Jun 16
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jai's taglist;
against my better judgment jsdkfs i'm reinstating my taglist. you can join by submitting this google form (it won't collect your email address).
alternatively, if you subscribe to me on AO3 you'll get an email notif when i post
✨ jai poll time ✨
hi friends~ this is a poll for my besties who read ship fics~
i have pretty bad writer's block rn, and i think it's cuz i'm trying too hard to finish the current chaptered fic i'm working on. one of my friends convinced me to return to my idea of rewriting more of my reader-insert fics as ship fics. it could get my brain inspired while being low-effort and chill, y'know??
if anyone is interested, pls help me pick some fics to rewrite! if you don't know all my fics, here's my reader-insert masterlist
ty for playing along 🥹💜 i'm excited!
which fic should jai rewrite first?
only here to sin (taehyung, college, "enemies" to lovers)
ghostface killer (yoongi, dead dove, halloween)
what the fire gave us (jungkook, dystopian, superpowers)
blunt rotation (jimin, law school, weed fic)
nectar (jimin, vampire college series, roommates to lovers)
cybersex (yoongi, phone sex hotline, brother's best friend)
repeat offense (seokjin, reincarnation, demons, unrequited love)
the grinch | kth + pjm
A Love Song (Explicit Version) drabble (is it a sequel? a fantasy? who's to know??): Taehyung saw the viral prank of dads dressing up as the Grinch to terrify their children and decided, since he'll be a father soon, he's gotta get some practice in
Relationship: Rapper Taehyung x Idol Jimin
Rating: Teen
Tags: Omegaverse, Omega Jimin, Alpha Taehyung, Established Relationship, Attempt At Humor, Mpreg
Word Count: <1k
A/N: lol don't even ask me what this is. just watch the tiktok okokok
🎁 Advent Calendar Masterlist
“There’s nothing like the sound of screaming children to really get you in the holiday spirit,” Yangyang twirls his glass by the stem, sloshing red wine too close to the edge. “Don’t you think?”
Sitting on the couch beside him, Yoongi snorts. He’s wearing scent blockers today, thank God. Otherwise, his annoyed alpha scent would make the mix of pheromones in the room even harsher.
Fear, confusion, excitement—the pungent mix of pheromones spins around Jimin’s head, sloshing his brain like Yangyang’s wine. Dizziness and scent sensitivity weren’t pregnancy side effects anyone warned him about. Then again, Jimin doesn’t divulge much. He walks a strange line, being a celebrity who must be public enough to share big life updates with his fans and private enough to keep the meaningful details to himself.
He shares those details with Taehyung, of course. Especially when Taehyung is the cause of his terrible side effects.
“I feel like I should do something…” Jimin winces as yet another shriek pierces his eardrums. He swears the baby knows they’re amid chaos because she kicks Jimin relentlessly.
“Nah,” Yoongi leans back on the couch with his arms folded against his chest. “There’s no stopping Taehyung when he gets like this.”
Across the living room, Taehyung is a lanky, lime green piece of fuzz. With unnaturally long fingers, he snatches a small child by the ankle, flipping her upside down. He’s got another kid trapped by the waist, and a third is beating the shit out of his leg with an inflatable baseball bat. Around him are more children, some laughing, most screaming or crying. Presents are strewn about. The rest of Dreamscape, along with other industry friends, watch the mess from afar, sipping wine in gossiping clusters. The Christmas tree is laid out on its side on the floor, a mess of ornaments and broken pine needles.
The whole thing is certainly a sight to see. And hear.
Seokjin must not think so highly of Taehyung destroying what was meant to be a peaceful holiday party, given how he storms out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell.
“Kim Taehyung! I’m going to f—” He purses his lips, probably thinking through how to express himself without cursing in front of the children. “I’m going to kill you.”
“You can’t kill the Grinch,” one of the little kids shouts at Seokjin. His bottom lip juts all the way out, so pouty and adorable. “His heart has to grow.”
Taehyung drops the upside-down kid. Her scream is muffled by the plush beanbag he throws her in. “Yeah, Seokjinnie hyung. My heart has to grow.”
As terrifyingly ugly as the Grinch costume is on Taehyung, especially the mask, Jimin thinks there’s something adorable about how well he plays the role. Maybe his sprinting through the room to launch himself at the Christmas tree wasn’t ideal, and maybe he shouldn’t have screamed at the children as he dragged them around the room. But overall, Jimin finds it endearing. Probably because he’s in love with the man in the Grinch suit, or whatever.
“I fear for your children, Jimin-ah.” Yangyang shakes his head and takes another sip of his wine. “I’m sure Baby Number One is already traumatized in utero.”
“She’s dancing to the music, actually.” Jimin rolls his eyes, but there’s no stopping the smile that blooms across his face when Yangyang places his hand on Jimin’s stomach and giggles in wonder at the baby kicks.
Looking up, Jimin locks eyes with the Grinch, who is now on the ground, getting pummeled by a handful of six-year-olds with sugar cookie induced mania. Only Jungkook bothers to come to Taehyung’s rescue, though he is raged upon by the children for being the Grinch’s accomplice in stealing Christmas.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Grinch?” Jimin shouts over the noise. Though he can’t see Taehyung’s expression through the mask, Jimin knows his mate’s beaming smile mirrors his own.
“These Whos are hard to frazzle,” Taehyung chokes out while the little girl he’d thrown before jumps on his back and hangs there with her arms around his neck. “But we did our worst, and that’s all that matters!”
@remmykinsff @rkiveslibrary
this is not a romance | kth + myg
Faced with the reality that he's "getting old", Yoongi made a rash decision. And now there's a college kid sitting on his six-million-won sofa and drinking his thirty-three-million-won Romanée-Conti wine.
Relationship: College Student Taehyung x CEO Yoongi
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Age Difference, Strangers to Lovers, PWP, Drunk Sex, Feminization, Service Top Taehyung, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Fluff, Aftercare, Attempt at Humor
Word Count: 4,096
A/N: I wrote this fic for my lovely moot, Kaeli 🥹 I also wrote this for Writers for Relief, which you can check out on Twitter and Bluesky. As always, please mind the tags.
Soundtrack: ENHYPEN - XO (Only If You Say Yes)
Romanée-Conti Grand Cru, a red Burgundy vintage. Yoongi hates red wine, but he bought this one because it goes down silky smooth, weightless on the tongue. It’s got years behind it, a decade spent perfecting its notes of raspberry and plum.
A decade—just five years shy of the number of years between Yoongi and the young man slouched on his sofa, legs spread, wine glass cupped in one hand resting atop one muscular thigh. Taehyung, or Tae, as his dating profile had said, gazes up at the painting above Yoongi’s fireplace mantle. His dark eyes sweep over the canvas like paintbrushes, and the tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips. He lifts his snapback to brush his hair back and flips it around. A classic—the backwards cap look. Paired with a baggy hoodie, joggers, and Air Forces kicked off at the front door, Taehyung looks every bit the college student he claims to be.
He’s adorable.
Yoongi doesn’t understand why the fuck he’s here.
Taehyung’s gaze shifts toward him, eyes wide but still clear, despite being on his third glass of wine.
“That’s Magritte?”
“Mhm.” Yoongi nods, swirling his own glass and shifting from one foot to the other so he can lean against the arm of the sofa.
Taehyung lets out a low whistle that skates along the rim of his glass. “That shit must’ve been real fucking expensive. I didn’t realize you got money money.”
“It was a gift, actually,” Yoongi lies.
This stranger doesn’t need to know he bought it at a Christie’s auction in New York. Not that the rest of his penthouse does anything to hide his wealth. From the look Taehyung gave him when he offered the wine, Yoongi figures the kid was caught off guard long before noticing the art on the walls.
But that he knew the artist... That catches Yoongi off guard.
He takes a sip, savoring the wine’s complexity. Rose petal, peony, blood orange, spice. He licks his teeth as the taste settles against his tongue.
Taehyung follows suit, drinking and then licking his lips, wine-red and glistening in the room’s soft lighting.
“So…” Taehyung sets his now thrice-emptied glass on the coffee table—but only after finding a coaster. “What do you, uh, wanna do?”
Yoongi’s stomach flutters and swoops as heat creeps up his chest. This is the part he has been dreading all night, even before he buzzed Taehyung into the building barely an hour ago. Granted, none of this is Taehyung’s fault, specifically. It was Yoongi’s friends who put him up to this. All it took was one offhand comment, and they ran with it, much to Yoongi’s dismay.
“Did you just say you’re in your mid-thirties?” Hoseok had snickered.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’ve officially moved on. Thirty-seven’s your first year of your late thirties, bud,” Seokjin had followed up. And at his big age of forty, Yoongi supposed he would know.
Thus, Yoongi suffered a premature onslaught of midlife crisis panic, downloaded a suspect dating app per Hoseok’s enthusiastic recommendation, and let a college student invite himself over under the pretense that Yoongi would get his shit rocked by a young stud.
Lord help him.
He opens the top button of his shirt and brings his glass to his lips, only to frown when he realizes it’s empty. So much for stalling.
“Well, I…” Yoongi shifts, one hand sliding down the outside of his slacks to wipe away clammy sweat. He isn’t accustomed to being at a loss for words. It throws him off balance and makes his legs a little wobbly as he slowly sinks into the sofa—at a respectful distance from where Taehyung sits.
It’s been a while since Yoongi had someone over, and even longer since he engaged in casual sex. Maybe he’s just a little rusty... Intellectually, he knows he isn’t old. Emotionally, he feels like life is slipping through his fingers. In between board of trustees meetings and business trips, sometimes Yoongi isn’t sure he knows how to be much of a person.
“I mean, if you’re not feeling it anymore, that’s, like, cool or whatever.” Taehyung straightens up a bit, rolling his shoulders back.
Yoongi watches as Taehyung adjusts himself, lightly tugging at the crotch of his joggers as he shifts on the sofa. Heat climbs higher in Yoongi’s body, tickling the base of his throat. He forces himself to meet Taehyung’s gaze and tells himself it’s just the wine that’s finally getting to him.
“Is it?” Yoongi asks, setting his glass beside Taehyung’s. “Cool? I wouldn’t think that’s how you’d see this.”
If he were being truthful, he’d admit it’s Taehyung’s sharp eyes that make his throat close up—youthful, bright, eager to soak up everything the world offers. Despite the nonchalant attitude, there’s something magnetic about the kid. But Yoongi could arguably have anyone he wants. As a CEO in the tech industry, he brushes elbows with plenty of wealthy, beautiful people his own age. Compared to Taehyung, those people are far more accomplished and mature.
Yet his stomach dips the moment Taehyung’s eyes drop to his lips, and he wonders what would be so bad about giving in to whatever this is.
“If I left right now, it wouldn’t be how I wanted my night to go, but”—Taehyung leans his shoulder against the back of the sofa to turn toward Yoongi—“I’m not gonna be a dick about it.”
“And how do you want the night to go?”
The question slips out before Yoongi can stop it, rushed, like it hurts to exhale.
It must surprise them both, because Taehyung’s eyebrows lift. “We could ask the extra-large condom and lube packet in my wallet right now.”
It takes everything in Yoongi not to glance down at Taehyung’s crotch again.
“Extra-large?” Poise. Decorum. Where have Yoongi’s values gone?
The corner of Taehyung’s mouth quirks into a half-smirk. “That intimidate you?”
They’re closer now, Taehyung having shifted a bit. It’s nearly midnight, but he smells like fresh laundry, like linen dried in an ocean breeze. Yoongi doesn’t remember boys smelling this good when he was in college.
“It would, if I believed you.”
Taehyung tilts his head back slightly and laughs. “Ah, you got money money and jokey jokes.”
And god, Taehyung looks gorgeous with a bright smile stretched across his face. His eyes crinkle, cheeks glow, and mouth turns boxy. Swallowing, Yoongi tries to keep his breathing steady as Taehyung’s attention burns through him.
“You never told me if you’re feeling it,” Taehyung murmurs, deep and low. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
Goosebumps shiver across Yoongi’s skin from the graze of Taehyung’s thumb along the curve of his chin. He tucks his fingers, curling them to coax Yoongi’s face up, lifting it just enough for their breath to mingle.
Yoongi doesn’t lie this time. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
Still, he closes his eyes and parts his lips when Taehyung leans in.
Taehyung hums into the kiss, and the sound makes Yoongi’s head spin. His pillowy lips set a pace much faster than Yoongi expects. It’s soft, even though it’s desperate, like Taehyung wants to take more of him in, but can’t quite keep up with his own desire. His fingers tighten around Yoongi’s chin, holding him in place.
The grip verges on too tight; Yoongi doesn’t care. Life might be slipping through his fingers, but he won’t be slipping through Taehyung’s. Taehyung keeps him grounded in the moment.
This is what Yoongi needs. It’s the small groan that rumbles from deep inside him when Taehyung sucks on his bottom lip, and how his blood turns to lava, hot and wet, slithering south. It’s the urgency of Taehyung’s hand tugging his shirt from where it’s tucked into his slacks to slip underneath, pressing against bare skin.
“Let me fuck you,” Taehyung whispers into Yoongi’s mouth. His lips graze the corner of his jaw and down the smooth column of his throat.
Yoongi tips his head back and savors the heat of Taehyung’s mouth as it follows the path his hands make down his chest, undoing each button with hurried, desperate fingers.
God, how long has it been since he’s felt wanted like this? Has anyone ever trembled while touching him? Panted against his skin while they licked and sucked his nipples like they needed it? Palmed his cock through his slacks, squeezing and rubbing like they wanted to get him off right here, on his six-million-won designer sofa, Magritte’s Scheherazade watching over them like some surreal voyeur?
“Yes,” Yoongi finally says, airy and spoken through a shuddering exhale. “Yes, you can.”
He shivers when Taehyung tugs down the zipper of his slacks. Reaching out for Taehyung’s arm to steady himself, Yoongi is surprised by the solid muscles beneath his soft cotton hoodie. There’s more underneath the hoodie and joggers than Yoongi thought; the loose fabric hiding what feels like a deliciously toned body.
He dares to run a hand up Taehyung’s torso and feels the flex of his abdomen and the swell of his pecs. Yoongi knows he’s not genuinely old, but the men in their late-thirties that he usually spends time with don’t feel like this.
Taehyung leans back slightly, lips still wine-red, eyes gone a little glassy. It’s the look one gets from being drunk on both wine and want.
There’s an unmistakable outline of his cock pressed against his joggers. Needing an extra-large condom might not have been an exaggeration. The sight makes Yoongi’s entire body throb.
“You want it here?” Taehyung asks, voice maddeningly rough. “Your bedroom? I’ll give it to you anywhere, princess.”
Princess.
Yoongi tenses. No one has ever called him that before. And rightfully so; he’s no princess. He’s the CEO of a major tech corporation, a thirty-seven-year-old man.
But then he lifts his gaze to meet Taehyung’s eyes and finds nothing but genuine earnestness there. The desire to please, rather than to be pleasured. It’s in the gentle grip Taehyung has on his waist, how his eyes search Yoongi’s face—maybe for guidance, maybe for approval.
This kid is an idiot, Yoongi decides.
He’s going to let Taehyung fuck him, anyway.
“I want you here.”
Yoongi’s answer is barely out before Taehyung is already pushing him down into the cushions.
“Fuck, yeah, great idea,” Taehyung says, his next expletive muffled by the fabric of his hoodie as he pulls it over his head.
In one swift motion, all that tan, muscular skin Yoongi had been curious about comes into full view. On his back, legs spread, he gazes up at Taehyung. He can’t stop himself from touching, running his fingertips along the dips and ridges of the gorgeous body in front of him. His heart skips a beat when he brushes over Taehyung’s abdomen and sees his cock twitch inside his joggers.
Somehow, what’s most disconcerting to Yoongi’s sanity is the fact that Taehyung puts his snapback on again, smooth as he keeps it turned backward.
“You’re…”
“Hot?” Taehyung grins, too cute to be cocky.
Yoongi nods and tells himself it’s just the wine when he curls his fingers over the edge of Taehyung’s pants.
“Wait,” Taehyung murmurs, placing his hands over Yoongi’s. “Let me take care of my pretty girl first.”
There’s no time for Yoongi to process the sudden flush of warmth that spreads from his cock up through his chest. How Taehyung says the term of endearment... Well, is it even a term of endearment? Or is it the dirtiest thing someone has ever called him?
Taehyung fumbles, yanking Yoongi’s pants down a little too hard. The waistband catches on his ass, but Yoongi lifts his hips just in time to avoid being dragged further down the sofa.
“Gentle with those,” Yoongi mutters once his slacks are off. “They’re Valentino. And my—” He inhales sharply, cut off by the rush of pleasure that floods his body as Taehyung wraps a hand around his cock, using the other to finish undressing him. “My underwear is—”
“Versace.” Taehyung tosses them to the floor with everything else. “I noticed, Mr. Money Money.”
Yoongi would roll his eyes in annoyance, but they roll back because Taehyung is sliding down the sofa onto his stomach between Yoongi’s legs and taking his cock into his mouth. His lips part, mouth hanging open as he pants in rhythm with the slick sound of Taehyung sucking him off, head bobbing with eager determination.
“Oh, god.”
Yoongi tries to prop himself up on his elbows to watch, but then their eyes lock—Taehyung’s, dark and sharp—right as he pulls up to suckle on the tip of Yoongi’s cock. Tongue swirling, lips wet and shiny with spit; being engulfed in his wet heat is too much for Yoongi to bear.
“What. The fuck,” Yoongi gasps, falling back against the cushions.
He stares up at the white textured ceiling, eyes fluttering closed, and tries to redirect the pleasure coursing through him. He imagines it flowing elsewhere: his fingertips, his chest, anywhere but his cock. Like some kind of erotic savasana. If he imagines the sensations spreading throughout his body, maybe he won’t come embarrassingly fast while Taehyung licks his balls and strokes his cock like he’s trying to milk it dry.
“You like that, princess?” Taehyung murmurs against the underside of his cock, trailing kisses as he speaks. “You sound so pretty.”
The whimper Yoongi lets out is so pathetic it genuinely shocks him. Shame flashes hot across his face, and he tries to scoot away from Taehyung on instinct.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Taehyung says quickly, rushing to push himself onto his knees. He keeps a gentle hand on the inside of Yoongi’s thigh, not to hold him down, but to comfort him. “I didn’t mean to, I just thought—”
Grabbing the back of Taehyung’s neck, Yoongi kisses away his fumbling. His nerves are on fire, skin prickling, tension coiling inside him.
“Stop talking,” he says. The command sounds whinier out loud than it did inside his head.
Taehyung’s hands settle on Yoongi’s waist, squeezing lightly. His calloused palms are rough against Yoongi’s smooth skin.
“Anything for my pretty girl.”
Yoongi’s breath hitches as Taehyung shifts him, guiding him to turn over onto his knees. He’s a little forceful, pressing down between his shoulder blades until Yoongi’s chest meets the sofa. Yoongi knows for a fact that it has been years since he got fucked like this. There’s something about being face-down, ass-up that feels very college.
His knees are already aching. His thighs will be sore tomorrow.
Behind him, there’s the rustle of fabric—Taehyung stripping the rest of the way. Yoongi twists to look, just to make sure he puts on a condom. That’s what he tells himself. The honest part of him would admit he wants to see the monster of a cock that springs from Taehyung’s pants when he shoves them down.
Taehyung is thick and heavy-looking. It’s been a while since Yoongi saw a cock that made his mouth water.
“Like what you see, babygirl?” Taehyung grins. His words are cocky, but instead of a smirk gracing his face, he looks giddy at having caught Yoongi ogling him.
“This is gonna be enough lube, I promise,” he adds, fumbling with the condom and lube packet. “Some people get freaked, but like… I’m sure you’ve probably seen even bigger—”
“Taehyung,” Yoongi whines, his attempt at being commanding ruined again by how turned on he sounds.
“Right, right.”
Yoongi buries his face into the crook of his elbow as he hears the foil tear. The fruity? scent of what must be edible lube—God help him—wafts through the air, and he waits with bated breath. The first cool smear of lube against his rim makes him jolt, even though it’s just a fingertip. And then, he musters the courage to admit what eats away at him with embarrassment.
“I already prepped” — breathes, swallows through the tremble in his voice — “before you got here. Just in case.”
Perhaps the only thing more embarrassing than admitting his own eagerness is Taehyung’s silence that follows. It doesn’t last long. The pause is just enough to make Yoongi want to leave, even though this is his apartment.
“Fuck, Yoongi-ssi, that’s so hot.”
Startled by his own name, Yoongi turns to look at Taehyung. But then the head of Taehyung’s cock presses against his rim, and he drops his head again with a muffled groan.
It shouldn’t surprise him that Taehyung bottoms out in one thrust.
Yoongi gasps, clutching the edge of the cushion and the sofa arm as Taehyung pulls back and thrusts in again. The stretch is sharp and satisfying. He’d expected it to hurt, given how thick Taehyung is. Still, it catches Yoongi off guard, especially as Taehyung easily hits his prostate without even trying.
Each stroke is long and quick, an unrelenting tempo of sloppy desperation that has Yoongi’s thighs trembling almost immediately.
“You’re so fucking sexy, princess,” Taehyung groans, hands squeezing Yoongi. He grips the soft spot where his thighs meet his hips. He pulls, forcing Yoongi backward as he pounds into him. Each time, they meet in the middle with a slick slap of skin against skin.
Yoongi can’t speak. He can barely moan. Every sound gets caught in his throat, leaving his mouth dry even as he pants into the cushions. What escapes are small, hiccuping whimpers—getting louder the faster Taehyung fucks him.
Taehyung’s thrusts are sloppy and erratic, almost brutal. It’s clear he wants to impress Yoongi, to pleasure him, but it’s uncoordinated. Somehow, that’s what makes the kid magnetic, and what makes Yoongi tremble under his clumsy dominance. It’s innocent in the filthiest way.
Digging his nails into the sofa, Yoongi turns his head to hide his face in the cushions. The fabric muffles the whimpers he can’t hold back. The position feels shameful, degrading—like he’s just some toy for Taehyung to play with.
“Such a perfect little cunt,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth, each word hissed between breathless grunts and thrusts that are almost painful. “Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you like this.”
There’s no processing the dirty talk Taehyung growls through their sounds of pleasure. Yoongi can only focus on the way his legs tremble from the relentless pounding against his prostate. His cock smacks against his body with each jolt, just enough discomfort to keep his senses heightened and on edge.
“Tae-Taehyung,” Yoongi moans, voice cracking.
“Hmm?”
Taehyung’s large hands grip Yoongi’s ass cheeks, spreading them wide. Presumably, to watch himself slide in and out. He squeezes them together when he pulls back, hugging his cock tight with Yoongi’s body even as he withdraws from his heat.
“Feel good?”
Yoongi mumbles into the cushions. It earns him a sharp slap to the ass, stinging through the hot coil of pleasure building inside him.
“Come on, pretty girl.” Taehyung yanks Yoongi up, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. “I can’t hear you like that.”
It’s an awkward position to be in. Yoongi props himself up on his forearms, head tilted all the way back. The arch in his back pinches a nerve, but Taehyung feels too good. Every pretty girl and princess that spills from his sinful lips makes the waves of pleasure coursing through Yoongi stronger.
“Yeah, fuck, feels good,” Yoongi huffs, praying his knees don’t give out.
It’s a crescendo, a dissolve. Yoongi tries to warn him, tries to say he’s close. He swallows down a moan and tries to tell Taehyung that he’s going to—
“Come,” Taehyung chokes out suddenly. “Shit, I’m gonna come.”
Taehyung’s vocal, almost needy, as his climax hits. Panting, he drapes himself over Yoongi’s back like he’s trying to make as much skin-on-skin contact as possible. He doesn’t stop moving—keeps grinding into Yoongi, slow and deep, still chasing his own pleasure.
And it’s just enough pressure against Yoongi’s prostate to send him over the edge, too. Their bodies rock together against the sofa, Yoongi’s six-million-won designer sofa. He lets Taehyung’s weight push him into the cushions, and the friction of his cock rubbing against the sofa only makes everything feel more intense.
Yoongi comes harder than he has in years. He arches his body with his head turned to the side, and Taehyung kisses him through the broken sounds he makes.
For a few moments, silence envelops them. Yoongi can hear the soft tick of the antique clock on his coffee table and tries to match his breathing to its steady rhythm. It’s difficult with Taehyung’s body still pressing down on him—oppressive, but oddly comforting. Like a weighted blanket that plants the gentlest of kisses along the curve of his shoulder.
“You’re real flexible for your age, y’know?” Taehyung murmurs into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. “Was worried I was gonna break you, but you held up.”
If Yoongi’s arms weren’t pinned between the sofa and their bodies, he’d slap the shit out of the kid. “Shut up,” he snaps.
Still tucked away, Taehyung giggles into Yoongi’s sweaty skin. The sound is too sweet for what they’ve just done.
“It’s a compliment,” he insists, finally pulling back.
They both groan when Taehyung’s cock slips out, easy, now that he’s gone soft. Yoongi points down the hall for him to toss the condom and grab a washcloth. His arm flops over the edge of the sofa, boneless. But he’s got just enough energy to crack an eye open and admire Taehyung’s cute little butt as he walks away.
Yoongi doesn’t remember the last time he had someone stay the night. One-night stands and casual sex were never his thing, anyway.
Still, when Taehyung returns—not just with a washcloth, but lotion too—and begins massaging it into the spots Yoongi knows will ache tomorrow, he wonders if it’s really that crazy to want a college kid in his bed.
“It cool if I use this? I found it in the bathroom,” Taehyung says as he kneels behind him. “It smells so fucking good. I ran out of lotion like two months ago and keep forgetting to buy more.”
Well. Maybe Yoongi is crazy for wanting a college kid in his bed.
With a content sigh, he folds his arms beneath his head. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
He hopes he sounds casual, nonchalant despite the fact that Taehyung is currently kneeling between his legs, wiping lube from between his ass cheeks.
“I got a Chem exam at eight,” Taehyung says, voice gravelly.
“At eight?” Yoongi pushes up on his forearms and turns to look at him. Taehyung’s still wearing the damn snapback. Ridiculous.
“Yeah. Sucks ass.”
“It’s two right now.”
Taehyung just shrugs, flashing a boxy grin. He folds the washcloth in both hands, like he’s trying to keep it warm. “Eh. It’ll be fine; I’m weirdly good at it.”
Exhausted in more ways than one, Yoongi drops his head, letting his body slump. He isn’t old, but it feels nice being taken care of.
“I do not miss that shit.” Yoongi chuckles at the jolt in his heart, the reminder of school-induced stress he once endured. “You should’ve told me you had an early exam. I would’ve never let you come over.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Taehyung snorts. He pats Yoongi’s ass twice once he finishes cleaning him up and massaging the lotion into his tender thighs. “This was way better than pulling an all-nighter to study with my roommates.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the smile that tugs at his lips as he moves to sit upright and face Taehyung. He’ll deal with the cum-stained sofa later.
“You better pass.”
“Or else what? I’ll get a spanking, princess?”
The mouth on this kid...
Yoongi grabs a throw pillow from the floor, knocked over during their little escapade, and smacks Taehyung across the head with it. “You need better manners.”
As Yoongi winds up for a second attack, Taehyung catches his wrist, still grinning. He’s all cheeks and bright eyes, boyish and smug.
“You probably get up early, right? For work or whatever,” he says, thumb sliding along Yoongi’s wrist until he drops the pillow so their fingers can intertwine. “If you wake me up, I’ll make you breakfast.”
Yoongi knows damn well he’s not getting breakfast in the morning.
It’s fine.
Yoongi pulls Taehyung in for a kiss that tastes like thirty-three-million-won Romanée-Conti wine and them. For tonight, he thinks that’s satisfying enough.
multiple ships fics;
this blog is nsfw. no minors allowed.
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like a river ♡ 3k | college professors | coworkers to lovers | omegaverse | smut
As the only omega professor in the Department of Philosophy at Seoul National University, Yoongi is accustomed to dealing with pretentious alphas who think the world revolves around knots.
bad boy, good lips | pjm + jhs
Hoseok is a superhero's sidekick. Jimin is a villain. They make it work.
Pairing: Sidekick-In-Training Hoseok x Villain-In-Training Jimin (from "Falling Into You")
Rating: Explicit
Genre/Trope: Superheroes & Villains, college, established relationship, smut, slice of life
Word Count: 2,952
Content Warning: It's just a bathroom blowjob lol, fluff if you squint
A/N: Some people wanted to know more about Jihope in this AU, so I hope this short but sweet drabble is enjoyable for you! It's not necessary to read the first part of the series to understand this drabble, but you'll have a better experience if you read Part 1 first. Also if it isn't clear, Jimin is clairvoyant and Hobi is telekinetic/telepathic.
Soundtrack: Lilithzplug - CLEARED Remix
“Two superheroes, a sidekick, and a villain walk into a bar–”
“–and the superheroes pay for the drinks because they’ll be the ones with all the fame and glory,” Jimin finishes Yoongi’s sentence with a sharp grin.
“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi huffs as he holds the door open for his friends.
Jimin lets Hoseok and Taehyung enter first. Jimin knows that if he and Hoseok go first, then Taehyung will awkwardly try to get Yoongi to enter the bar before he does, even though Yoongi is the one holding the door, and then Taehyung will trip on his way inside and embarrass himself. As funny as Taehyung’s crush on Yoongi is, it can be painful to sit through – even now, when Yoongi and Taehyung are officially dating.
Jimin may be a villain, but he isn’t a sadist.
Besides, one highly possible outcome is that Taehyung gets all flustered and makes plants start shooting out of the ground, completely ruining the friends’ night out celebrating the end of finals. Boo.
Jimin turns around to stick his tongue out at Yoongi, ignoring the wide-eyed look on Taehyung’s face. The poor kid is so terrified of him that he’d buy the whole bar a round of shots if Jimin asked him to. It’s funny. Jimin is virtually harmless.
“Don’t Jimin-ah me, Min Yoongi. You can’t argue against this; I am all-knowing.”
In front of him, Hoseok snorts. It’s difficult to know what he has found amusing since Hoseok is always, intentionally or not, swimming in the inner thoughts of everyone around him. Jimin has long since gotten over the unnerving reality that his best friend can hear his thoughts. If anything, Hoseok should be thankful to Jimin. Having access to Jimin’s thoughts means having access to all the little glimpses of the future that flit through his head. Hoseok has said it’s challenging to sort through the mess of scenes, understandably so. It has taken Jimin years to gain control over his power of precognition.
“You are not all-knowing. You’re a glorified fortune teller,” Hoseok teases, confirming that his earlier snort was in response to Jimin’s cocky comment.
“Hyung, how dare you?” Jimin gasps as the four men find a booth near the back of the bar.
It’s a classic dive bar, dimly lit and vaguely smokey. The wooden table isn’t sticky when Jimin presses his palm against the surface as he slides into the booth, so that’s a win – not that he didn’t already know it wouldn’t be. Rare is it that anything surprises Jimin. He tries not to focus his energy on decoding the scenes that flit through his mind like specks of dust sparkling in the sunlight. Learning to shoo them away has taken time and diligent practice as a villain trainee.
Hoseok sits opposite Jimin, also sliding into the booth first. Taehyung quickly follows Hoseok without sparing Jimin a glance, leaving Yoongi to sit beside Jimin. They all already know that Yoongi will be the one to get their drinks from the bar once everyone decides on what they want. Though healing is Yoongi’s superpower, his entire personality is thoughtful and gentle.
The kindness of it all disgusts Jimin just as much as it fascinates him.
Sometimes, Jimin wonders if Yoongi can heal whatever part of Jimin made him a villain. It isn’t that Jimin minds that this is the path he has chosen for himself; after all, he knows what would’ve happened if he had chosen the path of a hero or sidekick. The thought of becoming something else makes Jimin’s brain itch.
A kick to the shin forces Jimin to blink, ripping his eyes from Yoongi’s profile to stare at Hoseok’s frown from across the table. Hoseok knows what Jimin is thinking, and Jimin doesn’t need words to understand him.
Hoseok believes Jimin is perfect the way he is. The narcissist inside Jimin agrees.
“Can someone pass me the specialty drink menu?” Taehyung chirps from the other end of the table. He speaks cutely, like he always does, each note sounding as sweet as he smells, floral yet a bit earthy, dirt beneath half-bitten nails.
Looking up from his phone, Hoseok eyes the menu where it’s propped up against the wall by a napkin holder. The laminated sheet is definitely sticky; Jimin doesn’t need supernatural qualities to tell him that. Luckily, with Hoseok around, there’s no need to touch the grimey thing. It takes little effort for him to use his telekinesis to lift the menu from one end of the table and gently drop it with his mind in front of Taehyung.
“How did your examinations go, Hobah?” Yoongi asks while he leans on his forearms to get closer to Taehyung so they can both review the menu.
“Ah, the usual,” Hoseok shrugs with a slight pout, “Combat still fucks me over, but Jimin has been helping me, so my scores should be much higher this semester.”
“Is that allowed?” Taehyung’s bright eyes slide from Hoseok to Jimin.
Wiggling a little in his seat, Jimin bites back a cocky grin.
“It isn’t not allowed,” Jimin settles on saying, punctuating his statement with an airy laugh.
He isn’t lying. As far as he knows, no rules at the various universities in Seoul prohibit superhero and sidekick trainees from fraternizing with villain trainees. Of course, it isn’t the smartest thing to do. Secret sharing across enemy lines can only come back to bite someone in the ass. Is Jimin disadvantaged because Hoseok has an intimate understanding of his combat style? Will Hoseok come to regret letting Jimin know his weaknesses?
Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Jimin watches Hoseok with his pretty lips parted in a slight smirk. Hoseok has more weaknesses than just poor combat skills.
“If you need anything, let me know,” Yoongi offers.
“Do you think I would hurt him?” Jimin plays affronted, and Yoongi sees right through it.
Yoongi sighs, but his lips quirk with a smile when he and Taehyung share a small look.
“Just figure out what you want to order, yeah?”
After the three tell Yoongi their drink orders, he leaves the table to relay the information to the bartender at the counter. It only takes about three seconds before Taehyung shoots out of his seat, muttering something about helping Yoongi carry their drinks before the kid scrambles toward the bar counter.
“You freak him out,” Hoseok observes with a chuckle that Jimin mimics.
“I can’t imagine why.”
“It’s how sneaky you act.” Hoseok props his elbow on the table and holds his chin in his hand. “Like you know something he doesn’t.”
Jimin grins, teeth bright and sharp.
“But I do.”
“Mmm…” Hoseok’s dark eyes start straight into Jimin’s gray ones.
Looking for something? Jimin thinks, his grin spreading when Hoseok’s cheeks flush pink.
“Nothing in particular.”
You’re cute when you’re nosy.
“I hear; I don’t listen.”
Jimin scoffs, eyes rolling despite his playful expression.
Liar.
A blunt laugh punches out of Hoseok’s chest. He looks across the bar to see Yoongi and Taehyung hold hands while they wait for their drinks.
“You could be a villain if you wanted,” Jimin murmurs, careful not to talk too loudly in case other bar patrons are as nosy as his telepathic friend. “Your powers are perfect for it, and you have a certain… flair.”
“I would never.”
“Too good for it?” Jimin’s grin is impossibly bright.
Hoseok chews his bottom lip for a moment. It's shiny with spit when he releases it from between his teeth.
“Something like that,” he admits, leaning back against his seat.
Ignoring Hoseok’s non-answer, Jimin rests both forearms on the table and leans forward, making up for the distance Hoseok put between them when he rested against the back of the booth.
“Would you like to know what I see in your future, Hobi hyung?” Jimin purrs.
“You already know the answer.”
“I want you to say it anyway.”
“Fine,” Hoseok concedes with a cheery smile, “I would love to know what you see in my future, JimJam.”
“I see you pressed against the bathroom door of this shitty bar while I suck you off so good you start crying.”
Evil satisfaction bubbles in Jimin’s hot veins when Hoseok closes his eyes and slowly inhales, pulling his upper body up and inward. It takes time to recover from Jimin’s bluntness, though Hoseok should be accustomed to his behavior. Never one to run out of confidence, Jimin has thousands of possibilities flipping through his brain like a Rolodex, each categorized by the probability of Jimin getting the best outcome for his personal gain.
Seducing Hoseok was one of Jimin’s personal bests.
“There is no future in which you can resist me,” Jimin had cooed in Hoseok’s ear the first time they fucked.
It was quick and hardly memorable, both of them young college kids heavily intoxicated, too worried about shoving each other in the bathroom of some random house party and getting their skinny jeans around their thighs to care about much else. Heroes, villains — none of it mattered.
Still, none of it does.
“Yoongi hyung is thinking about the face masks he bought to use later tonight with Taehyung,” Hoseok says carefully, finally opening his eyes. He watches their friends at the bar. “Tae wants to go home because he’s tired. And because you freak him out. He’s giving himself a two-drink max.”
When Hoseok turns back around, Jimin is already getting up.
“It’s going to take them a while to get our drinks. That bitch in the pink will cut Yoongi in line, and he’ll be too nice to say anything,” Jimin gestures with a jerk of his head in the direction of a girl inching toward the bar.
As the two men pass the bar counter on their way to the bathroom, Jimin lightly touches the elbow of the girl in the pink halter top.
“God, it’s taking a while, isn’t it?” he whines with a pout. The girl’s frown deepens.
“Yes! Like, what the fuck! I don’t understand why they only have one bartender when it’s getting so busy.”
Meddling with the future isn’t something Jimin believes in. No, he prefers to… leave suggestions sprinkled about, nothing major. Planting seeds is better than bulldozing trees. Miss Pink Halter Top was going to be a bitch about the service anyway; Jimin only gave her a little push in the right direction.
Smug and satisfied with himself, Jimin laces his fingers with Hoseok’s. They’re far more graceful slipping into the single-person bathroom in the back of the bar than they had been at that college party nearly four years ago. Experience has allowed Jimin to know how Hoseok likes being touched, kissed, and cared for.
Comfortable with the veil of protective mystery that comes with an on-and-off relationship, Jimin doesn’t worry about what Hoseok does when they aren’t together; he knows he’s the only one who can treat Hoseok right.
Besides, Jimin knows every possible end to their relationship; all he ever sees is the two of them, hand-in-hand.
The moment Hoseok locks the bathroom door behind them, Jimin falls to his knees in front of him. Hoseok looks good from this angle, jaw sharp and eyes narrowed when he peers down at Jimin’s expecting mouth.
“Stop thinking about how pretty I am,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush bright pink, and a heart-shaped smile brightens his face. “It’s embarrassing when you have your face against my…” He waves at his crotch.
“Relax, hyung,” Jimin purrs, biting the zipper of Hoseok’s pants and tugging while he opens the button with his fingers.
Toned and impossibly smooth, Hoseok’s thighs quiver as Jimin tugs his jeans and briefs halfway down, far enough to free his cock. It hangs limp, not yet hard, but Jimin knows in more ways than one that it won’t take long to get Hoseok worked up.
All Jimin has to think about is them fucking, and Hoseok is already whimpering.
“You have to tell me if someone’s coming,” Hoseok whispers. The back of his head stutters and thuds against the bathroom door when he lets his head fall back.
“Won’t you hear them?”
“I can’t—” Hoseok inhales sharply when Jimin flicks his wet tongue across the tip of his cock. “I can’t concentrate.”
Suckling the head of Hoseok’s cock, Jimin hums lightly in understanding, though he doesn’t care if someone comes. The door is locked. Even if Hoseok is loud, Jimin won’t find it in him to feel bad. There’s a second bathroom people can use; they aren’t doing anything bad.
This behavior is elementary, vanilla, and amateur. Jimin would love to do worse.
Jimin opens his mouth wider to take more of Hoseok’s cock down his throat, sucking with hollowed cheeks and letting spit bubble at the corners of his mouth. Messy head is neither good nor bad for Jimin, but he loves how vocal Hoseok becomes when he wets his cock, all slick and warm.
“Fuck,” Hoseok moans through a shuddery breath.
Hoseok’s eyes squeeze shut, and he quickly lifts the hem of his hoodie to keep it out of the way when Jimin begins bobbing his head.
Fully hard, Hoseok’s cock twitches in Jimin’s hand when he pumps the base where he doesn’t reach with his mouth. He could swallow Hoseok whole, but the little golden speckles of future flickering in Jimin’s mind tell him that a little twist of his wrist is going to make Hoseok cum faster. Not that Jimin wants to keep this short, but he’s in a generous mood and doesn’t want to leave Taehyung and Yoongi waiting too long.
“Just, just like that.” Hoseok digs his fingers in Jimin’s silky pink hair using his free hand. He doesn’t push; he just scratches his nails against Jimin’s scalp as tingling encouragement.
Taking more of Hoseok into his mouth, Jimin maintains a consistent pace. His lips redden and swell, getting hot and spit-slicked as they stretch around Hoseok’s cock. He licks the underside and hums in satisfaction when Hoseok’s hips stutter.
It’s hard and fast how Jimin works his cock while Hoseok does his best to keep his back plastered to the bathroom door and his heart-shaped mouth shut. Little whimpers escape his pretty lips, but he’s always been vocal. It’s one of Jimin’s favorite things about him.
“Jimin,” Hoseok whispers, a warning Jimin doesn’t need.
Putting a bit of pressure on Hoseok’s balls as he holds his cock, Jimin lightly squeezes them, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin. That, combined with the ruthless pace of Jimin swallowing Hoseok’s cock, finally has Hoseok shaking under him.
“Shit shit shit.”
It hurts how hard Hoseok pulls his hair, but Jimin doesn’t care. Jimin keeps his gray eyes locked on Hoseok as he cums, pulling back far enough to let his cum spurt on his tongue. If it were another day and another place, Hoseok would lean back a bit further.
“Good?” Jimin asks sweetly after showing Hoseok that he has swallowed.
Hoseok nods weakly and finally uncurls his fingers from Jimin’s hair. It’s mechanical, as though his body isn’t yet his own, his orgasm temporarily stealing his autonomy from him.
With Hoseok’s help, Jimin rises to his feet. His knees ache from kneeling on the hard concrete floor, and the denim is dusty. Jimin would like to think he has a little more class than getting on his knees in a dingy bar bathroom, but when it comes to Hoseok, he’s willing to make compromises.
Jimin is hard, too. Hoseok’s eyes drop to the bulge in his jeans, but Jimin presses his fingers against the underside of his chin to lift his head.
I’m fine.
Sometimes, it’s nice not to have to say things out loud.
Sweat makes Hoseok’s blonde bangs stick to his forehead. Jimin brushes the hair from his face and admires the pink glow highlighting his features. For a long time, he thought he’d never find someone to pull those vulnerable, uncomfortable emotions out of him: affection and love.
Hoseok, though? There’s something about him that’s different.
“You know I love you too, right?” Hoseok asks with creeping hands wrapping around Jimin’s waist.
His turn to be shy, Jimin scoffs and turns his cheek to Hoseok when he leans in for a kiss.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mhm,” Hoseok’s smile is there in the sounds he makes; Jimin doesn’t need to see it. “What are the odds Taehyung and Yoongi will ditch us?”
Sometimes, Jimin wonders if the illness Taehyung had might happen to him, too, though he knows it’s unlikely. Taehyung’s powers are nothing like Jimin’s. Still, Jimin feels something tighten and twist in his chest when he thinks about how good it is to be loved by Hoseok.
“We could go out there and be honest about what we were doing, and they’ll complain but eventually get over it,” Jimin explains, his fingers finding Hoseok’s to intertwine with them at his hips, “Or we pretend like nothing happened, and they’ll be uncomfortable the rest of the night, wondering.”
The smirk that blossoms across Hoseok’s face is prettier than any flower Jimin has ever seen.
“Let’s make them suffer,” Hoseok laughs when Jimin’s eyebrows raise.
“Oh? Is someone playing the villain today?”
Pulling Jimin into a hug, Hoseok nuzzles the side of his neck.
“You’re a bad influence on me, JimJam. But I like it.”
Triumphant, Jimin grabs the back of Hoseok’s head and pulls him into a kiss. Despite the taste of Hoseok on Jimin’s tongue, the kiss is innocent and slow. What Jimin can’t verbalize, he can give Hoseok through his thoughts and actions. For now, that’s all they need.
@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap @remmykinsff @likecrazy22
taejin fics;
this blog is nsfw. no minors allowed.
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eternal ♡ 23k | fantasy | reincarnation | soulmates | fluff | angst | smut
Seokjin and Taehyung met their untimely deaths when they were young and heartbroken. Doomed to roam the earth as a ghost with unfinished business, Taehyung is convinced that finding Seokjin’s soul and righting his wrongs will set them free.
not today, satan | jhs
If you had known the demon tasked with reaping your soul would be a total #daddy you would have gone to Hell sooner!
Pairing: Demon Hoseok x Reader (from "all the good girls go to hell")
Rating: Mature
Genre/Trope: Hell, demons, crack
Word Count: 3,733
Content Warning: Sexual tension, fondling, cockblocking, One Direction serial killer AUs, an attempt at humor, Namjoon is the devil
A/N: I can't remember who requested this I'm ngl. But it was someone who had showed me a funny meme about the devil.
Purgatory looked like the DMV.
You should have expected it, honestly. Wasn’t it represented as some type of waiting room in Beetlejuice? Or maybe you were misremembering. Ever since you’d stepped through the front doors, your mind felt foggy. When you looked back through the windows, no parking lot met your gaze. Instead, a soft gray haze was pressed against the glass, causing a bit of condensation to gather.
How had you gotten here?
The answer to that seemed a bit foggy, too.
“Are you going to take a fucking number or just stand there like an idiot?”
The bristled voice shocked you into action. Stepping forward, you ripped a number tag from the stand directly in front of the door and moved to the side for the voice behind you. A few droplets of water splattered against your ankles when the person reached for their tag.
You suppressed a gasp.
She was completely soaked, so wet that she left a trail of water wherever she walked, like some kind of snail or slug. It was difficult to tell what her original complexion was because her skin was now a deep turquoise. Bits of twigs and what looked like seaweed twisted into her hair.
You followed the stranger’s water trail through the folding chairs lining the large waiting room. The speckled brown carpet squished beneath your sneakers. A bit of water was leaking inside to wet your socks.
“Number 746!”
A robotic voice beeped out the number over the speakers just as you sank into an empty folding chair. A man with large, dirty bandages wrapped around his head and over one eye stood from his seat beside you. He clutched a folder of papers to his chest and limped to the counter at the front of the room.
Three people in matching black professional uniforms sat behind the counter. You thought they resembled bank tellers from how they were spread out with glass barriers separating each person’s portion of the counter. The first two employees sat too far away to make out important details of their faces, but the third was only a few feet away from you.
He was easily the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life. The sharp cut of his jawline and the thin length of his nose slicing through high cheekbones and deep-set eyes made it difficult for you to pull your gaze away from him. Luckily, he was none the wiser of your ogling, for his attention was spent on assisting the person standing in front of the counter. You were free to marvel at his angular features, eventually shifting your eyes from the bow of his lips to examine some of his gentler features. His hair was dark like his outfit and fell soft against his forehead. Poking out of the layered waves were two thick… horns.
You pressed your thumbs into your eyes, but when you moved them away the horns remained.
They twisted at the tips, spiraling in opposite directions. A swirling pattern was etched into each of them. It reminded you of fingerprints.
“Number 749!”
You glanced down at the crumbled tag in your hand. 749.
With a sigh, you trudged up to the counter and stood in front of the beautiful man with twisted horns poking out of dark, luscious hair.
“I need an official form of identification and your death certificate.”
You stared at him blankly.
“An official form of identification and your death certificate,” he repeated with more force.
“I… don’t have a death certificate.”
Were you dead? How had you died? How could you have possibly received a death certificate if you were dead? You assumed your mother would have it; that was how things went, right?
The name badge clipped to his shirt read Hoseok, Assistant Manager. Assistant Manager of what? Purgatory?? What in the fuck was going on.
Hoseok turned to the computer sitting off to the side of his desk.
“What is your full name and date of birth?”
You gave him the information he was looking for and leaned forward to watch him tap away at the keyboard. What appeared to be a profile of you flashed across the screen. There was a photo of you, the one from your driver’s license. A few stats about you like your height and where you were born. Toward the bottom of the screen in large red block letters read TIME OF DEATH. You were pretty sure the date was recent, but you didn’t know what day it was currently. Before you could read further, Hoseok closed out the page.
“I need you to come with me,” Hoseok said abruptly. He gestured for you to step around the counter.
You took a look over your shoulder. No one else needed to go behind the counter, as far as you could tell. Although, you hadn’t paid much attention to the other people waiting for… whatever it was everyone was doing here. You still didn’t know.
With a nervous inhale that tickled your throat, you followed the… man? Whatever he was, through a door marked for employees only.
(So they were called employees. Hence the Assistant Manager badge, and all. What the fuck kind of job was this?)
Scurrying behind him to catch up with his long gait, you noticed that this person was tall. Like, impossibly tall. Come to think of it, it wasn’t just his height that was staggering. Everything about his presence seemed larger than life, like the very walls of the hallway needed to shift and expand to accommodate the power radiating off of him as he walked. You kept your eyes trained on his lean shoulders, watching the way his shoulder blades and back muscles made his shirt ripple when he breathed or turned around the corner.
“Ahem.” You cleared your throat.
Silence.
“Ahem.”
You did a little skip to speed up your walking and finally fell in line with the man. You flashed him what you’d consider an award-winning grin.
“Hoseok, right? You’re really fucking tall.”
He glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye.
So, a man of few words. Unless he was snapping at you about IDs and death certificates. Apparently.
“Where are we going?”
Hoseok immediately halted, catching you by surprise and nearly causing you to trip.
“Here.” With an outstretched arm, Hoseok opened the door to a simple office. He held it for you as you crossed the threshold.
“Please, take a seat.”
You eased into one of the chairs in front of the desk, which Hoseok sat behind once he snapped the door shut. The fabric scratched into the back of your legs.
Up close, Hoseok was even more breathtaking. You found that the horns weren’t as much of a creepy turnoff as you may have initially thought. Somehow, paired with the shimmering red tint to his eyes and the slits he had instead of proper circular pupils, you were rather turned on by this… otherworldly look he had going for him. It was spooky, in an “emo kid who works at Hot Topic and thinks Happy Tree Friends is edgy” kind of way. So… not spooky at all. Just endearing to the part of your brain where you’d locked up all your teen angst.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
You watched a transparent film slide sideways across Hoseok’s eyes and you realized he blinked with a third eyelid.
Weird, but kind of hot. Fuck conventional beauty standards! You could dig it.
“Because a handsome stranger brought me here?” You took a shot in the dark, though Hoseok didn’t appear to have followed you. He stared at you with his third eyelid and his slitted pupils and his sharpened teeth.
Wow, he had really pointy teeth.
“You’re here because…” Hoseok drummed his fingers against the surface of his desk. His nails were black and chipped. “You were never reaped.”
“Reaped? Like, the Grim Reaper?”
A low hiss came from the back of Hoseok’s throat. The sound made your skin prickle.
“The Grim Reaper is not real.” His voice slithered out of his mouth at the same time his tongue did. It was red and forked. “You were supposed to be reaped by one of us when you died,” he gestured to himself, “a demon.”
Well, obviously he was a demon. Or else he had a great sense of fashion.
You leaned forward to rest your arms on Hoseok’s desk. If he thought his freaky tongue and animalistic eyes were going to scare you, he was terribly wrong. You’d been on Vampirefreaks.com back when it was still a social media platform.
“Listen, Hoseokie. Can I call you Hoseokie?” Silence. “I don’t know why I’m here and I don’t know how I got here, but I promise you, I am not dead.”
With a sigh, Hoseok flipped open the laptop on his desk. After a few moments of typing, he slid it toward you, adjusting the screen to make it easier for you to see.
There was your profile again. Hoseok quickly scrolled down to the section you hadn’t gotten to read earlier, the part about when you’d died.
“In my records, it states you are dead. As of,” he turned the screen toward himself for a moment, “As of 7 PM yesterday. Yet there is no record of how you died, where you died, nor which demon escorted you here. And no death certificate on file.”
Clearly, the missing death certificate situation had rubbed the guy the wrong way.
Maybe you should have felt more concerned that you had a snake-eyed self-proclaimed demon trying to convince you that you were dead and chilling out in Purgatory unchaperoned. But this was all fake, obviously. A dream. There was nothing to worry about.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Hoseokie.” You gave the man - demon - a shrug.
Hoseok’s eyebrows pulled toward each other, causing the skin on his forehead to crease.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“Oh really?”
Hoseok pursed his lips and gave you a curt nod.
“It already states here that you’ll be going to Hell, so I may as well just reap you myself since no one else has. I need to go downstairs anyway. We’ve been getting a high volume of damned souls recently and working overtime can be sustainable for only so long…”
Whatever else Hoseok had to say about “demon burnout” during a time when debauchery was at its highest on Earth (“Aside from the 70s, wow, the 70s was a time.”), you didn’t hear the rest of it. There were more important things to worry about.
You were going to Hell.
“Wait, wait, wait, Hoseokie, wait a minute.” You curled your fingers around the edge of his laptop screen. “I’m going to Hell? For what?! I have done nothing wrong, ever, in my life.”
This was the part where Hoseok was supposed to say, “I know this, and I love you.”
Except he didn’t! The bastard just let his gorgeous mouth hang open and flicked his freaky forked tongue over those pearly fangs.
“I beg to differ.”
“How would you know?”
A small smirk flitted across Hoseok’s face and you felt your stomach twist into knots.
“Your memories, your experiences, your life - none of that belongs to you.”
You couldn’t tell which was more unnerving, the words he said or the dark tone he said them in. With a shiver, you chose to ignore whatever riddle he was speaking to you in and tried to change your strategy.
“Hoseokie, baby.” You ran your perfectly normal tongue along your lips and leaned even further into your companion’s personal space - as much as you could with a desk in between you. “Let’s not get carried away here.”
“Proper protocol was not followed, so we must rectify that,” Hoseok huffed. His shoulders sagged slightly, causing him to lean inward. Maybe your cute nickname was finally breaking him.
“Do we really?”
“Yes.”
“But, really? Hoseokie, babe, do I look like I belong in Hell?”
The demon blinked with his third eyelid a few times. You watched the slit of his pupils flicker as he genuinely took the time to look you over. It was a hypothetical question and now you were scared of the actual answer. He was a demon, after all. He’d know what a damned soul looked like, right?
“Well.” You watched Hoseok’s throat bob as he swallowed. “You did read a lot of serial killer fanfiction on AO3.”
You scoffed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms against your chest.
“Are you kink-shaming me right now?”
Hoseok mirrored your scoff and busied himself with tidying up a stack of loose papers on his desk, but you saw the way his cheeks turned a healthy shade of pink.
Interesting.
“So, I’m going to Hell because I read One Direction serial killer AUs? Really? That’s why I’m going to Hell?”
“No!” Hoseok huffed again, louder this time. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave you a pleading look. “I don’t know! I don’t decide who goes to Hell, I just take them there!”
“Then don’t take me.”
It seemed like the obvious solution, but Hoseok looked at you like you’d threatened to kill him.
“I have to take you.”
“Oh yeah? Or else what?” You were back to leaning against his desk, your head in your hands and your elbows on the surface. “Satan damns you to some horrible eternal punishment?”
Hoseok turned his head and mumbled to the side, “Something like that.”
You wanted to ask him what it mattered if he was already a demon working for Satan, but you figured that would push him a bit too far. Instead, you were just going to beg. Considering the circumstances, you allowed yourself to do it without hurting your self-respect. Dire times, dire measures.
“Hoseokie, please,” you whined with your bottom lip jutted out. You reached out to hook your finger around one of his, pulling his hand away from where it rested against his chin. “Please, don’t take me to Hell. Let me stay here, with you.”
“With me?” Hoseok’s eyes widened, slitted pupils dilating into ovals.
“Mhmm, wouldn’t that be nice?” you purred, lightly tracing the lines of his palm with your index finger. “You’re so pretty and you look so stressed. What did you say earlier, about burnout? They aren’t taking care of you here, are they, Hoseokie?”
The demon bit his lip. His razor-sharp teeth pressed deep indents into what you knew were soft pink lips.
“I could help you out, Hoseokie, baby.”
Those dark eyes shimmered red and finally met your gaze, though his face was still flushed and his expression almost… timid.
“Help me out?” he murmured, almost as though he were talking himself through the conversation rather than asking you a question.
“Mhmm…”
You pressed your hands flat against the desk and hoisted yourself on top of it. The stack of papers Hoseok had just fixed went flying. He weakly reached out to stop a few of them from slipping off and floating to the carpeted floor.
“I don’t know.” Hoseok’s voice wavered, though you had to give him credit for his ability to maintain eye contact with you as you scooted across the desk.
“I think you do know, Hoseokie.”
Hoseok shook his head, third eyelids putting in work to blink away the shock when you eased yourself into his lap.
You’d been so caught up on how tall and menacing he’d looked in the hallway that you hadn’t stopped to consider the rest of his details, like how firm and comfortable his thighs were. You wiggled your ass to get settled, eliciting a low groan from the demon whose red eyes still rounded under your gaze.
“I’m going to get in trouble,” he pleaded with you when you dug your fingers into his hair and yanked his head backward. “I really don’t want to get in trouble.”
“And I really don’t want to go to Hell.” You dug your teeth into the soft skin of his throat and Hoseok let out a whimpered hiss. “Do you see our problem here?”
Of course, he could see the problem, but Hoseok was driven mute by your free hand palming his cock through his pants. His hold on your waist was bruisingly tight, but you kept a firm grip on his hair and a hot hand on his crotch. There was no way he was getting an upper hand in this, not that you expected him to. He was whimpering and pliant underneath you already.
Maybe you were absolutely insane, but if you had to suck some demon dick to get out of Hell, you were going to fucking do it. No matter how weird it probably looked.
“Y/N, wait.” Hoseok shuddered as you popped open the button of his pants and dragged down the zipper. “Listen to me, it’s not, it’s not a good idea.”
You let your fingertips dance along the waistband of his underwear. You weren’t sure why it was funny that he was wearing underwear; it just seemed like such a silly thing for a demon to need. Out here reaping souls and getting angry over death certificates, and going to the store to buy underwear after work.
It was just funny.
“Why not, Hoseokie? Don’t tell me they don’t let you have a little fun around here.” You batted your eyes at him and slide your hand beneath the fabric.
“It’s not- fuck.”
Hoseok tried to lean forward, to curl into himself, when you pressed your thumb against his leaking slit, but you kept his head pulled backward by his hair.
“Now, I’m gonna tell you what we’re gonna do, okay Hoseokie baby?”
The demon opened his mouth to speak and you shivered as his forked tongue wet his lips.
“Okay.”
“Good little demon, thank you,” you cooed praise that made his face flush an even deeper red. “I’m going to suck your dick and then you’re gonna delete whatever record you have of me and we’re going to forget I was ever even here, alright?”
When Hoseok didn’t speak, you squeezed the head of his cock.
“Fuck, yes, yes, yes, alright,” he sputtered.
“Good.”
The bright side to all of this was that his dick didn’t look any different from any other dick you’d ever seen, although it did seem a bit long. Which was fine. You had hands, didn’t you? You knew how to do a little two-hand twist when needed.
Just as you were about to slide off Hoseok’s lap and get on your knees, the door to his office flung open so hard it slammed against the wall.
“Oh fuck,” Hoseok gulped. He quickly stuffed his cock back inside his pants and zipped his pants up with trembling fingers.
“Oh fuck is right. What the fuck is going on here?”
You turned to look over your shoulder at the person who owned such a smooth, sinister voice that dripped enough malice for you to drown in it. You felt your entire body grow cold when you were met with slitted eyes that glowed even more brightly than Hoseok’s. The eyes roamed your face, your body, your position still straddling Hoseok’s lap. And you did the same, your human eyes taking in the man’s black fitted suit, the swell of his thighs beneath the fabric, the pout of his lips, the craters his dimples made in his cheeks as he sucked on his teeth in seething anger.
“I-I-I-I, Your Majesty,” Hoseok’s tongue fumbled over the words as he tried shoving you off of him.
Oh shit, was this God? He was way too hot to be God.
You stood when Hoseok did, the two of you blinking with your eyes wide and mouths hanging open like idiots in front of the sharply dressed man. Just past the doorway, you could see a few other men flanking the entrance, as though they were guarding it.
“Don’t fucking call me Your Majesty while your cock is twitching in your pants, Hoseok. Have some decency,” the dimpled man chastised with a snort.
Was God allowed to curse? You supposed he was, but multiple F-bombs and a casual “cock” thrown around seemed like a lot for a guy who was meant to be the holiest of the holy.
“And you.”
You poked your index finger against your chest when the man suddenly loomed over you.
“Me?”
“You’re supposed to be with me.”
You rose your eyebrows and shot Hoseok a look, but he had his eyes on the floor.
“Oh… you’re not God…”
You felt fire lick and burn up your chest and across your throat when the man leaned his head back to bellow a laugh so deep you swore the walls moved just as they had for Hoseok when he walked.
“Sweet of you to think so highly of the Devil, little human.”
Aw, fuck.
You were going to Hell.
“Now, listen, the One Direction serial killer AUs weren’t actually that bad. Like, if you’d just give it a chance, you’d understand,” you began.
“Reasoning with me is futile, pet.”
The sound of your teeth clamping shut echoed through the room. You probably should have been scared of how poisonous his tone sounded, but excitement thrummed in your stomach.
No one had ever called you pet before. It was kind of cute.
“Now, let’s go, shall we?”
If Satan had a problem with the way you whimpered when he wrapped a smooth, tan hand around your bicep to haul you out of the room, he didn’t make any indication. If anything, you thought he squeezed you a bit tighter.
“I didn’t think Satan would be so buff,” you murmured and you heard Hoseok choke.
You’d all but forgotten about the guy.
“Oh! Hoseokie!” You twisted your neck around to face him as Satan began leading you away. “Thanks for hanging out! I forgive you for being such a rule follower!”
You turned up to look at Satan’s face which was a bit hard to do considering he was so tall and all legs and pecs that looked better than any boobs you’d ever seen. It was very distracting.
“You’re not going to damn him to some horrible eternal punishment, are you?”
“I think working here is punishment enough, don’t you?”
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