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sailoryooons · 10 months

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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.

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.

#yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #suga fanfic #suga bts #yoongi series #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #minors dni #minors do not interact

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starlightkun · 1 year

Text

❧ word count: 20.1k

❧ warnings: cursing, mentions of death/dead people but as a moral quandary, definitely more legal jargon than there should be i am so sorry (if it doesn’t make sense then it wasn’t important), oh there’s a short scene with a weirdly graphic depiction of eating fruit sorry if that gives you the ick, it gets very existential and kind of angsty at some points in this one in terms of morality around death and reader’s job

❧ genre: fluff, no literally so fluffy it probably should have been in the warnings actually, established relationship, greek gods/goddesses au, hades jaemin, human reader, nades au, paralegal reader, bit of a ham-fisted persephone allegory, inspired by the gods/goddesses assigned to the work it unit in 2020 for this video, appearances by aphrodite johnny, bestie jeno, coworkers kun and sicheng, and galactic-threat level menace yangyang

❧ extra info: this is the sequel to obsidian black, it cannot be read as a standalone!!!

❧ spotify playlist

⤷ series masterlist

Your fingers were still caressing his cheek, softly, he was still holding you with a hand on your back, and he was beholding you with a yearning that made your heart lurch against your ribcage; and you knew in that moment if you asked him for his own heart he would have reached his hand into his chest and given it to you, the organ still beating and dripping crimson.

“Hi, honey, how was work?”

Jaemin was already in your apartment when you got home that night, sitting in his favorite spot in your armchair, book in hand. As you walked around in front of him, you saw that this time his pick was Dracula by Bram Stoker.

“It was alright, lots of revising briefs,” you stretched your neck out. “And what exactly do you do all day while I’m at work anyway?”

“I do own a business, you know.”

“The Underworld is an LLP?” You joked as you stretched your shoulders next.

“An LLC actually,” he quipped back as he flipped to the next page. “But I meant one on Earth.”

“Glad you’ve got something to keep you busy aside from dead people,” you twisted around to crack your back, letting out a groan when you heard a satisfying pop. “Dinner?”

“I know a place nearby.”

And just under forty-five minutes later you were sat beside Jaemin in a private booth at a nice restaurant, drink in hand and food on the table.

“By ‘know a place’ you meant you had surprise reservations,” you declared, affectionately bumping his knee with yours.

“Maybe so,” he grinned, resting an arm over the back of the booth. “Did it work?”

“Depends, what were you hoping it would do?”

“Oh you know, woo you, make you fall madly in love with me, the usual.”

“Hmm,” you pretended to scrutinize your surroundings. “I guess I’m feeling mildly wooed.”

Jaemin suddenly leaned in, and you watched him, breathless, eagerly awaiting his next move. You always enjoyed your back-and-forth, the seamless way you two went around each other, the mutual pushing and pulling. With him this close you reveled in the smell of cedar, cinnamon, and bergamot wafting around you, drawing you in even closer.

“Well then how…” his arm that had been resting on the back of the booth now wrapped around your shoulders, the fingers of that hand gently gracing over the shell of your ear “…about…” his cool fingertips brushed over the back of your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake to then caress over your other ear, “…now?”

Suppressing a giddy smile, you lifted your own hands to feel at your earlobes. You hadn’t been wearing any earrings when you got to the restaurant, but now you could feel jewelry there.

“And what are these?” You asked as you felt over the smooth gems dangling from your ears.

“Opal.”

Your enamored grin finally took over your face, “Okay, I’m officially wooed. The magically appearing earrings got me. Thank you, Jaemin.”

“Success,” he murmured before giving you a fond peck.

His hand stroked up and down your back as you leaned against him, enjoying the quiet that the private booth afforded you.

“You looked tired when you came home, Y/N,” Jaemin commented, and you could hear the hint of worry coloring his tone. “More tired than just proofing briefs.”

You sighed, reaching for your glass to take a sip of your drink, “It was the content of the briefs. I’m usually pretty ambivalent about the morality of the stuff we do at Kim & Moon. But the one that Ms. Haseul had written on this medical malpractice case…”

Your date didn’t speak as he let you find your words.

“The argument she constructed… it was the first time I genuinely just felt… gross about the work I was doing, and all I was doing was proof-reading the thing! I didn’t even write it! And I know Ms. Haseul doesn’t actually believe in what’s in that brief, it’s just a legal argument, it’s all putting together precedent and logic and interpreting the facts of the case. She doesn’t even think it’ll work; she just has a responsibility to try every avenue she can for her client. But… I don’t know. Someone died in this case, Jaemin.”

“They did?”

“Yeah, and I can’t say for sure whether it was because of anything our client did or didn’t do. But the crux of Ms. Haseul’s argument is that our client, as this patient’s medical provider, didn’t owe a duty of care to the patient because the provider wasn’t technically an employee of the hospital due to a bunch of legal stuff, even though our client directly treated them. She said our motion will definitely be denied at the hearing but… it’s scary.”

“Death?”

“Hm?” His question threw off your train of thought for a moment.

“Death is scary?”

“I meant that Ms. Haseul’s duty to her clients involves arguing that medical providers don’t have a duty of care to ensure that their patients don’t die. And that my job involves helping her do that. But yeah, I guess that involves a want to not die. I don’t think not wanting to die and being afraid of dying are the same thing, though.”

“Are you afraid of dying?”

“I… don’t know,” you frowned thoughtfully as you looked down into the mouth of your glass. “I think most people who are, are usually afraid because they don’t how they’ll die or because they don’t know what happens after they die. They’re afraid of the unknown. Which is a pretty good thing to be afraid of. But I’ve been to the Underworld with you, I’m dating Hades himself, for fuck’s sake. I’ve got a fairly good idea of what’ll happen to me after I die. And… I don’t know if I’m afraid of dying.”

“That’s fair. You know more about it than most humans do, but not enough about what your specific experience of dying will be like to make a determination.”

“Really though, I just couldn’t stop imagining living in a world where I could go to a doctor who doesn’t owe me any duty of care, who doesn’t legally have to give a shit if I lived or died,” you sighed, then took a long swig of your drink, well aware that it was mostly diluted by the melted ice by now. “And I don’t want to contribute at all to making that world a reality. I don’t want any part of that, big or small. Even just proof-reading a legal brief. It just… grossed me out.”

You set your glass down on the table a little too harshly, the garish bang making you jump a little.

Looking up to meet the dark eyes that you could feel watching you, you searched them for something, “Jaemin, do you think I’m a hypocrite? I-I have all these opinions, but when it comes down to it, I’m at this job, helping attorneys to write briefs that say all this horrible stuff.”

His gaze was steady as he answered, “I think that if you had to find a new job every time your boss asked you to do something that went against your morals in the slightest way, you’d be spending so much of your time trying to find new jobs that you’d never have the time to actually impact the world in any meaningful way.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“That’s a ‘you proof-reading one brief isn’t going to bring about the end of The Hippocratic Oath and all morality is relative anyway.’”

“Damn, moral relativism…” you clicked your tongue. “Intro to Philosophy flashbacks aside, you might be making some points, Jaemin.”

“Thanks, I try,” he chuckled. Tilting his head to the side, he brought a hand up to grace over your new earrings again, tender but contemplative gaze in his obsidian eyes, “Y/N, do you think I’m a monster?”

His voice wasn’t sad or forlorn, just curious, inquisitive. You took his hand in yours—the one that was looking over the jewelry he’d just gifted you—and squeezed it. It was really more self-soothing than anything else, and he ran his thumb over your bejeweled knuckles in response.

“And where’s this coming from?”

“Humans have a lot of monstrous ideas about death and the dead. I want to know what you think.”

“In my ghost lit class, one of the concepts we discussed was the difference between the monstrous and the divine. I argued that there is no line between the two, that it’s up to how one chooses to interpret what they’re seeing or experiencing.” You brushed the back of your fingers over his cadaverous cheeks, taking comfort in the familiar cold against your skin. “So no, Jaemin, you’re not a monster. Not to me.”

You finally found what you’d been searching for in his eyes, that warmth of evanescing embers that compelled you to keep looking lest you miss the moment the ephemeral glow finally died. Your fingers were still caressing his cheek, softly, he was still holding you with a hand on your back, and he was beholding you with a yearning that made your heart lurch against your ribcage; and you knew in that moment if you asked him for his own heart he would have reached his hand into his chest and given it to you, the organ still beating and dripping crimson. Surging forward, you claimed his lips with your own. He reciprocated your kiss with one that made your head spin and your very bones ache and burn with a craving to both embower him and be consumed by him. Jaemin, god of the Underworld, your Hades.

“Hey, Y/N, I need you to draft a—”

“I’m going on lunch, Sicheng. I can in sixty minutes.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Y/N, will you please help me research this—”

“Qian Kun, the clock just struck 5:00 p.m., the work day is over. I’m going home and you should too.”

“God, sorry, I didn’t even realize. Yes, go home. I still have so much to—”

“I say this with the best intentions and all the platonic, workplace appropriate, and professional love in the world: Don’t make me go into your office and turn your computer off without saving your files.”

“…5:30?”

“Fine. And you know I can check your billing logs in the system, right? I’ll be able to see if you’re here even a minute past 5:30.”

“I know that now.”

“Uh-huh. Goodnight, Kun.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And so went your days at Kim & Moon, helping to conduct the three-ring circus that was Kun, Sicheng, and Yangyang. Despite the legal assistant initially seeming like a trustworthy and responsible ally on your first day, you soon found that he was an accomplice to the madness, or more often than not, the instigator. He was good at his job, and you could rely on him to make sure things got done by deadlines. But when it came to making the workplace itself run smoothly and ensuring your day-to-day lives were stress-free? Absolutely not. He knew exactly how to make his attorneys tick in the worst ways.

Dong “dumber than a box of rocks” Sicheng was the current victim of Yangyang’s boredom today. How he could even get bored with your workload was just a testament to his efficiency, but it irked you that instead of using this free time for good he instead used it to be the menace of the millennium.

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?” Yangyang’s voice suddenly cut into the recording of Ms. Haseul’s voice that was playing into your headphones. His tone clearly begged for you to agree with him.

“Hm?” You took the headphones off and paused the dictation.

Sicheng was standing at Yangyang’s desk, a stapler in his hands. You raised an eyebrow to look between them. This seemed somewhat normal so far.

“All the new staplers now have a safety mechanism so that they won’t staple fingers because a kid stapled all the way through his finger and his parents sued the stapler company for like millions of dollars,” the assistant said with the right amount of casualness, sincerity, and almost disbelief that Sicheng didn’t know this ‘common piece of knowledge.’ “They rolled out the new ones what—ten years ago?”

“You seriously interrupted my transcription for this?” You rolled your eyes. You were about to put your headphones back in when you saw Sicheng tentatively reaching his index finger towards the mouth of the stapler. “No, Sicheng!”

You lurched forward to take the stapler from his hand before he could test the ‘safety mechanism’ on himself. Yangyang had to bury his face in his arms on his desk to stifle his laughter.

“He was lying, wasn’t he?” Sicheng was catching on quicker to when Yangyang was teasing him these days. Not quick enough that you didn’t have to intervene every time you saw it happening, but you had to give him credit somewhere at least. Sometimes you didn’t have to explain to him afterwards the fact that he was being had.

“How did you even become a lawyer, Sicheng? How did you get through law school?” You waved the stapler at him accusatorily. “And I don’t mean grades, I’ve read some of your briefs, so I don’t doubt your 4.0 GPA. I mean how did you not die before you ever got there? How did you not stick a fork in an electrical socket, or eat candy with razorblades in it, or get kidnapped before you met me? I’m convinced you should be dead in a ditch and yet here you are.”

“It’s because he’s pretty,” Kun walked up to your desks then, setting down the papers in his hand to pinch Sicheng’s cheek, and the other attorney swatted his hand away. “People want to do stuff for him.”

Yangyang had sobered up from his laughing fit, teasing glint in his eye now focused on his other attorney, “That why you followed him to Kim & Moon, Kun? To make sure the big bad lawyers here don’t be mean to your pretty Sichengie?”

“So all sense of professionalism and decorum is just out the window right now?” Sicheng scoffed.

“That is not how it happened, Yangyang, and you know it,” Kun rolled his eyes.

“Did you two know each other before you worked at the firm?” You asked, realizing that you didn’t actually know anything about how the two associates had started at Kim & Moon, even after working at the firm for six months now.

Kun took it upon himself to explain, “We were friends in law school. I was a year ahead of Sicheng and after I graduated, I did a short stint at the prosecutor’s office. He came here straight out of law school.”

The other attorney finished the story, “When Kun figured out being a prosecutor wasn’t his thing after a couple years, he came to Kim & Moon as well.”

“That’s cute. Besties who litigate together, stay together. Right Jeno?” You tossed the last question over your shoulder at your friend who was working at his own desk. Jeno gave a thumbs up back without turning around, and you could see that his headphones were definitely in. Returning to the other three men with you, you looked to your fellow assistant, “And what about you, Yang? When did you start working here?”

“Oh you mean the worst day of my life?” Yangyang sighed melodramatically.

“One of these days I’ll record you with my dictaphone when you say that, play it for the senior partners, and you’ll be out of here you little demon,” Sicheng narrowed his eyes at his assistant.

“Anyway, I actually started out as an intern like…” Yangyang craned his neck around until he spotted a tall, lanky figure carrying probably too many boxes of copier toner into the copy room. “Like Sungchan over there. I got an internship here in undergrad because one of my professors knew Mr. Jeong, and I didn’t have anything better to do. Then once I graduated, I had no other plans and was offered a full-time legal assistant position working with Yejin. She was Ms. Haseul’s paralegal before you, Y/N. She used to do all of Ms. Haseul and Sicheng’s work by herself. They wanted to have Kun start medical malpractice too, so I came on as more support.”

“And when was that?”

“I came on full time a little before Jeno started I think?” Yangyang grabbed a pen from his desk, spinning his chair around and throwing the pen at said man. It missed Jeno’s head, thankfully, smacking against one of his monitors and clattering onto his keyboard. Your friend whipped around, immediately focusing in on your chaotic coworker as the source.

“What?”

“When was your first day at the firm?”

“I don’t know, summer like two years ago now?”

“Sounds about right. Thanks.”

“I’m keeping the pen, asshole.”

“I have more.” Yangyang shrugged, once again turning back to your conversation. “So I started full-time probably May that same year.”

“You are a galactic-threat level menace,” you shook your head. “You know that, right?”

“Don’t compliment him, Y/N,” Kun sighed.

Laid in Jaemin’s arms one night, feeling full, warm, and content, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you wanted to be in that moment. Dinner had been exceptionally delicious that night, and when you got back to your apartment you wanted nothing but to curl up with him on your couch, which he easily indulged you in. He picked a couple books off your shelf, plopped down onto your couch, and pulled you down on top of him. You nearly melted when he tucked you under his chin, and had been in a hazy state of half-consciousness since. Your eyes would occasionally flutter open or shut as you listened to his heartbeat under your ear, the sound of his fingers running along the pages as he turned them, and felt his chest rise and fall with his breaths. His arms were wrapped around you enough to read the book behind your head—The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, you’d caught a glimpse of the cover. You knew when he’d found a passage that he was exceptionally taken with or wanted to ponder, because one of his hands—the right one, specifically—would fall to the small of your back just under the hem of your shirt, his middle finger drawing mindless circles along your skin until he was ready to move on.

This particular part seemed to be stumping him, though, as his fingers ruminated on your back for much longer than they had before. Before you could comment on this, you let out an embarrassing noise at the sudden feeling of his cool fingertips working their way up your spine then along your shoulder blades, caressing your skin and pressing on your body playfully.

“Jaemin!” You coughed to cover up the squeak in your voice. “What are you doing?”

“Just checking for wings, I know they’ve got to be around here somewhere,” his words hummed against you as you continued to wriggle away from the ticklish feeling.

His book had apparently been set aside at some point, as you felt both his hands on you. When you’d finally managed to twist yourself onto your back, albeit still on top of him, he gave up his ministrations.

You couldn’t help the tiny bursts of laughter that continued to bubble up out of you at the pure cheesiness, “After thousands of years, you still can’t get better lines than that?”

You grabbed his hand, holding your linked hands to your chest, a fond smile on your lips as you looked down at his fingers between yours. He kept you tucked under his chin, wrapping his left arm around your waist as you had already claimed his right.

“Why would I want to when they make you giggle like that?” He then splayed his right palm over your chest, and you could feel your heartbeat thrum up against it as if your heart were trying to leap into his waiting hand, “And make your heart race like this?”

Another few moments passed by of the two of you quietly listening to your heartbeat before you spoke up again; softly, absentmindedly, the words leaving your mouth as soon as you thought them, “Sometimes I feel more like Icarus with you, actually.”

“How do you mean?”

“I swear sometimes it feels like it’s just too good to be true, like I’m too happy and if I’m not careful it’ll all melt away and I’ll fall into the ocean.”

“You do remember the other part, right? Icarus was warned that if he flew too low, the seawater would weigh down his wings.”

“…You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he said, and you could hear the smug smile in his voice, annoyed that it actually kind of made you feel better. The fact that your Hades was so confident about something, it made you want to believe in it too. His right hand moved from your chest so that two of those fingers could lift your chin. Once you were looking up at him, he continued, “Besides, you don’t have beeswax wings anyway, you have angel wings, remember?”

You let out something between a scoff and a chuckle, both in disbelief that he was still on about that, and also absolutely smitten with him as usual.

Knowing that he didn’t have you convinced or cheered up enough for his liking, Jaemin’s other hand snaked to the space in between his chest and your back, fingers playing at the bones of your shoulder blades once more. “Aha! I’ve finally found them, Y/N, they’re right here! I told you you’ve got angel wings!”

The longer he went on the more his fingers drifted around to your sides to tickle you instead, and you squirmed in his grip as both his hands participated in the assault, you soon falling from your previous spot on top of him. His arms darted out to gently guide your tumble, twisting himself around to make sure that you landed on the couch cushions instead of the ground.

“Jaemin!” You yelped out as the breath was being squeezed from your lungs.

He quickly let up his tickle attack, now hovering over you, supported by a hand on either side of your head. You looked up at your Hades with a bright grin that surely mirrored his, reaching up to grab his face with both your hands and kiss that smile right off him.

“Anything else on the agenda, Y/L/N?” Ms. Haseul prompted you.

“No, ma’am,” you shook your head, having crossed off the final thing. You’d just concluded your monthly team meeting for everyone under Ms. Haseul’s purview at the office.

“Does anybody have anything to add?”

At the other three shaking their heads, Ms. Haseul dismissed everyone, already efficiently packing up her supplies in her briefcase.

“Y/L/N, don’t forget to send that memo to Mr. Moon and Lee Donghyuck,” she reminded you on her way out, referencing the managing partner and his trusted paralegal.

“Of course, Ms. Haseul.” You nodded, but she was already out the door.

The other four of you were a little slower to leave. You cracked your back as you stood, “Alright, I’m going to the break room to grab a cup of coffee, anybody coming with?”

“I have to jump on a conference call in a couple minutes, but could someone get me a cup?” Sicheng asked from the threshold of the doorway. “The orange K-cups, two sugars.”

“Sure, Sicheng, I’ll grab you one,” you nodded for him to go ahead, and he immediately disappeared down the hall.

“Y/N, what did I tell you about telling him no?” Yangyang chastised you as he tucked his pen behind his ear. “All those suffragettes didn’t chain themselves to stuff for you to give in to the patriarchy so easily.”

“Yangyang, I’m really starting to think that you’re just one of those guys who took a singular Women and Gender Studies class in college and hasn’t shut up since.”

“I think Yangyang is one of those guys who was born and hasn’t shut up since,” Kun scoffed under his breath.

But your fellow assistant wasn’t letting it go, “Y/N, seriously—”

“Liu Yangyang, it’s a cup of coffee, and I’m already going there anyway. If you asked me to make you a cup and I was already going, I’d say yes too. If Sicheng asks me to wash his car or clean his apartment, I promise I’ll say no.” You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, are you coming with to watch me singlehandedly take away my right to vote by making a man a cup of coffee or not?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Can we go then?” Kun asked sternly, clearly waiting by the door for the two of you to stop bickering. The twitch of his hand belied that he was itching for his caffeine fix. Presumably his fourth or fifth cup at least. He must have pulled a late night or early morning. Or both.

“Oh and we’ve even got Kun to witness the downfall of gender equality as we know it!” You cheered in mock enthusiasm.

“Do I want to know what the hell you two are talking about?”

Jeno was already in the breakroom when you got there, pouring creamer into his own cup of coffee. He stepped aside for the attorney to use the machine as you and Yangyang struck up conversation with your friend.

“Did you guys see that email Mr. Jeong sent to all the support staff this morning?” Jeno asked, shaking in some sugar.

“About the Administrative Staff Appreciation Lunch tomorrow?” You confirmed. “Yeah, I’d feel a lot more appreciated if they could get somewhere nicer than the pizza place down the street to cater.”

“Or just get an open bar,” Yangyang snorted. “No lunch necessary.”

As you and Jeno groaned out your agreement, Kun had finished making his black coffee, freeing up the machine for you to start on yours and Sicheng’s.

The attorney was on his way out but slowed to a stop in the threshold of the doorway, turning and lowering his voice to address the three of you, “You didn’t hear this from me, but all of the associates were taken out for an appreciation lunch just last week at Nobu. You all deserve much more than pizza.”

And with that, he left the break room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jeno spat out, setting his cup down and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh now I definitely need a fucking drink,” you sighed, violently snapping Sicheng’s orange K-cup into place.

“I’m going to key somebody’s Tesla,” Yangyang whispered resolutely, curling one of his hands into a fist.

“No, Yangyang.” You shook your head, grabbing the two sugar packets you’d need in a minute. “No property damage. Or no property damage in our parking garage with cameras. Lord knows I’m not paying your bail.”

Your best friend took over, “What we need is a drink, or five. Tomorrow after work?”

Yangyang grabbed a coffee stirrer and gestured around wildly as he spoke. “Oh yeah, especially after that fucking insulting pizza party they’re throwing us.”

“We can invite all the support staff. At least the ones we actually like,” Jeno suggested. “Us three, Lee Donghyuck, Osaki Shotaro in Billing, uh, Sungchan the intern…”

As he trailed off, you all looked at each other.

“And that’s it, right?” Jeno asked.

“Our coworkers kind of suck, don’t they?” Yangyang mused, chewing on the plastic stirrer.

“Or are we just assholes?” You locked your own K-cup into the coffee machine.

That night you were sprawled out on your couch, legs propped up in Jaemin’s lap as you anxiously scrolled through restaurant recommendations on your phone. Every Saturday night you and Jaemin tried a new place, and this week it was your turn to pick, but you were yet to find one, fearing that the two of you had finally ran out of restaurants in your city. Jaemin, meanwhile, was reading another book from your ghost lit syllabus, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. You swore he’s read more of those books than you ever did, and you actually paid to take the class.

A text popping up on your screen from Jeno caught your eye.

[make it double: you’re DD tomorrow, right?]

[you: i am. might have other plans though, let me double check]

[make it double: don’t make me pay for an uber please]

“Jaemin,” you called out his name softly.

“Yes?” He put his thumb in the novel to hold his place as he looked over to you attentively.

You’d think that you’d get used to this, your Hades’ full attention on you, head lolling to the side as his gaze drank you in, black hair falling into his eyes, and fingertips messing with the edges of the pages absentmindedly. But you still weren’t, your breath hitching in your throat for a moment, your question being momentarily forgotten.

After a beat, you finally regained your speech and were able to say, “Some of my coworkers want to go out for drinks after work tomorrow, but I know that’s your time that I gave you.”

“I can come a couple hours late and we’ll add an hour each to Saturday and Sunday,” Jaemin suggested.

“Here’s the thing: tomorrow is a Friday, and Jeno and I have been taking turns DD’ing whenever we go out since college, and it’s my turn.”

“You’re anticipating a late night.” He surmised.

“I’m anticipating taking care of a drunk Lee Jeno until midnight then passing out as soon as I get home. I can’t imagine I’ll be much fun to be around after.”

“And you want to go get drinks with these people?” He clarified with an eyebrow raised.

“I know I’m not making it sound appealing but yes, I promise,” you chuckled.

“Just checking that this wasn’t a cry for help.” Jaemin tucked his bookmark in the novel to fully set it aside. “How about we move those eight hours to Saturday or Sunday then? Instead of arriving at six p.m., I'll get here at ten a.m. and we can spend the day together too.”

You squinted skeptically at him, “Can you even go out during the day? Won’t the sun burn you or light you on fire or make you glitter or something?”

“I’m the god of the dead, angel, not a vampire from a teen movie.”

“I know, just teasing,” you snickered.

“And I know you were just teasing. I love to see the little smile you get on your face in the middle of one your bits. Too adorable.”

He grabbed your free hand, and you watched him fondly as he kissed your fingers before letting your linked hands rest over your stomach.

You continued your weekend planning, “I’ll need to recuperate from Friday night and run some errands on Saturday, so a Sunday date sounds perfect. For sixteen hours straight, you’re mine.”

“I’m yours all the time,” he squeezed your hand.

“You know what I meant, you sap.” You rolled your eyes despite how warm his words made you feel inside. With the daytime suddenly available to you, a destination immediately popped into your mind, “And no making big romantic plans, I’ve got it this time; I know exactly where I want to take you for our first daytime date.”

“Understood. I can’t wait.”

Sunday morning you were practically skipping through town, relishing in the warm sun on your skin and the feeling of Jaemin’s fingers laced through yours. You came to a stop at an intersection, waiting impatiently for the lights to change so you could cross. Bouncing on your heels, you could feel your Hades’ gaze on you, even through the dark sunglasses he was wearing.

“What?” You asked, taking your eyes off the crosswalk signal to look over at him.

“Nothing.” He was grinning at you, hair getting blown around by the passing cars. His shirt was made of a loose-fitting, flowy material with a deep-cut V-neckline, showing off an assortment of fine silver chains with pendants and gems. Even the leather belt around his hips betrayed a subtle expensiveness, the impression of a designer brand’s logo on the buckle.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, making a smile spread across your face in turn.

“Oh, signal’s changed,” he pointed out.

The rest of your walk didn’t take long, and finally you had arrived.

“Art museum?” Jaemin questioned as you tugged him towards the front doors.

“Yep!” You were buzzing, and fought to keep your voice down once you passed the threshold into the quiet building.

He bought your tickets, and you accepted the informational pamphlet from the worker behind the front desk that listed the exhibits, quickly tucking it into your handbag.

The first gallery was just behind the ticket counter, and was one of the largest, mostly for paintings. You stopped Jaemin at the very first one by the door.

“I brought Jeno here exactly once,” you whispered. “You see how big this gallery is? He cleared the whole thing in like two minutes then waited for me at the door literally tapping his foot.”

“There’s like a hundred paintings in here,” Jaemin pointed out in disbelief, looking around the gymnasium-sized room.

“I know. I’ve been back by myself and spent over two hours in just this gallery alone. Saw the docents switch out like four times.”

Looping your arm through his, you leaned against your Hades to look over the first painting. You liked to just absorb the piece in front of you, ruminate on it, really ground yourself in what you were looking at. Sometimes you read the small information card next to it about the artist and the piece. But mostly you looked at the subject, the brush strokes, the colors and how they blended into each other—or didn’t. It was relaxing. Sometimes the paintings made you feel things, and sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they were just pretty to look at.

Jaemin was quiet for the most part, occasionally commenting when he especially enjoyed a painting, or to respond to something you said. But generally the two of you were silent, and you were satisfied that you’d found the perfect art museum companion. He never dragged you from a painting before you were done with it and even wanted to stay with some longer than you did.

The museum had three levels, the second was split into two smaller galleries, this time with sculptures, drawings, and etchings. After you and your Hades were done with that one, you found it difficult not to practically run up the stairwell to the third and final floor, knowing exactly what was waiting for you there.

“Okay, Jaemin, so this museum has something kind of special,” you forewarned him, pressing your lips together in an attempt to fight off your excited smile. “Or, I hope it’ll be special. I think it’s special, you know, for you.”

He tilted his head curiously at you as the two of you reached the top of the stairs, “Okay. It’s up here?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” you took him by the hand to pull him towards the entrance door to the final gallery.

The gallery you had entered was void of other patrons; and sectioned up into several smaller areas, many stark white pedestals displaying vases, urns, trinkets, with a large marble sculpture of a woman at the center as the focal point. Your focus was entirely on Jaemin’s face as you held your breath, waiting for his reaction. His eyes widened as he scanned the contents of the room.

“It’s…”

“An Ancient Greece exhibit,” you finished his sentence, drawing his eyes back to you. You fidgeted with your ring nervously, “What… uhm— Do you like it? Like, do you want to look around? This isn’t weird, is it?”

Jaemin brushed a piece of your hair back from your face, the tenderness of his touch making your chest swell. He pulled you closer, kissing your forehead before pulling back to look you in the eye.

“This is great, angel, thank you.”

At his words, you let out an audible sigh of relief. Your Hades’ obsidian irises were twinkling in the museum fluorescents as he looked at you with pure adoration.

“I love you,” he declared simply, earnestly, for the first time. “And, I’ll never love someone exactly like this again.”

You nodded in understanding, “I love you too, Jaemin. And, I believe you.”

He was still holding you, and despite the emptiness of the exhibit you were currently in, you were aware of the fact that it was a public museum that you two were in.

“Jaemin…” you murmured, listening to the docent’s footsteps in the other room. “Don’t you want to look at all the stuff?”

“In a second,” his tender gaze roamed your face. “Right now I’m looking at something more beautiful.”

“Oh God, you’re so chee—” Your retort was cut off by Jaemin finally pressing his lips to yours.

Blearily looking around your room, you realized that it was vacant in the only way that mattered. Jaemin was gone, and you didn’t remember getting into bed last night. You were pretty sure you had fallen asleep on your couch with your Hades after getting back from your long day out. Half-sitting up against your headboard, you grabbed your phone from your nightstand to check the time. You still had five minutes until your work alarm went off. Flopping back down, you were fully intent on dozing back off, and rolled over to face the empty half of your bed.

Except it wasn’t quite empty. Atop the second pillow was a small black box. When you reached out to grab it, you felt the velvet that encased it, and pushed yourself up onto your side, held up by an elbow. It was a jewelry case of some kind. Flipping the lid open, you took a sharp breath in. Inside was a gorgeous necklace; a teardrop-shaped gemstone the size of your thumbnail in a deep red shade, surrounded by smaller white diamonds, and hanging from a dainty silver chain.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you were able to get a better look at the center stone. It was a dark, cool red, with just the slightest tone of purple when you held it up in front of the light. Outside of direct light, it was so dark you couldn't even call it blood red. Pomegranate red, you thought to yourself. It was the color of fresh, bursting pomegranate seeds.

Unlatching the hook, you carefully clasped it back around your neck. The crystal wasn’t obnoxiously weighty, but you could feel the subtle pressure of it as it rested against your bare skin.

“Thank you, Jaemin,” you mumbled, eyes trailing over the unoccupied sheets longingly. “I love it.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Yangyang whistled lowly as you walked into work that morning, eyeing the gems adorning your fingers, ears, and now neck. “Did you get a sugar daddy or something? You’ve got an entire jewelry shop on you.”

“Oh, uhm, no,” you shook your head, warmth spreading across your face. No sugar daddy, just the god of the Underworld.

“Mind sharing with the class where all the new bling is coming from then?”

You looked up from where your fingertip had been gently gracing the pomegranate red gem that hung from your neck to stare Yangyang directly in the eyes as you scoffed, “Actually, I would mind, thanks.”

“Bet she’s moonlighting as a cat burglar,” Jeno teased from his desk.

“Ooh, that’s a good guess,” Yangyang nodded, eyes gleaming as he continued that avenue of jibes. “Mafia boss’ daughter maybe? Y/N, what does your dad do for a living?”

The ringing of your desk phone saved you from having to respond to that. It was your boss.

“Y/L/N,” she was as monotone as ever, voice giving no indication as to her thoughts or intentions. “My office, please.”

“Yes ma’am,” you assented before placing the phone back on the receiver.

Standing from your seat, you gave Yangyang and Jeno a professionally concealed middle finger down by your thigh, earning giggles from Jeno and indignant protests from Yangyang. You coolly dropped the offending gesture to grab your company tablet, a notepad, and pencil before departing the open floor for the hallway of private offices.

You stopped in front of one partway down the hall, in the midst of the junior partners’ offices. ‘Jo Haseul’ was engraved on the nameplate in an elegant font, and you rapped your knuckles below it on the solid wood door.

“Come in,” the familiar voice of your boss called out from within.

Gently turning the handle first, you then pushed the door open.

“Good morning, Ms. Haseul,” you bowed your head politely to her.

Junior partners at the firm allowed the assistants and paralegals to address them by a formal version of their name, the associates were just addressed by their given name, but senior partners and the managing partner were of course always addressed in the most formal vernacular, Mr./Ms. Surname. Not that you really interacted with anybody higher up than Ms. Haseul anyway.

“Good morning, Y/L/N. Please, sit.” She gestured to one of the two armchairs in front of her desk.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, taking the seat she had indicated. You quickly opened up your tablet to view her calendar and readied your pencil over your notepad. Ms. Haseul typically had a sit-down meeting with you every Monday morning to discuss the upcoming week: deadlines, hearings, meetings, etc.

Ms. Haseul took a moment to click a few things on her desktop, “Looks like we have those Hwang discovery responses due Thursday. I’ll finish dictating those this morning and you can get started on transcription today. This morning I have my hearing on the Motion to Dismiss in Lee that you filed last month. Mediation on Wednesday for Alpine Products, we sent out those letters on it, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, two weeks ago,” you confirmed, scribbling down the key events. “You also have a teleconference with the insurance company for that file this afternoon.”

“Yes, I see…” she mused, a twinge of annoyance in her tone that was only discernable to the trained ear—i.e., yours. You knew she didn’t like the insurance rep assigned to that case, he tended to be a pain in the ass constantly asking for updates. “Where are we at in scheduling the expert witness depositions for Peng?”

You filled her in on all your progress in various matters, attentively writing down her directives in response to your reporting. Finally, you had finished out the calendar for the week, as well as your works in progress.

“One last thing before I let you go, Y/L/N,” she cleared her throat.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have a new client meeting tonight.”

“You do? I don’t remember scheduling one,” you flipped through the calendar on your tablet in mild panic. You hadn’t booked a conference room or let building security know about an evening meeting.

“You didn’t schedule it, don’t worry.”

Your boss’ words immediately made you let out a short sigh of relief. It wasn’t long lasting, as you still needed to handle arrangements on your end, “How many will be in attendance? Will you want Jade Conference Room or Malachite? Would you like me to stay to scribe?”

“It’s a dinner meeting, so the conference room won’t be necessary.”

“Understood.”

“I would like you to come, though, Y/L/N.”

You felt your eyes bug out, stylus slipping from your fingers. Ms. Haseul never asked you to come to meetings outside of the office. Sure, you would act as scribe for some of her meetings in the office, but you’d never accompanied her to a lunch or dinner meeting.

She continued, “This will be a general corporate client, and I anticipate having them on for quite some time. You’re familiar with corporate matters, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, that was my concentration in my paralegal studies, and you of course have several corporate clients currently.”

“I plan on having you act as case manager for this client. This dinner will be a good way for you to be introduced.”

“Of course, I’m honored, Ms. Haseul.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up just the slightest, “Good. The meeting is at Nobu in downtown. We will leave from the office at the end of the day. Change on your lunch if you need to.”

You looked down at your outfit, your typical office wear. The office’s dress code was business formal, which you made sure to follow to a T. She wanted you to wear something else?

“A little dressier but less formal,” your boss spoke again, as if reading your thoughts. “Think office Christmas party.”

An image of a suitable outfit flashed in your mind, and you nodded, “Right, thank you. I’ll change on my break.”

“That is all I have. You’re dismissed for this morning, Y/L/N. I have to prepare for that hearing now. I'll be leaving at 9:00 a.m.”

At her dismissal of you, you got back onto your feet, bowed your head to her again and departed her office. The heavy door closed with a soft click behind you. You held the pencil, notepad, and tablet in one hand as the other reached up to play with the jewel hanging from your neck. Looks like you wouldn’t be seeing your Hades until tomorrow night.

You stepped out of the company car that Ms. Haseul had driven you there in and followed her towards the restaurant. Nobu was a high-end sushi restaurant downtown, much out of your everyday dinner price-range, but you figured she’d be paying with her firm credit card since this was a business dinner.

The hostess greeted you brightly, to which Ms. Haseul informed her of your reservation.

“Of course, right this way,” she grabbed four menus before guiding you further into the restaurant.

You two were brought to a private room, and the hostess slid the door open for you. As you sat down at the table that was within, you marveled at the aesthetics of the restaurant. It fused traditional style with modernism in a way that was effortless. The menus were set down in front of each of the four chairs at the table. Your waiter came by soon, and Ms. Haseul put in an order for four waters while you waited for the clients to arrive.

The door suddenly opened again, and two men entered the room. Your eyes were first drawn to the taller of the two, who entered ahead of his colleague. He had roughly shoulder-length wavy blonde hair that was half pulled back from his face, and he was so stunning you could hardly believe that he was anything other than a model. He was wearing an all-white suit, a bold move for a dinner. When your gaze moved from the gorgeous man to his companion, you choked on your own throat. Black hair, dark eyes, silver and gems glittering across his ears. Jaemin cocked an eyebrow at you when you made eye contact with him. He was in a similar ensemble as to when he first appeared to you: black slacks, black suit jacket, and black vest. This time, however, he did have a dress shirt underneath the vest, the top buttons buttoned up as the silver chains that hung from his neck rested atop the crisp material.

Thankfully your boss took the lead on introductions, allowing you a moment to attempt to compose yourself. She stood up from her chair to greet them, as did you.

“Thank you both very much for coming, I’m Jo Haseul,” she bowed to both of them, and you rushed to follow suit from your position beside and just behind her. Ms. Haseul then gestured for you to come forward, “Mr. Suh, Mr. Na, this is my paralegal, Ms. Y/L/N Y/N. She will be your first point of contact on all matters. She’s incredibly capable and reliable. So please, reach out to her with whatever you need.”

While the open and high praise from your boss should’ve made your chest puff out with pride, instead it practically went in one ear out the other. Jaemin, your Hades, was standing right in front of you. It took everything in you to draw your eyes from him and to the floor to once again bow appropriately to him and the other man.

“Yes, please contact me with anything at all. I will do everything I can to assist you as treasured clients,” you declared respectfully before standing back up straight.

“Thank you, Ms. Jo, and of course thank you very much too, Ms. Y/L/N,” Mr. Suh was the one who acknowledged your words. “We will be sure to contact you as needed. I’m Johnny Suh and this is my business partner, Na Jaemin.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Suh, Mr. Na.”

“Shall we eat, then?” Ms. Haseul suggested, prompting all of you to sit at the private table.

You took the same seat as you did before, a prick of disappointment in your chest as Johnny, not Jaemin, sat across from you. It took everything in you not to scoff and roll your eyes at yourself. What exactly would Jaemin sitting across from you accomplish? It’s not like you could do anything that indicated your knowing him prior to this meeting, especially not in the way that you do.

After drinks had been brought out and your appetizer orders were put in, Ms. Haseul began pushing her chair back, “Excuse me for a moment; ladies’ room.”

A few silent moments after she departed the private room, Mr. Suh had already finished off his drink and grabbed his empty glass. He shook it to make the ice inside clink, “I’m going to get a refill at the bar. Ms. Y/L/N, Jaemin, anything for you two while I’m there?”

“Oh, no thank you, Mr. Suh,” you hurriedly shook your head, nervous fingers twitching around your own half-full glass.

“Jaemin?”

He waved off his business partner, “I’m good, Johnny. But thank you.”

“‘Course,” he too, then exited the room.

Leaving just you and your Hades.

You finally spoke to Jaemin for the first time since being introduced, leaning forward to ask quietly, “Jaemin, don’t take this the wrong way but what the fuck are you doing here?”

A smirk came to his lips, “I told you I own a legitimate business.”

“You’re not expecting me to believe that this is an honest coincidence, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Any teasing immediately dropped out of his tone. “I obviously know what firm you work at, the best in the city. Why would I not hire the best firm in the city for my business? It would be irresponsible not to.”

“Did you request Ms. Haseul be your attorney?”

“No, she was recommended by the managing partner. And again, it would be irresponsible of me to not heed the recommendation to the best, most promising junior partner who specializes in corporate matters.”

With your worries somewhat placated, you relaxed back in your seat, “Fine. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“Of course,” Jaemin reached across the table to brush his fingertips over the back of your hand. His fingers sparkled even in the dim light of the restaurant from the multitude of rings across his knuckles, as did yours. “I’m sorry. Does this make you uncomfortable? I’m sure we can use another attorney at the firm if you’d like. Mr. Moon mentioned a different partner too, uh, Ms. Kang?”

“And let Lee Jeno be your case manager? Absolutely not.” You retorted.

He chuckled at that, switching to smoothing circles into your skin, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, your business partner, ‘Mr. Suh,’ is he... another god?”

“Smart, as always. Aphrodite.”

“I thought Aphrodite was a woman.”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “He seems to like this form right now. Changes it up every century or two.”

You mulled over this information in your mind. It certainly explained your initial idea that ‘Mr. Suh’ must’ve been some kind of model. And yet, as you looked over Jaemin’s features, you came to the conclusion that the goddess of beauty had nothing on your Hades and his haunting elegance.

“I see that you got the necklace,” he changed gears in the conversation, nodding towards where the jewel sat on your chest, easily seen with the top you were wearing.

You reached up to touch the jewelry in question, “Yes, thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“It looks even more stunning on you than I thought it would.”

“Jaemin...” You were supposed to have said his name in warning, but as your skin grew hot with equal parts embarrassment and giddiness, it came out as more of a whine.

The sound of heels clicking outside made you jerk your hand back from his, placing both of your own in your lap just a moment before Ms. Haseul opened the door. Your Hades nonchalantly picked up his drink again.

Ms. Haseul took stock of just you and Jaemin in the room, “Where’s Mr. Suh?”

“He went to get his drink refilled at the bar,” Jaemin explained as your boss took her seat once more. “Should be back soon.”

Right then the door opened once again, and the blonde man entered, amber brown drink in hand.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” your Hades let out a short laugh. “Were your ears burning, Johnny?”

“Oh, you all were talking about me?” The man grinned. “I hope you weren’t poisoning them against me, Jaemin.”

“Only bad things, John, you know that.”

“Why must you wound me at every opportunity?”

“Because you give me so many.”

You giggled at their banter, feeling yourself become a little more comfortable with your Hades there.

At the end of the dinner, after Mr. Suh had paid the bill at his insistence, the four of you were stood at the front of the restaurant.

“Thank you again for paying, Mr. Suh,” you bowed your head to him.

“No worries, I was happy to,” he waved off your thanks.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both, Ms. Jo, Ms. Y/L/N,” Jaemin spoke up, dazzling grin sweeping you off your feet for a moment. “We’re looking forward to working with you and your firm.”

“As are we,” Ms. Haseul said graciously. “I’m afraid we must be going. I have to take Y/L/N home before attending to something urgent.”

“Oh Ms. Haseul, you can go take care of whatever you need to, I’ll take a cab,” you assured her. “Please, you’ve done so much for me tonight, I can worry about getting myself home.”

“Very well, if you’re sure. Thank you, Y/L/N. See you in the morning,” she gave both you and the two gentlemen with you a final wave goodbye. “Goodnight, everyone.”

She hurried to the black company car that was parked just a little further down the block.

“I’ll go get the car,” Mr. Suh said to Jaemin. “Jaemin, if you could assist Ms. Y/L/N in hailing a cab.”

“Of course.”

And with that, Mr. Suh took off around the building towards the parking deck on the other side of the restaurant. And for the second time that night, you were alone with your Hades.

He stepped up towards the edge of the sidewalk, holding out a hand to passing traffic. You took the quiet moment as an opportunity to observe Jaemin, letting yourself bask in his presence. That same stubborn lock of his black hair had come out of place during dinner was now falling in his eyes. A nearby streetlight illuminated him from above, his unearthly features awash in a soft glow. Jaemin was stoically focused on the task at hand, a satisfied smile crossing his face as a taxi pulled over and stopped right in front of the two of you.

Wordlessly, he opened the back door for you.

“Thank you, Jaemin,” you stepped up to the vehicle.

“See you in a few, angel.”

“Right. See you.”

You climbed into the taxi, Jaemin’s cool hand on the small of your back as you did so. He gave you a wink before closing the door behind you.

The cab stopped in front of your apartment building, and you quickly paid the driver before getting out. Your apartment door swung closed behind you, and you locked up before making your way further into your home. Knowing that Jaemin would be arriving soon, you quickly kicked off your shoes and went to get into your pajamas.

Right as you walked back out of your bedroom, you heard your name being called from the living room. Turning the corner, you couldn’t help the smile that immediately came to your face when you saw your Hades standing there. He was in the same outfit as dinner, and your heart started thudding at the image of such a handsome man being there, in your living room.

“Jaemin,” you said his name in delight.

He’d just turned around before you got to him, catching him in a hug. Jaemin’s arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to him. Yours were around his neck, squeezing him tight, happy to just feel him there in your arms.

“Well, hey there,” he laughed. “Did you not just see me ten minutes ago?”

“I know, but I couldn’t do this ten minutes ago.”

“You could’ve, but your boss might’ve had a couple questions.”

“And she’d probably have a couple more if I did this.” You pulled your head back from where it was resting in the crook between his neck and shoulder, so that you could be face-to-face. With no hesitation, you threaded the fingers of one hand in the back of his hair and pulled his mouth to yours.

Your Hades smiled against your lips, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. With his grip on your waist, he could easily guide you with him down the hall towards your bedroom, mouth still locked with yours.

You were sat on your kitchen counter later that night, passing a spoon back and forth with Jaemin to polish off the last of your ice cream.

“Does Mr. Suh—? Aphrodite? What should I call him?” You cut yourself off with a thoughtful frown, stumbling over what exactly to call the god-slash-client you’d met tonight.

“Johnny is fine since it’s just you and me right now,” Jaemin accepted the spoon you held out to him.

“Does Johnny know? About me, and what we actually are?”

Your Hades swallowed the spoonful he’d just popped into his mouth, returning the utensil to you, “No, I had no reason to tell him when you and I first made our agreement and now… if I told him he’d think I made the deal for your soul, no matter what I said. He likes to think that he gives me the benefit of the doubt, but he doesn’t.”

“Mm… Alright, I trust that you know him better than I do.”

“Yeah, for thousands of years. He’s a good business partner, but he can be a condescending little bitch.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at this, “Really?”

“Yeah, Johnny usually handles the client-facing side of the company while I do the back-office stuff, because according to him I ‘give clients the heebie-jeebies.’”

“You are the god of the dead, Jaemin,” you reminded him with a giggle, wiping away a stray drop of ice cream at the corner of his pout.

“I know, and that’s what makes us great business partners. I don’t want to do client meetings, I’m not good at them, he loves them, he wants to do them. Vice versa for the back-office things. But he said that like I didn’t know that already when this whole operation was my idea anyway. I factored my heebie-jeebies into the plan. The heebie-jeebies were accounted for long before he ever came into the picture, and he gently put his hand on my shoulder like he was the first person to ever explain this to me.”

“Oh of course. The audacity, to underestimate your business acumen and foresight to calculate for heebie-jeebies.” You nodded, putting on your best serious face despite the urge to laugh.

Jaemin looked you dead in the eye, then sighed, “You can laugh, Y/N.”

You immediately let out a round of giggles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, hearing you say heebie-jeebies so much, and so seriously I just—”

“You’re right, it’s a bit juvenile,” he shook his head, face finally cracking into a smile as he plunged the spoon back into the ice cream container.

“A warning would’ve been nice, by the way.”

“A warning?” Your Hades asked through a mouthful of ice cream. “For what?”

“That you were hiring Ms. Haseul as your attorney. I understand why you’d want to use her, but not why you chose not to give me at least a little heads-up.”

He shrugged, “I thought it’d be a fun surprise.”

“Fun for you or for me?” You scoffed.

“Would you believe me if I said you?” Jaemin dug up another big spoonful of ice cream, holding it out for you this time.

“Would you believe me if I said I believed that?” You rolled your eyes, but opened your mouth for him to feed you anyway.

“No, not at all.”

A glance at your microwave clock made you sigh. It was late. You should be getting to bed, you still had two more days in your work week.

Jaemin had just turned to throw the empty ice cream carton in the trash, and thinking of work reminded you of plans you’d made with your coworkers.

Swinging your feet lightly from your perch on your countertop, you spoke up again, “Heads up, Friday is after work drinks for the support staff again. My turn DD’ing for the Terrible Two.”

“Noted.” Your Hades walked back over to you. You reached out for his forearms, dragging, pulling, and rearranging him until he was standing between your knees, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to you, surrounded by the warm scents of cinnamon, bergamot, and cedar. Jaemin kept talking as he looped his arms around your waist, voice low, quiet, and right beside your ear, “Also, isn’t that phrase supposed to be ‘the terrible twos’ and refer to toddlers who throw tantrums?”

“Yeah, but it was one of the nicknames Jeno and I got in undergrad from a professor of ours. The full title was specifically ‘The Terrible Two of You.’” You hummed wistfully at the fond memories that cropped up, eyes fluttering shut as your muscles relaxed more and more in your comforting position. “Dr. Go, one of the best professors I’ve ever had. We ended up taking like three or four of his classes, and I had one more in grad school.”

“Sounds like you two were nuisances to the poor man for four years straight.”

“He was one of those professors that treated students like actual human beings, and you could joke around with. Hence, the nickname. I promise we were good students and the man adored us. Well, me, at least. Jeno on the other hand…”

“You always say the meanest things about that guy and he’s never around to defend himself,” Jaemin clicked his tongue teasingly. “So it sounds like I’ll be bringing bagels Saturday morning then?”

“Please?”

“Of course, angel,” he murmured, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“Okay Jeno, here you go,” you patted your friend’s back before taking his arm off from where it had been looped around your shoulders, giving him a gentle push to deposit him face-down onto his bed.

Getting him up to the third floor of his building wasn’t so bad this time, he was able to support his own weight for the most part and needed you primarily to make sure he didn’t veer into a wall or trip over his own feet. But he did seem to think that knocking his apartment key from your hand while you tried to unlock his front door was a fun little game.

“I recommend changing into pajamas before going to sleep,” you said from where you stood at his bedside, looking down at him as he twisted around to squint up at you.

“Good idea, Y/N,” Jeno nodded, sitting up in his bed. “That’s why you… why you got that degree.”

“Of course. I got my Master of Legal Studies solely to give you sage advice when you’re drunk.”

As Jeno grabbed at the hem of his shirt, presumably to take heed of said sage advice, you quickly turned, shielding your eyes and heading for the bedroom door.

“I’ll grab you some water and medication. Let me know when you’re done.”

After filling up a water bottle and grabbing medication for the imminent nausea and future headache, you waited in the hall outside your friend’s room. He yelled out something that sounded like a ‘Ready!’ and you hesitantly tried the door handle. Opening the bedroom door again, you were relieved to see that Jeno was at least decent. Sure, his t-shirt was on backwards, but he was wearing pants, which was your main concern. No need for a repeat of Nu Kappa Theta’s Halloween party your sophomore year: plastered Jeno, DD you, and a missing pair of boxers. Needless to say, you were scarred for life, and Jeno couldn’t remember anything from that night past arriving at the NuKapp house still fully clothed. Lucky bastard.

You set the water and meds down on his nightstand to guide him back over to sit down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling on his bed behind him, you prepared to turn his shirt around the right way.

“Come on, arms up.”

He did as you asked, and you only took it off his arms, flipping it around at his neck before working on getting his arms back into the sleeves.

“Arms down.”

And his arms flopped back down obediently in his lap.

“Are you 23 or 3, dude?” You snickered.

“I can put a shirt on, Y/N!” His voice was practically a whine, but his movements had no umph to them as he let you manhandle him like changing a child.

“Apparently not, Jeno.”

He was quiet as you finally got the other arm in, and he straightened out the torso of the shirt himself.

“Alright, there you go.” You patted his shoulder before climbing off his bed to grab the water and medication once more. “You didn’t drink enough that I feel concerned about alcohol poisoning so I’m not going to make you puke your guts out tonight.”

“I ‘preciate that.”

“Me too. So, pills for you to keep it all down… and pills for the bitch of a headache coming your way in the morning,” you pointed at each in turn as you held out the tablets. After he grabbed those, you gave him the bottle. “And water. Wash them down then have a few more sips before going to sleep, please.”

“You’re the best,” Jeno mumbled before putting the tabs in his mouth. He knocked them back with the water then started to lay down in bed, “He’s lucky to have you. And I’m lucky to have you, too.”

Your friend had been trying to pull the covers up over himself, except he was also on top of them. Amused, you began assisting him as you entertained his drunk ramblings, “He who?”

“Th’ guy you’re seein’, duh!” His words were slurring together at this point as he let you tuck him in. “Th’ one with all th’ rings ‘n stuff. We’re lucky t’ have you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Jeno.” You sat beside him on the bed to brush some of his hair out of his face as his eyes started fluttering shut.

“Even if… even if you won’ let me… meet ‘im. ‘M lucky… t’ be your bes’ friend.”

You let out a bittersweet sigh at that, your hand coming to stillness on his head as he completely fell asleep. He knew you were keeping something from him and was letting you bring it to him at your own pace, and you loved him for that. And he really was your best friend, you’d seen each other through everything of the past nearly six years. The Dynamic Duo, Trouble and Make it Double, The Terrible Two of You. You’d sign up for classes together to make sure you’d sync up your schedules as much as possible, pulled innumerable all-nighters in the library together, were roommates in your first off-campus apartment, done your undergraduate research together, you were there when he got the news of his grandfather passing, and you were certain he’d kept creepy guys off you at parties more times than you’d ever know.

“And I’m lucky to be yours, Lee Jeno,” you said quietly to his sleeping form, watching his even, shallow breaths.

Usually everything was simple with Jeno. Your friendship with Jeno was always simple, even the stuff that felt complicated or heavy at the time, the solution was simple: talk to him. When you’d dropped his phone in the street and it got ran over, absolutely shattering the screen; when you’d forgotten to pay the power bill for your shared apartment one month and your electricity was turned off for a day; when it was his turn to DD at a party, you were a little more than tipsy and ended up making out with his brother Mark. It all worked out because the two of you had talked.

But this time… you were dating a client of the firm. A client of your attorney. A client who was a god. Admittedly, you’d started your relationship before he’d become a client. But again, he was Hades. Then there was how exactly you’d met. Even just thinking about which parts to tell, how much to tell, and what you’d inevitably have to bend, twist, or straight up lie about to Jeno made your head spin.

There at least was nothing you could do tonight.

So you gave his hair one last ruffle before standing up and walking over to his dresser. Your plans had initially been to go back to your own apartment, but you didn’t want to traverse the streets all alone this late at night. Is at least what you told yourself. Really, you’d been missing your best friend. After grabbing a couple articles of clothing that could serve as pajamas, you also stole the second pillow from his bed and a spare blanket before heading out of his bedroom.

You quietly shut the door behind you, setting the bedding down on the couch and changing clothes in the bathroom. After going around to turn off all the lights in the apartment and double check the locks on the front door, you finally laid down for the night. In the low light, you found yourself looking over all the rings and things adorning your hands and wrists. They were all gorgeous, but you still favored the simple silver band, the first one Jaemin ever gave you, to seal the deal you had made the night he appeared to you.

A robotic melody took your focus away from the document on your monitor that you had been drafting. You glanced over at the screen of your office phone, the source of the ringing. ‘RECEPTION’ was emblazoned across it in all caps.

Holding the receiver to your ear with your shoulder, you grabbed for your telephone notepad and a pen, “This is Y/N.”

“Hey Y/N!” The bright voice of the firm’s receptionist, Somi, greeted you. “There’s a Mr. Johnny Suh on line 1 for you.”

“Great, I’ll take him, thank you!”

“No problem.”

You scrawled down Mr. Suh’s name and number from the caller ID on your notepad before pressing the button for his hold, “Thank you for holding, this is Y/L/N Y/N.”

“Hi, Ms. Y/L/N, this is Johnny Suh, how are you?”

“I’m good, Mr. Suh, thank you. How are you?”

“Only thing that’s changed is the weather, you know?” He chuckled.

You gave a short laugh, not entirely sure what he meant by that but needing to build your rapport anyway, “And how can I help you?”

“I am looking to schedule a meeting with you for us to discuss some assets. When are you available next week?”

“Let’s see…” You pulled up your calendar. “Just myself or Ms. Haseul as well?”

“Just you, Ms. Jo has assured us of your capabilities.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Suh,” you were warmed at the indirect praise. You couldn’t believe how much Ms. Haseul had apparently talked you up to these clients. “I’m free next Monday afternoon, Tuesday until 1:00, and all day Wednesday and Thursday.”

“Wednesday should be fine. 10:00 a.m.?”

“Yes sir, I have you down for Wednesday at 10:00. Will it be just you in attendance or is Mr. Na coming as well?”

“Actually, it will just be Jaemin. I have prior arrangements that day.”

“Understood,” you made the correction on your notes. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that is all I needed from you, Ms. Y/L/N. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course, sir, thank you for calling.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too, goodbye.”

With that, you hung up, immediately pressing the quick-dial button for reception.

“Hey Y/N!” Somi was as cheery as ever when she picked up.

“Hi, Somi, what do conference room bookings look like for next Wednesday at 10:00 a.m.? Just two people in attendance.”

“Obsidian is open, or—”

“Obsidian will be fine,” you immediately jumped at her words. “I have a client meeting: Mr. Na Jaemin from Olympus Investments.”

“Okay, you are all booked for 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday.”

“Thank you very much, Somi.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Is that it?”

“Yes, thanks,” you put the phone back on the receiver in order to use both hands to enter the details in your calendar.

‘Client Meeting w/ Mr. Na Jaemin; re: assets; Obsidian Conference Room’

“Oh shit,” Yangyang frowned, tossing the coffee cup he had just picked up into his trashcan. “I’m out of coffee. Anybody coming to the breakroom with me?”

Jeno pushed his chair back from his desk with a groan, “Sure, if I don’t take a lap before replying to this email I just got, somebody’s going to get their feelings hurt.”

“Y/N?”

You shook your head, eyes still on your screen as you printed off a couple copies of the documents you’d need, “Would if I could, but I’ve got a client meeting in a few minutes.”

“Who?”

“Uh, Mr. Na Jaemin, CFO of Olympus Investments. General corporate client of Ms. Haseul’s.”

“Gross, sounds boring,” Yangyang wrinkled his nose. “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

“Thanks, Yang,” you rolled your eyes.

Just then, your desk phone rang, and you grabbed it without taking your eyes off your screen as you printed a couple more things, “This is Y/L/N Y/N.”

“Hey Y/N!” It was Somi. “Mr. Na Jaemin is here for his 10:00 appointment with you. I’ve gone ahead and set up Obsidian for you two, he’s waiting in the lobby.”

“Can you let him know I’ll be there in just a couple minutes?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Somi!”

You hung up, standing and grabbing all your materials from your desk, then off the printer. Momentarily stopping to organize your papers, you then made your way to the reception area, flashing Somi a smile before your eyes landed on him, on your Hades.

Keeping a straight spine and formal bow of your head, you greeted him politely, “Good morning, Mr. Na, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Welcome to Kim & Moon.”

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N. Thank you, thank you,” Jaemin bowed back, flashing you a dazzling grin once he’d stood back up. “Shall we?”

“You can’t do that.” You shook your head at the business proposal you’d just heard from Jaemin. The two of you were deep into your meeting about reviewing Olympus Investment’s plans for renegotiating assets in the next quarter.

Jaemin’s brow furrowed in confusion, shifting forward in his spot across the table from you as he pointed to some numbers on his paper, “Of course we can, there’s plenty of assets to pull from—”

“Doesn’t matter, courts say no you can’t. There was a ruling ten, fifteen years ago now that’s been used as precedent in a swath of multi-billion dollar cases since. I actually studied this particular case law quite a bit because—hey!” You cut off your own excited rambling with a snap of your fingers in the space created by the table between yours and Jaemin’s faces.

Jaemin blinked at you innocently, “What?”

“Stop admiring me with that lovestruck grin on your face and listen, this is important.”

“I’m admiring and listening, I can multitask,” he countered teasingly, picking up his pen again. “Anyway, continue.”

“I studied this particular piece of case law in depth because I had a professor who was one of the attorneys who argued the original ruling. It’s a common thing that companies looking to redistribute assets will try to do. And you can’t.”

“You’re right.” Your Hades was beaming at you.

“About this? Of course I am,” you snorted, flicking through your papers to find what you needed to review next.

“Well yes, but I meant about you being good at your job.”

A smile crept across your lips as you continued busying yourself with looking for your papers.

After your meeting had concluded, you walked Jaemin back to the lobby, giving him a final business-appropriate goodbye before turning around to make your way to your desk. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Jeno seemingly waiting for you back behind the reception area. Suppressing your lovestruck grin, you approached your friend and started meandering back to your desks with him.

“Who was that, Y/N?” He nodded back towards the lobby.

“Mr. Na, the corporate client of Ms. Haseul’s I was telling you about earlier,” you desperately tried to keep your voice level and nonchalant as you talked about Jaemin. “I said I had a client meeting this morning.”

“And I was expecting like an eighty-year-old man,” Jeno snorted. “That guy looked like he was—I don’t know maybe five, ten years older than us at the most?”

“I’m… sorry to disappoint you?”

“But like something was… off about him. Right?”

“What?”

“You know how people say that one actor looks like a haunted Victorian doll?”

“…Yeah.”

“He kind of looks like that but— what’s older than the Victorian era?”

“I don’t know? The Dark Ages?” You suggested, looking at him with a raised eyebrow as you could only imagine where the hell this conversation was going.

“Yeah!” Your friend’s eyes lit up mischievously. “He looks like a possessed doll from the Dark Ages that’s had like five unsuccessful exorcisms done on him.”

“Oh my god Jeno.”

“Oh come on, you can’t say I’m wrong!”

“I can say that this is an extremely unprofessional thing to be saying about a client.”

“Oh look at you Ms. Professional Paralegal who isn’t disagreeing with me,” he snickered. “Anyway, you seem to have good rapport with him.”

“What do you mean?” You could feel your back stiffen with alarm. How long was Jeno standing there in the lobby watching you and Jaemin? Had you done anything that belied the true nature of your relationship? If you did then Somi would have seen it too. God, you did not need to be the next topic of office gossip.

“Ms. Haseul let you have that client meeting on your own. Both she and the client must trust you lots. Congrats.”

Immediately, your shoulders relaxed, “Oh, thanks. Yeah, it’s going well.”

Monthly after-work drinks with your coworkers—the one you actually liked—had become part of your routine, one that you looked forward to. Almost as much as you looked forward to the myriad of ways Jaemin insisted you “made up” the missing time that you “owed him.” This time, he was preemptively making up the forfeited time, as he had spent the night before and was now staying the morning of.

Somewhere between starting your coffee maker and putting the last dish from breakfast away in the sink, you had been pinned between Jaemin and said sink, a warning not to mess up your work clothes breathed out in the narrowing space between your mouths. Your Hades hummed out his acknowledgement against your lips, kissing you so delicately your eyes nearly rolled out of your head. Of course he had to listen to you this time.

You pulled back from kissing Jaemin as you were about to make something between a quip and a complaint when you heard a click from your front door.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice called out for you.

It all happened too quickly for you to attempt to do anything other than stare in horror at the scene unfolding before you. Lee Jeno stepped through your front door, turning around to close and lock it behind him. He was dressed for work in navy blue slacks and a light blue button up, looking down at his phone as he walked towards the kitchen. In your periphery, Jaemin looked between you and your friend with an eyebrow raised, not moving, but you couldn’t answer his unspoken question. It felt like you were outside your own body, watching a car crash about to happen and you couldn’t look away.

“I’m here! Ooh, something smells good, is that—” his words were cut short when he finally looked up from his screen just shy of the threshold to the kitchen, where you were frozen in place. Your rather lascivious place between Jaemin and the counter.

It took him an entire second to compute what was happening in front of him. Then he let out a yelp, which made you let out one of your own, a little less grating in pitch, but no less distressed. Your body was finally unpetrified, and you rushed to stand between your friend and your Hades.

“Jeno!” Your voice was half chastising and half bewildered. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“You told me where your spare key is, said I could use it any time!” His voice was still raised and pitched up in surprise.

“I figured that’s how you got in; I’m asking why the hell you’re in my apartment right now!”

“To pick you up?” He jangled his keys that were in his hand, his car fob being on the key ring, “I’m DD for tonight.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “No, Jeno, I'm DD tonight.”

“No, I'm DD.”

“I am.”

“I’m— Wait this isn’t important, that’s Mr. Na!” He pointed behind you accusingly.

With a very visible grimace, you turned to looked behind you. Jaemin was leaning against your kitchen counter, hands resting on the edge on either side of him. With the focus now on him, he lifted one in a casual greeting, “Good morning, Jeno. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things, from Y/N.”

“Jeno, this is Na Jaemin. I’m seeing him,” you jumped in to do introductions, well aware that your voice was noticeably tight and tense. “Jaemin, this is Lee Jeno, my best friend since… it feels like forever at this point I guess.”

While your friend’s features did soften a little at how you had described him, when he had to reciprocate your Hades’ offer of goodwill, he turned suspicious again.

“Nice to meet you... uh, yeah, nice to meet you.” Jeno tersely nodded at Jaemin once before his eyes went back to you, serious. He wanted to talk. And clearly, you had a lot to talk about.

“Well, time to go to work,” you announced. “Uhm, let me grab my shoes and my phone, then I’ll be ready to go, Jeno. You don’t mind carpooling since you’re already here, right?”

“Of course not.”

Your Hades spoke up again then, “My tie is in your room, Y/N.”

The two of you had to shuffle by Jeno on your way out of the kitchen and into your bedroom. In your room, you groaned as you rooted through your closet for a pair of shoes.

“I am so sorry, Jaemin,” you whispered as you slipped on your shoes. “I had no clue he was going to come here this morning. I wanted the two of you to meet so differently.”

“It’s okay, angel,” Jaemin reassured you quietly as he tied his tie in your full-length mirror. “You said he’s your best friend, and that you and he have been able to talk through everything before. I think the two of you have got this. One lowly god isn’t going to come between the Terrible Two.”

You’d finished putting your shoes on and slipped your arms around his waist to watch him do the final adjustments to the black silk tie.

“You really believe that?” You murmured.

“I do,” he patted your hands. “I still need to get a tie clip. Now go, you can’t keep him waiting or he’s going to think we’re doing something more scandalous in here than what he walked in on.”

You rolled your eyes and let him go, knowing that unfortunately he was kind of right. As you went to walk away towards your door, Jaemin caught you by the hand, lifting said hand up so he could press a delicate, cool kiss to your fingers before finally letting you depart.

“Have a good day, Y/N. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jaemin.”

You grabbed a purse by the door of your bedroom and braced yourself for what was waiting on the other side.

Jeno was by the front door, arms crossed over his chest. He narrowed his eyes as he appraised that you were alone, “Where’s Mr. Na?”

“He’s not ready to go yet, he’ll lock up on his way out,” you told him.

And thus began your lying, your carefully chosen words to make Jeno come to certain conclusions, your bending of the truth, your ‘well it’s technically true’s. Truthfully, Jaemin would make sure your apartment was locked from the inside before disappearing from here and appearing wherever he needed to be with his god powers.

“He has a set of keys.” Jeno spat out as he opened your front door for you.

Your tone was resigned as you started towards the stairs, “Is there a question in there, Jeno?”

There were a silent few seconds as he mulled it over, then sighed, his voice much less harsh, “No, that was me being bitchy. Sorry.”

“Thanks.” The two of you began the descent to the ground floor as you continued, “And I’m sorry too. Like... really sorry. I know that must have been a lot to walk in on, you have every right to be shocked and hurt.”

“Right. Thanks, Y/N.” And you finally got a Lee Jeno smile again. It was only a small one, and it passed you by far too quick as he opened your car door for you to get in. But you saw your friend’s delightful little eye smile again, and it made you think that maybe, hopefully, Jaemin was right.

Jeno pulled away from the curb, and you kept talking.

“I also know that I haven’t been forthcoming at all about what’s been happening in my life, about who I’ve been seeing.”

“About Mr. Na,” Jeno’s words were blunt but there was no malice to them.

“Yes, about Jaemin,” you confirmed. “I’m sorry about that too. Please, please know before like anything else that we were dating for a while before he was ever a client. Those two things happened separate of each other.”

“Oh.” Your friend’s previously white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel softened. “That’s... better.”

“Like, I know that I’m being kind of stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I want to talk about this with you more, but I really don’t think now, driving to work, is going to be able to provide us with the time nor the ability to process it. Can we get together some other time?”

“Good to see all the money you spent on that therapist after your last ex paid off,” he snickered.

“Hey, I’m trying to be an adult here!” You protested indignantly.

“No, no, it’s good,” he attempted to reassure you through poorly-suppressed chuckles. “Let’s see if we can pencil in our emotional friendship discussion re: your love life for 1:00 p.m. tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar once we get into the office,” you rolled your eyes. Despite the fact that he was teasing you, you welcomed the light jesting, knowing that meant he wasn’t too upset at you in that moment. And he was legitimately trying to follow through on your offer of planning to sit down and discuss your issues with him, albeit with some jabs at you of course.

“Hey, since it’s about you fucking a client, do you think we can call it a business lunch and use the firm credit card?”

With the mood now officially lightened you joked, “Yeah, I’ll put that on Ms. Haseul’s expense sheet for the week and see how that goes down with Billing.”

“Shotaro would get a kick out of it at least.”

Your apartment was quiet and dark when you got home. Jaemin hadn’t arrived yet. Pushing down your disappointment, you changed into pajamas before going to your kitchen to browse for something to make for dinner. If Jaemin wasn’t here yet, then he probably wasn’t planning on whisking you to the Underworld tonight. Fine by you, that made getting to work in the morning easier. The first night you’d spent with him in Hades had been the perfect start to your romance and you definitely didn’t regret it, but the next morning was something straight out of a rom-com.

It was difficult for your phone alarm to go off on time when time zones didn’t really exist in the literal Underworld. So you ran into work exactly on time with unwashed hair, followed around the office all morning by nosy comments from Jeno and Yangyang about that and the blouse that you were tucking into your dress pants as you were stepping off the elevator— which Jaemin had to magically poof you into, having no time to take public transport. Oh and the embarrassingly obvious love bites on your neck that you couldn’t cover up in your haste to get ready; a combination of no time to apply makeup, and carelessly choosing a top whose neckline was cut lower than the marks.

The memory made you shake your head fondly now, months later, as you opened your fridge doors. You’d barely done so when a familiar cool breath blew over the back of your neck and shell of your ear.

“Jaemin!” You exclaimed, immediately closing the fridge again then whipping around to face the god. He had a mischievous smirk already playing on his lips. “It’s been a while since you’ve snuck up on me like that. You must be in a good mood.”

“Yes, I am,” he confirmed.

You cocked your head to the side, “And why is that?”

“Because...” he took a step forward, and you instinctually took one back, quickly pinned against one of the doors. His hips pressed against yours, holding you there as his lips found yours, then your jaw, then your throat. You hummed as he continued pressing kisses along your skin, looping your arms around his neck, your search for food entirely forgotten. His hands on your waist only drew you even closer—if that was possible—fingertips brushing under the hem of your t-shirt and leaving goosebumps along your skin.

Your Hades finally detached his mouth from where he’d been sucking and nipping a mark on your collarbone, “I’m going to take you somewhere.”

“Huh?” You couldn’t help the stupefied noise that came from you.

He was standing up straight again, so close that your noses were almost touching, and you saw yourself reflected in his deep, dark irises. You looked ravished, your own pupils blown wide, mouth parted to let the deep breaths from your heaving chest out, the collar of your shirt askew to allow Jaemin access to more of your skin.

“I’m in a good mood because we’re going somewhere. Go get changed.”

You tipped your head back as you let out a groan, shaking yourself back to reality, “Why are you literally the worst?”

He chuckled as he stepped back, allowing you to push off the appliance, “Because I can be. Now go get changed. Doesn’t have to be too nice, just better than your jammies.”

With a final roll of your eyes, you left the kitchen to do as he requested. You reemerged in the living room in casual going-out clothes, “This good enough?”

“Perfect,” Jaemin offered you his hand, which you took without hesitation.

He gently spun you around, and a giggle tumbled from your mouth as you were spun right into his arms, your back to his chest. You closed your eyes on instinct as he swayed the two of you to a non-existent melody, and you drank in the sultry notes of cedar, cinnamon, and blood orange that surrounded you. His hair tickled your cheek as he started peppering light ghosts of kisses to your skin.

“Alright, you tease, come on. You said we’re going somewhere,” you lightly elbowed whatever part of him was by your arm. His rib, maybe, or that could’ve been his arm. From where you were all wrapped up in him, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he started. And despite your words of complaint, you hadn’t yet opened your eyes or even attempted to wrangle yourself from his grasp.

“I know, we’re here.”

Curiosity won out and you squinted an eye open. Holy shit, this definitely wasn’t your apartment. With wide eyes, you looked around the huge living room Jaemin had brought you to. Plush furniture, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows, large dining area that connected to a kitchen that was clearly built for entertaining. The entire place had an upscale mid-century modern feel to it, and you found your eyes drawn back to the huge windows.

“Where are we?” You questioned, still taking it all in.

“My place,” Jaemin said casually, and you could feel him shrug from where he was holding you.

“This isn’t the Underworld.”

“My new place on Earth. I just got it this week.” He took one of your hands to guide you over to the windows, “Come on, look at the view.”

Spread out below you was the entire city, all twinkling lights. If you unfocused your eyes they could almost be mistaken for stars in the night sky. Your Hades stood just behind you to begin pointing out landmarks, “There’s downtown, that’s the museum you took me to, your apartment should be over that way, and there’s the river way over there.”

“It’s amazing but… why did you get it?” You questioned him, turning away from the view to look him in the eye. He’d never expressed any interest in living on Earth whatsoever, any want to get a home here.

Jaemin walked back a couple steps to lean against the arm of one of the couches, bringing you with him by your hands, “Since Johnny and I have been doing more business up here, it’s good to have a home to keep up appearances.”

“And just how many business clients are you planning on inviting back to your place, Jaemin?” You raised an eyebrow, tone expressing your immediate disbelief.

He grinned up at you in your position standing between his legs, “You caught me. Just one, you.”

“I meant, why now?” You pushed on in the conversation, not so easily distracted. “Why get a place on Earth this week?”

“Jeno.”

“You got a penthouse for Jeno? How romantic, I’ll let him know.”

Your Hades let out a soft laugh at that, looking down at your hands that he was holding, his fingertips taking a moment to adjust your rings that were slightly askew. “The entire situation that happened with him really made me think about you, and about who I am to you. And I want to be more for you than I am.”

You frowned at his words, taking back one hand to cup his cheek and have him look up at you, “What do you think you are to me?”

“I’m a secret.”

“Oh, Jaemin…” You felt your heart breaking at the way he said it. Not in a fun, flirty way, but despondent, isolated. Before you could move to say more, hold him, do anything, he spoke again.

“That’s not passing any sort of judgement on you, angel,” he assured you, squeezing the hand he had in his. “I know the secrecy comes solely from who and what I am. I know there are some things that we'll never really be able to tell everyone. And I don’t think you’ll ever be able to fully understand how much I love and adore you for keeping that between us.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, afraid that if you tried to speak in that moment, you’d cry.

“But I still want to be someone that you can introduce to your friends, to your family. Someone that you don’t have to agonize over keeping secret from them. I want you to get to have at least some of that, and I want to do as much as I can to help. I figured having my own place on Earth wasn’t a bad start.”

“Oh… I understand,” you held his face between both your hands, taking a step closer to narrow the distance between you two. He now had to crane his neck up to look at you. Clearing your throat and blinking a couple tears away, you smirked down at your Hades, “You want to be shown off.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, not a hint of bashfulness in him despite the coy words.

“Gladly. Starting with a dinner party here I think.”

“I’ll cook.”

“Penthouse and you cook? Careful, it’ll turn from an honest meet-the-boyfriend into shameless bragging.”

His hands that had previously been resting in his lap now gripped the sides of your thighs, “Oh, we both know you’re as shameless as I am.”

“Maybe so. But we’re only inviting friends of mine, no coworkers other than Jeno,” you declared. “I may be shameless, but I’m not an idiot. Still need to figure out the work part.”

“Of course,” he acquiesced with a nod of his head. Apparently thinking that the conversation was over, he pulled you fully flush to him, mouth attaching to your collarbone. Seemed he wanted to finish what he’d started in your kitchen earlier.

But you couldn’t yet let yourself sink into the pleasure of your Hades’ lips, your mind was still ruminating on the previous issue, “And let me know if you have any bright ideas, by the way. It’s your fault I’m in this mess, after all.”

Jaemin pulled back from where he’d been kissing down your sternum, about to get to the neckline of your top, “I offered to work with another attorney, but you insisted we stick with you and Ms. Haseul.”

“You picked Kim & Moon in the first place.”

“I concede, my apologies,” he sighed, entirely removing his hands from you for a moment. “And I mean it.”

“Mhm.” Satisfied with his answer, you grabbed his shoulders and crashed your lips to his.

“But isn’t it just a little fun?” He teased, giving your bottom lip a playful nip. “Knowing that you’re—gasp—seeing a client? Sneaking around?”

You groaned at the interruption, attempting to tug his suit jacket off, talk, and kiss him all at once. “I was seeing you—” kiss “before you—” kiss “were—” kiss “a client.” Kiss. “But yes, maybe a little.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Suh,” you greeted the goddess brightly as you crossed the room to sit across the conference table from him. “Just you today?”

The other half of Olympus Investments had called pretty much as soon as the firm had opened that morning, requesting a meeting with you as soon as you were available, and you did happen to be able accommodate him that afternoon.

“Jaemin doesn’t know I’m here.” He shifted forward in his chair, looking you in the eye so intensely you couldn’t hold the eye contact for long.

You were a little confused as you laid out your materials in front of you, “Okay... Well, what did you wish to speak with me about? Somi emphasized that this was an urgent matter. Was there something the matter with the documents I sent for your review yesterday?”

“I am so sorry, Y/N...”

Your eyebrows shot up at his words, the forlorn tone he said them in, and at the fact that this was the first time Mr. Suh had addressed you by your first name. “For what, sir?”

“That Jaemin’s done this to you.”

“I don’t understand. What has Mr. Na done?”

“Taken your soul.”

His words made you immediately sputter out, “What are you talking about? I’m sorry, I don't underst—”

“Dinner the other night wasn’t the first time you two have met,” the goddess in front of you declared, gaze piercing you as he changed from despondent to stern. “What did you ask for, Y/N? What was worth your soul?”

“I didn’t sell Jaemin my soul!” You sighed in exasperation, fully dropping all pretenses now. “All he wanted was for me to spend some time with him.”

“And what did you want?”

“A job.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s all I asked for.”

“I’m sorry about all this, Y/N. All the jewelry... I get worried.” His gaze was still appraising you, and you could tell that you didn’t quite have him convinced.

“Oh,” you twisted the plain silver band you’d first been given around on your finger nervously. “I mean, he did give me all this too, but I didn’t ask for it.”

“Why would he...” Mr. Suh’s eyes fell to the pomegranate jewel sitting below the hollow of your throat. “Ahh... I get it.”

“Get what?” You asked cautiously, now self-consciously fidgeting with the pendant once again.

“That’s a lovely color.”

“Uhm, thank you. But I can tell you mean something else by that.”

“Ha,” he chuckled, leaning back in his seat but keeping his eyes on your necklace. “He’s courting you, isn’t he?”

“Uh that might’ve been what you called it in 300 BC or whenever, but now we call it dating.”

“No, honey. I may be… old-fashioned but I know the difference between dating and courting. Jaemin does too. Do you?”

“What?”

He nodded towards your necklace, “Ask him about the meaning of that color next time you see him.”

Your skin prickled uncomfortably; you didn’t like that Mr. Suh apparently knew more about your relationship than you did. “Did you have any actual business for me, Mr. Suh?”

“Oh, no. I’ll get out of your hair now. Sorry, hon.”

You stood up as he did, showing him out wordlessly to the lobby.

Walking into work some weeks later, you saw Jeno, Yangyang, Kun, and Sicheng gathered around yours and Yangyang’s desks. Not too unusual of a sight, especially considering the matching coffee cups they all had.

“Good morning, boys,” you greeted the four of them brightly, setting all your stuff down on your desk.

When you looked up from where your fond gaze had lingered over your keys, the shiny new one to Jaemin’s place on Earth there, you were met with silence.

“What?”

“Here, uhm, it was my turn to buy coffee this week,” Yangyang handed you a cup from the shop down the street from the firm.

You took it, a little alarmed that he wasn’t doing his usual complaining about being “forced” to buy coffee for “the bourgeois” (Kun and Sicheng) when they could definitely afford it and truly he was just being “exploited” (despite the five of you all rotating out who bought coffee for the group once a week).

“Uh, thanks,” you took a sip, not liking his wide eyes, Kun’s pained ones, Sicheng’s inquisitive gaze, and Jeno’s knowing look that usually meant the two of you needed to talk ASAP. “Okay, what, you guys?”

“Ms. Haseul wants to see you,” Yangyang was still speaking.

“Okay…”

That wasn’t unusual, you were her paralegal, you frequently were called into her office by yourself to have discussions and they never garnered reactions like this from your coworkers.

Kun rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, calmly explaining, “She told Yangyang to have you come into her office once you arrived regarding an issue on the Olympus Investments file. Said to make sure you knew it was urgent and severe.”

Your grip tightened on your coffee cup. Jeno’s jaw clenched as he gave you a very much ‘I told you so’ look.

“Then why the fuck did you guys make me play 20 questions with you if it’s that fucking serious? God, I have to go see her!” You set your cup down, briefly checking the phones to see if she was on a landline call. Her quick dial button wasn’t lit up, meaning that she wasn’t, and you grabbed a notepad and pen just in case. Maybe this was about something solely work-related, and not about you seeing a client and breaking company policy. One could only hope.

After speed-walking down the hall, you stopped outside her door to listen for a moment for any sign that she was on the phone or had someone else in her office. It was quiet, and you took another moment to inhale deeply through your nose, then exhale, composing yourself. Rapping your knuckles on her door, you waited for her reply.

“Come in.”

You opened the door, bowing your head respectfully, “Good morning, Ms. Haseul. Yangyang told me you wanted to see me regarding Olympus Investments.”

“Yes, sit, Y/L/N,” she gestured to one of the chairs across her desk from her.

You could feel her sharp eyes on you as you did so.

“I’m going to get straight to the point. Out of gratitude for the work you’ve done in your time here, I’m going to ask you only once and I of course expect the truth. Are you romantically involved with Mr. Na Jaemin?”

To your credit, your jaw didn’t drop. Part of you was expecting this, of course. You breathed in, taking a moment to think about how to phrase your response, “Yes, Ms. Haseul.”

She sighed, taking her glasses off and setting them on her desk. As your boss rubbed her brow and remained quiet, you felt anxiety creeping up through your veins.

Figuring that you were as good as fired anyway, you at least wanted to know how long you’d been made for, when and where you went wrong. “Ma’am? May I ask when— How long you’ve known?”

“Y/L/N…” She clicked her tongue and leaned back in her chair. “I’ve known the whole time. And I know you’ve been seeing him since before he became a client of ours as well.”

“I’m so sor—”

Your boss cut you off with a wave of her hand, “Don’t apologize, please. Aside from not telling me the next business day as you should have, you’ve been incredibly professional about this the entire time. Honestly, nothing about your behavior or work product is how I know.”

“Then how?” You asked, brows furrowing together.

“The first client dinner we had with Mr. Suh and Mr. Na. When we went to greet them, I caught a whiff of Mr. Na’s cologne, and it was remarkably familiar to me. Because you’d come in to the office in the mornings frequently smelling like it before that dinner.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but… why wait until now to address it?”

“Would you believe me if I said that I didn’t know how to bring it up?”

You were nearly speechless. It was hard to imagine Ms. Haseul not knowing what to do.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Anyway, like I said, you’ve been the model of professionalism; your client relations—in the office—have been impeccable, and your work product is the same high quality I expect to see from my employees. We of course need to address that you did not inform me of this conflict the next business day as is firm policy, but I see no reason to take any further action than that nor remove you as case manager for Olympus Investments.”

“Ma’am?” Now your jaw was on the floor, your eyes practically bugging out of your head.

“Both Mr. Na and Mr. Suh report being incredibly satisfied with your work. Therefore, as long as that continues then I am fine with having you stay on as their case manager, with your conflict of interest being properly noted in the file, of course. But as soon as any issues arise or you feel as though your conflict is affecting your ability to do your job, you will report that to me. Do you understand, Y/L/N?”

“Of course, Ms. Haseul,” you bowed your head as deeply as you could from your seat. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re dismissed, Y/L/N.”

“Right. Thank you again, Ms. Haseul,” you leapt to your feet, bowing once more now that you were standing before exiting her office.

Walking back out to where your desk was, the guys were exactly where you left them, clearly pretending to be doing anything else other than waiting to see if you got fired. Jeno, however, immediately zeroed his focus in on you as you approached them, the others soon joining suit to varying degrees of shamelessness.

You gave them two covert middle fingers down by your sides, “Fuck you guys, I still work here.”

“Oh thank god,” Jeno breathed out as you fully entered the pod of desks, pulling you into a hug.

“Hell yeah!” Yangyang jumped to his feet to join in, squeezing the two of you with reckless abandon. “The Atrocious Trio lives on!”

“Did you just invite yourself into our friendship, Yangyang?” You asked incredulously as Jeno shoved him out of the group hug.

You had just finished relaying the news to Jaemin that night—that Ms. Haseul knew, and had known the whole time, about your relationship—over dinner at his place on Earth. He claimed he wanted to test out some recipes before you had your meet-the-boyfriend dinner with your friends there.

Truly, it was a relief to have this weight off your chest, but that didn’t make it any less mortifying to relive possibly the most nerve-wracking meeting of your career yet. If you never had to feel like that again for the rest of your life, it would be too soon.

“Your boss is quite astute, huh,” Jaemin commented as he picked up your empty plate to start cleaning up after dinner, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Real bloodhound, that one,” you muttered, standing up as well to grab the drained wine glasses. “And I can see that smirk, Jaemin.”

“Damn,” he clicked his tongue as he began washing the dishes, fully letting his dashing grin overtake his features. “Nothing gets past you either, angel.”

“I’d say that’s why they hired me but—” you gestured at him vaguely.

“That’s why they keep you around, even after such a scandal.”

“You are so—” You cut yourself off with a sigh, feeling how big the smile was on your face as you came to settle in beside him, dish towel in hand, knowing that your words had no punch when paired with how adoringly you were looking at him.

You dutifully dried each dish he handed you until the kitchen was cleaned up. The two of you were in a comfortable quiet, your Hades humming softly as he finished washing up, then took the towel from you and dried off his hands. With your own hands free, your fingers habitually found the pomegranate red gem hanging from your neck. Johnny’s words bounced around in your head. You hadn’t brought it up to Jaemin after, wanting to mull it over with yourself for a bit longer first. Wait until you were in the right headspace to address what the hell that conversation was even about.

“Guess that means we’ll be having more guests then?”

“Huh?” You asked lamely, not following Jaemin’s sudden question at all.

“For dinner,” your Hades clarified, walking towards the bedroom, and you followed him down the hall as he kept speaking. “You didn’t want to invite any coworkers other than Jeno before. But since Ms. Jo told you she knows, you’ll be inviting coworkers, right?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess. Maybe the ones I get drinks with,” you answered absentmindedly. “Or just the team. I don’t know.”

“Think about it, angel,” Jaemin squeezed your hand briefly before dropping it and moving over to the dresser to grab lounge clothes. “Guess I should tell Johnny, then. Funny, goddess of love is the only one who doesn’t know.”

But you most definitely weren’t thinking about the guest list for some dinner as you two did your separate nighttime routines. Your mind felt like it was in another galaxy, wrapped up in flashes of dazzling obsidian black and pomegranate red, dancing in bergamot, cedar wood, and cinnamon sticks. Courting. You’d done your obligatory dictionary reading the same day as your meeting with Johnny: to have a romantic relationship with someone one hopes to marry. Not engagement, not dating, something in between, somehow less and more.

Your eyes got caught on the necklace again in the bathroom mirror, finishing up at your sink at the dual vanity.

In the bedroom, Jaemin was sitting up against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankle and the wall sconce on his side turned on to illuminate the book he was reading—a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories, borrowed from you.

“Jaemin,” you called out for him quietly, leaning in the threshold of the bathroom.

“Yes?” He looked up at you attentively.

You nodded to the book in his lap, “Which one are you on?”

“‘MS. Found in a Bottle.’” Your Hades patted the spot beside him, “You want me to read for you, angel?”

“In a second.” You reached for your pendant. “Gems have meanings sometimes, right? In different cultures. Other than just being an expensive status symbol.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Yes. Why?”

“What about this one? The necklace you gave me.” You held it up, watching the dark red stone gleam as it caught the light.

He tucked his bookmark into the tome and fully put it aside on the nightstand, “Johnny’s spoken with you.”

“He came to the firm the other day freaking out thinking you’d taken my soul in exchange for riches,” you admitted, feeling a little guilty. “Sorry I didn’t uh, tell you before.”

“It’s okay. Sounds like you two had an interesting conversation.”

“Yeah. I told him that I didn’t sell you my soul for the jewelry, but he didn’t seem to believe me until he saw this one. Said to ask you about the color.”

Jaemin chuckled, “Mm, of course he did. The ego.”

You walked across the bedroom, stopping by his side of the bed. Tilting your head inquisitively, you asked, “Are you going to explain or just keep making cryptic statements, Jaemin?”

“Third option: Cryptic question. What color do you think it is, Y/N?”

“To me... it looks like fresh pomegranate seeds. Pomegranate red.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking when I gave it to you,” your Hades nodded, a tender smile overtaking his more cynical one from when he was talking about his business partner. “The meaning that Johnny wanted you to ask about. According to one version of a myth, the first pomegranate tree came about from Aphrodite’s mourning of the death of a lover. Pomegranate juice came to symbolize love.”

“I already know that you love me, Jaemin,” you told him frankly, taking a step closer to the bed.

“Well good, something would be very, very wrong with me if you didn’t.”

“And I also know that we’re going in circles around the point right now.” Another step.

“We are.”

“He specifically used the word courting.” Another step. You were now directly beside him, at his nightstand, casting a shadow over his face.

Jaemin looked absolutely delighted to be cornered, both in conversation and literally. He always enjoyed your dialogues like this, as did you, or else you wouldn’t participate. The pushing and pulling, the back and forth, it was the nature of you and your Hades, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Because at the end of it, everything was always out on the table, laid bare, open and honest.

“You got me, angel,” he held his hands up in defeat. “I’m all yours, now and for eternity, if you’ll have me. And I don’t need an answer about eternity right now of course, but will you let me start trying to convince you?”

You wound the necklace chain around your knuckles thoughtfully, “I want you to tell me something, Jaemin, before I answer you.”

“An answer for an answer.” He was looking up at you with a familiar fond, tender smile, “Of course, angel, anything.”

There was something itching at the back of your mind, that never quite made sense to you, as you came to know your Hades better over all this time, fell in love with him, something that just seemed… out of place. Something he said that just hasn’t sat right every time you thought of it.

“Why did you want to spend time with me in the first place? Way back, the night we met, when you came to me to make our deal, I asked you why you would give me the job for just hanging out with you. Do you remember what you told me?”

“I remember everything about that night,” he admitted freely. “I told you I was tired of spending time with dead people.”

“And that was a lie,” you stated simply, softly, no anger or hurt in your words. Instead, there was a kind commiseration underlying them.

“Yes.”

“So, why did you want my time?”

“I was lonely.”

And you reached in front of you to grab your Hades’ hand, your lonely-no-more god, and you squeezed it tight between both of yours. “I owe you an answer now. Yes.”

Jaemin tugged you closer, making you momentarily lose your balance and fall forward onto his chest, your mouths just centimeters apart. Obsidian black was all that you could see, his eyes looking at you with nothing short of absolute devotion, divine worship, insatiable hunger. You pushed back that obstinate lock of jet black hair from his forehead before twisting your fingers in the strands at the back of his head and pulling his lips to yours. In the split second before your eyes fluttered shut, they caught the glint of a pomegranate red gem on his ear.

You were sat beneath the tree of golden fruit with your shadow man, the fruit you had picked still in your hands. With no hesitation, you dug your thumbs into the golden outer husk, splitting it in half. Inside were hundreds of bright red seeds, ripe, plump, glistening like rubies. Your mouth watered. Looking to your shadow man for reassurance, you were immediately given it.

You set one half down on your lap to dig into the other with your fingers. Bringing the first couple seeds you could get out up to your mouth, your tastebuds were immediately met with the ambrosial, saccharine, tart juice. They burst in your mouth, coating your tongue and dripping down the back of your throat. You went back in for more, eating handful after handful of the fruit’s plentiful seeds. Soon that half was emptied, and you grabbed the other that had been sitting in your lap.

You wanted more. Never had you ever wanted for something more in your life. Your fingers and hands were dripping red, and you could feel beads of the scarlet nectar running down your chin to your neck and down your sternum before disappearing into your top. But you still wanted more, wanted everything the fruit could give to you.

When you had finally finished the other half, you felt your want satiated. Your skin was sticky, and the white dress you were wearing had swaths of crimson red stains all over it. And your shadow man was still there beside you, and he finally touched you. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, encouraging you to lean against him, resting your head on his chest and letting out a sigh of relief.

His name tumbled from your lips then, something you’d always known. You’d always known him. An epiphany, a rite, a blessing, a hymn, a miracle, a prayer.

“Jaemin.”

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#i: jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin #nct #nct dream #nct imagine #nct dream imagine #jaemin imagine #na jaemin imagine #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader #s: golden fruit #f: pomegranate red #g: fluff #writing #text #mine

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