#among us crack!fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erwinsvow · 7 months

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him.

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself.

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him.

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet. Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones.

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you.

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report.

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment.

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this.

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you.

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder.

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would.

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop.

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then.

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon.

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better.

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that.

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag.

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims.

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be.

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming.

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.”

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago.

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?”

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out.

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it.

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon.

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat.

“What?”

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight.

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.”

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago.

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy.

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?”

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling.

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.”

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.”

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end.

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing.

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?”

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin.

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking.

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car.

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back.

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body.

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.”

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same.

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that.

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition.

and voila <3

#spent my sunday writing this while rewatching season 3 #putting off prep for my grad school interview b/c this is so much better <3 #hope everyone likes it #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotcher imagine #hotch #hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

lucysarah-c · 19 days

Text

Scratches down his back

Summary: Repeat after me, nothing good happens in the common showers unless it’s Levi sandwiching you with the wet wall. Sadly, this is not the case. So, nothing good will happen. Author's Note: I'm revisiting this piece, my second-ever Levi fanfiction, after Tumblr inexplicably removed it. I've made a few alterations, so if you recall the original, you might notice some differences. I've attempted to recreate it to the best of my memory. Despite initially intending it to be full NSFW, I've reconsidered; it doesn't quite match the tone I'm aiming for. This leans more towards being a Crack fic than an NSFW one. Warning: This story contains suggestive themes but nothing explicit. Word Count: 2.8k

She lotioned up, fingers deftly twisting and knotting the towel around her body to keep it from slipping. Annoying groans echoed in the humid tiled space as she struggled to finish her routine while maintaining modesty and not taking up too much space.

"Holy Sheena," a voice called from her right, making her turn around hastily.

"What?" she responded.

Hange walked closer, seeming less concerned about covering up after coming out of the shower. "Those bruises... tell Shorty he's supposed to fuck you, not try to kill you," they joked.

She sighed intently and found the well-marked fingertips around her hips, washing away marks around her wrists and the obvious hickeys and bite marks on her inner thighs and lower collarbone to conceal them from daily life. Y/N couldn't help but chuckle.

"Forgot I had those," she commented, momentarily happy before furrowing her brow again. "I can't find anything here!"

The former HQ of the scouts lacked a pumping water system, everything (despite her boyfriend's attempts) smelled of mold and humidity. The place was freezing due to the tall ceilings and lack of proper insulation, especially in the middle of the forest where temperatures dropped the lowest. Having to shower there, under shaky candlelight, with buckets of water and a cup to pour it on her body was a nightmare.

"How could you forget?" Hange seemed less stressed about the shower situation, either because they had fewer steps in their routine or because they were less ashamed.

"I got used to it, and I usually don't share bathrooms, so no one can see me naked," she explained, searching among her personal hygiene items for the next step in her routine. "I forgot how impractical communal showers were."

"Ah, yes, because you and your hubby have all the space for yourselves," the brunette joked, making kissing sounds to annoy her further.

"You're just jealous that my love life is very active," she retorted.

"Don't point those fingers at me, save those assumptions for Erwin," Hange teased.

Their banter made her laugh and nod slightly in agreement. "Speaking of which, did he send you here to help with something?"

"Supervise a bit of the situation for him and fill out reports for the MPs and the military board," Y/N explained casually as she started to put on comfy clothes.

"So, basically... a conjugal visit so Levi doesn't get blue balls," They quipped.

Coughing loudly as the foam from the toothpaste made her choke in shock, she spat into the sink before looking up, blushing deeply. "HANGE!"

The squad leader chuckled, unfazed by the outburst. "Your marks tell me I'm right. You arrived last night, and he jumped on you like a beast in heat."

She scoffed, not saying a word as her mouth was still full of toothpaste. Frowning slightly at the squad leader and shooting them an askance look, but Hange didn't seem offended, taking the conversation lightheartedly.

As they finished their dental routines, Y/N was surprised by Hange's efficiency. They clearly had different notions of after-shower routines.

"Don't be so hard on him," Y/N defended her boyfriend tenderly as she rinsed the toothpaste residue. "He's stressed about the whole Titan boy situation. He needed to unwind."

Both walked out of the room lethargically, as if neither had anywhere urgent to be. "That's the excuse Shorty gave you? But if Eren is so meek around Levi..." Hange argued back between chuckles.

The empty corridors of the former HQ made her shiver, quickly losing the warmth of the shower as they strolled. When the name of the new cadet in Levi's squad was dropped, Y/N couldn't help but grimace and bite her bottom lip to hold back a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Hange asked.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Come on, just tell me!"

"Fine..." she relented, "but this stays between us."

"You know I can't promise that," Hange joked, indicating that juicy information wouldn't stay secret for long. "Just spit it out."

"I met Eren earlier today..." she began.

"Yeah, and?" Hange prompted.

Y/N's subtle, almost innocent blush didn't match her sassy chuckles. "He's hella cute."

Hange's loud gasp echoed in the empty hallways, prompting Y/N to hush them intensely. "You're a taken woman, Y/N!" the brunette argued, albeit without seriousness. "And... He's a kid. Have some decency, you creep."

"Hey!" Y/N quickly protested. "I never said I was going to sleep with him or something like that! Can't a girl admit when a boy is cute? I mean, did you see his eyes? He's going to be turning heads around here before you know it."

Hange chuckled, "If he survives..."

"What a depressing thought, Hange, for Sheena's sake," both continued walking. "Mark my words, he's going to be handsome and will have girls swooning over him."

"Including you?" Hange teased.

Y/N shook her head softly, regretting telling the squad leader about it. "I could teach him a thing or two," she joked back, earning a shallow laugh from her companion.

"Don't let Shorty hear you say that," Hange warned.

"I'm joking, I'm joking," she assured.

The heavy stone walls seemed to catch every little molecule of dust between the bricks as she swung the door open to the basement kitchen, probably designed to keep the cold temperature for food storage. Or perhaps it was an old castle, and the staff was secluded to the forgotten and unpleasant part of the architecture. Once inside, Petra and Eren were cutting potatoes while sitting on big, chipped wooden boxes.

"Hey," Y/N greeted, rubbing her arms over her clothes as the humidity and coldness of the place seemed to penetrate every piece of clothing. "The bathroom is free if you want to take a shower."

Y/N chuckled softly at her own words. "Well, 'shower' is a bold word for sitting down and throwing buckets of water on yourself," she clarified, jokingly.

Petra seemed to understand, smiled at Eren, and stood up to clean her hands before leaving. They were taking turns for showers, mostly because the former HQ lacked a water pumping system, so they had to fetch water early in the day. For showers, the water had to be warmed up by the stove and then carried to one of the rooms they had chosen as a bathroom. Neither room was ideal because of the wooden floors, but they made do.

She noticed the big, almost innocent eyes of the cadet looking up at her, both seemingly waiting for the other to make the next move. Eren continued with his task silently until she cleared her throat.

"So... have you taken a shower yet, Eren?"

"No, ma'am," Eren replied stiffly, making her scoff.

"You can call me Y/N," she said, taking a spot next to him on the box. "Here, let me help you, or we'll be having potatoes for dinner the day after tomorrow."

Her hands began to peel the potatoes with expertise. "You're good at this," he commented, looking down at his own pile and noticing a good part of the peel had taken the potato with it.

She chuckled, "Ugh, you know how many potatoes I peeled before I was promoted," she joked. "You're showering after dinner? Make sure to rinse the water out of your hair if you're going straight to bed; you might catch a cold otherwise."

Eren seemed surprised by the comment, or perhaps by the interaction overall. "Yes, ma'am," he replied with less self-assurance. "Captain Levi said the rest should go ahead, and then we'll go... I feel bad that he had to wait to take his turn because of me."

"You're showering with Levi?" she asked, entertained, cutting off a bit of the self-hate speech that the cadet was about to embark on. "You're not planning on stealing my man, are you?"

Oh, how quickly the blood rushed to his cheeks. It was priceless. "N-NO! I-I, no. I'll n-never," the poor boy began to stutter. She playfully patted his back while having a blast.

"Relax, Eren. I'm messing with you," she said between chuckles. "It's just a silly shower, sweetie. Levi goes to bed very late, so showering last doesn't affect him."

"But Oluo said–"

"Ohhh, please," she interrupted him again, rolling her eyes as she returned to her task of peeling potatoes. Momentarily pointing at him with the knife, as if to emphasize her point, she continued, "Do not listen to him. Oluo is like one of those very tiny little dogs. They bark and bark and may even bite more than a regular-sized dog, but they actually hold no power."

It was time for the cadet to have a short chuckle at her comparison. "Mr. Oluo isn't going to like that."

"Well, I'm higher in command than him so."

There was a brief calm silence as both of them continued to prepare dinner. "You're too nice to me, Squad Leader," Eren murmured, slightly ashamed. "The rest of Captain Levi's squad is nice too, but I can feel their fear..."

Y/N couldn't help but find it endearing, the little pout on his face. "Oh sweetie, I'm the one who brings the first paperwork of the day to Erwin, and sometimes I even have to wake him up. There's nothing you could do that could scare me after that," she said while reaching forward to pinch his right cheek while wrinkling her nose. "You're a cutie."

The side smile mixed with a not subtle blush that extended to his ears and the subtle shame in his eyes. Everything in his attitude screamed 'I'm not a girl or a kid, don't call me that.'

But that was exactly what he was in her eyes: a kid.

Clicking his tongue, cursing under his breath, he moved the shaking candle around, trying to find a good lighting spot against the old mirror while passing the razor close to his skin. The flame shook under the little insulation of the old rooms, and the humidity of the showers didn’t help as it rained little drops of condensation too close to it. Unlike Eren, who had finished showering and looked around ashamed, unsure how to even begin to dress up for bed without looking awkward (he could start by not standing still in the middle of the room), Levi seemed rather relaxed. Apparently, his only problem was shaving under that type of light.

The Captain looked over his shoulder, found the cadet looking as if he wished the earth could swallow him. “Come on, brat. We don’t have all night. Get dressed so I can take you to the basement,” Levi spoke up. “Don't be so tense. I cleaned the place myself.”

‘The cleanliness is not my problem,’ Eren thought to himself as he tried to carry on. But keeping the towel around his hips while trying to put clothes on that stuck to his humid body, nothing was going according to plan.

“I bet you shared showers in worse conditions at the training camps,” Levi kept his usual stoic face as he cleaned the residues of shaving cream from his face and carried on unaffected by the situation.

But Eren couldn’t unglue his eyes as soon as he noticed them. Yes, them. The red striking scratches down the back of his superior. Well-marked, five on each side decorating his shoulder blades. Eren swore he was trying not to pay them any mind, trying to remember to breathe or even to stop the saliva as his mouth hung open looking at them.

Levi mentioning the shared showers at the training camps didn't help. Because all he could hear repeating endlessly in his mind were the stupid conversations Reiner and Jean would have about the hypothetical chicks they were planning to lay with. How they throw their heads back as they moan your name. Their nails sinking in your back as you pounded into them.

‘Think of something else, Eren. Think of something else,’

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out a reply as the object he was picking up slipped from his clumsy hands, gathering his superior's attention, who was now staring at him as he kneeled to pick it up with his face as red as a tomato and nervous eyes.

Levi raised a silent eyebrow for a split second before slightly shaking his head, not giving it much thought. ‘Teenagers,’ he thought to himself while sighing.

Eren wished he could stop his own mind because it wasn’t just Reiner’s voice playing in his head but the created mental images of what he thought, in his inexperience, it looked like: his superior—no—his hero, fucking the sweet, caring woman who had just been peeling potatoes with him. Her hands that pinching his cheeks, sinking its nails into his squad leader’s back while moaning his name. Wrinkling his eyes closed, trying to erase the mental images as he could feel the blood pumping. ‘You’re not planning on stealing my man, are you?’ her voice echoing in the walls of his head, pumped lips and sultry eyes as she looked back at him playfully.

‘Think of something else!’

“What could you probably be thinking of?” Levi’s voice echoed as his worst nightmare. Had he said that out loud? This time Levi had turned around to face him, left hand resting on the sink as he had his trousers on but hanging loosely on his hips as he was halfway getting dressed. He didn’t seem friendly, and his dead glance demanded an explanation.

“Ehm- I,” Eren began to stutter, trying to find a logical explanation. His mind was racing miles per hour, how to explain. He was peeling potatoes, she made a joke, now he knows they are dating, Levi had his back scratched by her. She, her nails, her joke, her pretty lips—

“Y-Y/N,”

Ah- He shouldn’t have said that, but it was the first word that came to his mind.

“What?” Levi’s voice seemed to source from hell itself.

Heavy steps again on the floor, as he rushed back to his room. “Oi, where are you going so angry, shorty?” Hange rested against the wood frame while drinking a cup of tea. They had heavy under-eye circles and despite the dose of caffeine from their drinks, they seemed very lethargic.

“Tch, to talk to my girlfriend about not messing around with my subordinates,” Levi had a heavy frown on his face as his hair still leaked little drops of water. “I just had the most uncomfortable conversation with Eren,” Levi said between clenched teeth, barely modulating.

Hange chuckled while raising an eyebrow, blinking a couple of times. “Y/N told you she thinks Eren is a cutie? I’m surprised...”

Levi, who had never stopped facing down the hall to his room, not even when he began his conversation with the other squad leader, slowly turned around to face the brunette as he heard that with a clearly confused face that turned into a frown as the information sank in. “What?” he spat out.

Hange began to chuckle as they feared that they had misunderstood, “Ha ha... didn’t you say you had an uncomfortable conversation about Eren?”

“Clean up your filthy ears or go to sleep already, four eyes,” the captain said calmly before clarifying, “I said a fucking uncomfortable conversation WITH Eren.”

“Now, tell me what the hell you meant by that and make it quick because I already stood in a leaky bathroom for easily half an hour hearing Eren stutter apologize after he said my girlfriend’s name with a fucking hard on.”

Observing out of the window as she admired how calm the deep forest was at the former HQ. It was rather cold, but she had only her nightgown on, a sheer translucent piece of cloth. The door of the room swung open, revealing an extremely angry Levi. He shut his door close and walked up to her.

“What's gotten into you?” She questioned, confused. But before she could even reply, he was grabbing her face, pressing her cheeks together, and slightly raising her face to have it inches away from his.

“You’ve forgotten your manners. I’ve been too soft with you,” Levi groaned, “First of all, you don’t go around playing cheeky with my subordinates.”

She could feel the tug from his grip, pressing her closer as her hands touched his arm. Breathing heavily, humming a moan at his words. “Second, you truly think you could have a brat like him when I can already tell you’re dropping with the idea of me teaching you your place again?”

“Lev-”

“Your next words should be ‘Yes, sir’ if you know what's good for you,” he let go of her face just to slap her ass, “Go to bed and ass up, baby girl.”

She moved excitedly in the direction he indicated but turned around as she bit her bottom lip, watching as he grabbed a belt from his uniform, “and that?” she asked curiously.

“To make sure I’m the only one who leaves marks behind.”

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee Wanna join my tag list? Here!

399 notes · View notes

nrvcntr · 4 months

Text

My Lover is Like

hey remember how i said i'd write that fic about tav coming from a noble background and having a riddle that someone has to answer to date her and no one ever gets it right and then years later she tells gale and he knows immediately? anyway here it is

There are certain scents that bring back memories - warm grass on a summer’s day, fresh linens placed on a bed, and of course, the sickly sticky burn of a bottle of plum fizz, shared among friends. Astarion recoiled after he sniffed the open bottle, his nose scrunched in horror.

“You can’t be serious,” He said.

“You’re being dramatic. It isn’t that bad,” You replied.

You had found a crate full of bottles on your last trek and dragged it back to the campsite, anticipating a heroic welcome at your generous haul. It was nearing sunset and it seemed as good of a time as any to see what the contents of the crate were. Upon cracking the crate open, your eyes lit up at the sight of bottles on bottles of plum fizz. This had been the drink that defined your adolescence as a noble in Baldur’s Gate. It immediately brought back memories of revelry, singing songs next to bonfires, and a young Wyll Ravengard throwing up in the street. You pulled out a bottle and handed it to Astarion, who had reacted like a man who never knew the joys of noble debauchery.

“It smells like it could raise something from the dead and then kill it again,” He said, handing the bottle back to you.

“Look, we used to drink this all the time when we were kids. It’s like a rite of passage among children of nobility in Baldur’s Gate.”

Wyll, overhearing the conversation, came over to see what you were so impassioned about. At the sight of the bottle in your hand, he recoiled like someone had just smacked him upside the head.

“No. Get that thing away!” He shouted, shaking his hands.

“Oh, stop it. I remember you used to beg to play fizzy hands when we were younger,” You said.

“Fizzy hands.” Astarion said flatly, “What sort of braindead activity is fizzy hands?”

You raised your brow to Wyll, who explained that “fizzy hands” was the beloved drinking game of your youth, where a small magical seal was applied to two bottles of plum fizz, which an individual would hold. The seal wouldn’t break until both bottles were consumed.

“Fizzy hands leads to fizzy guts, which leads to…a fizzy mess, in the street. You couldn’t pay me to take a sip of that now.” Wyll said.

You looked around the campsite and gestured to Gale, who had been beginning the preparations for dinner so intently that he hadn’t noticed the failing case you were trying to make in favor of plum fizz.

“It’s nice to know that your taste in wine is nearly as bad as your taste in men,” Astarion mused, causing you to shoot him a farcefully menacing look. Your affections for Gale were no secret, and the two of you had shared an intimate moment in the Weave, but you were unsure of your current status, or even whether he really returned your feelings. You had begun to write it off as a passing fancy, something to daydream about during long days of traveling. Though, there was no hiding how much you enjoyed being around the man, your conversations often dragging well into the night after everyone else had fallen asleep. You had never met anyone else who seemed to understand you the way that Gale did, or whose company you enjoyed nearly half as much.

“You’re a man of taste, and you’re knowledgeable about wine. Can you settle a debate for us?” You asked Gale when he walked over.

“A glass of wine sounds delightful this evening. What’s the topic of debate?” He asked.

“Astarion and Wyll may not be as cultured as you and I. Just tell them about the fine properties of this blend,” You said, trying to communicate ‘please, say this tastes good’ in your expression as you poured a glass and handed it over.

Gale swirled the glass and his eyes widened at the scent. To his credit, he took an honest sip and racked his brain for something kind to say about it. “It has notes of…berry. And cinnamon. And…” He couldn’t do it. “Acid. It tastes like it would eat a hole through a table if you spilled some on it. Do the youth of Baldur’s Gate really ingest this willingly?” He asked.

You threw your hands up.

“Poor taste, the lot of you. It cannot be helped.”

After dinner, Astarion sauntered over to you, two glasses of plum fizz in hand.

“A drink together. Sort of a truce,” He said.

You were suspicious, but took the glass in hand. The spicy, bitter, sweet, and confusing concoction ran down your throat and made your stomach feel hot. Astarion’s glass was already empty, and he poured you both another. By the time you realized that Astarion had been pouring his drinks out to get you to continue drinking, you were drunk enough to begin telling stories of your youth in Baldur’s Gate.

“So, after Wyll threw up in the street -”

“Can you please stop talking about that. I have plenty of embarrassing stories I could tell at your expense, you know. Lock.” Wyll said pointedly.

“Lock?” Shadowheart asked.

You covered your face, feeling a burning sensation creep up your cheeks.

“What none of you realize is that our beloved companion here was once the most eligible bachelorette in Baldur’s Gate nobility. Her family was wealthy and she was beautiful, intelligent, and charming…”

“Whatever happened?” You asked, making yourself laugh.

“However, she never took a partner. Singles of all creeds, genders, and races tried, but no one could get through to her. So, she began to be known as ‘the lock of Baldur’s Gate’. And, what opens a lock but a key? And the key to her heart was to answer a riddle,” Wyll explained with a dramatic flourish.

“A riddle? How droll. That’s a little…presumptuous, don’t you think?” Astarion asked. You shrugged.

“Why a riddle?” Karlach asked.

“I didn’t want to end up with someone who was a complete dunce,” You joked. It was a half-truth, since the whole truth would have disrupted the mood of revelry among your companions.

“Well, do we get to hear it?” Shadowheart asked.

You leaned back and looked at the faces of your companions. Wyll shook his head, having heard this question lamented among the singles of Baldur’s Gate throughout his youth.

“What is loving Taglath like?” You asked, the question rolling off of your tongue like a well-rehearsed line.

“What a stupid question!” Astarion huffed, rolling his eyes. He had no idea what the answer could be.

“Oh, do you know the answer, then? Since it’s so stupid,” You said, unable to wipe the smirk off of your face. It always delighted you to stump someone with the riddle, and it delighted you even more to watch them struggle with it.

“What is loving like?” You repeated, prodding Astarion for the answer.

“Darling, loving you is like poison seeping through my veins,” Astarion said, pretending to be a romantic poet, his hand gripping his chest, “- and it kills me to be parted from you,” He added, taking your hand in his icy cold grasp.

“Very sweet, but no,” You responded.

Everyone laughed, getting a little chuckle out of Astarion’s foolishness.

“Oh come on, it’s not like any of you geniuses know the answer,” Astarion said, raising a brow to the group. He looked around at their curious faces and wonders aloud, “Do you?”

“Uh, I don’t remember my childhood. Much less silly poems,” Shadowheart said, but thought about it for a moment. “Is it like a rose? Something beautiful out of the dirt?”

You shook your head.

“Chk. This is a waste of time,” Lae’zel said..

“C’mon, Lae’zel, what do you think loving is like?” Wyll probed, the githyanki rolling her eyes at him.

Lae’zel replied, “Like a well-won battle, your enemies dead at your feet.” There is a pause before she asked, “Did I answer correctly?”

“No,” You replied.

Karlach wiped her hands on her pants, not waiting to be asked. “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you ask me, solider,” She said, “But I’ll give it a try. Is it like a cool drink of water on a hot night?”

“That’s sweet, Karlach. It’s own little poem, even. But no,” You said.

“Well what’s the answer?” Astarion huffed, getting frustrated at this little display of ignorance.

“Salamander!” Wyll interjected, snapping his fingers like he cracked the code. This made everyone crack up, to his dismay. “No, because - I mean, uh - well, it’s better than corpses!” He insisted. This only made everyone laugh more.

In this revelry, no one even thought to glance at Gale, who had been watching the scene with a bemused little smile on his face.

There was a lull when the laughter died down, the silence of everyone taking a breath after a hearty laugh.

Through the silence, two words cut through the air like a knife directly to your heart.

“The Sun.”

You gasped (a reaction that, in retrospect, embarrassed you with how dramatic it was). You stared at the speaker, Gale’s dark eyes glinting in the firelight. You felt you must have looked ridiculous, your jaw agape.

In all of the years of telling the riddle, no one had ever known the answer. The key to your heart, you joked. But it had been more serious than you ever let on. As each suitor fumbled through wrong answers, it had only solidified your belief that true love would never be yours. That you would eventually have to settle for someone who couldn’t really understand you.

It was like time stopped, the visions of your companions becoming a blur as Gale came into focus.

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be blissfully unaware that he had just broken your brain (what was left of it, at least).

“That’s…right. How did you know?” You choked out, hardly above a whisper.

“It’s a very clever riddle. See, most would probably assume that the riddle is about the works of Taglath, whom is renowned as an iconic romantic poet. His works adorn his lover with brilliant metaphors that have captured readers since their inception,” Gale explained to the group, lecturing his never-be students.

“That’s probably why Gef Deldus spent one summer immersed in Taglath’s works,” Wyll recalled, chuckling, “He told everyone that he had solved the riddle. He was convinced you would be his bride by the end of the season. What was his answer?” He asked.

“Love is like a poem,” You replied, still dumbfounded by Gale’s answer.

“The education in Baldur’s Gate leaves much to be desired,” Gale snarked, then continued, “What most people don’t know is that Taglath’s most prominent muse was another poet named Alanis. Unfortunately, most of her work has been lost to history. Almost no complete works remain, and only fragments have been collected for publication. But in her most complete work, she compares her lover to the Sun. It’s a gorgeous poem about loving someone who burns brightly and the fears associated with taking a lover of prominence. Loving despite fear,” He said.

You wondered how it was possible that your body felt like it was on fire but also like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. Did none of your companions notice that you were going insane? The realization rocked you like an earthquake.

Gale Dekarios was not a passing fancy, someone to think about kissing when the option presented itself. He was neither a daydream nor a wet dream to pass the time at different hours. He was not the greatest friend you had ever had, the person who you most looked forward to speaking to each morning after you woke and each night before you went to bed. The person who you spoke about nothing and everything with, played games with, or just enjoyed a comfortable silence with. He was not your traveling companion, nor even an ally who had risked his life for you as you had done for him. It was impossible for Gale to be any one of those things because he was all of them all at once and so much more.

Oh, fuck, you realized, your knees ready to give way.

You were in love with him.

The sound of your companions laughing and chattering together mixed together and sounded like ocean waves. If anyone turned to ask you anything you probably would have just stared at them blankly. You attempted to take a step toward Gale and the drinks you had earlier in the night went to your head, sending you tumbling forward and onto the ground.

“Looks like the plum fizz kicked in. ‘Key’, maybe you should take the ‘lock’ to bed,” Shadowheart said to Gale.

You thought that if you closed your eyes, maybe the ground would swallow you up and you would never have to look at Gale again. Instead, you felt him help you to your feet, allowing you to lean against him as he walked you to your tent. You were desperate to know what was going through his mind - did he realize the gravity that he answer had?

“Easy now,” Gale said, helping you down onto your bedroll. He treated you gently, helping you to unlace your boots and get settled in under the blanket. You were sick to your stomach at being doted on by him and kept quiet, trying to focus on anything but the way he looked at you. He left for a moment and came back to bring you some water.

“Is there anything you need?” He asked.

You were quiet for a moment, then spoke.

“Gale?”

“Yes?”

“After we had that moment in the Weave…you mentioned that we shouldn’t talk about it then, with the orb being unstable and everything going on,” You said, then allowed yourself to lean into your own intoxication, asking what was truly on your mind. “Was that really the reason? Because if you don’t see me that way, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.” The words poured out of you too quickly for you to worry about sounding insecure. It was a lie, of course, that it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. Being rejected by Gale would be devastating.

Gale looked thoughtful, then recited the end of Alanis’s fragments of her poem about her lover.

“My lover is like the Sun, Brilliant and bright He eclipses me And yet I yearn

My lover is like the Sun Blinding and unyielding When he touches me I burn”

He placed his hand on your cheek, his gaze looking through you and into your soul. The two of you could say so much without a single word.

“Am I the Sun, or are you?” You asked.

Gale had loved the poem when he read it as a boy, and later thought of it often when he was with Mystra, trying to make sense of the reality of having a goddess for a lover. He had often wondered if he would ever have an identity outside of being Mystra’s chosen, or whether he would forever be tied to the Goddess. And if that was the case, why did the idea of it make him burn with jealousy?

However, the poem had taken on new meaning since he met you. He felt like the Sun, a ball of fire ready to explode in his chest at any moment. As badly as he wanted to hold you close, he knew that doing so would destroy you. Still, he wondered, might it be worth it to burn if he could have one moment of knowing what it was like to be yours entirely?

Or rather, were you the Sun? He was certainly transfixed by you, drawn to your brilliance. You, a mortal who dared to be more brilliant and enticing than his Goddess. Would following you lead him down the path to certain doom - or worse, would getting close to you lead you to your own demise? It was that thought that kept him up at night, wondering if he should escape in the night. To save you from himself, or at least get you as far away from the danger as possible.

Gale contemplated your question.

“I’m not sure,” He finally replied.

“I don’t know, either.”

You placed your hand on Gale’s, your gaze fixed on each other, searching for an answer in each other’s eyes. Neither of you could find it.

However, there was one thing that was clear to both of you: whether through flames of salvation or damnation, you would burn for each other.

#gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 brainrot #gale brainrot

487 notes · View notes

certainlynotasimp · 1 year

Note

oh just a little tip, i think it would be wise if you added the spanish translations somewhere inside the fics, this could be at the end or next to the spanish sentence, since you can’t copy text from posts it’s hard to translate since you have to type everything in google translate by hand <33 anyways i loved your fic, you’re very talented and i can’t wait to see more of miguel and his beloved sunshine.

you know what might be funny? if they were on a mission and got hit with a gas that switches their personalities🤣 now that would be something i would pay to see 😂

From Your Point of View

((Miguel O’ Hara x Female! Reader))

A/N: Hello~✨ Thank you so much for the request and the critique. I have now added some translations at the bottom of the fanfics because I forgot how weird tumblr can be about copy and pasting stuff😅. Also I hope that I didn’t disappoint with this as I was kinda struggling on what to write for this one.

-Still haven’t seen the movie so be warned I may get some stuff wrong-

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, Barely using (Y/N) ((Sunny is their nickname not their name)), bioweapons, kinda graphic injuries, Outta Character and Outta pocket behavior, and Google Translated Spanish. ((Thank you @22carolina08 for reviewing it before I posted it))

~~~~~~~~~~~

The cackle of women enjoying the fruits of their labors filled the corridor of the abandoned warehouse as they surrounded the machine they were working on. It was a tall glass sphere with some kind of purple dust floating around inside while two titanium computers stood on either side of the device.

The three women standing around it were a set of Green Goblins who jumped from different dimensions to find a universe where there wasn’t an arachnid hero to stop them from using a bomb to take control of the city.

However they didn’t expect there to be four spidermen to be observing them around the property with one little spider hiding along the walls of their lair.

“Lyla,” Miguel whispers as he observes the meeting from the top of another warehouse. “Analyze the contents of that bomb and tell me how bad it is.”

The yellow AI materializes in front of him as Miguel tries to swat her away like a fly, not wanting her to compromise his location. Lyla rolls her eyes and explains, “The dust in that little bomb they have is made from spores of this rare mushroom. It’s been reported that inhaling the spores can cause drastic changes in behavior, mood swings, and mild hallucinations. Most cases detail paitents becoming aggressive and violent.”

Jessica’s voice buzzes through the intercom as she quips, “So they are planning on driving the city into a state of panic?”

“Sounds like it.” Ben Riley gruffs in annoyance. Miguel couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he knows the Scarlet Spider was still pissed that he couldn’t go ahead and stop the goblins.

“Sounds like a party to me, mate.” Hobie cracks as he watches from the ground. “Oi, Sunny, Dear? Wanna crash their party?”

“Yes, a party of people violently hurting each other and causing mass chaos does sound like fun.” Miguel grumbles saracastially before scolding Hobie. “She can’t reply to you, Brown. Not when she’s undercover.”

Miguel can barely make out her outline with the infared of his mask lens, but he can see his little jumping spider wander among the goblins unseen.

A big advantage to have someone with his beloved’s powers. She had almost every trait of the typical spider men, but she had a unique camouflaged ability. Without the suit Miguel made her, she can lower her heart rate and rapidly chill her body temperature so she can remain undetected by infared. She can also go invisible for a few moments without the suit, but both abilities are limited due to how strenuous it was on her being.

The suit allows her to remain undetected for a much longer time and prevents her from putting too much strain on her body. The slight heat the suit emits to keep her body functioning is the only thing that Miguel can use to track her. A major drawback of her gift is that physically she’s not as strong as the others, but she can handle herself in a fight.

Of course, he’s always there to help her. Her protective predator and his gentle prey. A match made in heaven as Jess always jokes.

“(L/N).” Miguel whispers into the com as he watches his love sneak around the device. “Attach the bug I gave you to the main computer so Lyla can deactivate the bomb.”

He makes a signal to the others to tell them to be ready for the ambush. The plan was suppose to be a simple get in and out. The invisible web shooter would get the bomb deactivated while Miguel, Hobie, and Ben rush in and take out the goblins. Jess served as support in case the villains ran past them. It was suppose to be an easy mission. Until it wasn’t.

As the bomb got deactivated, a light beep from the monitor causes the Goblins to turn around and notice that someone tampered with their bomb. Before the little spider could escape, one of the Goblins throws a jack o lantern explosive at her, causing the glass vial to exploded.

Miguel’s blood ran cold as he witnesses his love engulfed in black and purple smoke, and all reason went out the window as he rushed into the contaminated warehouse to save her.

“Miguel, wait!” Jessica screams out she drives her bike in front of the other two spidermen trying to rush in.

“What gives, Drew?” Hobie snaps, concern burning in his eyes. “We gotta get in there.”

“Not without these.” She snaps back as she hands the boys four sets of gas masks. “Lyla said it’s transmitted through air. Hurry up and put these on.”

Ben grumbles and slams the mask on before running in while Hobie and Jessica share a look. “You think Sunny will be alright?” The spiked spider asks as he places the gas mask on his already covered face.

“She better be.” Jessica sighs. “I definitely don’t want to find out how Miguel will react if she wasn’t.”

With that Hobie runs in while Jessica calls for backup to help contain the spores seeping from the windows.

~~~~~~~~

“Vitals appear to be normal.” Spider-Doc mutters to the three spider people surrounding one of the hospital beds. “O’Hara and (L/N) are both looking good on blood pressure and brain activity, so I expect them to wake up anytime soon.”

Thankfully, Hobie and Ben managed to capture the green goblin trio and reinforcements came just in time to contain the spread of the bio weapon. However, both Miguel and his companion were found bloody and unconscious when they found them.

The beloved spider woman had most of the damage with several shards of glass impaled into her back and arm while gaining a severe concussion. The team figured that in the rush of the moment and his vision obscured by the cloud of dust, the goblins took Miguel by surprise and got him with three sharp projectiles while he was trying to help Sunny.

Despite the horrific scene, both of them were deemed to be alright after some surgery and the only physical damage was Sunny’s now broken arm, which should heal in about a week thanks to the signature spiderman super healing. The only worry was the psychological damage.

Both were definitively exposed to large quantities of the gas and from what Lyla had said about the mental effects of the spores, they were worried about an invisible spider and her beast of a companion tearing everything apart.

Jessica sighs as she sadly gazes at the broken and restrained bodies of her friends as Hobi places a small bear on his little friend’s bed.

“Didn’t Lyla say anything about how that antitoxin is coming along?” Peter says as he bites his nail.

Spider-Doc nods as his lens shifts to appear like he’s hopefully smiling. “Lyla has said thanks to the samples from their suits, an antitoxin will be finished in two days.”

“Two days?!” Hobie snaps up. “We are about to have two spidermen possibly going on a rampage if we piss them off. I don’t think we can wa-“

A soft groan emits from the bed beside the ranting anarchist and everyone’s attention breaks from the poor doctor and onto the small spider. Her eyes flutter open as she frowns at her surroundings.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Jessica soothes as she helps the disoriented girl sit up in her bed.

“I’m fine.” The girl said in an unusually blunt way. Her eyes now harden in an annoyed expression as she looks around at the group. “Next time, you guys should be more considerate to someone recovering from having their shit rocked.” She scolds before growling at the pain.

The sight of the sweet girl now acting so bothered towards their presence was so unsettling, but not unexpected. They were aware the sweet girl they knew was gonna be changed by the gas, but it’s still disturbing.

As they all stare at the glaring girl, a deep groan comes from the bed next to her as her attention focuses on her love. Her anger emerges as she snaps back to the spiders.

“What the fuck did y’all do to him?! Was it that asshole Ben Riley? I’m gonna kick his ass if he’s the reason my Miggy is in-“

“Cariño?” A soft mutter causes her verbal rampage to end as a pair of ruby eyes focused on her. Once she meets his eyes, an uncharacteristically soft grin comes over his face as he mumbles sweetly. “Hola, mi niña bonita, ¿cómo te sientes?””

“I’m fine.” The girl mumbles as she tries to keep her stern face while a little dusting of blush takes over. “What about you?”

Miguel chuckles at her face and gently reaches over and caresses her hand as he swoons, “Siento que puedo enfrentarme a un toro ahora que he visto tu hermoso rostro, mi amor.”

The group of spidermen looked at Miguel horrified as he looks up at them. Expecting him to snap at them or try and escape his restrains, but he doesn’t do either. He gives them a bright friendly smile as he cheers, “Oh, you guys made it out alright. I’m glad we are all still here together. Great job, everyone.”

Hobie backs up a couple of steps trying to calm his raging heart before he had a heart attack from the shock. Jessica looks at him disturbed as she silently records the duo on her phone to show her husband later. Peter calls Lyla on his gizmo as his face looses all color.

The AI emerges out of the gizmo with a cheery, “Hello~ you ringed?”

“What’s wrong with Miguel?” Peter snaps as he hears Sunny immediately yell at him about what he said about her Miggy.

“Oh I meant to warn you about that. Well the aggression is on a most case scenario kinda thing, not an every case thing. Since Miguel is more genetically altered with spider than Little Miss Sunshine, his natural aggression cancels out the one caused by the bio weapon.” The assistant explains.

Hobie laughs at this as he looks at the now confused Miguel, “So our big bad leader is as harmless as a kitten now?”

“Yep.” Lyla giggles. “And because our sunny pants there was as dangerous as a jumping spider before this, she’s now part of the majority percentaile.”

“What the fuck did you say about Migue, you twig?!” The formerly harmless girl bucks in her restraints as her protective nature causes her to want to thrash the punk star.

“Mi amor, por favor cálmate... No está tratando de ser grosero…” A now teary eyed Miguel tries to sooth his partner in a shaky calm voice.

That was when Jessica realized a mistake they made. When they restrained the pair earlier, Miguel was placed in titanium bands that crossed over his chest, arms, legs and hips. Since Sunny wasn’t considered a ‘major’ threat in comparison, she was just held down by some chains.

Because of this, the earth deafening sound of chains shattering cause all of the spiders to scream. The AI giggles as she responds,

“I forgot to mention that the chemical not only increases aggression, but also physical strength. In humans, they would just be slightly stronger than normal, but in Miss (Y/N)’s case…”

The rest couldn’t hear what else Lyla had to say as Hobie started booking it down the hall with a pissed off Sunny hot on his heels. Jessica frantically tries to undo Miguel’s restraints as he cries for his lover to come back.

Peter sighs and asks, “How much longer until the antidote is ready?”

“I can rush it for you. Should take another 3 hours hopefully.”

“Do you have any tranquilizers?” Peter asks as a now free Miguel tries to chase down his angry lover.

“No~”

~~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Hola, mi niña bonita, ¿cómo te sientes? - Hello, my pretty girl, how are you feeling?

Mi amor, por favor cálmate... No está tratando de ser grosero…- My love, please calm down...He's not trying to be rude…

Siento que puedo enfrentarme a un toro ahora que he visto tu hermoso rostro, mi amor.- I feel like I can take on a bull now that I've seen your beautiful face, my love.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@ameliadraws

@tojisrightnut

@whyareyoubored

@silly-lovestruck-em

@luvil1y

@chims-kookies

@himesuedi

@22carolina08

@chaoticevilbakugo

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@hoshhoshh

@isaidoop

@pheroineux

@rosiepetalss

@aniya7

@savannahlynnes

@boldlypessimistic

@dilfaddiction

@xsuvs

@bunnybopug01

@tanakaslastbraincell

@brivers

@mistermouseshideyhole

@paranoiac-666

@reypolaris

@beeframon

@sofiahowland376

@bby-lupin

@thesrtuggleisveryreal

@arminarmout15

@mintellaine

@maddsunn

@sleepyamaya

@meshuso

@scaraza

@nobarasgfriend

@kurxxmi

@lemoonandlestars

#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #fanfic #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara

2K notes · View notes

emma-is-swaggy-and-epic · 17 days

Text

youtube

Hey guys, new fanfic just dropped on my wattpad ^w^

You can read it here: [[LINK]]

0 notes

sailoryooons · 6 months

Text

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.

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@wobblewobble822 @idkjustlovingbts @teddytaee @jknoah @veronawrites @bts-ruu @tumeperds @ashtonkeller @ivyrosewater @secfir @hoseokshobagi

GOTD TAG LIST:

@caught-in-the-afterglow @shyminmin @minhanbyeol

NOTE: YOU MUST HAVE YOUR AGE OR AGE RANGE SOMEWHERE ON YOUR BLOG TO BE TAGGED IN A TAG LIST. A TON OF YOU DO NOT HAVE THI, AND THUS HAVE NOT BEEN TAGGED. IF THERE IS A DASH THROUGH YOUR NAME, TUMBLR WILL NOT TAG YOU PLEASE CORRECT THIS.

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

900 notes · View notes

ensemblesmile · 4 months

Text

what happens on vacation

pairing: bakugo x f!reader

warnings: cheating, slight age gap (bakugo in his late 20s, reader a fresh college graduate), skinny dipping, late night beach sex, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names (he calls reader princess, baby), a bit of insecure reader, somnophilia, probably other tags i’m forgetting

on a much needed vacation pro hero dynamight is forced to take, bakugo spots you next door, the woman that will change his whole life. the only problem? bakugo’s currently on this vacation with his girlfriend…

word count: 4.5k

a/n: 18+ content, minors dni!! i’m ngl, this is a pretty self-indulgent fic i made… i just couldn’t get the thought of beach sex w bakugo out of my brain so i needed to write it. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy!

bakugo katsuki's girlfriend of ten years is finally getting her long desired vacation with the man of her dreams. everything has been planned, their tickets are booked, their condo is reserved for the entirety of their stay, it's on a beautiful seaside beach, and it'll only be her and her boyfriend, pro hero dynamight, also known a bakugo katsuki.

she has a somewhat tearful parting with her parents — parents who've never been more than a prefecture away — before boarding the plane for the us for their month long vacation, a vacation bakugo's secretary has been pushing for him to take since he cracked his first major case.

bakugo's girlfriend is practically bouncing in her seat in excitement, even in her sleep. bakugo finds her restlessness a tad annoying, reaching over the first class seat in order to bring her bouncing to a standstill. for the rest of the trip, bakugo finds solace in the calm, falling asleep to not be awakened until they reach their destination.

as they leave the plane behind, bakugo's girlfriend can't stop talking, excitement evident in her voice as she speaks at length about the things she's planned for them. even in the uver, she just hasn't stopped talking, excitedly explaining to the pro hero what they would be doing each and every day. when the driver tells them they've arrived, that's the only time she's quiet, though she instantly goes back to yapping away the moment they step out of the car and collect their luggage and as the car drives away from them, leaving them standing in front of their rented condo sitting on the beach.

as they explore their month long home, bakugo can't help but sigh in annoyance as she keeps making exclamations about how she really enjoys their temporary lodgings. bakugo can't help but get annoyed with the girl, wondering why he chose to start dating her all those years ago. he doesn't want to break up with her yet, as she helps keep other females who only want him for his fame and money away. after seven years, many people are asking him when he intends to pop the question. however, bakugo had decided long ago that this was not the girl he wanted to marry, she was not the woman for him, she was much too annoying. his perfect woman would be someone who he knew would be his destined lover the moment he laid eyes on her, he just wasn't expecting to meet her on this vacation.

it was about a week into their vacation when bakugo first laid eyes on you, his destined lover.

he was simply enjoying the sun on the balcony when you came into his life. the condo next door had finally become occupied, with you and your recently graduated high school friends having rented the condo next door in celebration of your successful graduation.

as he sat on the balcony, cold beer in hand, he heard your voice among many other voices, though only yours held him captive in its alluring beauty. his girlfriend was somewhere in town, probably getting more groceries she thought they needed, so he didn't need to worry about her barging into his search for the voice that had captivated his heart.

standing up from his spot on the chair, he rested his elbows on the railing as he gazed out towards the beach, a cover for his desire to search for you. you were so easy to spot, so easy to look for because no one was as beautiful as you. it wasn't because you were younger than him by a good few years, nor that you had an excessive amount of makeup on. rather, there was simply this natural beauty about you that bakugo had seen in no other female.

and when you turned to look directly at him, his breath seemed to leave his body. if he were a high schooler, he probably would have gotten a nose bleed due to your choice of attire. you had chosen to wear a white bikini that was held together by rings. muttering "fuck" softly under his breath, bakugo sent you a wave of greeting before turning to reenter the condo, immediately moving towards the bathroom to take a cold shower. thoughts of you kept flashing through his mind, smooth, creamy looking skin invading his senses until he wanted nothing more than to feel it under his own hands.

and when bakugo's girlfriend returned, she couldn't help but feel something was off with him. whenever she reached over to touch him, he would instantly remove her hands as if her touch burned. whenever she tried to initiate anything remotely related to sex, he would instantly leave the room and not return until many hours later only to act as if nothing happened.

it wasn't until the end of the second week of their vacation that she finally found out why bakugo had become so distant lately. she hadn't actively been trying to find out, she knew bakugo could sometimes be distant like that. but when they happened to head for the beach one afternoon, she couldn't help noticing bakugo's gaze staying glued to you as you pranced around with your friends in next to nothing. was she imagining it? was bakugo actually interested in you or was it simply that he happened to be looking in your direction when she turned to glance at him?

her suspicions were confirmed when a volleyball came flying towards them and then rolled to a stop at bakugo's feet. when you came racing over, chest bouncing as you ran, she couldn't help but notice bakugo's gaze travel down to your chest, a hungry look in his eyes as he picked up the ball.

"i'm so sorry!" you exclaimed upon reaching them, reaching towards the ball as bakugo handed it back to you. "we got a little too crazy... i promise, it won't happen again!"

"don't worry about it, it's fine," bakugo responded, causing his girlfriend to quirk an eyebrow in surprise. if it had been anyone else, he definitely would have yelled at them to be more careful of other beach goers, but instead he acted as if it was nothing? just what was up with him?

"thank you for being understanding, but i'll still scold him when i get back," you had responded, tucking your bangs behind your ear before turning around to rejoin your friends, yelling at the one who caused the ball to go flying for being so careless with his serve. as you walked away, bakugo stared after you, causing his girlfriend to huff in annoyance and force his attention back onto her.

after that day, she actively avoided going on the beach by their condo, instead deciding to drag him out to other beaches where she felt you and your friends wouldn't appear.

of course, bakugo realized what she was doing, finding any excuse to stay behind if she wanted to go out. he wanted to continue to watch you, work up the courage to approach you.

the moment came late one night when he spotted you sneaking down to the beach with nothing but a towel to cover you. when he made his way onto the balcony, his breath left his lungs as you peeled the towel away, revealing your nude form under the moonlight. swearing softly, bakugo quickly returned to the bedroom, grabbed a towel for himself, and then headed down to the beach as well. when he reached the beach, he gazed at you with a reverence in his eyes as he called out to you.

"you know, swimming nude on a beach shared with others can lead to misfortune," he spoke up, startling you from your swim.

"oh fuck," you spoke up, turning to find your neighbor standing next to your towel. "sorry, i've been doing this for a few nights now, i guess after my first few times i wasn't expecting to run into anyone this late at night."

"mind if i join you?" he questioned, earning a look of surprise from you before you nodded your consent.

"be my guest," you responded, going back to swimming in the ocean as if you didn't have care in the world.

"so, ya do this often?" the pro hero questioned as he waded into the ocean.

"do what often?" you questioned curiously as you gazed in admiration at his form.

"go skinny dipping," bakugo replied, finally taking the plunge and joining you.

"mhm, my parents have a private villa back home that i stay at a lot, guess it's just something i started doing to prove something to my parents? but now i do it because i like the feel of the water on my skin," you replied.

"i see," bakugo murmured, eyes not straying from you as you continued to swim back and forth through the water. "you're beautiful, ya know? ethereal, even." he spoke softly, his words barely reaching your ears and causing you to stop your swimming.

"what...what did you just say?" you questioned, swimming closer towards the man.

"you're beautiful," bakugo repeated, louder this time as he moved one hand to cup your cheek lovingly. "took my fuckin' breath away the moment i laid eyes on ya."

"i- i see," you stuttered, hands moving to rest on the pro hero's shoulders. "i thought you didn't look too bad yourself, but...what about her? that woman you were with?" you questioned uncertainly, eyes averting from his heated gaze.

"she's nothing compared to you," bakugo responded, carefully pulling you in for a soft kiss on the lips. "let me prove it to ya, let me show ya how frustrated you've made me since i first saw you."

"okay," you murmured, squealing in surprise as bakugo quickly scooped you up and headed for shore.

"'m bakugo katsuki, by the way," the man introduced himself as he set you down on one of the towels that had been laid out beforehand. "feel free to call me katsuki."

"l/n y/n," you replied, gazing up shyly towards the intimidating man before you.

"fuckin beautiful, princess," bakugo praises, causing you to almost preen at his words. "been dreaming of this moment since the moment i first saw you, always wearing those skimpy ass bikinis." he spoke as he started teasing your hole, dragging a finger through your folds. "think i didn't notice how you seemed to be wearing less each time i saw ya?"

"wasn't intentional, swear," you murmured shakily, moving your arms up to wrap around his neck. "please stop teasing, want to feel you in me." you softly begged, a gasp escaping you as bakugo plunged a finger into you.

"ask and you shall receive," bakugo responded as he moved down to plant soft kisses against your lips, licking into your mouth each time you gasped at the feeling of him moving his fingers deeper inside you, swallowing your cries of pleasure. "gotta be quiet, princess, don't want the others to hear us, do ya?"

"s-sorry i just... have never felt this good," you moaned, clenching around his fingers.

"what kinda boys do ya fuck, huh sweetheart? i'll make you forget all about them, won't nobody occupy this pretty mind but me," bakugo grunted, continuing to thrust his fingers into you until you came on his fingers and into his hand. "fucking beautiful, wonder what you taste like," he groaned, removing his fingers from you in order to taste your release. "delicious, best fuckin meal i've had in my life."

your face grew red at those words as you gazed up at the pro hero, quickly realizing just what was happening.

and then he's back on you, pressing you against your towel and devouring your lips in heated kisses, licking into your mouth to start a dominance game, one that he wins every time. you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as your kisses grow longer and more heated.

"much as i love this," bakugo grunts, finally pulling away from your lips, he continues, "need to feel ya 'round me."

with those words, he shifts, lining up with your hole before pushing in, slowly at first so you can adjust to his size before pulling out and then thrusting in at an almost bruising pace, his grip on your waist giving a hint of pain with the pleasure. your back arches with his movements, finding yourself thrusting towards him as he thrusts himself continuously into you.

"fuck, you feel so good," bakugo grunts, his head falling back as he continues his bruising pace. then his mouth is on your nipple, laving over the pert nub, his hand twisting your other nipple between his fingers.

"'m close," you softly moaned as bakugo continued to thrust into you at his bruising pace, even with you clenching down around him.

"fuck, don't cum yet, cum with me," the pro hero grunted, picking up his pace in order to bring himself closer to his own release. his grip on your hips tightens, almost enough to leave a bruises though he's careful to not leave bruises due to his desire to see you in even more bikinis. "fuck, cum with me, princess." he grunts, stilling inside you as he releases his hot seed the same time your own release begins.. leaning down, he presses a soft, longing filled kiss to your lips as he softens inside you. "hey, stay with me tonight." he requests upon pulling away from your lips, gazing down at you with a longing and somewhat hungry look.

"but, what about your girlfriend," you murmur, glancing away from the pro hero, a flash of guilt suddenly seering throughout your entire body, a look of regret flashing across your face before being replaced by a neutral look.

"who cares about her," bakugo grunts, trailing soft kisses along your jaw, eventually ending up at your neck. "was planning on breaking up with her soon anyways. you're the one for me, only need you."

"but...how can you be sure, what if you find someone else?" you questioned uncertainly, eyes averting from his form to the ocean behind him.

carefully, he grabbed your chin, making sure you were looking directly at him when he spoke his next words. "that will never happen, because the moment i saw you, i knew you were the only one for me."

"but...how can you be so sure about tha-" you questioned, eyes going round in shock as he leaned forward to give you a kiss, cutting off the rest of your question.

"i'm so sure because you gave me a taste of heaven and i'm never going back," bakugo responded causing you to stare at him with wide eyes, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "so i'll ask again, stay with me tonight? i'll make sure you don't regret it."

"okay, i'll stay with you," you murmured with a soft nod, causing the pro hero to smile triumphantly. finally pulling out, bakugo allows you to get up, with you shaking your towel out and wrapping it around your small frame. "i have to go back to my own room for clothes though," you add, squealing in surprise as bakugo lifts you up in a princess carry easily, as if you weigh nothing. with a shriek of surprise, you wrap your arms around his neck to stabilize your position. you suppose this is a product of his hero training, being able to carry you as if you weigh nothing at all.

"that won't be necessary tonight," bakugo declares, walking towards his rented condo rather than the one you was sharing with your friends. "all you'll need is a shirt which i'll be more than happy to provide."

"oh, um, okay," you reply in embarrassment, burying your face in the junction between his neck and shoulder.

with all the grace of a 5'8" man, he carefully maneuvers you through the door as silently as he can so as to not wake his soon to be ex currently sleeping in the master bedroom. then he takes you to the downstairs bathroom, placing you down on the toilet as he starts the water, mindlessly stroking your cheek with a thumb as he waits for the water to heat up. once he's satisfied with the heat, he starts the shower, pulling you up and stripping you of the towel, shedding his own towel and then entering the shower, pulling you along with him.

"if you continue to treat me so gently, i might get used to it," you murmur softly, gazing up at the pro hero before you, eyes soft and loving in their intensity.

"good, because i'll continue to treat you as such," the man responds, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips though it soon turned heated with him even going so far as to crowd you up against the wall, his hands traveling to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly and causing you to wrap your legs around his waist in order to steady yourself in his hold.

"katsuki, is that you? why are you taking a shower so late at night? come back to bed," a woman's voice sounded from the other side of the locked bathroom door, a hint of grogginess in her voice.

with a growl of annoyance, bakugo squared his shoulders as he pulled away from your lips, giving them a small nip before calling out to her. "i don't know who else it would be. i just got back from a late night run so i'm all sweaty, but i'm feeling pretty restless so i'll stay in another room. i would rather not keep you up. go back to bed, we can talk in the morning."

"what do you mean by talk? but okay, talk to you in the morning," his girlfriend called back, her footsteps soon receding as bakugo's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed.

"she always appears at the worst times," he muttered, his eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. "can't wait for her to be out of my life for good."

"hey, you don't really mean that," you murmured, reaching a hand up to soothe the pro hero's annoyed expression. "she's been a part of your life for a majority of it, probably longer than you realize. even if you no longer have feelings for her, at least keep her in your life as a friend?"

releasing you from his hold, bakugo moved to turn off the shower, a contemplative look on his face. "i plan to make you my wife, you're the only one i'll ever need, so tell me why i should keep an ex in my life, even as a friend?"

"well, why wouldn't you?" you shot back, turning the question around on him.

"she was meant to simply be a fake girlfriend, no strings attached," bakugo responded, causing you to tilt your head in confusion as you stepped out of the shower, reaching out for your towel only for it to be snatched away by the pro hero. as he continued to talk, he also dried you off. "i met her in my second year at ua, a headstrong support course student. she caught my eye and we started talking, soon becoming friends. many of my...friends... saw my new friendship with her as something more and at the time i didn't bother correcting them, deciding this would be a good excuse to turn down all the other love confessions i would get. then soon the entire school knew so i had to continue keeping up the act, and before i knew it, we made our fake relationship an official one, though i tried to tell her that i just didn't see myself drawn to her in that way. she ignored my warnings and threw her all at me. for the past few years, i've been trying to fend her off but there's only so much i can do. but now i plan to end it." bakugo explained, glancing up at you from where he kneeled before you, a look of pure desire in his eyes. "after all, i can no longer see myself with anyone but you."

at that confession and with that look in his eyes, your cheeks instantly heated up in embarrassment, causing you to look away from the man before you, hands flying up to your cheeks as if moving to hide the blush, though the action came too late as he was already smirking, wrapping a towel around your body and then wrapping another around his waist. his next action rather surprised you. he as he stood up, he wrapped an arm around your waist and throwing you gently over his shoulder causing you to let out a squeal of surprise as he walked towards one of the upstairs bedrooms. once he reached one that was relatively far enough from the room his soon to be ex was sleeping in, he gently laid you on the bed with a soft kiss, promising you he would be right back.

with a soft click, the door closed behind bakugo and you found yourself letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"why me?" you questioned yourself quietly, moving up the bed to sit propped against the pillows, pulling the blankets over yourself to warm up slightly. "is he messing with me? but... he seems sincere?"

"i'm not messing with you," bakugo spoke up softly as he reentered the room, passing you one of his shirts as he slipped another over his own large frame. you took the shirt from the pro, slipping it on over your towel and then shedding the towel and depositing it on the ground by the bed. before you realize what's happening, bakugo is suddenly over you, trapping you between his body and the bed beneath you. "do you feel this?" bakugo questioned, pressing his hard on against your thigh. "you've driven me crazy since i laid eyes on you. allow me to enjoy your presence in this bed we'll be sharing tonight. allow me to make love to the only woman who will ever hold my heart in her hands."

"o- okay," you stuttered, having been taken by surprise at his actions and words, your heart skipping a beat at his confession.

with your permission secured, bakugo smirked victoriously, leaning down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands traveling along your figure groping and squeezing wherever he could. at a particularly sharp squeeze, you gasped in surprise — or would have had bakugo stopped kissing you — which he took full advantage of by shoving his tongue into your mouth, staring a dominance game that he easily won.

"fuck," bakugo grunted upon pulling away, allowing both you and himself to regain your breath. "i don't think i can wait any longer. i need to be in you," he murmured against your neck, planting soft kisses against your skin.

"then fuck me," you whispered next to the man's ear, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. "prove to me those words weren't empty, give me a reason to believe your confession."

"oh, i'll do more than prove it to ya," bakugo smirked, resting his forearms next to your head and positioning himself so he's lined up with you.

with a glance at your face to check you were fine, bakugo carefully pushed in, almost cumming on the spot from the feeling of being in you once again. truly, nothing could compare to this feeling, your hole stretched around him to accommodate his length, the warmth at felt at being in you, and the feeling of you clenching around him whenever he moved, even only slightly. and when he started moving, you would make the sweetest sounds, gripping at his shirt weakly, and thrusting up towards him to match his own thrusts. you were just so responsive to him and it drove him crazy.

as he picked up his pace, bringing you closer to your release, he carefully lifted your — his — shirt until your breasts were exposed. laving over one, he quickly sucked it into his mouth and playing with your other nipple with his finger, causing you to let out the prettiest moan he'd ever heard. with a lewd pop! he released your breast and switched his attention to the opposite one.

"fuck," you muttered, gripping bakugo's hair in your hand, yanking at it in tune with his sucking. "fuck, fuck fuck fuck. i'm close, so so close," you softly admitted.

"then cum, cum on my cock, need to feel you in full," bakugo grunted, picking up his pace to fuck you through your high. as you came around him, bakugo felt himself releasing in you as well. leaning down to you, he kissed you, his lips traveling down from your lips to along your jaw to your neck, sucking softly at the skin before laving over it with his tongue.

with your back arched up towards him and your hand grabbing at his hair, you came around him with a moan that had his cock twitching. picking up his pace, bakugo worked towards his own release, glancing up at you as if checking to make sure you were okay all the while.

"are you on any birth control?" he asked softly, giving your lips a light kiss at the question.

"y- yes," you stuttered, gesturing to your arm. "i have the implant."

"good," bakugo grunted right before he came, spilling his seed inside you. without pulling out, bakugo collapsed on top of you, both your chests heaving at the "workout" you'd just experienced. "you feel amazing, princess. you've ruined me for any other girl and i hope i've ruined you for any other boy." bakugo voiced his desire, kissing your neck softly.

"no one compares to you," you responded, snuggling into his chest and feeling as if you're about to fall asleep.

"close your eyes, i'll be here when you wake up," bakugo murmurs next to your ear, rolling over so you're both on your sides, though bakugo makes no move to pull out or let you go from his grip.

soon, your breathing evens out and you're fast asleep, lulling bakugo to sleep as well.

when bakugo awoke that morning, he smiled softly and hugged you closer to himself, a smirk rising to his face as he felt his cock twitch from its place still inside you. the thought of you cockwarming him throughout the night must've done more to him than he realized as he felt his cock go instantly erect. needing to get rid of his erection, bakugo carefully rocked in and out of you so as to not jolt you awake but rather wake you slowly. your eyes soon fluttered open, giving the man before you a tired smile.

"g'morning," you murmur, your voice deeper from disuse which only caused bakugo's love for you to skyrocket.

"morning, princess," bakugo responded, his voice just as deep from disuse. "this is the best way to wake up in the morning. with you in my arms and our day starting like this." he admitted, rocking in and out of you with lazy thrusts.

"mm, i have to agree," you respond sleepily, wrapping your arms around him and threading your fingers through his hair and causing bakugo to release a rumble of satisfaction at the action.

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #bakugo smut #katsuki smut

367 notes · View notes