Chapter Text
Jimin hadn't meant to end up in a monster bar.
He was just wandering through a part of the city he didn’t know well after a late photography session, hoping to find a place for a drink before heading home. The neon sign outside simply read "The Cryptid Cantina" in flickering blue letters. When he walked in, everything seemed normal enough.
Dim lighting, the clink of glasses, low murmur of conversation. He'd slid onto a barstool and ordered a whiskey, neat.
That's when the weird looks started.
The bartender set down the bottle. Several patrons had stopped their conversations entirely.
Jimin glanced around at the silent bar. "What? Is it something I said?"
"You're... not from around here, are you," the bartender said slowly. It wasn't a question.
"Just wandered in." Jimin took a sip of his whiskey. "Seemed like a chill spot."
Someone snorted. Someone else muttered something that sounded like "oh, he has no idea."
Jimin shifted uncomfortably. Tough crowd.
After ten minutes and another drink, he couldn’t ignore the pressure in his bladder any longer. He excused himself and made his way through the bar to the bathrooms in the back. The hallway was darker, and the sounds from the bar faded as he opened the door with a faded symbol he guessed meant "restroom."
The bathroom was surprisingly clean: black tile, industrial fixtures, a row of urinals along one wall. Jimin had unzipped and taken his position, sighing in relief as he started to piss.
That's when someone stepped up to the urinal beside him.
Jimin had a bad habit. He knew it, and people had told him so. Sometimes, when someone attractive was next to him, he just couldn’t help sneaking a glance.
So he did.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
The dick next to him was... not a human dick. It was ridged. Textured. A deep purple color that appeared to glisten slightly in the dim bathroom light, and it was significantly bigger than any human dick had the right to be.
Jimin's stream stuttered to a halt as his brain short-circuited.
What the fuck.
His eyes moved up, past the clawed hand holding that cock, past a muscular torso covered in scales, to a face that was clearly not human. Golden eyes with slitted pupils stared at him, and a mouth full of sharp teeth curved into what might have been a smile.
"See something you like?" the creature rumbled, its voice rough as sandpaper.
Jimin let out a noise somewhere between a squeak and a yelp. He fumbled with his zipper, almost pinching himself as he hurried to pull up his jeans. Without checking if he was zipped, he stumbled backward, bumping his shoulder on the door frame as he rushed out of the bathroom.
The bar looked different now.
Or maybe it had always looked like this, and he'd been too oblivious to notice.
The person at the nearest table had gray skin and completely black eyes. Another patron turned as Jimin walked by, showing a face covered in fine fur, with a long snout and pointed ears. The bartender, who Jimin now realized had been watching him with barely hidden amusement all night, flicked out a forked tongue while polishing a glass.
Monsters. They were all monsters.
Jimin didn’t remember leaving. One moment he was frozen in the middle of the bar, heart beating fast, and the next he was outside in the cool night air, running down the street until his lungs burned and his legs ached.
He made it home in record time, slamming his apartment door behind him and leaning against it, chest heaving.
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the…
But underneath the panic, something else.
He couldn't stop thinking about it. That cock. Thick and ridged and different, and for one split second before his brain caught up, all he'd felt was his mouth watering.
By 2 AM he'd given up on sleep. By 3 AM he'd given up on pretending he wasn't going to do something stupid.
The idea was insane.
He did it anyway.
The next afternoon, Jimin stood outside The Cryptid Cantina with a rolled-up poster under his arm and a hardware store bag in his hand.
The bar was nearly empty in daylight. A different bartender, this one short with greenish skin and small horns, barely glanced up as he walked toward the back hallway.
The poster was simple. Elegant, even. He'd found a vintage band template online and modified it, adding drawings of swallows in flight around the lettering:
WALL SWALLOWS
Coming Soon
Walk-Ins Welcome
A small arrow at the bottom pointed toward the bathroom stalls.
He taped it to the wall outside the bathroom, smoothing the edges carefully. It looked real. Professional. Anyone who didn't know better would think it was advertising a band.
Anyone who did know better would understand exactly what it meant.
The bathroom was empty. Same black tile, same industrial fixtures. The middle stall was best, positioned between two others, the walls made of cheap particleboard.
Jimin locked himself inside and took out the drill.
The hole saw cut through the thin wall easily. Too loud, his heart stopping every time he paused to listen, but no one came. When he finished, he had a neat circle at waist height. Big enough for exactly what he wanted it to be big enough for.
He cleaned up the sawdust. Pocketed the cut-out piece of wall. Sat down on the closed toilet lid.
And waited.
He'd worn sweatpants and a hoodie. Practical. His knee bounced against the tile floor. He checked his phone: 4:47 PM.
Maybe this was stupid. Maybe no one would see the poster, or they'd see it and not understand, or they'd understand and not care. Maybe he'd sit here until closing and have to sneak out in shame.
Five minutes passed. Ten.
Then: footsteps.
Jimin's head snapped up. Someone had entered the bathroom. He heard movement, water at the sink, then steps approaching the stalls.
His pulse hammered in his throat.
The footsteps stopped outside the neighboring stall.
A pause. Long enough that Jimin forgot to breathe.
Then the door opened, clicked shut, and locked.
Jimin waited, his whole body electric with anticipation, as silence stretched between the thin walls.
It was happening.
Whatever came next, he was ready.