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lo1k-diamonds · 7 months ago

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Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 1 - You keep telling me to live right

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x (f)reader

SUMMARY: Coming from unabashed wealth has its perks — like never having to lift a finger in your life. When that suddenly changes, you end up at a crossroads: how far will you go to have everything you want?

WORD COUNT: 7.3k

GENRE: Crossroad Demon AU (Sloth), smut, angst

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: addiction (smoking weed and mentions of doing drugs + aftermath + withdrawal), implied trauma and abuse, including neglect growing up, dysfunctional family dynamics, eviction, unprotected semi-public sex, nipple play, mentions of blood, biting, hair pulling, bruising, making bad decisions/mistakes

A.N. This story almost didn't happen... thank you to @colormepurplex2 for brainstorming with me and literally setting my thoughts in motion. Thank you also to @colormepurplex2, @lunarelle1013, @heathfritillary, and @cherrysoulth for being wonderful betas. This is my entry in the upcoming @bangtanwritershq Seven Deadly Sins quarterly event!

Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about un-becoming everything that isn’t really you, so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place. — Paulo Coelho

You faced the stern eyes looking down on you with a raised eyebrow on a blank expression. It was a sight that once scared you as a child, but that feeling had since become foreign. Your perfectly plucked, brushed, and filled-in eyebrow twitched as you sat at your father's desk and twirled the chair to face the office and give the painting your back. Regardless of the ostentatious decor, with priceless vases, tapestries, and paintings in the grand wooden floor room, you ignored everything to focus on packing the bud further inside the glass pipe bowl in your hands so you could light it properly.

Who cares… You leaned back on the office chair, then turned to face the painting again. You held the smoke inside your lungs for a pleasurable moment, feeling how every inch of you finally relaxed. Not you; you couldn’t care. Hadn’t for a while. Regardless of how your great-grandmother looked down on you from that painting, none of it mattered. You didn’t give a shit about who she was, where those fields and mines depicted in the landscape behind her were, or how much power and wealth she had or left you. That was for your parents to worry about and they did a great job at that.

You took another drag, blinking away the rising burn in your eyes as the high started to hit. Your lips stretched in a smile, and the more you thought of your situation, the more you wanted to burst out laughing. You had heard stories about her from your nanny — that woman was outright feared, rumored to deal with the devil or be a demon herself. And it made you laugh — because she looked downright austere and at that point, you had to wonder if you two were related.

As you turned side to side on the office chair, letting the blur accentuate the dizziness, your eyes fell on one of the framed pictures on the desk. You recognized yourself slowly on the smiling child — you looked sweet, a bundle of joy laughing in a garden you didn’t know where.

You scoffed the smoke out, showing a mocked smile to the painting of your ancestor hanging on the wall above your head. That, right there, you mused as you leaned back — that was what had become of that scary woman’s legacy.

Your eyes roamed the painting again without much thought as the high expanded and cleared your thoughts. Your mind was empty as you had wished, but then your thoughts fixed on something. An almost humanoid shadow right beside a crossroad lay oddly inside your ancestor's shadow. It didn’t align with the ostentation of wealth portrayed in everything else in the painting, and it made you think of a story your nanny used to tell.

Or it would have, but the noise had finally reached upstairs. You sighed the smoke out of your lungs; your only saving grace was that another puff promised distance from the ruckus about to invade your peace.

“What do you mean?!”

You would recognize that screech anywhere, even before your mother busted inside the office.

“My fault?! She’s your daughter too!”

“You’re her mother.”

Ahh, and there was your sweet father’s voice. In the back of your mind, you wondered a few things: why were they home so early, how come they hadn’t noticed the smell, or your presence, for that matter? And as usual, in the cloudiness of things, you realized that it didn’t matter.

“You misogynistic pig! Maybe if you hadn’t neglected your parental duties as a father, she’d—”

You knew your mother stopped her venomous rant because your father said your name out loud, which had you sighing. It was time to show your face so you turned the chair, though you’d be damned if you stopped puffing away at your pipe.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Your mother was screaming again.

Meanwhile, your father only glanced at the painting above you before settling his cold eyes on you as you placed your bare feet over the desk. Your mother’s screams were an echo in the back of your mind, and just like your father’s gaze, they dissipated and you chuckled.

You almost believed you were alone, such was the peace diffusing from your lungs as you took another drag of smoke. You closed your burning eyes to retain the calm, but someone pushed your legs off and yanked at your hand.

“Just what are you doing?!”

“It’s just mary, calm down,” you rasped, annoyed at your mother’s attempts to break your state of mind.

You couldn’t really retain any of her screeching reprimands and kept escaping into your haze. She dragged you to your feet and both your parents threw whatever ammunition they had at you, until a slap on your hand hit too strong and you dropped the pipe.

The glass breaking rang in your ears as you raised your eyes. Your father was furious, “As if this attitude of yours isn’t bad enough, we just got the call. Again.”

You closed your eyes, drained and exasperated at the conversation before it even started.

“Did you think we wouldn’t find out?” Your mother’s voice was wavering but you just shrugged.

“Can’t you see she can’t think?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I didn’t buy her drugs!”

“You keep defending her!”

“I want to help her!”

“So do I!!”

Your mother turned away crying and you looked around, numb through it all. There wasn’t a single reason to give a fuck, not that you could see.

Your father’s stern gaze felt somewhat familiar, “You’re twenty now, and this isn’t going anywhere. We want to help you, and college is clearly not helping.”

“They say the third time's the charm,” you chuckled, looking down at your feet. There were pieces of glass all around you.

“We’re not letting you drop out a third time, there’s no point.” Your father’s remark was dry, bordering on hopeless and his eyes crossing the room to your sobbing mother didn’t escape you. “We picked a rehabilitation center—”

“No.”

You were firm and tired of the noise and trouble, so you made your way out, ignoring the cries, the glass, and the calls.

“For fucks sake, why do you behave like this?!”

Your father was frustrated yet you just shrugged, “Maybe you should have had more kids.”

You didn’t turn around to see the trail of destruction you were leaving behind, you just left. In your wake, a crying woman had frozen, livid, and a man had finally reached his breaking point.

“You little shit.”

You groaned into your pillow with a booming headache making you want to escape your skin. The rays of sunlight were gentle and yet it hurt, it was too much. Your head was ringing with a sound so loud you instantly knew it couldn’t have been anything from outside. No, it came from you, within you, and you rolled belly up with a sigh. You had done it again, no wonder you felt like shit.

Something bothered you, so you raised your hand to wipe your chin and immediately grimaced at the traces of vomit stenching up the place. You heaved a deep breath, knowing by your general piss-poor state of mind and body that you had fucked up last night. Sobriety never came with more than guilt and an incommensurable void, but this time you wondered why. You didn’t plan on getting that wasted, so what was it that—?

Finally, you recognized the music still blaring from the speakers and sighed. You knew that artist and it was annoying enough that it was too loud, let alone playing such subpar music in your freaking room.

You sat up and immediately recognized that it was not your bedroom. You forced yourself to get up and turn off the music while you looked around with a scowl. You had taken the party to your family home’s lounge and trashed everything in sight, whether by drinking, kicking, ripping, or plainly vomiting over things as you had done on the floor and couch.

The light on the speaker's control shut off finally and everything reverted to silence, immersing you in an echo that made you dizzy along with the spinning room. But that dark screen reminded you exactly of how you passed from partying and trying to light up your miserable existence to going nuts.

Baby, I can never tellHow do you sleep so well?

It was that bloody song. Thinking about it unnerved you brutally, balling your fists and clenching your teeth until there were traces of blood. That song that reminded you so well of who you once were and what had become of you.

You kicked the nearby table supporting the sound system console and turned your back, ignoring everything around you to get out. Instantly, you frowned when the big wooden doors offered resistance, quickly realizing it was your own doing. You unlocked the door and stomped out, annoyed at everything that had happened, from the moment you contributed to that loathsome song to the perdition road that led you there; spent, used, and lost.

Barging through your bedroom, you ignored how neat and clean everything was now and reached the bathroom to step inside your wide walk-in shower. Of course, as usual, everyone was cleaning after you to make everything look presentable and flawless. Clothes thrown around? Gone. Smudges of foundation? Wiped clean. Smell of weed on your sheets? Changed. God forbid your misery was out in plain sight. As if a single glance at you wasn’t enough to tell.

You groaned as you took off your pants, disgusted by how your body tended to let loose when you got too high, and then it hit you. How stupid were you? One voice over the speakers and you mixed into your drink whatever powder you could find. All to lose yourself, to forget. Because of that fucking old song; you’d think you’d be stronger than that so many years later.

But enough with the chastising, you sighed to yourself. You had no energy for it so you might as well do something good for a change. You cleaned and massaged every stiff inch of skin and muscle, brushed your teeth, removed your makeup, and brushed your hair. Only lotion coated your skin from top to bottom after you finished your shower, and looking into the mirror, you recognized how tired you felt. You wanted to do something good today, but nothing extravagant, so after putting on a soft, blue woolen dress you reached your desk and searched in the drawers. Maybe a bit of speed could help you get in the right mindset — if you could find it.

You huffed in annoyance with your failure but had decided to stay calm today, so no trashing yet another room. Instead, you opted to ask the staff because only they could have touched your stuff. You opened the door to call out for them from the central staircase but staggered — Butler Kim was standing outside.

You blinked, bewildered, taking in the contrite visage on the older aide alongside a pink suitcase; your suitcase.

“Good morning, miss.”

“Good morning, Mr. Kim.”

There was apprehension in his lips before he spoke and your mind blanked. He was talking but your head was blocking it, and when he finished, you scoffed.

“As if they would.”

Butler Kim raised a hand with a letter and your stomach dropped, immediately testing you not to barf. You took a deep breath and opened the letter, your Father’s handwriting evident in every line. Your insides twisted and turned with every trace of ink. You struggled to fit the words in your mind, your heart begging for it to stop as your gaze followed the letters obsessively to the end. You didn’t want to know, but you had to know. You were incredulous and at the same time vindicated. You needed someone to still value you, to believe in you but knew you weren’t worth the trouble, and that was the proof.

You lowered the letter with quick breaths, trying to keep yourself sound when Butler Kim raised his hand again to give you your phone. As if you had understood his suggestion, you confirmed your Father’s words by logging into your bank accounts, which were now empty. An email awaited you to inform you that you had been kicked out of college, and the luggage beside Butler Kim screamed volumes.

“I have to leave?”

Your tone was suddenly more childlike than you remembered and Butler Kim must have thought so too — his eyes watered. “Yes. Orders are to drag you out of the property if need be.”

Your eyebrows scrunched as the pain hit you in ways you didn’t expect. You knew they didn’t care for you, so where was the surprise? Why was there a sense of betrayal?

You spun on your heels and made your way down the stairs to the main level, knowing that Butler Kim followed you in silence. No one dared cross your path, even if you could feel eyes on you along the way. You stopped at the door and waited for your handbag and keys, as usual, but only the handbag was given.

You took it and searched inside but only your wallet was in it. “My car keys?”

Butler Kim shook his head with a hint of sorrow and you gritted your teeth in annoyance. No car, no keys to any other property, and no money. Your anger was boiling your blood when he cleared his throat, “One last thing.”

He extended another letter to you and you eyed it fearfully. If it was something from your mother, you—

You scoffed — an admission letter to a rehab facility. You fought the impulse to throw everything against the wall. Instead, you shoved your phone and letters inside the handbag, yanking the suitcase handle so you could carry it out. A final scoff left you outside upon seeing the security on stand-by to escort you out if you had been difficult, but why would you? You knew very well where you stood, being kicked out was just a natural follow-up.

You wondered, then, why you hated it so much. You ignored the tall bulky men, and got around the driveway and onto the road, pretending you didn’t see your bright pink 911 GT3 Porsche parked where you left it. Turning down onto the familiar road was easy — contemplating that it would take ages to get out was not. You glanced at the orchard in the distance, but decided that crossing the opposing fields was probably the fastest way out; it was when you drove your car anyway.

As you walked endlessly down the road that would hopefully lead you out of the property, you kept stomping your feet and wanting to kick and punch something. Unluckily for you, there were only gardens and fields around you, so not much qualified. You were too tired anyway; by the look of things you’d need a break before you actually passed the front gate.

You stopped walking and frowned when you looked around you — the sun was setting, its rays still lighting the soft landscape around you. Because of it, the signs towering over you on that crossroad were even more imposing, with a long dark shadow cast over you. The arrows pointed in four different directions and you frowned; you didn’t recognize that place. Since when was the road an offbeat track?

Realization hit you so suddenly that you thought you were hallucinating. If the sun had been gone and the whole plain cast in shadows, then, of course, you would have recognized it sooner. For all the times you stared at your great-grandmother’s painting while getting high, the same as yesterday, you would have always recognized it. And with it, the legend your nanny used to tell you. You chuckled and fell to your knees.

How laughable. That such a powerful woman would be remembered for something so silly. That such a strong person would have a legacy that ended up in the dirt, sweating, thirsty, and panting over the slightest effort in contrast with the usual absence of feeling.

Your eyes stayed on said dirt, dry at that end of spring by a warm setting sun. You started humming, remembering your nanny’s voice in the back of your mind as you curiously grazed an acrylic nail on the soil.

“I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees.”

The hum grew in you, melodically flowing effortlessly and you reached inside your handbag.

“Standing at the crossroad, I tried to flag a ride.”

You kept singing as you searched for something with your photo and found your driver's license.

“I’m standing at the crossroad.”

There was nothing on your mind when you opened a hole in the ground with your bare fingers and buried the card.

Only a drop of sweat trailed down your temple as you kept humming, “I believe I’m sinking down.”

You stared at the crossroad sign above you, the tall imposing metal foreboding as you wondered about your directionlessness. Even with the options right in front of you, as the wind trashed your hair and a colder temperature crept in, the reality was dawning as the sun settled — you had no idea what to do with yourself.

That was until a soft voice intersected the air, “Such a beautiful voice out in a wind so cold.”

Your eyes snapped back up and widened — there was a man, where did he come from? He was taller than you with short dark hair contrasting a marble-tone skin. Black eyes observed you and you did the same as you realized he was wearing a black shirt and slacks. He looked polished and clean, but then how had he just appeared there, in the middle of the grounds of your parent’s mansion? Out of nowhere?

He hummed casually and ran a hand through his hair, the falling soft strands drawing your eyes to the double loops on each ear. You were mesmerized by how the last rays of the sun were catching there when you noticed that he was done observing the situation and was instead nearing you.

He crouched in front of you, “You don’t have a guitar.”

You frowned; what the hell was he talking about?

He simply chuckled, “Ohh, I see.” There was an unsettling amusement in his laugh, “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say.”

Your stomach twisted, realizing the position you were in. You did just bury your identity, signaling you were ready to sink down and flag a ride. Though you didn’t mean it literally, but… what if you did?

“I don’t see why a darling like you would be out here, exposed to the cold.”

Your heart was racing as you tried to catch up. It was illogical that this man had shown up there without a vehicle of any kind and without making a sound, and without you noticing. It was illogical that you trusted his presence, as if it made sense, all while feeling a deep uneasiness inside your chest. He was ethereally beautiful with a baritone, soft-spoken voice; was that why you were so thrilled? Because he made you feel as though you were standing at the edge of your sanity?

You collected yourself to finally say, “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

For a moment you wondered if you had assumed wrong, just by his lack of reaction. Or maybe you were still high and hallucinating this whole thing?

But he chuckled and it emboldened you, “Aren’t you going to take me somewhere warmer?”

He showed a gummy smile that contrasted drastically with his sharp dark eyes, “I’m not a Kharon, but by all means.”

He straightened up and your breath caught; a black limousine came to a halt right beside him and he extended a hand for you to take. You reached for it and stood with wide, enchanted eyes, bewildered by what was happening in front of you. How did that limousine get there? Without you hearing or seeing it?

He opened the door for you and guided you in, “I’ll take you where you want to go.”

You couldn’t believe your eyes settling on the white leather seats at both ends of the cabin with a minibar in wood on the length of the car. It wasn’t one of your parent’s limousines, at least, not that you remembered.

You settled on the seat in front of you and tried to sort your thoughts as he entered behind you and closed the door. The limousine started driving, though you couldn’t see the driver through the smoked glass. The second you looked down, you noticed your pink luggage and handbag on the seat across from yours. A shiver ran down your spine.

“I didn’t think it would work,” you mumbled.

He hummed, casually turning to look at you and you took a moment to gather the courage to face him.

“I thought you… you only showed up at midnight.”

He chuckled genuinely, “Should I have let you wait until then?”

“No.”

You turned to face away, annoyed at the prospect. You didn’t know what would happen, but waiting and wasting away churned your guts.

“Here.”

You turned at his request, glancing at the glass he was extending to you with two fingers of an amber liquid. He was swirling one for himself on his other hand and you mentally shrugged before accepting it, “Thank you.”

He hummed after a long sip, approving the choice as if he hadn’t poured it himself. You didn’t voice this, thankful as you were for whatever you were about to drink. Though when it made its way to your tongue, you were staggered. Your tired heart pumped blood harshly as your mind scrapped for things to make sense. That was—

“Very good taste,” he mused, taking a second swig. “I thought you’d be a cocktail or champagne kind of girl.”

You were staring up at him, befuddled. “My favorite.”

He hummed again with a third and final quaff, letting the flavors coat his tongue before settling the glass down. “Exquisite.”

Your heart wasn’t settling even though your thoughts were — there was no denying the reality before your eyes. He appeared out of nowhere, had a limousine show up without a sound, all but conjured up your luggage over the seat, and knew your favorite drink without you having to say a word.

You glanced at him — and he was beautiful. The kind of flame you knew would burn you but that you wanted to touch all the same. To get the kind of mark you knew would hurt, but feel so real. The thrill was still there, pushing your shaky heart to the limit, but something else was surging. Maybe adrenaline.

You parted your lips as you turned your body to face him. He was unreal and you had always been searching for the impossible.

“I want—” Your voice died down, not because he raised an eyebrow or out of fear, but because it somehow hurt to voice it aloud. “I don’t want to ever have to lift a finger.”

His eyebrows twitched, “But you never have?”

“I’ll have to if they disown me.”

He chuckled, “That’s true.” He glanced at the luggage, “Seems like they are set on it.”

You nodded with bile rising from your stomach. It wasn’t the luggage or the situation per se that annoyed you so much. It was that letter; it was the confirmation of what you had feared and dreaded your whole life — that there was no point.

He sighed loudly, “What kind of parents kick their only child out?”

He tutted and it was like putting salt in your wounds. You swallowed the bile, “That’s why I’m here.”

He tilted his head over his hand, contemplating if that was the truth and you faced him. Suddenly, you were sure he could read you like a book. So, he knew and you knew. There was no point in wasting your breath on the obvious.

He seemed to agree, “But what would it mean to never have to lift a finger?” You shrugged, irritated by the very thought of having to think about it, and he leaned a bit in your direction, “Come now, kitten. Wishes have to be clear, or else, there won't be anything I can do for you.”

Your eyes plunged into his dark gaze and you shuddered, or rather vibrated. Why was he talking to you so sweetly, getting under your skin so gently you could actually believe he cared?

“Money.” You forced yourself to look away and breathe. This was all happening so fast and he was right; the devil was in the details. “I want an endless source of money that doesn’t depend on my parents.”

His cheeks finally squeezed into a wicked grin, “Like an inheritance?”

“No,” you turned to him again with a raised eyebrow. It was as though you could follow his thoughts, at least partially. “Nothing that is linked in any way to my family.”

A flicker passed his eyes and you were sure he had thought something vile. Not that you cared. You sat more comfortably on the white leather — you just wanted what you wanted, and that was the whole point.

“Anything else?”

“I never want to have to manage it, to worry, to work,” you insisted, suddenly conscious of the impossibility of what you were asking. He was smiling and you couldn’t read it. “I want to be free.”

His smile grew wider and you could swear he found amusement in your words again, “That’s it? Come now, don’t sell yourself short.”

Normally, such a reaction would have annoyed you or had you throwing daggers but instead, you turned inwards. If he was really who you thought he was, and you could ask for anything, then shouldn’t you truly ask for the impossible?

“I want to feel something,” you confessed.

“Something?”

He sounded more curious than intrigued and you nodded without hesitation. In the silence, you glanced at him, and suddenly the wave of emotional dread became a tsunami. “Something good.”

To your surprise, he didn’t mock you or chuckle; he quite simply observed you. You knew he could see it deep inside your eyes — that void. You hoped he saw beyond your dark circles, sunken cheeks, and exhausted spirit. You had been searching and you couldn’t find it; you hoped he understood.

“Good, huh?” He was contemplative as he leaned forward over his legs and supported his arms. “Whatever you want, kitten.”

A new shiver straightened your spine, awakening your senses. His darkening eyes were intense but you found yourself wanting whatever he was giving. He wouldn’t lie to you; maybe he was the only one who could give you what you had been searching for all along.

He seemed to be waiting for something and was surprised when you passed him your glass of half-drunk whiskey so he could put it away. Your hands rubbed your legs pacifyingly before you turned to him with a leg bent over the seat. You didn’t know what happened next, but you were ready.

He put the glass away next to his and turned to you, sitting closer, and your heart drummed inside your chest. All you could do was blink at him as he leaned forward and against you. Your hairs stood on end — you were frozen in place. You waited for something to happen, something important and life-changing that could fix you.

His breath fanned your lips moments later and you realized you were staring at his lips. It could be because you didn’t want to miss anything in case he talked, but as he drew near, your eyes hooded and you realized you were closer to being burned than you thought.

“Price,” he whispered, eyes equally fixed on your mouth. “We have to discuss the price.”

You swallowed dryly, “What is it?”

It took him a second before he looked into your eyes, “Nothing. For ten years.”

You could almost see him calculating. “And then?”

“Then I come for you.”

Your heart was racing as if your instinct knew better than to do such a crazy thing. But as frightened as you may have felt, you were also exhilarated. You didn’t think you could ever do something remotely as exciting as this and in exchange for exactly what you wanted, no less. How could you say no?

“I need you to understand this, kitten. I’m not taking ten years, I’m reducing your time to ten years.”

You blinked and observed his features. From that up close, no detail could escape your eyes and you wondered. How everything seemed flawless, without a blemish or hair out of place, and yet how a semblance of emotion could be found. As if he actually did care.

The corners of your lips twitched; funny. That he would care while you don't. “Make me feel good.”

Your eyes bored into his as your hand raised to his nape and mingled with his hair. You couldn't discern his thoughts but you knew he could see it — all you wanted was to feel right, even for a moment. If he could give that to you, make the impossible reality, then you'd pay any price.

You were expecting his lips and the smokey, sweet taste they carried from your favorite whiskey. What you didn't expect was the lightness that accompanied them when he brushed his mouth to yours as if to give you time to change your mind.

Your fingertips curled around his hair, attaching your intention to go through with it, and he obliged. His mouth locked with yours and lulled you with every wave to open a little more until a warm tongue entered you. There was molten spice and a tangible sweetness in his taste, and you pulled him closer, finding that you liked it.

A pair of hands dragged you closer and you sighed, leaning into his touch. If his presence awoke your senses, then his kiss broadened them, and suddenly you were searching for the hit you knew would come.

He held you at bay, though, with firm hands keeping you on your spot. You were jittery, almost feverish; if not for his grip, you would have been on his lap already. You didn’t find this disappointing, though; you trusted he would take you there eventually.

You gasped when he pulled you closer and fell back on the seat with him over you. Your legs instantly parted to have him settle, your dress riding up to reveal your hips easily. He touched the exposed skin softly, pressing only until you whimpered as if to get accustomed to your limits before truly touching you. Every caress was firmer and far from gentle, and yet to your ragged soul, it was still the softest touch you remembered.

You expected it to happen like every other time: a quick brush of your underwear to the side, a blunt intrusion, then a few minutes of pleasure trying to build until it fizzled out with your partner's peak draining them of any willpower. Even expecting this you still wanted it, scratching the skin up the back of his head to intertwine your fingers in the soft, black locks. Hence your surprise when he pulled away and looked at you. His eyes were stone cold but you could see a fire hidden underneath, one that resembled yours. At that moment, you thought you two were more alike than different and it pushed you to press your lips to his, daring to dive in.

It was maybe the last confirmation he needed. His kiss consumed you, his fingertips digging at your skin and drawing a whimper out of you. He split your mouths again to nuzzle and taste down your neck and you smiled, elated. Your lips were swollen from his desire, your flesh kneed with every touch as his tongue traced lower, pushing aside the cleavage of your dress; it all condensed in a new tidal wave. One that could replenish your endless void with new sensations, with the hope of something new and permanent, and you almost rejoiced.

Your brain didn’t pick up that his mouth was tracing your skin so closely, lighting fires in its wake as if no clothes or barriers separated you. You sighed and let your head fall back, allowing the waves to enrapture you yet again. It didn’t matter at all as long as he kept his promise. His hands were grounding you, tightening around your asscheeks to keep you from wiggling as he expertly dove into your chest. Every lick raised your senses higher, sharpening your ability to feel every detail. From his nails piercing ever so slightly to his teeth grazing and his tongue rasping along your nipples in a tease, you wondered if it was meant to feel this good or if it was your distorted sense of pleasure that was translating everything wrong.

You figured it didn’t matter when something pressed hard to your clit, making you jolt. Your eyes snapped open to look down and you clenched around nothing. There wasn't a single hair out of place; he looked perfectly composed with a nipple between his teeth as his palm pushed and rubbed at your clit. Meanwhile, you were aware of your disgruntled state — your heart was racing, your blood rushing everywhere as you exuded sweat and heat. But it didn’t matter because that fire was still there, behind his dark eyes. Every movement was premeditated as if he could read the way in your eyes, or read your mind. Suddenly, you had the impression that he knew everything. He knew of all the useless partners you had, all the pointless attempts at a connection, all the lonesome nights and mornings searching for that feeling deep within yourself, only to be met by the familiar void inside you.

He pressed his palm up and you were certain he could read your mind. Not too strong, not too soft; just that perfect middle that only you knew of because you could feel it. He must have too; otherwise, he wouldn’t have kept going, finding it at every turn, pressing his fingertips to your supple flesh and nibbling at your chest to elicit the right turmoil inside you.

You felt like a stringed musical instrument being strummed to perfection, and as the pleasure threatened to take you, you gloriously let it. You screamed your release, shooting so high you couldn’t feel the leather underneath you. Your hands gripped his hair, your lungs unable to keep any air in as your heart reveled in the high of a familiar sensation. There it was, the hit you had been craving which nothing seemed to give you anymore. No more void, only presence. You were finally alive.

Your lips twitched into a smile, fingers petting his head in delight. You could not stop smiling and you certainly did not want to come down. He let go of your nipple to look at you and you burned even harder — no way in hell you'd let that feeling escape.

You pulled his head so his lips could crash to yours, though you already had something else in mind. He was awfully clothed for what you wanted to do with him, so your first target was his pants. Strangely, you couldn't make sense of them; where was the button or zipper? But he helped you, keeping your mouth busy while one hand quickly got you what you wanted. It could have taken an eternity; you couldn’t tell with the greedy way your hunger dazed your senses. Yet, you were aware as soon as there was a familiar, warm pressure at your core, wishing everything would pause so you could feel it, but there was no time.

You whimpered with the intrusion, burning with the bluntness as if you hadn't hated it every time before. But it didn’t feel the same — the searing sensation traveled to your nerve ends, making you clench for a better feeling, hoping to get a grip on reality.

You were proud of his quiet grunts and his smirk as his hips began snapping into yours. There was a volatility in the way he could use you to fill his own void, and your nails sank into his neck to control it somehow.

You should have known that was not how things worked, and yet even as he grabbed your wrist and pressed it to the leather near your head, you only smirked. A chuckle burst out of you when he gripped your hair with the same hand, keeping you still as he rutted into you. Then you finally laughed when, in between the ever-mounting bliss, his other hand gripped your chin to force you to take his kiss.

Your laugh died inside your throat with a cry but you chased him. You bucked your hips to meet his, pushed your tongue inside his mouth, and grabbed his hair with your free hand, locking you both together. You wanted more; more emotion, more intensity. Not just to fill the void but to overflow.

To your surprise, he didn't push back. He didn't press you down, use any other gesture to keep you in check, or oppress you. Rather, when you gave the intention to want to move, he was already grabbing your neck and supporting your lower back so he'd fall back with you on top of him.

You didn't know what that frenzy was or where it came from, but it took over you. As soon as you straddled him, there was no inhibition, nothing that could keep you back. You jumped and rolled your hips over him, finding a way to feed your craving. Somehow, with every wave he pierced deeper; you became fuller, out of breath, dizzy, and soon, about to fly again.

You realized he was feeding into it, with fingertips pressed to your hips so hard they were bruising. His dark eyes were fuel and you threw your hair back over your shoulders, meaning to take the sinful view of what you two were doing.

It didn’t disappoint. You were naked over him, breasts swaying with every move, your hips hard at work to take him as deep inside you as possible. Every gushing sound made you wetter, every descent hit you harder, and every clash of skin bruised you deeper in a sequence of highs and lows you were brutally searching for.

You thought the crude pleasure could sate your ache, but he was quick to show you that there was no such thing. You looked down to figure out the reason why your voice was lilting desperately. A single thumb where your bodies met made every sway of your hips multiply the ecstasy a thousandfold, redefining the mapping of your pleasure. There was no end to the scale, no matter how much you ground, moaned, or searched; the promise of endless gratification would keep on straining you, and you’d let it.

He sat up, mouth aiming straight for your chest and you leaned back to give him space. You couldn’t buck your hips as freely, but you didn’t need to, not when he was reaching into you so deep, dragging out each whimper lewdly. His licks over your nipples made you sink your nails into his scalp, riding each sensation to new heights until suddenly your world was overturned.

Your arms hampered your fall and you huffed, frowning at the fluffy white floor beneath you. Since when was there a carpet?

He pulled your hips up to his level and pushed himself inside, earning a desperate moan. It was as though that was what he wanted, and you gripped the soft carpet as you tried not to writhe in pleasure. How did he know you were craving him the most? To feel him as raw and intensely as possible? To have every cry and plea scratch your throat, regardless if blood would seep through the roots as he pulled your hair and arched your back? You didn’t care for your burning lungs, watery eyes, or parched mouth. This was it. You pushed back to impale yourself as much as you could, quivering from the mounting sensations despite knowing you shouldn’t. It was deviant and wrong but you craved it all the same, and that hunger must have been what being alive felt like.

You had taken it rough before but didn’t remember screaming like this. It was novel to cry because you wanted more, your acrylic nail tips bending with the strength of your grip on the carpet’s filaments, reaching your flesh and sinking in your palms. Even as you swore the pain and bliss were branding your core, you knew you were completely subdued, drained bit by bit of everything that made you into anything he wanted you to be.

And that was how you snapped, nothing left of you but the burning cascade of bliss wavering from you with every spasm. You arched your back even more to deepen the feeling, bent to the limit beyond pain when his pleasure risked splitting you in half. You shrieked, pain and pleasure so deep in you that you jolted. Finally, as your fire liquified and streamed down your legs, you halted.

You were expecting to hit the floor with a thud, but instead, you kept hovering. Your nerves were so overcharged that you couldn’t feel his claws sinking into your skin, no sting from the lacerations, and no chafe from how severely he pounded into you to the point it burned. You were gently welcomed to the floor, ignoring the stains of crimson surrounding you and littering the soft carpet. As he bit you, throbbing inside you so deep it could have reached your throat, you still didn’t react.

Finally, his teeth released the back of your neck and kissed your shoulder and you raised your head, a smile adorning your lips. You recognized your heart thrumming frenetically, at the brink of failing with the strain you had just imposed but not even that phased you. You didn’t have the strength to do much more. All you could muster was to settle your gaze on him when he pulled you towards him.

You laughed to yourself. Were you still high from last night? How could he be real? But he was… Maybe, or maybe not. You mused, still winded. How else could one explain the trace of care in his eyes? The question hanging in them?

Are you sure?

You grinned; you could almost believe him.

You cupped his cheek before making a last effort to press his lips, “Yes.”

And something shook you. Something spread inside you from that kiss; bitter like poison, branding like fire, yet soothing somehow. It could have stayed an euphemism if you didn’t feel the sharp incisions in patterns you couldn’t identify engraving your bones, guts, and soul.

When the feeling settled and he parted your mouths, your smile returned in full. He granted you your wish, irrespective of logic or feasibility, regardless of your faith in him, yourself, or life in general.

He pulled you up. In the blink of an eye, everything changed, at least externally. You were fully clothed and sitting on the leather seat again; hair, nails, and everything else composed. He was also on his seat and the limousine was coming to a stop. You could have been annoyed at the lack of control in that situation, but you still had every sensation deep under your skin. A smile graced your lips at the thought of exploring yourself to find where every little sting came from.

He opened the door for you and waved you out with a skewed smile and you chuckled. Maybe you could start living right.

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