hanami

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

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

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

You walk through life like it’s background noise.

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

Lugging your grocery trolley (because god knows you don’t have the strength to carry a week’s worth of grocery bags on your arms), you spot that a crowd has gathered in the plaza. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement. People are pushing each other to get a view of whatever it was that was making the crowd go nuts.

Curiosity gets the best of you, and next thing you know you’re walking towards the center of the square. Grocery trolley rolling behind you. Someone steps on it, warranting a quick “Sorry” and they scurry to the front. You turn your head forward to see whatever it was they desperately wanted to see.

You stop.

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

You don’t recognize them.

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

And then you see them.

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

Your heart stutters.

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

You can’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—pink smoke.

They vanish.

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

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

────────── ⚘ ──────────

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

Jinu collapsed first.

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

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

“It’s her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We wait,” he said softly. “We plan.”

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

“We charm.”

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

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

Quiet. Final. Unshakable.

“We take her back.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

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

You press play.

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

Your chest aches.

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

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

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

You don’t sleep that night.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Later that night, after filming wraps…

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s catchy” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jinu’s eyes widened, haunted at the memory.

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

A deal.

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

And you did it.

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

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

All for what?

To share her?

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

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

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

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

All of you.

For good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They just kneel, a silent agreement. 

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

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

They’ll possess you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The boys apparated back to their apartment in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tie her down if we have to.”

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

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

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

They turned.

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

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

Silence again.

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

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

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

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

Jinu’s jaw tensed.

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

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

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

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

You would remember.

You would come back.

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

────────── ⚘ ──────────

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

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

You turned the corner and froze.

“Y/N?”

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

Jinu.

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

You saw him.

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

And then—

“Y/N.”

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

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

The world spun.

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

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

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

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

A gentle touch. Behind you.

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

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

You blinked—

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

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

The fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes were nothing but shadow.

He wanted you.

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

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

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

Jinu caught his arm. “Abby—”

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

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

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

Not human.

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

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

And behind you— They didn’t follow.

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

Mystery whimpered once.

Baby’s fists dripped blood from his own grip.

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

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

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

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

His voice dropped.

“We seduce her.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

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

Then you fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Baby—oh god.

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

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

But they feel like they are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because the bond was waking.

And soon—you’d be theirs again.

Fans speculated how Baby, someone who seemed so disinterested and nonchalant, seemed to carry the most game when it came to raps heavy with such deep need. How someone could inspire someone on such a pedestal of purity and softness to be dragged to the very pits of hell willingly.

No one knew that he was a demon, and no one knew of YOU, his muse, who left his head spinning with ideas of how to make you shake with pleasure, and how to bring those ideas to life, both in action and in execution and on paper.

“Mm.. you taste like what I imagine sin to taste of.. no, maybe pleasure..” The deep drawl of his voice is felt more than heard as he murmurs into your messy cunt, the brush of his tongue along your clit with each word has you squirming. Your thighs, which were nestled on his shoulders to give him easier access to his meal, shook as he dove back in.

It should be cruel, how easy it was for Baby, to focus on something such as lyrics while he had you shaking under his messy tongue. But you couldn’t bring yourself to ponder on it from one glance at his golden eyes, glossy as they furrow, eyes fixated on your reactions.

His hands gripped you closer, his slightly sharper fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips as he dragged you impossibly closer as if the proximity was starving off his inspiration.

You choke on a breathy noise, eyes fluttering shut as his lips close in on your swollen clit, and he sucks hard. It makes you see white, your back arching, unable to control the pleasurable tremor in response to the rush of heat sent directly to your core.

“There we are, you’re doing so good for me, look how wet you are for me..” Baby mutters along your thigh, lips travelling west to kiss your thigh, lightly nibbling the sensitive skin there with his sharp canines. His tongue wrote sonnets on your thighs, as if he were trying to indicate what he saw through action alone.

He lets one of his hands travel from your hip, and you feel as the sharp nail recedes to a softer, more human finger. The ghostlike touch makes the muscles in your stomach clench, and as it travels south, it joins his tongue.

You can hear just how slick you are as his fingers enter your canal with little resistance, the lewd sensation making your cheeks impossibly warmer, and his smug grin becomes sharper. Dangerous.

It felt dangerous as his two fingers scissored your inner walls, and it felt lethal as they curled up just right, in a pot that Baby knew had you trembling, teetering closer to the edge of abandon.

It was dangerous just how well Baby knew your body, what made you tick, and twitch. But your every noise, and reaction, and your warmth made his own brain tick, and react, and it inspired him in the filthiest way it could.

“B-Baby— fuck..” You try to call his name, desperate to communicate your needs, your urge to hold him closer, but get interrupted by your moan, forced out by a particularly strong flick to that spot that had you twitching.

His fingers continue to curl into you, in time with how his tongue draws slow lines to drink up whatever bit you would grace him with, his usually blue eyes seeming to glow a faint gold as he becomes lost in the taste of you, lost in his world.

“So, so well..” 

He groans into you, low and broken, and it makes you shake, and you get so close to the edge that you can almost taste it.

And Baby notices it before you even do, because as soon as your thighs begin to clench around his head, and your hands curl into his hair, he pulls away, making you feel cold. Like a candle on the cusp of melting, your flame was blown out, leaving you half-melted and feeling used.

You know he is smiling in amusement before you see him, eyes blurry as your overwhelmed senses are left unattended too. He could be mean, and as much as you were into that side of him, you glared at him the best you could.

And the bastard dares to laugh?

As his fingers leave your cunt, your thighs shake as you watch how your slickness spreads along his fingers, and it drips down his wrist. You try to feel ashamed, but can’t bring yourself to when you see how gone baby looks, his amused grin lost to a hungry look in his eyes.

His fingers come to his mouth, and he groans, low and husky, at the taste of you alone. Your lover has always been a fan of sweets, but as you watch him suck him, trail that sinful tongue down his wrist just to chase the flavour of you to its last drop, you’d think you were the rarest treat on this planet.

“I won’t leave you high and dry, relax,” Baby tries to sound casual as he licks his lips, but it’s hard to believe it from just how dilated his pupils looked, how drunk he looks from your taste alone. “I just think it’s time for us to do a duet, no?” You should find those words corny, and as you try to make fun of them, you have to stop yourself as he lowers your hips to meet his own, and you feel his leaking tip along your glistening folds.

That shuts you up real quick.

It seems to satisfy Baby as he draws your ankle to his lips, and he kisses along your leg as he bullies his cock head along your clit, teasing. It has its desired effect as you gasp, light and fleeting, as you realize what he is waiting for.

“.. please.” You utter quietly, and he raises a brow, making you almost roll your eyes. However, that sass is lost as one hand comes to your clit, and pinches. 

It makes your hips stutter, and you lose whatever nerve you had left.

“Please, baby, ‘need you soso bad–” you drawl, voice soft but desperate as you look into his now gold eyes, and fuck, he may not be as tough as he thinks, because it takes one look into your blissed out eyes and suddenly, he is biting his lip.

Entering you means losing himself to your fluttering inner walls, to the tight friction as his cock drags along your most sensitive parts. Both of you struggle to communicate through words, so instead, Baby is kissing your thighs, making small moans as you answer with words close to his name, and your own broken noises.

It was a shared melody of desperate need, a crescendo awaiting a rise in exuberance.

And the note hits the final beat as his hips meet yours, his length so deep in you that it feels sinful. 

“You’re so tight, fuck,” Baby grunts, unable to control how his cock twitches inside you, which you respond to with your own clench. It’s a struggle to wait for you to adjust, but it’s easy from the prior prep, and from how turned on you are.

He parts your legs further, and as his hands hold your thighs tightly, he dips down to pull you into a clash of teeth and lips, before it melts into something natural.

He kisses you breathless, heated and full of unsaid passion, until he finally dares to move his hips.

Baby’s breathy moans into your lips make your cunt clench as you pulls out of you, only to rock his pelvis back into you, making your back arch.

When he feels how you respond to his voice, he loses all his self-control and allows himself to focus on feelings alone.

Which means fucking you into the mattress, making you lose all air in your lungs as your nails dig into his hair, and he shudders in response.

It should be cruel, how easy it is for Baby to think of so many words to describe moments like this with you. How loud you are, how damn responsive you are to even the slightest touch of his. Everything about you itches this buried, hidden part of him feels alive.

But it’s hard to articulate into proper verses, as he is as lost in the experience as you are. The best he can do is muttering absolute filth into your ear, describing everything and nothing as he drives deer into you, chasing that high that seems too close yet far.

Warm, so fucking tight and warm and perfect, fuck.

“You’re taking me so well, look at you,” he whispers into your lips, each word rough and deep in his throat. It seems his voice is doing something to you, as your walls clench around him, and he smirks into your shoulder, eyes alight with need, “You like my voice, hm? Well–” He drags your hips impossibly closer, and you hiccup on a moan, your release coming closer as a hand dives between you too, finding your clit to toy with it. Each press has your walls tightening around him like a vice, practically wringing out his own release.

In the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, his lilac skin contrasted with how vibrant his marks glowed. They were usually dull and controlled. But with you? They did, as expressive as his words. They painted your skin a soft baby blue, and it made his brow twitch.. You looked pretty.

“It’s all yours, every word I write is yours. I’m yours,” Your head is spinning, every sense is overwhelmed as he goes impossibly deeper, and his voice is driving you so close to the edge. You can taste it, and your eyes say it all as he moans low, and as his fingers press into your clit, he mutters into your ear, low and dirty;

“Come for me, my muse.”

Lost. 

You lose yourself to raw urges alone, as your mind blanks on everything but the feeling of baby’s cock dragging along your too sensitive walls, how right it feels for his fingers to be circling your clit, and how loving his words sounded despite being so dirty.

The feeling of you coming on his cock is driving him mad, all the possible verses blanking his mind, and the forgets the reason he dragged you to bed in the first place, and instead allows himself to be selfish as he drags you closer, and goes as deep as you can, rythem lost as the song runs its course.

As you ride your high, it seems baby is close behind you, as his hips stutter, and in one last deep thrust, he manages to force himself out of your warmth to instead spill all over your stomach, his warm yet sticky release claiming you all over.

You don’t seem to notice, eyes blissed out and chest heaving as baby falls next to you, arms draped over your frame as he pulls you in, his lilac skin paling to its ‘normal’ complexation and his sharper features softening.

As you cuddle closer to him, the only demonic feature left of him is his golden eyes and sharp fangs as he nibbles at your neck, whispering soft nothings into your skin.

The two of you simply be, as you draw him closer, and Baby allows you to enjoy the hidden benefit of being his muse, witnessing his softer side as he curls into you, needing that connection despite how deeply connected you two were mere moments ago.

“.. love you..” he mutters, the low drawl of his voice again making you shiver, but you smile as he kisses your neck.

“I love you, but were you able to. Uh.. find your ‘motive..?’” you respond, voice wrecked as your eyes find his light blue ones. He looks thoughtful as he enjoys your warm skin, the silent pulse of your soul soothing him as his thoughts finally clear.

The truth was he was able to think of any lyric from the idea of you alone, that the sex was just a bonus wrapped in a bow. He wasn’t able to think of anything when he had you so close, so reactive and emotional. It was hard to think of anything else but you in those moments.

However, Baby had a role to play, so he simply smirks and bites your shoulder lightly, making you yelp as he looks at you with maybe too much affection as he replies with a lazy ‘mhmmmm!’

He could never admit that after things like this, his mind drifted to softer lyrics, ones that detail how he enjoyed your laugh, and your soft looks, and just.. Loving you.

Those were for the private ballads that were stuck on loop since the day he met you, since anyone could relate to raw human passion, but no one deserved to know how much he cherished you.

Emotion, something raw, and human, and something that was entirely foreign to a demon that lost his humanity centuries ago, to instead revel in fame.

But emotion is what brings him fame and his inspiration since it was connected directly to you, and he was unable to separate the two.

So, he continues to let the public see him as too-cool and chaotic; it’s the price of fame. He lets his emotions belong to you, though. As they always will, like how those endless verses play in his head, awaiting a pen and paper for it to be written down.

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