#also someone please add 'snowed in' and 'body worship' for me they only let you nominate 10!!! i had so many other ideas!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jksangelic · 5 years

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heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

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

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 18,600

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part One

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

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

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

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

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung…”

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

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

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

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

Part Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More howls from them, more cries from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Five

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

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

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

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What were you doing, human?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Leave." So you do.

Part Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confused, you nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Nine

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

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

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

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch this.”

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

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

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

❋

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

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright, time for bed."

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

❋

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must miss him then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

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

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part Ten

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

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

❋

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Part

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to join me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

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

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

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

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

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

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

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

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

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My love, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

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

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

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

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

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

“How do you feel, lovely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

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

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

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

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

“Now you’re just bragging!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this better, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

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

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

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

“A lot,” you complain.

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

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

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

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

“More than anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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the fader

title: the fader pairing: lee minhyuk/reader genre: traveler!au/strangers to lovers!au/one time love!au summary: there he is, the angel with a devilish smile, the new guy in town that has everyone talking. seated on the hood of his car, exchanging a few looks with her as she talks to her friends outside her workplace, she wonders if this is what the start of those romance movies feel like. minhyuk is here to stay, he promises her, time and time again. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor/suggestive word count: 18,812 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Not only a collector of material beings, she is, for there is something she also prides herself in: her collection of memories.

Not because of her intelligence, for the life of her she has never considered herself to be such thing, but because she can grip every bit of information from stories and myths, a lover of history over anything else. Complicated is the absolute opposite of it all, the town is not big enough for it to be a complex set of historical matters, and the people in there are not as much of a big group for her not to know what is happening. If anything, the whispers around the town could be heard everywhere, the greetings are loud, clear...everything is exposed, nothing left for imagination. If someone is bad, everyone knows it. If someone holds the rainbow in their smile, everyone notices.

The small city is the only placed she has ever been in. God forbid she ever goes to one of the places she has studied history from; planes sound like a flight to death and that irrational fear would never leave her bones. Nonetheless, she doesn’t complain, much less when Sundays come by and she is free from her job with Miss Hwang.

Sundays have always been eventful for her, welcomed by the diner that the individuals in this town often frequent. Rugged, old, full of memories and nice meals, enough for her to burn her tongue whenever she takes a bite of her food, delicacy in the form of home. Only when the youngest of the town heard her tell the tales of horror that went around the town did she get some company, for before anything happened, she would only grab a bite of food and look around for her friends to accompany her. Nowadays, or more like since a year ago, children of the town drag their friends over and sit down in the same table as her, some on seats, others on the floor, others standing, wanting to hear the new story that she has investigated.

Her talking skills are entrancing, she can say, she is good at storytelling, at giving away the necessary bits and keeping the uninteresting to herself. This routine has led her to feel more fulfilled, connected with her roots more than ever, waking up early in the morning simply to re-read over her favorite history books of her town, all courtesy of Miss Hwang. The dusty pages, the chatter of the children, the trip towards the diner every single moment of mid-day to grab some lunch. Everything made her feel useful, a new badge of memories added to her story.

Her feet are moving frantically at this point, knowing that lunchtime was just arriving and she had gotten quite lost in her own textbooks. The dust of the old streets flickers up at the mere weight of her shoes, nonexistent for someone who has grown up in such a place, the heat coming from the sky falling upon her skin and doing nothing more than warm her up. This is her daily life, the reason why she would never want to leave such a place—more than her home, it is a part of who she really is.

The first one to greet her is one of the old men that stand in front of the diner, a cigarette in between his lips that would never match the soft smile that comes from David. He lifts his hand in a salute, typical of him when he calls her name sweetly. “Haven’t seen you here in a long time.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling at the sound of the man’s voice as she presses her back to the entrance door, only needing a push of her weight to open it. “I’ve been cooking, you see. Besides, I was here last Sunday—”

“I feel betrayed,” David adds exaggeratedly, earning a few laughs from his group of old people. The over seventies club, she likes to call them inside her head. “You know there’s no food like the one my family makes.”

“I know,” She adds, a pout on her tone when she places her hand over her heart. “I won’t do it again. I sincerely missed your food.”

“Don’t worry.” The old man finishes, taking a drag of his cigarette and smoking a cloud into the air. As if the town is not heated enough, he plays part in the contamination of the world. Nonetheless, David has never been short of a good man—when times were the toughest, all caused by her adored yet non-giving job, he’d offer her free food. Something along the lines of ‘you’re like my daughter’ is his excuse. “Ask for whatever you want. It’s in the house.”

“Thank you.” She says with a big smile on her face, pushing the door open with her butt before stopping on her tracks. Her fingers point inside, a quirked eyebrow highlighting her statement: “Are the children waiting outside?”

“When are they not?”

“Sorry.” She apologizes, a hiss in her tone when one of David’s friends shake their head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He starts. “This place has never seen as much life as you give it.”

Upon entering the diner, she realizes she couldn’t lie to herself—this is what she loves the most, pleasing people, being praised for her hard work, and most importantly, giving out something to this difficult, somewhat impressively tough world. The wood by the walls are covered in family pictures...David’s great-grandfather, his grandfather, his father and so on and so forth. Much to the adoration of this place, it was now in the hands of David’s daughter, the cause of her filled stomach on Sunday days. The chattering of people is tranquil, some embarking on their food trips, other finishing off with a cup of coffee and on her usual table, the one with the torn red leather seat, there are a group of people already waiting for her. Mostly her closest friends and the children of the small town.

She rests her book down, letting out as sigh of delight when she receives greetings. How can one be lonely in such a place, where voices are always heard, love is always felt? She doesn’t know. The thought has never crossed her head. “Stop making a fuss,” She tells the children, the youngest—the sweet young boy around five years old—is the first one to keep his mouth shut. “We’ll make the other people here feel annoyed. Come on.”

Emily, the mother of the five-year-old, and one of her closest friends, speaks as she twirls her son’s curly hair in between her fingers, her glasses lowering when she gives her a tired glance. “You’re the one that started with this kindergarten slash elementary club. I’m sure everyone in town knows they love you.”

This is one of the reasons why she continues to read, continues to look for myths and the truth of this town. She doesn’t want anyone to ever feel embarrassed of where they came from—she wants art to be worshipped, loved, taken into consideration. This can only be fulfilled by teaching the youngest, which is why she plops down on her seat, extending her hands on top of the table. “I’ll go order and then, I’ll tell you guys the story of why this town is called the way it is.”

Something beautiful grows within her when she realizes that no number of negatives in her bank account could ever take this away from her: her memory. Even with her eyes closed, she could recognize the food from David’s diner. Even with her soul taken away from her body, she’d always go back home, ready to go out on Sundays—at twelve sharp, wanting to tell the story of such a place. She remembers how in her first years of living, the dusty streets had been the cause of her allergies, but she continued playing. How, sometimes, she wished she could live stronger winters, wished to touch the snow with the tips of her fingers, but she found beauty in the colors of yellow and orange that surrounded the city. Young, old, whoever passed by that town would know that it is impossible to grasp it away from you, to pluck the seed inside their heads that tells them everything here is real.

A small community, surely, but beautiful in its own way.

Excitement is what she tries to speak with, it need to be taught that way. History teachers, and even general instructors in life such as family members and friends, rarely have that tone when speaking about something. Being emotional about something that a person can like is seen as stupid—no one can speak their thoughts out without being judged. This, masked as insecurity or shyness, has destroyed the originality of life. It shall be lived in spoken words, in trials and errors, in grasping the reality that has made them and turning it into the future.

Only two hours later does she get to go outside, wondering if she should undo the button of her jeans to fight her bloated stomach. Nonetheless, she doesn’t, instead meeting up with Emily and her group of friends near the street. The curly haired woman is watching her son talk to David with ease, repeating the story that she had oh-so-happily said.

Her back rests against the red car that Emily owns, too old to even move properly, but hers nonetheless. “I can’t believe you’re able to make my child be interested in history. That’s crazy.” Emily utters, not taking her gaze away from her son, an incredulous smile plastered on her face.

Another one of her friends, Liz, shakes her head while laughter bubbles up her throat. “I tell you; she was the one that was supposed to get married, not you, Emily.”

She brings a hand up her chest, widening her eyes at the sound of Liz’s voice. “Oh, hell no. We’re not having that talk.”

While teaching younger individuals about the beauty of their town, she doesn’t think she could deal with anything like a five-year-old at the moment. Too much work, too little income in her bank account. “I’m serious.” Liz continues, moving her black hair behind her shoulders before shrugging. “You take care of everyone so well, it’s so insane.”

Biting back, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah, Liz, why don’t you have a child instead?”

“Oh no, sweetie,” Liz says, a smile on her face that highlights the piercing on her bottom lip. “I want to keep my vagina intact. Look at Emily, she always complains about how saggy hers is—”

Emily finally tears her gaze away from her child, placing her hands on top of Liz’s mouth to stop her speech. This reminds her of the times they used to be in high school—Liz, the troublemaker, more often than not having her tag along and Emily, the one that would cover them had they gotten in trouble. “I—Liz, we’re in public!”

The woman in question takes her friend’s hand in between hers, pulling it away from her mouth before sighing. “Alright, I won’t talk about your vagina. I’ll talk about hers instead.”

She chuckles at her antics. “Stop saying that word.”

“Oh, come on,” Liz complains, taking the time to pull her long hair away from her face, tying it up in a quick bun before releasing a big sigh. Something about her was always too honest, nowhere near as uptight as Emily was, the main reason why Liz is always in the mouths of the people around town. Gossip goes around here quickly. “I’m going to call it spoon from now on.”

“I don’t see where this conversation is going...”

“...Because we need to talk about this.” Her straightforward friend adds, just in time to take her by the shoulders and move her until her line of vision is casted towards what had captured Liz’s attention. The woman’s breath ghosts over her ear as she whispers, a smile practically displayed on her words when she says: “That unknown city boy has been looking at you ever since you got out of the diner and if you don’t go talk to him and get a piece of that ass, I might.”

The sentence rises a chuckle from the depths of her being, unaware of how in the world Liz can come up with such sentences, such honest and yet, somewhat dirty personality. All thoughts are cut from her head when she lifts her gaze, wanting to see who this ‘unknown city boy’ could be. After all, such eventful place is rarely visited by foreigners, travelers, lovers of interesting passports and tourist spots.

Nothing could have prepared her for the smile that was given to her—no, not exactly the smile, but the man himself. Mysterious, not only because of his apparent existence in a place that people rarely visit, but in the way he looks at her. His facial structure is unlike anything she has seen before—polished, eyes with faint lines under them, a straight and slightly rectangular shaped nose, lips in a natural pucker, almost like the wind is kissing him. No one has ever looked quite like an angel more like this man, from his lanky form to the dip of his waist as he leans back on the hood of his car, chin tilted down, sharing a tight lipped smile with her that lifts up to a full on grin, she wonders where in the world someone like him was crafted.

Was he made out of pure stardust?

Was he the great-great-grandson of some monarch in the past?

And also…

“Do you think he’s lost?” She asks Liz in a low tone, unable to fight the smile that appears on her face, one that she returns out of formality. Her eyes can’t pull away from him, an electrifying stance in between them when he ruffles the strands of his bleached blonde hair and finally looks away.

Liz pats her back at that, a giggly laugh escaping her lips. “Why don’t you find out? Go talk to him!”

Though, throughout her life, she has always liked being the nice person—the one to talk first, the one to help someone stand up...she finds herself looking at Emily for some kind of reassuring stance, only to earn a rapid nod from her most serious of friends. “I’d say to go ahead. He...I mean, only if you want to.”

People forget that it doesn’t take courage to talk to someone first, it takes sentimentalism, an open heart, to be somewhat touched by the graceful existence of charisma. The feeling of her feet moving towards him had not captured his attention, not until she stood by his side, finally getting a good glimpse of this new man in town. Something about him goes past his mysterious stance, as if it is just a thin layer that she craves to look past.

To be quite honest, with herself and with her subconsciousness, she hasn’t actually seen someone of her interest in a while. The downside of living in a place in which she knows everyone is that her options get cut short; those whom she wanted and had the opportunity to date were already in her past, leading her to stand with little to no options. Not that she minded, she thought that whatever she could have in another person, she could seek in friendship, in herself…

But she’s not made of stone. She’s appreciate of people, knowing that what she sees is a recollection of memories and stories, crafted by life, put together by perfectly and yet imperfectly threaded knots.

“Can I help you out with anything? You seem to be a bit lost.” She adds, missing the chuckle that she lets out at the end of her sentence, bounding her hands together in front of her body and if she looked over her shoulder, she’s sure she’d see her two best friends sparing her glances, though not very discreet. The bleached blond turns his attention towards her, lowering his foot from the front of the car until it lands on the floor once again, tilting his head to the side as he speaks.

“Actually, yes, I look lost because maybe, I am.” He speaks, toying with the bracelet around his wrist before he extends his hand forward. Miss Hwang always told her to look at people’s hands and to fall in love with someone with rough, calloused, perhaps a bit thicker hands—this meant that said person was hardworking, someone who would try their hardest at their job and hence, work along with her. This man, the one in front of her, sports delicate and long fingertips, clearly a soft pair of hands, cladded in rings that do not receive much of her attention when she has to lift her gaze up to look into his eyes as he talks. “But before you help me—I’m Minhyuk, nice to meet you.”

She introduces herself, shaking his hand just in time for her to add a comment, one that leaves her lips far too soon, not noticing how hypnotized she is under his brown glare. “You’re the first Minhyuk I meet.”

“The first is always the best.” He comments, bringing laughter up with her as he takes a paper out of the pocket of his leather jacket, one that is far too hot for the weather in this town. The more she looks at him, the more she realizes he does not belong here. Once he extends the piece of paper, she feels his presence looming by her side, creating shadows that he’d never notice when she stares at his profile, only looking at the piece of paper when he starts speaking. “I can’t find my apartment’s address. I just got here this morning and I’ve been driving around trying to find it but I can’t.”

She takes the paper in between her fingers, not missing the way his chest pressed to her arm as he reads over the paper at the same time as hers. “It says fourth street here, not eighth. You’re in eighth right now.”

“Damn it,” He curses, rather loudly, a whine in his tone that catches her off guard. “You don’t have signs that read this here, though. How am I supposed to know?”

“You count from the first street towards the south. The first street is the one that includes our welcome sign,” She starts to explain, turning to him just in time to see him wetting his lips. The glistening brown in his eyes, the stance he holds, the smell of that perfume that is nowhere to be found in this cheap town...everything about him is uniquely pure, enough to make her feel dizzy. “Are you understanding what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” He nods, mind completely concentrated on her and she doesn’t miss the heat on her face. Not caused by the warmth she is used to.

“So you count from that street. One, two, three...like that. The fourth one is four streets away from here, then.” She explains, though her hands move in motions to further indicate the direction to him. “It’s the only building you’ll find there, pretty small, nothing out of the ordinary. At the corner of that street you’ll find a yellow house with black gates and all.”

“Alright,” Minhyuk closes one eye, the sun hitting directly into his face when he pulls away from her, a smirk displayed on his features. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not been here.”

“You’ll never be able to find out.” She adds, innocence in her tone though she’s playing around, his shoulders shaking with laughter, running his hand over his forehead as if dusting off fake sweat.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he was really sweating with that leather jacket, heavenly but yet nothing like what is expected to be used here.

Maybe, this was a sign. He is nowhere near someone like her.

“Thankfully.” He replies to her words, only to take his keys out of his pocket while looking at her. “No one got close to me and I didn’t know who to ask already.”

She feels the soft, warm wind moving her hair as she speaks. “Yeah, it’s like that. People in this town are not used to people coming here for tourism.”

His keys fall to the floor, all thanks to his lack of concentration on the task at hand, kneeling to take them in between his hands before humming. “You’ll have to get used to me, then. I’m here to stay.”

She doesn’t know why that brings a sense of purpose inside her body, like she has battled the wondering questions that go through her head asking if she’ll be able to see him again. “I’ll have to see you around, then.”

“Is that a promise?” He asks, teasing her as he walks towards his car. He opens the door then, leaning against it when waiting for an answer.

“It is.”

“Good, I’ll see you later.”

With that, she sees his car departure, not without honking at her one last time and leaving her with a smile. When she gives one step forward, she feels something underneath her shoe, making her scrunch up her nose and look at the content underneath her weight. A glistening silver bracelet sits there, belonging to the man that is now long gone to the fourth street, dancing around her fingertips when she picks it up. A collector, she is, and she recognizes beauty when she sees it—an M, probably from his name, and a few dangling pieces that show a variety of flags from different countries he must have gone to.

“What did he say?!” Liz is the first one to approach her, excitement all over her tone meanwhile, she can only concentrate on the bracelet in between her fingers, a smile plastered on her face.

The only question that roams her head is how could an angel like him decide to fly to this side of the world?

The question shall remain unanswered for now.

###

Sometimes, she wonders if she stays at her job because of the intricate details of her craft or because she believes in the renewal of styles, of unknown memories, of being someone else for a night.

Throughout her lifetime, she has met quite a handful of people—and like collectables, she is able to grasp pieces of them, and physical ones, that would always stay with her. Connecting with a memory sometimes includes touching or feeling a material that takes us back in time. That is what happens with costumes—you take someone else's story, wear it over your skin, and you want to be able to have fun while also giving the benefit of recollection to other people.

Miss Hwang is the one in charge of sewing, threading the pieces of fabric together to create the costumes of immensely amounts of characters, some more vague than others, while she is in charge of the details. The part that tears it apart from a simplistic copy and puts it in an artistic way—a redemption, a reminder of what makes that character so important. While she is not a lover of books, per say, just history ones to be exact, she has had to do endless amounts of studying to nitpick every lace decoration, burn a few pieces of make them more rugged, so on and so forth.

It’s either that or pinching her fingers every time she tries to sew. This is what she is good at—giving it that believable factor.

Not that they sell much, when not crafting or it’s not Halloween, the store is mostly empty, leaving her to be accompanied by her boss and the two dogs that constantly roam around the store. Miss Hwang is a woman over sixty-five years old, with hair so white it resembles snow, but her candidness when speaking—that motherly nature that is so hers, is what makes her someone so important for this town. From crafting her daughter’s, Heejung, wedding gown before she went to the city and bringing the most normal of fabrics to be elegant, there is no doubt that her talent exists.

She taps her fingers against the wooden, rugged table of the store, looking around to see the jewelry, the collectables, and she trails her gaze down to the bracelet that rests around her wrist, one that had stayed there for the past few days ever since the encounter with Minhyuk. It fits, to think about him, when Miss Hwang has some kind of romantic song playing from her vinyl, getting a sigh out of her lips that goes unnoticed when she looks at the flags on the pendants.

Thus, her knowledge doesn’t come from travelling, but from studying from those history books instead—

The elegant France is in there.

Three colors, yellow, blue, red. Colombia is in there, as well.

Belgium.

Japan.

Ireland.

Minhyuk must be a man of wealth, able to afford all these trips...he looks like the type to have gone to all these places. The thought can’t be taken away from her head, not when one of Miss Hwang’s dogs, starts barking excitedly, only reasoning for someone to be there. She never does anything lazily, lifting her gaze in excitement, waiting for anyone to be buying a costume out of nowhere—it happens sometimes, in her defense—but when she gives a few steps forward, always from the shelves and hangers that hold their costumes, she sees the person that she would have least expected to be there.

Sometimes, she thinks of people as worlds...but Minhyuk ressembled more of a ghost to her. One day, he appeared, smile on face, lost in this small place, and then, he left. People around town spoke about him, she had heard once or twice when visitors came to the shop or when she went out with her friends to sit by the streets and bask on late night conversation—Lee Minhyuk, they call him, so charming they don’t trust him. That leather jacket had been suspicious to some, just like how he says to have wanted to travel there…

You know, it’s quite weird—for someone who could go anywhere, why would he want to end up in that small town? The love of her life, it might be, but definitely not anyone else’s.

There should only be one bell by the door, enough to dingle when someone comes in, but what has made her feel so at home in Miss Hwang’s costume shop is the fact that, just like herself, she likes to collect matters. All those bells, some from the day of her marriage, others ones that she had collected when younger, ring the moment someone comes in—they create their own music, stopping her in her steps when Minhyuk finally connect gazes with her.

And she can’t help but smile, too.

Liz says it, speaks it into existence, turns it into a reality: she loves history, so to have the unknown right in her hands makes her feel excited. She’s artistic, absentmindedly, seeking for that gleam in his eyes, the brightness of his hair, today covered by a hat, now forgetting about his leather jacket and sporting a black tank top. Something about him is stylish, he definitely knows better than most people there, and she can imagine most of the teenagers swooning at the sight of the man...yet, the moment he closes the door behind him, reaching down to pat the two dogs, she knows that there is more to him.

Minhyuk is either a chameleon, ready to become invisible and match with the background of any place he goes to, not going unnoticed but instead, highlighting parts of him that match each part or he is simply just an overall interesting man.

“Huh, so you really work here...”

She hums, nodding just in time to his statement. “Why? Were you asking around to see where I work in?”

Minhyuk stands up at that, balancing his weight on the back of his feet before tilting his head to the side. A teasing smile appears on his features just then. “Do you think I would?” Answerless, more like speechless, she presses her lips together and shrugs her shoulders. “Your friend let it slip, actually. I was talking to her at my workplace and asked about you, she said you worked here. A good friend you’ve got there.”

Emily is always busy with her son, however, the sun of her life, the only reason the smile on her face has gotten bigger. Liz, with her love for cheap alcohol and her hair practically rough at the amount of times she has dyed it black, is another story. That means that it most definitely came from Liz’s lips. “...That was Liz, wasn’t it?” Minhyuk hums, making her clap her hands together as she accepts this moment. Actually, if he had gone through her head so much the past few days, she may as well take this into consideration. “Well, that’s good. You’re my first client of the week...and the day. That means you get to have me all for yourself. What are you looking for in a costume?”

Minhyuk’s eyes widen, taking his hat off his head and showing his disheveled blonde hair. He perches it up nearby, speaking as he does so. “Wait, you sell costumes?”

Chuckling is the least she does, she straight up laughs at his antics as she points around the place with an instructive glance. “This may look like we collect stuff and sell it, or that we sell antique items, but it’s all done by us. You can find the most intricate of costumes here. You want to be a devil? Go ahead. A Disney prince? You’ve got it.”

Minhyuk’s boots click against the floor, kicking fake dust as he gets closer, smiling as enchantly as he is used to. There is no way people could ever believe the rumors that go around about him—angelic features, sweet voice, everything about him is taken from heaven itself. “I’d be whoever you want me to be.”

She walks further into the shop, not trying to show the way embarrassment clings to her features—the line is tacky, he even smiles at his attempts, but she hears him follow closely. “...I’m serious, what are you looking for?”

Her fingers rake through the pieces of clothing in the male’s section, though Minhyuk is also looking through the selections. “I actually wasn’t planning on getting a costume, so I don’t know.”

“Minhyuk—”

“Really, what would you want me to be? You know, to get your attention.” She licks her lips at that, looking to the side to see him resting his weight against one of the shelves, fingertips threading through his own hair when he juts his chin forward. “Got you speechless?”

“I can say I’ve never been told that, yes,” She chuckles, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at him. “So, you’d become anyone just to get my attention?”

“I could be anyone you want, you know?” He says, fingers threading through the fabrics of clothing he can find nearby, taking a long brown fabric and wrapping it around his head, a vest placed over his shoulders in a hassle as he speaks. “I could be a pirate if that’s what you’re into.” Rapid, he is, almost like he wants to prove his point, reaching for a hat and placing it over his head. “Maybe Indiana Jones? Is there a suit here, can I be James Bond?”

Unbeknowst to her, her hand comes up to slap at his bony shoulder, laughter bubbling up from her body when she lokoks at him, now with a tie wrapped around his neck, a vest, a hair as well as some bandana wrapped around his head. No one that she has gotten to know would ever do such a thing—this only goes through Minhyuk’s head, probably trying to make her feel more at ease. “None,” She says, wrapping her fingers on the hat and putting it down, continuing with the tie and the bandana, shredding the accesories away. “I want to get to know you. As in you, Minhyuk. I want you to be yourself.”

“Is that really what you want?” Minhyuk asked, shrugging the vest off his shoulders and releasing one of his softest smiles, as if he had not expected such answer. “With what you’ve been hearing from me around this town, you probably think I’m some asshole.”

“They’re not saying you’re an asshole,” She defends, crossing her arms over her chest, soon after putting her index and thumb together to indicate ‘a little bit’. “Maybe a little bit, but I don’t believe them.”

“I’m not a bad guy.” He says. “I just like travelling. There’s something so necessary about being somewhere new for me. I need to discover more places for me to feel like myself—”

She imagines him, in trains and in planes, always getting ready to go to his next place to call home. Does he even consider anywhere home? The question roams through her head, but she pushes it to the side to ask something else instead: “Why here?”

Looking through the costumes, he quirks an eyebrow. “Why here what?”

“This town...I love it, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s underrated for how warm and solid it is as a community, but...” Her fingers hook around the bracelet that is wrapped around her wrist, unfastening it and holding it up his face once he looks at her. “You forgot this when you went to your apartment that time we met and seeing all these flags...and if it’s how I’m thinking and you went there, it just doesn’t make sense for you to come here. This...small town.”

Minhyuk takes the bracelet in between his fingers, holding an atlas in between them almost, like he has the world upon his fingertips and maybe, his beauty is enough for her to consider that, eventually, if the flirty remarks get somewhere, he could have her world as well. Romanticism is historical, just her taste. “I wanted something different,” Minhyuk constructs his train of thought, licking his lips before extending his wrist forward and giving her the bracelet. “Put it on, please?” He asks, and she listens, roaming the skin of his wrist with careful movements, only hooking the jewel before letting go of it. “Last place I was in was Prague and—”

“See? That has so much more to discover and—”

“And I had to move out. I’m in constant need of looking for something different. If I have a life, why not spend it travelling?”

“Because planes are damn scary.” She answers in between a scoff, though her features show how enchanted she is with the conversation, the tranquil shop serving for background noise for the two of them.

“Ah, come on, birds fly every day and it’s okay. Why can’t it be okay for us?” Minhyuk retorts, putting the vest back in place before chuckling softly. “Wait, have you really never travelled by plane?”

“Or by train, or by car. I never want to leave this place.” Aware of how attached she is, it doesn’t surprise her when Minhyuk asks:

“Why?”

“...It’s my home. You never leave home.” Her sense of humbleness and loyalty breathes through her body, smiling enchanted at the shop, the place that didn’t give her much monetarily but gave her a lot of knowledge. “I’d be too drowned by nostalgia if I did. I wouldn’t be able to be like you.”

“I respect it, but I mean it. Travelling is so fun.” Minhyuk says, captivating her attention when he speaks loudly, with fervor, excitedly as well. “You—You never know what to expect, you meet new people and it’s almost like...like you evolve. You’ve got a new set of things to do, it’s crazy.”

“I can imagine.” She replies, looking at him before clapping her hands together. “Uh, you know, since we’re on the topic of getting to know each other and I don’t have any clients...do you like pastries?”

“What kind of question is that?” He trades as an answer. “Of course I do!”

“Then, let’s eat some.”

Only a few facts she gets to know about him as they eat some of Miss Hwang’s favorite pastries, all courtesy of the two bakers in town. His lips sometimes get creamy when he speaks about his first few years in Gwangju, his growth and his love for travelling, how he had learned starting sentences of a few languages and then, went from them on to want to travel. His excitement is palpable—he talks about his first trip, to Osaka to be exact, his nights in Santo Domingo, his trip to New York City...she doesn’t miss the way she speaks about her much less interesting lifestyle, though happy on its own, in the way she always felt like she was accompanied, as if her family was in the community she lived in.

Miss Hwang doesn’t interrupt them for more than asking her to continue with her job in a few pieces of clothing and he does so much as helping her, body looming over hers when he watches her sew the lace pieces in place, putting some buttons in, fixing some fabrics, tearing some in effects to make it look more rugged. He’s fascinated to say the least, wanting to try it out even though he is not good at it—

Minhyuk is just made for trying new things, and she wishes for this renewal of something good to be experimented by him.

When a client finally gets in, she hears the sound of Miss Hwang’s voice calling out for her. Minhyuk pulls away from her, pouting out when he speaks:

“I should leave, then.”

“Probably. Let me walk you to the door, just in case.” She replies, a giggle in her voice just before she watches him take off his bracelet, putting it on top of her hand just as they are walking out.

“For the time being, until we get to see each other again, keep this.” He tells her, taking his hat from the hat-holder in the room to place it over her head, not missing the way he smiles brightly when he finishes off by saying: “I don’t want you to forget me, you know? Not that you could, but...it’s never bad to make sure.”

“No, Minhyuk, keep them. They’re yours and they are probably worth some money—”

Minhyuk laughs, opening the door and leaving it ajar, the rays of sunshine seeping through the slot. “That’s the thing. I’d give you the world if it meant getting to see you smile for me again.”

She scoffs at that, rolling her eyes at his words though the compliment is well received. This is the kind of thing she likes to hear. “Alright, suave guy, I’ll see you some other day.”

“Sooner than later?”

“Sooner than sooner, even.” She retorts, making him snap his fingers before pointing at her.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

And just like that, he is gone, but possibly to return to her. Something tells her that Minhyuk may have something deep within him that is interested in her, and she can’t help but cling to the hat on her head, to the bracelet pressed to her chest.

What does this man have that makes her so giddy?

###

On the second time Minhyuk visits Miss Hwang’s costume shop, he asks her to go out—as friends, apparently, but his tone says otherwise.

To forget the presence of him in his car would almost be impossible, he makes do for what he has, keeping the automobile with the scent of his perfume, some of his favorite polaroid pictures dangling from the mirror at the center, greeting her with the most gorgeous of smiles when he goes pick her up in her home—not that long of a drive, this town is small, after all—and finally gets a good look at her. The demon and the angel on her shoulders (Liz and Emily if she is getting technical and pointing them out individually) had different thoughts on how she should dress on this supposed ‘friendly encounter’ with none other than Minhyuk. Liz proclaimed a deep neckline would be perfect, matched with jewelry and high waisted pants; meanwhile, Emily said to go for comfort.

Maybe, she should have listened to Emily instead, for apart from his usual perfume there is something else in the air.

“Is that food?” She asks, Minhyuk’s glance finally breaking away from looking at the gorgeous blouse on her body and her baggy pants, white and beige to be exact, now looking towards the backseat to show what seems to be a picnic basket. He leans back on his seat once again, starting the car with a grin on his face.

“You see, there are not a lot of things to do in this town—and I already get to hang out with dancing, singing and drinking people in my workplace every night, I needed something different.” That is something she had gotten to know through rumors but had only been confirmed by Jessica, owner of the biggest bar in her homeplace. As it turns out, Minhyuk is a skilled server—not that good with making special drinks, but he’d be charismatic enough to have anyone in. She doesn’t blame her for believing so.

After all, it’s difficult to get over the sight of him right now. With the pink hues of the sky, indicator of the late afternoon, that cast down on his sculptured features, kissing his tender skin, making him look more like an angel. This is something Emily agrees with…Minhyuk is the main role of whatever romantic movie they had watched when they were teenagers and had expected from then on; the type of guy that swoops her off her feet and makes her feel like there will never be someone like her in this world. Liz, on the other hand, says there is a hidden demon beneath him. And that’s the magic of him, not knowing which side is the one that remains truthful.

His white shirt and denim jeans look expensive, even when they are simplistic, something about him has always been…incomprehensible. How can he get to travel so much? She doesn’t know, but one step at a time, she will discover every layer of him.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you cooked.” She replies, not noticing how she hooks a leg under her thigh, turning to look at him as he drives. Ring-cladded fingers, he always changes in between the ones he wants to wear, matched with that blonde hair that she loves—messy or kempt, it didn’t matter.

“I get by,” Minhyuk says, chuckling at his own words. “Rice. Eggs. Sandwiches. I think I made the most complete of dinners.”

“The college student dinner, I get you.” She bites down on her bottom lip, laughing at her own words when he looks to her side and she can’t bring herself to look away. He returns his gaze to the road, though with the apples of his cheeks lifted by his grin. “Not that I went to college, either way. I really didn’t.”

“…Because you’d have to leave town? There’s only one university program here.”

“Not because of that,” She answers, reminiscent of the problem child days of her youth. Not that she was problematic, per say, just extroverted, ready to get attention, wanting to have fun with her friends or getting a laugh out of the teachers. “Well, kind of, I would have gone for something history related had it been available here, but then again…leaving is the scariest thing I can think of.”

Minhyuk leans his head against his hand, driving with only one of them. “Speaking of…what is your favorite place in this entire town? I want somewhere nice for us to have dinner.”

Mostly, their town consists of simplistic houses, diners, restaurants, nothing out of the ordinary. The climate is also not made for spacious gardens or lakes, but a momentum of her lifetime crosses her head when she remembers when exactly she had started to become the headache of the elementary school teachers. “Actually, if you go to the second street and turn to the left, there’s this elementary school, right?” Minhyuk says, already driving to where she is pointing at. “In front of it, there is this really pretty park. I used to love the slides that were there so I would always stay there for a bit longer during my break in elementary school.”

He coos at that, eyes gleaming with excitement to hear the people-pleaser that is her saying such things. “What a badass, look at you!”

She nudges his side, a sense of heat up her features. “Hey, it was badass for me! I was a trouble student.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” She complies, only to raise her eyebrows. “Were you even worse?”

“Not in elementary…but in college,” Minhyuk continues, chuckling at his own reminder as he pushes the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose up to rest on his head. “I went to college in Ontario and boy, I didn’t pay attention once.”

“Why?”

“…I don’t know, I picked whatever was in the pamphlet and just invested in it. At the end, I didn’t like it.” The spontaneity of him is interesting, somewhat attractive, alluring in its own way when she hums at the sound of his words.

“You’re really unexpected sometimes.”

“Hey, even I surprise myself with my decisions.” His honesty is palpable through his words, swallowing before letting out a short laugh. “That’s the fun part of me, though—Lee Minhyuk, the guy no one can ever figure out.”

…She thinks she can figure him out, though, perseverant she is.

To have him in the same lifetime is a blessing on its own, seated in front of her in the half concrete made and half ground flooring, a fabric in the typical plaid red and white color welcoming them once the sun sets. He even made sure to keep a light in between them as they eat and chat. He can’t keep still when eating, she realizes then, always needing to make a comment—tease, talk thanks to every movement of his tongue. She is not far behind, following after the conversations of their favorite films, he even tries to teach her languages that he is not fluent in himself. An entertainer, he is, with a smile that brings her closer and closer, speaking about her secrets…the ones that are not so secretive in a place like this.

At one of those points, she is walking alongside him in that field, hands tied behind her back, feeling the warmth of him by her side. Her lips can’t stop moving when she recalls the image of her as a child—she’d hide behind the monkey bars, giggling as the teachers went over to pick her up. She loved the attention, for some reason that she can’t quite know, but it wasn’t meant to be malicious. Most of the time, she didn’t even get in trouble.

Trouble, such a big word, Minhyuk even admits he had gotten in some of those in his life.

In between those words, when they have to go back before it gets even darker and mosquitos start biting them, she hears him as he is inside her car. Minhyuk shows that side of him that is mischievous, knowing that he does it simply to tease, to bring laughter beneath himself and the group of people. Trouble, he says he isn’t—but he has been involved in drama, in people that get too attached to him, something that has her keeping the conversation even when he offers to get her back home. If having a cup of coffee late at night in his small apartment just to get to know him is enough to see his presence as a person, she’d do it.

Minhyuk’s apartment is exactly what she should have imagined—it’s messy, for starters, the bed is very near to the kitchen and the bathroom door is open, but he closes it once they get inside. His usual leather jacket is thrown over his bed, but what is the highlight of the room—too filled with anything to ever consider it vintage or modern—is the wall that he left completely abandoned to fill it with a board of sorts. A world map is nailed into the wall, some adhesives in the form of x’s placed on top of the countries he had gone to.

“Shit, you’ve gone to these many countries?” She asks, aware of the cuss that left her lips as she lets her bag fall to the floor, inspecting the big map in front of her, big enough to take the entire space of the wall. Minhyuk chuckles at her reaction as she lets her fingers trail over the continents, even the islands by the Caribbean.

“And I still have more to explore.” Minhyuk says, turning his back and walking over to the coffee machine before starting it, leaning back against his counter to look at her. “Is it that impressive to you?”

“As someone who has only gone as far as the first street, yes.” Admittedly, she stops tracing the map to look at him, biting down on her bottom lip. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Wherever I am in. While I’m there, those places become my home so…” He lets his voice trail, pushing his weight forward before quirking an eyebrow at her. She can feel it deep within her bones, in the way his eyelashes flutter in his blink when his rosy lips part to breathe into the thin air: “Right now, my favorite place is here, with you.”

“Thank you.” She compliments. “…But I’ll get to know your real favorite place—”

“Actually, in all honesty, I don’t have any.” Minhyuk’s long legs move with ease when he stands by her side, giving her a glimpse of his elongated neck and his hair messed up by the wind of their picnic, resting his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “I’m obsessed with travelling, I can admit that much.”

“Huh, so you think you won’t stay here?”

“Time will tell.” He compliments, rushing towards his bedside table and opening a small box that rests on top of the surface, getting out a few pictures that he must have taken himself. Once by her side again, he gives them to her. “For the moment, though, I can give you a glimpse of every place I’ve gone to.”

The pictures are shown in front of her, and when she turns them around they have the name of the city he was in for the picture. “…Are those all your travelling pictures? No way!”

“That’s impossible,” He says, shaking his head before doubling over in laughter. “These are my most memorable adventures. The one time I got bitten by a scorpion, my first trip—Osaka, some of these are here.” His tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his lips, enticing her when the smell of coffee is not far enough for her to wake up from this dream that is him. “For your little collection of me though, I’ll give you this one.”

The picture shows him seated on a table, coffee brought up to his lips, hair a darker shade, face visibly younger—mischievous, per usual. Once she turns it around, she reads Paris, along with a month and a day. “…Paris?”

“The typical place of love.” He comments, making her stifle a laugh before nodding.

“Yeah, it makes sense coming from you.”

Laughter and conversation becomes too much, sleepily driving her back home at one in the morning, making sure that the coffee on their systems are still electrified when she waves at him goodbye. Inside her apartment, she takes off her shoes, along with her shirt, placing it neatly inside her closet before she sees those two things that scream his name—his hat and his bracelet, not accompanied by a picture of him. She doesn’t miss the way her fingers trace the outline of him, smiling to herself.

Maybe, he really is as angelic as she thinks he is.

###

Windows had never been a sight to look out from, not in this boring town, but with him…she awaits for the moment he comes back.

With her chin propped up on her fist, she looks away from the dogs that normally accompany her, though still petting their furs with one hand, letting out a sigh escape her lips. Another week and Minhyuk has not called back, only giving her a few greetings by text or waving his hand from affair, sometimes pressing a kiss to her cheek in a hassle before returning to his rendezvouses, getting to know more people in town, having more rumors created about him. She feels as though she awaits for a moment of fun; not that she doesn’t have fun with Miss Hwang—quite the contrary, but it is different…it’s the first time she has been interested in someone, the first man that has made her feel like there is more to this world than this town, that there is history in other places that are not only perceived in the books she reads, but past that.

The sound of small heels clicking against the thin flooring barely cuts her away from her trance, the voice of Miss Hwang cutting through the thin air. “Darling, I’m sure he’ll come back. Don’t be waiting there like a poor damsel in distress.”

She puckers up her lips, not liking the term ‘damsel in distress’. “No, grandma,” She says softly, aware of how Miss Hwang would probably give her an earful had she called her other name. “I’m no damsel in distress but—” Once she turns around, she releases yet another sigh. “…He could’ve called. What if he didn’t like our little date?”

“He likes you, of course he does!” Miss Hwang retorts, wrapping her knitted scarf around her neck to see if the costume is coming out greatly. Her eyes are inspecting her figure, the rosy material beautiful against her skin, unbeknownst to her. “That boy has been going around town starting trouble with talking too much but David has not stopped telling me how much he talks about you.”

She lifts her gaze at that, before scoffing softly, her cheeks pressing to the material of the scarf. “…What if he’s all talk?”

“I don’t know.” The reality of her ‘grandma’ is that she is honest. Much like someone of this world that had not gone through motherhood, though Miss Hwang had practically adopted her after her daughter’s departure to another city. “But Minhyuk reminds me of the first love I had, and I had plenty of them.”

“Grandma—” She groans, a smile appearing on her face when the scarf is dragged away from her body, fluffing out her hair.

“I mean it. He was the only man that had me changing my vision—everything was suddenly electrifying, I felt free, I wanted nothing more than to get lost in him.” The way she speaks is so romantic, moving through the place with a smile on her face, almost dancing in her steps before halting them with a finger raised in the air. “Be aware, though, I got so lost in him that I lost me.”

Always interested in a story, she asks: “How so?”

“Ah, just your old lady talking.”

“Come on, grandma, you know your stories are the best.”

A smile appears on Miss Hwang’s face, rolling her eyes soon after. “Says the storyteller of the town.”

“Please, tell me!”

“He was a typical troublemaker. Had him fighting with one of my brothers and that was the end of it. I went against everyone just to get him…and then I realized he just wanted me to change entirely.” The old woman spits out easily, no longer bleeding from her wound before she moves towards the window. She spares a look outside, a tiny smile appearing on her wrinkled face. “But that not may be your story, darling, because a certain young man is getting out of his car and waving his hand here.”

Not in slow motion, but quite the opposite, she turns her head until she is looking out her window, widening her eyes and smiling brightly as she waves back at Minhyuk, not even detailing him past his face when she gets off the stool and gives a kiss to one of the dogs on its face. Rocco, the son of the oldest dog—Nani, wiggles his tail at the attention. “Rocco, your girl is going out.” Before she could put on her coat completely, she looks over her shoulder to see Miss Hwang. “Are you okay with closing and going home alone, Miss Hwang?”

“It’s never alone when Nani is with me.”

“I could always take you back home now and—”

With a push to her shoulders, Miss Hwang takes her out the shop before speaking loud enough for Minhyuk to hear. “Take that girl somewhere nice. No man is fun here!”

Minhyuk laughs loudly at that, waving his hand at Miss Hwang. “I will. Have a nice night, Miss Hwang!”

“You, too, Minhyuk!”

Once in front of her, she gets to be whisked away by the sight of him. Minhyuk is radiating sunshine, the one that is barely just setting at this moment of the afternoon—their typical time to meet, that is. The graphic t-shirt cladding his body is the epitome of beauty on him, this cinematic edge making her be pulled towards him, the sharpness of his personality suddenly seen when she says: “Now that you’ve finally decided to show up…what’s the occasion?”

“You know Jessica,” Minhyuk says, opening the door to his car and extending his arm as if to show her to get in. “If I’m not serving at night, she has me preparing the place in the afternoons—I just got out right now.”

When she gets on the passenger seat, she stops him from closing the door with an extended hand. “You don’t work tonight?”

“It’s my free night.”

“And you’re spending it with me…because…”

“Because it’s billiards night in the bar, and while I may not be working, I get to enjoy playing with you.” Minhyuk retorts, taking her hand in his with a gravity pull, interlocking them together before resting her palm on her lap. “So, if you could put your hand in so I don’t end up crushing it with the door and you could actually be my match for the billiard night, I’d be very happy.”

She does as he says, watching him go around the car before settling himself on the driver’s seat. In the matter of seconds, Minhyuk is starting the car again and going in reverse, hearing her speak with glee. “Jessica rarely hosts billiard nights anymore. It gets quite…frisky in this side of town.”

“How so?” He asks, interested in the way he briefly looks at her before continuing driving. It’s not that long of a ride, really, but he may as well be used to bigger cities in which he needs to use his car—yes or yes.

“People get competitive,” She acquires the memory rather quickly, ready for her storytelling ways. “Actually, before he sadly passed away, Miss Hwang’s husband used to be an excellent player and frequented the billiard nights. One time, he really got into a fight with one of the oldest men here—there were beer bottles thrown and all.”

“No way!” Minhyuk says, widening his eyes before his lips part surprisingly. “And here I was thinking this town was always tame.”

A content sigh leaves her lips when she continues to look at him, his profile hypnotizing but more than that—his talkative ways, the teasing ones, the essence of him existing in the same time as her captivates her. “We’re a tame town, you’re not wrong.” She adds. “But that’s the beauty of my town. There’s art everywhere—in the streets, in the people, roaming these streets when I was a kid was…” She trails her voice, looking out the window to see that, indeed, they are nearing Jessica’s bar. “One of the best memories I hold on to.”

The man in question promises to twirl her world around when he says. “Maybe, you should acquire some more memories.”

“…Should I?”

“I’m here to give you a new set of best memories, actually.” Minhyuk prompts, the car coming to a halt when he pats her knee lovingly, though too quickly, before sending a smile her way. “Let’s go.”

The bar is probably the most modern of spots in the entirety of the town—the old wooden counters are gone, now exchanged for pristine black ones, the tiles in the same color, the colors of blue in the decorations and the walls sported with such clarity that it almost looks like she is in an aquarium, illuminated to utter perfection. Minhyuk’s presence is behind her, leading her on with a tender hand on her waist, pulling her towards the gaming place, billiard tables mostly taken place on, if not for one that is completely empty.

“Do you know how to play?” Minhyuk asks, getting the equipment out and done before she gives him a chuckle.

“Kind of. Liz and I would bet when we were like nineteen, trying to get some money, you know…but I haven’t done it since.” She adds, leaning her weight against the table before quirking a smile up at him. “But you can always teach me, I know what kind of game you’re playing here.”

“…I’m not that good either,” Minhyuk continues. “But we can learn together, have fun.”

“We will, that’s not up to question.” She replies, looking over the stage of the bar to catch a glimpse of the voice that is speaking into the microphone. A poet, releasing their art into the thin air, and that she purely recognizes. “Do you like poetry?” She asks Minhyuk, trying to get to know more of him.

“I hate poetry.” He answers. “What about you?”

“I don’t get it,” She says, turning to him to see that he is concentrated on starting the game. “But there is this poet that I really like…he’s not that well-known…Nunu? I think that’s his pen name.”

“He must be good if he captures your attention.” Reminiscent of the pieces she has gotten to see online, she shakes the thought away before pushing her weight forward to start the game.

Fun is the most she has.

At some point, Minhyuk is the one trying to teach her, arms sprawled over hers, fingertips tracing the outline of her fingers when he helps her just get the hit just right. His abdomen is pressing to her back, height looming over her, lips almost so close that she could feel him speak and instead of pulling away, she gets closer, wanting to feel his perfume engulf her, to feel the warmth of his breath over her skin. Anyone in there could realize that there is something going on in between the two and the best part of it all is that she doesn’t care. She may be a people-pleaser, indeed, but this is the moment she gets to live at her will.

Praises leave his lips—the ones that sugarcoat her and have her up in the clouds, the taste of cotton candy resting on the tip of her tongue, Minhyuk is that…a sweetener, the one in her coffee, in her favorite pastries, the one that has her addicted, in some way or another, of being just as dulcet as him. Only when they are getting out of there, the promise of a long night filled with conversation long gone when she remembers she has to get up early the next day, does she hear her name being shouted over the sound of music, the poet long gone from sight:

“Don’t listen too much to pretty boys,” One of the drunken women there says. “They never care!”

She actually chuckles, sending her goodbyes to the woman that she knows by name but once seated in the car, conversating with Minhyuk as he takes her home, she wonders if there is some reality to it. If he is just one of those gravitational pulls of life that will only keep her tied to the ground, if she is choosing the devil to dance with in a world of angels. This is out of her head when she is front of her door, Minhyuk’s footsteps haltered in front of her when his mind makes out the sound of the woman’s voice at the bar.

“Listen,” He breathes out, hands looming over her shoulders before they press down. Once in there, they trail up her neck to cup her cheeks, staring into her eyes when he speaks, rather quickly. “Listen to me when I tell you…I really do care about you.” He nods his head, forehead a bit wrinkled under the weight of his words.

She leans into his touch, because no one has ever made her feel as unique as him—in this small town, she feels bigger than ever when with him. She seeks for him, wants him to fill her lungs, much more when she breathes out a small: “I know. I care about you, too.”

“I’m going to voice it out better…” Minhyuk says, body growing closer to her, her back now softly colliding against her door. His voice lowers at that moment. “From the moment I saw you in front of the diner, I thought I needed to talk to you. Now that I get to know you better, I know I like you.”

Perhaps, it’s the fact that she has not been in this situation for a long time, or it because it was meant to happen for her to like Minhyuk that her lips go over to his in a trip of fervor, wanting to get all of him through an energetic kiss. His left hand ends on her nape, deepening the kiss with a bit of sloppy nature, quite rushed in his matters, as if he needs to feel her in every part of his body. His neck extends, her back bending a bit backwards as she traces her hands over the collar of his shirt, not caring that anyone could see them at that moment. Freedom is all she needs, the treacherous stance of being with him suddenly intoxicating when Minhyuk bites down on her bottom lip, hands trailing downwards on her back before she pulls away with a soft pat on his chest.

“Not…tonight. I can’t take it any further” She tells him, aware of how she only wants to give him the best of the best, savor him as a person the most she could before getting him all for herself. Minhyuk’s eyes open at that, lips glistening as he tries to concentrate again, her lipstick smeared on the corners of his lips when he nods his head.

“Yes—”

“I’m sorry, I probably ruined the mood.” Apologizing is what she does, fixing her sleeve that had gone down her shoulder when Minhyuk presses a soft kiss to her lips, though she continues to feel bad. “I haven’t done it in a while and I don’t really want to rush—”

“It’s only good and correct if both of us want it,” Minhyuk whispers, ruffling her hair with his free hand. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s normal.”

So much enchantment could fill her chest and it feels like it hurts from the adoration she feels towards him at that moment. “T-The kiss was good, though. I loved the kiss.”

Minhyuk actually cackles, nodding his head before giving one of his infamous smiles. “Yeah, I—Okay, yes, the kiss was great. Sorry it was so sudden.”

“I was waiting for you to do that, hush.” She says, feeling their interlocked fingers let go softly, earning a smile from him.

“I’ll be off, then. You have to work tomorrow. Thank you for the night.” And he doesn’t judge her, the reason why she considers him an angel—whom she has always wanted to have, as he gets inside his car and doesn’t forget to honk just as she is waving towards him.

Whenever he comes back, he makes her feel as if all she can breathe in is happiness.

###

“You mean to tell me there is a book,” Minhyuk says, only after plopping down another snack in between his lips. “A book in this town that talks gossip about everyone and I haven’t gotten my hands around it?”

She is making sure the latest costume she has tried to fix is looking great just before she answers him. “Yes, but no one ever looks at it. I mean…we’re all written on it at least once, but I don’t engage myself too much on it. It’s bad for everyone’s mental health.”

Minhyuk jumps on his seat, a long whine leaving his lips. “I want to see it—!”

“Minhyuk, come on, I’m doing it for your health!”

“I’m a tough guy, I’m sure I can read some comments about myself!”

To have the notebook lent to her was not the most difficult of tasks—after all, she is someone the entire town trusts, enough for her to be left only a few days after this conversation in the costume store, back pressed to Minhyuk’s chest as they share a seat, the old, brown notebook resting on her lap, almost burning her thighs as she feels every breath that leaves his chest echo through the place. Minhyuk thinks this is lightweight gossip, as if this town is not filled with people who love stories—the drama, the twisted endings, the laid off details to leave nothing to the imagination. This notebook, a headache when she had read a comment made about herself, is the nightmare of anyone dares read it and the glory who writes on it.

She plops one of the strawberries they are sharing inside his mouth, watching the juicy treat be bitten by him before he speaks again. “I know you’re trying to distract me by looking at me with the cutest face, but trust me when I tell you I’m strong enough to read some old ass book.” He tells her, reaching over her lap and opening the pages. Eye to eye, she realizes then the importance of Minhyuk in her life for the past month—that pop of color that has come in this void town, the lightweight feeling that comes with him enough to drowsy her. Minhyuk is such a bright figure, a traveler to match her storytelling ways, it would be heartbreaking to see him wanting to leave this place for the obvious rumors that go around about him.

“I just don’t want you to be sulky,” She says, resting the back of her head in his shoulder as she hears the sound of Rocco snoring somewhere in the store. “These are pretty tough.”

“Tell me what was said about you.” And his hands expand over her arms, enough to take her breath away. Why is it that every time she is around him, she can’t help but feel like he may just be the end of her romantic life? He feels the necessity of a dot, the ending, the reason as to why she would never look at anyone else the same. Perhaps, she’s attached—she only knows the version he is now and not the man that had wandered around the world, being a chameleon just like he said in one of their first few meetings. “…So, I can complain because you’re an absolute angel.”

She chuckles at that, playing with the first page of the book, hundred of more welcoming them with different handwriting. “It should be somewhere in here. It said that I had something along the lines of a hero complex. I wanted to be the center of attention…save everyone…you know the drill.” She replies, no longer hurt for those words, mainly because she knows that is just part of her personality. She cares for people, wants them to be their happiest, what’s the sin in that? “I haven’t thrashed this book because the younger generation are attached to it. I think it’s malicious.”

Minhyuk ruffles through the pages until he lands on the last ones, looking through the names written at the beginning of the sentences. “Lee Minhyuk…Lee Minhyuk…”

“Hey, I mean it. This is nothing more than gossip.”

“I know, I just want to know what people say about me!” A brief ‘aha!’ left his lips when he finds his name written in cursive, reading over it in a loud voice, typical of him. “Minhyuk is clearly an irresponsible guy. I can’t imagine what he’s running away from.” Minhyuk chuckles lowly, tapping his finger against the end of the sentence even when she feels her heart palpitating too fast. “Question mark, is he part of some gang, question mark.” He reads out, making her grasp his finger in between her hands.

“This is not—”

“Lee Minhyuk is obviously using the town’s storyteller for a thrill.” Minhyuk continues reading, her heart starting to pump too rapidly as she closes the notebook on a hassle, capturing his hand in between the two portions.

“Minhyuk, I don’t want you to read things that are not true.” She replies, though her mind can only as her if she knows if they are not true, indeed. She knows the man for a month, much less than she has known anyone else in this town, and the thought of him always pointing out how obsessed with travelling he is could only be a red sign. Maybe, he is really trying to run away from something—not a gang, but something he never wants to tell her.

A soft breath leaves his lips, now noticing how his gaze has darkened, placing the notebook down on the counter of the store before spreading his legs widely, leaning back on the seat with a hand pressed to his forehead. “Well, fuck, it’s quite ironic…but I didn’t know it was going to be this tough.” He chuckles a bit to himself, one hand splaying across her waist when she stands up to push the notebook away.

“I told you not to read it, Minhyuk.”

“It’s nothing, though—”

“No, it’s not nothing.” She finishes. “You shouldn’t be criticized for being more cultured than us in matters of travelling. It’s really not okay for people to ever treat you like this, and for us to be judged—”

Minhyuk puts a strawberry inside her mouth, making her roll her eyes when she bites down on it, only to see him smile. “We’ll talk about this some other time. Let’s just eat these strawberries, return that fucking notebook and forget it even existed.”

Perhaps, he really is running away, wanting to fade to black, needing to be breathed out like a memory instead of a reality. Minhyuk is suddenly affected, trying to mask it with his usual jokes and his smile, not even sparing the owner of the notebook a glance when she delivers it. The toxicity of it all has her wondering who had made such assumptions and what did they see that she had not seen in him? Everyone thought he was some kind of demon, a man made to annoy and destroy, but what she feels for him goes past that. A feeling of needing nothing more than protecting him, as if she wants to make a home for him in this town—no, in herself, she needs him to stay.

But he has never stayed, she thinks, when she is opening the door to her home and his head is hidden on the crook of her neck, planting soft and sweet kisses to the juncture there. Minhyuk even has said it himself; he gets tired of places, events and people, sometimes he simply needs a change. Perhaps, he could find this type of…person, someone like her, in Bangkok or Rome, a waist to hold, a neck to kiss, a life to grace with his mere existence, a tongue that talks his ears out with how much she wants to tell him, but he goes around the subject when he tries to talk about himself. Not the Minhyuk in Paris, not the one in Prague, but the one that had decided that travelling was better than staying.

Even when they are in her room, watching TV, and he really tries not to have a silent moment—much like his personality—she wonders if this is permanent, if Minhyuk will stay or not. This has her pressing the side of her face to his shoulder while seated on the sofa, wanting to pull away but feeling so entranced in him. The only man that is unlike other, her dot, her ending, and yet so much like a beginning; she’d call him her first love had she not had one of those in the past, but this is the first time she feels fear of losing someone.

Losing is even stronger when it is a decision, not a movement of the game that is life.

So she breathes it into the air, insecure at its finest, something that had made her feel so miniscule when she had always thought of herself as big in this small town. “Minhyuk…” She whispers, earning a hum from him, looking at the reflection of him as he looks at the TV screen. “Are you ever going to leave?”

Minhyuk’s face hardens, looking over at her before quirking an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, is it because of that notebook—?”

“No, no, just a genuine question!” She excuses herself, only to hear him sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I can be curious about you, you know?”

“I know you can—”

“Then, answer.” She pushes, knowing fully well that this puts him in a position that he dislikes. Yet, she can’t bring herself to think of anything more than Minhyuk leaving. It would hurt, so much that it would feel as though she is burning alive.

His hands take her face delicately, cupping her face just like in that first kiss they shared, before letting out a few words that she did not expect: “Baby, I won’t ever leave you.”

The promise flutters on her chest, blooming inside her with hope, the one that comes out as a bit childishly when she voices out: “Is it a promise?”

“You can say so, yes.” Minhyuk says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, somewhat sleepy, like he wants to take all the stars and implant them in her heart for them to shine brightly. “It’s a promise.”

###

She knew her life before his arrival. Her place. Her time. Her dreams. They had always been low—what she sees is what she gets, only imagination suffices. And lord, that had changed exponentially.

But in its entirety, in the conceptualization of the verb know (in gerund: knowing), she doesn’t think she can live up to it. Minhyuk shows himself in a present matter, pretending he doesn’t know there is a part of him that hides—the one that is not always laughing, when he doesn’t know what to say, when he is sincerely a person more than pure entertainment. The thoughts roam through her head through every single date, none leading to seriousness, definitely leaving a bitter taste on her mouth. Talking to her two best friends about this is starting to get boring; they know how much she likes him and for that, they hype her up when she says she wants to continue down this path…but maybe, she needs wisdom. For one day, she wants to think with her head, not her heart.

The curtain that divides the store from the sewing room is pushed and she is welcomed by the sight of Miss Hwang seated in front of her sewing machine, wearing her thick glasses, concentrating with her face a little too close to her craft. She lets out a sigh that could have shaken the entire room if it could, moving over to where Miss Hwang is sewing at and kneeling in front of the device just to talk to her.

“Grandma…”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can I talk to you about something? I want some advice.”

Joyful laughter is the one that follows soon after, motherly, like everything Miss Hwang does. The woman doesn’t stop sewing, however, simply looking up at her with a glint behind her eyes before continuing with her craft. After all, she is working on the few commissions they get for pieces of clothing other than costumes. She shakes the fabric, gets back to working and places a piece of thread in between her lips. “I haven’t heard that since Heejung started dating her husband, Leo.” She tells her, voice filled with nostalgia for her mechanic daughter. “…But yes, yes, darling, I’m all ears. What is the matter?”

For a moment, she wants to say nothing is the matter. She is not like that, though, the type to hide what she feels—it is shown clearly by the way she looks at Minhyuk, after all. Why is that her thoughts are always filled with him, either way? Drowned in everything that she adores about him. “So…you know I’ve been seeing Minhyuk. Well, not seeing, but yes, we’re not officially dating…but like, everyone knows we’re practically something. Yes, that’s it, we’re something.” She rests her chin against her forearm, watching the needle pinch through the fabric as it glides across it harshly. “…But, he has always spoken about how he is obsessed with travelling and he never stays anywhere for too long and this scares me.”

Miss Hwang stops sewing, then, looking at her and lowering her glasses to say: “Okay, go on.”

She stands up, a jumpy movement in her steps as she continues speaking. “And it has me anxious, grandma! It’s not only that he could leave, that’s something I worry about on its own, but I get mad because I don’t know the root of this. Every story has its beginning, what made him so eager to run away?!” She asks, noticing the edge of her voice when she widens her eyes like a madwoman.

The patience in Miss Hwang is impeccable, blinking softly at the woman’s antics before humming. “Then, investigate.”

“What?”

“Ask him about it. Don’t go around the subject,” Miss Hwang says, going back to her sewing just in time to click her tongue repeatedly, almost condescendingly. “This is unlike you. You’re always curious, yes, but you always investigate, as well. So, do so.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to pressure him into telling me something he doesn’t want to, though…”

“Then, he can give you a reason as to why he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Miss Hwang complies. “Communication, honey, that’s all that there needs to be. You guys talk too much, but you don’t communicate.”

“Huh…” That day, she learned the difference between talking and communicating, one void, one filled with everything that there needs to be done to maintain any kind of relationship. To remember someone’s birthday is not important if you never know the depth of the celebration, their least favorite one, if you never see them struggling to keep a smile on their face as people sing them in their day. That is only one of the main examples of a bond, one so profound and deep that it runs through her, the one she feels like she has with Minhyuk but needs to be fixed. “I’m going to help you out instead of just talking about Minhyuk all the time.” She says, dragging her seat closer and helping out with cutting the fabrics and sewing the smallest pieces, not excellent at it, but always making up for her enthusiasm.

After all, that is her trademark…what makes her, well, her. In poverty, in love with art, able to do something that would never have an outcome just because it makes her happy. Sadness is not for her, it has never fitted her—not like a costume, not like a lifestyle. It is then that she opts to dress up the slightest bit to go to Jessica’s bar, always breathless when she enters such place only to be engulfed by the water aesthetic, reminiscent of exactly what is lacking in her hometown.

Most of the time, the bar is not filled with poets—and yes, she continues to read the poems of the barely known Nunu, anonymous poet—, but most of the time it has someone singing, most likely the local band, and that’s the case for that night. Though with the movement of her legs, she greets a few people, as normally, moving towards the bar to see Minhyuk leaning on the counter, talking to one of the members of their little society, completely interested in the conversation, as always. He gives it his all to keep it alive.

Just like she wants to give her all to keep him there.

Troublesome, some had called him around town, from what she has heard directly told to her face when the subject of Minhyuk comes up. He is the type of personality no one wants to unfold—they believe that what he shows, youthful and annoying, is all there is to him. She doesn’t. Talking to him has been an eye-opening experience, so much that when he lifts his gaze and smiles at her, she can’t bring herself to believe that Minhyuk is a heartbreaker. The one that gets off on the thought of building a personality, having people fall for it and then, leaving. He says so himself, he can’t even finish something that he begins…but she holds onto hope.

She realizes just how much of him is around her now, in the bracelet that weights on her wrist, on the pictures she has in her room and the ones they have taken together, his habit of writing the day and month behind them once they are revealed just his own way of portraying his existence in her life. The closer she gets, she realizes she doesn’t even have to look at him to remember his features, the marks under his eyes, the protruding bottom lip, the moles around his face, though barely there.

“Minhyuk, hi.” She breathes out, sending a wave to the person he was talking to and earning a drunken nod in response. Minhyuk leans over the counter, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips like he is not embarrassed—boisterous, exhibitionistic in some way, he tends to be…or maybe, really honest with what he feels currently.

“What are you doing here?” He says after saying a greeting, hands already looking for a beer and taking the lid off for her. She takes the cold bottle in between her fingers, not paying attention to the burning sensation against her fingertips, taking a brief swing of the drink, the fuzzy feeling on the pit of her stomach…probably from the drink, but also from her nervousness.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Pushing her weight forward, her elbows resting on the counter as half her body is pressed down on the chair she is seated at, she looks into his eyes before quirking an eyebrow. “Is that okay? I know it’s probably an odd time, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t talk about this with you—”

Minhyuk’s lips quirk up in a smile, his hand extending to rest over hers. Weight, gravity, everything with him has been so natural…so meant to happen, that it would be impossible for it to just become invisible in the blink of an eye. “Hey, hey, there. What’s so wrong? Is there anything going on in that sweet head of yours?”

With shaky lips and another swing of the beer, she stops thinking about pleasing everyone—about only being of everyone’s liking, and with soft spoken thoughts, she clears her throat. “I’m just so…curious as to why you don’t ever tell me anything about your past.”

Minhyuk rolls the sleeves of his blue button down, matched with black pants that hug his slim hips slightly. “…Oh, come on.” He says, prideful and confident in the way his chest puffs out. “It’s not like I haven’t told you anything. I told you everything—”

“You barely tell me anything about your past…or why you like travelling so much.” She says, plopping the drink down on the counter and looking around in case everyone is listening to them. They are probably pretending to be ignoring them, but this conversation would probably end in the gossip around town. “The biggest part of your life, the most important thing for you and I know nothing about it. Does it seem fair that I barely know anything about you when you know everything about me?”

The man in question goes around the counter, taking her by the wrist and dragging her towards the hallway that leads up to the bathrooms. “Let’s not have this conversation in public.” The annoyance in her voice is what keeps her rambling.

“What even has you so embarrassed? It’s always like this, you find an excuse and never tell me anything—”

Once in the hallway, Minhyuk turns around, shrugging his slim shoulders when he says: “I don’t know. I have never done shit like this. I barely even stay for this long, okay? Just get me here—!”

She stops drinking from her beer, resting it down on the floor before sighing. “How can I even get you when you don’t tell me anything, Minhyuk? I need to know where this running away thing started.”

“It’s not running away.”

“It is! Moving around from country to country is not even normal!” She explains, hands bound to her waist when she sees him rolling her eyes. “And how do you even find the money?”

Minhyuk’s eyes widen at that, running his hands through his bleached hair and gripping at the strands. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re hinting at that stupid rumor of me being a gang member or something.”

Petty, tired, perhaps acting up in whatever feelings of love she holds for him, stopped by the reality that he barely shows a glimpse of who he used to be, she wants to get to know the raw version of him and if this is the way… “I don’t know, you tell me!”

Minhyuk rests the weight of his back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling almost as if making a prayer, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe I am doing this…” He breathes out and before she could speak, he starts speaking. The way he holds himself is not a stance of giving up, it’s one of fighting back harder, against whatever it is that it bothers him, perhaps. “You know, not all of us had a good little community to talk to. Not all of us were friends with everyone. Some of us had pretty rough childhoods, for example, or we never found a place to call home…you want to know why? My parents were always working when I was growing up. Is that what you wanted to hear?” The defenses are up now, though his voice only heightens slightly, the sound of music in the background drowning their conversation. “Day and night. Day and night. I would get up at five in the morning just to get to eat with them…and sure, they did it for my favor and I am thankful, but I wasn’t truly…at home when all I was…was alone.” He replies, finally getting off from that stupid wall and nearing her, because all she wants to do is cradle him in her arms and tell him that all her love is his, that if she is there, he will never have to be alone. “Every penny I got from them, I saved. I had enough to travel and I said from then on: hey, I like travelling, and I have always been alone, it’s not that difficult. I’d much rather be alone in an exotic place than just have to think that my own home is not even mine to start with.”

“Minhyuk—”

“Excuse me for having a running away complex. I just work for some bit in the place I am in and then I move on to another. I want to live my life without thinking of the reason behind my actions. Not all of us have a story they want to tell, you get me?”

“Sorry for asking…” The empath in her speaks, reaching forward for him when Minhyuk simply stays in place, not caressing her like he normally does. “I just never want you to run away from me…you’ve been—”

“I’ve been here far longer than I’ve been anywhere else for the past eight years, that should be enough.” He complains, only to have her wrapping her arms around him, resting a kiss on his collarbone, then his neck, his cheeks, wanting to feel like he is at home.

“Because you’ll always have a home in me…” She whispers, only to have him chuckling. Uncomfortable.

“Don’t say that stuff like that, don’t…say stuff like that. Please.”

“I mean it.”

Minhyuk finally wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before finally, for the first time since they’ve met each other, talking seriously. “I know…” Knowing another part of him and loving it just the same just voices out, to herself, what she already knows. She adores, no, loves this man. So much that she doesn’t even believe that rapidness of her heart or the bad that people see in the good that is him. “Just, I told you, don’t talk about this again, okay? I travel because I just do.”

“It’s our little secret.”

Somewhere she had heard that if nightmares are spoken into the air, then they never come true. She’d rather keep this promise of him staying there in between the two, silent, so she can hope for a future…for a happy ending, one where she doesn’t feel the knot in her throat that tells her.

He’s running away.

From you. From everyone.

###

Sometimes, people forget to turn off the lights. She’s home, feet tired, mind vacant, eyes sleepy—but she needs to stay awake. She craves for that television device that blinks at her…it tells her ‘just another episode’, and she lets it. Before she knows it, she has pushed all the important things of life away, falling asleep to the light flicked on. An exchange for sunshine, it had become, because she imagines it shines just as bright…it does the trick. Sometimes, someone is enough to bring that feeling to life—she’d rather have him as his light, illuminating her days with just his radiant presence, than turning off the light. Tuning them out, living up to that expectation that screams at her, just at anyone, that this is not forever.

She forgot, or forgets, that lightbulbs are not meant to last forever. Even the Sun is not meant to live forever, some say. One day, when she least expects it, the lightbulb will flicker and turn off. She can try to fix it, nothing bad could happen with that, and it’s something people do…but it will never work the same amount of time that it did. It won’t shine as brightly, just leave a dim glow over her skin, but she’d feel it—that companion and brightness she has grown to love. Once it stops working again, she’d try to fix it…

She has a problem with letting go, as it seems. No one has ever left her—her breakups caused by herself, and still, she gets to see her exes on a daily basis, most of the time.

But the problem is, eventually, there will be another source of light and holding on to one lightbulb, generally asking it to illuminate her forever…that’s something she has never done, for she is not selfish, and there she is, doing just what she had never imagined.

Five months. Five months of being here and Minhyuk already looks drained. She wants to make him feel better, seated on his usual spot across from her at her typical diner table—that seat is filled with children, seated by his side, the youngest one (Emily’s son) seated on his lap as Minhyuk really tries to be in his zone, to be playful and talkative, but something is stopping him. Indifferent, he is, to the sound of her voice telling another story, to the children that ask him for opinions only to get a brief joke, not even receiving his usual laughter.

And still, they don’t have a title. She likes to believe he is truly her first love, in the way he sits there and fixes the curls on the five-year-old’s head, making sure that they are put in place before Emily loses her head on the fact that her son can’t keep a hairstyle for the life of him; that, he is, her first love that isn’t really the first.

To capture his attention, she pushes her weight forward, letting out a sigh through her lips in this Sunday midday, puffing them out before speaking into the thin air. “Actually, I have one more story for today.” She says, not missing the way the children perk up at the sound of her voice, nodding their heads and speaking between themselves to hurry her in the story. “Did you know that…five centuries ago? There used to be a couple in this same town. Well, not a couple—lovers.” She points out, only to have Minhyuk staring up at her, a tight-lipped smile given when she connects gazes with him. “You see, the man was a sailor. He had gone around the world…all through waters, of course. Until he landed nearby, walked and walked until he got here. This was different from anything he had seen. No water, no lakes. No sea.” The sound of her voice goes directly to Minhyuk, as if to convince him that this story is about him. The man’s face is touched by a smile, thankfully. “One of our townies, a woman, tried to help him get back home…but he didn’t have a home.”

Emily’s son is the first one to gasp at that. “How so?”

“The world was his home. Everywhere and anywhere. He liked to have different homes.” She explains, leaning forward to pinch the youngest’s cheeks. All that naivety was heart-warming.

One of her listeners asked. “So, what did the woman do?”

“In light of this man—tall, skinny, almost like Minhyuk right there,” She says, extending one hand to point at her example only to have him posing slightly to her words, earning laughter from the students. “Not finding a home. The townie tried to make a home out of the people here, out of this place.”

“And did he stay?”

“He did,” She replies, watching Minhyuk’s smile fall as she gives him a weak one. “He stayed. He found a home where he least expected it. The sailor no longer sailed after that, at least, not alone.”

But what is the magic of believing that the light will always stay turned on? How can she invent this sailor inside her head, running in imagination, when the first thing she sees in Minhyuk’s apartment once they enter is that wall that he has covered with a map? She gets closer, the shuffling of fabrics being heard in the background as Minhyuk takes off his denim jacket, and she takes the time to look at the map. New spots are not surrounded by red circles, indicators that they have probably caught his interest and in lack of X’s, she recalls that he may have not visited them on the first place.

The reason why they are there is because Minhyuk wanted for them to spend some time together, perhaps in tranquility, in the silence that basks them on the unspoken. The truth that falls on the fact that even Minhyuk doesn’t know if he’ll stay a long time, if he is just at the verge of needing to leave—a necessity, will she ever be powerful enough to battle such thing?

It takes her a few strides to get where he is, taking his face in between her hands and kissing him with fervor, like he wants to take every question away from his brain, feeling his lips jotting against hers almost immediately. A soft breath leaves her lips because nothing will ever quite compare to how it feels to kiss someone she actually loves, but she can’t have. His hands always rest on the small of her back, dipping her weight forward until their chests are pressed together, caressing his soft skin when her fingertips go up towards his hair, catching it in a soft grip, moving a few steps back and instructing him to follow her when she continues to kiss him…like everything is going to be okay, and there is an ‘everything’ to start with.

His jaw goes down slightly, panting breaths leaving his lips when she throws herself on his bed, hair highlighting her features, almost like an angel when she smiles at him. Minhyuk’s fingers glide across her arms when he kisses her again, soon after extending his palm on top of her abdomen and she feels like he controls her breathing, has done so from the moment she met him, letting his mind go off towards the unknown when he kisses her more deeply, the sound of her lips joining together contrasting the dull sound of his empty apartment.

Something about the weight of his body, his legs that rest in between hers, the feeling of his long fingertips toying with the edge of her shirt makes her feel like she has burned herself finding a source of light, and she can’t return this adoration—this love she feels for the man. Can’t give it back for anyone else to feel other than herself. Minhyuk’s soft lips go down her lips, her jaw, her hands working on taking off his shirt and tossing it on the side of the room, inspecting his body, going up and up until she rests her gaze on his, letting out a little giggle when she wraps her arms around his waist, resting fleeting kisses on his collarbones before speaking up:

“Let’s—”

Minhyuk’s hands, that had been resting on her thighs and almost cry at the mere sound of his voice, leave her body when he utters out a small: “I can’t.” That voice of his is so tiny that it doesn’t sound like him and the way he closes his eyes has her confused, already having taken off her shirt when he said those words.

“…You can’t?”

“I don’t—It’s not that I don’t want you, because yes, you’re gorgeous and I’m so…I think you’re spectacular and I like you more than I could ever voice out, but…I can’t do it.” For the first time, Minhyuk is out of words. She reaches for her shirt, putting it up her body in a hassle before looking at him in worry, seeing him standing up and walking from one end to the other.

“Minhyuk, hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured. I just—”

“You didn’t,” He whispers, stopping in his tracks before looking at her. “I just need you to kiss me, okay? Let’s not talk tonight, I need you to kiss me and we’ll think about what to say later.”

She never imagined there would be the day where she kissed a fragile Minhyuk, one that barely seemed like a shell of himself when his lips pressed to hers softly. Hi brightness had dulled…and maybe, it was because of her.

###

“Jessica!” Her footsteps are quick, running through the streets with her phone tightly pressed to her hand, possibly continuing to call Minhyuk endlessly. Her heart-rate must have gone incredibly high, to the point she can hear the beats of it inside her ears, boiling hot, her head done so much of a mess that she feels dizzy. No amount of oxygen could ever make her feel like she has been breathing in enough, and when she finds her voice screaming again, she is surprised at the roughness of it. “Jessi! Jessica, please stop!”

The woman in question halters her steps in front of her bar, looking behind her before widening her eyes in surprise. Never had she been so unpoised, so messy with the way she spoke, bringing worry to the older woman’s features quite immediately. “Hey, breathe. What is going on—?”

“Where is Minhyuk?”

You see, waking up one day and not getting a text from him is one thing. That had happened, and he had probably fallen asleep. Calling him and not getting a response is also something that could happen to anyone, but when she didn’t see him for the rest of the day, the other day, the day after that…she started to get worried. So much she went to his apartment, running just like how she was doing right at this moment, and knocking his door so incessantly the landlord had to help her get in. Vacant, empty, not even his map is there anymore, not even a note or a box or anything that could tell her where he is.

It hasn’t downed on her, knowing that Minhyuk could have left. Maybe, he had to do something. Perhaps, he wanted to move out to a house instead of that small apartment, but the only person that could give her answers is the one that employed him.

Jessica’s features soften at that, swallowing thickly just at the mere sight of her and she swears she can see tears forming at the corner of her eyes, had they been placed there beforehand? She can’t recall. Her hands are resting against her chests, nails clinging into the fabric of her shirt in hopes of stopping the itching ache there.

“Where is he…?” She speaks softer, moving her legs quickly and feeling her breathing start to pick up. Her eyes can’t concentrate anywhere, looking for answers somewhere when Jessica sighs deeply.

“He quitted a few days ago. I didn’t know he was going to leave; he just left a box with me and I never checked it. He said to look for the name on top of it.” Jessica replies quickly, taking her warm hands in her palm to drag her inside the closed bar. Once inside, the aquarium-like place suddenly reminding her of the existence of Minhyuk, how he used to talk to people behind that counter and enjoy every moment of it…she feels her resolve breaking, letting out deep breaths from her lips to calm herself down. “I mean it, just breathe. I am sure he wouldn’t want you to pass out or die because of this. There must be—”

“A motherfucking reason? That he wanted to leave me since the moment he saw me, that’s that!” She exclaims, seated in front of the counter as Jessica rummages through Minhyuk’s workplace.

“No, honey, he really cared for you—”

“Then, why did he leave?”

“…I don’t know.” Jessica hisses softly, placing a wooden box in front of her before pointing at the small paper taped to the top of the lid. “But this is for you.”

No one prepares anyone for being abandoned, ghosted, much more when it’s out of the blue—as if nothing had ever mattered, and sometimes she blames herself for holding on to the collectives she has of him. In days after his departure, even the same night she had gotten that box, she had worn his hat over her head and she had been unable to take off that bracelet that showed all the places he had been to, a pendant with the flag of her hometown suddenly there. It feels as though her heart is broken in half, calling out for him, wondering why he had never accepted the home she had made just for him…in her arms, for him to stay and never feel like he is alone.

Some battles need to be fought alone, Miss Hwang says to her as she is crying on her lap, three days after Minhyuk’s abandonment and still feeling like the wound is even more open. Sometimes, she feels like she can’t breathe—like the devil has stolen her soul in the form of an angel, as if a part of her always knew that he was going to take her happiness away, own it and make it his before leaving with it. The other part of her wonders if Minhyuk felt bad the last night they met, the reason why he wanted to kiss her endlessly but couldn’t have the only thing they hadn’t shared—as if he didn’t want to promise to give all of him, when he really couldn’t play with her feelings entirely.

Salvaging him, even when he had done the worst thing he could have done in their situation, is something that she can’t find herself doing. Hands rest on her head, licks from the dogs making her feel more at ease the more sobs that leave her lips, unable to be stopped even days after, but at least she is not crying alone…like how she feels right now, even when she had not felt that way in the entirety of her life.

Something inside her tells her that she’ll get over this, but that she’ll never get back the part of her that had fallen for him.

The lights had turned down, just in time for Miss Hwang to tell her to check that box—see his side of the story, even against what Liz and Emily had said about him being an asshole. A shaky breath leaves her lips, pushing her weight off Miss Hwang’s body to tap the lid of the wooden box, reading the handwriting that represents her name before opening it softly.

A downpour falls upon her, watching the pictures they had taken, all revealed and faded into nothingness, showing the details of his hands on her waist, his lips on her cheek, her arms wrapped around him, smiles on their faces. Love. Love. Love. She always thought it had been love in between them…but maybe, she had thought wrong and watching him, that bleached blonde hair that he took so much care of, that smile that made him look like there was always something up in his brain, something to do…

The last picture is the one that takes her off guard, one of her that she had never actually seen, seated by her usual table on a Sunday, the diner is clearly seen in the background and it is not the most beautiful of pictures—she is talking, mouth open, but when she turns it around, expecting the paper to have the day and month it was taken in, she sees something else. Not quite the paragraph, really, Minhyuk has always been an endless talker…but when it comes to serious matters, he comes short. He doesn’t believe in romanticism, maybe.

“Forgive me, I really tried. I love you, be happy. You’ll always be my home.”

But how could she believe in the existence of their love when he had left? She asks, wanting nothing more than to rip the picture to shreds and forget about him, but for some reason, she presses it to her chest, wanting to capture the person she used to be and mixing it with this endless love she feels for Minhyuk. Someone who had never truly known how to stay home, how to stay even through the dullness of their reality.

…Someone who wanted to fade, but would never be invisible to her. Not when she met the real version of him.

And hopefully, she’ll always be his home.

#minhyuk scenarios #minhyuk #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #minhyuk au #minhyuk fluff #minhyuk angst #monsta x au #monsta x fluff #monsta x angst #the anti-love club #traveler!au

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lettersofwrittencollective · 5 years

Text

Unexpected

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective

Pairing: Ubbe x Reader

Word Count: 2327

prompt: “You don’t marry a Viking to be happy.”

Warnings: none I can think of

Notes: This is my first attempt at just pure fluff... no smut, no angst, though they are hinted at they are not dived into. I hope you folks enjoy!

Thank you so much to @dreamwritesimagines for hosting their “Not Today Writers Block” Writing Challenge cause it gave me the opportunity to try this!

Summary: Married off to Ubbe to ensure the safety of your father's lands you end up discovering something about marriage to a Viking.

Masterlist || Vikings Masterlist

A scream of pleasure tears past your lips as he was able to cause that coil in your abdomen to snap once again. As he pulled away from you, he moved up to kiss your lips languidly and you returned the kiss, hesitantly.

Your father had agreed to add you to the Viking in exchange for them leaving his lands intact. Most of the women in your town were jealous- the Ragnarssons all extremely good looking men, but their good, Christian morals wouldn’t let them say so. Instead, they had focused on the fact that your new husband was a heathen and would surely damn you to hell with him.

“What is wrong?” your new husband asks you after a moment's silence and you lean up to kiss him softly.

You had traveled with him and his brothers back to Kattegat after the wedding and things had been adventurous, to say the least. The ship had almost capsized during a storm but you’d made it. Your husband's brothers, Hvitserk and Ivar, had decided that they would teach you the language and about their gods.

They’d started on the ship and you’d learned that while Ivar was short-tempered, he and Hvitserk actually made good teachers. You’d managed to pick up the language very quickly and while you still got their gods confused you had an idea of who was who. It was vastly fascinating.

Even Sigurd had joined in and was teaching you about music and how to play.

Your husband has taught you to fight and you found that you were a quick learner. You were already proficient with the bow and your husband had already informed you that he fully intended to put sword, spear, and axe in your hand.

Yo lean forward and kiss your husband softly, cupping his face in both your hands, “You know

Ubbe “Why?”

“Well - they say... they all say that your people are savages- that they eat children and that they’re bloodthirsty creatures - more animal than human.”

“Well that’s dumb,” Ubbe responds with a snort.

You can’t help the heat that blooms just under your skin and you’re sure that your husband can tell that you’re embarrassed, “I thought the same thing….” you whisper to him as you hide your face from him.

A moment later, Ubbe’s hand has come to cup your face softly and he looks at you. When he speaks, his voice is soft and sincere, it holds both a gift and reverence, “I promise you, my love, that you will never have to worry about such things from me or my family.”

You can’t help the smile that tears across your lips as you lean forward and kiss him, “Thank you, my love.”

Ubbe spends the next year making you happy. He would randomly show up with flowers that he’d picked from the nearby fields. He would bring you gifts that he had bought from far off lands or that he had had made custom for you.

At first, you would find yourself feeling melancholy and missing your home so Ubbe had found you texts that were written in Latin so you could understand them. He had also found and purchased thralls for you that hailed from your homeland so that you had someone to talk to in your own language.

He worked day in and day out with you, working on your language and your fighting skills. Each time you learned something new or did something correctly, he would praise you for your ability to pick up their world as fast as you had.

Ubbe never raised a hand to you and while you had heard the stories of how he had bedded girl after girl in Kattegat when he was younger, he never gave you cause to question his loyalty for you. Whenever he had to stay late with his brother, he would send word to you and you always had the option to go and join them. Many times, you did join them and if you did not, your husband always made sure that you woke in his arms.

Ubbe had taught you different ways of love-making. Some were soft, slow, and sensual. Others were passionate, fast, and desperate. Still, others were passionate but painfully slow.

He had started by teaching you how to dance, something that your father would have been furious about and at first, you had resisted but, slowly, you had followed him along the dance-floor. Allowing him to lead you across the floor of your shared room (another oddity you had come to enjoy) as he hummed a soft, happy tune.

Slowly, he had managed to get you out of the room and to dance at the festivities that his family seemed to constantly throw. Slowly at first, he would only get you to take one turn on the dance floor but as you became more confident in not only yourself but in your place amongst the people, you found that you would dance more. Though, it was only ever with Ubbe or one of his brothers as there were some things that you felt were not appropriate - no matter what the brothers said.

Ubbe was, also, unafraid to show his love for you in public. Something your old friends would learn quite soon as you were traveling back to your homelands, to check on the settlement that Ubbe and his brother had left behind when you married.

The travel back to your home was both exciting and nerve-wracking. You had missed your family but you were not foolish enough to say that the group of you were ever close. It wasn’t as if you had a relationship like the brothers did.

Though they fought and argued constantly, they all loved each other. There was still some bad blood as none of them had ever had a good childhood, but they were vastly loyal to each other and they tended to spend more time together than they did apart.

You could count on one hand the number of times your entire family had all been together. Still, you missed your father and are looking forward to seeing him when you arrive in your homeland.

You and your husband had left Kattegat towards the end of the summer months, the first chills were just coming in. You knew that it meant that the snows would be falling by the time that you had made it to your father's home and so Ubbe had made sure that you had fine furs and well-spun wool so that you would not have to worry about the cold.

He’d even managed to find a woman who dyed the wool purple and cured it in such a way that the purple stayed through many washes. You’d been skeptical at first but after seeing her wash one of her cloths and seeing no bleeding, you had agreed to accept the item.

It was early morning when one of the men spotted the landmass that was your home. It would mean that you would be there by mid-day.

Going to prepare yourself, you changed into something that your father would expect of a woman married to a Prince. The dress was fine silk, cut to flatter your figure with a slit up the side of each leg for easy movement and yet modest enough for the occasion of meeting your father. However, the strip of fabric that covered your breasts in a most “Christian” manner could easily be removed should you choose.

Ubbe had already promised to tear it off you later.

When the boat docked, the men disembarked from the ship first and you swiftly followed behind. As you moved to step down from the lifted edge, Ubbe reached out and lifted you by the waist before carefully setting you down beside him.

“Y/N!” Your father called out, his arms outstretched and a large smile on his face. Before you realized it you found yourself running to his arms and your father held you tightly before letting go.

He greets Ubbe and his brothers and you find your husband's arm is once again around your waist as he pulls you tightly to him. This is such a normal thing for you that you don’t think anything of it but you can see the look of surprise flitter across your father's features before he schools his emotions.

The festivities of the day go on for what felt like hours and hours. Your father having thrown a grand celebration for the visit of his daughter and son-in-law the Heathen Prince.

Men and women are in attendance but, as expected, only the married couples were dancing. Even then, it was the stiff dance, where only their hands touched and you watched as many of these men would dance with their wives only to make eyes at the younger girls. Some of which were young enough to be their daughters. Others, who were known to be the bastard children of some of the men in attendance working as servant girls.

The whole thing disgusted you.

Ubbe must have felt your disgust with the situation for a moment later, he’s pulled you onto the dance floor and leads you across it in gliding steps. It’s not long before you’re lost in the feel of his arms encasing you in their strength, in their warmth.

Ubbe holds you close as the music swells, pulling you so far into him that it’s almost impossible to tell where your body ends and his begins. As he leads you across the floor he whispers filthy obscenities in your ear.

You’d both learned, quite accidentally, that you enjoyed hearing what he planned on doing with your body. There was something about the gravely turn his voice took as he would whisper in your ear just how he planned to worship you that never failed to leave you wanton and needy for him. He had used this tactic to keep you from killing a Jarl one night and you figured that he was using the same tactic now.

You could feel the blood rushing to your skin, both in embarrassment at his bold words here —in front of people you knew would never think to even experiment in pleasing their partners— and from the idea of just what it was that he planned on doing to you.

As he danced you across the floor, you felt yourself becoming more and more aroused and could see, out of the corner of your eye, some of the women grouping together. You were positive that you know what they were doing but you found that you didn’t care.

As the dance ended, Ubbe pulled away from you and sent you a cheeky grin before leading you off the dance floor.

“Are you thirsty, my love?” he asked you, cupping your face so you would look him in the eye.

Staring into his beautiful blue eyes, you have to remind yourself not to get lost in their depths, just yet. Instead, you nodded your head and Ubbe led you to one of the alcoves and made sure you were situated, kissing you before he made his way in search of a drink for you.

“Well, well, well,” comes a voice you know all too well and you have to remind yourself not to roll your eyes. It would seem that Anna, who had been the most vocal about your marriage, was making herself known. “What have we here?”

Greeting the woman, you smile softly at her but do not encourage her with any small talk. At home, the people of Kattegat would have understood that this meant that you were to be left alone. At your father's house, however, it would seem that the same rules did not apply.

Anna offered you a saccharine smile, reminding you of a painted mask you’d seen before with the large smile and yellowed teeth. Moments later, her friends are surrounding her and you quickly piece together that Ana has managed to secure a place for herself amongst these women.

“Ladies,” Anna begins, “I was just talking to Y/N about her husband… She was telling me that the rumors are true, Viking men are brutal.” The women around her gasp and begin chittering amongst themselves and offering you their sympathies. Anna gives you a look, daring you to contradict her and you merely offer her a smile.

You know better than to play these political games that they like to play. You had not been one for them when you first lived and after living in Kattegat you found that you had no patience for the games of court. Most of the people in Kattegat were quite less likely to play these games. No - they were more likely to just kill you if they had an issue with you.

You allowed the women to continue their chatter, they were asking you questions that you weren’t really paying attention to but they answered each other, each one wanting to be the most important woman in the room.

As your eyes scan the room, you see Ubbe is returning with a drink in hand and it occurs to you that it is quite possible to allow put Anna in her place without disagreeing with her. Catching your husband's eye you offer him a sultry smile and a wink. He looks somewhat confused, as he had probably expected you to play by the Christian courts rules but gives you an indulging smile nonetheless. He will play along with whatever it is you’ve got planned.

“Y/N, was Anna right? Are you dreadfully miserable with those heathens?”

“Well, she is right, in that you don’t marry a Viking to be happy,” you tell the ladies, before placing your hand out expectantly, “You marry a Viking to be treated like a queen.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, Ubbe’s lips are kissing your fingertips.

Masterlist || Vikings Masterlist

taglist: @nicole-lynne @stiles-o-dylan24 @mummybear @dreamwritesimagines

Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective . Associated characters belong to HISTORY CHANNEL and are being borrowed for this work, all OC’s are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted 30 September 2019

#ubbe x reader #ubbe ragnarsson #reader insert #Ubbe Lothbrok

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Hi!! Do you have any good Johnlock bed sharing fics? Like in THoB if they accidentally were put in a room with a single bed instead of a double?

Hi Lovely!

AHH I’ve actually just recently recced a slew of Bed Sharing fics but OMG I just checked my “to add to other lists” list and WOULDN’T YOU KNOW I HAVE MORE!!! Check them out, I hope you enjoy!!!

BED SHARING Pt. 4