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sailoryooons · 1 year ago

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Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

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

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

☾ Word Count: 21,606

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

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

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

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

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

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

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

Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

It begins with rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, it will suffice.

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

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

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

“Just for a short walk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would that be like, you wonder.

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

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

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

So you stopped praying to them.

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

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

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

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

Always something lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another dream. Another fantasy.

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

It ends in darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… what?”

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

No. No. Nonononononono.

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

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

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

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

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

“It is not my purpose!”

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

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

“I won’t do it,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to die.

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

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

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

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

“Want?”

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

“What can you give?”

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

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

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

“What will you give me?”

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

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

“My time?”

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

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

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

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is safe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In between.”

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

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

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

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

“Wanted to hear you say it.”

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

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

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

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

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do I call you?”

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

“Is that your name?”

“It’s one of them.”

“How many names do you have?”

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

Time.

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

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

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

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

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

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

“I’m done eating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was going to kill me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Consecutive.”

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

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

“Can you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream.

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

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

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Do you promise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad is a relative term.”

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

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

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?”

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

“Eternals?”

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

“Who are the Eternals?”

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

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

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

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

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

“Have you no guesses?”

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

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

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

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What causes the balance to be off?”

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

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

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

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

“How… old are you?”

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

“Where do you come from?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

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

“Your brother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are dragons here?”

“There is everything here.”

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

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

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

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

“Even nightmares?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Are they dead?”

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

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

“They?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re all alone here?”

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

“Do you always know what I dream about?”

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

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you avoid thinking of going back.

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

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

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

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.”

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

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

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

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

You dip the quill in ink and continue.

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

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

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise, the wind feels nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

“You like sweet things.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s brows shoot up. You hide your expression with your glass of wine, taking a long draught. It hums in your veins, warm and rushing like nothing you’ve ever felt before. When you lower the glass, Yoongi watches you with an intense expression. You meet his gaze, suddenly unable to look away.

The air feels charged as you stare. His eyes dip down to your mouth a single time, then back up to your eyes. The breeze moves strands of his hair and you smell the hint of clove followed by cinnamon, just as you always do when he’s near. Your heart starts to staccato as the silence presses on.

A little shriek cuts through the tension like a knife. You flinch and turn around, looking at a red blur of movement burst from the wisteria trees. Tiera lands with a squawk, the fey dragon huffing as grey smoke curls from her lungs. She ignores you entirely as she normally does and skips over to where Yoongi is sitting before she settles next to him, curling like a cat and laying on her tail.

Yoongi laughs. “Hello, Tiera.” The dragon chuffs and lets out another puff of smoke. “Are you not going to say hello to our friend?”

When the dragon pays no attention to you, you roll your eyes. “She hates me.”

“Dragons are capricious. She’s been with me for over a hundred years.”

“Not very mature then, is she?”

He chuckles again as you pluck cheese from the platter and pop it into your mouth. You’re delighted to find it’s soft and garlicky with a hint of rosemary as well. “She is still a child in dragon years.”

“And you let her be a glutton.”

“You could be too.” Your chewing slows and you swallow the cheese hard. You wait to see if he’s teasing you, but Yoongi watches you with a placid expression. “Dreams and desires are intertwined, you know. Desires come from dreams. It is in my nature to be indulgent.”

“I’ve never really been indulgent in my life.”

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

“I think this is indulgent,” you gesture to the food. “And you’re teaching me to read and write. That is more indulgence than I could ever dream of.”

He hums and it sounds like disapproval. “I think your dreams are far more indulgent than that.”

He knows. You think he’s going to say something, to ask about the way you dream of him. Instead, he says, “When you return, we’ll work on your indulgence. There is no shame in wanting things, you know?”

“I don’t know. How could I?”

Light flashes above your head. You break eye contact with him to look up and gasp. The sky is full of shooting stars, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The world lights up as you see rainbows streaking across the sky, bursts of colors and explosions of brilliance shooting through the sky.

Your mouth hangs open as you watch, mystified into silence. You’re sure this is what Yoongi meant when he said Chaos was passing by, for the sky becomes a cacophony of color and stars and light. You blink your eyes, stunned by the display. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, your heart hammering with excitement as you watch it, legs crossed, head tilted up.

The stars begin to slow and there are less bursts of color, until finally, there is just a shimmering wake of stardust and pink simmering in the sky. You look at Yoongi, utterly speechless, to find him looking at you. His eyes reflect the night sky, full of constellations and stardust, glittering in the dark depths of his irises.

Yoongi’s eyes are as wonderful as the display above, but you don’t say that.

“That was beautiful,” you breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes don’t leave you when he hums softly in agreement. “It was.”

Tiera shuffles next to Yoongi, drawing your attention. She snakes her long neck out, tongue tasting the air as she eyes the meat on the table. Yoongi hisses at her and taps her nose in chastisement, earning an angry croak as the dragon shuffles back to her napping position.

The rest of your evening is spent snacking in companionable silence. Yoongi doesn’t talk much unless he’s answering your hundreds of questions, but tonight, you have none. You’re comfortable to just look at the world around you, the wisteria branches dancing in the breeze.

In the distance, you hear thunder. Your eyes follow the sound to the same dark peak with lightning crackling through the mist. You’ve yet to ask Yoongi about that peak in particular, but you think you know what looms there. You remember Yoongi talking about how there are nightmares in this realm too, and you’re not eager to ask what that thunderous mountain holds.

Yoongi doesn’t divulge, either. He watches you as you regard the peak and says nothing. Perhaps even the Eternal of dreams is hesitant to speak of that place, which is a good enough reason for you not to press him further on it.

When your stomach is full and you’ve had another glass of wine, you lay back in the grass. Your limbs feel heavy with drink and your world is tilted on a slow-rotating axis. The buzz in your veins feels pleasant, though your thoughts are a little sticky like honey and they run together, untamed.

Careful to keep his distance, Yoongi lays back in the grass with you. His face looks up at the sky, but you look at him. His features are so delicate and soft, nose and cheeks so round. His face don’t make sense in your head, so severe and terrifying yet gentle and innocent at the same time.

“You’re staring,” he says eventually.

“I’m indulging,” you tease back, loosened up by wine. “You said I can indulge, so let me stare.”

“What is there to indulge in?”

“Your… earrings.”

That makes him look at you, a brow quirked. “My earrings.”

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

“Is there an echo out here?” you demand, frowning at him. “Yes, I am indulging in your jewelry!”

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

“Well,” you grump. “Don’t you have the answer for everything?”

He smiles then, that rare gummy smile that makes you shut right up. “I told you. I’m indulgent. Anything you want, all you need is to ask.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite your lip to hide your smile at his words. It is insane to you that this ancient being is laying in the grass next to you telling you to only ask what you want. You don’t know what you want, but you do know that this feels like a dream. That you’re not really here, and that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and be in your bed at home.

Dread fills you at the thought of going back to your parents. In a way, you want to see them. They’re your parents and there is… unfamiliarity without the sound of your mothers needle stitching through cloth. You could do without your father entirely. The rage inside of you when you picture his face is difficult to quell and is often followed by terror.

Yoongi has told you that you will be safe when you return. You believe him. There is no reason not to. But more than anything, you’re terrified about what comes next. Living between two worlds is something you remember dreaming about that one day in the forest, looking at the way the world was reflected back on the mirror-calm surface of the water.

Now that you have access to two worlds, you don’t know what to do with the other that has brought you nothing but suffering. And yet, you still want to see what is there. You’re not ready to leave it entirely without knowing.

“Are you afraid to go back?”

Yoongi’s question is soft. You don’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.”

“You won’t be alone. All you have to do is dream of me, and I will come.”

You hesitate then ask, “Do you know any time someone dreams of you?”

“It’s like hearing someone call my name, but I never answer. My business is in creating dreams, not invading them. People like you are able to spin up dreams on your own without my assistance. I help those who cannot.”

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

He hums. “It’s not without its stresses. I talk a lot about the nature of dreams, but there is more to me and to my job than that. Perhaps we will leave that for your next visit, yes?”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Come on,” Yoongi sighs, heaving himself upward. “It is late and in the morning, you must return.”

“Touch me,” you beg him, straddling Yoongi’s lap. His head rests against the back of the couch and he looks up at you as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than you imagined, sliding like silk between your fingers. “You told me to ask for what I wanted. Touch me.”

“Anything,” Yoongi agrees. His hands skim up your thighs, warm and rough. He squeezes your flesh, making you moan as his hands continue their worship. Yoongi grips your hips tightly, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. “Anything. Everything. For you.”

When you wake up, you’re confused. The roof above your head is wood and thatch. The mattress beneath you is thin and lumpy, sweat sticking the sheets to your legs. Rolling over, your vision blurs until it comes into focus once more, revealing a tiny room with just a bed, a wardrobe and a closed door.

Your room. Well, your room in your parents’ house, you realize with a panic.

You shoot up in bed as terror claws at you. Did you dream it all? Was it not real? Nothing in your room has changed and the windows are open to the cool air. Grey clouds drift in the sky and you can smell the petrichor of oncoming rain in the distance.

Rushing to your bedroom door, you rip it open, your heart threatening to burst with how hard it’s beating. You don’t know what you’re looking for or what you expect to find, but the idea that you have just woken up from the most vivid, wonderful dream is so maddening that you need anything to tell you it was real. That it wasn’t in your head.

Your mother is sitting at the kitchen table stitching. She looks up when she hears you. She looks different, leaner and narrower than you ever remember, her greasy hair tied low at her neck. Her hands pause their stitching as she stares at you, stricken.

“What day is it?” you ask her. The day you had been attacked had been a seventh day. You remember that clearly. “Tell me what day it is!”

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror.

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

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creamflix · 1 month ago

Text

PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 5: finale]

summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, love triangle, angst, slow-burn,eventual smut, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto,uraume, choso kamo, gojo satoru, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman! choso fanfic

word count: 11.7k words

notes: with that, persephone comes to an end. thank you all so much for loving persephone! reader and business tycoon! sukuna <3 i hope this was the closure you were looking for. me personally i would have wanted to end it with a 4some with reader, suguru, uraume and sukuna /hj please let me know how you liked it in the comments below, i'd love to hear your thoughts - please grill me, i need the criticism. regarding the side-fics, i will be relasing them as lengthier oneshots. chapters don't really work for me, and i think it would be much more fun to read it in one go! i'll be putting out an announcement for tag list[s] soon enough <3.

masterlist

the rowdy murmur of voices and occasional bursts of laughter echoed faintly in the background as suguru pushed his way through the crowd. gojo’s teasing voice called after him, “yo suguru, where ya goin’? it’s just getting good in here!” suguru barely acknowledged him, stepping out into the quiet hallway and answering your call.

"hey," he said, voice soft but tired.

"hey," you replied, nerves laced in every syllable.

"miss me already?" suguru teased, but his heart wasn’t in it. there was something under the surface, a tension he couldn’t shake.

"yeah, i do." you paused, your throat tightening. "suguru… did you see the tabloid articles?"

there was a beat of silence, and then a deep sigh from his end. "yeah, i saw them. kinda hard not to. gojo thought it was funny as hell. i... i didn’t, obviously." his voice was flat, but you could hear the regret threaded in his words.

“suguru, you know i love you,” you began, feeling the weight of what you were about to say settle heavily on your chest.

"but?" suguru interrupted, his tone sharper than before.

"how did you —"

"just say it, vino," he urged, voice almost breaking. "i’ll handle it."

your breath caught in your throat, but you pushed through. "i need time for me. i need time to focus on myself. i can’t keep finding myself running back and forth between you two. being put on the spotlight like this… it’s not something i want."

there was a low, bitter laugh on the other end of the line. "so, what? you want to focus on yourself… but with sukuna? is that what you’re saying?" his frustration simmered just beneath the surface, restrained but there.

"that is not what i said," you shot back, feeling the rising heat of your own emotions.

"it sure sounds like that," he said, his voice a little more forceful now. "i don’t get it, y/n. i’ve been the one that helped you through everything, and now you’re basically saying you want to go back to that? have you lost your mind?"

"suguru, that’s a low blow, and you know it," you bit out, trying to keep your voice steady. "that happened four years ago —"

"but everyone, including yourself, can still see its effects today!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

you winced, his words digging into the fragile wounds you’d been trying to heal for years. "how i chose to handle the situation is entirely on me!" your voice wavered, the rawness of the past seeping into your tone. "i was a fucking pussy for drowning myself in booze, using it as an escape when i could’ve just… fixed my fucking life."

the line went quiet for a moment. you could hear him breathing, could almost picture him rubbing his temples like he always did when things got too overwhelming.

"...i understand," suguru finally said, his voice low, almost resigned.

"sugu —"

"no, y/n," he interrupted, his tone gentler now, but laced with exhaustion. "i think… i’ll spend an extra couple of days here. with gojo, i mean. i need a break."

"suguru, please —"

there was a long, suffocating pause. you thought he’d disconnected the call until you heard him sigh again, softer this time. "you should go," he said, and his words pierced through you like a cold wind. "to him, i mean."

"suguru…" you whispered, the ache in your chest blooming like a bruise.

"y/n, i’m fine." but his voice betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly. "your words… they sting, but they make sense. you need time for yourself. i get it. i just —" he broke off, struggling to gather his thoughts. "i hope you find what you’re looking for."

his voice cracked, and your heart shattered.

"i love you," he said, the words heavy with finality. "god, i love you. and that’s the best mistake i’ve ever made."

before you could respond, the call disconnected. the silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on you, leaving you feeling hollow and more confused than ever.

but in suguru’s words, in his acceptance, there was also release — something you both had desperately needed but hadn’t known how to ask for. now, you had no choice but to confront the feelings you had been running from. and the terrifying part? there was no going back from here.

you stand in your apartment, your phone clutched tightly in your hand, the weight of the conversation with suguru still heavy in your chest. your mind races, replaying his words, but another name keeps surfacing, drowning out everything else: sukuna.

without thinking, your fingers dial a number, and uraume’s voice crackles through the line.

“miss l/n?” they answer, their tone professional, but there's an edge of concern. “is everything okay?”

you hesitate, biting your lip before blurting, “where’s sukuna?”

there’s a pause on the other end. “ryomen? he’s… i’m not sure. he left the office earlier.”

“what do you mean you’re not sure?” your voice rises, frustration bubbling to the surface. “why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you —”

uraume’s calm voice interrupts your panic. “miss l/n, i didn’t know. he booked a private jet on his own. i only found out about it moments ago. he didn’t give any explanation.”

your heart pounds in your chest, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a vice. “so, where is he now? where did he go?”

“he’s on his way to the airport.”

“the airport?!” you practically yell, the shock coursing through you like a jolt of electricity. “why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“i… i didn’t know,” uraume admits, their voice steady but tinged with a rare uncertainty. “he didn’t inform me of this.”

you exhale sharply, pacing the length of your apartment as your mind races. “okay, okay… i’ll meet you there. we need to stop him.”

“i’ll head there immediately,” uraume replies, their voice soft but firm. “don’t worry, miss l/n. we’ll figure this out.”

“don’t — just… i’ll be there in twenty.” you hang up, your heart hammering in your chest as you scramble for your keys.

your legs feel like lead as you sprint through the airport, dodging passengers, security, anyone in your way. you can feel your heartbeat in your throat, the weight of your desperation pushing you forward. the moment you passed through the security gate, it was all a blur — uraume must have worked their magic, because no one tried to stop you. you didn’t even have to explain yourself. no time for explanations, no time for anything except reaching him.

as you break into the open air of the runway, the roaring engines of sukuna’s private jet make everything around you tremble. the wind whips against your skin, tearing at your clothes, but it doesn’t matter. nothing matters except the sight of him — sukuna — climbing the steps to the jet, his broad frame silhouetted against the dull gray sky.

"sukuna!" you scream, your voice raw, your chest aching. the sound of the engines should drown you out, but somehow, as if attuned to your very soul, he hears you. he always hears you.

he pauses, his head turning sharply in your direction, and for a split second, the world seems to stop. his gaze locks onto yours, his red eyes wide with disbelief. you see the flicker of something unguarded, something vulnerable, as he stands frozen in place.

and then, for the first time in what feels like forever, he runs. he runs. down the ramp, missing a step, his usually precise and calculated movements thrown off as he rushes toward you. it’s so uncharacteristic of him — so unlike the sukuna you know — but in this moment, it’s all you’ve ever needed.

you meet him halfway, breathless, your chest heaving as you stop in front of him. the wind roars around you, the plane's wings creating a deafening backdrop, but everything else seems silent. it’s just the two of you. his eyes, stormy and conflicted, bore into yours, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

he looks at you like he doesn’t know whether to yell, hug, or kiss you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.

"you’re bad for me," he finally rasps, his voice strained. it’s a confession, not an accusation. his brows knit together, and there’s something in his eyes — fear, anger, something raw. “you ruin me.”

“i know,” you whisper back, the wind biting at your skin, but your words are steady. “i know, ‘kuna.”

his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath heavy like he’s on the verge of something. "we shouldn’t be doing this," he growls, his voice deep and rough, like he's trying to convince himself as much as you. his eyes flash with a dark emotion, flickering between anger and longing. "this isn’t — we can’t."

you step closer, your heart pounding so hard you swear he can hear it. “push me away then.” your voice is soft but firm, your gaze never leaving his.

he stares at you, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists. his jaw clenches, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. but when he opens his mouth to say something, nothing comes out. his lips part, and you see the conflict raging inside him. the way his eyes flicker between the plane behind him and your face, the way his body tenses as if he’s preparing to do something — anything — other than admit the truth.

"i can’t," he finally breathes, his voice breaking. his hands, trembling, reach for you but stop just short, as if touching you might shatter whatever’s left of him. there’s a roughness in his tone, a vulnerability that you rarely see.

you close the distance, taking his hands into yours. they’re cold, shaking slightly as you pull them towards you. “then don’t.”

he pulls you into him, his hands gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his body warm despite the coldness around you. his forehead presses against yours, and you feel his breath on your lips. for a moment, neither of you say anything, the closeness too overwhelming.

“this is a mistake,” he whispers, his voice low and pained. “you make me… feel things i shouldn’t. things that don’t make sense. i was…. fine before you.”

but you can hear the lie in his words, the way his voice wavers. you press your hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thudding of his heart, and you know — you know he’s just as lost in this as you are.

“it doesn’t have to make sense,” you whisper back. “it just has to be real.”

he exhales sharply, and for a moment, you feel his resolve crumble. his lips ghost over yours, hesitating, almost as if he’s giving you one last chance to walk away. but neither of you move.

and then he kisses you. hard. like he’s drowning and you’re his only breath. his grip tightens around you, desperate, rough, like he can’t get close enough. the kiss is bruising, intense, a war between need and restraint.

“you… drive me insane,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with emotion. “and i hate you for it.” but the way he’s holding you, the way he kisses you again, says the exact opposite.

“i don’t care,” you whisper, breathless as you kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. “i don’t care, ‘kuna.”

he pulls you into him again, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, his forehead resting against yours as you both stand there, panting, holding onto each other like you might both fall apart if you let go.

“you better not run from me again,” you murmur, your voice cracking slightly.

he huffs a bitter laugh, his eyes closed as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “you’re the only one i’ll ever come back for.”

and before you knew it, a wedding hall sparkled with warm light, reflecting off chandeliers and casting a soft glow on the sea of guests. everyone was dressed to the nines, but the only thing that seemed to matter was the pair standing at the altar. you, in a stunning white dress, felt the weight of the world fall off your shoulders when sukuna’s rough hands slipped the wedding ring onto your finger. he looked handsome in his black tuxedo, the sharp lines of his face softening for once, as he gazed at you with an expression you’d never thought you’d see on him — vulnerability. yuuji, standing as one of the best men, was barely holding it together. his cheeks were puffed out as he bit down hard, trying to stifle his sobs, while choso gave him a nudge, as if to remind him to stay strong. but even choso couldn’t stop the trembling in his own bottom lip as sukuna leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss.

the hall exploded into cheers and applause, filling the air with laughter and joy. you’re now officially y/n l/n ryomen, and as you stood there in sukuna's arms, you couldn’t imagine it any other way. the warmth of his body pressed against yours felt like home — something you thought you’d never feel after everything you’d been through.

as the evening carried on, the wedding party only grew livelier. the music shifted into something slower, signaling the couple’s dance. you and sukuna stood in the middle of the floor, all eyes on you as you swayed gently to the music. sukuna’s arms were strong around you, and his grip tightened on your waist like he was afraid to let go, but his expression remained neutral, as if he was suppressing the surge of emotion within him.

“you’re doing it wrong,” you whispered, a small smile playing at your lips.

“shut up,” he grunted, though his lips twitched, betraying the beginnings of a smile. “just keep dancing.”

off to the side of the hall, uraume stood watching the scene unfold. their eyes, usually so cold, had softened just a little as they observed how sukuna held you, as if you were the most precious thing in his world. beside them, suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, though his usual smug demeanor had all but vanished.

“you’ll never tell her, will you,” uraume said quietly, their eyes still on you and sukuna as you danced.

suguru exhaled softly, looking down at the floor before lifting his gaze to meet uraume’s. “she knows,” he replied, his voice low, almost tired.

“and yet you’re letting her walk away?”

“you’re letting it happen on your end too, you know,” suguru countered, his tone tinged with a hint of bitterness.

uraume’s brows furrowed slightly. “that’s not fair of you to say, geto.”

“is anything in life really fair?” suguru’s voice was laced with a resigned sadness, the weight of his words heavy in the air between them. he shifted his gaze back to you, a flicker of something unspoken in his dark eyes as he watched you laugh softly into sukuna’s chest. it was a sound he loved hearing, but one that wasn��t meant for him.

uraume didn’t respond, instead focusing on the way sukuna held you. “he really loves her,” they murmured, almost to themselves.

suguru nodded slightly, his jaw tightening. “yeah… he does.”

there was a moment of silence, the only sound being the soft music from the dance floor and the murmur of guests chatting around them. uraume broke the silence, their voice softer than usual. “it’s better this way, for both of them.”

“maybe,” suguru replied, his eyes never leaving you. “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

uraume didn’t push further, knowing suguru’s heart wasn’t something easily mended, and instead shifted their gaze back to the happy couple. the wedding may have been a celebration, but to the two watching from the sidelines, it was a bittersweet reminder of what could never be.

as the dance ended and the crowd erupted into applause again, sukuna leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple, and you whispered something only he could hear. he smiled — a rare, genuine smile — as he tugged you closer to him, the world around you fading away.

across the room, suguru turned away, letting the noise of the wedding drown out the quiet ache in his chest.

the sound of applause and laughter faded into the background as you pulled away from sukuna after the dance. his lips brushed your forehead softly, his hand lingering on your waist as he watched you with that familiar intensity. "go talk to him," he murmured, his voice gruff but knowing.

you gave him a grateful smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “i’ll be back,” you promised, before turning toward where suguru stood, half-hidden in the shadows near the back of the hall.

he had been watching you the entire time. his arms were crossed, a distant smile tugging at his lips as you approached, but there was something unmistakably bittersweet in his eyes. the smile didn’t quite reach them, as if he was holding back everything he truly felt, tucked safely behind that calm exterior.

“hey,” you said softly, stopping a few steps in front of him.

“hey,” he replied, his voice gentle. the weight of all the unspoken words between you both hung in the air. he uncrossed his arms, standing a bit straighter, but there was a sense of quiet acceptance in his posture. he didn’t need to say it; you both knew what this moment was.

"so..." you started, feeling the warmth of the room seep into your skin, but somehow it didn't reach the ache forming in your chest. "i just wanted to thank you."

he raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a soft smile. “thank me? what for?”

“for everything,” you said, stepping closer. “for being there, for helping me through all the hard times. i don’t think i could’ve done it without you. persephone itself wouldn’t have been there without you.”

he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “you give me too much credit. you’ve always had the strength. i just helped you see it.” his voice cracked ever so slightly, betraying the emotions he kept buried deep inside.

you took another step closer, so close now you could feel his presence like a comforting warmth. “suguru, you mean more to me than you realize. i wouldn’t be standing here right now, happy, if it wasn’t for you.”

his eyes softened, but the sadness remained. “i’m just glad you're happy, vino.” his nickname for you felt heavy with nostalgia, a remnant of the time when he was your closest confidant, your anchor.

"i am happy," you whispered, your eyes searching his. "but… you’re part of that happiness, too. i need you to know that.”

he held your gaze for a moment, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions — regret, love, and something deeper, something that had always remained unspoken between the two of you. "i know," he said quietly. "i know. and i promise i’m okay with it. really." his voice was soft, but firm, as if he were reassuring not only you but himself.

there was a long pause, filled with the quiet sounds of the wedding behind you, but neither of you moved. finally, suguru sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i always knew you’d end up with him,” he admitted, his tone light, though his eyes carried a hint of sadness. “he’s what you need.”

“i don’t want you to think you’re losing me,” you said, your voice breaking slightly as you reached for his hand. "because you’re not."

he hesitated for a moment, then intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly. “i’m not losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “because i’ll always be here for you. you know that, right?”

you nodded, your thumb gently brushing over his knuckles. "always," you echoed.

suguru took a deep breath, his expression softening as he looked down at your hands, your pinkies brushing against each other. and then, slowly, deliberately, he hooked his pinky with yours, a silent promise that transcended words.

“a promise,” he murmured, his voice carrying a quiet resolve. “no matter what happens, we’re in this together. you and me.”

your heart clenched at the simple, yet profound gesture. a promise, not of love in the romantic sense, but of loyalty, of friendship, of everything the two of you had built over the years. no matter how things changed, no matter how life pulled you in different directions, you would always have this.

“a promise,” you whispered back, your pinkies interlocking tightly, sealing the bond you both knew would never fade.

suguru smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes. "i’m happy for you," he said, his voice low but steady. "you deserve this, all of it."

you squeezed his hand gently, holding on for just a little longer. "thank you, suguru. for everything."

his grip tightened, just for a moment, before he let go, the weight of the world lifting off both your shoulders. "go on," he said, nodding toward sukuna, who stood waiting for you at the other side of the room, his gaze fixed on the two of you.

you smiled softly at suguru, giving his hand one last squeeze before turning away. as you walked back to sukuna, you knew that whatever the future held, you and suguru would always share this unbreakable bond. a promise, made with intertwined pinkies and hearts too full of memories to ever forget.

and in the background, as suguru watched you walk away, he felt at peace for the first time in a long time. your happiness was his happiness, even if it meant you were with someone else.

while you spoke quietly with suguru, sukuna found himself in a conversation he didn’t anticipate: a one-on-one with your mother. she was elegant and composed, warm yet casual – a far cry from woman at your new year’s party. she was standing just at the edge of the reception area, sipping on champagne, her eyes fixed on you and suguru.

“mrs. l/n,” sukuna greeted, a surprising softness to his voice as he approached. there was respect in his posture, and though sukuna had built a reputation for being intimidating, he knew when to tread carefully.

she turned toward him, smiling slightly. “ryomen.” her voice was calm, unreadable. she had a presence that reminded sukuna a lot of you — strong, resilient, but there was a gentle warmth beneath the surface. "come to make your case?”

sukuna’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “i think i’ve already made it.”

your mother raised an eyebrow. “have you now? a man like you, with a past like yours, has a lot to prove when it comes to loving my daughter.”

sukuna didn’t flinch. he’d been expecting this. “i do,” he agreed, his voice steady. “and i’m not going to pretend like i haven’t screwed things up in the past. but she knows me — better than anyone. she sees what i’ve become.”

her gaze lingered on him for a moment, thoughtful, weighing. “she does,” she finally said. “and she’s always been a good judge of character. but i’m not worried about her judgment. i’m worried about yours.”

sukuna’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “i won’t ever let her down again,” he promised. “i know what she’s been through, and i know what i put her through. but i’ve changed. elysium...everything i’ve done, it’s for her.”

your mother took another sip of her champagne, her eyes softening as she studied him. “i know,” she said quietly, and sukuna’s eyes widened just slightly in surprise. “i’ve seen the changes in you. starting elysium? helping her get back on her feet? it’s not something the old sukuna would’ve done. i’ve seen the way you’ve fought for her.”

sukuna nodded, a rare flicker of vulnerability flashing across his features. “she saved me too,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “in more ways than i can count. i owe her my life, and i’ll spend the rest of it making sure she never doubts that.”

your mother was silent for a moment, and then she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “you sound like a man in love.”

“i am.” sukuna’s response was instant, no hesitation in his voice. “i love her more than anything.”

“that’s good to hear,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “because that’s what she deserves. a man who will put her first, who will take care of her, and who will cherish her.”

“i will,” sukuna promised, and there was a fierce determination in his voice. “i’ll protect her. always.”

your mother’s gaze softened further, and she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “then i have no doubts,” she said. “you’ve earned her trust, and now...you have mine.”

sukuna swallowed hard, feeling a strange sense of gratitude well up inside him. “thank you,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “i won’t let you down.”

she nodded, her expression warm, almost motherly. “you’d better not. because if you do, i’ll be the first one at your door.”

sukuna let out a low, appreciative chuckle. “understood, mrs. l/n.”

your mother smiled softly. “you know,” she began, her tone lightening just slightly, “you and i...we both know she’s strong. but even the strongest people need someone to lean on. take care of her, ryomen. don’t just protect her — make her happy.”

he looked at her, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “that’s all i want,” he said. “to keep her mine. to keep her happy.”

there was a moment of quiet understanding between them, and for the first time, sukuna felt the weight of this responsibility in a way he hadn’t before. he wasn’t just marrying you; he was being entrusted with your entire life, your heart, your happiness. and somehow, in that moment, standing there with your mother, he felt worthy of it.

as the sounds of laughter and music filled the hall once more, sukuna took a step back, a rare softness in his eyes. “i’ll make sure she knows every day,” he added, his voice lower now, more personal. “she’s everything to me. and i’ll spend my life proving that.”

your mother smiled once more, her eyes filled with the kind of warmth only a mother could have. “then i’m glad she has you,” she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before turning back to the celebration. “welcome to the family, ryomen.”

and as she walked away, sukuna let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. it felt...right. for the first time, he wasn’t the ruthless, business tycoon. he was the man who would spend his life making you happy, keeping you his. he was entrusted with a responsibility that felt almost sacred, and for the first time, he truly believed he was worthy of it.

he turned his head, his eyes catching yours across the room as you held suguru’s hand in a quiet moment of friendship. a promise, not only to suguru, but to yourself, to your mother, to everyone in your life. and sukuna? he would be the man to keep it.

and with that, he allowed himself to feel something he hadn’t in years — a deep, all-consuming sense of peace.

while all the heartfelt conversations were happening elsewhere, yuuji, choso, and uraume were seated together at a table near the back of the reception hall. yuuji had a wide grin on his face, his eyes bright with excitement as he nudged choso with his elbow.

“so, big bro, you’re next in line, right?” yuuji teased, his grin only widening when he saw the unimpressed look on choso’s face.

choso scoffed, rolling his eyes. “please, i can’t even get a full night of sleep, and you’re talking about marriage?”

yuuji, ignoring the deflection, leaned in closer, whispering dramatically, “you’re not getting any younger, bro. you’ll be the one walking down the aisle next! i can feel it.”

“yeah, right,” choso snorted, flicking yuuji’s forehead in retaliation. “you should focus on getting that degree before you start acting like a grandpa, yuuji. you’ve got enough on your plate without playing cupid.”

uraume, who had been sitting quietly, observing the two brothers with their usual composed demeanor, let out an unexpected chuckle at choso’s remark. the sound of uraume laughing — a rare occurrence — caught both yuuji and choso off guard.

“uraume?” yuuji blinked, clearly surprised. “did you just laugh?”

uraume’s expression remained neutral, though their eyes sparkled slightly. “it’s just...you do have a tendency to take on more than you can handle, yuuji. perhaps choso is right. focus on one thing at a time.”

yuuji pouted, crossing his arms. “you guys are ganging up on me! what happened to wedding day joy? isn’t this supposed to be a celebration? and choso, come on, don’t act like you don’t want to settle down!”

choso raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “who said anything about settling down? you’re getting way ahead of yourself.”

yuuji leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. “so, no blind dates then? i mean, you’ve gotta be thinking about it, right? someone’s gotta sweep you off your feet, choso.”

choso shot him an incredulous look. “blind dates? seriously? i’m not interested in that kind of thing.”

yuuji, ever the instigator, pressed on, “oh, come on! you never know. what if someone amazing is just waiting out there for you? don’t tell me you’re going to be single forever.”

uraume, joining the conversation with their usual calm tone, added, “perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst idea. it’s not as if you’re without prospects.”

choso narrowed his eyes suspiciously at uraume. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re dedicated, reliable,” uraume replied, their tone neutral but pointed. “qualities people find appealing in a partner.”

yuuji jumped in again, clearly enjoying himself. “see? even uraume agrees! and besides, you’d look great all dressed up for a date.”

choso sighed heavily, shaking his head. “this conversation is ridiculous.”

“no, it’s not!” yuuji protested, flashing him a grin. “in fact, i think it’s a great idea. i mean, there are tons of great girls out there. or guys, if that’s more your thing. you just need a little push.”

uraume, surprising them both again, said, “it wouldn’t hurt to consider it, choso. it’s not as though blind dates are binding.”

choso stared at uraume, slightly betrayed. “you too? i thought you were the reasonable one.”

yuuji chuckled, clapping his hands together. “it’s settled then! choso, you’re going on a blind date. we’ll make it happen.”

choso groaned, burying his face in his hands. “this is going to be a disaster.”

but even as he sighed, the corner of his lips twitched up, a small smile betraying his amusement. maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny part of him that didn’t hate the idea after all.

as the reception wound down and the soft buzz of laughter and conversation filled the air, sukuna stood at the center of the room, glass in hand, his piercing eyes scanning the crowd. he had never been one for sentimentality, never a man of soft words or tender moments. but tonight, with you by his side, his wife, and the closest people in his life surrounding him, he couldn’t help but feel something stir deep within. a sense of fulfillment. of family.

he cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hum of the room. the murmurs died down, and everyone turned to face him, anticipation hanging in the air. the spotlight seemed to cast an almost softer glow around him as he raised his glass higher.

“i don’t do speeches,” he began, his usual gruffness tinged with something softer tonight, “so don’t expect this to be long.”

you stood by his side, smiling up at him, your hand resting gently on his arm. he caught your gaze for a moment, his expression softening as he looked at you — his wife. a title that still felt surreal in the most comforting way possible.

“but today’s a day for firsts, isn’t it?” he said, glancing around the room. “and… hell, i guess i have some things to say.”

his eyes moved to suguru, standing a few steps away with a drink in his hand. the man was quiet, his usual composed face betraying none of the swirling emotions underneath. but sukuna knew. he always knew. suguru, for all his frustration, was a brother in this strange, twisted way. there was a silent understanding between them, a recognition of what they both had — and didn’t have. sukuna nodded in his direction, subtle but meaningful.

“suguru,” sukuna’s voice was almost thoughtful, “you’ve been there for her, longer than i have. i know that. and as much as i hate to admit it, you’re a part of this too. you’re family.” suguru’s eyes flickered with surprise for a brief second, then a faint smile tugged at his lips. he raised his glass back to sukuna, silently acknowledging the unspoken truth between them.

then sukuna’s gaze shifted to yuuji, sitting at a table with choso and uraume, already smiling that bright, goofy smile that had melted through even sukuna’s cold exterior over the years. yuuji, the kid who without even trying, became one of the few people he cared for.

“and yuuji,” sukuna smirked slightly, “you’ve been annoying as hell, but you’re also one of the best things that’s happened to me.” yuuji’s eyes widened at the unexpected compliment, his grin growing even wider as he nodded enthusiastically, looking like he might burst into tears at any second. “you’ve made things… fun.”

next, choso — the quiet brother, always standing in the background, but never unnoticed. sukuna’s eyes met his, and the two of them shared a look of understanding. they were alike in many ways, silent protectors who spoke more with their actions than with words.

“choso,” sukuna said, his voice dropping just slightly, “you’ve been a steady hand in this chaos we call life. a brother in more ways than one. don’t let yuuji drag you into anything stupid.”

choso chuckled softly, shaking his head as he lifted his glass, his lips quirking into a rare smile. “i’ll try,” he muttered under his breath.

then there was uraume, standing stoically off to the side, watching the entire scene with their usual calm detachment. but sukuna knew better. uraume had been there from the beginning, loyal to a fault, and though they didn’t show it, he knew they cared deeply for him and you. they’d become more than just his right hand; they’d become a confidant, a guardian of his family.

“uraume,” sukuna said, his tone firm but warm, “you’ve always had my back. i don’t say this often, but thank you. for everything.” uraume’s gaze softened just slightly, their lips pressing into a thin line as they gave a small nod, no words needed between them.

then, sukuna’s eyes found yours again, and for a moment, the entire room faded into the background. it was just you and him. the woman who had turned his life upside down, who had dragged him into something so terrifying, so real, that he had no choice but to embrace it. love.

“and you,” sukuna said, his voice softening in a way that only you got to hear, “you’ve made me better, even when i didn’t want to be. i can’t promise that i’ll always be good at this. at… us. but i’ll try. i’ll always try for you.”

your heart swelled at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. you squeezed his arm gently, whispering, “that’s all i need.”

finally, sukuna turned to your mother, who had been watching the entire scene with a knowing smile. she had always been wary of him, and rightfully so. but now, as she looked at him, there was something like approval in her eyes. sukuna met her gaze with a rare vulnerability, bowing his head slightly in respect.

“i know i’m not the son-in-law you imagined,” sukuna said, his voice gruff again but filled with sincerity, “but i’ll take care of her. of them. i swear it.”

your mother’s smile grew, and she raised her glass in return, her voice soft but firm. “i know you will, sukuna. you’ve proven that already.”

sukuna straightened, his chest swelling with a strange sense of pride. it wasn’t often he sought anyone’s approval, but hers meant something. it meant that he’d truly earned his place in your life, in your family.

he took a deep breath, looking around the room one last time, taking in the faces of the people who mattered most to him. “so, here’s to family,” he said, raising his glass high, his voice steady, “the one we’re born into, and the one we make.”

the room erupted into cheers, glasses clinking together as everyone raised their drinks in a toast. the warmth of the moment enveloped the space, a full-circle moment for everyone who had been part of the journey.

as the night went on, you and sukuna stole a quiet moment together, standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching your friends and family laughing and celebrating. sukuna wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, his lips brushing against your ear.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words so soft that only you could hear them.

you smiled, leaning into him as you whispered back, “i love you too.”

and as you stood there, surrounded by the people who had become your family, you realized that this — all of it — was exactly where you were meant to be.

as the night drew to a close, you and sukuna bid your final goodbyes to your guests. suguru gave you a lingering smile, squeezing your hand in reassurance as his pinky briefly locked with yours. yuuji’s eyes shimmered with happy tears as he waved you off enthusiastically, and choso smiled, nodding in your direction. uraume gave you a small, stiff bow — their way of showing warmth. sukuna grunted in his usual fashion, a goodbye only he could pull off with such weight behind it.

you walked together, hand in hand, toward the hotel, the stars shimmering above like they were celebrating the night alongside you. once inside, you gasped dramatically, your hand flying to your chest in mock surprise as you stepped into your hotel suite. the room was nothing short of breathtaking — pure opulence. tall, floor-to-ceiling windows gave a panoramic view of the city’s skyline, sparkling against the deep midnight blue of the night. the room itself was decorated in warm tones of gold and cream, plush sofas, thick velvet curtains, and a massive bed adorned with silk sheets that looked almost too perfect to touch. a bottle of champagne sat chilled on a nearby table, along with rose petals that scattered elegantly across the floor.

"wow," you breathed out, eyes wide as you took it all in, "uraume really pulled out all the stops, huh."

before you could say more, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into a firm, familiar chest. sukuna's low, gruff chuckle rumbled behind you as he hugged you tightly, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“uraume?” he muttered into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “woman, i’ll have you know i arranged this all by myself.” his voice was filled with a playful arrogance, and you couldn’t help but smile at the pride in his tone.

he shifted slightly, pressing his lips to your cheek in a soft, fleeting kiss before his teeth grazed your skin. “going to be spending the night with my wife,” he punctuated the title with a teasing nibble, and you couldn’t hold back the squeal that escaped your lips, laughter bubbling out of you as his grip tightened.

“sukuna!” you giggled, trying to wriggle free from his hold, but he wasn’t having it. with a mischievous glint in his eye, he scooped you up effortlessly, your legs kicking lightly in the air as he spun you around toward the bed.

“oh no, you’re not getting away that easily,” he smirked, carrying you over to the bed as you laughed uncontrollably in his arms. the playfulness, the warmth between you two, filled the room, making it feel less like a grand hotel suite and more like the cozy heart of your new life together.

as sukuna laid you down gently on the bed, you looked up at him, his smirk softening into something more tender, more real. for all his arrogance, all his sharp edges, tonight was a reminder that he was yours. and you were his.

“my wife,” he repeated, softer this time, brushing a strand of hair from your face before he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

you both fell back onto the bed, lying side by side in a quiet, comfortable silence. neither of you felt the need to rush into anything; just being there, together, was enough for now. staring up at the ceiling, you let out a small sigh, your fingers lightly grazing the silk sheets beneath you.

"so," you broke the silence, your voice soft, "i’ve been meaning to ask you about the tattoos on your face.”

sukuna turned his head slightly to glance at you, one brow raising in that signature way of his. “what about them?”

“well, i was just wondering... what’s the story behind them?”

he scoffed, rolling his eyes as if dismissing the question. “bad high school decision. don’t overthink it,” he muttered, his voice nonchalant.

you giggled, not entirely convinced by his answer, and that’s when something clicked in your head. you turned your face to him, curiosity in your eyes. “wait a minute… choso has a similar marking on his nose. is that connected, too?”

sukuna smirked, his gaze flicking to the ceiling again. “yeah, same thing. it’s a tradition of sorts. something we did back then. me, choso.. thought it’d make us look tough or whatever.”

“and did it?” you asked, teasingly.

“hell yeah,” he answered, though there was a playful glint in his eyes that told you he was amused by the memory.

you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, the sound filling the room. “so what other bad decisions did you make, mister tough guy?”

he turned to you again, this time with a sly smile on his lips. there was a brief pause before he replied, his voice lower, softer. “you.”

you blinked in surprise, and before you could react, he added with a smirk, “but you’re the best bad decision i’ve ever made.”

your heart fluttered at his words, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. you knew it was sukuna’s way of expressing something deeper — his own version of affection. there was something about how he framed it, how he spoke with such a bluntness that always left you feeling more seen, more known, than anyone else could make you feel.

you playfully nudged him with your elbow. “you’re such an idiot.”

he chuckled, a rare sound from him, before his hand found yours, interlocking your fingers as you both lay there, side by side. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward but peaceful, the two of you lost in thought, yet somehow connected in the most intimate of ways.

as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself smiling, your eyes growing heavier, feeling safe and loved. you had never imagined this life — the twists, the turns, the bad decisions that led you here. but lying next to sukuna, his hand in yours, you couldn’t help but think it was all worth it.

because sometimes, the best decisions come from the worst ones.

you burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the lavish hotel room as sukuna, ever the provocateur, leaned in closer, his body caging you against the soft pillows.

“if you tell me you’ve had sex with someone before me, i’ll be pissed off,” he declared, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

your eyes widened in mock shock, a playful grin spreading across your face. “sukuna!” you gasped, unable to suppress your laughter. “how could you even ask that?”

“what?” he replied, his voice smooth and mischievous. “just trying to gauge my competition here.”

you wriggled beneath him, your heart racing as his weight pressed gently against you. “there’s no competition! you’re the one i chose!”

“you better mean that,” he said, his expression turning momentarily serious, the playful glint in his eyes still dancing there. “because if you’ve got a whole list of guys i should be worried about —”

“i swear, it’s only ever been you,” you interrupted, your laughter subsiding as you looked into his eyes, the sincerity of your words hanging in the air between you. “i’m not even kidding.”

his lips curved into a smirk, a sense of triumph washing over him. “good. just remember that,” he said, leaning down, his breath warm against your skin. “you’re mine, and i’m not sharing.”

“not that i’d want to,” you murmured, your pulse quickening as his gaze bore into yours. the playful banter hung between you like a delicate thread, both of you enjoying the sweet tension that filled the air.

“smart choice,” he teased, and in a moment of spontaneity, he dipped his head to press a teasing kiss to your lips, his hands framing your face as he pulled back to gauge your reaction.

your cheeks flushed, the laughter from before transforming into something deeper, more intimate. “you’re such a dork,” you said, shaking your head at him, but there was no malice in your words — just affection.

“your dork,” he corrected, grinning. “and don’t forget it.”

sukuna shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you more intently. “you sure you want to continue on with this?” he asked, his tone a mix of teasing and genuine concern. “i don’t want to push you if you’re tired.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his unexpected display of care. “is that really you, ryomen sukuna, asking if i’m okay?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “i never took you for the caring type.”

he scoffed, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “don’t get used to it, woman. it’s just common courtesy,” he replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. “besides, someone has to make sure you’re not passing out on me.”

you giggled, enjoying the banter as much as the moment itself. “common courtesy, huh? i didn’t realize you had such a soft spot.”

“soft spot?” he repeated, feigning offense as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “i’ll have you know that i’m a very tough guy.”

“sure you are,” you said with a playful roll of your eyes, leaning back against the pillows and crossing your arms. “but it’s nice to see this side of you. who knew you could be so… sweet?”

“don’t push it,” he warned, though the hint of a smile remained on his face, clearly enjoying the teasing. “you might just ruin my tough guy reputation.”

“oh, please,” you replied, grinning back at him. “you’ll always be the tough guy. this is just a little added bonus.”

“bonus, huh?” he mused, his expression shifting into something more serious for a moment. “well, just know that i can be tough when it counts. but for you? i can make an exception.”

your heart warmed at his words, a soft silence enveloping you both as you contemplated the depth behind them. sukuna’s gaze held yours, the playful edge now tinged with something deeper, and you could feel the shift in the air around you.

“so, what’s it gonna be?” he asked, breaking the silence with a hint of mischief. “are you ready to keep going, or do you need a nap?”

“i’m definitely ready,” you said, your voice steady and confident. “let’s see just how caring you can be, sukuna.”

he chuckled, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark. “challenge accepted.”

sukuna’s cocky facade didn’t quite match the awkwardness of his hands, the way his fingers grazed over your skin with hesitation, like he was trying to remember the motions. it was unlike him to be so uncertain, and the clumsiness in his movements had you biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“sukuna,” you teased softly, glancing up at him with a warm smile, “you don’t have to be so shy, you know.”

his brow furrowed in an attempt to stay composed, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him. “shut up, woman,” he huffed, his voice gruff, “i know what i’m doing.” the confidence was there, but you could feel the subtle tremor in his touch. his grip was firm, yet careful — an odd mixture of control and restraint.

he wasn’t used to this. not with you. not with someone who mattered.

you felt a sense of tenderness for him in that moment, seeing him vulnerable like this. his tough exterior was crumbling, piece by piece. “you can touch me, you know,” you whispered, offering him the reassurance he didn’t ask for but clearly needed.

“‘m getting to it,” he practically barked, frustration lacing his voice as if he were trying to convince himself more than you. your giggle slipped out, and though it earned a glare from him, there was no real bite behind it. it was adorable — watching the all-powerful ryomen sukuna struggle with something so simple.

he fumbled with the fabric of your dress, clearly annoyed. “stupid dress gettin’ in the way,” he muttered, gripping it with one of his large hands, bunching it up to reveal your legs. the cool air hit your skin, and instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, a wave of self-consciousness creeping in.

the sound that left sukuna’s throat was a deep, low growl. “don’t hide yourself,” he ordered, his voice rough but lacking malice. he wasn’t used to this — having to make someone feel safe — but the sincerity in his words made you relax just a little.

“i know, but it’s still kinda weird —” you began, your voice soft.

“it’s only weird if you make it weird,” he grumbled, clearly fumbling for something reassuring to say, though the way he said it was anything but delicate. you could tell he was out of his element, but the effort was there, and that was enough to make your heart swell.

he paused, his gaze locking with yours for a long moment. there was something in his eyes, a softness that didn’t fit the man everyone else saw. “you sure you wanna do this?” sukuna’s voice was quieter this time, carrying a weight of concern that wasn’t typical of him.

“of course i want to!” you blurted out, a bit too fast, and his lips twitched into a grin before a low, genuine laugh bubbled up from his chest. it was rare to hear him laugh like that — so unguarded — and it made your heart skip a beat. your own embarrassment melted away, replaced by the warmth of the moment.

“then who am i to deny my wife what she wants?” he said, his tone light but filled with affection. the word “wife” rolled off his tongue with such ease, but the meaning behind it was still sinking in for both of you.

you grinned, shaking your head at his smugness. “you’ll never get tired of saying that, will you?”

“never,” sukuna replied without hesitation, his grin wide and proud as he unbuckled his belt and tossed his suit jacket aside, the movements more confident now. but there was still that tenderness in his actions — a stark contrast to his usual demeanor.

as he leaned in to kiss you, the rest of the world faded away. the moment was just for the two of you. despite the teasing, despite the clumsiness, there was a sense of reverence in the way sukuna touched you—a reverence that made you feel like you were the most important person in his world. this wasn’t just about passion or desire. it was about trust, about sharing something real.

and as he kissed you again, you realized that for all of his roughness, all of his pride, sukuna was holding you like you were his most precious possession. like you were the best decision he had ever made.

he pulled back, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. “you’re the best bad decision i’ve ever made,” he murmured, the words almost too soft for someone like him. but they were raw, honest.

your chest fluttered, the weight of his admission settling in. with a soft laugh, you reached up, brushing a hand against his jaw. “well, if that’s the case, i guess i’m happy to be your worst one.”

he smirked, leaning into your touch. “yeah? good. ‘cause you’re stuck with me now, woman.”

and for once, you didn’t mind the idea of being stuck at all.

the two of you lay bare before each other, the air thick with anticipation. there was a vulnerability in the moment that hadn’t been there before, an unspoken trust that made your heart race.

“‘kuna,” you breathed out, voice soft but filled with a hint of playfulness, “help me take the veil off —"

“nah,” sukuna interrupted with a devilish grin, his sharp eyes raking over your body. “looks sexy,” he added, pulling you closer to him, his large hands pressing against your back, making the warmth of his skin meld into yours. you could feel the strength in his hold, but there was a gentleness there too, a reverence in how he handled you.

the contrast between his rough personality and the care he took with you was striking, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and cherished all at once. his fingers traced over your skin, teasing but careful, as if he was savoring every second.

“you ready?” sukuna asked, his voice low, a rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“born ready — oh shit, not ready!” you gasped out, voice shooting up in surprise at the sudden sensation between your legs, the shock of his intrusion making your body react instinctively as you scrambled to hold onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

his chuckle rumbled against your chest, though his brows furrowed in a mix of focus and concern. “shit, sorry,” he muttered, grunting softly as he forced himself to slow down, his voice laced with restraint. “just hold on, okay? it gets better.”

you nodded, your breath catching in your throat as the initial shock settled. “mm, o-okay,” you whined softly, trying to adjust, the tension in your body easing as you pressed your forehead against his. sukuna’s lips ghosted over your temple, his breath hot as he whispered a mixture of praise and reassurance.

“that’s it... you’re doin’ good,” he rasped, his voice gruff but tender, the way he spoke to you making your heart melt despite the intensity of the moment. his hands stayed steady on your hips, holding you close, grounding you. “just relax… i’ve got you.”

you breathed out shakily, your fingers clutching his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms. despite the rough exterior, despite the teasing, sukuna was holding you with care. his usual bravado faded as he focused entirely on you, the rhythm of his movements slow and deliberate, making sure you were with him every step of the way.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable in its tone, the way his eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort.

“yeah,” you whispered, feeling the sincerity in his concern. “yeah, i’m okay.”

his smirk returned, just a little softer this time. “good… ‘cause i’m not gonna stop now,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you, sealing his words with a touch that was as possessive as it was tender.

“sukuna, slow down!” you squealed, the sudden intensity making your body jolt.

he let out a deep, rough laugh, voice strained, but dripping with cockiness. “can’t. fuckin’. slow. down,” he growled, each word punctuated with a particularly harsh movement that made you grip onto him tighter. it wasn’t enough to hurt, but enough to push you to your limit, sending shockwaves through your body.

“safe word is you slapping me,” sukuna panted out, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he thrust into you, the sensation overwhelming.

“slap you?” you echoed, trying to make sense of his words as you fought against the fogginess clouding your mind. your voice wavered between disbelief and amusement as you clung onto him for dear life, barely able to form coherent thoughts with how his body was taking over your senses.

he grunted in response, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulled you closer, hips moving with a reckless pace that made your breath hitch. “’m dead serious,” he groaned. “slap me on the face if you want me to stop.”

“that’s just gonna make you wanna go more!” you whined, your words slurring slightly as the pleasure built higher, threatening to send you over the edge.

his lips twisted into a grin, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “hm, touché,” he chuckled, the sound of his voice sending another wave of heat through you. his grin never faltered, even as he leaned down, pressing a rough kiss against your lips, muffling the moan that escaped you.

“guess we’ll just have to keep going,” sukuna teased, his breath ragged but full of challenge. the way his hands roamed your body, how he seemed to know exactly how far he could push you — it was intoxicating, overwhelming in the best way. and as you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding on, you knew there was no stopping now.

sukuna’s breath hitched as his movements became erratic, that cocky confidence of his faltering just a bit. “you know i really fuckin’ love you, right?” he panted out between rough breaths, his voice heavy with emotion, though still dripping with that signature arrogance.

“yeah, i can tell,” you gasped out breathlessly, an airy laugh escaping your lips despite the intensity of the moment. the way he had you pinned against him, completely overwhelmed by his strength and the rough tenderness in his movements, left no room for doubt. he had a way of making even the filthiest declarations sound almost sweet.

“good... just wanted to — fuck — m-make sure,” sukuna stammered, a crack in his usual composure as his voice grew rougher. his body was betraying him, the familiar hot pull of release starting to pool in his belly, and he was losing control quicker than he wanted to admit.

you could feel the change in him — the way his grip on you tightened, the way his breathing grew even more ragged, the urgency in every movement. “'kuna, are you —”

“let me focus!” sukuna cut you off with a strained grunt, his brows furrowing as he struggled to hold onto his composure. his hands tightened around your hips, pulling you even closer, burying himself deeper as his control slipped more and more. the desperation in his tone was almost endearing, in a very sukuna way — he was trying so hard to maintain that cocky, cool front, but the way he was clinging to you, the way his body trembled slightly, gave him away.

you couldn’t help but smirk through the haze of pleasure, your own body shaking as you ran your hands down his back, holding him just as tight. “need help focusing?” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, still trying to catch your breath as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, groaning lowly in response.

“you think you're so funny,” he huffed against your skin, his breath warm and heavy, his teeth grazing lightly over your pulse as his pace quickened, losing himself in you. “gonna be even funnier when i’m done with you…”

his threat was empty, but the way he was holding onto you, the raw need and affection behind each ragged breath, each movement, made you feel like you were all he ever needed. the world outside faded, and it was just the two of you, tangled in each other, hearts pounding in sync.

sukuna’s voice came out in a strangled groan, his grip on your hips tightening to the point of bruising as his control began to slip completely. “can i — oh fuck — inside?” his voice cracked, a rare show of vulnerability that made your heart race faster than it already was.

“y-yeah, just —” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders, “just do it quick, i don’t think i can — ah — hold on long.”

he grunted in response, his forehead pressed against yours as his eyes fluttered shut, trying so hard to keep it together, but failing miserably. “yeah, i know, i gotch — oh fuck, y/n…” he choked out, his entire body trembling as he felt you clench around him, pulling him deeper, and the way you were responding to him wasn’t helping his already fraying composure. “you’re not making this e-easier f’me,” he practically whimpered, his usual gruffness nowhere to be found now.

he was unraveling. completely.

“just let it happen, ‘kuna,” you whispered, breathless, the nickname rolling off your tongue in a way that sent shivers down his spine. and that was all it took. the sound of his name, the way you said it — so raw, so intimate — was the final straw.

“fuck — y/n,” he grunted, his voice breaking as his hips slammed into yours, his pace becoming erratic, desperate. he buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin as his body tensed, shaking against you. the heat of him, the way he was holding you like he was afraid to let go — it made everything feel overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering right there on the edge too.

“‘kuna —” you moaned, your own body shuddering, your nails dragging down his back as you reached your peak, and the way you cried out his name sent him spiraling.

“shit,” sukuna choked out one last time, his whole body jerking as he finally let go, spilling into you with a groan that was both relief and overwhelming intensity. his grip on you tightened, like you were his anchor, grounding him as he rode out his high, shuddering against you, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

for a moment, neither of you moved. just the sound of your heavy breathing filled the room, the only sign of life. sukuna was still holding you close, his face pressed into your neck, the sweat on his skin cooling as the adrenaline slowly ebbed away. his body was heavy on top of yours, but it felt comforting, reassuring, like he didn’t want to let you go.

“fuck…” he muttered, still panting, his voice hoarse, but there was something almost tender in it, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “you okay?”

you nodded weakly, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips. “i’m more than okay, ‘kuna.” you squeezed his shoulders lightly, your hands tracing slow patterns on his skin, both of you still wrapped in the aftermath of the moment.

“best bad decision i ever made,” he muttered, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he kissed the side of your neck, his voice rough, but so warm now, so content.

“you’ll never get tired of saying that, will you?” you teased, echoing your earlier words, your heart swelling with affection as you held him close.

“never,” he grinned, his lips brushing yours in a slow, languid kiss, filled with everything he couldn’t quite put into words. “not when it’s true.”

“now, about that round two…” “sukuna!”

epilogue.

“so how’s —?” choso’s voice filters through the phone, casual but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts.

“my wife? she’s good,” sukuna replies, a soft chuckle escaping as he glances at the photo wall in front of him, the space having blossomed with new memories. there’s the photo from your wedding, the two of you looking surprisingly at ease, captured in a rare, tender moment. next to it, the maternity shoot where you glowed with happiness, cradling your growing belly. and then the grainy image, snapped by yuuji, of you in the hospital ward holding your newborn. sukuna’s own figure, absent in the frame, was a choice — he had turned away, pretending to be too occupied with something else while tears pricked his eyes.

as his gaze moves across the wall, he finds himself smiling at the other photos: uraume, holding your child awkwardly, their expression uncharacteristically soft as your baby girl beamed at them. another picture shows suguru, his grimace exaggerated as your daughter gleefully yanked at his hair while riding on his shoulders, her tiny hands gripping his locks with innocent mischief. and there’s one of yuuji and choso, each kissing your daughter’s cheeks, her laugh caught perfectly mid-giggle. each photo, a snapshot of love, family, and time.

he still can’t believe he’s come this far, that he’s standing in front of a wall filled with memories of a family he never thought he’d have. it used to be a word that left a bitter taste in his mouth, something he rejected. but now? now it feels…right.

“you should get her over to our home sometime. it’s been a while since the two — i mean, three of you have come over,” choso’s voice echoes through the phone, pulling sukuna back to the moment.

sukuna chuckles softly at the slip. it’s still taking everyone, including his own brother, time to adjust to the idea that ryomen sukuna — the feared, ruthless business tycoon— is now a father. a father to a beautiful baby girl named aiko ryomen y/l/n. she looked so much like you, but that smirk — the one that mirrored his own — was unmistakable, even at just a year old. she had his fire, his intensity, but you tempered it with your warmth, creating a perfect balance that he never knew he needed.

“only when you get your girl,” sukuna teases, his voice lighter than it used to be.

“deal,” choso replies, amusement lacing his words.

“deal,” sukuna echoes, his smile lingering long after the call ends.

as he tucks his phone into his pocket, sukuna’s gaze moves across the wall of photos, his eyes fall on the most recent addition, one that stands out among the rest — a family photo taken just last month. it’s larger than the others, framed carefully and placed in the center of the collection.

in the photo, you’re holding aiko, who’s perched on your hip, her tiny hands gripping your arm with that signature smirk plastered across her chubby face. you’re smiling, your expression soft and warm, the love for your family evident in your eyes. standing beside you is sukuna, his arm resting casually on your shoulder, a slight smile on his face — barely noticeable, but it’s there, a glimpse of the man who hides his tenderness behind walls of cold arrogance.

beside him, uraume stands stiffly, as they always do, but there’s something softer in their expression, their usual rigid posture relaxed as they hold aiko’s hand gently. choso and yuuji stand next to them, both leaning in with matching wide smiles, yuuji making a peace sign with his fingers while choso, ever the protector, stands with a hand on yuuji’s shoulder. and then there’s suguru, who stands on the other side of you, his eyes crinkled with amusement as he looks down at aiko, who’s trying to reach for his hair — again.

it’s a chaotic picture, mismatched smiles and personalities blending together into something that feels almost surreal. a family — his family. the word rings in his mind as he stares at the photo, and for a moment, sukuna is overwhelmed. he never imagined this would be his life, that the ruthless, feared man he once was could stand among these people and feel…content. happy, even.

he used to think of himself as a lone wolf, someone who didn’t need or want anyone. but now, looking at this photo, he realizes how wrong he was. these people — each of them — have become a part of his world, his family, in ways he never thought possible.

his hand grazes the edge of the frame as he lets out a deep breath, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he can barely name. gratitude, love, maybe even fear — fear of losing this, of somehow screwing it all up. but for once in his life, he pushes those thoughts away. he lets himself just be in this moment, soaking in the quiet joy that this family has brought him.

he doesn’t have to be perfect. he doesn’t have to have all the answers. he just has to be here — with you, with aiko, with everyone he cares about. and that, somehow, is enough.

turning away from the wall, sukuna leans against the window, staring out at the cityscape beyond. his heart, once so guarded, so hardened, feels lighter now, softer in a way he never thought possible.

it wasn’t easy to get here. there were fights, broken moments, regrets that lingered in the corners of his mind. but in the end, you stood by him. you saw past his flaws, his anger, his mistakes, and chose to love him anyway.

and he knows now — this is what life is about. it’s messy, chaotic, imperfect. but it’s real. and it’s his.

he turns back to the photo wall, his eyes lingering on the image of you and aiko, surrounded by the people who have become his family, and he smiles — a rare, genuine smile that only you have ever seen.

“all you need is a little bit of love in the mix,” he murmurs to himself, your words from years ago echoing in his mind.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s the truth he needed all along.

as the sun begins to set, casting a golden light across the room, sukuna stands there, feeling the weight of everything and nothing all at once. he has his family, his love, his life. and for the first time in a long, long time, he feels at peace.

fin.

while you're here, why not check out some fun facts about persephone that didn't make it to the final cut? ;D the "slap me" safe word with sukuna was inspired by @webism's kinktober post, make sure to check it out <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

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