Archive of Our Own ^beta

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The city was buzzing as always—cars honking, neon signs flickering, and a whirlwind of life that never truly paused. But for Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin, the chaos was no longer thrilling; it was exhausting. Their dreams were far bigger than the skyline, stretching beyond the towering glass buildings to a place untouched by the rush of modern life.  

Seokjin wasn’t just any business owner—he ran one of the most popular magic cafés in the city. Nestled between towering buildings, Moonlit Brews was a sanctuary for those seeking a touch of enchantment in their daily lives. It wasn’t just about coffee; every drink came with a subtle magical infusion—potions for good luck, teas that calmed restless minds, and espressos that sparked inspiration.  

It was wildly successful. Too successful.  

Between managing suppliers, enchanting ingredients, and keeping up with a never-ending line of customers, the café consumed his every waking moment. The demands of running a magical business in a non-magical world were exhausting, even for someone with fairy blood.  

Meanwhile, Namjoon sat behind a grand desk in the city council, overseeing matters that shaped the very streets they walked. His work was complex, intellectual, and often frustrating—balancing progress with preservation, innovation with tradition.  

Their careers made them powerful, respected, and admired.  

And yet, when they finally arrived home each night—dragging themselves into their penthouse, exchanging tired smiles—there was always a longing for something more.  

"It was packed again today," Seokjin sighed, pulling off his apron and tossing it onto the couch.  

Namjoon loosened his tie, giving him a knowing look. "Tell me you actually ate something."  

Seokjin smirked. "Does a spoonful of enchanted honey count?"  

Namjoon shook his head, leaning against the window, watching the city lights flicker. "We have everything, don’t we? A dream business, a career that matters… yet, why does it feel like we’re missing something?"  

Seokjin sat beside him, resting his head against Namjoon’s shoulder. "Because we are."  

And so, the decision was made.  

Their departure wasn’t fueled by failure, nor was it a retreat. It was a longing—one that neither fortune nor prestige could ever truly fulfill.  

Little did they know, their journey was about to lead them into something far greater than the peaceful life they had imagined.  

Tonight, the decision was final. They were leaving.  

“Are we really doing this?” Seokjin asked, watching Namjoon struggle to pack their last suitcase.  

“Yes. No more late-night ramen runs at 24-hour marts—just freshly picked vegetables and morning sun,” Namjoon grinned, shoving his books into the overflowing bag.  

Seokjin laughed, absently twirling a strand of silver-threaded hair between his fingers—a faint shimmer visible under the city lights. He wasn’t fully human, after all. A half-fairy, born from magic as much as from the ordinary world. His abilities weren’t dramatic, just subtle things—an effortless grace, a natural charm, and an ability to sense the emotions of those around him. It made him an excellent companion, but in the city, his magic often felt stifled.  

Namjoon, on the other hand, carried his magic differently. A descendant of ancient wizards, he had a quiet affinity for elemental magic. Though untrained, he could always feel it in his bones—the way fire responded to his moods, how water rippled when he was lost in thought. His ancestors had once been powerful, but with time, magic had faded from his bloodline. Yet, in the countryside, who knew what might awaken?  

Their plan was simple: retire from the city at the ripe ages of 25 and 26, move to the countryside, and build a life that truly felt like their own. But their biggest dream was far more important than cozy cabins or rolling green fields. They wanted a family. A home full of laughter, warmth, and memories that would last beyond lifetimes.  

Little did they know, the countryside had its own plans.  

As they left the city behind, driving towards the unknown, the first signs of magic revealed themselves—a glowing mist curling around the trees, soft whispers carried by the wind, and fireflies that twinkled just a little too brightly. Here, their magic wouldn’t just exist—it would thrive.  

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If the city was a symphony of car horns and neon signs, the countryside was an unspoken lullaby—gentle winds rustling through the trees, birds singing at dawn, and the kind of silence that made every sound feel significant.

Their new home stood proudly at the edge of the forest, its stone walls weathered by time but sturdy as ever. It had once been a place of laughter, owned by a large family long before it was passed down to one of Seokjin’s café regulars. The owner, now elderly and ready to move on, had seen something in Seokjin—a glimmer of magic, a warmth that reminded them of the life once lived within those walls.

The house was big. Far too big for just two people.

“A house this size for just us?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow as they stepped onto the creaky wooden porch.

Seokjin smiled, running a hand over the worn doorframe. “It won’t be just us forever.”

Inside, sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The place was far from pristine—aged furniture, faded wallpaper, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t seen flames in years. But the bones were good, and the warmth still lingered.

Their first night wasn’t exactly smooth.

The water pressure was questionable, the kitchen needed repairs, and a persistent draft somehow found its way into every corner. Namjoon, ever the problem-solver, tried to fix the heating system himself—only to accidentally set off a spark of magic that caused every candle in the house to light at once.

Seokjin laughed, shaking his head. “If you’re going to use magic, at least control it.”

Namjoon sighed, staring at the flickering flames. “This house might need more fixing than I thought.”

Later that night, they sprawled out on the dusty living room floor, the fireplace crackling softly as they shared a bottle of enchanted plum wine—one of Seokjin’s last creations from his café.

“So…” Seokjin swirled the drink in his glass, watching its faint shimmer. “What do you think our life will be like here?”

Namjoon leaned back, resting his head on an old armchair. “Slower. Calmer. Maybe I’ll finally read all those books I collected instead of just staring at them.”

Seokjin snorted. “Yeah, until you get bored and start experimenting with elemental magic indoors. I swear, one day, you’re going to accidentally summon a rainstorm inside the house.”

Namjoon grinned. “Possibly. What about you? No more café to run, no more demanding customers. What’s next for the great Kim Seokjin?”

Seokjin sighed dramatically. “I plan to master the art of doing absolutely nothing. Wake up whenever I want, drink tea on the porch, maybe enchant some plants just for fun.” He glanced at Namjoon, hesitating for a moment. “You think we’re really ready for a family?”

Namjoon’s expression softened. “I do. But it won’t be perfect. It’ll be messy, chaotic, loud… exactly what we need.”

Seokjin hummed in agreement, taking another sip. “Seven. That’s what I want. A home that’s full. No quiet evenings, just endless chatter and laughter.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Seven? Are you planning to gather magical misfits from every corner of the world?”

Seokjin smirked. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll raise future rulers, wandering spirits, or just really good cooks. But whatever happens, I want this house to feel alive.”

They clinked their glasses together, sealing their dream with laughter and the warmth of their magic humming beneath their fingertips.

Outside, the countryside stretched endlessly before them—a land full of promise, waiting to turn their dreams into reality.

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The full moon hung high over the countryside, bathing the forest in silver light. The quiet was interrupted only by the rustling of leaves and the soft padding of tiny paws against the earth. A small, frail kitten, barely more than a whisper in the night, wandered toward the glow of a warm home.

He was hungry.

The kitten was unlike any ordinary stray. His fur was a soft, silvery gray, shimmering faintly under the moonlight—almost like the glow of the night sky had woven itself into his coat. Wisps of white dusted his ears and paws, giving the illusion that he had walked through clouds before arriving at their doorstep. But the most striking feature was his eyes—large, round, and an uncanny shade of pale gold, almost too intelligent for a simple feline.

His tiny frame trembled as he pressed himself against the wooden door, his ears flicking at the scent of warm food drifting through the air. A low, hesitant meow escaped him—a sound so fragile it barely carried through the night.

Inside, Seokjin paused, ladling stew into a bowl, before glancing toward the door. "Did you hear that?"

Namjoon, nose buried in his book, lifted his gaze. “Yeah… Is that a cat?”

He set the book down and made his way over, pulling the door open with a cautious hand.

There, huddled on the porch, was the kitten—tiny, thin, his silvery fur slightly ruffled from his journey. His golden eyes blinked up at Namjoon, and though he was weak, he didn’t shrink away. Instead, he held his gaze, almost as if trying to communicate something unspoken.

Seokjin gasped softly, already moving forward. “Oh no, you poor thing.”

Without hesitation, he scooped the kitten up, cradling the fragile creature against his chest. The little body was cold, barely more than skin and bone. Yet, as Seokjin stroked his fur, warmth seemed to radiate between them—a quiet magic neither of them questioned.

“Let’s get you fed,” Seokjin murmured, carrying the kitten inside.

They placed him in a cozy pile of blankets near the fireplace, setting down a small dish of food. The kitten hesitated, his nose twitching at the scent before he took slow, tentative bites. Within moments, hunger overtook caution, and he ate with quiet determination, as if savoring the first real meal he’d had in a long time.

Namjoon crouched beside Seokjin, watching him. "He's unusual, isn’t he?"

Seokjin nodded, tracing a fingertip gently down the kitten’s back. “Silver fur, golden eyes… there's something about him.”

The kitten’s ears twitched at the conversation, but he didn’t react much—until Seokjin chuckled softly.

“You're special, little one. I can feel it.”

After a while, when the kitten had eaten his fill, he curled up in the blankets, blinking drowsily at the fire’s glow.

Seokjin sighed contentedly, watching him settle. “We should let him rest. He looks exhausted.”

Namjoon stretched, glancing toward their bedroom. “Yeah. But let’s keep him close tonight.”

Seokjin smiled, carefully gathering the kitten, carrying him to their room and placing him softly at the foot of their bed. The little creature adjusted, curling into a tight ball, tail flicking lightly before going still.

And then, as the house fell into quiet slumber, the dreams began.

Soft silver petals floating in a slow breeze.

Gentle whispers, unspoken yet understood.

Moonlight tracing hidden memories.

And in the waking hours, the kitten watched them with knowing eyes.

Unbeknownst to them, their lives had already begun to change.

~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly, over the next few days, the kitten grew more comfortable. He spent hours curled up in soft blankets, occasionally nudging Seokjin’s hand when he wanted food. He still flinched at sudden movements, still hesitated before coming too close—but warmth was beginning to settle in him, quiet and sure.

One afternoon, as Seokjin worked in the kitchen, carefully enchanting ingredients for a simple potion, the kitten perched on the counter, watching intently. His golden eyes followed the glow of magic swirling from Seokjin’s hands, his tiny paws twitching, as if something deep inside him recognized it.

“You like watching, huh?” Seokjin mused, sprinkling shimmering powder into the mixture.

The kitten blinked slowly, his tail flicking, drawn to the silver light like a moth to a flame.

Another evening, Namjoon took him outside, letting him wander the land surrounding their home. The kitten padded carefully through the grass, his ears perking at every rustling leaf. When a butterfly flitted past, he twitched, body low, before clumsily leaping—missing spectacularly.

Namjoon chuckled. “Not quite there yet, huh?”

The kitten shook himself off, tail flicking with frustration.

Days passed, and soon, the full moon returned.

The couple spent the evening quietly, sharing a drink, basking in the peace of their new home. Seokjin leaned lazily against Namjoon’s shoulder, warmth pressed between them as soft laughter filled the space.

Then—a crash upstairs.

Books tumbling. Wood splintering. A sharp, startled yelp.

Namjoon shot up first, Seokjin right behind him as they hurried toward the source of the sound—the library.

Inside, surrounded by fallen books and scattered pages, stood Yoongi—not as a kitten, but as a trembling young fairy. His frame was delicate, far too thin, as if the wind itself could carry him away. Wisps of silver hair framed his face, unkempt and wild, catching the moonlight in a soft glow. His wings—tattered, translucent, barely strong enough to lift him—quivered at his back, shifting with every shaky breath. But his eyes were the most striking of all—one the color of molten gold, the other a pale silver, reflecting the light like fragments of a fractured moon. He stood with bated breath, awaiting the couple’s reaction in fear.

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Seokjin’s breath hitched as his gaze swept across the library, past the fallen books and scattered papers, stopping at the trembling figure before him. 

The kitten is gone on its place, a shivering child. 

He is frail, small, his silver hair wild and uneven, catching the moonlight like threads of mist. His wings, delicate and translucent, quivered at his back, barely strong enough to hold him upright. But it was his eyes that struck them most—the color of molten gold, bright with fear, but hopeful. 

Magic still crackled in the air, unstable and raw. The books nearest to him vibrated faintly, their edges glowing as if absorbing the remnants of his chaotic energy. 

He took a step back. 

His bare feet barely made a sound against the wooden floor, his arms curling tightly around himself. The moment stretched, heavy with silence, until Seokjin took the first cautious step forward. 

Seokjin lowered himself to a kneeling position, keeping his voice steady. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Yoongi hesitated. His magic flickered around him—soft pulses of moonlight pooling at his feet, brief shadows stretching unnaturally. 

Namjoon crouched as well, making sure Yoongi had space. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 

The child’s grip tightened. “I—I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, voice barely audible. 

Seokjin tilted his head. “Mean to what?” 

Yoongi swallowed hard, his gaze darting to the wreckage around him. “To change. I—I didn’t want to make a mess.” 

Seokjin let out a gentle laugh, not mocking—just light, reassuring. “Oh, little one… This house is built for chaos.” 

Namjoon huffed a quiet chuckle as well. “And for you.” Yoongi’s breath hitched at that. His wings twitched, hesitant, unsure. He wasn’t used to words like that. 

Seokjin reached out—not demanding, just offering. A steady presence in the swirling magic. “You don’t have to hide anymore.” 

For a long, quiet moment, Yoongi simply stared at them—two people who had unknowingly become his home. 

Then, slowly, with all the fear and hesitation in the world—he reached back. 

And the magic settled. 

~~~~~~ 

The family of three settled in the living room. As the warmth of the fire crackled softly, Yoongi’s grip on his mug loosened. He had barely taken a sip, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened, but the gentle weight of the blanket around his torso kept him grounded. 

Seokjin noticed the way his wings twitched, still restless, still unsure. 

“Do they hurt?” he asked gently, nodding toward them. 

Yoongi hesitated, then gave a small nod. 

Seokjin’s expression softened. “May I…?” 

The boy froze. No one had ever asked before. His wings had always been something other—something unwanted, something too fragile to be of use. 

But Seokjin wasn’t reaching with force. He was simply offering. 

Slowly, cautiously, Yoongi shifted forward, turning slightly so his wings weren’t folded so tightly against himself. 

Seokjin’s fingers brushed lightly over the tattered edges. “They’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice filled with something Yoongi wasn’t sure how to process. 

Namjoon watched quietly, leaning back against the chair, letting Seokjin take the lead. 

After a moment, Yoongi whispered, “They… don’t work right.” 

Seokjin hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they just need time.” 

Yoongi didn’t respond, but he let Seokjin’s warmth seep into the places where his magic had felt jagged for far too long. 

Softly, carefully, Seokjin shifted onto his knees, meeting the boy’s gaze. “You know,” he murmured, “I understand.” 

Yoongi frowned slightly, confused. 

Seokjin exhaled slowly. Then, with a faint shimmer of magic, his own wings appeared. 

They unfolded smoothly from his back—soft and translucent, feathered with hints of pale pink and silver, shifting in the firelight like liquid moonlight. Though he had long since learned to summon and conceal them at will, they still carried an undeniable elegance, a quiet strength that Yoongi had never seen in his own. 

The boy’s breath hitched. His grip tightened around the blanket. 

Seokjin let his wings settle, folding gently at his back. “You’re not the only one, little one.” His voice was warm, careful, carrying the weight of a truth that Yoongi had never dared to hope for. 

Yoongi stared, gaze flickering between Seokjin and the wings that should have made them strangers—but instead made them kin. 

Namjoon, watching from the side, let the moment breathe. He knew that no words could replace the understanding that flickered between them—the quiet realization that Yoongi wasn’t alone. 

Seokjin reached out again, not demanding, just offering. “You don’t have to hide anymore.” 

Yoongi hesitated. Then, for the first time, his wings twitched—just barely—like they finally belonged to something more than a forgotten past. 

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