Demon Yoongi - Tumblr Posts

No Face | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: demon!yoongi x reader

➳ GENRE: supernatural!au, smut

➳ WORD COUNT: 11k

➳ WARNINGS: mentions of hoseok in a car accident and in a coma, mentions of jungkook overdosing, blood, choking (not sexual lmao), fingering, dirty talk, wet dreams, voyeurism, masturbation, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, creampie, Yoongi’s dick… has ridges :)

➳ SUMMARY: Desperate to save your comatose brother, you make a deal with an ancient demon who wears the faces of his previous masters. When you refuse to wish for anything else, what does a demon do when he no longer has orders? He learns how to be human.

➳ A/N: this is my @bangtanarmynet partner collab w @softjeon!!! As always lemme know what you think!!! Maybe now y’all can get over hades yoongi lmao

—

The woods this time of night should be petrifying in the harsh dead of winter. Darkness entraps everything in the forest. You’ve been wandering through the desolate woods for an hour now, trying to find the exact location you were told about. The tree you’re in search of has been rumored to be a site where people’s wishes can be granted for a steep price. Only meant for those who are brave enough to sacrifice everything for one wish.

And you are dumb enough to sacrifice everything. 

Keep reading

Too Sweet 🚀 Chapter 1

“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 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.

Too Sweet 🚀 Chapter 2

“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?”

Too Sweet 🚀 Chapter 3

You were so relaxed 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?”

Too Sweet 🚀 Chapter 4

“Fuck, I might be an egotistical bitch, but I won’t do that!”

“Are you sure?”

You raised an eyebrow, unappreciative of the taunt in his tone.

“One year is a long time to be lonely, and he would have loved you anyway.” You could hear him closer to you, speaking sweetly like the devil over your shoulder. “Since it happened,” he mused patiently, “you might as well enjoy it.”

“My love?”

Your eyes jumped up in fright, facing the living room of your apartment that, because of the open concept, allowed you to see all the way to the entrance. Jimin stood there, glancing around before his eyes fell on you. Instantly, his lines soothed as if he was seeing an angel incarnate and your guts twisted.

You turned your face and glared at your demon, “Stop it.”

The way this gif just showed up on my dash like a sign from above for me to finish part 4 🔥

What's it about...

A blog dedicated to posting snippets of what I write along the way.

Because I write a lot, but only ever show whatever has been written, marinated, edited, aged, allowed to breathe, and finally served delicately like a fine wine. I've tried being more impulsive, but I cringe at the typos and $#&@!

So I thought it could be nice to post something I've written/edited daily (or almost) to show you (and me!) that I've come far and that everything is a work in progress.

Ask me questions (just no spoilers) and share your favorite quotes from my stories with me too 💜

Alright, let's get started 🚀

Code:

🚀 = writing 💜 = finished work ⚡ = outline of a story

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs |

Coming up:

Too Sweet - May 30th

Demon!Yoongi x Reader - Crossroad demon AU

➡ snippets

Where you can read my stories for free: ao3 | wattpad

Network: @bangtanwritershq and my recommendations from them here

All Recommendations 💎

I don't allow my work to be repurposed, copied, reposted, modified or translated ©

Too Sweet 🚀 Chapter 5

Inadvertently, his hands found their spot atop your knees but he controlled himself in time so that you wouldn’t feel it. It was hard for him, though. Your breathing was intensifying, your tongue peeking between your teeth while you raised your free hand above your head as if you wanted it pinned down. And fuck, did he want to give you everything you desired. Just the sight could drive him mad; he knew how much of a vice you could be, tightening around him mercilessly. He knew how sweet you tasted and how easily he could brighten your soul just by ramming his cock inside you and making you see stars.

He was burning, going mad, delirious from keeping himself at bay for so long. With every moan, he thought the next would be the one to break him. He fought himself with all his might, the claws looking to snatch you for eternity extending and barely grazing your skin, until finally you gasped.

All finished 💜

Too Sweet | MYG | Masterpost

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: 40.5k

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, trespassing, unprotected semi-public and public sex, nipple play, mentions of blood, biting, hair pulling, bruising, sprinkle of masochism, choking and breath play, degrading thoughts, blowjob + face fucking, subspace and aftercare, making bad decisions/mistakes, breaking Jimin's heart 💔, learning things the hard way, falling in love, mentions of death

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!

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Inspired by Hozier - Too Sweet (Official Lyric Video)

“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?”

Chapter 1 - You keep telling me to live right

WC: 7.3k - May 30th “Such a beautiful voice out in a wind so cold.” [Snippet]

Chapter 2 - To go to bed before the daylight

WC: 5.4k - June 6th “You know you already sold your soul, right?” [Snippet]

Chapter 3 - But then you wake up for the sunrise

WC: 8.9k - June 13th “You sold your soul to me,” he said calmly, eyeing your trembling figure knowingly. “What do you think I bought?” [Snippet]

Chapter 4 - You know you don't gotta pretend

WC: 8.2k - June 20th “I can’t do it, kitten,” he said firmly, grabbing your jaw so you wouldn’t avoid the truth. “No matter how much you’d like me to.” [Snippet]

Chapter 5 - But who wants to live forever, babe?

WC: 10.5k - June 27th “Legends speak of hounds that chase people like me.” “They won’t chase you.” “I wouldn’t run.” [Snippet]

Too Sweet | MYG | Masterpost

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: 40.5k

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, trespassing, unprotected semi-public and public sex, nipple play, mentions of blood, biting, hair pulling, bruising, sprinkle of masochism, choking and breath play, degrading thoughts, blowjob + face fucking, subspace and aftercare, making bad decisions/mistakes, breaking Jimin's heart 💔, learning things the hard way, falling in love, mentions of death

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!

Masterlist | AO3 | Inspired by Hozier - Too Sweet (Official Lyric Video)

“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?”

Chapter 1 - You keep telling me to live right

WC: 7.3k - May 30th “Such a beautiful voice out in a wind so cold.” [Snippet]

Chapter 2 - To go to bed before the daylight

WC: 5.4k - June 6th “You know you already sold your soul, right?” [Snippet]

Chapter 3 - But then you wake up for the sunrise

WC: 8.9k - June 13th “You sold your soul to me,” he said calmly, eyeing your trembling figure knowingly. “What do you think I bought?” [Snippet]

Chapter 4 - You know you don't gotta pretend

WC: 8.2k - June 20th “I can’t do it, kitten,” he said firmly, grabbing your jaw so you wouldn’t avoid the truth. “No matter how much you’d like me to.” [Snippet]

Chapter 5 - But who wants to live forever, babe?

WC: 10.5k - June 27th “Legends speak of hounds that chase people like me.” “They won’t chase you.” “I wouldn’t run.” [Snippet]

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 | Next Chapter >

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 4 - You know you don't gotta pretend

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: 8.2k

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

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, mistakes are made, Jimin's heart is broken 💔, arguing, breakdown

A.N. The one when you think you're making the right decision... and everything falls apart.

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

The sun was peeking beyond the skyline when you pushed your suite doors open. Morning didn’t phase you, you knew very well what time it was, and you were ecstatic. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so excited and energized for natural reasons — meaning not drug or supernatural-induced. No, this time something awesome had happened to you and you couldn’t stop grinning. You threw your coat on a chair and heels away somewhere near it and took a deep breath before rubbing your wrist — you needed to make it last.

“Yes.”

You turned back to find your demon sitting on the chair, ignoring your coat on it. He was wearing black as usual, but this time a doily lace shirt showed the pale skin of his torso. Your lips curved instantly; his slacks and blazer along with the laces were delicate and fine — the perfect compliment to your elegant black dress. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he had also returned from the party.

You couldn’t help your grin; you were about to tell him why when you noticed that he was looking down — figuratively and literally.

Your eyebrows twitched as you stepped closer, “You look blue.”

The corners of his lips twitched, “I was born to be blue.”

There was an intonation to his words that knitted your eyebrows in confusion — where had you heard those words in that melody before?

“Should I cheer you up?” You asked teasingly, placing your hands on his shoulders. He kept looking down and away from you but didn’t avoid your touch or show any hint of not wanting you there. So you smiled and pulled your lace panties down your legs before comfortably cradling him with a sigh, “I’ll make you feel better.”

He let the air out of his lungs with a hint of impatience and as you leaned forward and hugged his neck, pressing your tits generously close to his face, he finally looked up.

His hands roamed your waist as he eyed your chest with lust in his eyes. He didn’t move but rather observed your cleavage like a dieter would a chocolate cake.

The things you wanted to talk to him about took a backseat when you gently raised his chin. You leaned in to press his lips upon meeting his gorgeous eyes. Regardless of what you were about to ask him, he didn’t stop being important to you. Even if he was a demon who would own your soul, you still cared for him.

You nuzzled him, “How long has it been since we met?”

“A bit over a year.”

You hummed, utterly relaxed from his presence, as usual. “Feels like yesterday.”

Though you knew it wasn’t. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so stable, just enjoying life. Maybe when you were still a child, unaware of the world’s evils. Ever since you met him, lots of changes made it possible for you to enjoy life. With its highs and lows, of course, but his touch and consistency soothed your soul absolutely. They allowed you to take part and pleasure in other things. It was all thanks to him.

You searched for him under you, grazing your nails on the back of his head to relax him and indicate that he could dive into your chest if he wanted to. His eyes were squinted and lips tense, almost as if he wanted to but shouldn't, and you didn't press. You did, however, find his pants zipper and unceremoniously dag deeper until his cock was free in all its glory.

Your mouth watered at the sight and you pumped him gently, increasing in firmness as your desire grew. You could have made it last, or even just cheered him up like this, but you looked at him. One glance was enough to see that he wanted this but was not going to make a move, and you knew it. He rarely did, you had to initiate normally. It didn’t bother you.

Not that you planned this; you had a completely different wish in mind. But now, with his fingertips pressing into your hips and the desire building at your core, you couldn’t help indulging in that sweet delight.

You aligned yourself with him and fell, curling your fingers around his hair. It stole a groan out of the both of you and pushed you to grab his hair at the back of his head. A steep tension crackled from your sex up your spine and you were reminded yet again why he was undeniable. Just a taste and you were adrift in those sensations, wishing to be swept away and drowned.

You bucked your hips, accommodating his girth, and your teeth indented your bottom lip. The pleasure flickering from the fire you generated together was licking pleasurably up your chest and searing beyond your ribs. You looked down to find him grimacing and absorbing the view of your swaying body; such a shame he wasn't eating your chest.

You brushed his jawline, leaning in to teasingly ghost his lips before succumbing to the hunger and having them, but he interrupted your thoughts.

“What were you going to ask?”

“To fall in love.”

You couldn’t think properly with the way he slid along your walls, pressing your clit just right when he got inside to the hilt.

Despite your moans and the tension arching your back as you rode him, you still tried to make it clearer.

“I want Jimin to fall in love with me.”

You couldn’t stop the sweet movements of your body, not even when something akin to claws scratched into your hips. 

He didn't stop you, he chuckled, “I see.” You were in too deep, with closed eyes and head falling back, to read into his words or expression. However, your tension stiffened and you realized it was because he was preventing you from going all out. Because of this, you looked down at him with a bit more discernment, and he rasped, “You should know better than to ask for that.”

“Why?”

“Because that messes up with people.”

“Is it impossible?” Your tone was sweet, a gentle coo as you caressed the side of his neck.

He grunted, still letting you move your hips but not letting it escalate further, “No.”

“Then do it,” you asked, voice tender and gentle as the fire in your lower abdomen risked stealing your senses. You could be asking for him to fuck you senseless, and in some way, you were.

“Why would I?”

His tone was dry except for the hint of pleasure in its waver, and you bit your lip. You had found your tension again and it was guiding your hips — every inch back and forth magnified the delight.

And so you couldn't help but coo, “Because I asked.”

He rolled his eyes, “We both know you’re not the smartest at asking for things.” You smirked as your hands curled around his hair at the nape of his neck. “I mean,” his voice lowered and his hands helped you sink deeper for the first time. “Look at what you’re doing.”

“What?” You asked innocently, making sure to take advantage of the way his cock was poking the right spot.

“Riding this dick while asking for another.”

You couldn't stop the laugh that burst out of you, “You don’t mind! You don’t care.” You opened your eyes and faced his cold gaze. Despite the heat of his skin and the humidity at his hairline, there was no other emotion in his expression. This didn't phase you, however. “You’re letting me ride you because it gets you off,” you voiced, letting your voice tone lower with the spark of pleasure about to catch. “Same for me,” you admitted, tone pitching in a newfound wave of lust. His nails were piercing the skin at your hips so well, “What I’m asking for— is love.”

A moan vibrated out of you as you kept going. You had found that spot that clicked and spread the fire through you. Heat beamed out of you along with lewd cries, with redness spreading over your chest and cheeks. You had found the exact spot to let you come without obstacles, and unsurprisingly, he didn't let you.

You chuckled when he grabbed your ass and got up from the chair. He carried you as you nibbled his ear, not in the least upset by the interruption or sudden change of plans. As long as he kept going, you didn't care, and you just knew he would.

He dropped you at the edge of the bed without pulling out and you noticed that his lips were pressed. You couldn't call it apprehension, but whatever it was, it didn't resemble the familiar lust or flout.

You didn't ask about it though; he grabbed your hands and pressed your wrists to the mattress next to your head.

You were about to ask him to get you both off so you could talk properly when his hips snapped to yours, the familiar clap ringing inside your ears alongside a pressure in your core. It threatened to push and pull at that ball of fire in your lower abdomen, setting it off to consume you wholly, and your mouth fell agape. Another slap and your lips were slack, another and your eyes closed. You didn’t have to ask, and nothing else mattered.

“Who is he?”

As soon as he talked, you knew he was in a different mindset. The pleasure was dragging you into a stupor with every pound inside your warm flesh, whereas his eyes were sharp, almost cynical. He fucked you like he wanted you to know that, and yet you were barely able to focus.

He squeezed your wrists, pressing the bracelets to indent your skin, and you bit your lip to hide a smirk, “Someone I met at a party tonight.”

You tried to swallow your moans as you peered at him. A part of you was reveling in the way he was almost brutally fucking you, disdainful of whether he would reach too deep or squeeze too hard. Glancing over his formal attire, once again you thought he could have come home with you from the party. Clothes still on and all, you groaned as you thought of him fucking you in that context. Whether because you met Jimin and had chemistry, and your demon wanted to assert his territory, or just simply because he couldn’t resist taking you as soon as you were home. You certainly knew who you’d take home if you had to choose between your ethereal stoic demon and the handsome soft-spoken Jimin. But you’d never have a choice. Your demon wasn’t human, and you were lonely.

“So just call him.”

You licked your lips, letting the moans surface as you heated up so much, your sweat was making you slide inside your dress. “I will but—” You squirmed, feeling the peak evade you because the angle wasn’t right, and he pressed your wrists harder to the bed. You knew then he wasn’t going to let you — he’d play with you till the end, even if it fucked you to be pounded mercilessly while you tried to talk about this issue. “I want everything to be certain.”

Your voice was tense and rough and you shuddered, trying to see something in his eyes. In the end, only sweat dripped from his chin onto your chest.

“Maybe if you let things run their course it will happen.”

You let your head fall back to the mattress and laughed wildly, even with the moans stealing your breath, “I can’t wait! I don’t have the time.”

“You have more time now than if I do this for you,” he spoke between gritted teeth, squeezing your wrists so hard you knew they’d bruise. He was pressing and grinding your clit so hard your core was starting to burn and you thought that maybe he wanted to fuck you into the mattress.

It was the first inkling you had that maybe he was pissed.

But you didn't care; you kept smirking, “Sure, but less time to actually be happy.”

“Falling in love is part of the journey, it will make you happy.”

His pounding had become slower and pointed, and you crunched up as much as you could to whisper to him with a strained voice, “It might never happen, I might fuck it up, I don’t want to risk it.”

He didn’t mean to match each point of yours to his rutting, and you could see in the tense line of his lips that he wasn’t pleased by it. He eyed your neck, your mouth, and finally your eyes, surely glistening fiery hot from exhaustion and lust. You wondered then if he would do it or ask you to take it back. It also occurred to you that he could tell you that you belonged to him and should know better than to think about anyone else.

Before you could laugh at yourself for the idea, he leaned more into you, nearly gluing your bodies. It finally gave you the angle you needed to have him rub your clit with every buck of his hips and your mind blanked with the pleasure. 

You arched your back, crying incoherently, “Fuck you feel so good—”

The fire was catching, and your nails sank into your palms. You were so close, on the verge of being turned to ash.

“Are you sure?” He asked, tone sober and reliable.

“Yes!”

You wanted to come and be consumed from the inside out, but you also wanted whatever you were saying before.

“Alright, kitten.” You opened your eyes and frowned as they watered. His tone was gentle, “For a price.”

Your heart raced and you knew what he meant. You guessed that was your path, then. “Yes.”

He stayed looking at you and your heart skipped a beat. Was he hesitating? You were starting to become delirious and unsure of anything anymore due to your narrowing vision and stupified state. Your core tensed unbelievably under him, pounded to the point you didn’t know if you were still in one piece before you snapped. You squirmed and raised your head from the mattress, feeling the very sweat covering you set ablaze to match the burning waves of pleasure tearing your reasoning. Your cries echoed around the room until he caught your lips with his, merging you two into a kiss as you felt him twitching inside you almost as if to match your clenching around him.

He kept kissing you, even as your quivers dwindled and despite all odds, you felt embraced. He was pressed so close to you, settled so deep, fused so tightly, you could believe he was holding you, soothing you maybe for eternity.

Until he separated your mouths to barely a graze before locking your lips firmly. And with a swift breath, your bones ached with the weight of yet another wish.

His nose stayed close to yours as he pressed his forehead to yours. You realized, as your breathing soothed, that you were caught into each other, with arms, legs, sexes, and breaths; all mingling indivisibly. It suddenly hurt deep inside your chest when you looked at him. Inexplicably, through a line between his knitted eyebrows, you could tell that something was off. Maybe that had not been your path after all.

He opened his eyes and you knew you were seeing things correctly. But there was nothing to do about it now.

“How long do I have left?” You wanted to be strong but your voice shook. It wasn’t about the time — it was about the ominous feeling deep inside your gut.

“One year and a half, kitten,” he said, and you could swear there was a hint of sorrow. “Make it count.”

Your lips trembled but you nodded and closed your eyes. You expected him to leave you like this, but he didn’t. He got you on his lap and lay you gently in bed between your black silk sheets. Then he lay by your side, holding you and humming a sweet tune until you fell asleep.

You smiled at the message on your phone’s screen and put the phone down on the seat next to you. Happiness was stretching your lips in a soft curve as you looked outside the car window and saw the city lights shine on the streets. Your driver stopped at a crossing with lights and you waited patiently for which way the car would turn.

The light turned green and the vehicle started moving, turning in the longest direction to the left, letting you get an overview of the other options, and you smiled. If it had gone straight ahead, it would have taken you to your place, but it didn’t. This simple detail had managed to make you smile for the last six months straight.

Things with Jimin were great. Ever since you called him the morning after meeting him, your life had only improved. Jimin wasn’t a dream guy just because he was handsome and talented, he was so much more. You knew it the instant you spoke for the first time — he was modest and hardworking. He had worked his way from a humble beginning and fought through sheer talent and willpower to get to the top. Now he was one of the world's top pop musicians and deserved all the praise he got, and more.

You never thought you’d open up to him about the things that had scarred you growing up, especially not the attempts at fulfilling your dreams to become a producer, only to be used and tossed aside like a meek girl with silly aspirations. You remembered the way he got angry in your stead, trying to get you to tell him who it was so he could confront the bastards himself. It pained him that you suffered; it made him sick to his stomach to know so many people had that experience, even if he didn’t. Because he cared about others, he volunteered and donated to charity frequently, and it was a well-known secret that he was an advocate for equal opportunities.

Those were just straightforward ways to say that he was great, but it wasn’t just that. There were no secrets between you except for one — you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word about selling your soul and you suspected it was part of the deal. Regardless, he knew about everything else, from your deepest fears to your bitter resentments, your past relationships and even your issues with drugs and alcohol. And yet, he never treated you differently. He never thought of you as a charity case or someone to supervise, to control, to display. He took you out to a restaurant, despite the paparazzi or the public, the same way he took you to the studio or took you to bed. He wanted you to be a part of every aspect of his life to any extent you felt comfortable with, and you were finally taking deep breaths.

He made you want to be better. To do better. It was a slow process — wanting wasn’t enough. But he believed in you and so you believed in yourself. Even walking inside the studio and giving your opinion on his upcoming music and side projects had been huge for you. It had been years, but with your hand in his, you could do it. With his sweet eyes boring into you and his gentle fingers brushing your hair as you often leaned on him and listened to the music quietly, you believed it was possible and that the world could be a better place.

After six months together, things showed no signs of slowing down. It was the longest, healthiest, and happiest relationship you ever had, and it made your time on this earth feel worth it.

That glee stayed with you as you thanked your driver and got inside the luxury apartment building where you spent most of your time now. His place was also on the top floor, a penthouse, and it was the coziest place you had ever lived in. He always said you brought life to the place, adding your pillows, blankets, flowers, and books, making sure the pastel colors were intersected with lines of love and plushness. You’d always laugh when he insisted on your liveliness, but let it go quickly. You couldn’t begin to explain to him how adrift and lifeless you were before you met him, but it didn’t matter anymore now.

As you got inside and took your jacket off, the creamy scent of melted cheese reached your nose and you just knew he had cooked something and was keeping it warm to wait for you. Even though you told him you’d be late and that he shouldn’t wait for you, of course, he did.

You dropped your purse on the couch and glanced at the kitchen, but it was empty, so you turned to look for him. You entered the expanse of the living room and immediately noticed the sound of guitar strings from the sound system. 

When I met you, the world was bright and sunny

And that was when you saw him — standing outside on the balcony with his jacket on but pushed down to reveal milky shoulders and biceps, despite the night air. His blonde hair ended just above his pierced ears, letting the chain of a necklace show and warm your chest even further. 

When you left the curtain fell

“Hey,” you voiced gently, getting outside too.

He turned to you, instant satisfaction pushing his lovely cheeks into a smile, “Hey, my love.”

He extended his hand for you to take, and you did but didn’t pass on the opportunity to get on your tiptoes and hug him by the shoulders, warming him with your body.

“You’re listening to this song again, mimi,” you mused, brushing his hair at the back of the nape gently.

“It’s because you like it so much,” he sighed into your neck, placing a peck. “It reminds me of you.”

Your lips twitched and you kissed the side of his head as he pulled back to look at you. His forehead touched yours for a moment and your heart quite simply beat for him, even as a familiar voice sang from the back.

I guess I'm luckier than some folks

He pressed your lips swiftly, taking your breath away.

I've known the thrill of loving you

You let him take you in his arms and twirl with you as you smiled into the kiss.

And that alone is more

You couldn’t be more fit for each other.

Than I was created for

Your heart beamed with happiness — you’d at least live the rest of your time peacefully in bliss.

'Cause I was born to be b—

The music suddenly stopped and he put you down without letting you go. The breeze was colder and rowdier, turning your hair all around you as you both faced the apartment. It was as though someone could have stopped it, but you knew it wasn’t possible.

“That’s odd,” he voiced and walked inside to grab his phone and set something else to play. Meanwhile, you looked at your wrists where silver bracelets sat seamlessly. Despite the song, he wouldn’t. “That’s okay?”

You looked back at Jimin and smiled with a nod — he had chosen a piano tune, your favorite. “Will you ever stop pampering me?”

His radiant smile was contagious as he stepped outside again to wrap his arms around you. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, following the chain of his necklace with your fingers until where the pendant with both your initials intertwined sat over his heart.

“Should I stop?” His voice lowered as he observed you caressing your gift to him.

“Never,” you sighed, absolutely content.

“Never,” he mused as you tried brushing your hair with your fingers now that the wind was calm again. “Never is right. I never want to stop pampering you, making you smile, putting you at ease, and ensuring you’re happy. I never ever want to wake up to a morning without you, go about a day without thinking of you, or go back to how life was without you. I love you,” he said with glistening eyes, grabbing your hands in his, and you smiled. You knew he did. “So I’ve been thinking.”

You grinned, “Let’s hear it! Maybe over dinner since—”

“Wait,” he asked. You were pulling him to make your way inside but he brought you back with your hands still in his. “I can’t say this over dinner,” he chuckled, shaking his head for a moment before facing you with stars in his eyes. “No, I need to look at you,” he cupped your cheek, entranced, and you smiled. “When you gave me this three months ago, I thought my heart would explode,” he grinned, touching the pendant. “Then I thought, what can I give you three months later? I thought of so many options, asked my friends, googled it, and nothing felt right. Until I realized what I wanted and had no idea what I was waiting for.”

You smiled but were intrigued, sure that you’d love anything he’d get you until he pulled a small box from his pocket.

“My love, my heart, my intention,” he took a deep breath, facing you with glistening eyes. “I wanted you to have them, now and forever.”

He opened the box and your breath caught. You hid your mouth under your hand and let the discomfort spread through your gut. “What?”

“I want to marry you,” he smiled with tearful eyes, and yours watered as well. “I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, have kids, build a family,” he bit his lip to contain his excitement, but it was impossible. “I want to bring you joy and love you every day for the rest of our lives.”

It was as though you had been seeing life through a pink lens that now just cracked. With every word he spoke, a little more, until you were choking, feeling it break you much to your dismay.

You were looking at his chest with confusion and a set frown as your stomach twisted, and he tried a chuckle, “My love? Did I shock you?”

He raised his free hand from your waist to your cheek, but it never connected. You moved back, “I can’t.”

As soon as you breathed those words, you knew two things: you had made a terrible mistake, and you were going to break his heart.

“Can’t?” You could see something behind his eyes, yet he smiled sweetly again, “Maybe I was too abrupt and didn’t do things right. I thought you wouldn’t care for a fancy proposal or anything like that, but maybe—”

“No—” You frowned, “You’re right, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then what is it?” You could hear his nervousness and it was prickling your heart. “You always said you wanted to spend the rest of your days with me.”

You closed your eyes, and the avalanche fell on you, smothering you. You never lied, you did want that. If you had a whole life to live with him, you would, but you didn’t. You could feel it in your bones, “I just can’t.”

Your voice trembled as tears surfaced and you could see the fear in his eyes. You took a step back to think but he was already raising his arms, wishing to hold you but afraid to overstep a boundary right now.

“Wait, don’t— Don’t leave, I—” You could hear him trying to face this but your mind was blanking. Once reality hit you, there was no silver lining or saving grace to take shelter in. “Is it too soon?” He closed the box and hid it back inside his pocket, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I love you so much! I can’t picture my life without you.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of your sins making your tears fall, “This isn’t right.”

“But— Trust me, I just wanted to express that. For you to know that. For the whole world to know that I’m not going anywhere,” he cupped your cheeks and you cried because those are the exact words you had always wanted to hear. “I love you — everything about you. Who you were, who you are, who you’ll be. I’ll love you forever—”

“Please—” You asked, moving so you could hide in your hands and bawl.

He quieted down, careful not to overwhelm you but stayed by your side, brushing your arms to comfort you. Because that was Jimin — the kindest soul you knew. That was Jimin — always putting you above everyone, including himself.

You looked up at him, letting it sink further into the pit of your stomach. Jimin loved you; he had from the beginning.

You took a deep breath and got around him to get back inside, “This is all my fault.”

He followed you in, “What do you mean, your fault?”

“I’m sorry—”

“My love—”

“I can’t— I’m so sorry!” You gripped your hair and turned back to face him, so stung by sorrow and regret your tears weren’t stopping. “Let’s—” Your lips trembled; he was pale and hurt and lost, and seeing it anguished you. “I have to stop this now.”

He became paler than the walls, “Stop this?”

“Yes,” you nodded, devastated by your egotistical choices. “This is all my fault, I’m so sorry,” you rubbed your face and he stepped closer.

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have, I— I’m so sorry!”

“Shouldn’t have what?”

He was so clearly confused; he helped you lower your arms so you’d face him.

“I shouldn’t have made you fall in love with me,” you confessed with your eyes set on his.

Your heart was drowning in regret and looking into his darling eyes, you knew you were wicked. You knew you would die sooner rather than later, just as you knew that you had wished for this — bargained for his love. Jimin was going to suffer for it regardless — you’d die soon and leave him magically forced to love you. Fuck, now you didn’t even know if that love was authentic! If the real Jimin would have loathed you, if every perfect moment between you was a deal by-product or genuine affection.

Now you couldn’t get it out of your head, not even when he smiled and cupped your cheeks, “My love, what are you saying? I would have always,” he brushed your cheeks and raised your chin so you would look at him. “I knew it the second I met you — you were it for me.”

You blinked, backtracking at the speed of light. You met him before the deal. You met him and were so caught up that you made the deal, wishing to spend the rest of your days loving him, unwilling to wait.

Maybe if you let things run their course it will happen.

You gasped mutely — you had ruined it. By forcing your demon’s hand and compelling Jimin to love you, you’d rushed things and adulterated something that could have blossomed naturally. You sullied his emotions for you, defiled his trust and profaned his heart and body. And you had done so willingly, begged for it because you’d rather live a short well-lived life on your terms than wait for the purity of his love.

You frowned; you didn’t deserve him. You should have never let him invest his heart in you, forced or otherwise. You’d just die and leave him behind to mourn.

“It’s my fault,” you finally said with a shaking voice, stepping back and away from his touch. “I’m so sorry, I—I’ll fix it.”

Jimin was bewildered, “Fix it? There’s nothing to fix.”

“There is, mim—” your lips trembled and you straightened your shoulders. “There is, and I promise you I’ll make it right.”

You turned away and grabbed your purse to leave and Jimin followed you, befuddlement turning to a mix of lividness and anger, “What?” You weren’t even looking at him as you dashed for the entry hall, “Our love isn’t something to be fixed, what are you—?”

“I’ll make it right! I promise!” You grabbed your coat and upon looking at him, couldn’t stop yourself. You drew near, cupping his cheeks gently as you looked deeply into his eyes, “I wish things would have been different.” Your voice broke but you wanted to say it, “Losing you is my biggest regret.”

He frowned and held your wrists, “You haven’t lost me.”

“Yet,” you smiled, with tears finally running down your face. “I will.” Your eyes fell on the bracelets shining under his hands and your lips twitched, “But I’ll make it right.” You looked up at him, “Be happy, Jimin. No matter what.”

You pulled your hands away and walked out the door quickly, grabbing your phone to call a driver. Jimin followed you out, asking you to wait, pleading with you to come inside and talk. You made your pleas too — for him to go back inside and to trust that you’d fix it, no matter the cost.

He saw you getting inside the car in defeat, exhausted from crying and trying to argue with you, but you wouldn’t budge or say anything further. It occurred to you as you were taken away that you could have told him how much he meant to you. How much you wished you had had a full life ahead with him and how happy you would have been. How certain you were that you’d have the greatest most affectionate life if that had been on the cards for you. Maybe you could have told him, if your demon was going to make him forget all about you anyway, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You didn’t have the right. You went up inside the elevator to reach your apartment and the claustrophobia pressing you in made it even worse. You couldn’t stand to be with yourself right now, everything was wrong. You had been petty and selfish, but from your standpoint, you had only hurt people who had hurt you, if that. The least you could have done in your pathetic existence was to not fuck up someone as caring and kind as Jimin. To not become the type of person you loathed your whole life. At least you had a way to rectify your mistakes.

You barged through your apartment and threw your things over the couch, not wasting a beat to summon your demon.

“What?”

His dry and uninterested tone didn’t phase you and you went in the direction of his voice, “I fucked up.”

He was in your bedroom sitting on the chair where you had found him last time, six months before. He looked indifferent in his black suit, the long coat pooling around him as he leaned back on the chair with his eyes closed. You reached for the light instantly and he didn’t bat an eyelash.

“If the love birds are having a quarrel, then they should learn to fix it by themselves.”

“We didn’t—” You gritted your teeth before you asked, “I need you to make him forget about me.” He didn’t react or move; his expression was so flawless he could have been a marble statue. “I need you to annul every effect of my last wish, make it so he— we never met.”

“No refunds or takebacks.”

Your eyes widened in anger, “The fuck does that mean?!” He was still unchanged and you gripped your hair, “Just— Just make it so. I’ll pay whatever price.”

He finally opened his eyes. You could read nothing in them and it increased your anguish even more.

“I can’t do that.”

“What?” Your eyes widened in bewilderment, “Why?”

“It’s not a price you can pay.”

The air was kicked out of your lungs as you realized that the single year you had left was not enough to pay for the mistake you had made. 

Maybe because he had just shut the door on your face, but his indifference wasn’t sitting right with you. You closed your fists as the anger bubbled inside your chest, fed by a growing desperation and self-loathing as you had never felt before.

“Did you know?” You asked, your voice a single thread. “Did you know who he was?”

Part of you thought your demon would roll his eyes and vanish, but the other wasn’t surprised when he faced you and answered, “Define who.”

“Did you know about him?”

“Not precise enough.”

“Did you know he would love me?!”

You were leaning toward him screaming and he didn't even blink, “Yes.”

You threw your hands in the hair, “What the fuck!”

“I tried to warn you.”

Maybe if you let things run their course it will happen.

You turned your back and gritted your teeth.

“I told you you should wait.”

“You knew I wasn’t listening!” You spun around to scream the accusation and to your surprise, he was angry.

“It’s not my fucking job to make sure you don’t fuck up!”

Your heart shook but you wanted to scream, “You have before!”

“Well, I can’t keep saving you from yourself, can I?”

You chuckled and cleaned the tear crossing your cheek with trembling fingers. Your mind was blanking in your desperation; you didn’t know what to do.

“There are moments in life…,” he started, picking his words, “that are mostly set. Not everything, depending on choices, but certain crossroads must be crossed.”

You looked at him and felt the fear deep in your gut — fear at what he was going to say.

“There were many different paths laid up in front of you. One was to be tempted with a deal, another was to meet him.” You swallowed, dreading the way a freaking demon seemed sorrowful over the situation. “We call them fated loves — you were fated to meet. You could have lived a long happy life together.”

Your heart dropped despite beating agonizingly, “You mean— You mean if I hadn’t made a deal with you.”

“Yes.”

The world was spinning and you leaned against the sliding door behind you. It had all started with selling your soul. That was your first mistake.

“So the moment I made a deal with you…”

“You would still meet,” he clarified. “Just not live long and happily ever after. But then you pushed.”

The bile rose to your mouth and you grimaced. You tried breathing, “I would have died anyways, I— You—” You scrunched up your face and let the tears fall, “I should have never done that.”

He nodded and the sobs shook you as you tried not to bawl. Instead, you tried keeping a semblance of composure.

“I adulterated something that would have happened anyway into something that can never be pure again.” It hurt you so much you couldn’t breathe, “And I’ll die anyway, because of the deal. It would have been doomed from the start, there was no happily ever after!”

You hid your cries in your hands and let the desperation and desolation overrun you. There was no point to anything. You had systematically made the wrong choices. Jimin would have found you and helped you heal, but you fell into temptation so easily and stupidly. And now, you would never be happy, and worse, had condemned him to be miserable as well.

“He— When I pass, will he—?”

“Yes.”

The way you despised yourself could hardly be put into words.

“But you still have time,” he said, getting up from the chair under your desperate bloodshot eyes.

“You said I don’t.”

“Not for a new wish, but,” he neared you and you eyed him with suspicion. “To live the rest of your time.”

You let your head fall back, disdain seeping through your pores, “I’m not going to live my time left abusing someone who has been nothing but kind to me because he’s being coerced into loving and wanting to be with me!”

“He would have loved you anyway.”

“It’s not the same!” You threw your hands up and stepped away for air. “Fuck, I might be an egotistical bitch, but I won’t do that!”

“Are you sure?”

You raised an eyebrow, unappreciative of the taunt in his tone.

“One year is a long time to be lonely, and he would have loved you anyway.” You could hear him closer to you, speaking sweetly like the devil over your shoulder. “Since it happened,” he mused patiently, “you might as well enjoy it.”

“My love?”

Your eyes jumped up in fright, facing the living room of your apartment that, because of the open concept, allowed you to see all the way to the entrance. Jimin stood there, glancing around before his eyes fell on you. Instantly, his lines soothed as if he was seeing an angel incarnate and your guts twisted.

You turned your face and glared at your demon, “Stop it.”

He only tilted his head, it was Jimin who spoke, “There you are, I was looking for you.”

Your heart was shaking but you didn’t take your eyes off of your demon, “I said stop it.”

He was eying you back with an unreadable expression and yet, you could swear he knew exactly how you were feeling.

“Please, let’s talk about things,” Jimin pleaded and you almost broke. You almost bent to the need to beg for his forgiveness, however hearing him gave you even more courage to stay firm. You were going to fix this.

“Stop.”

The tension from your eye connection to your demon was rising to your neck, making you stiff, but then suddenly, it was gone. The tension and Jimin. Just like that, he blinked and looked down before the corner of his mouth twitched. You still weren’t taking your eyes off of him, and you were more set than ever to fix everything.

“I still have time,” you began more calmly than before. “I know you can do it.” He chuckled, showing a perfect set of white teeth, but you didn’t relent. “You’ve done more with less.”

“Oh, that’s true,” he conceded, laughing to himself before facing you. “But still, I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Rules.”

“Since when?!”

“There were always rules,” he raised an eyebrow.

“As if you cared!” You stepped toward him and faced him incredulously. “You broke the rules for me before.” His jawline hardened and he stayed quiet. “Deny it.” He stood still and you raised your hands to grab his blazer, “Come one, deny it!”

The sparkle of the bracelets betrayed him. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?!”

“Because this interferes with another soul, the price is much higher!”

You finally saw a spark of annoyance and took it, “But it’s my last request!”

“For a price you can’t pay!”

“You’re the one who decides the cost!! So make it something I can pay!”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Then just take me already!” You pulled him to almost crash into your chest and his jaw slacked, “Stop with this bullshit, stop giving me options and letting me fuck everything up, just make it all go away and take me, take everything away right—”

You didn’t realize that you wanted his kiss until he crashed his mouth to yours, but then you grabbed onto him with all your strength. You needed him to kiss you, to take you and consume you, and not just to fix the filthy abhorrent mess you had become. You realized you had chosen this path, with your demon, where your life was all shades of fucked up. Where you gave up on a naturally long life beside your fated love to instead be lazy and never lift a finger in your life again, not even for love.

You had already screwed everything up so you kissed him, burying your fingers in his hair. You were one to commit, especially to such gorgeous and powerful bad decisions.

The strength of his kiss was enough to sweep you off your feet and you were ready to literally jump on his lap or just die then and there. The way he was harshly pressing you to him and sinking what could only be claws into your skin made it all the more believable. However, with a twirl of his tongue against yours you instantly knew it had all fallen through. You knew he saw what you were doing and wanted you in some way or form, but not like this.

“I’ll take you,” he breathed, pecking your lips again. “In one year I’ll come for you.”

You were dizzy but still voiced, “Wait, one year? What about—”

“I can’t do it, kitten,” he said firmly, grabbing your jaw so you wouldn’t avoid the truth. “No matter how much you’d like me to.”

You instantly frowned and opened your mouth to contend with him when something happened that made you livid — he raised your hands to his lips to kiss them and your bracelets disappeared.

Something deep within you snapped for the second time today — you saw only red with the fury erupting through you.

“You would—” You could barely breathe. To lose the prospective of love was one thing, to know you fucked up your fate another, and the last drop could have been defiling Jimin’s heart, yet somehow this was what ignited you to throw everything away. “You don’t get to abandon me now,” you spewed. “I want what I want and you’ll do it for me. I know your name.”

He looked down at your mouth before searching deep into your eyes, and you realized then that he could never read your mind. He could guess your intentions, maybe even know you better than you did yourself in some ways, but couldn’t effectively just know your thoughts.

He squinted his eyes and you didn’t let him speak, “So do what I want and do it now.”

He let go of your hands then and scoffed in amusement, “My name?”

He suspected you were bluffing so you played your card. You started singing, “I guess I’m luckier than some folks.” His smile vanished. “I’ve known the thrill of loving you.” You could sense him stiffening. “And that alone is more than I was created for—” You paused, waiting for him to finish it. He didn’t. “‘Cause I was born to be blue.” 

You didn’t know what to expect because you never thought you’d get this far. It was something you had found out less than six months ago because of something he said, and how he said it. Truthfully, you never thought you’d do anything with it. Despite knowing spells that would hurt or destroy him, you never intended on using them under any circumstance. Not because Jimin was a wonderful influence on you, sadly, but because your demon was your comfort. The one who would always be there for you, no matter what, as he had in the past. The one who saved you, you admitted to yourself, seeing his eyes observing you in silence. Even if it was all fucked, who was to say you would have survived long enough to meet Jimin and get clean?

So now, on the other side of your anger, you were sad. Sad that all of this happened, and that you ended up having to resort to this.

You raised your eyes to him and seeing his silence, you whispered, “Yoongi.”

Saying it didn’t have the effect you anticipated. You thought it would bring him to his knees, not you.

Yet as soon as you said it, your soul was laid bare. You scrunched up your face with a deep agony emanating from all the tiny and large lacerations in your spirit and your legs collapsed. It hurt, everything hurt. Even though he was holding you, preventing you from falling, he’d now hate you too. And he wouldn’t even take you, no. Just to spite you, he’d abandon you just like you feared.

He dropped slowly to his knees with you in his arms and brushed your cheek tenderly, “I can’t.”

Your desperate eyes fixed on him, “Can’t or won’t?”

His features softened as he observed you calmly, “Won’t.”

You trembled and frowned, fury risking destroying everything again, “Even if I—”

Your voice died in your throat and you smiled despite the suffocation — you couldn’t do it. Not even out of spite or anger or desperation. You couldn’t threaten, hurt or destroy someone you loved, not the one who had ended up saving you. To the best of his abilities, anyway.

So you cried. You let the tears fall and wash the smallest of the stains littering your soul, a small corner in the grand scheme of things, and he held you. You didn’t have the heart to hurt him and as he embraced you and caressed your head lightly while you bawled into his shoulder, you realized he didn’t either.

You pulled away to look at him, seeing it so clearly in his eyes you wondered how you had never seen it before. “If Jimin was my fated love, then what are you?”

You thought he’d laugh or reply cynically, but his eyes didn’t change, “I can’t love.”

And against all odds, you laughed, “You're a terrible liar.”

He didn’t laugh, his lips didn’t even twitch. His dark eyes just stayed fixed on you, “One year, kitten. Make the best of it.”

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 5 - But who wants to live forever, babe?

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: 10.5k

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

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: break-up talk, feelings of abandonement, (f) masturbation, tension, talks of death

A.N. You deal with the consequences of your wishes and your time ends. I hope the ending tracks and hits 💜 (The song mentioned is Ruin my life by Zara Larsson.)

Masterpost | Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter

You screamed.

You rolled around in bed, tossing the sheets, kicking the air, screeching some deep anger, or maybe a form of agony. Yoongi couldn’t tell exactly; all he could do was look at you. He had stayed with you all night, making sure to give you comfort while you slept hanging onto him with your rigid fingers. Yet when morning came, he vanished from your eyes as he had vowed he would, and you weren’t taking it well.

“Yoongi.”

What started like a soft call that touched him in ways he didn’t understand became a cry for help before turning into a hateful shout. He didn’t take it personally; if anything, it reached a little deeper. You were probably feeling like you had lost everything, but you had decisions to make. He wanted you to realize that this was an opportunity: to stop counting on him and to make something of your last year on earth as a human.

He didn’t think your first instinct would be to cross your apartment and go straight to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a cigar and a bag of blue, small pills while you were at it. He sighed as he observed you, but did nothing to stop you.

You put everything on the glass coffee table in the center of your living room and ignored the red velvety couch, kneeling in front of it while you poured the whiskey messily. He saw you putting two pills in your mouth before you gulped a half glass in one go. It wasn’t that he was disappointed in your reaction or regretting his decision; more like he thought you knew it wouldn’t work.

You sat for a moment, letting it all sink in before you reached to grab the cigar, but you didn’t make it. You veered to the side and vomited everything you had taken in seemingly agonizing convulsions, before you fell back, panting. 

He wasn’t surprised when people knocked on your door, and neither were you. There would always be someone around to cater to your needs, as per your first wish. You simply sighed, saying you were fine before you grabbed the cigar and walked to the balcony. Yoongi followed you out, keeping his eyes on you while you faced the morning sun shimmering on the cityscape. He always liked how you looked, especially the way your cupid’s bow perked up as if asking for a bite. Your normally light eyes were dark with your thoughts, and your bed hair made you look even more aery. He hoped to see you rally, but you scoffed and put the cigar in your mouth, lighting it up in a quick succession of experimented gestures.

He didn’t even blink; you tried, but in an instant, you were coughing the smoke out, about to gag out of disgust. Someone who was cleaning inside came to check on you and you raised your hand for them to go back inside and eyed the cigar. He saw the moment your eyes lit up in realization — you had asked for this yourself. You asked to be free of the addiction, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen or force it upon yourself again.

He tilted his head, observing every microexpression. Technically, you could if you tried really hard. He thought you might, just out of spite, refusing to learn anything from all the sacrifices you had made, but then you rubbed your empty wrists and he pursed his lips. Your attachment to him could be something of an addiction too, and as you muttered his name, he closed his eyes.

No matter how much you called, he would never come to you. Well, at least not that you knew of. He would be there when you called, beyond the reach of your eyes, seeing you adjust and adapt to a life without him. He could feel your time ticking, he could see the sand grains falling in the narrow opening of the hourglass — why couldn’t you?

You spent a week crying, cooped up in your apartment, before you decided to rekindle a glimpse of normalcy in your life — the daily massages. He saw your determination as you made your way to the appointment you had missed for the last seven days, and wondered how you’d react when you made it there.

You staggered when you crossed the door of the spa on the first floor of your building. Jimin got up from the green armchair in the waiting room and extended his hand to you, and you took a step back. Yoongi could instantly see on your shoulders the weight of defeat, of regret. Your breathing changed with the anxiousness tensing you up despite Jimin’s pleas.

“Please, I— I just want to talk to you.” 

He looked hurt, too, with sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes. Now that he was looking at you, his heart beat a little faster, but he was still lost. Yoongi thought you saw it through your own hurt because your eyes watered, and your fingers twitched out of concern. You had rejected his offer when he tempted you with Jimin, but maybe now, faced with him, you’d change your mind.

“Okay,” you agreed. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

You guided him inside the spa and asked for an empty room that turned out to be a meeting room. Yoongi followed you and Jimin in silence. He didn’t care, he couldn’t be bothered, but he was curious about your decision. He wished you could see that, despite the spell, Jimin could bounce back if he was given the right incentive. Love took many forms, as many as there were hearts, and still some. Alternatively, you could just make the best of it and enjoy his affection and company for the time you had left. What you couldn’t do was tell him the truth and let him decide, so he wondered if you’d consider a white lie just so you could give him a choice. A false choice.

You took a few steps away from Jimin and ignored the supposed harmony of the room, with its lowered window blinds and light wall colors with bamboo wavering under an imaginary wind. Instead, you looked resolute.

“I’m sorry,” you started, and Jimin’s breath shook. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it, and I’m sorry I haven’t returned any of your calls. I’ve been— I’ve been trying to figure myself out.”

He nodded and licked his lips, and Yoongi pulled a chair to sit down. He guessed Jimin wasn’t dumb.

“Okay. And what did you conclude?”

“I’m still going through it but,” you looked down, selecting your words. “My decision hasn’t changed. I know it might not make sense to you, but I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Jimin looked bewildered, “I do! I do, but— this doesn’t make any sense to me! You want me to just trust that ending things is— Is what? Something that needs to happen?”

“Yes.”

“Why?!” He stepped to you and you stood firm. Jimin respected the distance you imposed, and Yoongi thought he truly was a great guy. Better than Yoongi ever was, at least. “I don't get it! Is it your fault I fell in love with you? Sure! But why is that a mistake? Why does that need fixing?”

Your lips trembled and Yoongi saw that you couldn’t speak. You wanted to tell him the truth, but you couldn’t.

“It doesn’t matter, I— I couldn’t fix anything.”

“Of course not!” He was angry and hurt, “You thought I’d forget you that easily?!”

“That’s not what I—”

“I fucking love you! You thought I’d just forget the person I want to spend my life with?!”

You glanced up to the ceiling with tearful eyes, and Yoongi could almost read your thoughts — you wished he could.

“I never said that,” you finally breathed.

Jimin’s jaw twitched, “No, but you don’t believe me.”

“I do.”

“No.”

“Trust me,” your lips trembled. “I do.”

Jimin ran his fingers through his blonde hair and shook his head, “No. I can see it in your eyes,” his voice sounded tight with anguish. “You hear me, you see me, but you don’t. It’s as though I’m screaming mute, and you’re nodding just to accommodate me.” That shook you visibly, and Jimin insisted, “All I want is for you to actually listen.”

You gripped your hands and nodded, and Yoongi supported his head on his hand.

“I knew from the moment I saw you, there was something about you.” His eyes were locked with yours and you gulped. “Call it fate, attraction, love at first sight— I don’t know, and I don’t care! I just knew, and everything was perfect ever since. You and I— I don’t think it’s even contestable how much we fit. I don’t need to draw you a picture because you know. You feel it too.”

You stayed quiet, and Yoongi couldn’t decide if that was a dick move or self-preservation.

“So when you tell me you want to end things, it’s like nothing makes sense! Nothing!” He insisted, voice wavering with the tears in his brown eyes. “Because I know you love me too!”

“You’re right, I do,” you acceded, and it looked to Yoongi like you were opting for the truth. “But I’m not your future.”

“How can you say that?!” Which would upset Jimin, of course.

“Because I know it’s the truth,” your lips curved in a beautiful small smile and Yoongi almost cursed. It would be easier to make the man hate you if you didn’t look heavenly without trying. Jimin would be a stupid man to let you go. “I believe there’s another fated love out there for you. I wish you find each other and live a happy, wholesome life together.”

Jimin shook his head in aversion and confusion, “No!! What the hell are you—?”

He stopped and Yoongi rubbed his mouth. You were saying goodbye and it was quite firm.

Jimin became livid, “If I made a mistake, I—”

“You didn’t,” you countered firmly, stepping forward. “I don’t want you to think that for a second.”

It was the first time you gave him something and Jimin couldn’t help himself, “We don’t have to marry.”

“It’s not that.”

“How can you say that?!”

“Jimin—”

“I mention it, and suddenly you want to end everything! I should have never said anything!”

“No, I’m happy you did,” you stepped again to face him, and you were earnest. “It opened my eyes to the decisions I was making, to— to the way I was living. It’s not about you. I’m not ready, Jimin.”

He looked hopeless, “What?”

“I’m not ready to— to live such a grand love,” you smiled sadly as you said it, and Jimin’s voice wavered as he protested with your name. “I screwed it up for myself, and for you by extension. I know what I’m doing, so won't you please trust me?”

Jimin’s desperation overturned in the tears streaming down his face and Yoongi got up. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry,” you finally raised your arms to offer a hug, and he let you, hiding his sobs in your neck.

You kept comforting him, and Yoongi had to admit it was sweet. You managed to appeal to his senses with a truth that he couldn’t defy. Yoongi could see it in the way his shoulders shook in sorrow — he respected you as a person and your decision. Even to Yoongi, it would always be elusive if Jimin genuinely loved you or was compelled by demonic magic, but that right there could be undeniable proof of authenticity. Hellish magic had a way of warping things, of distorting them, especially feelings. Jimin could have turned out to be obsessive, but he respected you enough to end things. 

“I’ll still be your biggest fan, no matter what,” you promised, still well in his embrace.

“You don't have to lose me,” he pulled away to face you, and Yoongi nodded — there it was. “I don't want you to! We could— We could stay friends or—”

“I can’t handle that,” you confessed, brushing his hair to the side.

He pursed his lips and saw your arms letting him go before he asked, “Will I ever know why you’re making this decision?”

You pressed your lips, but you never answered his question.

Yoongi was proud of how you handled your mistakes regarding your fated love, but he kept checking in on you. At first, you kept calling for him multiple times a day, and he always went to you, even if you never knew. He was there the day you tried drinking again, only to shatter the glass against a wall, and when you tried gambling all your money away only to have more pop up the next day, miraculously.

Because he was always there, he saw the moment you stopped crying and peeked your head out of the sheets, facing your empty wrists. He was sitting on the bed next to you, and your wet, puffy face still revealed to him the extent of your thoughts: he wasn’t coming. It was the way you pursed your lips in irritation and sorrow, not knowing he was right there next to you, right before you sat up and decided to grab your phone and call someone. 

Something changed for you that day, as though a switch was flipped. He never knew exactly what, only that you took a quick shower and headed out with determination. He followed you; you met with friends and tried being lively, and he thought it was sincere. He just couldn’t wrap his head around what it was that comforted you enough to get out of bed.

Time passed and although you’d only call for him once daily, he’d still accompany you for far more than that. You were finding your structure, trying to find things you liked and could dedicate yourself to, and there were green flags all around, but still. He kept showing up, always with an urge, a twitch he couldn’t shake off.

Time passed differently for him, and he was afraid of missing something important. That was why he was now facing the window of that luxurious gentleman’s den — which was really a demon den — while drinking his neat whiskey and ignoring the other demons in the room. A month into stepping away from your life, he found himself more invested than ever before, choosing to see you on the window instead of his reflection. He didn’t even notice his breath caught at the sight — you had been contacting people, but now you were finally at a music label. Standing in front of a studio assigned to you to give it a try, your hand was hovering above the doorknob, hesitating. His heart was racing as if he could rush there and grab your hand around it, taking that step with you.

His lips twitched when you grabbed the doorknob. Then, upon seeing the room, you took a deep breath and entered it. His eyes teared up.

“Are you checking on that soul again?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling that victory close to his heart. He probably shouldn’t feel that way, but he couldn’t think about it right now.

“I personally wouldn’t want to keep snacking on the same soul but…”

Yoongi turned and took his glass to his mouth, seeing Hoseok shrug on the chestnut leather armchair. On the chair next to his was Namjoon, who had originally asked the question; meanwhile, Taehyung was contemplating his options from the liquor cabinet.

“We all know some are sweeter than others,” his tone was velvety right as his tongue peeked between his teeth and he reached for a bottle. “Maybe Suga here was just lucky with this one.”

Yoongi finished his drink, the one from his private collection that, unbeknownst to you, you had helped curate, and placed his glass on a nearby table. The heavy carpet in shades of yellow and black muffled his steps as he gathered a new drink from the four Taehyung was serving.

“Hmm,” Hoseok twisted his nose before he accepted the drink from Namjoon. “There’s something about someone who is too sweet.”

Yoongi didn’t reply nor indulge in their conversation. Instead, he moved back to the window and took another peek: you were sitting down in front of the console, but your eyes fell on the piano inside the recording room, and you couldn’t stop yourself. He watched with bated breath as you sat down, placed your fingers over the keys, and pressed. His heart thrummed in response, and he blinked.

His reflection showed instead, including the unshed tears in his dark eyes, and he was bewildered. He hadn't shed tears in forever. Why now?

“If I didn’t know better… I’d say you’re in love.”

Taehyung’s voice was cloying, the impossibility of his suggestion beyond a tease and far into the realm of absurdity. So it was no surprise the whole room laughed and Yoongi's lips twitched with derision.

He took the glass to his lips, swallowing the bitter choice — he knew he couldn’t love.

Regardless of how many whiskeys Yoongi drank, all made him twist his nose. He couldn’t help it — all carried an acridity that offended his palate, or maybe it was just him trying to recall a fond taste that nothing could match.

The reason for his bitterness came down to the irrationality of his actions. The other demons would tease him at times about his attitude, and it was not that he cared — every single one of them had their illogical moments too. The problem was that he didn’t know why he was acting like this, but he had been giving it some thought.

The tears — it was the moment he was forced to admit it, but there was more. You had accused him of breaking the rules, and he couldn’t deny it, though he was sure you didn’t know how far he had gone. Giving freebies was frowned upon, but preventing you from making stupid wishes? Unheard of. No one would bat an eye at his refusal to take you earlier, as that was against good practice, but fucking you until you took a wish back? Everyone would lose their minds if they knew.

Which they wouldn’t, and although he didn’t care, he still went to you to figure it out. You stopped calling him daily and three months in, you looked well. He observed you leading your life, chatting, sleeping, or scrolling on your phone, with a sense that was unfamiliar and didn’t clarify anything for him.

Not in the beginning, but as he observed you, he ascertained a few things. You knew his name, but he wasn’t worried about it at all. He didn’t believe you’d use it, as you hadn’t, and you never wrote it down or uttered it to anyone else ever since. He didn’t fear you’d take your own life or ruin your life; you were doing well now. So what was it that made him look at the window again and instantly take a look at you?

He closed his eyes, forcing the scent of the cigar to pull him back to the demon den where he spent most of his downtime, like now. Anything to curb the need to find out where you were because one glimpse showed him that you were nervous about something, and now he was unsettled.

“Here.”

Yoongi heaved a deep breath, letting the exquisite combination of woodiness and leather of the cigar’s fume scratch his tongue before turning around. Jin was holding a neat whiskey for him to take.

“Why are you so obsessed with this human?” Jin asked, and Yoongi took a sip, grimacing instantly. It wasn’t right. “She’s already yours.”

Jin sat down on an armchair and the invitation for Yoongi to sit beside him on the other one was clear. They were alone, and Yoongi wouldn’t have bothered sitting or replying if that wasn’t his mentor.

He sat down, “She is.”

His tone was low and quiet, and the way he instantly took another sip didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

Jin scrunched his nose a little, then suddenly gasped, “Is she related to June?” Yoongi nodded and Jin laughed wholeheartedly, “Ah, that one.” His smile danced on his lips for a moment. “I must confess I still remember her, even almost a century later,” he licked his lips. “Lucky you to get her descendant.” Yoongi didn’t answer, his eyes were fixed on his drink. “Is she leaving offspring?”

“No.”

“Oh. Such a shame,” Yoongi could tell Jin meant it. “June had a very sweet soul, it was a total contradiction to her personality,” he smirked, licking his lips again. “Her great-granddaughter would too.” Yoongi still didn’t budge and Jin looked away, “I’ve always had a sweet tooth.”

Yoongi remained impassive, though he was remembering your sweet taste. Your soul belonged to him, no one would ever be able to take it, steal it, or touch it, and so he was at ease.

“I can see you do too.”

Yoongi thought about ignoring Jin, but in the end, all he did was take another bittersweet sip. “Not sweet enough.”

Jin grinned and drew the glass to his perfect plum lips; no, he could guess no one would ever compare to you.

Something echoed in the air, like a doorbell chiming, and both demons knew automatically where it was coming from and whose turn or turf it was. 

Jin kept drinking, and Yoongi nodded, “You can have this one.”

Jin swallowed harshly as his eyebrows shot up. Yoongi could be going through whatever that was, but to refuse a soul was—

He got up and Jin understood without words. “Alright.”

Yoongi took a deep drag from his cigar before vanishing, releasing the smoke as he transposed planes all the way to you. Your soul had called to him at the same time, and if the other soul sounded like a bell chiming, yours sounded like a piano brightening the fluttering wings of a butterfly — quite simply irresistible.

He found you in a studio room with a man, each of you in your own chairs, listening to a string melody coming from the speakers. You were wearing something comfortable, as you did when you went to the studio these days, and were looking down, rubbing your wrists gently as you listened in silence.

I miss you pushing me close to the edge, I miss you

It was your voice, your song, and suddenly the excitement was looking to burst out of him.

You set fire to my world, couldn't handle the heat

Now I'm sleeping alone and I'm starting to freeze

Baby, come bring me hell

Let it rain over me

Baby, come back to me

His grin widened as he heard you, and he let his head fall back, closed his eyes, and enjoyed it.

I want you to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, yeah

He loved that the piano set the tone of each verse, that a quick beat mimicked a racing heartbeat, and that it was exulting. By the time the bridge was repeating, he opened his eyes to look at you, and something overheated inside him, like a motor about to explode. You wanted him to bring you hell and ruin your life, and little did you know how much he wanted to grab you, kiss you, and do just that.

He didn’t because the man in the room shook his head in disbelief, “You call this a guide track?”

You shrugged, “Yeah, why not?”

“This— We could record it, but your vocals are—” He seemed incredulous that you were simply staring at him, not seeing it. “It’s good! There’s emotion, and your range is beautiful! If you want to rethink starting a career as—”

“I don’t,” you raised your hand firmly. “All I want is to be free to create as many songs as I please.”

The man sighed and Yoongi lowered his eyes. “Okay, well. I won’t fight you.” You nodded and meant to pass on to something else, but he continued, “But I do want to ask… If you’d be okay with Jimin singing this.”

You stopped and looked at the man, who was in all likelihood a producer, and hesitated.

“I know you guys ended things, but he said he’d like to listen to anything you make.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched in a knowing smile as you thought it over. You had stayed away from Jimin, who had surprisingly respected your decision and done the same. You were both fated to love and care for one another in your own ways, so Yoongi wondered what your response would be: a firm no, or a ceding yes.

“You can give it to him to see if he’d like it, on the condition that he doesn’t know it’s mine,” you decided. “I don’t want that to be a ruling factor on whether he picks it.”

“He’ll know as soon as he hears it.”

“You can tell him I just recorded the track.”

The man opened his mouth to continue giving you arguments but decided to stop there. Your gaze was resolute both in your decision and the wish to move on to work on something else, and the producer got up and left, resigned.

You put black headphones on and started working on something else while Yoongi stared at you. He could hear it in the back of his mind — you asking him so beautifully for him to ruin your life — and it made him want to get on his knees and hold you.

That was the moment that your surroundings hit him and everything made sense, like a card slotting in place. He wrapped his arms around you, placing his chin on your shoulder as you hummed something. You couldn’t feel him, but he could feel you, and he closed his eyes. You breathed music, you were the kind of muse he couldn’t deny, and he got it.

He wasn’t just proud that you were finally free from your shackles, fulfilling your soul’s desires, he was living it as well. There was an inevitability to it all. The way you two resembled one another, at least the human he once was, pulled a chord inside a heart he didn’t know he had. How else could he justify always going back to you? Pushing you to do better? Getting annoyed when you swerved from the path and avoided your true calling? The color and melody of your soul that he could see so clearly and held so dearly?

He just wished for you to make it. Because if you did, then maybe a part of him, the human remnants, would feel vindicated too. 

But that couldn’t be the only reason why. He breathed in the sugary white raspberry scent seeping from your hair, feeling the compulsion, demonic or otherwise, to own you. To at least be a part of you in any way he could, and as you experimented with effects and chuckled, he almost turned you to face him to kiss you desperately.

He remembered his reaction when you asked for that human, Jimin, to love you. Yoongi had made a mistake that day — he got too involved. He knew that you’d encounter Jimin at that party, and he wasn’t able to resist seeing it happen. He had the distinct impression that your soul didn’t change as much as it should have from such a life defining encounter, but it didn’t matter because when you called for Yoongi, you had Jimin on your mind.

It was no coincidence that Yoongi had gripped your flesh and fucked you onto that mattress, wishing to leave his mark on you. It was not by accident that he didn’t go to you in those six months that you were with Jimin, that he purposefully eradicated you from his mind and was bitter at anything remotely sweet. He thought he had become stupidly attached and even mocked himself for it — as if he, a demon, could get pussy whipped or something. But now, he could see it — and it was so simple.

If you had met as humans, you would have been explosive. He would have loved you madly. A part of him wished that would have happened.

He chuckled; of course, it would have been a disaster. He left you to your creations in that studio room, and his consciousness stretched as he made his way back to his plane. With both your addiction problems, you both would have probably died fairly quickly. But it would have been mad and passionate, and you would have birthed amazing, unparalleled music.

Unfortunately, none of that mattered. He was a demon, you were never alive at the same time and you had a fated love. Maybe that was why he gave you what you wanted and stepped back. If experiencing a bit of fated love would snap you out of it and make you live the rest of your life, then he’d do it. And he did. Only to realize that it hurt you, that helping you made things worse.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He could only shrug; he was a demon.

But that was when he realized that by trying to help you, he was feeding your spiral instead of helping you get out of it. Leaving and never showing up again was the best he could have done, right after refusing your last wish. 

He couldn’t give you what you wanted and had refused to see why for so long, but not anymore. He couldn’t steal your last opportunity to fulfill yourself and reach a little bit of happiness. He couldn’t punish you and take away the little time you had left, he wanted to see you fly. For his own selfish reasons, maybe, but also just for the sheer pleasure of it.

And now you were where you should have been all along, releasing bits and pieces of your sweet soul. He was proud, even if he hadn’t done anything, or arguably, made it all harder. Part of him hated that he ever offered you a deal, but if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.

Now you belonged to him. You wouldn’t consume each other in your love to make amazing music as humans, but fate was not unkind. Soon, he’d have you to himself. For now, however, he would have to be contented with just visiting you and listening without partaking.

That was how he found himself in yet another visit. This time you were in your apartment, windows open with the curtains almost floating in the air. He chuckled, seeing that it was late morning, and you were still in your bed, but then he heard something.

Your moans were short and sweet, almost like a hiss, and he stopped at the sliding doors of the bedroom. His gut twisted and he scowled at himself. The human remnants of his soul were always the strongest near you, as he had come to realize, but maybe it had come the time to squish them. Maybe seeing you with someone would effectively rid him of that annoying trace.

Doors meant nothing to him, he just passed right through, only to stop in surprise. You were alone.

He got near you and kneeled on the bed, swallowing dryly at the sight. You were naked over your black silk sheets, facing up with your legs parted and a hand giving you the rubbing that was making you squirm and huff. He ate the image of you like an animal starved, watching your slick drip down onto your sheets as you bucked your hips to intensify the feeling. 

Inadvertently, his hands found their spot atop your knees, but he controlled himself in time so that you wouldn’t feel it. It was hard for him, though. Your breathing was intensifying, your tongue peeking between your teeth, while you raised your free hand above your head as if you wanted it pinned down. And fuck, did he want to give you everything you desired. Just the sight could drive him mad; he knew how much of a vice you could be, tightening around him mercilessly. He knew how sweet you tasted and how easily he could brighten your soul just by ramming his cock inside you and making you see stars.

He was burning, going mad, delirious from keeping himself at bay for so long. With every moan, he thought the next would be the one to break him. He fought himself with all his might, the claws looking to snatch you for eternity extending and barely grazing your skin, until finally you gasped.

He saw you squirming in pleasure, moaning anxiously as you rolled your hips, coaxing him to drool and leak like crazy right before you. 

When you settled down, he almost cursed you. You couldn’t know how crazy you rendered him; insane and mindless, and he wished he could do the same to you. He wished he was driving you up the wall, but you were but a fickle human. It had been six months since you last saw him, you’d have forgotten him by now, and—

You chuckled with your forearm over your eyes, “Kitten.”

You pulled your knees away as you rolled to put your feet on the floor and step away. The sound of you showering and singing was carried all the way to him, but he was still as you had unknowingly left him: kneeling on your bed, frozen with his head hanging low. 

Six months passed and there were still six more to go, and yet… he was the one you were thinking about.

He pulled the hair out of his face and took a deep breath, your perfume and arousal still hanging in the air, then bit his lip. Something was happening inside his chest, something he didn’t know was possible, and he couldn’t help a sneer. He blamed the single human heart string still left inside his heart, the one that only you could pull.

He never knew he could feel this way, but he was counting down the days. He regretted nothing, and he could wait. The best whiskeys had to sit in barrels for a long time until they matured to perfection. Six months wasn’t long, and he had your music to fill his ears. He could wait.

You woke up with a ping from your phone and as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, you let reality dawn on you — that was it. You sat up and pulled the AirPods out of your ears before you rubbed your eyes and let the muffled sounds of the city reach your ears. You couldn’t sleep the night before, both in excitement and nervousness, so you had decided to close your eyes and listen to music, finding comfort in the lullabies and soundtracks you had composed over the last year. Some could have stayed up doing crazy things in their last hours on earth, but not you. You had planned your last twenty-four hours to make sure you did everything you wanted and needed to, and sleeping, even if only a few hours, was fortunate.

You reached for your phone and your chest filled with relief. Finally. 

You got up, put a black silk robe on, and got to your piano room — a fairly recent addition to your apartment, all things considered. You had worried for the last couple of months that the one thing you had decided to do and leave behind wouldn’t become official on time, but you just received good news: you succeeded.

You walked into the room with dark wood floor and floor-to-ceiling windows letting the morning sun and skyline comfort you, and then you sat on the red velvety piano stool and took a deep breath. The nonprofit organization you had founded and coordinated for a year to ensure equal treatment and protection of professional rights in the music industry had been finally officially recognized by the government. This meant that it could provide counseling to professionals and fight for their rights, whether economical, social, or legal. Your shoulders relaxed as you let the worry dissipate from your body; that was one of the items on your bucket list. Now, you could get started on the others.

Your fingers touched the keys, but you didn’t press them. This was a very important moment for you, and it couldn’t be rushed. You had spent the last month composing multiple melodies and accompaniment to what you had hoped to create today: your last song. The only testament that mattered in the end; the only way you’d be able to leave behind the truth to anyone who would listen.

You made sure the microphones were close to the piano soundboard and turned the recording on before adjusting yourself. You closed your eyes, trying to let the moment take you. It would be the last piece of your soul that you’d leave behind, and you wanted it to be as genuine as possible.

You started delicately on keys with more treble, softly pressing them as a chick would chirp after hatching from its egg. You were born in a loving nest, innocent to the world around you darkening as sickness ravished your mother. You matched your innocence with darker tones, establishing a baseline you didn’t quite understand at the time. Yet, everything would take its toll, even on you. As your mother lost the ability to grow your family, it caused a rift. 

You tried to reach out to your parents but soon discovered that you were surrounded by tutors and incentivized to learn as many skills and talents as possible, not so you could make them proud, but so that you’d fit a list of requirements for your solitary standing. They didn’t congratulate you for your swimming medals, prizes for winning obstacle tracks in equestrian competitions, or trophies for your ballet performances. You would strain yourself trying to achieve the highest graces, have good grades, and excel in your piano lessons, but your parents never showed to your recitals or school meetings. Your nanny assured you they saw the videos and bragged about it to all their friends, and you wondered why they wouldn’t celebrate with you, then. The void grew between you and them, and you never learned to fly properly. Rather, you learned nothing could bridge the gap, neither the good nor the bad; they just weren’t there.

You pressed the keys more softly, trying to push the melody from lower to higher registers in an attempt to fill the emptiness inside your chest. Because although your parents never cared, the piano was always there for you. It didn’t hurt you, it listened, and it always let you echo your thoughts. You thought you had found your calling, and you pressed the keys gently, tentatively; the more you tried and delved into the world of music, the surer you became.

But you were naive. The piano was good and tried to keep you safe, but there was this spiral, and you thought it would lead you up, into a higher understanding, into love, but it went down, and down. So low you became spent and graceless, dwindling like a flame smothered by a cup. You needed something to help your broken and abused soul surrounded by nothing but darkness.

You found it in sparks. Sparks and sprinkles, as exciting as the higher keys you were pressing, but equally fleeting. They were a boost, a thrill, a euphoric moment of rapture, and a delusion. Because as those notes became ever ephemeral, so did your semblance of control. The void in their absence imposed grueling efforts to keep you afloat, and you struggled.

Your fingers pressed the keys desperately, oscillating between highs and lows as you tried to keep your head above water. You weren’t good, you were never assembled properly, you had no purpose, and sooner or later, you had to leave the nest. You didn’t expect to be kicked out coldly and at the same time thought it was fitting, seeing the lows you had reached.

Then, the register of your life changed because, in a turn of events, you had a choice. A choice of grand potential for a hefty price. You had no idea what you were doing, only that you wanted to be in the comfort you had known all your life, so you made a deal to ensure you wouldn’t lose what you knew, perpetuating the same vicious cycle that had kept you stuck and in the dark.

However, something unexpected came with that deal — someone. Someone who filled your baseline with shades of blue in a baritone range that tried balancing your deregulated soprano cries. Your life became lavish but eventually guided, and despite your mishaps, he was there. In spite of your mistakes, flaws, and petty decisions, regardless of his enabling role — he was there. 

But you didn’t know better. You refused to open your eyes, attempting to replace one addiction with another until you made the most egregious mistake.

You paused in an attempt to find the right key. Love was like the first sun rays of morning, and fated love was like a summer day. Yet, you knew and valued neither. You couldn’t recognize it from the bubble you were in, and so you twisted your red string of fate until it became feeble. Exhausted of integrity, there was nothing left, and you lost it all. It took a sizable fall for you to realize that life couldn’t be lived without hardships, that struggle brought purpose, that love was worth burning for, and that fate was but a potential course of action. You had picked your love over a year before fate presented itself, and you should have known better than to threaten and push him away.

But there was hope. You realized it the second you recalled the look in his eyes right before a tender last kiss and goodbye — you were given a chance. Because although there was a price to pay for your blindness and recklessness, your potential never waned. It took you a moment to see it, but now you were finally free. There was freedom in solitude, in living for yourself and deciphering what could make your last year worth it rather than living for someone else, or dreading anyone else, including yourself.

That was why your song would end on a high note — on a hopeful spring morning about to dawn. Not for yourself, but for the roots you planted. For others to have opportunities in your wake.

Your fingers stopped, and you looked down, feeling the smooth key surfaces almost as if they were part of you. That was where you wanted your story to end, that was what you were able to tell.

Before heading to the studio room, you stopped the recording and brushed your hand over the piano in a last goodbye. You put your headset on and spent the next hours mixing the other melodies and instruments with yours. You didn’t eliminate mistakes or fill the pauses — you wanted everything exactly as you expressed originally.

Because of your preparation and how long you had spent envisioning your legacy, you finished the song quite rapidly. You were happy with it and right on time for your daily massage.

You smiled and waved at everyone on your way to your appointment, asking your masseuse trivial things before you started. You had since learned her name, that her grandmother was sick, and that she had gotten that job by accident when another professional had failed to show up during recruitment. You had become intrigued with hearing other’s stories, searching to learn and live other experiences through them, since you wouldn’t have the time to do it yourself.

During the relaxing time of your massage, soothed by the ringing of the Tibetan Singing Bowl and the water streaming peacefully from the speakers, your mind wandered. Today was about closing chapters, and you were well on your way and had decided not to bother Jimin. You had spoken with his manager since Jimin had chosen songs of yours to perform and kept in touch. You knew that he was holding up well and although his manager never mentioned it directly, he didn’t have to. Whenever Jimin was seen in public, even now, a year later, he still had the pendant you gave him on your three-month anniversary. You remembered him fondly and suspected he did too. Whenever you crossed paths, he was gentle and never once imposing or invasive — he respected your decision and didn’t hate you for it, which you were grateful for. You’d like to believe he found comfort in the thought of you, as you did of him, and that his love could one day transform into affection for a close friend. Maybe it already had.

It was a good outcome for such a colossal mistake — not caring for him or meeting him, but forcing him to feel something that, in the end, might not have happened to begin with. You realized in hindsight, after processing your feelings and decisions, that you had made your choice before you acknowledged it. Just as you revealed during your song, you had chosen Yoongi before fate presented you with Jimin. And you didn’t do it just by taking the deal, but because you depended on him, opened yourself to him, and yearned for him long before you were aware. Jimin was a calm ocean, whereas Yoongi was a succession of massive waves you were eager to surf.

You probably should have never fallen for him, never made the deal, never looked at him twice, never let yourself feel cradled and safe in his presence, but it still happened. And maybe it had been for the best too, because you weren’t sure you would have ever met Jimin or composed any lullabies otherwise. You had become a person so lazy that you refused to get clean, preferring to die on a hill from dehydration and cardiac arrest rather than yield and fight for yourself. Yoongi cured you so you could see past it, and maybe Jimin could have as well, but you doubted you’d live enough to meet to him. You were even too lazy to wait for his love to bloom naturally — it could be that the person you had become just didn’t deserve him altogether.

As you got back to your apartment, you mused over every little choice that led you to the big decisions down the line. You were in love with a demon and about to be taken by him and still, you were nothing but calm. What did that make you? You shrugged and left the elevator — you felt how you felt, it was a bit too late for regrets.

“Ah, miss.” You nodded at the maid who usually tended to your needs, Vera. “The organization has just sent something in for your approval.”

She stepped aside for you to enter your apartment, the black silk robe rustling at your passage. You noticed the big frame on your red velvet couch and went in that direction, pulling the white sheet over it to reveal a portrait. A big portrait of you with a fairly gentle expression, glistening eyes, and long hair falling over your shoulder. Behind you, there were depictions of recording rooms, concert halls with orchestras, and on the corner, a grand black piano that you brushed your fingers over.

You analyzed the drawings around your figure more than your face and noticed something was missing. The portrait of your great-grandmother came to mind and your lips twitched. Unlike hers, yours didn’t involve darkness, but she had portrayed something important that yours lacked. Maybe you could ask Yoongi to add it before taking you.

“What do you think?” You asked Vera, whose wide blue eyes displayed her shock at being asked.

You chuckled; she couldn’t seem to get used to it.

“You look splendid!”

You pursed your lips, “But what about my legacy?” She blinked, caught off guard, and you pointed, “What represents me — does it make sense?”

“Of course!” She stepped forward to your side, and you waited patiently for her analysis. She was shorter than you, but delicate in her mannerisms. At about your age, you hoped she’d have a long life ahead of her. “They could have added children or the cartoons. You know, the ones you develop the soundtracks for.”

“Children?”

“For the lullabies.”

You chuckled, “Well. It might have made it goofy,” you shrugged, though a smile adorned your lips the whole time. “It should be serious, after all. The first of many.”

“You’ll probably have another one done down the line,” Vera mused. You were quiet but your eyes on her were just enough to pressure her to explain, “This is just the beginning of the organization and your leadership will last for many years.”

Your lips twitched; she was endearing, but there would be a new president of the organization very soon. 

“Thank you, Vera. It can stay there while I think about it, but in case anyone asks, it’s perfect.”

Vera nodded and left after probing whether you’d like brunch or lunch, and you refused both, much to her disappointment. You didn’t want her to find you dead and had tried to give her the day off, but she had declined — yet another thing you would bring up with Yoongi.

You glanced at the portrait again and nodded. You were happy everything was set and prepared for your inevitable passing. All your wealth would be left to the non-profit organization, all jobs associated with you would be secured, and your presence would linger in the cartoons and music spread all around, immortalizing you, in a sense. Not that you wanted that, but you did find joy in hearing your melodies played, regardless of the medium, and found the thought that it would outlast you comforting.

You sat by your desk and faced the blank sheets of paper before you. You had thought long and hard and, despite being estranged, decided you should leave something to your parents too.

You thought it would be harder to put your feelings to paper, but it was surprisingly easy. There was no point in grudges or accusations, or in causing pain or reopening wounds. You wanted them to have peace.

You started with your father’s, remembering the letter he had left you the day he kicked you out.

I know you probably regret it, but I wish you didn’t. Your efforts gave me a chance I was not ready to take. As a parent, that was all you could have done. In the end, I’m still thankful for all the opportunities that brought me here, even the ones I couldn’t appreciate before.

Then you wrote the one to your mother. It took you a moment to begin.

How difficult it must have been to suffer for so long to keep the promise to not let me go through life alone. I wish I could erase the pain that both the cancer and the loss of a child marked on your heart. I wish you had not seen me grow to become yet another pain. As always, I wanted to make you proud of the kid you had, or if not, for you to at least remember me. I’m sorry I failed to see that there was no way you could have forgotten. The right way to make you proud was to be happy; I lost track of that somewhere. I wish for you to know that I’ve found it, somewhat. I hope you know I’m happy, and that you can find happiness in that too.

You took a third paper sheet and thought of Jimin. You were afraid of how the news would impact him, and so you kept your message simple.

Please be happy, mimi. I wish for that with all of my heart.

Unlike your parent's letters, left folded and addressed over your desk, Jimin’s stayed in your hands. You looked at the clock and sighed, getting up to sit on your bed as you faced the city out of the window. Asking Yoongi’s opinion could prove unwise, but he would know. You hadn’t seen him in a year, but you trusted the demon you knew — the one who wouldn’t lie to you.

You quite simply waited for him like this. None of what you had done had changed anything — you still sold your soul, committed your sins, and were ready to be taken. You were more nervous about Yoongi’s thoughts on how you spent your last year than anything else. You pressed your lips; you wanted to make him proud.

You didn’t notice the clock pointer rushing over the twelve, only the growling. You turned to the slid-open doors of your bedroom to find Yoongi there, standing in his black suit, looking at you. Your eyes watered at the ethereal sight; not that you could have forgotten, but he was even more breathtaking than your memory could do justice. And he was there, just like he promised.

You glanced at the dogs, each by his side, black fur shrouded in mist with red glistening eyes trained on you. They were growling loudly but didn’t show signs of impatience, and you smiled.

“Legends speak of hounds that chase people like me.”

“They won’t chase you,” he said, and your heart shook.

“I wouldn’t run.”

Tears ran down your face as you got up with Jimin’s letter still tucked in your hands. You weren’t sad per se; you were very happy to see him again.

He entered the room, walking in your direction, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Despite your cry, he didn’t seem worried. Rather, he seemed impatient.

“Did you finish all your business?”

Your lips twitched in a smile, and you wiped your cheeks, “I knew you’d ask.” You raised the letter in between you two, “It’s for Jimin. I… don’t know if I should send it.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to make things worse for him,” you confessed, unsure on how much you should reveal. Gazing up into his eyes, you knew you didn’t have to go into details. “I just wanted him to know that I wish for him to find happiness, but I don’t know if it will make sense to him. You know, when I pass.”

Yoongi was silent, and you raised your eyes to him. There was no judgment on his delicate features; if anything, only understanding. “I can make it look like something sudden that you could be somewhat aware of. Like an aneurysm or a stroke.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and then you considered it, “The drugs… would have made it possible, no?” Yoongi nodded. “And that would justify why I’m leaving a letter like this. Okay, that’s a good idea,” you agreed, though you instantly filled your chest with air. You wondered if it would hurt. “Do you think it will help him? To deal with my— death?”

“I think he’ll be mad about it forever,” he revealed, shifting on his feet. 

“Why? If it was something unpreventable and sudden like this, shouldn’t it be…”

You couldn’t find the words, and he didn’t wait for you, “Whatever little time he could have had with you, he would have preferred it. Especially if you knew your days were numbered.”

You chuckled bitterly, “Then it doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he interrupted as you shifted the letter between your hands. “To receive a letter means you thought of him. Thought to give him closure. He will hate it because he had no control over it, but he’ll be comforted by the fact that you thought of him. Love… takes many forms.”

You smiled, “Okay, then let’s do that.” You placed the letter over your nightstand then turned to him, “There are… a couple of things I’d like to ask of you.”

He sighed, but you could see through his exasperation; he wasn’t annoyed, he expected it. “Yes?”

“Could Vera not find me dead? I don't want to traumatize her.”

He frowned, “Vera?”

“My maid.”

He blinked before chuckling, “Sure.”

“And… could you give my portrait a final touch?” He raised an eyebrow, and you pointed out of the room at the couch, “You’re missing in it.”

“This one?” He asked, and as you blinked, he was holding the portrait. 

You hummed, observing his reaction as he gazed upon that depiction of you. He took longer than you would have expected, going over every little detail. You couldn’t help your nervousness; it was as though he was evaluating your performance. Not of the painting, but of your life. You bit your lip with curiosity.

“And I’m missing?”

He glanced at you, and you nodded before he returned to the image with pursed lips. He was taking his time, and you couldn’t have guessed his thoughts — your cupid’s bow was much perkier than that.

“How should I do it?”

You mused about it and let your head lean against his arm as you observed the painting. “Something blue.”

His eyes stayed on you before he rubbed the portrait with his thumb ever so slightly. A shade of blue under the piano replaced its shadow, and you smiled. You felt incredibly at ease — now it was complete.

You straightened up and nodded, and in a second the portrait was over your couch again.

“Thank you.”

“Ready?”

Your smile widened, “Yes.”

You became deaf to the growling, the city noise, or even the thumping of your heart as you faced him. Your eyes drank every microexpression on his marble skin as you waited with bated breath for him to touch you. You didn’t know what was supposed to happen, only that you’d belong to him, and that was enough. You could only hope you’d get to feel his touch before dying, that you could remember the ache inside your chest at your longing, and that you’d see him again.

The back of his finger touched your cheek and your breath caught. The way he was looking at you entranced you and made you forget about everything that wasn’t your reunion. His dark eyes glistened with something you couldn’t decipher, but that had a sweet flame licking up your stomach to your chest, only to tighten its hold when his thumb brushed over your lips. You held your breath, unable to do anything that could stop this when he suddenly leaned in and crashed your mouths together. He raised you to him by the waist, lips voraciously devouring you, your taste, and your every breath. You met his hunger, gripping his dark hair so he’d stay forever on your lips, and you believed then that maybe he had been waiting for this just like you.

You didn’t want your kiss to simmer out, but his hand on your neck reassured you when he pulled away. You could see hunger and maybe even desperation in his glistening dark eyes, but then he blinked, and you knew it was time. He only needed one nod to press your lips ardently again, and you let go. You melted in his arms, guided by his taste and tongue as you abandoned your volition. Whatever he decided was what you wanted as well as long as he never let go, and he wouldn’t. You trusted him absolutely.

The flames of your desire and passion were rampant in you, without a semblance of weakness, not now that he was holding you. But you were used to your fervent yearning, so you didn’t understand when it went beyond your threshold until a second too late. Your heart beat intensely and your nails sank into his flesh, and as your mind flooded with dopamine, all you saw was white.

You woke up utterly dazed and confused, so nauseated you couldn’t distinguish above from below. But as you trashed around, trying to free your limbs and breathe, you realized you were on an expansive bed, fighting silk sheets. 

You sat up with your long hair falling messily over your face and frowned. You were in a wide bedroom with a tall ceiling with celestial scenes depicted and a large chandelier with black candles hanging from it. Over you, were black silk sheets just like the ones you liked, and over them and around you, red velvety pillows and blankets. The walls were dark, just like the floor, and to the side, the floor-to-ceiling windows let an unnatural shine in. You had no idea where you were and as you touched your chest and neck, you noticed your familiar black silk robe. Then you touched your lips, remembering just how frantically you were kissing him and—

You pushed the covers and jumped off the bed, running straight for the door. Tears were threatening to stream down your face not because you regretted or because you were frightened, but because you were alone.

Yoongi.

Your heart called out to him as you dragged the tall mahogany door open and rushed out. The whole mansion had dark walls and paintings whenever there was no door or on the ceiling, and you kept running until you found the central staircase. You looked down and, finally, your heart jumped; you took support on the banister and rushed downstairs until you could reach the first floor.

The stairs ended on a wide, several-floor high hall with only glass as walls. In it, at its center, was a red circular carpet with a black piano. It was as though Yoongi was waiting for you because as soon as your bare foot stepped over the carpet, he started playing.

You held your breath, unsure of what that meant or what you could say, but you still neared him. Slowly, your anxiety melted and your brow furrowed. What did he mean, he’d been waiting?

It took you a second to realize what was happening. He kept playing, eyes closed and head hanging back, and you observed him. You almost opened your mouth, but then you understood. You sat by his side on the long stool and pressed the keys with higher treble a bit tentatively, and he eyed you.

Your lips pursed as you retorted his glance, and then his music. You had been waiting too, you wanted to talk to him.

He heard your notes with closed eyes, and you saw him visibly relaxing before he played his reply.

I knew you’d be the one.

You froze, unable to press any keys, and just looked at him with wide, tearing eyes. He turned to you, reaching to cup your cheeks before pressing his lips to yours, and you were strangely revitalized, swimming in peace.

When he moved away, you asked him, “What now?”

“Now, I have you.”

It's all up 🥳 thank you to everyone who enjoyed it, I'll see you on the next one 💜

Too Sweet | MYG | Masterpost

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: 40.5k

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, trespassing, unprotected semi-public and public sex, nipple play, mentions of blood, biting, hair pulling, bruising, sprinkle of masochism, choking and breath play, degrading thoughts, blowjob + face fucking, subspace and aftercare, making bad decisions/mistakes, breaking Jimin's heart 💔, learning things the hard way, falling in love, mentions of death

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!

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Inspired by Hozier - Too Sweet (Official Lyric Video)

“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?”

Chapter 1 - You keep telling me to live right

WC: 7.3k - May 30th “Such a beautiful voice out in a wind so cold.” [Snippet]

Chapter 2 - To go to bed before the daylight

WC: 5.4k - June 6th “You know you already sold your soul, right?” [Snippet]

Chapter 3 - But then you wake up for the sunrise

WC: 8.9k - June 13th “You sold your soul to me,” he said calmly, eyeing your trembling figure knowingly. “What do you think I bought?” [Snippet]

Chapter 4 - You know you don't gotta pretend

WC: 8.2k - June 20th “I can’t do it, kitten,” he said firmly, grabbing your jaw so you wouldn’t avoid the truth. “No matter how much you’d like me to.” [Snippet]

Chapter 5 - But who wants to live forever, babe?

WC: 10.5k - June 27th “Legends speak of hounds that chase people like me.” “They won’t chase you.” “I wouldn’t run.” [Snippet]

Too Sweet 💜 Chapter 5 - But who wants to live forever, babe?

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: 10.5k

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

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: break-up talk, feelings of abandonement, (f) masturbation, tension, talks of death

A.N. You deal with the consequences of your wishes and your time ends. I hope the ending tracks and hits 💜 (The song mentioned is Ruin my life by Zara Larsson.)

Masterpost | Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter

You screamed.

You rolled around in bed, tossing the sheets, kicking the air, screeching some deep anger, or maybe a form of agony. Yoongi couldn’t tell exactly; all he could do was look at you. He had stayed with you all night, making sure to give you comfort while you slept hanging onto him with your rigid fingers. Yet when morning came, he vanished from your eyes as he had vowed he would, and you weren’t taking it well.

“Yoongi.”

What started like a soft call that touched him in ways he didn’t understand became a cry for help before turning into a hateful shout. He didn’t take it personally; if anything, it reached a little deeper. You were probably feeling like you had lost everything, but you had decisions to make. He wanted you to realize that this was an opportunity: to stop counting on him and to make something of your last year on earth as a human.

He didn’t think your first instinct would be to cross your apartment and go straight to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a cigar and a bag of blue, small pills while you were at it. He sighed as he observed you, but did nothing to stop you.

You put everything on the glass coffee table in the center of your living room and ignored the red velvety couch, kneeling in front of it while you poured the whiskey messily. He saw you putting two pills in your mouth before you gulped a half glass in one go. It wasn’t that he was disappointed in your reaction or regretting his decision; more like he thought you knew it wouldn’t work.

You sat for a moment, letting it all sink in before you reached to grab the cigar, but you didn’t make it. You veered to the side and vomited everything you had taken in seemingly agonizing convulsions, before you fell back, panting. 

He wasn’t surprised when people knocked on your door, and neither were you. There would always be someone around to cater to your needs, as per your first wish. You simply sighed, saying you were fine before you grabbed the cigar and walked to the balcony. Yoongi followed you out, keeping his eyes on you while you faced the morning sun shimmering on the cityscape. He always liked how you looked, especially the way your cupid’s bow perked up as if asking for a bite. Your normally light eyes were dark with your thoughts, and your bed hair made you look even more aery. He hoped to see you rally, but you scoffed and put the cigar in your mouth, lighting it up in a quick succession of experimented gestures.

He didn’t even blink; you tried, but in an instant, you were coughing the smoke out, about to gag out of disgust. Someone who was cleaning inside came to check on you and you raised your hand for them to go back inside and eyed the cigar. He saw the moment your eyes lit up in realization — you had asked for this yourself. You asked to be free of the addiction, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen or force it upon yourself again.

He tilted his head, observing every microexpression. Technically, you could if you tried really hard. He thought you might, just out of spite, refusing to learn anything from all the sacrifices you had made, but then you rubbed your empty wrists and he pursed his lips. Your attachment to him could be something of an addiction too, and as you muttered his name, he closed his eyes.

No matter how much you called, he would never come to you. Well, at least not that you knew of. He would be there when you called, beyond the reach of your eyes, seeing you adjust and adapt to a life without him. He could feel your time ticking, he could see the sand grains falling in the narrow opening of the hourglass — why couldn’t you?

You spent a week crying, cooped up in your apartment, before you decided to rekindle a glimpse of normalcy in your life — the daily massages. He saw your determination as you made your way to the appointment you had missed for the last seven days, and wondered how you’d react when you made it there.

You staggered when you crossed the door of the spa on the first floor of your building. Jimin got up from the green armchair in the waiting room and extended his hand to you, and you took a step back. Yoongi could instantly see on your shoulders the weight of defeat, of regret. Your breathing changed with the anxiousness tensing you up despite Jimin’s pleas.

“Please, I— I just want to talk to you.” 

He looked hurt, too, with sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes. Now that he was looking at you, his heart beat a little faster, but he was still lost. Yoongi thought you saw it through your own hurt because your eyes watered, and your fingers twitched out of concern. You had rejected his offer when he tempted you with Jimin, but maybe now, faced with him, you’d change your mind.

“Okay,” you agreed. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

You guided him inside the spa and asked for an empty room that turned out to be a meeting room. Yoongi followed you and Jimin in silence. He didn’t care, he couldn’t be bothered, but he was curious about your decision. He wished you could see that, despite the spell, Jimin could bounce back if he was given the right incentive. Love took many forms, as many as there were hearts, and still some. Alternatively, you could just make the best of it and enjoy his affection and company for the time you had left. What you couldn’t do was tell him the truth and let him decide, so he wondered if you’d consider a white lie just so you could give him a choice. A false choice.

You took a few steps away from Jimin and ignored the supposed harmony of the room, with its lowered window blinds and light wall colors with bamboo wavering under an imaginary wind. Instead, you looked resolute.

“I’m sorry,” you started, and Jimin’s breath shook. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it, and I’m sorry I haven’t returned any of your calls. I’ve been— I’ve been trying to figure myself out.”

He nodded and licked his lips, and Yoongi pulled a chair to sit down. He guessed Jimin wasn’t dumb.

“Okay. And what did you conclude?”

“I’m still going through it but,” you looked down, selecting your words. “My decision hasn’t changed. I know it might not make sense to you, but I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Jimin looked bewildered, “I do! I do, but— this doesn’t make any sense to me! You want me to just trust that ending things is— Is what? Something that needs to happen?”

“Yes.”

“Why?!” He stepped to you and you stood firm. Jimin respected the distance you imposed, and Yoongi thought he truly was a great guy. Better than Yoongi ever was, at least. “I don't get it! Is it your fault I fell in love with you? Sure! But why is that a mistake? Why does that need fixing?”

Your lips trembled and Yoongi saw that you couldn’t speak. You wanted to tell him the truth, but you couldn’t.

“It doesn’t matter, I— I couldn’t fix anything.”

“Of course not!” He was angry and hurt, “You thought I’d forget you that easily?!”

“That’s not what I—”

“I fucking love you! You thought I’d just forget the person I want to spend my life with?!”

You glanced up to the ceiling with tearful eyes, and Yoongi could almost read your thoughts — you wished he could.

“I never said that,” you finally breathed.

Jimin’s jaw twitched, “No, but you don’t believe me.”

“I do.”

“No.”

“Trust me,” your lips trembled. “I do.”

Jimin ran his fingers through his blonde hair and shook his head, “No. I can see it in your eyes,” his voice sounded tight with anguish. “You hear me, you see me, but you don’t. It’s as though I’m screaming mute, and you’re nodding just to accommodate me.” That shook you visibly, and Jimin insisted, “All I want is for you to actually listen.”

You gripped your hands and nodded, and Yoongi supported his head on his hand.

“I knew from the moment I saw you, there was something about you.” His eyes were locked with yours and you gulped. “Call it fate, attraction, love at first sight— I don’t know, and I don’t care! I just knew, and everything was perfect ever since. You and I— I don’t think it’s even contestable how much we fit. I don’t need to draw you a picture because you know. You feel it too.”

You stayed quiet, and Yoongi couldn’t decide if that was a dick move or self-preservation.

“So when you tell me you want to end things, it’s like nothing makes sense! Nothing!” He insisted, voice wavering with the tears in his brown eyes. “Because I know you love me too!”

“You’re right, I do,” you acceded, and it looked to Yoongi like you were opting for the truth. “But I’m not your future.”

“How can you say that?!” Which would upset Jimin, of course.

“Because I know it’s the truth,” your lips curved in a beautiful small smile and Yoongi almost cursed. It would be easier to make the man hate you if you didn’t look heavenly without trying. Jimin would be a stupid man to let you go. “I believe there’s another fated love out there for you. I wish you find each other and live a happy, wholesome life together.”

Jimin shook his head in aversion and confusion, “No!! What the hell are you—?”

He stopped and Yoongi rubbed his mouth. You were saying goodbye and it was quite firm.

Jimin became livid, “If I made a mistake, I—”

“You didn’t,” you countered firmly, stepping forward. “I don’t want you to think that for a second.”

It was the first time you gave him something and Jimin couldn’t help himself, “We don’t have to marry.”

“It’s not that.”

“How can you say that?!”

“Jimin—”

“I mention it, and suddenly you want to end everything! I should have never said anything!”

“No, I’m happy you did,” you stepped again to face him, and you were earnest. “It opened my eyes to the decisions I was making, to— to the way I was living. It’s not about you. I’m not ready, Jimin.”

He looked hopeless, “What?”

“I’m not ready to— to live such a grand love,” you smiled sadly as you said it, and Jimin’s voice wavered as he protested with your name. “I screwed it up for myself, and for you by extension. I know what I’m doing, so won't you please trust me?”

Jimin’s desperation overturned in the tears streaming down his face and Yoongi got up. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry,” you finally raised your arms to offer a hug, and he let you, hiding his sobs in your neck.

You kept comforting him, and Yoongi had to admit it was sweet. You managed to appeal to his senses with a truth that he couldn’t defy. Yoongi could see it in the way his shoulders shook in sorrow — he respected you as a person and your decision. Even to Yoongi, it would always be elusive if Jimin genuinely loved you or was compelled by demonic magic, but that right there could be undeniable proof of authenticity. Hellish magic had a way of warping things, of distorting them, especially feelings. Jimin could have turned out to be obsessive, but he respected you enough to end things. 

“I’ll still be your biggest fan, no matter what,” you promised, still well in his embrace.

“You don't have to lose me,” he pulled away to face you, and Yoongi nodded — there it was. “I don't want you to! We could— We could stay friends or—”

“I can’t handle that,” you confessed, brushing his hair to the side.

He pursed his lips and saw your arms letting him go before he asked, “Will I ever know why you’re making this decision?”

You pressed your lips, but you never answered his question.

Yoongi was proud of how you handled your mistakes regarding your fated love, but he kept checking in on you. At first, you kept calling for him multiple times a day, and he always went to you, even if you never knew. He was there the day you tried drinking again, only to shatter the glass against a wall, and when you tried gambling all your money away only to have more pop up the next day, miraculously.

Because he was always there, he saw the moment you stopped crying and peeked your head out of the sheets, facing your empty wrists. He was sitting on the bed next to you, and your wet, puffy face still revealed to him the extent of your thoughts: he wasn’t coming. It was the way you pursed your lips in irritation and sorrow, not knowing he was right there next to you, right before you sat up and decided to grab your phone and call someone. 

Something changed for you that day, as though a switch was flipped. He never knew exactly what, only that you took a quick shower and headed out with determination. He followed you; you met with friends and tried being lively, and he thought it was sincere. He just couldn’t wrap his head around what it was that comforted you enough to get out of bed.

Time passed and although you’d only call for him once daily, he’d still accompany you for far more than that. You were finding your structure, trying to find things you liked and could dedicate yourself to, and there were green flags all around, but still. He kept showing up, always with an urge, a twitch he couldn’t shake off.

Time passed differently for him, and he was afraid of missing something important. That was why he was now facing the window of that luxurious gentleman’s den — which was really a demon den — while drinking his neat whiskey and ignoring the other demons in the room. A month into stepping away from your life, he found himself more invested than ever before, choosing to see you on the window instead of his reflection. He didn’t even notice his breath caught at the sight — you had been contacting people, but now you were finally at a music label. Standing in front of a studio assigned to you to give it a try, your hand was hovering above the doorknob, hesitating. His heart was racing as if he could rush there and grab your hand around it, taking that step with you.

His lips twitched when you grabbed the doorknob. Then, upon seeing the room, you took a deep breath and entered it. His eyes teared up.

“Are you checking on that soul again?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling that victory close to his heart. He probably shouldn’t feel that way, but he couldn’t think about it right now.

“I personally wouldn’t want to keep snacking on the same soul but…”

Yoongi turned and took his glass to his mouth, seeing Hoseok shrug on the chestnut leather armchair. On the chair next to his was Namjoon, who had originally asked the question; meanwhile, Taehyung was contemplating his options from the liquor cabinet.

“We all know some are sweeter than others,” his tone was velvety right as his tongue peeked between his teeth and he reached for a bottle. “Maybe Suga here was just lucky with this one.”

Yoongi finished his drink, the one from his private collection that, unbeknownst to you, you had helped curate, and placed his glass on a nearby table. The heavy carpet in shades of yellow and black muffled his steps as he gathered a new drink from the four Taehyung was serving.

“Hmm,” Hoseok twisted his nose before he accepted the drink from Namjoon. “There’s something about someone who is too sweet.”

Yoongi didn’t reply nor indulge in their conversation. Instead, he moved back to the window and took another peek: you were sitting down in front of the console, but your eyes fell on the piano inside the recording room, and you couldn’t stop yourself. He watched with bated breath as you sat down, placed your fingers over the keys, and pressed. His heart thrummed in response, and he blinked.

His reflection showed instead, including the unshed tears in his dark eyes, and he was bewildered. He hadn't shed tears in forever. Why now?

“If I didn’t know better… I’d say you’re in love.”

Taehyung’s voice was cloying, the impossibility of his suggestion beyond a tease and far into the realm of absurdity. So it was no surprise the whole room laughed and Yoongi's lips twitched with derision.

He took the glass to his lips, swallowing the bitter choice — he knew he couldn’t love.

Regardless of how many whiskeys Yoongi drank, all made him twist his nose. He couldn’t help it — all carried an acridity that offended his palate, or maybe it was just him trying to recall a fond taste that nothing could match.

The reason for his bitterness came down to the irrationality of his actions. The other demons would tease him at times about his attitude, and it was not that he cared — every single one of them had their illogical moments too. The problem was that he didn’t know why he was acting like this, but he had been giving it some thought.

The tears — it was the moment he was forced to admit it, but there was more. You had accused him of breaking the rules, and he couldn’t deny it, though he was sure you didn’t know how far he had gone. Giving freebies was frowned upon, but preventing you from making stupid wishes? Unheard of. No one would bat an eye at his refusal to take you earlier, as that was against good practice, but fucking you until you took a wish back? Everyone would lose their minds if they knew.

Which they wouldn’t, and although he didn’t care, he still went to you to figure it out. You stopped calling him daily and three months in, you looked well. He observed you leading your life, chatting, sleeping, or scrolling on your phone, with a sense that was unfamiliar and didn’t clarify anything for him.

Not in the beginning, but as he observed you, he ascertained a few things. You knew his name, but he wasn’t worried about it at all. He didn’t believe you’d use it, as you hadn’t, and you never wrote it down or uttered it to anyone else ever since. He didn’t fear you’d take your own life or ruin your life; you were doing well now. So what was it that made him look at the window again and instantly take a look at you?

He closed his eyes, forcing the scent of the cigar to pull him back to the demon den where he spent most of his downtime, like now. Anything to curb the need to find out where you were because one glimpse showed him that you were nervous about something, and now he was unsettled.

“Here.”

Yoongi heaved a deep breath, letting the exquisite combination of woodiness and leather of the cigar’s fume scratch his tongue before turning around. Jin was holding a neat whiskey for him to take.

“Why are you so obsessed with this human?” Jin asked, and Yoongi took a sip, grimacing instantly. It wasn’t right. “She’s already yours.”

Jin sat down on an armchair and the invitation for Yoongi to sit beside him on the other one was clear. They were alone, and Yoongi wouldn’t have bothered sitting or replying if that wasn’t his mentor.

He sat down, “She is.”

His tone was low and quiet, and the way he instantly took another sip didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

Jin scrunched his nose a little, then suddenly gasped, “Is she related to June?” Yoongi nodded and Jin laughed wholeheartedly, “Ah, that one.” His smile danced on his lips for a moment. “I must confess I still remember her, even almost a century later,” he licked his lips. “Lucky you to get her descendant.” Yoongi didn’t answer, his eyes were fixed on his drink. “Is she leaving offspring?”

“No.”

“Oh. Such a shame,” Yoongi could tell Jin meant it. “June had a very sweet soul, it was a total contradiction to her personality,” he smirked, licking his lips again. “Her great-granddaughter would too.” Yoongi still didn’t budge and Jin looked away, “I’ve always had a sweet tooth.”

Yoongi remained impassive, though he was remembering your sweet taste. Your soul belonged to him, no one would ever be able to take it, steal it, or touch it, and so he was at ease.

“I can see you do too.”

Yoongi thought about ignoring Jin, but in the end, all he did was take another bittersweet sip. “Not sweet enough.”

Jin grinned and drew the glass to his perfect plum lips; no, he could guess no one would ever compare to you.

Something echoed in the air, like a doorbell chiming, and both demons knew automatically where it was coming from and whose turn or turf it was. 

Jin kept drinking, and Yoongi nodded, “You can have this one.”

Jin swallowed harshly as his eyebrows shot up. Yoongi could be going through whatever that was, but to refuse a soul was—

He got up and Jin understood without words. “Alright.”

Yoongi took a deep drag from his cigar before vanishing, releasing the smoke as he transposed planes all the way to you. Your soul had called to him at the same time, and if the other soul sounded like a bell chiming, yours sounded like a piano brightening the fluttering wings of a butterfly — quite simply irresistible.

He found you in a studio room with a man, each of you in your own chairs, listening to a string melody coming from the speakers. You were wearing something comfortable, as you did when you went to the studio these days, and were looking down, rubbing your wrists gently as you listened in silence.

I miss you pushing me close to the edge, I miss you

It was your voice, your song, and suddenly the excitement was looking to burst out of him.

You set fire to my world, couldn't handle the heat

Now I'm sleeping alone and I'm starting to freeze

Baby, come bring me hell

Let it rain over me

Baby, come back to me

His grin widened as he heard you, and he let his head fall back, closed his eyes, and enjoyed it.

I want you to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, you to ruin my life, yeah

He loved that the piano set the tone of each verse, that a quick beat mimicked a racing heartbeat, and that it was exulting. By the time the bridge was repeating, he opened his eyes to look at you, and something overheated inside him, like a motor about to explode. You wanted him to bring you hell and ruin your life, and little did you know how much he wanted to grab you, kiss you, and do just that.

He didn’t because the man in the room shook his head in disbelief, “You call this a guide track?”

You shrugged, “Yeah, why not?”

“This— We could record it, but your vocals are—” He seemed incredulous that you were simply staring at him, not seeing it. “It’s good! There’s emotion, and your range is beautiful! If you want to rethink starting a career as—”

“I don’t,” you raised your hand firmly. “All I want is to be free to create as many songs as I please.”

The man sighed and Yoongi lowered his eyes. “Okay, well. I won’t fight you.” You nodded and meant to pass on to something else, but he continued, “But I do want to ask… If you’d be okay with Jimin singing this.”

You stopped and looked at the man, who was in all likelihood a producer, and hesitated.

“I know you guys ended things, but he said he’d like to listen to anything you make.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched in a knowing smile as you thought it over. You had stayed away from Jimin, who had surprisingly respected your decision and done the same. You were both fated to love and care for one another in your own ways, so Yoongi wondered what your response would be: a firm no, or a ceding yes.

“You can give it to him to see if he’d like it, on the condition that he doesn’t know it’s mine,” you decided. “I don’t want that to be a ruling factor on whether he picks it.”

“He’ll know as soon as he hears it.”

“You can tell him I just recorded the track.”

The man opened his mouth to continue giving you arguments but decided to stop there. Your gaze was resolute both in your decision and the wish to move on to work on something else, and the producer got up and left, resigned.

You put black headphones on and started working on something else while Yoongi stared at you. He could hear it in the back of his mind — you asking him so beautifully for him to ruin your life — and it made him want to get on his knees and hold you.

That was the moment that your surroundings hit him and everything made sense, like a card slotting in place. He wrapped his arms around you, placing his chin on your shoulder as you hummed something. You couldn’t feel him, but he could feel you, and he closed his eyes. You breathed music, you were the kind of muse he couldn’t deny, and he got it.

He wasn’t just proud that you were finally free from your shackles, fulfilling your soul’s desires, he was living it as well. There was an inevitability to it all. The way you two resembled one another, at least the human he once was, pulled a chord inside a heart he didn’t know he had. How else could he justify always going back to you? Pushing you to do better? Getting annoyed when you swerved from the path and avoided your true calling? The color and melody of your soul that he could see so clearly and held so dearly?

He just wished for you to make it. Because if you did, then maybe a part of him, the human remnants, would feel vindicated too. 

But that couldn’t be the only reason why. He breathed in the sugary white raspberry scent seeping from your hair, feeling the compulsion, demonic or otherwise, to own you. To at least be a part of you in any way he could, and as you experimented with effects and chuckled, he almost turned you to face him to kiss you desperately.

He remembered his reaction when you asked for that human, Jimin, to love you. Yoongi had made a mistake that day — he got too involved. He knew that you’d encounter Jimin at that party, and he wasn’t able to resist seeing it happen. He had the distinct impression that your soul didn’t change as much as it should have from such a life defining encounter, but it didn’t matter because when you called for Yoongi, you had Jimin on your mind.

It was no coincidence that Yoongi had gripped your flesh and fucked you onto that mattress, wishing to leave his mark on you. It was not by accident that he didn’t go to you in those six months that you were with Jimin, that he purposefully eradicated you from his mind and was bitter at anything remotely sweet. He thought he had become stupidly attached and even mocked himself for it — as if he, a demon, could get pussy whipped or something. But now, he could see it — and it was so simple.

If you had met as humans, you would have been explosive. He would have loved you madly. A part of him wished that would have happened.

He chuckled; of course, it would have been a disaster. He left you to your creations in that studio room, and his consciousness stretched as he made his way back to his plane. With both your addiction problems, you both would have probably died fairly quickly. But it would have been mad and passionate, and you would have birthed amazing, unparalleled music.

Unfortunately, none of that mattered. He was a demon, you were never alive at the same time and you had a fated love. Maybe that was why he gave you what you wanted and stepped back. If experiencing a bit of fated love would snap you out of it and make you live the rest of your life, then he’d do it. And he did. Only to realize that it hurt you, that helping you made things worse.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He could only shrug; he was a demon.

But that was when he realized that by trying to help you, he was feeding your spiral instead of helping you get out of it. Leaving and never showing up again was the best he could have done, right after refusing your last wish. 

He couldn’t give you what you wanted and had refused to see why for so long, but not anymore. He couldn’t steal your last opportunity to fulfill yourself and reach a little bit of happiness. He couldn’t punish you and take away the little time you had left, he wanted to see you fly. For his own selfish reasons, maybe, but also just for the sheer pleasure of it.

And now you were where you should have been all along, releasing bits and pieces of your sweet soul. He was proud, even if he hadn’t done anything, or arguably, made it all harder. Part of him hated that he ever offered you a deal, but if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.

Now you belonged to him. You wouldn’t consume each other in your love to make amazing music as humans, but fate was not unkind. Soon, he’d have you to himself. For now, however, he would have to be contented with just visiting you and listening without partaking.

That was how he found himself in yet another visit. This time you were in your apartment, windows open with the curtains almost floating in the air. He chuckled, seeing that it was late morning, and you were still in your bed, but then he heard something.

Your moans were short and sweet, almost like a hiss, and he stopped at the sliding doors of the bedroom. His gut twisted and he scowled at himself. The human remnants of his soul were always the strongest near you, as he had come to realize, but maybe it had come the time to squish them. Maybe seeing you with someone would effectively rid him of that annoying trace.

Doors meant nothing to him, he just passed right through, only to stop in surprise. You were alone.

He got near you and kneeled on the bed, swallowing dryly at the sight. You were naked over your black silk sheets, facing up with your legs parted and a hand giving you the rubbing that was making you squirm and huff. He ate the image of you like an animal starved, watching your slick drip down onto your sheets as you bucked your hips to intensify the feeling. 

Inadvertently, his hands found their spot atop your knees, but he controlled himself in time so that you wouldn’t feel it. It was hard for him, though. Your breathing was intensifying, your tongue peeking between your teeth, while you raised your free hand above your head as if you wanted it pinned down. And fuck, did he want to give you everything you desired. Just the sight could drive him mad; he knew how much of a vice you could be, tightening around him mercilessly. He knew how sweet you tasted and how easily he could brighten your soul just by ramming his cock inside you and making you see stars.

He was burning, going mad, delirious from keeping himself at bay for so long. With every moan, he thought the next would be the one to break him. He fought himself with all his might, the claws looking to snatch you for eternity extending and barely grazing your skin, until finally you gasped.

He saw you squirming in pleasure, moaning anxiously as you rolled your hips, coaxing him to drool and leak like crazy right before you. 

When you settled down, he almost cursed you. You couldn’t know how crazy you rendered him; insane and mindless, and he wished he could do the same to you. He wished he was driving you up the wall, but you were but a fickle human. It had been six months since you last saw him, you’d have forgotten him by now, and—

You chuckled with your forearm over your eyes, “Kitten.”

You pulled your knees away as you rolled to put your feet on the floor and step away. The sound of you showering and singing was carried all the way to him, but he was still as you had unknowingly left him: kneeling on your bed, frozen with his head hanging low. 

Six months passed and there were still six more to go, and yet… he was the one you were thinking about.

He pulled the hair out of his face and took a deep breath, your perfume and arousal still hanging in the air, then bit his lip. Something was happening inside his chest, something he didn’t know was possible, and he couldn’t help a sneer. He blamed the single human heart string still left inside his heart, the one that only you could pull.

He never knew he could feel this way, but he was counting down the days. He regretted nothing, and he could wait. The best whiskeys had to sit in barrels for a long time until they matured to perfection. Six months wasn’t long, and he had your music to fill his ears. He could wait.

You woke up with a ping from your phone and as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, you let reality dawn on you — that was it. You sat up and pulled the AirPods out of your ears before you rubbed your eyes and let the muffled sounds of the city reach your ears. You couldn’t sleep the night before, both in excitement and nervousness, so you had decided to close your eyes and listen to music, finding comfort in the lullabies and soundtracks you had composed over the last year. Some could have stayed up doing crazy things in their last hours on earth, but not you. You had planned your last twenty-four hours to make sure you did everything you wanted and needed to, and sleeping, even if only a few hours, was fortunate.

You reached for your phone and your chest filled with relief. Finally. 

You got up, put a black silk robe on, and got to your piano room — a fairly recent addition to your apartment, all things considered. You had worried for the last couple of months that the one thing you had decided to do and leave behind wouldn’t become official on time, but you just received good news: you succeeded.

You walked into the room with dark wood floor and floor-to-ceiling windows letting the morning sun and skyline comfort you, and then you sat on the red velvety piano stool and took a deep breath. The nonprofit organization you had founded and coordinated for a year to ensure equal treatment and protection of professional rights in the music industry had been finally officially recognized by the government. This meant that it could provide counseling to professionals and fight for their rights, whether economical, social, or legal. Your shoulders relaxed as you let the worry dissipate from your body; that was one of the items on your bucket list. Now, you could get started on the others.

Your fingers touched the keys, but you didn’t press them. This was a very important moment for you, and it couldn’t be rushed. You had spent the last month composing multiple melodies and accompaniment to what you had hoped to create today: your last song. The only testament that mattered in the end; the only way you’d be able to leave behind the truth to anyone who would listen.

You made sure the microphones were close to the piano soundboard and turned the recording on before adjusting yourself. You closed your eyes, trying to let the moment take you. It would be the last piece of your soul that you’d leave behind, and you wanted it to be as genuine as possible.

You started delicately on keys with more treble, softly pressing them as a chick would chirp after hatching from its egg. You were born in a loving nest, innocent to the world around you darkening as sickness ravished your mother. You matched your innocence with darker tones, establishing a baseline you didn’t quite understand at the time. Yet, everything would take its toll, even on you. As your mother lost the ability to grow your family, it caused a rift. 

You tried to reach out to your parents but soon discovered that you were surrounded by tutors and incentivized to learn as many skills and talents as possible, not so you could make them proud, but so that you’d fit a list of requirements for your solitary standing. They didn’t congratulate you for your swimming medals, prizes for winning obstacle tracks in equestrian competitions, or trophies for your ballet performances. You would strain yourself trying to achieve the highest graces, have good grades, and excel in your piano lessons, but your parents never showed to your recitals or school meetings. Your nanny assured you they saw the videos and bragged about it to all their friends, and you wondered why they wouldn’t celebrate with you, then. The void grew between you and them, and you never learned to fly properly. Rather, you learned nothing could bridge the gap, neither the good nor the bad; they just weren’t there.

You pressed the keys more softly, trying to push the melody from lower to higher registers in an attempt to fill the emptiness inside your chest. Because although your parents never cared, the piano was always there for you. It didn’t hurt you, it listened, and it always let you echo your thoughts. You thought you had found your calling, and you pressed the keys gently, tentatively; the more you tried and delved into the world of music, the surer you became.

But you were naive. The piano was good and tried to keep you safe, but there was this spiral, and you thought it would lead you up, into a higher understanding, into love, but it went down, and down. So low you became spent and graceless, dwindling like a flame smothered by a cup. You needed something to help your broken and abused soul surrounded by nothing but darkness.

You found it in sparks. Sparks and sprinkles, as exciting as the higher keys you were pressing, but equally fleeting. They were a boost, a thrill, a euphoric moment of rapture, and a delusion. Because as those notes became ever ephemeral, so did your semblance of control. The void in their absence imposed grueling efforts to keep you afloat, and you struggled.

Your fingers pressed the keys desperately, oscillating between highs and lows as you tried to keep your head above water. You weren’t good, you were never assembled properly, you had no purpose, and sooner or later, you had to leave the nest. You didn’t expect to be kicked out coldly and at the same time thought it was fitting, seeing the lows you had reached.

Then, the register of your life changed because, in a turn of events, you had a choice. A choice of grand potential for a hefty price. You had no idea what you were doing, only that you wanted to be in the comfort you had known all your life, so you made a deal to ensure you wouldn’t lose what you knew, perpetuating the same vicious cycle that had kept you stuck and in the dark.

However, something unexpected came with that deal — someone. Someone who filled your baseline with shades of blue in a baritone range that tried balancing your deregulated soprano cries. Your life became lavish but eventually guided, and despite your mishaps, he was there. In spite of your mistakes, flaws, and petty decisions, regardless of his enabling role — he was there. 

But you didn’t know better. You refused to open your eyes, attempting to replace one addiction with another until you made the most egregious mistake.

You paused in an attempt to find the right key. Love was like the first sun rays of morning, and fated love was like a summer day. Yet, you knew and valued neither. You couldn’t recognize it from the bubble you were in, and so you twisted your red string of fate until it became feeble. Exhausted of integrity, there was nothing left, and you lost it all. It took a sizable fall for you to realize that life couldn’t be lived without hardships, that struggle brought purpose, that love was worth burning for, and that fate was but a potential course of action. You had picked your love over a year before fate presented itself, and you should have known better than to threaten and push him away.

But there was hope. You realized it the second you recalled the look in his eyes right before a tender last kiss and goodbye — you were given a chance. Because although there was a price to pay for your blindness and recklessness, your potential never waned. It took you a moment to see it, but now you were finally free. There was freedom in solitude, in living for yourself and deciphering what could make your last year worth it rather than living for someone else, or dreading anyone else, including yourself.

That was why your song would end on a high note — on a hopeful spring morning about to dawn. Not for yourself, but for the roots you planted. For others to have opportunities in your wake.

Your fingers stopped, and you looked down, feeling the smooth key surfaces almost as if they were part of you. That was where you wanted your story to end, that was what you were able to tell.

Before heading to the studio room, you stopped the recording and brushed your hand over the piano in a last goodbye. You put your headset on and spent the next hours mixing the other melodies and instruments with yours. You didn’t eliminate mistakes or fill the pauses — you wanted everything exactly as you expressed originally.

Because of your preparation and how long you had spent envisioning your legacy, you finished the song quite rapidly. You were happy with it and right on time for your daily massage.

You smiled and waved at everyone on your way to your appointment, asking your masseuse trivial things before you started. You had since learned her name, that her grandmother was sick, and that she had gotten that job by accident when another professional had failed to show up during recruitment. You had become intrigued with hearing other’s stories, searching to learn and live other experiences through them, since you wouldn’t have the time to do it yourself.

During the relaxing time of your massage, soothed by the ringing of the Tibetan Singing Bowl and the water streaming peacefully from the speakers, your mind wandered. Today was about closing chapters, and you were well on your way and had decided not to bother Jimin. You had spoken with his manager since Jimin had chosen songs of yours to perform and kept in touch. You knew that he was holding up well and although his manager never mentioned it directly, he didn’t have to. Whenever Jimin was seen in public, even now, a year later, he still had the pendant you gave him on your three-month anniversary. You remembered him fondly and suspected he did too. Whenever you crossed paths, he was gentle and never once imposing or invasive — he respected your decision and didn’t hate you for it, which you were grateful for. You’d like to believe he found comfort in the thought of you, as you did of him, and that his love could one day transform into affection for a close friend. Maybe it already had.

It was a good outcome for such a colossal mistake — not caring for him or meeting him, but forcing him to feel something that, in the end, might not have happened to begin with. You realized in hindsight, after processing your feelings and decisions, that you had made your choice before you acknowledged it. Just as you revealed during your song, you had chosen Yoongi before fate presented you with Jimin. And you didn’t do it just by taking the deal, but because you depended on him, opened yourself to him, and yearned for him long before you were aware. Jimin was a calm ocean, whereas Yoongi was a succession of massive waves you were eager to surf.

You probably should have never fallen for him, never made the deal, never looked at him twice, never let yourself feel cradled and safe in his presence, but it still happened. And maybe it had been for the best too, because you weren’t sure you would have ever met Jimin or composed any lullabies otherwise. You had become a person so lazy that you refused to get clean, preferring to die on a hill from dehydration and cardiac arrest rather than yield and fight for yourself. Yoongi cured you so you could see past it, and maybe Jimin could have as well, but you doubted you’d live enough to meet to him. You were even too lazy to wait for his love to bloom naturally — it could be that the person you had become just didn’t deserve him altogether.

As you got back to your apartment, you mused over every little choice that led you to the big decisions down the line. You were in love with a demon and about to be taken by him and still, you were nothing but calm. What did that make you? You shrugged and left the elevator — you felt how you felt, it was a bit too late for regrets.

“Ah, miss.” You nodded at the maid who usually tended to your needs, Vera. “The organization has just sent something in for your approval.”

She stepped aside for you to enter your apartment, the black silk robe rustling at your passage. You noticed the big frame on your red velvet couch and went in that direction, pulling the white sheet over it to reveal a portrait. A big portrait of you with a fairly gentle expression, glistening eyes, and long hair falling over your shoulder. Behind you, there were depictions of recording rooms, concert halls with orchestras, and on the corner, a grand black piano that you brushed your fingers over.

You analyzed the drawings around your figure more than your face and noticed something was missing. The portrait of your great-grandmother came to mind and your lips twitched. Unlike hers, yours didn’t involve darkness, but she had portrayed something important that yours lacked. Maybe you could ask Yoongi to add it before taking you.

“What do you think?” You asked Vera, whose wide blue eyes displayed her shock at being asked.

You chuckled; she couldn’t seem to get used to it.

“You look splendid!”

You pursed your lips, “But what about my legacy?” She blinked, caught off guard, and you pointed, “What represents me — does it make sense?”

“Of course!” She stepped forward to your side, and you waited patiently for her analysis. She was shorter than you, but delicate in her mannerisms. At about your age, you hoped she’d have a long life ahead of her. “They could have added children or the cartoons. You know, the ones you develop the soundtracks for.”

“Children?”

“For the lullabies.”

You chuckled, “Well. It might have made it goofy,” you shrugged, though a smile adorned your lips the whole time. “It should be serious, after all. The first of many.”

“You’ll probably have another one done down the line,” Vera mused. You were quiet but your eyes on her were just enough to pressure her to explain, “This is just the beginning of the organization and your leadership will last for many years.”

Your lips twitched; she was endearing, but there would be a new president of the organization very soon. 

“Thank you, Vera. It can stay there while I think about it, but in case anyone asks, it’s perfect.”

Vera nodded and left after probing whether you’d like brunch or lunch, and you refused both, much to her disappointment. You didn’t want her to find you dead and had tried to give her the day off, but she had declined — yet another thing you would bring up with Yoongi.

You glanced at the portrait again and nodded. You were happy everything was set and prepared for your inevitable passing. All your wealth would be left to the non-profit organization, all jobs associated with you would be secured, and your presence would linger in the cartoons and music spread all around, immortalizing you, in a sense. Not that you wanted that, but you did find joy in hearing your melodies played, regardless of the medium, and found the thought that it would outlast you comforting.

You sat by your desk and faced the blank sheets of paper before you. You had thought long and hard and, despite being estranged, decided you should leave something to your parents too.

You thought it would be harder to put your feelings to paper, but it was surprisingly easy. There was no point in grudges or accusations, or in causing pain or reopening wounds. You wanted them to have peace.

You started with your father’s, remembering the letter he had left you the day he kicked you out.

I know you probably regret it, but I wish you didn’t. Your efforts gave me a chance I was not ready to take. As a parent, that was all you could have done. In the end, I’m still thankful for all the opportunities that brought me here, even the ones I couldn’t appreciate before.

Then you wrote the one to your mother. It took you a moment to begin.

How difficult it must have been to suffer for so long to keep the promise to not let me go through life alone. I wish I could erase the pain that both the cancer and the loss of a child marked on your heart. I wish you had not seen me grow to become yet another pain. As always, I wanted to make you proud of the kid you had, or if not, for you to at least remember me. I’m sorry I failed to see that there was no way you could have forgotten. The right way to make you proud was to be happy; I lost track of that somewhere. I wish for you to know that I’ve found it, somewhat. I hope you know I’m happy, and that you can find happiness in that too.

You took a third paper sheet and thought of Jimin. You were afraid of how the news would impact him, and so you kept your message simple.

Please be happy, mimi. I wish for that with all of my heart.

Unlike your parent's letters, left folded and addressed over your desk, Jimin’s stayed in your hands. You looked at the clock and sighed, getting up to sit on your bed as you faced the city out of the window. Asking Yoongi’s opinion could prove unwise, but he would know. You hadn’t seen him in a year, but you trusted the demon you knew — the one who wouldn’t lie to you.

You quite simply waited for him like this. None of what you had done had changed anything — you still sold your soul, committed your sins, and were ready to be taken. You were more nervous about Yoongi’s thoughts on how you spent your last year than anything else. You pressed your lips; you wanted to make him proud.

You didn’t notice the clock pointer rushing over the twelve, only the growling. You turned to the slid-open doors of your bedroom to find Yoongi there, standing in his black suit, looking at you. Your eyes watered at the ethereal sight; not that you could have forgotten, but he was even more breathtaking than your memory could do justice. And he was there, just like he promised.

You glanced at the dogs, each by his side, black fur shrouded in mist with red glistening eyes trained on you. They were growling loudly but didn’t show signs of impatience, and you smiled.

“Legends speak of hounds that chase people like me.”

“They won’t chase you,” he said, and your heart shook.

“I wouldn’t run.”

Tears ran down your face as you got up with Jimin’s letter still tucked in your hands. You weren’t sad per se; you were very happy to see him again.

He entered the room, walking in your direction, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Despite your cry, he didn’t seem worried. Rather, he seemed impatient.

“Did you finish all your business?”

Your lips twitched in a smile, and you wiped your cheeks, “I knew you’d ask.” You raised the letter in between you two, “It’s for Jimin. I… don’t know if I should send it.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to make things worse for him,” you confessed, unsure on how much you should reveal. Gazing up into his eyes, you knew you didn’t have to go into details. “I just wanted him to know that I wish for him to find happiness, but I don’t know if it will make sense to him. You know, when I pass.”

Yoongi was silent, and you raised your eyes to him. There was no judgment on his delicate features; if anything, only understanding. “I can make it look like something sudden that you could be somewhat aware of. Like an aneurysm or a stroke.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and then you considered it, “The drugs… would have made it possible, no?” Yoongi nodded. “And that would justify why I’m leaving a letter like this. Okay, that’s a good idea,” you agreed, though you instantly filled your chest with air. You wondered if it would hurt. “Do you think it will help him? To deal with my— death?”

“I think he’ll be mad about it forever,” he revealed, shifting on his feet. 

“Why? If it was something unpreventable and sudden like this, shouldn’t it be…”

You couldn’t find the words, and he didn’t wait for you, “Whatever little time he could have had with you, he would have preferred it. Especially if you knew your days were numbered.”

You chuckled bitterly, “Then it doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he interrupted as you shifted the letter between your hands. “To receive a letter means you thought of him. Thought to give him closure. He will hate it because he had no control over it, but he’ll be comforted by the fact that you thought of him. Love… takes many forms.”

You smiled, “Okay, then let’s do that.” You placed the letter over your nightstand then turned to him, “There are… a couple of things I’d like to ask of you.”

He sighed, but you could see through his exasperation; he wasn’t annoyed, he expected it. “Yes?”

“Could Vera not find me dead? I don't want to traumatize her.”

He frowned, “Vera?”

“My maid.”

He blinked before chuckling, “Sure.”

“And… could you give my portrait a final touch?” He raised an eyebrow, and you pointed out of the room at the couch, “You’re missing in it.”

“This one?” He asked, and as you blinked, he was holding the portrait. 

You hummed, observing his reaction as he gazed upon that depiction of you. He took longer than you would have expected, going over every little detail. You couldn’t help your nervousness; it was as though he was evaluating your performance. Not of the painting, but of your life. You bit your lip with curiosity.

“And I’m missing?”

He glanced at you, and you nodded before he returned to the image with pursed lips. He was taking his time, and you couldn’t have guessed his thoughts — your cupid’s bow was much perkier than that.

“How should I do it?”

You mused about it and let your head lean against his arm as you observed the painting. “Something blue.”

His eyes stayed on you before he rubbed the portrait with his thumb ever so slightly. A shade of blue under the piano replaced its shadow, and you smiled. You felt incredibly at ease — now it was complete.

You straightened up and nodded, and in a second the portrait was over your couch again.

“Thank you.”

“Ready?”

Your smile widened, “Yes.”

You became deaf to the growling, the city noise, or even the thumping of your heart as you faced him. Your eyes drank every microexpression on his marble skin as you waited with bated breath for him to touch you. You didn’t know what was supposed to happen, only that you’d belong to him, and that was enough. You could only hope you’d get to feel his touch before dying, that you could remember the ache inside your chest at your longing, and that you’d see him again.

The back of his finger touched your cheek and your breath caught. The way he was looking at you entranced you and made you forget about everything that wasn’t your reunion. His dark eyes glistened with something you couldn’t decipher, but that had a sweet flame licking up your stomach to your chest, only to tighten its hold when his thumb brushed over your lips. You held your breath, unable to do anything that could stop this when he suddenly leaned in and crashed your mouths together. He raised you to him by the waist, lips voraciously devouring you, your taste, and your every breath. You met his hunger, gripping his dark hair so he’d stay forever on your lips, and you believed then that maybe he had been waiting for this just like you.

You didn’t want your kiss to simmer out, but his hand on your neck reassured you when he pulled away. You could see hunger and maybe even desperation in his glistening dark eyes, but then he blinked, and you knew it was time. He only needed one nod to press your lips ardently again, and you let go. You melted in his arms, guided by his taste and tongue as you abandoned your volition. Whatever he decided was what you wanted as well as long as he never let go, and he wouldn’t. You trusted him absolutely.

The flames of your desire and passion were rampant in you, without a semblance of weakness, not now that he was holding you. But you were used to your fervent yearning, so you didn’t understand when it went beyond your threshold until a second too late. Your heart beat intensely and your nails sank into his flesh, and as your mind flooded with dopamine, all you saw was white.

You woke up utterly dazed and confused, so nauseated you couldn’t distinguish above from below. But as you trashed around, trying to free your limbs and breathe, you realized you were on an expansive bed, fighting silk sheets. 

You sat up with your long hair falling messily over your face and frowned. You were in a wide bedroom with a tall ceiling with celestial scenes depicted and a large chandelier with black candles hanging from it. Over you, were black silk sheets just like the ones you liked, and over them and around you, red velvety pillows and blankets. The walls were dark, just like the floor, and to the side, the floor-to-ceiling windows let an unnatural shine in. You had no idea where you were and as you touched your chest and neck, you noticed your familiar black silk robe. Then you touched your lips, remembering just how frantically you were kissing him and—

You pushed the covers and jumped off the bed, running straight for the door. Tears were threatening to stream down your face not because you regretted or because you were frightened, but because you were alone.

Yoongi.

Your heart called out to him as you dragged the tall mahogany door open and rushed out. The whole mansion had dark walls and paintings whenever there was no door or on the ceiling, and you kept running until you found the central staircase. You looked down and, finally, your heart jumped; you took support on the banister and rushed downstairs until you could reach the first floor.

The stairs ended on a wide, several-floor high hall with only glass as walls. In it, at its center, was a red circular carpet with a black piano. It was as though Yoongi was waiting for you because as soon as your bare foot stepped over the carpet, he started playing.

You held your breath, unsure of what that meant or what you could say, but you still neared him. Slowly, your anxiety melted and your brow furrowed. What did he mean, he’d been waiting?

It took you a second to realize what was happening. He kept playing, eyes closed and head hanging back, and you observed him. You almost opened your mouth, but then you understood. You sat by his side on the long stool and pressed the keys with higher treble a bit tentatively, and he eyed you.

Your lips pursed as you retorted his glance, and then his music. You had been waiting too, you wanted to talk to him.

He heard your notes with closed eyes, and you saw him visibly relaxing before he played his reply.

I knew you’d be the one.

You froze, unable to press any keys, and just looked at him with wide, tearing eyes. He turned to you, reaching to cup your cheeks before pressing his lips to yours, and you were strangely revitalized, swimming in peace.

When he moved away, you asked him, “What now?”

“Now, I have you.”

Spooky BTS Fic Recs [smut]

I’ve never made a fic rec list but since it’s the height of summer and I’m missing fall weather and we all need to pay tribute to Vampire!Jungkook, I’m making a spooky list. Pretty much everything I read is smut and bc I can’t picture Nam2Seok like that I have no recs for them, sorry they’re just my bros (Hobi does make one appearance though).

🧛‍♂️ Jungkook 

Pi Gasu by @jungk0oksthighs [series, ongoing] - Vampire AU, donor reader It’s not an exaggeration when I say I check for updates on this fic daily. I’m addicted. This is the entire Vampire!Jungkook moment.

sweet tooth by @btsgotjams27​ [series, ongoing] - Vampire AU, donor reader Another Vampire!Jungkook moment. The recent flashback chapter has me absolutely hooked on where this story will go.

demon dickin’ down by @vin-taege [one-shot, 2k] - Demon AU, pwp, pure filth This might be my favorite demon smut ever.

wicked by @noteguk [one-shot, 9.1k] - Demon AU, pwp Corruption kink, seriously why is horny dream manipulation so hot

Bite Me, Jeon by @haliiimede [one-shot, 19k] - Vampire AU, friends to lovers Loved the vampire world (multiple vampire breeds) and the Illuminati? I come for the smut, stay for the world building lol.

scenes of misguided magic by @wwilloww​ (feat. Taehyung) [one-shot, 2.3k] - Magic AU A magical threesome for a spell. So hot!!

corrupt by @bratkook [one-shot, 5k] - Vampire AU, pwp German sex club and oc gets ittttt.

Consumed by @jkeuphoriadreamland (feat. Jimin) [series, complete] - Vampire AU, yandere Jimin is an absolute menace in this, but we love him for it.

oh my ghost by @mingoyeob-archive [one-shot, 13k] - Ghost AU Jungkook is a panty stealing ghost in your new apt.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by @softyoongiionly [one-shot, 7k] - Supernatural AU An unexpected visitor arrives on Halloween night. Such a cool concept! (And poor Kook.)

😈 Taehyung

divine seduction by @chateautae [one-shot, 11k] - Demon & Angel AU Demon King, Angel reader. Dom Tae. Eeeeessshhh. Such a good fic!

Obsidian by @kpopfanfictrash [series, completed] - Magic AU, enemies to lovers The world-building and concept in this fic is unparalleled. And this Tae is so hot.

tear you apart. by @bratkook [one-shot, 13.2k] - Demon AU, pwp This demon Tae should be illegal. Horny dream manipulation, as demons do. And Jungkook as a buzzfeed unsolved nerd, I love him.

Black Ravens by @kth1 [one-shot, 8k] - Vampire AU, pwp Dom vampire Tae. That’s all you need to know.

scenes of misguided magic by @wwilloww​ (feat. Jungkook) [one-shot, 2.3k] - Magic AU A magical threesome for a spell. So hot!!

Beastly Gods by @lemonjoonah [one-shot, 8k words] - Hybrid AU, yandere This one is so fucked in such a good way. Reminds me of a Grimm tale in a spooky forest.

Carved by @haliiimede [series, ongoing] - Demon AU, dark dark series, enemies to lovers This world is so interesting and I love Jungkook’s dynamic. One of the darkest fics on here, lots of trauma.

ALLURE by @badbhye​ [one-shot, 5.3k] - Vampire AU Dom but also soft and romantic Tae.

🧚 Jimin

Realm of Enchantment by @jkeuphoriadreamland (feat. Taehyung) [series, completed] - Fae AU, yandere One of my favorite Jimin fics. I think of this way too often. Faerie Jimin definitely has an FDA warning.

Lovely Demons by @kpopfanfictrash [one-shot, 42k] - Prince of hell, Witch AU, enemies to lovers This was one of the first fics I read by kpopfanfictrash and I was hooked. Everything they write is elite.

Treasure by @sombreboy [one-shot, 4.7k] - Faerie dragon hybrid, yandere I have a serious thing for Faerie Jimin.

oh, little red by @jincherie (feat. Yoongi) [one-shot, 13.3k] - Hybrid Wolf AU Y’all this is so hot. dom!Yoonmin, a dark forest, bondage, knotting, ok bye.

My Princess by @kth1 [one-shot, 10k] - Vampire AU, kinda pwp Jimin is so soft I love him.

🧟 Yoongi

Love Lockdown by @personasintro [series, ongoing] - Zombie apocalypse AU, enemies to lovers No smut yet but excited for it cause this dynamic is chef’s kiss.

Blood Bounty by @lemonjoonah (feat. Taehyung) [series, completed] - Vampire AU, yandere A mind fuck of a story, lemonjoonah never disappoints with the twists.

oh, little red by @jincherie (feat. Jimin) [one-shot, 13.3k] - Hybrid Wolf AU Y’all this is so hot. dom!Yoonmin, a dark forest, bondage, knotting, ok bye.

the dark. by @bratkook [one-shot, 18k] - Demon AU Love this concept! Mysterious Halloween club, sign me up.

the velvet devil. by @junghelioseok [one-shot, 10.5k] - Vampire AU Yoongi is so cute and protective.

Borderland by @mygsii [one-shot, 8k] - Demon AU The story building in this is great.

Crossing the Line - Part I

Pairing: Yoongi X Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged Marriage, Demon AU!, Romance, Future Smut

Words: 7k

Warnings: Vulgar Language, Summoning of Yoongles the demon, super minor character death, mentions of a car accident. (If I forgot anything please let me know).

Summary: As the last daughter of a dying business empire, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Or, well... The hands of a demon.

Shame was such an aggravating emotion. One that you’d been familiar with your entire life.

You’d never been the smartest daughter. Never been the prettiest teen. Wasn’t polite enough to sit through political meetings and corporate galas.

You weren’t interested in boys, no you were much more concerned with staying afloat in your cutthroat family...

Your older sister had beauty, as well as the tact of interpersonal relations.

Your older brother had the brains and smarts to operate behind the scenes of the corporation. Heading to Yale in the fall he will be the pride of the family.

Mother, a graduate of New York University holding a Masters degree in Business Management. She is beauty and brains wrapped in a size 3 pencil skirt and a blouse that tempts the unmarried and teases those with the hallowed rings.

Father, a graduate of Harvard, working hard for his double major in accounting and statistics. He was the heir to a corporate boheimeth that his parents had started in their early teens.

And you were the last one.

The vicious businesswoman. The one who would risk it all to prove that you were worth it. Being the youngest meant you had the most to lose. You weren’t the smartest, but you were cunning. You weren’t the prettiest, but you had assets that did the same. You weren’t the perfect depiction of pedigree, but you had guts. You were the risk taker. The one who saw others flaws and exploited them. You were ruthless and weren’t afraid to fail because you wouldn’t let it happen.

Until it was all ripped away.

March 24th started as they all do. Earlier than you wanted and with a delicately crafted ponytail.

But when 10:30 am rolled around, instead of heading in for your quarterly meeting with the marketing team, you were pulled aside.

Your family had been killed early that morning in a drunk driving accident after the company dinner you weren’t allowed to go to.

Your sister and father were dead within moments of impact. Your mother hung on, but died around twenty minutes later. Your brother made it all the way to the hospital until he died before he could hit the operating table.

Soon, you were being rushed to the hospital. Having to sign away rights and things of that nature. Doing the paperwork made your wrist ache, and you knew it was far from over.

More stacks.

More questions.

It was a shit show.

The police came and so did lawyers.

And then there was the cherry on top of the whole fucking cake.

Your mother, she was a clever woman, had put an asterisk in her will as well as your fathers. That in order for any of their children to inherit their company. They had to be married.

No half way commitment, marriage or no cash cow. When the lawyers had read that note aloud you almost puked.

And until you were married, Mathias Kruinski would be in charge of the corporation.

That fucking, misogynistic shit heap. Knowing that you would be the heiress no doubt crawled under his skin. He’s always liked your sister better anyways.

You had no doubt that he would try to get you out of the company with any chance he could. But there was a rule in the foundation of the company that if one of the ancestors wasn’t running it, then it wasn’t to be run.

However, cows produce milk, and farmers are always thirsty.

So, while you were busy pushing papers and making a laughing stock of your family and yourself. The big fuckers just kept getting richer...

And like fuck you were going to stand for that.

So, you researched the most ridiculous sounding, miracle working, things you were embarrassed to even think about.

And that’s how you found yourself out here in the wilderness, in the middle of the night. Shivering your perfectly shaved legs off.

Standing there you were really on your last hope. You’d called all your ex boyfriends in hope of persuading them into being your husband's for a few years. However, they had all moved on, finding wives and even another husband in one case. But the problem still stood. You were left without a husband. And that meant, Mathias still stood at the top.

So here you were, standing at the crossroads waiting for what you hoped would be your miracle. It was cold, and your skirt was a little shorter than necessary. However, if your sister could do it then so could you. If your mother could win a new asset to the company with a button of her shirt, then you could get a husband doing the same.

Surely you could, right?

Doubt swirled in your mind as you thought of all the taunts that sunk into your surprisingly thin skin throughout the years.

‘No man wants a girl who looks like a horse!’

‘You’re just a pretty face to add to the company... Not even a pretty face, just a name.’

‘She’s not beauty, she’s certainly not grace, and she’ll punch you in the face!’

Shaking your head with an aggressive snarl, you crossed your arms over your chest. You were being stupid sitting out here in the cold.

A clap of thunder rolled through the sky and you felt a shiver go down your spine. Something very wrong happened. Or, something very wrong was going to happen. For some reason, you now felt the strong urge to run. To get the fuck out of dodge while you could. Just as you were about to do that very thing, you suddenly couldn’t move.

“It’s not very often I see someone around here,” a low and disinterested voice rang. Spinning around on your heel you found the owner.

He stood before you, dressed in a beautiful black suit that seemed expensive, and you were trained to find things of that nature. His gaze moved up and down your body, seeming to assess you. Subconsciously you rubbed your hands together.

You couldn’t fucking believe it... Had it actually worked? Had the stupid kids story been true all this time?

“A-Are you, uh... are you the crossroad dude?” You asked, dropping formalities.

His eyebrow went up and he smirked. “Depends, why do you want to know?”

You strutted forward, heels sinking in the dirt. “Listen, I’m not in the mood for games. So either you’re the guy I’m looking for, or you aren’t. Simple as that. I need to know,” you urged.

“Say I am, what do you need from me?”

You looked him up and down. He was handsome, definitely could make a move as old money. Something people couldn't deny.

“I need you to marry me,” you declared.

His eyebrows shot up, and then he glared at you. “Are you baiting me into a church? Do you honestly think me to be that dumb?”

You shook your head furiously. “I don’t want a ceremony. I just want you to be my husband. It doesn’t even need to be for long. Just enough time for me to take over the corporation. Oh, and you’ll need to get me pregnant.”

He scoffed and turned away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know you need souls, if you do this for me you’d get mine in return!”

He froze and you held your breath.

“Do you know what you’re asking for? Do you know the gravity of the price you are to pay?”

He didn’t move.

“I know,” you answered.

You blinked and the man appeared in front of you, glaring with bright red eyes on display. You bit your lip and swallowed hard. Fear ran rampant through your chest, but you couldn’t keep your eyes from staring into the crimson depths of his own. He didn’t look like a demon, he looked like a damn angel... Although, perhaps he didn’t look like either.

No.. You knew it now...

He was Sin embodied.

“You don’t know, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Let me fill you in, shall I? If we sign this contract, make this deal... your soul will be mine,” he began.

“I know, and that’s fine-“

“Like an insolent child you continue to blather on before your elder is finished. Silence yourself,” he growled. His hand closed around your throat and you couldn’t breathe well.

Terror gripped your heart.

“Now, let me see how much it’s worth...”

His hand didn’t stray from your neck, but his grip became ice cold, as if water from the Arctic was being pumped through your veins. The pain overwhelmed you as he furrowed his brow. “Mmm, cold but still so bright. You’ve been hurt before no doubt,” he grinned. “This would be a great addition...”

You writhed in his arms, agony stealing away your breath. Shuddering when he let go, you collapsed to the dirt underneath you. Gasping hard you felt as though you couldn’t catch your breath. That kind of pain was terrifying. Was that what you’d be feeling if you promised your soul to him? Would this all be worth it?

No, you couldn’t back out now. Mathias wouldn’t win, not if you had to sell your soul to make it happen.

The man raised a brow at your appearance. You were well dressed, groomed and clean. No doubt a wealthier individual. Why would you be coming to him? Marry him? What a load of shit.

“H-how much is it worth?” You huffed, struggling to stand up.

He mused for a few minutes. “I’ll give you fifteen years to live, then I’ll come and collect.”

Fifteen years. That was enough time.

“The question is, what do you want?” He asked.

“I told you, marry me!” You yelled.

His eyebrows raised. “No, are you insane?”

“Are you allowed to refuse people? Even with a soul like mine?” You tried.

He furrowed his brows at you. Lowering himself to your level, his eyes were still a startling red color. “Listen, I can give you a husband. But to ask for me isn’t an option,” he said.

“I don’t want a human, because then there’s too much time wasted trying to convince them to marry me! I don’t want to be cheated out of my time. For all I know that husband will come that day before you come to collect. I’m on a time limit, and not just yours,” you explained.

“Lady, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got plenty of other people to make deals with-“

“What can I do to change your mind? What do you want?”

You watched as the man's eyes narrowed. “Your soul is supposed to be what I want, but what you’re asking isn’t something I can give as a lower demon. I’m not a miracle worker,” he told you.

Your heart sank. Even a demon was telling you that your idea wasn’t going to come to fruition. Fuck, everything you’d been working to do... it wasn’t going to happen, because you weren’t good enough.

“Fuck,” you whispered, head dropping as tears burned in your eyes. “God damn it!” You screamed.

The man watched as your fists clenched in the dirt underneath your body. The sheer shame and agony radiating off of you was intense, so much so that he was startled. Never in his years of wandering this stupid fucking road, waiting for the day a stupid human came along to ask for his help, had he felt pain such as this. How had this happened? What caused your soul to twist into this agonized lump in your throat.

“Fucking worthless piece of shit,” you growled, struggling to stand on your feet.

“We have a deal,” he said.

You peaked his interest. This pain had to come from somewhere. And he wanted to know how you had been turned into this. Your soul wasn’t blackened, like some he’s seen. In fact, yours wasn’t too bad. Maybe a little tainted with pride and greed. But most humans were like that.

Your tear stained eyes looked up at him with shock. “R-really? You’ll marry me?” You asked.

“You have fifteen years, once the fifteen years are up, I will collect your soul and it will be mine for the rest of eternity. Do you accept these terms?” He asked, settling on his knees before you.

“Yes, I accept,” you breathed.

“Then our contract only needs the binding seal,” he whispered, leaning forward.

You blinked before you felt his lips against yours. You tried to keep yourself from fighting him off. He kissed you deeply and so hard that your back bent slightly. His mouth was cool against your heated flesh. It was like swallowing heroin. His kiss made you incredibly thirsty for more. Never wanting to relinquish his mouth.

Perhaps making a child with him wouldn’t be so bad...

He pulled back after a few moments to stare into your eyes. “And so, you belong to me.”

—-

The car ride home was silent. The man you coerced into marrying you being sat in your front seat, leaning back.

“So,” you breathed, turning onto your main road. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Yoongi,” he said, eyes remaining shut.

“Alright, Yoongi... That’s, a, nice name,” you tried.

“For a business woman you’re really shit at this whole small talk stuff,” he commented. Again, not opening his eyes.

“I never told you I was a business woman,” you stated, keeping your eyes locked on the road.

Yoongi sighed and placed a beautifully manicured hand against the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, have you forgotten already that I’m a demon? I don’t need you to tell me those things,” he informed.

“Oh, well... I guess that should be implied then...”

The ride became silent once more. Yoongi seeming to fall asleep in the plush leather seat of your 2019 Cadillac CT8. At least now you could get a good look at him without him noticing...

Peering at him carefully through the corner of your eyes you examined your new spouse. His hair was soft platinum, almost white in color. It seemed smooth, but styled. You wondered if it was as nice to touch as it was to look at. His skin was pale, unmarred by any scars or blemishes that could make him seem human in any way. His suit was tailored, appearing to be an Armani or Tom Ford original. The beautiful satin material of his tie blended into the black of his suit with such cut precision it had to have been hand made. He really was a demon, wasn’t he? This wasn’t a joke, he was the real deal.

Your heart rate prattled in your chest dangerously. Fear began to take over as you realized you were damned to hell. Would this stupid company be worth your eternal damnation?

More importantly, would you even be remembered long enough for it to matter? And just because you managed to find a husband, didn’t guarantee that your company would succeed under your management. You had the guts and enough brains to make some deals that had turned out beneficial in the past... but that had always been your sister’s strong suit.

People liked her...

For fucksake, you had to go force a demon into being your husband.

Looking back at his sleeping for you saw red eyes that shone into yours-

Wait.

“You’re creepy, staring at me like that,” he said one eye peaked open a bit.

“I-I wasn’t-“

“If you have questions, ask them,” he demanded, shutting his eyes once more.

“I just...” You trailed off. What was there to say?

Honestly, now that you had what you originally thought you wanted... you were just scared. He was an honest to God Demon...

“Just? You humans are so fickle. Get what you want then don’t know what to do with it,” he sneered. “Whatever you decide, our contract is sealed.”

“I know, you still have my lipstick on you,” you laughed.

Yoongi rubbed his mouth, pouting a little as he saw some pink on his hand. You found his facial expressions oddly human, for a creature of pure evil.

“You don’t look like a demon,” you said, raising a brow.

“Cause I didn’t used to be one,” Yoongi said.

“What?” You said, turning to look at him. Your interest was thoroughly peaked.

“There’s a stop light,” he muttered.

“SHIT!”

You screamed as you slammed on your brakes and your car skidded to a stop just before a large semi barreled through the intersection. Your chest heaved at your near death experience. Is that how fast it happened for your family members? That heart shattering panic that floods into adrenaline.

“You okay?” Yoongi’s voice came through your thoughts as you stared ahead, mouth agape.

The fear and anxiety poured out of you in a delicious amount that Yoongi welcomed. Your emotions were already feeding him well. Being away from the crossroads wouldn’t be so bad if you provided this routinely. A small smile graced his face as he thought of all the peril he could put you in, only to save you at the last second... the energy you’d give off then might intoxicate him.

“Shut up,” you growled, driving off once the light turned green.

Yoongi just shrugged and leaned against the cool window yet again.

—

You opened the door to your apartment, dropping your keys in the bowl as you did every night. Exhaustion coursed through your veins and all you wanted was to go to sleep. You had a big corporate meeting in the morning that no doubt would be a pain in your ass fully rested. Now with merely three hours to sleep, you already hated it.

Just as you were going to turn into your bedroom, a cough caught your attention. Yoongi stood in your doorway, looking oddly appropriate with the chic interior you selected. He examined your face before raising an eyebrow.

“Where will I be staying for the next fifteen years, my wife?” He asked, a sinister gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes and pointed to the couch. “Sleep there, or brood, whatever you do. Knock yourself out,” you said, almost teaching your bedroom once more. But he had to open that beautiful mouth again.

“Why can’t I sleep with you? I thought I was to be your husband?” he said, a mocking frown sat on his lips.

“You aren’t my husband yet, and I don’t need the company thinking I roped you into marry me because I was pregnant. No, we should be married a little while before we try for a baby,” you nodded.

“Do you even think I am capable of impregnating you?”

“I’m sure you can find a way,” you said looking down at his crotch before looking back up in his eyes.

Yoongi glared at you before walking over to the couch and sitting down with grace. His eyes trailed over your form. “I’m sure I will.”

“Goodnight, Yoongi,” you said, walking into your room.

—

“Mmm, so warm,” a voice murmured to your right.

A strong embrace surrounded you. Comfort suffused your entire being. When was the last time someone had held you in their arms? How long has it been since you felt the warmth of another body near yours?

“Warm, soft... fuck I forgot how soft human women are,” a deep voice grumbled.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and looked down at your waist. Pale arms were secured there.

“What the fuck?!” You screamed, kicking backwards.

A groan erupted from the demon behind you as he fell off the bed.

“Yoongi?!” You yelled.

“Fucking-fuck, we’re definitely not having a kid now!”

“What are you doing in my bed??” You screamed.

“Well I couldn’t sleep last night, and you started up a fuss in here so. I came in, you were thrashing around in your sleep, I walked over then you kinda man handled me and threw me in bed with you. Unfortunately we weren’t able to try for that baby you want. But, another day. Anyways, you forced me to cuddle you and eventually you fell back asleep. And now I think you’ve ruptured a testicle,” he groaned.

Your cheeks flooded with heat as you tried not to picture yourself throwing the attractive male into your bed. “I-I’m so sorry, uh. We have to go, you should propose in front of the office today. That way, there won’t be any doubt,” you coughed, heading for your shower quickly.

While the hot water rained down on you, you couldn’t help but have the phantom touches of Yoongi on your skin. His strong arms holding you flush against his body made you shiver, despite the scalding liquid hitting your flesh.

“Get a hold of yourself... he’s a deal and nothing more,” you whispered.

“Are you almost done? I gotta piss!”

“An annoying deal.”

—

The walk to the office felt like going to the gallows. You told Yoongi you needed to buy a ring first but he denied you, insisting he’d do one better.

The doorman bowed to you as he entered the door, eyeing Yoongi with curiosity.

“Miss, who is this man?” He asked, halting your movement.

“My boyfriend, Alfred, let him through please,” you sighed.

Alfred looked at you in shock. “M-Miss?”

“Yoongi have you never been to the office before?” You asked, lying through your teeth.

Yoongi could feel the sensation of how your lies affected you. Fuck it was intoxicating... how your heart sped up and your hands became clammy. But he’d play along, such was the deal.

“Don’t think so babe, you Guard this place like an angry shark,” he teased.

A scoff left your lips. “I do not, now come on. I don’t want to be late for my meeting,” you said ushering him inside passed your stunned doorman.

The two of you made it to the elevator and you looked at Yoongi, wrought with nerves.

“Do you think he bought it?” You asked, grabbing at your skirt anxiously.

“Hook, line and sinker my dear,” Yoongi soothed.

Your heart let up a smidge, letting you breathe a little easier now.

The elevator rose to the 17th floor and the pair of you got off. “Should we hold hands?” You asked.

“Will seemed forced, better not now,” he offered. A nod set the two of you ahead.

“So before the shareholders meeting, I’m going to act as if you’re dropping me off. Then-“

“Yeah drop to my knees and beg for you,” he growled. You swallowed hard before pushing him away.

“Shut up, grovel and then I’ll think about it,” you sneered.

Yoongi merely shrugged before you finally made it to your desk. You arranged all your paperwork as always, handing random objects to Yoongi as you did so.

“Okay, so my meeting is in about twenty so please make sure you go and drop off the prescription at 10:00, no later,” you demanded, making up some mundane errand to ease suspicion.

“Yes, yes babe, I got it,” Yoongi said, helping you gather your things.

“Walk with me?”

“Always.”

Yoongi followed you, gathering the attention of the whole floor while he was at it. You tried to hold your smirk until later. The fellow woman watched with keen interest as a new specimen came into their den.

Yoongi walked forward, wrapping his hand in your easily, locking his fingers into place as it seemed.

You let him hold your hand as you approached the meeting room. He was silent, brooding and examining everyone in the room. Having him made you feel exhilaratingly powerful.

“This is me, I’ll see you later, yes?” You said, turning to face him. Suddenly, Yoongi looked nervous.

“Hang on,” he said, holding your wrist.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, genuine.

“Excuse me, everyone! Can I have your attention?” Yoongi yelled. Everyone in the conference room and those in the office looked your way.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up and follow me,” he whispered. “Four years ago, I met a woman. She was quick witted, sassy, stubborn and a genuine pain in my ass.”

The office murmured as he continued.

“But, she has a soft spot for cats and cheap wine. She likes to fall asleep while watching movies because it’s too quiet without the noise. She hates black coffee, but drinks it because her mom did. Her favorite food is Mac n cheese with extra cheese. All of these things I found out along the way... all of these things, are just a few examples of why I love her so much,” he said.

Your eyes widened. T-those were all true... how did he..?

“And, everyday I find something new that makes me love her just that little bit more. So, Y/N,” he said, getting down on one knee and bringing out a beautiful ring, “would you do me the honor of letting me find a new thing I love about you each day... for the rest of our lives?” He asked.

A collective gasp rang throughout the office. Yoongi waited patiently, looking nervous as hell. You felt a real smile grace your face as you nodded.

“Yes! Yes yes, I will Yoongi!” You cried. Tears formed in your eyes as Yoongi stood up, slipping the ring on your finger and wrapping his arms around you.

The building erupted in claps and cheers. You clung to Yoongi tightly. You smiled so wide your cheeks began to hurt. Because finally... finally you would have access to your birthright.

And no one would be able to stop you.

Yoongi let you go, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. A couple girls came up and started cooing at your ring, you simply giggled along with them.

A few men gathered around Yoongi patting him on the back and introducing themselves. He eased right in, conversing and making his impression.

Mathias came from the conference room, looking at you and Yoongi with an ice cold stare, and a viper like grin on his face. “My dear Miss Y/N, congratulations,” he stated.

People scattered as he approached, knowing a snake in the grass when they saw one. You stood firm, Yoongi coming over and wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Thank you Mathias,” you smiled. Yoongi leaned forward, shaking his hand with a strong grip.

“I’m Min Yoongi. My family runs and operates several vineyards in the West. I’m sure you’ve heard of Chateau de Fleur?” He said.

“Yes, lovely company. That was quite a speech about our young Miss Y/N. I'm sure you’re aware of her involvement in the company,” he stated.

“Mhmm, Y/N has told me much about her work and her family’s history. Incredible fundamentals this corporation is founded on,” he noted.

“Indeed. See, Miss Y/N... I had no idea you were in such a serious relationship. I’ve known you since you were a child, I thought I could read you better than that,” Mathias tutted.

“Perhaps you were too focused on the young girl I was instead of the woman I am becoming,” you warned.

Yoongi let an easy smile fall on his face. “Well babe, I’m sure this is an important meeting. Don’t want to keep your people waiting there. I’ll see you at home, yes?” He said, smiling brightly.

A soft flutter erupted in your stomach.

Someone would be waiting for you to get home. Someone was going to be anticipating you walking through those doors... not just dirty dishes and stale air. A... a person.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you whispered.

“I love you,” Yoongi hummed, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, dangerously close to your lips before giving a short nod to Mathias. “It was a pleasure, I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Likewise, I’d love to hear more about Chateau de Fleur, Perhaps there is a deal in our future?” Mathis hunted.

Yoongi beamed widely. “I’d love to explore those options, we should talk about that babe. Bye!” He waved, heading towards the elevator.

“Interesting young man,” Mathias breathed.

“Yes, he is,” you grinned.

“Come, the shareholders meeting was already delayed because of you. Hurry up,” Mathias growled. You rolled your eyes and headed in, a weapon on your finger more deadly than a knife or a gun.

Marriage.

—

“Yoongi, are you going to help me pick out these napkin colors or are you letting me pick the ivory?” you tested. Yoongi grumbled from his place on the couch.

“Who cares? People are going to wipe their mouths with them anyways,” he sighed.

“I care,” you murmured, selecting the ivory color on your phone. “It’s ivory and there’s nothing you can do about it,” you smirked.

“You realize that I can change that order, right?”

You scoffed. “I thought you were just a lower demon.”

Suddenly, you were pinned against the wall in a painfully tight grip. Fear flushed your being as you stared into two bright red eyes. Pain flared in your throat as Yoongi’s grip grew tighter. Air flow was restricted and you seemed to get a little delirious from the lack of oxygen. A whimper escaped you as Yoongi leaned in close.

“I may be a lower demon, but that is still a demon, no? I have power, I can make you suffer.” To emphasize his point, his thumb nail drove into the soft flesh of your neck, tickling your jugular with fearful accuracy. “ Your clock is ticking, brat. Better make eternity in Hell worth it.”

Then, he was back on the couch. As if nothing had transpired between the two of you. Your heart hammered dangerously against your chest as you looked at him now. His demeanor completely different. You had underestimated him.

A mistake you wouldn’t make again.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you leveled your breathing. Checking the coffee pot you sighed, shaking as you spilled your caffeinated beverage all over the counter. Your voice, however, was eerily calm.

“So, ivory?”

--

You walked into work, knees a little wobbly. Yoongi’s attitude towards you hadn’t really changed. But it didn’t need to. The promise was there. The thought that if he really wanted to do something he could It wouldn’t take him long at all. Simple snap of his fingers and-

“Y/N? You okay?” A soft voice echoed in your ears.

“Mhm?” you said, lifting your head and finding Jungkook, your assistant, looking at you with concern.

“You’ve been staring off into space for a while. Everything okay?”

You cleared your throat and nodded your head. “Yes, I’m fine. But, thanks Jungkook. I mean it,” you smiled. Jungkook seemed to turn a shade pinker at your tone before focusing back on his paperwork in front of him.

Standing up you collected your own documents and headed towards your cubicle.

Work progressed the same as it always did. Slowly, but surprisingly without incident. It was normal for someone, mainly a member of the board to come by and harass you... At least a little snide comment. But there was nothing today. You leaned over to Jungkook and nudged his chair a little as you walked by. He turned to you with a confused expression.

“What?” he asked.

“Why hasn’t anyone come over here?” you asked.

“Don’t question it, I’m not,” he whispered.

“But don’t you think it’s weird? I mean... Usually I’d have been called a name by now,” you said, baffled by the lack of cutting vocabulary being thrown in your direction for the day.

“Probably because no one want to incur the wrath of your fiance,” Jungkook rebuked.

“What?” you asked, shock suffusing your being.

“Yeah, you didn’t see the way he looked at everyone. It was like they were all prey and he was a hunter with the prized doe on his arm,” Jungkook explained, turning back to his cold latte and even colder stats.

Your face turned an embarrassing shade of red at his statement. Did Yoongi really do that? Was he looking at you that way?

Shaking your head you scoffed. “Please, he’s just over protective,” you said, wanting the conversation to end already.

“You’re really lucky, he obviously cares a lot about you,” Jungkook announced.

You let yourself smile, heading back to work.

The day continued, you let yourself stand a little taller, walk with purpose around the building. Everyone noticed your boost in mood, some people even making mention in passing.

‘You’re in a good mood today?’

‘Looking chipper Miss Y/N!’

‘With a man like that I’d be happy too!’

Yoongi was a little shit. But if he fulfilled his promises, then maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey babe,” a husky voice interrupted your thoughts. You froze as Yoongi stood before you.

Speak of the Devil and he appears.

“Hi,” you smiled softly, moving to hug him.

Yoongi and yourself had come to the conclusion that PDA was to be expected. There were rules that you weren’t to cross for your own sanity. No kissing on the mouth. No touching when at home, unless there was company over. No groping, fondling or anything of a sexual nature unless child making was involved.

Yoongi whined about that last one.

“We should practice before we try to make a baby for real. It’s important to practice those things,” he’d complain.

He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your head. “How’s my girl?” he asked.

“Good,” you whispered back. Eyes shining as you beheld the man you managed to snag as your husband, even if it was at the cost of your soul.

“Brought you some lunch,” he said, holding up a bag for you to see. A smile broke out across your face.

“Is it what I hope it is?” you announced, slightly bouncy on your feet.

“Mac n’ cheese with extra cheese,” he nodded. You squeaked in approval, gathering your stuff and heading to your desk. Yoongi followed close behind. Everyone looked up, as they always did. Yoongi practically demanded the attention of a room, without even trying.

Sitting down, Yoongi pulled up a chair. He watched you as you ate, enjoying every morsel.

Humans were such simple creatures in his mind. Things such as food and shelter are so important, so much so that it morphs into greed, gluttony and the seven deadly sins that he lives by.

But watching you now, enjoying something so mundane, made him chuckle lightly. You turned and looked at him, confusion on your face. As well as a bunch of mac n’ cheese. Yoongi shook his head, bringing a napkin up to wipe your mouth.

“You’re being messy, baby,” he tutted, making your heart flutter in your chest.

“S-sorry,” you whispered, eyes big at his proximity. His eyes flashed to your lips, then back to your eyes. Slowly, he leaned in. Without your knowing, you did too. You could feel his breath on your face. A minty scent hitting your nose.

Just as you closed your eyes to accept the coming contact, someone cleared their throat behind you. You jumped back, looking up as your cheeks flushed red. Mathias stood there, an unimpressed smirk on his face.

“Now, this is a professional environment Ms. Y/N, please try to contain yourself,” he scolded. You bit your lip and nodded lamely.

Yoongi practically basked in the sheer hatred and shame rolling off your body. It was exhilarating to feel your emotions. He absorbed it all, making you feel unusually drained. Gripping the table you felt yourself falling to the side slightly.

Yoongi jumped in to play his role dutifully.

“Baby, Y/N? Are you alright?” he asked, placing his hand on your back. You nodded, already having the sensation pass.

“Yeah, thank you, Yoongi,” you said, genuine.

“Perhaps you should go home for the day, rest up. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to the heiress of our company,” Mathias breathed, eyeing you with pity. But it wasn’t cause you weren’t feeling well. No, the pity was for himself. The fact that he had to be civil with you, that the company was yours and not his.

Yoongi stood in front of you before you had a chance to respond. “C’mon babygirl, I'll take you home,” Yoongi announced. Another pet name that made your heart hammer and lower stomach clench.

“I-Jungkook still needs-“ you started, but Mathias quickly shut you down.

“I’m sure the boy will survive without you for the next three hours. Head home Miss Y/N,” the snake smiled. “And feel better.”

—

The two of you made it out to the car, Yoongi’s grip still secure around your waist. You sighed and moved out of Yoongi’s grasp.

“There’s no one watching anymore, you don’t have to hang on like that,” you said, still a little wobbly on your feet.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re no fun when you’re like this,” he stated, bringing you back into his arms.

“Yoongi,” you breathed.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my bride,” he snickered. You shoved at his shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Yoongi!” you yelped, hanging on tighter before he collapsed backwards, you square on top of him.

“Fuck!”

“Yoongi! I’m so sorry!”

“Fucking fuck, Y/N, do you have a kink for permentantly damaging people that I don’t know about or what?”

“It was an accident, don’t be so over dramatic,” you said, standing up quickly.

Yoongi groaned and moaned on the floor, being his usual pain in the ass self. Without thinking much about it, you held your hand out for him. Looking at the offer, Yoongi accepted, having you help haul him to his feet without much fuss.

“Thanks,” he said, brushing off his shoulders and looking at you with mild interest.

“Sure,” you said, turning to go to your study.

“Wait a second,” he said, grabbing your wrist gently.

“What?” You asked, looking back at him.

“Don’t you want to finish your food?” he asked, holding out the bag to you again.

“No thanks, I’m kinda nauseous now,” you said, holding your stomach.

“Okay, whatever you want,” he said, putting the mac n’ cheese in the fridge. You smiled and started to go upstairs when he spoke again. “You look nice today, by the way,” he mentioned.

“Huh?” you asked, brows furrowing.

“I said you look nice, is it a crime to give you a compliment?” he said.

“No, it’s just, no ulterior motives? Is this just a ploy to get in my pants or-”

“All I did was say you look nice! Jeez, what’s up with you and your weird conclusion jumping. Maybe I did it just to be nice huh? Maybe just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I’m not nice,” he said.

You felt shame roll off you again, good lord was it irritating. Why did a scolding from him make you feel so... disappointed?

“Sorry, guess I’m just a little-woah,” you said, wavering on your feet.

Yoongi could feel your light embarrassment, but before he could stop himself, he was absorbing the negative energy from you. And since he’d already fed on you once today, twice would be pushing it for your body.

“Hang on,” he said, walking up to you.

“What is it?” You asked, looking at him in confusion as he lifted you off your feet again.

“You can’t keep having negative emotions around me,” he said, carrying you up the stairs towards your room.

“What do you mean? I can do whatever I want with my emotions!” you yelled as he kept going on up the steps.

“Not around me you can’t,” Yoongi said softly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked as he brought you to your room.

“Negative emotions, it’s what demons feed off of. What we crave, shame, embarrassment, humiliation and disgrace. We love it, the degradation it gives to you humans. We absorb it into our bodies, and that’s what keeps us going. So, every time you have a negative emotion around me, I’ll absorb your energy and it’ll drain you. That’s why you almost fainted earlier, because of me,” Yoongi explained.

“So, no negative emotions around you?”

“Not unless you wanna keel over,” Yoongi stated.

“You think I’m a fragile little girl?” you asked.

“In the hands of a demon, anything is fragile,” he warned.

Setting you on the bed Yoongi began to head towards the door, when your hand shot out on its own accord. Betrayer. Just as you felt the cool of his skin you froze. You weren’t sure why you’d grabbed him, what purpose you had for doing so. But it felt nice to hold his hand, it was smooth against your own, hands that had been dirtied by years of greed. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from Yoongi. But he was always unpredictable.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his hand locked with yours.

“I-I don’t know why I did that,” you hastily told him. Moving to break your hands apart, Yoongi simply placed his other hand on top of your two combined ones.

“You humans are always so fascinating. Not knowing why you do things, when you are in full control of your actions. You wanted to touch someone, I’m here, so you touched me. And that’s okay,” he said, giving you a soft smile.

“It-It is?” you asked, wincing.

“Listen, Y/N, we need to get over whatever this weirdness in between is, we aren’t going to convince people we’re in love if everytime I touch you you shy away or if I can’t kiss you. There’s no way Mathias will believe our marriage is real,” he said.

With a sigh you confirmed your fears.

“I know,” you said, running your fingers through your hair.

“I’m your partner in this, not your enemy,” Yoongi said, sitting down next to you.

“You’re right. I’ve been way too restrictive for my own comfort. If I want to kick Mathias out of my company for good, I have to be stronger,” you said to yourself.

“That’s correct,” Yoongi smiled.

“I will be stronger,” you glared at the wall, “I will win.”

Yoongi nodded.

“You’re right, and with me at your side, you’ll be unstoppable,” he smirked.

“Yoongi,” you said, jumping up. “We’ve got some work to do.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Yoongi answered.

I have to say that the last chapter is one of the most beautoful things I have read.. so much yearning and just.. I cant!!! Overall, great story with amazing character development. Recommend! <3

Too Sweet | MYG | Masterpost

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: 40.5k

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, trespassing, unprotected semi-public and public sex, nipple play, mentions of blood, biting, hair pulling, bruising, sprinkle of masochism, choking and breath play, degrading thoughts, blowjob + face fucking, subspace and aftercare, making bad decisions/mistakes, breaking Jimin's heart 💔, learning things the hard way, falling in love, mentions of death

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!

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Inspired by Hozier - Too Sweet (Official Lyric Video)

“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?”

Chapter 1 - You keep telling me to live right

WC: 7.3k - May 30th “Such a beautiful voice out in a wind so cold.” [Snippet]

Chapter 2 - To go to bed before the daylight

WC: 5.4k - June 6th “You know you already sold your soul, right?” [Snippet]

Chapter 3 - But then you wake up for the sunrise

WC: 8.9k - June 13th “You sold your soul to me,” he said calmly, eyeing your trembling figure knowingly. “What do you think I bought?” [Snippet]

Chapter 4 - You know you don't gotta pretend

WC: 8.2k - June 20th “I can’t do it, kitten,” he said firmly, grabbing your jaw so you wouldn’t avoid the truth. “No matter how much you’d like me to.” [Snippet]

Chapter 5 - But who wants to live forever, babe?

WC: 10.5k - June 27th “Legends speak of hounds that chase people like me.” “They won’t chase you.” “I wouldn’t run.” [Snippet]