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daffodillydilly · 11 months

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Bottom of the deep blue sea (1)

The last thing I remembered was the water, like stars streaming past in the night sky, black with a crashing white blur.

And then the drowning, a familiar asthmatic pain but without relief.

And then.

I woke up shivering, gasping for air. Everything was black, and I reached up with trembling hands to touch my cold eyes with equally cold waterlogged fingers.

I felt stone beneath my body, propping me up, smooth beneath my wet clothes, and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

Until I felt something warm and damp brush against cheek.

My voice emerged in a helpless gasp, as I stared wide eyed but blind into the crushing darkness.

My gasp of confusion turned into a cry of surprise as I felt it again, a warm, damp pressure against my cheek. Startled, I instinctively reached out, my trembling fingers brushing against a smooth, slippery surface. There was a sudden animalistic chirrup and then a guttural sound as the pressure began to wander my face. My cheekbones, my lips, my forehead.

My eyes shut instinctively as the enigmatic sensation traced over them, continuing to explore my face with a gentle touch. The warmth and dampness felt strangely comforting, as if the presence that surrounded me sought to offer solace in this unknown abyss.

“…hello?” I called out in a whisper.

In the depths of the darkness, my whispered greeting was swallowed in silence. The enigmatic presence that caressed my face with their gentle touch seemed to pause for a moment, as if contemplating my words.

The chirrup sound repeated, and then three otherworldly spots of teal luminescence appeared in my vision, as blinding as the sun. I hissed in surprise and pain, and suddenly the lights disappeared.

I blinked my eyes, adjusting to the return of darkness and then slowly, the lights reappeared, softer and gentler, and then copied my blink.

“Hello.” I whispered, my breath hitching as I realized I was staring into the large eyes of some sort of creature.

Their face was twice the size of mine with three wide glowing eyes arranged in a triangular shape. Their nostrils were merely slits, and their thin mouth stretched unnaturally wide, almost reaching the edges of their cheeks. They had a flap of long white skin that sat like hair on the top of their head, rippling with their movements.

“Who are you…?” I whimpered, feeling my heart begin to pound unnaturally fast in my chest. A flash of memory returned to me of a warm embrace, of rapid moving water, of air filling my lungs, “…did you rescue me?”

The creature remained still, their three eyes intensely fixed upon me, their elongated webbed fingers tracing downwards to my lips. Their hand felt warm but wet and was so large that they could easily fit my entire head in their palm. The creature let out a gentle rumble from their lengthened throat, and I could just barely make out their humanoid torso although their lower half was obscured by the inky black water.

The creature cooed, returning my attention back to their face. I noticed their mouth stretching into a smile, revealing rows and rows of giant slender translucent teeth.

I stared at their mouth, feeling goosebumps trail up and down my arms. My shivering increased as a wave of fear swept over me as the creature’s fingers trailed down my chin and down to the base of my neck. The realization of my vulnerable situation began to sink in, and a primal instinct urged me to withdraw from the presence of this huge enigmatic creature.

Struggling to control my rising panic, I scrambled to place both of my hands on the stone behind me, preparing to retreat. But as I tensed to move, the creature's eyes closed, enveloping us in darkness. I scraped my hands against the stone, once again blindly staring out, wide eyed, until the creature’s hand darted from my jugular notch to wrap around the back of my neck, pulling me forward into a deep pool of water.

Panic surged through my veins as I felt the cold water enveloping my body, replacing the stagnant air I had been breathing. I felt smooth slippery skin wrap entirely around me. I desperately tried to struggle free, but their strength was overwhelming, their touch both firm and strangely gentle.

As the creature pulled me deeper into the water, my panic escalated. I thrashed and kicked, desperate to break free from their grasp. But no matter how hard I fought, their arms wrapped tighter around me. My lungs burned, screaming for air as the water closed in around me. The darkness of the abyss swallowed me whole, leaving me disoriented and terrified. I could feel the pressure building in my chest, the need for oxygen becoming unbearable.

Just as I thought I couldn't hold on any longer, the creature's grip suddenly loosened and I gasped for breath, gulping in the precious air that filled my lungs. Confusion washed over me as I realized I was no longer submerged in water. I coughed, clearing my eyes with rapid blinks to find myself in a dimly lit chamber, surrounded by an otherworldly glow. It was warmer here, the temperature was like a soothing bath, and I couldn’t help but melt against the creature.

As if they understood my need for reassurance, the strange being held me gently, their webbed fingers supporting my trembling body. The creature’s three glowing eyes stared down at me, studying me intently. Their fingers traced a delicate pattern on my skin, as if trying to communicate without words.

With a trembling voice, I mustered the courage to speak once more. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The creature continued to observe me with their mesmerizing gaze. In response to my trembling inquiry, the creature's mouth stretched once more into a smile, revealing their rows of translucent teeth. Their fingers momentarily paused their tracing, and they brought one of their hands to their chest, the webbed appendage resting gently against their own heart.

As the creature placed their hand over their chest, a soft glow emanated from beneath their translucent skin. The glow pulsed in synchrony with the beat of their heart, sending tendrils of teal and pink lights throughout their arms, tracing up their long neck, creating an ethereal bioluminescence that filled the chamber.

As the light pulsed and shimmered, I could see more details of the creature's face. Their skin, translucent and smooth, glowed softly from within, revealing a delicate network of iridescent patterns that danced across their features.

The creature removed their hand and gestured towards a nearby patch of rock. Despite my fear, a glimmer of curiosity sparked within me. I cautiously began to swim my way towards the indicated spot, but the creature wrapped me in their arms once more, carrying me there instead.

They lifted me up out of the water, placing my entire body on a smooth stone surface, their glowing eyes fixed upon me, their presence both unsettling and intriguing.

"Please, what do you want from me? Why did you bring me here?" I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady despite the lingering fear.

The creature emitted a series of soft, melodic coos before they suddenly vanished beneath the water.

The chamber became significantly darker, the only light coming from almost purposeful patches of glowing blue and green algae. I stared at the spot where they had disappeared, and then my gaze drifted to the rest of my surroundings.

I was in a large cavern, enclosed by an arrangement of rocks that formed a natural boundary around a pool of water. The walls were made of smooth dark stone, peppered with luminescent plant life. The air was thick with humidity, and the scent of salt and sand.

I sat there on the rock, feeling a blend of awe and trepidation. The absence of the creature left me on edge, unsure of what would happen next. The silence in the chamber was broken only by the faint sound of water dripping and my own rapid breaths.

I scooted closer to the place the creature had vanished into and carefully leaned over its edge, peering into the pitch-black pool. Carefully, I reached my hand into the warm water, and in an instant the creature appeared once more, quietly cooing and chirruping, their large hands cradling several bundles of soft looking plants. Carefully, they placed the bundle on the rock beside me, arranging the plants into a makeshift bed.

With a graceful motion, the creature gestured for me to lie down on the bed they had prepared.

“…you want me to…sleep?” I asked tentatively.

The creature cooed in response, fluffing up the bedding with their webbed fingers.

I stared at them in trepidation before I cautiously laid down on the makeshift bed of plants they had prepared. The creature let out another coo, this time seemingly one of satisfaction.

As I settled down onto the warm damp plants, the creature floated in the pool beside me, their presence a source of both comfort and intrigue. Their eyes remained fixed on me, observing my every move with intense interest.

The exhaustion from my struggle against the water and fear began to weigh heavily on my eyelids, coaxing me into the realm of sleep.

As my eyes fluttered shut, I could still sense the creature's gaze upon me. It felt both protective and curious, as if they were watching over me with a sense of responsibility. The rhythmic sounds of the creature's cooing and the soft rippling of the water in the pool created a soothing lullaby that gradually melted away my anxieties.

I awoke to the feeling of pressure on my lips, and my eyes fluttered open to see three balls of light pressed close to my face. Startled, I sat up, the remnants of sleep dissipating as I realized the creature was now inches away from me, their glowing eyes fixated on mine.

I touched my hand to my lips, feeling my pulse race. “…did you just kiss me?”

The creature tilted their head and let out a soft chirrup almost in confirmation.

As I stared at the creature, a mix of surprise, curiosity, and a hint of embarrassment washed over me. “Why?” I breathed.

They blinked, and then with a flick of their body, they moved forward as if to repeat the gesture. I scooted away from the pool of water, and the creature paused, tilting their head again, cooing in a soft, almost disappointed tone.

I swallowed, lowering my hand to rest against my rapidly beating heart. “…thank you for…letting me rest.” I murmured. “It was more comfortable than I thought it would be. And warmer too.” I paused, my fingers touching the fabric of my shirt. “I must have slept for a long time. My clothes are dry…”

The creature seemed pleased by either the sound of my voice or my words - or both - because they broke into another wide smile, and then extended their webbed hands, presenting a palm full of shimmering stones and delicate, iridescent seashells. They placed the offering gently on the rock beside me, and then stared at me with wide eyes.

“…are these…gifts?” I asked in an unsteady tone, reaching out tentatively to touch one of the shells.

The creature cooed, seemingly satisfied in my interest. They leaned forward, chirruping again, as if expecting something in return.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, “I…I don’t have anything to give you. Unless, ah, you want a piece of my…clothes…?”

They cooed again, leaning even closer to me until I could see faint bioluminescent lines in their cheeks, glowing a pale blue. They gestured towards the pile of shells and stones.

“What? One of those?”

I examined the pile, before carefully picking up one of the glistening rocks. It was deep black and captivatingly smooth against my salt-soaked fingers. Tentatively, I held the rock out to the creature, hoping to appease them.

To my surprise, the creature's eyes widened in what appeared to be delight, and they emitted a series of melodic coos. They reached out with webbed fingers and gently accepted the rock from my hand, cradling it against their chest with a sense of reverence.

A radiant glow emanated from their body, illuminating the chamber with a soft, ethereal light. I watched in awe as the creature floated in the water, their shining form casting intricate patterns on the cavern walls. They chirruped and cooed like a songbird; their joy palpable.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “Oh wow, you really liked that.” I murmured, watching as they bobbed up and down in the water. “But you’re the one who brought that in the first place. Are you just happy that I picked one out?”

The creature's head tilted at an unnatural angle, emitting a deep joyful purr. And then without a moment's hesitation, it gruesomely jammed the stone into its jugular notch, ruthlessly burying it within its own flesh with a sickeningly forceful thrust.

I gasped, my hand instinctively reaching out towards the creature in concern. "No! Wait, what are you doing?" I exclaimed, my voice filled with alarm.

The creature blinked at my concern, letting out a deep guttural sound that caused me to retract my hand. A soft glow began to emanate from the stone embedded in their jugular notch. The light intertwined with their translucent skin, creating a mesmerizing display of colors that danced across their body.

Torn between awe and apprehension, I hesitated for a moment before gathering the courage to speak. "Why did you do that?" I asked softly, my voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Didn’t that hurt?"

The creature responded with another deep purr, swimming forward to rest their head in my still open palm. The stone in their neck pulsed and shimmered, casting a serene glow that illuminated the chamber and reflected off the water's surface.

“…it’s beautiful.” I whispered.

The creature lifted their head, cooing, and then directed their attention back to the pile of gifts they had brought. Their hand reached out and selected a lovely tulip shell with the precision of one who had already chosen in advance. They offered it to me.

I stared at the tulip shell in the creature's outstretched hand, my heart pounding in my chest.

I couldn't help but wonder if they expected me to follow their lead, to embed the shell into my own skin. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I instinctively pulled back, creating a slight distance between us as I scooted away from the pool of water.

The creature let out a distressed cooing sound, reaching out with their other hand to beckon me closer.

“Ah, I’m sorry…” I breathed. “I just, ah. I don’t want, um.” My hand instinctively clutched my throat, feeling the rapid beat of my pulse against my fingers.

The creature's eyes shimmered with understanding, and they withdrew the tulip shell, their disappointment palpable. But instead of pressing me further, they floated back in the water, giving me space and time to collect myself.

As I sat there, the weight of their unfulfilled expectation hung in the air, I watched as the creature quietly placed the tulip shell back among the other gifts, their eyes never leaving mine. There was a sense of longing, a desire for shared connection, emanating from their glowing gaze.

Feeling a rush of guilt, I mustered the courage to speak again, my voice laced with sincerity. "I…I am sorry. I appreciate your gesture, uh, even if I don’t understand it. I…I’d be fine with a necklace or something, but…”

The creature seemed to listen intently, their expression reflecting a mixture of confusion and curiosity. They floated in the water, their body gently swaying with the currents before swimming to the edge of the pool, as close as possible to me.

They tilted their head, their three eyed gaze locked on me. There was a certain intensity to their eyes, as if it was trying to comprehend my words and find a way to bridge the gap between us.

“Um, a necklace.” I repeated tentatively. “It’s uh, a string you wear around your neck.” I gestured with my hands, trying to explain.

As I gestured with my hands to explain what a necklace was, the creature seemed captivated by my words and movements. Their three-eyed gaze remained fixed on me, the intensity growing as if absorbing every detail of my explanation.

With a spark of inspiration, I searched around the cave for any materials that could be fashioned into a necklace. Given the dim light, I decided to get a better look at the cavern, and shakily stood up, the plant life from my makeshift bed soft against my barefeet. The creature let out a sharp click, their long arm darting out to grab my ankle with their damp fingers. I flinched, looking down at them in surprise.

“I’ll be right back.” I said in a breathy voice. “I…I was just going to look around for…um. Something to make a necklace out of.”

The creature's grip on my ankle tightened slightly, before releasing, their eyes as wide and bright as headlights. I carefully stepped away from them, meeting their eyes for several tentative steps, before turning around to look at the cavern.

Bioluminescent algae grew all around the cave, illuminating the dark stone. I was hoping to spot other plant life, grass, or vines, but the cavern was empty and self-contained, about the size of a large living space. Despite the absence of plant life, I couldn't help but be captivated by the natural beauty surrounding me. Several clusters of crystals emerged from the wall in different places of the cave, shimmering with ethereal radiance.

As I moved closer to the back wall of the cavern, the creature emitted distressed cooing from behind me, seemingly from the increasing distance between us. I pivoted on my heel, and what I witnessed left me breathless, my throat constricting in shock.

The creature had perched themself up on the edge of the pool, revealing a thick lower half that split off at what would have been the knee into several colossal appendages. The appendages were long and sinuous, reminiscent of tentacles or the limbs of mythical sea creatures. Some tapered down to hair-thin strands, while others equaled the girth of my own arm. Their lithe form moved gracefully, undulating with the water as they perched on the edge of the pool.

The sight was both intriguing and overwhelming, but I could sense their anticipation and desire for my attention. The creature extended a hand towards me and beckoned me to come closer.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed and intimidated by their immense size and mass. Sensing my reluctance, the creature slid off the edge and back into the pool of water. They let out a soft series of clicks, their expectant gaze urging me on.

I took a deep, nervous breath before I approached the pool once more, carefully stepping over a long tendril that seemed to have been snaking its way towards me. I sat down on the pool's edge once more, the creatures’ three shimmering eyes fixed upon me. With a gesture, they directed my gaze to their neck, signaling a desire for me to resume my earlier explanation. Taking another deep breath, I began to describe the concept again.

As I spoke, the creature watched me intently, their eyes fixed on my every movement. I carefully demonstrated the act of draping a string around my neck, mimicking the gesture as best as I could. The creature's curiosity seemed to grow with each passing moment, their lower body swaying gently in the water.

After I finished my explanation, the creature remained silent, contemplating my words. They leaned closer, their long, sinuous appendages coiling and uncoiling in a mesmerizing rhythm, before one of their thin vine-like tendrils twisted its way to wrap around my neck.

I swallowed nervously, feeling the tendril coil around me. It was surprisingly soft, almost like silk ribbon against my skin. The creature's gaze remained fixed on me, as if seeking confirmation that they understood my explanation correctly.

I looked down at the tendril encircling my neck, and as I did, the creature let out a soft cooing sound, as if expressing satisfaction. I let out a soft laugh. “That’s…not exactly wrong. But…I assume you want to keep all your limbs attached.” I briefly tugged at the tendril, and mimed snipping it.

The creature blinked their three eyes in response, seemingly pondering my words or gestures. Their sinuous appendages coiled and uncoiled, a subtle display of contemplation.

Without warning, the creature's face lunged towards me, tearing the tendril from their own body with a sudden, frenzied rush of gnashing teeth.

I gasped and instinctively recoiled, my body jerking backward in surprise. The tendril, now detached, hung limply around my neck, a stark contrast to the vibrant and pulsating creature before me.

I stared in shock and fear at the creature, though a glimmer of satisfaction flickered in their gaze. They let out a low rumble, a sound like a pleased purr. It was evident that the tearing of the tendril hadn't caused them any pain or distress.

Tentatively, I reached up and touched the tendril around my neck, feeling its lingering warmth.

“You... You tore it off," I managed to utter, my voice wavering. "Why did you do that?"

In response to my question, the creature emitted a series of soft cooing sounds. They reached up with their long slender arms and mimicked the act of draping an imaginary string around their own neck, mirroring my earlier demonstration.

“…I could have just used seaweed or…” I whispered, trailing off.

They tilted their head, letting out a gentle chirrup noise. Their fingers tapped the smooth black stone embedded in their jugular notch, and then the tendril around my neck.

“Yes, I…think I understand.” I said, brows furrowed. “But I was just going to, um, use that shell you wanted to give me. I was going to thread it on a necklace.”

The creature followed my gaze to the pile of shells and stones on the opposite side of the water pool. With a sudden surge of movement, the creature gracefully glided towards the pile before returning to hover in the water in front of me. They once again presented the shell to me, as if affirming their understanding of my words and intentions.

I admired the tulip shell, dwarfed in the palm of the creature’s hand. The shell was entirely in one piece, fully formed and perfect.

“…I don’t suppose you could, um, pierce a hole through it.” I murmured, wondering how I would affix it to my makeshift necklace.

The creature stared at me unblinking.

“Um, a hole. Like…”

I did my best to gesture the process of creating a hole, pointing to the exact spot on the shell. I then removed the tendril from my neck – trying not to concentrate on the fact it was a severed limb - and mimed the process of stringing something on to it.

The creature watched intently, and I could see the recognition in their three-eyed gaze as they focused on the tulip shell in their hand. They let out a series of clicking sounds, as if communicating with themself, before lifting the shell to their lips.

The creature's mouth widened to an unimaginable extent, exposing a cavernous gaping maw lined with countless rows of razor-sharp teeth that extended deep into their throat, resembling a terrifying shredding machine rather than the mouth of a shark.

“Oh my g-” I gasped in fear, scrambling back from the edge of the pool.

The creature's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and confusion evident in their gaze. They quickly closed their mouth, retracting their teeth and sealing it shut. The creature's hand, still holding the tulip shell, trembled slightly as they stared at me from the water pool.

I stared back at them, feeling my body tremble against the stone. There were a few moments of heavy silence, before the creature let out a single high-pitched sound, like a wounded question. I felt a pang of guilt, as I realized they were only trying to pierce the shell like I had asked.

"I... I apologize.” I whispered, voice and body trembling, “It's just... that shocked me. I hadn’t realized you…had quite that many teeth.” I let out a breathy laugh, “No doubt you’re a carnivore…” And then softer to myself, “…hope you don’t eat people…”

The creature's three-eyed gaze softened, and they emitted a soothing sound. One of their many tendrilled limbs reached for me, delicately wrapping around my ankle. For a moment I thought it would forcefully drag me back – my intrusive thoughts fixated on their gaping maw - but it only gently tugged, as if it were saying ‘look.’

I watched as the creature carefully maneuvered the tulip shell, positioning it within their grasp and holding it steady. Slowly they once again lifted the shell to their lips, but this time, their teeth remained concealed within their mouth and the shell briefly disappeared inside before emerging from their lips.

Their three-eyed gaze met mine, and they tilted their head towards me, beckoning me in a puppy-like motion to take it from them.

With a thick swallow, I scooted forward to sit sideways at the edge of the pool and extended my shaky hand to gently take the shell from the creature’s lips.

“…thank you.” I murmured in wonder, as I saw that a small hole had been pierced through the thin opening of the tulip shell.

The creature let out a melodic chirrup in response, and leaned their body forward, resting their elbows on the stone as they peered at me in interest.

I picked up the tendril that I had dropped in my previous panic and eyed the creature.

“Um, so.” I rolled the thin tendril around my fingers, realizing it might be too thick. After a moment of contemplation, I decided to test whether the tendril would fit through the hole in the tulip shell. “Let’s see if this works…” With cautious optimism, I attempted to thread the tendril through the small opening.

To my surprise, the tendril, although slightly thicker than the hole, managed to pass through with a bit of effort. It created a snug fit, securing the shell in place and a strange sense of accomplishment washed over me.

I held it up, extended in my hands for inspection. “Look! A necklace!”

The creature emitted a trilling sound, expressing their delight, and a laugh escaped my lips. They were so strange, and a bit cute, to be so happy over such a silly thing.

“And now, I just need to tie it on and hope it stays.” I said, positioning the makeshift necklace in my fingers, but the creature placed their large hands on top of mine, gently taking the tendril from me.

“Oh, uh, you want to do it…?” I asked shakily.

The creature purred, before leaning even closer to reach behind my neck with both hands. Their face hovered mere inches from me, the lines of bioluminescence in their cheeks pulsing in a hypnotic fashion. I found myself momentarily entranced by the pulsating lights, feeling a sense of calm washing over me.

With a final adjustment, the creature secured the tendril around my neck, their hands resting gently against my skin. Their three-eyed gaze met mine, and a soft trill escaped the creature's throat, a sound filled with satisfaction and approval. They leaned back, their hands slowly withdrawing from my neck, but their eyes remained locked with mine. It was as if they were studying my reaction, awaiting my response.

It felt snug, like a silk choker against my skin. I tried to look down at the necklace but was unable to see it, so I reached up to examine it with my fingers. I noticed with curiosity that the creature had made sure that the shell rested directly in my jugular notch. The placement seemed deliberate and significant.

I looked up to stare at the black stone embedded in the creature’s own neck. “So, is this a…symbol of something?” I asked, intrigued. “…that you rescued me? Or we’re…friends now?”

The creature emitted a low rumble, a soothing sound that resonated within me. They leaned forward to rest their head on the edge of the pool, directly in front of my knees.

I carefully extended my hand, gently stroking the creature's smooth, translucent skin. Their body responded with a soft ripple, as if relishing the touch, and large wispy tendrils emerged on the other side of the water, resting against the other walls of the cave.

"...so we have a bit of a language barrier..." I murmured, as my hand swept over the creature's silky head fin. "But you were kind enough to rescue me, and you seem to understand at least my gestures and emotions."

The creature cooed once more, although I wasn't sure if they were just making sounds because I was, or whether they understood my words. I stopped petting and stared down at them and they opened one large eye to look up at me from their place near my lap.

"Do you think you could take me back?" I asked, carefully. "To land?"

The creature blinked, before nuzzling their face against my hand, as if asking me to continue. I removed my hand, scooting backwards slightly, and repeated my question.

The creature made a disappointed sounding trill and lifted their head from the edge of the pool to stare at me with all three of their eyes.

I purposefully gestured towards the ceiling of the cave. And then mimed swimming to an island the best I could, ‘emerging’ on land and basking in the sun.

The creature's glanced towards the ceiling, but their expression remained unchanged. They emitted a low, questioning trill, but there was something about it that seemed off. Almost deceptive.

I gestured again towards the cave's ceiling, this time with a sense of insistence and urgency. “Land.” I repeated. “Can you take me back?”

The creature's eyes widened ever so slightly, betraying a flicker of awareness that couldn't be concealed. It stared back at me, strangely mute.

For several long moments, the cave was filled with heavy silence, broken only by the soft lapping of water against the pool's edge. The creature's gaze remained fixed on me; its expression inscrutable.

“No…?” I whispered, a sense of doubt creeping into my mind. “…or…do you not actually understand?”

The creature let out a short sharp click.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back, my eyes fixed on the creature before me. Perhaps the creature's understanding was limited, or my gestures were not conveying my message clearly.

“Where and how did you find me…?” I asked, more to myself than to the creature. “I guess I should just be happy to be still alive after falling like that…”

As I spoke aloud, trying to process my thoughts, the creature's gaze remained locked on me. They seemed to sense my confusion and frustration, though whether they fully comprehended the depth of my words remained uncertain.

“…my family must be so worried.” I whispered, pausing before letting out a cynical exhale of laughter. “…I hope the cruise ship compensates them at least and doesn’t just give them complementary tickets.”

I shifted my gaze from the creature to the pool of water, its dark depths shimmering in the faint light.

“I was on the balcony of my room…I think it was night or…no, it was almost. I was looking at the sunset.” I said softly, struggling to piece together what had led me here. “There was…turbulent water, I think… or at least a big wave and I fell over the railings.”

As the words spilled from my lips, memories of that fateful moment resurfaced, and I closed my eyes briefly, trying to recall the details. The sound of crashing waves, the rush of wind, and the disorienting feeling of weightlessness filled my mind.

When I opened my eyes again, the creature was still there, their gaze fixed on me. They emitted a series of soft trills, a melodic response that seemed to convey understanding and empathy.

I reached out once more, my fingers brushing against the creature's sleek skin. They let out a delighted sounding purr and the tendrils on the other side of the water gently swayed, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow on the cave walls.

"You saved me," I whispered, my voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know how or why but thank you so much. I…I almost died."

The creature emitted a warm sweet sound before effortlessly lifting themself onto the rock shelf. As they settled beside me, their size became strikingly evident, towering over me with a height at least twice my own. Their body showcased a perfect blend of strength and grace, with well-defined muscles and a flexible build.

I clutched my hands tightly to my chest, suddenly feeling very small and fragile in comparison.

"I don't know where we are or how far we are from land," I said softly, gazing up at them with wide eyes, "But if you saved me once, maybe you can help me find my way back home."

The creature cooed, somehow sounding as if they were copying me. ‘Home.’

The word echoed in the cave, carrying a mix of longing and uncertainty. I could sense that the creature understood the weight of that word. Their large eyes locked with mine, as if searching for a connection beyond the physical.

“Yes. Home.” I whispered. “Can you…can you bring me home?”

The creature paused, their three-eyed gaze shifting from me to the pool of water, the depths that held secrets unknown to me. I watched as the tendrils on the other side of the water swayed, clenching, and unclenching like fists.

With a slow, deliberate movement, the creature leaned closer to me. They emitted a deep, peaceful trill, a sound that seemed to convey both reassurance and a sense of purpose. Although I wasn’t sure if they fully understood me.

“…can you take me back home? Back to the water?” I asked, slowly and deliberately pointing to the pool. “And then up?” I pointed at the ceiling again. “Up to the surface? Up to land?”

The creature emitted a sharp click. Their eyes, though still captivating, revealed a strange resolve that sent a shiver down my spine.

“To land.” I said again, my voice taking on a pleading tone. “Please. Do you understand?”

I repeated the gesture a few times, and then pointed to myself.

The creature narrowed their eyes in such a clear look of almost human annoyance that I stopped, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

I could sense a subtle shift in the creature's demeanor, their patience wearing thin. They emitted a deep, resonant growl, a sound that reverberated through the grotto and sent my blood freezing. It was a sound of warning, of boundaries being set.

Silence enveloped the cavern, broken only by the distant sound of water trickling. Their three-eyed gaze remained fixed on me as they sharply clicked again.

My heart sank as the realization slowly dawned upon me. The creature, despite their initial act of rescue, did not intend to take me back home. The hope that had flickered within me began to fade, replaced by a sense of disappointment, confusion, and fear.

"Why?" I whispered, my voice barely audible amidst the heavy silence. "You…you do understand me, don’t you? Why won’t you help me return home?”

The creature's response was a series of sharp clicks, a language I couldn't decipher. Their eyes burned with anger, and I flinched in response.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered, "I don't understand. Why save me if you won't take me back?" The words trembled on my lips, laden with a mix of disappointment and desperation.

The creature's eyes softened momentarily, betraying a hint of remorse amidst their anger.

"Please," I pleaded, my voice trembling with vulnerability as I spoke slowly and clearly, "I am lost, and I need to find my way back to my family. They must be worried sick about me.”

The creature let out a gentle melodic drone and leaned forward reaching out with their long arms to enfold me in a strange embrace. I couldn’t resist as they lifted my body up and onto their chest, their body settling against the walls of the cave. Their touch was remarkably gentle despite their immense size, strength, and alien nature.

With my head nestled against their chest, I could hear the deep beating of their heart, a fast bass-like pulse. The creature emitted a low, rumbling purr, and I could feel the vibrations reverberate through their body and into mine. It was a gesture of solace, a way for them to communicate without words.

I slumped against them, feeling a sense of resignation settling within me. The reality of my situation sank in. I was stranded in an unknown place, with no way of communicating effectively with the creature that had saved me.

“I guess I should be glad you don’t want to eat me.” I murmured.

The creature hummed in response.

“…at least I don’t think you do.”

With each beat of their heart and each rumble of their purr, I tried to find solace in the fact that I was alive. I may not have been able to understand the creature's language or convince them to take me back home, but I was still here, breathing, and safe for now.

#BDBS #original story #mermay 2023 #mermaylateaddition #i started writing this in may so it still counts #yandere mermaid #wip #x reader #reader x yandere #reader insert #reader totally got engaged to a big fin squid mermaid thing

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bringmemyrocks · 3 months

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A Gazan's reflection on the ICJ rule and his family who is still living in Gaza.

Reel link for those with instagram--comment in support/visibility if you can: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2kYzKbuzAy

Key takeaways, but please watch the reel. There are English captions.

Many Palestinians in Gaza (talking ordinary ppl, not influencers or activists) have been raised not to engage with politics. [I add for clarity, this is their parents trying to keep them safe] and as such may not have followed Western politics for the past few years.

Palestinians living in Gaza, including his family, genuinely thought this ruling could end the ongoing genocide. They had real hope that the ICJ could save them.

Many Gazans' hopes have completely evaporated as a result of the ICJ not calling for a ceasefire.

The ICJ ruling is an important start, but it is not enough for the hundreds who are dying each day as a result of this occupation.

We need to keep helping Gaza in any way we can.

Important: Mohammed, the creator of this video, has a GoFundMe for his family, which I have personally verified. Note that the narrative in the GFM is that of his brother Faress, a nurse at Al-Shifa hospital: https://www.gofundme.com/f/from-devastation-to-hope-a-nurses-family-journey

His family is currently living in a tent in Rafah after being displaced from Northern Gaza. Please donate if you can.

Mohammed's story was featured in the New York Times in November 2023 (un-paywalled) excerpt:

“Here I am having whatever I want,” said Mohammed Salah Arafat, a Washington, D.C., resident with a brother still in Gaza. “When it comes to food, when it comes to freedom, when it comes to rights, when it comes to freedom of movement, the feeling of guilt is killing me,” said Mr. Arafat, 30, who left Gaza in 2018.

Mohammed also has a poetry blog here: https://moharafat.wordpress.com/ and you can sign up for updates (like with substack or medium) if you input your email at the bottom of the page.

Don't stop demonstrating--find local actions from PYM, PSL, JVP, and SJP on Instagram, don't stop calling (It does help--leave your name and zip code so you're counted--Bernie just called for a ceasefire and Katherine Clark has come close), don't stop spreading awareness.

#gaza #palestine #icj

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ao3topshipsbracket · 13 days

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Welcome to the Unofficial Top Tumblr Relationships Bracket!

Many people on Tumblr might have engaged in the practice of "shipping" in relation to "media". Some, according to legend, even have opinions on these matters.

If the above happens to apply to you, you might be eligible to vote in this bracket! We have pitted the most popular pairings of the 2023 Tumblr Year in Review against each other to see who will emerge victorious. Round 1 polls drop on Saturday, April 20th at 1PM PDT, and will run for a full week.

Check current vote counts here!

Further information is below the cut!

How was the bracket made?

This bracket was made based off Tumblr's 2023 year in review ship list, and edited to fit into a workable bracket. Matchups were seeded according to ranking on the list.

What are your stances on voter fraud, campaigning, bribing people with drabbles and/or art, etc?

Enthusiastically in favor, although we do ask that you don't DDOS Tumblr, and ideally don't commit any murders that can be traced back to us.

Why aren't there platonic relationships in this bracket? There were in the AO3 one.

The AO3 data we were working with included all kinds of relationship tags, including platonic ones. The Tumblr year in review top ship list does not.

I have an issue with [x] being included in this poll.

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with some of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement of anything included in the bracket, and refrain from harassment.

In general, please remember that this is intended to be a fun time for the wide community which is fandom culture, and treat each other with respect!

Bracket Schedule!

#not a poll #announcement

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moonhoures · 7 months

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Pretty When You Cry

🕷️ kinktober — day 11: dacryphilia 🕸️

pairing: jeno (nct) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, oral (m receiving) / deepthroating, cum swallowing, multiple orgasms, mild (?) d/s dynamics, pet names: ‘baby’ & ‘princess’ for reader, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, dacryphilia (crying kink), creampie, jeno wears a chain necklace in this if that’s a visual you’re interested in 🤭

word count: ~1.4k

synopsis: tears shouldn’t look hot during sex, but somehow yours do

a/n: i don’t have much experience writing this kink so i hope this is good enough! <3

posted: october 11, 2023

kinktober masterlist

To you, having sex with Jeno was like reaching nirvana. He knew this, and he used it to his advantage any time he could.

Neither of you had really discussed your power dynamics before engaging in your activities, but it seemed pretty clear to the both of you that Jeno had the upper hand—metaphorically and figuratively. He was the more dominant one in your relationship, even outside of sex. But during? He was above you, in every sense of the word.

Like now: you were on your knees with him standing in front of you, looking down at you as you sucked on his cock like the obedient little thing you were. His eyes seemed to melt as he watched you widen your lips as wide as you could, trying to take him in as deeply as you could possibly manage. Even when his tip hit the back of your throat. Even when you felt yourself starting to gag. You took a deep breath through your nose and remained calm. You laved beneath his semi-curved erection, relishing the feeling of his veins on your tongue. The soft hums from your throat had his knees feeling weak. His head lolled back, and his eyes closed.

“Fuck, I love when you do that, baby.”

You couldn’t physically smile, but your chest still erupted with that fluttering feeling that could only be described as pride.

“Yeah. Just like that,” he breathed out, head still tilted back. His hand was at the back of your own head, holding you as if you would float away if he didn’t. But his grasp wasn’t aggressive or harmful. No. It was gentle, cautious. He didn’t put any force on you; he simply let you do what you could, “I’m gonna- Shit. I’m not gonna last, baby, where do you want it?”

Jeno knew you didn’t particularly like swallowing. You usually preferred it when he came on your chest, or just anywhere except on you. But sometimes you didn’t mind, like tonight. He had been really sweet and helpful all day, tagging along with you while you did some errands around town. He had even got the bill when you two got lunch; you figured now would be as good a time as any to pay him back.

So you reached up, placing your hand delicately around the base of his dick, keeping him from pulling out. You could hear the small sound of surprise bubble up in his throat right before he choked out a groan and came on your tongue. It wasn’t a lot, which was good. Just enough that you could swallow it without thinking. You closed your eyes as you did so, and when you opened them he was looking at you with the most genuine bewilderment in his eyes. They only widened more when you stuck out your tongue to show him that you swallowed all of it.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he asked, vein-riddled hands cupping your cheeks as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. He repeated, “Perfect.”

A beaming smile stretched out on your lips before they met his in a searing kiss that only became more ferocious as it went on. Rugged breaths floated between your mouths as they parted, desperate for oxygen.

“On the bed,” Jeno nodded once in the direction of the bed behind you, and you wasted no time getting to your feet. You headed for the queen-size, climbing up onto it swiftly. Once you were sat in the middle, Jeno approached the edge of the bed framing. You watched him move up the sheets until his body was hovering over yours, his silver chain necklace dangling off of his neck, inches from your face.

“How many rounds are we feeling tonight?” he always tried to gauge your stamina beforehand, knowing his was usually a little higher than yours. He never wanted to push your limits.

“Maybe three?”

His brow quirked up a bit, a satisfied smile itching to take place on his lips. Your number was higher than he expected, “Good.”

Your eyes were fixated on the little beauty mark just below the corner of his right eye. Something so simple, but it added a little charismatic nuance to his appearance. You reached up, brushing your fingertips against his cheekbone just as an unexpected gasp of a breath left your lungs. You hadn’t even noticed Jeno prepping himself between your legs until he was already starting to thrust his cock into you. He did it slowly, though, not wanting to take you too off guard. He monitored your reaction carefully; his intense gaze holding your soft one until you melted into a state of pleasure from being filled to the brim.

“How’s that?” he asked, voice soft and endearing.

“Good,” you nodded. And before anymore words could be shared, he began thrusting in and out of you. You were mesmerized by the swaying motions his necklace did in front of your eyes nearly the entire time.

His hips moved like liquid between yours, swift, fluid motions sending waves of satisfaction throughout your lower body. He knew all the right ways to move to have you feeling absolutely euphoric. One time, in the heat of the moment, he had made the comment that his dick was made specifically for your pussy. It had come out in grunts before he had cum, but you remembered feeling stunned by his words. Now more than ever, you were starting to believe them. Because his dick really did seem to fill you completely and wholeheartedly. He hit every spot that had your eyes rolling back until you saw nothing but a dark abyss behind your eyelids, sporadically littered with bright spots and stars. His hips slotted perfectly between yours. And when he came inside of you, you felt a sense of gratification that you never felt with anyone else.

“God, you look so fucking pretty like this.”

Jeno’s voice brought you out of your lust-filled thoughts of him and into the reality of him. Your eyes caught the scrunch at the bridge of his nose as he roughly rutted into you. One glance to your side had you melting as you saw the way his biceps and forearms flexed with every one of his movements. He grunted between gritted teeth, and suddenly his hand was caressing your cheek. His thumb rubbed lightly across your cheekbone, collecting tears that you hadn’t realized were cascading down your face.

“You’re even prettier when you cry,” he laughed incredulously, finding your fucked-out state a massive turn-on. He didn’t think his dick could get any harder, but it was starting to feel that way, “Does it really feel that good, princess?”

“Mhm,” you babbled an incoherent response. Tears ran hot out the corners of your eyes, falling down your neck and landing on the pillow in fat droplets. Jeno swiped the tear tracks, loving the puffiness of your eyes. The pinkish red hue blushing over the whites in them. The glossiness of them as you tried to look at him. The little sniffling sounds you made. Something about you being so overwhelmed with pleasure that he was causing just had his head absolutely swimming.

“Keep those eyes on me while you cum,” he instructed you, knowing your orgasm was growing close. The feeling of your walls fluttering tightly around his cock was enough to give it away. But your hands were also grasping onto his body desperately like a lifeline.

You nodded, eyes closing for a moment as you felt yourself approaching the edge of release. When you opened your eyes again, multiple tears escaped down your cheekbone. This time, Jeno didn’t rub them away with the pad of his thumb. Instead, he leaned down and kissed them. His lips pressed against your cheek, and as you came, his tongue prodded between his lips. He licked a short line up your skin, collecting the salty drops on his tastebuds.

He held you in his cage-like embrace as you melted in it, your thighs twitching and pussy clenching, milking him. He moaned, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. He grinded his hips into yours as he also came, filling your walls with a milky-white essence. The skin between your legs felt sticky, but you didn’t complain, not even when he pulled out of you. You did let out a little whine, though.

“I know, baby,” he smiled softly, caressing your jaw with his thumb, “Two more. Just need a quick breather.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite

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sailoryooons · 8 months

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Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences.

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end.

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night.

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it.

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property. Let’s try to play nice and show face.

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do.

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl.

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.”

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway.

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts.

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer.

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right.

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him.

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.”

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.”

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.”

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound.

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top.

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well.

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed.

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom.

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely.

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck.

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone.

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal.

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house.

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced.

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly.

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses.

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel.

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops.

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning.

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients.

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store.

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time.

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes.

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in.

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required.

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm.

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you.

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space.

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too.

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work.

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms.

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room.

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time.

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh.

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back.

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you.

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.”

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.”

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.”

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.”

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for.

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning.

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability.

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly.

So he does.

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly.

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you.

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds.

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees.

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no.

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs.

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead.

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it.

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to.

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.”

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.”

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.”

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.”

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair.

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out.

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.”

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful.

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough.

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?”

“Fuck yeah, Angel.”

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him.

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him.

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching.

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home.

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier.

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything.

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love.

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day.

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.”

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake.

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be.

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time.

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.”

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it.

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth.

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have.

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to.

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself.

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters.

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself.

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now.

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him.

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner.

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers.

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile.

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head.

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin.

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator.

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly.

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away.

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning.

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip.

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement.

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left.

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt.

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen.

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something.

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss.

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle.

Money. This man has money.

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately.

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either.

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.”

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder.

“I will fucking kill you.”

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast.

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.”

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.”

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen.

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life.

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is.

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.”

“Okay.”

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“See you soon.”

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat.

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood.

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin.

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe?

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi.

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.”

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting.

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead?

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated.

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again.

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost.

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm.

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have.

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage.

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it.

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live.

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple.

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off.

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried.

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined.

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety.

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself.

Click. Squeeze. Bang.

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand.

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang.

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels.

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified.

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!”

“That’s it, keep talking to me.”

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!”

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths.

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?”

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place.

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather.

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off.

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun.

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.”

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you.

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home.

Home.

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare.

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now.

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only.

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense.

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this.

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling.

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.”

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching.

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk.

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs.

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle.

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him.

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver.

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw.

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good.

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good.

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you.

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking.

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.”

“Fuck.”

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little.

“Fuck yeah.”

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself.

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.”

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.”

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.”

“Mmm.”

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying.

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock.

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad.

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity.

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?”

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.”

“Shit shit shit shit.”

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it.

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin.

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest.

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.”

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #mafia yoongi #mafia bts #minors dni #minors do not interact #halis happy agust

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mcytfanfictionappreciationweek · 4 months

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Runs from January 21st to January 27th, 2024

7 days of fanfiction appreciation for all our fandom writers!

Everyone from all corners of MCYTblr are welcome to participate. No matter how large or small your favorite SMP or creator is, there is a space for everyone.

Many fandom events focus on providing tasks for artists and writers, but very little are made with the people who enjoy and appreciate that work in mind as participants. Lurkers and enjoyers and love posters are just as important to the fandom, so this is a space for us to do our thing and spread the love 💗

How to Participate

There will be 3 kinds of planned activities hosted on this blog, but there is no single correct way to participate, as long you’re uplifting others. The activities and prompts are meant to be a guideline and source of inspiration. You don’t have to burn yourself out by participating every day or in every activity.

Keep this space positive and abide by standard fandom etiquette. Be mindful of tags and if you don’t think you’ll like a work, don’t click and read it!

Share the love; one goal of this challenge is to help authors who’ve been overlooked feel appreciated for their contribution to the fandom. If you’re up to it, try and use this challenge as a way to break from your comfort zone and uplift others who you haven’t seen get any attention yet.

Note: This doesn’t mean to not send love to any ‘bigger authors’ whose work you admire, and we are not entertaining any discourse related to the size of one’s following.

Use the tag ‘mcytfanficappreciationweek’ for your recommendation lists related to this event and we will reblog them here!

Activities

(Under the cut!)

Reading and Recommendation Challenge

Find a fic that fits the theme of the day and give it a read/comment! Then if you’re up for it, share the recommendation in a post on tumblr and use the event tag. You can make individual posts for each day, or create a wrap-up at the end of the week.

It is both allowed and encouraged to engage with fics whose authors don’t have any linked social media presence. This is not exclusive to authors on tumblr.

January 21st (Day 1: Something New)

Read and comment on a fic written by an author whose work you’ve never commented on before

January 22nd (Day 2: Hidden Gems)

Read and comment on a fic that currently has no comments

Or, feel free to share and recommend a fic whose only comment is your own

January 23rd (Day 3: Underrated Blorbos)

Read and comment on a fic centered on a character of whom you’ve never read as a main POV (the less fics the character is tagged in, the better!)

January 24th (Day 4: Rarepair Extravaganza)

Read and comment on a fic with a character relationship tag (that’s central to the fic, no cheating with ensembles!) that has less than 500 tagged works

For fandoms with <1000 works, use 50 tagged works as a threshold (or your best judgment)

For fandoms with <100 works, use 5 tagged works as a threshold (or your best judgment)

Can be either romantic (using the “/”) or platonic (using the “&”)

January 25th (Day 5: A Blast from the Past)

Read and comment on a fic that was last updated before 2023 (complete or in progress!)

January 26th (Day 6: Canon? Who is she?)

Read and comment on a fic with any ‘Alternate Universe’ tag of your choosing

Canon divergent fics or split timelines count!

January 27th (Day 7: Procrastination Termination)

Read and comment on a fic that you’ve had ‘saved for later’ or opened in a new tab but never got to reading

Or, finish catching up to a multichapter fic that you fell behind on and comment on it

Author Interaction

Send authors who are active on tumblr questions about their work! Ideas/prompts for each day are written below.

January 21st (Day 1: Something New)

Ask an author about future writing projects or ideas that still only exist in their head

January 22nd (Day 2: Hidden Gems)

Ask an author about one of their least-kudosed fics

January 23rd (Day 3: Underrated Blorbos)

Ask an author about something they’re excited or passionate about

January 24th (Day 4: Rarepair Extravaganza)

Ask an author about one of their favorite ships (romantic or just a platonic relationship!)

January 25th (Day 5: A Blast from the Past)

Ask an author about past fandoms they may have participated in or their journey as a fic writer in general

January 26th (Day 6: Canon? Who is she?)

Ask an author about an AU or headcanon of theirs

January 27th (Day 7: Procrastination Termination)

Ask an author about their writing process

Love Posting

Too shy to reach out to someone you admire directly? Write them an anonymous message in our inbox and we will post it and tag their blog for you! (Please be sure to include their blog name so we know who to tag).

Note: If we suspect that your message is back-handed or being hateful towards another group in the community, it will be deleted. If you believe your message was deleted in error, feel free to send this blog a DM about it.

And finally…. If you are an author remember that even if you don’t receive a message or new readers during the course of this event, you are still a valued member of this community. With the size of our fandom, it is impossible to give every single author their due recognition. You are appreciated for your contribution to this fandom, and every fic that is written makes our fandom a more vibrant, wonderful place to be. We love you for the time and effort you put in the art of your creation and we are privileged that you choose to share it for us to enjoy!

#mcyt #mcytblr #mcytblrsource #mcyt fanfiction #hermitcraft #dsmp #traffic smp #qsmp #empires smp #origins smp #pirates smp

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cemeterything · 4 months

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my 2023 reading list (i included homestuck and kill six billion demons because i think they're verbose and engaging enough to count as graphic novels)

#🐉

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lixie-phoria · 5 months

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ੈ✩‧ ➛ changbin thinks he's subtle as he pines over you

pairing : changbin x gn reader ; genre : fluff | warnings : 1 swear word ; word count : 0.5k words

summary : what better way than flexing his muscles for changbin to tell you how much he's in love with you? it's perfect and its subtle! he thinks he's a genius for coming up with it. you would get the hint, right?

seungmin groans as he sees changbin discard his leather jacket, biceps rippling againt the sheer white cloth that was supposed to be his sleeves.

"and why are you removing your jacket when the air conditioning is at its lowest temperature?"

changbing was really hoping nobody would notice, his fingers crossed and all, but he should've known better with 7 other people in the room.

"because it's hot."

there's 3 beats of silence before Lee Know sneezes so loud he startles jeongin from his nap.

"is my cold a fucking joke to you?"

changbin didn't know what to say, not when he knew the others could see the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"y/n said they won't be arriving until the next 15 minutes. you can keep it on until then."

"chan hyung!"

"what?"

"I am not doing this for y/n. it's actually hot."

changbin is met with six blank stares and one grinning felix who trails the goosebumps covering the older boy's arms, earing a smack from him.

"so you're not doing this to flex your muscles when y/n comes?"

"hah! as if."

there's another beat of silence, and this time it's broken by changbin sneezing, and he's horrified because he knows he's lost the argument.

"changbin, we understand you want to show off to y/n but it's really not worth a cold."

"but I need to impress them!"

"then remove it when they come."

changbin all but whines as he sinks further into the couch, adamant as ever that he won't let the cold leather bother him.

it was cold, he knew it too. but how else was he supposed to make you fall in love with him? he loved showing off all those muscles he worked so hard on, basking in your fascination every time you complemented them.

he didn't care what the rest of the members said. yes it would be easier to confess but what was the fun in that?

it's a while before you show up, pulling your sweater closer, apologizing for the delay.

"binnie! it's so cold, where is your jacket?"

a blush blooms across the expanse of said boy's cheeks as he "casually" lifts his bottle to take a sip of water, not missing the way your eyes momentarily land on his oh-so-big arms.

"right here."

again, he makes a show of reaching towards the leather clothing, taking his time to flex his arms and earning a snort from hyunjin who sees right through him.

"you won't believe we spent the last fifteen minutes trying to get him to-"

changbin is quick to cut han off, eyes narrowing at the younger boy.

luckily for changbin, you don't notice anything unusual as you take your place next to him, engaging in casual conversation with the boys, trying not to show how flustered you were with his arm draping behind you on the backrest of the couch.

the other seven watch in mild amusement. yes changbin was a big baby who would never admit he didn't have the courage to confess to you. yes he was smitten in love and terrible at owning up to it. but he was also smooth, and his supposedly subtle ways to catch your attention always worked somehow. they could only hope that at least you would make the first move, otherwise who knows to what extent the boy would go for you.

©lixie-phoria, 2023

tags : @lethallyprotected @dreamingaboutjisung @selcayuri @bangchansbae @aak2 @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @jiisungllvr @starlostlaiba (send an ask to be added/removed!)

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moumouton4 · 8 months

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We Shouldn't Be Doing This || Neji Hyuga x fem!reader

A/n : Prompt 15 of the Smutember 2023

The list of promps is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : mention of first time, erection, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1059

“We shouldn’t be doing this” ist exactly what came to his mind when he started undressing before you. After all, all his life he learned restraint, to stay clear-headed, and that went hand in hand with not having consummated the marriage until he was married. Yet how could he have held back and followed any of those principles instilled in him when you looked so... divine ?

Indeed, you and your friends were supposed to all gather to celebrate the success of a very difficult mission you'd completed. Everyone was going to be dressed to the nines, ready to dance and enjoy the party. You and Neji had decided to go together.

In fact, you'd been together for at least 4 years, and even though you'd been tempted to get engaged several times, you'd always followed Hyuga family customs. This meant waiting much longer before making the relationship official, and of course even longer before actually doing the do. Without lying, at times, it was pretty hard to stick to it. Even though you see each other every day, he wanted and needed to have you around more often, whether in the house or just for a moment of physical tenderness. Yet he always managed to put the rules "guaranteeing" the honor of his clan above all else.

Well, at least until today. Because when he came to pick you up at your house to pick you up to the party, he was quickly disillusioned. As the door opened, his white eyes fell on your face. And what a look 👀😩 Your d/c dress ( green for me) hugged your curves like he'd never noticed your clothes doing before. Your chest was pushed up, dangerously close to spilling out of the neckline, the cut showed off your waist and the shapes of your body that didn't fail to take his breath away, the skin the fabric showed off was close to making him, who was usually so restrained, drool.

Your make-up ( if you wear make-up, of course, you don't have to, I just wear lipstick ) gave you a deep look that managed to capture his gaze despite the temptation of your body, and your lips looked just too tempting to taste. Right away, on the doorstep of your apartment. For a moment he thought he could just take you to the party as planned, and not listen to his deepest desires. He himself had made an effort and put on a suit, but this was really not easy for him.

And he really thought he could manage to get his way out of this. One minute he was looking at you as you smiled gently at him, and the next he blinked, his lips were pressed against yours in that familiar way - yes, when you can't make love, you've all put on make-out sessions - as he gently pulled you back into your apartment. His hands, as if controlled by some wild force, grabbed your breasts. Feeling their softness and weight, he gently exhaled into your mouth, and that's when he realized that it was pointless to resist. That was it.

His foot closed the door behind you as he slammed you against the wall. With a degree of precision contrary to the envy that consumed him. In your passion, you began to remove his suit jacket before your hands went to his long silky hair. Your debacle continued until you reached your sofa. There he removed your dress in one fluid motion before undressing himself.

"We shouldn't be doing this" he said, revealing himself entirely to you. There was a certain paradox between his words and the hurried way in which he undressed, as if someone was about to come and stop you, as if he didn't want his conscience to get the better of him.

"Neji I've had enough waiting" you whined as you felt his hard throbbing cock press against your inner thigh.

He blinked in surprise at the sound that just escaped your lips. Could it be that "So that's what it was all about" he said, bringing his face close to yours, his voice dropping an octave "My little temptress"

You of all people knew how difficult it was to hold back the passion to burn between you, but now that it was launched it was almost unstoppable.

The lust in his eyes calmed for a second as he spoke softly "Are you really sure this is what you want ?"

You grabbed his arms, looking into his eyes "I'm not asking for more, but I don't want you to feel obliged-"

"Of course not" he cut you off gently as his face nuzzled against your cheek "It's just that with the clan rules..." he trailed off.

"Neji" you said as you took his face in your hands "You're the clan, you and the new generation. These rules are backdated and no one will ever find out what happened in my apartment" you tried to reassure him.

But Neji shook his head "It's not that" his fingers danced on your arm "It's just that once I've had a taste of it, I'm afraid I can't wait to make it official. I want to be part of your life, I want you to come and live with me" he felt very vulnerable as he spoke of this, but a twitch from his member reminded him of what a rush you were in "I need you too but it won't just be for once. All this is over from now on, I'm going to keep you close to me. Shame on those who will oppose it, blind to the beauty of our passion"

And with that as if he'd just said a prayer he sank gently into your tight warmth - a little difficult. Your inexperience wouldn't change the fact that you loved each other more than anything. Sure, you were going to miss the party organized by your friends, but this time will have enabled you to take an important step in your relationship. Suddenly, moving in together, getting engaged and getting married seemed much more attainable than before. And maybe even a baby... you should have just thought about using a condom though. In his defense, it was you who asked him to finish inside you, he just followed your advice.

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto smut #naruto shipuden #naruto shippuden imagine #naruto shippuden smut #neji hyuga #neji hyuga imagine #neji hyuga x reader #neji hyuga smut #neji x reader #neji smut #smutember 2023 #smut #miri-writes

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kaciidubs · 6 months

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Two Too Much | Spooktober 2023

@goblinracha asked: Shy, cute little Naga!Minho who rather let you grind your cute little cunt along his slit before splitting you open with his cocks. He coos and hisses sweetly as your eyes roll, all while he mocks you

❣ Summary: It was rare for Minho to allow you to engage in anything sexual while he was in his half-serpent form, but, with time came trust, and with trust came experimenting. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 1.2k ❣ Warnings: Naga! Minho [half-human, half-serpent], smut, service dom! Minho, double penetration, mythical anatomy, grinding, praise, degradation, teasing, coming early, implied multiple orgasms ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Minho is referred to as Min and Honey, Reader is referred to as kitten ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023

“There you go - just like that, little kitten.”

Your heart fluttered at his praise, though the sweet sentiment was caramelized with the heavy lust that thickened the air of the den, merely fueling the hunger between your legs.

It was rare for Minho to allow you to engage in anything sexual while he was in his half-serpent form, choosing to make an equal level of comfort for the both of you and keep the intimate acts only for his full human form - but, with time came trust, and with trust came experimenting.

You straddled him with ease, goosebumps decorating your skin from the sensation of his cool, smooth scales against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs - you had always admired the emerald green color, fawned over the slight holographic reflection from nearby light sources.

Your bare pussy slid against the slit on his front, your own arousal mixing with the lubricant glistening from where his cocks were hidden, the faint bumps from the tips underneath providing a mind melting texture to grind on.

“You’re really into this, hm?” Minho mused softly, his ears practically glowing red from the blush that took over his human half, “I’ve never seen you this worked up before, kitten.”

His hands held your waist, not in the hopes of guiding your hips to change or encourage your pace, but to simply touch you - ground himself in the reality of you still wanting him in this form, you still loving him in this form.

A breathless gasp floated past your lips as you dragged your hips just right, your clit bumping against the slight notch at the top of his slit. “Y-You, ah- You say that like it’s a bad thing, Min.” You looked up from the extension of his torso to catch his loving gaze, noting the cheeky lift of his eyebrow as he waited for your words. “I told you - I love you in any form.”

Minho’s sharp eyes widened, heart fluttering at the earnest tone in your voice, before blinking away his awe and settling back into a bemused expression. “You’re making such a mess - you think you’ll be able to handle me?”

Tucking away the memory of him being effectively flushed by your statement, your head bobbed in a nod, “Always, Min.”

“All of me?”

You were fiercely aware of the prominent presence of his erections, shuffling yourself out of his grasp and back enough to see his cocks slowly reveal themselves; equal in girth with the second being slightly longer than the first, twitching and glistening from his natural arousal in preparation for what was to come.

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen his arousal in this state - or, even pleasured him in this state - this was the first time he’d let you take both of him, and you were more than up to the challenge.

In an act to answer his question, you rose onto your knees and crawled back up his lap, hovering over his lengths with bated anticipation; the tip of his first cock bumping against your clit while the second pressed hotly against the curve of your ass.

Reaching down, you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, your fingers welcoming the warmth radiating from him as you lined it up to your dripping entrance. Blinking up at him with sparkling eyes, a fire of determination blazing within your irises, you pouted softly, “Help me?”

A soft grunt escaped him as his hands moved - one going to the swell of your ass cheek, gripping the flesh greedily, while the other went to the shaft of his second dick, guiding the tip to notch against your opening with the first.

His eyes found yours, firm yet caring, grounding you for a moment, “Are you ready?”

You shook your head in a short nod, “More than ready.”

Double penetration was something you were no stranger to, and thanks to Minho’s openness of indulging in your interests - and subsequently adding them to his own colorful list - you were readily prepared for what you’d wanted to do since you’d seen this form.

The stretch was slow, overwhelming in more ways than one as each cock stretched your walls when you sank down - grounded by the warmth of his hand on your hip.

“That’s it - big stretch, hm?” He hissed, lips parted, revealing the sharp point of his fangs. “Fuck, taking me so well, look at you.”

Your pussy fluttered, both to your delight and dismay - squeezing his cocks against every sweet spot within you and coaxing your orgasm closer than you anticipated. A low moan fluttered past your lips as you shivered in his hold, eyes slipping shut as you tried your best to focus on bottoming out at the very least.

Working past the dizzying stretch of the widest parts of his dicks, you soon found yourself sitting flush against his lap just as before, now mind numbingly full and absolutely swimming in endorphins.

“M-Min,” you keened, head lolling forward, heavy pants escaping you, “honey, please.”

It was too much and not enough, the greed of lust begging you to start riding him while the overstimulation of your cunt cried for release.

Minho shivered, sharp eyes watching as you sat before him, taut as a bowstring waiting for him to pluck - and pluck he would.

His second hand mirrored his first on your hip, squeezing the flesh generously, “My needy kitten, asking for me to fill you like this yet you still can’t do anything for yourself.” Pulling you further against him, he dragged your hips forward and back as if you were nothing but a toy for him to use. “Maybe next time you’ll learn how to take me like this further, how’s that sound?”

Your hands flew to his forearms, blunt nails pressing crescents into the fair skin as he rocked you back and forth, the stimulation being more than enough to lead you closer and closer to your climax. “Y-Yes, sounds good, Min - s-so good!”

“I’ll teach you how to take my cocks, no more of that stupid toy, doesn’t even compare to the real thing, isn’t that right?” He goaded, rocking you faster against him, keen ears picking up on the lewd sound of your sopping pussy squelching with each movement.

A breathless sound of agreement floated through you as you nodded rapidly, staring at him with glossy eyes - eyebrows pinched slightly and lips parted with short whimpers. “Mm, n-needed this, needed you, ah- please.”

His hips rolled, sending the ribbed tips of his cocks grazing against your g-spot that had your back arching near demonically - your orgasm suddenly tearing through your body with much less of a warning to you.

Your vision went black, searing white heat shooting through your veins as your ears rang and breath stopped, your pussy throbbing rhythmically around his lengths in hopes of taking him over with you.

Eventually, you came down from the unexpected orgasm with a whine, the slick of your cum merely making everything between your legs that much hotter and slipperier; when your vision came back to you through dots of black, you were met with brown eyes sizing you up as if you were his next meal.

Hell, you were close enough.

Minho let out a slow breath, his tongue peeking out to lick the corner of his mouth, “That’s one.” He hummed, a sly smirk working its way onto his lips, “A bit fast, but that’s okay - let’s show you how it feels to ride me, shall we?”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv,

✧. ┊Kinktober only: @selicua

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee minho smut #lee minho x reader #Naga! Minho #Shifter! AU SKZ

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aimeedaisies · 5 months

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The Princess Royal’s Official Engagements in November 2023

01/11 Princess Anne, the Duke of Edinburgh and the Duke & Duchess of Gloucester attended the Senior Serving and Retired Officers’ Briefing at the Army and Navy Club on Pall Mall in London. 🪖💼

As Chancellor of Harper Adams University, attended the launch of the University’s Strategic Plan at London Bridge Arches. 🎓

With Sir Tim As Royal Bencher of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple, attended the Grand Day Choral Evensong Service at Temple Church in London. 🎶

With Sir Tim As Liveryman of the Worshipful Company of Engineers, attended a Dinner to mark their 40th Anniversary at Mansion House in London. ⚙️

02/11 Held two investiture ceremonies at Buckingham Palace. 🎖️

03/11 As Patron of the National Association of Citizens Advice Bureaux, visited Citizens Advice Malvern Hills in Malvern, Worcestershire. 👩‍⚖️

Opened the Specialist Operations Centre at the Gloucestershire Constabulary and Office of Police and Crime Commissioner in Cheltenham. 👮‍♀️

07/11 Alongside King Charles & Queen Camilla, Princess Anne in her role as Gold Stick in Waiting, was present at the State Opening of Parliament. 👩‍⚖️🪶

Opened the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service Museum of Scottish Fire Heritage and the McDonald Road Community Fire and Ambulance Station in Edinburgh. 👨‍🚒

The Princess Royal, As Patron of the Eric Liddell 100, attended the inaugural Lecture and Reception on board Fingal, Alexandra Dock, in Edinburgh. 🏃🏽🥂

Unofficial Sir Tim attended the memorial service for former university friend and newsreader George Alagiah at St-Martin-in-the-Fields church in London 🎓🕊️

08/11 As Honorary Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, presented Royal Medals and attended a Reception at the Royal Society of Edinburgh. 🏅

As Patron of Catch22, attended the National Leaving Care Benchmarking Forum in Birmingham ✍️

As Patron of the Wooden Spoon Society, attended a Reception at the House of Lords in London. 🥄🏉🥂

As Court Member of the Fishmongers’ Company, attended a Livery Dinner at Fishmongers’ Hall in London. 🐟🍽️

09/11 As President of World Horse Welfare, attended the Annual Conference at the Royal Geographical Society. 🐴

As Patron of the Butler Trust, visited HM Prison Wandsworth in London. 🚓👮‍♂️

As Patron of the Whitley Fund for Nature, held a 30th Anniversary Dinner at St James's Palace. 🦋🍃

10/11 The Princess Royal, As President of Royal Yachting Association, chaired the Annual General Meeting and presented Awards before attending a Luncheon in London SW1. 🛥️

Unofficial Announcement that Princess Anne will take over Presidency of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, taking over from the Duke of Kent who Presided over the Commission since 1970 🌹🪦

~ Remembrance weekend ~

11/11 With Sir Tim Attended the Armistice Day Service of Remembrance at the National Memorial Arboretum. 🌳 🫡

With Sir Tim Attended the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall with members of the royal family. 🌹

12/11 With Sir Tim Attended the National Service of Remembrance at the Cenotaph in London. Princess Anne laid a wreath whilst Sir Tim stood on the Foreign & Commonwealth Office balcony. 🌹

With Sir Tim Took the salute at the March Past of Ex-Servicemen and Civilian Organisations on Horse Guards Parade, London SWI. 🫡

~ End ~

14/11 As Patron of the Chartered Institute of Logistics and Transport (UK), attended the 10th Anniversary Transport and Logistics Safety Forum Conference at the National Memorial Arboretum. 🚚

Visited the new Institute of Shipbuilding course at City of Glasgow College Riverside Campus in Glasgow. ⚓️

As Patron of the Royal Celtic Society, attended a Reception at Glasgow City Chambers. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Attended Interfaith Glasgow’s Scottish Interfaith Week Forum at Glasgow City Chambers. ☪️✡️✝️🕉️🪯

Unofficial Sir Tim attended a Kent Cricket celebration dinner at Lords Cricket Ground 🏏

15/11 Visited BAE Systems Submarines' Submarine Academy and the University of Cumbria. 🤿 👨‍🎓

Visited the Nuclear Decommissioning Authority in Barrow-in-Furness. ☢️

As Patron of the National Association of Citizens Advice Bureaux, visited the Barrow-in-Furness branch to mark its reopening. 🤝

As Patron of the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, attended a Dinner at St George's Hall, to mark its 125th anniversary. 🦜💊

16/11 As Vice Patron of the British Horse Society, attended a Coaching Career Insight Day.

As Patron of the Butler Trust, visited HM Prison Drake Hall.

As Patron of Transaid, attended a Reception at London Transport Museum.

17/11 Not Counted Departed Heathrow Airport for Gibraltar but was diverted to Madrid, Spain and arrived in Gibraltar later than intended. ✈️🇪🇸🇬🇮

With Sir Tim As Royal Patron of the Gibraltar International Literary Festival, attended the Literary Festival Opening Dinner at the Sunborn Hotel. 📚🍽️

18/11 In Gibraltar Princess Anne;

As Patron of the National Association of Citizens Advice Bureaux, visited Gibraltar Citizens Advice Bureau to mark its 20th anniversary. 👩‍⚖️

Opened the renovated premises of the Royal Gibraltar Regiment Association. 🫡

Met representatives of the Emergency Services and members of the Armed Forces at the Convent. 🚑🪖

With Sir Tim visited specialist vehicles provider Bassadone Automotive Group. 🚗

Unofficial Sir Tim visited the Royal Navy Gibraltar Squadron, 🇬🇮⚓️

21/11 As Master of the Corporation of Trinity House, presented Merchant Navy medals for Meritorious Service at Trinity House, London. 🏅

With Sir Tim Attended the State Banquet in honour of the President and First Lady of South Korea. 🇬🇧🇰🇷🍽️

22/11 Visited Retrotec Limited near Northiam, East Sussex. ✈️

Visited Focus SB Limited in St Leonards-on-Sea. ⚙️

As Commandant-in-Chief of St John Ambulance (Youth), attended a Reception for Young Achievers at the Priory Church of the Order of St John in London. 🚑

As Chancellor of the University of London, attended Foundation Day at Senate House in London 🎓

23/11 As Commodore-in-Chief of Portsmouth Naval Base, opened Alford Schools of Military Music. 🎶

Attended a Luncheon at Spithead House, HM Naval Base, Portsmouth, for The Princess Royal's Patronages based in Hampshire. ⚓️

As President of the City and Guilds of London Institute, presented The Princess Royal Training Awards at St James's Palace. 🏆

With Sir Tim As President of the British Olympic Association, attended the Team GB Ball at the Savoy Hotel. 🏋️‍♀️

24/11 As Royal Patron of the London Scottish Football Club, attended the 10th Anniversary of the St Andrew's Day Luncheon at the Sheraton Grand London on Park Lane. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏉

28/11 Presented The Queen Elizabeth II Platinum Jubilee Volunteering Awards at Fishmongers’ Hall in London. 🏆

As Chancellor of the University College of Osteopathy, attended a Graduation Ceremony. 🎓

As Royal Fellow of the Royal Academy of Engineering, attended a New Fellows’ Dinner. ⚙️🍽️

29/11 The Princess Royal, As Royal Patron of the National Coastwatch Institution, visited Canvey Island Station and attended a Reception at the Island Yacht Club. 🔎🏝️

Opened Huntingdon Fire Station and Service Training Centre. 🚒

Opened North Cambridgeshire Training Centre. 💼

As Honorary Member of the Smeatonian Society of Civil Engineers, attended the Annual General Meeting and Discussion Dinner. 👷🍴

30/11 As Patron of the Not Forgotten Association, held the Christmas Reception at St James’s Palace. 🎄🎅🏻🎁

Total official engagements for Anne in October: 58

2023 total so far: 458

Total official engagements accompanied by Tim in October: 11

2023 total so far: 92

#hardest working royal #a busy bee #always there to support his wife 🥰#unofficial engagement count 2023 #princess anne #princess royal #tim laurence #timothy laurence

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lilibethwrites · 2 years

Note

Hello ! Im surprised how much im on love with Aemond right now, he's so interesting... I wanted to Ask for a scenario where he eavesdrops two Ladies and reader says that instead of being afraid and disgusted by his scar,shes more intrigued ...like she cant take her eyes from him. And now he wants to know who is so foolish. (I would probably stand still if he aproached me xD) thank you and have a nice.day

A Curse and a Blessing

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, incest

Word count: 2023

A.N.: This was such a fun request to write! I think it's pretty self contained, but let me know if you'd like a second part to it.

Aegon II’s nameday celebrations were famed to bring lords and ladies from all across the Seven kingdoms to King’s Landing. Your mother, Princess Rhaenyra and your father, Prince Daemon were no exceptions to those who received invites. Thus, you and your step-brothers flew to the heart of the Throne for a week of feast and entertainment.

Aegon wasn’t seen much, and the conversations of the adults bore you to near death. Offers and pacts, tight-lipped smiles that hid grudges and oaths that were broken as soon as they were made. You had no taste for the arguments over who was the best swordsman of the realm or what material made the best breastplate that your brothers engaged in either.

So you found yourself among your childhood friends with whom you’d driven Septas and Maesters to madness when you were under their tutelage. Some were married, and some even with children already. Though they did not quite delve into the philosophical inquiries of just how much the realm suffered for the fall of Valyria, their gossip was suitable enough to pass the evening.

With your cup in hand, you seated yourself within the close circle that whispered and giggled.

“Oh, dear Y/N, come sit. We were just conversing on the charms of certain Princes.”

“Oh, come off it! I only said I would choose him if I absolutely had to. He is the handsome one of the three.”

“Well, I personally would give my favour to Ser Criston Cole, if you catch my drift.” one of the girls rubbed her swollen belly while staring at the man standing guard across the hall from them.

Y/N grimaced, only half-jokingly. She knew her mother wasn’t fond of Ser Criston, and neither was she.

“Jeyne, who is it that you would choose so… grudgingly? The handsome of the three?” Y/N teased the girl with a plump face and auburn hair that was held in a bun with several colourful ribbons. She and Y/N were the only ones left unmarried, and by the looks of her attire, at least one of them was determined to change it that night.

“Oh, well…” she inhaled and took a large sip from her wine. Then she took a bite from the likewise large cut of cake on her lap to stall the answer.

“You know…” Then her voice lowered. “Prince Aegon.”

Then the girls groaned jokingly and erupted into laughter. Except for Y/N who only gave her a secret, understanding smile.

“Come on now, Jeyne! HE IS—he is a drunkard!”

“And he sired so many bastards they say the Flea Bottom has turned white-haired—oh, sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N only waved her dismissively. Aegon was Alicent’s problem.

“He is at least… intact!” Jeyne spoke with a mouth full of cake. “Unlike his brother! That man… he scares me. I saw him down the hall just this noon. There is something about him—”

“You mean… Prince Aemond?” Y/N perked up. Now, that was a Prince she would converse on.

Unbeknownst to them, behind the heavy tapestry that divided a corner from the Throne Room and reserved a makeshift parlour for the guests, Prince Aemond was eavesdropping on the conversation. He was nursing a cup of wine stronger and more bitter than the ones ladies drank. Though the conversation first grabbed his attention in case a treacherous slander was to be spread—Rhaenyra and her bastard sons were invited, after all—he remained because he was simply bemused. Though he didn’t expect his name to be spoken in a conversation on handsome men and potential husbands. He leaned on of the stone pillars that held the tapestry up in hopes of identifying the ladies.

“It is the scar. Absolutely,” Suesane pointed to the right side of her face, just where Y/N’s half-brother slashed Aemond’s eye out some years back.

“Oh yes. It really is something. I sure am glad we are not to see it entirely.”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Y/N murmured matter-of-factly. The girls all turned to her with wide eyes and raised brows.

“What? It is not as bad as you say, I’m certain. I would like to see it. I hear he has a sapphire for a right eye now.”

Aemond couldn’t fight the smirk off his face and leaned even closer to the tapestry to make out the hushed voice of his brave champion.

“Do not toy with us! Imagine him… in… you know… your bedchamber. That is dreadful!”

“On the contrary. I think his scar is… well, I think it is handsome, like him. It suits him. It adds to his charm—”

“His charm! The man is a recluse and a maimed—”

“You are forgetting yourself, Emely!” Y/N spoke up. The fierce backlash forced the girls into silence. Y/N was of the highest-standing title, after all.

The girls scrambled to pacify the tone that shifted drastically with Princess Y/N’s outburst. From the other side, Aemond was intrigued now more than ever. A girl would defend him so feverishly even when he was not around, when she stood to gain nothing from shining up to him in his absence. She truly was his champion, it seemed. Besides, who could command the silence of spoiled, empty-headed pigs for ladies? Could it be? No! No it could not be his niece.

“I only meant that I hear Prince Aemond is a skilled warrior and a scholar, too. Do not be too harsh on him.” Y/N cooled off as well, attempting to salvage the chatter that she cut with her words which might very well have been Valyrian steel.

Aemond had to find out. He had to see. Y/N was too fond of her brothers to favour him. All Seven Gods together couldn’t make her see Aemond as anything but a brute and a bully. So, against his better judgment, he lifted the tapestry. It gave some of the ladies quite the scare as they gasped and shrieked. The cake on Jeyne’s lap fell to the floor with a loud clatter. They were like skittish horses galloping away from a dragon.

“Ladies,” Aemond greeted them with a nod and a smirk. In his mind, his entrance was no cause for alarm, yet to the girls, he seemed like a barbarian Dornish warrior who was intend on having their heads. It amused him all the same that they were scared near death.

“Princess,” he then turned to Y/N who was sitting tall, though her eyes betrayed the surprise his entrance was to her.

“Prince—ahem, Prince Aemond. Uncle.”

Was he just passing by and decided to give the poor girls a scare? That was indeed like him to do so. If not, just how much did he hear?

“I heard a matter unsettled on my brother. And…” he cocked his head to the side with a mischievous, lopsided grin, staring directly at Y/N. He blinked once, twice. With each shutting and opening of his eye, his bemused expression faded into something more difficult to read, something darker that unsettled even Y/N.

“And on my scar.”

“My Prince—we—we meant no—” one of the girls babbled, but the rise of Aemond’s hand stopped her swiftly.

“Allow me to chime in. You wished to see it, dear Niece,” his hand moved up to the eyepatch.

“Avert your precious eyes, my fair ladies,” he spoke with no concern to conceal the contempt he felt for the girls. And they looked all over the room but in Aemond and Y/N’s direction.

Y/N leaned closer in her seat like a woman famished at a rich supper. She often thought about Aemond, about how things could’ve been only if Queen Alicent and her mother could get along better. She also explored her body to the thought of her uncle—more times than she liked to admit.

Then, Aemond pulled the patch off. An icy blue eye and a darker cut of sapphire glimmering in the middle of a dark trail of once-torn flesh, a gift from Luke, stared back at Y/N.

“So see it for yourself.”

One of the girls, braver than the others, tried to steal a glance between her fingers but gasped in terror and turned her head away with a shrill “Oh, Gods be good!”

Y/N took a sharp breath, though Aemond scoffed because he assumed she was just as disgusted as the rest, she only realized his scar was much more handsome than the one she imagined with her trembling hands between her legs under the covers back at Dragonstone.

“That’s what I thought,” Aemond spoke with a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Though from the beating of her heart and the rushing of her mind, Y/N missed it. To Aemond, his niece was a coward just like the rest, and she’d sooner marry a pompous lord than to look at his face again.

“Enjoy your evening, ladies. Princess.”

Y/N chased after him. There was no point in staying anyway. The silence had fallen like a heavy blanket over a corpse upon Aemond’s departure.

Y/N reached for Aemond and grabbed his arm to stop him in his tracks.

“That was unnecessary.” Yet also highly intriguing. Captivating. Seducing.

Aemond gave her a joyless smile. “I warned you so, dear Niece.”

“It was not me who needed the courtesy of sparing the scare—”

“I do not care for the other girls. You claimed you could brave it. And yet—”

“And I did, did I not?”

Y/N stepped forward, now they were dangerously close to one another in the dark corner of the hall.

“Take it off and I shall brave it again if it pleases you, Aemond.” Please do take it off so I can admire it once more.

And he did. A surprise to both himself and Y/N, he pulled the eye patch off and the flames of candles glimmered off the sharp angles of sapphire. Aemond expected that without her audience, Y/N would speak her true mind. Surely, she’d tell him just how grotesque he looked and his ugly scar would haunt her even when she would be back at Dragonstone.

Instead, Y/N stepped closer, rose on her toes to reach for his face, and gently, oh so gently, ran her fingertips across the length of the scar. Where her soft fingers ran, scorching heat came off and flowers of spring blossomed—and they withered and died just as soon as her fingertips moved on.

Aemond was paralyzed under her touch. A lesser woman would’ve screamed for her life and run for the guards or the Queen. With shaky breaths, his heavy-lidded eye met Y/N’s.

“I truly think it’s beautiful,” she whispered, openly enamoured by his charm. Her finger stopped just beneath the sapphire, her palm dangerously close to caressing his cheek. “I shall forever regret the cruelty of my brother. But I shall also envy your lady wife when the time comes, for she will get to see you as you are now, for eternity.”

Y/N’s words sank like an anchor inside Aemond. She spoke sincerely, which made her words all the scarier. Aemond was used to artificial politeness, not to words spoken from the heart as Y/N did. And admittedly, he gave very little thought to marriage. Once he realized his sapphire eye was an object of terror for women, he shut the idea out. When the time came, as Y/N put it, his mother would choose a girl profitable enough to marry. And they wouldn’t be the first nor the final miserable couple in the realm.

Yet, there Y/N was with her finger on his scar and with the impossible promise that it wouldn’t have to be so.

“Hm. If you speak true, perhaps you know me very little, niece.”

“Oh, on the contrary, uncle. I believe I know you better than most.”

The murmured exchange was cut abruptly when Y/N gripped Aemond’s shoulder to raise herself, and Aemond’s hands reached for her waist to keep her stable. Y/N tilted her head up and Aemond down and to the side in unison, and their lips felt as if they were created for each other.

Aemond Tag (let me know if you'd like to be added to it):

@cherishedauthor @schniiipsel @verycollectivecreator @dangerousbluebirdpoetry

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon

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floralcyanide · 7 months

Text

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day one ⛧ cockwarming

Cillian Murphy x Reader

A routine Zoom call between you, Cillian, and his parents gets a little interesting.

warnings: smut, cockwarming, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, milking, unprotected sex

word count: 930

author's note: welcome to day one of kinktober! I'm so excited for this year and can't wait to write as much for this challenge as possible. I was going to have weeks planned out, but fell ill with pneumonia, so I'm two whole weeks behind. hopefully I'll complete the challenge! fingers crossed. if I don't, there's always next year! I hope everyone enjoys!! feedback is always appreciated (: (keep in mind most of the kinktober works will be short.)

kinktober masterpost | kinktober taglist form | main masterlist | main taglist form

When Cillian tells you to pull up your dress upon entering his office, you expect him to drop to his knees before you. Instead, he waves you over to where he’s sitting on his desk chair, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You look at him, confused for a moment, before doing as he wordlessly asked. You can feel Cillian fumble his hands behind you, his cold watch brushing against the warm skin of your tailbone that’s exposed from your lifted dress. You hear his zipper come undone, and that’s when you realize what he’s wanting. Cillian adjusts you on his lap so you’re hovering, and he aligns his length with your clothed entrance, teasing your clit through your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side with his fingers, allowing his tip to brush against your wetness. You slowly push yourself onto him, and Cillian guides himself into you at a snail’s pace. You aren’t quite wet enough yet, so he takes his time. Once he’s wholly sheathed inside your warmth, Cillian grabs your hips so you can’t move.

“What are you doing?” you half laugh, half ask curiously.

“I want you to just sit here and be a good girl, alright?”

“That’s kind of hard with you inside me, Cill.”

“You can do it, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You shiver at his words as you watch him fiddle with his computer, opening Zoom. You gulp nervously and hope he isn’t about to have a sort of meeting while you’re warming his cock. You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to act normal while Cillian’s thick, now-throbbing length is being squeezed by your walls.

But something even worse happens- Cillian opens Zoom with his parents. You forgot it’s Sunday, which is the day he usually calls them. You gulp down your nervousness, trying to appear presentable.

“Oh, hi!” you grin at the sight of his mother popping up on the screen, trying not to react to how Cillian’s fingernails are digging into the delicate skin of where your hips meet your thighs.

“How are you, darling?” his mother asks sweetly.

Cillian thrusts into you, disguising it as a minor shifting in his chair, and you have to clear your throat to stifle a moan, “I’m well, thanks! And you?”

“Oh, we’re just fine,” CIllian’s father chimes in, “Taking good care of my son, I see?”

“Of course,” you nod your head, rubbing your palm along Cillian’s thigh out of sight, “He’s being a good boy as always.” you joke.

Cillian rolls his hips slowly, causing your hand to pause its movements and your nails to dig into his slacks. He then engages in conversation with his father as you maintain a healthy combo of eye contact with his parents and looking at Cillian behind you.

“Are you sitting on his lap, dear? Are there no chairs in his office?” Cillian’s mom asks out of the blue, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Still no extra chairs or furniture in here,” you poke Cillian’s cheek, “I’ve been telling him ever since we moved in, Mrs. Murphy.”

“Stubborn old thing,” his mother scolds playfully, “A new home needs its furniture!”

You begin to feel restless on Cillian’s cock, wishing for nothing more than to fuck him senseless. You want to end the call, spin around, and bounce on him for hours. But of course, until he gives the word, you can’t move.

“Well, we were just checking in to see how you were doing. We best be headed off now; love you,” Cillian waves to his parents.

They wave back, bidding farewells before Cillian ends the call. Silence fills the room, and all that can be properly heard is the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Please,” you whimper, “Let me move.”

“Then move.”

You shakily raise your hips until Cillian is almost outside you before slamming back down, your thighs hitting his. He lets out a strangled moan, hands gripping your sides tightly.

“I’ve been wanting to teach you a lesson,” Cillian says through gritted teeth, letting you slowly lift and lower yourself along his cock, “About patience.”

“Lesson learned, then,” you sigh, spinning around to face Cillian, “I hear you loud and clear.”

You grab his cheeks as you pick up your pace of bouncing on his length, gaining a nice and steady rhythm. Cillian looks at you with glazed-over eyes, his tongue darting from his mouth to run over his lips.

“Was the lesson worth it? Or was the patience killing you more than me?” you smirk.

“I'm not sure. There were times I wanted to take you over the desk on the call.”

“Really?” you wonder, “Maybe next time.”

“Not when on the phone, though,” Cillian warns.

“Alright,” you sigh, swiveling your hips around as your orgasm creeps into your stomach.

“Gonna cum,” Cillian mumbles lazily, thrusting himself into you in time with your movements.

“Please do, I’ve been waiting,” you pout.

Cillian twitches inside you, spilling his seed deep inside your cunt as you ride through your own impending release. Cillian lets you fuck yourself as much as you please despite his overstimulation, letting you milk him as your walls clench from your orgasm. You stop moving, catching your breath as Cillian watches you compose yourself.

“Definitely worth the wait,” you gasp, pushing hair from your face.

“Agreed,” Cillian exhales, leaning back in his chair.

“Can I stay here, though?”

“On me?”

“Yes.”

Cillian pauses, weighing the pros and cons of you warming him as he does some emailing, “Fine.”

taglist:

@cillianswifefr @ins0mniac-whack @multifans-things @no-fooking-fighting @mypoisonedvine @madnessandobsession @Daviddeu @tiredkitten @lolabunny222 @gimmefood @preparedfruit @thecherrycocktail @thequeenoftheisleofavalon @lilyembry @scarlettlight06 @Gramelda @burnyouwithacigarettelighter @dunklerkeks1611 @reggxe-a @aviamulier @berlyrecords @dorknerdbeautiful @scribbuluswrites @ecstaticforus @vampireluck @doitmour1r @sharrren @desert-springtime @tuffy-floral @hllywdwhre @Death-by-bowie47 @moompie-blog @langdons-slut @cillymyfavdilf @generalvoidthing @luna047 @mg-i-have-issues @darlingsfandom @devotedly-sassy @banshailey @notevenellastein @cillsmurphys @ch3rry-co1a @elegantfacetree @ilikefictionalmen @juleshadalittlelamb @madnessandobsession @ceirinen @treac @Vrfilms @cillian-murph @sstar_ggirl @ecstaticforus @flwrs4aust

(if you signed up to be on the taglist and do not see your name, your tag failed or you may have typed the wrong url.)

#cillian muprhy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x reader smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy imagine #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #floralcyanide's kinktober 2023 #floralcyanide kinktober 2023 #floralcyanide writes #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x you smut #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x y/n smut #cillian murphy one shot

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bowtiepastabitch · 3 months

Text

Good Omens Fanfic Data: 2023

Top 5 Tags Per Month

Excludes basic a/c ship tags. Common tags coded by color. Interesting changes or patterns are in bold.

January: fluff, human au, humor, post-canon, established relationship

February: fluff, angst, human au, established relationship, hurt/comfort

March: fluff, human au, angst, post-canon, first kiss (honorable mention: pining)

April: fluff, human au, angst, hurt/comfort, first kiss (honorable mention: humor)

May: fluff, human au, blairamok's #IneffableMay, established relationship, hurt/comfort

June: fluff, human au, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst

July: fluff, angst, fix-it, hurt/comfort, s2 spoilers

~~~~SEASON TWO~~~~

August: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, post s2, s2 spoilers (honorable mention: fix-it) (@neil-gaiman you know what you did)

September: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, crowley is a mess, ineffable idiots

October: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, post s2, crowley is a mess

November: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, crowley is a mess, post s2 (honorable mentions: angst with a happy ending, hurt crowley)

December: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, ineffable idiots, crowley is a mess (honorable mention: Christmas)

January 2024: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, crowley is a mess, human au (honorable mention: anal sex)

At time of posting there are still a couple hours left on the poll that I plan to use for additional GO fic data, so please go vote if you haven't already. Info about how the process for this is under the cut:)

Data was collected on February first, 2023, using Ao3's filtering system. Each month represents fics updated from the first through last days of the month. Please note that fics are filtered by when it was updated, not originally published, so longer running fics will be sorted under when they were finished or last added to. Unrated fics are not included in the graph, an oversight on my part whilst collecting data, but make up a very small portion of total fics and are often podfics or artwork.

Tags excluded in tag rankings are: "Aziraphale loves Crowley", "Crowley loves Aziraphale", and "Ineffable Husbands", which were consistently ranked among the top tags and I found unhelpful for determining patterns in fan engagement since they are, after all, simply facts. Honorable mentions are tags that ranked within the top 10 tags for the month which were unique to the month or contributed to an interesting trend.

Data collection is all done by me, so slight errors in copying down information are possible. Yes I made teen purple instead of yellow, I found it aesthetically pleasing. So sue me.

January of 2024 was included because I thought the additional data provided interesting information, especially the return of the human au tag (officially "alternate universe-human"), the higher ratio of explicit to nonexplicit fics, and the debut of "anal sex" in the top ten tags. It was a great month for the fandom.

Current other data projects include average word-counts by month and estimation of the total number of words written by members of the fandom. If there's any data or patterns you'd like to see, or questions you'd like answered, drop them in my ask box!

All of this is dedicated to the wonderful amazing writers in the fandom, including lovely mutuals whose work I totally recommend @voluptatiscausa @fellshish @phoen1xr0se @indigovigilance @ineffabildaddy (if I didn't tag you don't read into it, I've got a medically-concerningly bad memory and just popped through my recent reads on ao3.)

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sailoryooons · 5 months

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Gods of the Dark | Two | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader

☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price.

☾ Word Count: 21,443

☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via arson, sexual dream sequences, depictions of oral (f. receiving), exposed bodies (in a brothel), pining, townsfolk essentially bullying reader, intense nightmare sequences, light depictions of PTSD (including memories of almost drowning/being physically attacked), explicit language, idiots who are obviously into one another being idiots, recreational drinking, topics of desire, feelings of shame, depictions of anxiety and fear, slight voyeurism, attempted murder

☾ Published: December 2, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This chapter took so long to write and I want to apologize for how long it took. The creative process can be so difficult sometimes, and I have been having a very hard year, which reflects in my writing. Thank you for sticking with me - I really hope this chapter is okay. This originally wasn't going to be as slow of a burn as it is, but this is where the story took me naturally, so I hope that's okay with everyone. I am going to be adding an extra chapter to this now to tell the story the way I want, so we will have five total chapters to this. I am already working on chapter three, and my goal is to write just this series until the next three chapters are done! Note: The sections of italics are used to indicate dream sequences for this fic - the way I use these are very specific and with intent... that's the only hint I will give you.

A huge thank you to @here2bbtstrash for being my beta reader - I give them huge beta projects with very little time to do them, and this story would not be nearly as polished or tuned as it is now without them. Also thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging and patient with me - your kind words are not lost on me and I'm thankful for you all!

Eyes in the sky crying geysers How dare I have private desires

First is your mother’s screaming. It’s loud enough to make you clap your hands over your ears, wincing as she drops all of the things in her hands. Second is your father storming into the house like a hurricane, an axe clutched in his hand from cutting wood in the yard. When he sees you, he blanches and takes a few steps back, raising the axe.

“Demon,” he whispers. He reaches for your mother and pulls her behind him. “You are a demon.”

“No, I-”

Without a warning, your father launches the axe at you. You scream, arms going up to block your face, unable to dodge the attack. There’s a loud crack as the axe hits an invisible barrier. You feel your hand fly to your open mouth, staring at the axe that’s now hewn in two on the floor.

Silence follows the destruction of the weapon. In that silence, it occurs to you that your father has attempted to kill you, and was only stopped by whatever protection Yoongi promised you. The realization is dizzying and you stumble away from your parents a little, bumping into the wall that separates the kitchen and the entryway.

No one says anything at first. Your mother clings to your father, trembling violently. Her hair is greyer than you remember and it looks like the last few days haven’t been kind to her. But she has always been soft and weak.

It’s your father who no longer looks the same. Always such an imposing figure in your life, he looks aged. His face is wrinkled, his hair is grey. His presence is so much smaller than you remember, once full of rage and ferocity, now just a terrified man in a doorway.

You cannot believe this is the man you’ve spent most of your life afraid of. Where once stood a great fear of yours now stands nothing more than a shadow of a man. Weak. Afraid. Vulnerable.

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” you say in a voice much steadier than you feel. “You can’t marry me off, you can’t make me burn my books, and you can’t hurt me anymore.”

“What kind of demon are you?”

It occurs to you that you could tell him you’re not a demon. You’re just you, with a little added protection. But the realization that they are afraid of you wakes up something ugly inside of you. Something oily, that slithers, something wicked and sharp.

You don’t have to tell them you’re not a demon. You don’t have to tell them that you are. They have come to that conclusion themselves, and it has put them beneath you. Afraid of you. You’re more powerful than you’ve ever been in this home.

So you let them think you are. “The kind that survived Nathaniel Laudermill beating me in the woods and trying to drown me.”

Your father straightens. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! You weren’t supposed to run and he- he wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”

“Well, he did. And he paid for it, didn’t he?”

When you say it, you have a sneaking suspicion that Nathaniel Laudermill is dead. When your father nods feebly at your question, the knowledge slides into place. You don’t feel bad. It almost horrifies you that you don’t, but you think of the burning in your lungs, his nails against your skin, the roaring of the water.

You’re glad Nathaniel is dead.

“What do you want from us? Money? Our lives?”

“Nothing.” You realize it’s true, suddenly stricken with wondering why you came back at all. “I want you to go about your lives, and let me do what I will.”

Pushing off the wall, you turn around and head out the front door. You feel their eyes on you as you go, but you don’t look back.

For now, you walk out into the woods. Crickets chirp happily, growing quiet as you walk by and starting once again when you’re a distance from them. Under the shade of the trees, it’s cold. The river isn’t flooded up into the woods anymore, but the ground is soft beneath your feet, mud giving way to your steps.

It feels different when you walk through the woods this time. They aren’t as vibrant. No Tiera is lurking in the boughs of the wisteria. There’s no lake with merfolk peering at you with large, alien eyes. A world that was once so full of life and peace feels unsaturated now. Devoid of color.

A nasty feeling creeps up on you as you walk. You look for the creatures of the wood, hoping to see their bright colors and little lives. A snake slithers away from you, but it’s just that. A snake with normal scales, in a normal bush. A rabbit rushes by, quick as lightning, a blur of fur.

None of the birds have plumes of purple feathers. There’s no trilling song that sounds like dreams spun into notes, no smell of drifting sweetness on the wind. The air is damp and cold, and it smells like fresh earth and water. But there’s nothing about it that seems as vibrant as before.

By the river, the water rushes as fast as your thoughts. You weren’t sure what to expect when you came home, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t your parents thinking you were a demon, but that isn’t the worst part.

The worst part is that only after two weeks, your world has lost its magic. It pales in comparison to Yoongi’s world or even your imagination. You stare at the water you used to think rushed with so much promise, the waxy leaves that used to contain so many shades of green. Now they’re just leaves and the river is just water.

A tingle presses at your neck. You turn, expecting Yoongi to be looming behind you. There’s no one there, but the feeling of awareness doesn’t go away. Frowning, you lean against the tree and stare out into the woods unseeing.

Clove and cinnamon hang in the air. You close your eyes, inhaling. The tingle at the back of your neck feels familiar. In your mind, you feel it like a phantom touch, sliding from your neck across your shoulder, dragging down the length of your arms until there is a soft twitch in your palm.

It’s easy to imagine Yoongi this way. But when you open your eyes, Yoongi isn’t there. The feeling doesn’t go away. But you always have that feeling out here, the something of other. Your heart flutters at the thought of the god lurking somewhere that you can’t see.

A silly thought. You brush it away, trying not to delude yourself into fantasies that Yoongi has any interest in you beyond your deal and beyond that night in the woods where you asked for help. Yoongi’s kindness is just that, and though you dream of him often, you know the difference between your dreams and reality.

Instead of leaving to go back to the house, you sit down on the ground. Closing your eyes, you imagine a brighter world. A more magical world. It’s easier to do this than to contend with the fact that the woods you loved so dearly are not as you remember them.

This, at least, is familiar. Sitting in the woods for hours and imagining worlds away from yours. Now, you imagine a specific world, made up of twilight and mountains in the distance. With a wonderful castle full of rooms saturated with candlelight and books you’re learning how to read.

When your stomach growls, you’re forced to stop your imagination and get up. You feel a bit better, knowing that you can at least remember what Yoongi’s dream realm looks like. Two weeks. You have two weeks until you can go back, and until then, Yoongi expects you to study.

Back at the house, your parents stare in silence when you enter. You hardly look at them, walking to the kitchen as though they are merely ghosts harboring the same space as you. Your movements are methodical as you make yourself lunch. When you reach for the knife to cut cheese, you feel the pointed look of your parents.

Part of you wants to turn around and scream at them to scare them. Another part of you has divorced the idea of them as your parents already. Yet you do nothing, biting a piece of cheese as you finish plating your meal and go to your room. They say nothing.

Sitting on your bed, you eat your meal. The world is quiet for the most part, though the muted sound of nature hums beyond your closed window. You realize there is a desk in your room stacked with books, parchment, and inkwells.

Heart racing, you get up from your bed and cross the room. You wipe your fingers on your shirt as you pick up a note written in Yoongi’s neat scrawl. You chew your lip as you look at the swirls and dips of letters on paper, immediately intimidated at the prospect of making sense of the writing.

You take the note with you to the bed and begin to parse the letters and sentences apart. It takes all of your concentration, going over the sounds each letter makes in your head to build a word. It’s not fast work and it isn’t easy, but after a while, you work out the first sentence.

Do not forget to practice every day.

A smile makes your mouth twitch, both in pride that you managed to work out the sentence and at the thought of Yoongi hunched over his desk writing you a note.

The second sentence is trickier. Afternoon light pours through your window as you spend another fifteen minutes sounding out the letters, quietly muttering them to yourself until you’ve got full words to build the sentence.

I will be watching, so you better practice as often as you can.

You bite your lip. It sounds like a playful threat, quietly muttered in one of Yoongi’s teasing moments. You can almost hear the soft rasp of his voice and picture the smirk that would accompany his words. You shiver before reading the final sentence.

Sleep well, and dream as often as you can.

The desk is a nice touch. You don’t remember seeing it this morning and you wonder how it got there. Remembering Yoongi’s magic is overwhelming. You’re still unsure what the limits of his power are, if there are any at all.

Hunched over the papers, you begin to trace letters again. It feels good to have the quill in your hand. You’re careful not to spill the ink all over the paper like you do when you’re practicing in the library - you have a limited amount of parchment here, compared to Yoongi’s endless amounts in the House of Dreams.

It does beg the question whether he’ll drop you off more magical paper if you run out, though.

By the time your hand is cramping too much to practice more and your head hurts, it’s evening. Your parents are locked away in their room when you come out. You can hear the soft voice of your mother go silent when they hear you enter the kitchen for food before heading out to the porch.

Twilight skies stretch above you. Sitting on the edge of the porch, you watch the world fade from purple to black. The stars begin to dot the sky, the moon making her climb upward. You grin, feeling relieved that maybe not all of your world has lost its magic.

Perhaps it’s just the light of day you’re no longer interested in. The night is far more mysterious and alluring, calling to you as you finish your last bite of dinner. You set your plate down on the porch and hop down, feeling the soft grass beneath your bare feet.

The last time you entered the woods in the dark, you were almost killed. That memory alone makes you pause at the edge of the woods. Your mouth dries a little bit and though the urge to step into the shadow of the night is strong, the memory of Nathaniel’s hands on your hair is stronger.

You turn around quickly and walk back to the house, picking up the plate along the way. It feels shameful to be afraid of the dark woods, a sour taste in your mouth as you lock yourself in your room and crawl onto the bed.

Closing your eyes, you try not to think about Nathaniel. His yelling haunts you, the phantom grip of his fingers pulling your hair, the way your mouth filled with water- a hooting owl disturbs your spiraling thoughts.

You open your eyes, straining your ears, only to find silence. Just as you begin to close your eyes again, you hear the hoot once more. Turning toward the window next to your bed, you sit up and pop the latch, casting open one of the shutters.

Above the house, the moon is a glowing coin in the sky. Everything her light touches is awash in grey. Sticking your head out of the window, you sweep your gaze back and forth, trying to look for the sound of the hooting.

As though it senses your gaze, the owl hoots again. You see it this time. A great horned owl stares at you from its perch on top of a pile of chopped wood. Its eyes are burnished gold, like two burning beacons in the night. It’s a stunning owl, all browns and whites, feathers luminous under the sheen of the moon. It moves its head in a circle, opening and closing its beak.

Then, the owl surprises you. You flinch and sit backward on your haunches as it takes flight, great wings flapping as it flies to your window and lands on the ledge. You gasp in delight. The creature is far bigger up close, its ochre eyes warm and intelligent.

The back of your neck tingles familiarly and you smile.

“Are you supposed to watch over me?” The owl chirps, a much higher-pitched noise than the hoot. “Hmm. I see. Do you have a name?”

The owl bobs its head from side to side in an uncanny movement. Though you’re not sure, you think it means to tell you no. “Well, what if I give you one?” The owl chirps again. “What about… Moony?”

Fluffing its feathers, the owl shifts back and forth and lets out a hiss. You giggle, covering your mouth as the bird settles, looking at you in a way that certainly feels haughty and bothered. “Alright. What about… Dream?” Another hiss and a bob no. “Okay, well you’re making this quite difficult. What about…”

A dozen names run through your mind. You think of the owl as Yoongi’s way to watch over you at night. It makes you feel warm and far less alone than you were before. It’s nice knowing that you have a protector, someone to warn Yoongi if you’re ever in danger. Or to steer you away from your bad thoughts.

“How about Guardian?” you offer. It blinks two large eyes before chirping and bobbing its head in a circle, pleased at the name. You grin and slowly reach your hand forward. “I like it. Guardian, then.”

Gently, the owl leans forward and lets you brush its feathers. They are silky under your touch, each plume delicate and wonderful. You can’t help but smile, stroking the owl's chest until it shuffles back and forth and gives a short hoot.

“Go on,” you urge. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll leave the window open?”

Guardian hoots in affirmation before shuffling its wings and flying off into the night.

Laying in your back, you stare up through the open window, watching the stars go past. Slowly, you feel sleep pull at your edges, beckoning you to give in. You finally do, drifting asleep under the silver light of the moon and a blanket of stars.

Yoongi sits in front of the fireplace in the library. You blink a few times, a little dazed. You don’t remember how you got here, but you know the smell of this library and you know that shadowy frame better than anything. It suddenly makes you ache to realize how much you miss it already.

As if sensing your presence, Yoongi turns to look at you. He smirks, showing no sign of surprise at seeing you standing behind him. He gestures to the armchair next to him and you grin, quick to join him.

Warmth leaps from the fireplace, the logs popping and crackling under the hungry, orange flames. Yoongi is dressed in a simple linen shirt and pants, his necklaces reflecting the burning light. He watches you sit down and fold your feet onto the chair.

“Am I here? Or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Are both not possible?”

You think about it. “Well yes, I suppose they are. I’m dreaming but I can come here because I’m dreaming.”

“Clever girl.” Yoongi’s eyes dance as he looks you up and down. “How was your first day back?”

“Strange. I…” You chew on your lip, wrapping your arms around your legs. Suddenly, you feel more at home than you did earlier that day in the place you were raised. You think about the woods out behind your house, the alien way you felt among trees that should be familiar. “It feels as though the world doesn’t hold as much magic anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like here. It is so vibrant and beyond imagining that now that I’ve gone back… nothing compares.”

Yoongi hums. “I promise you that there is so much magic in your world. There is real magic in living that cannot be found among the imaginary.”

You rest your chin on your knees and sigh heavily. “If only I could find it.”

“You will.”

Silence passes between you. It’s comfortable. You watch the dancing fire, the world fading away. Though you are acutely aware that Yoongi is staring at your side profile, you don’t squirm or feel anxiety. You simply feel peace, happy to be here. Happy to be with him.

That makes your stomach flutter. At least you’re not dreaming of him in ways you shouldn’t tonight. As soon as you think about it, you feel your cheeks heat up hotter than the flames from the fireplace.

After a little while Yoongi sighs, drawing your attention back to him. “You should sleep.”

“I thought I was.”

“Sort of. You’re more… dreamwalking right now. You’re not really resting.”

“Do I have to stay here?” The question is small. You don’t meet his eyes when you ask, suddenly filled with shame that you can’t even last a day in the world you’ve known for over twenty years. “There’s nothing for me here.”

“There is. You just have to find it again.”

“I don’t know how.”

Yoongi stands up. You look up at him and see that his expression is soft. Kind. Your heart speeds up, tongue heavy in your mouth as he slowly reaches out to you. His hand hesitates for a second, pauses in mid-air like he’s unsure, and then he touches your cheek lightly. “Trust me.”

Before you can respond, Yoongi is walking away. The skin on your cheek tingles where his fingers were a moment before, a shiver racing up your spine. You lift your hands to touch your cheek where his fingers were moments ago. You can’t help but smile, fondness for him growing. Blooming.

Leaning back in the chair, you close your eyes and settle into real sleep.

Tap tap tap.

You twitch your nose and roll your head to the side, sniffing. For a moment, it felt like something had been tapping your nose, almost waking you from sleep. You start to sink back into it, pulling your covers tighter as your thoughts drift… further…

Tap tap tap.

You frown. Now you’re awake, your thoughts clawing their way to break the surface of sleep. When you finally collect yourself and register that you’re waking up, you open your eyes to reveal a face hovering inches from yours, so close that you cannot make out the features.

A shriek rips through your room as you scramble away from the face, clutching your blanket. You slam into the wall near the window, heart hammering as you press yourself flat, trying to make yourself small.

Taehyung falls backwards on his ass, covering his ears and giving you a ghastly expression, as though horrified to be screamed at in such a manner. Your hand clutches your chest as you realize it’s him sitting on your floor and him who had been inches from your face - tapping your nose.

“What are you doing?” you holler at him, fisting your blankets. You suddenly feel sick, the adrenaline making your stomach turn and your head spin. Groaning, you lay on your side, squeezing your eyes shut. Colors coalesce behind your eyelids as you take deep breaths, hoping it will pass. “Are you insane?”

“Well, that is up for debate.”

You open your eyes and glare at him.

Taehyung sits with his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his palms. His dark hair hangs in his eyes as he grins at you, giddy. He’s dressed in a flowing white shirt with laces at the front that he’s kept open, revealing a tanned chest. His shirt is tucked into brown trousers and you spot a small chain with a charm tied through one of his belt loops.

You think you recognize the charm from one of Yoongi’s necklaces.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting, obviously.”

“You can just… visit?”

“I do what I want.”

As the adrenaline rush fades, you slowly sit up, glaring at the man on your floor. “I doubt that. How did you get in here, anyway?”

“Your window is open.”

The window in question is still wide open from last night, only now, morning light streams through. The air is cool and smells of rain, the wind rushing through the trees and making them bend and dance under its guidance. A robin flits from bough to bough, singing.

“So you came through the window?”

“No, I came through the front door. No one else is home.”

“Then why did you say you came through the window?”

“I didn’t. I said the window was open.” Taehyung gives you a white, square grin. You clench your teeth and resist the urge to throw a pillow at him. Though you’re pleased to see him, you’re equally as vexed by his teasing. “Anyway, I want you to show me around.”

“Show you around what?”

He gets up from the floor, clapping his hands together to get rid of the dirt and dust before doing the same to his pants. He shrugs, giving you a cheery smile. “I don’t know. Anything. Everything. I want to see what your life here was like.”

“It wasn’t very good.”

“That’s okay. I want to see it anyway.”

Slowly, you get out of bed. He makes room for you, walking over toward the desk where your writing practice sheets are. He flips through them, examining your work as you eye him, stretching. Your joints pop and you groan, eyes fluttering at the release of tension.

“Why?” you ask. He looks up at you, brows raised in a question. “Why do you want to see?”

Taehyung contemplates his answer. He taps one long finger on top of your tracing. “You’re getting better.” He leans against the desk and crosses his arms, regarding you steadily. “I’ll make you a deal. Show me about your life here. Teach me about you. And I’ll tell you about me.”

That sparks your interest. You know so little about Taehyung, even in the two weeks that you’ve lived in the House of Dreams. He is a charming mystery, someone who speaks in riddles and likes to goad you and talk about so much that you realize he talks about nothing at all. At least, not anything substantial.

For the amount of things you know about Taehyung, like how he enjoys cinnamon in his tea or that his favorite color is green like the bottom of the lake, or how his favorite snacks are honey cakes or that music makes him cry, you also know… nothing about him. Where he comes from. Who he was before he was Yoongi’s companion in a big, lonely castle.

Sighing, you walk up to him and extend your arm. “Deal.”

Taehyung’s hand is warm and tingles when you shake it. He grins at you, happier than ever before he drops your hand and gestures at your clothes. “Well go on,” he says. “Change out of your nighties. Unless of course, you’d like to stay in them.”

“Get out of my room and I will!”

He raises his brows. “Don’t want me to watch? How boring.”

You don’t take his teasing to heart. You’ve already adapted to Taehyung’s jesting and prodding, learning that it’s a key part to the way that he shows his affections. For the first few days, you’d thought perhaps he didn’t like you much, but after seeing him rib Yoongi for two hours straight in the library, you realized it was good that he was teasing you.

You open the small trunk of clothes and slide on pants and a loose shirt. When you enter the main house, you find Taehyung standing on the porch with his arms crossed over his chest, looking into the woods with a frown. Tucking in your shirt, you step out onto the porch, the wood creaking underneath your weight.

“What is it?” you ask when Taehyung doesn’t turn to greet you. His eyes are dark and there’s an expression on his face that makes you nervous. “Is there something out there?”

Instead of answering directly, he asks, “Is that where Yoongi found you?”

Oh. Oh. Taehyung is looking at the woods where you ran off the night that your parents tried to make you marry Nathaniel. You nod and hum, trying not to think much about it as you finish tucking in the shirt and adjusting the material.

“There’s a bad energy there,” Taehyung observes. He turns away from the woods finally and drops his hands at his side. “You should stay away from that place moving forward.”

“I didn’t exactly go in there on purpose.”

“I know.” Something flashes in his eyes. “Best not to do it again, if you can help it. You can go into the woods, just not there.”

“Okay…”

You wait for Taehyung to elaborate, but he doesn’t. A chill settles over your skin, the wind picking up to rustle the trees. He shrugs and grins, the dark expression gone in a flash as he gestures for you to enter back through the house and leave by way of the front door.

Taheyung follows you, a bounce to his step as he hurries to walk next to you. You say nothing as you lead him out of the yard and toward the main road by your home that leads into town, your stomach fluttering with nervousness as you go.

If Taehyung is confused as to why you’re not starting the story of your life at home, he doesn’t let on. He tucks his hands into his pockets and walks next to you, his feet crunching the gravel beneath his boots and the wind lifting his hair.

Studying Taehyung’s side profile, you think he looks like something from a dream. He has the kind of beauty that seems purposeful and handcrafted, each one of his features carefully designed to be the wonderful, glowing being that he is.

You don’t know what he is, really. But you’ve made a deal and you have to deliver on your end first.

“We live a bit away from town,” you say eventually. “My father inherited the house after his father, who was a very talented wood carver. He used to cut the trees here himself and decide which tree was perfect for what project, which is why we live almost thirty minutes from town.”

“A wood carver is a nice talent to have.”

You nod. “He was very good. It made a good income. My father had no talent for it, though, and opened up a store instead. He sold my grandfather’s wares and then eventually added items from other folks in town, including my mother's clothes. She’s a seamstress.”

“You were wearing a dress the night Yoongi brought you home.”

Home. Taehyung says it so easily, like he’s already accepted that the House of Dreams is yours as much as it’s his. A warm feeling blooms through you, and you look up at Taehyung and smile at him despite the looming subject of the doomed wedding dress. He returns your smile just as broadly, even if he doesn’t know the reason for your sudden turn of happiness.

“Yeah. That was one she made,” you sigh, turning back to the road. “A wedding dress.”

“It was beautiful, but I did burn it in the fire.” You look at him with your brows raised and he gives you a sheepish shrug. “You were assaulted in that dress. We wanted nothing to do with it.”

“I’m glad that you did. I never want to remember that night again.”

“Good. Memories have a way of haunting us, even when we don’t know it.”

Taehyung’s tone is ominous. Instead of asking him what he means, you let his weighted silence fall around you, propelling the both of you toward the town.

As you get closer, houses and other roads begin to pop up. You see the pathways leading up to the homes of your neighbors, pointing out each one to Taehyung along with filling him in on summaries of their family histories and gossip. He listens with a conspiratorial smirk, gasping and asking you scandalous questions as you whisper rumors you’ve long heard from eavesdropping on your parents.

Gossiping with Taehyung is nice. You feel lighter than you had the day before, nearly skipping as you near the town proper. You start passing people on the road. Normally, you’d greet the ones you know. Now, you hear gasps as people flinch when they see you, making signs with their hands to ward off evil.

You blink in surprise, glancing at Taehyung for his reaction. He frowns when he sees the second group of people do it. By the third, he pulls a snarling face at them, making a child cry. You jam your finger in his ribs and he hisses in pain, shoving lightly back.

“What?” he demands. “You’re not evil. That sign doesn’t do anything, either. If one of the more malevolent deities wanted to snatch them, they would.”

“Really?”

Taehyung rubs his ribs where you poked him. You pass the bakery owned by the Yen family, heavenly smells wafting out the door. “Of course they would,” he huffs. “Most deities aren’t bound by the rules and logic the mortals try to make to create a sense of safety from them. Many can simply do what they want.”

“Then why don’t they?”

“Because of Eternals, like Yoongi. The gods who are always here, never changing. That’s why they’re called Eternals.”

“I see. There’s seven of them, right?” Taehyung hums the affirmative. As you pass a music shop, Taehyung slows. His hands are linked behind his back as he eyes the instruments through the window and gestures at them. You nod and follow him indoors, the bell on the door above chiming. “So other deities are afraid of them?”

“Of course they are,” Taehyung muses. He stops to admire a mandolin. “Yoongi, for example, is a being that creates dreams themselves. He manipulates reality. He can create things on a whim. He’s almost as powerful as life.”

“Really?”

“What are dreams if not creation? The difference isn’t all that big, though it drives Seokjin mad to admit it.”

“Who?”

Taehyung plucks the string of another instrument. You don’t know what it is, but the note is sharp, making you cringe. “Life, of course.”

“You know Life? What are you?”

He glances at you sidelong. “We’re supposed to learn about you first. I’m doing a lot of talking.”

“Not like it’s hard to get you going,” you mutter.

Taeyung shoots you a scowl, but is interrupted by the shop owner coming around the corner. He’s a man in his late thirties, greeting Taehyung politely and wiping his hands on his trousers. He asks Taehyung if he’s looking for anything and just as Taehyung leans out of the way to reveal you standing behind him, the shop owner’s eyes go to you and he gasps, stumbling backward.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispers, his back bumping into a shelf of items. You feel a shiver slip down your spine as you stare at him, arms tingling. He makes the symbol to ward off evil, the whites of his eyes wild. “Evil. Evil creature, you are a demon. You do not-”

“Another word,” Taehyung cuts in, his voice dark in a tone you’ve never heard. “And I’ll show you what evil is, sir.”

“G-god of Light spare me.”

“Your God of Light won’t answer.” Taehyung spins on his heel, facing you. His expression is thunder, his gaze dark and eyes wild as he hisses, “Speak their name all you wish. It's not daytime in here, sir.”

For the two weeks you’ve known Taehyung, you’ve never seen him like this. The room feels oppressive and dark, and you swear the lights have dimmed, shadows pressing up against the wall as Taehyung strides forward and passes you, taking your arm firmly in his hand.

Taehyung escorts you out of the store, walking swiftly. When you hit daylight, the oppressive dark sheds itself immediately. Taehyung’s presence dims with the sun beating down on him and turning his skin copper, black hair shining almost blue in the light.

He lets go of your arm and shoots you a troubled gaze. “Don’t listen to him,” he grunts. “You’re not a demon, nor are you evil.”

“My parents called me the same thing.” He scowls and begins pacing. To keep him moving, you start walking toward the other side of town where the old cemetery and abandoned church is. You don’t know why you go there, but you’re drawn to it. “They called me a demon.”

“Demons are much nastier. You might be annoying, but certainly not a demon.”

You scowl and he shrugs. “I didn’t realize everyone here thought I died. I thought I would come back and it would be…”

“Normal?” You shrug a shoulder.

The houses on the edge of town are shabbier than the rest. People hesitate in their doorways, staring at you and the tall, handsome man next to you. You see them do the warding sign as you go, and you squeeze your hands into fists as they do.

Weeds crawl up the side of the old church. The structure leans heavily to the left, the stairs unusable and the ceiling fallen in. Instead of walking up the hazardous steps and inside the dilapidated building, you lead Taehyung around it, where the grass grows higher than your knees and the sound of grasshoppers buzzing by you follows.

A dry-rotted fence surrounds what was once a graveyard. You walk toward it, leading Taehyung until he starts slowing down a few paces behind you. You stop and turn over your shoulder to look at him, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun.

Taehyung looks thoughtful, dark eyes scanning the area. He’s stopped walking entirely, head cocked to the side. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“I don’t know. I just… walked in this direction. I used to come here for the silence, sometimes.”

Taehyung has a strange look on his face. “Is that so?”

“Why do you look like that?”

“How long has this place been here?”

“The church closed before I could remember. Honestly, they said it was haunted by this graveyard, which has been here a lot longer than the church. Even the oldest families in town don’t have their dead buried here. Rumor has it that it was built long before the town was.”

Taehyung starts walking normally again. Side by side, you begin to navigate around the graveyard. “And you come here? Why?”

“It’s quiet. When I was too young to stay at the house alone, my mom would bring me to town while she ran errands. I was allowed to explore, but I liked to come here.”

“Most kids are afraid of places of the dead.”

You shrug. “It was quiet, and it gave me time to imagine things. I liked to make up fantasies about the old gods here or… what I imagined they might be. Of heroes descended from them, maybe.”

“And you felt drawn here?”

You startle when a grasshopper shoots across the grass in front of you. You laugh as it vanishes into the foliage. “Yeah, it just felt… safe.”

“Strange.”

“Am I allowed to ask why or are you going to complain you’re talking too much again?” He snorts and gestures for you to continue. “Why is that strange? Beyond the fact that it’s, you know, a graveyard.”

Sighing, Taehyung squints up at the line of trees nearby. His hand hovers along the tops of the grass as he runs it over each blade, letting the tips tickle his hands. You’re almost waist high in grass, glancing down to make sure you don’t step into any holes.

“This place is old. The people of the church felt haunted because they were. Death owns this land.”

You frown. “Well, the dead are here. The other graveyard doesn’t feel the same.”

“You misunderstand me. Death - the Eternal. His presence is all over. Someone important to him must be buried here.”

“Oh.”

You stop and think about that. Turning to look at the unmarked and lime washed tombstones, you scan for any sign of Death. You have no idea what you’re looking for. Ivy and time have taken over most of the concrete slabs, and none of the names or dates are legible by now. They’re just hewn stone, buried in green and grime.

But you feel something here, a tingling on the back of your neck like the one you felt in the woods by your house. A chill wind blows over the land, sweeping the grass and rattling the trees. You feel the breeze against your neck, cool as fingers trailing down your spine.

Suddenly, you feel a buzz on your skin. It’s not so different from Yoongi’s presence, and it chills you.

You look up at Taehyung with wide, fearful eyes. He smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t need to be afraid of Death. Death is neither good nor bad, he just is. He only takes those who are ready.”

“Have you met - um - Death?”

Taehyung nods. “He is a man of few words, but Namjoon is unwaveringly kind and wise.”

“Strange that I was drawn to coming here.” You head back toward the town. The sun passes its zenith and makes its way into the early afternoon. “Is this whole place filled with Eternals or what?”

“No, it’s actually a rather unremarkable location. Namjoon lingers in many places. Yoongi was simply drawn here.”

“By what?”

Instead of answering the question, Taehyung sticks his hands in his pockets. “Show me more of your town.”

So you do. Taehyung is a good companion. Where Yoongi would quietly observe and make sounds to indicate that he’s listening and admires the things you’re talking about, Taehyung asks questions. You realize he’s a tactile person as well. He touches things as he walks by them, brushing his fingers on fabric, touching jewelry at vendor stands.

Everywhere you go is a similar reaction to the instrument store. People seem happy to see Taehyung at first before they see you, fear making them lean away and ward you off. You realize you don’t know how much time has passed since you vanished from the woods and returned.

When you ask Taehyung, he shrugs and explains that time moves differently and inconsistently. It could have been a day, it could have been a week, it could have been five months. By the looks on the faces of those you pass, you think perhaps it’s been a little longer than you anticipated.

Part of you wonders what lie your parents must have told them about your death. You almost want to ask, but you don’t, anxiety stilling your tongue. You probably wouldn’t be able to get close enough to anyone to ask anyway.

By the time the sun has sunk beyond the horizon and the moon has begun its climb, you and Taehyung stop at the tavern to eat. Your stomach rumbles as you step into the warmth of the room behind Taehyung, and you notice that the place goes quiet.

It’s subtle at first, something you don’t notice as you kick dirt off your shoes, but the hush becomes so intense that you can’t help but look up, gaze sweeping the room as everyone turns to stare at you.

Behind the counter, the barkeep straightens. His name is Sloan - you’ve known him since you were a little girl - and he looks less than happy at your arrival.

“I know I’m pretty,” Taehyung announces loudly, tossing the hair out his eyes. “But you don’t need to stare.”

“You aren’t welcome here,” Sloan says, voice wavering like he’s unsure if he means it. “Begone, demon. We are men and women of life and light!”

You swallow thickly and look around, feeling prickly heat crawl up your neck.

Like at the music shop, something happens to Taehyung, except this time, it’s stronger than before. The candles in the chandelier and on the tables flicker in a phantom wind and darkness pulses in the room. You feel energy rolling off of him and you swear Taehyung gets darker as he steps forward, his presence oppressive and threatening.

There is crying and gasping in the room as he seethes. “We are not demons, and you will not disallow this woman to enter your shops, your homes, or anywhere else she wishes.”

“Taehyung,” you whisper, throat dry.

He doesn’t seem to hear you. You swear there is thunder in the distance. Whatever power belonging to Taehyung is tenfold now that the night sky stretches over the tavern. “Refuse her service, and there will be consequences.”

“Taehyung,” you hiss, snatching his sleeve. You pull his attention to you. His eyes are like two obsidian coins. There is something sharp and lupine about his face, sending your heart hammering. “Stop. This is making it worse.”

“They should not insult you.”

“It’s fine.”

He softens a touch. “It isn’t. You are not… they do not understand you.”

“They never have. Come on, let’s just go.”

For a second, you think he might not. You don’t know what Taehyung is or what he can do. It doesn’t frighten you, though. Because whatever Taehyung is and whatever his intentions are, he’s linked to Yoongi. Yoongi would never put you in harm's way or let Taehyung near you if he was a threat.

Even after such a short period of time, you know this in your heart of hearts.

Taehyung relents and the light returns to the room. No one makes a sound, all eyes on Taehyung as he lets you pull him out of the door and into the night. You immediately feel better outside, the moon washing your skin in light and the stars watching you march into the street.

“You can’t just threaten everyone who insults me,” you snap, though you’re not really mad at him. “They’re only going to hate me more. And they will think you’re a demon when you do that.”

“I’m far more powerful than a demon,” he sniffs primly. “And they should not insult you. You have the favor of Dream. You are -” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Well, you’re far above their station. They know nothing.”

“Far above their station,” you snort, crushing a rock under the toe of your boot. “I’m a girl who was strange when they knew me before they thought I was dead, and now they think I’m a demon walking around with her scary demon husband. Or perhaps they think you are an evil entity.”

“Don’t make that joke around Yoongi,” Taehyung mutters, putting his hands on his hips. Before you can ask what that means, he says, “What if I took you somewhere instead, then?”

You raise your brows and look around. “Where?”

“Well not here. Somewhere familiar to me, where they won’t ostracize you.”

“We’re going to travel in the middle of the night.”

Taehyung gives you a square grin that lights up the world. “Time to learn about how we travel.”

You almost vomit on Taehyung’s shoes. He squeals and steps out of the way as you bend over, holding your middle as bile burns its way up your throat and splatters onto the gravel beneath you. It feels like your world is spinning and you’ve lost your center of gravity, having been pulled by something sharp in your stomach into a vortex of what felt like twisting and spinning.

It could only have lasted a second, but Taehyung has to hold you up for a moment as you gasp for air, the taste in your mouth sour and gross. You crane your face to look at him, glaring as he winces. He had given you no warning of what his travel was like or how it would feel.

You’re not looking forward to it again.

“What,” you pant, “was that?”

“Teleportation, mostly. I kind of forgot what it feels like when you’re… human. You get a little scrambled.”

The nausea makes your throat clench and unclench again. You dig your fingers into his arm as you dry heave but nothing comes up. “A little?” you rasp. The world slows its spinning and the watering feeling in your mouth that preludes puking fades. “That was awful.”

“Sorry, it’s different than portaling. That’s more stepping through the door while teleportation is like... Jumping.”

“Don’t jump me again any time soon.”

Taehyung pats your back heartily as you stand up straight. The stars swim above you in a spiraling cosmos. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, waiting as the nausea fades away and the world around you bleeds into the forefront of your attention span.

Noise hums from in front of you. You’re standing in an alleyway, looking up at the side of a building. It looks a bit like an inn, but you can hear the clamor of a crowd and loud voices coming from inside. Each window is curtained, keeping wandering eyes and the moonlight outside.

Taehyung leads you around to the front of the building. It’s two stories and on the first floor there’s a porch filled with chairs and gambling tables. There are men and women draped over the furniture, smoking sweet-smelling cigars and laughing loudly as they throw dice on the table.

Women and men in various states of undress sit on the laps of the others. You feel heat crawl up your neck as you avert your eyes, looking up at the sign hanging over the building that says Desert Rose. Nervousness tingles at the back of your neck as Taehyung strolls up the steps to what you’re sure is a brothel and a gambling den, greeting people as he goes.

You’re shocked that Taehyung knows people here. You’re sure that you’re still in… your dimension, as Yoongi calls it. The people here talk with an accent that is different from what you’re used to, but you still understand the language, even while struggling to keep up with the lilt.

Eyes follow you as Taehyung leads you inside. The air is thick with perfume, smoke, and loud voices. Tables are pressed closely together, filled with people. There’s a bar at the back of the room and a small bard and band in a corner, singing a raucous song with the crowd about Lady Trown who gets around and will go down.

“Where did you bring me?” you ask Taehyung as he guides you through the rowdy room. A woman falls over a card game laughing, her breasts spilling out of her shirt while another woman plants a kiss right on her mouth. “This place is - is -”

There are no words for it. You’ve never been somewhere that is so openly indecent and carnal in your life and yet… the colors and the sounds and the overflowing joy hit you like an arrow to the chest. You can’t help but be drawn to look at the exposed bodies before darting your gaze away, only to be drawn somewhere else out of insatiable curiosity.

“A haven!” Taehyung offers as he leans on the bar. “Two pints of whatever!”

You press close against him, hands shooting to his shirt as someone pushes by you. It’s a little overwhelming and you feel hot all over. Taehyung shoves a wooden tankard of amber liquid into your hands and grins, raising another to his lips before taking several swigs, liquid running down his chin and neck.

He comes away and smacks his lips, giving you a delighted grin. “It’s awful, just the way I like it!”

You take a sip and make a face. The watered-down ale is certainly nothing like the sweet wine Yoongi likes to treat you to over dinner. Taehyung seems to know this, laughing loudly as he leads you through the crowd toward an empty table in the corner.

Back against the wall, you take a moment to look around the room. There are card and dice games being held at multiple tables, alongside other games with rune-marked stones, cups and trinkets that you don’t recognize.

It’s wildly different from anything back home. You’ve never been to a brothel - at least, you think this place qualifies for one, based on the various states of undress and a few couples doing something that makes you avert your eyes - but this is nice. In its own loud and carnal way.

Taehyung people-watches with you. He feeds you information on the faces that he recognizes, lips curling as he gossips. He looks alive and happy, his golden skin glowing with a radiance that seems a little magical.

“So is it my turn to ask questions?” you ask, sipping the awful beer as you look over at Taehyung. His gaze reluctantly strays away from watching a card game where you’re pretty sure the woman who is winning is cheating. “Or do I still have to talk about myself?”

He smirks. “You can ask questions, a deal is a deal.”

“What is this place?”

“The Desert Rose.”

You glare. “What is this place to you?”

Taehyung takes a sip of his ale and grins, winking at you. “A better question. This place is somewhere I used to visit when I wanted to feel alive. When I wanted to feel humanity for its raw intensity.”

“So you’re not human.” He shakes his head. His face grows a little hesitant, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. “What are you?”

“I’m a dream.”

You blink once. Twice. You expect Taehyung to start laughing and indicate that he was teasing you, but he doesn’t. He leans back in his chair, watching you evenly with his dark eyes.

“What?” you finally ask.

“I’m a dream. The second ever, actually.”

You think about what you’ve observed of Taehyung. The way that he seems to draw people in, the animated manner in which he speaks. He seems to contain so many multitudes of the things you know that Yoongi enjoys, and yet so many things that press Yoongi’s buttons and rattle him.

Taehyung is… beautiful. Enchanting. Both to look at, and to talk to. He has a carefree personality and you know he’s magical, having witnessed it in the House of Dreams in snippets but also today, when he became angry and the darkness seemed to swell around him. Not to mention his awful teleportation to wherever you are in the world now.

He is exactly the kind of person you always imagined being the lead in your fantasies. Brave and charming, handsome and adventurous. He looks like he belongs here, melding to the energy around him, fitting in perfectly.

Suddenly, the thought of Taehyung being a dream makes more sense than anything else. A being of infinite possibilities, one who can shape themselves to anyone and anything, who can sense what people want and become that very thing.

You’re not sure what the complexities of dreams are, but you understand the very basics from Yoongi: most dreams are flexible and full of infinite possibilities. It’s what makes them so real, so strong.

“That makes a lot of sense,” you murmur. “So you’re old.”

“Very.”

“If you’re the second dream…” you trail off, thinking about how Yoongi explained how he came to existence. How life dreamed and so he was born. “Yoongi is the first. That’s why you say he is Dream - he is the first and the essence of dreams.”

“Very clever.”

“When you said you came here to feel alive, what did you mean by that?”

He sighs heavily. “Yoongi was born because Life dreamed of - well, making life. And when Yoongi was born, he was the very concept of dreaming itself. Imagination, creation, wonder, hope. It’s why creation and dreaming are so close in their nature. But still, there is a difference between lifeforms and dreams.”

“You wanted to know what it was like to feel life?”

He nods. “Yoongi made me as his first companion. He couldn’t help it, really. He didn’t make me on purpose so much as he thought of someone to spend time with, someone to offset him. To balance him. And then there I was.”

You chew on your lip. There is a distant look in Taehyung’s gaze. He stares at his ale, not drinking anymore. He picks at splinters in the tankard handle, the noise around the two of you a dull roar.

“But?” you offer, sensing his hesitance.

“But,” he agrees, nodding. “When Life created humans, I wondered what the difference was between us. I sort of looked like them and I talked like them, but I wanted to know what it was like to be them. And dreams… They are wonderful. Beautiful. But I was afraid they weren’t real, so I started to visit here. To go places. To see if life was the same as dreams.”

“Is it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not better, it’s not worse. It’s just different. But I did learn that dreams are as real as life. Perhaps you cannot always see them and feel them depending on where you are, but anything someone dreams here is real there.”

“That’s sort of comforting.”

Taehyung smiles. “It is. Plus, I really enjoy people. They have an edge to them that dreams don’t.”

Someone catches Taehyung’s attention. He turns in his seat, head craning as though he senses something. You follow his line of sight to where a young man descends the stairs leading up to the second floor. He is unlike anything you’ve ever seen, with dark, silky hair tucked behind his ears, full lips that pull into a smile as someone greets him, and sharp, dark eyes that crinkle when he laughs.

He’s beautiful. Suddenly you think that this might be what a dream truly looks like. Taehyung is all dark and shadows, but the man Taehyung watches is lightness and magic, his face so perfect that you cannot help but imagine it must be the result of someone carefully painting every feature.

Your eyes flicker back to Taehyung when the man leans on the bar, talking to the barmaid behind the counter. Taehyung doesn’t move. You don’t even think he’s breathing. He sits in his chair, knuckles paling under the grip he has on the back of his seat, his eyes filled with such sudden longing that you have to look away.

“Who is that?” you ask gently. Taehyung doesn’t seem to hear you. He watches and watches, wanting to look nowhere else but at the bar. “Taehyung?”

“His name is Jimin.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

Taehyung nods. “He’s like you.”

“Like me?”

“He dreams loud enough for us to hear it. For me to hear it. I’ve been coming to this place long before he existed. A silly coincidence that he exists here, too.”

“Fate, perhaps?”

That makes Taehyung turn around. His expression is dark and he’s frowning. “Don’t start talking about Hoseok,” Taehyung mutters. “Lest he show up.”

You didn’t mean Yoongi’s sibling Fate, but you realize that’s who Taehyung is talking about. Your eyes drift back to where Jimin is at the bar, sipping a glass of amber liquid. As though he senses eyes on him, his gaze sweeps the bar until it lands on Taehyung, who straightens immediately.

Jimin smiles and it’s like watching the first ray of sun break over the horizon. You can’t help but blink at his radiant beauty, completely taken aback by it as Jimin pushes off of the bar and begins heading your direction.

Taehyung swivels in his chair, taking in a few calming breaths. You giggle and he looks up at you, giving you a pitiful smile. You reach across the table and squeeze his hand quickly. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!”

“You definitely are.”

Before Taehyung can hiss a rebuttal at you, Jimin sidesteps a woman and grins at Taehyung. He drags his gaze to you and startles, as though he had not realized you were there, eyes going round and mouth forming an ‘o’.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with anyone,” Jimin says. His voice is soft and smooth, immediately comforting. “I wanted to come say hello.”

“Hi,” Taehyung breathes, blinking up at Jimin as though he is lost in starlight. Perhaps he is, you think. “Your hair is longer than the last time I saw you.”

Jimin flushes, a hand coming up to touch the ends of his hair gently. “Yeah, I thought I would grow it out.”

“It looks great.”

For a moment, they stare at one another, Taehyung grinning with his eyes gleaming, and Jimin soft with his eyes scrunched. You look at the table, trying not to disrupt whatever spell they’re under as they peer at one another, but it seems Jimin senses your presence still. His eyes flicker to you and he raises a brow, questioning.

Taehyung fumbles to introduce you, turning and giving you a sheepish grin. You smile and stretch your hand over to shake Jimin’s. His hands are small and delicate but his grip is firm. “It’s nice to meet you. Taehyung wanted to show me this place because he enjoys the people so much - I believe that includes you.”

Jimin smirks and shrugs a shoulder while Taehyung looks for a chair, yanking it away from someone to give Jimin a place to sit. He does, throwing Taehyung a grateful smile. “Hmm, is that so? Has he said nice things about me?”

“The nicest. In fact, the whole reason we came here is because he wanted to introduce me to the amazing Jimin.”

Taehyung shoots you a look that tells you to shut up, but you hide your grin in your tankard as Jimin raises a brow, glancing at Taehyung.

Watching Taehyung and Jimin is comedic and sweet. Taehyung isn’t an entirely different person around Jimin, but he becomes softer at the edges, his smiles gentler and his laughs louder. The longing in Taehyung’s gaze when he thinks Jimin isn’t looking is palpable, and even as a bystander and a friend, you feel a pang watching the two of them dance around one another.

For his part, Jimin seems equally enthralled. He watches Taehyung with rapt attention, asking questions and touching Taehyung gently everywhere he can - the tops of Taehyung’s hands, his arm, his elbow. When Taehyung turns around to watch the table next to you topple over, you realize he’s unaware that Jimin is looking at him as though begging for Taehyung to see.

You see. And you want.

Never before had your parents inspired much desire for love in you. While they worked well together, you still can’t call what they had happy or loving. Functional, sure. Successful, even. But they did not look at one another the way Taehyung and Jimin seem to, and you can’t help but suddenly feel like that is something you want.

Someone to look at you when they think you’re not looking in a way that implies you are their sun and moon. Someone who smiles with such mirth at something you do or say that you can feel the heat of it.

Jimin gets up to refill the drinks, scooping yours with a grin before vanishing in the crowd. Taehyung watches him go, craning his neck to ensure he has eyes on Jimin as he makes his way to the bar.

“Have you told him you’re in love with him?”

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes never leaving where Jimin is leaning over the bar to order. “There’s no point.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m a dream. He’s a human. We could never be something.”

“Oh. Surely there’s a way?”

Taehyung turns to look at you, the joy on his face slipping to be replaced with a soft sadness. He shakes his head again, picking at the splinters on the table. “I would be no good for him. We live in two different worlds… I come and go… He deserves a normal, human life. We could never be something.”

Jimin starts to head back toward the table. Taehyung shakes off the melancholy and smiles just as bright when Jimin returns, as though he wasn’t sad only a moment ago. You accept the refilled drink from Jimin with a weak smile.

Taehyung’s words cycle through your mind as the two men fall into giggling conversation, and all you can think about is a pair of dark cat eyes, a soft raspy voice, and a man who is made of dreams.

We could never be something.

“I was starting to worry, you know?”

Yoongi’s voice makes you blink. You realize you’re standing among the wisteria, the breeze carrying their sweet scent over your warm skin. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. He’s leaning against a tree, his long hair down and dancing in the breeze. The thin white shirt he wears does little to hide the lines of his stomach and chest today, making you avert your eyes.

“Why?” you ask, voice steadier than you feel.

You walk toward a low-hanging vine, bringing your hands up to brush along the purple petals. You feel the tree shiver under your touch. You sense it, like it purrs, a response that is hard to explain but you innately know.

“It took you longer than usual to fall asleep.”

“Can you not see me when I’m not asleep?”

“I could, but prying is rude. I only see you when you come to me.”

You turn to look at him sharply. He seems a little smug at that, the corners of his full lips twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. Your heart skips a beat for a moment before Taehyung’s words from that night play in your mind. We could never be something.

And yet Yoongi is implying it’s you who visits him.

You scowl and turn away from him suddenly. Yoongi makes a sound like a sigh and pushes off of the tree, his footsteps quiet as a whisper. “Have I upset you?”

“I want to go to sleep.”

He hesitates. You cannot see his expression, but you can picture it perfectly: brows drawn together, mouth pouted slightly, head cocked. His confusion is evident when he says, “You are asleep.”

“You know what I mean.”

Silence, for a moment. Then, in that soft, rasping voice that you know so well, he murmurs, “Goodnight, then.”

Silence greets you when you wake up the next morning. Your home is still empty - you have not seen either of your parents since you arrived the night before. Either you’re coming and going at hours they’re not around or they’re avoiding you. The latter is most likely, and you certainly don’t mind.

Your day goes similarly to the day before. This time, when you walk through the woods, you feel a little more of a spark. You’re sure it has to do with your conversation with Taehyung, his words about dreams and reality being different but equally powerful pouring a little bit of magic back into the woods you loved so dearly.

Still, you miss the other realm and the House of Dreams, even if you’re a little embarrassed by your dream last night, recalling the way you dismissed Yoongi.

Sitting on the ground with your back pressed against a cypress tree, you let out a heavy sigh and close your eyes, your arms hugging around your middle. You try not to think too hard about the way Yoongi looked leaning against the tree, dark eyes drinking you in.

Yoongi occupies more than his fair share of thoughts. You hate it, the way your mind strays to him, thinking this is something Yoongi would like or Yoongi would find this funny. Only two weeks and he and Taehyung are suddenly all you know, your experiences with them painting most of your thoughts.

Thoughts of Taehyung don’t plague you, though.

The fluttering feeling every time you think of Yoongi has not faded with time or distance. It might be easier if he didn’t visit your dreams every night - or if you didn’t visit him in your dreams, which you don’t know how to do.

But Taehyung’s forlorn words come drifting back to you, reminding you that there is some distinction between humans and dreams. That even for Taehyung, it cannot work.

When you return home, your parents still aren’t there. You busy yourself with lunch and then begin practicing your letters, tracing them until your hand is cramping and your head is starting to hurt. You manage to take up most of the afternoon that way, focused solely on your studies and trying to read through your work.

Just as evening falls, Taehyung appears in the yard, hands on his hips as he looks up at your window, whistling to catch your attention. You grin when you see him, happy to have a friend, even if it’s just Taehyung. You don’t ask why Yoongi doesn’t come with him - the Eternal is busy, you’re sure - but you’re pleased to just have Taehyung.

It becomes a routine. It’s not as thrilling as your life in the House of Dreams, but it isn’t as terrible as you thought it would be. The few times that you do see your parents, they glare at you as though you have become something evil in their house, lurking and stealing their joy.

You say nothing to them and they stay away from you.

It’s the same in town. You only visit with Taehyung, otherwise you are too afraid to go on your own. The villagers say nothing when they see the two of you walking around and visiting the old church, but they glare and you catch them doing the signs to ward off evil as you pass by.

Still, Taehyung makes it worth it. He visits you nightly, whisking you away to the Desert Rose, which has become a refuge for you. You’re no better at teleporting, but you manage not to vomit on his shoes each time you do it.

Tonight, the energy is thrumming at the Desert Rose. Your gaze lingers longer on those around you and you even introduce yourself to the people that Taehyung is familiar with. Though Taehyung opts to play a game of dice, you do not. You’re content to watch, standing over his shoulder with your arms crossed over your chest.

You feel… alive. Just like Taehyung described when he started coming here. It’s so different from your life before, and after over a week of being around people who seem to spill over with joy without restraint, you feel yourself loosening up. Becoming something a little different. Someone who wants. Someone who wants openly.

You think about Yoongi. Once he’d told you that he wasn’t just Eternal of dreams. He also has power over desire, and he believes in indulgence. He wants to teach you to indulge more. It suddenly makes all the more sense that Taehyung likes it here. He’s someone who dives in head first to things, taking any bet someone throws his way and snatching drinks off of passing trays.

Even his desire for Jimin is open and obvious, though you’re sure Taehyung doesn’t know that.

It’s a lovely night. You feel warm all over, the drink getting to you as you guzzle down the remainder of your cider, which you favor far more than the ale. Jimin clambors onto the table, a cup in hand as he starts yelling the words to the song the band is playing in the corner.

Taehyung begins to slam his wooden cup on the table in time with the beat, yelling the words and standing up as the room joins in, stamping their feet and slamming on tables. You don’t know the words but you laugh loudly, slamming your palms against the top of the table. They sting with the force of your slap, but it feels good.

You feel good. Happy. Drunk. A little dizzy as the table wobbles and you dive out of the way as Jimin comes tumbling down. It doesn’t stop you from taking a shower of beer from Jimin’s cup, dousing you in warm liquid as you shriek and laugh.

Taehyung catches Jimin, of course. They’re a tangled mess of limbs and wet with beer all the same, pointing at you and laughing as you blink through the drink dripping down your face. You flick beer at them with the liquid on your hands, making them howl.

“Gross! Jimin!”

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps through the laughter, his arms slung tight around Taehyung’s neck as Jimin leans into him. “I slipped!”

“You owe me a new shirt!”

Jimin nods, grinning so broadly his eyes are crescents as he stands properly and beckons you. “Come on, both of you. I’ll get you new shirts that aren’t soaked.

Upstairs is a series of private rooms. The hall is lit with flickering sconces and the plush carpet mutes your footsteps. Jimin leads you and Taehyung, giggling, to a door. He thrusts it open and the three of you tip inside, stopping short at the scene in front of you.

Your hands fly to your mouth to mute your gasp, but Taehyung and Jimin collapse into another fit of laughter. If the two people in the bed are bothered by the interruption, they don’t show it. They are a tableau of pleasure, a woman laying back on the bed, arching upward as she lets out a moan. Her skin is slick with sweat, nipples hard as she teases them with one hand, another hand slipping between her legs to cradle the head of someone there.

The shock roots you to the spot. You can’t look away, completely hypnotized by the way the person between the woman’s legs moans, pressing their mouth further into her, the wet smack of their mouth loud over the woman’s trembling moans.

You’ve never seen such a raw, carnal exchange. As Taehyung apologizes and grabs you and Jimin, pulling you back out into the hallway, you know you’ll never forget that momentary vision. Even as Jimin directs you to the right room to change your shirt in, you replay the scene over and over in your head, thinking of a different detail every single time: the pleasure on the woman’s face, the delicate bow of her back, the soft swells of her breasts, the wet sounds of the mouth between her legs.

It haunts you. You swallow thickly when you’re done changing, skin still smelling like beer. Your mind wanders to Yoongi, wondering if this is what he was talking about when he spoke of desire. If he also meant physical desire, the indulgence of the erotic variety.

The thought shames you so thoroughly you’re silent the rest of the night. You’re embarrassed by your immediate curiosity - angry that you even entertained the thought of being in that position with Yoongi, no matter how fleeting the idea was.

Yoongi certainly did not mean he was going to teach you that - did he?

You shake the thoughts from your head and focus on reality. Of course he didn’t mean that. Taehyung was right when he spoke about the relationships between humans and dreams - it could never be something.

Sweat trickles down your neck slowly. You feel every inch of it, your skin sensitive and over-warm. Your stomach clenches and your hands twist in your sheets as a hot mouth presses against your throat, teeth scraping, tongue licking.

An inferno grows inside of you as the mouth sinks lower. You hear your heaving breaths, loud and ragged. Your heart beats in your ears, the staccato almost louder than the whimper that leaves your mouth when a wet, messy kiss is placed on your collarbone.

It’s madness. It’s tortuous. It’s glorious, this feeling thrumming through you, making you twist your head to the side, muscles clenching and letting loose over and over again, your body completely at war with itself.

But it feels so good.

One of your hands shoots to the silky, dark hair of the person kissing your chest. You card your fingers through soft strands, tugging a little. A deep, throaty moan escapes the lips pressed to your skin, breath hot and warm.

Dark eyes meet yours, lips parted and swollen, Yoongi’s pupils blown and -

Panic explodes. You realize it’s Yoongi kissing you this way. Yoongi’s hands skimming up your sides, Yoongi’s mouth pressing searing kisses to your flesh, Yoongi’s moan that is falling from his lips, honey sweet.

“We can’t,” you whisper, though dream-Yoongi just stares at you, eyes fathomless. “We could never be something.”

“Of course we can,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. “You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

The weight of his gaze is blazing. You feel your skin burn under the heat of it, you feel like it’s harder to breathe, you feel the sweat run down your spine, your arms, you feel like you’re overheating, it’s hot it’s too-

You wake up to something screeching. For a moment, daylight blinds you. You hold your hands in front of your face, shielding your eyes from the light. But the light is an inferno of heat against your hand, making you gasp and choke on thick air as you blink sleep away, trying to make sense of where you are.

Fire. It isn’t daylight you’ve woken up to, it’s fire.

Leaping up from bed, you throw your sheets off, scrambling to push yourself against the wall. The flames are already high, licking toward the ceiling and filling your room with thick, grey smoke as the fire eats at the old wood of your house.

The screech comes again, the shutters on your window rattling. Heart pounding, you slide your hand along the wall, fingers trembling as you press them into the wood, trying to find the metal latch to open them. You cover the lower half of your face with your opposite arm, coughing into it.

Your fingers slip on the latch, sweaty and shaking. You inch closer to the window, getting a solid grip on the metal and flipping it upward. The latch clacks and the windows swing open, a gust of wind entering the room. It makes matters worse, the oxygen fueling the fire into a rage as it climbs higher and jumps towards your bed.

You look frantically around your room, realizing you can’t take anything. The writing desk in the corner is aflame, all of the sheets of paper and your hard-earned practice curling into smoke as they’re consumed, your letters from Yoongi turning to ash.

“No!” you sob, realizing those things are lost forever.

Again, there’s a wild screech. You turn to look out the window to see a large, brown owl - Guardian, you realize - screeching, flapping its great wings, gold eyes fixated on the fire. It yells at you again, as though imploring you to move.

You take a breath and dive out the window. For a moment as you fall toward the ground, you’re reminded that this is the second time you’re having to use it to escape danger. That thought sinks like a stone in your stomach, going down, down, down until it rests weighty in your gut.

The smack of the ground rattles you. Every part of you hurts, bones jolting as you roll until you’re flat on your back, gasping as the air leaves your lungs momentarily, knocked out of you. Scrambling up despite your limbs protesting in pain, you look up at the fire crawling over your house.

That’s when you notice it - the noise and the yelling of voices. Inside your home, with the roaring and crackling of the fire, you couldn’t hear the crowd outside. Now, you see them in full. They carry torches and farm tools, some of them with axes and hoes, others with scythes.

They don’t see you yet, giving you a long moment to stare open-mouthed as the pieces of the puzzle slide together. They’ve set your home on fire because of you - they’ve tried to kill you. Because they think you’re a demon and because they think you’re an evil creature.

Heart in your throat, you scan the lines of the faces. Toward the edge, you see your parents. A group of women consoles your mother, holding her by the shoulders gently as she stares into the orange flame. Your father stands a few feet away, almost by himself, watching and watching and watching.

They knew you were asleep. And your window had not been closed before bed - you’d been leaving it open at night so Guardian could come and go as he pleased.

You sit there on the ground, staring in shock, for too long. Someone notices you and points, screaming something that you cannot hear over the blood rushing in your ears. Panic seizes you and you scramble to your feet, sliding a few times as the crowd runs at you.

There’s no time to see what your parents do. The image of them watching their home burn with the thought of you inside is fresh in your memory, a razor-sharp cut that flays you open as you turn and run. Run toward the woods where Nathaniel chased you on that fateful night.

Run to the woods you almost died in. Run to the woods where Yoongi swooped in and made a promise to protect you.

Darkness descends. You think for a moment as you enter the woods that you won’t get lucky a second time, that your luck has run out. It’s the panic that scrambles your thoughts, and the memories of Nathaniel chasing you through these woods make you stumble and fall.

You don’t make it far. You trip over a tree root and tumble into strong arms. The smell of clove and cinnamon is overpowering as you look up at Yoongi, who pulls you into his chest. You let him, sliding your arms around his middle and pressing your face into his neck as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I’ve got you, little lamb.” His voice is dark as the shadows that wrap around you, cool and soothing to the touch. “They cannot hurt you.”

As Yoongi whisks you away like that fateful night, you hear the echoing voice scream behind you. Devil! Demon King! The Dark God!

“It’s my fault,” Yoongi murmurs, cradling your face to inspect it for the tenth time. He’s crouching in front of you, dark eyes wild as he inspects your face for any damage. You pull your jaw from his grasp - even if his touch tingles pleasantly - and look in the other direction. “I should have known.”

“Yes,” Taehyung snaps behind Yoongi, arms crossed and presence thundering. “You should have.”

There is no fire going in the library tonight. You have a feeling Yoongi has extinguished it for obvious reasons, but you say nothing. You look over Yoongi’s dark head to where Taehyung is raging, his face pinched with anger. You give him a look and he tosses his hands in the air.

“What?” he demands. “It’s true.”

“Taehyung.”

“I’m not going to lie to him. He should have known sending you back was an idiotic idea. Thinking anyone would have accepted you was an oversight.”

Yoongi grits his teeth and stands. You watch as he visibly tries to control his frustration, taking a step back from you. Tonight, he’s dressed in all black. His cloak is still on and his necklaces pool at his throat, the silver cold in the dark of the library. His hair is pulled back out of his face and you think he looks like the real Eternal, tonight.

He turns to Taehyung. “You know why I sent her back.”

“Yes, your fucked up sense of morality and-”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not sitting right here,” you snap. You ball your fists in your lap. You’re still dressed in night clothes and the scent of ash and sweat is heavy on your skin. You stare at your hands. “I want to go to bed.”

“Alright.” Yoongi’s extended hand appears in front of you. You drag your eyes up to meet his. Gone is the anger and severity, replaced only with a soft, almost fond expression. “I’ll walk you.”

Putting your hand in Yoongi's, you let him pull you out of the chair.

You could be mad at him if you tried. Perhaps it would be easy to blame Yoongi for sending you back to keep some semblance of normalcy in your life. Maybe you would feel lighter if you got angry with him for promising to protect you, but only being able to physically do so, unable to shield you from the hatred of your community.

If you tried, perhaps you could blame him for not letting you drown in the first place. For bringing you here with the fantasy that you could exist with one foot in each world.

You’re not mad at him, though. Unlike Taehyung, you don’t need to wonder why Yoongi wanted you to spend two weeks in the real world. The real world is yours. It’s where you belong. To want some sort of normalcy for you or hope that you’d be able to pick up your life there anew was perhaps shortsighted, but rooted in the desire to do good for you.

So you’re not angry with Yoongi, though you’re not sure you’re pleased either.

The walk to your room is silent. Yoongi has let go of your hand but he walks close enough that your arms brush, sending shivers down your spine. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing, and he seems content to let you keep your thoughts to yourself.

This isn’t how you wanted to see him for the first time since your two weeks spent in your realm.

The inside of your room is warm, but there’s no fire. You almost ask if he’s doused every flame in the house, and protest that you’re not afraid, but you don’t. He follows you into your room and shuts the door behind him. You walk toward the chaise and sit on it, looking up at where he hovers by the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. The emotions there are deep, but unreadable. “It was foolish of me to think they’d accept you as you were. Foolish to think that maybe the relationship with your parents might mend.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I am thousands of years old. Humankind has not changed so much in their ability to fear the unknown and react violently. I do know better, but I…” You wait for him to explain further, but he doesn’t. Yoongi lets the sentence drift off into the night. Instead of finishing it, he ventures, “Are you sure you’re unharmed?”

“Yeah, Guardian was screeching at the window.”

“Guardian?”

“Yeah, the owl. I assumed you sent it to watch over me.”

Yoongi frowns. “No, that’s what Taehyung was for. I did not…”

“What?” You see the look on his face change, shifting from confused to steel calm. “What is it?”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi mutters, turning to exit your room. “Try to get some sleep. I have a meddling owl to deal with.”

As he moves to close the door, you lean forward. “Yoongi?” He looks up, eyes wide, expression soft. He looks like a dark star, just then. The light from the window makes him glow from within, his eyes endless pools, his power ebbing in the room, a constant energy. “Thank you.”

His mouth turns downward. “For what?”

“Saving me. Again.”

His eyes darken. “Your safety will always be paramount to me. I’ll do better.”

“I think you’re doing the best you are able.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

Silence hangs between the two of you. It’s heavy, filled with friction that wasn’t there before. You squirm where you sit, suddenly unable to meet the set of eyes pinned to you. You’d forgotten what his gaze could do to you in person, and now the full force of it is dizzying.

“Goodnight, little lamb.”

A gentle scratch sounds on the other side of the window. You look up from your writing desk to the windows facing the mountains. Beyond the first sprawling peaks, you see the tallest of them all, the dark mountain wreathed in shadow and lightning.

The thunder rolls, vibrating your bones. You stare at the mountain, feeling the hair at the back of your neck stand on end. You grip the quill tight.

Beneath the hum of thunder, you hear a scratching on the glass again. You squint, but you see nothing there. Just open air and those ominous mountains in the back, watching you as you scrawl your letters.

Carefully, you set the quill down and get up. The floor is cold as you walk toward the window, which is strange. The floor is always warm in your room, as are the walls and most of the House of Dreams, fueled by whatever magic lives through Yoongi.

Near the glass, you almost feel how cold the window is. You frown and lift a hand, pressing a single finger against a pane. It’s freezing to the touch and you yank your hand back, perplexed as you stare at the single fingerprint left by your warm skin.

The fingerprint fades but the scratching sound does not. A gentle scritch scritch scritch, like a nail on the window.

“My betrothed,” someone whispers. Your blood runs cold and you whirl around, expecting to find someone standing in your bathroom. “Won’t you open the window for me? It’s so cold outside.”

Fear turns your stomach into acid. Your hands begin to shake as you stare into the emptiness of your room, suddenly feeling like it’s darker. Did the ceilings get taller? Is your room blurry at the edges? The scratching on the window intensifies, and with trembling lips, you turn to look over your shoulder.

There’s nothing outside, but there’s a shadowy reflection on the glass. A little taller than you. A little wider.

“Betrothed,” Nathaniel whispers again. “Won’t you let me in to reunite?”

For a moment, there is silence. The shadow doesn’t move. You don’t dare breathe. The shadow leaps at you and a scream tears through you -

Hands press you into something soft. You kick and scream, lashing out. Sheets tangle your legs and stick to your sweaty skin. Suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe and you thrash wildly, screaming at the top of your lungs as you claw at whatever’s holding you down.

Panic like never before seizes you. Your head smacks into something hard and it knocks you backward, suddenly dizzy as a hand comes up to your head automatically. It hurts where your fingers press into the skin, and you’re momentarily subdued by the way the room spins; the pain morphs your panic into confusion.

Breathing heavily, you blink your eyes rapidly, tears streaming down your face and vision a little blurry as you try and put the pieces together. Finally, you realize Taehyung is sitting on the floor next to your bed with his hand pressed against his forehead, in a similar fashion to your current state. Yoongi stands next to him, hands held up tentatively, as though he is about to grab you or has just let you go.

Silence hangs in the air, your breathing ragged. Your head - which you can surmise you’ve smacked against Taehyung’s - throbs wildly. As though sensing your discomfort and sticky thoughts, Yoongi’s eyes flicker away from your gaze to your head.

“May I fix that?” he asks slowly, voice gentle. “You smacked heads quite hard. I’m concerned you may be concussed.”

“Concussed,” you repeat back slowly. The word feels heavy on your tongue. “Right.”

Yoongi’s face colors with concern and he gestures toward you, asking permission again. It takes you another minute to put it together, but you nod dumbly, watching as he steps forward very slowly, dark eyes looking for any sign of protest or panic from you.

When you don’t bolt or swing at him, he takes another step toward you, hands reaching up toward your skull. You flinch when he reaches near and he stops, hands hovering. You can feel the heat of his skin a hair's breadth away, feel the magic skimming along him where he hesitates.

You look up at Yoongi. His eyes are wide and full of concern, his brows pulled up. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously as his eyes shift from your head to your eyes, trying to assess what to do. You smell cinnamon and clove and it calms you a little.

This is Yoongi. Not Nathaniel. Yoongi, who saved you from the grips of that hateful man and who brought you here. Somewhere that made you happy.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. You feel tired suddenly, like your adrenaline is waning and the aftereffects are bleeding you out. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, pressing his hands gently to your head. You wince, the lump there giving a painful throb as he does.

“Maybe apologize,” Taehyung mutters from his spot on the floor. “Are you going to give me magic hand, too?”

“Silence, Taehyung.” Yoongi’s voice is cutting. It’s a voice you’ve never heard him use with Taehyung, your eyes shooting up to his in shock. He pays you no mind, focused on his hands.

Warmth emanates from his palms. Immediately you feel the tingle of magic. It’s soothing, making your eyes flutter as you become dizzy again. You let the warmth wash over you, accompanied by a peculiar array of senses: dark spicy smells; the feeling of velvet against your skin; the taste of cherry wine; a warm breath against your lips.

You shiver, head rolling back a little as it grows heavy and you grow drowsy suddenly, limbs weighted, mind fading.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know that was a dream.” Yoongi grimaces and says nothing. “Why didn’t that feel like a dream, Yoongi?”

“Sleep,” Yoongi murmurs, and his voice feels very far away. “You’ll be fine, now. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Thank you.”

“An easy fix.”

Yoongi removes his hand and you catch his wrist gently, eyes opening for a moment. “No,” you slur, speech heavy as the exhaustion pulls at you. “Thank you for saving me.”

You don’t know if you mean before, or when your neighbors came for you, or now. Maybe you mean all of it. Maybe you mean saving you from a life that you hated and bringing you here. You mean it nonetheless, though you’re unsure from where the bravery came to say it.

Dropping Yoongi’s wrist, you fall backward unceremoniously onto your bed. There is no fear of Nathaniel scratching at the glass anymore, your mind mostly empty, save for the smell of cinnamon and clove.

Yoongi and Taehyung gather to leave your room, and as you fade, you catch the tiniest bit of conversation from Taehyung. “... need to teach her. It’s only going to get worse… spinner.”

Sleep takes you.

Being back in the House of Dreams feels like home. Though the lingering feeling of hot flame and the look on your parents’ faces as they watch their home burn still haunts you, you feel safer than you have in the last week.

In the House of Dreams, there's no one to mutter prayers and sign wards against evil as you pass by. There’s no one glaring at you - except Taehyung, who pouts when you steal the last of the honey for your toast at breakfast. It’s just Yoongi and Taehyung, who talk more chipper than usual at breakfast.

You eye Yoongi carefully. He sits at the head of the table, dressed in a beautiful, jade-colored silk shirt. His hair is pulled back in a bun, earrings dangling as he leads forward and plucks melon from the bowl in front of him.

Yoongi lifts the fruit to his mouth. You pause chewing your toast, eyes focused on the way he bites into the fruit, lips plush around it, a bead of juice running down his chin. Suddenly you’re thinking about the night at The Desert Rose, a head between legs, a back that’s arched, skin sweaty-

Taehyung clears his throat from across the table and draws your attention. He’s staring at you with thinly veiled amusement, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. You scowl and take a large bite of your toast before swallowing what's in your mouth, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks and neck.

Yoongi is none the wiser, chewing happily on his fruit as he scratches Tiara under her chin. She chirps like a bird and purrs like a cat, letting out small curls of smoke everytime she puffs happily.

Your mouth twitches in a smile as you look at your plate, happy to be back with them.

“I want you to come to the Dream Tower with me today,” Yoongi ventures lightly. You snap your gaze up in surprise. He looks casual, as though he’s not offering you to come to the place he works, filled with magic and dreams. “I think you could help me.”

“Me?”

His mouth quirks. “Is there another human prone to trouble around here that I’m not aware of?”

“I thought you blamed yourself?”

“So I do. But yes - you.”

“How do you want me to help?”

Yoongi grins as he pops another piece of fruit into his sinful mouth. “You’ll see.”

Despite your excitement and the promise of a look inside Yoongi’s lair, even him asking for your help doesn’t earn you a break from daily reading and writing lessons. When Yoongi gestures to the assigned work on your desk, you throw him a severe look followed by a pout. As endeared as he seems, he is unwavering, patting your desk chair as he walks by.

You’re not really mad. You fall into an easy calm as you sit down and scoot up toward the desk. The fire is low and crackling in the fireplace today and the library smells faintly of cardamom as you work. Tiara flights around the second story of the room, chittering and following Yoongi - who seems to be organizing the shelves.

Taehyung vanishes to do whatever it is he does during the day. You’re not even sure if it’s day in your world. You hope he will take you to The Desert Rose again to see Jimin and to drink cider. You love the warmth of the crowd and the loud bustle.

The House of Dreams is quiet.

Time slips as you work. You lose yourself in swirling letters and short reading passages, so much so that when there is a tingling presence near your shoulder, you flinch, ripping your quill across the page and splattering ink.

Yoongi tsks and apologizes, grabbing an ink stained cloth to wipe the spilled liquid from the desk. His proximity makes your head spin, the edge of his hips grazing your shoulder as he leans over you to clean the mess you’ve made.

Mouth drying, you drop the quill and flex your hand, coughing out an apology as you try to organize your thoughts that spill like the ink on the desk at his nearness.

Being away from him almost made you forget how dizzying his presence could be. Yoongi regards your work in silence, but all you can focus on is the measured sound of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him, the curve of his mouth, the juice running down his-

“Ready?”

“What?” you ask, blinking and looking up at him owlishly. He gazes down at you, cocking a brow. It’s obvious he had asked you a question. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening?”

“What were you doing?”

“... Staring.”

“At?”

“The wall?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” he questions, his voice laced with teasing.

You scowl and shove your chair backward into his stomach, knocking him back. He lets out a loud oof and a bit of laughter as you stand and stretch, hyperaware that he’s been in a rather cheeky mood since breakfast.

Together, you begin your walk to the tower. Tiara comes along, jumping up on Yoongi’s shoulder and curling herself around him like a scarf, her tail wrapped gently around his neck. She regards you with distaste and her tongue flickers out to taste the air, a curl of smoke escaping her nose as she huffs.

Fighting the urge to stick your tongue out at a dragon, you opt to walk in comfortable silence.

As you do, your thoughts inevitably drift to the night before and the dream that didn’t feel like a dream. For the most part, you feel like you can tell when you’re dreaming. There’s always an opaque feeling to your dreams, something a little off.

Now, you’re worried that perhaps you can’t tell the difference. You think that maybe you should ask Yoongi if he can help you tell the difference between being awake and dreaming, but your desire to ask is stopped as you reach the foot of stairs you’ve never climbed before.

Yoongi looks down at you as he begins ascending, giving you a gummy smile that sends your pulse galloping after him. You curse your traitor heart, trying to remember what Taehyung said to you about the relationship between dreams and humans. It could never work. But… you’re here. In Yoongi’s home, and you don’t know how long you’re allowed to stay - if you’re ever supposed to go back again.

Both of you seem to completely ignore that you were brought back to the dream realm ahead of schedule, that maybe going back is no longer an option.

There are doors leading to rooms as you ascend the stairs. Yoongi ignores all of them in favor of climbing up, up, and up. Your calves burn by the time you make it to the top, pausing to catch your breath and sweep your eyes across the large, circular room.

It’s stunning. Glancing up, your mouth falls open in surprise when you see that there is no ceiling, but a mass of writhing cosmos and something like a night sky. The nebulous display casts a lavender and blue glow on the room below, the two-tone light shifting and moving.

There are all manner of things in the room. Tables covered in papers, rich rugs with different designs, chairs and bookshelves and curiosity cabinets and glass cases full of glowing things that you cannot identify. Tiara hops off of Yoongi’s shoulder and floats on small wings toward a pile of blankets, twigs, and leaves that looks like a nest.

What demands your attention most, though, is the massive stone dais in the room, with a stone column about waist high with something that looks like a bowl carved into the top. From where you stand, you can see there’s liquid in the bowl that moves and shimmers with its own glow. Occasionally, a sparkle or wisp of color drifts from the cool surface.

Energy vibrates in the air. You can feel it like a static on your skin and taste it like a buzz on your tongue. You’re drawn to the dais, taking a step forward and halting. It feels like a hum shivers through you. You look at Yoongi, questioning.

“The dream pool,” he answers, as though you have any idea what that is.

He walks toward it and looks back at you, hesitating before he offers a hand. Excitement shoots through you as you take his hand and he pulls you toward it. Your hand tingles where you hold his. Even when you reach the dais and he lets go, there’s pins and needles left behind.

“This is where I help create dreams for those who can’t do it on their own.”

The liquid in the basin brightens as Yoongi steps up close. You watch as a watercolor of lights splashes across his face. He looks down into the bowl lovingly, a soft smile on his face, and so much adoration in his eyes that you find yourself watching him instead of the magical water in the bowl.

“This room is full of things that help inspire dreams. I make everything myself but Taehyung likes to help - he likes to decorate and fill the room with items that inspire creativity.”

“Somehow I think dream personified doesn’t need it.”

He shoots you a grin. “You’d be surprised. Come look.”

Tentatively, you step up next to him. You’re aware of how close you stand, his sleeves brushing yours as he places a hand on the basin. It comes up to your stomach and is two feet in diameter. The water looks so much deeper than you thought. You’re unable to see the bottom, an illusion that makes you dizzy.

Like the sky above, the water shimmers and moves with its own set of stars and colors. It feels alive, like whatever power is in the dream pool recognizes you and wakes up, spinning as you look into the glittering surface.

“I can feel and hear people dream,” Yoongi explains. “It’s like a frequency that I can tap into. I can turn it on and off at a whim. Those who don’t struggle to dream are so much quieter than those who cannot dream. I listen for those who cannot, and I come here and focus on them in my mind’s eye before creating them a dream. I pour in thoughts, feelings, scents, sounds, memories and the like into this bowl. I think it, and so it appears.”

“How?”

“What you’d call magic. Really it’s just divine power. This is a part of me,” he says, tapping the rim of the basin. “Just like dreams are.”

“How can I help you do… this?” you ask, gesturing wildly to the water.

Yoongi’s smile is angelic. “You have the raw capability of a dreamer. Someone who dreams so powerfully and loudly that it can’t help but catch my attention.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your imagination and your ability to come up with things is more innate than most people. You’re an innovator, a great conjurer of stories and fantasies. It’s a rare gift in humans. Some call you Spinners - you can spin dreams up just as easily as I can, with practice, but you cannot do so without a tool like this basin.”

“A spinner.” You remember the night before, hearing the word on Taehyung’s lips. “Are there others?”

He nods. “Under fifty in the entire world. I believe you’ve met another one. He’s the one Taehyung visits.”

“Jimin?”

“Mhmm. He’s like you. You have no power though, not in your world. Just raw ability.”

“So if I were to use this… pool of dreams, I could give people dreams.”

He nods, smiling. You smile back at him, his happiness infectious. You like the way his eyes crinkle when he grins broadly at you, the way his cheeks tint pink. It is strange to think that this soft man in front of you is also the same dark, powerful god who has swept in to save you, whose voice haunts your dreams and whose phantom touch lingers in all of the places that it shouldn’t.

Licking his lips and rolling his shoulders, Yoongi takes his stance at the basin. You watch, fascinated as he sweeps a hand over the surface, not touching the water. It ripples an entire rainbow of colors, casting shadows on his face when he peers down into the water as the surface smoothes out like a mirror.

An opaque image materializes on the surface. You watch as Yoongi concentrates. Slowly, things begin appearing. A cerulean ocean, waves rolling gently against a sandy beach. Foam clings to the sand. Starfish of every color - blue, green, red - begin to dot the beach. A gull cries above, so clear it feels like you’re there. Then you smell it - the salt, the brine. The subtle scent of driftwood. A breeze blows against your face, carrying the cool ocean mist.

You let out a laugh as Yoongi smiles, his eyes never leaving the images unfolding in the basin. You watch as a dolphin crests a wave, earning a gasp from you. You’ve never seen a dolphin, only heard about them in passing from fishermen from the coast. They spray water high into the air as they break the waves, moving smoothly through glittering waters.

It feels so real and warm, the dream bright and full of hope. Happiness. Excitement. You feel what Yoongi pours into the basin, your toes curling as though you can feel hot sand beneath your feet.

“The trick,” Yoongi explains carefully, “Is imagining everything that would make it feel real. It can’t be just what you see. It has to be what you hear, what you feel, what you smell, what emotions you evoke. You have to do all of these things at once - you have to believe in them all at once. Dreams about real things are the easiest. More complex dreams can include anything you can imagine that humans believe to be fake: dragons, brownies, griffons.”

“How do you know what to give?”

“You feel it. Place your hand on the side.”

Carefully, you lift your hand to the side of the dream pool. You hesitate and look up at Yoongi, eyes wide. He gives you an encouraging nod. You place your hand on the bowl, feeling the warm stone.

A pulse of energy flows through you. You gasp, flinching a little as you feel the basin come alive under your touch. You close your eyes as sensations flood you: hopelessness, stress, exhaustion. Suddenly, Yoongi’s dream makes sense. He instills a sense of peace and serenity at the beach, of hope and wonder with the dolphins, of rest with the cool wind and warm sand.

“Amazing,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “This is wonderful.”

“I’ll do some more. Keep your hand where it is. You’ll feel what it is they feel. Try not to think too hard about anything while you’re connected - let me do the work.”

Watching Yoongi work can happen with your eyes closed, you realize. You lose yourself in time and space. No longer are you in the Dream Tower. Now, Yoongi walks you through the world.

You enter through dreams, feeling sudden sadness or loss, even heartache. Every dream you encounter, there is profound suffering at the beginning. Yoongi gently sends the pain on its way, observes what each dreamer needs, and begins spinning up images. Sounds. Feelings.

Rain falls on your face as you stand over the tops of a misty forest. It’s gentle and cool to the touch, soothing. You smell pine and damp earth, giving you energy. Your toes feel the wet grass beneath you, grounding you and making you feel more centered than you ever have.

Wheat brushes the tips of your fingers. You look out into a sea of gold, healthy crops bending with the wind. An azure sky stretches mile after mile, not a cloud in sight as the sun heats your skin. You smell fresh air and hear the grasshoppers buzz among the fresh stalks of wheat, feeling the reward of growing healthy grain.

A dog runs after a ball. The hills are the brightest shade of green you’ve ever seen, the dog dashing up the hill and barking loudly. You feel laughter bubble up your throat and unfettered joy as thick clouds float by. The dog grabs the ball and runs back, its tail wagging and coat shiny. You feel nostalgic and happy to be reunited with a friend.

Fireflies flicker to life in a forest at night. They alight on the tree branches and your arms, casting gold luminescence on your skin. You marvel at them, spinning in a circle as you look at the dark trees. You smell the maple sap and the bark, you hear the crickets.

It’s just like the woods near your house -

Your house.

A slice of fear goes through you. You remember the darkness of the woods as Nathaniel tried to drown you, the press of his fingers into your skull. The roaring of the flooding water and the burning of your lungs. The fireflies flicker out one by one and the darkness begins to grow. You’re suddenly terrified. Curiosity vanishes and is replaced with deep fear.

You taste stale water in your mouth. You smell the smoke of your burning house. You feel water rushing up to your ankles and inching higher, you hear the screams of Nathaniel’s vitriol, you feel your lungs start to fill, the air stars to leave, the roots of the trees grab at your feet-

A sharp yank pulls you out of the forest. You gasp for air, falling backward off of the dais and onto the floor. Gentle hands cradle your face and you hear a deep voice calling out to you, speaking your name through the dull roar in your ears.

Blinking, you look upward to see Yoongi inches away from your face. His eyes are round and gentle, his hands steady. Warm. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he leans over you. A strand of dark hair escapes his bun, falling across his forehead and eye. You don’t know why, but you think it looks dashing.

“Hey,” he murmurs, searching your face. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, lungs heaving. “What happened?”

His thumb brushes back and forth across your cheek as he sighs, but he doesn’t let go of your face. “You thought of the night that I saved you. Your fear was powerful. Raw. As you started to remember things you grew more afraid and you took over the dream.”

You blink once. Twice. Remember the way that the fireflies suddenly flickered out and how the water started to rush in from nowhere. “I did that?”

“I didn’t expect you to be such a natural. I had a feeling but… you caught me by surprise and shoved me out.”

“I can do that?”

“When I’m caught off guard, yes. You took control of creating the dream and turned it into…”

“A nightmare.”

He nods. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think you would think that forest looked the same, but I was wrong. I keep… having oversights. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Being human.”

Silence suspends between you. You’re sprawled on the floor of the Dream Tower with Yoongi hovering over you. His knees are pressed against your hips and his shirt collar is hanging low as he leans, revealing more skin than you’ve ever seen from him. You don’t dare drop your eyes from his, staring at their dark depths.

The space between you is minimal and neither of you move. You hope he cannot hear the way your heart hammers in your chest or sense the way your body crackles like lightning, sparking at his proximity. The nightmare you made is long forgotten, replaced with his touch, his smell, his closeness.

Yoongi holds your face delicately, like a treasured item. You cannot imagine that he means to hold you so, but the sudden want that licks through you is powerful, your desire for him to hold you like you’re something precious surprising you in its strength.

“You make me want to get better at it.” His voice is soft, barely even a whisper.

“At what?”

A gentle laugh. “Being human. It is unfamiliar, but I wish to know more of what it's like. To have more of the instinct.”

“Why?”

He pauses. “Because I’ve lived for thousands of years, and never really had the chance to try.”

It is a similar sentiment that Taehyung had shared. The thought of Taehyung makes you smile, sitting up suddenly. Yoongi leans back on his haunches quickly, careful not to knock heads. “What?” he asks, noting your sudden excitement.

“Has Taehyung ever taken you to the Desert Rose?”

“No, I can’t say I’ve been interested. Why?”

You grab his hand. You notice the way he seems surprised, but he doesn’t pull away as you scramble to your feet. “You want to see what it’s like to be human. I know a place.”

Yoongi makes a face as he sips the beer Taehyung has thrust into his hands. You and Taehyung laugh, tossing your heads back with it. Yoongi looks unimpressed but continues to drink nonetheless, his dark eyes scanning the crowded bar.

He sticks out like a sore thumb. Eyes are immediately drawn to Yoongi wherever he goes. You think everyone must feel the divinity as he walks by them, his power a magnet for attention. Even sitting at the table with you and Taehyung, tucked near the door, people turn in their seats to get a good look at him or pause when they enter the Desert Rose.

It doesn’t help that he looks beautiful. Air had gotten stuck in your throat when he arrived at the library at the appointed time to meet you and Taehyung to come here. His hair hangs in soft waves around his face, earrings peaking between inky strands when he moves his head. His dark shirt is long-sleeved but unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a strip of pale, smooth skin and his layered necklaces. His eyes are glittering tonight, almost like constellations are held within.

Yoongi is the night. The black pants and black boots paired with the shirt make him look like a dark prince. Perhaps the son of the moon, even. You notice the way the stares turn from curious to hungry, Yoongi lighting a fire among those around him.

Jealousy sours your stomach. You hate that it does, but it’s like a second instinct, some sort of possessive monster rearing its head as you avert your gaze when a beautiful man asks Yoongi if he wants to dance. Yoongi shakes his head, giving a polite smile in return before turning away and chugging more of his drink.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous.

“Thousands of years old and a room full of people scares you,” Taehyung teases, confirming your suspicions. Yoongi’s gaze is thin as a razor. “You should get out more. I’ve been telling you that.”

“Eternals don’t make a habit of walking around the human realm. Our presence disturbs the natural chemistry of the world.”

“Then why did you spend so many days in the wood-”

Yoongi kicks Taehyung under the table. He hollers in pain as Yoongi glowers, making you giggle. Though he’s no natural among the crowd, you can see that he’s trying to fit in. He watches the way people slouch in their chair and he imitates it. Drinks more of his beer, not because of the taste but because it's what people do here.

Music thrums in the room. There is a crowd of people clapping their hands and dancing, stomping their feet along to the music. You nervously look at Yoongi throughout the night, trying to see if he’s enjoying himself, wondering what he thinks of the place.

A couple near your table knocks over a pitcher of mead as the man presses the woman into the table in an arduous kiss. You can’t help but watch for a moment, entranced by the way he kisses her as though he’ll die if he doesn’t, as if her lips are the last thing he wants to remember.

Sensing Yoongi’s gaze on you, you glance at him. He stares at you, drinking you in before his eyes drift to the couple you’d been studying. Embarrassment heats your face as you bring your cup to your lips, hiding behind the tankard as you take large gulps of cider.

The cider takes the edge off. It makes you feel warm and loose, though you’re still a little nervous with Yoongi’s quiet countenance sitting beside you.

“Jimin’s here!” you announce excitedly, clapping your hands together when he appears downstairs. Taehyung’s knee bumps into the bottom of the table as he jerks to turn around. “Jimin should meet Yoongi!”

“I would love to.”

Taehyung groans. “No, please.”

“Why not?” Yoongi demands. “Should I not meet the human that brings my friend here most evenings? Should I not meet the friend of my -” Yoongi looks at you and stumbles over his words. “- my friend?”

Friend. You’re not sure if the word fits, exactly. But you don’t know what else it is that Yoongi would call you. Friend implies something beyond acquaintances, which you are sure you are. But it fits like an ill-sized dress, hanging crooked on your frame.

“I don’t want you to scare him off!” Taehyung protests.

Yoongi looks dubious. “Why would I do that?”

“Shut up,” you hiss as Jimin notices you. You lift your hand in an eager wave, beckoning him over. “Yoongi, be nice.”

“I am nice. Do you think I’m not nice?”

Instead of answering him, you get up to greet Jimin warmly with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a brief hug. When you step back, you see Yoongi’s burning gaze, a tick in his jaw as he stares Jimin down, tonguing his cheek. You hiss at Yoongi and snap your finger to signal for him to drop the severe expression.

He looks at you and his features smooth out as he rises to his feet lithely, reaching an arm around you. Yoongi startles you when he places his hand on your mid-back as he leans forward to shake Jimin’s, introducing himself.

The contact is so brief that you wonder if he had done it at all as he sits down. For a moment, you’re the only one standing, staring at Yoongi in confusion as the three men sit. They all look at you expectantly and you plop down suddenly.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asks, mirth evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you answer quickly, still recovering. It felt like a deliberate touch. Firm, but gentle. Polite, but… something. “How are you?”

To your pleasure - and Taehyung’s evident relief - Yoongi and Jimin get along fine. If Jimin is put off by Yoongi’s peculiarity, he doesn’t show it. You wonder if he’s used to being around Taehyung, who has his own strange charm and inhuman energy vibrating around him.

Yoongi says little, but seems comfortable. You watch him as he watches Taehyung, who has stars in his eyes every time he looks at Jimin. He leans closer to Jimin as they mutter about something conspiratorially, giggling behind their hands. Jimin brushes a strand of hair out of Taehyung’s face and the love that blooms in Taehyung’s expression is so evident that you wonder if Jimin knows. He has to know. And he looks like he feels the same.

When Jimin drags Taehyung up to dance, you encourage them, shooing them off toward the growing crowd of people spinning around the room. Tables are shoved out of the way, chairs scraping to make room for the revelers. You move your chair some as your table is pushed, making the beers tilt dangerously.

Yoongi grabs the leg of your chair and pulls it roughly toward him. Before you can say something, someone stumbles where your chair just was, toppling into the table next to you. You look at Yoongi with shock and he winks before returning to lounging in his seat, watching the crowd.

Now that you’re sitting much closer to him, you can smell him. Still, you try to relax, watching as Jimin teaches Taehyung the steps to the dance the crowd is doing.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Yoongi says over the loud voices. “This is nice. I see why Taehyung likes it.”

“You don’t hate it?” He makes a face and you laugh. “Yoongi, you hate it.”

“It’s a bit loud, but I don’t hate it. I like the quiet. I like… solitude. But not always. This is a good break.”

“So you never just… stroll among the people sometimes?”

“Never had a reason to.”

“But how can you make dreams if you don’t know people?”

“Dreams are inherent to me. They are an instinct. They aren’t born from people. They’re born from something rawer than that. People just happen to dream.”

You hum, not sure that you follow. Silence lulls between you as the song changes. “This place is so different from anywhere I’ve been,” you tell him. “My mother and father would have hated a place like this where people want so freely and people are so… provocative.”

“Life is provocative. So is nature, and magic. And dreams.”

“Is that why you’re a god of desire, too?” He nods once, his eyes on you. “Can you… sense what people innately desire? All the time?”

You don’t ask the real question, which is: Can you tell what I desire when I’m with you? Still, Yoongi shrugs a shoulder. “Snippets. LIke I said, I try not to pry. I don’t think that anyone here needs to be inspired by me to delve into what they want here, that’s for sure.” His eyes darken. “Though perhaps there is one.”

It is not your imagination when he says it. You know that he means you. This you are sure of. You stare at Yoongi, the rest of the room fading away. He stares right back at you, as though willing you to agree, or to deny his claim. Your heart speeds up and you feel the sweat on your neck, the slick on your palms.

“You said you’d help me indulge.” Your voice shakes when you say it. “How… do I do that?”

Yoongi’s mouth kicks up at the side. He leans forward and offers you a hand. When you just stare at it, he laughs. “Dance with me.”

“Dancing? That is indulging?”

“You might be surprised.”

Tension goes taught between you. You feel it sizzling in the air as you stare one another down. Yoongi’s hand remains outstretched, beckoning. Slowly, you put the cup of cider down and slide your hand into his. You’ve done this so many times, letting him lead you somewhere or help you up.

When Yoongi grips your hand and pulls you to your feet, it feels different than all the times before. The soft, gentle Eternal of dreams has melted away and left something sharper. Darker. Edgier. Your heart flutters butterfly-fast as he leads you to where there are people spinning in tight circles on the floor.

Yoongi yanks you toward him, pulling you into his chest. One hand loops over his shoulder, your palm cradling the back of his neck, while the other grips his. His hand goes snuggling around your waist, pulling you firmly to him as he ducks his head toward your ear, voice deep and soft as he whispers, “Follow me.”

You would follow him anywhere, you think. Anywhere at all.

Dancing is not something you ever recall doing. It wasn’t necessary where you grew up. Most of your festivals in town were a reserved affair and you’d never been to any parties or celebrations. Most weddings were stiff and formal, and not for merriment as much as respect.

Now, your world turns into a kaleidoscope of color and laughter. Yoongi spins you around the room, his feet smooth and fast. You stumble to keep up at first, but Yoongi is a confident lead, his steps instructing yours, his hands pulling and guiding you as you go.

Laughter rushes out of you. You cannot help the glee that glitters in your veins. Yoongi’s laughter is like spilled moonlight. You look up at him with a grin, seeing his gummy smile as he dips you suddenly, making you squeal. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You know he won’t drop you but the exhilaration is in your veins as he lifts you back up, crushing you to him.

Your arms and legs burn with effort as you continue. The song changes and Yoongi lets go and spins you. You go crashing into Taehyung’s arms. He’s a far worse dancer than Yoongi, and the two of you are a mess of tripped feet, trilling laughter and elbows into ribs. He pushes you back to Yoongi’s waiting arms.

It terrifies you how much it feels like home, like a key sliding into a lock. Your arms go around him as his hands squeeze your waist. You come alive where you touch, looking up at him. He watches you, the shadow of his lashes framing delicate eyes. His mouth is red and soft.

Yoongi’s eyes dart down to your mouth. Your breath catches and he moves a little closer, pressing his head to yours, noses brushing. The entire world vanishes and it’s just Yoongi, his lips so close you can almost taste them, his fingers digging into your hips.

Your eyes flutter shut just as someone crashes into you. You scream as you’re knocked hard into Yoongi, the two of you stumbling as he catches you from falling over completely. The crowd goes wild with laughter as a man is sprawled on the ground, laughing and drunk, having lost his balance.

A breathless laugh escapes you as you and Yoongi straighten, separating a little. The moment between you is shattered, clattering away like pieces of broken glass as you catch your breath and gather your wits. You look around, searching for Taehyung only to see him alone at your table, eyes heavy and gaze lingering across the room. You turn to see Jimin leaning on the bar, smiling at something a woman is whispering in his ear.

Glancing back at Taehyung, you see him shove away from the table and storm out the door. Yoongi notices this too, but he’s slow on the uptake, his hand still on your hip. You shake off his hold on you and go after Taehyung, shouting his name.

Taehyung is just outside the Desert Rose, head tilted down and shoulders pulled up tight around his ears. When you touch the small of his back, he flinches, gazing at you with tear-stained eyes and a look so crestfallen you feel your heart crack.

He sniffs. “This is why,” he whispers. “This is why I told you we can never be. Humans and dreams - we aren’t. We don’t match.”

“Taehyung,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say. You open your arms and he leans into you, folding in half as he sobs, breaking down into your shoulder. You hush him gently, holding him tight and squeezing him, trying to pour your love into him.

Over Taehyung’s shoulder, your gaze settles on Yoongi. He watches the two of you in silence, face impassive. And your heart breaks a little more, realizing the truth of Taehyung’s words.

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