Minors Do Not Interact - Tumblr Posts

birthday girl (m)

masterlist | chanliet files

date: june 6, 2023

word count: 6.1k

note: some parts inspired by this ask hehe also after the first 1k words it’s pure filth so if that’s not your thing you might wanna skip this skkdjdj

warning(s) / includes: smut (please skip if you’re a minor or uncomfy with nsfw content! read at your own discretion!), unprotected sex (this is fiction!!!!!! practise safe sex irl!!!!!!!!!), language, chan gets a lil jealous but not in a bad way, food mentions (please lmk if i missed anything!)

Sitting on Chan’s bed, Juliet has her hands covering her eyes as he grabs her present from where he’d hidden it for the past several weeks.

She feels so spoilt, as just several hours ago he made a surprise visit during her birthday livestream with cupcakes and a bouquet of pink roses, the thoughtful gesture sending the live chat into an excited frenzy.

Chan’s footsteps grow increasingly louder until she can feel him stop right in front of her. “Okay, baby, you can look now.”

Eyes fluttering open, Juliet’s jaw drops to the ground when she sees the large shopping bag he’s holding, the bronzed Yves Saint Laurent logo glinting in the ambient light of his bedroom. Still stunned into silence, she looks back up at his face, heart skipping a beat at how cute he looks with the excited grin on his face.

“Channie, this must’ve cost a lot,” she murmurs before gingerly accepting the luxurious present. The box feels heavy as she slides it out of the bag and places it on her lap, staring down at it in awe. There’s a difference between buying something expensive for yourself and receiving it as a gift, and right now she doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve this.

He sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into his chest. Instinctively, she leans into his warmth, but is careful not to smudge any makeup on his white shirt. “I know you’ve wanted a pair for a long, long time, and you deserve it,” he says before pressing a kiss to her temple. “Happy Birthday, baby. Thank you for always supporting and taking care of me.”

She tilts her head up to meet his eyes. “And I’ll happily do it forever,” she whispers. “Everyone in the live today was right: I’m truly the luckiest girl in the world, and I’ll never take it for granted. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been ever since you came into my life.”

“Hey, don’t make me cry, our reservation is in less than an hour,” Chan whines weakly, eyes turning glassy with unshed tears as he rests his forehead on hers. “I love you so, so, so much.”

“And I love you more than there are stars in the sky.” Cheeks hurting from smiling so widely, Juliet leans in to press a long, deep kiss to his lips, the weight of the box on her lap forgotten as she savours the feeling of his tongue sensually licking into her mouth.

Lost in the kiss, she barely notices him pulling away for air until he gently nudges her with his elbow. “Well?” he urges eagerly, looking down at the box before back up at her. “Open it!”

Slowly, Juliet lifts the lid of the box and sets it aside, peeling back the layers of tissue paper to reveal the heels she’s wanted for months. Lips parted in amazement, she picks up one of them to admire it, taking in every detail from the sleek black shoe itself to the gold heel that’s shaped like the brand’s logo.

“Oh, Channie,” she murmurs softly, placing the shoe back into the box before launching herself into his arms. He instantly returns the embrace, wrapping his arms securely around her as she peppers kisses all over his skin. “I love them so, so much, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He beams, cheeks tinted pink as he rubs gentle circles on her waist. “You’re welcome, angel, and I know you’ll look beautiful in them.”

“You can be the judge in a bit,” she says cheekily, prompting him to raise his brows expectantly. “They’ll pair so well with the dress I picked out for tonight.”

Ten minutes later, she’s done adding the finishing touches to her hair and makeup and has changed into her outfit. Walking down the hallway to the living room, the sound of her heels clacking against the floor draws his attention. He looks up from his phone with a smile, but just a second later it’s gone and replaced by a look of pure awe.

“What do you think?” Juliet asks shyly as Chan meets her halfway. His eyes travel along her silky black dress with thin ribbon straps tied into a bow before finally landing on the heels he’d just gifted her.

She giggles as he pulls her to him, their bodies pressed together as he leans in to whisper in a low voice that has goosebumps raising along her arms. “I think I’m the luckiest person on Earth with the most stunning girlfriend.”

Halfway into their dinner at a fancy sushi restaurant, the mixture of annoyance and jealousy simmering inside him threatens to reach a boil when he catches their server ogle her, his lewd gaze lingering on her slightly exposed cleavage a little too long for at least the third time. For a split second, the two men make eye contact and Chan gives him the nastiest glare he can muster. Hastily, the server scurries off.

Oblivious to their silent exchange, Juliet happily admires the plate of beautifully-arranged sashimi that was just placed on their table before snapping a few quick shots with her phone. When she turns to Chan, however, her smile fades at his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes as he continues glaring in the direction of the kitchen.

She gently takes his hand in her own. The effect of her touch is instantaneous, snapping him out of his thoughts and releasing the tension in his body. All the venom in his gaze melts away at the sight of her, replaced by affection and tenderness.

“Baby, did something happen? What’s wrong?” she whispers.

He shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “I’m okay, really. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” he confirms, squeezing her hand lightly, “just had a random thought.” Usually, he wouldn’t lie to her about the things on his mind, but seeing as it’s her birthday dinner, the last thing he wants is to put a damper on their night together.

He can tell by her pout that she’s not fully convinced, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she scoots closer to lean her head on his shoulder. “Okay, if you’re sure. But in case you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. You don’t have to deal with it alone just because it’s my birthday.”

Heart melting, he drops a soft kiss on her temple. “I know… Thank you, really.” His hand instinctively falls on her knee and he glances down, only to finally notice that the hem of her already short dress has ridden up, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs. Slowly, he drags his hand upwards, trailing his fingers teasingly along her inner thigh as she shivers under his touch.

A small whimper escapes her once he reaches mid-thigh, his hand dangerously close to slipping beneath her dress as his thumb rubs gentle circles on her skin.

“Shhh… can’t let anyone hear you, baby,” he whispers, “I haven’t even done anything.” Thankfully, the restaurant is dimly lit and they’re seated in a private corner as per their reservation’s request, thus minimising the chances of someone watching.

He smiles smugly at how her breathing’s already heavier than usual as she gazes at him with lust-clouded eyes, lashes fluttering and cheeks coloured pink. “You look exquisite tonight, have I told you that yet?”

Juliet grins shyly as she intertwines their fingers. “Only about ten times. I could get used to you saying it more,” she teases.

He leans in even closer until their faces are just centimetres apart, and secretly hopes to have the rest of his life to get lost in the stars in her eyes. “And I’ll never get tired of doing so.”

Juliet gasps as she’s backed up against the wall the moment the door to his apartment locks behind them.

The rest of their dinner was lovely, and by the time they left they definitely had their fill of sushi and complimentary dessert. Yet, there was still room for ice cream—something that became a date night staple over the years—while they went on a relaxing night drive, so his sudden switch in demeanour now comes as a surprise. Before she can question it, his lips capture hers roughly as though wanting to devour her right there in the hallway.

She moans softly against his lips when he slots his leg between hers and moves his hands to her hips, encouraging her to grind down on his thigh at a slow, sensual pace. With every drag of her core against the toned muscle, more whimpers escape her as he possessively tightens his hold on her hips.

“Channie,” she pants, “need you… need you now.”

He hums, a smirk tugging at his lips as he trails kisses along her jaw. “Yeah? How badly do you need me?”

“So bad, so, so bad. ’s all I could think of tonight,” Juliet admits, her hands pawing at his shirt in an attempt to unbutton it, “you look so good… please…” She can feel herself soaking through her panties, and her face grows even warmer at the thought that there might already be a wet spot on his slacks from her arousal as well.

“You’ll have to be patient, princess,” he coos, smiling when she squirms from the pet name, “we have all night, and I have every intention to take my time with you.”

Pressing one last kiss to her lips, he sinks to his knees and lifts up her dress. Teasingly, he drags his fingers across her core, feeling how damp the black lacy material became from her slick as her hips buck into his touch. His eyes flit up to watch her as his thumb rubs firm circles on her clit, taking in her closed eyes and parted lips, chest rising and falling with her heavy breathing.

Chan hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties before slowly sliding them down her legs, fully exposing her core to him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, using his thumbs to gently spread apart her folds as she whines above him. “You’re so wet, baby. Who is this for?”

“You, only you, Channie,” Juliet gasps, “please—need you so bad, it hurts…” She moans loudly when he finally dives in, dragging his tongue between her folds to lick up her arousal. Wrapping an arm around her left thigh, he guides her to hook her leg over his shoulder to give him more access.

He laps greedily at her core as she reaches down to tangle her fingers into his hair, her other hand gripping desperately at the wall in an attempt to keep herself upright. Chasing the feeling of his lips where she’s most sensitive while balancing on one leg, she writhes incessantly in his grasp, cries of his name spilling from her lips over and over again as his tongue dips into her soaked entrance.

“Taste so sweet, baby, just wanna do this forever,” Chan groans into her folds, the vibrations adding to her pleasure as she tugs harder on his hair with a whine. “You like that? Want me to eat you out all night until you can’t come anymore?”

Juliet tries to answer him, but her mind blanks the moment he flattens his tongue against her clit before sucking on it harshly, and all that comes out of her mouth is a broken sob. “W-Want your cock too,” she finally manages to whimper, head thrown back against the wall at the euphoria consuming every part of her body.

“That’s right, you’re never satisfied until you’ve come around my cock, hm?” he purrs, rubbing her thigh soothingly as her hips rock messily into his face, an indication that she’s nearing her first orgasm of the night. “My princess is always so insatiable.”

“Only for you,” Juliet gasps, eyes rolling to the back of her head as the familiar knot in her stomach tightens, “fuck—Channie, ’m so close, pl-please, can I come? Please?”

He briefly pulls away from her core to place a gentle kiss to her inner thigh. “Such a good girl. Gonna give you everything you want, I promise. Come for me, baby, show me how good you feel,” he mumbles, firmly flicking her swollen clit with his tongue until she shatters with a cry, chest heaving heavily as he eagerly laps up her arousal.

Shuddering, she slumps against the wall, knowing her buckling knees would’ve caused her to crumple to the floor if not for the secure hold he has on her. With soft licks at her core, he helps her ride out her orgasm, the whimpers she lets out going straight to his cock and making it strain against his pants almost painfully.

He wraps an arm around her waist to steady her as he gets up, his other hand cradling the side of her face to pull her into a fiery kiss. She moans at the taste of her release as he licks sensually into her mouth, resuming her attempt at unbuttoning his shirt. Her patience runs thin, and it doesn’t take long before she gives up on fumbling with the tiny buttons, resorting to yanking them undone.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Chan mutters, earning a pleased giggle from her before lifting her off the ground to carry her further into the apartment, kicking his shoes off in the process. Carefully, he lays her down on the marble kitchen island, his thumb brushing over her flushed cheek as though handling porcelain. “Can I continue, baby?”

“Yes,” Juliet responds immediately, starry-eyed, “you can do anything you want to me. Need you right now.”

Grinning, he leans down to kiss her again, his firm body draped over hers as his hands begin kneading her breasts over the silky fabric of her dress, relishing in the soft pants she lets out into the kiss.

His lips drift down to her jawline, and she tips her head back to allow him better access to her neck as he nibbles and sucks at her skin, leaving blooming marks that will undoubtedly last for the next several days. Meanwhile, his fingers deftly untie the straps of her dress so he can pull the top portion down and help remove her strapless bra, which he drops to the floor without so much as a glance in its direction.

Immediately, he attaches his mouth to her breast, his tongue swirling around the perked nipple as his hand fondles the other. Juliet sighs happily as he doesn’t let up on his ministrations, feeling his teeth graze along her skin while he marks up her chest. He switches sides eventually, wrapping his lips around the other nipple and flicking it with his tongue to pull more breathy whines from her.

His unoccupied hand moves from her waist to the skirt of her dress, pulling the fabric up so it bunches around her waist. A squeal leaves her parted lips when he drags his fingers along her folds, slick from the orgasm she just had.

“Sensitive, baby?” Chan purrs against her skin, still pressing long, sensual kisses to her flushed chest as he continues teasing her, fingertips skimming over her core just to hear her whine in protest, his body draped over hers firmly to keep her wriggling to a minimum.

“Want y-you inside,” she says, sounding far less commanding than she’d like from the quiver in her voice thanks to his thumb toying with her clit.

Pretending to consider it, he drops a sweet peck on her swollen lips. “Not yet, pretty,” he coos, “need to prep you first.”

“I don’t need it, want your cock now!”

His eyes twinkle down at her, and he can’t help the little beat his heart skips from her cute, pouty expression. Shaking his head, he chides with a tut, “So bossy.”

“Are you really gonna deny me on my bir—oh,” she heaves out a choked gasp as he slips two fingers into her core, burying them to the last knuckle and finding an increasingly fast rhythm.

Chan chuckles, the deep timbre causing her to gush more around his fingers. “You were saying, princess?” As expected, she’s unable to piece together a coherent thought, let alone voice it out loud. “That’s what I thought. You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you?”

Desperately, she nods, eyes fluttering shut and lips parted in a silent moan as he continues pumping his fingers into her. She can feel her arousal dripping around his digits and down her inner thighs, and with every precise thrust the knot in her stomach tightens more and more.

Her loud whines echo through the open kitchen when he adds a third finger, filling her up completely. “Good, baby?” he mumbles against her skin, now adding more love bites to the collection blooming across her chest.

“Yes, so, so good,” Juliet sighs, her voice soft and serene. In intimate moments like these with him, she always feels as though she’s floating on a cloud, head fuzzy and body buzzing with euphoria. “Baby, ’m close…”

Chan hums in response, his eyes now trained on his fingers entering her soaked core, filling the space with lewd noises that flood her cheeks with rosiness. “I know, you’re squeezing around me so tightly. Gonna make you feel good, princess. You’re gonna let your Channie make you feel good, right?”

He begins grinding his palm against her clit, stimulating the sensitive nub as she writhes and moans beneath him. She’s fully incoherent at this point, sobs of his name and babbles about being close are the only things leaving her mouth as he holds her hips in place with his other hand.

“C—fuck, Channie! ’M coming—” Stars dance across Juliet’s vision as her second orgasm slams into her, her body tensing up as mind-numbing pleasure shocks her every nerve. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, thrusting them slower but just as deeply to help her ride it out.

“There you go, baby. Such a good girl, you came so much for me,” Chan murmurs in her ear, delighted with how responsive she always is to his touch as she mewls at the sensitivity, twitching thighs clamping around his hand. His fingers are completely coated with her release as he slips them out, leaving more dribbling from her core as it clenches around emptiness.

He peppers kisses all over her face while she fully comes down from her high, his usual sweet, gentle demeanour returning as he tends to her. “Good, angel?” he asks, but when all this elicits is a quiet moan from her, he immediately starts to worry that she might be too spent to continue. “I think we should take a short break first, okay?”

Juliet’s eyes snap open at his words, and she adamantly shakes her head. “I want more,” she tells him while giving him her best puppy eyes, “I need you, Channie.”

“You have me, always,” he reassures with a peck to her lips, but it doesn’t stop her from pouting beneath him, “just wanted to make sure if you need some rest before continuing.”

Smiling at his obvious care for her, she takes his hand and laces their fingers together. “I’m good, I promise, but I really, really, really need you inside me or I’ll go insane.”

Her heart does flips at the bright laughter he lets out. “Well, who am I to deny my princess what she wants?” he muses teasingly, sliding her bunched up dress down her legs before letting it drop to the floor, leaving her completely bare on the counter. He begins undressing himself, well aware of her desperate gaze trained on him as he tosses his shirt to the side, then unbuckling his belt to take off his pants.

Juliet reaches down to fumble with the clasp on her heel, but Chan stops her before she can unhook it.

“Leave them on,” he commands gently, causing a pleasant shiver to run down her spine, “they look gorgeous on you.”

Adrenaline flows through her veins as he steps closer, stroking his painfully hard cock several times before nudging the leaking tip against her clit. She moans when he drags his tip along her folds, coating his length with her slick arousal; she attempts sending him a silent signal to hurry up by wriggling her hips, but with an infuriating smirk he holds them still while continuing with his teasing.

“Baby, wait,” he says suddenly, and she blinks up at him expectantly, “do you want me to get a condom?”

Juliet gestures for him to lean in, a blush appearing on his cheeks when she drapes her arms over his shoulders to bring him even closer until their faces are almost touching. “It’s okay,” she purrs, satisfaction filling her as the blush spreads to the tips of his ears, “wanna feel all of you tonight.”

Knowing she’s on birth control, he doesn’t need additional convincing. While they usually still prefer to use condoms to be extra safe, on rare occasions they’ll indulge in forgoing one, and what’s a birthday without a little indulgence?

He groans as her walls clench around the head of his cock the moment it slips inside her entrance, her previous orgasm allowing him to smoothly push into her inch by inch. His arms hook around her thighs to wrap them around his waist, bottoming out and causing a high-pitched whine to erupt from her throat from how his pelvis brushes against her clit.

“Move,” Juliet demands, but flutters her lashes at Chan when he gives her a knowing look, “please?”

“That’s more like it, baby,” he coos, dragging his cock almost halfway out before slamming back into her, the thrust so powerful that her body would’ve shifted up the counter if his hands weren’t firmly pinning her hips down to stop her from moving. “Keep those legs wrapped around me, okay?”

She can only let out another whine in response as she obliges, crossing her ankles over his lower back as he builds his pace, tears dripping down her cheeks from being so stretched out in the best way possible. Cries of his name spill from her lips and her hips desperately try to match his speed.

“You feel so good, baby. So perfect for me,” Chan praises, burying his head in her neck and wrapping his lips around the sensitive spot behind her ear, and instinctively she tilts her head back to give him more access. “Love you so, so much, gonna give you the world, I promise.”

Before she can respond, a loud, utterly sinful mewl spills from her lips as he angles his hips differently to deliver another sharp thrust. “Fuck—me too, Channie, I love you so much.” Her legs tighten around his waist, causing her heels to dig into his skin. “F-Feels s-s-so—”

“Yeah? How does it feel, baby? Tell me,” he urges, now looking down at her with a playful glint in his eyes, “use your words like a good girl.”

It’s easier said than done when he’s jamming his hips into hers like this, each precise thrust smashing his cock into the pliant spot that makes all logical thought vacate her mind. Her nails leave faint pink scratches down his arms and back as she clings to him, the only thing anchoring her amidst the bliss she’s floating in.

“Too fucked out to speak?” Chan mocks, and she feels herself gushing around him even more at his tone. “I’m nowhere done with you tonight, angel. C’mon, you can do it.”

“Fe-feels amazing,” Juliet gasps out, choking on her own moans, “feel s-so good inside me, Channie. L-Love when you fuck me…”

He smiles and rests his forehead on hers to gaze deeply into her eyes. “Good girl. Will you come for me, pretty baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants breathlessly, the pressure in her stomach building as he shows no signs of slowing down, aiming his thrusts into her sweet spot until stars dance across her vision. “Fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Her eyes roll to the back of her head when she feels his thumb gently pressing on her clit, swollen and begging for attention, before rubbing firm circles that have her falling apart, the intense pleasure finally exploding through her body as she trembles beneath him.

Smashing his lips against hers, Chan swallows the broken sobs of his name as she rides out her third orgasm of the night, the fluttering of her warm walls around his length bringing him closer to his own release.

Once her breathing evens and her body begins to relax, he carefully pulls out of her spent cunt, his still-hard cock slapping against his abs and glistening with her cum. “Princess, you’re so beautiful, and you did so well for me,” he coos, gentle fingers parting her soaked folds so he can better admire the slick dripping from her entrance.

Juliet can only manage a whimper in response, still dazed from the intense yet satisfying orgasm that she’s now putty under his touch. Her pliant state allows him to hook his arms around her legs to push them up, resting her ankles on his shoulders with her knees practically pressed to her chest.

“Fuck,” she gasps when she feels him enter her once again, burying his cock all the way to the base with ease as her core clenches around him. The new position has him reaching even deeper inside her, and she can’t help her loud cries as a new wave of pleasure washes over her. “Channie, it’s so much, you’re so d-deep, oh my God—”

“Just a little more,” he says, resuming his merciless thrusts as she whimpers and wails at the overstimulation, “you just feel so perfect, baby. Gonna make me come so hard...”

Heat prickles at her cheeks from the wet noises that bounce off the kitchen walls, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if a small puddle of her arousal has already formed on the counter. His rhythm falters and his thrusts become sloppier, a clear indication that he’s nearing his high. “Baby, ’m close, where do you want me to—”

“Inside—ngh—inside, Channie, please...”

Her words take a few seconds to sink in, but once they do he goes still and looks at her with widened eyes and flushed cheeks. “W-What?” he asks, worried he totally misheard her.

“Want you to come inside me,” she whispers, face burning as she makes the confession. While there’ve been rare occasions like tonight where they were intimate without protection, he always pulled out to finish on her, but for the longest time she’s wanted to know what it feels like if he didn’t.

He cups her cheek as he watches her face carefully for any sign of hesitation. “Are you sure, baby? Like, positive?”

“I’m sure,” she reassures. “I… I want to know what it feels like, but if you don’t want to I totally understand too—”

His cock throbs against her walls, making both of them moan in unison. “Fuck, of course I want to, I want to so fucking badly, but I really need to make sure you’re okay with it.”

“I want it,” she says earnestly, gazing into his eyes with determination, “wanna feel all of you, Channie.”

The mental image of his release dripping from her has him growing harder than ever before, and he practically whines out his next words. “Then I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you anything you want, baby.”

He barely finishes his sentence before he resumes thrusting, pulling out halfway before snapping his cock into her so roughly that her eyes roll back. The sensitivity in her core is overwhelming in the best way possible, and she knows he’s getting close again from how he clumsily kisses along her neck, his heavy breaths fanning across her skin as he chases his orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” he babbles, “gonna come inside your pretty cunt and fill you up, okay? You’re mine, right? My pretty baby.”

Chants of ‘yours’ spill from Juliet’s lips endlessly until he tips over the edge, and his hips stutter as he comes inside her, the kitchen resounding with their moans while thick, warm ropes of his release paint her walls.

He can’t stop. Low groans leave him as he continues thrusting weakly to ride out the rest of his high, his cock throbbing against her sweet spot as her core squeezes around him to milk him dry. She feels so unbelievably full and sated, the only thing on their minds being the sinful sounds of his cum being pushed back into her with every shallow thrust.

“Channie,” she whimpers, gently running her nails along his broad, muscular back, “there’s so much, you came so much… feels so good…”

He lifts his head from her shoulder, hair falling over his eyes as he gives her a grin. “It’s all for you, princess,” he coos, pressing himself deep inside her again to hear her gasp, “and you’re taking it all so well. Always so perfect for me, my good girl.”

Giggling, she pulls him in closer to kiss him sweetly. “I love you, I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” he insists as he helps her let down her sore thighs so he can massage them. “Happy Birthday, my love.”

“Thank you, baby. So…” she trails off teasingly, twirling his necklace around her finger, “what now?”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.”

Juliet guesses that hours have passed. She’s not sure, but it certainly feels like it from just how many times he’s made her come. Neither of them are able to keep their hands off each other—as soon as they’re done catching their breaths, she’s bent or flipped into a new position so they can go for yet another round.

Everything feels so wet too; their combined releases are dripping out of her and onto his lap as he fucks her senseless, bouncing her on his cock like it’s the only thing she’s meant to do. Their lips—currently locked in a messy, desperate kiss—are swollen and glossy, but they can’t bring themselves to care.

“Feeling good, baby?” Chan asks breathlessly, holding her tear-stained cheek as he thrusts up sharply to pull another whine from her.

His question barely registers in her fuzzy mind, the experienced rolls of his hips reducing her brain to a pile of mush until the only word she knows for certain is his name. “Good, s’good, amazing,” she finally slurs, hardly coherent in her blissed-out state.

“Yeah? You feel me in here, princess?” His palm rests over her lower stomach and lightly presses down for emphasis, and the resulting moan she lets out has his cock twitching against her sweet spot, the sensation making him hiss as he clutches her waist tighter.

Juliet sighs contentedly. “Mm… feels s’full, you’re so big, Channie.” Her words encourage him to go faster and harder, driving his cock into her cunt over and over again while nipping at her neck to ease the tension.

“You feel so perfect too, baby, so soft and warm, and so fucking wet,” he smiles at the whimper she lets out from the praise, “you’re always so good to me. Wanna make my pretty baby feel this good forever, will you let me?”

“Yesyesyesyes—fuck, Channie, I think ’m close again, wanna come so bad. More, wan’ more,…”

His hand moves from her cheek to her chest, pinching and rolling the hardened nipples between his fingers. “Then come, come for me whenever you want.”

Arching into his touch, her pleas for him not to stop fill the bedroom as pressure builds in her gut, a telltale sign that another mind-numbing orgasm is just around the corner. When his hand finally finds her clit and starts rubbing the way he knows she likes, her body tenses, lips parting in a silent scream as the intense pleasure crashes down on her.

“Baby, look at me,” he coos, gently tapping her cheek until her eyes flutter open. “That’s my girl, want you to look at me when I make you come.”

Her hazy, unfocused eyes meet his twinkling ones, and despite the overwhelming ecstasy that consumes her body, the clear tenderness and affection he communicates through his gaze and the way he holds her warms her heart. Thighs twitching with the intensity of her release, Juliet leans in to kiss him, her tongue shyly playing with his while the aftershocks rack through her body.

“There you go, there you go,” Chan mumbles sweetly against her lips as he talks her through her orgasm, “you’re doing so, so well, baby. Remember to breathe too, okay? Such a pretty girl, and all for me. God, I love you so much, you know that? Gonna make sure you’ll be dripping with my cum for days—”

His pace grows erratic with his approaching orgasm, and with a few more thrusts he empties his fourth load into her, muffling his moans into her shoulder. His release filling her spasming core prolongs her bliss as he continues whispering praises into her skin, weakly rocking his hips to ride out the rest of his high.

Collapsed into each other’s arms, they both spend the next several minutes catching their breaths with him still buried inside her. Once he’s regained some energy, he carefully helps her off him and turns her around rather than laying her on the bed. It doesn’t take long for her to realise his intentions.

“Channie,” she whimpers as she locks eyes with him through the full-length mirror in front of them. “Wh—”

“Want you to look at yourself,” he says, pressing a kiss to her temple, “see how pretty you look all ruined like this.”

The sight before her is filthy—her sitting on his lap with her thighs spread over his again, only this time they’re both facing the mirror. Their hair is messy from the past few hours, and their bodies are completely covered in marks from each other. She flushes at their new position that gives them a clear view of her sore, swollen cunt.

His fingers gently spread her folds apart, and they watch with lust-filled eyes as his cum begins seeping out of her entrance, mixing with her own release. She lets out a high-pitched squeal when he drags his fingers along her folds, thighs closing around his hand before he holds them apart with a firm grip.

“So messy,” Chan coos, spreading their release all over her core, “my messy girl.” The smirk on his face is smug and unfairly attractive as he rubs the slick on her sensitive clit, and her core clenches around nothing as moans escape her lips, causing more of his cum to leak out of her.

Immediately, his fingers collect the creamy liquid before pushing it back into her. “Take it all, okay, baby?” he murmurs sweetly. “It’s all for you, need to keep it inside like a good girl.” Choking out an overwhelmed sob, Juliet nods as her body trembles in his arms from the pleasurable overstimulation, letting him continue to play with her cunt until one last orgasm takes over.

“Fuck, you’re incredible, baby. You’re so hot, you did so, so well for me. ’m so proud of you…” The praises spilling from his lips are endless as he helps her ride it out, and with a shaky breath she leans back into his broad chest, completely fucked out and satiated.

Carefully, he lays her down on the bed, making sure she’s comfortable before pressing kisses to everywhere his lips can reach while his hands massage her tired thighs. “My love, how do you feel?”

His heart skips a beat when despite her physical exhaustion, she giggles and smiles up at him with sparkling eyes like he just brought her the moon. “Feeling like I just had the best birthday of my life.”

“Hearing that makes me so happy, you have no idea,” Chan tells her fondly. “I’ll go get a towel for us and run a bath, okay?”

A small frown appears on his face when she wordlessly gives his arm a tug, but it disappears the second he realises what she wants, and he flops down on the mattress next to her with a soft grunt. Juliet lets out a satisfied hum, immediately nestling up against his side to savour his warmth.

“Later,” she mumbles, nuzzling her face into his chest, “let’s stay like this for a while first.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, his arm draping over her waist at the same time to keep her close. How is he supposed to say ‘no’ to that?

*hides* they’re so filthyyyyyy oml 🧎🏻‍♀️ straight up bunnies

again, your warm reminder that this is all purely fictional so practise safe sex irl please!!!!!

if you liked this, let me know what you think or feel free to send more chanliet thoughts/asks hehe <3

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.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Tag Lists | Next Chapter

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. 

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Tag Lists | Next Chapter

you look like you’ve seen a ghost

a ghostface au

characters: atsumu and reader; post! timeskip

wc: 2.1k

warnings: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS Y’ALL. THIS IS THE DARKEST THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN SO PLEASE PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! use of pet names such as ‘doll’ and ‘my love’, slightly suggestive early on in the fic but nothing too explicit, mentions of reader having to use a safe word, there is a knife involved so there will be graphic content since the knife is used to harm reader, stabbing, harming, chasing, overpowering, blood, violence, death; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! this is heavily ooc for atsumu

a/n:  i debated for a long time whether i’d post this or not, so i just hope people heed my warnings. this is loosely based off of the scream movies, which is why it’s being posted the day of the official release of scream 5! i love horror movies y’all that’s why i felt like writing this. also i watched scream 5 yesterday since there was a showing with a live q&a after the movie, and y’all david arquette was so giggly it warmed my heart! not proofread! and thank you @haikyutiehoe​ for beta reading <3

Did you ever think you’d find yourself in a situation like this? No, not in the slightest. Writhing beneath Atsumu, wriggling in his firm grasp in a feeble attempt to slip away. His hands, warm and rough from callouses, held you close. There was no escaping. He had tossed the mask aside long ago, its empty eyes now mocking. Tears welled in your eyes while Atsumu’s glimmered with a craze you had never seen before, not even when he was dead set on winning a match.

“Atsumu, this isn’t funny anymore. Cut it out!” Your voice was hoarse from yelling, only you had been faking it for the most part, thinking Atsumu was just messing around and trying to scare you. Only when the very real, very sharp knife he pulled out from behind his back was held dangerously close to your jugular did it start to dawn on you. But by then he had already pinned you to the bed, and you remember his laugh had suddenly seemed more menacing, more daunting.

See, when you asked Atsumu to watch your all-time favorite slasher film with you, you didn’t think it’d come to this. So really, you’re to blame for your own death…and in a way, the fall of a famous volleyball player that would definitely end up in jail for brutally slaughtering his girlfriend. That is, if he was found guilty. Atsumu is as cunning as he is handsome, but most don’t see it. He hides it well under his boyish charm and dazzling smile. Besides, that accent gets him favors left and right. The judge would probably go weak at the knees and give Atsumu nothing more than a slap on the wrist if there just so happened to be enough evidence to take him to trial.

After having dated him for almost a year, you realized you had never watched the movie with him. You had mentioned it to him a couple of times before, but he never had the time to sit down and enjoy the movie with you. He was always busy, and though you knew that this is what comes with dating someone such as Atsumu, that didn’t mean you were any less bummed about it. So, when Atsumu went up to you one day during his off-season and asked you to put on the movie, you were excited to say the least. And he was hooked. You both ended up binging the rest of the movies until the early morning. You remember looking out the window and noticing the orange and pinkish hues in the sky after the movie marathon. You can almost hear the way he laughed then-an astonishing difference from the way he was laughing now.

And that’s where his fascination with Ghostface started. It was laughable really, because you had gone through this insane phase a few years prior. You remember how quickly you lost count on how many times you watched the first movie. You were just glad he was able to enjoy the movies you enjoy so much. So, when he came home one day with a Ghostface costume, you didn’t think much of it. You thought it was pretty neat actually since it wasn’t one of those cheap costumes. Who knew he’d end up taking it too far?

It started out subtle-the scaring. He’d put on the costume and hide in the hallway closet or under the bed. He’d jump out at you or grab your ankles, anything to get a reaction out of you. Of course, you’d scream because even after the countless number of times that he’d scared you half to death you’d still fall for it. You’d both laugh it off though, and more often than not it would lead to a heavy make out session on the closest surface. Not that you had a thing for the mask, more so you were always up for a quickie with Atsumu. Actually, you were up for anything so long as Atsumu was there. If he was having fun who were you to deny him of his harmless pranks?

To Atsumu this was a rush-chasing you was a rush. And he found himself loving the surge of adrenaline that coursed through his body as you screamed-however fake those screams may be. After a while, he’d find himself gripping you a little tighter, pulling your hair a little harder just to see you wince and suck in a breath of air as you whined about how he was too rough. And he wanted to be rougher, to see just what your limits were. Of course, you had a safe word, and you found yourself using it at an alarming rate. He wasn’t trying to please you anymore; he was trying to break you. He wanted to see how far you could bend until you snapped.

The increasing red flags should have been enough to get you to pack your bags. And you were ready to. You just wanted to have one conversation with Atsumu to talk about whatever it is he was feeling, and you hoped you’d both be able to work it out before you resorted to leaving. He promised he’d stop, and true to his word he did. He wrapped you around his finger and had you eating out of the palm of his hand. He let weeks go by, being on his best behavior. It was so sudden, so drastic you’d be lying if you said you weren’t concerned. But he had you so wonderfully wrapped up in a blanket of ignorance that when he brought up the mask again weeks later you played along. After all, Ghostface was your favorite slasher.

Oh, how you’d regret showing him the movie. And you do. You regret it more than you’ve ever regretted anything in your entire life. Because with the way Atsumu eyed you, with a look in his eyes you’d never seen before, his lips curling into the most godawful smile you’d ever witnessed, you knew if you didn’t run out of your shared apartment alive within the next few minutes you wouldn’t be walking out at all.

Atsumu tapped both of your cheeks with the tip of the knife, a mocking lilt to his voice as he repeated what you said. He dug the tip of the knife into your left cheek just enough to form a dimple. “Cut what out, love?”

His head was tilted, an almost innocent look in his eyes but you knew better. And as he hovered over you, dragging the knife along your neck and down to your stomach, you kneed him in the groin, pushing Atsumu off of you before making a run for your front door. Luckily your bedroom door had been left open, and as you ran down the hallway you heaved a sigh of relief as you welcomed the view of the front door.

However, Atsumu had all his bases covered. He had deadbolted the front door. When? Who knows. How you could have missed that is beyond you. Nonetheless, you jiggled the door knob, but of course the door didn’t budge. You continued to jiggle the door knob, desperately hoping the door would magically open. Your heart was pounding in your ears so loud that you almost missed that behind you, a slightly hunched over Atsumu was shaking the keys dangling from his fingertips. Your blood ran cold.

“What’s the matter, doll? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” And despite his slightly pained expression, you could hear the smugness in his voice and the slightest of smirks tugging at the corner of his lips-a smirk that said he had won and you had lost.

You began to bang on the door, screaming out for help in hopes that the neighbors would hear you. And he laughed. A laugh so awful you couldn’t help but let out a sob. You turned around and pressed your back against the door. As long as you had your eyes on him you could defend yourself.

“So, what are ya’ gonna do now, love?” You shivered at the way the word love rolled off his tongue. What was once the sweetest of pet names now dripped with a hate you didn’t know he harbored; his tone laced with a venom you were sure could kill you. And as he stalked toward you, you decided to fight. Really because there was nothing else you could do. There was no use in letting him close the shortening gap between the two of you, and closing it yourself would surprise him and hopefully have him lose his balance, if only slightly.

So, you lunged at him once he was close enough to you. But just as Atsumu is cunning, he had been enamored with you. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew all of your tells and what the slightest of change in your expression meant. He knew what to watch out for. So, when you were mid-lunge and momentum ran its course, moving you forward no matter what you wanted to do, all he had to do was let you fall onto the knife. It was simple, really, and required little to no effort on his part.

You inhaled a ragged breath that sounded nothing like you, and the pain was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You held onto the hilt of the knife, hoping he wouldn’t pull it out. Your hands covered his own, and you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his, albeit was a little hard since you had to squint your eyes so you could hold a steady gaze. Or at least you hoped it was steady, you couldn’t really tell. Your mouth was gaping in a silent scream. Nothing was coming out and you just can’t seem to find your voice again. Tears fell freely as you desperately hoped he’d regain a semblance of sanity and call the ambulance, but he didn’t. He slowly pulled out the knife, and you felt an unfamiliar warmth run down your stomach. You knew it was your own blood, but you were too afraid to look.

You also couldn’t bring yourself to take your hands off of Atsumu. No matter how repulsed you were, his hands were the ones keeping you upright. You just couldn’t find the strength to fight against him.

“Atsumu please. Please just call the ambulance. Leave me here. I promise I won’t tell anyone; I swear!” You hoped you had gotten that across. You weren’t so sure if the yelling was in your head or if you had actually managed to speak above a soft whisper. One of the few things you’re absolutely sure about at the moment is that your throat feels like it’s been swallowing handfuls of sand.

Atsumu shook his head as if he were scolding a child. “Oh, my love. How right ya’ are ‘bout that. Of course, ya’ won’t tell anyone.” He grunted as he slid the knife back into the same wound, this time twisting it left and right. You screamed, but it sounded nothing like you. At least you think you screamed. You were positive you were having an out of body experience because you couldn’t figure what was real and what wasn’t; you were on the verge of blacking out. Your knees began to buckle, but Atsumu’s hold on you was firm. You weren’t going anywhere, but you wished he’d let you fall. Your head fell back as you were fighting to keep your vision clear. Everything seemed so hazy, and Atsumu looked like he was farther than he actually was.

“Ya’ know why ya’ won’t tell anyone?” He left the knife inside of you so he could grip the hair on the back of your neck to lift your head up. “Pay attention, doll.” He eyes scanned your face before he pressed a kiss to your cheek. His lips trailed up to the shell of your ear, and he repeated his question, this time barely above a whisper and with an edge in his tone that was no longer mockingly sweet. “Ya’ wanna know why ya’ won’t tell anyone?”

You knew Atsumu well enough to know he was expecting a response. So, with the bit of consciousness you had left, you gave him what he wanted by playing his little game. “Why?” You whispered.

Or at least you thought you whispered it.

You could feel the smirk against your ear, and all you could think of was how you wanted this to be over.

Atsumu let go of your head so he could pull the knife out once more. You didn’t have the energy to scream, all you could do was go limp in his hold. And the last words you heard were delivered as he landed the fatal blow.

“Because, my love, ya’ won’t be alive to tell anyone.”

Video Girl | 2 | Erwin Smith

Summary: Despite your best efforts, a year after getting your Masters you are still struggling to get hired within your dream industry. But bills don’t pay themselves and groceries don’t magically show up on your door step, so you turn to the internet for your main source of income.

Erwin, a Director at a cyber security company constantly stressed and hitting a point of loneliness he hadn’t previously thought possible turns to the internet to fill that void and finds comfort in the most unexpected place.

Author’s Note: Saw a reader or two say they wanted a part 2, so here’s a part 2. ;) 

No smut in this one, as a heads up (keep an eye out for pt. 3), just some story building but I love it. Also, we’re adding a few familiar faces to the mix, hope you enjoy!

Words: 3.9k

Tag: Modern AU. Office AU. Cis-Fem Reader. Tall-Coded Reader. Athletic-Coded Reader. Sex Work. MDNI. 18+ Only

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

Feeling a little bit bad about the night before, only because Nana had expressed that maybe the two of them had been pushing Erwin a little harder than they should have, Mike made his way to Erwin’s office the next day hoping to check in and make sure that all was right between them. Even though he hadn’t seemed particularly angry, and had even smiled a few times at some of their jokes he had been more stoic than he usually would with them, a clear sign that he had been uncomfortable to a degree. 

Keep reading

Hey yall! I've been thinking about it for a bit and I think I'm gonna make my profile minors dni! If you are my mutual and for some reason don't want to show your age in your profile dm me about it and that's fine! Everyone else I'll start erasing in 24 hours if you don't have your age in your profile or somewhere visible again so sorry yall but I just don't feel comfortable knowing minors could possibly see NSFW/Suggestive reposts or posts in my blog

The purge of this profile starts now lmao if you are my mutual I'll dm you directly in case you don't have an age in your profile and don't want to make it public for any reason

Hey yall! I've been thinking about it for a bit and I think I'm gonna make my profile minors dni! If you are my mutual and for some reason don't want to show your age in your profile dm me about it and that's fine! Everyone else I'll start erasing in 24 hours if you don't have your age in your profile or somewhere visible again so sorry yall but I just don't feel comfortable knowing minors could possibly see NSFW/Suggestive reposts or posts in my blog

hey:D ‼️ slashers x a femme bimbo reader? i would love michael, tommy, vincent+ bo, and jennifer? (whoever else u choose is fine) please and thank you!

Bimbo S/O Headcanons | Multiple Slashers (18+)

thank you for requesting, anon!

reader is assumed as being female and a bimbo

there’s no sex described, but there’s a lot of sexual talk around the reader, hence the smut tag

this includes : billy lenz, brahms heelshire, carrie white, jennifer check, michael myers, the sinclair twins & thomas hewitt

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

my slashers-only blog can be found here!

billy lenz

billy is a pervert by nature and would have sexualised you irrespective of how you acted or what you wore (when there’s a will, there’s a way and all of that)

but you being a bimbo made it all so much easier and so much more enjoyable for the unknown voyeur

it seemed like everything you did have him an erection as he stared at you through cracks in the ceiling and walls and doors

how your short pink skirt would ride up and show your pretty panties whenever you bent over or sat down

how your tight white shirt did little to hide your breasts or the fact that you’d opted to go braless

the way you frequently stumbled and tripped in those pink heels — exposing your ass to him more often than even he could have wished for

all of that was enough of a dream come true, but the moment you picked up the phone and he got a true exposure to your delightfully ditzy and naively trusting persona this man was a goner

you were his dream-girl through-and-through

his pretty piggy who’s only good at taking billy’s thick cock into her dumb holes

his bimbo that has no chance of escaping him or his lewd calls and comments

of course you were his the moment you stepped foot in his house, but you continuously exposing yourself for him (as he perceived it, anyway) just gave him the go ahead to claim you entirely

and you’d best believe that he’ll want you dressing as sluttily as possible at all times

bo sinclair

although he tends to present himself as the perfect southern gentleman at first glance, bo is a verifiable pervert with pretty much no shame

it would have taken a remarkable amount of self restraint for him to keep up the act in front of your group — especially with you looking and acting like that

tight shirt, mini skirt and a body that he just wanted to lose himself in

god it was like you were made for him, but that could wait until he had splintered your group

but until then, he sated himself by glancing down your top whenever you leaned forwards, lifting up your skirt whenever he got the chance and catching you whenever you tripped (getting away with many less-than-innocent touches due to your obliviousness)

his advances get more and more aggressive and obvious as your group is picked off one by one until you’re the only one left untouched and somehow still oblivious to your situation

and bo finds himself torn between keeping you around as an alibi and a good fuck, or just using and discarding you to vincent as he’d done before

in the end, of course, he ends up deciding to let you live whilst putting on a whole show of wooing you so that you think you’re staying willingly — justifying it by saying you’ll help future “tourists” feel at home

but his brothers can tell that he’s grown more than a little fond of your presence (beyond, even, your sex appeal and naïveté — shockingly to all involved, he actually seems to care)

brahms heelshire

you were not what anyone in the heelshire family were looking for when they sought out a nanny

you were clumsy and naive; not being able to do much in education or housework without inevitably messing something up

you were a veritable slut without the intent; with tiny skirts and translucent shirts that could barely even be considered clothing and that certainly weren’t conducive with the image they wanted to present as a family

but, to brahms, you were perfect

the perfectly dainty damsel in distress for him to leer and gawk at from behind the walls as you went about your day hopelessly attempting to abide by his schedule

and whilst you frequently forgot certain rules, he let you off — equally because he knew you weren’t acting intentionally and because he loved watching you too much to let you go

his favourite times of day were those that necessitated you coming into contact with water or bending over because they gave him the most wonderful views of your body that often appeared in his masturbation fantasies

loves the way you coo over and jokingly scold his doll — actually just loves hearing you say his name and talk to “him”

is much more possessive and protective when it comes to anyone bringing supplies to the house because of, well, everything about you

like it’s all well and good having a pretty little thing with nice tits and ass to stare at all day and night, but issues arise when somebody else gets to look at what’s his

and even if you’re too ditzy and naive to recognise the grocery boy’s intentions, brahms is all too aware of what goes on in a man’s head

and he may just take it upon himself to show everyone, including you, what happens when someone touches what belongs to him

carrie white

carrie was brought up in a highly conservative christian background — so, needless to say, your presence itself would be a significant shock to the poor girl

everything about you is a complete upturning of the values she was raised with, from your personality to the way you dressed

god, the way you dressed was sin personified and every time she caught herself staring she’d mutter a quick prayer for forgiveness

tight white shirts, short pink skirts and high pink heels — a recipe for disaster that she found herself drawn to

those miniskirts would so frequently ride up your thighs and expose your tiny pink panties to anyone who dared to look whenever you stalled in readjusting them (though they were always short enough to expose those thighs of yours)

those shirts that would turn wonderfully transparent whenever you got even slightly damp (be that through rain or spillage) and exposed your otherwise bare chest to prying eyes

those heels that were the cause of so many incidents like those above

and, values be damned, she was more thankful for your obliviousness than anything else as she didn’t know what she’d do if you recognised the way her peers leered at you

how she looked at you with so much lust, with eyes that lingered too long to be innocent on your chest and the apex of your thighs and your ass

how she thought of you whenever she touched herself, one hand balled up in a fist that she bit down on to muffle herself whilst the other crept between her legs to toy with her puffy lips and swollen clit and seeping hole

you, in all of your naïveté and clumsiness, were at the centre of all of her fantasies and she wanted nothing more than to keep you in the dark about it all for as long as possible

jennifer check

you and her will almost inevitably end up sharing clothing and/or accessories because your styles match so well

date nights will consist of you sharing skincare routines and doing each other’s makeup

she uses your nature and appearance to her benefit, ramping up her sexuality with you in public to help lure in men for her to kill and feed on

she repays you with plentiful sex, affection and spoiling with money she gets from her “boyfriends”

will shamelessly ogle you whenever you lean forwards or bend over and gets a kick out of flustering you just as much as when she gets away with being a complete perv

gropes you in public like all of the time and usually plays it off as innocent or accidental — would stop if you asked, though

50/50 whether she lets you in on what she’s doing so you can help or strings you along as an accomplice

loves how oblivious you are and gets off on the power dynamic between you and her as the more experienced, dominant partner

buys you the most transparent, slutty, short clothes that she can find for you both so you can match, she can get food, and she can see as much of you as possible at all times

she will shift targets on a dime if she notices someone getting too close to comfort and taking advantage you in the same way she does — and she makes a point to show everyone that you’re very much so taken

makes you wear underwear that she chooses so anyone else ogling you gets a blatant reminder of who you belong to

michael myers (any)

initially michael found your demeanour more annoying and inconvenient than anything else

you were attractive, of course, but your clumsiness and obliviousness just made him frustrated — made him want to stalk you to force you to notice the word around you

and he did. for well over a month

even going into your home and standing over you as you slept, rearranging things in your house, anything to get you to notice that something was up

but you never did

even when he confronted you on your walk home and started following you, very obviously, you just chatted with him as if nothing was wrong and how much of a coincidence it was you were going the same way

you even complimented his mask — which immediately made you more tolerable

and almost made up for the dozen times he’d watched you trip over thin air or otherwise expose yourself to people unintentionally

after a while he even became somewhat protective, targeting people that were sexually aggressive or otherwise weird towards you to get his frustrations out before returning to his routine of stalking you

at one point he began to masturbate to the sight of you — which he’d never been able to do given his life being spent entirely in an institution with no privacy

he takes full advantage of your naïveté to tease and manipulate you, especially after you realise who he is

he just signs that he won’t hurt you if you let him stay with you and don’t tell anyone he’s there

and you oblige

and he doesn’t hurt you

the only real change is having to deal with him shamelessly staring at you all of the time, but after you get together you don’t really mind so it’s not really that big of a deal

thomas hewitt

everything about you seems perfectly engineered to turn this poor man into a flustered, red-in-the-face, 404-ing mess

you’re not exactly what his mother had raised him to look for in a woman but that made you somehow more attractive? like a forbidden fruit in a sense

your high high heels that you constantly tripped over weren’t exactly made for life in their rural town but your confidence in them made him reluctant to have you change

those teeny-tiny shorts and skirts left nothing to the imagination when it came to those smooth, long legs and those brightly coloured thongs you wore and caused him a lot of trouble whenever he caught a glimpse of you and ended up dropping his tools

your thin white shirts that hoyt always managed to get wet somehow were incredibly form fitting and gave him the perfect view of your chest

but whilst your body and sexuality haunted his mind and left him wanting and guilty when he’d reach between his legs for relief at the end of the day — it was your demeanour that captured his heart and endeared him to you

your naïveté kept you up and out of the way of the family’s dirtier dealings and meant they didn’t have to hide anything too hard as you believed whatever they promised to you

he felt bad for lying but he also knew it was a necessary evil

and your clumsy nature meant that any guests felt more at ease around you, joking around and letting their guard down to flirt with you which made his job a whole lot easier

so, needless to say, you were definitely a good investment for the family even if you kept unintentionally torturing poor thomas with your displays of sexuality and femininity throughout the house

vincent sinclair

you immediately caught vincent’s eye when you entered ambrose because of how different you were from your companions

your clothes were more revealing and feminine: all light colours, cropped edges, frills, pastels and the whole nine yards

definitely a far cry from the muted neutrals and heavy jumpers that he usually saw

more artistically inspiring, barbie like even

it made you attractive, certainly, but it also made him want to preserve you as an art piece even more — he wanted to capture your beauty permanently

but then your personality endeared you to him

you were immediately kind and trusting towards his twin, which painted you as a very naïve person but the genuine way you defended him and scolded your friends for interrupting the “funeral” caught his heart

hell, even bo seemed taken a back by your demeanour (before trying to look down your shirt, of course)

and then there was the clumsiness that gave him the perfect view of each and every angle of your body that those short, tight clothes did little to hide as you stumbled and tripped over your heels in the museum

even gentlemen have their limits and, from what he justified as artistic curiosity, he indulged himself in plenty of looks

you even made him chuckle a few times when you apologised to the figures you fell onto

all of it, to him, made you seem so much better than your companions — someone worth saving and keeping as a living art piece in ambrose

it wouldn’t be hard to convince his brothers, they were always talking about needing some company

and, beside, you didn’t strike him as the sort to be hard to lie to

so if you believed your friends abandoned you, maybe you’d be happy to stay with them — and, maybe, you’d never have to learn about the truth of ambrose and it’s wax museum

and he’d get to ogle you all he liked from behind the safety of his mask (only as an artist, of course! he’d never sexualise you… or at least he tries to claim as much to himself)

hey:D ‼️ slashers x a femme bimbo reader? i would love michael, tommy, vincent+ bo, and jennifer? (whoever else u choose is fine) please and thank you!

Bimbo S/O Headcanons | Multiple Slashers (18+)

thank you for requesting, anon!

reader is assumed as being female and a bimbo

there’s no sex described, but there’s a lot of sexual talk around the reader, hence the smut tag

this includes : billy lenz, brahms heelshire, carrie white, jennifer check, michael myers, the sinclair twins & thomas hewitt

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

billy lenz

billy is a pervert by nature and would have sexualised you irrespective of how you acted or what you wore (when there’s a will, there’s a way and all of that)

but you being a bimbo made it all so much easier and so much more enjoyable for the unknown voyeur

it seemed like everything you did have him an erection as he stared at you through cracks in the ceiling and walls and doors

how your short pink skirt would ride up and show your pretty panties whenever you bent over or sat down

how your tight white shirt did little to hide your breasts or the fact that you’d opted to go braless

the way you frequently stumbled and tripped in those pink heels — exposing your ass to him more often than even he could have wished for

all of that was enough of a dream come true, but the moment you picked up the phone and he got a true exposure to your delightfully ditzy and naively trusting persona this man was a goner

you were his dream-girl through-and-through

his pretty piggy who’s only good at taking billy’s thick cock into her dumb holes

his bimbo that has no chance of escaping him or his lewd calls and comments

of course you were his the moment you stepped foot in his house, but you continuously exposing yourself for him (as he perceived it, anyway) just gave him the go ahead to claim you entirely

and you’d best believe that he’ll want you dressing as sluttily as possible at all times

bo sinclair

although he tends to present himself as the perfect southern gentleman at first glance, bo is a verifiable pervert with pretty much no shame

it would have taken a remarkable amount of self restraint for him to keep up the act in front of your group — especially with you looking and acting like that

tight shirt, mini skirt and a body that he just wanted to lose himself in

god it was like you were made for him, but that could wait until he had splintered your group

but until then, he sated himself by glancing down your top whenever you leaned forwards, lifting up your skirt whenever he got the chance and catching you whenever you tripped (getting away with many less-than-innocent touches due to your obliviousness)

his advances get more and more aggressive and obvious as your group is picked off one by one until you’re the only one left untouched and somehow still oblivious to your situation

and bo finds himself torn between keeping you around as an alibi and a good fuck, or just using and discarding you to vincent as he’d done before

in the end, of course, he ends up deciding to let you live whilst putting on a whole show of wooing you so that you think you’re staying willingly — justifying it by saying you’ll help future “tourists” feel at home

but his brothers can tell that he’s grown more than a little fond of your presence (beyond, even, your sex appeal and naïveté — shockingly to all involved, he actually seems to care)

brahms heelshire

you were not what anyone in the heelshire family were looking for when they sought out a nanny

you were clumsy and naive; not being able to do much in education or housework without inevitably messing something up

you were a veritable slut without the intent; with tiny skirts and translucent shirts that could barely even be considered clothing and that certainly weren’t conducive with the image they wanted to present as a family

but, to brahms, you were perfect

the perfectly dainty damsel in distress for him to leer and gawk at from behind the walls as you went about your day hopelessly attempting to abide by his schedule

and whilst you frequently forgot certain rules, he let you off — equally because he knew you weren’t acting intentionally and because he loved watching you too much to let you go

his favourite times of day were those that necessitated you coming into contact with water or bending over because they gave him the most wonderful views of your body that often appeared in his masturbation fantasies

loves the way you coo over and jokingly scold his doll — actually just loves hearing you say his name and talk to “him”

is much more possessive and protective when it comes to anyone bringing supplies to the house because of, well, everything about you

like it’s all well and good having a pretty little thing with nice tits and ass to stare at all day and night, but issues arise when somebody else gets to look at what’s his

and even if you’re too ditzy and naive to recognise the grocery boy’s intentions, brahms is all too aware of what goes on in a man’s head

and he may just take it upon himself to show everyone, including you, what happens when someone touches what belongs to him

carrie white

carrie was brought up in a highly conservative christian background — so, needless to say, your presence itself would be a significant shock to the poor girl

everything about you is a complete upturning of the values she was raised with, from your personality to the way you dressed

god, the way you dressed was sin personified and every time she caught herself staring she’d mutter a quick prayer for forgiveness

tight white shirts, short pink skirts and high pink heels — a recipe for disaster that she found herself drawn to

those miniskirts would so frequently ride up your thighs and expose your tiny pink panties to anyone who dared to look whenever you stalled in readjusting them (though they were always short enough to expose those thighs of yours)

those shirts that would turn wonderfully transparent whenever you got even slightly damp (be that through rain or spillage) and exposed your otherwise bare chest to prying eyes

those heels that were the cause of so many incidents like those above

and, values be damned, she was more thankful for your obliviousness than anything else as she didn’t know what she’d do if you recognised the way her peers leered at you

how she looked at you with so much lust, with eyes that lingered too long to be innocent on your chest and the apex of your thighs and your ass

how she thought of you whenever she touched herself, one hand balled up in a fist that she bit down on to muffle herself whilst the other crept between her legs to toy with her puffy lips and swollen clit and seeping hole

you, in all of your naïveté and clumsiness, were at the centre of all of her fantasies and she wanted nothing more than to keep you in the dark about it all for as long as possible

jennifer check

you and her will almost inevitably end up sharing clothing and/or accessories because your styles match so well

date nights will consist of you sharing skincare routines and doing each other’s makeup

she uses your nature and appearance to her benefit, ramping up her sexuality with you in public to help lure in men for her to kill and feed on

she repays you with plentiful sex, affection and spoiling with money she gets from her “boyfriends”

will shamelessly ogle you whenever you lean forwards or bend over and gets a kick out of flustering you just as much as when she gets away with being a complete perv

gropes you in public like all of the time and usually plays it off as innocent or accidental — would stop if you asked, though

50/50 whether she lets you in on what she’s doing so you can help or strings you along as an accomplice

loves how oblivious you are and gets off on the power dynamic between you and her as the more experienced, dominant partner

buys you the most transparent, slutty, short clothes that she can find for you both so you can match, she can get food, and she can see as much of you as possible at all times

she will shift targets on a dime if she notices someone getting too close to comfort and taking advantage you in the same way she does — and she makes a point to show everyone that you’re very much so taken

makes you wear underwear that she chooses so anyone else ogling you gets a blatant reminder of who you belong to

michael myers (any)

initially michael found your demeanour more annoying and inconvenient than anything else

you were attractive, of course, but your clumsiness and obliviousness just made him frustrated — made him want to stalk you to force you to notice the word around you

and he did. for well over a month

even going into your home and standing over you as you slept, rearranging things in your house, anything to get you to notice that something was up

but you never did

even when he confronted you on your walk home and started following you, very obviously, you just chatted with him as if nothing was wrong and how much of a coincidence it was you were going the same way

you even complimented his mask — which immediately made you more tolerable

and almost made up for the dozen times he’d watched you trip over thin air or otherwise expose yourself to people unintentionally

after a while he even became somewhat protective, targeting people that were sexually aggressive or otherwise weird towards you to get his frustrations out before returning to his routine of stalking you

at one point he began to masturbate to the sight of you — which he’d never been able to do given his life being spent entirely in an institution with no privacy

he takes full advantage of your naïveté to tease and manipulate you, especially after you realise who he is

he just signs that he won’t hurt you if you let him stay with you and don’t tell anyone he’s there

and you oblige

and he doesn’t hurt you

the only real change is having to deal with him shamelessly staring at you all of the time, but after you get together you don’t really mind so it’s not really that big of a deal

thomas hewitt

everything about you seems perfectly engineered to turn this poor man into a flustered, red-in-the-face, 404-ing mess

you’re not exactly what his mother had raised him to look for in a woman but that made you somehow more attractive? like a forbidden fruit in a sense

your high high heels that you constantly tripped over weren’t exactly made for life in their rural town but your confidence in them made him reluctant to have you change

those teeny-tiny shorts and skirts left nothing to the imagination when it came to those smooth, long legs and those brightly coloured thongs you wore and caused him a lot of trouble whenever he caught a glimpse of you and ended up dropping his tools

your thin white shirts that hoyt always managed to get wet somehow were incredibly form fitting and gave him the perfect view of your chest

but whilst your body and sexuality haunted his mind and left him wanting and guilty when he’d reach between his legs for relief at the end of the day — it was your demeanour that captured his heart and endeared him to you

your naïveté kept you up and out of the way of the family’s dirtier dealings and meant they didn’t have to hide anything too hard as you believed whatever they promised to you

he felt bad for lying but he also knew it was a necessary evil

and your clumsy nature meant that any guests felt more at ease around you, joking around and letting their guard down to flirt with you which made his job a whole lot easier

so, needless to say, you were definitely a good investment for the family even if you kept unintentionally torturing poor thomas with your displays of sexuality and femininity throughout the house

vincent sinclair

you immediately caught vincent’s eye when you entered ambrose because of how different you were from your companions

your clothes were more revealing and feminine: all light colours, cropped edges, frills, pastels and the whole nine yards

definitely a far cry from the muted neutrals and heavy jumpers that he usually saw

more artistically inspiring, barbie like even

it made you attractive, certainly, but it also made him want to preserve you as an art piece even more — he wanted to capture your beauty permanently

but then your personality endeared you to him

you were immediately kind and trusting towards his twin, which painted you as a very naïve person but the genuine way you defended him and scolded your friends for interrupting the “funeral” caught his heart

hell, even bo seemed taken a back by your demeanour (before trying to look down your shirt, of course)

and then there was the clumsiness that gave him the perfect view of each and every angle of your body that those short, tight clothes did little to hide as you stumbled and tripped over your heels in the museum

even gentlemen have their limits and, from what he justified as artistic curiosity, he indulged himself in plenty of looks

you even made him chuckle a few times when you apologised to the figures you fell onto

all of it, to him, made you seem so much better than your companions — someone worth saving and keeping as a living art piece in ambrose

it wouldn’t be hard to convince his brothers, they were always talking about needing some company

and, beside, you didn’t strike him as the sort to be hard to lie to

so if you believed your friends abandoned you, maybe you’d be happy to stay with them — and, maybe, you’d never have to learn about the truth of ambrose and it’s wax museum

and he’d get to ogle you all he liked from behind the safety of his mask (only as an artist, of course! he’d never sexualise you… or at least he tries to claim as much to himself)

telling someone to edge is so so hot, but so is denying someone to edge. they aren't even begging to come they know they don't deserve that at least not yet but they're so desperate they want to at least lose control until they can't anymore, but they've yet to earn even that. Edging is a reward they've yet to earn.

right now the idea of clamping my nipples and fucking my bed post sounds too painful so I guess I should probably only play with my nipples and think about what a horny slut I am until I'm begging for the pain.

thinking about a girl just desperately humping my docs. not even allowed to come. blissed out sensation drunk, humiliating herself for me.

So, I realized I havent been explicitly clear, but

THIS IS NOT A BLOG FOR MINORS

I realize I have not been upkeeping that, but just so everyone knows, if you dont have your age in your bio, and you interact with any of my content that that is not considered SFW, I will be blocking you. If you are under the age of 18, and you interact with my content that is not considered SFW, I will block you.

I will also be going back and checking every single person who has interacted with my stuff, and it may take a while, but I will be checking.

I am putting this out there because even though I label all my works with emojis that correlate with how SFW a work is, I understand that it is not fool-proof. People will be people, and they will do what they want.

I'm sorry for such a serious post, but it needed to be said.

coniglietta - Yandere!Risotto x reader

Some analog horror!risotto I had this one in the drafts for a while stirring.

coniglietta = italian for little bunny

TW: Kidnapping(?), Creepy unsettling themes

Minors and Ageless blogs DNI (that includes liking this post.)

Keep reading

Feeling pretty <3

Is my skirt too short? 🤭

for the people looking for blogs to follow, reblog this if you’re an active bts blog and put what you usually post/reblog in the tags! bonus could be the general vibe of your blog and whether minors dni or not💜

girlhood is being hit on by your music teacher

Tie stan up and edge him till he begs/cries?

Anyone have any fic ideas? 🥺👉🏽👈🏽

AHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I finished that fic idea!

I'm still waiting for an invite for the AO3, but in the meantime, I'm just gonna post it here under the cut and hope that Tumblr is nice to me 😵‍💫. I apologize for the formatting, I'm on mobile! I also apologize if it's bad! It's been a while since I've written a ficcy.

Once again: 🔞MINORS DNI!!!🔞 Don't even look at this post.

It started with the kisses. Well, the lack thereof. It hadn't taken long for you to realize that the amount of kisses you were receiving from Stanley dwindled significantly. You were fine with this initially. 'Maybe Stan just wasn't in the mood to be affectionate today', you thought to yourself, 'and that's alright.'

   But then one day turned into two, then three, and then you had noticed that he wasn't really hugging you either. Done were the days when Stan would sneak up on you when there weren't any customers in the shack, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and smothering your face in kisses. No more late night cuddles... You started to wonder if maybe you'd done something wrong? But the past few days had been going well as far as you were concerned, and Stanley wasn't the kind to keep quiet when the two of you were having an issue. So what could it be..? After four days of this affection deprivation, you decided to have a sit down with Stanley to figure this out. Whatever this was, it gets solved today. It took a lot of fighting with your own nerves, but you managed to get a moment with him as he was sitting in his recliner, watching reruns of his favorite show. 

   "Stanley..?" you called out from the doorway. He looked at you and smiled, so sweetly that you wouldn't have thought anything was wrong in the first place.

    "Yeah?"

    "Can we talk?" you made your way over to him, sitting on the arm of the couch. He didn't wrap his arm around you. Instead, he looked up at you with those innocent eyes. Well, as innocent as you could get with him.

    "Of course, sweetheart. What's up?" 

    "You've been... uncharacteristically distant lately. Are you okay? You're not... mad at me, are you?" you asked, and he actually looked shocked. 

    "Mad? Of course not, why would I be mad at you?" He placed a warm hand on your thigh, and it was heavenly. You slid into his lap, and he took his hand off of you. Guess you couldn't have both... 

    "I dunno. You just haven't been kissing me much lately... or, really much of anything. I-It's been driving me crazy for the past few days to not even have you cuddle with me in bed, or even have you pinch my ass randomly in the shop, and I normally HATE that." You could feel your face heating up. You definitely weren't one to beg for something like affection and Stan knew that. Even in your most intimate moments, it would take lots of coaxing (and punishment) to get you to even open your mouth to say 'please'. But here you were, laying out your feelings to him about his recent misdeeds. He looked somewhat apologetic, but a hint of something else you couldn't quite pinpoint. 

    "Shucks, hun... I didn't know you felt that way. I mean, I have had something on my mind for the past few days, but I didn't know how you'd feel about it.." He admitted, his eyes shifting away from yours. You perked up a bit, leaning forward some to inquire further. Finally, you were getting somewhere. "Whatever it is, you know I'm not one to judge Stan. Please..?"

    He blushed a bit, gazing back up at you and moving his hands to hold yours gingerly. "I was...thinking...uhm.. What if I were to.." He rolled his eyes in frustration at himself, huffing and deciding to just rip the bandaid off. "What if I were to go, y'know... celibate?" 

    "C-Celibate?" you repeated, your heart dropping. You never thought about that before. What IF he were celibate??? 'I mean, the sex is absolutely fantastic for sure, but... I could live without that, right?' you thought, trying to rationalize with yourself how something like that would go. After a bit of a hefty pause, you met his eyes again. "...I think I could handle that." 

     Once again, he looked absolutely shocked, then confused. "Really?"

     "Really. I mean, think of all the things we've been through together, Stan. If you want to be celibate, then I'll still be here with you. Though, I have to wonder.. why?? How'd you come to this conclusion? Are you uh.. having issues?" you questioned, quickly yet pointedly glancing downwards. 

     He chuckled, and then that chuckle turned into full-blown laughter as he pulled you flush against his chest in a warm embrace. Was having trouble getting it up that funny??

     "You're a real hoot, you know that?" he snickered between words, "I'm just fuckin with ya, I don't wanna be celibate!" 

     "Y-you don't?" 

     "Of course not! Why would I ever wanna be celibate with a hot piece o' you walkin around?" he slapped your ass, kneading at the impact point and making you shiver. "And I don't have trouble getting it up, thank you very much. The Stan o' War is as strong as it's ever been. I just wanted to see how long it'd take for you to crack."

      You giggled and got up off of him, rolling your eyes. "You're a real piece of work."

      "Where are ya goin'? Don't wanna take a ride after practically beggin so nicely for me?"

      "I think I'm alright for tonight, Stanley. I think I'm gonna take a nice walk though, I'll be back soon."

      "Are you sure? It's getting real dark out there, do you want me to come with?" 

      "Nah it's okay. I have my cell phone with me, I'll call you if I get swiped up by that Pterodactyl or kidnapped by gnomes or something," you said, purely to spook Stanley as you practically skipped your way out of the house. You could hear Stanley's complaints through the door. Something along the lines of "That's not funny!" and "Those gnomes are vicious beasts!" You didn't pay him too much mind though. In all honesty, the only reason you left was to enact a sort of payback for him depriving you of touch for all these days. You felt how hard he was starting to get underneath you, and he would've followed you to any other room to make you cave in. No, you couldn't have that.

      You decided to walk into town. Most establishments were closed around this time, but this was a walk after all. There wasn't really any specific destination in mind. 

      You considered heading back home after a while of walking rows of closed shops, when you spotted a place further down the block and brightly lit. That place wasn't there before, was it..? You think you'd recognize rose colored lights... and as you walked closer, you would definitely have recognize a place called "Simple Pleasures". An adult store in a small town like this? It'd probably make some of the older folks in this place faint at the mere sight of it. It looked like a decent enough place though, with a red and pink awning and delicate white accents and letters. There were posters advertising lingerie discounts and local club events. Curiosity got the hold of you as you pushed your way in through the glass double doors.

      Immediately, you were greeted with the sweet smell of a familiar flowery incense, and the walls upon walls full of product around the place. Dildos, strokers, ropes, clamps, lingerie, you name it. You were completely entranced by everything, and as you went to finally touch something, you heard a voice pipe pu form directly behind you.

      "Good evening! Was there anything I could help you find on this fine night?" they asked, startling you in the process. You turned around to see a very tall woman, possibly around her 40's or so, and clad in a soft-looking red silk shirt and a black skirt. The black heels she wore served to further accentuate her height, and her face was framed by long curly hair and sleek glasses. Safe to say, she was extremely pretty, and it left you a blushing and stuttering mess. You head felt oddly cloudy upon seeing her...

       She giggled at your attempts, shaking her head sympathetically. "It's okay, this happens to everyone the first time they come in. Just slow down and breathe," she instructed, guiding you into calmer breathing. You felt your head start to clear, and you were finally able to think.

       "S-sorry, I... That was so rude, I don't know what came over me..." You shook your head to fully get yourself together. "I was just kinda browsing for the moment I guess. I've never seen this shop here before." 

       "People do say our store looks a lot different at night than it does in the morning, hahah. Maybe I could help find what you really need, it is my job after all." She smiled and you nodded, grinning back. You didn't even come in with the intention of buying anything, but the powers of suggestion that she held was greater than your initial wants. She leaned further down, so close that she was face to face with you, and stared into your eyes with her extremely pretty green irises. "Just relax. This'll take just a few seconds..." she instructed, and you felt a wave of emptiness overtake your mind. And then just as she said, it was over in just a few seconds, and you gasped for a breath that you didn't even know that you were holding.

       "Oh my god..? What was that?" You patted yourself down and checked your pulse, just generally making sure that you were okay. 

       "Just had to have a looksie," she stated as she stood up straight, looking a lot more excited than before. "I have just the thing for you. And your boyfriend, too." And before you could question it, she tugged you in the direction of the lingerie.

_

       "Have a good night! And make sure to have fun!" She called out to you as you bid her farewell. That was... interesting. You never got to question her on what happened, or what she was, but you had the common sense to gather that she was a mind reader of some sort. She kept mentioning something about you needing to get 'revenge' as she showed you a special stroker she recommended, something she had tucked away behind the counter. If you were being honest, you wholeheartedly agree. You do need to get revenge on Stanley for building you up like this for so long. It probably wouldn't have been a big deal if it were just one afternoon, but four??? Yeah, he had to pay... 

       You snuck through the door, making sure to close it quietly and keep your bags from rustling. He wasn't in his recliner where you'd left him. That meant he could be anywhere in the house. You just prayed that he wasn't asleep. Sitting your bags down in the living room, you crept around, making your way into the kitchen and peeking out the window. Sometimes he liked to sit on the couch on the back porch on late night like these. And as you peeked out of the window, you could see the back of his head. Perfect. You crept a little more quickly back into the living room to grab your bags and make your way upstairs to the bedroom you shared.

__

      "Stanleyyy," you called out, startling the man out of his thoughts. He didn't realize you had already come home, and he was actually so happy to hear your voice again. He thought that maybe you were mad at him now for pulling that little prank on you. And when he came in and saw you looking all apologetic, he couldn't help but feel even worse for a moment.

      "Oh, there you are!" you ran to him and gave him a big hug, wrapping your arms around his torso and snuggling into him. "I'm sorry I just kinda left like that. I'm not upset with you, okay? I just really needed time to think..." You looked up at him your big ol' eyes, and he softened up a bit at the sight of them. 

      "I should be the one apologizing. I didn't really think about how this prank would make you feel in the long run. I could never be upset with you like that, not to the point of punishing you like that.."

      He hugged you back, and it made you reconsider your plans for revenge for just a moment... and only for a moment. Sorry, Stanley, but you can't get off that easy.

      "I got you something while I was out~. I managed to catch a shop while they were still open."

      "Oh?" He tilted his head, grinning. He was genuinely pleasantly surprised. "What didja get?"

      "It's upstairs." You slipped yourself out of his grasp and held on of his hands in yours, leading him upstairs. And when the two of you were safely up the last step, you instructed him to close his eyes until you said to open them. "And no peeking," you scolded, raising your eyebrow at him when you saw him peeking. "Alright, alright. I won't peek anymore. I can't help it, I'm just really excited to see what you got for me."

       "Mmmhm. If you peek again, I'll take it right back," you giggled. Of course you didn't mean it. If anything, you'd just use it another time. But true to his word, Stanley didn't peek the rest of the way to the bedroom. Not even when you sat him down in the office chair that normally occupied the underside of the desk. And not even when you very audibly handcuffed him to said office chair.

       "I sense I've made a mistake here..." he said, grinning dopily. 

       "Oh, for sure. You can open your eyes now," you instructed, and he listened. Blessed with the beautiful sight of you in very lacy lingerie and sitting across from him on the edge of the bed. He blushed immediately, looking you up and down as he whistled.

       "Damn, where'd you get an outfit like that?" He looked up to meet your cheerful gaze.

       "I got it at Nunyabusiness. Real nice place."

       He rolled his eyes. Of course it would be like you to gatekeep this place from him. "Well can you at least tell me why you have me handcuffed? With an outfit like that, you know I need to have my hands on ya."

       You snickered/scoffed at him. "Oh /now/ you wanna have your hands on me? After all this time?"

       "Hey, I thought you said you weren't upset!"

       "And I'm not! But, you had me thinking." You stood from your place at the edge of the bed, making your way over to him slowly. You stopped behind him where his eyes couldn't follow, and leaned down to whisper into his ear. "Maybe I should just take what I want... After all, you left me hanging for four days just to tease me. You didn't think you'd just get away with that, did you?

       You could already see the erection growing in his pants as you ran your hands down his chest. He was still wearing his normal white beater, topped with the gold chain. You could feel his pulse racing as you moved your hands further down, then pulling them back up again. Stanley had never seen this side of you before, and he wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. But the way that your plump lips laid claim to his neck felt like a blessing. Maybe it's a good thing he drove you to the breaking point... You took your sweet time kissing and marking up the sensitive skin of Stan's neck, watching him shift underneath you as you kept your hands moving on his chest. Carefully, you moved one of your hands under the neckline of his beater, feeling the soft hair that lay beneath. And, just as carefully, you moved your hands to play with one of his nipples. He shuddered, closing his eyes as you worked on him. 

       Just as he was really starting to get into it, the feeling stopped. You removed both your hands and your lips from his body, and it left him feeling cold. Not like it mattered to you of course, a few seconds wouldn't kill him. You walked around him, stopping in front of him and leaning down. Maybe it was the lingerie, or maybe it was the sole fact that you were in control for once, but it was totally exhilarating. You were starting to feel a bit hot further down as well, but you couldn't give in now, you've hardly started.

       You licked your lips, running your hands down his body once more. But this time, you didn't stop at just his chest. Stanley watched in silence as you hands slipped down his stomach, and down his thighs, bypassing where he wanted your hands to be at the most. He bit his lip almost painfully as you giggled at him. 

       "You look like you want something, hun. Are you gonna let me in on this little secret?"

        He was basically panting at this point, and you hadn't even done much to him. At this rate, he might cum in his underwear before you get the chance to do anything substantial. But he could hardly bring the words up to come out of his mouth. You raised an eyebrow, taking your hands off of him, and he suddenly found his voice in desperation.

        "W-wait no, don't-.. Please.. Keep touching me... Don't stop.."

        "If you don't want me to stop, then I'm gonna need for you to speak up when I ask you a question."

        "Yes, yes o-of course."

        "Good.." You put your hands back on his thighs, very close to where he wants them, but you keep still. "Now, I'm gonna ask in more certain terms: What do you want?"

Despite everything, he still hesitated for just a moment. Maybe this was how you felt when he asked you to beg for something. It's a little embarrassing. He'll have to remember to take it easier on you next time. You were about to pull your hands away from him again when he finally spoke up. 

         "I-I want you t-... to touch my... cock.." he said, whispering the last part. No, this wouldn't do. You kept your hands in place, leaning forward a bit more. 

          "What was that..? I couldn't hear you very well, you really shouldn't whisper."

          "I-I said I want you to touch my cock," he stated, a lot more stern. You were thinking about punishing him more for how he said it, but decided that it's fine. At least he said it at all, and you were content with that. 

          "Ahh. Why didn't you just say so, silly? Of course, I'll touch your cock for you. Not like you can do it yourself." You smiled at him so innocently, and he melted under your touch as you finally put on of your hands to rest on his clothed erection. He bucked his hips a bit to try and get some friction, but you used your other hand to hold his hip down. 

          "Nuh uh, Stanley~. You only said to touch. I'm touching, aren't I? If you want me to do something else, you know what to do..."

          He felt his face get hotter as he realized that this begging wouldn't just be a one-off thing. He had to admit, he was definitely proud of you. But he could revel in being proud later, his cock was so hard it was starting to get painful.

          "Pleaasee," he keened, squeezing his eyes shut. "U-undo my belt and my pants.. I need you to-, please... Stroke my cock..."

          Satisfied, you used the hand holding his hip to pet his hair instead. You could see him relax and tilt his head into your hand, loving the praise. "Good boy, Stanley... Of course I'll stroke your cock for you." And as promised, you started to undo his belt. You were careful in unzipping his pants, and with a little help from Stan, you managed to pull his pants and underwear down just enough to let his dick spring free. And what a delicious sight it was. With the way that he was looking, hair ruffled, eyes pleading, cheeks flushed, and lips bite stricken, it was taking everything in you not to jump on him right now and ride him until daybreak. 

          You decided to give him a bit of a break and not have him ask for his own lube as well, opting to just get that automatically. Stanley's heart left in his chest with the thought of you possibly leaving him like this alone, but he'd relaxed when he realized you were just getting lube. His eyes fell to your body, taking in your form within that sweet lingerie.

         "You look beautiful.." he noted, and you can tell in his voice that he meant it. You grabbed the lube from his nightstand and turned back to face him. 

         "Thank you. You look beautiful too, Stanley~." You walked back behind him and leaned over his shoulder, kissing his temple. "Just be good for me. Okay? Tell me when you're gonna cum.." you requested, proceeding with pouring the lube onto the head. He didn't mind the cold that much. In fact, if felt somewhat good in contrast to the heat pooling down below. And then when you actually started to touch him, he hissed in pure bliss. Your hands felt fantastic against the throbbing mess that he was, and his eyes rolled back as your grasp steadied. 

          "I-I'll be good, I promise. Please.." 

          He didn't even have to beg. Not because he'd already asked, but because you would've done it anyways. You wanted this is much as he did, and you made sure he knew full well of this by twisting and tightening your grip along the tip. This had Stanley gasping, groaning and curling his toes. He even cursed a little, which made you laugh a little and move your hand faster.

           It didn't take long for Stanley to crack, grasping at the chair's arms as he let you know that he was going to cum. To your delight and his dismay, you took your hand off of him completely, causing him to whine involuntarily. "No, no! Shit- why'd you stop..?" 

          "Well, it's kinda obvious, isn't it? I'm gonna edge you for every day you left me waiting for your touch. I think it's only fair.."

          You saw a bit of fear flash in his eyes from that, and it made you feel... icky. You had to give him an out or else this wouldn't work.

          "Of course, we can always stop if you want. What's our safe word?"

          "O-orange, to slow down. Red to stop.."

          "Good Boy, Stanley.. What's your color?"

          "...Green..."

          You huffed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness he still wanted this, you were starting to feel bad for torturing him... Getting back to where you were, you wrapped your hand around his cock and started off slow again. He opted to lean his head back against you with his eyes closed, and you took that to mean that he felt more comfortable with everything you were doing. Once more, you sped up, kissing his forehead as he let out a stifled moan.

          "Let me hear your voice, Stanley~. The only thing you should be holding back is your cum." 

           He was reluctant, but eventually released his bottom lip from the grasp of his teeth and groaned a little louder than you expected of him. You'd be lying if you said it didn't startle you for a second, but it just served to turn you on more. A particularly good twist of your wrist had him reeling again, straining to keep still as he panted heavily. "I-I'm gonna- I- Please-..!" but before he could finish, your hands were off of him again. 

           You expected him to curse at you, or to complain at the very least, but he was uncharacteristically quiet... You could feel his body trembling underneath you, and you couldn't help but wondering if he was... crying? You grabbed his hair from the front and pulled his head back to reveal that, yes, he was in utter tears at your torment. Never in your life had you seen Stan shed so many tears, it absolutely scared you to think that maybe you'd hurt him or gone too far. His face tore at your heartstrings and you couldn't help but ask again, just to make sure: "What's your color?"

           He took a moment to respond, trying to calm himself first in order to be able to speak. "Still... Still green. I can take it, just keep going..."

           You were hesitant, but intrigued at the same time. Was it bad that you found Stan's crying face to be.. hot? You walked to the front of him again to look at him fully. He was an absolute mess, more than he was before. The tears streaming down his red face was a sight to behold, and you could probably get off on that alone. Maybe you could cut it down to one more edging, just so you could use the toy you bought for him before you finally fuck him and let him cum inside of you. Yeah, that should work. He's probably gonna throttle you later just for torturing him so harshly, but he'll forgive you later. 

          "Close your eyes. I have surprise for you," you instructed, smiling innocently. Stanley listened instantly, having no plans to peek or anything, Whatever this surprise was, he didn't want to risk missing out on it because of something dumb like 'curiosity'. He sat for what felt like an entire half hour (but was only a minute or so in reality), before he finally felt a bit of cold pressure at the tip of his dick. He was finally considering peeking, when his cock was completely enveloped in this strange, cold, spongey material. Practically all of the air left his lungs as he tried to gather what this thing was that was stroking him so quickly. "You can open your eyes now."

          He did, reveling in the sight of a stroker in your hand, pumping him with a comfortable quickness that left no room for talking. Instead, whines and curses spilt from his lips as he tried to keep from cumming. He wanted to be good for you. He owed you that after he made you so lonely for four days in a row. He deserved this, just as much as you deserved to watch him drool and cry and writhe against his base urges. He didn't even have to say that he was close this time for you to stop stroking him, and the tears streamed down his face steadily. This was evil and you knew it. But luckily he wouldn't have to wait for long. 

         You went to pull the stroker off of him, but suddenly it just... wouldn't? You pulled gently as not to hurt Stan, but it physically wouldn't come off. You could hear him grunt, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "Damn, it's tight..." he moaned, but that just left you more confused. Trying your best to be gentle, you tried to pull it off of him again, but Stanley whined again that it was getting tight and "strangely warm." 

         "Uh.. Stan???" you started. You didn't want to alarm him, but this thing really didn't want to come off. It was like it was simply refusing to do so. Stan lifted his head to look up at you with confused yet glassy eyes, wondering what was going on and silently hoping that you could continue soon. He was ready to blow, but only when you said it was okay. But when he looked at you, he could tell something was up.

         "What's wrong.."

         "I don't wanna scare you but, it won't come off..."

         "What do you mean it won't come off?

         You tried to pull at it again, and he hissed when it got to the tip again. "It's getting tighter, isn't it?"

         "Yeah??"

         "It's not supposed to do that..."

         "T-try again. Don't hurt me, but pull a little harder," he suggested, feeling his heart drop a little. Despite the small pit of fear he felt in his chest, he was still feeling pretty good. As per his request, you tried not to hurt him by putting your free hand around the base of his dick, then using your other hand to pull the stroker a little harder. You thought you felt a bit of leeway, continuing your pull. And to your dismay, the shell of the stroker came off instead. You hadn't noticed as fast as Stan had, but he tensed up and yelled in horror, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!" 

          You hurriedly took a look, gasping at the sight before you. This wasn't some ordinary stroker. This was some kind of... soft, flesh shaded cylinder with eyes. It didn't look too happy with you either, hissing and tightening painfully around Stanley's cock. All you felt was panic as you ran to get the box on the other side of the room to read it. It looked like a normal toy on the front of the box, so you tried to read the box. It was written in large print: "100% Guaranteed to Make You Cum!!! Won't stop until you do!" And written in smaller print towards the bottom of the box, it read: "Literally won't be satisfied until you cum inside! If in the event that you can't ejaculate, consider asking this toy nicely for forgiveness and apologize profusely. If that doesn't work, good luck!"

          You smacked your face with your hand at the absolute stupidity of this entire thing. Why did you even get this in the first place..? Quickly, you turned to Stan, looking totally apologetic when you saw him still struggling against this thing. 'Stan, the only way to get this thing off of you is to uh.. either apologize or cum in it, I guess?"

          "I-I don't wanna cum in- whatever this thing is!" he protested. The creature didn't seem to like the sound of that though, because it started to undulate and twist it's body to stimulate him further. He tensed up further, torn between wanting to get this thing off of him and feeling too good to care. The confusion caused him to tear up again, and you went by his side to comfort him. He tried to apologize to it, telling it that he didn't want to cum anymore, but that just made the creature work even harder to make it happen anyways. God, you felt terrible. Your boyfriend was being violated by some horrible creature and it was all your fault. 

          "Hey, hey.. I'm here. I'm sorry I got you into this mess, but I'm gonna help you through it okay..?" You held his hand and he squeezed back, nodding and trusting you completely. You turned his head to face you, and you kissed him gently. "Just focus on me... It's okay.." you continued to kiss him, hoping this would help to some degree. He kissed you back, moaning into your mouth as he'd gotten close again. This was helping to some extent to take his mind off of the literal fleshlight fucking itself on him, but it was still in the back of his mind. It wasn't long until he was back to panting and groaning, finally gripping your hand as his orgasm violently wracked through his body. Grateful tears ran down his face as his cum filled the creature, and it squeezed him dry before finally releasing him and slinking off to go find it's shell. You gave Stan a moment to come down from his high so you could uncuff him and apologize properly. 

          "Stan I... god, you probably hate me now... I'm so sorry, I didn't know that that was some... fleshlight demo-!" 

           Before you could finish, Stan pulled you into a deep kiss, one you had grown to miss these past four days. This was the Stan you missed. He eventually let you breathe, chuckling. "Look, I dunno what that thing was, but... I didn't entirely hate it..? And I certainly could never hate you.." He placed one more peck on your cheek, and you felt like you could cry. How could he be so forgiving..? He stood, slowly since his legs felt like jelly, and he pulled his pants back up. "I think I'm out of commission for the rest of the night, but... you didn't get to cum."

           "Wha- me? I-I don't, I mean-" you tried to protest, thinking that you didn't deserve anything from him after what you'd done, but he wasn't hearing any of it. He laid you down on the bed with such a swiftness that you didn't realize what was happening until you were already laying on the plush comforter.

 "You did so much to punish me for touch depriving you. What kind of jerk would I be if I did it again? Plus, look at this outfit you got just for me... We can't let this go to waste." 

        He spread your legs open wide, licking his lips at the sight of your cunt underneath lacy fabric. Without even removing it first, he licked a hot wet stripe up the fabric, earning a soft gasp from you. But he didn't like the taste of fabric, he realized, and he opted to pull them to the side instead before he continued. 

        You grasped at his hair as he went all in, licking at your folds and sucking on your clit like a man dehydrated in the desert. And when he pushed a finger inside, then two, you used one of your hands to grab at his forearm in desperation. The vulgar squelch of slick skin on skin was heavenly, and it wasn't long before you were sent over the edge. You squirted so hard that you thought you'd pass out, and Stanley lapped it all up.

       It took a minute or two for you to come down from your post-nut stupor, finally looking up at Stanley. He was rubbing soothing circles into your tummy, just watching you.

       You didn't really know what to say. Everything turned out alright in the end, but it was still so strange. 

       "So uh... what are we gonna do about that fleshlight creature..?"

       "You can kill that thing with fire for all I care," he shrugged, not really worried about it. "The only thing on my mind is us. Let's go take a bath. We'll figure it out later.."

those are minor crimes! literally.

“When the police lists off all your girlbossing activities‼️‼️・°☆ (＞﹏＜)♡‧₊˚”

This meme has been done to death but I still wanted to draw it because I felt like it fit Nina 💜