Too Sweet Chapter 3 - But Then You Wake Up For The Sunrise

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 3 - But then you wake up for the sunrise

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: 8.9k

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

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: implied trauma and abuse, including neglect growing up, unprotected sex, biting, pain mixing w/ pleasure, choking and breath play, anal play, degrading thoughts, nipple play, blowjob + face fucking, subspace and aftercare, crying, fighting

A.N. Getting attached to your demon comes with perks... and vulnerabilities. Here's to my favorite part 💜

Masterpost | Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter : Next Chapter >

The high yet soothing ringing of the Tibetan Singing Bowl along with the water streaming down a gentle creek permeated your ears and all around you. You were lying face down on a massage table, naked with your hair carefully tied in a bun so your masseuse could spread the perfumed oils all over your back. As the wooden cushion striker rolled on the bowl to emit the healing verberations, you tried not to twist your nose at the recording of the rivulet. You supposed your money could get you anything but not a natural brook at that spa and resort you owned.

Your masseuse finished after removing the excess with a warm towel and bowed deeply before exiting the room. A moment later, the bowl stopped ringing as that person left as well, and you got up languidly. You let the towels that once covered you fall to the floor without much thought and reached for the warm robe waiting for you. This session had become something of a routine for you and as such, you knew exactly where to go to return to your suite up on the last floor.

You supposed you could just buy another spa and resort somewhere where there was a creek. Maybe in Tibet or Nepal; someplace untamed and breaming with healing energy. Not that it would solve anything, you mused as you got in the elevator. Those massages were good but they didn’t fix you and you didn’t believe a natural brook or even a monastery full of monks could help with that. You chuckled to yourself and brushed the bracelets around your wrists gently; you wondered how they would take the company if you ever engendered such a situation.

Truthfully, despite your searches, you were convinced that there was only one way to actually relax. To the best of your knowledge, there was no treatment or experience you hadn’t tried, and all they ever did was push the tension. You could feel it going from one corner to the other, one muscle to the next, tight within you without ever releasing. So far there had only been one way to accomplish that and you were starting to not care for any other way.

You thought getting high could have been a way but you wouldn’t make that mistake twice. After he had healed you a month back, you hadn’t touched anything but tobacco and alcohol. This was an accomplishment for you, but the real achievement was what you had found to replace your former addictions.

It started with touching your bracelets and wondering until you wished him to your presence and were startled when he came. You still remembered his piercing eyes just staring from across your suite, wondering why you would have called him when you had nothing you could possibly want.

Nothing except for him.

“I need a private jet,” you had pouted, unable to look away from him. As usual, he was all in black, looking like an executive about to have a neat whisky and fuck his secretary senseless. 

The way his black shirt stretched when he chuckled and shrugged entranced you. “You have endless money, just buy one.”

“But I don’t have endless time,” you rebutted, a sly smile ebbing as you congratulated yourself for thinking so fast on your feet. “Buying takes time, asking you is way faster.”

His eyes squinted ever so slightly as if seeing through you, “Even if it costs you?”

You grinned, “It’s a fine balance.”

He had said nothing, only stood there looking at you, but you were daring. You walked up to him, gave him a cheeky nod, and got on your tiptoes to kiss him, just like you had days before to be healed of your addictions. Your heartbeat was now as strong as then, and while you were unsure whether the warm buzz in your bones was from the excitement or the expense, you couldn’t help the fluttering inside your chest. Because he didn’t push you back, nor did he break up your kiss.

Your phone started ringing and so you parted ways yourself, only to be told that the jet purchase had finally gone through and everything had been handled. You had laughed then and thrown your arms around his neck to kiss him again, and that was the beginning.

At first, you asked for simple things, most of which just filled you with curiosity: a secret, the answer to a current dilemma, the draft or script of a book or play you wanted to have access to beforehand. Every time you would use your time as an excuse, knowing very well that by doing so, it was only making it even shorter. Yet you did it with a wide smile because it earned you a kiss every time, sometimes even more than one, until it led to the real high you craved ever since you met him.

“You’re keeping tabs, right?” You would joke immediately, before he was even soft inside you, the sting still on your asscheeks as he rolled his eyes and moved away.

Regardless of his demeanor, he’d always show, take your kiss, and deliver. And all you could do was laugh and sigh because nothing compared to that. The thrill, the victory, the validation, the sleep — everything that came with him gave flare to your existence, and nothing compared.

You strutted across your suite to your bedroom, taking a deep comforting breath. You drew the black curtains to your luxurious bedroom and opened the windows to let the warm summer breeze invade the space. Your lips twitched in a mischievous smile at the thought of screeching at the top of your lungs for the whole building to hear.

You let the robe pool on the floor before you got on the bed. You took a deep breath and bent down in a downward dog pose, stretching yourself to retain a semblance of relaxation and maybe warm up a bit. After a couple of long breaths, you lowered to your forearms before collapsing your chest and knees into a puppy pose. That was when your neck finally stretched the way you liked, and when you brushed the bracelets around your wrists with a deep desire.

“What the fuck do you want this time?”

A shiver ran up your spine, mixing with the breeze puckering your skin. Your eyes were closed but you could just imagine the scene: you, with your hair up in a bun naked over the black silk sheets with your ass up while your chest pressed to the mattress, and him, behind you with a privileged view of exactly how ready you were for him.

“What are you doing, kitten?”

“Stretching,” you voiced calmly, resisting wiggling your ass. Teasing him was a tricky game; you couldn’t risk him leaving. Even if he never had without hearing you out first, you didn’t want it to ever happen. “And waiting.”

Silence stretched aside from the breeze billowing the curtains, but you didn’t break form to turn and see. You were confident he had his eyes on you just by the way your guts started slowly churning.

“Come on,” you beckoned, voice low and seductive. “Come make me feel—”

A whimper cut you off and blended with your smugness quickly. 

Good.

You didn’t need to ask anymore; it was as if he could read your thoughts. That had to be why he was pushing a finger inside you crudely, unbothered by how unprepared you were. 

Maybe because he knew how ready you already were. “Again?”

A quiet whine left your lips as they parted, “I want to relax.”

You just knew he could feel it — the way your muscles were relaxing as though a wave was washing over them. Inch by inch, from your core to your extremities — decompressing, releasing your tension slowly as he probed your wet hole with a single finger.

“Time… is ticking,” he said calmly and you cried, toes curling with how utterly surrendered you were. He had pushed in another finger almost hiddenly until he parted them inside you to grossly stretch you. “And you still haven't lifted a finger.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks with your moan, forcing you to grab the sheets as you hid your face. It was extremely difficult to acknowledge a word he was saying when both your mind and body were screaming for pleasure.

“You speak— as though— I have no time,” your voice thinned with every movement of his fingers with your nails gripping onto the sheets.

“It’s not that you have no time,” he acceded calmly despite your loud and long outcry — he was pushing his fingers into your wet walls until you were almost curling and breaking position. “It’s that you don’t value the time you do have.”

You were starting to sweat; both the physical effort and his fingers pressing a familiar spot inside you were creating an uncontrollable fire in your gut. You parted your lips and only a breath made it out as you shut your eyes and let the blazing wave engulf you. It was easy to become adrift with the sensations, but the threat of his receding fingers pushed you to speak.

“I value it. I value it so much—” He pressed harder, maybe to break you, and you moaned, bucking your hips to both alleviate and intensify the feeling.

He hummed, “Maybe.”

You didn’t answer because you could feel the switch in his tone. It had happened before, in other encounters you two had, and it lit up a secret flame inside you. His free hand groped the swell of your ass, squeezing it roughly as you burned from his touch, his eyes, and his ministrations. You had noticed it before and you suspected it was the reason you got away with it — he wanted you. You couldn’t quite pin down why it was that he didn’t turn his back on you or that he gave you what you wanted each time, but you had the theory that he wanted it just as much. That somehow, you did something for him too. You didn’t know if it was because he got a bit of your soul every time, because you were bratty, or just because he wanted to fuck you, but you enjoyed it either way.

You let a pleasure wave shake you as you bit on your lower lip; his fingers stretching you, pressing squelching sounds out of you could only mean he was preparing you, and the thought alone melted you. That was until his fingers twisted inside you and you felt something change on the outside and press your puckered hole.

You whimpered, both wanting whatever would come next and bordering overstimulation when his thumb pressed and got in. You immediately tightened as much as possible on a reflex and he actively bypassed your efforts by pushing in roughly. His thumb settled inside up to the node all while his other fingers curled and pressed on your walls, making you jolt. You wiggled, wanting to escape only for him to slide in and out with every movement. He ended up deeper than before and you cried out with the pressure sparking pleasure that had you throbbing in a vicious cycle.

Your eyes were shut and your nerve endings were on fire as your body utterly relaxed under his touch, “Please.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, if anything for him to continue, maybe for him to even ruin you. And as always, he seemed to read your mind.

You felt something wet and cold drip down on your ass, going around his finger only for him to take it and press it in. The sensation unnerved you and had you jolting forward despite the odd angle on your neck, but he didn’t let you go far. He gripped your hair bun with his free hand and forced you to get on your forearms and fall back into him, and that drew a guttural moan out of you.

His thumb was all the way inside you, but the rest of his hand was replaced by his cock. It was the only thing that could push into you, stretch you so painfully well in its entirety until he was tucked to the hilt. You had tears in your eyes and whimpered when he swelled inside you, purposefully pressing to your cervix so you knew what would come. And you knew and still wanted it even if you’d cry the whole time. Though you suspected you wouldn't. It turned out you loved the sting and the way you felt full and relaxed under his touch.

You were so at ease you were spasming around his dick, sighing with his grip on your hair that was keeping your back taut, and maybe he didn’t like that. He let your hair go and you didn’t slack off, but he still smacked your ass so strongly it echoed in the room. It sparked a whiny moan as the pleasure shot through you, and again and again with every hit. Your hips swung to tease him, ask for more, ablate the sting, and feel him even deeper, and he kept going. He pushed you to euphoric levels as you fucked yourself on him; it was paradise.

“Is this what you wanted, kitten?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could think — yes, yes it was. But as you moaned and kept going, despite the respite from his slaps, you thought you could push him a little.

“Actually— I wanted a mirror as the head of the bed or— to cover the wall— right there, you see?”

You tried raising a finger and pointing at the wall above the headboard but it fell quickly. He had snapped his hips into you as if he wanted to push your soul out, imposing the rhythm he wanted. You fought the urge to curl onto yourself, so melted by the impact of every thrust, that you couldn’t find your form. Not until he pulled you by the hair to meet his thrusts viciously, pulling your head up simultaneously.

Your eyes crossed in the mirror in front of you and your senses jolted awake. The head of the bed was now just a mirror from the mattress to the ceiling letting you see everything: you on all fours with your tits bouncing with every plunge, your red asscheeks, your hair in a ball inside his fist, his other hand busy with what you guessed was a full thumb inside your asshole, him fully clothed in black, snapping his hips to your hips to drive you nuts, and finally his eyes.

His dark piercing eyes locked with yours and they caught your insides on fire. You weren’t just a secretary he was fucking senseless, you were so much less. You were not worth getting his clothes off for, nor had a worthwhile touch. You were a body with a set of holes that he wanted to use, to make gush, and it twisted your guts, the wet sounds superposing almost to the slap of his hips. The hunger inside you to become more while knowing that he was fucking you because he wanted to use you, no matter how worthless you were, almost drew you to your peak but you waited. You waited, with eyes never parting from his through the mirror, for him to deny it, enforce it, or do something. 

Yet all he did was feed into that perversity, “Fucking greedy cunt.”

You clenched and you could have laughed if he wasn’t so deep inside you, stretching you to the point you couldn’t articulate, let alone react. Whether he was calling you a cunt or saying your core was greedy for his cock, you loved it — both were true.

You arched your back even more for him, needing to feel him kissing your sensitive cervix. It shook you with the sting of every poke, but then you stopped breathing. You stood still, letting him rut into you. He fucked you, not desperately, but without hesitation, with sweat dripping down his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed. He used you and abused you but he was right there for you.

You whimpered and got your hand to rub your clit as soon as possible before that wave could wane, and it crashed. You cried your pleasure as if you had to proclaim it to the world, with a particular pitch to account for the stinging, only to feel his hips stuttering. Your eyes shot open so you could see his squinting, focused on himself disappearing between your ass cheeks until he shot his load inside you with a groan.

Your lips curved in a smile, pleased with the way you milked him right. You sighed, letting your face hit the mattress with the relaxation finally settling, even as his cum started to drip down your thighs.

You felt him move a little but didn’t bother thinking about it. Only when something touched your lips did you open your eyes quizically. His fingers were wet with a white fluid and you stuck your tongue out immediately, inviting him inside your mouth. 

You moaned and clenched around his cock and thumb still inside you. The taste of your cums together was a unique type of drug that left you breathless and stupid on the spot. You suckled on his fingers, moaning the dopamine discharge lighting up your brain until he pulled away, and you whimpered. But not too much; you sighed to yourself. He’d keep on feeding you that unique blend — you trusted him.

“Was that all you wanted?”

You chuckled, “No.”

He cursed and rolled over; in a flash, you were lying with your back over his chest. Your ass was stretched and would slowly shrink back to normal, but his hard dick was still inside you. You chuckled as he heaved a deep breath, crossing his arms behind his head. You didn’t move a muscle.

“What is it this time?”

You pressed your lips, “Well, I was thinking about… an exotic place. An untamed, brimming with energy place. With a creek. You could get it for me.” He was silent behind you but you could feel him breathing. You chuckled, “Bonus points if it comes with a monastery full of monks.”

You jolted with the piercing pain of him pinching your nipples. You reached for his hands to incentivize him to loosen the squeeze, but he didn’t let up at all.

“Why would you need that?”

His voice was rougher and you imagined there was a hint of annoyance with your suggestion. You laughed quietly and he pinched harder, making a cold torrent tase you from head to toe. You held on to his wrists and pressed your heels to the mattress, but otherwise stayed absolutely still.

“For my meditation and healing.”

“You have money; just buy a place like that.”

“Can you imagine how long that will take? It took centuries with the jet, imagine in a foreign place like that?” You were pouting, “You can do that for me.”

One hand of his let go and you sighed and squirmed, thinking he was warming up to you. Only said hand wrapped around your throat, jolting you to press even more into him. You were even more vulnerable.

“Thought you said you valued your time.”

“And I do,” you rasped, heart beating with adrenaline. Your core throbbed around him in reaction, and you closed your eyes. He was so hard inside you. The way he was keeping you from riding him was such an unspeakable waste. “Can’t you tell?”

You tried rolling your hips and he pulled you by the neck harder, stretching you til your vertebrae popped. His hand pinched around your tits before he sank his teeth into your neck, making you writhe and moan uncontrollably. You were at the edge again, overwhelmed, unable to relax and release unless he guided you there.

He started moving and you sighed, fusing back into him without a trace of resistance. He had parted his legs and taken support on the mattress to swing his hips to fuck you slowly, stealing your breath away. You could only stay in place, whimpering and crying out your delight as he used you to his liking.

Even as he sped up, turning your insides to mush, you were still curious. Your wetness and his cum were dripping down your ass and you were burning with the lack of oxygen. The way his teeth were sinking into your skin had you gritting your teeth, and bliss was a moment away. But you wanted to feel it for yourself.

You let go of his wrist and traced down your body all the way to your core, touching lightly around your entrance only to quiver. Fuck, was he big and hard, no wonder you were burning so finely under his stretch. You moaned, both from the feeling of him pistoning inside you and the wet thick length brushing your fingers to use you, until his hand caught your attention. His fingers sank under your jawline just a bit to coax you to look up, and you gasped.

Above you, the ceiling had become a mirror and the view was breathtaking. Your sweaty and abused body was red and glowing, but what destroyed you was him. The sight of his cock ramming into your messy folds, glistening with every stab, and of his dark eyes set on you as he bit down your neck, not letting go of you, pushing you to your finish line. 

He saw it and acted on it, and you thought maybe it was the plan all along. The hand squeezing your nipple was over your clit in a second, rubbing it perfectly and with every thrust a little more, until he let the blood flood through your brain again. You burst like a firework, arching even more into him. His teeth sank deeper, as did his cock, and his fingers kept you cumming. You trashed your legs, seeing white with such bliss, unable to come down for a while.

By then, he was licking your neck, stuffed inside you to keep his cum in while he took whiffs of your sugary white raspberry scent. You could have mentioned it or thought about it, but the lethargy spreading across your body didn’t let you.

You were ready to fall asleep when he moved to have you look up at him. He was sweaty and beautiful, with an intense gaze that gave you goosebumps. His eyebrow twitched and you sighed.

“I take it back.”

Your eyes were heavy so you didn’t catch the curve on the corner of his lips, “Good girl.”

Your haze was imposing but something perked your attention, making it impossible to fade into unconsciousness. His arms were keeping you above him, and he wasn’t leaving. You were normally too exhausted to even think and would wake up in to empty room, so you didn’t know what happened immediately after. You always assumed he just vanished without glancing twice but he was still there this time, with his arms around you. 

You didn’t want to miss the opportunity. You sighed, “How did you… end up like this?” You were mumbling, fighting sleep. He stayed quiet and immobile, but you could hear him breathe near your forehead. “Were you… born one?”

You finally felt him shifting a bit under you, though his arms stayed firm, keeping you in place. “One?”

Your lips trembled before you whispered, “Demon.”

You were fearful but he chuckled, “I was born one; we all are. Reborn one,” he admitted and you furrowed your brow ever so slightly despite your closed eyes. 

“How?” You breathed. It could be a dream.

“How…” 

You didn’t dare open your eyes and break that spell; you imagined he was thinking, his mind wandering off.

“I made a deal, same as you, a long time ago.”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know,” he smirked and shrugged. “Time has different meanings in different places.”

“Sounds interesting,” you cooed before nibbling on your lip. Your heart was beating fast with the thrill of that simple exchange.

It shook even more with his quiet laugh near your ear, “That’s because you’re ignoring the obvious.” His voice lost humour and you could imagine the detached eyes looking down at you. “None of this is good.”

You opened your eyes instantly, eager to catch that spark before it could vanish. His sharp eyes were set on yours and you almost wavered, but he had you. He was showing and saying more than ever before and for the first time in months it felt like you could have a conversation.

“How can it not be good,” you whispered, eyeing the straight line of his lips. “When it helped me so much?”

The line showed apprehension, “Are you sure it did?”

You almost scoffed, “Absolutely certain. No one has ever been so kind to me.”

“This isn’t kindness.”

You started laughing, despite your best efforts. Even though his demeanor screamed severity and his eyes showed sternness, you just couldn’t help yourself. Your laugh wasn’t mocking, it was almost jolly.

You cuddled more into his embrace, “It is. What? You’re toying with me? Of course you are, everyone is,” you shrugged, pulling his arms more around you. “It’s all everyone has ever done. Toy and use. You’re no different, but you are.” You paused, trying to put into words the nuance you had experienced only with him. “‘Cause at least you give me something in return. You’re the only one that has ever given me something in return.”

Your eyes lowered with the scattered recollections of what you had once sought to forget, but quickly they were back up. Your heart shook with what they found — there was a hint of emotion on an otherwise objective and unphased marble expression. At that moment, you were certain that your connection was not imagined.

“What was your deal?”

He didn’t even blink but you stayed put, still calm and relaxed, not just from your previous activities, but also because you were still together.

“What did you sell your soul for?”

Your insistence tipped the scales somehow because he sighed, “A way out. A way to leave and live out my dreams.”

Your eyebrows twitched curiously, “Did it work?”

He smirked and you finally saw a trace of emotions behind his eyes, “Yeah, but not really. That’s why details matter.”

Come now, kitten.

His entrancing voice still enchanted your spirit to this day. You nodded, “You didn’t know what you wanted and just said a way out?”

“I knew what I wanted,” he said, shifting under you but not with discomfort. He sounded assertive and you had a hunch that he was proud of himself. Your eyebrows twitched quizzically and he continued, “I wanted to be a musician, but I didn’t know what that meant.”

Your expression soured as your eyes lowered and you gave him a detached nod. 

Your mind was about to pull you into the very dread you had been running from for years when he said, “It was my fault.”

You frowned, looking for the reason why he was telling you this. 

The subtlest line sunk between his eyebrows, “I let myself go down that road. Others might have pushed or joined me along, but it was my life. My decision.”

You wondered then for the first time, with seriousness, if he could read your mind. Could he know your secrets? What you had been through? What you once dreamed and how it had all turned to shambles?

You pursed your lips, denying that idea. No matter how well he fucked you, that was probably impossible. Besides, it wasn’t your fault. What had happened to you, regardless of your stupidity, was not your fault. Whatever he was talking about, it was certainly only about himself.

Which made you wonder, “Is that why you keep telling me to figure myself out?”

He didn’t answer, he only clenched his jaw.

You sighed as you glanced up at the ceiling from your black silked bed. You were feeling down today and not even peeking up cheered you up. The mirrors were gone, sadly, so you could only remember how good it had been to feel him and talk to him right there, on your bed.

It had been months since you last asked for him; way more than you would have liked. It was your own doing, however. You were the one who decided to not call him so soon and actually try to do something with yourself. It turned out that it was easier said than done. There was only one thing your soul ever sought doing and you avoided it like the devil would a cross. Because of this, you were aimless and the temptation to feed your mind something else so you’d stop ruminating on old thoughts and pains was becoming hard to resist.

You missed the validation. You thought of your parents and the very little they had done for you in that regard, and it irritated you. They were something else you should avoid thinking at all costs for your well-being, and yet now that they popped up, you were annoyed. And since you couldn’t and wouldn’t ever get their validation, you thought of the one you did get.

Without words, just demonstrations — he had always shown up for you. He disagreed with your lifestyle and thought your wishes were futile and shallow, but still showed up every time. The last time had been the closest you had felt to being cared for, even though your storylines didn’t match completely. But they didn’t have to — he showed it in the way that he cared enough to prevent you from losing yet another piece of your soul. And you needed to feel that again.

You brushed your bracelets and heard a voice before your fingers lost contact, “Really?”

You sat up with giddiness, as if he had just surprised you, then got up and across the bedroom to reach him.

“What could you possibly want this time?”

There was a hint of exasperation but it didn’t phase you, “Is this really you?” You were inquisitive as you neared him, eying him from top to bottom. His typical black suit always made him look refined and now his hair was a bit longer, kept tucked behind his pierced ears. “Or is this something you show to me? Like a mask?”

You stopped in front of him and he chuckled, “Does it bother you?”

“Fuck no,” you scoffed. What kind of question was that? “It pleases me a lot. Hence, why I’d like it to be real.”

“This is the real me. I can change it but,” he shrugged and you raised your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Don’t change it, I fucking adore it.”

You pressed your lips to his and thought nothing of the way he took a second to kiss you back. It had happened before and you were just too eager to think twice. Just seeing him awakened you, talking sparked your interest, and brushing your lips together shot you up into the clouds. His taste inebriated you and the more his tongue pressed the exchange, the more the desire lit up inside you.

You buried your fingers in his hair and he reciprocated, pressing you close until your feet stopped touching the ground. He carried you back toward the bed and you sighed into his kiss — validated a hundred times over.

So when your calves touched the bed, you broke the kiss and gave him one look before switching places with him. You fell to your knees and searched for the black trousers’ zipper and bit your lip when you found it. Despite previous failed attempts at taking charge, you were pleased that he was letting you get on with it, feeding that flame within you.

You could have made it hot and slow by undressing him, pumping him softly until you closed your grip, licking softly around his sensitive balls, and maybe even nibbling on his thighs before flicking your tongue up his shaft and suckling on the tip. But you couldn’t be bothered to play it slowly when you had nearly obsessed about what he would taste like without your cum’s interference. He liked to give you that particular taste, like a last high before you fell asleep, but you had wondered how it would be if it was just him. And now you were about to find out.

You were happily getting his hard dick out and watering at the sight with your tongue sticking out when a strong grip by your hair roots stilled you in place. You looked up, batting your eyelashes innocently and quizically only to notice a hint of annoyance pulling his lip. You didn’t wonder if he wanted to stop — you knew he liked being with you and enjoyed your times together. Whatever it was, it was preventing you both from finding enjoyment in each other and you didn’t want that.

You gave him a nod and a smile, hoping he could read in your eyes how much you wanted this. You didn’t want to just fuck this time around. It wasn’t even just about learning his taste, it was so much more than that.

He released the grip on your hair and you knew that he was, as always, letting you do what you wanted. It was frankly refreshing. You set your eyes on his furiously red cock pointing at your face and nodded to yourself. For all the demon talk and lore you found online, one of the things that seemed real was that he was always honest with you. He never forced you into things, if anything he even pushed you to do better and have better. It just made you burn inside and want to give him everything even more.

And today that meant pressing your lips to the tip of his cock right before you let the hot plush skin part your mouth into an o. You knew, as you lowered your head, that you’d never take him fully. You didn’t even think you could get too much in without choking too soon because of how thick he was. But none of that was an issue for quite a few reasons: you were going to enjoy yourself and do whatever you liked, you’d look and feel hot doing it, you’d make him feel good partially just on those simple truths, and finally, he could always just use you.

You moaned with his cock sliding inside your mouth at the pace of your choosing and his grip around your hair tightened. Your tongue lapped at his tip, searching for his taste and having no qualms about getting it out of him with a bit of pressure. Your hallowed cheeks created a vacuum for just a second, yet he groaned and you tried again. His taste hit you with the force of a thousand flavors and your mouth slacked. You moaned deeply, your mind floored and overwhelmed with the sweet richness searing into your taste buds, and you drooled. Your spit was flowing down his shaft, dripping down his balls in a testament to how far gone you were. Until his nails sank into your scalp and he groaned.

That was when you tauted your lips again and decided that if his precum was a nectar, then his cum would be like an elixir from the gods and you had to have it. You cupped and caressed his balls as you got accustomed to his girth stretching your lips, tentatively sliding up and down to see how he’d react. 

You were clenching around nothing, lewdly drooling and moaning over his cock as if you had reached an oasis, but his groans got to you. They sent shivers down your spine and puckered your skin down your nape as he gripped your hair tighter without ever forcing your head. It made you only want to work harder and as you got ready with a deep breath, instantly the musky scent added to the sweetness in your mouth. It lit up your brain like a Christmas tree, twinkling with every drop of precum dissolving on your tongue, and you whimpered.

After that, things became messy. Your hands favored his round asscheeks to press him closer as you sought to have as much of him as possible. You pressed him in so hard, trying to swallow him whole, but that just wouldn’t be possible. Even then, you angled your head better, slid lower, and took him deeper, again and again with masterful control of your breath and his thrusts.

At first, you wanted to please him, but the more the idea of him using you resurged, the more you found yourself hoping he’d grip you and fuck your throat numb. You had no idea where all that unrestrained hunger came from but you weren’t sure you had ever been like that with anyone else. With him, your emotions were raw while he reached within you deeply, poking a nerve that you didn’t think anyone had access to. You craved his unrestrained care and attention, even if it bled, because at least he would come back for you. He’d hold you to sleep and come back every time.

You looked up with watering eyes to find him looking at you. His gaze was intense, completely focused on you with his lips slightly parted. A thin shin of sweat was making his forehead and neck glisten and it tightened you up even more. You wanted that m— that demon, or whatever he was. You didn’t care if you’d burn in hell for it — it was worth it to feel alive and real.

You whimpered and pressed him into your face harder and wished with your whole soul that he knew what you wanted. His nails grazing your skin made you look up and you blinked at him almost pleadingly. A low growl passed through his gritted teeth and a moment later you saw white.

You knew pain didn’t work for you the same way as it did for others, especially when sex was involved. You also knew because of him that lack of oxygen was a powerful catalyst for you and that most importantly, you were safe with him. You could have wondered why but it never occurred to you, the same way there was no point in questioning why water is wet and the sunlight is yellow. All you knew was that you were safe to feel the sting, the roughness, his scent mixed with the sweat and sheer sex aroma all around you, the sweetness of his precum mixed with the salt of your tears, everything in a whirlwind that swept you off your feet, beyond getting you to your knees. And when he finally came, it propelled you into bliss.

You moaned around him, trying to swallow every drop of his release as though you were a woman starved for a week. The more you quaffed, the more you craved, drinking until you almost choked. He pulled you back by the hair to release his cock and beyond his cum trickling down your chin, you realized you were moaning. Your mind was lit up like a billboard sign and it took you a beat to recognize that you were spasming around nothing, worn out on both ends from his release and yours.

You were taking deep breaths to rebalance yourself when they somehow became shaky. He pulled you up by the hands and you did as instructed, unable to control the trembles and sobs now shaking you.

He observed you, sliding his hands on the sides of your neck under your long strands of hair only to grab you there and press his fingers into your skin. It felt surprisingly soothing and tears started flowing from your eyes. You could only stare at him, without a thought that could justify this until he leaned in to kiss you. Then your breath hiccuped and you squeezed your eyes shut, letting the tears fall with that deep emotion. He could probably taste himself in your mouth, his cum was still on your chin, and yet he licked your lips and pushed inside your mouth without reservations. His lack of hesitation shook you and had you reaching to grab him close. You felt as though you were a ball of wool of which he had finally found the loose thread, only to pull it and watch it unravel. 

You didn’t stop crying, however, despite not realizing exactly why. You were ready to clean your face and step away, but as soon as your mouths parted, he was already sweeping you off your feet. You were in no condition to complain so all you did was hold on to his neck and let him carry you.

He had been there so many times but never to your ensuite bathroom. Still, he acted like he had been there a thousand times. He started the water to fill your bathtub with one hand before setting your feet down on the floor. He gently took your silk pajamas off as the water slowly pooled in your big tub. You watched him and let him, seeing him brush the strips down your arms and pull your shorts along with it. Your nudity didn’t bother you or him as he made sure to put everything away before he grabbed you once more and gently laid you inside the rising bath.

You didn’t let go of his hand, your heart was scared of him abandoning you. Instantly, you recognized that maybe that wasn’t the best course of action, but he surprised you. He crouched to your eye level and squeezed your hand, and you settled. You trusted him — that was the absolute truth.

You leaned back and let the warm water envelop you as he reached to grab oils and petals from the nearby counter. Your eyes were becoming heavy with the lull of the perfumes and dripping water, and when you opened them again, he was getting naked. Despite your lethargy, your heart still jumped at the sight and the implication. He did it slowly, or maybe your mind was just sluggish. You wondered why he didn’t just snap his fingers to get naked, but then you almost chuckled at the silliness of your thoughts.

The bathtub was big and could even fit three people if needed. You didn’t mind sharing it and didn’t expect what he did next — he reached around you and hugged you to him. Your last sob exited your lips then, only soothing deep breaths following suit. You were safe and you finally drifted asleep.

You inhaled a sharp breath when you woke up, startled to be immersed in water only to look up to your side with a dropped chin. He was still there, his arms keeping you firmly in place against his soft chest under your ear. He glanced at you, with your glistening sleepy eyes and puffy cheeks.

Then he raised a hand and rubbed your chin.

You blushed, still dazed not only by your nap, but by the whole situation. Was he wiping drool off your chin?

“You never told me what it was that you needed.”

His voice rasped quietly, yet your heart picked it up as if he had screamed it atop his lungs. It shook you unbearably, adding to your flushing cheeks that you pressed hastily. Water splashed lightly on your heated face and you swallowed. You never told him because… there was nothing you wanted. You only wanted to see him and be with him.

Shit.

You couldn’t possibly tell him that.

“I… wanted… a new phone,” you said slowly before chuckling and rubbing your face a bit more.

“A phone?”

His tone was dry but you were too busy making up something to notice, “Yeah, Apple has this new upcoming—”

He got up from the water, the sudden splashing cutting you off as you watched him go. The corners of your lips pulled; you couldn’t hide the sadness — you hadn’t even enjoyed that moment properly.

He gripped his hair for a second before facing you, “Why can’t you see further than this junk?”

You frowned, a bit confused, “What junk?”

“All of it,” he almost hissed, disgust clear on his features. “A jet, a building, money— I get it. You need comfort, sure, but a phone? Fuck! Why are you wasting your life away on junk?”

As he talked, you sat up straight until your lips pulled in a scowl, “Waste? Yeah, right.”

You got up, ignoring the dizziness, and stepped out carefully to reach for a towel. His eyes were so intense they could have been marking you like a branding iron.

You couldn’t have imagined how furious you were making him, “Yes, waste! You have time. Don’t you want to do something with it?”

You wrapped yourself in a towel and laughed, “Not all of us are meant to amount to something.”

He snickered, “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, not all of you have everything money can buy, safety, and health,” he pointed out gravely and you raised your chin. 

“It doesn't matter.”

“No?” He sneered.

“No,” you said, dryly and confidently. “When you’re proud of nothing, attached to nothing, and have no meaning… you lose purpose.”

His expression softened for the first time and you looked away. You were not afraid to tell him what you felt deep down, but you were conscious about him seeing your demons. By the look on his face, you wondered if he had all along.

“You have things you’re passionate about,” he voiced simply, all anger gone.

Your mouth filled with bile, “No. I tried,” you admitted bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. “It was maybe the only thing I tried doing for myself aside from summoning you. My parents didn’t approve. A music career is not exactly at the level of an Ivy League degree,” you smirked, shaking your head at the memory of that fight. “I thought I could prove them wrong. I thought I could become a big shot, with or without their support. I couldn't.”

You stopped talking; a huge lump in your throat was filling your eyes with tears. The memories you would like to forget were resurfacing and you hugged yourself. You could have asked for him to take them away… but you didn’t.

“They hurt you.”

You looked at him and your eyes filled to the brim. Yet you chuckled, “Isn’t that what everyone does? Use and abuse?” You rubbed your face harshly before you could break, “Isn’t that what you experienced as well?”

“Yes, but that was not what ruined me.”

You overlooked the surprise at the fact that he answered you and that you were even having this conversation. “What was?”

“Drugs and alcohol.”

You chuckled and nodded; those had been your escape and they certainly made you pliable, stupid, and vulnerable.

“But you… You’ve given up before trying.”

His voice was the gentlest you had ever heard from him but you still frowned, “I tried.” 

Your anguish was threatening to asphyxiate you, but he added, “And gave up.”

You grimaced, you couldn’t breathe, “You have no idea—”

A sob cut you off and you trembled with the unspoken agitation repressed deep inside you.

He nodded, “I know. I know it broke you, but don’t let it. You’re not defined by how a few assholes treated you in the past. You’re more than other’s opinions, more than a period you’re not proud of, more than any addiction.”

You gritted your teeth so hard as he spoke that they clicked, “How would you know that?”

“You sold your soul to me,” he said calmly, eyeing your trembling figure knowingly. “What do you think I bought?”

You quivered under his gaze and wiped your cheek off the runaway tears. Beyond the turmoil that topic created inside you, you were aware of what he was saying. Aware that he knew you inside and out, that he would own you, and that he wouldn’t have this conversation if he didn’t see more for you. But you couldn’t have hope, you couldn’t believe it. It would shatter you if you did and you weren’t ready — you had just found such a precarious balance. You couldn’t unravel and let it all go to waste.

“If not a phone, then I have another request,” your voice cracked but in a second your eyes were void of emotion as your features stiffened. You couldn’t grasp how far he could see inside you, or how much he knew you, but as he straightened his shoulders, you assumed it was a lot. He knew of your nightmares extensively, so when the thought came to your mind, he knew you meant it. His cold eyes told you he knew what it was before you opened your mouth, “I want my parents to suffer.”

As soon as you said it, anger shook your balling fists. You let yourself blame them, hate them for your circumstances, for your story, for your pain. You never asked to be born. Was it so hard to support their only daughter in this hell of a world? If they had been there—

“Destroy their estate.” You said with a stiff jaw, remembering the number of times they had chosen work over you. Every time you had gone to them to be dismissed, every time you tried voicing a dream and were laughed at, and every time after that they just let you do shit freely. “It’s time they lose the only thing they care about.”

“They care about you.”

“They threw me away,” you countered with venomous eyes.

“Maybe they didn’t expect you to summon a demon and have all of your problems swept away…” he leaned back against the sink; his air of nonchalance didn’t soothe you one bit.

You were already triggered, “They didn’t expect it?” A sardonic laugh passed your lips, “Sure, I guess they didn’t. So isn’t it weird they didn’t contact me all this time?”

“Maybe they don’t know how to.”

“They just have to fucking google my name!” You exploded, throwing your fists in the air. “They don’t do it because they don’t care!”

“Or maybe because you wouldn’t welcome them.”

Your fists fell numb beside your legs and you eyed him with bloodshot eyes. He was a demon; maybe this was part of the torture. “I wouldn’t, but it shouldn’t matter. You think they should only reach out on the premise they can be white knights and save my pathetic life? No. Caring about someone is—” Your voice shook, realizing what you were about to say to the very demon that taught you that. He waited for you to finish speaking your mind. “Letting them live on their own terms. Helping them go through it, maybe preventing them from making some shitty decisions, but sticking by them regardless because—”

Tears streamed down your face and you had to turn around. You couldn’t say those things to his face, you were afraid he’d see through you. See who you were thinking about.

You sniffled and wiped your face before turning again, “They should care. Whether I’m fucked, alive or dead, they should fucking care and they don’t.”

He took a second to consider what you said, or maybe he was just giving you time to calm down. “Caring isn’t only shown by reaching out. People make mistakes in trying to demonstrate their feelings, especially when they’re hurt and desperate.”

His dark eyes were piercing you to your soul and your tears overflowed again. You smirked for a moment before hiding your face to clean them again. This bastard was not going to make it any easier for you.

“They had my whole life to show they cared. Instead, they left me alone.”

“Why were you alone?”

You blinked your heavy and wet lashes with the memory of being shooed away. Your mother was lying on a bed with lines attached to her and with people in white coats all around her.

“My mom was sick for a long time,” you remembered. “She… she couldn’t have more children.”

You looked down; your stupidity echoed behind your eyelids.

Maybe you should have had more kids.

You heaved a deep breath and rubbed your eyes. What a dick you were. It didn’t matter that you were high, you were such an asshole. They had been bastards too for staying absent your whole life, and you guessed the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Maybe more kids would have meant you wouldn't be the only one screwed up. You chuckled, that might have been better.

You looked up at him and wondered if things could have been different. If you had summoned him earlier, you could have wished for your mother to be healthy. Maybe that would have changed everything.

His impenetrable eyes didn’t blink once while you considered all this, and you looked down again. You wouldn’t have ever been at a crossroads selling your soul if things hadn’t gotten so shitty. There was nothing you could do about that now.

“Not their entire estate. Just— A branch of the family business.”

“It will cost you.”

You nodded, “It should.”

He sighed, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Far Cry 🚀 Chapter 56

She didn’t dare open her eyes, just feeling him holding her was enough to ground herself. Her nose hid in the crook of his neck and his musky scent along with the firmness of his hold steadied her. She was calming down, her heart was content, and she’d stay like this forever, but he whispered into her ear.

“I got you, I’m right here.”

Her heart beat so intensely it smothered any ounce of fear and anxiety inside her. In a flash, she could remember everything that mattered. The first time he held her waist, preventing her from crumbling to the floor. The first time he caught her, helping her escape the clutches of captivity. The first time he held her through a panic attack, and every time after that. He didn't let her fall, he didn't let her face her nightmares, sorrows, or darkest fears alone — he was always there by her side. He was there right now, she could feel it in her chest. He was waiting for her, and she wanted to do this.

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 2 - To go to bed before the daylight

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: 5.4k

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

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, mentions of addiction and withdrawal, trespassing, unprotected public sex, biting, pain mixing w/ pleasure, choking and breath play

A.N. What would you do to see your demon again?

Masterpost | Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter : Next Chapter >

A frustrated screech burst out of your mouth as you gripped your hair by the roots and twirled around. Despite your shut eyes, the dizziness tried to settle, and you welcomed it. Your voice gave out and you tripped on the glass coffee table nearby, falling with such a ruckus anyone would have wondered if you were okay. No one came, however.

You rolled belly up with a groan, raising your hands above your face to confirm that indeed, glass shards were piercing your palms and forearms. Carnation red drops dribbled down in lively pulses and you gritted your teeth before hiding behind a grimace.

Why was nothing working?

The desperation couldn’t take hold of your chest because your fury was far more rampant. You rolled to the side, ignoring the crunching beneath you as you got up. Your glare was acidic as you looked around you, confirming for the thousandth time that nothing happened. No one — there was no one in your living room. Not on the luxurious crimson velvet couches, on a bar stool by the kitchen island, or on the two steps leading to the sliding doors of your bedroom.

Your anger flooded you so absolutely that you couldn’t breathe — it exploded in the form of a kick that threw the nearby flaming bowl over, hitting the lit candles and making the air even more pungent with a spicy scent. You ignored the white Yarrow petals mixed with the other bones and trinkets rolling on the floor half still aflame and groaned as you paced.

It wasn’t working, nothing was working.

You had done everything you could, absolutely everything. Your fingers trembled as you fought the hopelessness trying to settle — it was impossible. Something had to work! It had to, it just had to!

You started hitting your forehead with your palms, trying to think of something. Was there something he said? Something he did? He had to have left you with a clue!

“Miss?”

You shrieked again in pure frustration before you turned around, glaring at the maid who had dared to enter your apartment. Her frightened expression should have shaken you, but nothing could reach you. You could only feel the void, the emptiness, the sucking pressure depressing your breathing, your motivation, your energy. So much so that you didn’t even flinch when she rushed to grab a pillow and started hitting the nearing tapestry with it. Oh right, you noticed, absentmindedly. It did smell like burning and the fire alarm was blaring. What a drag.

You heaved a deep breath and gave the situation your back, choosing to near your computer on the desk and read the passages on the screen again and again. Was there something you missed? Didn’t you do everything exactly right?

“Miss?”

“What?” You growled back, annoyed at her small wary voice.

The maid, possibly around your age with big round eyes bringing life to her fully black attire, raised her hands carefully, “You’re hurt.”

You scoffed and turned to the screen again. You heard the commotion behind you as people came into the room to check if there was a fire, and you ignored them. You kept reading, scrolling, trying to understand. The maid’s worried eyes were lost on you as you dragged the chair behind you to sit, blood dripping down to the floor like the pendulum of a metronome marking the time. A singed odor slowly replaced the spicy smell, and you twisted your nose in annoyance. The turmoil behind you almost drew a remark out of you but then you faltered.

The name. You were missing the name, of course. 

“Fuck!”

Your fists hit the table with such force the laptop was airborne for a split second. You dragged the chair behind you and walked away, cursing yourself incessantly as you covered your face with trembling fingers. Just exactly how stupid could you possibly be—?

“Miss?”

“What?” Your tone was caustic now, your patience nonexistent.

“We should clean your wounds.”

You scoffed and almost laughed in disbelief before looking around the place. Your wide living room looked fairly smaller with the four staff members cleaning everything seamlessly: there were no traces of fire, the tapestry had been switched, the bowl was clean with no flowers, cow milk, blood, or anything else, and even the glass shards of the glass coffee table were gone already. You wondered how long it would take for a replacement to be brought in when a man walked in carrying one that could have been the exact same model, you wouldn’t have remembered or cared.

Meanwhile, your forearms and knees had blood dripping down your skin grimly.

“Miss?”

“Out,” you voiced, breath shaking at the tension down your spine. Everyone around you had worry in their eyes, or worse, sympathy, and your anger snapped tenfold, “Out! Now!”

The maid opened her mouth but you raised your forearms and whisked the shards out of your skin before she could say anything. She looked utterly shocked as the pieces fell to the floor, yet your gaze was absolutely indifferent. You glanced at one of the men who had worked for you for the last six months; an eyebrow raise was enough for him to nod.

In a second, everyone knew to scram and you heaved a deep breath, enjoying the silence again. They should know better than to interfere when you were cooped up there trying to get things done.

You reached the minibar in the corner of the suite and poured yourself a glass of your favorite whiskey. They couldn’t understand; why would they? To them, you were just a rich, eccentric, possibly unhinged woman doing crazy rituals in one of your drug-induced highs, but what would they know?

You were not crazy. The possibility had crossed your mind, but in truth, their very presence proved that you were, in fact, very sane! Or else, how could it be that you owned that building? That you were loaded? That they worked for you, catering to your every need as if you were royalty?

It was excruciating, though. If in the beginning, you thought this would give you the freedom you were looking for, now six months later you realized that it was not like that at all. You could set the building on fire and absolutely nothing would happen to you. There were no consequences, not even getting burned because the staff would bend backward to keep you safe. And it was all because of the deal. As if you weren’t aimless enough before — it turned out that freedom made you even more helpless. And now that your parents weren’t there to offer any semblance of resistance or limits, you had inadvertently hit new lows.

But it wasn’t your fault, you mused as you stepped out onto the balcony with your neat whiskey in hand. You had everything you could ever wish for at the tip of your fingers and yet the loneliness and pain were never more vivid. With no one to care and no purpose, you spiraled harder than ever before.

And the worst part was that you couldn’t do it right. No matter how much alcohol burned your throat, or how many pills you popped, the euphoria never reached that same peak. Nothing ever felt the same as that one night six months ago, and you suspected nothing ever would. Because what you were searching for could not be chemically induced.

It was his touch. You had pondered long and hard and arrived at that conclusion every time. Anyone could kiss you or fuck you, but nothing matched the level of intimacy of that night. This made you chuckle — you didn’t even know his name, nor did he know yours. At the time, you didn’t even know what he was but none of that mattered. It wasn’t about a kiss or a couple of orgasms, or being pounded so harshly you could thankfully feel it for days. No, it was about the care in his eyes right after leaving you in a place of bliss. You couldn’t let it go, but you craved it. You searched for it day and night, fruitlessly scraping the surface while a similar summit of ecstasy and ease stayed out of reach.

And as you did, your body paid the price. You felt it clearly in your lack of breath, saw it in your sunken eyes and dry hair, in your lack of appetite, and will.

It was all his fault, you reasserted yourself one more time, taking a sip with your gaze set on the city night. It was your fault too for wishing for him to make you feel good, but it was his fault for not making it last. It wasn’t permanent, you weren’t fixed. If anything, you were even more miserable, bound to remember blissfulness and never feel it again.

But you knew you remembered it right. Every little detail came to mind, from the wickedness of his smile to the bruises over your skin. If it wasn’t enough that you remembered him so deeply that no one else had been able to match it, your very bones felt charred at times — a reminder that you were branded, that you didn’t belong to yourself anymore. Not entirely.

The problem was that it would take ten years to see him again. Ten fucking years; you couldn’t wait that long.

You drank a bit more, unsure if the trembling of your fingers was due to the cold night or the withdrawal. You licked your lips and allowed yourself to be proud for once. You had been clean for a week, and that was something after six months of being fucked up.

That was when the pointlessness of your actions dawned on you, or rather the insanity of repeating the same ones hoping for a different outcome. You realized then that the only way to fix things would be to speak to him again. Only the obsession to summon him again kept you clean and mostly sober — if you were high, you wouldn’t be able to do it. Heck, to even try — you might forget logic altogether and return to the vicious cycle. The drugs always made you dense, even when the haze receded, and it annoyed you that it was starting to linger as the withdrawal settled. How else did you not realize that you didn’t have his name? Hence, why every attempt failed? Even if those spells online were bullshit, one was bound to work! Or were you not at the rooftop suite of a luxurious building you owned downtown?

You heaved a deep breath and settled your chin on your arms over the cold metal railing. How could you turn this around? You didn’t have his name and without asking him, you’d never get it!

You tilted the glass in front of your face, the amber liquid transparent enough to allow the city lights through.

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

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

Your guts turned — no. Fuck no. You couldn’t wait any longer.

You turned, storming across the suite as you finished your drink and placed the glass on the console table next to your handbag. You emptied its contents on the glass top and immediately picked up your wallet, getting your ID and waving it in front of you victoriously.

That was all you needed to grab your phone and head out.

You couldn't stop tapping your foot incessantly on the black car mat. The city lights became rarer as you exited the center and neared your destination, yet there was no respite. Your nerves were stretched thin with your usual lack of patience, turbulent anxiety, and sudden mounting expectations. You knew it was illogical, but you were a second away from yelling at the driver to go faster — it was the middle of nowhere at night, and there was no one on the road. You couldn’t wait anymore.

You huffed in annoyance when the car finally stopped along the walls of your parent’s estate. You had to tell your driver where to go until you told him to stop, seeing no cameras, fences, or obstacles.

He didn't flinch when you asked him to heave you up and over the wall, keeping the car door open to offer you a semblance of support. However, you paused when you raised a leg only to notice you still had glass shards on your knees. You huffed and brushed the little pieces off before taking his hand to jump and land on the other side finally.

A groan escaped you when you hit your knees on the floor with a thud. You grimaced with the pain shooting up your wrists from hampering your fall; since when were you so weak?

Yet, instead of taking the time to consider your overall state or the fact that you were trespassing on your parent’s property, you got up. You looked around, thankful that your eyes were accustomed to the moonbeams crossing the darkness to reveal the fields to your right, the orchards to the left, and in the distance, at the top of a hill, the mansion you had grown up in. 

None of that mattered now. You had a long way to walk and all you did was check your dress pockets for your phone and ID before you started. You didn’t know where you were going — you didn’t know where you had seen him. You did remember, however, that there were no trees and that the house should have been behind you, so the fields were the obvious choice.

It didn’t take long for familiar dreadful sensations to take over you: the uneasy strain of your legs as you walked, the skittish beating heart inside your chest, the sweat stinging your eyes as your trembling fingers brushed the wet strands of hair off your brow. It was an unpleasant reminder of your lack of health, but you didn’t mind. You kept pushing forward, taking every inch of discomfort with your head held high — you had felt it before, unknowingly on your way to him. Maybe this was a requirement to reach him, and so you’d gladly take it. You’d walk all night if you had to.

The certainty you had from your memories and experiences kept you going to the point where you only saw fields again, a dirt road, and no house, wall, or trees to take reference in. It pushed you forward and validated you despite your thirst, shakiness, and tiredness. You were on the right path, even if you stumbled and stopped breathing.

There was a certain irony when you tripped on something that made you fall to your knees. You took the moment to breathe and pulled your hair out of your face, staring at the ground that had seen you grow. You hummed while staring at the bland brown, the lack of moisture, the bareness of that place. How did anything grow there?

Still, you buried your ID as you hummed the chant with an uncharacteristic solemnity. You were nowhere near where you wanted to be, but your desire hadn’t subsided any less.

“You know you already sold your soul, right?”

You almost jolted in fright, staring up with wide eyes. The object of your obsession was towering over you, a single point of fire lit near his mouth as he pulled a seemingly endless drag of smoke out of his cigarette. His paleness contrasted with his dark hair only to shimmer under the moonlight, yet something caught your eye before you could admire the vision or wonder if you were hallucinating. He was toying with a plastic card in his hand, and as he turned it again to the other side, your picture passed in a blurred flash.

You gasped and looked down beneath your hands where you had just buried that card. Would it still be there? If you searched for it, would you find it? Would it break your fantasy or confirm your reality?

Your heart was racing when you faced back up, breathlessness overtaking you.

You stumbled to get back on your feet but didn't give up. Your eyes were fixed in those pools of black as you did, dizziness threatening to pull you under but nothing could take that chance away from you.

He observed you passively, blowing smoke directly onto your face as if you were an annoying fly. Your eyes watered but all annoyance was dead and gone. Instead, your lips trembled as you took more of him, your lungs sucking in a new meaning to the word fume.

Yet with a new drawn breath, your conviction resurged — it was all his fault.

Your hand smacked his chest and your blood burst with shimmers of excitement. He was solid underneath your palm — he was real.

You couldn't resist so you didn't hesitate — you smacked him again and again, a thrill building from the bottom of your gut stronger than any hit ever before. He was real and there and you weren't crazy. It was all his fault, and—

You froze. Your eyes had wandered up as a sly smile settled on your lips, but upon facing him, there was no moving anymore. His gaze wasn't necessarily cold but rather cynical. He didn't say a word; he wrapped his lips around the cigarette butt and made the cherry glow.

You forced yourself to breathe; you wouldn’t give up that easily. “Fix it.”

“What?” His tone was monotonous before he blew smoke on your face again.

You didn't even blink, “Our deal.” He put the cigarette butt in his mouth again and you fought the breathlessness. He was much more intense, eerie, and otherworldly than you remembered. “I told you to make me feel good.”

You saw the smoke enter his mouth and disappear as he casually held it in while he eyed you. “Would you say you felt bad.”

It wasn’t a question but you were reactive, “You know very well what I mean.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. For a moment you doubted he was breathing, and then finally you questioned your sanity. Yet your fingers twitched over his chest and you blinked, assured. He was definitely there.

“So fix it,” you pleaded, unable to hide exactly how you felt. The anger was just a mask that crumbled all too easily. Your futile race to achieve exhilaration had left you sickly and frail. He could see it in your eyes, surely — you had traded your soul and wouldn’t last ten years. Maybe not even the month. “Take it away,” you asked, eyes watering along with your quieting voice. “All of it.”

You swallowed your feebleness and raised your eyes in time to see him pursing his lips before blowing the smoke back into your face. In any other instance, it could have felt demeaning or degrading, but quickly your heart became infatuated with the scent. There was comfort in it, in the familiarity of something that had been a part of you for so long finally coming to take you.

You saw in his eyes how much he knew, even as he tsked and threw the cigarette butt on the floor. Your mouth said fix it, but your flimsy heart screamed exhaustion. Your mouth asked for your addictions and ailment to be taken away when your spirit meant something else.

He exhaled exasperatedly, “For a price.”

“Do it.”

His jaw twitched, “For three years. Got it?” He asked before you could mindlessly confirm. “Instead of ten, you’ll have six years and a half left in total.”

You huffed; as if the price would make you say no. Your fingers curled to grab his black shirt and pull yourself near since he wouldn’t budge. His piercing eyes were inscrutable but you didn’t give up. Whatever he had in store for you, you wanted it.

You got on your tiptoes and shook all over while trying to reach him, straining yourself in one final attempt. For a split second, you thought you would fail as you had for the last six months. Your arms lost strength, your toes couldn’t hold your weight and you closed your eyes with the dizziness making your world spin.

Yet two firm hands grabbed your arms and before you could take a breath to speak, a mouth pressed to yours. It retained the spice you remembered, now mixed with the smoke and ash of tobacco, and you wanted more. Your heart was beating for that taste, for the warm tongue slipping through your lips, bringing subtle tingles to your lower belly.

You grabbed his hair at the back of his neck and pulled him closer, diving into that sweet descent. You didn’t remember him needing to lick your tongue to make a deal with you, but you did recall the searing sensations on your bones. This time the incisions felt small and limited, but deep all the same, and you grabbed his hair firmer. A single breath was enough to feel stronger, the vigor returning to your body and tautening you instantly. The air you breathed was cold, the night humid as the faint perfume of the green fields mixed with his cigarette scent. Your heart thumped strongly, rushing blood and adrenaline in a mix that jolted you alive, pressing you to him with newfound energy.

Until he parted your mouths and your vitality flickered. A soft line showed between your eyebrows as you tried not to give it too much thought — you didn’t want it to end.

“What if I need you again?” You whispered, eyes set on the temptation in the form of his lips.

“I’m not a babysitter,” he rasped. Despite the jaded tone in his voice, his eyes were caught in the same trap.

“But you want my soul, right?”

You enticed him with the only thing you knew could work, though you didn’t let go of your embrace around his shoulders. And neither did he, you noticed. You fought the shiver under his firm hands still grabbing you in place.

Your lips twitched, thrilled with the attention, and you leaned in to nuzzle him, “What’s your name?”

“You know better than to ask questions.”

His tone was far colder; a wall instantly rose between you, and you nodded. You had tried and failed but took what little victory you could have. At least now you were fixed.

He let you go and as soon as your feet touched the ground, you frowned. If the addiction was a bottomless pit, it still was nothing compared to the abyss sucking you in. If everyone had a universe inside them, then yours never got balanced with equal parts mass and void. The black hole at your center was catastrophically disproportionate and immediately you could feel it sucking you in.

Your eyes teared up; it seemed like that was not something a wish could fix. “Make me feel good,” you asked breathlessly.

“It won’t fix it.”

His eyes showed a glint as if he knew what was going on inside your head, and you chuckled and rubbed your eyes. What hurt the most was that not even he could fix you. Once again, it was all pointless. 

“It did last time. For a bit,” you added. Facing up again, you were almost touched. You didn’t expect empathy, and you doubted that was what you saw glimmering in the dark of his eyes, but whatever it was, it pushed you to insist. “Please.”

Your hands moved to hold his head in place as you got on your tiptoes again and pressed your mouth to his. You knew he could have pushed you away easily; rather you imagined he could have done far worse. But as soon as your lips touched, you were even more confident that you understood things exactly as they were: he couldn’t fix you, but he could. 

There was a breathless moment in which you grazed your lips on his and felt the hairs at your nape rise. It was all or nothing — you were jumping off a cliff with no parachute, hoping for something to cushion your fall. The most likely was for you to crash and get crushed, and yet the pressure you felt was nothing like that.

He caught you so quickly that you almost gasped. In a second, you were pressed to his chest, crushed between his arms with a hand holding the back of your head in place as your mouths fused. You couldn’t breathe anything other than him and you moaned — the euphoria rivaled a hit as strong as the purest smack. Yet contrarily to a rushed effect that promised temporary bliss, he was entirely different. Time was ticking but it slowed as his tongue invaded your mouth, carrying a promise of something more. Just shy of ephemeral pleasure, but grazing on a spike of ecstasy. And just like you had thought, you understood the situation very well.

You grabbed him back, instantly eager to get the maximum possible hit. Your strong heart was pumping heat through your veins, feeding into your hunger as if you hadn’t known addiction for most of your life. You chuckled despite your meshed mouths, suddenly aware of your comical state — once an addict, always an addict, right?

You laughed when he trailed his lips down your jaw to reach your neck and sink his teeth. Instantly, you groaned and realized something was ticking him off. Yet you couldn’t give it much thought; the sting on your neck was spreading like wildfire through you and your reaction was to jump into him.

He was ready to catch you, lacing your legs around him as he squeezed your ass until you cried out. The way he pressed you to grind on him drove you crazy, pushing you to get even more lost. Your hazed mind wondered how it was that such simple touches could fry your system so badly, but then he pulled you away by the ass.

You whimpered at the loss of contact, completely overlooking what was truly happening until he pressed you to him again, only this time to split you open. You mewled helplessly, slumping down on him with the pressure of the invasion pushing all the right nerves inside your thight core. It was just like you had asked him and just like you remembered — the right balance to your permanent deficit state.

Your fingers curled, gripping for something and you finally noticed there was only him, and you. You pulled away to face him and saw it in the steel eyes and rough hands raising your hips to fall on him again, stealing a moan. There were no barriers, no clothes, only the cold humid night air in between you as he guided you to jump on his lap as he fucked you.

The air buzzed around you, static making your hair bristle with every electricity jolt. Only it wasn’t energy, but pure pleasure rushing your nerve ends with every slap. The rapture circled you, closing in with every sway as you let him steer you as high and low as needed. Your clit ground on him with every pull, only for his cock to kiss your cervix and force shrieks out of you. And you let him, moaning louder every time, staring at the endless staircase brazenly — no matter how deep he hit or how hard he fucked, that was still the most thrilling high you had ever experienced.

You screamed when his teeth sank into the crook of your neck and it turned into a whimper with how much that restricted your movements. You wanted to grind on his cock, to take full advantage of his hands maneuvering you as if you were weightless; a ragdoll made to take him in full. So you grabbed his hair, supporting him with unintelligible coos as you tried rolling your hips.

He growled into your skin and you shuddered, smirking at the prospect of having him feral right then and there. But then he split from you to face you, and you gaped.

Even as he guided you up and down, electrifying you with pleasure, your mouth still dropped open at the sight. When did he get so deep he drew blood? And why were you clenching around him, so close to release at the thought of him consuming you?

“I’m going to say this once, kitten,” he rasped, eyes fixed on yours. “You have to do better.”

You bit your lip and worked harder, bucking your hips to help with how deep he pierced you, even if it drew cries out of you.

He gritted his teeth with a quiet growl, licking your blood from his lips and sinking his nails into your asscheeks to help you. Your debauched movements were perturbing him just as much as you and you smirked, tongue peeking between your lips as you eyed his bloody mouth. A groan scratched from deep within his chest as if he was straining himself just by looking at you and you melted. You grabbed his hair by the nape, meaning to lean forward and assure him you were completely submerged in all of it when you were stopped.

His hand circled your throat, “Listen.”

You batted your eyelashes at him, though your eyes were about to roll back. 

“You have to figure yourself out.”

Why did he sound so angry when he was fucking you so sweetly? “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No,” you cried, barely able to open your eyes.

“You have to.”

You were winded with every moan, not because of any physical strain — there was none —, but because the lava you had for blood had forsaken every atom of oxygen for sheer delight. Maybe because of it, something sparked deep in your haze, “Help me.”

His hand tightened around your throat, “I’m not a babysitter.”

You laughed but the sound got muffled when he squeezed more. Despite this, you didn’t stop smiling. You knew and he knew — that he wasn’t a babysitter, but that he was fucking sense into you right now.

His eyes squinted, sweat dripping down the side of his face and you reached weakly to touch it. You could feel the tension releasing your shoulders and relaxing your legs as you lacked oxygen. He looked angry with a hint of sadness, and you willed it away. He was giving you the fix you sought, and you wanted him to feel good too.

His hand squeezed even tighter and your hand raised to grab his wrist with no semblance of a protest. That was when you saw it — a silver chain bracelet on your wrist glistening under the moonlight. A sparkle behind it drew your attention and you noticed your other wrist had one too — claspless and tight.

You laughed at the implication, even as your sight became littered with black spots. Your heart was so warm and content at that moment that you needed a push to retake the other heavenly sensations, and he gave it to you. He supported your lower back to drag you slower over his length, in and out, fitting powerfully together, and then he let go of his grip around your neck.

Oxygen permeated your brain faster than a spark following a trace of gunpowder to light up a dynamite and you exploded. Your nails pierced his skin as you sank into him, using him as an anchor to drag your clit however pleased you best. Your bliss was selfish but elevated when you felt him pressing you down, pulsing so deep inside you you could swear it could choke you.

Your mouth had fallen open, and as you looked at him from behind your eyelashes, pleasure still crisp at your fingertips, he muttered, “Let’s try this again.”

He let you go and your legs had become too loose. You fell with a gasp, but your back hit a cushioned surface. You sat up and in a second, you were assured and chuckled. You were back in the car that brought you there, lying in the backseat as if you had just fallen asleep. Your clothes were back on, your heart was beating strongly in exhilaration, and maybe it could have all been a dream if not for the silver bracelets on your wrists.

You laughed quietly to yourself and fell back with a wrist over your eyes. Maybe you could still get to your pillow before daylight.

Network recommendations

Here’s a post dedicated to my fellow network writers @bangtanwritershq with their works that I recommend 💎

[recommendations and reviews]

(Disclaimer: I have not read all their works and this is my personal opinion!)

🍭@moonleeai - Code Name: Gummy Bear

⛲ @yoonia - Ever A Never After

🐻 @yoonia - Of Bears and Bonds

🏰@yoonia - The Bedroom Hymns

🩸@colormepurplex2 - Blood Bride | MYG

🌑@colormepurplex2 - Bump In The Night | MYG

...

...

🔥@hisunshiine - — lube job | kth

🐺 @yoonia - The Half-Lycan + extras ;)

❗@colormepurplex2 - Shatter With Me | JJK

🐺@cherrysoulth - ROUGAROU

(more to be added soon~)

gifs by joonsoulmap-archived

we're SO back!!

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!

Masterpost | Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Inspired by Hozier - Too Sweet

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.