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swanandphoenixsong · 13 days ago

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The Crimson Pact | Part 7

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: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Y'all this is it. The chapter I know many of you guys have been WAITING for. I think you know what I mean. I've been DYING to release this one. This part is longer than the others. Be prepared for the emotional whiplash (nothing too angsty - though backstory here is a killer). We're diving into some intense territory now with the bond. And after this chapter, the spice levels will rise. I hope you enjoy this one!

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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)

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Part 7

The Room Where We Return

You dream. Again. But this time, it’s not someone else’s memory. It’s yours.

You stand at the center of nothing and everything—void and light coiling like mist around your feet. Your skin glows, soft and pulsing, like something not entirely human anymore. Something caught between. Your hands are raised. Open. Trembling.

And from your chest—Crimson threads unravel. Smoke-like. Luminous. Alive. Each one stretches into the dark, winding through the void like veins, tugging toward five distant shapes.

Jinu. Haneul. Seoha. Hwimori. Baby.

You can’t see their faces, but you know them—by feeling, by pull, by pain. The threads sink into them, into their chests, hearts, cores. And when they twitch—so do you. You try to breathe. But it’s like those threads are lungs. And they are breath.

One thread pulses. Another burns. Another coils tighter. You try to step back but you can’t.

Because you’re not holding them. They’re holding you. And every line that connects you is both a leash and a lifeline. They glow brighter. You flicker.

And then—

You wake.

Gasping, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw its way out of your ribs. The room is dark. Cool. Quiet. But you aren’t. You press a hand to your chest. It’s still there—that echo. The phantom pull. Like invisible strings wound through your bones.

You sit up slowly, vision swimming, thoughts tangled. It wasn’t just a dream. You felt it. The connection. The weight. The heat of them inside you, wrapped in something more than memory.

Something deeper than even the soulbond. You don’t know the word. But you feel its shape. Not a passenger in their curse—but the anchor. The thing that lets them stay.

You swallow hard. Because that means… If the threads fray— You all fall.

Theres a faint knock at the door. Then a pause. Not tentative. Not polite. Just… waiting. Like a predator letting you catch your breath. You don’t answer. But the door opens anyway.

He walks in like he owns the air. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. Just stands in your doorway with that quiet, unsettling stillness that’s somehow louder than shouting.

Baby.

His eyes find you instantly—tucked in bed, arms clutching the sheets, skin damp with sweat. Your breath’s still erratic, your chest still rising too fast. And his jaw tightens. Hard.

“Another dream?” he asks, voice low, flat. Not emotionless. Controlled but barely. You nod slowly. He walks closer. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just that quiet, unshakeable pull.

He crouches beside the bed, one hand reaching for your wrist—checking your pulse without asking. His fingers are cold. Gentle. But the moment he feels how fast you’re beating, his face darkens. “I’ll destroy whatever’s haunting you,” he murmurs. Not a threat. Not bravado. A fact. A vow. You try to sit up, but he presses you back down with a firm palm on your shoulder. “No,” he says. “Rest. You’re not leaving this bed until your heart stops trying to escape your chest.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snaps, finally looking you in the eye. And there it is. The storm. Quiet. Fierce. Controlled only by the thinnest thread.

“You think I don’t feel it?” he hisses, voice shaking now. “Every time you wake up like that. Every time you cry in silence. Every dream you don’t tell us about.” He leans closer, his lips almost at your temple. “I’d burn the world if it meant you slept peacefully.”

Your breath catches. The bond hums—taut, aching. He presses a kiss to your damp hair. Then another. His hand strokes down your arm, fingers splayed possessively over your pulse point like he’s branding you with touch alone.

“Next time,” he says softly, “call for me.” A pause. Then his lips ghost your ear: “I want to be the only thing in your dreams.”

He stands up slowly. Reluctantly. Like every inch he puts between you costs him something real. And before he leaves— He turns at the door, voice a whisper of steel: “If anything ever tries to take you again... it won’t live long enough to try twice.”

The door shuts. But you don’t feel alone. Not with how your pulse still trembles in your throat. Not with how your body still remembers his touch. Not with how, under your skin, every demon who loves you is starting to hum.

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The sky bleeds into dusk, soft violet bruising the clouds above. Crickets stir in the tall grass below. The city glows in the distance. Jinu leans against a stone wall, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the gravel slope.

He checks his phone. Then checks the shadows. “She wants to meet and she’s late?” he tsked under his breath, scoffing. “Unbelievable.”

He shifts his weight again, jaw tightening. He hated this. Not the waiting. Not the secret meeting. But the distance. After everything that happened—after the old one, after the way you clung to Haneul like you’d die without him—Jinu didn’t want to be this far from you. Not for a second. Not while the taste of your fear still clung to his tongue like blood.

You should be in his arms. He should’ve been home. “Rumi,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “You better be worth this.”

A figure appeared beside him, utterly silent. He shrieked. “Shit—” Jinu staggered back, hand over his heart. “You made me come all the way out here just so you could jump-scare me?!”

Rumi didn’t even blink. “Follow me.” She turned on her heel and started walking. He rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall. “Well, I’m thrilled you’re finally ready to talk. Although, I just want to clarify—this is not a date.”

She froze. “Date? No! Ew! What are you talking about?” she snapped.

Jinu held up the invitation she sent him. ‘Save the Date’.

Rumi groaned. “You’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.”

Jinu sighed in relief. “Okay. Good.”

They walked side-by-side up the gentle slope, wind tugging at Rumi’s hair as the city lights flickered beneath them like stars. Then, finally, she spoke. “What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?”

Jinu’s brow raised. “Go on.”

Rumi stopped at the edge of the overlook, gaze on the skyline. “Help us win the idol awards. If Huntrix wins… the Honmoon will be sealed. Permanently. If we do this, Gwi Ma loses. The demons will vanish from this world. I’ll finally be free of these patterns. You’ll be free from him. No more debts. No more whispers in your head. You can stay—on this side, when the Honmoon is sealed.”

She looked at him now. “You could be free, Jinu.”

Jinu stared at her.

And then—he laughed. Short. Bitter. “You really don’t get it,” he said softly. He turned his back to the skyline, folding his arms again. “That’s not going to work. I’m not sealing us away.”

Rumi frowned. “Why not? You’ve always hated serving Gwi Ma—” Realization dawned in her eyes. “It’s her,” she whispered suddenly. “Isn’t it?”

Jinu’s expression hardened. And then—he nodded once. “Yes. It’s her.” His voice dropped into something deeper, darker, reverent and sharp all at once. “Our souls are tied to her. We’re soulbonded. Each of us. A bond deeper than blood or magic or fate.”

“She’s the reason we’re even here—you think we’d risk her? Gwi Ma made it clear: if we betray him, if we interfere with the destruction of the Honmoon, he’ll tear her from the cycle completely. No reincarnation. No afterlife. Just… gone.”

He met Rumi’s eyes now, fierce. “I’m not risking that. I’m not risking her.”

Rumi’s throat bobbed. Her fingers curled, face struck with realization. It made so much sense now. Why she’d seen you around them so often. That look in his eyes… So full of you. So absolute. So—

Familiar.

Is this how my father looked at my mother? she thought. Is this what he felt?

She shook her head. “But what if you didn’t have to lose her? What if—if the bond is strong enough—if she’s still on this side, you could stay too?”

“No,” Jinu snapped. “You don’t get it. Gwi Ma said that she’d be free of the cycle and become eternal. With us. If we allow the Honmoon to seal the way your side wants—she’ll die again. And this time, we won’t know if she’ll ever come back. We won’t know anything.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do!” His voice cracked. “Because I’ve lost her before. Over and over. And this world doesn’t deserve her. Every time she’s here, it chews her up. Breaks her. And you’re asking me to stand there and let it happen again?”

Rumi flinched. “It’s for the world,” she whispered.

Jinu stepped forward, eyes burning. “She’s my world.” He stated with finality. “She’s ours,” he hissed. “And this world—this cruel, ugly, unworthy place—was never kind to her. Why should we be kind to it?”

Rumi’s breath caught. He turned. “You want your freedom. I get it. I do. But don’t ask me to lose her again just to buy yours.” And then—softer, barely a breath: “I won’t help you seal her away. I won’t let her suffer. Not for your plan. Not for anyone’s.”

He walked off into the dark.

Rumi stood frozen, chest rising too fast. His words echoed in her mind, louder than anything. She’s our world.

‘We’re soulbonded.’

Her hands trembled. Because… she’d read that before. In a letter. A letter she was never supposed to read. A letter written in a desperate, crooked hand. From a demon who once loved a human so much… he tried to build a bridge just to stay.

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The day off begins slow, sun pouring through gauzy curtains, the scent of coffee and toasted rice wafting from the kitchen. You blink sleep from your lashes, stretched beneath a blanket you don’t remember pulling over yourself. You’re not alone—Haneul is lounging on the floor near the couch, shirtless (of course he is) and barefoot, flipping through a magazine upside down like he’s been waiting for you to stir.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawls, not looking up. “Dream of me?”

You blink. “Who brought me out here? And No.”

“Baby did an hour ago. And you’re a liar,” he says immediately, grinning. “I felt your bond spike around 3 a.m. That was definitely me.”

You toss a pillow at him, suddenly reminded of your dream last night and Baby’s appearance by your bedside. Haneul catches it easily and stands, walking over and leaning down until his nose brushes your temple.

“If you were anyone else,” he murmurs, “I’d be mad you threw something at me. But you?” His lips graze your jaw. “I’d let you stab me if it meant you looked at me that way again.”

A shiver erupts down your spine at the close proximity. His bare chest and sculpted torso almost too much to handle. You gulp lightly as your eyes shift down. Haneul smirks at the heat in your eyes. “Flustered? Cat got your tongue?”

Your cheeks tinge pink. “Shut up.” You mumble and shove him playfully. He laughs and watches as you shuffle into the kitchen—only to find Hwimori perched on the counter, already eating your cereal. “You’re up,” he says around a mouthful. Then, more softly, “Smell better today.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

He nuzzles his head under your chin anyway. “I didn’t like yesterday. Your scent was wrong. Empty.”

“Glad to be back to normal?”

His grip tightens around your waist. “This is normal. You. Me. Us. Don’t forget it.” Before you can respond, your phone buzzes.

It's a DM from Zoey: "Where’ve you been hiding? Let’s hang out!”

You hesitate and freeze for a second. This was so random. Why is she messaging you now when you met weeks ago? It was very out of nowhere. Was this a plan to use you to get to the boys?

The boys notice immediately. Jinu walks in, towel drying his hair, shirt loose over his abs. Yum.

You blink, almost forgetting about the text for a second as you eye his form. Why did he look so good with his hair damp?

“Problem?”

You shake your head to snap out of it. Bad, Y/N, Bad! You show him the screen without a word. He reads it, jaw ticking. Haneul peers over his shoulder.

“No.”

That’s all he says. Just no. Your lips quirk up in a smirk. You were starting to enjoy their possessive behavior a little too much nowadays. You raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not seeing her,” Seoha calls from the hallway as he buttons his cuffs. “Too risky.”

“I can’t even go out with a friend?” You tease, fully knowing they would protest to that.

“She is NOT your friend.” Seoha interjects, eyes in disbelief. “Did you forget what we told you?”

Hwimori growls softly beside you. “No. You stay here. Where we can feel you.”

You cross your arms and fake pout. Seoha narrows his eyes at that. “Fine. If I can’t go out with her… who’s taking me out today?”

That gets their attention.

Seoha grins slyly. “Tricky girl… I volunteer!”

Haneul steps forward. “Absolutely not. She’s mine today.”

“I’m already holding her,” Hwi mumbles.

Jinu sighs like a disappointed king. “You children are embarrassing yourselves.”

You smirk. “Then are you going to take me, your majesty?”

He raises a brow. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

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You end up in the apartment garden, curled up under Jinu’s arm as he introduces you to his demon spirit pets. The first is a massive blue tiger with unsettlingly large eyes and too many teeth.

You squeak. “Why does he look like that?”

“He’s sensitive,” Jinu deadpans.

The tiger blinks slowly… and lays its head in your lap. You freeze. “Oh my god.”

“He likes you,” Jinu murmurs, strangely proud. You release a slow smile as you feel the tiger purr while you scratch behind its ear. “It’s cute.”

Jinu releases a fond smile. The spirits have been impatient as of late, wondering when they’d finally get to meet you. He was worried you’d be scared at first. But as always, you tend to surpass his expectations.

“You had this big guy as your companion for years and you never show him to me?!”

“I was afraid you’d be too scared-”

“Scared? Look at him! He’s a little derpy guy- wait, I think I’ll call him that. Derpy.”

“Actually its name is-”

“Derpy! You like that huh?” You coo at the tiger, booping its nose. The tiger rubs his head on your shoulder. Jinu sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. He can’t win. Of all the names… “Haaaa well… I guess your name is Derpy now…”

Before you, a bird in a hat lands on Derpy’s head. You stare. Its one eye narrows at you, and you almost squeal as two more appear underneath it. You look to Jinu, unsure, and he smiles in encouragement.

“Does he… sing?”

“No, but he judges.”

The bird tilts its head and lets out a croaky caw. Then it hops onto your shoulder.

“She’s more affectionate with your freaks than she is with us,” Seoha grumbles nearby, arms crossed.

“She warmed up fast,” Haneul mutters. “If only she kissed me that easily.” he says, watching you kiss Derpy’s head multiple times in a row.

“I’ll kiss you never,” you shoot back.

He smirks. “So, later, then?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. The day continues like that—soft bickering, stolen glances, hands brushing against yours when they pass you a drink, touches that linger just a little too long. Derpy and the bird roam free in the apartment now. Perching on shelves and sleeping in the living room.

Seoha pulls you aside after lunch, guiding your hand to his chest. “Feel that?” His heart races. “You do that to me.”

You roll your eyes. “You always act like you’re one heartbeat away from writing a death poem.” He grins, teeth sharp, eyes soft. “And you always act like you don’t love it.”

You open your mouth to sass him again, but he leans in, voice brushing your ear. “If I’m dramatic, it’s because loving you feels like a scandal.” His breath fans your skin. “Loud, forbidden… and everyone wants to watch.”

You scoff. “Please. The only scandal here is your ego.”

He smirks—and then swoops in, arms curling around your waist as he litters kisses down your neck, making you squeal and squirm in his hold.

The boys shuffle into the living room, smirking like a pack of troublemakers. Seoha yanks you onto the couch and drapes himself over your lap like a spoiled cat, while Baby flicks through movie titles with deadly focus.

“Seoha, move,” Hwi grumbles. “She’s not a chair.”

“She’s mine,” Seoha mutters, refusing to budge. “And I happen to like being supported emotionally and physically.”

“I’ll support you with my foot,” Baby snaps, flinging a pillow at his head.

Just then, Haneul walks in from the kitchen, balancing three massive bowls of popcorn in his arms like a seasoned soldier. He hands one to you with a kiss to your cheek. “Some popcorn for my little soda pop.”

You wince. “You just shattered the dreams of millions of fans.”

He grins. “Good. Let ‘em cry.”

You’re silent for a moment as the boys get comfortable. A sudden thought enters your head and your hands fidget in your lap, eyes lowered like you’ve just committed a capital crime.

“I…” you whisper, biting your lip dramatically.

Five heads snap in your direction. Seoha straightens so fast, his legs retracting from your lap as he nearly falls off the armrest. “Whats wrong, baby?”

Hwi perks up by your feet like a cat who heard a thunderclap. “Are you hurt?”

Haneul’s already beside you, crouched low, scanning your body for wounds. “Why are you acting like that? What happened? Tell me.”

Jinu bursts out of the kitchen with a drink in hand like he sprinted an Olympic lap. “Drink this. What’s going on?”

Baby’s the last to speak, voice tight with dread. “If someone made you scared, give me a name. Now.”

You press your lips together and swallow, glancing away. “It’s… pretty serious.”

The room freezes. Seoha’s jaw clenches. “You’re scaring me.”

“She’s scaring me,” Hwi whispers, eyes wide.

“I can fix it,” Haneul says, kneeling beside you. “Whatever it is. Just say the word.”

“I…” You inhale slowly, dramatically.

“I… don’t drink soda pop.”

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

Jinu blinks. “What?”

Seoha releases a breath of relief. Hwi stares at you in disbelief. Haneul’s shoulders sag, a weight off his shoulders. And Baby… is glaring at you.

You look at them sheepishly. “I… I don’t drink soda…”

Seoha releases a breathy laugh. “I was ready to curse an entire bloodline,”

“I already drafted a revenge plan for your tears,” Baby says flatly. “Color-coded.”

“What?!” You giggle at their reactions and the expressions on their faces. “Sorry- I-”

Jinu exhales, setting the untouched drink down with eerie calm. “You think this is funny?”

“I mean… yes?” you grin. “A little?”

He smiles. Too gently. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Before you can react, a hand grabs your wrist—Seoha pulling you onto his lap with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Time for consequences.”

Oh shit. “I was just—!”

Haneul’s breath brushes your ear. “That lip bite earlier? You wanna play nervous, sweetheart? I’ll give you a reason to tremble.”

Hwi climbs behind you like a shadow, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Make the scared face again. I liked that.”

“Hey, hold on—”

“You like teasing us?” Baby’s voice is low, sharp. “Then take responsibility.”

Jinu sinks to his knees before you, pulling your legs apart slightly to settle between them. “You want attention? You’ve got all of it now.”

Your breath hitches. Seoha kisses the side of your neck, whispering like sin, “Say sorry.”

“I…”

Hwi’s teeth graze your shoulder. “Louder, pretty girl.”

You shudder. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” Baby smirks. “Not sorry enough.”

Your teasing grin is long gone. Your flushed face? Still very much here. Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. Their hands aren’t even really touching you—just fingertips, just breath, just barely brushing your skin—but your body is screaming for more. Heat pools low in your belly as they surround you like wolves, like they can taste the way you ache.

Seoha whispers against your jaw, “You like being toyed with, don’t you?”

Jinu hums against your inner thigh— infuriatingly untouched. “All that fuss for a little joke? You wanted our attention. This is what it feels like, love.”

“Now she’s quiet,” Baby murmurs, fingers tilting your chin up. “Where’d all that teasing go, little pop?”

You can’t answer. Your mouth opens. Closes. Nothing but a whimper. But just when you think you’ll snap, just when your legs tremble and the coil inside you threatens to unravel—

They all pull back. Hands gone. Heat vanished.

Seoha grins and stretches like he just got up from a nap. “Ah. Perfect. Let’s watch that movie.”

You blink. “What?”

Jinu flops onto the couch, remote already in hand. “You wanted popcorn and a film, didn’t you?”

“I—wait—what?”

“Shh.” Baby’s finger presses to your lips with a wicked smile. “Movie’s starting, sweetheart.”

Hwi pulls you closer onto the couch between them like nothing happened, wrapping you up in his arms while your heart still pounds like thunder. Seoha kisses your forehead like a reward, lips lingering just enough to remind you of everything you didn’t get.

And then slowly, he whispers. “No soda pop for you then.”

Your thighs squeeze together. Your eyes burn holes into the screen. None of them say a word. But all of them know. And they’re smiling.

The movie plays. You try to focus. You really do. But your skin still tingles—memory replaying on a loop like a glitching reel. The way their hands barely touched you. The way they didn’t kiss you, or pull your clothes off, or devour you whole—but could have. And you would’ve let them.

That realization sits warm and sharp in your chest. If they hadn’t stopped… if they’d kept going… You would’ve gone with it. You wanted to.

Your thighs press together as heat surges again, traitorous and low. You shift slightly on the couch, only for Baby to pull you back against him without a word—tucked between his legs, your back to his chest, his arms coiled possessively around your waist like a seatbelt you didn’t ask for.

You sigh softly. Maybe you did ask for it. In your own way. His breath brushes your ear. You pretend not to shiver. The screen flashes with explosions, dramatic music rising.

You don’t notice the glances. Not at first. The soothing lull of Baby’s warmth and breathing relaxes you through the movie, causing you to briefly close your eyes for a little rest. The plot wasn’t all that interesting…

Jinu. Hwi. Haneul. Even Seoha over his shoulder from the kitchen (where he’d gone to start preparing dinner)—stealing peeks at you between scenes.

Because somewhere during the movie, your skirt inched higher. And your panties—lace-trimmed and sinfully soft—peek just under the hem. You’re oblivious, shifting sleepily, too flustered by your own thoughts. But the boys? They’re practically feral.

Hwi’s whisper is half-growl: “So… we’ve been staring at her bum for 30 minutes now…”

“Thirty-five,” Haneul mutters darkly.

“Perverts!” Seoha calls from the kitchen, though his voice is far too amused.

“I’m not looking,” Jinu says without turning away. “I’m studying.”

“You’re the worst one,” Hwi replies.

Eventually, the credits roll. Jinu and Seoha disappear into the kitchen with the clatter of pots and sizzling pans. The smell of spice and garlic fills the air. But Baby doesn’t move. Neither do you. You’ve fallen asleep like that—warm, safe, curled up in his arms.

Hwi leans down and pokes your calf. “Dinner.”

Baby growls. Not even looking at him.

“She has to eat,” Haneul tries.

Baby just tightens his grip.

“She’s hibernating in your lap, not dying,” Seoha calls over his shoulder.

Still—no dice. You finally blink awake, lips parted, dazed. And Baby’s face is the first thing you see. Eyes dark. Expression unreadable.

He utters, voice low, but eyes solely trained on your face. Piercing. “Dinner’s ready.”

You nod slowly, but something in his gaze pins you down harder than his arms. There’s heat there. You swallow hard. “Okay.”

But you don’t move right away. And neither does he. Because even now—after all their teasing, all your games—he looks at you like he’s still starving. And this time?

You’re not sure you want him to stop.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Dinner is loud, as usual. They’re all gathered at the table—Haneul loading your plate without asking, Hwi curled at your side again like a cat waiting for scraps, Seoha arguing with Jinu about spice levels, and Baby quietly stealing bites from your plate like it belongs to him.

You’re halfway through chewing a piece of tteok-bokki when Jinu sets his chopsticks down. “We should move you to your room tonight.”

You blink. “My room?”

He nods. “The one we made for you. Next to ours.”

“We thought you’d want space,” Seoha says, brushing a thumb along your wrist. “But... it’s yours. It always was.”

Hwi’s voice is soft. “It’s closer. Safer.”

“More comfortable,” Haneul adds quickly, gaze unreadable.

“More ours,” Baby finishes, not looking away from you.

You chew slowly, the bite suddenly hard to swallow. Your heart thuds in your chest, soft and fast. They want you near. Not just sleeping in a guest room anymore. Not just a visitor in their apartment. This isn’t about logistics. It’s about belonging.

You glance at each of them—their expectant eyes, the way they lean in slightly like they’re scared you’ll say no.

And for a second, you wonder: Am I ready? To sleep so close to them? To share space. Trust. Intimacy. To accept what you already feel growing between you and these demons who have haunted your soul across centuries? The answer comes quietly.

Yes.

Because they love you. They love you like fire, like gravity, like fate. And you—you're starting to love them too.

“Okay,” you say.

The reaction is immediate. Hwi perks up like a puppy. Haneul grins, wild and bright. Jinu exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the war. Seoha smirks like he already knew. And Baby—Baby’s hand finds yours under the table and squeezes so tight it almost hurts.

They don’t wait. Dinner finishes in a blur, and before you know it, Baby is tugging you gently by the hand, leading you down the hallway. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over his shoulder at you like he’s afraid this is a dream.

He opens the door. And you gasp. The room is… yours. But also, theirs.

The walls are a soft, warm gray with rich jewel-toned accents. There’s a massive window with gauzy curtains that let in moonlight, and on the far wall: a mural. A hand-painted scene of a mountaintop at dusk, a crescent moon hanging low over a silver lake.

Bookshelves line one wall—half empty, half filled with things they know you love. Notebooks. Art supplies. A sketch of you in a previous life curled up with a tiger. A pressed flower under glass. A faded drawing in childlike lines of a fox with wide, soft eyes.

The bed is huge. Obscenely so. More like a nest than a piece of furniture—draped in plush throws and layered blankets in varying textures. You spot a velvet pillow shaped like a moon, and a silky scarf you once lost… here now, tucked neatly on the edge like it never left.

A soft woven tapestry hangs above the headboard: the symbol of the Saja. Your fingers hover over it.

“They helped,” Baby murmurs. “All of us.” He points. The desk—minimal and clean, with a small crystal inlaid in the center. A moonstone. That was Jinu’s.

The warm-toned blanket with rough stitching? That’s from Haneul. It looks handmade. Because it is.

The incense burner shaped like a curled fox? Hwimori’s, of course. It smells faintly like the pine forests of a memory you can’t quite place.

And the mirror beside the wardrobe—an antique, silver-framed piece that glows softly under the light—was picked by Seoha. He left a note stuck in the corner:

So you can admire the most dangerous creature in this house.

You touch the edge of the bed. It feels like home. “I… don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

Baby leans against the wall, watching you. His voice is low. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay.”

A soft smile ghosts your lips and the five demons look at you with so much love, awe, and wonder. You loved your room. It had little pieces of them and everything you were to them through all your lives. It felt like you had finally come home.

“Okay.” You breathe, looking up at their hopeful gazes. “I’ll move in tonight.”

Jinu smiled bright. “You- you like it?” His eyes widen when your arms drape around his shoulders, like he doesn’t believe you're real.

“I love it,” you say again, softer this time. “It’s got bits and pieces of all of you.”

His breath hitches. For a moment, he doesn't move. Then—slowly, carefully—he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you like you’re fragile silk. His forehead presses to yours. “We waited,” he whispers. “Through everything. Every life. Every mistake. Every death.”

You smile, close, so close. And then you kiss his cheek. It’s light. Soft. Barely a brush of your lips. But Jinu goes still like he’s been struck by lightning. “Oh,” he exhales, voice wrecked.

The next second, he’s not the only one holding you. Hwimori curls against your side, hands wrapped tight around your waist, burying his nose in your neck. “She kissed him,” he breathes. “I want one too.”

Haneul’s hand lifts your wrist and he kisses your palm, then each fingertip with slow, deliberate presses of his mouth. “You like pieces of us, angel?” he murmurs. “I want you to have every piece. Every part.”

Seoha appears at your other side, tilting your chin gently with two fingers. “You shouldn’t say things like that, my love,” he purrs. “We might get addicted to hearing them.” He kisses your temple. Then your jaw. Then your nose, with a grin. “Let’s call it a blessing.”

“Or a curse,” Baby mutters—but he’s already pressing a kiss to the top of your head, arms locking around you from behind. “Don’t care. She’s home now.”

The air shifts. Warmer. Tighter. You’re cradled between them all—arms, hands, mouths pressing into every inch of bare skin they can reach without overwhelming you. Their touches aren’t frantic or rushed. It’s worshipful. Steady. Like this is something sacred.

Because it is. Because you said yes. You said home. You whisper, “I didn’t know I could feel like this.”

Seoha hums. “Safe?”

“No,” you say. “Wanted.”

That stops them. Jinu is the first to speak, voice low and hoarse. “You’re not wanted, sweetheart.”

You blink. He smiles against your cheek. “You’re everything.”

That warms your heart in more ways than one. You smile brightly. “Well, I’ll need a bit of help moving my stuff-”

“Say no more, baby. We’ll grab your things now.” Haneul beams. They shuffle out of the room, eager to get you settled as fast as they can.

Baby stays, arms wrapped around you from behind with his eyes closed. Like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You look at him and smile slightly. “Your room’s near, right?”

He nods. “Across the hall.”

“Can I see it?”

He pauses then pushes off you and gestures for you to follow. You walk into the darkened hallway, still holding his hand. And when he opens the door to his room— The air changes.

Baby's room is a hush of shadow and memory. The air hangs thick with sandalwood and something older, bitter, like scorched ink. No clutter. No warmth. Just walls steeped in silence. The kind of silence that feels alive.

The bed is enormous, like yours, but colder somehow. Sheets the color of bruises. Pillows perfectly in place. No folds. No softness. Not even a book by the bedside. It feels like a tomb. But it has pieces of you in it.

You step inside and the temperature shifts. This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a reliquary. A war memorial. A shrine.

Your gaze falls to a drawing mounted in a blackwood frame. You.

Rendered in harsh, reverent strokes. Hair pinned in the style of old court, gaze lowered in modesty. Regal. Fragile. Distant. You walk toward it. "Did you draw this?"

"Etched it," Baby replies from behind you. "With a blade."

You turn slowly. He’s still by the door, like coming in too far would break something. "After you died," he adds, voice flat.

There’s a long pause. Your eyes catch on something else—a lacquered box beneath the portrait. A ceremonial sword cracked down the middle. A ribbon, blood-stiffened and sealed in glass. And half-tucked under silk: a golden hairpin.

You reach for it.

"Don’t touch that." The words are quiet. But sharp enough to slice bone. He’s in front of you before you blink. His hand wraps around your wrist, not hurting, not tight. But trembling. He lets go like your skin scalded him.

"She wore that," he murmurs. "You wore that. The day you were taken from me."

You don’t speak. The air feels thick. Sacred. Your trembling hands brush his cheek and he leans into it like a flower to the sun.

"Tell me," you say.

He exhales and hesitates. Eyes pained.

“Tell me. Please."

He looks at you like you’re a ghost. A sharp inhale, and then he begins.

"I was the Emperor’s blade," he says, each word carefully unsheathed. "Born to a house that trained ghosts into men. I was a child when they first made me kneel in blood. By thirteen, they called me the Ash Blade."

He looks up. Eyes distant. "I executed ministers before I knew how to write my own name. I watched heads roll and learned silence was safety."

You sit down on the bed, legs tucked beneath you. He stays standing, hands clenched at his sides. "And then you came."

You lift your head. "The concubine from the South. Sent to seal a war with a smile. Everyone called you fragile. An ornament. A prize. But you weren’t. You had teeth. You saw everything." His voice cracks. "You saw me."

The silence between you is deafening. "You bowed to him," he whispers. "...The Emperor,” He spits the words out like poison in his mouth. “But you smiled at me. A smile you never gave him. Not once."

His hand hovers near his chest, like the memory of it still hurts. "I never knew how to want. They trained it out of me. But then I needed you. And I didn’t even know what to call it."

You stand. "You called it love." His head tilts toward you like the word itself is too heavy to hold.

"They whispered we touched," he murmurs. "That you were carrying a traitor’s child. The Emperor grew distant. Then cold. Then...”

His voice drops. "He asked me to prove my loyalty."

You already know. But you need to hear it. "How?"

He looks you in the eye. "He ordered me to kill you."

Your stomach lurches.

"I told him no."

A breath. The world trembles.

"The first time I disobeyed... was for you."

You press your hand to your mouth.

"He called you defiled. He pulled the sword himself. I didn’t have time to react. You were reaching for me—"

He falls to his knees. "I held you. I pressed on the wound. I begged you to stay. You... you said my name. Not his."

Tears sting your eyes. Baby, the Ash Blade. The demon who was always first to ruin anything that dared to speak or touch you, was kneeling before you like a blade shattered. Broken. He choked on his next words: "I was soaked in your blood. The guards came. They thought I was trying to finish you. I killed them all. Every last one."

He looks up at you, hollow. "I carried you to the inner sanctum. The palace was burning. I laid you down and waited for the flames to take me. But they didn’t."

You kneel in front of him. "I made a deal that night," he whispers. "To never forget your voice. To find you again, no matter the cost." His breath shakes. "They told me I was cursed. Born to follow. Born to obey. And for years I did. I killed for kings. Slept in blood. Wore silence like a second skin. But the moment you smiled at me… I knew." His voice cracks. "I knew I would burn it all. And I did. For you."

Your lip trembles as he continues, eyes never leaving yours. "You were meant to be a pawn. A gift to the king. But you looked at me like I was more than a sword. You called me… human. That was my undoing." He clenches his fist. "You died calling my name. And I—" he swallows the words like poison. "I couldn’t save you."

His shoulders quake. "They said you were spoiled. That a shadow like me defiled something meant to be pure. The Emperor… he was the last one I killed. Not for revenge. But for taking you from me."

The silence pulses between you. Then— His hand moves. Slowly. His fingers graze the side of your neck… and wrap around your throat. Not tight. But firm. Possessive. He pulls you in until your lips are just a breath apart. His eyes shine crimson—wet with grief, wild with hunger.

"You’re mine," he breathes, voice shaking. "Do you hear me? You were always mine. From the moment I first saw you. You are not fate’s. You are not the emperor’s. You’re mine." A tear slips from his cheek and lands on yours. "I don’t trust this world. I don’t trust time. I don’t trust anything that isn’t my hands on your skin."

You gasp, body trembling as his other arm snakes around your waist, crushing you to him. "I won’t lose you again. I’d kill every god who tries to take you. I’ll tear this world to ash. I’ll carve out a future with your name on it and slit the throat of anything that threatens it."

"Baby…"

His breath catches.

“I’m not… that,” he murmurs. “My name… the one you called out before you left me… it was Seungho.”

It hits like thunder in your chest. Something sacred. Ancient. Yours. “Seungho,” you whisper.

The name tears through centuries. And he breaks. His breath catches—like he’s been punched in the lungs by time itself. His hand tightens around your throat—not to hurt, but to hold, to claim, to anchor himself in the moment he never believed he'd get. The moment the past bends, and fate surrenders. You grip his wrist, your pulse thudding beneath his fingers.

“Say it again,” he breathes. It’s not a plea. It’s a command stitched in agony. His voice trembles like he’s shaking loose from death itself.

“Seungho,” you whisper again, softer this time.

And that’s all it takes. A guttural sound rips from his throat—half-sob, half-snarl. His forehead falls against yours, breath shaking, teeth bared like a starving animal who’s finally found what he lost. He doesn’t ask if you’re his. You are. You always were.

He growls, low and dangerous, voice coiling like smoke against your ear. “You said my name. And now the world can burn. I don’t care. I don’t care about gods or rules or whatever fucking fate tried to take you from me. Say it again, and I swear I’ll never let you go. Not even in death.”

Your breath hitches. Your chest heaves. “I remember you,” you whisper. “And I’m not letting go either.”

Then he kisses you. Not soft. Not slow. Not careful. It’s carnage. It’s ruin wrapped in silk, obsession carved into the shape of a mouth. He devours you like you’re a secret he’s kept for centuries. Like every kiss is a scream of defiance against the world that took you from him. His lips bruise, worship, burn.

His hand cradles your throat like it’s his only possession. His other wrapped around your back, dragging you into him, into the storm, into the part of him that never stopped bleeding. “You said my name,” he murmurs again between kisses, like he can’t stop saying it now that it’s real. “You saw me. You chose me. You’re here.”

You nod, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’ve always been yours.”

He groans—like that vow split something inside him wide open. He bites your ear. Kisses down your jaw. “You are mine. You belong in my arms. In my bed. In my eternity. Mine to worship. Mine to break. Mine to protect until the stars die.”

He presses you to his chest, heart pounding so violently you feel it against your ribs. You don’t fall. Not this time. Because he never let go. And he never will. Not again.

Not Seungho. Not the boy raised to kill— But the demon who was reborn just to love you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You and Seungho stay there, folded into each other like the aftermath of a storm. The quiet between you is thick with heat and memory. His fingers never leave your skin—tracing your spine, your throat, your face, like he’s memorizing you all over again. His lips press to your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. Again and again.

Like prayer. Like penance. Like addiction. You whisper his name once more. "Seungho."

His breath catches. His lashes flutter against your skin. And though his hands still tremble, his heart begins to steady. You kiss once more—slower this time, but no less desperate. Then another. And another. Until finally… he exhales, forehead resting against yours. “I’m okay now,” he murmurs. “Let’s go back.”

You nod. He intertwines your fingers with his and leads you back to your room. But the moment the door opens—You freeze.

They’re waiting. The others.

Jinu. Seoha. Haneul. Hwimori.

All four of them—spread across your bed, your window ledge, the curve of your couch. Shadows drape their forms like cloaks, but there’s no hiding the glow of their eyes. Amber. Gold. Molten. Unholy. Their gazes hit you like fire. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… hungry.

No words are spoken. Because they felt it. The shift. The moment your bond with Seungho deepened. That sacred pull, tugging taut through the thread that links you all. The soulbond—fuller now. Almost complete. You’re radiant. Alive. Glowing like something divine.

And they are starving.

Their gazes trail your body like it’s wrapped in silk and sin. Like they could tear it open just to drink what’s inside. Jinu’s jaw tightens. Seoha’s smile is too sharp. Haneul’s fingers twitch like they’re resisting the urge to grab. Hwimori tilts his head, his pupils blown wide, mouth parted in a soft, animalistic sound that borders on a purr.

Seungho releases your hand. He steps back like offering you up. Or daring them. “She’s here,” he says softly. And it’s the end of restraint.

Jinu rises first, slow and deliberate, like a beast uncoiling from a throne. He walks toward you with a look that makes your knees weak—like he’s waited too long, suffered too much. His voice, when he speaks, is low and reverent.

“Our girl.”

The room seems to pulse around you. The bond sings. A note of desire so thick you could drown in it. Seoha grins lazily, eyes burning. “Don’t run now. You won’t make it far.”

“Wouldn’t want to,” you whisper.

Hwimori is beside you in seconds, arms circling your waist from behind, his breath hot on your neck. “You feel it too, don’t you? It’s almost done. Almost whole. We’re almost one.”

You nod, dazed, body humming with the truth of it. Haneul’s knuckles brush your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. His voice is a promise—and a threat. “We’ve been patient.”

Jinu leans in, lips grazing your ear. “No more waiting.”

They crowd closer. No touches yet. Just heat. Just intention. But it’s enough to set you ablaze. You don’t know who moans first—you or one of them. But it echoes. And you realize—

You’re surrounded by five demons. And all of them are about to lose control.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Mwahahahaha!! I think you all know what comes next. ;) I wanted to make Baby's backstory tragic. It fits best with how his character is with you and why he is the way he is. For his name, I decided on Seungho. Seung- “to bear, to inherit” + Ho -“vast, grand, overwhelming” I think it fits best because it reflects someone who carries deep burdens (like obedience, guilt, love). "Seungho" also sounds noble, quiet, and heavy with legacy—just like him, and I think it's perfect for a man who inherited centuries of silence and finally broke for love.

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this chapter! Next one is going to be spicy but it might take a bit more time to write as I don't usually write a lot of smut. I need time to etch the line between love and filth (lol). But thank you for reading as always! Comment, Reblog, and Like if you enjoyed it - I love seeing what you guys think!

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swanandphoenixsong · 16 days ago

Text

The Crimson Pact | Part 1

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: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, soulbonding without full consent, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, mild stalking, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, non-graphic threats of harm from a third party (Gwi Ma).

Author's notes: Hey guys! My first fic on Tumblr. I've been deep in a hole for Saja boys x Reader fics and have been inspired by all the ones currently out. Thought I'd give it a go and make my own. This is also just me purely projecting my fantasies (lol). But will post more on this story and will make more parts!

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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.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

A Sudden Encounter

You’re just… tired.

You work long shifts at a cramped little gallery café in Hongdae. Your boss forgets to pay you on time. Rent’s due. Your roommate’s a ghost (figuratively). Your family doesn’t call.

It’s not tragic. Just quietly heavy. Most days are filled with the same mundane routine. The stress of adulting weighs in on you most nights making you feel more fatigued than you should.

Your art is the only thing that feels like yours—until it doesn’t. Lately, even your sketches look like someone else’s memories. The past few weeks of downtime have been spent sketching images you vaguely recognize from dreams you forgot you even had.

You walk through life like it’s background noise.

Then, one afternoon, on the way to grab milk and instant ramen…you hear music on the street.

Lugging your grocery trolley (because god knows you don’t have the strength to carry a week’s worth of grocery bags on your arms), you spot that a crowd has gathered in the plaza. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement. People are pushing each other to get a view of whatever it was that was making the crowd go nuts. Curiosity gets the best of you, and next thing you know you’re walking towards the center of the square. Grocery trolley rolling behind you. Someone steps on it, warranting a quick “Sorry” and they scurry to the front. You turn your head forward to see whatever it was they desperately wanted to see.

You stop.

Up on a raised platform, five boys move like a single body—synchronized, supernatural, magnetic. Their colorful outfits shimmer under the lights, a kaleidoscope of sugar-rush perfection. The crowd is screaming, but all you hear is the song—“Soda Pop”—sickeningly sweet and pulsing like thunder in your chest.

You don’t recognize them.

Were they new? A secret debut? A niche group you missed?

And then you see them.

The Saja Boys. Five gorgeous faces, carved out of dreams and danger, singing like they already know you.

Your heart stutters.

Front and center is the one with the jet-black hair and fire behind his smile. His eyes sweep the crowd like he owns it—until they lock on you. And then it’s like the world tips sideways.

You can’t breathe.

Something ancient uncoils in your ribcage—a thread pulling taut, like it’s found its anchor.

The stage beneath them morphs—no, rises—into a giant soda can, and the absurdity nearly makes you laugh, but the pressure in your chest is louder.

The song ends. The crowd erupts. They strike their final poses like gods frozen mid-conquest. And still—he’s looking at you. Right at you.

He lifts a hand, brushes off his shoulder like he’s dusting you into place. “That’s it for now,” he says to the crowd.

His speaking voice slides down your spine like silk dipped in fire. Familiar. Impossible.

“See you tonight on everyone’s favorite variety show…” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Saja Boys love you!”

You don’t know how you’re still standing. The other members turn too—one by one, their expressions shifting. Eyes no longer playful. They’re looking at you like they remember something you haven’t yet.

And then—pink smoke.

They vanish.

You’re left in a sea of people, lungs hollow, skin prickling like it’s just been marked.

You don’t know who they are. You don’t know what just happened. But your hands are shaking on the trolley handle. And you’re sprinting home like something inside you just woke up and started screaming.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

They apparated back into the apartment in a burst of cold smoke.

Jinu collapsed first.

Not into a chair. Not onto the couch. He sank straight to the floor.

Hands tangled in his hair, breath shallow. Like the air couldn’t reach deep enough. Like he’d been holding it for centuries. His voice cracked like something ancient being unearthed.

“It’s her.”

Romance was already pacing the length of the living room, long strides restless, fingers tugging at his shirt collar like it was choking him. “I—I thought I was hallucinating,” he muttered. “Some kind of cruel glamour. A mirage. But the bond—” His voice shook. “The bond snapped tight.”

Abby dropped into the couch, the cushions barely softening the weight of his frame. His knuckles were white, gripping his thighs. “I felt her heartbeat.” He looked up, dazed. Wild. “During the bridge—our hearts matched. I know it was her.”

Mystery hadn’t moved. He stood near the window, face shadowed, fists clenched so tight his nails carved into skin. His lips were moving in a near-silent whisper—over and over like a broken prayer.

“She’s scared… she doesn’t remember… but she felt it. She felt it.”

Baby sat furthest from them all, on the floor beside the armchair. Blood dripped from his palm—he didn’t seem to notice. Eyes wide. Hollow. Haunted.

Like seeing you broke the silence inside him. Like he’d finally found the ghost that’d been crawling under his skin for lifetimes.

No one breathed. The room felt cracked. Like a single touch would shatter it.

Abby ran a hand down his face. “What do we do?” He was still staring at his hands. Still disbelieving. “Is this a trick? Is Gwi Ma playing with us again? Using her face to haunt us?”

Jinu looked up slowly, lashes damp, lips pale. He bit the nail of his thumb, the taste of anxiety sharp on his tongue.

“We wait,” he said softly. “We plan.”

Romance scoffed, but there was no humor in it. He was trembling as he smiled.

“We charm.”

Mystery let out a low snarl. “We go to her. She’s alone. She’s hurting. I can feel her.”

And then—finally—Baby spoke. Just one line.

Quiet. Final. Unshakable.

“We take her back.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You curl up on your couch with a microwaved dinner, phone propped up on a cushion. You don’t normally watch idol shows. But…

You press play.

They’re charming. Playful. Competitive. Too beautiful. Too perfect. You watch them struggle with the hot sauce challenge, lips curling upwards at some of the boys’ faces.

Your chest aches.

You don’t know them. But you can’t look away.

When they joke, you laugh. When they flirt with the camera, your stomach flips. When Baby stares dead into the lens, you freeze.

You watch as Baby wins the spicy challenge, somehow a part of you knew he would. You couldn’t explain why. You watch as Huntrix makes a surprise appearance. You weren’t a crazed fanatic or anything, but you did enjoy their music. When they bowed at each other, a part of your chest ached. You don’t know why, but something didn’t sit well with you seeing the boys interact with the girl group. Why? You had no claim over them. You felt like you were going crazy.

You don’t sleep that night.

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Later that night, after filming wraps…

The Saja Boys find themselves ambushed by Huntrix—Rumi, Zoey, and Mira—demon-hunting girls who are too fast, too smart, and too close to the truth.

The boys run, Jinu being caught into a fight with Rumi which leads to him finding out her secret. A Hunter who’s part demon. He gives it some thought as he walks out of the bath house. Then, his thoughts shift to you.

Did you watch the show tonight? What were you doing right now? Did you remember him at all?

Then suddenly he’s pulled into Gwi Ma’s chamber.

Smoke. Fire. Screams locked in stone. The demons are cheering for the boys, now in their demon forms. Gwi Ma sings the chorus of Soda Pop.

“It’s catchy”

He brings up Rumi- the hunter who bears his mark. He tells Jinu he has no control over her. Jinu remains curious, telling him that he can find out her shame and use it against her to bring the Hunters down.

Then, Gwi Ma’s flames rise. The tension in the air thickens as the four other boys on the ground below are brought to stand next to Jinu before the Demon King.

“However, I sense that you’ve lost your focus,” the Demon king hisses. His flames grow —and conjures a mirage image of you, asleep in bed, cheek pressed to your pillow. The boys tense at the sight of you.

Their anger rises. They don’t like that you’re being presented to them like this- in front of all demons to see. Of course- everyone else in the Demon realm had an inkling- an idea of what you were to the five. It was unspoken, a rumor that spread throughout the years - that they had tied their ancient souls to a human hundreds of years ago. But no details of that pact had been known. And now, the boys were livid as every demon knew your face.

Abby grit his teeth, immediately standing and stepping forward. He didn’t want any other demons seeing you, gazing at what was his. “Don’t-!”

Jinu grabbed his shoulder back, willing his friend to calm down, even though he was struggling to contain his own anger.

“That girl... is she going to be a problem? A… distraction?” His voice was teasing. A sickeningly playful tone meant to mock them.

The boys bristle, their jaws clenched as they see the demon king’s image of you. You- who was so precious to them. Jinu steps forward, eyes hard. “She is ours. You made it so. The pact cannot be undone.”

Gwi Ma’s image of you faded and the boys all visibly relaxed, though still tense.

Gwi Ma spoke once again, voice teasing. “You remember, don’t you, Jinu? How you came crawling to me, weeping like a child the moment she died in your arms.”

Jinu’s eyes widened, haunted at the memory.

Gwi Ma continued. “You begged me to bring her back. But I gave you something better.

A deal.

Bind four others to her soul. Trap their power. Anchor her across lifetimes—and I’d let her return.

And you did it.

You found them. Broken little things. Monsters like you. You forced the bond. You made her the center of your madness.

You cursed her to be wanted. Needed. Torn apart by obsession.

All for what?

To share her?

To watch her slip through your fingers again and again?”

The boys visibly grew more tense with every word he uttered. Romance grit his teeth, and Baby’s nails dug so deep into his palms they began to bleed again. They were monsters who desperately clung to the only light they had. Demons who tainted the purest thing they had ever laid eyes on. The guilt. The shame. All weigh heavy on their hearts, but not as heavy as their deep desire for you.

Gwi Ma continued. “No matter how close she gets… she’ll never truly be yours.

But if you succeed—if you finish what I told you to—maybe I’ll give her to you.

All of you.

For good.”

Their heads snapped up at that. Disbelief and false hope gleaming in their yellow demon eyes.

Gwi Ma’s flames shift to a smile as he saw their non-subtle desperation. “Then here’s my offer.”

“Succeed. Harvest the souls before the Honmoon seals, bring down the hunters. Do your job. And I’ll let her live.”

“Fail… and I rip her from the cycle. She’ll never be reborn again.”

The boys snap their heads up. Shock, desperation, and fury ablaze on their faces. He wouldn’t dare. The boys don’t speak. But silent thoughts race through their heads. They wouldn’t have to wait centuries for you? All the endless years of loneliness and suffering… if they succeeded, they’d be gone. And you would be theirs. Fully. No more dying, no more waiting. Theirs, for all eternity.

The offer was weighing heavy in their minds. But it wasn’t even a question. How far would they go to have you? The answer was that there were no limits. No lines they wouldn’t cross. No world they wouldn’t burn to keep you.

They just kneel, a silent agreement.

They’ve waited centuries. They can wait a little longer.

But this time, they won’t just protect you.

They’ll possess you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The boys apparated back to their apartment in silence.

No music. No lights. Just the faint, cold glow of Seoul’s skyline spilling through the penthouse glass like a wound that never closed.

They didn’t speak. They couldn’t. The memory of Gwi Ma’s offer still echoed like ash in their throats. The price was steep, yes—but the reward?

You. Untouched by his claws. Unwatched. Unmanipulated. Free.

If they could ensure your soul was yours—and theirs—forever… they would pay that price a thousand times over. So they agreed. Without hesitation. Without question. Now they sat in the dark, five demons and the shape of a girl in their hearts.

It was Abby who cracked first. “She looked cold,” he muttered.

His elbows rested on his knees, large hands clenched together so tightly the skin over his knuckles had gone pale. He wasn’t looking at the others. Just the floor. Somewhere past it. Somewhere where you had been.

“She looked cold in that vision. Like she hadn’t been held in years.” He swallowed thickly. “I’d keep her warm. She’d never feel cold again. Not even for a second.” His voice broke near the end.

“She should’ve been with us.” Romance was standing by the tall windows, framed in moonlight, arms crossed tight like he was holding his chest together. “She doesn’t even remember us,” he said softly. “We’re strangers again.”

He tried to sound nonchalant—but his voice cracked on ‘again’.

Baby didn’t move from the couch. His legs were crossed, jaw tight, nails digging crescent moons into his thigh. “Then we make her remember.” He looked up. Eyes black.

“Tie her down if we have to.”

No one told him to take it back. Because all of them had thought it.

From the corner, curled on a throw blanket like a resting animal, Mystery breathed out a long, aching sigh. He was clutching something close to his chest. Your scarf. One from a lifetime ago. The threadbare edges frayed, carrying a scent only he still recognized. He’d stolen it then, kept it hidden through each century. He never let it burn.

“She cried last night,” he whispered. The room went still. “I felt it.”

They turned.

“She misses us,” he said. His voice was too soft for the size of his pain. “Even if she doesn’t know why. Even if her brain doesn’t remember—her soul does. She sees us in dreams. She reaches out.”

No one doubted him. Mystery had always been the tether. The first to feel you across lives. The first to know. He curled tighter around the scarf like it could bring you back. “She reaches,” he whispered. “But we’re not there.”

Silence again.

Then Jinu stood. The weight of four centuries in every breath he took. He moved like a monarch of grief—shoulders squared, spine straight, eyes dark and steady.

“We need a plan,” he said. The words dropped like stone. “No chaos. No claiming. Not yet.” His gaze passed over each of them, firm.

“We woo her. Win her. Make her feel safe.”

Abby let out a bitter snarl. “I don’t want to pretend. I want to take her.”

Jinu’s jaw tensed.

“So do I,” he said. “But not if it means she runs. Not if she thinks we’re monsters.”

“Are we not?” Baby asked coldly. But it wasn’t really a challenge. It was despair.

“We’re hers,” Jinu replied. “That’s all that matters.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was thick with agreement. Each boy looked down. And one by one, they nodded. For now, they’d wait. But not forever.

You would remember.

You would come back.

And when you did— You’d never be allowed to leave again.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You didn’t know why you were out this late.

You told yourself it was for a snack. The cold night air. The glow of convenience store signs. But the truth was burrowed beneath your ribs—tight, restless, and waiting. Something inside you itched, tugged. Like an invisible string pulling you down familiar streets.

You turned the corner and froze.

“Y/N?”

A voice. Soft, velvety, soaked in a sadness you didn’t understand. You looked up.

Jinu.

Standing beneath a flickering streetlight like a secret carved out of the night. Hoodie loose over his frame. Hair tousled, moonlight catching in the strands. His eyes locked with yours.

Your breath caught.

He took a step forward, hands raised slightly—like approaching a wounded animal. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said gently. “I just… recognized you.”

Recognized? Your heart began to pound. Hard. “How do you know my name?” you asked.

Jinu smiled. But it wasn’t cocky or flirty. It was aching. “Because it’s the only name that ever mattered to me.”

And that’s when it happened. A flicker behind your eyes. No—it wasn’t a flicker.

It was a memory. A feeling. A lifetime cracking through your skull like thunder.

You saw him.

Not here. Not in this hoodie, not on this street. But in crimson silk beneath a palace moon. A hanbok embroidered in gold, eyes lined with kohl. He reached for you across a garden of foxglove. Your name spilled from his lips like scripture.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Another voice. Close. Too close. Romance stepped beside you, holding a book. One from your wishlist. The exact one you’d looked at two days ago online and never bought.

You took it in trembling hands. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Because I’ve been whispering it for hundreds of years.”

The world spun.

Another vision. His fingers on yours. A past version of you, crying. Him kissing your knuckles in the candlelight.

“Because I’ve never stopped saying it,” Abby said now, appearing at your side, holding— Your scarf. The one that went missing days ago. “Even when you weren’t alive to hear it.”

FLASH. There was blood on his hands. A blade meant for you. Abby standing between it and your body, screaming your name.

Your knees went weak. You staggered. The breath in your lungs turned jagged.

A gentle touch. Behind you.

Mystery. Quiet. Wide-eyed. Fingertips brushing the sleeve of your coat like he was afraid you’d dissolve.

“I’ve known your name longer than you have,” he whispered.

You blinked—

And you were in the mountains. Your hands small. Younger. A fox curled against your legs. You were humming. He was warm. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Across the street— Baby. Still. Watching. Eyes black as obsidian. And then—

The fire.

A palace burning. Bodies. You, screaming. Baby dragging corpses away with one hand while shielding you with the other.

You gasped. Your vision blurred. Your hands shook. You didn’t know if you were crying. But you felt like you were breaking.

Romance reached out, arm around your shoulders, steadying your frame.

“She’s remembering,” Mystery said, voice trembling. “She’s starting to remember.”

You didn’t hear them clearly. Your ears rang. Your body pulsed like a struck bell. Romance’s forehead pressed to yours, voice like velvet and ashes. “We missed you,” he breathed. “So much it drove us mad.”

Abby was pacing now, unable to stay still. His eyes burned. “You smell like home,” he choked. “I forgot what that felt like.”

Baby hadn’t moved, but he looked like he might lunge. His fists were clenched. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

His eyes were nothing but shadow.

He wanted you.

Jinu stepped forward, palm raised like a commandment. “Stop,” he said. Sharp. Firm. “She’s scared.”

He was right. You were. Tears blurred your eyes. The world spun again. “Who… who are you?” you asked, barely a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

Abby took one step. “We’re yours,” he said, voice low.

Jinu caught his arm. “Abby—”

“You were ours,” Romance added, lips brushing your temple. “You will be again.”

“No—no, this isn’t real—this can’t be—” You backed up. “You’re crazy.”

You looked into their eyes for the first time. And your blood ran cold.

Not human.

They were glowing. Amber. Topaz. Garnet. Glasses of gold and rage and want.

You didn’t think—you ran. Your footsteps slammed into the alleyway pavement. Breath heaving. Vision swimming. You ran like your soul was on fire.

And behind you— They didn’t follow.

They stood, the five of them, like statues in mourning. Longing. Rage. Grief. Hunger.

Mystery whimpered once.

Baby’s fists dripped blood from his own grip.

“We scared her,” Jinu muttered, teeth grit. Shame painting his face. “We were supposed to make her feel safe.” His voice was raw.

“She looked at us like we were monsters.” Abby slammed a fist into the wall. “She didn’t even recognize me.”

Romance still watched the alley’s end where your shadow had vanished. His lips curled into something bittersweet. “Not yet,” he said. “But she will.”

The other boys turned. He smiled wider. Devastating. Determined. “Now?”

His voice dropped.

“We seduce her.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You don’t remember getting home. One moment you were running. The next, your apartment door slammed shut behind you. You locked it. Bolted it. Double-checked it.

Then you fell.

Not gracefully—like a collapse, like a marionette whose strings had been severed. You’re curled on the floor now, your fingers tangled in the hem of your clothes, your back pressed to the side of the bed. Shaking. Silent. Your chest is heaving, but the air doesn’t reach your lungs. You’re not crying because you’re sad.

You’re crying because you’re losing your mind. Every time you close your eyes… they’re there.

Jinu in royal silk, kneeling in the blood-soaked courtyard of a Joseon palace—his eyes hollow, your lifeless hand in his lap.

Romance cradling your head by a lake turned black from poison—screaming into your mouth like he could breathe life back into you.

Abby roaring over a field of corpses—his armor cracked, clutching you as smoke swallowed the sky.

Mystery baring his fangs at priests dragging you away—his form shifting between beast and boy, voice howling your name like a prayer.

And Baby—oh god.

Baby in a burning chamber, crawling toward your corpse through ash. His smile was carved wrong, twitching, shattered—his arms cradling your body like a doll as fire devoured the world around him.

You cover your ears. You curl tighter. Your bones ache. “These aren’t mine,” you whisper. “They aren’t mine—”

But they feel like they are.

The grief. The rage. The longing. The love. Too much love. It presses against your ribs like a dam waiting to crack. And deep—deep—within your chest… something stirs. Something ancient. Something hungry.

You drag yourself under the blankets. Trembling. Numb. You don’t sleep. Sleep claims you.

And you never hear the figures outside your window. Five of them. Silent on the balcony.

Jinu’s hand is on the glass, forehead pressed lightly to the cold. His eyes are shut, breath fogging the surface. He had to see you. Just once more. Even if it killed him.

Romance stands beside him, one hand in his coat pocket, the other pressed to his lips like he might say something—but doesn’t. He just watches. Unblinking.

Abby paces behind them, boots scuffing against concrete. Every noise inside your room makes his head whip toward the door. He wants to kick it down. Drag you into his arms. Keep you warm. Keep you close.

Mystery is curled beside the potted plants. His ears twitch. His claws dig into the concrete. He hears your breathing. He knows when your sleep shifts. He knows you’re dreaming.

And Baby— Baby stands furthest from the glass. He doesn't move.Just stares at your sleeping form through the sheer curtain. His eyes are too wide. His hands are in his pockets, but the blood dripping from them gives him away. He clenches his jaw. He had wanted to go after you. To hold you. To punish anyone who scared you. But Jinu made them promise.

No chaos. Not yet. They all told themselves they were here to make sure you got home safe. But deep down, none of them believed that. They were here because they needed to see you one last time. Because you were in their veins now.

Because the bond was waking.

And soon—you’d be theirs again.

───────── ༺🜃༻ ───────── Author's note: Let me know if you guys enjoyed this? I plan to expand more into the backstories as their relationship develops. I've got characterizations up just for a teaser that I might post tonight. :) With love,Willa x.

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