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fading brilliance, fire on silk

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Taehyung’s hand slides up his thigh, dragging with it the soft cotton of his nightshirt. He mouths over the small stretch of skin where Jungkook’s neck curves into his shoulder, his forked tongue flailing like the strikes of a miniature whip, leaving twin trails of saliva as it goes. Jungkook tenses, hissing in a sharp breath as Taehyung’s teeth glide against his jaw.

“Ignoring me, Jungkook-ah? That’s rude.”

Talking is still too much effort to be worth it, so he just groans, weakly batting away Taehyung’s hands. Taehyung just moves over him more aggressively, pressing him down, back against the scattering of feathers over the linen. He’s leaner than Jungkook, barely taller, but his wings add a significant weight, enough to be uncomfortable and definitely impossible to ignore.

“Hyung,” Jungkook groans. “I was sleeping.”

He’s brushed off again, in favor of Taehyung hooking a thumb into his underwear and pulling it down, exposing him to the evening air. The nightshirt follows, threads ripping under claws and inhuman strength and soon there’s nothing separating their naked bodies.

Goosebumps raise across his skin. He feels Taehyung more intensely now, the hard press of his erection against his thigh, leaking precum at the tip. Taehyung lands a kiss on the bridge of his nose and his face scrunches instinctively, triggering a soft huff of laughter.

“You know I can’t sleep until you give me a goodnight kiss.”

Jungkook graces him with a one-eyed glare. “What kind of goodnight kiss involves me taking my clothes off?”

Taehyung grins, a razor edge dipped in honey. “Our goodnight kisses.”

As annoyed as he likes to act sometimes, Taehyung’s attention is always an ego-boost to have. Especially now, in the semi-darkness of their room, it washes hot and potent over him like a shot of alcohol. His gaze slides across Taehyung’s face, inwardly preening with how Taehyung’s eyes rake over him like he’s a treasure.

Jungkook spent his life studying angels and demons, but none of his imaginary portrayals of them can even come close to Taehyung’s mystical, almost poetic beauty: sun-kissed skin and full lips, lashes so long that Jungkook feels the brush of it on his skin when Taehyung leans in to dip his tongue in the hollow of his throat. His blond hair falls over piercing blue eyes. Ink-black wings flex behind him and release a fresh shower of feathers. One lands on Jungkook’s bare chest, grazing a nipple on its way down. Jungkook bites the shiver but Taehyung’s eyes flash all the same.

Taehyung’s lips land soft on his nipple; breath hot when he opens his mouth to suck him in. He alternates teeth and tongue in all the ways he knows Jungkook likes it and Jungkook rewards his efforts with a moan, head tilting back, body curving in acquiescence. He overcomes the weight of sleep to blindly cup Taehyung’s face, brushing his hair back. His other hand skims across the blankets, subtly seeking purchase in the thick folds but Taehyung’s hands come out of nowhere, gripping his wrists and keeping them above his head. He squeezes once before letting go, a silent Keep them there.

Jungkook only whines once in protest but doesn’t move. The last of his somnolence slips away, faster with every pass of Taehyung’s hands on his body. They’re as uncannily large as his wings, but it makes Jungkook feel safe, taken care of, more so when he’s made to lie under him like this, his wings poised like a canopy, hiding them from the rest of the world.

He’s already half-hard, but Taehyung remedies that quickly when he curls a hand over him, meeting his mouth in another kiss. Jungkook helpfully spreads his legs, planting his feet flat and trying to get some friction going, but Taehyung expertly keeps his body away, his only touch being the slow, firm strokes on Jungkook’s cock. It’s not enough. Not even close.

He makes this known, whining impatiently and biting down on Taehyung’s lip. The demon infuriatingly pretends not to notice, only drawing back and squeezing his cock at the base, grip flexing, fingers stretching to massage circles onto his balls.

“If you don’t fuck me right fucking now,” Jungkook grumbles, “I’m reaching for the holy water.”

His only warning is the gold flash of Taehyung’s eyes, the high whine of metal, before the bedframe begins to rattle, the metal rails snapping from their welded joints to coil tight around his wrists. Jungkook gasps, more from the cold than anything else.

“I’d like to see you try, Jungkook-ie.” Taehyung taunts, smirking at his incredulous expression, manipulating the metal with seemingly no effort, not even the slightest tension on his face as pieces break off and reform into tentacle-like appendages, movement fluid—alive.

The metal isn’t gentle with him at all, manhandling him until Taehyung is satisfied. He’s dragged up to the headboard, arms up. Two others loop tight around his ankles, pulling his legs apart, keeping him open and exposed for Taehyung’s eyes. The metal creaks and groans and settles only when Taehyung is satisfied. The strain is just enough to be felt, toeing the limit of his body’s flexibility. Taehyung presses down on the junction between his thigh and groin, where a tendon threatens to stretch out of his skin, and a low moan slips out of Jungkook.

“Oh, baby.” Taehyung hums, sweeping his hand over his inner thigh. Tickling. Teasing. “You’re so nasty tonight I love it.”

It’s only then that Jungkook realizes that his erection hasn’t flagged one bit. If anything, he’s so hard it hurts. Something in him chides him for being so shameless, but another, bigger part of him can’t help but thrill at his own helplessness.

Fuck, Taehyung is such a bad influence.

He’s ripped out of his thoughts by a giggle, lips on the protruding crest of his collarbone. “What else did you expect from a fallen angel?”

Jungkook’s lip curls in distaste, lifting his head to glare down at Taehyung. “Stay out of my head.”

“But it’s such a nice place to be. Your mind is so warm.” Taehyung croons, flopping onto his chest and nuzzling the spot above his heart. Jungkook can’t possibly imagine what he means, but he’ll take the compliment for what it is. “And it’s not like I can help it. You’re being really noisy right now.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes at him. The ache between his legs is only growing with every second he spends without an orgasm. With an impatient growl, he projects his thoughts as loud as he can, bringing up mental images of their previous trysts; Jungkook tied down and dragged to the edge over and over, unable to do anything but take it; desperate whimpers and moans echoing across the cramped confines of a confessional; Taehyung bringing him to a convulsing orgasm, never stopping even as he writhes in overstimulation.

His thoughts are interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek, and Jungkook snaps back to reality, gasping when he realizes the hollow poles of the bedframe have seemingly crumpled in on themselves, like a crushing pressure closed around every inch.

Everything is still. Taehyung hovers over him like a statue, eyes burn with something dangerous, the moonlight filtering from the window playing up the threatening shadows on his face.

“You’re such a brat.” he growls, hot and harsh on the curve of his ear. “You know I hate that.”

The metal slowly reanimates, twitching like the legs of a dying bug, the crushed exterior filling out to its former shape and slithering over him with renewed purpose. The metal is ice-cold where it touches him, curved steel digging into the give of his ass.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook whispers, a fear-lined tremor in his voice that hasn’t been there since first meeting him. “Tae, what are you—”

The first touch of the brass to his entrance is foreign. He played with his fair share of toys before, but this feels so different; firm and cold enough to be identified as metal but moving smoothly enough to imitate muscle. He feels Taehyung’s fingers down there, circling the appendage only to come away wet. Slick. Jungkook has to laugh a bit at the incredulity of everything. All that divine power and he uses it to turn the evening into some hentai fantasy and conjure up lube out of nowhere.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t like it.” Taehyung chides, and Jungkook is robbed of a snarky reply when he shoves two slick fingers into his hole.

“Oh shit, you jerk.” Jungkook gasps, instinctively flinching away but the restraints hold tight.

“Didn’t I teach you better insults than that?” Taehyung tuts, stretching Jungkook open with three now, spreading them apart. He’s already loose, obscenely so. He fucked himself on his fingers earlier, in the shower, his front pressed against cold tile while hot water splashed against his back, getting off to the illusion of Taehyung putting him in his place, arm around his neck and squeezing until he’s choking, gasping for breath—

“Aww, Kook-ie. Have I been neglecting you?”

A large palm lands on the side of his thigh and he whimpers, clenching against Taehyung’s fingers in response. His fingers sink into Jungkook violently, sharp jerks of his wrist shoving them right at the knuckles, pulling them back until the last joint only to thrust back in, purposefully rubbing his prostate until Jungkook’s sounds reach the breaking point.

The metal nudges at his taint, the press more insistent now that Taehyung’s pulling out. He whines at how empty he feels, but the tentacles are just as much of a tease as their master, moving over his cleft, sliding up and down in a parody of sex, the head snagging on his stretched, slippery entrance. So much lubricant spills out of him, staining his inner thighs and seeping into his sheets. Taehyung likes him wet. Messy. Fingered and stretched out until he’s humping the bed, begging to be taken.

“I’ll make sure to take extra care of you tonight.” Taehyung whispers, the filthy promise shooting shivers down Jungkook’s body. Taehyung pushes his head to the side, tongue darting out to lick a pattern across his cheek.

The tentacle’s first entry sounds dirty, too wet and too fast but Jungkook has been waiting for it long enough that he feels relief more than pain. He undulates his hips, trying to push himself down as best as he can with the shackles in place, wanting it deeper.

The touch of the feather comes as a shock, triggering goosebumps in its wake. The soft edges circle his nipples, the sensation so jarringly different from the cool, merciless touch of metal that Jungkook’s mind struggles to keep up.

“What are you—” Jungkook cuts himself off with a gasp, flinching when Taehyung flips the feather and pokes the pointed shaft between his ribs. “Tae!”

The rod has a generous girth, thrusts steady, only Jungkook is sure he isn’t imagining it when he feels the shape changing with every inward thrust: thickening, lengthening, the smooth surface sprouting ridges then shifting to ribs or bumps or blunt little spikes. It’s like being fucked with different dildos and Jungkook is almost mortified when he feels the bulb of a knot growing at the base, nudging against his entrance.

A thin tentacle slithers by his hip, trails its way up his body, his groin. Jungkook lifts his head as best as he can, watching with a slow-dawning horror as the metal loops itself around the base of his erection, squeezing tight until he’s screaming, face scrunched up in pain.

Vaguely, he feels a brush of sensation and he looks down, heart lurching when he sees the silhouette of a feather floating over the tip of his cock, dangling from Taehyung’s fingers.

“You think I can make you come with this, Jungkook-ie?” Taehyung drags the entire feather along his frenulum, from the fluffed base to the tapered tip.

The first pass of the feather is bearable, but Taehyung does it again. And again. Over and over only to stop abruptly and leave Jungkook a gasping, sweaty mess, the pleasure ebbing into an irritating heat that makes his skin prickle. All the while the tentacle continues to fuck into him, the flared head catching on his rim at every entry.

Taehyung strokes the pointed end against his slit and Jungkook groans, limbs seizing uselessly, toes and fingers curling around the sheets.

“Taehyung.” He whines, his precarious hold on his pride slipping away, squirming pathetically against his bonds and the dildo spearing him open. “Taehyung, please, it hurts, I can’t—”

The touch retreats but he can’t even relax. His body is wound tight, overcharged and overheated, begging for an outlet. He doesn’t feel the dip and bounce of the bed, the sudden weight spreading over his chest. It’s only when he opens his eyes that he realizes Taehyung is straddling him, knees knocking against his armpits, the tip of his swollen cock brushing his chin and leaving a translucent trail.

Jungkook obliges him, lifting his head and letting his tongue slide out, facilitating the push of Taehyung’s dick into his mouth. Taehyung is thick, and Jungkook is always careful to watch his teeth whenever he takes him in, but it’s so much harder to concentrate now.

His only consolation is that Taehyung isn’t as unaffected as he makes himself seem. Jungkook groans low the moment his nose hits the buzz of hair on Taehyung’s abdomen. In that moment, the makeshift dildo stutters oddly inside him like it’s not sure what to do next.

Taehyung’s breath comes out shaky, thumb gently stroking Jungkook’s bottom lip before adjusting his hips to slide his cock deeper. The angle isn’t exactly the best, but the pillow hitches higher up behind his head, supporting his neck, and Jungkook backs up to slip his tongue between the foreskin, tracing a tight circle around the tip. He toys with him a bit more, suckling and tonguing the slit before pulling back the foreskin with his lips.

He groans softly, nuzzles the swollen head with his cheek, bites his lip and rolls his eyes up again to make sure Taehyung is taking in the visual. He knows he looks good like this, the picture of innocence tarnished. A servant of God turned slave for the devil. Taehyung looks down at him with burning eyes, teeth sunken so hard into his bottom lip Jungkook’s sure he’s breaking skin. Jungkook holds the tableau a while, the tip of his tongue coquettishly peeking out to tease, then turning his head to suck Taehyung’s cock back into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Kook.” Taehyung’s head falls back as Jungkook’s starts to bob up and down. “You say your prayers with this mouth?”

Jungkook concentrates harder just to shut Taehyung up. He tries to fight it but the small comment brings up mental images of Father Min…Father Park. Their proud, paternal smiles as Jungkook recites scripture and prayers with the same mouth he’s using to suck the Taehyung off; the same tongue receiving the Body of Christ every service now running the length of the devil’s cock.

He almost chokes when the thrusting starts up again. The tentacle pushes into him even harder, the metal absorbing his body’s heat and the friction of its own thrusts, it’s growing even thicker now, the burn of the stretch going straight to his cock, curling his toes. Fingers dig into his hair, squeezing, pulling him in until the tip of Taehyung’s cock hits the back of his spasming throat.

“It’s rude to think of other men when you’re sucking someone off, Jungkook.” Taehyung growls, pitching his hips forward, uncaring with how Jungkook chokes pathetically on his cock, sputtering spit and semen on his thighs and down his chin. “But contrary to what they teach you, I’m not greedy. I know how to share my toys.”

Taehyung pulls Jungkook’s head back, hard enough to bend him at the neck, a sharp, straining angle.

“I could bring them here for you.”

His breath is hot on his face, serpentine tongue lapping at the mess on his chin. “No.” he begs frantically, voice pathetically small, wrecked from the abuse his throat was made to go through. The pain of talking brings tears to his eyes, and the shame burns hotter when they fall. “No, don’t.”

“Oh, if you’ve seen the way they look at you. What goes through their minds,” Taehyung chuckles darkly, angles his head to lick at the tears, humming in morbid satisfaction, “and you think I’m depraved?”

Jungkook knows. How Father Park’s touches linger too long and too low. How dark Father Min’s gaze becomes whenever he comes to wake him up for morning service and Jungkook greets him in nothing but a nightshirt.

“It’s so cute how hard they pray…for strength…for forgiveness…but it’s all in vain.” Taehyung kisses him. Soft. A chaste press of lips. A bastardization of affection, “I could take you to their quarters. Naked. Desperate for a touch. I’d dress you up like their wildest dream. Oh, they’d jump on you in a heartbeat.”

Jungkook wonders if he’s already too far gone. The guilt doesn’t eat him up anymore, the shame only serving to heighten his arousal instead of extinguish it. Jungkook has no hope of salvation now, and he doesn’t even care, not when damnation tastes this fucking good.

“Next time, baby.” Taehyung says, gasping the words as he shoves his cock back into his waiting mouth. “For tonight, you’re all mine.”

He screams around Taehyung when the ring around his cock suddenly starts vibrating. The grip of the metal spasms, loosening for several precious intervals, just enough to feed him brief windows of pleasure, building up until he’s delirious with it.

“You can cum, baby.” Taehyung reaches behind him and Jungkook only feels a ghost of a sensation when Taehyung touches him where he needs it most: the flat of his palm on Jungkook’s cockhead, rolling in slow, tight circles, shifting his grip to hold him in a fist, tugging once. Twice—

When he comes it’s with a gurgled sob, spilling weakly on Taehyung’s fingers, cock pulsing against the ring. Mercifully, the vibrations slow to a stop, the metal grip loosening and leaving Taehyung’s warm, cum-slick hand to squeeze his spent, sensitive dick.

He wants to rest, wants to give in to his body’s natural instinct to fall slack and just collapse a boneless heap on the bed but Taehyung continues to thrust, mumbling mindlessly, reverting to the angels’ ancient tongue. Jungkook fights to keep the suction, hollowing his cheeks as best as he can and it’s enough to make Taehyung arch his back and moan, wings flapping noisily behind him. He loves the weight of cock on his tongue and the ache in his jaw, the wrecked undertone in Taehyung’s voice that meant he’s doing a good job.

Taehyung’s climax comes with the stiffening of his body, the glorious stretch of his wings up to the heavens that rejected him. His cum spreads on Jungkook’s tongue and he obediently swallows it all, continues to massage the underside with his tongue until it slips out of his mouth, still as hard as when they started. Jungkook looks at it dazedly and with just a bit of envy. Fucking angels just have to have it all, don’t they?

The restraints draw back and remold themselves into the bedframe, melding impeccably into their original carving that Jungkook would have been impressed, if his brain wasn’t left so fried by his orgasm.

“Need ten minutes, Kook-ie?”

“Fuck off.” Jungkook grunts, wincing at how shot to hell his voice sounds. Taehyung only chuckles, dropping his full weight against him, wings fluffing and stretching contentedly.

He breathes uneven, not yet quite done floating down from the high. He glances at Taehyung’s blond head, all nuzzled up on his chest. Some nights, Jungkook still tries his absolute best to cling to the fraying mantle of his morality, still falls to his knees and clasps his hands and begs that God forgive him.

But most nights…most nights he spends just like this: carnal desire giving way to warm affection; lying here in Taehyung’s arms, feeling more at peace than he ever did under the stained glass sunlight of the chapel.

He’s about ready to fall asleep, but just as he lets himself relax into the bed, gravity suddenly shifts, the cool air on his back instead of the bedsheets. He’s blinded by pain for a moment, the sudden movement jarring his sensitized body, but the pain dissipates to a dull buzz. Taehyung’s handiwork for sure.

A warmth blooms in Jungkook’s chest as he searches out Taehyung’s hands with his own. Taehyung smiles up at him, a rare softness to his features as he reaches back to soothe Jungkook’s swollen rim. Each pass of his finger brings soothing numbness and Jungkook bends forward to kiss him. Mostly as a thank you. Partly because he can’t resist him when he looks at him like he loves him.

Taehyung’s a vision on that bed, wings spread out, aglow with a sweet blush on the peaks of his body. The mess of feathers on the bed look like scattered shadows, blending in with his wings and molding over the edges of his body like he’s emerging from the darkness. Jungkook wonders how anyone can possibly resist temptation when it comes looking as good as this.

“I told you we weren’t finished.” Taehyung purrs, lips teasingly jutting out. Taehyung lands another slap on his thigh. Jungkook glares down at him at vengefully pinches a nipple, smirking in satisfaction when Taehyung yelps.

“Brat.”

“Asshole.” Jungkook quips easily, sitting up straight and nudging his ass back until he feels the hard press of Taehyung’s erection, hot and wet against his cleft.

“Again, with the cheap insults.” Taehyung pouts, playfully squeezing the meager bit of fat on his thigh. “Well? Hop to it.”

“Make another bunny joke and I swear I’m breaking your dick.”

“Didn’t know you were into that.” Taehyung breathes a short laugh, hips rolling to grind his cock on Jungkook’s ass. “If you’re a good boy for the rest of the night, I’ll let you. I’m willing to try anything once.”

Jungkook balks. He knows Taehyung can heal himself but he’s not immune to pain, and the idea of him letting Jungkook break his dick just to try it makes him just a little nauseous.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Says the priest-in-training currently sitting on my dick.”

Jungkook clams up then and there, because any further thoughts broken dicks and the consequences of secret liaisons with the devil will kill whatever’s left of his boner. He clenches his jaw and focuses on lining Taehyung up, eyes rolling shut as Taehyung grabs his hips and pulls him down.

Taehyung’s girth is pushing inside him, stretching his abused walls. He sinks down, inch by torturous inch, supporting himself on Taehyung’s abdomen. Taehyung’s fingers slide down to his thighs, nails digging in, an uncharacteristic patience keeping him still until Jungkook is fully seated, breathing harshly through his teeth.

Jungkook feels stuffed full, his rim clenching around the cock spearing him open. No matter how hard or how many times Taehyung fucks him, he still can’t get used to how well he fills him up. The stretch is almost addicting—comforting in its own, obscene way. Each minute movement is so intense like this, shooting electricity right down to the tips of his fingers, his toes.

“Hyung!” Jungkook cries out, when Taehyung starts up a rhythm. He doesn’t bother to go slow, Jungkook’s thighs burn from exertion, fighting to keep up. “Harder. Shit. God!”

“Not God, baby.” Taehyung growls, hips snapping up faster and striking his prostate just right. “Try again.”

“Taehyung!” Jungkook screams, digging his nails into Taehyung’s skin, trying to roll his ass back or rub his aching cock against Taehyung’s abdomen, needy for his second orgasm of the night. “Tae —fuck —”

Taehyung bucks his hips hard, using the momentum to flip them over, slamming Jungkook against the bed. Jungkook gasps like it’s been punched out of him, but it’s cut off when Taehyung turns him on his stomach, grabs his elbows and pulls him up to his knees, using it as leverage as he fucks into him again: harder, faster, just the way Jungkook likes it.

Jungkook shivers with the feel of Taehyung’s hands around his arms, wound around so tight it feels like he can snap the limbs clean in half. The burn of his hole stretching for Taehyung’s cock is more intense with this angle, coupled with the sharp pinpricks when their hips smack together, and all Jungkook can do is lie there and take it, moan and whine with every slam of Taehyung’s hips.

“Fuck.” he groans, the words burning on his tongue, head lolling back. “Fuck, Taehyung, get me off, fucking need it. Please—”

Finally, finally, Taehyung lines his body up against his, reaches around and gives his cock a firm tug. It doesn’t take much. Jungkook chokes on whatever sound escapes his mouth, his legs kicking, body twitching and shuddering when he finally orgasms, sticky spurts of white striping linen and feathers. Vaguely, he feels the spill of warmth inside him, feels the pulsations of Taehyung’s cock as he groans, rides out his orgasm, pushing in and out until his cock goes soft.

When Taehyung lets go, Jungkook flops face-down on the bed, graceless, uncaring of the mess he made on the sheets, of the cum spilling down his inner thighs. He’s suddenly so tired. Heavy. He can barely keep his eyes open. His mouth forms around Taehyung’s name but he’s not sure if a voice accompanies the call.

His body thrums with a satisfying ache, practically numb from all the exertion, but he still feels it acutely when lips land soft on his nape, fingers brushing back his sweaty hair.

“Sleep, Jungkook-ah. I’ll see you soon.”

 

-

 

Jungkook wakes with the caress of sunlight on his face.

The window is wide open. The curtains are fluttering with the morning breeze. A bird lands on the sill and begins to sing. Jungkook groans as he sits up, tiptoeing across the cold floors to shoo the perturbed thing away, shutting the window behind it. For a demon who can wield the powers of the universe, you’d think he’d remember to close the window like Jungkook told him to.

His nightshirt sways with his every step, pristine as it was when he wore it the night before. Taehyung graciously healed up his wounds sometime in the night too. Jungkook already expected it, but the surge of disappointment that comes doesn’t get any less potent. He can’t risk carrying the marks, can’t even hope to hide it under Father Min’s and Father Park’s keen eyes, but it’s still frustrating that there are no bruises for him to massage, nothing to pull him back to the memory of being held down, having the filthiest words whispered in his ear as he’s split open over and over.

The only proof Taehyung leaves behind is a single, black feather beside his pillow. Jungkook picks it up and brings it to his face, the frayed edges tickling his lips as he breathes in. Sulfur and ash. The coppery tang of blood. He closes his eyes and hears the harrowing screams of the damned, the crackle and heat of hellfire. It doesn’t disturb him that the vision wakes a warm, fluttering feeling in his chest. Hell has long since stopped being a source of fear for him. And why would it be? It’ll be his home soon enough.

He opens the drawer beside his bed, sets his Bible aside and pulls up a hidden panel, revealing a plethora of black feathers beneath. It’s starting to get crowded. He knows he has no reason to keep every feather that Taehyung leaves behind but he can’t bring himself to throw even just one away.

He places his latest gift inside, refits the panel, places his Bible perfectly in the middle, nearly dropping it when a knock echoes across his room.

“Jungkook,” a rough voice calls from behind the door, “time to get up. You’re in charge of morning service today.”

“I’m up, father.” Jungkook calls out, quickly checking himself in the mirror to make sure nothing is amiss.

He straightens his nightshirt just as Father Min opens the door. Showers are the only doors able to lock in this convent. It’s never a problem for Jungkook, but Taehyung’s words last night crash to the forefront of his mind, and it’s harder to keep a straight face when all he can imagine in this moment is Father Min forcing his way into his room and shoving him back against the bed.

“Is there a problem, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook shakes his head, meekly keeping his head low. “Nothing, father.”

There’s silence from Father Min’s end. His gaze circles the room and cold sweat breaks out on Jungkook’s skin. Did he miss anything? Maybe Taehyung hadn’t been so thorough after all.

“Did it fall off the hook again?”

Jungkook looks up in confusion, then turns his gaze to match Father Min’s. The cross on the opposite wall is hanging upside-down. Father Min enters his room without preamble, takes the five steps to cross the space and rights the symbol with a deft hand.

“With how hard you slam your door everytime I’m surprised it doesn’t just pop straight off the wall.” He comments dryly. “I’ll just tell Jimin to nail it on. Wouldn’t want to accidentally invite the devil in here.”

Jungkook hopes his nervousness doesn’t show through his forced smile. Father Min leaves him with a reminder to hurry and Jungkook does; washing his face and getting dressed. All the usual routine.

He takes extra care to close the door gently when he leaves, even though he knows it won’t matter.

Inside his room, everything is still, for a moment.

Inside his drawer, beneath the Holy Book and a wooden panel of thin cedar, feathers rustle restlessly.

On his wall, the cross shakes. Small, minute vibrations at first; then a violent, snapping, swinging. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left

The threads at the tip of the cross hangs in two broken pieces. The cross keeps its precarious hold on the wall from a hook at the base, wearing out the last of its momentum before it stills, upside-down. What’s one more mockery after last night’s victory?

Outside, in the silent halls of the convent, a winged shadow stalks past the doors of unknowing servants of God, locked in sleep or morning prayers. He sniffs the air. He stops. He finds what he’s looking for.

The door is as unassuming as the rest, if not for the rosary looped around the door handle. It doesn’t even burn him when he pushes the door open. He’s too strong for that now.

 

-

 

A priest wakes to the sound of his door opening. He calls out, names of the most likely culprits, voice petering, growing slow with hesitation and confusion when no reply comes.

The door swings shut, and his heart leaps to his throat. It is oak. Heavy and ornate. No indoor wind can possibly push it shut. The shadows in his room shift and dance. The air grows thick. He frantically whispers Our Father under his breath, just as a silhouette begins to rise up at the foot of his bed, skeletal wings sprouting from its back in a grotesue display. He immediately knows it is the Devil; knows this by the smell of rotting flesh, the teeth like razors, the inhuman burn of his touch where his clawed hand darts out to grasp his neck. He tries to keep praying, but words slowly slip from his mind. The demon’s smile is sickeningly saccharine when he opens his mouth, the slip of his long, forked tongue peeking through.

“Hello, Park Jimin.”