taewive

You didn’t turn around.

“Butcher,” he added, in case you needed clarity. “You heard him. Said we’re a liability. Said we fucked it.”

You still didn’t move. The pain in your shoulder pulsed in time with your heartbeat. You could feel him behind you—close enough that your skin prickled.

“What was it he said again? Somethin’ like—‘get the fuck back to base before you fuck everything else up, yeah?’” He snorted. “Fuckin’ poetry.”

You turned slowly. Deliberate. Controlled. Like you hadn’t been burning the entire way back.

Ben leaned against the table like he owned it. Like he owned everything. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled, streaks of blood dried on his forearms. A cut split the corner of his mouth, barely crusted over. He looked like hell. He looked smug as sin.

“This your way of apologising?” You asked flatly.

He grinned.

“For what? Havin’ to drag your sorry ass out of the crossfire?” He tipped his chin toward you, voice soft and sharp. “You’re the one who decided to break off formation, sweetheart. You’re the one who thought she knew better. As usual.”

“You were supposed to be on my six.”

“I was,” he said, with a smirk that could rot teeth. “But your head’s so far up your own ass, you probably couldn’t see straight.”

You took a step forward.

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Why not?” He tilted his head, mock-confused. “Scared I’ll say somethin’ you don’t wanna hear?” He clicked his tongue. “Or scared I’ll say somethin’ you do?”

He pushed off the table and started toward you, boots deliberate, like he was giving you time to flinch.

You didn’t.

“Touch me and I’ll gut you.”

He laughed. Full-bellied. Loud in the cramped space.

“Jesus Christ. Every time. You get that little snarl in your voice and think it makes you dangerous. But sweetheart—” He closed the distance, close enough to smell the blood drying on his skin. “—you don’t scare me. You get me hot.”

You flinched before you could stop yourself. And he noticed.

“That’s right,” he said, voice dipped low like a secret, like a threat. “Say my name like it don’t hurt you to come out that pretty, wet little mouth.”

“I’d rather chew glass.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’d still fuck you with blood on your teeth.”

Your hand twitched toward your blade.

He saw it. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked, voice husky with mock concern. “Stab me?”

He leaned in. “C’mon, baby. Don’t tease. You and I both know you ain't gonna do shit.”

You shoved him.

It was instinctive, desperate, not meant to land so much as buy space—but he didn’t budge. Didn’t stumble. He just looked down at the spot where your hands had hit his chest. Then up.

Then smiled.

“There she is,” he murmured. “My little junkyard dog. All bark. No bite.”

You punched him. Hard. Right across the face.

His head jerked sideways with the impact. And for a moment—blessed silence.

Then he licked the blood from his lip and grinned.

“That all you got?”

You went for him again. This time he blocked it. Then the other.

You were shaking. Breathing too fast. You didn’t care. Your shoulder screamed, your vision burned—but you kept swinging. He caught your wrist. Twisted. Pressed you back against the table.

His face hovered over yours, grinning like a devil that just found a loophole.

“Always a mean little bitch under all that scowling,” he rasped, his breath hot against your cheek. “Now what? You gonna hit me again…”

His other hand slid across your hip, slow, possessive.

“…or you gonna fuckin’ kiss me?”

You shoved him—hard.

This time, Ben moved. His ass slammed against the table’s edge with a thud, the sound loud in the breathless space between you. The legs screeched against the concrete floor, the flickering bulb above swaying ever so slightly from the shift.

He didn’t look angry. He looked delighted.

That fucking smirk twisted across his split lip like sin incarnate. His eyes tracked your movements lazily, like he was watching a predictable game play out exactly as he'd imagined.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you snapped, voice low, warning-laced, vibrating with the kind of rage that tasted like blood at the back of your throat.

He tilted his head. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, savouring the shape of the sound like a fine cigar. “Feisty now, huh?”

Your chest heaved. Your shoulder throbbed. The sleeve of your jacket was soaked through, blood soaking the fabric where the wound still wept. You didn’t care. Not now. Not when he stood there like every word that had ever left your mouth was just foreplay.

“You are a walking piece of shit, Hargrove,” you hissed, each syllable laced with months of bitter frustration. “Every time you open your mouth, it’s like someone scraped the bottom of a fucking urinal and taught it to speak.”

He barked out a laugh, loud and cruel, cutting across your words like a blade. “C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“You’re a liability. A danger to your own team. You’re not a soldier—you’re a relic. Washed-up and bitter and desperate for someone to look at you like you’re still relevant—”

“There she goes,” he said, louder now, over you. His tone dripped with amusement, his grin all teeth. “God, you run that mouth like it’s gonna win you a medal.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish!”

“Why?” He shrugged. “You only like hearin’ yourself talk?”

Your vision blurred, fury red-hot behind your eyes. You didn’t even realise how close you’d stepped until you felt his breath ghosting across your lips.

“You think this is funny?” You hissed. “You ruin everything you touch. Every mission, every team—you tank it. Because you can’t handle anyone not looking at you like you’re a fucking god.”

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked pleased. “And yet you keep comin’ back,” he murmured. “Can’t help yourself. Bet you lie awake wonderin’ if I’m thinkin’ about you. Wantin’ me to.”

You scoffed, but his grin widened.

“Hate to break it to you, honey, but you ain't special. You're just easy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Nah. I'm honest.” He stepped in close, voice dropping to a murmur. “Y’know what your real problem is? You don’t know your fuckin’ place.”

You blinked. Something in your spine stiffened. That sick-slick tension tightened between your ribs.

“Back in my day,” he continued, slow and deliberate, “girls like you weren’t out in the field. You were fuckin’ dinner entertainment. Something soft to come home to. Not stompin’ around, actin’ like your tits and your tantrums count as tactical advantage.”

Your nails bit into your palms. He kept going.

“You wanna play soldier so bad, but you can’t even keep your emotions in check. Bleedin’ all over the floor and yellin’ like a brat who didn’t get her way.”

“I am ten times the asset you’ll ever be—” you began, but he cut you off again.

“Sweetheart, the only asset you got is between your fuckin’ legs.”

Silence fell. Ugly. Hot.

Then you spit.

Right into his face.

It landed just beneath his eye, slid slow and gleaming down his cheek to where his jaw tensed. He didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t blink.

Then, fast as a whipcrack, he lunged.

His hand snapped up and clamped around your jaw with bruising force, fingers digging into the soft parts of your cheeks, thumb pressing into the hinge like he was daring it to break. He squeezed hard enough to make your lips part, to force your chin upward until your eyes had nowhere to go but him.

You jerked, tried to wrench away, but he held you firm. Unyielding.

“Don’t waste your fuckin’ spit like that,” he growled.

His breath was hot. His face inches from yours, that cut on his lip glistening red and wet.

“You got no idea how many men would’ve dropped you where you stand for that.”

He paused, then smiled. A slow, filthy thing.

“But not me.” His voice rasped low, reverent in the worst way. “Nah. I like you like this. All mouth and no plan. Lookin’ at me like you wanna kill me and come on my cock at the same time.”

You tried to speak, and he tightened his grip. The ache bloomed instantly, your jaw locked in place.

“Don’t. Speak.”

His eyes roamed over your face, dark and gleaming with something feral.

“You’re not gonna say anything I haven’t already jerked off to.”

Your jaw ached in his grip, cheeks squeezed between his calloused fingers, lips parted just enough for breath to pass—but nothing else. He held you there like a fucking trophy, his thumb rough against your skin, his smirk rotting through your bloodstream like venom.

You could hear yourself breathing. Could hear him breathing. Close and sharp and slow. Measured, like he was savouring the scent of your unraveling.

You hated the silence. Because in the silence—you felt it.

The throb. Low and dark, blooming in your gut like a bruise. Not from rage. Not from shame.

From want.

And it hit you like a slap.

No.

No, no, no.

Your pulse pounded hard against your ribs. Your body buzzed like it had just realised what kind of man had you pinned. What kind of voice was in your ear. What kind of fingers were on your jaw.

And that—that’s what made your stomach twist. Because somewhere in the middle of all the hate and heat and violence—

You were getting wet.

You scowled. Tried to pull back. But Ben’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, his smile stretched into something even worse.

“Ohhh,” he crooned, soft and vicious, “there it is.”

You froze. Heart lurching.

“That little squirm,” he said. “Took you a minute, huh? Thought you were gonna keep up the act a little longer.”

You growled in your throat, furious, but he just kept going.

“Should’ve known. All that righteous little rage—” he leaned in, voice dipping like a secret, “—was just your pussy tryin’ to negotiate terms.”

You twisted in his grip, but he followed you like a shadow.

“Bet you’re soaked. Hatin’ every second of it. Poor thing.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you hissed.

He ignored it.

“What is it?” He murmured. “The voice? The muscles? Or is it the fact I treat you like a fuckin’ dumb little girl who doesn’t belong on the field?”

You spat again—but this time, you missed. It hit his collarbone, slid down his bare chest where his shirt wasn't fully done up.

He chuckled darkly.

“Temper, temper.”

Then you bit him. Hard.

Your teeth sank into the curve where his shoulder met his neck, the tang of his sweat hitting your tongue like copper and salt. You heard him grunt—deep and involuntary—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his hand tightened on your jaw, holding you there like he wanted the pain.

You pulled back and glared up at him, lips slick with spit and rage.

“You are not fucking me,” you snapped.

Ben didn’t blink.

“No?” He said, voice sharp with laughter, laced with something darker beneath it.

Then his hand dropped low, low enough to brush between your legs, just for a second, just enough for him to feel the heat there.

His eyes lit up.

“Well I ain’t fuckin’ the hole in your shoulder, sweetheart.”

You slapped him.

The sound snapped through the room like the crack of a whip. His face turned with the force of it—but his smile stayed. Wider now. Red glistened on his lip where your palm had split it further, curling into the corner of his mouth like a badge of honour.

And still—he laughed. Low and steady, like he was enjoying this more than anything that had come before.

“Still got fight,” he rasped. “God, I fuckin’ love that.”

He stepped forward again, forcing you back until your spine met the rough cinderblock wall. His body caged yours, broad and radiating heat, his breath ragged but measured like he was controlling it just to make a point.

His hand landed on your hip. Possessive. Heavy.

“You’re burnin’ up,” he murmured. “Tryna hide it, but you’re meltin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re pulsin’.”

You sneered. “You’re hallucinating.”

He laughed again, but there was a tension coiled beneath it now. Something tight and hungry and climbing.

His fingers dragged slowly up your thigh, the heat of them searing through the fabric. He didn’t go high enough to touch anything worth touching—but close. So close. Just enough to make your skin buzz and crawl.

“You always get this hot when you’re mad, or is it just for me?”

You turned your face away.

That smug fucking tone. That condescension. That voice.

Your body hated you for it. You hated you for it.

He leaned in until his mouth grazed the edge of your jaw, his lips brushing skin with infuriating softness. His stubble scraped, and your breath hitched—just once.

He heard it.

“C’mon,” he said, softer now. Dangerous. “Stop fightin’ it, baby.”

You clenched your teeth.

“I’m not—” you started, but he cut you off with a groan that was almost frustrated.

“Jesus. You are the most stubborn little fuckin’ thing I’ve ever met.” His palm pressed flat against your stomach now, not moving higher, not yet. “I’m right here. You know it. I feel you, sweetheart.”

He pressed his hips against yours.

You felt it—his arousal, straining against his pants, heavy and hot and very, very there.

And still—your jaw locked.

He chuckled again, but this time it was quieter. Rougher. His lips ghosted over your ear.

“You ain’t gotta beg,” he murmured. “Don’t gotta say please.”

He nipped your earlobe, and you flinched.

“But fuck,” he breathed, “I want you to. Just once. Just a fuckin’ whimper of it.”

His other hand came up and gripped the back of your neck, dragging your head back against the wall, making you look at him.

“Just gimme somethin’,” he growled. “Let me have it.”

You stared up at him, eyes defiant, chest heaving, lips trembling with a fury you couldn’t name. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, sweat beading at his temple.

“You want me to say it?” You whispered.

He nodded, once. Jaw ticking.

You leaned forward, lips almost brushing his.

“No.”

His eyes flared. Just for a moment. Then his forehead hit the wall beside your head with a hollow thunk.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he growled, nearly breathless. “Goddamn little—”

You kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed you. It didn’t matter. Because suddenly—there were no more words. Only teeth. Tongue. Pressure. Only hands everywhere, dragging, grabbing, bruising. Only the sound of your breath punched out of your lungs as he pinned you harder, like he wanted to break something open just to see what spilled out.

And still—you didn’t beg. Not once.

His mouth was on yours, hot and hungry and entirely too satisfied with itself. He kissed like he fought—with dominance, with grit, with absolutely no care for anyone’s breath but his own. Your teeth clashed, tongues fighting for control, every gasp turning into another insult.

“I fuckin’ knew you wanted it,” he muttered against your lips, breath ragged, voice ruined. “God, you’re such a fuckin’ prick tease sometimes.”

You bit his bottom lip, hard enough to make him grunt. “Shut the fuck up,” you panted, fingers already yanking at his half-undone shirt.

He growled—deep and primal—grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it over your head like it’d personally offended him. You barely had time to toss it aside before his hands were on your tits, greedy and rough and everywhere.

Between kisses, between moans, between muttered curses, you were tearing at his belt, yanking and fumbling, both of you shaking with urgency.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he hissed, snapping the leather free. “Gonna ruin you.”

“You already have,” you spat.

His grin split wider. “Aww, baby. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Then he went for your pants.

And froze.

You were kicking off your boots, halfway done when he huffed—truly, violently irritated.

“Fuck this shit,” he barked.

Before you could speak, his arms wrapped around your waist and he spun you—fast, like the air was thick with smoke and he didn’t have time to be gentle.

You barely got your hands out to brace yourself before your hips hit the edge of the table and you were slammed down onto your front.

“Hargrove—” you started.

He didn’t listen.

Didn’t care.

His hand wrapped around your waistband and in one brutal, fluid motion, he ripped your pants and underwear clean down the back of your legs, the fabric tearing with a shriek and hitting the floor like surrender.

“Are you fucking serious?! I liked those pants!”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, just enough to tilt your head back.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

You barely had time to process the shift before his hands gripped your ass and spread you, and his whole face pressed in like he was trying to suffocate between your thighs.

And then—his mouth.

“Oh fuck—”

The first lick was devastating. Broad and slow, from your clit to your dripping entrance, and then back again, like he was learning you.

Then came the second—filthier. Sloppier. Louder.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, voice muffled in your cunt. “You taste like a fuckin’ war crime.”

You choked on a laugh and a moan at once, half turning to glare over your shoulder.

“Don’t flatter yourself—”

But he growled—deep—and sucked your clit into his mouth like he was punishing it. You almost collapsed.

“Shut up,” he muttered against you. “Just fuckin’ take it.”

Then he really started working.

Tongue pressed flat, then curling. Lapping and sucking and moaning like he’d gone feral. One hand keeping you spread, the other sliding down your thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise.

“You hear that?” He said, pulling back just long enough to spit onto your pussy and spread it with two fingers. “That squelch? That’s you, baby. Drippin’ all over my fuckin’ face.”

His mouth dove back in, and this time, he added teeth.

You cried out. His name. A curse. Maybe both.

He laughed into you. “That’s right. Fuckin’ mess. And you act like you’re not into it.”

You tried to push up, to speak, but he slapped your ass—hard—and buried his tongue deep again, humming like it was the best goddamn meal he’d ever had.

“Keep that mouth shut and let me eat, sweetheart,” he growled, voice wrecked. “You’re so fuckin’ wet I could drown in it.”

And he wanted to. You could feel it—in the way he moved. Desperate. Devoted. Obscene.

You were moaning. Panting. Swearing. But even now—still, now—you were running your fucking mouth.

His tongue had been buried in you for what felt like hours. Alternating between lapping, sucking, biting—his face drenched, his groans constant, hands gripping your thighs like a lifeline.

And you? You were taking it. You were suffering for it. But not quietly.

“You sound like a dog,” you hissed, voice breathless, broken, but still smug. “Fucking mutt. Bet you’d hump my leg if I let you.”

He growled into your cunt. You gasped. But the grin was still there, stretching across your face like sin.

“You’re pathetic, Hargrove,” you whispered. “Fucking starving like you haven’t had pussy in—”

His voice rumbled, low and sharp: “Shut your mouth.”

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

“Can’t get enough, huh? Pathetic little—”

“I swear to God, sweetheart—” His breath was ragged, trembling with something dangerous. “I will fuck that pretty throat if you don’t stop talkin’.”

You arched your back and laughed, breathless and triumphant.

“Aww,” you taunted, “Did I bruise your ego?”

That was it.

He moved. In a blur of strength and heat and fury, he grabbed your waist and lifted you clean off the floor. You yelped, legs kicking reflexively as your spine hit the table, your head dangling off the far side.

The world flipped upside down.

“Hargrove—what the fu—”

Your words were cut off by the weight of him—thick and hot and full, his cock driving into your mouth so deep your vision sparked.

Your throat convulsed.

He hissed through clenched teeth, head thrown back, arms braced over the table as he held you there.

“Fuck—told you.” His voice cracked, breath rattling through the growl. “I fuckin’ warned you,” he groaned, thrusting slowly, deeply, into your throat while your eyes watered and your fingernails dug into the edges of the table.

“Run that fuckin’ mouth one more time,” he panted, his hips grinding deeper with every word, “and I’ll use it just like this every goddamn time.”

He wasn’t pulling back.

Just shallow rocks of his hips, grinding against the back of your throat while he looked down at your body bent over the table like a goddamn feast.

And then?

His fingers slid between your legs again. Without warning. Two of them. Deep.

You choked—hard—around him as his fingers curled exactly where they needed to, dragging slick out of you like he wanted to make it messier.

Your whole body spasmed.

“You feel that?” He rasped, breath shuddering. “Goddamn. You’re squeezin’ my fingers like a fuckin’ vice.”

He groaned again—shaky, hot, fucked-out.

“Jesus, baby… and you were talkin’ like you didn’t want this.”

His free hand cradled your throat now—thumb pressed against the bulge of his cock visible in your neck, feeling himself inside you.

His eyes rolled back.

“Christ, your fuckin’ throat was made for me.”

You tried to move. Couldn’t.

Every breath you dragged in was him. Every sound was slick and gasped and obscene—the wet noise of his fingers plunging into your soaked cunt, the slap of his hips against your lips, the throb of your core twitching around his hand.

He laughed again—wrecked, barely holding on.

And you were still fighting it. Still glaring through tear-lined lashes, still gagging and clawing and refusing to break.

But he was gonna make you, even if he had to keep you full at both ends to do it.

He was fucking your throat like it was the last thing on Earth that could save him.

Every roll of his hips was deeper. Slower. Less angry and more delirious, like he’d tipped over into something hot and helpless and consuming.

His fingers were still inside you, working in tandem with his cock down your throat—crooking and twisting like he was testing reactions, mapping you from the inside out. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely think.

And he loved it.

You could hear it in the way he was groaning now—drawn-out, fucked-up sounds, torn from deep in his chest. He wasn’t even taunting anymore. He was worshipping.

“Jesus,” he gasped, looking down at you with wild, half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his temple. “This mouth. This fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart—"

He thrust again, slow and deep, hips stuttering at the feel of you twitching around him.

“I love it when you spit at me,” he groaned, voice cracking into a soft laugh. “I love it when you snarl like a rabid little fuckin’ animal—”

You gagged around him, throat clenched so tight he moaned.

“God, yeah. When you run that mouth like a spoiled little brat—when you hate me so fuckin’ loud—”

He curled his fingers inside you, deep and slick, pressing down on your front wall—that spongey, gummy, wreck-you spot—like he was playing a damn instrument.

“—and then suck me down like you don’t even need to breathe anymore—fuck—”

Your vision blurred. Everything started spinning. You tapped his thigh once. Twice. Desperate.

His hips froze. His cock still buried in your throat.

“Oh—fuck,” he gasped, already pulling out. “Shit. Sorry, sweetheart—got lost in the fuckin’ moment there.”

He was laughing. A breathless, ragged sound, part apology, part thrill. His eyes were wild with it. Face flushed. Hands shaking.

You gagged as air rushed back into your lungs, coughing, drool trailing down your chin, your mouth gaping as you tried to drag yourself upright.

“Jesus,” you rasped, blinking tears from your lashes. “You’re fucking insane.”

His fingers left you with a wet pull that made you flinch—and he watched it. Watched how your thighs twitched when you were empty again.

He was circling the table now, still breathless, his cock glistening, soaked in spit and flushed angry red.

“Damn right I am,” he said hoarsely, eyes raking down your wrecked body.

Then he gripped your hips and dragged you down the table, rough and fluid, until your ass met the edge and your legs dropped open—slack, shivering.

“C’mon.” His voice was low now. Different. Almost soft. “Lean up. Wanna see those fuckin’ eyes.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, still gasping, still shaking. But you looked. You watched.

You watched him line up—the head of his cock rubbing through your soaked folds, catching against your clit, then sliding down to your entrance where you were aching to be filled.

He exhaled shakily, mouth falling open.

“God,” he muttered, like a man on the brink. “Look at you.”

One hand on your thigh. The other gripping himself, twitching at the base. He nudged forward again, teasing—not to torture, but because he was savouring.

You locked eyes. He was gone.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he whispered.

Then he pushed in like he had all the time in the world.

No rush. No brutality.

Just that slow, devastating stretch as his cock split you open—inch by aching inch—like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d earned it. His mouth dropped open when he bottomed out, a filthy groan catching low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. Squeezin’ me like you were made for this.”

Your body arched, mouth falling open in a wordless moan as the table beneath your back creaked. You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. All you could feel was the weight of him—deep, thick, pulsing inside you—and the heat blooming out from where your bodies met.

And then he started to move.

Slow. Deep. Dragging his cock almost all the way out, then pressing it back in until your walls clenched and fluttered helplessly.

Your head lolled back. Your eyes rolled.

He slapped your thigh—hard.

“Uh-uh.” His voice was tight. Stern. “Eyes on me.”

You blinked, dazed.

He was braced over you, one hand on your thigh, the other fisted beside your hip. His hips rolled forward again—slower this time, deliberate. You moaned. Your eyelids fluttered.

Another sharp slap to your thigh.

“Look. At. Me.” he growled.

You dragged your gaze back to him, jaw slack, lips parted.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, staring down at you like you were an open flame. “Look at that face. Look at what I fuckin’ do to you.”

He rocked in again, groaning as your body clenched around him.

“I love this part,” he muttered. “When you’re still tryin’ to hold it together. Still actin’ like you’re not fallin’ apart.”

You whimpered, and his mouth curled.

“You like this, don’t you?” He crooned, voice thick with filth. “Being pinned open like this. Full. Spread. Watched.”

Your head tipped back again on instinct, eyes slipping shut—

And his hand snapped up, grabbing your jaw.

“No.”

He held your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to look away,” he said, voice sharp with heat. “Not when I’m inside you like this. Not when I’m this deep.”

He thrust again, deeper this time—grinding the base of his cock against you so perfectly you cried out.

“That’s it.” He grinned, breath catching. “I wanna see you break.”

Your hands scrambled at the table, nails dragging across the wood. Your thighs were shaking. Every time he bottomed out, your hips jerked, your breath hitched, your chest arched—and he watched. Every. Fucking. Time.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he warned, still holding your face. “I want to watch what I do to you. Every twitch. Every moan. Every little shiver.”

Your body pulsed around him like it was listening.

And that made him feral.

“Jesus, sweetheart—this pussy,” he groaned, slowing his thrusts again, dragging them out to pure torture. “Grippin’ me like it knows. Like it wants to be ruined.”

Your eyes fluttered again.

He tutted.

“Aw, baby. You tryna be good?” His cock slid deeper. “You wanna be good for me?”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. He let your jaw go—just long enough to slap your thigh one more time.

“Christ,” he groaned, hands gripping your thighs like restraints. “Still this fuckin’ tight…”

You felt it every time he bottomed out—hips flush to yours, cock buried so deep you could barely breathe. Your mouth opened on a moan that never quite found its voice, your head tipping back on the table, fingers trembling where they gripped the edge.

His hands moved—one sliding up to press flat against your belly, the other settling on your jaw, thumb grazing your lips like he didn’t know what part of you he wanted to control more.

“Pussy like this should come with a fuckin’ warning,” he muttered, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You feel that? How tight you’re squeezin’ me? It’s fucking perfect.”

You moaned, head tipping back more.

He slapped your thigh. Again. Sharper.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes. On. Me.”

Your gaze dragged back up to meet his—blurry, glassy, wrecked.

He looked devastated. Sweat on his chest. Jaw tight. His green eyes burning down at you like he’d die if you looked away again.

“You keep doin’ that, I’m gonna lose it,” he whispered. “I’m already hangin’ by a fuckin’ thread.”

Your walls clenched around him at the admission. He hissed.

“You like that, don’t you? Bein’ the one who makes me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

His thrusts got deeper, harder. Still slow, still controlled—but barely.

“God, I really do love this fuckin’ mouth,” he panted, staring at your lips now.

You whimpered. Shuddered. Your whole body was tensing.

He could feel it. His fingers reached down, thumb finding your clit, circling in tight, merciless pressure.

“You close?” He asked, voice gone rough and mean.

You nodded, whimpering, trying to say yes. But your throat couldn’t form it.

He stilled.

You cried out, grinding your hips, chasing the friction—anything—but he held you.

“Nope,” he rasped. “You wanna come? You ask.”

Your eyes flared. Fury and arousal crashing like thunder.

He grinned.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed. “Too proud to beg? Thought you were a tough girl.”

You clenched your teeth, panting.

“I can do this all night, sweetheart,” he said, hips grinding deep and slow again, teasing that spot that made your legs twitch. “I’ll keep you right here until you sob for it.”

He pulled back, just enough to make you feel empty. Then slid back in, eyes glued to your face.

“You gonna say it?” He whispered. “Gonna ask me?”

Still, you didn’t. But your eyes were glassy. Your hips were shaking. Your voice was gone.

And then, you said it. Soft. Broken.

“…Ben.”

His name. Your voice.

Everything stopped.

His hands shook. His breath hitched. His head dropped forward with a gasp.

“Oh, fuck…”

He looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with that sound.

“You’ve never…” he whispered. “You’ve never called me that.”

You said it again, even softer.

“Ben…”

And he shattered.

“Fuck, come.” His voice cracked. “Please. Now.”

His thumb pressed down. His hips snapped forward. Your body broke. And the moment it hit the air—

He snapped.

“Fuck—yes, yes, come, come for me—”

His voice fractured around it—command and awe bleeding together like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His thumb kept circling your clit, relentless. His cock buried deep. And your body shuddered beneath him.

You came hard. Again. Back arching, mouth open, eyes rolling.

And still— He didn’t stop.

Not even for a second.

He was still fucking you. Driving into your wrecked cunt like he’d been given permission to devour.

You whimpered. Eyes fluttering.

“Ben—”

“Oh, we’re not done,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Not even close, sweetheart.”

He kissed you. Open-mouthed and filthy. His lips found your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—like he couldn’t decide what part of you to ruin next. His hips never slowed. Each thrust was harder now. Rougher. Every wet slap of his body against yours made you twitch.

You couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. And your body—shaking, overstimulated—begged for mercy you refused to ask for.

Your head tipped back again.

Eyes closed.

Your fatal mistake.

He froze. Just for a second. Then he snapped his hips. Hard. Brutal.

You cried out.

His hand cracked across your thigh. Again.

“Eyes,” he snarled. “The fuck did I say?”

You tried. Blinked. Dragged yourself back to him.

His eyes were wild. Hair damp with sweat. Jaw tight. His cock pulsing deep inside you.

“You look at me when I fuck you.”

He slowed. Just a little. Then slammed into you again, harder than before—making the table creak and your legs twitch.

“Can’t believe you dared to close your fuckin’ eyes again after I warned you.”

“Ben—fuck, I—”

He spit the next words like a threat:

“You do that one more time, and I swear to God, sweetheart— I’ll flip you over, fuck your ass deep, and I won’t let you look at me.”

Your whole body spasmed.

His voice dropped, feral.

“Sound good to you?” He growled. “Want me there next? So every fuckin’ inch of you is mine? So you remember who fuckin’ owns this body?”

You choked on a moan.

He grabbed your face again, forcing your gaze back to his.

“That’s right. Keep those pretty little eyes where they belong.”

He thrust again—hard, fast, filthy. You sobbed. Clenched. He groaned like he was dying. Your thighs were soaked. Your vision blurred. And he was still going. Still holding you wide open.

Still not coming. Because he wanted you broken first.

He was fucking you like he was trying to carve a god out of your body. Relentless. Precise. The kind of rhythm that wasn’t chaos—it was control. Hard-earned. Hard-kept. Just barely contained.

Your thighs were soaked. His cock was dripping. You could feel your own come sliding down the insides of your legs from the last orgasm, and still—he hadn’t let up.

Then—

His pace broke.

He pulled back, hips stuttering as he groaned, “Fuck, I’m close. Fuck—where d’you want it?”

His voice was wrecked. Ragged. Wild. “Your tits? Your stomach? Wanna see it drip off your ass? What, baby—what do you want?”

Your answer was a sob. One word.

“Inside.”

And he stopped cold.

You didn’t even feel his cock anymore—just the sudden absence as he yanked back like you’d burned him.

His hand flew to the base of his cock, fisting it tight to hold himself back.

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart—”

He was breathing hard. Panicked. Laughing like it hurt.

“You can’t—you can’t say shit like that,” he gasped, squeezing himself as precum smeared over his knuckles. “You gotta give a guy warning before you pull that fucking move.”

You whimpered. Barely coherent. “Please…”

He laughed. Laughed like he was losing his mind.

“Oh, no. No, no, no—” he choked, circling around the table like he had to walk it off or he’d blow right then and there.

He looked feral. Cheeks flushed, sweat gleaming on his chest, cock throbbing in his fist.

“Inside?” He echoed, voice hoarse. “Jesus, you really are a little fuckin’ menace.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, mouth open, wrecked in every possible way.

“The last thing either of us needs,” he panted, “is me fuckin’ a baby into you.”

You shivered. Moaned. He grinned wider.

“Can you imagine?” He groaned, twisting his fist at the tip. “Half me and half you? That kid would be fucked. Wouldn’t even make it past the first trimester before startin’ bar fights in the womb.”

He shook his head, still circling, the slap of his fist on his cock echoing through the room.

“Hot in theory, sweetheart. In practice? Not so fuckin’ much.”

He came to a stop at the head of the table. Looked down at you—body blown open, thighs twitching, chest flushed, mouth wet and waiting.

“Back,” he said, pressing a hand to your shoulder. “Down. Now.”

You obeyed. Laid back across the table, head tilted slightly, breathing shallow.

He gripped his cock tighter, leaning over you with that wild grin stretched across his face, his other hand toying with your nipples, rolling and pinching until you gasped.

“Gonna make such a mess of this face,” he whispered.

Your legs spread wider.

He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Then his hand hovered over your lips.

“Open wide,” he said, voice low.

You did.

He spit. Heavy. Wet. Right into your mouth.

“For earlier, you little fucker,” he muttered, eyes glittering.

You moaned around it. Swallowed. Smiled.

He groaned. “Jesus Christ, you liked that.”

Then—he slapped your cheek, light, teasing. The kind of touch that said mine.

“Here it fuckin’ comes, baby,” he panted, jerking faster now. “Open wider. C’mon.”

You looked up at him. Eyes glossy. Lips parted.

He groaned loud. “Good girl.”

And then—

He came. Hot. Thick. Everywhere. Over your tongue, your chin, your cheeks, your fucking soul. And when he was done, he stumbled. Laughed. Ran a hand through his hair and looked down at you like you’d just ruined him.

Because you had.

author notes: boy, oh boy... i went hard on this one. i need to get fucked like this at the moment, i genuinely believe it would get me out of my own fucking head for five goddamn minutes and then i can just get back on with my life. but alas, i hate all men, and will not go near one, even if it means the dicking of my life. i love ben like this. fucking nasty asshat but so obviously reverent over reader. we live to see it. i also haven't fully proofread this because i'm just delirious from last night, and let's be real, the past few weeks lol. my life is going down the fucking toilet. let me know what y'alls think, please. i need some fucking praise right now. and that isn't even a hint, it's an outright request. all the damn love.

soldier boy/ben taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @tinas111 @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @mostlymarvelgirl @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @adoredawn @sunnyfuffly @deansbbyx <3

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit. 

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

You had gotten out of your car prepared to confront him, but you didn’t. Your heart sank when  they both entangled their fingers together, hearing a few struggling laughter even through the rain, as they ran towards the motel doors.

You watched as your husband entered the motel room with the woman - obviously who he was going to leave you for - and closed the door behind them. Through the closed blind, you witness the lights flicker on and behind them, their silhouette engulfing in a hug.

You swallow thickly, your throat hurting as you think about the fact that your marriage was going to be ending - and yet maybe you should’ve listened to him the first time when he asked for said divorce. You had only thought he was upset with you and eventually, the both of you would come together once more.

Your legs pick up and you’re stomping towards the motel room. Your heart is already shattered and now you’re angry.

You didn’t deserve this. You were a good wife to him and you remained by his side with all the bullshit he went through - all the shit he has put you through. In the end, where did it leave you both? Down the path of a divorce while you sit at home alone and he’s out with another woman.

You stop right outside the motel door, contemplating if you should be doing this now. It was a week prior when you caught sight of the motel receipt - you had been washing clothes and decided to wash his. You checked his pockets to assure nothing would be damaged and in the end, only your heart was. No man is going to a motel in the same town he lives in if it wasn’t because he was creeping with another woman.

There were signs - of course there were signs. You chose to ignore them all. The sudden “work phone calls” and “staying overtime” should have struck you as off - but you were blinded by love for your husband that you didn’t allow yourself to see what the fuck was in front of you.

Your fist connects with the door rapidly, banging against it with all your might that your knuckles begin to throb - but you didn’t give a damn at this moment. You had gone to the same motel each night that he had not come home and waited to see if his car would be here - and tonight you happened to be lucky.

There’s shuffling behind the door and when it swings open is when you attack, your fist connecting to the face of your husband. The woman screams in shock and comes between the two of you.

“What the hell-”

Maybe it was the adrenaline that gives you such strength and courage. Maybe the rain and heavy wind has caused you to get sick faster than usual and now you have super powers; who the hell knows? It only took one punch for the woman to fall onto her ass and clench her nose and by the end of it all, you know that you’d feel guilty because surely this wasn’t her fault. She didn’t owe you any loyalty.

“Y/N!”

Your husband is grabbing your shoulders, eyes wide at the act of being caught red-handed. “How did you-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss, having no desire to explain yourself to him. It was you that needed to be asking the important questions. “This is the overtime you’re putting in?” you ask him. “This,” you point to the woman on the ground. “is the work calls?”

Your husband shakes his head, unable to form words. What could he truly say? It was obvious that this was an affair and you weren’t dumb enough to fall for any more lies when it was slapped in your face like this. 

“Listen-”

“When did it start?” you interrupt once more. “How long-”

“I asked for a divorce!” your husband hisses and instantly sighs. He didn’t want to do this here. “Can we talk-”

“We can talk right here.” you say, yanking yourself away when he goes to reach for you. “So that’s it? You want a divorce?” you scoff. “After I stayed when all your business ventures went to shit? All your investments went downhill?”

Your husband's eyes widen at your words and he takes a step back.

“Don’t look like that now.” you scoff. “It was my money that kept us afloat.”

“My apologies, Y/N, for not being a trust fund baby!” your husband retorts. “I don’t have mommy and daddies money to fall back on like you do!”

You lick your lips, swallowing back more harsh insults you could dish out. You nod your head with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“We’ve been together for years and the relationship has gone nowhere.” your husband states. “I thought a divorce would be mutual-”

“Mutual?” you snort. 

“You know what I want, Y/N.” he murmurs. “We both know what we want and you cannot do it. I can’t…” his eyes blink away from your face, unable to look you in the eye as he says it. “...I don’t want to adopt. I want to have my own child. And you don’t want to do surrogacy-”

“You’re divorcing me because I cannot carry a child.” you state. “I see.”

“It’s deeper than that, Y/N and you know it.”

“What else is there?” you ask. “We were fine prior to me finding out.” One too many miscarriages to be exact. You recall the day your heart sank when you were told the low possibility of you actually having a child - and you refused to keep trying to just get let down.

“Tomorrow,” you began, eyes glancing at the woman. She doesn’t look at you and you wonder just who she is and what her intentions were with your husband - now ex. Was she planning on getting into a relationship with him or was this just them fucking in cheap motels? “you can come get you stuff from the house.”

Your husband swallows but he nods.

“I’ll have my mommy and daddy call our family lawyer.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm and venom. “We’ll sort something out. I’ll tell you this now that the most I’m willing to let you keep is your car.”

Your husband watches you leave, back out in the heavy rain. You enter your car and sit for a moment, mind racing with the events that just transpire. The rain hides your view of outside your windshield and you have yet to start your car. You sit idly in the cold car and listen to the sound of said rain hit against it.

It doesn’t get easier with time, you note, and your home only feels empty and cold without his presence. You told yourself this was for the best - this is what he wanted after all. Soon, the divorce will be finalized and he will be someone else’s problem.

Even now you sit alone in a diner, stirring your tea. It’s quiet and only low music plays through the speakers. It’s also not busy, an older couple sitting a few tables away.

You shouldn’t be here now. This is where you and your ex-husband came at any given moment as it was 24 hours and it’s pathetic that this is where you went because you didn’t wish to be home.

“You’re sad.”

You’re startled by the voice speaking suddenly and your eyes blink upwards to the woman sitting across from you. She appears to be out of place here. She seems to be wearing robes - a crimson color with a spec of gold trimming. Her head is covered by a hood of the same color and you’re unable to make out her face just yet as her head is bowed. Her hands are placed onto the table and you noticed she’s wearing gold jewelry 

You sit straighter, unaware who this woman was and why she was here. You had not heard her sit down, either, and that strikes you as odd.

“Is it that obvious?” you murmur, scoffing to yourself. 

“Your aura is sad.” the woman speaks. “You’re hurting. Emotionally, of course.”

You realized that this entire time you had been stirring your tea. You stopped and took out the spoon from the tea cup and placed it aside. You slowly nod your head. “I suppose you’re correct.” you say, unsure why you’re speaking to a complete stranger who appeared out of thin air. 

You take a sip of your tea, the flavor of chai hitting your taste buds only makes you hum. At least there was one good memory of this diner and it was the tea. Nonetheless, you turn your eyes back to the woman. “I must look utterly miserable if you noticed how sad I looked.” you attempt to joke - to lighten the mood.

“I can’t see you.” the woman says and now you notice that she indeed could not. She lifts her head to your direction and her eyes are white. It catches you by surprise and she appears to be looking right at you.

“I-I didn’t know that.” you murmur, now feeling embarrassed that you hadn’t noticed in the beginning. “How could you tell then?”

For a moment, the woman is quiet and you could practically feel the hair on your arms rise. You’re unsure what to say yourself - you had several questions. Who was this woman and where did she come from? How could she feel your sadness as she did not know you or your situation?

“I could sense it - a great deal of pain coming from you.” the woman speaks. “You’re lonely.”

You snicker to yourself, quite bitterly. A blind woman can tell that you were a lonely mess of a woman.

“I lost my husband.” you say, taking another sip of your tea. “He isn’t dead, though. Just dead to me.” you tell her. 

It’s crazy that you sense no threat to this woman who would have struck you as weird if it was any other moment. You didn’t have the desire to speak to your friends about your divorce just yet and get a “I told you so” reaction from them like you had with your parents. This woman didn’t know you and maybe that was better.

“I married him because I loved him and I thought he loved me.” you continue. “But when times went hard, I suppose “til death do us part” was just easier said than done.” you shrug your shoulders. 

“I can feel you’re upset about him, however…” the woman tilts her head a bit, as if reading more into the situation. “...you aren’t just upset about him.”

You nod your head - even if she couldn’t see you do so. “Yeah.” you admit. “I have no husband and I cannot have children. So,” you laugh at your situation. Obviously you’ve done something in your past life to deserve this, surely? “I suppose I’m upset with myself and life in general.”

“Have you always wished to be a mother?”

You have.

You always pondered what motherhood would be like for you. You recall how you and your mother did things together - how loving she was. How understanding she could be. She would scold you when you were wrong, sure, but she loved you nonetheless and truly did want what was best.

You had the financial stability to raise a child in and that was one of the reasons why you wished to be a mother, as having a child without that support would never be an option for you.

“Yes.” you respond to the woman. “I suppose…the universe has other plans for me.” you say with a shake of your head. “I could always adopt but…it’ll be a little harder now that I’m going through a divorce.”

Fuck your husband, truly. You begin to think about what if you just agreed and went through with the surrogacy - maybe then you’d have a husband and a baby.

But your mind told you that it wasn’t realistic. That if he loved you, nothing would have tore him away from you.

You swallow.

“I’m positive you can get pregnant.” the woman speaks and you want to thank her for her positivity - but if the doctors didn’t see you going through with a pregnancy, then you’re sure you couldn’t. “Your spirit just rejected the man you wished to have a child with.”

You raise a brow at her words. She was a spiritual woman, obviously, as she states she could feel your aura. 

“You think so?” you ask her. You wouldn’t push her away as some sort of crazy woman with too many screws loose. 

The woman nods. “Our spirit...sometimes will not accept who we wish to procreate with.” she speaks. “It’s an act of protection. This man was not the man for you.”

You smile.

The woman's words are kind. She was trying to be positive, you note, and assure that you felt better. You were grateful for her words.

“I could help you.”

“Help…me?” you’re taken aback. “Are you a type of…spiritual doctor?”

The woman’s lips twitch upward. “I’m a wiccan.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you process her words.

“Wiccan…?” you swallow with a slight nod. You should be more frightened than you truly were at the moment for the unknown surrounding this woman. “...how could you help me?” you should be even more frightened by how willing you were to hear her methods.

“There’s methods we can go through to assure you conceive a child.”

This was crazy.

There was no way you could be considering this.

“I…I’ll just end up miscarrying.” you murmur with a shake of your head. 

“I’m positive,” the woman begins. “that you will be able to birth a child.” she sounds certain of herself.

“What is the catch?” you question. “Do you want money?”

The woman shakes her head and she laughs at your words. “Money is not my motive. I want to lift the sadness that surrounds you and fill it with happiness. A child is one of the greatest blessings there is in life.”

You proceed to drink the rest of your tea in one sitting, mind scrambling at the woman's words. 

“If I consider this…just who am I getting impregnated by?” you ask. 

The woman stands suddenly and you see just how long her robs are. “I could give you a week to settle in on it.”

“I-I…how would I see you again?”

“I know where to find you.”

Her words should strike you as odd and you should be frightened that they do not.

“You want to be a single mother?” your mother inhales deeply, her manicured nails on her temples rubbing them in circular motion. “I know going through a divorce isn’t easy but…” she doesn’t finish her words. 

It’s obvious in where she stands. Why in the world would you choose to be a single mother? Though she never liked the idea of you, in her words,  dating a man that was “less than”, she never downright forbade you. If you were happy then it was all she truly wanted.

However, now you were going through a divorce by said man that she always knew was less than deserving of you - and the thought of cheating on the person who gave him a chance was downright insane. 

“I can introduce you to some people!” your mother suggests.

You groan. Great. Your mother was trying to set you up with someone of high status that could care less about you entirely and would only be doing so because they were looking for someone with status.

“Mother,” you wave your hand in front of you dismissively. “Please. I’m going through a divorce and the last thing I want is a partner.”

“But you want a child?” your mother snickers, unable to wrap her head around single motherhood. “W-What…” she swallows. She doesn’t want to be harsh on you in such a fragile moment in your life, but you’re positive you know where she’s going.

What if you have this child and cannot find any man willing (in their eyes) to want to marry a single mother?

You weren’t old and you still had time - but you weren’t sure you wanted to be with anyone. You dipped your toes into married life and this is where it got you - single and still without a child.

“At least if I had a child, it’d be mine.” you sigh. “If I got pregnant sooner, imagine the headache of joint custody.”

Your mother isn’t keen on imagining it. You lean back into your chair, eyes glancing upwards at the high ceiling chandelier. You release a sigh. “I just want to have someone love me forever.” you whisper to yourself. “I want to be able to carry a child. Feel it move inside of me and watch as I grow week by week. Is that too much to ask for?” you question truly.

You glance back at your mother. She’s shaking her head and you’re understanding that she could never truly get where you were coming from. “I will support you in anything you decide to do.” she speaks. “If this is what is going to make you happy…”

You inhale deeply, closing your eyes. You see the woman dressed in the red robes, her white eyes seemingly watching you. It has almost been a week and your mind refuses to go elsewhere.

This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to be a mother and raise a child - even if you didn’t have a partner alongside you. You were only growing older and did you truly wish to get to know someone else and go through the same obstacles you’ve already gone through with your first husband?

“It is what I want.” you exhale, your chest tightening and heart beating rapidly at how long you’ve held your breath. “More than anything…”

It was deep in the night when you saw the woman once more. You had showered and scrubbed your skin clean. The red flags weren’t going off in your head and you never questioned just how the woman knew where you lived. Maybe you’d blame your desperation for a child on why it didn’t strike you as odd.

The woman was not alone. Behind her strolled three more women, all younger than her and instead of being dressed in crimson robes, they sported a dark emerald color. Their hoods are all covering their heads and it’s only when they enter your home do two of them remove it in sync. 

One woman has long coily hair that matches her eyes - dark yet vibrant. Her skin is smooth and underneath the dim light of your home, it appears to glow a deep color similar to espresso. The second woman's hair is short and stops right at her shoulders in a blunt cut - a fierce ginger color that is so bold and it compliments the brownish-green hue of her eyes. You noticed there’s piercings on her skin, four gold ones on the bridge of her nose alone while there’s a few hoops outlining her ears. There’s two small gold hoops on either side of the woman's lips. The final woman keeps her hood on and only could you see her eyes as it appears to be a silk gold scarf wrapped firmly around her neck and mouth, loosely hanging. Her eyes are pierce and it reminds you of that of a cat.

You swallow, captivated by all of the women  - each so different yet so inviting and it takes you a moment to look away. Only when your eyes begin to grow irritated by the lack of blinking moisture do you halt.

“I’m sorry.” you say, body heating with embarrassment. You’re unsure what to say and positive that you didn’t need to apologize as you didn’t do anything. You were nervous and even now, there weren’t any alarms going off in your head. “I have questions….”

It’s the blinded woman that speaks first. “Ask and we shall answer.”

You swallow. Your arms cover with goosebumps as you were wearing little - at their request. It’s a satin night gown that stops at the middle of your thigh and you were instructed on it to be a dark color - preferably black.

“H-How is this going to work?”

The woman offers a soft smile. She begins to walk into your home - deeper as if she’s been here before. You watch, eyes witnessing the way she appears to walk without any issues and you ponder if this woman was truly blind.

But then you had to consider that upon being introduced to you, she stated that she was wiccan - and maybe that had something to do with her overall demeanor. How she could sense your sadness to even now, her showing up at your doorstep and you had not told her explicitly where you lived.

“If I can ask,” you speak up, bare feet patting against the hardwood floor as you follow close behind them. “how am I supposed to be impregnated without…a man?” it’s a logical question that you feel needs an answer - you suppose maybe they had something on them; a vile maybe that could be inserted inside of you. Yet, how good could that be? The sperm could surely not survive that long outside of the body.

But then again, you tell yourself, the woman claimed to be wiccan.

You take a deep breath. 

“There will be a man.” one woman speaks up - it’s the one with coily hair. She turns to you and you halt dead in your tracks. Her voice is low in tone but purely feminine. “It will work as long as you follow our instructions.”

“Indeed.” another woman said - the one with the golden scarf around her speaks. The older woman stopped inside your sitting area, the large room was perfect for the ritual.

“I...am prone to miscarriages.” you murmur. “I wouldn’t wait to wait any of your time if-”

“You let us worry about that.” the woman with the piercings speaks. Her hands place themselves onto your shoulder, her touch warm and soothing. “Come, sit.”

You’re directed to the floor - your sitting room is a large space with several lounge chairs and couches, yet you are instructed to sit on the large rub right in the middle of the room. 

The other woman surrounds you and within a second, the lights in said sitting area are turned off and it’s pitch black. You yelp, clenching your hands to your chest as your heart beats outside of it. 

Before you could speak, there’s a dim light flickering on and around you - candle light. It’s eerie, you’d admit. The orange light flickers off of the faces of the woman surrounding you, the older one right in front of you. Her white eyes appear to be looking down upon you. 

“I-”

“Do not bring yourself to worry. You are completely safe.” the woman speaks, as if reading your mind. “Lay down.”

You take a deep breath and proceed to lay on your back. You want to ask even more questions, but you believe it’s far too late for that now. 

You hear the woman speaking - more like chanting. Your ears perk to understand what they’re saying; but you cannot. Your eyes glances around the dim-lim room at what they were doing. They begin to saunter around you in a circle and you hear a slight sound - as if something is being poured. Your eyes squint to understand what it was - sand? It’s dark, however, as if pure black instead of the light tan the sand color usually would be. 

Your heartbeat quickens, your palms growing sweaty.

The woman is directly behind you now. She peers down at you, white eyes boring into you. You’re quiet and unmoving, far too frightened to say anything. 

Your eyes catch it as she draws closer, the silver dagger in her hand that she comes at you with. You’re paralyzed but your eyes grow wide when she drops the dagger onto your breast and slices either side of them. 

The chanting only grows louder and your mind is screaming at you, the irony smell of your blood only adding to the effects of what the fuck you gotten yourself into.

Your vision begins to blur and the room looks as if it’s smoky - your heart rate skyrockets. It didn’t smell like a fire and neither of the women appeared alarmed that one of their candles was causing it. 

There’s a shadow casted above you that you’re unsure about - it’s sudden and you’re pondering if you were just seeing things. But the shadow only grows larger and your eyes squint to look deeper into the smokey dark.

As the candle-light’s flickers, your heart races faster. Your eyes are wide and unmoving as the tall figure saunters over to you. It’s large and looks purely hellish; demonic. Its skin is a dark red, similar to the woman’s crimson robes. Its eyes are staring down right at you, pupil dark while its iris glows a lime green. On either side of his forehead are goat-like horns and you notice behind his back appears to be like wings similar to that of a bat.

“What is this?”

This had to be some sort of demon - it’s voice is deep as he speaks.

“You were summoned under a contract.”

The demon snarls, his head whipping towards the older woman. His eyes glances around the sigil onto the ground and a few crystals on all five points. An obvious attempt as a protection spell.

“What is it that you want, witch?”

Your eyes are unable to move from the demon before you and for the first time, you’re completely too shocked to speak or react. Your body feels as if it could faint at any moment, but that would require you to get your eyes off of this demon; and you were unable to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the older woman points down at you. “She is presented to you just as your kind wishes those who seek a child to be.”

The demon glances back at your figure for a moment. He can smell your fear and hear your heart beating - almost as if it’s going to explode. You were human and he could snap you in half with no effort. 

The demon lowers himself to face you, nose inhaling the scent of your blood. 

“Is that all you want?” the demon speaks, but not to you. “What’s your motive, witch?”

“I have no personal gain.” the woman shrugs her shoulders. “I’m one woman that has a desire to help another.”

“Personal gain is what demons have.” one woman speaks, you’re unsure which of the three. 

“Don’t act holier than thou, witch.” the demon seethes. “You summoned me for my help.”

The demon's teeth are sharp as he snaps at the witches - but that’s before turning back to you. You feel your stomach churn when his eyes reach yours and you find yourself gulping.

The demon’s wings begin to flock. It appears to have bat-like wings,a thin membrane of skin connecting from its wings to its back.

The demon lowers to you once more, but this time as his body descends into the shadows, when it emerges his look is different.

Human.

Your eyes scan the features of the demon. Its eyes that were once glowing were now a dull dark brown, one single lid and one double lid eye stare right back at you. He has a heart shaped face and his horns have disappeared and replaced itself with a mop of dark hair. His lips are what catch you first - they’re a rosy pink color, his top lip slightly fuller than his bottom.

Your lips release a short gasp at the sudden change from demon to man - and now you understand the countless stories you’d hear growing up that demons (either if you believed in them or not) could easily persuade anyone away from good. Your once frightened demeanor began to relax at the new sight of an attractive man; not a monster.

Dark eyes never leave yours as the demons head lowered to your chest. A pink split tongue pokes out between his lips and you feel it upon your chest, warm tongue gliding against your bleeding cuts.

“You humans are fragile.” the demon speaks - his once deep voice now sounding more human, but still deeper than you imagined any man to have. “You aren’t a witch, girl.”

You shake your head even though you’re sure it was a statement and not a question.

“How do you plan on caring for a child with a demon?” he asks, but it wasn’t as if he truly cared. He was a fertility demon, after all. He had hundreds of children and the majority of them were humans who were done exactly like this - only different was this was the first time said humans had not sought him out directly. 

You open your mouth to speak but you’re unsure of the answer yourself. You didn’t know that these women - witches - were going to summon a demon to impregnate you.

“She’ll have our help.” the blind witch speaks and for a moment, you forgot that they were still there watching you and him. 

The demon scoffs. “You witches are always up to something at the cost of my seed.” he murmurs. “I won’t be released until I impregnate you, human.” he inhales, smelling the scent of your arousal along with sensing just how confused, concerned yet horny you were all at once. “My name is Taehyung.”

“Tae…hyung.”

The demon - Taehyung - snickers at you saying his name.

Taehyung’s split tongue continues to swirl across your soft skin, the irony taste of your blood causes his taste buds to dance. A clawed hand grips at your thigh, gliding up your skin and pushes the night gown upwards as he does. 

Sharp teeth bite down harshly on your breast and the sudden rush of pain causes you to shriek loudly. Taehyung is rough and swift, ripping off your silk nightgown in a quick movement. It’s shredded and tossed aside without a care by the demon.

You’re now naked on the floor surrounded by witches and a demon - a night like this could not be dreamed of enough.

“Humans have the best tasting blood.” Taehyung all but purrs, tongue licking his lips of your blood. 

Your eyes watched as your nipples were his next interest. The split appendage licks at your hardened nipples, suckling and tugging on them without stopping. Your thighs quiver and you cannot help but moan at the dirty sight before you. Taehyung is starved, tugging your nipples so roughly as he sucks, but this wasn’t enough for him. He was a fertility demon, after all.

Taehyung twirls his tongue from your swollen nipples to down your stomach. His fingers nails are sharp as they swipe at your thighs, forcing them open. He can smell your arousal dripping for him; sweet like honey.

“Delicate humans such as yourself need to be prepped before breeding.”

Your eyes widen when he sinks down between your legs, so dangerously close to you that it causes you to yelp with embarrassment. 

Your head draws back and your eyes shut when you feel Taehyung’s tongue lick a stripe at your clit before latching itself completely onto it. He suckles on it sloppily, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands keep you firmly in place, sharp nails digging into the skin of your thigh and you’re sure they’re drawing blood. 

Taehyung’s eyes flicker up to you, snickering at the way you’re biting back your moans. Your teeth are biting your soft lips and you’re jerking with each passing lick.

This is not Taehyung’s first time doing this with a human - he has so many times before. He knows exactly what to do to pleasure them. His right hand leaves their grip upon your thigh to push past your folds. “So tight,” he murmurs against your clit, his fingers going to sink inside of you.

You’re breathing hitches as his fingers dig deeper inside you, brushing against your walls. He doesn’t allow you any grace - his tongue still flickers at your clit teasingly. It wasn’t like you haven’t received oral sex before - but not like this. Taehyung was obviously not human; his fingers appeared to go deeper and deeper with each thrust, jamming into you at an alarming speed. 

“I know you’re going to cum, human.” Taehyung’s voice appears in your head and for a moment you’re startled, eyes shooting open to look at him - his tongue has not left your clit, but then you hear it once more. “It’s amazing what a demon could do for you, right?”

You want to ask what the hell is going on and just how he’s in your head - but your stomach churns and once more, your thighs quiver. His fingers jam into your sweet spot with urgency and his words were ringing true - you were going to cum and so fast, too.

Taehyung doesn’t stop - instead he removes his fingers to replace it with his tongue, the muscle only adding to your climax. He buries his tongue deep against you and you’re unable to move away.

The overstimulation is causing your eyes to water. A single tear-drop falls from your eye in contrast to the slick of arousal that falls onto Taehyung’s tongue and down his chin. This was all too much to handle, the pleasure causing you to shake underneath his hold. You’re spasming against his tongue and Taehyung only watches the way you fold against him, a low squeal releasing from your throat.

Taehyung could have just fucked you and gotten it over with - but what’s the fun in that? Even if he was a demon, he still was a man that enjoyed sex and it was far more enjoyable when the other was into it.

You tug at Taehyung’s hair, unable to take anymore pleasure - and you’re already groaning at the blurry sight of his between your legs already that causes another orgasm to run through you.

Taehyung leans back, licking his lips of your arousal. His eyes watch the way your thighs shake and your breathing heaves, chest rising and falling in rhythm. 

“Should I breed you right now?”

Your head shakes, unable to comprehend how he was speaking to you in your mind right now. 

Nothing was private - not when there were witches watching. That was new - he was a fertility demon and never had an audience before for something this sacred. The only way for an ounce of privacy would be to speak with her through her thoughts.

Only something two bound people could do - something he had done when he had consumed her blood. Eventually it’d wear off if she did not accept the bond; and he was not expecting or bothered if she had or not.

“P-Please.” you murmur, nodding your head at Taehyung’s words in your mind. You truly just wanted him inside of you, completely forgetting that the two of you weren’t alone.

“You humans…” Taehyung doesn’t finish his words and instead, begins to undress his lower half, doing exactly what you were begging him for.

Taehyung’s cock is pretty - it’s pink and veiny and appears utterly suckable. Your mouth salivates at the thought of sucking it before he fucks you and it’s your perverted thoughts that causes him to laugh at you.

“So eager to taste me, little human?” Taehyung’s voice rings in your mind and hastily, you nod with a lick of your lips. “I’m not so sure you could take all of me.”

Taehyung does check to find out, pulling himself closer to you so that you could wrap a hand around the base of his cock - it’s thick in your grasp. You slowly feel him, astonished at something so pretty - maybe demons were meant to be this dangerous. You weren’t the least bit scared as you should be at a demon masking himself as a human to fuck a baby in you - you would go to Hell right now if he fucked you right along the way.

And that’s how demons tricked Humans, you note, in ways such as this.

Your mouth suckles on the tip of Taehyung’s cock, twirling your tongue greedily. Your hands stroke the base of it for added pleasure.

Taehyung groans, his eyes piercing as he watches you take him so good - like a touched starve whore. He can sense the excitement running through you right now, so eager to please him that you were doing an amazing job.

Taehyung grips your hair roughly. “Take more of me, little human. I know you can.” his voice speaks to you, his cock going deeper into your mouth.

There's saliva rolling down your chin as Taehyung begins to thrust inside your mouth. The sight had to be as filthy as when he was eating you out but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It was something flowing inside of you that wanted to pleasure Taehyung - that needed to feel his cock inside of your mouth before he fucks a baby into you.

“Such a pretty whore you are.” Taehyung growls audibly. “Should I take you back to Hell with me and fuck you all the time?”

You whimper against his thrusting cock and Taehyung chuckles with a shake of his head. One hand lays itself under your chin so he can look into your watery eyes as his cock flows in and out of you. He growls, so pretty - so devilish. Those eyes were anything but holy.

“I’ll make you my personal whore…mine to fuck until the end of time.”

Taehyung releases himself from your mouth. You cough, saliva pooling onto your chest and you heave. He wastes no time in tearing your legs apart, cock right at your center. 

“You want me to be bred, don’t you, little human? No human could give you what I could.”

“Please…” you beg, eyes watery and hips buckling to feel him inside of you. You were needy, clenching around nothing. 

Taehyung gives you what you beg him for. He enters you with one thrust, your back arching at the sudden fullness of his cock. One hand pushes you back onto the ground. He then places the same hand against your stomach, beginning to thrust deeply inside of you.

Each thrust has you hitting against the floor roughly, your eyes rolling at the sensation. Your velvety walls tighten around his cock, greedy to milk him dry if that’s what it took.

“Little whore you are. Want a child so bad that you’d have a demon.” Taehyung’s taunting you, but his words do nothing but make you wetter for him, legs widening to take him even more - and it drives him crazy.

Taehyung growls, determined to send you over the edge. He forces your legs apart, pounding into you at an alarming speed for a human but even then you don’t appear to be threatened. You’re a weird human, he notes, fully accepting her fate - and maybe that was easier. Accept that you were fucking a demon and soon will be having one; there were precautions that you would have to go through. Such as completely cutting the child’s demonic abilities off that would kill the demon half of them - such acts would cause great pain for the child when the time comes.

Taehyung had children - majority of them walking earth with no ties to the demon world or the Brotherhood he was a part of. Those who were demons were so far removed from him that neither of them cared for a relationship as their birth was just business.

Taehyung ponders what you would choose - having a half demon child wouldn’t be easier for you to handle and he’s positive these witches didn’t give you any warning about what hell the pregnancy would be, let alone half demon spawns running around your house.

Taehyung snorts. You were so cock drunk right now that nothing mattered to you. He thrusts deeper inside of you, your pussy gripping him with greed that could only be seen as a sin. Your arousal pools beneath you and onto your rug, sure to stain it with the memories of this night.

“I can smell you, human. You’re gonna cum again.”

Your breathing increases and Taehyung is correct - you were going to cum. It’s a knot deep in your stomach that longs to be released.

“Let’s cum together, human.”

With both hands, Taehyung hoists your bottom half off of the ground and begins to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping echoing off of the walls of your sitting room; all mixed with your high-pitched shrieks. 

Your eyes begin to roll once more and you're so close that your eyes begin to tear up with how good it all feels, the eyes of the witches fading into nothingness.

Taehyung’s nails dig into your skin as a few sloppy thrusts hit your sweet spot and he’s cumming deep inside of you, a warm seed painting your walls heavenly - it causes you to cum along with him. Your lower body shakes, your body erupts with warmth.

“Don’t think I’m done with you, human.” Taehyung’s voice growls in your mind. “You want to be bred, I’ll make sure I do just that.”

Before you could speak, Taehyung flips you on your stomach and forces you onto your knees. He enters you once more, continuing his pounding speed inside you.

Maybe Taehyung was determined to break you - you were so fragile and didn’t  know what you were getting yourself into. If you told him to slow down, he would - but you hadn’t. Your mind is screaming with just as much pleasure as your shrieks were. You were leaking all over the place and looked like a bitch in heat.

Taehyung’s unsure why it angers him to see you in such pleasure - was it because you weren’t afraid of him and the consequences of being bred by a demon? Was it because you were taking him far too well that he was beginning to enjoy it?

Taehyung yanks you back by your neck and presses himself against you, hips buckling inside your squelching pussy. His sharp nails dig into your neck as he squeezes it, free hand resting on your clit and begins to rub circles on the sensitive bud.

“You’re a filthy little human, aren’t you?”

Taehyung’s fingers roughly rub at your clit for added stimulation. You scream out, not caring how dirty you probably looked to the on-lookers. 

“I just might come back for you, little human. Fuck a few more babies in you since you seem to want my seed so much.”

“P-Please…” you beg, a few tears dropping from the corner of your eyes - how pathetic you must’ve looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The pleasure is too much and you’re now begging him to cum. “Please make me cum….!”

Taehyung snickers, fingers rubbing through your folds with alarming stamina as his hips fuck into your tight walls. Your eyes are swirling to the back of your head again, feeling so full of him that you never want him to stop - you never felt this way before with your husband or any other man. It had to be because Taehyung wasn’t human but just looking the part for your sake.

You cry out with an embarrassing heat running through you as arousal-filled juices leaked out of you and down your thighs. It hits the floor with a splash, similar to water hitting the ground. You begin to shudder, body going completely limb in Taehyung’s embrace.

Taehyung taps your clit a few times, satisfied that you’ve came so hard again - and he was sure he could fuck you all night, but he would. You were a human and humans couldn’t do such a thing.

“Gonna get you nice and full, human. No human man would be able to give you such an honorable gift.” Taehyung brings his soaked hand and slaps your cheek as if to signal your attention. “Such a cock-hungry whore you are…you’ll be begging to be full of me again.”Your body continues to tremble, fully reliant on Taehyung to hold you upright. You’ve already cum enough.

Taehyung himself is cumming, and yet he still has an unholy amount of stamina - and cum - to give you.

Your face burns when it’s shoved into your rug, cheek slamming against it as Taehyung forces your ass into the car. You’re drooling onto it, pussy clenching around his cock, milking even more of his cum. He’s pounding inside of you at a dangerous rate, cock hitting even deeper and managing to fill you up with more and more cum.

“I’ll make sure you’re pregnant by the time we’re done here, human.” Taehyung snarls, attempting to use your body to his full advantage.

 A part of Taehyung upset that you still had no protest in you - to think a human could take him is preposterous. And yet - as you lay trembling beneath him, cock buried so deep inside of your pussy, his mind reads how you’re unable to speak, but yet begging him to continue.

You whimper when you’re filled once more, cum painting your walls entirely. This had to be different - this one actually stings a bit, almost as if it’s too much to handle as a human.

Taehyung is panting, his lips dangerously close to your ear. His cock twitches as he continues to cum inside of you, fully determined to do what he was summoned to do - breed you.

Taehyung doesn’t move nor does his cock soften inside of you. You remain still, as well, eyes heavy and you’re truly exhausted with the entire experience.

“You can leave now.” says the blind woman, her eyes glancing between you nearly unconscious and the demon. “I’m sure she’s with child and will show sooner than she expects.”

Taehyung remains quiet, there’s a bit of cum that falls out of you as he releases himself. He lets the grip of your hair go gently, allowing you to fall limp onto the ground.

Taehyung does leave - without another word - in a gush of black smoke.

It took you 7 months to learn the incantation to summon Taehyung.

You were large and it appeared as if your stomach never stopped moving but you’re positive that there isn’t only one child inside of you. Your eyes would catch more than two handprints and footprints at a time while they moved.

You accepted your fate rather quickly, drinking whatever medicine the witches had given you that would help ease the pain your children had caused throughout the pregnancy. Your body changed, of course, and you were always tired, hungry and thirsty.

Your thirst went beyond normal food and as the witches told you, your children wouldn’t accept just regular food. When you had tasted blood for the first time you thought it would disgust you, but it tasted so heavenly that you completely devoured several blood bags right before the witches.

It took everything in you to not attack your parents as they visited you in your home. You could smell their blood - thanks to your children - and they fought with you constantly to have a taste, but you managed to hold them off until they left and ate a large, raw and blood steak to satiate their desires.

What was new to you at the time was the demonic powers you’d possess because of the fetuses inside of you. You had since caused a fire in your home just because you were craving something you couldn’t have. In the next moment, the first was put out and seemingly out of thin air, what you were craving sat directly in front of you.

The teleportation had to be something to get used to - but you could say that you were completely fine with it. Possibly better than any other human woman would be at carrying demonic children.

You’d often ponder if they’d look like Taehyung - if they’d have baby horns and red skin; or a demon side to them at all. The witches had told you that they had a spell to cast off the demonic side to your babies, and yet you’re unsure if that’s something you’d want.

Your mind often lingers on Taehyung and had since the next day you woke up without him - and had not seen him since.

You hear Taehyung, as weird as it is. In your head, he often speaks to you at random times. It’s as if he was there, but truly wasn’t. He would answer certain questions you have about your demonic abilities and cravings.

“You’re carrying more than one spawn, they’re expecting to be fed more than acai bowls and water.”

“You caused the fire in your home, but they managed to protect you from it.”

“That sharp pain in your rib was one of them breaking it with their kick - the other healed you in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to get used to them fighting each other in the womb. It’ll only get worse when they’re actually born.”

Taehyung speaks with you - but he doesn’t show himself and a part of you wonders if he ever will.

Was it weird to want Taehyung around? You learned that he was a fertility demon and he had many children - both fully human now and fully demon. You’re unsure how you feel about being just another vessel for him to impregnate.

It took you 7 months to learn the incantation to summon Taehyung - to not summon him at all.

No, instead you summoned someone else, another demon. And now you’re frightened to have them standing tall before you.

Your breasts are bleeding, having used your blood to summon this demon.

“You,” 

The demon doesn’t appear demonic like Taehyung was when he was summoned. He comes as a regular human man, but you’re wiser to know that he is anything but. 

The man steps forward, dark hair bouncing on his shoulders. 

Your dagger tightens in your grip and you raise it shakily in case you need to use it.

The demon chuckles. “That dagger won’t hurt me.” he says tauntingly. “Besides, if you were in any danger, your children would sense it and fight me off.”

You swallow.

“You smell like Taehyung…his being is embedded in you. Not only by pregnancy.” the demon sniffs the air, tilting his head. “You…you are the reason he has the Brotherhood in shambles. And to think they said I would be the one to go weak.”

You’re unsure of what the man is saying and you don’t question him. Your heart beats rapidly as he comes closer.

“W-Who are you?” you ask. “I-I tried to summon Tae-”

“My name’s Jungkook.” the man speaks. “You summoned me.” he says. “Obviously, you have yet to learn the correct incantation to summon a specific Brotherhood member so it chose a random one. Just my luck.”

Jungkook recalls how many years it’s been since Taehyung had found out about his child, stating that the Underworld were claiming him to be weak - how the tables have turned.

In such a short amount of time, Taehyung had resigned from his role as a fertility brotherhood member - something he has been for centuries - and it only meant that he had found a bound partner. Jungkook was no fool to why Taehyung had gone distant and it only meant that his partner had to be human like his once was.

“You haven’t seen Taehyung and that’s why you tried to summon him.”

You nod your head meekly, lowering your dagger.

“Typical of my brother to run away. Jimin.”

You go to speak but are interrupted when another man appears seemingly out of thin air. You yelp, flinching back.

“What do we have here?” the man, Jimin, speaks. He smells the air, nose flaring. “Tae…he has hid you well. Better than you had.” he says to Jungkook. 

“Leave.”

Taehyung appears like the rest had, this time directly behind you. You’re shocked to see him again for the first time in months. Your heart leaps at the sight of him, and your stomach begins to move radically.

“Ah, they know you’re here.” Jimin says, a taunting tone in his voice. “The former fertility demon becomes a family man.”

“I suppose we both made a mockery of the Brotherhood.” Jungkook speaks, not forgetting how Taehyung once treated him and his pregnant partner. 

“You still live in the past, brother?” Taehyung snorts with a shake of his head.  “I’ve accepted your bound partner and your child. I was there at the birth was I not?”

“Speaking of births,” Jimin leans down to your sitting position, a hand placing itself onto your stomach. “You’ll be due soon and we’ll be there.”

“It’s tradition, brother.” Jungkook says mockingly. “To welcome your son and daughter to the Brotherhood.”

Your eyes widen.

You knew you were having more than one child - but you never knew the gender.

Your throat tightens at the thought of having one of each.

“Your first set of children to do so.”

“And only. Right, brother? You are no longer a fertility demon.” Jungkook tilts his head. “Such great news that I cannot wait to share with the rest of our brothers.”

Taehyung turns his eyes away and down at you. He doesn’t speak.

“Yoongi said something was going on with you. You’ve gone soft, brother? That’s a good thing.”

“Soft is something I am not, brother.” Taehyung retorts to Jimin. “Just because I once gave life to many does not mean I have not taken the same if not more.”

You listen to the three of them bicker, trying to wrap your head around what was going on.

“Leave and return to the Underworld and be sure to remind anyone just why I remain an Upper Level demon, brother.” Taehyung hisses, now stepping in front of you. 

Jimin stands, eyeing Taehyung. 

“We’ll be back when the babies are due to be born.” Jimin smiles devilishly. “Finding a bound partner is a blessing, brother.” he laughs at his own form of a joke.

They’re gone in a blink of an eye and now you’re left with just you and Taehyung.

You don’t speak, unsure on what to say. You haven’t seen Taehyung in so long that the sight of him makes you nervous.

“You didn’t have to summon me to see me, human.”

You sit a little straighter, dagger falling from your hands.

“All you had to do was call for me.”

“I-I don’t know how.” your body burns with heat as his eyes turn to you. “I-”

“I hear you. I always do.” Taehyung murmurs. “I can feel you. Your heart beat is linked to mine. When it risen was when I decided to come.”

You lick your lips, racking your brain around the words the three demons used.

“A bound partner is exactly what it sounds like.” Taehyung says, reading your mind exactly. “You’d be bound to me for eternity and taken to Hell. I have been bound to you, Human, since the day we conceived our children. You are not bound to me.”

You furrow your brows. “How could you be bound to me?” you ask. “I don’t remember anything?” “A blood binding. It started when I licked your blood…” Taehyung’s eyes drop to your cut breast, a sense of deja vu. “You drinking my blood would be one of many bindings.”

You swallow, the act of tasting blood causing your mouth to water.

“However, I have chosen not to do that. You have come to me to help you and that I shall.” Taehyung drops to his knees to look at you. 

“And if I want you to?”

Taehyung snorts. “You are a weird human, Y/N.” he murmurs, dark eyes watching you. “You refuse to back down even now. Most demons wouldn’t spare your soul like I am.”

“You aren’t most demons. You’re an Upper-Level one.” you say boldly - unsure the hierarchy of demons were. “I want to be bound to you.”

“You don’t, human. Your emotions are all over the place.” Taehyung snickers. “Our children are causing you to feel this way because they crave their demonic part - which is me.”

“I want to be bound to you.” you repeat again, mind flashing with that night months prior to how well he had fucked you.

“And spend an eternity in Hell?”

You lick your lips. “Would we be with you?” you ask, voice low.

“Yes.”

“Then yes.” you nod your head. “I’ll spend an eternity in Hell.”

Taehyung watches your expression, truly believing you to be a weird individual.

You had a life on Earth. You had the funds to raise children and a family who supported you. 

Why would you give it all up to join a demon in Hell?

“I was told you gave up your position.” you speak up to interrupt his thoughts. “I’m not sure what any of this means…”

“It means these are the only children that would be born by me that the Brotherhood would acknowledge.” his eyes flicker to your moving stomach, sensing that his children were content inside of you. “I won’t be having any more.”

You place a hand onto your stomach, a sudden kick right where it lays. 

“I summoned you because I wanted to see you again.” you admit, but you’re sure he knows this if he was correct about his claims. “I want to be bound to you. This…” your eyes turn to the space you were occupying - but not just the space, the Human realm in general. “...It’s lonely. I’m surrounded by people but I’m still lonely. I get pitiful looks from my family constantly and…”

You don’t want to ramble about your human life and problems.

“...would going to Hell hurt?”

“Of course.” Taehyung doesn’t attempt to sugar coat anything. 

“Will you be there when I get there? Would they?”

“Of course.” Taehyung repeats. “Hell…the Underworld as a whole is far different than the Human realm. You wouldn’t be able to return and see your family.”

You swallow, eyes on Taehyung’s.

“They would think you’d died. That, or their memory of you would be wiped entirely.”

Taehyung watches your reaction for anything. He knows humans and their emotions could be radical and they tend to keep their families close to their hearts.

“What were you planning on doing?” you asked. 

Taehyung doesn’t answer because he himself wasn’t sure. He could bind their demonic side until they are of age - but that would only cause more work for the Brotherhood to teach a human raised demon how to live their lives in the Underworld. 

There was the possibility of allowing them to keep their demonic powers in the Human realm, but demonic babies, toddlers and children were Hell to raise on a plain that didn’t possess the same abilities as them.

Taehyung supposed that he was leaving the decision up to you entirely to decide what you wished to do with them. One thing’s for certain, now that the Brotherhood knew of your existence, it was a matter of time before the Source did.

Your hand grabs the dagger and instantly, you slice his neck. Taehyung doesn’t react like a normal person would and it’s because you assume he doesn’t truly care - he’s had worse attacks. 

Taehyung is more shocked that you slice his neck to then lick him, a way of completing the binding ritual yourself.

Taehyung’s blood is thick and rich, your tongue stroking the wound to get a better taste of him, hands throwing the knife and falling onto his chest. You grip his shirt to bring him closer, your senses heighten for a moment. It appears your children were awake, moving non-stop inside of you.

“You’re a weird human.” Taehyung’s voice sounds throughout your head. “Going to Hell because you’re lonely and hormonal.”

You snort, teeth grazing the side of his neck. Your hand falls slowly from his chest to his lap as you lean back. You lick your lips, tilting your head curiously. 

Taehyung’s eyebrow lifts slightly. “My brother’s partner…wasn’t like you.” he notes, recalling the way Jungkook’s bound partner remained kind and reclusive.  

However, you were carrying two demonic spawns that were feeding off of you on the daily and maybe they were slowly turning you away from whatever human-like emotions you had. 

“What do you want me to do?” Taehyung asks you, your thoughts clouding his and he’s certain you want to ask him something. 

“Nothing too drastic.” you shrug your shoulders. “Just kill my ex-husband.”

Taehyung blinks at you and you do the same.

“Of course.” Taehyung responds, leaning away from you to stand straight. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Your hand lays on your bump as Taehyung is gone in a blink of an eye, a satisfied feeling running through your body.

Like you predicted, your real estate agent hadn’t stayed long after you signed the necessary papers and had the keys in your hand. She scurries away without even giving you a passing glance. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that her actions are never a good sign - but this was your home now and so far everything was good. You managed to move all of your stuff in. You were buying new furniture and pinterest was where you first looked for inspiration - the sunroom being your first project.

You hadn’t minded that people avoided your home like the plague. The mailman never walked past the gates, neither did any of your delivery drivers. They’d drop your packages right outside your gate and nearly run back to their vans. Children often stood outside your home whispering amongst one another and ran whenever they saw you - but kids will be kids.

It didn’t take long for you to hear things in the middle of the night. Weird things like the floor boards creaking - footsteps? In your mind, nothing could get to you if you dimmed the lights in your room and put on white noise, right?

As time went on, you realized that things weren’t where you left them. Why were all of the kitchen cabinets open in the morning? Why were your keys close to the back door? You swore you left them in the foyer. Why did your doors randomly close when you’d leave them open?

A breeze in the air, you’d tell yourself. Even if all of your windows were closed.

After another few months in your new home, you decided that you were ready for company. You had been dating someone for close to a year now. He lived nearly an hour away and whenever he was in town, you always decided to see him at his hotel instead of him visiting your home. This week, however, he finally decided on staying with you. 

You’re unsure why, as your boyfriend entered your home, he began to feel nauseous. His stomach churned and his mouth watered, tongue throbbing. His head was next, claiming that it was pounding as if his brain was going to burst from his skull. The craziest part was the sweat that pooled down his forehead. “Can you turn the air on?” he asked, sitting himself on your couch.

You waved off his concerns that something was touching him. “It’s just me.” you’d say, giggling nervously to yourself. You’d brush his arm at random times whenever he began to tense up. He’d tell you that your hands were always warm instead of the freezing gripping ones.

There was no denying that your home had a sort of entity in it. You ignored the signs all together - the windows that would open and close on their own at random times of the day. The heavy footsteps that would climb up and down the stairs - sometimes you’d even hear them right outside your bedroom door. You’re only lucky that your boyfriend has stopped hearing them. He began sleeping through the night besides you, his breathing steady.

You, however, couldn’t sleep. You decided that a late night bath wouldn’t hurt. You’d play calming music through your speaker - low so it wasn’t too loud to startle your sleeping boyfriend. You add a bit of eucalyptus to your bath to help calm you further.

Your eyes were closed, body resting in the tub. The water is hot against your skin. You even added candles. Your mind attempts to ease itself away from the home you’ve bought for yourself and the weird happenings that occur.

You hadn’t realized that you were snoozing into unconsciousness until you’re jolted awake by a cool hand sliding past your naked chest. The hand is firm, gripping your breast harshly. Your eyes flutter open, your mouth parting to let out a slight sigh.

You were expecting to see your boyfriend crouching beside the bathtub. Instead, you saw no one. Your body raises up, your head turning from side to side in the candle-lit bathroom, eyes growing wide with alarm. A sudden alertness flows through you as the gripping against your breast grows cold until it subsides altogether. 

You get out of the bath quickly, not even bothered to drain the water. You wrap a towel around your body, scurrying towards the closed bathroom door. Your wet palm wraps around the handle and you open it with haste, but just as fast as you open it, does it slam shut.

You shriek when your towel is yanked from your body. You’re pushed right against the bathroom door,  your breast firmly against it. Your thighs are forced apart, a pressure right between your legs.

“Get him out of my house.”

The voice that speaks to you is both deep and demanding - and utterly pissed. It causes goosebumps to run along your skin, a shudder dancing up your spine. Your beating heart drums against your chest.

Right when your lips part to let out another shriek, a cool hand clasps on it. You’re silenced and your teary eyes are widening with shock and fear. Your mind races with far  too many thoughts for you to concentrate on any of them.

“Get.” the voice returns, booming through your eardrums. “Him. Out.”

The bathroom door opens. The supernatural hold upon your vanishes as fast as it came and your body gives out. You fall onto the hardwood floor, your hands barely managing to capture you. 

Your boyfriend wakes up to your erratic  sobs as you enter your bedroom. You crawled, your legs trembling. You can still feel the cold hands upon your skin - and your boyfriend’s eyes widen when he turns on the bedside lamp. “What the fuck?” he gasps, eyes roaming around your bare skin. You’re shivering, the hair on your arms standing straight. What startles him to the core are the visible bruising on your soft skin - handmarks.

“Y-You need to leave.” you gasp out.

“What?” your boyfriend hisses, frantic eyes looking right through your terrified ones. “We need to leave. Your skin is covered in-”

Your boyfriend attempts to touch you, but he flinches away when an invisible force slams against his wrist. His eyes nearly bulged out of its sockets, flinching away from seemingly nothing. For a moment, he’s staring into the open space, his wrist stinging with a cool roughness. He doesn’t realize he’s trembling himself until his eyes connect back with yours. 

“Y/N…” your boyfriend trails off, a slight chatter in his teeth.

“You need to go.” your voice is so low. You feel so exposed on the floor of your bedroom. Not only exposed, but vulnerable in front of your boyfriend and an unseen force.

“I…I can’t leave you here with whatever this thing is.” your boyfriend murmurs as if the lower he speaks, it would be a secret between the two of you and not the entity in the home. “It’s going to kill you, Y/N. Look at your body.”

You don’t want to, but your eyes slowly trail down to your arms. They’re covered in handmarks that appear to sink right through your arm. You inhale through your nose to refrain from letting out another shriek. You didn’t want to further anger the entity.

“I-I’ll be fine.”

You weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Your heart is beating so fast that you’re sure it’d explode. Your body is damp from the bath, but you’re entirely cold, shivering on the floor pathetically naked. 

“He…he doesn’t want you here.”

Your boyfriend blinks a few times, his eyebrows knitting together.

“He?”

You feel far more exposed, a familiar shiver running up and down your spine. There was no doubt - the voice you heard belonged to a man. It was deep and husky, voice stern and final. He didn’t want your boyfriend in your - or his - home. As long as you’ve lived here, you haven't been physically harmed until now.

Your boyfriend looks at you as if you’re insane - and maybe you were. You were willing to stay here with whatever entity if it meant that he would be alright. You were far too frightened to fight against said entity, unsure of what he’ll do if you tried to leave with him.

“Are you sure-”

Your eyes snap shut when the glass vase that sat on your dresser is sent hurling towards your boyfriend. It clashes against his temple, shattering instantly. Your arms cover your face as the glass scatters, some even grazing across your bare thighs. Your eyes flutter open, witnessing your boyfriend on his back, a gash on the side of his head. His eyes are fluttering, not focusing on anything. You notice the blood leaking through his hand as he attempts to hold the wound. His palms are trembling, chest rising and falling.

You crawl towards him, barely managing to dodge the glass on the floor. You place a hand onto his chest, gasping as he begins to fall unconscious. “No…” you trail off, shaking your head. A hand trails up to his cheek, gently shaking his head to wake him up. “...no, no…!”

Your hair is yanked, so rough that your neck jerks in the same direction. Your hands fly to your hair in an attempt to soothe the pulling, but you cannot fight against unseen force. 

Glass pierces against your skin as the force drags you away from your boyfriend - only a few feet. He pushes you away once you reach your mirror. It’s a floor length mirror that faces your bed. Sometimes , you’d avoid looking at it at night, skeptical of what you possibly could find. 

“Please don’t hurt me.” you plead with the unseen force, cowering by your mirror. You were always vulnerable to this entity, but even before you weren’t frightened. Even when the red flags were all there - the knocking on your walls, the footsteps and misplacement of your stuff. The way everyone avoided your home all together - all signs you chose to ignore to not think too deep into it. 

Now, said avoidance was going to cost your life.

“Would you be sad if I killed him?” 

You're far too terrified to look up and face the unseen force. You continue to cower. “Please don’t.” you murmur, so soft and meek - utterly pathetic. “We’ll go-“

“No.” 

There’s a chill running up your slone. Instead of a shudder, it’s that of a hand - a large palm sliding up your back. 

“I want you to stay.” the deep voice speaks. Is it an illusion that you swear it softens? “I don’t want him here.”

You’re slightly speechless. Slowly, your head lifts, hair still wet and sticking to you sickly. You don’t see anything - you shouldn’t expect to. Could people actually see ghosts? Or was that just something that happened in movies? 

“I’m sorry.” you mumble, eyes roaming around the room. Your boyfriend lays unconscious not far away. You’re glad to see that his chest continues to rise and fall in subtle motions. “I didn’t know…that this was your home.”

“I know.”

The hand lays on the low of your back, fingers tapping against your skin. The goosebumps continue to prickle onto your skin, your body warming up even beneath his cool touch. 

“I like you, though. You’re brave.” 

You swallow. 

“You’ve ignored all my attempts to scare you away.” he says. 

You look away from your boyfriend and for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut. This entity wasn’t upset with you. He didn’t like your boyfriend and you’re positive you understood why. The touching of your skin is subtle, but apparent. 

“What’s your n-name?” 

“Taehyung.” 

Taehyung. Your shoulders soften.

Taehyung watches you from where he’s at. His eyes skim over your naked body and marvels as if it isn’t something he’s witnessed time and time again. He’s watched you bathe countless times, the soapy water flowing down your sculptured body. It reminds him of a waterfall draping over stoned rocks, so beautiful to his sight that he was obsessed with watching you each and every time. 

Sure, in the beginning he was upset. How couldn’t he be? This was his home. He resided here for decades. He watched the way his home - that was nearly burned to the ground by fire decades ago - be rebuilt and rehomed countless times. As years dragged on, his home became modern, leaving behind the traditional look he adored. He grew bitter by the new families that stepped foot into his home and made it their own, changing features about it until he no longer saw himself in it.

You swallow, your throat dry and in a desperate need of water - or maybe the hardest liquor you could muster. 

“How long have you been here?”

You’ve never encountered a ghost before. You’re unsure what’s true and untrue about them. You couldn’t see him at the moment, but you could feel him. His touch is always cold, but at the moment, his touch is refreshing against your hot body. 

“Hm,” he says, as if thinking about the question. “decades. I’ve watched my home turn even more and more modern as the years dragged on.”

Taehyung watches the way your shoulders relax. He knows by your erratic heart that you’re still frightened - it isn’t everyday you talk to a ghost residing in your home. But you were becoming a bit more relaxed, and for that he was happy. 

“What’s the infatuation with grey and minimalism?” Taehyung questions, a disdain in his voice. “Very little color. No pictures that don’t fit their…aesthetic. A word I hear far too often by this new generation.”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh. It’s weird, sitting here speaking to something you couldn’t see. Something that dragged you away from your bleeding and unconscious boyfriend.

At the realization, you were brought back to reality. Your eyes slowly creeping back to your boyfriend. He’s still breathing faintly, arms sprawled out. His wound continues to bleed, blood trickling out of his ears, as well.

“I do apologize that you’ve had to see that.” Taehyung says, clicking his tongue. “I don’t wish to frighten you.”

It was too late for that, wasn’t it? He’s shown you what he was capable of doing. He could hurt you any time he wanted to with little reason or effort. He would get away with it - a ghost cannot be convicted, after all.

“Your heart is beating fast. Your mind is racing.” Taehyung notes, his dark eyes watching you. He zones in on the hair on your skin. It continues to rise as you feel his presence close. “You’re scared of me.”

It shouldn’t upset him as much as it does. You were a human and naturally, you would be frightened. It’s hard enough as a woman to fight against a man, but Taehyung had his own advantages as a dead one.

“Can you blame me?” you’re bold enough to ask. “You…” you swallow, truly unknowing what’s going through your mind at the moment. Your emotions were all over the place. “...you’ve been haunting me this entire time and you…” your eyes cut to your boyfriend, not continuing the obvious elephant in the room.

“You call what I’ve been doing haunting?” scoffs Taehyung. “I’ve terrorized those who came into my home to the brink of insanity. A few open windows and slam doors is nothing!”

You’ve made him mad, you note. For a moment, his presence is gone, but you’re wiser to know that he isn’t. You can sense his eyes on you, your shivering body only increasing.

You yelp when your face is forced onto the polished hardwood. Your cheek throbs at the sudden harsh impact. 

You feel his large hand once more. This time it’s on your hip, forcing it up. Then, your thighs are forced apart, your naked body exposed to seemingly nothing. You struggle to push yourself away, but you’re unable to. 

“I’ve thought about terrorizing you to the brink of insanity.” Taheyung’s deep voice returns, this time behind you. “But I decided against it. It’s not fun when you're ignored.”

Your breathing increases when his hands are on the low of your back. The cool sensation against your radiating skin, causing the familiar goosebumps to return. Then, so slowly and tauntingly, does his hands move towards your ass. It’s gripped in his icy palm.

“Stop!” 

Your tone is hoarse, fully shocked in what’s happening. In how it was happening at all. Your body is hotter than before and you swear you’re going to pass out. 

Your sobs subside when you feel something between your legs. Cool to the touch like before and it slides right between your folds. 

“W-What are you doing?”

Your question is ignored by him. However, it should be painfully obvious. Your mind races with everything you know, or at least though you knew, about spirits and ghosts - entities and all. You wanted to scream out until you couldn’t anymore. To find a way to escape his supernatural hold onto you and get you and your boyfriend out of here.

A whimper releases from your lips. It comes from the back of your throat, raspy and full of uncomfortable pleasure. Your clit is pulsing, throbbing when it feels a cool pressure rubbing against it. Your fingernails dig into the hardwood, the polished floor doing nothing but allowing the nail to slide smoothly across it. 

Taehyung’s cock is hard against your throbbing clit. His throat rumbles with a groan, pleasure flowing throughout his being - the soul trapped within this very home. He doesn’t understand it himself on things he’s able to go as a spirit, but he concludes that overtime - and he had more than enough - of being trapped into this home, he has developed abilities that only time can form.

Taehyung rubs his tip against your wet clit, moistening it with your sweet arousal - one that you’re ashamed to produce, but it’s your body's natural response to him. Your body radiates the perfect amount of heat for a being like him and it’s just perfect - his frigidness combined with your warmth was a perfect yin-yang.

Tears swell in your eyes and you don’t blink them away - not until your vision blurs and you can no longer see your unconscious boyfriend in front of you. Your thighs tremble on their own as pleasure shoots throughout you, and Taehyung can feel it just as much as you can. Your wet cunt, so warm against his cock that he finds he can no longer hold himself back.

Something thick and heavy enters you. It causes your eyes to widen, the tears now fully dropping down your flushed cheeks. Your body warms with humiliation, your pussy stretching to fit Taehyungs - this entity - cock inside of you. A familiar shudder runs up your spine, a chill running inside of you now.

Yet another whimper comes from those sweet lips, Taehyung notes. His hips crack forward, cool hands gripping yours in his hands possessively, not allowing you any chance to escape him - even if you did, he was far stronger than you were. Both physically and spiritually. 

Your pussy squeezes around him in a way he hasn’t felt in decades. Your breast slide against the cold hardwood, your face barely able to lift up due to the harsh pounding he’s doing. Your mind continues to race, your eyes rolling and fluttering. You’re in utter disbelief, your heart pounding so loudly out your chest. You had to be dreaming now, your consciousness fully in a nightmare scenario for something like this to transpire.

Your fluttering eyes focus on your boyfriend who begins to stir, but otherwise doesn’t wake. You couldn’t help but let out a cry of pleasure when the cock impaling you goes deeper, hitting spots you never knew was possible. His pace is brutal and completely bruising, your pussy squelching loudly and seemingly, the only thing that you hear - besides the entity's own moans.

Your eyes finally focus on the mirror ahead of you. You look at yourself, cheeks stained with tears and eyes puffy and red, yet full of uncomfortable pleasure. Your hair is a mess, damn and all over the place. But what captures your eyes is the man behind you.

Taehyung.

His skin is a bit tannish, seemingly glowing underneath the light of your bedroom. His hair is dark and wavy, long enough to hide his eyebrows, but what little you do see of them, you note that they’re full and thick, especially near the end of them. As if noticing you staring right at him through the mirror, Taehyung’s eyes, dark and fox-like, glances your way. You gasp for a moment, a familiar heat running through you that shoots all the way to your stomach, then your core. Taehyung notices it, too, the way your cunt clenches even harder around him that it has him chuckling. 

“I didn’t want to present myself to you so soon.” Taehyung’s lips move in the mirror, and you only hear what he says when your mind repeats it in your head - over and over again.

Your body is flipped so you’re now on your back - and face to face with the ghostly being on top of you. You gasp once more, your mind still not being able to wrap around what exactly you were looking at. Or who.

Taehyung, your mind repeats. He’s in front of you now, seemingly glowing quite luminously, yet translucent. 

Your heart thumps in your chest when a pair of heart-shaped lips wrap around your nipples, tugging and suckling onto them. The cock continues inside of you. Arousal pools around your thighs, coating them entirely and now, you cannot hold in the moans.

What was wrong with you?

Why did Taehyung’s appearance - that could be nothing more than a deceptive illusion - make your pussy throb even more? Why did it want you to continue on with this?

Why did you want more?

Maybe you were going insane, you think. This was going to be the end before you died - if this wasn’t an erotic nightmare like you initially thought. 

“You love the way I’m fucking you.”

Taehyung’s deep voice rings through your ears. Your eyes flutter open to see him watching you, a handsome face mimicking your own pleasured one.

You felt like you were going to explode, your already tight cunt squeezing even more around him. This was wrong, you think. You were getting fucked by an entity while your boyfriend laid unconscious just a few feet away.

And you were enjoying it.

You wanted more.

And more Taehyung gave you. His cock bullied its way inside of you, pounding deep and hard until you’re now squealing loudly, no longer caring about your boyfriend. Your mind is clouded with him, a supernatural effect taking place.

“Look at you, about to cum again.” a deep voice mocks. You hadn’t realized Taehyung had put you in another position - one that has you hovering directly above your boyfriend. If he would to wake up now, he would see nothing but your gaping cunt being fucked by seemingly nothing - it excited you even more.

“My little human,” he murmurs, a possessive grip on your neck that would surely leave marks, but neither of you cared. “All mine. All mine to fuck whenever I want, right?”

Your squelching cunt releases more creamy arousal, your thighs and now legs soaked with it entirely. Your mind has sense gone blink and before you know it, you’re nodding your head.  “All yours. Only yours.” you slur.

“Y/N,”

There’s a bright light in your face, one that has your eyes squeezing even tighter. Your body aches, but your body is covered in warmth.

“You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

Your eyes begin to flutter open, attempting to focus on anything. Your throat is dry and you don’t even attempt to speak.

The voice is your boyfriend. He sits at the edge of your bed, dressed entirely differently. Your eyes focus on his face, your blood running cold.

“Why are you looking at me  like that?” he asks you, eyebrows knitting together. “I made breakfast hours ago. It’s cold now. You must’ve been tired.”

You’re still dumbfounded. Was everything an actual nightmare? Taehyung and all? Your boyfriend doesn’t appear to be hurt at all and he’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one.

“Get up and wash up. I’ll just take you out for lunch instead.” he says, placing a hand on your covered leg. He proceeds to get up and out the room, closing the door behind him.

Your eyes roam around the room. There’s no glass shattered or blood stains. There’s no mess that’s caused by you or Taehyung.

You push the covers off of your body, your aching legs bringing you off of your bed. You head towards your mirror - the same one you were fucked in front of. Your eyes stare at the bruising onto your skin - one that’s only visible in the mirror and not on your skin in the slightest. Hand marks around your neck, obviously put there by the entity himself.

Your heart thumps with…excitement? You’re unsure how you feel about it, but at least you know you aren’t insane like you thought you were - and you couldn’t wait to see Taehyung again.