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yogirl-willow · 2 days ago

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The Crimson Pact | Part 1

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader ; SoulBond!AU Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

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

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

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again. Parts: Characterizations | Part 2 | Part 3

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

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

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The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

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

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

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

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A Sudden Encounter

You’re just… tired.

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

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

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

You walk through life like it’s background noise.

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

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

You stop.

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

You don’t recognize them.

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

And then you see them.

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

Your heart stutters.

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

You can’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—pink smoke.

They vanish.

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

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

────────── ⚘ ──────────

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

Jinu collapsed first.

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

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

“It’s her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait,” he said softly. “We plan.”

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

“We charm.”

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

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

Quiet. Final. Unshakable.

“We take her back.”

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

You press play.

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

Your chest aches.

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

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

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

You don’t sleep that night.

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Later that night, after filming wraps…

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s catchy”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jinu’s eyes widened, haunted at the memory.

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

A deal.

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

And you did it.

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

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

All for what?

To share her?

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

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

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

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

All of you.

For good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They just kneel, a silent agreement.

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

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

They’ll possess you.

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The boys apparated back to their apartment in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tie her down if we have to.”

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

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

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

They turned.

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

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

Silence again.

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

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

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

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

Jinu’s jaw tensed.

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

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

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

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

You would remember.

You would come back.

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

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

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

You turned the corner and froze.

“Y/N?”

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

Jinu.

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

You saw him.

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

And then—

“Y/N.”

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

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

The world spun.

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

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

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

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

A gentle touch. Behind you.

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

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

You blinked—

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

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

The fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes were nothing but shadow.

He wanted you.

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

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

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

Jinu caught his arm. “Abby—”

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

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

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

Not human.

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

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

And behind you— They didn’t follow.

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

Mystery whimpered once.

Baby’s fists dripped blood from his own grip.

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

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

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

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

His voice dropped.

“We seduce her.”

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

Then you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Baby—oh god.

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

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

But they feel like they are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because the bond was waking.

And soon—you’d be theirs again.

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

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #jinu x reader #abby x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader #baby x reader #yandere #yandere saja boys #kpdh #jinu kpdh #kpdh x you

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that-one-girl2020 · 3 days ago

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Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 5

A/N: Thank you for the 1,000 followers! That’s kinda crazy but I guess I shouldn’t underestimate the kpop fandom. Anyways, you guys voted so all the Saja Boys will be getting the trauma but it kinda turned into trauma bonding…? Let me know what you think of their backstories, I tried hard to get the right balance of ‘I-need-this-and-I-want-it-desperately’ and ‘I-later-feel-shame-or-guilt-for-this’ while also keeping to their individual personalities.

This part is kinda long because we finally get to the reader actually singing! I was tempted to use ‘Free’ from kpdh but that’s Rumi and Jinu’s song and it didn’t fit the MC’s feelings and thoughts so I had to find a song that fit.

Speaking of, thanks to @ghastlyjewel67-blog for the inspiration for the second song!

TW: Self mutilation (scratching), toxic parental figure (thanks Celine), death threat (just a little), insecurity and low self esteem.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 6 || Part 7

Word Count: 5,661

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

“(Y/n)?” You looked up at the call of your name. Oh yeah. You were trying to get some air so you went for a walk.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” You asked the group of disguised Saja Boys numbly. Or, maybe it wasn’t that you felt numb at that moment, but you were actually feeling too much at once.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Chungae asked softly. You didn’t know why they seemed to have such worried looks on their faces as they joined you on the bench, Chungae on your right, Hyeon on your left, Jum on Hyeon’s left, and Kwan and Jinu crouching in front of you.

What you also didn’t know was that they had scrambled to the park as soon as they had learned from Derpy and the bird that you were in the park, distressed.

“Nothing, I’m fine boys,” You tried to reassure them, smiling at them.

Then Hyeon silently reached towards your face, his finger gently swiping your cheek and pulling away to show the tears that had gathered on his finger.

Surprised, you reached up to your own face and realized that it was wet. ‘Had you really been crying?’

As if you realizing you were crying had opened the floodgates, your body shuddered as you tried to laugh and wipe your face, “Oh.”

Chungae and Hyeon pulled you into their arms, Jum reached over to hold your hand and squeezed it comfortingly, Kwan and Jinu rested their hands on your legs, letting them know they were there with you.

“I’m sorry,” You couldn’t help but apologize. “I just… I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Don’t apologize, babe,” Kwan said, squeezing your thigh lightly.

“Never apologize for what you feel,” Hyeon growled softly, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

“Just… tell us what you’re thinking about,” Jinu softly recommended.

The tears came faster and you shook harder. It felt like all that was keeping you together was the feeling of the five boys around you. “I… I don’t want the Honmoon to be completed…!” You choked out, your body shaking and the air in your lungs stuttering as you tried to breathe through your crying.

With a soft surge of demon magic, you were somewhere else, an apartment on a couch with the boys in the same position as before. They thought you would want a little privacy right now…

Being with the boys, surrounding you with safety and comfort, helped you to feel safe enough to open up the chest of shame and weakness you kept locked in your chest. “If the girls seal the Honmoon, I don’t think I’ll be allowed to stay on this side of the barrier. And I’ve given everything… for the Honmoon to be completed because that’s what’s always been expected of me. I’ve given my blood, sweat, tears, my dreams, my soul for it but it’s never. Been. Enough.”

The boys couldn’t help but hold you closer, their hearts clenching at the sight of you so… distraught? Broken? In despair? Whatever the word for it was, they hated it.

They wanted to d̴̮̗̟̱̆̆̈́ē̵̥͎̠̮͊̽̍́̃̋͘s̵̱̅͛̇̉̈́͜ṯ̵̾ŗ̴̲̘͋ọ̴͕̙͒̎̆ý̵̡̱̠̻̟̰̹͈̕̕ whatever it was that was making you so sad but they couldn’t.

All they could do was hold you together in their own tainted hands and listen.

“And I don’t want to lose any of you either,” You continued, the words and the tears coming faster, “But I think the worst part is that I’m afraid that if I tell Rumi or the other girls that I like the part of my father that I have, the part that loved a Hunter that was meant to kill him? I’ll be betraying them, and my Aunt Celine, and my mother’s memory…”

They were quiet. What could they say to comfort you? To reassure you that you were so much better than them? They, who were nothing but monsters in the dark, made up of their own mistakes and shame.

“When I was human,” Jinu spoke softly, squeezing your ankle as he looked down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. “My family was poor and the only thing I had to my name was a bipa so I busked the streets to make money, try and give my mom and sister a better life. But it didn’t get me anywhere, and that was when I first heard Gwi Ma. His power, it changed my life overnight. But it came at a cost. When I was welcomed into the palace by the emperor for my singing, my mother and sister were cast away. I left them. And still, I ate my fill everyday, sleeping comfortably in silk blankets until the patterns started spreading and dragged me to the demon realm to serve under Gwi Ma.”

The other boys shared small glances with each other. And then, Hyeon spoke, “I… I was… insecure. I had someone I loved but I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t enough. I wanted more. We would go on walks together and other people would approach her and I would be pushed to the wayside. So, Gwi Ma made me beautiful and I finally felt like I had her attention. I was so happy and I couldn’t help but want more and more. She left me, and not long after, the patterns took over. That’s why, I don’t like showing my face anymore…”

You nuzzled your head against Hyeon’s to give him comfort and his lips quirked up appreciatively.

Kwan sighed, “I wasn’t entirely honest when I told you my deal with Gwi Ma… Yeah, I wanted strength after I lost my family. But I didn’t want it to protect, I wanted it to destroy. I became the strongest so I could desecrate those that killed my family… I became a monster. Even now, I still feel like that same beast sometimes.”

You didn’t like the self deprecating look he had—hypocritical, you know—so you nudged him with your foot softly. He looked up and the two of you shared soft, sad smiles.

Chungae grimaced, pulling away from you slightly, “I’m kind of like Hyeon… I lived with my relatives who were matchmakers and so I was surrounded by love all the time. But it never felt like it was directed at me. So, as I got older and no one showed interest in me, I started getting jealous. I wanted to love and be loved so badly, I didn’t understand why no one loved me. Gwi Ma helped me and, suddenly, people were clamoring for my love, some even fighting each other for it. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t until the patterns took over.”

You pulled him back close, leaning your head against his shoulder as you held his hand with the one Jum wasn’t holding.

Jum rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t have the same backstory as you guys, I was born in the demon realm, y’know. I’ve never known any different. I guess… if anything, I wish I was born a human in the first place. I wish I didn’t have to leech off the souls of others just to sustain myself.”

It was quiet as the six of you processed what was shared. You couldn’t help but chuckle, “Wow. What a big mess we are.” You smiled when it got a few light laughs, the tear tracks starting to dry. “Did you guys know, I wanted to be a singer when I was younger?”

They blinked at the sudden change of topic but followed along as it made your smile grow from sad to some broken reflection of joy. “Why didn’t you?” Jinu asked curiously.

You shook your head, “My Aunt Celine told me it was a useless skill for me.” You rolled your eyes, “Focus on supporting your sister and protecting her secret, she said.”

Kwan scoffed, scowling, “What a load of bull.”

You hummed neutrally in response, “Maybe.”

Jum leaned over to you, “Will you sing something for us?”

Your face flushed suddenly, “Wait, what?”

Chungae nodded in agreement to Jum’s request, “Yeah, please (Y/n)?”

Hyeon nuzzled closer as well, obviously he wanted you to sing too. Jinu and Kwan looked at each other in fond amusement. The five had known each other for at least a century, but they had never felt as close with each other as they did right now with you.

You sighed, “Alright fine.” You looked up in thought, your head tilted back to rest against the back of the couch. Then you closed your eyes and opened your mouth.

“Tell me once again~ I could have been anyone, anyone else~ Before you made the choice for me~ My feet knew the path~ We walked in the dark, in the dark~ I never gave a single thought to where it might lead~”

Your voice wasn’t professional after years of neglect, the vocal training your aunt had given you long depleted. But it was soft and it was sweet and it was raw. It was you. The boys could feel each emotion you put into the song and they couldn’t help but gravitate closer to you.

“All those empty rooms~ We could have been anywhere, anywhere else~ Instead, I made a bed with agony~ My heart knew the weight~ Ten years worth of dust and neglect~ We made our peace with weariness and let it be~”

As you sang, your chest warmed as the song spilled from your lips. It felt right, like something that had jarred a long time ago was finally slotting back into place.

You wanted to cry again. Was this really how you felt about Rumi and your Aunt Celine all this time? Deep in your heart?

“Name your courage now~ We could have had anything, anything else~ Instead, you hoarded all that's left of me~ Swallowin' your doubt~ Like swords to the pit of my belly~ I want to feel the fire that you kept from me~”

The boys listened closely to every note that spilled from your lips. Because music was probably the language they understood best now. They couldn’t help but ache for you. The longing and the heartache and the bittersweet love you sang of.

“The moon will sing a song for me~ I loved you like the sun~ Bore the shadows that you made~ With no light of my own~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ (I could have been anyone, anyone)~ I shine only with the light you gave me~ (I could have been anyone, anyone)~”

The last notes faded into the silence of the apartment. The boys moved closer, surrounding you in their love and appreciation.

“That was… beautiful, (Y/n),” Jinu complimented you softly.

“Sing more often,” Hyeon commented, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck and breathing in your scent.

You laughed softly, your heart more settled now. You were still nervous for the Honmoon to be sealed, but right now? Your boys were surrounding you in a bubble of warmth and safety.

”Thank you, boys…”

~~~

It was time. The Idol Awards had come.

You had come back to the tower that morning to see the girls already awake and in the living area.

“(Y/n)!” Zoey greeted you energetically so early in the morning. “Where have you been? We all agreed that Takedown wasn’t the right song for sealing the Honmoon, so we’re going to be performing Golden tonight!”

You froze. You would be happy to never listen to Takedown again but on the other hand… All your hardwork for their outfits and visuals: down the drain…

Your smile strained, the relaxed feeling in your chest lingering from your time with the boys faltering. You felt like scratching the bandages Jinu had carefully reapplied over your arms this morning. “Oh. Great. I’m just gonna go… replace your Takedown outfits with the Golden ones.”

You turned to go to their wardrobe. The girls grimaced as they watched you go. Oops…

“Sorry, (Y/n)!” Rumi called after you, feeling bad that she had inadvertently given you more work this morning.

Rumi should talk to you, she knew that. But the deal she made with Jinu wouldn’t directly affect you, it was between her and him. It wasn’t worth adding more stress to your plate. She was going to protect you.

So here you were, hours later at the Idol Awards stage. You were waiting in the girl’s dressing room, the girls having joined you a little bit ago as you waited for the Saja Boys to perform first. Bobby was keeping track of everything, waiting to get the girls for their cue.

You couldn’t help but side eye Mira as she whaled on a punching bag with a poster of abs on it. “I. Hate. Abs!” She raged. You looked away. ‘Okayyyy then… They must’ve run into the boys on the way here…’

Suddenly, Bobby burst into the room, “Girls, the Saja Boys are fighting.”

You gasped, your chest tightening as you swallowed thickly. ‘What could they possibly be fighting about?’ You thought worriedly. You hoped they wouldn’t hurt each other and that they would be alright.

“That means you're on now!”

“Okay. This is it. For the fans,” Rumi took the lead, the three of them smiling while you couldn’t help but scratch your arm anxiously, your mind still stuck on the boys. The girls huddled and you remained on the sidelines.

“For the world.”

“For us.”

Bobby led the charge out of the dressing room and towards the stage, “Yes! We win this, and then we celebrate with Itaewon corn dogs!”

You followed Rumi out, unable to help but call after her, “Wait, Rumi!”

She turned to you, fixing her microphone. “What is it, (Y/n)?”

‘Please don’t seal the Honmoon. I’m scared. I don’t want to do this. Please don’t take them away from me.’

You smiled at her, hoping it wasn’t as broken as it felt. “You’re gonna do great. You’ve got this.”

Rumi smiled softly, taking your hand, “Thank (Y/n). Come on.”

Your smile fell as Rumi turned and you quietly followed her. Why did you have to be such a coward?

The girls took their places and you felt your chance to stop them slipping through your fingers like sand. You followed Bobby to the screen showing the livestream of the performance, he noticed your down energy.

“Hey, don’t worry, (Y/n), they got this! They’re gonna do great!” He tried to reassure you.

You gave him a small smile, “Thanks Bobby.” You turned back to the screen.

“I was a ghost, I was alone, hah~ 어두워진, hah, 압길속에 (Ah)~Given the throne, I didn't know how to believe~ I was the queen that I'm meant to be~ I lived two lives, tried to play both sides~ But I couldn't find my own place~ Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild~ But now that's how I'm getting paid, 끝없이 on stage~”

The girls started off perfectly, their choreography on point and their vocals hitting every note. Bobby was following along next to you, doing the choreography and mouthing the lyrics as he did. You couldn’t blame him, you usually did it too when the two of you were watching the girls perform together. But today, your mind was too occupied…

“I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin' like I'm born to be~ We dreamin' hard, we came so far, now I believe~”

Zoey and Mira swiftly exited the stage to give Rumi her solo, everything going according to plan.

“We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment~ You know together we're glowing~ Gonna be, gonna be golden~ Oh, up, up, up with our voices~ 영원히 깨질 수 없는~ Gonna be, gonna be golden~”

Rumi went up on the gold aerial ring, swinging over the crowd as she sang. Bobby cheered as we watched her perform, “Yes, Rumi’s crushing it!” Rumi landed on stage again, but as she was about to finish the post-chorus, the lights on stage went out.

You blinked, turning to Bobby who was checking his clipboard with confusion. “Bobby, what’s going on?”

He shook his head, looking back up at the screen with a concerned furrow in his brow, “I don’t know. Is that Takedown?” And yeah, you would know that opening anywhere. It was definitely the intro to the diss track.

Mira and Zoey were suddenly next to Rumi as soon as the lights went up, Rumi being the professional she was, immediately went into the choreo for the song despite obviously being surprised.

“So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside~ Whole life spreading lies, but you can't hide, baby, nice try~ I'm 'bout to switch up these vibes, I finally opened my eyes~ It's time to kick you straight back into the night~”

You frown when Mira and Zoey break from the choreo, pushing at Rumi’s shoulders as they start circling your sister with nasty smiles and dark eyes.

“Why? No,” Bobby whispered, just as alarmed as you at the sudden turn on Rumi by the other girls.

“‘Cause I see your real face and it's ugly as sin~ Time to put you in your place 'cause you're rotten within~ When your patterns start to show~ It makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins~”

You gasped as Mira and Zoey started grabbing at the jacket covering Rumi’s arms. Your stomach dropped and your heart went up your throat. ‘They knew…?’ And Rumi was just as horrified, covering her arms as Mira and Zoey tossed the tatters of her jacket aside.

“I don't think you're ready for the takedown~ Break you into pieces in a world of pain 'cause you're all the same~ Yeah, it's a takedown~ A demon with no feelings, don't deserve to live, it's so obvious~”

Mira and Zoey got up in Rumi’s face, saying something that the microphones couldn’t pick up. But it made Rumi distressed as she pulled at her hair and frantically tried to cover herself until she finally screamed.

“Ś̸̢̬̭̓̿̋͗T̸̥̓͋̂̉̎̕͘O̸̝͔̗̬̯͉̼̥̲̓͜O̶̰̭͍͉̥͍̜̻̝̪̔͐ͅO̸̡̢͉͍̬͇̝͓̾̂Ó̶͓̗̬̓̂̍̿͑̑͝Ō̴̯̯̒P̵̢̻̟̺̙͎̠͔̝̦͛̈́͗̅͊̈̑͘͝!”

You got the glimpse of her patterns glowing as they spread up her neck and to her face before the power of the building was taken out, the lights shattering as the screen went black. But you could still feel the power of Rumi’s voice reverberating in your chest.

For a long moment, all you could do was stare blankly in horrified silence. Rumi’s secret was out. Mira and Zoey found out and exposed her…

“(Y/n), did you know about Rumi’s…” Bobby searched for the right word, “Marks?”

“We were born with them,” was all you could tell him, still stuck on processing what had just happened. They had scorned Rumi.

‘What would they do to you then?’ Your mind hissed.

You shook yourself from your despair, “I have to go find Rumi!”

Bobby called after you as you took off, “Wait, do you even know where you’re going?! (Y/n)—!” He was distracted by his phone going off with a notification.

~~~

You were lost. You had run in a random direction because you didn’t know where the stage entrances were and now you regretted it. You could hear your sister yelling in the distance and then a guy yelling back. Was that Jinu? A pulse of demon energy went out around you, the familiar power of your sister vibrating in your chest so you followed it.

“Rumi!” You turned a corner to see your sister standing by herself. “Rumi! Are you okay?!” A stupid question but it was the first one on the tip of your tongue.

“Go away, (Y/n).”

You didn’t listen, worried and scared for both yourself and her. “Rumi, it'll be fine!” You tried to smile and reassure her but it just made you look manic you were sure. You reached out a hand to her shoulder to turn her around to look at you, “We just gotta explain that—“

”I said, g̸̳̯̙̜̈́͌̿ơ̴̪̝̳͚̲̔̇̓̋͝ ̴̠̺̯̾̀͌́͛͘͜a̶̜̬̗͓̓ẘ̶̛̥̞̠̠͝a̷̮̹̼̻̣̾͗̒̿y̵͔͕̝̺͇͒́̕̚,̵͔̣͐͆͆͆̎ ̷̫̼̼͍̼͚͊͝͝(̴̠̤͛͐̒͋̚͜͠Y̷̗͇̫̺̪̼̌̍/̸̯̥̱̕n̴̫̖̅̃)̶̗̩̲̬̂̄!”

Rumi turned, her voice pulsing out as she swung her hand. Her now clawed nails caught on your face and raked across your cheek, from your left ear almost to your nose. In shock and surprise of the sudden pain, you fell back.

“Rumi…?”

Rumi turned. And left. Demon magic trailing her every step as it consumed the Honmoon behind her. And you were left in its debris without a second look.

No. No no no no no n̵̺͍͆o̷̭̮̓…̸̟͇̹̽

“Rumi…!”

She didn’t turn around and she faded into the shadows.

“Don’t leave me…”

~~~

“Girls!”

“Not now Bobby,” Mira growled weakly, Zoey still numb beside her.

Bobby didn’t listen, running up to them, “What was that out there? Was it because of the new scandal with (Y/n)?”

His words shook Mira and Zoey from their feelings of betrayal, shaking their heads to look at him. “Wait, what?”

Bobby frowned, “Uh, yeah. The PR team just notified me.” He held up his phone which Mira quickly snatched. “Some blog just posted a bunch of photos of (Y/n) and the Saja Boys…”

Mira scrolled through the page, Zoey looking over her shoulder. And there they were. Pictures of you and the individual boys, walking in the park, eating at cafes, restaurants, food stalls, sitting and listening to music together, the arcade, it kept going on. But the real kicker was the last picture. You were on a park bench, surrounded by all the boys, leaning on each other and basking in their presence. You looked happy with them. Intimate.

Mira growled, clenching Bobby’s phone in her hand, “That—that… Traitor!” Mira shoved the phone back in Bobby’s arms and stomped away, the feeling of betrayal echoing deeper in her chest like a chasm.

“Mira, wait!” Zoey chased after her, her own feelings of betrayal and hurt being pushed down in favor of going after Mira.

“Wait, girls!” Bobby called after them but he was left behind.

~~~

You sniffed, trying to keep your tears to a minimum. If anyone could help you find Rumi, it was Zoey and Mira. You just had to explain to them that it wasn’t Rumi’s fault, that she just wanted to be normal and go with them to the bathhouse.

“Mira, Zoey!” You spotted them near one of the exits. Your skin was on fire, you were desperate to scratch for relief but you couldn’t, not when Rumi needed help.

“Thank goodness I found you!” You smiled in relief, “Look, I need your guys’ help to find, Rumi, she disappeared and she was in a really bad state. And I know what happened on stage, but she—“

“(Y/n) stop. Just stop pretending!” You were cut off by Mira’s demands.

“Mira?”

Mira had just wanted to leave. She just wanted to mourn her broken family in peace but you just had to show up. “Stop pretending to be on our side.”

“What?” You tilted your head at her, confused about what was going on. Was this because you were part demon too? You looked at Zoey to try and understand what Mira meant but the younger girl just looked away from you with a hard expression. “I am on your side.”

“Oh yeah? So why have you been hanging out with the Saja Boys? Looked real cozy to me,” Mira crossed her arms, moving into your space.

You blinked. How did they know about that? “Wait what?” You shook your head, the important thing was that they knew now. “Okay, yeah, I’ve been hanging out with them but—“

“But what, (Y/n)?! You’re choosing the demons over us? Did you even want the Honmoon to be sealed?”

You couldn’t answer her, swallowing thickly as you looked down shamefully.

“That’s what I thought. Go away, traitor. If you choose to fight on Gwi Ma’s side, then next time we see you… we’ll have to kill you,” Mira turned and left you there. Zoey looked at you and you pleaded at her with your eyes but she made her choice. She followed after Mira.

~~~

You had one more hope left.

Aunt Celine lives in the outskirts of the city, in the middle of a forest. It was a secret place where Hunters had been trained for centuries. Aunt Celine had raised you and Rumi so surely she would have a solution now.

You ran. You ran as fast as you could and then you noticed you were running faster than was possible for a human. Had your patterns spread that much? Tears were dripping but you wiped at them to keep your vision clear. Not yet. Don’t lose hope yet.

You made it in record time. The house was dark so you made your way to the one other place she could be. The old tree with the ribbons of past Hunters hung from its branches.

“Aunt Celine!” You cried, tears dripping down your cheeks.

Aunt Celine was on her knees before the tree, a distraught look on her face. Her eyes were wide but she had a look like she was a thousand miles away. “Leave (Y/n).”

“Please Aunt Celine, you have to help me find Rumi. I don’t know who else to go to! I don’t know what to do anymore, please!” You pleaded with her, falling to your knees in front of her so you could take her hands in yours.

She pulled her hands from yours, standing and backing away from you, a frown on her face as she avoided looking at you. She never could stand looking at you.

“You can’t do anything, child. You failed.” Her words stabbed into your chest, leaving you struggling for breath. “You failed in protecting Rumi’s secret. I knew you were more like your father. I should have thrown you out when we found out you couldn’t connect to the Honmoon.”

As Celine stumbled away, weak on her feet as she left you behind, always being left behind. You could only stare sightlessly at where she had been. Your heart was pounding in your ears, only a little louder than the sound of your own haggard breathing.

Why…?

You had hoped that they would accept you. Always. Mira. Zoey. Rumi. Celine.

Why?

That you could be happy one day to just be yourself and do what you want to do.

Why?

That you could be loved and accepted for who you are, demon patterns and all.

Why?

Why couldn’t they comfort you and stay? Keep your heart safe? After all you’ve done, helping them become who they are, cooking and cleaning for them, supporting them from the background, giving up your dream for them, pushing down who you are, why can’t they just see you?

Ẃ̷̛̞̩͖̥̲̜̭̩͉̹͉͎͔͚̲̖̙̝̮̅͌͐̆͋̑̈͗̏͝͠h̵̛̭̪̝͖̬̀͂̂̃̇̀̅͊̀̈́͊̑ͅy̷̛̰̭͓̫̗̭͍͎͔̭̺͔͍̖̭̩̯̯͉̓͌͐̉͆̈́̇͆̔͗̑͋̇͒̆̑̚̕̕͠͝?̷̥͍̭͖̭͚̫̲͖̦̑̈́̈́̓̋̇͛̈́͠

~~~

The boys were quiet as they waited for the time of their final performance. They stood around the roof of a building, watching the crowds of people march towards the Namsan tower. They would have to return to Gwi Ma soon but they couldn’t help but feel heavy. Even with the success of their mission so close at hand, the prize they worked hard to gain for Jinu, their minds lingered on you.

They didn’t know what backlash you had gotten from them exposing Rumi’s demon patterns to the world. And then they had deepened the feeling of betrayal in the two Hunters by leaking those photos of you and them. They felt guilty. They didn’t want to hurt you, just the Hunters. But Gwi Ma threatened to increase the volume of the whispers in their head when they wavered after you spent the night at their apartment.

Because when they were with you, vulnerable and open to each other, they hadn’t heard a single whisper, none of them. And that was precious to them. It gave them hope for themselves, that maybe they didn’t have to go through with Gwi Ma’s plan. But that hope was crushed. Turned to ash by Gwi Ma’s threats.

Hyeon turned when he heard the soft poof of demon magic, gasping when he saw you standing on the roof. “Princess?” He called softly and the other boys turned as well, their faces falling at the sight of you in the state you were in.

Your hair was wind blown, your eyes red. The nice clothes you had worn for the Idol Awards did nothing to hide the glow of your demon patterns beneath them. There was a bleeding scratch across the left side of your face, stretching from your ear almost to your nose. One of your eyes reflected the too familiar demon color of their own. Your face was blank. Withdrawn.

“(Y/n)…” Chungae called softly, the five of them gathering in front of you, hesitating to reach out to you. But what right did they have to touch you anymore?

“Please don’t leave me. Leave me alone.”

They frowned at your words, fists tightening at their sides. What a terrible temptation your words gave them.

“Babe,” Kwan sighed regretfully, “You don’t understand…”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess,” Hyeon tried to reason with her even though it sent a dagger through his heart to try and push her away. “We betrayed you.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

Jinu snapped, his own regret and guilt getting to him, “We’re the ones that exposed that you were spending time with us! We made the scandal! We betrayed you—!”

“I don’t C̶̨̡̰̯̥̪͙̠͙̹̘̺̈́͂̋̾Ȧ̵̠̖̠̲̮̤̣̭̮̥̱͗̆̓̈́R̵̮̱̖͚͙̬͐́͂̈́͛͊E̶̩̲̰̬̱̎ͅ!̷̨̧̜̺͕̣͕̦̌̐̔͐̓̔̔̈́̄̕”

The boys took a step back in surprise at the sudden distortion of your voice. You suddenly came alive from the broken doll you had appeared as, the numb chasm crashing together into rage and despair and sadness.

“You may have orchestrated the situation but they’re the ones who reacted the way they did!” You wailed, your tears falling anew. Jum couldn’t handle it anymore, the usually cool maknae frowning as he stepped forward to hug you. You pressed your face into his shoulder, your body shuddering as you cried.

“Mira and Zoey said they would kill me the next time they saw me! And Aunt Celine said she always knew I was too much like my father and she should have thrown me out years ago! And Rumi… Rumi, she hit me and didn’t even regret it!”

The boys circled around you, offering what comfort they could in the situation they felt they created. It felt like their hearts were being ripped apart from the inside out.

“I just want to be loved and accepted and safe. And being with you guys makes me feel more safe and loved and accepted than I have in years.”

The boys just held you closer, not answering you. They didn’t want to pull you into their darkness. They were selfish and greedy beings, but for you? They couldn’t be selfish.

Your mouth opened to express yourself in the only way you could at the moment. “You and I are tangled as these sheets~ I'm alive, but I can barely breathe~ With your arms around me, it feels like I'm drownin'~ If I reach for somethin' I can't keep~ How bad could it really be?~”

You looked up at them, turning in their arms to meet their eyes one at a time so they could see the honest look in your eyes as you sang.

“So, baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone~ Come over, undress me just like I've never been touched~ Baby, I'm obsessed with you and there's no replica~ Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy~ Then you know it's really love~”

The boys still hesitated but you could see the look in their eyes slowly coming apart. So you went on, telling them how you felt.

“I want all of your complicatеd~ Give me hell and all of your worst~ Whеn the party's over and I'm screamin', "I hate it"~ How bad could it really hurt~ If tonight we just let it burn?~”

As the next words came, you truly felt settled in yourself in a way you hadn’t before. You were sure of this decision, being with them. And you slowly turned in a circle, your hands running across their chests and their jaws, making sure they met your eyes as your patterns glowed brighter and spread faster as you accepted them as part of you. Your eyes both glowing amber, and your hands lengthening into claws that matched their own, your skin darkening inhumanly.

The boys were breathless, speechless as you transformed right before their eyes. For them, the patterns were a form of shame and guilt but when they saw them on you? They were beautiful. Like power crawling across your skin, filling your eyes with fire. Like seeing a goddess coming into herself.

“You're pullin' back and I'm runnin' for the door~ You're sayin' those words and it just makes me want you more~ A second chance with our hearts on the floor~ Guess it's love~”

Giving in, the boys pulled you closer, circling you like planets stuck in your orbit. The center of their universe. They let their human guises fall so they could match you, show you that they accepted you and you weren’t alone. So you could see every ugly part of them. Your clothes fade to black, matching their robes as they hold you close, arms tangling for their hands to hold whatever part of you they could put their hands on.

I’m sorry. The angst was necessary. Have some outtakes to soothe the angst.

Outtakes:

Mystery: *Barks at a fan*

Fans: *Bark back*

Mystery: *shook*

…

Bobby: “The Saja Boys are fighting!”

The Saja Boys: “How dare you use my new face cream without asking?!” “It was on my side of the room!”

…

Celine: *Being the terrible parental figure that she is*

The Saja Boys, Mira, Zoey: *Cracking knuckles and readying weapons* So you’re the one.

…

You: *Answers the phone* “Hi guys, what’s up?”

The Saja Boys: “Oh, just trying to prevent a murder.”

You: “Oh…? How so…?”

The Saja Boys: *Staring at Celine* “Self control.”

…

You: *Searching the crowd* “Where’d the girls go?”

Rumi: “I got this.” *Cups hands around her mouth* “RUMI AND (Y/N) WERE BORN MISTAKES!”

Mira and Zoey: *Violently clamoring over people like feral animals* “WHO SAID THAT?!”

Rumi: “There they are.”

Abby: *Summoned on the top of a pole* “HUH?! I’LL RIP OUT YOUR LIVER!”

Baby: *Appearing with support candy* “Don’t listen to the idiots, beautiful.”

Romance: *Casually holding an ax* “Who said that? I just wanna talk.”

Hyeon: *Suddenly appears behind you to wrap his arms around your waist* “Grrrrr…”

Jinu: *Plotting some dramatic evil revenge plan* “Say that again?”

Derpy the Tiger: *Smiling eerily*

You: *Tearfully* “Guys…”

…

Rumi and Jinu: *High fiveing* “Yay, Platonic Soulmates!”

…

I also got carried away and made a short playlist for this little series.

Tag list: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

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charvos · 1 day ago

Note

Wizard Cookie is so huggable in your style.

Would TR and SoT potentially be willing to put their child up for adoption so I can take him?

ty anon! My little guy is very cute!!

Also! be careful with what you're saying.

#cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run #shadow milk cookie #wizard cookie #pure vanilla cookie #shadowvanilla #pureshadow #truthless recluse #sage of truth #truthlessage #sagerecluse

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theglassofmiddleearth · 2 days ago

Text

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 5)

This one is kind of Jinu orientated! Welcome to the debut chapter of Soda Pop! Please enjoy :3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

‘Okay, what's the big deal? Also, you were eavesdropping on me?’ Y/N pointed an accusing finger at Rae, who annoyingly did not look a single bit guilty.

‘I wanted to make sure you were safe.’

‘I was safe. How do you think I’ve been surviving this entire time before you guys came along?’ Y/N threw up her hands in indignation. ‘In fact, the most danger I’ve been in was when you guys tried to take my soul. Remember that?’

The boys collectively winced, knowing she was right.

‘She has a demon voice. She caused damage to the Honmoon, your friend is dangerous.’ Rae walked forward, taking her arm and pulling her toward the kitchen island

‘Rumi didn’t do it on purpose, she was scared and confused. She would never hurt me.’ Y/N sat down to Rae’s ushering. ‘What, what is-?’

‘It’s some sokkoritang. (Ox Bone Soup) You haven’t eaten.’ Jinu scooped up a bowl of rice from Y/N’s barely used rice cooker. She couldn't even remember if she bought it or it came with the penthouse.

‘I made it, so eat up.’

Y/N picked up her spoon, as Jinu placed a bowl of rice in front of her.

‘Thank you…’ She stared down at the bowl, stunned at the unexpected kindness.

‘We need you to be functional so we can steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu explained hurriedly, his cheeks coloured with a pretty peach colour. Luckily for him, this went unnoticed by Y/N, who was digging into her meal.

The soup was perfectly seasoned, flavourful and balanced.

How long had it been since Y/N actually had homecooked food? At least in this world, it had been months since she was able to have any, being on a world tour with the Huntr/x girls. It was a simple luxury she had since abandoned for convenience.

‘This is… It was amazing. Thank you Jinu.’ Y/N finished, standing to put her bowl in the sink. The rest of the Saja boys were rehearsing their song in the living area.

‘It was nothing.’ Jinu breathed out, as if a weight had been lifted from him. ‘Before things got really bad… I would help my mother cook.’ Jinu took Y/N’s bowl, placing it in the sink as he turned on the tap.

‘But that was four hundred years ago.’ He finished, tone hardening.

‘The food was amazing, you’d make a wonderful house wife Jinu.’ Y/N joked, leaning against the countertop next to Jinu as he washed the bowl. She could feel the unease, radiating off Jinu’s being.

‘Yeah?’ He smirked, shaking off the excess water from his hands. ‘You gonna find me a suitable husband?’

‘Hmm, I don’t know anyone willing to marry a maiden with such, attitude. I’m afraid we’re the only people who can put up with it.’ Y/N gestured to herself and the Saja Boys.

‘Is that so?’ Jinu hummed, gazing at Y/N forlornly as she nodded approvingly at the boys who were nailing their choreography.

‘Jinu, I get that you’re worried I might run off or that I’ll stop writing for you. But you can’t send-’

‘They all wanted to.’

‘Jinu…’ Y/N exhaled, turning to face the man, who at least this time, looked slightly guilty. ‘I have your number. You don’t have to send someone to look after me.’

‘Okay…’ He refused to meet her eye, staring at a blank spot on the wall to his left.

‘Although, I don’t mind the tiger. It’s so cute.’ Y/N gave him a forbearing smile.

‘Yeah?’ Jinu grinned, face lighting up. ‘Did you see it’s-’

‘Tiny hat? Did you make it for the tiger?’

‘Yeah, but my bird keeps taking it.’ Jinu summoned the tiger with a flick of his hand, said creature appearing out of her floor.

‘Oh my goodness, hello there sweetheart!’ Y/N cried out, kneeling in front of the curious tiger.

‘Who is she calling sweetheart?’ A voice replied from the living space, sounding irate.

‘Oh, it’s the tiger.’ Another voice answered, footsteps shuffling toward the kitchen.

‘Oh, you precious little thing.’ Y/N splayed her hand, palm side up. The tiger gave a pleasant growl, rumbling as it butted its head against Y/N’s hand.

‘It’s cute but not that cute.’ Beom pouted, crossing his arms.

‘What do you mean?’ Y/N pouted in return. This baby is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, arent’cha?’ Y/N gave the blue tiger scratches underneath its chin.

‘Alright, you’ve got to sleep. Our debut is tomorrow and you need to be there.’ Jinu, waved his hand, causing the tiger to begin to sink back into the ground. The creature let out a downcast rumble in protest.

‘Aw..’ Y/N protested, waving goodbye to the equally disappointed creature. ‘Wait, why do I have to be there?’

‘So I have someone to focus on. You don’t want me to get stage fright, do you?’ Rae smirked, leaning toward Y/N’s face.

‘Hey, hey, what did I say about fake flirting.’ Y/N laughed, pushing away Rae’s face with a guiding hand.

‘Who said it was fake.’ Rae grumbled quietly under his breath, retreating toward a spinning chair.

‘Anyways, I will go to sleep. But only because I wanna go grocery shopping tomorrow. There’s this new snack I’ve been wanting to try.’

‘Oh, you mean this one?’ Rae held up a bag of the very snack that Y/N had been craving.

‘What, how?’ She spluttered, reaching towards the packet.

‘I saw you look at it twice when you were buying Kimbap with the demon hunter.’ Rae dangled the packet above her head, keeping it just out of reach.

‘Hey! I thought you bought it for me!’ Y/N jumped, swiping at the bag.

‘I did, but you gotta promise you’ll come to our performance tomorrow.’ Rae smirked, waving around the snack bag teasingly.

‘Ugh, Jinu, make him give it to me.’ Y/N pouted, pointing at Rae angrily.

‘You gotta promise.’ Jinu laughed, a tender heat spreading through his chest as he watched Y/N swipe at Rae. The way his friends got along with their new writer didn’t go unnoticed by him. To be honest, it was actually endearing to some degree. Like he and his friends had gotten a new pet.

‘Fine.. FINE I’ll be there so lemme-’ Y/N leapt, finally snatching the bag out of Rae’s hand, falling back into Mystery’s arms, almost collapsing on the floor.

‘Oops, sorry Mystery.’ Y/N stood, with the purplehaired man’s help.

‘Just Min, is fine.’ The soft spoken man replied, seemingly checking for any injury as he spun her around slowly.

‘Alrighty, Y/N you go to bed. The rest of us will continue our rehearsal. We’ll be quiet, we promise.’ Abel placed his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her to her room as the rest of the boys stood up, beginning their stretching routine.

‘Goodnight everyone!’ Y/N called out, looking behind her.

‘Night Y/N!’ ‘Sleep well!’ ‘Sweet dreams Y/N!’ ‘Night.’ The boys chorused, while Abel walked her to her room.

‘Are you guys ready?’ Y/N opened her bedroom door, walking into her room.

‘Yeah, pretty much. We just need to make everything a little sharper. Otherwise, we’re pretty much perfect.

‘Thats great! Y/N smiled, pulling out pajamas from her closet.

‘Here, gimmie that.’ Abel tugged Y/N’s snack bag. ‘What are you gonna do, eat it in your sleep?’

‘Hey, I so could!’ Y/N laughed, releasing her hold on the food. ‘Now turn around or get out. I need to change.’

‘I have a question.’ Abel turned to face the bedroom door, closing his eyes for good measure.

‘Yeah?’

‘Has what happened to me, happened with any of the other boys?’

‘You mean that weird light that made your patterns shine?’ Y/N pulled her pants up, letting the elastic snap around her waist. ‘Yeah, actually when you guys went to go get me breakfast this morning, Beom and I had a chat.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I made this pattern shine, I touched his shoulder when we were talking about the deal he made with Gwi-ma.’ Y/N recounted, sliding herself into bed.

‘Huh, y’know he doesn’t really talk about it much?’ Abel twitched, wanting to face Y/N.

‘You can turn around now. But, no I didn’t. I guess, at that moment I just felt so…’ Y/N trailed off, trying to recount her emotions and convey them into words.

‘I wanted to help. I didn’t want Beom to let Gwi-ma take credit for his talent.’

‘So it can just be anywhere.’ Abel hummed, leaning on Y/N’s doorframe. ‘I see.’

‘I mean, I still don’t know how to control it. I touched Rae’s hand today but nothing happened.’ Y/N shook her head, pulling the comforter to her chest.

‘Mm, sounds like there needs to be intent behind those touches.We can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just sleep.’ Abel nodded, stepping back and beginning to close the bedroom door. ‘Sleep tight.’

‘Night Abel.’ Y/N closed her eyes as the demon switched off the lights, easing the bedroom door shut.

–

‘You’re sure she was part demon?’ Jinu inquired, as Abel walked back into the living space.

‘Positive.’ Rae nodded, the group sitting in a circle formation not unlike a formal meeting. ‘If her patterns weren't enough, she had a demon voice.’

‘That shockwave was caused by her?’ Mystery leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Yes.’

‘She weakened the Honmoon.’

‘Is Y/N safe hanging around them?’ Beom picked at a loose thread on his sweater.

‘We’ll keep an eye on her. I’ll send Derpy and Sussie to check on her.’ Jinu finalised, nodding his head.

‘You just had to show her you were following her, didn’t you Rae?’ Abel snickered, nudging the taller man with a playful elbow.

‘She was shivering. What was I meant to do? Let her freeze?’ He rolled his eyes, face slightly flushing a pretty pink.

‘Alright, let’s get back to work. Don’t forget, we’re here to steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu clapped his hands, breaking up the playful banter. He seemed troubled, his eyes were unfocused. Jinu was stuck between a rock and a hard place and seemingly with no other alternative.

As Y/N slipped into the realm of the unconscious, the Saja Boys continued their practice well into the early morning. They had finished around five am, deciding that they were ready to perform. All the boys made a brisk trip back to their neighboring apartment building to change.

Jinu however, stayed behind.

His reasoning?

‘I need to make breakfast for her so she doesn’t have an excuse not to come see the performance.’ Jinu shrugged, putting on an apron and rummaging through the fridge.

‘We’ll bring back your performance clothes so you can change after.’ Mystery nodded, patting his friend on the back.

Jinu nodded, pulling out two eggs from the fridge, placing them into a bowl.

Yeah, that was the reason he was making her breakfast. Why else would he do something like that?

‘I need her so she can write more songs. So I can get Gwi-ma those souls, so I can forget.’ Jinu muttered, cracking the eggs into the bowl with one hand. He had already taken out a pan and set it on the stove, now pouring some oil into it.

‘That’s all. That's all it is.’ He shook his head, ‘She means nothing. I don’t care.’ Jinu mumbled, sliding the egg mixture into the pan, watching the edges bubble in the hot oil. A protesting groan, from the metal spatula, being dented from Jinu’s grip.

‘Mm, what smells good?’ A drowsy voice filled the incessant whispering in Jinu’s head, effectively drowning out the unwelcomed voices in his head in an instant.

‘Just some eggs. Sit down, I’m almost done.’ Jinu relinquished his hardened grip on the spatula, using it to separate the eggs from the bottom of the pan. ‘Grab a plate and some bread.’

Y/N rubbed her eyes, stumbling half blindly to the cupboard containing all her dinnerware. She pulled out a plate before returning to the table, letting the plate clink against the marble top.

‘I didn’t buy any bread this month.’ Y/N whined, smushing her face into the tabletop.

‘Yeah, I bought some for you yesterday.’ Jinu turned around, pausing to take in Y/N’s groggy appearance. Her hair was unbrushed, eyes still crusted with rheum on the edges. She was still in her pajamas.

And yet…

Jinu’s chest ached, a mellow pang rushing through his chest, radiating through every fiber of his being.

This.

This homeliness. This domestication. It was something he had since long forgotten, left behind when he abandoned his family to live a cushy life in the palace. Even then he had never felt this much…

Joy.

‘Heh, nice apron Jinu.’ Y/N giggled, using a fork to cut her eggs in half. ‘Pink suits you.’

Jinu glanced down, realising he still had Y/N’s apron on.

‘All colours suit me.’ He sniffed haughtily, before pointing at Y/N, ‘And you can’t talk! Look at your pajamas!’

‘HEY I bought these because they're cute.’ She protested, taking a bite of her breakfast.

‘Childish.’

‘Nuh uh!’

The pair dissolved into a fit of giggles, as the elevator doors dinged open, revealing the rest of the boys.

‘Wow, my PJ’s and you apron does not compare to Abel’s crappy Hawaiian print shirt.’ Y/N howled with laughter, leaning back in her chair. Luckily for her, Jinu had caught her again, casually with his arm.

‘It was this, or palm trees…’ Abel sighed, looking down at his shirt. ‘Rae said that I couldn’t wear a plaid one.’

‘Plaid is an abomination. We want them to like us, not judge us for our fashion choices.’ Rae crossed his arms, his yellow chiffon top ruffling.

‘Huh, what will you be wearing Jinu?’ Y/N lifted her head to look at the man still holding on to her waist.

‘Hm, not sure, whatever Rae decided to give me.’

‘Yeah, I have your clothes right here. Unless you wanna debut in a pink frilly apron that's fine by me too.’

‘I’d rather not thank you.’ Jinu picked up the clothes from Rae’s hands and wandered off to Y/N’s bathroom.

‘You better not go through my drawers.’ Y/N called out.

‘I’m looking through 'em right now, I’m rummaging!’ Jinu called back, closing the door behind him

‘So, you guys ready? Excited?’ Y/N stood up, walking towards her bedroom. ‘Lemme get changed, I'll be right back.’

The boys nodded, watching Y/N disappear behind her door.

‘Did you see her pajamas?’ Beom sighed, a tiny smile on his face.

‘Is it weird that I think she’s cute?’ Min hummed, staring at Y/N’s closed bedroom door.

‘I’d think you were weird if you didn’t find her cute.’ Rae remarked, his chin resting on his fist.

They each felt an inexplicable pull towards the girl. As if she was anchoring them to the earth. These were feelings they hadn’t felt in centuries, locked away in a box, buried beneath their shame and fears. They had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel happy. Abel and Beom had forgotten what it was like to be able to have their own thoughts, unpolluted by the soiled words of Gwi-ma.

‘Alright, whose idea was it to put me in pink.’ Jinu raised an eyebrow, as the boys all collectively pointed at Beom.

The youngest let out an unholy screech as Jinu chased him around, chuckling darkly. Y/N opened her door, met with the whining of Beom and teasing of Jinu.

‘Say you’re sorry!’ Jinu laughed, giving a particularly painful noogie to the blue harried boy. They were both on the floor, Jinu had wrapped his legs around Beom's waist, holding him snug.

‘I’M SORRY.’ Beom whined, writhing in Jinu’s grip.

‘Will you ever do it again?’ Jinu held fast, driving his knuckles into Beom’s skull.

‘NOOOOOOO.’ Beom complained. ‘HELP ME Y/N!’

Y/N giggled, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

‘You guys are like brothers huh?’ Y/N sat down on her gaming chair, pulling her shoes on.

‘Yeah pretty much.’ Min nodded next to her. ‘Jinu brought us all together, years ago when he found beom.’

‘We don’t have to get into that now.’ Jinu brushed himself off, standing and straightening his clothing.

‘Aw, but I wanna hear the story.’ Y/N slumped down in her chair in protest.

‘Yeah but we have a debut to get to. Here, if our debut goes well, I’ll tell you who's the oldest.’

‘Is it not you?’ Y/N blinked, miffed. ‘You’re four hundred. Beom-ie is two hundred.-’

‘Give or take.’ Beom interrupted

‘Yeah, Beom is our youngest.’ Jinu gazed at the blue haired boy with pride, ruffling his hair. ‘He’s our pride and joy.’

‘Hey! I’m gonna have to wear a hat to cover this mess up now.’ Beom sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. Rae handed Beom a yellow beret, seemingly materialised out of thin air.

The group continued their conversation as they packed into the elevator. Y/N continued to guess at everyone’s age but none of the men would confirm her guesses. They found it funny that Y/N was unable to guess their age order correctly.

They reached the plaza as Y/N gave up, stalking behind the boys as they chattered to each other, occasionally teasing the pouting girl.

‘Y/N?’ A deep feminine voice called out.

‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, spotting a trio of girls walking out of a bathhouse. ‘Mira, Rumi and Zoey?’

‘Hey! You didn’t answer your phone.’ Rumi ran over to Y/N, giving her a hug. ‘I called but you didn't pick up, so I left a message asking if you wanted to come to the bathhouse with us!’ Rumi dragged Y/N toward Mira and Zoey.

Y/N patted her pockets, searching for her phone.

Damn. She had left it at home.

Each of the girls were wearing somewhat of a disguise. Zoey was wearing a yellow fuzzy bucket hat, obscuring her face, Rumi was wearing her pink hoodie, the hood covering her signature purple hair. Mira was wearing a black baseball cap, her face adorned by golden circular framed glasses.

‘Yeah, are you free today?’ Mira gave an amused smile, leaning down to look at Y/N’s face closely. ‘Looks like you slept well last night. That’s good.’

‘Yeah! Wanna hang out with us? We’re taking today off!’ Zoey looped her arm around Y/N’s walking towards the plaza.

Y/N blinked, looking behind her, realising that the men had since disappeared.

'Yeah, we hear a new boy band is having a debut stage today and we wanna go judge them. What was their name. It was something stupid, to do with animals.' Mira chuckled, linking her arm around Rumi's.

'The Saja Boys. Honestly, sounds kinda corny.' Rumi laughed, the four walking toward a familiar beat filling the air.

'Huh, must be here. Look, there's pink mist.' Zoey pointed, leading Y/N and the erst of the girls to stand in the forming crowd.

The familiar beat of Soa Pop began to fill the air, as the pink mist revealed the Saja Boys.

'Don't want you, need you Yeah, I need you to fill me up.' Jinu began singing, spotting Y/N immediately, winking at her.

'Ew.' Rumi gagged, 'These guys are so cliché that it hurts.'

'Did he just wink at you?' Mira smirked, glancing between the boys performing and Y/N.

'Uh... maybe?'

'Oh, he was definently winking at her. They're all looking at her.' Zoey squealed, shaking Y/N excitedly.

'Wow, their song is annoyingly catchy though. It matches their vibe really well.' Mira brought her fingers to her chin, tapping her index finger thoughtfully.

'Huh, the writing style reminds me of you Y/N.' Rumi raised an eyebrow, as the boys continued to sing, blowing heart's out of thin air.

'Uh...'

'Wait, look!' Zoey gasped, pointing at the group. 'They have patterns! Look, you can see them.'

'Demons.' Rumi glowered, seeing under their human visage.

'What do we do?' Mira grumbled, looking at the huntr/x girls.

'They're demons, we just do what we always do. We kill them.' Rumi stalked forward, hands itching to grasp her sword. 'Besides, that one winked at our Y/N and I don't share.'

'Wait Rumi, it's too public.' Mira tugged Rumi back quickly, looking at the decent sized crowed.

'But look, they're coming after the fans. That must be why they're posing as this cringey boyband.' Rumi gestured widely to the boys, who were on a rising platform, decorated as a soda can. The Saja Boys had reached the climax of their song.

'I know, but we have to wait. Otherwise we'll have a swarm of fans questioning us. I don't think even Bobby would be able to cover that up for us.' Zoey mused with narrowed eyes, pulling Y/N behind her shielding Y/N with her body.

As the girls contemplated what to do, The Saja Boys finished their performance, sending one last flying kiss in Y/N's direction.

Rumi growled, watching the interaction.

'That's it for now! See you tonight, on everyone's favourite variety show! The Saja Boys love you!' Jinu flashed a charming smile, before giving Y/N a knowing smile.

The boys disappeared in a puff of pink smoke.

'We are so going to kill those dudes.' Rumi snarled, fixing her hoodie as the group walked back to the Huntr/x tower. 'Y/N do you wanna stay in the tower? We gotta get battle ready.'

'Uh, I actually have to go do the demo for What It Sounds Like remember? Y/N rubbed a hand on her neck nervously.

'Right...' Rumi sighed, smoothing back her braid. 'Okay well call us if anything happens. Actually, call us even if nothing happens okay?' Rumi babbled, swiping her key card at the front opening doors.

'She's right. Those boys seemed to be looking at you. They might try something so call us if you feel anything funny okay?' Mira placed a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder while Zoey gave her a hug.

'We'll text you when we send those demons back to where they belong! Maybe we can even record the song today!'

'Alright girls! Stay safe!' Y/N smiled, as the Huntr/x girls walked into the elevator.

'Bye Y/N/N!' The girls chorused, as the elevator doors shut.

Y/N released her breath, 'Oh damn. This is not good.'

Y/N hurried back to her apartment, checking her phone repeatedly.

'So, they wanna kill us tonight huh?' Abel smirked as Y/N rushed past the elevator doors.

'Yeah, I think the purple haired one has a crush on you.' Jinu raised an eyebrow, his face plastered with an unamused smile.

'What?' Y/N blinked.

'How come they get to call you Y/N/N.' Beom pointed at Y/N with his pastel yellow beret.

'YOU GUYS WERE FOLLOWING ME AGAIN?'

Part 6

Tag list: @ajunoiseee @silverklaus @thesimppotato11 @devilchicc @imlost-sendhelp @tumblblob @arieslucy @maybeethan69 @t4naiis @6demonica9 @suzieq1948374 @katzline @justyourlocalfriendlydinosaur @1950schick @myjerseygirlblog @sky2lar @itsjustkhaos @nevermorekisses @valeriele3 @yoongi-tunes @reibelhearts @satansdaughter123 @iheartyourgrandpa @justanindiangirl12 @uniquecutie-puffs @xyndyn @akiqvq @brightestflame @vivian-555 @oscars-wifeyyy @maybeethan69 @violetraccoon-4 @kanaes-world @chaos-inperson @ermespop @hisashifrey @venommie @booakaisha @lyunsafebubble @mimiu3usoft @doodle-with-rhy @lycemagee @sightofaghost @polinazavialova @singlepringle4you @reallynotsoconfident @confusedparticle @blackstar-gazer @gl00muraaii @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@marley1773 @poem-bee @girlypopmymelody @deyshayk14 @mysticalpandora @crescent-z @mothraantics @baby-bread-in @bubbabobabubbles @needsleep3000 @strayharmony943 @frootloopscos @briceericeee @n1ght5h4d3-24 @portrait-ninja @yucanbmylxdy @tatsuri-zomushiki @zoeyella1-4 @tanspostsblog @pixiedustaddictsblog @smoophie @leaheclipse @st3f13ily @odessa-is-my-queen @kyouzki @truth-snake @centavosmisteryoso11cent1 @dragongirl642 @moonymoo1 @lovemiss-vale

@pandaquick @emberswithers @raineandcl0uds @lonely-nerd-sodaholic @fantasyhopperhea @thesehandsarerated-e @mel3484 @sweetprincesscomputer @itoshiism @doodle-with-rhy @itsberrydreemurstuff @airwolf92 @sweatydazeshark-blog @anteroz @maryloudiaries @anything-and-everything-here69 @moosshroom @sleepyallthetimedontknowwhy @seung185 @sashagaming1012 @confused-smol-fan @dinoplantsghost @prettylittlelavvy @rory1939 @luffysprincess @bethleeham

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IM SORRY MY TAG LIST IS FULL- Follow this post

So you can be notified when I made an edit to the post! (I'll link part 6 when its posted!)

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shokocide · 2 days ago

Text

POWER PLAY - GOJO SATORU

summary. Gojo Satoru’s used to getting everything he wants—until his company hires you, the shy assistant who’s all glitter, gloss and charm. But the more he tries to stay professional, the harder it gets… in more ways than one.

word count. 9.3k (not 10k wow)

content. mdni fem!bimbo! reader, ceo! gojo, gojo crashing out for multiple reasons, down bad simp gojo, heavy tension, teasing, jealousy, pet names, smut, multiple scenes, fingering, oral (m and f rec.), p in v, office sex, desk sex, praise, creampie, slight overstim, aftercare

author's note. inspired by this by my leslover @deathofacupid i'm sorry this took so long imy hardcore my angel

The wine’s expensive, but not because he’s trying to impress her.

He just likes the taste.

The restaurant is sleek, candlelit, with soft jazz humming in the background. It’s the kind of place that whispers luxury, not screams it — understated elegance, a lot like his watch. Or his suit. Or the car he pulled up in.

The girl across from him is… nice. Pretty in that polished, social-media kind of way. Knows which fork to use, laughs at the right moments, has a thousand-watt smile and legs he noticed the second she slid into the booth.

For the first time in a long time, Gojo thinks: maybe.

Maybe this could go somewhere.

She sips her wine, sets the glass down, and leans in just enough for the scent of vanilla to drift his way. Her voice is smooth, easy. “So, what’s it like, running an empire?”

He smiles, a little self-deprecating. “Exhausting.”

She laughs. “Bet it pays well, though.”

A harmless joke, maybe. But something cold flickers at the edge of his ribs.

He hums, brushing it off.

But then she tilts her head, lashes fluttering just so. “I mean… you must be, like, what? Eight figures? Nine?”

There it is.

His smile doesn’t falter, but something in his chest withers.

He takes a slow sip of his wine. Lets the silence stretch for a beat too long.

Eight figures. Nine.

She’s still looking at him, expectant. Playful.

He should be used to this by now. Hell, he is. But it still stings. Every damn time.

“I stopped counting,” he says lightly, setting his glass down.

She laughs again, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “That’s such a rich guy answer.”

And just like that, the candlelight feels too warm, the wine too bitter. The space between them grows miles wide.

Gojo leans back in his seat, fingers drumming lightly on the tablecloth. He already knows there won’t be a second date. No nightcap. No exchanged texts or cheeky goodnights.

And when he finally slips into the backseat of his car an hour later, staring blankly out the tinted window at the blur of city lights, a single thought loops in his head like a broken record:

Maybe this just isn’t in the cards for me.

Not the connection. Not the late-night calls. Not the stupid domestic shit he secretly wants — tangled legs on a couch, coffee in chipped mugs, someone who sees him.

He huffs a soft laugh, more bitter than amused.

Gojo Satoru has everything.

And somehow, he feels like he has nothing.

“What did you just say?”

Gojo doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The sheer weight behind the words is enough to make the room still.

Nanami adjusts his glasses, like he hasn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb in the middle of Gojo’s morning.

“The quarterly reports,” he repeats flatly, “were emailed to Zenin Holdings.”

A pause.

“And the Osaka merger documents,” he adds. “Along with internal notes referring to their CEO as—” he consults his tablet, “—‘an off-brand Ken doll.’”

Gojo presses a hand to his temple, like he’s physically holding in the migraine.

“Who?” he grits out.

Nanami doesn’t blink. “The new recruit.”

Another silence stretches.

Then Gojo lowers his hand. “Bring them to my office.”

Nanami nods once, and without another word, leaves the room.

You’re not sure why you were summoned.

You clutch your little pastel folder to your chest like it might protect you, knees squeezed together as you sit—perch, really—on the plush chair outside the glass doors of the executive office.

The receptionist gave you a look. You’re not sure what kind of look. It felt kind of judge-y. Or maybe pitying?

Then, the doors open.

“You can go in,” Nanami says, voice flat as ever.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Oh! Okay. Um. Am I—” You pause, then smile nervously. “Am I in trouble?”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s fine. Totally fine.

You step into the office with careful little steps, the kind of walk that says please don’t fire me before I finish paying off my student loans.

Inside, the man behind the desk looks up.

White hair. Stupidly pretty face. Cerulean eyes that flick over you like you’re a puzzle that somehow assembled itself upside-down.

He’s not smiling.

You don’t meet his eyes—not for more than a second—just dip your head as you approach his desk.

“I—um. I was told to… to report here?”

Your voice is so quiet he almost misses it.

He leans back in his chair, elbow on the armrest, thumb brushing his jaw. “You’re the new recruit?”

You nod once, too fast. “Y-Yes. I mean, I think so. That’s what Mr. Nanami said, at least. He said—um, he said this is my new position now.”

You step fully into the office, holding a pink folder like it might bite you. You’re wearing a cream sweater that looks two sizes too soft and a plaid skirt that’s about four inches too short for HR standards. Your ID badge is flipped backward. Your heels click awkwardly against the tile.

And he suddenly understands how people end up doing very, very stupid things for women.

You stand there, shifting your weight from one heel to the other, clutching your folder like it’s a lifeline.

“And you are…?”

You whisper your name so faintly he has to repeat it aloud just to be sure.

“Right.” He pauses. “Well, take a seat.”

You hesitate for a second too long before perching on the very edge of the chair across from him—back stiff, eyes focused on the edge of his desk.

Gojo leans back in his chair. He’s quiet for a beat too long.

Then “So,” he says, tone deceptively mild. “Tell me. Why did Zenin Holdings get our quarterly reports?”

You freeze.

“I—I didn’t know they weren’t supposed to?” you offer, blinking up at him.

He blinks back. Slowly.

You chew your lip in thought. “They were in the CC list… and I thought that meant they were part of the, um… quarterly club?”

“The what.”

“The quarterly club?” you repeat, voice smaller now. “Y’know. People who… get quarter stuff.”

You trail off, wilting under the weight of his silence.

Gojo stares at you. Hard. Trying—trying—to remember that you are a human being. With feelings. With softness. With a little clip shaped like a bunny holding back your hair. His eye twitches.

“And the Osaka merger notes?” he asks slowly, enunciating each word like it might hurt.

Your expression brightens slightly, like you've just remembered something important. “Oh! Yeah, I added a couple of personal notes to that file! Like, color commentary. For context.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Color commentary.”

He almost sighs. This is who HR sent? The one who forwarded classified financial statements to a competitor because their logo “looked kind of familiar”?

But then you shift slightly, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, and he catches a glimpse of that anxious expression. The way you bite the inside of your cheek. Like you're waiting to be yelled at. Like you already know you’ve messed up and can’t even figure out how to explain yourself.

And, god help him, something about that makes his chest ache.

Gojo closes his eyes briefly. He’s going to need to do breathing exercises. Maybe call Shoko and have her prescribe something illegal.

You smile again. It’s like watching sunlight struggle through a stormcloud. “Was that bad?”

He exhales.

He should fire you. Realistically, that’s the correct response. A sane man would do it.

But when he opens his eyes, you're still standing there—wide-eyed, a little nervous, but so terribly, painfully earnest.

And his heart does that stupid little lurch again.

“No,” he mutters finally. “Not bad.”

You brighten instantly. “Oh, yay! I was worried—”

“But,” he cuts in, holding up a hand, “you’re going to be working directly under me from now on.”

Your brows lift. “Really? Oh my gosh, that sounds so fancy!”

“It’s not,” he lies smoothly.

He’s already planning which desk you’ll sit at in his office. Already making a mental note to have HR triple-check your email access. Already dreading what happens when you accidentally reply-all to a company-wide memo.

You give a delighted little bounce, clearly thrilled by the promotion.

Gojo’s not even mad anymore.

He’s confused. He’s concerned. He’s possibly having a stroke.

And he’s completely, utterly fucked.

It starts with the printer.

You stand in front of it for ten minutes straight, staring like it personally wronged you. Gojo passes by, slows, then stops entirely when he sees you poking the touchscreen with a single perfectly-manicured finger.

“…Need help?”

You turn, lip caught between your teeth. “I think it’s jammed.”

He crouches down, opens the tray, and immediately pulls out a crumpled sheet that’s very clearly been inserted upside down.

“Oh,” you murmur, eyes wide with awe. “You’re so smart.”

He straightens slowly. “Right.”

Then there’s the time he catches you on your way to send a very important file.

You wave at him, cheerful. “Hi, Mr. Gojo! I’m going to fax that thing you said.”

“Email,” he corrects gently, already bracing himself.

“Oh—right! Email. I meant that.”

(You did not.)

Still, when you do manage to send the right file—to the correct company this time—he gives you an exaggerated look of impressed approval.

“Nice job,” he says. “Look at you.”

You beam. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, completely serious. “You’re crushing it.”

He swears your cheeks actually flush. Like you’re the one who just got complimented for launching a satellite into orbit instead of… attaching a PDF.

Another time, he asks you to bring him a hard copy of the quarterly budget report.

You come back ten minutes later with a full-color printout of a Pinterest banana bread recipe.

You fidget when he just blinks down at the paper, eyes wide. “I, um… I might’ve labeled it wrong on my desktop.”

He hands it back. “Looks delicious.”

Despite everything—everything—he just can’t seem to get frustrated with you. Your voice is always soft when you speak to him, full of tentative politeness like you’re worried he might bite (he won’t—unless asked). You apologize earnestly for every tiny mistake, so genuinely mortified each time that he ends up reassuring you.

And when you do get something right—God help him—he reacts like you’ve cured polio.

“That’s perfect,” he tells you one afternoon, glancing at a neatly stapled stack of documents you’ve triple-checked for typos. “You nailed it.”

You blink up at him, mouth parted just a little. “…Really?”

“Mmhm. Proud of you.”

You go quiet. Blush furiously. Practically flee the room.

Gojo grins at the door after it clicks shut behind you.

He’s doomed.

Absolutely doomed.

“Do you need to stand there like that?” the exec snaps, arms crossed. “That machine isn’t rocket science.”

You blink, startled. “O-oh… I’m just— I’m trying to find the—um, the collate button?”

“It’s literally right there,” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at the screen. “God, how did you even get hired?”

You flinch like you’ve been struck. Eyes down, voice small. “I—I’m sorry…”

And that’s exactly when Gojo shows up.

You don’t even see him coming. One second the air is stiff with tension, the next it’s cut clean by the sound of his voice—smooth, pleasant, deceptively light:

“Everything okay over here?”

The exec stiffens. “Sir. I was just—”

“I saw,” Gojo says simply, stepping in beside you. He doesn’t even look at the guy—his gaze is already on you, sharp and assessing.

“You alright?”

You nod quickly. “Mhm. Sorry. I was just confused—”

“No need to apologize,” he says, almost too softly. “That’s what training is for.”

Then he finally looks up—at the exec—and there’s something in his eyes that wipes the smug off the latter’s face immediately.

“Unless,” he adds with a tilted smile, “you’re suggesting I made a mistake hiring her?”

Silence.

The exec stammers. “Of course not, sir. I—”

“Good,” Gojo says. “Then don’t talk to her like that again.”

The exec makes a quick, flustered exit. Gojo turns back to you, and his whole demeanor changes—softening.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

You nod again, a little stunned. “…I didn’t mean to make trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he assures you. “Some people just forget how to be decent.”

And then—because you’re fidgeting and biting your lip and looking far too much like you’re going to cry—he gently takes the stack of papers from your arms.

“C’mere,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

You trail after him, still pink in the cheeks, still utterly confused by the way his hand just barely grazes the small of your back as he guides you to his office.

(You don’t know it yet, but Gojo has already scheduled a little "chat" with HR.)

He checks his watch for the third time that morning.

9:47 AM.

You were supposed to be here by 9:00.

Gojo exhales, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair, irritation simmering just beneath his skin. Meetings have been pushed, calls delayed. He’s not even sure why he’s this impatient—he has other assistants, more capable ones at that. But none of them stumble into his office with sleepy eyes and whispered apologies like you do.

And like clockwork, the door swings open with a quiet creak.

You enter in a flurry—breathless, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed with panic. The top two buttons of your blouse are undone, likely forgotten in the rush, and your skirt is just slightly askew. Your chest rises and falls in frantic rhythm, lips parted as you gasp, “I’m so, so sorry I’m late—”

Satoru turns in his chair, ready to scold. Ready to lecture you into next week.

But the words die in his throat.

His gaze drops.

The loose fabric of your blouse shifts with each heavy breath, revealing just enough skin to make his jaw tighten. The delicate slope of your collarbone, the curve of your breasts pressing faintly against the silk. One deep breath away from completely derailing his morning.

You don’t notice the way his posture stiffens. Or the way his grip on the armrest turns white-knuckled.

He stands slowly.

Silent.

You freeze when he starts walking toward you, every step measured. His voice, when it comes, is quieter than you expect. Lower.

“Why are you late?”

You blink up at him, confused by the shift in tone. The air around him feels… heavier somehow. You fidget, your voice soft, guilty. “I—I overslept. My alarm didn’t go off and then the train was late and I didn’t mean to—”

He stops in front of you, towering over you. Close enough that you can smell his cologne—warm, expensive, intoxicating.

You glance up nervously, throat bobbing.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper again, lips trembling in the tiniest pout. You’re not even aware of how you sound, how you look. Not aware of the storm building behind his gaze.

And that is the worst part.

Because you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

You never do.

Gojo inhales sharply, jaw clenched. He watches the way your fingers twist in the hem of your cardigan like you’re expecting to be punished.

But instead of snapping, instead of chastising you like he knows he should, he closes his eyes for a second, forcing down the heat licking at his spine.

“...Don’t let it happen again,” he says at last, voice hoarse.

You nod quickly—eager to please, still breathless, completely unaware that he’s already running through several very unprofessional thoughts involving those undone buttons and his desk.

He turns away before he can say something stupid. Or worse—do something worse.

“Go grab your coffee,” he mutters. “You’ll need it.”

Because he sure as hell does.

Gojo thinks he’s composed. Polished. Unshakeable. He built an empire from the ground up, commands boardrooms with a single glance, and has executives stuttering when they see his name on a meeting invite. And yet—you.

You waltz into his office in pink heels, with a notepad that’s more doodles than notes and a voice so breathy it makes his vision blur. You don’t even mean to drive him insane, he knows that. That’s the worst part. You’re just sweet. Oblivious. Soft in ways that make his dick ache.

Like today. You’re sitting on the edge of his desk, babbling on the phone about a nail appointment while absentmindedly reapplying your lip gloss—shiny, sticky, strawberry-scented. He watches the wand glide over your bottom lip like it's a slow-motion scene from a movie no one else gets to see. He’s staring. Unblinking. Dying.

And when you leave, heels clicking, skirt swaying, you forget the gloss. He doesn’t even hesitate. Just picks it up and rolls it between his fingers, stares at it. It smells like strawberries. You smell like strawberries. His head hits the back of his chair. He’s so fucked.

It happens again and again. You lean over his desk to show him your “cute calendar” for the month—full of glittery stickers and hearts—and your cleavage is right there. Right. There. He knocks his coffee into his lap and doesn’t even flinch. Just stares at you while it soaks through his slacks, wondering if this is how men go insane.

And then in the elevator. Five minutes. Just the two of you. You don’t even notice the silence thick with tension. You’re talking about your new lip liner. He’s clutching the railing behind him like it’s keeping him tethered to Earth. If you’d looked at him, you’d have seen the vein in his neck pulsing like a warning sign.

But nothing—nothing—compares to the time you shyly step into his office and whisper, “I finished typing the reports, sir.”

He doesn’t breathe for a full ten seconds. Just stares at you like you just moaned it instead of murmured it. Sir. Sir.

He shifts in his seat. Crosses his legs. Forces a smile. “Good,” he manages to say, voice tight.

You beam, oblivious. “Thank you, sir!”

He books a week off.

For “stress.”

His voice is calm. Measured. Smooth as silk over the phone speaker as he discusses quarterly projections with someone powerful on the other end. It should be just another meeting—another conversation where he dazzles and dominates, where the board eats out of the palm of his hand.

But you're sitting beside him. So it’s not just another meeting.

You’re perched on the edge of his long leather couch, notepad in hand, eyes wide and glossy with focus—or something like it. You’re wearing that tight little pastel skirt again, the one that always hikes up when you sit, riding dangerously high on your thighs. He’s not looking. He’s not. He can’t.

You chew on the tip of your pen. Take little notes in bubbly handwriting that looks more like diary scribbles than minutes. Your perfume curls around him like sugar—sweet and sticky and heavy.

He swallows thickly and forces his voice to stay even.

“Yes, I saw the numbers from Q1. I’m more concerned about the international—”

Your pen clatters to the ground.

You let out a tiny “Oops!” and bend down to retrieve it.

And he sees it.

The hem of your skirt lifts, slow and innocent. And beneath? A delicate peek of pink lace. Just a flash. Barely anything. But enough. Far too much.

His throat goes dry mid-sentence.

“—international… ah—i-interest projections,” he chokes, dragging a hand down his face like that’ll fix the heat flooding it. On the other end of the call, someone asks a question. He doesn’t hear it.

You sit back up like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just flash your lace panties in front of a man on the verge of damnation.

You turn to him with a soft, clueless smile. “Did you want me to jot that last part down, sir?”

He makes a sound. It's somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

“…Y-Yeah,” he rasps, gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles go white. “Write it down, sweetheart.”

He ends the call early. Tells them he has a migraine.

And when you leave, swaying your hips and humming under your breath, he sits there in silence. Staring at the door.

He needs a second. Maybe a sedative. Maybe a priest.

The next few days are… strange.

You don’t do anything differently. Not really. You still show up on time, still take notes in pink ink and heart your i’s. Still trail after him in those little skirts and heels that click sweetly on the marble floors. But now?

Now you catch him looking.

At first, you thought it was your imagination—just a trick of the lights in his big glass-walled office. But then there was that meeting where you leaned over to grab a file from across the table, and his pen slipped right out of his hand.

The way he stared at it on the floor for a solid five seconds before muttering, “I’ll grab it later,” like it had personally wronged him.

Or how his jaw flexes every time you call him “sir.”

And maybe, maybe you're not as airheaded as everyone thinks. Maybe you notice the way his breath stutters when you get a little too close. The way his fingers twitch when yours brush his as you hand him his coffee. The way he clears his throat, sharp and low, whenever you pout a little at the copier machine and ask, “Sir, can you help me? I think I broke it again…”

He’s unraveling. Quietly, pathetically. And now you know it.

So one afternoon, when it’s just you two in the office, you decide to test a theory. You're by his desk, sorting through a stack of documents, when your pen slips from your fingers. Again.

This time, you don't rush to pick it up. This time, you bend at the waist slowly, keeping your knees straight, skirt riding up with every inch.

You hear it—barely—a sharp inhale through his teeth. The creak of leather as he shifts in his chair.

And when you straighten up, all innocent, pen in hand and a small “Got it!” on your lips, you glance back at him.

His eyes are locked on his screen. His jaw is tense. His ears are red.

“Something wrong, sir?” you ask softly.

His hand flexes on the mouse. “No,” he says, too quickly. “Just… keep working.”

You turn back around, letting a little smile play on your lips as you resume sorting. And behind you, you swear you hear him exhale like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

The office is quiet. Still.

It’s late—past nine—and everyone’s gone home. The usual buzz of ringing phones and fast-clicking heels has faded into silence, replaced by the distant hum of the city through the tinted glass.

You zip your purse, your reflection faint in the darkened windows, and start toward the elevators when you pass by his office.

There's a light. A thin sliver glowing beneath the heavy door.

You pause. He usually leaves before you—always gone in a blur of cologne and tailored coats, muttering about dinner meetings or conference calls. But tonight?

You don’t even think to knock. You just twist the handle gently and step inside.

He’s on the couch. Jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie loosened. His head’s tipped back, long legs spread lazily, one arm resting across the back of the couch. But it’s his face that stops you—brows knit, lips parted slightly, tension carved into every sharp line of his expression.

“Sir?” you ask, voice soft.

His eyes snap open instantly.

He blinks once. Twice. Like he’s still anchoring himself to the present. Then he straightens slightly, clearing his throat. “You’re still here?” His voice is rough—raspy, like he hasn’t spoken in a while. Like maybe he’s been sitting there, alone in the dark, trying to exhale something that refuses to leave his chest.

“I was just leaving,” you say, stepping in hesitantly. “I saw the light. Thought something was wrong…”

His gaze drags over you, slow and unreadable. You’re still in your little work outfit—tight pencil skirt, soft pink cardigan buttoned just enough, gloss fading but still catching the light.

Something shifts behind his eyes. Not predatory, not quite. Just tired. Tightly wound. Like he's been holding his breath for days and didn't realize it until now.

You take another step in, voice gentler. “Are you okay?”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, low and humorless. “That’s a loaded question.”

You offer a tiny smile, unsure. “Can I… get you anything? Water?”

He leans back again, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “I’m alright. Just… stressed.”

You take a small step closer. Your heels click against the floor, the sound delicate and deliberate in the thick silence of his office. “Stressed?” you echo, like it’s a foreign concept. “Is it work stuff?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s always work stuff.”

You hesitate. Then, softly—“I could help you.”

His head tilts just slightly. “Help me?”

“Mhm,” you nod, all sweet sincerity. “Like, if there’s something that’d make you feel better…” You give him a soft little shrug, voice light. “I’m good at taking direction. And I always try my best. Especially for you, sir.”

It cuts to silence.

Except it isn’t really silent—just muffled. Wet sounds echo low between your bodies, broken only by the soft catch of your breath and the rougher gasps he keeps trying—and failing—to hold in.

You’re on your knees in front of him.

The carpet’s rough under your skin, but you barely notice. All your attention is on him—on the way he looks half-wrecked, head tipped up like he’s praying for strength he doesn’t have.

His shirt’s half-open, wrinkled and clinging to his chest. His tie’s slung loose around his neck. His belt is unbuckled, slacks shoved just low enough to free his cock, flushed and heavy against your tongue. You’ve got one hand wrapped gently around the base, just to keep him steady, and the rest of him is disappearing into your mouth—slow and warm and dripping with spit.

He’s so hard it hurts. His thighs are tensed under your palms, twitching every time you suck just a little deeper, every time you swirl your tongue just right. His knuckles have gone white where he’s gripping the edge of the desk behind him, and the only reason he hasn’t fucked into your throat yet is because he’s too stunned to move.

One hand’s in your hair. Not tight—barely there, fingers trembling where they tangle in your strands. Like he’s scared to hold you too hard. Like he doesn’t trust himself not to snap.

Because you look up at him with those pretty, shiny eyes—sweet and obedient, mouth stretched around his cock like it’s nothing, like you were made to take it. Every time your lips slide down, you hum like it makes you happy. Like you’re just trying to make him feel good. Like you really think this is helping.

But it’s not just good. It’s fucking devastating.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out, voice thick and raw, eyes squeezing shut like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His hips twitch and he immediately pulls back, like he’s punishing himself for even thinking about pushing deeper. “You—god, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…”

You pull back with a soft, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and slick, gloss long gone, spit clinging to your chin. And still—you look up at him like you don’t understand why he’s shaking. Why his voice is breaking. Why his jaw’s so tight.

You blink slowly, lashes fluttering. Your voice comes out light. “But… I thought I was helping, sir.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment Gojo knows he’s fucked.

Because you’re too sweet, too soft, too good—kneeling on the floor with your mouth still open like you're waiting for permission to keep going. And he doesn’t want to just ruin you.

He wants to worship you while he does it.

His whole body goes still.

Like that last sentence knocked the breath out of him. Like the sight of you—so sweet, so sincere, kneeling between his spread legs with spit on your lips—is too much.

Gojo’s chest heaves, one hand still barely resting in your hair. The other drapes uselessly over the back of the couch, knuckles twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He looks down at you. Really looks—at your flushed cheeks, your glassy eyes, the gloss long gone from your lips. You’re still stroking him, slow and gentle, mouth parted just enough like you’re ready to take him again the second he says so.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, voice rough.

You tilt your head, blinking up at him. “I was just trying to make you feel better…”

And that’s what shatters him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand tightening slightly in your hair. Not rough. Just… grounded. Like he needs you now—needs the feel of you to keep from falling apart.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “This exact thing. You. On your knees. Pretty little mouth full of me. Acting like you don’t even realize what it’s doing to me.”

When he opens his eyes again, they’re glassy. Wild.

“I think about it all the time, you know? In meetings. At dinner. Late at night in my apartment—fucking my fist wishing it was you.”

Your breath hitches at that. He notices.

And when he strokes your cheek—soft, reverent, thumb brushing over your spit-slick lower lip—you don’t flinch. You just lean into it, eyes wide, mouth still open a little.

“God, baby…” he whispers. “Look at you. You don’t even realize how fucking perfect you are, do you?”

Then, low and commanding, “C’mon. Open up again for me.”

You do. Instantly. No hesitation.

He groans, head falling back against the couch cushion, hips lifting just slightly as you take him back into your mouth—slow, deliberate, deeper this time.

He’s panting now. One hand in your hair, the other gripping the couch so hard the leather creaks under his fingers.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice broken. “Just like that. Let me use your mouth, sweetheart. Let me fuckin’—” He cuts himself off with a ragged gasp when your tongue flicks along the underside of his cock just right.

He tries not to buck his hips.

Tries not to grab your head.

Tries not to lose it completely.

But it’s no use. Not when you look so soft. So obedient. So eager to take everything he gives you.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this isn’t just a one-time thing. Not after this. He’s never letting you go.

You can feel it in the way his thighs tense under your palms. In how his hand tightens just a little too much in your hair, like he’s trying not to pull you down—trying to be good.

But his self-control’s shot to hell.

You hollow your cheeks and ease forward just an inch more. His head snaps back. A long, broken moan spills out of him, and his other hand—still clinging to the edge of the couch—moves to cradle your cheek, palm shaking.

“Wait—baby, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You look up at him. Eyes wide. Unfazed. Lips stretched around him, spit running down your chin. You hum softly—sweet and encouraging, like you want it.

That’s what does it.

Gojo groans deep in his chest, hips twitching once before he locks them still, his hand trembling where it cups your face. He comes hard, spilling onto your tongue, body shuddering like he’s been pulled out of orbit. And you don’t move—don’t flinch—just swallow quietly, blinking up at him like you’ve never done anything so natural in your life.

He’s panting when it’s over. Gasping like he ran a mile, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His hand slips from your hair and drags gently down the side of your neck, tender and dazed.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re unreal.”

You pull back slowly, mouth slick, lips swollen and pink. There's still a bit of him clinging to your bottom lip—and when you wipe it away with your thumb and suck it off absentmindedly, he makes a soft, wrecked sound in the back of his throat.

“Did I help?” you ask softly, like you’re not already his religion.

And suddenly he’s moving.

In one smooth, needy motion, Gojo leans forward, grabs you under your arms, and pulls you right into his lap. The whole shift is effortless—like you weigh nothing, like you belong there. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs, your hands instinctively resting on his chest.

He’s still breathing hard. Hair messy, tie hanging askew. But his hands are steady now, warm as they cup your hips and hold you close. His head rests against your shoulder for a second, like he just needs to feel you.

“Too well,” he murmurs. “You helped too fucking well.”

One hand lifts to cup the side of your face again. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, gaze softening like he’s trying to memorize everything—your flushed skin, your shiny lips, the way you’re still straddling him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re so good for me,” he says. Quiet. Honest.

You smile, just barely. “I like being good for you.”

And it clicks for him then. That he’s completely gone. That he’d do anything to keep you like this—sweet, soft, his.

“Let me take care of you now,” he murmurs, leaning in. “You were perfect.”

His mouth brushes your jaw, your cheek, your lips—soft, reverent kisses. Nothing rushed. Just quiet, lingering gratitude, like he’s trying to say everything he doesn’t have words for yet.

He holds you there, warm in his lap, and for once in his life, Gojo Satoru feels like he has nothing else to run to.

It starts small.

A glance that lingers too long. The way his eyes flick down to your mouth whenever you talk. The way his voice goes soft—low and fond—when he calls you into his office now.

“Got a minute, sweetheart?”

He always says it like it’s nothing. Like his heart isn’t skipping a beat every time you look up at him with wide eyes.

But then there’s the night he catches you frowning at the copier.

Your arms are crossed, bottom lip caught between your teeth, standing in front of the machine like it just insulted your entire bloodline.

He rounds the corner, sees the blinking error light, and immediately slows his steps.

“Need help?” he asks, lips twitching.

You huff. “It keeps saying ‘paper jam,’ but there’s no paper. I looked!”

Gojo steps in without hesitation, one hand brushing your back as he leans close—so close—to peer into the machine with you.

“Let me help you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice warm.

You freeze a little when he says it like that. Soft. Patient. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to come untangle your messes.

He opens the side panel, reaches in, and—sure enough—pulls out a crumpled little piece of paper stuck way in the back. You blink.

“Oh.”

He grins, glancing down at you. “You’re cute when you try to problem-solve.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can say a word, he leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, sure. Right there in the hallway, lights buzzing faintly overhead.

It doesn’t last long—just a breathless few seconds—but when he pulls back, he’s smiling like you hung the stars.

“See? You do your best,” he says. “And I take care of the rest.”

Another day, another meeting.

You're seated beside him, nervously flipping through a stack of documents. The printouts don’t make much sense—some budget chart you barely understand—but you try to follow along, nodding like you get it.

Gojo notices. Of course he does.

He leans over, voice low near your ear. “That page’s upside down, baby.”

You blink down. Oh. It is.

Your face goes hot instantly. But he just grins, tugs it gently from your hands, and flips it around before setting it neatly back on the table.

Then he grabs your pen and starts jotting little notes in the margins to help. Bullet points. Simplified terms. Asterisks with arrows pointing to key numbers.

You stare at the page.

He nudges your knee under the table, gentle. “I got you.”

Sometimes he kisses you without warning. When you bring him coffee. When you trip over your words in a meeting and look at him like you’re going to cry. When you smile too hard at something stupid and he just can’t help himself.

There’s a moment in the break room—mid-laugh, holding a napkin in your hand—when he walks in, sees you like that, and kisses you so suddenly the coffee cup almost falls from your fingers.

He just pulls you in. Mouth hot and insistent. One hand curling around your waist like he needs you closer.

You gasp against him, wide-eyed, but don’t pull away. You never do.

When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours, breathing hard. Eyes glassy.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Couldn’t help it.”

But he’s not sorry. Not even a little.

And when he walks you out at the end of the night—past the quiet desks, the dark windows—he always makes sure your purse is zipped, your coat is buttoned, your phone’s in your hand.

“You good?” he asks, gentle. “Need me to call you a car?”

“I’m okay,” you say every time, small and sweet.

But he still walks you to the elevator, still touches your back as the doors close, still watches them until the numbers tick down and you're out of sight.

Because Gojo Satoru is in love. So in love.

And it’s getting harder every day to pretend he’s not.

You hand him the report in silence, nervous fingers lingering just a second too long on the paper. He takes it, brows lifted—expecting to have to fix something, as usual.

But he doesn’t say a word. Just scans the first page, then the second.

Then stillness.

He looks up, something unreadable in his eyes. “You did this?”

You nod slowly. “I… think I got it right.”

He flips back to the beginning. Reads again. His lips part, and he exhales a quiet laugh—disbelieving.

“Yeah. You did.” A pause. “You got everything right.”

Your breath catches.

He pushes back from his desk, legs spreading slightly in his chair, eyes still locked on you. “C’mere.”

You walk around the desk slowly. His chair rolls back a little, his hands landing on your hips to guide you between his legs. His voice is low, almost amused.

“You’ve been trying to get this right for weeks.”

“I know,” you say quietly, blinking up at him.

“You’ve been trying so hard,” he murmurs, thumb brushing under your chin. “And I’ve been so fucking patient.”

Before you can ask what that means, he pulls you in, kissing you soft and deep, tongue sliding into your mouth with slow intent. It’s not rushed. It’s not demanding. It’s like he’s savoring you.

Then, a whisper against your lips, “Up on the desk, sweetheart.”

You hesitate. His hands lift you easily, setting you on the polished edge, your skirt already sliding up as he nudges your knees apart.

You breathe his name, quiet. He smiles, eyes flicking to your thighs, then back to your face.

“You always try so hard for me,” he murmurs, fingers brushing up your bare leg. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

He leans in and kisses your inner thigh. Just once. Then again, higher this time, warm breath brushing close. You’re already squirming when his fingers hook into your underwear, dragging it down slow.

His hands hold your thighs open, firm but not rough. And when he leans in and finally licks—flat and slow, from bottom to top—you gasp.

He hums against you, like you taste better than he imagined.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your clit as he speaks. “Wearing that little skirt. Acting all innocent.”

His tongue moves again—firmer now, more focused, mouth wet and hot, tongue dragging circles around your clit until your back’s arching off the desk.

One of his hands drifts to your stomach, holding you down gently while he keeps going.

He doesn’t stop. Just sucks your clit slow and deep, then flicks it with the tip of his tongue until your thighs clamp around his shoulders.

“Oh my god—sir—”

He groans at the sound of your voice, fingers digging just slightly into your skin. He licks deeper, messier now, tongue dipping into you before dragging back up, mouth slick with you.

You grip his hair, eyes fluttering. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he groans when you do it—low and hungry, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmurs, voice muffled against you.

Every time your hips jerk, he steadies you with a quiet, “Shh, I got you.”

And when you finally come—quiet but shaking, breath punched out of your lungs—he holds you still and keeps licking until your thighs are trembling from the aftershocks.

Only then does he pull back, mouth shiny, pupils blown.

When you finally go still, he stays there a beat longer. Just breathing against your skin. Then he leans up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at you.

No smirk. No smug comment.

Just “You did good.”

Then a pause, before he adds, softer—

“So good I might keep you here for a while.”

The conference room is all glass and polish, afternoon sunlight spilling over the sleek table, casting reflections on every chrome edge. You’re seated near the far end, soft blouse tucked neatly into your skirt, lips glossed, notebook open—trying to look like you understand the graphs being passed around.

You’re perched between two other departments. People you don’t usually work with.

That’s when one of them—a guy from Finance, tall, tan, and way too smug—leans toward you with a charming little grin.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” he says low, like this meeting is a cocktail hour. “You new?”

You glance up, a little startled. “Oh—kinda. I’ve been here a couple months…”

He looks you up and down, eyes lingering a second too long. “They must’ve been keeping you hidden.”

You laugh nervously. Just a tiny sound. Then glance across the table.

Gojo’s already watching you.

Expression unreadable. Elbow propped on the armrest, long fingers brushing his lips, like he’s bored but you know better. His other hand is clenched in his lap, the silver of his ring glinting as it curls tighter.

He says nothing.

Just tracks the way that guy keeps leaning closer. The way his shoulder nearly brushes yours. The way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You work directly under Gojo?” the guy asks, lips quirking.

“Mhm,” you nod, keeping your tone light. “Just admin stuff.”

“Admin,” he echoes with a smirk. “You sure don’t look like admin.”

Gojo’s head tilts, slowly. “Something you’d like to say about my assistant?” His voice is calm. Light.

But something sharp lives underneath it.

The guy laughs, brushing it off. “Just saying, sir. You’ve got an eye for talent.”

A few people chuckle under their breath.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking back to your notes, burning with embarrassment.

Gojo doesn’t laugh.

He just smiles. That small, dangerous kind of smile. “Mm. That I do.”

The meeting moves on—but he doesn’t.

You can feel the weight of his stare for the rest of it. Every time you fidget, every time you speak up with that soft, hesitant voice of yours, his eyes flick to you like he’s trying to memorize the sound.

It’s late afternoon when your desk phone rings.

You jump a little. The office is quiet now—most people wrapping up their day, the halls thinning out.

You pick it up. “H-Hello?”

“Come to my office.”

That’s all he says. No tone. No explanation. Just that low, clipped command—and then the line clicks dead.

Your heart stutters.

You smooth your skirt nervously, touch up your gloss with shaking fingers, then knock on his office door.

No answer.

So you step inside.

The room’s dim, lit only by the golden wash of the setting sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Gojo’s at his desk, sprawled back in his leather chair.

Jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled. His tie’s hanging loose around his neck, top buttons undone. Hair a little messy like he’s run his hands through it too many times.

He looks you over slowly. Not speaking. Just dragging his gaze down your body and back up again, the tension crawling up your spine with every second of silence.

You shift, swallowing. “You… asked for me, sir?”

A slow smirk touches his lips.

“Mm. I did.”

He doesn’t invite you to sit.

He just watches you stand there—nervous and fidgety, wringing your hands in front of his desk.

“I wanted to ask,” he says lazily, “how that meeting went for you.”

You blink. “It was… okay?”

“‘Okay’,” he echoes, still smirking. “That guy from Finance seemed real interested in you.”

Your stomach flips.

“Oh, um—he was just being friendly—”

Gojo hums. Stands up.

You freeze as he rounds the desk, walking toward you slowly. Unhurried. Like he already knows you won’t run.

“He called you pretty,” he says, voice softer now. “Right in front of me.”

You look down. “I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t flirt back or anything—”

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching you at last.

His fingers find your chin, tilting it up gently.

“I saw you. Saw how good you were. All polite and quiet. Just letting him talk like that.”

You nod, lips parted, breath catching.

His thumb strokes along your jaw.

You barely have time to ask what this is about before he crowds in, gently guiding you backward until your hips bump the edge of his desk. He doesn’t push—he never has to. Just waits, hands resting on your waist, thumbs stroking small circles until you sit for him.

The silence stretches as he steps between your legs. He’s still for a moment, eyes drifting down your body—slow and thoughtful, like he’s mentally tracing every place he’s already touched.

“Didn’t like that,” he says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

His hands slide up your thighs. “The way he looked at you.”

You swallow. “I didn’t flirt with him or anything, I swear—”

“I know,” he says simply.

His thumbs reach the edge of your skirt, bunching the fabric higher. The room’s quiet except for the rustle of clothes and the faint hum of the city outside the glass.

“You were good,” he murmurs. “You always are.”

You don’t know what to say. Your heart’s racing. You’re too aware of the warmth of his palms against your skin.

Then he sinks to his knees.

Your breath catches.

“Sir—”

He looks up at you. Calm. Steady. “Just let me, angel.”

You nod.

He leans in, pressing a kiss just above your knee. Then another, higher. His hands slide further up, coaxing your legs open—thumbs stroking the soft skin of your inner thighs like he’s in no rush. Like he’s savoring it.

You try not to squirm.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs.

He hooks his fingers under your panties and drags them down slow. No fanfare. No teasing smirk. Just quiet focus. When he presses his mouth to you, it’s unhurried. He licks into you like he’s tasting you for the first time—soft, deliberate strokes of his tongue that have your breath stuttering.

You grip the edge of the desk. He hums softly when you twitch under him.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs. “How long have you been like this?”

You shake your head, too breathless to answer.

His thumb strokes your thigh while he eats you out like it’s something to be taken seriously—like he’s tuning the rest of the world out just for this. Just for you.

Every now and then, he pauses. Kisses the inside of your thigh. Lets you breathe.

“Say it.”

You blink, dazed. “Say…?”

“You know what I want.”

Your mouth parts. “I’m yours.”

He groans softly, going right back in—tongue slow, fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open.

“Again.”

You moan, hips jerking. “I’m yours, Gojo—fuck—only yours—”

“Yeah,” he mutters against you, voice low and wrecked. “That’s right.”

He doesn’t stop. Not even when you start trembling, thighs shaking around his head. He keeps working you through it—tongue steady, hands warm, mouth dragging out every pulse of it until you're gasping his name, half-crying into the sleeve of your blouse.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is slick and his breath is shallow.

You're already wet—he drags his fingers through it once, slow and deliberate, before circling your clit with maddening patience. You try to keep quiet, but the sounds come anyway—tiny, breathy, embarrassing things.

He slips one finger inside, then another. It’s not rushed—it’s focused. Careful. Testing what you can take.

His free hand wraps around the back of your thigh, pulling you a little closer to the edge. His fingers work you open slowly, curling just right, his thumb brushing up top in quiet, steady strokes.

“You can take it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You grip the edge of the desk, gasping when he shifts just slightly and hits something deeper.

“There,” he says, like he’s memorizing it. “Right there, huh?”

You nod quickly, eyes fluttering, hips starting to roll with him.

“Yeah… that’s it. Just like that.” He watches you the whole time—so attentive, so fucking into it—like he’s trying to catch every twitch of your mouth, every time your lashes flutter.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “I want to feel you.”

You come quiet, but it shakes through you all the same—hips jerking, thighs trembling, mouth falling open around a sound you didn’t mean to make. His fingers don’t stop. He fucks you through it—just enough pressure, just enough praise, dragging it out until you're oversensitive and shaking.

When he finally pulls his hand away, he brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers like it’s nothing.

You blink at him, dazed. “Gojo—”

He stands, reaches out, and drags you up to your feet with zero effort.

“We’re not done yet,” he murmurs, already turning you gently around.

And then he presses you forward over the desk—his hand on your back, firm but not rough, guiding you down. You feel the heat of him behind you, his belt already unfastening.

His belt slides open with a quiet snick, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you time to brace.

But you don’t. Can’t. You’re still bent over his desk, legs trembling from the second orgasm he pulled out of you like it was nothing.

Behind you, you hear the soft zzzp of his zipper, the rustle of fabric as he lowers just enough to free himself. You start to shift—maybe to stand, maybe to turn—but his palm finds the small of your back again, holding you down gently.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

You freeze.

“‘M not done with you yet.”

You gasp when you feel the blunt heat of him, hard and already dripping, sliding between your folds. He’s not pushing in—yet—but he’s there, heavy against you, teasing, dragging slow and wet between your folds while he stares down like he’s watching something sacred.

“Still so fucking warm,” he says under his breath. “You gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly, the word yes catching in your throat.

“Need you to say it,” he breathes, leaning forward, his chest brushing your back. “C’mon. Tell me.”

“I want you to,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Please—”

He groans, low and ragged, and then—finally—he pushes in.

You gasp—he’s big, thick and slow as he sinks in inch by inch. Your hands scramble for purchase on the desk, gripping the edge as he fills you.

“F-fuck,” he grits out, jaw clenched tight. “You feel—Jesus, precious, you’re perfect.”

He bottoms out with a slow roll of his hips, then stays there. Doesn’t move. Just breathes heavy against your back, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he says softly. “So long. Can’t even count how many fucking times I looked at you and wanted this.”

You whimper as he pulls out a little, then thrusts back in—just once, sharp and deep. You jolt against the desk, your cheek pressing to the cool wood.

He sets a pace then—not fast, not rough. Just deep. Controlled. Like every thrust is meant to remind you who you belong to. He fills you so fully, going deeper with every thrust as if trying to rid any thought from your brain that isn’t him.

The rhythm of it—his hips rolling into you, his hand tight on your waist, the obscene sound of skin meeting skin and your own slick soaking every movement—drives you closer and closer until you’re nearly crying with it.

“Satoru—please—” you pant, arching back against him, trying to take more.

“I know, precious. I know,” he murmurs, dragging his hand back to your hip so he can fuck you harder now, a little deeper. “You’re takin’ it so good.”

His thick head kisses your cervix with every relentless snap of his hips and one of his hands reaches down to dip between your thighs, rubbing tight, precise circles onto your clit.

“Mmm—sir,” you whine into the polished mahogany table, fingers digging into the edges of the fine wood. “I’m so—fuck—close!”

“Yeah? You’re gonna come for me, precious?”

Your orgasm builds sharp and fast and you nod, your toes curling, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut.

“Let go,” he whispers, voice low and frayed. “Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be good for me, yeah?”

You do—god, you do—legs shaking, breath catching, body going tight around him as the orgasm hits, rolling through you in waves.

Gojo swears under his breath, fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release. And then he groans deep and spills into you with a shudder.

He stays there for a moment, slumped over you, both of you catching your breath in the heavy silence of the office. Then, slowly, he pulls out, gentle as ever, hands skimming over your hips to smooth your skirt back down.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice still rough, a rasp of heat and concern wrapped in silk.

You nod, lips parted, lungs trying to catch up. His gaze doesn’t move from your face.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your shoulder then another just beneath your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he coaxes, hands tracing soothing lines down your sides. “You were perfect.”

He shifts, not pulling away from you, but adjusting and cradling you with too much care for a man who had you begging a few minutes ago. He gently flips you over onto your back, strong hands finding your hips and then your thighs, his thumbs kneading slow, soft circles into the sore muscle like he’s memorizing your skin.

A content sigh escapes you, and he smiles, eyes half-lidded and reverent.

“Good girl,” he says lowly, his forehead pressing to yours. “You did so good for me, angel. So fucking good.”

His mouth finds yours, and the kiss he gives you is nothing like the ones before. It’s not rushed, not wild. It’s deep, slow, and indulgent. Like he’s trying to pour all the unspoken things into it.

Your arms loop around his neck, and your fingers find his hair, tugging gently. He groans quietly against your lips, like the sound is meant just for you.

You sigh into his mouth, full, and wrecked in the best way.

He pulls back only slightly, nose brushing yours.

“Remind me to give you another bonus.”

author's note. yeah i got real lazy at the smut. i'm so done with writing smut i quit icl ts pmo gng

please do not steal, modify or translate my work.

taglist. @raendarkfaerie

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