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coexist (with me)

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the end of the incantation leaves him quietly: tingling on his lips like the touch of something other, a kiss, feather-light, pulling the last syllable from his mouth gently. he inhales deeply, lightness spreading in him, no feelings in his body, no motion to the air.

it’s not air that makes the candle lights flicker, fight to stay burning, before they’re all put out.

the smoke dances, life to its movement, collects in the middle of the circle, growing and growing in front of him. there’s so much smoke, black, thick, spreading; it rises up to the ceiling and reaches out to every wall, engulfs all of the small attic in its darkness.

terror—terror envelops him, from his toes up his legs and into his throat, he can’t breathe, the fog like concrete around him. he gasps for air, but all his lungs fill with is heaviness, pressing down on his midst. the rush of blood roars in his ears, fear digs into his spine, and his fingers clench above his heart helplessly, vision black.

he shouldn’t have done this. he’ll die.

something brushes his cheek—gentle, the ghost of a touch, and everything goes calm and quiet.

he opens his eyes with a gasp, clear air flooding him.

red eyes meet his.

jungkook can’t move with the shock, staring up at the figure in front of him. black hair, perfect pale skin, small nose and pouty lips; dressed all in black, intimidating, gorgeous.

it makes sense he would look ethereal.

it doesn’t make sense for the spell to have worked at all, but it did. jungkook clutches the book in his arms.

his breath and words are caught in his throat, frozen beneath the other’s inhuman eyes. the figure blinks and they turn black, unassuming behind messy, long bangs. jungkook wills his body to move again, tries to find his voice.

“hi,” he croaks.

the man quirks his lips, an expression so familiar and human. but he’s not.


his voice is deep and raspy; it shoots through jungkook, hot and urgent. he’s—unfairly attractive, inhumanly so, draws jungkook’s attention like he’s never seen beauty before in his life.

jungkook doesn’t know how to go about this, what the etiquette says: if there’s an order of things to communicate and note down, if the creature has done this thousands of times and jungkook is the first not to know what he’s doing. he gapes up at the being in front of him, tries to swallow his nerves down.

“you’re... a spirit.”

“you could say that,” the spirit drawls.

jungkook straightens deliberately, but his fingers still curl in the edges of the book, needing reassurance.

“will you answer my request?”

the spirit doesn’t avert his gaze once, keeps jungkook pinned under it. it’s unsettling—abnormal. otherworldly.

“your first time?”

discomfort grows in jungkook’s stomach, all of him open and vulnerable in front of this existence.


he hums, low, reverberating; jungkook feels it in his bones.

“don’t be afraid. i can be gentle.”

dread—it might be dread coiling around his insides, fluttering around his ribs.


“i’m yoongi. what’s your name, human?”


“jungkook. it’s okay. i’ll be careful with you.”


his mind can’t make sense of it.

the entity—spirit—yoongi. yoongi takes a step forward, and jungkook leans back.

“careful with what? shouldn’t you—i called you to—aren’t you here to help me?”

yoongi crouches at the edge of the invisible circle, balancing on the balls of his feet, elbows on his spread knees. he rests his chin on a palm, long fingers curling against his cheek elegantly. his fingernails are black.

“to help you, yes.”

his smirk is electrifying; positively dangerous.

“i—” the words get stuck in his throat, shame squeezing it closed. it hurts a little to force them out.

maybe shame in the face of an unearthly being is misplaced here, but jungkook feels his muscles tense against his will. even if the being doesn’t judge him, dutifully soothes his pain and disappears—jungkook has to live with the wound. has to live with the knowledge. he’s been fine all this time, for years and years, mostly on his own in this hollow house. he’s been fine. but his parents haven’t returned in months again, he doesn’t know where they are.

“i wanted some company.”

yoongi doesn’t blink, piercing gaze boring into jungkook’s core.

company, yes. i can provide that.”

the tone of his voice, the glint in his eyes, the smirk pulling at his tempting mouth. it adds up to—something, but not what jungkook expected. alluring, mesmerizing, he’s heard of sirens before.

“what exactly… are you?”

yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“shouldn’t you know? we’re called incubi.”


“incubus. a sex demon.”


yoongi stares at him, not moving a muscle.

“that’s what i was called for. sex.”

embarrassment shoots through jungkook, sharp and hot. he gapes, momentarily forgotten how to form words.

“no… no, that’s not—aren’t you here to,” he swallows hard, mouth dry, thought after thought escaping him, “offer your services?”

“sexual services, yes.”

“no,” jungkook mumbles, again and again, “no no no, i didn’t want that. it said—”

he stares at the open book in his lap, faded drawings on torn pages he can barely read. he’d found it at the bottom of a cardboard box, much older between children’s books and magazines from the last decade. servant, spirit, he understood that much. or not enough.

“ah,” yoongi drawls, “not enough training but already reading from an ancient book, never a good idea.”

“i didn’t—i didn’t think it would work.”

“why wouldn’t it, aren’t you a witch?”

jungkook meets yoongi’s eyes, black—demonic. a demon. an—incubus. yoongi glances up, and jungkook touches a hand to his red hair.

“witch… what? no.”

yoongi looks him up and down, frowning at the book in his lap.

“well, you couldn’t have done that without magic in your blood. you can’t summon demons on accident.”

jungkook summoned a demon on accident and has no idea what to do.

“magic in my blood…?”

his parents are upper middle class workers too busy abroad to have a family, his elder brother is a resigned model student in some university out of town. jungkook is a let-down.

jungkook blinks at yoongi, yoongi blinks back. then he tears his unnerving gaze away, looking around the cramped attic for the first time. he squints at an old flat-screen tv and playstation in the corner.

“what year is this?”


yoongi sits down with a heavy thud. “oh man.”

jungkook finally lets go of the spellbook and shoves it to the side, furrowing his brows. “why? how old are you?”

“i’m not old, okay,” he points a finger at him, “it’s just… been a while.”

“and ‘a while’ means…?”

“so, the sex.” yoongi’s eyes glint in annoyance. “let’s get to it.”



jungkook stares at the demon, cross-legged in front of him, mirroring his pose, like they’re two friends having a friendly chat about something—well, less bizarre.

“i don’t want to have sex with you.”

yoongi tilts his head, a twitch to his lips, brows raised. “you don’t?”

jungkook feels warmth rush to his cheeks. he clears his throat.

“i don’t.”

“human,” the demon sighs. “the incubus summoned is determined by the heart of the spellcaster. it is in your blood, and in mine.”

jungkook listens, waiting for it to make some sense. yoongi’s mouth stretches in a slow, smug grin.

“your magic called for me, so i had to answer.”

jungkook chews on his bottom lip, wanting to say something against it, but he doesn’t know what. he really doesn’t know what exactly any of this means.

yoongi’s grin is wolfish, scary, but so gorgeous, still. “your body definitely wants to have sex with me.”

“well i don’t. that’s not—” jungkook shifts back, the demon still contained inside the incantation circle. “i didn’t call you for that, i’m sorry, so you can go home.”

yoongi’s tone is flat. “i can’t just go home.”

“what do you mean, you can’t?”

“you called for me and i answered. we made a deal.”

jungkook doesn’t want to hear the rest of the explanation, sense of foreboding thumping loudly in his chest. yoongi only shrugs, a hand in his hair, messing it up almost artfully.

“i give you an orgasm, you give me your semen,” he wiggles his fingers, “then i go home. that’s the deal.”

“my—whatno,” jungkook squeaks, drawing his arms up in defense, warm everywhere, up to the tips of his ears. “why—no.”

“human.” yoongi’s low growl commands attention, amicable front gone in a split-second. “i can’t leave until the trade is completed. i am bound to you by the contract.”

he leans forward, one hand on the floor.

“i fulfill your needs, take a bit of life force—you won’t even notice it, i promise—and we’re free, you never see me again. simple.”

yoongi’s gaze is searing, felt all the way inside jungkook’s chest, so much so that he draws back even further. “but—”

yoongi shuffles forward on his knees, between the line of candles, and even further. he crosses the boundary without effort, as if it wasn’t there at all.

“how—you’re not supposed to—”

“the mood lighting is cute, but that’s all it is. even with your powers.”

the demon crawls towards jungkook, and jungkook retreats back, holding himself up on trembling arms. yoongi’s smirk runs down his spine, bursts white-hot in his gut.

“why do you deny it? i am everything you’re attracted to.”

yoongi inches closer, closer, to kneel between jungkook’s legs. his eyes glimmer with trouble, his mouth curves with fake promises. jungkook leans as far back as his arms can hold him, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

yoongi curves his body over his, breath teasing on jungkook’s skin. his lips look soft, full, deliciously pretty—jungkook inhales, stuttery, weak.

yoongi’s smell has his arms almost give out. it’s pleasant but intense, the sweetest blend of flowers and citrus and musk. jungkook inclines his head on instinct, craving more of it as it makes his head spin.

yoongi smiles so beautifully, knowing, leaning close. jungkook forces himself to turn his nose away, so instead he bares his neck, tingling all over his skin, anticipating. yoongi chuckles, close, so close, breath like sparks down his neck.

a demon. a demon is at his neck.

before yoongi can touch him, jungkook jerks away, losing his balance. he falls on his back, pain immediate, scrunching his eyes shut.

he braces himself, tense, but nothing happens.

when a quiet chuckle sounds above him, jungkook blinks up at the ceiling.

yoongi’s head pops into view, leaned over him, sharp demon eyes in amused curves.

“you’re cute.” he touches a bony finger to the tip of jungkook’s nose, pressing down once. his smile loses its edge, stretching all wide until his teeth show, then his gums, then his eyes disappear into crescents. no human has looked at jungkook this way.

“i can’t actually touch you without your consent, you know. master.”

jungkook shoves him to the ground, hard, cheeks burning.

“come on. jungkook.”

“i’m studying.”

“so keep doing it. how about my fingers in you?”

“no, no fin—no.”

“okay, fine, i could jerk you off?”


“more of a blowjob guy? i’m efficient at that.”

“wh—okay, you know what, no, you—leave, get out.”

“and where am i supposed to go?”

yoongi, unexpectedly, turns whiny when he doesn’t get his way.

it’s been hours.

jungkook tried making him do housework: finish chores, dust off the attic, mop the floors, do the laundry and the dishes, too. yoongi complained all the while, this is not fulfilling your needs, and why is the house so big, but did it all easily. with his magic demon powers or whatever. he didn’t lift a finger, anyway. he hasn’t disappeared, either.

yoongi sighs, long and heavy, frustration audible in it.

“jungkook, seriously though. i’m dying.”

jungkook’s neck cracks from how fast he snaps his head towards his unwilling companion. yoongi’s face is impassive.

“i can feel my powers decreasing as we speak. i am withering.”

jungkook should have considered that. yoongi is a demon—this is not his realm. he was called here by a spell. it makes sense that there is a penalty or cost to his stay. but—

“i will die. i will crumble to pieces if i can’t stick it in. or you stick it—”

“oh my god okay stop, please stop talking—”

“jungkook, please—”

“i can’t!”

his voice comes out much louder than intended, an uncomfortable feeling nagging at him, an itch he can’t locate.

“i can’t, okay? i just—we don’t even know each other, and i want my sexual partner to be someone i can trust, you know, someone that—”

“jungkook. jungkook, sweetie, i’m not human, i’ll just vanish into thin air after and—”

“that’s the problem.”

sure, it was stupid. to let weakness grip him so tight and painful he would even dare hope magic was real and he could just summon a friendly servant spirit to keep him company and help him pretend he isn’t—so terribly fucking lonely all the time.

he should’ve known even magic wouldn’t help with that.

jungkook stares down at his notes until they blur.

“jungkook. come on, jungkook.”

it’s been another hour. it was peaceful, though; jungkook pretended to be alone, as he always is, and yoongi kept his quiet and distance. until now.

“look—” yoongi sighs. “i get that you want… feelings, or whatever, and i’m not the… answer for that. that’s valid, i’m not telling you how to live your incredibly short mortal life.”

jungkook turns his head towards the demon slowly, mouth in a line.

yoongi looks tired, hair mussed, a hand fiddling with it.

“but i just can’t leave your side until the contract is fulfilled. i am not able to.”

jungkook regards him from head to toe, which is not a lot of distance to cover: he’s sat on the floor in front of the couch, legs drawn up to his chest, head hung. jungkook was busy feeling very sorry for himself, but it’s true that both of them are stuck with each other.

“what happens if you… if the contract isn’t fulfilled?”

“i die.”

yoongi crosses his arms on top of his knees and lays his head down on them. there’s no edge to his tone.

for a second, jungkook sees himself reaching out, his hand gently touching yoongi’s inky hair. he curls his fingers in the hem of his shirt instead, bottom lip between his teeth, guilt swelling in his chest. it was his mistake.

“can’t you just,” he clenches and unclenches his fists uselessly. “i don’t know—touch me and suck some life force out of me? use your powers for it?”

suck… i’m not a vampire. and not a magician, jungkook. i need to—”

“can’t you at least treat me to dinner first? or is that not part of ‘fulfilling my needs’ either?” jungkook throws his hands in the air.

he’s half joking, but it’s quiet for so long that jungkook’s face turns warm all over, body tense.

yoongi’s face is stuck in a grimace.

“you want me to… court you? but that’s not—”

court—why not? don’t i know best what i need from you?”

yoongi only stares back, mouth in a pout. “you do, but…”

jungkook has no idea how to save himself from this, except maybe embarrass himself more. if it’s about needs—what he really needs, from someone other than himself—

“a… hug, then?” the truth comes out weak, stumbling, never had to learn how to walk, “a hug would be… nice.”

yoongi visibly shivers. he presses his back against the couch, away from jungkook.

“what? sex is okay but a hug is too much?”

“no, just—” yoongi furrows his brows, eyes averted, drawing his shoulders up. “even if it counted, i don’t—”

jungkook has no idea what this form of his is; how much of it is real, how it is sustained, how his appearance was chosen. this, though, is a reaction that’s familiar: yoongi’s human-like body has his ears go red.

excitement flutters in jungkook’s chest.

“i want to cuddle. that’s what i really want.” it’s a bit embarrassing to say, and maybe silly, but that’s a low cost everything considered. yoongi shrinks in on himself, eyes glued to the carpet.

“i don’t think—” he raises a hand to his face, rubbing at his nose. “isn’t there something else i could do?”

the demon glares at jungkook through his bangs, curled into a ball, color on his cheeks both irrational and—cute, somehow. jungkook’s face is probably mirroring it, but it’s worth it.

“hold my hand, too,” he adds out of spite.

“this is terrible and i am dying.”

“you’re not. yet.”

“i am uncomfortable. i want this to end.”

“can you please be quiet?”

“please release me.”

jungkook huffs, yoongi’s voice small and muffled behind him. he tightens his grip on yoongi’s hand instead, arm around his waist, burrows further into the embrace and body against him. it’s warm; the physical touch, his back, his chest and cheeks.

“i’m trying to save your life.”

his voice wavers on the excuse, on the absurdity of the situation. yoongi goans into his neck.

“this is all your fault to begin with.”

“isn’t this kinda nice?”

their legs are tangled under a blanket, soft mattress beneath them. jungkook had taken the incubus to his bed.

“i beg to differ.”

yoongi hasn’t stopped moping since.

“this is ruining my enjoyment of it,” jungkook lies, gaze fixed on his nightstand. his phone might be in its depths.

yoongi growls, a sad and disgruntled little noise, pressing his nose to jungkook’s hair. he nuzzles his nape, his neck, inhaling deeply. it causes ripples on jungkook’s skin, heat rising beneath it.

yoongi’s lips are soft, warm, their movement distracting.

“how long do we have to keep doing this?”

“do you want to be stuck here forever?”

“it’s okay, i’ll just die.”

jungkook shoves his shoulder into his chest, hard.

in all honesty, there’s no telling if this actually works. jungkook can’t imagine what this contract between them looks like, what it says in the fine print. if pleasure that is not sexual still counts, so long as it is pleasure. it’s not sex he’s craving with all of his being.

if it doesn’t work, though—

“how much… how much time do you have? do you know?”

yoongi’s arms are solid, warm to the touch, human by all means perceivable. he breathes and has blood in his veins and a heartbeat gently tapping against jungkook’s back. everything to make jungkook believe and pretend.

“i mean, it’s… a vague feeling, but, calculated in your time…” yoongi inhales deeply, chest pressing against jungkook, his voice a low murmur. “a year?”


jungkook goes rigid, straining to listen.


“year? an entire year?”

his voice rises, goes high-pitched and disbelieving.

yoongi leans back a little, words slurred like through a pout.

“yeah? i’m fairly powerful, not to brag but—”

a year—i thought you were dying—” jungkook pushes away from yoongi, his whole face hot, embarrassment pounding against his ribs. “okay, get off of me right this instant—”

“hey, i am dying,” yoongi tightens his hold around him, jungkook wriggling between his arms, “wait—”

jungkook grabs at the edge of the bed, trying to free himself from the embrace. yoongi’s all but clinging to his body now, draped over his back.

“wait, jungkook, it didn’t work yet—”

it’s so absurd that jungkook snorts, first, and then a giggle makes it out, and then another. yoongi’s whining against his shoulder blade, and jungkook hides his flush and smile behind a hand.

“we can’t give up now, you need to release me from this hell—”

yoongi tries to pull him back against his chest while jungkook burrows his face into a pillow, anticipation and hope in his veins. a whole year.

“you have enough time to treat me to dinner, then.”