#team orange drift

[vawd]

Team Orange

Nobushige Kumakubo

2005 Subaru Impreza WRX STi GDF

This car is my biggest inspiration for building my RWD STi. Even though I'm not the biggest fan of RPF1's this car looks so good with them on.

#drifting #subaru #rwd #team orange

[holysainz]

his haven - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader

warnings: vague and brief mention of minor accident

summary: the rest of the world may see him as mad max but you bring out another side of him

A blur of scarlet and orange sweeps past you as you stand on the sidelines of the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza, the deafening roar of engines echoing in your ears. It’s a sight and sound you’ve grown accustomed to, the chaotic symphony of Formula 1. To your right, the Red Bull team huddles around monitors, eyes glued to their champion, Max Verstappen.

“Mad Max” they call him. On the track, he’s a beast … fierce, relentless, and terrifyingly fast. A blink and you’d miss him. But to you, he’s simply Max, the man you love.

“Over to Max’s girlfriend, how are you feeling right now?” a reporter shoves a microphone towards you.

“I’m confident,” you reply, eyes never leaving the blur that is Max on the track. “He’s at his best when under pressure.”

—

Away from the screech of tires and buzz of the crowd, Max is different. He’s soft-spoken, his eyes always twinkling with laughter, his smile warming your heart. And it’s this Max you come home to after the race.

“Hey, liefje,” he greets you, brushing a kiss on your temple. His racing gear has been replaced by comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” you ask, noticing the slight grimace as he moves.

“Just a little sore, nothing major,” he shrugs it off, but you’re not convinced.

“Lie down. I’ll get the ice pack," you command, to which he obeys with a chuckle. “Always so bossy.”

“And you love it,” you smirk back, pressing the cold pack to his shoulder gently.

“Only because it’s you,” he confesses, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

—

A race accident brings out Mad Max. His car, a crumpled wreck, his team frantically shouting over the radio, spectators holding their breath. But in the chaotic frenzy, you remain calm.

“Are you okay, Max?” The radio crackles to life.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” he replies, his voice strained.

Hours later, as he hobbles into your shared hotel room, the fiery anger that usually follows a mishap is absent. He meets your worried gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Told you, I’m okay.”

“But you could’ve been—”

“I wasn’t and that’s what matters,” he interrupts, cradling your face in his hands.

—

It’s late when Max finally drifts off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking him. You stay awake, staring at his peaceful face, a stark contrast to the Mad Max everyone knows. Your fingers trace the curve of his face, lingering on a small scratch from the accident.

“I love you, you know,” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. “But could you try not to scare me like that again?”

A soft mumble is your only response, Max stirring slightly in his sleep. You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

—

Mad Max returns to the track, a force to be reckoned with, taking the next race and the next race and the next race by storm. He stands atop the podium, trophy held high, a victorious smile on his face. You’re by his side, matching his grin with your own.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispers later, holding you close in the quiet of your shared room.

“I didn’t do anything, Max. That was all you,” you respond, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“But that’s where you’re wrong. You see the man, not Mad Max. You make me want to be better, on and off the track. And that ...” he pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “... that makes all the difference.”

And in that moment, it’s clear to you too. The Mad Max reputation may never leave him but neither will the tender, caring Max you’ve come to love more than life itself. You’re the calm amidst his storm, the quiet in his chaos. And that’s something no one else sees or ever will. You are his anchor, his haven, and he is your love, your Mad Max.

#f1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen x you #f1 #max verstappen #mv1 #f1 fic #max verstappen fic #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #f1 fluff #max verstappen fluff #f1 blurb #max verstappen blurb #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 drabble #formula 1 #f1blr #f1 fandom #red bull racing #red bull f1

[idesofrevolution]

Sweat and Polyester

Siyu Jiang was in love. After moving to the United States from Guangzhou to get his degree in Software Engineering, it was a hard pill to swallow that he was less than stellar at mingling with his peers. Guangzhou was a mega city, easy for him to blend in and mind his own business, busy enough for him to get a contact-high of sorts to feed his need for socialization. New Orleans on the other hand, while not a small town per se, felt tiny and almost claustrophobic to him. Everyone knew eachother, and everyone took the time to chat, go out, have a drink or a blunt, 'fraternize' if you catch my drift... and Siyu quietly observed from a distance, watching the world bustle by.

That is, until he saw Eduardo. In China, he had never felt attracted to men. Perhaps it was the somewhat hostile environment for queer folks, or perhaps it was New Orleans' more laissez-faire attitude about stuff like that, but when the new semester started and he walked into that chemistry class, it was like fireworks erupted from his eyes. Eduardo was on the basketball team, pretty great at it too. He was tall, he was fit, he had those big brown eyes that made Siyu see sideways. When he plopped down in his seat next to Siyu, still in the gym clothes he'd worn to practice an hour or so before and wafting the subtle scent of salty musk from his tattooed body, their eyes met for the first time. A simple smile and a gentle introduction made Siyu's heart flutter, he was laid back and spoke effortlessly with a relaxed and friendly demeanor. Over the first two weeks or so sitting next to him, Eduardo had really helped Siyu feel less alone and less isolated, simply by being kind and taking the time to strike up a conversation with him.

It wasn't long before Siyu was beneath the bleachers in the basketball court, watching a sweaty, jovial Eduardo shoot hoops and practice with the team. It was no secret around campus that Eduardo was bisexual, having streams of girls as well as several teammates going in and out of his dorm room all the time. As mentioned before, the people around there talk, and from what Siyu had overhead, he was a giver and one of the best beds in town. This only added fuel to his fire, as his obsessive love for this sweet, oblivious jock boy grew stronger with each whisper of his name and bounce of the orange ball.

Thus it came to be on that Tuesday evening on a cold November night that Siyu decided to make Eduardo love him. Though, there was a problem. Outside of the obvious signs: him being on the basketball team, him fucking anything that moved, him always have the subtle whiff of reefer about him, and some of the company he'd keep, Siyu really knew nothing of Eduardo's interests. Worse even, the ones he did know about were far outside of his own. Siyu was simply too different of a person to snag his crush's attention. Thus, he focused on who did catch his eye.

Enter Ethan Lafferty. Ethan was everything Siyu wasn't: muscular, tall (even more than the 6'2 Eduardo), confident, cocky even. He was point guard on the team, and Eduardo's best friend. The two couldn't have been more different. Eduardo was sweet, kind, relaxed, a flirt, everyone's favorite guy. Ethan on the other hand, was brash, loud, dumb as a box of rocks, stank of a locker room at high noon, and spent most of his time either banging the entire cheerleading squad on a livestream or downing bottles of Jameson and snorting mountains of cocaine at some hole in the wall bar in the French Quarter. Despite their completely polar personalities, the two were nearly inseparable. It always came off as peculiar that such a stereotypical straight alpha dude bro would be best friends with a queer guy, even if they were teammates.

Siyu began to frequent the duo's hoop sessions, masked in darkness beneath the cavernous space beneath the seats, taking notes on his phone of what he could observe. In his mind, he saw himself as a horny, gay Jane Goodall: observing the hot boys in their natural habitat, and how they interact. Their relationship became clearer over time. Eduardo would be the first to arrive, sitting on the bench and scrolling through his phone until Ethan would burst through the gymnasium door, holding his smelly red shoes and making a loud fuss about whatever girl he'd 'bedded' the night before. The two would sit on the bench, side by side, laughing at Ethan's shitty and demeaning jokes while he threw his arm around Eduardo's neck and ruffled his hair. Even from the clandestine cave he'd hidden away in, he could see Eduardo blush just at Ethan's touch. It was beyond him what a brute like Ethan brought to the table, but Siyu realized whatever it was, Eduardo was into it. If being like that mouthbreathing, smelly dumbass was what would make Eduardo love him, then so be it.

He started to wear a gold chain and earrings, just like Ethan. Sure, the earring was a clip on, and the necklace was cheap plate, but Eduardo quickly complimented him once he'd noticed a few days into it. He started to wear athletic shirts and shorts, some that he'd stolen from the dormitory laundry bin of course, but he'd hoped the effect would sink in. Eduardo didn't take as much of a notice of this, and thus began the diminishing returns of Siyu's efforts. He stopped wearing deodorant, thinking his own pheromones would compete, which they didn't. Not even an acknowledgement. He sketched marker tattoos on his arm, saying he was trying out designs to see what worked. He received a raised eyebrow and silence. The more he tried desperately to impress Eduardo, the less and less it seemed to make a difference. Frankly, he noticed Eduardo pulling away. Their nice little chats before lecture started to disappear, the friendly knuckle bump he would get as they ran into each other in the quad quickly followed suit. The more he tried to be Ethan, telling oddly misogynistic jokes and sipping whiskey from his water bottle in class... the more Eduardo wanted nothing to do with him.

It made no sense to him. He was doing everything right. When Ethan did it on the court, or in the dining hall, or in the library, or even in his dorm room as Siyu had his ear pressed against the door; Eduardo ate it up, his big brown eyes looked at him like he was the most lovely creature on earth. When Siyu tried it, it was met with an awkward glance and a miserable nod. He was losing him. All the work was for naught. It was time to take drastic measures.

Siyu searched high and low through every academic paper he could find in that library to find a way to make someone love him. When that came up with dead ends, he searched how to change your personality, which supplied an equal amount of nothing. Psychology, philosophy, sociology, anthropology, neuroscience, even religion... nothing he found seemed to address his quandary. That's when he dug into the dark corners of the library itself: the occult, cults, mysticism, mythology, demonology... That's when he finally came across it. The key. The knight in shining armor. The solution to his problem.

Siyu was absent from class that Friday, the only day he'd ever missed in Chemistry. He was far too busy preparing for what was to go down that evening in the gym. From sun up to sun down, he was squirreled away in his dark dorm room, a single light on his desk illuminating the old archaic book. To his left, the culmination of his research, a small spray bottle filled with a strange yellow liquid. His trash bin was filled with empty envelopes from Indonesia, Mozambique, Paraguay, Lesotho, Norway, and Russia. Remnants of a shopping spree of esoteric ingredients so outlined in the ancient texts, all of which were less than simple and far beyond illegal to obtain. Though, to Siyu, it mattered not. This was to be his final act, there were no consequences that would matter after it was all over.

As 7:30 struck, as expected, Eduardo entered the gym, setting his bag onto the shining wooden floor and scrolling through his socials. Siyu crouched in his standard spot in the shadows, watching Eduardo's feet bounce absentmindedly mere inches from him as he waited for his friend. It didn't take long, as Ethan kicked open the door, shouting his typical "Bruh! You're not gonna believe what happened last night." Siyu turned off his ears, uninterested in hearing yet another story about ecstasy, booze, and his weird thing for Charlize Theron's legs. Instead, he took the little plastic cap off the spray bottle, and sat silently beneath Ethan as he put on his stinking shoes. As he sat there, talking about absolutely nothing of substance, Siyu spritzed his feet gently with the concoction. He didn't notice a thing, continuing to chide and play around with Eduardo as Siyu sprayed the back of his legs and shorts, then his shirt and finally the back of his neck through the holes in the bleachers. By the time they got up and began to play their game, Ethan was entirely unaware he was coated with the elixir.

Ethan and Eduardo had a particularly impressive match between them. Eduardo had to keep up with Ethan's frantic energy, which he'd never had a problem with before. Hoop after hoop, he would scream and shout, rubbing it in his friend's laughing face. It was their best hoop sesh yet, fitting it would be their last. Go out on a bang, thought Siyu, as that energy quickly began to deplete. Before long, Ethan had complained about his knee giving out before he could dunk.

"Fuck, bruh. I guess kicking your ass tired me the fuck out!" Eduardo laughed at his friend, pushing his head down as he walked past.

"Your coke is wearing off I bet. I haven't seen you play like that in a long time, man! What the fuck did you take?" Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, a subtle ache beginning to radiate at the base of his skull.

"I didn't take anything, fucktard! I'm just that good, and you needed a reminder." The two laughed like morphine-riddled hyenas, before plopping back down on the bench above Siyu. Their delectable scent washed down atop him like a waterfall of pheromones. "But I may need a minute, huhu."

"Yeah man, take a breather. Wouldn't want you to get too exhausted before tomorrow's game." Eduardo winked as he picked up his bag, saying his goodbye before walking out the side door, leaving Ethan massaging his aching wet feet on the bench. It was time. Siyu slowly made his way out from beneath the bleachers, his cheap shoes squeaking on the court as he approached Ethan.

"What does he see in you?" Siyu strolled over to Ethan, who chuckled to himself as he put his socked foot back into his shoe.

"Ahh fuck, man. What the fuck are you doing here?" Ethan was panting. To him, he had a hard workout. To Siyu, the elixir was working.

"You are awful, Ethan. You're rude, you're crass, you treat others like shit, and you smell. You're a real keeper, aren't you?" Ethan turned to Siyu, his indifferent expression melting away to indignancy. He jumped from his seat, ready to pound this 5 foot nerd into oblivion, until that damned knee gave out again, toppling him back onto the bench.

"Fuck. You better be thankful I'm tapped after that workout, fucker. You should thank me really, you'd be in the ground by now." Siyu stared with absolute apathy, knowing fully well he would not be brutalized by this waning star.

"You're scum, but he would do anything for you. I can't figure out why, trust me I've tried. But you have something going on in that empty brain of yours that he can't get over." Ethan turned and snickered under his breath.

"I know you. You're that little fuckin' cocksucker who's stalking Eddy, aren't you? See-who or whatever your fuckin' name is. Listen, buddy, I'll just tell you. He's not interested, alright? You have nothing he's looking for, so just leave him the fuck alo..." Ethan tried once more to stand, only for his legs to once again give out. "Fuck! What the fuck is going on?" Siyu smirked.

"I know. I'm not what he's looking for, again: I have tried. But you are what he's looking for, and you don't even see it." Siyu walked closer to the sweating jock, dripping from every pore as if he were in the throws of scarlet fever. "I've decided to do something about that, Ethan. You're no good for a guy that's as incredible and lovely and glorious as Eduardo, and I'm going to make sure that whatever it is you have that I don't gets put to good use." Ethan looked down at his legs, growing smaller and frail by the second. It looked as if he were melting, his skin sagging, his muscles deflating, his body just sinking into a puddle of sweat on the floorboards. Whatever slurs he wished he could launch at Siyu were caught in his collapsing throat as he gurgled and bubbled. Siyu watched with a gleeful malice, watching the top competitor sink into a puddle of his own fetid sweat. There was but one single glance of abject rage from Ethan's face before it too had plummeted to the ground, leaving behind his sopping wet clothes and a silent gymnasium. Siyu took a couple of seconds to just breathe and bask in his success. He looked down at the clothes and shoes, wafting his enemy's pungent scent, imbued by the puddle of his own essence he'd become.

Now full of excitement, with a pep in his step, he gathered the dripping clothes and shoes, slipping them into Ethan's gym bag before stealing away into the night. He quickly found himself bolting across the quad, hoping and praying no one saw him with another student's bag in his possession. Bursting into the dormitory, he ran up the stairs to his floor, taking a moment to breathe before he gingerly opened the hall door. Tip toeing ever so quietly down the carpeted hallway, praying at the last minute he wouldn't be caught by a languid R.A. or a drunk neighbor. The universe, it seems, was on his side that evening, as he unlocked his door and slipped in entirely unseen. Collapsing onto his bed, the heavy and damp bag sat next to him, radiating heat from within it's shiny plastic confines. It was time to finish this.

He turned to the bag, slowly unzipping it, allowing the dank, wet air within to rush out into his room. Ethan must have lived out of this bag, as it was filled with basketball shorts, sweatshirts, socks, shoes, blender bottles filled with protein shakes, and of course the lone sweat-soaked joint at the bottom. Siyu began shucking the wayward clothes onto his chair across the room, pleased to know he would have a couple of outfits that would fit him once this was all over. He emptied out the bag until the Ethan-infused clothes were all that was left in the bottom of the bag, swimming in a puddle of musky liquid.

Siyu smirked as he took out each piece, laying them out on the ground one by one. Tee shirt. Shorts. Disgusting jock strap. Ripe socks. Even riper sneakers. Finishing it off with the gold chain and single earring. It was all there. Rushing to his desk, Siyu grabbed the very last component to his plan: two facemasks, one white and one black. These two would be the final inoculation that would keep his changes permanent over time. Two weeks of breathing it in, letting it merge with his own essence, he would ensure that the new Siyu would be around long enough to ensnare his sweetheart. He bent down, picking up the jockstrap and a sock, both still dripping, and wringing out a sizeable amount of the stinking sweat to fall onto each mask. The stage was set, the materials were prepped, and it was time to make himself the perfect soulmate for Eduardo.

He started with the jockstrap. Even post-wringing, it still sat warm and damp, yellowed with the sweat and cum that had long sunk into it's fibers. Putting his two lithe feet into the straps, he nervously pulled up, droplets of the sweat rolling down his hairless legs before it fit loosely on his skinny waist. The change was immediate. There was no momentary ounce of silence and some slow change. No, his groin immediately ballooned out, the pouch quickly filling and pushing out tout against the wet fabric. His ass inflated loudly, the sounds of stretching and creaking rubber marked the expansion of his flat rear into two round and hairy orbs like basketballs on a shelf. Siyu gingerly groped his ass, dripping in sweat from the wiry hairs he'd never before had sprout out of his smooth skin. He cackled loudly, pulling the front strap forward, and peering into his hammock. He was met with a long, uncut python and two egg sized balls wafting out his new masculine cocksmell.

Now entirely intrigued, blinded by a sense of foreign hubris he'd long suppressed, he grabbed the shirt, slipping it over his head in one quick motion. The shirt quickly started to quake, turning from white to black, before his arms dropped like sacks of potatoes. Two firm pecs burst out from beneath the slick fabric, followed by his shoulders widening to twice it's former length. Siyu continued his moans of hedonistic pleasure, while his arms bulked up: firm but lean biceps and forest of hair growing from his forearms down to his wrists, before tattoos sprouted down his tan skin. He held out his hands, raucously laughing as his fingers lengthened, callouses appearing on his sweaty palms, and veins snaking wildly all the way up his arms.

"Interesting." Siyu's insane laughter ceased immediately. His eyes darted around the dark room, searching for the voice which had loudly billowed out of the shadows. "Fuck, bruh I thought I was dead fucking meat back there. But shit, it looks like you fucked up your little recipe didn't you?" Siyu's hands began to slowly clap, not at all under his full control.

"What the fuck? Where are you? How are you here?" His sweaty hand clasped over his mouth, sticking his middle finger into his mouth like gag.

"Aww, Siyu. What's wrong, buddy? You didn't wanna get rid of me, did ya? Nahhh. You wanted to BE me." His left hand grasped the shorts, slowly pulling them up his legs while his calves and quads burst out, covered in a thick carpet of black hairs. He shot up in height, easily breaking 6' 3" in seconds. He looked down, the height disorienting him as he gagged himself. "You got your wish, fucker. Kind of, at least. See, you thought you could turn me into a puddle and wear my shit, get all swole and dope as fuck, and what... He'd fall in love with you?" Siyu's eyes widened in terror. "Yeah, fucker I can see it all! I'm in here with you now. I can see how you jacked off to the idea of him plowing your ass after a long game. I can see how you followed him all over fucking town all the time. I can see how you thought some fuckin' magic bullshit would make you like me so you could force him to love you. Gotta say, that's some fucked up shit killing off your crush's best friend so you have no competition." Siyu's body bent over, picking up the socks, before plopping down onto the chair, surrounded by Ethan's clothes.

"See, you think I didn't know Eddy was into me? You think we didn't jack off together in our rooms when we needed a release? You think I wasn't into him too?" The hands slipped on the sopping wet socks, as his feet started soak up Ethan's sweaty essence, quickly followed by the nasty red shoes. As the laces were tied snug, his feet began to crack and swell, his arch growing tall and his toes lengthening out. Tattoos sprawled over the tops of his stinking feet and ankles, as the red fabric quickly turned orange, widening and lengthening even larger than Ethan's, until they were two massive size 15's. "Heheh, he likes feet, just so you know. Right when we get home after a long day, he loves it when I peel off my shoe and shove his face in it." Siyu felt his hand pinch his cheeks, and his middle finger caress his tongue in his mouth. "Thing is, Siyu, I was straight. I only had eyes for pussy, and fuck bruh, I knew how to stick my dick in it. I liked it when he sucked my nasty cock clean, but you know, it was just something between bros, you know?" Siyu slapped his meaty thighs, standing up tall and picking up the white facemask there on the ground. Tears ran down his terrified face as his own hands drew it closer.

"But now that I'm here, now that you and I are one, I think you may be right, dude." Siyu moaned against the hand over his mouth, just before it slipped out and grasped the other side of the mask. "I think we and Eddy are gonna be soulmates." He shrieked as the mask adhered over his nose and chin, and around his ears. Siyu could do nothing as he felt his brows lowering, his greasy hair falling out of his chiseled skull, quickly replaced by a sweaty black fade. His lips pillowed out as his long, meaty tongue licked them as he smirked with his pearly white teeth. Siyu could feel Ethan's consciousness wrap around him, like a tight latex suit compressing him tighter and tighter and tighter, until he visualize Ethan finally penetrating him. He pulled down his shorts and began to pump his greasy dick, while Ethan made himself at home inside of Siyu. Their traits intermingling with eachother- merging everything between them that would have made them distinct, now creating an amalgamation of both. As his balls began to shudder, pre cum dripping from his hooded cockhead, there was no more Ethan, and there was no more Siyu.

The first volley of spunk shot from his dick, memories of fucking gals on the weekends and guys on the weekdays solidified in his mind. Second volley of spunk, a sense of cocky self assurance swelled within him, though washed with a sense of empathy and camaraderie to mellow him out. Third volley of spunk, he was booksmart in his IT classes, but dumb as a box of rocks, choosing to funnel his free time out of class into the team and chilling out with his bros. Fourth volley of spunk, he loved Eduardo. That sweet, adorable, kinky little fuck was the apple of his eye, and he'd do anything for him. Though, he couldn't get too lovey dovey, he knew all too well that being chased and obsessed over was the quickest way to turn him off. He would happily tease, flirt, kiss, suck and fuck him, but he would let Eddy come to him. Fifth and final volley, his identity now centralized and firm: he was Shan Eoyang, a Chinese exchange student on scholarship for basketball. He was cool, he was hot, he was the golden hearted bad boy that made everyone around him go wild. The world was his oyster, and he would be there with his man by his side, and the various others who would worship at their sweaty masculine feet. He opened his eyes, and Shan took his first deep breath, taking in his own scent embedded into his mask.

"Fuuuuuuuck dude, that's good." He slipped his cock back into his dirty jockstrap, knowing all too well that Eddy would be into it when they finally met up. Bringing his fingers to his ears, he came perilously close to prying off his mask, though something in the back of his mind told him it probably wasn't the best idea. He pulled out his phone, not recognizing it whatsoever. It had his boyfriend's face as the screensaver, but it wouldn't take his password or fingerprint. Must be the previous tenant's phone, he thought to himself, as he opened the window and chucked it from the building. He'd run out and get one in the morning before class, as he had a bunch of scholarship money to burn.

---

Eduardo waited outside the basketball court, wondering where Ethan was. It was almost 8, and while he was never particularly adept at being on time, he would have at least texted. He looked down at his phone, scrolling through his Grindr, looking for whoever was available after hoops. Ethan would definitely let him suck him off in the locker room, but meh, that wasn't really going anywhere anyway. Thankfully, Siyu wasn't in class, apparently he'd dropped out from what the professor had said. At minimum he was relieved that the creepy little guy wasn't going to be following him home at night anymore.

Just as he was preparing to call it a night, the door burst open at the end of the hall. He turned to give Ethan a hard time for being so late, but the man before him was not Ethan. He was the tall, dark, and handsome archetype personified. He sauntered over to him with a confident stride, oozing a sense of pride and sexual energy.

"Oh... shit man. You uh, you caught me off guard. I was just waiting for my friend." The man approached Eduardo with smiling eyes behind the black facemask on his chin.

"You're Eddy, right? I'm a new student, just got on the basketball team. Coach says you might be able to show me around the place, if you're down of course? Name's Shan." Shan leaned against the wall, letting his hand rest on his neck, and smirking beneath the fabric as his sharp pit musk wafted at his gorgeous new teammate. Eduardo, happily letting in the stud's scent, lapped it up and shuddered.

"Yeah, man. I'm so down, I'm Eduardo. Friends call me Eddy." Shan leaned in close, their noses now inches from eachother.

"Eddy, then. Sounds like a good time, someone like you would probably be able to show me a lot." Shan winked, and Eddy blushed a bright red, nodding gingerly. "Well shit, how's about we shoot a couple hoops, we go back to my room and we show eachother around, what do you say?" Eduardo looked down, seeing Shan's massive well worn sneakers, which had inched their way to his own until they were firmly touching. Oh shit yeah, this guy was perfect.

"I say fuck yeah, man. Show me what you're made of." Eddy made the move, letting his fingers slowly touch Shan's forearm. Happily received, Shan ruffled his soon-to-be boyfriend's hair, as if it were second nature.

"Oh I'm gonna kick your ass on the court. We'll see what I do with it when we're done." He slapped Eddy's back, tossing his sweaty arm around his shoulder as the two walked into the court. They would be inseparable once again, and yet inseparable for the first time.

#male transformation #body transformation #male possession #original #transformation #musk #body possession #musky #gay transformation #male tf #bisexual transformation #basketball #jockification #clothing tf #college #merging #body merging

[cambrinkisbae]

.·:·.✧ Say No ✧.·:·.

NIka Muhl x Fem!Reader

"your probably having good times with a bad boy"

word count - 2.1k

themes:

-angst if u squint

-slight sexual content

-light fluff

A/N - this is gonna be a short series but I wrote this in honor of the weather getting warmer and so that I'm not so depressed about Nika leaving. sorry its so short..

Me and Nika Muhl started dating July 7th of 2022. It was a regular summer day in California. The entire team decided to go on a vacation together. It was hard leaving Connecticut to go hang out with the team I had just joined but oh whatever. The only downside to his trip was my shitty boyfriend.

Ex. Ex boyfriend sorry.

I had a mango smoothie in hand and watched as Paige and Azzi splashed each other with the bluest of waters. Every couple seconds I'd feel a breeze rush against my exposed collarbones. Even as the sun was beating down on me I felt so fresh and clean and free. My fingers felt around the sand I was sitting in. My eyes drifted from the ocean to the sky which was painted with oranges and yellows with pinky tones in-between. I took a sip from my smoothie before looking to my ride to find a creation brunette sitting down next to me. A soft smile was placed on her face as she made herself comfortable next to me.

Throughout the time that I was on this team, me and Nika barely talked outside of game days and team dinners. If I'm being honest, This summer was going to be my designated time to get closer with her. So her openly sitting next to me was a major step.

"Hey" her eyes flashed from the sand to me.

I quickly shaped my lips into a smile and looked into Nika's eyes.

"Hi theree"

I noticed her hands were wrapped around the handle of a beige tote bag. She let go of the bag to rest her hands against her chest as she laid herself down. Her sunglasses were black with a slightly lighter lens. She had on a bright blue bikini that the ends of her hair grazed ever so slightly. I felt her eyes linger towards mine as I admired her features.

"Sorry we haven't gotten to talk a lot in the past couple months" she said softly, accent thick.

"Your good. We have the whole summer to make up for it so don't worry" I kept my eyes locked on the ocean.

Up until now I thought Nika was the mean point guard who everyone was petrified by. And I was very convinced that they had a reason. But now talking to her face to face I felt myself grow confused on how this could've gotten around.

"Why aren't you out in the water huh?" The brunette said pointing to the ocean.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned my head to face Nika.

"I forgot my suit" an excuse quickly slipped out.

"Oh sure.." Nika said under her breath, clearly not believing me

Our conversation eventually died out so I decided to pull out a book from my beach bag. I flipped through the pages to find my last place and began reading. as I got lost in the words I didn't even realize that Nika had gotten up to go swim with the other girls. I peered through the top of my book to see Nika gently slipping her feet into the water. Ines quickly jumped onto Nika's back like a toddler on her mom. I couldn't help but giggle at the sight of Nika getting absolutely dunked into the water. Everyone but me and Qadence were in the water. I almost forgot I was even reading by the time Nika looked at me. I was caught staring at her. in a bikini. shit. I quickly darted my eyes down into my book and pretended that nothing happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once the team got back to the hotel we were staying at the only thing I could focus on was trying to avoid Nika. Of course it was my luck that I happened to room with her. What a coincidence. I walked through the door of our room and set my flower printed bag on my bed and showered before doing anything else. I played my favorite summer playlist and left my clothes on the floor before stepping into the shower. My mind kept going back to the beach and seeing Nika in her bathing suit. Fuck. Doesn't she have a boyfriend or something? I cant be thinking this shit. But the way her hair was all wet and her laugh was so addicting to remember. The hot water running down my back along with the thought of Nika sent chills along my arms effortlessly.

I kept trying to focus on whatever SZA song was playing on my speaker but failed miserably. Soon enough I got out of the shower and slipped on a silk pajama set on. I braided my hair tightly and cleaned up the bathroom before turning the light off and leaving. When I got out of the bathroom the bedroom was still empty. Thank god. I flipped open my computer and turned on Outer Banks before pulling out my sketch book.

I came up with a rule before I came to UConn. The rule was that after everyday I have to draw anything that comes to mind until my mind is clear. Whether its cleared of happiness or anger. And I stuck to it.

Of course I had to draw the ocean and sand and all those beach like things. Before I knew it, I was drawing Nika. With her hair up with her hair down. In her bikini, in the outfit she wore yesterday and the day before. The was the first day that I had to shut my sketch book before my mind was clear because what the fuck was I doing. I couldn't be drawing Nika like a fucking psychopath. I stuffed my book into my suitcase and laid down on my bed. Time flew by as I watched more episodes of Outer Banks. So much time went by that when I was about to click 'next episode' to watch the last episode of season 3, Paige knocked on the door. Her head peeked through slowly. she had a devious smile on her lips and just like that her, Azzi, KK, Ice, and Nika busted through my door giggling and jumping around. Great they got high without me. I quickly protected my computer by closing it and putting it on my nightstand. Azzi crawled on top of my bed and sat next to me, placing her head on my shoulder.

While everyone laughed around hitting each other with pillows, I saw Nika standing in the corner on her phone. Her eyes seemed to get less and less dilated the more she tapped her thumbs aggressively on her screen. I stood up and walked up to her.

"You good?" I tried to not be nosey but gave up and looked down at her phone. She slowly handed it to me to show a text that her "boyfriend" sent. They broke up.

I quickly wrapped my arms around Nika and squeezed her tightly.

"He's going to be missing out on a lot love dont' worry"

Nika couldn't help but let a couple tears roll down her face. Just as I thought she was going to collapse and sob into my arms she pulled away and stared into my eyes menacingly. Her fingers quickly wrapped around my hand and began dragging me to the side. I looked up to see Nika leading me outside into the hallway. she led me all the way to Paige and Azzi's room. Without any hesitation she shut the door and locked it behind her.

"Nika what are you doi-" I began to say

"Shut up please."

Before even realizing what was happening I felt Nika press her lips against mine. A small gasp left my mouth but it wasn't a gasp that said I don't want to do this it was a gasp that said don't stop. My tongue quickly found its place against hers. Her hand lifted my thigh up against her hips and I quickly followed what she was doing by lifting my other leg up around her waist. She lifted my entire body up against hers and carried me to the other wall. She pressed my back against the wall and moved her lips down my neck, pausing in-between kisses to leave marks around each vein. My hands were wrapped around the back of her neck, my nails slightly dug into her skin the lower she got.

"Off." She said sternly once her lips reached the edge of my pajama top.

I didn't pause to think about anything and took off my top revealing my sports bra. Her fingers teased at the hem of my pants clearly wanting to take them off. Unfortunately for her it wasn't that easy.

"uh uh. you first"

I looked her dead in the eye and ran my hands across her tank top. Her hand released my waist, not changing the grip my legs had onto her waist. She slipped off her black tank top without breaking our eye contact. Her lips immediately gravitated back to my chest. I couldn't help but let out a soft whine as her lips made their way closer to my stomach.

"I can tell this is what you meant by getting to know each other" she spat before placing a kiss on my lips as she slipped off my pajama bottoms.

"Mind reader much?" I said in response

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning after everything that happened that night was unbearable. My eyes slowly blinked open to see Nika laying on my chest. Calm breaths left her mouth followed by a couple snores. I gently slipped out from under her and got dressed. As I walked into the bathroom I realized that I was definitely not in my room. We were both still in Paige and Azzi's room. Fuck fuck fuck.

Before even thinking, I rushed out of the room leaving Nika and ran to my room. The first thing I saw was Paige, Azzi, KK, and Ice laying on me and Nika's beds. Limbs sprawled out and everything. I chose to ignore the girls and ran to he bathroom to brush my teeth and clean myself up before Nika woke up. Once my hair was brushed out I slicked it back into a ponytail and got changed into a light orange sweater and grey Nike shorts. My feet were thankfully covered with a pair of socks. After I got changed and fixed myself up, I rushed back to Paige and Azzi's room to find a still asleep Nika laying on Paige's bed. She was now cuddled up onto the pillow I previously was sleeping on. Her hair was clearly tangled and her mascara was smudged.

I decided to do the most cringey and kidney of weird thing ever but who cares. I grabbed makeup remover and a brush from my bag and started by taking off her mascara. This woke Nika up quickly but she didn't do anything about it but groan. Once her mascara was off, I completely woke her up and helped her sit up so that I could brush her hair. Gently teasing through the tangles, I brushed through her hair. Her eyes were still mainly closed but she still tried her best to loop up at me as I gave her a mini makeover. Not that she needed it.

Once we were both fixed up a word still wasn't exchanged. Just giggling every few minutes. The both of us chose to ignore whatever happened last night even though we were both VERY aware that what happened well. Happened.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Not many people asked what we were doing in Paige and Azzi's room surprisingly. a few glances were shared throughout the day whether it was when we went out to go shopping or when we went to shoot free throws for fun.

The same thing happened almost every night for the next week. Nika would be in whatever mood she was in so she'd crawl into my arms and lay there until we got each other's clothes off. We stayed like that for what felt like forever until July hit. Things began to get more innocent if you could use that word. The girls began to notice how close we were and how it took us a while to get up out of bed every couple of days. We decided to clear up everything and you know. Date.

Of course not everyone agreed with this. When we made things official, two specific men had very strong opinions about this. Of course when things were officiated my mind was completely blank when it came to the fact that I still had a boyfriend. A shitty one but still.

Now I'm not saying that cheating was the right thing but I mean…it's Nika Muhl who could say no.

#nika muhl #lesbian #basketball #uconhuskies #uconn wbb #girlblogger #paige bueckers #Azzi fudd #say no #wlw #Nika Muhl x reader

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates Part 2

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

You find yourself confronting Astarion on the whereabouts of a certain vampire, but get more than you bargained for.

Summer kissed winds whistle around your party as you continue to trek forward. The nearest town was still some many miles away according to the ancient wooden sign you saw ways back on the dirt path you’ve followed. You had all come to the agreement that there must be someone, somewhere, who knows what those things were and how to treat the parasite they implanted in all of you. The team couldn’t be more different and strange if you tried. Personalities instantly clashing and fights already broken out. You maintain peace as best you can, somehow the unspoken leader of the rag tag group. You warm to most of the members, all but the cold blooded one. There was no mistaking what those eyes were. The way his canines came to such a point. You’ve met enough of his kind, with swift justice making them meet their end. Not one of them had gotten you any closer to who and where the vampire who had killed your family is. You planned to be asking Astarion similar questions once his guard was down and camp was set. That time should be coming here shortly, the sun beginning its turn down for the evening as it crests over the mountains in warm orange light. Thankfully you and the rest of your party had found left bits and pieces of gear along the trail to put together a semblance of a camp. Even lucky enough to buy or swindle for more when passing fellow travelers or merchants. Astarion had somehow charmed a group of travelers into a lavious camping set, the lucky bastard.

The tranquil sounds of a river flowing fills your ears and your stomach can’t help but grumble at the thought of the seafood within it. The others must think the same as you as you all come to a standstill locating which direction the sound comes from. You lead the group through the brush off the path keeping an ear for the sound of lapping water getting louder. Under fallen trees and several berry bushes you find a quaint clearing near said river. The surrounding trees give much needed shade with limbs of long forgotten trees placed nearly in a perfect triangle in the center.

“Perfect!” Karlach rejoices, throwing her camp gear on the ground with a thud. Everyone shakes off the equipment they’ve so far gotten and make way to prepare the space for the night. Astarion flanks your side silently, his lips so close to your ears you can feel his breath on your neck.

“Good job little killer.” A tingle shoots straight up your spine and shakes out through your shoulders. You scowl and side step, ready to remind him of personal space but he’s already moved and gone to set up his tent. You bite your lip in frustration and choose to not follow behind him. He would be hearing from you very soon regardless.

—-----------

With dinner settled in your stomach and water in your canteen you felt like a brand new person. A fire roared in the middle of the logs as you all enjoyed the warmth of the fire against the cool night air. You passed time seeming to absentmindedly twiddle pieces of wood, small but necessary stakes easily hid under clothing. No one seemed to pay it any mind. People were now drifting in and out of the warm campfire, most calling it a night. You feigned the same, cuddled into your sleeping sack. Truly, you kept an eye on Astarion and his comings and goings. If your assumptions were correct, he would need to leave camp soon to find someone or something to sink his teeth into. That’s when you would sneak into his tent and surprise him on his return. You peer out of one eye and find Astarion closing the tent he set up a bit away from the rest of everyone. Only the small crunch of branches alerts you that he has went off into the forest. You waste no time and jump out of the sleeping bag and head towards his tent. You do a double check around camp, sure that everyone is truly asleep. With a bated breath you break your way into his tent. A gasp escapes you as you take in the lavish interior. Soft fur pelts line the flooring with fluffed pillows and duvets littering the far corners. Black silk sheets are thrown over overly plush arm chairs. A long oak table with an ornate table cover littered with maps and quills sits to your immediate left. Dripping wax candles crowd every surface available to them. Your attention snaps to the sound of soft footsteps nearing the tent just outside. You curse yourself for even taking the precious time to gape at his grand belongings. You make the quickest and easiest decision and dive under the table. Just at that moment you hear his feet at the entrance and swallow your ragged breaths. You’ve got this, this isn’t anything new to you; you remind yourself. You register the polished shoes of Astarion enter inside. He makes a few steps into the tent and you ready yourself. You smirk at how easy this has become. Stupid vampires, so full of themselves, so naive and not even suspecting-

“Are you going to come out or do I have to drag you out?” Astarion asks in a bored tone. Your nails dig into your palms in frustration. Biting back every curse you can think you slink out from under the table and stand behind the vampire. He keeps his back to you as he reaches in front of his chest to undo the buttons of his shirt. Animal blood stains the front of his shirt, his first feed had made all civility lost on him. Savagery had taken hold of him and he felt that same fire now. For how it was going to be used was up to you.

“You know if you wanted a fun little night you could of just asked me little killer.” Astarion muses, mocking your new nickname. A cocky smirk graces his face as he juts his chin towards the pile of pillows in the corner. “That would make a much better spot than that dreary old table.”

You reach ever so carefully down into your boot where you had kept a stake hidden. Controlling your breaths, counting each one to zero in your focus you raise your weapon straight.

“I came here looking for answers, not to fuck.” You spit from behind grinding teeth. You remind yourself of the anger that fuels you. The revenge that fills your being and drives you.

“Oh darling, who says both aren’t possible.” Astarion keeps up, he cocks his head your way as he begins to turn to look at you. He’s met with the sight of your deadly stare and a sharpened stake directed right at him. All smugness wipes clean from his face as fury takes hold. “Smart little thing.” is all he gets out before you rush him. Your feet move quick, unnaturally fast, and bring you closer to him. Astarion swings to the side grabbing hold of your arm to further throw you into the tent. He brings you off kilter, stumbling forward past him. You correct yourself and pivot back. An alabaster hand flys forward and grabs the scruff of your shirt. His other hand reaches out to further grab hold. But you move and wrap a leg around his own and pull towards yourself. He loses balance and tumbles back a bit. Its enough to get his hand off of you and you use those precious moments to push off and towards him. Your fingers grip your stake and you raise it overhead. Astarion sweeps a leg out and catches your midriff. Oxygen explodes out of your lungs as you crash into the table. Astarion leaps onto you, catching each of your arms with his hands. He twists the stake out from your grip and seizes both of your wrists in one of his hands. The momentum has your back slamming into the oak beneath you. A hand pounds down next to your head as Astarion face comes a breath away from your own.

“Looks like your quite trapped.” Astarion snickers. His lips hover just over your own, breathes mingling in the small bit of space between you two. Hungry crimson eyes skim over you and find purchase in your biting gaze. Heat and anger passes in your shared stare. His canines shine in the flickering candle light as he brings himself inch by inch closer to your neck. Your throat bobs and you swear his eyes follow the thump of your pulse in your carotid. You can’t help the muffled squeal that barely escapes your full lips. Astarion hears it though and his malicious grin only grows wider. You push against the restraint of his strong grasp and wriggle on the hard table. His other hand comes to your throat and cold fingers swipe hair away from your neck. His thumb presses under your chin and forces your gaze up and over as his nose brushes against your cheek. Hot breath licks your neck.

His attention is now fully on his next meal and away from the threat that truly lies beneath him. Using core strength you fling your body upwards as best you can as you tuck your knees into your chest. Not a second later your boots find purchase on his chest and thrust him back as hard as you can. Astarion flounders back and trips over the discarded silk sheet lying on the floor. You push off the table hard and sink into a crouch. A second stake hidden in the opposite boot makes its appearance as you then jump on the fallen Astarion. You straddle him, a hand on his chest with the other pointing the stake right at his jugular. The point just kisses his ivory skin creating a small wound. He scowls at you, nothing but pure hatred gleaming through his eyes.

“Like I said, I have questions. And you are going to answer them Vampire.” You press. You see a small flinch of movement come from his hands and you warn him with jabbing the sharpened wood a little deeper into his throat. You tut at his attempts to move.“You are not my first nor last biter, so don’t try it with me.”

“But I would dare say I’m the most handsome.” He smiles. You have to fight the urge not to roll your eyes. He assesses his situation looking you up and down. Asserting you are a decent enough threat he stills his attempts at escape. “What’s your questions then?”

“I’m looking for a certain vampire. I have a score to settle. Names Cazador, where can I find him?” You ask. At the mention of the vampire Astarion’s face drops. A chill wraps the air and an unnatural stillness settles between the two of you. The temperature drops and you almost shiver. Astarion’s face is unreadable, a look of fright and confusion mixes on his face. Nails digging into the wooden weapon you lean into it, putting a bit of extra pressure on the device.

“Well? Anything to say blood sucker?” Your patience thinning. Astarion’s eyebrows scrunch together, trying to unwrap what you had just said to him. Surely he must of misheard you. There’s no way some stranger he just happen to meet would be asking about the Cazador. His old master. The slave owner. His personal horror.

“Cazador?” Asatarion can’t help but repeat. His brain refused to keep up with what was happening. His thoughts a run away train at the mention of his old owner.

“Did I stutter vampire? Now are you going to tell me or do I press this stake all the way through?” You seethe.

“Why?” The authenticity of his question makes your eyebrows raise. His face holds no mystery, just curiosity.

“Does it matter? He has spilled blood and I plan to return the favor. Now. Where can I find him? Once this tadpole situation is handled he’s my goal.” You press. Astarion takes a minute to ponder his situation.

“I’ll tell you where he is. For a cost. A tic for tac. See, if you want to get your hands on Cazador you are going to have to get in line. I have my own qualms with him myself. We could.. help each other.” He bargains. A feeling of mistrust burrows deep in your chest. No good came from vampire bargains. As much as you had high suspicions, this was the first time someone knew Cazador or was willing to go against him in giving away his location.

“And what do you want in return?” You ask. You back the pointed stick from his jugular and retreat your hands from him. Astarion brings himself up by the elbows to look you in the eyes.

“A debt to be collected at my choosing. Doing what I ask at that time.” Asatarion smirks. Curse the vampire, of course he would keep an open ended bargain. You desperately want to say no. To drive a stake in his unmoving heart and go on with it. But this was your first shot, maybe only shot, at finding Cazador. Letting a long breath out you level your gaze with his. You hesitate before responding.

“Are the rumors true? Bargains with vampires are signed with a kiss?” You timidly ask. It was something you had picked up from another traveler before. Someone who had run into their supposed fair share of vampires. A wide smirk stretches across Astarions face.

“My my, don’t you know everything. Now, do we have a deal?” You take one more deep breath and give a small nod. Astarions hand reaches up and wraps around your neck and twines within your hair. His other hand finds purchase on your hip and brings you closer to his chest. He lifts his face to yours as you gently bend to reach. Your eyes flutter close as Astarions lips press into your own. Lips mold perfectly together, as if they were created for this moment alone. A knot tightens in your chest. A soul grabbing lurch pulls you into him. It’s gravitational. World stopping. Like when your eyes had met for the first time the world seems to fall away from the both of you. Just as quickly as it had come, Astarion pulls from the kiss. You mentally recover from the way it gripped you so harshly. Chalking it up to the very anti-romance your life has led thus far. You swear you see astonishment in his features, but just as quickly it is gone.

“And whoever told you bargains are sealed with kisses was the biggest perv in all Faerun, but do thank him for me.” Astarion is all grins. A blush explodes across your face and down your chest. You feel red hot and immediately jump off Astarion as if he is made of fire. Astarion rises, flicking dust from his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You are the absolute worst!” You all but scream.

“Please, the flirting can only get you so far.” Astarion watches you fling yourself from his tent without a look back, hot anger palpable from you. Once you made your exit Astarion sinks to his knees with a hand quivering at his lips. He had a small suspicion when he met your gaze. The way the world seemed to standstill. That an immortal and ancient knot seem to tie at that very moment. But he didn’t think it possible. A rarity. Almost laughable really, especially for a spawn.

“Mates.” He whispers to himself.

Part one here

Part three here

#smut #reader insert #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 #bd3 #fated love #mates

[07-bilin]

but i'm not her

₊˚ପ⊹ summary: reader is part of spider society and in this multiverse you have soulmates, miguel is your soulmate but you aren’t his

₊˚ପ⊹ warnings: angst, lots of angst, death, betrayal, plot twist!!

₊˚ପ⊹ relationship: miguel x fem!spider-reader

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 1.5k

you were invited to the spider society when an anomaly entered your world and after wrapping up the fight you were greeted by the leader of the spider-society who had offered you a spot on the team which you had happily obliged to.

at first, it took some time to get used to all the different spider-people who were just like you, there were all sorts of variants, animals, peni’s, gwen’s, miles, and a ton of peter parker’s.

but the one that stood out to you the most was spider-man 2099, miguel o’hara.

sure he was a cold fella when you first met him but he had to have another side to him right?

over the next year or so you started to crack miguel’s shield until you two began to lean on each other for support.

one night that stood out very clearly in your memory between the two of you was a night when you had almost lost your life during a fight.

“y/n, are you crazy?? if i had been one second too late you would have fallen to your death, do you realize how serious this is?”

you stared at miguel in a daze as you had felt your life flash before your eyes. your webs had jammed and you were falling from a building 50ft in the air and all that raced through your mind was that you were gonna die.

fortunately for you, miguel had caught you in a blink of an eye and was now scolding you for what had just occurred.

“okay okay i get it, it’s my fault and i’m sorry i scared you like that..”

miguel let out a loud groan before pulling you into a hug and whispering something only the two of you could hear.

“don’t ever do that again, it scared me, i care about you.”

you let out a small chuckle as you relaxed into his embrace and as you stroked his back you realized you had fallen for the stone-cold man

over the next course of the weeks, you two had practically been inseparable other than the time he spent in his universe you two were stuck like peas.

the two of you hung out so much to the point you felt like he also had feelings for you.

but you were proven wrong when she stepped into the image.

she was a girl who miguel had met in his world, she was funny, smart, and could cook! but most of all, she was another variant of you.

eventually, miguel drifted away from you and started to cozy up on the other you which left a void for you to fill with absolutely nothing.

it was heartbreaking to know that miguel loved you, just, it wasn’t you. but i mean, shocker right? the man who absolutely loves keeping the canon intact and risking it all for some relationship that could cause an anomaly? no way that was happening on his watch!

you watched in sadness as you saw the two of them getting along so happily, laughing and cracking jokes— just like how you and miguel used to.

“miguel, if you ever need someone to lean on, you know i’ve always got your back!”

miguel’s breath hitched a little at her words, it gave him a sense of deja vu, almost like he had heard it somewhere before.

before he could put a finger on the familiar sensation, he had a sense that someone was watching him and as he scanned his office as he caught sight of a spider lurking.

“mi alma, wait here for a second while i go and take care of some business okay?”

he gave his variant of you a quick kiss on the head before he swang off to go find the individual who had been spying on the couple.

"y/n, what are you doing?"

you flinched as you heard his low voice behind you and muttered a small lie.

"was just going to report a mission, usual business, sorry for interrupting."

"if there's nothing left, have to go back to my universe, kinda got something big going on!"

miguel watched as you disappeared into the orange vortex and even after several minutes you had been gone he stood in the same place waiting for you to just pop out but you never did.

"Si tan solo supieran por qué lo hice, creo que entenderían."

"the anomaly is in sight, be prepared y/n"

"alrighty, here we go lyla!!"

the anomaly was a variant of your doc ock except this one was extremely more futuristic than yours.

swinging from side to side, you manage to dodge the incoming attacks and land a few hits here and there eventually being able to slow her down.

"is that all you've got?" you yell as you disable her tentacle attachments.

unfortunately for you, that seemed to have fueled the anomaly's anger causing her to bring out some sort of technology that you've never seen before.

dodging the incoming attacks became harder and harder as fatigue started to dwell in your muscles, after a period of time, she manages to catch you off guard which resulted in you slamming straight into a building.

"holy shit, now that one sure did hurt.." you groan out in pain as you clutch your abdomen.

you pick yourself up and quickly call into your watch to call for backup as you swing yourself onto a higher building to get a good angle.

what you didn't expect for who to come was miguel, it had been quite some time since the two of you had even talked ever since that small little conversation.

it seemed he hadn't expected you to be there either as he flashed you a sort of look you couldn't quite put a finger on to what he was thinking.

"well, a little help here?" you mutter as you feel the adrenaline in your body wearing off.

before you could hear a reply he swung into action to clean up the mess you couldn't have finished which left you to catch your breath for a few seconds.

following the brief moment of rest, your watch started to chime indicating something big was happening.

"canon event happening.." you whispered as you stared at the hologram.

who's canon event? there couldn't possibly be another spider here other than you and miguel, but maybe there was, whatever it was you swung yourself back into action hoping to find miguel to explain what needed to happen in order for the canon to occur.

you saw his figure clearly 7ft away and called for him.

"MIGUEL! CANON EVENT, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?"

hearing your voice he gazes over at you and his mask depicts one of surprise like he hadn't seen it coming either which was odd. he manages to snap out of it and yell back at you.

"STAY OUT OF THIS Y/N, GO BACK TO HEADQUARTERS OR SOMETHING!"

your face contorts at the sudden command, rather than obliging you swing yourself into combat once more syncing with the man beside you.

it had been going oh so well, but you should have known that it was too good to be true.

just as the two of you held the villain down with your webs, some sort of green fog pursed out of its tentacles enveloping the area you and miguel had been in.

you coughed as the weird fog made you feel weak, faltering you felt yourself drifting in and out of consciousness, miguel sensed this and dropped the villain quickly into prison before rushing to your side just as your grasp loosened on your webs.

as the two of you dropped onto a ledge, miguel pulled your mask off revealing a horrifying sight. your body was bruised and battered up, the haze you consumed not making it any better.

"Joder, esto no se suponía que sucediera."

your breathing was irregular as you stared at the man whom you've loved oh so much in the past time you've been a part of the society.

"miguel, i think it's time, i just want to tell you one thing," you choke out as the oxygen flowing into you made it even harder to continue your words.

"please don't die, it wasn't supposed to be you, i thought i fixed it, i thought i changed it." he rambled as tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

you smiled softly as you understood what he meant, he wasn't trying to replace you, he was trying to save you.

"thank you for everything, thank you for inviting me to your society, i've learned many things over the years, and most of all, thank you for letting me love you."

the tears gushed out as he heard your last words, the water prickling her face, with all her remaining strength, she cupped his face and caressed it softly until her body falls limp leaving the leader of the spider society to mourn as he clenches her battered body close to his own.

"canon event completed."

₊˚ପ⊹ translations:

Si tan solo supieran por qué lo hice, creo que entenderían. - if only you knew why I did it, I think you'd understand.

Joder, esto no se suponía que sucediera - fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen

Mi alma - my soul

₊˚ପ⊹ a/n: felt like writing this after i saw a prompt like this on tiktok but added a little twist of my own it, hope you enjoyed >D<

#ੈ✩‧₊˚ lin's work #spider man 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fluff #atsv miguel o’hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #lyla #2099 #miguel o hara #miguel angst #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #miguel o'hara angst #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x y/n #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac #across the spider verse

[justalonelybitch]

The Net Between Us

Volleyball Player Yunjin x F!Reader

Genre: High School AU, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: swearing, mentions of arguments, injuries, jealously, men, reader is lowkey bitchy and yunjin is a lil toxic, it's giving enemies to lovers but they alr lovers

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let it be known that i have no clue how to play volleyball 🙏

“You’re staring again,” your best friend whispered lowly, gently tugging at your uniform sleeve to get your attention. “Sorry,” you murmured, drawing your disheartened gaze back to the girl beside you. “What’s up with you today?” Chaewon questioned handing over your water bottle. Your eyes naturally drifted back to your girlfriend who stood on the far side of the school gymnasium while contemplating the inquiry. “It’s nothing,” you brushed off her concern upon meeting Yunjin’s blank stare, swiftly spinning around in hopes of avoiding her gaze. “You’re lying,” Chaewon noted, eyes narrowing when you flashed her a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Just tired,” was all you uttered, breathing a sigh of relief when the coach blew her whistle, resuming practice. Moving through the motions of the drill proved to be difficult for your scattered brain to carry out, body moving clumsily with a mind of its own. “Y/n!” The coach yelled out in warning when you collided with another teammate. Your eyes widened when you glanced up to find a familiar head of orange hair and two strong hands steadying you by the waist. “You okay?” Yunjin asked, tone laced with a worry that brought all your emotions bubbling to the surface. “I’m fine,” you grit your teeth, the words coming out far harsher than you’d intended.

“Y/n..” Yunjin trailed off, grip on your waist tightening and brows furrowing when you glared up at her. “I said I’m fine!” You exclaimed in exasperation, shoving her hands off you as though her touch burned. “Sorry,” your girlfriend mumbled dejectedly, backing away with sagged shoulders. You forced yourself to look away despite the pang of guilt that struck your heart. “Take a minute to cool off,” your coach ordered upon observing the interaction, sending to the bench as she began organising teams of three for practice games. Your leg bounced up and down, gaze finding the floor in an attempt to rid your mind of your girlfriend. Though the harder you thought, the faster your mind wandered back to last night's argument.

Lifting your head in hopes of losing yourself in the game, you quickly found yourself growing distracted by Yunjin yet again. Only this time she engaged in a hushed conversation with your coach, the two occasionally sparing glances your way. Your eyes narrowed in suspicion when Yunjin turned away from the coach with an appreciative smile before making her towards you. A scowl crept onto your lips when she silently took up the seat next to you, hand casually landing on your knee, halting its anxious bouncing. Clenching your jaw, you angrily smacked her hand away, making a show of shifting away from her on the small bench. 

“Jesus fuck Y/n, what is your problem?” Yunjin finally broke, sick of you blatantly ignoring her. “You at the moment,” you snarled, arms crossed over your chest. “Fucks sake, how many times do I have to apologise? It was one stupid argument.” She questioned incredulously, tongue poking the inside of her cheek as she ran a hand through her orange hair in frustration. “It wasn’t stupid to me,” you seethed, abruptly rising from the bench and storming away from her. Yunjin rolled her eyes at your flare for dramatics, following closely after you as you charged towards your coach with purpose. Your girlfriend arriving just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation. 

“Sub me in too,” Yunjin requested upon overhearing your desire to play. You huffed in annoyance but didn’t protest when the coach blew the whistle and tossed a jersey in your direction. “Join Chaewon’s team,” the coach instructed, sending Yunjin to the opposing team much to your relief and Yunjin's dismay. “You good now?” Chaewon questioned when you reached her side. “Let’s just play,” you grumbled, eyes fixed on Yunjin who stared at you with a look of determination plastered on her features. Your best friend only shook her head as she glanced between the two of you in amusement.

You sprang into action as soon as the whistle blew, knowing your girlfriend was bound to target you with one of her famous jump serves. You received the ball with little to no difficulties, satisfaction growing as you caught a glimpse of Yunjin’s eye twitching in anger. Chaewon set the ball to your eager junior Eunchae who spiked it into the polished wooden floor without trouble. Smiling widely, you gave the younger a cheerful high-five. Yunjin watched you through the net, feeling herself melt at the sight of your beaming grin. Her determination to win quickly snapped her out of the momentary daze, but her lips still curled into the faintest of smiles as her eyes lingered on you.

Rotating your marks on the coaches orders you found yourself standing directly in front of the girl you’d spent your day avoiding. Swallowing the bitter taste that clung to your tongue at the sight of her irritating smirk you pushed yourself to focus on the game, not the player. Eunchae served this time, the ball flying right towards your senior Sakura. The eldest of the team received it easily, the ball reaching the peak of its arc before gracefully descending into Kazuha’s awaiting fingertips. Your eyes followed Yunjin closely as she leaped into the air when the ball left Kazuha’s hands. Following suit, you jumped with your arms raised, wincing when the ball collided with your palm.

Yunjin scowled when she landed, the echo of the ball landing on her team's side mocking her. You narrowed your eyes at your girlfriend, feeling your undoubtedly red palm stinging from the impact. Tension lingers between the two of you as Yunjin’s glares back at you through the net. She only spared a concerned glance at your hand when you turned away to celebrate another point ahead with your teammates. “We’ll get the next one,” Sakura comforted your girlfriend with a pat on the shoulder. Yunjin grit her teeth in determination, she swore she wouldn’t let you block another one of her spikes. “Give me the next one,” she instructed, receiving a nod of confirmation from Kazuha.

Sakura started the round off with a jump float serve Eunchae clumsily dived to receive, gliding across the hardwood floor. Chaewon rushed to dig the ball which flew over the net, a free ball for your opponents. A sense of déjà vu overcame you as Sakura recreated her perfect pass to Kazuha. Yunjin began her run up, surging into the air by the time the ball left Kazuha’s fingertips. Similarly to last time, you jumped with your hands raised, only this time your girlfriend spiked the ball with far more force than she had previously. Yunjin had decided that if she couldn’t get the ball past you she would have to go through you.

A shriek escaped your lips as the ball clipped your fingertips, knocking them backwards forcefully. You collapsed upon landing, an overwhelming pain surging through you as you cradled your hand. Yunjin’s eyes widened as she hurriedly ducked under the net, kneeling by your side in an instant. “Fuck Y/n, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She bombarded you with questions upon reaching your side, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder. Her previous irritation dissipated the second you glanced up at her with tear filled eyes. Still angry, your weak attempt to shift away from her resulted in groan escaping your lips as your aching fingers caught the fabric of your shirt.

Yunjin’s forehead creased in a deep frown as she peered down at you. Not only were you crying because of her rash actions, but you were also hurting yourself trying to avoid her. “We’ll talk later, just let me help you right now.” Yunjin proposed, reaching out to swipe away the stray tear that rolled down your flushed cheek with her thumb. The sincere worry swirling in her chocolate brown orbs prompted a hesitant nod of agreement from you. “The two of you better not be arguing by the time you get back from the nurses office,” Chaewon threatened before giving the two some space.

“Can you walk?” Your girlfriend asked, offering you her hand after rising to her feet. “I didn’t break my leg, did I?” You retorted snarkily, Yunjin merely raising her brows at your comment. “Sorry,” you winced regretfully, grasping her hand with your uninjured one and allowing her to pull you from the floor. Your girlfriend’s gaze remained on your rapidly swelling fingers as she escorted you out of the gymnasium, overcome by her guilt. “I’m really sorry baby, I never meant to-” “I know,” You cut Yunjin’s apology off, flashing her a tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was only then that Yunjin took the time to properly take in your appearance for the first time since your argument.

“You didn’t sleep last night,” Yunjin observed, brows furrowed in concern. “How was I supposed to after what happened?” You asked, your girlfriend pursing her lips pensively. “I’m sorry for that too, I should’ve apologised sooner.” She mumbled, giving your hand a regretful squeeze. “It’s fine, Yunjin.” You brushed her off, putting aside your anger in favour of forgiveness. “No it’s not. Just because I didn’t like how touchy that guy was being doesn’t mean I should take my anger out on you.” She uttered, pausing in the corridor so she could face you. “I’m sorry too, I overreacted and blew things out of proportion.” You followed her apology with one of your own.

“I just wish you would trust that I can handle things on my own,” you expressed with a pout. Yunjin was quick to release your hand in favour of cupping your cheeks with a gentle firmness. “I do trust you baby, I trust you with my whole heart. It’s other people I worry about,” your girlfriend explained hoping you’d understand. “I know, and I appreciate you trying to protect me all the time.” You smiled gratefully, heart swelling with warmth as she gazed into your eyes. “How about we try and talk things out next time? I don't know about you, but I'd prefer that to yelling and ignoring each other.” You proposed, receiving Yunjin’s eager agreement in the form of a peck on the lips.

“Hey, you were the one who ignored me!” Yunjin accused, eyes narrowed playfully. “And look where it got me,” you huffed, raising your injured hand into her line of sight. “Shit, I forgot about that.” Your girlfriend gasped, pressing an apologetic kiss to your cheek. “Give me a proper kiss,” you demanded with a pout. “Only because I feel bad,” Yunjin murmured before her lips brushed against your own, lingering for a sweet moment. “You sure that’s the only reason?” You questioned when she pulled away. She hummed sheepishly, a blush dusting her cheeks. “Let’s get you to a nurse!” She abruptly exclaimed, rushing off through the corridors in hopes of concealing her flushed state.

She only realised she’d forgotten to bring the very person who needed a nurse in the first place upon arriving at her destination.

missed opportunity to write for bball player yunjin smh

#yunjin x reader #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim x reader #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin imagines #le sserafim imagines #lesserafim imagines #huh yunjin imagines

[homestylehughes]

do i know you?

coffee girl: part 2

pairings: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: y/n's first day on the job, after her encounter big spill with luke hughes. her first day's is going as expected, until she locks eyes with luke, the tension begins to unfold.

wc: 1.6k

warnings: nervous and shy reader and luke. cuteness overload, cussing. fluff? nothing too crazy yet! cliffhanger kinda AGAIN

authors note: OMG HI!! i'm so so sorry it took me forever to get this up. college is actually kicking my ass. (someone help me). ANYWAYS this chapter is more of a filler, more reader focused. we will be getting to the good stuff soon, promise!!! thank you for all of your love and support, so so thankful. like and reblog if you enjoy. as always much love.

happy reading <3

Holy shit I got the job. I got the fucking job. The job that I was late to my interview for, because I ran into cute, sweet, day ruining Luke Hughes, spilling coffee on me and now we’re here.

I'm practically skipping out of the prudential Center, a smile on my face that nothing can take off, even the split coffee on my shirt. 

I start the walk back to my apartment, with a pep in my step. opening my door, my little orange baby Moe greeting me at my feet. 

“Hi, little baby” “mommy got her job” I said to him in a whiney pet voice as I lifted him up into my arms, cradling him into my chest. God, I need more friends, I think to myself.

But none of that matters because I got my dream job, that world is on my side right now. I put Moe back on the ground after our cuddle session, picking up my bag and making my way towards the bathroom. 

I take in my state, Luke's hoodie still covering my body, his scent filling my senses. Letting out a deep sigh, I pulled off the hoodie and put it in my laundry basket. Slowly making my way to my closet, pulling on the first things I find, and plopping myself into my bed. 

My eyes began to slowly close, the events of today filling my mind as I drift off to sleep. 

—

Today is the first day of my job. I'm shitting bricks, I'm not ready for this. You can do this y/n I think to myself, this isn't anything you haven't done before. You are more than qualified for this position. You've worked with athletes before, but these are insanely attractive athletes, but most importantly Luke Hughes is one of them. Fuck…Luke Hughes. 

Im quickly pulled out of my day dream, when the elevator door dings open. Swiftly making my way to my office, my office. 

Walking into the office I call my own, seems unreal, looking around once I set the box of my things on my desk, along with setting my purse in one of the chairs in front of it. Walking around the space taking it all. 

I'm quickly pulled out of my daydream again today when I hear a man's voice behind me. 

“I'm guessing youre y/n y/l/n?” turning around quickly, to meet eyes with the nameless man standing in the doorway.

“Hi yes, I'm y/n, nice to meet you?” I say holding out my hand to the man, whose name I still haven't gotten. “Hi, it's lovely to meet you! I'm Tyler but everyone calls me Ty!” Tyler or I guess ty says, shaking my hand with a smile on his face. 

“I'm guessing you like your place?” Tyler says behind me as we both look around the office, “Yes it's great! I love it already '' I smile back at him.

“Great! Hope you're ready, to meet the team, in about… 5 minutes” he says, as he checks his watch. Oh god, in 5 minutes, i haven't even unpacked yet. Oh gosh what if they all hate me. Oh my god, Luke. Will he remember me??

“I can see everything you're thinking on your face, they're going to love you, the whole team is excited to meet you. It's not everyday we get a female athletic trainer.” Ty says to me pulling me out of my thoughts, calming me down slightly.

“Thank you, i needed that” I sigh out back to him 

“Of course, are you ready?” 

“Yes? I think” Ty chuckles in response, as we make our way out of the office. 

“I'll give you a better in depth tour than the one you've had earlier, later. Sound good?” he says from beside me, nodding my head in agreement. As we make our way through the halls of the center. 

We finally make our way to what I think is the Devils locker room, my heartbeat begins to pick up. 

“The boys finished up practice about 45 minutes ago” Ty says as he's going to open the door, his back now turned to me. “I'm going to go in first to make sure they're all dressed and somewhat put together” he chuckles out to me. 

“Okay, I'll be here,” I say before he enters the locker room. 

It feels like 30 minutes goes by, but it's actually probably only been 2. 

I see Ty head pop out, “y/n, are you ready?” 

“Yes!” NO I  want to say, but I'll keep that to myself. Taking a deep breath, I follow Ty into the locker room. 

Walking in the locker room, I instantly feel 40 pairs of eyes on me. Oh gosh this is scarier than I thought, I say to myself. 

“Gentleman, this y/n, our new athletic trainer!” Ty says gesturing to me, our eyes locking briefly, silently asking me to say something. 

“Hi guys! I'm y/n! I'm really excited to work with guys "I say, as I pause to try and think of something else to say. 

“I'm not going to lie, I'm not sure what else to say… you guys make me nervous.” I laugh nervously. The whole room erupted in chuckles. 

They found that funny? I'll take it. 

“I like her already” I hear a few players chuckle out. My nerves are finally beginning to settle, until I lock eyes with him. Luke. 

It feels like my whole world stops, as his eyes lock with mine, our eyes swimming in each other, his gaze is so strong, it's almost like he’s trying to figure out who I am. 

I'm the first to break contact. Turning around to only get pulled into a conversation with the training staff, as they quickly pulled me out of the locker room, to show me around the rest of the building. 

I can't shake the feeling of Luke's eyes on me, as they show me around. My mind is still foggy from our interaction. 

— 

My “first day” was more of a tour and getting the feel of where everything was. I was even able to get my office together. This is beginning to feel like home I think to myself. Im pulled out my thoughts when I hear a knock on my door.

“Come in!” I shout out, from my desk, my face in the paperwork I'm currently filling out, not bothering to raise my head, thinking it's one of trainers. 

“One second, just trying to do this last bit of paperwork” I say, as my pen is quickly moving across the page. 

“You're okay, take your time” says the voice that I know oh so well, the voice that's been stuck in my head for the last 4 days. 

I slowly bring my head up from my desk, my eyes slowly taking over Luke's figure, taking in his appearance. He's just as beautiful as I member

Quickly snapping out of my trance, clearing my throat “Hi Luke, did you need something?” I ask as politely and professionally as I can. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Luke quickly says to me.

“Um.” I am trying to figure out a way to continue this conversation.

I feel Luke's eyes run over my face for the second time today. I see his mouth slowly open, as he runs his hand over his face, letting out a sigh. 

“Oh my gosh, you're the girl I spilt her coffee on like a week ago aren't you?” 

“It's actually been four days but, yes that's me.” I say back letting out a breathlily laugh to my desk. 

“Shit, i'm so so sorry” he rambles out quickly. “Its okay, I promise, it was an accident” 

“But I made you cry, oh my gosh. You were on the way to your interview here, weren't you?”

“Yes I was, but it worked out, I still got the job,” I say, gesturing to the room around us. 

“This is so embarrassing, I'm so sorry.” Luke begins to apologize again. 

“Hey hey, i promise it's okay” i say getting up from my desk, walking around to lean up against the front, to stand in front of Luke. 

“We can start off again on a better foot if you'd like?” I say holding out my hand to him, “Hi, I’m y/n” my hand still being held out in front of him, luke's eyes look me up and before he grasps my hand finally shaking it. “Hi, I’m Luke” he says, staring my eyes. 

“It's nice to meet you” I smile out to him, as our hands drop, his touch still lingering. “You're really pretty when you smile” Luke rasps out to me.

My cheeks begin to heat with a blush, lowering my head, now looking at my feet. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, you didn't” i say suddenly “it just surprised me, that's all” 

“Good,” he says quietly, our eyes locked in a soft gaze. 

“I-I should probably get going, let you get back to work.” “Yeah of course, thank you for stopping by” I say, for some reason I don't want him to leave. 

“We’re really happy you're here y/n” luke says to me, there's something about the way Luke says my name, that makes my heart stop for a second. 

“I'm really glad, I'm here too.” 

“Have a great day” he says to me as he makes his way to the door. “You too!” I say turning back to behind my desk. 

Luke turned back once more, to take one final glance in my direction, smiling softly at me again, before closing the door behind him.

I released the breath I didn't even know I was holding out, letting my shoulder fall a little bit.

This job is going to much more difficult than i thought, and it's all because, of my stupid coffee and Luke Hughes. 

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes

[vampirevatican]

Bedtime in the House of Lamentation

pairing: om! brothers x reader

summary: you have a special sleep speaker that changes colors. they check in on your room when they hear noise at night, but it's not you and they find a lone light glowing their nail color or power

Lucifer - blue/red

classical music, but it's the chill kind... ya know the ones you can fall asleep to

fave songs but piano version

white noise

This was one of the nights he does his rounds of the house. Making sure his brothers, Mammon, weren't out causing trouble for him to deal with later. Being the eldest, when he does these check-ins, he'd just open the door and then leave the bedroom resident to whatever they were doing. He never thoroughly checked a room unless something suspicious was going on, or he's heard rumors regarding the resident and their bedroom.

So when he finally gets to the first floor he notes that there's a faint sound of classical music. He ends up at the front of your door and without a second thought he opens the door and is met with the speaker glowing, music flowing from it and your sleeping form.

It seems you tried to pull an all-nighter. Your phone still in your hand, covers not properly covering you, but sleeping so peacefully. A small smirk appears on his lips as he pulls the covers over you, making sure you don't get a cold, and then leaves the room. Maybe he'd need to get not cursed records and finish work earlier so you can fall asleep together.

Mammon - white/yellow

r&b. look me in the eyes and tell me he's not black. go on, yeah that's what i thought.

jazz... now hear me out, casino things

continuing casino stuff, casino ambience

When hears the faint sound of slot machines in the House of Lamentation he's in a whiplash of excited and confused. Didn't he just leave the casino? And there's no way in west devildom that Lucifer agreed to him wanting a mini casino in the house. So naturally he follows the sound and hopes for the later.

But no, it's coming from... your room?! Quickly opening the door he finds a small speaker emitting a light and your phone, charging, right next to it. "Casino ambience..." he whispers reading the title of the video in your phone screen after getting closer to it.

Awww his human missed him, well it's only right that he adds to this bedtime immersion by slipping into bed with you. Crawling into the bed with you, holding you close, he notices you almost stir awake and the small smile on your face. Damn, could you possibly be any cuter right now?! He rubs your back and soothes you back into your deep sleep and soon drifts off as well.

Leviathan - purple/orange

gamer lets plays are playing through the speaker

or maybe a game ost that has sleepy/chill vibes

acnh w/ rain background anyone?

He had left his room for a food break between gaming. He had a few raids and team rounds to do, but right now refueling was more important. That's when he hears something near the kitchen. Putting down his cup noodles he follows the sound and finds it coming from your room.

There was a faint light glowing from the crack in the door and it wasn't the usual bright yellow from the lanterns and fairy lights in the room. Pressing his ear to the door he recognizes the music being one of your cozy games. Gaining no answer from knocking on your door, or calling out to you, he opens the door and instantly covers his mouth. 'Oh my gosh they're so cute! WAIT NO THIS IS CREEP BEHAVIOR!! but...' He practically tip toes into your room and sees the speaker.

Doing a double take he leaves your room as quickly and quietly as possible... after a picture of you with the speaker's light on you first though... you're just too pretty and it's too heart-warming to know when you don't or cant sleep in his room, because you can't sleep, this is how you remedy it.

satan - green

or maybe r/no sleep, r/aita, r/dndhorrorstories, buzzfeeds are you scared

cat radio... no really cat fm

book readings

He's used to you falling asleep while reading to you, or when you'd spend time with him just to fall asleep on his lap waiting for him to finish his books. And yes he'd go cat watching with you. Even plotting to adopt a few if you both ever got the okay from Lucifer. Though he wouldn't have guessed things like that extend to you getting a good night's rest.

This particular night he was entranced by a book in the library when he heard... meowing? Though it wasn't normal meows, it was to the tune of some song. He knows that cats are known to sing sometimes but since when did either of you sneak one into the house? Following the sound he soon realizes that it's some kind of recording because what's next is a narration of a book he's read before.

Noticing the green glow from under the door he decides to check in on you and sees you knocked out. The sound of a narrator, close to his tone of voice, reading you a story as you dreamt away. He couldn't help but smile as a warm feeling took over his heart. To think you needed to hear him, or someone like him, read stories for you to properly sleep was too sweet to bare. He quietly closes the door and heads off to bed for the night.

asmo - pink

meditation or ocean sounds

true crime, makeup or both

honestly smthn that'd be trendy and recommended for sleep

First of all, he didn't expect for you to go to bed so early. Usually he's the one with an early bedtime but tonight was an exception. There was a party he was invited to and he couldn't just ignore his adoring fans.

So when he came back and heard a sleep meditation coming from your room, his curiosity gets the better of him. He decides to take a peek into your room and has to hold back a squeal over how you look sleeping. When it comes to beauty only you could rival him, and this even counts when you're sleeping!

His eyes follow where the faint pink glow is coming from and surprise! it's your little speaker. He can't help admire you and be glad you took up one of his trends. You really do care! Of course he does his bedtime routine and then cuddles up in bed with you. The pink mood lighting and how peaceful it is was just too hard to resist.

beel - red/orange

lullaby music, or 80's rock songs in music box style

podcast

snoring sounds

Beel is known for his late night kitchen rummages. Infact he got used to you not stopping him but helping by joining in or just keeping him company, you'd rarely scold him for his late night rampages. Though tonight you were no where to be found.

When he first passed by your bedroom it was relatively quiet, so he figured you were asleep. Not being able to eat how he usually would, concerned over your absence, he took only a couple snacks and checked on your room again before going back to his.

This time he notices a music box playing and a light coming from under the door. He peeks through a crack in the door he makes from opening it a little, and notices you sleeping. He smiles warmly and the grin becomes bigger when he sees where the light and sound is coming from. You and Belphie slept the same, covered with blankets and surrounded by pillows. It was endearing and he couldn't help but curl up in your room that night with his snacks.

belphie - purple/teal

fave songs but it's in music box style

asmr, and it's like a muffled city, keyboard typing, or rainy day, with music from another room

lofi

Being the Avatar of Sloth, he didn't have to go to you room to see how you were sleeping. Though you did peak his curiosity a little when he heard lofi music coming from your room. Surely you couldn't be so diligent, or a nerd, that you'd be studying at this time of night. Turns out his suspicion was correct, you weren't studying.

He was currently a by-stander of your dreams tonight and he takes note of how he appears in them. It wasn't like he was fully in your dream, no dream self to speak of, but instead things you associated with him.

Taking his powers a bit further he astral projects and finds himself right by your bed. A glow of light seems to pass through his spirit form and looking over he finds where it's coming from, along with what's making your dreams what they are. Smiling a little he looks over at your sleeping form, a bit of your face peeking out from the mass of covers, and notices that you're smiling too. "Cute." He whispers and decides to insert himself into your dreams. You wanted him so bad then fine, he'll be there.

#omswd #obey me! swd #obey me x reader #om! lucifer #om! satan #om! asmodeus #om! mammon #om! leviathan #om! beelzebub #om! belphegor

[sailoryooons]

Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

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

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

☾ Word Count: 21,606

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

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

☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via drowning, a physical fight between a man and a woman in the middle of a storm, sexual dream sequences featuring making out, biting (light), grinding, reader having flashbacks of trauma, a lot of thoughts about reader's terrible parents, a sort of power imbalance in the sense that reader is in Yoongi's realm as a part of a deal.

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

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

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

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

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Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

-

It begins with rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, it will suffice. 

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

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

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

“Just for a short walk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would that be like, you wonder. 

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

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

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

So you stopped praying to them. 

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

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

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

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

Always something lost. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another dream. Another fantasy. 

-

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

-

It ends in darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… what?”

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

No. No. Nonononononono. 

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

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

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

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

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

“It is not my purpose!”

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

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

“I won’t do it,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to die. 

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

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

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

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

“Want?”

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

“What can you give?”

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

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

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

“What will you give me?”

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

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

“My time?”

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

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

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

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is safe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A god. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In between.”

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

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

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

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

“Wanted to hear you say it.” 

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

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

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

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

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do I call you?”

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

“Is that your name?” 

“It’s one of them.” 

“How many names do you have?”

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

Time. 

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

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

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

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

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

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

“I’m done eating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was going to kill me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Consecutive.” 

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

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

“Can you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream. 

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

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

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Do you promise?” 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad is a relative term.” 

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

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

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” 

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

“Eternals?”

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

“Who are the Eternals?”

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

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

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

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

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

“Have you no guesses?”

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

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

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

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What causes the balance to be off?” 

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

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

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

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

“How… old are you?”

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

“Where do you come from?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

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

“Your brother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are dragons here?” 

“There is everything here.”

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

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

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

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

“Even nightmares?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Are they dead?”

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

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

“They?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re all alone here?”

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

“Do you always know what I dream about?” 

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

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you avoid thinking of going back.

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

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

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

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.” 

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

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

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

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

You dip the quill in ink and continue. 

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

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

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Promise, the wind feels nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?” 

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

“You like sweet things.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not very mature then, is she?”

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

“And you let her be a glutton.” 

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

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

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

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

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

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

“I don’t know. How could I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staring,” he says eventually. 

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

“What is there to indulge in?” 

“Your… earrings.” 

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

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

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

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you afraid to go back?” 

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

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

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

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

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

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

You nod. “Okay.” 

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

-

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror. 

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[justmystyles]

Now You're In My Life

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down.

warnings: some curse words, but other than that it's tame.

a/n: this is my first fic, it came out of absolutely nowhere, i just kept daydreaming and decided to write them down to get them out of my system. this is going to end up being a series, because once I started writing, the ideas kept coming.

i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

You hurry your way into the diner, checking your watch to see just how late you are. 

Fifteen minutes. Shit.

Your boss was taking your team out to breakfast to celebrate successfully making it through your busy season. Everyone was going. Everyone was there. Except for you. 

“Sorry sorry sorry,” you apologize quickly as you step up to the large counter space that your coworkers were occupying. 

The group clapped and cheered loudly as you took your seat, your eyes immediately dropping to the floor out of embarrassment. 

Not only were you the youngest member of your team, but you were also the only woman. Because of that, you had become the ‘little sister’ of your group. You loved it, they always protected you and stood up for you with clients and other coworkers if needed, and you found it cute the way they always panicked when they would inadvertently curse or say something off color during one of your meetings. You didn’t mind it though, you could be just as crass as any of them, possibly a little more. You found the gasps and outrage when you would curse even more cute. 

As you settled in your seat, you felt a pair of unfamiliar eyes on you. You glance across the restaurant to two men seated at a booth. One was talking to the other, but he wasn’t paying attention, his eyes were on you. When your eyes met, he put down the mug he had been sipping from and clapped his hands together quietly with a smirk. You smiled back softly and immediately pulled your menu in front of your face, feeling your cheeks heating up. 

Everyone put in their orders and the conversation continued. You joined in, laughing and telling ‘war stories’ from the projects that had come and gone over the last few months. You weren’t completely invested in the conversation however, as your gaze kept drifting to the stranger on the other side of the room, meeting his often as he was doing the same. 

“Is that guy bothering you, Y/N?” One of your coworkers speaks up, snapping your attention away from your staring contest. 

“Hmm? Oh, no I’m good. Stand down.” You joke, bringing your glass of orange juice to your lips for a sip. 

Your coworkers had noticed the way you two were looking at each other, speaking about it in hushed tones when you weren’t paying attention. They also knew that you wouldn’t do anything about it, so when you excused yourself to the restroom, they took things into their own hands. 

While you were gone, one of your colleagues stepped up to the table. 

“Hey,” he greeted them. “She’s single, and she’s not going to approach you. So if you’re interested you need to make the first move.” He returned to the table before getting a response, high fiving the others. 

You return just as your boss is signing the bill. Everyone stands up and makes their way to the exit. You shoot one more glance at the stranger, and give a small nod before walking toward the door. 

On your way out, you're exchanging pleasantries and complaints about the meetings that lie ahead, even though all you want to do is nap off the stacks upon stacks of pancakes you’ve all consumed. 

“Excuse me!” An accented voice calls from behind you, everyone turns to see the man from the table chasing after you. 

As he approaches you, your coworkers begin oohing and ahhing. You snap your head around, giving them a stern look. They immediately go silent. “I’ll uh… I’ll meet you guys back at the office.” You stutter. They take the hint and move to their cars, but not before giving you exaggerated winks and pats on the back. You bury your face in your hands, this has been the most embarrassing morning of your life. 

Once you’re sure they’re gone, you turn back to the man, smiling sheepishly. “I’m really sorry about them.” You apologize, sighing and shaking your head. 

“It’s alright,” he chuckled. “Is it your birthday or something?” You furrow your brow in confusion. “The way they all applauded you when you arrived, I just assumed you were the guest of honor.” He shrugged. 

“Oh, that,” you laugh. “No, it was a work thing. I was just running late, and they just like to embarrass me. As you’ve now seen multiple times.” 

He nodded with a smile before extending his hand out. “I’m Harry.” 

“I know,” your hand meets his and you feel your heart flutter. He arches a brow as you shake hands. “Yeah, there was a second there where I debated acting like I didn’t know, but that would have been stupid. And I’m a bad liar.”

“So you’re a fan then.” He replies expectantly. 

“I said I knew who you were, not that I was a fan.” You deadpan. 

He brings his hand to his heart in mock pain. “Ouch.” 

You smile at his reaction. “I listen to your stuff. It’s hard not to, you’re everywhere. But I’m not one of those ‘posters plastering my walls, obsessed need to know everything about you’ fans.”

He looks you up and down appraisingly. “So you’re not coming to my show tonight then?” 

A bark of laughter escapes you as you shake your head. “Definitely not.” 

Harry’s eyes go wide at your reaction. “Okay, I was joking last time, but that actually did hurt a little.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Your expression sombers. “I didn’t mean it as anything against you. It’s just the scene at the show. It’s all cute girls dancing around in pink boas screaming their heads off. I’ve never been that girl, and I’m way past the point of ever being that girl.” 

“I mean, you’ve got the cute girl part down, the rest seems pretty easy.” He shrugs. “I can lend you one of my boas if you’d like.”

“You’re very sweet, and it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but I should be getting to work now.”

“No really, I would like you to come to my show tonight.” He reaches out to stop you as you start turning away. 

“It’s been sold out for months, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to get a ticket at this point.” 

“Well then it’s a good thing I ran into you. I just so happen to have some connections and could put you on the list.” He said with an exaggerated wink. 

You laugh, trying to mask the nerves that are creeping up on you. Why does he want you there so badly? Why is he even talking to you? 

“You don’t have to do that.” You assure him. 

“I know, but I want to.” He smiles. “It’s my pleasure.” 

You’re silent for a moment, your mind racing. Is Harry Styles flirting with you? Nah, he’s just being nice. You debate saying no, but Harry personally inviting you to his show is a once in a lifetime opportunity. You would be crazy to say no. 

“Sure,” you finally acquiesce. 

“Great! I just need your name, I can put you on the list.” 

“It’s Y/N” 

“Y/N, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He shakes your hand again. “Just give your name at the door when you arrive, and they’ll take care of everything.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble, even more nervous and unsure than before. 

“I should let you go, I’ve seen what they do to you when you’re running late. I’d hate for that to happen to you twice today.” He winked. 

“Thanks,” you laugh. “Good luck tonight.” You say, offering one last smile before walking to your car. 

As you drive off, you notice Harry watching you with a dreamy smile. When he sees you looking, he lifts his hand and waves once more. 

“What the hell just happened?” You say to yourself as you drive away, stealing one last glance at him in your rearview mirror. 

The day seemed to crawl by at a snail’s pace. You couldn’t focus on any of your work, anytime you tried, your mind kept drifting back to your encounter with Harry. Going over every second of your interactions, from the first time you locked eyes, to watching his muscular figure disappear as you drove away. 

What did it all mean? 

Was he flirting? No.

You shut that thought down immediately. Guys like Harry Styles do not look at girls like you. You don’t think you're particularly unattractive, but you’re definitely not his type. You’ve seen the girls he’s been linked with on gossip blogs, they’re positively stunning. You’re so plain and basic compared to them. Not to mention the obvious differences in body shape.

You stop yourself, you don’t need to go down this road. It’s not even a question, he wasn’t flirting. He was just being nice. 

But what were you going to wear to the concert? You weren’t lying, you've never been the kind of girl you see in all the clips you’ve watched on Tiktok from his shows. The shows you go to are in dingy rock clubs, you don’t listen to pop music. At least not in public. 

Guilty pleasures are called guilty for a reason. Other people aren’t supposed to know you like it. In school, you were always labeled ‘goth’ and ‘emo’, so much so that you decided to lean into it. You got your lip pierced on your eighteenth birthday; a badge you proudly wear today, a whole fourteen years later. Your wardrobe consisted of different shades of black, only re-incorporating actual colors over the last few years. If you were listening to music loud enough for others to hear, the sounds would match your aesthetic. But when you were alone, or when you had your headphones in? The music softened significantly. Needless to say, you steered clear of concerts from any artist that you wouldn’t listen to openly. 

At least until tonight. 

You stood in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, shifting and turning. You wanted to see yourself from every possible angle, making sure you looked alright. You decided to go with a pair of black distressed jeans, paired with an olive green t-shirt and black cropped leather jacket. For shoes, you chose your black thick heeled booties, you were sure your feet would be screaming by the end of the night, but fashion over function. You set your hair in soft curls, and expertly applied your makeup, snapping a selfie afterwards, particularly impressed with the identical, and flawless, cat eye liner you were able to pull off. You finish the look off with some red lipstick and get in your car to head to the train station. 

You live just outside of Boston, where the show is being held, but it’s much easier to take the train into the city than have to worry about driving in Monday night traffic, or trying to find and pay exorbitant fees to park in the city. You know the crowds will make the ride home a mess, but you’ll just stop at a nearby bar for a drink and wait it out. 

As you sit in the train car, you observe the people around you. They are the exact people you told Harry you’ve never been. You laugh to yourself, feeling vindicated. You freeze when you realize that you’re all going to the same place, and you will be in that arena with them, and they will be staring at you because you’re going to look so out of place. You think about getting off at the next stop and just turning around and going home. 

‘He’s not even going to know I’m there.’ You think to yourself. 

You spend so much time going back and forth on whether or not you should just go home, that you suddenly realize you have arrived at North Station. You’re here. You’ve made it this far, you might as well go to the show. 

When you arrive at the will call window, you give your name and are instructed to step to the side. You roll your eyes and sigh. Of course your name wasn’t on the list. Should have seen that one coming. 

“Y/N?” You turn to the voice calling your name, and it’s the man that had been with Harry at the diner that morning. 

“Yes, that’s me.” You answer, stepping up to him. 

“Hi, I’m Jeff, Harry’s manager.” He holds out his hand to shake yours. You take it, and notice that he is holding a box with his other hand. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Harry asked me to get you all set up tonight.” He says with a smile. “Oh, he also wanted me to give you this.” He holds the box out to you, you eye it curiously before looking up to Jeff he nods, encouraging you to take it. 

You notice a note taped to the top of the box, unfolding the paper and reading what it says:

You seem to have an issue with the pink ones, so hopefully this one will be more to your liking .

-H

You furrow your brow as you open the box, you let out a scoff when you are greeted with black feathers. Rolling your eyes, you pull the boa out of the box and look up at Jeff, who gives you a knowing smirk in response. 

“He said you’d know what it meant.”

“Yeah, I do.” You chuckle. 

“Great, just follow me and I’ll take you inside.” 

You place the boa across your shoulders, slipping the note in your back pocket as you follow Jeff away from the main entrance. You figure, since you’re ‘on the list’ you’re bypassing the security check. Your suspicions are confirmed as you walk through what appears to be the backstage area. Your stomach starts filling with butterflies at the possibility that he’s taking you to see Harry, or at the very least that you may catch a glimpse of him as you pass by. 

You feel a pang of disappointment as you step through the entrance to the arena. You notice a barricade separating you from the rest of the crowd. There are a few other people scattered around the area chatting amongst themselves. 

“Welcome to the VIP area.” Jeff says, holding his arms out with a flourish. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a lanyard with a laminated card attached. “This is your pass, in case you want to go out and grab a drink, or dance in the crowd or something. Just show it to the security guard and he’ll let you right back in.” 

You take the pass, looking it over and noticing the words ‘All Access’. “Jeff, this is so kind of you, but it’s too much. I’m fine just standing in the crowd wi–” 

“It wasn’t me, it was all Harry.” He interrupts you. “Enjoy the show.” He places a hand on your shoulder and smiles, quickly turning to make his way backstage before you can protest any further. 

Once you’re left alone, you take in your surroundings. The seats and floor are packed, the stage is huge. You figure you could probably get all of your ten thousand daily steps in just by walking from one end to the other.​​ 

You begin to feel awkward, standing among an arena full of people you don’t know, noticing the fans in the crowd glancing at you and whispering, no doubt wondering who you are and what right you have to be in VIP. All things you were asking about yourself. As you nervously scroll through your phone, the lights begin to fade and your ears are filled with the sounds of cheers and screams. 

Here we go…

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles meet cute #harry styles fluff #harry's house #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you

[lets-try-some-writing]

Farewell Little Hero

Humans do not live long, this is common knowledge. And so years after Cybrtron's restoration, Arcee returns to Earth to talk with her old ward one more time.

(Enjoy this short story :D)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

“It’s been a long time… I’m sorry for taking so long to come see you again.” Sitting down on the grass, Arcee did not look toward her ward. Her optics were firmly on the rising sun in the distance.

“I am sure you have been wondering what we’ve been up to.” She continued with a deep vent to calm herself. So many years away from Earth… she had almost forgotten how beautiful the organic world could be when war was not eating away at her conscience. 

“Bumblebee is doing just fine. He’s an Enforcer now. Last I checked, he was leading a team here on Earth to capture rogue Decepticons.” Birds chirped in the distance, but Arcee’s ward did not answer. She did not look away from where the sun crept ever higher, she couldn't bear to. 

“He has a collection of younger bots with him. Strongarm, Sideswipe, Windblade, Grimlock, and an older mech called Drift. There are three minicons as well, but I didn’t have a chance to learn their names.” Arcee informed absentmindedly as she tracked a leaf that blew past in the wind. It was almost Autumn, Jack’s preferred time of year. He liked being able to wear long sleeves and a sweater without cooking alive in the heat of Nevada’s notoriously aggressive summer rays. 

Jack had even gone so far as to go on vacation out in Missouri and occasionally Alaska just to get a taste of some decent cold after spending his whole life in the air fryer that was Jasper. Arcee could vividly recall his various complaints about the heat over the years. He wasn’t particularly fond of the frigid cold either, but he always had a good time bundling up once and a while to enjoy snow in a different state. 

“I think you would have gotten along with Bumblebee more, at least now that he’s learned what it’s like to deal with those younger than him regularly.” The grass was uncomfortable as it slipped into seams in her plating and caressed her cabling like the skittering limbs of scraplets, but she paid it no mind as the sky turned from black, to purple, and then to a bright orange. Cybertron’s sky did not have such color in the early joors of the cycle, at least not like on Earth. It was such a small thing, but Arcee missed it during her time away.

“Bulkhead has taken on a position as an architect. I never would have thought he had it in him, but he enjoys working to return our world to its former glory.” A smile pulled at her face as she recalled the various instances of Bulkhead sighing in exasperation at Vehicons and other workers under his command. They had no clue what they were doing, but they tried their best. Bulkhead was patient, at least as much as a mech once belonging to the Wreckers could be. 

“There have been more than a few accidents, but he recently restored the Archives of Iacon under Optimus’s direct supervision. I think you would have laughed if you saw just how nervous Bulkhead was while working on the project.” A quiet chuckle escaped her vocalizer as she recalled the intensity of which Optimus devoted himself to the Archives restoration. Bulkhead had been so anxious to do it right that once it was complete and got the Prime’s approval, the former Wrecker passed out on the spot. 

“Primes don’t party, but apparently they do care a great deal about books.” Feeling for a container she brought with her, Arcee wordlessly pulled out a sized down datapad she’d asked Optimus for. Jack always expressed an interest in Cybertron’s stories when he wasn’t otherwise occupied with his two fellow troublemakers. She ran her digits over the surface of the device before placing it beside her ward without looking over at him. 

A gift given far too late to be enjoyed…

“Optimus died on Cybertron. I never told you because at the time… I didn’t want you to be upset. He only returned to us recently, and he’s settling into his former role as an Archivist.” Jack and the others were not exactly close with Optimus, but he was always a giant, even to Arcee and the team. He was unshakable, an infallible titan. His death to restore their world was one of the harshest reality checks Arcee had received in vorns. She never told her ward of Optimus’s passing simply because she wanted to ensure that Jack, Miko, and Rafael still had that wonder of their younger years.

Humans aged quickly. A vorn was enough for a human to live out their entire lifespan. If not telling them about Optimus’s death allowed them to keep that magical aspect of the Prime’s memory alive, then Arcee was willing to do just that. But of course, now he was back, and Jack had not had the chance to meet his childhood guardian again. 

“Wheeljack has been doing Primus knows what off in space. Sometimes he brings in refugees, other times he vanishes for stellar cycles at a time. But he always comes back alive, so you can reassure Miko with that knowledge.” Arcee still did not look at her ward. She did not expect an answer from him. The silence served well enough as the world continued to come alive in response to the sun rising ever higher. 

“Ultra Magnus has kept himself occupied trying to get the government in order now that he’s no longer blacklisted. I forgot to mention it, but for a while our government went to slag. Hundreds of Autobots were exiled for supporting Optimus during the war.” No reaction met her words, as was expected. Cybertron always seemed to have a new civil issue to deal with. First was the caste system, then the high council. Of course the war came next, and then just as they finished their mass slaughter of their own people, the new government decided it needed more power.

A fragging mess. Thankfully, it was one that was being dealt with.

“It’s fine now though. Ratchet has stepped up with other war veterans from both factions to set things right. He hates his job and calls the old team regularly to be a glitch about it. Optimus helps sometimes, but it's largely Ratchet and the new council who run things.” Arcee could almost see the confusion written on Jack’s face at the prospect of Ratchet of all mecha being the one to run a government. The doctor never was the most pleasant during the war, but since its end, he had mellowed a degree. But of course for Jack, it likely seemed preposterous. 

“Surprising isn’t it? I never expected it out of him either. But Ratchet was a Senator in name before the war. He didn’t do a lot since it was honorary, but he knows how politics and governance is supposed to work, at least in theory.” Arcee smiled again as she shuttered her optics, feeling the cool air of the morning turn into something warmer as it brushed past her face. Like this, she could almost imagine things as they used to be.

“I know you and Smokescreen got along well, so I think you would be happy to know that the rookie is doing just fine. He’s signed on with the Enforcers until the Elite Guard can be reestablished.” She recalled how much fun Jack and Smokescreen had even while war raged. It was such petty enjoyment. Trashing the car of a bully and goofing off… despite that, Arcee had not seen Jack laugh so gleefully until the rookie came in. For that, she could be somewhat grateful for the trouble Smokescreen brought with him and continued to create wherever he went. 

“Knockout is working in a clinic in Praxus, Soundwave is currently in rehabilitation on Optimus’s orders, Starscream is dealing with the same. We don’t know where Megatron is, but he’s staying quiet. The other Con’s seem to have largely calmed down enough to rejoin us on Cybertron.” Her voice rang out on the hillside as she reached into her container again and pulled out a photograph she’d had printed and framed. It was of the whole team smiling during the anniversary of Cybertron’s restoration. They were all there… except for Jack. 

“Arcee, the others are waiting for you.” The sounds of wheelchair wheels rolling over the ground reached Arcee’s audio receptors. Nodding once she gathered up her now empty container in her arms and moved to stand. Rafael smiled up at her as she did so. His wrinkled face still left Arcee doing a double take even now. He did not match the memory of the young boy she knew but a vorn ago.

“I know… I just wanted to catch up with him.” Sorrow sat heavy in her spark as Arcee at last turned to look at her ward. A soft song escaped her vocalizer as she got down as low as she could to gently press the crest of her helm to the marble surface of Jack’s tombstone. There was no warmth in what remained of her ward, but as she pulled away and carefully arranged the datapad and picture at the foot of his grave, she felt a degree of peace.

She had not been there for Jack as much as she should have been, but she could hold his memory in her spark. So long as she lived, Jack Darby would not be lost to the tests of time. She would ensure it. 

“Farewell little hero. May you be at peace wherever your soul is destined to go.” Arcee allowed her touch to linger on the top of the tombstone a moment longer before she gathered herself and turned away back toward the base. Rafael rolled along beside her and together they moved in silence. 

They would remember, and when Rafael joined Jack and Miko in their rest, Arcee would carry his memory with her as well. 

They would not be forgotten.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #arcee #ratchet #bumblebee #optimus prime #bulkhead #ultra magnus #smokescreen #wheeljack #rid 2015 #jack darby #rafael esquivel #miko nakadai #just a lil angst #grief/mourning #fanfic #yeeeah I found City of the Dead and it spawned this short story #enjoy

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 11

An: Change of pace, enjoy some fluff!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 1700

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Ghost’s deep breaths and the crackling fire are the only audible sounds in the entire cabin. Over the last while, I became accustomed to all the different sounds of the task members at night. Snoring mostly, but there was always at least some noise. At home, I lived in a place across from a bar and was used to the sounds of sirens and cars and drunk people wandering the streets at night as they shouted at each other. Here it’s the complete opposite. There’s nothing to drown out my thoughts and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Ghost was in contact with Price who said they survived the raid, but lost several men. He wouldn’t tell me how many. Soap’s team and one other returning from a mission caught the tail end of the Ultranationalists as they were retreating with their recaptured members. 141 cut off the last Ultranationalists, but almost every prisoner escaped. Overall it was a loss, but they’re lucky nearly all of them survived. My mind drifts off to the man who was shot in the hanger. I wonder if he made it.

Part of me wanted to sleep on the floor instead of sharing a bed, but the floor’s cold and I already struggle with that enough as is. Ghost didn’t bring up the topic of who sleeps where, so neither did I. After our fight, he’s barely spoken.

Unfolded, the futon is the size of a double bed. It’s hard despite an old mattress topper being placed under the sheets and far from big enough for Ghost. He sleeps on his side and has to bend his knees just to stop his legs from hanging off the end. Several pillows and musty blankets were stashed away in one of the cabinets and currently wrap around me. Ghost said he didn’t want any, so I took his because you can never have too many blankets.

A soft orange glow escapes a small window in the wood stove. It’s just bright enough to see the outlines of everything in the cabin. I’ve always liked warm light like this. Maybe it’s an innate thing passed down from my ancestors all those years ago who slept beside fires every night. Maybe its because the light confirms that the most dangerous thing in the room lies next to me in bed and not creeping in the shadows.

I’ve had to pee for at least an hour but don’t want to go outside to the outhouse. There’s no indoor plumbing, but there is a double-seater with a moon carved into the door. I glance at the sleeping man beside me. The feeling’s only going to get worse. I’ll be quiet. He won’t notice.

I slip my legs out of the blankets and onto the hardwood floor. My back hurts from the mattress already. Just as I’m about to stand up, something latches on to my wrist with an unnatural strength.

“Where’re you going?” Ghost’s voice is deeper than normal. He props himself up with his other arm. And I thought I was a light sleeper. But maybe he was awake this whole time.

“Washroom,” I whisper trying to stay quiet even though there’s no one to wake up.

“You have to tell me,” he grumbles. I roll my eyes at his remark. I don’t know if he thinks I’m stupid enough to run away or that maybe I have other intentions.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he catches the irritation in my tone.

“You don’t know what’s out there,”

“I doubt anyone’s followed us here,” I say, but I don’t really know. Neither does he.

“Don’t be a fool,” his hand remains on my arm. “Besides there’s wildlife out there. Wolves. Coyotes.”

“How about you watch from the window,” I say. “I don’t think you need to hear me use the toilet,” I tack on at the end to discourage him.

“Fine,” He mumbles. I bite my lip to hide my smile. It worked. “Take my jacket,” he releases his grasp to reach the jacket hanging on the arm of the futon. When I shrug it over my shoulders, it swallows me whole. The inside is lined with a soft, welcoming fleece. A scent of gunpowder and something decidedly more earthy engulfs me as I pull the zipper up to my nose.

“Thanks,”

I never imagined myself peeing outside before, but here we are. The toilet seat is so cold against my legs the need almost completely disappears. Not to mention how dark it is in here with no electricity. I want to leave the door open to get some moonlight in here, but then I risk Ghost seeing in. I can suck it up for two minutes.

Outside, the night sky is otherworldly. There’s no light pollution or clouds blocking the stars and I can’t stop staring. There’s just a thin layer of compact snow on the ground, so I take the opportunity to lie down and look up at the sky. It’s cold, but nothing worse than the winters at home. There’s no harsh wind blowing against my skin, so it’s finally tolerable.

“What’re you doing?” heavy footsteps crunch against the snow. I smile to myself because this is the one place he can’t be quiet.

“Stargazing,” I whisper, “Shh, you’ll wake the wolves,” From the corner of my eye, I see Ghost look up at the stars and pause for a moment. I wonder if he cares about mundane things like this? Is he capable of seeing beauty after all the horrors he’s witnessed? In another breath, he disappears back into the cabin. Guess not.

After our fight, it felt like a storm passed over us. The tension eased just a bit as the wind died down. The waters returned to normal and then almost into glass. There’s no fighting against whitecaps as we try to make it to land. I wouldn’t go as far as saying it’s smooth sailing. But things aren’t nearly as rocky as they were before. For now, we have an understanding.    

The crunching sound of footsteps approaches again and then Ghost does something out of character. He hands me his helmet with the night vision googles attached. I hesitate before grabbing it, what’s the catch? I look into his eyes for an answer, there’s a glint,  but they hold no malice. The helmet is heavy in my hands. I can’t believe he wears this all day. His neck must constantly ache.

“Flip the lenses down and look at the stars with them,” he says. I sit up to put the helmet on. It’s an unnatural feeling: like there’s a brick of cement sitting on my head. Ghost crouches down and reaches for the strap to tighten it. “Stay still,” his hands brush against the sensitive skin on the underside of my chin as he fixes the strap so the helmet won’t slide off my head. He switched out the bloody skull mask for a plain, black balaclava before bed. It humanizes him, seeing him wear something else. He’s less hidden with this one. Although his face is still covered with black paint, it’s easier to read his expressions. The balaclava highlights the outline of his strong cheek bones and jaw. His eyes almost look kind under the moonlight.

My heart skips a beat when Ghost flips down the night vision lens. It’s like looking at a whole new world. I look around at the trees first and notice how far I can see. Everything looks like it has a green filter.

“Look up,” his voice is eager. So, I do. And what I see is almost indescribable. I feel like I can see every star in the universe. It’s breathtaking. Hypnotizing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” I can’t find the words I’m looking for and for a moment I don’t know if they exist. The men who created our language weren’t alive to witness a sight such as this. And so, the dictionaries remain empty. “Incredible,” will have to do.

“The goggles are the best part about night missions,” he says as he lays down beside me on the cold ground. Ghost crosses his arms across his chest to keep his hands warm. His shoulder brushes against my arm and I notice he isn’t watching the stars.

In the silence of the woods, I feel the safest I’ve felt in weeks. The world feels like it’s asleep. We’re the only people around for miles. There are no other task members are walking around with oversized guns, or angry prisoners, or the looming threat of an Ultranationalist raid. There’s just Ghost. And right now, he doesn’t feel like much of a threat.

“Can you see the stars at home?” I ask.

“No.”

“Me either.”

I let the silence hang in the air for a while longer. The frosty night air caresses my face. Our breath is visible in tiny puffs of clouds.

“Do you want them back?” I turn my head to look at him. His black balaclava takes on a whitish glow under the lens.

“Keep ‘em for now,” his voice is quiet but awake. Any drowsiness from before has disappeared. I have a feeling most of his nights are spent awake.

I don’t know how long we’re out there, maybe an hour or so. Ghost points out the different constellations in the sky. I thought it might be a personal interest, but then he says they’re used for navigation when they don’t have access to GPS or maps. If you know important reference points or certain constellations, you’ll never be lost. He speaks quietly to preserve the stillness around us and guides my vision with his hands as he points out each constellation. The man beside me is a completely different one than a few hours ago. This one, I like. I could listen to his soothing voice talk about the stars all night. In the back of my mind, I think about how often our arms brush each time he points out a new star, how I shifted closer to feel his shoulder press harder against mine.      

It’s only when the cold starts to seep into my bones that I suggest we head back in. This whole time Ghost was out here in just his Henley and jeans. Yet he didn’t complain once. I wonder if he ever complains. Or if he just pushes every emotion to the back of his mind until it’s ready to burst.

“They’re beautiful,” I say once again as I hand Ghost back his helmet.

He searches my eyes for quite some time before agreeing.

“They are.”

PT 12:

#COD MW2 #cod ghost #cod ghost imagine #cod imagine #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #simon riley fluff #GHOST FLUFF #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mwii

[thelittlewriter]

Remember Me

Pairing : Bakugou x Reader

Next Part

You were his partner, that's how you liked to call yourself. Sidekick was how people called you but you're really didn't feel like you were casted to the side. Most people saw you as a duo more than anything. You usually teased Bakugou about it :

"Our duo is the most loved according to the public opinion. But we can't say the same for your reputation !"

You graduated a year after him. Since your time in high school, he took you under his wing... in his own way. You had followed him for two whole months until he acknowledged you for the first time.

"You dumbass can't even look behind your back," he had said one day. "It's your weak point."

He almost regretted uttering those words when he saw your face lit up. He knew then that you would never leave him alone.

The way he accepted you in his team was the only thing you could think of at this moment. You couldn't move your limbs. They were swollen, probably broken.

Your throat was hurting as well. The villain was too strong for you, you had made a mistake. All you could see was the orange sky. The sun was setting already. It was so pretty.

You were wondering where Bakugou was. The most dangerous villains were supposed to be outside and you were supposed to rescue the hostages inside. Where were they ? Would they be safe ? Could you still save them ? Was he safe ? You hoped so. You didn't want him to be hurt because of a mistake you had made.

You tried to raise your arm but it barely moved. You were stuck here until someone found you. If someone ever found you. You were inside the building and yet, you could see the sky so clearly. The villain really was too strong for you. It caught you off guard. He left, right after making you into that pathetic state. Maybe Bakugou had intercepted him already. Maybe he was on his way here.

He was the only thing you could think of.

"Y/N !"

You opened your eyes, trying to catch your breath. Bakugou sounded so much different than his usual self. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe you were hallucinating.

"An ambulance is coming, don't worry."

"Hurts..."

It felt like your voice sounded different too. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but you couldn't hear it. The villain's punch in the throat must have done something to your vocal cords. Was that the reason why it was so hard to breathe ?

"It's ok," he said with a strangely soothing voice. "You're gonna be OK."

He could see how your limbs were broken. He saw the blood leaking out of your head. You weren't ok. He should have done things differently. He should have gone with you. You simply followed his orders, you didn't deserve to be in that state. He wanted to go back in time and fix everything. He wished he had been nicer to you, too.

He saw how hard you were fighting not to pass out.

"Stay with me, Y/N."

Your eyes finally met his. Tears were falling down and yet you still smiled at him. You opened your mouth as if you wanted to say something but nothing came out.

"It's ok," he whispered.

He noticed you still had that stupid necklace on your neck. It was a souvenir from your first mission together. He remembered how you always used to say it reminded you of him even though he didn't even give you this necklace. It was just some piece of junk you picked up after your first mission together. Right after, he bought takeout and admitted he knew how to cook. That very same day, you had made him promise to cook for you. But to this day, he never did. Yet. He had planned to. He would. When you'd be ok.

"Stay with me, Y/N."

An ambulance was coming. You were in bad shape. You used to have so many things to tell him, so many ways to tease him but nothing came into your mind at that moment. You just wanted him to know you were scared. Your mind was drifting away, and you didn't know if you would ever be back. You still had so many things to do and to try. So many promises to keep. You wondered how he had been able to be that brave even in the worst moment. You couldn't. If heroes were here for people when they were scared, who was supposed to be there for them when they were the scared ones ?

You were scared.

"I'm here," he endlessly repeated. "Don't go."

He was slowly caressing your cheek. You decided you would definitely tease him about that if you ever woke up. He looked like a scared puppy. You probably did too. His voice seemed to fade away and soon his face too.

All that were left were the memories of the both of you. Your first encounter, your first conversation, his first smile, his first laugh, your first mission... there were supposed to be so many more firsts. You still wanted more memories with him.

But you knew you might never woke up. So you only had one wish.

That the memories with him that you held so dear stayed in his heart. Memories fade over time but the heart remembers.

"Please remember me."

Hey ! I hope you had a great day ! First of all, I'm sorry for starting something else when all of my series are not done yet... but I hope you still enjoyed it ! I (finally) got my first real vacation in a year so I'm sleeping and reading a lot... I'll definitely write more ! I'm actually starting a pretty dark story... Anyways, I hope you're gonna have a great day today too !

#mha angst #mha bakugou #mha fluff #mha imagines #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #bakugou angst #bakugo fic #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou fic #bakugou fluff #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo fluff #bakugo angst #bakugo fanfic #mha bakugo #mha fic

[sebsbarnes]

psychopomp || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: it was that moment, underneath the streetlight, that tangerine knew he had no choice but to love you

warnings: death, dying, anxiety

word count: 1.6k+ ; ANGST

masterlist

a/n; can't lie team this one kinda hurts maybe not as bad as 'the days you meet' but its also a diff kind of hurt??? anyways enjoy? inspo from one of my fav songs

psychopomp: a spiritual guide to a living person's soul

it had been a year. one year since tangerine died on the bullet train. one year of grieving the man you loved harder each day that passed. you woke up each day wishing it was a dream, some sick fucking dream meant to torment you until it drove you mad but you'd still wake up. and when you did, tangerine would be lying next to you in bed, one arm draped lazily around your waist greeting you good morning.

it was only a day before tangerine died that the two of you finally spoke those three words. it wasn't even needed truth be told. you both knew the love you had for the other whether it be your actions or words, it was evident.

"you are my everything," tangerine whispered to you one night. the confession came out of nowhere in the middle of watching an action movie. from his lap you looked up at him, cheeks turning red but thankfully the dull light from the tv masked the blush. reaching up you gently stroked his chin running a thumb across his bottom lip.

"you are my everything and more."

the memory ached. your skull felt tight and you screwed your eyes tight wishing away the painful memory. it felt too real. it felt like that night two years ago was unfolding at the current moment. you could almost smell tangerine's shampoo and feel the fabric of the couch on your legs. it's not real. the air held no fragrance and the bed sheets were a far sensation from the fabric of the couch.

"i don't think i'd ever be able to do life without you," you grinned lovingly at tangerine. he stumbled in his steps, caught off guard by the loving sentiment.

tangerine quirked an eyebrow at you, "why 'cause i picked out some peppers for you?" he joked holding up a plastic bag of peppers he just grabbed from the grocery store shelf.

the laugh you let out echoed off the walls of the grocery store earning some curious eyes. some may think it's silly to profess such a statement for an action that is so mundane but you were smitten by tangerine, and something as simple as grocery shopping was something you wished to never experience without him.

even though you lay there with closed eyes you felt your lips twitch into the smallest of smiles. you could remember the confused yet playful tone in his voice and the way he dangled the bag of peppers. you swore you could feel the tingling on your cheek after he kissed you and then whisked you away to check out. your fingers twitched to caress your cheek but your arm couldn't move.

it was beautiful, that night 366 days ago. the sky had never been so clear. the breeze drifted delicately across your bare arms. the distant sound of a mother urging their child that it was time to leave the park was met with defiance. it made you giggle, understanding the desire to stay out late and continue to play. tangerine was standing behind you, arms wrapped around your shoulders, head tucked into your neck. his breathing tickled your neck ever so slightly raising goosebumps. you weren’t sure if it was intentional but he was rocking the two of you side to side as you both admired the sky. the way the midnight blue encapsulated the fiery orange.

“i love you,” he stated as if it was the easiest thing to say.

and it was. it was so easy the way the vowels and consonants rolled off his tongue to form three simple words. three words used so much on their own yet when put together carried the weight of the world.

you turned in his arms that moved to your waist and brought yours around his neck. he watched as your eyes glossed over and shined back at him as if he was staring at a star.

“i love you, tangerine.”

"do you mean it?" he jested with a lopsided grin, the fingers on your waist pushing you closer to his body.

"more than you could ever possibly know... moron..."

you took a heavy breath through your nose. your chest ached the same way it did that night except this time your heart pounded from anxiety. you swear you can feel tangerine here with you, you can feel the way his fingers pushed into your skin, you can hear the sound of his heart beating.

his heart beating.

it's not possible.

"but it is," you heard a whisper somewhere far in the depths of your mind.

you heaved forward and your eyes darted around. the lights were too bright and you could barely make out the figure in the corner of the room through half-open eyes. you ran a hand across your face in some measly attempt to wake yourself up more. if you weren't tucked underneath the white sheets you would've fallen over at the sight before you.

"tan- tangerine. w-what? i don't understand, what? what are you doing here," your head couldn't figure out what the hell was happening.

tangerine appeared at your bedside, his smile pulled into a line. he sighed, "i think it's me that should be asking what you are doing here?"

you looked at him quizzically. is he serious you thought. before you could yell at the man you thought was dead for the last year, you watched him solemnly gaze around the room, the side of his lips twitching. you seized all motion besides the robotic movement of your head as you took in the room around you.

white walls and floors, a white bed. a large window into a hallway. there were people running back and forth. the door slammed open and in rushed a frantic man adorned in a white coat. you watched him walk past you and in front of tangerine as if he wasn't there. the man in the coat yelled out to someone behind his shoulder and despite being next to him his voice was distant.

"tan, i don't understand what's going on," you whispered with shaking hands.

tangerine attempted to blink away tears. his blue eyes were even more striking in this moment. he looked beautiful standing next to you but you couldn't ignore the grief on his face.

"there was an accident," he said with a cracking voice, "a bad one."

you turned to look over your shoulder but you were face to face with yourself. anxiety crept throughout every vein inside your body and you began to pant. you felt your chest concaving into itself and you felt the swelling of your throat. you watched the doctors and nurses poke and prod at your body, the monitors unleashing their high-pitched songs.

"i don't understand tangerine what is happening. please, what is happening," you pleaded through panicked tears.

"you were in a car accident darlin'," he swallowed back the sob he wanted to let out. he placed his hands on your shoulders forcing you to face him now.

and you could feel it. you could feel the weight on your shoulders. you could feel the warmth on his hands. he was here. you could feel him, you could smell his cologne, you could see the way his eyes were looking at you, you could hear his voice.

"b-but you're dead... how. does that mean...?" you trailed off waiting to hear his answer as the tears brimming in your eyes finally broke.

"no, my love. not yet," he murmured, his hands rubbing down your arms attempting to bring you comfort, though the tears streaming down his beautiful face made you feel worse.

"i can't do life without you," you pleaded tugging at his hands, threading your fingers through his.

tangerine closed his eyes and steadied his breath. he desperately tried to ignore the way your eyes shined just like that night 366 days ago. the way the streetlights and the tears in your eyes shined as you confessed your love for him was a far cry from the reason why your eyes shined right now. but he couldn't help but be transported back to that park. he wished with every fiber of his being that that night never ended. that you two stood swaying back and forth muttering 'i love you' until dawn broke and day turned into night and night turned into day and you stood there on the pavement until your feet wore holes into the ground.

but he couldn't.

so he let your hands drop to your sides and brought his arms behind his neck. you watched as the gold chain lifted from his chest and he enclosed your hand with his pressing a firm kiss to your forehead.

"it's not your time, darlin'," he grieved. you felt the gold chain snake its way into your palm.

you felt a jolt of electricity course through your body. you could feel it in every bone, muscle, and vein and it ripped into your lungs and it tore you awake. you were met with the frantic eyes of doctors and nurses, some of whom sighed in relief.

"almost lost you there!" one of them chucked nervously fidgeting with a monitor and tubes.

unfortunately, that was the least of your concerns. your eyes scanned every inch of the room looking for tangerine. he was here. he was just here. he was real and alive. he had a pulse. his chest fell and rose because he was alive, he was breathing. you felt his hands on you and you felt his lips on your skin. so where was he? why don't you see him?

"excuse me where did that gentleman go?" you asked.

one of the nurses turned to you confused, "i'm sorry?"

"the man that was standing next to me. long hair, mustache, in a suit?" you pried hoping for any form of recollection to grace her face.

"i'm sorry miss but no one has been in here. i've been monitoring you alone for the past two hours until you started to flatline," she stated confusion still riddled in her tone.

all you could do was mutter the quietest of ohs. you looked down at your body that was now re-tucked underneath white sheets, an iv poking your left arm, a cast protecting your right hand. the white walls and floors with the large window in the wall, just like you had seen.

you noticed the nurse hunch down to the ground before standing up and examining something.

"oh this must be yours!" she exclaimed as you brought your eyes to look at her.

"how cute," she giggled, "there's a little tangerine on it."

time moved in slow motion as she placed the gold necklace in your hand.

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x oc #tangerine x you #tangerine imagine #tangerine imagines #tangerine bullet train imagine #tangerine fic #tangerine fanfic #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine bullet train fanfic #tangerine fluff #tangerine angst #tangerine blurb #tangerine headcannon #tangerine oneshot #bullet train imagine #bullet train fanfic #bullet train oneshot #bullet train x reader #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson imagine #aaron taylor johnson x reader #sebsbarnes

[queenhunter102]

part 13

Part 12 Part 14

Johnny sighed as he slumped into a chair next to Simon. “How are we still without a mission?” he grumbled, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Tell me about it,” Gaz says, slouching his arms onto his thighs, his shoulders slumping forward, a bottle of water hanging between his thighs. “I can feel my Alpha become shifty,” he says as he watches you enter the room.

“Is this not normal?” you ask as you sit beside Gaz. “Hardly. We’re usually on a mission by now,” Simon says, his knuckles going white from grabbing the arm of the chair. John sighed as he leaned against the wall of the standard room.

“Hardly, Wells may not have sway over us as a team, but he does have sway with who gets what missions and when,” John grumbled, scratching his beard. Ven, "How’s your sleep since staying in our barracks?” Johnny asked. You froze a little. 'How had you slept? Better than normal, that’s for sure,’ you shrugged.

“Fine, how have your Alphas been with an Omega in the room?” you say, deflecting away from you. It was a fair question. They took turns staying awake over the last few nights, making sure Captain Wells or any of his boys tried anything.

Simon shrugged. “I haven’t had any problems” Gaz and Johnny nodded, agreeing with them, but Alejandro pursed his lips. “It’s not a problem per se, but more of a want to smother you in my scent,” he said, flicking Gaz’s shoulder and hand out for the water bottle.

Gaz grumbled as he passed the bottle to Alejandro. You nodded your head as you tilted your head up to the ceiling. “I’ll take that over being bred any day of the week,” you said. Alejandro nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ll take it over the need to rut,” he said, shivering a little.

“So is no one going to ask why Captain Wells knew they were from MI5, or are we just going to skate past it?” Simon said, cracking his neck. The room turned silent as their eyes flicked from you to Simon and then to John, rinse and repeat.

“That is a damn fine question,” Gaz said as he now turned his full attention to John, “Do you know?” he asked; John shrugged as he preached on the arm of the couch next to Johnny, “I don’t know, Like I said he decides who gets what missions and when so maybe he got a hold of their file before I did?” John offered.

You shook your head. “No one should have been able to see my file unless I was going to be under their command”, you say, your face scrunching as you tried to think; Alejandro tilted his head side to side. “Maybe you were originally supposed to go with his team?” he said, sipping the water bottle. You nodded your head in agreement. “Possibly, but I don’t get why that would stick out, you know," you said; what you really wanted to know was whether he had your NBOC file and your MI5 file.

You could practically hear Johnny’s teeth grate together. “I don’t like the fact he knows so much about them,” he says, his shoulder tensing. Gaz’s eyebrows lifted briefly in agreement.

You let your eyes drift around the common room, wondering of a way to get them to stop talking about you, when Johnny’s dog tag came into your head, the bright orange and blue vivid in your head, “Johnny, how did you get what every company it was to send you custom tags” you ask quickly hoping to distract them.

The boys collectively groaned as Johnny turned to you with a shit-eating grin, “Well, Ven, it all started in Basic Training”, he said…..

You regretted ever asking Johnny about his stupid tags. As you listened to him ramble on about how he got those custom tags, you blinked slowly, trying to keep yourself awake. You had brought this torture upon yourself, and you were going to see it through.

You could hear Simon softly snoring away on the couch, his head resting on his arms, while Gaz had his eyes closed, lightly banging his head off the back of the couch while Alejandro lightly thumped his fist on his leg while trying to be anywhere else in his own head and John, the Captain, YOUR Captain, well he was stood behind Johnny sending you a hate-filled look that said ‘you JUST had to ask didn’t you.’

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