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7-wonders · 2 days ago

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String of Fate

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: Two of the three Fates don't like the ending that has long been written for Dream of the Endless, and endeavour to change that by bringing him in contact with his soulmate. While such a decision saves Morpheus's life, it also changes everything he thought he knew about the natural order of the universe when he discovers that his soulmate is a mortal.

Word count: 5.6k

A note from the author: I've had this soulmate idea stuck in my head for a very long time, but I worried that I would be unable to write it because it was out of character/I couldn't figure out how to get it to work. Then the first six episodes of season 2 dropped, I saw how much of a yearning, sad, pathetic lover boy Morpheus actually is (thinking specifically of the look he gives Nada when she comes to him in the Dreaming for the first time), and the hesitation on the faces of the Mother and Maiden before Morpheus's string is cut, and went "oh I can work with this."

Not sure yet if this will be a true series with chapters or just a series of one-shots, but there will be more parts (I've already started writing them)! I’m honestly really nervous to release this just bc of how ambitious it is haha. I so hope you enjoy reading, and would greatly appreciate hearing from you about your thoughts on this!

In a pocket realm masquerading as a cottage sit three women of varying ages, each appearing to be about twenty-five or so years older than the woman sitting on her right. The youngest, her tight curls shiny and skin clear of any blemishes, sits next to a spinning wheel and works at coiling her latest yarn into a ball. The next, a woman whose gray streaks and smile lines begin to betray the years she looks to have lived, continues to knit a scarf made of fine, black wool. The last, her white hair and wrinkled skin just barely scratching the surface of how old she truly is, idly pets a calico cat in her lap as she peruses the front page of what looks to be a newspaper.

The women are known by many names. The Gray Ladies. The Kindly Ones. The Fates. Maiden, Mother, and Crone. But at this moment, in this space so sacred to them which exists outside of the jurisdiction of any of the beings that they oversee, they are simply sister-selves.

“The Oneiromancer gave the key formerly belonging to Lucifer Morningstar to the angels,” the Crone notes blithely, summing up what she’s been reading.

“Where it should have been all along,” the Maiden says. “The Silver City cast Lucifer out in the first place and sent them to oversee Hell. Might as well finally have to clean up their own mess.”

The Mother sighs. “Speaking of messes, poor Morpheus must have one of his own to clean up after hosting all of those pantheons and realms in his very seat of power.”

“‘Poor Morpheus,’” the Crone mocks, rolling her eyes. “The last thing any of the Endless need is our pity, but especially him. No, the only thing he’ll be receiving from us is what his prophecy foretells.”

Though all three of the Ladies possess powers of Sight, the Crone has a special aptitude for events which have not yet come to pass. She also holds grudges like no other and still bitterly recalls the whole matter with Circe and the Dream King’s role in it, and has thus been keeping a particular interest in the length of the scarf currently being knit.

The Maiden, who has a memory longer than most and vividly recalls just how deeply the Sandman loves his son, despite how it may, at times, have looked otherwise, winces just slightly at the reminder of what is coming. Though the action was minute, the Mother, who is perhaps most like the name given to her in that she always wants the best for her ‘children,’ notices, as she always does.

“The oldest battle will begin, and—” the buzzing of a timer in another room cuts the Crone off. “Ah! That’ll be the cookies. One moment, lovies.”

The cat jumps off her lap as she stands from the couch with an agility that one would not expect from someone looking to be the Crone’s age and heads into the kitchen to begin preparing tea.

“I’ll be sad to see this one end,” the Mother laments, running a hand down the rows of neat stitches. “Our sweet sister-self would call me a softie if she were in here, and maybe it’s true. How can I not be, though? Dream of the Endless is changing, though he once believed that impossible. It’s slowgoing, of course—”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from him,” the Maiden notes with a small smile.

“Nor I. But there are futures out there where he is given the chance to change fully, futures where he accomplishes a whole lot.” This isn’t a mere guess; in the same way that her sisters can keenly recall the past and peer into the future, the Mother sees the potential paths of everybody who walks Destiny’s garden.

It comes to both Maiden and Mother at the same time that neither of them particularly wants to see Dream of the Endless’s story end in such a way as the Crone has been anticipating.

The Maiden glances through the door, where the eldest-presenting of the three has disappeared to the kitchen. “There is…something we could do, you know.”

She gravitates towards a cupboard near the window, opening it and beginning to search through what looks to be an infinite supply of yarn until she finds the skein she’s looking for. After checking the identification tag that every skein carries, so as not to get any mixed up, she hums satisfactorily.

For a species so full of themselves, human mortals only know about five to ten percent of what they would consider to be the Universe’s mysteries. What’s waiting for them after death (whatever they decide), if there’s a god (many), if they’re the only signs of intelligent life out there (hardly, and it’s a stretch even to call the human race intelligent). Another one of those mysteries is that of love. Is there such a thing as true love, as soulmates? Though they are familiar with the concept, even going so far as to attempt to label their loves as soulmates, they truly do not know if the person they are attaching themselves to is the one meant for them.

If only they knew what almost every other species capable of higher thought does: that soulmates are very real, and finding one’s is not nearly as much of a guessing game when one’s senses are heightened. Currently, Morpheus and his soulmate do not meet. While Morpheus dies, his soulmate goes on without ever having any idea of his death. There would be a few relationships before a perfectly normal and loving marriage, but his soulmate would never know the all-consuming love of being fated to someone. Now, however…

“Oops.” The new yarn is dropped in the Mother’s lap, and sparks emit as it bounces against the other yarn.

The Mother grins, scandalized. “Naughty petal,” she teases.

“Quickly now, before she returns,” the Maiden urges, returning to her seat and becoming very interested in her own project once more.

The Mother’s deft hands go to work, relying on thousands and thousands of years of practice to begin to knit the new yarn into the well-established pattern already created. By the time the Crone returns, there is no feasible way for the yarns to be separated without stepping into one of the few domains they have no power over.

Her outrage and indignation can do nothing now, for the fates of two have been combined into one, and the future has already been set in motion.

•••

Dream of the Endless is, as he is told that the youth of today say, going through it. A simple family dinner (though is anything truly simple when it involves any of the Endless?) proved to be the catalyst for attempting to reverse one of his most regrettable and shameful decisions, only for his journey to turn into a cosmic fiasco when Lucifer Morningstar abruptly retired and gave him the key to Hell, a key that he neither wanted nor needed. Still, he dutifully oversaw the various pantheons and realms as they each vied for the key, if only to ensure the safety of the woman he originally sought to free.

Although he did not necessarily expect Nada to unilaterally forgive him for what he had done, Morpheus did hope that she would understand the sincerity in his actions at present. The opposite was true. She…struck him. Dressed him down as though he were a mere child. Still, he offered her what he once did ten thousand years ago, for his love for her had not diminished in those ten thousand years: the chance to rule by his side. The Queen of the First People, always so eloquent with words, turned him down with a barb that cut so deeply, Morpheus wondered if the wound left behind would ever heal.

“I wonder if your kind is even capable of love,” she said to him, chin held high and looking every inch the ruler she once was.

Morpheus tried to defend himself, to make her see that he did love, and that he loved her. His efforts were futile, and she cared not what he had to say. She wished him well, ever the diplomat. Then Nada was gone, to see what the Waking had in store for her, leaving behind only devastation and loneliness, those old friends.

That was mere hours ago, the Dreaming almost immediately becoming drenched in torrential thunderstorms thereafter. Morpheus made his way to a balcony at the top of the palace, content to let the rain drown him. Lucienne, however, would not stand for it.

“My Lord,” she said tersely, black umbrella shielding her from the brunt of the storm, “perhaps solace is not the best thing for you right now.”

Perhaps she was right, but Morpheus, who was in no mood to listen to helpful solutions, glowered as he stared off ahead into the distant mountains. “Then what would you suggest?”

She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I am sure Hob Gadling is worried after your last interaction, where you told him that you may miss your next meeting. And he has said that you are always welcome.”

Pride and anger almost have Morpheus shoot the idea down before Lucienne can finish speaking. However, as he thinks about it, he realizes that there might be some merit to her suggestion. Hob Gadling had faced many triumphs and challenges throughout his long (for humans, that is) life, matters of the heart surely being one of those. Might the immortal man have some wisdom for a situation such as this?

Now he sits in the temple Hob had inadvertently created while waiting for his oldest friend to return, the New Inn, hand loosely curled around a stem of red wine that he has not yet touched. While the majority of him wishes still to be drenched in rain, another part appreciates the way that the Waking feels real. The Dreaming is real, of course, but he can manipulate every aspect of his realm. Here, he is master of none, and experiences the sights and sounds of a small pub on a Thursday night as any being would.

Morpheus had not gotten the opportunity to ask Lucienne the question he had been meaning to pose to her before he left the Dreaming. So, here in the Waking, he finds that opportunity. “Do you believe that I am incapable of love?”

From across the table, Hob Gadling cocks his head in thought. “Did the woman—did Nada say that to you?”

Morpheus nods. “They were some of her last words to me before she…left.”

The immortal sits quietly to compose his thoughts, taking a sip of his drink and staring up at the ceiling until the words he believes will comfort the Dreamlord, while also telling the truth, come to him. “She’s speaking in anger, my friend. You did an objectively bad thing to her, and she has every right to react towards you in whatever way she sees fit. But,” he says quickly, knowing that Morpheus is a breath away from angering, “she is wrong. Do you not love your realm, the dreams and nightmares that you create? Do you not love the dreamers whom you oversee? Your family, your…friends?”

None of that is romantic love, of course, but Hob is right, as he so often is. Morpheus does experience love in every one of those instances—sometimes begrudgingly, but he does love.

“You speak true, my friend,” Morpheus acknowledges, feeling his sister’s realm loosen its hold on him just slightly as the shadows of Despair begin to shrink.

Hob grins and opens his mouth to speak, but movement from the front of the pub captures his attention, and he instead waves. A mortal approaches their table—braver than most mortals in this pub, who have, so far (as is usually the case when he’s in the Waking), taken one look at the Endless and shied away in fear.

“Hey, Rob!” the mortal greets, using a name Hob must be going by in this century.

“Now, my favorite TA wouldn’t be taking advantage of my pub to work on homework for my class that you haven’t done yet, would you?” he asks.

“I’m your only TA this semester.” The sentence conveys that this is a common line for Hob, who chuckles and waves a hand nonchalantly in the air.

“Semantics!”

“But to answer your question, a couple of us are meeting up before the history grad students’ weekly happy hour to work on our term assignments for Keller’s Archival Methods class. I would never work on your homework in front of you!”

The mortal looks at Morpheus and winks, letting him in on the secret shared between student and teacher that homework for Hob Gadling’s classes has absolutely been completed in this building before, and with one quick movement of an eye, Morpheus feels himself come undone.

(In that little pocket realm masquerading as a cottage, two of the three Fates giggle and congratulate themselves on their impeccable timing, while the third sulks as she stares into the fire.)

The concept of soulmates is not rare among beings like himself. Indeed, out of all the species capable of higher thought, humans are the only ones who believe it to be a mere myth or fairytale (humans, of course, believe almost everything that they cannot understand is a myth or fairytale, which is why the other specieses don’t bother with them the majority of the time). To them, it’s a word one would use to describe the one whom they love most in the hopes that there are some forces of the universe out there steering them towards true love.

Most of the gods and goddesses, fae, beings, and creatures of all kinds, who have spoken about it in his presence mention a number of “signs” that average humans, with their dulled senses and limited use of brain capacity, miss. Sometimes it is simply a feeling, as though the universe has been tilted off balance the entire time, and meeting one’s soulmate has righted it. In other cases, electricity seems to spark the first time soulmates touch. Some have known their soulmate’s name before they properly introduce themselves, and others know exactly what their soulmate’s first words to them will be. He has even heard rare tales of seeing the Fates’ work itself, strings of fate connecting soulmates when they’re first in proximity.

Morpheus has never doubted the existence of soulmates, nor has he doubted the experiences he has heard. No, what he has always questioned has been the intensity of such a bond. How powerful could true love actually be, to change the life of one so powerful? Surely, a soulmate did not exert that much sway over a being of myth and legend?

He has been in love before, of course—with Alianora, with Killala, with Calliope. For a moment, when he rescued Nada from Azazel, he allowed himself to hope that such a second chance was his sign that Nada was his soulmate.

Now, he knows that those loves were pale imitations of the love that one has for a soulmate. A single wink has transformed everything that he thought he knew about life, and where he once saw no future that did not involve taking his sister’s hand, now, he sees only possibility. It’s not just a mortal who stands in front of him now, one of seven billion faceless creatures that occupy his realm for a third of their short lives.

No, it’s you.

Morpheus comes to know your identity immediately by virtue of you being a dreamer, yet he thinks he will not truly be satisfied unless he hears it from you directly. For a brief moment, a black string appears around his wrist, stretching and morphing into a silver one as it loops around your own. Then, it’s gone, leaving behind only the startling realization that Dream of the Endless has met his soulmate.

You bid farewell to Hob as Morpheus watches helplessly, uncharacteristically breathless when you, the deity he now worships faithfully, deign to smile his way before leaving. He is a mere planet sucked into the orbit of a bright, shining sun as his eyes follow you across the room, watching as you greet your friends at a large table. When you toss your head back in a laugh while removing a computer from your bag, he regrets that he’s too far away to hear the sound.

“My friend?” Hob’s voice is the life preserver he needs to pull himself out of the ocean he’s found himself treading through, and finally manages to look away. “Is everything alright?”

Morpheus is unsure. On the one hand, it seems as though he has finally found what he has spent nearly his entire, endless life searching for, right when he had decided that it might be time to stop altogether. On the other hand, the intensity of the bond forming…frightens him. Further, you’re a mortal, which means that he risks once again ending a civilization of humans thanks to his romantic aspirations. Instead of answering Hob’s question, he asks one of his own.

“You have lived a long life,” Morpheus begins, trying desperately not to sound as shaky as he feels. “Surely you have heard of the concept of soulmates?”

Hob’s smile turns soft, wistful. “Of course. Some immortals think that it’s the universe or whoever giving them something to make unending life bearable; others, like myself, are simply romantics who are charmed by the idea of having a love to follow them from life to life. I’ve heard your lot have a much easier time finding soulmates than us regular ol’ immortals, that your heightened senses show you things the rest of us can’t see.” His brow furrows in thought as he digests the rather odd change in subject. “Why do you ask? Did…did you believe Nada to be your soulmate?”

Morpheus is relieved that Hob hasn’t made the connection between his oldest friend’s sudden odd behavior and the appearance of his student. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “For a time, I did.”

None of his previous feelings matter anymore, though, now that the answer to his happiness is sitting across the room.

“Forgive me, Hob, but I must end our meeting sooner than I hoped. There are…matters that I must attend to.” He needs to leave, for if he does not, he fears he may occupy this chair all night and watch you in a manner that would be considered ‘creepy’ by today’s standards.

To his credit, Hob does not act like their meeting is being cut short. “No worries at all. You know you’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and counsel.”

Morpheus hesitates before leaving, defenseless against fate as his gaze is drawn back to you once more. After a moment, he opens the door to the pub and steps back into his own realm.

The ornate stained glass windows of his throne room do not allow him to see outside. But Morpheus does not require windows to know that the weather has already cleared, from booming thunder, bright lightning, and gale-force winds to clearing clouds and hesitant rays of sunlight beginning to dry the drenched landscape of the Dreaming. His realm’s weather is a direct reflection of his own emotions, and as he staggers to sit on the steps leading up to his throne, hope begins to warm his own waterlogged heart.

A soulmate. He would be lying if he were to say he hadn’t ever imagined the possibility of there being someone out there fated for him. Hob Gadling had called himself a romantic when explaining what he knew of the phenomena, and though Morpheus would never use the word to describe himself, he does think it apt. For all that he has been a being so devoted to his duties, he has also longed for someone to share those duties with.

If what he has seen is true, and he truly has become the first of the Endless to have a soulmate, then there is much to consider. There is only one person equipped to help him with this (only one person whose help he wants with this), even if she has never been through such an experience herself, which is how he finds himself in his gallery, staring ahead at the ankh placed in a frame.

“Sister,” Morpheus calls. “I must speak with you.”

“Hiya, little brother,” Death’s voice sounds from her sigil after mere seconds. “This a quick matter?”

“I would prefer that you come through, if you have some time.” Though no day can ever be slow when one is an anthropomorphic personification of a vital universal concept, Morpheus does hope that today, at least, is not busy for his sister.

“I always have time for you,” she says fondly.

One moment, there is nothing but air in front of him. The next, his beloved sister, her trademark smile the antithesis of the all-black ensemble she always sports. Said smile falters when she takes in Morpheus’s affect, likely resembling that of a wounded animal.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Death asks, placing a hand on his arm. “I figured you would be sad after the whole Nada thing—”

Wonderful, Morpheus thinks distantly, word of my rejection has already spread beyond the boundaries of the Dreaming.

“—but this is…not sadness. I’ve seen you sad before. A lot, actually.”

He tries not to take offense, for he knows that she speaks true.

“You have,” he agrees. “And you are correct.”

“Well, out with it then. What’s got you in such a state?”

He has to make an effort to say the words, a part of him worried that it might not be true if he actually voices what he’s just experienced. “It appears that I have…found my soulmate.”

Death’s smile slides off her face in shock before quickly reappearing, somehow wider than before. “Shut up!”

Morpheus’s brows furrow as anger rushes through him. “I beg your pardon?”

When she begins to laugh, those thunderclouds that were only just banished begin to build again over the palace. The Endless were never technically children, but at this moment, Morpheus feels every bit the little brother that he is as he perceives his eldest sister to be making fun of him.

“This is no joke, my sister.” His voice booms through the gallery, making the frames shake just slightly.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way! You unintentionally quoted a movie, that’s all—remind me to show you that movie sometime, same actress as the one in Mary Poppins! I’m simply trying to say how shocked I am.” Death’s eyes shine as she looks at him. “Dream! Your soulmate? You’re sure?”

“The string of fate all but confirmed it.”

She squeals, a high-pitched shriek that echoes through his gallery, stopping suddenly when she realizes her merriment is not shared. “Wait. Why are you not excited? I thought you would be more excited!”

“It would appear that my soulmate is…mortal.”

Enthusiasm deflates out of her like air being released from a balloon. “Oh. Well. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agrees, even though that feels to be a massive understatement. His soulmate being a mortal is more than a problem; it’s a tragedy just waiting to happen.

Death’s eyes flick around the room before she looks at Morpheus again. “Y’know who would be able to help us with this?”

He knows exactly where she’s going with this and wants no part in it. “Sister, no—”

“Destiny!”

“It is alright, truly—”

The last thing he needs is another of his siblings involved in this situation, specifically the one who can tell him what he fears to hear, but his words fall on deaf ears as Death stands in front of Destiny’s sigil.

“Hello, big brother!” Death runs a finger along Destiny’s frame. “May we come through?”

The reply is immediate. “You are both meant to be in my realm at this time.”

“Ooh, lucky us.” Death grins and takes Morpheus’s arm so that he cannot escape, stepping into Destiny’s Garden as the fabric between realms gives way upon their eldest brother’s invitation.

Destiny of the Endless stands before them, looking as he always does—wearing his robes and carrying his Book, stern and acting as though he carries the weight of many worlds on his shoulders (which is technically true). Out of all of his siblings, Morpheus speaks the least to Destiny, for he knows that there will never be room for a friendly conversation if the Book does not require it.

“Death. Dream,” Destiny acknowledges with a slight nod. Death darts over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and though he tries his best to keep his face as stonelike as the statues surrounding the garden, his lips still twitch up just slightly at the affection.

“Brother,” Morpheus greets. “Need I explain the situation to you, or has your Book explained it already?”

“Yes, I know what has happened.”

“Then you know that our sister believes you have answers to a number of questions.”

“Do not hide your curiosity behind our sister’s actions. You also want answers.”

Even though he knows Destiny isn’t being malicious by saying it, Morpheus still feels chastised and has to fight the urge to lower his eyes to the ground. “Yes,” he says, a little quieter than before, “I do.”

“Your path has stayed the same for centuries now, with little variation.” Destiny opens the Book to a page that must contain Morpheus’s story. “Yesterday, that changed.”

He gets the feeling that the debacle with the key to Hell has something to do with his story changing. “I was not supposed to meet…”

It’s impossible to bring himself to say the word to his brother, to breathe life into his hopes in front of one who could so easily crush them.

“No. But for reasons that I do not understand and cannot say, forces intervened. The moment that you left the Dreaming, it was providence that you would meet your soulmate.”

Though he knows that he must temper his emotions, that there is still a large part of the equation that has yet to be solved, this confirmation that the string of fate Morpheus saw connecting you to him was not a trick of the eye, that the sudden intensity with which he found himself falling for you was not mere desperation to be loved after crushing rejection, is a gift.

“The first of the Endless to find their soulmate!” Death says beside him, likely almost as happy as he is, simply due to one of her siblings finding happiness. “And here I thought that the Fates simply enjoyed being cruel to us because of our power.”

“There is still the matter of my soulmate’s mortality,” Dream reminds both his sister and himself.

This, he believes, is where the fantasy comes to an end. Death may be pleasantly surprised that the Hecate allowed him a soulmate in the first place, but he worries that their cruelty lies in the linking of his soul to a mortal’s. There will be no falling in love, no learning another in every way that matters. There will be no marriage, no everlasting partnership. No, he will be forced to know that there is someone out there for him, but that making a move would ensure your demise, and likely the demise of many others. He will be forced to watch from afar as you go through life without him, until eventually his chance at true love takes his sister’s hand and journeys to the Sunless Lands.

“We are forbidden to love mortals, lest we bring about their ruin.” His voice sounds hollow as he repeats this unwritten law, matching the hollowness that he is soon to feel for the rest of his endless life.

Death smiles sympathetically, but does not seem as heartbroken for him as he might have imagined. “I have a theory, if you’d be willing to hear it?”

Morpheus nods. “By all means.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, honestly, and the past few days have made me consider that there might be some weight behind this idea. Though we, the Endless, all have our different purposes, our main one is to serve humanity. Humans hold quite a lot of power, even if they don’t realize it. They decide where they go after they die, and their belief, or lack thereof, gives the gods power. Beings with power like to believe that we have control over humans, but if anything, they have control over us.

“Nada and the First People believed that to love an Endless meant devastation for them. Might that be why the First People were wiped out, and not because it’s an unwritten law?”

Morpheus has never considered this, and mulls the possibility over. Desire, specifically, had courted a mortal in order to sire a child in the hopes of Morpheus spilling family blood. Though they did not love Unity Kincaid, he knows from Unity’s own words that she loved her ‘golden-eyed man’ very much. Yet there was never the end of a civilization due to her love, nor did there seem to be any natural consequences for such a union.

Is Death right? Has Morpheus been living under a misguided belief all this time?

“Destiny?” Morpheus asks, yet again, afraid to know what his brother might say. “Is she correct?”

“The Gray Ladies, for all of their aforementioned cruelty and disdain towards us, respect the concept of love; they relish playing matchmaker. It is one of their favorite parts of their function.”

Their other favorite, of course, is when their services as the Kindly Ones are invoked.

Morpheus must uncharacteristically swallow to clear his throat. “So it is true? I will not bring about the end of modern civilization by pursuing my soulmate?”

Destiny remains silent, and Death whoops excitedly.

“That’s a yes!” she declares, wrapping an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders and squeezing—the closest to a hug he typically allows. “Thank you. This visit has been everything I hoped it would be.”

“It is time now for you both to depart,” Destiny responds. He’s not being rude by ushering his siblings out of his realm; it is simply what the Book demands, and he must follow that steadfastly.

“Yes, of course, we’ll let you get back to it. Farewell, Destiny!” Death bids, waving once before disappearing through the tear in the veil that will undoubtedly lead back to the Dreaming.

“Thank you, brother. Truly.” Morpheus would thank him more profusely than this, but it would be in vain. Destiny knows just how thankful Morpheus truly is.

“Dream,” Destiny calls as Morpheus has one foot back in his realm.

He turns to look at his older brother, only to see the fond twitch of his lips typically reserved for Death or Delirium directed towards him.

“Good luck.”

It is not the usual foreboding tone of someone who knows what is to come and is merely conveying the necessary information as required by his function. No, these words are sincere, are well wishes that one would give to someone they care greatly about, and he appreciates them all the more as a result.

Morpheus nods gratefully, then makes his way through to the Dreaming, where Death stands beaming with her hands clasped in front of her.

“You have a soulmate,” she breathes, awed.

“I do.” While he knows he should be visibly thrilled, he cannot help but to remain serious as he works to fully digest the information, works through what it actually means for him and his future.

Death notices this, as she always does, and takes his hands in hers. “You get to be loved, Dream, just like you’ve always wanted. Don’t be scared of this gift that you’ve been given.”

But he is scared. Terrified is a better word to describe how he’s feeling. What if you deny him as Nada has done? What if the gravity of a soulmate bond, of loving one of the Endless, proves too tall a task for you? He could not bear it if his love—if the reveal of so much beyond the world you’ve been raised to know—were to cause you fear. He cannot get this wrong, will not get this wrong, yet…

“I know not how to court in this day and age, let alone court a mortal,” he says weakly. It is a flimsy excuse, of course, and one that Death sees right through.

“You’re asking the wrong being, since it’s been a good two hundred years or so since I’ve been truly involved with anybody. I’m quite sure that there’s some information on modern dating rituals—it’s called dating now, by the way, not courting—in that ginormous library of yours. Your raven was recently human, too, wasn’t he?”

He need not say anything, for they both know the questions are rhetorical. She squeezes his hands softly before releasing them and stepping towards her frame.

“I’ve got to get back to work, okay? But please don’t doubt yourself. You deserve this! And you’ll figure out how you want to approach this situation; you always do.”

Death has always had an unshakable faith in him, even when he does not believe the same of himself. “I appreciate your wisdom, as always, my dear sister.”

“Bye, Dream.” She opens her own rift between realms, likely to the Waking. “I expect to hear all about this soulmate of yours when we meet next!”

Then Morpheus is alone, left to his own devices as he tries to figure out where one starts when they first meet their soulmate.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus imagine #soulmate fic

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houseofaegon · 3 months ago

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Blood and Ashes ✩ Ben Mears

Pairings: Ben Mears x Vampire!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n, ben mears x fem!reader, gothic and dark themes, heavy sensual tension, blood drinking (consensual), vampire seduction, praise kink, biting, obsession, possessive behavior, domination, rough sex, wall sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, mutual surrender, dirty talk, fangs!!!!, feral!ben, blood play/kink.

Summary: Jesuralem's Lot is dead. But something still breathes in the bones of the Marsten House. Ben returns not to save, but to submit—to her. She is the last vampire left—and she’s starving. What she wants isn’t a meal. It’s him. Mind, body, soul. Forever.

Author's Note: this fic???? absolutely ruined me. i love you lewis pullman you're everything to me!!!! i would let him destroy me!!!!

Jerusalem's Lot had never been kind. Not to you. Not to anyone. And now? It was a graveyard masquerading as a small town—its silence oppressive, its shadows swollen with secrets. Wind slithered through the streets like whispered curse, carrying with it the scent of rotting burnt corpses, rain-soaked wood, and something dangerous. The houses, once quaint and beautiful sagged like broken things. Empty. Haunted. Trees clawed at the night sky. The Marsten House, standing like a vulture on its hill, watched it all.

Ben Mears returned not as a savior, but as a man still haunted by the events of the night before. Hunted. A helpless sheep walking right into the wolf's den. He climbed the hill not because he wanted to—but because some part of him needed to. Drawn. Pulled.

Like a pirate enchanted by a siren's call.

The door groaned as Ben Mears pushed it open, and the darkness inside breathed out to greet him—warm, perfumed, heavy with the scent of something not quite dead.

He stepped inside.

The air was thick. Candles flickered, some burned low, others tall and fresh. Who the hell had lit them? Who kept them alive?

He moved through the hall. The walls dressed in peeling wallpaper the color of dried blood. A crystal chandelier hung above the foyer, crusted in dust, but beneath the dust the crystals still caught the candlelight, glinting like a thousand frozen tears. Cobwebs clung to it like veils.

A golden goblet sat on a marble pedestal, so clean and pristine—it looked like it didn't belong there. He lifted it slowly, heart thudding in his chest. The liquid inside shimmered dark red. He brought it to his nose.

Not wine.

Blood.

His stomach lurched.

"Ben Mears."

The voice curled around his spine. Low. Feminine. Dark velvet soaked in sin.

He turned.

She stood at the edge of the staircase. Bare foot on old wood, gown clinging to her like a second skin. The fabric shimmered red and black, like blood and shadows. Her skin was pale, untouched by time, framed by ink-black hair cascading down her back in waves. Her eyes—a deep, gleaming crimson, unholy.

She looked like something that had been once worshipped and now feared.

Ben couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

"You found your way back I see," she said, stepping into the candlelight. It kissed her face, casting shadows that made her look carved from sin. "Curiosity? Guilt? Or maybe something darker?"

He managed a whisper. “Who are you?”

Her smile was slow. Cruel. Beautiful. Big white fangs shimmered under the light.

“They used to call me whore,” she said. “Before I even knew what it meant. Before I’d even been kissed. Just a girl with too much beauty and not enough shame for their liking.”

She circled him slowly, voice a dark song.

“They said I seduced the minister's son. That I danced naked in the woods. That I’d made a pact with the Devil.”

She laughed. A dark, low, raspy rumble on her chest that made his skin prickle.

Her eyes burned red. "I hadn't. Not then, at least."

He swallowed. "What happened?"

"I wanted this town to burn. When Barlow came, I went to him. Walked through the dark with bare feet and said, take me. I wanted to watch them all suffer. I wanted to watch them scream."

"You let him bite you."

"I begged him to." She was behind him now, breath ghosting his neck. "He thought he'd make his perfect bride. But he made something else."

Her cold fingers slid along his arm, nails scratching his skin. He flinched.

“I was too dark inside. Too much rage. Not enough soul left to lose.” She circled to face him again, eyes wide, shining blood-red. “I didn’t die. I became.”

She lifted the goblet and drank.

"Your blood smells so good," she whispered, licking her blood-stained lips slowly with a satisfying moan. "Like guilt and want and loneliness."

Ben backed away. "You're not human."

“No,” she agreed. “But not a monster either.”

She stepped closer. “You’ve been dreaming of me. Every night. You see a woman in the dark, in silk, with fangs, and you wake up hard and aching and ashamed.”

He froze.

She touched his chest. "You hate this place. Just like I did. I can feel it. I can hear your thoughts. That's why you came back. You want to be ruined."

Her lips brushed his cheek, then his ear.

"I can ruin you, Ben. I can help you. Sweetly. Slowly."

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Why?” she asked, fangs flashing. “You’re dying to be tasted.”

Her tongue flicked across his throat and he gasped. She moaned softly, intoxicated.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Say you want it.”

He did.

God help him, he did.

Ben stepped back, boots creaking against the wood. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Wild. Desperate. But his eyes wouldn't leave her.

She stood with the goblet in hand, blood on her lips. The candlelight adored her, casting her in gold and flickering shadow. Every inch of her was hauntingly beautiful. Sacred. Profane. Unholy. Her beauty seduced him.

She stepped forward, slowly, hips swaing, her gown clinging to the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist. She moved like sin incarnate—like something not meant for daylight. He backed up until his shoulders hit the crumbling wall. She didn't touch him. Not yet. Just stood close enough that her scent filled his lungs—blood, roses, sin.

"I can hear your thoughts, you know," she purred. "They're loud."

He shook his head. "Get out of my head."

"I'm not in it." Her voice dipped, teasing. "You invited me."

Her hand hovered near his chest.

"Your heart is begging. I can feel it," she whispered.

Ben’s mouth was dry. “You’re playing with me.”

“Yes.” Her grin curled. “Do you want me to stop?”

He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Her scent was madenning. Her beauty enchanting. A curse. A drug. A poison. And God he would be lying if he said he wasn't addicted. His muscles coiled. His body betrayed him, leaning into her shadow.

She leaned in, lips grazing his temple. "I know what you want, Ben. I can feel it. Taste it. It's delicious," she purred. "You dream of hands like mine. Mouths like mine. You want to fall."

She reached for his hand, and he let her take it. Did nothing to push her away. Her fingers were cold and strong, pale. She brought his hand to her face and pressesed it to her cheek slowly.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said, lying.

She turned her head, pressed her lips to his palm. "Then you're a fool."

He gasped as she kissed his wrist, her fangs brushing against his skin. Against his pulse. Not biting. Not yet.

"Tell me to stop," she whispered.

He stared at her, lips parted.

"Tell me," she repeated, lower now, hungrier.

But he didn't. He couldn't. She was too close, too warm, too real. His body shook, overwhelmed by her scent, her voice, her beauty. She was everything forbidden, everything he'd never dared to admit he wanted. And she knew it.

She stepped back just enough to let him breathe—but not enough to break the spell.

“You came looking for monsters,” she said, slowly circling him again. “But what if the thing you find... is yourself?”

She stopped behind him and pressed her body against his back, mouth at his ear again.

“You ache, Ben. Let me take it.”

His eyes fluttered shut. Her hands slid under his shirt, nails trailing over his ribs, slow, almost reverent.

“Don’t—” he breathed.

“But you want me to.”

Silence.

“Yes,” he said finally. Voice hoarse, broken. “God help me, yes.”

“He won’t.” She smiled against his throat. "God's not here, Ben. Only me."

She breathed out, a moan half pleasure, half hunger let her lips. Her arms snaked around his waist, holding him like a lover—possessive, starving. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

"You don't know what you've given," she purred. "But I will take it. Every inch of you."

Ben turned to face her, trembling, his hands cupping her face like he might wake up from a dream and lose her. She looked up at him through dark lashes, her smile low and feral, baring just the tips of her fangs. Her pupils dilated as she watched him, drinking in the flush of his skin, the raw pulse in his throat, the smell of his blood.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice breaking. “God, you’re—”

She kissed him.

Not gently. Not sweetly.

Her mouth devoured his—needy, commanding, insatiable. Her tongue swept into him like fire, like blood, like everything he’d ever feared and secretly craved. He groaned into her mouth, hands diving into her hair, tangling, pulling. Her body crushed to his, soft curves pressed against muscle and desperation.

The kiss deepened—filthy, raw, and desperate. She tore his shirt open with a sound that wasn’t entirely human—a low growl of satisfaction rumbling from her throat. Buttons flew, skittering across the floor. Her hands dragged across his chest, nails leaving thin, red trails that stung and made him groan. She moaned at the sight of him.

“God, look at you,” she whispered. “So fucking beautiful. All mine to have. All mine to taste.”

Ben's breath hitched, his chest heaving under her touch. Her words made his blood burn. Her mouth followed her hands, hot kisses pressed into his pecs, his ribs, the scar above his heart. He shivered. Moaned.

“You’re not afraid,” she said again, unbuckling his belt with one hand, eyes locked to his.

“I should be,” he said, voice hoarse.

“But you’re not,” she smiled, dark and victorious. “You’re hungry.”

She shoved his pants down, and he kicked off his boots, stepping free with a raw, desperate grace. He stood before her now—bare, vulnerable, and utterly wrecked by desire and want.

Then it was his turn.

He reached for her, slowly, and took one thin strap of her gown between his fingers. Slid it down her shoulder. Then the other. His hands were trembling. Not with fear. With deisre.

The gown slipped from her, pooling at her feet. She stood bare in the candlelight, and Ben stared, stunned, unable to speak.

"God, you're..." he couldn't even finish the thought.

"Say it," she purred, licking the shell of his ear.

"I want you," he breathed. "I want all of you."

"Then take me."

He lifted her like she weighed nothing. She gasped, arms and legs wrapping around him like vines. He pushed her against the wall, candles flickering wild, shadows dancing around them.

Her back hit the wall with a loud thud, and she laughed. Dark. Breathless. Delighted.

"That's it," she moaned. "Just like that. Use me. I'm yours."

Ben's mouth was on her throat, kissing, bitting. She arched into him. Her nails dragged down his back, claiming him.

"You're mine now," she whispered, head falling back, her red eyes blazing. "Mine to take. Mine to break. Mine to rebuild. Mine to love."

His hands gripped her hips, lifting, pressing, thrusting. She gasped, her voice breaking into a cry that echoed through the ruined halls of the Marsten House.

Ben buried his face in her neck, breath ragged, teeth grazing her skin. Every inch of her burned into him—her scent, her voice, the way her body welcomed his like it had been waiting centuries.

“Please,” he gasped against her throat. “Do it. Bite me.”

She pulled back just enough to see his face—flushed, eyes blown wide with desire, lips trembling. Her grin was wicked, dripping hunger.

“You want it?” she purred. “You want me to sink my fangs into you, mark you, ruin you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Ruin me. I want it. I want you.”

She moaned at his desperation, rolling her hips into him as his body pressed harder against hers. “You’re such a good boy for me, Ben. So fucking perfect. Look at you. So beautiful. So wrecked. Just for me."

He groaned, her hands gripped her ass, lifting her higher, pressing harder against hers. "God, you feel like heaven and hell."

She kissed him again—biting his lower lip, drawing blood. He gasped, and she licked it away.

“You don’t belong to yourself anymore,” she whispered against his mouth. “You’re mine. My pretty little thing. My blood. My boy. Mine.”

“Yes,” he groaned. “Yours. I’m yours.”

She kissed down his throat, her voice a growl now, primal and dark. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Beg for it.”

“Bite me. Please. Mark me. Fucking take me.”

Her fangs slid into his neck. Ben cried out, but he wasn't in pain. He let out a growl so exquisite it made her moan, deep, guttural, blood slipping into her mouth like the first taste of sin. She moaned around his blood, drunk on him, her fingers digging into his back as he thrust into her in one fluid, desperate motion.

She gasped, her head snapping back against the wall, red eyes rolling half-shut. Blood dripped from her lips, down her chin, slick and warm between their bodies.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Ben—God—yes.”

His tongue darted out, licking the trail of blood from her chin. He groaned at the taste of his own blood—copper, sweetness, sin. His mouth moved up to hers, messy and hungry, their kiss smeared with blood and breathless devotion.

He rocked into her, harder now, his hips slamming against hers. She cried out, fingers clawing down his back, marking him.

“Yours,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m fucking yours.”

“Say it louder,” she demanded, panting.

“YOURS.”

Her laugh was ragged, breathless, head falling back again as he slammed into her again, again, and again. “That’s it. Good fucking boy. Ruin me.”

“You’re perfect,” he gasped. “You’re so perfect, fuck—so tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

“Ben,” she moaned, clinging to him. “You’re filling me so good. You feel so good.”

He didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Every thrust was a prayer, a promise, a confession, a goddamn surrender. Harder, deeper, more desperate. Her body met his with the same hunger, the same rhythm, the same unholy need.

Her head snapped back, eyes rolling, mouth open in a helpless cry. Her moans came faster, louder, broken into pieces by his unrelenting rhythm.

“You like that?” he growled, gripping her hips, pounding into her like he could fuck her into the wall. “You like how I ruin you?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes, Ben—”

“I want you to come for me,” he snarled, voice low and vicious in her ear. “Come on me, come with me—let them hear it.”

Her nails raked his back, leaving streaks. “Fuck, Ben, don’t stop, I’m—”

He slammed into her, over and over, watching her unravel. "You're mine now. Mine."

She moaned. "You taste so fucking good. I can’t—I need—”

“Then take more,” he growled.

Her fangs sank into his neck again. He cried out, a sound of agony and release. Her body clenched, spasmed around him, her climax hitting her like a storm. She shook in his arms, drowning in him, groaning into his neck as she tasted his sweet blood.

“I want to taste you,” he gasped. “All of you. I want your blood.”

She grinned as she bit into her wrist with no hesitation, blood slowly dripping. She held it out, offering it to him.

Ben latched onto her wrist with a groan. The taste of her hitting him like lightning, smoke, sex, darkness, so fucking sweet. Her blood was thick, intoxicating, divine.

His eyes rolled back. His moan shattered in his throat. His climax tore through him like wildfire.

They came together, loud and broken.

Her back arched violently against him, a scream ripping from her throat. His grip tightened, his growls muffled against her wrist. His entire world narrowed to this—blood, sweat, sex, her.

Ben slumped against her, trembling, breathless, blood on his lips.

She held him, her own chest heaving, eyes burning with something deeper than lust.

Possesion.

He was hers now. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Entirely hers.

And she was his.

She never thought she'd crave someone like this—never thought she’d need anyone. But his blood? His scent? His voice?

She was addicted. Obsessed.

He was hers, and she wasn't letting go.

“Mine,” she whispered, voice low, dangerous. “Forever.”

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2randomfishperson · 14 days ago

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TWST - Glorious Masquerade Poster

Glorious Masquerade but it is inspired by the "The Bell of Notre Dame" poster.

(10/11/23-8/27/24)

OG Artist note: AT LAST I HAVE DONE IT. I finally finished this piece. I originally started the piece last year in October but got really busy with exams. So the rerun of the event in EN I decided to finish it.

Overall I am really proud of it since it has been a while since I did such a huge piece. This piece contains a lot of characters including OC and RSA. You can get more info on a previous post.

I think that Rollo and the doom sibling are my favorite part and what I am most proud of. And once again, Malleus is still the hardest character for me to get down and I want to throw him in a lake because of it. But yeah that is all.

Current Note: Hello, void. I am not dead. Anyway, I just want to repost this piece I made last year, since I've been busy preparing stuff. As well as the fact I don't know a good time to post this before TWST's Halloween season starts. I will include the design of the RSA and the Toonville Gang outfit as well. I will note that I do plan to draw more Glorious Masquerade in the future. Which includes a new Twst-OC and a Niege redesign because I do not like the pants. So yeah.

(October 2023) OG Artist note: Man, I finally did an actual reference for the design I've been thinking of since like august. These were originally for two art pieces I was planning on doing: one that focuses on these designs and the other that represent the entire event. However since I am stuck in a circle of hell known as FOREVER EXAM MODE I don't know if I will make a piece with this design. I will try to do that because I like this event. So yeah.

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scarluna · 8 months ago

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Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII / ACT VIII

Chapters: 3 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think of this chapter ;) Wink wonk.

ACT III.

The office buzzed with energy as the team gathered for an impromptu meeting. At this point, I had gotten used to the sudden meetings with absolutely no head start. Jungkook was not only controlling but impulsive as hell. No one knew what he was thinking, and for some, it was damn scary.

He stood at the head of the long conference table as me, Hoseok and Rya walked in. His expression sharp and focused over the scattered papers on the table. He wore a plain white button up shirt, dark grey jeans and his sleeves as usual were rolled up his sleeves showing off his tattoos. On one of his wrist there was an expensive Graff watch. Damn. Him and his expensiveness.

Next to him was Tina, practically glowing as she leaned just a little too close to him. Ever since I told her my piece of mind, she had been way too careful not to make it obvious because obviously people were whispering and spreading rumors. I guess she hasn't given up and had some hopes that she'd be noticed. As much as I despised her for how she treated me, I was feeling sorry for her at the same time. Her choice of clothing screamed attention too. Well, who was I to judge? I had no right to do that. Maybe someday the luck would be on her side, who knew?

“Listen up,” Jungkook began once everyone had taken their seats, his voice commanding the room. “MNT Media, one of our main competitors, is hosting a masquerade ball next Saturday. It’s more than just a social event—they’re using it as a chance to attract high-profile clients. Our goal is to ensure they don’t take our edge in the market.”

Tina raised her hand with a smug smile. “And how exactly are we supposed to ‘outshine’ them? Is there, like, a plan for that?”

Jungkook barely glanced her way. “Do your job, Tina. That’s the plan.”

The smirk I tried to suppress threatened to break through. Tina’s face faltered, but she quickly covered it with another fake smile, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her slim pointer finger. Gosh, she was such a cheerleader.

The room hummed with murmurs of curiosity.

“What does this mean for us?” Rya asked from her seat, her brows knit together. I took a glance at her. Unlike Tina, Rya was not showing her "admiration" too obviously and besides, she was way too mature and work-oriented to choose a good session of sex with her boss. I admired her for that.

Jungkook gestured to a slide on the projector, outlining a strategic approach. “It means we’ll attend the ball. Every single one of you is expected to be there.We’re not going to outright sabotage, but we will make sure our clients and prospects see us as the better option. Keep it subtle—this isn’t a smear campaign. It’s about relationships and presence.”And yes,” Jungkook added, his gaze cutting through the room like a knife, “graphic designers too.” His voice held a sharp edge of authority, daring anyone to challenge him.

I blinked, caught off guard by the specificity of his statement. “Graphic designers too? I thought only management should be present there,” I murmured, trying to keep my tone casual. I had never been to a ball. A masquerade ball for that matter.

He turned his head sharply to me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think your job is just fonts and colors, don’t you?”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as his eyes pinned me down, but I refused to back down. “Not exactly, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning against the table, his tattoos flexing as his forearms rested on the edge. “Visuals sell. A well-designed presentation, a strategically placed logo, or even the subtleties in our event materials can make or break a client’s first impression. We need all hands on deck for this. Even,” he paused, locking eyes with me, “the ones who think they’re just here to doodle.”

The room shifted uncomfortably, a few stifled chuckles breaking the tension. I narrowed my eyes, but there was no mistaking the magnetic pull in the air between us. I hated how his cockiness somehow made my pulse race.

Hoseok, sensing the awkwardness, cleared his throat. “So... we’re all just attending or actively involved?”

“Actively,” Jungkook replied without missing a beat, his attention still on me. “You’ll each have tasks to ensure our brand presence is felt. It’s an opportunity to network, observe, and make sure MNT Media knows we’re not going anywhere.”

Just as I thought he might say something else to push me over the edge, he sighed dramatically, breaking the spell.

“Where the hell is Yoongi?” He raked a hand through his dark hair, his tone shifting to one of pure annoyance. “That idiot is late again.”

The room immediately relaxed but remained silent as everyone looked at each other. It was odd, since we were all caught up in that ball that we didn't notice Yoongi missing. Jungkook might have been a force to be reckoned with, but his annoyance with Yoongi being careless and late was an ongoing office joke.

“Probably got distracted by his latest overpriced gadget,” Hoseok quipped, earning a round of muffled laughs.

Jungkook let out a low groan, shaking his head like he was carrying the weight of the world—and Yoongi’s constant stumbles at work—on his shoulders. “If he weren’t my best friend, I’d have fired him five times by now.”

The mention of Yoongi and the Boss brought a flicker of thought to my mind, one that I quickly buried. But it lingered, uninvited. The rumors about Yoongi being more than just another employee—they never truly left me. Supposedly, he was the son of a conglomerate empire, someone who didn’t have to work here but chose to for reasons no one could quite figure out.

Me? I wasn’t deluded enough to think it was because of me, even though the timing was uncanny. Yoongi had started here just a few days after I did, but the whispers always suggested something else. His arrival was tied to some long-forgotten scandal, one no one had the full details on, and I had long given up trying to separate fact from fiction.

Still, the idea that Yoongi might be playing a role that went far deeper than just my “supervisor” always made me a little uneasy. Not that he ever actually supervised me. His attitude made sure of that.

“Yoongi always shows up just in time to avoid the worst of your wrath.” Tina spoke out in a sweet voice. I almost gagged.

“Lucky for him,” Jungkook muttered, leaning against the table with a long, deep sigh.

His broad shoulders slumped slightly, a rare crack in his polished, sharp-edged demeanor. For a moment, he looked... defeated. Vulnerable. It was enough to stir something deep in my chest, something I wasn’t ready to admit aloud.

But the moment passed quickly. Jungkook straightened, his sharp gaze slicing through the room once again, as if daring Yoongi to make him wait a second longer.

As the meeting finally wrapped up, my mind drifted to a new problem. A masquerade ball meant dressing up. And dressing up meant facing my wardrobe—or lack of one. How was I supposed to show up when all I owned were dark jeans, oversized t-shirts, some cardigans and that was it. Most of my clothes were black too.

After everyone returned to their desks, I cornered Rya and Hoseok by the water cooler.

“So,” I began hesitantly, “about this masquerade ball…”

Rya instantly perked up, her excitement palpable. “Isn’t it exciting? An actual masquerade ball! It’s like something out of a movie!”

“Yeah, except I have nothing to wear,” I admitted, biting my lip. “I don’t even know where to start. The last time I dressed up for anything was... well, never.”

Hoseok grinned, his easy charm shining through. “Relax, Y/N. It’s not about having the most expensive dress. It’s about confidence.”

Rya nodded enthusiastically. “I can help you find something to wear. There are plenty of places to rent gowns, and I bet you’ll look amazing once we get you sorted.”

Their support made my chest feel lighter, though a small part of me still hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to embarrass myself. Or you.”

“Y/N,” Hoseok said firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder. He was taller than Rya and me, and if we didn't know him, we'd be intimidated as hell. He definitely had this cool aura and a resting bitch face people felt threatened by. He was smiling tho, like a sun that shined brightly. “You’re not embarrassing anyone. Especially not us. You’re going to show up, have fun, and remind people why you’re a badass.”

I managed a small smile. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.”

As we headed back to our desks, Tina’s shrill laughter cut through the air. She was perched on the edge of Jungkook’s desk, her hand resting just a little too close to his arm.

“Are you sure you don’t need a date for the ball?” she asked, batting her lashes at him.

I couldn’t resist the temptation to make a snarky comment. “Careful, Tina. You’re about one giggle away from falling off his desk.”

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. “Stay out of it, Y/N. Didn't know fat people had opinions?”

“On the contrary,” I said, folding my arms as I leaned against my chair. “Watching you attempt to flirt is everyone’s business. But it's kinda amusing how pathetic you look. Keep it up, I will be rooting for you.” I gave her a bitter smile as she stared at me with a deep scowl on her face.

I noticed Jungkook’s lips twitch, but he quickly schooled his expression. “Enough, both of you. You are at a corporate setting.” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“Oh, come on, Boss” I teased, unable to resist. “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this little performance.”

His eyes met mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “You should focus on your own preparations, Y/N,” he said smoothly. “Wouldn’t want you to show up unprepared.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I shot back, ignoring the slight tremor in my voice. “I’ll be ready. The real question is whether you’ll survive Tina’s advances without filing a harassment complaint.”

I heard Rya and Hoseok chuckle by my side.

Jungkook shot a glare at both of my co-workers and they immediately got silent. I narrowed my eyes, arms crossed against my chest. "Y/N, if I hear one more word coming out of your mouth, I will expect your resignation letter on my desk." he spoke coldly at me. By his expression I could see that he was done with my feistiness. Oh, but I wasn't done. "If you think silencing me will solve the problem, you're underestimating me." I mumbled lowly as I stared at his eyes. He did the same and somehow I felt a tension raise in the air. Before I could continue, Rya tugged my arm toward the office, making our conversation to come to an end. Tina was staring at me in full blown surprise that I was talking to Jungkook like that. "Why don't you fire her?" I heard her ask. And then no answer from my Boss.

As I turned back to my desk, I couldn’t shake the way Jungkook’s eyes lingered on me, or the strange twist in my stomach that followed. This masquerade ball was shaping up to be more complicated than I’d anticipated.

"Girl," Rya whispered, "you are getting bolder and bolder. I fucking love that." she managed to whisper in my ear and that comment alone made me and Hoseok giggle.

The cafeteria was bustling with its usual noise—people chatting over their lunches, trays clattering as they moved through the line. The smell of fresh coffee mixed with the faint scent of freshly baked goods hit my nostrils, yet the familiar knot in my stomach twisting made all the apetite I had disappear. This time, it wasn’t because of my body or my insecurities. It was the looming threat of the masquerade ball.

I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but the thought of being surrounded by coworkers in an extravagant setting, feeling out of place in a sea of confident, stylish people... well, it didn’t sit well with me.

I sat with Hoseok, Rya, and a few others, trying to keep the conversation light. It was hard to focus on anything when I could already feel the weight of the ball hanging over me. I was always an anxious person and it took me months to get used to the pace of my work, despite the bullying.

“So, Hoseok,” Regina, one of the other graphic designers, piped up from across the table. She flipped her perfectly styled red hair over her shoulder, a flirty grin spreading across her face. “I was thinking… maybe you could be my date for the masquerade? You know, just the two of us. We’d make a great pair, don’t you think?”

My eyes flicked to Hoseok, and I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He hesitated for a split second before speaking.

“I... I actually promised Rya I’d go with her,” he said quickly, a little too quickly, I noticed.

Regina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, pretending to be completely unfazed. “Oh, really? Well, I guess that’s fine. Rya’s a great choice too.” She gave Rya a bright, fake smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Rya smiled back, but her expression was a bit surprised. “Oh, um, sure, yeah. Thanks for thinking of me, Hoseok.” She looked at him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Regina’s attention had already moved on, her focus turning elsewhere, but I couldn’t help but notice how Hoseok’s gaze lingered on Rya for a second longer than usual. I wondered if there was something more there—something unspoken.

But before I could process the thought, my mind wandered again. It had only been a few days since I’d overheard that conversation between Jungkook and Yoongi, and I couldn’t shake the way Jungkook’s words had echoed in my mind. The teasing. The lingering tension.

I pulled my thoughts back to the conversation at hand, though I could barely focus.

Regina, in her usual confident manner, turned to the group with a loud dramatic sigh as she took a sip from her pepsi cola.

“You know,” she began, her voice dripping with fake innocence, “it’s just so tragic when some people can’t even hope for a date. Like, what do you even do in that situation? Just... stay home and stuff yourself with food?”

Her gaze landed on me, lingering just long enough to make her target obvious. My chest tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Not everyone’s obsessed with finding a date,” I shot back, forcing a calm tone I didn’t entirely feel. I mean, I lied, I was obsessed to find a date and also obsessed in looking good enough so people would take me seriously and not embarrass the company I worked for. Wasn't I pathetic too? Regina didn't have to know that.

Regina’s eyes widened in mock surprise, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, of course! Why would you worry about that, right? It’s not like anyone’s lining up to take you out. I mean,” she added, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “you’d probably have better luck on one of those makeover shows first. You know, before they film the big reveal.”

Her words hit like a slap, sharp and humiliating, but I refused to let her see it.

“You done?” I asked, standing abruptly. My chair scraped against the floor with an echoing screech, silencing the room for a moment.

Regina blinked at me, her smile faltering for a split second before returning even sharper. “Oh, sure, sure. Don’t let me keep you from... whatever it is you do.”

I walked away before she could twist the knife any further, my head held high despite the storm raging inside me.

My stomach churned at the underlying judgment. Of course, Regina thought I wasn’t worthy of a "real" date. She probably thought someone like me didn’t belong in that kind of environment to begin with.

Everyone seemed to have someone to go with. Hoseok had Rya. Regina had probably already found someone else from the other teams. And me? I’d be the one standing alone, a face in the crowd with no one to share the night with.

I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to the ball at all. What would I even wear? How could I stand in a sea of perfectly put-together people when I didn’t even feel like I belonged in the same room as them?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. It was a text from Rya:

“Hey, don’t worry about anything. We’re going together. I’ll help you with the outfit too!”

Her message brought a small smile to my face, but the unease still lingered. I typed a quick response as I was walking down the empty long hallway of the offices.

“Thanks, Rya. I just… don’t know if I should go. I feel like I’ll be the odd one out.”

Her reply came almost immediately:

“Don’t even think that way! You’re going to have a blast, I promise. And we’re all going to be together, so who cares what anyone else thinks?”

I stared at the message, the reassurance in her words offering some comfort, but I still wasn’t convinced.

Still, I couldn’t let my fears stop me. I had to at least try. I wouldn’t let them see how insecure I was.

Lost in thought as I walked down the hallway, I didn’t notice someone coming around the corner until we collided. A sharp thud was followed by a cascade of papers and folders scattering to the ground. I stumbled back, startled, as the other person muttered a low curse.

“Watch where you’re going,” came a smooth, slightly annoyed voice.

Looking up, I realized it was Min Yoongi, arms now empty as he surveyed the mess with a raised eyebrow. He crouched down to gather the papers, his expression unreadable but somehow laced with that signature playful smugness he was known for. I noticed his brown locks of hair were a mess, it was almost as if he had just gotten up and rushed here. Well, probably after a call by Jungkook he had to rush here. He was late after all.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, immediately dropping to my knees to help collect the documents.

“You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he remarked casually, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye as he snatched up a folder near my hand. “Big plans? Or is brooding your thing now?”

I pressed my lips together, biting back a retort. His tone was teasing, but I couldn’t shake the lingering sting from Regina’s earlier comments.

“Just distracted,” I replied shortly, stacking the papers I’d gathered into a neat pile.

Yoongi’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Right. Distracted. Let me guess—you’re working on your master plan to snag a date for the ball? I am guessing you don't have one.” He leaned back on his heels, still crouched, and fixed me with a playful, knowing look.

I froze, his words cutting deeper than I expected, though his tone remained light.

When I didn’t respond, he tilted his head. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not going. Everyone’s talking about it. Even Tina’s got her claws in Jungkook.” His gaze flicked over me, his smirk sharpening. “Or is it that no one’s brave enough to take you?”

The heat rushed to my face, but I forced myself to look him in the eye. “Not everyone’s obsessed with finding a date, Yoongi,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“True,” he replied with a shrug, standing up and brushing off his hands. “But it’s a shame, you know? All dressed up, standing by yourself in the corner. It’s a picture-perfect Cinderella moment, minus the Prince Charming.”

I glared up at him, my hands gripping the stack of papers a little too tightly. “Thanks for the advice,” I said flatly, shoving the papers into his chest as I stood up and headed down the hall without waiting for him to say anything else.

The hum of the office felt louder than usual as I sat at my desk, trying to get through the endless list of tasks I had to finish before the end of the day. The masquerade ball loomed over me, but today, something about the atmosphere felt different. Maybe it was because I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Rya and Hoseok in my head. Maybe it was because deep down, I still wasn’t sure I belonged in that world? But in that moment, the phone in my hand buzzed, pulling me out of my spiral.

I glanced at the screen: Tae <3

I smiled to myself, swiping on the screen and gluing the phone to my ear. "Hey, Tae," I greeted, my voice a little lighter than it had been all day. Hearing his voice always made all the tiredness, worry and anxiety disappear.

"Hey, Y/N! I was just thinking about you," Taehyung’s warm, melodic voice greeted me through the phone. It was a comfort, like a hug I couldn’t see. "How are you doing?"

"Surviving, as always. Work’s a nightmare right now, and now there’s this whole masquerade ball thing. Honestly, I’m kind of dreading it."

He chuckled softly on the other end. "Yeah, I heard. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Are you going?"

I hesitated, fiddling with a pen on my desk. "Yeah. But I’m not exactly excited about it. Everyone’s got their dates… I don’t know, it feels like I’ll just end up standing awkwardly in the corner all night."

"Y/N," Taehyung said, his voice warm and reassuring, "you could show up wearing a potato sack, and you’d still outshine everyone. Don’t let those kinds of thoughts ruin it for you."

I smiled, the genuine kindness in his words making me feel lighter. "Thanks, Tae. You’re always so good at making me feel better."

There was a pause, and then his tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Actually, that’s kind of why I called. I was wondering if… well, if you’d want to go with me to the ball. As my date."

His words made my heart skip a beat, and I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. "You’re serious?"

"Of course I am," he said, laughing softly. "I think it could be fun. We’d stick together, and I’ll make sure you have a great time. No pressure, though."

Before I could respond, a shadow fell over my desk, and I looked up to see Jungkook standing there. His arms were crossed, and his expression was calm—too calm.

"Work call?" he asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I replied, keeping my tone even, though I could feel the tension radiating off him. "It’s personal."

"You’re busy, then," he said, his voice almost teasing but carrying a hint of something sharper. "Too bad—I was going to tell you there’s something urgent you need to handle. Guess it can wait."

I narrowed my eyes at him, my grip on the phone tightening. "If it’s so urgent, why don’t you handle it?"

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, but before he could respond, Taehyung’s voice came through the phone, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "Y/N? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it’s fine," I said quickly, brushing off Jungkook’s attempt to derail the conversation. "Sorry about that. So, you were saying…?"

"I was asking if you’d go to the ball with me," Taehyung said again, his voice warm but clearer now.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as he took in Taehyung’s words. His gaze darted to my phone, then back to me, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"That sounds great, Tae," I said, my voice bright despite the tension. "I’d love to go with you."

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate—his shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darkened, though he forced a sharp, insincere smile. "Perfect," he said, his tone icy. "I’m sure you and your friend will have a great time."

Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed off, his steps echoing down the hallway.

"Y/N?" Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence, pulling my attention back to the phone. "Are you sure everything’s okay?"

"Yeah," I said, though my heart was racing. "It’s nothing. I'll talk to you later."

As I ended the call, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Jungkook’s reaction lingering in the air, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. I was weirded out from the way he acted. Why was he so stingy for?

It was Friday afternoon, a two days after our meeting about that ball was held and the tension in the office seemed to be building, as if everyone was bracing themselves for the masquerade ball that was looming just days away. It was all anyone could talk about. Some of my coworkers were still obsessing over their outfits, while others were already talking about their plans.

I was organizing some documents at my desk, trying to stay focused despite the whirlwind of thoughts running through my mind about the masquerade ball. The idea of going felt daunting, especially when it seemed like everyone already had their perfect plans sorted out.

"Y/N," a low, familiar voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Yoongi leaning casually against the edge of my desk, his signature smirk playing on his lips. I frowned. He did not approach me unless it was work related. I wondered what was it this time.

"Hey," I said, surprised yet skeptical of his approach. "What’s up?"

He shrugged, glancing down at the papers I was shuffling. "Not much. Just… figured I’d check in."

I arched an eyebrow. "Check in? What for?"

Yoongi’s smirk grew, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation? Nerves? It was so subtle I almost missed it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his tone suddenly more casual. "You know, about the ball—"

"Y/N!" Rya’s voice rang out, cutting through Yoongi’s words like a sharp knife. I turned to see her bounding toward us, her excitement practically radiating off her.

Yoongi straightened, his smirk fading slightly as he stepped back, giving Rya room to invade the space.

"Hey, Rya," I said, trying not to sound annoyed at the interruption.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you," Rya said, ignoring Yoongi entirely. "So, I had this amazing idea! We should totally go dress shopping together for the ball tomorrow. I know this great place, and we can make a whole day of it and then me, Hoseok and you can go out clubbing after? I am in a mood for some drinks!" Clubbing? Oh god. It has been what- years since I went there? Too much people, loud music and bodies bodies pressing against each other.

I glanced at Yoongi, who was watching the interaction with a blank expression, though his eyes betrayed his irritation.

"That sounds fun," I said, offering Rya a small smile. "I will think about the clubbing part tho."

Rya grinned, nodding her head, yet she finally noticed Yoongi standing there. "Oh, hey. Didn’t see you. What are you doing here?"

"Just talking to Y/N," he said, his tone clipped. "But I’ll let you two get back to your plans."

With that, he turned and walked away, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever frustration he might have felt.

I watched him leave, a strange pang of guilt tugging at me. Had he been about to ask something important?

"Isn’t it great?" Rya said, pulling me back into the moment. "We’ll find the perfect dress for you. You’re going to look amazing."

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile, though my mind was still on Yoongi and the words he hadn’t gotten a chance to say.

The soft hum of the mall's ambient music barely registered as Rya and I made our way through the racks of dresses. The neon lights overhead cast a warm glow over everything, but my mind was far from the sparkly fabrics hanging in front of me. We’d been at it for what felt like hours, and I was still having trouble settling on anything that felt like me. The ball was a week away and I was a ball of anxiety.

"How about this one?" Rya asked, holding up a shimmering emerald green dress, the fabric catching the light. She seemed determined to find something that would make me stand out—something that would make me feel like I belonged.

I shook my head, glancing over the dress with a hesitant frown. "It’s pretty, but I don't know... I think it’s a bit too much." I sighed, tugging at my sleeve. "I'm just not sure I want to be noticed that much, you know?"

Rya raised an eyebrow, her fingers still gripping the hanger. "You're seriously telling me you're going to let some people in the office make you feel like you don't deserve to be seen?" She shook her head, pushing the dress aside. "No way. You deserve to wear something that makes you feel confident, strong and sexy."

I smiled weakly, appreciating her effort to boost me, but inside, I felt like I was just pretending. None of it mattered when the people at work—especially Jungkook and Yoongi—were still constantly tearing me down.

As I stared at the dresses in the store, Rya’s voice cut through the silence, a casual comment that made my head snap up.

“You know, I have noticed that the Boss and Yoongi act weird lately,” she said, her voice light but with a hint of something else—curiosity?

I turned to face her, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Weird? What do you mean?"

Rya set down a dress she had been holding, turning toward me with a knowing look. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way they’ve been acting around you. They’ve both tried to approach you, Y/N, and it seemed like they were going to invite you to the ball.”

I blinked, completely taken aback. "What? Yoongi and Jungkook? Invite me?" I laughed, the sound more disbelieving than amused. "That’s ridiculous. Why would they even do that?"

Rya’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “I don’t know, but it’s not like them. They’ve never been this... friendly with you before. And it’s not just me—other people have noticed it too. It’s like they’re genuinely interested in you.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. The thought of Yoongi and Jungkook—two people who had made a habit of mocking me—suddenly being “interested” in me was too much to process.

“No, Rya. I don’t buy it,” I said, shaking my head. "They’ve always treated me like crap. They’ve made fun of me for months, and now suddenly they want to take me to the ball? No way."

Rya didn’t seem convinced. “But why would they bother trying to invite you if they didn’t care at all? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they’re actually—"

I cut her off, frustration creeping into my voice. "Rya, this isn’t about attraction. It’s probably some stupid game to them, a way to mess with me. They’re probably seeing who can get the ‘fat girl’ first and have a good laugh at my expense."

Rya looked at me seriously, like she wanted to argue, but she seemed to understand that I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. "I get it. I just wanted to point out that something feels different this time."

I let out a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, if it is different, I don’t want to be part of it. They’ve always been cruel. That’s not going to change just because they want a date for the ball."

Rya sighed, clearly frustrated but still patient. “I understand, Y/N. I just want you to know that you’re worth more than their games, okay?” She gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you. And this dress? It’s perfect for you.”

I took the dress she offered me, holding it against my body as I studied myself in the mirror.The royal blue dress shimmered softly under the light, its rich color catching my eye right away. The off-shoulder neckline framed my shoulders perfectly, while the fabric crossed gently over the bodice, and I knew that it was going to hug the shape of my body in just the right way. The sleeves were long and smooth, giving it an elegant feel, and the skirt flowed down from the waist, simple but beautiful as it brushed the floor. The material was soft and comfortable in my hands, with just enough weight to feel secure but not heavy. As I turned, the dress moved with me, flowing naturally and making me feel like I could wear it anywhere and still feel amazing. It wasn’t just a dress—it felt like it belonged to me.

Rya leaned against the doorframe, watching as I studied myself in the mirror. Her knowing smile made me feel both self-conscious and reassured. “You'd look incredible wearing it,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the haze of doubt clouding my mind. “You’d turn every head at the ball in that.”

I placed the dress down gently, avoiding her gaze. “I am not used to all the attention...”

She straightened, folding her arms as her tone shifted into something more persuasive. “Y/N, when are you going to stop letting their crap define what you do? You’ve always been better than that, and now? You’ve got the chance to show it.”

I sighed, running my hand over the fabric of the dress again. “It’s not that easy, Rya.”

“What is?” she shot back. “Look, if the ball feels too messy, fine. But tonight? Come out with me and Hoseok. No pressure, no expectations. Just a night to breathe, dance, and remind yourself that you’re allowed to take up space without caring what anyone else thinks.”

I hesitated, biting my lip as I looked at her. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for clubbing.”

She tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “Oh, please. We both know you need this. Hoseok’s got the energy of ten people, and he already said he’d buy the first round. Plus,” she added, leaning in conspiratorially, “you know you’ve been dying to see what he’s like on the dance floor.” Hoseok had mentioned that before he became a Social Media Specialist, he was owning a dance studio downtown and he was the best of them all. However, he had to shut the studio down due to lack of money. Which was unfortunate. Everyone deserved to follow their dreams.

I laughed despite myself. “Fine, maybe that’s true. But I don’t even know what I’d wear.”

Rya’s eyes lit up, sensing victory. “I’ll help you pick something out. Something killer. And trust me, when you’re out there, laughing with us, and feeling like the badass you are, you’ll be glad you said yes.”

I let out a long breath, shaking my head. “Okay, okay. I’ll come. But if Hoseok tries to drag me into one of his ridiculous dance battles, I’m blaming you.”

Her grin widened as she clapped her hands together. “Deal. Now after we chose a dress for you, let’s get you ready to turn some heads for tonight.”

The evening had settled in, and it was finally Saturday night—an evening I had been both anticipating and dreading. A few hours ago, Rya and I had spent what felt like an eternity picking out dresses. After much back-and-forth, I had found the perfect one: the royal blue dress that fit me like a glove. It shimmered softly under the light and made me feel like I was someone else—someone confident and powerful. It was a far cry from the usual clothes I’d wear, but something about it felt right and elegant.

I’d also grabbed a few other things for tonight—something a bit more casual for the club, but still fitting the vibe. Rya had promised me a good time, and I figured I might as well go with it. I hadn’t really done anything fun for myself in a long time, and the club seemed like the perfect way to break out of the monotony.

Sitting in my apartment now, I relaxed into the couch with Hades curled up beside me. I had a few hours before Rya and Hoseok would pick me up—around eleven—but the anticipation of what the night might bring was already starting to settle in my stomach. The drinks were free, the entrance was covered until midnight, and they were headed to one of the most famous clubs called "Devil's Dreads", known for its great music and even better drinks. Hoseok had practically been vibrating with excitement as soon as he heard that I was coming clubbing with him and Rya tonight, and it was hard not to get caught up in his energy.

I was just about to reach for my phone when it buzzed on the coffee table. The caller ID showed “Mom & Dad” and I smiled despite myself. I hadn’t spoken to them in a few days, and I figured it was the right time to check in.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!” I answered, sitting up and adjusting my position on the couch. Hades stirred but didn’t get up, just snuggling closer to my side.

“Y/N, my love! How are you?” my mom’s familiar voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. “You’ve been so busy lately. Have you been eating enough?”

I laughed softly, rolling my eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry. Just work, you know? It’s been a little hectic.”

“You always say that,” my dad’s voice chimed in, his deep tone carrying an affectionate teasing. “Tell us something fun. What’s been going on with you?”

I smiled, glancing around my small apartment. “Well, actually, there’s a company masquerade a week from now. It’s for work. We’ve been working on a big project, and uh Taehyung called me and invited me to be his date since he is going as well.”

There was a noticeable pause on the other end, followed by the sound of my mom speaking quietly with my dad in their native language.

My dad’s voice came as an answer a few moments later, a little more serious now. “Y/N, we’ve known Taehyung since you were little. He’s a good man. And we’ve seen how much he cares for you.”

The weight of his words hit me unexpectedly. “I—Dad, I don’t think…” I trailed off, not knowing how to respond. I had never thought about Taehyung in that way. He was just my friend, someone who had been there for me when no one else was.

My mom’s voice softened, a tone I knew well from years of gentle guidance. “Sweetheart, sometimes the person who cares for you most is the one who’s been there for you all along. Not the ones who just chase after you when you look good in a dress.”

I let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the couch, unsure how to take their words. “Mom, I don’t know. I’m not ready for that kind of thing, especially not with Taehyung. We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to mess that up.”

There was a moment of silence, and I could almost picture my mom’s thoughtful expression. “We’re not trying to push you, darling. We just want you to be happy. But don’t close yourself off to the possibility just because you’re scared of what might happen.”

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump in my throat. “I’ll think about it,” I said quietly. “But for now, I’m just focused on work.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” my dad said, his voice reassuring as always. “Just remember to enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

“I’ll talk to you both soon, okay?”

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” my mom said. “And have fun at the ball. We’ll be waiting to hear all about it!”

“I love you guys, bye.” I said, hanging up the phone, feeling a mix of warmth and confusion. The conversation had been more than I expected, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about what they had said.

As I sat there in the quiet of my apartment, Hades curled up beside me once again, I found myself lost in thought. Taehyung? Could he really have feelings for me? I’d always seen him as a friend, but my parents seemed so sure. It felt like the idea came out of nowhere, and yet... maybe there was something to it.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I didn’t know if I was ready to confront that possibility, but for tonight, I had a night out with Rya and Hoseok to look forward to. Maybe I just needed to focus on that for now—enjoy myself, let loose, and stop overthinking everything.

Rya and Hoseok were picking me up in just a few hours. The drinks were free, the club was waiting, and I wasn’t going to let any of my doubts ruin the night. For once, I was going to let go and enjoy the ride.

It had been ages since I’d stepped foot into a club. The pulsating bass, the kaleidoscope of lights, the hum of people enjoying the night—it all felt foreign yet oddly thrilling. Devil’s Dreads was a sight to behold, unlike any club I’d ever been to. The VIP section on the second floor, where we were seated, offered the perfect balance of exclusivity and immersion. From here, we had a clear view of the stage bathed in fiery orange and violet hues, with sleek, futuristic lighting patterns that pulsed in time with the music. The plush, deep purple couches I sank into were ridiculously comfortable, making it feel less like a club and more like some hidden lounge in a sci-fi movie.

Looking down at the main floor, I could see the crowd moving like waves to the hypnotic beats. But up here, it was quiet enough to hold a conversation without shouting, which was a luxury I didn’t know I needed until now.

Rya was the first to order. She went all out with something bold—a sparkling martini topped with edible glitter. It matched her red short dress perfectly, shimmering under the soft light like it was made just for her. I laughed when she held it up for a dramatic toast, the red matching sequins of her dress making her look like she belonged on the stage herself. Her dirty blonde hair was curled just perfectly, lifted in a messy bun style — Pamela Anderson. And her make up did not disappoint, dark, smoky and sexy, fitting her dark blue eyes perfectly.

Hoseok, being Hoseok, opted for a vodka on ice and an old-fashioned style of outfit. It was simple, strong, and sophisticated, just like him. His black button-down shirt with those subtle gold accents caught the light in just the right way, making him look like he belonged in a magazine ad for luxury watches or cologne. He wore black ripped jeans and his hair was messily styled. He looked like an model.

And then there was me. I scanned the menu nervously, feeling the weight of their expectations. It had been so long since I’d ordered a drink at a club, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. My eyes landed on something fruity and innocent-sounding—a cocktail called Strawberry Dream. The description promised a blend of strawberries, peach, and a “whisper” of vodka. Perfect. I didn’t want to get hammered on the first drink.

But, boy, was it deceiving. Rya had managed to pick the perfect dress for me. Firstly, I never wore something so short, and secondly, I almost never was opting for dresses. Jeans were more comfortable for me, but in this case, I loved how this dress fitted me.

I felt bold and my dress definitely matched the vibe. The black mini-dress I chose hugged my curves perfectly, the structured bodice giving it a corset-like edge that made me feel powerful. The neckline was the real star, though—crisscross straps framing my shoulders and collarbones in a way that was sultry but still sophisticated. The long sleeves balanced the look, keeping it sleek and elegant, while the fabric clung just right, making me feel like the main character.

I paired it with gold hoop earrings for a touch of glam, a natural make up made by myself and my hair was curled in beautiful long curls that framed my features, which gave me this effortless, confident vibe. As I glanced at myself in the reflection of my drink, I couldn’t help but smile—I looked like I belonged in a place like this.

We didn’t waste much time lounging. Once our drinks arrived, the music pulled us in. Rya was already dragging me up to dance, and Hoseok followed close behind. It felt freeing to let go for a while, to sway to the music and laugh until my sides hurt. I sipped my cocktail in between songs, the sweetness of the drink making it go down far too easily. Before I knew it, I was on my third glass, and the room was beginning to tilt—not in a bad way, but in that warm, buzzy, I’m-gonna-regret-this-tomorrow way. -

The music was pounding through my body, the bass so heavy it felt like it was syncing with my heartbeat. Hoseok and Rya were right there with me, the three of us lost in the rhythm, moving to the beat like we didn’t have a care in the world. The alcohol buzzing through me made everything feel lighter, almost dreamlike. The edges of the room seemed to blur as I twirled under the neon lights, laughing at something Hoseok said, though I couldn’t hear a word over the music.

That’s when I felt it—a hand on my waist, warm and unfamiliar.

I turned, a little dazed, to find a man I didn’t recognize standing close. Too close. His smile was charming enough, but the way his hand lingered made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Still, the cocktails had softened my edges, and my better judgment was slow to catch up. He leaned in, his lips moving as he said something I couldn’t hear over the music. Before I knew it, I was swaying with him, letting him guide my movements.

It was harmless, right? Just a little dancing. At least, that’s what my tipsy brain told me as I let myself follow his lead. But then his hand moved lower, settling on my hip, and a quiet alarm bell rang in the back of my mind. I froze for a second, unsure what to do, but before I could even process the situation, Rya and Hoseok were already on it.

“Hey!” Rya’s voice was sharp, cutting through the music like a knife. She stepped forward, placing herself squarely between me and the guy. Her sequin-covered arm reached out, pushing his hand away from me with more force than I expected.

Hoseok wasn’t far behind, his easygoing smile replaced with something steely and firm. “She’s with us,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn’t asking. “Back off.”

The man raised his hands in mock surrender, a lazy smirk on his face. “Alright, alright,” he said, backing up, but his eyes lingered on me for a second too long before he disappeared into the crowd.

I blinked, feeling the haze of alcohol and adrenaline mix into a confusing swirl. “What just happened?” I muttered, my words slurring slightly.

Rya looped an arm around my shoulders, her expression softening as she guided me back toward our booth. “You were letting some random creep get a little too close,” she said gently but firmly.

“Yeah,” Hoseok added, his tone lighter now that the guy was gone. “You’re lucky you have us to keep an eye on you.”

I let out a weak laugh, grateful but also embarrassed. “I didn’t even realize…”

“It’s the cocktails,” Rya said knowingly, giving me a reassuring smile. “That’s why we’re here, though. To make sure you’re good.”

As we made our way back to the VIP booth, I could still feel the ghost of the guy’s hand on my waist, but it was fading now, replaced by a warm sense of gratitude. Rya and Hoseok weren’t just my friends—they were my safety net. And right now, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

I leaned back against the balcony railing, catching my breath, when the familiar face in the crowd below stopped me cold. At first, I thought it was just my tipsy brain playing tricks on me. But no. It was him.

Yoongi.

My stomach did a weird flip as I watched him stride through the main entrance like he owned the place. His tailored black blazer and crisp shirt beneath screamed confidence, and his sharp gaze scanned the crowd with ease.

His eyes landed on me—on us—and widened slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was surprise or amusement that crossed his face first, but by the time he started walking toward our booth, his signature smirk had taken over.

“What brings you all here?” he asked casually as he reached us, his voice low enough to compete with the music but still clear. He looked between the three of us, his expression unreadable.

Hoseok, ever the social butterfly, clapped him on the shoulder. “What, are we not allowed to hang out at the best place in town?”

Yoongi raised a brow, clearly entertained. “You have good taste. But from the looks of it…” He motioned toward the now-empty cocktail glasses on our table. “...you’re drinking like tourists.”

I flushed under his gaze. “Excuse me,” I said, my words slightly slurred, “but I’ll have you know this drink was amazing.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched, and he leaned in just enough to make my breath hitch. “Amazing, huh? You might want to pace yourself. Those are just the appetizers.”

It was then that it hit me. The way he carried himself, the way the staff seemed to acknowledge him without a word, the way he spoke like he owned the place…

“Wait,” I blurted out, blinking through the haze of tipsiness. “Do you… own this place?”

The smirk deepened, and he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Figured it out, did you?” He looked entirely too smug. “Welcome to Devil’s Dreads. My little slice of chaos.”

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emeritusemeritus · 9 months ago

Text

Masquerade: you can fool any friend who ever knew you. [Fred Weasley]

**This is part 2 to a request you can find HERE**

Title: Masquerade, you can fool any friend who ever knew you.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x SarcasticHufflepuff!Reader {Idiots in love}

Timeline: Non-specified/ non-canon event.

Summary: Following Hogwarts’ anniversary masquerade ball, will Fred ever find the mystery woman he’s longing for, and can you, his best friend with a light crush on him, survive it?

*Updated Warnings: Unrequited love, idiots in love, friends to lovers all the usual divine tropes. Happy ending I promise. Minor sexual references, 1 mention of masturbation, George fancies Angelina. Slight angst? We have a massive crush on Freddie. Bonus points for anyone who knows where the title is from. Kissing, love confessions. Did I just write 5k words and none of it was smut?! There’s a mention of Paedophilia in the form of a passing age related joke*

Word count: 1.8k

Thank you to my wonderful Anon who inspired this two part fic with their brilliant request. This story flowed out of me and I was unable to stop writing. Did I cry writing this? Definitely Maybe 🖤

It was mid-afternoon and you were walking from charms when you felt a paper bird fly into your shoulder, confusing you as there was virtually no one around. You'd stayed behind after class with Flitwick to go over some extra work you'd asked for to boost your grade and became throughout confused at the random paper. Opening it, you couldn't help but smile, seeing Fred awful handwriting littering the inside.

'Little Badger- My dorm, 8pm?'

You knocked on the door, waiting for his signal for you to enter and walked into the dorm with a smile on your face, pausing once you noticed that George wasn't there.

"Where George?"

"Well I'm offended," Fred says, giving you blank look, "where's bloody George, am I not good enough now? Also hello."

"Hello trouble," you say, walking over to hop onto Fred's bed, instantly lying down on the surprisingly comfy and tidy bed. You squeal as you feel him jump in beside you, the tiny beds making you think that Fred would be jumping on you but he surprises you by scooting over to allow you to just lay beside him.

"What did you want to do?" You ask, turning your head towards him.

"Hmm?" He asks, half as if he's not listening and the other half as if he doesn't understand.

"You asked me here, what have you got planned?"

"Nothing really, just wanted to see you. It's not a crime is it?" He smirks, eyes soft.

"Only if you're a paedophile," you say bluntly, watching with glee as his eyes bulge and he bursts out a laugh at the dark joke.

"Rotten woman," he mumbles, earning a half-arsed shove on the shoulder as you smile at him.

"Fancy a nap?" You say, eyes closing as you find a comfy spot on the bed.

"How old are you?" He asks tauntingly, preparing to tease you over the need for a little sleep.

You open one eye, looking straight towards him with a smirk on your face, "do you really want me to make the paedo joke again?"

His hands instantly come out to tickle your sides and you beg for mercy as you squirm, almost falling off the bed in the close quarters a few times before he relents.

"Let's go to the kitchens," he suggests.

"Or.. let's take a nap."

"Astronomy tower?"

"Orrrrr a nap?"

"Bloody hell woman how tired are you? I'm offering a romantic date with food and a view, not to mention the giant squid, and all you want to do is to sleep!"

Despite your eyes remaining closed, you'd never felt more awake at the word 'date' so casually slipping from his mouth, a fire in your tummy beginning to ignite the very thought. You try to think of something to say, anything, in reply but you can't, all words failing you completely until you bring up the one topic you didn't want to talk about.

"Not sure your mystery woman would approve," you joke, though there's no real humour in your words. Fred snorts and you open your eyes to see him frowning off into the distance.

"Given up on her already?" You say, digging a little deeper, intrigued by his curious reaction. You watch as he frowns, turning his head slowly to look at you, eyes softening slightly the longer that he stares.

"Let's go to the black lake."

"Are you going to drown me?"

"What? No," he says in concern at your words.

"Alright, lead the way then Weasley."

It's bloody freezing when you reach the edge of the lake, the wind whipping through the trees like it's trapped between the tree line and the school, making you fight off a chill.

"Here, have my robes," Fred offers, his fingers reaching for the fastening.

"No Freddie I'm fine, you'll be freezing," you say, reaching up for his hand to stop him untying it.

He pauses, your hand still resting on his as he looks into your eyes, a soft smile ghosting his face.

"You haven't called me Freddie in ages."

"Sorry," you say, averting your gaze and pulling your hand away but he stops you, grabbing your hand and holding it in his. You see how his gaze diverts to your entwined fingers but you don't say anything, opting instead to take a deep, steadying breath.

"Your hands are freezing," he observes, his fingers squeezing yours gently.

"Yours are warm," you hum in return.

Suddenly, he looks up at you again with a questioning gaze, like he's looking into your soul.

"I want to try something," he says, not glancing away. You simply nod, hardly trusting your voice in the moment as you let him adjust you however he wants.

His right hand slips around your waist, the heat from his skin penetrating yours immediately, warming your side and yourself. You can barely breathe, you're certain he's never been this close to you before. You watch as he follows his hand with his eyes, gripping your waist with his long fingers before trailing his eyes up to your entwined hands. His gaze then trails up to your face and you look at him with an expression that you hope is neutral but is probably very far from it.

He starts to spin you on the rocky shoreline of the black lake, the two of you dancing under the moonlight without any music. It's beautiful and bittersweet all at the same time.

“It was you.”

"It was you," he repeats, sounding breathless, slowing his footwork only slightly. You frown, brows knitting together at his words, completely lost at what he was accusing you of.

"That night, at the ball, it was you."

"Freddie it wasn't me," you say quietly, your emotions bubbling to the surface, finding it too hard to deny any longer under his gaze. "I wanted it to be you that I danced with, I wanted it to be me that you wanted. I looked for you but... it wasn't me Fred."

Tears begin to well up in your eyes but you don't feel upset anymore; you think this is the last step in your grief, the acceptance. You knew that with one simple lie you could have Fred Weasley for yourself, that everything you'd ever wanted was right at your fingertips but you couldn't do it. Not to yourself and especially not to Fred.

"But you were there, it could have been you," he says with determination. Did he want it to be you? You reluctantly shake your head, wishing more than anything that it was.

"The guy I danced with had black hair," you say, wanting to break the gaze but finding it impossible. You feel a pang of sadness when he chuckles, head thrown back with a humourless laugh that makes your stomach lurch. He'd realised that it wasn't you after all. He pulls away from you and your heart breaks just a little bit more.

"You mean like this?" He asks, pulling out his wand and pointing it directly at his head. You scramble to get him to stop whatever he's doing but you're rendered completely silent when you watch with wide eyes and mouth agape as he casts a spell you don't know that immediately turns his fiery locks pitch black.

A sob escapes you as you look at him, hardly recognising the boy you'd loved forever seeing him with black hair, realising that it must have been him.

It really was him.

"There's about 6 people in this school with red hair and 4 of them are Weasleys, kind of defeats the point of being anonymous doesn't it," he says with a smirk. You're gobsmacked, still doubting what's in front of you.

"It really was you? The orange waistcoat with the gold stars?" You say, trying to pull the memory of the mystery man as clearly as you can.

"If you look in my wardrobe right now I can promise you it's hanging there," he says, pocketing his wand, the boyish smile returning to his lips.

"And my dress?" You ask, waiting for the moment he'd describe it wrong and this whole dream would slip away from you.

"Could kill a man," he says with a smirk, trying to calm your apparent nerves and denial. He describes it in near perfect detail, including your mask. You're breathless, lip quivering as you realise that it's really real.

"You believe me?" He asks, slowly moving forward. You nod, unable to find your voice.

"You trust me?"

You nod with more enthusiasm, never doubting your trust in him for a second.

He smirks, moving forward and you reluctantly hold out for hand to stop him, his smirk fading from his face instantly.

"Whatever happens next isn't happening until you look like you again," you say through a laugh, your eyes lighting up as he laughs too having forgotten about the black hair. He pulls out his wand and with a single effortless flick, he's Fred again.

This time he doesn't ask for permission, it's all in your eyes, the welcoming, the love. His hand grabs yours and he slowly pulls you into him, his right hand sliding onto your waist whilst his left hand tucks it self under your chin. There's a moment that passes as you look into each other's eyes where nothing else exists outside of the two of you. His eyes flick down to your lips as his fingers lift your chin ever so slightly whilst he begins to lean down.

His lips feel like pure magic against yours. It's like finding that perfect wand at Ollivanders that has chosen you, completely in sync and connected through a force invisible to the human eye. You give in to the kiss without a second thought, allowing him to dominate the kiss, his tongue sliding deliciously against your own, the comfort of his pillowy soft lips nearly taking your breath away. It's everything you could have ever imagined and you can't imagine for a single moment from here that you could ever be without it again.

He pulls away eventually and you look up at him with shining eyes, tears of happiness welled up in your eyes at the years of torment finally absolved. He looks at you like he never has before, it's full of love, full of adoration.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he admits with a chuckle that makes you snort at his stupid words.

"I'd wager that I have some idea."

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