uniquecutie-puffs

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔.𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒔.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍/𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅, 𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔), 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒅𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 (18+)

𝑨/𝑵: 𝑯𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 💋 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏! 𝑮𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂, 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐����𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒂𝒋𝒂 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔? 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆. 𝑰 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 😈 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆 𝒖𝒑. 𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓—𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓—𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.

—𝑬𝒎𝒓𝒚𝒔 🖤

w/c: 4k

comments and reblogs would be appreciated!

The sleek glass doors shut behind you with a soft hiss.

Click.

You inhale—shallow, sharp. Straighten your blouse. Will your hands to stop shaking. The receptionist gives you a polite nod and disappears.

Then it’s just you… and the door.

You can feel the weight of it. Of what’s behind it. 

The silence. The pressure.

You already know who’s waiting.

The Saja Boys.

Five idols who rose from nowhere and took the industry by storm.

Unreachable. 

Unstoppable. 

Too perfect to be human.

You take a breath as the door opens.

You don’t feel the tension—not until the door clicks shut and five pairs of eyes lock onto you, all at once.

And suddenly, you feel it.

Something shifts

When she walked in, they didn’t just notice her.

They felt her.

And it nearly destroyed their restraint.

The office is quiet. White walls. Cold lights. Sanitized stillness.

But the moment your foot crosses the threshold—

Five heads turn.

Five bodies go still.

And then— The scent hits them.

You.

Soft. Warm. Theirs.

The bond snaps tight.

Jinu is the first to react.

His spine straightened so fast it felt like lightning shot through it. And for a moment—just one trembling moment—Jinu forgot who he was supposed to be. Forgot the polished idol image, the perfect self-control, the hundreds of rules he’d buried himself beneath.

Because you were standing in front of him.

Soft. Radiant. Meant for him.

Theirs.

“No one moves,” he murmurs to the others, voice like velvet over a blade. “Do not shift. Don’t even breathe.”

Not when you were standing there like that.

Not when his control was already this close to snapping.

His knuckles were white. His thighs were tense under the table. And his eyes—those burning, gold-flickering eyes—never left you.

Beside him, Abby twitches. His nostrils flare. The trademark smirk is gone, replaced by something raw. Animal.

His nostrils flare once.

And then—

He purrs.

A deep, rumbling growl laced with longing and hunger. “Shit,” he breathes, gaze locked to your lips like he wants to feel every sound you’ve ever made. “That smell. It’s her. It’s really her.”

The bond is hitting too fast. Too hard.

Romance’s leg drops from the couch, his body tensing like a current just jolted through him. He blinks once—slowly. Then his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he’s already savoring something forbidden.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, head tipping back for a breath that does nothing to cool him down. “I knew she’d be gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. His hand drags down the front of his slacks, subtly adjusting himself with a hiss through his teeth, his jaw tight.

“But this…” His eyes rake down your body.

“Fuck,” he exhales, jaw tight. His head drops back for a second, and when he looks at you again, his eyes are dark and glazed.

“She’s too much,” he murmurs, voice strained. “One look and I’m already—”

He doesn’t finish.

Doesn’t need to.

The way his fingers linger at his waistband says enough.

“Why do I want to devour her?”

Then his gaze drops. Scans the curve of your thighs, the flutter of your breath, the tremble you’re trying so hard to hide—and he purrs too.

Quieter, but deeper.

Hungrier.

Baby, the one who never shows anything, suddenly pushes up from his seat, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed like he’s fighting something inside himself. 

“Because she’s ours,” he growls. “She’s made of everything we were promised. And we’re not letting her go.”

And Mystery?

Mystery doesn’t rise. He jerks like he’s been burned.

His gaze? Locked on your throat like it’s the only thing in the world he wants to touch, taste, mark.

He breathes in once.

Then purrs.

A long, rumbling, possessive purr that vibrates the air.

“Mate,” he croaks. “Mine.”

“Ours,” Jinu snaps. Quiet. Taut with restraint. His canines peek behind his lips.

You stop mid-step, caught in their collective stare.

Your pulse flutters. Your breath trembles.

Still, you try.

“Um… hello,” you begin softly, forcing a smile. Your fingers tighten on your resume. “My name is—”

But the second your voice breaks the silence—

The sound shatters them.

They all inhale. Hard.

Abby curses under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Oh, fuck. She sounds even better than I imagined.”

You blink. Your cheeks flush.

You’re not sure why it feels like the room is getting smaller, like their stares are pressing against your skin. “I—I’m here for the manager position,” you manage to say, voice wobbling slightly.

Romance lets out a choked moan and grips the back of the couch so hard his knuckles bleach white, clawing into the leather.

“She sounds like heaven,” he groans.” Jinu—fuck—say something. Do something. Before I put her on my lap and—”

“Shut up,” Jinu snaps, golden eyes never leaving you. “Not now. Not yet.”

His voice cracks like a whip, but it’s the only thing keeping Romance from losing it.

Romance doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t pretend to be sorry.

He just licks his lips again, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with hunger.

And his claws?

They’re still embedded in the couch.

Because if they weren’t…

They’d be on you.

His eyes never leave you. Not even for a second.

Mystery makes a sound from deep in his chest—barely a growl, more like a purr, dark and rumbling. His claws are dug into the leather of the armrest, his knuckles pale. The tension in his jaw is brutal.

Baby looks calm, but the white grip of his hand on the table says otherwise. His shoulders are too still. His nostrils flare with every breath you take, like your scent is coating his lungs.

He looks starved.

And Jinu…

Jinu doesn’t move. But his fingers flex—once—on the table. His claws extend, clicking softly against the wood.

They don't blink.

They don't breathe.

The air is suffocating—saturated with your scent, your voice, the unmistakable tension of a bond that has already begun wrapping around all of you.

You shift slightly, heart stuttering.

Their stares don’t just watch.

They burn.

“She’s shaking already,” Abby murmurs with a slow, hungry grin. “Cute.”

You flinch.

Your fingers tighten around your resume. Your shoulders twitch. Your knees feel like they might give.

You didn't mean to react.

But gods—you did.

You’re flushed. Too warm. Your breath catches in your throat and you swear you can feel every pair of eyes on your skin.

Romance inhales slowly like he’s savoring your scent. “She likes it,” he says softly. “She’s trembling because of us.”

Abby hums behind him. “Of course she does.” His voice drops to a near-growl. “She feels the pull. Even if she doesn’t understand it yet—her body does.”

Your soul knows.

Your pulse flutters so hard it aches.

You open your mouth to speak, desperate to ground yourself. “I—um, I’m here for the—”

You can’t finish. Your voice fails.

And that’s when one of the staff—smirking, oblivious—laughs from the back of the room.

“Seriously? She’s already shaking just from being looked at? She won’t last a day around idols if she’s this weak.”

You didn’t mean to react. 

Just a twitch. Shoulders tightening. Eyes dropping for a second.

And they noticed it.

The world… snaps.

The change is immediate. Violent. Silent.

Jinu doesn’t speak.

He turns.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

His golden gaze slices the air—sharp, frozen, lethal.

Romance’s smirk drops.

His head tilts. His eyes go cold.

“He thinks he’s funny,” Romance says. The venom is quiet—but unmistakable. “That’s cute.”

Mystery growls.

Actually growls. A low, animalistic sound that vibrates in his chest and makes the walls seem too thin. He doesn't blink. He stares the man down like a predator tracking prey.

And for a second—just a flash—you thought you saw fangs.

What… what are they?

The temperature in the room drops. The lights seem too bright now. The air too thin.

Abby doesn’t even try to hide it. He stands, rolling his shoulders with a crack. The heat that pours off him makes the room feel too small.

“You’re lucky she’s still here,” he says, teeth bared in a grin that’s all hunger and threat. “We’re already holding back more than you deserve.”

Baby doesn’t say much. But the way he moves from leaning to standing—slowly, deliberately—makes the message clear.

Back off.

You can't move. You can barely breathe.

Their fury isn’t just protective—it’s obsessive.

It’s possessive in the way fire consumes everything it touches.

You blink—your whole body trembling now—and the worst part?

You love it.

Jinu tilts his head slightly, the gold in his eyes catching the light just right.

“Everyone out,” he says.

Silence.

“This is a closed meeting now,” Jinu continues, voice low, firm. Final. “You weren’t invited to speak. And you won’t again.”

The manager hesitates. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

The others around him begin to shuffle out—no one looking back. Not one of them dares meet your eyes. Or theirs.

And the second the door clicks shut—

Silence returns.

But now… it's heavier. Hotter.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe too loudly.

Not when five of the most powerful idols in the industry—men the world worships—are staring at you like they want to devour you.

Not with their fans.

Not with their fame.

With something deeper.

Darker.

Their eyes are all different, but every pair is locked on you.

You stood in the center of it—fingers clenched, heart pounding like it wanted out of your chest.

Abby’s hand twitched at his side. He stared like he was holding himself together with raw instinct alone.“I need to touch her,” he breathed, and it wasn’t a question.

“We found her,” Baby muttered, like he still couldn’t believe it. His voice was a hush, reverent. “We found our mate.”

The words settled. Sank. The room grew darker. Heavier. The bond pulling tight like it was breathing through them.

Jinu’s command cracked through the air like ice. “Control yourselves.” But even his voice trembled now. His smile was cracking, fangs just starting to peek through as the gold in his eyes gleamed brighter.

Romance moved first.

Not fast. Not reckless.

Predatory.

A slow, deliberate circle—his body a storm winding around the eye. You. He inhaled, deep and shaky, like your scent was feeding him.

He reached up, fingers brushing your lips. So gentle it made you shiver. He tilted your chin just enough to study your mouth, the tremble in your lashes, the flush rising beneath your skin.

“So soft,” he murmured, the words like silk against your flesh.

Then lower—closer

“This mouth…”

His thumb grazed your bottom lip.

“…Do you even know what it does to us?”

You try to step back.

But there’s no room.

Abby’s already behind you, body heat pressing in, his chest flush against your back—broad, hard, unyielding.

His palm slid over your waist.

Slow. 

Possessive.

Intentional.

Not quite touching—just enough to make your breath hitch.

He leaned in. His breath kissed your neck. “She smells too fucking good,” he growls, almost pained.

His lips grazed your skin. A feather-soft press. Like he needed to memorize you by taste.

You whimper

The smallest sound. A breath, barely audible.

But it’s enough.

Enough to snap the fragile tension in the room like glass.

Abby shudders violently behind you. His grip on your waist tightens. “There it is,” he growls into your hair. “Say it again, angel. Make it for me. That perfect little sound.”

Romance groaned like it physically hurt. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice cracking as his hand cupped your jaw. “Don’t make that sound unless you’re ready to be ruined.”

Behind you, Abby cursed under his breath, lips brushing your ear. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to us.”

And then they purred.

A deep, thrumming sound that vibrates through your spine, into your ribs, into your skull. It surrounds you. Drowns you. Fills your chest with heat and pressure and need.

And your mind?

Your mind is no longer safe.

You were made for them.

You belong to them.

You gasped.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Romance whispered, dragging a single finger down your throat. “That pull. That ache. You don’t even know why you need us… but you do.”

Your knees buckled—and Abby caught you.

Strong arms curled around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. “Say it,” he growled into your hair. “Tell us what you need.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you gasped, voice trembling, eyes wide.

You didn’t understand what was happening.

Why your body was so aware of theirs.

Why your chest ached.

Behind Romance, Mystery shifts.

A low, rumbling purr vibrates from his chest—feral and drawn out. His golden eyes are glowing now. He hasn’t moved an inch, but the air around him crackles with the tension of someone on the edge.

“She’s submitting,” he rasps, voice ragged. “She doesn’t even know it yet.”

Romance hums low in his throat close to a purr.  “Oh, she knows. Look at her.”

His fingers trail down your throat again, slower this time. Teasing. Taunting “Her body knows who she belongs to. Look at her. She likes it.”

The pressure is building. Your thighs squeeze together. You’re burning from the inside out and the only thing that will fix it is them.

And in your mind—

Something curls. Something gives in.

Be a good girl for them.

Let go.

You’re already theirs.

And then you say it.

Soft. Broken. Barely a whisper.

“Please.”

Every single one of them reacts.

Romance lets out a trembling exhale, teeth flashing behind his parted lips. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, lips parting in awe. “Good girl… give us more of that.”

Abby freezes behind you, fingers pressing tighter into your waist like he's anchoring himself to your skin.

Baby flinches. His shoulders tense, and for a second—just a second—something in his skin glows. Flickers. Twitches.

You see something dark shimmer beneath the surface. Something barely restrained.“Shit,” he hisses. “They’re triggering it.”

Baby’s jaw is tight, his golden eyes sharp and gleaming.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

But he watches you like you’re already his to ruin.

“More,” Mystery hisses. His voice is low, feral, close. Too close. You don’t know when he moved behind you, but now you feel him. His heat. His breath. The sharp scrape of claw grazing your hip. “Let her make that sound again.”

Romance’s hands hover at your waist, trembling with restraint. “Do it again, baby,” he purrs, voice thick. “Be a good girl for us. Let us hear what we do to you.”

Abby leans in, lips brushing the curve of your neck so softly it steals your breath. “Beg, pretty girl,” he growls into your skin. “Come on. Give it to us.”

Your thighs press together, involuntarily. Your breath shudders.

“P-Please—” you choke, voice breaking as your lashes flutter. You don’t even know what you’re asking for anymore. Just that you need it.

Abby buries his face in your hair. “Fuck, she’s perfect,” he growls. “She doesn’t even know what that word does to us.”

Romance groans like it physically hurts.

He drags one hand up to cup your jaw, tilting your head just enough for his lips to hover by yours—so close, so warm. Not kissing. Just owning the space around you.

“Please what?”

Baby steps closer, suddenly in front of you, his voice velvet and burning. “Say it again, sweetheart.” His eyes lock onto yours, pupils blown wide. “Say what you’re begging for.”

You can’t look at him.

You can’t look at any of them.

“I—” You swallow. “I don’t know what’s happening. I just—please…”

You whimper again, soft and desperate.

And it breaks something.

Romance makes a low, pained sound like it hurts to hold back. “Fuck. She’s begging.”

“I can’t take it,” Abby growls, low and raw, and buries his face in your neck like he’s seconds from sinking his teeth in. “She smells like she wants us to ruin her.”

“She does,” Mystery rumbles, his voice raw. “She wants it. She wants us.”

And then you hear it.

Them.

All of them.

Purring.

Low. Vibrational. Possessive.

It rolls from their chests like thunder held on a leash. The kind of sound that wraps around your spine and makes you tremble.

You melt.

Jinu hasn’t moved from the center of the room. But his jaw is clenched, and his golden eyes are molten. “She’s trembling,” he says. “Don’t make her afraid.”

“She’s not afraid,” Abby murmurs. “She’s aroused.”

And gods, you are.

You wish they were wrong.

You wish your thighs weren’t pressed together, your skin flushed and burning.

But they know.

They feel it.

And when Romance finally dips low enough to brush his lips against your shoulder—

You let out the softest, most desperate little moan that’s ever left your throat.

And that’s the end of it.

Their composure cracks.

“Shit,” Abby snarls, stepping in tighter against you, practically caging you with his heat.

“You keep making that sound,” Romance murmurs, voice thick with restraint as he leans in. His lips brush beneath your ear, soft and deliberate. “And we’re going to lose it.”

He presses a kiss just under your jaw. Then another, slower, lower—trailing heat along your throat. Not your lips. Not yet.

His hand cradles the back of your neck, firm and possessive. “Is that what you want, pretty girl?” he breathes against your skin. “To see what happens when we stop holding back?”

“No,” you whisper.

Yes.

Mystery growls—the real kind this time, low and guttural. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Already learning how to submit.

“Say it,” Baby commands, his voice rough now. “Say you’re ours.”

The bond tightens like a noose.

You’re burning.

And that’s when Jinu snaps.

You hear the sound before you see it—wood tearing as his claws split through the polished table.

A warning. A command. A fight for control.

“Control yourselves.”he growls, voice dark and shaking. “She’s not ready.”

But you are.

Your body is. Your soul is.

It’s just your nerves that falter.

Your hands tremble when Abby presses close, his chest firm against your back. His breath ghosts over your skin, ragged with restraint, lips hovering just above your neck.

“She was made for this,” he growls, low and aching. “Made to beg. Made to be ours.”

He dips his head—and kisses you.

Slow.

Possessive.

Right beneath your ear.

“Our girl.”

At the same time, Romance steps in close from the front, his fingers cradling your jaw, tilting your chin up for him like you already belong to him. “To be kissed,” he whispers, eyes flicking over every inch of your face like it’s sacred. “To be worshipped.”

“Ours.”

He dips down—not to your lips—but to your throat.

He kisses there first. Then lower.

Across your collarbone.

Your shoulder.

Their mouths move over you in sync—Abby breathing you in behind your ear, Romance trailing heat over your chest, your neck, your jawline. Like you’re something holy. Something that belongs to them.

And you do.

Your mouth parts. The word nearly falls.

You want them. Gods, you want them.

But five bodies. Five voices. Their scents wrapping around you like velvet chains.

The heat. The hunger. 

The bond pulling tighter, tighter—

You’re drowning in them. And you love it.

But your body… can’t take it.

The room closes in. Your chest tightens.

Your body says yes.

Your soul says yes.

But your nerves scream “run.”

You step back again. They feel like fire closing in around you. You barely know them, but your body is already reacting—bonding. “Wait,” you breathe, backing up a step. “I—I need a second—”

Romance’s smile falters. Abby’s fingers twitch.

“Don’t run,” Baby murmurs, his arms are crossed, but his eyes track every breath you take. He shifts like he might move—like he wants to move.

“We won’t hurt you,” Romance says softly. His voice is almost pleading. “Just… don’t leave yet.”

You’re shaking. “I can’t—” you breathe, voice small. “I need to leave.”

And then—before anyone can stop you— You turn.

And you run.

You push past Romance’s arm. Your shoulder brushes his chest. He lets you go, jaw tight, muscles taut like a held scream.

You make it to the door. You reach for the handle—

And behind you, everything erupts.

They move instantly.

“Wait—” Abby’s voice is sharper now, almost a growl. “Where are you—”

Romance reaches for you. Mystery flinches forward.

And then—

“Stop.”

Jinu’s voice cuts through everything like a blade dipped in ice.

Everything freezes.

Even the air feels still—held, tense, burning.

Abby growls. Romance drags both hands through his hair and curses.

Mystery lets out a guttural purr, his claws twitching as he watches the door close behind you.

Baby just exhales sharply, eyes still locked on where you stood. 

“Let her.” Jinu’s voice is calm. Too calm.

A storm held behind golden eyes.

Silence descends.

Heavy.

Trembling.

Abby’s fists curl. His jaw ticks, breath ragged. “She was—she was about to beg again.”

“She was ours in that moment,” Romance snarls, pacing like he’s seconds from shifting. “Her voice—fuck, that sound—do you know what that did to me?”

Mystery hasn’t moved.

But his golden eyes glow with a slow, simmering burn.

His voice, when it comes, is hoarse. Strained. “She ran.”

Baby doesn’t speak. He just watches the door like he can see through it. Like any second she’ll come back through it and throw herself into their arms.

His hands tremble at his sides.

“Let her breathe,” Jinu says quietly—but there’s nothing calm in him anymore. His voice is tight. Controlled. Dangerous. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening yet. But she will.”

No one speaks.

“She’s ours. You smelled it. You felt it. So did she.”  His jaw clenches. His voice dips “And if you chase her now, she’ll run harder.”

Romance paces, frustrated. “She wanted it. She was trembling. You saw her. She was seconds from falling apart for us.”

Abby’s voice is broken. Barely held together. “She made that sound,” he grits out, eyes wide and wild. “That sound that’s going to haunt me. That little whimper. That plea. She gave it to us. And now I can’t fucking breathe without hearing it again.”

They fall silent again.

Not because there’s nothing more to say—

But because the bond has already said it.

Because they can still feel her.

Out in the hallway.

Running.

But tethered.

Tangled.

The bond never breaks. It just tightens.

And gods, she feels it too.

You lean against the wall just out of view, gasping softly, hand to your chest like you’re trying to keep your heart from tearing through your ribs.

They're still inside.

And you feel them.

Their tension. Their desire. Their claim.

Like invisible fingers wrapped around your ribs, pulling.

Their voices echo in your memory.

Say it. 

Beg for it.

Be a good girl for us.

You’re ours now.

Your lips part. Your chest rises. You can barely breathe.

You should be terrified.

But you’re not.

A part of you—deep and trembling and starving—wants to turn around, throw the door open, fall to your knees and whisper what they’ve been aching to hear.

I’m yours.

Back inside, Mystery stiffens.

He lifts his head slowly, golden eyes glowing.

“…She’s still close,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I can feel her. She didn’t leave.”

Jinu’s jaw is locked tight, but the burn in his eyes betrays him. His voice is cold steel wrapped in heat. “She will,” he says. “She’ll try to run. But she’ll crawl back.”

A pause.

“And when she does…”

Abby smiles—slow and terrifying. “We won’t let her leave”

“The bond has already begun,” Jinu says quietly, stepping toward them. “She’s tangled in it as deeply as we are.”

His canines flash. “She feels it too. I know she does.”

This time, no one stops smiling.

No one pretends.

Romance steps toward the door and rests his palm against it, eyes fluttering shut like he’s praying.

But there’s nothing innocent in the prayer. Just hunger.

“When she comes back,” he says softly, “we take her.”

Abby growls deep in his chest. “No more soft touches. No more teasing her with what we could give.” He steps forward, voice dark with promise. “Next time, she gets everything.”

A low, rumbling purr vibrates from Baby’s chest. “Everything she begged for,” he murmurs, voice like silk-wrapped sin. “And everything her pretty little body’s still too shy to admit it needs.”

Jinu turns, his golden eyes flickering with something dark and endless.

“No matter how far she runs…”

His lips curve—not a smile. Something deeper. Hungrier. Fated.

“…she’s already ours.”

A beat.

A breath.

Then, lower—richer—deadly tender

“And we’ve been hers from the second she stepped into this room.”

They don’t chase.

Not tonight.

But the heat of their restraint crackles in the air like lightning about to strike. Their bodies are tight with the need to move. Their teeth ache to sink in. Their hands are still open, waiting—aching—to feel you again.

And when you come back—because you will—

they’ll be ready.

Not to ask. Not to beg.

To claim.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @enerofairy @gremlinartstudio @bluediamondlove @simpingbigtime @soleilscb the-bookish-artist @hornehlittleweeblet2 @mizukiblogs @seafoamfelly @apelepikozume @darlette @shirasakai @mxvoid26 @sentai-sstuff @mikajack9273 @chin-chii @deepangelpartykid @zomqiez @prorpy @skaikruthe100 @eeiternity @alicelinxs @eternallyrosyfire @splaterparty0-0 @junebugessentials @permanenceimp @nacihe @rerarlo @loudtalehologram @v-gremlin @bluediamondlove @strayharmony943 @izzieg3987 @mama-m1na @ratchetprime211 @mizuzuzuzuzuzu @scarameowdanyan @p00runfortunates01 @cloo-in @kanaes-world @foxxbee-2963 @doggyteam2028 @marz-menace @starrgrlll @valeriele3 @puppyminnnie @momentomoribitch @zuoran03 @lunashewolf117 @star-melody @kethelibra @kyrah-williams @yuhjoeyuh @starr-matterr @sweetgoateelight @beexboo @scarameowdanyan @too-much242 @sparky2020sworld @gabywho

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Change 2

Jinu X fem. reader

part1

word count: 4.7k

a/n: I bless you guys with this, idk why I made it like this and shit but yeah here the last part yall

Synopsis: ╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe. That is, until fate stepped in. A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆ You vaulted over the railing of your penthouse bedroom, landing with a soft thud on the floor below. Sliding the glass door open, you walked in with a tired groan and shook your head, muttering under your breath.

“Why the hell did I do that…” you sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Stupid. So stupid.”

Sealing your father’s voice—the ancient, terrifying weight of Gwi Ma’s presence—into Jinu’s head temporarily? That wasn’t just reckless. That was borderline suicidal.

A low, rumbling growl snapped you out of your spiral.

Your gaze shifted toward the bed, where a massive figure had claimed your mattress.

Not a dog.

A wolf.

No—a demon wolf.

It lay there like it owned the place, sprawled across your bed with limbs stretched out in every direction, completely unbothered by your mental crisis. Its fur shimmered faintly under the moonlight slipping through the windows, black with streaks of silver like ink in motion. Its tail gave a lazy flick.

The demon yawned, glancing at you with glowing amber eyes before settling back down.

You raised an eyebrow. “You're real comfortable, huh?”

In response, the wolf purred—a deep, vibrating sound—and rubbed its fur deeper into your mattress. You plopped down at the edge of the bed with a tired grunt. The wolf shifted without protest, curling around and laying its massive head on your lap.

You stared down at it for a long moment. The gentle rise and fall of its breathing didn’t match the chaos in your mind.

Because really, what the hell had you done?

You sealed Gwi Ma’s voice inside Jinu.

Temporarly

Jinu. Of all people.

Why him?

Was it pity? Guilt?

Or was it something uglier—some selfish instinct to push the curse onto someone who could carry it without tearing your world apart?

You couldn’t even explain it to yourself.

And now, it was done.

The seal was in place. Gwi Ma’s voice echoed in Jinu’s mind, long gone for now. And you could only hope he was strong enough to handle it.

You sighed, hand absentmindedly brushing through the wolf’s thick fur.

Even if you tried to avoid it, your paths were bound to cross again. You were both idols, standing on stages under the same spotlights, your names whispered in the same circles.

Destiny had its own sense of humor.

“Maybe the Huntrix will just finish the job,” you muttered dryly. “Save us both the trouble.”

The wolf let out a sleepy snort.

You weren’t even sure if that was agreement—or mockery.

You stood in front of the mirror in your waiting room, hands braced on the vanity as you tried to calm the racing of your heart. The makeup lights made your skin glow, but your eyes—your eyes told a different story. Focused. Fierce. A little scared.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, held it, then exhaled slowly.

Tonight wasn’t just another comeback. This was the comeback.

Your outfit shimmered under the warm lights—custom, sharp, stage-ready. The mic was clipped to your ear, in-ear monitors already tucked in. Everything was set. This was your newest single’s first live performance on Mnet, and the world was watching.

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Y/N, you're up in five!” called a staff member through the door.

You swallowed hard and forced a reply. “Y-yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Their footsteps faded. Silence returned. You looked back at your reflection and gave yourself a small nod.

You’ve worked too hard to get here. Too many sleepless nights. Too many sacrifices. This stage is yours. Nothing and no one’s going to take it away.

With that thought, you turned and grabbed the door handle.

But the second you opened it, your body froze.

Your breath hitched.

“What the heck are you doing here?” you blurted, eyes narrowing.

“Jinu…”

He stood leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing his idol outfit, but there was no mistaking him. Same intense eyes. Same aura that never really let you breathe when he was close.

“We need to talk,” Jinu said calmly, voice low but serious.

You blinked, shaking your head. “Now? Really? I’m about to go on stage.”

You moved past him quickly, boots echoing against the linoleum floor as you headed for the backstage corridor. But of course, you heard him behind you. His quiet, deliberate footsteps.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, not even glancing back.

“I think there is,” he replied, but his tone wasn’t biting. It was... tired. Hesitant.

You kept walking.

But then you felt it—his hand wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist. You stopped in your tracks. You feel the demon patterns on both of your arms starting to form.

“Y/N,” he said, and this time when you looked back, you saw it—whatever he’d been holding in. The regret. The urgency. The softness he only ever showed you behind closed doors.

You didn’t speak.

Not yet.

But you didn’t pull away either.

“I don’t want to work with him anymore,” Jinu said finally. “With Gwi Ma.”

You blinked. 

He looked straight at you.

“You can help. You’re his daughter.”

You stiffened instantly. The hallway felt colder.

“Don’t say that out loud,” you snapped, stepping forward, eyes darting. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t back off.

“You are,” he said. “You don’t work under him. You were never branded. Never bound like the rest of us. You're the only one who can talk to him without a blade at your throat.”

Your mouth opened—but you didn’t know what to say.

The truth was… he wasn’t wrong.

You hated it. You hated that your blood had ties to a name like Gwi Ma’s. You hated that even after cutting every tie, leaving the underworld, his rule, everything behind, people like Jinu still found you. Still needed something from you that only he could give.

But beneath the tension, the unspoken history, and all the things you left unsaid... You and Jinu shared one undeniable truth— Freedom.

You both craved it. From the shadows. From the blood-soaked contracts. From the underworld that shaped you and broke you in the same breath.

You weren’t just performers. You were survivors. Bound by the same cursed fate that ran deeper than fame, deeper than music. You both wanted out.

Jinu’s grip on your wrist loosened slightly, like he didn’t want to force you—like he hoped you’d choose him on your own.

And you did.

You closed your eyes, the weight of everything catching up to you for just a second. 

“…Fine.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Tired. Resigned. But resolute.

You opened your eyes, lifting your gaze to meet his. Jinu’s expression had softened, the usual cool edge in his stare melting into something vulnerable. Something real.

“I’ll help you,” you said quietly.

His hand didn’t let go—but it didn’t tighten either. It just stayed. Solid. Grounding. A silent thank you.

The stage was calling, but now… so was the war you swore you'd never fight again

Your legs dangled over the balcony railing, swaying slightly above a dizzying drop—hundreds of feet from the ground. One wrong movement and it would be over in an instant. But the danger didn’t faze you. Not tonight.

The city glowed beneath you—alive, unaware. Neon signs blinked in rhythm with traffic. A breeze rustled your hair, cool against your skin.

“You’re a terrible sneaker, you know that?” you said casually, not even turning your head.

A low chuckle answered you before a soft thud followed. You glanced sideways to see Jinu, landing on your balcony with the grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times.

“What gave it away?” he asked, brows raised as he pulled back his hood.

You turned your eyes back to the skyline. “I can feel your energy. It always gives you away.”

A dim glow started to pulse along your arm—faint, curling demon marks slowly forming like ink soaking through your skin. You studied them with no urgency, just resignation.

Jinu leaned beside you on the railing, hands in his pockets. He didn’t interrupt the silence.

“My father…” you began, voice low, “is the worst man alive.”

That caught Jinu’s attention. He turned slightly toward you, waiting.

You gave a bitter laugh. “And I’m his favorite daughter. Funny, right? The one he loved most… is the one who betrayed him.”

Jinu didn’t speak, but his silence felt like encouragement. You continued.

“I don’t even know how I survived all these years.” He tilted his head. “Then how did you?” he asked softly.

You finally looked at him, eyes tired but calm. “I fed,” you said bluntly. “On corrupted souls. I hunted them myself, quietly. It was the only way I knew how to live without becoming what he wanted.”

Jinu's expression darkened, but he remained quiet.

“When I was a child,” you continued, “he started sending me here… slipping me through cracks between realms like I was nothing. Just a spy. A pawn.” You exhaled sharply. “He didn’t care how small I was. He just wanted information. Souls. Obedience.”

Your hands clenched the railing. “But every time I crossed over… I felt something. Peace. Even if it was brief.”

You smiled faintly, eyes softening with the memory.

“A young couple found me once. Took me in. They thought I was just a lost child.” You paused, your voice nearly breaking. “They were kind. They raised me. Loved me. And when my father found out—he forced me to take their souls.”

Jinu finally looked at you fully. You didn’t meet his eyes.

“That was the moment I knew,” you whispered, “it was all wrong. Everything. I ran. I hid. I started using my power in secret—helping the Hunters. Sealing the honmoon. Destroying demons that slipped through.”

“…And killing your own kind,” Jinu finished for you, voice steady.

You nodded.

“I killed them because they were hurting innocents. Because they didn’t care who they destroyed. But I’m no hero either… I’ve taken souls too, even after I swore I wouldn’t.”

Your voice cracked as you added, “I know this world isn’t perfect. It’s full of pain and selfishness. But it’s still better than the never-ending torment of the underworld.”

Jinu didn’t speak right away. The wind rustled your hair again. Then he said, barely above a whisper:

"Sounds to me like you saved yourself."

You blinked slowly, letting his words sink in like a knife dulled by time but still sharp enough to hit where it hurts.

Then, quieter, gentler—his voice barely above a breath:

“And maybe… there’s still more worth saving.”

Your gaze met his, locked—daring, vulnerable, charged with something you didn’t want to name.

"You..." you whispered.

In a swift motion, you leapt from the railing, boots landing soundlessly against the cold rooftop tiles. Jinu pushed himself off the opposite side, standing tall as he faced you—chest rising with every slow inhale.

Then, it began.

Your patterns awakened first—slowly crawling up your arms like living ink, pulsing with familiar power, before consuming you entirely. Your eyes burned with a fierce, glowing violet hue. This was the real you. The form you didn’t show just anyone.

Your demon form stood bare before him.

Jinu's breath caught in his throat. His lips parted. He couldn’t look away. Something primal stirred in him as he lowered his gaze—his own markings responding instinctively. They crawled across his skin like heat rising beneath the surface, until his yellow eyes locked with yours—burning to match.

You stepped toward him, silent, slow, dangerous. Your hand rose, fingertips barely grazing his jaw before your palms gently cupped his face—like you’d done the last time you were alone. Back when everything was simpler... or maybe just easier to ignore.

Jinu didn’t move. He stood there, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes. You leaned in slightly, almost ready to speak the chant pulsing at the back of your throat.

But his voice stopped you.

“You never noticed me…” he murmured, barely audible—like a secret spilling from a locked place in his chest.

You froze, the words anchoring you in place.

“What?” you breathed.

He smiled faintly. Not out of happiness—out of resignation.

“I kept seeing you with Gwi Ma… I wanted to talk to you, I did. But I always got cold feet.” His laugh was soft, bitter. “Back then, I was barely holding it together. Newly turned, still figuring out how to control the patterns. But you...”

His voice trailed as the memory pulled him back. His gaze softened.

“You stood there, with your head high, commanding the space like you were born for it. Gwi Ma gave you orders, and you didn’t even flinch. You looked untouchable.”

You remembered that moment. The spy meetings. The night before everything shifted.

Jinu’s voice broke the silence again, quiet and aching:

“Ever since that day…” his voice was low, smoky, just above a whisper. “I couldn’t stop watching you.”

Jinu stepped forward—slow, deliberate. The kind of step that didn’t just close distance, it claimed it. His golden eyes flickered under the moonlight like burning embers behind smoke, catching every unsteady breath you took.

“And then you disappeared,” he murmured, now just inches away.

His words ghosted over your lips, and though he hadn't touched you yet, you could taste him in the air—warm, wild, and aching with something unsaid.

“Without a word,” he added, almost accusing. But his tone was soft. Hurt, maybe. Or worse—longing.

You couldn’t answer. Not really. Not with how your chest tightened. Not with how his presence filled the air like a storm.

“Until now.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how much he still affected you. How he always had. Since the first time he saw you—really saw you—backstage during Play Games With Us.

He told himself you just looked like her. Just a random idol with a familiar face. But when your paths crossed… when your shoulders brushed and he felt that undeniable pattern in his soul unlock—he knew.

It was you.

The girl he never had the courage to speak to in the demon world.

The one who haunted him across dimensions.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, deafening in your ears. It was too loud. Too fast. And somehow, Jinu heard it anyway.

“I see it now…” he whispered, his hand rising slowly to cup your cheek. His touch was impossibly gentle. No trace of the coldness your kind were known for. Just warmth—steady, real.

“The real you.”

You didn’t dare speak. The moment was too fragile, like it would shatter if you so much as breathed wrong.

Only the tension. The breath you both held. The weight of everything unsaid.

The ghost of hands that had hovered close but never touched.

Lips that once looked but never dared.

Not until now.

When his lips pressed against yours, your eyes widened. It was slow. Searching. Testing a boundary he’d waited years to cross.

You didn’t pull away.

You melted.

Your eyes closed.

Your lips parted—inviting him in without knowing why. Needing him like oxygen.

His hand moved to your hip, firm and possessive, pulling you against him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped past your lips, and the kiss turned hungry, urgent, electric.

And all you could think was:

Finally.

Your heels hit the floor with each backward step, heartbeat pounding loud enough to drown everything else out—except him.

Jinu followed without hesitation, lips crashing into yours, his breath hot and uneven as he kissed you like he’d been starving. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer like the space between you two offended him.

Your back hit the cool glass of the sliding door. The contact made you gasp into his mouth, your hand still cupping his cheek while your other reached behind blindly, fingers fumbling until the door slid open. You stepped backward again, drawing him in, and he didn’t even pause—just kicked the door shut behind you.

The room was colder than expected, but neither of you noticed.

Not really.

Jinu broke the kiss, panting, his forehead leaning against yours as he stared at you—eyes blown wide, dark with something primal.

"You're so beautiful..." he breathed, but it wasn’t just admiration. It was a whimper. A confession. A breaking point.

Then he kissed you again—messier, harder, almost frantic. Desperate hands pulled you forward as he guided you to the edge of the bed, gripping your hips to keep you from falling too fast.

You shivered, but not from the cold.

He laid you down with care that contrasted the hunger in his touch. One hand slipped under your shirt, palm splaying over your stomach, fingers dragging up—slow and teasing—until they reached the curve of your chest. The other hand slid down, rougher now, grabbing your thigh and lifting it up, anchoring you to him.

You wrapped your leg around his waist instinctively, pulling him in, grinding into the pressure.

He groaned low in his throat, redirecting the kiss—his lips trailed from your mouth to your chin, along your jaw, then lower. His mouth attacked your neck—biting, sucking, leaving a trail of heat and bruises and sin. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your hips arched into him.

You turned your head to the side, offering more, wanting more.

And he took it. Eagerly.

His lips found the spot behind your ear and when his tongue flicked against the skin, you nearly lost it. His knees shifted between your thighs and when one of them brushed there—through the fabric, right against your already wet slit—

You moaned.

You tried to stop it. Bit your lip. But it slipped out, raw and breathy and broken.

Jinu froze for just a second—just long enough to hear it, feel it—and when he looked back down at you, eyes dark and wild and locked on yours, it was clear.

He wanted to ruin you.

And God—you were going to let him.

Jinu’s hand slid slowly up your thigh, fingers trailing fire beneath your skin. He brushed against the edge of your shorts, and his smirk deepened the moment he felt it—the telltale dampness soaked through the fabric.

“Mm,” he hummed lowly, eyes locked on yours. “You’re already wet for me.”

The way he said it, voice all gravel and dark delight, made your breath catch. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down where his fingers teased, hovering but never touching where you needed him most. Your lips parted—maybe to protest, maybe to pretend you weren’t so shamelessly worked up already.

But you couldn’t lie. Not to him.

Not when your body betrayed you so easily.

Jinu's eyes gleamed. "No need to hide it, baby."

He gripped the waistband of your shorts and underwear, tugging them down in one slow, deliberate motion. You lifted your hips for him, heart pounding, heat pooling low in your belly. He peeled the fabric away, baring you completely, and let it drop to the floor with a quiet thud.

You turned your head, shame rising despite the arousal surging through you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice softer now—dangerous in another way.

His hand left your waist, slipped under your shirt and up to your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. “Didn’t I say all eyes on me?” His thumb brushed over your lips, slow and intimate, like he owned every inch of you already.

You met his gaze.

His smile was pure sin. “That’s my good girl…”

You clenched around nothing, heat flooding you all over again from just those three words.

Jinu dropped to his knees between your thighs like he belonged there. He slid one of your legs over his shoulder, positioning you exactly how he wanted, spreading you open like a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap.

He looked down at you, then back up—his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“I want you to watch,” he said, voice like velvet and vice. “Don’t look away. Just keep your eyes on me… while I make this pretty pussy forget how to breathe.” 

He didn’t hesitate—not even for a second.

Jinu dropped to his knees like he was born to worship you there, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he dove in without mercy. His long, eager tongue plunged deep into your soaked cunt, and you nearly lost your balance right then and there.

The obscene sound of him slurping at your core filled the room, his mouth messy with your slick as he groaned into you like a man starved.

“Mmf…, you taste like heaven,” he muttered between licks, his voice thick with hunger.

He didn’t stop—he devoured you. Tongue flicking wildly against your swollen cunt, then sucking on it like it owed him something. Your legs shook as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, guiding his mouth right where you needed him.

“Jinu—ah—don’t stop, fuck—”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he kissed every part of your slit like it was sacred. His gaze flicked up, dark and locked on yours, and it only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

Then—just when you thought you couldn’t take more—you felt it.

A sudden stretch inside. His fingers.

Two of them, sliding into your dripping hole with ease, curling upward with wicked precision as he pumped them in and out, his mouth never once leaving your clit.

The combination made you choke on a gasp.

“Oh my god—”

His growl sent a hot vibration through your core, and your hips bucked instinctively.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasped, breath hot against you, “All for me, huh?”

Your stomach clenched.

That knot—tight and burning—started building fast. Too fast.

He sucked your clit hard, fingers driving deeper, faster, and your body gave in with a cry. The knot snapped.

You came undone on his face with a moan so raw, it echoed around the room. Your body trembled as the waves hit, one after another, and he didn’t let up—didn’t stop—until you were shaking, until your thighs were twitching around his head.

And when you finally looked down at him…

He was smiling.

Lips glistening, tongue darting out to lick up your release, shamelessly savoring it.

Then slowly—deliberately—he slid his fingers out of you and held them up between you both, watching you.

And without breaking eye contact, he brought those fingers to his lips and sucked them clean.

“Tastes like fucking addiction,” Jinu growled against your lips, his voice a low, sinful drawl that sent heat straight between your legs.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, then leaned in again—claiming your mouth in a kiss that was messy and hungry. You gasped as you tasted yourself on him, the tang of your arousal still wet on his tongue as he licked deep into your mouth, slow and deliberate. His tongue curled behind your teeth, exploring like he owned every inch of you—and he did. Tonight, he fucking did.

When he finally pulled away, your lips were swollen and your lungs desperate for air. You let your head fall back against the pillow, dragging yourself up the headboard, legs still spread and trembling slightly.

Jinu just smirked at the sight—your wrecked expression, flushed skin, the way your chest rose and fell like you were trying to keep it together.

“You okay?” he asked, low and husky, with just a flicker of concern under all that cocky heat.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah…”

“Good.” His voice dropped another octave as he reached down and peeled his hoodie off in one slow motion, tossing it to the floor without a care. It left him in nothing but those black pants, the fabric hugging his hips in the most unfair way.

Your eyes dropped immediately. Down the hard line of his torso—past the chiseled abs, the demon marks curling over his skin like some kind of dark prophecy etched into his flesh. Down to the sharp cut of his hips, the V-line so defined it made your mouth go dry.

And then there it was—his cock, thick and hard and pressing against the fabric.

He caught you staring, and that smug, lazy smirk spread across his face.

“I knew I’m hot,” he said, already unbuckling his pants with one hand, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet room.

“You’ve been looking like you want to fuck me all night, baby.”

And honestly?

You did.

you tossed your own shirt leaving you on your bra and nothing else. once jinu took off his pants he went back kissing your neck sucking on it giving marks, his cock pressed against your bare cunt, one of his hand moved its way on your back

clicked 

His fingers made quick work of your bra, the clasp undone like second nature. He didn’t even hesitate—he just pressed himself closer, his lips catching your gasp as your bra was flung somewhere into the shadows of the dim bedroom.

You felt him roll his hips against you, and your breath hitched. You could feel him—hard, needy, pressed right where you were pulsing for friction. A desperate sound escaped your throat, something between a moan and a plea.

Jinu’s breath was hot against your neck, but his voice? Low, strained, laced with restraint he was barely holding on to.

“Can I?” he asked, forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching—burning with both desire and something softer. Need.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. It was more than consent. It was surrender.

He slid his boxers down, and his [blank] pressed right against your entrance—hot, heavy, and aching. When he pushed in slowly, the stretch burned in the best way, making your legs tremble.

“A-ah—” you hissed through clenched teeth, your back arching slightly.

Jinu let out a rough groan, fingers flexing around your waist as he buried himself deeper. You could feel how he shook with the effort of holding still, breathing ragged. He reached up, brushing your hair gently from your damp forehead, voice soft—soothing.

“Hey… I got you, yeah? You’re doing so good for me already.”

When he was fully seated inside you, he didn’t move. He waited—only moving when you gave a shaky nod of approval.

Then he started.

At first it was slow. Tender. Every thrust deliberate, like he was savoring every second inside you. You whimpered, your body adjusting around him, pain melting into something slick and molten.

Then his rhythm shifted—slowly, gradually—until his hips snapped into yours with growing force. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, messy and obscene, your moans rising in pitch with every stroke.

He grunted as he braced himself against the headboard, hand digging into the wood for leverage. The pace was rough now—cock, relentless—and then with a sharp snap, the headboard cracked beneath his grip.

But neither of you cared.

Not when you were moaning his name like a prayer, not when his voice dropped to a low growl in your ear:

“Damm—you feel so fucking good. So tight—like you’re made for me.”

He slammed back into you, chasing deeper. “Say it. Say you want it.”

Your voice broke, breathless and wrecked, “I—want it —Jinu, please, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t slow down—not even when the bedframe gave a harsh crack beneath you. His pace only grew rougher, more punishing, as if chasing something deep inside you. Each thrust dragged a broken sound from your throat, and the knot in your belly twisted tighter, sharper.

“Fuck.. you’re so tight,” Jinu hissed between clenched teeth, his voice guttural as he felt you start to clamp down on him. “You’re about to—aren’t you?”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t form anything but a moan that pitched higher with every slam of his hips. Your nails raked down his back, leaving angry red marks that made him groan—not from pain, but pride.

“Just like that,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “Fucking take it.”

And you did. You took all of him—deeper, harder—until your body couldn’t take anymore. You shattered around him, crying out his name, spine arching off the mattress as your orgasm crashed into you.

That was all it took.

He cursed under his breath as his rhythm faltered—then stilled—burying himself to the hilt as heat flooded inside you. You felt it, that warm pulse of cum, and the way he trembled slightly above you as he rode the high with you.

Both of you were gasping, the room thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and something heavier. Jinu leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, still inside you.

Neither of you moved. Not yet.

“I can’t hear him anymore,” he murmured against your lips—eyes fluttering shut, voice almost... relieved.

You closed your eyes too, pulling him even closer. His skin was warm against yours, heartbeat steady, chest rising and falling in sync with your own. There were no more walls. No more distance. Just the quiet rhythm of breath and the lingering fire of everything unspoken now laid bare between you.

You stayed like that for a while—bodies tangled, souls unwinding.

Jinu opened his eyes first.

He looked at you—really looked at you. And this time, there was nothing but love swimming in his gaze. Relief. Longing. The kind that had waited too long and held on too tight.

He exhaled softly, brushing a thumb along your jaw.

“…The bed broke,” he murmured, almost like he just realized it.

You blinked slowly, and then let out a breathy laugh. “It’s the demon strength,” you whispered back, voice tired but laced with affection.

He smiled—lazy, genuine, and rare.

“Guess I owe you a new frame.”

You rested your forehead against his. “Guess you do.”

Neither of you moved to get up. The world outside could wait a little longer.

For once… there was no hunt. No stage. No pressure.

Just you, and Jinu, and the quiet in between.

a/n: ITS SO BADDD OMGGG STOPPP it's my first time writing full-on smut yall don't judge :( also idk how to end it so here your food Jinu was a bit ooc during the smexy scene lol

taglist: @miffysoo @akariis4snowball @zhentheraven @nisarelle @aise-30 @pjs-gf-foreal @22carolina08 @violetraccoon-4

[uniquecutie-puffs]

-> i’m your man.

pre established yandere!bts x 8th!reader | age gap isn’t mentioned but it is there | tension | no smut but implications. | implications to bts having sexual relationships before this one.

-

“sit on the bed. they’re going to watch, is that okay?” namjoon’s voice is quiet in the small room as the other six men sit on the large couch in front of the bed.

“yes.” she’s even quieter with her response.

“can i take your clothes off?” he asks.

she doesn’t miss a beat, “yes.”

“is there anything you want me to leave on?” her shirt slides over her head, his fingers working at her pants which he soon slides down.

“my underwear and socks.” her answer isn’t the most telling as to why, but namjoon doesn’t ask.

“is there anything you’d like to call me while i’m touching you?” when he’d done this before, when they’d done this before, the girls would usually call him something.

“no.” her voice is timid.

“sir?” he suggests.

“no.” she shakes her head.

“master?” her frown deepens at that suggestion. namjoon wasn’t fond of it, him and his girl would always be equal.

“no.”

“daddy?”

her gaze falters as she looks up at him, her eyes flicker with something deeper and he takes that as a silent yes.

“i’m going to touch you now, is that okay?”

“yes.” she whispers as he pushes her back against the bed slowly by her shoulder.

“yes, what?” the dominant tone makes her crumble and shes flickering her much more mesmerising gaze onto his face.

“yes, daddy.”

[uniquecutie-puffs]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

hello little sprouts! Just recently remembered my love(?) or interest with the sagau concepts!

ɞ﹒₊˚ This is partially inspired by the manhwa "A Divorced Evil Lady Bakes Cakes!" ɞ﹒₊˚ Imposter AU's, there is a bit angst in the first three nations but you'll be fineeeee, hopefully. ɞ﹒₊˚ Female!Reader x Selective!Various

divider used is made by @saradika-graphics

[NAME'S] RECIPE AND INGREDIENTS BOOK!

nobody's allowed to touch >:0, especially you damn acolytes, stop trying to kill me! If found please return to [Name] [Lastname], definitely not the creator nor the imposter!

Prologue; The Foodie turned Imposter?!

When a foodie from the real world gets sucked into one of their comfort games, popular hoyoverse game's middle child Genshin Impact, it's not all fun and playtime as one would have expected. Finding out you share a face with the most divine God and Mother of the world, the creator, you are forced to fight for the right to live, so that you can eat and cook for another day!

Part 1: Sunsettia Part 2: Sweet Flowers Part 3: Mint Tea Part 4: hilichurl style stew > 4.5 special: adventures of a pyro slime Part 5: Burning Pinecones Part 6: Ginisang Ampalaya Part 7: Dawn Winery's Grapevine + Fruity Skewers Part 8: Buttery Mamon Part 9: Benny's Adventure Team + Wolfhooks POLL: Pyro Slime Name (Closed) LINK Part 10: A stew called denial Part 11: Conspiring over a meal Part 12: Poisonous Devotion

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

Volume 1; TBA

Chapter 1: The start of [Name]'s Recipes!

more coming soon. . .

ɞ﹒₊˚ Taglist! If you want to be added to the taglist, you can comment here or in the LATEST chapter! This is so that its easier for me to compare which comment is old or new, or those who have or haven't been added yet. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Also, please don't ask to be add in the taglist through my personal messages if possible. If it looks like im ignoring you guys in the comments about being added, im really not (╥ᆺ╥；), it's just I hold off on adding you or replying on your comments until I'm nearly done with the new chapters. I started avoiding chatting or entertaining messages especially from those that don't follow me, because I don't wanna get hacked or smth like that..

taglist:

@fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @bunniotomia @esthelily

@earth-to-name @fandomfan-102 @kh1ffy @jiyeons-closet @dragontammerz / @mercy-not-merci @aryuunachigiri @randomnatics @alexx197197 @keirennyx @vianitry @game-savvy @laviniadraws @altumsomnum @ghostlysyntaxed @kangyeonie @resident-cryptid @floofeh-purpi @allmightycucumber @wolfiafuntime @ofalexis @jiaoqiuthefoxian @is-it-night-or-day @lilacoaks @brainemptynothoughts @blackstar-gazer @existing-apparently @ohnoivefallen @yae-yu127 @creativecupcake @crazydreamcat @mysstical-siren @ijustwannabeheldbro @inaaya1inaaya @eyeless-kun @theautisticduck @depressivecomforts @alexizzp @payayay @exams-will-make-me-cry @austisticfreak @honey-everythingisonfire @junebuggz @time-shardz @pix-stuff @n0tmentallystable @charming-mage @luns-exlipse @thedevioussmirk @mayythammyy @marsilis @koifishpoond @haruskrd @fh-seere @valeriele3 @lover-girl009 @akira3na @alexthealien019 @yunespace @imboredjackass @celesteelysia @syuiko

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[uniquecutie-puffs]

Butler's Bride II

True to his word, your brother was sent for—much to your father's displeasure, if the sprawling, venom-laced letters you received were anything to go by. Each one came packed with barbed words and escalating threats, some promising to arrive in person and drag your brother back by force, others questioning your morality, your motives, your very soul. What sort of woman had you become to have the Earl of Phantomhive butler send for a worthless little boy— Jezebel. Whore. Slut. For a few of the choice words. 

But you didn’t care for the names he hurled at you, or the judgment soaked into every line of his furious scrawl. You have made your decision. Even if it meant damning yourself, your brother’s safety was all that mattered.

You stared down at the ring on your finger. You had expected a brand, or some twisted mark of ownership—a demon’s sigil, perhaps. Instead, it was an ornate ring of dark silver and ruby, far too elegant for what it represented. Ownership. It fit tightly, unnaturally so, and though it didn’t burn, it glowed hot—just enough to never let you forget who had given it to you. A constant, quiet presence. Much like the demon butler himself. Its red eyes stared up at you as you tended the garden. Watching. Observing. Waiting.

You knew he was waiting for you to slip up, to lash out, to try and backpedal on your deal so he could put you firmly back in your place. You would not give him the satisfaction. He was already strutting about like a peacock, parading you around London with the Earl on the many “urgent” matters that conveniently required you both to be present.

With every introduction, Sebastian would drop some quiet, offhand remark about your upcoming marriage, laced with such casual finality that it made your skin crawl. His voice was smooth. His smile was unreadable.

What made it worse were the whispers—the ever-present murmurs from nobles and servants alike.

“Lucky girl, to be engaged to a man like that.”

“I heard the Earl himself gave special permission for the marriage… I mean, who wouldn’t, with a butler that fine? You’d chain him to the estate if you could.”

“They do make a striking pair, don’t they?”

“She’s much too plain, if you ask me. Passing pretty on her best day. But I suppose his choses are limited with the Earls estate benign in the middle of nowhere… it was either her or that maid with the glasses. At least this one can see straight.”

“I give it a week before she’s with child. Maybe less. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, haven’t you?”

‘’I’d say she would be in the club before her wedding night is even over!’’ 

“Oh please. He’s already got her in the family way, no doubt. Why else would a man like that propose? It’s not love, darling—it’s obligation.”

“She must’ve done something to keep his attention. No other way a butler ends up on one knee for a woman like her. I bet she has a trick or two up her sleeve…women like that always do”

“If I were her, I wouldn’t leave the bedchamber. Ever.”

‘’I heard he is very skilled…I mean the whole house heard…’’

And the worst part? Sebastian heard all of it. Every sultry whisper. Every poisonous compliment. Every barely veiled insult. And he just smiled.

Each time someone dared to make a lewd comment or envy-laced observation, he would meet your gaze with those calm, glinting eyes—half amusement, half challenge—as if daring you to react. You didn’t.

"Fiancée," he purred, “ no need to be jealous, I have eyes only for you."

He let the silence settle between you, his eyes gleaming with something far too knowing, far too daring.

"They are watching, you know," he added with a sly, suggestive glance at the nearby whispers, "curious about what it’s like to be in my bed. But don't worry, darling— they will never know my bed... it is reserved only for you, for your protection… and pleasure…."

The statement always hung heavy in the air. Paused conversations. Stilled laughter. A few flushed faces. Averted eyes.

They might not know the truth. But you did.

You weren’t chosen, lucky or excited. You surrendered. For your brother. For a future you weren’t sure would ever truly belong to you. And Sebastian made sure—without words, without force, with just a glance and that burning ring on your finger—that you never forgot.

Preparations for the wedding were already underway, though you had little say in them. Your ineffable fiancé—seemed to take great delight in orchestrating every detail of what he called a wedding befitting the servants of house of Phantomhive. Sebastian hovered and commanded Finnian, Baldroy, and Mey-Rin with an almost... gleeful detachment. The demon looked happy, if such a word could even apply. A twisted kind of joy lit his crimson eyes—almost manic.

The wedding felt distant and yet inescapable, like a bolder suspended above your head, its descent slow but certain.

A sudden burst of laughter broke your thoughts.

You glanced up from your work in the conservatory to find your brother seated on the workbench, legs swinging freely, cheeks dusted with sunlight and soil.

“What are you giggling at?” you asked, smiling faintly as you tossed a clump of dirt in his direction.

He ducked and grinned. “It’s like a fairy tale being here. It’s like heaven.”

“Are you that happy?” you asked, gently patting soil around the roots of a young sapling.

He nodded, humming. “Mmm-hmm!”

“What do you like about it?”

“I like playing with Finnian and Baldroy! Today we were pirates. And Mey-Rin lets me eat as many cookies as I want.” He paused, smile faltering just slightly. “I wish Ciel would play with me, though… but I’ll keep asking him. He doesn’t have many toys, but I can share mine.”

You looked at him—this bright, kind-hearted boy—and felt your heart swell and ache at once. It was worth it.

“But the best bit is Sebastian! He’s the best! He gives me candy and even got me a pirate hat!”

‘’My ears are burning.’’ The voice, velvety and smooth, slid down your spine like chilled silk. A shadow passed over you before you could even turn. You froze.

“Sebastian!” your brother squealed with delight, launching himself off the bench to wrap around the butler’s leg like ivy.

Sebastian looked down, amusement gracing his pale features. “Little one, should you not be with Baldroy? Your sister is hard at work.”

“I was! But he set himself on fire again and had to lie down after Mey-Rin put him out…”

Sebastian’s smile thinned. “Ah. I thought I confiscated his flamethrower.”

Your brother giggled, tightening his grip around Sebastian’s leg. “Can we play now?”

“No!” you blurted. Too fast. Too sharp. You swallowed. “I mean—Sebastian is busy. With... butler things. Why don’t you go check if Finnian needs help in the garden? Let Sebastian be.”

His face fell—just slightly—but enough to twist your stomach.

“Nonsense,” Sebastian interrupted, his smile sharpening into something... feral. “Perhaps the young master would like to help me unearth a hidden treasure, said to be buried by the dreaded Blackbeard himself. Right here on the estate.”

“Really?!” your brother beamed, eyes lighting up.

“Follow me, little treasure hunter,” Sebastian said, voice laced with false sweetness. He turned, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“Wait,” you called out before you could stop yourself. “Are you really happy here?”

Your brother turned, still smiling. “The happiest!” he declared, then took off skipping after the butler.

You stood there, hands trembling ever so slightly, the ring pulsing warm against your skin. Watching the two of them disappear into the gardens, something cold and hollow curled in your chest.

xxxxxx

The corridor was silent, faint moonlight spilled through the windows, casting silvery stripes across the wood floors, interrupted only by the gentle creak beneath your feet. You eased the door shut with careful fingers, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace within.

Your brother had fallen asleep almost instantly—cheek squished against his pillow, lashes fanned across his skin like ink-strokes, the ridiculous pirate hat still perched atop his head. The sight of him like that—so safe, so blissfully unaware of the cost—made something in your chest twist. You lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, as if by sheer will you could stretch this moment, preserve it.

But peace never lasted long in this place. Not with him roaming the halls.

You turned.

Sebastian stood just a few paces away, as if conjured from the shadows themselves. The dim candlelight barely touched him, casting his angular features in stark contrast—one half of his face in pale, unearthly glow, the other swallowed by darkness. His crimson eyes gleamed, the color rich as spilled wine, locked on you with a quiet intensity that made your skin prickle.

You hadn’t heard him. You never did. Only the telltale warmth of the ring tightening around your finger, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

“I see the little one sleeps soundly,” Sebastian murmured, voice smooth as black velvet and twice as dangerous. There was something reverent in the way he said it, like a man admiring a masterpiece behind glass. “You’ll be a fine mother.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

He stepped closer, soundless. A shadow dressed in human skin. The air grew thinner as he neared, charged like a storm about to break. His gaze didn’t leave yours for a second—penetrating, all-consuming.

“A mother,” he said again, the word laced with fascination. “Gentle. Protective. Fiercely loyal.” His lips curled into a smile—sharp, knowing. “I made the right choice.”

You took an instinctive step back, spine colliding with the wall. 

“Demons can’t have children,” you snapped, voice strained with disbelief and something else—fear, maybe, or fury. “You can’t even want things like that.”

He was on you in the blink of an eye. His hand slammed into the wall beside your head with a thunderous crack. The other wrapped around your waist, possessive and unyielding, dragging you flush against him. His body radiating unnatural warmth. His scent enveloped you—smoke, spice, and something darker, more primal. Metallic. Like blood.

“You’d be surprised what demons want,” he murmured, voice curling around you like a noose. “And I want you.” His lips ghosted against your ear. “Your hands. Your warmth. Your devotion. I crave it all. You belong to me. Your magic will be a formidable addition to my arsenal.”

You turned your head, breath shallow, trembling trying to escape his touch but he caught your chin, firm fingers guiding your face back to his. His grip was deceptively gentle, reverent—like he was afraid you might break, but not enough to stop him from holding you.

“You chose this,” he said, low and dark. “The moment you slipped my ring onto your finger. My ring.”

“It was to protect—”

“Your brother,” he finished, his voice curling with condescension. “Yes, yes. A noble little lamb sacrificing herself to the wolf’s jaws. How deliciously tragic.” He leaned in, forehead brushing yours, his next words whispered like prayer. “But now you’re mine. Body and soul.”

Then he kissed you.

There was nothing tender in it. It was consuming. Possessive. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on madness, each movement a declaration, a mark, a brand. You tried to push him away, your fists landing against the hard wall of his chest—but it only made him groan low in his throat, deepening the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back. The other gripped your hip, drawing you tighter against him. You gasped as his tongue invaded your mouth—skilled, searching, unrelenting. In desperation, you bit down—hard—tasting blood.

He pulled back slowly, not in pain, but glee.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He licked it lazily with the tip of his tongue, eyes heavy-lidded, fevered. You saw it in his expression—the thrill of it. You’d only fed the fire.

His voice was a caress dipped in madness.

“You’ll be exquisite,” he breathed, fingers trailing from your hip to your stomach.

Your heart thundered in your chest, trying to climb out through your ribs. “I’m not yours,” you spat, though the words trembled.

His grin widened.

“Oh, but you are,” he purred, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips as if savoring the tremble in your voice. “My little bride-to-be. Wife of a demon. And don’t worry—” he leaned close again, breath hot against your skin, “—I’ll take my time with you. We have eternity, after all.”

Then he was gone like smoke in the air, leaving behind nothing but the bruising heat of his touch, and the burn of that damned ring searing against your finger. 

Your breath caught in your throat, chest heaving with the aftermath of his kiss—a kiss that had been nothing short of a brand, searing its way through your soul. You felt sick.

What did he want from you?

The question gnawed at your mind like an insistent pest. What did a demon want with a woman like you? You weren’t naïve enough to think Sebastian craved your body or some twisted, sick notion of affection. It was clear in the way he manipulated every interaction, the smooth, almost deliberate cruelty laced in every glance and whispered word. He wanted something. He always wanted something. But what? You weren’t ignorant enough to believe it was simply about you.The idea that he would want you, of all people, to give him that satisfaction seemed absurd. 

Sebastian wasn’t interested in you at all. You could feel the bitter taste of that kiss still on your lips, the stinging aftertaste of his blood mixing with your own. How long would it take him to tire of you, to grow bored of playing this game?

He was a demon, after all.They were temporary things with no attachment to their victims, no lingering feelings of loyalty or love. Sebastian might have kissed you, might have taken you for a moment, but he hadn’t claimed you—not yet. It was inevitable. The thought of him corrupting something pure made your stomach twist. But you wouldn’t let him. He might try to wear you down, but you weren’t weak. No matter how hard he tried to provoke, to weaken your resolve with his manipulations and filthy insinuations, you would not let him win. He could use your magic, you mind even your body but he would not have your heart or soul.

Your eyes moved to your brother’s door. You would fulfill your side of the bargain. You didn’t know how long it would take, eventually, when Sebastian tired of you, he would discard you—and move on. That was what demons did and you would wait for that moment. And when it came, you would stand tall, unbroken, knowing you had never truly belonged to him.

You were yours and Sebastian, no matter what he thought, could do nothing to you.

Hope you like this. Never thought I would do a part 2 but I think this works. Think this will end up being a 5 parter. Sebastian defiantly has more then corruption on the mind... but we will see.

@shadowlinn

[uniquecutie-puffs]

i’m loving all your contents but i hope you post a joon fic next (i’m sorry i’m just starved for a joon fic lately i’ve been reading the same fics every other day🫠)

Seduced and Saved

Pairing: Mafia's Right-Hand Namjoon x Kidnapped Reader Genre: Dark Romance | Mafia AU | Smut | Forbidden Lust | Rescue Mission | Seduction Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, violence, kidnapping, non-con elements (coercion), power dynamics, possessive behavior, degradation, praise kink, rough sex, oral sex, wall sex, desk sex, intense make-out sessions, angst, betrayal, gun violence, emotional manipulation, torture (graphic but non-excessive), aftercare. Word Count: ~9k

The world was a blur of chloroform and rough hands when you were taken. Now, the haze had cleared, leaving you in a suffocating underground suite, all velvet and gold but reeking of cigar smoke and bourbon.

Your wrists burned, bound behind your back with coarse rope, but you stood defiant, chin high, refusing to let fear seep into your bones.

Viktor Drae, the mafia lord who’d orchestrated your kidnapping, lounged on a chaise, his tailored suit a mockery of elegance. His eyes, dark and predatory, glinted under the chandelier as he twirled a dagger between his fingers. “On your knees, pet,” he purred, voice smooth as poison.

You spat at his polished shoes, the glob landing with a wet splat. “I’d rather choke.”

His laugh was sharp, a blade slicing the air. “Oh, I like you. You’ll be fun to break.” He waved a hand toward the shadowed corner. “Namjoon, keep an eye on her.”

A figure emerged from the darkness, broad shoulders cutting through the haze like a storm. Kim Namjoon, Viktor’s right-hand, was a paradox—sharp cheekbones, full lips, and eyes colder than a winter grave.

His black suit hugged his frame, every movement precise, lethal. He didn’t spare you a glance, his expression carved from stone.

“Not my job,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, already turning toward the door.

Viktor’s smile faltered, a crack in his facade. “Don’t test me, Joon.”

Namjoon paused, jaw tight, his hand twitching toward the gun at his hip. Then, without a word, he strode out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You smirked despite the ropes cutting into your skin. If Viktor’s attack dog wasn’t interested, maybe you had a chance to claw your way out of this hell.

But deep down, you knew: Namjoon’s indifference was a lie. You’d seen the flicker in his eyes when Viktor called you pet. A spark of something—anger, maybe, or something darker. You filed it away, a weapon for later.

Days bled into nights, the opulent suite a suffocating cage of crimson velvet and gilded mirrors. Viktor’s obsession with you grew sharper, a blade honed with every defiance you threw at him.

He didn’t just want your body—he craved your submission, your spirit shattered at his feet. Each morning, he’d slink into your room, his cologne a sickly prelude to his games.

“You’ll beg for me, pet,” he’d murmur, his fingers bruising your wrists as he pinned you to the wall, his lips grazing your ear. When you spat in his face, he laughed, but his punishments were swift.

The first time, he locked you in a windowless closet for hours, the air stale, your screams swallowed by darkness.

The second, he forced you to kneel on rice grains scattered across the marble floor, your knees bleeding as he watched, sipping bourbon. “Pretty when you hurt,” he said, tilting your chin up with his dagger’s tip, a thin cut blooming on your jaw when you jerked away.

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but your body trembled from the strain.

Later that night, you found a first aid kit on your bedside table—bandages, antiseptic, a small roll of gauze. No note, but you knew. Namjoon. His silent act of care, hidden from Viktor’s eyes, was a crack in his icy facade.

Namjoon was always there, a silent specter in the shadows. Unlike Viktor’s other “toys”—women who’d crumbled under his cruelty, their eyes vacant as they trailed him like broken dolls—Namjoon had never spared them a glance.

You’d overheard the guards whispering about it: how he’d walk past Viktor’s parade of captives, his face a mask of indifference, as if they were furniture. “Kim doesn’t care,” one guard sneered.

“He’s got no heart, just a brain for the boss’s dirty work.”

But with you, it was different. You noticed it first in the security room, where Namjoon monitored the feeds. His eyes lingered on you—not with the lustful hunger of Viktor’s men, but with a quiet intensity, like he was solving a puzzle.

When Viktor pinned you during one of his “lessons,” Namjoon’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around a glass until it shattered, blood dripping onto the floor. He didn’t flinch, just left, but you saw the storm in his eyes.

Why you? You pieced it together slowly. The other women had begged or bargained, their spirits snuffed out by fear.

But you fought—clawing, spitting, cursing Viktor even as he hurt you. Namjoon, a man who thrived on control, was drawn to your fire, the unyielding spark that refused to dim.

You caught him watching you in the dining hall, where you’d thrown a glass of wine at Viktor’s face, the red staining his shirt. Namjoon’s lips twitched, almost a smirk, before he turned away. It was your defiance, your refusal to break, that unraveled him—a challenge to the cold, calculated world he ruled.

You also learned his power by observing. Viktor was the face of the empire, but Namjoon was its spine. Guards straightened when he passed, their banter dying.

Once, you overheard a phone call through a cracked door—Namjoon barking orders in clipped tones, rerouting shipments, silencing a traitor with a single command.

“Without Kim, Drae’s just a loudmouth with a gun,” a guard muttered later, unaware you were listening. Namjoon held the keys to Viktor’s trafficking networks, his smuggling routes, his blackmail files. He wasn’t just the right-hand; he was the mind that kept the machine running.

Namjoon’s hidden anger at Viktor’s cruelty fueled your plan. You saw it in the way his fists balled when Viktor cut your jaw, the way his eyes darkened when you limped from the rice punishment.

He never intervened, but his silence screamed louder than words. He hated this—hated you being the target. That was your leverage. If you could break through his icy facade, you could use him to escape this hell.

One morning, Namjoon brought your breakfast tray, a rare task he’d taken from the guards. You decided to test him, leaning against the table, your voice low and teasing.

“You know, Joon, you’re not as scary as you think,” you purred, brushing your fingers lightly over his arm, your eyes locked on his. “Bet you’d be fun if you let that ice melt a little.”

His eyes narrowed, cold and unyielding, and he jerked his arm away, his voice sharp with disdain. “Don’t waste your breath. I don’t care about you or your games.”

His words cut, his rudeness a slap to your pride, and you hated him in that moment—his arrogance, his detachment, the way he made you feel small.

“Liar,” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice trembling with anger. “I know you put that med kit in my room every time Viktor hurts me. You’re not as heartless as you pretend.”

He froze, his jaw ticking, but his eyes remained glacial. “You’re delusional,” he muttered, turning away, but the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him.

You smirked, your hatred simmering, but you saw your opening. If he could lie to himself, you’d use that against him.

Later, you stood before the mirror, your hair damp from the shower, clad only in a thin robe.

When Namjoon returned to collect the tray, you let the robe slip, “accidentally” dropping it to the floor, revealing your bare skin.

His eyes widened, pupils swallowing the brown, his throat bobbing as he froze. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, turning sharply, but not before you saw the bulge straining his slacks.

He slammed the door behind him, but you smirked, heart racing. He was affected—deeply. Seduction was your weapon, and Namjoon was your target. You’d play his desire like a blade, cutting your way to freedom.

You needed to push harder, to chip away at Namjoon’s icy control until he shattered. One night, you faked a nightmare, sobbing loud enough for the guards to fetch him.

He stormed into your room, gun drawn, his shirt half-unbuttoned from being roused from sleep, revealing a sliver of toned chest.

His eyes scanned the room, then landed on you—curled on the bed, trembling in a sheer nightgown that clung to your curves, the fabric slipping to reveal the swell of your breast.

“Please… stay,” you whispered, eyes wide and pleading, a tear streaking down your cheek for effect. You sat up, letting the strap of your nightgown slide down your shoulder, your voice soft but teasing. “Unless you’re scared of a girl’s bad dreams, tough guy.”

He sighed, holstering his gun and dragging a chair to the bedside, his jaw tight. “Five minutes,” he grunted, sitting stiffly, his gaze fixed on the wall. But you saw his eyes flicker to your exposed skin, his fingers digging into his thighs.

You shifted, the nightgown riding up your thigh, and leaned closer, your breath warm against his ear. “You don’t strike me as the babysitting type, Namjoon,” you purred, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “What’s it take to get under that cold skin of yours? Or are you just Viktor’s robot?”

His eyes snapped to yours, a storm brewing in their depths. “Don’t play games with fire, girl,” he growled, his voice rough as gravel, but you caught the hitch in his breath, the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head, letting your hair fall seductively over one eye. “Fire? Oh, I think you’re the one burning, big guy. Your eyes are practically begging to touch me.” You stretched, arching your back just enough to make the nightgown strain against your chest. “Or are you afraid you’ll like it too much?”

His jaw ticked, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the chair. “You talk too much,” he muttered, but his voice was strained, and you saw the bulge in his slacks growing.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his earlobe as you whispered, “Then why are your pupils blown wide? Bet you’re imagining all the ways I could make you lose control.”

He shot to his feet, towering over you, his chest heaving. For a moment, you thought he’d snap—grab you, pin you, do something.

His eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “You’re fucking trouble,” he snarled, adjusting his slacks with a curse, and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.

You flopped back on the bed, grinning, your heart pounding. The ice wasn’t just cracking—it was melting. You’d seen the hunger in his eyes, the way his control frayed at your teasing.

Namjoon was yours to unravel, and with every taunt, you’d pull him closer to breaking. Soon, he’d be your key out of this cage.

You couldn’t wait anymore. Next night, Victor wasn't there. You slipped into Namjoon’s quarters, the door clicking shut behind you.

He was at his desk, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a sliver of toned chest, a glass of whiskey in hand. His eyes snapped to you, narrowing as you stepped into the dim light, your silk robe barely tied, the fabric clinging to your curves.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled, setting the glass down with a clink.

You stepped closer, hips swaying, letting the robe slip open to reveal lace panties and nothing else. “I can’t sleep,” you purred, voice low and sultry. “Thought you could… help.”

He stood, towering over you, and grabbed your throat, pinning you to the wall with a thud. His grip was firm but not cruel, his thumb brushing your racing pulse. “You want me to lose control?” he snarled, his breath hot on your lips. “Fine.”

His mouth crashed into yours, a bruising kiss that tasted of whiskey and rage. You moaned, tugging his hair, and he growled, deepening the kiss, his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth with fierce possession.

You bit his lip, drawing blood, and he hissed, pulling back to glare at you, his eyes black with desire, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his gaze raking over your body as he ripped your robe open, the silk tearing slightly under his urgency.

The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving you bare except for the lace panties, your skin prickling under his intense stare.

He spun you, bending you over the desk, your chest pressing into the cold wood, the edge biting into your hips. You gasped as cold metal grazed your wrists—handcuffs clicking into place, securing your hands behind your back.

“No,” you snapped, twisting against the restraints, your voice sharp with panic, your heart racing. “I hate this thing. I’m not a toy, Namjoon. Don’t make me feel like one.”

His hands froze, his breath ragged, his body tense behind you. For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours over your shoulder, conflict raging in their depths.

“You’re different,” you whispered, voice softening but firm, your gaze pleading. “You’re not him. Don’t do this.”

He cursed under his breath, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the cuffs, tossing them aside with a clatter that echoed in the room.

The moment they fell, something shifted—his gaze softened, his touch gentler as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that stole your breath. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice hoarse, and you both froze.

That apology, that vulnerability—it was more than lust. You meant something to him, and the realization hit you both like a tidal wave, raw and overwhelming.

He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less desperate, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that felt like he was trying to memorize you.

His hands slid to your hips, lifting you onto the desk with ease, the wood cool against your bare thighs. He slid your panties down, leaving them dangling around your thighs, and you felt his fingers tease your entrance, finding you soaked, your arousal coating his fingertips.

“Already dripping?” he taunted, circling your clit with agonizing slowness, his voice a low growl laced with dark amusement.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you snapped, pushing back against his hand, desperate for more, your core throbbing with need.

He chuckled, dark and dangerous, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and challenge. Then you felt him—thick, hot, stretching you as he thrust in with one brutal stroke, filling you so completely you cried out, your nails scraping the desk, the pain melting into pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into your flesh like he was anchoring himself to you.

Each thrust was punishing, the desk creaking violently, papers scattering to the floor in a chaotic flurry. His pace was relentless, pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, like this was the last time he’d ever get to claim you like this.

His hips snapped against yours with a ferocity that made your breath hitch, each deep thrust hitting a spot inside you that sent sparks through your veins.

His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, his cock driving into you with a desperate urgency, as if he was afraid you’d slip away, as if he needed to mark you as his before the world tore you apart.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice raw, almost breaking, his breath hot against your ear. “No one else gets this—fuck, no one else ever will.”

You clenched around him, your walls fluttering, smirking despite the intensity, your voice taunting through gasps. “Harder, Namjoon.”

He snarled, a primal sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and obliged, slamming into you with a force that made you see stars, the desk shuddering beneath you, threatening to collapse.

His rhythm was merciless, each thrust deeper, harder, his cock stretching you to your limits, the pleasure bordering on pain. He fucked you like he was chasing something—redemption, oblivion, you—his hips pistoning with a desperation that made your heart race, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge.

His hand slid up your spine, fisting your hair to pull your head back, exposing your throat, his lips grazing your skin. “Look at you, taking me so fucking well,” he growled, his voice a intoxicating mix of degradation and awe, his breath ragged. “Perfect—made for me.”

The coil in your core tightened, your body quaking as the pleasure built, overwhelming, unstoppable. “Come for me,” he commanded, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, precise circles that pushed you over the edge.

You shattered, your orgasm ripping through you with a scream, your walls pulsing around him, milking him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your vision blurring, your body shaking.

He fucked you through it, his thrusts erratic, his own release chasing yours. His grip on your hips tightened, bruising, as he pounded into you with a final, desperate frenzy, his cock throbbing inside you.

“Fuck, I’m—,” he groaned, his voice breaking, and he spilled inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering, his forehead pressed to your back as he rode out his climax, his breaths harsh and uneven. Each pulse of his release felt like a claim, a vow, his warmth filling you, grounding you in the moment.

For a moment, you both stilled, panting, the air heavy with the scent of sex, whiskey, and sweat. Then, he kissed your temple—a soft, reverent press of lips that made your heart stutter, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before.

He froze, as if realizing the tenderness of his action, and pulled away, his hands shaking as he helped you sit up, his touch now gentle, almost hesitant.

“Get out,” he muttered, voice hoarse, turning his back to you, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched at his sides.

You smirked, pulling your robe on, your legs still trembling, your core aching deliciously from his intensity. “You’ll beg for me again.”

He didn’t respond, but you saw the tension in his posture, the way his hands flexed, fighting the urge to reach for you. You’d cracked the beast, and there was no going back.

Namjoon avoided you for days, his presence a ghost in the halls. You didn’t let up. One evening, you snuck into his office, leaning against his desk in a tight skirt that rode up your thighs, revealing lace garters. When he walked in, his eyes darkened, his jaw tight, but he kept his distance, warring with himself.

“Did I feel like a mistake?” you purred, sliding closer, your fingers trailing along the desk’s edge. “Or are you just scared to admit you’re hooked, big guy?”

He growled, stepping closer but stopping short, his hands fisted at his sides. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, voice low, but his eyes betrayed him—hungry, conflicted, desperate to touch you but holding back.

You tilted your head, smirking, your voice teasing. “Dangerous? Oh, I think you like it. Why else do you keep staring like I’m your last meal?” You hopped onto the desk, crossing your legs slowly, letting the skirt ride higher. “Come on, admit it—you’re dying to taste me again.”

His breath hitched, but he turned his head, avoiding your lips, and the rejection stung more than it should have. You were using him, weren’t you? Just a means to escape.

So why did his refusal to kiss you hurt, a sharp ache in your chest? You pushed the feeling down, focusing on the game. “What’s wrong, Joon? Scared you’ll fall for me?” you taunted, poking his chest.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but careful. “Stop,” he snapped, but his voice was strained, his eyes flickering with torment. He wanted you—badly—but he was fighting it, and that hurt more than you cared to admit.

He dropped to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs with a possessive strength, pushing them apart with a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath catch. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he growled, his voice rough, almost pleading, as he buried his face between your legs.

His lips found your core, hot and insistent, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous stripe through your folds, tasting your arousal with a groan that vibrated against your skin, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your spine.

You gasped, your hips bucking instinctively, but his hands held you firm, fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you spread open for him.

His tongue was relentless, swirling around your clit with precise, teasing flicks that made your toes curl, each movement calculated to drive you wild.

He sucked your clit gently at first, then harder, his lips sealing around the sensitive bud, pulling a cry from your throat as your head fell back, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard.

His moans hummed against you, deep and primal, like he was savoring every drop of you, drinking you in like a man starved for weeks.

His tongue dipped lower, plunging into your entrance, fucking you with slow, deep strokes that had you trembling, your walls clenching around nothing, desperate for more.

He alternated between lapping at your folds and sucking your clit, his pace maddening, building you up only to slow down just as you neared the edge, making you whimper with need.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he rasped against your core, his voice muffled, his breath hot and tickling your oversensitive skin. His lips grazed your inner thigh, nipping lightly before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit with a rhythm that felt like worship, each stroke sending sparks through your body.

Your thighs quaked, trying to close around his head, but he growled, prying them wider, his fingers bruising as he held you open, exposing every inch of you to his relentless assault.

He licked you like he was memorizing your taste, like he’d never get enough, his moans vibrating through you, amplifying every sensation until you were a writhing mess, your hips grinding against his face, chasing the release he kept teasing.

“Namjoon,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling until he groaned, the sound raw and hungry. He doubled down, sucking your clit with a pressure that made stars burst behind your eyes, his tongue flicking in tight, rapid circles, pushing you closer, closer.

Your body tensed, the coil in your core snapping as pleasure crashed over you, a keening cry ripping from your throat as you came, your thighs trembling, your hips bucking against his mouth.

He didn’t stop, lapping at you through your orgasm, drawing out every shudder, every gasp, until you were oversensitive, whimpering, tugging his hair to pull him away.

He stood, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving. He freed himself from his slacks, his cock hard and heavy, and fucked you slow, his hands gripping your waist, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re not just a game to me,” he whispered, his voice raw with confession. You both froze, the weight of his words hanging between you.

He avoided your lips, his forehead pressing to your shoulder instead, and the ache in your chest deepened. Why did you care? Why did you want his kiss, his heart, when all you needed was his help to escape?

He pulled out, tucking himself away, his hands shaking. “This can’t happen again,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

You smirked, adjusting your skirt, hiding the hurt. “Liar.”

Viktor’s suspicions festered, his touches growing bolder, his gaze dissecting. One night, he summoned you and Namjoon to his office, the air thick with cigar smoke and malice.

He leaned back in his chair, a cruel smile curling his lips as he beckoned you closer. “Come here, pet,” he purred, his voice dripping with possession.

You stiffened, your stomach churning, but you didn't move, every muscle tense. Viktor’s hand snaked around your waist, pulling you against his side, and he kissed your cheek, his lips lingering, wet and invasive.

You flinched, a shudder rippling through you, your skin crawling as you fought the urge to shove him away. Your hands clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms, and you bit your lip hard, tasting blood to keep from gagging.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed under your breath, but Viktor only chuckled, his grip tightening, a silent threat.

Namjoon stood across the room, his posture rigid, but his reaction was a storm barely leashed. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked, veins pulsing in his forearms.

His jaw locked, a muscle twitching furiously, and his eyes—dark, lethal—burned with a rage that could’ve set the room ablaze. When Viktor’s lips lingered on your cheek, Namjoon’s hand jerked toward his gun, his fingers curling around the grip before he forced it away, his breath ragged.

His chest heaved, his gaze locked on you, not Viktor, as if memorizing every flinch, every tremble, every mark of your disgust. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but the air around him vibrated with violence, a promise of retribution he couldn’t yet deliver.

Viktor released you, his eyes flicking to Namjoon, a taunting glint in them. “Loyalty test passed,” he said, waving you both out, but his smile was a blade, cutting deeper than his dagger ever could.

That night, Namjoon didn’t come to your room as a lover. Instead, he slipped in silently, his gun still holstered, and sank to the floor beside your bed, his back against the frame.

He didn’t speak at first, his head tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you felt his presence like a shield. “Why are you here?” you whispered, sitting up, your voice soft in the dark.

He didn’t look at you, his voice low, rough with exhaustion and guilt. “Because I can’t trust him tonight. Not with you.” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “One more day. Just give me one day more.”

His words were a vow, a cryptic promise. You’d overheard him earlier, arguing with a contact about “finalizing the files”—evidence of Viktor’s crimes, enough to bring him down.

One more day meant he was close to dismantling the empire, to freeing you, but he couldn’t risk Viktor’s wrath until then. Sleeping on the floor was his way of guarding you, of keeping you close while he wrestled with the fear of losing you and the love he couldn’t admit.

You leaned over the edge of the bed, your voice barely a breath, heavy with guilt. “Namjoon… I’m sorry. I seduced you to get out of here. I used you.”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light, soft but piercing. “I know,” he said, his voice steady, no trace of anger or betrayal. “I’ve always known.”

The weight of his words hung between you, a quiet acknowledgment of your game and his choice to play it anyway. His gaze held yours, raw and unguarded, revealing a man who saw through your plan but couldn’t walk away.

You reached down, touching his hand. “I’m not afraid of him, when you are beside me,” you said, and for the first time, you meant it.

His fingers curled around yours, a fleeting squeeze, and he stayed there, silent, your protector in the dark.

A guard betrayed Namjoon, a hidden camera catching you slipping into Namjoon’s quarters. Viktor’s rage was apocalyptic, a tempest born of wounded pride and shattered control.

He never knew that the day he brought Namjoon into this hell, a boy barely out of his teens, was the day he began writing his own destruction. Namjoon had been a shadow then, sharp-minded and fiercely loyal, molded by a promise to his father to serve the man whose own father had saved their family from ruin.

But that loyalty was a chain, one that had stolen Namjoon’s childhood, his youth, every dream he might have had, chaining him to Viktor’s cruel empire. Namjoon despised it—the blood, the betrayal, the endless cycle of violence that defined Viktor’s world. Yet he stayed, bound by duty, his hatred simmering beneath a mask of obedience, waiting for the moment to break free.

Viktor dragged you both to a warehouse, the air thick with dust and gasoline, his men tying Namjoon to a chair, ropes biting into his wrists but leaving him largely unharmed—Viktor needed his mind intact, his right-hand functional.

Viktor knew Namjoon was indispensable; without him, the empire would crumble, a truth that made him untouchable, a fact Namjoon wielded like a blade.

You, however, were Viktor’s target, the focus of his wrath. He grabbed you by the hair, yanking your head back with a vicious jerk, his nails scraping your scalp raw, making you cry out as pain seared through your skull.

“You think you can play me?” he snarled, backhanding you across the face. The slap was a bone-rattling crack, your cheek splitting open, blood streaming down your jaw, your vision swimming.

He tore the strap of your dress, the fabric ripping to expose your shoulder and neck, and pressed his knife to your throat, a shallow cut deepening, blood dripping to your collarbone, your body trembling from the pain.

Namjoon’s reaction was a storm unleashed, a raw, primal fury that shook the warehouse. His eyes widened with anguish, his body jerking against the ropes, the chair scraping the concrete as he roared, a guttural sound of pure, helpless rage.

His veins pulsed in his neck, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled, and his eyes—black with fury, glistening with unshed tears—locked onto your bloodied face, every drop of your pain carving into his soul. His hands strained, ropes fraying under his strength, his breaths ragged, as if he could tear the world apart to reach you.

Viktor had never thought Namjoon would betray him, especially not for a woman. Namjoon, who’d never shown interest in any woman his entire life, who’d walked past Viktor’s broken “toys” without a glance, was now unraveling, his loyalty shattered by you—by your fire, your defiance, the way you’d claimed his heart without even trying.

“Since you’re so interested in her,” Viktor sneered, his voice dripping with malice, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement at Namjoon’s torment.

Namjoon’s eyes burned, but he forced his voice to a desperate lie, his voice cracking with the effort. “I don’t care about her. I’m not interested in her.”

His words hit you like a punch, betrayal slicing through your chest. You froze, your eyes locked on his, searching for the man who’d left med kits, who’d kissed your temple, who’d called you more than a game.

Your heart splintered, a silent sob choking you, but you bit it back, your bloodied lips trembling. The pain in your chest rivaled the sting of your wounds, a raw ache of abandonment, as if the fragile trust you’d built had crumbled under his cold denial.

You wanted to scream, to call him a liar again, but the knife at your throat kept you silent, your eyes pleading for the truth he’d buried.

Viktor’s laugh was sharp, cruel, his confidence unshaken.

“Is that so? Let me strip her in front of you. And let all other men enjoy the show too.” He yanked your dress harder, the fabric tearing further, exposing more of your skin, and gestured to his leering men, their eyes hungry, their laughter a sickening chorus that echoed in the warehouse.

Namjoon’s rage exploded, a primal roar ripping from his throat as he surged against the ropes, the chair splintering beneath him, wood cracking under his strength.

“Touch her again, and I’ll rip your fucking heart out!” His gaze locked on Viktor, promising death, then flicked to you, softening for a split second with guilt and desperation, as if begging you to forgive his lie.

His eyes screamed what his words couldn’t: you were everything, the reason he’d endured this hell, the spark that had ignited his rebellion.

Your eyes locked on Namjoon’s, silent, desperate, pleading. Tears welled but didn’t fall, your gaze screaming for him to stop this, to save you, to be the man you’d glimpsed in his tender touches.

Your lips trembled, your body shaking, but you didn’t speak, your eyes conveying every ounce of fear and trust you placed in him.

He snapped, his voice a deadly growl, his eyes blazing with defiance. “Untie me. Let’s see who survives.”

He knew exactly what he was doing, choosing words that stabbed at Viktor’s ego, knowing Viktor’s pride couldn’t resist a challenge to his power. Viktor, predictable in his arrogance, would take the bait, blind to the trap Namjoon was setting.

“You think you’re untouchable, Viktor? Cut these ropes and prove it. Or are you too weak to face me without your little games?”

Viktor’s ego couldn’t resist the challenge, his laughter taunting but his eyes betraying a flicker of unease.

He knew Namjoon’s power, knew that without him, he was nothing—a loudmouth with a gun, as the guards had whispered.

He cut the ropes, sneering as Namjoon lunged, grabbing a gun from the desk with lethal precision. Viktor aimed at you, his finger twitching on the trigger, but Namjoon pressed the barrel to his own temple, his hand steady, his eyes cold and unyielding.

“If she dies, I die with her,” he said, voice deadly calm, a vow that carried the weight of his entire existence. “You know what that means. Even if I die, I have enough ways to ruin you.”

Viktor’s face crumpled, panic flickering in his eyes. Namjoon was his mind, his shield, the architect of his empire.

Without him, Viktor was nothing but a hollow king, his power a facade. “Fine!” he screamed, lowering the gun, his voice shaking with fury and fear. “She walks free.”

You staggered to Namjoon, his arms crushing you to his chest, his heart pounding against yours despite his own minimal injuries. “You're mine now,” he growled, his voice low and fierce, his eyes locked on Viktor, a brazen claim that rang through the warehouse.

He knew Viktor wouldn’t touch him—couldn’t touch him—because Namjoon was the foundation of everything Viktor had built. With you in his arms, he stood taller, his claim a defiant proclamation to Viktor and his men, a vow that he’d burn it all down for you. “I don’t care if I burn the world.”

Viktor laughed, a hollow, bitter sound, his eyes dark with defeat. “You’ll regret this, Joon.”

Namjoon’s grip on you tightened, his voice a low, lethal promise. “Try me.”

After the warehouse showdown, Viktor’s grip on his crumbling empire tightened, his paranoia festering into desperation. In a final bid to keep Namjoon in line, Viktor summoned him to his office, the air thick with the stench of bourbon and cigar smoke.

His eyes, bloodshot and calculating, bore into Namjoon as he leaned back in his chair, twirling his dagger with a smirk that barely masked his fear. “I’ll let your little pet go,” Viktor said, his voice low, dripping with false magnanimity.

“She walks free from this hell, Joon, but only if you swear on your father’s grave you’ll never betray me. No exposing my operations, no playing hero. You keep my secrets buried, and she’s yours to take her away.”

Namjoon stood rigid, his face an unreadable mask, but his mind was a cold fire. He’d had enough of Viktor’s games—the blood-soaked deals, the broken lives, the endless cycle of cruelty that had chained him to this hell since he was a boy.

He’d already decided to expose Viktor, his plan set in motion weeks ago: files copied, evidence of Viktor’s trafficking and smuggling networks ready to leak to Interpol.

But he knew if Viktor even suspected his intentions, you’d be the one to pay—his wrath would hunt you down, no matter where he hid you.

Namjoon had already moved you to a secret safehouse, a quiet apartment he’d bought in the city’s underbelly for both of you, its walls bare but safe, a sanctuary he’d built to shield you from the chaos to come.

He met Viktor’s gaze, his eyes cold, unyielding, and lied with a curt nod. “I swear it,” he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the fire burning inside him.

Viktor’s smirk widened, believing he’d won, but Namjoon’s mind was already on you—safe, alive, waiting for him in the safehouse, your heart the only thing tethering him to this fight.

He left Viktor’s office, his jaw clenched, knowing every word was a step closer to dismantling the empire and keeping you out of Viktor’s reach forever.

Viktor had let you go, but Namjoon knew better than to trust him. Viktor’s pride was wounded, his empire threatened, and men like him didn’t forgive.

To protect you from his inevitable retaliation, Namjoon faked your death—a staged car explosion, a charred body too mangled to identify. The news spread, and Viktor’s men stopped hunting you.

He spent nights hacking Viktor’s files, exposing his trafficking and smuggling networks, his hands flying over the keyboard.

One night, after a close call with Viktor’s men, you found Namjoon in the safehouse’s tiny bathroom, blood and dirt smearing his face, his shirt torn.

You stripped bare, your clothes falling to the floor, and joined him under the shower’s spray, your heart aching at the sight of him—so strong, yet breaking under the weight of keeping you safe. “You’re a mess,” you whispered, grabbing a cloth to clean his wounds.

He caught your wrist, his eyes dark, raw. “I won’t let anything hurt you again,” he vowed, pulling you close. His lips crashed into yours, a desperate, hungry kiss that stole your breath. You moaned, your hands fisting his shirt, tugging it off as he backed you against the wall, the cold tiles biting your skin.

His tongue swept into your mouth, claiming every inch, his kisses fierce, unrelenting, like he was pouring every fear, every promise into you.

You bit his lip, drawing a growl from him, and he deepened the kiss, his hands roaming your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him.

You felt him hard against your thigh, the evidence of his desire making you dizzy, but he kept it slow, deliberate, savoring every second.

You broke away, gasping, but he didn’t stop, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, sucking gently at your pulse point.

“Namjoon,” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into him. He groaned, his lips finding yours again, softer this time, but no less intense, each kiss a confession of everything he couldn’t say.

His hands slid over your wet skin, calloused fingers grazing your curves, sending shivers through you. He lifted you onto the shower ledge, stepping between your thighs, his kisses growing frantic, like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“You’re my everything,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, breaking. You kissed him back, matching his desperation, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

You lost track of time, lost in the heat of his mouth, the press of his body, the way his hands held you like you were his lifeline. He pulled back, panting, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes searching yours. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

You cupped his face, kissing him softly, your lips lingering. “You won’t,” you promised, and he kissed you again, slow and deep, sealing the vow.

After, he wrapped you in a towel, cleaning your face with gentle hands, his touch soft. He kissed your forehead, pulling you to his chest, and you stayed there, listening to his heartbeat, knowing you’d face the world together.

Namjoon sent Viktor’s files to Interpol, every dirty secret laid bare. The final showdown came in a burning warehouse, Viktor’s empire crumbling around him. Flames licked the walls, smoke curling thick and black as Namjoon faced Viktor, gun in hand, his eyes cold, but his heart a furnace of obsession for you.

Viktor stood amidst the chaos, a gun trained on Namjoon, his smirk twisted. “You think you are something different from me, Namjoon. And you can claim one of my pets as yours.”

Namjoon’s grip on the gun tightened, his voice low, lethal, dripping with possessive fury. “She’s mine, Viktor. You touched what’s mine, and that was your first mistake.”

His eyes burned, every word laced with the weight of his devotion, his need to protect you, to claim you. “I’ve spent years cleaning up your messes, hiding your crimes. But you crossed a line when you hurt her.”

Viktor laughed, but it was shaky, his eyes darting to the flames. “You’re nothing without me. You need me as much as I need you.”

Namjoon stepped closer, his gun steady, his voice a growl. “I built your empire. I kept you alive. But I don’t need you anymore.” He glanced at you, standing behind him, your presence fueling his resolve. “She’s my reason now. You’ll never touch her again.”

Viktor’s smirk faltered. “You’re bluffing. You won’t kill me. You can’t.”

Namjoon’s eyes darkened, his voice a whisper of finality. “You shouldn’t have touched her.” He pulled the trigger, the shot echoing as Viktor collapsed, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes wide with shock.

The warehouse burned, and you pulled Namjoon away, his hand tight in yours. “It’s over,” you whispered, your voice trembling with relief.

He looked at you, his face softening, his obsession laid bare in his gaze. “No. We’re just beginning.”

You and Namjoon had carved out a quiet life off-grid, in a cozy safehouse by the sea, the world felt softer, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting silver glows across the bedroom.

The ocean’s gentle waves whispered outside, a lullaby to your new beginning. You lay curled against Namjoon on the bed, your head nestled in the crook of his neck, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, his breath steady, content, a far cry from the cold beast you’d first met.

You tilted your head, your lips brushing his jaw, your voice a soft murmur. “Thank you for freeing me from becoming his pet.”

Namjoon’s eyes sparkled with warmth, his hand sliding to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with reverence. “You’re not a pet. You’re my queen.” He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss, his mouth soft and warm, tasting faintly of the peppermint tea you’d shared earlier. The kiss was a promise, a vow of forever, and you melted into it, your heart fluttering.

You pulled back, grinning, your fingers poking his chest playfully. “Queen, huh? So you’re my loyal knight now, ready to fetch my coffee and fluff my pillows?”

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your toes curl, and he rolled you onto your back, hovering over you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Knight? Baby, I’m your hopeless servant, but don’t ask me to cook something. I’d burn the house down trying.”

You giggled, swatting his shoulder, your eyes dancing with delight. “Hopeless is right. Last week, you broke the toaster trying to ‘fix’ it. My queenly standards are slipping with you around.”

“Slipping?” he gasped, feigning offense, his hands sliding to your waist, tickling you lightly until you squirmed, laughing breathlessly. “I’m a masterpiece, Your Majesty. Brains, brawn, and a knack for breaking appliances.”

“Masterpiece, my foot,” you teased, tugging at his shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin of his chest. “Lucky I love you for your cuddles and not your handyman skills.”

“Cuddles?” he purred, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh, my queen, I’m about to give you the royal treatment.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue teasing yours in a slow, languid dance that made your heart race. His hands roamed, gentle but deliberate, slipping under your oversized sleep shirt—a stolen tee of his that smelled faintly of his cologne.

He tugged it off, revealing your bare skin, and his breath hitched, his eyes raking over you with adoration. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts.

You blushed, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, pulling his shirt off, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the faint scars that told stories of battles fought for you.

You leaned up, kissing his jaw, his neck, nipping playfully at his earlobe, earning a soft groan that made you grin. “Weak for me already?”

“Always,” he whispered, his lips finding yours, the kiss slow and sweet, each brush of his mouth a declaration of love. He trailed kisses down your throat, lingering at your pulse point, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, making you whimper.

His hands caressed your sides, sliding over your hips, your thighs, his touch reverent, like he was worshiping every inch of you. “You’re my everything,” he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing your nipple, teasing it with a gentle suck that sent heat pooling between your legs.

You arched into him, your breath hitching, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Namjoon,” you sighed, your voice a soft plea, and he smiled against your skin, his hands guiding your legs around his waist.

He tugged off his sweatpants, revealing himself, hard and ready, but he didn’t rush, his movements deliberate, savoring the moment. He kissed his way back up, his lips finding yours, his tongue exploring your mouth with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his hands cupping your face, his eyes locked on yours as he positioned himself, his tip brushing your entrance, teasing you with agonizing slowness. “Tell me you want this, my queen.”

“Want you,” you gasped, your hips lifting, urging him closer. “Always, Joon.”

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you with a delicious fullness that made you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He groaned, his forehead pressed to yours, his breaths ragged as he moved, each thrust slow and deep, a connection that went beyond flesh. “God, you feel like heaven,” he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you in a gentle rhythm.

You laughed softly, breathless, your lips brushing his. “Heaven? Thought you were the devil.”

“Only for you,” he teased, kissing you deeply, his tongue mimicking the slow, sensual pace of his thrusts. Your bodies moved together, lazy and intimate, the heat building in soft waves, every touch laced with love.

His hands roamed, one sliding to cup your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple, the other tangling in your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss that stole your breath.

“Joon,” you whimpered, your climax building, a warm, pulsing tide that made your toes curl. He sensed it, his movements steady but tender, his lips trailing to your ear, whispering, “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

You shattered, your orgasm washing over you in a soft, shuddering wave, your moans muffled against his shoulder as you clung to him.

He followed, his release a low groan, his body trembling as he spilled inside you, his lips finding yours in a messy, perfect kiss. He stayed inside you, rolling you both to your sides, your legs tangled, his arms wrapping you tight against his chest.

You lay there, panting, his fingers tracing lazy hearts on your back, his lips brushing your forehead. “You’re stuck with me now, queen,” he murmured, his voice playful but thick with love.

“Good,” you whispered, snuggling closer, your cheek pressed to his heart. “But you’re doing the dishes tomorrow. Non-negotiable. And don't you dare to break them.”

He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Deal. But only if you keep stealing my shirts. You look too cute in them.”

You laughed, kissing him hard, your heart full. You’d both survived. You’d both sinned. And you’d do it all again, together.

A/n: Was planning to post it on another account but since I got this Namjoon fic request here, so posting on this main account.

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @syudoeslove . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria .

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Jinu X fem.reader

a/n: I'm obsessed with writing for this man, I swear to god it's not funny anymore, also just a small idea that popped into my mind.

Synopsis:

╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe.

That is, until fate stepped in.

A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆You had everything others could only dream of—fame, wealth, influence. On stage, you were untouchable. Off stage, you were a legend wrapped in mystery. But even with everything, there was one thing you could never truly claim:

Humanity.

Because you weren’t human. Not even close. You were a demon—and not just any demon.

You were Gwi Ma’s daughter, the feared and merciless Demon King who ruled the underworld with blood and shadow.

Since your childhood, you served as his spy—sent through the cracks of the Honmoon, infiltrating the human world to gather intelligence and prepare for invasion. It was meant to be temporary, just another mission. But the longer you stayed, the more you saw.

Humanity was nothing like the wastelands of the demon realm. Where your world thrived on pain, theirs held warmth. Where demons tore each other apart, humans sang, cried, danced, and dreamed.

For the first time, you felt something—curiosity, wonder… guilt.

So you turned your back on the underworld.

You became a traitor.

Quietly, carefully, you aided the hunters from the shadows—feeding them information, sabotaging your father's forces. And when the day came, you were there among them, cloaked and unseen, helping to seal the Honmoon and trap your kind behind it.

No one knew.

No one ever could.

You fled. You ran from your father’s wrath, scouring every shady shaman’s store in the country, collecting protection charms, sealing talismans—anything that could shield you. And somehow, through luck or fate, you survived.

Five lives. Five hundred years. Each life, quieter than the last—until this one.

Now, you were Y/N—a rising soloist, known for her fierce performances and a haunting stage presence that no one could explain. People whispered that you were descended from a 90s screen legend—not knowing that legend was just one of your old lives.

And for once, you were at peace.

You watched from a distance as the Huntrix, the newest generation of demon hunters, proudly took up the mantle. They didn’t need your help. The Honmoon stayed sealed. The world was safe. You were safe.

Or so you thought…

Until he showed up.

Until that damned boy walked into your life with a smirk, a wink, and smile that somehow defied the laws of shame.

Jinu.

Of all the people… it had to be Jinu of the Saja Boys.

You knew something was off from the beginning. The moment their debut track “Soda Pop” exploded online, your gut screamed that it wasn’t just another rookie group rising through the ranks.

That stupid, sugar-coated song had the internet wrapped around its finger in hours. Every scroll through social media was torture—fan edits, dance challenges, streaming parties. Their bubblegum anthem was everywhere.

“Motherfuckers had it easy,” you muttered under your breath, eye twitching as you sat in your penthouse suite, high above the city. Your jaw clenched tighter with every swipe of your phone. That cursed chorus echoed over and over like a broken record.

With a sharp snap, the screen cracked beneath your grip—your superhuman strength getting the best of you again. You let out a heavy sigh and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, trying to calm your fraying nerves.

It only got worse.

You had the misfortune of crossing paths with them at the “Play Games With Us” variety show. You were just backstage, minding your business, your manager trailing behind you and raving about the episode’s record-breaking views.

“Your segment went viral, again! The fans are loving it—especially that part when you snapped the controller in half!” your manager beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you.

And then—you saw them.

The Saja Boys. Walking straight in your direction, faces glowing under the stage lights, laughter echoing like they didn’t have a care in the world. You stood taller, lifting your chin with unshakable pride, refusing to let them rattle you.

But just as you passed their leader, Jinu, something happened.

Your fingers brushed for a split second—barely a touch.

And your blood turned to ice.

A sharp sting burned up your arm as your demon mark responded instantly, crawling from your skin like it had been awoken. You froze mid-step.

So did Jinu.

His body stiffened. His eyes widened. There was no mistaking it. He felt it too.

Your mark flared beneath your sleeve before dulling to a low pulse, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat. Panic surged in your chest, but you kept your face blank, eyes forward, breaths shallow.

“No…” you whispered, so quiet it was almost soundless.

You didn’t dare turn around.

You knew—without question—Jinu was staring at your back with the same haunted look you wore now.

Your manager kept walking, still rambling. But your heartbeat was loud enough to drown everything else out. The mark faded… but the damage was done.

Something ancient had just awakened.

And you knew, deep down— This wasn’t over.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat perched on the edge of a quiet rooftop in the outskirts of the city, where the old hanok-style houses still stood. The moon hung high, casting a cold silver light over the curved roofs and narrow alleys. It was deep into the night—no footsteps, no noise. Just silence. Peace.

Peace… at least for now.

Far from the crowded districts, away from the suffocating presence of human souls—the very essence your demon self constantly hungered for—you could finally breathe without temptation gnawing at your will.

“A demon playing idol in the human world… how poetic,” a voice murmured behind you, smooth and laced with dry amusement. You heard the soft thud of footsteps land gently on the tiled roof behind you.

You didn’t bother to turn around. “Says the one doing the same thing,” you replied, your tone flat.

The voice chuckled lowly. “True. But unlike you, I haven’t stayed this long.”

You stiffened. Just those words were enough to hint at his purpose.

So... it was finally time.

You clenched your fists, jaw tightening. “If he sent you to bring me back to that hellhole,” you muttered, “tell Gwi Ma I'd rather die on this rooftop than crawl back to him.”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and there he was—Jinu. Standing there with his hands tucked into the pockets of a black and gray hoodie, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow raised, clearly thrown off by your sudden declaration.

You exhaled through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing dust from your pants. “Don’t play dumb,” you said, facing him properly now. “You’re here on Gwi Ma’s orders, aren’t you? To take more souls for his pathetic little collection.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “That old fart just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Jinu blinked, visibly stunned—not just by what you said, but by the fact you said it so openly. No fear. No hesitation. As if speaking about the demon king was no different than mocking some washed-up manager.

“You—” he started, then hesitated, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t scared of him anymore.”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I stopped fearing him the day I tasted freedom.”

You turned slightly, eyes locked on the distant city lights glittering below the rooftop. The cold wind brushed against your face, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in your voice.

"He's been trying that for years," you muttered. "And look where it got him—still trapped in that rotting world. What makes him think this time will be any different?"

Jinu shifted behind you, about to speak. You didn’t even turn.

"Don't even think for one damn second that I'll help you," you cut in coldly.

Jinu closed his mouth, jaw tightening. Silence hung between you before he finally asked in a quiet voice, "H-How... how have you lived this long?"

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound laced with exhaustion and mockery.

"Like hell I’d tell you."

Then, in a blink, your scythe was unsheathed—its blackened blade gleaming in the moonlight, already hovering near Jinu’s throat. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer, weapon steady.

"I should kill you right now," you said lowly. "Save the hunters the trouble."

Jinu's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "A demon... siding with hunters? That’s new."

You pressed the blade closer, enough for him to feel the chill of death breathing down his neck.

"I don’t side with anyone," you said, voice sharp as steel. "I work for myself."

Another step forward. You loomed over him now, gaze burning with centuries of fury and grief.

"I've watched this world rise and fall for hundreds of years. You think I'll let you tear it all down just so my corpse of a father can claw his way out and devour everything that still breathes?"

You shook your head, disgust flickering across your face.

"What did he promise you, huh? Power? Freedom?" Your voice dropped, dangerous now. "You really think he’ll give you what you want?"

You tilted your head slowly, voice venomous with finality.

"You're nothing but a pawn, Jinu. And if you keep playing his game... you'll die like one."

"Your father… is Gwi Ma," he said, voice low—almost afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart skipped. Eyes widened. You stiffened in place, cursing yourself internally for letting the truth slip. But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. The truth was out.

Jinu's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. As your weapon shimmered and faded into the shadows, his fingers began to glow with a familiar, ominous hue—those same violet markings you had seen too many times before.

"He said... he’d take them away," Jinu whispered, eyes fixated on the marks. "The memories."

You let out a long, tired breath, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose.

"And you believed him?" you muttered, the weight of exhaustion and disappointment heavy in your tone.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken things. Then, with reluctance weighing every step, you moved closer to him.

Jinu’s brows furrowed in confusion. His body tensed instinctively, unsure of your intentions.

You raised your hands halfway to his face, then paused.

"Can I?" you asked softly, voice quieter now—gentler.

He hesitated, gaze searching yours for a moment before he gave a small nod.

You took it as permission.

Your palms cupped his face. Slowly, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. You closed your eyes. A familiar tingling crept into your hands as your power activated—dark purple mist curling from your skin, winding its way into Jinu's.

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.

You exhaled shakily, then drew back, turning away from him as the mist dissipated.

"There," you said, voice low. "He won’t bother you—for a few hours, at least."

A beat passed. Then:

"Did you just... seal him?" Jinu asked, stunned.

You didn’t turn around.

“Temporarily,” you said, your voice dropping lower, the word hanging in the air like a reluctant farewell.

There was a pause. A beat of silence filled with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. When you finally spoke again, it was softer—strained, like it hurt to admit.

“…It’s the best I can do right now.”

You didn’t look back.

Your figure melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of your presence and the cold wind brushing across the rooftop.

Jinu stood there, unmoving. His brows furrowed, heart pounding, mind reeling.

a/n: I really need more of him pleaseeeeee

[uniquecutie-puffs]

I have yet to see Kpop demon hunters today but I am craving for Jinu smut, But also I don’t like noncon/dubcon in the slightest but if this feels like it so be it lol, So may I request Jinu x huntrix member fem reader? When reader decides to investigate the saja boys by herself, The rest of the girls are obviously worried about her safety but she tells them that she’ll be okay, Cut to a couple hours later with Jinu absolutely pounding reader from behind and making her cum nonstop just as he wanted to ever since he layed eyes on her.

I can do dub-con. I don't think people realize it's a very common kink.

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, body betrayal, enemies who fuck, possessive sex, biting, hate sex

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: This movie now lives rent free in my head.

You should have listened to your friends, you should have never went after Jinu all by yourself, you should have brought backup. Now you're bent over his bed, getting your pussy pounded raw and hard from behind. "Either you and yours are getting sloppy or you're really stupid for thinking you could defeat us on your own. Or even just defeat me. Or, hah, maybe, you came here hoping this would happen."

As soon as you heard him suggest such a thing you turned your head to glare at him. Jinu grinned, his smile as demonic as it always was, no longer hidden behind that pretty facade. With your arms pinned and held behind your back you could barely move, and whenever you did you just took his cock, over and over. It was driving you insane.

"Go fuck yourself, you goddamn bastard." You gritted through your teeth, biting back your moans as his thrusts kept getting faster and faster, deeper, almost like he was trying to punish you for acting foolish. "I would never stoop so low... to want someone like you." A high pitched moan escaped from your lips when you felt the sting of his hand on your ass.

"You say that, demon hunter, but your cunt is drooling for me, so tight and wet. Hear that, how sloppy and slutty you pussy gets with demon cock in it?" He slammed his cock into you, in and out, making your legs tremble and your vision blurry. "Be honest, it'll feel so much better."

You shook your head as you felt yourself blushing. You hated it, how good Jinu's cock felt inside of you, how good this felt and yet it was so wrong. You hated him, you should hate this too so why was your body working against you in this moment? Why couldn't you tell him to go to hell like you so many times before?

"Better, that's a good girl. No more fighting me. Don't worry, this can be our little secret, no one has to know how you whore yourself out for me." His body pressed fully against your, his demonic fangs nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulder. "I won't tell if you won't, demon hunter. You got my word." The glare you gave him was challenging, you hoped threatening but that was impossible with the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pussy taking his hard cock while you moaned.

"Your word... means nothing to me." You hissed, putting as much venom and hatred in your voice as you could have. He didn't seem pleased with that, he bared his long teeth at you and you hated how your pussy clenched around him when you saw them.

"Really? Fine, makes no difference to me. But see how your team feels when you come back to them, with your cunt freshly fucked and filled with demon cum." You watched him transform from his human form into his demon form, and god, his cock felt even better like this. "I don't care if you believe me or not but I'm gonna make sure you never forget this moment. The moment when you came from being fucked by me, because of my cock, because I made you feel so good!"

With one final thrust he pushed both your bodies over the edge, and you stopped yourself just in time to not scream his name. You didn't want to feed his ego any more than you already have. Jinu laughed maniacally as he fucked his seed deep into your pussy, the wet, messy noises only adding to his feral, wild nature.

"Fuck, yes, oh, wanted this... ever since I first saw you. Wanted to carve the shape of my cock into your cunt. Make you mine." He ended with a long kiss on your shoulder, still holding you while your body trembled and your vision swam. "Mine, only mine from now on." You expected him to be rough as he pulled out but he wasn't, he was slow, stopping as he heard you hiss and whimper. "Now that's a pretty little sight."

You heard a flash of a camera and turned to see Jinu smirking with his phone in his hand, his cock still out, dripping with the combination of your release. "You...! Gross! You have no shame!"

Jinu stuck his tongue out at you, "A little keepsake for me. To tide me over until our next time."

An unpleasant, or maybe pleasant, shiver went through you at the suggestion of a next time with him. "That won't happen. I'm going to bring you to your knees before then!"

"Oh? If you wanted me on my knees all you had to do was ask. I'm very good with my tongue. I can show you next time." His words and lewd gestures made your stomach tie into knots, and an uncomfortable heat form. "I could do it now. Seems like you might need some cleaning up."

Furious you stood up on your wobbly legs and slapped him. It was pathetic, that this was the best you could muster in this moment, but it also felt good to catch him off guard. "You're dead next time I see you."

Despite the slap he grinned at you, licking his lips, "Looking forward to it, my demon hunter." He winked at before he snapped his fingers next to your ear. For a moment you didn't understand what he did, then your vision started blurring. You tried to hit him again but ended up collapsing against him. "Let's get you somewhere where the others will find you." Barely coherent you thought you felt his lips press against your forehead before you fully passed out.

[uniquecutie-puffs]

K-Pop Demon Hunter: Heartstrings & Hellfire

Male!Huntrix x Reader x Saja Boys

Two rival boy bands. Two very different battles.

On one side, the Huntrix—elite K-pop idols by day, demon hunters by night.

On the other, the Saja Boys—charismatic, dangerous, and hiding a dark, demonic secret.

But the real war? It's for you, the most beloved solo artist in Korea and the nation’s top bachelorette.

What no one knows is that you're hiding something too... a secret even your closest friends in the Huntrix don’t suspect.

With emotions running high and secrets unraveling, the Huntrix must fight not only the Saja Boys, but also the possibility of losing you to the very darkness they were sworn to destroy.

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[uniquecutie-puffs]

SHE’S MINE | 02

-SO I HOPE AND PRAY YOU MAKE IT WORTH IT.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊ 3.2k

author’s note ┊ YAPPEE! part two officially out- so sorry for the wait EUEUEU… hehe hope the things that happen in this chapter make up for it being a few days late :p also, i will not be accepting anymore tag list requests! this is due to the amount of users that i can tag per post T^T … nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy the chap! happy reading :D 

p.s. i will be blocking the people who message me (rudely) to “hurry up” with the next chapters. i understand most, if not, all of you are excited to read the next chapters, but please do understand that i have my own schedule too :,)

prev. | next

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS, GROANING INTO YOUR PALMS. In front of you sat the thorn at your side, Ken Sato. He had just finished reading- or rather, skimming through the files you had stayed up compiling. You peeked at him through your fingers before standing up to erase yet another column of pros and cons from the board. 

Taking a swig from the energy drink he had brought you, you shake your head as you try to figure out what to do next. Truth be told, you were just eager to leave. You had two weeks left until you could finally let these burdensome tasks go, all you wanted was for Ken to go along with your last few instructions so as to make your exit easier. 

“I don’t get what’s so hard about this, Ken.” You say, turning back around to face him. “You pick a girl, you ‘date’ her for a bit, and then you ‘split up’ amicably. Simple as that.” 

He tilted his head at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Oh sure, yeah. Let me just go out with a random girl and act like I’m head over heels in love with her.”

“Yes, exactly that.” You reply with the same tone, going back to your seat. “Now you’re getting it!”

He rolls his eyes, placing the stapled papers back on your desk. “I get it, I fucked up. But I still don’t get why you’re so…” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line and gesturing with his hands. “Persistent in actually trying to get me to date someone for the sake of my screw up.”

“And I don’t get why I have to keep reminding you of why I need to do this.” You lean back into your chair while pinching the bridge of your nose. “You were the one who-”

“-’Told the entire world you were in love’, yes I know! You’ve only said that like, what, a hundred times over?” He cuts you off, crossing his arms. “I know what I did. But I also know that I have a choice in this matter, don’t I?”

You go to reply but stop when you register his words. You knew that, obviously, which is why you had multiple plans. You were giving him the chance to choose, were you not? The various notes and drafted project plans were proof of that. They were all laid out right in front of him, what more could he possibly want? You look at him briefly, your eyes scanning his expression before darting back to the things scattered atop your desk. 

“I’m giving you choices.” You say flatly, slowly looking back up at him. 

“No, you’re giving me options and expecting me to choose.” He counters, his hand gesturing towards the papers. “I’m talking about my choice. My plan, suggestion, whatever you want to call it.”

“So what is your plan? Because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem to actually have one.” You reply, brows slightly furrowing at his stubbornness. 

“And that’s the point. I don’t need a plan,” He pauses, pointing his finger directly onto one of the outlines and it towards you. “I just need to ride it out.”

You let out a scoff, stunned at how Ken was still treating this so lightly. The corners of your lips tug up a bit, and you end up letting out a soft laugh in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I, though?” He leans back, maintaining eye contact with you. “It’s the choice that takes the least effort. And besides, I thought you liked it when I kept things private.”

“Oh, don’t circle this back to me.” You say, pointing a finger at him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to address your little mishaps?” 

“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” He says a-matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising as if to emphasize how much he understands what your job entails. 

“No, you don’t.” You argue back, mimicking his crossed arms.

“Were you always this stubborn?” Ken says, catching you off guard. 

You feel your features scrunch up in confusion and annoyance, narrowed eyes slanting even more as this back-and-forth of yours keeps going. “You’re one to talk.” 

At that he smirks slightly, rolling his eyes as he pokes a tongue into his cheek. The audacity of this man to act annoyed. You think, all the while you continue to glare at him. You close your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning, taking in a deep breath as your nails dig into your palms. Despite wanting to calm yourself down, his words rang in your head like an unwanted mantra.

His choice.

Would it be so bad to give Ken free reign on this? Granted, he was the one who caused it. Why be the one to clean up his mess- again, for that matter? You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head once more. You could never understand how his mind worked, and you figured you probably never would. You tapped against the desk with your pen, bouncing your leg as you pondered on what to do. 

Your plan? Everything sets sail smoothly, with only the liability being either party slips up. Which, in your defense, you could cover up in the blink of an eye. His plan? No plotline with room for spontaneous detail sharing whenever he pleased. More work for you, more freedom for him. You stopped tapping then, clicking your pen into place. In your moment of contemplation, you had realized then this entire thing was useless. His plan, your plan, all the plans. None of them mattered, not if the end result was going to be the same. 

Goddamnit, you hated Ken Sato. 

You flip one of the stapled pieces of paper over, drawing over the blank side. “The start of your first full season with the Giants is in less than fourteen days. By then we would need to have already released another press release- ideally before your conference.” 

Ken jumps slightly, caught off guard by your sudden return to work mode. He watches as you line up different keywords with boxy arrows, all of which lead up to the ‘end’ of his lie. “What exactly am I looking at?”

You flash him a smile, albeit a fake one, and slide the paper to him. “Your plan.” Leaning back in your chair, you make a show of stretching your arms. “You’re right, we should go with your plan.” 

He laughs then, noting the lingering hints of sarcasm in your tone. “[Y/N], what are you doing?”

“Giving you your choice.” You reply with a small shrug. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” He says, his smile slightly faltering. “But… why?”

“It’s your life, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, your lips pressed into a thin line. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused and annoyed. The way he understood this, you were letting him win. You were waving a white flag, surrendering to his incessant pleading. He scrunched his brows, still trying to process your words. You continued to sit there, waiting eerily patiently for him to respond. 

“And you’re serious about this?” He questions once more, hesitant to believe that you of all people would back down so quickly. 

“Mhm,” You hum, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m just your assistant. Well, for two more weeks, that is.” 

He felt like he was being played. He blinked at you, mouth slightly agape. The you that was sitting in front of him now was different from the you thirty-six hours ago. Yesterday, you were desperate for him to follow your plans. He recalled your words, ‘If you're actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.’ But now that you’re telling him to do exactly what he wants, he’s nervous. 

Nervous that he finally caused you to hate him for good. 

“If you’re done sitting there like I said something stupid, you can go. Coach wants to see the team, it’d be in your best favor not to be on his bad side two weeks before playoffs.” You say, not even looking at him directly. 

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Right, well, okay.” He stands up, sliding himself into his jacket before walking towards the door. “See you, then.”

You only hum in response, still not looking at him as you continue fixing all of the papers on your desk. Just before he’s fully out of your office though, you call out to him. 

“Yeah?” He answers immediately, peeking his head through the door. 

“Have fun riding it out.” You say, flashing him a smile. A real one, this time.

A WEEK HAD GONE BY JUST LIKE THAT. Surprisingly, Ken had been able to keep things under control. Even his comments to street paparazzis were concise, almost as if you were the one who coached him his lines. While you had expected him to do nothing, just as he suggested, you hadn’t expected him to last this long without an intervention from you. 

You sat by your window as your body sunk into your armchair, your eyes threatening to close. The early blue hues of the morning had started to break through the night sky, the clouds slowly parting to clear the sky. You typed vigorously against the keys of your laptop, eyes following the blinking cursor to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there. 

You had been up for hours constructing your updated résumé, keeping all your needed information concise and in one page. Despite having a well-rounded history in regards to jobs, the lingering fear of keeping yourself afloat was an inevitable burden you were scared of accidentally fulfilling. You had family, yes, but relying on them did something to your pride. Most especially since you had been low-contact ever since you abruptly moved to the city. 

Seeking help from friends was another option that was off the table. In all your years of working in the entertainment industry, the amount of people you had let into your life dwindled as you realized people’s true intentions. You had merely three people left in your life, and that was by far more than enough to keep you sane throughout the rest of your life.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Truth be told, despite the factor of having to deal with Ken, this job has been the best in terms of your benefits. He was much like you- little circle, low-contact. Even his own team was a limited number, leaving you to deal with other jobs and tasks that would otherwise be done by different people. Yes, the workload was tiring, but the pay was enough to keep you alive ten times over. You could only say a silent prayer to whoever was listening to bless you once more once you let go of this for good. 

You sat back, finally satisfied with the way your page was laid out. You faced towards your window, closing your eyes as your breathing steadied. The birds were starting to chirp, the sun casting a foggy glow through the clouds. In this moment of solitude, you allowed yourself to relax; it was more than deserved. Not like anything could happen in your sleep, right?

WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. You groaned as you were awakened by the continuous buzzing of your phone. At first you had thought it was an alarm you had accidentally forgotten to shut off, but when it continued on, you eventually had to force yourself to wake up.

The sun was high up now, bright rays peeking through your blinds. You squinted, uncurling yourself from your chair as you got up and stretched. You yawned, scratching your head as you finally unlocked your phone. You were greeted with an endless stream of notifications, your mail app and other social media platforms pinging by the second. There was also the factor of the loud noise outside, though you made it out to be some kind of commotion or parade. 

Your screen then flashed the caller ID of an unknown number, followed by another sea of notifications. You blink yourself awake, now slightly worried at just how much texts and emails you had been receiving. Did Ken do something? Did someone die? Did Ken die?

Before you could even open any of the messages, you hear the familiar ringtone of one of your closest friends. You slide to answer, pressing your phone up to your ear. “Ami? What’s up, what’s wrong?”

She laughed, and you could practically see her shaking her head at you. “I’m guessing you just woke up? Check literally any news outlet right now, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

What the hell was going on? You mumbled something in reply, putting her on speaker as you did what she asked. 

You wished you hadn’t. In bold, bright red letters, the article’s headline read:

Extra Innings in the Press Box: Ken Sato’s Hidden Romance with Assistant Revealed! 

What you saw next nearly had you chucking your phone into the nearest wall. Attached right under the headline was you and Ken. You and Ken. You let out a curse, and you could hear the sighs coming from Ami on the other line. The picture was clearly shot from a hidden vantage point, the branches from the trees blocking the camera proof of it. Despite the distance, though, yours and Ken’s faces were clearly visible. 

“What the fuck!” You yell, now fully awake eyes wide in confusion. “When was this released? H-How did-”

“Two hours ago. Apparently some passerby sold the picture to the press, and said passerby just happened to be paparazzi.” Ami cuts you off, her tone serious yet concerned. “Trust me, if I had known something like this was going to be released, I would’ve done something about it.”

You left your phone on the kitchen counter as you paced back and forth, your hand glued to your forehead as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Obviously it wasn’t true, you of all people knew that. But nobody else did, and that was the problem. 

“Ami what the hell is happening?” You manage to breathe out, still pacing. “This is all so-”

“Much? Yeah, I know.” She cuts you off again, and you can hear the bustling sounds from her office. “My own publisher is on my neck for this, God only knows what you’re going through. Are you okay? If you need help this could technically be classified as invasion of-”

“I do need help because this whole thing isn’t-” You start, but are ultimately cut off again when you hear the sounds grow louder outside. 

“[Y/N]? ‘You there?” Ami’s muffled voice calls out as you walk towards your window, peeking down to where the commotion was coming from. 

“Oh shit.” You gasp out, eyes widening even more as you realize the noises were coming from the sea of reporters and photographers waiting outside your townhouse. 

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the window with a hand to your mouth. This cannot be happening, this had to be some sick nightmare. Stumbling towards your phone, you mumbled some reply about needing to go before abruptly hanging up the call. Rude, perhaps, but Ami would understand. 

In the span of two hours of that damn article being released, eager and greedy gossip outlets had found your address and swarmed your only safe space. You held your phone close to your chest, running up to your room as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes once more, breathing in and out heavily. The more you tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, the more you slowly realized that it actually was. 

You opened your phone once more, muting all your socials and other messaging apps. You needed to think, and you needed to act fast. By memory, your fingers automatically scroll for Ken’s legal team. Having gotten him out of falsified defamations multiple times, acting during these types of situations was almost a second habit. But this didn’t involve just him, it involved you. You were a part of this mess, you couldn’t be the one to solve it.

A mantra of curses conjured up in your head, and you delete the previous number you had dialed in. Think, damnit. Think, think, think. You thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prayed for a solution to be presented to you. An alternative popped up into your brain then. Albeit that alternative was stupid, but it was something. 

You dialed his number, anxiously waiting as it rang. 

KEN WAS ON HIS BREAK, SITTING ON THE BENCH AS HE WIPED THE SWEAT OFF HIS FOREHEAD. Playoffs were about to start, and Shimura was working them to the bone to make sure everyone had their head in the game. He let out a deep breath through his nose, arms resting on his knees as tried to calm down after a few laps around the stadium. The rest of his teammates seemed to be reacting obnoxiously over something, though he didn’t have the energy to feign enthusiasm. 

One of his teammates teasingly nudged him then, giving him a playful grin. “Your secret’s out, huh? All this time you were with her.”

Ken laughed it off, still oblivious to the fact that nearly all of Japan now knew the face of his supposed girlfriend. He noted the specification in his tone, as if he were referring to a mutual friend of theirs. Which, again, was impossible- nobody but you knew the secret he was hiding. He gave them a nod before returning back to his own space. 

He felt his watch buzz against his wrist, and he was all but surprised to see you calling him on your day off. He sat up straight then, grabbing his phone to answer the call. He had to admit, he answered a little too excitedly. Or nervously. He couldn’t differentiate the two, not when it involved you. Ever since the start of this stunt, something in him shifts whenever you or anything related to you gets mentioned. He brushed it off as some sort of familiarity attachment, the weight of your sudden resignation still heavy on his shoulders.

Was he sad to let you go? Maybe, he wasn’t entirely sure. Aside from the fact that he had Mina, you did your job well. You knew the ins and outs of everything he liked and disliked, you kept him organized and on track. Sure, losing you would be another hurdle he would have to get over, but that doesn’t mean he would be… impotent without you. He clears his throat before he finally brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hey-” He starts, but stops when he notices the frantic panic in your voice. “Woah, hey slow down. What happened?”

“You happened.” You reply then, albeit through a shaky breath. 

“What?” He questions, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s exactly as I said. You happened,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “And now I need your help. Please.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

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[uniquecutie-puffs]

SHE'S MINE | 01

I'M ALL IN, I CAN'T REVERSE IT-

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊  3.2k

author’s note ┊ WOOHOO part one finally out! thank you so much for all the love on the prologue, it made me so motivated to make this as good as possible hehe >.< each chapter title is based off of a lyric in my writing playlist for this series, lmk if you guys would like me to drop it  ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶. happy reading!

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KEN KNEW HE WAS IN DEEP SHIT. Knee deep, even. If you asked him what was going through his head thirty seconds ago, he wouldn’t be able to tell you even if he wanted to. Everything that happened next was a blur- from shaking hands with the host to walking back to his dressing room, it felt like he was operating on autopilot. Who wouldn’t be, though? He had just announced to the world that he was officially taken; that he was off the market- hooked. Of course, it wouldn’t have been a problem if it were true…

But it wasn’t. 

He had just lied to an audience of a hundred people- not to mention the millions throughout the various streaming platforms the show was being aired on. His nails dug into his palm as he neared his dressing room, the bold, black letters of his name growing larger and larger each step he took. His heart was pounding, and he swore he felt chill down his spine the moment he opened the door. No one could blame him though, not if they knew the inevitable wrath they were about to face. 

You were stood there, eyes narrowed and resting all your weight on your hip. Your arms were crossed, your lips were pursed. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, staring at each other as you waited for the other to speak up. Ken swallowed nervously, tapping his foot as he tried formulating an explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure as to why he was so overstrung, it was just you. Why should he be terrified of your scolding on his recent screw up? 

“Special someone, huh?” You said through your teeth, finally breaking the tense silence in the room. “So special that nobody on your team knew of her prior to your public love confession?” 

Ah. That was why. The way you were able to see right through him scared him sometimes. He never outwardly showed his reactions, though- at least he tried not to. He cleared his throat before finally moving to plop down on the couch, doing his damndest not to show his jitters. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I lied, so what?” He replied, his cocky tone masking the unsureness in his words. “It’s not the first time I’ve done it.” 

Strike one. As if you couldn’t have been any more pissed off, that seemed to be the tipping point. You paused before letting out a deep breath, circling around him. He closed his eyes when he knew you were behind him, and he waited for you to berate him; to remind him of the consequences of his actions. He waited, but it never came. He opened one eye, and he relaxed when you moved to sit on the opposite couch. He was spared… for now.

“What, no scolding?” He decided to test, tilting his head to the side as he watched you. 

You only let out a small laugh, and somehow that was worse than any scolding he’d ever received from you. You were oddly calm, like all your anger had just melted away. Leaning forward, you slid an enclosed piece of paper across the table towards him. 

“Can you guess what this is, Ken?” You ask, your eyes finally looking back up to meet his. 

Ken knew not to answer. He was ready to spit out some witty reply, but the look in your eyes told him that this was going to go down another route; one that he definitely didn’t want to aggravate. 

“It’s my resignation letter.” You say nonchalantly, causing him to straighten up once more. “I keep it handy.”

Resignation letter? Was this real? Were you actually going to quit over this? He opened his mouth to speak up but quickly shut it when you maintained your soul-searching gaze. He tried to relax, yet the furrow in his eyebrows seemed to stay as you continued on. 

“I’m going to be very clear on what’s going to happen next, Ken.” You say, resting your arms on your knees. “This will be the last time I help you clear up a mishap. After everything is settled, I’m gone.” 

Gone. His eyes widened slightly, the palms of his hands starting to get clammy. He let out a light, nervous laugh, looking at you as if you had just said something absurd. Which, in his defense, you sort of did. Again, he had no idea why this news was so shocking to him, seeing as you’d only worked under him for a year and a half. Surely he couldn’t have been that terrible, right? He stared at the folded paper in front of him before speaking up.

“What, uh, what do you mean gone?” He asked through a breathy laugh. “Gone like a break or something? I’m happy to give you one-”

“Gone as in I quit.” You cut him off, standing up as you adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. “Like I said, this is the last time I clean up your mess, Ken Sato.” 

You moved to walk away, but he quickly caught your arm. “Woah, hold on a sec,” He stood up, looking down at you with stunned eyes. “Quit? C’mon, [Y/N] I know I screwed up but you can’t just leave me hanging like this-” 

You scoffed at him then, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Oh I can’t leave you hanging, huh? Tell me, Ken, how many times have I saved your ass in the last eighteen months I’ve been working for you, hm?”

He swallowed dryly as he tried to recall. He was used to having his name on headlines, most especially after his move last year. He couldn’t go five seconds without seeing his ads pop up on his platforms, hell he couldn’t even go five blocks without seeing a billboard with his face on it. Which all brought him back to one thing: not one negative scandal under his name. With you, he was perfect; jack of all trades in the MLB and the internet’s favorite spokesperson. 

Shit. Strike two. 

You only hummed in response once you read over his expression. “Exactly. So the next time you even think about downplaying my job, remember how I was the reason for your recent success.”

Ken was at a loss for words. Rarely was he ever left speechless, he always seemed to have a response ready for anything. But now was definitely not one of those times. He watched as you bent down to retrieve that dreaded letter, and you shoved it into his chest before moving to finally walk past him. 

“Our flight leaves tomorrow at five a.m, I'll see you in the lobby at three.” You say, not so much as sparing him a glance as you fixed your bag. 

He managed to let out a quiet ‘okay’, gripping onto your letter tightly as he watched you pack up. Damn Ken, you really did it this time, didn’t you? He thought to himself, wondering how- or rather, if he would be able to make things right with you. For the first time in his career, he was thinking about someone else other than himself. 

“Oh and Ken,” You say, breaking him out of his dazed stance. 

“Hm?” He hummed out, averting his gaze to be level with yours. 

“You had better pray that the next assistant you get is half as good as I am.” You said before closing the door, leaving him alone in his dressing room. All of a sudden it felt… quiet. Too quiet. He sighed, dropping down on the couch once more before closing his eyes and masking his face with his hands.

Strike three. 

THE TENSION IN THE CAR WAS PAINSTAKINGLY PALPABLE. Ken’s leg bounced as the two of you were stuck in airport traffic, the car unmoving for nearly half an hour now. Your occasional sighs and the hum of the car’s engine were the only sounds filling the air. He felt like he was going crazy. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly the night before thanks to your bombshell of an announcement. In comparison, though, he probably shouldn’t be complaining about bombshells when he himself dropped one twice the size of yours. 

Still, he was restless. You hadn’t uttered a single word to him since landing back in Tokyo, and the unwanted solitude was driving him nuts. He glanced over at you through his shades, noting the way you were impatiently tapping your fingers against the wheel. Obviously you were still pissed at his little stunt, and the articles following the incident didn’t aid in calming your anger. 

He knew it wasn’t smart, but he needed to talk to you. The sea of red lights in front of him remained stagnant, and he didn’t want to spend another minute in this deafening quietude. He gnawed at his bottom lip before finally breaking the silence. 

“Can we talk?” He said, looking over at you. 

“No.” You replied bluntly.

“[Y/N]-” He started, but one glance from you was enough to shut him up. 

“I am doing you a huge favor by helping you solve the mess you created.” You said as you looked back at the road ahead of you, lifting your fingers and circling your thumbs around the wheel. “I could’ve left right then and there, leaving you to deal with this on your own. But I didn’t, I don’t know why, but I didn’t.”

You looked back up at him, and only now did he notice the circles under your eyes and the paleness of your complexion. Something inside him twisted; he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or regret. Guilt, probably, for having to rely on you to correct his mistakes, and regret for even causing this whole debacle in the first place. 

“The least I’m asking from you is your compliance.” You say tiredly, the glint in your eyes doing most of the talking. 

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He managed to get out, leaning back into the passenger seat. 

And just like that, the dreaded silence was back. By some miracle the traffic started to gain some speed, the taillights of the cars ahead of him dispersing onto the road. His head hit the back of the headrest, and he sat through the entire ride back to the Tokyo Dome contemplating his recent choices. 

It was only when you knocked on the window of the passenger side when he realized he had finally reached his destination. He got out, stretching his limbs after being cramped inside the car for so long. He threw on his jacket lazily, not even bothering to zip it up. He went to put on his cap, but then he noticed something odd. 

It was quiet outside the building, the bristle of the trees and the nearby roads the only sound filling his ears. There was something lacking; the neverending shuttering sounds of cameras and eager voices yelling at him to look or to say something. He realized then the lack of paparazzi and reporters outside to greet him, just like they usually did whenever he came back from a trip. His head turned, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked around. Not a single one in sight.

“‘Something wrong?” You asked as you walked past him to swipe your ID into the security system. 

“It’s just,” He said, still looking around in confusion. He let out an airy laugh as he followed you inside, the expression on his face remaining the same. “There’s no paps or anything.”

At that you laugh, albeit sarcastically, waiting for him to get into the elevator. “You know that might be the first time I’ve ever heard a famous person complain about not being bombarded by ill-intent people.” 

“I’m not complaining, trust me.” He says, putting his hands up halfway in defense. “It’s weird. That’s all.” 

“Well that’s what happens when people think you’re spending time with your special someone after being away for so long.” You say, pulling up a press announcement on your phone. 

For a split second, Kenji had completely forgotten that he had to keep up the fact that he supposedly had a significant other waiting for him at home. He let out an ‘ah’, sliding his hands into his pockets as the elevator went up. Again his heart panged, finally realizing why your eyebags were deeper than they usually were. While he may have had discomfort in his slumber, it didn’t compare to the hours you were up trying to get everything settled here.

You held the door open to your office, letting him in first. Once the lights were on, he was greeted with your infamous whiteboard, different scribbles of colorful ink filling up the space corner to corner. He cringed at the bolded date of the talk show he was on. 

“Your bags will be sent here in the next hour, and valet has your bike ready.” You say, doing the usual routine you did whenever the both of you came back from work trips. He sat down on the sofa, nodding each time you reminded him of something. 

“Now, about the issue,” You walk over to the whiteboard, erasing its contents. “We need to find you a fake girlfriend.” 

He choked on nothing, not surprised by the news but surprised by the continued bluntness of your tone. “I beg your pardon?”

“We need to find you a fake girlfriend.” You repeated, emphasizing the words obnoxiously. 

“Yeah I get that,” He finally replied, a look of uncertainty splashing his features. “But you’re making it sound like all we need to do is shop around.”

“Well unless you can give me a face, let alone a name to your special someone, this is the plan we have.” You retort, resting a hand at your hip as the other points at the board. 

“Why can’t I just be one of those celebrities who keep their relationship private?” He questions genuinely. 

“Oh I’m sorry, who was the one who announced that they were in love on live television?” You remind him, annoyance laced in your words. 

He bites back any sort of sarcastic remark that conjures up in the back of his head. You were right, obviously you were right. But some part of him felt it was… unfair to not have a say in this. Stupid, yes, but it’s how he felt.

“Can I continue or is there anything else you want to unnecessarily add?” You ask, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. 

He only lifted a hand, signaling for you to carry on. You go on to explain that whoever ends up “dating” him will need to have to go through a contract signing, NDA included. You draw up charts on your board, showing him the possible stats of his ratings if he’ll be able to pull this off. 

“Your next playoff season is about to start, I suggest we get all this settled by then.” You scroll on your smartwatch, looking at the calendar. “It gives me two weeks to plan everything out. I need you here tomorrow bright and early so that we can go through a list of potential candidates.”

“Candidates? What is this, speed-dating?” He says, making a face at all the analytical parts of your plan. 

“No, it’s a game called ‘save-my-reputation.’” You answer snarkily, narrowing your eyes slightly at him. 

He takes in a deep breath, starting to get annoyed with your remarks. He knew he had no right to, but to think that you were just dictating away at his choices made him feel like some sort of plaything. 

“I just don’t understand why we even need to find a ‘girlfriend’ in the first place.” He massages the back of his head before crossing his arms. “I mean everyone thinks I’ve successfully hidden my love life up until now, what’s the point of going all out?”

He could see you clench your fingers around the marker, and he knew he was close to reaching your tipping once more. All in the span of twenty-four hours. You pinched the bridge of your nose before you spoke up.

“Ken. You told the world that you were in love.” You say in an eerily calm tone. “You got yourself into this mess, now you have to get yourself out of it. And unless you want to say goodbye to your stardom, this is what you need to do.” 

He opened his mouth to speak up but was cut off by your phone’s ringing. You answered, spewing out a quick and formal ‘thank you’ to whoever was on the other line. You sighed, placing your marker back down on your desk before you walked past him towards the glass door. 

“Your bags are here.” You say, opening the door. “Your bike’s parked outside and everything should be good to go.” 

Your demeanor had changed in a split second, going from PR manager to assistant in the blink of an eye. At times Ken wondered how you were able to juggle everything. It wasn’t the main thing that was on his mind, he had… other, more serious things to worry about. Like the other secret he had kept from you all this time; Ultraman. He shook his head, trying not to focus on his double life on top of the situation he was in. 

Ken knew that your words were a sign to get up and get out, and he did just that. You followed him all the way back down to the lobby of the stadium, handing him his duffel bag and walking him to his bike. Despite your earlier mood, you did your checks on his motorbike that he had grown accustomed to after a while. 

“Tomorrow, bright and early.” You remind him, crossing your arms as he got on his bike. “Please.”

“Tomorrow, bright and early.” He repeats through a huff, slinging his bag into the compartment attached to the back of his motorbike. “Got it.” 

You only hummed in response, turning away to walk back into the stadium. He didn’t know what it was that came over him, but before he knew it he was grabbing your arm softly once more. Your head spun around to look at him, more of your stray hairs spilling out of your updo. At this angle the sunset brought out the shininess of your eyes, the early evening shadows accentuating your features. 

He swallowed before he continued. “You know for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.” 

Instead of another curt response, though, you sighed as you pressed your lips together. He lets go of your arm then, not wanting to invade anymore of your personal space than he already has. He can see you poke your tongue into your cheek, a habit you did when you were in contemplation. 

“Well,” You finally breathe out, your expression relaxing. “If you’re actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.” 

“‘Course.” He says before his face gets obscured by his helmet. He nods towards your direction once more before finally revving the engine. 

Only time will tell what the outcome is, but whatever it is, he hopes he ends up in the one where you don’t loathe his very being. 

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp

[uniquecutie-puffs]

SHE’S MINE | 00

CATCH ME, I’VE FALLEN IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, chaotic fluff, smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan, RUMORS isn’t related to anything that happens in this series

word count ┊ 798

author’s note ┊ YAY i finally wrote it! i really love the fake dating/marriage convenience trope and i’ve been itching to write it with kenji. this is highly inspired by one my favorite books of all time, terms & conditions by lauren asher! if you enjoy fake dating i highly recommend reading it. as mentioned at the top, this is only the prologue! i'll be putting out part one and the series masterlist asap hehe... as always, happy reading!

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SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED IF ANYTHING YOU SAID EVER STUCK WITH KEN. For the past year and a half, you had the supposed “dream life” that every assistant yearned for. It confused you, really, as you tried to ponder on what part of your job was envious. Were the late nights drafting NDA breaches so desirable? What about the press statements after altercations, were those résumé worthy? You let out a deep sigh as you watched Ken from the TV in his dressing room, crossing your arms as you sunk deeper into the couch.

He was on a press tour for his latest collaboration, his overconfident persona charming everyone left and right. You had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he used his signature flair to charm the show’s host. At least he was sticking to the script… for the most part. He wore the product, threw in a few adlibs, and of course, flirted. Be it a talk show host or a random photographer on the street, Ken always found a way to leave people smitten with him- save except you. 

It’s not like you were actively trying to hate him, he just made it so easy. At first you thought it was just some awkward phase, like he was just trying to adjust to working with a new team. But then he just kept doing the same things over and over again. A brawl with an opposing team member? Just another Sunday night. A rumor about having a fling with yet another supermodel? Sounds just about right. 

“I mean of course I have to thank my team,” Ken’s voice cut through your train of thought. “It was a dream of mine to play for the Giants as a kid, now I actually get to do it.”

Tone it down, asshole. You thought to yourself, noting the sarcasm laced in his words. Of course the general public wouldn’t have caught on, but you had no doubt his coach and the other players would. Then again, he’d been relatively untouchable because of his rank in the sports world. You poked your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head as you sat through the rest of his interview. The clock on the wall counted down the remaining time, the bright red numbers casting a reflection on the screen. Two minutes left, and all he had to do was to keep the act up…

…Until he didn’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what was about to happen next. 

“Now I don’t want to hold here any longer, but you know I have to ask it,” The host teased, almost like an overexcited child ready to tattle. “Any special someone back home?” 

Ken chuckled, just like he usually did when asked the question. “Cheeky question,” He paused and grinned, his eyebrow raised slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. “What if there was?” 

“Well, is there?” The host pushed, his tone eager to have the Ken Sato answer such a juicy question. He gestured toward the crowd before he continued. “I mean there are a lot of fans here today who would love to know more…” 

“Yeah? And if I said yes, then what?” He replied, his smile growing brighter and his eyes shining. 

The crowd cheered even harder, itching to find out the truth. You shared the same sentiments, trying to figure out what the hell Ken was up to now. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, why didn’t anyone know about it? You stood up straight now, your right hand deathly gripping the remote. What the hell do you have up your sleeve, Kenji Sato? Your inner voice seemed to yell as you waited for him to speak up. 

“I mean only time will tell, yeah?” The host replied, leaning back in his seat. “C’mon Ken, it’s not nice to keep secrets.”

Ken mimicked the host’s moves, leaning back into his sofa chair as well. He shrugged his shoulders, licking his lips as he fiddled with his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek, and though it was brief you caught it. You knew that look; his look of contemplation. Your grip on the remote was still taut as your breathing seemed to quicken the longer he waited. Granted it was only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. 

He tilted his head slightly then, his eyes staring directly at the camera. It slowly zoomed closer to focus entirely on him, and he let out a small laugh before he finally replied. His gaze was strong, and it almost felt like he was actually looking at you.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He finally said, throwing in a lovesick smile for good measure. “And she’s the best damn thing in my life right now.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

[uniquecutie-puffs]

FAMILIAR TALENT

pairing: saja boys x (painter) female reader

summary: they remember the talent you had with you in the past, but now you have brought it to the future.

warning: a couple of curse words, majority of it is dialogue, and not proofread word count: 1.2k

Ever since the boys made their entry into the human realm, they savor whatever little free time they have before going back to work. And so, this is why they are here, currently at a historical art museum. They had nothing in mind that they wanted to do and they were passing by anyways, so why not go inside to look around for a bit. Now there’s nothing surprising inside, it’s exactly what you’d imagine when you hear the words “historical art museum”. It’s just collections of many ancient and very valuable artifacts showcased in a glass barrier under tight security. 

All the boys went their separate ways since they all found things that caught their interest. As Jinu was walking around– looking side to side, he stumbled across the painting section. Just as he did before, he looked at each painting with curiosity before moving onto the next. Eventually, he did get bored since most of these paintings have a similar subject or style. He was about to make his exit when his eyes just so happened to look to the furthest area of the room. 

Strange? Why was there just one painting on that wall? 

Again, curiosity has him hooked with interest. He moved closer and stopped when he finally got a clear view of the painting. 

“Hey there you are Jinu, I was looking– is that?” Abs cheered but stopped just as Jinu did. 

“Did you find him? Why are the two of you looking at that p-painting?” Romance asked but stood silent next to them. 

“Are you guys ready to go or… what?” Mystery inquired as he then realized why the rest of the guys are so quiet. 

“What’s up with you guys?” Baby exclaimed before standing in front of the painting in question. 

“This painting… it can’t be?” Jinu questioned. 

He was quick to snap out of his daze to search for the art label. And that’s when he saw it, a familiar name that had gone unspoken for centuries. Your name, your full name. 

“This painting was painted by her.” Jinu stated and the boys instantly knew who he was referring to. 

“How can you be so sure?” Romance wondered, almost in complete denial. 

“Look at the strokes? Look how the paint is layered? Look at how the anatomy and… facial features are done? This is her work, undoubtedly.” Jinu explained. 

While Jinu, Abs, and Romance stare longer at the painting, Baby and Mystery examine the art label some more. 

“That’s so messed up!” Baby nearly shouted. 

“What?” The three turned their gaze at the other two members. 

“It says that originally this painting was proclaimed to have been painted by someone else. By…” Mystery’s fists started clenching instinctively when he read the name of who took credit for your work. 

“By who?” Jinu waited patiently. 

“Her tutor. That greedy bastard.” Mystery fumed. 

“It seems like only recently did they find evidence to show that she was the true artist. That’s… just sad.” Baby’s voice softened as they all looked at the painting together once more. 

“It’s truly a beautiful piece of work.” Jinu mumbled. 

Flashback to the past… 

“What’s that?” Jinu curiously pointed, as he sat on the ground watching you paint. 

“You.” You replied, not bothering to look back at him. 

“I hope not, doesn’t look anything like me.” He joked. 

“Hahahaha very funny. I would watch it if I were you. Don’t forget, I can paint anything that I want.” You threatened evilly and to that he let out a nervous gulp. 

“I will keep my mouth shut.” You just hum in agreement as you continue adding more paint to the paper. 

“We’re back! And with some snacks.” Romance sang as Abs opened the door with Mystery and Baby not too far behind. 

“You’re painting again? Don’t you ever get tired of doing that?” Abs grumbled as he laid on the floor. 

“Never, I love painting and I would never give this up.” Your smile brought a smile onto theirs. 

“What are you painting now?” Baby asked, tilting his head to the side to get a better guess. 

“It’s Jinu, of course!” Your response got a couple of muffled laughter hidden behind their sleeves. 

“I’d watch it if I were you.” Jinu advised as you gave a frightening scowl. 

“Hah, you’ll see. It’ll turn out better than you’d ever expect. In fact, I’ll even paint the rest of you to prove my point!” You declared as all the boys dug into the snacks that were brought back into your room.

Back to the present… 

“Oh I see you all like our newest addition to the museum?” The gallery director mused. “We’re so lucky to have this piece donated to us.” 

“Donated? By who?” Jinu asked, almost contemplating whether he can buy the ownership for the painting. 

The director fixed his glasses as he so elegantly proudly used both of his hands to direct their attention to a woman. Though her back was turned towards them, their senses were tingling. Something about that person is familiar. 

“I think it’s also a massive coincidence that the owner has the same first name as the painter, what a world we live in?” The director left all giddy as he then brings a conversation up with you. 

You were shocked when he notified you of who was looking at your painting. You turned around and it felt like time just stopped. 

There they were, the faces that you have yet to see for centuries and nearly forgotten if it weren’t for that painting. 

“I’ll talk to you later, director.” You politely excused yourself as you walked closer to the group. 

“...Is it really you? Y/N?” Jinu hesitantly said as the others watched, breaths held. 

“So you do remember me, Jinu?” You teased, opening your arms to hug him. “I missed you. I missed you guys so much.” 

“Shit, it really is you!” Abs cried as he lifted you up with ease. 

“It’s been way too long.” Romance murmured, hugging you as soon as you were put back down. 

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Mystery complimented, as he got his share of hugs. 

“We missed you just as much.” Baby cried out while trying his best not to ruin your outfit. 

“So are you still painting?” Jinu quietly asked. 

“Yup, can’t stop even if I wanted to.” You smirked as you then invited all of them to where you work. 

Your art studio left them speechless. All around were masterfully painted paintings. Some were unfinished but still as impressive. 

“I’ve learned a lot since coming to this world.” You sit on your chair before you take a sip from your cup. 

“What are you going to paint next?” Mystery pondered. 

“I was actually hoping if I could have you guys be my next models. The one in the museum is great but it could be better. So what do you guys say?” You didn’t even have to wait before picking up your apron and brushes. 

“HECK YEAH!” They all screamed as they ran onto the mini stage you had for your models. 

“Alright, hold still and don’t move. Or else…” You said evilly as you started putting some paint down. 

“Or else?” Baby asked nervously. 

“You don’t wanna know.” You devilishly joked as all the guys got anxious and stood as still as they could until you gave them the green light to be free.

[uniquecutie-puffs]

thinking of yandere!jinu from kpop demon hunters

yandere!jinu x gn!reader; tw slight mischaracterization; a lot of this is inspired by that one scene where the lady gives rumi the bracelet.. but if that was at midnight hehe

"There's no hope for a pathetic guy like me."

His grip on your wrist loosens and your arm falls limply by your side.

"There no hope for a pathetic guy like me," Jinu repeats. "I've let my family down. And now I've let you down, too."

You can't stop yourself. You know you should bite your tongue and tell him his family's death wasn't his fault, and that he's done nothing wrong, and that he could do no wrong anyways, not to to you; you love him so much, blah blah blah.

But it doesn't feel that way right now, does it? He's so controlling and obsessive. His perfectionist nature makes it impossible to be around him.

For starters, how did he even know you were here?

He's been using his enchanted tiger (the one from the depths of hell or whatever) to keep an eye on you. At first you'd found the blue tiger cute, but it did more than deliver messages to you and Jinu. Evidently it also delivered reports of your activities and locations to him.

Instead of reassuring him, you ask, "How long were you sitting here?"

"For you I'd wait forever," he says cheesily, but then drops his head when you glare back. "A couple of hours."

"How did you know I'd be here?" At this specific park that you came to sometimes at 2 am when you couldn't sleep???

"You wouldn't respond to my letters," he says lamely, avoiding your question. "It's the only place I knew I'd find you for sure."

So much for his nonchalant demeanor from back when you'd first met him. He had gone from being lowkey kind of mean to you to waiting for you at a playground like a dog just for the chance to talk to you again.

"What happened to you?"

"It's Gwi-Ma," he begins, but his voice is strained and the words come out in a flood. "I know you told me to just ignore him but I can't. He won't stop talking to me. He tells me things. He tells me that you'll leave me, and that I'm not good enough for you, and that you'll leave me, and--"

You raise a hand to quiet him but he falls to his knees and wraps his arms around you. "Save me," he begs. " I need you to save me from Gwi-Ma... from myself..."

You pull away from him after a moment of struggle but he doesn't stand up. Instead he continues to kneel. "I hate being like this, too," he sighs. "I hate the way you're looking at me now. We were perfect at first, weren't we?"

And he's right; you were. You really were perfect together. You teased him, and he blushed easily; he ragebaited you, and you fell for it quickly. Your banter and chemistry was unmatched.

But this... surely this was not ragebait.

The flurry of words continues; his tone is as desperate as that of a dying man asking Death for another day: "I don't hear Gwi-Ma when I'm with you. He can't get to me. You're like a shield. You bring me hope. Hope is a dangerous thing for a pathetic failure like me, I know, but you bring me hope, and hope starves Gwi-Ma... keeps him away..."

He looks at you again with the eyes of a worshipper, like a believer to a god, a savior --

"You won't leave me, will you?"

[uniquecutie-puffs]

⤷ Jinu x fem reader: reincarnation, angst, slight smut, fluff, flashbacks ‿◞ ྀི 3.6k words

𝟒𝟎𝟎 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞—𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞.

〃✦ ┆You appeared like a ghost from a forgotten past—fierce, untouchable, and destined to fade. But fate has a twisted sense of humor.

Now in the modern day, with neon lights replacing ancient lanterns and stages replacing palace halls, Jinu's memories aren’t as buried as he thought. Because you're back.

And this time, the past isn’t staying buried.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Four Hundred Years Ago

In the dust-covered alleys of the capital, where noblemen never walked and lanterns flickered only on festival nights, Jinu lived a life stripped of comfort and pride. No father. No home. Only his mother's fading warmth and the frail laughter of his younger sister kept him tethered to hope.

His most prized possession—an old, cracked bipa, passed down from a grandfather he never knew. The strings buzzed, and his fingers ached from the cold, but Jinu still played. He sang in the markets, in the gutters, in front of taverns full of drunken men—pleading silently for someone to toss a coin, to hear him, to see him.

But hunger does not wait for dreams.

His mother collapsed one evening with nothing but water in her stomach. His sister cried herself to sleep from the pain of it. Desperation crept into his soul like frostbite.

And then he heard it. A voice—silken and venomous—whispered to him as he sat alone under a half-shattered bridge:

"You desire more, do you not?" "Let me make you heard. Let me make you needed."

"...Who are you?" Jinu whispered, heart hammering.

"I am Gwi Ma. And you are meant for more than this filth."

His voice shattering and reforging like molten metal. And when he awoke, the streets no longer spat him out.

He sang again.

But this time, the crowds stopped. This time, the nobles listened. This time, even the king heard of the boy with the voice that could silence war drums.

And so, Jinu was brought into the palace.

The King—stern, aging, but not yet cold—was taken by him. "Sing for me," he commanded. "Often." And he did.

The palace gave Jinu more than gold. He was granted silk robes. Hot meals. His mother nursed back to health. His sister given a tutor. They lived in a small but gracious home within the inner court walls.

Jinu thought this was it. That he had found peace.

Until the day you entered the throne room.

He remembered the moment with perfect clarity.

He was seated cross-legged beside the King's throne, plucking the bipa with practiced grace. His song—an ancient lullaby his mother used to hum—echoed softly in the high-ceilinged chamber.

Then:

The creak of massive double doors. The scrape of delicate slippers on stone. A rustle of silk robes.

His fingers froze on the strings.

You stepped into the light, flanked by your ladies-in-waiting, your posture poised, your chin held high with the quiet command of someone raised among power and etiquette. The King's daughter—his only heir.

Jinu's fingers froze on the strings.

He didn't need introductions.

He knew you — the King's daughter, the only heir of the throne. The Moon of the Court. The Jewel of Joseon.

You moved with reverence, stepping before your father and bowing deeply. As you rose, your eyes — thoughtful, soft, but unreadable — swept across the room.

And then, they landed on him.

Jinu's breath caught.

Your eyes met his, and in that fleeting moment, the sound of his bipa faded into silence.

The court didn't notice — the strings still hummed beneath his fingertips — but Jinu's world had stopped.

There was something in your gaze. Not just nobility or beauty, though you had both in abundance. It was clarity. As though you could see right through him — past the silks he now wore, past the voice that earned him this false paradise — and into the starving boy who once sang in the streets for scraps.

Your gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than custom allowed, then drifted back to your father with a serene smile.

Jinu looked down quickly, his hands trembling slightly as he resumed playing.

He felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest. Longing? Awe? He didn't know. He only knew that from this moment on, he would remember your gaze more vividly than any melody he ever composed.

You huffed, the weight of your wooden sword pressing against your palms as you swung it in a clean arc across the open courtyard. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the stone tiles. Each strike of your blade echoed through the palace grounds with sharp precision.

Across from you stood General Jae-won, his arms calmly folded behind his back. A soft, approving smile played on his lips.

"You've improved, Princess," he said, voice warm with pride.

You rolled your wrist and slashed downward with more force, the movement fluid.

"Have I now?" you asked, glancing at him with a smirk tugging at your lips.

Jae-won chuckled under his breath and nodded. "Indeed. At this rate, I might retire early and let you lead my troops."

You were about to retort when the distant sound of footsteps made you pause. Your attention shifted to the far side of the courtyard. A figure moved along the palace walkway — poised, graceful, and unfamiliar.

A young man in soft robes, his hair tied neatly, a bipa cradled gently in his arms. His stride was unhurried, yet there was a quiet intensity about him that made the world around you still.

He passed by, and for a brief heartbeat, his gaze met yours.

Dark eyes. Steady. Curious. But just as quickly, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the corridor beyond.

You blinked, brows furrowing. "Who was that?" you asked aloud, more to yourself than anyone else.

Jae-won had been watching too. He cleared his throat and turned to you with a faint look of amusement. "That would be Jinu," he said simply.

"Jinu?" you echoed, unfamiliar with the name. "I don't recall anyone by that name before I left for the Eastern etiquette academies."

"He arrived not long after your departure," Jae-won explained. "A musician... of sorts. The king's new favorite."

Your frown deepened. "I was the king's favorite."

That earned a low laugh from the general. "You still are, but His Majesty has many interests. Jinu... he brings something different."

You narrowed your eyes, still staring in the direction the stranger had gone. "What kind of musician draws the king's attention like that?"

Jae-won's expression shifted to something more thoughtful — even a little enchanted.

"His voice," he said quietly. "It's magical, Princess. Some say it's been blessed by the heavens themselves."

You scoffed, but your curiosity was piqued. A musician with the king's favor? A voice like magic?

You were a warrior, a princess of steel and fire.

But suddenly, you wanted to hear him sing.

Later that night, the palace was quiet—too quiet.

You moved with calculated steps, the silk of your robes brushing against stone floors as you slipped past your chamber doors. Every creak of wood and distant voice sent a shiver of caution up your spine. The guards were making their rounds, and the ever-watchful maids lurked like shadows in the halls, quick to report anything out of the ordinary to the king. You, however, had learned their patterns. This wasn't your first midnight escape.

You were the crown jewel of the kingdom—the king's only child. A daughter, yes, but no less an heir. Unlike the sons of kings before you, your claim to the throne had always been a matter of scrutiny. Many whispered that a queen could not rule alone, not in a world dominated by men. Your parents had tried for another child, a son to ease the burden placed on your shoulders. But the stars were not kind.

Each pregnancy after you ended in grief—miscarriages, premature births, and one heart-wrenching stillborn. The palace physician warned that another attempt could take your mother's life. Your father, once a fierce warrior now a softer man in love, refused to risk her again. When his court advised concubines, he refused them all. "One child is enough," he had said. "My daughter will be a great queen one day."

But such love came with weight. You bore it in silence—in your etiquette training, in your endless political tutoring, in your sword drills that left your hands bruised and raw. The pressure of a nation sat on your shoulders before your crown ever would.

And so, when the walls felt too tight and the crown too heavy, you sought air. Solace. Escape.

Your feet led you where they always did on nights like these—to the hidden lake just beyond the palace walls. It was a secret place tucked among the willows and stones, a patch of serenity you'd claimed as your own since childhood. There, you'd sit in silence, letting the moonlight kiss your skin, watching the fish stir beneath the ripples. It was your peace.

But tonight, peace was not alone.

You slowed as you reached the final bend of the narrow path, your slippers landing silently on the dew-damp earth. You stepped carefully from rock to rock across the stream, aiming for the familiar curve of the shore where you always sat—and then you froze.

Someone was already there.

A lone figure stood at the water's edge, tall and still, as though part of the night itself. The moonlight reflected off his silhouette, illuminating long dark hair and broad shoulders. He didn't belong to the palace guard—his stance was too relaxed, his presence too... wild.

Your heart thudded in your chest. A civilian?

Panic swept over you. If he turned around, if he saw your face—if word reached your father that his daughter had wandered alone in the dead of night—

You turned on your heel swiftly, aiming to disappear before the stranger noticed. But luck betrayed you.

Snap.

A twig cracked under your foot like thunder in the silence.

You froze in place, breath caught, lowering your head and turning slightly away to shield your identity. Your back remained toward him, posture rigid.

You didn't dare breathe.

The sound of fabric shifting came next, soft footsteps turning your way. The voice that followed was calm, smooth—almost amused.

"I wasn't expecting company tonight."

It was a man's voice. Warm. Young. Not startled, not suspicious... curious.

You didn't answer.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" he asked again, softer this time. "I've seen your footprints by the water."

Your shoulders stiffened.

You heard the faint rustle of grass beneath someone's footfall.

Your body tensed instinctively.

He stepped forward—just one pace—but it was enough to close the distance.

You exhaled, a long sigh of resignation slipping past your lips. There was no point in keeping your back to him anymore. You slowly raised your arms in mock surrender and turned to face the stranger—only to freeze the moment your eyes met his.

"...Bipa," you blurted out—the first word that shot through your panicked mind.

A beat of silence passed.

"...Excuse me?" the man replied, tilting his head slightly. His voice was calm, but confused. You wanted to crawl into the earth.

You mentally face-palmed so hard it echoed in your skull. Of course. Out of all things to say...

You were physically trained for battle, swift with the blade, fierce with your hands—but mentally? You had the memory span of a goldfish.

"Your Highness?" he added, this time his voice gentle, curious. "Are you alright?"

Your lips parted. "You..."

You hesitated as your gaze took in the contours of his face, now clearer in the moonlight. His features were familiar, sharp yet graceful—beautiful in the kind of way that left you disarmed.

You slowly lowered your hands.

"The guy with the... bipa," you finally said, squinting as if the memory would sharpen if you stared hard enough.

He blinked. Then, with a hint of amused patience, he corrected you.

"Jinu."

"Right..." you muttered, voice trailing off in awkward defeat. "Jinu."

He smiled softly—just a twitch of his lips, but it was enough to make your ears burn.

"I see you come here often, Your Highness," Jinu said with a small, curious smile, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face.

You rolled your eyes and waved him off with a sigh. "Just Y/N," you corrected, your voice soft but firm. "We're not in the palace right now."

Jinu tilted his head, amused, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "No, we're not," he agreed easily, his tone light, like he was testing the boundaries of a secret.

You turned your head slightly, catching a distant view of the glowing lanterns lining the palace rooftops. They flickered like stars in the distance, unreachable yet always watching. A breath hitched in your throat.

"Don't..." you started, your voice catching in the cold night air as you clenched your fists at your sides. "Don't tell my father."

Jinu raised a brow, pretending to consider your request. "That you've been sneaking out?" he asked, teasing laced in his voice.

You scoffed quietly. "It's called getting fresh air."

He chuckled, stepping aside to make way for you. "A royal taking midnight strolls like a runaway? Scandalous."

You brushed past him, clutching your arms tightly to your chest as a chill swept across the lakeside. The moon's reflection shimmered on the water like silver silk, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched, awkward but not uncomfortable.

Then, Jinu's voice broke through the quiet as he made his way towards you. "You always come here alone?"

You nodded slowly, your gaze still on the moonlit sky. "It's nice to get away from time to time..." you murmured, your voice soft.

Jinu hummed in response. He was now standing behind you, not too close, but close enough for his presence to feel warm. The both of you watched in silence as the clouds drifted across the face of the moon, casting fleeting shadows across the grass.

"You snitch me out, and I swear I'll break that bipa of yours—" you joked, stepping forward with a teasing tone.

But your foot landed wrong.

The soft soil beneath had turned slick from the earlier rain, and before you could catch yourself, your balance gave way. A startled gasp escaped your lips as the world seemed to tilt.

And then— Strong fingers curled around your wrist in a firm, instinctive grip.

Your body jolted, but you didn't hit the ground. Instead, you found yourself caught, leaning into Jinu's chest as he held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other still grasping your wrist.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

You could feel his breath brush against your ear, warm and steady. His heartbeat thudded just a bit too fast, matching your own. The world had gone still again—except for the racing pulse between the two of you.

"...You good?" Jinu asked, voice low, but there was something different in his tone now. Softer. Less teasing.

You tilted your head up slightly, your eyes meeting his. "Thanks for catching me..."

He didn't let go. Not right away.

Instead, his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, his dark eyes searching your face like he was trying to memorize it under the moonlight.

"You should be more careful," he muttered, but it sounded more like a confession than a scolding.

Your fingers brushed against his chest as you steadied yourself, and for a moment, neither of you moved to pull away.

"...I'm starting to think you like saving me," you whispered.

His lips curved, just barely. "Maybe," he said, almost too quietly. "Maybe I do."

The first time had been an accident.

But now... it was almost tradition.

Midnight after midnight, you'd sneak away from your chamber under the watch of sleeping guards, your steps light and practiced as you made your way to the hidden lake beyond the palace walls. And always—without fail—he would be there, waiting beneath the moonlight with his bipa resting against his lap, his gentle smile like a secret only you were allowed to see.

Jinu.

The court musician. Your father's prized performer. A boy once plucked from the streets and gifted a place in the palace because of a voice that could tame demons and move spirits.

He should have remained just that—your father's favorite.

But you ruined that boundary long ago.

You formed something with Jinu that words could not contain. A sacred bond built in glances and moments stolen between royal walls. No one knew. No one could.

Each time you passed him in the palace halls, your pinky would subtly hook with his. At the banquets, when all eyes were elsewhere, your gaze would find his. And when he sang by the lake, you'd sit by his side, laying your head on his shoulder, listening as each strum of his bipa lulled you into a peace no one else could offer.

You had brought him to your chambers before. But tonight felt different.

The silk sheets clung to your bare skin, warm from the heat between your bodies. Jinu lay in front of you, face soft with exhaustion and love, your fingers threading through his damp hair. His lips trailed kisses along your neck, slow and reverent, as he moved inside you.

Your breath hitched. A quiet moan escaped your lips before you could hold it back.

It was wrong—every bit of this. He was your father's musician. A servant in your world. And yet...

Yet your heart didn't care for titles.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath uneven, arms tightening around you. His final thrust left him trembling against you, his skin pressed to yours like he didn't want to ever let go.

You swallowed hard, throat dry from the sounds you had made earlier, still too breathless to speak.

Then, barely above a whisper, you heard him.

"I love you,"

The words left his lips like a prayer. Fragile. Honest. Final.

You blinked, heart still racing, your hand still in his hair.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling—barely audible beneath the weight of fate.

Even if the world would never let it last.

And it didn’t.

The sound of chains echoed louder than your heartbeat. Jinu turned one last time, just in time to see you thrashing in General Jae-Won’s merciless grip. His arms locked around you like iron, holding you back as if you were the one who committed a crime.

“Father, please!!” you cried out, your voice raw, cracking. Your nails dug into the general’s sleeves, desperately trying to free yourself—but it was no use. He wouldn’t let go.

You could barely see through the tears, but Jinu could still see you. He always did.

“LET HIM GO!” you screamed again, your voice echoing through the royal courtyard like thunder.

Your father stood unmoved at the top of the palace steps, adorned in royal robes, his crown catching the sunlight like a blade. His expression was colder than winter steel, his eyes locked with Jinu’s—not as a boy who had grown up beside his daughter, but as something less than human now.

As something cursed.

Jinu’s gaze dropped slowly to his trembling hands. The marks were spreading—dark, curling demonic patterns twisting up his arms, glowing faintly with a cruel hunger. They climbed past his wrists, slithering over his skin like vines. Reaching for his throat. His face.

He remembered the laughter that used to fill these palace walls.

The scent of incense during evening prayers.

Your smile.

The warmth of your pinky finger brushing against his under the palace hallways.

He had forgotten how it felt to be anything other than damned.

Gwi-ma.

You screamed again—your voice nothing short of devastation—and he flinched at the sound. But the guards didn’t stop. They dragged him forward, one step at a time, toward exile. Toward darkness.

Still, he turned his head.

Just once more.

His eyes found yours.

Tears streaked down your cheeks, mouth open in a silent sob. Everything in you was breaking—your heart, your voice, your soul. And yet, there it was.

Love. Guilt. And last...

Betrayal.

Because even though you loved him—more than anything in this cursed world—you weren’t enough to stop this.

Not this time.

And he knew…

Neither was he

Four hundred years.

It had been four centuries since the last time he saw you—not like this.

Back then, your arms were open and warm. Back then, your smile reached your eyes. Back then, he could pretend he wasn’t what he was. Neither of you were enemies.

Neither was he.

But now… now you stood before him again—on a quiet rooftop at the edge of the city, bathed in neon light and moonshine. The wind tousled your hair, but you were as steady as ever. Same face. Same voice. But not the same heart.

This time, your arms weren’t open.

This time, they held a sword. Pointed at his chest.

Your stance was firm, your blade unwavering, its silver glint reflecting the city behind you. You weren’t just someone from his past anymore.

You were a K-pop idol now... and worse— A demon hunter.

His enemy.

Jinu's lips parted slightly, breath catching in his throat as recognition lit up his eyes, soft and conflicted. Slowly, carefully, he raised his hands in surrender, stepping into the glow of a nearby billboard.

His voice came out low. Almost broken.

“...Y/N…”

The sound of your name from his lips made your heart skip, if only for a second—but you didn’t let it show.

You pressed the blade closer to his chest, the tip grazing fabric.

“I don’t have time for your games, demon,” you said, your voice sharp. “Whatever I was before… that’s gone now.”

You took a step forward.

So did he.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight.

His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find the version of you that used to laugh under cherry blossom trees.

“Maybe it’s gone for you,” Jinu murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But not for me.”

The wind stirred, lifting a few strands of your hair. You felt it—like the ghost of a memory brushing against your skin. A fragment of laughter. A night under moon light. His hand reaching for yours.

You blinked it away.

“I said don’t test me,” you warned, though your hand trembled ever so slightly against the hilt.

“I’m not,” he said gently. “I’m just... remembering.”

His gaze softened, no longer sharp like a warrior's—but tender, human.

“You once told me I made the stars feel closer,” he said. “That when we danced, it felt like the world paused.”

Your throat tightened.

That memory wasn’t his to bring up. Not now. Not after everything.

But Jinu didn’t move.

He just stood there, bare-chested and vulnerable before your blade, eyes never leaving yours.

“I don’t care what they turned you into,” he said. “If even a piece of you remembers... then I’ll wait.”

You hesitated.

Just long enough for the blade to lower—only an inch. But it was enough.

He noticed.

And he smiled, just a little. The kind of smile that hurt more than any wound.

You turned sharply before he could say another word, retreating into the shadows without looking back.

But deep in your chest, where old feelings had long been buried…

...something stirred.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

a/n: This is actually my first time posting a oneshot on tmblr so I'm really lost lol but I actually like posting some stuff I do now here so there might be a lot of random ideas I made being post here lol, but if you like some angst type of fanfics to read I got you <3

might make a part 2 of this...

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Heyy same anon from the kpop demon hunters question! Gonna try and not spoil the movie for my request lol, I loved the movie and its message and Ik Jinu wanted to be free but GOD I want him back so I NEED to have him and reader having first time + emotional yearning sex after he comes back in some way plzplzplzplz (Whether reader is a huntrix member or not is up to you haha)

A/n: still fuming about what happened to him, annny who. I hope you like it!

The blood on your hands isn’t yours.

It’s slick and warm and staining your shirt as you clutch Jinu to your chest, half-dragging, half-guiding him into your apartment. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be alive.

But here he is.

Breathing—barely.

“Shit,” you choke out, lowering him gently onto your couch. “Jinu—how—?”

“I missed you,” he says instead of answering. His voice is hoarse, cracked around the edges, like something burnt and broken and still clinging to the memory of being whole.

You press trembling fingers to his cheek, daring to believe what you’re seeing. His skin is pale, his side is bleeding through his shirt, but it’s him. The boy who had sacrificed himself to save you. The boy who vanished in a flash of demonic light while you screamed his name.

“You died, Jinu.”

“I came back.” He shudders, reaching for you with blood-streaked fingers. “For you.”

You break. Collapsing into his chest, you cry against his collarbone, barely noticing the way he winces in pain, arms wrapping tightly around you anyway. You feel like you’re breathing underwater—like you’re drowning in disbelief, relief, and aching joy all at once.

He’s here. He’s here.

“I thought I’d never feel you again,” you whisper into his neck.

His voice is ragged. “Then feel me.”

Your eyes meet his—soft golden, wet with unshed tears. There’s no teasing in them now. No idol’s smirk. Just raw, exposed want… and grief and yearning and need.

You kiss him.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. Frantic. A crash of mouths and teeth and breathless gasps as you straddle his lap. His blood seeps into your clothes, but you don’t care. You cup his face, fingers trembling as you kiss him like it’ll tether him to the world again. Like you can kiss him into staying.

“Tell me this is real,” you whisper against his lips. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “I only feel real when I’m touching you.”

You tug off your shirt, stripping off the remnants of battle-stained clothing. He watches you like you’re something divine, eyes devouring every inch of bare skin as if memorizing you is the only thing keeping him alive.

“Lie back,” you breathe, guiding him down carefully, mindful of his injury. You straddle him again, skin pressed to skin, and he groans as your lips trace his throat.

His cock is already hard beneath you—hot, twitching, and aching with the same hunger you feel in every nerve ending. You reach between you, guiding him to your entrance, both of you gasping when the tip nudges your pussy.

You sink down slowly.

His hands clutch your hips, trembling. You feel every inch of him stretch you open, fill you, claim you like he was meant to be inside you all along. Like his body remembers yours.

“Oh, fuck—Jinu,” you moan, grounding yourself with your hands on his chest.

His voice is wrecked. “I dreamed of this. Every second I was gone, I dreamed of being inside you.”

You ride him slow, bodies molded together like you’re trying to erase the days, weeks, months of loss. Every roll of your hips is a promise. Every breath is a prayer. His eyes don’t leave yours, even as they flutter with each tight clench of your pussy around his cock.

You’re crying again—you don’t know when the tears started—but they fall silently down your cheeks as you move above him. Jinu reaches up, thumbing them away with infinite tenderness.

“I didn’t die for the world,” he says softly, “I died for you. And I came back because… I couldn’t stay gone. Not from you.”

Your body trembles, your climax cresting like a wave of holy fire—raw, sacred, blissful. You gasp his name as you come, pussy clenching tight around him. He cries out beneath you, hips bucking as he spills deep inside you, arms crushing you to his chest.

You lay there for a long while, tangled in each other. Breathing each other in. Hearts pounding in sync, his fingers weaving in your hair keeping you close.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his.

“I won’t,” he vows. “Even if I die again, I’ll find a way back. I’ll always find you.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clung to him as you slowly nodded your head. You believed him and like Jinu, you would find any way to bring him back.

Because he was your soulmate and you'd never leave him behind.

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Can I get headcanons for the Yanderes Saja boys x reader respectively?

Of course, always welcome to ask💚

Yandere Saja Boys

Yandere Saja Boys: the thing that intrigued them about you was the fact you never looked in their direction, never spared them a single second of your time even when abby showed off his glistening abs the rest of the girls fainted around you, jinu thought you were broken and decided to follow you his eyes basically rolled out of his head as he saw you scream your head off for Huntrix in his head you were definitely broken and left but you never left any of the boys heads, the boys would try one by one to talk to you but got absolutely nothing.

Yandere Saja Boys: they are definitely the manipulating type, with everything bad happening to Huntrix they would blame you, they'd appear behind you and whisper hurtful things and when the idol awards happened they had you in the palm of their hands tears streaming down your face broken, ready to mold into their pretty flightless bird Jinu and Romance are the biggest manipulators in the group, Baby is the punisher he always has a sinister smile when of thinking of ways to punish you, Mystery and Abby are the ones to treat you like a doll something they can put makeup on and dress you up in whatever they like.

Yandere Saja Boys: they made a deal with Gwi-Ma, no other demons including him are allowed to touch you, you are theirs and only they can touch they see it as impurity if they did you are their pure white bird so innocent too easy to corrupt I mean look how you fell right into their cage you should be thanking them that it was them to capture you instead of someone else who could be 10× worse then them.

Yandere Saja Boys: they forced you to watch their finale show tied up on stage, staring out into the crowd watching all the people disappear Huntrix was there but nothing happened they looked as broken as you when Gwi-Ma was satisfied Abby picked you up and you disappeared into the demon realm stuck with them forever.

Yandere Saja Boys: they were definitely upgraded after all the souls consumed and you became their spoilt rotten princess you were such a delectable dessert for their twisted minds they never gave you space or privacy made your whole world them no one else can take over a split second of your attention away from them, you belong to them and only them and their more then happy to show you.