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sailoryooons · 5 months

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Gods of the Dark | Two | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader

☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price.

☾ Word Count: 21,443

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

☾ 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, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via arson, sexual dream sequences, depictions of oral (f. receiving), exposed bodies (in a brothel), pining, townsfolk essentially bullying reader, intense nightmare sequences, light depictions of PTSD (including memories of almost drowning/being physically attacked), explicit language, idiots who are obviously into one another being idiots, recreational drinking, topics of desire, feelings of shame, depictions of anxiety and fear, slight voyeurism, attempted murder

☾ Published: December 2, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This chapter took so long to write and I want to apologize for how long it took. The creative process can be so difficult sometimes, and I have been having a very hard year, which reflects in my writing. Thank you for sticking with me - I really hope this chapter is okay. This originally wasn't going to be as slow of a burn as it is, but this is where the story took me naturally, so I hope that's okay with everyone. I am going to be adding an extra chapter to this now to tell the story the way I want, so we will have five total chapters to this. I am already working on chapter three, and my goal is to write just this series until the next three chapters are done! Note: The sections of italics are used to indicate dream sequences for this fic - the way I use these are very specific and with intent... that's the only hint I will give you.

A huge thank you to @here2bbtstrash for being my beta reader - I give them huge beta projects with very little time to do them, and this story would not be nearly as polished or tuned as it is now without them. Also thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging and patient with me - your kind words are not lost on me and I'm thankful for you all!

☾ 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.

Eyes in the sky crying geysers How dare I have private desires

First is your mother’s screaming. It’s loud enough to make you clap your hands over your ears, wincing as she drops all of the things in her hands. Second is your father storming into the house like a hurricane, an axe clutched in his hand from cutting wood in the yard. When he sees you, he blanches and takes a few steps back, raising the axe.

“Demon,” he whispers. He reaches for your mother and pulls her behind him. “You are a demon.”

“No, I-”

Without a warning, your father launches the axe at you. You scream, arms going up to block your face, unable to dodge the attack. There’s a loud crack as the axe hits an invisible barrier. You feel your hand fly to your open mouth, staring at the axe that’s now hewn in two on the floor.

Silence follows the destruction of the weapon. In that silence, it occurs to you that your father has attempted to kill you, and was only stopped by whatever protection Yoongi promised you. The realization is dizzying and you stumble away from your parents a little, bumping into the wall that separates the kitchen and the entryway.

No one says anything at first. Your mother clings to your father, trembling violently. Her hair is greyer than you remember and it looks like the last few days haven’t been kind to her. But she has always been soft and weak.

It’s your father who no longer looks the same. Always such an imposing figure in your life, he looks aged. His face is wrinkled, his hair is grey. His presence is so much smaller than you remember, once full of rage and ferocity, now just a terrified man in a doorway.

You cannot believe this is the man you’ve spent most of your life afraid of. Where once stood a great fear of yours now stands nothing more than a shadow of a man. Weak. Afraid. Vulnerable.

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” you say in a voice much steadier than you feel. “You can’t marry me off, you can’t make me burn my books, and you can’t hurt me anymore.”

“What kind of demon are you?”

It occurs to you that you could tell him you’re not a demon. You’re just you, with a little added protection. But the realization that they are afraid of you wakes up something ugly inside of you. Something oily, that slithers, something wicked and sharp.

You don’t have to tell them you’re not a demon. You don’t have to tell them that you are. They have come to that conclusion themselves, and it has put them beneath you. Afraid of you. You’re more powerful than you’ve ever been in this home.

So you let them think you are. “The kind that survived Nathaniel Laudermill beating me in the woods and trying to drown me.”

Your father straightens. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! You weren’t supposed to run and he- he wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”

“Well, he did. And he paid for it, didn’t he?”

When you say it, you have a sneaking suspicion that Nathaniel Laudermill is dead. When your father nods feebly at your question, the knowledge slides into place. You don’t feel bad. It almost horrifies you that you don’t, but you think of the burning in your lungs, his nails against your skin, the roaring of the water.

You’re glad Nathaniel is dead.

“What do you want from us? Money? Our lives?”

“Nothing.” You realize it’s true, suddenly stricken with wondering why you came back at all. “I want you to go about your lives, and let me do what I will.”

Pushing off the wall, you turn around and head out the front door. You feel their eyes on you as you go, but you don’t look back.

For now, you walk out into the woods. Crickets chirp happily, growing quiet as you walk by and starting once again when you’re a distance from them. Under the shade of the trees, it’s cold. The river isn’t flooded up into the woods anymore, but the ground is soft beneath your feet, mud giving way to your steps.

It feels different when you walk through the woods this time. They aren’t as vibrant. No Tiera is lurking in the boughs of the wisteria. There’s no lake with merfolk peering at you with large, alien eyes. A world that was once so full of life and peace feels unsaturated now. Devoid of color.

A nasty feeling creeps up on you as you walk. You look for the creatures of the wood, hoping to see their bright colors and little lives. A snake slithers away from you, but it’s just that. A snake with normal scales, in a normal bush. A rabbit rushes by, quick as lightning, a blur of fur.

None of the birds have plumes of purple feathers. There’s no trilling song that sounds like dreams spun into notes, no smell of drifting sweetness on the wind. The air is damp and cold, and it smells like fresh earth and water. But there’s nothing about it that seems as vibrant as before.

By the river, the water rushes as fast as your thoughts. You weren’t sure what to expect when you came home, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t your parents thinking you were a demon, but that isn’t the worst part.

The worst part is that only after two weeks, your world has lost its magic. It pales in comparison to Yoongi’s world or even your imagination. You stare at the water you used to think rushed with so much promise, the waxy leaves that used to contain so many shades of green. Now they’re just leaves and the river is just water.

A tingle presses at your neck. You turn, expecting Yoongi to be looming behind you. There’s no one there, but the feeling of awareness doesn’t go away. Frowning, you lean against the tree and stare out into the woods unseeing.

Clove and cinnamon hang in the air. You close your eyes, inhaling. The tingle at the back of your neck feels familiar. In your mind, you feel it like a phantom touch, sliding from your neck across your shoulder, dragging down the length of your arms until there is a soft twitch in your palm.

It’s easy to imagine Yoongi this way. But when you open your eyes, Yoongi isn’t there. The feeling doesn’t go away. But you always have that feeling out here, the something of other. Your heart flutters at the thought of the god lurking somewhere that you can’t see.

A silly thought. You brush it away, trying not to delude yourself into fantasies that Yoongi has any interest in you beyond your deal and beyond that night in the woods where you asked for help. Yoongi’s kindness is just that, and though you dream of him often, you know the difference between your dreams and reality.

Instead of leaving to go back to the house, you sit down on the ground. Closing your eyes, you imagine a brighter world. A more magical world. It’s easier to do this than to contend with the fact that the woods you loved so dearly are not as you remember them.

This, at least, is familiar. Sitting in the woods for hours and imagining worlds away from yours. Now, you imagine a specific world, made up of twilight and mountains in the distance. With a wonderful castle full of rooms saturated with candlelight and books you’re learning how to read.

When your stomach growls, you’re forced to stop your imagination and get up. You feel a bit better, knowing that you can at least remember what Yoongi’s dream realm looks like. Two weeks. You have two weeks until you can go back, and until then, Yoongi expects you to study.

Back at the house, your parents stare in silence when you enter. You hardly look at them, walking to the kitchen as though they are merely ghosts harboring the same space as you. Your movements are methodical as you make yourself lunch. When you reach for the knife to cut cheese, you feel the pointed look of your parents.

Part of you wants to turn around and scream at them to scare them. Another part of you has divorced the idea of them as your parents already. Yet you do nothing, biting a piece of cheese as you finish plating your meal and go to your room. They say nothing.

Sitting on your bed, you eat your meal. The world is quiet for the most part, though the muted sound of nature hums beyond your closed window. You realize there is a desk in your room stacked with books, parchment, and inkwells.

Heart racing, you get up from your bed and cross the room. You wipe your fingers on your shirt as you pick up a note written in Yoongi’s neat scrawl. You chew your lip as you look at the swirls and dips of letters on paper, immediately intimidated at the prospect of making sense of the writing.

You take the note with you to the bed and begin to parse the letters and sentences apart. It takes all of your concentration, going over the sounds each letter makes in your head to build a word. It’s not fast work and it isn’t easy, but after a while, you work out the first sentence.

Do not forget to practice every day.

A smile makes your mouth twitch, both in pride that you managed to work out the sentence and at the thought of Yoongi hunched over his desk writing you a note.

The second sentence is trickier. Afternoon light pours through your window as you spend another fifteen minutes sounding out the letters, quietly muttering them to yourself until you’ve got full words to build the sentence.

I will be watching, so you better practice as often as you can.

You bite your lip. It sounds like a playful threat, quietly muttered in one of Yoongi’s teasing moments. You can almost hear the soft rasp of his voice and picture the smirk that would accompany his words. You shiver before reading the final sentence.

Sleep well, and dream as often as you can.

The desk is a nice touch. You don’t remember seeing it this morning and you wonder how it got there. Remembering Yoongi’s magic is overwhelming. You’re still unsure what the limits of his power are, if there are any at all.

Hunched over the papers, you begin to trace letters again. It feels good to have the quill in your hand. You’re careful not to spill the ink all over the paper like you do when you’re practicing in the library - you have a limited amount of parchment here, compared to Yoongi’s endless amounts in the House of Dreams.

It does beg the question whether he’ll drop you off more magical paper if you run out, though.

By the time your hand is cramping too much to practice more and your head hurts, it’s evening. Your parents are locked away in their room when you come out. You can hear the soft voice of your mother go silent when they hear you enter the kitchen for food before heading out to the porch.

Twilight skies stretch above you. Sitting on the edge of the porch, you watch the world fade from purple to black. The stars begin to dot the sky, the moon making her climb upward. You grin, feeling relieved that maybe not all of your world has lost its magic.

Perhaps it’s just the light of day you’re no longer interested in. The night is far more mysterious and alluring, calling to you as you finish your last bite of dinner. You set your plate down on the porch and hop down, feeling the soft grass beneath your bare feet.

The last time you entered the woods in the dark, you were almost killed. That memory alone makes you pause at the edge of the woods. Your mouth dries a little bit and though the urge to step into the shadow of the night is strong, the memory of Nathaniel’s hands on your hair is stronger.

You turn around quickly and walk back to the house, picking up the plate along the way. It feels shameful to be afraid of the dark woods, a sour taste in your mouth as you lock yourself in your room and crawl onto the bed.

Closing your eyes, you try not to think about Nathaniel. His yelling haunts you, the phantom grip of his fingers pulling your hair, the way your mouth filled with water- a hooting owl disturbs your spiraling thoughts.

You open your eyes, straining your ears, only to find silence. Just as you begin to close your eyes again, you hear the hoot once more. Turning toward the window next to your bed, you sit up and pop the latch, casting open one of the shutters.

Above the house, the moon is a glowing coin in the sky. Everything her light touches is awash in grey. Sticking your head out of the window, you sweep your gaze back and forth, trying to look for the sound of the hooting.

As though it senses your gaze, the owl hoots again. You see it this time. A great horned owl stares at you from its perch on top of a pile of chopped wood. Its eyes are burnished gold, like two burning beacons in the night. It’s a stunning owl, all browns and whites, feathers luminous under the sheen of the moon. It moves its head in a circle, opening and closing its beak.

Then, the owl surprises you. You flinch and sit backward on your haunches as it takes flight, great wings flapping as it flies to your window and lands on the ledge. You gasp in delight. The creature is far bigger up close, its ochre eyes warm and intelligent.

The back of your neck tingles familiarly and you smile.

“Are you supposed to watch over me?” The owl chirps, a much higher-pitched noise than the hoot. “Hmm. I see. Do you have a name?”

The owl bobs its head from side to side in an uncanny movement. Though you’re not sure, you think it means to tell you no. “Well, what if I give you one?” The owl chirps again. “What about… Moony?”

Fluffing its feathers, the owl shifts back and forth and lets out a hiss. You giggle, covering your mouth as the bird settles, looking at you in a way that certainly feels haughty and bothered. “Alright. What about… Dream?” Another hiss and a bob no. “Okay, well you’re making this quite difficult. What about…”

A dozen names run through your mind. You think of the owl as Yoongi’s way to watch over you at night. It makes you feel warm and far less alone than you were before. It’s nice knowing that you have a protector, someone to warn Yoongi if you’re ever in danger. Or to steer you away from your bad thoughts.

“How about Guardian?” you offer. It blinks two large eyes before chirping and bobbing its head in a circle, pleased at the name. You grin and slowly reach your hand forward. “I like it. Guardian, then.”

Gently, the owl leans forward and lets you brush its feathers. They are silky under your touch, each plume delicate and wonderful. You can’t help but smile, stroking the owl's chest until it shuffles back and forth and gives a short hoot.

“Go on,” you urge. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll leave the window open?”

Guardian hoots in affirmation before shuffling its wings and flying off into the night.

Laying in your back, you stare up through the open window, watching the stars go past. Slowly, you feel sleep pull at your edges, beckoning you to give in. You finally do, drifting asleep under the silver light of the moon and a blanket of stars.

Yoongi sits in front of the fireplace in the library. You blink a few times, a little dazed. You don’t remember how you got here, but you know the smell of this library and you know that shadowy frame better than anything. It suddenly makes you ache to realize how much you miss it already.

As if sensing your presence, Yoongi turns to look at you. He smirks, showing no sign of surprise at seeing you standing behind him. He gestures to the armchair next to him and you grin, quick to join him.

Warmth leaps from the fireplace, the logs popping and crackling under the hungry, orange flames. Yoongi is dressed in a simple linen shirt and pants, his necklaces reflecting the burning light. He watches you sit down and fold your feet onto the chair.

“Am I here? Or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Are both not possible?”

You think about it. “Well yes, I suppose they are. I’m dreaming but I can come here because I’m dreaming.”

“Clever girl.” Yoongi’s eyes dance as he looks you up and down. “How was your first day back?”

“Strange. I…” You chew on your lip, wrapping your arms around your legs. Suddenly, you feel more at home than you did earlier that day in the place you were raised. You think about the woods out behind your house, the alien way you felt among trees that should be familiar. “It feels as though the world doesn’t hold as much magic anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like here. It is so vibrant and beyond imagining that now that I’ve gone back… nothing compares.”

Yoongi hums. “I promise you that there is so much magic in your world. There is real magic in living that cannot be found among the imaginary.”

You rest your chin on your knees and sigh heavily. “If only I could find it.”

“You will.”

Silence passes between you. It’s comfortable. You watch the dancing fire, the world fading away. Though you are acutely aware that Yoongi is staring at your side profile, you don’t squirm or feel anxiety. You simply feel peace, happy to be here. Happy to be with him.

That makes your stomach flutter. At least you’re not dreaming of him in ways you shouldn’t tonight. As soon as you think about it, you feel your cheeks heat up hotter than the flames from the fireplace.

After a little while Yoongi sighs, drawing your attention back to him. “You should sleep.”

“I thought I was.”

“Sort of. You’re more… dreamwalking right now. You’re not really resting.”

“Do I have to stay here?” The question is small. You don’t meet his eyes when you ask, suddenly filled with shame that you can’t even last a day in the world you’ve known for over twenty years. “There’s nothing for me here.”

“There is. You just have to find it again.”

“I don’t know how.”

Yoongi stands up. You look up at him and see that his expression is soft. Kind. Your heart speeds up, tongue heavy in your mouth as he slowly reaches out to you. His hand hesitates for a second, pauses in mid-air like he’s unsure, and then he touches your cheek lightly. “Trust me.”

Before you can respond, Yoongi is walking away. The skin on your cheek tingles where his fingers were a moment before, a shiver racing up your spine. You lift your hands to touch your cheek where his fingers were moments ago. You can’t help but smile, fondness for him growing. Blooming.

Leaning back in the chair, you close your eyes and settle into real sleep.

Tap tap tap.

You twitch your nose and roll your head to the side, sniffing. For a moment, it felt like something had been tapping your nose, almost waking you from sleep. You start to sink back into it, pulling your covers tighter as your thoughts drift… further…

Tap tap tap.

You frown. Now you’re awake, your thoughts clawing their way to break the surface of sleep. When you finally collect yourself and register that you’re waking up, you open your eyes to reveal a face hovering inches from yours, so close that you cannot make out the features.

A shriek rips through your room as you scramble away from the face, clutching your blanket. You slam into the wall near the window, heart hammering as you press yourself flat, trying to make yourself small.

Taehyung falls backwards on his ass, covering his ears and giving you a ghastly expression, as though horrified to be screamed at in such a manner. Your hand clutches your chest as you realize it’s him sitting on your floor and him who had been inches from your face - tapping your nose.

“What are you doing?” you holler at him, fisting your blankets. You suddenly feel sick, the adrenaline making your stomach turn and your head spin. Groaning, you lay on your side, squeezing your eyes shut. Colors coalesce behind your eyelids as you take deep breaths, hoping it will pass. “Are you insane?”

“Well, that is up for debate.”

You open your eyes and glare at him.

Taehyung sits with his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his palms. His dark hair hangs in his eyes as he grins at you, giddy. He’s dressed in a flowing white shirt with laces at the front that he’s kept open, revealing a tanned chest. His shirt is tucked into brown trousers and you spot a small chain with a charm tied through one of his belt loops.

You think you recognize the charm from one of Yoongi’s necklaces.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting, obviously.”

“You can just… visit?”

“I do what I want.”

As the adrenaline rush fades, you slowly sit up, glaring at the man on your floor. “I doubt that. How did you get in here, anyway?”

“Your window is open.”

The window in question is still wide open from last night, only now, morning light streams through. The air is cool and smells of rain, the wind rushing through the trees and making them bend and dance under its guidance. A robin flits from bough to bough, singing.

“So you came through the window?”

“No, I came through the front door. No one else is home.”

“Then why did you say you came through the window?”

“I didn’t. I said the window was open.” Taehyung gives you a white, square grin. You clench your teeth and resist the urge to throw a pillow at him. Though you’re pleased to see him, you’re equally as vexed by his teasing. “Anyway, I want you to show me around.”

“Show you around what?”

He gets up from the floor, clapping his hands together to get rid of the dirt and dust before doing the same to his pants. He shrugs, giving you a cheery smile. “I don’t know. Anything. Everything. I want to see what your life here was like.”

“It wasn’t very good.”

“That’s okay. I want to see it anyway.”

Slowly, you get out of bed. He makes room for you, walking over toward the desk where your writing practice sheets are. He flips through them, examining your work as you eye him, stretching. Your joints pop and you groan, eyes fluttering at the release of tension.

“Why?” you ask. He looks up at you, brows raised in a question. “Why do you want to see?”

Taehyung contemplates his answer. He taps one long finger on top of your tracing. “You’re getting better.” He leans against the desk and crosses his arms, regarding you steadily. “I’ll make you a deal. Show me about your life here. Teach me about you. And I’ll tell you about me.”

That sparks your interest. You know so little about Taehyung, even in the two weeks that you’ve lived in the House of Dreams. He is a charming mystery, someone who speaks in riddles and likes to goad you and talk about so much that you realize he talks about nothing at all. At least, not anything substantial.

For the amount of things you know about Taehyung, like how he enjoys cinnamon in his tea or that his favorite color is green like the bottom of the lake, or how his favorite snacks are honey cakes or that music makes him cry, you also know… nothing about him. Where he comes from. Who he was before he was Yoongi’s companion in a big, lonely castle.

Sighing, you walk up to him and extend your arm. “Deal.”

Taehyung’s hand is warm and tingles when you shake it. He grins at you, happier than ever before he drops your hand and gestures at your clothes. “Well go on,” he says. “Change out of your nighties. Unless of course, you’d like to stay in them.”

“Get out of my room and I will!”

He raises his brows. “Don’t want me to watch? How boring.”

You don’t take his teasing to heart. You’ve already adapted to Taehyung’s jesting and prodding, learning that it’s a key part to the way that he shows his affections. For the first few days, you’d thought perhaps he didn’t like you much, but after seeing him rib Yoongi for two hours straight in the library, you realized it was good that he was teasing you.

You open the small trunk of clothes and slide on pants and a loose shirt. When you enter the main house, you find Taehyung standing on the porch with his arms crossed over his chest, looking into the woods with a frown. Tucking in your shirt, you step out onto the porch, the wood creaking underneath your weight.

“What is it?” you ask when Taehyung doesn’t turn to greet you. His eyes are dark and there’s an expression on his face that makes you nervous. “Is there something out there?”

Instead of answering directly, he asks, “Is that where Yoongi found you?”

Oh. Oh. Taehyung is looking at the woods where you ran off the night that your parents tried to make you marry Nathaniel. You nod and hum, trying not to think much about it as you finish tucking in the shirt and adjusting the material.

“There’s a bad energy there,” Taehyung observes. He turns away from the woods finally and drops his hands at his side. “You should stay away from that place moving forward.”

“I didn’t exactly go in there on purpose.”

“I know.” Something flashes in his eyes. “Best not to do it again, if you can help it. You can go into the woods, just not there.”

“Okay…”

You wait for Taehyung to elaborate, but he doesn’t. A chill settles over your skin, the wind picking up to rustle the trees. He shrugs and grins, the dark expression gone in a flash as he gestures for you to enter back through the house and leave by way of the front door.

Taheyung follows you, a bounce to his step as he hurries to walk next to you. You say nothing as you lead him out of the yard and toward the main road by your home that leads into town, your stomach fluttering with nervousness as you go.

If Taehyung is confused as to why you’re not starting the story of your life at home, he doesn’t let on. He tucks his hands into his pockets and walks next to you, his feet crunching the gravel beneath his boots and the wind lifting his hair.

Studying Taehyung’s side profile, you think he looks like something from a dream. He has the kind of beauty that seems purposeful and handcrafted, each one of his features carefully designed to be the wonderful, glowing being that he is.

You don’t know what he is, really. But you’ve made a deal and you have to deliver on your end first.

“We live a bit away from town,” you say eventually. “My father inherited the house after his father, who was a very talented wood carver. He used to cut the trees here himself and decide which tree was perfect for what project, which is why we live almost thirty minutes from town.”

“A wood carver is a nice talent to have.”

You nod. “He was very good. It made a good income. My father had no talent for it, though, and opened up a store instead. He sold my grandfather’s wares and then eventually added items from other folks in town, including my mother's clothes. She’s a seamstress.”

“You were wearing a dress the night Yoongi brought you home.”

Home. Taehyung says it so easily, like he’s already accepted that the House of Dreams is yours as much as it’s his. A warm feeling blooms through you, and you look up at Taehyung and smile at him despite the looming subject of the doomed wedding dress. He returns your smile just as broadly, even if he doesn’t know the reason for your sudden turn of happiness.

“Yeah. That was one she made,” you sigh, turning back to the road. “A wedding dress.”

“It was beautiful, but I did burn it in the fire.” You look at him with your brows raised and he gives you a sheepish shrug. “You were assaulted in that dress. We wanted nothing to do with it.”

“I’m glad that you did. I never want to remember that night again.”

“Good. Memories have a way of haunting us, even when we don’t know it.”

Taehyung’s tone is ominous. Instead of asking him what he means, you let his weighted silence fall around you, propelling the both of you toward the town.

As you get closer, houses and other roads begin to pop up. You see the pathways leading up to the homes of your neighbors, pointing out each one to Taehyung along with filling him in on summaries of their family histories and gossip. He listens with a conspiratorial smirk, gasping and asking you scandalous questions as you whisper rumors you’ve long heard from eavesdropping on your parents.

Gossiping with Taehyung is nice. You feel lighter than you had the day before, nearly skipping as you near the town proper. You start passing people on the road. Normally, you’d greet the ones you know. Now, you hear gasps as people flinch when they see you, making signs with their hands to ward off evil.

You blink in surprise, glancing at Taehyung for his reaction. He frowns when he sees the second group of people do it. By the third, he pulls a snarling face at them, making a child cry. You jam your finger in his ribs and he hisses in pain, shoving lightly back.

“What?” he demands. “You’re not evil. That sign doesn’t do anything, either. If one of the more malevolent deities wanted to snatch them, they would.”

“Really?”

Taehyung rubs his ribs where you poked him. You pass the bakery owned by the Yen family, heavenly smells wafting out the door. “Of course they would,” he huffs. “Most deities aren’t bound by the rules and logic the mortals try to make to create a sense of safety from them. Many can simply do what they want.”

“Then why don’t they?”

“Because of Eternals, like Yoongi. The gods who are always here, never changing. That’s why they’re called Eternals.”

“I see. There’s seven of them, right?” Taehyung hums the affirmative. As you pass a music shop, Taehyung slows. His hands are linked behind his back as he eyes the instruments through the window and gestures at them. You nod and follow him indoors, the bell on the door above chiming. “So other deities are afraid of them?”

“Of course they are,” Taehyung muses. He stops to admire a mandolin. “Yoongi, for example, is a being that creates dreams themselves. He manipulates reality. He can create things on a whim. He’s almost as powerful as life.”

“Really?”

“What are dreams if not creation? The difference isn’t all that big, though it drives Seokjin mad to admit it.”

“Who?”

Taehyung plucks the string of another instrument. You don’t know what it is, but the note is sharp, making you cringe. “Life, of course.”

“You know Life? What are you?”

He glances at you sidelong. “We’re supposed to learn about you first. I’m doing a lot of talking.”

“Not like it’s hard to get you going,” you mutter.

Taeyung shoots you a scowl, but is interrupted by the shop owner coming around the corner. He’s a man in his late thirties, greeting Taehyung politely and wiping his hands on his trousers. He asks Taehyung if he’s looking for anything and just as Taehyung leans out of the way to reveal you standing behind him, the shop owner’s eyes go to you and he gasps, stumbling backward.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispers, his back bumping into a shelf of items. You feel a shiver slip down your spine as you stare at him, arms tingling. He makes the symbol to ward off evil, the whites of his eyes wild. “Evil. Evil creature, you are a demon. You do not-”

“Another word,” Taehyung cuts in, his voice dark in a tone you’ve never heard. “And I’ll show you what evil is, sir.”

“G-god of Light spare me.”

“Your God of Light won’t answer.” Taehyung spins on his heel, facing you. His expression is thunder, his gaze dark and eyes wild as he hisses, “Speak their name all you wish. It's not daytime in here, sir.”

For the two weeks you’ve known Taehyung, you’ve never seen him like this. The room feels oppressive and dark, and you swear the lights have dimmed, shadows pressing up against the wall as Taehyung strides forward and passes you, taking your arm firmly in his hand.

Taehyung escorts you out of the store, walking swiftly. When you hit daylight, the oppressive dark sheds itself immediately. Taehyung’s presence dims with the sun beating down on him and turning his skin copper, black hair shining almost blue in the light.

He lets go of your arm and shoots you a troubled gaze. “Don’t listen to him,” he grunts. “You’re not a demon, nor are you evil.”

“My parents called me the same thing.” He scowls and begins pacing. To keep him moving, you start walking toward the other side of town where the old cemetery and abandoned church is. You don’t know why you go there, but you’re drawn to it. “They called me a demon.”

“Demons are much nastier. You might be annoying, but certainly not a demon.”

You scowl and he shrugs. “I didn’t realize everyone here thought I died. I thought I would come back and it would be…”

“Normal?” You shrug a shoulder.

The houses on the edge of town are shabbier than the rest. People hesitate in their doorways, staring at you and the tall, handsome man next to you. You see them do the warding sign as you go, and you squeeze your hands into fists as they do.

Weeds crawl up the side of the old church. The structure leans heavily to the left, the stairs unusable and the ceiling fallen in. Instead of walking up the hazardous steps and inside the dilapidated building, you lead Taehyung around it, where the grass grows higher than your knees and the sound of grasshoppers buzzing by you follows.

A dry-rotted fence surrounds what was once a graveyard. You walk toward it, leading Taehyung until he starts slowing down a few paces behind you. You stop and turn over your shoulder to look at him, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun.

Taehyung looks thoughtful, dark eyes scanning the area. He’s stopped walking entirely, head cocked to the side. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“I don’t know. I just… walked in this direction. I used to come here for the silence, sometimes.”

Taehyung has a strange look on his face. “Is that so?”

“Why do you look like that?”

“How long has this place been here?”

“The church closed before I could remember. Honestly, they said it was haunted by this graveyard, which has been here a lot longer than the church. Even the oldest families in town don’t have their dead buried here. Rumor has it that it was built long before the town was.”

Taehyung starts walking normally again. Side by side, you begin to navigate around the graveyard. “And you come here? Why?”

“It’s quiet. When I was too young to stay at the house alone, my mom would bring me to town while she ran errands. I was allowed to explore, but I liked to come here.”

“Most kids are afraid of places of the dead.”

You shrug. “It was quiet, and it gave me time to imagine things. I liked to make up fantasies about the old gods here or… what I imagined they might be. Of heroes descended from them, maybe.”

“And you felt drawn here?”

You startle when a grasshopper shoots across the grass in front of you. You laugh as it vanishes into the foliage. “Yeah, it just felt… safe.”

“Strange.”

“Am I allowed to ask why or are you going to complain you’re talking too much again?” He snorts and gestures for you to continue. “Why is that strange? Beyond the fact that it’s, you know, a graveyard.”

Sighing, Taehyung squints up at the line of trees nearby. His hand hovers along the tops of the grass as he runs it over each blade, letting the tips tickle his hands. You’re almost waist high in grass, glancing down to make sure you don’t step into any holes.

“This place is old. The people of the church felt haunted because they were. Death owns this land.”

You frown. “Well, the dead are here. The other graveyard doesn’t feel the same.”

“You misunderstand me. Death - the Eternal. His presence is all over. Someone important to him must be buried here.”

“Oh.”

You stop and think about that. Turning to look at the unmarked and lime washed tombstones, you scan for any sign of Death. You have no idea what you’re looking for. Ivy and time have taken over most of the concrete slabs, and none of the names or dates are legible by now. They’re just hewn stone, buried in green and grime.

But you feel something here, a tingling on the back of your neck like the one you felt in the woods by your house. A chill wind blows over the land, sweeping the grass and rattling the trees. You feel the breeze against your neck, cool as fingers trailing down your spine.

Suddenly, you feel a buzz on your skin. It’s not so different from Yoongi’s presence, and it chills you.

You look up at Taehyung with wide, fearful eyes. He smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t need to be afraid of Death. Death is neither good nor bad, he just is. He only takes those who are ready.”

“Have you met - um - Death?”

Taehyung nods. “He is a man of few words, but Namjoon is unwaveringly kind and wise.”

“Strange that I was drawn to coming here.” You head back toward the town. The sun passes its zenith and makes its way into the early afternoon. “Is this whole place filled with Eternals or what?”

“No, it’s actually a rather unremarkable location. Namjoon lingers in many places. Yoongi was simply drawn here.”

“By what?”

Instead of answering the question, Taehyung sticks his hands in his pockets. “Show me more of your town.”

So you do. Taehyung is a good companion. Where Yoongi would quietly observe and make sounds to indicate that he’s listening and admires the things you’re talking about, Taehyung asks questions. You realize he’s a tactile person as well. He touches things as he walks by them, brushing his fingers on fabric, touching jewelry at vendor stands.

Everywhere you go is a similar reaction to the instrument store. People seem happy to see Taehyung at first before they see you, fear making them lean away and ward you off. You realize you don’t know how much time has passed since you vanished from the woods and returned.

When you ask Taehyung, he shrugs and explains that time moves differently and inconsistently. It could have been a day, it could have been a week, it could have been five months. By the looks on the faces of those you pass, you think perhaps it’s been a little longer than you anticipated.

Part of you wonders what lie your parents must have told them about your death. You almost want to ask, but you don’t, anxiety stilling your tongue. You probably wouldn’t be able to get close enough to anyone to ask anyway.

By the time the sun has sunk beyond the horizon and the moon has begun its climb, you and Taehyung stop at the tavern to eat. Your stomach rumbles as you step into the warmth of the room behind Taehyung, and you notice that the place goes quiet.

It’s subtle at first, something you don’t notice as you kick dirt off your shoes, but the hush becomes so intense that you can’t help but look up, gaze sweeping the room as everyone turns to stare at you.

Behind the counter, the barkeep straightens. His name is Sloan - you’ve known him since you were a little girl - and he looks less than happy at your arrival.

“I know I’m pretty,” Taehyung announces loudly, tossing the hair out his eyes. “But you don’t need to stare.”

“You aren’t welcome here,” Sloan says, voice wavering like he’s unsure if he means it. “Begone, demon. We are men and women of life and light!”

You swallow thickly and look around, feeling prickly heat crawl up your neck.

Like at the music shop, something happens to Taehyung, except this time, it’s stronger than before. The candles in the chandelier and on the tables flicker in a phantom wind and darkness pulses in the room. You feel energy rolling off of him and you swear Taehyung gets darker as he steps forward, his presence oppressive and threatening.

There is crying and gasping in the room as he seethes. “We are not demons, and you will not disallow this woman to enter your shops, your homes, or anywhere else she wishes.”

“Taehyung,” you whisper, throat dry.

He doesn’t seem to hear you. You swear there is thunder in the distance. Whatever power belonging to Taehyung is tenfold now that the night sky stretches over the tavern. “Refuse her service, and there will be consequences.”

“Taehyung,” you hiss, snatching his sleeve. You pull his attention to you. His eyes are like two obsidian coins. There is something sharp and lupine about his face, sending your heart hammering. “Stop. This is making it worse.”

“They should not insult you.”

“It’s fine.”

He softens a touch. “It isn’t. You are not… they do not understand you.”

“They never have. Come on, let’s just go.”

For a second, you think he might not. You don’t know what Taehyung is or what he can do. It doesn’t frighten you, though. Because whatever Taehyung is and whatever his intentions are, he’s linked to Yoongi. Yoongi would never put you in harm's way or let Taehyung near you if he was a threat.

Even after such a short period of time, you know this in your heart of hearts.

Taehyung relents and the light returns to the room. No one makes a sound, all eyes on Taehyung as he lets you pull him out of the door and into the night. You immediately feel better outside, the moon washing your skin in light and the stars watching you march into the street.

“You can’t just threaten everyone who insults me,” you snap, though you’re not really mad at him. “They’re only going to hate me more. And they will think you’re a demon when you do that.”

“I’m far more powerful than a demon,” he sniffs primly. “And they should not insult you. You have the favor of Dream. You are -” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Well, you’re far above their station. They know nothing.”

“Far above their station,” you snort, crushing a rock under the toe of your boot. “I’m a girl who was strange when they knew me before they thought I was dead, and now they think I’m a demon walking around with her scary demon husband. Or perhaps they think you are an evil entity.”

“Don’t make that joke around Yoongi,” Taehyung mutters, putting his hands on his hips. Before you can ask what that means, he says, “What if I took you somewhere instead, then?”

You raise your brows and look around. “Where?”

“Well not here. Somewhere familiar to me, where they won’t ostracize you.”

“We’re going to travel in the middle of the night.”

Taehyung gives you a square grin that lights up the world. “Time to learn about how we travel.”

You almost vomit on Taehyung’s shoes. He squeals and steps out of the way as you bend over, holding your middle as bile burns its way up your throat and splatters onto the gravel beneath you. It feels like your world is spinning and you’ve lost your center of gravity, having been pulled by something sharp in your stomach into a vortex of what felt like twisting and spinning.

It could only have lasted a second, but Taehyung has to hold you up for a moment as you gasp for air, the taste in your mouth sour and gross. You crane your face to look at him, glaring as he winces. He had given you no warning of what his travel was like or how it would feel.

You’re not looking forward to it again.

“What,” you pant, “was that?”

“Teleportation, mostly. I kind of forgot what it feels like when you’re… human. You get a little scrambled.”

The nausea makes your throat clench and unclench again. You dig your fingers into his arm as you dry heave but nothing comes up. “A little?” you rasp. The world slows its spinning and the watering feeling in your mouth that preludes puking fades. “That was awful.”

“Sorry, it’s different than portaling. That’s more stepping through the door while teleportation is like... Jumping.”

“Don’t jump me again any time soon.”

Taehyung pats your back heartily as you stand up straight. The stars swim above you in a spiraling cosmos. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, waiting as the nausea fades away and the world around you bleeds into the forefront of your attention span.

Noise hums from in front of you. You’re standing in an alleyway, looking up at the side of a building. It looks a bit like an inn, but you can hear the clamor of a crowd and loud voices coming from inside. Each window is curtained, keeping wandering eyes and the moonlight outside.

Taehyung leads you around to the front of the building. It’s two stories and on the first floor there’s a porch filled with chairs and gambling tables. There are men and women draped over the furniture, smoking sweet-smelling cigars and laughing loudly as they throw dice on the table.

Women and men in various states of undress sit on the laps of the others. You feel heat crawl up your neck as you avert your eyes, looking up at the sign hanging over the building that says Desert Rose. Nervousness tingles at the back of your neck as Taehyung strolls up the steps to what you’re sure is a brothel and a gambling den, greeting people as he goes.

You’re shocked that Taehyung knows people here. You’re sure that you’re still in… your dimension, as Yoongi calls it. The people here talk with an accent that is different from what you’re used to, but you still understand the language, even while struggling to keep up with the lilt.

Eyes follow you as Taehyung leads you inside. The air is thick with perfume, smoke, and loud voices. Tables are pressed closely together, filled with people. There’s a bar at the back of the room and a small bard and band in a corner, singing a raucous song with the crowd about Lady Trown who gets around and will go down.

“Where did you bring me?” you ask Taehyung as he guides you through the rowdy room. A woman falls over a card game laughing, her breasts spilling out of her shirt while another woman plants a kiss right on her mouth. “This place is - is -”

There are no words for it. You’ve never been somewhere that is so openly indecent and carnal in your life and yet… the colors and the sounds and the overflowing joy hit you like an arrow to the chest. You can’t help but be drawn to look at the exposed bodies before darting your gaze away, only to be drawn somewhere else out of insatiable curiosity.

“A haven!” Taehyung offers as he leans on the bar. “Two pints of whatever!”

You press close against him, hands shooting to his shirt as someone pushes by you. It’s a little overwhelming and you feel hot all over. Taehyung shoves a wooden tankard of amber liquid into your hands and grins, raising another to his lips before taking several swigs, liquid running down his chin and neck.

He comes away and smacks his lips, giving you a delighted grin. “It’s awful, just the way I like it!”

You take a sip and make a face. The watered-down ale is certainly nothing like the sweet wine Yoongi likes to treat you to over dinner. Taehyung seems to know this, laughing loudly as he leads you through the crowd toward an empty table in the corner.

Back against the wall, you take a moment to look around the room. There are card and dice games being held at multiple tables, alongside other games with rune-marked stones, cups and trinkets that you don’t recognize.

It’s wildly different from anything back home. You’ve never been to a brothel - at least, you think this place qualifies for one, based on the various states of undress and a few couples doing something that makes you avert your eyes - but this is nice. In its own loud and carnal way.

Taehyung people-watches with you. He feeds you information on the faces that he recognizes, lips curling as he gossips. He looks alive and happy, his golden skin glowing with a radiance that seems a little magical.

“So is it my turn to ask questions?” you ask, sipping the awful beer as you look over at Taehyung. His gaze reluctantly strays away from watching a card game where you’re pretty sure the woman who is winning is cheating. “Or do I still have to talk about myself?”

He smirks. “You can ask questions, a deal is a deal.”

“What is this place?”

“The Desert Rose.”

You glare. “What is this place to you?”

Taehyung takes a sip of his ale and grins, winking at you. “A better question. This place is somewhere I used to visit when I wanted to feel alive. When I wanted to feel humanity for its raw intensity.”

“So you’re not human.” He shakes his head. His face grows a little hesitant, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. “What are you?”

“I’m a dream.”

You blink once. Twice. You expect Taehyung to start laughing and indicate that he was teasing you, but he doesn’t. He leans back in his chair, watching you evenly with his dark eyes.

“What?” you finally ask.

“I’m a dream. The second ever, actually.”

You think about what you’ve observed of Taehyung. The way that he seems to draw people in, the animated manner in which he speaks. He seems to contain so many multitudes of the things you know that Yoongi enjoys, and yet so many things that press Yoongi’s buttons and rattle him.

Taehyung is… beautiful. Enchanting. Both to look at, and to talk to. He has a carefree personality and you know he’s magical, having witnessed it in the House of Dreams in snippets but also today, when he became angry and the darkness seemed to swell around him. Not to mention his awful teleportation to wherever you are in the world now.

He is exactly the kind of person you always imagined being the lead in your fantasies. Brave and charming, handsome and adventurous. He looks like he belongs here, melding to the energy around him, fitting in perfectly.

Suddenly, the thought of Taehyung being a dream makes more sense than anything else. A being of infinite possibilities, one who can shape themselves to anyone and anything, who can sense what people want and become that very thing.

You’re not sure what the complexities of dreams are, but you understand the very basics from Yoongi: most dreams are flexible and full of infinite possibilities. It’s what makes them so real, so strong.

“That makes a lot of sense,” you murmur. “So you’re old.”

“Very.”

“If you’re the second dream…” you trail off, thinking about how Yoongi explained how he came to existence. How life dreamed and so he was born. “Yoongi is the first. That’s why you say he is Dream - he is the first and the essence of dreams.”

“Very clever.”

“When you said you came here to feel alive, what did you mean by that?”

He sighs heavily. “Yoongi was born because Life dreamed of - well, making life. And when Yoongi was born, he was the very concept of dreaming itself. Imagination, creation, wonder, hope. It’s why creation and dreaming are so close in their nature. But still, there is a difference between lifeforms and dreams.”

“You wanted to know what it was like to feel life?”

He nods. “Yoongi made me as his first companion. He couldn’t help it, really. He didn’t make me on purpose so much as he thought of someone to spend time with, someone to offset him. To balance him. And then there I was.”

You chew on your lip. There is a distant look in Taehyung’s gaze. He stares at his ale, not drinking anymore. He picks at splinters in the tankard handle, the noise around the two of you a dull roar.

“But?” you offer, sensing his hesitance.

“But,” he agrees, nodding. “When Life created humans, I wondered what the difference was between us. I sort of looked like them and I talked like them, but I wanted to know what it was like to be them. And dreams… They are wonderful. Beautiful. But I was afraid they weren’t real, so I started to visit here. To go places. To see if life was the same as dreams.”

“Is it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not better, it’s not worse. It’s just different. But I did learn that dreams are as real as life. Perhaps you cannot always see them and feel them depending on where you are, but anything someone dreams here is real there.”

“That’s sort of comforting.”

Taehyung smiles. “It is. Plus, I really enjoy people. They have an edge to them that dreams don’t.”

Someone catches Taehyung’s attention. He turns in his seat, head craning as though he senses something. You follow his line of sight to where a young man descends the stairs leading up to the second floor. He is unlike anything you’ve ever seen, with dark, silky hair tucked behind his ears, full lips that pull into a smile as someone greets him, and sharp, dark eyes that crinkle when he laughs.

He’s beautiful. Suddenly you think that this might be what a dream truly looks like. Taehyung is all dark and shadows, but the man Taehyung watches is lightness and magic, his face so perfect that you cannot help but imagine it must be the result of someone carefully painting every feature.

Your eyes flicker back to Taehyung when the man leans on the bar, talking to the barmaid behind the counter. Taehyung doesn’t move. You don’t even think he’s breathing. He sits in his chair, knuckles paling under the grip he has on the back of his seat, his eyes filled with such sudden longing that you have to look away.

“Who is that?” you ask gently. Taehyung doesn’t seem to hear you. He watches and watches, wanting to look nowhere else but at the bar. “Taehyung?”

“His name is Jimin.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

Taehyung nods. “He’s like you.”

“Like me?”

“He dreams loud enough for us to hear it. For me to hear it. I’ve been coming to this place long before he existed. A silly coincidence that he exists here, too.”

“Fate, perhaps?”

That makes Taehyung turn around. His expression is dark and he’s frowning. “Don’t start talking about Hoseok,” Taehyung mutters. “Lest he show up.”

You didn’t mean Yoongi’s sibling Fate, but you realize that’s who Taehyung is talking about. Your eyes drift back to where Jimin is at the bar, sipping a glass of amber liquid. As though he senses eyes on him, his gaze sweeps the bar until it lands on Taehyung, who straightens immediately.

Jimin smiles and it’s like watching the first ray of sun break over the horizon. You can’t help but blink at his radiant beauty, completely taken aback by it as Jimin pushes off of the bar and begins heading your direction.

Taehyung swivels in his chair, taking in a few calming breaths. You giggle and he looks up at you, giving you a pitiful smile. You reach across the table and squeeze his hand quickly. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!”

“You definitely are.”

Before Taehyung can hiss a rebuttal at you, Jimin sidesteps a woman and grins at Taehyung. He drags his gaze to you and startles, as though he had not realized you were there, eyes going round and mouth forming an ‘o’.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with anyone,” Jimin says. His voice is soft and smooth, immediately comforting. “I wanted to come say hello.”

“Hi,” Taehyung breathes, blinking up at Jimin as though he is lost in starlight. Perhaps he is, you think. “Your hair is longer than the last time I saw you.”

Jimin flushes, a hand coming up to touch the ends of his hair gently. “Yeah, I thought I would grow it out.”

“It looks great.”

For a moment, they stare at one another, Taehyung grinning with his eyes gleaming, and Jimin soft with his eyes scrunched. You look at the table, trying not to disrupt whatever spell they’re under as they peer at one another, but it seems Jimin senses your presence still. His eyes flicker to you and he raises a brow, questioning.

Taehyung fumbles to introduce you, turning and giving you a sheepish grin. You smile and stretch your hand over to shake Jimin’s. His hands are small and delicate but his grip is firm. “It’s nice to meet you. Taehyung wanted to show me this place because he enjoys the people so much - I believe that includes you.”

Jimin smirks and shrugs a shoulder while Taehyung looks for a chair, yanking it away from someone to give Jimin a place to sit. He does, throwing Taehyung a grateful smile. “Hmm, is that so? Has he said nice things about me?”

“The nicest. In fact, the whole reason we came here is because he wanted to introduce me to the amazing Jimin.”

Taehyung shoots you a look that tells you to shut up, but you hide your grin in your tankard as Jimin raises a brow, glancing at Taehyung.

Watching Taehyung and Jimin is comedic and sweet. Taehyung isn’t an entirely different person around Jimin, but he becomes softer at the edges, his smiles gentler and his laughs louder. The longing in Taehyung’s gaze when he thinks Jimin isn’t looking is palpable, and even as a bystander and a friend, you feel a pang watching the two of them dance around one another.

For his part, Jimin seems equally enthralled. He watches Taehyung with rapt attention, asking questions and touching Taehyung gently everywhere he can - the tops of Taehyung’s hands, his arm, his elbow. When Taehyung turns around to watch the table next to you topple over, you realize he’s unaware that Jimin is looking at him as though begging for Taehyung to see.

You see. And you want.

Never before had your parents inspired much desire for love in you. While they worked well together, you still can’t call what they had happy or loving. Functional, sure. Successful, even. But they did not look at one another the way Taehyung and Jimin seem to, and you can’t help but suddenly feel like that is something you want.

Someone to look at you when they think you’re not looking in a way that implies you are their sun and moon. Someone who smiles with such mirth at something you do or say that you can feel the heat of it.

Jimin gets up to refill the drinks, scooping yours with a grin before vanishing in the crowd. Taehyung watches him go, craning his neck to ensure he has eyes on Jimin as he makes his way to the bar.

“Have you told him you’re in love with him?”

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes never leaving where Jimin is leaning over the bar to order. “There’s no point.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m a dream. He’s a human. We could never be something.”

“Oh. Surely there’s a way?”

Taehyung turns to look at you, the joy on his face slipping to be replaced with a soft sadness. He shakes his head again, picking at the splinters on the table. “I would be no good for him. We live in two different worlds… I come and go… He deserves a normal, human life. We could never be something.”

Jimin starts to head back toward the table. Taehyung shakes off the melancholy and smiles just as bright when Jimin returns, as though he wasn’t sad only a moment ago. You accept the refilled drink from Jimin with a weak smile.

Taehyung’s words cycle through your mind as the two men fall into giggling conversation, and all you can think about is a pair of dark cat eyes, a soft raspy voice, and a man who is made of dreams.

We could never be something.

“I was starting to worry, you know?”

Yoongi’s voice makes you blink. You realize you’re standing among the wisteria, the breeze carrying their sweet scent over your warm skin. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. He’s leaning against a tree, his long hair down and dancing in the breeze. The thin white shirt he wears does little to hide the lines of his stomach and chest today, making you avert your eyes.

“Why?” you ask, voice steadier than you feel.

You walk toward a low-hanging vine, bringing your hands up to brush along the purple petals. You feel the tree shiver under your touch. You sense it, like it purrs, a response that is hard to explain but you innately know.

“It took you longer than usual to fall asleep.”

“Can you not see me when I’m not asleep?”

“I could, but prying is rude. I only see you when you come to me.”

You turn to look at him sharply. He seems a little smug at that, the corners of his full lips twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. Your heart skips a beat for a moment before Taehyung’s words from that night play in your mind. We could never be something.

And yet Yoongi is implying it’s you who visits him.

You scowl and turn away from him suddenly. Yoongi makes a sound like a sigh and pushes off of the tree, his footsteps quiet as a whisper. “Have I upset you?”

“I want to go to sleep.”

He hesitates. You cannot see his expression, but you can picture it perfectly: brows drawn together, mouth pouted slightly, head cocked. His confusion is evident when he says, “You are asleep.”

“You know what I mean.”

Silence, for a moment. Then, in that soft, rasping voice that you know so well, he murmurs, “Goodnight, then.”

Silence greets you when you wake up the next morning. Your home is still empty - you have not seen either of your parents since you arrived the night before. Either you’re coming and going at hours they’re not around or they’re avoiding you. The latter is most likely, and you certainly don’t mind.

Your day goes similarly to the day before. This time, when you walk through the woods, you feel a little more of a spark. You’re sure it has to do with your conversation with Taehyung, his words about dreams and reality being different but equally powerful pouring a little bit of magic back into the woods you loved so dearly.

Still, you miss the other realm and the House of Dreams, even if you’re a little embarrassed by your dream last night, recalling the way you dismissed Yoongi.

Sitting on the ground with your back pressed against a cypress tree, you let out a heavy sigh and close your eyes, your arms hugging around your middle. You try not to think too hard about the way Yoongi looked leaning against the tree, dark eyes drinking you in.

Yoongi occupies more than his fair share of thoughts. You hate it, the way your mind strays to him, thinking this is something Yoongi would like or Yoongi would find this funny. Only two weeks and he and Taehyung are suddenly all you know, your experiences with them painting most of your thoughts.

Thoughts of Taehyung don’t plague you, though.

The fluttering feeling every time you think of Yoongi has not faded with time or distance. It might be easier if he didn’t visit your dreams every night - or if you didn’t visit him in your dreams, which you don’t know how to do.

But Taehyung’s forlorn words come drifting back to you, reminding you that there is some distinction between humans and dreams. That even for Taehyung, it cannot work.

When you return home, your parents still aren’t there. You busy yourself with lunch and then begin practicing your letters, tracing them until your hand is cramping and your head is starting to hurt. You manage to take up most of the afternoon that way, focused solely on your studies and trying to read through your work.

Just as evening falls, Taehyung appears in the yard, hands on his hips as he looks up at your window, whistling to catch your attention. You grin when you see him, happy to have a friend, even if it’s just Taehyung. You don’t ask why Yoongi doesn’t come with him - the Eternal is busy, you’re sure - but you’re pleased to just have Taehyung.

It becomes a routine. It’s not as thrilling as your life in the House of Dreams, but it isn’t as terrible as you thought it would be. The few times that you do see your parents, they glare at you as though you have become something evil in their house, lurking and stealing their joy.

You say nothing to them and they stay away from you.

It’s the same in town. You only visit with Taehyung, otherwise you are too afraid to go on your own. The villagers say nothing when they see the two of you walking around and visiting the old church, but they glare and you catch them doing the signs to ward off evil as you pass by.

Still, Taehyung makes it worth it. He visits you nightly, whisking you away to the Desert Rose, which has become a refuge for you. You’re no better at teleporting, but you manage not to vomit on his shoes each time you do it.

Tonight, the energy is thrumming at the Desert Rose. Your gaze lingers longer on those around you and you even introduce yourself to the people that Taehyung is familiar with. Though Taehyung opts to play a game of dice, you do not. You’re content to watch, standing over his shoulder with your arms crossed over your chest.

You feel… alive. Just like Taehyung described when he started coming here. It’s so different from your life before, and after over a week of being around people who seem to spill over with joy without restraint, you feel yourself loosening up. Becoming something a little different. Someone who wants. Someone who wants openly.

You think about Yoongi. Once he’d told you that he wasn’t just Eternal of dreams. He also has power over desire, and he believes in indulgence. He wants to teach you to indulge more. It suddenly makes all the more sense that Taehyung likes it here. He’s someone who dives in head first to things, taking any bet someone throws his way and snatching drinks off of passing trays.

Even his desire for Jimin is open and obvious, though you’re sure Taehyung doesn’t know that.

It’s a lovely night. You feel warm all over, the drink getting to you as you guzzle down the remainder of your cider, which you favor far more than the ale. Jimin clambors onto the table, a cup in hand as he starts yelling the words to the song the band is playing in the corner.

Taehyung begins to slam his wooden cup on the table in time with the beat, yelling the words and standing up as the room joins in, stamping their feet and slamming on tables. You don’t know the words but you laugh loudly, slamming your palms against the top of the table. They sting with the force of your slap, but it feels good.

You feel good. Happy. Drunk. A little dizzy as the table wobbles and you dive out of the way as Jimin comes tumbling down. It doesn’t stop you from taking a shower of beer from Jimin’s cup, dousing you in warm liquid as you shriek and laugh.

Taehyung catches Jimin, of course. They’re a tangled mess of limbs and wet with beer all the same, pointing at you and laughing as you blink through the drink dripping down your face. You flick beer at them with the liquid on your hands, making them howl.

“Gross! Jimin!”

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps through the laughter, his arms slung tight around Taehyung’s neck as Jimin leans into him. “I slipped!”

“You owe me a new shirt!”

Jimin nods, grinning so broadly his eyes are crescents as he stands properly and beckons you. “Come on, both of you. I’ll get you new shirts that aren’t soaked.

Upstairs is a series of private rooms. The hall is lit with flickering sconces and the plush carpet mutes your footsteps. Jimin leads you and Taehyung, giggling, to a door. He thrusts it open and the three of you tip inside, stopping short at the scene in front of you.

Your hands fly to your mouth to mute your gasp, but Taehyung and Jimin collapse into another fit of laughter. If the two people in the bed are bothered by the interruption, they don’t show it. They are a tableau of pleasure, a woman laying back on the bed, arching upward as she lets out a moan. Her skin is slick with sweat, nipples hard as she teases them with one hand, another hand slipping between her legs to cradle the head of someone there.

The shock roots you to the spot. You can’t look away, completely hypnotized by the way the person between the woman’s legs moans, pressing their mouth further into her, the wet smack of their mouth loud over the woman’s trembling moans.

You’ve never seen such a raw, carnal exchange. As Taehyung apologizes and grabs you and Jimin, pulling you back out into the hallway, you know you’ll never forget that momentary vision. Even as Jimin directs you to the right room to change your shirt in, you replay the scene over and over in your head, thinking of a different detail every single time: the pleasure on the woman’s face, the delicate bow of her back, the soft swells of her breasts, the wet sounds of the mouth between her legs.

It haunts you. You swallow thickly when you’re done changing, skin still smelling like beer. Your mind wanders to Yoongi, wondering if this is what he was talking about when he spoke of desire. If he also meant physical desire, the indulgence of the erotic variety.

The thought shames you so thoroughly you’re silent the rest of the night. You’re embarrassed by your immediate curiosity - angry that you even entertained the thought of being in that position with Yoongi, no matter how fleeting the idea was.

Yoongi certainly did not mean he was going to teach you that - did he?

You shake the thoughts from your head and focus on reality. Of course he didn’t mean that. Taehyung was right when he spoke about the relationships between humans and dreams - it could never be something.

Sweat trickles down your neck slowly. You feel every inch of it, your skin sensitive and over-warm. Your stomach clenches and your hands twist in your sheets as a hot mouth presses against your throat, teeth scraping, tongue licking.

An inferno grows inside of you as the mouth sinks lower. You hear your heaving breaths, loud and ragged. Your heart beats in your ears, the staccato almost louder than the whimper that leaves your mouth when a wet, messy kiss is placed on your collarbone.

It’s madness. It’s tortuous. It’s glorious, this feeling thrumming through you, making you twist your head to the side, muscles clenching and letting loose over and over again, your body completely at war with itself.

But it feels so good.

One of your hands shoots to the silky, dark hair of the person kissing your chest. You card your fingers through soft strands, tugging a little. A deep, throaty moan escapes the lips pressed to your skin, breath hot and warm.

Dark eyes meet yours, lips parted and swollen, Yoongi’s pupils blown and -

Panic explodes. You realize it’s Yoongi kissing you this way. Yoongi’s hands skimming up your sides, Yoongi’s mouth pressing searing kisses to your flesh, Yoongi’s moan that is falling from his lips, honey sweet.

“We can’t,” you whisper, though dream-Yoongi just stares at you, eyes fathomless. “We could never be something.”

“Of course we can,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. “You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

The weight of his gaze is blazing. You feel your skin burn under the heat of it, you feel like it’s harder to breathe, you feel the sweat run down your spine, your arms, you feel like you’re overheating, it’s hot it’s too-

You wake up to something screeching. For a moment, daylight blinds you. You hold your hands in front of your face, shielding your eyes from the light. But the light is an inferno of heat against your hand, making you gasp and choke on thick air as you blink sleep away, trying to make sense of where you are.

Fire. It isn’t daylight you’ve woken up to, it’s fire.

Leaping up from bed, you throw your sheets off, scrambling to push yourself against the wall. The flames are already high, licking toward the ceiling and filling your room with thick, grey smoke as the fire eats at the old wood of your house.

The screech comes again, the shutters on your window rattling. Heart pounding, you slide your hand along the wall, fingers trembling as you press them into the wood, trying to find the metal latch to open them. You cover the lower half of your face with your opposite arm, coughing into it.

Your fingers slip on the latch, sweaty and shaking. You inch closer to the window, getting a solid grip on the metal and flipping it upward. The latch clacks and the windows swing open, a gust of wind entering the room. It makes matters worse, the oxygen fueling the fire into a rage as it climbs higher and jumps towards your bed.

You look frantically around your room, realizing you can’t take anything. The writing desk in the corner is aflame, all of the sheets of paper and your hard-earned practice curling into smoke as they’re consumed, your letters from Yoongi turning to ash.

“No!” you sob, realizing those things are lost forever.

Again, there’s a wild screech. You turn to look out the window to see a large, brown owl - Guardian, you realize - screeching, flapping its great wings, gold eyes fixated on the fire. It yells at you again, as though imploring you to move.

You take a breath and dive out the window. For a moment as you fall toward the ground, you’re reminded that this is the second time you’re having to use it to escape danger. That thought sinks like a stone in your stomach, going down, down, down until it rests weighty in your gut.

The smack of the ground rattles you. Every part of you hurts, bones jolting as you roll until you’re flat on your back, gasping as the air leaves your lungs momentarily, knocked out of you. Scrambling up despite your limbs protesting in pain, you look up at the fire crawling over your house.

That’s when you notice it - the noise and the yelling of voices. Inside your home, with the roaring and crackling of the fire, you couldn’t hear the crowd outside. Now, you see them in full. They carry torches and farm tools, some of them with axes and hoes, others with scythes.

They don’t see you yet, giving you a long moment to stare open-mouthed as the pieces of the puzzle slide together. They’ve set your home on fire because of you - they’ve tried to kill you. Because they think you’re a demon and because they think you’re an evil creature.

Heart in your throat, you scan the lines of the faces. Toward the edge, you see your parents. A group of women consoles your mother, holding her by the shoulders gently as she stares into the orange flame. Your father stands a few feet away, almost by himself, watching and watching and watching.

They knew you were asleep. And your window had not been closed before bed - you’d been leaving it open at night so Guardian could come and go as he pleased.

You sit there on the ground, staring in shock, for too long. Someone notices you and points, screaming something that you cannot hear over the blood rushing in your ears. Panic seizes you and you scramble to your feet, sliding a few times as the crowd runs at you.

There’s no time to see what your parents do. The image of them watching their home burn with the thought of you inside is fresh in your memory, a razor-sharp cut that flays you open as you turn and run. Run toward the woods where Nathaniel chased you on that fateful night.

Run to the woods you almost died in. Run to the woods where Yoongi swooped in and made a promise to protect you.

Darkness descends. You think for a moment as you enter the woods that you won’t get lucky a second time, that your luck has run out. It’s the panic that scrambles your thoughts, and the memories of Nathaniel chasing you through these woods make you stumble and fall.

You don’t make it far. You trip over a tree root and tumble into strong arms. The smell of clove and cinnamon is overpowering as you look up at Yoongi, who pulls you into his chest. You let him, sliding your arms around his middle and pressing your face into his neck as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I’ve got you, little lamb.” His voice is dark as the shadows that wrap around you, cool and soothing to the touch. “They cannot hurt you.”

As Yoongi whisks you away like that fateful night, you hear the echoing voice scream behind you. Devil! Demon King! The Dark God!

“It’s my fault,” Yoongi murmurs, cradling your face to inspect it for the tenth time. He’s crouching in front of you, dark eyes wild as he inspects your face for any damage. You pull your jaw from his grasp - even if his touch tingles pleasantly - and look in the other direction. “I should have known.”

“Yes,” Taehyung snaps behind Yoongi, arms crossed and presence thundering. “You should have.”

There is no fire going in the library tonight. You have a feeling Yoongi has extinguished it for obvious reasons, but you say nothing. You look over Yoongi’s dark head to where Taehyung is raging, his face pinched with anger. You give him a look and he tosses his hands in the air.

“What?” he demands. “It’s true.”

“Taehyung.”

“I’m not going to lie to him. He should have known sending you back was an idiotic idea. Thinking anyone would have accepted you was an oversight.”

Yoongi grits his teeth and stands. You watch as he visibly tries to control his frustration, taking a step back from you. Tonight, he’s dressed in all black. His cloak is still on and his necklaces pool at his throat, the silver cold in the dark of the library. His hair is pulled back out of his face and you think he looks like the real Eternal, tonight.

He turns to Taehyung. “You know why I sent her back.”

“Yes, your fucked up sense of morality and-”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not sitting right here,” you snap. You ball your fists in your lap. You’re still dressed in night clothes and the scent of ash and sweat is heavy on your skin. You stare at your hands. “I want to go to bed.”

“Alright.” Yoongi’s extended hand appears in front of you. You drag your eyes up to meet his. Gone is the anger and severity, replaced only with a soft, almost fond expression. “I’ll walk you.”

Putting your hand in Yoongi's, you let him pull you out of the chair.

You could be mad at him if you tried. Perhaps it would be easy to blame Yoongi for sending you back to keep some semblance of normalcy in your life. Maybe you would feel lighter if you got angry with him for promising to protect you, but only being able to physically do so, unable to shield you from the hatred of your community.

If you tried, perhaps you could blame him for not letting you drown in the first place. For bringing you here with the fantasy that you could exist with one foot in each world.

You’re not mad at him, though. Unlike Taehyung, you don’t need to wonder why Yoongi wanted you to spend two weeks in the real world. The real world is yours. It’s where you belong. To want some sort of normalcy for you or hope that you’d be able to pick up your life there anew was perhaps shortsighted, but rooted in the desire to do good for you.

So you’re not angry with Yoongi, though you’re not sure you’re pleased either.

The walk to your room is silent. Yoongi has let go of your hand but he walks close enough that your arms brush, sending shivers down your spine. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing, and he seems content to let you keep your thoughts to yourself.

This isn’t how you wanted to see him for the first time since your two weeks spent in your realm.

The inside of your room is warm, but there’s no fire. You almost ask if he’s doused every flame in the house, and protest that you’re not afraid, but you don’t. He follows you into your room and shuts the door behind him. You walk toward the chaise and sit on it, looking up at where he hovers by the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. The emotions there are deep, but unreadable. “It was foolish of me to think they’d accept you as you were. Foolish to think that maybe the relationship with your parents might mend.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I am thousands of years old. Humankind has not changed so much in their ability to fear the unknown and react violently. I do know better, but I…” You wait for him to explain further, but he doesn’t. Yoongi lets the sentence drift off into the night. Instead of finishing it, he ventures, “Are you sure you’re unharmed?”

“Yeah, Guardian was screeching at the window.”

“Guardian?”

“Yeah, the owl. I assumed you sent it to watch over me.”

Yoongi frowns. “No, that’s what Taehyung was for. I did not…”

“What?” You see the look on his face change, shifting from confused to steel calm. “What is it?”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi mutters, turning to exit your room. “Try to get some sleep. I have a meddling owl to deal with.”

As he moves to close the door, you lean forward. “Yoongi?” He looks up, eyes wide, expression soft. He looks like a dark star, just then. The light from the window makes him glow from within, his eyes endless pools, his power ebbing in the room, a constant energy. “Thank you.”

His mouth turns downward. “For what?”

“Saving me. Again.”

His eyes darken. “Your safety will always be paramount to me. I’ll do better.”

“I think you’re doing the best you are able.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

Silence hangs between the two of you. It’s heavy, filled with friction that wasn’t there before. You squirm where you sit, suddenly unable to meet the set of eyes pinned to you. You’d forgotten what his gaze could do to you in person, and now the full force of it is dizzying.

“Goodnight, little lamb.”

A gentle scratch sounds on the other side of the window. You look up from your writing desk to the windows facing the mountains. Beyond the first sprawling peaks, you see the tallest of them all, the dark mountain wreathed in shadow and lightning.

The thunder rolls, vibrating your bones. You stare at the mountain, feeling the hair at the back of your neck stand on end. You grip the quill tight.

Beneath the hum of thunder, you hear a scratching on the glass again. You squint, but you see nothing there. Just open air and those ominous mountains in the back, watching you as you scrawl your letters.

Carefully, you set the quill down and get up. The floor is cold as you walk toward the window, which is strange. The floor is always warm in your room, as are the walls and most of the House of Dreams, fueled by whatever magic lives through Yoongi.

Near the glass, you almost feel how cold the window is. You frown and lift a hand, pressing a single finger against a pane. It’s freezing to the touch and you yank your hand back, perplexed as you stare at the single fingerprint left by your warm skin.

The fingerprint fades but the scratching sound does not. A gentle scritch scritch scritch, like a nail on the window.

“My betrothed,” someone whispers. Your blood runs cold and you whirl around, expecting to find someone standing in your bathroom. “Won’t you open the window for me? It’s so cold outside.”

Fear turns your stomach into acid. Your hands begin to shake as you stare into the emptiness of your room, suddenly feeling like it’s darker. Did the ceilings get taller? Is your room blurry at the edges? The scratching on the window intensifies, and with trembling lips, you turn to look over your shoulder.

There’s nothing outside, but there’s a shadowy reflection on the glass. A little taller than you. A little wider.

“Betrothed,” Nathaniel whispers again. “Won’t you let me in to reunite?”

For a moment, there is silence. The shadow doesn’t move. You don’t dare breathe. The shadow leaps at you and a scream tears through you -

Hands press you into something soft. You kick and scream, lashing out. Sheets tangle your legs and stick to your sweaty skin. Suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe and you thrash wildly, screaming at the top of your lungs as you claw at whatever’s holding you down.

Panic like never before seizes you. Your head smacks into something hard and it knocks you backward, suddenly dizzy as a hand comes up to your head automatically. It hurts where your fingers press into the skin, and you’re momentarily subdued by the way the room spins; the pain morphs your panic into confusion.

Breathing heavily, you blink your eyes rapidly, tears streaming down your face and vision a little blurry as you try and put the pieces together. Finally, you realize Taehyung is sitting on the floor next to your bed with his hand pressed against his forehead, in a similar fashion to your current state. Yoongi stands next to him, hands held up tentatively, as though he is about to grab you or has just let you go.

Silence hangs in the air, your breathing ragged. Your head - which you can surmise you’ve smacked against Taehyung’s - throbs wildly. As though sensing your discomfort and sticky thoughts, Yoongi’s eyes flicker away from your gaze to your head.

“May I fix that?” he asks slowly, voice gentle. “You smacked heads quite hard. I’m concerned you may be concussed.”

“Concussed,” you repeat back slowly. The word feels heavy on your tongue. “Right.”

Yoongi’s face colors with concern and he gestures toward you, asking permission again. It takes you another minute to put it together, but you nod dumbly, watching as he steps forward very slowly, dark eyes looking for any sign of protest or panic from you.

When you don’t bolt or swing at him, he takes another step toward you, hands reaching up toward your skull. You flinch when he reaches near and he stops, hands hovering. You can feel the heat of his skin a hair's breadth away, feel the magic skimming along him where he hesitates.

You look up at Yoongi. His eyes are wide and full of concern, his brows pulled up. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously as his eyes shift from your head to your eyes, trying to assess what to do. You smell cinnamon and clove and it calms you a little.

This is Yoongi. Not Nathaniel. Yoongi, who saved you from the grips of that hateful man and who brought you here. Somewhere that made you happy.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. You feel tired suddenly, like your adrenaline is waning and the aftereffects are bleeding you out. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, pressing his hands gently to your head. You wince, the lump there giving a painful throb as he does.

“Maybe apologize,” Taehyung mutters from his spot on the floor. “Are you going to give me magic hand, too?”

“Silence, Taehyung.” Yoongi’s voice is cutting. It’s a voice you’ve never heard him use with Taehyung, your eyes shooting up to his in shock. He pays you no mind, focused on his hands.

Warmth emanates from his palms. Immediately you feel the tingle of magic. It’s soothing, making your eyes flutter as you become dizzy again. You let the warmth wash over you, accompanied by a peculiar array of senses: dark spicy smells; the feeling of velvet against your skin; the taste of cherry wine; a warm breath against your lips.

You shiver, head rolling back a little as it grows heavy and you grow drowsy suddenly, limbs weighted, mind fading.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know that was a dream.” Yoongi grimaces and says nothing. “Why didn’t that feel like a dream, Yoongi?”

“Sleep,” Yoongi murmurs, and his voice feels very far away. “You’ll be fine, now. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Thank you.”

“An easy fix.”

Yoongi removes his hand and you catch his wrist gently, eyes opening for a moment. “No,” you slur, speech heavy as the exhaustion pulls at you. “Thank you for saving me.”

You don’t know if you mean before, or when your neighbors came for you, or now. Maybe you mean all of it. Maybe you mean saving you from a life that you hated and bringing you here. You mean it nonetheless, though you’re unsure from where the bravery came to say it.

Dropping Yoongi’s wrist, you fall backward unceremoniously onto your bed. There is no fear of Nathaniel scratching at the glass anymore, your mind mostly empty, save for the smell of cinnamon and clove.

Yoongi and Taehyung gather to leave your room, and as you fade, you catch the tiniest bit of conversation from Taehyung. “... need to teach her. It’s only going to get worse… spinner.”

Sleep takes you.

Being back in the House of Dreams feels like home. Though the lingering feeling of hot flame and the look on your parents’ faces as they watch their home burn still haunts you, you feel safer than you have in the last week.

In the House of Dreams, there's no one to mutter prayers and sign wards against evil as you pass by. There’s no one glaring at you - except Taehyung, who pouts when you steal the last of the honey for your toast at breakfast. It’s just Yoongi and Taehyung, who talk more chipper than usual at breakfast.

You eye Yoongi carefully. He sits at the head of the table, dressed in a beautiful, jade-colored silk shirt. His hair is pulled back in a bun, earrings dangling as he leads forward and plucks melon from the bowl in front of him.

Yoongi lifts the fruit to his mouth. You pause chewing your toast, eyes focused on the way he bites into the fruit, lips plush around it, a bead of juice running down his chin. Suddenly you’re thinking about the night at The Desert Rose, a head between legs, a back that’s arched, skin sweaty-

Taehyung clears his throat from across the table and draws your attention. He’s staring at you with thinly veiled amusement, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. You scowl and take a large bite of your toast before swallowing what's in your mouth, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks and neck.

Yoongi is none the wiser, chewing happily on his fruit as he scratches Tiara under her chin. She chirps like a bird and purrs like a cat, letting out small curls of smoke everytime she puffs happily.

Your mouth twitches in a smile as you look at your plate, happy to be back with them.

“I want you to come to the Dream Tower with me today,” Yoongi ventures lightly. You snap your gaze up in surprise. He looks casual, as though he’s not offering you to come to the place he works, filled with magic and dreams. “I think you could help me.”

“Me?”

His mouth quirks. “Is there another human prone to trouble around here that I’m not aware of?”

“I thought you blamed yourself?”

“So I do. But yes - you.”

“How do you want me to help?”

Yoongi grins as he pops another piece of fruit into his sinful mouth. “You’ll see.”

Despite your excitement and the promise of a look inside Yoongi’s lair, even him asking for your help doesn’t earn you a break from daily reading and writing lessons. When Yoongi gestures to the assigned work on your desk, you throw him a severe look followed by a pout. As endeared as he seems, he is unwavering, patting your desk chair as he walks by.

You’re not really mad. You fall into an easy calm as you sit down and scoot up toward the desk. The fire is low and crackling in the fireplace today and the library smells faintly of cardamom as you work. Tiara flights around the second story of the room, chittering and following Yoongi - who seems to be organizing the shelves.

Taehyung vanishes to do whatever it is he does during the day. You’re not even sure if it’s day in your world. You hope he will take you to The Desert Rose again to see Jimin and to drink cider. You love the warmth of the crowd and the loud bustle.

The House of Dreams is quiet.

Time slips as you work. You lose yourself in swirling letters and short reading passages, so much so that when there is a tingling presence near your shoulder, you flinch, ripping your quill across the page and splattering ink.

Yoongi tsks and apologizes, grabbing an ink stained cloth to wipe the spilled liquid from the desk. His proximity makes your head spin, the edge of his hips grazing your shoulder as he leans over you to clean the mess you’ve made.

Mouth drying, you drop the quill and flex your hand, coughing out an apology as you try to organize your thoughts that spill like the ink on the desk at his nearness.

Being away from him almost made you forget how dizzying his presence could be. Yoongi regards your work in silence, but all you can focus on is the measured sound of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him, the curve of his mouth, the juice running down his-

“Ready?”

“What?” you ask, blinking and looking up at him owlishly. He gazes down at you, cocking a brow. It’s obvious he had asked you a question. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening?”

“What were you doing?”

“... Staring.”

“At?”

“The wall?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” he questions, his voice laced with teasing.

You scowl and shove your chair backward into his stomach, knocking him back. He lets out a loud oof and a bit of laughter as you stand and stretch, hyperaware that he’s been in a rather cheeky mood since breakfast.

Together, you begin your walk to the tower. Tiara comes along, jumping up on Yoongi’s shoulder and curling herself around him like a scarf, her tail wrapped gently around his neck. She regards you with distaste and her tongue flickers out to taste the air, a curl of smoke escaping her nose as she huffs.

Fighting the urge to stick your tongue out at a dragon, you opt to walk in comfortable silence.

As you do, your thoughts inevitably drift to the night before and the dream that didn’t feel like a dream. For the most part, you feel like you can tell when you’re dreaming. There’s always an opaque feeling to your dreams, something a little off.

Now, you’re worried that perhaps you can’t tell the difference. You think that maybe you should ask Yoongi if he can help you tell the difference between being awake and dreaming, but your desire to ask is stopped as you reach the foot of stairs you’ve never climbed before.

Yoongi looks down at you as he begins ascending, giving you a gummy smile that sends your pulse galloping after him. You curse your traitor heart, trying to remember what Taehyung said to you about the relationship between dreams and humans. It could never work. But… you’re here. In Yoongi’s home, and you don’t know how long you’re allowed to stay - if you’re ever supposed to go back again.

Both of you seem to completely ignore that you were brought back to the dream realm ahead of schedule, that maybe going back is no longer an option.

There are doors leading to rooms as you ascend the stairs. Yoongi ignores all of them in favor of climbing up, up, and up. Your calves burn by the time you make it to the top, pausing to catch your breath and sweep your eyes across the large, circular room.

It’s stunning. Glancing up, your mouth falls open in surprise when you see that there is no ceiling, but a mass of writhing cosmos and something like a night sky. The nebulous display casts a lavender and blue glow on the room below, the two-tone light shifting and moving.

There are all manner of things in the room. Tables covered in papers, rich rugs with different designs, chairs and bookshelves and curiosity cabinets and glass cases full of glowing things that you cannot identify. Tiara hops off of Yoongi’s shoulder and floats on small wings toward a pile of blankets, twigs, and leaves that looks like a nest.

What demands your attention most, though, is the massive stone dais in the room, with a stone column about waist high with something that looks like a bowl carved into the top. From where you stand, you can see there’s liquid in the bowl that moves and shimmers with its own glow. Occasionally, a sparkle or wisp of color drifts from the cool surface.

Energy vibrates in the air. You can feel it like a static on your skin and taste it like a buzz on your tongue. You’re drawn to the dais, taking a step forward and halting. It feels like a hum shivers through you. You look at Yoongi, questioning.

“The dream pool,” he answers, as though you have any idea what that is.

He walks toward it and looks back at you, hesitating before he offers a hand. Excitement shoots through you as you take his hand and he pulls you toward it. Your hand tingles where you hold his. Even when you reach the dais and he lets go, there’s pins and needles left behind.

“This is where I help create dreams for those who can’t do it on their own.”

The liquid in the basin brightens as Yoongi steps up close. You watch as a watercolor of lights splashes across his face. He looks down into the bowl lovingly, a soft smile on his face, and so much adoration in his eyes that you find yourself watching him instead of the magical water in the bowl.

“This room is full of things that help inspire dreams. I make everything myself but Taehyung likes to help - he likes to decorate and fill the room with items that inspire creativity.”

“Somehow I think dream personified doesn’t need it.”

He shoots you a grin. “You’d be surprised. Come look.”

Tentatively, you step up next to him. You’re aware of how close you stand, his sleeves brushing yours as he places a hand on the basin. It comes up to your stomach and is two feet in diameter. The water looks so much deeper than you thought. You’re unable to see the bottom, an illusion that makes you dizzy.

Like the sky above, the water shimmers and moves with its own set of stars and colors. It feels alive, like whatever power is in the dream pool recognizes you and wakes up, spinning as you look into the glittering surface.

“I can feel and hear people dream,” Yoongi explains. “It’s like a frequency that I can tap into. I can turn it on and off at a whim. Those who don’t struggle to dream are so much quieter than those who cannot dream. I listen for those who cannot, and I come here and focus on them in my mind’s eye before creating them a dream. I pour in thoughts, feelings, scents, sounds, memories and the like into this bowl. I think it, and so it appears.”

“How?”

“What you’d call magic. Really it’s just divine power. This is a part of me,” he says, tapping the rim of the basin. “Just like dreams are.”

“How can I help you do… this?” you ask, gesturing wildly to the water.

Yoongi’s smile is angelic. “You have the raw capability of a dreamer. Someone who dreams so powerfully and loudly that it can’t help but catch my attention.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your imagination and your ability to come up with things is more innate than most people. You’re an innovator, a great conjurer of stories and fantasies. It’s a rare gift in humans. Some call you Spinners - you can spin dreams up just as easily as I can, with practice, but you cannot do so without a tool like this basin.”

“A spinner.” You remember the night before, hearing the word on Taehyung’s lips. “Are there others?”

He nods. “Under fifty in the entire world. I believe you’ve met another one. He’s the one Taehyung visits.”

“Jimin?”

“Mhmm. He’s like you. You have no power though, not in your world. Just raw ability.”

“So if I were to use this… pool of dreams, I could give people dreams.”

He nods, smiling. You smile back at him, his happiness infectious. You like the way his eyes crinkle when he grins broadly at you, the way his cheeks tint pink. It is strange to think that this soft man in front of you is also the same dark, powerful god who has swept in to save you, whose voice haunts your dreams and whose phantom touch lingers in all of the places that it shouldn’t.

Licking his lips and rolling his shoulders, Yoongi takes his stance at the basin. You watch, fascinated as he sweeps a hand over the surface, not touching the water. It ripples an entire rainbow of colors, casting shadows on his face when he peers down into the water as the surface smoothes out like a mirror.

An opaque image materializes on the surface. You watch as Yoongi concentrates. Slowly, things begin appearing. A cerulean ocean, waves rolling gently against a sandy beach. Foam clings to the sand. Starfish of every color - blue, green, red - begin to dot the beach. A gull cries above, so clear it feels like you’re there. Then you smell it - the salt, the brine. The subtle scent of driftwood. A breeze blows against your face, carrying the cool ocean mist.

You let out a laugh as Yoongi smiles, his eyes never leaving the images unfolding in the basin. You watch as a dolphin crests a wave, earning a gasp from you. You’ve never seen a dolphin, only heard about them in passing from fishermen from the coast. They spray water high into the air as they break the waves, moving smoothly through glittering waters.

It feels so real and warm, the dream bright and full of hope. Happiness. Excitement. You feel what Yoongi pours into the basin, your toes curling as though you can feel hot sand beneath your feet.

“The trick,” Yoongi explains carefully, “Is imagining everything that would make it feel real. It can’t be just what you see. It has to be what you hear, what you feel, what you smell, what emotions you evoke. You have to do all of these things at once - you have to believe in them all at once. Dreams about real things are the easiest. More complex dreams can include anything you can imagine that humans believe to be fake: dragons, brownies, griffons.”

“How do you know what to give?”

“You feel it. Place your hand on the side.”

Carefully, you lift your hand to the side of the dream pool. You hesitate and look up at Yoongi, eyes wide. He gives you an encouraging nod. You place your hand on the bowl, feeling the warm stone.

A pulse of energy flows through you. You gasp, flinching a little as you feel the basin come alive under your touch. You close your eyes as sensations flood you: hopelessness, stress, exhaustion. Suddenly, Yoongi’s dream makes sense. He instills a sense of peace and serenity at the beach, of hope and wonder with the dolphins, of rest with the cool wind and warm sand.

“Amazing,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “This is wonderful.”

“I’ll do some more. Keep your hand where it is. You’ll feel what it is they feel. Try not to think too hard about anything while you’re connected - let me do the work.”

Watching Yoongi work can happen with your eyes closed, you realize. You lose yourself in time and space. No longer are you in the Dream Tower. Now, Yoongi walks you through the world.

You enter through dreams, feeling sudden sadness or loss, even heartache. Every dream you encounter, there is profound suffering at the beginning. Yoongi gently sends the pain on its way, observes what each dreamer needs, and begins spinning up images. Sounds. Feelings.

Rain falls on your face as you stand over the tops of a misty forest. It’s gentle and cool to the touch, soothing. You smell pine and damp earth, giving you energy. Your toes feel the wet grass beneath you, grounding you and making you feel more centered than you ever have.

Wheat brushes the tips of your fingers. You look out into a sea of gold, healthy crops bending with the wind. An azure sky stretches mile after mile, not a cloud in sight as the sun heats your skin. You smell fresh air and hear the grasshoppers buzz among the fresh stalks of wheat, feeling the reward of growing healthy grain.

A dog runs after a ball. The hills are the brightest shade of green you’ve ever seen, the dog dashing up the hill and barking loudly. You feel laughter bubble up your throat and unfettered joy as thick clouds float by. The dog grabs the ball and runs back, its tail wagging and coat shiny. You feel nostalgic and happy to be reunited with a friend.

Fireflies flicker to life in a forest at night. They alight on the tree branches and your arms, casting gold luminescence on your skin. You marvel at them, spinning in a circle as you look at the dark trees. You smell the maple sap and the bark, you hear the crickets.

It’s just like the woods near your house -

Your house.

A slice of fear goes through you. You remember the darkness of the woods as Nathaniel tried to drown you, the press of his fingers into your skull. The roaring of the flooding water and the burning of your lungs. The fireflies flicker out one by one and the darkness begins to grow. You’re suddenly terrified. Curiosity vanishes and is replaced with deep fear.

You taste stale water in your mouth. You smell the smoke of your burning house. You feel water rushing up to your ankles and inching higher, you hear the screams of Nathaniel’s vitriol, you feel your lungs start to fill, the air stars to leave, the roots of the trees grab at your feet-

A sharp yank pulls you out of the forest. You gasp for air, falling backward off of the dais and onto the floor. Gentle hands cradle your face and you hear a deep voice calling out to you, speaking your name through the dull roar in your ears.

Blinking, you look upward to see Yoongi inches away from your face. His eyes are round and gentle, his hands steady. Warm. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he leans over you. A strand of dark hair escapes his bun, falling across his forehead and eye. You don’t know why, but you think it looks dashing.

“Hey,” he murmurs, searching your face. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, lungs heaving. “What happened?”

His thumb brushes back and forth across your cheek as he sighs, but he doesn’t let go of your face. “You thought of the night that I saved you. Your fear was powerful. Raw. As you started to remember things you grew more afraid and you took over the dream.”

You blink once. Twice. Remember the way that the fireflies suddenly flickered out and how the water started to rush in from nowhere. “I did that?”

“I didn’t expect you to be such a natural. I had a feeling but… you caught me by surprise and shoved me out.”

“I can do that?”

“When I’m caught off guard, yes. You took control of creating the dream and turned it into…”

“A nightmare.”

He nods. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think you would think that forest looked the same, but I was wrong. I keep… having oversights. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Being human.”

Silence suspends between you. You’re sprawled on the floor of the Dream Tower with Yoongi hovering over you. His knees are pressed against your hips and his shirt collar is hanging low as he leans, revealing more skin than you’ve ever seen from him. You don’t dare drop your eyes from his, staring at their dark depths.

The space between you is minimal and neither of you move. You hope he cannot hear the way your heart hammers in your chest or sense the way your body crackles like lightning, sparking at his proximity. The nightmare you made is long forgotten, replaced with his touch, his smell, his closeness.

Yoongi holds your face delicately, like a treasured item. You cannot imagine that he means to hold you so, but the sudden want that licks through you is powerful, your desire for him to hold you like you’re something precious surprising you in its strength.

“You make me want to get better at it.” His voice is soft, barely even a whisper.

“At what?”

A gentle laugh. “Being human. It is unfamiliar, but I wish to know more of what it's like. To have more of the instinct.”

“Why?”

He pauses. “Because I’ve lived for thousands of years, and never really had the chance to try.”

It is a similar sentiment that Taehyung had shared. The thought of Taehyung makes you smile, sitting up suddenly. Yoongi leans back on his haunches quickly, careful not to knock heads. “What?” he asks, noting your sudden excitement.

“Has Taehyung ever taken you to the Desert Rose?”

“No, I can’t say I’ve been interested. Why?”

You grab his hand. You notice the way he seems surprised, but he doesn’t pull away as you scramble to your feet. “You want to see what it’s like to be human. I know a place.”

Yoongi makes a face as he sips the beer Taehyung has thrust into his hands. You and Taehyung laugh, tossing your heads back with it. Yoongi looks unimpressed but continues to drink nonetheless, his dark eyes scanning the crowded bar.

He sticks out like a sore thumb. Eyes are immediately drawn to Yoongi wherever he goes. You think everyone must feel the divinity as he walks by them, his power a magnet for attention. Even sitting at the table with you and Taehyung, tucked near the door, people turn in their seats to get a good look at him or pause when they enter the Desert Rose.

It doesn’t help that he looks beautiful. Air had gotten stuck in your throat when he arrived at the library at the appointed time to meet you and Taehyung to come here. His hair hangs in soft waves around his face, earrings peaking between inky strands when he moves his head. His dark shirt is long-sleeved but unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a strip of pale, smooth skin and his layered necklaces. His eyes are glittering tonight, almost like constellations are held within.

Yoongi is the night. The black pants and black boots paired with the shirt make him look like a dark prince. Perhaps the son of the moon, even. You notice the way the stares turn from curious to hungry, Yoongi lighting a fire among those around him.

Jealousy sours your stomach. You hate that it does, but it’s like a second instinct, some sort of possessive monster rearing its head as you avert your gaze when a beautiful man asks Yoongi if he wants to dance. Yoongi shakes his head, giving a polite smile in return before turning away and chugging more of his drink.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous.

“Thousands of years old and a room full of people scares you,” Taehyung teases, confirming your suspicions. Yoongi’s gaze is thin as a razor. “You should get out more. I’ve been telling you that.”

“Eternals don’t make a habit of walking around the human realm. Our presence disturbs the natural chemistry of the world.”

“Then why did you spend so many days in the wood-”

Yoongi kicks Taehyung under the table. He hollers in pain as Yoongi glowers, making you giggle. Though he’s no natural among the crowd, you can see that he’s trying to fit in. He watches the way people slouch in their chair and he imitates it. Drinks more of his beer, not because of the taste but because it's what people do here.

Music thrums in the room. There is a crowd of people clapping their hands and dancing, stomping their feet along to the music. You nervously look at Yoongi throughout the night, trying to see if he’s enjoying himself, wondering what he thinks of the place.

A couple near your table knocks over a pitcher of mead as the man presses the woman into the table in an arduous kiss. You can’t help but watch for a moment, entranced by the way he kisses her as though he’ll die if he doesn’t, as if her lips are the last thing he wants to remember.

Sensing Yoongi’s gaze on you, you glance at him. He stares at you, drinking you in before his eyes drift to the couple you’d been studying. Embarrassment heats your face as you bring your cup to your lips, hiding behind the tankard as you take large gulps of cider.

The cider takes the edge off. It makes you feel warm and loose, though you’re still a little nervous with Yoongi’s quiet countenance sitting beside you.

“Jimin’s here!” you announce excitedly, clapping your hands together when he appears downstairs. Taehyung’s knee bumps into the bottom of the table as he jerks to turn around. “Jimin should meet Yoongi!”

“I would love to.”

Taehyung groans. “No, please.”

“Why not?” Yoongi demands. “Should I not meet the human that brings my friend here most evenings? Should I not meet the friend of my -” Yoongi looks at you and stumbles over his words. “- my friend?”

Friend. You’re not sure if the word fits, exactly. But you don’t know what else it is that Yoongi would call you. Friend implies something beyond acquaintances, which you are sure you are. But it fits like an ill-sized dress, hanging crooked on your frame.

“I don’t want you to scare him off!” Taehyung protests.

Yoongi looks dubious. “Why would I do that?”

“Shut up,” you hiss as Jimin notices you. You lift your hand in an eager wave, beckoning him over. “Yoongi, be nice.”

“I am nice. Do you think I’m not nice?”

Instead of answering him, you get up to greet Jimin warmly with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a brief hug. When you step back, you see Yoongi’s burning gaze, a tick in his jaw as he stares Jimin down, tonguing his cheek. You hiss at Yoongi and snap your finger to signal for him to drop the severe expression.

He looks at you and his features smooth out as he rises to his feet lithely, reaching an arm around you. Yoongi startles you when he places his hand on your mid-back as he leans forward to shake Jimin’s, introducing himself.

The contact is so brief that you wonder if he had done it at all as he sits down. For a moment, you’re the only one standing, staring at Yoongi in confusion as the three men sit. They all look at you expectantly and you plop down suddenly.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asks, mirth evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you answer quickly, still recovering. It felt like a deliberate touch. Firm, but gentle. Polite, but… something. “How are you?”

To your pleasure - and Taehyung’s evident relief - Yoongi and Jimin get along fine. If Jimin is put off by Yoongi’s peculiarity, he doesn’t show it. You wonder if he’s used to being around Taehyung, who has his own strange charm and inhuman energy vibrating around him.

Yoongi says little, but seems comfortable. You watch him as he watches Taehyung, who has stars in his eyes every time he looks at Jimin. He leans closer to Jimin as they mutter about something conspiratorially, giggling behind their hands. Jimin brushes a strand of hair out of Taehyung’s face and the love that blooms in Taehyung’s expression is so evident that you wonder if Jimin knows. He has to know. And he looks like he feels the same.

When Jimin drags Taehyung up to dance, you encourage them, shooing them off toward the growing crowd of people spinning around the room. Tables are shoved out of the way, chairs scraping to make room for the revelers. You move your chair some as your table is pushed, making the beers tilt dangerously.

Yoongi grabs the leg of your chair and pulls it roughly toward him. Before you can say something, someone stumbles where your chair just was, toppling into the table next to you. You look at Yoongi with shock and he winks before returning to lounging in his seat, watching the crowd.

Now that you’re sitting much closer to him, you can smell him. Still, you try to relax, watching as Jimin teaches Taehyung the steps to the dance the crowd is doing.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Yoongi says over the loud voices. “This is nice. I see why Taehyung likes it.”

“You don’t hate it?” He makes a face and you laugh. “Yoongi, you hate it.”

“It’s a bit loud, but I don’t hate it. I like the quiet. I like… solitude. But not always. This is a good break.”

“So you never just… stroll among the people sometimes?”

“Never had a reason to.”

“But how can you make dreams if you don’t know people?”

“Dreams are inherent to me. They are an instinct. They aren’t born from people. They’re born from something rawer than that. People just happen to dream.”

You hum, not sure that you follow. Silence lulls between you as the song changes. “This place is so different from anywhere I’ve been,” you tell him. “My mother and father would have hated a place like this where people want so freely and people are so… provocative.”

“Life is provocative. So is nature, and magic. And dreams.”

“Is that why you’re a god of desire, too?” He nods once, his eyes on you. “Can you… sense what people innately desire? All the time?”

You don’t ask the real question, which is: Can you tell what I desire when I’m with you? Still, Yoongi shrugs a shoulder. “Snippets. LIke I said, I try not to pry. I don’t think that anyone here needs to be inspired by me to delve into what they want here, that’s for sure.” His eyes darken. “Though perhaps there is one.”

It is not your imagination when he says it. You know that he means you. This you are sure of. You stare at Yoongi, the rest of the room fading away. He stares right back at you, as though willing you to agree, or to deny his claim. Your heart speeds up and you feel the sweat on your neck, the slick on your palms.

“You said you’d help me indulge.” Your voice shakes when you say it. “How… do I do that?”

Yoongi’s mouth kicks up at the side. He leans forward and offers you a hand. When you just stare at it, he laughs. “Dance with me.”

“Dancing? That is indulging?”

“You might be surprised.”

Tension goes taught between you. You feel it sizzling in the air as you stare one another down. Yoongi’s hand remains outstretched, beckoning. Slowly, you put the cup of cider down and slide your hand into his. You’ve done this so many times, letting him lead you somewhere or help you up.

When Yoongi grips your hand and pulls you to your feet, it feels different than all the times before. The soft, gentle Eternal of dreams has melted away and left something sharper. Darker. Edgier. Your heart flutters butterfly-fast as he leads you to where there are people spinning in tight circles on the floor.

Yoongi yanks you toward him, pulling you into his chest. One hand loops over his shoulder, your palm cradling the back of his neck, while the other grips his. His hand goes snuggling around your waist, pulling you firmly to him as he ducks his head toward your ear, voice deep and soft as he whispers, “Follow me.”

You would follow him anywhere, you think. Anywhere at all.

Dancing is not something you ever recall doing. It wasn’t necessary where you grew up. Most of your festivals in town were a reserved affair and you’d never been to any parties or celebrations. Most weddings were stiff and formal, and not for merriment as much as respect.

Now, your world turns into a kaleidoscope of color and laughter. Yoongi spins you around the room, his feet smooth and fast. You stumble to keep up at first, but Yoongi is a confident lead, his steps instructing yours, his hands pulling and guiding you as you go.

Laughter rushes out of you. You cannot help the glee that glitters in your veins. Yoongi’s laughter is like spilled moonlight. You look up at him with a grin, seeing his gummy smile as he dips you suddenly, making you squeal. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You know he won’t drop you but the exhilaration is in your veins as he lifts you back up, crushing you to him.

Your arms and legs burn with effort as you continue. The song changes and Yoongi lets go and spins you. You go crashing into Taehyung’s arms. He’s a far worse dancer than Yoongi, and the two of you are a mess of tripped feet, trilling laughter and elbows into ribs. He pushes you back to Yoongi’s waiting arms.

It terrifies you how much it feels like home, like a key sliding into a lock. Your arms go around him as his hands squeeze your waist. You come alive where you touch, looking up at him. He watches you, the shadow of his lashes framing delicate eyes. His mouth is red and soft.

Yoongi’s eyes dart down to your mouth. Your breath catches and he moves a little closer, pressing his head to yours, noses brushing. The entire world vanishes and it’s just Yoongi, his lips so close you can almost taste them, his fingers digging into your hips.

Your eyes flutter shut just as someone crashes into you. You scream as you’re knocked hard into Yoongi, the two of you stumbling as he catches you from falling over completely. The crowd goes wild with laughter as a man is sprawled on the ground, laughing and drunk, having lost his balance.

A breathless laugh escapes you as you and Yoongi straighten, separating a little. The moment between you is shattered, clattering away like pieces of broken glass as you catch your breath and gather your wits. You look around, searching for Taehyung only to see him alone at your table, eyes heavy and gaze lingering across the room. You turn to see Jimin leaning on the bar, smiling at something a woman is whispering in his ear.

Glancing back at Taehyung, you see him shove away from the table and storm out the door. Yoongi notices this too, but he’s slow on the uptake, his hand still on your hip. You shake off his hold on you and go after Taehyung, shouting his name.

Taehyung is just outside the Desert Rose, head tilted down and shoulders pulled up tight around his ears. When you touch the small of his back, he flinches, gazing at you with tear-stained eyes and a look so crestfallen you feel your heart crack.

He sniffs. “This is why,” he whispers. “This is why I told you we can never be. Humans and dreams - we aren’t. We don’t match.”

“Taehyung,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say. You open your arms and he leans into you, folding in half as he sobs, breaking down into your shoulder. You hush him gently, holding him tight and squeezing him, trying to pour your love into him.

Over Taehyung’s shoulder, your gaze settles on Yoongi. He watches the two of you in silence, face impassive. And your heart breaks a little more, realizing the truth of Taehyung’s words.

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luvt0kki · 4 months

Text

004 | burning desire

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

I don't wanna know, if you're playing me Keep it on the low Cause my heart can't take it anymore And if you creeping, please don't let it show

🎧: creepin' - the Weeknd

previous | 004| next

pairings: ot8 x f!reader ( K.Y.S x reader)

w.c : 7.7 k ( sorry for any errors)

cw: mature, ,minors do not interact, nsfw, reader is afab, mentions of assassination, hinted violence, slow burn ( for Wooyoung), polyamory, smut ahead ,oral, size kink, voyeurism, peeping Tom! Wooyoung, light bondage, eavesdropping, Mingi’s nickname for reader is baby, masturbation, Yeosang is very sweet here, some humor ahead, San is a cutie as always, hinted San smut, hinted San, Ming x reader, Wooyoung is even more confused now BUT HE"S GETTING CLOSE TO THE TRUTH

REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n : CHAPTER 4! To keep me going and support this series, make sure to leave comments about your thoughts and reactions! You can do this in my askbox too huhu! I hope you guys like this chapter and I know this was a very quick update after chapter 3! The next update may be after New Years!!! Thank you so much for reading my series!!!

This chapter is dedicated to ୨୧ @songmingisthighs ୨୧ (for helping me build ideas for inspo for the next chapters and fangirling with me. It really kept me inspired and excited to write more chapters. I included those gifs for u <3 )

It’s been almost three weeks since you’ve returned, 20 days to be exact, Wooyoung counted. 20 days and he’s still not over his crush on you. Was it even a crush anymore at this point?

“Hey focus.” Yeosang’s voice snapped him out of his many spirals over you.

The former Prince’s gloved fist came close to his face and Wooyoung quickly raised both his arms to block the jab.

“I’m focused.”

“No, you’re not.” Yeosang jabbed him on his side that his friend failed to evade which just led to one blow to another and before he knew it Wooyoung was on the floor again for the third time since their sparring session started.

“You’re probably thinking too much.” Your voice echoed in the gym as you approached them on the black padded boxing ring. “That’s why your movements are slow.”

You gave the two handsome men a quick look over. Their skin glistened with perspiration and they both had their boxing gloves on. Wooyoung sported a loose tank top which showed off his toned arms while Yeosang wore a compression shirt that only accentuated his statuesque physique. His muscles were getting bigger…and among the members Yeosang and San were the ones who built and grew muscle quickly due to genetics, and god, you loved those genetics.

“Good morning, darling.” Yeosang hummed with that princely smile of his and you couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in your cheeks at his term of endearment for you.

“Morning, Yeosang. Wooyoung.” You nodded in the other man’s direction whose chest was rising and falling fast as he caught his breath.

“Why don’t you give him a few pointers?” Yeosang wiped the sweat on his brow with his arm before heading towards where you were at the edge of the sparring ring.

You weren’t busy.

Wooyoung watched as you ducked beneath the foamed barriers, your eyes briefly meeting his as you passed Yeosang who leaned over to whisper something. You stared at Wooyoung as Yeosang’s deep smooth voice vibrated in your ears.

“Go easy on him, dear.”

You smirked a little at that before slipping off your trainers and sauntering towards Wooyoung with a false aura of ease to make sure his defenses were low.

“No gloves?” Wooyoung raised a brow as he stood up, not backing down on the challenge. He knew he should be more alert with you, especially with San said about your hand-to-hand combat mastery.

“Don’t need them.” You shrugged, stretching and swinging your arms and body to get your body a little warm.

Yeosang sat on the exercise bench in the gym that looked over the ring, curious to how this interaction would turn out.

“Don’t go easy on me.” You told him with a smile that he couldn’t read, it was alluring and sweet despite the fact you two were going to be throwing hands at each other.

“And don’t go easy on me.” He huffed, raising his gloved hands to shield his face and getting into stance whilst trying to ignore how pretty you looked in a simple tee and gym shorts with these cute strings on each side that scrunched them up in a pretty and sexy way. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You only nodded and pulled the hem of your slim-fit tee down.

“Oh, you guys are sparring.” The sweet gentle voice of the vice-captain reached everyone’s ears and you glanced at the gym entrance to see the ethereally handsome man enter in a black tank top and matching sweats. “Morning, Y/N.” He smiled your way.

Wooyoung took this as a chance to attack but he really didn’t want to hit you in any way. His intention was to just jab lightly at your shoulder while you’re distracted.

With quick precision, as he learned from San, he swung your way, sure that he was gonna get a lick in. If you were supposed to be a master combatant, shouldn’t you know not to take your eyes off your opponent? He thought to himself as he focused.

In less than a second, you broke away from Seonghwa’s gaze and stopped Wooyoung’s advance by grabbing the gloved hand that came your way and twisted it to the side, redirecting it. Wooyoung couldn’t process what happened next as you held onto the hand you caught and your legs hooked around his neck, next thing he knew his world spun as he was propelled onto his back.

The loud smack of his back against the ring floor bounced off the walls so satisfyingly as he let out a grunt at the sudden impact. He couldn’t even move. Your legs had him in a headlock, his chin was nuzzled into the back of your slightly bent knee and your ankles were crossed over each other while your upper body and hands trapped his right arm in an arm lock.

You kept him there for a bit, letting him struggle against your hold before releasing him and all the oxygen he needed rushed into his lungs.

Wooyoung was in shock. It had happened so fast. Then it sunk in that your legs had locked his head in, your soft skin, and your pillowy thighs. Had he passed out in your chokehold, it would’ve been a good way to go.

“That’s our girl.” Seonghwa smiled proudly, he and Yeosang applauding your quick response to Wooyoung’s attempt at an attack.

You were up on your feet as if nothing just happened, and you glanced down at Wooyoung, rather enjoying the breathless look on his handsome face. He questioned how he was kind of turned on at how easily you countered him and how gorgeous you looked staring down at him. God, what was wrong with him?

You held your hand out.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed onto it letting you help him up.

“You need to train with Sannie more.” You chuckled once he was balanced on his two feet. “There were at least three ways you could’ve countered my attack.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Woo,” Seonghwa reassured him, heading towards the weights rack. “It took a while for Yeosang and I to be able to learn one of those counterattacks.”

You gave Wooyoung a reassuring caress on his arm, the gentle touch contrasting with how easily you threw him to the ground before you stepped out of the ring.

Wooyoung needed to improve a lot before he could spar with you.

“What will you be doing today?” Yeosang asked as he hung his towel over the chair, heading back to the ring.

“Will lift some weights. It’s a lower body day.”

“If you need help stretching out later, I’ll be glad to help.”

Wooyoung couldn’t really hear the conversation from where he was but Seonghwa could, and the Vice Captain scoffed at Yeosang’s response. To anyone else, it sounded like a normal gym conversation, and also, whatever the former Prince said always sounded innocent. But you and most of the members knew better.

“Unless she wants to do cardio with me,” Seonghwa suggested, setting up the weights on the barbell.

“Both of you calm down and focus on your workouts.” You shook your head, smiling to yourself at their antics.

“Focus? With you in those shorts?” Yeosang chuckled. “If San was here, he’d offer to spot you. Anyways, when you’re done, you know where to find me.” He headed back to Wooyoung who had begun frowning while he watched the three of you, not liking that he was left out of the conversation.

“Were you guys dissing me?” He asked when Yeosang stood in front of him again.

“Woo, just because you’re not included in the conversation it doesn’t mean that it's about you.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “You mean to say you’re all not obsessed with me?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Keep your guard up, Woo. We need to train you to be good enough to counter some of Y/N’s attacks.”

“Only some?”

“The only two people in this crew who can go head to head with Y/N and actually make her break a sweat is San and Hongjoong.” Yeosang readjusted his gloves before raising his fists to shield his face. “Now that you’ve experienced her skill firsthand, focus.”

...

Wooyoung to put it bluntly was stressed. Frustrated too. He didn’t think he was that bad at hand-to-hand combat. He was humbled greatly by you and he was annoyed because today, it’s like he hasn’t improved at all. He kept getting caught off guard by Yeosang, surprised that he was this good at unarmed combat and even more deadly with his archery skills.

He needed San to give him more pointers and make their sessions more frequent if he was going to improve before they arrived at their next destination.

He let out a deep heavy sigh as he trudged back to the crew's deck to get his towel and fresh set of clothes in his room before he headed to the showers. Maybe he’ll give himself an ice bath. After his and Yeosang’s session, he stayed back to spend time venting out his anger on the punching bag, and now his muscles kind of ached.

Towel draped over one shoulder and his clothes tucked under his arm, he headed towards the showers.

You wrapped your towel tight around your body, swearing to yourself for forgetting your clothes back in your room and as carefully as you could walked barefoot on the shower room tiles.

“Ah!” You squeaked, feeling the ball of your foot slide against the tile and lose balance. Some kind of assassin you were. Even your clumsiness was a mystery to you.

But you didn’t feel the hard cold and wet floor of the showers, you felt nothing but warmth in a gentle hold.

Wooyoung stared at your face. Your eyes were tightly shut as you awaited the impact of your fall if he hadn’t caught you. He held you close and secure to him, his arms wrapped around your body clad only in a soft fluffy towel. He didn’t know if he was lucky or unlucky to be in this situation. You smelled so nice too. The sweet peach and coconut scent of your body wash filled his senses, and your skin was glistening from still being slightly damp from your shower. Maybe he was lucky.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, his eyes shifting from your face and the top edge of your towel wrapped around your chest.

“Woo?” You had said his name so softly with surprise that it made his heart skip a beat and butterflies flutter in his stomach. Your eyes blinked open to see the man who saved you from hurting yourself.

“Hi.” His voice was so gentle it took you aback.

“H-hi.” You stuttered out.

You both stared into each other's eyes for a while before you cleared your throat, feeling the cold air kiss your skin and make you shiver, making you all too aware of how only a towel separated the two of you.

“It’s cold. I forgot my clothes in my room.” You looked away.

It sunk in with Wooyoung that if the towel peeled off of you, he’d see everything. God, he’d see your pretty body before him and just knew it’d be better than he has ever imagined during his late nights plagued with your visage and the sounds you made when Mingi fucked you, and that first night he saw you on your knees between the gunner's thighs, head bobbing up and down his cock.

“Oh, sorry.” He gently helped you to your feet, making sure you were well-balanced before reluctantly letting you go. He had to control himself. You were Mingi’s. “Be careful, okay? Don’t want you to hurt that pretty self of yours.”

That made you smile. “Thanks, Woo.” You stood on your tippy toes and pressed your lips quickly on his cheek to show him how thankful you were before taking small steps to go to your room.

Wooyoung watched you leave. The touch of your lips on his cheek lingered. Were you that friendly with all of them? He has noticed some very odd…well not odd, unorthodox? Interactions between you and the other crew members. All eight of you seemed so closed knit and when those interactions happened, Mingi didn’t blink an eye or care.

Like how he had walked in on you once in Hongjoong’s office sat on the Captain’s lap by his desk while you two went over some maps and information or how you and Seonghwa would be in the lounge on some afternoons with your legs splayed across his lap while you both read your books in silence.

Does Mingi share you? He shook his head at the thought finding it absurd as the hot water sprayed down on him as he showered.

That was ridiculous. The two of you were attached to the hip almost all the time and some mornings you left his room and the others he left yours. It wasn’t making sense.

He just concluded that all of you have gotten really close and comfy over the time you all had been together as a crew. Being stuck on a ship most of the time and only ever having each other, it made sense that you all got close. Really close in a way it confused him. It still felt like there was something hidden from him even though it was staring him right in the face.

The sound of the shared shower room door sliding open and closing shook him from his thoughts, and from the shower stall he was in, he glanced at who entered, his eyes quickly catching the bright pink head that sauntered in.

“Oh, hey, Woo.” Mingi greeted, taking the shower stall next to him, the stainless steel dividers separating the two.

Wooyoung didn’t care much back then whenever someone entered the shower room but ever since you returned and he found out you have your toiletries in one of the three stalls, he has been careful. First of all, he didn’t want to invade your privacy and lastly, he didn’t want to shower in the stall next to you and get a raging hard-on at the thought of just a partition between the two of you.

Mingi’s bare shoulders and chest peaked over the top of the partition due to his height and his head was only mere inches away from the shower head. If you had been in the stall next to Wooyoung, he was sure only the top of your head could be seen.

“Hey, man.” Wooyoung greeted your lover back, continuing to shampoo his hair.

“Heard Y/N kicked your ass in less than a second.” He teased, turning the knob of the shower with a squeak.

“Ugh, who told you?” Wooyoung sulked a little.

“Seonghwa.” He snickered. “Wish I was there to see it. It’s sexy when she does that.”

“It’s like everything she does turns you on.” Wooyoung bit back, annoyed with the unprovoked teasing he was receiving.

“Can you blame me?”

Wooyoung couldn’t.

Glancing over at Mingi, he was met with a victorious smirk on the man’s face. He was smug that Wooyoung had no snappy remark at what he had said.

He glared at him before he rolled his eyes and began rinsing his hair a little roughly.

“Ugh, could you guys, at least keep it down? You guys fuck like bunnies, I swear to god. Don’t you know some people, also known as me, need to sleep?”

Mingi raised his brow as he grinned.

“So you could hear us, huh?”

Fuck.

The gunner faced his back to the spray of water and continued to tease his friend. “Do you get hard at the sound of us fucking, Woo? I mean if you do, I can't blame you. She moans so pretty doesn’t she?”

Internally, Wooyoung answered yes to all those questions but he just continued to rinse himself and think of a way to shut the tall man up.

“She tastes really good too.” He was bragging now and happily doing so. You were his baby. His one and only, of course, he wanted to show you off. Plus, knowing that Wooyoung doesn’t know the whole truth about you and the crew, he wanted to kind of enjoy the idea that you were entirely his (not that he didn’t like sharing you with the rest). “You’ve seen how pretty her pussy is, right? It was kinda entertaining, really, how you were so entranced by my baby before you knew that she was mine.”

Wooyoung was too frustrated and now extremely annoyed to reply back. He didn’t even know what to reply. His silence and lack of response probably exposed the truth of his desire for you.

“Tell me, Woo,” Mingi leaned his arms on the top of the partition and Wooyoung made the mistake of meeting the man’s eyes that were possessive yet teasing. “Do you want to fuck my girl?”

Wooyoung clenched his jaw.

The only thing that could be heard in the shower room right now was the collision of the rain of water against the bathroom tiles as they stared each other down.

Yes. He wanted to. He really fucking wanted to.

What the fuck does Mingi even want him to say?

“Don’t you think it’s a bit disrespectful to be offering your girlfriend up like that? Like she’s yours to give and take?” Wooyoung didn’t mean to attack Mingi with such words and it was clear what he said took him aback.

Was he going to get punched right now?

“What if it was an invitation?”

Wooyoung’s head snapped in Mingi’s direction, giving the man the reaction he wanted.

“W-what?”

Mingi let the silence between them sit for a while, knowing that the cogs in Wooyoung’s head were malfunctioning right now before laughing heartily.

“I’m just kidding. Wow. Didn’t think you’d take me so seriously. I know you have a crush on her, that’s okay, man. Everyone else does.”

Wooyoung remained silent, opting to just nod and continue washing up while Mingi’s last three words echoed over and over in his head.

Everyone else does.

It’s like what Yeosang said, “And if you’re a little attracted to her it’s fine. We all are.”

They showered in silence after, Wooyoung finished first, dried himself, and changed into a fresh set of clothes before heading out into the hall, the stupid hall where he could hear you across his room and run into you in the mornings or late nights when you’d get a midnight snack.

Sometimes he would think of that time you fed him that strawberry and how honey-like your voice was when you praised him. Then his imagination would go wild as he thought about what if he had kissed you then and there, and what if he touched you and felt every curve of your beautiful body as your tongues fought for dominance with one another.

He craved the same intimacy you shared with the other members. The same one where a single glance could tell them how you felt, where knowing smiles were exchanged across rooms or the dining table like you were passing secret notes to one another under the table, and the same intimacy you had with Mingi.

Wooyoung sighed as his crush on you only worsened by the day and he hoped that playing the video game Jongho and San asked him to join this afternoon could help him remain distracted from thoughts of you, specifically of how fragile you were in his arms earlier in the showers.

Approaching the lounge, he heard soft giggles and low voices, what could be assumed to be maybe a light-hearted conversation between two people. He recognized your voice anywhere and without announcing his presence, wanting to act aloof, he walked into the lounge.

The back of the couch faced him and he couldn’t see you and the person you were talking to as he approached.

“What are you doing?” you giggled, feeling gentle hands caress your sides, the other sliding under your top to feel the skin of your stomach with the intention to travel lower.

Wooyoung paused.

Your voice was gentle and void of any seriousness that your line of work in the past had trained you to become. Yeosang had told him yesterday when they were both hanging out on the upper deck that you could only ever feel safe around them. With them, your defenses were down and you could just be…well….you.

It was heartwarming and bittersweet. It's no wonder Mingi was so protective of you and San too...wait-

Was Mingi already with you? Wasn’t he still in the showers?

Wooyoung’s questions were answered by a broad back finally peeking over the back frame of the couch as the two of you playfully wrestled. He blinked for a bit wondering if his eyes were betraying him because he was pretty sure Mingi’s short hair was pink.

“You look so cute” The man sighed with adoration, the only part of you that could be seen as you lay on the couch was your gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“Sannie…”

Wooyoung could imagine the way you smiled when San’s name fell from your lips but the former assassin above you sensed another presence in the room. Cat-like eyes looked his way and for some reason, Wooyoung felt like he walked into something he shouldn’t have.

“Sannie?” You sat up wondering why he had gone silent.

You followed his gaze and saw Wooyoung by the entryway of the lounge.

The man stared at you both for a while, noticing how San’s hair stuck out in different directions and how his lips were slightly pinker than usual. Your lips were red and swollen like the times he’d see you after you and Mingi…

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” He tried to play his surprise off as if it was a joke but inside he was screaming 'What the fuck? What the fuck?', like a broken record.

“Oh, no.” San immediately responded, sitting on the couch properly from the position he had been in, which underneath the blanket was between your legs with his pelvis pressed to your core. “Not at all.”

“Will Y/N join us?” Wooyoung walked on over to the L-shaped couch, taking note that the two of you were under the same fluffy blanket.

“I won’t be playing. Just watching for a bit.” You smiled, letting your hand that had been playing with San’s hair drop while the other slipped from under his sweats. "I have to help Hongjoong and Seonghwa with some data later.”

San kept his practiced smile to not alert Wooyoung of what you two were doing under the blanket til he showed up. He was a bit annoyed to have been interrupted. Your dainty fingers had been wrapped around his hardening cock and were stroking him while his own fingers had been massaging your sensitive clit through your cotton panties. He even felt how your growing arousal had begun to seep through the fabric.

For now, San just readjusted your positions while still remaining under the cover of the large blanket, hiding his hard cock and practicing self-control.

Wooyoung half expected San to detach himself from you when Jongho arrived who didn’t blink an eye at yours and San’s public displays of affection, which looked more than platonic. Instead, San had you snuggled in his arms with his chin resting atop of your head as he fiddled with the buttons on the controller, trying to beat him and Jongho at a retro street racing game.

This was one of those instances that Wooyoung wondered if there was something more going on between you and San that Mingi wasn’t aware of. But then again, Mingi never batted an eye when Jongho called you princess, when Seonghwa moved the hair from your face with loving eyes, or when Yunho embraced you from behind when you were going over things with Hongjoong and Hwa on the command deck.

But apart from all these inconsistencies, well, odd behavior, Wooyoung couldn’t remove from his head how he had come in contact with you twice today. First at the gym and then at the showers with your skin glistening, the scent of peach coconut body wash, and the kiss you left on his cheek as a thanks for saving you from your fall.

God, he sounded like a teenager. He never really had a serious relationship back on Jupiter, he just messed around…a lot. Bless the maids that lost their jobs in the manor because he got caught fucking them…and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

But he’s never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted you.

That night, like almost every other night, when he wasn’t missing home or the security of his life before, he was consumed by thoughts of you. Now that he had a new image of you stuck in his head (you in that fluffy towel and nothing else), he had new… jacking-off material.

Maybe to top it off tonight, he’d leave his door just a peep so he could hear you and Mingi again. You two didn’t fuck at all this week, so he’s pretty sure something might happen tonight especially since Mingi cornered him in the shower and fucking showed off.

Should he take a little peek?

With the way the gunner teased him, it’s like he wanted him to watch the two of you.

As if he was psychic, Wooyoung heard soft whimpering coming from your room. Your sweet alluring sounds.

Quietly, bare feet on the cold floor he made his way to his door. The hallway was dark now since the main lights automatically switched off at 1:30 am to conserve energy on the ship, the only thing that illuminated the hall were these color-changing dim strips of light near along the topmost part of the walls.

Tip-toeing across, he wanted to scoff at how your door was open ajar. ‘Fuck you, man.’ He swore at Mingi in his head. He really wanted to make him suffer. If Mingi wanted him to watch so badly, then don’t mind if he does. Knowing the cocky smug bastard, he probably gets off on the idea of someone watching him fuck you but can’t touch you.

Gluing himself as close as possible to the wall next to your door, he decided to take a peek.

Immediately his cock throbbed at the new never before seen sight.

Ivory silk that shimmered in the dim light of your bedroom was tied to your headboard and they decorated your wrists that were above your head. He had wondered why your sounds were quieter this time around and he knew why now. Smooth silk was between your lips.

He felt his mouth water.

The little night slip covering yet showing the curves of your body was of the same silk and the thin straps had already slipped from your shoulders, the neckline dangerously low and close to letting your tits spill out. He could see the hardened peaks beneath the fabric and how the soft flesh jiggled when you’d wriggle away from the head buried between your thighs.

Your thighs were over thick broad shoulders and seeing the way you were writhing from the pleasure of the lucky tongue lapping up your essence that he imagined to be nectar from the gods, he knew you were close to coming undone. Which usually meant, Mingi was going to fuck you next. Wooyoung’s gotta give it to the gunner for being such a generous lover and indulging in foreplay.

“Mhmf!” Your pitch got higher, your wrists now tugging at the restraints. Your soft pillowy thighs were trembling and trying to close from the unrelenting attack on your heat. Wooyoung could hear the sloppy wet slurping of the man eating you out and his cock was getting harder and harder at the new visual. So you liked getting tied up? That’s hot.

He palmed himself through his cotton pajama pants, biting his lip hard to hold back any sounds he could make and glancing at the hall making sure no one was up before returning his gaze to your lingerie-clad body.

Your hips tried to wriggle away from your lover’s tongue but his hands were hooked around your thighs to keep you from getting away. You watched as his pretty face indulged in your cunt, happily and greedily lapping and dipping his tongue in your heat, and nipping and sucking on your clit. The soft gag around your mouth prevented you from moaning out his name and you could only whine and whimper your pleas and sounds of pleasure.

The soft silk grazed over your sensitive nipples the more you rustled and tugged on the restraints, your core growing unbearably tight and your breath quickening as he slurped and sucked at your sensitive bud. Then you saw white. Your back arched off the bed as his assault on your orgasming pussy didn’t stop. He liked to push you over the edge, not as cruel as Hongjoong does but just enough to make you hazy.

Not wanting to overdo it, your lover detached his lips from your cunt, and consumed with such desire, he hovered over you, covering you with his beefy muscular upper body, and lowered the silk gag to crash his lips onto yours. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue, and felt your walls tightening around nothing as he did. With one hand, he untied the silk ribbon from the headboard, letting it remain tied around your wrists yet freeing you from the restraint, finally letting you touch him.

“You’re so beautiful like this, my darling.” He spoke softly in between kisses. “I love dressing you in the prettiest things and fucking you in them.”

'Oh, god, his voice', you thought. That honey-like deep voice that made you believe sweet nothings belonged on his lips.

“This fabric is from the finest of silks in Jupiter.” He cupped your breast through the smooth thin lingerie. “When we made our stop in my home, I had to get something for my darling.” You bit your lip when he ghosted his thumb over your perked nipple. “This is silk made for a queen.”

He then sucked at your lower lip before resting his forehead against yours to savor this moment between the two of you.

“You didn’t have to...” You blushed beneath his intense gaze, his eyes so beautiful and entrancing. “I don’t need things like these—ah!”

You were cut off when his hot and hard length slotted between your lips, the man before you clicking his tongue at your words. “My beautiful love deserves beautiful things.” You let out a soft whine when you felt him rub his bulbous hot tip between your folds, covering himself in your slick. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. Nor desired anyone as I desire you."

“P-please,” you whimpered, squeezing his shoulders as the ache for friction was getting more intense. “I love you...please…I need you.”

You’d never ever get tired of any of your lovers telling you how much they loved you. You didn’t even know what you did to deserve not only one but seven men who loved you. After all the things you’ve done in your line work…you were somehow blessed with seven people you’d protect and die for. With them, you weren’t the girl you were in the academy. They made you feel as if your past was nothing but a nightmare.

“My sweet girl.” He cooed, his forehead pressed against yours as he tapped the head of cock on your clit. Your arms wrapped around his back, feeling the need to hold onto him because if you didn’t you felt like you wouldn’t be able to take the painful need throbbing inside you. “So tough and strong.” He kissed your neck, holding your hips still so he could rock his length back and forth your slit, the teasing close to making you cry. “But deep down, you want to be taken care of.”

“Please…” you begged, voice cracking with desire.

The sound made Wooyoung squeeze his cock tighter, slowly pumping himself to the sight of you through the mirror in your room where he could see the side view of your body. One of your breasts was no longer covered by the pretty silk lingerie and the ribbons tied on your wrist flowed so prettily, something about it made the whole view before him so sinful and dare he say, beautiful?

He watched as the hips between your legs connected with yours.

You moaned so obscenely when his hot tip pushed through your entrance and how his thick hot girth, stretched you out.

“Oh, Yeo.”

Wooyoung stopped the steady and slow rhythm of his hand. Did he hear that right? There was no fucking way.

“Fuck, you’re so thick.” You threw your head back, feeling him bottom out inside of you, his pretty moans music to your ears as he felt your velvety walls embrace him.

“Yeah? Look at how gorgeously split you are by my cock.”

You listened to him and glanced down, seeing the defined v-line of his hips and chiseled abdomen first before letting your gaze fall to where you two were connected. Your lower lips were parted and wrapped around him. He wasn’t as long as Mingi and Yunho but, god, he was thick and fitted inside of you like a glove.

“Come here, darling.” He wrapped his arms around you, changing your positions so he was lying down while you were sat atop of him, fully sunk onto his cock.

Wooyoung had been too distracted by you that he didn’t notice that the naked man that you were straddling and who was eating you out moments before was not the pink-haired gunner asshole who teased him earlier…it was his best friend.

“Be a good girl and ride me.” Yeosang caressed your sides before hooking a finger on the neckline of the silk slip and tugging it lower to reveal your breasts.

You slipped your arms from the straps, the lingerie he bought you now bunched at your hips while you placed your hands behind you and on his thighs as you slowly rolled your hips.

“Oh darling,” Yeosang moaned, watching you slowly raise your hips and lower them giving him a show of how his cock disappeared in and out of your tight heat, wetting him with your slick.

You bit your lip slowly adjusting to the width of him and once you felt your walls accommodate him more, you began to bounce your hips. You were lost in the way his cock rubbed your insides with each rock and bounce. His hands caressed your sides and squeezed your breasts, your moans and his messily harmonizing together along with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Wooyoung’s cock still throbbed and he knew it was wrong that he was even more turned on at the fact that you were fucking Yeosang. Did Mingi mean what he said when he jested earlier? About fucking you? Did he actually share you?

Maybe if he wasn’t so fucking horny he would’ve stopped touching himself at the sight of you fucking someone who wasn’t Mingi. Were you seeing Yeosang behind Mingi’s back?

He didn’t really care about those things right now, not when your tits bounced so fucking prettily as you rode Yeosang. Why did you look so fucking good? With his best friend lying down, he had a full view of your body, and the fact that the lingerie was still somewhat on you, made him continue to pump his length, matching his rhythm to yours.

Yeosang wasn’t much of a dirty talker when you two spent nights together but his pretty voice and the special timbre he had even his panting and moaning made up for it. He had such a tone to him that made you shiver and ache for him all the same. He had the prettiest moans among your lovers.

“Fu—oh. Fuck,” Yeosang managed to say when he caught a glimpse of a sheer ring of white coating the base of his cock, Wooyoung had to squint but when he saw it his hand sped up. He couldn’t believe he was jacking off to you fucking yourself on his best friend’s cock.

“Yeo…” you whimpered, throwing your head back at how good he felt inside of you and Wooyoung almost moaned out loud with how delectable you looked head thrown back in pleasure and rolling your hips.

He needed to fuck you. God, he didn’t know how long he could take anymore. Would Yeosang stop him if he were to walk in right now? No, he couldn’t do that but the sinful smack of your skin against Yeosang’s as you bounced on his cock was making any form of self control almost impossible to find.

“Look at you,” Yeosang hummed, swiping his thumb on the white cream of your arousal before rolling your clit beneath his fingertip. “Taking me so prettily.”

You could only moan in response, the stimulation on your clit as his cock deliciously scraped your insides making your head spin. Your hips and thighs worked tirelessly to continue the rolling waves of mind-numbing pleasure, and your lover beneath you looked up at you with such desire and adoration in his eyes, that it made you a little shy. Only they could make you feel this way.

You gasped when Yeosang gripped your hips tighter and began to fuck into you at a fast pace, the wet obscene smacking becoming louder as he thrust strong and deep. You almost fell forward at the sudden change of pace and you cried out at how indescribably good it felt.

“Fuck, Yeo. You feel so good.” He sat up, cradling your back and wrapping your legs around his waist as he continued to fuck you. The new position allowed his cock to dive deeper, hitting your g-spot and making you melt against him.

You held onto him for dear life, your head resting on his shoulder.

Wooyoung whimpered softly in disappointment that the sight of your tits and pussy were covered now by Yeosang’s bulging muscular back which had the silk ribbons around your wrists flowing down against them as you clawed at his skin.

Good thing he was close. He was so fucking close.

He glanced at the mirror once more, biting his lip harder when he saw the way Yeosang’s hips were driving into your pussy. Why couldn’t that be him?

He squeezed his cock harder and increased his pace, he was going to cum. Your breasts were bouncing with each thrust and he could see how your nipples brushed Yeosang’s chest. He imagined what that would feel like and how tight your pussy would feel around his cock, how it would squeeze him, how it would feel, hot wet, and inviting—

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to your face wanting to cum at the sight of your blissed-out expression but his heart stopped when his eyes met your heavy-lidded ones with pupils blown in lust.

Your lips were loosely pressed against Yeosang’s shoulder as he pounded into you when you suddenly met a pair of eyes by the door, peering in. If it had been any of your lovers, they would have shamelessly walked in and watched. So...who?

Vision focusing and adjusting to the dark, you made out the strong jawline and the unmistakable shape of those eyes to be none other than Jung Wooyoung. Yeosang’s best friend.

Wooyoung saw how your brows furrowed at his presence and how your eyes glanced down, finding his hand that was wrapped around his cock, tip red and angry, leaking with precum.

“Fuck.” Yeosang swore when felt your walls squeeze him, not knowing it was because you had noticed Wooyoung by the door.

You never knew you’d be turned on by the idea of being watched til it was teased out of you by your lovers. It had started when San had caught you and Mingi when your relationship with him had reached the three-month milestone. Mingi being a switch had enjoyed teasing both you and San that night…seeing Wooyoung by the door, reminded you a little bit of how cute Sannie was all hard and frozen by the door that very night.

Smirking a little, a wicked idea popped into your head.

Running your hands through Yeosang’s hair, you kissed and moaned against his neck just a tad bit louder, all that while keeping your gaze locked with Wooyoung’s.

“You close, my love?” You purred into Yeosang’s ear, soft yet audible enough for the man by the door to hear.

Wooyoung clenched his teeth harder, fighting back his moans as his eyes were pleading for release while imagining his cock was in you instead of his hand. You weren’t making this easier for him.

Yeosang groaned at the way your term of endearment for him rolled off your tongue so seductively. “Mhm.” He hummed in response, panting as he chased both yours and his releases.

“You’re making me feel so good.” You held him tighter, his hands guiding your hips to match his movements. Your lustful drunk-like stare remained on Wooyoung and he couldn’t tear his own eyes from you. “I want you to fill me up.”

A moan almost escaped Wooyoung at that. Why were you looking at him when you said that? It was painful enough to fist his cock in secret while watching someone else fuck you but now this? This was some new kind of torture.

“Y-Yeo,” your eyes shut in bliss while your mouth parted in a breathless and soundless moan, while your lover spurred on by your words, moved with passion to bring you both to ecstasy.

Yeosang’s pants and whines always were like a melody you can never get out of your head. You wondered, despite your state of a daze, if he knew how weak you were for his comfort and his warmth. His gentleness and affection were different. They all loved you in their own ways, different but it was love all the same.

His moans became higher in pitch as he lost himself and his hold on your hips tightened. You couldn’t hold back all the sounds that left you as he brought you to climax, the rhythm of his hips getting faster, the resounding smacks bouncing off the walls. Your eyes locked with Wooyoung’s once more before they shut as you were pushed over the edge. Your body arched into Yeosang's as you gasped, unable to stop the trembling of your hips as your head went blank with pleasure.

You felt your release drip down your pulsing heat and made a mess on his cock that hasn’t ceased its assault on your spamming cunt. “That’s my darling. My sweet darling.” He cooed over and over til his own hips stilled. He slammed into you hard one last time as a strangled moan left him.

Wooyoung bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he felt the pressure at the base of his spine explode and release into his hand. The sight of his milky white release made your mouth water and you couldn’t help the thought that popped in your head. How it was such a waste for his cum to not be on you or in you. Maybe it was just your orgasm brain playing tricks on you and not making you think straight but you held onto your lover tighter, feeling his release warm your insides.

Yeosang laid you down gently on the bed, not detaching himself from you as he peppered kisses all over your chest as if worshipping you and thanking you.

You moved your head a little from the pillow to look at the door, only to find that the little peeping Tom had disappeared. Before you could feel the growing hint of disappointment that the new crew member was gone, you were pulled away from your thoughts by Yeosang. You gasped softly when he took your left breast in his warm mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue on your sensitive peak as he kept his pelvis pressed to yours to keep his release inside of you.

Wooyoung retreated to his room and locked the door, the post-nut clarity creeping up to him fast.

What had he just seen?

As if doing what he did to you and Mingi wasn’t bad already, this was…he didn’t even know what to think.

The guilt ate him up but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a dark cloud blooming in his chest. He didn’t know if he was reading too much into it but did you enjoy having him watch? He swore when your eyes locked with his as Yeosang fucked you and he was jerking off, there was a brief glimpse of a smirk.

As he cleaned up the mess of his cum on his hand and changed out of his shirt, he poked his head out his door so he could check he didn’t have traces of him on the floor or anywhere near your door.

What the fuck has he done? Why were you and Yeosang together?

He glanced at your still slightly open door wondering if you and his best friend were still going at it. If he had gotten caught by both of you, would he have been invited to join? He lightly knocked the back of his head with his fist for having thought about that. He was being delusional.

With tissues, he wiped away drops of his cum that had fallen to the floor quietly while telling himself he won’t try to listen to any more sounds that should be found because of your partially open door.

Before he could hear anything, he disappeared into his room and made sure his door was closed and locked.

He went over his conclusions about your relationship with the crew.

You and Mingi had been together for two years while you and San had basically grown up together and shared a friendship that looked far from platonic as he always looked like a love-sick puppy when you were around. Now Yeosang? Where the fuck did Yeosang fit in the equation?

It didn’t make sense to him and the last thought that crossed his mind was far too absurd…but then again, not entirely impossible.

It was just too crazy to be real. Which brought him back to his and Mingi’s conversation in the showers.

“What if it was an invitation?” Mingi’s words echoed in his head.

Even though he played it off as a joke, Wooyoung couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t entirely just a joke.

- feel free to scream in my askbox about the fic I will gladly famgor; with you <3

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF MY WORK HERE. I DO NOT NOR WILL ALLOW IT.

Taglist : @endeav0rsb1tch @eastleighsblog @scarfac3 @pyeonghongrie-main @deadgirlwalking3 @ddaeing @lexiigom @lesyeuxdeanna @ja3hwa @prettyjewel93 @dear-dreamie @ashrocker123 @kookibuns @i2hyun0 @kpopismyescape23 @alex-tinyy @hyukssunflower @honeypaintedskies @peachyproductions @dawn-iscozy @moonchildushine @asjkdk @voicesinmyhead-rc @not-everything-is-so-primitive @atinytinaa @songmingisthighs @sanniesbum @angellluh @teenyfinds @vannabanana1995 @huachengsbestie01 @judasamorr @lovinghologramtrash @anxiousskylar @megseungmin @chnt1 @dezmybelovedddd @lovely-red2 @khuyyn @trippoverrt @woahhkimosabe @liniiiaa @caityelise99

#tokki;sway with me #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez fic #ateez smut #hongjoong x reader #jongho x reader #mingi x reader #yeosang smut #yeosang x reader #yunho x reader #san x reader #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez ot8 x reader

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adonis-koo · 5 months

Text

sweet nothing • 8

| in which you run into an old costumer |

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word count: 3k

Previous | Next

Note: just know that the only reason these updates take so long is because I keep writing plot based chapters and I really just wanna post fluff based chapters 😭

“Thank you for taking me out!” You grinned as you took a large sip of your hot chocolate, it was still definitely not cold enough for it yet but you didn’t care.

Something about hitting your third trimester had you wanting to nest like crazy, it had you going around the estate cleaning and getting guards to help move furniture around.

You really had no right to be doing it but nobody told you otherwise.

Jungkook had come back midday, surprisingly early, he had paused in the entry hall of his home locking eyes with the pregnant menace that had abruptly put herself at the forefront of his life once again.

It was then he realized you definitely needed to get out of the estate.

“If it keeps you from not moving all my stuff around,” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, eyes flickering from his phone to you.

You frowned, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what possessed me.” You sighed, “Well I do, they say third trimester can make you start nesting.”

“Nesting?”

You glared are the way he snorted as if not believing you, “It’s a fact, you can look it up.”

“The fuck is that even supposed to be? What are you, a bird?”

“It means you just get the innate urge to just…” you puffed your cheeks, ignoring that look he was giving you, “Clean and decorate and just…I don’t know I can’t describe it! Just wish I had my own place to do that with and prepare for the baby.”

Jungkook sighed, his eyes went from looking at you to dropping down to your stomach, it was round when you had first come to the estate, but it was evident six weeks had passed, “Then maybe it’s time we talk about a nursery.”

You paused, getting ready to take another drink from your cup but it never meets to your lips.

Jungkook sighed, “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but finding your brother has quite literally lead me to dead ends I didn’t even think would exist. You’re almost thirty weeks pregnant, that’s less than three months.”

“Okay yeah I can do basic math, but it’s already been almost two months. Surely it won’t take another two months to find him,” You pressed your lips together nervously.

“Would it be so terrible if you gave birth in the estate? It’ll probably be a better experience than the hospital.” Jungkook commented, picking up his coffee as he took a sip.

It wasn’t that you were against giving birth in the estate, professional staff in the comforts of a bed? That was a luxury every woman could only dream of having, it was more the aftermath of it.

The idea of still living at the estate post pregnancy…it was a dangerous thought, it was too close to the life you had once wanted with Jungkook.

You just weren’t sure how to articulate that too him.

Jungkook finally raised a brow at you, noticing your lack of reply.

“I just…don’t want to get too comfortable at the estate.” You finally spoke carefully, “I don't think that's good for anybody involved.”

“I understand but I also don’t like being unprepared- in any aspect concerning me or my estate, and that includes you whether you want it or not.” Jungkook replied, “Just because a nursery is there doesn’t mean it’ll ever be used, it’ll just be there so first of all, you stop moving all my shit and you have a place to do your bird stuff-“

“Nesting.” You glared, lips quirking into a pout as your hands wrapped around your stomach.

Jungkook’s lips curved a little, “Bird stuff. And second, if it does turn out that your stay is extended, it’ll be ready.”

You still weren’t completely sold on the idea, if anything you felt like it would just feed into the delusion even further.

“Why hello there mama.” Another voice suddenly cut in, grabbing a chair from the empty table next to you both and plopping it on the side of your table.

Jungkook immediately straightened up, eyes glaring daggers that could definitely kill, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Yoongi!”

The man brushed his black hair from his eyes a quirky smirk on his face as he shrugged, “Uh I’m just stopping in to say hello to my favorite barista who got put on bed rest early.”

A smile twisted on your lips, you were familiar with his face, he had been a regular for almost two years, the realization however quickly hit that Jungkook was very acquainted with this man.

You felt flabbergasted for a moment, you couldn’t believe you never made the connection that the regular customer Yoongi was also Underboss business partner Yoongi.

“It’s nice to see you again Yoongi! I can't believe I didn’t recognize you as Jungkook’s partner…” You sheepishly smiled.

Jungkook clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, his nostrils flared and he looked ready to maul his partner.

“Nah probably for the best you didn’t realize. You as well, you look only a thousand times prettier, have that pregnancy glow about you.” Yoongi threw your a wink.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what made him more violent, the fact that you both were already well acquainted or Yoongi so casually flirting with you.

It was part of his personality but it still didn’t make any attention he or any other male gave you, any easier for Jungkook to witness.

“If you aren’t here for business, get the fuck away from our table.” Jungkook gritted his teeth, as if it took every fiber of his being to not right hook.

Yoongi didn’t seem phased, “Oh I was just in the area, been coming to Serendipity for a long while now, and then I suddenly see my favorite barista who’s been gone for two months, of course I have have to say hello.”

“Okay well you said hello, now go the fuck away.”

“Jungkook!” You said sternly, “Don’t be so stubborn, Yoongi can sit with us for a few minutes at least.”

His eyes were a raging fire as they burned into you, his chest puffing but he said no more as Yoongi observed you both, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

“How are you enjoying the estate Y/n?”

You smiled tenderly, “The company makes it honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without Jungkook and Yeonjun.”

“Yeonjun?” Jungkook looked like he sucked on a sour lemon as he spat the name out.

“I still want my apartment back but I’ve made the most of the it. What about you? Why haven’t you come to visit if you knew where I was?” You asked, curious as to what the man had been up too.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to Jungkook, “Well…let’s just say I was asked to not drop by unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“And it isn’t.” Jungkook gritted.

“Okay well first of all this doesn’t count cause we’re not at the estate, second of all you’re not the only one who has relations to Y/n, I mean have you ever had this woman’s chai? Or her baked cinnamon rolls? Talented hands right there.” Yoongi stretched out in his seat, that playful nature about him.

“Oh don’t flatter me.” You shooed his praise.

“No you deserve all the praise in the world, in fact you deserve-“

“We’re going.” Jungkook stood up from his seat, sick of this if he had to hear one more word come out of his stupid partners mouth.

“Jungkook!” You complained, but nevertheless took his hand when he offered it, “Please visit Yoongi, you’re conversation is always welcomed.”

Yoongi only smiled, sunk into his seat as he watched the tall broody figure practically drag you away, it made him laugh in amusement.

Yoongi by no means kept an eye on you the last two years for his own benefit, but he supposed somethings would always remain thankless.

He had accomplished what he wanted though, evidently no matter how much Jungkook talked- and he talked a lot, it was clear he had grown possessive over you in the last few months.

Yoongi shook his head in amusement, watching the viper leave the parking lot through the window, he was happy to see that old spark in his partner return.

“What was that about!” You complained, immediately dialing the heat down to sixty in the car.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Jungkook grumbled, hands gripping the steer wheel as if he was trying to strangle it, “If you care about your baby’s safety you’ll make an active effort to not talk to him.”

“Hes been one of my regulars for like two years,” you complained, “How was I supposed to know he was your partner? I never even officially met him! What makes him anymore dangerous then you? Hm?”

Jungkook deflated, obviously not having a good reason, “The difference is I’m protecting you.”

“Oh so you’re saying he wouldn’t?”

“The point,” Jungkook gritted his teeth in annoyance, “Is don’t talk to him.”

You frowned as you twisted to fully look at Jungkook, was he…jealous?

“Are you mad that I’m paying attention to someone else?” You asked upfront, you could only be discreet about so many things.

“I’m not mad”.

“No you’re definitely mad.” You replied pointedly.

“I’m annoyed that my business partner is talking to me outside of business.” Jungkook replied.

“But he was talking to me, not you.” You crossed your arms.

“He was doing that on purpose.” Jungkook huffed.

It was silent for a long moment as you folded your hands into your lap.

Of course you didn’t have to point it out, but truthfully it felt too ridiculous to not? “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

There was another pause.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You tell me,” you replied, a pout on your lips, “You always do this when someone talks to me, men specifically.”

“Do you actually want an honest answer?” Jungkook looked even more annoyed, even so much as throwing you a frosty glance before his eyes returned to the road.

You blinked before a troubled frown slowly curved on your lips, you could think of several ways he’d be honest and none of them you’d be able to fully believe.

“What I want,” you took a breath, “Is to be able to have a conversation without you looking like you’re shooting daggers out of your eyes.”

“I wasn’t shooting daggers out of my eyes.”

You puffed your cheeks, “Well you claim you don’t do a lot of things, that you do in fact, do.”

“How about we just stop talking.” Jungkook replied.

You pouted but spoke no more as you yawned.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You nodded with a small groan, “Yeah, I need to take a nap,” you nodded with another yawn.

Jungkook only nodded in return, eyes occasionally glancing at you, attempting to sleep in the car, when did his life start revolving around you this much?

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #mafia!jungkook

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taintandviolent · 1 year

Text

Ouija Board (Tate Langdon x Reader)

Summary: You have a sleepover at your new house, and your friend decides to bring out your Ouija board. But, you’re all teenage girls, so the questions are completely unhinged and un-serious. But, the ghost you’re talking to takes full advantage of the situation. It’s a perfect opportunity, he’s been watching for you weeks. You’re living in his room, afterall.

warnings: 2.9k words -- self insert! female receiving. shameless smut. post-death Tate, ghost sex, cunnilingus, handjob, rough sex, unprotected sex, mention of ghosts/death.

Ao3 link here! Full fic below the cut! 18+.

tagged: @zabelcolin @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag @r-3tro @twinkiemaximoff @milkovich-misfit {dm/ask to be added!}

It was the third week in the new house.

It was the first time that you actually felt at home. Somehow, you’d managed to make two friends from school, which was equally as shocking to you as it was to your parents. In previous schools, you’d always been on the outskirts, bored stiff at the idea of socialising. When you’d announced to your dad at dinner that you’d actually braved the choppy shores of friendship, he’d nearly choked on his coffee.

“That’s wonderful! Why don’t you invite them over for dinner tonight?” Your mom asked, setting her mug down on the table. You rocked your foot back and forth, mulling over the idea. Previously, your days off from school had been spent unpacking and checking around corners, listening to the creaking and whining of an old house.

Your mother was delighted with its age, commenting on the Tiffany glass and wood — but you felt things that had rotted underneath the wood. Things that whispered when your back was turned, or lingered in the kitchen when you went for a glass of water in the middle of the night.

“Okay, sure.”

So that night, instead of flicking the light switch off in your bathroom and making a beeline for your bedroom, you sat on the floor with Jessica, Angie, a dish of pizza rolls and three glasses of grape soda.

You swallowed the mouthful, and nodded. “No, I’m serious. This house is weird. The first week I was here, in the kitchen… I saw a blonde lady with a hole in the back of her head.”

Jessica snapped the book she was leafing through, and turned. “I bet she was murdered. Don’t you have an Ouija board?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, pointing towards the bookcase. “Never used it, though.”

“You’re going to. This is much more fun than going to Town Hall and asking for records on previous owners. Sometimes, they don’t include death certificates — which is obviously what everyone is interested in. That’s the good stuff.” It took all of three minutes for Jessica to set it up. In unison, the three of you delicately placed two fingers on the planchette.

“Okay… so, what do we ask?”

You chewed on the inside of your lip, thinking.

“Is there anyone here with us?” You blurted out.

The planchette skidded to life, circling in the middle of the board. You’d seen it happen in movies, but the actual sensation was an unsettling one. YES. You all exchanged looks, searching for any guilty expressions — but it seemed that none of you had opted to play any tricks. The planchette had moved by itself.

“Did you die here?” Angie asked.

YES.

Jessica gasped. “Ooooh, what if it’s a cute ghost boy like in Casper? Can I keep you?”

Completely enrapt with the idea, she turned her attention to the board, and asked, “Is the spirit in this room male?”

YES.

“Well, that rules out Miss Hole in her Head.” You cleared your throat, focusing on the printed letters. “Have you been the one in my room every night?”

“The one in your room every night?!” Jessica hissed, shooting a pointed look at you. You shrugged apologetically. Angie, who was visibly uneasy with the entire idea, almost fell backwards when the spirit answered.

YES.

“Oh my god!?” Jessica hung her head between her arms, laughing. “It’s probably some old grandpa with a shrimp dick, let’s be real here.”

“Bet. I’ll find out. Do you have a big dick, Mr. Ghost?” You asked.

Again, the planchette zipped to YES. Whoever he was, he didn’t hesitate. Cute. The three of you howled, laughing at the ridiculousness of the question. Angie desperately tried to redirect the conversation by asking the ghost what it wanted. The planchette spelled out HER.

Jessica lifted her fingers, and Angie screeched at her to return them. “If you don’t say goodbye, the spirit will have an open invitation to come into you!”

“To come!?” Jessica mocked. “To come into me?! Oh, the horror — don’t come into me! Pull out first, Ghost.”

Angie scowled. “You’re so gross.”

As they bickered, you stared at the planchette. It was still active, despite Angie and Jessica’s attention being pulled away. It quivered back and forth, as though it was shaking nervously.

Once Jessica’s wandering mind had been reigned back in, the three of you managed a few more more questions; some about murder, some about occult, and some about other ghosts in the house. Eventually, the sun disappeared from your window, plunging your room into darkness, and your mother called the three of you down to eat. Your friends stayed for about an hour after dinner, and they’d seemingly forgotten about the Ouija board. You hadn’t, though. You leaned your back against the door, the coldness of the glass piercing through your cotton shirt. Your eyes trailed up the staircase, following the bend of the bannister as it curved to the left. Before you made your way upstairs to ready yourself for bed, you craned your neck down the hall, trying to listen for the whispers.

You sat upright in your bed, gasping for air. The book clutched in your hand fell to the floor with a thud. You hadn’t even really remembered falling asleep, but the creak of your floorboards had woken you up. You were met with nothing but the silence and glittering darkness of the room while your eyes adjusted. Eventually, the speckles turned into furniture pieces; your dresser, your mirror, your bookcase… everything seemed in order. The clock on your bedside table incessantly blinked 2:34 AM.

Something skidded across the floor, a spinning blur of tan and black. You yelped, throwing yourself up against your headboard. Your room was silent save for that sound of something hard scooting against a flat surface. You took a deep breath, and crept forward gingerly, wincing each time your mattress creaked.

You gripped the edge of your bed frame tightly, knuckles paling. You peered over. In the middle of the floor where you’d been sitting earlier, the Ouija board was laid out. The planchette swept across the board as it had earlier, but this time with no hands to guide it. It zipped across the board aggressively, as though it was trying to get your attention.

“Hello?”

The triangle paused, then slowly drifted to hello.

Dumbfounded, your mouth opened and closed. You were at a loss — because no horror movie had ever given you any idea how to politely hold a conversation with a spirit outside of the traditional setting.

“Um…. can I… help you? Are you here to possess me?”

Stupid. That was stupid.

Watching as the planchette swept across the board, you read the letters allowed.

“L…A…Y…. Lay? Lay. Okay. B…A…C…K? Lay back?” You waited for further confirmation, but the planchette stayed still for a moment.

It started spinning again, quickly spelling out a final instruction. “Close my eyes. Lay back and close my…. eyes.”

You heaved a sigh, and against your better judgement, you did. You shimmied back underneath the covers, pulling them up to your chest, and waited. The seconds were excruciating, and you were sure some horror movie had to have started like this.

The duvet rustled at the bottom of the bed, and all at once, a gust of cold air hit your feet. The mattress gave to the weight of someone, and you yelped at the feeling of clothed shoulders nestling in between your thighs.

A broad hand ghosted across your stomach, fiddling the scalloped edge of your pyjama shorts. It swooped into your inner thigh, then circled down along your knee. Though the actions were soft, you couldn’t help but feel the knot forming in your stomach. Letting out a soft whimper, you bit your lip, clamping down hard. One hand slid up, caressing the curve of your ribs. You writhed. “You’re driving me insane…” you whispered harshly. Had you really been that touch starved?

Lips hovered over your inner thigh, the hot breath washing over the warm skin. A single finger ran along the inside, trailing further and further up. He slowed as he neared you, wordlessly asking for permission.

“Please,” you begged, doing everything you could not to scoot your hips down into him and embarrass yourself any further. “Please…”

He continued. The pad of his finger floated over you, stroking, teasing until the wetness soaked through the threads. The hands disappeared, but only to return to the sides, where they gripped the waistband, tugging them softly off your hips.

You took a deep breath and immediately clamped your hand over your mouth, muffling the shrill whine that tried to escape. Whoever he was, lapped at your cunt like it was a melting ice cream cone, and it didn’t take long for it to start weeping, soaking the green sheets beneath you.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, and your eyelids fluttered, overwhelmed with the sensation. Everything was white and on fire. Your thighs trembled deep within the muscle with every flick of his tongue. Were you really getting eaten out by a ghost? Was that actually happening? You felt silly acknowledging that. His tongue flattened out against your clit and you let out a whine, erasing every other thought. He pressed his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue flicking at the underside of your clit.

“Fffffuck, oh my god.”

You had to know. You swallowed, and tightened your lips into a thin line. You were ready for whatever horrifying visual would meet you. With one final surge of courage, you flipped the covers up, opened your eyes and gazed into the tented darkness. A head of soft, blonde curls bobbed softly between your legs.

“HELLO?!” It wasn’t a greeting, but the boy lifted his head from your cunt. Two dark eyes glimmered at you from beneath the duvet.

“Hey,” he said, chin glistening. “I’m Tate. I used to live here.”

“You’re so…. cute?”

He smiled crookedly, the dimples in his cheek deepening. “Were you expecting Freddy Krueger or something?”

Your head fell back on the pillow like an anvil and a breathy laugh broke your pants. “Yeah, maybe. Jesus Christ…. I don’t know. I’ve never had a ghost between my legs.”

“You liked it. You’re so wet.” He was pleased with himself, you could tell. Reaching one finger up to stroke your opening, he angled his head to watch the way you clenched and squirmed at his touch.

“Was I… were you the one I was talking to with my friends?” He nodded. He shifted his weight, manoeuvring himself up until he was above you, supporting himself with hands on either side of your neck.

“I’ve been watching you since you moved in, Y/N… I didn’t want to scare you away.” He confessed, searching your face. “I’ve wanted you for weeks.”

You were scrambling to keep your thoughts in one manageable bundle. On one hand, this scenario was insane and you were sick to be enjoying it. On the other… sure, he was dead, but he was easily one of the cutest boys you’d ever seen and the way he wanted you was intoxicating. His dark eyes darted from your lips to your eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. You craned your neck up to meet him, pressing into his plush, pink lips.

You’d never been one of those boy crazy teenagers, but you understood the cathartic release that sex brought. It was carnal and natural. You’d only ever slept with one other person, so the hunger was never sated, and you were left quietly fingering yourself after your parents fell asleep. Every time you’d had the chance to have made out with someone though, you tasted them. Deeply. Kissing someone released their scent, the one that only intimate partners got. And none of them had ever been as heady and addictive as Tate was. You tilted your head to get further into his waiting mouth, swirling your tongue with his. You whimpered, sending a moan down his throat.

You reached under, sliding your hands down his stomach. The tiniest trail of hair guided you to the waistband of his jeans, where you made quick work of the buttons. Breaking the kiss only to help with scooting his jeans over the curve of his ass, Tate quickly returned his lips against yours, his tongue moving past your lips eagerly.

Although you were going in blind, it wasn’t difficult to find his cock. Not only did it take up most of the space between you two, but it was hot to the touch, the heat radiating from beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You pressed your hand against him, getting an idea for the length.

“Huh. So, you weren’t lying about that.” Tate’s hips ground against your palm in response. You reached up, flipping the elastic down so you could slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along the soft tip. Your palm was immediately slick with his precum; the thick fluid coated the soft skin. You used your thumb to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges. He groaned, burying his face into your neck.

“I didn’t lie about anything you asked me.”

You began stroking him underneath the sheets in slow, full movements and Tate’s breathing hitched, hips bucking forward involuntarily. You sped up, feeling warm droplets dribble onto your exposed tummy. Your thumb pressed into the squishy flesh of his head, not expecting the reaction that followed.

“Mm-uh—please. Please, I want you. Please.” He was begging, whining, and his big brown eyes were filled with a pathetic yearning that made your walls soak even further.

“So do it.”

He wasted no time in completing your demand. He sat up, the covers falling off his back.Tate gripped himself, giving his cock a few pumps before he lined himself up, pressing his hot, leaking tip into your entrance. Snatching the opportunity from him, you bucked your hips up to his, forcing his cock inside. You clenched around him hungrily and Tate let out a throaty whine as he pushed the remaining length into you.

He started out slow, taking his time as he slid in and out of you, but the slick pull of your walls each time he slid out unravelled his concentration. Each thrust seemed a little more desperate than the last, his balls slapping against you, splashing the mixture of his spit and your cum against your inner thighs. Bottoming out inside of you, he arched his neck backwards, letting it hang heavy. “Are you a virgin?”

“Wha — no.” You breathed, adjusting your head on the pillow to look at him. Odd question to ask in the middle of the deed. “Why?”

Tate swallowed, and between pants, said, “Because…. you’re so wet.” He dropped forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His cock was still inside, the girth hitting you at a new angle, and the fullness made your stomach clench.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, okay? Tell me if I’m hurting you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nodded fervidly, and slithered your hands underneath his sweat-soaked shirt until it gathered. Tate lifted his arms, and allowed you to slip the shirt over them. You tossed it towards the edge of the bed, and raked your nails along his naked chest.

“Please.” It was your turn to beg. Tate backed his hips out, pulling himself from your warmth. “I want it.”

He dropped back down to his hands, getting a tight grip on the mattress behind you. His lips met yours again, hungrily. It provided only a momentary distraction, because the second that Tate started pounding into you, you could focus on nothing else — except suppressing your aroused screams. He scooted closer to you on the bed, angling himself to get deeper.

He was hitting every spot he could, and your breaths quickened as he fucked you closer to the edge. You bit down on your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. He had just started, and you were already about to lose it.

“Are you gonna’ cum? Huh?” Tate asked, now struggling to keep his rhythm. If you were close, he seemed to be closer — and you didn’t feel so bad. Tate reached down, pulling himself out to slide the tip of his cock over your clit a few times before stuffing it back in. Your lips parted in a soundless scream as you felt the unmistakable warmth filling you, the quivering in your legs, and the desperate, spasming arch of your back.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tate chanted, feeling your orgasm as it gripped him in a wet, pulsing chokehold. “Fuck!”

As he spilled into you, Tate fell atop of your body, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours. His hips were on autopilot, erratically bucking with each gush. You winced, on the verge of overstimulation. Gradually, his thrusts slowed.

He flopped over on the side of you, one hand stroking the outside of your thigh delicately. He was gazing at you dreamily when you turned to face him.

“So, do I have to bring out the Ouija board each time I want to see you?”

Tate propped his head up on his hand. “You want to see me again?”

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, a taunting smile curling around your swollen lips. “Uhhh… yeah.”

“I can be here every night if you want.” He purred.

“Haven’t you been anyway? Or did you lie about that?”

Tate’s brows pulled upwards, looking hurt. “I told you — I didn’t lie about anything! I’d never lie to you!”

“Okay, shh —“ You silenced him with your lips. “I’ll be right back. I have to pee.”

For the first time since you’d moved in, you weren’t afraid of ghosts as you walked to the bathroom. You were just afraid that the one in your bedroom would be gone when you got back.

He wasn’t, though.

#Tate Langdon #American Horror Story #ahs murder house #tate langdon smut #ahs smut #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon x yn #myfics #fanfiction #ahs fanfiction

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breelandwalker · 10 months

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Witchcraft Exercise - Creating Correspondences

There are dozens of plant species in the arsenal of the green witch. Commonly-used varieties and usage varies somewhat between traditions, but most of us are fairly familiar with industry standards like basil, bay, rosemary, sage, and so on.

But what do you do when faced with a plant that has no listed magical correspondences anywhere that you can find in your witchcraft library? Simple - you create some.

Allow me to demonstrate with a little plant I found in my own backyard. It's a common weed called Virginia copperleaf (Acalypha virginica). But despite it's widespread range and abundant growth as a field weed, there are surprisingly few references to the plant in regional folk medicine and none at all that I could find in contemporary witchcraft.

So in order to incorporate this hardy little weed into my practice, I set about creating some correspondences for it.

First, I researched the physical properties of the plant. It is a small annual spurge with long taproots, a resistance to drought and many herbicides, and a reputation for fast growth and being difficult to eradicate from fields due to prolific seeding. The leaves turn coppery-red in the fall and small spiky flowers bloom among the foliage. It is also mildly poisonous. The juice of the plant may cause contact dermatitis or a mild rash in some people and if ingested, it may cause GI symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea.

Next, I researched references to the plant in folk medicine. I could only find a single reference that cited copperleaf as a possible diuretic and expectorant. That does track with the previous mention of GI symptoms, but it doesn't mean the plant is safe to use. I did discover that an alternate name for the plant is three-seeded mercury or mercury weed, likely because of its' tendency for fast growth and the fact that it is propagated by the wind.

So now comes the business of creating the correspondences, using the physical properties of the plant as a basis.

The first and most obvious association is strength. Any weed that is resistant to drought and herbicide and uprooting is bound to be useful for spells involving tenacity and fortitude. Prosperity is also a likely use, both because of the name copperleaf and the way in which the plant grows and spreads quickly. Because of the alternate name mercury weed and the wind propagation, it could be used for wind magic or communication spells. (I often associate the element of air with communication and the name of a messenger god is right there as well, but your mileage may vary.)

The plant could also be used as an ingredient for baneful magic, either to bind and frustrate someone's efforts by consuming available ground where their ambitions might grow, or in its' capacity as a mild poison, to cause physical discomfort and stomach trouble.

So in the end, I have a handful of copperleaf and a listing in my witchbook that details the properties of the plant and notes that it could be useful for spells involving strength, tenacity, prosperity, wind, or communication, as well as possible baneful uses including binding, discomfort, and sickness.

This is my system for assigning correspondences to previously-unknown plants, and I encourage readers to use it as a template for their own practices or to create their own system. Either way, I recommend the use of a field guide or plant identification app like PlantNet to properly identify plants as you find them. Remember to forage and harvest responsibly, be a good steward of the land around you, and always label your plant cuttings.

Happy Witching! 💚🌿

(If you're enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. You can also check out my show Hex Positive wherever fine podcasts are heard. 😊)

More witchcraft exercises here:

#witch community #witchcraft exercises #baby witch #witchcraft #witchblr #witch tips #green witchcraft #plant magic #Advice for Beginner Witches

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deception-united · 10 days

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Here, have some writing tips.

Celebrating 1000 followers! Love you all ❤

Your first version doesn't have to be permanent.

A lot of writers—myself included—may feel a sort of connection or duty to their original story, draft, plot, or characters. But being afraid to change what you already have will only hinder you. My current WIP (which I'm working on with @leisureflame, check out her blog!) has been changed—and I mean completely flipped around—countless times. We started out in a medieval setting with kings and queens and burning witches, and now it's a dystopian novel set in the future in a country they're forbidden to leave. Our main character was originally dark haired, olive skinned, reserved, fierce, independent, and now she's a sunburn-prone ginger with a sanity deficiency. We've scrapped and replaced multiple characters and sacrificed plot elements we loved to attain what is best for this story. It's incredibly sad, but sometimes, it's necessary.

Don't delete your ideas.

Or excerpts. Or character ideas. An idea's occurred to you at three in the morning? In the shower? At work? Write. It. Down. Immediately. The top surface of my bookcase is littered with random notes in smudged pencil that I've jotted down. Referring back to the last point, if you change or scrap a part of your story, keep it somewhere. I like to keep a notes document that I perpetually add the most random things to: out-of-context lines of dialogue, phrases I like, new vocabulary, character descriptions—anything, really. Even if you know you're probably never going to have occasion to use it, take note of it anyway. You never know when a previous idea will be just the element you need in your story. And if not, well, they're fun to read over later.

Free write.

I know I covered this in a recent post, but I'd just like to stress on it again. Open a document or a page in your notebook and just start writing. Whatever comes to mind. Doesn't matter how nonsensical or embarrassing or muddled, as long as you're writing. This exercise can really help regain or maintain your creative flow. You'll end up with some passages that are horrible and that you will never deign to set your eyes upon in the rest of your years, and others you'll cherish. In any case, whether the result is good or atrocious, you'll have written something. It's a good way to combat writer's block, or boredom. I recommend it.

Hope this helps. Thanks for all your support!

#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #writer inspiration #writer stuff #writer things #deception-united

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greensagephase · 9 months

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Nonviolent Communication - Part Three

Miguel O'Hara x FemReader

Summary: You reminisce on your past life on Peter's birthday.

Warning: Some angst, mention of death

Word Count: 6,194

Music inspo while writing:

"I'll Be Seeing You" - Billie Holiday

"Self Love" - Metro Boomin, Coi Leray

Part Three

A few weeks go by since the day you accidentally intruded on Miguel’s emotional breakdown after he discovered the hidden folder containing memories of his previous life. Each week is the same since then, but things are slightly different. You still arrive at the meetings before anyone else with your coffee cups. One for you and for him. You don’t give him any more excuses like you used to, like stating that the cafeteria staff gave you an extra one. You’ve started to just greet Miguel and place the cup in front of him. He now looks up at you and nods before you go to your seat, his way of acknowledging you and your gesture. You notice as you review the reports that he now starts drinking the coffee as other members begin to arrive. The coffee cup no longer sits ignored like before, growing cold. It makes you feel something you can’t describe.

You also continue to clean the lab once a week. You show up at the same time as always. Lyla continues to pepper you with questions and sometimes she tells you about her day, including Miguel’s mood for the day. You find it funny as she complains sometimes. You don’t fail to notice that during your once a week organizing time, Miguel is on his platform still, but he is no longer high up in the air like he used to. No, when you arrive, the platform is on ground level as he scans his monitors doing who knows what. Another change you’ve noticed since then is that sometimes he acknowledged you and other times he didn’t. Now he gives you a “hmm” when you greet him, informing him you’re there to organize the lab for the week. There’s still no discussion between you, though sometimes you get the sense that he listens in on your conversations with Lyla.

You have never told anyone, not even your close friends like Jessica, Miles, Hobie or the rest of the group, which adopted you into their group almost immediately after your recruitment into the Spider Society, about what Miguel did for you the day you were unwell or what happened the following day at his lab. You don’t mention the small changes you have noticed even though your friends sometimes tease you about organizing the lab. They wonder how you can handle being in the lab with Miguel alone since they all believe that he ignores you the entire time. You just laugh it off each time. Each time explaining that it doesn’t bother you and you just enjoy organizing the lab. It doesn’t matter to you if he talks to you or not. Unknowingly, your friends often wonder, though they never bring it up to you, if you have a thing for Miguel. They hope you don’t as they believe that Miguel will never reciprocate your feelings if you do have any for him beyond platonic ones.

They know about Miguel’s past of course, being the ones that had to deal with his strong beliefs about the multiverse which had being the reason for him launching a multiverse hunt for Miles a few months earlier. They also think that it will probably take years for Miguel to fully move on, if he even moves on at all. You don’t know your friends often talk about this though. You don’t even think about this being a possibility. Why would you? You don’t think anyone will have the wrong impression. You yourself don’t see it as anything beyond wanting to be there for someone who could use some support. It wasn’t like you had feelings for Miguel that way, or so you told yourself.

No, this had all started because you were intrigued by him. This was why you had allowed yourself to be interested. No other reason. Except, you had believed that by indulging your interest in him, it would fade away. You were very wrong as you now felt even more of a pull towards him. You now knew more about his life, and it gave you a clearer picture of him and his past. None of this has made you lose interest though. You can’t help but want to be there for him even if the founder of the Spider Society is still closed off.

You sigh as you walk through the cafeteria, holding your mask. It’s the early afternoon, which means the cafeteria is full. Still, you smile as you walk by, seeing all the various versions of Spider-Man. You remember the first time you were brought to HQ. You couldn’t believe that there were so many versions of you, all intertwined by your spider gifts. It was incredible in so many ways.

Of course, another wonderful thing about the Spider Society was knowing that there were others like you, who experienced some of the same effects of being a superhero. The life of a superhero isn’t easy. It is a constant state of living two lives. One that you desperately try to make as normal as possible by doing mundane things like grocery shopping or having a normal job. The other includes desperately trying to conceal your identity, hoping that you can remain anonymous for your own safety. This is especially important if you have family that you want to protect as well.

The normal life you try to lead can become exhausting though. How many times can you make excuses for missing events or being late? How can you explain random disappearances? Being a superhero sometimes feels like being two-faced. Thus, knowing that there were others like you, who understood what it was like, was a wonderful thing. You each understood each other very well.

Still walking, you head to the coffee station and grab two coffees. It’s that day of the week that you go and organize the lab. You quickly head over there, hoping that you can finish soon as today is an important day.

It’s Peter’s birthday. Or rather… it would’ve been his birthday today. You smile as you walk over to the lab, thinking about Peter. Your sweet Peter. He would’ve been twenty-six today. You sigh deeply, unable to stop yourself from feeling sadness. You wish he was still here. You wish you could’ve saved him… You stop yourself from going there. Not today, you think. Today you will celebrate Peter. You will go home, and you will bake his favorite cake and you will celebrate on your own. Just the way you have done all the previous years.

You nod, with determination. Yes, you will organize the lab and head back to your universe. You will make it a great day in Peter’s honor. You stop before reaching the lab’s door and call for Lyla. You wait.

“Y/N! It’s that time of the week! I’ll tell Miguel you’re here, hold on,” Lyla says disappearing and then appearing again. “You can come in!”

You nod and enter the lab, Lyla following you. You take in the lab, finding Miguel on his platform as usual. You notice he has his face closer to a monitor, apparently inspecting something.

“Good afternoon,” you say as you walk over to the closest surface to Miguel. You place one of the coffee cups and head over to one of the other surfaces to scan what you’ll be organizing, setting your mask and coffee cup down.

“Hmm,” Miguel acknowledges you.

You begin separating different pieces into categories. It’s been months now since you first started organizing so you have a system on where everything goes. You move with ease and speed, your mind focused on the task.

“Woah, woah. Why are you so fast today?” Lyla asks near you, watching you with curiosity.

You turn to her and smile. “Am I too quick for you today?”

Lyla gives you a look, sliding her heart-shaped glasses down her nose to look at you directly. “You are going way too fast today. You have plans or something?” she asks.

You chuckle. “Why does it sound like you don’t think I have plans?”

“Because you usually say you only stay at home…” Lyla says trailing off.

You frown. “I don’t only stay at home. I do other things. I’ve told you, I go to the bookstore sometimes on the weekend or I go to the park – why am I even explaining myself?” you ask, turning away from Lyla who now has a huge grin on her face as if you just proved her point.

“That’s what I’m saying. You don’t do anything. You think going to the bookstore is fun?” she asks floating to face you as you continue to separate pieces in groups.

“It is fun if you like reading,” you answer pointedly.

“Okay, fine. Reading is fun! But you’re ignoring my question – do you have plans today or something? You’re speeding through this,” Lyla comments, looking down at the surface with almost all the pieces organized. There are still other surfaces to organize but at this rate, you’ll be done within half an hour.

You sigh. “I do, actually.”

Lyla nods, “So… what are you doing? Going on a date? Are you finally dating again, Y/N? Ah – please tell me you are –“ Lyla says excitedly but gets interrupted.

“Lyla!” Miguel calls for Lyla.

Lyla sighs annoyed. “Just when the conversation was about to get good. Duty calls,” she says disappearing from your view and presumably going to Miguel.

You focus on organizing, not paying attention to what Miguel wanted Lyla for. You pause for a second to take a sip of your coffee, making you turn to where you left the other cup for Miguel. It was gone, surprisingly without you even noticing. You could’ve sworn Miguel hadn’t even moved from his platform but when you look over at him with Lyla floating near his head, you see him holding the cup as he stares at a monitor.

You smile briefly before you turn around and continue. You really want to finish this quickly so you can head home and celebrate Peter. Your hands work swiftly, your brain already knows how to organize everything. You think about what you have planned.

You plan on visiting his gravestone again. You visited it this morning, leaving some fresh flowers in honor of his birthday. You usually go once a week to change out the old ones and to make sure his gravestone is clean, but you want to go again, to talk for a little while. Afterward, you plan on going to that ice cream place he absolutely loved to get some of his favorite ice cream flavor to pair with his cake. Then, you will head home and bake, probably listen to his favorite records as you do so.

Your mind is so wrapped up in your plans you don’t hear Lyla, suddenly in front of you as you have moved on to another surface.

“Hello! Is someone in there?” Lyla says, finally catching your attention.

You look up, surprised. “Oh – sorry, Lyla. I was a little distracted. Can you repeat what you said, please?”

Lyla rolls her eyes at you, taking a seat in mid-air with one leg crossed over the other.

“You are so distracted today. The reason for that better be a date.”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No date for me today but I do have plans.”

“Oh, what do you have planned then?”

You slow down a bit on your organizing, a part of you wondering what Lyla will say about your plans. Some people may find your plans odd or maybe “too much.” So, you lie instead.

“I’m – going out with some friends. To watch a movie,” you say, giving her a smile in hopes that she will believe it.

She beams at you. “That’s great! What movie are you watching?”

“It’s about World War II, I think… It has this great Irish actor that my friends like,” you reply briefly, lying.

You continue to categorize the pieces of tech, picking up speed once again. You can’t help but think about your lie. You’re not only lying about your plans. You are also lying about having friends in your universe. You used to have friends back when Peter was alive but after what happened, you shut down. You didn’t have it in you to see them. To see how their lives were picking right back where they had paused when Peter’s death took place. You never held it against them, of course. It was just hard. You lost your person. Seeing your friends continue with their lives just made it harder to accept that life was moving on. Life was moving on without Peter, and you couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear the thought that one day he was there and the next he wasn’t.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that you had had everything with him for the last time. Like the last night with him, the night before he had passed away. You had laid together in bed, with his arms wrapped around you after you had taken a shower, having returned from patrolling the city.

It was always like that. You did your night patrolling while he waited at home, resting from his workday. You arrived and showered to wash away the filth of the city. You then slid into bed with him, where he already had the bed sheets warm for you. He smiled as he saw you approach the bed in your pajamas. He opened his arms, welcoming you into his warm and loving embrace. He held you in his arms, your back pressed into his chest. He always asked how the night shift went. You’d tell him everything, from funny things you witnessed to things that were straight up insane. He always enjoyed hearing you talk about your patrolling as he held you. At one point during the conversation, his thumb would always find its way to the back of your hand, caressing it, luring you to sleep. His head was always buried in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent. You always loved to make him laugh during these moments. His laugh was contagious, and you could always feel the vibrations of it across your back as he held you close. You cherished it each night. In those moments, you were no superhero. You were not Spider-Woman. You were just you, a woman sliding into the comfort of her bed with her loving partner. You didn’t have to do any saving or fighting. It was just Peter and you in your small, beautiful, and rundown apartment.

And so, the day you lost Peter, you couldn’t bear the thought that only the previous night, he had held you for the last time. You had heard his laugh next to your ear. Felt its vibrations spread through your back like warm water. Felt his warm breath on the crook of your neck. Had his arms wrapped around you protectively.

All of it for the last time.

Just like that.

The days started and ended. The city went on with its buzz. The sun appeared and disappeared. The stars shimmered in the night sky, flickering here and there as if waving hello. The moon bathed you during night patrolling, lighting your way back to a vacant apartment.

Earth continued spinning like you hadn’t lost the only family you had.

Everyone and everything moved on.

Without Peter.

So, you slowly but surely, started severing those friendships. A stupid side of you also thought your old friends were better off without you. You didn’t like to think about it often, but you carried guilt with you. Guilt that you could’ve done better. That you could’ve been faster. Smarter.

If you had been better at those things, maybe you wouldn’t have lost Peter. Maybe you would’ve reached him sooner. Maybe it would’ve given him more time to receive treatment and care.

Maybe, maybe, maybe –

It ate at you every day following his death.

What if, what if, what if -

You tell yourself to stop. Not today on Peter’s birthday. You clear your throat. Either way, you had ended your friendships – thinking that you were protecting them. They were probably safer away from you. You, Spider-Woman, who fought villains and petty crimes. And the other you, who tried to lead a normal life with a secret second life.

You didn’t have family either. You lost your parents shortly after graduating college, losing them to a car accident. You didn’t have siblings to share the loss with and you weren’t close with other relatives. Peter was your only remaining family, who was also alone, as he had lost his own version of Aunt May a few years prior.

You were utterly alone.

Until you were recruited into the Spider Society by Jessica Drew. You declined the invitation at first. You didn’t want to take on multiverse dangers. You thought it was going to distract you from your own universe and your city. Your beloved city, which you had promised Peter you would continue to protect as Spider-Woman. Jessica only persisted, eventually convincing you to join after she asked what Peter would have thought about the idea.

You agreed almost instantly. Peter would have been fascinated by the idea of the multiverse. He would have been delighted knowing that there were other versions of himself in the multiverse who were Spider-Man.

It was because of Peter that you had joined the Spider Society. Before you knew it, you had been introduced to the founder, the one that stood a few feet from you now. You were accepted the same day Jessica brought you to HQ, as the founder had a lot of trust in Jessica. The whole thing was about three minutes long, with Miguel staring at you as if his mind was somewhere else. He had said it was fine and threw in a stern “Welcome to the Spider Society” before he had walked away, his mind consumed by thoughts of his past life that you hadn’t learned of yet.

Thereafter, you were introduced to other spider members, meeting people such as Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Margo Kess, Ben Reilly, and others. You were quickly adopted into the group that Miles Morales was in. For some reason they quickly liked you. And so, for the first time in years, you found yourself sitting surrounded by people, engaging in conversation. You were let in on inside jokes. You laughed. You shook your head at the things the younger members said in disbelief sometimes, feeling like an older sibling to them. You ate at the cafeteria with them. You went on missions with them. You could trust them.

You had friends once again.

You have friends once again.

Just not in your universe.

You look up at Lyla, giving her a smile.

“Anyway, enough about me. What are you doing? Helping more spider members?” you ask, and Lyla rolls her eyes.

“You tease me too much sometimes. You know I obviously stick around with Miguel,” Lyla whispers the last bit, floating closer to you. “I don’t need sleep that often, but he does. And he hardly ever rests. You don’t know how exhausting it is to tell your human to rest for their own good only to be ignored.”

You tsk, shaking your head but don’t say anything as you fear Miguel might overhear you. At the end of the day, he’s still your boss. You sigh and finish organizing another surface. Lyla continues to chat with you, getting interrupted a few times as Miguel calls her for something. You eventually finish organizing everything, all in less than thirty minutes. You check your watch, wanting to know the time. You really need to get going.

“Hey, Miguel?” you say, preparing your gizmo. Miguel turns around just as you look up at him. “I’m done organizing the lab. Everything is organized as always.”

Miguel nods before he himself looks at his gizmo, perhaps to check the time, who knows.

“Oh. Thanks,” he says, still watching you from his platform. You fail to see a strange look on his face.

You nod. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you around!” you say, heading out the door but not before you say goodbye to Lyla. “Bye, Lyla!”

You hear Lyla say bye as the door closes behind you, leaving the Spider Society founder and his AI assistant alone. Lyla floats off to check something, but Miguel watches the door you just left through in a hurry. His brows are furrowed but he says nothing as he returns to his monitors once again.

Back in your universe, you swing through the city to the cemetery for the second time today. You reach it in no time, and you soon find Peter’s gravestone, his fresh flowers from this morning still lying as you placed them. As you had promised, you spend some time there, talking to him. Or his gravestone, rather. You tell him about missions you have gone on lately. The other universes you have seen and visited. You mention the villains and anomalies you have fought against or dealt with. You tell him about your friends and the things they said or did. You smile as you speak, knowing that if he was here, he would’ve loved them. And he really would’ve. Peter was a loving and caring man. He would’ve welcomed your friends into your humble apartment with no hesitation.

You tell him about your patrolling in your city. You still bring up the funny and weird stuff you have seen this week so far.

You wish you could hear his laugh again.

You wish he was here but not here in the cemetery.

You wish you weren’t here but at your apartment, with him waiting for you.

You wish, wish, wish…

That things were different.

You don’t bring up Miguel, who has been brought up before. If Peter listens to you, he’s no stranger to this man. He has heard about the man and your interest on him along with your emphasizing that it’s not like that. You’ve never questioned if it’s wrong. You have no other intentions.

About an hour later, you say your goodbye to Peter’s gravestone. You head to the ice cream shop he loved going to and as promised, bought his favorite flavor. You arrive at your apartment, placing the ice cream in the freezer to keep it good. You shower quickly and put on comfortable clothes. You make a quick dinner, feeling hungry. At this point in the day, it’s early in the evening.

You clean the mess in the kitchen from cooking dinner, leaving you a spotless kitchen for the baking. You walk over to your living room section and scan the records that are carefully put away. You pull out Peter’s favorites, preparing them for the evening. You put on one and turn on the lamps, setting the ambiance. You grab a photo of Peter from the living room console table, bringing it with you to the kitchen island. You place it so that it’s facing you as you bake.

With the music in the background, you gather your ingredients and utensils. You preheat the oven. You begin measuring the ingredients into a large bowl. You focus on this, and this alone. There will be no night patrolling tonight. Tonight, is for Peter only.

You measure and mix. It’s like a ritual. Your mind is flooded with memories of Peter. Some tears spill out of your eyes. You laugh quietly at yourself. You tell yourself to stop. Peter wouldn’t want to see you crying. You mix the batter with determination and wonder what he’d say if he saw you like this now; mixing the batter for his favorite cake while tears spill down your face like Niagara Falls.

“Darling don’t cry. I’m right here.”

Peter was an old-fashioned man when it came to love. He loved calling you darling or love. He held the door open for you everywhere. He opened the door when you took cabs, offering you his hand to help you step out. He followed the sidewalk rule, with you inside the sidewalk and him on the edge. He held your hand as you walked. He held the umbrella when it rained. He draped his coat in the winter over your shoulders to keep you warm. He kissed you goodnight. He kissed you goodbye each morning before going to work. He called you during the day, asking how and what you were doing. He brought flowers to you each week because “I just love seeing your face light up, darling”. You got double the flowers when it was your birthday or your anniversary. He made reservations for dinner. He planned dates every two weeks. The two of you going to random places in the city and other times outside the city. Sometimes it was as simple as going for a walk to the park with ice cream cones in hand, while holding hands.

He carried the groceries, despite you being stronger than him because of your spider gifts. You cooked together like you did back in your college days. Sharing the small kitchen place that was perfect for the two of you, standing near each other. The two of you would focus on different tasks as you talked about the day like how his day went at work or some crazy story from him taking the train.

He danced with you in the evenings. You knew when he was in the mood for it because he’d put Billie Holiday on. The blinds were drawn. The living room’s lamps were on, casting a soft light as the sweet jazz and swing notes filled the air. You’d sit on your couch reading a book that you could devour in a few hours, adding it to your bookshelf in the corner once you finished, overflowing it with books. You sat on that couch, the one that you had spent so much time selecting for this apartment with him when you first moved in.

The same one that you barely sit on now because it still reminds you of those moments. You don’t know how to cope with the fact that your reading is no longer interrupted by Peter’s hand appearing in front of your vision suddenly. You’d be reading, so engrossed in the story as he sat nearby, listening to his records, enjoying your presence before your night patrol. He’d suddenly stand up, fixing his shirt. He extended his arm out, his hand appearing in front of you. You’d look up from the book with a knowing look. You took his hand each time.

There was never a time you rejected it. Never.

He’d help you up, helping you place your book safely away because he knew how much you hated damaging your books. Once the book’s safety was ensured, he smiled down at you, taking your other hand. Billie Holiday filled the air, her sweet and soft voice tranquilizing and transporting the two of you to another dimension where only the two of you existed. It was in those moments that it felt like the city actually stopped. It was like the city was paused or went to sleep. It was just the two of you.

Two souls dancing.

Your tears run down your face, quietly, as you put the cake into the oven at last. You set the timer for thirty minutes.

His hand held yours, softly and gently. He placed your other hand on his shoulder before placing his free hand at your waist as you danced in the living room. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and inhaling his scent. His head rested on top of yours. He held you so close to him, his warmth seeping into your body. His scent surrounded you, embraced you, serenaded you.

You try to remember it now. Try to conjure his scent from thin air. It’s been so long now that his clothes, which are still in your closet safely put away, have lost his scent. You can no longer bring them out, and breathe in his scent for comfort. It’s gone. Like him. You always said he smelled like the woods after a thunderstorm. You didn’t know if that even made sense, but it did in your head. It was clean, warm, and elemental.

It brought you peace. Comfort. He loved it when you caressed his face and hair but all you needed from him was his scent. It was enough to calm you down. To remind you that you were just you at the end of the day. To remind you that the feeling of a home doesn’t only come from a physical roof and walls.

You found home in his scent. In him.

The two of you always knew that afterwards, you’d have leave to patrol the night. He’d have to begin getting ready for the next day of work as you suited up to protect the city. That moment in your small, cozy, and warm living room section of your humble apartment, however, was everything despite knowing it would come to an end eventually.

But at that moment, it was just the two of you. Nothing else mattered at that moment. The multiverse could have been collapsing and neither of you would have noticed as he twirled you slowly and romantically. He’d get even more into his feelings in those moments if that was even possible. He was never afraid of telling you he loved you. In fact, he said it often and it never ceased to make your heart flutter. He always found a way to make it feel like the first time he had said it. You’d blush and roll your eyes playfully, but he would take your hand and kiss the back of it. His eyes would meet yours, full of sincerity and love.

“You know I do, darling. Don’t forget it.”

Your fingers brush the back of your hand now, feeling the ghost of his lips on it as you stare out the window of your apartment, staring at the moon. The cake should be ready any minute now. You sigh deeply as one of his favorite songs by Billie Holiday comes on. The one he typically chose to ask you to dance to.

“I’ll Be Seeing You” is now playing in the background as you reminisce on the past. Peter would have been twenty-six today. You cannot help but wonder where he would be in life now. Where you would be in life. You wonder…

You feel certain that he would’ve already popped the question in these three years. You would’ve already been married. You would’ve possibly been a year or two into the marriage. Perhaps talk of children would have already emerged as Peter always wanted to be a father. You thought about it sometimes in the past but as you and Peter grew older, as you moved in together, you started thinking about it more. You couldn’t imagine yourself having children with anyone else. You saw children as a huge responsibility, but you knew Peter and trusted him, easing normal worries that emerge from the simple consideration of having children. Tears spill from your eyes as you imagine what he would have been as a father. You know it in your heart that he would have been an incredible father, no matter what. He would’ve spoiled the child or rather children, as he wished for more than one. He would have spoiled them. He would’ve made time for them. He would’ve tucked them into bed each night, kissing their foreheads before exiting the room. He would’ve probably told them stories about Spider-Woman and “how amazing she is!”

You imagine other mundane things as you knew him so well. Like how he cooked breakfast on the weekends, taking his time to spoil you. You are sure he would’ve spoiled the children, too, with elaborate breakfasts. You stifle a chuckle as you remember the time he tried to make pancakes in the shape of spiders but they turned out a little messy. They were still amazing though, and you cherished the effort and time he had spent on them. You can’t help but think that he would’ve tried again for the kids, trying to surprise them with a different shape each week.

You think about how he would have carried them to bed if they fell asleep on the couch, picking them up with a tenderness that would have pulled the strings of your heart. Or how he would have held them when they were still infants, close to his chest, embracing them in the warmth of his body to comfort them.

You quietly grieve a life that could have been. There might be a chance one day for you to find love again. To find a man that you can love and that can love you as deeply as Peter, but you know you will always grieve what you once had. And what you could have had.

The oven beeps, interrupting your thoughts and crying. You hurry to the oven, carefully taking out the cake. You set it on the counter before you stare at the photograph you brought earlier of Peter to the counter. He’s smiling at you.

You look away. That smile – the one that could undo everything wrong with your life at the sight of it. You turn back to the photograph.

“Peter…” you whisper, as you meet his eyes.

You spend a few minutes like that. Staring at his picture. Your eyes scanning his face, remembering how it once felt to hold, kiss, and caress it. If you were an artist, you would have been able to draw his face from memory. From the crinkles by his eyes when he smiled, to the light stubble that covered his lower face after a day or two from shaving to the mole on his left cheek near his lips. You could draw his lips. So soft. So perfect. You could capture the glint in his eyes that was always there when he looked at you.

You sigh and take the Bundt pan, ready to flip it. You get the tray ready and frosting before you flip it, successfully. The sweet scent fills your nostrils. You take the frosting and spread it delicately, taking your time.

No one else eats it. No one else sees it. No one even smells it.

Just you.

And you hope that Peter, from somewhere can, too.

Satisfied with the frosting, you take the candles and place them on the cake, gently.

A two and a six.

You don’t add anything else, as Peter wasn’t into all of that for himself. He always said he wanted to dig right into it without having to worry about taking off decorations. You always laughed, shaking your head at him in disbelief.

“You act like my baking is amazing,” you’d say.

“Darling, your baking is amazing. If I could get a slice as soon as it was out of the oven, I would.”

You retrieve the ice cream from the freezer. You light the candles. You quietly sing happy birthday to his photo, tears slowly running down your face. You blow out the candles. You wonder what his wish would have been. You had asked him on his last birthday, knowing he wouldn’t tell you, but you still asked regardless out of curiosity because of his behavior. He had stared at you, with that stupid smile that made you feel like a schoolgirl each time he smiled at you, before he blew the candles. He grinned afterwards, prompting you to ask.

“You know I can’t tell you, love. It won’t come true if I do – and I’m not taking any chances.”

You didn’t know what Peter wished for then or now, and you never will… but Peter had looked at you with his smile before blowing out the candles as he silently made, unknowingly, his last birthday wish.

“I wish to marry Y/N soon.”

You stare at his photo, a small but warm smile forming as you remember his last birthday. He hadn’t told you his wish and you respected it, though you wish you knew what it was. You silently hope that whatever it was, had come true.

“Happy Birthday, love,” you whisper. “I hope you are having a great one - wherever you are.”

You sigh deeply and smile, sadly. You grab a knife and two plates, ready to cut into the cake. Billie Holiday is still playing in the background. There is no other sound in your space. You can’t even hear traffic. You are about to slice into the cake when you feel something. You pause, looking up. Small objects in your apartment begin to rise into the air. You immediately recognize what’s happening.

A multidimensional portal opens in your living room section. You watch, confused before you see who steps out of it, the objects falling back into place.

“Miguel?” you say, with furrowed brows as you stare at his back.

----------------------------------

So, I was hoping to have this up yesterday in honor of ATSV coming out in digital but I found myself still writing this morning (August 9, 2023) at 1am and then realized I was looking at a part three that was going to be over 10K words lol. So, I took the executive decision and split it where I thought it was best.

I will apologize in advance if you expected more Miguel in this but I wanted to explore the reader's life with Peter a little bit more and once I started writing about him I couldn't stop, hence why I was looking at a part three of 10K words. I hope you guys still enjoy this despite Miguel being a little MIA. He will show up again, I promise 💖

I'm so happy I can finally see this man in HD though! Now that I have this part out, I'm gonna take a little writing break for today and tomorrow and create edits of him on TikTok lol. This man has me on such a chokehold, he has me writing and making edits of him. Now I'm thinking about learning how to draw for him, too 💀 someone pls send help lol

Anyway, if it wasn't obvious already the song inspiration for this part was Billie Holiday's "I'll Be Seeing You". I hope you guys got a little teary eye like I did while writing this.

Also, I'm thinking of taking writing requests for shorter pieces about Miguel but idk if anyone would be interested. I would also like to say thank you to everyone who has supported this so far, whether it has been by liking, reblogging, or commenting, it means a lot :) I also loved the asks I received! I'm just glad to see that my love for this fictional man pays off in my writing lol. Thank you again!

I still love Miguel O'Hara. That's all.

Tag list: (For some reason it didn't tag some users in the last post, so please accept my apologies :( I can see that there are two users' that aren't underlined, if you know the reason, pls let me know so I can tag them. Thank you!)

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @mandodinstuff @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @rootin-tootin-morgan @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @muzansucker @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger

@angie2274 @vampi-amora

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esamastation · 6 months

Text

Shizuroth, part eighteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen

Why hasn't he ever gone shopping with Sephiroth before? Aside from the fact that Sephiroth was socially repressed and awkward and aloof and would've never lowered himself as to be seen in public with anyone. And the fact that Genesis didn't want to even think about sharing his few precious moments of downtime with Sephiroth, of all people. And also the fact that Genesis was pretty sure, at least up until this point, that it would be an excruciating experience for everyone involved….

But it turns out that Sephiroth makes for a hilarious shopping company. The man is unexpectedly prissy and demanding - and, really, quite fussy when it comes to his looks.

While waiting for his coat to be readjusted, Sephiroth is putting on a fashion show in the tailor's very cushy dressing room.

"No, the hue is too cold - can you please get me the darker green one? Same size," Sephiroth says, making faces at his reflection, after trying out about a dozen different, almost identical, button up shirts.

"Right away, sir," the rather flustered tailor's assistant says and scurries off.

"I never thought you'd have a favourite colour," Genesis scoffs, lounging back on a fancy armchair while watching as Sephiroth accepts the shirt from the eager tailor's assistant. There's a pile of rejected and another of accepted articles of clothing nearby, and they're all in shades between dark forest green and the lightest shade of mint green.

No matter how much mess Sephiroth caused, the store would be making a big sale today - so much so that they'd closed early, just for Sephiroth.

But then again, there probably isn't a store in Midgar that wouldn't close for Sephiroth.

"You've never worn green before," Genesis adds, leaning back on the comfy armchair lazily and enjoying the VIP treatment - which includes coffee service and everything.

Tch. He was a VIP patron too - but they'd never closed the store for him.

"Hm," Sephiroth answers, deftly buttoning up the shirt and adjusting the cuffs, before pulling on the jacket of the suit he'd been trying on. Because that's what he's doing, trying to colour match a suit. A very light green suit.

It doesn't suit him.

"A much better match, sir," the tailor's assistant says, a little too eagerly, all but fawning over him. "You have such a keen eye."

"Is that so," Sephiroth says noncommittally, making another hilarious stink face at himself while buttoning up the suit jacket. He still doesn't look satisfied.

"It washes you out," Genesis points out the obvious and swings to his feet. "My friend, you simply don't have the colouring for such pale hues."

Sephiroth sighs unhappily, giving his own reflection a disappointed look. It's almost a Goddess damned pout. "I don't, do I?" he says in defeat. "And the green really doesn't do my complexion any favours."

"It really doesn't," Genesis grins, clapping him on his shoulders. "I'm afraid black is still your colour."

Sephiroth sighs again and then looks at him thoughtfully. "What is that shirt you're wearing?"

"Alas, it's not high fashion. A Shinra issue," Genesis explains with a sigh. "Mass produced and utterly commonplace."

"Huh," Sephiroth looks surprised. "It… looks good?"

"Oh, spare me, I know it doesn't, but when you go through so many it's simply easier to get them in bulk," Genesis says, shaking his head. "Bullet holes simply do not come off, after all. And the SOLDIER uniform turtlenecks are just about the only good article of clothing Shinra has ever produced."

Sephiroth hums, looking him up and down and turning back to the mirror. Then he sighs. "Please get me another version of this suit," he says to the tailor's assistant. "In black this time."

"Right away, sir," the mostly useless assistant says, doing a remarkably good job at not bouncing in excitement. "And for a shirt, sir?"

Sephiroth looks at himself for a long moment. He scrunches up his nose and then mutters, "... I suppose it should be in red."

"Stealing my style, now?" Genesis asks, leaning against his shoulder. "Also what is wrong with red?"

"It's not just red, rather the combination of black and red… ah, never mind. I suppose it will bring out my eyes," Sephiroth says, like he's admitting defeat.

It will bring out his eyes? Who is this guy and what has he done to Sephiroth? Genesis snorts and claps him on the shoulder again. "If you say so."

He's right, though. Red and black look much better on Sephiroth. As does the suit. Genesis has never even imagined Sephiroth in formal wear before, but… it's not a bad look.

"You know, one fight in those delightful clothes, and they're in very expensive shreds," Genesis points out, while idly trying on some gloves, wondering if he should invest in some formal wear.

"Why would it be in shreds?" Sephiroth asks almost resentfully, turning to select a tie. He's actually a little mad about red and black suiting him so well!

Wow.

"You…" Genesis starts and then sighs. Of course Sephiroth doesn't remember. "Fancy and very fitting," he adds, just to dig it in, "though they are, clothing of this calibre can't stand the types of battles you and I get in. That's why we wear leather. Or mass produced uniforms we don't have to pay for."

Sephiroth just sort of blinks at him, easing the tie over his head. "You've worn a uniform?" he asks, dubious. "You?"

"Yes, I have worn a uniform - I had to go through the whole two ranks to get where I am now, didn't I?" Genesis asks, testing the gloves by spreading out his fingers. They're fingerless and quite nice. "Not a fan of trousers, I admit. I never had the ass for them."

Sephiroth coughs at that, smothering a laugh, and tucks the tie into his collar. "I see," he says, looking down at himself in order to adjust the tie.

Genesis leans back to watch him. "Neither do you. Or, rather, you have too much shoulder going on. Far too top-heavy, you'd look ridiculous."

"Thanks?" Sephiroth says, amused, and then turns around to face him, a black tie firmly in place. "How do I look?"

"Like a damn Turk," Genesis scoffs. A very good looking Turk, but one nonetheless. He turns to the starry-eyed tailor's assistant. "Get him one of those great coats from the back - a black one, obviously, with red lining if you have it."

"Ah, those aren't leather, sir - mainly cotton and wool," the assistant says apologetically.

"Then get us a fancy wool one, and then go check how your master is coming along with our order."

"Y-yes, sir, right away, sir!"

"Please and thank you," Sephiroth says to the assistant, who almost trips hurrying off. "There's no need to be rude, Genesis."

"Who's rude? It's their job," Genesis huffs and folds his arms. "You rock up at Shinra tower looking like this, and they'll start making you go to functions too."

"What do you mean, functions?" Sephiroth asks warily.

"Parties, galas, meet and greets, maybe even interviews," Genesis scoffs. He's usually the one who has to go - he was more presentable than Angeal, who didn't know how to swim those waters, or Sephiroth, who had the social graces of a poisonous wallflower. "Public events of the social kind."

"Ah," Sephiroth says, fiddling with his cuff. "That's fine then."

"... That's fine? You hate those things!"

"Do I?" Sephiroth asks, giving him a bitchy face like he knows something Genesis doesn't. "Hm."

Genesis eyes him dubiously. "Well, I suppose you'll learn why very soon," he mutters. "If they make you go."

The tailor's assistant brings in the great coat, and Genesis throws it over Sephiroth's broad shoulders before the man can try putting his arms into the sleeves. Hanging over him like a cape, it ties the outfit together perfectly.

"There, you look fit to take over the world," Genesis says, motioning to the mirror.

Sephiroth hums, stepping so that he faces the mirror at an angle. "I guess it's a popular colour scheme for a reason," he murmurs, begrudgingly impressed, and flicks the hem to make the red lining flash dramatically. "Fitting, I suppose."

"Silver Elite are going to lose their little minds," Genesis agrees. "You'll take it, then?"

Sephiroth takes a moment, adjusting his collar. "I'll take it," he says finally. Then he smiles and slightly bows at the tailor's assistant. "Thank you for your efforts."

"I-it wasn't any trouble, sir!" the poor assistant gulps, looking a little wobbly at the knees. "The master is finished with your leather coat, sir. If you're ready…"

"I am," Sephiroth agrees, running a satisfied hand down his front. "I am very ready."

The planet isn't, Genesis thinks with a sense of exhilarated doom. The planet isn't ready for this at all.

Shizun can no longer rock Qing Jing Peak colours ☹️ The Tragedy is immeasurable.

(aka I meant to put him in Qing Jing Peak colours but then I looked up Sephiroth in a suit and 👌 black and red is really the Aesthetic here.)

(This is all Very Important To The Plot. Which Totally Exists.)

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #svsss #genesis rhapsodos #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month

Note

Happy with the staff content this year but am I the only one who is disappointed with the PV we got? It's basically a slideshow of art we've already seen, major downgrade from the year 1 PV that had literally all the events. There was a drop in quality of the anniversary PVs over the years and it really shows this year. Sorry if you find this too negative I don't mean to hate I just wish Twst would do better for it's ANNIVERSARY.

[For everyone's reference, here are the anniversary PVs in order of release: 2021 / 2022 / 2023 / 2024]

Mmm, now that you mention it, I noticed this trend with the Halloween PVs 🤔 For year 1, there was a video that showed all members of the NRC casy, even those that did not receive cards at that time. There were then several short variants of the PV released for year 2/Endless Halloween Night (part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4). Altogether, they feature all of the characters, including the students from year 1 but heavily shadowed and with glowing eyes to indicate ghostly possession. Even Glorious Masquerade features all of the students that get new cards for the event plus Rollo, although there are notably more still shots here. The Stage in Playful Land CM, by comparison, is significantly shorter and only shows us the three SSRs (Ace, Ortho, and Kalim) as well as the two new characters (Fellow and Gidel).

As this anon has said, the anniversary PVs have changed a lot over time too. The first one was the most animated and integrated several event outfits. The second one was also animated a fair amount, but you can tell corners were cut in some places where they transition to photographs/still images. This alone works thematically given that the player is a photographer, but you can still catch dips in quality when it comes to the art style. I remember finding Deuce running and the Kalim + Silver flying scene odd, as well as Jade and Trein's faces strange in general. Then the third PV rolls around and it only features the third years; the animation also seems to be much more sluggish (although this could be a stylistic choice; not sure). A friend actually recently pointed out to me that Lilia's pose looks like he was pulled straight from other assets; his artwork in the animation is almost the exact same as his smiling expression in the game. This year's is the most different (+ most static) and, like year 3's PV, only provides "new" content for a select few characters (the dorm leaders). They also reuse pre-existing illustrations already found in the game that don't seem to be picked for any particular reason (like, there are random Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles groovies in there). This direction, I'm guessing, is less costly and more efficient than making an entirely original animation, which is what was done in previous years. (Not that Disney or Aniplex is hurting for money to fund this, lol) Would I have preferred another PV in the style of year 1's? Yeah, for sure. I want to see other events and their outfits animated! Was what we got this year bad? Not necessarily; I think the production and editing was very technically impressive, but I'm still sad we didn't get anything substantially "new" to chew on (as someone who isn't a fan of most third years or the dorm leaders). Maybe it's just something we perceive as a deficit only because year 1 set the bar so high. It is what it is; whoever was in charge of the anniversary PV was probably doing the best they could with whatever budget they were given 😔 Let's hope that next year's will be a return to form, or that at least the money/effort is being redirected to other bigger projects (maybe the anime?).

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libraryofgage · 3 months

Text

Harlequin Prince (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

This part was line-jumped on Ko-Fi, which means y'all got it sooner than I originally planned!

If you want to line jump your favorite series, you can learn more here

Ironically, even tho the post says about a week of turn around, I get so excited that somebody wants to line jump that I just write it immediately lmao

Steve finally gets a good fight in this one, but it ends way too soon the poor boy. Either way, he also gets to meet some of the party!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

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Steve knew his dad wasn't in the picture, but he never knew why. He never asked, but he started to get this horrible feeling after a while. Harley Quinn's past was well known to Steve, her previous...associate and her relationship with him isn't exactly a secret, no matter how much his mother tried to keep them from him. She couldn't protect him at school, and she couldn't protect him from hearing people talking on the streets.

So, yeah, from the age of nine, Steve walked around with this horrendous knowledge in his gut, a knowledge that he wanted to think was just him being paranoid. But it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. He just couldn't admit that to himself, and he couldn't ask his mother because he didn't want to send her down that particular lane of memories. So it festered, and Steve pretended it didn't exist at all.

Until, that is, his 13th birthday. It was held at Uncle Bruce's mansion because his mother wanted to go all out. It was as much a celebration for her (a full three years without getting sent to Arkham!) as it was for him (managing to stay alive for 13 years in Gotham with Harley Quinn for a mother). Steve hadn't minded, either, especially when he saw the absolute joy she had when picking out the hugest bounce-house she could find with Uncle Bruce's sleek black credit card.

The party was catered by Steve's favorite Indian restaurant, the guests were limited to immediate friends and family, the bounce-house was extra bouncy, and a table was practically buckling under the weight of the gifts piled on top of it. It was, by far, Steve's best birthday, surpassing even the one he spent in Arkham after letting Poison Ivy out of her cell.

"Hey, Dumplin'!" his mother shouted, waving at him from the top of the bounce house she'd managed to climb. When Steve looked at her, she grinned even brighter and jumped, launching off turrets and rolling down sloped walls before landing on her feet on the ground. "Let's get to them presents!"

Steve laughed, looked at the table eagerly, and nodded. Her grin somehow getting wider, Harley turned, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, "GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR, EVERYONE! STEVIE'S OPENIN' PRESENTS!"

Soon enough, Steve was standing in front of the table, surrounded by everyone, and not at all sure where to start with the mountain of presents. "You should open mine first," Jason said, grinning as he gestured to a bike-shaped package.

It was, in fact, a bike. A motorcycle, specifically, with a red and black helmet and the promise of lessons from Jason whenever he wanted. Steve loved it immediately and ignored Uncle Bruce muttering about driving laws and how Steve couldn't operate any motorized vehicle until he was fifteen. "Well," he said, "as long as I don't get caught by Batman, who's gonna know?"

That had earned him a laugh and his mother's hand ruffling his hair. "Go on, Dumplin', choose another."

Dick got him a literal outfit's worth of Wonder Woman merch, accessories included, that made Bruce look ready to pop a blood vessel. Tim gave him small tracking pins and a hacked handheld game console to watch the trackers with the promise of free upgrades anytime he wanted. Damien gave him daggers since he "wasn't good enough for real swords, but everyone should have a blade" on them, just in case. Cass, Steph, and Barbara pooled their skills together (and Alfred, they borrowed Alfred a lot) to make him an Unofficial Robin costume, complete with shorts only slightly less scandalous than Dick's original costume.

Bruce, when he finally stopped glaring at the three of them, gave Steve a fingerprint panic button shaped like a bat and easily attached to a key ring. "For emergencies, Steve," he said, "Just hold your thumb to it for three seconds."

"This is perfect for the next time we run out of ice cream," Steve said, grinning as he attached it to his key chain.

"Emergencies."

"Oh. So if we run out of mint chip, specifically. Got it."

Bruce merely sighed and let him return to opening gifts.

Alfred gave him a tin of homemade cookies that Steve immediately had to protect from the others. Poison Ivy gave him a Venus flytrap and the promise to help him grow it properly. Selina couldn't be there, but Bruce passed along her gift: a pair of goggles Bruce had handed over with a sigh and quiet request for him to use them responsibly.

Steve opened Duke's present last, eyes widening at the red leather jacket. "Wait, seriously?" he asked, holding it up as he looked at Duke.

"You're gonna be a troublemaker, Steve," Duke said. "Might as well make sure you're bulletproof for it."

Steve grinned wider and pulled on the jacket, swimming in the leather but eager to grow into it all the same.

There was nothing from his mother in the pile, but Steve figured the party itself was his present since she'd done all the planning. When she pulled him away to a secluded room in the manor after they'd all had cake, Steve realized it was just because she didn't want to share this moment with anyone.

She smiled at him, reaching up and gently tucking a few strands of hair behind Steve's ears. "You grew up so fast, Dumplin'," she said, sighing softly.

"Ivy says I'm like a weed."

"Ives is right," Harley said, nodding once before looking away. "Okay, ready for your present?"

"Wasn't the party my present?"

"No, no, Dumplin'. The party was for fun," she said, grinning as she reached behind her and pulled a comically-large mallet from seemingly nowhere. "This is your present."

Steve blinked, leaning over to look around Harley. "Where'd that even come from?" he asked.

"Jester Logic, Dumplin'. Don't worry about it. I'll teach you the trick later," she promised, holding the mallet out to Steve with an expectant expression.

When Steve took it, the weight threw him off. He frowned, shifted his grip, and suddenly had no problem holding it up. He took a closer look, noting the scratches and marks on the mallet and the faded paint. "This was yours," he said.

"Yeah, it was."

"I've never seen it before."

Harley sighed, tugging on one of her pigtails with a slight frown. "Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly a great person when I used it, Dumplin'. Tried to forget about that Harley and all," she explained.

"Then why give it to me?"

Harley looked back at Steve and smiled, reaching out to cup his cheek. "Cuz you're so much better than me," she said. "I think you'll do some great things, Dumplin', and maybe all the good you do will erase most of the bad this mallet's got."

Her words were so serious, her smile was so bittersweet, and she looked ready to cry and deny it. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to learning about her past straight from the source, a past he knew about it, a past that involved a certain person that haunts Steve's mind with terrifying potential. Suddenly, he had to know.

Steve didn't really think before blurting out, "Is the Joker my father?"

Harley froze, her shoulders tensing and her eyes widening as she stared at Steve. "You don't got a father, Dumplin'," she finally said, her voice quiet and her expression conflicted.

"Fine. Was he the sperm donor?"

With a sigh, Harley stepped closer and placed her hands on Steve's shoulders. "I won't lie," she said. "He is, but that don't mean a thing. His crazy ain't hereditary, Dumplin', and he's never gettin' anywhere near you."

"Does...does he know?" Steve whispered, "About me, I mean."

"It don't matter," Harley said, her voice firm and her eyes more serious than Steve had ever seen them. "I'll kill him before he gets near ya. Ives will kill him. Hell, Brucie wil---no, wait, he's got those pesky morals. Fine, Jason will kill him before he gets near ya. Actually, Jason'd kill him anyway, but the excuse will be good if Brucie scolds him for it."

Steve couldn't help laughing at that, feeling a little lighter when his mother smiled back at him. When his laughter trickled to nothing more than a smile, he asked, "Then, was I the reason you left?"

Harley nodded and gently tugged Steve into her arms, holding him to her and cradling the back of his head. "Yeah, you were," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "I was excited to tell 'im when I learned about you, but then I heard him talking to some goons. He was laughin' about running a kid over, breakin' their legs, and I realized...you wouldn't be special to him. You'd've been like his goons, all expendable and not even worth a glance. I couldn't put you through that, and I couldn't put me through it, either. So, I got us out the only way I knew how."

"By finding Uncle Bruce," Steve said.

He felt her nod. "By finding Brucie," she agreed. "He tried to deny bein' the Bat and all, but your mama ain't dumb, Dumplin'. I'd done my homework, and the butts matched. Once I explained it all, once I told him about you, he agreed to help."

Steve nodded, listening to his mother's heart beating against his ear. He glances down at the mallet again, tightens his grip, and takes a deep breath. "Thank you," he said, "for the gift and for telling me. I'll do good with it, I promise."

"That's my boy," Harley said, pulling back and ruffling his hair. "Now, lemme explain that Jester Logic to ya."

----------

Hawkins remains boring even after meeting Eddie. After all, Eddie's in high school (his second attempt at senior year, apparently), and Steve...isn't. He should be, probably, but there's no way he's stepping one foot in that suburban nightmare of a building. He can feel the normalcy, the utter boredom, oozing from the place, and he'd rather not subject himself to that.

So, he spends his day wandering around Hawkins, getting a feel for the little town until he could navigate the place blindfolded. He can do the same in Gotham, but it's more impressive there with the winding streets and sprawling sidewalks. Here, it's nothing special.

The most interesting part of his day is when he's sitting on the roof of a video store, one leg dangling over the edge with the other pulled to his chest so he can rest his arm on his knee. He's about halfway through a cigarette when a cop car pulls into the lot and a middle-aged man steps out.

He looks up at Steve, frowning as he calls up, "You shouldn't be there, son."

"I ain't your son," he calls back, grinning as he takes another drag and blows smoke out as the guy rests his hands on his belt. It reminds him so much of Gotham PD rookies trying to posture that Steve can't help laughing. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

"I'm serious, kid," the cop says, apparently ignoring Steve's question. "It's dangerous up there. If you don't come down, I'm gonna have to call the Fire Department to bring the ladder."

Steve sighs and puts his cigarette out on the roof. He gets up, stretches his arms above his head, and stands on the ledge of the roof. He grins at the cop, casually stepping into empty air and hearing the guy shout as he falls. He lands in a crouch on the awning over the door, swings to hang from it, and lands on his feet on the sidewalk.

It wasn't even much of a fall, but the cop looks like he's about to have a heart attack. Steve glances at the badge on his chest. "We done now, Officer Hopper?" he asks.

"Don't do that again," Hopper says, pointing a finger at Steve, "Or I will drag your ass to the station and call your parents."

Steve snorts, doing his best to hold his smile back. "I'll keep that in mind, sir," he says, giving a mocking two-finger salute before turning on his heels and walking down the street.

After a few blocks, he veers off into the forest, figuring he'll wander around the trees for a while before going to the Hideout to bother Bev and stare at Eddie and quietly pray someone else is gonna look for a fight.

Did he mention Hawkins is boring? Because it's fucking boring.

Steve sighs, kicking a stick as he shoves his hands into his jacket. He idly notes the forest is healthy. Sure, a few pieces of litter are strewn around, but it's not as bad as the parks in Gotham can get. Poison Ivy would find this place barely passable, which is hard to manage, and he's tempted to call her when he gets home to tell her about it.

He hums softly as he walks, enjoying the sounds of the forest until they just...stop.

The entire forest falls silent, which is weird; forests are too full of life to go silent. Even the bugs seem to have frozen in place, too scared to risk making a sound by moving. Steve stops, looking around him with a frown and trying to figure out what's caused this.

He gets the answer a second later when he hears a scream. The voice sounds young and cracks slightly, so it definitely belongs to a child. Despite himself, Steve can't help grinning as he takes off in the direction of the scream.

This is the most exciting thing to happen in the four weeks he's been stuck in Hawkins. As he runs through trees and easily jumps over bushes to take the shortest path, he makes guesses on what he'll find. Maybe Hawkins has a villain that's only now showing up. Maybe the town has a secret alligator or something that's decided to have a midday snack. Hell, maybe someone just decided to be a dick today.

He realizes every guess is wrong when he slides into a clearing to see a few kids (two boys, one girl) surrounded by some weird dog-looking...things. They have heads but no faces, crouched low to the ground and growling at the kids they've cornered. There's around ten of them, which would normally make Steve hesitate, but he's so desperate at this point for a real fight that he doesn't care.

Instead, he reaches over his shoulder, thinks about how fucking hilarious it's gonna be to jump out of nowhere with a giant mallet, and grips the handle as he swings it over his shoulder. "Hey, monster mutts!" he shouts, grinning when all the monsters and the kids finally notice him. "Let's play."

Pure, unfiltered joy rushes through him when the first monster-dog jumps at him. Steve's eyes are bright and his grin is positively feral as he swings the mallet and sends it flying into a tree. He roundhouse kicks another dog, using the momentum to bring his foot down on the head of a third before smashing its body with the mallet.

"Are you insane?!" one of the kids shouts.

"Certifiably!" he shouts back, watching as another monster-dog jumps at him. He waits for the perfect moment to back flip, bringing his feet under the dog to send it flying. He brings the mallet up as he lands, clocking another monster under the jaw. It yelps, crashing into another dog.

"Where'd this guy even come from?" the girl asks, turning to look at the boys with her.

"I don't know, but I'm happy to let him deal with the demodogs."

Oh. That's what they're called. Steve hums softly at the name, grinning as he twirls the mallet and swings with all his strength at one of the demodog. He rests the mallet on his shoulder like a baseball bat, watching the demodog arch in the air with an appreciative whistle. "Solid air," he says, nodding once before looking at the remaining demodogs.

There's only three, the others scattered in the clearing. He can't tell if they're dead or not, but he could always smash them to mush when he's done. Steve grins at the remaining dogs. "C'mon, then," he says, only to be filled with disappointment when they creep back, turn heel, and run.

"Damn, that's no fun," Steve says, sighing as he rests the mallet on the ground and leans on the handle. He looks at the kids. "You guys okay?"

The girl has orange hair pulled back into a messy braid. She's staring at him like he's got two heads but is kind of impressed by it. One of the boys has curly hair being smothered by his hat, and the other is wearing a basketball jersey. They're also staring at Steve like he's crazy. "Dude," the curly-haired one says, "that was awesome!"

"Where'd you get that mallet from?" the girl asks.

"Jester Logic," Steve explains, shrugging as he picks the mallet up and walks over. "Wanna hold it?"

When the girl lights up, he passes the mallet to her, snorting when she immediately staggers under its weight. "How do you hold this so easily?"

"Jester Logic. Again. It's funnier when other people find it heavy."

"That makes no sense," basketball jersey says.

"Who are you?" curly hair asks.

"Steve. Moved here recently. What about y'all?"

"Dustin," curly hair says.

"Lucas," basketball jersey says.

"Max," the girl says, her voice strained until Steve takes the mallet back, twirling it like it weighs nothing.

"Great. Nice to meet y'all. Now, what the fuck were those?"

"How much time you got?" Dustin asks.

Steve grins, thinking he's finally found something that can keep him entertained when he's not hanging around Eddie. "Plenty."

---------

Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@nectandra, @y4r3luv, @just-a-tiny-void,

#steddie #steddie fic #harlequin prince #steve deserves good parents actually #steve harrington #harley quinn #bruce wayne #jim hopper #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #dc comics crossover #wayne family adventures crossover #i kinda let the muse take over with this one actually #unhinged steve harrington #as he deserves #poison ivy #robins

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cloveroctobers · 3 months

Text

FEBRUARY FLUFF — CARMY BERZATTO.

A/N: so carmy won this time around!!! Thanks to all those that voted and ultimately made this decision for me lol. Hope you guys enjoy this and have a safe, healthy, and happy love season 🩷 + yes this is a mixture of fluff and angst...i mean come on! I wouldn't be me if i didn't include that in here somewhere!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 1. “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.” “What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” + always giving the other the first bite of their food < or the last.

WARNINGS/SN: I wrote with a black or brown reader in mind although reader isn't physically described + they’re given a name only when mentioned, language is a thing here duh!, this is LENGTHY, lots of timelines: reader + nat became friendly before season 1 during the summer prior to 7 fishes which is estimated to be five years before season 2, reader knows of carmy due to past work, I feel like she can be just a few year(s) older than carmy but younger than nat—there’s a age gap for the Berzatto’s anyways, sexual relations are mentioned, this piece takes place months after the grand opening, & finally there’s a possible chance for a poly relationship or maybe just multiple crushes going on? Take that how you will.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

it was a Sunday.

The kind of Sunday you woke up embarrassed about but knew you had to swallow your pride and just send out that text. You knew you wouldn’t be judged regardless reaching out to Fak because he’s built to deal with things like this and never made you feel like shit about anything.

You usually had to squeeze it out of him to get him to lay out any cons about a situation but appreciated most times when he didn’t. Your minds been going haywire with a recent assignment as a food journalist and it really slipped your mind, although you were usually a quick thinker, you’ve been stressed over this recent restaurant. Thankfully it clicked for you after throwing a tantrum to simply reach out to Fak to come help you out.

The stupid lever in your bathroom decided to stop flushing on you and of course you panicked. Who wouldn’t panic in a situation like that? You no longer had a roommate and strongly debated if you even wanted to search for another; after the shady actions of the previous one, so you really didn’t have to worry about them giving you shit either. (Let’s see if your rent feels the same next month!)

It was just you in the end and perhaps you were learning to be okay with that.

Yet that didn’t stop you from FaceTiming Sydney about it. “Hey Siddy, how’s your day going?”

“Pretty good, yours?” She politely asked as she moved down the hallway of her shared apartment to prop her phone on the pedestal sink, moving around her functioning bathroom to grab some oil to grease her scalp.

Smacking your lips you glare, “it fucking sucks.”

“Oh?” Sydney questioned, appearing back in frame, “what happened? Did someone egg and scratch up your car again after a review you gave them? Noo wait, don’t tell me there’s a bullet hole?!”

That was light work compared to New York (it really wasn’t a competition of which state had its worst moments but your home state left you kinda triggered, not gonna lie!) where you were just starting off and those that were in tune with the culinary world didn’t take your words with a grain of salt. Most nights you still woke up gasping for air, reaching for your throat due to some trauma of a break in from a well-known nepo-baby chef. Don’t get that twisted, your mom didn’t raise no punk but that didn’t mean those events didn’t mess with your mental and you acknowledged that every time you had a nightmare. They only served three years and five months compared to the original five year sentence.

Ah the system…got to love how that works out for the privileged!

You shrugged, “no…the threats have been pretty tame lately so I can give myself a pat on the back for that. However! I still am in a crisis.”

Sydney begins to move her braids around to expose her scalp, “Elaborate for me.”

“My toilet won’t flush!” You whine, laying flat on your messy bed. You tended to not make your bed on Saturdays and didn’t get around to making it today—although it was after 3pm.

Sydney asks, “Like the waste won’t go down…?”

“Exactly!” You confirm throwing your arm over your eyes dramatically, “The lever thing is moving like my old dislocated shoulder.”

Sydney gags, “don’t fucking remind me of that day. That was spooky to witness but I am glad you healed from that.”

“Thanks girl, means a lot, truly.”

Sydney gives a small smile, “don’t mention it…have you considered YouTubing it? That’s what I do when I don’t want to ask anyone for help and figure it out by myself.”

You hummed knowing this was true. In a sense you could be like that too, especially when it came to the working field, since writers can tend to be some nasty bitches and always in rivalry with each other. You made a name for yourself in Chicago as well, coming from New York where you worked just as hard-maybe even harder than the rest to mean and write exactly how you felt about cuisine, regardless if anyone agreed or not. It wasn’t about if people liked you, the relationship with food would always be more significant and hold value in your life, just like the rest of these chef’s you encountered and you got that, people were allowed to be sensitive about their work. You’ve come toe to toe with many chef’s around the world who didn’t like your take on their craft but that didn’t mean you didn’t understand them. They hardly took the time to really dive into your ratings and automatically took it as you shit talking or not having any idea what you were saying since you “weren’t really a chef,” but you knew your worth most days.

Yes you could be straight forward but that didn’t mean you lacked compassion like some chef’s liked to think according to your reviews. You often wrote in a way that was puzzling to some, almost philosophical or riddle like with your own twist. Some just didn’t get it and that was okay but you wouldn’t back down from any confrontation. The second they didn’t want to really listen, that’s when you removed yourself from the escalating problem. It didn’t have to get violent like some wanted to inflict.

“Why didn’t I think of that?!” You exasperated, slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead.

Sydney snorted, “maybe because you’re under a lot of pressure lately and the most simplest of things don’t come as easily as they should.”

“You would think I have high blood pressure with the way these past two weeks have been.”

Sydney says, “give it time.”

“Gee, thanks! That’s exactly the kind of shit I want to hear from you.” You roll your eyes at the blurt of words that commonly escaped the braided girl’s mouth.

Sydney breathes out a laugh, “I’m just joking!”

“Yeah, yeah! Maybe I should text fak back and tell him not to come by!”

“You asked fak instead of the apartment manager?” Sydney is in amazement.

“Fuck that noise, he’s so full of shit that he should see a doctor about it. He’ll show up to analyze the problem, then acts like he’s going to fit you into the schedule and then when you catch him in the lobby he pretends that he has amnesia.” You commented with a scowl.

You get ready to minimize the call to text fak but some obnoxious knocks at the door made you pop up from your bed. “That was fast!”

Hopping up from the bed and padding out of the last bedroom in the apartment, you made the journey through the foyer to the awaiting black front door. Peeking through the peephole you spot Fak grinning widely up into it, almost making you jump back.

“He’s made it Siddy! I’ll call you back!”

“K. Good luck!” Sydney calls out before you end the call to pull the door wide open.

“Neil!” You scream, quickly latching onto his tatted wrist ready to yank him in until you notice someone else is with him, “…why is he here?” You point.

Fak quickly glances over at a brimmed Carmy who raised a brow at him in a silent told you so manner, “I mean we were having a boy’s day when you called and I didn’t want my buddy to be left out. Plus, it’s always great to have some assistance.”

“…i find it hard to believe that Carmen wants to fix my toilet.” You cross your arms, poking out your hip as you stare at him.

Carmen shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to wait in the car if it makes you feel any better.”

“Hmm…it doesn’t.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose briefly in agitation, “you know what, fak you’ve got this right? I know you do so—

“Nope!” Fak quickly interrupts, “this maybe a two person job so aspie if you just let us do what we came to do—

Shooting an arm out to block the doorway you peer into Fak’s dark teal eyes to show you mean business, “didn’t I say I dislike that nickname, Neil?”

He nods.

“Also i find it offensive that you brought an uninvited guest to my place.”

“Just be glad it wasn’t Richie because that was also a possibility before he ran off to pick up the kid.” Carmy snaps making you roll your eyes.

If Richie was here you been would have slammed the door in both Fak and his face. Sure you had some sort of tension with Carmy and beef with .......his cousin but at least Carmy only gave it back to you when he had the energy to—meaning if he was already on one. The issue was simple, you wrote a not so nice review once before when the eldest berzatto, Michael was alive and running the joint. Richie couldn’t forget that and actually kept the clipping, yes the clipping of the review way back when. He had the receipts to show Carmy and Carmy actually brushed it off then, not seeming to really care or doubt some of the words that were said.

He came to revamp the place because Mikey left it for him, to fix the mess his big brother left behind, to create what they’ve always dreamed of. Sure he got shit for it in the beginning and part of him felt like maybe that was your case too? He could relate to you on that, yet the weight was slightly different on his part and he even spoke with you not long after he found those tomato cans.

That gave him a certain push he couldn’t really explain. He may have done a brief dive on you, wondering why you felt acquainted to him—completely forgetting about seeing you once around Noma—choosing to start with reading previous reviews by you on other restaurants here in Chicago and a few interviews you’ve done over the world. You weren’t just some nobody, you held your titles well and it reflected in your work.

You weren’t clueless.

He just didn’t really know what he was dealing with until a short time ago.

What he didn’t expect was for you to show up again on opening night with a certain head chef, also from New York. That made carmy more anxious than anything, seeing you sitting beside that four eyed fuck ready to set off a tornado in the heart of the bear. Was that your motive all along? With carmy attempting to build a bridge, not for you to kiss his ass with praise but there was a odd need to have a simple conversation with you. It was weird but it seemed like Sydney, Fak, and Nat liked you?

The jury was still out with the rest—except Richie but you were a mystery to Carmy. However carmy wasn’t the best at putting a read on people or their emotions in the first place, he was good at fucking that up unless you’re screaming it into his face. That’s just how he operated.

“You two can come in—only because I don’t have the patience with the manager here and Neil’s the best I’m gonna get.” You state while fak slaps a hand on his chest.

“That was really sweet, Aspen.” Fak cooed ready to pull you into a bone crushing hug but you hold up a finger.

“Save the hugs until after you fix my problem.”

“You got it boss,” Fak salutes before diving under your arm to travel through your apartment, ooo-ing and ah-ing before finding the bathroom around the corner from the living room.

Sighing you drop your arm and wave carmy through, who keeps his view straight while traveling through the hallway. You call out to him, “you can have a seat on the couch.”

“What? Did you drop a load or something and is that the real reason why you don’t want me to help Fak?” Carmy comes right out with it, nose twitching in amusement after whipping around to face you in the center of the living room.

See…only when he’s frustrated or overly focused will he just let it out. Some may look at this as Carmy attempting to make a joke but you took that somewhat personally. The only thing you were thinking after he said this was: What an ego on this one huh?

You stop on your heels and tilt your head to the side, “are you telling me that you think women or fem pronoun users don’t take shits? Do you know what it feels like to have period shits?”

Carmy blinks at you and shouts with his hands out, “I...don't even know what the fuck you're getting at? I wasn't even trying to be sexist to you just then! I asked you a honest question—

“About you being in my business,” you pointed out, “contrary to your beliefs I have a heart and decided to be nice to you and let you stay in my place to keep warm. You’re welcome!”

“Oh bullshit, don’t act like you’re doin’ me any favors.” Carmy scowls, “you don’t even want me here.”

You shrug, “yet you’re here in my apartment, yelling.”

Carmy exhaled while you smirked at him sweetly before turning to lean against the wall that leads to the bathroom.

“Everything okay in there, Neil?”

“Oh yeah!” He says, “I think I figured out the problem. Easy peasy!”

“Great!” You exclaim, pulling your phone out from your sweats to read a very important email.

The weight of stress seemed to lift a good chunk as you quickly responded to a email that you’ve been waiting for. You’ve been invited out (squeezed in) to a taste test at this restaurant for this evening that you’ve been trying to get into for a month before you brought it up to your employer. The deadline was approaching for the end of this week to have a review ready and they just responded to you five days before that deadline! Reading over it twice, the squeal in you slipped through your smile until you read the exceptions.

If you were to go over the amount of food purchased, which you would put on the company card anyways, you can get a discount if you brought a plus one and some reimbursement if the review was satisfactory to the owners—which the last part wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

You usually didn’t bring a plus one to any of the places you did reviews for, you got comfortable doing outings all on your own but this was different. Sure you were somewhat known in the culinary world but that didn’t mean you were a millionaire and this restaurant was apparently upscale. There was a waiting list regardless of your status—even for the celebrities that went there so this was a big deal and they gave you a short notice. Usually Sundays were known for a reset for the week but what better way to start it?

You don’t go forward with reaching out to anybody else that you work with. This was your battle and you were aware that two of your other co-workers also reached out to this restaurant. You just hoped you were the only one they picked and wouldn’t miss out on the great opportunity just because you weren’t sure about your guest.

A few hours before show time and you had to find somebody to attend with you. Your best friend was away in Cabo for a honeymoon, the other (who recently planned on moving to ATL) was dealing with the flu and had their no good ex boyfriend taking care of them, Sydney was suddenly MIA, and you even considered inviting Natalie Berzatto to piss carmy off just a bit.

“Hey, Nat!” You greet into the phone as you walk into the kitchen, witnessing Carmy perk up from the couch.

It’s small talk at first: you asking about how her day is going as a mom to be, if she’s going to be at the bear tomorrow, did she watch the Emmy’s the other night, tell her husband you said hello, and then finally if she had plans for tonight.

“…are you asking me to hang out?”

“We had fun at that club way back when no?”

“Yeah! But that was how long ago?”

You knew it’s been awhile. You were always friendly with Natalie, meeting her first—well second out of the siblings down at the small mart one summer you helped out at that your great-uncle owned. She was huffing about something her boyfriend at the time, Pete forgot to bring her and some groceries she was picking up for her mom. You were cool enough to become Facebook friends, exchange numbers, go out for coffee and go to the club together. This wasn’t unusual to call each other randomly but you knew she commonly got shit from Michael and Richard about her talking and hanging out with you.

The thing about Natalie Berzatto is that she always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes she saw your review yet she kinda laughed about it initially but it was all fuck you’s from the other two loud mouth’s. Of course she was going to listen to her brother but she still had a mind of her own. she didn’t care to listen to Richie go off but she understood how Michael felt, although she was the only other Berzatto that heard you out.

Except you didn’t owe anybody an explanation even if some felt you were more cutthroat in your younger years.

“...Before you and Pete even thought about marriage?”

You were younger than them but you imagined how it would always work out for Nat and Pete, which included growing old together.

“Wow! Yeah that sounds right.”

“So…?”

“Can’t do it.”

“You didn’t even hear all the details!”

“I know, I know and it sounds like it’ll be a real fucking blast but if this kid wasn’t sitting on my sciatic nerve constantly and if my feet weren’t the size of two honeydews…I totally would! But I’ll have to decline this time around—so please don’t hate me!”

“I could never!”

“You know you could always ask carmy-

“Why on earth would I do that?” Your reply was instant.

Natalie sighed over the phone, “aspen…the potential of friendship and love is a beautiful thing.”

You scrunched up your face at the phone before placing it back to your ear.

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

“I’d call you a rude bitch if you did but then get over it.”

“I can live with that because I know it’s real love between you and I.”

“…whatever that means.”

“Right.”

You both laugh, knowing just how weird the subject of love can be. Although you didn’t talk all the time it was always okay for one of the other to drop a venting text or call each other’s way and know the other would get around to responding. The both of you may not be the best of friends but you did consider each other friends regardless. There were conversations between the both of you that no one knew about and would be a constant reminder of what kind of friends the both of you would remain.

Natalie wished things could have been resolved between you and Michael but she reassured that the dislike wasn’t as deep as it seemed. There was no secret that you felt awful about how his life ended and being there for nat during that time also meant a lot. She told you that one of the last conversations she had with Michael was about you and it felt as if he was learning to let go of your review, slowly taking in Nat’s words of you not having a cruel bone in your body especially with all that you’ve done for her.

Anybody that showed his sister true friendship couldn’t be complete garbage. As much as he tolerated Pete, Michael was always aware that he was good enough for his sister. They were all cut from different cloths and the Berzatto’s were just from the same but opposite corner’s.

Natalie telling you this was not to erase any worries you had since that is always brought to the surface when someone you’ve been face to face with before decides to end it all. It was to show you that nobody ever truly knows what anyone is thinking whether there is love there or not.

You can feel Natalie smiling through the phone, “Think about it…all that tension could be smoothed out if you extend the olive branch…now it’s your turn.”

“It’s not my fault he switched up on me after your opening night.” You didn’t lower your voice or make it louder but you were definitely staring at carmy now who was side eyeing you, looking like phineas from phineas and ferb.

“That’s something you need to talk to him about, don’t you think?” Her tone was always so gentle that it made you sick sometimes because she could be right.

“I’m not here to do think pieces.”

“…aren’t you a writer?”

“Have a good night, nat.”

“Ta-Ta!” Natalie sing-songs, “be sure to send me the deets later because carmy never tells me anything! Bye! Chat later!”

Hanging up the phone, you slide it onto the counter and tap your nails against the island. To the right of you, you pick up on some clinking in the bathroom—which sounds somewhat normal and zone in on carmy who’s also holding onto his phone but staring at the blank tv in thought.

“Hey, Carmen.” You call his name.

His bright blues turn to you as if he hasn’t been eavesdropping on your conversation here and there between his texts with Marcus.

“You. Me. The Saffron Simmer. 7pm.”

The air is frigid as the both of you hunch your shoulders shoving through Chicago’s winter. Shockingly the streets are filled with cars tonight so you had to park on the next street over before walking up and around to The Saffron Simmer. Carmy offered to drive, which was a debate—no shock there—since there was no way he was leaving the bear stock van behind for no license having fak to play around in.

Fak definitely found that offensive and said he didn’t mind hanging out at your place, being done with your toilet but with the look you sent him he said he’s find an Uber or fak2 can pick him up. It’s not like you didn’t trust fak in your place…it’s just that the possibilities of what he can get into are endless.

You also didn’t want to ride in the bear’s van not because of shallow reasons, you just wanted to annoy carmy just a bit more for fun. Walking mostly everywhere was the way to go growing up in New York and Carmy working there so doing so here in Chicago wasnt foreign either. However with the type of cold here in this city is enough to give the bravest of hearts hypothermia. So obviously driving was the best option, it’s just the petty back and forth between you two of who will drive had to be spewed.

Eventually you gave in and sat in the passenger side of the van, being on DJ duty for the twenty-five minute drive—something carmy didn’t care to argue over. The both of you made it on time, throwing the door back for carmy to catch then bouncing on your toes while he blew into his gloveless hands waiting on the greeter to find your reservation.

The pictures didn’t do The saffron simmer any justice. There was so much to look at with its modernized speakeasy décor and the high ceilings did a superb job of making the both of you feel small in the spacious space. Thankfully the dress code was business casual so you didn’t have to go all out but you still put in the effort of looking your best in simple attire. You’re shrugging out of your scarf, earmuffs, and puffer coat while Carmy is already seated; with only the removal of his cap across from you in a chair.

He’s watching you as you place everything neatly to the right of you before you're taking a seat in the leather oversized chair, then digging through your tote to pull out your notepad, Sony camera, phone, and bolt pen. You quickly scribble something on the first line and circle it before dropping your pen.

Rolling the sleeves of your long sleeves back underneath your blazer, you roll your shoulders with a close of your eyes before opening them with a look of determination.

“Wow, that was something.” Carmy tells you, making you set your eyes back on him, forgetting just that quick that he was your plus one.

Clasping your hands together you quirk up a brow, “What?”

“Watching you prep.”

You dip your head, “should have seen me before I got dressed…much worse.”

A smirk appears on the corner of Carmy’s lips, “oh yeah?”

“Well yes, I can contain myself in public, Carmen. Your home is supposed to be your safe space so that’s the best place to go a little crazy sometimes.” You inform, yet still not giving too much away.

“Why are you in your head about this place anyway?” Carmy peers around the slightly filled dining area before meeting your eyes once more.

You lift your shoulders, “have you seen the way they market this place? Giving not too much away although it’s top ten restaurants here and I can either contribute to its success or its downfall. They picked me for a reason so my review matters at the end of this year.”

“But you uh-get a thrill out of this shit don’t you? It’s what you signed up for, right?” Carmy is actually relaxed against the chair across from you.

Which is a sight to see.

You state, “it’s part of the job, if that’s what you mean.”

Carmy blinks and seems to get it, “and so you stay.”

“So I stay.” You echo while holding his stare, which is broken by a piece of the stone table lifting and showcasing the menu illuminated by sepia lighting in the dark of the restaurant.

Carmy’s bright eyes are wide as he stares at the menu that appears right in front of your faces. There’s a grin on your face as you rest your fingertips around its rough edges, almost as if you were expecting this while carmy blows out a breath.

“The hell is this place?”

You peek over at him, “some next level shit, berzatto.”

“Yeah…I think I’m starting to catch on.”

You turn your attention back to the menu, swiping your fingertips along the touch screen although you’ve heard things about the menu, which they kept offline since apparently it renews monthly.

“What looks good?”

“Uh…these pages aren’t even labeled." Carmy exhales through his nose, eyes searching all over the tablet, "I have no clue. You?”

The words come at ease for you, "One of almost everything maybe?”

“Sounds good...I guess?”

“On me by the way,” you state with a wink as you flash your company card.

“I’ll get the tip then.” Carmy pats his jeans, the left containing his carton of cigarettes, the right holding his keys, lifting his hips he checks for his wallet although he’s been sitting on his behind for about ten minutes now.

You don’t argue with that, eyes in awe at the selection of items as you start ordering, “don’t forget to order your drink.”

“Water should be fine,” Carmy mutters to himself, eyes scanning over the first strange title of water that is described as flower and ginger infused purified water and decides to go with that.

You finally express after rapidly letting your fingers go over the screen and taking a picture with your phone, “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.”

It sounded so easy to you as you quickly shifted to pick up your pen and start writing notes.

“What was that?” Carmy pressed his elbows into the edge of the table, making sure he heard you right since he’s not even sure if he can trust his inner thoughts lately.

You’re still scribbling but also turning your face towards the messy haired chef, “you heard me. We have to act like we’re in a relationship because I’ve definitely went over the budget on the card.”

“That’s not really my problem?”

“Yes it is,” you demand, “you agreed to be my plus one so that’s that. Plus this menu further confirmed my suspicions from the email.”

Carmy scratches at his brow confused, “what are you talking about, aspen?”

“Here,” you swipe across your screen towards Carmy’s device, which brings up another screen instantly to carmy who’s in awe but scans over the details.

You didn’t share the email with him but he’s heard about how high tech this restaurant is but didn’t have the time to do his own research.

*Significant others in attendance are subject to applicable discounts.*

Carmy feels his stomach cramp at the fine print and it so small that he was sure anyone could have missed that.

Not you.

“…how exactly are we supposed to prove that, hm?” He's gripping at his greasy hair now, feeling himself getting a bit worked up about this.

You fanned your hand along, “just do what couples do and follow my lead...Depending on our witnesses,” you whisper as you look around, “they could always assume that’s what we are anyways.”

Part of carmy didn’t like how that came off.

“What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” Flies out of Carmy’s mouth before he can even process what he’s saying.

That stoops you too, making you press your back against the chair in thought. That wouldn’t be going down in the notes, as you stare at the pen in between your fingers for a moment. Which brings you back to Carmy’s tatted fingers first that touched you in ways that romance novelist craved to write about.

So you may have left that out, how a shared conversation about the “heartless” review of then Chicagoland turned the bear melted into hot and heavy actions in the front seat of your Mazda. It hits you in those same flashes you take of dishes: the unsure sloppy kisses, you taking the lead to get Carmy to just touch you, shaky hands that trace the tattoo from your rib cage down to your hip before soon holding steady and angled just right beneath your red tapered trousers.

“Where did that come from?” You question just as a server greets you, delivering drinks and announcing the small plates should be out in the next five minutes with a timer appearing on both of the stone tablets.

Carmy says, “you—you didn’t just think I forget right?”

“Well I was hoping.” You were honest, “neither of us are ready for relationships—especially hearing about you and Claire.”

Carmy felt his eye twitch, “and how do you know about that?”

Sydney.

You wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that although you could tell carmy already knew.

“I have my resources but don’t think I’ve been asking around about you or anything like that.” You sipped at the raspberry mint cocktail, it could be stronger.

His thumbs are shaking first on the table top but his icy stare made your chest pulsate in a way you didn't particularly like, “…would that be so bad?”

You and carmy didn’t exactly know each other well enough besides a conversation once had and with his hand down your pants! and you trying to get him to crash, clothes still on right in the center of his lap—It was a spur of the moment hookup and you could tell it was not something that happened often for carmy. He never had time for it or bothered to get attached but there was something about you that had him thinking otherwise. What was supposed to be a one time thing that you swept to the back of your mind was being brought up again.

The annoyance overtook what that feeling brought in the front seat of your ride. You weren’t ignoring carmy after that but the both of you had a lot on your plate with him renovating a restaurant and you diving back into your own work. Both fields of work seemed to matter more and not once did you think he ever thought about you in that way.

Communication was important people!

And here you thought he wanted nothing to do with you, especially with you showing up to the grand opening of The Bear. Now here you were months later, basically at your benefit, face to face hearing only pieces of what Carmen Berzatto was thinking.

“Hey, guys!” A familiar voice gathers your attention and you both turn to see Sydney smiling at you two.

Carmy widens his eyes, “Syd, what’re you doing here?”

Sydney snorted, “doing the same thing you’re doing? Having dinner.”

“Right.” He lightly shakes his head.

“Oh my god…am I interrupting this um? Date?” Sydney quickly connected the dots eyeing the both of you back and forth while you’re choking on your drink, “you okay?”

She pats your back for you while you gasp and Carmy slides over his water your way although you have your own glass near by. Gaining some air, you swallow some water and breathe through your nose. Normally you would have a response for Sydney’s joke but given what carmy just said to you had your mind running along with some burning tears you wiped away.

“So this is where you’ve been instead of answering me back?” You decide to switch the subject-you were great at that-wheezing a bit while Carmy scoffs and looks away.

Sydney frowns, “huh? When did you call me besides the FaceTime call…” she starts and pulls out her phone, “oh shit sorry. I placed it on do not disturb like thirty minutes after you didn’t call me back. I got wrapped into some entail about the menu from one of the chef’s that works here and is also a friend.”

Carmy speaks, “Didn’t know you had a connect with anybody here, Syd.”

“Can’t reveal all my moves, Carm.” She winks and lightly elbows him while Carmy sends her a small smile and a shake of his head.

Carmy asks, “scooping out our competition?”

“Only a little," She pinches her fingers before continuing, "and my dad thought it would be a place I wanted to try.” Sydney admits, “and if you two weren’t on a date I’d say let’s make this a group thing! so I’ll be going! I see my dad coming back from the bathroom…he’s got like a bladder problem and I don’t know why I’m sharing that with you two. But bye! Enjoy and just know I’ll be keeping my eye on you two.”

“Fuck,” carmy exhaled feeling his nerves rising, “don’t do that.”

Sydney chuckles to herself and sends a wave to you two before walking back to her table by the window.

“Siddy kicked me to the curb for her dad,” you sigh resting your cheek into your knuckles for a moment, “can’t be mad at that.”

“But you can be mad at me for what exactly?”

“You wanna do this with me right now?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“I thought we could move past what happened—

“You can say it you know? Me with my fingers inside—

“Excuse me!” You hiss, “I don’t need you to repeat action by action thank you. I was there too. We both know what happened, we’d agreed we can coexist around this big ass city. I show up to support—

“Did you though?” Carmy pressed, “support me? Or am I waiting for something else to be thrown at me with your upcoming review?”

“What?!” You bite, “is that what your stank ass attitude is about?”

Carmy tightened his jaw just as the first serving was handed over. You let him sulk in that for some time as you study the plating of the four appetizers, making note of each before taking more pictures with your sony.

“I wasn’t there to write a review.” You reply.

“I saw you—

“Let me finish. I understand pressure so I get it but you have to learn to channel your anger and this grief, elsewhere and deal with it better without projecting it onto any and everybody. I’ll tell you that right now that won’t get you anywhere and especially with me, Carmen.” You affirm.

You’ve been in Carmy’s position before so you can speak with experience. He seemed to always be waiting for the worse to continue filling up his plate but it takes time to accept the good in life. He was giving you something but you weren’t sure it was the best option for the both of you and you weren’t afraid to say that.

“Alright…I didn’t come here to talk about feelings either you know? That’s what those meetings are for.” Carmy spills just a tad.

You stare at the vibrant but delicate plating but his tone and the soft upbeat tempo above your heads don’t go unnoticed. “What did you come here for then?”

Carmy blinks and snatches up a spoon, almost weighing it in his hands before he dives the utensil into the dish. He stares as the stretch of cheese, twisting the spoon to break it apart before holding the Macaroni and Brie with Crab out for you to take the first bite.

He doesn’t answer for awhile and so you do the honors of taking a bite and savoring it's texture and taste.

“…that’s not my favorite.” You announce and notice that Carmy waited for your view.

He raises his brows, “tell me about it?”

“They need different plating.” You deeply sigh, “I know that type of plating works best for a dessert and that’s not it. There’s more breadcrumbs than meat, which seems to not be fully removed from its shell so be careful with that. It’s also lacking flavor even with the brie, which is my least favorite kind of cheese in Mac, although many swear by it.”

Carmy flicks his attention to your disappointment to you scribbling into your notepad with a shake of your head. If he was making you a dish, he’d try his hardest to make sure it was everything you ever wanted.

He quickly has his share and thinks to himself.

Carmy can agree, this was lacking flavor and the breadcrumbs didn’t even have a crunch to them. You can’t just depend on the cheese to give you flavor in Mac and cheese.

“What’s your favorite dish? I—I don’t think I ever asked you that. We just went straight into talking about the beef.”

And doing dirty things in the front seat but who needs to relive that?!

You look up from your notes and lift your chin, “you’re looking at it. It’s childish I know...but that’s exactly what it reminds me of: my childhood. Mac and cheese! then as I got into my adulthood…crab kinda took over. Which is funny because I hated on it for so long growing up. My papa—my grandad, he helped my mom raise me, he's from Ocean City so you can only imagine the amount of seafood on our table.”

You’re smiling to yourself and Carmy can’t help but to feel his small laughter lines appear by his lips as you’re locked into some memory only you can remember vividly. This was the most Carmy was learning about you, sure it may not look like much but he didn’t feel the need to dissociate even if at times he really couldn’t help it.

You were the question mark that he wanted to figure out and get all the answers to. Maybe it was his gut and he shouldn’t have blabbed to sugar about you because now Carmy was thinking this was Michael’s doing.

If you believe in that shit.

So the both of you take your time trying the small dishes before getting the main courses. It seems the longer you sit across from each other—the tension was definitely still there especially with Sydney’s eyes burning into the two of you across the room and attempting to not get caught—although she had once or twice but gradually it lifted as you and carmy shared this time together.

He watched you work while you asked for his input before you told your own. He also provided a few things he would do to tweak it if he agreed with what you didn’t enjoy. Which was eye-opening for you, yes you went to school for journalism and sat in on some cooking classes once that also tied into your passion for learning. After completing your first degree you decided culinary may take you to different heights and enrolled into culinary school. You didn’t find the need to continue going through with being a chef after Copenhagen, finding writing to be your stronger suit but you still understood food and the relationship with it when it came to chef’s.

So you took carmy’s input into consideration.

With the last serving being a Asian dessert called, “Jjan Hae,” which consisted of: coconut rice pudding served with fresh citrus (orange, grapefruit, kumquat) and coffee ice cream, topped with crispy pop rice & a shot of Korean rice wine, it was a strange concept but the both of you came to terms with the dessert working well.

Carmy even took a video to show Marcus tomorrow at the bear and sent a photo to an old colleague, Luca, that you were also familiar with considering Noma was a thing that you didn’t bother speaking much on…but it was your turn to give carmy the last serving.

He hesitated since he had his own bowl, which he finished way before you did but it was clear you wanted him to have the last bite so he also took it while saying something with his eyes.

Breaking the stare, the both of you felt your phone buzz with a text. Carmy didn’t jump to answer it right away…he was the worst texter according to Nat and Sydney but you can answer for the both of you as it was a group text from Sydney who was long gone with her dad.

Siddy + (773) XXX-XXXX: Carmy, invite aspen to breakfast in the morning?? See you guys then! 👍🏾😉

“You guys do breakfast at the bear now?” You say lifting your eyes from your screen.

You heard Sydney made a mean omelette but you haven’t been back since earlier this year and you weren’t in the mood for that that night.

Carmy frowns and closes his eyes with a shake of his head, “uh yeah it’s a new thing that Syd came up with but we agreed to do that with everyone once a month…later this month. Why?”

“She wants me to have breakfast with you guys…knowing I’m not a morning person.”

“It’s not happening tomorrow anyway, so what is she talking about?” Carmy digs into his jacket, where he carelessly shoved his phone into after sending the photo off to Luca.

Another text rings out: at carmy’s place. just us three???

Not Sydney making plans and then placing it all at Carmy’s apartment.

He’s taking a breath, almost as a silent reminder for him to do so before his thumbs move over his screen: i don’t even eat breakfast, Syd.

Syd: well youre gonna.

~ Syd has notifications silenced 🌙 ~

“Well, looks like your work wife told your ass.” You laugh, which you translated into her message but didn’t comment further than that.

Carmy harshly exhales through his nostrils in disbelief, “my work wife huh?”

He didn’t hate how that sounded but he also never thought about marriage or relationships in awhile.

“Yeah…the proof is in the pudding, no matter what anyone says.”

Carmy pinched at his bottom lip as he attempts to dryly joke, “I thought it was rice? and what about outside work…”

“That’s something you have to figure out yourself.” You shrug, getting ready to pack up your notes and cameras.

You turn your attention to the table, which knows just when to lift as you tap on the screen to signal that you’re ready to pay while holding out your company card, “are you paying cash for the tip or card?”

“Uh, cash.” Carmy answers, “…what if I’m starting to think about what come’s next?”

“With Syd?” You question, your now sage and mint scented hands flying over the screen as you select the correct paying method before tapping your company card against the screen.

Carmy starts bouncing his leg underneath the table, “with everything.”

“Well…when you’re ready you’ll make moves to make it happen won’t you?”

Carmy dips his head, “you bet.”

And here comes the intense eye contact that you can’t help but to huff out some laughter.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just people with light eyes always do this thing where they’re just staring into your soul you know? Like damn, relax!”

Carmy’s confused as he holds his wallet open, “uh sorry for having eyes?”

“Shut up, glacier eyes.” You tell while Carmy just snorts at you.

The both of you don’t waste any time rushing back to his car as the clock is approaching 10pm. The wind’s definitely picked up and the temperature dropped, making it easier not to get caught up in the night time city lights which you often liked to do. Back in the van, carmy doesn’t wait to crank up the heat and you don’t bother to mess with the radio this time.

“So?” Carmy asks as he waits for the car to warm up some.

You keep your attention outside the window shield, “yes?”

“What’s the rating?”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you that, Carmen?” You continue holding yourself.

He sniffs, “I mean—I was sitting across from you the entire night while you told me some of your thoughts.”

“So you thought you should also get the final score? I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.”

“Ah, I think you’ve got some idea.” Carmy lolls his head over to peek at you.

Laughter bubbles past your lips, “I do. I’ve absolutely had better because—what the fuck was that?”

Carmen feels a crooked smirk appear on his own face, “I don’t want to completely bash other chef’s work but fuck, I thought it was just me? You said it got a 4.3 out of 5? The ambience and service was spot on but…the flavor for most of the dishes?”

“I knew you knew something about seasoning,” you continued laughing while carmy rolled his eyes, “should spend less on the tech and interior and more on some fresh herbs.”

“Isn’t it called simmer saffron?”

That made you laugh even harder as you gripped your stomach, “You’ve got that so backwards!”

And carmy couldn’t help but to scan your features as you laughed and he felt his chest getting somewhat lighter? Just listening to the sound of you and being beside you. What kind of feeling was this? He’s felt it before looking at someone else but that feeling was more of a tug with that light while this one slowly poured in from the black.

“Don’t be too hard on ‘em though? There’s always room for improvement.”

“Sure, but we both know the bear is better and you guys don’t have a waist list months in advance.”

“We also don’t have any celebrities showing up either.”

“Yet.”

Carmy taps his fingers against the steering wheel, appreciating that, “right, yet…I’m sorry about March. I was too in my head about so much shit and you’re right, I took it out on everyone and I’m still trying to make up for it.”

“Effort doesn’t ever go unnoticed if people look and feel it hard enough.”

Carmy chews on his lips at that, “if you believe that…then why do you feel what I said about dating—uh us—about us dating is out of the blue?”

“I said that?”

“Your eyes did. It’s the most expressive thing about you which is funny to me when you talk so much shit about mine when you hide the rest of it away on your face. It’s fucking confusing but I think I gathered that from our dinner tonight.”

Carmy was just as detail oriented as you. It was in his language with food and maybe even in his tattoos that you tried to understand starting with his fingers first. The way he spoke about what he would do with the dishes that were lackluster, except for the dessert—that was pretty good. Carmy wasn’t much of a talker because he wasn’t sure how to express himself, always been that way since you knew of him at Noma…but he told just enough in his dishes and you told just enough between the lines you wrote.

Someone just had to look hard enough.

“…I ever tell you I was engaged? Of course I didn’t, we’re still…I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here Carmen but I’m starting to sense that we could be special if we both want this badly.”

“What do you want?”

“Does anyone ever really know?” You laughed, “ I guess someone to look past the circumstanial and I had that once but then he died. So that was the end of that.”

“You swore off love.”

“Love is many things but maybe I closed off the long lasting part.”

Carmy could relate to that as least with family. He never had much interest in romance even growing up because he lacked that confidence in anything being permanent besides the chaos he’s used to, then he found some of it once he proved what he fucking set out to do yet cooking was all Carmen really opened himself up to. While Luca and others encouraged him to have a night out in the town, he always left early or if there was one person that caught his interest, they get to talking and both get bored of each other since Carmy hardly made the move to take them back to his. Before Noma?

Maybe.

Back in Paris there was one that could have been permanent but Carmy had to break her heart since Noma was calling. Culinary was his true love and he honestly couldn’t tell you what she even looked like now if you asked him. Things that should have mattered tended to get buried in the blue of his mind unfortunately.

He didn’t have the time to be attached and you didn’t want to have your heart ripped out again.

“How’d—

“He was a firefighter.” Was all you said and just those words alone told carmy it was anything but peaceful.

It took a lot for carmy to scream at himself how Michael went out and he imagined it might have been the same for you. So he wouldn’t dare ask for further morbid details because what did that help?

So maybe you weren’t wrong about the both of you not being ready to take that step on going on dates but change was everlasting.

“Uh—what about breakfast then after that not so great meal?” Carmy asks as he pulls off from the curb now.

You think about it. Really think about it that carmy starts to assume you may have dozed off.

“Depends on the time honestly? And who am I to turn down a free meal?” You beamed at Carmy who lifts his shoulders with a chuckle.

Carmy explains, “Syd and I usually start our days early, sometimes even earlier for me if I don’t get enough hours in. but thanks to the reno those on the early shift can get prep ready and I heard…you’re not a morning person?”

You’re just as sarcastic but there’s no lies, “I don’t even know my name or birthdate when I first wake up…what do you think?”

Carmy snickered at that, “okay? So how does 10am sound?”

“That’s pushing it but…I think I can be there so that’ll give me the rest of the day to work from home.”

Carmy nods, “can’t wait to read it. Shake on it?”

“On what? My review or showing up?”

“Both.”

“I’m not sending you a sneak peek, maybe syd or even nat but not you.”

“Ouch.” Carmy mocks, still waiting for your hand to touch his.

And when you do there’s a spark, that makes you yank your hand back and you feel like you’re in one of those cheesy teen movies.

You’re aware carmy’s felt that too but he just clears his throat and placed his hand back on the steering wheel. Leaving you to lightly massage the palm of your hand, now glancing at the profile of carmy’s face.

Life takes time to live but once you start to just let it be, the green starts to stand out more and can be equally as joyous…once you get through the rain and mud that is.

And once the ice blue sets back on you, the both of you can’t exactly see the future but there’s always warmth waiting for the cold to give them a try.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

February fluff anthology series continues here.

201 notes · View notes