pretty clear the hospital staff thought we had some pseudo-relationship arrangement. I don’t think Duran was daft enough to miss that.

Plus, I’d been the one to bring her here not him.

With a big sigh I take my phone out to call a taxi. It was my turn to go home.

I text Y/N from the car, tell her to rest over the weekend and let me know how she feels Monday morning. She could take the whole week off if she wanted but I also knew her and knew she would try to come back asap.

I try to piece back the marble armour I wore before tonight, it’s ill-fitting and hurts to get on but I do it anyway. This was why I couldn’t be the person Y/N wanted me to be; I tried to mix parts of my life together and it would only end with shite.

Y/N’s POV:

I don’t know who this man in front of me was. Or actually, I hadn’t seen him a long time.

I’d been discharged from the hospital on Saturday morning with odd looks all around. Maybe because Harry brought me in? And ever since, Grayson has been doting on me. Doting.

“Did you want anything specific?” Gray stands at the foot of the bed, asking me what he should make me for breakfast. The last time he made me a special breakfast was…last summer?

“I wouldn’t say no to pancakes?” I reply. “I looove your chocolate chip pancakes.”

“I’ll get it started,” he walks over to kiss my temple and leaves.

The weirdest part is that I feel weird; I don’t know why but Gray doting on me like this made me feel claustrophobic and…weird!

I look out the window to the overcast sky. Same, I think. At least for a Sunday, it felt fitting.

I pick up my phone and check the last response from Harry. Since I got discharged he’d been texting me to see how I was feeling. I think he was feeling guilty even though I told him it wasn’t his fault.

I tried not to drink when I was upset because back in uni it led to some shitty situations but the other night I’d overstepped my rule and done this anyway. And paid for it. I should have known better. And after the absolute misery of yesterday’s aftermath—the migraine and the vertigo and the completely lack of appetite, I don’t think I’ll be doing that again. Ever.

Today I feel a lot better. I still have a headache and I’m looking forward to breakfast with my painkiller, but the light doesn’t hurt as much and the nausea only comes back when I do too much.

You: I’ll be back in no time. Feeling better

Harry: I want you to feel the best so I’m banning you from working until Wed. And that’s conditional on you feeling better

Y: Doc said I can resume a lowkey version of my life after 48hrs

H: I didn’t like that doc. take my advice instead

Y: when did you get your md

H: same time you got yours

Y: I have an md?

H: being stubborn 101

Y: your jokes are a lot better when you text

H: cuz you’re not distracted by my face

Y: ooookay I’m no longer giving you the platform byeee

He was sassy, apparently. I never got this side of him before.

I read through the convo again and smile. But it hits me that it sounded like flirting. And that would be incredibly inappropriate. So I shove my phone in my bedside drawer and inch out of bed to join Gray.

We spend the day talking about a lot, but not about what we should talk about. Which, with the way I was feeling, was fine by me. At the same time it felt like we were both politely playing a role neither of us could put our hearts into. It felt shitty.

Gray has a session around 4 and I crawl back into bed, putting on a romcom I’ve watched a million times for comfort.

My body feels heavy and it has nothing to do with the concussion. The last couple days and my current relationship with Gray casts a shadow over my thoughts. I felt like making any decision was like wading through quicksand and running away just sounded better.

I rub my temples, hoping like a genie’s lamp, I could get an omnipotent spirit cast out and grant me easy wishes. I’d wish for things to go back to normal, for my heart not to be such a wretched thing. For clarity.

I pick up my phone and scroll to the one person I had run away from and have missed since. I didn’t talk to her very often but I thought I could use her no-nonsense approach.

My mom frets when I tell her what had happened. She goes quiet as I tell her I’d gotten drunk to forget about the troubles in my relationship.

“Relationships go through a lot of phases. It’s like going through those cave tunnels all made of rock and you gotta squeeze really tight sometimes just to fit through and continue on.”

“That is an amazing comparison mom, but I don’t know if this is one of those times. It feels like Gray’s already given up on us.”

“Well it’s been a long time he’s waited.”

“But he never said. He never talked to me.”

She sighs. “Your Grayson sure is a contemplative son of a bitch isn’t he?”

I laugh a little too hard and feel a pulse in my head. “I know. But then today he was so dang sweet—since I got home. He was so overprotective. And he made me breakfast mom and it made me realize I haven’t had that Gray in a long time.”

She’s silent on the other end. She knew there was more. How did I ever think, as a teen, my mom didn’t understand me? I think I just never understood her.

“But it felt weird.” I continue. “I feel horrible for saying it but I felt weird!”

“Was there heart?” She asks gently.

There wasn’t.

That’s what it was. And my heart weeps. All those actions without feelings.

“Have you thought about coming home?” Mom asks when the silence stretches. She always asked and I was the worst daughter in the world for never going back. The last time was when I graduated, for 2 weeks in which my family drove me crazy and I had been crazy in love with Gray and eager to get back to him.

“Maybe,” I close my eyes and slide down into bed.

“Your brother’s new girlfriend reminds me of that friend you had where she came on our camping trip and cried the whole time? What was her name?”

“Deanna? Mom I stayed friends with her all through high school! She was just very anxious.”

“I know! His girlfriend’s always darting about, jumping at tiny things. Reminds me of her.”

“Well Jace better be treating her right.”

“He does,” mom’s voice raises. “You should see them together. It’s cute but they’re still teenaged loves so I try not to break his bubble too much.”

Mom had definitely relaxed a lot since I was a teen. She had practically chased my first boyfriend away.

“Remember your first boyfriend?” She asks and I shout how I was remembering that too. We end up talking about old memories, and I feel a little more known and a little less lonely when I hang up.

Gray and I order takeout and I try to watch a movie with him but the strain on my eyes gets too much. I tell him I was going to bed and insist that he stays and finishes. I didn’t feel like watching him play boyfriend.

I’m eager to get back to work, for next week when I can go to Scotland for the MV. The eagerness comes from guilt but I carry both as I fall asleep.

***

I feel like a kid at Disneyland. Or maybe a Disney adult. Either way, I’m blown away getting to watch this MV come to life.

It’s long hours, a lot of waiting, and some shouting. But everything else is magic.

I came back to work last Thursday and other than an ear-splitting headache on the flight and a low-grade one when I stared at a screen too long, I was on my way to normal. When I got back to work Harry kept making excuses for me so I could work from the office but I refused to be treated differently and eventually he relented.

“It’s so freaking cold!” I jump up and down beside Harry by the cliffside. He’s just wrapped up a scene and the crew was taking a look at the footage to see if they needed anything more in this spot.

“Why don’t you put on more layers? Do you want an extra coat the crew might have-“

“No!” I continue wriggling around. “I’m heading back to the car in a few. This is an amazing view.”

“Isn’t it,” Harry turns to the sea that’s churning away much like my own heart these days. It feels calming to see it physically somewhere else.

We stand in silence except for my occasional teeth chattering and stare out to the view.

“Have you seen more of it?” Harry motions to the cameras. “What do you think?”

On this trip I’ve been giving my honest opinion, and I know I’ve offended Harry at least once but I didn’t come all the way here for my dream experience only to stroke his ego.

I tell him my take. We talk about the overall storyline about belonging and sacrifice until we’re interrupted with two hands holding out hot teas.

“You both looked cold,” the woman says. She was another assistant on set and I’m not sure what to do being waited on as a PA myself.

“Oh, thank you!” I make sure she knows I appreciate it. “That’s…that’s super kind thanks!”

She throws us both a smile and I stare at my cup, the heat tingling on my cold fingertips.

“Friendship and belonging yeah,” Harry starts up again.

“Yeah but also I like how you—your character, whatever, knows when it’s time to leave for his better growth. Sacrifice with his friend and sacrifice with the only home he’s known. Plus that’s a comfortable outfit.”

I tap a button on Harry’s jumpsuit. He grins. “You can have it.”

“I would be drowning in that you’re a lot taller.”

“We can have it altered,” he says. A shiver runs through me at we. I blame it on the cold.

I sip the tea now that it’s not scalding and find it’s a lot cooler. The open air, I guess.

“So you really love all this,” Harry says. “You weren’t joking about that excitement.”

“No I told you!” I flash to the night we did “nothing” which feels long ago. “I have a vivid imagination when it comes to music and I spent any spare courses on film so now I can interpret the heck out of any song and music video like my life depends on it.”

“We should get you back there,” he motions to the crew. “Get you on board.”

“Would I get the little clipboard and clapper?”

“Yeah!”

“Goals,” I sigh.

Little did I know, by Saturday as we’re filming our final scene one of the crew members hands me the clapper. He tells me I’m supposed to cut the final scene. I stare at him, thinking I misheard.

The clapboard hangs between us. He shakes it a little and I take it. It’s heavier than I thought.

“Harry asked if you can cut for the final scene, see the man behind the camera? He’ll look to you and give you the nod. Then you step in front and just do the thing.”

“Oh…” I’m still staring at the thing in my hand. My palms feel sweaty like it’s going to crash to the ground and break in two but that thought gets me to hold it closer. “Thanks.”

“Yep,” the guy walks away and I stare at the scene being filmed. Slowly I walk closer to the cameraman and he glances at me, notices the clapper, and smiles holding up two fingers.

He whispers something to someone beside him and they change the lighting. Harry walks off “screen” and I try to catch his eye to show him what I had. We catch it briefly and he winks before walking back onto the screen.

Oh my god! My heart is racing as I hold it in my hands. I had to chill. Or I’m gonna make a mess of things. It’s just a clapperboard and you’re saying one word!

Two minutes. I manage to calm down enough and when I get the signal I step in front of the camera and, as I see it later on, with the biggest grin on my face I clap down and yell “cut!”

Harry lets out a whoop and the crew cheers as the filming wraps up. I’m sure my eyes are wide as saucers as I go to Harry. He puts an arm around me and pulls me in, laughing because I tell him my heart is racing and how does he do tours when just that made me shaky.

“It gets easier,” we walk now with his arm around my shoulder. “One day you’ll be behind the camera shouting at me to move places.”

“Oooh getting to boss you around and get paid for it?” I look up at him and my breath catches because he’s handsome at every bloody angle. “Sign me up.”

He let me go and gives me a few tsks. Then he gets his phone and tells me to pose with the clapper and I do it happily. The picture shows a grinning girl with pure delight on her face.

“I’ll put that as your contact photo right,” Harry says as he gets into a jacket. “And that way at least when you call me with bad news I get to see a smile beforehand.”

“Har har,” I roll my eyes but I don’t hate the idea.

A lot of the crew decide to go out for drinks and dinner and Harry passes but I decide to go. I’d met some friendly faces and I would miss working with them, miss the overall energy, when we got back to London.

As I fall asleep that night, full and content, I realize I hadn’t texted Gray all day. I wake to check my phone and see he’d sent a text a few hours ago.

Sorry I was out for lunch with the crew. Babe it was sooooo fun I can’t wait to show you pictures when I get home.

I read the rest of his message asking how I was. I tell him my headache was gone and ask him about his week but I’ve fallen asleep before he can respond.

***

The morning I have to leave for tour I wake up way too early. Too much nervous excitement. I’d already brushed and checked my luggage was packed before crawling back into bed waiting for Gray to wake.

I watch him sleep, my eyes following the familiar contours of his face. We’d been making an effort at rebuilding the relationship since we agreed we at least had to give it a try after I got home from Scotland a month ago. On one hand it feels like starting a new relationship and also breathing easier because we were both on the same page. On the other, we’d finally started planning the wedding!

I would miss him, nearly 3 weeks away which is the longest we’ve been apart since we got together. Then I’d be home for 2 weeks, and away for the last week before Harry finishes with a couple shows in London. It was going to be epic and crazy as exhausted as I’ve been.

I huddle close to Gray and he stirs slightly but I kiss his neck to wake him.

“Hey,” he mumbles in his sleep.

“Morning,” I press another kiss to his face.

“What time?” He moves his head to kiss me back.

“Hmmm half past 7?”

He grumbles about it being so early but it stops shortly after with both of my legs on either side of him and my hair curtaining our faces.

“M’gonna miss your snooty face,” I say with another kiss. He finally opens his eyes and his hand comes up to hold my chin.

“I’ll be the one here missing you.”

“I’ll call every chance I get.”

“You’ll get to see so many new cities,” he says.

“Barely but I’m gonna try to make the most of it,” the travel schedule was hectic but I know there were a couple slower days I could use to explore cities. If I wasn’t completely exhausted.

“You’ll have a lot of fun,” he pushes my hair behind my ear.

“Remember Josie’s coming this weekend to stay the week.” Gray’s sister had taken the opportunity of a semi-empty flat to stay here while she studied for mid-terms. I had encouraged it so Gray felt less lonely.

“She’s gonna drive me crazy,” he huffs.

“Just behave,” I warn him.

“I don’t know how,” he smiles, rolling us around so he’s on top and showing me what misbehaving means. I don’t mind it a bit.

After a quick shower together we head out to the airport, Harry offered to pick me up on his way but I wanted to make sure I spent as much time with Gray as possible so he doesn’t feel like I was leaving him like before. I hoped he knew, at least, the effort I was making.

***

Stockholm, Hamburg, Oslo, and Copenhagen in one week. It was exhilarating and exhausting and hectic and so fulfilling.

I had seen Harry at small shows before but on the big stage he has a presence with a capital P. It’s amazing watching him perform and dance and be charming all over. He could be cheeky yet command the crowd at the same time. And despite all these sides he’s never inauthentic.

For the first time I’m able to take somewhat of a backseat. He already had his manager, tour manager, stylist, and tour chef with him to manage most aspects I would regularly. I became sort of an extra hand when I wasn’t having sit-down hours. That’s what I called the times I was sitting on the laptop sorting out future timelines for Harry’s life (and my wedding).

But I loved it. I’d pick a cafe close to our hotel and spend a few hours working. I’d call Gray during these times and if he was free we’d catch up on all I saw and he’d share stories with me until Josie crashed the conversation with stories of her own.

My eye bags require more concealer than usual and my body begs for nutrition but otherwise I love every second.

I’m back from my sit-down hours and get off the lift. Harry and his team were placed in the same hotel just down the hall from each other. As I approach my own door one of Harry’s band mates rushes out of his door looking stressed.

“He’s in a mood,” she huffs. “Don’t go in there.”

“Did something happen?” I ask.

She shrugs, “he gets this way. Usually at the start of tour I don’t know why. Kinda snappy just…give him space.”

I do as she says but the next morning as we wait to board our early flight to Paris he continues to be a dick to everyone.

“Maybe take a nap on the flight Haz,” one of his bandmates suggest. “We’re all bloody tired don’t be such a grump.”

“I don’t need a bloody nap stop treating me like a child.”

“What to do when you act like one.”

“You know what-“

“Woah hey c’mon.”

I startle at the commotion, I was starting to doze off but Harry rushing out of his seat and someone else stepping between him and Mitch wakes me entirely.

“Let’s stand there get some space.” Niji recommends.

Everyone follows the group away and it’s Harry, myself, and my bag left.

He glances at me, “Don’t you start too.”

“I wasn’t…”

“I could see it in your face.”

“What the hell? I was just napping I don’t even know what’s going on except that you really are being a dick.”

“There you go!” He points. “I knew you wanted to say it.”

“Guess I’m joining the others…” I pick up my bag and walk to everyone else. They’re all venting their frustrations for Harry and comfort me that he was an asshole to everyone.

It gets worse on the flight when our pilot announces we couldn’t land in Paris.

“What’s going on?” I ask our hostess.

“The weather, we apologize for the inconvenience folks but there is high winds and a lot of fog so it’s not safe to fly.”

“I have a show tonight,” Harry stands and starts to advance on the poor woman. “I need to be in Paris before 4 where are we landing?!”

“Sir we’ll be landing in the Lille airport. This is good because we’re only a few hours from the city-“

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry runs his hand through his hair.

“I understand,” the woman looks back at me and I nod, letting her know I got it.

“Harry we’ll only be delayed by a few hours-“

“I don’t have time for a few hours. We need to set up and run tests in Paris! We were supposed to be there yesterday but somebody booked the wrong shit!”

It was true, his tour manager had booked us for Monday morning rather than Sunday morning but at the time it hadn’t been a big deal since the show was 7 on Monday and we got an extra day to relax. Now it made things more stressful.

“Fuck this,” Harry mutters. The other members on the plane roll their eyes and put on headphones, sighing and looking out the window. It was obvious to everyone but Harry that this was just a minor setback.

I decide to be the idiot who enters the lion’s cage. Harry sits in the back of the plane jiggling his leg and trying to connect his phone to service.

“Are you trying to call Morgan?” I ask.

“No I’m trying to call the pope.”

“He might be sleeping.”

He looks up at me and if I wasn’t aware of how stressed he was I would laugh. Confused doesn’t even cover his expression.

“I don’t have time for this right now, I need to get to the show-“

“We have like a five hour wiggle room it’s just a minor-“

“I can’t perform thrown off like this!”

“There’s no reason to be thrown off!” I try to keep my volume contained but I can feel eyes on my back.

“I don’t need you right now just go.”

“So I guess the one week rule is true.” I mutter.

“What’s that?” He asks with an i-dare-you expression.

“I said the one week rule of you being an asshole on tour, I guess that was true. I wish someone told me I would have skipped it.”

“Well you could have skipped the whole thing and nobody would notice.”

His comeback is muttered but cuts like a machete and I feel like the words were physically slung at me. I stand there stunned, my heart sinking as he continues to fiddle with his phone until the call connects.

The shock wears off quickly leaving me with the familiar heat of anger. This was how I reacted to Harry and his dickish ways. How dare he? Why the fuck does he think it’s okay to treat me like this when he wanted? I clench my fist as his voice rises with Morgan.

But beneath the anger is a raw hurt, his words struck a nerve. The same one Gray had struck once. I was replaceable, and all the efforts I’ve put into my career were unimportant and unappreciated.

I snatch the phone from Harry, annoyed at hearing him talk at Morgan.

“Hey Morgan it’s Y/N, yeah it’s a minor inconvenience but if you can get a bus or something to the airport it should be…”

I look to the hostess and she flashes me two fingers and a shake of her hand.

“About 2 hours to get into the city.” I finish. I nod along to Morgan’s questions and repeat details back. “Yeah just text me on my phone, not Harry’s. We’ll sort this out.”

“Thank you y/n. I’m really glad you’re there today.”

The words are a feather on a pile of nails, it’s nice to hear but Harry’s cruel words still ring in my ear.

I hand the phone back to him, expecting a thank you or an apology, but he just takes it and slinks down in his seat.

“It’s her isn’t it?” Sarah gets up on her seat on her knees to look back at Harry. I pause as I walk up the aisle. Is was who?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry mutters with his eyes glued to his screen.

“It is,” someone else says.

“Who?” Claire asks.

“Don’t take his mood personally,” Sarah says to me. “Paris is a touchy city for him.”

“Do you guys ever shut up?” Harry asks.

“No that’s why we’re your crew,” Mitch responds.

“We understand,” Sarah continues. Who was she talking about!? “Just don’t take it out on us. It’s not nice.”

Harry doesn’t respond but I sense a deflating happening on his side. Sarah’s words had gotten through to him but they’d just made me super curious.

I get filled in as we wait at the airport for our bus—Morgan had saved the day.

I hear about Harry’s french lover and how he got his heart broken a couple years ago. How the last time they were in France he had disappeared for a day and they’re all sure he visited her. How he can’t go to Paris without getting in a mood, either because he doesn’t get to see her or he’s anxious about seeing her.

“That’s like a city-specific booty-call.”

“Kinda,” Sarah laughs. “But I think he grew really attached to her so it’s a bit—he’s coming back.”

Harry stomps back to where we are, a tray of coffee in his hands. His team accepts it without a word. The world’s most famous non-verbal apology.

I watch him wearily. I still wanted a verbal apology from him, was that crazy? What he said was deeply hurtful. And hearing about his French lover makes me feel a way that I don’t like so I shut it out. I stick to the anger instead. It was easier.

He starts to warm up as we board the bus, cracking jokes with his band. I pick a seat near the front and stay there with my headphones. Aside from answering Morgan’s texts I pretend to be asleep. Eventually I do.

Someone flicks my hat, “C’mon sleepyhead! We’re in the city of love.”

“Wha?” There’s a crick in my neck and I feel rusty. But Harry’s right, we’d landed in Paris. He hovers above my seat with a jovial smile but it dies the longer I don’t return it. Serves him right. He doesn’t get to be cruel and wipe it away with coffee and a joke.

He gets the hint and boards off. I grab the last of the bags and join the group in the lobby where Morgan greets Harry like his long lost son.

“The trials aren’t over just yet,” he cringes. “I don’t know why Paris keeps fucking with me but we’re booked tight for rooms.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asks.

“Uhm well,” Morgan clears his throat. “The hotel overbooked. We have 3 rooms between the 8 of us. Luckily I have a mate who lives in town so I’ll crash at his. The rest of you need to share.”

“Morgan you’re fucking with me,” someone groans.

“No I’m sorry. I booked 5 with an en-suite but they screwed up. They’re refunding us half—I fought for that at least. I can use that to put others in another hotel if you’d like but so far I’ve only managed one room with two doubles.”

“Claire and I can share,” Sarah says.

“Good, Mitch you good with the boys?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Uh y/n…would you like me to book you an extra room somewhere? I don’t want you to be far from the team-“

“She’ll stay with me.” Harry says. “I’m performing tonight and then we’re moving to Amsterdam tomorrow afternoon so…”

I squirm a little as all eyes fall to me. Cool. Casual. “Sure.”

“Sorted! Let’s get these bags up and out of the way. I’ll have a car waiting down here in a half hour so you can all freshen up and meet me again.”

We trudge along and get off on our respective floors.

“The truth is,” Harry says as we scan ourselves into our room. “I’m probably not even gonna use the bed for the night so it’s all yours.”

“Oh,” I look around the room. It’s got a french touch and a lush queen in the middle. I could deal with not having to share it. I’m sure my fiancé back home would be happier too. Even though I want to ask why I don’t. “Okay.”

We settle our things in silence and a part of me wants to break it and start talking about the ride and Paris but I’m still not over his earlier behaviour so I continue giving the bare minimum. He doesn’t seem to care.

We head off for tests and I end up falling asleep in one of the booths. The tiredness was really creeping up. I could sleep through all the noise the band was making.

A particularly loud screeching from feedback wakes me up. I look down to the group, everyone’s mostly broken up while tech crew tapes down some wires and connects equipment. Harry sits on the edge of the stage, swinging his feet and texting away at his phone. He’s different from the grump this morning. He’s lighter.

Charlie catches me looking and waves, I wave back. There’s a pit in my stomach that grows heavier as the day passes into night.

Paris is not the loudest but super engaged. Everyone has some reference to Harry adorned on their clothing or their face and I can tell Harry has a special connection to the group.

“And finally,” Harry says into the mic. “This is a special song for my French friends. Tonight has been a blessing and I want to merci beaucoup for showing up!”

The crowd cheers as the intro to his song comes on. I listen to the lyrics for the first time since hearing the song last year and connect the dots to what Sarah said earlier. Maybe this was the girl. Maybe this was why he wasn’t sleeping at the hotel tonight.

As we’re leaving the venue and I’m going through a mental list of everything we could have forgotten, we spot a familiar face around back.

“Riley?” Mitch spots him first. “Is that you mate?”

“Hey,” Riley like, Harry’s old assistant Riley is standing with a couple other people who are having a smoke. He squashes his and greets the band who apparently still feel fondly when it comes to him. He looks the exact same but my feelings towards him are curdled after knowing what he’s like and how he left us high and dry.

That leaves Harry and I still hovering by the entrance alone, staring at the reunion by the time Riley comes up to us. I guess the band knew his friends because they get to chatting. I remember then, Riley ditched Harry to work for one of his friends. Must be a small world.

“Why the long face you two, c’mon still not holding a grudge are we?”

“Riley,” Harry addresses him. I stay silent, watching Riley from where I stand behind Harry.

“Nice to see Y/N’s still sticking around. How are you liking tour life?”

“Did you come to the show?” I find my voice.

“Yeah,” he nods all friendly like this was casual and he’s done nothing wrong ever. “I might be biased because I worked for the guy but Harry Styles is one of my top artist. And I’m in Paris until the Fall so why not come support him.”

“Well,” Harry says in the same deadpan voice. “Thanks for the support Riley.”

Riley glances over at him, smug. He knows he’s annoying Harry. So maybe I wasn’t the only one who got enjoyment out of doing that.

“Oh c’mon you’re still upset with me jumping ship? It’s been months! Y/N we’re cool right-“

Riley moves to walk past Harry and to me but Harry side-steps to stay in his way. I look at Harry. So does Riley, confusion sliding away to amusement.

“Oh I see,” he steps back, arms crossed. “Harry you sly dog you did it again.”

“We’re going now,” Harry says. “Try not to show up at any other shows.”

Harry tried to leave and I take the few steps to follow but Riley starts again.

“So y/n you fell for his trick too? I’m disappointed I thought you were immune.” Riley continues. “How’d he get you to the bedroom? Lots of booze? Or did you not even make it to the bedroom? Was it being treated like shit that did it for you?”

“What?” Now in the middle, I look between the two, wondering how this conversation took such a bizarre turn.

“You have some obsession with me Riley?” Harry steps back towards us. “Because you sure enjoy making up stories in your head with me starring in it. Don’t rope y/n into them either.”

“Not all stories,” Riley stays smug. “Some of them I’ve seen with my own eyes.”

They had to be talking about the last PA. The story Riley told me. Which means he thinks I…

“You really should watch what you talk about,” Harry reminds him.

Riley turns his attention to me, “Y/N I thought I warned you good enough. But I guess you put out as easily as the last one.”

“Riley whatever drama you’re trying to-“

“Mate,” Harry gets in Riley’s face so he can’t even look at me. I go quiet. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I get security to kick you out permanently.”

“Being the knight in shining armour doesn’t really suit you Haz,” Riley says. With one final judgemental look thrown my way he walks away. I have to lay a hand on Harry’s arm just to keep him from lunging at him but as soon as my hand makes contact he brushes me away.

This whole interaction was ego-bruising. “Why did he think-“

“Ignore him.” Harry cuts me off, his back still to me. His band, having watched the final scene unfold, now awkwardly shuffles back to us. “You okay?”

“Yeah but why-“

“Good.”

He cuts me off from asking anything and I don’t get to push because the group tries to defuse the situation by changing the subject. That includes the girls inviting me for drinks at their favourite parisian place. Harry disappears and so do those answers.

I try to poke whether the girls at dinner knew anything about his last PA but they barely met her. So I’m forced to eat oysters when they find out I’d never had them and the subject changes quickly to new and other things.

“So oysters thumbs up or down?” I’m asked as I slowly eat another.

“Weird texture…ehh?” I hover my thumb in the middle.

“Well too bad your partner—what’s his name again?” They ask. I tell her. “Ooh good name. Too bad Grayson isn’t here to cash in on all these oysters.”

They laugh and I think I’m not drunk enough to laugh as much with.

It’s the wee hours of the morning by the time we get back to the hotel. I crash alone as soon as my head hits the pillow.

***

After three weeks of tour I’m ecstatic to get back home. I wanted to sleep in the same bed for more than a day, I wanted a shower with even temperature, and I wanted a home-cooked meal.

And I wanted Gray.

I even catch an earlier flight—the night before rather than the next morning. I build up surprising Gray so much that I end up being the one who’s surprised when I come home to an empty flat.

I double check I’d set my phone back to the right time but it’s nearly 11. He must be out with friends, not a client.

I want to call him but still hold the idea of a surprise so I take a shower instead, put a load of laundry in, and make myself a sandwich. I crawl into bed at 1, still no Gray.

I end up tapping through our friends’ stories and find him in one. At least I knew where he was. But 2/3 photos I can find of him, Bex is standing too close for comfort.

I can tell by the photos there’s nothing going on. From his end. The most contact they have is his arm around her shoulder but for some reason all of this makes me mad. I’d broken it down to him that he couldn’t talk with people who had a thing for him because they would only give biased advice. But he didn’t listen. He said I was reading into it too much. And here she was, gazing up at him in every damn photo.

I hate that I wasn’t even home for a couple hours and already found something to annoy me.

I must have fallen asleep shortly after because I wake to poking on my side.

“Y/n? Is that really you? Y/n? Y/n?”

Gray.

“Hi,” I turn in bed. “I’m home early.”

“Shit!” He stands and sways back slightly. Wow, he was pissed. I hadn’t seen him this inebriated in a hot minute. “You didn’t say!”

“I know I-“

“I thought I imagined you.”

“Nope all here,” I grit my teeth. Why was I annoyed at my boyfriend for having a life, I scold myself.

Why is he so drunk and is this a new thing or did he only get this way cuz I’m not around?

“You finally came back to me,” he slurs. He smells like a brewery as he climbs into bed and I wish I could force a shower on him but I get swept up in his arms. “Hey you were right by the way.”

“About?”

“About.”

“Gray! What was I right about?”

“I’m getting to it! You. Were right. About Bex.”

“H-how do you know?” Weird coincidence. Or not?

“Sheshe she tried to kiss me!” He falls back laughing in bed. “I said nooo cuz I have a fiancée. Y/N. Oops. She was maaad.”

My heart drops. I knew it. That little bitch! And she had to go and try to kiss my man when he’s drunk! I officially didn’t like her. And the story itself adds to my irritation.

“Wow. Crazy. I’m tired as hell so I’m going to bed.”

I turn and leave my back to Gray. I didn’t want to see him this drunk, this chill about someone I warned him about trying to kiss him.

He splays on the bed where he is, draping an arm over me and pretty soon I hear his even breathing. That annoys me too, that he could fall asleep so quick. His arm is a weight over my body and I feel like I’m sinking into the bed and out of view.

***

It’s like Grayson and I have forgotten how to live with each other.

What starts out as minor annoyances turn into bickering pretty quickly. Our 1 bedroom flat begins to feel cramped and I desperately try to cling onto the idea of us because I can’t fathom us fizzling out like this but my fingernails are raw from scraping threads.

Work is the easiest it’s been in a while. With no set working hours I just spend a few hours everyday doing admin and running errands. Otherwise, unless somebody calls me I’m free.

I thought it would be great. So much free time with Gray, we could continue planning the wedding and catch up again. But he busies himself with work, and when we go on dates he doesn’t make much of an effort to talk. It’s like getting to know him all over again except he’s a broodier version of himself. It makes me mad and I end up picking fights.

I book brunch with some of the girls on the last Saturday I’m home, thinking it might help to have space from Gray and see other people. I thought everything would be fine. And it is, on a surface level—they treat me perfectly normal.

Except the only time they gave me space to talk about myself went something like this,

“So Y/N how are you? Busy touring how is that?”

“Oh yeah it was great! Really taxing but fulfilling too. I went to so many cities I haven’t visited even though I’ve been in London for like 7 years? Copenhagen was one of my fave-

“Ooh. Yeah I really want to visit Copenhagen this summer.”

“Oh I love Copenhagen…”

And I was officially asked out of sharing my own life. The rest of brunch was me reacting to everyone else’s stories and having the subject change quickly after I brought up anything about myself. When I mentioned Gray casually, I could feel the judgement. It’s like they were waiting on me to complain about him so they could pounce. It’s a weird and tiring energy.

As we all say our goodbyes I manage to catch Rebecca alone.

“Hey Bex,” I stop her on the edge of the group. “I know we haven’t talked much lately but I just want to say I don’t appreciate the moves you’re making on Gray.”

She raises a brow, “moves?”

“He told me you tried to kiss him. Those kinds of moves.”

Her face pinches. “Well someone has to make some.”

“Excuse me?” She tries to walk away but I rush to step in front of her.

“It’s no secret you and Gray are on the road to a breakup,” she has the audacity to look judgey in that moment and I want to slap the look off her face.

“What the fuck do you know about me and Gray? Back. Off.”

“Hey what’s going on?” One of our other friends drifts towards us and I notice they’re all looking our way.

“Just a friendly chat,” I say with sarcasm you can’t miss. At the same time Bex responds, “Y/n’s being delusional.”

I was going to get physical, I step back towards her but our friends get between us. I think they knew uni me, and knew I wasn’t afraid of confrontation.

“What the fuck y/n?” I was so tired of the look on their faces, like I was crazy.

“She tried to kiss Gray!” I reveal. “Last week! I’m just telling her to back off and I have every right to!”

It’s news to them. They turn to Bex who’s fidgeting with her sweater as a flush creeps up her neck.

“I-I he did! He tried to kiss me!”

I snort, “I don’t have time for your bullshit Rebecca. I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh yeah we all know you don’t have time y/n, you’re so busy these days.”

“Bex!” Someone scolds her.

“Somebody better teach her hand to keep her hand over her mouth because I will get through all of you if it means getting to her. You know you guys don’t know shit about my life. And you don’t even care to these days! Just because Gray told his sob side you guys treat me like-like shit!”

“That’s not true-“

“It is! You don’t even know my side! And I don’t care to explain because you lot are supposed to be our friends, not the judge and jury of my relationship.”

They stare blankly at me and nobody denies it so I continue: “I try so hard to stay involved in your lives knowing I can’t make it to half of our parties, I’m always messaging you guys and trying to stay on top of your socials to know what’s going on in your lives. I feel like I make all the effort and I’m just made the pariah.”

It feels good getting it off my chest. It feels amazing. I feel like I’m breathing an actual lungful of air now.

“We’re sorry if we made you feel that way.” I look at who’s said this. One of my oldest friends from uni. I scoff.

“You’re sorry if you made me feel that way?! I just said you did!”

“Sorry,” she says, quieter.

“Y’know it’s…it’s disappointing. I thought, when we became best friends first year of uni nothing could shake the bond we had. Apparently a man you met 3 years ago who vented to you about your best friend was just the thing.” All their faces are small and nobody makes eye contact with me. “Anyway, I do have to go. I have an appointment. Let’s not do this again.”

I walk away, proud of myself for saying what I had to and getting it off my chest. For sticking up for myself.

But the farther away I get, the more the adrenaline crashes through me and I end up walking onto the tube on shaky legs and collapsing in my seat. The reality of what’s happened falls into my lap and I see a bunch of burned bridges.

I spend a couple extra hours out after my appointment. I’m not going anywhere in particular, I let my feet carry me through the city as my mind continues to whir.

Harry texts me, asking me to stop by his place before I fly back for tour tomorrow evening. Apparently the concierge needed all his mail picked up and he needed a few of the items. It annoys me that he waited last minute to ask.

When I get home at 4, Gray’s vacuuming the flat. He stops it when I come in.

“Hey.”

“How was brunch?”

It’s the way he asks. I know he knows. Which means a group chat exists with our friends and him without me. It feels like another betrayal. Who keeps their partner out deliberately? Who opens up their relationship like a hockey net, open for anyone to take shots at?

“Why’re you asking?” I feel another fight coming.

“I can’t ask you how brunch went?”

“Did you hear something? Let me guess, did Bex snitch?”

“No, chill out why would Bex snitch?”

“Grayson,” I look at him deadpan. “Don’t bullshit me. If you have any respect for me, which I know now is not a lot, don’t bullshit me.”

He sighs but doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t lie and doesn’t tell the truth.

“So?” I ask. “Is there like a group chat or something?”

“Let’s just drop it-“

“No! I’m not dropping this when you brought it up. So is there? Did you disrespect me in front of all our friends by talking shit, and then do it even more by allowing them to ice me out in a group chat you knew I wasn’t part of?”

He doesn’t respond. My temper flares.

“The hurtful part isn’t even not being part of the chat, it’s that you didn’t tell me.”

It makes sense now. I was always initiating birthday messages there or privately, thinking everyone was forgetting to wish each other. Now I know I was public fool number one keeping that convo alive when they were probably all wishing each other elsewhere. God. I was an idiot!

“Look I’m sorry y/n, after you stopped showing up to things they just made a new one so they don’t bother you.”

“Oh is that why? Because that was active up until a few months ago. So according to the timeline it was probably when you fucked up and talked shit about me to all our friends and they decided I was a bitch and they should all cancel me! Well I hope you’re happy Gray!”

“I’m not! I’m sorry I didn’t realize-“

“Stop!” I slam my hand into the wall and it hurts harder than I anticipated but I bite back the pain. “Just admit it! You want to paint me as the bad guy so fucking hard, and I am in some ways I know I’m far from perfect Gray! But instead of talking to me like normal fucking people do, you just iced me out and then isolated me from the only friends I’ve ever made in this stupid fucking city!”

I can’t help the tears now even though I don’t want to cry. I want to rage and scream and throw things about but the hurt is bigger and it bubbles over the pot and sears my heart.

I leave my shopping bags where I’ve dropped them and walk back out of the door before he can come up with a response. I couldn’t stand to look at his face. He’s betrayed me over and over and the whole time I was desperately trying to show him I hadn’t changed and I loved him.

I walk the 40 minute to Harry’s and the early evening air helps me learn how to breathe again. I take in gulps of it and try not to cry. I didn’t want to waste tears on Gray and my stupid friends. I didn’t want to do any of this! I just wanted to press pause on my whole damn life and take a nap.

Outside his building I pull out my phone and make sure I don’t look crazed. My hand is killing me and I ignore the bruising blooming fresh.

The concierge spots me just as I enter, and we make small talk about Harry on tour and his last few shows that would happen in London. I make a note to mention to Harry to send him tickets—apparently his niece listened to him.

He helps me load a cart with Harry’s mail and take it upstairs.

It had been over a month since I’d been in here and it’s weird that it feels comforting. Or maybe that was just after two weeks of feeling like a stranger at home.

Harry’s words on the plane echo back to me. Not that I was appreciated here either.

If there was ever a time to go back home to the States, it would be now. But that felt like running away. I had to sort my life out here before I made any rash decisions.

With a sigh I dump the paper onto the coffee table. After sorting what looked like bills from letters from miscellaneous I spot the two envelopes Harry wanted and put it to the side. I open the boxes next and locate his custom orthopaedic inserts he asked me to grab too.

I take the extra mail to my office to sort out. In the familiar closed quarters where I’d spent too much time in the last year rolling through a hundred phases, my feelings edge out of me. I try to wipe the tears and continue on but I end up pathetically sat over on the chair crying until I can barely breathe.

It’s pathetic because this is the first space I’ve felt I had the space to cry. And it was where I worked. Where, apparently, I wouldn’t even be missed.

New tears. Less breaths.

“Get it the fuck together,” I say between gasps. “That’s. Enough.”

Through my own self-talk I manage to calm down enough to finish the work. It’s half past 8 by the time I get back to the main living area. I get water to rehydrate myself and stay sitting on the couch staring into space for another ten minutes. I don’t think I had any more tears to cry. Just a rock in place of my heart and another bigger one attached to my ankle.

“Okay,” I finally get the courage to head home.

The end isn’t big and explosive. It’s a simple statement: I think we both know what needs to be done now.

I don’t fight him this time. I have no fight left in me. I just nod.

“I’ll sleep on the couch and still drop you off tomorrow,” he reassures me.

“Just sleep in bed,” I couldn’t even muster enough energy for expression. My flat tone is how I felt. “You don’t fit on the couch. And I’ll get myself to the airport.”

“No I’ll take you. I’ve already made the arrangements-“

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore Gray,” I say. He looks crestfallen and it irks me that he does. I didn’t want him to be sad, it was ridiculous but it was.

“Well I’ll take you anyway.” He says then turns back to the TV.

I wash the day off and make sure everything is packed for my early flight tomorrow. As I lay in bed alone I realize this might be the last time I ever sleep here. Like this. I would have to move all my shit out. Oh god, the wedding. I’d have to cancel my dress shopping dates and the cake testing, the invites we were still designing.

We’d only told our friends it was going to be a winter wedding, I’m glad we never gave them a date. Nobody had marked their calendars. Nothing about us would been permanent.

I look down at the simple ring on my hand. Everything but that.

I keep it on.

I’m still awake when Gray comes to bed but I pretend to sleep. My mind can’t stop making lists to answer: what now.

I’m in a fugue state all night and the only thing that clears the fog is the rays of sunshine peeking through the blinds in the morning. I hadn’t slept a wink.

Quiet, so I don’t wake Gray, I get up and dressed. I order a taxi and try not to linger on the hurt of doing this alone. Of Gray waking up to an empty bed.

The flight to Madrid is a couple hours and I miraculously nap through it. Everyone is happy to see me when I get back, especially when I present them with snacks they’d all said they missed from home while we were on tour. With them in hand, I’m an angel in their eyes.

I hand Harry his mail and he stops me. His eyes don’t stop examining my face.

“What happened to your hand?” He asks.

I’d picked up a bandaging kit and ice pack at the airport and with the help of Youtube, wrapped it up. It had started to bruise even worse but I couldn’t be arsed to deal with it even though it hurt. Nothing a few painkillers couldn’t fix.

“I accidentally got it caught in a door,” I lie easily. I had practiced. “It’s nothing.”

“Did you get it checked?”

“No.”

“Make sure you do, tonight’s show.”

“Sure. It’s really nothing though.”

“You sure?” He asks. His gaze is unnerving.

“Mhm,” I nod.

He’s silent, eyes scanning my face. Right as I decide I couldn’t take the scrutiny he asks, “Why were you crying last night?”

I stare, unsure what kind of trick he was playing.

“Sorry.” He laughs to himself. “I have one of those uh, motion sensor cameras in the entryway. I turn it on while I’m away so it sends like, automatic clips if there’s movement. I saw you come in and leave.”

“Oh.” Shit. Think fast. Think fast. “I uhm, got into it with some friends I had a meal with. Y’know…they were being a bit icy cuz of what they’ve heard. I’m over it though.”

“Yeah?” His eyes flicker down to my hand.

“Yeah.” I hold his green eyes for a moment, to reassure him I’m okay. I don’t know why he cares, maybe because I looked like a right mess last night as I left. How embarrassing. But I do my best acting job ever.

Satisfied, he lets me go. I return to the group asking for updates and any stories they wanted to share. Before long I’m laughing along and creeping out of my depressed mood. But something heavier still lingers.

***

TAGLIST: @boomitsallie1 @indierockgirrl @ndunad @jerseygirlinca @sunshinemoonsposts @ninasw0rld @love-letters-to-uranus @mayamonroem @sassamanda77

#writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles series #dos and donts #harry styles au #like I’m actually annoyed I had to split this up #because it’s supposed to get more interesting #ugh tumblr and its word limit…#musician!harry #well excited to finish the final part tho

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years

Text

Peace

Karl Heisenberg x reader, Ethan Winters and the other Lords x platonic!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR RE8!!, insinuations to smut, talks about having children

Author’s Note: this is so wacky and i just now finished it. Its just for fun and an excuse to write domestic resident evil 8 characters. I had a blast doing it. Also it was loosely influenced by @/nerdymixedpan on tiktok who makes this kind of AU stuff! Highly recommend their tiktoks

Summary: An AU where Ethan didn’t kill any of the Lords and was convinced to stay, leave Mia (the crazy chick who tried to kill him and also worked for a sketchy company prior to that) and raise Rose with the Lords and the reader.

Genre: fluff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You were walking around Dimitrescu castle, as you often did. You hopped between places when you could. You always went to sleep at the Heisenberg factory but you did get along well with the other Lords and liked to pay them a visit when you could.

It was actually Cassandra who asked for your presence. You had heard of course that the village was being attacked but you didn’t mind too much about that at the moment. Cassandra wanted you over at the castle, to try and talk some sense into Ethan Winters.

You had heard of Ethan at that point, of course. Everyone had. The father of the infamous Rose. But you didn’t think you would get to meet him.

So you came over there and knocked on Alcinas bedroom door. She swung it open, gazing down at you. She was no longer surprised when she came over and usually was quite pleased to have someone to talk to. Rarely did she speak to people outside her daughters and Mother Miranda and she had a responsibility to those people. She didn’t have a responsibility to you.

“What brings you along here? We’re a bit busy. I assume you’ve heard Ethan WInters has escaped Heisenbergs grasp.” You let out a huff of air and nodded.

“Yes, he was not pleased when he came back home. Cassandra called, said I should try and talk to him.”

“Cassandra wants him murdered.”

“Maybe she has some sympathy because of the baby,” you suggested. You gestured to the large castle. “Any idea where I can find him?” She shook her head, exasperated.

“If I had any idea, don’t you think I would have gone to find him already?” You nodded stiffly.

“I will look for him myself then. If you find a short person not in robes, double check to make sure it’s not me before you claw them,” you told her. She gave you a small smirk before you turned around and started back down the stairs.

You had free reign of the castle and had learned its insides and outs at this point. On occasion the girls asked you to stay over and hang out for a little while longer so you had slept there as well.

You started to check a couple of the rooms, walking around haphazardly. It was when you came to a room on the main floor that you found the Duke. He sat there and raised his eyebrows at the sight of you.

“You aren’t Ethan Winters,” he said.

“Ah so you’ve seen him. Care to point me in the right direction?” Duke shrugged a bit.

“He’ll be here eventually if you care to wait.” You let out a sigh. You could go searching but it was a sure bet that he will return to this spot. You pulled up a chair from the table there.

“Alright then. You selling any good food?”

=====

Ethan came running into the room as you were enjoying a nice dish. You stood up quickly, putting your dish down on the table. He had his gun up but dropped it at the sight of you.

“Are you a villager? Do you need help getting out?” he asked, clearly out of breath. You scoffed and shook your head.

“No, no. I’m here to talk to you Ethan.” He was still clearly frazzled. You grabbed your dish and held it up to him. “Care for some food?” you asked, hopefully as a peacemaker. He looked between you and the food and saw that you at least looked human.

He put his gun in his holster and took the food from you.

“Alright. What do you want to talk to me about?” he asked, sitting down at the table. “Who are you anyway?”

“This is Karl Heisenberg's pet,” said the Duke. You scoffed.

“Shush up, you’re not helping.” You sat beside Ethan. “Ethan, I know where Rose is.”

“You know where Rose is?! Where is she?!”

“Shush, let me finish.” You cleared your throat. “This whole thing, all of it, is about Mother Miranda. She took the place of Mia to try and take Rose away. She believes Rose will be a good vessel. Ethan, Lady Dimitrescu, Karl, none of the Lords are your enemy. It’s just Mother Miranda.”

“Well it looks like everyone is trying to kill me.” You shook your head.

“If you helped them kill Mother Miranda, they will let you keep Rose. In fact, I have it on good authority that most of them would love to help take care of her.” Ethan stared at you for a minute and leaned back. He had some food on his chin. You handed him a napkin and he took it gratefully. “And Ethan...Mia told Mother Miranda that you...you’re not exactly human.”

His eyes went wide.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re mold Ethan.” He was silent for a very long time. Everything raced through his head. Why would he want to stay here? Granted the castle was nice...and these people did know how to save Rose...it would protect him from anything else Chris had planned that he didn’t know about.

And apparently, Mia had been keeping this secret for God knows how long.

It all seemed like too much for him.

“Take a second to take that in. I don’t want to rush you but I have to talk to the daughters about it.”

“You swear they’ll help me with Rose?”

“No one wants her to die, Ethan. We want Mother Miranda gone.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m human. I’m not mold, I’m not an experiment. Just human. If I could live a happy life here, why can’t you and Rose?”

That made sense. If anything made sense, that did. Ethan took a deep breath.

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

======

Some Time After The Death of Mother Miranda

“Have you seen Rose? She’s getting bigger everyday.” Karl was speaking when he walked into your room. You were sitting on the bed, flipping through a book. You looked up at him, a teasing smile on your face.

“What, now that you’ve killed Mother Miranda you’ve moved on to caring about the village baby?” you questioned, putting your hand in your palm. He gave you a look but you ignored him.

“You act as though you don’t want a baby every time you see her,” he commented. You scoffed.

“And it always ends up being pretty pleasurable for you doesn’t it?” You grabbed his hand and pushed him down on the bed so that he was sitting on the edge. You wrapped your arms around him from behind.

“You’re damn right.” He brought your hand up to kiss it. “Ethan’s going to Moreaus today, to swim around with Rose. He invited you,” Karl said. You raised an eyebrow.

“Did he invite me or do you want a nice night again?” He kissed your hand again and then kissed your wrist.

“You won’t know until you get there.”

“Fair point my love, fair point.” You kissed his cheek and got up. “I have lunch with Donna but I’ll try and catch up with Ethan afterwards. I may make it, I may not.” You slid off the bed. “Guess you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

He wanted to get up and drag you back but you were already walking out the door.

====

Ethan was by the water, holding Rose in his lap. She was truly getting bigger every day. Moreau was standing beside them, dry now. Ethan’s hair was damp. They must have just gotten done swimming.

“Good of you to join us,” Ethan said as you walked over.

“Salvatore, Ethan…” You leaned over Ethan to look Rose in the eyes. “Little Rosey. How was swimming you guys? Sorry it took so long, I was with Donna and lunch went overtime.” You sat down beside them.

“Rose was perfect,” Moreau said. “She’s a quick learner!” You nodded, looking over at her. You brought your finger up to her and she latched onto it.

“I believe it,” you said. Ethan locked eyes with you.

“I wanted you to come because I heard that Chris was trying to get into the factory.” You raised an eyebrow. You wrapped your arms around your knees and leaned against them.

“He’s still trying to get in here? I thought once Miranda was killed he would leave us alone.” Ethan shook his head.

“Apparently he wants Rose because she’s an asset now,” he muttered but he was looking down at his daughter who was reaching up to his face. He sighed. “She’s getting hungry.”

“You should probably take her back to the castle then.” That was where Ethan usually slept with her. He figured it would be easiest to keep Rose safe with four vampires around at all time that adored her.

“Yes my sister will be wondering where you are,” Moreau said. You nodded in agreement.

“I’ll tell Karl about Chris although I don’t think he’ll get past the Lycans. Then he has to worry about the machines that Karl makes and those are a hassle too. Not the brightest, but a hassle,” you admitted, standing. “I’ll walk you back.” Ethan nodded. You turned to Moreau. “I’ll see you later as well. Try to catch up on the TV show we were watching, I don’t wanna miss anything.”

“I will, of course!” he exclaimed. You smiled and then turned back to walk with Ethan and Rose back up to the Castle. You got into the boat.

“Can you hold her while I steer?” Ethan asked. You nodded and took Rose from him, cradling her in your arms. She was looking around, ever the well behaved child. Ethan started the boat and then you were off.

There was a few minutes of silence as he started to catch his bearings and you played with Rose. You and Ethan had grown close over the weeks he had lived there. He rarely knew peace and didn’t trust it that much but you always assured him that it would be alright.

“I was thinking of maybe starting to rebuild the village,” you said, looking up at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“By yourself?” You scoffed.

“No, obviously not. I’d get the help of everyone. Donna and Angie already wanna pitch in and I figure I could guilt trip Karl into helping, with his whole telepathy thing. I think it could be a fun project. Plus if you accidentally lose a hand you can put it right back on.”

He nudged you, laughing.

“I don’t think it’s a bad plan but who will live there?”

“Us maybe. Separate housing of course but it could be a home away from the Lords. And any villagers left stragglers around.”

“I don’t think there are any left,” he told you.

“Well have you checked?” He was silent. “Exactly. Rose may want a place for herself one day, who knows.” You looked back down at her. She was reaching up to play with your ear.

“She’ll need friends her own age one day,” he said, solemnly.

“We’ll see to that when it comes.” He looked back at you.

“Have you and Heisenberg ever talked about kids?” he teased. You laughed.

“We have our hands full with Rose and the thousands of metal children he makes on the daily,” you admitted. You glanced down at Rose again. “But maybe one day. He seems to be hinting at it and I don’t know...maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

Ethan glanced back at you and then quickly looked away. You looked happy, curious, wondering.

“If it’s any help...I’m glad I had her. Even if she got me into this whole mess,” he said laughing a bit. You smiled up at him as he pulled into the dock.

“You want a little Heisenberg running around?” Ethan scoffed.

“I wouldn’t mind a little you. Rose could have a friend.” He got out of the boat and you handed him Rose. You got out as well.

“We’ll see. Karl may be banking on it.” You both started to walk back into town. At the castle entrance you had to part.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, if your legs still work.” You gasped, shoving him.

“You have a mouth on you Ethan Winters for living in a house with four other grown women,” you said. He laughed and went into the gate without saying anything else.

The walk back to the factory was a pleasant one. The sun was setting and the breeze was nice. Not too hot, not too cold.

You made it back to Karl in record timing. He wasn’t in the room so you went looking for him. He was in one of the work rooms, leaning over one of his new inventions. You walked up behind him and leaned over the head of the machinery.

“Hey there kitten! Back up, it might come alive at any second,” he muttered, moving you back. You nodded, stepping away from the table. He turned off his recording and turned around to look at you.

“Well how was swimming with Moreau?”

“And Rose and Ethan. I caught the tail end. She had fun though. You’re right, she is growing everyday.”

“I take it by you referencing our earlier conversation you remember how it ended.”

“I’m not doing it if this machine will come alive half way through and kill us.” Karl scoffed and took your hand.

“Up to the bedroom it is kitten!” You scoffed but let him drag you along, giggling the whole way up.

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagines #resident evil 8 imagines #resident evil village imagines #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #alcina dimitrescu #ethan winters

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Hello! I love your writing! I'm gonna send five prompts, I hope at least one of them inspires you and you have fun with them. Prompt #1: Wang Lingjiao (Wen Chao's mistress) interacting with Meng Yao in Nightless City, can be a ship but not necessarily (I... guess you could count shipping it as infidelity towards Wen Chao??? so def don't write ship if it makes you uncomfortable). Preferably WLJ pov, with her making numerous not always accurate assumptions about Meng Yao's role at Wen Ruohan's court, maybe sort of assuming he is to WRH what she is to WC and therefore approaching him with something like ~camaraderie (whether MY plays along or laughs her off I will leave to you)

ao3

Friends were a luxury that Wang Lingjiao had never been well-off enough to have, not when her tenuous position might be lost at any minute by a pair of seductive eyes or a new (not better) pair of tits, but it wasn’t like she was totally without any fellow feeling.

“Well done,” she said to the boy with Nie braids in his hair like he thought it’d make him something he wasn’t.

He blinked, surprised, and fixed her with the same pleasant, competent, I’m-here-for-your-pleasure smile that she’d seen him use on everyone else. “Lady Wang, whatever do you mean?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes. Sure, he wasn’t doing anything more stunning than getting himself some off-hours food from the kitchens, same as her, but there was no way he didn’t know what she meant.

He knew. Oh, he knew.

“For selling something else,” she clarified, and saw the darkness creep into that bright and clear gaze he was always pretending with, hiding behind; he couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what she was saying now. Personally, she’d rather be on her back in Wen Chao’s bed than helping out in the Fire Palace, but it was the principle of the thing. “And drop the ‘lady’ shit while we’re in the Nightless City. There’s no point in pissing off Lady Ma.”

His face didn’t give away any obvious tells, like eyebrows shooting up or eyes going wide, but she could feel that he was surprised. “You – care about that?”

Ma Liyuan was Wen Chao’s wife, officially, and Wang Lingjiao’s official job was as her maid, except of course she didn’t do any maid stuff because she was too busy fucking Wen Chao. Still, she would have thought that this Meng Yao character would know better.

“Born in a brothel, were you?” she guessed, and his face closed up. “Don’t be so squeamish. She told me to do it, of course. If she can’t keep him, better that she control him through me than let someone from the outside sink their claws into him. Doesn’t mean she wants it rubbed in her face or anything, though.”

It wasn’t an uncommon story, and he nodded slowly as she went to pick out some food – she could get better fare when she ate with Wen Chao, of course, but he liked the illusion of her being dainty and pristine, as if you could get tits like hers without having a decent meal on the regular, and so she supplemented in private.

“Someone told me you were from Yingchuan,” he said from behind her. “Yingchuan Wang sect.”

“I am,” she said, tearing at the flesh of an apple with her teeth. “What, the intonation didn’t give me away?”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I thought – Yingchuan Wang is a cultivation sect.”

Gentry, he meant.

“Sure is,” Wang Lingjiao said, and her lips twisted in derision. “What, did you think it was all fun and games after you get brought across the threshold? Did your mother fill your head with dreams of your legitimate father sweeping in and buying your freedom and hers, setting her up in a nice little courtyard and you in disciple robes, then seeing your merit and giving you the respect you deserve?”

He was quiet. Brothel girls, she thought to herself. Always the same old tune.

“My mother was a whore, too, only she did get brought in as a concubine,” she said. “Nice and official, past the threshold and everything. The official wives hated her, of course: shorted her on firewood in the winter and water in the summer, always gave her the worst pieces of cloth to make clothing and no allowance to buy anything else, gave us incense that’d give you itches and food that gave you the runs.”

“That happens everywhere,” he said.

“She got that nice little courtyard,” Wang Lingjiao said. “It even had a nice little gateway to the outside world – not for her to go out, mind you, that wouldn’t be proper for an official concubine. But it worked perfectly well for men to come in, with all the earnings flowing to the family coffers.”

She laughed at the expression on his face.

“It’s one pimp or another,” she told him. “Men always want something from you, always, don’t you know that? And when they think you’re already dirty, they don’t think too hard about what they’re asking. I was born inside the door to a proper legitimate father, never spent a day of my life in a brothel, and they still sold me out just the same as any madam – no, worse. The stuff these righteous bastards ask for is always ten times worse.”

“Worse?” he echoed.

“Isn’t it?” she asked him. “Even a whore that’s lost her charm still doesn’t have to do much more than lie on her back and spread her legs, but look at you – look at me. Running around catering to their every need, doing every nasty deed that they don’t want to do because that’s all we’re good for in their eyes.”

He grimaced.

“I’m in charge of getting new women for A-Chao’s bed, when he’s in the mood for variety,” Wang Lingjiao said. “And for getting rid of any accidents that might happen later, my own or others’. The Wen clan doesn’t believe in them, if you understand me; if he wants kids, he’ll get them through Lady Ma or nobody. And if a woman turns him down, it’s my job to punish her, or else he’ll start saying I don’t care enough, that I’m looking elsewhere…”

She laughed and took a bite of some pork.

“I’d do it anyway, of course,” she said, chewing. “All those little bitches that think they’re better than me, it’s a pleasure to knock them down to size. And surprise, surprise, once they don’t have their looks, suddenly they’re more than happy to come around begging at A-Chao’s door to see what they can get, since now the righteous ones don’t want them anymore…Peel off all that shiny exterior and it’s all the same underneath.”

Meng Yao didn’t like what she was saying, she could tell. Not that she cared.

“Find yourself a fool,” she advised him. “A-Chao’s not bad to me, all things considered. I’ve been by his side for a few years now and his tastes are pretty run-of-the-mill, not like his brother or his father; a bit of ego stroking - ooh, you’re so strong, so capable, I’ve never seen anyone as big as you, that sort of thing - and he likes coming on my tits. Sect Leader Wen, though? He’s too clever. You won’t be able to keep his interest for long, not even with those ingenious little torture machines you keep inventing for him, and then he’ll have you doing the real scut work.”

“I appreciate your consideration,” he said stiffly. Didn’t like his work being compared to someone like her, did he?

Men.

“I hear things about the brothels in Lanling,” she offered, just to needle him. “Not just perfume and flowers and a bit of witty conversation, not for men with all the money in the world; they like getting a little extra. If you’d gotten taken in the way you wanted, I’d bet that’s the job you’d get: you’d be seeing those women every day, bringing the women in smiling and taking them out crying – or worse. Some jobs you aren’t meant to come back from, after all; my best friend growing up ended up that way. You couldn’t even recognize the body as human below the neck.”

He was too well-trained to glare, but Wang Lingjiao could tell he wanted to. Someone like him, who signed up to do torture work, probably wouldn’t mind the bodies, she reflected, and shook her head.

“What’s Qinghe like, anyway?” she asked, nodding at his braids, actually curious. “Secretive sorts, and the one or two times my people acted as hosts to their inner sect disciples, they always turned down any offers for late night company.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“Stop having a stick up your ass. I’m not saying you provided services yourself, and even if you did I’m hardly one to judge. I just want to know. You were close with that big man of theirs, their sect leader, weren’t you? Sect Leader Wen sure talks about it enough.”

Talked about it the way Wen Chao talked about Wang Lingjiao getting close to a woman he was pursuing, sometimes. There was really no accounting for taste – Sect Leader Wen could have any woman he wanted and often did, her and Lady Ma included, and even sometimes at the same time; yet what he really wanted, apparently, was to hear Meng Yao talk about Sect Leader Nie’s personal habits.

Probably he wanted the joy in breaking him or something. Wang Lingjiao didn’t make it her business to try to guess, though she supposed Meng Yao did.

“No way someone as sharp as you didn’t pick up some clues about what he likes,” she continued. “Come on, what is it? He like beating his whores or something?”

“He didn’t frequent whores,” Meng Yao said. “And he didn’t take lovers.”

He smiled, faintly, probably at her expression of disbelief.

“He liked slaughtering Wen-dogs,” he added. “Rather a lot. See that you don’t end up on the wrong side of his saber. He didn’t make allowances for women.”

Wang Lingjiao tossed her hair – there was no need to bring in blood and war into their perfectly nice conversation! – and huffed. “Oh, I get you. The marrying type, then?” she sneered. “The ones that’ll give you their heart and forgive you for everything, then end up wearing green hats for cuckolds when it turns out the one they like isn’t near as virtuous as them? What a fool!”

“I thought you said I should find myself a fool,” Meng Yao said mildly.

“You still have to be able to keep him,” she mocked. “If you could get someone like Sect Leader Nie on the hook, why would you be busting your ass here?”

That shut him up.

“Well, your loss is Sect Leader Wen’s gain, I guess,” she said, and put aside her plate without washing it. The kitchen staff could clean up for her. “Ugh, I can’t wait for this war to be over already. I miss the discussion conferences! Even though I had to stay back with the servants, at least you got to see some new people…that last one, with the archery, that was a fun one.”

She grinned. “All the sect leaders came here to sit at Sect Leader Wen’s feet, your father included. He asked all three of his housekeeping maids to serve him in bed, you know. All at once. Brave man, at his age…come to think of it, you might want to check the nursery. See if you have some siblings there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll grow up to be competition.”

Meng Yao said nothing.

Wang Lingjiao laughed again.

“Have fun in the Fire Palace, Meng Yao,” she said, sashaying away. “Try not to end up on the wrong side of it.”

See? It was almost like being friends.

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #wang lingjiao #referenced WLJ/WC #discussions of NMJ/JGY #discussions of WRH/NMJ #my fic #my fics #a little extra #tauremornalome

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malghra · 3 years

Text

tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks (3/3)

AO3 link

This is a bit of plot and then about 3k of smut (my first Darklina smut 😱). Rated E, but on the softer side.

A little explanation on Alina's underwear: she's wearing drawers, which are tied at the waist and have buttons running from the front to the back. My reasons for giving her this kind of underwear are 1) pseudo-historical accuracy, sort of, not really (though I did spend too much time doing research to find out what kind of underwear Alina would be wearing in fake 1800s Russia) 2) opportunities.

The Ravkan alphabet, for reference in the second half of the chapter. You'll get it when you reach that particular part.

Alina wakes up alone, and far from well-rested. She must have felt more tired than this in her life, what with her being sick all the time, but this is different. Trying to think about everything that has happened, it's hard to believe all of it occurred in one single night.

She realizes she's in his bed as soon as she opens her eyes, and with a quick glance around the room she learns that he isn't there. It gives her some sense of relief. She promised to show him, and knowing him, there is no chance that he'll forget. Her heart is in her throat as she imagines it. Whatever his reaction will be, there will be no turning back.

She is relieved that he wasn't waiting for her, she muses as she climbs out of the bed and sneaks out of his room to return to her own suite, where she asks for a bath to be drawn. She's relieved, but his absence has her aching. The feeling isn't new, it's something she's carried inside of her for her entire life, barely ever aware of it, never knowing it was him she'd been aching for.

Genya enters the bathroom with curiosity burning in her bright eyes and pursed lips. "You weren't here when I came in earlier," she says lightly. "And your bed hasn't been slept in," she adds more pointedly.

"That would be because I didn't sleep in it," she replies matter-of-factly, her fingers absentmindedly brushing her mark. Let Genya think what she will. She can't tell her the truth anyway. She glances up with a barely suppressed smirk, and then she sees Genya's ashen complexion, her red-rimmed eyes.

"What happened?" she whispers.

...

She dresses in the nightgown and robe she'd laid out before stepping into the tub, sliding a pair of soft slippers on her feet and marches back to his chambers. If this is something else he was intending to keep from her, she's going to find out.

She doesn't bother knocking, but pushes down the doorhandle and steps into the room, closing the door behind her and turning around again.

She freezes when she sees him, not because she's afraid, but because it takes every ounce of willpower not to throw herself into his arms. It's as if ever since she found out it was his name that is written on her breast, that pull she's been feeling has become irresistible. As if knowing has made it even stronger and nearly impossible to ignore.

"Alina." He says her name in a soft voice full of wonder, blinking as if he's seeing her for the first time, and it breaks her resolve.

She flings herself across the room, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest, clinging to him.

His body is stiff with surprise and his arms are awkward around her.

"Genya told me about Marie," she mutters into his kefta.

He relaxes around her, pulling her closer. "I wanted to spare you, last night," he murmurs. "We found the person who did this."

She inhales and exhales slowly, bracing herself against his solid chest. "What are you going to do to them?"

She can feel his hesitation before he answers, "We're still questioning him."

She tilts her head back to look up at his face. "But you'll punish him?"

"Obviously," he says calmly, his dark eyes hard.

She shakes her head. "Who did this? Why would they do this?"

His hand travels up her back and starts stroking her hair. "He was working for General Zlatan." There is a barely concealed tremor in his voice. Being so close to him, she easily recognizes it as rage. "Remember when I told you my enemies were more afraid of you than of me, and you didn't believe me? This is all the proof you need."

So this is all her fault. Poor Marie, did she realize the risk she was taking? Did anyone? Aleksander once told her the Little Palace was the most secure place in Ravka. They must have gone to great lengths to get in, just to find her and eliminate her.

"They all think I'm going to destroy the Fold," she realizes, aghast, "but apparently they don't want me to."

She pulls back so she can look at him. She half expects to find a grim but smug satisfaction on his face, but she can't read it.

She doesn't understand. She thought destroying the Fold would be the solution. She tried to see his point of view when he told her it wasn't last night, but she remained skeptical.

"You were right," she mutters. A quick flash in his eyes, a slight flare of his nostrils, that's all the reaction she's getting out of him, but she can practically feel the elation of triumph rolling off him.

"I did tell you I'm not in the habit of making a fool of myself," he reminds her.

Without thinking, she swats at his chest. He catches her fingers, sending a jolt of power and calm certainty through her body, but the corner of his mouth tugs up into a half-smile.

She can feel his sudden impatience. "You promised to tell me why you ran away."

"I promised to show you," she corrects him, stepping out of his embrace. She unfastens the sash of her robe and her hands curl into its lapels, but she can't force them to move. She purses her lips to hold back the smile that tugs at them when she sees the confusion in his features.

"I panicked," she reminds him. "I was so overwhelmed after..." she bites her lip, eyes travelling to the side of the map table he'd lifted her onto last night. "And after everything Baghra told me," she continues, "but most of all," she says, pushing the robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet, both of her hands rising to cover her mark through the thin fabric of her nightgown, "I was overwhelmed because of this."

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing, even as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes following her hands and the fall of her robe. "This? You're speaking in riddles now."

She takes a deep breath, her fingers clumsy as they fumble with the tiny satiny buttons of her nightgown. Her heart is beating in her throat when she folds back the fabric to reveal her mark to him.

He blinks once. After a short silence, he utters her name in a broken whisper. "Alina." His throat bobs, his eyes still glued to her mark. And then, "Alina," again, a low rasp.

He takes a step closer, and reaches out to touch the mark, glancing up to meet her eyes.

A gasp escapes from her throat as his fingertips brush over the red letters. Every single time he has touched her before felt so unreal, but this, this feels like the first warm and golden ray of sunlight in spring after a long winter.

"That felt nice," she mutters, inadequate as it sounds.

"Did it?" he asks, holding her gaze.

She nods. "Like a tingle, um..." She's suddenly so incredibly hot, and already too taut inside her own body. Her nipples have pebbled into hard peaks.

He repeats the motion, watching her face, and then brushes his knuckles over his name. She jerks away from him, her heart hammering in her chest.

He follows her, tracing the letters on her skin, as if he's trying to imprint them again. It's too much. He's quickly reducing her to a panting mess.

He arches an eyebrow, his eyes blazing with a fierce hunger. He licks his lips and his nostrils flare. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she confesses.

She believes he shivers when he groans, "My Alina."

"Saints," she whimpers as his calloused palm slides under her nightgown, making contact with her hardened nipple. "I want you, Aleksander."

He squeezes her breast, his other hand curls around the back of her neck and then he is kissing her.

It's everything it was the night before and more. Every pull of his lips, every nip of his teeth and every stroke of his tongue is feeding a fire inside of her. His hands are burning brands, seering her skin even through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Last night, she felt like she was drowning, now she's burning up, but she's desperate to be consumed by this fire.

She's not quite ready to trust him completely, but she can trust him with her body. She'll have to, this compulsion is too strong, too irresistible.

"My Alina," he groans again, hot breath fanning against her neck. He picks her up with great ease, and she wraps herself around him as he carries her across the short distance to his war map to lift her onto it and insert himself between her legs. One of her slippers slides off her foot and falls to the floor with a thump.

"This feels familiar," he mutters, nudging her nose with his own, pulling her closer.

She hums in amused agreement as he nuzzles her cheek, the scratch of his beard grazing her skin as he pulls away and fixes her with burning black gaze. His kefta slides off his shoulders and hits the floor with a heavy thud as his hands come to rest on the neckline of her nightgown. "Off?" he growls.

She doesn't remember how to speak, so she just nods, an eager whimper escaping from her throat.

He lifts one hand, his middle finger trailing her bottom lip, his eyes following the movement. And then he lowers his hand again and rips her nightgown open all the way down the front, buttons flying everywhere.

"Hey!" she chides him. "I liked that!"

"I'll get you a new one," he mutters as his eyes drink her in. The hunger and adoration in his gaze bring a blush to her cheeks and make heat and wetness pool between her legs.

He splays his hand over her sternum, his palm warm against her skin and pushes her back, his other hand sweeping under her back before it hits the wood. He cups the back of her head as he lifts himself over her, covering her body with his own.

"You were made for me, Alina," he rumbles. "You cannot begin to comprehend how long I have been waiting for you."

His hot lips are on her neck, his hard erection is pressing into her blazing core through layers of fabric, and his beard and tunic are rough against her naked skin. There are too many sensations, and Alina feels as if she's had too much kvas. When her fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, she twines them through the soft strands, pulling at them to ground herself, and he groans into the hollow of her throat.

As he starts sucking on her neck, a wave of panic crashes over Alina.

"Aleksander," she pants, and he grunts and sucks hard, pressing his tongue to her pulse point. There's a bit of pain, but the jolt shooting straight to her core is stronger.

"Say it again," he orders her.

"Aleksander," she whimpers, but then she finds her voice and addresses him more firmly. "Aleksander."

He appears to catch on to her mood and props himself up on his elbows, arching an eyebrow. "What's wrong, solnyshka?"

She licks her lips and stares up at him, opening her mouth, but no sound comes out. He leans down to nip at her chin.

"Tell me," he commands firmly.

"I don't have a lot of experience," she blurts out.

His brow furrows as he brushes his knuckles over her cheekbone. "Don't worry about that," he answers as he starts trailing kisses down her sternum. "I'll make this an experience for you."

He uses his fingers and lips and teeth and tongue to lavish attention on her breasts, taking his time. When his tongue traces the letters forming his name on her skin, Alina is sure she's about to burst out of her skin.

"I'm going to mark you all over," he announces, "to make sure no one will ever doubt that you belong to me."

His declaration gives her pause, the intensity of it almost frightening, but every fibre of her being is screaming yes, so she ignores that suspicious voice in the back of her mind.

His teeth graze her nipple and nibble. He sucks and nips, and she shudders at that novel, intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure. Her hands have found their place in his hair again, and she's starting to worry about possibly pulling it out when he suddenly veers up to stare down at her.

She moans at the loss of contact and props herself up to reach for him, her other slipper hitting the floor, but he grabs her hands and keeps them in a firm hold.

"Hush, solnyshka," he tells her, pulling her arms away from her body and placing her hands on the smooth wood of the table. "I'm admiring my work."

She twists her neck to find out that her right nipple has come to resemble a purplish sunburst. Her skin is reddish where his teeth and beard have grazed it.

"All mine," he rumbles as he trails one long finger down her stomach, over her navel, and still further down. He takes a moment to untie her drawers, and then his hand disappears under the waistband, into the coarse curls covering her sex. Her heart is beating violently, her breath coming in painful pants, and then the tip of his finger slips between her folds, brushing her clit, curling as it slides through her slick heat.

"Saints," she shudders, her fingernails digging into the wood.

"So wet for me," he croons, lifting his finger to his mouth, closing his lips over it, his eyes fluttering closed as he groans. "You taste like your light," he tells her.

Her cheeks burn, at his actions, or at his words, she isn't sure. She licks her lips and looks down, avoiding his face.

"Don't look away," he orders her.

When she glances up, he's kneeling between her legs, sliding his hands under her thighs to tug her closer to the edge of the table.

She wasn't lying when she told him she didn't have a lot of experience, so though she might have a fairly good idea of what he's about to do (she spent a decent amount of time in army camps after all), she doesn't exactly know what to expect, and it has her heart doing summersaults inside her chest, sparks of light flaring up under her skin as she watches him, her breath stuttering out of her.

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he looks up at her from between her splayed legs. He opens his mouth over the cloth that is still covering her cunt and breathes hot air into her core, making her whimper and shudder. Slowly and deftly, his eyes never leaving hers, he unbuttons her drawers, uncovering her.

His gaze leaves her face and his dark eyes blink slowly as they take in the sight he's revealed, before flicking back up as he tells her, "That pretty little cunt will be mine as well, soon."

He hooks her legs over his shoulders, holding her steady with one hand on her right hip. He starts lapping at her folds, lightly at first, parting her lower lips to tease his tongue around her clit, carefully avoiding direct contact. He licks and sucks and nibbles, dipping his tongue into her from time to time.

She sighs and moans, the sensation of his mouth on her already too much, but never enough.

"Please," she mutters.

"Say it!" he groans into her sensitive flesh, the vibrations rippling through her core.

"Please, Aleksander," she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Eyes on me, solnyshka," he reminds her.

The whimper that leaves her mouth is clearly one of frustration and he finally gives in. He closes his mouth over her clit and chuckles. Her hands fly up, twisting themselves into his soft, dark hair, sighing in relief as he finally brings the building tension inside of her to a crescendo, a steeply rising ascent instead of the rolling hills he kept her on earlier.

"Aleksander," she mewls. Every trace of shame has left her. She's grinding her cunt into his face, her toes curling into the fabric covering his back, her head lolling back against the table.

"Alina," he groans, "you're mine." His voice alone could be enough to unravel her, she thinks, more heated pleasure washing over her.

"Say it!" Ever the commander, it sounds like an order falling from his lips, but there's an edge of despair to it. "Tell me you're mine!"

"I'm yours!" It's not even half a lie or a reluctant confession. It's nothing but the simple truth she can no longer deny. "I'm yours."

He laps at her like he's been starving for years. "Mine." A single, simple word that coaxes more pleasure from her, but his voice almost breaks on it.

Her grip on his hair tightens, twisting them around her fingers and her hips buck forward involuntarily. He hums and sucks, and suddenly the tension snaps and the light bursts out of her as her orgasm crashes through her body in waves of ecstasy.

Before she's able to come down, his mouth is on her again.

"No," she objects, "no, I can't," trying to push him away, clenching her thighs to deny him access.

A jolt of power and desire surges through her as his hands enclose her wrists and pin her arms to the table. "You can," he growls. More gently, he pries her thighs apart, fingers brushing the insides, trailing closer to her cunt, raising goosebumps on her skin.

He flicks his tongue out and starts tracing intricate patterns with it on and around her clit. A single circle. Mirror curves. Another circle, but different, there's a loop at the end, she thinks.

A blunt fingertip nudges her entrance, and a long, thick finger slides into her. Saints, she's so wet for him. She mewls at the intrusion, but still finds herself vaguely wondering at what he's doing. She can't follow the next couple of shapes he traces, they're too complicated. There's another circle, but then more intricate ones again.

"Oh," she whimpers when his tongue traces a perfect Ravkan 'o' on her nub.

"You like that one?" he chuckles, crooking his finger inside of her, finding the exact right spot, and then adding a second one. Even as she quakes, the realization hits her. He vowed to mark her all over, and that's what he is doing. He's spelling out his name with his tongue.

Now that she's no longer questioning it, she can surrender to the feeling, and once she does, her second climax comes quickly, her cunt clenching around his fingers and her nub throbbing against his mouth as rainbows dance behind her closed eyelids, and a soft sobbing cry of his name escapes from her lips.

She slumps back and lets one hand slide out of his hair to cup his cheeks and he turns his head to press his lips to her palm, his beard wet and sticky against her skin.

He's pulling her up and into his arms then, brushing her sweaty hair back from her face with his dry hand, slanting his mouth over hers to kiss her. She can taste herself on his lips and tongue, and though part of her wants to shy away from the obscenity of it, she decides she doesn't care and kisses him back more hungrily. His grip on her tightens and he moans into her mouth.

"Bed," she manages to pant out between kisses.

"Bed," he agrees in a low growl, lifting her into his arms again, shadows dancing around them. Alina hardly has time to blink before she's lying on her back in Aleksander's bed. The black silk of his sheets is cool and soft against her skin, and it smells of him, she muses as she watches him remove his boots.

He climbs onto the bed, and offers her a slow and dangerous smile as he moves to brace himself over her. She can't help it, she feels her lips curve up into a smile of her own.

"This isn't fair," she complains when he lowers himself to cover her body with his own.

He arches a dark eyebrow. "What isn't?"

"You're still dressed," she points out.

"That can be remedied." He pushes himself up and off her, pulling his tunic over his head as he sits up. She only takes a moment to admire his shoulders and chest and the hard ridges of his stomach before she reaches for the buttons of his trousers, brushing her knuckles over the hard bulge straining against the black fabric.

"Alina," he groans as she unbuttons his trousers and slips her fingers into the garment to curl them around his thick, hot, velvety and considerable length. Together they get rid of his last piece of clothing, and Alina shoves her open drawers down her legs.

She reaches for him and clasps her hands over his elbows to drag him down on top of her. The sensation of so much of his exposed skin on hers is almost too much, but she needs him to get even closer.

"Eager, are we?" he teases her.

She doesn't care about coming up with a witty remark, she just nods and tilts her head up to capture his lips, but he hisses sharply as soon her tongue licks at the seam of his mouth.

"What's wrong?" she whispers.

He braces himself on his arms and twists his neck. "It felt like a knife slicing my skin."

"Where?" she whispers, eyebrows pulling together in worry.

"I can't see," he grunts. "It itches."

She wrenches out from under him and sits up, finding an angry red mark on his right arse cheek. As she leans in closer, she clasps a hand over her mouth but the giggle bursts through anyway. She extends a hand to brush her fingertips over the letters of her name, still looking as if they've been branded into his skin. The confused glare he gives her makes her laugh even harder.

"Looks like I've marked you as mine as much as you've marked me as yours." She puts a hand to his shoulder and pushes him back until he's lying on the bed, staring up at her. She braces her hands on his chest and swings a leg over his hips to straddle him, smiling down at him. "It's your mark," she tells him. "My name."

She reaches between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his cock and guide him to her entrance. Never averting her eyes from his face, she takes her time, slowly sinking down as she takes him in, and when he's finally fully sheathed inside of her, she moans at the feeling of being filled by him, nearly drowning out the sound of his gasp.

"You're mine, Aleksander Morozova," she sighs as she rolls her hips.

"Alina," he groans, his hands sliding up her thighs as reverent eyes roam over her body.

"You're mine, and I'm yours," she promises him, taking his hand and placing it over the mark on her breast, holding it there with her own. All Alina has ever wanted is someone to belong with, a person to call her own. She won't let anything take that away from her.

#darklina #alina x the darkling #alina starkov x aleksander morozova #darklina fic #mine #soulmates au

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beautifulwhispersfox · 3 years

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I live in the wilds of Pennsylvania, surrounded by trees, birds singing and fresh breezes, and a lake that extends for miles through the wilderness. I love to walk the paths and roadways that surround the lake and hike through the hills and valleys. I love to explore the grounds in search of little caverns or caves, I love rocks and unusual natural things. I collect the native herbs and cut fresh flowers. I live with my husband in a cottage that is near the lake. We don't see many people out this way and since the town is on the other side of the lake we a lot of times take our boat and head to town that way instead of driving the way around. If there are any other people up here they are, summer people, and only stay in the area till around Labor Day and then the land clears of any other people. We have wild animals that come around. Deer, rabbit, and even bear. We have learned to leave them be when they are near and just stay inside until they are gone. We keep all of our rubbish indoors so that we aren't feeding them and they don't come around too often.

But, it is not winter and I was wanting to pack a lunch and head out for a few hours exploring. I was walking down the roadway and enjoying the sunshine on my face and the sound of nature when about a mile from home I noticed an unknown vehicle parked. Everyone that camps up here for the summer has closed down their cabins and has gone for the summer. So I headed over to it and saw a shirtless young man sitting in the back of his van. I walked around to see if he needed any help and he was completely naked. Taking me by surprise, I said, "oh, excuse me". He was built like a brick shit house and handsome at the same time. I looked him over really good and noticed he was also quite hung.

He noticed me staring at him and a smile appeared on his face. I blushed and smiled back. "I'm sorry", I said. He said, "No worries". I went to leave and he asked if I had lived nearby and had a working phone. I said that I did and that he was welcome to use it. He was washing off and then getting dressed when I came across him and he said that he didn't realize that anyone was still up here and that he was happy that there was. His van broke down and he stayed the night in it, I could smell the smoke of a fire that had been wet down to be put out. He told me that he was going to hike around and see if he could either find someone or get to the town on the other side of the lake.

As he dressed, I noticed that he was just as hot clothed, as he was naked and was happy to escort such a good-looking man back to my place. I'll admit, the dirty thoughts were there.

My husband and I have an open relationship and always welcome a third party if that can be the case. We don't get out much because the city is so far away but we do have visitors come to stay with us. Another couple. We switch partners and just have a weekend of sex, drinking, and more sex. We have fires and have sex. We go swimming and have sex. I am a bottom, so I get to get under the other top all weekend long and it is nice to have someone else with my husband's permission. And I definitely want to get under this guy if I can.

We reached our cabin and I let my husband know who this man is and what the situation was and he led him to the phone. We told him who to call and the earliest that the tow man would be able to get out this way was 2 days from today and that he was the only mechanic in town and depending on what was needed for the van, it could take up to a week total for him to get it fixed. In the meantime, we had talked and had decided that I could have sex with him all that I wanted to if the young man was up for that kind of fucking. He was definitely straight but I have a way of getting men into bed that my husband just loves because it is always advantageous to us both.

We invited the young man to stay with us and he agreed since there were no hotels open now either. He didn't seem too concerned about our marriage and he was quite comfortable with himself. I love a confident man and he was really turning me on. He seemed to take a liking to both us and especially to me. I was in the kitchen cooking and he sat down at the table after I had told him to make himself at home. He asked if that meant to me as well. I turned and looked at him surprised and then told him, "yes". Again I blushed and he said it was cool and that he didn't have a girlfriend and could use a few good blowjobs if I were really interested. He knew that I was and I didn't have to say a word more.

We had dinner, all three of us, and then my husband retired to bed. I lit a fire in the fireplace and offered him a glass of wine or a beer. "I have liquor too if you prefer?" He said no because it gives him whiskey dick and he wanted to be hard for the occasion. I blushed again and giggled a little bit too. The excitement was rising up in me as it was rising in pants as he was thinking about having his dick sucked finally. He said it had been a while for him. I thought to myself how can such a great looking stud go without any sex? Then he proceeded to tell me as though he were reading my mind. He told me that he could see it on my face. I had to laugh this time.

"If you would like to get comfortable, please do", I told him. He told me that he is naked a lot when he is home and I assured him that would be no problem at all. He took his clothes off and folded them up neatly and put them on the sofa. I motioned for him to come to lay down on the floor and rest his body on the pillows. He did and as he walked, his manhood bounced freely back and forth as I watched and licked my lips. My mouth was watering like a flood. He noticed and commented that he appreciated the hungry looks from me. It made him feel good. He hadn't had anyone look at him like that for a long time.

We were instantly comfortable with each other. He rested himself upon the pillows and I looked at his thick cock and low hanging balls. I asked if I could taste him and instead, he motioned for me to come up to him and said, "I may be the man in this but I do have respect for you." He looked at me then moved in to kiss me. He kissed me for a long time and I rubbed his cock till it was hard as stone. It grew to a beautiful nine inches long and was thick. I looked down at and he asked if I liked it and I, of course, said "yes". He teased and said that if I played my cards right that he would also fuck me if I wanted. Like I'm going to tell him no.

We kissed a little more then I made my way down his freshly showered neck, to his stomach, his happy trail, then I took him in my mouth. He was softly moaning and exhaling as I did so. I laid my head down on his muscular, inner thigh and teased the head of his cock with my tongue. My lips went around and sucked on it and then down the shaft I went. I could hear him breathing hard and with excitement. I would go all the way down his shaft to his big, low-hanging balls, then make my way back up to the head. I wanted to take my time and enjoy this beautiful stranger. I also wanted to swallow a nice big load.

He motioned for me to move my body up close to his. All I had on was a bathrobe. He noticed that I was naked underneath and said that he thought that was hot. He reached under to grab my ass cheek in his hand and told me that he was going to fuck that for me. I loved his forthright and confidence. He was never with another guy before but he knew how to handle a hungry fuck hole.

As I stroked his cock and gave him head, he was getting more and more excited and moving his hips to meet my face as I went down on him. He stuck his fingertip in his mouth and was rubbing my asshole with it saying how he can't wait to sink himself in a nice warm pussy. It was cool of him to call it that. He let out a moan, shoved my head down on his throbbing cock, and fed me the biggest load of cum. OMG was it tasty too. I kept sucking his dick gently after he erupted. He was ready for another beer and then motioned for us to go up to his room. We climbed the stairs to his room and he shut the door behind us. Our room is on the first floor and he was on the second floor on the other side of the house. This is the room that the other top and I use when the couple comes to visit.

He dropped my robe around my ankles. I was a little shy because I am a little bigger around the waist. He told me that he loves thick chicks and that I was perfect. He teased and said that he likes a little more titty but....He instantly subdued my insecurities when he picked me up, kissed me, then laid me on the bed, spreading my knees and laying on top of me. He continued to make out with me until he was fully erect again and told me that I was in a lot of trouble because I already made him cum and that it takes him a lot longer to cum the second time around. Yeah, like I would have a problem with that, I told him and he giggled and slid himself deep inside my cock hungry hole.

He stayed that whole week and he fucked me every night.

He would visit often until he met a nice young lady and then the visits dwindled down. I'll always remember that first day we met.

by Marshall Bosley

(I do not own the rights to the pic)

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airiustide · 3 years

Text

If I Could (I’d Kiss Your Fingers)

A Water Witch Tale

Summary: Taking place after Katara returns to the Fire Nation to stay with her new family, Zuko wants to give her a gift as a way to show how much she means to him. With Izumi's help, father and daughter pick out the perfect chocolates for Katara. Meanwhile, Katara works on something precious of her own. Part of the The Water Witch Tales

A/N: I asked myself if I wanted to do a additional piece for The Water Witch of Biei Village or write a Valentine’s special fic? My brain: por que no los dos? I've wanted to write more about this zutara family since ending The Water Witch of Biei Village two years ago. My hearts been set on it and today was a perfect.

also posted on AO3

***

“Chocolates. Chocolates. We’re going to pick chocolates!” Izumi sang, skipping around several staff entering the Fire Lord’s study carrying gold trays of serve ware covered with lids.

Zuko shoos them in, peering from left to right outside the study until the confectioner himself is the last to enter and Zuko can now close the door behind him. “Quickly, lay them there.” The Fire Lord points to the long table stationed in front of the open balcony doors. He grabs a hopping Izumi by the waist and swings her over his shoulders, eliciting a squeal. “Calm down, love. We’ll get to try them all, I promise.”

“Then we give to Mommy?” The four-year-old grins, panting from all the excitement.

“Then we give them to Mommy.” Zuko confirms, reflecting his daughter’s smile.

Zuko had been considering the perfect gift to give Katara after she had returned, after having forced the captain of the airship that was supposed to take her home to the rural lands of the Fire Nation countryside to turn around. It was a moment of joy and tears. Katara proclaimed Izumi her daughter without asking anything in return other than to care for the Fire Nation princess as her own. Any attempt at giving Katara jewels or expensive dresses were turned down. Katara’s humble rejection was sweet but was leaving Zuko a little deflected.

He wanted to impress her. The one kiss wasn’t enough and they talked little of it since then despite Katara’s return being well over a month ago. It was then that Izumi brought up how Katara had never eaten chocolates before, a discussion brought up while the waterbender did the nightly routine of brushing her daughter’s hair.

It was then the idea sparked in Zuko’s head. Chocolates. No one could possibly turn down chocolates. A simple yet desirable candy.

Once the trays are laid out, the confectioner snaps his fingers for his staff to remove the lids. Zuko lifts Izumi off his shoulders and sets her on her feet, the little girl’s bright gold eyes looking at the great display of chocolates laid before her in wonderment. “Wow.” She breathes.

“Only the best chocolates in the whole Fire Nation, your majesty. We’ve traveled all this way per your request from Ember Island. May I present my finest work.” The confectioner, Chou, bows.

Zuko and Izumi approach, stopping at the first tray sitting at the left end of the table.

“The first I’d like to present is a common treat. The bark is made from milk chocolate, quite sweet, I warn, but much lighter than the typical chocolate.” The confectioner explains.

Zuko breaks a piece for himself and Izumi to try. “Hmm.” The Fire Lord hums, finding his jaw lock from the overly sweet candy. “What do you think, princess?”

“It melts in my mouth!” Izumi exclaimed. “But too sweet.”

“Of course. This here, is a truffle.” Chou points to the second plate. “Though, today we’ll try many of these kinds of chocolates, this one’s a dark ganache blended with a touch of champagne.”

“Mmm.” Izumi sighs, popping the truffle in her mouth. “I like this one.”

“That’ll go in the yes pile then.” Zuko chuckled, nodding for one of the confectioner's staff to put the tray aside.

The young Fire Lord had to admit, the amount of it all was too much. Some portions had to be given in small doses to prevent a stomach ache. Izumi was so eager to try them all that the first six or so trays resulted in tossing handfuls into her mouth. Not so much because she wanted to eat them all, but because it was so important to her that Katara had the best.

Cordials, hazelnut, rum, caramel. It was all so delightful. It was not only a means to give a gift to share with someone they loved but the father/daughter time they had lost when Izumi had fallen ill was made up with a simple moment such as this.

There was still more to go. Zuko deemed it unnecessary to try the rest when his daughter’s face became smeared with chocolate and her eyelids began to flutter. They had already settled on three flavors, some which will be boxed prettily for the master waterbender; passion fruit, mint, and champagne.

“Good choice, your majesty.” Chou compliments. “The lady will surely be pleased.”

“Hmpf.” Zuko frowned. Chou would not be saying that if he knew that Zuko planned on gifting the chocolates to a waterbender. The Fire Lord was ashamed to admit that his people viewed waterbenders as conjurers of magic, they’re dwindling race created stereotypes and rumors far beyond what the truth actually beheld. “Do not worry, she will. Thank you for your journey to the capital. You will be highly compensated and even more in the future if Katara wishes for it.”

“Of course.” Chou bows, snapping his fingers for his staff to collect the leftovers and head out quickly.

“Someone’s sleepy.” Zuko turns to Izumi, sweeping her in his arms and cleaning the chocolate off her face with the sleeve of his royal robes. She had gained some weight since her lungs healed, no longer the tiny thin figure she once was when he had thought he was on the verge of losing her.

“Mm...not sleepy, Daddy. I want to see Mommy.” The princess looks over at the neatly boxed chocolates sitting on the long table. She couldn’t sleep yet. She had carefully selected everything for her mother, Izumi wanted to give them to her now.

“You will after a nap. Then, we will see Katara.” He coos, watching Izumi finally close her tired eyes as he holds her gently in his lap while he proceeds to sit in his cushioned pillow so that he could continue his work.

***

This is starting to feel like a distraction. When Kioko had shown up at Katara’s chambers that morning with an urgent request that required them to head to Caldera’s marketplace, the waterbender felt as though she had no choice but to oblige. She wished to see Izumi, if not for a little bit, before her and Kioko departed but the head healer demanded that they make haste.

“What, exactly, is it we’re looking for?” Katara questioned, looking around the busy streets with the older woman’s arm linked to hers.

Guards surround them on all sides, a apparent perk the master waterebender wish didn’t come with officially adopting Izumi but Zuko would have it no other way. His argument, that people were against her legal adoption of Izumi albeit Katara knew the real reason- it meant Zuko was not willing to remarry. Every unmarried noblewoman and Zuko’s advisors made that clear with a single glare directed at her alone. It did not matter that Izumi was a living, healthy heir now. No, they needed more security than that, and marrying a Lady within the Fire Nation meant ensuring this.

Kioko assured Katara that they were jealous nobodies that only dreamed of getting close to the Fire Lord if only to benefit from him.

“Zuko would give you the world.” Kioko told her once, the two ladies held up in Katara’s room with wine and light chat. “He would bow to his knees for you, if you would permit him, and proclaim everything that is his, is yours.”

That came as a surprise to Katara, yet it made sense considering that she had healed Zuko’s daughter from certain death. She ignored that small whisper in her head that Kioko’s statement meant something deeper. The waterbender brushed it aside.

“I thought we might do some shopping. I haven’t seen my poor husband in months since his travels and I want to present him a gift when he returns next week.” Kioko answered her question.

“Are you not the gift, Kioko?” Katara smirked playfully.

“Oh my heavens. That is only between me and the captain I call husband.” Kioko winked. “We had missed our anniversary this last winter and I wanted to surprise him.”

“Sounds easy. What does he like?”

“Hmm, well, I was thinking I’d fashion up a new robe or maybe purchase new cuffs for his uniform. Oh, and while we’re here, why not get something nice for his majesty” Kioko said the last sentence so fast, Katara barely caught it.

“Zuko?” Katara whirled her head. “Oh. I guess I never did anything nice for him before. He did take me out that one time, after all.” A deep blush surfaced on her cheeks and Katara bit her bottom lip from smiling. She remembers where Zuko's hands were. His sultry voice and his low breath that tickled and teased her skin when he had openly flirted with her. The way his eyes glazed over when she had danced with him.

Kioko raised an eyebrow at Katara’s sudden silence.

“Yes.” The waterbender cleared her throat after noticing the head healer was staring at her. “A gift. I see no harm in buying one for him.”

That’s what you believe. Kioko smiles, knowing full well Zuko was caught in Katara’s web and the poor girl had no idea what power she had over the Fire Lord. He loved her and she, likewise. The old woman hoped they’d realize it soon or else she would have to resort to locking them in the same room together, if it meant finally professing their feelings.

The problem was, what does a Fire Lord like that he doesn’t already have? Yeah, Katara had enough to buy a pretty solid gift for someone of her status but Zuko was head of a nation. Katara didn’t have anything to her name that would remotely impress him.

“Child, you’re thinking too hard.” Kioko interrupts her thoughts.

“Am I? I’m not exactly feeling confident here.” Katara panicked. “S-sorry I snapped like that. I don’t think anything here would be to Zuko’s liking.”

“That’s because you’re thinking of his status rather than what he is as a person. His majesty wasn’t as sheltered as you think. He’s traveled the world, he’s encountered struggle and defeat and when the tyrant, Lord Ozai, dies within the third year of Lord Zuko’s banishment and his daughter was seized for his death, Lord Zuko was called back to take his place as a mere child himself, marry, and raise a daughter on his own after his beloved’s death. He’s more humble than he lets on and we have the former general to thank for that.”

Iroh. Zuko often talked about him. “I know he’s like a father to Zuko. I didn’t mean to insult Zuko.”

“You did no such thing, dear. I wanted to remind you that his majesty is more than just a leader. He’s a man and a father first. Look to that when you go about searching for a gift for him.”

Katara halts, a large grin stretching on her lips. “I’ve got just the thing. Kioko, we need to stop at a few places.”

***

Where is she? Kioko refused to let Zuko visit Katara’s chambers, stating that the waterbender was busy and that she would meet them for dinner as soon as she was available. Izumi whined that she wanted to see Katara now and her impatience was starting to weigh on Zuko, who had to try and entertain his daughter as best he could until her mother arrived. They had taken dinner to his chambers this time, so that he and Izumi could give the present to Katara in peace.

Zuko had asked that Kioko distract Katara while he and Izumi snuck in the confectioner and his staff, he had no idea that they would be gone well into midafternoon only for Katara to run back to her room and shut herself away with so much as a greeting.

“What has Katara holed up in her room?” Zuko asked during dinner.

“You’re majesty, I’m afraid this is an important time for Master Katara. She will see you and Princess Izumi as soon as she can.”

Something’s fishy. “You aren’t withholding anything from your Fire Lord, are you, Kioko?”

“You’re majesty.” Kioko feigned shock, resting a hand on her chest. “You would not use your position of power to pry personal information regarding your dear daughter’s mother from me, would you?”

Zuko’s good eye widened, his cheeks blushing profusely. “I- No. Of course not.” He grumbles, finding his food unappetizing because the anxiousness was eating at him. Izumi, the same, poked her steamed slug with a heavy sigh. Katara hadn’t gone a day without being next to her. Had they truly grown that attached?

The three are disturbed by the sound of the door opening and the master waterbender entering the room. “Late-” She pants, her wild hair loose over her shoulders and pieces of random fabric stuck to her dress. “Didn’t mean- I’m here now.” Katara smiles while she gains her composure.

“Mommy!” Izumi cried, jumping from her seat and rushing to her mother’s arms. “What took so long? I missed you.” Her voice trembled.

Katara felt guilty. Izumi had already been through enough when Katara left, she didn’t quite think through how a long separation might affect her again. “I’ve missed you too, love, and I’m here now.”

“Come here, come here. Daddy and I have something to show you.” Izumi pulls her mother along.

“Really now?”

Zuko grips the box in his lap, licking his lips to hide his nerves as Katara sat next him, her arm brushing his arm as she places Izumi on her lap. Agni, give me strength, he prays.

“What’s that you got there.” Katara leaned into him sideways, the box shaking in his hands.

Why was he nervous all of a sudden? Zuko’s throat swelled up, his palms were sweaty.

“Me and Daddy got you a gift!” Izumi replied.

“A gift? For me? Zuko, I thought-”

“I know.” He said, finally mustering the courage to speak. “But this is different. Please accept it, Izumi and I worked really hard to select them for you.”

They both gave her pleading eyes. Spirits, how can she resist such cute faces. “Okay. Can I open it?”

Zuko hands the box to her and Izumi claps excitedly as Katara pulls the ribbon and lifts the top half of the box to reveal something she’s never seen before. “What are these?”

“Chocolates!” Izumi giggled.

“They’re edible sweets made of cocoa.”

Katara eyes the pieces curiously. Unsure of where to start. “They’re all so different.” She comments.

“Here, Mommy, you’ll like this one.” Izumi picks out a passion fruit, lifting it to Katara’s mouth.

Her eyes sparkle as she takes her first piece, her taste buds overtaken with a mix of passion fruit, chocolate and white chocolate. It’s decadent but the flavors are pleasant. “Spirits, that's delicious!”

“Hehe. See, I told you she’d like it, Daddy.”

“So this is what you two have been conspiring this whole time.” Katara teased the Fire Lord.

“We only wished to do something special.” Zuko explained sheepishly.

“Well, this was certainly special.” Katara smiles.

“Why don’t you try the other flavors.” He suggests.

“Only if you guys eat them with me. This is certainly a lot.”

Katara pops one into Izumi’s mouth first. “Your turn.” She says to Zuko.

His heart throbs in his ears. Before he could protest, Katara presses a piece of chocolate to his lips and he reluctantly opens, enclosing it in his mouth along with Katara’s index finger and his brain short circuits. As he chews the piece he can only assume is mint, refreshing much like Katara’s presence, her fingers still lingering on his lips; they’re gazes stayed only on each other.

Zuko leans in slightly, drinking in Katara’s face as she bites the corner of her lip. She likes the look he’s giving her- heavy, glazed and adorning. She wants to see more of this, more of him looking like her just like this. “Do you want more?” She asks in a whisper.

“Well, this has been lovely.” Kioko announced, catching the Fire Lord and Master Waterbender off guard, shame written on their faces. “I’ll take my leave. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

It takes a while for the heat to die down in the room and the tension to fade before Katara tells Zuko she has something for him too. “For both you and Izumi, in fact.” She reaches for the pouch attached to her sash and opens it, fishing out two weaved bracelets with charms on them. “It’s not much but I thought of you two and I wanted to make something that would always be with you.”

“Pretty.” Izumi brightens. Katara ties the bracelet to her wrist, three little charms dangling from it; one of the moon, the second the symbol of the painted lady and the third a sparrowkeet.

Next was Zukos, which Katara delicately tied to his wrist as well. The first charm was of two dragons tangled in a dance, the second a replica of the carved stone on Katara’s necklace and the third the mask of the blue spirit.

“It was all done at last minute, so it’s not perfect-”

“It’s more than perfect.” Zuko corrects. “Thank you, Katara.” He wraps an arm around her neck and brings her to him, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Mine is perfect too, Mommy! I want to kiss you too.”

Katara laughs, puckering her lips and letting Izumi peck them. The waterbender then snatches Izumi to her chest, displaying kisses all over the little girl's face as Zuko does the same until she begs for her parents to stop in a fit of laughter.

I love you. Zuko wants to say. The moment passes, he realizes, watching Katara rock Izumi in her arms with pure love in her eyes. He’ll tell her. Someday.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #fanfiction #zuko x katara #zuko #katara #izumi #firelord zuko #zuko and katara as parents #zuko and katara #fanfic #the water witch of biei village #if i could(I'd kiss your fingers)

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the-hero-unknown · 3 years

Text

Summary : Haekhael gets ready for a fancy dance with her friends, proceeds to be mildly insulted. Not only that, once at the dance, she got shot by an arrow to her shoulder. Fortunately, the injury is fixed by magic. Mild revenge and after all that, Haekhael dances with Voryn's brother.

Edit : Forgot to @chaoticnart for being such a big inspiration for this fic with all their House Dagoth head canons! They are an absolute blessing 💖

__________________________________

It was an interesting day, at least in Kogoruhn where the chimer and dwemer would almost seamlessly be one. Nerevar kept the delicate fabric woven, but this was where the fabric had first come from. In truth, Haekhael found it beautiful. She hadn't seen anything quite like it before. She stood out of the meeting hall, right infront of the door. Inside, they were discussing trade routes and some missing shipments. Nothing out of the ordinary. The meetings always bored her anyways.

Haekhael felt out of place. Like a square in a circle. All around her were the chimer folk of House Dagoth, nobles of the other chimer houses, and the dwemer. Yet she was the only human. Not even a familiar Nord, no. Haekhael was Yokudan. In a way, Haekhael had not felt so distant from how they dressed. The pauldrons that were made of bone and shell, and then the silk robes during the summer that almost reminded her of Yokuda. Far was the memory of her homeland, but it was there. Not to mention it was winter. Her arms were crossed as she looked around the halls.

Satisfied that no assassin seemed to slip through the shadows and doors remained closed, Haekhael leaned against the wall. Soon, chatter came closer to the door. Haekhael flinched when it was opened. The door made one of the most awful sounds. Though the elves that came from the room ignored it. For they were going to take a brief recess from all the politicking. Almalexia would pull Haekhael to the side for a moment as Nerevar would follow the dwemer king Dunmac and the tonal architect, Kagrenac.

The chimer queen of Mournhold would say,"There's a dance this evening. I know you say you have left feet, but I figured you may want to come along." "I might just tag along. I've been standing here all day with nothing to do. Goodness, you all talk so much yet get nothing done."

Almalexia rolled her eyes, allowing the comment to slide. Haekhael would not be sorry though. She hated standing with nothing to do but anxiously wait for someone to try to kill her or any one in the meeting halls. A dance wouldn't hurt her, but the armor she wore might.

Almalexia quietly pulled Haekhael along to a guest room.

"I have some old robes of Nerevar's that you could wear. Though, be careful with them, they are far older than you'll ever be."

Haekhael glared, it was a constantly reminded fact of her short mortality. She'd die long before Almalexia or even Voryn, which Haekhael was sure he was the oldest of the First Council. Though, the woman dare not say a word about their ages lest she want to be exiled for a second time for a much sillier reason.

"Don't look at me like that, you know it to be true." Almalexia shut the door behind them, heading over to a small wardrobe and opening it. Inside were many long robes. Some were a crimson red, others a forest-like green, there were even sky blue robes. There were also some very nice silk belts. Almalexia tapped Haekhael's shoulder,"Well, are you just going to stand there, jaw-dropped and not choose?" "Well... I mean, I'm simply processing what is infront of me, my queen." "Could you process faster? The robes are quite difficult to put on. Trust me, I've tried to do it alone. And that dance is tonight!" "Why would you wait until the day of a dance to ask me this, wouldn't it be easier to be asked a day beforehand?"

The queen would shrug,"I figured you didn't want to come, but when I came out the meeting room, you seemed uneasy." "So dancing would all the sudden ease me?" "Hey! That's not what I meant, think of it like a small break. Now go choose one or I'll choose for you."

Almalexia went behind Haekhael and gave her a light shove to the wardrobe to encourage her to hurry. The woman sighed and looked around at the robes. She found it rather odd of Almalexia to care for if she wanted to dance or not, but she wasn't about to question her persistence. Haekhael picked out a light blue robe. Almalexia picked up a robe of emerald green and a long seafoam colored scarf. Getting the gist of it now, Haekhael grabbed a golden colored belt. Almalexia looked at Haekhael and down at her boots and said,"We'll find something nicer than those in here, I'm sure." "Say, does Nerevar know that I'm going to be wearing these?" "I know we don't talk often as I'm busy ruling Mournhold and such, but yes we had a private discussion. I think Vivec and Sotha Sil are helping as well." "... So does everyone just assume I'm coming along?" "Well of course, you're still my body guard. We plan on hiding some weapons on you."

In some peculiar way, this relieved Haekhael.

"I'm sure Sotha Sil has some nice shoes you could borrow-" "No. That mer is constantly covered in oil and probably other weird alchemical ingredients. Wearing anything of his is asking for death." "Tell me, would you prefer Nerevar's shoes?" "You make a fair point." "Exactly."

Haekhael began to undress, and with Almalexia's help, she was in exquisite clothing. Almalexia tied the belt, securing the robes in proper place. She had Haekhael wear the scarf draped over her arms and lower back. Soon, Haekhael was dragged along with Almalexia to help her with her robes. Haekhael was happy to help. Vivec was already in the room, sitting on the bed. Vivec was in a vibrantly red robe with a light blue to contrast it underneath, with pauldrons of shells on hir shoulders. Hir hair was braided, showing the shaved sides of hir head. It was surprising to hir all dressed up, Vivec seemed to feel the same way about Haekhael. Hir eyes were wide.

"You look like you've been swept right out of rags and into riches!" "... I'll try to keep that as the compliment I assumed it to be."

Almalexia clapped her hands,"We need to hurry up. We still need to get her some weapons. And I still need to get dressed up myself. I can't disappoint anyone."

Vivec got on hir feet immediately,"Right. Haekhael, c'mon stop standing there."

"I just got in here and the robes are dragging me down, forgive me for being slow."

Haekhael and Vivec helped dress Almalexia in the finest of robes. The first robe was a soft green, the next robe was jade that matched her eyes. The final robe reminded Haekhael of the pines in Skyrim. Haekhael stared in awe for a moment before grabbing a pair of extravagant shoes. They were also another shade of green, jade. With yellow woven patterns of flowers and pointed toes. Almalexia hastily put on the shoes as Vivec began to do her hair. Haekhael went to a small chest and grabbed a pair of earrings for Almalexia, after all, she was a queen. So while Vivec braided Almalexia's hair with hir nimble fingers, Haekhael carefully put in the golden ruby jeweled earrings in the lobes of Almalexia's ears. Then there were small brass ringlets to add to the middle and top of Almalexia's pointed ears. Once Vivec finished braiding Almalexia's hair it was stunning. It reminded Haekhael of a circlet put on backwards. The rest of Almalexia's long,red, curly hair was left down.

"Haekhael? Haekhael? Are... Are you alright?" "Huh? Oh yes. I'm fine." "If you say so, you've just been awkwardly looking up, does she look bad?"

Haekhael's cheeks were warm with frustration,"Vivec! No! Almalexia just... Is beautiful." "Alright, do us the favor and pull yourself together, we still have to attend the dance." "That reminds me, I never asked, what time is this dance?" "Late in the evening. It's going to last all night long!"

Haekhael huffed. Vivec just grinned. And the three were of to see the court wizard, Sotha Sil.

Sotha Sil swung open the door, it made a loud creak, he seemed to just ignore the worst sound in the world as he spoke,"Come along, I've got some pauldrons you can use and a few things you can hide in your sleeves. Can't have you be too boring."

Haekhael was beyond offended as she set a hand over her heart,"Boring? This is by far the nicest thing I've worn in my life! And fashionable." "You are several eras behind with fashion then. But fear not, I have some things I'm willing to hand over to you. And maybe let you keep."

Haekhael was slightly frustrated as Sotha Sil led her in. Almalexia and Vivec laughed behind her back for a bit before Almalexia cleared her throat. In a silver lined box, Sotha Sil pulled out a brass wide-toothed hair comb. Vivec sat Haekhael down at on Sotha Sil's bed,"Is it alright if I put up your hair?" "I mean I guess, what's with the comb though?"

"This old thing?" Sotha Sil said, waving it infront of her face,"It's from when I was a child. I wore it often, and quite frankly, it fits your outfit enough. Please give it back though, after tonight."

Haekhael would nod her head, Sotha Sil delicately placed it in her hands. He seemed to regret it. He turned away, as if afraid to look at her. Vivec put most of Haekhael's braided hairs into a bun, leaving four braids down. After using a thin netch leather strip in her hair to keep the bun in place, Vivec got infront of her. Vivec lightly lifted two of the braids over Haekhael's shoulder. Ze handled the other two braids with a delicate manner of moving it over her other shoulder. Vivec had almost a childish grin whenever Haekhael carefully handed the old comb to hir. Vivec gently place the comb in the braids and cover hir mouth," Ayem, Seht, look!"

Almalexia stood next to Haekhael and lifted Haekhael's hand up,"She's beautiful!"

Sotha Sil turned his head over slowly, still nervous of the comb. He had a gentle smile, relief even? Sotha Sil said,"You do look lovely Haekhael, even if in... ancient clothing."

"Replies the mer, all centuries upon centuries years older than I!"

Sotha Sil rolled his eyes while Vivec stuck hir tongue out. Almalexia let go of Haekhael's hand and moved it to her shoulder. Sotha Sil picked up a small but freshly sharpened dagger. He handed it to Haekhael,"This is to put on your leg." "My leg? Forgive me, but how am I to put this on my leg?" "I have a small harness for it." "Wait, I almost forgot. I need to borrow a pair of shoes." "Is that really a good idea?" "... Yes."

Sotha Sil raised a brow, lightly tossing the small harness. He bent over and grabbed some shoes from his dresser. They were a light blue. The shoes looked light worn. Much like Almalexia's shoes, they were pointed and had yellow embroidery. The shoes yellow embroidery was not flowers but cogs, like the dwemer machines. "Custom made I take it?" "Shut up and put them on, or I'll take them back."

Haekhael grinned and put up her hands up with the shoes,"Hey, I was just stating what I thought."

She quickly slid on the harness, sliding the dagger into it. Haekhael was just a little worried it would jab her thigh, but fortunately, it seems secure. Haekhael put on the shoes, which rather by fortune or misfortune, fit just fine. Almalexia offered her hand as Haekhael would pull it to stand up.

Soon the three would arrive with Nerevar and Voryn. Haekhael stuck close to Almalexia, as it was her duty. Almalexia danced with Nerevar, Vivec, and she even got Sotha Sil to dance. Haekhael watched closely standing beside whoever paired with Almalexia. Although a very taller chimer would nervously tap her shoulder. She raised a brow, having to look up to see who tapped her shoulder. He looked much like Voryn. His hair was braided beautifully, and his voice was sweet,"Hi, I was wondering if I may take a dance with you."

Haekhael would shake her head,"No sir, I'm on duty. I thank you for the offer."

She smiled a bit, the mer politely bowed his head and left. She felt a little bad, and she really had wanted to dance, but Haekhael had to focus on protecting Almalexia. And that's when Haekhael heard bow string snap and then the whistle of an arrow. She side stepped, holding out her arm in front of Almalexia. Instead of the arrow landing presumably to kill Almalexia or Nerevar, it landed in Haekhael's shoulder. A soft gasp echoed in the room. But all Haekhael could see was red. In her rage, she grabbed the arrow and pulled it from her arm. She ran and pushed anyone out of the way. This included Voryn Dagoth, as he was shoved to the side.

The woman would push through the crowd of tall and short mer alike and cornered the assassin. The assassin wore a wornout Morag Tong uniform, and an amulet.

"Halt assassin!"

"Never!" The mer cried, Haekhael tackled the armored assassin. She put her hand on the mer's neck and they fought. Haekhael tore off the elf's helmet to reveal an elderly dwemer. Many scars laid on his face. It was fragile, Haekhael would remain merciless.

_______________________

Her arm had need to be patched up. Voryn had her laying down. As he began to cleanse the wound he said,"This could have been avoided if you just wore pauldrons."

Haekhael flinched from Voryn touching the tender shoulder. She tightly gripped on part of her robes, as to not slap Voryn. She grunted as he began to heal the small wound with a spell,"Hopefully that wasn't poisoned." "Well, if it was, it was poorly done. Although, I am surprised you're not dead." "That is the story of my life."

Voryn rolled his eyes,"Whatever you say, sit up. I need to see you move your arm around."

Haekhael ignored his request and leaned back,"I don't know, I feel pretty tired after ripping an arrow out of my shoulder and crippling an elderly mer." "I will yank you up myself if I have to. Do not test me." "Alright, alright, I'm getting up. Just don't murder me."

Haekhael sat up slowly, nervously holding out her arm. She moved her shoulder around. There was no pain, only movement. Haekhael used her other hand and pressed against what was left. The memory of where the arrow hit. There was now a scar in the place.

A soft knock was at the door. Voryn looked over,"Whoever it is, you can come in." "Almalexia was almost assassinated and I would have died, and you're going to allow anyone in?" "Well you're not dead and neither is she, I doubt anyone will try again tonight."

The door creaked open,"It's just me, I swear, I mean no harm." "Ah, Araynys. Have you met tonight's hero?"

The mer was familiar, his braided hair was over his shoulder. He had a light stubble of ebony hair. In a cheery voice the tall mer would say,"Oh, yes! I tried to ask her for a dance. Foolish, as she was on duty."

Haekhael chuckled a bit,"Well, at the moment I'm off duty. My name is Haekhael by the way."

Araynys walked over and picked up her hand,"It's a pleasure to properly meet you. And a shame I haven't heard more of you! I saw how you wrangled that assassin with ease. Almalexia is blessed to have you as part of her guard."

Voryn rolled his eyes,"Stop, you're feeding an already big ego." "Speak for your self, I think its quite nice to be appreciated for my work. It's nice to meet you as well, Araynys."

Araynys let go and put his hands at his sides, he seemed childishly shy. He put his hands together and mustered up the little bit of confidence he could and said,"I know there's no music to dance to, but since you said you were off duty, may I have a short dance?"

Haekhael stood up and grabbed Araynys hand,"Of course, its always nice to make new friends. Though, out of common courtesy I must say I can't dance well. Forgive me if I step on any toes." "That's alright, I know how to dance and I'm still terrible."

"Have fun being terrible together, try not to get shot with another arrow." Voryn said as he went to the door, shutting it behind him.

Araynys towered over Haekhael, yet he was gentle as he grabbed her hand and waist. The two carefully stepped along. Still, they managed to step on each other. Haekhael led the dance in the small room as they spun around. Haekhael ended up slipping, and thus, taking Araynys with her. As they crashed, they laughed. Haekhael sat up and apologized. Araynys just shrugged it off,"Don't worry about it. I hope to get to know you more."

Haekhael smiled,"Yes... You best be off though. I hope to see you more often, preferably under different circumstances."

#chimer #Almalexia #Vivec #Sotha Sil #House Dagoth #Voryn Dagoth #Araynys Dagoth #Oc : Haekhael Al-Lu'an #oc tag #First Era #long post #fanfic #mostly comediac #also soft uwu #dwemer #writing the dressing scene was fun!#also warning for inaccurate care of wounds.#Haekhael yanked that arrow out of her shoulder #Resdayn

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twstarchives · 4 years

Text

Epel Felmier・Voice Lines

Additional Voice Lines

Dress-Up Groom event card

Scary Dress event card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “What’s wrong? ...Is there something on my face?”

Groovy “I’ll peel an apple for you too. I can promise you they taste delicious.”

Home Setting “I wonder what kind of magic we’re going to learn today.”

Home Transitions “I only wear this frilly blouse because the dorm leader told me to. It’s not because I like it... or anything.”

“I like magic... I think. I mean, the strength of your magic doesn’t have anything to do with your stature, so...”

“It’s really nippy where I live, so—oh, huh? You don’t know what nippy means? It means ‘very cold’... kind of.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “You’re staring at me really hard; do you need something... maybe?”

Home Taps “If I got taller, I’d look like an even more powerful mage... I think.”

“Meemaw—ah, I mean, my grandmother sent a bunch of apples from home. Do you want one too... maybe?”

“Apples can grow in harsh winter conditions. They’re a very strong, durable fruit. Did you know that?”

“Living in a dorm isn’t really that inconvenient... I think. There were always a lot of people in my house back home anyway.”

“Look here, the hell were you——....Ahh, I mean, are you teasing me like I’m weak...?”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “I like these clothes. And I’m not just saying that ‘cause I have to or anything...”

Groovy “Are you tired? Hehe, being a mage is a real test of strength.”

Home Setting “Clothes that are easy to move in are nice, huh?”

Home Transitions “I decided when I first came to this school to try out some sports. 'Cause I wasn’t really able to do them back home...”

“The magical shift club leader Leona told me that winning depends on strategy, not your physique.”

“I’m good at flying... I think. A lot of the sweet, delicious apples grow in high places, right where the sun hits, so I have to ride a broom when I pick them.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “A lot of people say I don’t look like I’d be good at sports, but I kind of like them...”

Home Taps “I don’t really have any muscles, even though I work out. I wish I had muscles like Coach Vargas...”

“Apples are good to eat after exercising. I heard the acids in them help you cool off.”

“I’m not really good at dancing... I think. I’ve only danced a little at the festivals in my village...”

“My muscles are sore after working out with the dorm leader... He told me I wasn’t flexible and tried to stretch me out like pie dough.”

“Y’know, I’m real tired of you jabbin’ at me like tha—ah! Um, could you maybe not poke me like that?”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “We have a lab...? If I mess it up, the dorm leader’ll get mad at me... probably.”

Groovy “I want to be a master at making potions someday too.”

Home Setting “I want to learn about potions that grow plants...”

Home Transitions “The work at Night Raven College is hard... kind of. I can never remember those long plant names...”

“Whenever Professor Crewel teaches, you can tell he knows a lot about color-changing potions and flowers that can dye things really pretty colors.”

“The library at this school is full of books from all around the world. The dorm leader told me I need to read one every week.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “There’s a lot of fruits I’ve never seen before in the Botanical Garden; it’s fun looking at them all... kind of.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “It’s frustrating when I can’t solve a hard problem... kind of. I was going to go try researching in the library. Want to come too?”

Home Taps “There’s a lot of people in Pomefiore who are good at magic potions. But I’m not really there yet... I think.”

“One bite of the poisoned apple and you fall into an eternal slumber... I need to be careful when making strong potions.”

“If I made a potion that could strengthen weak apple trees, it’d make Pawpaw really happy.”

“Rook’s an amazing person; he’s so good at sports and his studies too... I think. It’s just, he’s really, really weird...”

“Are you blind or somethin’? I’m busy brewing here so leave me alone for now—...ah! I mean, it’s dangerous if you’re not careful, so please don’t touch, okay?”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Have you grown any plants before? ...Oh, I see. Want me to split seedlings that are easy to grow for you?”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “Don’t worry about me. ...He does this for the both of us.”

Groovy “I’m going to surpass the dorm leaders in no time. I swear it...!”

Home Setting “It feels like my robes are dragging on the floor... kind of.”

Home Transitions “They say the hoods of these robes are supposed to give off the impression of the Beautiful Queen when she turned into an old woman... Did you know that?”

“The Queen was even willing to make herself ugly in order to be the fairest in the land... She’s real marvy.”

“The Mirror of Darkness is supposed to pick your dorm based on the qualities of your soul, but does my soul really match Pomefiore...?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Students with all kinds of natural power go to this school... I want to get stronger here too!”

Home Transition (Groovy) “When I sent my grandma pictures of me from the entrance ceremony, she said ‘You look real smart ‘n spruce’! Meemaw’s just exaggerating...”

Home Taps “I feel like there’s a whole lotta ballsy guys at this school. It’s a little different from what I’d pictured before coming here.”

“When the black carriage came to pick me up, all my relatives and the villagers came to wish me off... Hehe.”

“Neither of my parents can use magic, but Big Maw and Meemaw⁠—ah, I mean, my great-grandma and my grandma are both witches.”

“I didn’t grow up around a lot of mages, so life at this school feels very new... kind of.”

“Ah? The hell do you want? Stop actin’ like we’re so close.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “This makeup Vil put on me won’t smudge at all... How is it now? Did it come off?”

Dorm Uniform - SSR

Unlock Card “Want a bite of an apple so sweet you’ll think you’re dreaming?”

“I’m just obeying what the dorm leader asks of me. ...For now.”

Groovy “I may be in Pomefiore, but... I’m still me!”

Home Setting “Welcome to Pomefiore! ...Hah.”

Home Transitions “I’ve got a lot of weird seniors in Pomefiore. It still feels kind of hard to fit in here...”

“I’ve never really cared that much about how I dress, but I love apples that are shaped nicely... I think.”

“I always thought Pomefiore was all about enforcing beautiful looks, but not everyone’s like that. The dorm leader is just a special case.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Wearing the Pomefiore dorm uniforms isn’t just about being beautiful. The dorm leader told me ‘You must get strong,’ too.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “I wish people would tell me I’m cool instead of saying things like ‘pretty’ or ‘cute.’”

Home Taps “The deep indigo used for our dorm uniforms is said to be the same color as the Beautiful Queen’s dress.”

“I once got lost in the dorm and ended up at this creepy basement. I wonder what that room is used for...”

“Did you see the huge apple trees in our dorm’s courtyard? Back home, we’ve got apple trees too. ...But I’m not homesick or anything.”

“Keep this a secret from the dorm leader, but... I actually wanted to get into Savanaclaw. They seem kinda bad and tough. I like it.”

“Quit pokin’ at me so casually! ...I’m kidding. I just don’t really like being touched, I think.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Ramshackle must be so nice. I’d love to be alone and free.”

Duo Magic Epel: “Let’s go, Rook!” Rook: “How daring you are, Monsieur Cherry Apple.”

Birthday Celebration Outfit - SSR

This card was only obtainable during Epel’s birthday event (May 5 - May 12, 2021).

Unlock Card “I can’t believe you guys are throwing such a huge celebration for me... Thank you, everyone!”

“I want this year to be fruitful, like the way fresh apples grow every year.”

Groovy “I hope that next year I can have a blast with you and everyone else again!”

Home Setting “How do I look? Cool, right? ...Huh?! I’m ‘cute’?”

Home Transitions “Deuce gave me a cap with really cool patches on it. I’m gonna wear it next time I go see him.”

“Ruggie told me ‘I’m expecting a little something back from ya!’ when he handed me a present... I have no idea what I’d get for a senior.”

“Everyone looked so shocked when I blew out my birthday candles in one breath... Do I really seem that weak?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “It’s my birthday party today, so maybe I can act like myself a little bit, and have fun...”

Home Transition (Groovy) “I’ve still gotta do homework after this... Ah! Maybe it’d fun if I worked with you. It’d be like we’re keeping the party going!”

Home Taps “Jack gave me a cactus. I hear it’s hard to get them to bloom flowers, but I’ll try my best to grow one!”

“I used to mark my height on a pillar to see how tall I’d gotten. But I stopped because I wasn’t really growing...”

“Huh?! There’s cream near my mouth? That could’ve been bad... Vil was about t’get real hacked off at me!”

“It makes me happy to get presents, but I don’t really have a use for makeup and fluttery clothes and stuff like that...”

“You want to see me carve an apple? Then I’ll give a go at carving a portrait. Will you be my model?”

Home Tap (Groovy) “I like how the party really picks up when you and Grim are here. I don’t do so great when the mood’s all stiff.”

Duo Magic Epel: “Vil! There’s something a bit different about me today.” Vil: “Happy birthday, Epel. Let’s see it.”

Tutorial “Let’s go! I’ll leave you behind if you don’t keep up.”

Lv Up “Ehehe, I made some progress... I think.”

“If I do my best, someday I’ll definitely make it...!”

“Let’s try our hardest from now on. Okay?”

Max Lv Up “I feel a strong power rising in me, like an ice-cold poison. It feels like I could put anyone to sleep... maybe?”

Episode Lv Up “Why’re you even botherin’ with me? If it’s ‘cause you think I’m strong ‘n reliable, then... that’d make me happy.”

Magic Lv Up “With this power, I’ll even take on the dorm leader!”

Limit Break “I’m getting stronger. Do you believe in me too...? Maybe?”

Groovy “I wish I could grow slowly and steadily, like an apple.”

Select Lesson “What subject are you going to take? ...I like flying, I think.”

“Do you want to take a class with me? It doesn’t really matter to me, though... hehe.”

“Seriously, how long are you just gonna stand there? Pick already.”

Lesson Start “Mm, hello everyone.”

Lesson End “I’m drained from all that studying!”

Battle Start “You’ve got some nerve biting at me...!”

Battle Win “Guess I’m not as soft as I look! Maybe.”

Other

Profile Quote “Apples are awkward and hard to handle... just like...”

January 2020 Trailer “Are you by chance waiting for your prince on a white horse to come?”

Countdown Poster “Would you like a bite of this red apple?”

Login Bonus “It’s important to keep up at something everyday. Apples won’t ripen either if you don’t take care of them everyday... you know?”

Player Birthday Wish “It’s your birthday, ain’t it! I made some jam outta the apples my family sent me... Here! Ah... Um... What’s wrong? You’re making a funny face... Did I say something weird... maybe?”

Epel sometimes slips into speaking in Tsugaru dialect, which is so different than standard Japanese that sometimes it’s impossible to understand unless you’re familiar with it. I’d describe it as a “heavy country dialect.” There’s no perfect way to translate it, and I don’t really have a good grasp on different English dialects anyway, but I tried 🙆‍♀️ If anything was worded strangely, it was probably intentional!

#epel felmier #voice lines

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jksangelic · 5 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.

❋ masterlist ❋

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honeyhan-123 · 3 years

Text

The Artist ~ III

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: none (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I am so sorry it took my a while to come out with the next part of the series but I hope y’all like it. Also Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone!

As always a massive thank you to the beautiful @imanuglywombat who designed the amazing moodboard.

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part One ~ Part Two

Steve had woken up the next morning in a funk. It had started the night before when he had awkwardly walked back to the tower with Bucky. He wanted so badly to say something, to say anything to the other man but everytime he tried, he was just reminded of that night and his heart shuddered in his chest. He had thought they were finally in a good place again but it still hurt. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long to finally get Bucky back and to have him so close but not in the way he wanted was torture for Steve.

It was as though the entire tower could feel Steve’s sour mood as hardly anyone bothered him throughout the day. He had spent most of it in the gym, either destroying yet another punching bag or sparing with his teammates as they drifted in and out of the room. The hours that he didn’t spend in the gym were occupied by a small amount of paperwork and mission planning.

They had recently caught wind of some illegal arm dealing off the coast of Portugal and while it would have normally been left to the authorities, they had reason to suspect they were dealing with alien tech so the team had been brought in. There wasn’t much information circling about it so Steve knew he still had a couple weeks to plan but it still made him slightly ansty being so unprepared.

The hours passed slowly but finally it was six o’clock and Steve felt no guilt as he packed up for the day. There was a slight spring in his step as he left Avengers tower with his sketchbook tucked under his arm and his sour mood from earlier was almost completely forgotten. His legs jiggled as he took the J train out to Brooklyn, equal parts nerves and excitement ransacked their way through his veins.

To help pass the time as the train rushed through underground tunnels Steve watched those around him. Not like he would on a mission trying to figure out whether or not they were actually civilians but as he imagined an artist would watch them. He tried to figure out how he would draw each and every and every passersby. He tried to memorise the way the old lady’s smile lines deepened as she spoke to who Steve assumed to be her grandson, or the way the little boy looked up to her with complete adoration in his eyes.

He felt so much more at ease than he had all day as he stepped off the train and began the short walk towards the studio, his mind never once drifting to his brunet best friend. Despite the darkening sky the streets were packed as people bustled around and Steve had to squeeze his way through the throng of people. He smiled as he passed a group of carolers despite it only being late November. The familiar tune of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ floated through his ears and he stooped to donate a hefty sum in their collection tin, earning him a round of ‘thank yous’.

The studio was only a block away so when he finally dashed up the steps, he could still hear the melodic voices of the group. As he pulled the door open, a warm gush of air washed over him and he couldn’t wait to get inside but he heard someone call out to him that made him pause.

‘Hey! Hold the door please!’ He turned as you came bustling up the stairs, your face barely visible behind the large canvass you carried. Steve stood back and ushered you in ahead of him and you gave him a small ‘thanks!’

Already starting to feel a little too warm in your multiple layers, you set down the canvass just inside the entryway and shrugged out of your heavy winter jacket. ‘It’s bloody cold out there isn’t it? I reckon we’ll get some snow for sure this year.’ Steve nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, trying to tear his eyes away from you.

‘I - uh - yeah, I hope so. It used to snow heaps in the city when I was growing up but it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper winter.’

‘Oooh that must have been so nice! I’ve always wanted a white Christmas like in all those Hallmark movies but I grew up in Australia so that was never going to happen.’

‘You’re from Australia?’ The slight twang of your accent had been one of the first things Steve had noticed about you, but he thought maybe the average person wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely sounded like you had been in New York for a while.

‘Yeah, Melbourne actually. I moved here after university. I have no idea why though. Probably some preconceived notion that to be an artist, you have to struggle in New York for a bit first.’ You laughed as you mocked yourself and Steve smiled, knowing exactly what you meant. ‘What about you? Are you originally from the Big Apple or are you a newbie like me?’ Your eyes locked with his as you asked and Steve felt his smile deepen.

‘I was born and raised here in Brooklyn actually.’

‘Right of course, you literally said you grew up in the city earlier. Sorry about that.’ Steve shrugged away your apology telling you not to worry about it. The door was pulled open and you tried to move out of the way as a gust of cold air drifted inside following another class member who you smiled in greeting at.

‘We should probably head in, it’s nearly seven.’ Steve said as he checked his watch. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ He gestured towards the large canvas leaning against the wall.

‘Oh yeah. If you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a bit awkward to carry by myself.’

‘Not at all.’ He easily lifted it into his arms and followed as you led the way down the hallway and into the studio. He had no choice but to follow as you headed towards one of the easels towards the front of the room, where you had sat last week. Even though he didn’t want to be noticed by the rest of the class, Steve couldn’t resist the temptation of sitting down in the empty stool next to yours.

He watched as you pulled out your oil paint and started setting them on a very used palette and Steve was reminded of last night. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, as you hadn’t mentioned yet, but he thought maybe you just hadn’t seen him. After all he and Bucky had been towards the back.

‘I uh, I saw you last night. At Ronan’s bar for the wine and art night.’ He clarified, determined not to seem creepy. ‘I was going to say hi but you seemed a little busy.’

‘Oh, really? I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice you were there! But how good is it!? $25 for unlimited wine plus some art fun. It’s just a shame they only run it during winter.’ You looked slightly remorseful and Steve couldn’t help but agree.

‘I didn’t realise that. I just found the flier over the weekend and decided to give it a try.’

‘Well I’m glad you did. If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in art?’

‘Oh, well I don’t know really. One of my friends, Nat, found my sketchbook that’s basically been abandoned the last few years and wouldn’t stop nagging me to get back into it. She and Tony are always pushing me to have a life beyond work.’

‘Tony as in Tony Stark?’

It only crossed Steve’s mind as he nodded that perhaps not all of Tony’s employees were on a first name basis with him. He needed to be more careful with the words that came out of his mouth. Eager to shift the conversation away from Tony he quickly divulged even more personal information. ‘I uh, I think it might have something to do with my friend, the one I told you about last time.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, growing up he was practically always my muse and we’ve only recently found each other again - he had to go away for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s back again that I’ve found the inspiration…’ He drifted off, unsure of what he was saying. ‘That probably didn’t make any sense.’

‘No, no, it did. I totally get what you mean. I used to have this dog, his name was Bear and growing up I used to draw him all the time. But when he passed away, I just didn’t feel that spark anymore, you know? It took me a while to find it again but when I did everything just made sense again.’

Steve was refrained from replying by the entrance of Madame Maxine to the studio as she quickly called the class to order.

‘Today we have the wonderful Jerry modelling again. Since it is his second week, he will be modelling nude for us today.’ Her attention drifted back to Jerry who was wearing a dark red silken robe. ‘If you could please derobe Jerry and get settled into position B that would be brilliant.’ Jerry nodded and followed her instructions, setting himself down on the stool in front of the class. Steve had to admire his confidence. He knew that even if it was purely for art he could never model nude for anyone, he struggled enough doing promotional shots when he was fully clothed.

Steve was too aware of you sitting next to him for the next hour. Everytime you shifted on your stool or bent to mix some more paints he noticed and his eyes followed your movements. As a result his own sketch was barely half complete by the time the hour was up and the small bell rang. He would definitely be voting to keep the position.

Your painting on the other hand was beautiful. Despite the limited time you had not only managed to capture Jerry as he was, but also his essence. Steve was enraptured and stammered his way through a maze of compliments which you humbly shrugged away.

‘I just have experience with Jerry, he modelled last winter and he works here part time too.’

‘He works here?’

‘Yeah Maxine rents out the studios to aspiring artists if they need a large space. I had this massive project over the summer on three canvases that were each four by five meters and my apartment is a shoebox so it never would have worked if it weren’t for Maxine.’

‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Steve could hardly imagine working on as big a canvass as you were currently using, never mind one nearly three times the size. ‘How long did it take you to finish?’

You glanced down, slightly avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s not… well it's not technically finished yet. I’m so close to being done with it but I just…’ You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words.

‘There’s something missing?’ Steve filled in for you and you nodded eagerly.

‘It’s almost right but everytime I think it’s done I realise just how much I hate it and I have to leave the room to stop myself from painting over it again.’ Although Steve had never done something quite on the same wavelength he could relate to the need for perfection. He had lost count of how many pages he had ripped out of his sketchbook and thrown in the trash only to start all over again.

‘What’s it of?’

‘It’s a collection, mainly of my favourite places in New York and it’s all about the human footprint… or at least, it’s meant to be.’

‘If it’s anything like your painting of Jerry I’m sure it’ll be incredible.’

Steve didn’t have to be able to see it to know that your cheeks would be flushing with heat at his compliment. He didn’t understand why you doubted yourself so much, it was clear that you were incredibly talented. ‘Thank you, you’re far too sweet.’

Maxine clapped her hands once again calling the attention of everyone. ‘It is now that time where we decide if we would like Jerry to stay as he is or if we would like him in a new position. Raise your hands for the same pose.’ Steve eagerly raised his hand along with you and most of the class.

After a quick headcount Maxine nodded firmly. ‘Well that settles it, Jerry, if you would be so kind as to return to position B.’ Once again the silk robe fell to the floor as Jerry repositioned himself on the stool and Steve promised that he wouldn’t let himself get as distracted by you this time around.

By the end of the second hour Steve had a half decent looking sketch that paled in comparison to yours but he had long since resigned himself to its fate.

‘Your painting is amazing.’ He told you truthfully and you smiled up at him abashed.

‘Thank you Steve. That really means a lot.’

‘Well, it’s definitely true.’ Once again, Steve’s heart constricted in his chest as you flashed a sweet, bashful smile his way. He really felt a little ridiculous, being so completely enticed by someone he had only just met but being with you, it just all felt different.

He watched as you packed up your paints and helped you carry the drying canvas over to the corner of the room where Maxine said you could leave it for the night.

By the time you were by the coat rack you and Steve were the only students left in the studio, everyone else had filed out fairly quickly. Steve shoved his coat on and quickly plucked your own from the hook, holding it out for you.

He wondered briefly if he was perhaps overstepped but the smile of gratitude you flashed him put him at ease as you daintily slid your arms into the open holes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime.’ He walked with you out of the building and down into the street.

‘Well, I’m heading this way.’ You pointed in the opposite direction of the train station and Steve felt a brief flash of chagrin. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet and he got the feeling that you felt the same.

‘I’m the other way. But uhh…’ The invitation to coffee at a cafe just down the street was on the tip of his tongue as his phone rang. ACDC’s Back in Black rang through the cool night air, breaking any tension that had been building up.

You flashed what looked like a remorseful smile and raised a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll let you get that, but will you be at Ronan’s next week?’

‘Yeah, yes. I will.’ Steve hadn’t really thought about returning to the little bar but if that’s where you were going to be, that’s where he would be too.

‘Great! I’ll uh, see you there.’ You flashed him that sweet and bashful smile once more before turning on your heel and getting lost in the crowds of New York.

Steve watched you go for longer than he really should have and by the time he finally fished his phone out of his pocket Tony had nearly been sent to voicemail.

‘Tony, what’s going on?’

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mdzsgildedfate · 3 years

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Gilded Fate - Chapter 6

Reincarnation AU [Chapter 6/?] Characters: Xue Yang, Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, Original Characters. Pairings: Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi

It was a bitterly restless night in the house. The kind where, no matter what they did, no one could warm up, no one could get comfortable, and no one could sleep. For all their efforts, the house had still not been repaired enough to fare them through the winter. A-Qing hadn’t been shy at all about crawling into bed next to Xiao Xingchen as soon as it got too cold to bear, and if he was being completely honest, Xingchen was actually relieved when she started doing it. The shared body heat made it possible to sleep, even if only for a few hours.

It seemed, however, that their newest addition to the household was used to staying awake at night. Xingchen could hear him getting up all throughout the night, sleeping perhaps only three or four hours every night. Tonight was no different, except that his restlessness involved disappearing from the house for probably close to two hours before returning to fuss with the fireplace. Since the snow had come early this season, their ability to collect firewood had ended early, so Xingchen could only assume he’d gone out to scrounge out of desperation.

Anything the man could have found outside would have been too wet to work with, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying. At one point, he actually did get a small fire going, but the few sticks he’d managed to pull out of the snow weren’t enough to even warm the hearth, let alone the room they slept in. Once the last of the sticks were used up, he let out a string of swears Xingchen had never even heard before, seeming to reach a point of desperation with his battle against the cold. Finally, the man yanked his blanket off his bed, laid it over Xingchen and A-Qing, and crawled in next to them.

Now having the warmth of a body on either side of him, the ache in Xingchen’s joints finally ebbed away. Despite the man being a stranger, he felt at ease sleeping next to him. Something about him was familiar, reminding him of all of the times he’d shared a room with Song Lan and yearned to share a bed as well. Intimacy wasn’t something Xiao Xingchen had ever cared about, but meeting Song Lan had made him realize it was just that he didn’t care about intimacy with women. Having this man beside him was another bitter reminder of that.

When morning came, the house guest had already vacated the bed. He always rose earlier than Xingchen or A-Qing and had taken over the responsibility of cooking breakfast as soon as he’d regained the ability to walk. It was a welcome comfort. Taking up a seat beside him as he prepared their breakfast, Xingchen could feel warmth rolling off of him. With everything the man did around the house to take care of them, he couldn’t understand A-Qing’s determined hatred of the man.

“Did you sleep?”

Xingchen smiled. “A little. Did you?”

“Of course not. You’re very grabby in your sleep, I had to defend myself against you all night.”

Xingchen’s smile dropped, his heart dropping. “O-oh- I’m sorry, I-”

The man burst out laughing. “I didn’t expect you to take that so seriously! I never imagined I’d see such a fearless cultivator look so terrified!”

His muscles softened, a wave of relief coming over him. “I had no reason not to believe you. I’d never slept beside anyone until this winter.”

“What, never? Not even for… Nevermind, I guess you probably haven’t.”

“For what?”

The man burst out laughing again. “You’re really too innocent! Forget I said anything.”

“You’re both too noisy.” A-Qing grumbled, crawling across the floor to sit beside Xingchen, dragging all three blankets along with her.

After the utter failure that was bringing Xue Yang to justice, Xiao Xingchen had stopped chasing over-ambitious targets. With his new friend, he stuck to dealing with ghosts and yao and walking corpses in the area. With A-Qing, they built a family in the coffin house. He felt content with the small amount of good they were able to do for the townspeople nearby and never strayed far from Yi City.

Even moreso, he felt content with this new friend and never strayed far from him. As well as Xiao Xingchen managed with his blindness, there was a degree of fear that came with losing a major sense and the man's presence brought a sense of comfort. After a year of living with him and sharing in night-hunts together, he trusted him. And unlike Song Lan, this new confidant never shied away from physical touch.

In stark contrast, the man was extremely tactile. He never shied from Xingchen walking close to him. He grabbed at Xingchen's arms and dragged him around. When they went up to the roof for repairs or climbed trees during night-hunts, there was always a stabilizing hand on his back. When the second winter came, he once again joined Xingchen and A-Qing in their bed at night. Every touch made the question burning in Xingchen’s mind grow brighter. He’d vowed not to ask, knowing if the man wanted him to know he’d tell him, but his curiosity was becoming unbearable.

“The sky is so pretty this time of year.” The man said, his presence beside Xingchen warm against the winter’s biting breeze.

“Tell me.”

“The sun is low. Everything’s all pink and orange. The moon is already out, in a crescent shape. There’s no clouds, so you can see everything clearly.”

Xingchen smiled, imagining the scene in his mind. “I used to hate this time of year. You make it sound so nice.”

The man laughed, bright and cheerfully. “I can’t imagine you hating anything.”

“Maybe hate is a strong word. I do like the snow, it’s just that there’s no songbirds out during the winter.”

“That’s true.” The man paused, tapping his finger atop the log they were sitting on. “I like it. The silence. The snow muffles everything and makes it extra quiet.”

Xingchen raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? I wouldn’t have taken you for someone that likes silence.”

“Silence is like water. When you’re content, you’d rather have tea or wine, but when you need it, nothing comes close.”

Xingchen’s heart skipped in his chest. For someone whose words were usually playful and crude, the sentiment was surprisingly philosophical. He nodded, smiling softly, letting the words ruminate in his mind.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I know I initially said I wouldn’t, but it seems strange that we’ve lived together for so long, and we’re- well, we are friends, and…”

The man chuckled. “We still don’t know each other's names?”

Xingchen smiled. “Right.”

The man moved closer to him on the log, their hands brushing together. “Tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

His heart skipped. “Xiao Xingchen.”

He could feel the man’s face lean in closer. “Chengmei.”

He turned his face towards Chengmei, as though momentarily forgetting he couldn’t look at him.

“It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Chengmei burst into laughter again and put his hand on top of Xingchen’s, his index finger tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern. The touch sent a shiver down Xingchen’s spine, feeling the other man press closer to him. He turned his hand up and laced their fingers together, searching his muddled brain for something to say.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Ask away.”

“A-Qing and I were strangers to you and we live in a coffin house with a caved-in roof. Why did you stay with us after you healed from your injuries?”

Chengmei fell quiet, rubbing circles over Xingchen’s hand with his thumb. “...I guess… I was bored, at first. I had nowhere else to go, no one waiting for me to come home... “

“At first… Did something change then?”

The other man laughed softly and gave Xingchen’s hand a small squeeze. “Perhaps. It’s no matter though.”

“No matter?”

“Xiao Xingchen. Some things are best left unsaid.” Chengmei released his hand and stood.

Furrowing his brow in confusion, Xingchen followed, having to take a few steps to catch up to the other man. He grabbed the sleeve of his robe and held on firmly, not letting him move any further away.

“Aren’t we familiar enough? Why should things be left unsaid between us?”

Chengmei turned back to face Xingchen, grabbing his wrist and pulling his sleeve free. After a moment, he pulled him close enough from Xingchen to feel his breath on his face. His heart thudded in his chest.

“What should I do then? What if I tell you and you hate me?”

Xingchen gripped the man’s lapel, his face practically burning from how close they stood. Still trying to determine if the man was truly implying romantic feelings or just playing at some elaborate prank, his attention snapped back as Chengmei closed the gap between them and pressed his lips hard against Xingchen’s. The kiss sent a painful spark shooting through his stomach and drained his mind of all prior thoughts of doubt. All that existed for him now was the soft lips and warm breath against his face.

A soft moan escaped his throat at the feeling of tongue brushing against his bottom lip. Xingchen brought his arms up and wrapped them around Chengmei’s shoulders to brace him against the man’s body. With no space left between them, Chengmei breathed out a raspy moan, slipping his tongue into Xingchen’s mouth, lingering for an aching moment. After several slow, deep kisses he pulled away, sucking Xingchen’s bottom lip with a light bite.

Xingchen was speechless. And breathless. With no way of knowing what expression Chengmei wore, a knot of nerves found its way into his stomach, waiting for the other man to end the silence first.

“I’m so glad you pulled me out of that ditch.”

Xingchen melted into laughter and pulled Chengmei into a tight hug. “I’m glad too.”

When the sun set on the coffin house that night, sharing the bed with Chengmei had a different feeling. The man pressed closer to Xingchen than he ever had in the past, his fingers fidgeting with the hems of his clothes, tracing circles over his skin, and tangling in his hair. It was the first time Chengmei didn’t wake up at least six times throughout the night, and in the morning, he didn’t wake up earlier than the other two. Without breakfast already prepared, A-Qing impatiently set out to head into town for the day.

Xingchen and Chengmei used a fire sigil to heat a pot of tea and then set to cleaning the house. Once their few belongings were tidied, the dust was swept out, and the tea was brewed, the two sat down side-by-side, simply enjoying the other’s presence in silence for a while. After their cups were emptied, Xingchen was the first to speak.

“Chengmei?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you… what is that tapping thing you do?”

Chengmei chuckled and tapped his finger to the top of Xingchen’s hand. “It’s a code.”

“Oh?”

“I made it up when I was a kid.” Chengmei tapped a different pattern. “I thought it’d be useful to have a way to communicate in front of other people without them knowing what I was saying. I practiced it so much it became a habit.”

“That’s clever!” Xingchen thought back to the times something like that would have been useful for him and Song Lan, quickly feeling a twinge of pain at the thought of the other man.

“Mm. It didn’t really wind up being that useful.” He said, shrugging. “A secret language is pretty pointless if you’re the only one that knows it.”

Xingchen laughed. “That’s true… Teach me, then.”

“...Teach you?”

“Seems a shame to let it go to waste.”

“Hm.” Chengmei flattened his hand over Xingchen’s, letting his fingers trace over the ridges for a moment before tapping a few times. “I agree.”

Two slow taps. “Yes.”

Three quick taps. “No.”

Two quick taps. Pause. Two quick taps. “Danger.”

Two slow taps. Three quick taps. Two slow taps.

Xingchen waited, but no translation for that one came. He turned his hand over to lace his fingers with Chengmei’s and tapped it back. “What’s that one mean?”

Chengmei pressed his face against Xingchen’s cheek, kissing him softly. “I just made that one up.”

Xingchen turned his face towards Chengmei and tapped the pattern again.

“I love you.”

He paused, not sure that he heard the man right. His finger stayed frozen, hovering hesitantly over Chengmei’s hand. In his silence, he could feel Chengmei grow rigid and pull his hand away. He quickly reached out and pulled it back.

“I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard.” With his free hand, he cupped Chengmei’s face and kissed him. “I love you too.”

~X~

If the world was always this bright, he couldn’t fathom how he was ever alive to begin with. No wonder every fiber of his being told him he wanted to be dead. Daylight hurt his eyes, this Song Lan person’s voice hurt his ears, his body ached whenever he tried to move- it was unbearable.

“Xiao Xingchen. I made tea.”

He frowned. Fuck your tea.

“I… don’t know how much you remember right now…”

So far, nothing had really resurfaced. All he knew was that existence was a prison and he really wanted the eyes in Song Lan’s head.

“I’m sorry… For how things ended between us. Before Yi City, I mean.”

He looked at Song Lan, tapping his teacup against the table irritably.

“I never should have blamed you for what happened to Baixue temple. I never should have abandoned you.”

He poured the contents of his cup out onto the table and stared down at the mess, as though it was incredibly thought-provoking.

Song Lan sighed. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

The man stood and left the room, leaving Xingchen alone at last. Once the door closed between them, he looked back down at the tea streaming across the top of his table. After thousands of years in an unconscious void, days could pass without his notice. He sat motionless for nearly a week after Song Lan’s last attempt to talk to him, unresponsive to the change in light in his room as the sun rose and fell in the sky outside.

On the seventh day, Xingchen tried out standing on his own for the first time. His limbs felt shaky, but continuing to sit in front of a sticky table wasn’t going to improve his situation at all. After a few days of practicing intermittently, he finally felt confident in walking around. By the time he finally decided to leave the room, he’d recovered a few vague memories of growing up in BaoShan SanRen’s care. Passing Song Lan in the hall, he didn’t bother to even glance at him, still finding the man utterly unfamiliar.

Unfortunately, the man was overjoyed at the sight of Xingchen up and about and immediately turned to follow him. They carried down the hall in silence, following Xingchen’s aimless lead through the temple. Finally arriving in the courtyard, he felt a small sense of contentment. It was spring, the valley was full of the chatter of birds, and a crop of white clouds filled the sky just enough to keep the sun from hurting his eyes too much. Too bad Song Lan was creeping into his line of sight, ruining the otherwise beautiful view. Before the man had a chance to say anything, Yin energy exploded in his gut and Xingchen lunged at Song Lan.

They hit the ground with a heavy thud, instantly grappling against each other. Black veins shot up Xingchen’s neck, snaking out over half his face. The pupils in his eyes vanished and all that remained was a mindless urge to spear his fingers into Song Lan’s skull.

“Xiao Xingchen- Please-!” Song Lan had Xingchen by the wrists, using all his strength to keep the man’s hands at bay. “You need to control your yin energy, don’t let it turn you into a-”

Xingchen let out a snarl.

“Xingchen…”

Song Lan shifted their weight briskly to the side and rolled on top of the other man, quickly drawing a sigil over his chest and pouring qi into it. The yin energy suddenly dissipated and Xingchen slumped back, all strength leaving his body again. His fingers still twitched, but he stayed where he lay on his back. Song Lan knelt beside him, his head hung lower, shaking slowly from side to side. He let out a heavy, stuttered sigh.

“I’m such a fool.” A tear dropped from his face. “It’s my fault you’re like this.”

Months passed and memories slowly returned to Xingchen’s mind. Finally recalling that he gave his eyes to Song Lan, he was able to reconcile with the resentful urge to reclaim them. He felt no less resentful towards Song Lan though.

Why couldn’t you let me stay dead?

Why couldn’t you let me reincarnate and forget this dreadful existence?

How could you condemn me to life as a Fierce Corpse?

He couldn’t stand staying at the temple for long. Even if it was just to wander the mountainside for a few days, he had to leave every so often and get away from Song Lan. Knowing now how he died, he couldn’t stand being around the man’s guilty doting. It was impossible to process his feelings about Chengmei with Song Lan around as a reminder- that Chengmei had never existed and those three years were spent with Xue Yang. He needed to come to terms with that on his own, but Song Lan’s presence complicated the process.

How could Xue Yang act in love with me so… seamlessly?

What was the point in pretending for so long?

What was he trying to gain in feigning a relationship with me?

If Song Lan hadn’t come, how long would he have continued?

“Are you ok?”

Xingchen looked up from his tea to see Song Lan staring at him, wearing the same worried look he always had. He tapped two slow clacks against his teacup.

Song Lan paused, his eyes lowering to Xingchen’s fingers. “It’s getting late… Do you want to lay down for the night?”

Two slow taps.

The faintest smile appeared on Song Lan’s face. He stood up and waited, his smile widening when Xingchen stood to follow him. They put away the rest of the tea and retreated to a shared bedroom. Extinguishing the flame of the lamp, they shed the outer layers of their robes and laid down side by side. Song Lan’s arm laid across Xingchen’s chest and pulled him close, burying his face into Xingchen’s neck.

“Xiao Xingchen. I know I’ve put you through so much pain with my selfishness. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you, but I…” Song Lan paused, fussing with Xingchen’s hair. “Xingchen, I love you.”

Xingchen’s heart fell. His younger self had ached to hear those words- would’ve begged Song Lan to say them to him, but now they just made things so much worse. Song Lan’s lips against his cheek just reminded him of Chengmei, which just reminded him of how alone he felt without his presence. Song Lan’s lips found his and he tried to push those thoughts from his mind. He didn’t want to consider what the future entailed if he kissed him back, or if he was doing it for Song Lan’s benefit or out of a growing sense of loneliness.

Rather than dwelling on the past or what the future would bring, Xingchen tried to summon the part of him that was still in love with Song Lan and kissed him back. Song Lan’s whole body relaxed against him, as though he was holding his breath in anticipation, and leaned hard into the kiss. He disentangled his fingers from Xingchen’s hair and brought his hand down to grip the man’s hip. Xingchen wrapped his arms around Song Lan’s shoulders and opened his mouth to swipe his tongue across the man’s lips.

Song Lan let out a moan and put his hips flush against Xingchen’s, grinding against him with a tightening grip. Every kiss and touch and heavy breath from Xingchen was taken as further permission to continue, urging Song Lan to respond to every one with doubled enthusiasm, seeming desperate for his touch. Releasing his grip on Xingchen’s hip, he repositioned himself on his knees over the man, freeing up both hands to run freely under his shirt. After a few more needy kisses, Song Lan pulled back, pausing just long enough to pull Xingchen’s shirt off completely. His own shirt followed soon after.

Without the fabric creating a barrier between them, Song Lan pressed their bare chests together as he put his lips back against Xingchen’s. One of Song Lan’s hands came up to grip Xingchen’s shoulder while the other snaked past his waistband to grasp at his hip again. One of Xingchen’s knees drew up, pushing his thigh up against the growing warmth between Song Lan’s legs. He rolled his hips down, pressing his hard cock into Xingchen’s hip with another heavy-breathed sigh. Another moment later, Song Lan sat up again and repositioned himself between Xingchen’s legs.

Their pants were discarded along the side of the bed, and, in the dark, Xingchen could feel the man’s erection press against him, sliding across his inner thigh. Fingers trailed down his stomach and his mind told him they were Chengmei’s. As the first finger pushed into him, he almost forgot it was Song Lan positioned between his legs. Even as Song Lan bent over him, trailing his tongue up Xingchen’s neck with his cock pushing into him, thoughts of Chengmei drifted in and out of his mind.

As soon as morning came, Xingchen got up from the bed, pulled his robes back on, and disappeared from the room without another glance at Song Lan. The encounter stayed in Xingchen’s mind for nearly a week, making his fixation on the events in Yi City grow even stronger. He couldn’t bear it anymore. Determined to find out what happened to Xue Yang after he killed himself, he left the temple, but even after a dozen hunts, he still came back empty handed. Nearly a year passed before he finally managed to track down Wei Wuxian, who was able to fill in some gaps, but had really only created more questions in Xingchen’s mind.

According to the demonic cultivator, Xue Yang had kept his corpse, and shattered soul, in Yi City for several years before he fell to HanGuang-Jun’s blade. After that, his body was taken by an accomplice of Jin Guangyao, but Wuxian had no idea what became of it from there. After years of chasing leads in the brief windows of time he could escape the temple without suspicion, all Xingchen had to show for it was Xue Yang’s hair ornament. Ultimately, he couldn’t keep limiting his hunts to week-long segments.

Leaving Song Lan in Yi City without explanation, Xingchen scoured the world for five years before finding JiangZai in an antique sword shop. The owner sold it to Xingchen, along with the name of who she’d bought it from, but didn’t seem to know anything else about the sword. Another five years passed as Xingchen tracked down every living person the sword had been passed to, with his search finally coming to an end at the remnants of an old cultivator family.

“Xue Yang? That’s a bone-chilling name…”

“Do you know him?”

The man shook his head. “Know of him. I thought he was a myth, something you tell your kids about to make them cautious of strangers.”

“Do you know how he died? Supposedly?”

The man was quiet for a long time, trying to recall if he’d heard anything. “I think that Lan Cultivator killed him.”

“And his body?”

“His body?” The man looked at him, shocked by the inquiry. “I suppose he was probably burned. That was pretty standard for the Jin clan back then.”

“You don’t recall anything about a special burial to keep him from coming back as a fierce corpse or vengeful spirit?”

The man shrugged again. “Not that I ever heard. The stories of him focused more on the crimes he committed than on his death, though, you know.”

“What of his feud with the Cultivators Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen?”

“Every story’s a little different, but from the one I know, he killed them both.”

Hm. So that’s the legacy I left behind. I suppose it’s better than the truth that I killed myself. “Do you know any other variations of the story?”

“I know one… but it’s pretty crude. If the people from the story are real, I’m sure they’d return from the grave if they heard it.”

“Tell me.”

“The story was that Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan were cut-sleeve lovers. Xue Yang had fallen in love with one of them, killed them in a jealous rage, and kept their corpses as trophies.”

Xingchen frowned, crinkling his nose slightly. It was crude, but it was right about the presence of a romance and about Xue Yang keeping their bodies, it wasn’t a jealous rage that became their demise. Clearing the mess of thoughts from his mind, he thanked the man and left. Having exhausted every last lead, there was nothing left but to be content with having found JiangZai and to return to the temple. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Based on what he’d gathered from Song Lan, Xingchen had been dead for about 5,000 years. Even if Xue Yang had been buried in a proper grave, it’d be impossible to find after all this time.

Despite the heartache he’d suffered at his hand and in spite of how much hatred he still harboured for Xue Yang, the thought of his corpse being burned and forgotten darkened Xingchen’s heart. Still several dozen kilometers away from the temple, he settled down at the base of a tree and set up two shrines; one for Xue Yang and one for Chengmei. Sitting in front of the shrines, he burned paper money late into the night, giving himself space to properly mourn the loss of who he thought he knew in Yi City. Dawn broke and Xingchen finally pulled himself to his feet and finished his journey back to the temple.

~X~

“Xiao Xingchen. Do you want to go with me to town?”

Two slow taps.

“There’s a new tea shop, I think you’ll like it.”

Two slow taps.

Over time, Song Lan caught on to the tap language Xue Yang had taught Xingchen so many years ago. It really had been a useful technique, but he was sure Xue Yang was rolling in his grave somewhere at the knowledge of Xingchen using it to communicate with Song Lan of all people. He didn’t mean for Song Lan to learn it- he hadn’t even realized he was still doing it until the man had already figured out a few words from it.

It made things easier though. It gave him a way to maintain the peace with Song Lan. With no communication at all, the man would've grown restless, but if Xingchen revealed that he'd regained his voice, he'd be expected to give an explanation for bringing back JiangZai. It would have led to conversations about Xue Yang he couldn't have with Song Lan.

And he'd have to explain why he couldn't say 'I love you' when Song Lan said it.

"Do you want to eat?”

Three quick taps.

Tea was one thing, but Xingchen still couldn’t bring himself to eat. Fierce Corpses didn’t need to and, for some reason, food upset his stomach. Food in tea shops was even worse. The softs pastries, sugar-dusted cakes, jelly fillings and chocolate crusts, every sweet treat brought back memories of Chengmei and A-Qing. They’d been too poor to afford more than a few pieces of cheap candy at a time, so he felt guilty at the idea of indulging in something as rich as the pastries served in the tea shops.

“If you’re tired, you should go rest. I’ll stay to check the talismans.”

Two taps, pause, two taps. Danger.

“I’ll be fine. There’s nothing dangerous out here.”

Be quick.

“I will.”

Although Xingchen had taken a room separate from Song Lan, and preferred to meditate there alone, there were still nights that they shared a bed. When Song Lan was seeming especially restless about Xingchen’s distant demeanor or when Xingchen himself was feeling the need for physical contact, he’d follow Song Lan back to his room and lay on the bed beside him. After a thousand years or so, he’d stopped imaging Chengmei’s hands on him when Song Lan held him. After two thousand years or so, he remembered what it felt like to crave Song Lan’s touch.

People. Following. Danger.

“I know, I saw them.”

Danger. Caution.

“I don’t think they’re dangerous. The man seemed familiar.”

Explain.

Jin Ling’s appearance at their temple had ignited a flame of excitement in Xingchen’s gut. For three thousand years, he’d had only Song Lan for company, but now another cultivator was here, living and breathing and here. Even though he’d never met the Jin cultivator, knowing there were other immortals in the world, more than just himself, Song Lan, and Wei Wuxian- he felt freer somehow.

“By the way, two others from the Lan clan are still around.”

“Is that so?”

“Actually, you would have met them too, in Yi-”

“Right, of course.”

Explain.

“I’m sure they’d love the opportunity to come here as well.”

Stop. Repeat. Explain.

Song Lan put a hand on Xingchen’s, obstructing the erratic tapping. “Of course, they’re more than welcome.”

Xingchen could tell his companion was apprehensive of the idea of the Lan immortals bringing regular people to their temple, but they could only live in solitude for so long. He did his best to reassure Song Lan and as the time drew nearer, he could tell the man was just as excited as he was. Watching from a window, he could see Song Lan stand straighter at the arrival of young students. All dressed in white robes, it felt like receiving a group of their own clan disciples, feeling reminiscent of when the two Daozhang had dreamt of building a sect together.

On top of that, it was a beautiful day. The temperature was perfect and birdsong could be heard on the gentle breeze. It was the first time in 3,000 years that Xingchen felt that spark of happiness in his chest, but it quickly diminished when his eyes fell on Wang Xinyi. He could already see Song Lan tensing up, quickly pulling the immortals aside and out of the students’, and his, line of sight. Looking back at this boy, he was thrown into a turmoil of emotions.

This boy, who had shoulder-length black hair, big eyes, and a bright smile that showed off a pair of sharp canines- he looked almost exactly the same, the only major difference being an overall smaller stature. That, and the complete absence of Xue Yang’s overwhelmingly dangerous aura. It was safe to say he hadn’t awakened yet and, without those memories of murderous intent, was probably Xingchen’s only chance to feel close to Chengmei one last time.

#mdzs #mdzs fic #the untamed #the untamed fic #xue yang #xiao xingchen #song lan #junior disciples #xuexiao #songxiao

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