#Supernatural au

[bouquet-of-flow3rs]

Blood Lust

Chapter I

!Pairings: Vampire!Ot8!Straykids x Reader

Genre: Supernatural AU, Slow Burn, Angst, Future fluff, MDNI!

!TW!: Violence, thoughts of suicide, sexual assault, being chased, MC is cut by a knife, mentions of legs being broken, blackmail, non-consented pictures and videos. mentions of being choked, bruises, blood, toxic relationships, whipping, degrading names, MDNI. [Let me know if I missed anything!]

[A/n: Please read the prologue first it will make more sense lol]

Waking up the next morning feels like hell. Everything hurts from the bruises on your neck to the throbbing pain coming from your core, you’re not even sure if you can get up, your lower half especially hurting, and the feeling in your legs is numb but the ache that is settled in your bones reminds you of the pain you endured last night, all of this makes you think how you may need to call out of work but you know you can’t because you need the money if you’re ever going to even get close to escaping this hell hole.

You know that even if you do manage to get the money to leave Sungwoo would come up with some outrageous reason why you can’t, like the time he threatened to kill himself if you left just as he’s done many times before, and if he doesn’t try to guilt you then you know that he may try to hurt you or blackmail. You still remember what he did to you one of the last few times you've told him you were going to leave, he blackmailed you with nudes and videos he'd taken while he took advantage of you, you’re aware he has many of both your least favorite pictures he has of you are the ones where he's written degrading words across your body and the ones where he has you tied up in rough, scratchy ropes, but you hated the videos he has more than any photos he may have, many of said videos are close-ups on where he shoved his dick into you or where you’re sobbing and he believed your tears were ones of pleasure. When you told him you didn’t care and that he could go ahead and post them he stormed off to his room before returning and swinging a metal bat at your legs fracturing them, you vividly remember the guttural cries that left your throat as he repeatedly brought the bat down on you, you remember trying to crawl away from him using your forearms to drag yourself away and you recall the evil grin on his face when he dragged you back by the ankles turning you over so you were on your back and gripping onto the roots of your hair making your scalp burn in pain, “Sorry but you aren’t going anywhere.” You remember him spitting out at you before he quite literally spat on your face, tearing off your clothes unbuckling his belt and pulling down his jeans. You remember how after he was done he left you there in the entryway leaking his unwanted cum, legs broken, and bruises littered all over your body. Even just thinking back on that memory makes you feel ghost pains of what happened that day, you also remember how he never even bothered to bring you to the hospital so you ended up healing incorrectly. 

After finally getting off of your bed you slowly make your way to your dresser to pull out some clothes for work, you want to make sure you cover your bruises well enough, you struggle getting dressed thanks to the bruises on your ribs and the persistent ache of your body,  you carefully sift through your dresser and pull out a cream turtle-neck sweater, you slip your arms through the sleeves and pull it over your head albeit slowly and painfully, afterwards you open another drawer and grab out a black pencil skirt, this time you struggle much more to slip it on you can’t bend without feeling immense pressure all over your body but after a few moments you manage to slip it on, lastly you grab a pair of black tights and you have to sit down before you can put those on, once you’ve managed to fully cloth yourself you walk out of your room as quietly as possible so you don’t catch the attention Sungwoo, unfortunately for you he was waiting outside your room for you when you opened the door. You stand there stiff as you can praying he ignores you but that is far from what happens because he looks up from scrolling on his phone and stares at your stiff figure, he smiles at you in an unsettling way, slipping his phone into his pocket and approaching you, you stay perfectly still as he stands in front of you, “Good morning [Y/n].” He says his hand moving up towards your hair and stroking it, “Good morning Sungwoo.” You reply holding your breath as he threads his fingers through your hair, “You look nice.” He says a bite to his tone as he eyes you up and down, his tone and stare make you stiffen up even more, “I-it’s just my outfit for work.” You stutter out, he hums his fingers moving to the top of your head before tangling them into a tight grip making you wince, “Do me a favor [Y/n],” He drawls out, “Make sure to stay out late tonight, I’ll be bringing my girlfriend over tonight and I don’t need you here to ruin it.” He glares at you, his grip out your hair lifting your head and forcing you to look into his eyes, “Okay, I’ll ask to work overtime tonight.” You whisper, dropping your gaze to the ground. “Good girl.” He says finally letting go of your hair, you both stand there staring at the ground and he looks at you with a glint in his eyes, “Don’t you need to finish getting ready, wouldn’t want to be late again.” He says condescendingly, “Now go on.” He says smacking your check lightly but hard enough to sting before walking off. You stay there for a few more seconds trying to get yourself to move and when you finally feel like you can you dart towards the bathroom.

When you finally get there you make sure to lock the door and lean against it trying to stop yourself from hyperventilating, you screw your eyes tightly closed and clench and unclench your fists all while doing breathing exercises to try and calm yourself down, you can feel warm, salty tears escaping from your eyes and traveling down your cheeks, once you’ve calmed down enough you turn towards the mirror and gaze into your reflection. You take notice of your tangled hair,  bloodshot eyes, and the bruises that peek through the top of your turtle-neck. You sigh at your reflection and begin to heat up your curling iron and pull out your make-up bag, you begin with color correcting the bruising on your skin using various products to cover it up, you cover them all from your forehead to your neck making sure none of them are too visible, you know there is no way you’ll be able to perfectly cover them but you'll at least be satisfied if you can make them less noticeable. Once you’ve completed your makeup look you begin to separate your hair in two layers before curling the bottom layer and then moving on to the top layer.

You once again stare at your reflection, you can see how visibly tired you are, and the eyebags are still rather noticeable as well as your sunken face but at the very least you couldn’t see the bruises. After you’re finished getting ready you make your way to the front door continuing to try and avoid any more run-ins with Sungwoo for the morning but of course, you see him sitting at the dining room table in the dark staring intently at his bright phone, you try to sneak past him and to the door but h speaks up before you can grab your shoes from the rack, “Don’t forget what I said [Y/n] and don’t even think about trying to run away since you’ll be out late, you know what will happen if you do.” He says lifting his head to you with a sadistic grin on his face that makes you feel sick, “I won’t..” You manage to choke out trying your best to avoid looking at him, “Good girl.” He purrs out making you feel nauseous.

Finally being out of that apartment feels like a breath of fresh air, Sungwoo has made it very clear that you are not allowed out unless it’s for work or he’s with you, but that routine feels incredibly suffocating as if you are chained to him but you’re too afraid to free yourself so you can’t help but be a caged bird. 

You don’t have a car, so you usually take the train to get to work, but the walk to the station isn’t a short one. You look up to the sky and see it’s cloudy, you didn’t check the weather for the day but seeing as how it's beginning to approach winter that means there is a good chance it will be cold today, you feel the breeze push past you blowing your hair in different directions, you sigh and you can see your breathe as if it were smoke float up. Continuing on your walk you pass by many people, you see families walking with their young kids probably on their way to drop them off at school, you also see an older couple who are sitting on a wooden bench close to some shops as they are bundled up holding each other's hands, your heart clenches and you can’t help but wish that was you, and the one that tugs at your heart the most a girl around your age who is holding on tightly to who you can only assume is her boyfriend based on the way she is clinging to him as they giggle together at some private joke, god how you want that, to be genuinely treasured by someone, but you’re happy for all of those people because it means they won’t end up like you, a bird in a cage who longs to be set free. Finally reaching the train station you scan your travel pass and the gates open for you to pass through, you walk towards the train you take and wait for it to arrive as it’s running a bit behind today, while you wait you pull out your phone checking your notifications but as always there are none, ever since moving in with Sungwoo he made you delete everyone from your contact except for him and there was no number spared you weren’t even allowed to keep you family’s contacts or keep in touch with any friends that weren’t him, the only number allowed other than his was the floral shop you worked at but even that he monitors, he’s completely isolated you from everyone even going as far as to make it so your phones were connected and if you ever wanted to download any apps he would have to give permission. Boarding your train with many other passengers you quickly try and snag a seat but you are unsuccessful, you decide to hang onto the ceiling rails but you immediately sense the feeling of a pair of eyes on you making you uncomfortable, you carefully shift your eyes around the train cart trying to figure out who it is but you can’t seem to find this person until you hear the sound of a shuttering camera coming from behind you and you instantly spin around to find that sitting behind you is an old man who is staring very intently at his phone, “Excuse me sir-” You try to confront him and he glares up at you grunting “What.”, “Uhm, did you take a picture of me?” You attempt to ask but he cuts you off with a scoff, “Why would I do that, I can’t believe you’d say that!” he outrages, “I-I’m very sorry sir but I thought I heard your phone go off.” You try and reason but he begins yelling again catching the attention of other passengers on board, “Please, all you sluts are the same, you’re so desperate for male attention you go around accusing people of peeping on you when you’re a whore!” He shouts at you standing up from his seat, he’s a short, skinny old man whose hair is bald at the top, everyone on board is staring at the two of you and you begin to shrink in on yourself, “I’m very sorry sir that wasn’t what I was implying at all I was just-” You again try to apologize but he shouts once more, “No, I won’t hear your excuses you just want attention that you don’t care who it's from you slut!” He shames you, you aren’t sure how you should even react right now so you bow your head to the man before moving far away from him towards the back of the cart. 

As the train finally comes to a stop you can still feel people's eyes on you even after the incident that took place earlier has ended and you can hear the murmurs and whispers directed at you as people begin to stand up and pass you to get to the doors, you keep your head facing the floor as they all walk past you, you finally exit after everyone has left, simply because you couldn’t deal with everyone’s eyes on you as you walked past them. After exiting the station it was another 15 minutes to the Flower shop. You moved in with Sungwoo after high school and he didn’t want you to go to college back then you listened because you believed he liked you back and just didn’t know how to show it but now you know better and that he couldn’t care less about you and he only keeps you for his own entertainment, so when you decided you wanted to get a job just so you’d be able to leave the house more often it took you many failed interviews to finally land this job and you’ve been working here for many years lasting longer than most of the other employees since once they got better education they chose to leave while you stayed, you’ve never made friends with any of the people you’ve worked with, much to scared of what would happen if you did. You thought about this the entire way to the store and when you reached it you began to unlock the doors and turn on the neon ‘Open’ sign and do all of your other usual opening routines. The store’s name is ‘Velvet Petal’, not your idea but the owner is a sweet old lady who opened this store as a family business originally but when all her children moved away she began hiring and kept the original charm of when she first opened it. Today it’s only you and a few of your male coworkers you aren’t fond of because they aren’t good with flowers or customers especially if they’re women because they always try and flirt with them so you eventually have to step in to assist them having to do all the work.

Currently, there are no customers in the store and you’re working on some floral arrangement orders that were placed earlier this week, you’ve been working so hard that you begin to sweat a bit and wipe at your neck not realizing that the make-up you used to cover the bruises and hickeys had smudged and revealed the reddish-purple skin underneath, “Damn [Y/n], I didn’t realize you were into this kinda thing.” One of your male coworkers Minjun purrs trailing a cold finger up your neck making you tense up, “What are you talking about Minjun…” You mutter out still focusing on the flowers in front of you, “Oh you know, just the fact you’re a whore who enjoys being marked up.” He says as if it were the most casual thing in the world, at this you stop what you were doing to spin around and face the smirking boy who is looking at you with lidded eyes, you make sure to keep as much distance as you can from him but it's hard to do when he’s pressing himself up against you, “Minjun please move away from me.” You plead incredibly uncomfortable with the position you’re in. That feeling becomes even worse when your two other coworkers enter the room and grin wildly at the sight in front of them, “Wow, [Y/n] such a dirty girl doing this kinda thing with Junnie in the store where a customer could walk in.” Dowon says a filthy smirk on his face as he eyes you up and down, “Nah man, I think she’s hoping a customer will walk in and see her being a slut for us.” The other boy, Seongho says as he approaches you and Minjun, “No I don’t want that, and I don’t want this!” You begin to panic trying to think of a way you can get away from the three men who are closing in on you, you try and squish yourself further back against the table slowly moving your hand around it to try and feel for anything you can use to help defend yourself with, but you’re saved when the store bell rings and you quickly squeeze yourself from the unsafe moment and over to the customer to try and get away from them, “Hello ma’am how can I help you,” You say trying to keep your heart rate steady and keep yourself from shaking, “Oh I’m just looking for a little something to help brighten my house, I was thinking some roses would look great in my kitchen.” She explains, “I see, well we have a vast selection here at ‘Velvet Petal’ so I’m sure we can find you something you’ll love.” You spout trying to keep your voice steady and put on your best ‘customer service’ face and voice. After helping the woman you tell Minjun, Dowon, and Seongho that they can clock out for the day this seems to satisfy them and they quickly leave you alone at the store much to your relief, once they’ve left you feel you can breathe again and your heartbeat slowly returns to normal knowing you won’t be put in a situation like that for the rest of work. Since Sungwoo told you to work late tonight you decided to catch up on a few custom orders you’ve gotten this week and lock up before heading to the back area where you keep the floral arranging area, you work on one of your favorite orders of this week which is for a brides bouquet. After finishing a few more arrangements you check the time and groan when you discover it’s only 6 pm, you decide to clean up around the store hoping it will help pass more time. Luckily for you, it seems to work as the time is currently 8 pm, so you close the door of the shop and start making your way down the dark streets that are only illuminated by the moon’s shine. 

There is nobody down the street except for you.

An unsettling feelings begin to pool at the bottom of your stomach. You feel as if there are many pairs of eyes on you.

You pick up the pace beginning to speed walk,

You hear the sound of footsteps coming from somewhere behind you, you try and subtly turn your head but you are unable to see anything down the pitch-black street, you try to pull your phone from out of your pockets but find that it's not there, you begin to panic even more looking ahead of you to try and find anyone there who might be able to help you but you find nothing, the familiar street shops are now closed and there is no light in sight.

Your breathing becomes heavier as you begin to hear even more pairs of footsteps begin to follow you.

You think that you may be able to lose them if you swerve through different alleyways so that's what you do you make your way down different turns and cuts to try and lose the people following you but it doesn't work so when you pass the next alley you quickly turn into it to hide.

You duck down behind a dumpster and pray whoever it is that is following you won’t look there.

The sound of footsteps echo through the dingy alleyway.

You cover your nose and mouth with your hand doing your best to stay quiet, your eyes are beginning to blur with tears, and you are shaking, you make sure you stay silent as many pairs of feet pass your hiding spot.

Things are being thrown around, there are loud thuds and the sound of metal crashing against the concrete echoes off the brick walls of the dark and filthy alleyway.

You flinch at the loud sounds pressing your hand harshly against your mouth to muffle your yelp.

A gruff voice yells, “Fuck where’d she go!” And is followed by the sound of a can being kicked,

The can rolls towards you and your eyes widen “No, no, no…” You whimper to yourself trying to scoot away from it deeper into the middle of the large dumpster.

The alleyway goes silent.

You are breathing heavier and your eyes burn at the feeling of your unshed tears.

The three men nod to each other, one of them making their way to the dumpster covered in filth, as another makes their way to the other side of it. 

You hear their footsteps echoing off the walls as they get closer and closer to where you’re hiding. 

“Come out, Come out wherever ya are~” 

You hear the deep voice of a man say from the left of the dumpster, you whimper trying to keep your voice down, on the other side someone bangs on the side making you jump, you hear a raspy chuckle coming from your left and you can see the man's worn down shoes.

“Don’t worry doll, we ain't gonna hurt ya.” 

You hear the same voice speak up.

“Yeah, we jus’ wanna play with ya!”

You can hear the man to your left side say in a croaky, dry voice, you curl into yourself covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut tightly, “Please, leave me alone..” You whisper to yourself in a shaky voice. But the dumpster is moved away from you revealing your hiding spot.

“There ya are pretty.”

One of the men says quickly grabbing onto your forearm, you yelp at the sudden movement and try to pry his hands off of you, “Please leave me alone!” You scream at the three men but they simply chuckle at your outrage.

 “Don't worry sweet thing we ain’t gonna hurt ya, we’re jus’ gonna make ya feel real good~” 

The man in the center speaks up as he approaches you, He gets closer and closer to you until he’s standing inches from you and you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

You rack your brain trying to figure out an escape route and as hard as you can you swing your leg up between his legs and nail him right in the balls, the man shrivels up and groans as he grips between his legs, you next turn your body and pry the man's hands off of you before dashing out of the alleyway.

“Don’t just stand there like a bunch a idiots go catch her!” You hear the man you kicked yell at the other two.

You sprint as fast as you can past the run-down apartment buildings, you can hear the two other men running after you their footsteps heavy and echoing, you manage to make it to an open convenience store and quickly make your way into it, “Please sir I need your help!” Your words are rushed and you’re wheezing from the run, the man looks panicked and confused, “Miss are you alright?” He asks, “No, please there are three men who dragged me down an alley I managed to escape, please help me!” You beg the man, tears streaming down your face, “Okay come this way I’ll help you.” He makes his way from behind the counter and brings you over to an employees-only break room, “You can hide in here for now and I’ll call you a cab okay miss?” “Yes sir, thank you so much for your help!” You hiccup wiping your tears away roughly, the old man pats your back before he makes his way back to the front of the store.

You hear the door to the store beep and some muffled voices but you’re sure it’s the men who are after you, you can hear some loud shouting before the store bell rings again and you pray that they’ve left.

The old man comes back in and informs you that the cab is here for you and that the men left. “Thank you so much, sir.” You bow deeply to the man but he simply waves you off, “Don’t worry about it, I only did the right thing to do.” You smile at the man's generosity before bowing once more as he walks you out of the store to see you off.

The ride back to your apartment is a long and silent one, you find your phone buried in your bag, you check it and begin to panic when you see the time is nearing midnight, you had no clue those men had been chasing you for so long but you don’t care since you’re safe from them, but you know you won’t be safe when you return to the apartment, you dread what Sungwoo’s may think happened, ‘Does he think I ran away?’, 

‘Will he worry when he knows what happened, will he even care?’, ‘Will he hurt me because I’m coming home late?’ 

You begin to overthink what may happen upon your return home.

When you finally make it back to the apartment building you take your time choosing to climb the stairs even if your body screams at you for doing so simply because it means you can put off the inevitable.

You stand outside the door trying to calm yourself down before finally pulling out your keys and unlocking the door, low and behold Sungwoo is waiting for you at the kitchen island his fingers interlaced as he glares at you, “Where were you?” He interrogates, “Y-you told me to work late tonight so I did.” You stutter, he hums before standing up and taking slow and heavy steps toward where you stand in the foyer, he stands a few inches away from you now, his gaze is cold and you can feel the rage roll off of him in waves, “You smell like alcohol and trash.” He states and you gulp, “I-I was being chased on my way home from work by three drunken men.” You say truthfully but Sungwoo simply scoffs at you, “Oh yea, 'cause I totally believe that,” He rolls his eyes, “I bet you were whoring yourself out.” He accuses you, a hand making its way to your face as his fingers dig into your skin while he strokes you, “You’re such a slut that you’d go around offering yourself to men on the street huh?” He muses, “N-no that's not what happened I promise.” You plead but he ignores you, so you switch tactics, “Besides why would I do that when I have you?” You make your best puppy eyes at him trying to play innocent hoping it’ll work, “Awe you’re so cute,” You feel a sting on the left side of your cheek, “To think that would work on me, it might’ve if you’d been home sooner but its past midnight [Y/n] so don’t play dumb with me.” He glares his hand digging into your scalp as he pulls on your hair, “Not to mention the state you’re in, you’re covered in filth and your hair is a mess.” he sneers at you, he begins pulling you deeper into the house by your hair, you can feel the itching pain of it and the sting of your cheek as he drags you into your room.

He throws you onto the floor making you drop down with a thud, you watch in horror as he begins to unbuckle his belt but instead of taking off his pants he folds the belt in half, “Take off your clothes.” He glares down at you as if you were dirt on his shoe, you quickly do as he says and strip yourself naked, you know what’s about to happen so you close your eyes tightly and position yourself onto your hands and knees like you know he wants you. “Good girl.” He says before he swings the leather belt down onto your back making you scream out in pain, after only the first swing your eyes well up with tears and your throat stings after the sharp yell,

“This.” Slap “ Is.” Slap ”What.” Slap ”You.” Slap “Deserve.” Slap “For.”  Slap ”Being.” Slap “A.” Slap “Slut” 

He whips the belt down onto you after each word he speaks, you scream and cry as you begin to feel welts and cuts appearing on the red, irritated skin. “I think you need a harsher punishment to remind you who you belong to.” He speaks his face twisted into a sadistic grin, he drops the belt to the floor and walks away you know not to move and just let yourself sob, you have no idea what he plans to do but you know it can’t be good if he’s left the room.

When he returns he kneels behind you, “Be a good girl and stay still, this will hurt less if you do.” He says in a sadistic voice and it scares you because you have no idea what he’s planning to do. 

Your resounding screams are blood-curdling.

You feel the sharp blade of a knife dig into your skin making weird turns that deepen as the knife twists and turns in your back.

The blade only lifts for a second before it starts carving into you again, you can feel warm blood drip from your open wounds, he’s digging it in deep and you know it will eventually lead to a gnarly scar once it's healed.

Your screams of “Stop!” and “No!” bounce off the wall of your room as you sob into your arms as he continues carving into you. “Shut up and stop squirming or I’ll have to redo it.” He says gritting his teeth as he makes more jagged cuts into your back as you scream in pain. Once he’s finally finished he closes his blade and dips his finger into your pooling blood and writes on your back with it. You’re full-on sobbing after he’s done taking shallow breaths in and out, you can’t seem to stop hyperventilating and your vision begins to blur as you lose consciousness.

When you wake next it’s 4 in the morning and your back is burning at the open wounds and welts that litter your skin, you carefully lift yourself off of the cold, wooden ground grateful that no substances are leaking from your legs proving Sungwoo didn’t do anything to you while you were unconscious so you can make your way to the bathroom, you don’t bother putting on clothes but you do grab a fresh pair of pajamas so you can clean yourself of the dried blood and grim that covers your entire body. You slowly make your way to the bathroom, every step feeling like agony you feel the stinging of your cheek and the burn of the welts and cuts not to mention the headache that was caused by your hair being pulled. You finally reach the bathroom quickly flicking the lights on and locking the door behind you, you stare into the mirror seeing your hair is once again a tangled rat's nest and that your cheek is a burning red where the shape of a hand-print takes place. You eventually get the courage to turn around and see the damage on your back and you’re horrified at what you see.

In crooked, jagged letters the word ‘SUNGWOO’ Is etched into your skin.

Your eyes begin to tear up at the condition your back is in, not only do you have his name in horrific letters carved onto you but you are covered in cuts and welts left from the belt as well as a bruise in the shape of the buckle on you, you can see that written in your dried blood are the words ‘This slut belongs to’ as they lead down the carved out name of Sungwoo.

You begin to gag at the state of your back and quickly make your way to the toilet to throw up, your eyes sting with tears and you slump down to the ground and begin to cry shaking violently not being able to erase the image from your mind. You eventually manage to pull yourself off the floor and turn on the shower to a luke-warm temperature since you don’t want to irritate your skin even more than it is, you step into the shower and gently wash your body, scrubbing harder at areas that need it, you also wash your filthy, knotted hair and leave the conditioner in to soak while you focus on washing away the blood on you back being careful not to irritate it, you make sure not to use soap on that area and only wash it with water, you’ll make sure to take the time to disinfect in once you get out. 

After you’re clean you slip on your pajamas making sure they’re loose fitting so they won’t rub onto you, you quietly make your way to your room and pull out a first aid kit and some rubbing alcohol to help clean yourself up more, you slowly slip off your shirt and put some of the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball before delicately swiping it over some of the smaller cuts before moving onto the words writing on you, it was difficult to maneuver your arms to your back but you managed to do a decent job at disinfecting yourself.

You decide to go out for a walk to try and keep your head straight so you slip on a hoodie and as quietly as you can you tiptoe your way out of the apartment, it’s still dark out and there are no stars out due to the cloudy night sky, you make your way to a playground near the apartment and stare blankly up at the sky, you feel void of any emotions and your head is finally clear of all your dreadful thoughts, there’s no more thoughts of Sungwoo, no more pain, no more wishing for everything to end, you feels as if you’re just a drift in the night sky. You’re sat on one of the swings, but you aren’t swinging through the air, no, you’re just sitting there the wind blowing through your hair occasionally causing you to rock a bit but for the most part you sit there staring at the sky. Everything is silent, you don’t hear anything, and even the sound of crickets chirping is absent. 

“You shouldn’t be out alone at night.”

You whip your head around behind you to where you hear a voice but no one is there.

“It’s dangerous for you to be out this late.”

You hear the voice once more but this time in front of you and you spin around once more only to see no one once again, “Who’s there!” You shout into the darkness but the only answer you receive is the whisper of wind blowing past you, “I’m losing my mind.” You whisper to yourself, but you swear you hear a deep chuckle coming from the playground so you turn your head to strain your eyes to see if anyone is there, in the shadows of the night is the silhouette of a man.

You stiffen up in your position and clench your hands ignoring the pinch of the swing chains as they dig into your palms uncomfortably, “Who are you?” You demand, “What do you want from me!” Once again the figure chuckles, “I give you good advice and this is the thanks I get?” The man asks in a teasing voice, and when he receives no answer he hums, “You can think of me as a friend, and as for what I want from you it's easy,” He says, “We want to help you.” The man states casually, you can see his silhouette’s shoulders shrug, “We?” You narrow your eyes at the man, you slowly stand up from the swing and begin to back up in case he tries to approach you but you end up backing into something making you go stiff once more, you quickly realize you’ve run into a person as their cold hands wrap around your shoulders.

“That's right, we only want to help.” 

The person behind you whispers into your ear, his voice is deep and has an accent to it, the heat of their breath on the shell of your ear making you shiver. 

You keep your eyes on the person by the playground when you see 6 more figures manifest from out of the shadows.

“I don’t know what you mean by helping me, but I don’t want your help, please leave me alone..” You choke out praying they don’t try to do anything to you.

“Don’t worry we won’t hurt you or try anything funny.” A different voice speaks up and you can only assume it’s the figure on the top of the playground's roof, “H-how do I know I can trust you not to do anything?” You stutter in response, The figure behind you hums “I suppose you can’t, but we want to help you with getting rid of that pesky parasite.” You flinch as his deep voice penetrates your ears “P-parasite? What are you talking about?” You whimper out, 

“I think you know what we’re talking about.” 

One of the shadows speaks up.

“You reek of the smell of blood, and you look terrified.” Another voice speaks up, “I smell like what?” You ask confused, but the group ignores your question “Not to mention you’ve got bruises all over and you look tired but not the sleep-deprived kind of tired, your face is sunken in and you look like you cry a lot.” but this observation makes you even more confused, “How do you know about my bruises?” You breathe out, “We can see the hand-shaped ones across your throat, you’re clearly a victim of such a nasty parasite.” The man behind you speaks up, and out of reflex, you move your hand up to brush your fingers over the dark bruise “A-are you talking about Sungwoo?” You whisper out, You see their silhouettes nod.

“We can help you if you’d like. We can kill Park Sungwoo.”

_________________________________________

<---Prev Master List Next---->

Please reblog and like if you enjoyed!

[kinning-oliver]

"Sam Winchester — my name is Dean Campbell, and from now on, I am your lawyer."

— — —

IN THIS AU:

Convict! Sam Winchester x Corrupted Lawyer! Dean Campbell

Sam Winchester has been raised by John Winchester, conceived by a different mother who he doesn't know the name of, and has been raised to survive by his father in ways that no child should know how to do. When Sam turned 14, his father died due to alcohol poisoning and left behind a massive debt due to his habits of gambling. Sam spent the next 7 years learning how to survive for himself by working as a sex-worker, but he got dragged into mafia business with the boss of Lightbringer's Club by the age of 15, and when Sam turned 21, he killed Lucifer and was caught by one of Chuck's Angels detectives — Castiel Novak.

Dean Campbell has been raised by Mary Campbell, aware of his father's alcoholic tendences and abandonment of his mother, and he has been lovingly raised by Mary. He had the pipe dream of just owning a mechanic shop. However, when Dean turned 18 years old, his mother was murdered by the mafia group called The Princes of Hell. Dean then works his way into the justice system as a lawyer even though he is a corrupted one — his only reason to work as a lawyer is to avenge his mother's unlawful murder despite his tendency to bend the laws in however he needs to in order to accomplish his goal. When he learns of Sam's involvement with the leader of the group, Lucifer, he becomes hellbent on learning all what Sam knows.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

FIRST TIME

PAIRING : teenage!dean winchester x teenage!fem!reader (au)

SUMMARY : reader finally decides to give her virginity to dean

WARNINGS : young love. fluff. smut. horniness. cunnilingus. fingering. under-aged sex. rough sex. semi-pubic sex. unprotected p in v. aftercare. attentive dean. strong language. praise kink.

A/N : this oneshot is a prequal to homework [if you haven't read it yet, go check it out!] thank you to everyone who's read and supported it, it means the world. i plan on making a few more oneshots (that could be read on its own) in this universe. let me know what you think 😆

Your eight-month anniversary with Dean was today. In a (good) way, it felt longer. Growing up, you were taught to respect your body. You were told to wait for marriage before having a man worship at your temple. It was "the best gift you could give your husband," at least that's what they said. Until now, you haven't had a problem waiting. Sure, you had urges from time to time like any teenager, but no one had made you feel how you felt with Dean.

The longer you spent with him, the more you craved. It wasn't just his physical attributes but his personality, too. Every exchange of words, every shared moment, and every heartfelt conversation only entrenched your love even further. It was the way he protected you, cared for you, and loved you that made you feel safe. Until you, he had no interest in dating. Why would he when all he wanted from girls was something they offered him freely?

You had been the first girl ever to deny him, and that's what drew him in. He wasn't looking for a relationship, but hearing the word 'no' intrigued him. Suddenly, finding ways to get your attention was his priority. Whether it was meeting you at your locker every morning with flowers, seeing you after school to offer you a ride home, or even cornering your best friend for help winning you over, he didn't stop. It wasn't until you overhead your peers discuss how Dean dismissed any girl who engaged with him that you took him seriously.

And there he was again, at your locker, with the brightest bouquet of tulips, your favorite. His charming smile beams towards you, filling you with joy from across the hall. Students pass by, talking amongst themselves about you. "Watch, she's going to blow him off again." "How could she do that? He's so hot." "He's only trying to win her over to get in her pants. She's not even that cute." Even though it wasn't in your nature to ignore them, you chose not to cause a scene, not with them anyway.

A smile lit up your face as you focused on Dean. "Hey," You greet once you're standing before him.

"Hey, beautiful," You couldn't help but blush at the pet name, loving how it sounded coming from his mouth.

He hands you the flowers, and you happily accept them. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He leans against the locker beside yours, watching you open your own. You inhaled the bouquet before gently placing the tulips inside. "I'm sure I know the answer to this, but would you like to go out sometime?"

You close your locker and stare into his dreamy eyes as you reply, "I'd love to."

His face lit up like a kid on Christmas. It seemed he was ready for you to turn him down again, and as much as he wanted, he didn't expect you to say yes. He leaned away from the lockers as a smile stretched across his face. His infectious smile brought one of your own. You always imagined saying those words to him, and now that you did, it was better than you had dreamed it would be.

"Really? T-that's great! Does tonight work?"

"Yeah, tonight's perfect."

"Awesome, I'll pick you up at eight."

You weren't a bold person, but you couldn't resist standing on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your hand rests against his arm, maintaining your balance as your lips press against his face. Even though your gesture was small, he closed his eyes and enjoyed your lingering kiss. You slowly pull away and lean back on your heels. The passing crowd seemed to still at the publicly displayed affection. Hush conversations began as everyone gawked at you two. Before doubt could seep in, Dean grasped your attention.

"Don't listen to them."

You nodded, listening to his words and ignoring the others. "I'll see you tonight."

The Impala comes to a soft halt in the middle of the grassy field like it did all those nights ago. A smile appears when you realize he's recreating your first date. Dean had taken you to his favorite diner in town as the sun had set before coming here. The pur of the engine ceases, and his door creaks open. You've learned over the months to wait for your boyfriend rather than exiting Baby by yourself. Despite your protests, he insisted on being the gentleman his parents raised him to be, someone he was, only with you.

Dean helps you onto the hood, then joins. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side. Your backs lean against the windshield, heads tilted towards the night sky. Stars litter the dark canvas above, shining as bright as the first time he brought you. A warm breeze blew through the trees, over the open field, and towards the Impala. Crickets play their song as the rustle of leaves hum from afar. It was a scene out of a romance novel.

A content smile found its home on your face. You didn't need to talk to feel comfortable with him and were confident he felt the same. Being in his presence alone filled you with a sense of safety. Dean has had his share of fights defending you, whether you wanted him to or not. He never gave you a reason to doubt him, and you knew deep in your soul that wouldn't change. That's why you decided tonight was the night you'd give yourself to him completely.

Tearing your gaze from the stars, you direct your admiration towards your boyfriend. Feeling your stare, he turns his undivided attention towards you. You lean forward and connect your lips with his. He doesn't waste a moment to kiss you back with just as much passion. His hand runs through your hair, sending tingling sensations across your scalp. You breathe him in, quickly accepting his tongue. He leans over your body, deepening the kiss. Eager for more, you push him back against the windshield and straddle his hips. Your ass grinds against his lap, and he pulls your hair, breaking the kiss, only to attach his mouth to your neck.

Small moans escape your peppered throat, the light breeze carrying them away. The feeling of Dean's growing member rubbing against your entrance made you apathetic toward the marks he was leaving behind. You'd happily deal with the evidence later. Your eyes squeeze shut as the friction becomes overwhelming. Shallow breaths leave your lungs as tension quickly builds in the pit of your stomach.

With one hand on the back of your head and the other at the bottom of your spine, he lays you across on the hood. He hovers over your body before continuing the actions from before. Dean harshly rubs his bulging jeans against yours, and your legs wrap around his hips to pull him closer. Your body clings to his, only encouraging him to grind harder. Desperation gets the best of you when your walls clench around nothing.

"I need you," You breathe out.

Dean stops his movements and stares into your eyes, asking, "What?"

"I need you—I want you."

"A-are you sure?" He inquires as he rises to a seated position.

"Yes, D." You sit too and reassure him. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. What better time than on our anniversary?"

He hesitates but says, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't expect—I would've planned it out if I knew you were ready. I imagined our first time—your first time—to be perfect. Not in the back seat of my car; You mean so much more than that."

"I know, but it can still be perfect."

"How?"

"Well..." You take his hand in yours, squeezing gently. "I think losing my virginity to the boy I love under the stars sounds pretty perfect to me."

"That sounds great, but the 'where' part is still an issue."

You glance around your surroundings before settling with, "Right here."

His eyebrows draw together. "On the hood?"

"Beats the backseat for my first time. And, I don't know, having sex on the hood of the Impala sounds sexier."

A dry chuckle escapes his lips as he shakes his head. "Does it now?"

"Mhm," You hum as you scoot closer.

He inhales sharply once you gently press your lips against his throat, instantly finding his sweet spot. Because your relationship hadn't gone further than second base, you both had gotten pretty good at teasing each other. You had to admit, there were a few times when you almost caved out of sheer lust. But tonight was different: you were ready. A grin plays on your lips as your other hand trails down to his tightening jeans. Groans fall from his mouth as you palm his erection and sink your teeth into his sensitive skin.

Your hand undoes his pants, and before you can slip your hand in, he lays you back down. His lips capture yours, and you quickly move in sync. You pull his shirt up, hinting you wanted it off. He complies and pulls it over his head, tossing it to the ground. As he kneels in front of you, you pull his jeans down and see his boner through the fabric of his boxers.

After discarding his pants, he reaches for yours to peel them off. As he did that, you quickly took your shirt off. You were both now in your undergarments, staring hungrily at one another. He hovers over you and kisses down your neck towards your chest. Your body goes hot, growing hornier by the second. His fingers drag the straps of your bra off your shoulders as his mouth places wet kisses on the top of your breasts. You arch your back, giving him access to unhook your bra.

The outline of his cock presses into your clit, distracting you from your unruly thoughts. His warm tongue finds your left nipple, licking it before taking it into his mouth and gently sucking. He doesn't leave the right one unoccupied for long. His fingers lightly pinch and twist your hardened nipple. You close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure his mouth, fingers, and dick are creating. The intensity of his member grinding against your clit and the stimulation of both your nipples were driving you to the edge. Suddenly, his mouth unlatches itself from you, causing you to open your eyes in confusion.

Dean's large hands run down your thighs, sending goosebumps along your skin. His fingers loop around the waistband of your underwear, and before he goes further, he silently asks if it's okay. You nod and watch as he pries your soaked panties from your body. Instinctively, you try closing your legs, feeling insecure. Flush ran throughout your entire body. You had never been this intimate with someone, and it was frightening. He detects your lack of confidence and promptly makes you feel comfortable.

"You're so beautiful." He praises. "So much better than I ever imagined."

His fingertips lightly ran over your skin as if he were afraid to hurt you. They cupped the back of your knees and gently lifted until they bent. Dean slowly kisses down your thighs, and between each peck, he compliments you. You feel your insecurity disappear the closer he gets to your most intimate area. Without wasting another moment, his face devours your pussy as if he were a starved man. You arch your back as he licks your cunt clean, skillfully working through your folds. Your eyes roll back once his nose presses against your clit. Before you knew what was happening, you came all over his tongue.

"Oh, God," you pant with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to—I didn't know I was gonna cum so fast."

Dean lifts his head from between your thighs, the area around his mouth glossy with your juice. "Don't ever apologize, you got it?" After you nod, he dips down again, slurping up every last trace of your arousal, humming, "You taste so fucking good, princess."

You tug at his hair, squirming underneath his face. His thumb finds your bundle of nerves, rubbing it in circles, making your body unexpectedly jerk. You watch as he removes his countenance and trails kisses up your body. He lays on his side next to you before tucking his arm around your shoulders. The beating of your heart quickens as he applies the right amount of pressure you didn't know your clit needed. Your hips buck upwards while a whine slips past your lips, wanting more.

His fingers travel further down, running through your glistening folds. You knew what came next, the anticipation deafening. Slowly, he slides his index finger inside you. A content sigh falls from your mouth, enjoying how his digit drives in and out of your cunt. Dean sees your pleased and lazy smile, and a smirk emerges on his lips before adding another finger. You inhale deeply, feeling the difference between one and two fingers. It doesn't take long before his thick fingers pleasure you once again.

You bite your lip to stifle your moans, not wanting to annoy your boyfriend with your uncontrollable squeals. He notices and mumbles against the side of your mouth, "Let it out, princess. I want to hear every little sound you make."

That was all you needed to hear. Dean's fingers worked faster, taking you near the edge, and your moans told him so. They grow louder with each thrust, but the moment his fingers curled, you lost it. Your hand grabbed his hair, holding on as he fingered your g-spot. The muscles in your stomach contract, and you get that feeling again; your climax begins. You close your legs, thighs wrapping around his arm, making the high intensify. His consistency doesn't falter, and his digits fuck you, only taking you higher. Once it ends, your legs fall, and he pulls his hand away.

Your chest rises and falls, trying to catch your breath. Dean brings his drenched hand to his mouth, his eyes finding yours before closing his lips around his fingers and pulling them out at an agonizingly slow pace. Fuck, you thought. Watching him suck your fluids from his digits alone could've made you cum again. Your left-hand slips into his boxers before wrapping around his erection. A small groan falls from his lips, having never been touched like this by you. Without having to see his length, you felt it was rather long. You pumped his silky soft cock a few times and felt him twitch. His previously soaked hand pulls off his remaining clothing, freeing his large member. Your eyes widen; He's much bigger than you imagined.

How was he going to fit? You wonder. He saw the worry in your eyes and ran his fingers through your hair, pushing it away from your face before kissing the tip of your nose. Dean gently grasped the hand that held him and intertwined your fingers together as he hovered over you. He nudges your knees apart, and you happily allow him between your legs. This was it. This was what you both have been waiting—what felt like anyway—an eternity for. Your mind was ready, but you weren't sure if your body was.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart," Dean reassures. "I'll go as slow as you need."

You nod, intoxicated by his affectionate attentiveness. "Okay."

His lips connect with yours, kissing your nerves away. He rubs his tip through your folds, coating it with your wetness. You break apart and angle your head to watch his cock disappear in your awaiting pussy. The pain as he stretches your walls rips through your body, forcing your eyes shut. Your face scrunches in discomfort as he pushes in further. Whines come from your mouth as he slowly bottoms out. Dean stays still, kissing your forehead as you adjust to his size.

"I know, princess, I'm sorry. I promise it'll feel better."

You nod in response. Soon, your eyes open as the pain becomes tolerable, whispering, "Okay, you can move."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Dean's eyes scan over your countenance, trying to detect any lies. When he saw none, he began to move. You inhale sharply as the pain rushes back. His hips stop their retraction, but you quickly shake your head in protest.

"Keep going," You say through gritted teeth.

Without question, he pulls back until his tip threatens to slip out. Slowly, he drives back in. You squeeze his hand and wrap the other around his shoulder as your legs cling to his torso. His lips pepper your face with kisses as he continues to thrust the discomfort away. Over the months, you've seen the womanizer everyone knew Dean as vanish. He always took care of you—physically, mentally, and emotionally. You couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend, especially right now. His effort to soothe you seemed to have worked. The pain turned to pleasure, and you ached for more.

"Faster," You murmur into his ear.

He bit his lip, trying to distract himself from spilling his cum so soon, but the way your walls squeezed around him made it nearly impossible. Dean picks up his speed, playing his own game of russian roulette. You felt his cock twitch inside you, prompting a moan and the tightening of your insides. He buries his head into your neck, attempting to postpone his climax. The pleasure began to build in your stomach, and per his earlier request, you made it known.

"Fuck, babe. If you keep it up, I'm going to cum." He groans.

You giggle, "Isn't that the point?"

He thrusts deeper, answering, "Not until you do."

A new wave of satisfaction washes over your body, making you moan louder, begging, "Harder."

Dean complies, bucking his hips into the back of your thighs. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. You untangle your hand from his and dig your nails into his back. Sure, you had daydreamed of having sex with your boyfriend hundreds of times, but you never imagined it being this mind-blowing. His member deliciously bruises your g-spot, causing pain and pleasure to fight for dominance. Sounds you never thought you could make fall from your mouth, encouraging him to quicken his pace. The Impala rocked side to side, utilizing the suspension's swaybar with each vigorous thrust.

"Fuck, Dean. Just like that, baby. Don't stop." You beg between moans.

The tension in your belly threatened to snap any second. The area just under his waist rubs against your clit, coercing your chest to arch into his. He presses you into the warm hood, keeping your squirming to a minimum. Tears flood your eyes as your immense climax approaches. Your body tenses as it braces for your last orgasm, squeezing Dean's phallus for dear life.

"Cum on my cock, princess." He urges as he fights off his own release. "I know you can do it. Mm... 'Want to feel you come undone on my dick. C'mon, sweetheart, do it for me."

His words were all you needed to fall over the edge. Except you didn't fall, you flew. Your fluids gushed on his member as you screamed into the night air. His thrusts began to falter, but he forced himself to ride you through your high. Your toes curl while your eyes roll back, your climax taking control of your body.

Unable to fight off his orgasm any longer, he hurriedly asks, "Where do you want it?"

You can barely form words as your body shakes uncontrollably. "D-d-does-n't ma-tter."

The weight of Dean's body lifts from yours as he sits back, pulling himself out and grabbing his wet member. Your eyes refocus in time to see him accidentally ejaculate on your folds. His cock twitches again, this time spraying across your upper body. A breathy groan falls from his parted lips as ropes of hot cum coat your skin. You feel his seed drip towards your entrance, daring to breed life with you. The thought of carrying his child brings a smile to your face. No, no. You're too young, you remind yourself. Can't start a family with him yet. He bends over your body and kisses your lips. He presses his softening dick against your wet folds as you kiss him back.

"As much as I love bathing in your cum, I think I wanna clean up so we can cuddle." You pant, trying to catch your breath on the way down from your high.

He chuckles against your lips before sitting up again. "I'll be right back."

Dean climbs off the Impala and opens the back door. You lay still as the fluids threaten to leak onto the hood. He shuts the door, returning with a blanket in one hand and napkins and a water bottle in the other. He sets the blanket on the windshield before hopping next to you. He wipes the mess away and uses the water to remove the stickiness left behind. Once he finished cleaning you up, he tossed the dirty napkins off the car. He lays beside you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into his bare chest, listening to the beat of his heart as he pulls the blanket around you two.

He stares at the night sky, gazing at the stars, when you confess, "I love you."

Your boyfriend kisses the top of your head, mumbling against your hair, "I love you too, sweet pea."

"Thank you for being my first."

His hand gently lifts your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "Thank you for trusting me to be your first."

Your lips curl into a smile, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

FOREVER TAGS : @jaredpadonlyyyy, @nicksalchemy1, @impala67rollingthroughtown, @nancymcl

DEAN TAGS : @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles, @angelbunny222, @niktwazny303, @criminalyetminimal, @angelicp0etry, @lucid315

SUPERNATURAL TAGS : @nikimisery, @celticma

JENSEN TAGS : @cheynovak, @deadlymistletoe, @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld, @ladysparkles78, @kindollss, @1-read-the-hobbit-in-1937

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO JAYS-BONNIE-ON-THE-SIDE

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

*beside my writing, my works include : all banners, headers, dividers, and gifs that i use (which were made by me,) unless otherwise stated.

[zaldritzosrose]

Sell Your Soul (Vampire!Aemond x Mortal!Reader x Wolf!Aegon)

Summary: The blood of Old Valyria was steeped in mysticism and magic. There was no rhyme or reason to the powers a Targaryen received. Some saw it as a curse. Others, like the brother princes, saw them as a blessing. Power beyond measure and they used it to their advantage. The mortals would send a tribute in return for protection, but what happens when both brothers covet the prize?

CW: MINORS DNI, afab reader, she/her pronouns, supernatural au, polyamory (sharing is caring), profanity, innuendo, mentions of blood/injury,, primal play, threesome (mutual participation from all parties), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, anal penetration (male receiving), multiple orgasms.

Words: 6069

No beta...let chaos ensue!

For centuries, the mortals of Westeros had paid tribute to their Valyrian rulers. Countless sent to the Red Keep to pay for the protection the silver haired immortals gave them.

There was little rhyme or reason to the supernatural abilities of a Targaryen. Some would shift their shape, some would turn into a beast on a full moon, others would eternally sate themselves on mortal blood.

Whatever they became, they were immortal.

Once every quarter, a new tribute would be sent to the Keep. It was only the two princes who now partook in the ceremony. Taking it in turns to receive a tribute every quarter.

This quarter, the turn belonged to Prince Aemond.

The One-Eyed Prince had long since mastered his thirst for mortal blood. Usually sating himself on a planned hunt or on the battlefield.  But his favourite time of the year was his tribute months. Knowing he would have a subservient mortal to bend to his will?

He enjoyed nothing more.

Prince Aegon on the other hand, let the beast within control everything he was. He had succumbed to his nature so deeply that he could shift his form on a whim. A true connection between man and beast. The amber in his eyes a constant reminder of his true being.

Their father had long rescinded his claim, living out his immortality on the Targaryen’s ancestral seat of Dragonstone. The once King Viserys was joined by his eldest daughter and her family, who like Viserys, had chosen to remove themselves from royal life.

Their sister, Helaena, had returned to Oldtown with their mother. Birthing Targaryens had lengthened Alicent’s life substantially, but neither enjoyed immortality as the brothers did.

You were of a Noble House. Not as grand as the likes of the Baratheons or Lannisters or as ingrained into Westerosi history as the Starks. But your family were known well enough.

The tributes were chosen at random. Though no one knew the true details of the selection process. Only that a letter, sealed with a red dragon, would appear by raven at the door of the one chosen.

This quarter, the letter arrived at your family’s door.

The preparation for your journey to the Red Keep was intensive and felt wildly unnecessary.

The luxurious bath filled with petals and oils, permeating your skin and your senses. The gown that had been designed and made solely for the event. A silken dress of sapphire blue, golds and black. The colours not of House Targaryen, but of Prince Aemond.

You were to belong to him, to his House. Not you.

You were no longer your own person. You were to be owned. To serve Prince Aemond’s wishes, whatever they may be.

So, into the carriage you went. With a singular chest of your more precious belongings. The books you had kept since you were a child, a favoured shawl for when the night’s cooled. Your father had been assured, within the letter, that everything else would be provided for.

Your life was soon to change forever. Little did you know just how much.

The throne room was opened in preparation for the tribute’s arrival. Aemond had ensured he’d hunted the night before, keeping his thirst at bay for the new arrival.

The Iron Throne was shared between the brothers now. When Aegon chose to take his lupine form, Aemond would sit the throne. When Aemond was out hunting, usually for up to a week, Aegon would take charge.

The younger prince sat comfortably on the throne. His posture the perfect mix between relaxed and upright. Fingers tapping against the iron blades beneath his arm.

Waiting.

The heavy doors to the hall soon opened, two guards flanking a young woman. The only movement from the prince was a straighter back as he waited for the mortal tribute to be brought to him.

“Your tribute, my prince,” one of the guards urged you forward with a firm push.

You immediately dropped to a curtsy. You had heard the stories of the princes. Prince Aemond was the fiercer of the pair in his brutality and blood lust. Whereas Prince Aegon was every bit the animal, frivolous and lustful in his demeanour.

He held out his hand in silence, waiting for you to take it.

And take it you did.

His skin was like ice. Soft yet cold, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling.

“My lady,” Aemond purred, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.

But his lips lingered, the tip of his nose now pushed into your floral scented skin. It wrinkled slightly at the scent, but he continued on whatever path he had planned. Tracing down to your wrist until he could nestle again your vein.

You felt him inhale deeply, the low grumble of satisfaction within his chest should have put you edge.

“You smell delightful.”

Aemond said the words with no more gravitas than if he was complimenting your gown or the weather. Goosebumps rose on your arms as he pressed another kiss to the veins on your wrist.

“Thank you, my prince.” Was all you could manage, your voice barely a whisper but he heard you well enough.

Delightful wasn’t a good enough word, Aemond thought.

You smelled divine.

Aegon had heard the carriage arrive, watched as the guards led you into the Keep. You were beautiful. A small growl of frustration had left him when he remembered you weren’t to be his to claim this time.

But he had followed. Slipped behind the pillars of the throne room as you entered. Amber eyes able to see better in the low light that his brother preferred.

And he watched.

Watched you walk to stand at Aemond’s feet. Watched as you curtsied before the younger prince. And watched as Aemond sated himself with your scent.

A scent he could smell from here. So sweet. The mix of floral oils and the blood that ran in your veins. You smelled more delicious than any mortal he had smelled in a long time.

And yet fate had not brought you to his feet.

But he wanted you, nonetheless. Aemond could never treat you as you should be treated. Use you as you should be used.

No. You needed a beast.

The chambers were grander than anything you had ever slept in before. You wagered they were grander than your entire family home.

Plush bedding in deep purples and blues. A heavy four poster bed in a deep mahogany, carved with what looked like dragon wings.

One wall was filled with shelves crammed full of books. Histories, poetry, romance and everything between.

The opposite side had a large vanity, perfumes and oils placed neatly on the dark wood. A door to the side showed you a balcony, though the prince made you promise to keep the heavy drapes closed if he entered the room.

Aemond leaned against the door frame, watching you inspect every inch of the chamber with fascination. He couldn’t count how many mortals had taken to this chamber before you. His brother had his own in his corridor of the keep for the same purpose. But he would never tell you as such.

He had learned long ago, mortals found fascination in the most pedestrian of things. And to have you happy, would only make you taste sweeter.

“Thank you, my prince. I have never seen a room so beautiful.”

Aemond smiled, the sharp tips of his fangs grazing his lip. He walked towards you, his back straight and his steps slow.

“I am glad. These are to be your chambers for your time here. Do with them as you please, but always be ready should I call.”

You nodded. The terms seemed simple enough. You were to serve the prince however he pleased. Be it to fuck or to feed.

You were his now.

Aegon could smell it. The sweet scent of the bath the servants had drawn for you.

Of course you were to be bathed. Aemond enjoyed his meals when they were fresh and warm. A hot bath would only warm your blood and calm your nerves.

But the smell was like a torment.

Reminding him over and over that you were not his.

He had never felt like this during one of Aemond’s quarters before. None of the other tributes in those times had ever entranced him as you did.

And Aemond knew. Aegon could tell.

The way his brother’s nose twitched in the throne room; it wasn’t in reaction to your perfumes. It was in reaction to him. The musky scent of a wolf had not always been a scent Aemond enjoyed.

Aemond had known he was in the throne room. His brother was intelligent, perceptive. He’d have known exactly why Aegon was there.

Which would only make what he planned all that more satisfying.

Morning came and a tray of food had been left on the small table at the foot of your bed. You settled on to the couch to eat before noticing the small scroll next to your pot of tea.

The daylight hours are yours to do with as you please. All I ask is that you do not leave the Keep walls, that way I know you are safe and well.

I will send a servant for you when the night comes. Every night, you will come to my chambers. Clothes will be left for you every morning. Your meals will be delivered to your chambers, or wherever you would prefer to eat.

Anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.

Aemond.

You read the note twice more. Committing every word to memory. You knew there would be rules, but you had not expected as much freedom as you were apparently being offered.

“I can go as I please…?” you mumbled to yourself.

The rules made sense, of course. You were a payment to the Prince; it was understandable he would not want you to venture far. The intricacies of what you would do in his chambers remained a curiosity. You had asked the Maester in your family home about the Targaryens. More specifically about those of a vampiric nature.

It was known before the letter arrived who the tribute would go to. So, when it arrived at your door, you immediately demanded everything the Maester knew.

No sunlight for Prince Aemond.

No silver for Prince Aegon.

Prince Aemond would sustain himself on mortal blood, though animal would suffice if he was desperate.

Prince Aegon would shift with the turn of the moon, becoming more beast than man.

The Maester had made sure you knew everything; despite your reminder you were serving only Prince Aemond. But the Maester had heard the stories. Both brothers were vicious in their own right. He wanted you to be well prepared.

You finished your breakfast and moved to get tread for the day. As the note had promised, clothes had filled your wardrobe. A variety of gowns in all manner of fabric and colour. Though there was one consistency you noticed. Every single one was a lower neckline than you were accustomed to.

Though when you thought on it, it made sense. As a vampire, Prince Aemond would need…access…to your throat. You assumed that was the main service you would provide anyway.

You chose a lighter gown, having felt the warmth of the sun coming through the drapes. Your plan for today was simply to explore the Keep. Learn your surroundings.

Though you would soon come to find you were not the only one on the prowl.

Aegon followed you everywhere during the day, though for the first week or so you never managed to see him. You simply always had the feeling you were being followed. The hairs on the back of your neck would stand on edge. You were sure you could always hear footsteps shadowing yours.

But he always remained out of sight.

You would see him when he allowed it. When he would pass you after dinner, or when you chose to walk the gardens.

But you knew it was him that stalked your every move.

Some nights, you were sure you would see his amber eyes in the shadows.

Aemond, on the other hand, was a curious man. You could never tell if he disliked your presence or craved it. But you had fallen into a comfortable routine.

As soon as the sun set, you would eat your last meal, bathe and walk to Aemond’s chambers. He preferred you dressed simply, not wanting to risk blood stains on one of your more lavish gowns.

You usually sat in his lap, or between his outstretched legs on the bed. His fangs sunk into your neck or wrist.

In the times he took you to bed, which were becoming far more common, he would feed from the flesh of your thighs. Alternating between drinking the blood in your veins and lapping at the slick between your folds.

If your blood wasn’t his means to survive, he’d say your cunt was his most delicious meal.

A month had passed. Aemond was more enamoured with you by the day. He had drained the last tribute long before a month. But you were different. He enjoyed your company more than he anticipated.

But then there was Aegon.

Time and time again, his elder brother would come asking for one night with you. For Aemond to share you, just temporarily. And tonight was another of those times.

“One night, brother, you can surely spare her for one night?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to share you to spite his brother. Well, that’s what Aemond would tell himself. No, it was to make a point.

They had agreed to take a turn every quarter. Those four months, the new tribute belonged to the chosen brother and him alone.

Changing that now would surely tear down the routine they lived by?

“As I have told you countless times, brother…No.” Aemond said tiredly, this was the second time they’d had this conversation this week.

“Your time for a tribute will come soon enough. You need to exercise patience.”

All that earned Aemond was a rough growl. Amber eyes flashing with rage as the elder prince realised he wouldn’t get his way.

“A deal then.”

It wasn’t a question, or at least Aegon didn’t post it as one.

“What?” Aemond asked simply, returning his attention to the books in his lap.

You would arrive soon, and he wanted Aegon gone by then.

“A deal. A game of sorts.”

Aemond sighed. Whatever it was would be guaranteed to be ridiculous.

“I have no time for jests, Aegon.”

Aegon however, was taking this seriously. Grabbing the book from Aemond and throwing across the room.

“It is not a jest!”

Aemond rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was like Aegon was on fire. The entire energy of his body bubbling to the surface. The look in his eyes told Aemond he was truly serious.

“Alright, I’ll indulge your nonsense. What game are you suggesting?”

Aegon sat in front of him, lounging in the armchair in contrast to how Aemond sat perfectly straight backed.

“A hunt. Not to kill as we usually would, but to claim her as a prize. Whoever catches her first is the one she belongs to.”

Silence settled between them while Aemond considered what his brother was saying. If he lost, he would lose you. He wasn’t truly sure if he wanted to risk that. And how would you take being competed over?

“One condition. We tell her. I will not allow her to be caught off guard by it all. She has been a loyal and obedient tribute; she deserves as such.” Aemond finally said, his voice low and calm.

Aegon huffed a little, but he knew agreeing was his only option. His brother was quite possessive of his tributes but treated them far kinder than Aegon.

“A fair compromise. We are agreed then?”

The elder prince held out his hand, as though they were agreeing to something far more pedestrian than the life of a mortal. Aemond took it, one shake sealing their agreement.

And with that, Aegon made to leave the room.

“May the best brother win.”

You came to Aemond’s chambers at the same time as you had every night you had been here. Dressed in a soft white gown, one of his favourites. Hair flowing in sync with your gown in the breeze coming through Aemond’s window.

The prince preferred his room on the cooler side but would always light a fire if you requested it.

Usually, he was either reading by the unlit fire or lounging on his bed. But the air in the room felt tense as you entered. Aemond stood eerily still by the balcony in his room, moonlight illuminating his lean silhouette.

“My prince?”

Aemond turned slowly, singular gaze softening a little as he looked at you.

“Sweet one. Would you like the fire lit?”

The small goosebumps on your arms gave the answer before your words could. Aemond moved quickly, it was rare for him to allow servants to enter the room once you joined him for the night.

The fire soon roared to life. Your body naturally being drawn to the warmth. Aemond followed, holding his hands out to temper some of his body’s coldness. All for you, of course.

“Thank you, my prince.”

He sat in his armchair, beckoning you to sit in his lap. You had no hesitation, legs both slung across him, your back against the arm of the chair. His arm around your waist and his lips immediately at your neck.

Aemond had every intention of one last feed before he proposed Aegon’s game. Your blood was only second to your company in the things he would miss should he lose.

But even without words, you could tell something was wrong. Even in a month, you could sense a tenseness in how he held you. His hand a little too tight on your waist.

“Is something the matter, my prince?”

You could feel him freeze; teeth just pierced into your throat. He pulled back, laving his tongue over the bite mark before sighing.

“Yes, my dearest. Tis not something I had ever hoped to have to speak on.”

You remained silent. Knowing he would tell you in his own time.

His head rested against the back of the chair. A low hum left his lips as though deciding how to formulate his next sentences.

“My brother…” Aemond started, fingers tightening and loosening on your waist.

“He has proposed something, regarding you.”

The mention of Aegon made you squirm, for reasons you didn’t fully understand. Both brothers were handsome. Aemond in an ethereal, almost demonic way. Aegon in a primal, animalistic way.

Deep down, you knew you wouldn’t dislike being owned by either Targaryen prince.

“Me? What does your brother wish with me?”

You weren’t entirely foolish. You had seen the way Aegon would look at you as he passed. Watching you as you walked the gardens, he was able to stand the sun unlike Aemond. He only ever watched. Spoke if you spoke to him. But his eyes betrayed everything.

Looking at you as one would look at a fine jewel or a decadent meal.

As though he wished to capture and devour.

At first, it had made you uncomfortable. Made you wither under his gaze. But now…now you found yourself seeking it out. Wondering what his touch would be like. Warmer than Aemond’s, most likely. Rougher even, an untamed animal.

Aemond’s nose again the shell of your ear brought you back to your senses.

“He asked me for a deal. He covets you, sweet one.”

Aemond should have been against it. Upset, frustrated, angry. Yet he wasn’t. He had seen how Aegon looked at you. His brother had no shortage of lovers at his beck and call. Walking in daylight allowed far more freedoms.

So for Aegon to covet what belonged to Aemond, it was not something to trifle with.

Your silence prompted him to continue.

“He wishes to compete for you. For us to chase you down and claim you as a prize.”

It shouldn’t have sent heat rushing down to your belly. It shouldn’t have made your cheeks flush. It shouldn’t have made your core twitch with need.

Aemond could smell it. Though in his pride, he believed it was only in response to him.

“And you are telling me because…?”

Aemond inhaled a breath he did not need.

“Because I wish for you to be fully aware…to not be taken by surprise or be taken advantage of.”

You gave your prince a small smile. You knew this was out of possessiveness not love, but it made your heart swell. Your pulse beat just a little faster.

“Do you want to make the deal?”

Aemond pressed a kiss to your pulse.

“I do. Aegon is not one to covet often. To ask such a thing…”

You turned your head. Daring to press a kiss to his forever pouted lips. Aemond smirked, tugging you in deeper.

“Then hunt me, my prince.”

The time was set. The Kingswood would be the setting. At night, of course. Not close to a full moon so as not to truly risk your life. Everything was designed so that you would be safe, and the competition would be fair.

Your gown was both practical and beautiful. Flowing out in layers of chiffon and silk. Shades of white and soft blues and lilacs. You almost glowed in the moonlight as you and the princes waited at the boundary of the woods. You were more than thankful the night was a warm one.

The brothers talked between them, too low for you to hear. You simply waited.

Soon, both were at your sides.

“Run as fast as you can, sweet one.” Aemond said softly, twirling a lock of your hair in his fingers.

“We will give you a head start.” Aegon chuckled, his chest just close enough to your back that you could feel the heat of him.

You nodded. Bustling your skirts to make running easier. And with that, you ran.

As fast as you were physically able.

You were deep in the Kingswood by the time you heard the cracking of twigs. You knew it was purposeful. Both princes were too well skilled in the hunt to give away their position.

It was a taunt. Something to get your body pumping with adrenaline.

And it worked.

Your heart beat faster. Your legs burned with the speed you ran. But it was exhilarating. The longer you ran, the more you realised you had little concern for which prince caught you. The idea was what kept you running.

One would catch you.

The question was simply…which.

They could hear you, smell you. The sweat on your skin, the blood in your veins. The cracking of the twigs and leaves beneath your feet.

And they could hear each other.

Aemond could hear Aegon’s growls. The gnashing of his teeth as he lost himself to the hunt. He could even smell the change, his brother’s scent turning more and more lupine as he closed in on you.

Aegon could hear Aemond. His heavy, purposeful steps as he ran. A sound impossible to hear for mortals. But Aegon would know his brother’s steps anywhere.

Aegon found you first. Saw you at least. Just ahead, dress billowing in the breeze. You were like something from a fairytale. A princess lost in the woods.

Two monsters hunting her down.

“I can smell you, pretty girl.” Aegon called out, his voice rough and low but echoing through the trees, nonetheless.

You passed by a tree, claw marks imbedded that could only come from someone moving upon two legs.

Aegon. It had to be. So where was Aemond?

Your question was answered when you saw a flash of silver pass ahead of you. Faster than anything you had ever seen. You could hear Aegon, howling out your name behind you.

Ahead must be Aemond.

You trapped between the brothers. And the idea sent fire through your veins.

But you were tiring. A mortal could only run for so long. Your legs gave out in the centre of the Kingswood, grasping on to a nearby tree before you hit the ground.

And then you felt him. The warm, rough hands of the wolfish prince.

“Caught you…”

His arms were around your waist, inches from the ground. His chest pressed hard into your back. His lips on your shoulder.

“Not so fast, brother.”

Aemond’s voice was like silk, appearing from behind the tree you clung to only moments before. Finding you at almost the same moment.

“It appears we found her at the same time.” Aegon grumbled, his arms almost painful around your waist.

You could feel the argument brewing. The tense air between siblings.

“My princes…”

Your soft voice made them stop immediately. Curiosity in both of their eyes.

“You both found me. You both win.”

Rules were technically rules. Whoever found you first, claimed you as a prize. And they had both found you.

“You may both claim your prize.”

You couldn’t remember how you got back to the Keep, just that you had arrived their quickly.

They brought you to your chambers. Neutral ground you imagined.

You were laid flat on your bed, the white fabric of your gown splayed out around you. Both brothers on either side of you.

Your mind muddled with the feeling of their hands tugging at your dress. Taking layer after layer from your body until you were entirely bare. Their own clothes soon followed, warmth on one side and cold on the other.

Your two monstrous princes.

“Such a beautiful prize, brother…” Aegon growled into your neck, lips ghosting over your skin.

Aemond’s hands were everywhere. He delighted in the gooseflesh that followed his icy hands. Aegon’s warm lips soothed the cool touch, following the path his younger brother took.

They were in perfect synchronisation. Hands moving over every bare inch of your body. Lips claiming your skin with forceful kisses.

“A delicious one too.” Aemond hummed, lips finding the swell of your breast. Taking your soft bud between his lips, teasing you.

Aegon’s hands hand delved between your thighs. Rough fingertips finding you already wet and waiting.

“Her blood or her cunt? I assume you have dined on both?”

Aemond chuckled, tugging at your closest thigh as Aegon shifted down your body. You barely sighed out a moan before Aegon’s mouth latched onto your pearl.

He was just as you pictured. Feral. Animalistic.

Aemond preferred to take his time. Tease. Tempt.

Aegon devoured you. He had your back arching almost immediately.

The younger prince remained latched to your breast. His third favourite part of your body, he’d told you. Your blood, your cunt, your breasts. You should have taken offence, but the way he touched and fed was nothing short of euphoric.

Aemond held your legs wide. Gaze flicking from his brother’s head nestled between them, to your face. Eyes closed in pleasure as you began to moan out Aegon’s name.

It wasn’t long before you were spilling on Aegon’s tongue. The elder growling into your skins as he finally tasted you. He shoved Aemond’s hands away. Wrapping his arms around your thighs and keeping you pressed against his face.

One peak became two. Coating his tongue with your pleasure with a scream of his name.

“Aegon…” you sighed, vainly pushing Aegon’s head away.

Aemond’s lips were at your neck. Kissing all the places that would make your body shiver.

“I told you, brother. Delicious.”

Aegon growled a reply. The amber in his eyes seemed brighter, boring into you as he crawled up your body. You half expected his lips to find yours…

But they found Aemond’s. The younger groaned into his brother’s mouth, the fierce kiss a clash of fangs and tongues.

The taste of your slick on Aegon’s tongue, mixed with his brother’s own distinct flavour had Aemond’s length twitching against your side. His hand tangled into Aegon’s shaggy locks, tugging him closer.

And the sight had your cunt pulsing around nothing. You didn’t mind being momentarily ignored, the embrace before you was enough to keep your body thrumming.

But they didn’t ignore you for long.

Aemond’s free hand roamed freely over your stomach, lower and lower until his fingertips teased over your mound. Aegon’s hips remained settled between your thighs, and Aemond wasted no time in simultaneously touching you both. His fingers nestled between your folds as his knuckles brushed against Aegon’s cock as he slowly ground himself against you.

The longer Aemond touched, the more you and Aegon both moved. Seeking out his hand in any way you could. And at the same time, grinding against each other. It was like a rhythm, all three of you falling into synchronisation in pursuit of pleasure.

Aegon’s lips remained near Aemond’s, chasing his kiss again and again as his length rubbed faster against your core.

Your own hands found their way on to Aemond’s body. Up his thigh and across his waist to his back. If there was one thing Aemond had asked you when he first bed you, it was to touch him. Any way you saw fit, just touch him. Dig your nails into his shoulders, tangle your hands into his hair, he didn’t care as long as he was touched.

It soon turned out that Aegon was much and the same.

The elder prince’s lips left Aemond’s and found yours. Aemond’s hand sandwiched between you both as Aegon leaned forward to kiss you. You could almost taste Aemond on his tongue.

“Do you want us both, pretty girl?” Aegon asked, his lips moving from yours down to your jaw and neck.

Aemond continued to slide his fingers between your folds. Parting them just enough for the length of Aegon’s cock to rub between them.

You could barely speak, on the verge of overstimulation and they’d done hardly anything to you really.

“Answer my brother, sweet one.” Aemond whispered, pressing his fingers against your pearl to earn a shocked moan from your lips.

“Yes. Yes…please…”

The question was pointless in truth. It was abundantly clear you desired them both, but the princes were never shy of seeking a boost to their ego.

And the look they shared was almost as though they were communicating in a way you’d never quite understand.

Aemond slipped from the bed, his absence making you whine just a little. But you just missed the small smile he gave at the sound.

“I’ve had her quite a few times this past month, brother. What say…you fuck her first?”

You tried to stifle the flush to your skin, the way your legs clenched together for some relief at the thought.

But only Aegon truly understood Aemond’s plan.

“You are too kind,” Aegon grinned, turning back to you and swiping two fingers through your slick.

His hand then moved to his length, using your juices as lubrication as he pumped himself a few times before lining up at your entrance.

You should have questioned what Aemond would be doing, but the slow slide of Aegon’s cock between your folds was far too much of a distraction. Your back arched from the bed immediately, hands grasping at Aegon’s shoulders.

Your eyes fluttered closed, focusing only on the feeling of Aegon’s length pushing in and out at a torturously slow pace. It was almost as though he was waiting for something.

Aemond had already found the small vial of all, similar vials stashed everywhere in the Keep – should the brothers ever need them. Long fingers slick as they circled Aegon’s hole, free hand pushing his plump cheeks apart.

Aegon’s rhythm faltered momentarily at the feeling, stuttering as Aemond pushed his fingers deeper and deeper. It never took much really, centuries of being each other’s source of pleasure had kept them both forever ready.

The elder’s hips slowly matched Aemond’s rhythm, the push of his hand urging Aegon’s hips to move faster.

So, when Aemond positioned the head of his cock at Aegon’s puckered hole, all the wolf prince did was lean a little further forward. The new angle pushing his cock deeper into your cunt.

The brothers soon sank into a rhythm. Aegon allowing the rough push of Aemond’s hips to determine the thrusts he made into you. Their rhythm bordered on punishing and all you could do was pant and moan out some garbled combination of their names.

Your body jolted with every combined thrust. Aegon’s head buried between your breasts, your hands tugging at his hair every time he hit deeper and deeper.

Aemond’s hands were tight on Aegon’s waist. Restraining himself from the urge to use his full strength solely for your benefit. But that didn’t stop the bed slamming into the wall with their combined vigour.

You could Aemond whispering to Aegon, but it was too low for you to properly hear except for the last few words.

“Fuck her harder. Bite her. She’ll like it.”

Aegon growled into your chest, his lips already latched onto the valley between your breasts. But now, his teeth joined. Grazing your skin just to tease.

“Harder, Aegon. Leave a mark. Can you not see mine own on her skin?”

Aemond’s marks littered your body. From where he drank to where he simply latched on as he fucked you. Soft crescents a shade or two lighter than your skin. Aegon could see them well enough.

He started slow. Thrusting deep in unison with Aemond as he sunk his teeth into your breast. His bite was harsher than Aemond’s, but pleasurable all the same. The sting soon gave away as he suckled the blood he drew.

When he’d had his fill, not needing the sustenance in the same way Aemond did, he leaned back to tangle in yet another kiss with his brother.

The blood on his tongue made Aemond growl into his mouth, taking whatever was left to remind himself just how delicious a morsel you were.

Their hips continued to thrust into you, body arching as your release overcame you before you could think. Slick coating Aegon’s cock, milking him for all he was worth. He still inside you, letting Aemond control the rhythm.

The pace was almost painful, Aegon’s cock spearing you wide open in response to Aemond’s hips. The younger prince’s cock bullying at Aegon’s prostate until he spilled inside you with growl.

Aemond followed, sinking his teeth into Aegon’s shoulder as he filled his hole completely. His seed dripping down his brother’s thighs.

Your body was past spent. Exhaustion overtaking even before Aegon pulled himself from your depths. He moved to clean himself up, whilst Aemond came to your side.

“Do you think you could me one more, darling?” Aemond purred into your ear, slipping between your thighs.

You sighed out in agreement as Aemond rolled his hips against you. Hardening already and reminding you of his stamina.

It didn’t take much, his cock sliding in easily and beginning a soft rhythm. Aemond wasn’t about to leave himself without the feel of your silken walls.

Aegon watched from the side, fully cleaned and still bare. He lounged on an armchair. Simply watching.

Aemond rut into you slowly, urging you into a wakened slumber with his tenderness. You came for him with a whimper, his lips on your neck. Just like he always would. Letting you fall to sleep still buried inside you. As close as you could be. His seed pulsing into your cavern now.

When you finally relaxed, eyes barely opened, Aemond pulled away. Taking the cloth from Aegon he cleaned your skin of both of their spends. Aegon slipped into the bed at your opposite side.

Both brothers nestled against your now sleeping form.

“We keep her.” Aegon offered, sliding an arm around your waist to join Aemond’s.

Their fingers interlaced over your stomach, relaxing to the sound and feel of your breathing.

The idea was something they had never considered. To share a lover, to keep a mortal together for the first time.

Aemond hummed his agreement.

You would be theirs. Theirs to love. Theirs to own. Theirs to devour at will.

You had sold your soul, and they would cherish it.

Aegon/Aemond taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @sylasthegrim

@aemondsbabe @kaelatargaryen @thought--bubble

@towriteloveontheirarms @anjelicawrites @multyfangirl

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @khaleesihel

@arcielee @tumblin-theworldaway @aemondsbabygirl

@hoosbandewan @mysticalendings @arcielee

If you want to be added or removed, let me know!

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!

Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.

But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.

You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.

Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!

Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.

You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.

You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.

The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.

Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.

Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.

Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.

Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.

You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.

The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.

Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.

“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”

Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.

You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.

Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.

An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.

Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.

You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.

Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.

The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.

Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.

Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.

Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—

Hemlock

A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.

You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.

With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.

While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.

You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.

The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.

You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.

On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.

It is a book.

A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.

Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.

You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.

Do not open it.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

Do not look inside.

These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…

Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.

It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.

It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.

But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.

Do not open it.

You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.

But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.

In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.

“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”

But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.

Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.

You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—

“What do we have here?”

The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.

You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.

But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.

When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.

He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.

He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.

The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.

He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.

He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.

And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.

Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?

Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.

But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?

You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”

The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.

“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.

He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.

He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.

This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.

Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.

But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.

“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”

You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.

“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.

A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.

“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.

The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.

“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.

His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.

“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”

Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.

“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”

“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.

“I would not steal.”

“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”

You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.

“I was invited.”

You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.

“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.

The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”

You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.

You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—

The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.

“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.

The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—

The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.

“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”

Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.

“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”

“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”

The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.

“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”

Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.

“Lies.”

Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”

“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”

“No.”

“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.

“Give it—”

“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”

“To you…”

“An offering, little angel.”

The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.

“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”

The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.

The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.

“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”

But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.

“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?

You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”

“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.

You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.

Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”

You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?

“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”

The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.

“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”

You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”

The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”

You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”

“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”

You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.

“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.

“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”

The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.

“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”

He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.

“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”

A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.

“Even so…I cannot leave?”

He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.

“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”

Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.

“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.

The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.

“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”

You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.

You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.

“Anything?”

He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.

“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.

The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”

You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.

“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.

When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.

From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.

“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”

Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.

Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.

He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.

“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”

You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.

“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”

“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”

The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”

Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.

“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.

“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”

Power.

A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.

The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.

Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.

“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.

“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”

You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.

“Freedom to roam where you wish.”

Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.

His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.

Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.

He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.

“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”

His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.

“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”

His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.

“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”

“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.

“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”

His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”

You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”

“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”

The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.

All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.

Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.

For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…

“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.

His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”

Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”

You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.

The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.

He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.

What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.

Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.

He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.

A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.

His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.

“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”

He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.

He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.

You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.

You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.

“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.

You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.

With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.

“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.

His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.

Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.

He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.

“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”

All of you?

You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.

He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.

He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.

He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.

You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.

As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.”

The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.

The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.

He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.

The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.

One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.

“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.

You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.

The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.

The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.

“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.

You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.

“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”

“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—

The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.

He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.

He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.

What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.

The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.

You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.

“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”

“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”

His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”

You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.

“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”

You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.

“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”

Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.

The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.

Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.

“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” he groans.

“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.

“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”

You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.

“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”

His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.

The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.

“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”

His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.

“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.

All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.

You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.

You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.

Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”

“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”

Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.

“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.

His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.

He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.

He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.

He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.

You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.

He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.

Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.

He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.

The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.

Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.

He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.

Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.

With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.

Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.

The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.

As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.

It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!

[beastking-golion]

Collection of some supernatural doodles I’ve done. You can see I was working out their dog designs considering the inconsistency lol (also ft lil bird cas and hawk jack)

[seongwars]

forget me not | i

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.4K Warnings: smoking, swearing, hurt/no comfort

Fic Masterlist

a/n: the long awaited first chapter of my Yunho mini series I've been struggling with is finally here (and yes I was inspired by xxxholic)

Jeong Yunho considered himself to be lucky. 

He had a successful career in investment banking at KQ Bank, where his strategic acumen and relentless work ethic had earned him respect and a solid reputation among his peers and leadership. 

His social life was equally fulfilling; he mingled with influential figures in his field, enjoyed lively gatherings, and maintained a close circle of friends who valued his thoughtfulness and charisma. 

And he was set to marry the love of his life–Haewon. Their engagement was the kind of story people loved to hear, a testament to their enduring love and shared journey from pulling all-nighters at the library to the challenges of real adulthood. 

To those around them, their union seemed like a fairytale—a perfect blend of romance and stability that they had carefully cultivated over the years. Friends and family often remarked on how well-suited they were for each other, their complementary personalities creating a harmonious balance. 

Yet, despite the joy and excitement that should have accompanied the impending nuptials, Yunho couldn’t shake the sensation in his gut that something was amiss. There was a persistent unease that clung to him, a whisper in the back of his mind that the world wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. 

The stark contrast between his inner turmoil and the outward celebration became even more apparent as he stepped into the vibrant atmosphere of his engagement party. The event was in full swing, alive with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Soft lights twinkled around the cozy restaurant, casting a warm glow over the guests who mingled and celebrated the joyous occasion.

Despite the festive atmosphere, Yunho found himself at odds with his fiancée. As he wove through the crowd, exchanging polite smiles and nods, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest. He scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on Haewon. There she was, surrounded by her friends, her laughter ringing out above the din. She looked radiant, her face flushed with happiness, but Yunho couldn’t help but notice the almost empty glass of champagne in her hand. Again. 

He made his way over to her, his steps slow and deliberate. As he approached, Haewon turned and saw him, her smile widening. 

“Babe! Come join us!” she slurred, her voice bright and cheerful despite her flushed state. Her friends echoed her invitation, their faces glowing with the effects of the evening’s festivities.

Yunho forced a smile, trying to mask his concern. “Hey,” he greeted, slipping an arm around Haewon’s waist. “Having a good time?”

Haewon leaned into him, her balance slightly off. “The best time!” she exclaimed, her words blending together. She raised her nearly empty glass in a toast, her eyes sparkling with the effects of the alcohol. “To us!” she cheered, and her friends joined in, raising their glasses and laughing.

Yunho’s smile wavered as he felt the weight of Haewon against him. He could smell the sharp scent of champagne on her breath, and it only deepened his worry. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but tinged with concern. “Maybe it’s time for some water, yeah?”

Haewon pouted, her expression turning petulant. “Okay, fun police,” she chided, her tone playful but with an edge of irritation. “I’m fine. Just having fun with my friends.”

One of Haewon’s friends, Sungjae, sensing Yunho’s irritation, threw an arm around him and grinned. “Come on, Yunho, let her enjoy the night. It’s a celebration, after all!” he said, a hint of condescension in his tone.

Yunho forced a tight smile, feeling the weight of Sungjae’s arm on his shoulders. “I know,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

Sungjae chuckled, giving Yunho a light squeeze. “She’s fine, man. It’s just one night. Let loose a little,” he said, his words slurring slightly. “You’re always so serious.”

“Yeah babe,” Haewon added, “Loosen up a little. Why do you care so much about what these people think?”

Yunho’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, not wanting to cause a scene. He could feel the eyes of their friends and family on them, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions.

“It’s not about what they think,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “It’s about us. I want to celebrate with you, not just stand on the sidelines while you’re with your friends.”

Haewon rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. “So now I’m not allowed to have fun with my friends? Is that it? I thought we were having a party, not a private event just for the two of us.” She set down her champagne flute with a sharp clink, her irritation evident.

Yunho’s face fell at her sharp words, the frustration in her tone piercing through him. He took another deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “That’s not what I’m saying. Look, we should take this outside. I don’t want us fighting in front of everyone.”

Haewon, visibly drunk, glared at Yunho with frustration. “You know what? Maybe you should’ve been more clear about what you wanted from this party,” she snapped, her voice rising. “I’m here, I’m celebrating with everyone. Now you’re just making me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

Yunho’s shoulders sagged, frustration clouding his features as partygoers began turning their attention towards the couple. “It’s not about doing something wrong. I just wanted us to share this moment together, not have me feel like a spectator at my own engagement party.”

“This is ridiculous. I’m not going to change how I enjoy myself just because you’re having a problem with it,” she retorted, turning on her heel. Sungjae followed her out as she stormed towards the exit.

“You’re always trying to play the role of the perfect fiancé, but it’s never about what I want or how I feel,” Haewon continued, her voice echoing through the hall. “Maybe if you stopped worrying so much about everyone else and focused on what really matters, you’d see that I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

Yunho’s heart sank at her words, the warmth and joy of the engagement party now feeling hollow. The lively chatter and music of the party seemed to blur into background noise as Yunho stood alone, grappling with the weight of her accusations and the growing distance between them.

Yunho Age 20

It was the spring semester of his first year of university. You had invited him over to your dorm to study together, and he was eager to catch up with you. As he approached your room, he could hear the faint sound of music and laughter from inside.

He knocked on the door, and it swung open to reveal a lively scene. You were sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and notes, while a girl with a bright smile and sparkling eyes was dancing around the room, her energy infectious.

You looked up from your study materials, your expression shifting from concentration to playful mischief. With a grin, you held up a hand and called out, “What’s the password?”

The question was delivered with a familiar teasing tone, and Yunho’s eyes twinkled with recognition. He didn’t miss a beat. “Spidey Swings,” he answered, his voice filled with the kind of nostalgia that came from years of shared jokes and childhood memories.

“Fine, I guess you can come in.” 

Yunho stepped inside, the warmth of the room and the familiarity of the password bringing a comforting sense of home. The girl, still smiling, gave him a friendly wave before resuming her lively routine. You patted the space next to you, inviting him to sit down amidst the scattered notes and textbooks.

“This is my roommate, Haewon,” you added. Haewon turned to face him, her smile widening. 

“Hi, Yunho! Nice to meet you,” she greeted with a small bow. “Sorry for the mess, we were just taking a break from studying.”

Yunho shook her hand, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her vibrant presence. “Nice to meet you too,” he replied, stepping inside and setting his bag down. “I brought some snacks. Thought we might need them.”

“Perfect timing!” Haewon exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We were just about to take a snack break!”

The three of you spent the evening studying, chatting, and laughing. Haewon’s lively personality added a new dynamic to the group, and Yunho found himself enjoying her company. She had a way of making everyone feel included and at ease, and it wasn’t long before Yunho felt like he had known her for years.

Yunho watched as Haewon discussed her passions—her enthusiasm for art, her love for literature, and her drive to make a difference in the world. There was a fire in her eyes, a passion that lit up the room and captivated Yunho. She spoke with an earnestness that was both refreshing and inspiring, weaving her dreams into the conversation with effortless grace.

As the evening progressed, Yunho found himself increasingly drawn to Haewon. Her warmth and generosity were undeniable, and he felt a growing respect and admiration for her. They exchanged stories and laughed together, and Yunho began to see Haewon not just as a friend but as someone who brought a unique and positive energy into his life.

As the night drew to a close and the room fell silent, Yunho realized the depth of his growing connection with Haewon. In the following weeks, they spent more time together, their relationship blossoming into a cornerstone of support and happiness that Yunho hadn’t known he needed.

A few weeks later, you found yourself sitting in Yunho’s dorm, watching him pace frantically. The light from his desk lamp cast long shadows, highlighting the stacks of textbooks and notes scattered around. You had come over, expecting a routine study session, but Yunho’s demeanor was different tonight—he was a nervous wreck.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach, sensing the gravity of the conversation ahead. You had always been there for Yunho, studying together and planning your futures, but tonight was different. Tonight, you were about to hear something that would cut deeper than you had expected.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About Haewon.” Yunho finally blurted out, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“Yeah? What about her?” you asked.

Yunho took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say what he had been holding back. “I’m planning to confess to her. I’ve realized I really care about her—a lot.” 

Your heart sank. You had noticed Yunho and Haewon getting closer, but hearing him say it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. 

“Oh, really? That’s great! Have you thought about how you’re going to do it?”

“Yeah, probably at the coffee shop she likes. Every time I’m with her, it just feels right. But I don’t want to ruin our friendship if she doesn’t feel the same.”

You nodded, trying to keep your emotions in check. “That sounds like a good plan. The coffee shop is a nice, relaxed place. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the thought you’ve put into it.”

You sat there for a moment, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. You had loved Yunho for as long as you could remember. His laugh, his kindness, the way he always knew how to make you smile—everything about him had captured your heart. But you had never had the courage to tell him, fearing it would ruin the friendship you cherished so much.

“Just be yourself and be honest,” you encouraged him with a reassuring smile, though the lump in your throat betrayed the flood of emotions you were trying to contain.

As Yunho continued to talk about his plans, you listened, offering support and encouragement. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling of loss, knowing that things were about to change in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Yunho wandered aimlessly, his gaze fixed on the stars above, each one a silent witness to his regrets. His earlier confrontation with Haewon replayed in his mind—her dismissive words, the hurtful accusations and the way she had turned away with that sharp, unyielding look in her eye. 

The more he thought about their argument, the more his frustration bubbled to the surface. He stopped by a bench near the waterfront of the venue, sinking onto it with a heavy sigh. The cool breeze brushed against his face, but it did little to calm the storm swirling within. Yunho stared into the darkness, struggling to make sense of the fractured emotions and the shifting dynamics in his relationship. The night seemed to stretch endlessly, a reflection of the uncertain and painful path he now faced.

He closed his eyes and for a moment wished things could be different. 

First, he wished he hadn’t proposed to Haewon out of desperation, trying to salvage their deteriorating relationship. The memory of her storming out of the engagement party with Sungjae right behind her replayed in his mind, a constant reminder of his misguided attempt to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

Yunho stood nervously in the center of the beautifully decorated garden, the soft glow of fairy lights casting a magical ambiance. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint sound of a nearby fountain. Every detail had been meticulously planned—from the arrangement of the candles to the delicate petals scattered along the path. Yunho wanted this moment to be nothing short of perfect.

Is this really the right thing to do? The question echoed in the back of Yunho’s mind, a persistent whisper that refused to be silenced. The small velvet box felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket, its weight far heavier than it should be, laden with all his doubts and fears.

As Haewon approached, her eyes widened in surprise, taking in the romantic setting. Her heart raced as she realized what was about to happen. Yunho’s hands trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. With a deep breath, he got down on one knee, holding out the ring that symbolized his commitment to her.

Tears of joy welled up in her eyes as she looked at Yunho, her emotions overwhelming her. Her lips parted, and through her tears, she managed to say, her voice trembling with raw emotion, “Yes! Yes, Yunho,” she finally managed to say, between sobs.

The crowd of friends and family, who had been watching from a distance, erupted in cheers and applause. For Yunho and Haewon, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Please let this be enough, he silently pleaded.

But the months following the proposal were fraught with doubts, especially regarding Sungjae, Haewon’s long-time friend. Yunho couldn’t ignore the ease with which Haewon and Sungjae interacted—their shared jokes, the effortless understanding between them. It made him question if Haewon confided in Sungjae more than she did in him, and whether Sungjae had been filling emotional gaps that he hadn’t been able to for years.

Second, he regretted passing up an opportunity with the KIA Tigers for an investment baking position. The memory of that pivotal moment was etched in his mind—an offer from the Tigers, a chance to work closely with the team he had idolized for as long as he could remember, slipping through his fingers because he had chosen to pursue a more secure, yet uninspiring, career in finance.

He remembered the excitement in his voice as he spoke about the possibility of becoming a scout, the chance to blend his passion for baseball with a professional role. It had felt like the ultimate dream, a convergence of his personal passion and career ambitions. But when the time came to make a choice, he recalled the pressure he felt from his family to choose a path with financial stability, their voices echoing in his mind with phrases like "responsible choice" and "practical future." 

Their expectations, though well-intentioned, had overshadowed his own aspirations. The investment banking opportunity, with its promise of stability, was seen as a safer bet, a way to meet his family's expectations and ensure a secure future.

Now, as he sat alone by the waterfront, he could almost hear the cheers from the ballpark, feel the crack of the bat and the thrill of the game that he had sacrificed for the illusion of financial security. It was a safe choice, a pragmatic one, but it lacked the excitement and fulfillment he had once envisioned. Each day at the desk felt like a reminder of a dream deferred, a passion left unpursued.

And lastly, he wished you were still here. Yunho missed your presence more than he could convey. You had a way of making him feel grounded, no matter how chaotic life became. He often thought about the times you spent together, laughing over silly jokes or sharing deep conversations late into the night. You were his best friend, the one person he could always lean on, telling him that everything would be fine.

That night, Yunho didn’t return to his apartment—he couldn't, especially not after his fight with Haewon. Instead, he found himself on the highway, the city lights fading in his rearview mirror as he made the long drive back to his parents' house. The place where he grew up. The place that, no matter how much time had passed, still held a part of him.

The house was quiet when he arrived, his parents long asleep after leaving the party earlier in the evening. It felt strange to be back here, like stepping into a time capsule where everything had remained the same even as he had changed.

He climbed the stairs slowly, each step bringing back memories of late-night chats with you on the phone, trying to keep his voice down so his parents wouldn’t hear. When he reached his old bedroom, he hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. It had been so long since he'd been in this room, yet the moment he opened the door, it was like he had never left.

Everything was still in place—his bed, neatly made with the same comforter he’d had since high school. His desk and walls were cluttered with the remnants of his teenage years: baseball memorabilia, trophies from tournaments, and framed photos of his high school baseball team. He noticed a few with you in them, your smile always bright and full of life.

His gaze landed on a polaroid nestled between a postcard and a team photo. It was of you and him, taken years ago when you were probably 8 or 9. The two of you were sitting on the steps leading up to Mt. Bukhansan, grinning with a mix of pride and exhaustion. You had insisted on taking the picture because it was the first big hike you’d done together.

The polaroid was worn, the edges slightly frayed from years of being handled. Yunho’s thumb brushed over your smiling face, a bittersweet ache settling in his chest. You were so young, so carefree—neither of you had any idea how much your lives would change, how much you would lose.

It was then that he noticed a small, battered box tucked under his desk, nearly hidden by an old baseball bat leaning against the chair. Curiosity piqued, Yunho knelt down to pull the box out into the open. He sifted through years of ticket stubs, notebooks, and magazines–each item bringing back a memory, a fleeting image of the life he once had.

And then he saw it.

At the bottom of the box, beneath the pile of knicknacks, was a leather-bound book. It was worn, the corners frayed and the spine slightly cracked. Yunho’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized it immediately. This was your journal—the one you had carried with you everywhere, always scribbling something inside, your thoughts, your dreams, your frustrations.

Yunho’s fingers traced the edges of the pages before he flipped it open, revealing the sketches you had created over the years. Your talent for art was undeniable, yet you had always hesitated to pursue it professionally, fearing that turning your passion into a livelihood might extinguish the joy it brought you.

He stopped to look at one of his portraits. You had captured him perfectly, every line and shadow carefully rendered with an artist’s precision. His eyes, his smile—everything about the sketch was so vivid, so full of life. But it wasn’t just the accuracy of the drawing that struck him; it was the way you had drawn him, the way you had seen him.

In the drawing, Yunho looked confident staring out into the outfield, his expression relaxed and warm. There was a softness in his eyes, a quiet strength that you had always admired but that he had never really seen in himself.

Your sudden disappearance at 22 had been both bewildering and devastating. 

It was your father who first noticed the gaps in your routine. You regularly checked in with your parents, recounting your day, the kind of photos you’d taken in your photography course, to the kind of food that was being served in the cafeteria. When a day passed without your usual call, he brushed it off as a busy day. But when two days went by, his concern grew.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” your father had asked Yunho, his voice laced with worry when he couldn’t get a hold of you. Yunho, who had been preoccupied with his own life, felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t heard from you either, not since your last argument.

When Yunho confessed he hadn’t, his worry deepened. He tried calling you multiple times, but each call went straight to voicemail. Panic started to set in. He stopped by your apartment and checked your social media, but there were no new posts, no updates. It was as if you had vanished.

Your family coordinated with the police, attending briefings and following up on every lead. Their days were filled with frustration as false tips and unconfirmed sightings piled up, each one a fleeting hope that crumbled into disappointment. The news of your disappearance even made local headlines, capturing the concern and sympathy of the public.

“Tonight at 6:00, we bring you a developing story that has left authorities baffled. The sudden disappearance of 22-year-old Lee Y/N has sparked a widespread search effort. Y/N was last seen on the evening of November 11th, following a night with friends. Concerned family and friends reported her missing after she failed to return home and did not respond to calls or messages. Law enforcement officials are actively investigating and following up on all leads as the search continues. Stay tuned for more updates on this unfolding situation.”

As the months turned into years, the intensity of the search began to wane. The once-hopeful posters and media coverage faded into the background of daily life, leaving your parents in a painful limbo of uncertainty. Each passing day without news felt like an eternity, their hearts heavy with the ache of your absence.

He carefully placed the journal back into the box, closing the lid before crawling into bed.

After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, he finally gave up. The stillness of the room felt suffocating, the darkness pressing in on him from all sides. He needed air, needed to move, to do something—anything—to quiet the storm inside him.

The night was calm, the streets empty, and for a moment, Yunho felt a strange sense of peace. The world was asleep, and in the stillness, he could almost pretend that everything was okay. 

He started walking, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet. The familiar sights of the neighborhood, usually bustling with activity during the day, now seemed serene, bathed in the gentle glow of the streetlights. As he wandered through the quiet streets, lost in thought, he found himself pausing at a familiar corner. His footsteps slowed as he glanced across the street, where your childhood home stood.

Yunho's heart ached as he looked at the house. He remembered how close you had been, how your home had been a second haven for him growing up. It was where you had shared countless memories, where you had talked for hours about everything and nothing.  The house seemed like a monument to the past, a place frozen in time while he struggled to move forward without you.

The night breeze carried the scent of jasmine and incense, luring him toward a small park—the one he had often visited with you and his brother Gunho during happier days. He inhaled deeply, letting the soothing aroma momentarily distract him from his worries. His eyes shot open, snapping out of his dreamlike haze as he looked around, feeling an inexplicable pull drawing him toward something unseen.

As he turned, a storefront appeared—as if by magic. The building was unlike any he had seen before, its traditional façade glowing softly in the dim light, surrounded by an overhang of flowers forming a vibrant canopy. 

He took a hesitant step forward, then another, drawn by an inexplicable force that seemed to tug at his very soul. Each step felt both heavy and light, as if he were walking through a dream. The soft glow from the storefront bathed him in a warm, inviting light, contrasting sharply with the cool night air.

Cautious and intrigued, Yunho’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the gentle hum of energy emanating from the shop, a subtle vibration that resonated deep within him. The same scent of jasmine and incense, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, urging him to continue.

As he approached the door, he paused, his hand hovering just inches from the brass knocker. The wood felt warm, almost alive. Taking a deep breath, he touched the door, feeling a slight tingle run up his arm.

Yunho pushed the door open, revealing shelves filled with an array of curious objects—ancient books with gilded covers and delicate glass bottles filled with clouds of stardust. Above, the ceiling was a marvel: an expansive skylight with intricately patterned glass panels allowed a cascade of soft, dappled light to filter through an enchanting tapestry of hanging plants and flowers. 

He quickly realized he had crossed a threshold into a realm where the ordinary rules of reality no longer applied.

“Welcome to the Astral Emporium.”

He whipped around, trying to locate the source of the voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“Down here!” 

His gaze landed on a black cat with an elegant red ribbon fastened around its neck. The ribbon’s vibrant hue contrasted sharply with the cat’s inky fur, and his onyx eyes glowed with an otherworldly intelligence. The cat cleared its throat, a sound that was oddly formal and out of place coming from such a small creature. 

Yunho blinked in surprise, his confusion evident. “You can talk!?” he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he crouched down to get a closer look at the feline. The cat regarded him with an air of casual indifference, its tail flicking lightly.

“Didn’t you hear me when you walked in?” the cat replied, its tone almost bored, as if it were used to the astonished reactions of newcomers. 

“You’re talking. A cat... is talking. How is that even possible?” 

The cat stretched languidly, its body arching gracefully.“This is a realm of possibilities,” he yawned, revealing sharp, white teeth and a pink tongue. His voice was a deep, resonant purr that seemed to vibrate through the air. “The rules of reality are… somewhat relaxed. So, are you here to have a wish granted or what?”

“Wooyoung, stop giving the traveler a hard time,” came a soft, melodic voice from behind.

Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice, a voice he thought he’d never hear again. His eyes widened as emotions coursed through him—hope, disbelief, and a deep longing. 

“Y/N?” he whispered, the name trembling on his lips, as if saying it aloud would shatter the fragile moment.

The moment you stepped into the light, your elaborate dress captivated his attention. The silk skirt flowed gracefully to the floor, adorned with intricate patterns of iridescent clouds that shimmered softly in the ambient glow. The vibrant hues of the jacket draped over your shoulders contrasted beautifully with the delicate floral embroidery that wound its way across the fabric.

You chuckled softly, the sound as gentle as a breeze through the leaves. “I’m sorry, traveler, my familiar is quite the cheeky one.” 

As you moved, the tassels of your ornate hairpin clinked softly in your side-swept chignon, creating a gentle, melodic chime with each step. You circled Yunho with a curious gaze, your eyes sparkling with intrigue.

He blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback. His gaze flickered from the elongated smoking pipe in your hand to the enigmatic expression on your face, trying to determine if it was all an illusion. His mind raced, grappling with the impossible reality before him. 

“Y/N,” Yunho began, reaching out slightly “is it really you?”

You were the same, yet different—there was a newfound confidence in your posture and a whimsical glint in your eyes that he hadn’t seen before. His heart pounded in his chest, torn between relief and confusion. 

“I have many names, unfortunately Y/N is not one of them.” You watched him with sympathy, recognizing the skepticism in his eyes. “It seems you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“No, you have to be Y/N.” Yunho’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, the question hanging heavily in the air. His breath hitched as he watched you, his mind struggling to reconcile the familiarity of your face with the strangeness of your words. “Wait! What’s your favorite baseball team?”

You tilted your head, a puzzled expression crossing your face. “Baseball?” 

Yunho’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He felt a crushing sense of defeat, his hope slipping away like sand through his fingers. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You took a deep breath, your expression softening with an empathy that was both comforting and sorrowful. “I’m simply a keeper of this place, bound to fulfill the wishes of travelers like yourself. This place, and my role within it, has existed for far longer than either of us can imagine.”

The thought that this could be another version of you—someone who looked and spoke like you, but wasn’t the same person he once knew—was unbearable. How could he accept that the best friend he believed he lost forever could exist in a form that wasn’t entirely the same?

“So why am I here?” he asked, his voice tinged with defeat.

“The shop responded to your call,” you sighed softly, as an intricate counter materialized before you, its surface adorned with dragons soaring through the clouds. Leaning against it, you rested your chin in one hand, while the other held the pipe, from which a wisp of smoke curled lazily into the air.

Yunho’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean it responded to my call?”

“The shop exists in a realm between the supernatural and the living, responding to the energy of your desires. It sensed that you possessed a strong desire for something and made its presence known.”

“A desire?” Yunho’s gaze drifted to the counter, the dragons seeming to move and shift as if alive.

You smiled gently, the smoke from your pipe forming delicate patterns in the air. “A wish. Not quite like the fairy tales, but wishes are the desires that reside deep within your heart. They can be as simple as wanting a moment of peace or as complex as seeking a purpose in life.”

“And as for who grants the wishes,” you continued, leaning in slightly, “that would be me. Travelers usually refer to me as a witch.”

Yunho swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do you grant wishes?”

“The process is simple,” you explained, your tone both gentle and firm. “For a wish to be granted, you must exchange something of equal value in return.”

“What kind of exchange?” Yunho asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a slow, deliberate puff from your pipe, the smoke curling around you like a protective veil. “It depends,” you replied, twirling your pipe between your bejeweled fingers. “Sometimes it’s a memento, a cherished item that holds personal significance. In ancient times, travelers might have offered a blood sacrifice, though we’ve moved beyond such extremes. The more powerful the wish, the more it exacts in return. The magic here is potent and unpredictable, and it demands balance.”

His eyes widened, the weight of your words sinking in. “So, I have to give up something important to me?”

“Not necessarily,” you confirmed, your gaze steady. “The shop only takes what you are willing to offer. The choice is always yours, though I caution that you cannot take back a wish once it’s been granted.”

Yunho didn’t know why his thoughts drift back to that fateful night. Maybe it was because it was the last memory he had of you before everything changed. The words you exchanged, the hurt in your eyes, replayed in his mind like a haunting echo. He wondered if things could have been different, if he had just made a different choice, said something else. 

You were at Yunho’s apartment, enjoying a rare evening of relaxation. The soft hum of conversation and laughter filled the room as Yunho's friends mingled. You were perched on the couch, absorbed in your sketchbook, the quiet joy of drawing grounding you amidst the cheerful chaos.

The tranquility was shattered when Sungjae, ever a thorn in Yunho’s side, staggered over. His inebriated state was evident; he moved with a lack of coordination that drew your attention only when he was almost upon you. Without warning, Sungjae lurched forward, his hand grabbing the edge of your journal with a clumsy urgency.

“What’s this?” he slurred, his voice a mix of drunken curiosity and derision. He dangled the open pages in front of you, the sketch of Yunho exposed and vulnerable.

“What the fuck are you doing? Give it back!” you demanded, trying to reach for the journal, but Sungjae was too quick, his movements fueled by liquid courage.

“You’re always scribbling in this book,” Sungjae sneered, flipping through the pages with exaggerated, careless motions. “What’s the big deal?”

Your frustration surged. “Seriously, Sungjae, just give it back!” you urged, your voice rising. The journal was more than just sketches to you; it was a reflection of your thoughts, your feelings—an intimate part of yourself you’d chosen to share with no one but yourself.

He brought the journal closer to his face, a cruel smirk spreading across his lips as he turned the pages. “Yunho! Hey Yunho! Check this out!” Sungjae’s voice cut through the room, mocking and loud.

Yunho looked up from his conversation with Mingi, confusion and concern crossing his face as he saw Sungjae holding your journal. He began to walk over, but the unease in his eyes was clear as he approached.

Sungjae flipped through the pages with exaggerated movements, revealing sketch after sketch of Yunho. “Look at this!” he laughed, his voice dripping with mockery as he showed Yunho your illustrations. “You’ve got a whole gallery dedicated to him!” He turned to face you, your cheeks burning with fury. “What are you, obsessed with him or something?”

“It’s not like that,” you protested, reaching for the journal again. Your fingers brushed the edge of the book, but Sungjae yanked it out of your grasp, his laughter growing louder.

“Oh, come on. You’re totally in love with him, aren’t you? That’s why you’re always drawing like some kind of freak!” His voice dripped with contempt, and his words felt like a dagger to your heart. He tossed your journal aside carelessly, the soft thud echoing in the now silent room.

You immediately snatched the journal and held it securely against your chest before storming towards the door. The once warm and inviting apartment now felt like a stark reminder of the awkwardness and discomfort that had unfolded. The laughter and easy conversations from earlier seemed like a distant memory, eclipsed by the confrontation with Sungjae.

As you moved toward the door, Yunho approached you, his expression a mix of concern and hesitance. “Hey, let me walk you out,” he said, his voice softer than before.

You nodded, appreciating the gesture despite the uneasy atmosphere. The two of you left in silence out into the night, the noise of the party grew fainter, replaced by the subtle thrum of the city.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Yunho said quietly, his eyes locked on the ground as he stuck his hands into his pockets. He kicked a stray pebble, watching it roll away. 

“You’re sorry?” you snapped, your voice shaking with hurt as you spun around to face him. “If you were really sorry, you’d have done something about that asshole.”

The tension in his shoulders was palpable as he shot back, “What do you expect me to do, Y/N? I can’t come to your rescue every single time!” Yunho’s tone was edged with frustration, and the defensiveness in his voice was unmistakable. 

“I’m not asking you to rescue me!” you shouted. The anger in your voice grew sharper, your hands clenched into fists. “I’m asking you to stand up for me, to not let some asshole humiliate me in front of everyone in your own apartment!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault because I didn’t want to start a scene? I’m trying to keep the peace here!”

“Keep the peace?” you shouted, your voice breaking as your tears spilled over. “Is that what you call it? Keeping the peace by standing there like a coward and letting someone walk all over me?”

“He’s Haewon’s friend. What was I supposed to do?” Yunho’s tone was clipped, each word laced with his own frustration.

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked at him, feeling the weight of his indifference. “Are you seriously telling me that your girlfriend’s shitty friend matters more than me? You don’t even like him, Yunho!”

Yunho looked away, his jaw set in a hard line. “Haewon’s friends are important to her, and I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, but it quickly turned into a choked sob. “So fuck my feelings, right?” you said, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your face. “You’d rather protect that asshole than stand up for me?”

Yunho’s eyes finally met yours, but they were empty, cold, devoid of the warmth you once knew. “She’s my girlfriend, Y/N. I have to prioritize her!” He spat, his voice growing harsher. “And maybe if you weren’t such a loser, always clinging to that stupid journal, you wouldn’t be in this mess! You’re so embarrassing, it’s pathetic.”

You felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under you. The words cut deep, each one a dagger to your heart. You took a shaky breath, the pain piercing through you. 

“The truth finally comes out,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the agony gripping your heart.

For a fleeting moment, Yunho’s expression softened, as if he realized just how cruel his words had been. But the apology you desperately needed never came. He just stood there, silent and distant, his eyes refusing to meet yours, the coldness in his gaze now replaced by a hollow emptiness that only deepened your pain.

Feeling utterly betrayed, you turned away, your vision blurred by tears. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical burden. The person you thought would always have your back had just torn you apart.

In a moment of despair, you tossed your journal into the nearest trash bin. The hollow thud it made echoed in your ears, a haunting reminder of how irrevocably your trust had been shattered. It didn’t matter if the world saw your deepest thoughts; the one you trusted the most had already broken your heart.  

Yunho watched in stunned silence as you turned away, your shoulders trembling with the weight of your emotions. He had never seen you like this—so broken, so hurt. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless, but still, he remained frozen, helpless to do anything as you retreated further into the night.

Then he heard it. The hollow thud of the journal hitting the bottom of the bin echoed in the night air. It was a sound that would haunt him for years to come—a sound that marked the moment everything between you changed. Yunho stood there, staring at the trash bin long after you had disappeared from his view.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he forced himself to take a step forward. His hands shook as he approached the bin, and he felt a lump form in his throat as he looked down at your journal, lying there among the discarded remnants of the day. Without thinking, he reached in and retrieved it, tucking it protectively into his side.

He sank onto a nearby bench, the cold metal seeping through his clothes, but he barely noticed. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city, and the stars above seemed indifferent to his suffering.

Yunho cradled the journal to his chest, feeling the weight of its significance. This wasn’t just a collection of pages; it was a piece of your heart that he had let Sungjae, with his sharp words and cruelty, tear it apart.

Now, all that was left were the remnants of what once was, and the haunting realization that he had played a part in its destruction.

ii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl

[yvainart]

BACK IN MY ROOTS MY ROMAN EMPIRE FR!!! btw wouldn't it be funny if archangel!dean would still know all popular references and use it frequently as he usually do and hunter!cas would know only few

[shixcherie]

Got My Eyes On You | Park Seonghwa ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 28 : Succubus

↬ [ Synopsis ] : A reckless, spooky game on Halloween night traps Seonghwa in vivid, sinful dreams of a seductive succubus, leaving him breathless and wanting more. But when he finds himself alone in a love hotel in Japan, staring up at you, the irresistible creature of his fantasies that is when he realizes his darkest dreams are about to come true, as reality and desire collide in one unforgettable night.

☆Word Count : 5.2k ☆Genre : Smut, Lil plot, Non-idol au, Supernatural Au. ☆Pairing : Park Seonghwa x Succubus! F.reader

☆☆☆ WARNINGS : mdni!, supernatural theme, wet dreams & dream control, dreams and reality blurring, summoning the devil (succubus), mysterious reader, mention of Japan’s love hotels, hotel room sex, Seonghwa’s wildest dreams come true (literally!), Cute-ish Dom reader, Switch Hwa, Blowjob ( Hwa recieving), Fondling and breast play, multiple orgasms, mild voyeurism, power play, non-con (due to supernatural influence…if ur not comfy with this…kindly skip it).

NOTE : Yes… I’m going to continue and complete Kinktober, even though we’re past the 31st. I really want to finish this challenge and not leave it incomplete, so I hope ma chéries will enjoy this supernatural one shot. This is my first time writing supernatural stuff and it was such a fun experience…can’t wait to write more.

The living room was glowing in soft, flickering candlelight, the only source of illumination after Wooyoung had insisted on setting the room up “for the vibes” though he looked more terrified than inspired at the moment.

With San cooped up next to him,Seonghwa shifted uncomfortably on the floor, glancing down at the Ouija board sitting ominously in front of them. He crossed his arms, looking at his two friends in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous.” Seonghwa muttered, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chills creeping up his spine. “I’m telling you, nothing good ever comes from games like this.”

“Oh, come on hyung,” Wooyoung slurred slightly, a sleepy grin stretching across his face. “You promised you’d play along.We need a little bit of Halloween fuunnn…It’s tradition!” He nudged Seonghwa with his shoulder, a tipsy glint of mischief dancing in his eyes with the smell of alchol evident in his breath.

San sitting a little too close to Seonghwa, darted nervous glances around the room. “Honestly, hyung, ju-just… just do it. Otherwise, Woo’s gonna whine all night, and I can’t handle that.” He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as though trying to shrink into the sofa behind him.

“I’m not playing this stupid—” Seonghwa tried to protest, but Wooyoung interrupted with an irresistible offer, even in his drunken state as words slurred out of his mouth. “I’ll pay for your whole trip to Japan—from food to flights, everything! We’ll be there next week, and if you wanna avail the perks, Park Se-Seonghwa, you better not get up or try to leave.”

Seonghwa sighed, rolling his eyes knowing very well that a drunk Wooyoung is more than a handful to deal with especially when not given what he wants. And that was a lucrative offer to reject. Nodding his head, he gave up on having any chance of escaping playing the game tonight, shifting his attention the Ouija board that sat infront of him. He watched as Wooyoung carefully placed his fingertips on the planchette and gestured impatiently for Seonghwa and San to do the same. Both hesitated a bit before giving up and complying to their friend’s drunken demands as each of their fingers barely touched the wooden triangle.

“All right,” Wooyoung began, looking dramatically serious as he addressed the board. “If there are any spirits here with us tonight, give us a sign.” His tone was clearly exaggerated, in a poor effort to mask his own nerves which did not go unnocited by Seonghwa as he noticed how he refused to meet anyone’s gaze, his eyes glued to the board.

The three sat in silence, waiting and waiting a bit more. Nothing happened, only the distant hum of the refrigerator and a low creak from somewhere in the house, probably a rat or some shit. San’s fingers twitched on the planchette, but he didn’t dare move.

“See ? Nothing. This is a total waste of time.” Seonghwa huffed, attempting to pull his hand back, but Wooyoung stopped him with a pout.

“No! Hyung, we have to be patient! Maybe… maybe they don’t know we’re serious about meeting them.” Wooyoung’s voice faltered slightly as he straightened his posture, attempting to project confidence.

"Uh, spirits? Just so you know, we’re not kidding around or anything!" Wooyoung's voice wavered as he cleared his throat, shooting a nervous glance at Seonghwa and San. "T-This... this isn’t a joke, okay ? We’re, um, respectfully inviting you." He forced out a shaky breath, hands fidgeting as he looked around the dim room. "So, if you could just... maybe show us a little something ? Just a quick... ghostly thumbs up or a nice little breeze or... something cool like that?" He tried to laugh, but it came out tense, his eyes darting around as if expecting a shadow to lunge out any second.

The silence dragged on, stretching uncomfortably, and Seonghwa found himself listening to every tiny sound. The groaning pipes, the occasional rustling of leaves outside the window, even the soft breath of his friends beside him. It all felt so much louder, so much more ominous.

Suddenly, a faint noise echoed from the hallway, a soft creak like a slow footstep pressing into the floorboards, or maybe something… else. All three of them froze, their eyes widening as they looked toward the source of the sound.

“D-Did you… did you hear that?” San whispered, his voice barely audible and shaky.

Wooyoung gulped, his face paling slightly. “It’s probably nothing. Just like… the wind rattling… or maybe an animal outside… or something.”

“Yeah right…” Seonghwa mumbled, his fingers now gripping the planchette a bit too tightly. “You know what ? I think we’ve had enough spooky fun for one night. Let’s call it quits before we actually freak ourselves out.”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest, but a louder noise this time from the kitchen cut him off. It sounded like something or someone was scraping against the counter, then a dull thud followed. San’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp, and even Wooyoung looked too startled to speak.

“Okay, that’s it,” San squeaked, shooting up from the floor. “My parents aren’t home, and I am not spending the night alone in a haunted house.”

Without needing to say another word, the three scrambled to gather their things, practically stumbling over each other in their haste. Seonghwa, still trying to shake off the chills prickling up his spine, grabbed his jacket and ushered Wooyoung and San out of the house, half-laughing at how ridiculous they looked as all three of them darted around like scared bunnies.

Once they were all in the car, the silence lingered for a moment before Wooyoung laughed a little too loudly but his voice was still shaky. “S-See ? Nothing to be s-scared of. It’s all in our heads, r-right ?”

San just nodded furiously while his arms wrapped tightly around himself in the back seat. Seonghwa tried to laugh it off too, but even he couldn’t deny the strange, heavy feeling that had settled around him, clinging him like a chill even after they’d left San’s house far behind.

Little did he know, that feeling wasn’t about to leave him anytime soon.

After dropping off Wooyoung and San, Seonghwa drove home alone, replaying the night’s eerie events, trying to convince himself the strange sounds they’d heard were just some random creaks or the wind outside.Still, San’s terrified face and Wooyoung’s nervous rambling clung to him, making his palms sweaty on the wheel.

Pulling into his driveway, a chill crept over him as he paused, glancing around the empty and eeriely silent street. “Get a grip, Hwa. It’s just some creepy Halloween nonsense.” he muttered to himself, forcing a shaky chuckle. Yet the prickle up his spine only deepened.

Inside, the house felt oddly off, like something unseen lurked in the corners. He flicked on lights as he moved through each room, feeling oddly reassured by the warm glow.

In the kitchen, as he sipped a glass of water, a chill brushed against the back of his neck, making him freeze in place. A faint creak echoed from somewhere behind him, followed by the soft fluttering of wings. His heart skipped a beat as he whipped around to see... nothing. Just the empty hallway. "This is all your fault, Wooyoung." he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice as he blamed his friend for his racing heart.

Heading to bed, he felt an odd, heavy presence around him. Every faint noise, even a creak, a whisper seemed just loud enough to set his heart racing, though nothing ever followed. “There’s no one here but you,” he tried to assure himself, but his voice sounded uncertain even to his own ears. He laid back ulling the blanket up and tight around himself as he tried to shake off the lingering sense that something is hovering in the quiet shadows as he drifted into uneasy sleep.

That night, as Seonghwa drifted off to sleep, he slipped into an unusually vivid dream. The world around him was dimly lit, wrapped in shadows, and the air was thick with the alluring scent of warm honey and spice. His pulse quickened, a mix of curiosity and desire washing over him as he looked around, sensing he wasn’t alone. Then she appeared, a figure veiled in darkness, stepping slowly toward him with an aura that shone so brightly, as if she were trying to bewitch him, inviting him into her world.

Her facial features were blurry, but her lips were clear with an alluring, devilish smirk playing across them, telling Seonghwa everything he needed to know - she wasn’t quite human. Tiny horns peeked through her hair and behind her, dark wings spread out with a graceful elegance giving her an almost ethereal presence. A slender tail flicked playfully as she drew closer, each step tease of what was to come. Seonghwa’s breath hitched as she knelt before him, her fingers grazing his knees, teasing and sending jolts of heat up his spine.

That was when he realized he was completely naked in front of her.

Is this his mind playing games with him? But then, why does this feel way too real? Too good? Her touch, her movement… her glowing and sexy curves… her wings… is she a succubus?

The succubus tilted her head slightly as she looked up at him, as if she were memorizing his face. Seonghwa tried his hardest to make out her features, squinting his eyes. But she swiftly shifted her attention back to his thighs, leaning in as her lips brushed softly against his bare skin, each kiss igniting a fresh wave of warmth that made his head spin. Her touch was feather-light at first, almost teasing, as though she wanted to draw out every tremble and sigh he had to offer. Her hands slid up his thighs, inch by inch, leaving no space untouched, her fingertips grazing his skin with an electric sensation that left him craving more. Seonghwa’s breaths grew ragged as he watched her, his body surrendering to the hypnotic pleasure she brought.

“Wh-what are you doing…” Seonghwa whispered as if she were actually there. Or was she ? Her fingers wrapped around his hard length, her lips holding a smirk as she met his gaze—not literally, but the creature looked up for his reaction. Fully satisfied with his flushed face, her hand began moving up and down his hard length as Seonghwa’s breaths grew deeper and more ragged. Her initially slow pace quickened, pumping his hard cock as if she were prepping him for what was next to come.

Leaning down, the succubus wrapped her lips around him with a warmth that felt overwhelmingly real. Seonghwa couldn’t hold back the low groan that escaped him, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. She took her time, alternating between gentle sucks and skillful flicks of her tongue, her hands trailing up his torso as if claiming him entirely. Each movement, each touch, felt crafted to drive him to the edge, yet she held back just enough to keep him in exquisite suspense.

Her wings brushed lightly against his legs, amplifying the sensation as she took his hard length entirely into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she quickened her pace, bobbing her head up and down while Seonghwa’s red tip hit the back of her throat. Seonghwa’s mind spun, the sensations sending him into a blissful state as his tip made contact with the back of her throat. His toes curled, and his fingers clutched even more tightly around the sheets. Every subtle moan, every breathless sound she drew from him felt real, almost as if she were drawing out his very soul.

While his dilemma over who or what she was kept eating at him, his mind slowly turned to mush as his head was thrown back in the intoxicating pleasure she was giving him, leaving him only wanting more. This otherworldly creature, a succubus to be exact, was giving him… a blowjob?

When he finally woke, he found himself tangled in his sheets, his body damp with sweat and his breathing uneven. His black sweatpants were soaked with white stains, his whole body trembling from the intensity of the experience. He sat up slowly, still dazed, as every detail of the dream lingered vividly, as though she’d truly been there with him.

Seonghwa knew a thing or two about succubi, thanks to his scaredy-cat friend Wooyoung's interest in these horror-ish things and his habit of chewing Seonghwa’s ear off about them every morning on the drive to college.

He tried to brush the dream off as a one-time thing, thinking that maybe it was an aftereffect of them playing that Ouija board game. But it became his nightly torment. Every night, this alluring creature would appear in his dreams and pleasure him, edging the heck out of him but never allowing him release or letting him figure out her face. Each dream grew more intense, her touch more familiar, her presence more demanding. Every morning, Seonghwa woke up flushed, his body tingling with need, his mind haunted by the charming succubus that had taken control of his nights. He tried to shake it off each time, telling himself it was just his imagination and that she wouldn’t come back. But each night, as he closed his eyes, the creature returned, and he found himself helplessly craving more, desperate to uncover her identity.

The next few days went by in a blur as Seonghwa found himself, on a fine evening, exploring the streets of Japan. Wooyoung was keeping his promise of paying for everything Seonghwa touched, but slowly, it was turning into a pain in the ass. Exploring love hotels was not his jam, yet here he was, accompanying his two best friends as Wooyoung dragged San along, excitedly explaining the meaning of each love hotel they passed.

“Sannie, that is the Starlight Inn, that one is The Secret Garden, and that one is my favorite, the Moonlight Suite,” Wooyoung squealed, his arm wrapped around San’s. A kittenish smile played on San's lips as he nodded along to whatever Wooyoung was saying. Seonghwa trailed behind them, not really interested and distracted, his mind haunted by flashes of the succubus from his dreams.

“Seonghwa-hyung, keep up, or else you’ll get lost,” Wooyoung called back, noticing his bored and distant expression. Then Wooyoung wrapped his other arm around Seonghwa, keeping one arm snug around San.

“Hyung, which one do you like?” Wooyoung asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Nothing,” Seonghwa replied bluntly, pursing his lips as he had been dragged along enough for one night.

Wooyoung pouted,“Come on, there should be at least one that you like! Else, where are you gonna stay tonight?” he asked, a playful mischief evident in his tone.

“In my hotel room, Wooyoung. And why the hell would I stay in a love hotel when I have my beautiful hotel room?” Seonghwa shot back, half-wishing he could push away the strange longing he felt every night, haunted by the succubus.

“’Cause we checked us out of the hotel, hyung. Tonight, one of these babies is gonna be our home.” Wooyoung gave Seonghwa a cheeky smile, gesturing proudly at the line of love hotels as if he’d done him a huge favor while Seonghwa’s face held a baffled expression.

Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, his expression shifting from surprise to mild panic. “Wait—are you serious? You really checked us out of the hotel ? Without telling me?”

Wooyoung laughed, glancing at San as if they were in on a secret together. “Oh, we’re serious, alright.”

Seonghwa’s gaze moved to San, desperate for some kind of reasonable explanation. “San-ah! You knew about this ?” he asked, trying to appeal to the most sensible one of the group. “I get it for you two, but why was I the only one left in the dark here?”

San scratched the back of his neck, a faint blush coloring his ears. “S-surprise, hyung ?” he offered sheepishly, giving Seonghwa a guilty smile.

Seonghwa shook his head, feeling a mixture of frustration and amusement as he looked at his two friends. “Unbelievable…” he muttered, sighing in as there was no way out of it now.

Wooyoung laughed, pulling him closer as they headed toward a nearby restaurant. “Don’t look so disappointed, hyung. This will be fun, I promise!”. But as his friends laughed and chattered, Seonghwa’s thoughts drifted, his mind unwillingly replaying flashes of his delicous night time encounters with the succubus creature. Even surrounded by friends, he couldn’t fully shake the haunting intensity of his dreams.

After the dinner, WooSan left to book the love hotels while Seonghwa insisted on staying a bit longer, enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant. He soaked in the fact that he was in Japan as the foreign energy of the city buzzed around him. He downed his second glass of beer, the warmth spreading through him as his mind wandered back to the delicious dreams he had been having. His cheeks flushed a soft pink as he sat there, lost in thought, surrounded by strangers, when a light tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his daydreams.

He turned, slightly startled, and found himself face-to-face with a girl. She was dressed entirely in black, from the long coat to the cap that hid most of her face, and a mask that covered everything but her lips. She stood silently for a moment, her presence almost otherworldly, then handed him a tissue. Seonghwa blinked in confusion, about to ask what this was about, but before he could speak, she leaned in close. Her warm breath brushed against his ear, and the familiar scent of honey and spice filled his senses, sending a jolt of electricity straight to his core as she whispered.

“You’ve been dreaming about me, haven’t you, Seonghwa ?” she murmured, her tone was teasing, the words sent a shiver down his spine. “You called me on Halloween night, remember ? So… feel like summoning me again ? The name’s Y/n.”

Is the voice of the succubus creature from his dreams ? Woow..umm..her name’s Y/n…alright woooh!

She spoke as your finger trailed lightly over his hand, a soft, deliberate motion that sent a wave of heat through him. It was so familiar, so hauntingly like the dreams, that Seonghwa’s breath hitched, and his body tensed.

The words, the touch—they were too familiar. Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat. There was no mistaking it. This was the same feeling he had when the succubus appeared in his dreams, when her touch sent waves of heat through his body, when her lips wrapped around his length, pulling him deeper into a world he couldn’t escape. This was exactly how he felt.

His eyes widened as a faint yellow glow flickered beneath the edge of her cap, catching the light just enough for him to see. It was subtle, yet he could faintly make out her eyes, but it was enough to make his heart race as the blurry face from his dreams was slowly taking shape. That glow reminded him of his dreams, bewitching him as his mind spun with the realization that she was somehow connected to the creature haunting his nights.

She gave him a slow, knowing smile, and without another word, she made a casual, almost teasing gesture as her fingers curled into a 🤙 “call me” motion. With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Seonghwa staring after her, his pulse hammering in his chest.

He was 99.9% sure now. This was no coincidence. The succubus—the creature from his dreams—had been standing right in front of him, and now she had left him with her phone number on the tissue, daring him to make the next move.

Back in his single room at the love hotel, Seonghwa lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the tissue with her number. “Y/n…Y/n….Y/n..” he mind repeated the girl’s name in the resaturant, your name, as your voice still ringed in his ears.

The thin walls did nothing to muffle the sounds of nearby couples, wrapped up in their own heated moments. He chuckled dryly, thinking he could even hear WooSan somewhere in the mix. Why couldn’t he have some fun, too ? Would you actually show up if he called the number the though ?

On impulse, he dialed your number, half-expecting it to be a dead end or a prank. But the phone barely rang once before a soft knock echoed from his door. He sat up as his heart raced, slowly getting off the bed and opening the door, his breath caught up in his throught.

There you were, standing in all your glory, in the dim light of the hallway, your lips curved in a familiar, teasing smile, your eyes gleaming beneath the cap. You raised a brow, as if daring him to let you in, that same sultry, electric energy from his dreams flooded the room as both of your eyes got locked.

With a whisper of air, you stepped through the door. As you entered, your coat slipped from your shoulders, revealing your true form beneath: a form-fitting, alluring costume that accentuated your curves, framed by delicate, black wings that spread out gracefully behind you. Tiny, glistening horns peeked out from your hair, adding a touch of playful wickedness, and your eyes glowed with a sultry, supernatural light that seemed to shift between crimson and gold. Your ture form appeared infront of Seonghwa as he took the sight in front of him front horn to toe.

“Thought you wouldn’t show up” he breathed, voice husky and low as he stepped towards you. His hands snaked around you waist, brushing against the massive wings. Your cute yet sexy face, the soft glowing skin, the tight and exposing costume, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips everything was way too overwhelming and inviting for him to think straight. He rubbed you sides as you leaned in to his touch, settling in his embrace.

“Did you think I’d stay away for long ?” you teased, leaning in even closer so that he could feel the warmth radiating from you. Your eyes, deep and gleaming, locked with his as his fingers trailed lightly across you jawline, tilting his chin.

The tension in the room thickened, his heartbeat drumming fast as you pressed your lips to his, a taste of dark temptation and sweet promises. His hands tightened around your waist while you hands tangled in his lush hair, tugged his root and urging him to deepen the kiss. He obeyed as his free hand cupped you cheeks and his tongue explored your mouth. Biting his bottom lip, you earned a soft groan from Seonghwa as he returned the favor by squeezing you ass.

After a series of lingering kisses and soft touches, you pulled back slightly, watching as Seonghwa caught his breath, his eyes half-lidded with desire. But there was something deeper you needed him to understand something that would change everything between you.

“I think it’s time,” you murmured, fingers tracing his arm. “For you to rest. For this to be real, you need to let go and fall asleep.”

He frowned, holding you closer. “I don’t want this to end,” he breathed, his reluctance evident.

Shaking your head, you smiled gently. “Trust me, Seonghwa. If you want to experience everything I can give, you’ll have to trust me.” Your fingers brushed his jaw, softening his hesitation. “If you let yourself drift off… I’ll come back. Every time.”

He looked at you, confusion clouding his mind. “What do you mean, ‘come back’?” His hand wandered to his waist, and you couldn’t help but smile at the realization that was about to dawn upon him.

“Remember Halloween?” you whispered, watching his eyes widen. “That Ouija board… it wasn’t ordinary. It was made to summon creatures, not just spirits, to bring to life your deepest fantasies.”

His hand drifted to his waist, discovering the small cupid tattoo just beneath his ribs. His fingers traced it, astonished. “T-This… it wasn’t here before.”

You nodded, guiding his hand over it, your fingers tracing its delicate outline. “That mark connects you and me. It allows me to be here like this. But it’s fragile. Break the rules, and I won’t be able to return.”

He blinked, torn between fascination and uncertainty. “What… what rules?”

You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear as you explained, “The rule is simple. To summon me, touch the tattoo, think of your desires… and fall asleep. That’s all it takes. Follow it, and I’ll always come to you.”

His breath caught, eyes darkening with understanding. “So, whenever I want to see you…” His soft gaze locked on yours. “You’ll come back?”

Smiling, you nodded. “Anytime you call for me… I’ll be here.”

He closed his eyes, letting the details sink in. “Then show me, tonight.” His hand cradled your face, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss.

Your hands rested over the tattoo, and as he relaxed, his breathing calmed. He slowly let the darkness overtake him and finally slipped into sleep. The last thing he saw was the glint in your eyes, promising him the dreams and desires you would fulfill whenever he summoned you again.

As Seonghwa sank further into the dream, the dimly lit room closed in around him, the air thick with the alluring and familiar scent of honey and spice, refilling his senses. His heartbeat raced as he took in the sight of you—a vision wrapped in shadow and light, wings stretched behind you, dark and leathery, more breathtaking than any fantasy he’d ever dared to imagine. The soft glow highlighted the sharp curve of your horns and the glint in your eyes, eyes that burned with a supernatural intensity that sent a shiver through him. Your pupils dilated, swirling with a crimson hue, as your heart raced in anticipation of the upcoming pleasure and danger.

You closed the space between you with slow steps, the fabric clinging to you in ways that left little to the imagination, drawing him deeper and deeper into your hypnotizing spell. He watched, mesmerized, as you settled into his lap, your wings folding around you both like a protective shroud. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, nails sharp enough to tease but not break the skin, your body pressing flush against him.

“Is this… really happening?” he breathed, his voice thick with desire, his fingers tracing the lines of your waist as if familiarizing himself with your body. His touch drifted higher, hands cupping your breasts, fingers kneading the supple skin and drawing soft, gasping sounds from your lips. He rolled his thumbs over your sensitive peaks, feeling them harden beneath his touch as your body arched into him, eyes narrowing with pleasure as the yellow glint shone brighter.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you leaned closer, your breath hot against his skin. “It’s as real as you make it,” you whispered, letting your hands drift down his chest before meeting his gaze with an intense stare. Your wings shifted, casting shadows on the wall while the tip of your tail coiled around his wrist playfully, guiding his hand back to your chest, urging him to continue the sweet torture.

“And right now, in this dream,” you said, your eyes glowing brighter, “we’re free from all rules.”

As soon as those words left your lips, he pulled you closer, his hands slipping down to cup your thighs, fingers pressing into the softness there as he guided you over him. Every touch, every movement between you ignited a fire that blurred the line between reality and dream until the world around you both faded into dark oblivion. Your lips brushed against his, softly at first, before deepening into something fiercer and more primal.

His hands wandered up your back, fingertips tracing the sensitive membrane of your wings, sending jolts of heat coursing through your veins. The soft touch drew a moan from you, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, lips parting to reveal the elongated canines that gleamed in the dim light.

You rolled your hips against him, a delicious friction that made him let out a low, shuddering breath, his grip tightening as he held you in place, urging you to continue. His mouth moved from your lips, trailing kisses down your jaw and across the soft pulse point on your neck. Then, he took a perked nipple into his mouth. The heat of his tongue, the way he nipped and sucked, sent a shiver straight to your core. Your hands clutched at his hair, the sensation heightened as your tail tugged his arm, pulling him impossibly closer.

The room filled with the thick air of anticipation as he shifted beneath you, guiding himself to your entrance. Your breath hitched as you felt him press against you. He was long, which you already knew from having given him a blowjob, but the feeling of his tip pressing against your wet core sparked a fire so hot that it raised goosebumps all over your body. His eyes met yours, a mix of lust and longing that warmed your heart, as if he was asking for permission to claim you completely.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice laced with need. The word was a command, a plea, and it sent him over the edge. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you, the sensation electric as your bodies joined. The connection between you was immediate and profound as the mark—the cupid tattoo beneath his ribs—glowed with the joining of your bodies.

Your wings fluttered, stretching wide as a cry of pleasure escaped your lips. The room glowed with a supernatural light, shadows dancing wildly as he moved within you, each thrust sending waves of heat and pleasure coursing through you both. His hands found your hips, fingers digging in as he held you close, maintaining his rhythm as your bodies moved in sync.

You rocked against him, meeting his movements with a passion that left no space for doubt or hesitation. His name tumbled from your lips in a chant as the intensity built, a knot of tension that threatened to snap at any moment. His lips found yours again, the kiss searing as his hips snapped forward, pushing you both closer to the edge.

As the world around you blurred, his hands traced your spine, fingertips brushing the base of your wings, sending you spiraling straight over the edge. Your eyes met his, a shared understanding passing between you as the final surge overtook you both. With a breathless cry, you came undone, your body shuddering around him while he experienced his own intense climax, marking you with the last thrust, a bond sealed with the heat of passion.

The afterglow wrapped around you both like a warm blanket, your bodies pressed together, chests moving up and down in unison as you caught your breath. His fingers traced the mark on his waist, now glowing with a warm yellow hue—a proof of the connection between you.

“Remember,” you whispered, your voice a soft reminder, lips brushing against his ear. “If you want me back… just call for me.”

And as he drifted into deeper sleep, the memory of you lingered, the promise of future dreams bound to the tattoo, linking him to you forever.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[killthewhisperingart]

Meet Me After Class

Pairing: Gym Teacher!Dean Winchester x History Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 790

Summary: Of course he's decided to bother you while you're grading papers.

Warning(s): Smut. Smut. Sex.

A/N: One of my friends challenged me to do this, so I finished this in one night. :3

I am an 18+ Blog.

You groan softly as you shake your head, marking another answer wrong on a students paper. You didn't understand, you had pushed the test back by a week to better help your students prepare, yet they didn't utilize any of the extra time correctly. You know for a fact that this student probably didn't know what class this was.

You knew once you passed these exams back, and your students saw their grades, you'd be their worst enemy.

You rub your hand down your face, popping your wrists before stretching backwards. Your back pops in a few places before you melt, dropping your arms and preparing yourself to get back to grading. A glance to the clock on the wall tells you that you've been in your classroom for an hour and a half since the final bell rang.

A knock at your classroom door startles you, a stray mark now on the essay question in bright red ink. You scoff, capping the pen before pushing out your chair, walking towards the door, your lanyard jingling with every movement.

Dean smiles, holding a bag of takeout. You look at it, before slowly dragging your gaze to his face, your hand on the door still.

"What's this?" You ask, your brows furrowed.

"Food." He says simply, stepping into the classroom. He's no longer in his usual Gym attire, having changed into his usual jeans and T-shirt, though the whistle still lingers around his neck. You think he probably went home, got food, and came back to work. "You know Food, right? You eat it." He teases.

You can't hold back your groan, rolling your eyes before going to your desk. He pushes the door closed behind him as he enters the room, jiggling the handle to confirm it's locked. You crash into your chair, and it rolls backwards. You take your lanyard off, tossing it onto the desk as you pick your legs up to set your feet on your desk, careful to not step on the papers.

"Thought we weren't supposed to put our feet on the furniture?" He taps your foot as he sits on your desk.

"We're not supposed to put our asses on tables either, but I'm not getting onto you about it right now." You snap halfheartedly, hand out as he puts a burger wrapped in tin foil onto your palm. Still warm.

He wastes no time in devouring his own burger, grease running down his fingers, no regard for the sauce on the corner of his mouth. You scoff out a chuckle, opening your own meal.

You both eat in silence, well, at least you do. He can't seem to stop himself from making obscene noises for his burger.

"You're always working," He finally comments, tossing the wrapper in the trash, wiping his face.

"Well, I actually have to *work* at my job, so." You grin sarcastically, tossing your trash at his face. He takes it in stride, catching it and tossing it into the trash.

"I work!" He defends himself.

"No you don't!" You guffaw. "You get paid to make students stay in shape, but you don't do the same."

"I work out regularly!" He points out. "My stamina is amazing."

"As if."

-

The desk is hard against your chest, your hands gripping the sides hard. The wood furniture scrapes against the floor harshly with every rough thrust from behind you. His jeans rub the skin on the back of your thighs as he fucks into you.

"What was that?" He asks, a cocky grin on his face as he positions his head next to yours. "What'd you say about my stamina?"

"Shut up-" You choke out, whining as you scrape your nails against the wood.

"I can't hear you." He teases, biting your ear lobe, tugging roughly. You almost squeal, but you clamp a hand over your mouth, knowing you couldn't possibly be the only two people left in the school.

He's so damn talkative, never knowing how to shut the fuck up and just fuck you.

You push yourself up, turning your torso to grab the whistle around his neck. His eyes widen as you jerk it forward to connect your lips to his. He eagerly returns your kiss, kissing you just as sloppily as he eats his food.

His thrusts turn sloppy, his chest stuttering with every shaky breath. His saliva drools into your open mouth, and eagerly you swallow.

His grip tightens on your hips, body shuddering one last time with three final deep thrusts. He stays seated within you, collecting himself, the whistle jingling as you let go.

"Fuck-" You mutter, kissing him one last time. "Maybe your stamina is fine."

"Just fine?"

"We'll have to test this again."

[manpaindyke]

"yeah i have a girlfriend... she goes to st. michael's so you wouldn't know her."

new lesbian high school destiel au just dropped

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

HOMEWORK

PAIRING : teenage!dean winchester x teenage!fem!reader (au)

SUMMARY : reader goes over to dean's house to do homework but that's not all they do...

WARNINGS : young love. fluff. smut. sub-to-dom!dean. dom-to-sub!reader. horniness. under-aged sex. rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie. getting caught kink. implied aftercare.

A/N : this oneshot was inspired by the gif above ^ (which is from jensen's movie devour [and if you think the gif is hot, you should hear the audio 😏🤤]) anyways—this is an au oneshot so don't trip that john and mary are alive & polite. also, please be patient with me, this is my first time writing in second person—and it being a smut, no less. hopefully over time i'll get better. hope you guys enjoy. lemme know what you think!

PREQUEL

You knock on the white door and patiently wait for someone to answer. John opens the door, greeting you with the famous Winchester smile.

"Hey, Y/N." He welcomes. "Dean told me you were coming over. Come on in."

"Thanks."

He steps back and opens the door wider, letting you into the two-story house. He closes the door before leading you further into the lovely home. Mary exits the kitchen, a bright smile lighting up her face once she sees you. She rushes over and wraps you in a warm hug. You happily melt into her motherly embrace. You loved Mary. She had always been kind to you.

"How are you?" She asks, her words muffled against your hair.

"I'm good. And you?"

John walks to the staircase and shouts, "Dean, Y/N's here!" before going to sit in his recliner.

"I'm great," Mary answers. "You kids have plans tonight?"

Nodding, you reply, "Yeah, we've got some homework to do."

Dean rushes down the stairs, catching the attention of you and his mother. You smile at your deliciously handsome boyfriend as he walks toward you. His eyes were fixed on yours as if you were the only one in the room. And it's been that way since the day he met you.

"Hey, beautiful," says Dean.

You giggle at the given pet name, a smile plastered on your blushed cheeks. His lips press against your forehead as his hand runs up your arm, creating goosebumps. Dean pulls away once his hand reaches for the strap on your bookbag. He takes it from your shoulder and throws it over his own. It was a gesture he frequently did, solely for you.

Before you started dating, Dean had his fair share of women. Whether he flirted with them or they threw themselves at him, he always had a girl on his shoulder. Everyone knew Dean Winchester's only rule: No Strings Attached. So, when his attention shifted toward you, you brushed him off. As much as you wanted to experience what the other girls bragged about, you refused to be like them. You had enough respect for yourself to say no despite every cell in your body begging for his. The last thing you expected from him was a chase.

You figured he only wanted sex, so 'No' was something he had to get used to. But he didn't stop, he didn't give up, and he certainly didn't chase anyone else. You couldn't understand his interest in you. You weren't popular or the prettiest girl in school, yet you were all he could think about. So, when you finally agreed to a date, you didn't imagine ending up on the hood of his '67 Chevy Impala, in the middle of a field, staring up at the stars as your head laid on his shoulder, talking the night away.

You feared that when he went to make a move, he would be upset or wouldn't understand. But when that moment came to admit that you were a virgin and weren't ready, he didn't once judge or try to rush you. Instead, he smiled and held you closer. And just like that, Dean had your heart.

Eight months after becoming official, which had been a first for Dean, you decide to take your relationship to the next level. He had become your best friend. You trusted him with your life. And you knew from previous conversations that he felt the same way. After your consummation, the bond between you both became stronger. Neither of you were the same people you were when you got together.

Dean grabs your hand and begins pulling you up the stairs. "We'll be in my room."

"Okay. Dinner will be ready in an hour!" Mary shouts after us.

Dean shuts the door as soon as you walk into his bedroom. Your backpack slumps off his shoulder before he attacks your lips. Happily accepting his eager kiss, you moan into his mouth. His swift hands pull off your sweater, letting it fall to the floor. He pushes you onto the bed, causing it to squeak loudly before climbing over your body.

"Not on the bed while your parents are home, remember?" You breathlessly murmur as his lips travel to your neck, licking and sucking on your sensitive skin. "And we really do have homework."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can't help that your beauty distracts me." He purrs into your ear, sending goosebumps along your skin.

"Stop trying to butter me up, Winchester." You push his chest away, urging him to get off of you. With a chuckle, he rises, grabbing your hands to help you off the mattress. "We have work to do."

Letting go of your hands, Dean walks over to the desk across from his bed and plops himself in his swivel chair. You walk over to your backpack and fetch your supplies before sitting in the chair beside him. You place the textbook between the two of you, flipping to page 124. Opening a fresh page in your notebook, you both began to work in silence.

Half an hour had gone by, and your page showed minimal progress. Sure, you solved a few problems, but your mind wandered elsewhere. The only chemistry you were thinking of was that of your boyfriend. Your paper blurs as you imagine his lips back on yours. You shut your eyes as you focus on the vivid feeling of his cock pounding in and out of you like all the times he had before. Your breath became shallow as your walls clenched around nothing. Although you gave him crap about it earlier, you found yourself unable to resist the temptation.

You open your eyes and glance toward Dean. His brows pinched together, gaze fixed on the problem before him. His face contorted with concentration, absorbed by the equation. The steely determination set in his jaw matched the resolute expression in his eyes. You bit your bottom lip, finding him even hotter. After setting your pencil down, you rise from the chair and turn towards your partner.

Dean looked up from his homework, giving you his attention. Without a word, you leaned down and began to unbutton his jeans. He watched as you slowly unzipped his pants, not bothering to stop or ask what you were up to. He knew exactly what you were doing. You reach into his boxers and pull out his hardening member, mouth watering at the sight of it.

His hand replaces yours, pumping his growing length as he watches you reach underneath your skirt to peel off your soaked panties. Once they fall to the wood floor, you move to straddle his hips. With your hands on his shoulders to steady your balance, you hover over his fully erect cock. Your dominant hand runs down his clothed chest before grabbing hold of his thick member and aligning it with your awaiting entrance. Dean's hands push your skirt higher and rest them against your bare hips. With his help, you ease onto his throbbing cock, moans escaping both of your mouths at the sheer contact.

He stretches your insides, forcing you to feel every inch he was blessed with. Your walls were so tight; He had to concentrate to avoid finishing too early. Your breath mingled with his, trying to find the strength to remain quiet. Once you adjusted around him, you slowly slide off, stopping when the tip dares to slip out. You and Dean make eye contact, staring into each other's souls as you lower again. Your wetness coats his length, making it easier to glide up and down. In no time, you were feverishly bouncing on his rock-hard shaft.

Quiet moans spill from your lips as he brushes your G-spot. Dean wraps his arms around your torso, helping keep your rhythm. Your hands gently pull his neck forward, connecting your lips. The bouncing made it difficult but not impossible as his tongue danced with yours. The overwhelming passion engulfed you, causing a delightful feeling of dizziness. After breaking for air, you rested your foreheads together.

You pick up the pace, and as a reward, Dean thrusts upward. Your hips crash together, slamming his dick against your G-spot even harder. A loud moan slips from your lips, unable to keep quiet from that mesmerizing thrust. He hushes you, and you nod quickly, not wanting to draw his family's attention. The added suspense of getting caught and his fingers rubbing harshly against your clit drove you to your first orgasm. You ride faster as he thrusts harder, working you through your climax. It was nearly impossible to hide your screams of ecstasy, but his shirt did a good enough job softening them.

Heavy pants fall from your lips once your orgasm passes. You lift your head from his shoulder and watch his countenance contour with pleasure. Dean buries his face in your chest, muffling his moans as his arms hug you tighter. Your thighs ache with soreness, hindering your endurance. His hand moves up your back, holding you closer as you feel his thrusts begin to falter. Knowing your boyfriend was close, you pushed through the pain and ran your fingers through his hair before gripping it tightly, just how he liked. You clench around his cock, knowing all the ways to make him spill his load. His hands quickly gripped your hips, locking yours with his before spewing hot ropes of cum deep inside you.

You both moan as his seed coats your soft walls. In times like these, you're thankful for the shot. Although—despite your age—you wouldn't mind having Dean's baby. Hell, you imagined your future with him since the first time you made love. A few kids running around the yard as your high school sweetheart chased after them was one that often came to mind. One you knew he shared with you.

Dean suddenly gripped your thighs and stood up from his chair, interrupting your thoughts. Your eyes looked into his fairytale green irises, searching for his next move. With one hand, he pushes your schoolwork aside before setting you on the desk. A devilish smirk plays on his lips as he pulls his jeans further down, getting ready to have his turn with you. The beating of your heart begins to quicken once again, bracing yourself for what's to come.

He begins to pull out slowly, both of your cums escaping your entrance. Before too much could leak out, Dean rams into your cunt, trapping the fluid inside again. Your hands traveled to his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. With another powerful thrust, your eyes shut tightly, trying desperately not to scream. After taking a few deep breaths, you mustered the courage to open your eyes and peek at the work he was putting in. With your knees wide apart and your feet above his ass, you had the perfect angle to see his shaft drive in and out of you at a fast pace.

The only sounds in the room were heavy panting, skin slapping, quiet moans, and the thud of each thrust against the desk as the items on it moved to the steady rhythm of Dean's hips. His hands trail down your thighs and to your hips, fingertips squeezing hard enough to leave bruises, just how you liked. He angles himself so he's no longer thrusting horizontally but vertically. Your body jolts to the new sensation, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

This man was trying to kill you. You had no doubt left crescent marks upon his skin before you gripped the wooden desk with all your might. The pressure in the pit of your stomach threatened to explode any second. Short and hushed screams escaped your lips as he only went faster, harder, and even deeper than before. He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted you to scream at the top of your lungs. He strived to get you close enough to shout your pleasure.

He accomplished that once his right hand slipped between your legs and applied heavy pressure to your already sensitive clit. You gasped, but before you cried with ecstasy, he leaned down and covered your mouth with his. After a few more thrusts and rubs to your bundle of nerves, you came undone. Your hands quickly make their way to his back, legs tightening around his hips, holding on for dear life as he fucked your pussy like it was the last time. Tears stream down your temples, overcome by your third orgasm seconds after your last.

Your limbs go limp, the arch in your spine straightening as your body comes down from its sex-induced high. With lips now detached, exhaustion sets in as both of you catch your breath. Dean's body presses against yours, hearts beating as one. You open your eyes to find him staring back, a lazy smile gracing his handsome face. He didn't make a move to part from your body, and you didn't intend to make him. His hand brushed your sweat-clung hair away from your face, taking in your beautiful post-sex glow.

"So much for homework."

Knowing he would say that, you teased with, "I can't help that your beauty distracts me."

Your laughters fills the room before it's interrupted by a knock on the door. Each of your eyes widened, having been—almost—caught in the act. Both of your bodies had stiffened with fear.

"Yeah?" Dean called, attempting to be calm.

"Dinner's ready," Sam replies from the opposite side of the door.

You and Dean sigh in relief; it was only Sammy. He knew better than to go into Dean's room, especially when you were over.

"We'll be right down!"

The sound of Sam's footsteps fades as he walks away from your boyfriend's door. He begins to laugh again, encouraging you to participate. There never seemed to be a dull moment with Dean Winchester. He sits up, pulling you with him before sliding his semi-hardened member out of your soaked vagina. He helps you off the desk and catches you when your legs wobble. Once you regain your balance, you pull your skirt down and search for your underwear. You could feel both of your liquids leak from your entrance, beginning to drip down your legs. Dean fetches the pair and stuffs them in his pocket.

He tucks his cock back into his jeans before zipping up. He grabs your hand and gently kisses your cheek. You close your eyes as his lips linger. The warmth of his skin radiates onto yours, something you have always found comforting. He pulls away and tugs you with him.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's go clean up."

You nod as a small smile appears on your face, knowing he'll take care of you like he always did after sex. You couldn't have asked for or found a better partner, especially so early in life. How did you get so damn lucky?

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

JENSEN TAGS : @ladysparkles78

SUPERNATURAL TAGS : @nancymcl

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO JAYS-BONNIE-ON-THE-SIDE

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

*beside my writing, my works include : all banners, headers, dividers, and gifs that i use (which were made by me,) unless otherwise stated.

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin || KTH || Masterpost

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: Of Ruin

Status: complete - all chapters now posted

WC: 85k total, 16 chapters

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Pairing: KTH x reader || platonic Namjoon x reader friendship!

Genre: supernatural!au royalty!au magic!au || s2l || angst fluff smut trifecta 

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

Warnings: language, casual drinking, lots of vampire warnings such as scary situations, vampires hunting/biting/feeding/killing, magic and magical fighting, magical world politics, eventual smut but not a lot dont expect too much, EXTREMELY slow burn even for me DONT SAY I DIDNT WARN YOU, chapters will have individual warnings

Author’s Note: Although the worlds, rules, characterizations, and plot are very extremely different, I have to say that I was inspired to write this after reading @/kth1fics Black Ravens series. Thank you to Maggie for being so gracious when I asked if she’d be okay with me trying a vamp!tae fic of my own.

Big thank you to @sailoryooons for the quick, thorough, and masterful beta job, and for letting me ask questions, shout and scream, and send endless screenshots as I worked on this for the last six months! Thank you also to @eoieopda, @jeonqkooks, and @yoongiphoria for accepting an ungodly number of screenshots as well. There would be no fic without y'all, I mean it!

Series Teaser:

He’s on you in an instant, so quickly you don’t see him move. Your back hits the wall behind you and you let out an audible grunt.

He sniffs at you, fangs displayed and ready. Your heart pounds desperately, and beneath his inhumanly strong hold, your muscles shake. Your body knows you are about to die, even if your mind still wants to lie to you about it.

He laves at a spot near the base of your neck, giving a happy hum as your pulse thunders against his tongue. You close your eyes, feeling your whole body shudder in terror.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, eyelids fluttering.

Chapter 1 || wc: 5.7k

Chapter 2 || wc: 5.9k

Chapter 3 || wc: 5.1k

Chapter 4 || wc: 5.5k

Chapter 5 || wc: 4.6

Chapter 6 || wc: 6k

Chapter 7 || wc: 5k

Chapter 8 || wc: 4.8k

Chapter 9 || wc: 4.3k

Chapter 10 || wc: 5.2k

Chapter 11 || wc: 4.7k

Chapter 12 || wc: 4.8k

Chapter 13 || wc: 6k

Chapter 14 || wc: 6.3k

Chapter 15 || wc: 5k

Chapter 16 || wc: 5.1k

[artyandink]

magnetism

FBI!AU

Summary: You and Dean Winchester, the best Major Crimes has to offer. You’ve been assigned on the same case, but even though you two maintain a certain level of moral integrity, you can’t help but let that go in the hotel room you’re both staying in. Just one moment can’t hurt, right?

A/N - This is for the Jensen-A-Thon and could also be the prequel for another series I have in mind, might be titled something similar hehe. Stay tuned and let me know if you’re interested!

SERIES MASTERLIST

This was supposed to be professional.

“You goddamn tease.” Dean growled in your ear before nipping the earlobe, his calloused hands smoothing up from your body to reach your chest, grab hold of your blouse and rip it apart, buttons clattering to the floor and eliciting a gasp from you, low chuckle from him. “Workin’ me up all day in that tight skirt and goddamn heels- d’you know what you do to me, darlin’?” You were marked with an array of small and large purpling bruises down your neck and behind your ears as well as his cologne all over you, the musk of coffee and floral washing detergent only adding to the dizzying mix.

Your head was tipped back, as a result of him pulling roughly on your hair to give him the access he wanted. “Dean…”

“Yeah, just like that, baby. Love hearin’ my name from those pretty lips.” He threw your legs apart as wide as they’d go, standing between them and grinding into you so you’d feel him through his slacks, his teeth gritted as he felt the warmth through your dampened panties. Or maybe soaked, he couldn’t tell.

He’d find out soon enough.

He ran his nose along the length of that pretty neck that he now owned, littered with his marks and clouding his better judgement with the perfume you had on, the morning espresso and sweet pheromones that tore his inhibitions piece by piece.

Dean had snapped five minutes earlier, straight lifting you onto the kitchen island, the only brace being the edge of it. From there, you’d felt his lips on yours, hand moving up to rest on your throat, movements hard, demanding, as he grabbed your shin and pulled you closer.

Now he was kissing down the valley of your chest, kneading one in his palm over the fabric of your bra as the other snaked around to undo the clasp. He looked up at you as the bra and torn open blouse fell away, lipstick smeared, hair all messed up and no longer neat, with your skirt bunched up around your waist and showing your clothed pussy, the material covering it soaked.

There was a switch in his brain.

He began kissing every freckle he could reach on your body, his index hooking into the band of your panties, pulling and snapping them against your skin, making you jolt and whine his name. “So damn sensitive.” He chuckled, the words sending vibrations against your skin. “Don’t get touched much on the job, huh?” He slapped your thigh when your only response was a whimper. “Words.”

“No, Dean.” You replied shakily, and Dean bit his lip and groaned, though you didn’t catch the first part as his mouth was hovering above your collarbone. But then he raised his head up to face you, and you saw the extent of what you’d done to him. Hair sticking up in different directions, lips swollen and reddened, neck covered in your lipstick prints, tie no longer there and shirt partway undone. He looked like a wet dream.

He grinned slightly, nudging your nose with his before nipping your bottom lip. “S’what I like to hear.” Then he bent by your ear, removing your panties with a flourish. “Be loud for me, sweetheart. Wanna hear you scream-”

“Hey, you listening? Homicides and organised crime across the States not interestin’ enough for you, princess?” You stopped staring at the wall, the apparently very interesting wall with its boring, cream, floral wallpaper, and your eyes landed on Agent Winchester sitting on the bed, scratching his scruff in irritation, the laptop set on those powerful thighs in the slacks which looked like they were practically painted on. Green eyes set on you, eyebrow quirked, long, thick fingers resting on the keyboard of his laptop. Shirt straining on that broad chest in a way that should be illegal. Ironic because you’re the FBI of all people. Had you not worked together, you’d have straddled him on that bed, unbuttoned your blouse and- “Cause I’m not repeating this once more after this.”

Of course it was your imagination.

“Y-Yeah, go ahead.” You nodded, doing a quick check of yourself. Blouse intact, skirt was firmly ending at your lower thigh as usual, and by your discreet mission to rub your thighs together, you gathered intel that your panties were still on. Albeit soaked through.

You were gonna have to change those before it became a distraction.

Oh, boy, sweet Jesus, holy guacamole, you were in trouble.

But at least you could revisit that daydream at night. And maybe have him finish off the job the next time around.

This was so unprofessional.

I’d appreciate feedback in the forms of comments and reblogs, lovelies! Thanks for reading!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @deans-daydream @lyarr24 @hobby27 @agentmstark @kaya-mohr-blog @mohrkaya-blog

[m00ntunaart]

That time I made a whole Supernatural Medeval AU where hunters are warriors who ride War Horses and fight Demons (dragons), the Angels are a tribe that live in the mountains and ride Griffins, and Sam is a weirdo who bonds with a demon.

Sorry for the low quality sketches, but I thought someone might get something out of these old doodles. I literally have a whole doc somewhere with made up lore for this AU lol.

[seongwars]

forget me not | ii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.7K Warnings: swearing, allusions to self disappearing, mentions of ghosts and the unliving

Fic Masterlist

a/n: ngl, I teared up writing this chapter. poll results were also incorporated into the plot 🤭

The sun was setting behind the outfield, casting a golden hue over the empty baseball diamond. You sat on the bleachers with your journal in hand, taking in the post-practice calm of the field, as you waited for Yunho. 

Fall had arrived, bringing with it crisp weather, cozy sweaters, and the start of your final year of high school. In the soft light, you focused intently on your sketchbook, your pencil moving deftly across the pages. You were engrossed in capturing the essence of a black cat in various poses—the cat’s form, rendered in fluid lines and delicate shading, seemed to come to life on the page.

“You know black cats are bad luck,” Yunho chuckled, his voice warm and teasing as he leaned closer to peer at your sketches. His tone carried a light-heartedness that matched the playful glint in his eyes.

You glanced up, catching his gaze with a smile. “They’re just little guys,” you pouted, brow furrowing in mock frustration. 

“How was your meeting with the counselor?” he asked, gaze drifting over the field he loved so much. The question carried a note of genuine curiosity, and his eyes, shaded by the brim of his cap, held a look of earnest concern. 

You shrugged. “It was okay,” the words drifted out as you turned back to the sketches. “Just a lot to think about. What did you tell her?”

Yunho hummed thoughtfully. “Told her I’m going to hit up the Tigers and build a winning team.” His voice was filled with a quiet determination, the kind that comes from years of dreaming and planning.

“But of course,” you snorted. There was something comforting about Yunho’s single-minded devotion to the sport, a constant in a world that felt increasingly uncertain as graduation loomed closer.

“It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to work for it.” His eyes lit up with a spark of determination, the same spark that had driven him to countless early morning practices and late-night games. You’d seen firsthand how much effort Yunho put into everything he did, how deeply he cared about his teammates and the sport itself. There was no doubt in your mind that he could make his dream a reality.

Yunho’s gaze softened as he turned to you, his expression sincere. 

“Did you explore any career options with her?”

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirl in your chest. “Not really. I’ve got some ideas, but nothing’s set in stone.”

“What about art? Or photography? You’re a great photographer and you’re always sketching in your journal.” 

A small smile played on your lips as you considered his words. “Yeah, but I’d probably hate it if I made a career out of it,” you sighed, closing the leather-bound book with a soft thud. There was a truth in that statement you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. The idea of turning your art into a career felt like it would strip away the joy and freedom that came with creating something purely for yourself.

But now, as you stood on the brink of a new chapter in your life, you realized how much you had relied on Yunho. His presence had been a constant, a safety net that you had come to depend on. The thought of making decisions without his input was daunting, and you felt a pang of anxiety at the prospect.

Yunho’s brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to weigh your words carefully before responding. “I get that. But whatever you choose, just make sure it’s something that makes you happy. That’s what really matters.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Yunho stood up, offering you a hand. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice breaking the peaceful silence, but not disturbing the tranquility of the moment. 

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his relaxed posture, the way his cap sat slightly askew on his head, and the easy smile that always seemed to come so naturally to him. There was something reassuring about Yunho, a steadiness that made even the quietest of moments feel meaningful.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, and as he helped you to your feet, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of ease wash over you. 

“Where are we going for dinner?” he asked, picking up his bag. 

“How about that little place by the river? The one with the outdoor seating?” you suggested, glancing up at him.

Yunho’s face brightened at your suggestion, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perfect. I’ve been craving their chicken skewers.”

“What can I say? I know what you like,” you grinned, bumping your shoulder into his. 

You drifted away from Yunho, your steps slow and aimless, as if the ground beneath you had shifted in a way that left you unmoored. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to stretch out toward you, mocking your loneliness. 

The cold breeze stung your cheeks, mingling with the tears that you couldn’t hold back any longer. You wiped at them hastily, but more kept coming, each one a reminder of how much tonight had hurt. The heartbreak was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the loss of your best friend; it was the loss of a part of yourself. 

Sixteen years. You’d grown up together, sharing secrets, dreams, and fears. Yunho was there for you when you felt like the world was too much to handle, offering a shoulder to cry on and words of encouragement that always seemed to make things better. 

You thought back to one of those moments, a memory that stood out vividly despite the passage of time. You were eleven, and the world felt like it was crumbling around you. Your dog had passed away, and the weight of it was too much for your young heart to bear. 

You called Yunho right away, your voice breaking as you tried to hold back the tears. You didn’t need to explain; he just knew. Within minutes, he was at your house, breathless from running across the street. He wrapped a lanky arm around your shoulder the entire time you cried, hoping he could shield you from the pain that was tearing you apart.

Or the time you got a ‘C’ on your first big exam in university. You were devastated, convinced that you weren’t good enough, that you would never succeed. The weight of disappointment was crushing, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let everyone down, including yourself.

He dragged you out of your dorm that day, refusing to let you wallow in self-pity. Despite your protests, he insisted you needed a change of scenery. You spent the afternoon at the art museum, wandering through the quiet halls filled with the vibrant colors and intricate details of the paintings and sculptures. The silence of the museum was a balm to your frazzled nerves, allowing you to lose yourself in the art, if only for a little while.

But Yunho, being Yunho, couldn’t let you leave without doing something more to lift your spirits. As you were about to head out, he steered you toward the gift shop, his eyes bright with an idea he hadn’t yet shared. You half-heartedly browsed the shelves, not really in the mood to buy anything, but Yunho seemed determined.

“Wait here,” he said, flashing you a quick smile before disappearing behind a display of postcards. Moments later, he returned, his hands hidden behind his back, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and despite your skepticism, you complied, hearing the faint rustle of a small bag.

“Okay, open them,” Yunho’s voice was filled with barely contained excitement. When you did, you found him holding out a small, carefully wrapped package, tied with a simple ribbon. “This is for you.”

You unwrapped the gift, your heart swelling as you revealed a figurine of a golden retriever. The dog’s playful expression, with eyes full of joy, instantly brought a smile to your face. It was so perfectly Yunho—loyal, dependable, always bringing a bit of sunshine into your life, even when things seemed bleak.

As you felt a lump in your throat, tears began to well up in your eyes. You couldn’t hold them back and immediately started sobbing, drawing attention from onlookers. It was such a small thing, a simple gesture, but it meant everything to you in that moment. The figurine was more than just a gift; it was a symbol of Yunho’s unwavering friendship and his ability to understand you in ways no one else could. Through your tears, you managed to smile at him, grateful for his presence and the comfort he brought into your life.

How could someone who once knew you so intimately now feel so distant, so unreachable? It was as if you were looking into the eyes of a stranger, and the realization was like a knife to the heart. You were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, trying to make sense of a world where your best friend had become your greatest adversary.

Stopping at the edge of the river’s walkway, you watched the water move steadily, its surface deceptively calm. You longed for that same tranquility, that same sense of direction. Instead, you felt lost, adrift in a sea of emotions you couldn’t navigate. The cold night air wrapped around you like a shroud, beckoning you into its deceptively calm waters.

“Sad… Sad…”

It was hypnotic. Shadows danced along the water’s edge, and you could almost hear the whispers of spirits wandering through the night. Their presence was palpable, a chilling reminder of the unseen forces at play. The river pulsed with an otherworldly energy, drawing you closer, tempting you to step into its depths and join the spectral procession.

The spirits seemed to take notice of you, drawn to the sorrow that weighed heavily on your heart. They circled closer, their ethereal forms flickering in the moonlight. You felt their cold, ghastly fingers brush against your skin, feeding off your anguish, growing stronger with each passing moment. They were inviting you to surrender to the darkness, to become one with the night.

“Hungry… hungry… ” they murmured, their words merging into a single, chilling plea. It was as if they were lured by the raw, unfiltered emotion, driven by an insatiable hunger that could only be sated by consuming your sorrow. 

The weight of grief, loss, and betrayal from someone you loved suffocated you, pressing down on your chest like a vice. You looked around, desperate for some sign of relief, but the ghosts were relentless. Their forms circled you, their murmurs growing louder, more insistent. The despair you felt seemed to feed their hunger, making their presence even more intense, more invasive.

“Give in…” one spirit whispered directly into your ear, its cold breath sending another shiver down your spine. “Let us take it… let us take the pain…”

Desperation clawed at you, and you tried to push them away, but your hands passed through their ghastly bodies. The more you struggled, the more they seemed to tighten their grip, as if they were trying to pull you into their world, to make you one of them. The night air seemed to close in around you, the darkness growing heavier with each breath you took.

“Scatter,” a voice commanded, deep and resonant, cutting through the night like a blade. The spirits, who had been swirling around you with growing hunger, recoiled in sudden fear. Their flickering forms dimmed and began to dissolve into the shadows, retreating from the voice’s commanding presence.

You gasped, as if surfacing from the depths of the sea for the first time, and blinked, the voice shattering the spell that had held you captive. The oppressive chill and haunting whispers began to recede, replaced by a strange, unsettling calm. You looked around, trying to grasp what had just happened, your heart still pounding from the encounter.

The figure’s presence was both terrifying and oddly comforting, a paradox that left you feeling simultaneously alarmed and relieved. His silhouette was sharp and defined against the dim moonlight, and though his face was partially concealed beneath a deep, shadowy hood, there was no mistaking the sheer authority he commanded.

“Brave of you to be roaming near my realm, mortal.”

You blinked, disoriented by the strangeness of the encounter. It felt like you had stumbled into a scene from a dream, and your mind scrambled to make sense of it. With a flicker of rational thought cutting through the haze of confusion, you spun on your heel and bolted, your footsteps pounding against the pavement in a frantic rhythm. 

“I’ve been eaten by ghosts, I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead,” you panicked as your feet pounded against the pavement in a full-on sprint. 

“You’re not dead,” the figure’s voice was smooth and unnervingly calm, laced with a hint of amusement. He materialized before you in a swirl of black mist, his sudden appearance silent and startling. Your heart skipped a beat as you skidded to a halt, eyes wide with panic. He stood there, smirking, clearly relishing your bewilderment.

Without a second thought, you turned and ran again, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The cityscape blurred around you as you darted through the park and vaulted over obstacles, your mind a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline. You could hear the figure’s footsteps behind you, a steady, unhurried pace that only heightened your terror.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart sinking as you saw him gaining on you effortlessly. You rounded a corner sharply, nearly losing your balance as you bumped into him. Panic surged through you, a cold sweat breaking out as your mind scrambled for an escape route. Fuck fuck fuck. You swallowed hard, trying to mask your fear. 

“What do you want from me?” The words slipped out, more out of desperation than defiance. The surreal nature of the situation was twisting your emotions into a knot, leaving you uncertain whether to be angry, terrified, or something in between.

He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. “I was curious about what could have triggered a feeding frenzy among the ghosts.” 

You felt a chill run down your spine. “So I have been eaten alive by the ghosts,” you muttered.

He paused, his gaze steady and deliberate as he chose his words carefully. “No. When the veil between the worlds is thin and the energies of the living and the dead are in flux, spirits are drawn to heightened emotions,” he explained, his voice holding a note of measured calm. “That’s why you were being swarmed earlier. And for the last time, you’re not dead.”

“Now that I think of it, being eaten by ghosts sounds better than the bullshit and humiliation I just went through,” you spat with an edge of bitterness.

The fight with Yunho was still fresh, the sting of it cutting deep, and the bitterness in your words was impossible to hide. Every memory of your friendship now felt like a cruel reminder of your naivety, and the humiliation of being deceived cut deeper than any physical wound.

The figure studied you intently, his gaze piercing through the darkness, as if he could see into the very depths of your soul. “You have a strong desire to disappear,” he said, his voice low and measured.

From the corner of his eye, a small black cat appeared and found purchase underneath a streetlamp, its onyx eyes staring intently at the stranger, urging him to wrap up whatever business he was conducting with you. 

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. You felt exposed under his scrutiny, as if he had laid bare your deepest fears and desires. 

He stepped closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. “I can sense it within you,” he said, his voice a blend of solemnity and intrigue. “The shadows that cling to your heart and a yearning to disappear from the pain and humiliation that haunt you. But…”

“But?” you prompted, as you tried to grasp the meaning of his words.

The cat flicked its tail with an air of impatience, its gaze fixed on you with an intensity that was almost unnerving. The small creature seemed to radiate an aura of quiet authority, as if it, too, was a part of this mysterious world that was slowly unraveling before you. 

“But it seems,” he began, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “you’ve captured the attention of more than just the ghosts tonight.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the implications swirling in your mind like a storm. “What are you saying?” you asked, your voice barely steady, dread and curiosity pulling at you.

Without a sound, the cat began to walk away from the waterfront, its sleek form gliding through the shadows as if it were a part of them. The man gestured subtly encouraging you to follow. 

“I suggest you see where this leads.”

You followed the black cat as it led you through the dimly lit streets. The air around you shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being guided by something far greater than mere chance.

The cat paused in front of an unassuming door, its facade a curious blend of traditional and contemporary styles. The door was adorned with a delicate flowery overhang, its intricate designs seeming to shift subtly as if alive. With a soft meow, it pawed at the door, encouraging you to open it. 

So you do. 

The realm seemed to breathe with life, its atmosphere humming with a quiet, almost magical energy that seeped into your very bones. The walls pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, as if the shop itself were sentient, aware of your presence. Every corner of this enchanting realm was meticulously crafted to evoke wonder, from the collection of curios on the shelves to the hanging flowerfield above you.

“Seonghwa, you bastard, you’re late— Oh?” The voice was sharp and accusatory, cutting through the ambiance. 

Your gaze shifted to the source of the voice. There stood a vibrant and enigmatic stranger, his presence striking in brightly colored robes and glinting jewelry that shimmered with every subtle movement. He was a living embodiment of the mystical realm he presided over–captivating in his otherworldly grace.

As your eyes met, the shopkeeper studied you, sensing the heaviness in your heart, the weight of whatever burden you carried. It was clear that you were barely holding it together, your composure a fragile mask meant to shield you from further vulnerability. 

“Seonghwa”, the shadowy figure, followed behind, seeming unfazed by the rebuke. There was a subtle ease in his movements, a confidence that suggested he was entirely at home in this strange and wondrous place. 

“Your traveler has arrived,” Seonghwa announced with a casual nonchalance, as if his presence was a matter of routine rather than a potential disruption. His tone was light, almost amused, adding an air of detached amusement to the situation.

“Welcome traveler. I must apologize, it seems Lord Death and his ghosts gave you quite the scare,” His gaze flicked towards his friend, and a scowl of mild irritation crossed his features. “Please call me Hongjoong. I am the keeper of the Astral Emporium,” he bowed, turning his attention back to you.

“Astral Emporium?” you echoed, the name lingering on your tongue with a sense of wonder. Your eyes wandered over the shop’s interior, taking in the gilded spines of ancient texts and the array of artifacts that seemed to shimmer with hidden magic.

Hongjoong nodded. “The shop exists in a realm between the supernatural and the living, responding to the energy of your desires, known as wishes. Think of wishes as the hidden yearnings of your heart, and this place has the power to bring them to life.”

“You bring wishes to life? As in, you grant them?”

“In a sense,” Hongjoong replied, his voice carrying a playful lilt that softened the gravity of his words. “To have a wish granted, you must offer something of equal value in return. This realm operates on a principle of balance—the universe demands equilibrium.”

You glanced down at the little black cat that had guided you here. Its fur was soft and comforting beneath your fingers, and its gentle purr seemed to blend with the quiet, expectant atmosphere of the shop. The cat leaned into your touch, clearly content with the affection. You tapped your finger gently on its nose, trying to think through the implications.

“Do I have to make a decision tonight?” you asked, a note of urgency in your voice. The least you could do is say goodbye to your parents and figure out how you were going to pay for your wish. 

Hongjoong’s expression softened, and he looked at you with understanding. “No. The shop has already revealed itself to you, and you may make your wish whenever you are ready,” he said with a reassuring smile. “However, I encourage travelers to take their time. Once a wish is granted, it cannot be undone.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the impending decision settle heavily upon you. The quiet, almost palpable presence of the choice lingered in the air like a delicate mist. Your heart pounded as you contemplated the gravity of the situation, the stakes higher than you had ever imagined. 

You eyed the golden retriever statue Yunho had given you your freshman year. Its calm expression remained unchanged, frozen in time. As you picked it up and ran your fingers over the smooth, cool surface, it served as a reminder of the past—one you were now trying to reconcile with the present.

Scrolling through your contacts, your finger hovered over Yunho’s name. The thought of reaching out, of trying to bridge the gap, was tempting, but the fear of what you might find on the other side held you back. What if you needed him? What if he needed you? The questions swirled in your head, making it hard to think clearly. 

You sighed, setting the statue back on the shelf. It felt like a relic from another life, one where your best friend was a constant presence. The memories were bittersweet, filled with laughter and shared dreams, but also with the pain of growing apart. 

Yunho stood at the window, his face pressed against the cool glass, watching with wide eyes as the moving truck rumbled to a stop across the street. The hum of activity and the clatter of boxes spilling onto the driveway filled the air. He bounced on his toes, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Mom, there’s a moving truck across the street!” Yunho exclaimed, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. He pointed out the window, his eyes following the movers who were already hard at work.

His mother, busy in the kitchen, wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked over to join him. She peered out the window, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Looks like we’re getting new neighbors,” she said, her tone warm and welcoming.

Yunho’s mind raced with possibilities. Would there be kids his age? Maybe someone who liked sports as much as he did? He imagined all the games they could play together, the adventures they could have. The thought made his heart race with anticipation.

Outside, the movers were unloading furniture: a large, comfy-looking couch, a dining table with matching chairs, and a tall bookshelf that Yunho imagined would be filled with interesting books and knick-knacks. He watched as a family car pulled up behind the truck, and a woman stepped out, followed by a girl about his age.

Yunho’s face fell as he saw you step out of the car. “Aw, it’s a girl!” he exclaimed, his excitement clearly dampened.

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. What’s important is that you’re welcoming a new neighbor.”

His cheeks reddened slightly as he looked up at his mom. “But I thought it’d be someone I could play baseball with.”

His mother knelt down to his level, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You never know, Yunho. She might like baseball too, or maybe she has other fun games to share. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

Yunho sighed but nodded, his curiosity piqued despite his initial disappointment. He watched as you helped your parents carry boxes into the house. You seemed about his age, with a friendly smile and an air of confidence that intrigued him.

“Why don’t you go over and say hello?” his mother suggested, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s always nice to welcome new neighbors.”

Gathering his courage, Yunho took a deep breath and walked over, but not without looking both ways before crossing the street. “Hi!” he called out, trying to muster up his enthusiasm again. “I’m Yunho. Do you want to play with me later?”

You looked up from the box you were carrying, a surprised but friendly smile spreading across your face. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you replied, setting the box down. “I’m six. Um, what do you like to do?”

Yunho’s initial nervousness began to fade as he saw your welcoming expression. “I like baseball. And I’m six too,” he said, his excitement returning. “Do you like baseball?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Maybe we can play together here,” you exclaimed, pointing to your backyard. “My backyard is really big!” 

Yunho’s heart soared, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. He had been worried about making a new friend, but it seemed like things were going to work out just fine. He couldn’t wait to show you around the neighborhood and introduce you to his favorite spots. 

“Mom, Y/N likes baseball too!” Yunho called out as he ran back to his house. His mother smiled, watching her son’s excitement. He froze suddenly realizing he forgot something. 

“I forgot to ask her about her favorite team!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with eagerness. He had clearly been so caught up in the excitement of meeting his new neighbor that he had overlooked this important detail.

His mother chuckled softly, sensing the genuine enthusiasm in her son’s voice. “Well, it sounds like you have something to look forward to next time you see her. Maybe you can invite her over for a game or something.”

Yunho nodded vigorously, already imagining the fun of discussing baseball with his new friend. He dashed back to the window, peering out to catch another glimpse of you, hoping for a chance to continue your budding friendship.

Your life had largely revolved around Yunho, with him at the center of everything you did. Your world seemed to orbit around his presence, to the point you were deeply entangled in the expectations and dreams you had placed on him. 

“Pathetic.” That was one of the words Yunho had used to describe you, a word that echoed in your mind with a cruel sense of truth. As Yunho moved on with his life—dating Haewon, expanding his circle of friends, and pursuing new opportunities—you remained as you were: unmoving, uncertain of what kind of future you would have without him.

Then came your literal brush with Lord Death himself and Hongjoong. The experience sparked something within you. You found yourself irresistibly drawn to the mysteries of this otherworldly realm, feeling an intense, almost primal urge to be a part of it. It was as if the brush with the supernatural had unlocked a deep-seated desire to break free from the constraints of your old life.

You opened your contacts again, your finger hovering over Yunho’s name. You hesitated, feeling the gravity of what you were about to do.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the delete button. Yunho’s name vanished from your contacts, leaving an empty space where he used to be. It felt like a small act, but the weight of it hit you immediately, a reminder that some doors, once shut, could never be reopened.

A soft meow from outside your window drew your attention. Pulling back the curtain, you see the little black cat perched on the ledge—the same one that had first guided you to the emporium. The cat’s eyes shimmered with a curious intelligence, locking onto yours as it stretched its small, agile body and began to paw at the window.

With a gentle push, you opened the window, and the cat trotted inside with an air of casual confidence. You crouched down, your fingers instinctively reaching out to caress its velvety fur.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, scratching behind its ears. “You’re quite a ways from home.”

“The ordinary rules of reality don’t apply to me.”

You blinked in disbelief, your mind struggling to process the extraordinary claim. “You– You can talk!?” The words escaped your lips in a stammer, your astonishment palpable. The notion that a cat could converse was something straight out of a fairy tale, and yet here it was, happening right before your eyes.

“Indeed,” it said with a gentle purr that seemed almost amused. “Master created me to assist with managing the shop while he’s away. I am a familiar, with the ability to traverse between realms. I can come and go as I please.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to absorb the cat’s matter-of-fact response. “But if you’re here, then who’s–”

“Master is, obviously,” the cat interrupted, its tail flicking lazily. “But when he isn’t, I’m there.”

“And where does he go?” you asked, your voice edged with curiosity. The cat’s nonchalant demeanor contrasted sharply with the gravity of your question.

The cat’s demeanor shifted to something softer, almost wistful. “Master Hongjoong is a powerful sorcerer. His duties often take him beyond the confines of this realm. 

Sometimes he’s negotiating peace between warring factions, other times he’s retrieving lost artifacts of immense power.”

“While he’s away, I watch over the shop and keep things in order,” it continued, its voice carrying a note of quiet resignation. “It’s a lonely task at times, but it’s necessary for the travelers who come through looking to have their wishes granted.”

You noticed the subtle strain in the cat’s voice, the way its eyes reflected a deep solitude.

“It sounds like you have a very important role,” you said gently, hoping to offer some comfort. The depth of the familiar’s responsibilities became clearer to you, and with it, a newfound respect. 

“I’m certain your master appreciates everything you do,” you added, your voice filled with sincerity.

The cat’s eyes, still reflecting that subtle loneliness, brightened slightly at your words. “Thank you,” it said softly.

You reached down and gently scratched behind its ears, hoping to offer a bit of solace. “Ah, I don’t know what to call you,” you said gently, realizing you hadn’t yet asked for the cat’s name. 

“Wooyoung,” the cat replied, the name rolling off its tongue with a sense of pride. “Master Hongjoong gave it to me.”

“And what about you?” Wooyoung continued, its gaze curious and attentive. “You didn’t give us your name yesterday.”

“I’m Y/N,” you replied, your voice carrying a bit of warmth and a hint of vulnerability. The exchange felt like a small but significant step towards understanding this strange new world you had found yourself in. 

As Wooyoung settled comfortably in your lap, purring softly, you found yourself contemplating the implications of your conversation. The idea of disappearing into the emporium’s enigmatic realm began to seem increasingly appealing. Perhaps this magical world, with its mysteries and hidden depths, was exactly where you needed to be.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Yunho asked, his voice strained and laced with worry. 

Haewon looked up from her phone, her face mirroring his growing alarm. “No, I haven’t,” she replied, her brows knitting together as she struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. “Did something happen?”

“Her dad called me this morning,” he said, his voice tight. “He hasn’t heard from her in a couple of days. She hasn’t posted on her socials, and she’s not responding to texts. I think the cops are going to do a wellness check. I’m going to meet them there.”

Haewon’s worry deepened, her heart sinking as the implications of Yunho’s words settled in. “That’s not like her at all,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Y/N is always so reliable. If she’s gone silent for this long, something must be seriously wrong. She would never just disappear like this.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair. His gaze dropped to the floor as he wrestled with a surge of guilt. The fight he’d had with you, the way it had spiraled after Sungjae’s humiliating display at his apartment, weighed heavily on him. He could still see the hurt in your eyes, the way you stormed out and dumped your journal, leaving behind a trail of unresolved emotions.

He hadn’t reached out, thinking it might be best to give you some time to cool off. After all, you always came back. But now, as the days dragged on without a word from you, each passing moment felt like a missed opportunity to mend the rift he had caused.

“You don’t think it was because of Sungjae, do you?” Haewon asked. “You know he didn’t mean to say those things. He was drunk.”

But he did. Yunho knew, deep down, that the words Sungjae had spoken were hurtful and that they had contributed to the mess of emotions you were feeling. But there was a darker truth he couldn’t ignore: he had not only allowed Sungjae’s actions to influence the situation but had also failed to stand up for you and make amends. 

“There’s always an excuse for Sungjae,” he suddenly snapped, his voice sharp and edged with anger. “It’s always ‘he didn’t mean it,’ ‘he was drunk,’ as if that makes his words any less hurtful. It’s like you’re just brushing it off!”

Haewon’s expression hardened, her patience wearing thin. “I know you and Sungjae don’t get along, but right now, focusing on him won’t help Y/N. We need to find out what’s going on with her,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t get it, Haewon! Sungjae crossed the line and no one said anything! He fucking humiliated her in front of everyone!” 

They made her feel worthless, and I stood by and did nothing. I should have defended her. I should have been there for her, is what Yunho wanted to say.

“And what good does yelling at me do, Yunho? You think I don’t care? You think I’m not worried about Y/N? She’s my friend too!”

“You’re always defending him! Why can’t you see how much damage he’s done?”

“Standing here arguing isn’t going to help her!”

Yunho’s eyes burned with intensity. “Fine. You stay here and make excuses for Sungjae. I’m going over to Y/N’s.”

With that, Yunho turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Haewon standing there, her heart pounding with fear. She knew he was right about one thing: they needed to find you, and fast. But the rift between them felt wider than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much deeper conflict.

As you approached the shop, the familiar, otherworldly ambiance enveloped you once more. The air was thick with the scent of ancient incense and jasmine, a blend that always made you feel both curious and comforted.

The door creaked open, and a soft, melodic chime rang out, greeting you with its gentle tinkle, like a whisper from another world.

Making your way further into the shop, you caught the faintest whisper of hushed voices. You slowed your steps, moving quietly to avoid intruding on what sounded like a private conversation. The shop was a labyrinth of towering shelves, each filled with enchanted curiosities that seemed to hum with their own secret lives.

You noticed that Hongjoong’s expression was serious, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Seonghwa listened intently, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their discussion.

“The Auroran Empire is preparing for a major offensive against Wonderland. It’s not just about territory anymore; their queen has officially lost her mind,” he said, his voice low and tense. 

“She wants to bring about a new era of dominance,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “But in her madness, she’s likely to destroy everything in her path. Her decisions are unpredictable and increasingly violent. Wonderland won’t just be facing a military assault; they’ll be up against an unpredictable force of destruction.”

“Dragons against dragons,” Seonghwa murmured, referring to the legendary beasts often associated with said realm. “The collateral damage could be catastrophic.”

Seonghwa’s expression grew serious as he met Hongjoong’s gaze. “You’re going to have to leave for quite some time, aren’t you? If this is escalating to such extremes, there will be a need for intervention, and it won’t be a quick affair.”

“Let me take over the shop,” you said, stepping out from the shadows. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced with the weight of your request. The air crackled with the energy of the emporium, and you could feel the gravity of the moment settling in.

Hongjoong looked up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Hello to you too, traveler,” he said, though the casual greeting did little to mask the seriousness underlying his words.

“Wooyoung told me your powers take you elsewhere,” you said, your voice steady despite the swirling emotions beneath. “If I take over the shop, you can continue to fulfill your duties in other realms while I manage things here.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered your proposal. “This place,” he began, his voice soft but firm, “is where the threads of many worlds converge. It’s about understanding the intricate balance that holds these realms together.”

You followed closely as Hongjoong started walking through the aisles of the emporium. Each step echoed softly in the vast space filled with enchanted artifacts and mystical relics. 

“I understand the gravity of this responsibility,” you said, matching his pace and keeping your voice firm. “I might not have your experience, but I’m willing to learn,” you continued your plea.

Hongjoong stopped abruptly and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and skepticism. His expression was stern, the weight of your request clearly pressing on him. 

“It’s a significant responsibility, one that requires dedication and resilience. I’m not going to hand it over to a human—”

“Aren’t you a human as well?” you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration. The retort slipped out before you could stop it, and the sharpness of your words echoed through the shop.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in surprise, and he crossed his arms defensively, his posture rigid. “That doesn’t matter,” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by your response. “My situation is different—”

Seonghwa, who had been quietly observing the tense exchange, decided to interject as he trailed behind you. “She has a point. Wonderland is asking you to intervene on their behalf. The situation is escalating, and having someone reliable at the shop would be crucial.”

“No,” Hongjoong replied sharply, continuing his stride through the labyrinthine aisles of the shop, his frustration evident in his quickened pace. “The emporium is a nexus of power that requires a deep understanding and connection. It’s not something you can just hand over to anyone.”

“Then take my memories,” you blurted out, your voice trembling with urgency. “If you’re worried about my ability to handle the shop, erase my memories of everything but the basics of running this place. Make me a blank slate so I can focus entirely on managing the emporium.”

Hongjoong halted abruptly, turning to face you with a mixture of shock and contemplation. His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your offer. Seonghwa, too, looked intrigued by the unexpected proposal.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Hongjoong gritted, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of frustration. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “That’s a drastic measure. You’re willing to give up everything for this?” He gestured broadly to the surroundings, the air thick with the hum of ancient magic.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. “At first, I just wanted to disappear,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “My life had become a tangled mess of unfulfilled expectations and unresolved emotions. It didn’t matter what happened to me as long as I was…gone.”

You took a deep breath, meeting Hongjoong’s eyes with newfound determination. “But then, I realized something important. I didn’t have a purpose, and I was uncertain about my future. I thought about the night I came here, and it made me see that I wasn’t just trying to escape from something; I was searching for something to move towards.”

Hongjoong studied you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Seonghwa, meanwhile, shifted his weight thoughtfully, clearly processing the significance of your words.

“I’ve spent so long feeling adrift,” you continued, your voice filled with conviction. “But now I see that the emporium is an opportunity to find and fulfill my purpose.”

Hongjoong’s gaze remained piercing, yet the softness in his eyes deepened, reflecting empathy and understanding. He took a moment to absorb your words, the weight of your request settling over him. His expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.

“Is that your wish?” he asked, his voice gentle yet carrying the gravity of the moment.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice carrying a blend of certainty and resolve. “That is my wish.”

“Mom?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before your mother’s voice came through, warm and concerned. “Y/N? What’s the matter? You sound a bit off.”

“Nothing, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a catch in your throat betrayed the weight of your emotions. “I just wanted to call and see how you and Dad are doing.”

Your mother’s voice softened further, her concern evident as she sensed the underlying sadness. “We’re doing well. It’s been a quiet day. Your father’s been busy with his garden—he’s finally getting those tomatoes to grow—and we’re just taking a break now. How about you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow and insubstantial. “I just… wanted to check in before I go back to studying. I also think I might have found an opportunity worth pursuing.”

“That’s great, honey! I’m glad you’re staying on top of things,” your mother replied, her voice filled with pride. “Just remember to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push too hard.”

“I won’t,” you promised, though the truth was far more complicated than you could ever explain in a single phone call. 

As you spoke, a tear slipped down your cheek, betraying the sadness and relief you felt. It was a small release, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that had been simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Mom,” you said, your voice softer now, the vulnerability creeping in despite your best efforts to hide it. “I just want you to know that I love you and Dad.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that only comes when someone is processing something unexpected. “We love you too, Y/N. I’m happy you called. If there’s anything you need or want to talk about, we’re here for you.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, letting the comfort of her words wash over you, even as the weight of your own decisions pressed down harder. “I love you both.”

“We love you too. Take care of yourself.”

You ended the call, the weight of the conversation lingering as a poignant reminder of the ties that bound you to your family. Their love and support were a comforting anchor, grounding you as you prepared to navigate the irreversible course ahead. 

“Traveler?” you called out, your voice soft yet clear, cutting through the haze of the man’s thoughts. You stepped closer, concern etched into your features as you reached out to him. “Is everything all right?”

The man blinked, pulled back into the present by the sound of your voice. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond. His mind was still tangled in the web of what-ifs and should-haves, but the look in your eyes—steady, patient—reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this moment. 

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he struggled to form a coherent thought. “I… I’d like some time to think about what I want to wish for,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone, one that spoke of the doubts and fears he’d been carrying for far too long. 

You nodded, your expression softening as you stepped closer, your hand nearly reaching his. “Take all the time you need,” you reassured gently. “The shop exists outside of time and welcomes those it chooses. You’re welcome to come and go until you’re ready to decide.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. The weight of making a wish, of deciding on something so significant, had been overwhelming, but your presence made it feel more manageable. “It helps to know that I can come back when I’m ready.” 

He looked at you–there was no judgment in your gaze, no expectation—just a quiet understanding that allowed him to breathe a little easier.

“I’m Yunho, by the way,” he added softly, as if sharing his name was a small but significant step toward reconnecting with you—at least this version of you. The corners of his lips lifted in a faint but genuine smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yunho,” you repeated. The way you said his name was like a delicate thread, fragile and precious. It felt as though each syllable was an attempt to capture something fleeting, a moment of intimacy slipping through your fingers, yet cherished all the same. 

<< i | iii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds