#persephone!yoongi

[downbad4yoongi]

Seeds

🥀Seeds🥀

Hades!Hoseok x Persephone!Yoongi

⟢ Rating: MA

⟢ WC: 7.919

⟢ AU: type: Give it to Me

⟢ Theme: Betrayal, crime/mafia

⟢ Inclusions: creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, hidden secrets, long-haired yoongi, kissing, angst/hurst

Summary:

“Yes, Sweet Pea?” Hoseok cuts in.

Yoongi’s scowl deepens, “This is not a date. Also, don’t call me that. Actually, why would you call me that?”

Hoseok shakes his head at Yoongi as if he is being ridiculous. “Because, just like the flower, you draw me in with your beauty. Similarly, I would surmise that you also have a bit of a bite to you just like the toxicity of a sweet pea.”

Part One

Yoongi looks up from where he is trimming the stems on a bouquet that a customer will pick up later as the bell sounds above the shop’s door when it swings open. Seeing that it is only Namjoon, he looks back down and keeps trimming. 

“Namjoon, this is a surprise. How did we get so lucky to be graced with your presence?”

Namjoon scoffs and places a hand flat on the glass countertop that divides the shop, “Could I not want just to come and visit my friends?” Yoongi sets down his trimming shears and gives Namjoon his full attention. He gets more suspicious as he takes in the bespoke gray suit draping Namjoon’s frame. 

His eyes narrow. “Namjoon, you only visit Bloomin’ Cakes when you need something. What is it this time?”

Namjoon attempts to stare him down, nostrils flaring with a deep breath. Yoongi remains steadfast and refuses to back down. A smirk pulls at his lips as Namjoon’s shoulders deflate with a sigh.

“Fine. I’m here for both. I haven’t seen you or Jinnie-hyung in a while, and I need a favor.” Reaching into his suit jacket pocket pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I need a few floral arrangements.”

Yoongi rounds the work table he was at and moves to face Namjoon across the countertop. Yoongi picks up the folded paper and opens it. Yoongi’s brows raise, pushing into his hairline, his eyes flitting back and forth between the paper and Namjoon.

“Joon, this is more than a few floral arrangements. This is a request for fifty funeral wreaths by Monday. What do you even need that many wreaths for anyways?”

“My friend needs a favor, and I told him I knew the best florist in town and that you’d be more than willing to help. He’s willing to pay twice your usual fee.”

Yoongi huffs, “I don’t have the time to make that many arrangements in four days, Joon-ah.” He pushes the paper back across the clear surface. “Sorry, but you’ll have to tell your friend you lied.”

Namjoon taps a finger against the counter's cool surface, leveling a look at him. “Yoongi, you know this isn’t a request. I need you to do this. I owe this friend a lot; he helped me get to where I am now.” Yoongi holds Namjoon’s steady gaze, the silence yawning between them.

Yoongi snatches the paper. “Fine, Mr. Mayor. But you owe me.”

Namjoon grins so wide his cheeks dimple. “I knew I could count on you.”

Yoongi glowers at him. “Fuck off.”

Seokjin shuffles in through the shop's back door, wiping his shoes off on the mat, and is immediately assaulted by thrumming bass vibrating through the entire building. He quickly strips off his rain jacket, hanging it by the door, and maneuvers through the kitchen to push into the storefront, wincing as the harsh cacophony of sound increases when the door swings open.

Seokjin quickly turns down the speaker, his ears ringing in the echoing silence. “What’s with the mosh pit?”

Flowers and discarded stems surround Yoongi, his head snapping up at the sudden silence, a scowl already on his face. “What are you doing?” he snaps.

Seokjin shakes his head. “I don’t know about you, but I value my eardrums and not shattering our front windows.”

“Stop being fucking dramatic.” 

“Yoongi, my bones, and the windows were literally vibrating with the level of the bass. What’s going on? You only blast the music that loud when you are pissed.”

Yoongi looks down at the arrangement in front of him, going back to work. “And if I am?”

A guffaw leaves Seokjin, his eyes widening. “What happened? I was only gone for a day.”

“Namjoon happened, and now I have an impossible order to complete in three days.” Yoongi drops his shears and shoves the order slip at Seokjin, who picks up the crumpled paper to look at it. 

“Fifty! Why would he–” Seokjin’s voice abruptly cuts off, his body stiffening.

It is so sudden that it draws Yoongi’s attention. “Why would he? What? Ask for such a ridiculous thing on short notice? I don’t know Jinnie-hyung, you tell me.”

Jin’s usually loud tenor is missing with his following words, “Yoongi, you can’t do this order.”

Yoongi scoffs, “Try telling Namjoon that.”

“I’m not joking. You can’t do this order.” The finality of his stance rings through his voice.

“Hyung…we’re family, and I know I let you get away with your big brothering, but you aren’t actually allowed to dictate what I do and do not do.”

Jin’s nostrils flare with his sharp inhale, “Yoongs, this is not a situation where I am being overbearing. I am serious. You can’t fulfill this. I– I can’t go into it, but it’s in your best interests that you back out of this.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow, “No.”

Jin’s hand flexes, crumpling the order form in his fist. “Yoongi, just fucking listen to me for once!”

“Until you give a legitimate reason, I am finishing this order. So either help or leave me alone.”

Jin is left standing there for several minutes, his neck and cheeks flushed with anger, desperately hoping Yoongi will change his mind.

Groaning, Yoongi curls further around his pillow, his hand blindly searching for his phone to shut off the annoying bleating of his alarm; he rolls onto his back, stretching his stiff limbs. Every fiber of his being is exhausted from spending the past few days carrying out the ridiculous order Namjoon submitted. Now, after being up late into the night, he’s being pulled out of the comfort of his bed to deliver said order. 

“Namjoon fucking owes me for this bullshit,” he mumbles as he shuffles into the bathroom to get ready. 

Thirty minutes later, he grimaces at his reflection as he rolls up the sleeves of his black oxford shirt and fastens the platinum watch around his wrist. Grabbing his phone, he slips into his shiny, black loafers and leaves the serenity of his home to go to the shop. Since it is so early in the morning, Yoongi is able to enjoy the silence that wraps around him as he walks the few blocks to the store that he co-owns with Jin.

Navigating around the rear of the building, he starts up the delivery van and backs it up to the backdoor to begin loading the order. He had figured it would take closer to an hour to transfer and store the wreaths in the back of the van. However, time seems to be on his side and he has them loaded and secure well before that. Now, there’s only one thing left to do: deliver them to the address Namjoon provided. Which, according to the GPS, is well on the outskirts of the city. Cranking the radio, Yoongi loses himself in the miles and thoughts of just how much Namjoon owes him. 

Yoongi slows down as he drives the van through the industrial park looking for the specific delivery address. The GPS guides him through the maze of buildings and warehouses until he is at the last block of buildings, right against the river. He glances at the delivery slip, not fully understanding why he is delivering funeral wreaths to a building by the docks, and turns down the access road next to a large black warehouse. So far, the drive through the industrial park has been a ghost town, it startles Yoongi slightly to see a crowd of people as he eases around the back of the building.

He catches sight of a burly man dressed in an all-black suit flagging him down and maneuvers the van in the direction of the parking space the man is gesturing to. Putting the van in park, he slips out of the driver’s seat as the burly man rounds the hood with a clipboard. 

“Name?”

“Min Yoongi with Bloomin’ Cakes.”

The man grunts as he scribbles on the clipboard. “You got the order?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he says sardonically.

The man lowers his clipboard. “You gettin’ smart with me?”

With a hand to his chest, Yoongi deadpans, “I would never.”

It’s fascinating how the henchman’s face mottles as he steps forward to tower over Yoongi. Yoongi just cocks his head slightly and blinks innocently up at his red face, hands behind his back.

“KYUNG!” The hulk's eyes flick over Yoongi’s head as his frame stills. “Why are you about to crush one of our guests?”

Kyung’s voice is like gravel as it rumbles out of his throat, “He’s not a guest.”

The newcomer draws to a stop just behind Yoongi. “Oh?” Before Yoongi can turn fully to face the newest stranger, he can feel the weight of his gaze running down his frame. “Then what is he doing here?”

Yoongi’s shoulders press lightly to the cool surface of the van as he positions himself to keep both men in sight. Beyond the slight twitching of his fingers, Yoongi manages to keep control of his reaction to the handsome stranger that has joined them. He can’t stop his gaze from raking over the other man. His eyes rove from the slick, black hair styled back off of his forehead, perfectly exposing the sides of his undercut to the strands of hair that stop at his nape. His eyes bounce back up once they hit the shiny loafers that are such a deep shade of blue you’d think they were black. The impeccable suit is nothing compared to the sheer force of his aura. It feels like it is pulsing around him, making it impossible to ignore the shiver that roams down Yoongi’s spine. 

“You ordered flowers. I’m here to deliver them.” Yoongi finally finds his voice under the weight of the man’s gaze. 

The corner of his lips tip up slightly. “I did?”

Yoongi can’t help the frown that pulls his brows together. “Yes. You sent Namjoon into my shop a few days ago and placed a ridiculous order at the last minute.”

Yoongi hears the sharp inhales of the men that surround them when Yoongi is unable to keep the irritation from seeping into his words. From their reactions, Yoongi is expecting a harsher reaction than the slick smile that parts the man’s lips. 

“Oh, yes. I did ask him to do that.” He tilts his head forward in a small bow. “Apologies. I am a very busy man and the minutiae often evade me. I have many people I delegate to. Let me introduce myself, I am Jung Hoseok.”

The scowl on Yoongi’s face eases up slightly. “Well, if we can get these wreaths unloaded, I can be on my way.”

“So soon?” Hoseok steps forward, just short of invading Yoongi’s personal space. He runs one slim finger lightly along the buttons of Yoongi’s shirt. “You’re more than welcome to stay and join us. Maybe we can get drinks later?”

Yoongi swallows thickly as Hoseok trails that thin finger over his exposed clavicle. “That is very gracious of you Mr. Jung, but really unnecessary. I need to be on my way anyways, I still have a lot of work to complete.”

Hoseok’s hand trails across Yoongi’s chest and shoulder as he eases away and moves to the back of the van.

Yoongi slips away, rounding the back of the van to the sound of Hoseok tsking under his breath. He yanks the doors open and climbs into the rear of the vehicle. “No need for the formalities. You can call me Hoseok or Hope.”

Yoongi glances behind him before starting to position the arrangements closer to the opening to be unloaded. “Why Hope?”

Hoseok is leaning casually against the propped door. “It’s a name I was given. Hope; as in people tend to hope I will put them out of their misery sooner rather than later.”

Yoongi navigates back to the store on autopilot, pulling around and parking near the rear entrance unable to remember how he got there. He needs to get that man out of his mind, but no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts continue to wander back to the interaction that happened between him and Hoseok. 

Most interactions that Yoongi has with other people usually go without significant notice; Yoongi forgets them before the day is done. From the moment he met Hoseok, call me Hope, he knew that wouldn’t be the case here. Yoongi wishes he could put his finger on what exactly it is about this man that keeps ensnaring his focus. While in front of Hoseok, it was easy to attribute it to his looks and style, but what is the reason now? It’s not like he will ever interact with him again.

Yoongi hangs the van keys on the hook by the door and moves into the kitchen, taking note of Jin and the aggravated atmosphere that seems to surround him. Jin is so intently mixing a batch of frosting in a large steel bowl that he hasn’t even noticed that Yoongi is there. 

“What did that frosting do to you?” Yoongi speaks just loud enough to be heard over the low thrumming of the instrumental music playing through the mounted Bluetooth speaker.

Jin whips around with the spatula in his hand lofted, the abrupt movement sending frosting flying, some of which lands on Yoongi’s cheek. Seokjin has varying levels of anger, easily gauged by how flushed his skin is and how stilted his movements become. At this point, Yoongi would probably put him at a two out of five on the ‘Seokjin’s Going to Blow a Gasket’ scale. 

Leveling a weighted glare at Yoongi, Jin finally speaks up, “Well, at least you appear as if you made it out unscathed.”

Yoongi shakes his head bewildered by Jin’s sharp tone. “What does that mean? Was I not supposed to come back in one piece?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t,” Jin snaps.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. “What the hell, Jin! What does that even mean?” Yoongi watches Jin roll his eyes, his chest puffing up. “And don’t give me an excuse or try to redirect the conversation. What is your issue with Jung Hoseok?”

It’s always fascinating to watch Jin move through his scale. Currently, Yoongi is observing Jin go from a two to a four. Jin spins back around and shoves the spatula back into the bowl, his chest heaving as he grips the edge of the countertop. 

“He’s bad news, Yoongi. People who get involved with him, even tangentially, don’t always come out on the other side unscathed.” Jin’s shoulders curl inward from whatever weight he won’t share. “Please Yoongi just stay out of his orbit. I can’t lose you.”

Yoongi softens at the vulnerability Jin is revealing. It’s that vulnerability that draws him across the kitchen to Jin’s side. He rubs his hand soothingly across Jin’s back. “I’m not planning to interact with Mr. Jung again. Don’t get me wrong, I am still irritated that you are keeping things from me, but you don’t need to keep worrying about me.” 

Yoongi stretches as he walks back into the store, his back aching from carting four cakes with varying tier levels into the delivery van for Jin. Grabbing the broom from the stockroom as he moves into the kitchen, he begins to sweep after turning on a lo-fi rap playlist. He lets himself get lost in the music as he gathers the debris into one spot and disposes of it.

He backs into the storefront, keeping up with the beat letting the words flow from his lips as he drags the broom across the tile floor. Easily adapting to each new flow as the songs change. It’s in the brief pause between songs that someone else makes their presence known with a soft clearing of their throat. 

Yoongi jerks around, an apology to the customer poised on his lips; those words wilt before they can sprout as his gaze lands on Hoseok. 

“Why are you here?” Yoongi doesn’t hold back the suspicious undercurrent in his voice as he tosses the question out easily recalling Jin’s warnings about the man.

His hands held behind him, Hoseok cocks his head to the side. “You have an interesting method of greeting customers.”

Yoongi stands there and blinks at him, outwardly maintaining his standoffish vibe but inwardly his mind is a tumbling mess that is struggling to settle. He promised Jin that he would stay away from Jung Hoseok but it’s not really his fault that Hoseok came into their store. Maybe Hoseok was just in the neighborhood? He still didn’t understand why Jin despises the gorgeous man in front of him.

Damn, this man really knows how to wear an outfit; Yoongi can’t even stop himself from openly admiring him. Hoseok’s ability to awe completely in monochrome, this time a slate gray suit, is admirable.

Hoseok smirks, silently waiting as Yoongi’s eyes trail back up to meet his own. A rush of pink perfuses over his cheeks as he is caught ogling Hoseok. Yoongi looks away to set aside the broom, buying time to gather his wits before responding. 

“Is that why you’re here? To place an order?” Yoongi presses his palms to the glass case between them.

Hoseok gives a sharp shake of his head, stepping forward and bringing out what he was hiding behind his back and setting it between them. “No. I could lie and say I was, but let’s not start off this relationship that way.” 

Yoongi’s eyes drop down to look at the two rocks glasses and the decanter of dark brown liquor in front of him. “There is no relationship. And what is this for?” 

“These are the drinks I said we would be getting later. I would have come sooner, but some business got in the way.”

“And again, I said no to getting drinks.”

Hoseok tsks under his breath, “No, you said you couldn’t that day because you had work to finish. So, I have decided to bring the drinks to you.” He looks around, eyes perusing the store. “Although, I would have chosen somewhere with a bit more of an intimate ambiance for our first date.”

Yoongi scowls, “Mr. Jung, this is not a date–”

Yoongi’s words are cut short as Hoseok places a slender finger against his lips, silencing him. “I already told you to call me Hope or Hoseok, if you must.”

Yoongi swallows hard as he removes Hoseok’s finger from his mouth. “Hope–”

“Yes, Sweet Pea?” Hoseok cuts in.

Yoongi’s scowl deepens, “This is not a date. Also, don’t call me that. Actually, why would you call me that?”

Hoseok shakes his head at Yoongi as if he is being ridiculous. “Because, just like the flower, you draw me in with your beauty. Similarly, I would surmise that you also have a bit of a bite to you just like the toxicity of a sweet pea.”

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth at a loss for words. Eventually, he finds them, “Well that is an interesting perspective, but again this is not a date. In fact, I think it’s time for you to go now. For some reason, my older brother dislikes you, and I have promised him I’d steer clear of you.”

Hoseok’s eyes narrow, the angles of his face sharpening. “And do you always do what you are told?”

Yoongi straightens as Hoseok glowers across the counter from him, “That’s neither here nor there. Thanks for stopping by. Have a nice day, Hoseok.” 

Hoseok’s jaw ticks, his stare unyielding, before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop. It is only after he is finally gone, Yoongi is able to release the tension that had crept into his muscles.

If anything, no one can doubt Hoseok’s persistence; since the encounter at Bloomin’ Cakes a few weeks ago, Hoseok has placed orders twice a week for delivery. Yoongi knows he should reject the order requests as gods know if Jin found out, the man would lose his mind. He still doesn’t understand the hatred Jin holds for Hoseok. 

Yoongi’s interactions with Hoseok have been nothing less than charming, and he finds his resistance to his charms weakening with each interaction. With each delivery, Hoseok has found a reason to have Yoongi linger, and honestly, Yoongi has enjoyed his flirting.

Nibbling on his lip, he navigates the delivery truck across town to the address Yoongi has now become familiar with as being Hoseok’s home. He is pretty sure the next time Hoseok asks him out he’ll say yes and deal with the Jin fallout later. Yoongi knows Jin cares, but honestly the man is overreacting. Hoseok has been the perfect gentleman, and Yoongi can’t see a reason to resist anymore. 

Yoongi shifts the van into park at the top of the circle driveway out in front of Hoseok’s ostentatious mansion. Slipping into the back, Yoongi gathers Hoseok’s order, three bouquets of calla lilies, and carries them to the front door. Preparing to use the brass knocker, Yoongi grips the cool metal lifting it but before he can release it the large black door shifts open. 

Odd. Hoseok is usually very meticulous about his security, Yoongi has previously had to go through several layers when he has delivered here before. He nudges the door open wider, sticking his head inside to view the vast empty marble of the foyer. He licks his lips nervously, stepping inside and fully expecting someone to stop him from entering further.  None of Hoseok’s many overbearing staff appear, so Yoongi circles the towering, black marble statue of a three-headed dog in the center of the room and heads toward the open archway on the other side.

Yoongi's eyes widen as every muscle in his body freezes at the sight before him. Hoseok is standing with his back to him, one hand casually thrust into his slack’s pocket and the other steadily holding a gun that is leveled at the man kneeling in front of him. The man’s face is bloody and bruised as he cowers in front of Hoseok, pleas for mercy spilling from his split lips. 

Yoongi starts to back out of the room, his head shaking slowly in disbelief. His mind is swarming with incomplete, confused thoughts, but the loudest one is yelling at him to get out now. He only makes it two steps before his back hits something, startling him into dropping the vases of lilies. The crystal smashes onto the marble floor and the gun that was previously leveled at the poor man is now being leveled at Yoongi.

Hoseok eyes Yoongi, head tilting to the side as he holds the gun steady on him. “You’re not supposed to see this.” He sighs, shaking his head, “But, now that you have…” Large hands grip Yoongi’s upper arms holding him in place, preventing him from escaping as Hoseok turns his attention back to his victim. “As you can see, I now have other matters to attend to.” Yoongi jumps as the sound of the gun firing reverberates through the room followed by the thud of the body hitting the floor.

Hoseok’s arm falls to his side as he shifts his attention back to Yoongi. Slow, deliberate steps close the gap between them; Yoongi goes to speak but is abruptly cut off by the tap of the cold metal of the firearm tapping underneath his chin as Hoseok’s gaze holds his. “Now, what to do with you?”

Part Two

Yoongi has lost track of the amount of time he has been held captive in this lavish prison. At this point, he is positive he could describe in excruciating detail the Aubusson rug that spans the room's length. If he was honest, he was losing steam and motivation to try and escape. He figured out the hard way that the windows were bulletproof and has the sore shoulder to prove it, sneaking out of the only door was scratched as it is never left unguarded, and so far none of the guards seem like good candidates to aid in liberating him.

The thud of the rubber ball echoes through the room as it sails from Yoongi’s hand, bounces off the carpeted floor, and rebounds off the wall to land back in his hand. Frankly, this is the only thing breaking up the monotony of being trapped inside this gilded prison, aside from the silent intrusions from the rotating guards shoving food into the room. It’s been two weeks since he learned first-hand why he’s known as Hope. 

The ball sails more forcefully out of his hand as the images from that day flash through his mind; the look of terror on the man’s face, the ringing echo of the gunshot, and the chilling indifference on Hoseok’s face. The ball stings as it smacks back into his palm, his fingers clenching as he recalls the sensation of cold metal against his face as Hoseok brushed their lips together. He still can’t fully process why he returned the kiss; his mind went into shock after witnessing the brutal act committed by someone he was growing to like and the next thing he knew, soft lips were pressed to his.

The next toss of the ball is just as forceful as the last, but this time instead of ricocheting off the wall, it rebounds off a solid wall of muscle. Yoongi cocks his head as the resonance of the ball pattern changes, and the ball fails to return to his outstretched hand. His head rolls on his neck to look across the room to see a glowering Kyung staring him down, the ball resting at his feet. 

Before Yoongi can make a snarky comment, Kyung steps to the side and holds the door open for Hoseok. 

Hoseok steps into the room and flicks his hand over his shoulder, “Leave us.”

Yoongi straightens from his slouched position on the chaise lounge and watches Hoseok bend down to pick up the stray ball. He refuses to speak, just eyeing Hoseok with suspicion as the man tosses the ball casually in the air and catches it again.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting for so long before checking in on you.”

Yoongi scoffs, “You say that as if I am a willing visitor.”

With a nonchalant shrug, “Let’s not quibble over the details. I would have come to you sooner, but I have been tied up ensuring your safety.”

Yoongi feels like his eyes are bugging out. “I was safe before I ever had the misfortune of meeting you!”

“Oh, Sweet Pea, that is far from the truth. There are some truly unsavory people out there, and they will do terrible things to get what is mine.”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief, “You! You are those people! You murdered that poor man without any remorse.”

Hoseok stills, “Is that what you truly think? That I felt nothing for that man?”

“You didn’t leave me any room to think otherwise.”

Hoseok looks away from him, his jaw clenched; the silence stretches between them long enough that Yoongi is nearly moved to break the tension when Hoseok faces him again. Yoongi is taken aback as he watches undecipherable emotions flash across Hoseok’s face. It is enough to plant seeds of doubt within Yoongi as a pang of concern flashes through him.

Hoseok’s expression and posture settle into one of weary resignation, “Yoongi, I am a man who does what needs to be done. Even if that task would be deemed as morally reprehensible. I go to great lengths to get what I want, and once I have it, nothing will keep me from protecting what is mine.”

Yoongi swallows thickly as Hoseok crosses the room toward him. “I’m not yours,” Yoongi whispers weakly. 

A wry smile twists Hoseok’s lips as he stops in front of him. Hoseok’s hand cups his jaw, “Yes, you are. You have been since the moment I saw you.”

He wrenches away from Hoseok and glares at him. “I am not yours. Whatever could have been died along with that poor man; now let me out of here,” Yoongi spits at Hoseok.

“It’s not that simple, Sweet Pea; you’re now in my orbit, and those who would see me fail have noticed.” Hoseok circles Yoongi slowly, “It has become apparent to me that grander measures need to be taken to prevent others from fucking with me and mine.”

Yoongi huffs out a frustrated sigh, “Listen, I have no idea of what you are talking about, and, you know what, I don’t want to know. Just let me go home. I swear never to speak to anyone about what I saw.”

“You still don’t get it.” Hoseok rounds Yoongi again to face him, pulling a slim phone from his pocket. Yoongi watches as he taps away at it for a moment before turning the screen toward him. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus, but when they do he snatches the phone from the outstretched hand. His heart rate speeds up as he stares at the grainy image of Jin slumped against the alley wall behind their shop, face clearly bruised as he curls in on himself as the assailant, only a black blur, sprints away. 

“What the fuck is this? I need to go!” Yoongi shoves the phone at Hoseok and darts around him toward the door. He doesn’t make it very far before Hoseok’s grip on his bicep pulls him to a stop.

Yoongi yanks on his arm, but Hoseok’s grip just tightens. “This is what happens when I let my guard down. Someone is out there trying to get to me through any means possible. They started with you; the man you say I so callously murdered was stalking you. I found out and was trying to get him to tell me who he was working for when you interrupted. I felt it was best to keep you hidden until I figured it all out.” Hoseok glances at the phone in his hand, “ I guess they moved on to your brother when they couldn’t find you anymore.”

“If there is someone dangerous out there who is after my brother, you need to help him. You’re the cause of all this!”

A tight smile pulls at Hoseok’s lips, “You’re right. I am, and I have the perfect solution.”

“Which is?”

“Marry me.”

Yoongi guffaws. He’s at a complete loss for words, he is sure Hoseok is joking, but the longer he looks at Hoseok, the heavier the knot of dread in his chest grows. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, Sweet Pea, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“While I’m sure you are equally gorgeous without hair as you are with it, you should stop yanking at it like that.” 

Yoongi’s finger tangle in the strands even tighter, whirling around fully prepared to lash out when the bedroom door opens. The words choke up his throat as Namjoon steps through the door. 

“Joon?” Yoongi’s voice squeaks out. He stumbles forward to embrace his saving grace. Burying his face into Namjoon’s lapel, Yoongi desperately clings to Namjoon’s shoulders, “Holy shit, you found me. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Namjoon is slow to return the embrace, looking over his shoulder at Hoseok lounging on the bed behind them. Joon awkwardly pats Yoongi’s back, “I’m happy to see you well, too.”

Mind still racing, Yoongi pulls back and starts pulling Namjoon back toward the closing door. “Let’s get out of here. I need to see Jin.” Yoongi’s rush toward the exit is stopped short as Namjoon resists his pull, not moving along with his urgency. Yoongi looks back at him, “What the fuck? Let’s go, Joon!”

Namjoon’s feet remain planted as he shakes his head. “Yoongi, we’re not going anywhere.”

Slowly, Yoongi stops pulling at Namjoon’s arm as his eyes bounce between Namjoon and Hoseok. Hoseok lounges back on the bed propped up on his elbows, his foot bouncing idly as he watches Yoongi’s futile attempt to escape. Namjoon’s expression is nearly the opposite, a grimace twisting his lips as he watches Yoongi, eyes full of pity.

“What do you mean? Why aren’t we leaving, Joon?”

Namjoon avoids Yoongi’s pleading eyes as he frees his arm from his grasp. “I am here as a favor to Hope.”

Hoseok sits up, clapping his hands, “Now we can get this show on the road. Did you bring the certificates?”

Namjoon gives a sharp nod, pulling a sheaf of papers out of his inner jacket pocket and offers them to Hoseok. Hoseok unfolds them, eyes skimming the documents, humming under his breath here and there.

Hoseok refolds the papers, smacking the stack against his palm, “Lovely. I thought we could do the ceremony in the gardens.”

Yoongi snaps out of his stupor, stepping forward to snatch the sheaf of papers from Hoseok’s hand. He glances at them, scowling at the bold certificate of marriage script emblazoned across the top. “This is not happening. There has to be another way to fix this mess. I am not marrying you!”

“Oh, I’m sure there probably is another solution, but I am satisfied with this one,” Hoseok smirks, rocking back on his heels. “See, when we are married, what is yours is mine. And you know what happens when someone tries to harm what is mine.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to attach myself to someone who casually defaults to violence.” Yoongi motions between them, “This– we are not compatible; our values just don’t align.”

Hoseok hums under his breath and closes the gap between them. Eyes hooded, lips slightly parted, Hoseok trails his fingers down the center of Yoongi’s chest. Those lithe fingers tease along the waistband of Yoongi’s slacks, the back of his hand close enough to feel the muscles of Yoongi’s abdomen tremble from the touch. Leaning in even further, Hoseok noses along Yoongi’s cheek until his lips are at Yoongi’s ear, “I’m sure we align in more ways than you think. After all, we both want to protect dear Jinnie.”

Yoongi’s breath shudders out of him as he internally processes, struggling with what to do. He can feel his resolve weakening and the echo of Jin's warning to stay away fading in his memory. 

"Say I marry you, what happens next? Am I really to believe that just because we sign a piece of paper that we’re suddenly safe?"

Hoseok runs his nose along Yoongi's, " Of course not, but there are consequences to fucking with me and mine."

"What happens after?"

"What do you mean what happens after? We keep living our lives, but now we do it together. It won't be too much change at all. Well, your commute will be longer."

Yoongi's brow furrows, " My commute?"

"Mhmm, your commute to work once you move into my house."

Yoongi pulls back, head shaking. "I can't move in here and live with you."

The soft smile that was playing across Hoseok's lips falls. " I don't believe I'm giving you an option. You will live with me as my husband. Our union will be real in every sense of the word."

Yoongi shakes his head hard, “Jin would never allow it. This is supposed to be just for convenience for the mess you made.”

Sparks ignite in Hoseok’s eyes as he fists the front of Yoongi’s shirt, pulling him even closer, “Nothing about this is convenient. You are marrying me and not Jin; it’s about what we want, not him. I want you and will have you.” Hoseok’s lips crash against Yoongi’s. A beat barely passes before Yoongi is melting against Hoseok, lips melding with his as they kiss fiercely. Lips and teeth fight for dominance, but soon Yoongi acquiesces and yields to the control Hoseok is wielding. Yoongi’s lips part even further for Hoseok’s probing tongue, his hands sliding to hold Hoseok’s hips as the kiss deepens. The kiss is intoxicating and has Yoongi chasing after Hoseok when he pulls back. “And you clearly want me, too.”

Yoongi’s lashes flutter as words fail him, leaving him bereft of any denial, as he sways on the spot.

“Perhaps a compromise is in order?” Yoongi’s eyes snap open, cheeks warming; he’d forgotten that Namjoon was still in the room with them. 

Yoongi clears his throat, “A compromise?”

“Yes. A union, in more than just name, and unfettered access to come and go as you please, including staying with Jin if that is what you want.”

Hoseok scoffs, “My husband belongs at my side…always.”

Yoongi starts to protest but is interrupted by Namjoon’s noisy exhale of annoyance. “Hope, you have to give somewhere. I’m trying to help. I’m in your debt but I’d rather not force marriage on a friend if we can convince him to join with you willingly.”

Hoseok falls silent, a pinched expression on his face, as he contemplates Namjoon’s words. 

“Three months.”

“Am I supposed to understand what you mean?” Yoongi challenges.

“You are mine and will be at my side at all times, but I will give you three months a year. Three months where you are free to do as you please, and  I will not interfere.”

“None? At all?”

Hoseok nods, “Every spring. That’s a good time for your business, too, no?”

Yoongi can’t help the warmth that perfuses through his chest at Hoseok’s consideration. He gives a small nod, “Yes, it is always the time when we are busiest…Hope.”

The intensity of Hoseok’s gaze has not lessened in the time it has taken for the both of them to change and then meet in the sprawling gardens. The gardens are impressive; Yoongi would love nothing more than to explore every square inch, but he’s currently struggling with not gawking at Hoseok with his mouth wide open. 

Hoseok’s all-white attire is beautiful, but the white bejeweled harness takes it up several layers to breathtaking. Ever since he gave in, Hoseok’s eyes have been filled with an intensity that drives his allure off the Richter scale. The intensity of his attention has remained steadily focused on him ever since Yoongi willingly referred to him as Hope.

The off-white outfit that he was styled in is nothing compared to the exquiteness of Hoseok’s. He is absolutely certain of that, but the way Hoseok roams him from head to toe is almost convincing that he is equallng as breath stealing as Hoseok is. 

Namjoon clears his throat, and the couple’s attention is finally pulled away from staring at each other to the man standing between them.

Namjoon ducks his head with a shy smile, “Well, we all know why we are here, so I will cut to the chase…” Namjoon’s tenor flows around them as he reads their vows, and they each parrot them back to the other. Sooner than Yoongi would have expected, the ceremony is over, and he is officially Hoseok’s husband. His mind starts to run away from him, filling with anxious, intrusive thoughts that are soon to send him into a tailspin. 

Abruptly they are cut off as warm lips meld to his, all thought ceases, and he is melting into Hoseok’s hold. Hoseok’s lips smoothly glide against his as Hoseok pulls him even closer, the kiss gaining momentum as their lips part. 

By the time they part, Yoongi is breathlessly clinging to his new spouse. His forehead presses to Hoseok’s temple as the man dismisses Namjoon. Their words filtering into his consciousness slowly as he tries to regain control of himself. 

The crunch of Namjoon’s retreating steps are what snaps him back to the presence. “Wait– now you’ll get those thugs to back off?” He steps back fingers unfurling from Hope’s shirt, “I need to go check on Jin. Tell him what has happened, and we’re okay.”

Yoongi doesn’t make it very far before his wrists are shackled in the other man’s grip. “Shhh, Sweet Pea, it is all being taken care of. Joon can check in with Jin and my men will take care of the rest.” He tugs firmly on Yoongi’s wrist, pulling him back toward him, “We have far more important things to take care of.”

The intensity of Hoseok’s gaze as Yoongi turns back to him steals his breath. Any protest dies on his lips as warmth blooms low in his abdomen. He lets the other man guide him back through the garden and into the house. They move swiftly across the marble floors to Hoseok’s bedroom upstairs.

Yoongi has merely a moment to catch his breath before Hoseok’s lips are on his again. At the flick of the other man’s tongue, Yoongi’s lips are parting for him. The strokes of Hoseok’s tongue are sure and measured as they navigate blindly across the room to the opulent bed in the center. 

Time slips away from Yoongi as their lips and tongues slip in and out of each other’s as clothes are stripped and littered across the floor. He is breathless as Hoseok pulls back and pushes him onto the bed, the soft, silk sheets caressing his bare skin.

Hoseok stands over him, his presence even more domineering stripped of all the fine threads. His torso is long and trim drawing Yoongi’s eyes directly to the hard length of his cock straining toward his belly button. Yoongi starts to sit up, reaching for the other man, needing to feel every inch of his skin against the other’s. 

He doesn’t make it far, collapsing back down onto the bed when Hoseok’s slender fingers wrap around his own turgid length. His head is thrown back as the other man’s hand strokes him, slowly increasing the pressure with each pass of his hand. Yoongi rocks his hips upward, thrusting into Hoseok’s fist, moans and whimpers begging for more spill from his lips. 

More is what Hoseok eventually gives him, Yoongi’s hips jerk as the slickened tip of a finger teases his rim. He opens his eyes and catches the smirk playing across the other man’s lips as that teasing finger presses in, working slowly inside him. 

Hoseok bends over him, trailing his tongue along Yoongi’s jaw to his ear. He circles the digit inside the prone man, “Oh, I can’t wait to ruin you.” His finger draws back slowly and returns with two, drawing a loud moan from Yoongi as the fingers scissor inside him, slowly working him open.

Yoongi rocks his hips between Hoseok’s hands chasing the pleasure that he is being promised. He is overwhelmed with sensation between his husband spreading stinging kisses across his chest to the tight grip of the fist twisting around his throbbing cock to the deliberate way his three slender fingers manipulate that spot inside him just right. Yoongi is ready to combust.

Without warning, it all disappears, wrenching a sob from Yoongi’s chest. He opens his eyes and all the tears that were being held back, flow down his cheeks, “Why did you stop?”

Hoseok shrugs nonchalantly, “Because I could.”

Wet lashes cling to each other as Yoongi blinks up at the other man momentarily at a loss for words. Hoseok towers over him, looking very calm and self-assured as he leisurely strokes his own cock with long, sure strokes. 

“Pl-please, please don’t stop. I need more. Please, please, please, please,” Yoongi’s voice cracks as he begs but he is so desperate to come he doesn’t care.

Hoseok runs his hands down the length of Yoongi’s thighs. “You have to be more specific than that,” Hoseok teases, his hands cupping the back of the prostrate man’s knees lifting and folding the legs back until Yoongi’s thighs are touching his chest. 

Yoongi tosses his head back in frustration, his hands cover his face struggling internally on whether to give in or to push his husband’s limits by teasing back. The incessant throbbing of his cock has him folding to the other man’s silent demand. “Please, I need you.”

The last word has barely left his lips when he feels Hoseok’s cock catch his rim and press inward. Both men groan loudly as Hoseok steadily pushes in, the liberal application of lube easing the glide.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Hoseok bites out, his fingers flexing repeatedly on the back of Yoongi’s thighs as he pauses waiting for the other to acclimate.

Yoongi bucks his hips up, “Move.”

The simple demand ignites something inside Hoseok. He draws back slowly, pulling little whimpers from the man under him. Tightening his grip on his folded legs, Hoseok snaps his hips forward thrusting deep into the tight heat waiting for him. Yoongi’s hands scramble desparate to hold onto something as Hoseok doesn’t hold back. Hips smacking against round, ass cheeks with each deep plunge inside. 

Each cry from Yoongi drives Hoseok to increase his pace, he wraps his fist around the dripping length pressed to Yoongi’s belly and starts stroking it in time to his cock pushing into Yoongi’s clenching hole. Hoseok shifts just slightly, using his free hand to push Yoongi’s legs toward his chest just a little further, and is rewarded as a scream is ripped from Yoongi’s lips. Each stroke of Hoseok’s length now nailing Yoongi’s prostate directly.

Hoseok maintains that angle, tears leak down his lover’s face as he adds a deliberate twist of his wrist with each upstroke of his hand around Yoongi’s angry, red cock. Between one thrust and the next, Yoongi is arching off the bed, screaming silently into the pillows as he spills across Hoseok’s hand and his own chest.

Hoseok keeps pistoning his length in and out of Yoongi, working him through the orgasm. The vice-like grip of Yoongi’s hole around his cock has him chasing his own orgasm moments later. His hips stutter against the other man’s ass before stiling and spilling deep inside.

After pulling out, they both collapse onto damp sheets to catch their breath, riding out the post-orgasmic glow. Hoseok is the first to move, slipping off the bed and into the en suite to clean up. Yoongi lays there, eyes closed, listening to the other man moving around in the bathroom.

His mind drifts to contemplate if he made the right choice, will Jin and he be okay? Will he need to constantly be on alert from now on? He was so deep in his thoughts, he missed the sound of Hoseok returning. So when the warm washcloth strokes across his messy chest, it startles him and he reaches out gripping the other wrist, preparing to push it away. 

Hoseok arches a brow and silently waits. His look says it all and Yoongi fingers pull back quickly. Hoseok finishes wiping him down before he tosses the spoiled cloth and slides them both under the covers.”

Yoongi curls onto his side facing Hoseok trying to ignore the distracting way Hoseok’s fingers run through his hair. Yoongi clears his throat, “So what now? When will we know when Jin and I are really safe?”

Hoseok brushes the concern away, stroking Yoongi’s temple, “Oh you are perfectly safe. No need to worry at all.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows, “How can you possibly know that already?”

A truly wicked smile spreads the lips Yoongi was just kissing earlier, “Because I called my men off.”

Confused, Yoongi shakes his head not wanting to believe what is being laid out before him. “You…you did all this?” he asks, referring to allegations of stalking and the attack on Jin.

Hoseok pats Yoongi’s cheek condescendingly, “I always get what I want.”

[studio-multi]

Half Baked #4

Title: Asphodel

Characters:

Namjoon as Hecate

Hoseok as Helios

Yoongi as Hades

Jimin as Persephone/Kore

Taehyung as Adonis

Jungkook as Hermes

-all gods, goddess or deities are gender neutral because they don’t always reproduce the traditional way, if you have issues with gender neutrality in any way this is not the idea for you-

Notes:

They cheer when Yoongi lights the ceremonial fire and he laughs shyly.

The colorful flags of the May pole and Yoongi and Jimin meeting eyes through it

Yoongi is sad that Jimin is away, pops up to see them being celebrated at Beltane. Jungkook lets Jimin know, and he takes Yoongi around the festival.

Yoongi getting flower crowned.

Jealous of Taehyung hitting on Jimin.

Joon and Hobi roasting Yoongi as they join the festival once the sun goes down.

Yoongi gets very drunk on the seasonal Meade (look in festive drinks) and Jimin puts him to bed.

They have a cute make out and conversation about having children.

Yoongi: “We could adopt” Jimin: “No I want them to be a part of us” Yoongi: “I don’t know if any child should be curse being a part of me” Yoongi/Hades self-loathing. Jimin: “I want nothing more than a child that is half you, Yoongi”

Yoongi agrees to discuss it when Jimin returns in the fall.

Jimin: “Really?!?” Yoongi with a nod: “Mmm.”

NSFW Notes under the cut:

Jimin attacks Yoongi with kisses and ends up getting Yoongi aroused now that he has sobered up. 

Jimin offers to give Yoongi head. Yoongi agrees and Jimin sucks Yoongi off, swallowing all of the seed.

Jimin didn’t expect anything in return, but Yoongi quickly puts Jimin on his back, Yoongi’s back arching as he sucks Jimin off too.

Jimin’s orgasm magically "calling" in the late spring rain, bursting flowers into bloom around their hideaway as Yoongi swallows down his release. 

Jimin returns in Autumn four months pregnant and finds a glowing pregnant Yoongi as well.

[yminstars]

💐Ghost Flowers Between Us

• summary: Yoongi is a camp witch who sees feelings translated into colors: violet for happiness, pink for desire, yellow for love, etc. One night, he comes across a stranger playing with fireflies. When their gazes meet, Yoongi sees the color black for the first time. What does it mean?

• rating: explicit

​• no archive warning apply

​• status: Completed Work

​• word count: 22.825

​• tags: Alternate Universe - Mythology | Inspired by Hades and Persephone | Mythology - Freeform | Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses | Witches | Destiny | Park Jimin as Hades | Min Yoongi as Persephone | Min Yoongi Is Whipped | Min Yoongi Is a Tease | Park Jimin Needs a Hug | Park Jimin is a Ray of Sunshine | Bottom Min Yoongi | Top Park Jimin | Rimming | Park Jimin is Whipped | Fate & Destiny | Fluff and Smut

​• link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44860987/chapters/112873510

[sailoryooons]

Gods of the Dark | One | 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: 21,606

☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

☾ 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: 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, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via drowning, a physical fight between a man and a woman in the middle of a storm, sexual dream sequences featuring making out, biting (light), grinding, reader having flashbacks of trauma, a lot of thoughts about reader's terrible parents, a sort of power imbalance in the sense that reader is in Yoongi's realm as a part of a deal.

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This was originally supposed to be two giant chapters, but I cannot manage my time in a way to write to ~40k chapters and also fit all of this in a way that is not overwhelming or feels like it makes sense, so I have chosen to do this in 4 chapters of roughly 20k words! Thank you to everyone who has hyped me up for this idea, helped me work out some ideas, or listened to me struggle to write this because I was so unsure about the chemistry between Yoongi and reader at first. I am really excited to be writing this and have taken this in quite a different direction than the original idea when I had when I watched the Lilith MV, but that's okay. I heavily draw on inspiration from the Lilith MV, the song Possession of a Weapon by Ashnikko, The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, the movie The Witch, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab and the original myth of Hades and Persephone (where I got the deal/living in Yoongi's world idea from).

Special thank you to my amazing beta team who really helped make this fic what it is and make sure it was legible: @theharrowing and @here2bbtstrash

☾ 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.

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Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

-

It begins with rain.

White sheets of it beating against the window in a gentle murmur, a soft leak in the corner of the kitchen dripping into the metal bucket your mother has set out. The storm brings a cool wind with it, blowing in on the back porch where your father rocks back and forth in his chair, watching the deluge. 

Shivering, you throw another log into the fireplace, pulling your shawl closer as orange embers spark and crackle, drifting up the shute. The smell of burning cedar grows and you smile, sitting down in front of the licking flames and holding out your hands to warm your palms. 

Behind you at the kitchen table, your mother pulls a thread and needle through a dress she’s been working on, stitching purple flowers into the sleeves. You wonder if she’s making it for the neighbor's daughter, a girl a few years younger than you to be wed soon. 

Mother makes some of the best stitching in the village, her practiced hands etching artful flowers and vines and designs on the sleeves and skirts of most of the village women. She’s tried for years to pass the craft on to you, but your fingers aren’t nearly as nimble and your eye for art is sorely lacking. 

What you lack in art you make up for in stories, though. Head in the clouds, swimming in worlds, places and things you’ve never seen. Lives and people who only exist in your mind, entire fantasies with more colors and sights and smells than your tiny little world contains. 

You’d write them down if you could. Writing and reading is not a woman’s craft, though, and you know better than to press your father on the subject any further than you have in the past. A terse word from him and your raw knuckles after being forced to do the wash alone for weeks kept you from bringing up the topic of learning to read and write ever again, especially when you remember the sting of his slap when you pushed too far.

Still, you have your mind. You have the ability to dream up worlds and twist fantasies together, to daze off and pretend that you’re somewhere else. That you’re living another life.

You have the days where you finish working at the inn early, sitting in the corner of the room with hard bread and cheese, listening to the town’s storyteller whisper tales and myths to the children of the village.

For now, it will suffice. 

When the rain finally slows in the late afternoon, it’s cloudy and cool outside, the perfect temperature for a walk. Pulling on a pair of linen pants and a tunic, you creep toward the door, hoping to avoid the attention of your parents as they begin to prepare dinner in the kitchen, their movements methodical and silent. 

Carefully, you slide boots on your feet. As you reach for the front door, hidden from the view of the kitchen, you hear your mother call your name. You pause, closing your eyes and grimacing as you call back, “Yes?”

“Where are you going? It’s wet and cold outside.”

“Just for a short walk.”

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she protests. Her steps move near you. You pull the door open and step into the wet air, eager to get away from her. “Come help us with dinner.”

“I’ll see you shortly, the weather is lovely!”

Before your mother can come around the corner and pin you with her disappointed stare, you’re down the slippery steps and sloshing into the yard, mud and grass sucking at your steps as you hurry. You hear your father yell something like dammit, girl but you can’t be sure, the sounds of birds and the bugs swallowing his curses as you rush through the front yard.

The world is covered in a layer of fine mist, tree boughs heavy with rain as they drip drip drip onto the forest floor around you. Thick, gray clouds hide the sun still. Thunder rolls in the distance, promising more rain through the night. You don’t mind, diving into the darkness of the trees on a well-worn path through the woods.

Water floods the path up to the ankle, soaking your boots. You grin and kick your feet as you walk, watching the ripples flow outward. Water mosquitoes dance on top of the surface of the flood and you note little tadpoles swim by, confirming that the river by your house is flooding up over the bank and washing into the mainland. 

This is common most summers. Your house is out of the way from the town, almost a thirty minute walk. This far north, you’re only ten minutes from the edge of the slow-moving river that floods yearly turning the land around your property into a marsh. 

It’s your favorite time of year. A heron startles as you wander through the trees, shaking its white wings and shedding water as it hurries away on long, thin legs. You spot a snake swimming through the reeds, rushing away from you once it senses you sloshing through. 

Closer to the river, you pause. It’s hard to tell where the embankment dips down with it flooded. You can see where the flood moves faster, powered by the depth of the river and the overflow from the lake up north. Leaning against a tree, you look around this world of water. 

It seems alien. Trees block out the sky and are reflected in the surface of the flood, giving the illusion that you stand between two worlds, two dimensions. 

What would that be like, you wonder. 

According to the high priest in town, there are other dimensions. There are the heavens for the gods of light and love, who bless the world with fire and harvest and rain and oceans, who protect the people and who will absolve you of all sin and greed if you pray to them hard enough and accept them as your patrons. Who will love you only if you are devout.

You don’t believe in them for a second. If those gods of love and light do exist, they are not entirely good. They have never answered your prayers, have never saved you from pain or from sorrow. You have begged the gods to give you a new life, to let you leave. To let you go somewhere far away.

They have been silent. They were silent when your father beat you after the first time you rejected a marital match. They didn’t help you when he burned all your materials when you tried to teach yourself the shapes and sounds of letters.

So you stopped praying to them. 

There are other gods, of course. Other places for the wicked, dark gods full of trickery and greed, who seek only to fill the world with sin and deceit, who desire to make humans suffer and lose themselves in hedonism and debauchery. Those gods have a place too, the dark underworld for those who should be punished and reminded what it is to be full of sin. 

You’ve never prayed to them either, too afraid of what it would cost you. But you wonder if they answer or if they too watch the world from a mountain so high that they cannot bother to help those who need it. 

Still, you wonder what it would be like to walk between two worlds. To see one reflected in the other, to fall face first into the cool water only to surface in another place, almost an exact replica of where you’re from. 

It would be nice. Perhaps there you wouldn’t be a disappointing daughter who has turned away every suitor in the village, much to your father’s rage. There, you would be allowed to pursue reading and writing. You’d have the agency to sail the world and see the ocean for the first time, to feel the freezing spray of the seas on your face while you hunt the coast for something lost. 

Always something lost. 

In all of your fantasies, you’re looking for something. Sometimes, you’re not sure what it is you’re looking for, you just know that something needs to be found. Other times, it’s a specific object or a person, something that, deep down, you know represents the thing you desire to find most: freedom. 

A small school of fish swim by your feet. They can’t be any larger than your pinky finger, scurrying along before they’re swept up in the suction of the flowing river. Sighing, you push off the tree and begin to head back home, swatting at your bare arms where gnats bite at your sweaty skin. 

Dark presses in as you walk back. You had stayed in the woods later than you intended, mind drifting far off among the sounds of the world around you. A cool tingle slides down your neck as you walk, water breaking around you. 

You pause. It’s the same feeling that you get whenever you spend far too long in the woods and the sun goes down. It feels like there’s someone there with you, just at your back. Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder but there’s no one there, just the warm press of something you can’t see. 

When it happened the first time, you’d been so afraid you ran home. Now, though, you smile and look down at the ground as you keep walking. The presence, whether it’s real or something you have made up in your head, is always comforting. Always there, a gentle press of feeling. 

There are candles burning in the windows and an owl hoots in greeting when your house appears. Inside, you kick off your shoes and rush to meet your parents at the silent dinner table. Both of them look up at you, your mother’s mouth pinched, eyes weary. Your father’s gaze is thunderous as he picks up cutlery and begins to cut into his potato in saw-like motions, his knuckles going white.

You sit down without a word, bow your head to pretend to pray. Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention. “It’s after dark. You missed your prayers.” 

It doesn’t matter. You weren’t going to pray anyway. But the way your parents look at you makes you drop your eyes down to the table, their expressions alarmed. Were you really about to pray after the sunset, when the benevolent gods were no longer listening? The only gods available to you now are dangerous. Violent. Tricky. 

Dinner is dry and too heavily salted. Still, you don’t complain. Somewhere in the world, you’re sure that there are wonderful feasts being held. Plates and platters of honey-glazed meats, roasted pheasant and charred filets. Whipped sweets and colorful confectionaries, dripping fruits and sugary drinks. 

None of those places exist anywhere that you’ve ever seen, but you like to imagine them as you chew your way through an oppressively silent meal. He says nothing, but you can tell your father is angry once again. Just as well, he at least keeps it to himself through the meal and says nothing when you’re done. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” you offer quickly when your parents finish. It’s an olive branch and they know it. They accept anyway, letting you gather plates as the soft hush of rain begins again. 

Rain washes out the night. You can’t see anything beyond the water that runs off the roof over the back porch as you dip your rag into warm water, scrubbing at the plates before setting them to dry in the stack next to you. 

Frogs croak, their loud voices blending together into the roar of the rain. Every now and again, lightning flashes above and thunder shakes the sky. You feel it vibrate through your ribs and you smile, inhaling the charged air. 

“... doesn’t have a choice!” You turn toward the open doorway. You can’t see your parents but the window is open to their room, voices coming in and out of the rain. “... force her! I’ve had… and he’s already agreed.”

You frown, stopping your scrubbing to lean further, straining your ears. “This won’t go well,” your mother says. 

“I don’t give a damn! It’s already done, woman. Enough.”

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by thunder. You frown and turn back to your task, trying to piece together what they’re talking about. You think back to your mother stitching the dress before dinner and think perhaps they’re gossiping about the neighbor again. She wasn’t happy that she was being married off and everyone knew it.

Still, she’s doing it. She’s stronger than you. It’s hard to imagine going through with something you don’t want, to live a life shackled to another person who doesn’t love you. Whose only purpose is to coexist with you and reproduce. To run a household and get through each and every day, the same as last.

It’s hard to say if your parents are in love. They are tender, at times, but you can’t ever point out a moment that your mother or father seem truly happy. Content isn’t the same as happiness. Not really. While they work together well and seem to have struck up a balance after the years, there’s nothing in the way they move through life that seems joyful. 

You had asked your mom if she was happy once. She gave you a funny look and said, I have a roof above my head and food on the table. How could I not be? 

Her response puzzles you still. To live is not to be happy. Being alive is just that - being alive. A bare minimum. But truly being happy is something else. At least, that’s how you understand it. How the heroes and characters in stories and tales live their lives, fighting for happiness. 

Later that night, you forget all about their whispers behind the sheets of rain. You’re tired and the storm is soothing, making you dream of a far away land where there are two armies entrenched in war, battling for their kingdoms and lighting the sky with storm magic. 

Another dream. Another fantasy. 

-

In your dream, a soft mouth meets yours. The kiss is slow, tongue dragging against yours, tasting of something sweet, mouth warm. It smells like clove and cinnamon, and though you don’t open your eyes to see the mouth that slides against yours, you know you are safe. 

-

It ends in darkness.

Dusk has settled around your home like a funeral shroud. Your father has been gone all day, your mother flippant when you ask about his whereabouts. Your mother is a painted picture of anxiety: mouth pinched, darting eyes that fail to meet yours, and hunched shoulders. It makes your palms sweat, the way she avoids you in the house. 

Rain comes down in patterns again, bands of storms floating by and turning the world gray. You don’t have to go to the inn with the road flooded, so you spend the day at the window instead, watching each storm flash by, listening to the frogs and watching the birds pick through bug-filled waters between each deluge. 

When the sun begins to set, you find your mother standing near the window, looking through wet glass as she chews the corner of her lip. She wipes her hands on her dress, not picking up that you’re standing in the doorway watching her.

The gown she has been stitching for the past few days lays on the table. It’s a beautiful thing, bursting with intricate flowers on the sleeves and the skirts. You don’t enjoy dresses - much less the kind for marriage - but you admire the careful needlework. 

“It’s a good dress,” you tell her. She startles from where she stands at the window, whirling around to face you. “One of your best.”

“Yes. I-” something crosses her face that’s unreadable. “Would you try it on for me? I want to make sure I got the sizing right.”

You shrug and pick it up. It’s not the first time she’s used you for sizing and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You just hope that she doesn’t make you stand on a stool for hours to place pins in the skirt, mapping where she needs to take in the seams and make the fabric fold. 

The material is a little scratchy when you put it on. It’s snug across the chest and a little bit long at the wrist, but the material ripples over you like water. Outside of your room, the sound of your father’s voice echoes. He sounds more jovial than usual, laughing loudly - another voice is with him. 

Frowning, you work the buttons on the side of the dress to secure it shut, pulling the fabric into place. It isn’t often that your father has guests over, but you can assume it’s one of his friends he has over for dinner. You make a sour face at the thought that perhaps it’s Mr. Laudermill and his son Nathaniel again, a family your father has tried to pawn you off on before. 

The list of people your father has tried to get you to marry is astounding. It’s become a joke in the town, a game of who will he ask next? At first, there were plenty of families who offered their sons to make the union. Now, after how vehemently you have protested for your right to pick your husband yourself, it’s you who is rejected when your father makes dowry offers.

It seems - much to your advantage - that the men of the town and even the neighboring villages grew tired of the girl who liked to say no. It gives you small satisfaction to know that sheer inconvenience has earned you freedom alongside your mother’s unwillingness to force you. 

Still, the Laudermills are a little persistent. Not your father’s favorite option he has ever brought up, but it was one that didn’t say no. 

You enter the main house with minor trepidation, uneager to spend the evening sighing at Nathaniel’s terrible jokes and attempts to win you over. You wonder if it’s sheer pride that brings him back this time, upset that he cannot beat the town's little conundrum. The unconquerable conquest. You get the feeling that’s why he and his father visit for dinner sometimes, Nathaniel’s pride unwilling to back down from the challenge. 

You’d respect him more if he had more admiration for the word no. 

Nathaniel and his father are in the main room of your home, speaking in laughing tones to your father. Your mother stands near the open back door, hands wringing together. There is another person in your house that you don’t expect, though. The village’s high priest nods his head along with something that your father is saying, wrinkled hands clasped in front of his robes.

Time seems to slow down. You take in the tight expression on your mother’s face, her eyes drifting over to the priest who is dressed in ceremonial purple robes, an air of professional courtesy about him. He’s nodding to Nathaniel who is speaking now, and it’s when you really look at him, dressed in nice linen pants, a long sleeved shirt and an ornate vest, that you put the pieces together. 

Too slowly do you react as your father turns to you. His smile is forced and his gaze is burning with warning when he gestures. “There’s our bride!”

The word sinks in like a blade. Right between the ribs and up, its point poking dangerous at your heart as your blood begins to roar in your ears. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at them from the threshold of your room. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, your hands shaking. 

“You look beautiful,” Nathaniel says, grinning. It’s a genuine smile, a proud one. Something that says finally. “I’m so glad you’re ready, after all this time.”

“I… what?”

In a moment of razor-sharp clarity, you remember the conversation your parents were having last night, soft words whispered under the cover of the storm. You remember something about forcing her and someone having already agreed. 

No. No. Nonononononono. 

You don’t realize you’re speaking out loud as you back up into your room, the horror settling in as the rain begins to tap on the roof. Your mother looks crestfallen but remains silent as your father’s smile tightens and his face reddens. 

When he says your name, it’s full of warning. The back of your legs hit your bed and your weak knees buckle. You sit down with a huff and shake your head. “You can’t do this,” you whisper. You can’t find your voice, can’t work your throat louder. “You cannot make me marry.”

“Of course I can,” your father hisses. His smile drops and in its place is something dangerous. Horrific. The villain of all your dreams and epic fantasies. “I have given you more than enough time to choose. You have not. As the man of this house-”

“No!” you bark back, cutting him off and shooting to your feet. “I am a person-”

“You are a woman!” he roars, making the high priest flinch. “Your purpose is to grow up, get married, mind the household and provide an heir! You are the only fiendish woman in this entire forsaken village who seems to misunderstand this!”

“It is not my purpose!”

“It is, and you will fulfill it!” he hisses. “You will marry this man before the gods, with my blessing and the witness of the priest.” 

Behind you, thunder rolls. The rain comes down harder. Frogs croak loudly, bracketed by the sound of the trees bending with the weight of the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the people before you. Your mother with tears in her eyes, your father with fury in his face, the priest with disappointment and Nathaniel. Nathaniel with glee. With a grin. With a smirk. 

“I won’t do it,” you whisper. 

Before they can argue, you turn on your heel and leap onto your bed. Your father and Nathaniel rush at the doorway, their steps pounding behind you as you crawl through the window, your ribs slamming on the sill as you lean face forward. Rain soaks you immediately, your hands gripping the sill as you haul your middle half over the edge, intending to just flip down into the mud. 

Hands yank at your legs and you scream, a feral sound ripping through your lungs as you kick backward violently. You’re yanked back toward your room viciously, rib cage aching where you slide on the concrete frame. With another savage kick, you make contact and hear a loud shout before the hands drop from your waist. 

Pushing harshly, you throw yourself the rest of the way through the window, falling the few feet down to land with a splash. Your father is screaming inside the house but you’re already slipping to your feet, whatever he says drowned out in the rain. 

You don’t even think. You run, hands picking up the wet-leaden skirts on your dress as you tear off toward the woods. Water rushes around your ankles as you go and you hear commotion at the window as someone clambers through. You don’t dare turn around as you rush to the line of trees, unafraid of the dark but terrified of the slamming footsteps behind you.

It’s impossible to be fast in the flooded woods. You wince as your feet get cut up on rocks and sharp sticks that you can’t see. You trip over roots and kick solid things as you slog forward, biting back a cry as you try to flee. 

“Get back here, you wretched bitch!” Nathaniel screams behind you. 

It never occurred to you that he could say something so violent. It spurs you forward, mud and water sucking your feet down and making your flight sticky and slow. Rain pelts down between the leaves, the storm lighting up the treetops with purple flashes every now and again. Thunder shakes their branches and rumbles through your feet, the water rushing higher and higher. 

Nathaniel slams into you at the waist. You scream as he takes you down, his weight on top of you. Your scream is cut off as your mouth fills with water. You swallow in a panic, body thrumming with alarm as you choke, nose full of water, eyes burning. You can hear the dull roar of water, the swish of your tangled limbs on the floor. 

Clawing at him, you feel your nails rip down soft flesh and hear a muted yell. He lifts his weight off of you and you sit forward, breaking the surface and gasping for air, retching. Your lungs and nose burn as you gasp for air, fighting to get a breath in. 

Nathaniel is on you again, his hand going for your hair as he digs his fingers in hard, yanking at your scalp. Your hands fly to his wrist and you scream again, pulling at him, trying to free yourself. Tears smart your eyes from the stinging pain as he yanks hard enough that you think he’ll tear you right apart. 

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

Your feet slide in the mud as he uses your buoyancy in the knee deep water to haul you back toward the house. You twist in his grip, mewling in panic and pain as you work to get your feet under you and fight back. You let go of his arm and throw a weak punch at his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go, even as you twist, hands shooting to the ground, digging through soaked earth and weeds until you feel the hard, rough shape of a rock. 

Grabbing it, you lift your hand from the water and bring it down hard on Nathaniel’s wrist. He screams and lets go of your hair. Your fingers ache from the blow but you don’t waste precious minutes, scrambling to your feet and sloshing away from him again. He’s already gripping at your dress, fingers ripping at the fabric to get a hold of you. 

Desperation claws at you and you scream for help. You don’t know if anyone else is out here in the dark of the woods but you don’t care. Bleeding, in pain, and terrified, you tear through the water, the rock clutched in your fingers, rushing in the dark as Nathaniel gives chase.

“Please!” you scream at the dark. “Anyone, please!” 

A thread of thought slivers through you about the gods. Praying to the gods has never gotten you anywhere. It didn’t make your father let you read. It didn’t get you out of your town. It didn’t save you from this. The supposed gods who rule with light and love had never heard you and you had long stopped believing in them.

But you’d never prayed to the gods of the dark. The gods who only listen to words whispered after the setting sun. 

“Please,” you beg, turning your head to the dark sky. Lighting flashes and thunder rumbles. Cool wind brushes against your face, wind that feels like it whispers I’m listening. “Please,” you scream again. “Help me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Help me!”

Nathaniel takes you down by the waist again. You gasp for air this time as your face slaps the water with a sting. The current is rushing faster here, pulling at you. Deeper. Colder. You’re close to the river, and you feel the suction of the force of the flow tugging at your body as Nathaniel digs his fingers into the meat of your arms. 

This time, he doesn’t pull you with him. He holds you down, shoving you deeper and deeper until you realize that he’s no longer interested in bringing you back. You kick at him, you tear at him. You slam his wrist with the rock again but his other hand grabs yours, wrenching the weapon away from you. 

Your lungs are screaming and water is rushing into your nose as oxygen escapes you. His grip is firm and you begin to panic. All you can think is help help help help. Please help. 

Bubbles escape your mouth as you’re forced to breathe out again. You’re running out of time and pain starts to build in your chest. You feel the way your lungs squeeze, needing air. You let out more air and press your lips tight, desperately trying not to inhale. 

Breathe in, your instincts scream. Breathe breathe breathe breathe. 

Agony. You’re in agony as you open your mouth in a final cry, unable to form the words. Unable to scream and ask for a higher power that you only believe in at this moment to help you. 

Water fills your mouth. You swallow it whole, feel it go down as you begin to spasm. 

You’re going to die. 

And then Nathaniel’s hands are gone. It takes you a moment to realize that there’s no crushing grip on your arms and in the brief moment of realization, you barely manage to push up. To break the surface and vomit, water coming out of you in a stinging, horrid mess. Your stomach turns and you feel your chest squeeze as you choke.

The storm is still raging around you, water pulling at you and pressing you into the rough bark of a tree. Blinking tears from your eyes, you look around but it’s too dark to see. You can hear Nathaniel looking for you, screaming your name in the dark. 

The back of your neck tingles. There’s a feeling in the air behind you - that sliver of breath that you often sense when you’re out in the woods alone just after dark. Like something or someone is there with you, just behind you. 

“What is it you want?” a deep, dark voice whispers. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel chilled to the bone. The voice is like none you’ve ever heard, sensual and dizzying. 

“Want?”

“You asked for help.” The voice switches to your other ear and you don’t dare turn around to find the speaker. “What do you want?” 

“What can you give?”

The voice chuckles. The sound makes you shiver, your eyelids fluttering. The voice purrs, “I can give you anything you dream, little lamb. Tell me: what do you want?”

You think about it. Lightning lances through the sky and for a brief moment, the world is a flash of silver. You see Nathaniel in the light, a few feet away from you. He’s bloody and heaving, his eyes snapping to where you hide against the tree.

“Freedom,” you gasp as the world falls to darkness again. “I want freedom.”

“What will you give me?”

“What do you want?” you beg, hearing Nathaniel move toward you.

There’s a soft hum and you feel lightheaded at the sound. “Your time.”

“My time?”

“Your time in exchange for freedom, little lamb. Better hurry, this offer is about to expire.” 

Nathaniel screams in a rage. Sloshes closer to you. Your heartbeat quickens. You can feel it in your chest, hear it in your ears, your pulse throbbing as he nears. 

“Okay,” you whisper, voice coming out shaky. 

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.” 

There’s a brush at the nape of your neck, warm and soft. Though you’ve never been kissed before, you think that it’s the press of lips, intimate and barely there. Something inside you flickers to life, like a new instinct that has opened its eyes for the first time. You’re aware of another presence, a soft buzz that presses down on you as it stands up next to you. 

Thunder rolls and you feel someone brush by you.  A hand touches your cheek almost fondly, fingers dragging along the curve of your jaw. Blinking slowly, you lean into the touch, seeking its comfort. You don’t know who it belongs to. All you know is that just the feel of fingers on your skin has your stomach flipping, your toes curling. 

The hand drops from your face and you immediately miss the contact. Opening your eyes, you see another flash of lightning. There’s someone standing in front of you dressed in black, slick with rain. You can’t make out anything much, just the shape of a man in a dark cloak. 

A god. You know he’s a god, whoever this savior is. You know that something has heard your screams in the dark and has come to give you what you wanted. What you begged for. 

“She is no longer available to you,” the god announces to Nathaniel. It’s not the same whisper as a moment ago, but a deep, raspy voice. Dark. Demanding. “She’s mine.” 

“That’s my betrothed,” Nathaniel answers, though it comes out like a question, his voice trembling. “I– she belongs to-”

“Me,” the dark god assures. A loud clap of thunder makes you flinch. “Goodbye, Nathaniel Laudermill.” 

Nathaniel screams. You don’t know what happens. There’s just his shout of terror in the dark and a roll of thunder that shakes the trees and rattles the earth. You feel the vibration in the water from the unearthly thunder before you realize that this sound, this trembling, is the wrath of a god. 

The sound fades and the shaking stops. You feel more than see the god in front of you turn to face you, a sweeping warmth as he bends down. You cannot make out any features, your vision swimming with bursts of color in the lack of light. 

“You’re with me now,” he assures you. “And you should not be afraid.” 

Gentle hands reach out and cradle your face. You’re suddenly tired, every pain in your body weighing you down like stones, pulling at you until you’re closing your eyes and succumbing to the heavy exhaustion.

The last thing you remember is your whispered name on reverent lips. 

-

You’re dreaming. Your eyes are closed in this dream but you feel light and warm. Fingers brush over your cheek, soft and reverent. You hear a gentle, deep humming, a pleasant melody. It smells like clove and cinnamon, making you drift further into the dream. You lean into the hand cupping your face and hear a deep chuckle before drifting off into nothingness. 

-

The first thing you notice is the smell of clove and cinnamon. It’s a soothing scent that sends your heart fluttering as you roll over. The blankets wrapped around you feel divine, soft with a high loft that feels like you’re wrapped in clouds. The mattress is decadent, sucking you in further as you settle in on your side, inhaling deeply.

Then you remember hands tearing at your legs. Ripping you by the hair. Water filling your lungs and throat. The flash of lightning and the cold rain as you were dragged under a flood again and again. 

With a gasp you sit up in bed, heart hammering. You still as you look around, mouth dropping open at the opulent room. The bed is the largest thing you’ve ever seen, on a low platform swimming with charcoal colored sheets and pillows. The headboard looks like polished obsidian, glinting in the low light provided by dozens of flickering candles.

Stone walls make up the room, rough rock with sconces of flickering flames. The room is sprawling with a sitting area a step down from the bed, decorated with chaise lounges, a coffee table and high-backed chairs situated in front of a fireplace. Flames crackle on a log, orange light dancing across the room. On either side of the fireplace are bookshelves that stretch up to the high ceiling.

Across from the bed are open double doors where you can see a magnificent bathroom. From your vantage point, you can just make out sinks carved from a hewn rock and what looks like a trickling waterfall sluicing down the wall. 

Turning to the left, there is a set of glass doors, a balcony just on the other side. It appears to be nighttime outside, thousands of stars glittering through the glass and the largest moon you’ve ever seen suspended in the sky like a lone coin.

Carefully, you peel back the covers. You’re still in the wedding dress your mother made you. It’s stained and tattered and bloodied, making your stomach flip uncomfortably as you look down on it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you place your feet on the stone flooring, expecting it to be cold to the touch. 

It isn’t. Warmth radiates from the floor through the soles of your feet, making you sigh, tension bleeding from your shoulders as you close your eyes for a moment. Though the aches and the pains from being scratched and hit and torn down are gone, you wince as you recall them. 

Your parents were going to force you to marry Nathaniel. You don’t know how you missed the signs before, how you thought that there was any other path. With your elbows pressed to your knees, you hang your head in your hands, pressing your eyes shut and taking another shuddering breath.

This time, a sob slips out. Somehow, you had tricked yourself into thinking that your parents would abide by your wishes to make your own choices. Foolish, you realize. Your father had not grown complacent. He had been biding his time, waiting to strike. 

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

And your mother was going to let him do it. The woman who had brought you into the world screaming and bloody was going to pass you off to a man, even if it meant that man dragged you kicking and screaming to the altar. 

Disgust curls in your stomach and your hands turn into firsts, pressing against your closed lids and making bursts of colors flash in your eyes. Split down the middle, one part of you mourns the loss of the parents you thought that you had. The other is an open wound, festering with a hateful infection at the very thought of them. 

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. Your heart leaps as you sit up straight, dropping your hands into your lap as a man slips through the large double doors near the sitting area. Your breath catches in your chest as he sweeps into the room, looping his hands behind his back as he sets his dark eyes on you and approaches. 

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, you think. Inky hair falls into his enigmatic eyes. His skin is deep gold, a contrast to the all-black blouse that he wears tucked into black pants. You see the open collar of his shirt revealing a patch of tan skin and an elegant throat, but it’s his face that shatters your mind. 

The man - or god, you think - has a square, masculine jaw offset with a delicate mouth the color of rose petals. His nose is straight and wide and would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s the perfect balance, his cheekbones high and angular, cutting the roundness of his nose. 

“Good to see you’re awake,” he greets. The man stops at the edge of the step that leads to where the bed sits higher than the rest of the room. You stare and stare and stare at him, unable to process words as he grins at you. His voice is dulcet and warm, but not the voice that promised to save you. “How do you feel?”

“I…” you rasp out and you shake your head, unable to think of anything else.

His mouth quirks and he nods. “It sounds like you had a terrible time. How about you take a well-deserved bath and get out of that terrible dress? Sorry to have left you in it, I was under strict instructions not to invade your personal space.”

“Yes, please.” You hesitate. “Where am I? Whose instructions?”

“You’re somewhere safe with someone who wants you to remain safe.” 

“Where is safe?”

He gives you a secretive smile as he nods toward the bathroom before turning on his heel and striding away. On unsteady feet, you follow him. It helps that the floor is warm, giving you the strength you need to make it down the two steps and across the stone toward the bathroom. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person to answer your question,” he admits. “I’m just here to help you get settled. My name is Taehyung, by the way.”

“Taehyung.” You say the word, familiarizing yourself with the shape of it as you enter the room and stop. 

The bathroom is far more luxurious than you realized from afar. There is a waterfall running down the black rockface between two basins, trickling into a little fountain that drains on the floor. To the right side of the bathroom is a large body of steaming water. 

Herbal scents fill the room as you near the edge of the dark surface of the water. It reminds you of hot springs in a cave near the southern villages, a place you’d only heard of but never seen. It’s massive, surrounded by a smooth, stone edge. There is a corner full of what appears to be salts, soaps and herbs alongside flickering candles. 

Opposite the hot spring is a giant glass window that overlooks mountains and lush greenery. From the window, you can see the entire world of wherever you are stretched out in the most dazzling and wonderful display. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somewhere that belongs in the epitome of night.

“How deep is that?” you ask, turning to Taehyung with a wary expression as you gesture to the body of water. 

His expression softens. “Waist high when you stand in the middle. There is a ledge that you can sit on all the way around. It’s incredibly safe and very warm. I can stand just outside the door if anything goes wrong.”

“Okay.” 

Taehyung points to a stack of clothes resting on a stool near a cabinet full of towels and jars of things. “Those are for you to change into. The towels are for you to dry off, of course. Anything in the bathroom is yours to use.” Taehyung must sense your hesitation, because he gives you a soft smile. “You’re safe here. I promise.” 

“I’d feel better if I knew where here was.”

“Bathe. Relax. Then I’ll take you to him.” 

Taehyung does not give you a chance to ask to whom he refers. He strides out of the room and the door swings shut seemingly on its own. You blink a few times at it, standing in the middle of the warm bathroom in a daze.

Spinning, you look around the room and find yourself drawn to the window. Up close, you realize how high up you are. It’s a bit dizzying, and you look  down at the ground only to see that there is a garden bursting with purple and blue, neat rows of flowers that stretch until they meet a line of trees. 

A world of mountains unfolds beyond the window. You’ve never seen mountains but they are larger than you could have ever imagined, snowcaps stark against the night sky. It’s mesmerizing and a little too big, so you turn away from the window and head for the steaming basin of water. 

Peaking over the edge, you can see the bottom. It doesn’t look that deep, but your stomach twists as you pop the buttons on your dress. Your fingers feel stiff and disjointed as you work to undress. You look down at the ripped threads and the dirty fabric and think about how much time your mother spent stitching it.

Suddenly the dress feels suffocating and you pull hard on the garment, popping buttons from the threads and sending them clattering on the floor. You shed the dress and kick it away from you, stripping off your undergarments and lowering yourself to the edge of the water. 

A sigh leaves your mouth as you slide your feet and legs in first. The water is hot, though not scalding like you expected. Closing your eyes, you remain sitting on the edge for a moment, letting your calves soak and muscles unwind, fingers gripping the edge tight. 

Taking a deep breath, you slide forward a little, firmly placing your feet on the ledge Taehyung spoke of. For a moment, your fear spikes. You feel it sharp in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the basin. With a few deep breaths, you carefully slide down to the ledge proper, sinking in the hot water to the chest. 

“I’m not going to drown,” you whisper to yourself. The words come out shaky and you’re not entirely sure that you believe them. “I’m not going to drown, I am not going to drown, I am not going to drown.”

You repeat the mantra until you believe it, your fingers grasping the edge of the stone seat as you try to relax and melt into the water. It takes a while, but you finally grow too tired of remaining tense, taking a deep breath and gaining the courage to relax. 

Gently, you rest your head against the edge of the basin. Heat seeps into your skin and you feel the anxiety bleed out of you, your tensed muscles unwinding. You hadn’t realized how clenched up you were until you let go, and your body sags a little bit in the water. 

Time slips away. Thankfully, your body doesn’t hurt the way you anticipated that it would. Frowning, you press your fingers into your skin where there should be bruises and pain. There is no evidence on your skin that Nathaniel laid his hands on you the night before - the day before? You’re unsure how much time has passed, only that there is an eerie absence of your wounds.

Turning your head, you look at your dress discarded on the floor. There’s certainly evidence of a struggle spattered all over the fabric, but it makes you wonder if the god who answered your prayers has healed you.

A god. 

The thought comes to you in a snap and you stare down at the water, eyes unfocusing as you try to recall the details of what happened. You remember screaming for help, the sound of your desperation ripping through your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever screamed like that, terrified and wild. You remember thinking about the gods, begging them to hear you, willing them to listen. 

Water had been filling your lungs. Crushing out air. You remember the rush of the stream around you as it pulled at your fighting body. Nathaniel’s hands gripping you and holding you under viciously, fingers like claws as he tried to drown you. 

Then you surfaced and choked, completely shrouded in darkness…. And you remember that quiet voice made of smoke and shadow. Thinking of it now makes you shiver, despite how hot the water is. The voice had promised you freedom in exchange for time and had taken you to wherever this place was. 

You open your eyes, unsure when you had even closed them. Glancing around the room once more, you decide there is no way that you’re anywhere close to home. You’ve never seen anything like this bathroom before, a feat of what appears to be architecture and maybe magic. 

Soaps and salts line the edges of the bathing pool. When you feel brave enough, you dart across the middle like a minnow, trying not to think about how you nearly crossed death’s bridge in a shallow body of water not long ago. 

Unscrewing lids, you smell each of the glass bottles of liquid, humming in delight. You settle on a hard bar of soap that smells like lavender and mint. It feels good to scrub your skin raw. You imagine that you’re washing away all of the memories of Nathaniel’s fingers on your skin and the scratchy dress your mother made for you.

Fingers and feet pruned and skin feeling stripped of a top layer, you reluctantly exit the bath. The towels are the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You run the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head up at the sky and sighing. Wherever this dark god has taken you doesn’t seem so terrifying, yet it puts you more on edge, these luxuries. 

The clothes Taehyung left out for you fit well enough, though it’s obvious they are not your exact measurements. He’s provided you with soft, black pants and a loose, black tunic with intricate designs that look like clouds on the sleeves and collar. 

You hesitate when you’re ready to leave the bathroom. So far, it seems that whatever bargain you’ve struck with this god has been in your favor. But you know you’ve made a deal in a moment of fear, and you’re not entirely sure what you’ve agreed to.

Time.

Though you’re nervous, you can’t stay hidden in the bathroom forever. Nudging the door open, you peek around the edge, gaze sweeping the room as you look for Taehyung. He’s standing in the sitting area, face toward the flickering fire. He looks both terrifying and beautiful, hands linked behind his back as he watches the flames. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Taehyung calls without turning around. “I mean it when I tell you that you’re safe.”

Slipping through the door, you walk toward him, regarding him warily. “Still,” you answer. “I don’t know where I am. Are you even human?”

He does look over his shoulder then, flashing you a wicked grin. “I’m not.” 

Taehyung’s answer doesn’t put you at ease, but you’re unsure what to do. Wordlessly, he gestures for you to follow him as he heads through the door and out of the room. For a moment, you hesitate. What would happen if you refused to leave the room? Is your deal with the god already in effect? What are its limitations? 

You can answer none of the questions you have, so you follow Taehyung, hoping to find answers soon. Except as soon as you step out of the room, you think you might have even more questions. 

The halls are dark and lit with flickering torches, casting an orange glow up to the cavernous ceilings. Though you’ve never been in a castle or seen one, you have an idea of how grand they are. There is no doubt in your mind that this is a castle, the halls resplendent and sweeping with artwork and fabric and statues. 

In front of you, Taehyung walks jovially with his hands linked behind his back. He hums a tune you don’t know, but it sounds smooth and warm. You follow behind him, casting your gaze around as you walk, trying to remember which turns you take and what paintings you pass. 

You reach a tall, closed set of wooden double doors. Taehyung raps his fingers against the door, looking over his shoulder at you with an excited grin. Your stomach flips and you wipe your palms against the bottom of your tunic. Your hands feel shaky and you twine them into the fabric, willing them to stop. 

Taehyung must hear someone on the other side of the door, because he opens it and steps in and to the side, gesturing for you to enter. You take a deep breath and walk by him into the room, stopping immediately as you look up, your mouth falling open. 

It’s a library grander than you could ever imagine. Your town had quite a small library at the church that belonged to the high priest, but this is something beyond your wildest dreams. The ceiling stretches higher than your imagination, filled with floating lights and stars - the entire night sky is stretched above you in swirling constellations of purple and blue. 

Three floors make up the library, each lined with books and windows that look out into the evening. You can see sprawling gardens beyond the tinted glass, but it’s the shelves of books that catch your attention. Stepping into the room further, you slowly spin, looking at the sheer amount of volumes that line the walls. There are multiple seating areas with rich, velvet blue armchairs and couches, tables full of books and papers and ink bottles and maps. 

Your throat tightens as you look at Taehyung, your mouth wobbling. The urge to burst into tears has never felt greater than this moment. You never imagined that you could stand in a room with so many books, and the desire to pull one off the shelf and delve in is cut short by the single, glaring fact that you don’t know how to read them. 

Distracted by the books upon entry, it takes you a moment to notice another presence in the room. You feel a tingle at the back of your neck, one that draws your eyes toward a long table near the fireplace. It’s the same feeling you had when you were saved from Nathaniel, an awareness that buzzes along your skin.

A man stands in front of the table, watching you with dark, feline eyes. He’s beautiful. Otherworldly, really. His round features remind you of the moon, but it’s the sharp eyes and the careful pout of his mouth that draws you in. He looks both delicate and dangerous, and you notice the quirk on his lips as he watches you watch him. 

He’s in all black. Black pants tucked into black, knee-high boots, and a black, long-sleeved shirt. There’s a layer of necklaces around his neck and you can see shapes and runes that are unfamiliar to you. The same runes and shapes are on the rings on his long, delicate fingers, folded in front of him. 

This is the face of a god. You know it in the way that there’s something ancient in his eyes and in the way he glows from within. His power is tangible, a crackling energy pressing up against every nerve in your body. 

“How are you feeling?” his voice vibrates right to your core. Soft and dark like you remember it, though a little rougher now. Gravelly. He studies you, unmoving. “Hopefully well-rested?”

“I feel…. Better.” Finding the words is hard in his presence, especially under the scrutiny of his gaze. You want to dart out of the room and hide, but you also don’t want to leave the library without exploring. “I think I should thank you?”

It comes out as a question and he smirks a little. Your stomach flutters at the sight; he raises a brow. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.”

The door shuts behind you and you startle, whirling around to see that Taehyung has left you. Your nerves fray further and you turn back to look at the god watching you. Behind him on the table, you realize it is a feast of sorts. Roasted meats and poultry, platters of fruit, plates of cheese and neatly arranged crackers, steaming pans of vegetables and things you cannot identify. 

He notices. “You must be starving. Come. Eat.” When you don’t move, he sighs. “I didn’t save you just to harm you.” 

It’s true enough. You carefully approach the table, eyeing him as he unclasps his hands and pulls out a chair for you. When you hesitate, he arches a dark brow again and you feel yourself grow warm in the face, muttering your thanks as you hurry over to the chair and sit down. 

The god’s presence is buzzing. He doesn’t touch you, but it’s like you feel him anyway, just an inch away from you. He helps you slide your chair in and gives a deep, contented sigh before he moves toward the opposite end of the table, taking the dull hum of energy with him. 

Across the table, he sits. His gaze finds yours again as you stare at him, finding it difficult to look anywhere else. Even with the smell of a divine meal, your attention on him is a fixed point. If this bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, casual and confident. 

“Have what you like,” he offers. “I don’t know what you enjoy and I didn’t want to pry.”

The table is full of options. You chew the inside of your cheek. There is glazed duck and roasted ham, creamy looking potatoes and sauced vegetables. Your stomach growls and twists painfully as you stare at your choices. 

“The duck is good,” he offers gently. You glance up. He nods towards the dish in question. “Sorry, it’s probably overwhelming.”

“A little,” you answer, but take him up on his advice and go for the duck. “Where are we?”

“In between.”

You frown as you plate different foods, fingers sticky as you do. You’re hyper-aware of him watching you and you try not to look up, feeling your hands quake as you add roasted veggies to your plate. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does. We’re at the in-between of all things. Not a solid place in your sense of understanding. It’s not a physical manifestation of a land mass, but it is a world that contains physical things.” 

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

You look up at him then. His lips twitch at the corners and he tongues the inside of his cheek. “A god. But you already knew that.”

“Wanted to hear you say it.” 

Silence falls between you as you pick up a knife and fork, cutting carefully into your meat. You pop it between your lips, sighing when the duck melts on your tongue with the taste of honey and something else. You sag in the chair, not realizing until now how tense you had been to this point. The food sends a wave of warmth through you and the god watches as you take a few bites, patient as you eat.

“This is fantastic,” you say, glancing at him as you reach for a glass of water. “The flavors are like nothing I’ve ever had.”

“I assure you that all things here are like nothing you’ve ever had.” You hum in agreement, taking another eager bite. You cannot imagine anything in the real world tasting this succulent. You almost wonder if perhaps this is all a dream. “You didn’t pray before you began to eat.”

Your chewing pauses. He’s bemused, giving you a sideways grin with his brows raised. You swallow thickly and say, “Praying never got me anywhere until recently. Why did you help me?”

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

It isn’t a question. He answers anyway. “I didn’t.”

“So why did you? The other gods have never helped me.”

“The other gods aren’t me.” His voice is soft and lethal, raising the hair on your arms. “We are not all the same, and you’d do well to not make any further comparisons moving forward.” 

You lower your gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Gods are fickle beings. We are quick to offend and slow to let go. You don’t know any better and are thus forgiven.” 

“What do I call you?”

For a moment, he hesitates. You think he isn’t going to answer just as he says, “Yoongi. You can call me Yoongi.”

“Is that your name?” 

“It’s one of them.” 

“How many names do you have?”

He chuckles. It’s a delightful sound and you smile, watching him lean his head back against his chair, looking up as he shrugs. “How much time do you have?”

Time. 

Suddenly, you remember that you aren’t here on this god - Yoongi’s - good graces. You’re here because you called for someone in a moment of need and he agreed to help you, but at a cost. Your time. He had asked for your time, and a sense of anxiety tiptoes its way up your spine as you think about the ambiguity of his deal. 

Swallowing harshly, you shift back in your seat. The food in your stomach feels a little heavy, far too rich for you to eat more than a few bites. You’ve only ever known your parents’ staples of meat, bread, cheese, and root vegetables. 

“When you saved me,” you begin. “You made a deal with me.”

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

His eyes are glittering as he watches you, completely still. The fireplace next to you crackles. It makes shadows dance across his face, giving him the appearance of something wild and untamed. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him, this godly being, as he stares you down. 

“That was the deal,” he finally hums. His head cocks to the side a little. “I don’t usually discuss business over dinner.”

“I’m done eating.”

He huffs but doesn’t seem annoyed. “Perhaps tea, then? It will help settle your stomach.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that my stomach needs settling?” 

“I know a lot of things.” Yoongi rises and gestures to the chairs directly in front of the fireplace. You stand, following his lead. There’s a quiver of energy in the air and you pause, turning to look back at the table to see it’s completely bare, no trace of anything left. You whip around to look at Yoongi as he sits in a wingback chair. “I can do a lot of things.”

A steaming cup of tea sits on a wooden table next to the chair you sink into. The cushions are soft, swallowing you in and making your muscles melt. The cup is warm when you pick it up, steam curling off the surface. Sniffing, your eyes flutter as you inhale the smell of mint. 

“What are you the god of?” You open your eyes and look at him. Both of his feet are planted flat on the floor, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He looks a little stiff, more so than he did at dinner. Orange firelight reflects in his inky eyes. “You’re a god of the dark.” 

“There’s no such thing,” he scoffs, and you frown. “Your concept of gods is skewed. There is neither good nor evil, light nor dark. There are just gods.” 

“So it doesn’t matter who you pray to?”

“We don’t need your patronage. If we did, we wouldn’t be gods, would we?” You’d never thought of it that way. You sip your tea, letting the warmth and sharp mint bloom in your mouth. “We’re beyond the simple classification that mortals use to understand and organize what they think our intentions are. I have been classed as both good and evil, light and dark, benevolent and malevolent.”

“But surely there are things that are inherently evil, even among the gods.”

“Of course there isn’t. Evil is a point of view. It is a word used to define the feeling one has when the opposite of their desire occurs.” 

“I… guess that makes sense. But isn’t something like murder wrong?”

“Are you not the villain of the duck you ate today?” You blanch. Yoongi looks smug as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “Are you not evil for calling down the wrath of a god on Nathaniel Laudermill?”

“He was going to kill me.”

“You rejected his hand in marriage. You did the opposite of what he desired. I believe in his eyes, you are the evil. Is Death evil for doing what he was made to do?” 

Yoongi’s words make your head spin. You gulp a mouthful of scalding tea before setting it on the table next to you, your mind reeling. The realization that you’re sitting in a library with a starry ceiling arguing over morals and the concept of evil with a god who has saved you from certain death makes you giggle. 

He seems surprised by your sudden outburst, raising his brows as you cover your mouth, your fingers pressed to your lips as you try to contain your sudden mirth. “Sorry. This seems absolutely insane. I’m arguing over the word ‘evil’ with a god in a realm that is everywhere and nowhere at all. It feels like perhaps I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not. Though your dreams are dizzying and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You should be proud of them.” You furrow your brows. How does he know what you dream of? Before you can ask him to clarify, Yoongi says, “You wanted to discuss the deal.”

“Oh. Right. What did you mean by wanting my time in exchange for my freedom?”

“It’s simple. I want you to spend two weeks each month here.” 

Yoongi’s words sink in as you look at the window behind him. Outside, the world is sinking into what you think might be night. The sky is swimming with stars and constellations, stuck in a perpetual twilight of sorts. You’re reminded that somehow, Yoongi is like the moon and the night itself, especially when you find his dark gaze on you as he waits for your response. 

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company.” 

“That’s it? You just want me to hang out in exchange for saving me?” He nods. “That seems too easy.” 

His lips curve upward. “Maybe I’m very annoying.” 

For some reason you think it might not be true. You think of all the things that you’ve heard about the gods. Yoongi tells you that everything you know about them is wrong, but you know that the gods of the dark are tricksters. They are experts in the art of luring mortals in, and you wonder if that’s what he’s doing now. 

“Does it have to be consecutive weeks?” you ask, trying to bide time to collect your thoughts and work out his intentions. “Or can it be a collective?”

“Consecutive.” 

“What… what happens when I go home? With my family.”

Yoongi’s face grows stormy. You shift in your seat. “You’re under my protection,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll bear a mark that protects you. No one will force their will upon you again.”

“Can you?”

He shakes his head, long hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He looks haunting in the firelight, but beautiful. You avert your gaze, fixating on the books in the room instead. “You have my word, I will never control you. I promised you freedom, that includes me.” 

“But I have to be here. I can’t escape from that. Is that freedom?”

“You made that decision of your own free will. It’s your words that bind you here, not mine. While you’re here, you are able to do whatever it is you desire. In fact, I encourage it.” 

“Wording is really important to you, isn’t it?”

He chuckles and inclines his head, fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “It is. Consider the first day of your deal already spent. You slept most of it off while you healed.” Yoongi stands, drawing your attention to him. “Sleep more,” he insists gently. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour.”

The thought of a tour - and seeing Yoongi for more days - thrills you. Taehyung appears at the doorway as Yoongi escorts you out. He wishes you goodnight and lets Taehyung take you back to your room, though you feel his gaze and presence as you leave. 

It isn’t until you’re back in your room that you realize you never asked Yoongi how long your deal is supposed to last. It occurs to you that while he has given you a sort of freedom, perhaps he has taken something from you after all. 

-

Tall trees surround you. Above them, you can make out a swirling sky of stars and planets and several moons, so bright that it turns the forest a shade of blue. The woods around you are familiar, and there’s a well-walked path just ahead of you that leads to the river by your home. You’ve walked among these trees and creatures hundreds of times, but never with a sky like this.

Crickets chirp as you walk through the woods now. Grass tickles your bare feet, the earth soft and damp beneath you. It smells like fresh rain, but there’s no flood or mud as you navigate by instinct. 

It’s peaceful out here. How many times have you come here to escape your father’s rage? How many times have you sat, back pressed against a tree, watching the light fade from the world until it was too dark to see where you were going? You always managed to get home safely, even with the lack of light. 

The river rushes a few yards ahead. You pick a spot to sit and watch, beneath the cover of leaves. The sound of running water and the smell of rain on the wind lulls you into a trance and you close your eyes, resting for a while. 

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream. 

Awareness creeps up on you and you open your eyes, looking upward as you sense someone approaching. Yoongi stands next to you, onyx eyes gazing at the river. He’s in black clothes like before, his hands tucked into his pockets. You smell clove and cinnamon, making you dizzy. Power radiates off of him but it feels warm and safe. Like the night air itself comes from his existence. 

“Am I dreaming?” you ask him. He looks down at you, an obsidian strand of hair falling in his face. He nods, giving you a gentle smile. “This is often where I go to dream.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer you. He looks back to the rushing river, his face becoming unreadable. He looks like he’s somewhere far away, lost in his thoughts. Absently, he says, “Your dreams are my favorite.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are bright, full of life and color and sound. You dream the way people create art, the way people create worlds. It is rare to see such magnificence among the sleeping.” 

“I just…” you shrug. “Think of places I would rather be.” 

Yoongi looks at you then and his face is shadowed, full of thunder. “You’ll never be forced to live that life again.” 

“Do you promise?” 

He opens and closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes a little before shaking his head. You feel a smile tug at your mouth, endeared by his microexpressions. “Yes, little lamb. I promise.”

-

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed and looking around. The room spins as your brain tries to catch up with your body, your physical and mental awareness completely out of sync as you swivel your head, drinking in the unfamiliar room and the soft sheets that smell like clove and cinnamon. 

For a moment, you forget where you are, and adrenaline surges through you. Your fingers twist in the sheets as you ground yourself, memories from the day before slotting into place. Letting out a long exhale, you relax, flopping backward in the opulent bed, your heart rate slowing down as your panic bleeds out of you. 

You’re in Yoongi’s home. In a place that is somewhere in between - whatever that means. The god has told you on multiple occasions that you’re safe and have nothing to fear from him and for some reason…. You believe him. Maybe it’s naive, but you can’t erase the feeling that Yoongi is being honest with you, that he has good intentions. 

Perhaps it’ll get you into trouble one day. For now, you cast off doubt and peel yourself out of bed, trailing to the windowed doors that lead to the balcony beyond. You try the handle and are delighted to find them unlocked. Slipping through the doors, you’re met with warm, balmy air. It smells like petrichor, the breeze kissing your skin gently.

Like before, the world seems wrapped in permanent twilight. There is no sun in the sky, but a vast stretch of swimming stars and the largest moon you’ve ever seen. In the distance, dark mountains loom over you, their peaks capped in snow and wreathed in mist. 

Forest stretches out toward them in a vibrant shade of green. There’s a settee on the balcony along with a table and chairs. Leaning on the stone railing, you look down to see colorful gardens and a large pond full of vibrant fish.

All of the radiance makes you smile. You’ve never seen colors so rich, and you’re unable to recall if your world was this vibrant. The garden below is bursting with violet and cerulean, the flowers unfamiliar to you. Their fragrant smell wafts up to the balcony, a hint of sweetness in the air. 

A roll of thunder catches your attention. You look to the east, noticing that one of the mountains in the distance is darker than the others. Lightning crackles in the sky around it and the mist is heavier there. You think the trees are darker too, though you can’t tell if they’re gray or if it’s the shade from the swollen thunderheads drifting over them. 

Behind you, the door to the balcony opens and startles you. Whirling around, you find Taehyung leaning against the frame, mouth curved upwards in a sideways grin. “When you didn’t answer the door I got worried.”

“I thought I was safe here? What is there to be worried about?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you took a dive off of the balcony.”

“What is that place?” you point to the thundering, shrouded mountain. Taehyung looks where you point, his smile dropping as he stares at the looming peak. “By the look on your face, somewhere bad.”

“Bad is a relative term.” 

You scrunch your nose. “You sound like Yoongi.”

“Already familiar, are we? Cute.” He pushes off the door frame and beckons you inside. “Ask Yoongi about it on your tour.”

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

If it weren’t for Taehyung’s playful tone and glint in his eye when he casts you a glance, you’d think you were bothering him. Instead of getting angry, he drapes himself on one of the couches by the fireplace, long legs dangling off the arm as he lounges.

Today, he’s in charcoal colored pants and a red, billowing shirt that shows off the smooth, tan skin of his chest. A dangling earring catches your attention as he leans his head back, silky hair shifting. If Yoongi is made of moonlight, you think that Taehyung might be made of sunlight: golden skin, warm energy. 

“By all means,” you mutter. “Hang out.” 

“This is my home first, human. I shall do as I please.”

You make a sound at the back of your throat and roll your eyes, walking toward a large, polished wardrobe made from dark wood. It smells like fresh cedar when you pull on the brass handle, opening the door to reveal tunics and dresses, all hung neatly. 

Rich silks, velvets and cottons greet you. You run your hand over the materials, amazed at how soft they feel. They are far better quality than your mother ever had access to. Your heart squeezes when you think of her, and you shake your head a little as if to physically dispel thoughts of your family out of your mind.

Facing them seems like an impossible task. You know that you’ll have to eventually. Two weeks with Yoongi in this strange world seems like a long time, but you’re not sure if it’s nearly long enough to mentally prepare to go back and face them after what’s happened. Will they still be angry? What will they say? Will they have been worried about you all this time?

There’s no way to know the answer. So instead, you pretend none of that exists. For once, you have stumbled into a dream and adventure like you’ve always wanted, and you intend on playing the part. 

An emerald shirt catches your eye. It’s made of a silky material, supple when you rub the sleeve between your fingers. It’s plain, save for the laced string at the throat to cinch and tie it off. You grab a pair of black, cotton pants as well, the fabric just as soft as the sheets in your bed. 

With Taehyung humming on the couch, you let yourself into the bathroom to change. You appreciate that the floor is warm wherever you go barefoot, and you quickly slide out of your clothes from the previous day and into the new ones. The measurements are a little off, but more than manageable as you pull the tie closed at your throat. Glancing into the mirror, you can’t help but smile a little.

You look so different. The shirt belongs to someone adventurous, you think. Perhaps a pirate or a huntress riding atop her horse through the woods. You slide your fingers along the material, its softness inviting and magical. 

Two weeks. You’ll be here for two weeks with Yoongi, a god who has been alive for hundreds of years, if your conversation from the night before was anything to go off of. It feels surreal and you’re a little nervous, but more than that, you’re excited.

Suddenly, the world is full of possibilities. No marriage to tie you down, no power held in your parents’ hands. 

 “Gods you’re slow to get dressed,” Taehyung announces when you enter the room. He sits up, appraising your outfit. “Green looks good on you.”

“How many are there?” he cocks his head at your question, peeling himself from the seat. “Gods and goddesses, I mean.”

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” 

“Maybe thousands, I don’t really know. There’s basically an infinite amount of universes. All anyone mostly cares about are the Eternals, the gods who remain the same no matter what name or history mortals assign to them.”

“Eternals?”

“Mhmm.” Taehyung leads you into the hallway. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he strolls leisurely. You follow beside him eagerly, looking up as he seems thoughtful. “Gods are hard to define. They are great beings with massive power. Some gods do the same thing, some don’t. They come from the infinite amount of worlds to which they are native, and somehow make it into mortal history. But the Eternals have always been here, always known. They do not change.”

“Who are the Eternals?”

“Life, death, chaos, time, pathos, dream and fate.” He makes a face then. “Fate and chaos are hard. They work in direct opposition to one another. It drives time insane, naturally.”

Seven Eternals. It makes sense, from a logical standpoint. Every world must have life and death and the passing of time. Where there exists a living thing, there exists a vessel of emotion and dreams. In all worlds there is the potential for chaos disrupting fate. 

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

Taehyung glances sidelong at you, smug. “Yes, Yoongi is an Eternal.”

“Why do you look at me like that when I say his name?” Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead smirking as if he’s enjoying a private joke. Your fists close and open as you swallow down a demand to tell you what he finds so amusing. “Which one is he?”

“Have you no guesses?”

That makes you think. Recalling the night before, you remember the way Yoongi looks: dark eyes swimming with something magical, a soft and raspy voice, the way he appeared in your dreams. 

Though your dreams are mesmerizing and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You recall what he said about your dreams, the way he leveled his gaze at you, full of meaning that you didn’t understand. 

“Dreams,” you say, certain that you're right. “He’s the Eternal of Dreams?”

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

You’re unable to clarify Taehyung’s emphasis on Yoongi being a deity of dreams as he opens the door to the same library as before. This time, he doesn’t knock. When you step inside, you realize it’s because the room is empty. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen, though pale light filters in through the windows. It’s still forever twilight outside, yet a little lighter. It feels like morning, even if it does not entirely appear to be morning. 

Behind you, the door shuts. You turn to see Taehyung has left without another word, leaving you entirely alone in the captivating space. 

Without hesitation, you walk to the nearest shelf housing rows and rows of books. The spines range from muted browns and neutrals to bright reds and rich blues. Velvet books, leather books, canvas, silk. There is no shortage of materials making up each one, letters painted, printed or stitched down the back of them to denote what they are. 

Each one breathes a world of possibility as you drag your finger along the shape of them. You wonder how many worlds and histories are scribbled away in the pages of this room, the very idea of it overwhelming. 

Trinkets and objects you’re unfamiliar with line the shelves as well. Your fingers trace their shape and you wonder what they are. One object in particular catches your eye in the corner of the room. It stands on three metal legs and has large, interlocking rings that spin lazily in some unknown pattern. The rings are hammered metal and appear to have markings engraved on them.

The device slowly spins of its own accord. Upon inspection, there seems to be nothing else responsible for its motion except magic or science that is beyond you. You can see that there are seven metal rings and different markings on each of them, but you cannot guess what the engravings read. 

“It represents the balance of the Eternals. Taehyung mentioned you had a vague starting point as to what I am.”

Yoongi’s deep voice makes you leap and screech, spinning on your heels to face him. Your hand flies to your chest and you can feel your heartbeat rattling wildly. Yoongi stands a few feet away from you, hands linked behind his back and eyebrows raised at your reaction. 

He’s dressed similar to the night before, though a little more casual. His black pants are tucked into knee high boots, and his black shirt is loose fitted with silver stitching around the collar. You notice that it’s in patterns of stars and moons, furthering your confirmation that Yoongi is associated with dreams in some manner. 

Yoongi’s long hair is pulled half out of his face today, tied away in a bun. The rest of his hair brushes the tops of his shoulders as his inky eyes regard you patiently. His curiosity makes you feel warm all over and you drop your hands to your sides, fingers twitching. 

“How so?” you ask. You turn back to the device. “What does it run on?”

“Our energy. Each ring represents a member of my family. The speed at which they turn represents the balance among us. When the speed is off, the balance is off.”

“What causes the balance to be off?” 

Yoongi steps closer to you. You hold your breath as he does it, but you can feel his presence like a buzzing vibration at the back of your neck.

His voice is softer when he answers, “A number of things. Sometimes some of us aren’t always performing the way we should be. Other times, we’re overperforming. Or fighting, really, as siblings are wont to do.”

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

“You’re not missing much. Especially when your siblings are as ancient and never ending as you are.” 

“How… old are you?”

You look at Yoongi to see he’s standing next to you now. He looks at you, face impassive as he lifts a shoulder. “How old is the earth? How old is existence? It’s hard to say.” 

“Where do you come from?”

“Chaos was first. Life and Death were next, twins born of the sudden whims of Chaos. I was next, for Life often dreamed. Time was always there, though no one knows if Time or Chaos came first. Pathos and Fate came later.”

You nod, though you don’t fully understand the scope of how old and fathomless the existence of things like chaos and time and dreams are. It makes your head spin, trying to conceptualize the thing next to you who looks very much like an ordinary man being something so ancient and primordial that he precedes human existence entirely. 

“You’re overwhelmed,” he notes, a bit of amusement in his voice. “I don’t blame you. The best way to understand it is that I am a living concept that can never be destroyed, so long as there exists something to dream about.” 

Crossing his arms in front of him, Yoongi clasps his hands and gives you a slight smile. He has a pretty smile, you realize. Delicate and almost shy. It makes your heart flutter and you mentally chastise yourself for thinking that a being of eternal dreams can possibly be shy. 

“How about a tour? Our deal is that you’ll spend two weeks a month here. I’d love for you to feel like this is a place you can be familiar with, if not something akin to a home.”

“Home?”

His smile grows. “If that word ever seems fitting, sure.”

Home. The word makes you think about what home means to you and suddenly you feel a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. Flashes of a flooded forest, lighting lancing across the sky, hands gripping you tight and shoving you under the water. 

“Um,” you clear your throat. “So a tour.”

Yoongi’s eyes glitter as he grins and turns, using a hand to gesture to the wide library. “This is the main library, but we’ll end our tour here. Let’s go through the gardens first, it’s nice weather.”

Yoongi starts without you, leaving you to stand staring after him as he goes. His gait is smooth and confident. He presses on a pane of glass that you realize is a door. A breeze teases the loose pieces of his hair, carrying the familiar scent of clove and cinnamon toward you. 

For a moment, you stare after him. Yoongi being a deity of dreams makes so much sense in this moment, stepping into the twilight, face tilted upward slightly as though he’s soaking up the sun. He looks radiant. Tranquil. When he turns to look at you expectantly, his rose pink mouth quirks sideways. 

“Right,” you say, hurrying to follow him. “Outside is where we start.” 

When you pass him, you get the sense that Yoongi wants to tease you further. Instead, he says nothing and leads you into the gardens. A cobblestone path leads from the door through wisteria trees, their amethyst leaves swooping down and filling the air with sweet fragrance. 

Up above, the sky is a mix of blue and purple, thousands of stars twinkling. There is a stone bench near one of the windows of the library, but Yoongi leads you away from the palace and down the path under the trees. The air is crisp and pleasant, cooling your anxious, sweat-slick skin. 

Yoongi links his hands behind his back. “This is the library garden,” he informs you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s mostly wisteria trees, which are my favorite to walk through when I need to think.”

“They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Much different from the woods outside of your home.”

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

“You called me there, remember?” You blanch at the memory, but if he notices, Yoongi says nothing. “Besides, I’m familiar with the woods that surround your home. Your village pays homage to my brother.”

“Your brother?”

He hums. “Life. Perhaps they don’t know that it’s him they pray to, but they do.”

Taking a left, Yoongi leads you on a looping path through the massive wisteria trees. They’re larger than anything you’ve ever seen, their bows sweeping monoliths of purple, trunks thick as boulders. A strange creature sits on the branches of one of the trees, making you stop and stare. 

A tiny, carnelian creature sits on a bough, bright against the lavender background of the leaves. It has four legs and scaled feet, sharp talons cutting into the bark as it keeps its balance in the tree. Small wings are folded on its back, bony limbs with paper-thin skin between them, a lighter red than the rest of its body. A long tail snakes around the branch, holding the creature in place as its long neck extends, head tilting to look at you curiously.

“Is that a dragon?” you whisper, staring at it.

You’ve only heard them described in stories, but you don’t really know what they look like. It has scales like a lizard and it blinks two large eyes at you, entirely black. There are small horns on its head, and a forked tongue snakes out as it tastes the air. 

“She’s a fey dragon,” Yoongi hums, looking up at the creature with a smile. “And she’s not supposed to be in the trees here, are you?”

A puff of smoke curls from the dragon’s nose as it huffs, making you take a step backward. Yoongi lets out a deep laugh that makes a tingle rattle down your spine and your toes curl. The sound is like smoke and velvet, heady in the air. 

“She won’t hurt you,” Yoongi assures, shaking his head to continue walking under the dragon’s branch. “She’s a pesky little thing, but she is incredibly sweet. Fey dragons are much smaller than their firedrake cousins and less dangerous than their basilisk relatives.”

With your eyes cast upward, you hurry after Yoongi, keeping your gaze on the large lizard as you run under the branch. Her dark eyes follow you, unblinking and fathomless. The hair on your arms stands up and you can’t help but feel that despite the dragon being small and what Yoongi calls harmless, it is incredibly intelligent. 

“There are dragons here?” 

“There is everything here.”

You frown, finally turning away from the dragon as you leave it behind. “That’s confusing. Everything as in…?”

“When you dream, you have limitless potential. You can go anywhere, be anything, see any creature. Dreams even invent things that do not exist in the natural world. Creatures, stories, songs, words, plants. The possibility for creation in a dream is limitless, and this place is the essence of dreams. It is me.”

“So you are this place and the place is you?”

He seems thoughtful before nodding. “More or less. This is a dream realm as much as it is a collection of ideas, thoughts and hopes. Everything that every living creature has ever dreamed about walks these lands.”

“Even nightmares?”

Yoongi pulls up short and whips his head at you. You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to meet his eyes under his severe expression. In the distance, you swear you hear thunder. An apology springs to your lips, but before you can give it, Yoongi nods sharply once and begins walking again.

“Nightmares too. Do not speak of nightmares here, lest they come searching.”

You think about Taehyung telling you that you were safe but being concerned when you didn’t answer the door earlier that morning. A chill seeps into your bones as you rejoin Yoongi on your walk, his pace not as relaxed now. 

“They come searching?” you try, a little curious, a little afraid. 

“Yes. They are different from dreams. Unpredictable in a way I admire and dislike.” He glances sidelong at you. “They have a mind of their own. You are safe with me always, but it’s best practice to not think of them while you’re here. This world has a way of manifesting.”

For a few moments, you walk in silence. You let your questions fall silent as you look around. The two of you exit the wisteria trees to see a large pond. A single, massive wisteria sits on its western edge with a bench underneath it. 

The surface of the pond is dark and smooth, reflecting the swirling stars in the sky. Yoongi leads you around the mirror surface and points out the mountains in the distance that you could see from your windows. 

“Mountains of Sleep,” he tells you. “It is where all beings who are ready for their eternal rest come to dream for the remainder of their existence. They are also called the Mountains of Divinity, for there are hundreds of divine immortals among their peaks.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Not all beings rest here. Some prefer their own planes and resting grounds. But this existed before those places, and has long been used for the tired and the weary who are ready to retire.”

“Are they dead?”

“No. The dead cannot come here.” He hesitates. “When they do, it is because they are not a dream.”

You get the sense that Yoongi is talking about nightmares again and you shiver as he takes you around the pond. “Don’t let anything in that body of water convince you to go swimming. They won’t intentionally hurt you but they don’t understand the concept of human life.”

“They?”

“They don’t have a name. They are water-folk who were dreamt up by someone once. I admire them and they’re beautiful and wicked smart, but they’re a bit cheeky.”

“I’m starting not to feel as safe as you said I was.”

Yoongi stops and frowns. He lifts a hand as though he’s about to touch your arm before he thinks better of it and drops it at his side. You realize you’re disappointed that he did before mentally kicking yourself, feeling a little ashamed to be so affected by a god. You’re sure Yoongi gets it often, but it makes you feel silly nonetheless. 

“You are safe.” He lowers his head a little, catching your gaze. Though his eyes are midnight black, you swear you see the stars above reflected in their dark pools. “But there are rules everywhere. This place has them just the same as your home did. You were relatively safe there, but there were rules.”

“And then I broke them and Nathaniel tried to murder me.”

“Nathaniel was dealt with and will never touch you again.” Thunder rolls in the distance and your heart flutters at the vehemence with which Yoongi says this. “The misdeeds of your family cannot chase you here.”

You don’t press Yoongi on the matter. Instead, you let him proceed with the tour, keeping your questions to a minimum as you wonder what Yoongi meant by Nathaniel being dealt with. You recall the soft, susurrated voice against your ear when Yoongi found you. The gentle brush of something like a kiss to your neck. The rage and power as he stepped in front of you to face Nathaniel when the deal was done.

It does not require much to make an assumption about Yoongi’s meaning. 

The yards of his palace are sprawling and full of color. Gardens with flowers he doesn’t know the name of but said a little girl had dreamed them and he liked them so he made more. Butterflies with colors you didn’t know existed flitting from plant to plant. Fruit orchards with the ripest, reddest apples you’ve ever seen. 

And the palace. It is the only word you have for it. The building is several stories tall, hewn from dark stone with at least five different towers. Starlight glitters in the windows as Yoongi guides you up the stairs toward the massive double doors that lead to the main entrance of the castle. On the door handle are two wrought-iron griffons with proud faces. 

Without a touch, the doors open on Yoongi’s arrival. You wonder if the building responds to his presence as the door swings open for the two of you. Inside, the foyer is as magnificent as the library, a lush purple carpet rolling over stone floors. 

In the center of the room is a massive spiral staircase. Looking up, you see that it goes all the way up the floors of the palace, dizzying circles of floor after floor. Yoongi explains there are other ways to go all the way up to the top throughout the castle but this is the easiest way, though he assures you that by the third floor you’d be out of breath. 

Each room Yoongi shows you is opulent and warm. Rich, deep wooden furniture, paintings with dark splashes of amethyst, scarlet and gold. Rooms for tea, rooms for painting, rooms for music, rooms for dancing. Yoongi has a room for everything, sometimes occupied by strange little creatures that hide when you walk in or curious things that lift their heads when they see him. 

No one else besides Taehyung seems to be there, though. You come across felines, little balls of light that bounce around Yoongi excitedly and light him up like a burst of flame, a little furry thing that you think is a fox but in a shade of shocking sapphire, and a massive wolf with eyes like ice that blink apathetically at you as you walk by. But never once do you see another person. Even Taehyung seems to be amiss. 

“Does no one else live here?” Yoongi takes you through another room empty of people and things. “It’s so empty.” 

He takes his time to answer as you leave the room and move into the hallway. It’s hard to tell which way you’re going, but you think that you’re headed toward the library again. Your legs ache from going up and down the stairs on an endless tour of rooms, and you’re eager to be in the library once more. 

“There used to be,” Yoongi says slowly. “But people don’t tend to do well in places that they don’t belong.”

“So you’re all alone here?”

His smile is sad. “I have Taehyung.” He pauses before he adds, “And now you.”

I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company. You think of Yoongi’s words from the night before and suddenly you’re filled with sadness. Sadness for this ancient being, who seems so gentle and quiet. Who lives alone in this giant castle with all of the world’s dreams around him and no one to share them with. 

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “How do you know I belong?”

“Pardon?”

“Do I? Belong, I mean. You wouldn’t… have me here if I wouldn’t do well, right?”

“No one dreams the way you do.” He says this firmly. Confident. Fierce. “I believe there is nothing you wouldn’t be able to find here.”

“Do you always know what I dream about?” 

“No. But you dream… loudly. Colorfully. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore. I don’t like to pry, though.” 

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

This catches your attention and you reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him. He glances down where your fingers touch his skin, your fingers buzzing where you’re connected. You flush with warmth and drop your hand, clearing your throat at how forward grabbing him was. 

Yoongi is smirking when you ask, “Can you show me?”

“One day, yes. For now, the end of the tour and lunch.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach rumbles. His grin spreads into a full smile and Yoongi leads you back to the library. Again, the doors open without his touch and as you pass them, you study them for any sign of an auto-opening mechanism but find none. 

Yoongi’s magic appears limitless. You remember the food disappearing from dinner, the swell of power as Yoongi agreed to save you, and his sudden appearance as you were drowning. You know nothing about the god of dreams or what he’s capable of, but you’re awed at how easy it comes to him. 

“This is the main library.” Yoongi turns around to face you, sweeping his arms out on either side of him. “There are two others: one in my room and one located in the dream tower.”

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.” 

Unsure what ready means to Yoongi, you look around the library. Same as the night before, the shelves are crammed full of books and scrolls, so much paper and ink that it makes you lightheaded with excitement. It still smells of lemon and wax, though as you pass Yoongi to go to a shelf, you’re overcome with clove and cinnamon again. 

Trying to ignore the shiver that merely walking by Yoongi gives you, you brush the spines of books once again, feeling their potential under your fingertips. 

“You always have access to this library. You can read what you like.”

A pang goes through you and you drop your hand. Without looking at him, you mumble, “Thank you, but I can’t read.”

No response comes. You stare unseeing at the books before taking a breath to turn your head and steal a glance at Yoongi. You expect some sort of amusement or perhaps pity, but his face is unreadable, jaw working.

“That’s okay,” he finally says. “We will teach you. After lunch we will make a schedule to help fill your time here. Reading and writing lessons will be a part of that.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

“Do you want to learn?” You nod your head eagerly. He grins gently. “Then we will teach you.” 

-

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as he presses forward. Your breath catches in your chest as you lay back, looking up at him with your lips parted, heart hammering in your chest. He settles his waist against you, the weight of him pressing you into your bed as you lay back. 

He is so beautiful that it puts you in a daze, staring up into his face as he leans over you. His hair is pulled back, but a few dark strands hang loose. His mouth is stained red with wine, making you want to lean forward and taste his lips and feel their softness. 

Tentatively, you reach a hand up and brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. You don’t stop touching him, though, hand cradling his flushed face. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into your palm as you cup his cheek, thumb sweeping back and forth. 

“Is this what you dream of?” he whispers, eyes remaining closed. “Being under me, like this?”

Dreaming. You realize you’re dreaming. You jolt and suddenly, you’re alone. 

-

“Your handwriting is terrible,” Taehyung admits, looming over your shoulder. You grip the quill tighter, nearly snapping it in two. “But you learn unbelievably fast. How many of these letters do you think you have consistently memorized?” 

Taehyung is in charge of your writing lessons today and you already want to kill him. It’s been five days of your new residency in the House of Dreams, as Yoongi calls it, and you’ve quickly learned that Taehyung is equally charming and playful as he is outright vexing. 

Instead of turning to give him a very harsh poke in the arm with your quill, you scan the shapes in front of you. There are twenty-six of them, all awkwardly slanted and misshapen where you’ve used too much ink or not enough. Using a quill and ink feels alien to your hand and your fingers struggle to remember the proper way to hold it as you draw your letters. 

“I think most of them,” you answer slowly, mentally sounding out each word on the page in your head as you go. “But there are a few of them that confuse me. The lowercase ‘d’ and ‘b’ I find nearly impossible to recall and ‘v’ and ‘u’ are rather frustrating.” 

“Whenever you see a ‘u’, think of it as having a scoop. Sc-uuup.” Taehyung points to a ‘u’ on the page and mimics the scooping motion. “Might be easier to associate the sound scoop with ‘u’ even though the word itself doesn’t have a ‘u’.” 

The desperate look you give him makes him laugh as you struggle to imagine why a word with a ‘u’ sound doesn’t actually contain the letters. You’re saved from Taehyung’s maddening - but helpful - instruction as Yoongi walks into the library. 

“You’d better not be laughing at her again.” 

Taehyung steps away from you and bows his head toward Yoongi. “I’m laughing with her. We’re just sharing amusement over the hypocrisy of letters.”  

“Yeah,” you deadpan. “It’s hilarious.”

Today, Yoongi is in a deep, amethyst colored shirt. It’s laced at the throat with the familiar moon and stars that he has stitched on much of his clothing, and his hair down and long, slicked back and tucked behind his ears. As always, he’s in dark pants and boots today, the sound of them clicking on the stone floor as he nudges Taehyung out of the way to peer over your shoulder. 

You tense. Being around Yoongi for the last five days has been intoxicating. It is bad enough that you get distracted during your lessons by the way his voice rumbles when he speaks and the way he chews his lips when working on his own things while you study. It’s worse that now he invades your dreams, whispering in your ear and hands wandering over your curves, sinful mouth brushing over your skin and leaving you to jolt awake in bed covered in sweat.

The very idea that Yoongi knows what you're dreaming of drives you to the edge of insanity. He’d promised he preferred to avoid your dreams, but you wonder if he knows. Knows that you have developed an insatiable habit of fantasizing about his hands, or about the tone of his voice. 

Gripping your quill tight, you hold your breath when he leans over you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him and smell him, cinnamon and clove making your eyes flutter. If you didn’t know he was the god of dreams, you’d mistake him for the god of lust, if that was a thing.

“Why aren’t you breathing?” You peer upward to see Yoongi looking down at you. If you tilted your head back just a fraction more, you’d be pressed against his chest. Even from upside down, his moon-pale face and cosmos eyes make you want to scream. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

His face softens. “You’re a quick learner. Don’t worry about progress and pace.”

“But what if I lose it when I go h- back.” 

Home. That’s what you were going to say. But the idea of home is terrifying. You don’t know what waits for you when you go back. You don’t know what splitting time between two worlds means. You don’t know what you’ll do when you have to spend two weeks there before coming back to Yoongi. 

Five days in Yoongi’s realm has been enough to make you feel like this has always been your life. You fit into the daily routines of Yoongi and Taehyung better than you imagined, and though you still sometimes get lost in the House of Dreams, you discover that you’re adapting. 

There’s always something new to discover, an adventure around the corner. You like learning your letters and the sounds that they make. You love studying the maps in the library and tracing the distances between countries you can’t name and have no idea where they are. 

Most of all, you love exploring. Rooms upon rooms of objects both normal and magical. Creatures that roam freely around the palace - including a clever little fox that has taken interest in following you around as you take breaks from studying by walking around the grounds. 

While Yoongi’s home doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you’re more afraid to go back to your mother and father than you are to go near the pond at the edge of the wisteria garden. 

So you avoid thinking of going back.

“You’ll practice while you’re there,” Yoongi says, as though it’s the easiest answer in the world. “You have to practice every day.”

“My father won’t- he doesn’t…” You shake your head, unable to get the words out. That your father would strike you to the ground if he found you with books again. “I can’t bring anything back with me.”

“Sure you can.” You glance at him to find his expression is firm. “I told you, you’re under my protection. Things will be very different for you when you go back.”

“How?”

��It’s… difficult to say.” 

Yoongi offers nothing else. You become hyper aware of how close he’s standing to you again and you look down at your letter practicing. With a shaky hand, you dip the quill into the ink, lifting it from the inkwell and letting the excess drip before bringing it over to the paper. 

When Yoongi makes no move to leave, you inhale deeply to steel your nerves and continue tracing. He’s content to watch you as you work. If he knows how distracted this makes you, he doesn’t let on. Perhaps he has no idea that as you scrawl a shaky letter ‘k’, it’s Yoongi who consumes your thoughts. 

Even in your waking hours it seems you’re not rid of him. 

Most of your study sessions are like this, Yoongi watching you so closely that it makes your quill bleed too much ink. He is a passive teacher, letting you come to him with questions instead of correcting you constantly like Taehyung does. Even now, when you hesitate on the next letter of the alphabet, Yoongi doesn’t offer his help. Lets you figure it out. 

You dip the quill in ink and continue. 

After you finish the last shaky letter, you set the quill down, flexing your fingers open and closed. Yoongi makes a satisfied noise and steps away. You turn to see him walking toward the table by the fireplace, which is where you have started to take all your meals. Already, there are platters of food and drinks. Taehyung sits in a chair, plucking a grape from a plate and popping it in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you,” Yoongi grumbles as he takes a seat at the head of the table. You push yourself up from your chair, legs aching from sitting so long. “Who said you can eat my grapes?”

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.” 

“Let him stay, Yoongi.” The god looks at you with a glower, bottom lip jutted out slightly. It’s so cute that you can’t help but burst into laughter, hand flying to your mouth. “Sorry, I think you just pouted.” 

“He did.” Taehyung grins and leans back in his chair. “He wants you to himself.”

Yoongi hisses Taehyung’s name, shutting down the teasing immediately. You glance at Yoongi shyly as you sit down but he doesn’t meet your eyes, choosing to laden his plate with food instead. You can’t imagine why Yoongi would want you to himself, especially when all you do is ply him with questions. 

Still, a little bit of a thrill goes through you as you start loading your plate, your gaze drifting toward the deity again as he bites into a strawberry, the juice running down his chin. Your eyes track the movement as his tongue darts out, catching the drip before it escapes too far. 

Yoongi’s mouth is hypnotizing and it takes you a moment too long to realize he’s watching you stare at him. Quickly, you grab a cup and bring water to your lips, gulping the cool water and glancing up at the ceiling, feeling embarrassment bloom like warm liquid through you. 

When you put the cup down, you swear you see Yoongi smiling. 

-

Hungry lips suck at the tender flesh of your neck. You gasp, feeling your toes curl in pleasure, head spinning. Yoongi’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, the drag of his rough tongue soothing over the bites driving you mad. You let out a soft moan, eyes squeezing shut as you writhe under him. 

Yoongi’s large hands pin yours above your head, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he continues to ravish your neck with his hot mouth, tongue and teeth. His hips roll over you and you whine, feeling his hard-on pressing against you. 

Your parents would kill you if they knew you were here like this, trapped under a god of the dark as he sucks on your pulse point, mouth moving upward to nip your ear. Your chest is heaving and you can’t get enough breath, overwhelmed by the scent of cinnamon and clove, by the way his mouth pulls sounds from you so easily. 

Yoongi tears his lips away and looks down at you, eyes so dark and blown out that you think he might devour you, swallow you whole in one bite - 

“You’re dreaming of me again,” he whispers. “I don’t know if you mean to be dreaming of me, like this.” 

You startle, realizing this isn’t real, and the illusion fades. 

-

Twilight skies stretch above you. It’s warm outside, but the night air is cool against your skin, making you shiver as you sit down, folding your legs criss-cross. 

“Are you cold?” Yoongi asks, sitting down on the soft grass next to you. You shake your head, eyes fixed on the low table in front of you that's filled with platters of meats, cheeses and crackers. You eye a glass bottle of red liquid that you think is wine, mouth watering. “Are you sure?”

“Promise, the wind feels nice.” 

He looks doubtful as he sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between you. 

Tonight, Yoongi has insisted on a late night snack outside under the stars. He seems eager, verging on giddy as he glances up at the sky before reaching for the bottle of red liquid and popping the cork. 

After nearly two weeks in the House of Dreams, you’ve learned that this world is forever twilight, lit up by dreams. Here, day and night don’t exist in their truest forms. There are always millions of people and creatures dreaming at every moment of existence, not limiting Yoongi’s world and power to times of day and night. 

The twilight is beautiful. You’ve grown accustomed to the purple tint to the world, the way that it gets just the barest bit darker outside during certain periods, as though even in a world where night and day don’t exist, there are still two separate halves of time. 

Yoongi passes you a glass. You bring it to your nose and sniff, delighted at the scent of cherries and something else. It’s certainly wine, though you wait for him to pour himself a glass to sip any. 

Earrings dangle in Yoongi’s ears tonight. Each lobe has a small, thin chain with a moon charm on the end that’s studded with sapphires, catching the moonlight as he sets down the bottle and sits back. His hair is pulled half-up, half-down again, leaving his full face in view as he looks at you and gives you a gummy grin that scatters your thoughts. 

“Chaos is moving through the sky tonight,” Yoongi informs you, glancing upward. “When she does, she’s beautiful to see. She doesn’t do it that often, but she’s passing us by on her way to do whatever it is she does somewhere. I wanted you to see.” 

He holds out his drink and you grip yours tight, raising your glass to clink with his like you’ve seen people do at the inn in your village. He turns away from you, bringing his wine to his lips to sip. You follow suit, tentatively tilting your glass.

Sweet cherries bloom on your tongue and you hum in delight. It isn’t just cherries you taste, though. There’s a lush sweetness too, edged with spice, filling your mouth with warmth. You look at Yoongi as you sip and see him watching with a closed-lipped smile, eyes searching your face.

“You like it?” 

You nod and set the glass down. “It’s delicious.” 

“You like sweet things.” 

“And you like salty.” He raises a brow in question. “You’re always going for the salted meats at dinner. And you have salted pork right there,” you point to the meat and cheeseboards. “Do gods get dehydrated?”

“We do not. I didn’t realize you were paying so much attention.” You shrug, picking up your wine to take small sips again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?” 

Everything, you want to say and don’t. You’ve noticed so many things about Yoongi, all of them coming to mind at once. But you don’t want to reveal just how much you’ve watched him over the last two weeks, paying far more attention than is proper. 

You could tell Yoongi how you’ve noticed that he wears seven necklaces exactly, each with a different symbol charm on them that you think corresponds to the seven Eternals. You could tell him that he has the habit of closing his eyes and tilting his face upward, like he’s absorbing moonlight. You know all of his favorite breakfast items, specifically crispy bacon and sugared strawberries. 

And there are other things you could tell him, like in your dreams his lips are soft as sin, his voice low and sultry. You could admit that most nights you feel his grip on your waist and that when you study his hands during your lessons, you can’t help but already know the shape of them. 

Perhaps two weeks back in your village is exactly what you need to get the ridiculous fantasy of this eternal being from your head. You don’t think you could bear the shame of him knowing exactly what living in the in-between realm has done for your imagination in a very unexpected way. 

“You like bacon,” you offer as an answer. “And sugared strawberries. In the evening, whiskey is your favorite. It smells a little bit like honey, but still spicy. And you must work in the dream tower often at night, because the door to the tower smells like clove and cinnamon and you always smell that way.”

Yoongi’s brows shoot up. You hide your expression with your glass of wine, taking a long draught. It hums in your veins, warm and rushing like nothing you’ve ever felt before. When you lower the glass, Yoongi watches you with an intense expression. You meet his gaze, suddenly unable to look away. 

The air feels charged as you stare. His eyes dip down to your mouth a single time, then back up to your eyes. The breeze moves strands of his hair and you smell the hint of clove followed by cinnamon, just as you always do when he’s near. Your heart starts to staccato as the silence presses on. 

A little shriek cuts through the tension like a knife. You flinch and turn around, looking at a red blur of movement burst from the wisteria trees. Tiera lands with a squawk, the fey dragon huffing as grey smoke curls from her lungs. She ignores you entirely as she normally does and skips over to where Yoongi is sitting before she settles next to him, curling like a cat and laying on her tail.

Yoongi laughs. “Hello, Tiera.” The dragon chuffs and lets out another puff of smoke. “Are you not going to say hello to our friend?” 

When the dragon pays no attention to you, you roll your eyes. “She hates me.”

“Dragons are capricious. She’s been with me for over a hundred years.”

“Not very mature then, is she?”

He chuckles again as you pluck cheese from the platter and pop it into your mouth. You’re delighted to find it’s soft and garlicky with a hint of rosemary as well. “She is still a child in dragon years.” 

“And you let her be a glutton.” 

“You could be too.” Your chewing slows and you swallow the cheese hard. You wait to see if he’s teasing you, but Yoongi watches you with a placid expression. “Dreams and desires are intertwined, you know. Desires come from dreams. It is in my nature to be indulgent.” 

“I’ve never really been indulgent in my life.”

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

“I think this is indulgent,” you gesture to the food. “And you’re teaching me to read and write. That is more indulgence than I could ever dream of.”

He hums and it sounds like disapproval. “I think your dreams are far more indulgent than that.” 

He knows. You think he’s going to say something, to ask about the way you dream of him. Instead, he says, “When you return, we’ll work on your indulgence. There is no shame in wanting things, you know?” 

“I don’t know. How could I?”

Light flashes above your head. You break eye contact with him to look up and gasp. The sky is full of shooting stars, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The world lights up as you see rainbows streaking across the sky, bursts of colors and explosions of brilliance shooting through the sky. 

Your mouth hangs open as you watch, mystified into silence. You’re sure this is what Yoongi meant when he said Chaos was passing by, for the sky becomes a cacophony of color and stars and light. You blink your eyes, stunned by the display. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, your heart hammering with excitement as you watch it, legs crossed, head tilted up.

The stars begin to slow and there are less bursts of color, until finally, there is just a shimmering wake of stardust and pink simmering in the sky. You look at Yoongi, utterly speechless, to find him looking at you. His eyes reflect the night sky, full of constellations and stardust, glittering in the dark depths of his irises. 

Yoongi’s eyes are as wonderful as the display above, but you don’t say that. 

“That was beautiful,” you breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes don’t leave you when he hums softly in agreement. “It was.” 

Tiera shuffles next to Yoongi, drawing your attention. She snakes her long neck out, tongue tasting the air as she eyes the meat on the table. Yoongi hisses at her and taps her nose in chastisement, earning an angry croak as the dragon shuffles back to her napping position. 

The rest of your evening is spent snacking in companionable silence. Yoongi doesn’t talk much unless he’s answering your hundreds of questions, but tonight, you have none. You’re comfortable to just look at the world around you, the wisteria branches dancing in the breeze. 

In the distance, you hear thunder. Your eyes follow the sound to the same dark peak with lightning crackling through the mist. You’ve yet to ask Yoongi about that peak in particular, but you think you know what looms there. You remember Yoongi talking about how there are nightmares in this realm too, and you’re not eager to ask what that thunderous mountain holds. 

Yoongi doesn’t divulge, either. He watches you as you regard the peak and says nothing. Perhaps even the Eternal of dreams is hesitant to speak of that place, which is a good enough reason for you not to press him further on it. 

When your stomach is full and you’ve had another glass of wine, you lay back in the grass. Your limbs feel heavy with drink and your world is tilted on a slow-rotating axis. The buzz in your veins feels pleasant, though your thoughts are a little sticky like honey and they run together, untamed. 

Careful to keep his distance, Yoongi lays back in the grass with you. His face looks up at the sky, but you look at him. His features are so delicate and soft, nose and cheeks so round. His face don’t make sense in your head, so severe and terrifying yet gentle and innocent at the same time. 

“You’re staring,” he says eventually. 

“I’m indulging,” you tease back, loosened up by wine. “You said I can indulge, so let me stare.”

“What is there to indulge in?” 

“Your… earrings.” 

That makes him look at you, a brow quirked. “My earrings.”

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

“Is there an echo out here?” you demand, frowning at him. “Yes, I am indulging in your jewelry!” 

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

“Well,” you grump. “Don’t you have the answer for everything?”

He smiles then, that rare gummy smile that makes you shut right up. “I told you. I’m indulgent. Anything you want, all you need is to ask.” 

Rolling your eyes, you bite your lip to hide your smile at his words. It is insane to you that this ancient being is laying in the grass next to you telling you to only ask what you want. You don’t know what you want, but you do know that this feels like a dream. That you’re not really here, and that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and be in your bed at home. 

Dread fills you at the thought of going back to your parents. In a way, you want to see them. They’re your parents and there is… unfamiliarity without the sound of your mothers needle stitching through cloth. You could do without your father entirely. The rage inside of you when you picture his face is difficult to quell and is often followed by terror. 

Yoongi has told you that you will be safe when you return. You believe him. There is no reason not to. But more than anything, you’re terrified about what comes next. Living between two worlds is something you remember dreaming about that one day in the forest, looking at the way the world was reflected back on the mirror-calm surface of the water. 

Now that you have access to two worlds, you don’t know what to do with the other that has brought you nothing but suffering. And yet, you still want to see what is there. You’re not ready to leave it entirely without knowing. 

“Are you afraid to go back?” 

Yoongi’s question is soft. You don’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.” 

“You won’t be alone. All you have to do is dream of me, and I will come.”

You hesitate then ask, “Do you know any time someone dreams of you?”

“It’s like hearing someone call my name, but I never answer. My business is in creating dreams, not invading them. People like you are able to spin up dreams on your own without my assistance. I help those who cannot.” 

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

He hums. “It’s not without its stresses. I talk a lot about the nature of dreams, but there is more to me and to my job than that. Perhaps we will leave that for your next visit, yes?”

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Come on,” Yoongi sighs, heaving himself upward. “It is late and in the morning, you must return.” 

-

“Touch me,” you beg him, straddling Yoongi’s lap. His head rests against the back of the couch and he looks up at you as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than you imagined, sliding like silk between your fingers. “You told me to ask for what I wanted. Touch me.”

“Anything,” Yoongi agrees. His hands skim up your thighs, warm and rough. He squeezes your flesh, making you moan as his hands continue their worship. Yoongi grips your hips tightly, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. “Anything. Everything. For you.”

-

When you wake up, you’re confused. The roof above your head is wood and thatch. The mattress beneath you is thin and lumpy, sweat sticking the sheets to your legs. Rolling over, your vision blurs until it comes into focus once more, revealing a tiny room with just a bed, a wardrobe and a closed door. 

Your  room. Well, your room in your parents’ house, you realize with a panic. 

You shoot up in bed as terror claws at you. Did you dream it all? Was it not real? Nothing in your room has changed and the windows are open to the cool air. Grey clouds drift in the sky and you can smell the petrichor of oncoming rain in the distance. 

Rushing to your bedroom door, you rip it open, your heart threatening to burst with how hard it’s beating. You don’t know what you’re looking for or what you expect to find, but the idea that you have just woken up from the most vivid, wonderful dream is so maddening that you need anything to tell you it was real. That it wasn’t in your head.

Your mother is sitting at the kitchen table stitching. She looks up when she hears you. She looks different, leaner and narrower than you ever remember, her greasy hair tied low at her neck. Her hands pause their stitching as she stares at you, stricken. 

“What day is it?” you ask her. The day you had been attacked had been a seventh day. You remember that clearly. “Tell me what day it is!”

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror. 

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[demonshauntingthedoves]

𝒌𝒊𝒎 𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒌𝒋𝒊𝒏

Hiraeth : Yandere!seokjin x female reader (@wildestdreamsblog )

Mold a Pretty Lie : YandereProfessor!jin x undergrad!female reader (@blog-name-idk )

Fools Paradise : YandereStranger!jin x pregnant reader (@min-hoax )

Price of Prejudice : YandereLord!jin x femal reader (@girlmeetsliv3)

Mercy : YandereKing!seokjin x maid female reader (@raggaraddy)

Obsidian Pearl : YandereMerman!seokjin x female reader (@angelicyoongie )

Ringmaster : YandereRingmaster!jin x female reader (@koosbabygrl)

Closed Curtains : YandereDirector!jin x rookie actress female reader (@angellgguk )

Sit, still look pretty; : YandereHusband!jin x wife reader (@aajjks )

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Let the Villain Win : YandereWriter!namjoon x female (@lemonjoonah)

Persephone : YandereMafia!namjoon x female reader (@deepdarkdelights )

Baby Fever : YandereIdol!namjoon x female reader (@wildestdreamsblog)

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Latibule : YandereMafia!yoongi x female reader (@wildestdreamsblog)

Angel's Mask : YandereMafia!yoongi x female leader (@min-hoax )

Daisy : YandereTeacher!yoongi x female reader (@cosmostae )

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Runaway : YandereVampire!hoseok x female reader (@raggaraddy)

Forbidden Fruit : Yandere!hoseok x fem reader (@deepdarkdelights)

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Little Mouse : YandereBully!jimin x chubby brazilian female reader (@thvlouvre )

Porcelain : YandereDollseller!jimin x female reader (@deepdarkdelights)

The Scent Of The Flower : YandereStepdad!jimin x female reader (@cosmostae)

Defiant Affairs : YandereStepbro x female reader (@yandere-society)

From Afar : YandereTeacher!jimin x female reader (@min-hoax )

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Open : YandereBully!taehyung x stalker-ish female reader (@euphoricfilter )

Strawberries : Yandere!taehyung x female reader (@cosmostae )

Cut : YandereActor!taehyung x female actor reader (@deepdarkdelights)

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POLARITY : YandereBestfriend'sbf!jungkook x female reader (@darkestcorners )

DARKNETS : YandereHacker!jungkook x female reader (@darkestcorners )

Bloody Love : YandereKing!jungkook x female reader (@hongjoongscafe)

Hangman : Yandere!jungkook x female reader (@aft3rhrs)

The Deepest Marks of Essence : YandereTribeleader!jungkook x female reader (@lleldey)

The Crimson Shell : YandereMermaid!jungkook x female reader (@angelicyoongie )

Obsesión : YandereRugbyplayer!jungkook x hispanic latina reporter female reader (@thvlouvre )

Raven : YandereCultleader!jungkook x female reader (@darkestcorners )

I'm not human at all : Yandere!jungkook x female reader (@silv3rswirls)

Velvet Heart : YandereIdol! jungkook x female reader (@bonny-kookoo )

LESSON I : YandereTeacher!jungkook x bully student fem reader (@redsaurrce )

Companionship : Yandere!jungkook x female reader (@aft3rhrs)

Bunny koo : Yanderebunnyhybrid!jungkook x owner fem reader (@aajjks )

Your eyes tell : YandereTwin!jungkook x female reader (@angellgguk )

Brother Knows Best : YandereStepbro!jungkook x female reader (@cosmostae)

Angel : Yandere!jungkook x female reader (@silv3rswirls)

You Are My Crown : YanderePrince!jungkook x female reader (@redsaurrce)

Silver blades : YanderePrince!jungkook x fem reader (@jooniyah )

Scream, baby : Yanderebf!jungkook x female reader (@aajjks )

Nuisance : YandereStepbro!jungkook x female reader (@min-hoax )

Devil's Child : YandereStepbro!jungkook x female reader (@cosmostae )

Crush : YandereSimp!jungkook x barista fem reader (@aajjks )

Heartstrings : YandereNerd!jungkook x fem reader (@cosmostae )

[hobeemin]

amygdala

genre: angst, fluff, smut, fantasy, romance, greek god au

pairing: hades!min yoongi x oc (persephone)

summary: while they met under the most unconventional circumstances, there seemed to be a spark bloom about which each was uncertain. what can the future hold for them?

rating: 18+

warning(s): swearing, mentions of an orgy, greek gods being over-excessive, jealousy, drinking, self-consciousness, mild depression

word count: 1.9k

credits: thank you to @okiedokrie for beta reading

banner resources found here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

a/n: this is for @k-vanity summer event "A Midsummer Night's Dream"

prompt(s): love affair; "I’ve been alive for seven hundred years, and you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met."; "Why are you falling for me?"

this is a prequel to dionysus and jamais vu, my own little hades and persephone universe. def more to come in the future 🌼

Why?

Why was he here?

He watched with bored scrutiny as his brothers mingled among the partygoers. Why had they talked him into this, he’d never know. 

He would have much preferred the solace of his home, his dogs by his side, and the comforting glow of the cooking channel. A faint frown creased his face as the raucous laughter filled the air. 

He needed alcohol. And tons of it.

Pushing himself off the wall, he made his way over to the bar. With some effort, he squeezed through, waving his hand to get the bartender’s attention. Just as he was about to order, someone slapped him on the back, making his knees buckle. Yoongi’s expression darkened as he turned to the culprit. The party host himself, Taehyung, stepped back with his boxy grin.

“Why the long face, Yoongs?”

“Trying to get a drink,” he mumbled.

“We gotta get you the good stuff,” his speech slightly slurred as he gestured to the vast array of drinks.

“I’m not trying to get fucked up like you,” Yoongi warned.

“I’m pretty sure no one can out-drink the God of Wine,” Taehyung teased.

Yoongi rolled his eyes as Taehyung ordered a bottle of Ambrosia, filling his cup to the brim. “Stop mopping around and go mingle. If your brothers can do it, so can you!”

“I wouldn’t call what they do mingling,” Yoongi muttered. 

Sure enough, Namjoon whispered to a giggling nymph–shocker–and Hoseok had two sprites in his lap. No doubt they’d be leaving soon, if not now. Figures the God of Thunder and the God of the Sea would abandon their brother in his time of need.

He glanced at his phone with a sigh. She wasn’t coming. He should have known he’d get stood up. It wasn’t like he and Minthe were “official”, but it would have been nice for her to attend the party with him. Secretly, he felt things were going downhill over the past year. She became distant, always having an excuse to reschedule a date.

Yoongi thanked Taehyung for the Ambrosia, sipping it slowly. It perked up his mood a bit as he walked around the party. People would attempt to bring him into a conversation, but he shied away, giving them a sheepish wave.

Instead, he walked into another part of the house, looking at the paintings and sculptures with interest. He had to give Taehyung credit for his collection. Of course, Athena and Apollo deserved their flowers, too. After all, he bought some of their pieces from them. Just as he entered another room, his eyes met bright ones…in a state of undress. She shrieked as he spun around, red blooming on his face.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry. I didn’t think anyone was in here!”

The voice that spoke almost put him in a daze. The melodic tone reminded him of wind chimes. She rambled on as she slipped on the white strapless dress.

“N-No, I should be apologizing! I spilled red wine on my dress…well, my friend's dress, and I couldn’t find the bathroom–gosh, why did I come here? I’m not supposed to be here! I can’t believe Artemis talked me into coming and her stupid brother, argh…my mother is gonna kill me!”

Tears began to form as she started to hiccup.

He turned to look at her, breathing a sigh of relief to see she was fully clothed. Her beauty enchanted him. Yoongi blinked as the haze dissipated, set his drink down, walked up to her, and pulled out a handkerchief.

“It’s going to be okay. The stain isn’t so bad.”

She took the handkerchief, mumbling out a thanks, and plopped down on the couch. “It’s a silly thing to cry over. I just…I don’t know, but I feel like I don’t belong here.”

He snorted, grabbed his drink, and sat beside her. “Don’t I know it?”

She glanced at him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

Yoongi took a sip of his drink before answering. “I got dragged here by my brothers. Apparently, I've been sulking too much than normal.”

“It sounds like your brothers and my friend could be friends. I got dragged here by her, too. For her, it's because I don’t get out enough and only study.”

“What’s wrong with studying?”

“That’s what I said! I’d rather be in my garden or curled up on the couch,” she pouted.

Wow, she looked cute, pouting like that, he thought. Even the flowers in her hair seemed to move on their own. Fluttering their petals whenever she spoke, or her expression changed. He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m missing my dogs right now.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You have pets?”

“Uh-huh,” he pulled his phone out, searching for a picture to share, “Too many to count. They’re my babies.”

She scooted closer to look at his phone screen. She let out a squeal as he flipped through the pictures. “That’s Cerberus. Don’t let him fool you; he’s the sweetest. That’s Holly…the brown one. He’s spoiled…well, they all are. And that lil furball, the black cat, is Pluto.”

“They are the cutest! I love animals. Never got to have pets growing up–mom wouldn’t allow it, but I love them.”

Yoongi smiled, putting his phone away. “Whose your mom? Have I met her before?”

She bit her lip, looking away from him. “Well–”

“Persephone!!”

Panic crossed her face at the sound of her name. Just then, a muscular man stumbled in with an equally attractive woman in tow. His face was completely red from the ambrosia, and he pointed at her before looking at the woman.

“See sis, I found her!”

The woman sighed in exasperation, walking over to her. “Persephone! Is this where you’ve been hiding the whole time?!”

I’ve been alive for seven hundred years, and you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met, she thought to herself.

Persephone seemed to shrink away on the couch. “Hey, Artemis.”

“Don’t ‘hey Artemis’ me. I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I’ve been babysitting this dweeb for the past two hours!”

The man’s face twisted in annoyance. “Listen, no one told you to watch me.”

“I told you not to try to drink with Dionysus, Apollo.”

He sucked his teeth before settling his attention on Yoongi. “Uncle Hades!”

Yoongi’s lip slightly twisted as the God of the Sun lifted him in a bear hug. “I didn’t think a sourpuss like you would come to one of these!”

Persephone watched in wonder as he was lifted like a ragdoll. She tried not to snort at the expression on his face. He was anything but amused.

“Hello, Apollo, Yoongi is just fine.”

Once he was set down, he brushed his jacket with a frown. “I see you’re starting to take after your father.”

“Not too much, but that’s what everyone else says.”

“Uh-huh,” he glanced at Persephone with a tiny smile. “Nice meeting you, I’m gonna go find Namjoon and Hoseok.”

Stay. 

The thought crossed Persephone’s mind as she watched him walk away. There seemed to be an ache deep down. But why? Why did she want him to stay? 

Artemis poked her friend with a frown. “Earth to Sep. You in there?”

She shook her head. “Y-Yeah.”

“Let’s get you a drink. A real one this time.”

She let Artemis and Apollo lead her back to the bar. By now, things had taken a wild turn. People’s inhibitions were loosening more. Persephone stayed close to Artemis as she ordered them drinks. She tried looking for Yoongi in the crowd but couldn’t find him. So that was Hades. The big evil God of the Underworld, at least that is what her mother had been known to say.

”Stay away from those Olympic Gods!”

Persephone held back the urge to roll her eyes. Sure, Zeus and Poseidon had a less than savory reputation, but Hades…Yoongi didn’t seem like that. Artemis handed her a champagne flute and turned to observe the rest of the party.

”Are you alright?”

”How do you mean?”

”Yoongi didn’t try anything, did he?”

Persephone blinked at her in disbelief. “Why would he?”

Artemis shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “He is one of the big three; they got a reputation.”

”He’s different. I don’t think he’s like them,” Persephone thought aloud.

”Whatever. They’re all the same,” the Goddess of the Moon grumbled.

Persephone loved her best friend, but she didn’t get it. Artemis made a vow of chastity long ago, as did her mother, Demeter. While it had been an option for her, there had to be more to life than vows and rituals. She felt she was destined for something greater. It didn’t take long for her to be shaken from her thoughts as the host returned to the crowd.

Taehyung appeared, jumping on the bar. “I hope everyone is enjoying themselves! It's that time of the night when it's about to get nasty!”

The cheers grew louder as the young Goddesses watched everyone remove their clothing. 

“What the hell–”

The lights darkened as the music took a sensual tempo. People began pairing up all around the room. Persephone tried not to gasp, seeing what a particular nymph and Zeus were doing in the corner. Moans grew louder, making her discomfort grow. Naked bodies writhed around her. She backed out of the room, reaching out for Artemis until she got pushed backward. She almost cried out until someone caught her. The warmth of their hands radiated on her skin. She could barely make out who it was until she was led outside to the backyard.

She blinked a few times as the torches surrounding played tricks in the night.

“Y-Yoongi?”

He nodded, still holding her hand. Persephone glanced down at it, and he dropped it, as red covered his cheeks.

“Sorry. Are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine; just was not expecting all that.”

He chuckled nervously, pushing his hair back. “Yeah, I didn’t sign up for that.”

She returned a smile. “Same.”

He cleared his throat trying to grow the courage to ask her more questions, something about her. She wasn’t like her. Far from it. 

“So Persephone–”

“Sep!”

Fuck.

She turned away from him to see Artemis running towards her. She carried two coats and purses in her hand. “We’re leaving now! I’m gonna kill Taehyung for that! Wait until Athena and Hestia hear about it!”

She continued to fuss as Persephone gave Yoongi a look, making him snort. 

The Goddess of the Moon punched in a number angrily. “Damn, rideshare won’t be here for another ten minutes! I’m going up front. You coming?!”

“Y-Yeah, I’ll follow you out.”

“Better be. Bunch of horny, sweaty gods ruining a perfectly good party. Stupid orgies!”

As she stormed off, Persephone gave Yoongi a pout. “I guess I gotta go.”

“Oh, I understand. It’s crazy in there. Don’t want to get caught up in all that.”

“Agreed.”

The flowers in her hair closed slightly as her mood saddened. But why? Yoongi wished she could stay outside with him and talk all night, but it was selfish of him to think that. He didn’t deserve any happiness, and that wasn’t in his future.

“It was nice meeting you, Yoongi,” she whispered.

“You too, Persephone.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said, her eyes hopeful. 

Damn. What was happening to him? She seemed to have him under a spell.

Why are you falling for me? He wanted to ask.

“I–”

“Persephone! Hurry up!”

She winced, frowning at her friend’s voice. Glancing at Yoongi, she took a purplish flower from the ground and handed it to him. “It’s a pomelia. It kind of reminds me of you. It means kindness. You’re not like your brothers; you’re more than that.”

She squeezed his hand before running off in the direction Artemis called her in. Yoongi glanced down at the flower as a small smile appeared. 

[bangtanwritershq]

BangtanWritersHQ Presents: “Golden Works of Art" Masterlist

For November 2023, we assembled a masterlist collection of fics to showcase the number 7 for Bangtan and Jeon Jungkook, and the release of Golden, Jungkook’s first album! There are many different AUs, genres, and pairings featured! So, if you're in the mood for all things SEVEN & GOLDEN, this masterlist is for you! Note: All fics are OVER 7k in length, and many feature Jungkook as their focal point but are not limited to being Jungkook-centric

Browse at your leisure and ENJOY!

KEY:

🔞 - nsfw (mature themes) ✅ - sfw (no warnings) 💖 - smut ⚠️ - other warnings

SET UP - emojis: Title (if link is to another platform) | Author [parts] pairings, genre/aus, rating, word count

🔞💖⚠️ Promises, Promises (Ao3) | @downbad4yoongi [1/1] Pairing: Jimin x Jeongguk AU Type: Mail Order Husband, S2L | fluff, angst, mild smut Rating: MA WC: 11,280

🔞💖⚠️ Make You Mine | @colormepurplex2 [2/2] Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader AU Type: A/B/O, E2L | angst, smut Rating: MA WC: 11,231

🔞💖⚠️ Lights, Camera, Action | @colormepurplex2 [3/3] Pairing: Actor!Jungkook x Artist!Reader (ft. Director!Namjoon x Artist!Reader) AU Type: Poly/3way Relationship, Coworkers/Strangers to Lovers | smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 22,484

🔞💖⚠️ Slow and Steady | @yoonia [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x female reader/Jungkook x female OC AU Type: Art | smut, angst Rating: MA WC: 7,137

🔞💖⚠️ Mirrors: What Becomes of Us | @yoonia [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader AU Type: Friends w/Benefits to Lovers | smut, angst Rating: MA WC: 8,454

🔞💖⚠️ In Motion | @yoonia [14/14] Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader AU Type: Sex Club | smut Rating: MA WC: 175,587

🔞💖⚠️ Song of You | @bethschamberoftales [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x Reader AU Type: 1930-40s Romance | smut, angst, fluff Rating: MA WC: 8k

🔞💖⚠️ Let Me Heal You | @bethschamberoftales [1/1] Pairing: ex!bf Jungkook x reader x lawyer! Taehyung AU Type: Coming of Age, Infidelity, Crime, Thriller | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 26k

🔞💖⚠️ I Put A Spell On You | @colormepurplex2 [2/2] Pairing: Demon!Jimin x Witch!f.Reader x Vampire!Jungkook AU Type: Demon/Witch/Vampire Halloween | angst, smut Rating: MA WC: 9,257

🔞💖⚠️ Chasing Shadows | @colormepurplex2 [4/4] Pairing: Sherlock!Jungkook x Journalist!f.Reader AU Type: Modern Day Sherlock Holmes | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 21,511

🔞💖⚠️ Flowers of Fate | @colormepurplex2 [4/4] Pairing: UnseeliePrince!Yoongi x Human!f.Reader (ft. x UnseelieGuard!Jungkook x SeeliePrince!Jimin x WoodNymph!Namjoon) AU Type: Strangers to Bonded Mates | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 56,072

🔞💖⚠️ On Wings of Mist & Memories | @colormepurplex2 [3/3] Pairing: DragonRider!Jungkook x FieldScribe!f.Reader AU Type: Enemies to Lovers, Exiled Royalty, Fantasy | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 39,753

🔞💖⚠️ Seeds | @downbad4yoongi [1/1] Pairing: Persephone!Yoongi x Hades!Hoseok AU Type: Modern Greek Mythology, Strangers to Lovers, Mafia | angst, smut Rating: MA WC: 7,902

🔞💖⚠️ Lifeline | @downbad4yoongi [1/1] Pairing: Namjoon x Reader AU Type: First Responder | smut, light fluff Rating: MA WC: 7,157

🔞💖⚠️ The Agile Fox | @yoonia [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x OC (named female character) x Yoongi AU Type: Shifters, Werewolf | fluff, angst, smut Rating: MA WC: 51,966

🔞💖⚠️ Bad For You | @yoonia [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader AU Type: Stripper | smut, angst Rating: MA WC: 11,340

🔞💖⚠️ To All The Men I’ve Fucked Before | @hisunshiine [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x Reader AU Type: tatbilb!au fake dating!au | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 30,586

🔞💖 Laundry Love | @hisunshiine [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x Reader AU Type: s2l, non-idol au | smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 9,983

🔞💖⚠️ Bangtan Scouts | @hisunshiine [20/20] Pairing: Jungkook x Reader AU Type: sailor moon au | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 48,937

🔞💖⚠️ College Nights, Diner Fights | @hisunshiine [1/1] Pairing: Jungkook x Reader AU Type: e2l, diner au, college au | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 9,841

🔞💖⚠️ Seven Days | @hisunshiine [7/7] Pairing: Jungkook x Reader AU Type: f2l au, fwb au | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 34,607

All stories copywritten of the specified author. The authors provided consent for their stories to the network to be shared by submitting their stories. Stories posted in the order of submission to the event.

[nanamismoonchild]

deceiving the moon

->chapter 11- the pan handler

->pairing: namjoon x oc (persephone)

->genre: greek god, fantasy

->wc: ~1.5k

->warnings: choking, name-calling, rough fingering, power dynamics on both sides, unhinged namjoon and oc (both of them are crazy), Persephone being mean

credits: this fic was beta read by the lovely @augustbutwinter and the header was made by the lovely @birbdae

a/n: somehow i found enough time to write a few words.it's been *checks notes* a whillllleeeeeeeeeeeee since i wrote namjoon and our girlboss persephone. please comment or send an ask my way if you enjoyed it. Or better yet, send an owl with a lovely letter. :D OH OH I hope you all get the reference too!

prev next

also posted on ao3

Persephone had hoped Namjoon would let her explore more of her new kingdom. However, he explained that they had an appointment with a familiar god by the name of Park Jimin. 

To humans, he was Pan. To Persephone, he was a nuisance much like the rest of the gods that she had met so far. The only difference is she had interacted with Jimin more times than she would have liked to admit.  

Her mother enjoyed his company and invited him to help with harvests. He also lurked around the lake surrounding her old home, flirting with the nymphs. And with her. She couldn’t count on her fingers how many times she rebuffed him, only for him to come back the next day.  

In fact, she had a feeling, she already knew what he would say the moment she was in his proximity. 

“You picked him? Over me?” Jimin screeched, damn near tossing himself into her personal space. He managed to sound both accusatory and hurt at the same time. 

“And why on Gaea’s green earth would I ever choose you?”

Sulkily, he replied, “Because obviously I’m the better choice. I’m your mother’s favorite.”

“My mother didn’t have favorites,” Persephone said plainly, hoping to hurt the man’s feelings. “And if she did, she’d be foolish to choose you.”

“You can be such a bi-”

Namjoon huffed and stood up from his chair, swiftly, trying to save his friend from getting slapped into the next century. “If you’re done flirting with my wife, Jimin, I’d like to begin this meeting. I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”

The new goddess of the underworld and the young god of the wild both turned their heads to Namjoon at the same time, and eerily, both said, “You’re organizing?”

Namjoon’s heart broke a little.

“Yes, but that’s neither here nor there with you, Jimin.”

Persephone sat next to Namjoon, easily sliding into her business persona. A persona she didn’t even realize she had until now. Being Queen was changing her, and she loved every single moment of it. 

Jimin scoffed, “Right. You want to hold a ball in this silly dirty-”

“Do not insult my new home, shepherd.”

Jimin braved the intentional insult and kept going.  He was used to Persephone despising every man that walked into her life. From what he’d heard, she had already knocked Yoongi down a couple of pedestals, made Jungkook bleed, and put Namjoon into his place. He wasn’t (yes, he was) afraid of what she’d do to him.  

“I’m sorry. Your lovely castle. You want to turn this place into the finest place ever. With my help. Why not just call Apollo?” “Tried. No answer, “ Namjoon said plainly. 

“Of course. He must be off doing some trials or something. I heard he got into some really bad stuff.”

“Before you two turn into gossiping nymphs, what is this about a ball?” Persephone questioned, turning to look at Namjoon. “This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing and we’ve both spent the night taking care of…errands.”

Jimin didn’t bother asking what errands the two of them took; he felt if he asked his feelings would get more than hurt. 

“Ah, it was a last minute thing. And it’s not really a ball. It’s more of a ceremony for the both of us.”

He side-eyed Jimin. 

“I wanted to create a song for you. And I thought that Jimin would be the perfect candidate to help me. After Apollo of course.”

Namjoon thought he heard a small “whatever” come from Jimin. 

The look of complete disgust was painted onto Persephone’s beautiful face as she realized what Namjoon had suggested. 

“I’d rather listen to the cries of the dead as they cross the Styx and realize they’re being rowed away on a boat driven by that idiot you trust so much.”

Damn. The woman managed to insult all three men and one of them wasn’t even in the room. 

“Persephone, my music is not that bad. The Pan Girls say that-”

“Pan Girls,” Persephone rolled her eyes. “They are nothing more than women who have laid in bed with you on more than one occasion. That is the name that common men, such as yourself, give them. It’s close to being called a whore. Please do not ever call the women who idol you that despicable name.”

Jimin felt as if an arrow had been shot and lodged in his chest. His cheeks became warm and red as shame rose up his body.  He had thought it was one of those adorable fan names. 

“And please, no music made by a man has ever made me happy,” Persephone added to complete the reading she had just given the poor man. “Now, if you had asked Euterpe, I would have taken any song by her.”

“Well, she was unavailable, considering she’s one of the nine.” Namjoon gritted out, wanting to add a demand that Persephone stop insulting his friends or he wouldn’t have anyone except Cerberus.  

“Hm, too bad. I guess I’ll take the half goat then.”

Jimin was ready to cry. There were only so many insults he could take, and the Queen may have just found his limit. 

“Namjoon, I don’t think I feel comfortable singing a song for the bitch who clearly does not like me.”

Namjoon sucked in his teeth. Enough was enough. If she was going to be a queen, petty insults needed to stop.   “Persephone.”

“Yes?” Persephone asked innocently, instantly hearing the low tone Namjoon used with nuisances. “Please apologize to our guest.” 

The grin that spread across his queen’s face was absolutely terrifying. It was the smile of a woman who knew she had all the power. And no one could take it from her. 

“Now, “ she started, tracing circles along Namjoon’s arm, “if I do that, it wouldn’t be sincere. And Jimin deserves a sincere apology. Don’t you, Jiminie? ”The tone she used was sultry and, obviously, fake, but that didn’t deter Jimin. 

He loved being called Jiminie, and finally hearing it from Persephone, someone he had been infatuated with for years called him tha,made every insult she had made towards him disappear. 

He was sucked into her charms immediately.

“I do deserve one. Listen, I’ll make up calling my admirers, Pan Girls, by writing and singing the best song you’ve ever heard.”

“You will?” Persephone gushed, still putting on a false performance. 

She knew Namjoon wasn’t pleased but to hell with him. 

The god of flutes nodded giddily and took off before Persephone or Namjoon could say anything else. 

The throne room was empty besides the two of them. Normally, a swarm of servants would come over.  Persephone still couldn’t register the days or nights in the Underworld very well; however, she knew from her the sleepiness that suddenly overwhelmed her, it was late in the night, which meant the servants were also in bed. 

She yawned and stood, aiming to stretch her legs. She became aware of Namjoon sliding next to her; she made the mistake of presuming he was going to offer to carry her as he normally did. 

Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his front. His other hand made its way to her throat. And pressed. Not enough to completely cut her off, but enough for her to feel lightheaded but excited all the same. 

Namjoon leaned in close to Persephone’s ear, so that he knew she was listening. 

“Whenever we have guests, my queen, you will respect them,” he moved the hand that was on her waist to her middle, bunching up the night dress she wore. Almost exposing her. 

“No more of these petty jabs. Business only.”

She decided to mess with Namjoon, “Or what?” 

Mistake. A big one. 

Namjoon whipped her around and pushed her into her throne. The Egyptian cotton stuffed velvet pillow felt like heaven underneath her,  but Namjoon didn’t give her time to enjoy the feeling. He lifted her dress, and slid two fingers inside of her warmth. 

Persephone moaned and began rocking on his fingers before the arm he wasn’t using pinned her thighs down. She pouted, but the onslaught of Namjoon’s fingers didn’t allow her to chastise him. She quickly felt a coil begin to emerge, and couldn’t believe it was so soon. 

Unfortunately, just as soon it began, it ended. 

Namjoon slid his fingers out, her pussy making a shameful wet noise as he removed them.   The sound warmed Persephone’s cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing–you won’t get what you want,” Namjoon said, his voice still dripping with the dark vibe. He licked both fingers clean, relishing Persephone’s taste. 

Persephone opened her mouth to complain, but it was promptly shut with Namjoon stuffing both of his fingers into her mouth. She tasted a little of herself, and Namjoon’s own saliva on her tongue.  

“We’re going to go to our room and sleep. You’re not getting that orgasm tonight. We’ll see how you behave in the morning.”

Persephone nodded, reluctantly. 

Namjoon smiled, no, he beamed. It was the same terrifying grin that Persephone had earlier. No one could take away the power Persephone had as the Underworld’s Queen. Except the King, her king. 

[deepdarkdelights]

what are 3 songs that you think would fit into a playlist for each member in the bouquet series? Recently I was reading "CUT" and listening to music, and the song "Lurk" by the neighborhood came on and I feel like the mood of the song was so fitting when the MC would get the little notes, so now I'm wondering what songs do you see as fitting for each members character?

Oh, that's a good question - I haven't thought about this in a while tbh. I know in the past I would pick a song that I would want to appear in the end credits of each fic if they were a movie...let's see:

(For reference, the first song listed for each member is a song I previously picked for the end credits idea)

Namjoon -

"Persephone" by Tamino, "Girl With One Eye" by Florence + The Machine, "The Fruits" by Paris Paloma

Seokjin -

"When the Night is Over" by Lord Huron, "Weak" by Sombr, "I Can't Pretend" by Tom Odell

Hoseok -

"Bust Your Kneecaps" Slowed down version by Pomplamoose, "Reflections" by The Neighborhood, "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult

Yoongi -

"Bizzare Love Triangle" by Welshy Arms, "Angel of Small Death and Codeine Scene" by Hozier, "Come 2 Me," by Johnny Goth

Jungkook -

"I Belong to You" by MUSE, "Blue" by Billie Eilish, "Exit Music for a Film" by Radiohead (remastered)

Jimin -

"Alrighty Aphrodite" by Peach Pitt, "The Creator" Piano Marine Mike, "Exogenesis Symphony Part 1 Overture" by MUSE

Taehyung -

"Creep" Haley Reinhart Cover, "Stargirl Interlude" by The Weekend, "Eat Your Young" by Hozier

*A Note for Blue - this really calls to me for JK because of the lyric "you were born reaching for your mother's hands, victim of your father's plans to rule the world" and "I don't blame you, but I can't change you"

*Another note* Not all of these songs lyrics directly relate to each fic, some of them are just based on vibes alone of the sound of the song

Also thank you for the song recommendation, I really liked Lurk and I can see how it would fit well with Cut! Taehyung!

[flowerprincesscherryblossom]

little flower - chapter four

pairing: hades!Kim Namjoon x persephone!Female Reader word count: 5350 warnings: fluff, angst, smut, multiple pov, thanatos!yoongi, stalking, mastubation, wet dream series masterlist A/N: Hope you like it and that you have a wonderful day wherever you are💜

An enormous headache due to all the drinks he had last night wasn't the perfect way that Yoongi wanted to spend the upcoming day, not that he had much of a choice, and he was sure that Jungkook, Jimin, and even Namjoon were feeling the same way he did.

But as the daimon of non-violent death and the minister's king he had a job to do, whether he liked it or not, and sending the Keres, to do one of them for him wasn't the best idea.

As he strolled in the hall, when hearing the cackling of the Moirai the gray-haired one's wings spread and he flew until he was sure he was away from the sound, not wanting to deal with the cryptic hags, especially after getting them inebriated.

Afterward, he kept making his way towards the throne room, being slightly surprised when he entered the room and saw that the god of the Dead was nowhere in sight.

"Where is the king?" the daimon asked the servants in the room.

"The king is still in bed," one of the servants said, bowing to the minister. "Shall we wake him up my lord?"

"No need," he gave a deep sigh while rubbing his temple. "I'll do it myself."

With another bow from the servants, Yoongi made his way to Namjoon's bedroom, passing through other servants with disregard until he reached the door.

The gray-haired knocked on it and waited for a response for a couple of seconds, of which when Yoongi received none, he knocked on the door again, a bit more forcefully, before letting himself in the room, closing the door behind him.

He entered the room, the sight of the king made Yoongi let out a sigh and roll his eyes, Namjoon being spread out naked on his bed, snoring incredibly loudly that almost made the gray-haired one want to cover his ears.

"This isn't how I wanted to start my morning," he said pinching the bridge of his nose before proceeding to grab the king of the Underworld's right ankle and shake it violently. The daimon kept doing this even as he heard the god of the Dead groan and start to move to shake off the unwanted feeling, only stopping and letting go once the gray-haired noticed that the dark-haired had opened his eyes.

"Ughhh," Namjoon groaned as he moved to sit on the bed, his feet touching the cold floor as he stretched his arms before passing his fingers through his hair. "What time is it?" the king asked with a yawn.

"Good morning!" the minister replied loudly, moving to carefully pick up the glass shards off the floor before putting them on the mirrored dresser next to the untouched glass, not wanting whoever was going to clean the room to have too much work with it. "Fun night?" he said in an almost bored tone, his eyes focusing on the objects on top of the dresser.

"What do you want?" the god of the Dead asked, cracking his neck and passing his fingers through his hair once more, before resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze focusing on the floor, his head pounding, as if someone kept hitting it with one of Hephaestus's hammers, as flashes of the previous day's events crossed his mind.

His brain paying special attention to when he had been with his mistress but having his thoughts fogged by someone else, one part of him feeling guilty for what he had done to both the goddess and the nymph; the second part telling him that he had done nothing wrong, for neither women knew of what he had done; and a third part, one which was very small but still very present, wanted to fuck Kore into his bed until she begged him to stop, wanting her to become so addicted to the pleasures he would give her that the goddess wouldn't even dare to search for something similar in somebody else.

The latter being pushed to the far back of his mind, not wanting to become hard in front of his minister.

"I came to wake the king so that he can perform his duties," Yoongi said circling his finger through the rim of the untouched glass. "I also wanted to have a private conversation with you," the daimon of non-violent death grabbed the bottle of wine and poured the liquid into the glass, taking a gulp while glancing at the taller one through his peripheral. "I would've preferred a more clothes-on type of conversation but I'll take what I can get."

With a roll of eyes and a tsk Namjoon stood up from the bed and walked towards his closet, grabbing his robe. "What did you want to talk about?" the king asked in a monotone voice as he put on the piece of clothing, both men having their backs turned towards one another.

"What's the real story behind the flower crown?" the gray-haired said taking a swing of his drink.

Silence filled the room for what felt like hours as Namjoon debated on what to tell the minister before settling on the narrative he had given. "The same one from hours ago," he turned towards the daimon, having decided to give him a little more information. "A woman made it and left it behind when she left in a hurry and I took it for myself, nothing more to it."

Yoongi turned towards the god, staring at him from top to bottom. "Is that all?" he took a sip, looking up to see the king's reaction from above the rim of the glass.

"Why wouldn't it be?" the dark-haired one wanted to keep the existence of Kore hidden from the gray-haired one, more so for the fact that he didn't want the other to start questioning him about her, even though the feeling of possession stared prickling on his skin, especially when he saw the minister move his unoccupied hand to grab the crown of daisies. "Now, if this conversation is over, I'd like to go about my day."

"She must've made quite the impression for you to need a memento," the shorter of the two said quietly as his fingers grazed the white petals of the flower.

Rolling his eyes the god of the Dead crossed his arms over his chest. "How long are you going to keep this going?"

"Until you tell me the whole truth," Yoongi threw the flower crown haphazardly onto the bed, earning him a scowl from the king, of which he gave a smirk in response, almost as if he had caught the god in a lie.

The god made a move to sit at the foot of his bed, taking the crown in his hands and passing his fingers through its petals, as memories of yesterday clouded his vision.

What is wrong with me? Namjoon thought to himself. He had met the goddess less than twelve hours ago, it hadn't even been a meeting, they had simply looked at each other from across the hall and were aware of one another, there hadn't been any conversation, and then he had hidden behind a tree watching her, only for it to culminate in him thinking about her while being deep inside his mistress, all of this in a span of six hours at best.

All of it was a first to him.

"Who is she?" the king was pulled out of his thoughts by the voice of his minister, who now spoke in a more soft and understanding tone.

The god of the Dead however remained in silence, gathering his thoughts by pushing Kore out of them, as he stood from his seat and walked towards the dresser, placing the flower crown on it.

"No one," the dark-haired one said with a deep sigh. It was for the best that he forgets her, even if there was a part of him that wanted to see the goddess once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a bath before starting my duties." before Yoongi had a chance to reply the Lord of Riches left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

The daimon sighed and rubbed his temple, more so due to how the conversation had gone and less about his hangover.

In all honesty, he wasn't surprised that his friend was guarded about the subject but, he couldn't help but wonder about the king's sudden attachment to something as simple as a crown made of daisies.

There was more to the story that Namjoon wasn't sharing, and while on any other occasion the daimon wouldn't press further, the situation at hand warranted some digging on his part.

Yoongi would never admit it out loud but the majority of the reason why he was doing this was that he was worried for his friend.

In all the years he has known the god, this was the first time he has seen him act this way.

The way Namjoon was staring at the crown moments before, the look in his eyes, one of melancholy, of heartache, of longing. A look the gray-haired hadn't seen since she had passed all those years ago.

But Yoongi reasoned that it couldn't be about her, Namjoon had long since passed his grieving process, especially if the twinkle in god's eyes after the daimon mentioned the Moirai's words was anything to go by.

And then, it clicked.

Could the flower crown belong to the bringer of death? It could explain the king's behavior but why try to hide it from him? If it hadn't been for him the Lord of Riches wouldn't even know the Moirai's prediction, so why hide from him?

"Unless…," Yoongi thought loudly to himself, taking another glance at the crown of daisies before exiting the room.

The daimon of non-violent death needed to talk to the Moirai once more, a thing that displeased him quite greatly but he felt like he had no other choice, the god of the Dead was being incredibly secretive and protective about the crown of daisies, and whoever had made the crown definitely had an effect on the king of the Underworld.

But there had to be more to the story, or else the god wouldn't be acting the way that he was.

However, Yoongi would have to be secretive about his new meeting with the Moirai, if the Lord of Riches was already defensive when it came to a flower crown, one could only imagine how he would act if he found out that his minister was trying to find more information about the crown's creator.

"Why do I have to be such a good friend?" he murmured with a sigh as he entered the throne room.

~🌸~

As the sun raised in the horizon, illuminating each corner with its light and awaking everyone and everything, from the birds that started to chirper to the blossoming flowers, not even mortals and immortals alike could escape its waking presence.

And for once in her godly life, the only thing that Y/N wanted to do was to curse Helios with all her might for waking the world up, and thus herself, for it meant she had to get up when the only thing she wanted was to continue lying in bed.

In fairness the goddess of spring had been awake for a while now, having woken up from a dream, a peculiar one at that, one she couldn't recall ever having had one similar.

A dream where she was lying in a bed made of flowers, arms at her side and eyes closed, taking in the bright sunlight. All of a sudden a gloominess took over, stealing away the light and leaving her surrounded by nothing but darkness, and while her eyes were now open, her body remained immobile.

In the blackness, a faceless but equally as dark figure, of similar built to that of a man, approached her, and, without uttering a word, settled between her now parted legs. His hands gracefully took hold of her legs and placed them on his shoulders just as carefully, spreading pecks and bites from her ankle to her thigh on her right leg before doing the same to her left one.

A sudden bite on her pelvis was all the warning she got before the figure's face was buried between her thighs, her back arching off the ground at the sensation of his lips kissing her most intimate part before using the flat of his tongue to lick at her entrance. His lips started to suck on her clit as he inserted two fingers into her, thrusting them in and out at a slow pace.

As the figure kept scissoring inside of her, the goddess of flowers' hips started moving in tune with his hand, her pussy clenching around the digits as moans kept falling from her lips, pleasure she had never felt before filling her bones.

With a moan against her center the figure's face backed away from her and started to spread kisses throughout her skin, making a path from her pelvis until her collarbone. The fingers in his left hand curled with precision against her sweet stop while his right hand fondled her breast, as his lips grazed against hers.

And when she was close to tipping over the edge, Y/N woke up with a startle, taking heavy breaths in order to calm herself down as quietly as she possibly could in order to not wake her mother up.

Ever since then she had been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, the dream replaying in her over and over again, leaving her bewildered and with a tingling sensation between her legs, one she refused to acknowledge.

It wasn't the first time the goddess of spring had felt that sensation in her immortal life, the first time had been when she had met Apollo for the first time and he had started to flirt with her almost immediately, before the god of music was forced to leave by her mother, when she had the physical appearance of a girl in her late teens all those years ago.

A short time after both deities had left her with the nymphs, the goddess of flowers turned to them and asked about what she was feeling, of which Leucippe, Tyche, and Acaste explained in graphic detail everything they thought she would need to know, even going as far as telling and showing to her what she needed to do when she wanted to satisfy herself.

But, like she had told Aphrodite, Y/N never felt the need to do such things. That, and a mixture of a lack of courage to follow through with it, mostly due to fear of her mother finding out and the shame that would follow.

So, much every other time she had felt this need, Y/N would simply try her best to ignore it until it passed.

But as the morning sun started to rise, all hopes of remaining in bed disappeared before her, knowing that her mother would never allow her to be in bed without a concernable reason.

With a heavy breath, the goddess got up, stretching her arms and walking towards the kitchen, finding the goddess of harvest already there preparing breakfast, a fruit salad from the looks of it.

The younger goddess released a sigh as she walked, hoping her mother would be less mad than she was the previous night.

"Good morning mother," she gave the older goddess a peck on the cheek before moving to take a seat at the table.

"Good morning Kore," Demeter said, not lifting her eyes from her task. "Did you sleep well?"

A glimpse of her dream flashed for a second in her mind. "Yes mother, like a baby,"

The goddess of harvest settled both plates on the table and took a seat, both mother and daughter eating in silence, both glancing out the window each time they took a piece of fruit into their mouths.

"What are you planning on doing today my flower?" the older goddess asked, a neutral tone in her voice.

"I was planning on having a bath and then spend the rest of the day with the nymphs," Y/N played with a grape between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. "I'm sure they want to know everything that happen yesterday."

With a sigh, the goddess of agriculture turned her eyes from the outside towards her plate. "You do know why I was upset last night right?"

The goddess of flowers nodded. "Yes mother," she started to play with another grape. "It was because I made you worry after going to the garden in front of Zeus's palace without telling you."

Demeter's hand reached to hold her daughter's one, giving it a squeeze. "I apologize for being too harsh," she looked at the goddess of flowers, a caring look in her eyes. "I was incredibly worried after I couldn't find you and I overreacted." Y/N nodded along with her mother's words, her eyes focused on her lap.

The previous night as soon as she had heard her mother searching for her, the goddess of spring had made a quick dash towards the palace, leaving her daisy crown behind, and, once she had approached her mother she apologized for what she had done.

In response, Demeter angrily started to inquire questions to which she expected no answer to. Questions such as: 'Why were you by yourself?' 'Why not take someone with you if you wanted to go outside?' 'Why didn't you tell anyone about it?' and other such questions, ones that were quiet enough to not draw the attention of the entire hall but also loud enough to draw the attention of anyone who was close by.

Once the goddess of harvest stopped she grabbed her daughter's wrist and pulled her out the palace, both deities leaving for their home in silence and without farewells to the others.

She didn't hold anything against her mother, she knew the older goddess was simply worried. But, at the same time, her mother's actions the previous night bothered her beyond what she thought was possible.

The goddess of flowers had been by her herself less than thirty minutes. Why did she need constant supervision? She had been alive for centuries, her physical appearance had been of a young adult for so long, why did her mother sometimes still treat her like a child? Y/N knew her mother cared but it felt like too much at times.

"I know you meant well mother," she took a bite out of a strawberry. "I apologize for making you worry."

With another squeeze of her hand, the goddess of agriculture let go of her and both deities resumed eating in silence.

Once finished Y/N stood up to wash the plates, only to be stopped by her mother before she grabbed the dish. "I'll do it, you go on ahead," she stood from her seat and gave her daughter a peck on the forehead. "I love you, my flower."

"I love you too mother,"

~🌸~

After finishing his bath and putting on his clothes Namjoon quietly left his realm, spending a few minutes with Monie so that the three-headed hound wouldn't alert anyone of what the king was doing.

He just needed a few moments alone to gather his thoughts, his bath having managed into making his more lewd thoughts about the goddess of flowers more dominant.

The Lord of Riches had had his head leaned against the edge of the bathtub and his eyes closed, his mind replaying every single sinful thought that he had about the goddess while deep inside the nymph, so much so that once he felt his cock twitch Namjoon's hand moved to grip the organ.

At first, the strokes were lazy but as his brain conjured more erotic images of Kore, the faster his movements became, fisting his length like a mad man - images of the goddess on her knees with her lips around him; under him; on top of him; him taking her from behind; his face between her thighs as he ate her up like a man starved.

The god of the Dead stopped in his tracks and shook his head, if he kept focusing on these thoughts instead of getting rid of them, then it would just everything harder for him.

The king of the Underworld looked around his surroundings, he seemed to be in a meadow of sorts, the green blanket filled with all sorts of things, from plants and weeds to flowers and trees, with small creatures all over the place, from squirrels and rabbits to birds and bees.

If it weren't for all the animals and insects the Lord of Riches could almost fool himself into believing that he was in the Elysian Fields due to how peaceful and heavenly the meadow was.

He had missed this type of atmosphere from the Upperworld, more than he would possibly ever tell anyone, and while the Underworld had its fair share of vegetation, it still couldn't be compared to this one, comparing the plant life of his realm to the one from the mortal realm would be like comparing a hot breeze to a cold one.

Namjoon felt somewhat at peace, despite the goings-on in his mind.

But it wasn't long until for the tranquility to last much as the sound of excited squeals and laughter, women from the sounds of it, got louder the more he walked aimlessly, of which the god made a change to his path and moved to walk between the various trees, using them as cover as to not fright anyone.

As he got closer to the sound the Lord of Riches could start to make out the figure of the people making such a ruckus.

He stopped once he felt like he was close enough to see everything, the squeals seemed to be coming from a group of women, nymphs from the looks of it, a dozen or so of them, all sitting in a half circle, surrounding someone that the king of the Underworld couldn't see clearly from his position.

All the nymphs seemed to be engaged in whatever the figure in the middle was saying, no doubt gossip the god concluded.

As he was turning to take his leave two of the girls fell back onto the ground in fits of laughter, allowing him to see the person in the middle, and Namjoon could've sworn that his eyes bulged out so much that it almost felt like they would pop out of his skull.

There, in the middle of a bunch of nymphs, stood the one who's been haunting his every little thought for the past hours - Kore.

At the sight of the goddess the king stood in place as if paralyzed, needing to lay against the tree closest to him to stop himself from moving, if it was either to walk away or towards her Namjoon himself couldn't tell.

He took every inch of her: delicate hands; soft legs; flawless hair; gracious smile; starry eyes. All of her was perfect in his eyes, making his need to remain hidden that much harder.

The god of the Dead didn't know for how long he stood in that position, only being able to tell the passage of time by the position of the shadows. But if he had to be frank with himself, he didn't care much about it, as he watched the goddess pick flowers and laugh with the nymphs, he felt relaxed and at peace.

It had been so long since the Lord of Riches had had a break from his role, even if what he was doing wasn't proper.

The king wanted nothing more than to step out from his hiding place and talk to her, wanting to get to know the woman who haunted his every moment. But Namjoon wouldn't, for the fear that the goddess would be afraid of him.

He didn't need to be the smartest person on Earth to guess the type of things she had heard about him, not only that but, despite having no evidence to either prove him right or wrong, he knew Demeter had to be around the place as well.

The king of the Underworld highly doubted that the goddess of harvest would leave her daughter just under the nymphs' watchful eyes, he suspected that the older goddess wouldn't let anyone she didn't know or trusted anywhere near her daughter, especially, without a shadow of a doubt, if that anyone was the king of the dark and dreary realm.

While the god of the Dead and the goddess of agriculture have known each other for a long time and had a shared past, that didn't mean that they got along. In fact, Namjoon could guarantee with a hundred percent certainty that he could count on one hand the number of people he got along well with, the large majority were treated with indifference unless they did something that grounded on his nerves.

Not to mention the reputation he carried, surely contributing to what Demeter actually thought of him.

The Lord of Riches was pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of a snapping branch, the feet stepping closer to the soil he was in. At the sight of who the person was, Namjoon started to back away as slowly and quietly as he possibly could, all the while keeping his eyes on her.

He could only hope that the leaves from the trees that covered the sunny sky would be enough to help hide his presence, he didn't want the goddess of flowers to see him, not like this. Not when this was the second time he was creeping on the woman when he was supposed to be forgetting indecent thoughts about her.

When the goddess stopped so did the god, both mimicking each other's stance of having a hand laying on the trunk of the tree and being entirely focused on the object that stole their attention, something that was completely unbeknownst to her.

"Finally, some time to be alone," she released in a deep breath, cracking her neck from side to side. "Too bad it can't be for longer."

Kore spun around the tree, the very same one he had previously been standing next to, keeping her eyes on the green leaves that, although covered the entire sky, still let various rays of sunlight through, making the goddess look more divine in his eyes.

After some time, it could've been minutes or even hours but to the god none of that mattered, she stopped spinning and focused her sight on the foliage, her hand never leaving the trunk as Namjoon waited with bated breath for the goddess's next move.

Her hand slid down the stem until it reached its roots and closed her eyes, scrunching her eyebrows in concentration.

Not long after Kore opened her eyelids and smiled at the sight.

Namjoon however had been so entranced by the goddess beaming that it wasn't until he turned his vision towards the top of the tree that he understood the reason, on its branches magnolias of various colors started to bloom, each flower standing out against the leaves as if they were the brightest stars that filled the night sky.

His eyes widen in amazement, a smile forming on his lips just as wide, although having seen the goddess raise daisies from the ground the previous night, seeing her make flowers appear made his heart flutter, and the fact that it had been done on the tree he had been standing next to made his heart beat even more rapidly.

It almost felt like a sign in his eyes, a sign that the cosmos were not only affirming his sudden feelings towards her, but that, maybe, they were also reassuring him that the goddess of flowers would reciprocate them.

He shook his head at such thoughts and away from the scene. "These are all but delusions," the god whispered to himself.

It felt wrong to have such thoughts and feelings about someone he hadn't even talked to once, taking special consideration that he still had no idea who the bringer of death was and what importance they would play in his life. But it felt even worse to deny his emotions.

The king of the Underworld turned to look at Kore once more, finding her on the tip of her toes and struggling to catch the magnolias she had created, of which he gripped tightly on the tree he was next to, in order to stop himself from moving and help her.

After collecting enough flowers, of which to the god seemed enough to make three bouquets, the goddess left and returned to the nymphs, and as she left he saw the shadow of a shy smile on her lips.

Namjoon waited for a couple of minutes before stepping out from behind the tree and walking towards the now magnolia tree.

Being careful has to not be spotted the god of the Dead reached for the branches and carefully picked a dozen of the magnolias whose color reminded him of their creator, six whites and six pinks, and once he was done the king turned around to return to the Underworld, leaving the meadow as silently as he had arrived.

Once in his realm, the Lord of Riches did his best to hide the bouquet and to avoid engaging in conversation with anyone, taking extra precaution just on the off-chance that the daimon of non-violent death would be the one to find him.

As he passed through the palace halls on the way to his bedroom, a servant going the opposite direction stumbled upon him, bowing quickly at his king once his eyes fell on the god.

The king cursed under his breath before turning to face the servant, his expression blank but his eyes with a fiery burn in them. "Bring a vase of water to my room, preferably water from the Upperworld,"

He saw the eyes of the servant widen at his demand before turning from them to continue his path towards his bedroom.

"W-water? F-from the U-Upperworld? B-but my Lord -"

"Tell Cerberus I was the one that sent you and keep your mouth shut about this, especially to Thanatos," the king interrupted, turning to the servant and staring at them with a piercing gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"

The servant lower their shoulders in defeat and bowed to their king. "Y-yes my Lord,"

With that the god of the Dead walked a couple more steps before entering his room, shutting the door behind him a bit more forcefully than intended.

He released a deep breath, cracking his neck before carefully pulling the bouquet of magnolias out of its hiding spot and putting it, just as carefully, on top of his dresser, next to the crown made of daisies.

He kept his eyes on his flower collection as he walked backward until his legs hit the foot of the bed, causing him to sit on it.

The king had his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers intertwined with one another, his gaze intentionally on the flowers as his mind circled through the events that had occurred the past two days.

When the god had first stepped into the meadow his intention truly was to completely forget about the goddess, but now the situation had changed.

Now that he had found the general area where she spent a large portion of her time, he knew that he would visit the Upperworld more often, all just so he could have a glimpse of her in order to settle his thoughts.

Or at least, that was what the Lord of Riches was telling himself.

With a sigh Namjoon lowered his head, his fingers moving to grip at his hair, as the god felt himself slowly drifting into madness. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

[iridescentxstars]

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐊𝐞𝐲: [M] — Mature content/warnings | 🌹 — NSFW | ✨ — Rewritten | ✅ — complete | ❌ — unfinished/discontinued/missing links

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫-𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞.

This masterlist contains all fics that have been archived for various reasons. This does not mean that they are not good enough to read, you are welcome to read and enjoy them. Some of these have been rewritten and the old stories can be found here.

ೃ⁀➷ Kim Jongin | BangChan | On-Going Series | Completed Series | Drabbles | Misc

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

[ ✧.* ] Something New [part one] [part two] — camboy!jongin x reader x camboy!sehun [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹✅ [ ✧.* ][M] A Dangerous Game — vampire!chanyeol x human!jennifer x vampire!minseok 🌹❌ [ ✧.* ] Soulmates [jongin] [chanyeol] — soulmate!idols x soulmate!readers ❌ [ ✧.* ] Love By CPR — doctor!jongin x reader 🌹❌ [ ✧.* ] Living Arrangements — boss!jungkook x reader 🌹❌

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

[ ✧.* ][M] Rule Breakers — stripper!jongin x parent!ayla [spin off to unwind by @oh-beyond] 🌹✅

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬

[ ✧.* ] His First Love — idol!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Warm Caramel And Honey Blonde — professor!jongin x barista!alice [ ✧.* ] Under The Mistletoe — actor!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Catch Me If You Can — detective!jongin x gang!reader [ ✧.* ] If Only — ceo!jongin x reader | ceo!jongin x yoona [side] [ ✧.* ][M] Behind Closed Doors — bodyguard!jongin x ceo!reader x ceo!ravi 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Play Pretend — vampire hunter!jongin x vampire!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Wrong Move — detective!yoongi x detective!shai x criminal!jongin [ ✧.* ] Jealous — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] She's A Fighter — student!jongin x student!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Gentle — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Aim To Please — idol!jongin x dom!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Ice, Ice Baby — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Obsession — yandere!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Confession — devil!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] In The Club — devil!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Game Of Possession — idol!jongin x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Petty Jealousy — idol!minseok x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] As The Thunder Rolls In — ambiguous!junmyeon x reader [ @x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Mirror — idol!yixing x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Take Care Of Me — sub!baekhyun x mummy!reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Come On Over — idol!jongin x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Cruel Queen — mafia!chanyeol x mafia!reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] A Point To Prove — idol!yuto x poc!reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Never Love Again — fuckboy!lucas x reader [due to be rewritten][@danseurehonte]

[ ✧.* ][M] A Life With You — yandere!prince!taemin x reader x prince!jongin [present] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] The Gift That Keeps On Giving — ambiguous!taemin x reader x boyfriend!hakyeon [present] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] You're Hired — ceo!taemin x reader x ceo!jongin 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Delusional Fantasy — hades!leo x persephone!reader [ ✧.* ] Warmth — idol!jongin x reader 🌹❌ [ ✧.* ] Long Drive — ambiguous!minseok x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Little Wolf — werewolf!junmyeon & werewolf!reader [ ✧.* ] My Darling, You Are Perfect — idol!yixing x alice [ ✧.* ] Happy Birthday, Yixing — idol!yixing x reader [ ✧.* ] Mutual Agreement — idol!yixing x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Ritual Gone Wrong — demon!yixing x reader [ ✧.* ] Do You Wanna Build A Snowman? — best friend!baekhyun & anais [present] [ ✧.* ] Fucking Fortnite — brother!baekhyun & reader [ ✧.* ] His Awakening — dragon!jongdae [ ✧.* ] Best Of Both Worlds — idol!jongin x reader x idol!jungkook 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Secret Santa — college!namjoon x reader [present] [ ✧.* ] The Competition — idol!sehun x reader [ ✧.* ] Cookie Time — idol!sehun x reader [present] [ ✧.* ] Late Night Coffee — model!sehun x photographer!alice [ ✧.* ] Sweet Like Chocolate — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] I Promise You — idol!jongin x alice [ ✧.* ] First Date — idol!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Crayons — ambiguous!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Stone Cold — ex!jongin x reader | soulmate!jongin x soulmate!oc [side] [ ✧.* ][M] God Sent An Angel — angel!jongin x reader | baekhyun x reader [side] [ ✧.* ] Tender Love — idol!jongin x alice [ ✧.* ] Study Break — ambiguous!jongin x reader [present] [ ✧.* ] Christmas Crush — friend!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Jongin's Christmas Miracle — idol!jongin x ayla [ ✧.* ][M] New Life — boss!jongin x barista!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Drunk Mind, Sober Heart — best friend!jongin x alice 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Say Yes — fallen angel!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Jongin The Ripper — killer!jongin x ??? 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Break Me — vampire!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Consequences — prince!kyungsoo x reader [ ✧.* ] World's Best Dad — best friend!kyungsoo x parent!reader [ ✧.* ] Love Confessions — college!kyungsoo x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Fill Me Up — hybrid!chanyeol x hybrid!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Naughty Kitty — hybrid!jongdae x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Oh, You Tease — idol!minseok x reader 🌹

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Quick ask - If the members of BTS were to perform in a Broadway style musical, which one would suit them best? And if you have time, who would play which roles?

***

Hi @amatann !

I'd love to see BTS try Hadestown.

Anais Mitchell's songwriting reminds me of Yoongi's sometimes.

I don't even remember all the cast/character names but I do know I'd like to see jikook play Orpheus and Eurydice, Namjin play Persephone and Hades, maybe Hobi plays Hermes, and then Taehyung plus Yoongi play the Fates (loool).

[yminstars]

💐 Ghost Flowers Between Us

​• summary: Yoongi is a camp witch who sees feelings translated into colors: violet for happiness, pink for desire, yellow for love, etc. One night, he comes across a stranger playing with fireflies. When their gazes meet, Yoongi sees the color black for the first time. What does it mean?

• rating: Explicit

• no archive warning apply​

• word count:​ 22.825

• status:​ Completed✅️

• tags:​ Alternate Universe - Mythology | Inspired by Hades and Persephone | Mythology - Freeform | Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses | Witches | Destiny | Jimin as Hades | Yoongi as Persephone | Bottom Yoongi | Top Jimin | Rimming | Fate & Destiny | Fluff and Smut

​• link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44860987/chapters/112873510

[sailoryooons]

Gods of the Dark | Coming Soon | 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. 

❀ Total Word Count: TBD

❀ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

❀ 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. 

❀ Series 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, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, sexually explicit content, themes of corruption and indulgence, depictions of hedonism, discussions of sexual and sensual pleasure, Yoongi is a deity of dreams and desires. Each chapter will have its own warning.  

❀ A/N: I cannot wait to bring this to you in July! This fic is inspired by the Lilith music video and lyrics, Sandman by Neil Gaiman, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab, scenes from the movie The Witch, and the myth of Hades and Persephone! While it was originally a story in two parts, it will be a story in four parts to better capture everything I want to include in this because I cannot control myself for world building!

❀ 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 | Playlist | Teaser | Coming July 8 |

[bteezxyewriter12]

Hi all,

So I'm gonna post the final results of the polls here.

Starting next Tuesday, I'm going on a break and hopefully I'll be able to at least continue writing these fics

I should hopefully be back by mid July, hopefully with these fics

So here are the fics you picked

Title (Maybe)- God

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader

Series- Retellings Series

About- Retelling of Hades and Persephone from Greek mythology

🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥

Title (Maybe)- Gangbangers

Pairing- OT8 x Named Reader

About- Reader is paid to be a live in sex working for the Bangtan gang

🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥🦥

Title- Everything is All About You

Parings- Hongjoong x Named Reader x Namjoon

Series- ATEEZ Drug Ring

About- After a break up with Namjoon, reader is introduced to drug dealer Hongjoong by a co-worker, who says he can get her anything to take the pain away

[dat-town]

own fic rec game

recommend 5 or more of your own works that you would rec to someone asking what they should read first & explain a little bit about the work. these can be the most popular, the ones you think are underrated, or your own favorites! then tag five other writers!

tagged by @restlessmaknae

tagging @lily-blue

dude, but like romantically - mark lee, 10k

i'm usually not your go-to uni au, slice of life or fluff writer but this was so much fun! honestly, probably the most fun i had writing a story in the last years because it didn't even feel like writing at times. i looked up mark-inspired playlists, i listened to him speaking in random lives and i just wrote without really knowing how i wanted this to end. i was there, you know, just for the ✨vibes✨ and i'm really happy that lots of people seem to enjoy it and think that it's mark-like. (so many that i just checked and it bet my hades!yoongi story in notes even though that had been my most popular writing for almost 5 years. wow.)

ignisum - hwang intak, 24.5k

world building! oh my god, i love world building. really, sometimes i get so swept up creating these little worlds for my stories that they end up being way more detailed than needed for the story. that's actually one of my favourite parts of writing and maybe that's why i love fantasy, dystopia etc. aus so much because i can do just that. the plot might not be the strongest (political intrigue isn't forte) but i really enjoyed creating ignisum and all these kingdoms. also for some reason i really like my fantasy aus with historical settings as well as badass girlies with smug boys, so really i put a lot of my favourite tropes here.

small doses - choi yeonjun, 7.8k

i don't think i have written anything so heavily focused on mental health before this one, so this was challenging but i think i could keep it realistic and i'm quite proud of that. also i have been wanting to work with such a now/then kind of contrast/parallel structure for a while, so i was glad that this story proved to be the perfect for that

bed warm, heart colds - min yoongi, 3.7k

i love mythology and fairytale aus a lot because they have so much potential and i love to twist the original story a bit, i love to explore their worlds, see if i can surprise people. and while this one i just wanted to jump on the train that claims that hades loved persephone and their love is tragic, i really wanted to put this here. i think this story was the first one i tried to write in a poetic-ish way and i still think back on it fondly.

destined to fall - kim taehyung, 33k

i'm pretty sure that if i were to read back this one, i would cringe really hard at parts and i would write it differently, but i'm still proud of the idea of it even if the execution wasn't that good. but it's okay, it wasn't an easy story to tackle and my longest for a long time (or maybe still is?) it was very interesting to jump in time, to create so many scenarios and try not to make it repetitive. i think my angst writing really took off with this one.