#unbeta'd but i hope u enjoy!

[lullaebies]

Hey! I just love that green kids filled and I was wondering if you are willing to do another one (no pressure). Maybe one where they visit Oldtown to see Daeron before the Dance. Bonus if they get Alicent on a dragon🤭.

Daeron runs down spiralling staircases when he is told of his family’s arrival.

“You’ll break your legs before you’ll get to see them, you dimwit!” Lyonel chases him down with more cautionary steps. Ormund’s eldest has a critical tone that only has the audacity to bring forth to a prince, but Daeron is used to his friend and cousin. He trusts him more than that, he knows; when Lyonel wants to steal another bottle of wine from the kitchens, he’ll ask Daeron to be his partner-in-crime again. 

“A good luck’s wish, breaking a leg, is it not?” He yells back, jumping over several stairs in excitement. 

“No! Your brothers would have to carry you up to your rooms!” Lyonel retorts, scurrying to catch up with him. They reach the entrance hall in a few long strides, and Daeron looks back at the panting heir of the Hightower.

“They wouldn’t have to do a thing. You, however…” he trails off with a smirk. Lyonel does not seem amused, catching up with his breath. 

“You lay in your own bed. Break your skull during this visit, I’m not carrying you up the stairs.” 

“Clearly,” Bethany, Lyonel’s sister, chimes in, looking at her brother’s gasping form. The skirts of her teal dress twirled by Daeron’s feet as she came to stand by them. “Worry not. I would.”

Daeron laughs. “Why thank you, Bethany,” he says softly, as the doors to the Hightower open. Lord Ormund enters in with the royal entourage that Daeron had waited on for weeks. His eyes brighten as he sees his mother auburn curls, accompanied by the flock of silver-haired kin. The first barrage of hugs is of little ones; Aegon and Helaena’s twins spring forward hand in hand, jumping hard on the marble of Hightower’s hall.

“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera!” Alicent and Helaena exclaim at the same time as the twins' heads bump against his knees. Positively charmed, Daeron takes them both in his arms, glad to see their big eyes twinkling the same as his. 

“Long time no see, dear nephew and niece,” Daeron had come for Maelor’s birth feast, but he hasn’t seen either of them since; he gives them both kisses on the crown of their head. They are like little worms in his arms, but none would expect Helaena’s babes to be any different, and their sweet excitement is all the more endearing. 

“I want to see Tessie,” Jaehaerys demands almost immediately, grabbing his face. He and Jaehaera very much liked Tessarion upon first seeing her. He’s not surprised.

“Tessa,” Jaehaera corrects. The twins never reached an agreement on what’s the proper nickname for his dragon. Still, he brightens at their excitement. He has no doubt Lord Ormund is chuckling about him there, with Alicent and Aemond, and Helaena smiles his way while she speaks with maids about sleepy Maelor, who had been dozing against her chest.

Hence, it is Aegon who comes forward to him first. “Don’t let it get to your head, they say the same for Sunfyre nearly every day.” 

“For Sunfyre or Tessarion, I wouldn’t say it is unwarranted,” Daeron answers. Aegon cracks a smile, the cynical mask breaking off. “Am I right?”

“It would be a miracle to catch you in a mistake, brat.”

Daeron is very thankful to Bethany, who opens her arms to take the twins as if on cue. Daeron puts Jaehaera in her hold, and gives Jaehaerys to a surprised Lyonel. He’ll manage. He goes to hug his brother. By the time he lets go, the rest of his family surrounds them both. 

Alicent, Aemond, and Helaena and even who he now recognizes to be Ser Criston stand around him. Lord Ormund presents him with prideful eyes. “Your boy has turned into a fine man, Your Grace.”

“My Daeron,” Alicent says, and comes forward. There is the attempt to reach his forehead, but on her tiptoes she only reaches his cheek with her kiss. “It is so good to be home. I had known you’ll thrive here, with such fine company,” she tells him, looking at Lyonel and Bethany. “Should I relieve you of the children, dear cousins?”

Lyonel, who had his jade amulet nearly ripped from his neck by Jaehaerys, looks at her as if he'd seen salvation itself. Bethany, on the other hand, let Jaehaera hide between her auburn locks happily. “I could hardly let go. Daeron has always maintained that Princess Helaena is a good mother, but it is very easy to see with this sweet princess in my arms.”

“You’re too kind,” Helaena tells her, patting Maelor’s head. She glances at Daeron with twinkling eyes. “But I think you have your own talent in it, Lady Bethany.” 

Aegon wrestles with his son to come back into his hands after some pointed looks from both Alicent and Aemond. Jaehaerys latches onto his father’s chains instead, pulling. “I wanna see Tessie!” 

“Ouch!” Aegon exclaims. “Twerp, relax!”

Aemond snorts under his breath at the scene, and comes forward to give him half a hug. He had been looking him up and down for a while. “We should listen to our nephew. I haven’t seen you fly for long, little brother. Surely you’ve only improved?”

“We’ve only just arrived to set out again, Aemond,” Alicent interjects.“It must be another carriage ride away to Daeron’s dragon, is it not?” She asks Lord Ormund, perhaps hoping he’d be as enthusiastic about it as her. His mother is rather anxious around dragons, preferring to be a far away spectator rather than come up close as it is. But if she thought she’ll find comfort in Lord Ormund’s answer, she is sorely mistaken.

“Quite the opposite, your Grace. The cobalt beast made its nest on the top of the Hightower,” Lord Ormund says. “We suspect she likes the beacon’s fire.” “Tessie!” Jaehaerys grabs onto Aegon’s hair, standing excitedly on his hands. Aegon yelps, and Helaena laughs some; all while Jaehaera stares at him. She is curled up against Bethany, but her big violet eyes are locked on him. 

“To Tessa!.” She demands, and he as well as all around them realize there is little choice. Daeron grins.

Little choice, but a fortunate pick of it, if you ask him.

“My nephew and niece’s requests come first,” Daeron says. “We should show you the beauty of the city from above.”

—

Tessarion is sleeping on the top of the shelter of the beacon. It is like a strange oven she curls against, while her very own blue flames warm the surface she lays on from below. The sky dragon den that is the top of the Hightower has become a personal spot for him. Not many people are brave enough to come to it. Daeron had long had to take over lighting the beacon, but Lord Ormund had told him that it’s fine. 

“It is an exchange, as far as I’m concerned. Take this on as your duty, and do not neglect it. Light this city brightly with dragonfire. In return, you could earn yourself more than just discipline and humility; but also the love and pride of all that watch you come back, day after day.”

“I don’t think we should interrupt Tessarion, Daeron,” mother says as she comes out to what feels like the top of the world. Bethany and Lyonel went with their father to their duties, and now he and his family are all alone to explore. Alicent’s hands had been taken by the twins, who had done nothing less than drag her with them. Both of the children squeal when they hear Tessarion snore, little smoke coming from her snout as she does. Alicent pales further. “Be quiet, sweeties, we must mind… those who are asleep.”

Aegon snorts, while Aemond watches the dancing blue fire with some interest. Helaena had been introducing wide-eyed Maelor to the sea, minding Tessarion as much as she’d mind a spider. There’s a pretty sea to Oldtown, but there is so much else he wanted them to see.

“She won’t be roused unless you give her reason to, mother,” Daeron says, and comes to rest against the stone safety rails. “Come over here. You can see the Starry Sept from here,” he points out the dome-shaped building. Alicent steps forward beside him, squinting at the black marble building, as well as the seven-pointed star carved into it.  

“It’s quite far away, but the view of the Honeywine running by it is lovely,” Alicent says, trying to calm by him. He appreciates her attempt.

“It is,” he agrees. Aemond and Aegon help lift the twins so they could see themselves. “And there’s the Citadel,” he then continues to point at a giant building in the heart of the city. He looks at the twins. “Those statues there are of sphinxes. Riddling monsters, with faces of men and bodies of beasts.”

The twins balk at that, big gasps coming from little mouths.

“You are trying to scare them, Daeron?” Aegon asks, readjusting his hold on Jaehaera.

“The opposite! Those who learn at the Citadel seek to beat any riddle, and defeat any sphinx like that,” Daeron explains, cheeks reddening. He refuses to add that he goes there a few times a week; now that the explanation left his mouth, he feels rather embarrassed. “I wanted them to know they’re always safe here…”

“They know it,” Helaena says softly, and looks down at baby Maelor. “Right?”

The boy babbles some in response. Both twins offer interpretations, but the rest of them can only laugh.”

“You have a dragon about you,” Aemond says, his gloved hand brushing through Jaehaerys’s locks. “No need for anything else for protection.”

Daeron brings a hand to the back of his neck, trying to ignore his  embarrassment. “I would like to have some wit about me, still,” he says.

“We didn’t hear about your crashing onto farmlands with Tessarion since, so I say you are gaining your brain,” Aegon answers. Daeron flushes fully red.

“It was one time!” 

A crackle from Tessarion comes, and they all look back. She woke up, shaking her head as she did. The twins exclaim at her moving. Alicent keeps herself behind Daeron, a hand on his shoulder as the dragon hops down to their platform.

“She grew quite a bit,” Aemond notes as Tessarion approaches. “Flights would have to be easier now.”

“You should show yourself better than before, Daeron,” Helaena says. Her voice is absent minded, but entirely purposeful. “Mother couldn’t see the Sept properly. Perhaps you should take her closer?”

“Helaena,” Alicent exclaims. “I am not—”

“No, she’s right,” Aegon eggs her own. “You should go see the sept, Mother.”

Alicent looks at Aemond, who likewise seems to have no mercy. “We’ve come by carriage for you, Mother.”

It feels like old dinners, where they all banded together to annoy mother again. Ormund’s family had become a second family to him, but this nostalgic feeling takes over, and he feels just as right here; something he had been worrying the distance between them all would’ve taken away from him.

Tessarion comes by their side, sniffing the lot of them. Daeron thinks she knows just as well that these are all kin, when the little twins reach out to her scales and his siblings surround her. Daeron holds out a hand to his anxious mother, offering. Alicent used to hold his hand everyday, and he missed the security of her warm palm taking him to see the world. Whenever he had been scared, she made sure to hold him until it went away.

He has grown and changed, and has the mind to know he should return the favor. Filial piety is a grace described in every book, but he would like to repay his debt to his mother specifically. I’d like to offer you the same thing.

“Mother, have faith in me?” he asks.

Alicent looks between his siblings, nephews and niece, and the dragon, before her brown eyes land back on him. 

“I have too much of it,” she answers, and takes his hand. “The Seven help me.”

Oldtown shines brightly, from above the skies. Perhaps the people below could hear the Queen yell at the initial take-off, and certainly someone heard the laughter that followed from the princes and princesses on the top of the tower, but as the sun shone down on them all there had been a sense of pride, love, and home.

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (06)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)

note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

The picture is fucking terrible.

“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”

Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.

“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.

Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.

“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.

You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”

Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.

It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good. 

The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it. 

One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.

“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.

You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”

You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”

You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.

It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship. 

What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?

Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.

Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.

Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?

You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.

“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”

You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?

“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”

“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”

“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”

Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.

“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”

You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.

You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.

“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”

You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.

Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”

“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”

“And say what?” you ask.

“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”

You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.

“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”

There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?

“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”

You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.

After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”

“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.

“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.

“You are literally sitting across from me.”

“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”

“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.

Aaand he’s back.

You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”

“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.

“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”

“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”

“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”

“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”

“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”

He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”

Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”

“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.

“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”

“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”

You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi. 

[12:59] You: got a minute?

The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again. 

You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.

[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)

You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.

“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.

You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”

“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”

When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.

Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.

“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”

“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”

You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.

“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”

“Yes,” you say again. “To…”

The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.

“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.

“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.

“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”

He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.

“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.

“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”

“You’re being overly confident, Min.”

“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”

“Shut up.”

When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.

“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him. 

“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”

“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”

“My place?”

“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”

This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.

Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection. 

You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.

But you remember the last time.

College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.

No.

You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.

You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.

You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard. 

Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual. 

Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.

You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.

You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi. 

“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.

You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”

“Just sit down. I got this.”

“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”

“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.

You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.

When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.

You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.

“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.

“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”

It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.

For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.

You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.

When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.

Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol. 

You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.

“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”

Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”

“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.

You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.

Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.

“The what train?”

“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”

With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.

Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.

Yoongi is… stable.

You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.

You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.

That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.

Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.

Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.

When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.

“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”

“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”

You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”

“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”

“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”

You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again. 

It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written. 

Wait.

Back up.

A kiss?

A kiss?!

With Yoongi?

You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!

Fuck.

Fuck?!

It’s the wine.

Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.

You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.

The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.

Baby steps.

You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.

“Goodnight, princess.”

You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened. 

Déjà vu? 

It’s oddly reminiscent.

You’ve been here before.

Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.

He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.

Something is happening.

He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.

Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.

Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.

Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.

An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.

Like you’re stamping him out.

Like he was never there at all.

Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.

It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.

A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.

And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.

But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.

It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there. 

But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.

What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?

You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.

“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.

“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”

At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.

“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”

This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.

“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.

Because he broke things off with her?

Because he gives you more attention?

Ugh. Attention?

This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.

“You said she acts differently toward you.”

“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”

Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up. 

You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.

“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”

It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.

Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.

He took initiative, right until the very end.

You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”

Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.

Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.

He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”

At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.

You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.

It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.

If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.

He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.

I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.

You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out.  When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.

But at what point does it stop?

At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?

All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?

You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.

Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until someone else does.

“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.

There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.

In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.

Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.

You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”

The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.

Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.

He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception. 

That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.

Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.

You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.

These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.

It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.

But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.

You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.

But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.

It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now. 

You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.

You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start. 

Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.

He takes a step closer, you take no step back. 

“You know what I’m about to do, right?”

You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.

“I might have an idea…”

“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”

You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.

“Words, princess,” he reminds you. 

Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”

He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter. 

Then it happens.

The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.

Yoongi is kissing you.

You’re kissing him back. 

He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.

The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.

When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.

Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile. 

The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.

Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.

He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you again.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”

He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once. 

You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.

You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.

It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.

Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.

The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.

You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.

You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day. 

You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.

remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted march 27, 2023]

[alienaiver]

Catch and release

Komori Motoya x Chronic Pain/Disabled GN!reader but reader is described wearing skirts

content: It's Komori's birthday and you wanted to dress up nicely for the dinner party. Just your luck that your planned outfit and your disability decides to have a playfight. It's a good thing you have your high school sweetheart to cheer you up when navigating the new world of dynamic disability.

tags: fluff, sfw, birthday fic, post-timeskip, disabled!reader, body positive and poc friendly reader, canon compliant, no use of y/n, sweetie + my love + baby as petnames, sappy and supportive boyfriend, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, childish/cheeky komori, chronic pain/disability condition is not mentioned/left vague on purpose but reader does need a cane (type of cane not described either), genderneutral reader, unbeta'd but proofwritten twice, sakusa's there too but only to suffer the humor of literal kids

wordcount: 1.1k

notes: guess who learned something new today about cane usage and long skirts! 🙋🏼‍♂️ its a journey! luckily i have some soft, comforting boys to maladaptive daydream about taking care of me 🥰 i hope you enjoy this little work of mine! either as a disabled person or as an abled interested in learning something new!!!! im smooching u all, have a lovely evening! i also know im a ✨ little ✨ early about komori's birthday but who doesnt think about him 24/7?

also happy disability pride month ✨

"you ready?" Komori calls from the entrance, where his keys are circling his finger, making a jingle sound. It's his birthday, and you're going to a restaurant with his parents for dinner. Sakusa's even agreed to stop by.

He hears you hum from the bedroom before your steps sound through the living room, a little uneven but with your usual speed. He whistles when he sees you, but his eyebrows still raise at your choice of clothes.

"You changed." he states blankly, unsure what else to say. The outfit was important to you today, and you took great care in planning it last night, which is the reason he sends such an apparent statement your way.

You avoid his gaze as your lips draw a thin line, "yeah, don't worry about it," you say hastily, clearly eager to end the subject as you pick up your shoes from the rack. "Don't get me wrong sweetie, you look amazing. But I thought you wanted us to color match today?"

From the bench where you're tying your sneakers you glimpse at him for a split second, but it's long enough that Komori notices the disappointment you're trying to hide from him. He sighs and bends down in front of you, "what happened, my love?" his thumb grazes your cheek before it drags a sliver of hair behind your ear. From this angle he sees your small pout more clearly. He puts down his keys to let his other hand hold your head as well.

You sigh and lean forward. He meets you halfway and revels in the contact of your foreheads touching. He's always loved being close to you.

"I need the cane today."

Ah.

You recently learned bitterly that long or airy maxi skirts and canes don't match up. It's not like they tangle extremely and directly cause you to fall, but it changes the pressure in which you need to pull and move your cane for your next step if it's windy, which can cause mishaps. You haven't fallen because of it yet, but you've decided you don't want to risk it.

And then you need your cane on his birthday, where you'd planned such a skirt. He winces and you sigh. There's a distance of walking from the train station to the restaurant, so he can't offer much of a different solution than your own.

Then he kisses your nose, "I'm sorry, baby. Is there anything you need?"

You close your eyes and try to relax in his closeness. His left hand has traveled down to rub your arm, and you don't have the heart to tell him that his touch aches today. Not on his birthday.

"No, it's... It is what it is, right?" you ask and he nods hastily, "I know it might not help on the disappointment, but I still think you look absolutely amazing. And I'm glad you're listening to your needs and doing what you have to, even if it sucks major ass."

You snort and shake your head at him. He prides himself in the smile he won from your lips before he claims them with his own, sighing at the contact. He's needy today you notice, before you kiss him back with the same energy, trying to push away the negative thoughts clouding your mind. Today is about him.

When he pulls back he looks so lovestruck that you can't believe that you're high school sweethearts. Who gets this winded from a simple kiss from someone they've been with for over 10 years? Slowly and little by little, warmth and light fills you up again. He comes back for a quick peck before he gets back up and smiles down at you, flustered.

"Which cane would you like today? Personally I think the blue one with flowers would match your blouse perfectly!"

He turns his back to you as he opens the entryway closet, and you hum behind him thoughtfully, "maybe the grey one will garner less attention. I still feel awkward being both dressed up and so visibly disabled."

You're still getting used to using canes publicly, embarrassed and afraid someone will see you as a fraud if you're able to walk a few steps without it or if they suddenly deem that you're using it wrong. You know it's irrational, but it's taken you great courage to accept the dynamic part of your dynamic disability.

Komori's been supportive and understanding in every possible way, never batting an eye at any need you're voicing. He only complains when you hold back needs or lie about how you're feeling when you're out doing something together. You'd be, too, if the roles were reversed so you're glad he always lets you know while you learn to navigate being a burden - and being okay with burdening the people you love.

You admire his back. Broad, reliable and secure and always ready to support you. You still can't believe that you've been so lucky with him, grateful that your distasteful joke about his eyebrows he overheard in your second year somehow made him interested in you. You still cringe when you think back on it but he tells the story with a joyful and prideful expression every time.

He turns around with the grey, foldable cane and starts unfolding it for you, doing a little shimmy of a dance for you while doing it. You throw your head back and laugh, "so the birthday boy's the one giving a show this year?" you joke and he smiles cheekily at you, the expression making you flustered. Maybe you're just as bad as him, with the lovesickness. Sakusa will roll his eyes today, surely.

"Well... My favorite entertainer is indisposed, so if my lying hips can delight and beguile my audience, I'm happy to shake things up a bit."

He leans down with the cane, offering it as a sword to a knight. You snort and receive it just as gracefully, before he reaches a hand out to help you up, "I'll order your favorite from the menu and give you half of it if you kiss both my cheeks and my forehead in front of Omi."

You're busy laughing at his childish antics getting up, so you miscalculate your balance and fall into his arms. He catches you easily, like he always has and always will. You bite your lip, "then I'll order your favorite dessert if you do the same to me."

His antics may be childish, but they definitely match yours.

"Happy birthday, Motoya. Thank you for always catching me and helping me release the tension." you say and kiss him, hoping your emotions reach him. The smile he can't hold back against your lips tells you he might've gotten the memo.

[dimplesandfierceeyes]

Hello!! If u r still taking bad buddy prompts. How about bet era drunk Pran.

Hi Anons!

This was not completed as fast as I hoped it would be but I hope you both see this and enjoy it! This is very much unbeta'd so sorry for in advance for any mistakes or awkward phrasings!

You're A Goner (for me)

Pran never called, he always texted, so when Pat’s phone started ringing at 1am and the caller ID showed Khrab, A Friend he was understandably confused and a little concerned. He answered cautiously, wondering if he was going to hear the muted static of a butt dial, but instead Pran’s voice came immediately through the speaker.

“Where are you?” 

“At home,” Pat replied slowly, still confused though now slightly worried he’d forgotten something. “Where are you?”

“Drunk,” Pran declared with aplomb. Pat snorted in surprise, a grin starting to spread over his features. “Come pick me up.”

“Drunk isn’t a place,” Pat pointed out, still grinning. “Where are you?” 

“Ou'side Wai’s place, I walked him home but I don’t wanna walk back t' mine. ’M tired.” The last two words were said with a sigh. Pat laughed again.

“So you called your friend to come get you, huh?” 

“Isn’ that wha' a friend would do?” Even drunk, Pran had that same pleased competitive tone in his voice at the insinuation of the bet. “I think a friend would come pick me up in his new car an’ take me to his place and then-...oops.” Pran’s voice went up at the end, light and delicate.

“What did you do?” Pat asked fondly, thoroughly entertained.

“Fell down th’ kerb,” Pran told him happily. 

“Are you walking? I thought you were waiting for me to pick you up?”

“Oh, yeah...” Pat could practically hear the frown in his voice. 

He chuckled. “Stay where you are, you drunkard, I’ll come and get you.”

“‘M not a drunkard,” Pran protested sulkily.  

“Sure you’re not.” 

Pat stayed on the phone for the whole drive, partly to make sure Pran didn’t go wandering off before he got there, but mostly because a drunk Pran was one of the best things Pat had come across in his entire life. When he arrived, Pran was sitting on the steps of the apartment block, tilted back on his hands with his phone on the step beside him. 

Pat came to a stop and wound down the window.

"Go 'way, 'm waiting for someone." Pran declared, squinting irritably at the car.

"Yeah, me, dumbass," Pat replied fondly. "Get in before Wai sees me parked here."

"Did you change your car?" Pran asked suspiciously, still squinting, though he did at least start pushing himself up to standing. It was a laborious process for him.

"No, it's the same car; you're just too drunk to see straight." Pat chuckled.

"Am not." Pran was finally upright and began walking surprisingly well towards the car. 

"Your phone, Pran." 

"Huh?" 

"You left your phone." Pat held in the urge to laugh, a grin wide and broad on his face as he watched Pran turn back in surprise.

"Oh!" Pran exclaimed, the vowel elongated and wondrous. "Lemme get it."

"That's the idea, yeah," Pat chuckled again. 

Pran finally made it to the car a few minutes later, flinging open the door with enough gusto to make Pat wince before climbing inside. He grinned as plonked down in the seat. 

"Hi."

"Hi," Pat replied, grinning back. 

"You actually came t' pick me up," Pran crowed. "You're soooo…" he paused, a frown on his face as he thought of the word. "Whipped!"

Laughter burst out of Pat, incredulous and surprised. 

Pran looked delighted with himself, trying to squeeze his phone into his pocket and failed. Pat took it off him and put it in one of the holes between them. 

"Hey!"

"Just put your seatbelt on, drunkard."

"'M not a drunkard." Pran repeated but he did start pulling the seatbelt over. 

It was all going well right up until he reached the buckle and couldn't get it aimed right to fit it in. Pat watched him struggle for a moment, amused, before taking over himself. 

"See!" Pran sat back, looking satisfied. "You're a-a thing, the thing… simp."

Pat laughed again. "Friends can help drunk friends with seatbelts."

Pran pouted, brow furrowing as he apparently realised his point had been beaten. “‘M not drunk,” he muttered instead. 

Pat smiled indulgently at him before leaning forward to poke one sulky dimple. Pran ducked backwards, squawking in outrage. Pat ignored the outburst, twisting back to face the front so he could check his mirrors before signalling to pull out. He dropped his hand down to the handbrake but was surprised by Pran’s hand suddenly smacking into his own. Looking down, he realised Pran was trying to intertwine their fingers. 

“Pran, I can’t hold your hand—I’m driving,” he pointed out with laughter bubbling up in his voice.

“I’m not trying to hold your hand!” Pran immediately protested, hand pulling back. “I was just… just… trying to steady myself. I was dizzy.” The words were over-earnest and over-annoyed like he was covering up his embarrassment. 

Pat caught the hand he’d jerked away and guided it to his wrist. Pran stubbornly didn’t move so Pat encircled the hand around his wrist himself. 

“Okay, you steady yourself, then.” He smiled and patted the hand gently before letting go.

“Maybe I don’t wanna steady myself now,” Pran grumbled, but he did not actually remove his hand. 

He was really too cute like this. Pat couldn’t wait for Pran’s bright red embarrassment in the morning; he was going to enjoy himself so much.

[oh-for-fic-sake-library]

The Brethren

Masterlist

Summary: returning home was much worse then you could have imagined, the sleepy town in the mountains was a far cry from what it had once been. A new cult had rolled into town changing life as you knew it. And you soon realise your arrival was a set up, but what exactly did these huge brothers want with you?

Warnings: Cult A/U, polygamy, mentions of domestic discipline, dark fic, swearing

A/n: i hope you are all doing well and had a good Christmas!  I finally got around to finishing this oneshot! Woohoo! This played on my mind for a while but I wasn’t sure exactly how to do8it. I think I did alright. As always i hope you enjoy!

Unbeta'd screw ups are my own!

Wordcount: 5212

Traditional. Necessary. White and clean.

Pure living, they called it. Long dresses hiding tempting curves and soft voices hiding fear. This was a far cry from what you’d left behind all those years ago. Religion was never anything you really paid mind to. Neither had your parents until they had come.

They called themselves the forbearers of the brethren. These smartly dressed men- brothers each one wide and tall striking blue eyes and dark hair, ranging from dark chestnut to black. Clean shaven and slicked hair to messy curls and bearded.

Each one was as frightening a the other, sharp and charismatic.  Smart. They spat venom laced with honey and began their own... Religion. Well, that’s what they called it. A new freeing faith, the belief and worship in God with the understanding we are all created from sin. Lust. Their ideals were that you must go through hell to rid yourself of sin. Wallow and repent in filth until you cry enough tears to cleanse yourself in gods’ mercy.

That was if you were a sinner. A harlot, lazy, greedy or some other undesirable type of heathen. And almost everyone is. They were pristine and clean. Everyone around them was not.

The brethren were a cult. Nothing more, nothing less. Officially named the brethren of souls. They had stormed into your sleepy little town in the middle of butt fuck nowhere and made it their very own kingdom.

Not that you knew that. You'd left moved to the big city to become a judge. After being away for almost six years you finally gave in to the insistent nagging of your mother and returned to visit your parents.

You’d returned to a strange place. A large roadblock and tunnels through the Mountains blocked off. There was only one main road in and out now, through the mountainous cliffs and then about seven miles of thick forest. It was the scenic route and made you remember just how isolated your home town was.

The blockades to the other roads had looked natural, landsides a damaged bridge. But it wasn’t until you made it to the edge of town you realised it probably wasn’t an act of God that had closed off access. This single remaining entrance was heavily guarded by once peaceful folk you knew growing up, one of the gun wielding men was your old m8ddle school teacher for Christ sake! It looked like he'd become a soldier of some sort of militia. You'd had to show the hand written invite and your id before being let through the makeshift check point.

The once bright little town seemed muted, strange propaganda now lined the windows and advertising boards. The people were happy but in a forced eerie way, their clothes once normal fashion now faded pale dyes and plain cloth. Flowers were entwined into girls hair and many were barefoot, despite the calm there was a fearful air about them, nervous but compliant. It was disturbing.

Your parents had welcomed you but brushed off all of your questions about the changes and road blocks, but they simply shook their heads saying it was their will. You asked who they were talking about but once again they ignored you this time with chuckle. You resigned yourself to just keeping your head down and try to make it through this visit quickly and return to your home in the city and never return.

But things took a turn after the first few days and you’d been brought to the chapel for mass. Something your family never partook in. But if your parents found solace in god it wasn’t your place to argue. They were entitled to their beliefs so you agreed to go.

You shouldn’t have. There was no priest or pastor in the service. Instead five men. Brothers. All gloriously handsome, strong and an air of kindness that you doubted was genuine. They all spoke of god, preaching about how Jesus had died for the sinners and we are born out of sin, and it is okay to sin for in our repentance of sin we find god. They preached that to reach the heavenly father we must atone and endure what life has to offer with your faith intact. They almost sounded blasphemous the way they spoke comparing themselves to the almighty, claiming they and only they knew the way to heaven and the afterlife.

They spoke in birth order apparently, the oldest was August an imposing man that had the mouth piece of the devil but believed he was god. A deep intimidating tone and ever present smirk hidden by an out of date face caterpillar. Then was Napoleon a suave self confident male who clearly thought he was the most intelligent person in the room. Then napoleon's twin;  Clark younger by mere minuets according to the whispers of your parents, yet with his sweet cinnamon roll appearance geek glasses and loose curls draped over his fore head he looked much younger then the distinguished man who'd spoke before him,  he was the textbook cute college professor you'd risk expulsion for.

Clark spoke with a down to earth almost shy voice, gifting the congregation with small smiles, and lapping at his lip every so often. But his eyes gave it away, he was a snake, a Judas. A good actor and hid the sharp piercing looks well, but eyes are the window to the soul and that man was... Off. Before you knew it another hand taken his place. Walter was a huge bear of a man, he spoke of the harsh realities we face and how its our fault. His firm little speech ended with a threat

"we are tempted by evil everyday, sin is ingrained into our very being. Its a test, be strong and hold your nerve, we can endure this. You can endure this you are chosen and as god and the brethren are my witness I will force you to pull through your misery and seek out redemption on the other side. I will make you righteous and pure once more"

Finally the strange mass ended with sy. A cheeky Texan who was all smiles and lightened the mood. He sounded like he was trying to be everyone’s best buddy. Calling out that there is a silver lining, there is glory to be had we just had to see our way through the fear and pain to bask in the light and glory of god once we shed our sinful past.

You'd tried to subtly escape out of the door and almost succeeded as you broke through the threshold and stepped into the light your parents halted as a loud voice boomed out over the space. August called your father back into the chapel. You shrunk feeling the change in the air, the others of the congregation watching whispering as the small battalion of men eyed you and nodded at you to follow your parents back into the quaint chapel.

Into the wolves den. These huge brothers still lingering at the small stage and plinth they had been speaking at minuets ago. You shivered turning back to face them, your mother grasping you dragging you out of the bright sunlight and into gods dark house.

"Ah oh gosh its happening! I cant believe it! We're being summoned! its done- its done!" Your mother gushed whisper screaking as she clutched at you, hooking her arm around yours dragging you down the far end of the building as the doors closed behind you, with a deafening finality.

With the doors closed the chapel became dim, basking in a red hue from the brightest window behind the alter, the stained glass casting the dreadful red and orange making the Chapel seem more like a devils den. 

"What? Mother what do you mean?" You hissed trying to peer back at the doors and slowly freaking out inside. You felt every bit the lamb being lead to a pack of monstrous beasts. Without knowing them or speaking to them you already knew these were not men of god, they were men of war and destruction. 

"Hush and mind your manners, be respectful to the brethren and we shall all be rewarded" she hummed whilst trying to pull at your hair pulling it from your face trying to show you off in her own way.

"The brethren? Those crack pots? Mum I don’t want to-oh err hello?" You turned trying to get answers from your mother still not following exactly what was going on. But you were quickly cut of as she spun you to face forward only to come face to... chest with the youngest of the brothers sy. His face split into a grin eyeing you up and down which prompted you to stutter out a soft confused greeting.

"Hello ma'am... Christ almighty August tell me this is her! Pu-lease!" He hummed a low greeting before turning to August who stepped closer grinning like a Cheshire cat. You shivered, nothing about that grin boded well for you.

"Calm yourself Sy. We don’t want to frighten her" he purred, eyes glinting with a strange fire, it was like lust but held a deeper heat. A frightening heat, that would both burn and freeze you. The type of look that belonged on the faces of serial killers or something. The look that made you tremble and every single instinct scream at you to run.

"I agree... but sy does have a point. Beauty is key, we must be attracted to our chosen little rabbit" your eyes were snapped from the patriarch of this insanity, and rested on the loveable cinnamonroll-esque male Clark. You frowned once more blinking feeling more and more uncomfortable as the group of brothers gathered around you appraising you like a product from all sides. You were waiting to be called a fucking heffa or something.

"Ch-chosen? What-I’m sorry I don’t follow" you asked growing more anxious and irritated only to have a huge perfectly manicured finger wagged in your face. You balked and took a step back growling at the rude male who was trying to shush you. The slicked back hair and finely pressed suit only irritated you more. Napoleon, you remembered the ridiculous name from the sermon. It suited him, all high and mighty probably compensating for something... This particular Napoleon wasn’t lacking in height, a smirk graced your face as your mind wandered.

"Hush dear. Hmm she’s a little outspoken?" The smirk was wiped from your face as he literally hushed you and the  turned to his brothers with a chuckle.

"It makes for fun." Came the deep Texan drawl of sy who still hovered closely beside you. A little too close. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably and peered around you subtly only now noticing the remaining brothers had slowly eased there way around you. And you were centre of a very intimidating pack of predators. The human kind.

You spun quickly and tried to catch your parents eye, willing them to come and help you out of whatever situation you’d landed yourself in. But they were to busy preening under the attention, falling over themselves watching the men circle you like vultures.

"This is the one you spoke of?" August asked leaning closer to you capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger tilting you to face him. You gasped shocked he would touch you at all let alone tilt your head left and right inspecting you like cattle.

"Y-yes y/n our one and only child... She’s twenty three" your father boasted eyes wide and full of wonder as if he believed you to have caught the interest of god himself. You frowned and twisted your head from the man. But his fingers held you firmer pulling you forward trying to make you step closer. With a light growl you brought you hand up slapping his away from you and took a step back from him moving a hand to cup your jaw.

"Y/n!? You weren’t raised to be so rude! Apologize this instant!" Your father began bellowing but was silenced as August raised a hand, his other smoothing over his jaw thoughtfully. Silence reined for a few moment and then a small chuckle escaped him. The others smirked following their brothers example, each huffed out their own amusement. They were almost relieved? Thrilled even? As if there ha been some silent decision made about you.

"Its quite alright. She is defensive and spirited. A very good thing, she protects herself, I'm impressed." August uttered, you shrunk watching his lips curl higher, a handsome devilish look, one that held a promise. A threatening promise you wasn’t certain what the look held past a dark glee, but it was something dastardly, sinister. It made you shrink further under his gaze.

You still inched backwards without noticing and stepped into the bearded man draped in a fine knit pull over and yelped. Almost jumping out of your skin when his large hand rose to grasp your elbow. Holding it firmly to halt your movements. You looked to him but he paid no mind to you. Instead his eyes were set on your father as he began to speak.

"Soo a spicy little twenty three old? So young and vibrant... You've both tended your garden well, she is a truly perfect bloom" Walter praised, sending you an appreciative glance and smirked.

Then used the hand on your elbow to move you back in between his brothers, placing you in the centre once again. He was completely undeterred by the looks you gave him. Squinting at him with a confused rage. You didn’t like him, he was frightening and rude, he to made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"Indeed. Pristine just as god willed her to be" you ducked down as the smooth playful voice carried from behind you. Sy. He was much closer now, he'd stepped forward sealing off the tiny gap between him and Walter. And also cut off your view to your parents behind his massive bulk.

He moved quickly crossing his arms across his chest, you yipped and jerked forward worried he to would reach out to you. stepping forward had been a bad idea as you ended up staggering into August chest. You tried to flee from the stern looking man. Only to be cut off by another brother, your rising anxiety and panic making you more frantic. There were so many of them and they were all as frightening as the others.

This time you were peering up at the other twin. He smiled giving a silent scoffed chuckle and dipped his head slightly, the light catching on the glasses suddenly reflecting drowning out the intense blues. It was eerie, creepy even the way he used his glasses to hide himself, his intentions so subtly. A truly dangerous male.

You gasped as Augusts hands ensnared you quickly, one huge palm on each hip. A strong grip and slight push stopped you from inching away from him, he rooted you to the spot compressing your soft hips between his hands. And continued to enquire after you to your parents, not releasing you from his grasp.

"A judge if I’m correct?" The male purred down at you, eyes still that predatory gaze. You made to reply but your father beat you to it, speaking for you.

"Yes, she is studying to become a judge"

"Such a desire must come from a strict moral compass" napoleon drawled out nodding to himself, his brothers all humming in agreement seemingly please with your morals. August though wanted to dig deeper and directed another question to your parents.

"Tell me is she a virgin?"

"I beg your pardon?!" You snapped baring blunt teeth and tried to get away from him, resulting in clawing at his hands. But they remained clutching their prize. Like a big cat latched on to its prey, he wouldn’t budge. And to your Absolut horror you mother answered the question, giving away details of your private life to these complete strangers!

"To our knowledge yes, she has been alone in the city for some time but had no boyfriends or lovers to speak of" your mother seemed pleased, proudly announcing your virtue to the group peacocking. There was a collective inhale, a silent groan pouring from the group of males. You closed your eyes turning your gaze to the floor, cheeks red and eyes warming with embarrassed tears. You were angry, but also confused and humiliated.

"I don’t mind either way, august. She is suitable. Sins and all we can deal with it" The older of the twins purred out. Taking a closer step reaching out to move some hair from your face, stopping you from hiding behind a curtain of hair.

"Yeah, I’m sure we can find a way to cleanse her, and control that temper. Implement a punishment and reward system, with the five of us we would prevail fairly quickly" Clark added tipping his head to his twin with a grin making napoleon nod his head in agreement.

"That we would, I have no doubt a taste of my palm will be enough to stop any unfavourable behaviour." Sy hummed, tipping his head eyeing your bottom whilst letting out a low whistle and flexing his fingers at the thought of having that juicy plump bubble but inn his palms.

"If not then throw her my way. She'd only need to be reminded once with a strap or cane" Walter uttered, you gasped at the threat. Strap? Cane? Did they truly mean to beat you into what ever it is they were planning? You eyes flicked to your parents, surly they would speak up for you? Protect you? Yet they remained silent. They were grinning! Overjoyed! You made to speak but were spoken over by the eldest who still had a tight grasp o you, his fingerprints probably bruising your hips by this point.

"There are no objections to her then?" August asked glancing to the others, each brother smiled shaking their head, all accepting the small, yet feisty woman.

"No. Not one she’s a little diamond, she just needs to be in the right setting to really shine” sy finally purred leaning back, crossing his arms taking in the sight before him. A sweet little bunny ripe for the taking. And take you he will. They all will~

"Good" august hummed and turned to your mother, who was almost weeping in her happiness as her dream came to light right before her eyes. Her daughter was going to birth the brethren's sons! She was going to be the grandmother to the next forebears, her grandbabies? The brethren of souls!

"It's decided, she’s the one have her ready by tomorrow morning" sy nodded to you smirking and turned to your parents who both gasped. Sy eyed your father curiously, staring him down. There was hesitation, in the mans eyes. Your mother was won over but your father held doubt. Sy didn’t like it, he turned facing him and crossed his arms putting all his army days intimidation to good use staring the man down until finally he stuttered out a pleading question. 

"Tomorrow? So soon?" You father asked feeling smaller and smaller as the captain held him in a steady gaze. Sy sighed and dipped his head down then took a casual intimidating step towards your  much smaller father.

You frowned not liking what was going on, your parents knew something, your father unsure. You tried to intercept the huge burly man who was frightening your dad with silent fierce posturing. August did not relent, he held you still making you curse, loud enough to draw Sy's attention.  The Texan spun to face you and grinned.

"Dirty mouth there woman, id clean it up 'fore I rinse it out for ya" he drawled in his thick accent winking at you letting you get some idea to what he meant. The others chuckled at the filthy meaning behind the words. You sputtered and growled tugging at august  ready to slap this bastard silly. You drew a breath ready to argue and cuss him out like a sailor. But your words fell silent as august leant forward pressing a chase kiss to your cheek, hushed words warning you against doing anything silly. You grunted unimpressed when he ushered you towards Clark who had gained on you both, hands out ready to whisk you away.

"Yes. Time waits for no man, even us" napoleon said over his shoulder choosing to ignore your little exchange with Sy and addressed your parents helping corral you. You spun trying to move out of their way, but were too slow. Walter and Clark were on you coiling around your frame. Each placing soft kisses to your cheeks and petting your hair grinning from ear to ear. You flinched pulling away freaking out over the unwanted affection. Swearing and twisting trying to escape, but these men were all twice as big at you, and had the strength to match.

"I- yes she will be ready" you just about heard your father utter the words, a soft frightened voice. Not that you could concentrate much when these huge barbarians were smothering you. Running their hands across your form and chuckling at you 'cute' attempts to get away.

"What do you mean? And ready for what?-will you fucking get off! Get off of me for god sake?!" You snarled at them trying to shake off their hands. Slowly you were brought to heal, Walters hands locking onto your forearms and gave a violent shake making you freeze up in fear.

"Calm yourself. And mind your tone, I will not stand for such blasphemy. Do you understand?" He growled warning you whilst squeezing your arms in a bruising grip.

"I-I wha?" You panicked whining as you were shook once more, so hard you stumbled over your own feet. Tears blurred your eyes as fear took hold of you. It was one thing to be touch and treated like property,  but another when these men had no qualms about getting rough with their manhandling.  Your mind instantly went down a dark path imagining the worst. What if they got violent?

"Do you understand. You will not use the lords name in vain. And you'll stop that cursing as well. I will not tell you again." Walter cut you off with a warning, intent on setting you straight from the get go. You whimpered nodding as tears rolled down your face. You were quivering in his hands.

"Y-yes yes I’m so-rry I wont do it again-can you let go, your hurting me, please don’t hurt me I’m sorry!" You pleaded sniffling as you spoke terrified of what he may do next.

"One more" he said with a heavy sigh and rubbed your arms soothing the pain he had caused. you frowned not understanding what the massive man meant but quickly yelped when sy appeared beside you and leant over pressing a quick gentle kiss to your hair line. Hands cupping your cheeks wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

"There now, its alright don’t mind Walter he is just a stickler for blasphemy so try to be a good girl okay little bloom?" The Texan accent hummed from beside you. Before patting your bottom making you hiss at him. Walter released you letting you stagger away into your mothers open arms. You thought she had finally come to her senses. But no.

"Oh my girl I’m so proud of you! Your the chosen! I knew you would be! I raised you to be perfect" she praised giddy as she held you tightly. She didn’t seem to see anything wrong with what just happened, in fact she was ecstatic. 

"Ah ah. What are the teachings?" Walter scolded your mother with a grunt, scowling at her and crossing his arms frightening her just as much as he had you.

"M-modesty and humility... I-I am sorry I? I am trying, I struggle" Your mother faltered, shrinking into you. As she replied quietly. You frowned not liking the way she seemed to cower, your arm came and encircled her and your glowered at Walter holding his gaze. The man in question scowled deeper, waiting for you to back down bur you didn’t. You wouldn’t look away.

"Its of no consequence. We are all human and all have our shortcomings. Pride is a sin many fail to recognise." Clark intervened calmly smiling brightly to you and your mother trying to defuse the situation and move things along.

"Though you may be offered some... wiggle room, take some pride in your child" August mediated, deciding to indulge the devout woman on this occasion. After all he was about to take her daughter and force her into a reverse harem marriage spending the rest of his days plundering the young woman for heirs.

"She is beautiful and smart. Young and sure to provide us everything we need" August continued, showering you with what you think was meant to be praise. Instead alarm bells began ringing. Red flags popping up at his wording.

"Provide? What are you talking about?! Will someone please tell me what is going on here- better yet the town?! This is fucking madness!" You finally hissed snapping at them furious yet unsure. You looked to each of them trying to force an answer from one of them.

"Ah. It appears our little bloom really does suffer her own anger" Napoleon chided with a confusing mix of glee and disappointment. He shook his head as he spoke and looked to your father who replied quickly like some trained pup barking on command.

"Yes, she has always struggled with temper" your father admitted his shoulders slumping eyes downcast like he was ashamed to reveal your faults. Not that anyone could blame you, these cretins had taken over the town, destroyed it and now felt they had some right over you? Of course, your angry! You have a right to be!

"No matter we will overcome this snag. Take her and get her ready. And we shall see you at the alter little bloom" august instructed cheerfully with a clap of his hands and rubbed them together. He locked his gaze onto you as he spoke making you feel uneasy.

"A-alter? What like a sacrifice or something?" You asked anxiety rising to new heights as they seemed to speak in tongues and riddles.

"No no of course not, we would never harm something so precious. Something that will bring my brothers and I so much joy." August laughed out loud waving off your fears like childish drivel.

"A wedding. We are going to wed and bed you my dear" he announced casually, it was as if he had been speaking about the weather!

"You most certainly are fucking not!" You snarled more out of offence then anything. You didn’t care who these men were they couldn’t just fucking decide your fate! They cannot have you as if you are there for their own amusement! 

"Now now calm yourself. There’s no need to fight, this is your duty, your destiny little bloom. We will be very happy, you'll see" august chuckled making you angrier by his dismissive tone. He was facing mad! Stark raving mad if he thought you were going to just roll over for them! It wasn’t even fucking legal!

You sneered at him and turned finally having enough of this craziness. Your mother tried to hold onto you but you shoved her off and began leaving, fighting the urge to bolt. But were stopped by two men by the door. You growled trying to open the door but were blocked by them.

"Accompany her to the cabin of reflection, Mother will join her" Walter’s voice called out over the church making your stomach drop. You cried out as you were apprehended, the men apologised as they subdued you.

"Mother?" You froze looking back at your mother who had stopped watching you, instead of helping you she turned to Walter her cheeks tinting red and eyes wide full of hope and joy from the name. Like she'd just been anointed some holy title.

"Yes, Mrs y/l/n you will be our mother-in-law. I do hope we can all call you as such?" Napoleon answered her stepping beside her grinning, placing a gentle hand to her back ensnaring her. Making her forget all about you who was being dragged from the church.

"Keep watch and guard her she is everything. My brother and i's future wife. Make sure she is safe, and contained if she runs catch her and bring her back to me" august hummed stepping away fro his brothers as he addressed our captors, casually tucking his hands into his suit pants.

You cried out in a strange fear laced anger and tugged trying to free yourself from the two men who flanked you, each wrestling your arms to keep you contained. But august smiled at the display, he seemed to get a sick pleasure from watching your fear fuelled struggles.

"Don’t you worry little bloom~ we will together again very soon. Until then do be a good girl and behave, you don’t want any of us to have to come and deal with any unsavoury behaviour. Our wedding night will be most uncomfortable with a blistered backside" he uttered with glee making your blood go cold. You could see it, the evil. The darkness the men held inside.

They didn’t care for laws or morals, they cared about themselves and greed. He finally waved you off, and just like that you were pulled from the church, the door closing separating you from the safety of your parents. You shouted calling out to them, begging for help but they didn’t listen. No one listened or came to help as you were forced into the back of a black suv ready for transport. You sobbed and begged crying and pleading with anyone you could see, banging on the window and trying to get out but it was no use. The car tore away from the church and made for the back roads of town to the woods. All you could do was hope and pray that if there was a god, they would have mercy and give you a way to escape this mess. Because there was no way you’d escape