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kazsmile · 1 month ago

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The Crimson Pact | Part 11

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Explicit Smut / NSFW. Minors DNI (Do Not Interact), Fingering, Touching, Penetrative Sex (P in V), Breeding Kink / Creampie, Size Kink, (slight?) Dub-con I believe, Mild degradation / Dirty Talk, Bondage, Dominance, Mirror Sex, Overstimulation, Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance.

A/N: Here's chapter 11! I know a lot of you have been waiting for this one. This chapter is quite long, as there are a lot of plot points starting to roll and unveil. EXPLICIT SMUT people! You've been warned. Smut is at the end, though. Also catch the guest appearance for shits and giggles.

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The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

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Names (For those who get confused): Haneul (Abby), Seoha (Romance), Hwimori/Hwi (Mystery), Seungho (Baby)

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Part 11:

Unveiled

The house was silent—too silent. Not the kind of peaceful quiet that made a place feel safe, but the kind that made every sound feel sharp. Fragile. Like it might shatter the moment you dared to breathe too loudly.

Rumi crept along the edges of the hallway, her body low, steps light, heart hammering in her chest like it was trying to claw out. Her boots barely brushed the old wooden floorboards, each movement calculated, silent. The moonlight from the window behind her painted silver streaks along the walls—but they felt more like spotlights. Vulnerable. Exposing.

Celine isn’t home. She shouldn’t be here. But Rumi didn’t trust that. Not anymore.

She moved with the quiet grace of a trained hunter, each shadow a friend, every sound a threat. Her fingers were already curling instinctively, ready to summon her sword if needed—but tonight, stealth was her only weapon.

She slipped past the narrow hallway and ducked into the far guest room, breath held. The door clicked shut behind her.

The scent hit her first.

Wintergreen. Faint sandalwood. The dry scent of old wood and the barest echo of incense long extinguished. The smell wrapped around her like a memory, curling at the edges of her lungs. Her father’s scent. Her mother’s.

Her childhood.

For a second, it made her stomach twist. The room hadn’t changed. Not even a little. Dust still lined the corners of the shelves. The faded tapestry still hung uneven on the wall. It was like time had stopped the moment her parents left it behind.

How many times had Celine scolded her for entering this room as a child? It was almost forbidden, being here. But she let the familiar smells of nostalgia engulf her tonight. Too many times she’d been caught sneaking in here. That wouldn’t be the case this time.

She crouched down beside the bed, reaching beneath it with trembling hands. Her fingers skimmed over the wooden floorboards until they hit cloth. She tugged gently—and there it was.

The chest.

Small, cedar-lined, wrapped in a woven fabric so old the edges had begun to fray. It looked ordinary. Harmless. But her heart kicked against her ribs. Please be here. Please let this be real.

With shaking fingers, she pulled the brass key from the small leather pouch at her side. She'd stolen it from Celine years ago, on a night she couldn’t even fully remember. The urge had been instinctual. Desperate. Now, it glinted in the moonlight like a secret waiting to be told.

Her hand trembled as she brought the key to the lock. The metal clicked into place with a soft, final sound.

Then— Click.

Her entire body froze. A second later, the latch shifted. The lock turned. The chest creaked open. Dust stirred in the air like breath. She hesitated, hands hovering over the contents, not yet ready to look—afraid of what she might not find.

Please be here.

Her initial discovery of the letter had been an accident. It had been years ago when she was just a little girl as high as the table, and the chest had not been locked yet. She didn’t have the knowledge required to grasp the weight of what it meant. Only that she remembered vague words being mentioned in it. This time, she thought. I’ll get a better look.

Then slowly, she reached in. A worn red ribbon. A wooden carving of a bird, the beak chipped, clearly made by hand. A smooth stone shaped like a heart—her mother’s.

And then— Her breath hitched. An envelope, yellowed with time. Her name was scrawled on the front in slanted script she hadn’t seen in over a decade.

To Rumi, if you ever find this.

Her fingers touched it like it might dissolve. She held it carefully like it might break. A single inhale, and she lifted it to her face. The faintest trace of something warm. A memory. Sandalwood and cedar.

Her throat tightened. Her fingers ached. Her vision blurred. But she mustered all her courage to do what she came here for.

She opened the envelope.

‘My little star,

If you're reading this… then maybe the ritual didn’t work. Maybe I failed you. Or maybe fate intervened, and you’re standing in a future I never got to see.

If that’s true… I hope you're safe. I hope your mother kept you warm, and fierce, and loved. And I hope you forgive me for everything I didn’t get to explain.

I loved her, Rumi. So deeply it became my reason for existing. Your mother—your brilliant, brave mother—refused to bow to destiny. And I... I only ever wanted a life where I could hold both of you. Not as a demon. Not as a memory. But as a man. A father. A partner.

But the Honmoon was never built for souls like mine.

So I searched. Studied. Risked everything to find another way. Something older than the contracts. Something not fueled by blood, or voices, but by love.

The soulbond. A link forged by choice. By devotion. By heart.

I believed in it. In you. And in a path that could hold all three of us together—across lifetimes, realms, and rules. But there’s more we have to do to forge that path.

There’s another path, Rumi. Not one the gods built, or hunters—but one the heart can open. It’s not easy. It asks for more than sacrifice. It asks for belief.

If I couldn’t make it work… maybe you will.

You were always the best part of us. The light at the center of it all.

And no matter where I am when you read this—I love you.

— Your father,

Daehyun’

The letter slipped from her hands like a flame extinguished in water. Rumi sat frozen, staring at it—chest caved, trembling—like it had physically struck her. Her throat closed up, and her heart thudded against her ribs like a wild creature trying to escape. A cry built up in her lungs, but she bit down on it hard, biting her lip until she tasted blood.

She couldn’t break here. Not now. Not in this house. Not where Celine might hear.

So she folded over herself, curled tight around the letter as if it might shield her. Her father’s words still echoed in her head, looping, unraveling her from the inside.

“There’s another path. Not one the gods built, or hunters—but one the heart can open.”

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. They struck her arms, the floor, the chest. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the drops began to pool on the old, creased paper.

Her father. Daehyun.

He’d loved her. Not just her mother—her. And he hadn’t left them. He hadn’t been the monster Celine made him out to be. He had tried. He had fought for a future they could all share. He had loved so hard it bled across time.

And Celine… Celine had kept this from her. How could she? What right did she have?

She’d pretended to protect her. Fed her lies her whole life. Told her demons didn’t love, didn’t feel, didn’t care. That her father was an accident. A weakness. A shame.

But that letter… it had shattered all of that.

He hadn’t been a weakness. He’d been a flame. A man who tried to make the impossible possible, who dreamed of staying by the woman he loved. Who risked everything for it. And Celine had buried it. Hidden this truth like a sin. She’d let Rumi believe she was a mistake—an accident of war and poor judgment.

But now… Now she knew better. Rumi’s fingers clenched the letter. Her nails dug into her palm as grief turned slowly, painfully, into fury.

You were her friend, she thought bitterly. My mother’s best friend. How could you erase her like this? How could you erase him?

Her breath shook. She closed her eyes. They loved each other.

It wasn’t some coercion or mistake. It wasn’t some demon seducing a poor human woman. Her mother had chosen him. And Daehyun… Daehyun had adored her so much, he tried to create something new. Not the Honmoon. Not just the soulbinding. Something else entirely.

Her gaze snapped to the chest again—and caught sight of something half-buried beneath the velvet cloth. A book.

Her heart jumped.

Hands trembling, she pulled it free. The leather cover was scuffed, old. A broken clasp hung loosely, and an unfamiliar rune marked the front—one she’d never been able to read before. But now, something inside her stirred. Her marks—those faint lines on her back and arms—throbbed lightly, and the rune shimmered. She reached out, breath caught. The moment her fingers brushed the cover, the mark pulsed—slow and alive.

She opened the journal.

The scent of ink and ash drifted up. The handwriting inside was sharp, hurried, looping in the old tongue. Most of it still looked like gibberish, like waves of symbols crashing across the pages—but then…

A glow. Soft. Subtle. And certain phrases began to emerge like stars in fog:

“The tether… not just a seal, but a gate. A guardian. A chance for love to rewrite the laws.”

Her breath hitched. A tether?

She flipped further. More faded entries. One caught her eye—desperate and raw, ink smeared as if written in a rush:

“The ritual failed. She wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe I asked too much. There must have been something I failed to see. A reason why it didn’t work.”

Another page. A jagged diagram scrawled across it—symbols for soul, sacrifice, choice. Her pulse quickened as she studied it.

In the margins, scrawled in deep ink: “Three voices. One heart. A bond strong enough to breach fate.”

Her hands shook and her mind wandered to an obvious connection. The soulbond. The boys. You.

Everything she was reading—it all pointed toward something more. A way. Not one forced by the Honmoon or the heavens… but something anchored in love. In soul-deep connection. Just like what you had.

He wasn’t trying to bind my mother, she realized. He wasn’t trying to turn her into something less.

He was trying to make her more. A protector born of love.

And it hadn’t worked. But maybe… Maybe now it could. Maybe it was never meant to work alone. Maybe it needed more than one soul. Three voices. One heart.

Rumi stared at the glowing ink, her own breath sounding foreign to her. The soulbond. You and them… Jinu.

This… this could be the answer. The key. A way to break the cycle without losing each other. A path that didn’t demand a sacrifice. One that used the soulbond as a bridge—not a weapon.

She shut the journal slowly and slid it into her satchel along with the letter. The chest she closed gently, wiping her fingerprints from the lock. With a glance over her shoulder, she slipped out of the room like a shadow reborn.

Down the hallway. Past Celine’s door. Every creak of the floorboard felt like it could end her—but she moved with the precision of a born hunter. A whisper of a girl who had once believed she came from nothing.

She reached the window and scaled the trellis vines again—silent, aching. Her palms stung, her body trembled, but she didn’t stop until she was back in the Huntrix tower, back in her room.

Only then did she collapse to the floor, the journal pressed to her chest. The tears came again, free now. Raw. But this time they weren’t just grief. They were hope.

She had something.

Her father had built something from love. A ritual too fragile to succeed alone. But what if it didn’t have to be done alone? What if it wasn’t just her parents’ story?

What if… it could be yours too?

Her fingers ran along the glowing lines of the journal. Her eyes turned to the window, moonlight washing her in silver.

“I have to see Jinu,” she whispered.

Not just to show him. Not just to beg. But to understand. To ask if he could read the rest. If he could help her figure out what her father left behind. If there was still something to save.

A future not ruled by death. A bond that didn’t end in loss. And maybe, just maybe… To finish what Daehyun started. Not just for herself. But for you.

For all of you.

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You woke to aching thighs, faint bruises kissed across your skin like phantom fingerprints — reminders of everything they’d done to you the night before.

You didn’t mind.

The soreness made you feel claimed. Loved in the strangest, most overwhelming way. As if your body had finally learned its language — and it was them. Their touches had been relentless… but careful. Their mouths everywhere. Their voices tangled in your ears like silk and fire and want.

And this morning? They were sweetness incarnate. Jinu had drawn the blackout curtains just a little to let in the morning light, sitting at the foot of your bed as you stirred. He brushed your hair back gently, whispering a soft “You need water, sweetheart,” before helping you sit up against the pillows and pressing a glass to your lips.

Hwimori brought a tray of food and made sure your favorite snacks were stacked beside it — the ones he’d quietly memorized weeks ago. He let you lean against him afterward, his headphones lazily looped around his neck after working on the track early in the morning. Your fingers tracing idle circles on his forearm while he purred faintly at your touch.

Seoha had insisted on rubbing balm into your shoulders, murmuring against your ear, “Can’t let our darling get stiff, now can we?” His hands had been too skilled, too focused. You swore he was doing it for his own sanity more than yours, like your pain was his.

And Haneul — gods, Haneul — had sat you on his lap in the kitchen, feeding you bites of soft bread and humming into your temple every time you winced. You could still feel his arms around you, big and solid, grounding you in that way only he could. Every touch of his had been protective and hungry at once. He looked at you like he still hadn’t gotten enough.

They’d made you feel… precious. Not fragile. Not pitied. Claimed.

And it didn’t scare you. If anything, it felt right. Like some part of you — deeper than memory, deeper than thought — had always known you belonged to them. Like you were a key slipping into a lock that had waited lifetimes.

You didn't understand everything. You couldn’t. Their demon forms, the way the soulbond shimmered in your veins, the way time bent in their presence — it was still a mystery. But you told yourself it would come with time. And in the meantime… you were falling. Maybe not all at once. Maybe not with reckless abandon. But with every night they curled around you… with every whispered confession, every shiver-inducing kiss, every moment they made you feel seen.

You were falling in love with each of them. Each in a different way. But falling all the same. And yet—

Your thoughts drifted to Seungho. He’d been… quiet. Watching. Waiting. He hadn’t touched you — not yet. Not like the others had. But you could feel him. The way his eyes trailed after you when you weren’t looking. The way he never left your side for long. The way he lingered in the shadows of the apartment, as if biding his time. You knew it was only a matter of when.

A shiver slipped down your spine. He was patient. Too patient. And something told you… when Seungho finally decided to move, there would be no going back.

The afternoon light filtered softly through the apartment windows, brushing golden over the couch where you sat curled up with Derpy the tiger, his massive blue-furred head resting in your lap. You absently scratched between his ears, staring out toward the cityscape beyond the glass. The three-eyed magpie perched silently on the windowsill, its tiny hat slightly tilted, blinking every so often with eerie intelligence.

You sighed quietly, just basking in the quiet and stillness of the morning. The boys had gone off to do work for the upcoming Idol Awards. You couldn’t complain at how busy they must be. Afterall, everything they were doing they claimed to be for you. For a comfortable life by their sides. And yet, it was in moments like these where you slightly missed having that job. Despite it not being the best… it had still kept you busy.

Jinu watched you from the hallway.

His arms were crossed, expression unreadable at first, but his eyes softened the longer he looked. You hadn’t stepped out in days—not since the soulbond had deepened. The boys kept you close, and you didn’t fight it… but still, he could sense it. That quiet restlessness. The tilt of your head toward the window. The faint pinch in your brows like you were missing something simple: air. space. normalcy.

You looked… like a bird waiting for the wind.

He stepped forward gently, his voice warm and low. “You want to go out, don’t you?”

You blinked out of your daze, turning to see him. “What?”

“The way you’re staring out there like the world owes you a stroll.” He smiled faintly. “You’ve been cooped up, little dove.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I mean… maybe a little.”

Derpy huffed against your thigh. Jinu came closer, crouching beside you. He glanced out the window with you, shoulder brushing yours. “We need to pick up some things for Hwimori’s birthday,” he murmured. “Cupcake ingredients. Decorations. Whatever weird cereal he likes.”

You turned to him slowly, hope blooming like a sunrise. “Wait… are you saying…?”

His gaze flicked to you, amused. “Come with me,” he said. “We can sneak out before the others notice. You need some air.”

You bounced slightly in your seat. “Seriously?! You’re free?”

Truthfully, there was a lot going on in his mind. Their plans for the Idol Awards, the threat of Huntrix, Gwi Ma’s demands, Rumi’s desperate plea to have him let them win on that night. He had been carrying all this and the weight of keeping all these things from you.

To protect you. He justified.

But looking at you now — like a caged bird, made his heart want to focus today on his number one priority. And that would always be you. He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll always make time for you.”

The words made your stomach flutter. You grinned, eyes sparkling. “Okay! Okay give me ten minutes! I’m gonna dress up so cute—”

“You already look cute,” he called after you as you scampered to your room.

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Jinu pushed the cart with one hand, the other tucked casually in his pocket. He wore a black bucket hat pulled low, a light jacket over a hoodie, and round tinted glasses that hid most of his face. Still, he was striking. Even in disguise, people glanced twice. It was something about how he moved—controlled, elegant, like someone used to being watched. You walked beside him, chattering about cake flavors and what Hwimori might secretly want.

“He always says he doesn’t want anything, but I know for a fact he likes strawberry whipped cream cake,” you said, grabbing a container of fresh strawberries with a grin.

Jinu glanced at them, amused. “The kind with sponge so soft it deflates if you blink too hard?”

You giggled. “Exactly. I want to make it from scratch this time.”

His brow quirked. “You want to make it?”

You gave him a look. “Yes, me. I can bake, you know. Sweets are kind of my thing.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “It’s just… usually we do the cooking. Haneul gets territorial about the stove.”

You rolled your eyes. “I worked at a café, remember? And I lived alone for years! You think I can’t handle some sugar and eggs? I want to do this for Hwi.”

Jinu turned his head toward you, curiosity giving way to something softer.

“I just…” you continued, a little quieter now, “…I want to give something. You guys take care of everything — meals, laundry, protection, my mental health apparently — and I love it, but... I want to do something for you too. Something that shows I belong here. That I’m not just being taken care of.”

There was a pause. Jinu looked at you — really looked — like you were something fragile. He reached into the shelf and gently set down a box of matcha powder. “Cupcakes too, then?”

You blinked. “Wait… you like matcha?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But you do.”

Your heart lurched. You stared up at him, cheeks warm. “You’re such a sap when no one’s looking.”

He smirked, brushing a knuckle under your chin. “Only for you.”

You laughed under your breath and tossed in a pack of cupcake liners. “Well, get ready. You’re about to witness greatness in the kitchen.”

“Oh?” Jinu leaned close, a teasing note in his voice. “Should I be nervous?”

You grinned. “Maybe. But I expect full praise when I deliver.”

“I’ll write you a ballad,” he deadpanned, reaching for a tub of frosting. “But if you burn anything, I’m snitching to Haneul.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You shoved him gently with your hip. He nudged you right back, laughing quietly. The banter was easy, warm — like you’d done this a thousand times before. Like grocery shopping together was the most natural thing in the world. You paused in front of a display of fresh fruit. Jinu came up beside you, watching as you picked up a container of strawberries again.

He took it from you gently, brushing your fingers. “Hwimori’s going to love this,” he murmured. “But I’m getting them for you too.”

Your breath caught. He held your gaze, voice dropping lower. “Because I like seeing you like this. Out here. Talking about frosting and birthdays. Smiling at strawberries.”

You swallowed, your throat tight with something warm and tender. “Jinu…”

He reached over and brushed the hair from your eyes. “You deserve days like this. Not just ones where you're surviving us.”

Your lips trembled into a soft smile. “So do you.”

Shoppers kept their distance. Maybe instinctively. Maybe because some part of them sensed that the two of you didn’t quite belong to this world. You and Jinu. Soulbonded. Cloaked in secrets and sugar.

You were halfway down the baking aisle when you gasped softly. “Oh no, I forgot the condensed milk!”

Jinu raised an eyebrow from beside the cart. “I’ll get it.”

“No, no—it’s all the way near the dairy section. You stay here and guard the cart,” you said quickly, already stepping back with a grin. “I know what brand I want. You’ll just bring back the weird vegan one.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You're really going to abandon me to fight this frosting wall alone?”

You pointed dramatically. “May the piping tips guide you.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Hurry back. Five minutes. I’m timing you.”

“Got it!” you called, already weaving through the shelves.

You pulled out your phone absently while walking, intending to check the recipe again—when you saw the notification on Instagram. Your heart skipped. It was a message from Zoey.

‘Hey, I get if you didn’t want to hang out. :( But really, I just want to make sure you’re okay and safe.’

Your thumb hovered over the message. Her name made your stomach twist, but not in the way it once did. You didn’t feel fear — not exactly. Concern, maybe.

Then another surprise: two new followers. Rumi and Mira. Your brows lifted. They knew about you?

They’d talked. Of course they had. You stared at their names on your screen. Rumi. Refined, composed. Mira. Fiery, cold. They knew.

You swallowed hard. Zoey's message sat like a weight on your chest. She didn’t sound malicious. Not like someone trying to drag you away out of spite. Maybe… she was just scared. Scared of what she thought the boys were. Scared for you.

You knew better now. Your boys weren’t monsters. They were demons, yes — but not the kind that hurt people. Not anymore. But the hunters didn’t see it that way. Maybe Zoey was just doing what she thought was right. What she’d been trained to do. Would it really be so wrong to just… tell her you’re okay?

You bit your lip, hesitating in the aisle. So lost in thought that you didn’t see the edge of the stocked floor display in your path until—crack.

“Ah—!”

You stumbled forward, your shin colliding hard with the metal frame. The corner of the cart display jabbed straight into the bone. Pain flaring up your leg. You winced and grabbed at the shelf for balance, phone slipping back into your hoodie pocket.

“Ow…”

“Excuse me.”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. A tall man stood just feet away, his dark hair fell over his forehead, black leather jacket zipped halfway, hands in his pockets. He wore sneakers way too clean to be real and a smug expression that instantly made you wary.

“Are you… alright?” he asked, dragging the last word like he found it funny.

You straightened, still wincing. “Yeah. Just a bruise—"

He stepped closer. You shifted slightly. Uncomfortable. “What’s your name? You look very… open-minded.” he said, eyes trailing down your frame in a way that made your skin crawl.

You blinked. “Um—what?”

“You look very… open-minded.” He grinned wider, repeating it like it was supposed to be a pickup line.

You frowned, backing a step. He took one forward. “Why don’t you put your number in my iPhone 16 Pro M—”

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist mid-gesture. Hard. The stranger flinched. You both turned. Jinu stood between you and him now. Calm. Controlled. But his eyes— His eyes were burning.

“I must’ve misheard,” Jinu said coolly, tightening his grip. “Because it sounded like you were trying to touch something that belongs to me.”

The man swallowed, chuckling nervously. “W-whoa, hostile man. I didn’t know she was—”

“She’s not yours to know,” Jinu interrupted, voice like a silk-covered blade. “You don’t get to speak to her. You don’t get to look at her.”

The man tugged at his wrist, but Jinu’s hand didn’t budge. “You think I won’t break your hand in the middle of aisle nine?” Jinu’s voice dropped to a whisper, deadly and low. “Keep pushing, and I’ll gift-wrap your spine for customer service.”

That did it. The man yanked his hand back and backed off quickly. “Okay, okay. My bad. Jesus.”

He practically speed-walked away, glancing back once. You blinked, still processing. Jinu turned to you in a flash, eyes scanning your face. “Are you okay?” he asked, hands already cupping your cheeks. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”

“N-no,” you said quickly, reassuring. “I just—tripped into a display.”

His hands roamed gently down your arms, then to your waist. “Show me.”

“Jinu—”

“Let me see.”

You lifted your pant leg slightly to reveal the growing bruise on your shin. His face darkened. He crouched, took your leg carefully in his hands, and leaned in. He pressed a warm kiss to the bruised skin. Slow. Tender. Protective.

“I leave you for four minutes,” he muttered against your skin, “and the creeps start circling like moths to a flame.”

You gave a nervous little laugh. “Guess I’m just very open-minded.”

He scowled. “Don’t joke.”

You reached down and brushed your fingers through his hair. “You scared him off. That’s more than enough for me.”

He rose, still scowling, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

“No more solo missions,” he said, guiding you back toward the cart. “You stick with me. Always.”

“Got it, boss.”

He paused, then looked over at you sideways. “You’re lucky I’m letting you walk again after last night,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with possessiveness.

You flushed. “Jinu—!”

He smirked, pushing the cart again. “Come on. Let’s get your condensed milk before someone else tries to steal you.”

You followed beside him, heart pounding — not from fear. From something far more dangerous. You were starting to realize there might not be a single moment in this life you’d feel truly alone again.

And maybe… just maybe… you didn’t want to be.

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The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hummed above them as they moved like shadows, careful not to draw attention. Rumi lingered near a magazine rack, flipping through a tabloid she wasn’t really reading. Mira leaned against the edge of a snack display, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Zoey peeked around the bread aisle, heart thudding. Then—

“There,” Rumi said softly. They all stilled. You were walking beside a man. Black bucket hat, glasses, hoodie. Nothing out of place at first glance… except everything about him was. The way he moved. Controlled. Regal. A little too graceful for someone just buying frosting.

Jinu.

Zoey’s heart sank. “It’s him.”

You said something that made him laugh — not a smirk, not a sneer. An actual laugh. You bounced a little on your feet, gesturing toward a box of something in your hand, and he leaned closer, brushing your shoulder with his.

Mira clicked her tongue. “Message her. Now.”

Zoey hesitated. “She’s smiling. She looks… okay.”

“She thinks she’s okay,” Mira snapped. Rumi didn’t speak, only watched. The weight of her stare was heavier than either of theirs. Analytical. Distant. Her mind wasn’t fully in the present. Seeing you and Jinu brought back her thoughts on her recent discovery. She needed to talk to him, and even possibly, to you.

Zoey opened Instagram, fingers trembling, and typed:

Hey, I get if you didn’t want to hang out. :( But really, I just want to make sure you’re okay and safe.

She hit send. The other two girls, without a word, followed your account. Mira raised her phone. “She’s checking it.”

Sure enough, they watched you pause in the aisle, thumb tapping on your screen. You stared down at it for a few moments too long. Then bam — your shin slammed into a floor display. You stumbled back.

All three girls winced. “Ow,” Mira muttered. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“Sorry, Y/N…” Zoey murmured, watching you rub your leg. “Didn’t mean to distract you.”

Rumi’s expression didn’t change. But her eyes followed your every movement like a hawk. A stranger approached. Tall, smug, and immediately suspect. His posture, his aura — it made Mira’s skin crawl.

The moment he leaned in, all three tensed. Zoey was already moving. “I’m going in.”

“No, wait—” Mira grabbed her arm. Her voice was sharp. “He’s coming.”

The three of them froze as Jinu turned the corner, soundless and lethal, gliding behind the man. His hand snapped forward, grabbing the guy’s wrist mid-gesture.

“Here we go,” Mira muttered, already reaching into her coat. She pulled out her weapon, holding it behind her leg as her eyes narrowed in anticipation. Zoey’s hand hovered to summon her blades. Rumi just looked at them with a dash of worry in her eyes.

But… Jinu didn’t strike. He didn’t snap the man’s arm. Didn’t vaporize him. He didn’t even use power. He spoke.

The guy’s face drained of blood. He stumbled back like a scolded child. The girls watched in stunned silence as Jinu turned to you instead—kneeling, cradling your leg like something precious, brushing your skin and kissing the bruise like the world had no one else in it but you.

Even Mira faltered. “...He kissed it,” she said blankly.

“Yeah,” Zoey whispered. “He did.”

The three of them stood, stunned, hidden behind a stack of sale items as you walked back to the cart together. Jinu placed a hand protectively on your lower back. You smiled at him like he was your favorite secret.

Mira exhaled. “It’s an act.” But the words lacked conviction.

Zoey frowned. “Then why did he let that guy live?”

“Maybe she asked him not to.”

“She didn’t say anything.”

They walked toward the exit slowly, still watching. You and Jinu were laughing again, this time about pudding or condensed milk or something completely ordinary.

“That wasn’t an act,” Zoey whispered. “He looked… scared for her.”

“Demons don’t get scared,” Mira replied. But her eyes weren’t hard anymore. They were unsure. Quiet hung between them until Rumi finally spoke.

“I think… they’re soulbonded.”

Mira turned. “What?”

Rumi didn’t flinch. “I’ve read about it before. In one of the forbidden texts. Not something we were taught in training. It’s something that crossed my mind after seeing her with them. It would explain why they’re acting this way.”

Zoey blinked. “What does it mean?”

Rumi hesitated. She couldn’t say what she really knew. About her parents. About the ritual. About the patterns etched into her skin. So she gave a half-truth. “It means their souls… recognize each other. It’s not like a spell. It’s older than that. The bond makes them connected. In every way.”

Zoey paled. “So she feels everything they feel?”

Rumi nodded. “More or less.”

“Even if they’re demons?” Mira pressed, skeptical.

“Especially if they’re demons.”

Mira scoffed and looked away, but her voice cracked slightly. “Demons don’t even have souls. So what… she’s possessed now?”

“Maybe,” Rumi said. “Or maybe she chose it.”

That silenced them. They stepped out into the evening air. The city lights buzzed overhead as cars passed. Then—

“Wait,” Zoey breathed, staring at her phone. “She replied.”

Both Rumi and Mira immediately stepped in closer. Zoey turned the screen toward them. There it was.

‘Hey Zoey! Things have been a bit busy of late, I'm sorry. But I'm okay and safe. Thanks for checking up on me!’

Three pairs of eyes locked on the words. Not vague. Not panicked. Not coded or manipulated. Just… you.

Rumi tilted her head. “She sounds like herself.”

Mira frowned. “That could be scripted.”

“She followed you guys back too,” Zoey whispered, still staring at your profile. “That has to mean something.”

A beat passed. The sounds of the city blurred behind the thrum of uncertainty building between them. Zoey looked at Rumi. “Do you think she knows? That they’re… what they are?”

Rumi’s mouth pressed into a line. “I think she knows more than we think she does.”

Mira’s eyes hardened again. “Then she’s brainwashed.”

Zoey hesitated, then frowned. “But… if she was, why would she follow you guys back? Doesn’t that mean she’s in her right mind?”

That stopped Mira cold. Rumi glanced over.

“She didn’t have to reply either,” Zoey added. “But she did. And it didn’t sound… fake. Just honest. Like she wanted to say something.”

“She could’ve been told to reply,” Mira said, but her voice was tighter now. “Or controlled.”

“Maybe,” Zoey allowed. “But when I met her… I don’t know. She didn’t seem like someone under a spell.”

“You met her once.”

“I know,” Zoey said quickly. “I’m not saying I understand her. But… she looked scared and so sick that night. And now she’s not. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Silence followed. Rumi exhaled. “Maybe she is herself. Just… making choices we weren’t prepared for.”

Mira crossed her arms, tense. “Or maybe we’re seeing what they want us to see.”

They didn’t have an answer for that. But doubt had already slipped in — a hairline fracture in everything they’d trained to believe. Still, uncertainty lingered. And so did fear.

Because if the bond was real—if what they saw in Jinu’s eyes was real— Then that would shake the foundation of everything they had been taught.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The apartment smelled like garlic and butter by the time you and Jinu stepped through the door, arms full of groceries and cheeks still warm from earlier.

“There she is!” Seoha declared dramatically, leaping over the back of the couch with a pout that would’ve made a drama star jealous. “Snatched from under our noses. You kidnapped her, didn’t you, hyung?”

Jinu raised a brow. “You mean took her out for air like a normal person?”

Seoha clutched his chest. “She belongs to the collective. You can’t just hog her.”

You giggled, caught in the flurry of arms wrapping around you. Haneul was the next to hug you from behind, warm and sturdy, mumbling a gruff, “We missed you.” Hwimori popped his head out from the kitchen, gave you a soft smile, and disappeared again with a purring sound.

And then— There was Seungho.

Silent. Seated in the armchair like a king on a cold throne, long legs spread, one arm slung over the side. He hadn’t moved an inch since you walked in. But his eyes— Hot. Molten. Locked on you.

You swallowed hard.

Dinner passed in a comfortable haze of food, inside jokes, and everyone taking turns feeding you bites off their plates. Jinu scolded Seoha for using whipped cream as a dipping sauce. Haneul made you laugh so hard water came out of your nose. Hwimori brought out a special drink he’d brewed “just for your energy,” as he called it.

But Seungho… stayed quiet. Not disinterested. Not absent. Just watching. Waiting. You felt him before you even looked at him. That hum in the air, that itch under your skin — like being watched by something not quite human.

You didn’t tell the guys about Zoey’s message, or about Rumi and Mira following your account either. You knew they would scold you– disapprove. But something in your gut compelled you to reply. There was nothing wrong with just letting them know I’m safe at least, right? Maybe this way, they’ll ease off the guys too.

After dinner, you all gathered on the couch. Haneul pulled you into his side. Seoha laid across the rug with his feet on the coffee table. Jinu typed away on his phone responding to emails, only half-watching the screen. Hwimori sat at the kitchen bar, headphones on, humming while adjusting the mix on their new track. Seungho stayed in his armchair. Unmoving. Wordless. Still.

But his gaze hadn't left you once.

You knew tonight was supposed to be his.

He was the only one who hadn’t taken you yet. The others had already crossed that line, given in to the bond with hungry lips and whispered confessions. And Seungho had watched each time with the expression of a man chained to the edge of the world.

But tonight, he hadn’t made a move. No comment. No touch. Only his eyes—burning into you with every breath. What was he waiting for?

You bit your lip, heart hammering. Nervous, yes… but more than that— You were excited.

So you decided to push. Just a little.

You unwrapped a popsicle from the freezer, cool and glossy in your hand. You returned to the couch with a teasing little bounce, sitting cross-legged right across from Seungho. You licked it slowly. Then again.

And let out a soft moan. Just enough to be heard. You peeked at him from under your lashes and saw the way his jaw twitched.

One point for you.

“Hey,” Haneul murmured from beside you, nudging your arm. “What’d you even get at the store, hmm? You haven’t shown us.”

“Oh!” You perked up. “I got stuff for Hwimori’s birthday—real strawberries, whipped cream, the softest sponge cake mix I could find. I’m gonna make him that strawberry cake he secretly loves, even though he says he doesn’t want anything. And I grabbed matcha too— for cupcakes for all of you!”

Seoha rolled over with a delighted gasp. “You’re baking?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said proudly. “No stealing my frosting, though.”

Haneul gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “You’re too sweet.”

Jinu looked up from his phone, smiling faintly. “He’s going to love it.”

Across the room, Seungho’s stare grew darker. You caught the shift—and smiled wider.

Later, you shifted on the couch, stretching your arms above your head in a faux yawn. Seoha couldn’t make up his mind on what to watch after the show you had been watching ended, so he was browsing through channels. Your oversized hoodie lifted just enough to reveal the soft skin of your inner thighs, devious at your plan to tease Seungho.

You saw his gaze flicker down. Then back up. Still no reaction. No words. But his grip on the chair tightened—knuckles white on the armrest.

We’re getting somewhere. You didn’t know what the goal was, only that it was fun to push and tease him like this. You turned slightly, reaching forward for the remote with an arch in your back that had to be obvious.

“God,” Seoha muttered lazily from the rug, “are you trying to kill us, princess?”

You grinned innocently. “Hmm?”

From your periphery, Seungho tilted his head. That’s when you locked eyes with him.

“What?” you said sweetly. “You’re staring.”

Still, he said nothing. But a slow, devilish smirk curled across his lips.

Shit.

Just then, the news channel flicked on.

“…The rise in missing person reports has tripled over the past few days,” the anchor reported, voice grim. “Many victims were last seen walking home alone…”

You frowned, tension creeping into your chest. “That’s horrible. Why are people going missing like that?”

The room tensed. Hwimori pulled his headphones off slightly. Seoha looked down. Jinu didn’t look up from his phone.

“No idea,” Haneul said after a moment, tone casual—but too casual.

“Some weird gang thing perhaps,” Seoha added quickly. “I believe it’s being handled.”

“Handled by who?”

“The cops most likely,” Jinu said flatly.

You glanced around, finding their reactions a tad bit iffy. “Why do you all look like I asked who I kissed last summer?”

Haneul’s hand brushed your thigh. “Because you don’t have to worry about it. That’s our job.”

Seoha leaned up, eyes unusually serious. “That’s why we don’t want you going off alone. Ever.”

Haneul nodded. “You stick with us, yeah? You’re safe when you’re with us.”

The words had a heat behind them—not just protective. Possessive. Certain. But then— You looked back at Seungho.

Same chair. Same stillness. Same heat burning in his stare like he’d been plotting this moment for centuries.

You smiled. And bit down on the popsicle just a little harder than necessary.

Finally, He moved.

In a flash, Seungho rose to his feet, the chair creaking beneath him. He crossed the room in five strides, and you didn’t even flinch. Just kept smiling, even when his hand curled firmly around your jaw and tilted your face up to his. The other boys were smirking now, as if they had been in on your plan and knew what you had been doing.

His grip wasn’t rough—but it was unyielding. His fingers, calloused and cool, dragged along your chin as he bent over the back of the couch to meet your gaze. His voice was low. Deadly quiet.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

You smirked up at him, defiant and teasing. “I don’t know what you mean?”

He growled. Growled. An actual, guttural sound deep from his chest. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Don’t test me, princess,” he said, breath hot against your cheek. “Not tonight.”

You licked your lips, slowly. Eyes dragging up and down his face. “Or what?”

You fucked around.

And now you were about to find out.

Seungho moved with brutal grace—releasing your jaw only to hook an arm under your thighs and another behind your back. In one sudden motion, he lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.

“Wha—hey!”

You squealed, laughter and adrenaline bubbling up as your arms flailed for balance. He had you slung over his shoulder like a caveman. “Seungho—!”

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Didn’t even look at you. He just moved—stalking down the hallway like a man possessed, grip iron-tight around your body like he thought you might disappear if he let go.

Your heart thudded. Hard. The boys’ voices echoed behind you, still lounging casually like this was all a game. “Save me!!” you called back, hoping for some backup.

Seoha grinned, waving lazily. “Afraid we can’t help you this time, sweet girl.”

Haneul chuckled, crossing his arms. “Hope you stretched.”

Hwimori didn’t even look up. “Should’ve known better.”

You scowled looking up at them. “Traitors!”

Jinu just smirked into his phone. “You’ll be begging to walk tomorrow.”

Their teasing felt distant now—like the world was narrowing to just the two of you. Because suddenly, you weren’t laughing anymore. You weren’t just teasing. You weren’t sure anymore if you should’ve teased.

Seungho kicked open his bedroom door. The sound cracked against the walls like a warning shot. Your breath caught. He didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Just walked straight in and threw you down onto the bed like you were the offering he’d waited lifetimes for.

You bounced once—landing on your back with a soft gasp—and looked up. And that’s when it hit you. The look in his eyes.

His chest was rising and falling. His shirt untucked, hair tousled like he’d finally stopped trying to be the cold, composed one. And his eyes— Molten. Golden. Demon. A predator finally off the leash.

Oh shit.

Your pulse raced. You knew he was intense. You’d seen the glint of hunger in his stare before. But this—this was something else. You thought you knew what you were doing when you teased him. You thought you were in control.

But now, lying there with your hoodie hitched up and your breath shallow, you weren’t so sure. Because the look in Seungho’s eyes?

It wasn’t just lust. It was hunger. Obsession. A silent promise that whatever was about to happen—it wasn’t going to be gentle.

And the worst part?

You wanted it.

Even as nervous chills danced down your spine, even as fear and thrill tangled in your gut— You wanted to know what happened when Baby finally snapped.

Your chest heaved as you stared up at him. The air in Seungho’s room was colder than the rest of the apartment — or maybe it just felt that way because you’d been stripped down to your nerves. He stood above you, silent, looming. His eyes— Not warm. Not soft. Not teasing.

They were starved. Molten gold flickering like firelight in a storm. His stare traveled over your body like it was something holy. Something his. He tilted his head slowly, predator in no rush. He licked his lips and let out a quiet, amused scoff.

“You think you’re cute, teasing me like that?”

Your lips parted.

“You think licking that popsicle was funny?” he asked, voice low and gravel-rich. “Flashing your thighs. Stretching on the couch like you didn’t know I was watching.”

You swallowed hard.

“You pulled the trigger, baby,” he said, stepping closer. “I was waiting for you to.”

“Seungho—”

───────── SMUT ─────────

You didn’t get another word out. His hands gripped your hoodie and ripped it up over your head. Your back arched as the fabric scraped over your arms, leaving you in nothing but your little shorts and a bra that suddenly felt far too thin.

He growled. Actually growled. His gaze devoured the exposed skin of your torso like he didn’t know where to start. Then he turned, opening his bedside drawer. You pushed up on your elbows to peek—then froze.

Silk ties. Long. Black. Smooth.

You didn’t even have time to react before he was on you again. He dragged you effortlessly to the top of the bed, shoved a pillow beneath your hips to tilt your body up, and straddled your legs to keep you still as he bound your wrists—tight—to the carved headboard.

Your breath hitched. “Wh-what are you doing—?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. “Showing you what happens when you play games with the wrong demon.”

Then he moved again—off the bed, walking like a panther circling his prey. Your eyes followed him in alarm, and that’s when you saw it. The mirror. Full-length. Mounted directly across from the bed. You tugged lightly at the ties as he stepped in front of it and tilted the angle just right.

Now you were fully visible—your flushed skin, your bound wrists, your parted thighs. Every inch of you. Right there in the glass.

And then came his voice: “You wanted attention?” he said, eyes flickering to your reflection. “I’ll give you something to look at.”

He climbed into bed with fluid grace, spreading your thighs apart with firm, unrelenting hands. You whimpered, squirming slightly, feeling the cotton of your shorts cling to your core. He knelt between your legs, and with deliberate slowness, peeled your shorts down and off. His gaze turned ravenous when he saw your soaked panties.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking with restraint. “Look at you.”

You tried to look away, but he gripped your chin and turned your head sharply toward the mirror. “Eyes. Up.”

You whimpered.

“I said, look.”

You obeyed.

“There,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek. “See her? That helpless little thing? That’s the result of your teasing. That’s you, baby. That’s what you did.” His hand slid between your legs, cupping you firmly over the fabric. “See the consequences of your actions.”

Then he kissed the inside of your thigh. His hands slowly peeling your undergarments off one by one until you were completely bare for him. “They got to have you first,” he muttered, voice low and trembling with something dangerous. “But I’m the last.”

“And I’m gonna make you remember me.”

Then his mouth met your heat. You cried out, hips bucking instantly against the soft, wet pressure of his tongue. He groaned like your taste had just saved him. Your wrists tugged against the silk restraints, desperate to ground yourself, to grab something—anything—as he lapped at you like a man starved.

His mouth was unrelenting. Not gentle. Not teasing. Desperate. His lips wrapped around your clit with aching precision. His tongue flicked mercilessly, dragging out wet, keening moans you couldn’t contain. You tried to lift your head again, and his palm pressed against your stomach to keep you down.

“No,” he hissed. “Watch. Keep your eyes on yourself.”

You whimpered, teary-eyed, as you looked into the mirror. Saw the way your thighs trembled. The way your mouth hung open in a silent moan. The way his head moved between your legs like he was starving for you. Your breath came in ragged gasps. “Seungho—”

Then— Two fingers plunged into you, deep and thick. Your back arched violently, thighs trying to close around his head, but he pinned you open with a snarl.

“Too fast—ah—Seungho—slow—”

He looked up, mouth wet, jaw tight. “You wanted to tease me, baby?” Another thrust. Rougher. Meaner. “Take responsibility.”

You were trembling, gasping, completely powerless as the orgasm crashed over you like white fire. Your cries bounced off the walls, off the glass, off the bones of your own ribs. Your arms strained against the bindings, useless. You came—a high, keening scream ripped from your throat, hips convulsing as he didn’t slow down for a second.

He groaned, burying his face back into your cunt and licking you through it all, dragging his tongue through your slick as if it was the first drop of water in a thousand years. “Mmm… taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he growled. “You made me wait. Watch them fuck you first. Thought I’d sit still like I wasn’t dying for this.”

You whimpered, still catching your breath, chest heaving. “I—Seungho—I just came—”

“I don’t care.”

You froze.

“You’ll come as many times as I tell you.”

You yelped as his mouth returned to your clit and his fingers thrust back in without pause. The overstimulation hit you like a tidal wave. Your legs kicked, trembling violently. “I—I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarled, sucking hard, pushing deeper. “You’re gonna take everything I give you. That’s what happens when you play with monsters.”

Your second orgasm hit even harder. Your body jerked against the restraints, sobbing now with the intensity of it. Tears leaked from your eyes, your thighs shaking, lips babbling something between a plea and a moan.

But he didn’t stop. Even after you shattered a second time, he kept going. His fingers fucked you harder, mouth gliding over your swollen clit like it was his purpose.

You sobbed, truly cried out, nearly shaking apart under him. “Please—please—I can’t—”

“You’re mine,” he rasped into your heat. “You can. You will. Look how pretty you cry when I ruin you.”

You almost couldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. Tear-stained cheeks, flushed skin, the look of someone at the edge once again. It was all too much, and before you knew it, you climaxed on Seungho’s fingers for a third time, utterly spent.

He finally slowed—finally—and pulled back, breathing hard, lips slick. You were trembling, sweat cooling on your skin, thighs twitching uncontrollably. You barely had the strength to lift your head when you saw him sit back on his knees… and start to undress.

Your eyes widened in fear and awe. Because when his shirt came off, and his hand moved to his pants— You saw it. His cock. Thick. Long. Hard. Aching to be inside you. You choked on a breath.

And then his voice, low and cruel: “You’re gonna take it all, sweetheart.”

“You teased me. You earned this.”

You were trembling, body slack against the pillows, skin dewy with sweat and your own slick. Tears clung to your lashes. Your breath came in ragged, uneven pulls. Your lips were parted, swollen from gasping. Every part of you ached — your legs, your wrists, your cunt — and still, Seungho didn’t look done.

He was looming above you, shirtless, golden demon eyes locked on your ruined body like it was something sacred and filthy all at once. You couldn’t stop staring at his chest. The faint, glowing patterns on his torso pulsed like veins of lava beneath his skin, curling up his arms like a brand claiming him for something darker. His toned frame was slick with sweat, abs flexing each time he shifted his stance, and below his navel—

You swallowed hard.

His cock was thick and flushed, veins along the shaft pronounced, head glossy and angry and twitching for you. He gripped the base with one large hand, jaw tight as he looked down between your legs. You whimpered when he slid the tip along your slit — up and down, slow, teasing, gathering the wetness that soaked your thighs and dripped onto the sheets.

Even now, after everything, your body responded. Your pussy clenched on air like it knew.

“Still needy?” he murmured, voice rasped and rough with restraint. “Even after I made you cum three times?” He chuckled low in his chest, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned over you, letting the head of his cock rest right at your entrance, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You wanted to play?” he growled, lips brushing your jaw. “Well, sweetheart—this is what happens when you play with me.”

Then he sank in. All at once. You screamed. It was too much.

The stretch was unreal, painful and perfect, your walls struggling to accommodate him as your back arched, wrists jerking against the ties. Your entire body clenched down on him like a vice.

Seungho groaned deeply, head falling forward, strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead. His hand braced beside your head as he shoved in deeper—inch after inch—until he was buried to the hilt, so deep you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck—fuck—” he hissed, hips twitching as your body spasmed around him. “So fucking tight. You feel like heaven.”

He stayed there for a moment, completely inside you, like he was savoring every pulse of your cunt squeezing around him. “This what I’ve been missing?” he growled, voice guttural. “All this time? Watching them touch you? Thinking I could wait?”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to thrust again—slow and deliberate. The sound of your wetness echoed with every roll of his hips. You cried out, barely able to hold onto your breath, your body already trembling.

Then he looked down between your legs. Watched his cock disappear inside you again, coated in your slick. He moaned under his breath. “Look at how good you take me. Like you were made for me.”

“Seungho…” You moaned. Your head lolled back, eyes unfocused. He leaned down and grabbed your jaw.

“Eyes up.” He turned your face toward the mirror again. You whimpered. You didn’t want to look—couldn’t. But his voice made you obey.

“There she is,” he said softly, watching your reflection tremble. “There’s my greedy little thing. Crying, drooling, dripping for it. You proud of yourself?”

He delivered a hard thrust of his hips, making your body jolt and you cry out, “You should be.”

Then he reached down, grabbed your thighs, and pushed them up to your chest, folding you completely beneath him. The angle made you gasp—his cock hit so deep, it felt like your soul jumped.

“You asked for this, baby,” he grunted, snapping his hips forward again. “You wanted to be ruined? I’m giving you everything.”

Your legs trembled violently in his grip, head thrown back as the pleasure slammed into you again and again. The mirror reflected your shaking body, your tits bouncing from every thrust, your wrists bound and straining, tears streaking your cheeks—and Seungho, towering over you, hips pistoning, eyes locked on your face like he was devouring every second.

“I—Seungho—close—I’m close—!”

He didn’t slow. “Then give it to me,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

You shattered. You came with a scream, spine bowing off the bed, vision whiting out as your pussy clenched around him like a vice. He groaned low, guttural, but didn’t stop. You were still spasming when he let you breathe—just for a second.

Then— Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach. You yelped, the silk tie twisting above you as he forced your knees under you, ass in the air.

Your body ached, wrists pulled taut. You couldn’t see him—until he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head up.

The mirror. There you were. Bent over, tied, trembling, sweat glistening on your back. And behind you—Seungho. Eyes glowing, torso lined with markings, cock throbbing as he lined up again.

“You think we’re done?” he rasped, voice right at your ear. “I’m just getting started.”

“Wait—wait, Seungho, I can’t—!”

He slammed into you from behind, forcing a scream from your throat. He fucked you mercilessly—hands gripping your ass tight, hips slapping into yours so hard the bed creaked. You sobbed, overwhelmed, every nerve raw, overstimulated and broken. His mouth kissed down your spine, tongue dragging along your skin.

Then he pushed your back down with one hand and lifted your ass even higher. “Watch,” he whispered, voice sinful.

You raised your eyes—barely able to look. And what you saw— Your demon behind you, markings glowing faintly, sweat glistening down his sculpted chest as he ravaged you. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin filled the room. You were crying. Shaking. Fucked out and broken open.

This wasn’t the Baby everyone else knew and saw. This beast– Seungho, was yours. And only you would ever get to experience this side of him. The thought made your insides hot. The way this monster only came out, only lost control with you. Then—

Another orgasm ripped through you. It hit like a wave crashing through your spine, your body jerking violently as your juices spilled down your thighs, dripping onto the sheets.

Seungho snarled above you. “Only I can do this to you,” he hissed. “Only I get to ruin you like this.”

He flipped you again. You landed on your back, whimpering, legs too weak to hold up. So he did it for you.

He grabbed your thighs and raised them high on his shoulders, climbing between them, cock still hard, flushed, demanding. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

He didn’t wait. He slid back in and fucked you harder than ever, weight pressing down on you. You could barely breathe.

“Please—Seungho—please—come—!”

His hand slid to your throat, tightening just enough to make you whimper. His other hand gripped your jaw.

“Eyes on me,” he growled. “You wanted to play?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips. “Then take it.”

You sobbed, tears spilling again, mouth falling open. “I— I can’t— !”

“You’ve got one more in you, princess,” he said, voice low, almost tender. “I know you do.”

“Give it to me.”

Then he grabbed your face, forced your head to the side— And made you watch the mirror. You saw him pounding into you, biting your neck, owning you. You saw the tears on your cheeks, the wild look in your eyes, the way your tits bounced with every thrust. You saw his face—sharp, flushed, glowing, utterly consumed by you.

“Seungho—please—! I can’t—!”

“Yes. You can.”

He thrust deeper.

“You will.”

You screamed, a broken, helpless sound as your final orgasm tore through you like lightning. Your whole body convulsed, cunt fluttering wildly around his cock as the bond between you flared— It pulsed, shook, burned. You could feel him in your soul.

And then— He roared. Seungho finally lost control, slamming into you one last time as he came hard, cock twitching inside you as he spilled deep into your womb.

He didn’t speak right away—just panted, breath shaky, forehead resting against yours, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then, soft and raw: “They had you first.”

“But I’m the one who’ll leave you wrecked.”

“You’ll never forget this. Not a single fucking second of it.”

Your body was trembling. Your soul was thrumming. You had nothing left to give.

And Seungho? He looked at you like he just claimed the only thing in the world that ever mattered.

He didn’t move. Not right away. He stayed inside you, buried deep, arms braced on either side of your head, golden eyes locked on your tear-streaked face. His hips trembled against yours, still pulsing with aftershocks from the orgasm that wrecked him.

You were crying. Still. But not from pain. Just overwhelmed. Shaking. Floating. And he… he looked at you like you were the only thing in the universe that existed.

──────── SMUT ENDS ────────

His hand reached up, cupped your jaw, thumb smearing your tears as he kissed you. Over and over—softly, messily. Your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. “You did so good for me,” he whispered, voice frayed with emotion. “So fucking good.”

You whimpered as his lips brushed your temple again. He nuzzled you gently, still catching his breath. “You took all of me like you were made for it,” he murmured. “Perfect, perfect girl.”

His palm moved over your ribcage like he was checking if you were real. And still—he stayed inside. Still wrapped in you like he couldn’t bear the loss of warmth. “Breathe for me,” he whispered, rubbing your hips. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby.”

You gasped softly, blinking up at him, still floating.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again. “I’ll always have you.”

His lips found your jaw again, then your shoulder. His fingers gently threaded through the messy strands of your hair. Then—carefully, tenderly—he reached up to untie the silk from your wrists. Your arms trembled as they fell around his shoulders, and he held you instantly, pulling you against his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, sobbing softly, and he wrapped around you like armor.

He kissed the top of your head. Again. And again. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your hair, voice trembling now. “No one touches you like this but us. No one ever gets to have you like this.”

You felt his heart racing through his chest, the heat of his body caging you in. Only when your breathing started to slow, only when your tears finally ebbed, did he whisper, “I’m gonna pull out now, alright?”

You nodded weakly. He kissed your forehead once more, and then—slowly, reluctantly—he slipped out of you. You both hissed. You whimpered at the loss, your body clenching around nothing, fluttering, twitching. Seungho exhaled shakily and ran his hands down your thighs, cupping your hips with tenderness. “Okay?” he asked, voice lower now. “Are you okay, baby?”

Your lashes fluttered, and you looked up at him with a small, exhausted smile. “I’ll take anything you give me.”

He froze. Then his arms were around you again, pulling you to his bare chest with a shaky, desperate groan. He buried his face in your neck and held you like you might disappear if he didn’t anchor you to him. “Don’t say things like that,” he whispered harshly. “Don’t—don’t tell me that like it doesn’t mean everything.”

You felt his voice crack against your skin. “I don’t know what to do with that kind of love.”

You clung to him tighter. He let out a shaking breath. “Ever since I told you… what I was… who I was before all this—I thought you'd leave. Or run. Or look at me like I was the monster I am.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. And there they were. Tears in his eyes. He was trying not to blink. Like if he did, they’d fall and expose him fully. But you saw it. The tremble in his bottom lip. The way his hands flexed on your back like he was holding in a lifetime’s worth of fear.

You reached up, cupped his face, and kissed them away. One tear. Then another. He closed his eyes as you kissed each one. Gently. Delicately. Like he was fragile glass. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “I see you. All of you. And I still want you.”

His breath hitched.

“And by the way…” You sniffled, voice turning soft and cheeky. “I’ve never had sex that intense before,” you said with a tired little grin. “But I loved it. Every bit of it.” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You’ve all waited for me for so long. I get it now.”

He blinked slowly, lips parted. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured, voice thick. “I wanted to hold out… make it mean something.”

You cupped his face again. “It did mean something.”

Then, softly, dangerously, he leaned in and whispered: “You’re mine.” His breath hit your lips. “Forever. Mine.”

Your heart skipped. He pressed his lips to yours again, then broke it just to chuckle low in his chest. “You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

You groaned, collapsing into his chest with a tired giggle. “I already can’t feel my legs.”

He grinned against your hair. “At least it’s the good kind of pain,” you teased.

He huffed a warm laugh, brushing your hair from your forehead. “The only kind you’ll ever get from me,” he said softly.

Then, more serious: “I’ll never hurt you. Not like before. Not like… then.”

You kissed the side of his throat and whispered, “You never have.”

He held you tighter. And for once, Seungho—the coldest one—finally let himself melt.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Baby / Seungho finally gets his turn after waiting for you! And boy, did he show us a good time. I wanted to make his scene play into his character as much as possible, and it was just the only way I could see him snapping. He's always been the most... unhinged out of the five. So I hope the wait was worth it! Also, given the plot and characterizations of the fic, the boys are naturally more dominant than the reader, so that's kinda just always been how I imagined them being in the bedroom. Though who knows for future smut chapters things could get a bit interesting. Next chapter won't have smut as the plot will get rolling now. Also, I hope you all enjoyed my little guest appearance of Hongdae guy haha. Just felt like a good laugh to insert in that scene.

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comment, Reblog, Like- I see it all and it always means so much to me! Till the next chapter!

Willa x.

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