#JUST DON'T BLAME IT ON ME ;( au: demon) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orchidyoonkook · 1 year ago

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The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word.

Intimate. That would be a better choice.

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering.

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony.

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy.

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts.

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go.

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between.

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company.

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight.

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off.

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges.

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter.

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot.

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are.

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back.

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses.

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up.

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.”

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is.

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck.

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself.

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.”

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night.

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung!

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing.

You just lost all your tips for the night.

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it.

Fuck.

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet.

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know.

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it.

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass.

No one serves him but you.

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you.

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year.

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath.

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,” he responded.

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased.

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you.

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it.

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink.

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself.

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.”

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.”

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.”

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation.

No one calls the Devil by his first name.

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to.

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives.

No one except you.

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is.

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that.

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night.

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker…

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up.

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath.

The King of Hell.

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end.

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon.

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging.

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully.

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity.

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive.

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again.

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well.

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while.

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was.

And maybe he is.

But not to you.

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow.

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him.

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world.

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you.

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find.

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos.

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside.

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor.

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding.

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system.

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth.

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing.

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer.

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.”

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target.

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own.

Yoongi.

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself.

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real.

And he looks like sin incarnate.

Fitting.

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you.

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on.

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved.

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you.

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises.

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night.

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse.

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him.

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body.

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.”

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now.

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening.

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you.

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant.

Beautiful.

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says.

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you.

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers.

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you.

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring.

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear.

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait—

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse.

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’.

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him.

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides.

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it.

You’ve decided.

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power.

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years.

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back.

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club.

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait.

And apparently neither does Yoongi.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate.

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil.

You trust Yoongi.

“That's a good girl.”

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft.

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people?

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on.

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get.

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight.

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent.

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea.

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh.

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off.

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?”

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs.

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you.

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.”

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him.

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge.

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look.

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded.

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter.

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip.

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue.

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.”

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get.

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it.

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt.

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines.

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before.

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip.

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him.

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it.

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it.

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.”

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures.

You’re the most powerful person here.

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible.

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know.

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact.

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets.

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace.

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them.

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you.

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else.

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal.

Perfect in every single way.

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too.

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back.

Not yet.

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling.

Ever.

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more.

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence.

There was only you.

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows.

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming.

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance.

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white.

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need.

It’s yours.

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze.

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented.

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?”

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?”

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before.

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say.

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.”

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.”

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him.

You just know it.

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless.

You never expected anything like that.

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years.

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better.

Because of you.

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that.

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly.

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell.

He was yours now.

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

2K notes · View notes

koolades-world · 6 months ago

Note

Ok so this is on the angsty side, you can write this how you generally want but I do hope you keep the concept the same, you can add less angst if you want

Ok so

A replaced AU where MC is pretty much discarded by the brothers so they can pay more attention to the new exchange student. It starts off slowly at first, them saying they want to make sure RN(replacement name) knows their way around and that they’re new so they want to make them feel welcomed, but then it starts becoming where they stop hanging out with MC in general. They stop inviting them out, they forget to tell them food is ready or that they ordered food(they don’t even get them food either). MC just feels very forgotten

Ok so for the actual request now lol

Can you do pretty much this concept for a fic with MC who got attacked and really badly injured by another demon, was found by either Solomon or Simeon, and after they contacted Diavolo(and got MC bandaged and cleaned up) they all collectively decided(Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and even Luke) that they wouldn’t tell the brothers what happened. They wouldn’t even have MC go back to HOL, they let them stay at purgatory hall and would have Barbatos keep an eye on them when they were in RAD. They’ll wait to see how long it takes them to notice their absence. And months pass. Months of MC slowly healing from her trauma of being attacked and slowly learning how to be a basic human again. None of the brothers realize MC is even gone. They only notice once one of them need something from them and they ask if anyone has seen them. When they go to Diavolo to ask, he immediately reprimands and yells at them for not noticing the fact that they were gone for MONTHS. He asks where they were when MC was attacked and bleeding out on the floor and where they were when they were healing from that attack

They now all feel like shit and they just get the exact same reaction from Solomon and Simeon when they try and call them too. Everytime they see MC in public, they always have someone by their side, always ready to keep them away from them. When they do see MC from far away, they see how small they look, how they’re constantly looking around and flinching at any sudden movement or loud sound. They feel even worse by the day. They were all also blocked on MC’s DDD so they can’t even try and talk through messages or calls. They need to slowly regain their trust, if they even regain it at all.

Yeah that got a little angsty lol

Again you don’t have to make it as angsty as I described, you can make it as angsty as you want(I would love a good cry though lol)

Please please please and thank you! Take your time with this one if you need

this request vanished on me a couple times now so I grabbed it as soon as I saw it again! curse tumblr and whatever it’s on. really hope they get around to fixing that because it is so scary and nerve wracking to have something disappear on you like that

i can only assume the second ask was also you haha it was quite fun to read and really get into the idea you created :) i decided to use Rn for the replacement mc, like how I used Mc as a name, since i liked it so much

alright enough about that, i love my angst and it feels like you almost knew it haha. you asked and i will deliver! i veered off the idea a little, but i hope you enjoy :)

enjoy <3

bygone

It was hard being second best at anything. Constantly being passed over and just missing the mark of being best. It hurt, knowing you were so close yet so far from number one. But what you were to the brothers now was far worse than second best; forgotten.

You don't know when this all had started, and initially, you'd been forgiving, because the treatment Rn was getting was the treatment you wished you'd had when you arrived in the Devildom. You wouldn't want to wish a negative experience upon them, since you were in their shoes at one point. And yet after everything, you couldn't find a reason to blame them for anything.

It wasn't their fault they were in the Devildom. It wasn't their fault they were more likable than you. And it wasn't their fault you were attacked.

It was particularly gloomy that day, and it was so windy you almost got swept away a couple times. But the brothers didn't care and you knew it. Your Purgatory Hall friends were all busy at clubs, and while they'd offered a quiet corner for you to do your work in so they could walk you home, you refused. You didn't want to bother then even though you knew they didn't mind.

You thought the walk home would've been uneventful, like it usually was. You were right, and you made it home safely, until you realized you'd left an important textbook in your locker. You made it successfully back to RAD, and were in front of your locker trying to open it when you were slammed from behind into it. You must've hit your head, because everything after that was hazy and you struggled to recall what happened, or who attacked you. The next thing you remembered was Simeon hovering over you, looking more distressed than you'd ever seen him.

The morning after, you woke up with a pounding headache you thought was due to your morning alarm. You'd reached over to turn it off, but before you could, Luke rushed in the room and began scolding you for trying to get up. As he talked at you, his words went in one ear and out the other. The other members of Purgatory Hall, as well as Barbatos entered the room at some point. They all looked strained or disturbed in a way. When you asked what had happened, Solomon was the one to break the news to you. You didn't know quite how to feel, but you knew at the very least that you were finally in good hands.

After this, the four of them sat in the room with you, and just chatted with you. It was nice to feel welcome in such a casual space again. At some point, you realized you weren't at home, and were instead at Purgatory Hall. That was when they revealed their plan to just not tell the brothers, and that you were more than welcome to live with your friends at Purgatory Hall instead. You felt a weak smile form on your face. It was good to be wanted again.

As time passed by, you grew physically better thanks to the attentive care of your new housemates, but the same couldn't be said emotionally. In the comfort of home, you felt safe, especially surrounded by your wonderful support system. At first, you couldn't even bring yourself to leave the house, and the first time you saw one of the brothers again was a major setback, but you did what you could. Those around you gave you all the time you needed to heal, and you let them know you were finally ready to try and take that next step again.

Barbatos and Diavolo had invited the residents of Purgatory Hall over for a nice little tea party, which you were proud to say you were now included in. They’d told you to get dressed up to spend a nice afternoon with them and enjoy yourself. It was something to look forward to, so the night before, you laid out an outfit. The next morning, you woke up feeling excited for once. Your new support system seemed determined to make this the best day possible, and despite asking them not to jump through hoops for you, they went to whatever lengths possible just to see you smile.

You felt possible the happiest you’d ever been since before Rn arrived when you got to the castle. All the little D’s welcomed you enthusiastically and ushered the four of you into the castle. Diavolo was already seated, but got up as soon as you walked into the room. He greeted you with a hug and soon, the five of you were happily talking. Barbatos joined you at some point, and knowing you would insist he relax, he sat down with the promise to get up if you needed anything.

It was supposed to be perfect.

You were enjoying your second cup of tea when there was a frantic knock at the door. It was distant, but you could all hear the panic behind it. Barbatos was the first to get up and he announced he would check it out. The five of you glanced around at each other, but continued as normal. A couple minutes went by, and a little D flew into the room and pleaded with Diavolo for help. This alarmed all of you, but Diavolo had you sit back down while he went to go assist Barbatos. Solomon and Simeon exchanged glances, but did as he asked.

You began to hear yelling, and the door Diavolo had just left through burst open. An awfully familiar pair of blue eyes locked onto you. "Mc!" Mammon called out. You froze, not sure how to react. Solomon stood up, pushing his chair back and letting it scrape against the ground.

Before anyone could speak, Diavolo pushed past Mammon and stood directly in front of him, arms crossed. "I didn't give you permission to enter my home." You'd never seen Diavolo more serious. Mammon was hidden from view now, thankfully, but that couldn't stop the sound of his voice reaching your ears.

"You lied to us. Mc is here." Mammon's tone was so sharp, it nearly cut the tension in the room.

"Why would you do that? We miss them." Levi sounded more angry than you'd ever heard him. The noise of his tails thrashing angrily about against the marble floors echoed through the hall.

"Oh really? You miss them, you say? Did you miss them when they were alone because of your actions? Did you miss them when they were bleeding out in the halls of RAD? Did you miss them in the months of recovery? You were so consumed with Rn that you failed to notice the absence of the very person that solved many of your problems and brought your family back together." Diavolo had shifted into his demon form in the middle of his rant. You could feel the waves of anger peeling off of him, and you knew sure as hell that the brothers could feel it too.

The room was filled with silence again. Solomon moved to stand next to the future king. "You should go now." His voice was soft, but firm.

"I'll see them out." Barbatos was behind the brothers somewhere. They left without much resistance after they got a glimpse at your face. During the entire interaction, you felt silent tears streaming down your face. Luke leant over and tried to offer you a handkerchief with his name embroidered on the corner. When you didn't move to take it, he dabbed the tears from your face for you and embraced you tightly.

"I'm sorry about them, Mc." Diavolo walked back over to you and stood behind you.

"It's alright." You hugged Luke back. Diavolo joined in, causing Solomon and Simeon to as well. "I have you guys, don't I?"

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #oneshot #gn reader #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me barbatos

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liketolaugh-writes · 3 months ago

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I've been thinking about a Demon Twins AU with Good Parents Fentons.

----

Danny laughed softly, rolled over, and looked at her. Maddie's brow creased the longer he stared, and she waited for him to speak.

"...Aren't you mad?" he asked at last.

Mad? How was she supposed to be mad when she was still thinking about his birth mother cutting his throat?

"About what, sweetie?"

He blinked at her, with the same soft blue eyes she'd always known. "About... me lying for so long, I guess. Hiding so many important things from you and Dad. Things... things that you probably wouldn't have adopted me if you'd known."

"You say that like you tricked us into it," Maddie teased gently. But Danny just shrugged.

"You could've had a normal kid," he said. Maddie's heart broke.

"But they wouldn't have been you," she reminded him, voice soft. "I care about you, Danny, not some hypothetical perfect child that I could have had. You are my son. That's what matters." Danny's breath hitched as he cut off a whimper. Maddie pressed forward. "And you deserve a family - someone that can show you that you can still be loved after the things that have happened to you. Why not us?"

Well- there were actually a lot of answers to that, such as another family might not have hunted his ghost when he died, but none that Danny was likely to voice. If he thought them at all.

Sure enough, Danny just rolled toward her and pressed his forehead against her knee, a silent gesture of gratitude.

"I should call Tucker," he murmured at last, and Maddie nodded and went to get his phone.

Unfortunately, that gave her time to mull over everything that he and Talia had said, all of the odd offhand comments and sly hints. Talia had used her words like a weapon, and Danny, in his way, had done the same.

You still don't guard your left side - was that true? Had there always been that silent cry of a missing piece, and Maddie had simply never noticed?

Why was Danny so skeptical of his grandfather's death? Why did Talia promise that he wouldn't need to get his hands dirty? Why did Talia say that she shouldn't have had Danny and Damian? What were the Lazarus Pits she'd spoken of with such significance?

What did Danny mean when he accused his mother of cutting his throat, and why didn't she deny it?

Maddie was still fussing over those questions when Danny finally hung up, looking satisfied. He squirmed toward her, and she instinctively brought his head back to her lap. That seemed to be what he wanted, because he relaxed with a sigh, and almost immediately slipped into a doze. She ran her fingers through his hair, and kept thinking.

Danny didn't stir until Jack returned with food, and it was only because Jack's cheerful shout was difficult to miss. Maddie leaned forward to intercept before Jack could spill soda all over their bed, and Jack gave her a sheepish laugh before settling down with everything else.

"The door, Jack," Maddie reminded him fondly, and distributed the food while he hurried back to close the door.

Jack sat down again and helped Danny up to prop against him. Almost immediately, a distracted light of worry was back in his eyes, making Maddie winced with sympathy. Danny clearly noticed it too, from the slight wave of tension, but didn't bring it up.

"Danny," Jack said at last, halfway through the meal. His shaky voice made it clear it had been a strain to even get that far. "What did you mean, when you said she..." He couldn't say it. Maddie couldn't blame him.

Danny hesitated, then sighed, putting his burger down. He leaned against Jack and visibly considered how to answer. His eyes were thousand miles away. He reached up, and his fingertips brushed his throat. There was no scar there.

"It was how I got away," he said, and dropped his hand, halfheartedly picking up his burger again. He took a bite, thinking again as he chewed. Jack and Maddie both stopped, unable to focus, but tried not to stare Danny down. Don't rush him, Maddie told herself. Her head snapped back up when Danny continued. "My grandfather was Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head." He said it like a title, a name that people would whisper in fear. It was easy to believe. "He had exacting standards for me and Damian, so our training started early. I was good with martial arts, Dami with weapons. But when it came time to put our training to use, I wasn't... good at it."

Danny's voice was strained, and it was clear that even after the day's revelations, it was still difficult for him to talk about this. Not that Maddie could blame him, of course. It was hard just to hear.

Danny had bloomed from... whatever that man had tried to turn him into, from the start of an assassin into a sweet, brilliant boy who watched avidly as Jack showed him how to take the microwave apart and put it back together. Trying to imagine him before they met, what they could have forced him to do, felt like crushing a flower back into its bud. And somehow, suddenly, she understood.

"You said you weren't suited for that life," she whispered. Danny nodded stiffly. "That woman promised you wouldn't need to get your hands dirty. Danny..."

She couldn't imagine it, Maddie realized, because it had never happened. Danny had never been the right shape for that.

"I couldn't kill," Danny confirmed, without looking at her. Maddie bit down a whimper. Jack gasped, and moved suddenly, probably to clutch at Danny like he'd disappear. But Danny flinched, and Jack stopped, closing his fist around nothing as he stared at Danny with grief. Danny ignored both of them, maybe unable to make this confession and look at them at the same time. "I would... freeze. My hands would shake. My fingers would go numb. I don't know what the hell my problem was."

And he didn't, Maddie could tell. Even now, years after his escape from that life, Danny still didn't completely understand why he'd reacted that way. Why he'd found it so viscerally repulsive. Why a child would be unable to kill. Maddie imagined it despite herself, Danny as the little boy they'd first met, holding a knife to some faceless person's throat until he started to hyperventilate, then cry, dropping the knife to rub childishly at his eyes. Before she knew it, tears slipped down her face, then her neck.

"Dami could do it," Danny added, softly. And that image, somehow, was even worse - another little boy gently taking the knife from Danny's numb fingers and slicing through that faceless person's neck, spilling blood over both their hands.

"The problem," Maddie murmured, almost shaking with rage, "is that you were eight, and someone told you to kill."

Danny blinked at her, startled, and then smiled sadly. "Dami could do it," he repeated. "If no one else was around, he'd say I did it. He covered for me for more than two years."

So... six. Danny had been six the first time someone had tried to make him a murderer. Maddie felt sick. She put her food down.

"But then they started to talk about separating us," Danny continued. "Sending us on different missions, or even having us work solo." Eight year olds, working missions like they were adults - Maddie wanted to drag Talia back and kill her for putting Danny in this world. Danny himself looked, at worst, melancholy. "If that happened, we wouldn't be able to hide it anymore, and Grandfather would have had me killed."

"No," Jack whispered, echoing Maddie's thoughts. Danny smiled a little, and leaned further into Jack as if drawing comfort from him. Maddie hoped that he was. That something of this was helping.

All of this leads to Talia cutting Danny's throat, Maddie remembered suddenly.

"So Mother did it first," Danny said without replying. Maddie's heart dropped. "The League had access to... kind of some weird stuff, more magic than science. One of those things was the Lazarus Pits. Looking back, they were definitely derived from ectoplasm, but they'd done something weird to it. Not that important, I guess." He shrugged. "The Lazarus Pits bring the dead and dying back to life."

No, Maddie wanted to say, as if that would stop what she already knew was coming.

"So Mother faked an assassination," Danny continued anyway. "Held my head in one hand and a knife in the other, and told me to be brave. Then she let the doctors declare me dead, and..." He trailed off, letting them finish. He was smiling, small and pained, like he was apologizing for how awful this was to hear.

"Brought you back with the Lazarus Pits," Maddie whispered, shaken to the core. Danny nodded. "That's... that's..."

Danny smiled mirthlessly. "Something only a loving mother raised in a death cult would do?"

Not what Maddie would have said, but in a horrible sort of way, it made sense. Talia loved Danny enough to try to get him out at any cost. To defy the will of the cult they were stuck in. She loved him enough to cut his throat and hold him while he died.

(Was Maddie really so much better?)

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #danyal al ghul #my writing

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chimcess · 3 months ago

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Nachash || jhs

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Med Student!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count: 21.4k+ Summary: After the loss of both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell their home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place that she has little memories of despite 10 years of living in Harlem. Her world begins to shift, and she starts to lose sight of dreams and reality, and at the center of it all is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her a strange sense of deja vu, but she can’t help but wonder if he is who he says he is and why a strange bar keeps popping up in her nightmares. Warnings: Strong language, bad medical terminology (I tried), Hoseok has a demon side (like physically different), main character (somewhat) death (graphic), graphic violence, reader slowly losing her mind, heavy religious themes in a large chunk of this, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling, hard dom Hoseok, so much blood, low-key a yandere but not really, blood play, blood drinking, begging for life, extreme emotional manipulation, growling, over stimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up), DARK ENDING, dubious consent (mind control/mood control/literally cannot leave Hoseok's presence), reader is severely mentally ill by the end of this, demonic possession, Stockholm syndrome, this is not a cute demon romance, read at your own risk, stopping here since there’s a lot just let me know if I missed anything A/N: After posting a teaser for this fic two years ago, I finally got around to finishing it! I’m still working on my smut skills, so I apologize in advance, but I hope you can get down with my favorite (and extremely evil) demon man. Happy Halloween (or, to my fellow Pagans, Happy Samhain)!

Prologue || Listen to the Playlist || Cross posted on AO3: here

Nachash (noun) "snake; serpent". Derived from the Hebrew root n-ch-sh.

July 1997

"How are you feeling?"

I sighed, pulling open another box. Unpacking was always the worst part of moving, like some cosmic joke designed to break you down piece by piece. Plates stared back at me from the box, and I clenched my jaw. The one on top was chipped—another thing on my growing list of replacements. I pulled it out and set it aside, determined to deal with it later. The rest of the plates went away in the cabinet. The broken one would be tossed.

"I don't know," I confessed. "Mom died. I'm everywhere."

My brother's hum of acknowledgment was all I heard. Miles had always been a quiet, distant sort, barely speaking to our parents. Their deaths hit him hard, but more so with Dad than Mom. Dad had been the stable one, while Mom was a relentless storm—never satisfied, constantly pushing, always demanding. To her, a doctor and a lawyer weren't enough. Miles had always seen her as aggressive, unyielding, and ever discontented. And Dad? Well, his complacency had its own way of grating.

Miles had moved to Oregon right after graduating from FSU, never looking back. We'd made the trek to see him a few times, but he'd never returned the favor. My stint in New York had mended our relationship somewhat. He visited frequently and spent his summers with me, and after Dad passed, he made a point to see Mom at least once a year. I didn't mind the trips to Portland; my Jacksonville home had become his family's vacation spot.

"So am I," he said, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.

They'd been at each other's throats, arguing constantly, with his wife loathing Mom. Yet, I knew Miles held some affection for her despite their tumultuous relationship. He'd never truly made her proud, and that haunted him. I understood, but when I moved back home, the dynamics shifted. Mom used me as a weapon against Miles, making me the favored child, the one who came back. Miles was the ungrateful one who'd married the wrong woman.

Mom always blamed Trinity for Miles' "bad attitude." Dad knew better. I knew better.

"So," Miles shifted gears, "when can we come and visit?"

I smiled, "I'll be out there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So maybe next summer?"

"That's a long wait."

I chuckled, "Well, Rory starts school this year and Trinity's pregnant. You're just as busy as I am."

I'd been the one with the most on my plate for years. Mom, a real estate agent, rarely left home, while Dad ran a plumbing company. When Miles went to college, I was knee-deep in medical school applications. During my residency, Miles was grinding through law school. When I moved back to Florida, I was buried in ICU shifts while he graduated and started his own practice. He met Trinity, and the two became inseparable. Mom despised her, but I saw how they brought out the best in each other. My career-driven life had left me disconnected, and while Mom reveled in it, I resented it.

Kids changed everything for them. Aurora was their miracle baby. Trinity had struggled with fertility for years, and when they finally had a child, it was as if their world had transformed. My brother was spent, and Mom's resentment boiled over. She was always bitter that they hadn't uprooted their lives back to Florida for the grandchild. By then, Miles didn't care. He'd made the trips for Dad but after Mom's cruel comments about Trinity's weight and their daughter being "too pretty" to be her granddaughter, Aurora never set foot in the family home again.

"Aurora is driving me crazy," Miles groaned. "She won't stop talking about the baby."

"As a big sister, I can tell you she's just being a normal kid."

"I know that," I could almost hear his eye roll. "I'm just worried. It's still early, and I don't want her hopes to get too high. Trinity's scared of another miscarriage."

It would be her sixth.

"Try to stay positive, bub," I bit my lip, surveying the cluttered room. I'd never finish today. "If it happens, it happens. But don't go into it expecting the worst."

"Between Mom and this…" He trailed off.

I understood his fear. Trinity was a few years older than me, and her anxiety was palpable. At 38, any pregnancy brought its own set of worries. Last I heard, Trinity was considering getting her tubes tied if this one didn't make it. The heartache was becoming unbearable.

"Hey," I kept my tone gentle, knowing that riling him up wouldn't help. "Keep your head up. Her next appointment is soon. Ensure she's sticking to bedrest, and you'll be fine."

"What if it happens again?"

My heart broke for him. Miles had always been the rock, the one who seemed unshakeable. Seeing him this vulnerable starkly contrasted with the angry kid he'd been in high school. Mom had pushed his buttons mercilessly, and I had vague memories of our squabbles, but they paled compared to the constant battles he faced with her.

I wondered if he ever grasped how I felt. He always thought Mom liked me more, but it was more about her being able to overlook me. While he fought for her attention, nothing I did ever really mattered. It was like a fog followed me, obscuring me from their view. Sometimes, it would lift, and Mom would acknowledge me, but then it would return, and I was forgotten.

"You'll get through it," I assured him.

We chatted a bit more. Aurora was excited about kindergarten and had picked out new uniforms. She was obsessed with Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and her new backpack reflected that. She'd even given her Prince Wednesday stuffed animal to the baby. It was everyday family life, but the emptiness in my chest grew. I longed for laughter and the innocent joy of children in my home.

"Trinity's calling me," Miles said, his voice muffled by distance.

"I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too, sissy."

I smiled faintly, "Later."

He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced around the room, eyes narrowing at the boxes that seemed to taunt me with their mere existence. All of them were my own—mainly books, a few other odds and ends. The sadness that gripped me was relentless. I'd always had the most demanding job, the tightest schedule, and the deepest insecurities. Miles was angry, and I was desperate to be seen, so much so that I followed every command without question. Now, here I was, alone, surrounded by regret.

Dating felt like a cruel joke. My time in New York had alienated me more than anything else. That fog of invisibility from my childhood had returned with a vengeance. Coworkers would barely look at me for over a second; people on the street seemed oblivious to my presence and dates. They always ended badly. They weren't evil men but would forget my name within seconds. It felt like I wasn't real, like I existed on some other plane.

The only person who seemed to remember I existed anymore was my brother and his family. Dad's Alzheimer's had robbed him of any memory of us before he passed. Mom, too incoherent at Hospice, never stayed awake long enough to acknowledge my presence. Sometimes, it felt like Miles would momentarily forget me, only for my name to pop into his mind at predictable intervals—like clockwork, only calling on specific days and times, usually if he was planning a trip. It upset me more than I could recall, but now I wondered why.

"This place won't unpack itself," I muttered aloud.

I'd talked to myself so much it felt almost normal. I knew I needed to make friends, that without connections, I'd end up as lonely as my father, but the idea seemed futile. No one saw me clearly. No one ever had. When I searched my memories for anyone who had seen me, I came up empty. No one had ever really seen me. No one ever would. Instinctively, I knew this despite the facade of normalcy I tried to maintain. I had a job, a family, a house. I wasn't haunted. Or… maybe I was just being childish. I was simply forgettable, unremarkable. This I knew.

"I exist," I whispered, the words reverberating loudly in the stillness of my apartment.

The silence that pervaded my life mocked me with its omnipresence.

"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?"

"It's a lounge, sha," came a voice behind me.

What a peculiar dream. I took a bite of my sandwich, returning to the rude awakening that morning. I rarely remembered my dreams, if I had them at all. But last night had been different. I'd found myself in a dimly lit room with a man I couldn't recall clearly, dressed in white and speaking with an accent I couldn't place. I woke up before anything significant happened. The dream had been woefully uneventful.

The floor was almost eerily quiet tonight. Aside from the constant beeps and monitors scattered around and George Gilmore in room 11 watching football, no one spoke. The nurses here seemed less lively than I was accustomed to, their faces vacant, their words few. I kept to my small office most of the night, avoiding their station.

We'd had one death so far—a patient with a DNR who suffered a stroke shortly after midnight. Another woman had been pronounced brain-dead an hour ago. We'd wait until tomorrow to pull the plug, so her daughter could say goodbye. I didn't count her in my tally. The night crew had a way of seeing me even less than the others, and I didn't like them much.

"Hello, Doctor."

I jumped, startled. At least he had the decency to look sheepish. My irritation took me by surprise. I wasn't typically agitated; my feelings were either muted or overwhelming. He pushed his hair back, revealing messy chocolate brown locks, and held a clipboard stained with dubious marks.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly under my gaze. I was already weary of his presence. "I was told you were new and thought I should introduce myself before leaving for the night. I'm Damon Glass, one of the anesthesiologists."

"Y/N Y/L/N," I replied, my voice flat and uninviting. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that reminded me of my father's. It was a rare sight among people my age. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me. Dr. Whitlock is on the floor, and I believe Morgan Fletcher is on call."

I nodded, appreciating the information but ready for him to leave. My distaste had faded, but I preferred brevity in conversations, especially with outsiders. I disliked the feeling of interacting with them. It was why I preferred dealing with the nearly dead; they rarely spoke, and when they did, I knew they'd be too medicated to remember much. The families were more accessible to handle than the ones back in Florida.

It was odd how my thoughts could veer into such morbid territories. Almost as morbid as my enjoyment of overseeing dying patients. It was not as macabre as my unbidden glee at my mother's death alongside my brother, but it ranked high on my list of flaws.

"Have a good night," I said, returning to my computer to refresh my emails.

Dr. Glass seemed to take the hint, leaving with an awkward smile and wave.

August 1997

I stood outside the door, the muffled sounds of grief seeping through the walls like a relentless, jagged current. The family's sorrow was palpable, a heavy fog that followed me down the hallway. I hoped to catch them in a better moment, but the cruel truth of this place was that better moments were rare. With a resigned breath, I raised my hand and knocked. The room fell silent, and a strained voice called out, allowing me to enter.

Elizabeth Fraiser had lived a life filled with grace and elegance. Once a dancer whose feet had carried her across Europe's stages, she met her husband in Paris and married him there. They had settled in New York, where her days of ballet had given way to a quieter role as a ballet instructor in Jersey. She had raised a family, and her pride in her children was as evident as her passion for dance. She spoke of them with a joy that contrasted sharply with the emptiness of my own mother's words.

Now, Elizabeth was in the late stages of lung cancer. Her family had clung to the hope of letting her pass away at home, but the relentless pneumonia and ceaseless pain had pushed them to make the difficult decision to admit her here. Her condition had worsened sharply today, and her family was struggling to cope with the harsh reality.

"Good afternoon," I said softly, a gentle murmur in the oppressive silence.

"Nice to see you," Elizabeth's oldest son, Elijah, managed a weak smile. We both knew he wasn't fond of doctors, but he tolerated me because I didn't overstay my welcome. "Mom's been sleeping for a while."

I stifled a sigh. Her body was crumbling, and delivering bad news was never easy. The small comfort was knowing she would soon feel nothing at all. We planned to increase her morphine dosage and withdraw all other medications. Her family would need to agree, but I wasn't too concerned. Mary, her daughter, had debated extending her mother's life with her brothers.

"We're really at the end, aren't we?" Mary's voice was strained, her husband's arm around her for support. Among them, she was the calmest, but the edges of her composure were frayed. Her eyes were red, testimony to her unrelenting tears. "Will she be in pain?"

I explained our focus on alleviating her suffering. She would be less coherent in the coming days but occasionally rouse enough to interact with them between doses. We aimed to ensure she had the utmost comfort and relief in her final days. The youngest Percy took the news hardest and had to excuse himself. I held Mary's hand, appreciating the warmth of human connection. I prided myself on my bedside manner.

"I know home care wasn't ideal for you," I broached delicately, aware of their crowded lives and young children. "But I'm offering it as an option. Respite care is also available, though I understand it was stressful before. It's worth discussing."

Elijah shook his head firmly. Mary hesitated, but her husband's reminder to care for herself and their baby swayed her. Percy's wife raised concerns about her own health, cementing the decision. Elizabeth would remain with us in her final days. It was probably for the best—she was too frail and in too much agony without constant medication.

"Let me know if you need anything," I said, glancing at the family. The nurses are always available, and I'm on call until six. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"Mom needs a bath," Percy reentered the room. A nurse had come by earlier, asking if we were ready to step out. Let them know they could come in."

The rest of my shift dragged on. Other families were terse and uncommunicative, and their responses were minimal. I understood their grief, but it did little to ease my weary spirit. The nurses seemed as disinterested in me as ever. I had long since given up trying to connect with them.

The air outside was crisp, almost biting. I walked to the subway, the city traffic too maddening to endure. I'd trade bumper-to-bumper frustration for the quirks of the subway any day. Last week, a man in a bunny costume rapped at six in the morning. The week before, a man argued with his reflection in the window. Last night, an elderly woman beside me commented on my disheveled appearance, lamenting that men didn't like that and worrying I'd die alone. I barely remember if I responded. I hated talking on the subway; her parting insult had stung me.

Tonight promised to be different. I left the hospital later than usual, after two code blues and an injury report for a nurse. Overdue paperwork and an insurance squabble later, it was past eight when I left. My walk was short, and the wait at the terminal was OK, but the train didn't arrive until 9:30. When I finally boarded, the car was almost empty.

Then a group of men entered. They were rowdy, pushing each other, their drunkenness a stifling cloud. I almost moved when they sat too close, but I didn't want to draw attention. I could feel their eyes on me. I clutched my bag tightly, fingers brushing the can of pepper spray hooked to its strap. I was almost home. Just three more stops.

"Hey," one of the men called out. I ignored him. "Hey, you."

I hated the subway.

"Leave her alone."

That voice caught my attention. I knew it—or thought I did. When I looked up, I was met with a stranger, yet his presence felt oddly familiar. He was striking, with tanned skin and sharp features that made his brown eyes stand out under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took the seat beside mine, and I didn't stop him. The men were back to their raucous laughter, and I was forgotten. I relaxed slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Sorry about them," he said, his warm and soothing voice a gentle tenor that evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Are you OK?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Something about him tugged at the edges of my memory, yet he wasn't a celebrity, and I was sure I'd never met him before. Perhaps we'd crossed paths on the subway? My brain was playing tricks on me.

"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you."

Despite myself, I stole glances at him. I had to remind myself to breathe when I ventured past his neck. He was slender, but there was a subtle strength beneath his clothes. If he noticed my scrutiny, he said nothing. He returned to his book, but I was convinced that his eyes were still on me when I finally looked away.

I jolted awake, my body wracked with shivers despite the suffocating warmth of the blanket. The room was deathly silent, save for the moonlight streaming through the window like a spotlight on a stage set for a performance I never auditioned for. I rolled over, trying to bury myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, but then I heard it—a voice, soft and faint, yet carrying an unsettling authority.

“Oh, Y/N,” the voice crooned, dripping with a sinister allure. “It’s time. Come to me.”

Confusion and dread clawed at my insides as I stumbled out of bed. The room was a far cry from my own—stone walls, thick and oppressive, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent glee. The floor beneath my feet was icy, a stark contrast to the comfort of my bed. My nightgown, white and delicate, felt like a mockery in this alien environment.

This wasn’t my room.

The voice came again, seductive and commanding. “Y/N, come out, come out, now. I’m waiting for you.”

Compelled, I moved to the window. Below, in the moonlit expanse of the lawn, stood the man from the subway. His face was eerily illuminated, his head tilted back as if inviting me to join him in the darkness below. His eyes—glowing a brilliant gold—seemed to reach out to me, promising unspeakable things if only I would take the leap.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent invitation. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. Entranced, my feet moved on their own accord. Barefoot, the cold stone beneath me was a cruel contrast to the warmth I’d just left behind. I wandered through hallways and passages that felt simultaneously foreign and intimately known, descending into the shadows where he waited.

As I emerged onto the lawn, his smile made me shiver. He approached, his fingers brushing the side of my face—teasing, tantalizing, yet never quite touching.

“I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “So very long. And now, now you’re mine.”

A fragment of my mind screamed in protest, shouting that I didn’t belong to him, that I didn’t even know who he was or why I was here. But a deeper, more primal force tugged at me, pulling me closer until I was nearly touching him. His presence was unsettlingly soothing, and I took a breath, feeling the heat of his gaze.

“That’s right, my lamb, come closer,” he coaxed.

An overwhelming longing surged through me—irrational, illogical, yet so profound that I couldn’t resist. I needed him to touch me, to make the connection complete. I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight.

He responded immediately, his fingers trailing along my throat, their cool touch sending shivers through me. I gasped, my body lighting up with each delicate brush.

“More,” I heard myself plead, pressing closer.

“Say it,” he demanded, his arms enveloping me in a possessive embrace. “Who do you belong to?”

“You. I’m yours.”

He cradled my head in his hand, leaning in. His lips were smooth against my skin, but his teeth were sharp as they pierced through flesh. I screamed as he drank deeply.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, my hands clutching at my throat, searching for any sign of injury. The skin was intact, unbroken. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart that felt as though it might burst from my chest.

The lamp flickered on with a click, casting a harsh, unwelcome light that made me squint and shield my eyes. Grabbing my robe and a cup, I shuffled out of the room, the chill of the hallway hitting me like a slap. I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The bathroom, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow, was as deserted as I’d hoped.

I filled my cup halfway with water from one of the sinks, then leaned against the cold, sterile tiles, watching my reflection in the mirror as I took slow, deliberate sips. The dream—the one that had shaken me awake—felt so unnervingly real.

I traced the line of my neck with trembling fingers, the blue vein just beneath the surface. What kind of twisted message was my mind trying to send me with that nightmare? It had been a full-on gothic horror—a relic of some crumbling English manor, not the kind of place I ever imagined myself visiting, unless I was buried in a pile of classic literature.

And him. The monster. Even now, as I closed my eyes, I could still see his face—a blend of dark allure and cruel beauty. His eyes, oh, those eyes. They’d held me in thrall, made me willing to surrender to any demand he made. I could almost feel his cold touch, see his smile that promised both ecstasy and agony.

Wasn’t the whole vampire-mother-stuff supposed to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that’s what my subconscious was trying to shove in my face—sex, or the glaring void where it should have been in my life.

I studied my flushed reflection, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to shake off the nightmare’s grip.

The man sat next to me again. It had been a week since I last saw him, and my body still reacted to his presence. Today, I admired his chiseled jawline and elongated face. He was an exquisite oval with a strong profile. This time, he caught me looking and smiled shyly.

"I'm Hoseok."

The name sent a shiver, stirring something familiar and unsettling. I quickly brushed off the uneasy feeling. It was probably my own insecurity.

"Y/N," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

He resumed reading, and I focused on crocheting a stuffed rabbit for my nephew. Miles had called that morning to update me on Trinity's appointment. The toy wasn't perfect—far from it—but I wanted to give it a try.

"How would you feel about dinner?" Hoseok's voice broke through my thoughts.

I paused my knitting. "I enjoy dinner. Who doesn't?"

He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made me blush. "Cheeky."

I bit my lip, unsure if it was a compliment. I felt a pang of embarrassment, struggling to maintain my composure. The first date I'd been asked on since undergrad, and I was fumbling. Miles would have a field day.

"Would you like dinner with me?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

Hoseok's laughter resonated deeply within me, and I felt a jolt of warmth as he slid closer, his knee brushing against mine. He was impossibly warm. Instinctively, I shifted away, uncomfortable with his proximity. There was something off about him, an unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite place.

But then he smiled, and that soft, disarming grin evaporated all my doubts. He was dazzling. My eyes fluttered shut as his cologne enveloped me, weakening my knees. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was captivating.

"Do you like Italian?" he asked, his voice deeper now.

I nodded, struggling to steady my breath. Panic and embarrassment churned within me, but I couldn't ignore the physical response. My mind was flooded with inappropriate thoughts of Hoseok, vivid and intrusive. I gasped, feeling a flush of heat I hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Does two weeks work?"

Snapping out of my daze, I looked at Hoseok and nodded.

"I'm off on the 27th."

He smiled, and I stared at his teeth longer than necessary. They seemed different—sharper, perhaps, with redder gums. I blinked, reassured that they were just as I remembered. My sleep deprivation must be getting to me.

"Meet you here?"

We agreed to meet at six. I'd catch the 5:30 train to ensure I arrived before him. As the subway pulled into my stop, I waved goodbye and stepped out, only to realize I hadn't asked him where we were going. The thought lingered until the following day.

The voice is louder now, sharper, as if it’s cutting through the fog of my half-sleep. “Y/N? I’m waiting for you. Come to me now.”

I hear it, feel the tug of it dragging me towards him, but fear clamps down on me like a vice. My bare feet are numb on the cold, wet grass as I stumble through the twisting maze of hedges, trying to escape the invisible force that pulls me like iron to a magnet.

My breath hitches, coming fast and uneven, as I sprint around corners, the long white gown tangling around my legs and tripping me up. I’m not sure anymore if I’m searching for a way out or if I’m trying to find him.

I turn another corner, my ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg as I crash into an open space—a small, white fountain sits in the middle, surrounded by benches.

Through the flickering light of the moon dancing on the water, I see him. Not a figment of my imagination, but there he is, standing as he promised, waiting.

Hoseok walks towards me with a slow, deliberate grace. He bends, lifting me effortlessly from the mess of my tangled gown and into his arms. I feel a peculiar sense of completeness as he sits on a bench, cradling me like a precious artifact.

“Were you bringing me your gift? Or were you trying to run from me?” His voice is soft, almost tender, and yet it cuts through me. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes. I’m lost, adrift in confusion.

I’m mesmerized by his flawless beauty. My fingers move of their own accord, reaching towards his face. That smile returns, and I see the satisfaction in his eyes.

“You may touch me.” His lips part slightly, and I press my fingers against them. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around my fingertip and drawing it into his mouth. Before I can react, I feel a sharp bite.

I gasp as he licks the blood that wells up from the small wound. “A small treat,” he murmurs. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

I find myself nodding, helpless under his gaze.

He licks my finger one last time, savoring the taste before swallowing. “They told me you’d be extraordinary, worth every moment of waiting. Yet, your taste is beyond anything I ever dreamed.”

My body reacts to his words and his touch—still innocent but making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight, like I might explode. I let my head fall back, exposing my neck to him as his tongue traces a path up the sensitive skin.

And then he bites.

I bolt awake, heart pounding as if it might burst from my chest. I fumble in the dark, reaching for the light switch, feeling profoundly alone with Rose away for the weekend.

I throw off the covers and stagger to the mirror, desperately checking my neck. There’s nothing there, no sign of the bite.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I grab a blanket and a book, and huddle in the hall lounge, surrounded by the harsh light of every lamp and the incessant flicker of the television, trying to drive away the lingering shadows of the nightmare.

September 1997

I eased into my seat, the familiar weight of my bag pressed to my left side and draped an arm over it as if to claim it for my own. It was the first night off from the relentless grind of being on-call since mid-August and the first real night out in years. I’d never been much for the party scene, and medical school had only sharpened that aversion. The last time I went out for drinks was nearly six years ago, a fleeting memory of bar hopping that I’d abandoned early, too exhausted to keep pace with my friends.

Tonight, however, felt different. There was a nagging sense that I was misremembering that long-ago night, like a foggy half-remembered dream where something vital was missing. My life in New York had become a blur of medical texts and sleepless shifts, the grueling 24-hour days erasing the finer details of my existence. My final year had been a carousel of discomfort, but the specifics eluded me, lost in exhaustion. Perhaps a creep of some sort, some misguided doctor with a name I couldn’t quite grasp—maybe that’s what had soured my memory.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find Hoseok’s contact. The old SeaTAC was still a relic of the past, but I clung to it out of stubborn habit. Despite its age, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to escape the pager’s relentless beeping. I longed for the day when I could toss the landline, but the cost of cell phone minutes constantly reminded me of its importance. With his endless chatter, Miles made sure I burned through those minutes with alarming frequency.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice was silky, a comforting balm after a long stretch of clinical detachment.

“Hey,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just got on.”

“See you soon,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. I could almost picture the smile on his face, and it made me smile in return. His words seemed more benign over the phone, starkly contrasting the intensity of our recent encounters. “Save my spot.”

The car was beginning to fill up, Friday night revelers claiming their space, making it nearly impossible to save a seat. I promised I’d try, even as I felt the crushing inevitability of the crowd. His chuckle was soft, almost intimate.

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

I bit my lip, the endearment both flattering and unsettling. A tiny voice in my head cautioned me, even though Hoseok had never used his terms of affection demeaningly. The voice grew louder when he wasn’t around, whispering warnings I couldn’t entirely dismiss. It was strange, this constant inner debate.

“I’m going to hang up,” Hoseok said, his voice a sensual murmur. I moved the phone away from my ear, puzzled by the seductive undertone. Was he implying something more?

Was I expecting more from tonight?

“I’m running up my minutes,” he laughed, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

“Oh,” I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”

The recurring dreams of him were becoming a distraction. My nights were plagued with vivid, unsettling fantasies, leaving me restless and frazzled. I wiggled in my seat, pressing my thighs together to quell the unsettling arousal. Reality would surely disappoint, no matter how compelling he seemed in my dreams. I resolved to hold off on sex for now. I didn’t want to tarnish his allure with premature intimacy.

“Why did you want to be a doctor?” Hoseok asked, his fingers entwining with mine.

The wine started hitting, and the night air was crisp against my skin. Hoseok was the perfect gentleman; the evening was a beautiful respite from my routine. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and sighed.

“I wish I could say it was for noble reasons,” I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. “In truth, I just wanted my family to notice me. I thought graduating medical school would make them see me, but it never quite worked out that way.”

Hoseok hummed thoughtfully beside me. I turned my gaze away, feeling a strange mix of comfort and sadness.

“None of us are perfect,” he said after a pause, his voice low and contemplative. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, and my choices haven’t always been noble.”

I leaned closer, savoring his warmth and intoxicating scent. Despite my fatigue, the night felt lighter, almost magical. He was mesmerizing, and I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected.

“I have a hard time believing that,” I said with a soft grin, snuggling closer.

“Well,” he said, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You haven’t had me all to yourself yet.”

A shiver ran down my spine, a curious blend of fear and delight. The night had been a rollercoaster of emotions—enchantment and apprehension intertwined. Hoseok’s smile was disarming, melting away my unease, but I made a mental note to reflect on my feelings once I was alone. He seemed almost too perfect, and that nagging pit in my stomach grew again before vanishing.

“I don’t want the night to end,” Hoseok whispered, his breath warm against my ear as we waited for the train. “I’m having such a good time.”

I smiled, “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine longing.

“Soon,” I promised. “I’m getting the next few weekends off now that the other fellowship student is starting. My supervisor is trying to get me off every Saturday.”

“It’s a good thing my boss is flexible,” Hoseok purred, causing my heart to race. “Otherwise, I’d never get to spend time with you.”

I wanted to be annoyed by his clinginess, to remind him I wasn’t his girlfriend, but instead, I found myself grinning. His words made me feel seen and appreciated. Despite the anxiety he sometimes stirred in me, I was eager to be close to him. He looked at me so intently that I was willing to overlook my reservations. Maybe it was just butterflies?

“Where do you work?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts.

Hoseok was a bartender at a speakeasy in Manhattan, where he’d worked since it opened. He had hinted at it throughout the evening, teasing me with its obscurity.

“It’s a smaller place,” he said amusedly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me,” I challenged, my heart pounding strangely.

“Dauphine.”

The name hit me like a jolt. Images of dimly lit corridors and crimson hues flashed in my mind. I was sure I’d never been there, but the name stirred a disquieting sense of déjà vu. The dream from July, the man from my dreams—there was a connection, but it eluded me.

As we stood in the bustling, well-lit area, I edged away slightly, unsettled. Hoseok was a charming gentleman, but the name “Dauphine” had ignited an inexplicable dread. Despite his humor and warmth, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something—or maybe I was just afraid of what I might find.

I stole a furtive glance at him, and it felt as though I’d known him far longer than the scant time we’d spent together. His face was oddly familiar, like a recurring image in a dream half-remembered. I had met him before, somewhere.

“No, you haven’t,” his voice cut through the night like ice. It was cold, detached, far from the warmth he’d shown me all evening. A shiver snaked down my spine, and I forgot to breathe. His grip on me tightened as though sensing my legs would buckle beneath me. “You’ve never known me before.”

The fierce scowl on his face startled me. His eyes, glowing with an eerie golden light, seemed to burn through me. Everything about him felt otherworldly like he was something less than human. A fragmented memory of a man sitting alone at a bar surged up, only to dissolve into nothingness.

“I am Hoseok,” he whispered, his voice weaving a heavy spell over my senses. “I am your boyfriend. We’ve been together a long time, and we’re in love. You just tripped and hit your head.”

A sudden jolt of pain made me wince and try to pull away from him.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was deceptively tender, and I sighed through the pain.

“Yes,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Does it look bad?”

Hoseok’s grin was unsettling, a blend of fake sympathy and amusement.

“You were lucky this time. Just a barely noticeable red mark.”

I chuckled at my own clumsiness. I wasn’t usually this awkward, but my heel caught on a pavement crack. I gingerly rubbed my ankle and was relieved to find it unscathed. Even my heel had survived.

“Jeez,” I said, looping my arm through his. “I completely forgot what we were talking about.”

Hoseok’s smile broadened, clearly enjoying my disoriented state. I rolled my eyes and reached over to gently tap his chest. He responded by sticking out his tongue, which only made me scoff at his childishness.

“We were talking about work,” I said.

I nodded as if on autopilot. “How’s the bar?”

Hoseok worked at a swanky speakeasy in Manhattan, though I was trying to remember its name. Despite being together for what felt like ages, I had never been there. I was never one for bars, while Hoseok reveled in the place’s gothic charm. The name eluded me again as I tried to recall it.

“Tae’s excited,” he chuckled. “With Halloween around the corner, business will pick up.”

I hummed, my thoughts still lingering on the name. I had thought his boss was Tristan, but I must have misremembered. I shrugged off the nagging thought.

“You should stop by the bar,” I heard myself say, sounding oddly mechanical.

“Sounds fun,” he replied, his tone laced with a predatory edge.

Looking back on that night, it’s almost laughable how easily he swayed me. The way he possessed me was undeniable; soon, he would own every inch of me. Those dreams of him were his twisted way of showing love—how much he craved to touch me, to keep me bound to him. It’s sick and vile, and the thought of what we’d become makes me nauseous, yet to him, it’s love.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, his arm wrapping possessively around my shoulders.

I remember leaning into his side, kissing his cheek as if I was floating. His presence was intoxicating. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch and his body's heat. It’s a twisted sort of longing I have for him. This place is cold and dark without him, without his reminders of how much he cares and wants me to scream for him. Here, time stands still, and life continues in a strange loop. I can’t say whether I’m alive or dead, but I know it no longer matters. Once I entered this world, my life ended and began anew. Hoseok made me feel both alive and dead simultaneously.

And as I write this, my heart aches for him. My fingers tremble at the thought of him returning to claim me again. The pain he inflicts makes my heart pound and my stomach clench. I miss him.

It both sickens and excites me.

October 19, 1997

My bones groaned and cracked like ancient floorboards beneath my weight as I fought to catch my breath. Sweat slicked my skin, and I began patting myself down, half-expecting to find something tangible to anchor me to reality. My surroundings slowly came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights above stung my eyes, but their sterile brightness offered an odd comfort. I was at home, cocooned in thick blankets that had twisted themselves around my legs. The bed beneath me creaked with the effort of supporting my restless form. I sighed, flopping back down, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that still clung to me like a shadow.

The dreams had become relentless, evolving from vague echoes of past terrors into something far more insidious. These weren't fueled by mere fear but by an overwhelming, consuming desire that felt dangerously close to swallowing me whole. The weekends were the worst, and after seeing Hoseok, they had turned almost infernal. He was always there in my dreams, his skin smooth and flawless, his deep brown eyes burning into mine with an intensity that left me gasping for air.

Every time I closed my eyes, his image flickered behind my eyelids like a dark, seductive film. The scenes always ended the same way: I would climax, my body convulsing in a fevered rhythm, while I looked up to see his face contorted in ecstasy. His deep, guttural groans would reverberate through me as his grip tightened on my skin. He would finish inside me, and my spent body would collapse beneath him. He would drape himself over me, showering my chest with tender, lingering kisses. The setting varied—my bed, a chilling, unfamiliar void, or a dimly lit lounge—but the conclusion was always the same.

With a sigh, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing the cool surface. An email from Hoseok awaited me, and a smile crept across my face despite the haze of exhaustion. He was the epitome of a perfect gentleman—never pushing beyond my boundaries, never demanding more than I was willing to give, always accommodating his schedule to mine. Even in matters of intimacy, something many men would aggressively pursue, he always respected my pace. In the hectic blur of the past month, we hadn’t had a moment alone. He hadn’t even broached the topic. As I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time we'd been intimate outside of these dreams.

From: Hoseok Jung Subject: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 03:05 To: Y/N Y/L/N Good morning, love, I'm sorry for the early message, especially since this is one of your rare mornings off. I hope I didn't wake you. I'm heading home from work and couldn't stop thinking about you. Taehyung is throwing a simple Halloween party this year, and luckily, it falls on a Friday. Would you like to join me? I think it could be a lot of fun. I love you. Hobi

I grinned and began typing my reply.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: RE: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 04:15 To: Hoseok Jung Hobi, Don't worry, you didn't wake me. I was tangled up in strange dreams and was deep asleep when your email arrived. Sadly, I doubt I'll fall back asleep anytime soon, so I plan on catching up on Buffy or Beyond Belief—whichever's on. Hopefully, I won't get stuck with reruns of Seinfeld, not really my thing. Lucky for me, I'm working mornings this week. I'd love to come to your party. Call me when you wake up. Love you, too. Y/N Y/L/N, M.D. Palliative Care Physician, New York-Presbyterian Hospital

It barely registered that, to my knowledge, I had never said "I love you" to him before. I had never really pondered the oddity of our relationship. My memories of our time together were a disorienting blur, but I never questioned it. It wasn't entirely my fault—he had ensnared me, body and soul, and any unresolved threads might make it harder for him to maintain control. Regardless of our tangled history or how elusive it seemed; I was simply glad he wanted to see me at that moment.

I lay huddled in my bed, my body a coiled spring of anticipation, each nerve ending tingling with the foreboding that had stalked me all day. His voice had been a persistent whisper, a sultry hum that turned my name into a haunting lullaby. It was a melody wrapped in an insatiable longing, a caress of words that promised more than I dared to imagine.

Tonight, I wanted to resist. I tried to muster the strength to ignore the insidious pull, that relentless tug drawing me toward him like a moth to a flame. The very idea of defying him churned my stomach with a nauseous dread. But the threads of his influence were woven so tightly around me, it felt like trying to escape from silken chains.

Then it came, cutting through the murkiness of my thoughts like a scythe. His voice, now sharper, more insistent, shattered the fragile veneer of my resistance.

“Y/N. Come to me now.”

With a sudden jolt, the pretense of defiance evaporated. I threw off the blankets as if they were chains, leaping out of bed and flying through the darkened hallway. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurtled down the stairs, each step propelled by an unrelenting force, dragging me inexorably toward him.

He waited for me in the foyer, bathed in an eerie glow that made him look like an apparition from a fevered dream—or perhaps a nightmare. His smile was both welcoming and chilling, a promise wrapped in malice. When he took my hand, his lips brushed against my fingers with a cool, electric touch that set my entire body aflame.

The intensity of my reaction embarrassed me, but he tilted my face up to meet his gaze, shaking his head with a look of almost pity.

“Your blood knows what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow.”

My face burned with fierce heat, but the compulsion pulling me to him was too overpowering to resist. He guided me through the meticulously manicured gardens to a secluded alcove framed by dense, sculpted hedges. He seated himself on a bench, drawing me onto his lap with a practiced grace that made me feel both cherished and helpless. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, never left mine, promising secrets I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Are you ready, my lamb?”

Without a second thought, I bared my neck to him. The desperate craving for the bliss and torment of his bite had consumed me completely; waiting was no longer an option.

He lingered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path along the delicate skin of my throat. The sensation was almost unbearable, and I found myself begging with a voice that sounded alien, strained.

“Please.”

And then he bit.

I shot awake, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. I had fallen asleep hunched over my desk at the hospital, my neck stiff from the awkward angle. Rubbing away the ache, I cursed the book that had plagued me with such vivid nightmares. I needed to talk to my brother again; this couldn’t be anything but a cruel trick of the mind.

The glowing digits on my alarm clock mocked me with their late hour. I stood up, stretching and feeling my heartbeat slowly return to normal. I changed into a t-shirt and shuffled toward the bed, determined to banish the lingering unease.

As I passed the window, something froze me in place. I looked down into the parking lot and saw him standing under a flickering lamppost, his gaze locked onto mine with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.

It was Hoseok—or at least, it looked like him. But the resemblance was grotesquely twisted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, a sickly luminescence that cut through the night like a malevolent beacon. His skin was peeling away in ragged strips, as if he were shedding himself like a decaying husk. This was no longer my Hoseok. He was a creature of nightmares, a monster forged from my darkest fears.

My fingers clung to the windowsill as I stared, my body paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to run to him, to give in to the magnetic pull of his presence. I watched as his lips moved, shaping a single word that seemed to echo through the chill of the night.

“Soon.”

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vision to vanish. When I opened them again, the parking lot was empty, the lamppost casting its pallid light over a sea of unmoving cars. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, snatched my blanket and pillow, and stumbled back to the on-call room, desperate to escape the sinister call that still haunted the dark corners of my mind.

October 28, 1997

"What should I do?" the nurse asked, her name slipping from my mind like a shadow lost in the night.

"Give them some space," I replied, my gaze fixed resolutely away from the room across the hall. Elizabeth had just passed away, her DNR a cold, ironclad barrier that left no room for last-ditch efforts. Her family needed their final moments with her while we waited for the body to be transported. Mary was still wailing into her husband's chest, and Elijah looked like he'd been dragged through a storm, barely able to stand. Percy stood like a marble statue, his eyes glazed over while his wife clung to him. The sight of Percy’s frozen, unseeing expression twisted my gut in a way I couldn’t ignore. It reminded me too much of what I feared—and I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of grief.

"Should we get them out of the room?" another nurse asked, her thick southern drawl hinting at Memphis. "Seeing her like that can’t be good for their mental well-being."

I shook my head. "Let them have their last moments in peace. Offer condolences and check on them regularly."

I fiddled nervously with my ID card, the familiar unease gnawing at me. My wounds from the day seemed too fresh. Miles surfaced in my thoughts again, and I resolved to call my brother on my way home tonight. Hoseok wasn’t working tonight, so he wouldn’t join me on the subway.

"I'm going to check in with 211," I murmured, watching Percy leave the room, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "I’ll be back in 5-10 minutes to see if the family needs anything. Just make them as comfortable as you can."

"You got it, doc."

The subway ride home was a silent affair. My headache throbbed like a relentless drum, and my stomach churned uneasily. The day had been heavy with more deaths than usual. Elizabeth’s family had eventually calmed down, but their kindness on their way out hadn’t eased the knot in my chest. I knew their pain intimately.

I called my brother as I made my way to the subway. Despite his complicated feelings about our mother, he was always supportive. The conversation ended abruptly when Aurora entered the room, demanding his attention. Miles had never truly understood my emotions; I doubted he ever tried.

The short walk home from the subway was a blessing, though the cold night air bit at my skin. I was grateful for the proximity of my apartment, but the streets were alive with noise—tourists laughing, gang members shouting outside their apartment complexes. I was relieved to escape the chaos, though my street wasn’t entirely free of foot traffic. My old apartment in East Harlem had been more of a hustle, with late-night carpooling with a coworker whose name eluded me. I knew it started with an 'A,' but the memory only worsened my headache. I set the thought aside for another time.

After selling the family home in Florida and vacation properties scattered across the country, I’d managed to buy a house on Astro Row at 100th and 30th Street. It was an old building—too expensive for its size, and initially, it seemed far from beautiful. But over time, it grew on me. I loved the brownstones, the front porches, the grand trees, and the quiet streets. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Even the renovations I’d planned were postponed. The charm of the old place had won me over, and I’d made peace with its quirks. I even got along with my neighbor, a small but welcome relief.

Tonight was quieter than usual, and none of my neighbors seemed awake. I missed the old man at the end of the street who used to sit on his porch, sipping coffee and waiting for dawn. It was nearly 4:30 AM. I shrugged and continued; my mind focused on the comfort of my bed.

Fumbling for my keys, I cursed quietly when my pockets were empty. My purse, a cavernous mess of clutter, swallowed everything. As I dug through it, a sudden burst of laughter behind me made me freeze. Two women strolled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were both stunning, their pale skin glowing under the moonlight. One of them locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing through the darkness. She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew me.

"Hello," she said, her voice as light and tinkling as a bell.

"Hi," I replied, feeling strangely off-balance.

The other woman seemed perplexed. Her beauty was almost ethereal, with blonde hair as pale as her skin and eyes as dark as night. Her gaze swept over me with an unmistakable disdain, her teeth bared in a slight sneer. Yet, despite her apparent coldness, she was undeniably beautiful.

"How are you?" the first woman asked, her voice soothing.

"Fine," I responded, my throat dry. "And you?"

The nagging headache intensified as I tried to make sense of the encounter, a sense of déjà vu wrapping around me like a tightening noose. The women moved on, their laughter fading into the night, leaving me with a lingering unease that clung to me like the shadows of my dreams.

She studied me, her face a shifting canvas of emotions before settling into a look of genuine confusion. I tried to place her but struggled. There was something crucial I needed to remember, something just out of reach, but my mind remained stubbornly blank. A frantic urge to call Hoseok seized me.

The realization hit me like a cold slap. Why did I think I needed him? I tried to convince myself I could handle this alone. But deep down, I knew I needed him here. He could make this headache vanish, soothe the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in my chest. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

“What's your name?” she asked, her smile both disarming and unsettling, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

“Y/N,” I replied, feeling dazed and disconnected.

“Cold night, Y/N,” she purred, her gaze never wavering. “You should get inside.”

I nodded absently, my words failing me as I fumbled with my keys. The blonde woman's giggle, filled with an eerie excitement, made me shiver. I wanted to retreat, to escape this strange encounter. I shoved the key into the lock, eager to shut out the unsettling night.

“Y/N,” the first woman’s voice halted me, her tone chillingly smooth. Neither of them had moved since they stopped. The blonde’s smile remained fixed, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Be careful out here. You never know who’s wandering around.”

I nodded, turning the doorknob, but her voice stopped me again.

“I work at a bar in Midtown,” she said, her words snagging my attention like a hook. I had always known she worked at a bar, but why was it important? “It’s called Dauphine. Ever heard of it?”

Yes, I wanted to say. That place haunted my nightmares, a dark shadow that clung to the edges of my memory. But I couldn’t piece together why. Hoseok would know. He’d make everything better. No, my mind screamed—he’d only make it worse. I couldn’t say how I knew this, but I wanted to listen to the little voice inside me tonight. Something was very wrong.

“You should come by sometime,” she offered. “We’re on 1st and East 54th in the far corner of the Diamond District. If you need anything, just ask for ‘Bootsy.’”

Bootsy…

“Are you okay with cherry liquor?” she asked.

I let go of the doorknob and turned to face them fully. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes. The sensation was all too familiar. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Do you know Hoseok? He’s my boyfriend.”

The blonde hissed sharply. Bootsy gasped, her face a mask of surprise and something darker, more shadowy. It was clear that Hoseok was connected to these people, tangled up with my memories of New York, the root of all my confusion. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

No, I shook my head. Was that what he wanted me to believe? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yes,” Bootsy finally replied. “I’ve known him for many, many years.”

Before I could second-guess myself, I slammed the door shut and locked it. The blonde finally moved, stepping away from Bootsy and muttering something I couldn’t catch. She disappeared down the street, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered through the door, my voice tinged with desperation.

Bootsy’s response came through with a sorrowful edge. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, my headache pounding with such intensity that I could barely keep my eyes open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I remember things but not really, and everything goes blank every time he’s around.”

Bootsy’s eyes, a deep crimson, darted around nervously. They seemed to glow faintly, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, glossy and sleek. Bootsy wasn’t human. What she was, I couldn’t say. But she was somehow tied to the nightmares that plagued me, and Hoseok’s shadow loomed larger than ever.

“He’s a demon,” she whispered hurriedly, her words laced with a fear that seemed almost tangible. “I can’t tell you exactly what he’s done. I’ve never known him to keep someone around for this long, but whatever you’ve done to make him want you seems to have spared your life. You should have died back in ’92 with your friend.”

A friend? Someone else had been involved? Hoseok was a demon? The fragments Bootsy offered were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a reality I could barely grasp. I believed her, though. I had no reason not to. My memories felt like they were being twisted, distorted by Hoseok’s manipulations.

Then I thought of the creature outside of the hospital and felt my knees go numb. I hadn't hallucinated anything. It was real. It was him. Oh my God.

“We can’t talk for long,” she said, a look of pained urgency on her face. “He won’t sleep for much longer.”

“What can I do?” I begged, clutching my head as if I could squeeze out the pain. It was unbearable. “God, it hurts.”

“Nothing,” Bootsy’s voice trembled. “Hoseok wants you, and he’s never lost a game. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do; he will win. Whatever you’ve been doing has kept you alive this long, but I don’t know how much time you have left.”

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I had been a pawn in Hoseok’s twisted game, my life manipulated by his cruel whims. What did he want from me? My body? My soul? The realization was suffocating.

“Go to Dauphine and find Taehyung,” Bootsy instructed, her voice carrying a chilling finality despite its almost maternal tone. “He had a soft spot for you back then. If you’re lucky, he might be able to change you, make you like us. That might be enough to satisfy Hoseok.”

Taehyung. The name cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, easing the throbbing in my head, if only for a moment. He had haunted my dreams, his image vivid: a white button-up shirt, his gentle hands, his voice firm yet tender, saying he didn’t want to share me. He had left me in that bar, but the details were fuzzy—how or why I had ended up there was a blur. All I knew was that I was lost, and he had once been my guide.

She paused, her eyes darkening with a weighty empathy. “You’d be luckier if Taehyung agrees to end your life before the demon does. I wouldn’t wish this half-life on anyone, nor would I be glad to see you die, but those are your choices. I can’t guarantee you’ll make it through this.”

“What happened in ’92?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with desperation.

Bootsy shook her head, her expression darkening with sorrow. “He killed your friend and tried to lure you away. That's all I know, and I don't have time to explain the rest. The sun’s about to rise, and your demon will be waiting for you to fall asleep. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. If he knows you’re aware of him, he might decide to kill you.”

It felt wrong to just let it happen. What would this mean for me in the end? Would knowing about his influence change anything? I couldn’t be sure, but if I wanted to buy myself time, I had no choice but to take the risk. I needed answers, a plan, anything to regain control.

“Y/N,” Bootsy’s urgent voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Your memories won't come back unless he wants them to. Let it go. Either way you'll be dead.”

With those final, haunting words, Bootsy vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders, my impending doom looming like a dark cloud. I stumbled back to the porch, unlocked the front door, and sought refuge in the sanctuary of my bed. Bootsy’s grim mantra echoed in my mind as I tried to push aside my troubling thoughts about Hoseok, grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.

He appeared to me then, in a vision that was both intoxicating and horrifying. His eyes sparkled with a predatory thrill, his touch setting my skin ablaze, igniting waves of pleasure that crashed over me with ruthless intensity. His worship was ceaseless, his lips warm and insistent, as if trying to devour every shred of my resistance. I was swallowed by him, lost in a whirlwind of passion that twisted the love I once felt (at least, I believed I felt) into something darker, more insidious. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

Bootsy’s words had struck me like a death knell, sealing my fate in an irreversible descent. She had unwittingly set my downfall into motion, transforming innocent affection into a ravenous lust that consumed every corner of my mind. When I awoke late in the evening, the decision to call off work for the rest of the week came with a grim resignation. The struggle to stay awake was in vain; it was becoming starkly clear how deeply Hoseok’s control had embedded itself within me. The inevitable was no longer a distant threat—it had already begun to unfold, dragging me into its dark embrace.

October 31, 1997

I tugged nervously at my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the cool night air that should have been a relief. The address that had arrived this morning was burned into my mind, glaring at me from the top of the paper—Dauphine, the bar Bootsy had mentioned. My plans were clear: find Bootsy, get directions, speak with this Taehyung, and figure out my options. But the gnawing truth was unavoidable—no matter what I did, it felt like my life was already slipping through my fingers.

Sleep deprivation had become my relentless tormentor. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by leaden exhaustion, and my attempts to feign illness to dodge work had morphed into a grim reality. It was a battle to stay awake each day, and I feared that simply making it to this bar would be a Herculean task.

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to adjust the wig perched precariously on my head. I’d opted for a lazy Halloween costume—a half-hearted Cher from *Clueless*. The yellow plaid blazer was a thrift store find, the skirt a serendipitous discovery. But the wig made me look more like a grotesque caricature than a character. Frustrated, I yanked it off and tossed it onto the floor. I’d have to go without it.

Yawning, I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse back into bed. My cab was on its way, and I had to be ready. I gathered my essentials—purse, house keys, phone, and a spare outfit—preparing for a night that could very well be my last. I steeled myself for the confrontation, even if it felt like a hopeless, losing battle.

My daily struggle with myself had turned into a monotonous grind. My feigned illness had kept Hoseok at a distance, but it had only given me more time to spiral into despair over his influence. My mind was a battleground, where fragments of my past life clashed with the twisted desires he’d implanted in me. Every morning, I awoke to a gnawing need, a desperate craving for him that left me feeling sullied and repulsed.

I stepped outside and drew a shaky breath of the crisp night air. Calling my brother was both a comfort and a torment. There was a chance this could be the last time I spoke to him, and the thought tightened my chest like a vise. I fought back tears as I dialed his number.

“Hello?” Miles answered, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey,” I forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. “Still out Trick-or-Treating?”

“We just got back,” he said. “Rory wants to talk to you.”

My heart ached at the sound of my niece’s voice. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, her voice sweet as ever. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” I sniffled, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” Aurora’s excitement was a bright spot in my darkness. “I was Katerina, mommy was Miss Elaina, and daddy was Daniel Tiger.”

“That sounds amazing,” I wiped away my tears. “What about your baby brother?”

Aurora’s voice took on a scolding tone. “His name is Corbin, Auntie,” she said as though I should have known better. “He’s still in mommy’s belly, so he wasn’t anything. Mommy’s giving him candy.”

I laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “How’s your mommy?”

“She says ‘Hi,’” Aurora replied. “We got the best candy! A lady was giving out big Starbursts. Daddy’s letting me have all the pink ones because I’m special.”

“You are special, sweet girl.”

A painful thought intruded—would Hoseok make them forget me if I asked him? The idea was almost too agonizing to bear. He’d kept me alive for five years, a perverse form of flattery that I struggled to appreciate. My self-loathing deepened as I thought about the life I was about to leave behind.

“Daddy says I have to go,” Aurora pouted. “Bye, Auntie.”

“Bye, Rory girl,” I choked out, my voice cracking as the tears welled up. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” Aurora’s sweet voice drifted through the line, a beacon of innocence in my storm of dread.

I gasped, the floodgates opening as I fought to keep my composure. “Impossible,” I managed to whisper, my throat tight with sorrow.

“Why?” she giggled, her innocent curiosity slicing through my resolve.

“Because,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I love you more than the world.”

Aurora’s laughter began to fade as she handed the phone back to Miles. The sound of her giggles and her mother’s laughter echoed in the background, a cruel reminder of the life I was about to lose. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of never hearing those sounds again.

“What’s up, sissy?” Miles asked, his tone tinged with concern.

“I was just heading out,” I said, forcing a tremulous cheerfulness into my voice. “Thought I’d call before my cab gets here. I’m leaving a little early.”

There was a heavy pause on the other end, a silence that spoke louder than words.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You sound upset.”

“No, no,” I hurried to reassure him, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “Just tired. You know how it is.”

“You sure?” Miles pressed, his concern palpable. He was always too perceptive for his own good, but he never pushed too hard. I hoped he wouldn’t miss me too much.

“I’m positive, Bubba,” I said, my eyes darting to the cab pulling up to the curb. “My ride’s here. I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Call me later?”

“I’ll try to remember in the morning,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat despite the crushing weight in my chest. “I know it’s late for you guys.”

I closed my phone with shaking hands and stuffed it into my purse, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. The cab driver approached, his face a blur through my tears.

“Where to?” he asked, his voice a lifeline in the growing storm of my fear.

“1st and East 54th in the Diamond District,” I replied, offering a weak, strained smile.

“Dauphine?” The driver’s eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, a hint of something unsettling in his gaze. “Ever been there before?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to steady my breath. “I don’t remember it all that well. Guess I had too much fun last time.”

“Watch yourself,” the driver said, turning on the radio with a slow, deliberate movement. “That place is crawling with freaks.”

“Welcome to New York,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He chuckled, his voice a touch too jovial. “Been here my whole life. My name’s Jimin. Call me if you need a getaway driver.”

The car rumbled with the low hum of R&B, Jimin fiddling with the radio as if trying to mask the creeping anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I mouthed the lyrics, trying to drown out the terror that threatened to consume me.

My thoughts were a twisted mess of fear and longing. The image of Hoseok, tainted by his manipulation, flickered through my mind. The desire to escape him was overpowered by the suffocating grip of my own confusion. Taehyung was my last, desperate hope—a fleeting chance at redemption. But deep down, a gnawing realization settled in I was already damned, teetering on the edge with no way back.

The mantra echoed relentlessly in my head: I miss him, love him, and need him…

I was spiraling, caught in a web of my own making, and the thought of facing what awaited me at Dauphine was almost too much to bear.

“We’re here,” Jimin's voice cut through the thick fog of dread that enveloped me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the cash. I handed him a generous tip, a feeble attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy.

The alleyway stretched before me, a grim path between the upscale buildings of the Diamond District. It looked less menacing than I’d imagined, but its familiarity offered no comfort. Dim street lamps cast weak pools of light that barely touched the encroaching darkness. I hoped—prayed—that Hoseok wasn’t already here. The fading daylight gave me just enough visibility to navigate, and the murmur of voices outside the bar was a small, shaky comfort. I clung to the hope that these voices belonged to ordinary people, potential witnesses if I needed to make a quick escape.

As I approached, the group of people outside fell silent. My stomach churned violently, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face them; their gaze was almost a physical presence, making my skin crawl even though I never looked directly at them. A low, sinister snicker from one of them sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying my fear. I hadn’t even seen their faces, yet their mere presence was enough to make me quake.

The bouncer at the gate eyed me with a scrutinizing glare.

“Password,” he demanded, his voice flat and unyielding.

“I-” I stammered, my mind racing to recall the password Hoseok had given me. “Audubon.”

The gate creaked open, and I slipped past the security guard, my heart pounding like a drum. Despite my nervous bravado, the bouncer’s indifference did little to soothe me. Once inside, I felt a fleeting sense of relief, escaping the unsettling stares.

I gripped my bag tightly, knuckles white, and started searching for the bar. The interior was starkly underwhelming—plush couches and private booths scattered haphazardly, with red neon signs pointing to the restrooms. The oppressive red and black color scheme was heavy, but thankfully devoid of any overtly horrific scenes. I had no desire for strobe lights or dance floors; the thought of walking into a trap was more than enough to keep me on edge.

Navigating through the dimly lit space, I felt like I was moving through a maze. The long hallway ahead seemed to stretch into an abyss, the darkness intensifying with each step. The oppressive gloom and the eerie silence made my nerves jangle. The jazz music that had been softly playing in the background had faded, leaving me in a disquieting void.

At the end of the hall, the emptiness was almost a relief. The silence was oppressive but meant I wasn’t walking into a room full of hostile eyes. Perhaps this was how I’d met Bootsy—wandering aimlessly until she had found me and guided me out.

The bar seemed to stretch on forever, an architectural labyrinth that added to my growing sense of dread. I held my breath as the walls seemed to close in, my anxiety a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The high ceilings and claustrophobic spaces combined to create a sensation of being trapped. My heels clicked sharply against the linoleum, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The place felt more like a mausoleum than a bar. Every step heightened my unease, and the hairs on my neck stood on end as I glanced around, trying to ignore the creeping terror that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling as it cut through the oppressive silence. “Is anybody here?”

The sudden sound of a voice behind me made me jump, my heart racing as I spun around with a gasp that morphed into a shriek. My balance faltered, and I slammed into the wall, scraping my arm against the rough surface. The sharp sting of pain was immediate and searing. I clutched my injured arm, the pain and the shock making my vision blur. I turned to face the figure who had startled me.

He stood there, his white button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the dim surroundings. His tall, lean frame was framed by broad shoulders, and his long fingers seemed to move with an effortless grace. But it was his smile that made my blood run cold—a wide, boxy grin that stretched unnaturally across his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, unsettling light.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I glared at him, struggling to steady my breathing and regain my composure. “It’s fine. It didn’t kill me, did it?”

He chuckled softly; a sound that felt more sinister than soothing. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his gaze dropping to my arm.

I looked down and saw blood seeping through a tear in my blazer. The sight of my own blood was like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. The pain, combined with the sight of my blood, pushed me to the edge. My hands shook as I raised them to my face, tears welling up uncontrollably. The enormity of my situation crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everything felt chaotic; my life had been turned upside down, and the relentless pounding in my head was unbearable. I should have stayed home. At least Hoseok’s presence, while twisted, had been a semblance of comfort.

The despair was suffocating.

“Are you okay, sha?” His voice was soft, but his touch on my arm was disconcertingly gentle.

I laughed, a hollow, despairing sound. “Does it look like it?”

“No, you look upset,” he replied, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and amusement.

“You don’t say?” I snapped, rolling my eyes and jerking my arm away from his touch.

Despite my evident distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his smile lingering like a dark shadow. His pleasure at my discomfort was unsettling, and the aura around him felt eerily similar to the disquieting presence of those outside. His attractiveness was overshadowed by a deeply disturbing quality that made me want to flee. It was as if fear had paralyzed me, pinning me in place.

Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. As I forced myself to examine his face more closely, I recognized him from the shadows of my past. He was strikingly beautiful in a haunting way, like Bootsy. His pale skin was almost luminescent, and his eyes, once hidden in the darkness, now revealed flecks of red that seemed to glow with a menacing, otherworldly light. They were mesmerizing yet horrifying, a dangerous allure that made my skin crawl. The spell he cast was broken as quickly as it had begun, and I struggled to look him in the eye again.

“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a silky whisper that seemed to wrap around me, tightening with a sinister intent.

Embarrassed by my earlier outburst, I nodded slowly. My hope of finding help felt increasingly elusive as the night grew darker and more menacing. All I wanted was to escape, but the hope that things might improve clung stubbornly to me. Taehyung exuded a disorienting blend of warmth and menace, a mix of comfort and dread that left me feeling more lost than ever.

“I’m sorry for being snappy,” I said, my voice quivering as I wiped away a tear. “I don’t remember you all that well.”

Or at all, my mind whispered in the encroaching darkness. The more I looked at him, the more I felt Hoseok’s oppressive influence tugging at my thoughts. Images of Hoseok’s touch, his voice, his eyes—each one flared in my mind with an insidious intensity. He misses you; he loves you, he needs you…

“Requiem was wrong,” Taehyung murmured, his fingers chillingly cold as they cradled my face. “You’re too far gone.”

“Who?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling and my head spinning. His touch was both numbing and intoxicating.

“Bootsy,” he cooed, his breath a mix of cotton and sweet pine needles. “She said you had a chance, but she was mistaken. My friend has already completed the bond.”

“W-what?” I whispered, dazed and confused. The throbbing ache in my head resonated with Taehyung’s presence. “What bond?”

“Maybe not,” he whispered, his proximity making my pulse race.

When his lips met mine, they were like ice, yet the jolt of electricity that surged through me made my knees buckle. His laughter was dark and twisted as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his tongue brushing against my lips. I mewled, clutching his shoulders as the electric sensation overwhelmed me. His groan sent shivers through my entire body, and the echo of Hoseok’s voice in my head was relentless. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you…

Suddenly, I shoved Taehyung away, gasping for air as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my temple. My vision swam, and I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Poor child,” Taehyung crooned, kneeling beside me. His scent, soothing yet oddly comforting, did little to ease the tremors wracking my body. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot help you.”

“I’m going to die,” I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my despair.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “The pain will lessen once you accept it; accept him.”

“What does he want?” I managed to choke out.

“Can’t you see?” Taehyung’s eyes glittered ominously in the dim light. “He believes he’s in love with you. It’s a pity, really. I want nothing more than to keep you, but I can’t risk angering him. He would destroy Requiem for revealing his secrets; she is my most cherished friend. Do you understand?”

Numbly, I nodded. I’m going to die. I miss him. I’m going to die. He loves you. I’m going to die. I need him. I’m going to die. I love him. He needs you. I’m—

“Your eyes look just like his,” Taehyung marveled, his gaze softening. “He’s bound to you in a way I’ve never seen before.”

As I stared at Taehyung, my vision began to blur, and the voices in my head whispered louder in the dark corners of my mind. Their weight pressed down on me, my eyes rolling back until all I could see was a void. When I came to, I was horrified to find vomit splattered across Taehyung’s pristine white shirt. His expression twisted in horror and pain as he watched me unravel.

A dark, malevolent presence loomed near, its acrid stench of soot and kerosene overwhelming my senses. My head throbbed as if it had been cleaved in two, and a grotesque, pecking sensation gnawed at my exposed, vulnerable insides. Taehyung’s icy touch against my rigid form offered little comfort as I lay helpless against his chest, terror seeping in with every passing second.

“There’s my girl!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the haze of despair, and just like that, the pain evaporated.

I exhaled, sinking into Taehyung’s embrace. His body felt like ice against my fevered skin, a chilling contrast that brought an unexpected relief. His cool fingers traced my scalp, their touch a soothing balm amidst the chaos.

“I hope you understand Bootsy’s decision,” Taehyung’s voice was as cold as his touch, carrying a weight of finality. “She thought you were still playing games. But she was wrong.”

A deep, resonant rumble filled the space, and Hoseok’s voice emerged from the darkness like a spectral echo.

“Requiem has every right to her judgment,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth caress laced with menace. “If it were anyone else, I might not care. But Y/N’s suffering is a consequence of her meddling. I had hoped to keep her alive.”

“Why?” I croaked, the question barely escaping my lips.

“You’re my special girl,” Hoseok purred, his voice dripping with a twisted, cruel fondness. “So innocent, so malleable. You’re perfect.”

A strange calm enveloped me as I lay against Taehyung, the tumult of emotions and pain fading to a low murmur. Hoseok’s presence hung over me like a dark, oppressive cloud, his words a cruel mockery of the comfort I desperately sought.

Taehyung’s fingers moved through my hair with a cold, almost clinical precision. “You’ve been chosen,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. “It’s a rare bond that neither Bootsy nor I can undo. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”

My vision blurred, shadows of past anguish swirling around me. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting lullaby that twisted my insides. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how you struggle, you are woven into my essence.”

The room seemed to constrict, the walls inching inward, shadows elongating and darkening. A biting chill settled over the space, the whispers of the damned intertwining with my deepest fears. I could almost see their forms, spectral and menacing, reaching out from the darkness.

I struggled to my feet, the world spinning dizzily around me. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. I stumbled away from Taehyung’s unnervingly composed presence, my eyes darting frantically for any sign of escape or salvation.

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s voice was a dissonant blend of soothing and threatening. “Don’t run from me. You belong here, with me.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming urge to flee battling with a stubborn thread of hope tangled in my despair. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, clinging to the faintest possibility of survival amidst the encroaching darkness.

I turned to Taehyung, my gaze pleading, desperate. “Is there no way out? Is there any hope left?”

Taehyung’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Try to enjoy your final moments.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor, each step deliberate and foreboding. My heart leaped as a figure emerged from the gloom. Bootsy. Her presence was both a flicker of reassurance and a shadow of dread.

“I’m sorry,” Bootsy’s voice was a murmur of regret in the darkness.

I looked at her, then back at Taehyung, and finally at the encroaching shadows that seemed to reach out with a ravenous hunger. The weight of the choice, of my impending doom, pressed heavily on my chest, threatening to crush me under its gravity.

With a shuddering breath, I steeled myself. “I can’t let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t want this.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the darkness thickening. Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the void, a low, mocking sound that sent icy shivers down my spine. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be writhing on the floor if you didn’t.”

The shadows deepened, the walls closing in as if reality itself was warping to ensnare me. A cold grip tightened around my soul, a force dragging me back into the abyss I had fought so hard to escape. An aching chill settled below my diaphragm, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My head spun again, his voice a soft whisper in the recesses of my mind. I miss you. I love you. I need you…

Don’t leave me.

Taehyung’s expression hardened into one of grim resignation. “You’re already bound to him. The bond is too strong.”

As I fought against the invisible chains tightening around me, the futility of my struggle became all too apparent. The darkness swallowed me whole, dragging me back into the depths I had desperately tried to escape.

“Please,” I whispered into the void, but the darkness consumed my plea. “Please, no.”

Hoseok’s voice filled the void, smooth and victorious. “Welcome home, darling.”

The last glimmers of light vanished, leaving me in an eternal night, a prisoner of my own choices and the dark forces that had ensnared me. My mind fractured under the weight of the consuming darkness, and as the final remnants of my resistance crumbled, I faced the harrowing truth.

There was no salvation. No escape. Only the endless, consuming dark.

And in that darkness, I was utterly, irrevocably alone.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in this suffocating darkness—hours, days, months, or maybe even years. Time has become an abstract concept here, slipping through my grasp like the thin veil of reality that separates me from the void. The only link to the world beyond this prison is Hoseok, a ghostly presence who appears with a gleam in his eyes that chills me to the bone. His voice, carrying the weight of a thousand tortured souls, always asks the same haunting question: How are you feeling?

We were never friends. Each passing day has sharpened my memories into a cruel clarity. I don’t know where my physical body is—doubtful it’s anywhere near this place. The ink and paper I use to write materialize out of nowhere whenever I need them, appearing and disappearing like phantoms in my disturbed mind. This place defies all logic and reason.

Initially, I fought Hoseok with every ounce of my being. Each refusal brought excruciating pain that felt like it would tear me apart. My screams echoed back at me from the oppressive void, unanswered and ignored. Hoseok would slip into the darkness with a silent, predatory grace, his hot hands roaming over my shivering body before I even knew he was there. I would scramble away, howling and begging him to take me home, but he always left without a word.

Eventually, I gave up the fight. I accepted that escape was impossible, even though my soul still ached for my old life. The pain eased only when I surrendered, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent. They were filled with idle chatter about his plans for me. I learned he was a demon, and I was destined to become one too. The possession would erase most of who I once was, but when I awoke, we would be forever linked as master and shade. My freedom would only come after I took my first human life, but that day seemed impossibly distant. Hoseok savored every bite of my soul with a mournful delight.

What I felt for Hoseok wasn’t love—it was an obsession, a malignant force that had seeped into every corner of my being. “A natural reaction of a shade to its master,” he said. I was bound to him, and escape was nothing but a cruel illusion.

The first signs of my unraveling appeared when Hoseok vanished for days on end. In the infinite darkness, where time had no meaning, his absence was a torment of its own. Despite his power to bend reality, he chose to leave me here, dependent on his presence for any sign of change. I began talking to myself, my voice the only sound in the oppressive silence. I spoke for hours, my throat raw and hoarse from the effort, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching madness.

I felt like an addict in withdrawal. I don’t recall when hallucinations began, but soon I was conversing with a phantom chorus of voices. Deep down, I knew it was Hoseok orchestrating these illusions, but my fractured mind twisted reality into something I could barely comprehend. My hatred for him only served to cloud my already distorted perception.

As time dragged on, I grew weary. My speech turned into riddles, convinced I was a prophet receiving divine revelations. Raised Catholic, I had long drifted from faith, but the darkness reignited an obsession with God. I clung desperately to fragmented Bible verses. Hoseok, ever the manipulator, provided me with a Bible. If I weren’t so far gone, I might have questioned his uncanny ability to fulfill my twisted needs.

When I told Hoseok about my religious background, he laughed, and the darkness morphed into a cathedral. For the first time, there was something tangible to focus on during his absences. It was both a prison and a gift. The pews were filled with spectral congregants, and every day became Sunday. I feverishly wrote sermons, warning of the apocalypse. Hoseok attended with a devotion bordering on reverence, but he always left too soon.

The withdrawal pangs paralyzed me, but incessant talking kept the crushing loneliness at bay. I remember the first encounter after becoming accustomed to this madness. My body trembled with need, yet my mind remained alert. Each denial of release brought physical agony, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent and prolonged. My breakdown was inevitable.

On the day of my final descent, I felt his presence before I saw him. My struggle had reached its nadir. Despite my lingering hope for escape, Hoseok’s presence shattered my resolve. I became an all-too-willing participant in his dark designs. Even now, as I lie prostrate in my despair, I can’t escape the haunting reality of my existence.

The words of the prayer rolled off my tongue like a ghostly murmur in the dim, solemn church. Each syllable was a desperate plea, a sacrament of my crumbling faith:

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.”

“Body of Christ, save me.”

“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”

This prayer was a twisted sacrament, a litany of sacred pleas that felt increasingly like cries into the void.

“Water from Christ’s side, wash me.”

“Passion of Christ, strengthen me.”

“O good Jesus, hear me.”

I bowed my head, eyes squeezed shut like a child hiding from monsters under the bed. My hands gripped tightly in a futile attempt to hold onto my sanity. I prayed not just for absolution but for a distraction, for him to stay away, for the sinful thoughts to dissipate like smoke in the sun.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, spectral and insistent, urging me to rise, to accept, to finally bend to its will.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the pulpit, my legs trembling. I focused on the Gospel before me, the rhythm of my breath, the rehearsed words of today’s homily. I could hear murmurs of anticipation swelling in the pews, bouncing off the stone walls like echoes of forgotten promises.

Did they know? Did they sense the darkness creeping into my soul?

To be honest, I was unsure if anyone was really there or if my mind was playing tricks on me. This place had a maddening ability to distort my perception. I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, offering a fleeting smile to the choir’s children—figments of my fractured mind. Their eyes, hungry for guidance, believed in my wisdom, though I felt utterly unworthy. Their gaze was a reflection of my own inner torment.

My eyes locked on a figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, as I beheld him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—an irreverent defiance slicing through the sanctity of the church. His gaze was a burning, unholy fire that cut through the darkness with unnerving clarity.

In that moment, the last vestiges of my sanity crumbled, leaving me exposed to the consuming darkness that had become my prison.

I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, and offered a fleeting smile to the choir’s children, who I no longer believed were real. My gaze wandered over the congregation, each face a testament to a faith I felt unworthy of. Their eyes, brimming with expectation, seemed to pierce through me, demanding guidance I could no longer provide. I questioned my own sanity, wondering if anyone in that room could see how profoundly empty I felt.

I once had everything figured out. Before this… before him.

My eyes locked on a single figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat. There he was: jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—a casual defiance that sliced through the church’s sanctity like a blade. His legs were crossed, hands poised by his sides, eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn straight through my composure.

No holy book in his hands, no righteous smile on his lips—just an unspoken, rebellious challenge. His presence was a magnetism that pulled me toward a pit of temptation and sin. I forgot my sermon. I forgot the vows and promises etched into my soul. The solemn pledges made to men of faith and to God. Promises I had written daily to stave off the creeping insanity.

Those promises now felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by him. His eyes, his lips, his rebellious aura—an inferno of forbidden heat that ignited a longing I could no longer contain. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the searing image of him. Abs, legs, an all-consuming heat that seemed to draw me into its vortex.

When I opened my eyes again, the fire remained. A cough from the crowd jolted me back to the present. I tugged at my collar, the symbol of my childhood and a cruel gift from Hoseok. It used to offer comfort, a sign of belonging, but now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

The faces of the congregation were a sea of silent, unspoken questions. Their eyes bored into me, filled with unvoiced suspicions and judgments.

Shit.

My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the pulpit, trying to anchor myself amidst the spiraling chaos. The eyes of the congregation felt like spectral judgments, each one a reminder of my spiraling failure. Hoseok’s presence, fixed in my peripheral vision, was a constant, unsettling pull—a dark promise of chaos just beyond the edge of reason. It pressed heavily on my chest, a suffocating weight threatening to collapse my fragile sanity.

I forced my gaze back to the Gospel, attempting to focus on the familiar lines of scripture, hoping they would restore my fractured resolve. But the words on the page blurred and twisted, tangled in the storm raging inside my head. Each verse felt like wading through molasses, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mingling with the cold sweat already gathering at the base of my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to regain control, but the sound emerged as a strangled rasp.

The whispers grew louder, like rustling wings pressing against the walls of my sanity. My heart pounded like a funeral drum, each beat a reminder of my mounting desperation. I could almost hear the devil’s laughter, mocking my feeble attempts to maintain a façade of righteousness.

Hoseok’s gaze was unwavering, a predator’s gaze that seemed to sear through my composure. His movements were fluid, deliberate—like a hunter preparing to strike. My mind raced, desperately searching for an escape from this hellish vortex. I glanced at the crucifix behind me, its hollow eyes and outstretched arms now a pitifully inadequate shield against the encroaching darkness. The sacred symbol that once offered solace now seemed like a cruel joke, highlighting how far I had strayed from purity.

The murmurs of the congregation grew insistent, a chorus of impatient whispers that echoed like an unholy chant. The church, once a sanctuary, now closed in around me, its weight suffocating. I took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of my willpower. I forced myself to meet Hoseok’s gaze again, confronting the fiery rebellion in his eyes. He offered no sympathy, only a silent taunt that echoed my own guilt.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the microphone. My voice cracked as I began to speak, the words spilling out in a disjointed stream. I struggled to reclaim my authority, but with each passing moment, my grip on sanity slipped further. The congregation’s expressions shifted from curiosity to concern, then to alarm. Their faith faltered under the weight of my unraveling composure.

Hoseok’s gaze remained fixed, a dark star in a sea of light, drawing me inexorably towards his gravitational pull. My voice faltered, becoming increasingly erratic, reflecting the chaos within. The church fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the congregation’s uneasy shifting. I felt every eye on me, their silent judgment a palpable force.

My final words came out as a barely coherent murmur, a defeated whisper lost in the oppressive silence. I stumbled away from the pulpit, my mind a tempest of confusion and dread. As I retreated from the glaring scrutiny of the congregation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stumbling towards some dark, inevitable reckoning. Hoseok’s gaze followed me, a constant, unsettling presence as I fled the sanctuary.

I collapsed into the shadows behind the altar, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed through the oppressive silence of the church. The darkness around me felt like a living entity, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing, threatening to suffocate me. Hoseok's eyes lingered in my mind, their haunting intensity a constant reminder of the sin and torment that had become my existence. The certainty of my spiraling downfall felt inescapable, and every breath I took seemed to deepen my dread.

The pews had emptied in an instant, leaving the room cloaked in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded as I watched Hoseok move toward me. The man before me was no longer the mortal guise he had once worn; his true form emerged, dark and unnervingly compelling. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now burned with a shadowed hunger that quickened my pulse with a mix of terror and something I couldn’t quite name.

“Y/N.” His voice, soft and reverent, seemed to carry a sacramental weight that sent an icy shiver down my spine. There was a truth hidden in those syllables, a meaning only he understood. As his nearness intensified, confusion and fear danced across my features. His calm, deliberate hand cradled my cheek, the touch both tender and overwhelming. The heat of my skin seemed to beckon to him, an invitation that terrified and enthralled me simultaneously.

"You're so lovely," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that barely masked the wild intensity in his eyes. His touch guided me backward with a grace that felt almost otherworldly. The church seemed to dissolve around us, melting away into a space that was unsettlingly familiar—a fragment of my life from New York. The red brick of the two-story house brought a strange, bittersweet comfort, like a fragment of a life I had once known. It calmed my racing heart with its eerie familiarity. He led me to the front door, his touch both comforting and possessive.

The lock yielded effortlessly, and as we crossed the threshold, the gravity of the situation settled like a stone in my stomach. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with a menacing intimacy.

"So perfectly lovely," he murmured again as he closed the door behind us. I stumbled back, my nerves crackling with an unsettling energy. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something darker and more confusing. A part of me ached for normalcy, for escape, while another part was drawn to him with a desperate, confusing need. The line between terror and an inexplicable, forbidden desire blurred beyond recognition. I clung to the last shreds of my sanity, even as I felt myself unraveling under the weight of my own conflicted emotions.

"Why are we here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of breathlessness and an unspoken longing. My heart pounded with a confusing blend of fear and desire. It was as if clarity had returned to me for a fleeting moment, yet I was still tethered to the confusion Hoseok had woven into my days. His promises of relief had begun to erode the pain, even as they wrapped around me like a vice. I remembered the dreams he'd planted in my mind, their seductive whispers blurring my sense of reality.

"I thought you might feel more at ease here," he said softly, his tone smooth and soothing as he followed me through the cluttered living room. Each backward step I took seemed to draw him closer, his presence an inescapable shadow. "Do you like it?"

I hesitated, glancing around at the artifacts of my past—family photos, treasured mementos, relics of a life that now felt so distant. The room was a museum of a future slipping away from me, and Hoseok's eyes seemed intent on taking it all. "Yes, I do," I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. The room, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a stage for his dark play.

"I'd like a drink," I said, placing a hand over my racing heart. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, desperate to maintain some semblance of control. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of my old self. "Is there anything here? Surely you would... like one... as well."

Hoseok, having long since discarded any pretense of humanity, closed the distance between us with unsettling swiftness. His movements were almost too fluid, his presence too intense. His hands, warm and steady, framed my face with a possessive grace, his gaze fixed on the pulse in my neck, the rich, inviting blood beneath my skin.

"Oh, Y/N, my sweet, innocent little lamb." His voice, a velvety murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. His touch, trailing down to my neck, felt both magnetic and maddening. His eyes lingered on my flesh with a hunger that was almost palpable, a craving that seemed to consume him as much as it did me.

I trembled in his embrace, my conflicting desires mirrored in his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, my breath warm and trembling with a heady mix of fear and desire. His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes as he encircled my waist, his touch moving possessively lower, tracing the curve of my hips and thighs. The tension between fight and flight heightened the charged atmosphere, leaving me both desperate and disoriented.

His eyes traced the flush of my lips, a reflection of the flush between my legs. The scent of my arousal mingled with my anxious heartbeat, a call to the beast inside him. His senses seemed overwhelmed by the promise of my warmth, the floral sweetness of my skin, and the earthy musk of my desire.

"You don't want... a drink?" I stammered, struggling to grasp the situation, to find a shred of reason amid the chaos of my emotions.

"Oh yes, Y/N. I very much desire a... drink." His smile was amused, his lips hovering just above mine. The taste of his breath, mingling with his tantalizing scent, sparked a deep, primal hunger within me. I was alive with all these unfulfilled needs, caught between an overwhelming desire and a paralyzing fear.

I inhaled shakily, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. "What... would you like?" The question was a desperate plea for clarity, a tenuous grasp at the last vestiges of control in a world that had become a tumultuous blur of lust and dread.

A low laugh rumbled in Hoseok’s throat as he brushed his lips over mine, savoring the teasing trace of my flavor. "I want you, Y/N. I want to drink you." His honesty was laced with a raw, consuming need, a plea that mirrored the chaotic mix of longing and fear surging through me. It was clear he had no intention of letting me escape—not now. His tongue traced the corners of my mouth, and his body pressed against mine, making his heat seep through every layer of fabric that separated us.

I trembled, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. The scents of my home—the cheap cotton sheets, synthetic pillows, and lingering traces of my perfume—led him with a haunting familiarity. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me with a purposeful stride, and placed me gently at the foot of my bed. The moonlight offered only a weak shield against the encroaching darkness that seemed to swallow us whole.

My heart raced, feeling like a delicate butterfly trapped in a predatory web. As he dropped his coat to the floor and drew me into a deep kiss, my earlier uncertainty dissolved into a raw, electric need. Each touch of his fingers against my body made me shiver, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tightly within me.

The bed was unmade, its disarray a silent testament to my disordered state. His scent lingered in the tangled sheets and blankets as he lowered me onto them. My sweat-dampened palms gripped his hair, my fingers exploring the nape of his neck and shoulders. The buttons on his shirt came undone beneath my trembling hands, my desire growing bolder despite the icy grip of fear that clenched at my chest. His groan as his teeth grazed my throat made me arch my hips, pressing closer, driven by a need I couldn't fully understand.

My clothes fell away under his hands, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His eyes devoured every curve of my body, his gaze as palpable as his touch. His mouth descended on mine, hungry and insatiable, and I was enveloped by him, lost in a swirling tempest of our shared desire. His touch became a language, one that read my body with an intimate knowledge I was helpless to resist.

As he explored my secret places, my soft sighs turned into desperate pleas. His searing touch brought goosebumps to my skin, but I pressed closer, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving me. I was caught between wanting more and the creeping dread of losing myself entirely.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a dark promise. "I want to consume you." His words were a growl, a warning wrapped in seductive desire.

"Yes, I want you to. Do it. Take me," I panted, clutching at his shirt sleeve. My body spoke louder than words, arching upwards in desperate need. I knew I didn't fully understand what I was asking for, but the awareness was drowned out by the intensity of my longing.

His hands covered my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples. I gasped, pushing closer as his mouth found each tip, his low growl sending shivers through me. My heart raced beneath his lips, the rush of blood whispering of more delights to come. I arched again, my body twisting off the bed, craving more.

His mouth sucked at my nipple, his tongue flicking to heighten my pleasure. His thigh pressed between mine, the fabric of his jeans rasping over my nakedness, igniting a desperate heat. I moaned and bucked against him, my fingers digging into his arms as I convulsed beneath him, reaching the peak of my desire. The exhilaration of the moment was punctuated by the fear that clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a persistent reminder that I was teetering on the brink of something both irresistible and terrifying.

The climax left me gasping, trembling, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and overwhelming need. Each wave of pleasure only heightened my fear, and my body’s reaction seemed to betray my mind's desperate protests. His touch, relentless and insistent, found a rhythm that both seduced and terrified me. I cried out, unable to stop the sounds that escaped my lips, but a part of me wanted to resist.

I tried to pull away, my hand grasping his wrist with a frantic intensity. "What... what are you doing to me…?" My voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with a blend of confusion and fear.

He looked at me with a dark, hungry smile, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire. "Y/N, don’t lie to yourself," he said softly, his fingers curling in ways that made my body shudder. "You’re not overwhelmed. Your body is telling me you want this. You’re close to coming again. I can feel it."

My protests dissolved into incoherent moans as his touch stimulated a spot deep within me. The pleasure was a cruel paradox, blurring the line between ecstasy and dread. I could barely think, my mind clouded by the intensity of his actions.

"No, Hoseok, it’s too much," I whimpered, struggling to catch my breath. "I can’t..."

His mouth moved to mine, his lips teasing, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re a beautiful little liar," he murmured. "It’s not too much. You crave this. You know you do. Beg for it."

The force of his command broke through my haze of desire. "Please, Hoseok...," I gasped, my will crumbling under his dominance. My words felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t stop myself from begging. "Please, just... take me."

His satisfaction was palpable, a dangerous hunger in his eyes. His touch grew more urgent, driving me to the brink of madness. I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body’s response only seemed to draw him closer.

The moment of his thrust was jarring, a mix of pain and pleasure that overwhelmed me. My body reacted instinctively, my hips rising to meet him even as my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. The intense pleasure was intermingled with a profound fear, a dread of losing myself completely.

His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as though he were chasing an elusive climax. I was limp in his arms, my breathing ragged, torn between an unbearable desire and an escalating terror.

Despite my growing fear, I clung to him, my hands fumbling for some semblance of control. My kisses were desperate, seeking to anchor myself amidst the chaos. His touch was relentless, and every stroke seemed to heighten the conflict within me.

He pressed closer, his hands exploring with a possessive intensity. My body’s reactions were at odds with my thoughts, creating a tumultuous storm of sensation and fear. My mind raced, grappling with the realization of what was happening, but the pleasure was so consuming that it blurred the line between consent and coercion.

As the moment approached, I felt his breath on my neck, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seductive veneer. The final act was a blur, my fear mingling with an overwhelming rush of sensation.

I was a walking paradox—caught between heaven and hell, life and death, sin and redemption. His presence was a fiery furnace, consuming me with the heat of stolen life he had been deprived of for so long. My body clenched around him, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to drive him to the edge of his sanity. His pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that painted the world in a chaotic blaze of colors.

“Hoseok, please…” I whispered, my voice a fragile breath against the overpowering cacophony of sensations. I wasn’t sure if my plea was for him to stop or to continue, a desperate cry from a place deep within me that I couldn’t fully comprehend. My fear was a gnawing presence, clawing at the edges of my desire, but the confusion of what I wanted and what I was willing to accept blurred together.

His eyes were dark with a twisted satisfaction as he sensed the last of my climax and my blood draining from me. The thought of taking me to the brink of death both exhilarated and haunted him. His grip tightened, and with a guttural snarl, he pulled away from my neck, his fangs retracting with a mixture of frustration and reluctant restraint. The rush of his thirst roared inside him, but he forced himself to temper his need.

I was an indulgence he wouldn’t be denied again, a forbidden pleasure he was determined to claim. He gently laid me back on the disheveled sheets, my heartbeat weak and fluttering. He licked the last drops of blood from my skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Each touch was deliberate, sealing the wounds with a final, lingering caress—a practical necessity for a demon who wanted to savor every part of me.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low, dark promise that vibrated through my core. “You are mine, Y/N. From now until death claims you, until I claim you.” His breath was warm and heavy against my face. My eyelids fluttered, barely able to focus, but his words penetrated my haze. “If any other man dares to touch you, I will tear him apart. Remember this, my beautiful little lamb. Remember who you belong to.”

“Hoseok,” I murmured, my voice a faint echo of surrender. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my obedience and submission. He rose and slipped out of the room, leaving me tangled in sheets and blankets. From across the street, hidden in the shadows, he watched and listened, his gaze a persistent weight on my fragile state.

As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, it painted the room in a sickly, eerie glow. I lay amidst the tangled sheets, each twist revealing new bruises and bite marks—a grotesque map of the night’s events etched into my skin. The aftermath was a haunting blend of pleasure and torment, an unsettling reminder of what had transpired.

Hoseok’s presence lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to lift. The darkness he brought with him clung to the corners, an inescapable reminder of the nightmare I had just lived through. My mind, once a storm of fear and confusion, now spun in a twisted acceptance—a deranged serenity that felt as liberating as it was unsettling.

The door creaked open like the groan of an old house settling into its own despair. Hoseok reappeared, his eyes still gleaming with that predatory glow, but now softened by an unsettling tenderness. He moved towards me with a deliberate grace, each step imbued with a dark reverence that made my heart pound with a blend of fear and reluctant desire.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that slithered across the room. “Do you understand now? You are mine, every inch of you.”

I looked up at him, my smile a grotesque reflection of the twisted contentment that had taken root in me. It was not a smile of joy or freedom but a shadowy acknowledgment of a reality I could no longer escape. My old life had withered into obscurity, replaced by the suffocating reality Hoseok had imposed upon me.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips. “I belong to you.”

The truth of my submission felt like a heavy, warm blanket, pressing down on me with an oppressive weight. Despite the enormity of what I had given up—my freedom, my chance to reclaim any semblance of my old life—there was an undeniable satisfaction in surrendering wholly to him. The pain and loss had twisted into a perverse form of fulfillment, filling the void in my chest with a dark semblance of love.

Hoseok’s smile widened, a dark curve that spoke of unyielding possession. He reached out, his hand caressing my cheek with a gentleness that clashed violently with the ferocity of his claim. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with a palpable tension, as if the very walls bore witness to my surrender.

“You will never leave me,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine with an unbreakable determination. “You are mine, forever.”

I nodded, the movement small and almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a surrender, a relinquishment of my will to the dark force that was Hoseok. He pulled me into his arms, and I felt my resolve melt away, my body becoming a canvas for his power, intermingling with the strange warmth of our shared connection.

As his darkness enveloped me, I felt a disturbing sense of belonging. In the shadows of the night, under his control, my fears and desires tangled together, creating a new reality that was both terrifying and intoxicating. In that moment, I understood there was no turning back. I was his, bound in body and soul by the twisted threads of fate and desire.

Hoseok’s eyes softened as he pulled me close, his cold skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own body. His embrace was a strange sanctuary, a place where I felt both ensnared and cherished. My mind, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, had slipped into a state of blissful madness. In Hoseok’s dark embrace, I discovered a twisted joy that defied all rational thought.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “We are bound now, Y/N. Forever.”

His words were a chilling promise that resonated through the marrow of my bones, a haunting echo that left me trembling uncontrollably. I clung to him, my grip a mix of desperate need and profound terror, as a disturbing form of happiness took root in the darkest corners of my mind. The loss of my old life, the sacrifice of everything I had once held dear, seemed like a fevered dream compared to the unsettling contentment I felt in his arms.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed, I looked at Hoseok with a gaze that was both adoring and disturbingly fractured. The vibrant world I had once known had dissolved into a distant memory, replaced by a nightmarish existence defined by the twisted love and passion we shared. My heart swelled with a love so profound it overshadowed any lingering regret, even as my mind spiraled further into chaos.

Hoseok’s final words were a chilling promise wrapped in disturbing tenderness. “Remember, Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a ghostly caress in the dim light. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.”

As the door creaked shut behind him, the morning light seeping in like a reluctant witness, I was left enveloped in the oppressive embrace of the darkness we had forged together. My smile, twisted and unnatural, reflected the bizarre, unsettling happiness I had found in the abyss. I was forever bound to the night, my soul tangled in the shadows of Hoseok’s dark desires.

The room seemed to breathe with the remnants of his presence, each corner cloaked in an oppressive stillness that mirrored the void he had filled within me. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fragmented thoughts that raged in my mind. Now, there was only the echo of his words, the haunting promise of a future forever intertwined with his darkness.

I lay there, wrapped in the aftermath of our twisted union, my body marked by the evidence of his possession. Each bruise, each bite mark was a grotesque map of the new life I had been forced into. The pain was now a distant echo, overshadowed by the profound and disturbing contentment that gnawed at my chest—a contentment born of both surrender and madness.

As the minutes ticked by and the morning light grew stronger, I found myself replaying his final words in my mind, my thoughts fracturing with each repetition. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.” The truth of those words reverberated through me like a haunting mantra, a binding contract signed with my very essence, even as my grip on reality slipped further away.

There was no turning back, no reclaiming the life I had once known. I was irrevocably his, a willing participant in the dark dance we had begun. The thought brought a grotesque smile to my lips, a smile that spoke of a happiness found in the shadows, a contentment born of surrender and madness.

At least, I wanted to believe it was madness alone that made me forget how afraid I was.

October 31, 2024

The house had become an enigmatic beast, its former guise of normalcy utterly transformed. From the street, it looked like any other home—silent and shadowy against the midnight sky. But within its walls, it was something else entirely. The shutters were clamped shut, keeping out any unwelcome glimmers of daylight. The curtains, heavy with dust, obscured the outside world, making everything inside a surreal, dreamlike blur.

Within this labyrinth of darkness, the house seemed like a twisted echo of a familiar nightmare. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old incense and stale dreams, creating a heavy, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Flickering candlelight cast eerie, jittery shadows that danced and twisted, as if mocking my attempts at normalcy. Silence pressed down on me, almost alive in its oppressive weight.

Days blurred into one another, each indistinguishable from the next in a fog of disorientation. Hoseok’s routines had become my own, though I couldn’t quite remember how or when they had taken over. My existence revolved around small tasks—cooking, cleaning, and performing acts of devotion—that had evolved into a kind of ritualistic pattern. It was as though each action was a silent offering to the enigmatic darkness that had enveloped our lives.

When I glanced in the mirror, the person staring back was a ghostly apparition of my former self. My face, serene to the point of being unsettling, bore a look of eerie contentment. I was a wraith, drifting through my days with a confusing mix of dread and satisfaction.

As night fell, the house came alive with an almost palpable energy. Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming, filling the space with his dark, commanding aura. His arrival was always marked by the ritualistic locking of doors, a subtle reminder of his control. The sensations of pleasure and pain that accompanied his touch had become a surreal symphony, a haunting reminder of the path I had chosen.

One particularly cold night, as the moonlight filtered through the grime-covered windows, Hoseok and I stood together, looking out into the void. The world outside was a distant blur, an irrelevant expanse that felt disconnected from my reality. The sky stretched above us, a vast, unyielding black, reflecting the emptiness of my existence. We were bound together by something primal and deep, though its true nature remained elusive.

Time inside these walls seemed to warp and distort. The house, once a symbol of normalcy, had turned into a crypt of our peculiar existence. The outside world had faded into obscurity, replaced by the certainty of Hoseok’s presence. I had found a strange form of happiness in this eternal night, where the terror of the outside world had been replaced by the dark, enveloping comfort of Hoseok’s embrace.

As I settled into my favorite worn leather chair, the house seemed to pulse with anticipation for Hoseok’s return. My knitting supplies were spread around me, with a scarf for Hoseok in progress. I hummed softly, my heart beating with a sense of calm and eager expectancy, as if I were awaiting a beloved dream to resume.

I replayed our last conversation in my mind, Hoseok’s words lingering like a haunting melody. “An old friend is coming for a visit,” he’d said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “She’s good at dealing with werewolves.”

I couldn’t suppress a bubbling laugh, the sound rising unbidden. “Isn’t she the one Namjoon’s obsessed with?”

His kiss on my temple had been darkly tender, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Clever girl. It will be fun.”

I teased him playfully. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

His laughter resonated through me, sending a thrill down my spine. “When have I ever been nice, lamb?”

“Nice to me,” I’d replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Very, very nice.”

Settling back into the leather chair, the hearth’s flickering light casting long, shifting shadows, I resumed my knitting with a serene focus. Each stitch felt like a small act of devotion, a testament to my growing obsession. I hummed softly, my heart a silent witness to the peace I had found in this twisted, eternal night. The lines between fear and love, sanity and madness, had merged into a strange, intoxicating tapestry that I no longer fully understood.

Hoseok said I was perfect. His praise was a balm to my disoriented soul.

I smiled, pushing away any lingering doubts about my sanity. I was fine. I was perfect.

Pager Codes:

110 307 - Go To Bar

209 - On My Way

08 - OK

420 - You’re in trouble

3011 - Be Careful

221 - Where are you?

419 - I don’t understand

100 - Come Back

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genshin-impacted · 2 years ago

Text

so close (yet so far)

[Alhaitham x Reader]

You ask Alhaitham to be friends with benefits with you. (The both of you overestimate your ability to not get your feelings involved.)

word count: 11k* (one-shot)

notes: heavily nsfw**, female reader; "you", inexperienced!reader, friends to fwb to lovers, unrequited to mutual pining, modern au (reader and alhaitham went to hs together), some profanity, brief body insecurity on reader's side

*split into three main parts: one part is Alhaitham's POV btw a speed demon possessed me to write this much (im kidding; my friend put brain worms in me)

**oral sex, brief descriptions of face fucking, 69, car sex, dirty talk, face sitting, thigh fucking

Dating apps vary in tone and quality, you find out firsthand. Certain ones call for one-night stands and hook ups and others are prone to less of them (but they will always be there). You don't feel like you can make genuine relationships with people without meeting them first, but you figure you should give it a chance at least before giving up.

You are close to doing so when you show up for a date, and he cancels last minute.

"Ugh, man..." You sigh, putting your phone away after seeing the apologetic text. You won't blame your date: it may as well be a real emergency, but if not, he is not beholden to you to show up, though it would have been nice on his end to let you know earlier.

Still, you are here, and you are hungry, so you step into the cafe in hopes of grabbing fresh pastries when a familiar face catches your eye. You almost don't believe it, considering how many years have passed since you've last seen him. But there is no mistaking the silvery hair and the nose still buried in a book; even the green headphones remain the same, a detail that makes you laugh a little when you approach him and hope he isn't too upset at the sudden reunion.

"Alhaitham," you say cheerily, waving at him in case his noise-canceling is on. "It's been a while!"

Alhaitham takes his eyes off his book to look at you, hands raised to take off his headphones. You grin when it seems that he is just as surprised to see you as you are. "It has," he agrees. "More than a few years." He takes a look at you. "You haven't changed a bit."

"How rude!" You say teasingly, "I've changed a little bit in the past few years. Maybe not in appearance, but still. Mind if I sit?"

Alhaitham moves over when you take a chair over to sit in front of him, and it feels like the two of you never left high school-- if not for the stark fact that Alhaitham has changed physically since then. His jaw is more defined, shoulders broader, probably even taller than he was back then. He's handsome, you think, though then again, he always has been.

Wistfully, you think about the years you've lost connection with him and wonder what he has been up to. You've always enjoyed his company, much to some of your other friends' chagrin, and that sentiment has not changed now when the two of you converse easily.

"So," Alhaitham says, "were you on a date with someone?"

You don't even bother asking how he knew, only sighing and waving a hand. "I was going to be. He canceled last minute so I was going to grab something and go." Alhaitham hums noncommittally, and you snort in laughter, reminded of his apathy towards relationships then and, you guess, now.

You remember the times Alhaitham turned down people in high school at a ridiculous rate. "Another one?" You remember someone saying jokingly, seeing Alhaitham simply toss a letter slipped into his locker.

"You won't respond at least?" You asked, sympathetic over the courage it took to confess.

"I don't know them," you recall him saying. "Why should I consider being in a relationship with them when we haven't even spoken to gauge our compatibility?"

Alhaitham ended up not accepting anyone's confessions. You don't remember him dating in high school or during university either in the times you've messaged him just to catch up. Not that you have a stellar record either, having dated only one person your whole life without it going very far. You can't say you haven't tried though.

"So you're not dating anyone?" You ask, taking a sip of your drink.

Alhaitham looks at you briefly; you can never tell what he's thinking. He eventually looks away and says, "No. I'm not interested in dating."

"At all?" You ask again, voice high in genuine disbelief. 'Still?' is the unspoken question. (What a shame, you can't help but think.) When Alhaitham gives a nonchalant shrug, you let yourself sit back, astonished. You think about your (lack of) experience, the fatigue from dating apps, and then look at Alhaitham.

You've always found him attractive; you can't deny this. You trust him as a friend and as a confidant, because in his own words-- what is the use of telling secrets? Alhaitham is as intelligent and rational as ever, something you have always admired in him, which is why you trust him with this question.

"Would you be down for a friends with benefits relationship then?"

Alhaitham raises his brow in question and pauses in thought before responding. "...In general?" He asks, "Or with you?"

You love the way Alhaitham needs no explanation.

"Both," you reply. "Serious inquiry."

Worst case scenario Alhaitham rejects the offer and the two of you move on from this conversation (hopefully). Best case scenario is him saying yes. Last thing you expect is to have Alhaitham look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him: unadulterated shock. You laugh at his reaction despite the tension that could have been held between the two of you, and you start to wave off the entire ordeal when Alhaitham tells you "sure."

It's only Alhaitham, but you show up at his apartment with a nervous flutter in your heart. He opens the door soon after you knock, donned in a regular shirt and sweatpants. You feel your shoulders relax at the casualness of it all and thank him for his hospitality as you enter his home. It does not take much to strike a normal conversation with him, words between the two of you flowing like usual. You are given a tour of the apartment per request, briefly admiring the tiles of the bathroom floor before ending the route in his room. It is minimalistic aside from the usual amenities, and it feels so much like Alhaitham that you smile as he types something on his laptop before turning back to you.

"Is my room that amusing to you?" Alhaitham scoffs, closing his laptop.

"Yeah, it kind of is," you agree easily. "It's better than a man cave, I'll give you that. But the walls are as empty as the day you got this place probably."

"I'll be sure to let you know when inspiration hits for me to decorate," he says sardonically, making you giggle to yourself. "Did you want music?"

The sudden change in topic makes you tilt your head in confusion. "Music?" You echo. "Music for what?"

Without skipping a beat, a song starts playing on low volume, bass steady and clear in his speakers. Alhaitham stands tall then, his headphones off, you note vaguely. He seems a lot taller than you remember, but perhaps it is because he is usually conscious of the difference in height to stand at a distance, so you don't have to crane your neck. This time, when Alhaitham stands right in front of you, close enough to bump chests, you look up and realize it is the first time you've really looked into Alhaitham's eyes.

There are more colors than you thought.

You instinctively want to take a step back, but his hand holding your arm-- firmly, just enough to stop you, but not strong enough to keep you there if you wanted to leave-- keeps you underneath his gaze. You are normally so good at defusing the tension with a few well-placed words of humor, but you aren't quite sure this is a tension that you want to cut through.

Just like that, your heart is at your throat. Alhaitham truly is very handsome, you think, eyes looking at his long lashes, the curve of his nose, and his lips. You can't help but jump when Alhaitham leans down, face closest to yours as it has ever been. You feel ridiculous, being strung taut as a caught fishing line just from being close to Alhaitham. Your cheeks prickle with the speed in which it warms, and just when you begin to wonder what Alhaitham could possibly be waiting for before he kisses you, his lips are on yours.

Your eyes close almost immediately, arms reaching up to hold onto him and finding purchase around his neck as he pulls you close until the two of you are flushed against each other. How long has it been since you've been kissed, let alone been kissed like this? Lips separating from yours only enough to find new ways to kiss you again. You gasp when Alhaitham gently bites and pulls at your lower lips. Feeling emboldened by your reception, Alhaitham swoops in and meets his tongue with yours, and you melt in his embrace.

You are surprised to see that you could probably go on kissing Alhaitham forever if that was all you could do. You only vaguely realize how efficiently you've been breathing through your nose through it all when you separate from him, dazed, and hear him mutter "fuck" under his breath.

A rush of adrenaline. You were already aware that Alhaitham is a willing participant in this newly established situationship, but to hear him being as affected as you do numbers to your rapidly increasing arousal. It's only fun when the both of you are enjoying it, after all.

"Not bad from someone who hasn't smooched anyone in years, huh?" You begin to tease, rightfully earning yourself a dirty look from Alhaitham. His lips are still wet, you think, and heat curls up from your lower abdomen up. The room suddenly feels hot.

"Are we trying to rate every encounter now?" Alhaitham remarks dryly, only to make you laugh at the thought of it.

"Not if it's not at least a 7/10," you say breathlessly. You shake in laughter again when you see him roll his eyes before holding onto his hand and tugging him to the couch. "Here, sit. My neck is starting to get tired. Being shorter is a struggle, you know."

Alhaitham sighs but sits obediently where you take him. "What do you-" He snaps his mouth shut when you swing your legs over his lap and sit yourself on top of him. You quirk a smile at the rare sight of Alhaitham being stunned once again and wonder how easily it seems to have gotten to make him react like that.

His hand easily finds its place at your waist as you curl your hands into the hair at the nape. "Trying to make myself comfortable," you say slyly. "This is much better."

You close the distance and kiss him again. You're a quick learner, so you do what has been done to you: nipping at his lips, tugging and pulling, and licking into his mouth until it makes him as breathless as you are. Is this what it's like to have chemistry? You wonder, feeling Alhaitham's hands dip underneath your top to slide his hand across the expanse of your naked skin. You want him to touch you more.

Alhaitham must have the same ideas because he murmurs at you to take it off, and you raise your arms easily to let him do exactly that. His fingers waste no time in pressing into the softness of your breast, over the white cloth of your bra. He is quick to grow tired of the thin barrier though, pulling it down just so your breasts can pop out into full view. Your cheeks prick in embarrassment at how exposed you feel-- this is the first man to see you like this, after all-- and having Alhaitham look at you with intense focus does not help with it.

Alhaitham's hands are warm when they cup your breasts, gently squeezing them until your nipples perk against his long fingers. You gasp in pleasure when he pinches them and tugs. Your arms reach out and hold onto his shoulders for support. As though on cue, Alhaitham swoops down to capture one of your nubs in his mouth while his hand plays idly with the other. He swirls it with his tongue, leaving a trail of spit when he detaches himself from it to move onto the other one. You hum as your hands card through his hair.

Alhaitham's free hand unhooks your bra, leaving it to hang down your shoulders. You immediately tug it completely off, casting it carelessly elsewhere. He is quick to be on you again, encouraging you to wrap your arms around him as he sucks onto your tits. It feels rather uneven, the way you're half-dressed but he's still fully clothed. You can feel the way his muscles contract underneath your hands, fingers tracing along the exposed skin of his neck that is far from being enough for you.

Just as you decide to ask Alhaitham to return the favor and take his clothes off, your hands spasms in his hair when Alhaitham takes a nipple between his teeth and tugs, hard.

Oh fuck, you think, letting out a long, shaky breath just before Alhaitham does it again, his hands on your back as it arches at his touch. "Fuck," you say aloud this time, and you can feel the way Alhaitham's lips curve up in amusement, the bastard. "Hey, you take your clothes off too," you tell him, tugging up the hem of his shirt.

Alhaitham looks at you steadily. "Why?"

You stare back at him and sputter. "What do you mean 'why?'" You-" You scowl, feeling your cheeks warm as Alhaitham continues to look at you with a smirk. "You just want me to say it, don't you?"

"I'm not a mind reader," he says, lips curving up. "How would I know what you want if you don't tell me?"

"I want to see you," you say, cheeks prickling with an embarrassment that you push through. "I want to touch you too, you know." When Alhaitham smirks at you before sitting up from the couch to take his shirt off, you huff. "Ugh, this is why everyone keeps giving you side eyes," you say, your hands sliding over his open chest with a mild sense of reverence despite your words. You knew Alhaitham was toned to hell, and this is the first time you've been granted the chance to view it in all its glory, your hands brushing over his built abdomen, thumb brushing over his nipples.

Alhaitham jumps slightly when you do so, and you giggle, ignoring the narrowed look you get from him and the way he grips onto your hips just the slightest. You shift in your seat, only to feel Alhaitham's hold you still, face flushed despite the impartial expression on his face. "What, what's up-" You feel it then, the hardness underneath your thighs, and you know Alhaitham sees the realization dawn on you because his blush travels down his neck.

He's embarrassed, you think gleefully. After initiating the hottest make out session you've ever had and easily pulling taut your strings, Alhaitham is embarrassed that he's hard? If anything, he should be-- better be! And you're a little flattered, you tell him just as much teasingly, and you can't help but hug him when he scowls at you.

Ah, you feel your heart flutter, knowing the effect you have on the immovable Alhaitham. But he is far from it now, chest heaving under your palm, cock hard as you press down onto it despite his modest resistance. You won't say it to him out loud, knowing he wouldn't like it, but you think Alhaitham is adorable as he is now. (You imagine people would say you're the only one who would think that.)

You rock your hips, eyes not straying from Alhaitham's as he stubbornly meets your gaze. His thighs are tense underneath you as you line yourself up to press your pussy lips against his clothed cock. A skirt was a good choice, you think dreamily; it lets you grind on him with aching accuracy and lets Alhaitham slide his hands across your legs and reach behind to squeeze your ass. You hum again in appreciation, kissing Alhaitham again as he generously cups your behind, making you moan, which he easily swallows up.

"Take your pants off too," you say, sitting back onto his legs. Before he can ask, you press your palm down on his bulge and quip a smile at him. "I want to try sucking you off."

You tie your hair up before kneeling down between Alhaitham's knees. His cock sits erect on his stomach, head flush with arousal. It should feel intimidating the way Alhaitham watches you, but you know Alhaitham, and you figure if there is anyone that you can be comfortable doing this with, it would be him.

"Tell me what to do," you say, hands softly trailing up and down his thighs. "I've never done this before."

"You've watched porn, haven't you?" Alhaitham replies dryly, making you roll your eyes good naturedly.

"It's not the same thing as doing, and you know it." You look over at the nearby table he has kindly set up for you in advance and take the bottle of lotion to pour some onto your hand. Alhaitham jolts slightly at the coldness of the lotion, hissing in a breath, though with the way you are steadily pumping his cock, you aren't quite certain the sound wasn't at least partially from pleasure. "Alhaitham," you begin, a whining lilt to your voice. "Come on. Teach me?"

"Alright, alright, fine," Alhaitham says, his hand covering his face. "Just- just stop for a second."

You let go of his cock, beaming up at him as he shifts so that he's sitting more comfortably. "Here," he says, almost boredly. He gestures for you to take him in hand again, and your heart skips when you feel his hand over yours, squeezing it as he guides it up and down again in a steady rhythm. "Tighten your grip like this. A little harder is fine. There are more nerve endings at the tip, but there's nothing wrong with covering the base as well." You can only nod in acknowledgement, a lump in the back of your throat as you emulate exactly what Alhaitham has shown you.

Is this how he normally gets himself off? The same strength, the same motion-- maybe a little extra attention at the tip where it is more sensitive? You feel your face warm and hope it does not show as you watch Alhaitham's face for approval or for any signs of pleasure.

Alhaitham has always been intense despite his neutral face. But you know him well enough to recognize the minute changes that occur. The tense jaw, partially open mouth, half-lidded gaze is enough to light a fire in your stomach. But you wonder how he would look if he were completely drowned in pleasure, if you could be the one that makes him look like that.

You speak before you can lose the courage to. "Can I use my mouth?" You say, "I want to use my mouth."

Alhaitham's cock twitches in your hand.

"Then put it in your mouth then," Alhaitham says, "and avoid teeth. It hurts."

Obediently, you nod and sit up on your knees, puppy licking the tip to test the waters before opening your mouth to put it in. You had thought this when your hand could not completely wrap around his cock, but Alhaitham is big, enough to make your jaw ache when you try to fit more of his member in. You make a sound of discontent when the cock head hits the back of your throat and you aren't even halfway down. You let your tongue rest on the bottom of his cock, saliva pooling underneath with a mouth so full.

It doesn't fit, you think somewhat dejectedly. You swallow around his cock, making a discontented noise when you feel Alhaitham's thigh clench as he bucks up into your mouth. "Sorry," he says, and you tell him an incomprehensible 'it's okay' around his cock. His thigh tenses up again.

You tentatively raise your head, lips wrapped around his member for a moment before pulling yourself off, ready to ask for guidance when Alhaitham offers it to you. "You can use your hand to cover the rest of it," he says. "A wringing motion like this. It'll feel better if you suck while you're doing it too. Use lotion or spit if it's too dry."

You nod and follow his words step by step, swallowing his cock again and hollowing your cheeks. The other hand pumps his cock as you slowly bob your head up and down. You lift yourself up with a breath and let saliva spill from your lips to ease the motion, your eyes glancing up to meet Alhaitham's eyes.

You don't think he has taken his eyes off of you for even a second.

It's a little addicting to know that his attention is all yours. What does he like best about this whole situation, you muse. The fact that he's your first? The eager way in which you are trying to please him? Or is it the look of you drooling over his cock, getting off just from sucking it?

You hum in pleasure around his cock and he throws his head back, hips jilting up only slightly.

You pop yourself off of him again, hand pumping the entire expanse of his cock as you tilt your head to lick at his balls. "Fuck," Alhaitham mutters, hands clenched into the couch. You watch as his eyes flutter open before looking at you again, chest rising and falling. Not one to give neither you nor him reprieve, you are sucking him off again, and then off, and then on. It's a little fun watching him writhe, and you slowly begin to realize the power you seem to have over him.

You are so grateful to Alhaitham for saying 'yes.' The feeling of being wanted, of being desired, of being empowered is intoxicating. Watching Alhaitham fall apart before your eyes because of you is even more so.

He says your name, strained, "I'm close."

Alhaitham lets out an involuntary groan when you pop off again. "Does cum taste bad?" You ask. "It's a lot neater if I swallow, unless you want it somewhere else?" The thought of Alhaitham finishing on your chest or face is somewhat appealing, though you worry about the mess.

It doesn't seem like Alhaitham particularly cares, because he grits out, "Your choice." He muffles a grunt of pleasure that you wish you could hear at full volume. "Just-"

The key to success is consistency, you think. You bob your head up and down in tandem with your hand, licking the head and swirling your tongue around his shaft until Alhaitham lets out a strained, "I'm coming-"

Despite the warning, the warmth that spurts in your mouth is still surprising. You slow your pace as Alhaitham cums, all pretty gasps and grunts that makes your head spin as you take all he is giving and swallowing. It's a lot more than you think too, your hand daintily at your mouth as you swallow as though it were the last bite of a meal. You look at Alhaitham, skin glistening with sweat, breathing hard after his climax, eyes slightly wide as he watches you lick your lips.

Before you can ask for it, Alhaitham shifts just enough to reach for a towel-- he really is prepared for everything-- for you to wipe your hand with. You hear him let out a long breath before you return the towel to him for his own uses. You stand up, wincing at the marks on your knees from kneeling for so long before grinning at him.

"So, what's the verdict?" You ask jokingly, making him scoff and roll his eyes as you had predicted.

"I'm not answering that," he says. He stands up and picks his sweatpants from the ground to make himself more modest. "You can extrapolate for that type of answer yourself."

You expected as much, but you still pout and sigh. You sit on the couch next to him. "Aw, boo, well I guess I'll just give myself an 8/10 then." You stop when you feel Alhaitham's gaze on you, calculating. "What, what is it? Am I lowballing it or what-"

"I think it's your turn," Alhaitham says simply.

"Oh, uh..." You honestly didn't come to his house expecting anything, so this comes as a surprise to you. That and a few certain parts of you makes that bit of insecurity flare up the moment Alhaitham mentions reciprocation. "It's fine," you say, "we don't have to-" You snap your mouth shut when Alhaitham parts your legs to put his knees between, his hand lifting your chin so he can kiss you. You vaguely think about the fact that he can probably taste himself on your tongue.

"I insist," Alhaitham murmurs against your lips.

"What do you suggest then?" You stammer, and Alhaitham pushes himself off just enough to look at you directly.

"We could try fingering. See if that's to your taste and then move on." He gauges you carefully. "We could stop if you truly wanted to, but don't make that decision on my behalf."

"Well, we could try," you say, lowering your gaze, feeling your heart pick up in anticipation.

"Alright," Alhaitham replies softly. "You can stop me at any time."

This is why you trust Alhaitham. This is why you asked Alhaitham to do this with you, to-- for a lack of better, less dramatic phrases-- be your first. It was made as a casual request but Alhaitham knew to take it seriously for you anyways. You aren't sure how much he knows how his words make you feel at ease.

The sense of ease is immediately replaced with nervous anticipation when Alhaitham parts your legs, pooling your skirt at your stomach, and slips his hand underneath your panties. You hear him let out a sharp breath, and before you can ask what's wrong, he says, almost in awe, "You're so wet."

You understand Alhaitham's feelings earlier now when you had felt his bulge; your arousal on full blast is nothing short of mortifying even though the situation calls for it. You hadn't even noticed, so focused on the task at hand, but when Alhaitham pulls back with glistening lines of slick between his fingers, you don't doubt his observation.

"W-Well, you know," you mumble, your hand grasping onto his supporting arm. Your eyes flutter when Alhaitham cups your sex, fingers sliding a line down the middle. Your hand spasms when his thumb hits your clit on the way down, and Alhaitham does not miss it. "Wait, Alhaitham-" You squeal when he presses onto your clit, swirling around it with persistent pressure that makes it hard to say anything coherent. You wouldn't have wanted to tell him to stop anyways, but you have a feeling he just wanted to tease you.

"Sensitive?" He says almost smugly.

"Not usually no," you choke out, breathing out a sigh of relief when Alhaitham lets off.

"Interesting," he says, and it's only now you realize how quiet Alhaitham was before when you were on your knees. Now with him at the upper hand, he can speak all he wants, and you're the one left catching your breath. It really is different when it's someone else doing it. "I'm putting one in to start, okay?"

You nod, but when you feel the first intrusion prod in, you reach out to seek out Alhaitham for support. "Relax," he tells you. "Your muscles are too tense for anything."

"Sorry," you say, taking a deep breath. He pulls you closer, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. You hot breath hits his neck when you turn to him. "Make sure you really lube that up, Haitham." You breathe again when his finger enters, and when it curls up onto the spongey part of your cunt, you feel it. It's nothing of import yet, but Alhaitham seems patient enough to build up to it.

One finger barely fits, but even with time, the second finger enters too. "You're tight," Alhaitham grunts, and you feel yourself redden as your only response. "I think you're stretched out. Any pain?" When you shake your head on his shoulders, you feel his fingers slowly pump in and out of you.

It picks up in pace and intensity, and then when he curves up this time- oh, you aren't sure you've ever felt this sensation before. Alhaitham's fingers are so much longer than yours, so it makes sense he can reach the places you can't, knuckles deep in you. Your breathing quickens and with it, Alhaitham's speed, his fingers pounding at that same spot over and over. You're at a daze, not any closer to a climax but not bored without pleasure. You aren't sure how long Alhaitham goes at it until he slows down, and the fog clears up.

"You okay?"

You hum, turning your head to face Alhaitham when he peers over to you. "Yeah," you mumble, "I feel good, just can't come from this."

"Hm."

You miss Alhaitham's warmth when he pulls away, fingers grasping at him. The haze that you feel quickly blows away when Alhaitham gets on his knees and pries your legs apart. "Whoa, um-"

"Most cannot finish with vaginal stimulation alone," Alhaitham says factually. "Hence, I'll be focusing my efforts on other areas."

"Yeah, I get that," you say, blinking with embarrassment. "It's just, um..."

Without your understanding, Alhaitham gives you a deeply unimpressed look. "Hair is a natural phenomenon. It doesn't matter to me in the slightest."

You would find it hard to believe, an insecure part of you convinced that it must be polite niceties. But this is Alhaitham, and he is never one for false platitudes and social norms with strangers or friends or you. When he says he does not care, you believe him.

"If you're sure," you tell him, and you let out a small squeak when he tugs your panties down, not even bothering to take it off completely before you feel his fingers pry your leaking lips apart. A lick up your clit has your legs closing on his head, but Alhaitham's hands easily pry you apart and keep you that way, your pussy open to be eaten.

You want to look away when Alhaitham's meets your eyes, and then his lips press to your folds and he begins to gorge himself on you.

It's impossible to keep your eyes open then when you're too distracted by how Alhaitham's tongue swirls around your clit, the muscle pressing into the bud of nerves with a dogged persistence. Even the noises you have kept to a minimum spill from your lips involuntarily. You can only breathe in hiccups, Alhaitham relentless in his pursuit of your climax as he sucks on your clit and begins to press his fingers against the zone of pleasure inside you as well.

'It feels good' sounds like an understatement at this point. You climb the precipice at an alarming speed, and you cannot help but grasp onto the hand keeping your thighs apart to ground yourself. It's almost overwhelming, but then you feel Alhaitham unfurl his grip onto your leg to grasp onto your hand.

It must be the endorphins, but you feel a warm ooze of affection for Alhaitham pool in your chest.

Logical, calm, and reasonable Alhaitham. Arrogant, antisocial, abrasive Alhaitham. Observant, considerate, and kind Alhaitham. You've known this man for so many years, and you are reminded in this instance that in all the times you have trusted him, he has never failed you once.

"Alhaitham-" You cry out. Your head feels hot as you curl your toes, your heels at his shoulders. When he hums in response, you feel the build up towards the beginning of the end. "I'm- I'm coming-"

You throw your head back, gasping in pleasure as your body jerks with waves of pleasure. Hazily, you feel Alhaitham lap at your hole at a slow but steady pace, his mouth never leaving you even as you buck against him.

Alhaitham only lets you go when your body slackens, legs limp in his arm as he gently sets it down in a comfortable position for you. You watch him, dazed, as he quietly grabs the towel to wipe his face and hands. He must see you look because he turns to you and offers you the towel too, though the mess between your legs is one of the last things you care about at the moment.

"C'mere," you say, arms reaching out for him. When he doesn't immediately come to you, you wave your hands insistently. "Plea-a-ase come here? I wanna cuddle."

A flicker of emotion comes and goes on Alhaitham's face before he replaces it with exasperation. "I didn't realize the benefits portion of friends with benefits included cuddles," he says, but he walks to you anyways, huffing in laughter at the small 'yay!' from you. Alhaitham settles in the space you moved over for him on the couch, and you immediately latch yourself onto him, head fitting easily at the crook of his neck. As his arms wrap around you, you heave a content sigh.

"You should have read the fine print, Alhaitham," you drawl, cheek pressed against his naked skin. "It was right there on page 562, 9th clause, addendum number four." You close your eyes, smiling at the sound of Alhaitham's little huff.

"Out of the two of us, I'm the one more likely to read a written agreement in full," he says. His voice reverberates in your ears, low and comforting.

You always thought he had a nice voice, reading out texts in class and reciting lines without effort. The two of you are a long way off from high school, but thinking back at the Alhaitham back then brings you good memories. It's even more so when you compare it to the Alhaitham now of whom reconnecting with was happenstance.

Alhaitham has changed a little in the years you have not seen him, with what you know now includes a fallout with Kaveh and an early college graduation. He's a little softer, you think, edges more blunt but still just as deadly when wielded with a sharp wit. It is to your comfort that most parts of him remain the same. A little smug, a little snark.

You're glad; you've always liked him just the way he is.

You feel his hand absently rub circles into your shoulders and feel as though that sentiment has only grown stronger.

"...You're hard again?" You ask after a moment, muffling your laughter into his skin when he clicks his tongue and shifts his legs so the offending body part in question is no longer touching you.

"A normal physical reaction," Alhaitham says, miffed.

You pause. "You want me to do it again?" You ask.

Alhaitham shifts so he can look down at you as you give him a grin, reaching down to grasp at his shaft and watching that moment when you catch him off guard, eyes fluttering in pleasure. Oh, yes, you think, heat pooling into your abdomen, you can certainly go for another round.

You tell him that you are tired of dating around with men you have no connection with, afraid to build intimacy when you are still inexperienced, and trust him enough to put up the offer to be friends with benefits. Alhaitham knows he is in love with you, but he says yes anyways. He does not make miscalculations often, but he acknowledges that he is only human, so he is prone to them occasionally. He thinks this decision to be friends with benefits with you may be one of them.

He has always had a hard time featuring his own feelings in the equation, surprisingly volatile in its unchanging affection for you even after all these years. (How long has it been since high school?) Anyone with a brain not controlled by their libido knows entering a purely sexual relationship with someone you’ve never quite stopped having feelings for is a recipe for disaster. But just maybe, being aware of that much will let Alhaitham avoid ruin.

It doesn't stop the way something in his chest twists painfully at the thought of holding you close even though you could not be more further away. After all, in initiating this relationship with him, you must have seen him as only a friend. You seem excited at the prospect of starting this type of relationship with him, and he is not one to deny you something if he believes it is something in his power to give.

On that note, he is surprised when he hears you have no experience being in a physical relationship with a man. Alhaitham does admit the idea of being your 'first' appeals to him, and because of that he thinks maybe he isn't so infallible to the whims of desire.

He's liked you for ages. He isn't sure even the best of men can refuse when the object of his affection asks him to treat them gently. (Or so he thinks. You may be more of his weak spot than he ever anticipated.)

You show up on his doorstep a week later, beaming at him when he lets you into his apartment. In the days leading up to this meeting, Alhaitham has prepped the environment with necessary amenities. You didn't specify what was to happen today, so he prepares everything to the lube to the condoms to the towels. Music, too, is something he did extensive research in, having learned that it can often set the mood.

Alhaitham isn't necessarily the most experienced person, but for the sake of knowing, he has slept with people and learned about his own preferences. He is more curious than he admits to finding out more about your preferences.

Still, when you look up at him doe-eyed and cheeks warm in anticipation, he is taken aback by the idea that he'll be the one to guide you today. He remembers when you were the one to direct him to class when he was lost as a transfer sophomore in high school. You were so assure of yourself, confident-- he never would have anticipated that you would have a shy side to you.

Perhaps that is what makes it all the more endearing, you all the more desirable, his chest searing with want as he closes the gap to finally feel your lips on his.

He really likes you, he's reminded, heart beating hard in his chest he thinks you might be able to hear it. And though you do not kiss him with the same feelings he holds for you, when you look up at him like that, he can almost imagine that you do.

Lips are one of the erogenous zones outside of sexual organs, filled with sensitive nerves that can sense even the slightest difference in temperature. The auditory sense is powerful too when it comes to stimulating the libido. It's why Alhaitham wants to devour you when he hears your small gasps as he pulls at your lips.

"Come sit," you murmur to him, and he can only acquiesce without a word. Good thing, because he would have been made speechless the way you boldly swing your legs over to sit on his lap. Alhaitham is acutely aware that his cock has begun to fill, straining against sweatpants that shows no effort to hide his arousal.

Your kisses sear his lips, your hands welcoming his to explore your body which he does with little hesitation. Alhaitham wants to see you in full, your breasts spilling out and nipples hard being irresistible that he cannot do anything but put his mouth to use again.

Your skin is smooth against his palm, your sounds of pleasure almost like music to his ears he almost wishes it weren't buffeted by the sensual base notes of a playlist he searched up last night. "I want to touch you too," you tell him breathlessly, and who is he to deny you that?

When you take a moment to admire his body, he takes this moment to look at you-- an overview, one might say. You are breathtaking in his perspective, lips slightly swollen, breasts bouncing when you adjust yourself. Alhaitham feels his cheeks warm when you innocuously grind yourself onto him (that damned skirt), and he only grows hotter when you do it again with purpose.

He should have known you would be able to flip the tables on him like that, inexperience be damned. You've always had a way to do that.

And then you are on your knees, hair up and ready to pleasure him, and he almost doesn't know what to do. Except he must-- you want him to guide you, to teach you how to make him feel good, and the way you easily do that forces him to do his best not to buck up into your touch. He must be more sensitive because it's you, or maybe you really are that fast of a learner, even when it comes to sucking cock.

Would you like dirty talk? He wonders, praise or degradation? You seem to like it a little rough, though you seem receptive to his gentleness too. Not that he can think it thoroughly with the way you are hallowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around his cock. Seeing you swallow his cum-- all of it-- is almost enough to revive his softening member, the way you look at him coyly an attractive look on your face.

He thinks the way your face contorts in pleasure is also an attractive look for him too. Alhaitham looks up from his position between your legs and watches you with hazy desire as you close your eyes, hand at your mouth to muffle your gasps. Alhaitham thinks of telling you to stop covering yourself, but he thinks that just this one time, his mouth has better things to do.

His name on your lips as you reach your high makes him close his eyes and hum in pleasure, tongue delving into you again as your slick gushes from your hole. Alhaitham is a man of pride, and watching your body slacken, spent on pleasure that he wrought from you makes his chest burn with satisfaction.

He wipes himself and sees you look up at him almost sleepily, and the satisfaction quickly morphs into gentle affection. He wants to kiss your forehead, clean you up himself and hold you. But is that too revealing? Too much emotion for a relationship like this? And Alhaitham is brought back to the reality that you are only his friends with benefits. (He is well aware of the concept of 'post-nut clarity' but finds it loathsome at the moment.)

Just as he begins to formulate words to wrap this scene in a pretty bow, you wave him over with an endearingly whining croon, and he comes to you without thinking otherwise. He is yours to hold-- always has been.

Alhaitham cannot control how you feel (would never want to), but he can control the way he will not fall apart even as you lay down with him, tracing shapes into his hand in a way he's never allowed himself to dream of. So close yet so far, he thinks, trying not to smile when you whinge at him at pushing you off the couch until you go to the bathroom. He'll take care of you as long as you'll have him.

You go over to Alhaitham's when you can. You try not to treat him like a booty call--though, as he has told you before, that is simply the nature of the relationship. But you are his friend before it comes with the benefits, so you try not to treat him any less. After all, you like spending time with Alhaitham, sex or not, though for some reason he seems almost bewildered when you come over his house and want to take him out for a taco truck you've been craving to eat.

"Isn't this what friends with benefits do?" You point out, biting into your taco. "Being friends with some extra stuff attached?"

Alhaitham looks at you for a moment. You take this time to squeeze some lemon onto his uneaten tacos for him.

"I suppose so," Alhaitham says noncommitally. "I was under the slightest impression you also wanted to use me for experimentation, considering your lack of experience. So you would want to take every opportunity we get to do something."

You scrunch your nose. "I don't like the word 'use.' It’s not like I talked to you and asked you this just for that reason." You frown, and the thought settles in you uncomfortably. "Please don't say that I'm using you. I'm not. I care about you," you say firmly. "I don't want you to feel that type of way, so if you do, we can stop being friends with benefits and just go back to-"

Alhaitham raises his hands in surrender. "No need," he says." I apologize. I wasn't being careful with my choice of words."

The discontent dissipates almost immediately with his words. You can't help but feel pleased. "And aren't you the one with a linguistics degree?" You tease, making him roll his eyes as he takes a bite of his food.

You imagine his eyes are rolled back again if he were to open them now on the ride back to his place as you give him a hand job. Only on the red lights, you vow; you wouldn't want to cause an accident on the road if he were to close his eyes while driving, though the unamused look he gives you has you biting the inside of your cheek to stop smiling.

The two of you end up parked at a neighborhood street when you unclip your seatbelt to finish him off with your mouth. You think his cum tastes a little better than before, and you tell him just as much when Alhaitham tucks himself back in. He only shrugs nonchalantly, but when you look into his fridge later after another session for refreshments you find freshly cut pineapple wrapped in a plate.

You wonder if you would taste better if you started eating them too.

And a month passes with the same routine: you ask if you can come over, the two of you go out to eat or go for an outing before inevitably ending up back at his place for some stress relief. You don't mean to do it every time you go to his place, but it ends up happening anyways. You ask if he wants to try something and then he says yes.

69-ing ends up being a lot more difficult than you anticipated, mainly because you keep getting distracted by things other than the pleasure itself. No matter how many times Alhaitham insists you're not too heavy, and no, you cannot break his neck (his confidence extends in all spheres), you can never get yourself comfortable.

And then there's the alignment issues. You may as well just take turns; it makes it easier for the both of you.

Some things he suggests too, such as face sitting. Alhaitham seems adamant on proving you wrong when he settles underneath you, your thighs on either side of his head as he serves as your seat until your legs are shaking in pleasure.

Alhaitham, you find out, is as good at dirty talk as you imagined. It's the linguistics degree in him, you always joke, but then you're always put in your place when he makes you beg for him to continue eating you out. He is smug as always after these sessions and you can only jab at him to no effect when you see it.

Leaving your jaw slack as he fucks your face, groaning about how good you're taking him, how good you look taking in his cock like you'd like nothing but to take his load down your throat- well. If it was possible for you to finish with just his words, you gladly would have. You are certainly close enough afterwards that Alhaitham only needs his hand on you for a minute before you're creaming onto his fingers, words murmured into your ears like soft feathers.

You voice does end up a little hoarse afterwards, throat sore, but Alhaitham is quick to bring you warm ginger tea to soothe it.

"Go to the bathroom," he tells you sternly. "I won't be responsible for any UTIs."

And when you come back from the bathroom, stark naked (you've instigated round two with this before by accident), your clothes are always ready and folded at the coach with Alhaitham in the kitchen getting you refreshments. It's times like these that make you forced to acknowledge the pink elephant in the room: the more you try not to think about it, the more you feel like Alhaitham would be a really great boyfriend.

Clearly, you overestimated your ability to not catch feelings for a long-time friend whom you trust and has told you straight up he is not interested in dating. You've put yourself in a bit of a sticky situation because you find yourself wanting to abide by the boundaries set by being friends with benefits, but also barely holding back from kissing Alhaitham on the cheek goodbye or asking if you can stay the night. Or taking him on real dates. Or holding his hand when you go out.

You think Alhaitham might not like the hassles that come along with being in a relationship. It's definitely got obligations that he may not be interested in fulfilling-- at least until he finds the right person. The fact he has not said a word to you about it only tells you that you are not that person. (Your heart hopes and yearns though, and you think it needs to shut up.)

Luckily or not, you end up being busy with work and family matters, so you don't get to see Alhaitham for a while. You still message him often, if only to talk about random things or complain about so-and-so. You think you should be more disciplined; perhaps the distance will keep your feelings at bay, but then the moment you find a reprieve in work you're immediately texting Alhaitham to meet up for coffee.

The feelings aren't going away, you think with mild exasperation when you find yourself nodding and hanging onto his every word as he talks about something stupid his coworker has done (and always does). All things come to an end, but you think you like to hang onto Alhaitham like this just a little while longer. Eventually you'll have to broach the dreaded but much needed subject of 'what are we?' but until then, you are more than content being with Alhaitham like this even if you wish you were officially together.

But you can't blame the way things have turned out. After all, if this never happened, would you ever have gotten close to Alhaitham like this?

You check the time on your watch and sigh. "Ugh, I promised I'd run errands for my mom so I gotta go," you say, standing up from the coffee table. You grab your empty cup and toss it in the trash. When you look at Alhaitham, he seems unsure. "Uh, what's up?"

"...I assumed we were going back to my place afterwards," he says carefully. "I thought that was why you called me."

"Oh, no," you say, mouth open with words at the tip of your tongue. You feel your heart rise to your throat as your cheeks grow hot at the honesty of your next words. "I just wanted to see you. Sorry. I should have said something."

"No, it's fine." Alhaitham pushes his seat back to stand too. "You did say we were friends first before the benefits."

You did say that, you remember, but now you can't help but wish the two of you were more than friends. You bite your tongue from blurting those words, but you end up staring at him for a moment too long to not be awkward. "Yeah," you end up saying, "I think I'll be able to see you again next week? I'm less busy, if that's okay?"

"Sure," he says, and you can't help but feel he is so far from you even though he is in arm's reach. "See you then."

It is settled in your heart and head (both in agreement this time) that your friends with benefits relationship with Alhaitham has an expiration date that is coming soon. You like Alhaitham too much to keep pretending that you don't, so it is only a matter of time you end up being just his friend again or begin something anew as a couple. The probability of Alhaitham also catching feelings for you the same time as you is basically zero, you think miserably, so you can only bite the bullet when the time comes.

"I think next time," you say after another session, "I want to have you fuck me."

You hear Alhaitham stop rummaging into his fridge to look at you. His face betrays no emotion and for a frustrating moment, you wish it did just so you can see if he is affected as you are. But this is Alhaitham, and you know better than to expect as much.

"Alright," Alhaitham says. "I can bring the lube and the condoms-"

"No condom," you find yourself saying, "I can take birth control." You look at him, gauging his reaction. "Is that okay with you?"

Alhaitham meets your gaze steadily. "If you are."

"You'll take responsibility, won't you?" You say with a light lilt to your voice, though you trust Alhaitham to take your words seriously. "I'll see you next week?"

He nods. "Next week."

The expiration date comes more quickly than you hoped. You shake your head and the negative thoughts away at his front door before you knock. You care for Alhaitham and you like him as more than a friend: these truths are unchanging for you now, so there is no point in despairing about what is not to be. Besides, you don't want your first time-- with someone, with Alhaitham-- to be marred with angst. You want to enjoy it with him to the last minute.

You ring his doorbell and hear his footsteps approach the front door, your heart beating fast in nervous anticipation.

Alhaitham looks normal, which is to say, as calm as ever when he lets you into his apartment. You put your bag down in your usual spot and amble to the kitchen take a sip of water. Alhaitham walks to his room first to wait for you, and with a deep breath in, you follow after him.

You are reminded of the first time you came over to his house, standing there as you wait for Alhaitham to make the first move. Alhaitham does the usual routine: putting the music on, setting out the equipment, and laying down the towel. He turns to you as you quietly watch him and bends down enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

You feel the tension melt away.

You raise your hand to brush his hair from his eyes before cupping his cheeks to bring him closer to kiss. They are gentle ones though still full of feeling, heat thrumming behind every touch and warm breath shared. "Alhaitham," you murmur, his hands sliding your shirt over your head and guiding you toward the couch.

It is almost rehearsed the way Alhaitham's fingers nimbly remove your bra, his knees between your legs as he helps you out of your bottoms. You sit waiting and watching as Alhaitham removes his own clothes--a personal show-- before he is back on top of you, leaving a trail of kisses along the same spots he knows can make you tremble.

And Alhaitham knows you quite well now, you think, beyond the bedroom. He knows how you take your coffee (not black), how you like to order your food (spicy), the way you can get carsick so he drives smoother, the nasty habit of staying up late so he messages you at 11 pm to tell you to sleep. You trust him so terribly much, and he knows you terribly well-- it is no wonder that you fall apart under his touch in no time at all.

"Alhaitham," you breathe out, holding onto his wrist before he overstimulates your clit. "I want you inside of me. Please?"

You let out a surprised gasp when Alhaitham turns you, so he is facing your front. Your heart is beating so loudly underneath your hands where you've rested them on your chest. You think maybe you would have cold feet but instead you are surer than ever that Alhaitham is someone you want to be your first. You gasp in pleasure when Alhaitham's cock clips onto your clit as he glides it forward and back along your sex. You don't think you've ever wanted someone as you wanted Alhaitham.

But you like to think you know Alhaitham well, now better than ever. So when you look up at him as a flicker of emotion flashes across his face, you can identify it. Alhaitham stays in that position between your legs, conflicted, and that is enough to ebb away the waves of desire to ask him if he's okay.

His expression freezes then, his grip on your legs tightening just a little before releasing them again. "What do you mean?" He asks, and you have half a mind to not laugh at the fact he thinks he can fool you.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," you say. "Not right now and maybe not ever if that's not something you want-"

"I-" Alhaitham snaps his mouth shut, lips twisting as he tries to say words that, for once, do not come easily to him. "That's not entirely true."

"What's not true?" You prompt.

"That this isn't something I want." Alhaitham looks steadily at you then. "Nothing could be more true."

"...Then how about you fuck something else?" You say, closing your legs and letting the plush of your thighs envelop his cock instead. Alhaitham swallows thickly, though his face is as impartial as ever (but you know better). "Pretend it's the real thing. For practice," you say coyly.

Alhaitham curses under his breath, closing his eyes at the sensation of his cock locked between your thighs.

You breathe out slowly, eyes mesmerized by the slant of his brows from concentration, mouths parted, and eyes closed in pleasure. You find that you don't mind this type of view at all, especially not for the finale. You watch every minute detail of Alhaitham chasing his bliss and ingrain it into your memory to keep.

You breathe out through your nose roughly when Alhaitham's cock hits your clit, his pace quickening as he slickens your thighs with a mix of your arousal and his. You moan at the thought of it, the sounds emanating from it a joint effort between your two bodies.

Alhaitham says your name then, making your heart skip a beat as your focus is back onto him. His eyes don't leave yours as he brings himself close to the climax. "Come for me, Haitham," you say, "come for me, baby."

Almost obediently, Alhaitham does as you say, cum staining your chest as though someone made your body a canvas. You watch him come back from his high, taking a finger to swipe some of it from your chest to taste. You smile at his coyly when you see Alhaitham watch you.

It's been fun, you think, as Alhaitham stands up to grab a towel to clean up. You sit up, combing a hand through your hair, working up the courage to say what needs to be said. You're jolted from your thoughts when you feel Alhaitham wipe a towel across your chest, cleaning up the mess the two of you made.

"Oh, thanks!" You say, laughing, "I almost forgot that was there."

"Your mind works in strange ways," Alhaitham says, and you think you are more compromised than you think when you hear the way his voice seems to dip lower, softer when he speaks to you. He pauses in his movement. "Sorry about earlier," he tells you. "Did you have another idea in mind?"

"It's fine, Haitham." You wave his concerns away. "And, um, sorta? It's nothing sexual actually, I just think I need to talk to you about something."

To his credit, Alhaitham only takes a moment to process your words. "Alright," he says. He takes a towel to wrap around your shoulders before putting his pants back on just for modesty. You watch him fondly as he sits next to you.

"I wanted to say thanks," you begin, "for doing this with me. I trust you to treat me right and you've never proven me wrong."

"No thanks needed," Alhaitham trails off, "is what I normally say but I don't mind a word of gratitude when it comes from you." He lets out a huff of laughter when you knock shoulders with him; yours is the only one that ends up a little sore.

"And I know we started this out as friends with benefits, but, um..." You breathe out. "I think... I've started to catch feelings for you." Not honest enough, you think, and add on, wincing, "A lot, actually. I like you as more than a friend." You turn away from him then, focusing on your hands as they fidget in your lap. "I don't think I can keep on doing this and pretend like I don't, so I think we should stop being friends with benefits."

You stammer, heart fluttering with anxiety, "A-And I know you said you didn't want to be in a relationship anyone, but I was wondering if you were interested in doing that with me...? If not, it's okay, I'm honestly really okay if we stayed as friends. I just wanted to be transparent with you because I think you deserve-"

"Why do you assume I wouldn't like you back?" Alhaitham cuts through. You turn to stare at him, and he meets your eyes and keeps them there. "I never said I didn't want to be in a relationship with anyone."

You stare. "What are you talking about? You're literally the one who told me you were never interested in dating."

"I'm not," Alhaitham says slowly. "I'm not interested in dating, but that doesn't mean I'm not open to being in a relationship with someone."

"Huh?" You blurt out. "But how are you supposed to be in a relationship with someone if you don't meet someone to date them first?"

Alhaitham is patient with you despite your growing frustration. It is so obvious he has connected the dots and is waiting for you to catch up. "I don't need to date," he says, "because I already met someone I'm interested in being with. I don't need to meet new people."

"Wait, what?" You gape. "Who?"

The face that Alhaitham gives you is by far the most unimpressed he has ever looked. You feel like punching it a little. You cross your arms, huffing.

"Give me hints or something," you say, clicking your tongue in annoyance. "Do I know them?"

"Very well," Alhaitham replies, sidling close to you that your arm can feel his body heat.

"Are they from our high school?"

"Yes."

"Really?" You gasp. "Well, we have your friends-"

"They are also your friends."

"-and my friends, which are yours..." You trail off, feeling your face warm and your heart rise to your throat. You can't be hopeful, you think. It is such a dangerous thing when you assume, but you think about who Alhaitham has befriended, who he is still friends with, and who he is closest to. The best answer you keep arriving to is yourself.

Is it too arrogant of you to think that it's you that Alhaitham wants to be with?

"No, it's not prideful to think it's you if it's true," Alhaitham says, and you wonder if you said it aloud. That thought is quickly discarded in favor of thinking over Alhaitham's words. Your heart feels fit to burst, lips wobbly without your permission. His eyes soften when he looks at you then, hand raising to cup your cheek.

"I like you," Alhaitham tells you. "I want to be more than friends."

"More than friends with benefits?" You can't help but ask, and you laugh through the sudden tears when Alhaitham scoffs before pressing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah, way more than that," he says quietly. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. "I've always wanted more with you."

You sniffle, grinning. "Good thing I asked you then, huh?" You let put a shriek of laughter when Alhaitham pins you down, arms caging you in and making you feel nothing but safe. He looks at you then, eyes full of affection that you wonder how you could have ever missed that before.

"You want to retry from earlier?" Alhaitham asks, pulling your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"I won't lie," you say, laughing when Alhaitham nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. "That talk took a chunk of my energy. I kind of want to nap and cuddle. With you! Besides," you say, shifting so that Alhaitham can join you on the coach, the two of you as close as you can be, "we have all the time in the world to do new things together." You turn to look him in the eyes and hopes he sees how much you adore him in equal amounts.

"I can wait," you say, and Alhaitham leans to kiss you.

It is not the last time he does so.

#alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #written all on my PHONE thats how down bad i was to write this

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yoinkschief · 2 months ago

Text

I did it - I finally did it, I made concept doodles of the different leaders

I've been meaning to do this for a while now, I've just kept forgetting to and then get distracted with much more pressing matters n shit so yk but I decided fuck it they don't need to be good so long as they just get my idea across,,, and then later on when I have the time, energy and patience to I can fully render them

These are all also leaning into who they are in my HCs, simply because I think it's kinda boring to just go "well what if we put person a in person b's body and keep everything else the exact same" like where's the nuance in that,,,

So all the same story beats still happen, just minor differences, like Tord still leaves and has the robot explode causing the damage (but different contexts now) and Tom is still possessed by the rage demon or whateva and Edd still gets powers and Matt still becomes a vampire,, they just are put in different plot points in the story

I don't like the idea of just reskinning characters, yk, if I were to change story beats for things like "instead of matt getting bitten by the vampire bite it was tord" I wouldn't want it to just be the same shit happens because Tord wouldn't react the same way to it as Matt would, yk ?? I don't wanna give the character's the others personalities, just their plot beats

But in this things stay relatively the same

Except in this Tom, in a desperation to live after failing to dismantle Tord's robot in an act of rage against Tord returning and pretending like nothing happened, makes a deal with his more demonic half and gives up part of his soul to live

Edd gets blown up trying to use Tord's robot against Tord's wishes and something something main characters can't die or whatever so he painfully finds out that his "poweredd" powers grant him a very fucked up version of immortality,,, I made it look goopy because I can and I'm madly in love with my partner and they've given me this idea so fuck them blame them if you want

Matt gets no lasting consequences for his actions because he's a vampire and they have MAD regenerative abilities, but he does still blow up but this time when him and Edd are fucking around in Tord's little office ?? whatever the hell it is he has stuffed in his room as a secondary room, yk when him and Edd are touching all those buttons they're not supposed to, that's what caused the robot to malfunction and Matt ends up getting the brunt of it - I mean so does Edd, and since this would be Tom's world that would probably why Matt and Edd's relationship grows sour since Edd got caught up in the blast too n whatnot I dunno I'm mostly spitballing here I haven't sat down and properly thought out these AUs yet so yk

take all of this with a grain of salt this is ALLLL subject to change in the future but for now this is what I have in my head for everything :p

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m-jelly · 9 months ago

Note

OMG I just read the pilot levi and flight attendant reader head cannons and I loved them!

Can you please write a NSFW story on them please??

Mile high.

Levi x fem!reader

Modern AU, pilot Levi, flight attendant reader, romance, smut, married, some foreplay, dirty talk, bathroom sex, slight public sex? unprotected, pet names quickie.

Levi gives you a hint that he is aroused, so you reply with a hint back. The two of you go to the pilot's bathroom where Levi ravages you. Quickie smut.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously

You walked into the cockpit with drinks and snacks for your husband and Erwin. "Evening, gentlemen. I have brought drinks and snacks to keep you going."

Erwin took his drink from you as Levi's hand went up the back of your leg and under your skirt. "Thank you. Appreciate it."

You shivered as Levi's fingers lightly touched your panties. "Mm, you're welcome."

Levi moved his hand away and took his drink. "Thank you, darling wife." He looked up at you. "Your feet need a rest, can I help?"

You nibbled your lip at the hint of him asking if you wanted to fool around. "I need it."

Levi's eyes sparkled. "I'll come and help you in a moment. You don't mind, do your Erwin?"

Erwin shook his head. "No, it's okay. This is a long fight, so take a rest and have a nice little date or something."

You smiled a little. "Thank you."

You slipped out of the cockpit and walked around the pilot's area. You and Erwin's wife were the only flight attendants allowed here, which was nice because the two gents didn't need much. It had become the perfect job, all you did was relax and spend time with your best friend, your dear friend and your husband.

Levi strolled towards you and called your name. "Come here."

You trotted over with a smile on your face. "Yes?"

He wrapped an arm around you and lifted causing you to giggle. "You're mine." He carried you into the slightly spacy bathroom and slammed the door shut. "Little privacy." He dropped you on your feet and locked the door. "Now then...where was I..."

You nibbled your lip. "Levi."

He ran his hand up the inside of your thigh. "Let's have a feel again."

You leaned your head back and gasped in delight as his lips dotted your neck with kisses. "Ah, mmm."

He slipped his hand into your panties and moved his fingers against you. "Naughty girl, already wet and ready for your husband even before he did anything."

You shivered as his fingers plunged in and out of you. "Can you blame me? You're incredible."

He dragged his fingers out and lightly played with your clit as he spoke against your lips. "You're the incredible one. Every inch of you is a pure delight and pleasure." He kissed you and mewled in delight. "All mine."

You panted and moaned against his lips. "Yours."

He dragged his finger from you and licked them clean. "I love you."

You purred. "I love you too."

He lightly gripped your neck. "Now, my wonderful wife, I'm going to fuck as much love into you as possible." He nipped your bottom lip. "Fill you with all the cum you want."

You moaned. "Please."

He lifted you and sat you on the sink. He smirked when you unbuttoned your shirt a little. "Look at you."

You hummed a laugh. "I know you like my breasts." You shifted on your bum and slipped your panties off. "Now, come here and cum in me."

Levi was fast to move, he opened his belt, popped the button and yanked his zip down. Once he pulled out his throbbing thick correction, he pumped it in his hand a few times. He pressed the tip in just a little bit to ensure you were okay to take him.

The warmth of your pussy was intoxicating to him and the thickness of his cock was addictive. His loving hands gripped your hips before he slammed himself deep into you. He kissed you roughly and caught your moan before anyone passing by heard you.

You gripped Levi's back as your legs locked around him. You moaned desperately into the kiss and felt yourself melting under him. The pleasure pulsing through you was overwhelming as he pounded into you over and over. The two of you were just made for each other. He stretched you in all the right places and you clenched him just right.

Your toes curled tightly in pleasure. Each pump of Levi's hips was causing your shoes to fall off. You felt your coil tighten hard as skin slapped against skin and Levi's tongue moved against yours. The two of you were losing your minds and bodies in the heat of passion.

You squeezed your legs around your husband as you felt the end coming. You pulled from his lips. "Levi, I'm close."

He smiled at you. "Moan against my ear, darling. I want your moans of cumming against my ear."

You pressed your lips against his cute ear and panted heavily. You mewled in delight as you felt so close. You gasped when you felt the snap followed by the familiar blissful release. Your orgasm consumed you causing Levi to moan in delight.

You kissed the side of his ear. "Cum inside me."

He bucked as hard and as fast as you could take before plunging in deep. He cupped the side of your face and looked deep into your eyes as he came hard inside you. Each twitch of his cock and pump of cum inside you was euphoric to you both.

He purred to you. "Fuck, darling."

You kissed him and mewled. "That was just what we needed." You kissed him again. "It's a shame we can't go longer."

He growled. "Quickies on the plane only. Just wait for when I get you in a hotel room."

You nibbled your lip. "I'm excited. We'll go all night."

"We will." He dragged his cock out of you and tucked himself away. "Let me get your underwear."

"Thank you."

He slipped them on you and helped you off the sink. "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "Yes."

"I was a bit rough."

You linked your arms around your neck. "You were perfect as always."

He pouted. "I wished I lasted longer for you."

"You made me cum." You giggled. "Besides, we don't have much time on the plane like you said." You kissed him over and over. "I love you."

"I love you forever and always, my darling wife."

You showered his face with kisses making him chuckle. "So handsome and all mine."

He hugged you tightly and hummed in happiness. "How did I get so lucky to have you as my wife?"

"You were you."

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poetryandfluffycats · 9 months ago

Text

His Girl~

A/N: part of my Nikolai stalker au! might be the last one for awhile since for may ill be on the grind for enstars NSFW month🤍

Pairing: Kidnapper!Nikolai Gogol x fem!reader

Content: Bathing with kidnapper Nikolai...

Warnings: kidnapping, suggestive(?)

Words: 887

Oneshot under cut!

"Dove, how would you like a bath?"

Nikolai leaned over my shoulder, wrapped his arms around my middle and squeezing my belly fat. "Hm, and maybe some new clothes? You must be getting sick of this old number! Aha!"

A bath? I would've loved a bath. It'd been so long since the last time I'd properly bathed, my only way of cleaning myself whilst down here being a dirty rag and a bucket. Even though there was a bathtub in the bathroom of the basement, Nikolai had never let me use it for whatever reason.

The thought of clean water, soap, shampoo, maybe even bubbles? It had me tingling. New clothes too? Clearly something had put Nikolai in a good mood today, which I wasn't going to complain about.

Something about the offer, however, made me shiver. Something about the way he held me, about the way he squeezed me just a bit too tight, told me that he wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his own heart.

"That sounds nice..." I mumbled, turning my head around to face him. There it was, that stare again. Pupils blown out beyond humanness, jagged teeth showing in his wide grin.

Anyone would've called me crazy if I told them, but that was his happy face.

"Wonderful! Yes, let's get you all nice and squeaky clean, hm?"

He intertwined his fingers with mine, a bounce in his step as he dragged me towards the bathroom, which was located in the far corner of the basement. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind us, patting the counter top and gesturing for me to sit down. I did as he wanted, hopping up onto the counter and swinging my legs back and forth.

The action reminded me of when I was a child, watching my mother do her makeup at the vanity while I begged her to put some on me too. I wondered if she missed me, if anyone did.

"Now, I wasn't sure what type of scent you liked, so I got a whole bunch! I think the lady at the store thought I was crazy, aha!" Nikolai giggled, opening the cabinet beneath me and pulling out bottle after bottle of shower products. "Strawberry, peach, vanilla, cherry, this ones called 'A thousand wishes' how odd...! Oh, bath salts, you need bath salts! Here, I got a few options for those as well"

"Vanilla sounds nice" I smiled softly, pointing at the bottle in question. Nikolai grabbed it and popped open the lid, holding it out for me to smell. "Smells nice too"

"Vanila it is then! I'll fill the tub, and you strip for me, mkay? Don't be embarrassed, I'll behave myself! Scouts honour"

Scouts honour? I couldn't imagine Nikolai as a boyscout, actually, I couldn't imagine the manic as a child at all. I preferred to think of him as some sort of demon that just spawned one day as what he is now. What would a younger Nikolai be like? Probably the kind who went around setting bee hives on fire and stealing from the collection box at church.

"Strip, strip, strip! Don't keep me waiting, dove" Nikolai sang, tilting his head to the side, keeping an eye on me as he fiddled with the faucets of the bath.

"Kolya...?" I hesitated in pulling my nightgown off, the fabric bunching up in my grip.

"Hm?"

"Don't stare, okay?"

"You can count on me, love! But, you can't blame me if I do sneak a few peeks, alright? How am I supposed to bathe my girl without looking at her? Hm?"

My girl.

What an idiot. I wasn't his property, you couldn't own a person, didn't matter how long you kept them trapped in your basement.

Without any further trouble, I untied the bow holding my gown together, letting it slip down my frame and pool at my ankles, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable at Nikolais mercy. I was quick to cover my chest as I hopped off the counter top, trying to keep just an ounce of my modestly intact.

"What a beautiful body-eck! Stupid Nikolai, stupid! She doesn't want you staring! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" The jester hit himself in the head a few times, muttering a string of different curse words with each smack.

"Ah, ignore me, dove. Go on! Baths nice and warm for you!"

I didn't need to be told twice, mumbling a quick thanks as I slid down into the tub. It felt like bliss, the bubbles popping under my weight and creating a tickling sensation on my skin. The water was hot, but not so hot you felt like you might boil to death. Just right.

I reached for the vanilla scented body scrub that Nikolai had layed out for me, only to have him grab my wrist before I could get a hold of it. "Ah-ah-Ah, allow me" He wagged his finger back and forth, grabbing the scrub himself and scooping a generous amount into his palm.

It felt wrong, his grubby hands on my bare skin. This should have been a luxury for me, something to enjoy, but I couldn't help but feel like a piece of meat on display. Mere prey, a toy to dress up.

And in a way I was.

#bsd x reader #bsd #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere x reader #yandere #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bsd nikolai #bsd nikolai gogol #bungo stray dogs nikolai #nikolai x reader #yandere nikolai gogol #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai gogol #bsd gogol #oneshot

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wolfienation · 1 year ago

Text

some rhaenicent fic recommendations

grey ridge (ríl liatroma) by molter ( @molter-writes ) - married with kids; business drama; they’re sickeningly cute; arguably the best thing ive read in the fandom; 10 out of 10; read it like 6 times; if you haven’t read it dude what are you waiting for

ride the dragon (and do it quickly) by molter - the #roadtrip fix it

love is complicated by molter - Alicent is an actress and Rhaenyra is her rich best friend; they idiots and they’re in love; Laena is featured and she is fed up

leaf and blade by molter - it’s summer; they’re hiding their relationship; they’re teachers; and my all time favorite tag ‘harwin gets a whistle’

bodhrán beat by molter - read the tags. its by molter trust me its good.

cleopatra by dontaskmedude - divergence from episode 4; Joffery does not die; Laenor and Rhaenyra do everything right; Alicent and Rhaenyra raise their kids together

someone to watch me die by dontaskmedude - this is just, this is just depressing; good but depressing; like if hurt/no comfort is your thing this is for you; it’s just so, so sad; kinda Alicent in chains/Rhaenyra half year queen era with some timeline tweaks but no happy ending; do not read this if you want them to be happy

Untouchable by mylordshesacactus - young rhaenicent; if Aemma never died and if Alicent never married viserys; i love this story so much you dont get it

Blame it on Fate by Lumyart ( @lumyart ) - they’re rival co hosts; well, actually, they’re rival co hosts in Alicent’s mind; Rhaenyra is thoroughly enamored (as per usual)

you don't know what love is (if you don't put up a fight) by tansymeadows - viserys manages to last a couple extra days and Rhaenyra returns after Alicent blinked her pretty brown eyes and said “you’ve only just arrived”

The Silver Queen and the Lady in Green by WanderingFan - idk how to explain this; honestly just read it; it’s really good; slow burn; like incredibly slow burn im on chapter 26 rn and they’ve only just become friends a couple chapters ago but god is it worth it

is it too soon to do this yet ('cause I know it's delicate) by Arvedui - episode 1 divergence; it’s cute; they’re cute

would it be enough (if i could never give you peace?) by Arvedui - Jeyne Arryn my beloved; you and Laena would get along splendidly when it comes to these two nitwits ( i say with affection)

Midnights Like This by pure_black_wings - based on Taylor’s album; college setting; slow burn

Duty and Sacrifice (A History of Rhaenyra the Blessed by Archmaester Gyldayn) by TheIronDragon10 (@theirondragonrants) - now when i say i love this story i mean i LOVE this story; if you ever wanted to know what the House of the Dragon looked like thoroughly united then LOOK NO FURTHER; top tier; it’s wonderful; it has angst, it has joy, it has family and sibling vibes, it has slow burn, it has pain and healing and love everything i could ever want from a realistic version of canon where my girls can be happy; emphasis on realistic because the irondragon does not pull any punches

Cleaving to Rhaenyra by WanderingFan - another episode 4 divergence

you’ve got your demons (darlin’ they all look like me) by geralehane ( @geralehane ) - the reincarnation au

lying (in the hollows of your heart) by wakesiren ( @wakesirens) - read this for the last scene of chapter 3 and thank me later; update: READ THIS FOR CHAPTER FOUR AND THANK ME LATER

towers and dragons verse by beepboop (permanganato) - Alicent is one adorable nerd okay and Rhaenyra just loves her

what is it good for? by bluebaric ( @viscountcrow ) - arranged marriage au; Rhaenyra is a war hero; Alicent is perpetually terrified for her life

tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart by alphayamergo ( @sydneysageivashkov ) - this was just, this was just hilarious; like picture Corlys and Otto snarling at each other from across the council room trying to convince Rhaenyra to marry either Alicent or Laena and that’s what this is

thine is the queendom by liadrell ( @lesbianalicent ) - this was an excellent read, really good character dive on alicent

Ember to Flame by CrowSaint (@ dayneonychus ) - intriguing concepts

our shadow over the sea by queensmooting - sigh

Long Live Our Queens! by WanderingFan - they’re gonna kill their fathers and they’re gonna rule together and it’s gonna be great

blood in your mouth (I wish it was mine) by dontaskmedude - this made me shed some tears

Of Our Own Accord by 99bad_habits ( @99bad-habits ) - can’t wait to see how this turns out; canon divergence at 1x08; Viserys lives long enough and Rhaenyra returns on dragonback and our girls get to co-rule

and i'll still see it, until i die by irridescence - h e a r t b r e a k i n g; starts around the winter fever and goes backward from there

by choice by alicents - co-parenting rhaenicent my beloveds <3; family fluff told in segments in a non-linearly fashion; it's cute; they're cute; something to read while canon is breaking your heart

good luck, babe! by somebodytoundress ( @somebodytoundress )- based on the song by chappell roan; they're friends reconnecting after 10 years about to play lead love interests in a movie. give the song a listen and give the fic a read

am i making you feel sick? by somebodytoundress - rhaenyra is a vampire. need i say more

fault lines by rogueorbit ( @rogueorbit ) - 1x08 canon divergence; rhaenyra returns on dragonback and her and alicent make peace; alicent plays otto like a fiddle while rhaenyra stands back and chants "i'm in love with you"

once more, to see you by Jazzfordshire ( @jazzfordshire ) - 2x03 canon compliant. takes place after their sept talk. bittersweet as hell. supercorp fans rejoice because jazz wrote it.

And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow by mrdcai ( @mrdcai ) - #valyrianmagicbabies need i say more

Desire (I want to turn into you) by mrdcai - they're friends with benefits because they're fucking idiots

lately i've been crying (like a tall child) by noheteroexplanation ( @noheteroexplanation ) - this has one of the best characterizations of alicent i've ever read. it's told from her pov from the beginning of season 2 come forward with minor changes and goes into speculation for the rest of the show. heavy, heavy book spoilers.

it’s a craving, not a crush by BeastGirl2k14 - did someone say toxic modern au rhaenicent with some vampire action thrown in for fun? (alicent with a fang kink for the win)

Where love is elsewhere held and she lingered by koyuki_kazahana - alicent runs. rhaenyra runs after her. there are book spoilers in this.

there you go again by floodonthefloor ( @floodonthefloor ) - they're actors. they're childhood best friends. they were fuck buddies in uni and that really messed them up. they haven't spoken in years. they're now starring in a movie together. alicent kinda hates rhaenyra's guts but she still wants to jump her bones. trust me. it's good

try not to let go by floodonthefloor - they dated in uni. they broke up. and now they're back in each other's lives. that's gonna go well.

pedestal by floodonthefloor - listen guys. if you think they're insane, i promise you they're EXTREMELY insane in this one. opposing lawyers who can't stop committing career suicide everytime they so much as look at each other.

there’s more i just got tired so feel free to add your own; there are also other stories by these authors (Wandering, wakesiren, somebodytoundress, mrdcai to name a few) which I have not put here that are also enjoyable so you can check them out

#rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd #i truly think i consume a ridiculous amount of fic so here #i also feel like ive just given you all a peak into my soul #also if i missed anyone's blogs im very very sorry i probably couldn't find the name of it #fic recs #rhaenicent fic recs #fic rec #otp: doomed by the narrative #rhaenyra x alicent

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semisolidmind · 1 year ago

Note

i know it's all about the lion's den AU rn and as usual I am FEASTING on the content (excuse the crumbs) but there's an idea that won't leave me alone-

what if Peaches was not human, but an immortal from the beginning? How much would change? I know the whole appeal of these AUs - I mean, that's why I love them and I absolutely love this lil corner of the fandom. but I've been kinda diving into the whole immortality biz in Chinese myths for my oc, so now I'm curious.

Peaches could be someone cultivating and practicing Xian (i hope I'm using that right) for years, or consumed pills/elixir of immortality somehow, or a demon who is oddly very kind and empathetic - would the bois still love her just as much? How different is the dynamic now even if Peaches retains her core personality traits?

love your work! and hydrate before ya diedrate

ive been thinking about this, and i kinda like the idea of immortal reader being an attendant of the heavenly peach orchard.

not super high up the ladder, but not at the bottom either. her powers are limited to helping plants grow just a little bit, creating temporary barriers, and being able to float the way all celestials can. the higher-ups figure that since no one is bold or stupid enough to steal from heaven, they don’t need any extra security in the immortal peach groves.

you can take a guess as to how reader meets the monkeys.

they show up to the orchards, ready to fight their way to the peaches, but instead of some overpowered celestial soldiers guarding the orchard, it's....one immortal maiden. just the one. but she doesn't seem all that powerful, soooooo...

...maybe she'd agree to let them take a few without too much trouble?

the monkey bros go the "oh don't mind us we're just a couple of cute lil monkeys, here to cause adorable and harmless mischief" route in their approach to getting reader to let her gaurd down.

they approach her while she takes a break from pruning some dead branches. she's understandably surprised and suspicious about these two seemingly normal monkeys who've snuck in, but... they are pretty cute. and tame; they let her pet them and give them scritches. perhaps they're one of the heavenly official's pets. reader supposes that they can stay for a while.

wukong and macaque play their parts, get reader's guard down, and steal a couple dozen peaches each. reader notices, but there's not much she can do beyond shooing the monkeys out with a broom (and her soft heart barely allows her to do that). she knows that if she reports it, those cute lil monkeys will be hunted down and killed.

she supposes she could put in a request for higher walls around the grove, or more barriers (she still wonders how the boys managed to get through the first ones), but with how slowly things get done in the bureaucracy...it'd be a very, very long time until it was even brought up in court.

besides, even then....they're monkeys. animals. she won't place blame on them for being what they are. those little cuties probably had no idea that the immortal peaches were any different from the ones on earth.

she could never stay mad at their adorable lil faces anyways.

---

reader, despite what you might think, has a pretty laid back job. once all her chores for the day have been completed (those magic trees don't really need much beyond the essentials to do their thing), she has a good amount of free time to sit and, you guessed it—read.

macaque (because of course, he has to be the first one to fall in every au) decides, on a bored whim, to go visit that nice attendant they stole from not too long ago. perhaps he'll collect some intel while he's up there.

he finds her after a bit of searching. reader sits in a secluded corner of the grove, leisurely turning pages and enjoying the shade. macaque, still disguised, sidles up to her. reader notices, seeming surprised to see him before her face morphs into... a rather adorable pout. perhaps she thinks she's being intimidating.

'damn, no wonder the bureaucracy didn't think they needed any more security,' macaque thinks sarcastically. such a fearsome maiden they've chosen to guard the immortal peaches.

while reader takes a minute to admonish him about stealing, it isn't long before she sighs and gives up on her lecture in favor of scratching him gently behind his ears. he churrs low in his chest. her whole demeanor is as soft and sweet as the peaches she guards (her hands as well, he notes, pressing into them).

macaque laughs internally. a fearsome maiden, indeed.

macaque manages to wiggle his way into reader's lap, pulling her attention from her book. she knows she should be trying to scare him off, but...just—just look at him! he's so cute, and she's too pulled in by how cute he is to notice the oddly powerful aura he seems to exude (far too powerful to be a normal monkey). he enjoys her touch for a while longer before he hears the far-off call of his annoying brother, wondering where he is. he bumps his head into reader's hand by way of goodbye before running off to shadow away more secretively.

reader watches him go, sighing. she really should shoo him away next time.

---

macaque keeps coming back. and reader continues to be unable to kick him out.

with very few visitors and no one else to talk to, reader begins to tell him everything that she overhears during the day; the officials don't think anyone is listening when they air out their gossip as they walk by the orchard. she doesn’t know it, but she’s saving macaque the energy of using his powers to gather this intel on his own.

the six-eared demon makes a habit of showing up to the grove to laze around with his favorite maiden and listen to her read, using “spying” as the excuse he gives his brother for why he's been running off so often. reader seems to have accepted that he won't be leaving her alone any time soon, and he takes full advantage. macaque comes to think of reader and the secluded corner of the grove as his own little peice of heaven.

of course, sooner or later, wukong joins in. he's a bit angry that macaque didn't just say he was visiting the peach orchard and it's attendant; he wouldn't have minded, he would've come with! macaque doesn't bother trying to explain that he didn't want to share.

but share he does, seeing as wukong greedily takes all the attention from reader he can get. the monkey king finds himself enamored with the maiden who's hands and heart are as soft as the fruits she tends to. he won't admit it (it may hurt his carefully crafted "ruthless demon king" image if he did), but wukong is a cuddle bug when it comes to reader. everything about her is just so soft, and she's so kind, and she always smells like peaches—he could spend hours laying on her chest as she reads.

he just feels so...peaceful, with her.

the boys are entangled in reader's life, visiting whenever they can and butting into whatever she happens to be doing. they see her day to day happiness (brief conversations with the lower maids she's friends with), and her struggles (the two monkeys bore witness to the officials taking their anger out on reader over something trivial, their rage towards heaven growing stronger). the two grow more and more attached to her as time goes on.

and so they begin to work a small abduction into the grander scheme of their plan.

---

sooner or later, the monkey warlords properly raid heaven. they and their demon army storm the jade palace, murdering servants, footsoldiers, and as many officials as they can. the monkey king and the six-eared macaque lead a massacre so bloody it stains the palace walls red. wukong especially holds back none of his rage, getting caught up in his hatred for heaven and zealously continuing to shed as much celestial blood as he can.

during a lull in the chaos, macaque, covered in vicera, makes his way to the immortal peach grove. with the battle coming to a close and the demon forces being driven back, now is as good a time as ever to snatch up a special “peach” for himself and his brother.

he finds said peach preoccupied with a gallant attempt at protecting herself and a few lower maids from a demon soldier, using a series of barriers. the soldier breaks the barriers almost as fast as reader can make them, rapidly pushing her and her companions into a corner. reader puts up a brave fight, but she's a celestial attendant, not a celestial warrior.

macaque calls out to the soldier, halting their attack and telling them to regroup with the others and prepare to move out. the soldier complies, crassly assuring the women that they’re about to be nothing more than bloody pulp on the garden wall. no one has ever gone against the shadow general of the demon army and lived.

macaque waits until the soldier is out of sight before leisurely approaching the still quivering group of maids and their determined, but exhausted looking guard. reader tenses as he steps closer. she feels a horrible sense of dread crawl down her spine when she gets a good look at him.

the dark fur, the shape of the mask marking on his face...reader feels tears start to bead at the corners of her eyes.

this entire time, she'd been petting and coddling the six-eared macaque. the second in command of the dreaded demon army has been sitting right in front of her and she had no idea. reader can barely keep her breathing steady.

and if this is her dark-furred companion, then the lighter-furred one must be…oh stars.

…she let the monkey king in.

she practically threw open the doors for him. she didn’t report them when she should have, she knew there was something strange about them but she was so sure they were just normal animals—oh stars above, if the jade emperor ever discovered this, she’d be executed.

but…but reader steels herself. she can deal with that later. her friends are counting on her.

now, she’s certainly not expecting the blood-covered demon general across from her to be open to bargaining (he could just kill all of them now, but reader gets the feeling he wouldn't be merciful enough to end it quickly). and he knows exactly what leverage he has over her, she can see it in the smug look on his face.

but she tries anyways.

“let them go, please,” she begs breathlessly, arms shaking from the strain of maintaining her magic. the least she can do is buy her friends a moment more. “do whatever you want with me, but they are blameless.”

macaque chuckles, the sound reverberating lowly between the trees. whatever he wants, huh? oh, sweet peach. she should know better than to give him so much leeway.

“that is tempting. if that’s the case, then perhaps you’ll go with me willingly,” he muses, tail swaying slowly. his fangs glint dangerously when he smirks.

“don’t fight, and no harm will come to them. that, and your secret will be safe with me. honest."

reader doesn’t believe him. she can’t, but she and her friends are so low priority that calling for help would be useless. if the demon army has been as effective as the screaming would lead her to believe, the celestial host has much bigger problems than rescuing a gardener and some lowly maidservants. and with the chance that she’ll be seen through and blamed for every gory death that's happened beyond the walls of the peach groves...

she doesn’t have a choice.

reader slowly, cautiously lowers her barriers, despite the worried cries of the maids behind her. they cower closer together as reader takes a slow step closer to macaque.

with a flick of his wrist, reader is struck by a sleeping spell so potent she falls into macaque's waiting arms like a lead weight. the demon gathers his beloved into his hold with a gentleness that doesn't fit his gory visage.

he sinks into a shadow, leaving the maids to clutch each other and cry at the loss of reader and the near loss of their own lives.

---

reader wakes up days later in the royal bedchambers of the stone palace. she startles at seeing the monkey king and the six-eared macaque laying on either side of her, stripped to just a loose pair of pants each. she herself has been changed to a comfortable silk robe, her own clothing nowhere to be seen.

reader feels a cold sludge in her gut. she scrambles out of the pillow pit, kicking a few into the face of one of her captors as she goes. she checks herself over, looking for bite marks, claw marks, anything to indicate the two demons sharing a bed with her had violated her in any way. she looks, and breathes a heavy sigh.

she finds nothing.

"we figured we'd wait until you were awake to start marking territory," the tired, yet still somehow smug voice of the monkey king chimes from behind her. reader turns to see the demon leveling an amorous look her way. his gold and crimson eyes burn like fire in the low light.

reader ignores him in favor of falling to her knees and burying her face in her hands. now that she has a moment to think, her failure has decided to take centerstage; she was the one who let the monkey king into the jade palace, she let him steal the immortal peaches, she's the one who carelessly shared all the gossip that told them when the best time to attack would be, she's to blame for all the lives lost—

"hey. y'know we would've raided heaven even if we hadn't met you, right? it's not your fault," macaque says, propping his head in his hand to look at her. he doesn't have the decency to hide how he's sizing her up, poison purple eyes glowing whilst tracing her curves. reader shrinks into herself a bit more.

"yep. don't feel too bad, peaches. i was never gonna spare any of those bureaucrats in the first place," wukong adds. "and besides, none of those guys cared about you anyway, so why feel bad?"

reader sobs, pressing her hands to her eyes. she knows. she knows how callous the officials could be, but that doesn't mean they deserved to die. it doesn't mean the servants and foot soldiers who were only following orders deserved their fates.

she hears movement, then feels a set of strong, furred arms wrap around her. wukong rests his head on her shoulder. he nuzzles his nose against her neck. she feels his warm breath and the glance of deadly sharp fangs when he speaks.

"they didn't deserve the mercy you seem to think they did."

---

wukong places a seal on reader's powers. what little defense she had against them is gone with the placement of a brand-like marking in between her shoulder blades (and a few more along her shoulders made with his teeth).

reader can't do anything. wukong won't let her leave, and even if she could, the heavenly court will have her executed if she goes back. so, she remains on the monkey king's mountain.

she didn't think she'd share a fate with the precious fruit she'd failed to protect.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au #immortal peach au #i guess??? cause shes an immortal???#this got waaay longer than expected #got tired and couldnt figure out how to end it #dialogue is hard

356 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 1 year ago

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 21: It's now or never

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader

🗡️ word count: 19.4k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: anxiety spiraling; Yoongi's scar; baby Jimin is still in a coma; explicit smut (oral, vaginal, and anal sex; face riding; squirting; spitroasting; getting messy with cum; all holes tended to; ass eating and mutual fingering; some very interesting positions that i don't know how to name; subby Yoongi; mc being a bit more dominant; Namjoon is Namjoon; subspace; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; semi-public sex); graphically violent dreams; mc has a lot a lot a lot a lot of feelings.

🗡️note: we're speedrunning the healing time of a headwound okay medical professionals. ignore how fast Yoongi heals. anyway, big should out to @sweetestofchaos for the existence of Dionysus, the club in this fic. more details in the end notes so please check those out!!! also lmaooo this chapter made me and my beta reader cry so good luck!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on dec. 2023 | read on ao3

The flight to Hong Kong is a little over three and a half hours, but you are so antsy the entire time that it feels like it takes all fucking day. Namjoon attempts to distract you with episodes of an anime that involves demon hunting, you think, but you are unable to focus on the plot.

He even attempts to distract you with his hands and lips, leaving warm kisses along the expanse of your neck while his hands push up the skirt of your floral sundress, charting familiar paths they took only a few hours earlier and so many times before—many times which had ended with your thighs wrapped around his neck, begging for reprieve from overwhelming pleasure.

But you are unable to stop your mind from running in circles. You cannot relax.

All you can think about is Yoongi and his wound. Yoongi and his distance. Yoongi and whatever the fuck he is doing in Hong Kong. Yoongi meeting with members of the Busan family—meeting with his ex.

This morning, lying in Yoongi's bed, it was much easier to relax and let go of your worries. But now, in the air, on your way to see him, you cannot quiet your mind for the life of you.

Mere hours, laying in Yoongi's large bed with an afterglow from Namjoon's talented mouth and hands, the two of you had a nice talk about his fears and worries, putting a lot into perspective and assuaging all the feelings of bitterness and frustration that you felt over the last several days. You truly do not blame him for needing to have some time and space to himself—he and Yoongi have a bond so deep, it is no wonder that Namjoon's thoughts become insurmountable.

Namjoon admitted that he had actually not been able to get ahold of Yoongi and that you were going to surprise him with a visit tomorrow, having already spoken to Uiseok about dropping in. Everything he said about Yoongi regretting creating distance and all that was just him babbling because he was high and stressed out—something you relate to after the night you and Jeongguk shared. He was desperate to keep you from worrying as much as he was.

But then Yoongi finally responded to Namjoon's texts and it changed the trajectory of everything, spurring you two to get onto a plane as quickly as possible. What was originally meant to be a trip to bring him home tomorrow became a mad dash to pack a suitcase and get onto a flight as soon as you could. The piggyback ride from Jeongguk's place was only about nine hours earlier, yet it feels like so much time has passed.

And if all of this is not enough, you spiral thinking about the whirlwind of returning to Namjoon's arms after the tumultuous night spent with Jeongguk, barely able to fathom the fact that you are closing in on Hong Kong and that in the next hour or so you will be back in Yoongi's arms. It takes all the effort you have to not think back to Jeongguk asking those fateful words. Do you think you could fall for someone like me?

All that matters to you is that you, Yoongi, and Namjoon will soon be back together at last. It feels like each time you make progress in your relationship and something good happens that pulls you closer, something terrible happens that rips you apart. You are certain that you cannot possibly handle another thing ripping the three of you apart. Not after all you have been through.

When the plane finally begins to descend, your heart goes haywire. All you want is to wrap your arms around Yoongi and bring him home. There has been too much distance between the two of you lately, and you are beginning to feel sick with worry. Instead you hug your purse tight to your chest, feeling cool black leather against your palms.

You operate on autopilot as the cabin door opens and Namjoon ushers you out into the cool evening. Once more, you are landing in Hong Kong in the later hours of the day, and once more you have no intent on enjoying your stay, despite how much a small part of you wishes that you could.

Uiseok and the rest of The Tigers have done absolutely nothing wrong, as far as you know, yet they are the last people you want to sit and schmooze with. Your nerves are too on edge and fragile, and you are not sure you have the patience for any amount of socializing at the moment.

You practically insist on the pilot keeping the engine running, and you are thankful that the two of you have packed nothing more than a suitcase each with the bare minimum items that you need in order to enjoy a brief stay away from home. A member of the family's staff rolls the suitcases behind you, and you have half a mind to tell him to just leave them on the plane.

"Worst case scenario, we should be able to sleep in Taehyung's suite," Namjoon says as you stomp toward the familiar red and white car, hoping to find Yoongi inside—hoping to drag him out by the lapels and usher him straight onto the private jet.

You hum in response and round the back of the car, bending low to peer inside, feeling your anger rise when you realize it is only Sohee who waits for you and no other passengers. A low, impatient grumble works from your chest through your lips and you sigh, then reach for the door handle and yank.

"Welcome back," Sohee sing-songs with a sweet smile, body rotated to face you as best as she can.

Although it feels unconvincing, you smile back, doing your best to appear as friendly as possible given the current circumstances. It is not her fault that you are so pissed off, and you do not wish to take your anger out on her.

Namjoon surprises you by approaching the front passenger seat and sliding in, and you huff out a sigh as you reach for your seatbelt and fight the urge to insist Sohee drives now before you lose your fucking mind.

"I would have brought the lover boy but Uiseok mentioned it was meant to be a surprise," Sohee explains as she drives off, away from the jet. "I have a feeling the surprise has already been ruined, however; he was getting into the shower shortly before I left and muttering about getting presentable."

What kind of state is Yoongi in, you wonder. Has he been drinking and doing drugs? Has he been busy with new ideas for keeping the family safe? Is his hair still the same? Has he let himself go? More than a week has passed but it feels like it has been months.

Although you have only been here once, the scenery looks familiar. Green makes up the bulk of the neon lights, with bright bursts of red, yellow, and blue, and you allow your gaze to linger on details just long enough to capture them but not long enough to try to decipher anything. You even space out long enough that when Sohee pulls past a familiar restaurant front, you feel a burst of anxiety and begin to somewhat mindlessly pick at the hem of your soft light blue sweater sleeve.

Without a word, the three of you exit the car as soon as she pulls up across the street from the pseudo restaurant. If you had a key to the place, you would be sprinting ahead, but instead you linger back and stumble forward at times, unsure what pace your body wants to keep; unsure whether you can handle being here at all.

Namjoon's hand finds your lower back and the warmth is nice, but everything else about this trip feels ominous and off. There is something in the air that you cannot sort out the weight of, and it makes you want to squeeze your eyes closed and curl into a ball.

Only when the door to the fake restaurant is opened and you enter the fluorescently lit space, do you realize Namjoon and Sohee are carrying on conversation. But what they are talking about flies right past you.

That is, until Namjoon says, "Nah, I haven't spoken to her in years."

"Hmm?" you mutter as Namjoon's warm palm guides you to the right, through the kitchen and toward the walk-in cooler.

"She was much more soft-spoken than I expected," Sohee says, and you turn your attention to your left, to Namjoon, waiting for what he has to say next, in search of context clues because you do not want to admit that you have not been paying attention. You step into the cooler and blink as your eyes adjust to the much darker room.

Namjoon cracks a smile but his eyes are glazed over and distant as he stares ahead. "Her being soft-spoken is a mask, but so is any show of confidence. Truth be told, I don't think her father ever allowed her to learn how to express herself genuinely." He turns to you with a wink and adds, "Which is probably why Yoongi was so drawn to me while they were together," and you realize they are discussing Ryujin.

"Was she here?" you ask as the three of you exit the cooler and you are forced to go in front of Namjoon while entering the narrow hallway.

Sohee hums an affirmative with a shrug and halfway glances over her shoulder at you without looking past her curtain of dark hair to say, "But don't worry, Yoongi didn't seem too thrilled to see her."

The implication that you may be jealous makes you somewhat mad but you are in no mood to voice it. Sohee is not exactly someone you are eager to be on friendly or unfriendly terms with, and saying anything one way or another might sway you out of your current stance of perfect neutrality. You would rather keep your mouth shut and accomplish the task that you came here to see through without any conflict.

You do hum, however. A burst of sound that is vaguely a drawn out consonant. Namjoon's hand rubs a small circle, and you keep your eyes on the furnishings that come into view when you enter the large chaotic maroon and gold space at the end of the hallway, doing your best to avoid looking at Sohee and anyone else who may be in the room. You can already sense that Yoongi is not present because neither Yoongi or Namjoon would be able to keep his presence a secret.

"Like I said," Sohee yawns, tilting her head toward a hallway to the left, "in the shower."

As soon as the words leave her lips, you can hear the unmistakable sound of running water coming from a room down the hallway, and you toe out of your black sneakers and begin to make your way toward it.

"Guest room is the third door on the right," Sohee informs and you nod while making your way to that very doorway without hesitation. You can sense without looking that Namjoon is following close behind.

With heavy footfalls and a light sway to your step, you feel drunk—senses heightened yet somehow dull; details bright and twisted as if through a kaleidoscope. How many more times are you going to have to feel this dreaded anticipation laced with hope? This cannot be the lifestyle that you grow accustomed to and yet, you cannot stop your body from moving forward.

The door is closed and you do not bother to knock before reaching for the small brass knob and pushing your way through. A terrible, dark part of you expects to find some sign of Yoongi's ex lingering in the room as if she has been the one to keep him company in your absence. But all you find is a small bed with the sheet pulled down on one side, one pillow that is indented and one that looks perfectly untouched, and a metal rack on which several black suits hang.

A suitcase is sprawled open beneath a window that lets in the glow of streetlights and light reflected from the nearly full moon, and there are shirts, joggers, ties, and a square black bottle of cologne sitting on top. No sign of Ryujin, because why would there be?

The water shuts off in the bathroom, and rather than join Namjoon, who takes a seat at the foot of the bed, you yank the bathroom door open and call, "Yoongi!"

"Darling?" Yoongi responds through the fog and your legs turn soft, threatening to topple you over.

Somehow your limbs manage to carry you forward, and you step into the yellow tiled room and come face to face with the man you love, gaze gravitating straight to his wound. Yoongi keeps the injured eye closed and you can see the stitches that run over his lid and brow and down to the apple of his cheek, along a reddened gash. Nausea rises, and you stumble to the right, hand gripping to the edge of the sink.

"Fuck," you mutter before you can stop yourself, but Yoongi's smile does not falter.

He stands before you dripping wet and nude, and if you were not so overcome with the urge to vomit and run far, far away, your hands would be reaching to explore. How could you have done this to him? How can he smile at you as if it is nothing?

"Just a scratch," Yoongi says as he steps close, failing to assuage your anxiety. It almost angers you how nonchalant he is about it.

"No," is all you can bring yourself to say, voice shaken and deep.

"Darling, please," Yoongi tries, stepping close with a pastel pink towel dangling from his fingertips that he makes no move to use on his wet skin. "You didn't come all this way to be too afraid to look at me, did you?"

Consonants and vowels attempt to pass through your lips as you shake your head, eyes and mouth worried and wide. "N-not— I'm—"

"Hey handsome," Namjoon says from behind you, ripping you from the trance you feel stuck in, and you twist quickly, slamming into Namjoon's chest before scrambling around him, out of his weak attempts at grasping you as you stumble back to the bed.

All at once your body disagrees with gravity and you fall to your knees, arms reaching out to the bed but barely able to hang on. "What have I done?" you mumble weakly under your breath.

Your head shakes listlessly while your eyes attempt to focus on the patterns of the comforter that you can feel but cannot see—lines of embroidered thread in shades of pink and red. You feel frantic and dizzy; sick to your stomach, and you are tempted to ask Sohee to drive you back to the jet.

"I imagine it can't be easy," you hear Yoongi say sweetly in that kind and gentle voice that is reserved for you and Namjoon. "I am not offended in the least."

"Sweetheart," Namjoon calls, forcing your shoulders to lift to your ears. Why can't you disappear, just for a moment? Poof into thin air and become a dust mote while you get your bearings and stop panicking. "Did you take your medication this evening?"

It occurs to you that you have not. You manage to slide your arms down and rotate until you are on your butt on the floor with your shoulder leaning against the side of the mattress. You open the flap of your black leather purse and reach in to grab your phone, wondering why your daily alarm never went off, and you pull the device out only to realize that it has died.

With a sigh, you rummage further in search of a little square pill packet. Before you can ask for water, you hear the bathroom sink running and a moment later, Namjoon emerges and hands you a small, dark yellow glass cup, which you reach for with shaking hands. You take a gulp of tepid water before setting the cup onto the floor and ripping open not only a packet of your medication, but a packet of Xanax, as well.

"Would you prefer to stay here for the night or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks as he crouches before you, lifting a hand to gently rub the backs of his knuckles against your arm.

"I wanna go home," you mutter weakly before knocking the pills from your palm to your mouth and swallowing them down with another gulp of water. Your eyes stare ahead to the side of Yoongi's open suitcase and the pile of black linen that pours from it.

"We could go home if you wish," Yoongi says, legs coming into the periphery.

You drink the last of the water and clench the small glass tight in your hand, then say, "I'm sorry," while closing your eyes.

"There's no need to apologize," Yoongi responds, voice close as if he, too, is crouched beside you.

You keep your eyes closed as you mutter, "I didn't mean to react so poorly. It's been a long day…a long fucking week."

"Care to talk about it?" Yoongi asks.

Namjoon's knuckles continue to run up and down your arm, pushing and pulling gently at the fabric of your sweater, and you squeeze your eyes tighter and shake your head. "I want to sleep."

"Here or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks once more.

"Or in the jet?" Yoongi adds.

What you really want is to turn around and go home. You feel exhausted and seeing Yoongi is much harder than you expected. But it feels like a waste of time and resources to fly all the way here only to go straight back, so you concede to a night in Hong Kong and even allow yourself to consider doing a little sightseeing tomorrow if the three of you feel up to it.

"The suite," you finally say, and Namjoon stops caressing you in order to stand and place a phone call.

"Darling," Yoongi tries, and you finally pry your eyes open, finding that you have to blink a couple of times. When you turn to him, his injured eye is still closed and his open eye is downturned and concerned. "Is it really that horrible to see me?"

"No," you admit, because you really ought to stop being such a baby.

"I've missed you so much, but if I am being honest, this is one of the reasons I have been keeping a distance."

Guilt overtakes your fear and you suddenly feel terrible. "Oh."

"I thought that maybe if I healed first, you would want to look at me like you used to," Yoongi says with a frown.

You begin to peel yourself off the end of the bed and rotate fully to face Yoongi, who crouches in just a pair of black briefs with the pink towel slung around his shoulders. His hair hangs like a damp black curtain around his pretty face, cheeks a little flushed, and you feel the sudden urge to crawl into his arms.

"It's not that I don't want to look at you," you respond weakly while Namjoon paces around the bathroom speaking into his phone, presumably to Taehyung. "I just feel so awful, and seeing the injury is a reminder of how I fucked up."

Yoongi sighs and his lips turn up to a soft smile. "Darling, I can never hold an accident against you and Namjoon. Please know that I am not upset with you."

"Alright," you respond, unsure whether you are fully ready to accept what Yoongi says, but willing to at least try.

Namjoon returns and says, "Tae's calling the hotel now."

"I took a Xanax," you admit with a frown and both men begin to chuckle.

"Do you want to try to eat something before you get too sleepy?" Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, making his smile widen. "Alright, then we'll order room service once we get there, because I definitely need to eat something."

The rest of the evening is a blur, in part because your emotions are all over the place, and in part because the medication completely dulls those emotions as you begin to shut down. Yoongi takes no time at all to get dressed and pack his suitcase once Taehyung calls with the confirmation that he has booked his suite for the three of you.

Rather than ask one of The Tigers to drive you to the suite, Yoongi calls a driver who picks you up in the same type of armored vehicle that the men drive back home. You close your eyes once you are settled in the backseat and barely register Namjoon carrying you from the sedan to the penthouse and tucking you into bed.

Thrice you wake up—once to pee and once because you hear a loud sound from the main room of the suite, you presume from the television. And then you wake up to the feeling of the bed dipping on either side of you and warm arms wrapping you in an embrace that feels like home.

You are somehow the last to wake up in the morning, and you find both Yoongi and Namjoon getting dressed in black tees tucked into black slacks. Yoongi wears his black eyepatch and has the top half of his hair pulled into a bun atop his head while the rest hangs almost to his shoulders.

"Are we leaving?" you ask, catching the attention of both men, who turn to you with smiles.

"Is it alright that we do?" Yoongi responds, threading a black leather belt through the loops of his slacks. "I know we have never done proper sightseeing here, but I am somewhat eager to get home."

"We can go home," you say as you sit up, stretching your stiff limbs and feeling groggy from getting too much sleep.

Namjoon adjusts the Rolex around his wrist, then approaches with a smile, kneeling on the edge of the bed to lean close and give you a kiss, which you meet him halfway for. "After we have some breakfast," he says, and you smile widely and nod.

Part of you laments going home already because you do not wish to return to a world where Yoongi has responsibilities. You imagine how nice it would be to stay in bed all day with the two of them and it tugs at your heartstrings.

What would it be like to have a couple of days off like regular people? Sure, Yoongi has the money and influence to go anywhere and do anything, but it only feels like an illusion of freedom.

By the time you roll out of bed and stumble into a pair of black leggings and tug on a black sweater, room service is delivered and causing the entire suite to smell of eggs, meats, sweet breads, and coffee. The three of you share an easygoing breakfast with Namjoon and Yoongi discussing the deal that was struck while you space out and stare ahead at the table of food.

And once you are finished eating, the three of you head back to the airport for a nice flight just short of four hours that involves the two of them talking over the same demon hunting anime that you struggled to pay attention to the first time.

Hoseok greets the three of you at the airport, and you are pleased to see his smiling face. You even surprise him with a hug when he exits the vehicle to hug the men, and you assure him that you have been taking good care of the pajamas he so graciously gifted you.

"So, the deal," Hoseok prompts as soon as everyone is settled, with Namjoon in the front seat and Yoongi joining you in the back.

"The girls are going to back off," Yoongi responds through a sigh as if he is bored of talking about this already. "We are keeping the dock in Busan and I am offering them a higher cut to keep them off our asses. With Jimin still injured, there is nobody I trust to oversee Serendipity aside from Jeongguk, so I have offered it to Ryujin as a consolation prize."

"Eager to keep Jeongguk home?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi hums in agreement. "We just got him back here full time and I would like to keep it that way. Once Jimin does wake up, he will need all the help he can get at Paradise."

"And did they have anything to say about the attacks?" Hoseok asks, causing you to feel uneasy.

Yoongi hums and takes his time responding, reaching across the empty middle seat to find your hand and hold onto it. You lace your fingers with his and stare down at your conjoined hands, waiting for him to continue.

"Ryujin apologized and admitted she was being a brat. She had the gall to say she was only sending out pawns to shake things up a bit, and that she never expected any of us to get hurt."

"Fucking bitch," Namjoon grits just barely loud enough for you to hear, and although you agree, you are surprised to hear him say that.

With another sigh, Yoongi adds, "She seems very remorseful for Jimin and offered a handsome sum of money to assist with his hospital bills, but I turned her down. The last thing I need is to give her a reason to hold anything else over my head…plus I don't need her fucking money. When she promised never to attack again, it felt genuine, but I suppose we will have to see how it goes."

"And Hyungseo?" Hoseok asks.

"It seems Ryujin has given over responsibility to Hyungseo but still calls the shots in many ways. I can't quite figure the two of them out."

Namjoon turns enough to look over his shoulder at Yoongi. "What do you mean?"

"They seem…close," Yoongi says, gently squeezing your hand as he pauses.

Hoseok's voice is dripping with intrigue. "Close, how?"

"Too close to just be friends," Yoongi responds, "but maybe I am just reading into things too much. Either way, she kept her distance from me when we met, so whatever Hyungseo is doing, it is keeping her distracted."

"Thank god," you mutter before you can stop yourself, earning another squeeze from Yoongi's hand.

Before anything else can be said, Hoseok makes a right turn and you hear the telltale sign of the metal gates scraping open, gaining you access to the mansion. And as soon as Hoseok pulls into the driveway, your eyes land on a sleek dark grey Porsche that sits in front of the garage. Atop the sports car is a giant red bow, and you know before asking that it is a gift for you.

"We're still two days away," Yoongi explains, referring to your birthday as he squeezes your hand once again, "but we couldn't resist."

You are so focused on the Porsche that you do not notice Jeongguk until Hoseok pulls up beside the car and he comes walking over from the mansion's front door, twirling the key fob around his index finger.

Jeongguk is dressed in satin as if he is headed off to Paradise next, and the thought makes you feel sad; you wonder if they will bother to open it back up before Jimin recovers. The feeling does not have a chance to linger, however, because before you can hone in on the thought for too long, Jeongguk is opening your door with an impatient smile, eyes wide as if wondering what the hell is taking you so long to unbuckle your seatbelt.

"Dollface," he says, kicking up butterflies and anxiety in your tummy.

"Gguk," you respond softly as you reach for the seatbelt and undo it.

Everyone else is out of the vehicle by the time you are shoving Jeongguk out of the way and placing your feet on the ground. Your legs are tired from sitting for so many hours, and you stand on your toes to stretch before reaching for the key to your new car, which Jeongguk predictably holds over his head.

With a huff, you reach, but it is no use, making you frustrated enough to shove at his chest with your palms, barely making him stumble backward. Thankfully Namjoon is on your side, and he reaches for the key fob and frees it from Jeongguk's grasp, making the youngest pout.

"Thanks, Joonbug," you say with a wink as he hands it over, leaning close for a kiss before he lets you have it.

The car is gorgeous, but there is only one problem…

"I haven't driven in years," you admit sheepishly, feeling your palm begin to sweat as it grips onto the key fob. "I don't know if I even remember how."

Namjoon says, "We'll teach you," at the same time Jeongguk says, "We can take her for a spin," making your cheeks warm.

You turn to the left to find Yoongi—who has been awfully quiet—leaning against the nose of Hoseok's sedan. He smiles and nods his chin to Namjoon, saying, "He's an excellent teacher," and that settles it. Or, perhaps you will allow both men to give you guidance, and Yoongi if he wants. It takes a village, and all that.

Although you are thrilled to be trusted with this symbol of freedom, you are also swallowing back so many emotions. This car has to have cost them quite a lot.

"She's armored," Yoongi says, pulling your attention back to him. As he steps toward the car and rubs his palm over the curve of its hood, you laugh to yourself over the way he is already personifying it.

But then his words sink in, and you understand the gravity of them. Your concern must show, because he cocks his head, searching your face before adding, "As an extra precaution. We armor every car that we buy, darling; no need to worry."

"Of course," you mutter, returning your gaze to the car, then looking around to the men present. Your eyes trail from Namjoon to Jeongguk as you say, "Thank you," before returning to Yoongi.

"Yoongi bought it," Namjoon says playfully. "We just helped pick it out."

"It's beautiful."

"This is the first of many gifts," Yoongi says as he approaches, dragging his fingertips along the hood of the car until he no longer can and letting his arm fall to his side. "You will have plenty to unwrap in the coming days."

Your heart pounds and you smile, taking a step toward Yoongi and reaching for his belt loops, giving him a little tug that makes his smile widen.

"And what if I just want to unwrap you?" You ask, causing a sigh and a groan from two of the four men present.

"This is my cue to leave," Hoseok announces while Jeongguk mutters, "Take me with you, hyung," and you laugh softly, eyes never leaving Yoongi.

He says, "That can be arranged, darling," and you raise your eyebrows, eager to find out just how much he means it. It has been far too long since you have gotten to enjoy him and now that you are home, you would like nothing more than to climb into bed.

"Alright, peace out," Jeongguk shouts, followed by the chime of a bell, and you turn to find him riding away on the mint green bicycle that feels more like a thing of legend than a real object.

Without saying goodbye, Hoseok simply drives off, leaving you, Yoongi, and Namjoon alone with your suitcases standing on the driveway.

"Shall we?" Namjoon asks, and you nod, turning your gaze to him as he begins to unlock the mansion.

"Yes, please," Yoongi responds, taking your hand and leading you toward the door.

"The luggage," you say, pulling toward where the suitcases sit, but Namjoon says, "I got it. You focus on unwrapping your present," with a wink.

You are pulled up the steps into the mansion, stopping just fast enough for both you and Yoongi to kick out of your shoes—Yoongi never dropping your hand—then through the mansion and up the stairs to the second floor. Yoongi yanks one of the bedroom doors open and tugs you straight to the bed, then he spins and releases your hand to take you gently by the face and pull you in for a kiss.

Yoongi's lips are soft and his scent is familiar, causing you to instantly relax into the feeling and lift your hands to rub over his ribs and chest, palms gracing over clothed nipples until he gasps against you. When he mutters, "Missed you," it is into your mouth and chased by his eager tongue, giving you no time to respond.

As Yoongi begins to pull at your clothing and undress you hastily, you close your eyes and sway to the movements, lifting your arms over your head and slowly lowering them back to his chest. The air hits your bare skin, causing you to shiver, and when he eagerly shoves at your leggings, you begin to giggle, opening your eyes to find him staring at you with his one good eye.

"You're so beautiful," Yoongi mutters softly, squeezing at your heart.

All you can do is complain, "Stop," but he shakes his head and says, "It's true."

Footsteps travel up the stairs and you hear the sounds of small wheels rolling over marble and softening over a rug before the noise ends. You expect Namjoon to join the two of you, but then the sounds of slippers slapping against the steps recede, likely to continue collecting suitcases.

Yoongi continues to paw at you, leaving the thin lace bra and panties on and pulling you at the hips to get impossibly closer while you begin to untuck Yoongi's black tee and gather the bottom hem before lifting the garment over his head. His hair is a bit wild when you toss the shirt away and you reach to push your fingers into it, mussing it up just enough to make him laugh and shake his head.

"You're so beautiful," you say with a grin, watching as Yoongi blushes so slightly.

Namjoon's footsteps return and you begin to undo Yoongi's belt, slotting a thigh between his to apply just enough pressure to his crotch to make him hiss. Hands reach around you to assist with undressing Yoongi, and when his pants are dropped to the floor, you turn so Yoongi can assist you with undressing Namjoon.

Without words exchanged, you kiss and touch, caught between bodies, eyes cloudy. The three of you tangle together on the bed and slowly explore one another as if the time spent apart has made your fingers and lips uncertain despite following expertly charted paths.

You make love, taking turns to focus two on one at a time, worshiping to the point of overwhelm, murmuring soft promises and professions of love. Your heart feels full and your limbs light as a feather, tingling from pleasure as you drift to sleep, unsure how much time has passed save for the gradually shifting light that comes in from outside.

Even from the moment you wake up, you feel emotionally heavy. Your sky is overcast and the clouds are thick and threatening to burst, unlike the bright evening that greets you from outside.

Yoongi and Namjoon are fully dressed and curled on the couch watching something on the television while Namjoon plays with Yoongi's hair. As you stir and stretch, both men notice, and Yoongi begins to sit up with a loud yawn, stretching his limbs.

"Hey guys…" you begin, uncertain. Lately you have really been wanting to visit Jimin. And you are not sure why asking for it is so difficult, but you swallow thickly as the two of them watch you with soft, patient expressions, and you ask, "Do you think we could go see Jimin?"

Yoongi beams and Namjoon nods, and you let out the breath that felt trapped in your lungs.

"I can call Tae and find out whether we could go right now if you want to," Yoongi suggests, and you nod, stretching one more time.

You hobble out of bed pad over to the closet to change out of the joggers and tee you slept in only to grab a new set. Your sweaters are in your own closet, and you make your way out of the master suite and over to your room, feeling like a zombie with legs that are too heavy with each step.

Without turning on a light, you reach into the dark space and feel for a cotton sweater, yanking the sleeve out enough to see that it is a nice forest green and then yanking it harder to free it from its hanger. Since you are already in your bedroom, you brush your teeth in your own sink, then you haphazardly yank the sweater over your head and make your way back to where the men are.

Yoongi and Namjoon stand beside the door to the master suite, and you nod to indicate that you are ready despite nobody asking, then the three of you make your way down the stairs to the main hall. You slide into some black sneakers and open the front door, greeted by a cold wind and warm sun. Winter is on the horizon.

The walk to Taehyung's place is quiet, save for the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves underfoot. You hold Yoongi's hand on the right and Namjoon's on the left, letting go of Namjoon when you come out of the clearing at Seokjin and Hoseok's home to wave hello to the two of them who smoke on their front stoops, dressed dapperly in black and white.

Jeongguk is also outside when you come upon his property, and he asks whether you mind that he joins you, stepping in line behind you three and filling the air with weed smoke and light conversation about the quickly changing weather.

Once you arrive at Taehyung's house, you feel antsy. You have never seen someone in a coma before and you are scared of what you may find.

Taehyung greets you at the front door, taking the joint from Jeongguk and offering it around before stamping it out. Being high will only make you sleepier, so saying no is easy.

He leads you all downstairs to a large fluorescently lit space, to the right past several doors. "It is likely that he can hear you, so try not to say anything you wouldn't want to hear while in a coma," he instructs, and you swallow thickly and nod, steeling yourself for whatever state Jimin could be in.

Only, as you enter the room and approach the bed, you find Jimin looking just as he always does—angelic and beautiful. He lays on his back with his eyes closed and his arms at his sides with various tubes attached to his hands, and there is a steady beeping coming from a monitor on the other side of the bed.

Chairs already surround him, and as you step closer, Taehyung calls out, "You have company today, Jiminah!"

The way his silence and stillness tugs at you makes tears break instantly. You sit in the center chair closest to where his hand rests, and you take it gently in both of yours, careful not to pull on anything attached to it.

"Hey, Jimin," you say weakly, fighting the tremble behind each word, "I've missed you a lot. I'm sorry I haven't visited yet."

The others take their seats, Yoongi and Namjoon to your right and Jeongguk and Taehyung to your left. They greet Jimin and tell him the good news about the deal that went through with The Tigers and the Busan girls. Yoongi tells him about your upcoming birthday and you tell him that you wish he could be there as tears pour down your cheeks.

It feels surreal. Jimin appears completely unharmed and yet he lays there, succumbing to and healing from a pretty serious injury. Taehyung informs the group that the wound on his shoulder from the bullet is healing nicely, but that they are just waiting for him to wake up. He sounds hopeful that Jimin could wake up any time—that his brain is functioning and every once in a while, his fingers ever so slightly twitch.

The mood is somber but also happy, and you are glad to finally see your friend again. Taehyung and Jeongguk offer everyone a drink, to which you all agree, and Namjoon follows the two of them out, leaving just you and Yoongi at his side. Your hands sweat from holding onto Jimin's so tightly but you refuse to let go.

Yoongi places a hand over yours, and when you turn to him, tears fill his eyes. Then he blinks and they run down his cheeks, followed by a sniffle.

"Baby," you mutter and Yoongi shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks with his free hand and saying, "It's alright. He'll come back to us."

The two of you sit a little while longer and the others return with glasses of whiskey. They regale you with stories of the crew from the early days, commenting on how young and innocent Jimin has always seemed but especially back then, and you have a hard time believing his soft cheeks wide eyes could have ever been more cherubic than they are now.

By the time you all decide to head back home you feel much lighter, and with a kiss to Jimin's forehead and cheek, you promise him that you will see him again soon. And then you exit the room beside Namjoon with Yoongi and the terror twins close behind.

"Do you shave him?" Namjoon asks once you are out of the room.

"Of course I do," Taehyung responds as if offended. "Can't have our angel laying there with a beard sprouting from his face. He would kill me."

You laugh in tandem with the group and imagine Taehyung shaving Jimin's pretty face with a straight razor, or even a knife. The five of you convene upstairs and have one last drink, then you head home for the day feeling a bit tipsy from enjoying so much whiskey on an empty stomach.

"Pizza," Namjoon announces once the mansion is in sight, and you and Yoongi hum in agreement. Pizza sounds amazing.

After a post-pizza nap, you wake up with the desire to touch and kiss the men who hold you on either side. Yoongi is pressed against your back and you arch your body to rub your ass against his crotch while your lips and teeth find Namjoon's neck.

Namjoon is the first to stir, groaning and sighing as you suck and kiss harder, right hand drifting across his chest and down to his cock which is already erect. He stretches and begins to shift around, pressing against you and muttering, "What's this, sweetheart?"

"Need you," you whine in return, still on the edge of sleep but eager to shake it away as one hand gropes Namjoon and the other reaches behind to paw at Yoongi.

Yoongi finally grumbles, and you look over your shoulder at his pretty, groggy face while Namjoon begins to pull off his clothing and settle on his side. You allow Namjoon to undress you, kicking your joggers and panties down under the comforter while your shirt is tugged over your head.

With Yoongi waking up and stretching his limbs, you roll onto your side to face him and begin pulling at his clothing. His eyes open and he cracks a sly smile, saying, "Well hello, darling," in a tone that is extra gravely from sleep.

"I need you, kitten. How should we have you?" you ask, fingers moving to his button and zipper, eyes never leaving his face.

Yoongi's lips open but no sound comes out, and you kiss along his chin and neck, reaching your hand into his slacks to give him a squeeze over his briefs.

"Excellent question," Namjoon says from behind you, mouth dragging over your shoulders and neck.

You swish your bare ass against Namjoon, causing him to hiss and groan, hand gripping onto your hip as if desperate for you to be closer. You shove at Yoongi's slacks until he finally begins to kick them down, then you yank at his t-shirt, giggling as he groans half asleep and struggles to help pull it over his head.

"I have an idea of how I want the two of you," Namjoon continues as his hand moves from your hip and gently grazes over your labia in the faintest touch.

"Oh?" you ask with a shudder, eyes on Yoongi, who settles on his side.

Yoongi leans in close and slots your bottom lip between his, sucking and nipping hard enough to make you groan. You open your lips for him to explore but he sticks to the bottom one, licking and teasing it with his teeth and tongue.

"I want you to sit on my face, sweetheart," Namjoon says, voice deep and low beside your ear. You feel him reach around you and begin to stroke Yoongi, who whimpers against your lips. "And I want Yoongi to fuck you while I eat you out."

Before you have a chance to say anything, Yoongi deepens the kiss, licking against your lips before probing his tongue eagerly against yours. Namjoon's mouth finds your neck and you gasp and shiver into the feeling, body turning to hot wax between them, melting into the mattress.

"On your knees," Namjoon instructs, and Yoongi breaks the kiss to smile against your lips.

You do as you are told, rotating onto your knees while Namjoon scoots down the bed away from the pillows. Once he is settled you crawl over to his head.

Your panties sit bunched up beside Namjoon’s knees and you grab them and reach back to shove them into Namjoon's face, giggling to yourself as he groans but opens his mouth to accept his fate. Then you settle back onto your knees and straddle Namjoon's head with your hands beside his knees, keeping your hips lifted so that he has to reach for you.

It is futile to be a tease with two men who are much stronger than you, but you try your best, lifting your weight when Namjoon attempts to pull you into place, giggling and trembling when he gives your ass a playful smack before somewhat roughly forcing you to sit back.

Your panties are still bunched up around his chin when he holds you in place and begins to lick and suck at your pussy lips and clit, sending a burst of arousal through you. Behind you, the bed dips, and you do your best to sit tall with your back straight, hands anchored against your thighs for stability.

Namjoon's talented mouth and the sounds he makes when he savors you—hums and groans of satisfaction—work you up quickly, and with each lick and suck your body quakes with pleasure. Yoongi's arms wrap around you, hands claiming and squeezing your breasts while he gets close enough for you to bow your spine and rest your head against his shoulder.

"Just look at you," he mutters against your neck, teeth grazing over your skin and adding to the overwhelm of bliss. "I want you to cum before I fuck you. Can you do that for me, darling?"

"Yes, sir," you all but moan as the steady tongue and lips work you over and send you close to the edge.

"That's our good girl," Yoongi praises, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. "Always so perfect for us."

The way the two of them make you feel has your head spinning. Yoongi's words of praise rasped in his deep voice while his hands tease; Namjoon humming and groaning while he pushes you quickly toward orgasm, gripping your legs so tight that you have no choice but to stay in place; everything is a lot.

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper as your quakes deepen, making your body jerk uncontrollably.

"Of course you are," Yoongi teases, nipping at your neck, making you feel somewhat humiliated by how he always has to tease you for being easy. "Make a mess of our Joonie."

The thought of Namjoon's handsome face glistening with your cum is the push you need to plummet over the edge, and you bow your back further, digging your head into Yoongi while broken sobs and moans fall from your lips. You cum hard, pressing your pussy against Namjoon's mouth as your body trembles through each heaved breath.

Namjoon lays his tongue flat for you to use and each movement drags your lips and clit over it, feeling heavenly. That is, until the overstimulation kicks in.

"Fuck," you whimper as your hips continue to convulse, unable to settle and relax.

"Bend," Yoongi instructs, releasing your breasts to rub his hands over your back and shoulders only to begin pressing you forward.

You obey, leaning forward until you are down on your elbows and close enough to Namjoon's cock to begin teasing the tip with your lips and tongue. Namjoon moans and you giggle as his dick jumps from the gentle touch. Precum dribbles from his slit, inviting you to lap it up and tease him with your lips.

Namjoon's lips and tongue continue to pleasure you, and you are thankful that from this position you are able to relax a little more, settling on one elbow while you lift your other hand to slowly stroke his length. Namjoon is vocal, moaning and groaning muffled sounds against your cunt that encourage you to not to stop.

Two hands grip your ass and you expect to feel the blunt tip of Yoongi's cock. In fact, you are so eager to feel him that you clench around nothing in anticipation. When Yoongi's tongue greets you instead, probing into your dripping hole and then dragging up, over your ass, you squeal and dig your face into Namjoon's pelvis.

Two tongues as skilled as these are dangerous, and you do your best to breathe through the quick pace at which your pleasure builds and threatens to drown you. Yoongi focuses on your asshole, licking and teasing, digging the very tip of his tongue inside and making each breath come out ragged and quick despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god," you moan as the pleasure feels too intense you fear you might not make it out of this alive. You knew it would feel amazing to be devoured by the two of them, but never could you have imagined it would be this good.

When Yoongi's tongue laps over you one last time and you feel the mattress dip while he adjusts behind you, there is a brief moment in which you are disappointed. But then his cock rubs over your entrance and you feel the eager thrill fill you once more.

However, before Yoongi presses into you, he drags himself lower. Namjoon's lips leave your cunt and you hear a gasp and a hiss come from Yoongi that makes your heart pound. Yoongi holds onto your hips, digging his weight into you as he thrusts downward and you wish you could watch his cock disappear between Namjoon's full, pretty lips.

Then Yoongi spreads and slightly lifts you, and before you have a chance to anticipate how he may feel, he thrusts deep in one swift movement, spearing you wide. The stretch makes you shout and whimper, and you bury your head into Namjoon's soft thigh skin while Yoongi pulls back and snaps forward again and again.

Sobs and broken moans fall from your lips, and a second pair of hands grabs your thighs and holds you in place. You feel Namjoon's lips and tongue drag over your clit in broad, sloppy strokes, and any ounce of sanity you had left crumbles away.

Namjoon's skin is hot and moist against your lips, and you lift your head just enough to take a mouthful of his cock and do your best to suck while Yoongi fucks you. Precum leaks from Namjoon's tip, heady on your tongue, and his thighs quake as he moans loud and eagerly against you, urging you to suck and stroke as purposefully as you can.

"God damn," Yoongi groans as he gives your ass a firm stinging smack, causing a muffled squeal from your throat. "I missed you two so fucking much."

Namjoon groans, "Gonna cum soon," against you.

"I want you both to cum at the same time," Yoongi instructs. Luckily for him, you are very close.

It is almost comical the way you and Namjoon both suck and lick with a little more intention, eager to push the other over the edge. And it works.

You feel yourself climbing higher and higher toward the precipice of bliss, and you are right on the edge when a wet finger rubs over your asshole with a hint of pressure. A squeal sputters from your lips, and you drool around Namjoon's throbbing cock.

"Fuck," Namjoon attempts to warn, but there is no need. You can feel him pulsate against your lips, and you relax your mouth while stroking his shaft in anticipation.

Namjoon's deep voice cracks as the first spurt of cum hits your tongue, and he muffles his voice against your clit and sucks hard enough to make the dam break once more. Orgasm rushes over you so intensely that you struggle to keep your head steady and end up with ropes of his warm release on your nose and lips.

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, pressing the tip of his finger deeper into your ass and intensifying every little sensation.

"Fuck!" you scream, drool and cum dribbling down your chin. Yoongi fucks at the perfect angle to make you feel like you might squirt, and you attempt to warn Namjoon, but all you can get out is, "I'm gonna—oh fuck, I'm—"

Yoongi's grip is firm and his hips are punishing. Your body goes limp before it tenses once more and pleasure rushes from you, covering Namjoon. You think you hear deep moans and deeper praise, but your pulse is loud and heavy in your ears and all of reality seems to slip away from you.

It is a mercy that Namjoon stops licking your pussy and slides back until you are straddling his chest. Little by little, your senses return, and Yoongi adjusts his position, anchoring one foot on the mattress as moans pour from his lips.

You can hear Namjoon's mouth working Yoongi over, undoubtedly eating his ass, and you wish so badly that you could see it. But hearing it is enough, and you grip onto Namjoon's thighs for stability as Yoongi continues to fuck you at a punishing pace.

Slowly, Namjoon begins to slide down the bed, out from under you, making you sit up and attempt to give him space. Yoongi very gently pulls you by the shoulders and forces you to stay sitting high on your knees while Namjoon repositions himself on his knees, facing you. His face and neck are drenched and his short dark hair is a wild mess.

You weakly lift your hand to reach for him, beckoning him close. Namjoon smiles and knee-walks closer, taking you by the chin and rubbing a thumb over the cum that has begun to dry against your chin. "I see we both made a mess," he teases, and you nod as best as you can while moaning through Yoongi's deep, quick thrusts.

"Fuck, I'm close," Yoongi grits between his teeth.

Namjoon licks his lips with a smirk. "Want you to cum in my mouth, baby," he instructs with his eyes on Yoongi but his lips closing in on yours.

You lean ever so slightly forward and press your lips to Namjoon, moans and sobs falling with each quick exhale, some of which he swallows and some he merely licks around. Your tongue darts out weakly in an attempt to return Namjoon's sloppy kiss, but you struggle with each movement, hypnotized by pleasure.

"Joon," Yoongi moans, hands gripping you tightly while he pulls his hips all the way back, pulling out and shifting his body to the side.

You are held in place while Namjoon drops to his hands and leans forward. Although you turn your head to the left in an attempt to watch, all you see is Namjoon's head bobbing while Yoongi trembles and muffles his mouth against your shoulder.

Yoongi moans and sobs and Namjoon groans, all the while you catch your breath, sitting in place until you are given instruction for what to do next; unsure whether you could control your body if you tried.

The room quiets and Yoongi leans a little further into his hold on you before sitting back, causing you both to fall onto your butts against the mattress. When Namjoon returns, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a slow, deep kiss, his tongue is coated in Yoongi's release, and you lean into it and savor him.

"More?" Namjoon asks against your lips.

You feel exhausted, but you definitely want more of these two. Anything they have in mind.

"I wanna fuck Yoongi. How does that sound to you, sweetheart?"

It sounds amazing. "I want to watch you fuck Yoongi."

Namjoon sits back with a grin and nods, then he pats the bed off to the side from where you sit and says, "Come right here, baby. You can watch me stretch him."

It takes a moment for Yoongi to release you, and as soon as you crawl to your spot in the center of the bed, all the sweat and cum begins to turn cold, and you settle with your legs pretzeled and reach for the comforter to drape over your shoulders.

Namjoon crawls past you to the small table on Yoongi's side of the bed while he instructs Yoongi to get on his hands and knees and crawl just enough that his ass is in view—perky and soft. He settles on his elbows with his forehead pressed into the mattress, and Namjoon opens a drawer and closes it, then returns with a clear half-empty bottle of lube.

With a chance to settle and catch your breath, you are eager for more. But first, you want to watch Namjoon pull Yoongi apart. You have no idea where you may come into this equation, but you are unconcerned; they will make space for you.

Namjoon sits behind Yoongi, takes his ass in both hands—dropping the bottle of lube to the mattress—and leans forward to lick over his rim, groaning and devouring him the way he devours you. Yoongi moans into the sheets, reaching for the bunched up comforter and squeezing it in his fist and you feel hypnotized watching Namjoon's tongue lap over him in firm, broad strokes.

The vision is sinful, stirring arousal deep as you watch as Namjoon's hands squeeze and smack, making Yoongi moan and shake with each movement. Then you watch as Namjoon slicks up his fingers and buries them deep inside Yoongi one at a time.

You wonder what it feels like to finger Yoongi and you get onto your hands and knees and crawl close, shivering as the comforter falls away, leaving you bare. Three of Namjoon's fingers disappear inside him, and you sit close on your knees, watching intently while reaching first to cup and squeeze at his soft ass and thighs, and then to tease the stretched skin of his stuffed rim with your fingertips.

"Can I?" you ask, rubbing a finger between two of Namjoon's to slick the tip with lube and gently prod.

Namjoon twists his hand and pulls nearly all the way out, pointing his knuckles downward and giving you an opening in between his fingers that are in almost a v-shape. You lean close and dribble spit onto his fingers, and then you slide your pointer to fit snug with his and slowly join him in stretching Yoongi wide.

"Oh my god," Namjoon groans as Yoongi trembles and sobs. He feels warm, tight, and soft, and you do your best to match Namjoon's pace pulling out and back in, out and back in.

You ask, "You like the way we feel, kitten?" as you reach with your free hand to gather the precum on Namjoon's hard, neglected cock and give it a stroke that matches in pace.

Both men moan and you pull your gaze from Yoongi's greedy ass to look at Namjoon who stares at you with a hunger that only excites you more. You bite your lip and give him your widest, cutest fuck-me-eyes and giggle when his expression morphs from pleasure.

"You are so fucking sexy," Namjoon groans as he pulls your fingers out completely and takes your hand to lift it to your mouth. "Taste him," he commands, and you obey, lifting your finger to your lips and darting out the tip of your tongue.

Yoongi is heady and tangy-sweet, but his delicate natural flavor is masked too much by the artificially sweet lube. Still, you suck your finger into your mouth while holding eye contact with Namjoon, then you place your palm onto the bed and lean toward Yoongi, eager to taste him a little more.

You feel a bit shy as you drag your tongue over his rim, but the way he moans and clenches around nothing urges you to do more. Namjoon slowly crawls forward, dick still trapped in your hand, and you spin your tongue over Yoongi, letting drool gather and drip to make him nice and sloppy.

Namjoon settles with his cock so close to your mouth that you turn and take the tip, sucking in your cheeks just hard enough to make him whine before turning back to Yoongi to lick and tease. You can tell by the quick huffs and sounds Namjoon produces that he is growing impatient, and you continue to alternate sucking and licking until you feel satisfied with how worked up they both become.

With one hand, you search for the bottle of lube while the other strokes Namjoon against your tongue, which is held out flat and drooling. Then you give his tip one last suck and sit back, popping open the bottle and squirting a generous amount of the sticky liquid onto your palm.

You warm the lube in both hands and then smear some on Namjoon and some on Yoongi, dipping the tips of your fingers inside him to get him nice and ready, grinning when he trembles and sobs. And you stay on your hands and knees and rest your cheek against Yoongi's hip, spreading his cheeks wide and staring up at Namjoon as he shifts forward and lines the two of them up.

Namjoon towers over the two of you like a god and you hold eye contact as he slowly begins to press his cock inside. Yoongi quakes and gasps, and you lift your head up just enough to watch as Namjoon carves him open.

"Wow," you mutter, mesmerized by the sight of Yoongi's tight, perky ass swallowing a cock so big.

With a deep groan, Namjoon asks, "Like what you see, baby?"

You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod, responding, "Yes, daddy," in the cutest voice you can muster. Then you sit up on your knees and begin to crawl to Yoongi's head.

Namjoon begins to fuck Yoongi hard and fast, punching sharp breaths from him and making his voice break. You sit on your knees in front of Yoongi and take a handful of his soft, sweaty hair, then you lift his face out of the blankets and force him to look at you.

The scar takes you by surprise, making your stomach churn, but you quickly notice the rest of his fucked out, reddened face, and you lift your other hand to slot two lube-sticky fingers into his mouth giving him something to suck on.

Yoongi sputters and sobs, lips gripping tightly to your fingers while his eyelids flutter, barely open. You very gently say, "Eyes on me, baby," and delight when he opens them wide.

"Do you like how daddy fucks you?" you ask, giving his hair a gentle lift, causing his eyes to momentarily roll back before he focuses them on you.

He attempts to say, "Yes, baby," but the words jumble cutely around your fingers.

A loud smack makes Yoongi squeal, spit sputtering from his lips, and you glance up at Namjoon who stares down at you with a crooked grin. "I have an idea," he says, and you lift your eyebrows and cock your head.

"An idea?"

Namjoon hums.

"And what is that, daddy?"

With a deep groan, Namjoon slowly pulls out, causing Yoongi's face to screw up with pleasure and then impatience. You keep your fingers nestled between his doll lips, watching as he breathes deeply through his nose, then you turn your attention back to Namjoon.

"Yoongi baby, lay down on your back."

You slide your fingers from Yoongi's mouth and sit back, watching him flop down to the mattress and roll onto his back. Namjoon grabs his hips roughly and yanks him closer, spreading his legs wide. He wastes no time sliding his dick back inside, saying, "Now you sit on his face."

"Oooh, yes, daddy," you say excitedly, crawling over Yoongi's face. His cock slaps against his tummy, leaking precum, and you settle against him and waste no time reaching for it, eager to suck.

Yoongi grabs onto your hips and wastes no time licking your pussy, surprising you with his sudden burst of energy as he reaches with one hand to finger you while squeezing your ass in the other. You attempt to moan as you swallow his length, sucking eagerly the moment a mix of his and your fluids grace your taste buds.

You keep your eyes open to watch Namjoon's cock disappear inside him, and you make loud, needy sounds with the hope of urging one of them to cum again. This time, you want to be the one to swallow.

Only Namjoon has other plans.

"On second thought, you should sit on his dick, baby."

You suck in your cheeks nice and hard one last time, then open your mouth wide to let all the drool that has collected on your tongue drip down his length. When you begin to sit up and move away from Yoongi's face and hands, he whines and attempts feebly to keep you in place before giving up and letting you go.

Without anything obstructing his mouth, Yoongi's moans are loud and raspy; music to your ears. You turn around and straddle his waist, then reach between your legs and grab onto his length.

With one pump of your hand, you line him up and slide yourself down, back bowing from pleasure and causing your head to gently bump into Namjoon's shoulder while you and Yoongi moan in tandem—his trembling from his lips at the rhythm of Namjoon's hips and yours falling short at the end.

Namjoon wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him while he fucks Yoongi—one hand slides to your throat and the other grabs onto one of your breasts—and you swish and circle your hips, burying Yoongi deep inside you and reaching spots that make your eyes roll back.

Pleasure with these two feels like something out of a dream. Yoongi reaches with a slickened thumb and twists it over your clit, and you grind harder, matching Namjoon's rhythm and chasing your next high. You have no idea where you end and where one of them begins, and the sounds the room fills with—the moaning and sobbing; skin against skin—is absolutely hypnotic.

You cum without warning and scream, back arched and eyes wide to the tall ceiling. Namjoon fucks Yoongi hard enough that you barely have to move, body jerking uselessly while your senses tingle and dull once more and you fight your body to stay upright, thankful that you are held in place.

"Look at him," Namjoon instructs, and you slowly drop your gaze to Yoongi, who lays with one hand high above his head gripping to the comforter and the other reaching for you. His eyes are closed and his mouth is agape, lips trembling around unvoiced sounds. With his dark hair fanning wildly against the bed and his skin slick with sweat, he is breathtaking.

"F-fuck," he mutters, eyes opening only to roll back again. "I'm gonna— oh my god."

"Cum for us, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon says, hips never losing their steady pace.

Yoongi moves his lips as if to respond to Namjoon but he appears too lost in pleasure to form words. You swish your hips and squeeze your pussy around him, pleased with yourself when his back bows and he begins to sob.

"What a fucking sight," Namjoon groans and you nod, unable to take your eyes off Yoongi as he squirms and pants, reaching his high.

Without warning, Yoongi cums, filling you with his warm release while he gasps and continues attempting to form words that never make it past his pretty lips. Namjoon picks up his pace, cursing under his breath as he rattles and shakes Yoongi into a trance with his mouth and eyes wide.

Somewhat frantically, Namjoon gropes your breasts and tummy, squeezing as he huffs and moans against your shoulder, sucking harshly against your skin. He quakes and then freezes momentarily, moaning warm, moist breath into your neck. Then his hips rock in and out and in before he pulls all the way out with a groan.

"On your back," he commands through an airy tone, and you do as you are told, not sure how he plans to continue going considering all three of you are fucked past the point of exhaustion.

You hobble off of Yoongi and throw yourself down onto the bed, barely able to adjust before Namjoon has your legs spread wide and his face buried between them. He slurps at your dripping pussy, tongue pressing as far into you as it can, causing you to quake from overstimulation and pleasure as he laps up various fluids inside you.

And then he breaks away and falls into a seated position and then further back onto his elbows, tilting his head to the ceiling and panting heavily. Your feet slide against the bed and you relax in a heap, instantly turning cold as the sweat settles on your skin.

"Bath," Namjoon mutters, and you nod in return.

Yoongi grumbles incoherently and you cannot help but giggle.

"Fucked him stupid," you say, staring up at the ceiling and smiling as Namjoon begins to laugh.

After a bubble bath the three of you go to sleep, and you do not dream at all. Endless darkness holds you in its embrace. You sleep until an early hour of the morning, only to wake up and tiptoe to the bathroom, then return to sleep some more.

You feel rested and happy when you fully rise several hours later, and a little shy when you find the room has been covered in vases full of roses and wildflowers of various colors.

It has been years since you have celebrated your birthday.

Yoongi and Namjoon dote on you from the moment you wake up until it is time to get ready for your party, bringing you pancakes and mimosas in bed and taking you for a spin in your brand new car to get manicures and pedicures together. You allow them to insist on having your nails painted white with gold french tips, and you delight in how ticklish both their feet are as the poor technicians pamper them.

Namjoon drives around the city until you find an ice cream stand along the river, and wearing average casual attire with masks covering your faces and baseball hats worn low over your faces, you almost feel like normal people doing normal everyday things—despite the security detail that stays ten feet behind you at all times.

And you capture everything. The flowers, the nails, the ice cream—everything is photographed and added to a folder to be uploaded to Instagram once you return home. Being that you are a semi-public figure, you worry that if news got out about your birthday and you did not post, people might start whispering.

Yoongi takes a scenic route back to the mansion, holding your hand while he handles your sports car with ease, and you allow yourself to bask in an absolutely perfect day, thinking about how nice it would be if the three of you could exist this simply all the time.

When you return home, the men kiss you and tell you to wait in your room while they get dressed for your party. Yoongi informs you that you have time to shower if you would like, and Namjoon says he cannot wait to see you all dolled up later.

You do not feel the need to shower, so you strip down to a little black thong and find a black silk robe to lay around in, holding your hands up high to inspect your manicure and kicking your feet as you smile to yourself. Then you imagine how the giant engagement ring would look shimmering on your finger, and you hold your hands close to your heart.

In the quiet moment all to yourself, you drift in and out of sleep, unsure what to expect from the evening. And although you feel groggy when there is a light knock at your door, you sit up with a start and prance over quickly to greet your guest.

With Jimin absent, a soft-spoken woman with long, dark brown hair and foxlike eyes named Yeji bows in your doorway. She is dressed like the family men in a black button-up tucked into black slacks, and carries a charcoal grey garment bag draped over her arm and a large black makeup case in her hand.

You lean-sit against the edge of your bed, suddenly feeling a bit bare in your silk robe while she sets the case down and begins to unzip the garment bag and pull your gown free. To your surprise, the dress is off-white and all you can think about is how much it reminds you of a wedding dress.

Yeji hands you the gown and turns her back to you as you stand, shed the robe, and begin to delicately step into the garment. You are going to need to swap your black thong for a white one, but otherwise it is perfect.

The top gathers in a halter over your chest, wrapping in a circle around your neck and leaving your back bare. Gold embroidery accentuates the neck and waist, and the skirt flows in layers of chiffon with high slits up the both sides, making you feel like a Greek goddess.

Yeji produces several blue Tiffany boxes and opens all but one of them. She adds beautiful gold bracelets with delicate diamond encrusted vines to your wrists and a matching gold and diamond vine ring to your right hand. Then she recommends several pairs of gold strappy shoes and offers a pair of gold ballet flats for later in the evening, smiling shyly the entire time.

Your hair is pulled and twisted from your head and your makeup is minimal—hints of black with a dusting of gold on your lids and gold highlights on your cheeks. You assume there must be earrings in the final Tiffany box, but she leaves it untouched and gently lifts her fingers to your chin, urging you to straighten your posture as she scrutinizes your appearance with a soft smile.

"You look like a princess," she says, blushing and averting her eyes as you stand before your vanity and dance your fingertips over the skirt.

You feel like a princess, and you smile widely as you say, "Thank you, Yeji."

A familiar knock on the door kicks your pulse into high gear and you hold your breath as Yoongi walks in wearing all white. A ruched, tunic-style linen dress shirt with long fluted sleeves hangs somewhat loosely but fitted in a way that shows off his broad shoulders and firm muscle. He wears fitted white slacks, gold necklaces, and his hair is styled in beautiful waves around his face.

But what really takes your breath away is that for the first time since the accident, both of Yoongi's eyes are wide open and his stitches have been removed. A deep, pinkish-red gash greets you, making Yoongi's fierce dark brown eyes seem even more menacing; a fitting scar for a man in his position.

Your heart sinks at the sight but it also stirs something inside you. Somehow, the scar makes Yoongi even more attractive—a thought that you will need to unpack some other time.

"Wow," you say, ripping your tear-filled gaze away from Yoongi's face and studying his outfit once more. "You look amazing."

For once, Yoongi is speechless and it makes you feel somewhat antsy. Rather than respond, his eyes continue to take in your outfit and his silence feels maddening. Is he also thinking about how much this gown looks fit for a bride? Is that why he looks at you this way? Luckily Namjoon appears and breaks the tension.

Also outfitted in all white, Namjoon wears a dress shirt tucked into fitted slacks and a white leather belt. His jacket has gold and clear gems embroidered in decorative bursts on the left shoulder and right breast, and gold gems line the wrists of his sleeves. His short dark hair is styled back from his forehead, and he wears dainty gold chains and bracelets, and small gold hoop earrings.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon mutters as he steps up behind Yoongi and rests his chin on his shoulder. "You look…"

"Incredible," Yoongi finally says, eyes wide and teary with his arms straight down to his sides.

"Just missing a couple more things," Namjoon says with a smile that dimples his cheeks as he turns to the vanity and grabs the final blue box. "While we were in Paris, Jimin and I went shopping for all of this jewelry. Do you like it?"

You lift your hands and inspect the vines that grace your wrists and finger, and you feel your eyes well with tears thinking about Jimin and the Paris trip that changed everything in more ways than one.

Your voice is soft and laced with emotion as you say, "I love it."

"I was particularly fond of these," Namjoon says, pulling your attention with the sound of the last box opening, "and we crafted the rest of tonight's theme around them."

Diamond encrusted gold earrings in the shape of vines shimmer from the soft blue box, and Namjoon lifts them for you to see.

"May I?" he asks, and you nod emphatically, tipping your chin to give him access. He gives you the box, which you take in shaky hands, and then he delicately adorns each of your ears, warm nimble fingers working swiftly, giving you shivers as they brush against your skin.

You glance into the mirror then take a step forward to get a view of your reflection. It appears as if the dainty vines climb up your lobes and they are absolutely stunning. The thought of Namjoon picking out the jewelry makes your heart swell with affection, and when you glance back at him and Yoongi, they watch you with reverence.

"Thank you," you say, eyes roving between the two of them. "This is too much, really."

"Nonsense," Yoongi responds, "you deserve the world. And Namjoon and I intend to give it to you."

Suddenly you feel shy and you lift your hands to cover your face, doing your best to hold back tears. You know in your heart that these men mean it when they say such ridiculous things. And you love them so deeply for it, even if the prospect terrifies you.

Your left hand is gently tugged away from your face, and before you can inspect who is responsible, you feel the cool kiss of gold on your ring finger, followed by the weight of the diamond it holds. Your heart pounds harder, and you continue to swallow back the urge to cry.

"Shall we?" Yoongi asks, letting go of your hand and revealing a gold and diamond Rolex hiding under his long sleeve. "The party has begun but I thought we should be fashionably late."

Namjoon holds you in place as Yoongi helps you step into gold strappy heels, then he drapes a white fur evening jacket over your shoulders that barely covers your torso. Hoseok is in the driveway sitting behind the wheel of a red stretch limo sedan, and you shake your head at the emissions a beast like this must give off as you approach.

The door opens from the inside and Jeongguk’s smiling face greets you. Taehyung is in the seat beside him and they are dressed in white fitted tuxedos and gold bow ties.

“Dollface,” Jeongguk beams, taking your right hand while Namjoon steadies your left arm and you hoist yourself into the vehicle.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you laugh as you get seated facing the partition behind the front seats. Jeongguk and Taehyung have their backs facing the partition, creating a large square shaped space littered with gold confetti and buckets containing iced bottles of champagne.

“How is our honorary buttercup?” Taehyung asks as he pops a bottle open. Yoongi enters to your left while Namjoon gets settled on your right.

“A little overwhelmed,” you mutter while Taehyung pours a flute that Jeongguk holds onto before handing it off to you.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, darling, but the night is young."

You turn to Yoongi and lift your brow. From behind the black partition, Hoseok begins to leave the driveway as you ask, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Jeongguk pipes up, "Means you're gonna be overwhelmed as fuck when we get to Dionysus."

Everyone laughs and you join in, only somewhat showing your unease. The cold, bittersweet champagne helps calm your nerves, but it is difficult to feel settled when four pairs of eyes pierce into you—even Taehyung stares more openly than usual.

You are tipsy by the time Hoseok reaches the city, and you silently pep talk yourself as the vehicle pulls up to a tall marble building with a red carpet outside. To your surprise there is a crowd waiting.

Namjoon gets out first and steps aside, offering you his hand, and cameras flash in your eyes as you take it and slowly climb to the rug below, attempting not to stumble and struggling to lift your eyes. Although there is a stir from your presence, people begin to clap and cheer when they see Yoongi.

You cannot fathom who any of these people are, nor can you imagine so many strangers so openly recognizing him. Are all of them somehow involved in the syndicate, as well? Does Yoongi have another reputation that you are unaware of?

The unmistakable whispers and murmurs begin about his scar, about your dress. Once Yoongi is by your side, crooking your arm into his elbow, Namjoon gets back into the stretch sedan and Hoseok drives off, leaving the two of you to make an entrance.

You keep your eyes ahead, too shy to look at the crowd, and you walk under a large white and gold awning that stretches from the sidewalk to the large glass doors. Camera flashes threaten to temporarily blind but nobody stands in your way, and when you enter the hotel, everyone follows behind.

Large gold and crystal chandeliers brighten the massive hotel lobby, and the red carpet stretches through the space, stopping at a set of gold elevator doors. You glance around at the light marble, white furnishings, and confused hotel guests littered throughout, noticing several armed guards stationed around the space dressed in white with gold bow ties, similar to your friends.

"What is this place?" you ask with wide eyes.

"This is the hotel that I sold to lady Choi, the woman who was friends with my mother," Yoongi mutters close to your ear while you walk ahead, eyes dancing over the marble and gold, appreciating the extravagance. "What did Hyungseo refer to it as? One of my less flashy hotels?"

You remember the night in front of Paradise when Hyungseo taunted Yoongi—the night Jimin was shot. If this is what she refers to as less flashy, what do Yoongi's other hotels look like? Surely, she was just trying to rile Yoongi up, and you can see why it may not have worked.

Yoongi leads you through the lobby to a gold elevator, and you are not in the least bit surprised when it takes you to the uppermost floor. You are surprised, however, when the doors slide open and the scene before you is somehow more decadent than the one you left.

"This," Yoongi says magnanimously, "is Dionysus."

The tall walls and high arching ceilings are made of white iron and glass, allowing the glow of the moon and light pollution to add to the ambiance. Large arches of elegantly designed iron spandrels and ornate columns draw the eye to a second floor mezzanine that wraps around the space where guests stand with drinks, some dancing along to the music that sounds modern and downtempo but unidentifiable to your untrained ear.

The floors are ash grey hardwood, and the furnishings are white and gold with the exception of a massive oval-shaped bar made of dark hardwood in the center of the space. Tracking lights hanging from the grandiose ceiling assist delicate white and gold sconces that are placed throughout to brighten the space.

"For obvious reasons, we chose to move your party," Yoongi informs as you step forward, gaze landing on more people you do not recognize than those you do. Changkyun and the rest of the members of the security team wear white tuxedos with gold bow ties, as well. Other guests are dressed in an array of colors, but it appears that nobody else wears white.

An attendant approaches to take your jacket and you bow your head at him, shivering from the lack of warmth as Yoongi continues. "We renovated Paradise for this occasion, but I felt that having the party there might be too painful for all of us. Of course, a larger venue called for a larger crowd."

You hum in response, still taking in your surroundings, undoubtedly with your mouth hanging wide open. "Wow," you finally mutter, lips moving like a fish out of water as you struggle to find the words to describe the way you feel.

Dionysus is massive, and the lengths staff members must have gone to in order to decorate for your party do not go unnoticed. Gold streamers and green vines entwine, snaking up columns and along the edge of the mezzanine and bar, and gold balloons are placed throughout accentuating corners, tables, and various other points, along with piles of gold disco balls scattered around shimmering with reflected light.

The staff wear gold leather and latex. Clothing is scarce, barely covering them, and they are painted from head to toe in gold glitter as if carved from the shimmering alloy, carrying intricately carved golden trays of food and drink.

"Are you pleased?" Yoongi asks.

You nod emphatically and turn to Yoongi with tears forming, forcing yourself to look into his eyes and not stare at the reddened slash that cuts over one of them. Although the sight makes your stomach momentarily ache, you are undeniably happy.

"Yes," you say, taking a step forward and placing your palms over Yoongi's chest. The giant rock on your left hand shimmers in the bright light of the venue, sending a pang of uncertainty and worry to your gut that is only somewhat masked by your joy.

"Let's get you a drink," Yoongi says, gently grabbing your wrists before spinning around and linking your right hand in his left while tugging you toward the bar.

A nearby server carries a gold platter of champagne flutes, and when Yoongi reaches for one and hands it to you, there are even gold flakes floating around inside. Ridiculous, you think to yourself, but also very thoughtful.

One sip of the champagne takes you by surprise; it is light and sweet, different from what you are used to. And, to your delight, the gold flakes seem to have no flavor.

"Ah, here they are," Yoongi announces, and when you look up, the other five family men—dressed in the same white and gold attire—are approaching, holding matte black gifts of various shapes and sizes.

"Oh, no," you mutter to yourself, feeling your cheeks become hot. "This party is already enough."

"Nonsense, darling," Yoongi whispers close to your ear, voice deep and inviting.

The music changes and suddenly the entire room is singing happy birthday. You feel embarrassed enough to hide behind your hands, but Yoongi gently takes your champagne flute and sets it aside, then tugs your wrists downward, forcing you to watch as the family men approach with their gifts.

"I thought the switchblade was my present," you tease, looking between Jeongguk and Taehyung the moment the song stops. Of course, since that fateful night, you have not moved the switchblade from where it sits in its case atop your bedside table in Yoongi's bedroom.

"Well, since you must announce the elephant in the room," Taehyung teases, holding out a rectangular box about five inches long and two inches tall, "we worried that you may hold some animosity toward that weapon and decided to gift you another option."

Another weapon, he means. You already know from the size and weight of this box that Taehyung is gifting you a handgun. Still, you tear at the matte black gift wrap and pretend to be surprised as you reveal a black velvet box containing a subcompact Glock.

You do gasp, however, when you notice the beautifully carved flowers and vines along the handle of the gun, and you feel somewhat emotional when you look back at Taehyung and say, "Wow, this is beautiful."

"We have a variety of holsters that you can choose from," Taehyung says with a proud smile. "Come by anytime to rummage through our collection."

"Alright," you respond as you turn to hand the gun off to Yoongi. Staff seem to have carried over a round high marble-topped table and he sets the box in the center.

Next is Hoseok, who gives you a stunning Tiffany statement necklace that is shaped like a gold scorpion tail, and Seokjin gives you a dainty gold Rolex watch with a mother of pearl face.

Jeongguk steps forward and hands you a box that contains a little metal cocaine vial and you laugh so loud, your voice echoes through the large venue. "I have one more for you," he mutters quietly, "but it would be inappropriate for you to open it here, so you'll have to come by my place some time soon."

Namjoon kisses your forehead with a smile, making your cheeks warm at the thought of the crowd noticing as he says, "The rest of my gifts are at the mansion."

You shake your head, knowing that all of the jewelry you wear is from him, muttering, "You've already done too much."

But then he hands you a small gift box and says, "This one is from Jimin."

Suddenly your heart feels heavy, and you accept the box with a tremble in your hands. You rip at the matte black paper but your hands shake so hard that you have to turn and set the box onto the table just to open it.

You expect more jewelry to greet you and it takes a split moment to process what you are looking at. In a small pile against black velvet is a gold keyring containing three keys and a golden dove charm. You lift the keys to inspect them, finding each one inscribed with one word: Paradise, Studio, and Home.

Tears well and you drop the keys back into the box, cursing the universe for being so unfair. Jimin has given you sanctuary in so many ways and you are unable to thank him.

Shaking your head in an attempt not to cry, you are hit with a dizzy spell, but in an instant, arms are around you on three sides, pulling you into a soft shield of material and warmth. You keep your head tilted upward, worried about staining anyone's white jacket, then take in a deep unsteady breath.

All you can think about is how happy Jimin had been for your approaching birthday—how excited he seemed about your gift. Although you just visited with him yesterday, you miss him now more than ever.

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk take a step back, and you smile, wiping the tears from your face and gently as you can, worried about smearing your makeup.

"Thank you," you say weakly, causing the room to erupt with cheers and clapping, reminding you that you are surrounded by strangers.

Another table has appeared while you were not paying attention, and one after another, strangers bring gift bags. You are informed by a member of the security team that each gift has been carefully inspected, but you feel too embarrassed to watch as guests come and go, bowing and muttering words of thanks without looking anyone in the eye, and turning instead toward the bar.

Yoongi sidles up to your right and turns you gently by the shoulders to face him, rubbing his thumbs beneath your eyes. To your left, Namjoon orders seven glasses of neat whiskey.

Guests come by to wish you a happy birthday as you wait for your drink, and you thank them politely and glance around the space looking for somewhere to go to have some privacy. When Namjoon finally hands you a glass, you waste no time gulping down some of the rich liquid.

"Do these people know who I am?" you ask into your drink while smiling and waving to strangers who greet you from a distance.

"In theory, yes," Yoongi responds, placing a hand on your elbow and leading you past dancing bodies to the far side of the space. "They know who I am, and they know about the ring you wear."

"They're treating me like I'm the queen of England," you complain, slamming back the rest of your drink.

Yoongi's voice gives you chills as he leans close to say, "That's because you're the queen of Seoul, my love."

Ahead, under the mezzanine and past a group of partygoers, is a black curtain hidden somewhat inconspicuously with Changbin clad in white and gold standing guard with a wide smile. Changbin greets you with a warm hug while Yoongi pushes the curtain aside revealing a door through which you quickly walk, finding a carpeted storage room full of cardboard boxes and stacked tables and chairs.

"Thank god," you grumble, turning to Yoongi to begin searching his pockets for his cocaine; yours is out on the gift table. "This is a lot more overwhelming than I expected."

"We could find another way to overwhelm you, if you'd like," Yoongi offers with a grin, leaning his forehead against yours as you unscrew you the vial and lift piles of white powder to one nostril after the other.

You inhale harshly and rub a knuckle against your nose, asking, "We?"

Seconds pass before the door opens and in walks Namjoon and Jeongguk.

"We," Yoongi finally responds, lips tugging into a devious smile. The cocaine shimmers through you and you waste no time taking him up on his gracious offer.

"Yeah, okay," you say, grabbing a chair and sitting with your legs spread wide, bare from the high slits in the skirt that make it fall open on each side and between your thighs. "Do your worst, gentlemen."

The three of them drop to their knees, Jeongguk crawling forward first, hands rubbing over your calves, up to your thighs. "I should be quick and get back out there," he says, wasting no time lifting the skirt flap that covers you and burying himself beneath.

He makes a mess of your panties, nipping and sucking over the mesh, driving you wild with anticipation long enough to make you begin whimpering, "Please, Gguk. Please stop teasing me."

Jeongguk yanks your panties to the side and devours you, lips and tongue dancing a familiar, glorious dance over your clit, making you sink in the hard wooden chair while doing your best not to let your hair touch anything. Although you are sure nobody on the other side of the door can hear you, you muffle your voice with the back of your hand and use the other to grip Jeongguk's head as best as you can with layers of fabric in the way.

It takes very little time for Jeongguk to make you cum, back arching off the chair and hands falling to your sides to grip its wooden edges to keep you from sliding to the floor. Jeongguk appears from under your skirt, face flushed and hair tousled, wiping your release from his lips and chin with a dopey smile.

"Bathroom is to the right when you exit," Namjoon teases as he begins to use his fingers to fix Jeongguk's hair. Jeongguk stays for a moment longer on his knees, searching your face as if he has something he wants to say before finally getting to his feet, leaning close, and pressing a heady kiss to your lips.

"Happy birthday, beautiful," he mutters, though his eyes say a lot more.

"Thank you," you respond meekly, struggling to hold his soft, caring gaze. Your mind echoes, Do you think you could fall for someone like me? And once again you think that you could.

As soon as Jeongguk turns to leave, Namjoon lifts the center flap of your skirt and tosses it over your hips, revealing your cunt, which feels cold behind wet mesh. Yoongi spreads you further as he crawls beside Namjoon, and the two of them take turns using their hands and mouths to slowly pull each thread of sanity from you.

You cum twice more and the two of them keep going, ignoring your pleas for mercy, teasing as they say, "I can't take anymore isn't your safeword, baby."

"Too bad we can't make a real mess of you," Namjoon complains as he nips against your thigh and keeps the thrusting of his fingers to shallow movements.

"Tonight," Yoongi insists, and you nod robotically, feeling too fucked out to do anything but let pleasure overwhelm you, just as Yoongi promised it would.

Your legs may as well be cooked al dente by the time they finish and you stand in an attempt to straighten yourself out. Spit and cum cause your panties to stick uncomfortably but you feel too blissed out to care.

Namjoon goes ahead, placing a soft kiss against Yoongi's lips and then yours, and Yoongi delicately does his best to clear away any makeup that has smudged beneath your eyes. He kisses you deeply, moaning in tandem as you melt against him and taste yourself on his lips, and you think to yourself that this night is nearly close to perfect.

"I have one more thing," he says, and when you meet his gaze, it is soft and a little worried. "I hope you don't mind how unromantic this room is…I just can't bear to wait any longer."

You continue to catch your breath after the orgasmic ringer those three put you through, and when Yoongi reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blue box, your brain screeches to a halt before attempting to make sense of what you are seeing.

Yoongi holds up the box and says, "I just want you to know that when you feel ready, this one is the deal," but the words do not compute. That is, until he opens it.

Nestled in blue velvet is a platinum band adorned with three diamonds. Although the center stone is much smaller than the ring you wear, there are two pear-shaped stones on each side. Tears cloud your vision and the sound of your pounding heart is deafening.

"Namjoon helped me pick it out," Yoongi continues as if you are not in total physical distress, falling apart with each second that passes.

Your next breath heaves from your lungs and you feel your knees threaten to buckle. Is Yoongi actually proposing to you on your birthday, tucked away from everyone else? A promise for when you are ready to receive it is still a promise that is spoken in real time, and the weight of it is crushing.

"Darling?" Yoongi tries, but his voice feels distant and you stumble backward, feeling as if you might faint.

Yoongi is quick to catch you by the elbows and sit you back down on the chair. "Darling, are you alright?" he asks, but you feel too sluggish to respond, heavy-blinking but unable to focus on him.

Yoongi takes out his phone and thumbs around. "Taehyung," he says, voice laced with worry. "Come to the storage room quickly."

Although you want to shake your head and insist that everything is fine, you are not sure you can do that much. Time and space elude you, your ears ring a high, terrible pitch, and you squeeze your eyes closed, only opening them when a cold compress touches your forehead, zapping you into the present.

"There you are," Taehyung responds, gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. "We lost ya for a bit."

Your skin is cold and clammy, and you shiver, wishing you had your jacket. To your surprise, Yeji is at your side with a stoic expression, and she opens her black makeup case.

"Sorry," you mutter, dizzy and uncertain of what just happened. Yoongi and Namjoon stand behind Taehyung watching you with concerned expressions, and you begin to worry about how long you have been away from the party.

"You didn't miss much," Taehyung says as if reading your mind. He lifts a small flashlight to your eyes from the side like he did the night he checked you for a concussion. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you admit with a sigh. "Hungry."

Taehyung hums and nods, saying, "Once she touches you up, come back out to the main hall. I'll tell them to bring out the cake."

Cake sounds incredible and you nod, mouthing, "Thank you," with barely a sound coming out.

Yeji touches you up quickly, blotting away sweat and applying a little makeup before bowing and taking her leave. And when you stand, you feel much steadier on your feet, albeit a bit jittery.

When it is just Yoongi and Namjoon left in the room, the two of them kiss before Namjoon kisses your forehead and leaves. Yoongi swallows thickly and watches you as if he is waiting for you to speak first, so you do, voice trembling and weak.

"That wasn't a reaction to the ring," you lie. It may have been, but you do not want to face that possibility at the moment. "I don't know what came over me. Sorry, baby."

With a nod and an uncertain smile, Yoongi takes your hand in his and tugs you to the door, out into the small dark space and past the black velvet curtain. And in an instant, you remember that you are completely surrounded with strangers and that you need to keep your cool and stay on your feet.

As soon as the two of you walk out into the main hall, staff members cart out a massive cake while more of them carry bottles of champagne crackling with sparklers. The room erupts into shouting and clapping and you feel yourself go hot under everyone's stares, wondering whether anyone is speculating on what happened while you were away.

You eat a slice of decadent strawberry jam cake, and once you feel better, you drink and dance and drink some more, doing your best to push out all thoughts of that ring. Felix even joins you, spinning you around and laughing like old friends. Euphoria kicks in with the family men around, and you find it easy to return to the feeling of joy, eager to face everything else in the morning.

By the time you return to the mansion, you are stumbling from your feet aching but also from all the champagne and whiskey. Namjoon carries you from the stretch sedan to the front door and Yoongi peels away your strappy shoes before taking you into his arms so that a drunk, clumsy Namjoon can get out of his shoes. The three of you make your way upstairs and you bury your face into Yoongi's neck as you ascend.

"We still have more gifts," he mutters and you sigh happily, insisting, "Tomorrow."

"Would you like to sleep now?" Namjoon asks. "Or shower first?"

Although you know that you should clean your face, you are exhausted and whine to be taken to bed. Thankfully Yoongi carries you into the ensuite first and sets you onto the cold marble counter so that he and Namjoon can gently wash off your makeup, remove all of your jewelry, and encourage you to brush your teeth.

They help you undress and step into warm joggers, pulling a soft black tee over your head. And the moment your head hits the pillow, you are out like a light.

You are riddled with nightmares and toss and turn, struggling to stay asleep but too groggy to stay awake.

In some, Yoongi's wound bleeds while you grip onto the dripping knife. In another, he and Namjoon have cast you aside and left you to fend on your own with nothing but the little black dress and combat boots that you wore into the mansion on the very first day they kidnapped you and brought you home against your will.

They laugh and tease and make you feel foolish. Like a conquest and nothing more. Cheap, tossed aside, and all used up.

But the dream that really shakes you to your core is one of Jimin's funeral. He lays in a glass casket wearing a gorgeous black lace gown and veil, face pale and lifeless as marble, and you sob uncontrollably, throwing yourself at the glass and begging for him to wake up.

The funeral crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, and when you glance up, hundreds of the man who shot him surround you, holding out his smoking gun. You lift your gun and shoot, sending hundreds of the man to the floor with his brains leaking through his many foreheads.

And then you wake up screaming. The room is empty with the exception of the many flower vases that surround you, and you feel dizzy as soon as you quickly sit up, grabbing for your pounding head.

Moments pass with nothing but your own sobs and you cry loud and horrific, clenching the black and gold comforter close to your chest with one fist, desperate to get the image of Jimin lying dead out of your mind. But it is no use; you can feel residual anguish leftover from the dream clawing its way into your heart for safe keeping.

Footsteps rush to the door and you hear Namjoon barrel forward, shouting, "Sweetheart, what is it?"

Unable to speak, you shake your head, but then a piercing pain around your temples and in the back near your neck halts your movement and you cringe and grab once more onto your head, leaning forward.

You hear, "Darling," but Namjoon quickly says, "Get Taehyung!" and Yoongi's voice drifts away as he shouts for him.

You wonder if they have been meeting in the main hall, and you thank your lucky stars that they are all there. Then you feel the urge to vomit, scrambling for something to get sick into before everything fades to black.

In a blink you are on your back, laying in bed with a cold wet compress against your head. The family psychiatrist Christopher is there and he and Taehyung are muttering about medication side effects as you blink them into focus and stretch your limbs.

"Buttercup," Taehyung says softly as he approaches and leans close, feeling your forehead. "What do you say we take a trip to my examination room so I can have a look inside that pretty little head of yours, hmm?"

"Oh," you respond sluggishly, licking your dry lips and weakly nodding your head. You ask, "Did I faint again?"

With a frown, Taehyung says, "I'm afraid so."

Namjoon approaches with a hoodie and Taehyung helps you sit up. In the back of your head there is a sharp pain, and you feel nauseated the more you move. They slide one arm after the other into the sweater and then Namjoon sits on the edge of the bed with his back to you and tells you to climb up.

It takes effort but you knee-walk to Namjoon and fling yourself over his shoulders. He stands slowly and adjusts your legs in his hold, and you bury your face against his neck while he carries you from the room, down to the main hall, and out the front door.

You hear the voices of the other family men but none of them regard you, and for that you are thankful. The air is chilly and you hold tightly to Namjoon, listening to the familiar crunch of gravel and leaves underfoot while Yoongi and Taehyung chatter lowly behind you. Briefly, you think you may begin to fall asleep.

The examination is not so bad, but the MRI makes you nervous. The whir of the machine is scary, and although your eyes are closed, you feel claustrophobic inside the enclosed space. After getting a good look at your brain, Taehyung checks your heart, draws blood, and leads you to a small bathroom where he asks you to pee in a cup.

Then he asks you to meet him in an examination room where he will join you shortly, but you go to a different room instead. With a sigh pouring through a smile, Taehyung assists you with gently moving Jimin's arm, making space on his small bed, careful of all the wires and tubes.

You lay on Jimin's bed, head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart with your eyes closed against bright white fluorescent light. Namjoon and Yoongi sit on the other side of the bed with their heads leaned close, not speaking a word, and after you find yourself drifting off for a moment, Taehyung returns.

"I can't determine a physical cause for your sudden bout of fainting spells," he says, which should be good news but not having an answer is also worrisome in its own right. "They began before you started taking your medication, so the best I can surmise is that it is not a side effect to that medication, and that it is likely caused by trauma and stress."

You hum, unsure what to say. Yoongi and Namjoon also say nothing.

"Did you take your medication yesterday?"

Truthfully, you are unsure, but you are inclined to think that you may not have. Shaking your head softly against Jimin, you mutter, "I don't think so."

Taehyung hums. "I want you to be a little more mindful of your medication, alright? Lay off any drugs or alcohol for a little while, and eat on a regular schedule. We're going to monitor your heart rate and blood pressure regularly, too. Does that sound alright?"

"Alright," you respond automatically, attempting to let everything sink in.

Trauma induced fainting is not something you want to deal with on top of everything else. And with Yoongi's most recent proposal of sorts, nausea kicks up and you begin to fear for the worst.

"Could be that you need a vacation," Taehyung continues, writing on a pad of paper as he speaks. "A lot has happened around these parts lately, and perhaps this is your body telling you to get away for a while."

Get away for a while.

You know in your heart that getting away could be the only option. With your mental health deteriorating so fast, it is hard to imagine it won't get worse.

But how much time away from the mansion is long enough? How much longer will you attempt to heal and move on from everything that has happened while surrounded by your stressors and waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The only solution is to get away entirely.

How will you break things off with Namjoon and Yoongi, especially after that gesture last night? Whereas the ring you have been wearing symbolizes a fake union, the ramifications of it have always been real. Real threat of danger; a real target on your back.

Now, with the prospect of genuine engagement looming over your head, your fight or flight instincts have you feeling the strong, overbearing urge to run far away and never look back. Playing mafia wife is one thing but becoming a mafia wife is petrifying.

How long will you be able to look Yoongi in the eye knowing that you gave him that scar? And if Jimin never wakes up, how long before you stop blaming yourself for his injuries? It is easy for Yoongi to assure you that he does not hold anything against you now, but how do you know that won't change?

And if you are at the heart of one more tragedy—one more grand fuck up—and Yoongi dies with a needle in his arm, will Namjoon not blame you? Is that something you can live with?

Sometimes important decisions—ones that we know we have to make—still hurt like hell.

"Alright," you mutter again, unsure what to say.

On the other side of Jimin's bed, Yoongi and Namjoon hold onto one another while you think about how you are going to approach Seokjin. After all, he is the one offering you a way out.

You hate that this might be the last time you ever see Jimin again, but you feel grateful that at least Yoongi and Namjoon have each other. At least all of the family men have each other, you tell yourself. They can and will get through this next phase together.

It will hurt like hell. They may all come to hate you. It could even push Yoongi over the edge.

But you are certain that you cannot be around to witness another crack in the foundation. And you cannot put your well-being on the line just because someone else's may be threatened.

You cannot keep doing this, but there is no other way that you can see turning down another one of Yoongi's proposals without disappearing instead. Even imagining the prospect of walking away breaks your heart and causes tears to form in your eyes.

Maybe in another life you could have been perfect. But in this life, all you have is heartache. In this life, all you have is fear and uncertainty and the brassy scent of blood.

The only way out of a life like his is death.

Above all else, you know that you can not wait around to watch someone die. You cannot hope and dream and wish for a normal life while the men you love continue down paths of uncertainty and danger.

You deserve a chance at a normal life. You cannot keep living this way. They cannot force you to stay in the mansion and live like this any longer.

It's now or never.

Calm myself A cup of tea Could give me good comfort Calm myself A couple of weeks Could make me forget you

🎵 visit the playlist

ONE MORE CHAPTER, AHHHH!!!! and then a sequel!!! don't worry this is not the ending!!! but it is still an ending so to speak, so HOW DO YOU FEEEEELLLLLLL??? any ideas of what Jungkook gifted her for her bday???

you may have noticed that some of the scenes did not get the usual Collateral treatment of the reader being fully aware of everything mc is aware of, including the mention of a conversation mc & Namjoon had at the start of the chapter, as well as the conversation that happens when Jimin is in a coma where i breeze over her being regaled with stories from their past. the first conversation is in Namjoon's POV scene, and i have been planning for a long time for the conversation at Jimin's bedside to be the topic of Yoongi's POV scene, so i left those details out. more information, including a teaser for Yoongi's scene to come in the near future! (sorry for the cross-outs, but i made some changes!!!)

as promised in the beginning notes, let me distract you a little with Dionysus!!!! it is actually a club in Chell's fic Blessed With a Curse (which you should absolutely read!!!) and i became obsessed and wanted to steal it (with permission!!!) (it turns out it's a real place lolol.) much of my ability to describe it at all came from Chell's writing and i am so grateful to have an amazing friend who allows me to use their inspiration for my own. she's a super talented writer who is also a big fan of this story, and more than anything i wanted the presence of Dionysus in this story to be a nod to her because i care so much about her.

check this fucking place out:

obviously i changed some details here and there, and really did not even fully go into detail because it is a lot and architecture words allude me and i really have no idea what i am doing. (if you know more technical terms that could add to the description, i would love to know!!! i have no qualms with sneaking info into the fic on the sly.)💜

these end notes are becoming so fucking long lmao i am so sorry. i used to put nothing at the ends of fics/chapters and now i am writing entire dissertations.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

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#yoongi mafia #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts poly #bts mafia #bts angst #namjoon mafia #jungkook mafia #fic: collateral #Spotify

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