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duskholland · 4 years

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I'll Take Care of You | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re a med student who falls into the habit of patching up Spider-Man

wc ↠ 4k

warnings ↠ some descriptions of injury (but nothing very graphic because I am a wimp), light swearing, fluff

a/n ↠ based off a request I had for a doctor/patient fic with Peter. I didn’t want to do that exact dynamic, so I put a spin on it and had some fun with it! I hope you enjoy, anon! any feedback would be gratefully received :’))

It’s 11pm on a chilly October night, and you’re hunched over one of the high wooden benches in your university’s lab. The only light in the room comes from the lamp you’re settled beside, and you’re completely lost in thought as you practice your running stitches on a rather beaten and bruised banana. You can’t quite seem to get it right, and with each failed attempt at securing an even stitch, you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. You’re about to pack it in and call it a night when there’s a loud crash behind you, and you spin around to see the shady figure of someone attempting to break into the lab.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. Your heart rate spikes and your mouth runs dry, fear replacing your irritation as you watch a dark stranger jimmy open the window at the other side of the lab. You freeze, eyes wide in fear, and cower back as the person topples through the window, cursing lowly. They scramble to their feet, brushing themselves down, and when they take a step towards the centre of the room, your eyes light up with terrified recognition. “Spider-Man?!” You exclaim.

It might be dark in the lab, but that doesn’t prevent you from making out the red and blue lines of the familiar spidersuit. You didn’t think it was possible to be even more shocked than you were, but then the figure stumbles towards you and crashes to the ground, and you realise the darker spots on the suit are patches of blood.

“Help me…” Comes a high, quivering voice.

Shaking like a leaf, you tentatively approach the figure. He’s curled up in a ball on the floor, and you grab a handy first-aid kit as you crouch beside him. The darkest patches seem to be around his torso, but you’re not sure how to access that without harming the suit. As if sensing your predicament, the man reaches up and presses a button on his neck. You gasp lightly as the entire torso section of his suit separates itself and dissolves into nothing, leaving you facing the exposed, clammy skin of New York’s favourite hero. Your eyes quickly identify his source of pain, and you find yourself wincing as you see the issue: there are several shards of glass impaled in his side, and they’re preventing his body from regenerating and healing. You know you’ll need to remove them.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, steeling yourself. You quickly unzip the kit and pull out a pair of tweezers, some disinfectant, and a roll of bandages. You try to keep your voice as level as possible as you speak to the man. “You’ve got some glass stuck in your side,” you say calmly. “I’m going to pull them out and disinfect the wound. It, uh, it’s probably going to hurt, and I’m really sorry, but it could get infected if I leave them in.”

Spider-Man manages a breathless, “okay,” which you take to mean you can start working.

Trying to still your shaking hands, you press one palm to his chest as the fingers of your other hand wrap around the tweezers. You manage to get a grip on the larger shard of glass and slowly pull it from the wound. The hero tenses and curses, but he stays still, allowing you to quickly and safely remove the piece. Once the first one is out, you grow more confident and manage to clear the others within the minute. After inspecting the wound and deciding there’s nothing left in there, you drag a ball of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant over the gash.

“That’s you,” you remark. Your forehead has a line of cool perspiration over it, and you feel a wave of intense relief pass through you as you finish bandaging his side. You sit back and lean against a wooden bench, a deep sigh passing through your lips.

Spider-Man looks down at his side, the erratic movements of his chest slowly calming. It’s for the first time that you’re able to properly look at him, and you find your heart beating a little faster in your chest as your eyes make out the shadowed lines of his abs.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Y/N,” you supply.

You can sense the smile beneath the mask. “Thanks, Y/N,” Spider-Man finishes. He scoots himself back so he’s also leaning against a wooden bench, his body facing you. “I usually have to do that myself.”

A warmth tickles at your cheeks as you push your hair back and away from your face. “You don’t have, like, a team of people to do that for you?”

Spider-Man laughs, his voice light and airy. “Not exactly,” he replies. “I mean, I probably could if I wanted to, but I work better alone.”

Your lips curl into a frown. “Alone?” You echo. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”

Spider-Man shrugs. “I guess,” he says, voice drawling. “I’ve made it this far, though, so I must be doing something right.”

You laugh gently. “Yeah, right,” you tease. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve passed out and woken up with a nasty infection.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says, raising his hands innocently. He tilts his head to the side. “What are you doing here, anyway? No classes run this late.”

It’s your turn to feel a little embarrassed. “Oh, uh, I’m a first-year med student. Sometimes I stay back late to practice some of my sutures.” You point up to the desk and where a pile of your abused, half-stitched bananas sit. “It’s the only time I can get some peace and quiet.”

He surprises you by nimbly climbing to his feet and walking over to your workstation. As he moves, he presses a button on his neck again, and his suit closes over his chest. You find yourself frowning as the suit hides the rippling muscles of his back, and you quickly clear your throat to suppress that particular thought. You get up and join him, lingering a little behind.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He turns to look at you, and you know from the way the suit’s mask twitches that he’s smiling. “Med student, you say?”

You nod. “Yeah. So far I only know the basics, but it feels good to be able to give back to people.”

Spider-Man nods. “I know what you mean.”

A silence falls between you both, and you lean down to grab a scrap piece of paper. You quickly scribble down your number before passing it to him, the hero accepting it cautiously.

“Take it,” you plead. “Just in case you ever need anything. I live just off campus, and I’m usually awake at night. If you ever decide you need a medical squad, I’m your guy, alright?” Your lips pull into a smile as he pockets the paper.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. He takes a few tentative steps back, looking at the window he entered through. “I should go. City to save, and all that. But… I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight. Thank you.”

You manage a brave smile as you urge him towards the window, pretending it doesn’t shatter your dreams to bid farewell to the hero you know you’ll likely never see again. “See you around, Spider-Man. Stay safe!”

And he raises a hand in a quick wave goodbye before hopping from the window and disappearing into the night sky, leaving you, a messy lab, and a thousand thoughts behind.

You don’t hear from him for three months.

Over those long, twelve weeks, you start your first placement at the local hospital and soon become too busy to feel sad at his lack of contact. But still, occasionally, you’ll catch yourself with a dullness rounding out your heart as you think of the way he’d taken your number and since ignored you. A part of you is grateful he hasn’t needed you, but another is sad you only spent one night with him. Spider-Man has always been a bit of an idol to you, and the realisation that you’ll never see him again is a tough one to come to terms with.

It’s mid-January and 1.32am when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You groan as you turn over, your body shifting beneath your rustling sheets as you blindly bat at the table before your fingers close around the device. You pull it in close, silently begging you’re not being called in to work a spontaneous night shift, and lazily force your eyes open as you read the texts.

[Unknown] hey where do you live ???

[Unknown] it’s spider-man

[Unknown] I need you

[Unknown] help

Suddenly you’re wide awake, and with trembling fingers, you quickly attach your location and send it off. You jump from your bed and turn on your bedroom light as you pull a hoodie around your torso. Luckily you live alone and have your own comprehensive first aid kit, otherwise, you know you’d be fucked.

You wait for about three minutes before there’s a sudden, loud knock on your bedroom window. Your heart catches in the back of your throat as you squeak loudly, spinning around to see a blurry figure behind the pane. You hurry over and quickly unlock the window, and jump out of the way just in time to avoid the very heavy, and very wet figure of Spider-Man as he rolls into your room, collapsing in a heap in the middle of your carpet. He’s groaning - loudly - and this time, he appears to have dislocated his shoulder.

“Pop it back in,” he whines, voice pulled tight with stress. He manages to sit up, hunched over as his good hand clutches at his shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m gonna pass out.”

“Calm down,” you manage, gulping. Luckily for him, you’ve just finished a rotation in orthopaedics, so you aren’t completely in the dark about how to help him. “Take a deep breath, Spidey.” You push his hand away from his shoulder and replace it with your own. “I’ll count you down. 3, 2, 1-”

He curses, expletives rolling down his tongue as you carefully, but decisively, pop his shoulder back into the socket. A sickening crunch fills the air, but a moment later, his entire body seems to relax. He sighs and slumps back.

“Thank you so much,” he manages, voice sounding a little weak. “I tried to do it myself but apparently that just made it worse.”

Your eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, that’s a terrible idea.” You pull yourself to your feet and quickly help him up, depositing the hero on your bed. “I’ll go get you some water, or something. You look terrible.” You don’t have to see his face to know that beneath the suit, the man is bruised and exhausted. His posture alone speaks volumes as he sits curled over on the edge of your bed, his head falling forward to rest in his hands.

When you return with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, he lets you sit beside him as he gratefully devours them. To your surprise, the suit parts at his mouth and exposes the thin lines of his pink lips, letting you see his cheesy grin as he smiles at you.

“Always coming to my rescue, Y/N,” he says, voice a little stronger just after a square of chocolate. “Thanks.”

“It’s alright,” you reply. Suddenly you become very aware of the large, sagging bags beneath your eyes and the way you’re sure your hair is sticking up all over the place. “Anything for New York’s best.”

He chuckles slightly. Once he’s done with the water and the chocolate, he places both the glass and the wrapper on your bedside table and collapses back on your bed with a soft thump. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing gradually growing slower. “How’s college?”

You shrug. “Busy,” you explain. “I’m in the hospital most days, learning how to do stuff. Never thought it would be so demanding, but it feels good to be able to make someone feel better.”

“You should get extra credit for helping Spider-Man,” he ponders, voice quiet but sweet.

You laugh. “It’s not exactly been difficult to help you, so far. I can handle a dislocated shoulder and a few bits of glass.”

“Oh, so you want me to be more injured next time I visit you?” You can practically feel the smirk in his voice as your face heats up.

“No! Absolutely not. I don’t mean that at all.”

Spider-Man’s laugh warms your heart. “I know what you meant.” He sits up with a sigh. “Your bed is so comfy, Y/N.”

“Help yourself,” you tease.

He laughs again as he carefully rises to his feet, rolling around his shoulder as if testing its capabilities. “Feels as good as new,” he says. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Any time,” you reply. You stifle a yawn, and Spider-Man crosses his arms over his chest.

“Get some sleep,” he orders sternly. He hops over to your window and wrenches it open easily. “Thanks for the water, and the chocolate, and the life-saving,” he adds, already with a leg swung out of your window.

“Bye, Spiderman,” you say. The smile fades from your lips as he disappears once more, closing the window behind him with a quiet thud. But the grin quickly springs back as you realise he might contact you again, now he knows where you live, and you can’t help but find a little comfort in that thought.

Over the next few months, Spider-Man visits you semi-regularly. He has you text him your rotation schedule so to ensure he never bothers you when you’re busy at the hospital, and that alone causes your heart to warm to him even more. It’s always small things he visits for: bullet wounds, dislocated joints, grotty injuries. Things that would seriously harm any normal human, but since it’s Spider-Man, they only graze him. You fix him up and then send him on his way, and that’s it, simply. A fleeting encounter and then he’s off.

And it goes on like this for a while, until a warm evening in May. You’re sat cross-legged on your bed as darkness falls across the city, curled up with a nice book as you enjoy your day off from college. You feel calm and collected, and you’re about to light a candle and crawl into bed when there’s a loud banging on your window and you startle.

You stare outside, but there’s no one there. It’s dark, so you put your book down and tentatively creep over to the window, confused as to the source of the noise. Curiously, you pull up the window, and that’s when you hear Spider-Man’s familiar groans, and you look down to find him crumpled in a heap on your fire escape. Instantly you’re filled with dread.

It’s very difficult to actually get the hero into your apartment, but you manage to haul through your window eventually. You set him on the floor where he lies motionless, his breaths shallow and pained, and your blood runs cold as you take in the state of him. You crouch down beside him, first aid kit in hand, and find yourself at a loss of where to start. His suit is covered in lacerations and dark, bloody marks, but you don’t have access to him at all.

Just as you’re beginning to despair, you remember the buttons on his neck and carefully reach up. You don’t know which ones to press, and you certainly don’t want to betray him by accidentally removing his face mask, but when he releases another pained groan, you just push at a few random buttons. The suit deflates and retracts from his chest and lower half, leaving him in his gloves, face mask and underwear, but luckily exposing all the areas you need access to.

You survey the damage and feel despondent. He’s been very badly injured, and you’re terrified you won’t be able to help him. But that fear is quickly replaced by a determination as your brain shifts into doctor mode, and your hands start working before your mind can even process what you’re doing. You start by applying pressure to some of the larger gashes on his chest, stemming the steady flow of deep crimson blood until it’s a weaker trickle, and you feel confident bandaging them in a tight white wrap. Then you clean out some of the smaller wounds and stick a few smaller plasters there. Once you’ve cleaned him up a bit, the damage doesn’t look so bad, and though his pale skin has the beginnings of some deep, yellowy-blue bruises forming, you don’t think he’s got any internal injuries.

“How are you doing, Spidey?” You manage, voice croaking hoarsely.

Spider-Man groans softly. “I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore,” he quips, “But I still feel horrendous.” He pauses for a moment before grabbing at your hand. He’s still got gloves on, but you feel the tenderness in his touch as he squeezes your fingers gently. “Call me Peter,” he requests.

You nod as surprise settles across you. “You’ve lost a lot of blood but I think you’ll be okay, Peter. I don’t really understand how your body heals so quickly, but you’re looking stronger already. I think you just need to rest.” You glance out at the dark night sky. “You should stay here overnight.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t disagree. “Okay,” he says instead. His grip on your hand tightens as he slowly tries to get up. You help him out as much as you can and quickly settle him on your bed.

“I’ve got some clothes you can wear, wait.” You turn around and go to rummage through your dresser, pulling out a spare t-shirt. You toss it to the bed, and when you’re back by his side, he’s slid it over his chest. He looks very odd, sitting on your bed, your t-shirt on his upper half, his boxers on his lower, and a mask on his face, but at this point, you just accept it. “I’ll go crash on the couch. Yell if you need-”

“No, no. That’s not right,” Peter interrupts. You can tell he’s frowning. “You can, um, stay here, if you want. With me. In here.”

Your face shifts into a surprised o. “Oh, no, really, I… You should have space to spread out,” you say. You can’t ignore the way your heart beats deeply against your ribcage at the idea of cosying up against the hero.

“Please?” He asks, voice sweet. “What if I suddenly crash in the night? Or start bleeding out? How will I live if my doctor isn’t here to help me?”

You roll your eyes. “Dramatic, aren’t you?” But you walk over to him anyway and help him settle into your bed. You flick off your light and shut your window, and then you tentatively climb into the other side of your bed, slipping down until you’re beneath the covers, the warm figure of Spider-Man beside you. You’re tense, and for a moment you just lay there, breathing unevenly, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the fuck you ended up in this position.

“I’m, um… I’m gonna take off my mask,” comes Peter voice, quiet, but still loud enough for you to hear.

“What?!” You exclaim. You turn over on your side so you face him, your eyebrows pulling towards your forehead. “Why would you want to do that?”

He shrugs, his slim fingers knocking up against his neck. “It’s dark,” he reasons. “I trust you. And honestly, I’m feeling kinda delirious and this thing can be a bit hard to breathe through.”

You swallow deeply and watch carefully as Peter slowly pulls the mask up, up, up. It rolls up over his chin, his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, and with each feature it reveals, you find yourself holding your breath even more. Because it’s dark, in your room, but it’s not dark enough to hide his face, and you realise in a terrifying moment that he trusts you - Spider-Man trusts you - with his most hidden secret: his identity. And that makes you feel incredibly special.

“Peter…” You whisper, voice escaping into the air. Your eyes trace all over his face as he flings the mask aside. He’s got lovely dark, wispy hair, that stands up madly in all directions, and deep, caring brown eyes that watch your face intently. Your gaze shifts to his nose, and you smile as you notice it sits a little wonkily to the side, and then you find the air being pulled from your lungs as your eyes settle on his perfect, parted lips.

He’s beautiful. Utterly, completely, beautiful, and you really wish he’d kept the mask on, because he’s made it very hard for you to lie there as your lips quirk into a smile and your heart races in your chest, and just do nothing.

But then he does something.

With a shaky hand, Peter reaches up to cup your cheek. He shuffles closer, his musky cedar-wood scent filling your nostrils as he places his head on your pillow. His long, roughened fingertips move over your cheekbones, scattering trails of warmth over your skin as he gently caresses your face, his eyes gentle and loving. “Thank you for always looking after me, Y/N.” His breath fans out across your features, drawing a warmth to your face.

You swallow deeply, subconsciously nuzzling your cheek into his hand. You stretch out your legs and they tangle with his, and excitement rushes through your veins as his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer. Your foreheads are practically pressed together now, the warmth of his body heat surging through you as you gaze into his eyes. “I’ll always look after you, Peter,” you promise, voice soft and sweet. “I care about you.”

The tip of his nose brushes against yours softly. “I care about you too, Y/N. So much.” His eyes flicker shut, his long, feathery eyelashes falling to a soft rest at the top of his cheeks. You follow suit, and with your eyes closed, it’s as if everything else is amplified: his tender touch on your cheek, his warm hand wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. You find yourself straining closer, desperate for more.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, finally.

“Of course.”

And then his lips are on yours, moving softly against your mouth. It’s tender at first, barely even a touch, but as you push back against him, it grows stronger, like a small fire gradually building heat. You reach for his figure and gently wrap your hands around his waist as you kiss him deeply, clinging to him, longing for him, enjoying the feeling of coming home as your lips move together. It’s soft, and warm, and perfect, and it seems to span an infinity as you kiss him in the dark, bundled up beneath the blankets together.

He pulls back after a few perfect minutes, his forehead pressed flush against yours as he pants for breath. “I love kissing you,” he murmurs. “I love being with you, Y/N.”

You drag a hand up through his soft brown curls, a permanent smile hanging from your lips. “Feel free to kiss me as much as you’d like,” you mumble.

He presses another sweet kiss to your lips and holds you close. “Oh, I fully intend to,” he promises. Then he drags his mouth to your forehead and leaves a scattering of light kisses to your hairline, and you relax back into his arms, a sense of fulfilment blossoming through your chest. He’s warm, and soft, and you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, bundled up in Spider-Man’s arms, drifting off into a gentle slumber. And as he presses a final kiss to the back of your head, you know he feels the same way, too.

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

taglist ↠ see this post to be added :D

@behind-my-hazeleyes27 @stiles-o-dylan24 @stilinskiswritings @stealth-spiderr @youngblood199456 @flyingburrito123 @kiwijulia @theraggedwerewolf @stixnstripesworld @mischiefandi @penguinchick100 @hcomet28 @aftrrglo @scottish-sim @cosmicholland @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @sweet-baby-cakes @apatheticanvas67482 @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @panadolle @rhapsodyparker @xxxxdelenaxxxx @blairscott @quaksonhehe

#Peter parker #Peter Parker oneshot #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #woohoo #I wrote this all this evening so if it's bad I apologise but ? I think it turned out kinda sweet n fluffy #any thoughts would be appreciated!#am still getting into the swing of writing #so any feedback welcomed #thanks for reading <3 #my writing #self-insert #y/n #y/n use #wahey #college!peter

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tap-tap-tap-im-in · 2 years

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Oh, in news unrelated to my job but very related to the hobby I’ve fallen back on to deal with pandemic related stress:

Titan Quest (PC) just got an update that added in controller support. Which is great because Mara and I just played it on the PS4 for the first time, and while it follows a lot of the same design decisions that the PC port eventually used, the PS4′s implementation is upsettingly bad (maybe it was because we were in split screen, maybe it was because it was a different developer responsible for it).

Like, we played for an hour and a half last night, and we could pick up two copies of the same item consistently (until one of us sold it and then the other ended up with a “ghost” item that was invisible unless it was highlighted, took up inventory space, and did literally nothing else. We consistently opened the trading dialogue when we were trying to attack monsters together. We discovered that we could bring the framerate to an absolute crawl by trying to trade with a player who was using the portal (and thus loading a new part of the map).

Granted, I’ve only played about as long on the PC as we did on the PS4, but it’s subtly different and I don’t find myself fighting it as much (it’s still not perfect because the game was never designed with a controller in mind). And it’s entirely possible that the reasons it works better on the PC have everything to do with the fact that I’m not playing multiplayer and not having to play splitscreen (and have access to an SSD so the loading doesn’t tank the framerate nearly as bad).

Anyway, I bought TQ on PS4 when all the shit with Activision Blizzard first hit the news because we were really enjoying Diablo 3 but didn’t want to give them the login numbers after everything came out. And on one hand, there are plenty of other games, but on the other hand it’s astonishing how good a game AB managed to make while treating their employees so poorly, and I think it has everything to do with size. Basically, they’re making up for the poor working environment, the poor individual productivity, by throwing more people at the problem.

And if you’re willing to do anything to make money, yeah, that’s a solution. But you’d be able to make the same product for less money if you treated your employees like humans. But if you had ethics you wouldn’t be going all in on microtransactions and loot boxes, so it’s just more proof that if profit is the motive, evil is the only outcome.

Anyway, if you like ARPGs like I do. Grim Dawn is still my favorite PC release that has controller support, but Titan Quest’s isn’t bad. Hell, let’s do a full list of controller supported ARPGs that I know for anyone with bad wrists like mine:

-Grim Dawn (A+) [A post apocalyptic setting with a diesel punk feel, tries to be serious but the power creep later in the game takes a lot of the teeth out of it.] Menus and inventory are fiddly, but if you can get over that hurdle the game shines. This is by far the best game on this list, and it makes up for a lot of issues with the controller support.

-Titan Quest (B-) [Classic mythology; Greek, Norse & most recently Chinese with some other elements from other Asian countries. Not very serious at all, but still obviously epic in scope.] Doing things with a controller is slower and the controls are pretty new and a little glitchy according to some players, but it’s interesting how different developers solve the same problems, some things like looting and menu navigation are betterish, some are worse, some are exactly the same. [Titan Quest was originally developed by the people who would go on to make Grim Dawn, it’s the root engine but it’s now supported by two different teams of developers who are solving a lot of the same problems but separately.]

-The Amazing Adventures of Van Helsing (C) [Victorian gothic designs (vampires, werewolves, Frankenstein’s monster, so on), very light tone, a little bit of tower defense in the later games/late game (you can buy the three games separately or as a single game, which is my recommendation)] The core controller support is actually pretty good, but the interface design for the controller is very confusing and is different enough from the mouse and keyboard interface that it’s hard to understand exactly how to get somewhere you know you need to get to in the menus. That’s for the pages that are unique, but for the ones that are the same, they’re so artistic that it’s sometimes not clear how controller inputs are going to translate to item selections. The setting is fun, and the game is kind of funny, but in that trying very hard to be but is obviously translated from another language kind of way. The “impact” of melee is kind of lacking, which is sad because melee characters are usually the easiest to run on a controller (the fewer active skills the better), but I’ve had good luck in the early game with the caster and range builds even on controller.

-Torchlight 3 (C-) [Cartoony take on the classic dungeon crawler fantasy setting. Not very serious, and honestly not very creative] The controller support is probably the best out of all the games in this list, as it’s the only game that was designed from inception with controllers in mind, what’s really pulling the grade down is the quality of the game itself. Torchlight 3 is fun, if you can buy it for a few dollars, but it’s very simple and riddled with modern “freemium” design that will remind you that it was originally going to be an MMORPG that probably would have been free to play. The setting also has a lot of creature and culture designs that are completely uncritical of where they originate from, which is a lot harder to swallow from a game “released” in 2019 than they were in the previous torchlight games. This is probably down to personal growth, but I feel like we’re done with “tribal” designs for orcs and goblins. The origins of those are deeply, deeply, racist and with very the public discussions around D&D relating to exactly that, I think including them is absolutely a choice, and not one I really support. If you have access to a console, I would recommend playing torchlight 2 instead, but if you’re stuck on PC torchlight 3 is your only option for playing with a controller in this series. And again, it can be fun.

All four of these games run fairly well on Windows 10, and regularly go on deep discounts, so if you’re a fan of ARPGs you might wishlist them before the steam christmas sale and be pleasantly satisfied with a good game for between $5 - $10 dollars.

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

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what ab a amourex (i cant spell lol) AU where she ends up with christian and what daniels and her life would be like

Omg stop the way I love this. This idea is fricken impeccable. Ok we’re saying Daniel was still banished from England and Louisa never went after him for this AU

(Also I can’t spell Amoureux half the time either dw. I made it so difficult for myself with that title PFF)

It’s fair to say that Louisa did love Christian but she wasn’t in love with Christian and her feelings certainly were rocky after seeing how he could so easily threaten his own brother’s life. Regardless, Louisa and Christian got married the same week Daniel was shipped off to Spain.

Let’s focus on Daniel first. He literally gets put on a ship with his bags and nothing else. Good freaking luck, kid. He gets off in Spain and honestly spends a few nights sleeping on the street which is very out of his comfort zone since he was raised in velvets and gold and silk bedsheets. Definitely gets robbed one night because who wouldn’t rob the tiny sixteen-year-old who is sleeping beside gold-trimmed trunks that are filled with the finest of linens and items. He was literally a sitting duck.

Honestly Amoureux Daniel is so young and naïve and knows nothing about working class life that he probably is downright miserable and I see him suffering a lot…crying himself to sleep on streets…begging for scraps of food in taverns and hostels…and rinsing off in the rivers and lakes (and probably gets nipped by a fish and sends him running naked out of the water, screaming). Poor little baby honestly I’m just making myself sad, but that’s the most realistic fate he would have. He also doesn’t know any Spanish (he never liked paying attention in his lessons with Jonah) so he can hardly even talk to anyone and ask for help.

I think eventually he’d manage to get a job at a hotel/hostel/tavern where he would clean the floors and things in exchange for food and a bed. He grows up there, learns Spanish from being around the locals, and just kind of stays around that small village where he works. He never marries…probably shares a ‘fling’ or two with local girls but his heart still belonged to Louisa so he never let them go too far. I guess in that sense he got the reputation of ‘heartbreaker’ around the village. I mean come on, Daniel’s gorgeous and cheeky and flirty and everyone seems to want him but the feelings are never reciprocated.

Louisa, on the other hand, still has her assured life of riches and as future queen she’s thriving. Well, thriving with a husband she’s not infatuated with. I don’t want to diss Christian too much because he doesn’t deserve to be slandered but literally every single time he kisses his wife or takes her to bed, she’s thinking about Daniel. She’d die before she admitted that, however.

When the next heir to the British throne is born, he 100% looks like Daniel and it pisses Christian off. (Since in this AU, Christian never fell for someone he couldn’t have, he never forgave or understood his brother’s actions). Between the times as well as Christian still being angry at anything to do with his brother, he doesn’t have much to do with his son for a while, leaving Louisa and the nannies to keep the kid busy.

In our main storyline, Daniel and Louisa have six children but, in this AU, Christian and Louisa probably only have two children at most, mostly because she never really wanted to go to bed with him. Like usual royal couples in the early-mid-1800s, they shared separate beds in separate rooms and their marriage was…well strained is a harsh word but it certainly wasn’t happy. Despite Louisa living a lavish life as future queen, there is not much to say about her experiences. She had her place in society as wife to the heir and that was her generally only purpose. She lived in a constant state of melancholy where she wasn’t sad – she had no reason to be – but she wasn’t happy either. I suppose Christian was the same. He eventually became King, had his wife that he had fought for (and banished his brother for), and two healthy heirs of his own, but Louisa’s constant bleakness towards him kept him feeling pretty hollow.

Honestly that would have been their futures…not terribly exciting and not terribly joyful either. Damn though…I’m kind of glad I gave them the future they have in the main AU. Thoughts?

#👑#daniel seavey concepts #christian seavey concepts

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jksangelic · 4 years

Text

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

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

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 18,600

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part One

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

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

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

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

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung…”

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

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

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

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

Part Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More howls from them, more cries from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groan softly, unable to roll around without a searing poker sinking into your thigh with each attempt. Contrast to the icicle state the rest of your body sported. You felt like hell. Like hell in hell guarded by those hounds. Hell in your thigh and hell in your head and hell in—

“Don’t move too fast. You have a fever and I just replaced your bandages,” a disembodied voice orders. Your eyes snap open to tall, wooden ceiling. Sitting up is your first horrible mistake, dropping back down immediately with a pained wheeze.

“I just said not to move too fast. If you can sit up normally, you should drink some water. I have some here,” it speaks again. You try again cautiously, blurry spots ruining your vision the farther up you scoot. A silhouette is kneeling beside you, maybe a cup in his hand but you’re too jumbled to confirm.

Yoongi tries his best to fold in on himself, lowering the obvious limbs stuck to his back and appear as human as possible. You wouldn’t be able to run again in your state but he tries his best to be courteous to your skittishness anyway.

“Where… Where am I?” You dazingly question. You don’t really… recall too much. Last memory somewhat muddled between your send-off and contact with those treacherous wolves, very few in between and serving no importance if you couldn’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe in my house. In the mountains still. You passed out pretty good out there, been out for a bit. Now drink.”

It’s easy to do as your told with you’re running off little brainpower, downing the water hastily.

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

At some point, you can see again. The blankets that cover you and the large room you inhabit. Of course, the seraph from earlier that awaits by your seat. His seat. But you feel no urgency to scurry into safety. You were discombobulated, sure, but you knew enough that this man was kind enough to bring you into his home and care for you. So you fold back the material slowly and watch his face contort into confusion as you try to stand.

“I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for treating me.”

“Woah now. You’re in no condition to be standing. Besides, the path is blocked. Snow was too heavy and caused a slide. I doubt it’ll clear until the spring,” he informs, looking out the window as if to drag your own attention to it. The snow stopped but it’s fallen a few feet, at least. The path, you remember, chased by wolves and led into an ice trap. The few split moments in which the man must have scooped you up before your demise, remnants of being carried back towards his estate.

His place, in which is even more amazing inside than it was outside, a luxurious wooden mansion of sorts, tall and spacious and filled with those incredible windows that displayed better than you could have ever dreamed. The man himself that sits beside you draws full attention. Despite his position, he was large and still intimidating as the moment you crossed sights for the first time. Hair matching his wings in dark palette, soft and delicate looking. His face anything but, sharp eyes and thick brows, lips that curved into a simper. Above all, he looked more human. Even as radiant and prepossessing as he was, if the cape of wings didn’t follow him where he went he would look just as human as the rest of the population.

“Are you a seraph?” You ask dumbly. Dumb, because he laughs and because he obviously is.

“Are you a human, pretty thing?” He retorts. There’s no condescending lilt to his words but it makes him seem otherworldly to you. With such a provoking question and your lightheadedness, he seemed a blessing to be inhabiting such an earth.

You melt into the cushions once more, leg throbbing and eyes heavy. You watch his wings as they bob with his breath, “They say it’s bad luck to lay eyes on the wings of an angel…”

“Why would that be?,” he scrunches his nose, maybe a little appalled by the idea, “Such a misleading myth. Besides, I’m no angel.”

You don’t know why he stands to leave the room after that, unnoticing how you fall back into sedation a minute later.

Part Five

You wake with clarity. Check your thigh to find it almost completely healed over except a now lingering scar. All’s left is a dull soreness but god it felt so much better. Enough to stand and stretch in the empty room. Enough to coherently realize that you only wear your underwear while the rest of your garments hang torn and sadly on the fireplace screen. It’s not as unbecoming if it had to be done for the sake of your health and wellbeing, right?

Getting dressed is easy when you don’t even bother with your robe, the gash decreeing it useless and instead tying Taehyung’s scarf around your shoulders as a shawl over your tank. You’re lucky it didn’t get torn.

There’s a fleeting moment where you really think you miss Tae, feeling a little regretful to being so afraid of his proposal in light of the recent accident. You’re sure he must be worried sick; must think you’ve perished under the debris and snow if he’s come to look for you. As his best friend, you solemnly wish he was here to hug you close and promise that it would all be okay. To fend off your shame and welcome you back into the village with teary eyes and a warm smile.

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

You whip around to discover fox eyes in the door frame, poorly lit now that it’s nighttime. The moonlight pairs well with how it sits on his milky skin, almost something out of a painting.

“It’s Y/N. Not ‘human’.” You answer a little sharper than you mean. He notices too, quick to wave it off since he really had popped up out of nowhere. He tries your name once on his own tongue, a satisfying thing to say.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, in case you don’t want to call me seraph all the time.”

You suddenly grab your thigh, rubbing it over your pants in questionable disbelief, “How long have I been asleep? My leg is almost fully healed…”

He rubs at his eye, a little nonchalant about the scene at hand, “Only overnight and throughout the day today. It’s probably quarter to nine about now. I had medicine to help your cuts heal over nicely. Call it, uh, advanced seraph technology.”

The gashes hadn’t been incredibly deep to begin with, thankfully not going any further than the first layer of skin and just really causing some bleeding, but it was still amazing. The feeling is short lived. Even if only a day, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Thank you, um, Mr. Min. For saving my life and everything after that. I’d like to repay you sometime. But for now I’m afraid I should be heading back, I’ve stayed for too long. I’m sure I can find some way over the path.”

It dawns on you that Yoongi is a little facetious, especially when he purrs a, “Well you can do whatever your little heart desires, but I’m here to remind you that there is no path. Here, look out the window.”

You do, tiny bit distracted when he stands by you to point out the ridges of the mountains that surround you. “See those? How they curve in towards the top and how it sort of resembles a bowl? This area was made only for seraphs to get in and out of generations ago; flight only. Trying to climb it would be suicide on both sides. The path that goes through was strictly for human use, and if that’s blocked, there’s no way out, little one.” You weren’t the shortest in your village but Yoongi truly was massive, both lanky and filled-out somehow. Like there’s underlying strength to his lean build. You’re sure if you were to stand directly in front of him, the top of your head would barely surpass his sharp shoulders.

You disregard his name for you, a bit annoyed at this point, “Could you not fly me over the pass?”

Yoongi repeats in disbelief of such a daring request, “Fly… You over the pass… No. I’m sorry. I won’t do that. If you truly want to figure it out, you should do so soon. It's storm season."

Gritting your teeth, you express your discontent for once. What did he save you for, then? For points? You didn't know members of the almighty seraph clan were so keen to half-completed deeds. "And why not? Wouldn't you rather I be on my way? What am I supposed to do if I can't leave?"

"You forget yourself, Y/N. Did I not save your life? Chase after you and save you from being crushed? Buried alive?" He takes a second to straighten himself out, aware of how you look to your feet in frustration.

"Hey," he starts again, "I know you'd like to go home. I only tell you the truth of your situation in its entirety. If I could fly you over the pass I would but unfortunately, I'm out of commission."

You feel heat in your face, embarrassed of the way you address a complete stranger even after all the things he's done for you. But this was frankly a sticky situation to find yourself in, trapped and unable to get Yoongi to help you any further. Though you do wonder what he means by his last statement...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't mean to make demands. I'm just scared and in a place I'm not used to and I'm not quite sure what I'm to do from here. Is there no one else who can help me over?"

Yoongi averts his gaze before he shakes his head, "I'm the last one in this country."

That's even more odd to hear but you don't prod for information that isn't yours to learn.

In silence, you contemplate the work that even went into carrying another human body by use of wings that were structurally built for the owner's own weight and possibly nothing else. Now was not the time to be ignorant.

“What am I supposed to do?” You mumble weakly. Yoongi watches your gears turn warily, stress surely beating down on you.

He rubs his neck, ruffles his left wing, “Listen. I promise I’ll help you back come spring. You won’t be able to make a dent in the landslide as long as it continues to build with snow every night.” He tends to forget that humans are pack animals, often lost without one another and feeble in the hands of species not of their own.

Your doe eyes, beginning to well with tears, convince him over tenfold, “I’ll help you in any way possible to pay you back for all the things you’ve done. I know I’ve caused nothing but trouble but if you have the room, is it possible I stay here?”

And Yoongi had enough vacant rooms to house a whole herd of deer now that he’s been alone for these sum of years. It really was no trouble… and he could make use of you as long as you stayed. His brow shoots up, “You can stay.”

Your grin is enough to light the whole room encased in night’s darkness, looking back down to the ground now knowing you had some hope to hold onto in such an eventful day. A whisper of a thank you Mr. Min is thrown in and Yoongi can feel his fists tighten.

He clears his throat, standing a little taller than he already is and acting strict, “But there are some rules. And you can just call me by my first name.”

Part Six

It's always a little weird trying to adjust to new scenery. Though your past experiences have been anticlimactically different than this; not exactly the first time visiting a friend's house or dropping off delivered goods from Seokjin's shop and awkwardly facing an elder who forces you to stay for tea.

Yoongi had shown you around the areas you needed to know. Offered you the closest room to the main part of the house with a king bed, fresh sheets and your own majestic window to stare out of. The living room which you had rested in before and the kitchen, grand and spacious just like everything else. He showed you a greenhouse out back that was utterly ginormous. Stone walkways and a hot compost keeping it from freezing, rows of plants you both have and haven't witnessed before. And again, he showed you what you needed to know.

That goes onto the chores he assigned you as long as you stay, to help him clean come Sundays and manage the plants throughout the week which served as no problem. At least with horticulture you proved some use, struggling throughout the weekend to do anything else but cause Yoongi a bit of a headache.

Tuesday rolls around and Yoongi stops by your room with stationary. Tells you he has a messenger bird to deliver any letters you desire to send home and you hop on the opportunity quicker than the landslide had tried to eat you up.

Of course, it was an exceptionally long letter. Longer than the papers Yoongi had given to you and he had to fetch more when you looked absolutely devastated sitting at your desk. You began with the simple phrase, "I'm okay." Filling it with a volley of explanations and apologies, how you were nearly killed, how the seraph had scooped you up to safety and how you inhabit his home now until further notice. You write how you talk, sure the recipients are sure to read in hushed mumbles and run-on sentences. You explain that there's no use to try to get home now while the clouds continue to precipitate and gate your only exit from the bowl-like wonderland. You end with how you miss them already, a request to send back an update or two every once in awhile, and a final wish to have a happy winter without you (though you're sure they won't appreciate that joke).

You think, if they really receive the letter, how terribly furious they'll be with you. Taehyung and Jungkook will probably come hiking up the mountain to try to put a dent in the debris and fail miserably. Your aunts and how they must feel even the tiniest bit of guilt for thinking you so small and helpless. Mina and her jealous wonder that you've done it now, how you've seen a seraph before her and you're positive she'll have a flurry of questions when you return. When you return.

You come out onto the balcony to pay your respects to your so-called "messenger", pretty white thing large and wide-eyed. Humorous is the familiar to another winged being, bird of a feather, you chuckle to yourself. Yoongi pays no attention when he murmurs directions to the bird and sends it off, straight in the direction you were hoping.

Thursday and you think you finally have your routine down. No longer unsure in the hallways and able to sit when your work is done without feeling completely out of place. It's only when you're around the other member of the cabin do you feel a little subdued, reminding you that you burden him and quickly finding something to do out of that guilt.

❋

Today you feel a bit sluggish. You drag yourself down the corridor, opting for the bath until you see a dark head in an open room. Yoongi sits in his study, presumably reading with his back facing you. You can't say you've seen this room before, ceilings just as tall and walls just lined with books, journals, art pieces and things of the like.

"You can come in," he snickers suddenly, maybe feeling the heat from your eyes boring into the back of his head and warming the space entirely.

"This is amazing... Your collection, I mean." You force yourself down in a chair, hands trapped underneath your thighs in case they feel like touching anything.

"Thank you. It took quite a bit of time to build it up. Not by myself, of course."

It makes you ponder. If he's mentioned his state of loneliness twice, then your questions were expected.

"There were more, right? Family of yours? Why are you the only one left?"

"One question at a time, yeah?" He swivels around and takes off a pair of reading glasses that you would have liked to inspect on his face a bit more, "I can't leave because I can't fly, remember? They left because they held no other duty tied to this land. That's all."

You quiet. He returns to reading whatever it is on his flat desk. "Why can't you fly?"

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

"A story of a girl with a terrible habit of too many inquiries."

"You know, I loved to read when I was a kid. All kinds of things. Novels, studies, maps even. Now I never have the time for such pleasantries." A wistful sigh leaves your lips.

Yoongi eyes you beneath his lashes, watches as you survey the room with giddiness and hands taut underneath your bum. "Why's that?"

You frown, "Too many things to do. Jobs and cleaning and family and stress. If I have time to read, I have time to be doing something more important."

His lips curl, amused at this little play-thing in his room. Like a child scolded all her life, whining and pouting in front of a stranger. Yoongi stands tall and shrugs his sweater tighter around him, "Well then, you'd better hop to it."

"Hm?" You squeak, chewing on your lip when you meet his eyes. So innocent.

"You only have the winter to read these. I'd get started soon. After work is done and you want to poke around in here, feel free to do so. Take them to your room if you'd like, just please return them."

And he swears he sees damn stars in your eyes before he turns and leaves the room. He hears your immediate footing once he's halfway to his room, little yelps of excitement enough as his thanks. Yoongi can't help but smirk, eventually floating away and speaking way out of earshot for you to hear.

"Nothing is more important than the things you want."

Part Seven

After a month, you find it a little boring. After receiving a teary letter of how your family misses you, not one ounce of scold or chastisement more than it was just wholesome relief to see familiar handwriting, their only wish was for you to stay obedient and not write so often as to waste poor Yoongi's paper. It was typical, somewhat stress-relieving. And that was that.

It was often you spent your quiet interest reading of botany and romance (in what little you found of it) preferably in his study on days he's holed up in his room. At this point, he still remains somewhat of a mysterious entity, conversing when he must and accidentally showing his face once or twice like a ghost. The only times you really see him are for Sundays with idle chit chat.

One particular evening you find an old, ratty recipe book. Handwritten and falling at the seams and that's how you know that there are some golden tips in there for you to test out.

You choose pumpkin bread. Something to warm the palette while ice continues to build outside. And working in Yoongi's kitchen by yourself was oddly fulfilling, no one to correct you or send you off to another job if you fail to do the first. It's probably why your bread turns out perfect, slicing the loaf and placing a piece on a small plate for a friend.

Rather, someone you'd like to establish as a friend.

You haven't seen him once today; not odd but a little lonely. Pacing on the carpets and looking for an open door with any sign of a sly angelic being. Even after a month, it's the first time you've freely made something with intents of sharing with him. Was that rude of you?

Coming upon a jarred entrance, you speak softly, "Yoongi? Are you in there?"

No reply.

You clear your throat and toe the door open just enough to stand in its frame, "Yoongi? I made some pumpkin bread for us—"

Thank your soft voice does it not wake him, still a snoring log in a bed even larger than yours. His limbs sprawled widely, laying on his stomach and breath soft and slow. Sleeping in the middle of the day while his guest slaves over the stove must be quite nice, huffing subtly and placing his plate on his night desk. Sure to be spoiled even more when he wakes to a treat.

As you turn, your eyes can't help but dawdle over the expanse of his wings. One covering a naked back and one hanging off the side of the bed, a marbling effect of muddled sepias and ink blacks, occasional golden ochre pigments seeping through the deepest layers of feathers. It was utterly breathtaking. This has to be one of the first opportunities you've had to inspect them so, equating staring at his monstrously large wings the same as blatantly staring at his junk.

You draw close like a moth to a damn flame, checking to assure he's still sound asleep. Reaching delicate fingers, you dare to lay a palm on the mass. It's surprisingly strong, an odd firmness as you slide your hand down silky plains and watch as the feathers ripple by your touch.

Then, as if you weren't dumb enough to foretell the upcoming events, he wakes.

A whirl of darkness encases you, whips you around so fast that you see stars in the middle of day, completely flipped and pinned to the bed beneath you. The intense heaviness makes you recoil, unable to budge your wrists and legs with Yoongi's strength.

And his face of unadulterated fury is one that would be ingrained into your memories forever. Pupils dilated and nose scrunched like prey warding off predator. Yoongi was surprised to say the least, a scared frenzy of confusion as he growls down at you.

"What were you doing, human?"

Your weeping gains no mercy, "Ow, you're, you're hurting me!"

"What the fuck were you doing?" He spits.

Incoherence is not what he asks for but that's all you can give, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't touch them again I was just—"

His wings which were so beautiful to you before, makes you feel nothing but fear now, flapping angrily as he keeps his balance and shrouding you in shallow lack of light. When he lets up on his grip, you gasp like he also held your breath. Immediate relief streams through your blood, though he continues to trap you between his thighs. He asks you again and you sob.

"You know what happened the last time I let one of your kind close? Nearly fucking killed me for no reason. You know why I can't take you down the mountain? Why I'm stuck here by myself? Because a goddamn human stole my ability to fly. I can't fly anymore, do you understand me? That's all that I was and they took it!"

Yoongi sees the pity etching onto your face like some sort of charity case. With your pathetic excuse for tears that claim to sympathize with him and it makes the bile in his throat grow. As for you, you could have never imagined such a travesty. Those words that seem to bounce around in your skull, to be wholesomely one thing and to be rid of it by someone else's doing, you could never relate to that.

You itch to relieve his pain in some way as if he never lashed out on you to begin with. Like you were the one truly at fault here even though you know it's a two-way situation. Your hands struggle to not touch his face, to attempt to alleviate those dark, regretful feelings. "Yoongi, I'm so sorry. I would never—I would have never known--I'm from one of the villages where we look up to the—"

"Yeah, well I don’t trust people," He cracks, lungs filled with muddled sorrow.

Both of your breathing is ragged. He takes his leave off your body and sits on the edge of the bed, wings lamely drooped.

"Leave." So you do.

Part Eight

You find the most beautifully carved wooden bow the next morning. Sun barely risen and adventuring around in nooks you haven't looked through before. You find it, accompanied by plenty of arrows, leaning against the wall right outside the backdoor. Though it's been months since you've last hunted, you ache to make use of yourself. Wearing bundled layers of the clothes Yoongi let you borrow from what was left and bounding through the condensed areas of the woods behind the cabin.

Food isn't scarce to hunt for, you've come to realize. Rabbits abundant and easy to kill once you got the hang of it once more. Two are struck and red seeps through white. You always sink your knees into the ground after each kill, whispering your thanks before you move back to the house.

Taehyung's father had taught you the basics of hunting and fishing and everything that came after that. Skinning and cooking and preserving the flesh something everyone in the village should learn to do, he had said. Even after your mistakes, even after your hesitation for your first kill, he'd always pat you on the back and reward you with the first bite of fresh food.

You miss them all, especially now. It wouldn't be long until you saw them again with maybe a bit of heightened skills. You hope they'll be proud of you.

Yoongi wakes a little after you're finished cooking the first rabbit. He stumbles in quiet and groggy, as if having no recollection of the previous altercation. But he doesn't speak, doesn't so much as look your direction before he plops at the head of the dining room table and begins to sulk in an odd inner-turmoil state.

You wait a minute or two by garnishing the meat unnecessarily; perhaps he was waiting to say something. To apologize. To ask questions. To kick you out once and for all. Well, you'll beat him to it then.

You set his plate down in front of him, the jarring sound breaking his trance enough where he can finally meet your face.

"I hope you don't mind I used your bow. I cleaned the arrows afterward and put it back where I found it," you hesitate. "I appreciate your kindness thus far; to take me in like this. I was a complete stranger and you gave me shelter anyway, so I thank you. I've packed and cleaned and I—I think it's time I leave now. I'll find a way to get over, I don't care. And I'm, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Yoongi. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but I overstepped my boundary way too far yesterday and I apologize profusely."

You find that you dig your nails into your palms as you talk, head craned parallel to the floor and you wonder if Yoongi could even hear you when you were so rudely speaking to the rugs.

"Stop, you don't... You don't have to leave. There's still no way you can get over the snow." He massages the back of his neck, tense in his own skin.

"I'm so sorry," you repeat. "I let my stupid curiosity get the best of me and I can very clearly see how that made you feel alarmed and uneasy and—"

He cuts you off, "You know the myth, right? How it's bad luck to see a seraph's wings?"

Confused, you nod.

"It's not literal. It's a metaphor that it's bad luck to see our vulnerabilities. Our faults. Years and years and years ago, when the war was still active, I got mixed up with a human. Within enemy boundaries. I was naive and trusting and they made use of that. They sought out my weaknesses, ate 'em up and covered my suspicions with false adoration and love," he says the word like it's an illness, "But then. But then one night, they put something in my water. Drugged me. Something was wrong and I didn't fully go under. I suppose their original plan was to take me, probably torture me as a prisoner. But I caught on and still had a bit of composure and when they realized the drugs didn't work, they sought to kill me instead. Used a dagger and plunged it into my back as hard as they could. Right," he reaches an arm behind and massages a spot, "Right in the cross-section of where all four wings meet. I should have been paralyzed but we're tough. I can still move them but I haven't been able to fly since. Thank heavens I wasn't killed but..."

You can tell by the way that there’s no emotion in his statement, how true it rings, "That day, I might as well have been."

You wipe the pools of tears with your scarf, heartbroken for the shattered man that sat in front of you. Having to bear the sight of his wings every day and full-knowing he would never be able to use them again.

His voice croaks, "In their eyes, my own family's eyes, I commit a sin just by making such a fool of myself. The war ended and I was punished. They left me here and claimed loneliness is what I deserve."

Yoongi then realizes he sounds as if he's trying to justify yesterday's actions and literally sinks to the ground, "This isn't supposed to be a pity party. I just thought you might want to know why I am the way I am and how I had no right to snap like I did. I know you're from the north most village. And that you would never try to do what they did and I was wrongfully paranoid."

Then, out of all things unexpected, he grabs a bare ankle and lifts it out of the length of your dress. When you hobble, he grabs your gentle hand with his other to balance you. He can see the marks he left, not too dark but enough to tell and he can't help but despise himself. In pure remorse, he presses his lips softly to each bruise, not lingering for more than a second, before cowering to the ground with his head low.

"My sincerest apologies, Y/N. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I prefer if you wouldn't. I'd like to get to know you and redeem myself, as selfish as that may seem. Maybe, until spring, I can make up for the things I've said and done—"

You sputter, voice too high and full of embarrassment as you struggle to pull him up, "Please! P-Please get up! I am at fault here! Don't kneel, please! You have nothing to make up for!"

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he watches you yell your affirmations and weakly tug on his arm. It was like watching a little kid throw a fit and that makes him chuckle aloud, how could he have ever suspected you as harmful? When your large eyes shed tears like no other and you impulsively make decisions for others before yourself. You were kind and he could see that. He laughs hard and you stop your squawking.

In disbelief you fall to your knees right beside him, looking plain stupid while you're at it. It occurs to you that you've never heard him laugh like this, smile so wide that his eyes crescent endearingly and it just lights up the room. After watching his handsome face radiate forgiving happiness, you join in too.

You eat rabbit together. The conversations from there on out easier to come up with, more emotional and found in the midst of tranquil understanding. Like you now shared a bit more of each other than before.

Occasionally, you think of all the sadness he must have accumulated until now. Of the things that happened to him that shouldn't have, and those years of isolation and abandonment that he suffered. But now you realize, too, how he's able to laugh and continue on despite those melancholy winters in a desolate place that he once called home. How it's all he can do as his only sign that he's still alive.

Part Nine

The weeks after that seem to breeze past you; time racing when you have more things to do and someone to do it with. Yoongi really meant it when he said he would try to make up for his past harshness; never daring to miss a meal, spending more time in the livelier rooms if it meant that it was to accompany you, going as far as helping you out with your own chores if he hadn’t taken them over entirely. It was a polar opposite of who you knew before.

The first time he joined you to hunt again, in favor of how you had cooked his meat the last time, he layered himself in clothing that made his appearance softer than you’d ever imagined. Leaning towards darker garments that contrasted against his opalescent skin.

In some haughty attempt to show off your archery skills do you aim for a squirrel in a less-than-mediocre angle, letting the arrow fly without a second thought and piercing good ol’ trunk. Yoongi had a fabulous time laughing at your mishap, yanking the wasted arrow from the bark and handing it back to you.

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

The temperature of your cheeks could have melted the snow, taking the thing with shaky, embarrassed hands, “I was being hasty.”

“You got two rabbits. I know you’re good. Let me just show you some things.”

You walked behind, letting him tread through the snow first so it was easier for you to fall into his prints.

“There. Squirrel,” he whispered. Probably the same one, mindlessly crawling up and down trees like target practice.

“Let me see your form again.” You aimed, self-conscious and probably showed it. You shivered when he swiped a hand under your grip arm, pushing it back.

“Keep it aligned with how the arrow is facing. Completely centered. You can widen your feet a little too,” his voice soft. “Don’t completely lock your elbow but tighten your back muscles before you hold. Does that make sense?”

“Mm. It won’t stop moving though, the squirrel.”

“Watch this.”

Then Yoongi had dug through the snow for a small stone with enough weight to throw. Aiming for a far tree to the right, he tossed just hard enough to cause a knock to echo in its vicinity. The squirrel halts, presumably looking for what caused the noise in its unknowing last thoughts.

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

He watched you silently each time you had knelt next to the victim and mutter your thanks, both sorrowful and appreciative. It was the first time he ever witnessed someone, frankly, talking to dead animals and at some point he asked you why you did so. You responded with a giggle, briefly claiming how all living creatures deserve the same respect, to be mourned, to not be wasted. Yoongi finds interest in the concept of valuing each as their own and of the same importance in the Grand Circle of Life, probably something his family would never have stopped to think about. The seraphs had always placed themselves above others in a deserving, self-righteous kind of way. It made him think.

❋

A particularly windy night and you caught him in the seat of his study's window, drawn to the mirage of colliding trees and listening to the croaks of the house on its plot. A muddled bottle sat on his desk, its glass counterpart being twirled in his hand.

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

"I didn't used to," he answered, unfazed by your sudden entrance, "Caused problems a lot of times. But I think they're pretty fun nowadays. And you?"

"I like when there's thunder and lightning."

Yoongi faced you at that, your twiddling fingers and the way you scanned the dim room.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Although it was a question he poured you one anyway, barely anything more than a few sips worth. Obliging, you took the liquid. Pride a little stung in all honesty, pretty aware of your high tolerance.

He tittered, "Don't pout. You can pour as much as you'd like. But this stuff is ancient, concocted from poison and the desire of Death itself. Watch yourself."

It was always a trait of yours to take on a challenge, though, ignoring his warning and foolishly gulping it down. The burn was subtle despite its awful, awful taste, yet you poured another and let Yoongi watch you spiral down the rabbit hole.

Two stories and one half-glass later and you draped yourself very unladylike on his desk, too warm and too moist and too loud.

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

"Min... Min. Mr. Yoongi."

"That's wrong but that's me."

"Yoongi you have to keep a secret. That I'm going to tell you! From Yoo—from Yoongi!"

"Wait, that you're trying to keep a secret from me or—"

You must had forgotten, instead focused on bunching your skirt and tying it higher up your thighs, "Soooo hot. Too warm. I'm going to leave it like this, ‘kay?"

"You don't have to pass it by me. They're your clothes," he said, biting back laughter. His accidental peak of pretty, bare legs could have made him think different though. Reverting his gaze back out the window, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning that night.

Taking his eyes off you wasn't his best idea. Hobbled out of his chair and sneaking to his place with hands buried in feathers before he could shy away. Yet the wonder stained your eyes with childlike amusement and he wouldn't dare change that face. So he idled in a flustered mess, relaxed in the way you unknowingly massaged his muscles.

"Pretty wings, Mr. Yoongi... Can I touch them?" You asked stupidly. Yoongi grumbled.

When you finished evaluating, you swiveled awkwardly and tripped over his knee, a yelp escaping your lips as if he wouldn't catch you in one swift motion and onto the safety of his lap. Yoongi could smell the bite of alcohol that stained your breath; could see how swollen and red and beautiful it had made your gentle face. The proximity was deadly and your innocent, apologetic features could have slain him right then and there. You didn't even make another peep, eyes drooped in what he assumed was embarrassment for your clumsiness.

In which he thought wrong, your hands slapping each side of his face and squishing it together horrifically. "Pretty face, Mr. Yoongi."

"Alright, time for bed."

You fought all the way until he tucked you in, out with soft breaths and sprawled arms. Even after he had laid you down to rest and calmed back in his lair, there was no slowing the fondness that grew in his ribs.

❋

You don’t know when you’ve started looking forward to Sundays, springing out of bed in the morning with a green thumb and a will to dig, or so you imagine. You knew Yoongi would be waiting for you in the greenhouse and spent a little extra time rinsing your face, doing your hair, and double-checking nothing was in your teeth.

Yoongi was already checking the pots when you had gotten there, wrapped in black per usual and winking as you walked by. The familiarity by now was tangible. There was always a nice flow to your conversations and Yoongi doesn’t back away when you naturally find yourself in his space like he used to. It was both a prideful accomplishment and an endearing new relationship that sparked joy every time you were able to do something together. To step back and see the difference over your time spent here, the things you’ve done, and the way Yoongi warms up slowly.

He watches you mindlessly hum as you harvest what you can, voice soothing when most times it would have been dead quiet. That’s what it felt like being around you: like a void suddenly filled, his whole being gravitating to your aura. You were addicting, if he had to admit.

The scarf, somehow pristine despite how often you wear it, is shuffled up your neck as you do one thing or another. Like a constant reminder that it’s there, you always feel the need to touch it.

Yoongi points to it, “Did you make that yourself?”

“Hm?” You follow his line of sight and crumple the red thing in your hands, “Ah! No. It… It was a gift.”

“Ooh, from a suitor?” He doesn’t mean any harm when he jests but it prompts the things you’ve left at home. No matter how much you’ve tried to suppress it down and not nitpick on the responsibilities you’ll have to return to. Awful as it seems, it makes you take notice to the sun and how it begins to peak out more with every day. You push the thought down once more.

Instead you laugh nervously. Yoongi knows immediately when you say nothing but, “Mmm…”

His gut twists from a melting of surprise and disappointment. How could he be so dim? To not even hypothesize the mere possibility of someone else being in your life. Though the feeling weighs heavy on his head, he speaks lightly and with a smirk.

“You must miss him then.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ve known each other since birth and have been best friends for as long as I can remember!” You chuckle, “He gave this to me right before I left and claimed we could get married once I returned. I was so shocked that I made myself sick thinking about going back. Just nervous, I suppose.” Taehyung, as expected, never said anything in the occasional letter updates to you. He meant it when he said he would only wait to talk about it for when you came home but you ponder how he feels now; what he’s been doing. If he’s changed his mind once he’s realized how incapable you are that you couldn’t even do the Offering correctly, but you know that isn’t true. Maybe just wishful thinking.

You throw dead leaves in the compost and Yoongi eyes you.

“’Shocked’? It’s not something you’ve been looking forward to?”

You look down, “It’s not that I—I don’t know! I just have seen him as family for so long and then there’s this sudden proposal without even talking about it beforehand… And everyone expects it. For me to just be married and have a family and all of that but I just, I just don’t see that for me so soon.” Your words begin to jumble and Yoongi hasn’t seen you so stressed within the span of twenty seconds before.

“Forgive me and my input but isn’t the most important thing what you want? You could just turn down his proposal,” He suggests like it’s the easy answer, hoping you don’t suspect a hopeful tone in there.

“Does it really matter what I want?” You stop to think about the people who matter to you and what would ease their minds most when it comes to your future. Marrying Taehyung seemed like the only option. “I can’t turn him down simply because I don’t want to. That’s selfish.”

“That doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Well,” you sigh, “in the village it’s courtesy to accept a marriage proposal regardless of how you feel. It’s the receiver’s obligation to be grateful towards—”

“Is that how humans treat their women?” Yoongi spits, agitated just by the thought. He leans against a table next to you, arms crossed like he’s simply not having it, “To ignore your own say and force you to think you should just be appreciative? That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s not as serious as I’m making it seem it’s just…” You think of your aunts and the elders and Taehyung’s mom. How you’ve grown into a nuisance, lacking here or there. The time where you were supposed to return to the village after a successful Offering and marry and finally be someone to be proud of. “In my case, especially, it’s probably better off I’m just someone’s wife. I’ve never been much to begin with.”

And that’s truly heartbreaking for Yoongi to hear, so much that he becomes enraged with whatever twisted society you grew up in, “Y/N. What have you been doing these last few months?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, what have you been doing? Just sitting around? Watching me sweep circles around you? Serve your meals on a silver platter and draw your baths? No, because you’ve been doing that yourself. For yourself. By yourself.” The look of confusion on your face causes him to huff before he continues. “Sure, you were a little rough around the edges with some things but who isn’t? You hunt, you cook, you read like no other, you do a lot of great things and it’s not because you’re trying to do it right. You do it right when you like what you’re doing.”

“Yoongi, I understand. Thank you but you don’t have to—”

He walks toward you, lecturing on. “I know it’s by unwanted circumstances. But has your time here been horrible? Have you despised being here and doing these things?”

Your answer is immediate, “No. Not at all.”

“Has it not been nice to have your own space and do things simply because you want to? Because you were thinking of yourself?”

“I-It has been… I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Your legs hit the corner of another table and you notice he’s backed you up into it.

“So, you go back and you do what you want like you have here. Don’t worry about what they think. Wait until you’re ready. Marry for absolute, unwavering love. Be a little selfish,” Yoongi hooks your chin with his index and props it up. You didn’t even realize you were looking to the ground. “Look up.”

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

So Taehyung is his name, Yoongi thinks. He frankly does not care.

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

“Perhaps I was mistaken. Do you want to marry Taehyung because you truly love him?”

You see his lips before you hear his words, parted and nearing you bit by bit. So close that you feel his warmth, aching to close the distance. “I…”

A shovel clatters onto the stone and Yoongi removes his arm that’s found its way around your back, shuffles backwards and lets your hand fall from his face. It was natural to touch him, you realize, unaware that you feel distant and cold when he’s away.

Yoongi picks the damn thing up and curses. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, close to doing the unimaginable to you. You, who was involved with someone else. Heading towards the door, he ruffles his wings like he’s restarting.

“Forget I said that,” he requests, “I’m going to wash up.”

You nod, frozen in your spot with legs too unstable to dare walk. Without even knowing you had reached for him, so close to doing something you’ve only been secretly daydreaming about of recent and how incredibly wrong it was for you to think this way. But in another sense, you would feel worse lying to yourself by saying you weren’t attracted to the seraph. It was a twisted contradiction of emotions and you could scream.

Needless to say, you don’t see Yoongi until the next day, and even then nothing is mentioned of the almost.

Part Ten

On Tuesday, the bird returns with a letter from your family and Taehyung. It’s brief, with evident relief that the snow is melting and how happy they’ll be to see your face. Your heart sinks at how much you miss them yet how angry you are to receive the letter. To what extent would they be happy to have you home? Until you dare humiliate Taehyung when you turn him down? To dishonor your name and his parents and gain the glances of people who care more about your failures?

You calm and shoo such immature feelings away. Yoongi is confused when you don’t send a letter back and you return to your room early that night.

❋

You haven’t had a full night’s rest that entire week. You’re sure Yoongi notices the tension and that makes you feel horrible, but the lingering necessity to run to him and never go back to the village is too prominent to just face head on.

He’s been checking the trail every day, making dents on the softer parts of the snow when he can and updating you when he returns. You know he doesn’t want you to leave and you know he thinks you feel the same. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said anything about the proposal that day.

Flipped onto your back, you stare at the ray of moonlight that floats atop your bed. You would miss it here, so much that it hurts your throat. You would miss the windows, the kitchen, the greenhouse, the library that Yoongi was happy to share. It goes without saying that you would miss him the most.

Unprompted imaging of a possible future with him interrupt your thoughts, something so uncertain and fortuitous in comparison to the stone-set fate you have now. What the stoic seraph would think if you just asked him to stay a little longer, until you know you would never leave. The landslide and how much you had hated that unfortunate event seems so insignificant now, replaced with a dimmed appreciation for this life detour, no matter how short lived it will end up.

You’re probably on the verge of sleeping now, thinking of the incident and it’s wild connection to your present out of pure lunacy. You could bet your entire existence on the fact that you were meant to meet him; your entrapment by the snow no mere coincidence. Neither was Yoongi’s endless solitude atop this mountain. It had to be fate that you two were to meet at this moment and your heart feels it so strongly.

Even for you this could be too far-fetched, or maybe you were just trying to cover up the way your heart is undoubtingly falling for Min Yoongi.

Final Part

You prod the logs, provoking them to catch more of the fire. In your last night do you decide to pour a glass of wine, kneel on a pile of blankets and snack on the charcuterie board you made for yourself. In the past, you used to be so hesitant about helping yourself to the manor’s amenities, having no problem doing it now.

The lame, weak fire is your only source of light in the large living room, clouds blocking the moon from shining through. You feel, immaturely, just as cloudy. Set in your intentions to leave your feelings locked away as to not cause more trouble, confusion, and inevitable heartbreak.

“You look quite comfortable,” Yoongi surprises you and he can tell when you jolt. Speaking of the devil. He looks great in the dark too, leaning against a wooden pillar with folded arms.

“Well, it feels like I’ve lived here for quite a bit. Just,” you break to sigh with exaggeration, “soaking it in before I leave. Too beautiful to not.”

If not for the crackling between the wood, it’d be dead quiet.

“Would you like to join me?”

He titters, rolling his eyes before he walks your way. Laying on his side, you offer him your glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I used the wine from the ritual contents. With the stuff you normally drink, this must be nothing.”

“Like water to me but I’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

You cheers to nothing with one glass to share. Occasionally picking off meat and fruit from the board and enjoying how the fire builds up.

“Your family will be so happy to see you.”

You hum. You suppose they would. Avoiding the bitterness you still associate with the thought.

“And I’m sure Taehyung will be too.” He says a little clipped. Not in a way to be facetious or sarcastic but because he feels the need to address it.

Yoongi is caught on the carmine scarf again, downing the rest of your poor wine.

Forcing a smile, you speak faintly, “Let’s not talk about that.”

At this point you both know. He nods to keep you happy, but there is no hiding or pretending. In front of the flames, your lies and justifications seem to melt away unspoken. Changing the subject, you shove him lightly, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I don’t think you’ll ever learn to bake as well as I do.”

He tuts, which is refreshing. “I’m great at cooking and baking, I’ll have you know. It was just nice having someone else do it for once.” You feign betrayal and scoff aloud. He mumbles low, “But I’ll miss you for more reasons than that.”

And he breaks an unmade promise not to bring it up again. Feeling the need to throw it out in the open and even with the simplicity of admitting that he’ll miss you, you really know what he means. The seraph feels for you. He feels deeply. Yoongi doesn’t expect a response, just pops more food in his mouth and rests his eyes.

You contemplate, following suit with a bite to a grape and thinking hard. What to do. What to say. How to say it if you did. You weren’t supposed to feel this way and it goes way beyond the rule of even coming in contact with a seraph, let alone unconsciously falling in love with one.

But that’s just it: how you live by assumptions and rules based off the words of the ignorant villagers and the elders, how they all believe the seraphs are all still here, how they think there’s a direct relation to the Offering and a year’s good harvest, how it’s bad luck to see a seraph’s wings when it’s brought you anything but. If you learned anything from this winter, it was that you found you own way of living, thank the curiosity your home curses you for. Making your own path instead of aimlessly walking one that was already paved. You learned to trust yourself a little more while Yoongi propelled you forward and believed you deserved it all. You learned you did deserve more. You learned what love really felt like when it was new and fresh and exciting and real. And Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi was the wine to your previously empty glass, and this winter with this man, it was heaven.

You decide the realization is enough for you. Have been gifted with so many things and blessings that you’re grateful for the chance to have met someone like him.

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tastes bitter in his mouth. He felt that if all these years left alone in a manor of silence and rejection was to eventually meet you he would do it a million times, but if all you could reciprocate was this then it just wasn’t meant to be for him. It felt unfair but it also wasn’t his decision. He takes the sourness with him and stands. “I suppose I should head to bed.”

Your sad stare breaks his heart, even more so when you give up and nod. The fire catches your attention as it pops and you leave it at that. He tries to walk away, footsteps haunting, until he stops altogether.

It comes unexpectedly when he wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his knees into your back. A weird sight it is to see his wings unfurl and curl around your rigid body. “Are you satisfied? Is this enough for you?” His voice is soft, like he could take either answer as long as he heard it from you directly.

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, how could I possibly ask you for more?”

He hisses liar into your ear. “Is it your family?”

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

Here you are again, faced with a question that tore you apart in the garden while you ached to be with Yoongi anyway. But there were no distractions here; nothing to interrupt your thoughts. Just you, Yoongi and your truth. He loosens his grip so you can face each other, knees between knees. Instinctively, you reach out for his feathers and indulge yourself with their softness. He pushes his wing into your hand as if to bribe you like a child.

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

A quick glint in his eye, a sort of relief, and then he finishes what he’s started and kisses you. It’s wrong how right it feels, lonely lips moving in tandem to find comfort in one another. Yoongi leans into it, absolutely devastated by your simple touch. The strength of the wine remains on your lips and he can’t help but lick into the flavor, drunkenly entranced by such luxuries. Yoongi’s hands can’t stay, snaking up your back, caressing your face, dragging his knuckles across your jaw and finally grabbing at the scarf. Carefully, he unwraps it from your neck, slow enough to feel it tickle your shoulder blades, before he folds it respectfully and places it elsewhere.

You sigh, more weight taken off your shoulders than there should be.

“Is this okay?” His voice raspy, speaking into the corner of your mouth. You’re stiff, nodding shyly and lacking the fire you brought up until this point.

He rewords, “Do you want me?” Yoongi feels the need to confirm, waiting for this moment for so long that it seems superficial. Like if he’s not careful, you’ll disappear into another one of his many short-lived dreams.

“Of course I want you, Yoongi. I want you more than anything…” But your eyes flicker to the ground, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Then what’s wrong, lovely? You don’t have to.”

“No! I want to, I just… I’ve never done this before. I want you so bad but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—”

His laughs are light, his hand on the small of your back as he dips you onto the floor. Holding himself above, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I want you and we’ll go slow and if you decide you don’t want to anymore, we won’t.”

The way he makes you feel, how gentle he is, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for this to happen. It eases you slightly, letting your arms snake around him in an attempt to let your guard down. He’s patient and wonderful and you mumble about it. “Mhm, okay.”

The night robe he’s gifted you now poses a problem, his slender fingers looping through the bow that keeps it wrapped, “Can I?” You nod again, and he unties you like his own present. The feeling of being bare in front of him becomes apparent when he sucks in and the heat from the fire dances against your skin. Other than that, you look to the window to avoid his face.

“My love, look at me.”

His commands are easy to follow but you cover your breasts to hang onto your last bit of pride, granting eye contact at the least.

Face flushed, you can tell he, too, is trying his best. “You’re incredible. More prepossessing than I could have ever imagined. You shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of me.”

“Well,” you retaliate, “it’s hard not to be when I’m the only one naked.”

He grins at the challenge, sitting up to shed his layers, never noticing his garments having to wrap around in a way to accommodate to his wings. You just thought it was just a more ornamental way of dressing that the seraphs took to. He’s left down to tight underwear that hugs him incredibly, beautiful milky skin exposed and tinted with golden light. “Satisfied?” He lilts.

“You look like an angel,” you trace indents of faint abs. Wide shoulders that taper into a tiny waist, a slim build that you could study forever.

He kisses your words away, pushing you into plush comforters and pillows. A makeshift nest unintentionally built for the two of you. A groan rewards him when he licks your bottom lip teasingly, taking your wrists swiftly to pin them above you. “Pretty thing, I don’t have a halo.”

He starts from the top, kissing each inside of wrist before moving down your arm, slithering onto your shoulder, then into the crook of your neck with gentle suckles. Teeth grazes before puncturing, eliciting a yelp from you that satisfies him. He does this over and over, decorating the canvas of your neck.

“I want to burn you into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget this,” he moans with a wake left down until he meets cleavage. His muscles were relentless, impatient and eager, wanting to worship ever square inch of your body as you rightfully deserved. Your squeaks serve his purpose, his muse as he continues his ministrations down.

Out of nowhere, “I don’t want you to leave me, Y/N.” The profession makes you giddy, happy you’re not the only one who feels so. A hidden insecurity acknowledged and lifted.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

He reaches your stomach and doesn’t hesitate to nibble there too, flinching when your hand flies to his head and buries itself in his hair. He ditches his current plan to grab your hand and plant a kiss to your palm in a second, making you giggle.

He admits, “I like when you touch me.”

“I want to. I feel so useless letting you do this alone.”

“You’ll get a chance if you’d like later. But right now, it’s all about you.” Husking it out. Of course, the idea sounds blissful, but the scene of having you cum by his actions sound better. “Need to cherish what’s in front of me properly.”

So he dips dangerously, laving at the skin above the hem of your panties and hooking his fingers under the sides, “Please,” he breathes.

“You… can do whatever you’d like to me. I want it all.”

He tugs his lip between his teeth, pulling it down. An unexpected wetness strings between your skin and the cloth and you both see it; him amazed, you horribly mortified. You stutter trying to explain yourself, oblivious that you could even feel as aroused as you do now. But his forehead falls onto the jut of your hipbone and you can hear subtle teasing in his tone. “I-I’m just as nervous and that was so incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can go on, shit.”

You laugh stupidly. “Quiet! Not another word! Just hurry up and—”

That terrible habit of looking away becomes your biggest fault, unprepared for Yoongi to filthily bury his tongue into your heat. He flattens his tongue and tantalizingly drags up until he can just barely flick your clit with the tip. Growling in the process.

“You are so sweet. The sweetest I could ever have. You will be the end of me.” Rushed in panted breaths as he does it again. And again. And again. So much that the growing sound of wet against wet echoes in the empty room and renders you paralyzed.

The feeling of it makes you squeamish, like you want to move, buck your hips, pull his hair. Despite the lewdness of having his rough tongue against you and lapping you clean, you could never ask him to stop.

“You just… keep getting… wetter…” He says between turns. “You really wanted me this much?”

“Yoongi—ah! Please, I can’t. It feels weird.”

“You don’t want me to continue, my love?” He asks lightly, blowing cold air onto damp skin and really forcing you to buck.

“No! I just… I have never felt like this. I want you to but I can’t sit still.”

“Oh? Let me help you then. But you have to let me finish.” So you shyly nod and loosen your legs. He uses the prompt to scoop them underneath his arms and attach the back of your knees atop his shoulders, your hips curving up and towards him in a new, tight position.

“Yoongi!”

“No matter how you feel, just let it happen.”

Sultry wails are music to his ears when he brutally sucks on your clit, licking your folds here and there and using all his strength to keep you in place. He spells out his love with his tongue, digs it into you sweetly. His power, though, anything but kind.

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

Unveiling your view, his stare immediately burns into your veins. Looking at you under dangerously slanted lids and that sinful mouth. Holding you in place with strength that could leave prints into your soft legs. With one roll of your clit under his teeth, you feel in ways you never knew how, as if all the pressure that built up in your abdomen suddenly overflowed with a tight burst. Choked sobs and hand gripping his hair enough to make him moan into you, vibrating wonderfully as he works you through it.

He lets you go, remnants of syrupy arousal trickling down his chin; watches your legs fall open widely and your chest heave for air. Your features bring him joy, loving the way your hair sticks to your face with sweat, eyes closed, and brows knit together in concentration. He loved seeing you painted in warm hues and although he was never an artist, he could replicate this scene exactly how it’s displayed in front of him.

“How do you feel, lovely?”

You respond with a weak smile. “You’re so cruel… Min Yoongi.” You felt flimsy; weightless. A feeling you could come to love too much if you aren’t careful.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” slithering back up to rest his head in your neck, giving you more kisses like you haven’t had enough. You’re happy he’s back, massaging your hands over his torso, up his neck, down his spine. And then you hit it and he tenses.

Thick and raised, an area between his wings that softly juts out. It was fairly large and the texture varied from the rest of his beautiful planes of skin. It was a scar. Wide as a dagger.

“I wish it wasn’t there. I know it’s—”

“Yoongi, baby.” You nudge him to lift his head and he does unwillingly, face turned away. “My Yoongi, it’s nothing. What happened was horrible but it’s over. And I will do everything in my power to make it up to you by giving all of me.”

His lips stop you tenderly, a whisper of affection that pours out love, “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you’ve made me better. I wasn’t able to feel anything for a long time until you. So. Thank you.”

Any remaining embarrassment vanishes. Not when Yoongi’s done his part and you would do anything to take care of him.

Sweat molds your bodies together, heat emanating from a fire that’s ablaze now. There’s a private summer in this room while winter continues outside and it feels special to you. It’s hot here, hot when Yoongi scrapes his teeth against yours, hot where his pelvis lays. You take notice to the hard thing twitching against your thigh, making you flinch.

“Ah, I’m sorry. And we’re in A Mood and all.” Yoongi snickers.

“Don’t be,” you purr, feeling a bit lustful and reaching down to grab it through the cloth.

He hisses, “Fuck! Fuck, please, I’m so sensitive at the moment.”

Ignoring him, you unskillfully maneuver your fingers around him. Just touching to be familiarized with it. He surges forward accidentally, sighing in your ear as he shamelessly humps the space between your groin. You use his distracted state to pull his shorts down, the sudden reality of his skin touching yours bringing about sensual noises from the both of you. A sudden spurt of precum makes it easier for him to drag his heavy cock against your hip.

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll help you.” You stare down as you flick your wrist, encircling him with fingers shaped in an o and pumping him slow.

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

“Is it… supposed to be this large?” It’s a stupid question to ask, especially when you’re not entirely clueless. You know his size exceeds average proportions.

“Don’t spoil me. Seraphs have always been larger than humans. Height wise, I was the smallest of my brothers though.” Which seemed unimaginable to you, not when he towers over you and could easily devour you in a hug. Cock hanging low and barely able to keep in your single hand. He must be acting coy.

“Now you’re just bragging!”

“I’m just being honest. I’m automatically pleasing to the likes of you,” he chuckles.

The dampness overflows, smears over your skin in incredible amounts and how you wish you could taste out of pure curiosity, but he has other plans for you.

“I don’t think I can hold myself any longer. Please.”

“That’s… fine. Um, should we? Like this?”

“It’s so hot, could you flip on your side?” You roll and he figures he’s made a mistake. Entranced by the way your weight, breasts and soft curves, naturally gravitate down in a seductive pose.

“Like this?” You ask, unaware that he could simply die right now.

He lifts your leg to rest on his shoulder again, easy to stretch. “Perfect, my love. I’m going to go slow. If it’s too much we can try again another time, okay? No rush.”

Challenged by his kindness, you shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m ready.”

Whatever’s left of the arousal between you both is more than enough to let him enter easily. Head of his member no problem to push past that initial tension.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

But it’s his shaft that makes you keen, entire length seeming endless as he fills you and overloads your maximum space. You cry, nerves making you writhe, “It’s not going to fit all the way—hah…wait.”

Yoongi struggles to hold himself back, perspiration dripping down his nose, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It doesn’t need to, I’m pretty close to being all the way in anyway.”

“I’m fine,” you pant, head lolled to the side as he stretches you out in an odd, numbing way. “You can… you can move.”

His hips test it, pulling out so little to only be sucked back in with a leveled grunt. “Baby, you’re barely allowing me to.”

“It feels so tight,” you sigh, worried that if you move it’ll really begin to hurt.

“Ah, really? Let’s do this then.” He quick to please, wanting your pleasure before his own and getting you to flip, propped onto your elbows and filled from behind. Smooth chest meets your arched back, him hiding a kiss below your ear while he’s there. A moan aches in your throat as his dick unintentionally digs deeper inside, easier to move and to the hilt.

“Is this better, Y/N?”

“Hah… Yes. Yes, so much better. So good. Please move.”

His hips roll, just enough to grind into you which feels nothing but euphoric in itself. You mimic each other’s lusty whimpers with every movement. Caving into each other’s kisses and licks and pants that you feel synchronized.

Yoongi grows impatient with himself, exaggerating how he pulls out and slams himself back inside. The mere force that he fucks into you sends you forward, opting to lay on your chest and bite the blankets beneath you to keep from screaming. “You feel so good. So, so good. I’m sorry it hasn’t been long, but I feel like…”

His wings fall at his sides and cover you in shadow. It’s weird to see them like this, in a way you could imagine the perspective of having them yourself. But it covers you in unnecessary warmth and makes you grunt.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a quick breath, “Let me on top. I’ll finish.”

The way his member slides out; the way it leaves you tensing over nothing is a sad, needy feeling. You don’t slow at the chance to lay him down and take control, straddling him and watching his face contort in loving awe.

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

❋ masterlist ❋

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thenakedgingerwrites · 4 years

Text

Trapped

Needless to say, I didn't expect what happened today. No one ever does I guess. I was working in my garage while the wife and kids were out running some errands. I cleaned out a bunch of things from the attic above the cars and piled the boxes near the front of the open garage. Having gone up and down my ladder with boxes (while not super heavy) all morning left me pretty fatigued and sweaty. It was still the middle of the afternoon and I was hoping to finish up, shower, and maybe jack off before the family got home. Three kids later, the wife wasn't as generous with sex anymore so I re-learned how to take care of myself. Not that I don't miss the passionate sex we used to have, I just gave up on getting a blowjob ever again, sad as it is. I went back up to get the last box but in my fatigue missed a step. I tried to grab a side plank but failed and instead went through the drywall floor. Well, not entirely. I had been wedged in-between two planks since I was pretty triangular of a build. I had a home gym and kept in shape as best I could. A bit of a belly but still strong as ever. So now here I was, stuck halfway through the roof of the garage. I tried to pull myself up but either couldn't get leverage, was too tired, or was stuck on something. Maybe all three. Either way, I wasn't going anywhere. Luckily the way I was stuck wasn't painful but I couldn't move. For whatever reason I yelled "HELLO!?" thinking someone would come to find me but instantly felt stupid for it. The family was gone and while the garage door was open, the boxes blocked most of the view to the street so it wouldn't have been obvious to anyone I'd be lucky enough to have pass by.

If I knew someone was walking by I'm sure I could yell to get their attention (if they didn't have headphones in) but I didn't want to yell for an hour hoping someone would find me. The family should be back within an hour or so. They'll laugh at finding daddy coming through the roof but my wife will get the ladder so I can climb out of here and then chastise me for not paying attention. Sigh. Fifteen minutes or so went by as I hung there. I tried to make a game out of it by counting the rafter beams, or swinging my legs for a light ab workout, but was getting bored. I tried to get out again but determined I must be stuck on something. I wiggled my hips to try and figure out what it was. Something was preventing me from pulling myself up and thought it must be something on the bottom of my shirt or my sweatpants. I thought that if I went down a little lower, whatever was stuck would unstick and then I could pull myself free. It took another couple minutes of trying to squeeze myself further into the hole but finally eureka! I felt something give. It was the undeniable rip of my sweatpants but fuck it, I can always get my wife to stitch them back up. Two things became very apparent to me very quickly though. One, my squeezing further into the hole sealed my fate of actually being stuck. Without the leverage of something beneath me I was staying put. Second, the rip to my pants must have been the waist, and the phone in my pocket weighed them down. And down. And down... "You've got to be fucking kidding me." So now, not only was I stuck in my garage ceiling and my pants ripped, I was naked from the waist down. "Great day to not wear underwear, asshole." Well my wife and kids finding me would be a little less fun this way, for everyone. Luckily my ass was hanging towards the driveway so they wouldn't see my exposed cock and nuts but seeing Dad's hairy ass probably wasn't on their to-do list. I decided to give myself one last attempt at freedom and used all my muscles in my arms I could muster. My legs ran in place attempting to help me but alas, nothing. "FUCK!" I cursed. Last fucking time I clean the attic. I catch my breath as I hear the unmistakable pitter patter of footsteps. "Hello?" a cautious voice calls out. Shit! Of course someone is passing by NOW. "I'm fine, go away!" I yell instinctively. I'm not sure why being rescued is less desirable than a stranger seeing me naked like this. I mean, I'm fit, my cocks a good size (6 hard and pretty thick), maybe a little hairier than most but overall a good looking guy. It's just the shame of the situation. "Ha, you don't look fine." The guy gives a light chuckle. I can tell he's behind me getting an eye full of my round ass. Sigh. "Yeah, I'm not. I fell through while moving some boxes and... fate is out to get me today I guess." "Well one man's trash is another's treasure." What the hell? Did he say this situation was treasure? "Um, yeah. Can you grab my ladder? If that's under me I think I can push up and out of this wedge." Silence. "Hey, guy?" I think I hear footsteps but it's hard to tell. He's probably wearing running shoes so I can't really hear him. Did he leave? *click* The unmistakable sound of a phone camera. "What the fuck man?! Did you just take a picture of me?!" "Yes, only your butt. To remember this laughable situation." "Well I'd fucking appreciate it if you didn't and get me the fuck out of here." I couldn't help my anger starting to boil. It's one thing to be found by a stranger but thinking photos of me could leak on the internet was a different story. "Oh my..." he says. *click* "Dude what the fuck?!" "Sorry, after seeing your dick I couldn't help myself." "You fucking fag!" "And those balls." I felt his finger tips graze my scrotum which set me into a fury. I kicked my legs out at him but there were still bound by my sweatpants. I only kicked air. "Ah, ah ah" the stranger said. "You wouldn't want me sending these photos to everyone in the neighborhood would you?" No, I wouldn't. I calmed my legs down and let them hang limply again. "No I know a way we can both help each other out." "And what's that?" I ask through gritted teeth. "You married?" "And three kids. Straight as an arrow." "Funny thing about arrows, they bend in flight. Anyway, when's the last time you got a good blowjob?" "What?!" "When's the last time your wife gave you a really great blowjob?" "That's none of your Goddamn business." "Ah, I see. When's the last time you had ANY blowjob?" I remained silent. I couldn't think of a good lie but the truth is it had been years. He continued to speak. "You see, I'm kind of addicted to cock. I've become a bit of an expert in my addiction, but it's been a couple weeks since I've blown anyone new." He was behind me now as he placed an open palm on my ass. "So, that's how we can help each other." "You want to give me a blowjob." "Correct." "You want to GIVE me a blowjob, and then help me out?" "Seems like a good deal to you, yes?" I mean, fuck yeah it did. I'm not gay, really I'm not. Unlike a lot of guys in high school I never messed around with any of my guy friends but still, it had been years. And I couldn't see him at all so in my mind I could just pretend it was Scarlet Johansen or Emma Stone or whoever the fuck I wanted it to be. "Is that a deal?" "I mean, what do you need me to do?" "Ideally, just not strangle me with your thighs and I'll do the rest." I did contemplate it, but then I'd be where I started and he may turn violent too. I'm the one in the compromising position. "Okay, deal." "Oh goody!" I felt both of his hands on my ass this time while he planted a big kiss on one cheek. Gross. The stranger pulled something over towards us. It sounded like maybe a one of our plastic storage bins but I'm not sure. I estimated that my cock was probably only 6 feet off the ground but figured he'd need to get a little higher. The first touch was tentative. His hands on my soft cock made me second guess my decision. This was a guy afterall. I couldn't will myself to forget that. This was wrong. And then he took me into his mouth. My abs convulsed by instinct. It was a feeling I'd missed for so long. He sucked and swirled his tongue around my hardening cock and I'm embarrassed to say how quickly I got hard. "Oh wow, you're a thick guy." "Ha, thanks." Wait, why the fuck am I thanking this pervert? Well, he is giving me head... *click* "Hey! No pictures!" "That wasn't part of the deal. And what do you care, your face isn't in them. They're just for me. Promise." "No, seriously. Delete those pic..." He took me back into his mouth and it shut me up. God he was good. This guy definitely had practice with a cock and probably with someone as thick as me because he managed to take almost all of me into him. And like a pro fag, he even popped my balls into his mouth to give my cock a break. While he pumped my wet shaft with his hands he sucked and licked on each nut separately. Taking my cock back into his mouth, his hands grabbed my firm ass from behind. I actually started to rock into him. It felt so fucking good. His fingers snaked their way back towards my ass hole but I stopped him and rocked away, cock popping out of his mouth. "No way. Don't touch my asshole. I'm not gay." "You don't trust me by now? I can make a little prostate stimulation feel really good." "I said no. Blowjob only." "Sigh, have it your way Mr. Boring Married Man." I resented that. Was I really boring because I didn't want to be finger fucked by a guy? A stranger even? He got back to work on my cock and really focused on the head. He was edging me and I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. "I think I'm gonna cum soon man." He just continued to work. Nervous he didn't hear me, I said it again. Not sure why I cared to be polite about accidently cumming in his mouth. "Dude, you're about to make me cum. Get off unless you want my load down your throat." He popped off so I figured he finally heard me but unexpectedly he said "feed me, daddy" and engulfed me again. Fuck, this guy was gonna swallow too. I felt the pressure building and tried to hold it back. Once I got to the peak I felt his finger once again find my asshole but not timidly. This guy shoved his finger fully into me all at once and I kid you not, it was the best feeling of my life. His finger deep into my ass, cock in his mouth, balls in his other hand, I exploded. Rope after rope I shot into this guy's mouth. It'd had been a while since I jacked off too so the amount must have been immense. The waves of euphoria were unlike anything I'd ever felt sexually or otherwise. I actually moaned out loud like a pornstar. I always thought they were faking it until now. A long slurping sound later, he unsuctioned himself from my defeated dick. "I take it you liked it then?" "Fuck..." was all I could get out between breaths. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to finish too." "Umm, I'm not sure what that means." "Don't worry, nothing gay for you Mr. Straight Married Man. I'm just gonna jack off real quick looking at that cock of yours." "Ugh, fine." I was still spent and had no energy to argue. I just had the best blowjob of my life and was soon going to be free from my embarrassing prison. I heard the ladder, I think, being dragged over towards me. Did he finish already? I tentatively reached a foot out for it but found only air. "Um, guy?" "I'm not done yet, sheesh. Hold your horses." I soon heard the sound of a guy jacking off. He got handsy with me but I decided to just bite my tongue, wanting him to finish as fast as possible. It didn't take him that long until he warned me, "Okay, here it comes." I wasn't expecting him to cum onto me, and I definitely didn't expect him to come on my ass! "Dude!? What the fuck!?" "Ahhhh, that felt amazing." I'm pretty sure he slapped my ass a couple times with his still-hard cock. "Fucking gross man!" "Sorry, couldn't resist. That ass is to die for. Sure you don't want me to fuck you too?" "I'm FUCKING positive!" I yell. "Whoa, whoa, okay, okay. Thought I'd ask." "Well the answer is fucking no. Now bring that damn ladder over here so I can wipe this shit off me." "Okay, okay. One last photo though." *click* "Stop!" "I couldn't help it, I needed to get a picture of me marking you." Like a fucking dog? Marking me? Little did he know, when I got out of here I was gonna get him and break that fucking phone. I imagined he'd run when he gave me the ladder but I was fast. "Whatever man, just bring me the ladder." "I actually don't think that's a good idea." "What the hell!? We had a deal!!" I was furious. I started to flail my legs, my semi-soft cock slapping against my thighs. "I know, I know. But I don't think you're going to be too kind to me when you get free. And I'd much prefer your wife to find you like this. Another guy's cum on your ass." "YOU FUCKING MOTHER FUCKER!!" "Well, Daddy fucker maybe." "GET ME DOWN!!" *SLAP* He slapped me hard against my right cheek. "Until next time stud." "GET BACK HERE!!" I writhed and wiggled for a few minutes, fuming with anger. After a bit longer though, I determined he had gone. I again was trapped with no hope of rescue. And honestly, no desire for rescue now either. As I hang there, remnants of my spent cock dripping to the floor and the mysterious stranger's cum drying on the globes of my ass, I hear our minivan pull up into our driveway. How was I going to explain this...

#enm #humliation #trapped

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george-mackay-macfine · 4 years

Text

Fight Club. Part 2

Requested: Yes / No

Synopsis: Part two to fight club.

Word Count: 3,324

“So you and MacKay, on again?” Jane asked as we sat on the bay window in our recently acquired apartment.

“Off again,”

“What?” I cried, “I thought you two were getting passed all your idiotic shit,”

“We were till I saw him with another girl two weeks ago,” I huffed, “He had his arm wrapped around her, so I’ve been ignoring him,”

“I wish you’d told me that sooner,” Jane frowned guiltily,

“What did you do,”

“Baby,” His voice sent chills up my spine, “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you,”

“Didn’t try hard enough,” I muttered picking up my vodka and coke.

“Well after you ignored my first sixteen phone calls, I figured you needed to get the stick out of your arse,”

“I’m going to go see Dean,” Jane muttered as I spun around to face the dangerously hot man I’d been fucking for the past three months,

“Are you serious?”

“What is this about, because I know you don’t believe that I’m fucking another girl behind your back,”

“Really? Because you have before,”

“Low blow,”

“Truthful,” I picked my drink back up as George sat across from me.

“I told you, you’re it for me so what’s going on?”

“I don’t know if we’re going to work George,”

“Why?”

“We’re opposite’s,”

“Who attract, try again.”

“It’s not something I can explain. You’re just… You seem… dangerous—like someone I should stay away from. All the fighting,” I elaborated.

“Dangerous,” He repeated. “Okay, so you do like me, but that scares you because I’m different than the straight-laced guys you fucked before I came back into your life and showed you what a fuck really was?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Would you prefer something else?” My mouth dropped open.

“You’re insane.” His blue eyes were piercing.

“You like it.” I shook my head.

“I don’t.”

“If you didn’t, you’d be long gone.” I sighed. I did like it, and this exchange was getting me hot under the collar. “God, you have a pretty smile.”

“Stop that,” I mumbled.

“So back to clarifying…” George cleared his throat. “If that’s my other girlfriend, what are you?” Oh shit. It was a trap. We’d never clarified what we were, we just said we were it for each other, and now I’d gone and baited myself. I folded my legs under myself and pushed up, forgetting about the ankle I’d rolled trying to avoid George on campus. I yelped and fell forward, face-planting into George’s chest knocking us both off balance. George fell off the seat and landed on his ass, and I landed on top of him. George’s tongue poked out to lick his lips, a small silver ball on it.

“Did you?” I whispered amazed at the small silver ball, He’d only gone and pierced his fucking tongue.

“Answer the question,”

It would have been the perfect position under different circumstances.

“I’m just the girl you’re stalking.” George wrapped an arm around my waist, keeping me where I was.

“I think you like me stalking you.” I snorted a very unfeminine snort.

“Well, you’re a criminal, so of course you’d think that.”

“We’re back to that, are we? Don’t you think the stereotype is getting a little old?” The arm around my waist tightened. His eyes dropped from mine and focused on my chest that pressed against his. “I don’t know if you know this, but this shirt is pretty much transparent. I can see your bra through it. And that’s a lot of cleavage you’ve got going on there.” He stuck a finger in it to demonstrate. “If I was your boyfriend, I don’t think I’d be all that happy that you wore it to around campus today. Especially paired with this skirt and knowing what weirdo’s people are.” George’s hand eased lower to my ass giving it a little squeeze.

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not my boyfriend then, isn’t it?”

“Definitely a good thing,” George squeezed harder and shifted under me. “Way better that I’m just stalking your fine ass.”

We stared at each other for a half-second before I yanked off his beanie, shoved my hands into his hair and plastered my mouth to his.

George cupped the back of my head and rolled us over so he was on top. The seam at the back of my skirt gave way with a huge tear as I forced opened my legs so George could fit himself between them. We dry-humped the living hell out of each other as we made out in the middle of my living room floor.

I grabbed the hem of his hoodie and yanked it up, pulling it over his head when there was a break in the kiss. His white T-shirt came off with it. Under all those clothes was his seriously cut body that’d I’d missed exploring.

“I’ve done another thing since you last saw me,”

“Oh?” He nodded his head, “What?”

“You’ll find out.” I ran my hands over his chest and down his abs. “Badass enough for a stalker?” George asked, that damn dimply smirk curving the corner of his mouth.

“You must be the king of badass stalkers.” I tried to pull him back down for another kiss but George sat back on his heels. He untucked my shirt from my skirt.

“I don’t think you’ll be wearing this shirt again.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t have any buttons.” He grabbed the hem on either side and pulled. The buttons popped off, pinging against his ripped chest—seriously, all that fighting did a body good. I didn’t even care that he’d ruined my sort-of slutty professional shirt. I thanked the gods of bra design for the little heart-shaped front clasp on the one I was wearing. I opened it and set the girls free. They were like homing devices for George’s hands. He cupped them immediately, separating his fingers so my nipples peeked through. Jesus. He really did look like a criminal—an incredibly hot criminal who’d broken into my house - technically he was invited, but still.

George ducked his head and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth. I moaned and arched as I fumbled around, searching for the buckle on his belt. Finding it, I freed the clasp and went for the button on his jeans. There wasn’t a zipper to make him easier to access. It buttoned all the way down. It was hard to concentrate while he continued the nipple sucking and biting, but I finally managed to get them all undone. I took a deep breath I missed this part of him, two weeks is too long I wrapped my fingers around his shaft.

“Thank God,” I muttered watching as George lifted his head.

“Worried I wasn’t going to have a dick anymore?” I stroked the length, getting a feel for how much there was once again until I hit something that didn’t feel like it belonged. I looked between us, but it was dark down there. I put a hand on his chest so I could check it out a little better.

“Is that a—” I brushed the steel with my thumb. Not only was George now sporting an above-average cock, but it was also now pierced. I met George’s amused gaze. “I want to know what that feels like.”

“Go ahead and touch it all you want.” George’s mouth went slack as I stroked him a few times.

“No.” I licked his lips. “I mean I want to know what it feels like from the inside.” George grinned.

“Should I assume you’re not talking about the inside of your mouth?” I thought for less than a second. I could do the whole blow job thing another time. Besides, knowing my luck, I’d end up sucking the ball right off the piercing and that would result in a trip to the hospital. I’d been fantasizing about being pounded by George since the last time he’d pounded me, a long two weeks ago. I shook my head.

“Not the inside of my mouth.”

“Just to clarify, are you asking me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please.” George pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and slapped it on the coffee table beside us. Then he stripped off his pants. George didn’t bother taking off my skirt. He just shoved it up to my hips and dragged my panties down my legs. He lifted his hot gaze to hers. “Did you bedazzle your pussy for me?”

“What?”

“It’s all sparkly.” I lifted my head and tried to see what George was seeing, but I’d have to pull off a seriously difficult yoga pose to make that happen. He rubbed the crest of my pelvis with his thumb and held it up for me to see: pink sparkles.

“Jane,” I growled remembering how she’d thrown glitter on me to try and cheer me up this afternoon. George nodded as if he understood. He dropped his eyes again, along with his hand. He rubbed a slow circle around my clit, then went lower, sliding a finger inside. “Later, I’m going to eat that pretty little pussy of yours. It’s perfect.” I was sure all my sex parts had just exploded in their own glitter bomb of excitement.

“That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Oh, it will be.” George grabbed me by the hips and dragged me closer. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” A shiver raced up my spine, goosebumps breaking out across my skin. George circled my clit with the head of his cock, then slid low, teasing me with the tip. “How do you want it, baby?”

“Huh?” I was too focused on the feel of his cock nudging me to hear the question.

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He leaned over me, slipped low, and eased inside. “Hard and fast, or slow and easy?” His question inspired an image of being pretzeled into some porn-star position and pounded. It was exactly what I expected. Except that wasn’t what I got.

George stayed deep, rolling his hips, hitting sensitive places inside my body. I held on to his shoulders, submerged in sensation as that piercing worked its magic and brought her to the edge of an orgasm, then dropped-kicked me right over the edge into heaven.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a police siren’s bloop woke me out of a very dead sleep. Shivering, I turned into George’s arms, seeking warmth. The chill from the night air danced across my naked skin, lining it with goosebumps. We need a blanket, I thought but then changed my mind.

The bright yellow streetlight shone through the apartment windows and across George’s chest. He slept in the nude, like any self-respecting, criminal underground boxer would. Smiling to myself, I turned my attention to his face. Over his strong jaw and scruffy cheeks, his eyes remained shut, his breathing deep and rhythmic.

I would never have ever imagined myself in bed with George as he was now, maybe the George I’d fallen for in high school, but I never thought I’d be with this version of George. I giggled softly. He was so different, but even now he was still the same George.

I shifted to get a better look at him. His dick piercing winked in the window light, cutting through the darkness and her thoughts. I winked back, giddy upon remembering his words. ‘Should I assume you’re not talking about the inside of your mouth?’

The plan formulated in my mind, seizing me from the inside out. Bold I was not. Ever. But with George, something spurred me on. Maybe it was his reckless abandon of convention or the way he pushed me to be free. I felt it warming me again. I wanted to borrow some of his bold. Maybe inherit it a little.

“Midnight snack,” I whispered and slipped from beneath his arm. As I moved, he remained asleep, but his brows furrowed together. His mouth slanted and his arm stretched as if seeking me out. My heart squeezed and my stomach dipped. His long, lean body shifted, scratching against the carpet as he slung an arm over his eyes. The other scratched his stomach before falling to rest against my leg.

Our clothes were strewn across my living room. Belts, shoes, jeans, and then I spied his T-shirt. I pulled it over my head, relishing the scent that surrounded me. Looking down at myself in it, I realised I looked wanton—all mussed and ruffled, the picture of properly fucked.

I needed to get this show on the road.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I sized up my best approach. I wanted nothing more than to feast on him, savour him fully and feel the ball at his tip against my lips. His hands in my hair. My name on his breath. But I needed to move slowly, gently, for maximum effect.

Careful not to disturb him, I moved into position from the side. The prickly rug rubbed against my belly. It wasn’t helping the butterflies already in there. Deep breaths in and out were my saving grace as I inched my mouth down and around him. Once, twice, three times, and then I was no lady.

Lust roared through me on a moan and took over. All sense of slow and steady went out the window on the breeze. In a flash, he was awake.

“Y/N,” He gasped, muscles bunching beneath my hand as I dipped again. “Y/N, what are—oh, fuck,” I nipped at him playfully. Just a bit, but it was enough for his entire body to snap with tension.

“Midnight snack,” I informed him, dizzy with need as I plunged my mouth around his cock again. One hand cupped him, and I reached the other between my legs to lessen the throbbing. George caught my hand before it hit home. “No,” He ground out, his body angling up off of the rug. I knew he must be getting close. When I tried to reach my pussy again, he slapped my hand away.

“My turn,” He demanded, smoothing his palm over my ass and down my thigh.

With each pass, he got closer to where I wanted him. Needed him. Two fingers traced from my hip to my thigh and back up. He swirled them around until finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” I begged around his cock, rubbing the tip between my lips. I shook my ass in jest. Something to spur him into action

“Oh, baby, you don’t know what you’re in for.” He surged up and slid backward to lean against the couch cushions we’d pulled down last night. His hard cock slipped out of my mouth, and I whimpered a full-blown you-took-away-my-candy whimper. I was fairly certain I pouted as well. “Give it here,” He said with a light slap to my ass. Instead, I crawled away, brushing my knees against the rug, taking my ass out of his grasp as I looked over my shoulder. He’d slouched comfortably like he was ready to relax and watch television, but it just so happened he was naked and his hand was moving up and down leisurely over his cock. His eyes, though. They let me know this was no game to him. He was going to devour me.

With narrowed eyes, I wiggled my ass for him to come to me.

“I said,” He repeated slowly, his finger signalling for me to come forward, “Give it here.”

“No,” I quipped, marching away on all fours. Quickly, he caught my ankle and pulled me back. The rug burn would hurt like hell in the morning, but for now, it did nothing but kindle the fire. His legs were spread, his cock jutted up, and I tried to reach for it …

“Not yet,” He barked, pulling one of my legs over his body so I straddled him, still facing away from him. “Give it here,” He urged, laying his hands on my calves. He massaged, deep and just a tad too hard, and waited for me to catch on to what he wanted.

“You can’t mean…” I dropped my head to look at him from below. Upside down, he peered at me, watching my breasts sway with my shuddering breath.

“I can mean,” He said, smacking his lips as his eyes drank in my pussy. “And I want.” His hands came to rest below her hips, guiding me back slowly.

Anticipation choked me as my pussy came close enough to feel his warm breath.

Shifting, he tipped my hips up to meet his waiting mouth. His tongue dipped and swirled. Slowly, he kissed me. Fucked me with his mouth until my arms, weak like jelly, gave out. I managed to prop herself up at an angle: ass in the air, my forearms on his legs.

“You had your midnight snack,” He said against my pussy. “This is my breakfast.”

I pushed back as George lunged forward, burying his tongue inside me. He ravaged me, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“Holy fu—” I began when I felt the ball, the tiny silver ball wreaking havoc on my clit. His hands came up and slid me apart. Fingers, tongue, lips, and a little teeth. I was melting from the inside out.

“Please,” I gasped, reaching for something to hold on to before I fell. He wouldn’t let me slip. Not yet. Not until he’d had his fill. I knew that even in the haze of my building orgasm. I felt him shift, legs spreading while his upper body shifted to take the weight of my legs onto his shoulders.

Closer to his mouth.

Jesus Christ.

I surrounded him, and he me. My cheek brushed his cock, and he moaned, the vibration rumbling through my entire being.

“You fucked…” I paused, my eyes rolling back, my awareness heightened from the sensations of his lips on mine. “You took. Now I want.” With a cry, I took him in my mouth again and lavished, meeting his actions with my own. For every lick, suck, and nibble, I gave a swallow, a pump, and a run along the shaft with my teeth, which I’d realised he loved.

“Y/N,” A warning, He was going to come.

“George,” An answer, I wasn’t stopping. I was lost in the single-minded focus of making him come, of losing myself to his mouth and—fuck! He added fingers now.

“Come on me,” he begged. He was losing it. We both felt it. Precise movements gave way to harried and frantic actions, that final climb to the top before we both fell over.

One more time I swallowed, deep, and with a groan, he let go. I kept going, enjoying the way all her senses lit up on the build of my orgasm.

“Please, Y/N,” I heard him say. Or I thought I did. I teetered on the wire until he pinched the nerve, and I snapped. Overwhelmed by the emotional surge, I felt tears streaming down my face, running over my nipples and dropping on his still-shaking legs. He slowed, kissing me reverently before helping my weak body into a more comfortable position.

Quietly, we laid together, breathing heavily. I felt dizzy, weak, and happier than I’d been in forever. After a few minutes, George’s breathing slowed to a normal pace. I figured he had typical-man syndrome and had fallen back asleep like a lump after he’d destroyed me, I was wrong.

“My girl?” He whispered lips pressed against my forehead.

“Your girl,” An agreement.

“Wear your uniform to the next fight and let me fuck you in the bathrooms,”

“You’ve only just cum, and you’re already making plans for your next turn?”

“What can I say? You do this sort of thing to me,” He chuckled his arms holding me tighter. “Do you like the piercings?”

“I love the piercings,”

#george mackay #georgemackay #george mackay fanfic #george mackay imagine #george mackay smut

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1171

survey by ohsh1t2wksl8

What Rhymes With “AB”?

1. Do you have nice abs? Do you know anyone who has nice abs? Andi works out and they like sharing with me their progress every month. They’re turning out to have great abs. 2. Do you blab other peoples’ secrets? Do you like to gossip? I’d still join in if it were about something juicy, tbh. But those years are also far behind me for the most part; I like taking part in wholesome gossip these days, like if someone from high school gave birth or found a better relationship to be in. 3. Have you ever ridden in a taxi cab before? Where to? Yes, we’ve had to take taxis to the airport a few times. I never understood why; for the next few trips after that we used our car to get to the airport anyway, so those couple of rides were weird. I can tell you it’s not very convenient being squished in a sedan with 5 people, with all our bags to boot. :( I’ve also had to take cabs in Singapore, China, and Korea when we went. 4. Do you know anyone who’s caught crabs? Probably. I just wouldn’t be aware of it. 5. Have you or someone you know ever had a hermit crab as a pet? One of my colleagues from college, Hannah, owns a couple of hermit crabs.

6. Do you know how to dab? I guess. I’ve just never willingly done it. 7. Do you have any clothing that looks drab? I don’t think so. If not black, most of my clothes are in muted, calm shades, but not dull or depressing ones. 8. Do you use abbreviations in place of longer words? Do you ever refer to something as “fab”? Not abbreviations, but shortcuts. I always call delivery fee ‘deli fee’ instead. And some people my age would usually call Starbucks ‘Starbs.’ 9. Does you body have any excess flab? Where? Yeah, my upper arms will jiggle a bit if I shake them. 10. Who do you know that likes to gab a lot? What do they go on and on about? My mom is insanely talkative and will go through 5 backstories before proceeding to her actual story. 11. When’s the last time someone jabbed you with a needle? No one’s ever done it to me on purpose (and that’s very crappy??) but I’ve stabbed myself in the palm a few times while I’ve been embroidering. I haven’t gotten back to it for several months now, though. 12. Did you have a science lab class during school? Yeah, we had separate lab classes in high school. I liked them, since it was fun to be more hands-on instead of just spending 45 minutes listening to lectures and staring at the blackboard. I especially enjoyed when we were allowed to mix chemicals, heheheh. 13. Have you ever nabbed something from a store before? What was it? We accidentally stole a box of crayons from a bookstore once. No one noticed my mom still had it in her hand until we walked out of the store haha. We immediately went back inside and either paid for it or put it back on its shelf, I don’t remember which. 14. Do you know anyone who’s been to rehab? What were they in for? I don’t think so. But this is also keeping in mind that the Philippines is a shitty country with no decent rehab centers because most people believe that those with addiction problems don’t deserve a second chance at life. 15. How many backstabbers have you cut from your life? Just one. I’ve been careful ever since that person. 16. Do you pick at your scabs? Sometimes. 17. What’s the last slab of meat you’ve eaten? I had a few pieces of pork in the jjajangmyeon I ordered last Thursday. I don’t think I had meat at all yesterday. 18. Is anything in your house looking shabby? No, my mom is very particular about cleanliness and she’ll immediately fix up a area she thinks is starting to look shabby. 19. When’s the last time you felt crabby? Why? I’m usually crabby every morning at the start of my shifts, just because I always feel tense about the flood of deliverables that would inevitably come to me; though I do start loosening up once I’m able to figure out my schedule and time management for the day. 20. Who’s the last person you wanted to stab? What did they do in order to make you feel that way? One of the clients I handle. He was onboarded just this January but we quickly learned that he’s very hard to work with; and my team actually received news super recently that he’s gonna be let go of/is willingly resigning because of the challenges in ways of working. I’m soooo relieved. It was a tornado as soon as he came in. 21. How many tabs are open on your internet browser right now? Continued 8 hours later. On this current window, 10 tabs. I have other windows open though. 22. Has anyone ever tried to get grabby with you when you didn’t want them to? I don’t know what this means...but based on what I saw on Google, does this also mean possessive? If that’s correct, then yeah, it’s happened before. My ex was super suspicious of guys and didn’t like my guy friends for no reason at all, which I found disturbing. 23. What would you put on a Krabby Patty? Oh god, I would just go for the recipe they already show on Spongebob. I would honestly go for the King-Size Ultra Krabby Supreme double batter-fried on a stick though; that looked craaaaazy good on TV. 24. Do you know anyone named Abby? That’s my mom’s name. 25. Do you have one of those grabber claws that helps you grasp things that are out of reach? Not anymore, but we had a toy like that when we were kids. 26. Do you like to play Scrabble? Are you any good at it? I do like playing Scrabble. I think I do pretty well in word games in general, but I think I got even better at Scrabble since I took an actual class on it, so I learned a lot of rules and tricks to be able to win. 27. Is it cute when babies babble? What do you think they’re trying to say? It’s cute but it’s not at the top of my list. I’m guessing they’re just excited about everything since it’s all new to them. 28. What’s the last thing you dabbled in/with? Livetweeting after SO FUCKING LONG. I don’t think I’ve done it in like 6 or 7 years...doing it all over again was such a thrill, and it was as exciting as it had been from when I was a teenager. 29. Do you have any dividers or folders with any tabs on them? Just on my laptop haha, nothing physical. 30. Did your parents keep close tabs on you when you were a teenager? Initially, but they gradually let go the older I got. 31. How high has your bar tab been? Idk, maybe a little over ₱3000? I remember how my friends and I ended up buying a crap load of pitchers and bar food from our usual bar once since we ended up really enjoying our time there. 32. Have you ever made jewelry out of the silver tabs on soda cans? Nope. [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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epochofbelief · 4 years

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Breath Control, Chapter Eleven

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand and Elriel

Author’s Note: I promise, Rhys and Feyre will talk soon... It’s all about the build-up ;) Alsoooo part of this was Gilmore Girls inspired:)

Enjoyyyy and let me know if you want to be tagged!

MASTERLIST LINK

ELEVEN

~~~Elain~~~

I had dinner with Azriel nearly every night that week. We didn’t go much further than kissing, and at most we spent an hour together every night. Both of us had so much schoolwork to do and he had training on top of it, so our time together was limited even though we made an effort to see each other daily. On Saturday, I was curled up in a blanket on my couch studying for a huge test I had next week. Despite it being four in the afternoon, I hadn’t yet put a bra on or gotten dressed. Or brushed my hair.

I lived for Saturdays like this.

Feyre was supposed to come over for dinner later and it would be the first time I’d seen her since she’d left my house with Rhys over a week ago. I had big plans to pump her for information and figure out exactly what happened between them. Azriel didn’t have an explanation, either. No one did. It seemed like Feyre and Rhys were determined to keep the incident hidden from all of their friends. Az had told me he was pretty sure Mor knew, but wasn’t saying anything out of respect for Feyre.

Not tonight, though. I had two bottles of wine ready in order to grill Feyre for answers.

I stood, my cocoon of blankets falling to the floor around me. I should probably make sure I have supplies to actually make dinner for Feyre and me tonight.

I traipsed into the kitchen directly adjacent to my living room. My apartment was a dream, if I was being honest. I didn’t have a roommate so I had the whole place to myself. The front door opened into a cozy living room furnished with a plush couch and a couple of chairs. It was a fairly open concept plan, so the kitchen and living room were separated by a countertop complete with a few barstools. To the left of the living room was my bedroom and bathroom. Small, but cozy.

I opened the cabinets to stare at my food. It looked like I had rice and beans, so tacos might be a good option for dinner. As I removed the can of beans, a strange rustling issued from the very cabinet I was gazing into. I set the can on the counter and stretched up onto my toes to see what it was--

And came face to face with a rat.

“Arghhhh!”

I stumbled back so fast I landed on my ass in front of the refrigerator. The rat jumped out of the cabinet and onto the floor directly in front of me before it skittered under the dishwasher, disappearing from sight. I didn’t think I’d ever moved faster than I did just then, scrambling out of the kitchen and back onto the couch.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Azriel.

“Hello?”

I gulped down some air before I could speak. “I have a rat problem.”

“A rat problem?” I could already tell he was laughing at me.

“Yes. What the hell do I do.”

He sighed. “I’ll be right over. Text me your address.”

He hung up. I had not intended for him to pack up and come to my place, but if I was being truthful, there was no way I was handling the rat myself. Disgusting creatures.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at my door. I tiptoed over to it and flung it open.

“Hey, Elain,” Azriel said slowly.

I had managed to sneak around my apartment, shutting my bedroom and bathroom doors in an effort to keep the rat out. I’d also put a bra on and some mascara, so at least I looked presentable.

“Good to see you’re still alive, considering the deadly rat currently inhabiting your apartment,” he said sarcastically. Sarcastically?

“You think I’m making this up?” I grabbed his jacket and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind him. He stopped just past the threshold as I continued into the living room and resumed my place standing atop the couch. He chuckled as I stood there, turning to face him with my hands on my hips.

“I opened up my kitchen cabinet and the biggest rat I have ever laid eyes on jumped out. I mean, it actually attacked me. That thing has an agenda against me or something. It skittered across my kitchen floor and under the dishwasher. That’s the last I saw of it.”

Azriel looked dubious. “So… There’s actually a rat in here?”

Why couldn’t this guy get it through his head? He’d come over, hadn’t he? “Yes there’s a rat in here! And I need you to get rid of it because I’m certainly not going to! Please?”

He let out a breath and walked past me to the kitchen. “Okay, okay, I’m looking. Do you have any mousetraps or anything?”

I gasped. “You’re not going to kill it, are you? Can’t you just catch it and set it free?”

“What do you want me to catch it with, Elain? And I thought you told me it was evil.”

“Just because it’s evil doesn’t mean it deserves death. I have an empty shoebox and a bucket. Would either of those work?”

“Where are they?”

I clapped my hands, delighted that Azriel wasn’t going to kill the rat, disgusting as it was. “Under the sink! You’re a godsend, Azriel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, bending down to look under the sink. But I could tell he was pleased.

I jumped from the couch to the chair nearest the bar, then climbed up onto the countertop separating the kitchen from the living room to watch his progress. “You’re doing great,” I said as he pulled the shoebox out from beneath the sink.

“Thanks for the moral support,” he said.

“Anytime.”

I watched him peer under the dishwasher for a bit, shoebox at the ready. I jumped when he banged on the outside of the dishwasher. Then jumped again as the rat skittered out from beneath the dishwasher, aiming for the fridge. Azriel pounced, enclosing the rat within the box in one fell swoop.

He stood, brandishing the box in my direction. I nearly fell backward off the bar. “Get that thing away from me!”

He laughed. “It’s just a harmless little rat.”

“I can hear it ricocheting off the sides of that shoebox. It’s trying to escape. Get it out of here!”

Still laughing, he left the apartment and returned a few minutes later, sans rat and shoebox. Good. I wasn’t going to find a use for the box anyway after a rat had been inside it.

“You can come down off the counter now,” he said, walking toward me.

“There could be more.”

He walked right up to the edge of the bar to where I now sat, my legs hanging over the edge. His arms wrapped around my waist as he came to a stop between my thighs.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I said, resting my forearms over his shoulders. “Thanks for saving me from the rat.”

“Anytime,” he said, and kissed me. I pulled him closer, my legs wrapping around his waist. His hands moved from my waist, to my breasts, to my hair. I had just as much difficulty keeping my own hands in one place as I stroked the hard muscles of his abs, his chest, his arms. He deftly lifted me off the counter and carried me over to the couch, laying me down gently.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

I merely pulled him down atop me and drew our lips together. I was just starting to consider… other things, when a knock came from the door.

Azriel froze.

“I bet it’s the rat, back for revenge,” he joked, but I could tell he just wanted to continue kissing me.

“Shit,” I said, letting my head fall back against the couch as Azriel shifted into a seated position. “That’s Feyre. She’s here for dinner. She doesn’t know about us yet… Unless you told somebody about us. Which would be fine,” I added, even though we’d had a silent agreement to keep this on the down-low through all of our online communication and week of hanging out.

“Well, unless you want me to climb out the window, I think she’s about to find out.”

“I would never make you climb out the window,” I said as I stood and aimed for the door. Before I opened it, I turned back to him. “What did you mean, earlier, when you asked if there was actually a rat here?”

His eyes widened ever so slightly. “Uhhh… Nothing. I thought there was a rat here the whole time.” His gaze cut to the floor.

“Azriel?”

“Yes?” He still wouldn’t look at me.

I was about to continue my interrogation when another knock, this one a little more insistent, sounded at the door. I let Azriel off the hook and opened the door.

“Hey, Feyre. Long story, but before you come in, I have to tell you. I’m not here alone,” I said in a rush. Feyre’s brows creased.

“You forgot I was coming? Who’s here?”

I opened the door a little wider and Feyre took a step inside.

“Hey, Feyre,” Azriel said weakly.

~~~Feyre~~~

It had been the longest week of my life. I remembered how much I hated living with Ianthe as the week progressed. We had kept our distance from each other the entire month of November. I’d avoided the common areas of the house like the plague, being sure to stay inside my room on my floor of the townhouse at all times while home.

But now that it had been over a month since she’d, you know, betrayed me by making out with my boyfriend in front of the entire swim team, she’d decided amends could now be made.

I wanted no part of it.

She lingered in the living room every night after practice, attempting to cajole me into conversation about swim, or school, or my family. I would usually flip a trite remark at her and move on as quickly as possible, but I was reaching the end of my tether.

And dealing with Ianthe’s tasteless attempts to ‘be friends’ again was just the cherry on top of the horrible week I’d had.

I hadn’t spoken to Rhys since the night when he’d cornered me in the bathroom of the club. The night he’d cheated on me with his ex, whom I had thought he hated! He had kept his distance, too, and I couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse. He hadn’t placed any effort in trying to talk to me, or reconcile, and that only served to make me believe he really was guilty, he really did cheat because he was weak, and had moved on without me. I’d said as much to Mor on Wednesday but she had vehemently argued against that opinion.

“Just talk to him!” she’d exclaimed over dinner that night. “And neither of you will hang with me, Cass, Az and Amren! Things aren’t the same without you guys. And you’re obviously miserable without each other. Won’t you just talk to him? There’s got to be an explanation.”

But I hadn’t, and my week without Rhys and my newfound friends had accomplished at least one good thing. I had thrown myself into my training, needing an outlet for all the emotions warring within me. Should I talk to Rhys? Did I just have horrible taste when it came to men? All those thoughts, whirling around my head, only disappeared when I trained so hard at every practice that I could barely stay awake to study before bed every night.

Coach King had even noticed my newfound motivation. He’d pulled me aside after practice on Friday night and congratulated me for my hard work. He’d even hinted that I might make the travel team next weekend…

Somehow the motivation to work hard, accomplish things in my sport, had returned to me. And now that that was finally going well, I’d started considering changing my major to English or Art or something. Maybe I just needed to take a long break from boys. It made it a lot easier to focus on myself.

But some part of me knew that was a lie. I’d felt so different when I was with Rhys; I knew it was partially due to him that I suddenly felt confident enough to put everything on the line in practice, to even consider switching to a ‘less practical’ major. Even though he’d cheated. Now I knew I could conquer that sort of insult, channel that frustration into productive things that would hopefully make my life better.

I hadn’t seen or explained what had happened between Rhys and me to either of my sisters, but tonight was the night I was planning on telling Elain about my newfound motivation. However, I had not expected Azriel, looking slightly disheveled and embarrassed, to be sitting in her apartment when I arrived.

“Azriel… What are you doing here?” I asked him, even as I shot Elain a look.

She grinned weakly. “Az was just leaving!” She said, grabbing his arm and pulling him off the couch. He acquiesced because Elain definitely wasn’t strong enough to pull Azriel up off anything.

“Az?” I asked her.

Azriel’s cheeks were bright red and he wasn’t making eye contact. I glanced between them. “Is something going on here?”

“Bye Azriel!” Elain said, her voice strained and cheeks equally as pink as Azriel’s.

Azriel grabbed his jacket from where it was laying haphazardly on the floor next to the couch. I shot Elain another look and she didn’t even try to smile. She just pushed him out and slammed it shut.

“Elain Archeron, you bad, bad, girl,” I said, unable to restrain myself.

“Oh shut up,” she said, throwing herself onto the couch and covering her face with her hands.

“You want to tell me how long that’s been going on?”

“Well, if you mean by, how long have I been seeing him, then only a week and a half. If you mean how long I’ve been talking to him… Over two months. We connected on a dating app, and at first it was funny because we were kind of connected through you, even though you two weren’t really close at the time. So we laughed about it and just never stopped texting. Our first real date was last week.”

I grew more and more stunned as Elain explained. She looked at me, obviously finished with details, and I closed my mouth, which had been hanging open.

“Elain, I’m--”

“Don’t you dare ask me if I think I’m ready for this.”

“I wasn’t going to! I’m--I’m so, so happy for you!” I screeched, unable to contain my happiness that Elain had found somebody, whether it be long term or not, after Greyson. That bastard had hurt her and she deserved so much better. And I knew for a fact that Azriel was a good man. I threw myself at Elain, hugging her tight. “Are you happy?”

Elain’s slender arms wrapped around me hesitantly, and she patted me on the back. “I really like him, Feyre. And we’ve only been officially going out for like a week but everything feels so natural with him. I’m not afraid of it. He’s so easy to talk to, and kind, and…”

I pulled back, realizing there was one question I still didn’t know the answer to. “Was he supposed to be here when I arrived?”

She shook her head, standing up to walk into the kitchen. I followed, seating myself at the bar across from her as she pulled out a skillet and some ground beef. “Tacos okay?” She asked, and I nodded. “To answer your question, no, he was not supposed to be here. I called him to come dispose of a rat for me. Wine?”

I nodded and she opened a bottle of red. “So you mean to tell me,” I said slowly, accepting the wineglass she offered, “that you called Azriel over here because you had a rat in your apartment?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Why is that so odd? Azriel acted strange about it too. You know what he asked me? He said, ‘Oh, so is there actually a rat in your apartment?’ What’s that about?”

I rested my forehead on the counter in front of me. “Elain. I’m so glad you’ve found Azriel but you can be so clueless sometimes. He thought you asked him over here to have sex!”

“What? That makes no sense.”

“That’s like, the classic signal. You call your boyfriend, telling him there’s a bat in your attic or a chick on the loose in the house! Then you pretend to look for it, both of you knowing full well there’s not an actual rodent loose in the house. And then you… you know.”

“Oh God. That is so not a thing.” Elain downed half of her glass of wine in a few gulps.

“It’s a thing. I did it with Tamlin. And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

“Do me a favor, Feyre. Never mention this to anyone. And don’t give me any more details about your sex life with Tamlin, either.”

“My lips are sealed on both counts, believe me.”

Elain started browning the taco meat. “So… Speaking of boys.”

“No.”

“Feyre Archeron, so help me, you are going to tell me what happened between you and Rhys. I’m very concerned, here! Even Azriel doesn’t know and he’s one of Rhys’s best friends! Drink your wine and tell me the truth.”

I groaned. But it had to come out sometime, right? Now it was my turn to tell the truth. I had just barged in on Elain and her secret boyfriend.

“Rhys cheated on me last week.”

Elain’s mouth popped open, the taco meat in front of her momentarily forgotten. “He did what.”

For the second time, I explained what had gone down between Rhys and Amarantha in the alleyway outside of the club.

“There’s got to be some sort of explanation,” Elain said.

“That’s what Mor keeps saying. He cheated. End of story. It’s exactly what Tamlin did to me a month ago. I’m not putting up with that.”

------------------

I slept over at Elain’s that night after she consoled me about Rhys and then told me I didn’t need him. She had mentioned a couple times that maybe there was an explanation that would somehow justify him kissing his ex while I was nearby. I just couldn’t bring myself to buy it. Because if there was an explanation for Rhys cheating... What if there had been an explanation for why Tamlin had cheated? What if I was just getting everything wrong?

When I got back to my house the next day, I realized the door was deadbolted. Which meant I would have to call Ianthe, because she wasn’t answering the door. Shit.

Five fruitless phone calls later, I was still stuck outside. I banged on the door. If it was deadbolted, someone had to be inside.

“Hello? Ianthe! Let me in!”

Nothing. I turned around, surveying the empty street. It was early for a Sunday morning. Most of my friends were probably asleep. I could possibly call Mor, but she lived with Rhys. And I didn’t want to hang out anywhere that I might run into Rhys until Ianthe was able to let me in. I sat down on the steps and starting scrolling through my social media, waiting for a brilliant idea to hit me.

And then I heard the door swing open from behind me. I turned around and came face to face with Tamlin.

“What the hell are you doing inside my house.”

“It’s not just your house, you know,” he said, leaning against the door frame looking smug.

“You know what, I don’t want to think about what you were doing inside my house. Just get out of here,” I said, standing and making to move past him.

“Come on, Feyre. We all know you’re fucking Rhys. I’m not allowed to have a little fun of my own?”

I glared at him. He hadn’t moved and was blocking the only entrance to the house. “I don’t give a fuck what you think I’ve been doing, nor do I care what you have been doing. I do however, demand that you get out of my way and fuck off.”

He raised his hands. “Fine, fine. But I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.” His subsequent smile was enough to tell me exactly why I’d be seeing him.

Ianthe was a bitch. And Tamlin was a dick.

I pushed past him and slammed the door shut. Ianthe was in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a robe.

“Feyre! I didn’t expect you back so early.”

I ignored her, dialing Mor as I walked downstairs to my floor of the house. She picked up on the first ring.

“Who is calling me this early on a Sunday.” Mor’s sleepy voice issued from the phone.

“I need a place to stay,” I said. “And I can’t stay in your guest room because, well, you know. And I can’t barge in on Elain because her place is way too small for two people. And I certainly cannot stay here any longer because Ianthe is now fucking my ex boyfriend. So tell me what to do.”

“That bitch,” Mor said. “I don’t know Feyre.” She hesitated. “I don’t think you can get out of your lease until the summer. Just stay with us. Please? Rhys is definitely gonna stay far away from you.”

“You’re only saying that because you want us to reconcile.”

“So what if I do!” Mor exclaimed. “There’s got to be some sort of explanation,” she continued. “And Rhys is at least a more pleasant ex-boyfriend than Tamlin, you’ve got to admit. Just come stay here for the week and see if you can handle it.”

I thought about it. I really did not want to see Rhys. But when I weighed the pros and cons…

Tamlin wouldn’t try to avoid seeing me. He got off on antagonizing me and generally being a dick. Rhys was as reluctant to see me as I was to see him. It might be better that way. And at least I’d have someone on my side with Mor there, instead of it being Ianthe and Tamlin against me in this house.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But only for the week.”

I could sense Mor’s smile through the phone. “Perfect! I’ll pick you up at ten. I’m going back to bed.”

TAGS----------

@aknymph @sleeping-and-books @queen-of-glass @fabfire

#acotar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses au #feysand #elriel #sarah j maas #feyre archeron #feysand au #azriel #elain #elain x azriel #feyre x rhysand #acomaf ff #acotar ff #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction

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feedmecookiesnow · 4 years

Text

love the one you’re with

For the anon who requested: “Can you write something for winterhawk where one of them gets nervous about PDA or being together publicly because lgtbq community wasn’t accepted for a while? (I have issues myself 😅)”

I’m sorry this has taken me so long to get to! As a fairly straight person, this isn’t something I’ve ever experienced personally, so I was asking around for some details to help me get this right. Thank you for your patience, and I hope this is what you were looking for.

***

“Can I ask you something?”

Bucky looks over at Clint. He’s hanging upside down on the couch, lazily throwing darts at the opposite wall. They’re forming some kind of pattern, although it’s too early to tell what yet.

“Yes, your abs look good like that,” Bucky tells him.

Clint snorts. “I know that. That’s not the question.” He throws another dart.

“What’s the question?”

“Why won’t you hold my hand when we’re in public?”

Bucky freezes in the middle of flipping a waffle onto a plate. “What?”

“Whenever we’re out.” Clint rolls onto his stomach and pushes upright. Bucky eyes the muscles in his back appreciatively. “You’ll touch me here, or in front of the team, but whenever we go out it’s like you shut down. Even when we’re on dates.”

“I don’t...” Bucky thinks about it. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Even if I initiate it, you pull away after a bit.”

Bucky clears off the griddle and snaps it off. “I don’t mean to.”

“So why do you?”

He sounds defensive about it, almost. Or something like that. They haven’t been officially dating long, and Bucky still finds it hard to read his tones sometimes. “I don’t know. Come eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You were hungry ten minutes ago.”

“I---” Clint stops, looks at the waffles. “Will you just answer the question, please?”

Bucky studies him for a moment. He’s rolling a dart between his fingers, and his whole body is tense. Keyed up, almost. Like he’s ready to bolt out the door.

“You think I’m ashamed of us,” Bucky guesses. “Of being with you.”

“It’s crossed my mind,” Clint says, trying and failing to look like this thought doesn’t bother him. “I mean, I know you and Steve used to be a thing, and I’m not anything compared to him. I’m irritating and hard to deal with and I mess shit up a lot. We don’t look like we go together at all. I get it if you don’t want to be seen with me.”

Bucky bursts out laughing.

It’s probably the wrong move, judging by his face, but Clint is just so far off the mark that it’s almost absurd.

“It’s not you,” he finally gets out. “Were you really thinking that? That’s not even close to being true. I love everything about you, irritating parts and all. You are not the problem here. Not even a little bit.”

Clint looks relieved. “So what is it, then?”

“It’s everyone else.” Bucky rubs a hand through his hair. “I mean---it’s just---when Steve and I were together, we had to hide it. If people knew we were queer like that...” He shakes his head. “Steve got beat up enough as it was, you know? They woulda killed him if we weren’t careful. So we had to hide it.”

“You don’t have to hide it now,” Clint says. “It’s the modern age, Buck. It’s okay to be gay. Or queer, or bi, or ace, or whatever the hell you want to be. No one cares.”

Bucky sets the waffles down. “Sure they do. Didn’t you hear those guys the other day? And then last week, you kissed me in the store and that one guy got in your face about it. You almost got your nose broken.”

“So what?” Clint pushes up onto his hands, walks a couple steps, then tucks and rolls up onto his feet. “You just gotta ignore them. That’s what I do. Or punch them, if they deserve it. I mean, anyone who gets in a fight with us is gonna regret it. That guy did.”

“It’s not that easy, Clint.”

“Sure it is.”

“It’s not.”

Clint looks at him. “It really bothers you, huh?”

Bucky shrugs helplessly.

“Why haven’t you said something?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was hoping it would go away.”

Clint snorts and sits down, pulling a waffle over. “Because ignoring your problems is the best way to deal with them?”

“Okay, you are so not one to talk about ignoring problems.”

“Fair.” He takes the syrup out of Bucky’s hand and starts prying at the cap. “I wish you would’ve told me, though. You can talk to me about this stuff.”

“I know. I just...” Bucky takes the syrup back and pops the cap off, then hands it to him. “It’s really ingrained. I don’t even know I’m doing it half the time.” He sighs. “It’s just different. I spent my whole relationship with Steve trying not to talk about it, or show anything that would make people think that about us. And then there was Hydra and the whole Winter Soldier thing, you know.”

“That minor incident, yeah,” Clint says. He turns the bottle over and somehow manages to miss the plate entirely. “Aw, syrup, no.”

Bucky reaches over to the sink and tosses him a washcloth. “Anyway. I guess I’ve never really had a chance to work past it. I like you, and I want to be with you, But every time we’re out there---” he gestures to the window “---it’s like it all comes back to me. Even something as easy as holding hands just screams danger in my head. I don’t want you to get hurt because some asshole’s got an opinion about a couple of guys being together.”

“You’re worth getting hurt over,” Clint says, getting up to rinse off the cloth. He kisses Bucky’s forehead as he goes by, and Bucky has to take a moment to breathe past the sudden lump in his throat. “But I understand. I’m glad you told me.” He thinks for a moment, then brightens up. “I have an idea.”

“No,” Bucky protests, because Clint’s ideas inevitably end up with something going terribly wrong. He adores the hell out of Clint, but he also has absolutely no idea how one person manages to get into so much trouble. “Steve will kill us if he has to bail us out of jail again.”

“No one’s going to jail this time,” Clint says. “I promise.”

“We’d better not, because Tony still brings that up, and I’m really tired of hearing about it.”

“No jail. You’ll like this, I promise.”

Bucky doesn’t ask further. Clint would probably tell him if he pushed, but he also knows that it makes Clint happy to surprise him with things, so he just swallows down his questions and reaches for the syrup.

------

Two nights later, Clint knocks on the bathroom door. “You in here?”

“No, it’s a ghost,” Bucky says. “Of course it’s me, who the hell else would it be?”

Clint chuckles. “Okay, good point. Are you almost ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Canada. Specifically, Toronto.”

Bucky blinks in surprise. “Canada?”

“Yep.”

“Toronto?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” He knocks again. “Come on. Nat has graciously agreed to fly us.”

“Really?”

“Okay, so I bribed her. Same thing.” He knocks for the third time. “Come on, I’ve already got a bag packed for you.”

Bucky looks in the mirror one more time. He’s slightly nervous for this, although he’s not sure why. “Yeah, okay.”

He steps out into the hallway, and nearly starts laughing at the look on Clint’s face. Bucky doesn’t think he’s wearing anything particularly special---it’s just nicer jeans and a dark grey shirt, but Clint looks like he’s been sucker-punched at the sight.

“Gonna catch flies like that,” Bucky informs him, but Clint doesn’t appear to be listening. He’s too busy dragging his eyes all over Bucky, from his legs to his chest to his arms and finally back up to his face.

“Ah,” he manages after a moment, a strangled sort of noise that Bucky wants to hear again in a slightly different context. “You, uh. You look good.”

“Not too bad yourself, doll,” Bucky says, kissing his cheek. “I like the jacket.”

Clint looks down at it. “Yeah, Nat picked it out. She picked out all of this, actually. Something about not trusting me to dress myself.”

“Figures. You said you packed a bag? I thought this was a one night thing.”

“Nope. We’re going on a weekend vacation.” He grins at Bucky. “We deserve it.”

“I’m in,” Bucky says immediately. “Can’t remember the last vacation we had.”

“Florida.”

Bucky thinks for a moment. “That was less of a vacation and more of us going off-grid for three days.”

“We take what we can get.” Clint thumbs towards the door. “Let’s go.”

------

They drop their things in their hotel, and then Clint leads him downtown Toronto, navigating through the streets with ease. “Memorized the map,” he says, when Bucky asks how he knows where they’re going. “I wanted to look confident. Is it working?”

“Definitely.”

“Great,” Clint says, two seconds before he trips over his own feet.

Bucky catches him automatically. “Careful,” he murmurs, smirking a little.

“Just testing gravity.” He straightens his jacket and grins at Bucky. “We’re here, anyway.”

“And here is...”

“Have a look.” Clint gestures behind him, and Bucky turns around.

It doesn’t look any different to the other streets they’ve been walking on, and at first he doesn’t get it. “Why...” he starts, and then he sees the crosswalk. It’s painted in rainbow colors, something that he’s come to recognize as having a different meaning beyond just pretty aesthetics. And it’s not just the road either---it’s on the buildings, and in the windows, and painted onto bricks.

Clint gently pulls him out of the way as a tall woman walks past, one arm wrapped around another woman. As Bucky watches, they kiss each other good-bye, then separate at the street corner. Another group of people hustles past, all done up in fancy dresses, and Bucky realizes with slight shock that four out of the five are guys. And it’s not that he’s never seen guys in dresses, but not out in public, and it takes him a moment to wrap his mind around it.

Bucky looks to Clint, who is watching him with an intent expression. “This is the Village,” he says, throwing his arms out. “What do you think?”

“I, uh...”

He turns, looking around at the multitude of pride flags, and the different people walking past, and he feels---

He feels at ease, for once. Relaxed in a way that he normally can’t get while out on dates. He’s always evaluating the crowd when they’re out at home, hyperaware of the fact that someone might see and react poorly to them being together. It’s never quite the violent scene of his youth---he once knew a guy who was beaten near to death for it---but it still happens. There’s still dirty looks, and whispered words, and other things that set his teeth on edge, making him paranoid to even stand too close to Clint sometimes

But this is different. There’s no looks, here. No muttered slurs. He’s pretty sure that he could display his metal arm and kiss Clint in the middle of the street, and nobody would even look twice at them.

“I love it,” he says honestly, and Clint beams at him.

“Awesome. I knew you would.” He points across the street. “I made us reservations there. Come on.” He holds out his hand, and after a moment, Bucky puts his own in it. It’s worth the brief flash of discomfort to see the look of joy on Clint’s face.

They get settled at an outdoor table and put in their orders. Bucky sips his beer and looks around at the street, taking it all in. “This is really something else,” he says. “Have you been here before?”

“No, but Steve and Tony were telling me about it. I thought it might be something you’d like.”

Bucky nods. “I do. It’s...it’s nice. I feel like I can relax. Like I don’t have to be worried.”

“You don’t have to be worried anyway,” Clint tells him.

“I know that,” he says. “Believing it’s another story. Some of the shit I used to see, Clint, you can’t even imagine---”

“This isn’t the 40’s anymore,” Clint says carefully. “I know people still suck, but it’s not quite as bad as it used to be.”

“Yeah, but...” Bucky shakes his head. “I’m trying, okay? It’s just hard to shake.”

“I know, Buck.” He leans forward suddenly, setting his beer aside. “Look at me.”

Bucky does, noting the serious set to his face. “I’m listening.”

“Good.” He taps his fingers on the table. “Here’s the deal. I’m insanely happy to be with you. I want to hold your hand in public and kiss you in public and possibly have you bang me in an back alley somewhere.”

Bucky blushes. “Clint, what---”

“Shut up and let me have my fantasies.” Clint winks, then turns serious again. “But I brought you here because I wanted to show you this.” He gestures to the street, and the people walking past. “That there’s places out in the world where you don’t have to hide. You can be proud of who you are, and who you’re with.”

Bucky nods, not sure if he’s really got the words to express what he’s feeling at the moment.

“You don’t have to do this at home,” Clint says. “I don’t want to force you into doing anything you’re not comfortable with. If you need me to play the straight bro with you when we’re in public, I can do that. But I just wanted to show that there’s more people out here, like us. We’re not alone. It’s okay for you and me to be together, and it’s okay to show that we’re together.”

He reaches out and covers Bucky’s hand. “There’s always gonna be assholes and people making comments or staring. I can’t stop them. But I like you too much to let it bother me, and I’m hoping that one day you can get to the point where you feel the same.”

“I...”

Clint smiles at him. “I’m in this for the long run, okay? And it’s gonna take a lot more than some moron with an opinion to scare me off of you. Got it?”

“Got it,” Bucky says quietly. “Thank you, doll.”

“I got your back,” Clint says just as quietly, squeezing his hand. “Always.”

“I know you do.” Bucky smiles at him. “You’re my guy.”

“Damn straight.” He pauses, then says, “Well. Straight might be the wrong term.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Bucky snorts, burying his face in his hand. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Shut up. You love my puns and you know it.”

Their food arrives, and they spend the rest of the time talking and eating. When they’re done, Clint drops a couple bills on the check before Bucky can and stands up. “Come on,” he says, straightening his jacket. “There’s a bar down the street we gotta see.”

“Why’s that?” Bucky asks, standing up.

“Rumor has it they have a hell of a drag show. I’ve been dying to see it.” He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

“Happy to,” Bucky says, taking it, and he pulls Clint into a kiss that’s probably not entirely appropriate for a public space. But he doesn’t care, and to realize that he doesn’t care just makes him even happier.

“Okay,” Clint says when they break apart. “You kiss me like that again, and we’re gonna move here full time.”

Bucky laughs. “I think I’d be okay with that,” he says, letting Clint pull him away from the table. “I like it here.”

“Me too,” Clint says with a grin, tucking his hand more firmly into Bucky’s. “Me too.”

#winterhawk #cookiewrites #clint/bucky #pride #lgbtq fiction #marvel #fanfic #anonasks

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epicstuckyficrecs · 4 years

Text

Short Stucky fics

@munin_and_hugin on Twitter asked for some short (7K or less) Stucky fics, preferably rated E, so I made this! If you need a short break from your family in this festive season, here’s some reading material for you ;)

Slide To Answer by relenafanel (Wrong number AU | 6,3K | Teen): “Ok,” a stranger’s voice said over the phone. “First acknowledge the fact that you dialed the wrong number, but be quick about it because my cab is a few blocks away from my own plans and I’m about to drop some truth bombs on you.”

Not in the Regs by melonbutterfly (Modern AU, Military | 6K | Explicit): This isn't something that happens to Steve. Sure, he sees people he finds attractive, and sometimes he happens to find people attractive that make him angry, but never has he met someone and just felt the overwhelming urge to shut him up. With his cock.

with his educated eyes, and his head between my thighs by spacebuck (ABO AU | 4,9K | Explicit): Living with an alpha was usually … difficult. Bucky though? Perfect. Fucking. Gentleman. And it drove Steve nuts.

hear your call by silentwalrus (Post-WS PWP | 6,3K | Explicit): “You can be rougher,” Bucky says. “If you want.” They’re about four minutes post orgasm and Steve is still trying to figure out where his legs are. “Muh?”

Tinder Is the Night by rohkeutta (Tinder AU | 6,8K | Explicit): Steve, 28, it says under the photo. New York City. Some say I have an arresting personality. This photo is from my good side. The other has a shiner.

Bucky Barnes and his Big Beefy Blonde by Kellyscams (Shrunkyclunks | 6K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes loves Big, Beefy, Blondes. What he loves most about Big, Beefy, Blondes is having no string attached sex with them. Until he meets a Big, Beefy, Blonde that just happens to be Steve Rogers -- Captain America who's only been declared alive a few months ago. This is one that could go down as Bucky's fuck of a lifetime. That's if he can avoid these pesky feelings that start showing up out of nowhere.

Places left behind by Claudia_flies (ABO AU | 7,1K | Explicit): As Steve approaches the door of the walk-in closet, there’s a sudden growl. It’s low and defensive, and Steve freezes. He’s only wearing a towel, he suddenly realizes stupidly. “Jarvis?” he calls out. “Yes, sir?” comes the clipped voice of the A.I over the comms system. “Is there someone in the closet?”

you're spring to me by SD_Ryan (Uni AU, Sugar Daddy Steve | 4,5K | Explicit): When Bucky realizes his roommate's brother has been hitting on him, he thinks maybe he can get on board with the idea.

It's Waiting There for You by amethystkrystal (Post-CW | 3,2K | Explicit): Steve visits Wakanda and Bucky decides he's done being afraid of his feelings.

Stark Naked: Captain XXX and the Soldier by thepinupchemist (Porn AU | 4,3K | Explicit): Bucky likes his job. Hell, he loves his job. He works for Stark Naked Industries, which, headed by none other than Tony Stark himself, is the biggest name in the porn industry. The only problem? Bucky got typecast as a top, while in reality he prefers to bottom. When Tony wants Bucky in their new When Tops Collide video series, Bucky is intimidated by Steve Rogers, the first person Bucky will bottom for on camera. But mostly? Mostly, he's turned on.

You got me banging on the wall by sassystuckystan (Neighbours AU | 7,2K | Explicit): Bucky's next door neighbor, while being the pinnacle of sex, is singlehandedly the most annoying and frustrating man on the planet. Naturally, Bucky's dick is very interested. Throw in a dash of internships, mild voyeurism, and traitorous roommates, you have a recipe for an all-out war.

hearts aflame by wearing_tearing (ABO AU | 7,2K | Explicit): Running is freeing. That’s what Bucky holds on to when he gets in place, surrounded by thirty or so Omegas, all ready to start the Run. Running is freeing, even when you’re running with the promise of being caught.

M is for Murder by rohkeutta (Post-WS, Crack | 4,2K | Mature): I’m pretty low on funds and need to make ends meet this month, Barnes types slowly into a new post three days later. I’m taking commissions for hits in the New York City area.

Situation: Normal by redcigar (Canon divergent, Post-WS | 3,1K | Mature): AU wherein Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers never met, Steve somehow manages to rescue the Winter Soldier anyway, and Avengers Tower ends up with the world’s angriest duckling and a whole new brand of entertainment. (Part 1 of All's fair in [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], 3 works, 10K)

maybe bi guy by obsessivereader (Modern AU | 3,3K | Mature): Steve: i saw that guy again. i think i’m not as straight as i thought i was. - Or Steve embarks on a journey of self-discovery assisted by a helpful stranger who likes to make really bad puns

heart trips by wearing_tearing (Modern AU | 4,2K | Mature): Because, you see, Bucky being so distracted to the point where he wasn’t looking where he was going and tripped on thin air and almost died? Well, it kind of happened because of Steve. Or, you know, more precisely: because of Steve’s pants.

where women glow and men plunder by rohkeutta (Modern AU | 3,8K | Mature): There’s a snake in the pool. Steve spends approximately seven minutes just ogling behind the glass fence separating the yard and the pool area before he even thinks about calling someone about it. When the snake doesn't show any signs of leaving in a few more minutes, Steve grudgingly goes inside to retrieve his phone and the post-it with James’s number.

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled (Senforza) (Shrunkyclunks | 4,1K | Teen): “...Why would you tweet something like that?!” “If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America. Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

Consumer Affairs by galwednesday (Outsider POV, Humor | 1K | Teen): “Tom,” Sara, the Senior Marketing Associate, said levelly, “if you don’t let me promote our bedroom product line using the Winter Soldier’s tweet reviews, I will quit. I will quit today. I already wrote my letter of resignation. You know what it says? It says that I cannot possibly do my job if I’m deprived of the best free publicity opportunity that has ever crossed my desk, and that will ever cross it again, in the form of one James Buchanan Barnes and his Supersoldier Fuckability Index.” (Bucky reviews IKEA beds. The marketing team responds.)

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec

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airi-p4 · 4 years

Text

Perfect asymmetry

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue

My fav. fic yet :)

Warning: Rated T for mild language

Warning 2: Includes art (1 simple totally SFW drawing)

Thanks to @livrever for the corrections!

Available in Ao3 too

____________________________________

It was late night and Juleka was crying in her room. Fortunately, or unfortunately, her room was shared with his brother, Luka, whom, having a trained ear from his music studies, could hear her sobbing clear and loud.

Luka was sleepy in his bed. He had been trying to sleep, but now he was internally debating if he should leave her sister alone or ask her what’s wrong. Kindness was one of his main traits, and he couldn’t deny he had a soft spot for his beautiful younger sister, so it didn’t take long for him to get out of his bed, stand up on his feet and move towards Juleka’s part of the room, crossing past the partitions that separated both areas.

“What’s wrong, Jules? Don’t cry please.” He said while looking at her curled up in her bed, in a fetal position using her pillow to hide her face.

“I… I’ll never be able to become a model anymore…” she managed to say between her crying hiccups.

“Don’t say that… You’re pretty, you know that. I’m sure you can be an excellent model. It’s your dream, right? You just have to be confident and trust yourself.” Luka sat on the bottom part of her bed, where her feet would be if she weren’t all curled up hugging her knees. He was stretching to pat Juleka’s head as he talked.

“No… I can’t… Not anymore…” she mumbled.

“Why? What happened? Tell me.” He had a soft smile on his face, and just that was enough to make Juleka relax a little.

“It’s embarrassing… I… I can’t be a model anymore because… because…” Juleka paused for some seconds. Luka was willing to listen to her closely and, with a welcoming look and slightly nodding, he encouraged Juleka to continue what she was saying. Trusting absolutely in her brother, Juleka continued talking in a very low voice. “My chest… my breast sizes… are different… They're not symmetrical at all…not pretty…”

‘Well, that was unexpected’, Luka thought. Nothing he could do about it except encourage her and try to make her feel better.

“Hey, Jules, it’s OK! I heard having different breast sizes happens to most women. I would say it’s pretty common! So, don’t overthink it, you’ll be fine as you are! Even Marinette’s are-” Luka gasped as he noticed his mistake, covering his mouth with his hand and looking away embarrassed. “Forget this last part. I just mean it’s OK, it’s normal and nothing that can crush your dream. So stop crying, OK? Just get some rest and you’ll feel better tomorrow”. He spoke nervously and faster than usual. Just as he stopped talking he kissed his sister's long purple hair before getting ready to take his leave “Sleep well”.

Luka stood up fast, in a rush to leave as soon as he could. But he found it impossible when Juleka rapidly grabbed his arm, VERY strongly, impeding him from moving farther. She had returned to a sitting position after his brother had kissed her hair, in order to stare fiercely into his brother’s eyes. Good thing she had stopped crying, but she had now a killer look on her face and Luka knew he was screwed.

“I’m not forgetting any of your spoken words. It’s your turn to explain to me now. HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MARINETTE’S BREAST SIZES!?”

Luka choked at how direct was the answer that came out of her sister’s mouth. He immediately got his brain cells working to think a way out of the mess he got caught in because of his slip of the tongue. An excuse (or a memory, to be accurate), didn’t last long to appear in his mind.

“You know, we went to the pool together some days ago and… I just noticed… You know, she was wearing that pink and black bikini… the…" Luka blushed at the memory as he paused "You know which one I mean…”

“Oh YES. The flashy one. No, the SEXY one. Of course I know. I couldn’t stop staring at her for a long while! No one who was there could! Not until you lend her your jacket to brush the pervs looks off! I’m thankful you did that, you know? She kind of made me feel like a horny girl. God, she looked so gorgeous!”

Luka couldn’t help it but to internally nod in agreement while his sister talked. But there was more talk coming, the type of talk that meant trouble to Luka and caught him unprepared.

“That’s why I know you are lying. Because I myself stared at Marinette long enough to memorize every detail of her beautifully sculpted body, from her toned abs, legs and arms, to her delicate hands, face, lips and ankles, and, of course, her beautifully round boobs she was almost exposing to everyone there! And you know what? That even with all that staring, I couldn’t notice any asymmetry in her body at ALL. So, don’t you dare to LIE to me. I’ll ask you again: HOW DO YOU KNOW MARINETTE’S BREAST SIZES?.”

“I- I don’t know, I just-…“. Luka had run out of ideas and immediately knew he had no escape. But he was too embarrassed to talk about Marinette’s chest with his sister. It just seemed wrong. But Juleka was not a patient girl and she was not willing to lose her time with an unclear answer.

“Look. I’ll ask you directly. DID YOU GRAB HER BOOBS, YES OR NO!?”

Luka choked. God, THAT really was a direct question. A hell of an embarrassing question. How is he supposed to say yes to that without sounding like a pervert? How is he supposed to give his sister details about how she made out with her close friend? Luka short-circuited at the thought, and Juleka wouldn’t give him any second to breathe, pressuring him further. He could notice she was grabbing his arm even stronger.

“ANSWER ME NOW!”

“OK, I did. I DID! I touched her breasts, OK!? That’s why I know there’s a slight size difference between them. That’s it, I answered you. Can I go now?” it was rare to see Luka impatient and flushed with red all over his face, but Juleka was not satisfied with that answer. She wanted to know more.

“Why? How? I need to know! Are they as soft as they look?”

“God, Juleka! Don’t ask me embarrassing things like that! I’m your brother! This could haunt me forever!” Luka had his arm still grabbed by his sister, but he used his remaining free hand to partially cover his face. “And hell yes, they’re even softer than they look…”. The musician couldn’t help but slightly smile at the memory. “Ugh… I feel like a pervert now… Don’t make me say this kind of thing, please!”.

“You know I can just ask her instead if you prefer… Or maybe I’ll ask her to let me touch them too… God, I would love to touch them…”

“Jules, NO!”

“Why? Is she your girlfriend? She isn’t as far as I know…” Luka seemed to have lost his usual cool. She got him just where she wanted.

“No… she isn’t my girlfriend. At least not yet? I think…? I mean- We really did have a private moment together but… I don’t know… I want to ask her tomorrow if she wants to date me but… What if she says no? God… I’m a mess and full of nervous. I don’t want to lose her…”

“You touched her boobs.”

“Well, that’s right but-”

“You grabbed them. And most likely massaged them. And with her permission, I assume. I know you wouldn’t do it otherwise” Juleka sounded partially angry and pretty confident.

“Well, that’s true but- “

“Did you kiss? God, don’t tell me you didn’t even kiss her before grabbing her boobs, ‘cause I’m going to punch you”

“No, I- I did… I kissed her. But even so-”

“Enough of ‘buts’! If there is a chance you are the reason she was wearing that fricking sexy bikini for at the pool, and I think there is a pretty likely, I’d say it’s pretty obvious she is more than INTERESTED in you. God, the oblivious girl didn’t even notice the pervs staring at her, she only looked at YOU and your embarrassed reactions!”

“Wait, really…? She did…? Are you sure, Juleka? ‘Cause I don’t want to be heartbroken again. Not after what happened with Adrien…”

Overconfidence wasn’t one of Luka’s main personality traits but, seeing him in such low spirits was unusual. He is mostly a positive boy, who is used to encourage people but not used to be encouraged. Good thing Juleka knew exactly how to handle him.

“JUST ASK HER OUT YOU IDIOT! My God… she let you kiss her and grab her boobs! What else do you need!? I’ll ask her out if you don’t!” Juleka’s voice wasn’t low anymore. She sounded angry and kind of… smitten?

“Wha-…!? Don’t you dare to sabotage your older brother! You’re interested in Rose!” Is she teasing me? Luka thought as he talked back to the girl.

“I’ve always had a thing for Marinette too, so I wouldn’t mind trying… If I’m lucky enough I could… you know… grab her BOOBS, maybe?” She couldn’t hide a chuckle as her teasing continued.

Luka, noticed her teasing and knew she wasn’t talking seriously, so he cooled down a little and decided to tease back, backfiring where it hurt her, but knowingly doing it avoiding any real damage. He smirked as he let his voice out.

“What the hell happened to your crying and your breast size complex, sis? I was supposed to be the one encouraging and cheering you up. Shouldn't we return to that topic? I can let you touch my chest too if you want...” Luka was talking in a sassy way, his hand over his chest.

“Ew, gross! But hey, you already did cheer me up! I’m in high spirits now! Thank you for telling me even perfection is not perfect. I feel way better now. And maybe, if she says yes tomorrow, which I’m sure she will, I’ll get to see your girlfriend’s boobs in the flesh. Don’t mind me if my hand slips and I ‘accidentally’ touch them sometime…”.

“I don’t know how I should feel about that…" Luka pouted "but I’m glad you feel better and that you’re not crying anymore.” He ended his words with a sincere smile on his face.

“You’re the best, Luka. Dumb, but still the best. Go get your girl tomorrow!”

Luka couldn’t tell if Juleka was serious or joking, but it could perfectly be both. At least she had a teasing but genuine smile on her face, and that made him feel relieved she was back to herself. She wouldn’t usually show her true self to anyone, not even her friends, so it made him happy she could express like that around him. He loved her laugh and, knew exactly how to summon it.

“YEAH! Bring it on! Rock and roll!” trying to imitate Jagged Stone’s accent, voice, tone and pose, Luka let out an unusually loud voice.

“OMG This is the worst imitation of Jagged Stone I’ve ever seen!! How can you be so bad at it!?”

Both siblings started laughing effusively, playing a little more their imitation games before going to sleep.

______________________________________________

The next day came peacefully as the light entered through the round windows of the cabins inside the Liberty, the houseboat Luka and Juleka lived in. Luka couldn’t sleep much due to his nervousness but rested well enough before waking up from the first rays of sunlight of the day. He woke up early and saw Juleka was waking up too, as the sun illuminated her pretty round face.

“Good morning,” Luka said.

“Good morning…” she was sleepy, but after remembering the previous night conversation with her brother, she immediately got cheerful and smiled at him as she got up out of bed. “Ready for today? Remember you’re not allowed to chicken out!” she teased him, giggling.

“Yes, yes… I know. I don’t want you to steal her from me” He smiled and giggled back at her, ruffling her hair. “I’ll make breakfast. Why don’t you get ready and prepare your things meanwhile?”

Juleka nodded and went to the bathroom. With their mother sleeping from the tiredness of her night-time job, Luka was normally the one in charge of the cooking. There was another reason for his cooking responsibility: the last time his mother cooked something the boat almost got incinerate, and Juleka was still terrified of fire after that life-threatening experience.

After the siblings peacefully finished eating their breakfast, Juleka was in charge of the dishes. They would always save some breakfast for Anarka, that Juleka made sure to wrap with transparent film. It was then Luka’s turn to get prepared for University. It was already his second year in Music Degree and he still couldn’t get used to it. He sometimes hated it, and sometimes loved it. He hated to ride the crowded metro at rush hour the most, but he loved composition lessons, which made it worth it. Perfection doesn’t exist, I guess… He thought, but then he was instantly reminded of Marinette, the girl he considered perfect in all aspects. ‘God bless cold showers’, he whispered before grabbing a towel.

Luka’s had to cross half of Paris by metro to reach his University. That meant he had to leave home way earlier than his sister and return later too. Still, with his delivery job to do, it would be late when he could actually get to see the girl he loved. And he still had to ask her if she wanted to meet today. Since he had some minutes left before leaving, he messaged the twin-tailed girl.

“Good morning, Marinette.”

“Could we meet today? I have to tell you something”

Marinette didn’t reply to him before he had to leave, so he only got more and more nervous. Juleka had told him she was probably still sleeping, but he was feeling uneasy. ‘Be positive’, he told himself. But classes started and there was still no reply from her, even if the ‘read’ signal was on. Negative thoughts kept his mind busy as classes went on. He would later need to ask his classmates to lend him their notes.

______________________________________________

Marinette panicked when she saw Luka’s message on her phone. ‘Is it time? Is it finally coming today? The long-awaited confession? Did he finally get my hints? God, I hope he’s not backing off and telling me he doesn’t want to see me ever again! I feel like I could die if he does!’

Marinette was in her last year of High School, but even being older now, she didn’t change much. Of course, she matured physically and mentally, but she had a WILD imagination that wouldn't let her act cool when it came to her crushes. And not only a crush, this time she was IN LOVE, which made things even worse. As her messy thoughts occupied her mind, she didn’t realize she still hadn’t written a reply to the boy she loved. And just like that, it became midday.

During lunchtime at High School, Juleka approached Marinette, who didn’t notice her: she was still immersed in her thoughts about a certain blue-haired boy.

“Good morning”

“Aah! Juleka, you startled me! Good morning” Marinette had jumped what seemed impossible from the surprise.

“What’s wrong? You seem down?” the purple-haired girl asked.

“It’s nothing…” she said while thinking about how she didn't have the courage to tell her about her older brother.

“Is it about Luka? He told me about… well… that.” she had some blush on her face, which made Marinette think of the worst possible scenario.

“WHAT DID HE TELL YOU!?”

Marinette's voice was very loud and it made all the students nearby turn around to look at the girls. She blushed and covered her mouth and the crowd rapidly lost their interest.

“Calm down, Marinette. What are you so nervous about? Haven’t you read my brother’s messages?” she asked her friend.

“I did! I’m meeting him today! He said he wants to tell me something! I- I- Do you know what it is? Tell me, please!”. Her arms were moving quickly, showing her nervousness.

“Marinette, you should have told me you cared so much about him. Wow, you two are really idiots. Take a look at this” Juleka reached her pocket and took out her smartphone, turning it on to show her friend the instant messenger app screen.

Luka: “Jules, Marinette hasn’t replied to my messages yet and I can't keep my cool anymore. I'm going crazy. Could you ask her during her free time to meet me at 9 PM at Pont des Arts, please?"

Juleka: “Leave it to me”

Luka: “Thank you, you’re the best”

"Wait. I thought I had replied!?" The girl switched on her smartphone to check her messages with Luka and noticed she had never really replied. "OMG how can I be so stupid!? I’m scared. Should I really go??" Marinette was being her panicking self, saying nonsense, according to Juleka, who was already tired from their useless fears.

"OMG not you too! Give me this". She snatched her friend's mobile phone and messaged her brother as if she was Marinette:

Marinette: “Message received from Juleka. I’ll be there.”

"Done" Juleka said, tossing the smartphone back to her friend.

"What have you done!? Now I have no excuse for not going! I can't make him wait and I have to get ready! OMG I have to wash my hair and choose my clothes and… so many things! I'm scared..."

Marinette's rambles were her usual type, so Juleka decided to ignore them and focus her efforts on the couple, trying to help them out.

"Marinette, I assure you nothing bad will come of that. You already kissed, didn’t you? It will be ok, you'll see” Juleka was smiling both teasingly and honestly.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT!?" Attention from all students was on her again, as she blushed and hid her face. Her friend continued talking.

"Marinette, it will be fine, I assure you it will. Luka is not like Adrien, you know that. Everything’s gonna be alright. Trust me” Juleka's confidence and soft smile made Marinette calm down and feel better immediately.

"Thank you Juleka, you’re the best! Let me know if there’s anything I can ever do for you!"

Marinette's eyes were sparkling while she took her friend's hands into hers in a grateful way. A little blush formed on the long-haired girl's cheeks, as she smiled. Then, her smile became a smirk. 'Anything, huh?', she thought.

"Well… there’s one thing..."

______________________________

It was 7:40 PM when Luka finished his delivery errands. He would usually finish 20 minutes later, but he rushed his bike in order to finish earlier. The extra effort left him sweating and exhausted, but thanks to that, he would be able to go home and take a shower before meeting Marinette.

His nervousness hasn't stopped for any second during that day. He was scheming and considering which one could be the best way to convey his feelings. He wanted them to reach the girl's heart, in a pure and sincere way. It's not like this was his first time confessing to her, but this time was different: he was going to ask her for an answer. He wanted to ask her to be his girlfriend and only two possible answers were in the picture: YES or NO. He tried not to think about the next step after that. Juleka was encouraging him to be positive, so he couldn't afford to lose to pessimistic ideas.

When Luka finished taking a shower it was already 8:25 pm. He felt bad for calling on a girl so late at night, but he couldn't wait any longer, and, since it was early June, he knew the sun would still be out. He wouldn't have chosen this time to meet her otherwise. He didn't want her to walk alone at night around Paris dangerous streets.

The place of the meeting was strategically chosen too: close to Marinette's house and even closer to Luka's houseboat, where he still lived.

He had been planning to rent an apartment for himself for a while, but he didn't want to share it and, finding a good apartment on a budget that he could afford in Paris was almost impossible. Because of that, he still hadn't moved away from his mother's boathouse, but he was getting impatient to go live on his own: sharing a room with his sister at his age wasn't healthy for him anymore, even if he loved and enjoyed being with his sister and mother. You know, men’s needs.

As soon as Luka finished getting ready, he put a slim jacket and some cologne on, made sure his hair was looking good, and brushed his teeth. He wanted to arrive earlier than Marinette so she wouldn't have to wait for him, so he left home 15 minutes early, in order to arrive 10 minutes earlier than the accorded meeting time.

When Luka arrived at Pont Des Arts, Marinette hadn't arrived yet. Some tourists were still strolling around, mainly couples, but the approach of nighttime made them leave little by little. Dinner time was on too, so the chosen time was beneficial in that aspect too. He wouldn't like to have public when he confesses, especially if it ends up with a rejection. 'No negative thinking, damn it'.

Time felt like it wasn't passing for Luka. His nervousness was consuming him, so he decided to grab his guitar and play a little to calm himself down. He didn't succeed, and soon people had approached to listen to him. Some even tossed some coins inside his guitar case.

It was 9 pm and Marinette hadn't arrived. 'Late as always' he thought. But then it was 9:10, 9:15, 9:20... and nothing, still no sign of her. He had been playing his guitar while he waited, but as it was getting too dark, the remaining people had decided to leave. He had only stopped playing when the big arrow was pointing down on his watch.

After returning the guitar inside its case he gazed at the river, losing hope of the girl coming anymore. He wondered if he should throw himself into the river, but the view was nice and he stood up on one of the lower parts of the fence to have a better look of the water of the Seine.

"Luka!!! Nooo!!! Don't do it!!"

Marinette came rushing towards the surprised but extremely happy boy, who was also confused by her words. She ran as fast as she could in her high heels until she lost her balance, spin on her right foot and almost bumping into the fence of the bridge, and almost falling down if it hadn't been for Luka, who placed his hands over her hips and pulled her towards him to miraculously avoid any collision. Luka's pull was so desperate he couldn't control his strength and Marinette fell on him.

Marinette was panting hard from her run. She was on top of Luka, who was on the floor, sitting but almost laying down. Marinette was very close. He could tell she had spent a lot of time styling herself: clothes, hair, and makeup. And even if the race there had messed up her hair, she looked more beautiful than ever.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Marinette suddenly blushed, looking down in embarrassment… only to find the boy's hips under her, with something standing out (literally) and she couldn't take her eyes away from it. The blush on her face couldn't be redder.

"OMG I'M SO SORRY!!" she was screaming while she got up. "I'm so sorry for making you wait… I was styling myself and… I didn’t notice the time... and… all for nothing… it's ruined now…" she looked genuinely sad. "But don't throw yourself to the river, please! I don't think I could live without you! I need you!" she desperately added.

Luka had already stood up from the floor and was staring at the girl in front of him. Marinette had begged, with crying eyes ruining her makeup, for him to live for her, and he was astonished. She had just told him she couldn't live without him and that she needs him. Marinette gasped flustered in red as she noticed her words and Luka couldn't shut his mouth out of the surprise.

"Marinette, what did you say right now? Do you really mean it...?" Marinette shyly nodded, face looking to her feet. "Is it ok for me to think of it in an egoistic way… I mean… Is it ok for me to have hope...with you?" Marinette's eyes were meeting his now, opened as plates as she nodded shyly. That little nod gave Luka all the courage he needed.

"Marinette, I love you. I can't live without you either. Please, be my girlfriend."

Luka had a serious but slightly shy look on his face. A mix of happiness, embarrassment, surprise and hope. On the other hand, Marinette couldn't stop her grin from growing wider on her face.

"Yes!! Finally!!!" She said, completely excited. "I thought you would never ask. I was afraid you didn't feel the same for me after those years and I've been trying to impress you and I've been so desperate recently I can't believe it myself and-"

Luka's face only grinned his happiness as she mumbled things he couldn't hear. "Marinette" he finally called her. "Look".

The sun was already setting and a beautiful sunset had formed and reflected on the river.

"Isn't it pretty?" Said the boy, turning his face slightly over her.

"Yes… so pretty…"

Orange colors were all over their view, their eyes and faces matching with the color of the sky. Luka then took Marinette's hand softly, and linked hands with her as they enjoyed the view. After a few minutes, the light was replaced by the one from the streetlights.

"Sorry I called you so late. I wish I could spend more time with you, but it's already this dark. I don't want your parents to worry…What kind of boyfriend would I be?" Luka said, still trying to assimilate his own words.

"It's ok, Luka. We have a whole life to spend together. I'm your girlfriend now and I hope that when I'm not anymore, it's only because I've become your fiance, and then your wife. I love you and I can't live without you. I really mean it."

Marinette was smiling softly and Luka was stunned by her. Not only she had confessed first, but she also shared his same feelings. He couldn't help it but feel extremely happy but also a little stupid for his passivity and negativity.

"I feel so stupid. Not only you confessed to me first when I was the one who called you here with that purpose, but you also talk as if you have stolen my words from my mouth. I feel exactly the same, Marinette. I love you. I've loved you since the first time we met and I hadn't stop loving you since then. Thank you for becoming my girlfriend. It means everything to me".

The new couple was smiling softly and Luka finally leaned in to kiss his girlfriend. It was a romantic kiss filled with pure love, leaving butterflies inside their stomachs and giving them electric vibrations on their lips. With darkness surrounding them, their senses intensified, making them feel like only them were existing in the world.

When they separated, both of them wanted to kiss again, but they were aware of the time, so they decided to hold their feelings back for now.

"I'll walk you home," said the boy, lending the girl his jacket. His girlfriend nodded in response.

They walked hand in hand to Marinette's home, while she talked about how disappointed she was she styled up for nothing and could have made better use of that time if she had arrived on time to their meeting. Luka could only smile at her rambles, thinking about how he had never been this happy in his whole life.

After kissing 'goodbye, see you tomorrow', Marinette went inside her house from the back door and Luka returned home with a smile he couldn't hide on his face.

_________________________________

Luka arrived home after a long day. He was physically exhausted, but his mind was floating in Loveland. Juleka received his brother at his arrival, as Anarka had already left to work.

"Welcome back," the little sister said, before giving him a fast scan. "I was going to ask you how it went, but your stupid grin is obvious enough. Eww, disgusting!”. She stuck her tongue out for a second before continuing “Congratulations on getting a girlfriend" she smiled, secretly happy for his brother.

"Thanks, Jules. I just can't believe it. Marinette is extraordinary. She's sweet, honest, and surprising. God and she is beautiful and her lips are made of magic..."

"Eww! Enough! Stop daydreaming about your girlfriend, skip the sugar when you talk to me. Let's talk about important things: you know you owe me one, right?" Juleka smirked as she teased her brother.

"Juleka, I owe you one. You're the best! Come here". Luka gave his sister a hug full of gratitude and fraternal love, which Juleka loved but would never recognize it all loud to anyone. Even less to Luka. She started to tease him in order to hide her feelings.

"Hey, Luka. You know? It's a B" she said.

"Pardon?" Luka blinked rapidly at the randomness of her sister’s words.

“Marinette. She wears a B cup” she specified.

"Of course you would know that just from looking…and you are a girl so..." Luka pouted a little for breaking the magic of their sibling hug.

*And listen, her actual sizes are…" Juleka had grabbed his brother's upper arms and made him go down a little, so she could whisper certain numbers to his ear. She let go of him and smirked when she became quiet.

“JULEKA. HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?" Said Luka loudly, losing his usual cool. The blue-eyed boy opened his eyes surprised and grabbed his sister's upper arms so he could look her face to face.

“What can I say? You were right! There’s a slight difference between them” she sighed as she smirked.

"OMG Juleka you grabbed my girlfriend’s breasts!? You betrayer!" Luka couldn't hide his shock.

"She wasn’t your girlfriend yet and she was in debt with me. Of course, I would take the chance" the long-haired girl explained with a victorious grin on her face.

"JULEKA COUFFAINE YOU’RE NOT GETTING CLOSE TO MY GIRLFRIEND AGAIN!" He warned her, part joking, as he knew his sister was just teasing him.

"Too bad we’re meeting tomorrow… Maybe I’ll get to explore something more… You know: benefits of being a 'girl friend'" Juleka licked her lips teasingly after finishing her words and Luka choked.

"Don’t you dare touch my girlfriend, you traitor!". Luka frowned.

"I'm can’t promise you anything."

Luka thought of how Juleka was always able to make him lose his cool with her teasing and Juleka loved messing with her brother. They both knew she was just joking, as she only had eyes for Rose, but they enjoyed the fun.

And with that, one more day of giggles filling their shared room and houseboat ended. But this one was extra memorable: for their bonds as siblings, and with Marinette too, got stronger than ever. All thanks to a pair of beautiful small soft round pair of B sized breasts and a girl’s complex.

_____________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed this, because I’m already working on the prequel :)

#my fic #airipyon #airip4 #lukanette fic #fic: perfect asymmetry #lukanette endgame #I hope you enjoyed this #thanks for reading

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