#demon!suga

You’re just about to reach the meeting room when you hear an echoing melody of voices to your right. It stops you dead in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat once more. Approaching the door, you peek through the small window pane that gives you a glimpse inside. BTS are seated casually on high stools with sheet music propped in front of them. Their vocal teacher is watching, head lulling side to side with the tune, entranced by the same melody that seems to be drawing you closer -- demanding you closer. Before you can stop yourself, you reach for the doorknob and take a step. The air is heavy as you enter, their capellas whispering sweet words like those of a lullaby.

Your eyes drag across each member as they take turns singing, until your gaze stops on him. Yoongi inhales sharply before he begins the rap verse. It’s a song you’ve never heard -- probably unreleased -- but there’s a sense of familiarity in it, like he’s reciting something from a dream you forgot. It’s harsh and cold, sending a shiver up your spine. 

What am I doing here? you think, cheeks warming with embarrassment. This is a complete invasion of privacy.

When you glance around at the staff, you’re relieved to see none of them have noticed your presence. They’re all consumed by watching the idols sing, as if they couldn’t bear to look away. You take advantage of the distraction to slowly step backward, hoping to make it to the door before the last verse. You reach blindly for the knob, finally turning to twist and shove it open. Even in your haste, you spare one last look and regret it instantly when that same cold shiver rolls through you. Yoongi’s eyes are dead set on yours. His smirk makes it clear he’s caught you.

You don’t waste another second, practically stumbling over your own feet as you rush out.

How could that be my first impression? You sigh in disbelief over your stupidity as you reroute back to the meeting room, glancing down at your watch as you do. There are only a few minutes left to sit down and organize your presentation. Silent curses echo in your head as you find a seat at the large table, setting down your tablet and organizing the files in front of you.

Groups are entering now, tailed by executives, choreographers, directors, music producers, and all of the rest. And then you see them. BTS enters one by one, and the entire room falls silent. Everyone’s heads instinctively bow, as if in a show of reverence. That thick tension from the rehearsal room returns.

RM nods at one of the managers across the table. “Begin,” he states, simply.

The man jumps to his feet, as if prodded by an electric current. He consults the producers and choreographers for updates on the comeback preparations and they go down the line, giving concise summaries of their accomplishments and the final tasks that need finishing. Each stops and stares at the idols, awaiting their validation. All they get are basic responses from RM: “good,” “continue,” or “that’s enough.”

Your pulse flutters when you realize you’re next. With sweaty hands, you swipe through your tablet, preparing to broadcast your visual aids onto the large screen at the front of the room. The stylist to your left finishes their presentation -- a slideshow of boyish, pastel garments from a recent spring collection. The idols grimace through it. You can tell RM especially is displeased when he replies with a mere “okay,” and moves his gaze to you. 

Now. This is it. 

You take a deep breath and stand, straightening yourself and projecting your images onto the screen.

After a brief introduction, you begin swiping through the slides: couture pieces and collages of aesthetics that you’ve tirelessly sourced for your original concept. The pitch could heavily sway the direction of their wardrobe for the entire comeback -- music video, promotional photoshoots, even the M! Countdown and Inkigayo stage costumes. Everything is riding on this moment.

When you reach the last slide, your eyes scan the faces of the creative directors and executives, checking for any sign of displeasure or engagement. Before they can express their thoughts, you’re interrupted by a deep voice.

“This is it. This is the one,” Yoongi decides, his tone finite.

You turn to look at him, finding him nodding at the screen. Almost instantly, the management mimics the motion, and the creative directors quickly follow suit.

An executive confirms his decision, telling you, “You will be the lead stylist for this comeback.”

You bow to each idol with a humble thanks, your eyes landing on Yoongi last. Goosebumps rise on your arms. He’s completely unreadable. His dark hair falls just around his eyes, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. You’re grateful for the opportunity to descend back into your seat. It seems your poor first impression hadn’t had too much of an effect on him.

The meeting ends when RM stands, gives a short “thank you,” and heads to the door. The rest of the group follows neatly behind him. No one makes a sound until the door shuts, and then everyone rises at once, gathering their things to leave. You can’t help but sit there, stunned, as you watch them leave. In all of your time in the industry, you had never seen a company hierarchy like this. Were the idols really superior to their executives? And the way their every word was the final say… Something about it was so strange.

You decide to chalk it up to the group’s financial success and global fame. They did put the company on the map, after all.

You’re the last to collect your things and head out the door, only to find a surprising figure standing right outside, almost as if he’d been waiting for you to appear.

“Y/N,” Yoongi says, standing in the middle of the hall to block your path. 

His hands are in his pocket, his eyes reflecting their nonchalance as they scan you upward, finally landing on your face. You feel like you’re being examined, like he sees right through you. You instinctively clutch your bag closer to your body as you wait for him to say something. Maybe he’ll scold you for walking in on their rehearsal unannounced -- or make a comment about his preferences for the wardrobe. But a moment passes and he’s still just staring, quiet.

“Thank you for choosing me,” you blurt out, bowing again and hoping to break the silence.

“Do we know each other?” he suddenly asks.

A flash of confusion crosses your face as you straighten, hesitating for a moment.

“Uh- no. It’s my first day,” you awkwardly reply, glancing around the hall to make sure he’s not addressing someone else. “Maybe you saw me in that interview with Vogue: Korea? When I dressed Selene?”

“That’s a risky game you’re playing. It almost wasn’t me…You’re pretty reckless. Who would have thought an exorcist willingly opening a gate to hell.” he smiled. “I told you to never summon me. I’d come to you.”

“I got tired of waiting.”

“You summoned a demon...you have to give me something in return.” he smirked tracing your lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

“What do you want?” the end of your lips curling into a smile.

“You know what I want….” the sounds of the siren’s got louder as they approached. But the flames continued to grow, surrounding you. “Hold on to me.”

A demon of fire.

One that only knew destruction and death. He controlled something that most humans feared with such whim. It was probably because it couldn’t hurt him even when he wanted it to. When he begged it to. He was fire personified, but not only it’s destructive properties, but it’s warmth. 

You met him over three years ago.

It was a meeting that shouldn’t have had a second. When you were called to investigate a string of fires in the area, it was all too mysterious and controlled. You knew it had to be a demon. But you’d never seen someone that so blissfully welcomed death like him. He’d build it up and hide behind his wit, and humor. His smile. But it never reached his eyes. The pain was evident on his face.

You were compelled to care.

You wanted to know him.

You wanted to see him smile. Genuinely.

It was a mistake, one that came with many consequences. Letting a demon go, helping him leave, hiding him from the council. You broke every rule in the book.

You made a deal with him.

You gave him your soul, and he gave you eternity.

You’d come to terms with your decision. It was a mistake but it wasn’t a regret.

You whimpered as your back hit the bed and he crawled over you. “I missed that sound.” He grinned. “Keep making it…” he whispered against your skin, his nose brushing down your neck as he peppered little kisses. His hand gripped your breast from under your shirt.  

“Yoongi please…” you begged as he buried himself between your legs, pressing his lips against your core.

You two made it back to your apartment and could barely pull apart from one another long enough to catch your breath. 

“Please what?” he smirked making his way back up. He sat up, against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap. “What did you want me to do?” his hands slid down your lower back, hooking around your panties and dragging them down. He looked up at you with darkened, hooded eyes, his teeth tugging on the cup of your bra. He faltered for a moment, left breathless by how you reacted to his every touch. How your breath would sharpen, how you were so embarrassed you closed your eyes, refusing to look at him. How warm your skin would get in the wake of his fingertips. “My beautiful girl” his eyes raked down your soft body. “I like you on top…” his lips brushed against your hardened nipple. “You ready for me?”

You whimpered feeling him press against you, running his length against your slit. “Y-Yoongi…Ah!”

He slowly guided his length inside of you; Your hips instantly moving with him. “I slid in with ease….you miss me that much?” he chuckled feeling your walls clench around him.

“S-Shut up” you pouted “You take way too much Yoongi”

“Oh do I? Should I talk less?” he teased, pecking your lips. “Would you rather I do more of this?” he bucked his hips into yours making you bounce, a weakened moan off your lips. “Mmmm....” He smirked, satisfied with how you cried out. “You're usually so guarded… Always so in control. And then I get you like this” he quirked a brow. “At my mercy…” he smirked. “My Jagi makes such sexy sounds.”

“I’m not at your mercy.” You pinned his shoulders back against the headboard. “You’re at mine.”

“I don’t think so-” he bit back a groan as you placed your hand on his chest and began to move your hips. Shifting forward and back, rocking just enough to make him grab on to your hips tightly. But he didn’t try to change your movements, he only encouraged you to move harder, faster, and deeper.

His head rolled back as he groaned, letting you take him, giving you all of himself.

You watched him lay beside you, it took everything inside you to summon him and the act in itself took days of preparation. Draining you of physical and emotional energy. You hadn’t slept in such a long time and you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep.

He watched you watch him. This was the longest either of you had gone without saying a word. He just studied your face. Every curve, every line, just everything. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, a soft smile on his face. “Go to sleep….I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You placed your hand on top of his. “You’ve said that before…”

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “I promise….After everything you did to bring me to this side...It’ll be a good while before I leave…..Trust that I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I can’t…” you pouted watching him.

“Why because I’m a demon?” he smirked.

“And I’m an exorcist...I’m not supposed to trust you.”

“You’re absolutely right beautiful. You shouldn’t trust me.” he brushed your hair out of your face, letting his fingernails graze your scalp. “Never trust a demon. And never risk opening a gate to hell again...You never know who’s gonna come through…” he sighed. “I was terrified I wouldn’t get to it in time…” he kissed your forehead. “And if some demon got to you I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“I can handle myself.” your voice strong, and sure. He loved that about you. He loved how strong you were. He loved that you were fearless. But in the times he had to be away from you it drove him insane not knowing if you were safe. If it was up to him he’d stay in the human world forever. But it took everything from him, and he couldn’t feed off of energy like he used to.

He didn’t want to hurt people anymore.

But he’d survive somehow. He’d do it for you. He knew he wouldn’t have a very long life, but it’d be long enough. Long enough for him to be with you.

“Yoongi...are you ok…?” you whispered, disarmed by how intently he was staring at you. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re mine….For eternity.” he pulled you in for a kiss, the whites of his eyes beginning to darken.

“I’m your wife, you Loser” you swatted his hand away and spritz him with a bottle beside your bed. “Now stop trying to threaten me. I hate it when you do that freaky demon eye shit”

“Ow, what the fuck was that?! That hurt like hell” he winced brushing off his shoulder.

“It’s a bottle of holy water”

“That you just keep on hand? What am I a cat?” he chuckled

“When you don’t behave you are” you pouted sitting up. “Why do you always gotta ruin the mood?” you huffed.

“I ruined the mood?” he scoffed. “The one who used a spray bottle of holy water thinks I ruined the mood?”

“Yeah, you got a problem with it?” you smirked, straddling him.

He licked his lips watching you. “No ma’am” he grinned pulling you into a kiss.

END

You breathe a sigh of relief as you scan the freshly steamed garments, the mix of fabrics pressed to perfection. Off to the right, their accessories sit on a crushed velour tray, polished and arranged for the big day.

After grabbing a water bottle -- knowing you won’t have a chance to break for the next few hours -- you return to the dressing room. In the few moments of your absence, the space has descended into an eerie silence. A cold stillness has halted the usual movement and chatter of the staff. The wardrobe assistants, makeup artists, and hair stylists now stand lined along the walls, hands clasped behind their backs. Heads bowed. Perfectly still.

Peeking into the next room, you see the idols have arrived.

The members saunter through, their footsteps barely audible. 

You spot Yoongi at the clothing rack, silently flipping through the garments, examining each piece before moving to the next. Your curious, almost unconscious, staring is interrupted by your lungs begging for air, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. When you inhale -- a bit too loudly -- every head turns sharply in your direction.

“I see you’ve decided to join us.” RM smirks, walking toward you.

The others trail behind him, moving to the custom chairs positioned in front of the vanities. Each one has the idol’s stage name printed in white script across the back.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you had arrived,” you quickly apologize, bowing your head. You notice the rest of the staff haven’t moved an inch.

“Let’s get this over with,” Jungkook mutters as he slumps into his chair, visibly annoyed. His words barely hang in the air before two stylists appear beside him, already preparing their hot tools and cosmetics.

“Alright.” RM claps his hands loudly, as if snapping the staff out of a trance. “Let’s do this.”

The idols take their seats, and the staff immediately swarm around them, prepping their skin and hair for the long day ahead.

---

Two cups of coffee later, the boys are ready -- freshly dressed in their custom garments and imported accessories.

Jimin’s hair is a gleaming platinum, so fresh you can still smell the bleach. Jungkook sports an eyebrow slit and a newly trimmed mullet, per his request. Yoongi has charcoal eyeshadow smoked around his lashes, sharpening the slant of his crescent-shaped eyes. They’re all striking, perfectly fitting the vision you’ve been tirelessly crafting. Like a dream come true.

You circle the group one last time, making sure every detail is in place. Yoongi is at the end of the line, with a chill rolling off of him, like a breeze from somewhere cold. It makes you hesitant to reach forward and fix the crease on his pants, your hand pulling back sharply, unsure. He isn’t made of electricity, you scold yourself, forcing your shaking fingers to steady. You smooth the crease. Every second you touch the fabric stretches like an eternity. 

“One last thing,” you say casually, motioning to the side of his face. “I was thinking we ditch the signature jewelry for this shoot.”

He’s wearing a single drop earring in the shape of an eye.

Each of the members has a piece featuring that same symbol: RM, a slim bangle; Jimin, a ring; Jungkook, a helix earring; Jin, a necklace; J-Hope, an anklet; and V, an upper arm cuff. You’ve seen them wear these pieces as long as you can remember. It must have been part of their debut concept -- which now seems painfully out of date. It’s been nagging you through the entire design process, and you’re relieved to rid yourself of it.

“No,” Yoongi flatly replies, his body stiffening beneath your gaze as you finish straightening the leg of his pants.

You rise and glance around. The staff is, again, eerily still. Not a breath. Not a blink.

“I just thought it might make sense, considering this is your reinvention. Your evolution--”

You don’t get to finish.

“We said no.” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the room, deep and commanding, the edges sharp. It seems to reverberate in your chest.

The temperature in the room spikes. The air suddenly feels thick and suffocating. A hot flash of embarrassment crawls up your skin. Everything up to this point had gone off without a hitch, and you feel flustered at the idea that you’d overestimated their belief in you thus far. Had they just been entertaining your whims?

So, you quickly nod and mumble a rushed apology, quickly scanning the room for an ally -- for anyone. But the staff remain perfectly still, heads bowed in unison as if locked in silent submission.

You’re all alone.

---

It’s nearly the end of the day when you slip into the large, airy photo studio for a break. Photographers are packing up their gear, likely just as relieved as you are that the shoot’s over. The idols have already returned to wardrobe, preparing to change and head out. All that’s left for you is to organize and catalog the garments, readying them for the archive.

You decide to stay put for now, knowing it’s probably not best to cross paths with Yoongi again so soon after his earlier outburst. While you wait, you unwrap some gimbap you snagged from the cafeteria and eat it like it’s the first real meal you’ve had in days, because it kind of is. Lately, you’ve been surviving on espresso and protein shakes alone.

You pass a row of open laptops and monitors as you walk, the screens displaying photo previews of the idols in a series of angles and poses. Despite everything that’s gone on today, you feel a glimmer of pride in your work. The concept has come together beautifully. They look breathtaking in every frame. Their luxury garments elevate the sleek set. The whole thing feels otherworldly, exactly as you’d intended.

Your heart skips a beat when you spot a frame of Yoongi.

His black hair falls in loose strands across his forehead, his neck exposed to the camera. His eyes pierce the screen, as if looking through it. He’s wearing a sheer, asymmetrical top that clings to one shoulder and reveals the sharp line of his clavicle. You can’t help but trace the line with your stare, your throat tightening.

A familiar chill rushes up your spine. And then the screen… glitches.

The color in the image inverts, as if flipped inside out. Yoongi’s skin turns a vivid shade of indigo, darker purple lines crawling over his exposed muscles. His eyes are golden, glowing. The pupils are slitted. Demonic. Inhuman.

You stumble back, heart pounding. One hand finds the back of a nearby chair as you try to steady your breath. Something evil suffocates the room, making your head spin and your skin blanch. Every instinct urges you to run, but your knees buckle under your weight, forcing you to crouch.

You turn away in fear, eyes squeezed shut.

When you finally open them, the photo is normal again. Milky skin. Dark brown eyes. The same Yoongi.

You sputter at nothing, legs still trembling as you try to stand. Goosebumps prickle your skin while the hairs on your nape rise, warning you of danger. But there’s none. Everything is exactly as it was just a moment ago.

So you do the only thing you can -- chalk it up to sheer exhaustion. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d heard of sleep deprivation leading to wild, imaginative hallucinations. Despite the front you put on at work, you were just as human as the rest of the staff. Just as fragile when it came to basic needs like rest and regeneration.