emryshunts

[emryshunts]

Hey loves 💕 I know I’ve been a little inactive this month 🥲 Being a BSA student keeps me super busy, and school has to come first right now. I promise I’ll share more as soon as I get some free time 🤍 Thank you guys so much for checking up on me!

[emryshunts]

Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 10: 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥/𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬), 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 (18+) —𝐄𝐦𝐫𝐲𝐬 🩷 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.3k+ not proof read 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

It hit Jinu like a blade to the spine—cold, sharp, and sudden.

The playful chaos of their banter with HUNTR/X vanished from his ears, drowned out by a high-pitched whine only he could hear. His breath hitched. His smile dropped. His heart—no, something older and more primal inside him—lurched violently.

“…Where is she?” he muttered, his voice hollow and disbelieving. The banter between Baby and Zoey died instantly.

Romance blinked, confused. “What?”

The bond. It was screaming.

Jinu didn’t answer. He was already turning, already moving, his demon eyes flaring gold in a blink beneath the illusion. His chest felt tight, the bond wrong, like a red thread between him and you had just been snapped in two and was now curling back on itself, bleeding panic.

Romance froze for a split second before the same cold shock slammed into him, like steel through his lungs. His skin rippled under his human disguise, power surging up his spine, crackling in his jaw. “Something’s wrong.”

Mystery swayed, grabbing Abby’s arm in a grip that left white dents in the muscle. “I can’t feel her,” he rasped. “She’s not— She’s not—””

“MOVE.” Jinu’s voice was a growl, his feet already pounding the floor. His vision tunneled, your name echoing like a drumbeat through every cell. The others followed, abandoning their smiles, their disguises, everything.

The girls looked up in alarm as the boys tore past them without a word, eyes glowing, steps thundering. Mira blinked, then grabbed Rumi and Zoey.

“Follow them.”

“What?” Rumi asked, confused. “What’s happening—”

“I think…” Mira’s gaze hardened. “She’s in trouble.”

Jinu stormed down the corridor, every stride a threat, the air behind him curling with the heat of their collective rage. The girls had followed them—feeling the shift in the atmosphere.

The scent hit first.

Fear. Her scent—their mate—tainted with danger.

The changing room door was locked.

Then it wasn’t.

The force of Abby’s shoulder hit like a thunderclap, splitting the hinges clean.

And what they saw—

You were on the floor. Limp. Skin too pale. Bruises blooming dark and violent around your throat. A demon crouched over you, clawed hand still clamped on your neck, its grin sharp and sick with hunger, yellow eyes glinting in the fractured light.

And the boys broke.

For one breathless second, they were statues—frozen, unblinking, their hearts trapped in their throats.

Then the air split.

They snapped.

“GET. OFF. HER!” Jinu’s roar was jagged, guttural, stripped of anything human.

Marks burned to life along their skin, claws tearing through fingertips, fangs breaking their lips. The illusion of humanity peeled away bone by bone, sinew by sinew—until the demons they’d been before you stood in full, terrible truth.

Demons you’d tamed.

Monsters you’d made better.

But not now. Now, they were fury incarnate.

Abby moved first, seizing the demon by the spine and hurling it into the mirrored wall hard enough to shatter the glass in a glittering explosion. Romance and Baby were on it a breath later—claws ripping, teeth snapping. Mystery’s shadows writhed and swallowed the light.

They didn’t care that the walls cracked. That their eyes glowed like hellfire. That their snarls were in languages older than sin.

They had one goal. One thought.

Destroy. Rip. Erase.

Because you hadn’t moved.

Because you looked—

Too still.

Too pale.

Dead.

And none of them—none—could feel the bond.

The demon howled, but the sound was swallowed in a clash of steel and magic as the girls surged forward—Mira’s blade singing through the air, Zoey’s magic sparking across corrupted flesh. 

Rumi didn’t hesitate. She caught sight of you and dropped to her knees halfway across the room—but Zoey’s arm locked around her waist, dragging her back just in time.

"Let them—just let them finish it," Zoey whispered.

But the boys didn’t finish it.

They stopped.

Not because the rage had burned out.

Because every ounce of it was now fixed on you.

Their eyes—still glowing, still demonic—were locked on you.

Limp. Bruised. Unmoving.

Jinu dropped to his knees with a desperate thud, his forehead pressing hard against yours, as if sheer pressure could pull you back from the edge. “Come on, come on—don’t do this to me, baby.” his voice cracked, raw and breaking under the weight of fear.

Baby slid down beside him, blood smeared across his cheek, voice trembling, barely steady. “Hyung—” The word shattered on a sob. “I can’t feel her. I can’t feel her! Why can’t I feel her?”

Mystery’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his whole body trembling like he was fighting to hold himself together. “She’s supposed to be ours,” he whispered, “We’re supposed to protect her.”

“Don’t say it,” Abby growled, the sound more beast than man. “Don’t say she’s gone.”

“She’s not.” Romance’s breath was ragged. “She can’t be.”

He caught your hand—weak, trembling—and pressed it fiercely against his chest, as if staking a claim against the cruel silence.

“Feel that, sweetheart? That’s me. I’m right here. Please…” His voice was raw, a desperate plea, the unspoken fear clawing through every syllable.

You didn’t move.

They couldn’t feel the bond anymore—not the way they did before.

It flickered—like a dying ember buried beneath ash—faint, fragile, almost gone.

Then—

A croak.

A sound.

From the demon.

Still alive.

Still speaking.

“Gwima will rip her soul to pieces,” it hissed, gurgling through broken fangs and blood.

The boys twisted toward the threat as one, feral snarls tearing from their throats, claws flexing like iron traps ready to shred, power surging and threatening to break loose like a tidal wave.

But before that storm could crash—

You moved.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you coughed and choked, finally pulling air into bruised lungs. Your hand twitched in Romance’s grip first, then Jinu’s. 

The sound Jinu made was raw, cracked, and unrestrained—half sob, half prayer.

“Shh… you’re okay now,” Romance breathed, voice thick and urgent, cupping your cheeks with trembling hands that looked as if they might break from the effort of holding you still.

His tears spilled silently, warm and relentless, tracing paths down your skin like vows no words could carry.

“You’re safe. We’ve got you. We’ve got you,” Baby murmured, wrapping his arms around your fragile, trembling form, his body a shield against a world that had tried to tear you apart—against every breath, every shadow.

The demon tried to speak again—

But this time, it didn’t get the chance.

Mira’s blade sliced through the air, swift and merciless, driving clean through the demon’s skull in one brutal strike that echoed in the sudden silence.

Rumi stood frozen, hands trembling at her sides, eyes glassy and wide, unshed tears threatening to spill free. Every instinct screamed at her to run to you, to gather you in her arms and check every breath.

But she didn’t move.

“Let them have her right now,” Zoey said softly, her gaze flicking to where the boys had you caged in a desperate, protective circle. “She needs them.”

“But she’s not okay,” Rumi whispered, the words breaking apart on her tongue.

“I know.” Mira’s arm slipped around her shoulders, steady but heavy with its own grief. Her voice dropped, quiet and certain. “But neither are they.”

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

You felt the snap long before you understood it.

The demon’s grip around your throat was brutal, a coil of cold steel and corrupted power. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t breathe. Its hands were claws, and its voice—its voice was venom.

“You made them weak.”

Your vision blurred. The fluorescent lights above you fractured into smears of silver. Your fingertips went numb.

“You made them soft. Sentimental. Foolish. Gwima will tear you from them.”

Tears burned hot down your cheeks as you clawed desperately at its arm, legs kicking weakly against the weight pressing you under.

You thought of them—your boys.

Jinu’s calm, steady voice whispering safety.

Abby’s warm, solid body folding around you in sleep, the way he held you like a promise.

Baby’s laughter, bright and reckless in your memory.

Mystery’s brooding silence, softening when he thought no one was watching.

Romance’s hand cradling the back of your neck, lips lingering longer than they should.

Would they feel it?

Would they come?

Then—

Darkness swallowed you whole.

You didn’t hear the door explode open.

You didn’t see claws, fangs, and unrestrained fury slash through the stale air.

But you felt them.

The bond didn’t just return—it exploded.

Their rage seared through the fog, a burning light slicing whatever veil had begun to drag you under. Their grief slammed into you like a second heartbeat, raw and unfiltered. They were fighting. They were feral. And every strike, every snarl, was for you.

And then—

Nothing.

Stillness.

Silence.

And then...

A voice.

“Wake up, angel.”

A sob cracked the air.

“Please, baby. Come back.”

Another voice, frantic, breaking. 

“She’s not breathing—fuck, she’s not—”

You gasped. Air tore into your lungs like fire, and you choked.

Everything hurts.

Your throat raw, your chest tight, your soul trembling in the fragile space between waking and losing.

Hands were on you. Familiar. Warm. Trembling.

“Hey—hey, baby,” Jinu whispered, his forehead pressing hard against yours, voice ragged and breaking with relief and fear. “It’s okay. We’re here. We’re right here.”

You couldn’t stop crying. Your body shook as all of them crowded around, a wall of heat and scent and trembling fury. Arms wrapped around you—everywhere. Jinu’s hand cupped your cheek with trembling tenderness. Abby was kneeling in front of you, trying to check you over despite his shaking fury. Romance was behind you, arms protectively circling your waist, chin pressed to your shoulder. Mystery stood guard at the door, but his eyes were locked on you, unreadable and terrifyingly still. And Baby… Baby was clinging to your hand like he needed it to breathe.

They weren’t letting go.

Ever.

“I-It… it said—” you hiccupped, voice cracking under the weight of what you’d just endured. “It said I made you weak…”

The silence that followed was volcanic.

“What?” Abby’s voice was low. Deadly. His jaw flexed, muscles tight with the effort not to shatter everything in the room. “What did it say?”

“The demon said... I made you weak,” you whispered, trembling. “That because of me, you weren’t following Gwi-Ma anymore. That I ruined you. That killing me would bring you back under control.”

Romance’s lips brushed your temple, lingering there as his breath came hot and uneven. “That thing doesn’t understand a damn thing about us.”

“You don’t make us weak,” Jinu said slowly, cupping your cheeks, forcing you to look at him even through your tears. “You make us stronger. You’re the only thing that keeps us from falling apart.”

“You’re not our weakness,” Baby whispered, his grip tightening on your hand until his own eyes shone. “You’re our reason.”

“That demon was wrong,” Mystery said, his voice low and quiet but terrifying in its finality. “If anything touches you again, I’ll rip reality apart.”

The girls stood at the edge of the room, silent witnesses. This time, their eyes weren’t wary. They weren’t suspicious.

They were wide.

Awestruck.

In the corner, Mira leaned against the vanity, arms crossed, brows furrowed in disbelief. Her gaze shifted between the five demons and your fragile body cradled in their arms.

“Are we really seeing this?” she whispered.

“I think they can help with sealing the Honmoon,” Rumi breathed, her voice tinged with reverence. “She’s their fated one.”

Mira’s head snapped toward her.  “Their what?”

Rumi stepped forward, eyes never leaving the way the boys hovered over you like you were something holy and breakable. “It’s an old demon term. I read about it once… in a hunter’s journal that got buried in the archives. Demons… they’re not supposed to have soulmates. Not officially. But sometimes… there’s one person, one soul, that doesn’t just anchor them—it changes them.”

She exhaled, her voice laced with awe. “They don’t need to steal anymore. Not if they find their fated. Her soul feeds them. Calms them. It makes them feel again. Like they used to before the hunger. Before the shame.”

Zoey blinked. “You’re saying… she makes them human again?”

Rumi gave a small nod. “Not human. But whole.”

And the proof lay bare before them: the five most dangerous demons ever marked on a hunter’s ledger, stripped of every threat—reduced instead to something soft, something trembling with raw need and feral devotion. Not a single one dared to look away from you. Not even the girls’ voices could pull their gaze, their fierce protection sealing them off from everything but you.

Romance’s lips found your temple again, soft, urgent, as if his mouth had forgotten what it was like to be apart from you. His breath was ragged, trembling with a fear he could barely voice. “You scared me, sweetheart,” he whispered, low and sacred, voice cracked like a prayer. “You can’t do that. Not to us. Not to you. Not even death has that right.”

Baby’s fingers hovered over the bruise at your neck, tracing invisible circles as though he could erase every mark just by will—by touch alone. His jaw clenched tight, a tremor of something fierce and almost terrifying beneath his calm exterior. “You’re not allowed to get hurt,” he said, voice a dark growl threaded with danger and devotion. “Not even the slightest scratch.”

“Ever,” Mystery breathed, his thumb sliding over your knuckles like he needed to lock your pulse inside him, to keep you tethered to this moment and nowhere else.

Abby’s voice was rougher, colder, but no less tender—brushing his thumb across your cheekbone with a touch that could either heal or wound. “Next time you vanish,” he said quietly, “I will tear through every shadow, burn every corner of this world, and find you. Faster. No exceptions.”

The words sank into your skin like heat, like a fever you couldn’t fight. Their voices vibrated against your ribs, and even in your exhausted haze, the bond pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath your own. It hurt. It soothed. It consumed.

You shifted weakly, barely lifting your arms, and Abby caught you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest, holding you so tight it was as if he feared you might slip away like smoke through his fingers. Your soft whimper broke free, and in response, their lips descended—quick, worshipful kisses scattered across your face, your forehead, your cheeks. Each one was a vow carved from dark devotion, sacred and desperate.

None of them cared that the girls were watching. Not even a little.

To them, this moment wasn’t a secret to hide. It was a fierce declaration meant to be seen, witnessed—and feared.

Jinu cupped your cheek gently, his thumb stroking your lower lip as he stared down at you like you were the only thing he’d ever loved in his endless, cursed existence. “You can sleep now, jagi.” he murmured. ”We’ve got you. We’re here.”

But you didn’t close your eyes.

You couldn’t.

The fear in your gaze flickered like a candle on the verge of being blown out, and it pierced straight through their chests.

“I know you're scared princess,” Abby whispered, seeing it—feeling it. He kissed your shoulder, slow and grounding. “But you don’t have to be.”

“They won’t come near you again,” Baby promised, his eyes suddenly glowing a fierce, molten gold as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice dropped to a dark, dangerous rumble. “We’ll kill every last one of them.”

Then, without warning, his lips brushed yours—a kiss both possessive and gentle, claiming and worshipping all at once.

You couldn’t help but respond, your body instinctively folding into his touch.

A deep, satisfied purr rolled from his throat as he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Good girl.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks then—hot, unguarded, the flood of relief and safety crashing through you.  None of them moved away. They kissed every drop away, slow and reverent, like a ritual binding you all tighter.

Whispers followed, soft and intimate, barely more than a caress against your ear. Abby murmured promises laced with possessiveness and devotion, Romance’s breath was warm and teasing, Mystery’s touch gentle yet claiming. Jinu’s voice steadied you, firm but full of quiet worship.

The bond between you burned hotter than ever—tangled, unbreakable, alive. Their presence curled around your soul, threading through every crack you didn’t know was there. You felt their need as if it were your own—fear, devotion, relentless obsession pulsing beneath the surface.

“I don’t want to sleep,” you breathed, fragile but resolute.

“We know, jagi,” Jinu murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with the tenderness of a man touching something he could never replace. “But you need rest. And when you wake up…” His gaze locked on yours, heavy and absolute. “We’ll be right here.”

“We’ll always be here,” Mystery said quietly, his hand covering yours like he could anchor you in place.

“Right beside you,” Romance whispered, his lips brushing your temple.

“No matter what,” Abby vowed, eyes dark and shining like polished obsidian.

Baby’s smirk was faint, but the raw edge beneath his voice cut clear as a blade. “Even if you run,” he said, voice dark and certain, “we’ll always find you, angel.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue, and the truth was, you didn’t want to.

You buried your face in Abby’s chest, your fingers curling weakly into his shirt as their warmth closed around you—limbs, arms, breath, scent. They wrapped you in themselves, sealing you in with their touch, claiming you with every slow, deliberate kiss pressed to your skin.

Just before sleep pulled you under, your lips parted around a trembling whisper, barely audible.

“Don’t let go.”

And they didn’t.

They wouldn’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

You didn’t realize when your breathing evened out. You didn’t even notice when your trembling stopped—only that Abby’s heartbeat was loud against your ear and his arms had never loosened. His warmth, his scent, the quiet purr of comfort he hummed into your hair—it lulled you like a trance. Safe. Just for a moment. Just long enough to drift off with your cheek against his chest, lashes fluttering as sleep took you.

The boys stilled the moment they realized.

The moment your breathing deepened, the warm affection in the boys’ gazes dimmed into something else entirely—an eerie shift like the dimming of lights before a storm.The tender looks, the soft smiles meant only for you, bled away until nothing remained but masks. Cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Gone was the playfulness. 

Gone was the easy charm that made them look human.

What remained were demons. 

Demons with a mate to protect.

And they would burn the world to ash before letting it happen again.

Abby didn’t move except to adjust you, cradling your head as if even the weight of sleep could pull you too far from him. His gaze never left your face, the muscle in his jaw flexing with a restrained fury he didn’t voice.

Romance was the first to stand, his shoulders squaring like a prince preparing for war. The vow in his eyes was lethal. Baby didn’t bother to hide the heat simmering beneath his skin, his hands curling into fists until his knuckles whitened. Mystery’s normally lazy stare was stripped bare — sharp, predatory, unblinking. Even Jinu, who had not looked away from you for a single heartbeat, was utterly still, the darkness in his eyes so deep it felt like falling.

They moved together, silent and sure, leaving the dressing room without a word. The scent of your fear still clung to them like smoke, sharp and unforgettable. They didn’t bother cleaning the mess — the toppled chair, the ripped curtain, the faint trace of blood still staining the air.

The girls followed in stunned silence, their breath caught somewhere between awe and fear.

Zoey had seen it all—fought demons, severed heads, watched her girls bleed and survive, again and again. But even she couldn’t shake the cold hush crawling down her spine as the boys moved ahead—shadows wrapped in fury, a storm barely contained.

Outside, the van was waiting, the engine low and rumbling.

"Jinu," Rumi called softly, stepping forward. 

Jinu didn’t even look at it. His eyes were still on you, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the wrinkle between your brows as you whimpered in your sleep.

Still, she pressed the letter into his hand. “Please… take care of her,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The girls watched, breath shallow, as the boys slipped into the van—Abby last, still cradling you like a treasure too precious to ever let go. You murmured something fragile in your sleep, a whisper of sound that pulled three heads toward you instantly. Abby hushed you, soft and sure, his voice threading comfort into your hair until your sigh was smooth again.

Only then did Jinu lift his gaze to meet Rumi’s.

Not with challenge. Not with cold dismissal.

But with something deeper. Something heavy—an unspoken truth exchanged in a glance sharp and clear.

He nodded once.

“We always do,” his voice steady.

Rumi stepped back, throat tight, watching them file into the van

Abby hands never loosened around you, brushing your hair from your face with a tenderness that twisted something deep in her gut.

“She’s the only thing keeping them tethered,” Rumi said quietly.

Zoey and Mira flanked her, each laying a hand on her arm.

“She’ll be okay,” Mira murmured, though even she didn’t sound certain. 

Inside, the van’s silence was suffocating.

Jinu sat at the far end, the letter unopened in his lap, his eyes never leaving your face. His legs were tense, boots braced so the ride stayed smooth for you no matter how sharp the turns.

Romance sat beside you, his hand ghosting down your arm, touch so light it was almost imagined. They weren’t trying to wake you. They wanted you to sleep. You needed it. And for now, that was enough to keep their hunger at bay.

But when you whimpered softly in your dreams—just a whisper of fear, a flinch that made your lip tremble—every last one of them went still.

“Shh,” Abby whispered against your forehead, kissing it softly. “You don’t have to run anymore. We’ve got you. We’ll always have you.”

Romance reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering too long, too reverently against your skin. “She’s burning up,” he said, brows knitting in fierce concern. “Still shaking.”

“Let me—” Mystery’s voice was low, coaxing, barely above a breath. “Let me touch her. Just a moment.”

His fingertips pressed gently to your cheek, then slid to your neck, finally resting over the hollow of your collarbone. His touch was worshipful, like tracing the lines of some ancient magic only he could understand. His eyes fluttered closed as if to drink it in.

Baby couldn’t hold back any longer. He edged closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then another soft press to your cheek. A shaky breath escaped him. “You should’ve let us kill him slower,” he muttered, voice rough and raw, meant for no one but the shadows. “He touched her. Made her cry. I should’ve torn him apart—piece by piece.”

“You would’ve,” Jinu said finally, voice ice sharp. “If we hadn’t been there, you’d have brought the whole damn building down hunting him.”

“I still might,” Baby growled, dark and low.

Another soft whimper slipped from your lips.

Jinu’s restraint snapped. His hand closed over your wrist, warm and steady, thumb stroking slow, grounding circles into your skin. His voice dropped to something dangerously gentle.

“Shhh, angel,” he murmured, voice lower than ever. “We’re here now. You’re safe. Nothing—nothing—will get to you anymore. Not without going through us first.”

You stirred, lips parting slightly, brows twitching like you could sense the shift in the air. The way it hummed with obsession. With fear turned to fury. With a love so consuming it bordered on ruin.

Romance leaned forward, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. “We’ll keep whispering it until your soul believes it.”

Abby shifted you slightly, so your head rested more firmly against his heart.

Then, you stirred.

Not enough to wake, but your body instinctively reached toward the warmth. A soft whimper, again. Your face buried against Abby’s neck. The sight made Baby exhale something unsteady and broken.

One by one, they kissed you. Your temple. Your cheek. Your knuckles. Each kiss deliberate, reverent, like they were sealing a vow in silence.

It should’ve been a sweet moment. It would’ve been, if not for the fire beneath their eyes. If not for the way their bodies thrummed with restrained violence, like a symphony held back from its final, devastating crescendo.

They were quiet now, yes. But not calm.

Because this wasn’t over.

The demon may be dead, but the wound remained.

And the thought of you flinching ever again was enough to make them want to tear the world apart.

Abby looked down at you, his voice like a low growl softened only by tenderness. “Sleep. Just sleep, princess. We’ll be here when you wake up. Right here. Always.”

“We’re never letting you out of our sight again,” Jinu said, his voice flat. Final. “Not even for a second.”

“Even if the world burns down around us,” Romance added, brushing a final kiss against your brow, “We’ll still be here.”

And still, the boys leaned closer. Kisses pressed to your hair. Fingers trailing down your arms. Breath whispered against your skin. They murmured things too soft to catch. Pet names and promises. Threats to the world. Vows to each other.

Outside the van, the city kept moving—neon flashing, tires hissing against wet asphalt. But inside… time bent, stilled, and belonged only to you.

To the girl sleeping in the arms of monsters who would rip the stars from the sky if it meant keeping you breathing.

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the penthouse, the weight of silence more deafening than any sound. 

Jinu walked ahead, his expression tight with worry, the lines between his brows etched deep. Abby carried you—one arm under your knees, the other curled securely behind your back, your cheek resting over his steady heart. Every breath you took was felt against him. Even asleep, you whimpered softly now and then, a sound that made each of them tense.

“Put her on the couch. Gently,” Romance said, his voice low, fraying at the edges.

Baby was the one who moved ahead and swept aside the blankets on the oversized couch. “Here,” he said softly, voice cracking a little. “Let’s let her rest.”

Romance hovered near your side, eyes never leaving your face. “Wait, I’ll grab the pillow,” he murmured, already vanishing down the hall before the others could speak.

Mystery knelt on the couch, helping ease your body down as Abby laid you onto the cushions. You curled instinctively, seeking warmth. Jinu was already adjusting the room’s temperature with a flick of his fingers, the glass walls dimming around you to shield the light.

They didn’t speak much. Everything between them was instinct now.

Jinu leaned down and pushed back your collar. 

Dark. Ugly. Angry against the soft line of your throat. The place where they often kissed you when you yawned. The spot you tilted your head to the side to expose when you were feeling playful. The place they adored. Marred.

For a beat, no one spoke.

Then Abby exhaled slowly through his nose, like a dragon holding back fire.

“I’ll kill him again,” he muttered.

“No,” Jinu said, voice quieter, but colder. “We’ll do worse than that.”

Mystery touched the bruise with the back of his knuckles, barely grazing it. You flinched even in sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively turned your face away, brows pinching in pain.

All of them froze.

Baby froze, halfway through tucking a blanket around your legs. Mystery’s hand stopped midair, his chest tightening until it hurt.

From behind, the soft rustle of fabric announced Romance’s return. He crouched beside you, sliding a pillow beneath your head with slow, deliberate care, his eyes lingering on your face as though willing the tension from your features.

“No, no, sweetheart,” he murmured immediately, his voice a velvet whisper that curled through the quiet. His palm cupped your cheek, thumb tracing soothing arcs along your skin. “Shhh… it’s okay. We won’t touch it again. You’re alright.”

Jinu reached for a small jar of salve—a healing balm made for bruises like this. The lid twisted open with a faint pop, releasing the warm, calming blend of lavender and mint into the room.

Abby’s jaw flexed, his hands curling against his thighs as Jinu dipped a finger into the salve.

“Let me,” Jinu said softly, a command disguised as a request.

The bond between you hummed—warm, protective, laced with something deeper that had nothing to do with the wound. Even in sleep, you didn’t retreat from them. You weren’t afraid. Never afraid of them.

Jinu brushed your hair back, leaning in close enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. But before he could touch the balm to the bruise, a low, deliberate thump echoed from the hallway.

A flash of electric blue slid into the room, and Derpy padded in, his coat glinting like frost in moonlight. His glowing yellow eyes immediately locked onto the couch. Sussy fluttered close behind, a magpie with six eerie, intelligent eyes and a tiny black top hat perched smartly atop her head, wings giving a faint shimmer of magic.

Derpy approached cautiously, his large form strangely quiet for his size. Then he paused in front of the couch, nose twitching. A low, curious hum sounded from his chest as he leaned down to sniff you—eyes narrowing, ears twitching. He recognized you.

Derpy gently nuzzled the edge of the blanket Baby had tucked around you, then whined softly, head tilting as if to check the bruised part of your neck.

“Derpy,” Jinu murmured, stepping in to gently block his path, “Be careful. She’s resting.”

The tiger didn’t retreat. Instead, he pressed his snout briefly to your shoulder before settling beside the couch, a silent guardian, his eyes never straying from you.

Sussy, on the other hand, had landed directly on Jinu’s shoulder. All six of her eyes blinked as she tilted her head dramatically at your form. With a high-pitched chirp, she hopped down to the arm of the couch and cooed at you, puffing her feathers before curling her wings over her own head, mimicking sleep. A silent show of solidarity.

The moment you unconsciously nestled into them, cheek pressing against Derpy’s fur, a subtle shift rippled through the room. The boys, who had been tense shadows moving across the penthouse, stilled all at once. As if the sight of you resting—finally, peacefully, trusting even in your sleep—tugged loose the knot of worry inside their chests. One by one, their shoulders sagged with relief. The air was still heavy with quiet fury at what had been done to you… but now it was wrapped in something softer. Reverence. Relief.

Jinu was the first to move again, breath shallow as he approached your side. The quiet pad of his socks on the polished floor made barely a sound, but Derpy lifted his head slightly. Jinu gave a gentle signal with two fingers, and the great tiger’s head lowered again, a deep, rumbling purr settling in his chest.

Kneeling beside you, Jinu’s expression was unreadable for a long moment—except in his eyes. They shimmered like molten silver, the reflection of the soft lighting catching the grief and adoration pooling inside him. He reached out with hands steadier than he felt, careful not to startle you again.

Your neck was tilted just enough in sleep that the bruise peeked out from the collar of your shirt. His throat worked tightly. He could still hear the sound of your whimper from earlier, the way you’d flinched even in unconsciousness. It gutted him.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

With the lightest touch, he pressed the balm to your skin. This time, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t whimper. A small exhale left your lips as you nestled deeper into the space between Derpy and the cushions, the bond humming faintly between all of you. Safe. Loved. Home.

Jinu’s breath faltered, slow and trembling. The smallest curve of relief softened his lips. He lowered his mouth to your forehead, pressing a kiss that lingered long, as if trying to imprint his love directly onto your skin. You shifted slightly, leaning into him, releasing a soft sigh.

His fingers came up to caress your face—slow, reverent strokes that carried every ounce of his fierce devotion. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, low and intimate, meant only for you and the demons guarding you.

“I love you…,” he murmured, each word heavy with unspoken promises and a raw ache you felt deep in your bones. “...so much.”

Jinu’s jaw flexed, eyes burning gold for a moment with suppressed rage. Not at you. Never at you. But at the memory of who had dared to lay a hand on you. The urge to go back and rip through realms to find whoever had hurt you gnawed at his bones.

 But he held himself back, focused only on you.

Jinu finished tending your neck, brushing his thumb over your jaw in a fleeting stroke before pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders, tucking you in like something precious.

Across from him, Mystery stood rigid, fists clenched tightly inside the pocket of his hoodie. His voice was low, rough with regret. “We should’ve protected her better.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jinu said quietly, smoothing the last of the balm into your skin before leaning back on his heels, eyes never leaving your peaceful face. “But she came back to us. That’s what matters.”

Sussy fluttered her wings gently at that, letting out a melodic chirp as if to agree. Derpy’s tail flicked and curled tighter around your ankles, keeping you tucked safely against him.

Only then did Jinu remember the letter. That odd envelope Rumi had slipped into his hand earlier.

He padded back to the kitchen island where he’d tossed it earlier, still half distracted by worry over your condition. Now, picking it up, his brow furrowed. The thick parchment was smooth under his fingertips, the gilded front glinting faintly under the soft light. The looping calligraphy looked far too elegant for something casual.

Save the Date.

The words felt out of place, heavy with intention.

Jinu walked back into the living room, the quiet weight in the air broken only by the soft rustle of blankets as you shifted in your sleep. The boys sat scattered, each glancing toward you every few moments, the two spirit animals stationed like sentries at your side.

Their faces eased when they saw him return—until they caught the subtle stiffness in his shoulders and the paper between his fingers.

“Save the Date,” Jinu read aloud, his voice stripped of warmth.

Romance straightened from where he lounged curled up on the other couch, one long leg drawn up. “What’s that?”

Without a word, Jinu held the letter up.

Abby’s frown was immediate. “That from earlier? The hunter girl?”

Jinu’s jaw tightened. “Rumi gave it to me before we left. Said it was for me.”

Romance’s lips curved into a humorless smirk, eyes flicking pointedly toward where you slept. “Only for you? Does she not know you’re already in love with someone?” 

“She knows,” Jinu said evenly, though there was a quiet, unshakable claim in the way he said it. “She’s known for a while.”

“Then why the hell would she…” Baby started, then stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Wait—you think this is romantic? Like a date-date?”

“Could be a meeting,” Mystery’s tone was flat, unreadable. “Could be a trap. Could be something else entirely.”

“She’s with the girls,” Jinu muttered, gaze sinking back to the gilded words. “That hasn’t changed. I don’t think this is about… that. But I don’t like how vague it is.”

His eyes darkened, the gold in them flaring faintly. “She’s ours. And if Rumi’s smart, she’s not trying to take anything from that. Maybe she wants to talk about the Honmoon… maybe she’s thinking of sealing it officially.”

Romance’s tone softened, but the claim in his voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “Then she better understand—any deal includes her. Our mate. Our everything.”

Every pair of eyes shifted to you again.

Peaceful. Asleep. Pressed into the warmth of their world like you were the sun they orbited around.

Jinu finally set the letter down on the table with deliberate care before walking back to you. He sank to one knee beside the couch, leaning in until his head rested against the armrest, so close his breath nearly mingled with yours. Close enough to feel the soft rise and fall of your chest.

“Whatever she wants,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your hand in a fleeting touch, “she’s going to have to understand… I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Derpy gave a quiet huff, tail thumping once in agreement. Susie ruffled her feathers, tucking herself closer to your hair as if staking her own claim.

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

Jinu stood with his hands stuffed into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stared out at the quiet park Rumi had picked for their secret meeting. The sun hung low, staining the clouds with soft gold and blush, the breeze warm and lazily threading through the trees. It should’ve been beautiful—romantic, even—but he was stuck here, waiting, and every second away from you felt like a slow burn.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyes flicking to his phone. “Tch. She’s late.” His head tilted back with a groan, the frustration tightening his jaw. “I could be with her right now.”

Shoving his hands deeper into his jacket, he began to pace, steps restless.

“Still whining like a lovesick pup, lover boy?”

The voice cut through the stillness like a blade, and Jinu whipped around, hand halfway raised, claws flexing, instincts sharp.

Rumi’s smirk was waiting for him. She strolled forward with unhurried steps, hands tucked into her coat, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Still jumpy, I see,” she said lightly. “Must be love.”

“I swear to hell,” he muttered, visibly rattled. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You get more dramatic every time I see you,” she teased. “That girl of yours really has you wrapped.”

Jinu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “If you came here just to flirt, you’re wasting your time. I get the theatrics and the cryptic letter thing, okay? But you’re not my type.”

Rumi raised a brow.

He crossed his arms, mood already soured. “I’m taken. Taken-taken. Like, soulbound, heart-on-my-sleeve, willing-to-walk-into-hell-for-her taken. So unless you’ve called me here to tell me how to keep her safe for the next thousand years, make it quick.”

That soft, hypnotic edge entered his voice, the kind that always seemed to thrum with something deeper—like velvet hiding steel. Even as he spoke with disdain, his thoughts had already returned to you. Your scent. Your smile. The way your eyes softened when he cupped your face in the mornings, whispering how badly he wanted to devour every second of your day just to be near you.

“You’re really down bad,” Rumi observed dryly.

“You have no idea,” Jinu murmured, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as if savoring the memory of you.

Her teasing expression softened into something quieter, almost reluctant. She took a step forward, eyes sharpening with focus. “What if I told you there’s a way to seal the Honmoon for good?”

He stilled, gaze narrowing. “What?”

“I mean,” she said, eyes fixed on the horizon, “what if there’s a way for all of you to be free… permanently. To keep you on this side. To erase the marks. The shame. The tether to hell. You wouldn’t be fully demon anymore… but not fully human either. Just like me.”

His brows pinched. “Why would you want to help us? You’re a hunter.”

“I was born one,” Rumi said quietly, “but I’m not just that anymore.” She finally looked at him. “You know that. You must know what it means to be in-between.”

Jinu’s arms folded across his chest, his jaw locking tight. “Still doesn’t explain why you think we’d ever help you. You don’t understand what’s at stake.” His voice dropped lower, harder. “If we screw this up—if we take the wrong risk—we’ll be dragged back underground. Locked away forever. Torn from her. I’m not letting that happen. Not when she’s finally within reach.”

Rumi held his stare, unflinching. “I do understand. That’s why I came to you. Because I know how deeply you love her.”

He stared at her, a flicker of hope sparking against his will. “How?”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, holding it out. “Help us win the Idol Awards.”

Jinu blinked. “That’s it?”

“If we win,” Rumi said, her voice softening, “we get the exact celestial convergence needed to close the Honmoon. You’ll have the perfect window to perform the ritual. If it works, you and the boys will be tied to her forever. No more marks. No more shame. No more Gwima. No more wondering when the ground will open under your feet. You’ll be able to stay. You’ll be hers, wholly. In every plane.”

Silence stretched between them.

“…You think we care about our shame?” Jinu scoffed, but the sound lacked bite. His voice betrayed the faintest tremor.

“No,” Rumi said simply. “But you care about your freedom. About her safety. About waking up beside her without fearing it’ll all be ripped away.”

Something in him flinched. His gaze dropped, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

He swallowed hard, turning his back to her for a moment as if to collect himself. The thought of losing you—even as a shadow in his mind—split something raw and unhealed wide open.

He thought about the first time you whispered I love you, all sleepy and defenseless, and how his world had never been the same.

“But what if something goes wrong?” he whispered. “What if… what if we fail? I can’t risk her safety like that. I can’t risk going back and leaving her behind.”

“You already risk everything just by loving her,” Rumi said softly, her tone gentle but unyielding. “This just gives you a way to win.”

Before he could answer, a sudden, airy voice cut through the weight in the air.

“Oh, young lovers! How cute!”

Jinu whipped around, startled, to find a cheerful older woman setting up a necklace stall just across from them. She squinted at the two of them, clearly delighted. “What a beautiful couple! Are you looking for something special? I’ve got charms for loyalty, passion, even fertility if you’re feeling ambitious—”

“No!” Jinu and Rumi said in unison, stepping apart like magnets reversed.

“We’re not a couple,” Jinu said quickly, waving his hands. “At all. Not even a little.”

“Truly,” Rumi added, deadpan. “He’s tragically in love with someone else.”

The aunt cackled, clearly unfazed. “Ah, even better. The best gifts are for the ones who ache the hardest.”

She rummaged through a tray, then pulled out a delicate silver chain with a small, bell-shaped charm dangling at the center. “Here. For her. Free of charge. I like your heart.”

Jinu stared at it, heat rising in his face. “I—uh—you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” She pressed it into his palm, closing his fingers around it with surprising strength. “Tell her someone saw how much you love her.”

And just like that, she turned back to her display, leaving him rooted in place, clutching the necklace like it was a piece of the universe he’d been entrusted with.

Rumi tilted her head, her mouth curving faintly. “You should give it to her.”

He stared down at the charm. It was small. Simple. But the sound it made—soft, melodic—reminded him of you. Of your laugh when he kissed your neck. Of the way your breath caught when he whispered your name against your skin. Of the delicate things he didn’t think he deserved but was selfish enough to hold anyway.

He didn’t say anything.

But his hand curled around it tightly.

“I’ll think about your plan,” he murmured. “But only for her.”

Rumi smiled faintly. “That’s all I ever expected.”

She turned, steps light, but he stayed where he was—rooted, caught between the weight of his fears and the pull of something brighter. His gaze fell to the necklace again. His pulse kicked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Baby: Hyung, she’s awake.

Mystery: She’s crying. She’s looking for you.

Abby: She thinks you left her.

The blood drained from Jinu’s face.

He didn’t say a word.

He took off.

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

You sat at the vanity, haloed in the golden light of the overhead bulbs, fingers delicately tracing a fresh coat of gloss over your lips. The mirror framed your reflection like a portrait—your eyes lined in soft bronze, lashes fluttering as you tilted your head slightly, studying the fading bruises along your neck. They were nearly gone now, mere shadows of what they once were. The echoes of fear. Of survival. Of how fiercely the boys had fought for you.

And how they still hadn’t let you out of their sight since.

Today would be the first time in weeks you’d be stepping outside with all five of them in tow. 

The plan was simple—head to the stylist’s studio to check their costumes for the Idol Awards—but you knew it would turn into something else entirely. 

Ever since the attack, the boys had become even more unreasonably attached—not that you minded. Their possessiveness had morphed into something equal parts frustrating and heart-melting: constant neck kisses that lingered too long, clingy morning snuggles you couldn’t escape from, and ridiculous arguments over who got to carry you from the couch to the kitchen.

This morning, Abby had even tried to feed you breakfast like you were recovering from a coma. You’d had to wrestle the spoon out of his hands.

Your gaze dropped, catching the glint of silver resting at the base of your throat—a delicate chain, the small bell-shaped charm swaying with your breath. Jinu had fastened it there himself, fingers lingering against your skin as if reluctant to let go. The sound it made was barely audible, but the boys always seemed to hear it. A quiet reminder of who you belonged to. A promise that even if you strayed too far, they’d find you.

You shifted your gaze to the soft patch of skin where Mystery had pressed his mouth last night, murmuring something low and unrepeatable, something that made your breath hitch and your core tighten. You could still feel the ghosts of their kisses—Abby’s rough lips grazing your collarbone, Baby’s possessive nips, Jinu’s steady breath against your pulse, and Romance’s sigh of relief as he whispered that you were safe now. Always. With them.

The charm’s bell chimed softly when you exhaled, almost as if agreeing. You tried not to let the intensity of their love drown you again.

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you remembered their earlier argument, the one that had ended with you standing your ground.

“You still need to rest. Your leave’s indefinite,” Jinu had said, crossing his arms like the leader he was.

“You step into that building and I swear I’ll l throw you over my shoulder,” Abby warned, dead serious.

“I’ll teleport us to a private island,” Mystery said, sipping tea like he’d already booked the tickets.

But you had stood your ground, voice steady and sharp as a blade. “The Idol Awards are next week, and if you don’t let me prep your schedules, I will ignore all five of you for the rest of the year.”

Now, smoothing the soft fabric of your dress, tugging gently at the hem, you ran trembling fingers through your hair. The silence around you felt alien—wrong in a way that made the fine hairs along your arms rise, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

You blinked again at your reflection, heart pounding in the quiet room.

Then, something shifted behind you.

A cold breath traced the curve of your neck. Your fingers clenched instinctively around the charm at your throat.

Your body froze.

Then—claws. 

A hand.

You spun around, but it was too late.

And you screamed.

The scream tore out of you before your brain could even register the panic. A raw, desperate soundas you bolted from the chair, the crash of it skidding across the floor behind you. You ran without thinking, without stopping to catch your breath or glance back. You knew exactly what you’d seen.

You threw the door open and slammed right into a broad chest.

Strong arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you firm. “Whoa, babe. Breathe. Breathe. It’s just me.” Abby’s deep voice was steady, grounding, the rumble of it vibrating against your cheek. His arms didn’t loosen, even as you gripped fistfuls of his shirt.

Your voice came out in a gasp, shaky. “A demon—in the room—he was right behind me—!”

Jinu was there in a heartbeat, sharp as a blade. His eyes glowed like twin moons, cold and piercing. “Where?” His voice cut through the panic like ice.

The others weren’t far behind.

Romance teleported beside him, every muscle taut and ready.  Baby looked ready to gut someone, while Mystery’s eyes had gone eerily blank—the look he wore when he was one step from breaking something beyond repair.

“Get behind me,” Abby growled, sliding you carefully behind his broad back, his body shielding you like armor.

The five of them surged forward, a deadly storm of sharp power, growls, and glowing eyes.

And then—a sudden stillness.

A voice snapped out, disbelief and fury tangled in one word.

“JELLY?!?!”

To be continued...

That's Jelly guys, He’s a fan of the boys in the movie, and the fandom ended up naming him Jelly.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @libdarkheart @amery-benson-cvii @nubyeol @type-ink @tiredlittlevirgo @wtfgiyuu23 @i-am-here3 @mxn14 @buttermilktea11 @the-bookish-artist @ironsaladwitch @zuoran03 @aurorarose2112 @permanenceimp @otakuudere666 @attackonjacksons @ikykwkleeknowwww @what-just-happened-to-me @yharnam-prophet @yuurisfavblog @cici4954 @boo-shalala @wonwoossglasses @b-bianka-13 @wthamidoingwithmylife @ashleygryffindor @littlewhitefairy7777 @herondale-lightworm @pl4netx1a @rivainimermaid @lionheart178 @irethepotato @gl00muraaii @blurghbleep @ateezswonderland @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @amery-benson-cvii @katzline @the-fanss @sylum @call-me-nyxx @craftygamerscrafts @keikeikeikeie @existingtoreadfanfics @suika-ira @cherrybb-ily�� @3vrenie @determinednature @2emotionallyunstable @fxckinbreathe @starfishfaerie @aurorab-0-realis @baby-bread-in @sra7riddle-malfoy @frostbitetrap-blog @athena-portgas @piancqwrites @soleilscb @cottonheadedninnymugggins @scara-simp69 @aurorarose2112 @bad4amficideas @ineed-myspace @yukimaniac @thegreatpapaya666 @xsammijoanneex @winter-solstice24 @kpopgirliez @gwinamlvr @renchai

[emryshunts]

I have a question, what would the Saja Boys' reaction be like with their drunk partner who is super affectionate and needy with them? I'm talking about affectionate hugs and kisses and always wanting to be hugged, but if you want to be needy in another way 👀I love your writing 🫶🫶🫶

Drunk Dazed

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤—𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3+ not proof read 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

“Sweetheart,” Romance cooed, voice deep and soft like velvet dipped in wine. His palm slid gently over your wrist, halting the slow, stubborn rise of your cup. “That’s enough.”

His fingers ghosted around your wrist, light and reverent, before plucking the cup from your grasp with a calm precision. It was so swift, so disarmingly gentle, that it took you a second to register the loss.

Your lips parted in disbelief. A soft mewl left your throat, more petulant than composed, small and helpless and wounded in the prettiest way. “Nooo,” you whined, already sliding into a dangerous pout. “I wasn’t done…”

Romance only smiled. That maddening, knowing smile that made you want to fight him and kiss him at the same time. He dangled the cup just out of reach, arm stretching behind him as he leaned into the couch with all the arrogant ease of someone who knew exactly what kind of chaos he was causing.

Around you, the boys had gone quiet. They watched you like predators watching their favorite plaything, heat simmering beneath their amusement, their stares sharp and possessive.

You huffed softly, brows furrowing as your lips jutted forward in the kind of pout that could start wars. “Gimme,” you whispered again, breathless and insistent, like a mantra you’d die repeating. Your eyes were glassy, locked onto his with that dazed, needy look that made his throat tighten.

Slowly, you climbed onto your knees and leaned into him, your forehead thudding softly against his collarbone. You let your weight rest there for a beat, heart fluttering wildly in your chest. Your fingers curled into his sleeve like you didn’t even realize you were clinging. Your other hand reached blindly, still trying.

But Romance was too tall. Too smug. And his arm was still stretched behind him with infuriating calm.

A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest—low, velvety—and you felt the sound vibrate against your cheek where it rested against him. Your brow furrowed. You glared at his chest like it had wronged you personally.

Then something tipped inside you—some primal little switch. In one fluid, reckless movement, you straddled his lap with all the elegance of someone driven entirely by want. Your body pressed flush to his, skirt riding up scandalously as your thighs bracketed his hips. Your hands found his chest again, palms splayed over his heart like they belonged there.

His breath hitched. His smile faltered just a second.

And Romance—still holding your drink just out of reach—looked up at you like you’d just stolen the stars and set them in his lap. His tail flicked once behind him, slow and deliberate.

From across the room, Abby let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Oh, she’s gone,” he murmured, far too pleased.

Jinu, seated nearby, didn’t say a word. He just leaned back against the couch with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“Angel…” Romance rasped, his voice low and scraped raw. You shifted slightly—just enough to send another dizzy shiver up his spine—and his tail moved on instinct, curling around your waist in one smooth, possessive motion to keep you steady. “What… are you doing?”

He tried to sound stern. In control. But his voice cracked at the edges.

Your dazed eyes flicked up to him, gaze unfocused and full of drunken heat, but you said nothing. Just blinked. Tilted your head. Stayed in his lap like you hadn’t just hijacked his soul.

He swallowed hard, then slowly extended the cup out to the side without breaking eye contact. His expression stayed carefully blank, but his tail cinched tighter around you, anchoring you to him like you were something he didn’t want drifting too far.

Jinu plucked the drink from his hand with a low snort, clearly amused. You followed it with your eyes like prey, your shoulders sagging the second it left your sightline. The boys didn’t miss it. Their smirks deepened in sync, quiet laughter pulsing through the room like a shared current.

You shifted in Romance’s lap, the alcohol making your body loose, floaty. Your weight tilted to one side, legs preparing to slip off and make a beeline for your next obvious target—Jinu, your composed, dangerous leader, who might just melt if you pouted the right way.

With a breathy, exaggerated sigh, you began to climb down. But just as your palm met Romance’s chest to push off, his hands suddenly caught your waist.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate.

He pulled you back into his lap, firmer this time. His grip was strong, grounding, undeniably his. And then his tail—coiled so deceptively gently—tightened around your waist again and pulled, slotting you flush against his chest.

You gasped softly, the sudden pull knocking the breath right out of your lungs. The wind slipped from you in a surprised little exhale, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sit still.”

It made your spine straighten, your breath catch.

“But Ro—” you whined softly, twisting to look up at him with a watery pout, your lip trembling. “I just wanted—”

“I know what you wanted,” he cut in, his voice pitched lower now, threaded with something dark and unshakable. His tail held fast, snug against your waist, locking you against him like his body had already decided for you. “That doesn’t mean you’re getting it.”

The look he gave you made your breath stick in your throat.

It saw through everything—the pout, the slurred charm, the slow roll of alcohol in your system. His gaze pinned you in place, like he could read the heat simmering beneath your skin, every need you hadn’t voiced, every game you thought you were playing. 

And gods, he nearly folded. Nearly let himself give in—to pull you close, coo soft reassurances in your ear, kiss the pout from your lips and spoil you senseless until your whines turned to moans and your hands stopped trembling. You were so soft like this. So easy to adore.

But he didn’t.

Because he knew better.

Sometimes spoiling you too much isn't good for you. And you needed him to hold the line, even when you didn’t know it.

You blinked up at him, dazed, a little dizzy, and still your body tried to move, to tempt. Your hips shifted instinctively, restless and needful, but his tail only tightened in response, a silent command wrapped in velvet restraint.

Romance’s hand lifted slowly to your hair, fingers brushing it back with a gentleness that contrasted the tension coiled through him. But there was an edge in his voice that cut right through you.

“You’re not listening,” he murmured. “I told you—you’re already drunk.”

And maybe you had said you weren’t. Once. Maybe three times. But the way your body leaned into him, warm and weightless and barely holding itself together, betrayed you far more than words ever could.

He should’ve let you go. Should’ve watched you crawl toward Jinu, all soft and tipsy and begging for attention—just to see how fast the others would move. Let them deal with your mischief. Let them unravel over your sweetness, your need.

But Romance was a selfish demon.

When it came to you, he always had been.

So instead of letting you slip through his fingers again, he did the one thing he knew would work.

He kissed you.

His mouth found yours before you could think—before you could pout again, or whisper something ridiculous, or slide off in search of more mischief. It wasn’t rough, wasn’t rushed. Just a slow, anchoring press of lips, meant to quiet everything spinning inside you.

And it worked.

Your breath hitched, body going still against him. You sighed into the kiss, soft and shaky, and your hands trembled where they rested on his chest.

That was all the permission he needed.

He deepened it with quiet precision, his lips parting yours like they’d done it a thousand times in dreams. He swallowed the tiny gasp you gave, the little whimper caught in your throat, like it belonged to him. Like you did.

Your body melted—instantly, instinctively—curling into his with the helpless affection of a sleepy kitten, every muscle gone pliant under his touch.

And still, his tail stayed wrapped around you, not just to steady you… but to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

And just like that… something inside you flipped.

You whimpered into his mouth, high and needy, before pulling back just far enough to nuzzle along his jaw. You peppered kisses there like you couldn’t help yourself—cheek, chin, the underside of his throat. Closer. Closer. Your arms looped around his neck as you leaned in fully, straddling his thighs again without a second thought.

Your chest pressed tightly against his as you clung, breath shallow and dreamy.

“You’re so warm,” you murmured, voice small and dreamy, like the words barely made it past your lips. You buried your face in his neck, inhaling deeply, like he was your oxygen. “I wanna stay right here…”

Romance’s lips twitched into a helpless smile, the kind that made his eyes crinkle—fond and pained all at once. Because you didn’t realize what you were doing to him. Not really.

You kissed along the line of his throat with soft, desperate sounds. Little moans. Little sighs. You nuzzled closer like your whole body was starved for touch. Your thighs shifted restlessly around him, hips rolling the slightest bit as your lips trailed from his collarbone back up to his mouth.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Each kiss deeper than the last. Slower. Hungrier. You whimpered when you couldn’t get enough, like the taste of him wasn’t quite filling the ache. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging, stroking. Your nails scraped softly down his back. You pulled at him with an urgency that wasn’t fully in your control, like your body already knew what it needed.

You were soft everywhere except for the intensity of your want—radiating off you like heat.

You couldn’t stop.

And he wasn’t asking you to.

Not until your hands slipped lower.

Fumbling. Searching.

They slid down his back, then around, lower still—brushing the waistband of his pants, then the buckle of his belt. You tugged at it with clumsy determination. Frustrated when it didn’t give right away. You whined softly, bottom lip trembling, fingers pulling with a desperation that made your eyes shine glassy.

That’s when his hands caught yours.

“No,” Romance said quietly, almost gently. “Angel… no.”

His grip was not harsh, but firm. He held them between your bodies like he was afraid you’d burn both of you alive if you kept going. His breath hitched sharply, and this time, the groan that left his chest was real—raw, ragged, almost desperate. His head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, trying to steady himself.

You blinked up at him, dazed and flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted with breathless confusion.

“Don’t you want me…?” you whispered, voice so soft it nearly broke.

“Oh, angel,” Romance groaned, hauling you closer until your forehead rested against his. “That’s not it. I want you. God, every part of me wants you.” 

He held your wrists gently against his chest, fingers warm and steady even as his breath hitched. His lips hovered just over yours, aching with restraint.

“I want you,” he whispered, voice falling into that velvet rasp that always turned your bones to liquid. “But not like this. Not when you’re like this. I don’t wanna take advantage of you. You’re not steady right now.”

Tears pricked behind your eyes before you could stop them. Hot, stubborn, blurring your vision as your bottom lip wobbled. He felt it instantly—of course he did. The bond throbbed between you, pulsing raw and open, and your pain sank into him like ink in water.

You gave the tiniest hiccup and turned your face away, collapsing into his shoulder like your heart had just been broken in half.

“You’re being mean,” you sniffled, voice muffled in the warm curve of his neck. “I just wanted to kiss you…”

From across the couch, Baby let out a soft, horrified laugh—like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “Hyung, you made her cry.”

“She’s so cute I’m going insane,” Abby muttered, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically restraining himself from lunging.

Mystery, lounging behind the couch with his chin propped on folded arms, smirked like a devil. “And this is why we don’t let her drink more than one glass.”

You whimpered again, clinging tighter to Romance like the entire universe was conspiring against you. “Stop laughing… all of you are so mean…”

Romance hushed you gently, lips brushing the crown of your head, one hand stroking slow and steady through your hair while the other slipped low on your back to keep you close. His voice dropped, velvet-warm and thick with emotion.

“No one’s laughing at you, sweetheart. Promise. They just don’t know what to do with themselves when you’re like this…” His breath ghosted over your temple as he pressed a kiss there, soft and lingering. “You’re too precious right now. It’s not fair.”

His arms tightened around you, grounding you with the warmth of him, the steadiness of his pulse where your cheek rested against his chest.

“I just wanna take care of you,” he whispered, every word laced with restraint and longing. “You deserve to be spoiled properly. Worshipped. Not when your head’s all foggy like this.”

You hiccupped again, pulling back just enough to look up at him with glassy eyes and a pout that could kill demons, your demons. Your cheeks were tear-streaked, but you still tried to smile—brave and stubborn, the picture of drunken defiance.

You sniffled, then gave a stubborn little smile, trying to be brave.

“But I feel better now… see?” you said, wiggling on his lap like an innocent little thing who didn’t know she was driving him mad. “Not foggy anymore…”

Romance let out a broken laugh, burying his face in your hair as he shook his head. “Mm. That’s the fog talking,” he murmured, voice heavy with affection.

Then he pulled back just enough to press a tender kiss to your forehead, thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your cheek..

“You can have anything you want in the morning,” he promised, the weight of it sinking into your chest like a vow. “Anything at all. Just not right now, love.”

“…Even the one under your pants?” you whispered, wide-eyed, lips parted in naive hope.

Romance inhaled so sharply he choked.

The entire room burst out laughing.

“He’s losing it,” Jinu whispered, wide-eyed and delighted.

“She’s going to kill him with that little voice,” Abby said, clearly both impressed and devastated.

“And she has no idea she’s doing it,” Baby added with a devilish grin. “Poor, poor hyung…”

You whimpered in embarrassment, grabbing Romance’s arms and dragging them tighter around yourself like a blanket. His scent surrounded you, and you sank into his chest with a dramatic little sob, hiding like a sulky kitten.

“Nooo, don’t laugh at meee,” you cried, voice high and wobbly and so heartbreakingly adorable that it hit all of them like a punch to the chest.

Romance instinctively tightened his grip, shielding you from the others, but your whine only grew more pitiful. You curled in tighter, pressing every inch of yourself against him like you were trying to merge into his skin, like being this close still wasn’t enough.

“You’re being mean,” you sniffled into his throat, the words muffled and breathy, dissolving into the warm skin of his neck. “All of you. So mean…”

Baby choked out a laugh again—then immediately winced when you flinched.

“She’s so sensitive,” Mystery murmured, not unkindly. There was a crooked smirk tugging at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not when you looked like that.

“Or maybe she’s just extra needy tonight,” Abby added from somewhere nearby, his deep voice tinged with amusement. 

That only made you whimper louder, your face disappearing further into the curve of Romance’s neck. Lips brushed against his collarbone with every shaky inhale, your tears soaking into his skin like spilled starlight. But you weren’t just sniffling anymore.

You were crying. Quiet, heartbreaking sobs that made the room still. The kind of sobs that turned desire into a deep, aching instinct to protect. Big, warm tears slid down your cheeks as you clung tighter to Romance’s shirt—like if you let go, you’d fall through the floor and never stop falling.

Romance held you like he could feel that too, arms tightening with a quiet, desperate gentleness. He rocked you slowly in his lap, his hand stroking your back in soothing circles as he whispered into your hair, each word weighted with guilt and devotion.  “Shh, it’s okay, love. I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

But his voice only made your lip wobble harder. Made your shoulders shake like your heartbreak was too big for your body.

From beside you, Baby leaned closer, his teasing long gone. “Is it something we said?” he asked, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “I didn’t mean to laugh, sweetheart. You’re just… really cute when you’re drunk and pouty.”

You didn’t answer. Just hiccupped and clung harder to Romance’s chest, muffling something into his skin that sounded vaguely like “meanie.”

Mystery's voice joined next, smooth and coaxing as he crouched closer. “You’re not mad at us, are you?” he asked, fingers brushing gently through your hair to tuck it behind your ear. “You know we didn’t mean it like that. You’re breaking our hearts, angel. Talk to us.”

Still no answer.

Only more trembling. More silent tears. The kind that made even Abby shift forward, concern beginning to creep past his teasing.

And then—after a long, aching pause—your voice broke through, wobbly and thick with tears. “Why are you all being so mean…? I just—I just wanted…”

“What did you want, sweetheart?” Romance asked softly, lips pressing to your hairline with reverent care. “Tell us.”

“Yeah, what’s wrong, angel?” Jinu leaned in, his gaze sweeping slowly over your crumpled form curled in Romance’s lap like something heartbreakingly fragile. “Tell us what you need.”

Your eyes lifted, watery and glassy, lashes clumped with tears. You looked at them with that same devastating expression—the one that always made them unravel. Wide, luminous eyes like shattered stars, lower lip trembling, breath hitching in your throat as you tried to form the words. It wasn’t calculated, but it didn’t have to be. 

Drunk you was a menace. A needy, sensitive, heartbreakingly honest little menace.

You weren’t shy about what you wanted tonight—and it showed in the way your fingers curled tighter into Romance’s shirt like you never wanted to let go, in the little whimper at the back of your throat when they didn’t answer right away.

God, you were pretty like this.

Glowing with longing. A pouty little dream with flushed cheeks, glossy lips, and hands that clung like you were afraid they’d disappear if you let go.

You hiccupped again, voice small and soaked in feeling. “I just… wanted to be close. You’re all warm, and you smell nice, and—and you keep pushing me away.”

Romance exhaled hard, his hold around you tightening.

Jinu swore softly under his breath. “Shit. Baby, you hearing this?”

“She’s breaking my heart, hyung,” Baby whispered, eyes wide, lips parted. “Look at her.”

Mystery leaned in, brushing his knuckles under your tear-damp chin. “No one's pushing you away, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice low and smooth as silk. “We’re trying not to take advantage of you. That’s what this is. Because you mean too much.”

Your eyes lit up.

The shift was instant. Dizzying. One second you were sniffling and shattered, the next—glowing. That soft, radiant light you always gave off when you felt wanted, when you knew you were loved. All five of them stilled, stunned. A laugh nearly broke through from the shock of it.

You blinked up at them innocently, still curled in Romance’s lap like you belonged there. Like you’d never considered being anywhere else.

“What?” you asked, voice featherlight, but with that teasing lilt creeping back in. Just the edge of a pout in your smile.

Jinu tilted his head, brow raised, arms crossed loosely as he fought a losing battle with his smile. “Well? he drawled. “Figured out what you want, baby?”

Your gaze slid across them, slow and unhurried, that sleepy little smile blooming like something dangerous. And then—back to Romance. Back to the one whose heartbeat you could feel through his chest, steady and hot beneath your palm.

“Mhm.” You nodded, lips curling higher. “You. I want all of you.”

The groan that followed wasn’t just from one of them—it was all five. Rough. Helpless. In perfect, tortured unison.

“Oh my god—” Baby groaned, collapsing onto the rug dramatically and flinging an arm over his eyes like he couldn’t stand to look at you right now.

“Oh, baby…” Mystery muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes dark and glittering.

Romance didn’t say a word. He just buried his face in your neck for a beat, breathing deep like he needed to ground himself before he did something reckless.

Still, his arms stayed firm around you—like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

“What do you wanna do, then?” he asked eventually, his voice quieter now, more careful. Like he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. His fingers traced lazy, distracted patterns along your spine, gentle and grounding, like he needed to keep touching you just to stay present. You were warm and heavy in his lap. Perfect. Too perfect.

“Well…” Your voice trailed off, the boldness from before slipping away like silk off skin. In its place came something softer. Shyer.

Your confidence faltered then, like a flame flickering low. That bold, playful pout softened into something more vulnerable, raw. The smile slipped from your lips, replaced by the hint of hesitation. Shyness. Something small and aching.

Your eyes dropped to the floor. “I want…” you began, fingers curling tighter into his shirt, the fabric bunching beneath your grip. Your thighs flexed around his waist, small and unconscious, like your body didn’t want to let go even if your brain hesitated.

Abby shifted, brows drawing tight. Romance tilted forward too, eyes narrowing, his voice laced with tension. “Come again?”

You looked up at him through your lashes, breath shallow. “I said…” You swallowed, cheeks flushed and voice trembling. “Can I kiss you?”

Romance blinked, startled. “Huh?”

You winced, flustered, and shrank into yourself, cheeks now flushed deep and hot. You tugged your sleeves down like you wanted to disappear. “Can I… can I kiss you?” you repeated, softer this time, the question barely louder than a breath.

Gone was the mischief from before. This was different. Raw. Vulnerable. Honest in a way that made their chests tighten.

Romance just stared at you for a moment. Taking you in.

The way you squirmed slightly in his lap—not out of seduction, but out of nervousness. The way your lips trembled with the effort of asking. The way his name still clung to your voice even when you weren’t saying it.

He exhaled slowly, like letting go of something he’d been holding for too long.

“Go on,” he murmured, the words a gentle invitation

Romance’s tail curled tighter around your waist, keeping you perched securely on his lap as you shifted, just slightly, your weight dipping into the warmth of his body. The low flick of his tail tip against your thigh made your breath catch.

He felt it. Knew what it did to you. Of course he did.

But he didn’t push. Didn’t pull you in, even if everything about the tension in his grip screamed that he wanted to. His hands rested on your hips, fingers firm and possessive, the pads flexing rhythmically like a man barely leashed. Like he was holding back everything in him that begged to devour you whole.

Your eyes lifted to meet his again, still glossy from your earlier crying, but now veiled in something else. That bashful innocence still lingered, sure, but there was a glint behind it—heavy, a little drunk, and a little dangerous. A slow hunger that neither of you were fully ready to name. 

Romance’s throat bobbed as he swallowed a groan. His jaw tightened, like he could feel himself slipping.

You leaned in, inch by agonizing inch. Your hands braced gently on his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the thin fabric of his shirt like you were holding on for dear life. 

The pace of your approach was enough to unravel any man, and Romance—patient, poised Romance—looked like he was holding himself together by the threads of his self-control. 

His tail twitched, wrapping tighter. One more second and he might’ve snapped.

But he didn’t. He only watched, reverent. Eyes locked on your mouth like it was sacred. Because you had asked. You had wanted this. And he wanted you to take it.

“Romance…” you whispered, voice barely there.

“Mhm?” he hummed, tone soft, coaxing.

Your nose brushed his cheek. “I love you.”

His breath hitched. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But then his hand rose, cupping the side of your face with infinite tenderness, and his thumb stroked beneath your eye, soft, reverent. Like he was memorizing you.

“I know,” he whispered, forehead nudging yours. “I love you too, angel. So much.”

That was all it took.

You tilted your chin and closed the distance, your lips pressing into his with all the bravery you could summon. It was soft, tentative—warm and trembling with your nervous excitement. But Romance kissed you back almost immediately, with a slow exhale, like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he dared to admit.

His hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, pulling you in until your noses bumped gently between breaths.

Then—he started to purr.

The sound was low and velvety, rumbling through his chest and into yours, like your kiss had cracked something primal open inside him. You felt it more than heard it—felt it in the way his tail curled tighter around your waist, in the way his hand trembled ever so slightly against your spine.

You whimpered softly—just once—and it broke him. A helpless, wanting little mewl that slipped past your lips and straight into his.

Romance groaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, his fingers flexing against your hip like he was fighting every urge in his body. He kissed you deeper then, the heat building—messier, hungrier. Still slow, but now it had teeth.

And when you felt yourself sway forward, overcome by the heat, you reached for him—instinctive. Your hands slid up to his horns, curling around them like handles, anchoring yourself against the rising wave of sensation.

The moment your fingers curled around them, his entire body twitched.

His tail flicked sharply behind you. His breath caught. He let out another groan, this one even deeper, like your touch had struck some hidden, sacred place in him. His purring faltered into something ragged, stuttering with restraint.

“baby…” he rasped against your lips, voice shaking with too much feeling. “You—ngh, you can’t just—”

But you didn’t stop.

You kissed him harder, pouring everything into it—longing, defiance, need. Your lips pressed hot and hungry against his, and he shattered.

The kiss turned molten—no longer soft but hungry, aching. He kissed you like he needed it, like your lips were the only thing keeping him sane.

You clung to him, gripping his horns tighter, not even realizing you were mewling again—high, breathless, needy. His purr grew louder, vibrated against your ribs. His claws tightened on your hip, just enough to make you gasp.

Across the room, the boys sat in tortured silence. Watching. Burning.

That sound—the soft, helpless little mewl you gave when he kissed you just right—it echoed in their minds, branded into their skulls.

Their babygirl. In Romance’s lap. Kissing him, flushed and needy, her fingers tangled in his horns like they belonged there. Lips parted, eyes fluttered shut, her body trembling as his thumb caressed her hip and his tail coiled tighter beneath her.

They were suffering.

But then it happened.

Romance’s hand slid up the back of your neck, possessive and reverent. He tilted your face to kiss you deeper, ready to ruin you slow. His tongue brushed your bottom lip, asking, savoring. Your body melted in his arms.

And one by one, the others started to move.

They were going to join. All of them. They couldn’t help it. You’d triggered something they couldn’t stuff back down.

But just as Romance angled in to devour your mouth, to finally take what he’d been starving for—

You slumped.

Your fingers slipped from his horns. Your lips broke away from his. Your body sagged with the weight of surrender, boneless and trusting.

And then—

Plop

Your cheek hit Romance’s chest.

The entire room froze.

Romance blinked. Once. Twice.

He looked down.

Your breathing was soft now. Long. Even. Gentle.

You were asleep.

For a full three seconds, no one moved. Then, with the slow agony of a man on the brink of madness, Romance tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling like it had just personally betrayed him. His arms tightened instinctively around your form, but his expression crumbled with a quiet exhale that was equal parts love and torment.

His tail uncoiled in defeat, flopping to the side like it, too, had given up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered, voice wrecked—low and raw with disbelief. And maybe just a little bit of heartbreak.

A stunned silence followed.

And then—

The boys lost it.

Abby burst out laughing first, slapping a hand over his mouth as he doubled over. Baby fell backward dramatically onto the couch with a thud, wheezing. Jinu covered his mouth with a hand but didn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Even Mystery chuckled under his breath, shaking his head with fond amusement.

“She fell asleep?” Abby wheezed. “Mid-kiss?”

“With a hard-on!” Baby cackled, pointing. “Look at him—he’s ruined!”

Romance groaned, burying his face in your hair. His arms tightened around you like he might never let go.

“She played you so bad, hyung,” Mystery smirked, even as he stood and made his way over.

“I didn’t mean to—” Romance started.

“Oh, but she did,” Baby declared. “She climbed on your lap, kissed you like a dream, grabbed your horns—”

Romance made a strangled noise, face burning as he turned away.

“—and knocked herself out like a Disney princess!” Baby howled.

“She didn’t mean to,” Jinu said through his laughter, but even he looked impressed. “But… damn.”

“Get him a cold shower,” Abby snorted, nudging Baby.

“Oh, I will,” Baby said, stepping in to gently scoop you from Romance’s lap. “Come on, sleeping beauty. Let’s get you to bed before you kill him.”

Romance finally loosened his grip, fingers trailing down your back like he hated letting go. He stood with stiff movements, adjusting the front of his pants as discreetly as possible, his expression a mix of reverence, frustration, and the rawest kind of longing.

“Don’t say it,” he warned without looking at them.

But Baby grinned like the devil himself and said it anyway. “Poor hyung. Got a kiss and a boner—but no closure.”

“Shut up!”

The room burst into laughter again.

And yet, even through the teasing and torment, he couldn’t stop the quiet smile pulling at his lips as he watched you instinctively curl against Baby’s chest, sighing softly in your sleep like you belonged there.

“Cheeky little thing,” he murmured. “You have no idea what you do to us.”

Or maybe… just maybe… you did.

And that made you the most dangerous creature in the room.

Outtakes:

You: “Can I… kiss you?” Romance: *visibly short-circuiting* Jinu: “Say yes before she takes it back.” Romance: “I—I will, I just—is this a trap?” Abby: “You’ve fought hunters but can’t handle one drunk girl?”

......

You: “I want to feel loved. I want to feel like I matter. Like I’m yours.” Mystery: *melts visibly* Romance: *voice trembling* “God, yes—” You: *hiccups loudly* “I just—hic!—*just wanna be petted like a—hic!—like a cat…” Jinu: “Romance, don’t you dare laugh.” Romance: *already choking on laughter*

.....

You: “Can I kiss you?” Romance: “...” You: “Can I kiss you?” Romance: *still stunned* Baby: *checks watch* “Do we need to set up an alarm?” Mystery: “Speed it up before she sobers up and takes it back.”

.....

Baby: *smirking* “I renamed our group chat to ‘Blue Balled Brotherhood.’ You’re the president.” Abby: “Should we send you a condolence card?” Jinu: “No, no. A cooling pack. For both his pride and his…” Romance: *glares* “Say it and I’ll kill you.”

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @libdarkheart @amery-benson-cvii @nubyeol @type-ink @tiredlittlevirgo @wtfgiyuu23 @i-am-here3 @mxn14 @buttermilktea11 @the-bookish-artist @ironsaladwitch @zuoran03 @aurorarose2112 @permanenceimp @otakuudere666 @attackonjacksons @ikykwkleeknowwww @what-just-happened-to-me @yharnam-prophet @yuurisfavblog @cici4954 @boo-shalala @wonwoossglasses @b-bianka-13 @wthamidoingwithmylife @ashleygryffindor @littlewhitefairy7777 @herondale-lightworm @pl4netx1a @rivainimermaid @lionheart178 @irethepotato @gl00muraaii @blurghbleep @ateezswonderland @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @amery-benson-cvii @katzline @the-fanss @sylum @call-me-nyxx @craftygamerscrafts @keikeikeikeie @existingtoreadfanfics @suika-ira @cherrybb-ily  @3vrenie @determinednature @2emotionallyunstable @fxckinbreathe @starfishfaerie @aurorab-0-realis @baby-bread-in @sra7riddle-malfoy @frostbitetrap-blog @athena-portgas @piancqwrites @soleilscb @cottonheadedninnymugggins @scara-simp69 @aurorarose2112 @bad4amficideas @ineed-myspace @yukimaniac @thegreatpapaya666 @xsammijoanneex @winter-solstice24 @kpopgirliez @gwinamlvr @renchai @sleepymaxi

[emryshunts]

Hey loves! I need your help with something 💭

Sooo I got a message the other day pointing out something I’ve honestly been wondering about too: Is it weird that I call the reader “Baby”... when one of the Saja Boys is literally named Baby? 😅

Totally fair observation—and I’m really sorry if that’s thrown anyone off or made certain scenes a little confusing. My intention was never to cause any mix-up! I just always loved “Baby” as an endearment—it’s soft, sweet, and affectionate, and felt like the kind of thing the boys especially Jinu would naturally call someone they adored. Plus, in my head, each of them uses their own personal nickname for her depending on the moment, so “Baby” just worked as a default.

That said, I’ve been thinking about solutions. One idea was to change the boys’ names entirely—but to be honest, that made me feel like I’d be writing completely different characters. Their names, even if simple, are part of their identities in this story. Taking those away made it feel like they weren’t them anymore.

So the best option, I think, is to give the reader a new pet name—something unique and still soft, but different enough that it doesn’t overlap with any of the boys’ names.

But before I start editing everything, I want to hear from you.

Would you like me to remove the use of “Baby” for the reader? Or are you fine with keeping it?

Let me know your thoughts below so I can make the best choice moving forward—and edit all the previous parts accordingly if needed 💕

[emryshunts]

Hi everyone! I recently celebrated my birthday this year, and took a bit of time offline to rest and enjoy the quiet. But now that I’ve returned… my inbox is absolutely overflowing. I’ve received so many sweet messages, thoughtful questions, and story requests. I’ll be reading through all of them one by one, so it might take a little time.

📌 As for requests:

I won’t be replying to any directly at the moment, but rest assured I do see them and I’m taking notes. It helps me know what you’re excited about and what to maybe write next!

You’re welcome to keep sending requests, but just a heads-up: I’ll only be doing the ones that feel like they align with my current series or ones that I personally feel inspired to turn into a one-shot. I want to keep things flowing naturally!

Thank you for your understanding—and I do apologize if anyone’s been waiting for a specific reply. I’ll be posting some request guidelines soon so it’s easier for everyone moving forward 💌

[emryshunts]

Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 9: 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥/𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬), 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 (18+) —𝐄𝐦𝐫𝐲𝐬 🩷 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.5k+ not proof read 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

Zoey leaned over the soundboard with a gleam in her eye, half-bouncing on her heels.

“Okay, okay,” she said, grinning. “What about ‘So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside’  Ooooh. That’s a throat punch.”

Mira cackled from the velvet couch, notebook balanced on her knee. “Niceee. And then follow it with ‘Whole life spreading lies, but you can't hide’” She tapped her pen like a conductor about to strike gold. “Boom. Roasted.”

Zoey shrieked with laughter, slapping the armrest. “Write that down. Write that down!”

But Rumi… said nothing.

She sat in the corner chair, arms limp at her sides, pencil balanced loosely behind her ear and eyes glassy like she wasn’t even in the studio. Just… somewhere else. 

“…Rumi?”

Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Rumi. Hello? Did you die mid-session orrrr—?”

“I saw her do this once during our second raid,” Mira muttered. “It’s the Face of a Woman Who’s Seen Some Sh*t.”

Mira threw a gummy at her forehead. “Earth to demon-hater number one. You haven’t even insulted anyone in the last fifteen minutes. That’s suspicious behavior.”

Rumi blinked slowly, then tilted her head. “...Huh?”

Both of them squinted. Hard.

Zoey stood, walked over. “Ruuuumi. Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about—”

“The bathhouse,” Mira finished for her, rolling upright with a groan. “Damn. You’re haunted.”

Rumi finally spoke again—quieter this time. “You guys didn’t see what I saw.”

Zoey tilted her head. “We were literally right there. We saw every drop of sweat.”

“No, I mean—” Rumi hesitated. Her voice thickened with something she didn’t want to name. “I know her. We used to sneak food into the temples, remember? She was kind. Brave. She was one of us.”

Mira blinked softly. “You still care about her.”

“She was like family.” Rumi swallowed. “And when I saw her… walking with them—”

“Let me guess,” Zoey said gently. “She didn’t look scared.”

Rumi nodded. “No. She looked held. Like they’d carved the path around her feet just to keep her safe. Like her body belonged there, like they were drawn to her in some ancient way that didn’t make sense. And the worst part?” Her voice dropped lower. “She didn’t resist it.”

Mira’s face softened. “And you’re scared she’s not the same girl you grew up with.”

“I’m scared she is.” Rumi let out a breathy laugh. “I saw the way they looked at her. And the way she let them. Like she trusted them more than she ever trusted us.”

Zoey nudged her gently. “That’s not on you.”

“But it still hurts,” Rumi admitted.“...I think I agree with you now.”

That made Zoey sit up. “Wait. Me? About what?”

“That maybe…” Rumi inhaled deeply. “They’re not evil. Maybe they’re just… demonically down bad.”

Zoey’s brows flew up. “Say that again? Louder for the mic?”

Rumi threw a pillow at her head. “Shut up.”

Mira, meanwhile, had one leg thrown over the mic stand, chewing her pen cap thoughtfully. “Okay. But real talk? If they weren’t insanely into her, they would’ve eaten her soul by now.”

Rumi groaned again and curled into a ball. “... I think she likes it. The way she looked at them. Like she knows they’d destroy kingdoms for her and she’s just deciding who gets to do it first.”

Mira slipped behind the two of them and wrapped her arms around Rumi’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. “You know what I saw in that hallway?” she whispered. “The way she stood taller when they were close. Like she wanted to be surrounded. Like she was commanding it. They didn’t brainwash her. That was her choosing.”

Zoey kissed the top of Rumi’s head. “And if she’s choosing demons who worship the ground she walks on, maybe she’s smarter than all of us.”

Rumi leaned into their warmth, tension slowly bleeding out of her bones.

“…You still worried?” Mira asked gently.

“Yeah,” Rumi murmured. “But not in the same way.”

Zoey hummed against Rumi’s temple. “Good, I’m still gonna roast their ass off, though.”

“Obviously,” Mira grinned. “It’s tradition.”

A few minutes later…

Zoey was curled up between Rumi’s legs, her head resting comfortably on her stomach, thumb lazily swiping through rhymes on her phone. Mira lay beside them, half-draped across Rumi’s back, humming low and sultry in her throat as her fingers played with the hem of Zoey’s crop top. Rumi, trying and failing to focus, was mostly just sighing through the heat pooling between the three of them.

Click.

“Knock knock~” came a familiar voice.

They all startled upright, a tangled pile of limbs and half-choked giggles.

“Bobby!” they shouted in unison.

Bobby stood framed in the doorway, clipboard tucked under one arm, coffee in the other, utterly unfazed by the fact that his idols looked like they were halfway into either a sleepover or a threesome.

“Am I interrupting?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” Zoey said brightly. “But in a good way.”

Mira flashed him a sweet grin. “Did you bring us gossip or grief?”

“A little of both,” Bobby replied, stepping in. “I came to deliver your next schedule update—and congratulations, ladies. You’ve been booked for a joint variety show.”

Zoey blinked. “With who?”

Bobby flipped his clipboard. “The Saja Boys.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Rumi snorted.

Mira gasped dramatically.

Zoey howled with laughter, kicking her feet in the air like a gremlin queen. “Oh my god, this is a gift from the universe!”

Bobby blinked. “...You girls excited?”

“Thrilled,” Mira purred, sharing a look with Rumi.

“Ecstatic,” Rumi echoed, her tone all teeth and silk. “It’ll be… enlightening.”

Zoey wiggled her brows. “We’ve been meaning to test something.”

“Test what?” Bobby frowned.

“Nothing,” all three girls said in unison, far too fast.

Bobby raised a brow, unconvinced, but chose not to pry. “Anyway. Full day. Interviews, games, fan segments.”

As soon as Bobby turned his back to start mumbling about logistics, Mira leaned in.

“They won’t know what hit them,” she whispered, eyes gleaming.

Zoey murmured, “Let’s see how far they’ll go before they snap. You saw how they looked at her last time she held someone else's hand.”

They all giggled, eyes alight with shared mischief.

Rumi, half-sighing but unable to hide her smirk, murmured, “We tolerate them, sure… but we’re not about to let five overgrown demons play house with her without proving they can handle the fire.”

“Exactly,” Mira said. “They want her? Let’s see how they act when we’re close. Closer than close.”

Bobby turned back around. “You’ll be meeting the boys at the broadcast building at 10 AM next week. Play nice, okay?.”

“Of course, Bobby,” Zoey said, the picture of innocence.

Rumi offered a tight, almost angelic smile. “As long as they are.”

Bobby paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You’re not planning anything, are you?”

“Nooo,” they said in eerie unison.

He sighed. “Every time you three say that, I grow a new gray hair.”

Zoey blew him a kiss. “At least it’s stylish.”

As soon as he left, the girls collapsed into each other again—this time practically vibrating with energy.

“Okay,” Mira said, breathless. “Operation: Drive 5 Demons Crazy With Casual Touching now begins.”

They all giggled, low and wicked and deeply, deeply fond.

Because sure—maybe the Saja Boys weren’t so bad. Maybe even sweet, in their terrifyingly possessive way. But you were still theirs to protect, still the one thing they’d all sworn to never let fall.

And these demons?

They were about to be tested.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The walls trembled from the bass thudding behind the door, rattling straight down to your spine. You pushed it open slowly, and instantly, a wall of humid heat kissed your cheeks. The room reeked of sweat and testosterone. Mirrors fogged. Water bottles abandoned. And in the center, the five of them—your demons—half-naked and gleaming under studio lights.

They didn’t see you at first. They were mid-formation, locked into choreography with the kind of raw, animalistic focus that made your mouth go dry. Abby’s muscles flexed with every step, sweat running down his back. Jinu’s shirt was half-off, clinging to one shoulder, jaw set as he hit a turn with perfect precision. Romance’s hair was damp and wild, plastered to his neck as he mouthed the lyrics under his breath. Baby bounced lightly, full of energy even while glistening, and Mystery—well, Mystery just moved like he was seducing the beat itself.

You cleared your throat, gripping the clipboard a little tighter as you stepped fully into the studio.

All five of them turned the second they heard your voice.

"Alright, break time. I’ve got your schedule for the week."

Jinu grinned first. “Baby,” he said, voice low and unhurried, already walking toward you like he hadn’t just been dancing for hours. His shirt clung to him, collar dark with sweat.

Across the room, Romance dragged a towel across the back of his neck, chest still heaving. His lips curled lazily. “You’re early,” he murmured. “Missed us that bad?”

“Keep dreaming,” you muttered, taking a cautious step back—only to bump into something solid.

A warm breath tickled your neck a second before a muscled arm slipped around your waist from behind, locking you gently but firmly in place.

His voice brushed your ear, dark and rich. “You smell good, princess.”

Your breath hitched. Abby’s chest was firm against your back, radiating heat. You could feel the damp line of his shirt sticking to your spine

You cleared your throat, struggling to sound composed. “Anyways…”

You squirmed—but not enough to actually escape.

“…you have a full week,” you continued. “Two music show recordings, one fan meeting… and next Friday—” you paused, pretending to read from the clipboard, even though the words had branded themselves into your brain hours ago, “—you’re scheduled to appear on a variety show.”

You paused just a beat.

Five groans. Different pitches. Same displeasure.

"And," you added, watching their reactions carefully, "it’s a joint show."

“With who?” Jinu asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

You licked your lips and looked down at the clipboard, though you already knew the answer.

"HUNTR/X."

The air dropped ten degrees.

Abby’s smile disappeared. His brows lowered. “Again?”

You nodded. “The fans specifically requested you guys,” you offered quickly. “After how fun the fan signing was—”

“Fun?” Mystery cut in sharply from the corner.

You blinked. “What? It was fun—”

“For them, maybe,” Baby muttered, collapsing into a chair with a dramatic sigh, throwing his towel over his head like a shroud. “For us, it was a nightmare.”

“Come on, it wasn't that bad,” you protested, eyes darting between them.

“You smiled at Bobby,” Romance said, slow and deliberate, pushing off the mirror. “Twice.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“He touched your arm,” Jinu added, expression unreadable.

Your mouth opened, stunned. “Are you seriously—Is this even about the girls?”

“Oh, we’re coming for them too,” Baby grumbled under his towel, “but Bobby's top of the hit list.”

“You laughed when he made a joke,” Romance added, closing the space between you. “I was right there. And you tilted your head—like this.”

He mimicked your expression with a ridiculous level of detail, right down to the subtle blink and smile. 

“You never tilt your head like that for me,” he added, low, eyes dipping to your mouth. “Unless I’m inside—”

“Stop!” you hissed, shoving him half-heartedly.

Romance just laughed and tilted his own head. “See? It was flirty.”

“It was not,” you huffed.

You stiffened—then immediately rolled your eyes, deflecting. “Okay—first of all, I was trying to be nice—”

“That smile wasn’t ‘nice,’” Romance muttered, stepping forward, shadows flickering in his eyes. “You should only laugh at us like that.”

He leaned in, close enough to steal your breath. “And now joker boy thinks it’s for everyone?”

“It’s not like I kissed anyone—!”

“BUT YOU SMILED!” all five shouted at once.

You stood there, dumbfounded, as they collectively lost their minds.

Jinu grabbed your chin, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look into those dark, golden eyes. “Do you even realize what it does to us? When you treat other people the way you treat us?”

Your mouth opened. Closed.

Because okay—yes, maybe your laugh had been a little extra. You smile a little soft. But it wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t meant to mean anything.

You were just being... cordial.

But apparently, for your boys, “cordial” translated to “threat”

Romance was beside you now, arms slipping loosely around your waist, voice hot against your ear. “We’re going to be professionals, sure. But just so you know…”

“We’re not going to share,” Jinu whispered, his thumb brushing your lower lip, almost absentmindedly.

“Or pretend we like them,” Mystery added.

Abby’s nose brushed your neck. “And if that guy touches you again—”

“He won’t,” Baby said, suddenly deadly calm. “Because I’m bringing a taser.”

You blinked.  “You are not bringing a taser—”

“I already ordered it.” he said brightly. 

You sighed, tilting your head back, letting it thunk softly against Abby’s chest. “You’re all being ridiculous.”

There was a pause.

Then Romance’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear. “And yet you’re smiling now.”

You were. Damn it.

“Because this is the dumbest argument I’ve ever had,” you muttered.

“Dumb?” Jinu echoed, incredulous. “Dumb is letting our mate walk into enemy territory without our marks on her neck.”

Romance nuzzled your hair, growling low. “Next time you smile at Bobby, we’re biting you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“That’s a threat,” Baby added, grinning like a devil. “...and a promise.”

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The studio changing room was alive with mutters and groans, echoing off the sleek walls as the five demon idols sulked in various corners—each clad in blinding shades of pink.

"I look like a damn cotton candy,” Abby growled, muscles straining against his soft pink button-down as he tried and failed to fix the overly delicate collar.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Baby whined, tugging on the soft bubblegum sweater like it might strangle him.

“I look like a cursed valentine,” Mystery muttered, arms crossed over his chest, silver hair falling over one eye. His violet shirt shimmered just a bit too prettily in the light.

“Don’t talk to me,” Jinu muttered, already dressed in a full matching ensemble. “I’m dissociating.”

Romance, of course, was the only one who didn’t seem particularly fazed. He leaned against the vanity, long, silky hair matching the pastel heart embroidered on his shirt, a glossy pink lip tugged up in amusement. But even he wasn’t immune—his tail was twitching, and you could feel his restraint crackling beneath that smug surface.

You bit your lip hard, barely holding in the laugh rising up your throat.

Gods, they were gorgeous.

And grumpy. So, so grumpy.

“Alright,” you finally said, stepping inside, letting the door shut behind you with a soft click. “You’re all being so dramatic.”

Five pairs of glowing, irritated demon eyes locked on you.

You just smiled sweetly, slow and knowing, the kind of smile that made their pupils dilate.

You bit your lip to hide your grin as you stepped between them, adjusting collars, fixing hems, brushing your fingers across warm skin as you straightened lapels and smoothed sleeves.

“Don’t pout,” you cooed as you walked straight up to Abby. “You know pink brings out your eyes.”

He scoffed, but didn’t move as you reached up, smoothing his collar, tugging the hem of his shirt gently. Your fingers brushed over his warm skin as you adjusted the top button. He held still like a soldier under inspection, tension humming beneath his skin.

“Stop fussing,” you murmured, lips brushing the corner of his mouth before he could argue. “You look perfect.”

His breath caught. The scowl faded into something softer, shoulders loosening just enough to give you his weight.

“...Don’t,” you whispered.

Golden eyes flickered, then melted.

“Hyung’s down,” Baby whispered from behind you, horrified and impressed. “We’re losing soldiers.”

You turned to him next, walking slowly, each step deliberate. His mouth opened, probably to deliver another complaint—but whatever words he had died on his tongue the second you stepped between his knees. Your thighs brushed his as you leaned in, fingers fiddling with the oversized sleeves of his knit.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His tail snapped once behind him, then started curling madly.

You placed your hands lightly on his shoulders and leaned in until your noses almost brushed. “Fuzzy sweater and all,” you whispered, “you’re still my cute little devil.”

His cheeks flushed. Bright and sweet and helpless.

You kissed his cheek gently, and he made a tiny noise that could only be described as a squeak. His tail thumped the couch like it had a mind of its own.

“I hate how good that felt,” he mumbled, flushed and panting.

“Dangerous,” Jinu muttered under his breath. He was watching you like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull you away or push you against the wall and mark you in front of everyone.

“That’s not fair,” Mystery growled, low and simmering—but his voice lost its bite when you turned to him next.

You moved toward him slowly, eyes dragging down his tall frame, deliberately taking in the lilac vest, the crisp white undershirt, the subtle silver detailing that brought out the gleam in his tusks. You reached for the silver button at his chest and tugged just enough to make him tilt forward.

Your knuckles brushed down the line of his abdomen—light, lingering.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, voice low, hypnotic, magnetic. “All of you. I don’t care if the shirts are pink or lime or covered in glitter. I look at you and see everything that’s mine.”

His pupils blew wide. His tail slid behind you, curling against your hip, like it couldn’t not touch you.

Behind you, Romance had already started purring.

The sound started low and unbothered, like a lazy cat in the sun—but it deepened as you stepped between his knees, cupped the sides of his face, and kissed the edge of his jaw. He tilted immediately, offering you his throat with no hesitation. His arms came around your waist like they had a mind of their own, hands clutching your hips possessively.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and hoarse.

“And yet,” you whispered against his pulse, “all of you keep letting me win.”

That broke something.

The sound of purring started as a low hum, subtle at first—like a storm rumbling somewhere just beneath the skin. You were already nestled between Romance’s legs at the vanity, his thighs bracketing you tightly, his hands ghosting over your hips with a touch that was far too innocent to be accidental. His eyes stayed locked on you, but it was the way his jaw clenched—barely holding himself together—that made your pulse stutter. His restraint was unraveling like thread between your fingers.

You shifted, rising slowly to your feet. The moment you stepped away from him, his purr faltered like a crack in his armor. With deliberate grace, you walked across the room, hips swaying just enough to tease, and sank into the couch.

That’s when the purring grew louder, deeper. One by one, the others responded. The sound rippled from boy to boy like a wave, vibrating in the air, ancient and primal. They began to circle you in the changing room like moths drawn to flame—silent, hungry, feral. Their soft, pastel outfits did nothing to temper the wild heat glowing in their eyes. Not when their instincts were frayed. Not when you were sitting there, drenched in their scent, meeting their stares with that quiet, devastating confidence.

Your gaze found Jinu first. His dark eyes locked onto yours, hungry and simmering beneath the sharp line of his lashes. He was usually the last to move. The most composed. But right now, his restraint was unraveling like thread between your fingers.

"Come here, bub," you murmured, curling a finger at him.

Jinu didn’t hesitate. He prowled forward, quiet and fluid, dropping to his knees in front of you with reverence as his hands slid around your waist. He tucked his head against your stomach, inhaling deep as he pressed a kiss just above your navel.

The others followed—Mystery’s tail brushed your leg as he melted against your side, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder with a shaky exhale. Abby settled behind you, broad arms wrapping around your hips like he was anchoring you in place. Baby didn’t even ask, he flopped across your lap with a pleased, greedy sigh, his cheek smushed against your thigh. Romance curled beside you, dragging his knuckles down your arm with a touch so soft, it made you shiver.

You laughed breathlessly, one hand cradling the back of Jinu’s head as you tilted your face up toward the ceiling. "My poor boys. All growly and purring in pink."

“We hate this,” Mystery muttered into your neck, though his fingers were clenching the fabric of your top like he didn’t want to let go. “It’s humiliating.”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re lucky I love how pretty you look when you’re scowling.”

Romance grinned lazily, eyes lidded as he traced circles on your arm. “You love how we look all the time.”

"Damn right I do." You smiled, possessive and unrepentant. “You’re mine. Every inch of you. I don’t care what color they put on you. I could dress you in garbage bags and you’d still make people jealous.”

That earned a pleased little flick of Abby’s tail against your calf.

The purring deepened.

They started pressing closer, warm lips and warm hands now becoming impossible to separate from one another. Jinu turned his face and kissed your hip—then your belly. Baby nuzzled against your inner thigh before biting it softly, grinning up at you with that infuriating sparkle in his eyes.

“I swear—” you breathed, flustered but completely helpless against it.

Mystery tilted your face and kissed you full on the mouth, possessive and slow, like he’d waited too long. When you broke apart, dazed, Romance immediately claimed your lips next. Then Baby kissed your jaw. Then Jinu. Abby’s mouth brushed your shoulder like a vow.

“Boys—” you whispered between kisses, gasping as one of them nipped at your collarbone. “Your makeup—!”

“Don’t care,” Jinu whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’d rather wear you.”

“Mmm,” Romance added, mouthing along your jaw, “you can smudge me all you want.”

“Or just make a mess of us,” Baby murmured, eyes dark and glowing.

You could barely breathe from the pressure, the affection, the need.

You melted into it anyway.

For those few stolen minutes, you let them cover you in soft kisses, let their hands slide around your waist and over your hips, let their claws ghost over your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. You let them tangle around you until their breathing evened out, their shoulders loosened, their purring softened into something steady.

You ran your fingers through their hair, kissed their cheeks, their temples, anywhere your lips could reach. You let them mark you in quiet ways—with lips and claws and the heat of their bodies pressed so tightly to yours that it felt like they were trying to fuse with you. Let them claim what had always been theirs.

Your boys.

The world outside the changing room faded.

knock knock.

“Five minutes to camera, guys! Let’s get moving!”

The voice was bright, clueless.

The growls weren’t.

Growls rolled across the room like thunder. Abby’s arms tightened around you possessively, his head still tucked into your neck. Mystery let out a long, irritated hiss as his tail slapped the floor. Romance bared his teeth at the door like he might leap over you and rip it off its hinges. Baby groaned and shoved his face into your chest.

Jinu?

He was still clinging to your waist like someone might try to steal you.

“Why do they always ruin everything?” he muttered darkly, nuzzling lower.

“Whoever that was should thank every god in existence that this door is locked,” Abby muttered, voice a dangerous rumble. “Because I am one second from throwing them through a wall.”

“They can wait,” Mystery added, eyes glowing faintly. “We’re not done here.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and smoothed a hand over Jinu’s back. “Let me go answer before one of you bursts into flame.”

Grudgingly, they let you up—tails uncoiling, fingers releasing with clear reluctance. You fixed your shirt, ran your fingers through your hair, and padded over to the door. You cracked it open just enough to peek out, keeping your body angled so they couldn’t see the pack of demons lounging behind you with swollen lips and barely contained bloodlust.

“We’ll be right there,” you said sweetly to the staff member, smiling just enough to pass as innocent.

The poor staff member blinked at you like you were descending from heaven. “A-Ah! Of course, manager-nim!”

You closed the door gently.

Turned.

And were met with five pairs of very grumpy, very gorgeous eyes.

“That ruined everything,” Abby muttered darkly.

Romance sighed dramatically. “Can we burn their cameras?”

“No,” you said firmly, biting back a smile. “You can’t destroy studio property. Again.”

They groaned in unison, tails flicking in irritation, fingers still clinging to whatever parts of you they could reach—hem of your shirt, your wrists, your waist, your hair.

You smiled, brushing your fingers under Jinu’s chin until he looked up at you. Then you tilted your head and said in a soft, singsong tone.

“Well. If you behave…”

Five heads snapped to attention.

“…and you finish filming like the good boys I know you are…” You trailed your fingers down Abby’s arm, feeling the way he shivered from the contact.

“…I’ll give you a reward.”

The room stilled.

Romance’s eyes darkened instantly. “How good are we talking?”

“You’ll have to earn it,” You tilted your head, fingers teasing along the buttons of Mystery’s vest as you passed him. 

Mystery’s voice came low, sharp. “Define ‘reward.’”

You grinned, lips wicked. “That depends. I’ll let your imagination run wild.”

They groaned.

Abby stepped closer, close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest. He looked down at you like he was trying not to pin you against the nearest wall. “You promise?”

You kissed your finger and held it to your lips. “Promise. But only if you’re good.”

Five men in pastel pink, flushed and still vibrating from moments ago, now fully prepared to walk into an entire shoot and charm or destroy anything in their path—all for a single reward from their manager.

You turned, walking to the door with that same calm grace that had unspooled them minutes ago. Your voice came soft and commanding over your shoulder.

“Let’s go, boys.”

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The door to the changing room clicked shut behind you, and suddenly the boys’ energy shifted—calm, focused, tethered. You could feel it in the way their steps fell into sync with yours. Five pairs of eyes clung to you like gravity.

From a distance, anyone watching might've thought it sweet—idols trailing behind their manager like loyal puppies. But you knew better. You could feel their heat at your back, their intensity rippling off them like rolling waves. Possessive. Watchful. Claimed.

​​They had shifted into their human disguises flawlessly—hair styled, demon marks hidden, horns and tails tucked away. Still, their energy gave them away. The aura of restrained hunger, of constant awareness centered only on you, was unmistakable. 

You led them through the studio corridors like you were born to command them—and maybe you were. That quiet power thrummed in your bones, especially when you felt the way people’s gazes slid toward you, then quickly away again, like they knew not to look too long. Like they could sense the boys would bare fangs if anyone even thought about trying.

As you all walked toward the main studio setup, the energy shifted. The lights were already on, cameras idle, mics being tested. In the middle of it all stood the girls—Mira with her arms crossed, Zoey adjusting her mic pack, and Rumi clutching her water bottle like it might shield her from social interaction.

Zoey spotted you first and lit up. “Unnie!” she called, already striding over in those glittery boots. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around your shoulders and hugged you tight, pressing a kiss to your cheeks. “You look so pretty today!”

You returned the hug with a soft laugh, though you immediately felt the heat from behind you spike. 

Jinu’s jaw ticked.

Abby let out a slow, audible exhale through his nose.

Romance tilted his head like a predator watching competition enter its territory.

“Hi,” Rumi gave you a small, awkward wave—one that didn’t go unnoticed by Mystery, whose narrowed eyes followed the movement like a shadow curling tighter.

Mira sauntered up last, smirk curling her lips. “Wassup, superstar,” she drawled, flicking her eyes from you to the line of smoldering men behind you. “Still collecting strays?”

You laughed softly, “More like they’re collecting me.”

Romance laughed under his breath, but there was no real humor in it. “You’re awfully handsy today, Miss Hunter.”

Zoey blinked innocently. “What? Can’t I show a little love to my favorite unnie?”

Mystery’s voice slides out next, low and cold, sharp enough to draw blood. “Is this how your team greets our manager now?”

There’s nothing playful in his tone.

Baby’s voice, in contrast, is syrupy sweet as he steps forward, tilting his head in faux innocence. “Or are you just that bad at hiding you’re flirting with someone who’s already taken?”

Mira, the only one bold enough to meet all five stares, shrugs lazily. “Oh taken?" She looks at you. “Funny. I didn’t hear her say that.”

Your heart drops straight into your stomach.

Oh no.

You gently pressed a hand to Abby’s chest before he could respond. “They’re just teasing.”

“But they’re doing it in front of us,” Jinu said quietly, his voice a low, dangerous hum like a growl masked in velvet. “Trying to provoke something.”

The girls led you to the seating area. Rumi handed you a water bottle—her fingers brushing yours on purpose. That was the final straw.

Mystery stepped between you and Rumi without a word, his presence like a wall of heat. You didn’t see his eyes, but you knew they glowed beneath that disguise, flaring like embers on the edge of losing control.

“They’re gonna snap,” Zoey whispered behind her hand to Mira.

The tension crackled like fire in dry leaves. Your boys were close to snapping.

What the Saja Boys don’t know—yet—is that HUNTR/X came in with a mission today.

And that innocent little hug? That kiss? That comment?

Is all part of Operation: Drive 5 Demons Crazy With Casual Touching.

“Alright, alright,” you said, squeezing Zoey’s hand gently and stepping back. “Enough poking the wolves, yeah?”

You turned to face your boys properly, noting the tension in their shoulders, the flicker of heat barely concealed behind their perfect disguises. Jinu’s jaw was locked. Mystery looked seconds away from yanking you into a dark corner. Baby’s fingers twitched like he was restraining himself from reaching for your throat—or your waist. Probably both.

Romance exhaled slowly. “They did that on purpose.”

Baby leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. “I hate how they touch you.”

“Five minutes to filming! Everyone, let’s move!”

A staff member, oblivious to the icy glares and quiet stand-offs, clapped his hands and rushed past with a clipboard in hand. The sound of movement followed—tech crews shuffling wires, PDs calling last-minute instructions, and makeup artists dashing toward the stage.

The boys growled. Literally.

A soft chorus of purring mixed with low snarls rumbled around you as they buried their faces against your hair, your shoulder, your neck—anywhere they could cling to you without crossing that final line. You were theirs. And they hated interruptions.

You sighed and gave them a quick kiss each. “Go be good demons. Show everyone you can play nice on camera.”

Jinu pulled you gently against his chest, his palm splayed over your lower back. “We’ll behave… but only because you said that.”

Abby didn’t answer—just cracked his neck like a man trying to keep something dangerous leashed. Romance was still too close, his fingers brushing yours when he stepped past like he hadn’t heard a word you said. Mystery merely raised one brow, gaze trailing lazily over the girls’ backs as they walked ahead.

But Baby… Baby just smiled.

That crooked, mischievous smile he wore when he was planning chaos.

“For the cameras,” Baby added sweetly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back something much more wicked.

The moment the director called, “Alright, boys, take your positions!” the five of them moved in sync, slipping seamlessly into their stage personas. It was almost unreal how quickly the change came—like flipping a switch. Gone were the sulky, clingy demons who had practically growled when the staff knocked earlier. In their place stood dazzling idols, all smiles, confidence, and polish. The transformation never ceased to amaze you.

Still, no matter how bright the lights or how many cameras surrounded them, their eyes kept finding you.

Every time the director shouted “Cut!” or “Break!”, it was like the leash snapped. Their human facades flickered—just enough for you to see the longing in their eyes. Jinu was always the first to find you, smooth as ever, a glint of something dangerous behind his boyish smile.

“Thirsty baby?” he asked sweetly, holding out a bottle.

“Need a break?” Abby added, looming behind you, resting his hand casually on the back of your chair—but the warmth of it bled through the layers of your jacket and straight into your spine.

Mystery crouched beside you on the floor, chin in his palm as he stared up at you, voice low. “You’ve been working hard today. Want to sit in my lap next break?”

Romance didn’t say much, but he slipped behind you, looping his arms loosely around your waist as if he was just casually leaning. Except his fingers stroked the inside of your wrist, featherlight.

And Baby, of course, plopped himself down beside you with an exaggerated sigh and muttered, “We’re dying up there without you, y’know. I think I need manager kisses to survive the next take.”

They weren’t even subtle about it anymore. Touch-starved demons masquerading as idols, absolutely shameless in how they vied for your attention between takes.

You tried to maintain being professional—you really did. Clipboard in hand, headset still half-on, tapping away at your phone to check the next rehearsal schedule. But every time you opened your mouth to say something managerial, one of them would lean in closer, or brush your hair behind your ear, or murmur “Say that again, but softer…” like they were trying to short-circuit you.

And just when things started to heat up—Zoey would sashay over with a perfectly timed interruption.

“Unnie, there you are!” she chirped sweetly, looping her arm through yours. “Come help us with the adjustments of the props? The lighting is totally off in our corner.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh—sure.”

Jinu gave her a polite smile, but his hand on your lower back tightened. Abby’s brow twitched. Baby scowled. Mystery stared at Zoey like she’d personally insulted his soul.

“Thanks!” Zoey sang, pulling you away before they could object. “You’re a lifesaver.”

And that was how the next several breaks went.

Every time one of your boys tried to have a moment with you, one of the girls found a reason to whisk you away—prop mishaps, mic issues, missing script notes. At first, you thought it was coincidence. But then you caught Mira smirking behind her hand while Zoey “adjusted” your collar for the third time in a row, fingers trailing just a bit too slow along your neck.

Your boys noticed. Oh, they noticed.

Romance’s eyes darkened every time someone so much as brushed your arm. Abby’s jaw was locked. Jinu’s smile started to look less boyish and more like a warning. Mystery stopped blinking. Baby had resorted to muttering “I’m gonna set something on fire” under his breath.

During one break, as you adjusted a schedule clipboard, Rumi quietly approached you and tugged you aside.

“Hey,” she whispered, eyes guilty, glancing over at the boys who were watching from across the stage like hounds on a leash. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head. “For?”

“That fight we had a few months ago. When I said—” She grimaced. “When I said you weren’t cut out for this. That they were just using you. That was low. I didn’t get it back then. But now…”

Her eyes drifted to the stage, where the boys were still watching you even mid-rehearsal.

“I get it now. You’re not just their manager,” she said quietly. “They… really love you, don’t they?”

Your heart fluttered. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “They do.”

Rumi gave a small, sheepish smile. “Then I won’t get in the way again. I promise.”

You were about to say something else when the hair on the back of your neck prickled. You turned—and saw all five boys watching from across the set, unmoving. Their expressions were unreadable. But you could feel it—heat simmering just beneath their polite idol masks. Every instinct in you said territorial.

The second the director called for a short break, they moved in like a coordinated unit.

Mystery got to you first, his fingers brushing yours before lacing them together. “You okay?” His voice was soft, but his eyes flicked briefly toward Rumi. A warning, even if he didn’t say it.

You nodded.

Abby appeared behind you again, his broad chest pressing against your back as his hand flattened against your stomach. “Thought you’d run off,” he murmured near your ear. “Didn’t like that.”

Romance reached over and tugged you closer by the wrist, nuzzling into your neck. “Can we have our manager back now?” he said sweetly. “Or does someone else want to borrow her for another bonding session?”

You laughed softly, but your body was heating from how close they all were, how tight the circle around you had become. 

“We’re almost done,” Jinu added, his voice velvet-smooth as he brushed a thumb over your jaw. “Then you’re ours again. Completely.”

The unspoken part hung heavy in the air: And no one is taking you away this time.

And just as you opened your mouth to say something—anything to diffuse the rising tension—a harried staff member called out, “Places! We’re starting the last segment!”

The boys pulled back slowly, reluctantly, their gazes still locked on you as they walked toward the stage.

The final segment wrapped with a burst of confetti and tired applause, the stage lights dimming just enough to make the idols look like they were glowing under a soft golden haze. You clapped along with the rest of the staff, clipboard in one hand, the other clutching your earpiece as the director’s voice buzzed with a cheerful, “That’s a wrap! Great work, everyone!”

The girls were already waving and bouncing down the stage stairs. The Saja Boys, flawless even under fatigue, bowed with practiced charm—idols to the last second—but you could already feel their gazes drifting toward you like magnets resetting north.

You barely had time to breathe when Zoey suddenly appeared at your side, beaming with wide, sparkly eyes. “Unnie~!” she cooed, linking her arm through yours before you could even respond. “Come eat ramyeon with us! Pretty please? I’ve been dreaming about jjajang ramyeon all day.” She pouted dramatically, tugging your arm like a child begging her favorite teacher for attention.

Before you could answer, another voice cut in, low and sweet as honey laced with heat.

“Noona~” 

Baby’s voice slid behind you like a silk ribbon, lazy and warm but with that subtle, dangerous curl at the end. He appeared at your other side like a shadow, all teasing smirk and boyish charm as his hand slid around your free arm, pulling you gently but insistently away from Zoey.

“You did promise us dinner first. Or are you already forgetting about your favorite boys?”

His eyes flicked toward Zoey without even pretending to hide the gleam of territorial fire.

Zoey gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?”

“You did,” Baby insisted with a bright smile that didn’t reach the sharp glint in his eyes. “You told us you’d come with your boys after the shoot.” His hand slipped down your arm to lace his fingers with yours, and his thumb brushed a slow, possessive circle over your pulse.

“I—” You looked helplessly between them as they began a full-on tug-of-war, your body swaying slightly with every playful pull. 

“You’re not seriously fighting me for her, are you?” Zoey said, feigning a pout as she gave another yank. “She’s mine tonight.”

“Noona’s ours,” Baby countered smoothly.

Zoey’s brows twitched as she tightened her grip with faux innocence. “You can have her later. I’m her dongsaeng too, aren’t I?”

Baby's smile faltered into something sharper—more feral. His arm snaked around your waist with sudden boldness, tugging you flush against his chest in a smooth, possessive motion that knocked the breath out of you. The warmth of his body seared through the thin fabric of your clothes as his chin dipped to rest lightly on your shoulder.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his glowing eyes. “She’s mine,” he murmured—not just to Zoey, but for the whole damn room to hear. 

His golden irises shimmered briefly, demonic power flickering through his disguise like firelight beneath a silk veil.

Zoey froze for half a second—then gave a little shrug, clearly satisfied. “Okay, okay,” she chirped, stepping back with both hands raised in surrender. “You demons really don’t like sharing, huh?”

She winked dramatically, turning on her heel to saunter off toward the girls, who had been watching the whole thing with amused smirks and curious side-eyes.

Baby didn’t let go.

If anything, he drew you tighter into him, his arms caging you from behind like he had no intention of releasing you ever again. His chin dipped against your shoulder, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he inhaled deeply. You felt it—the low, dangerous purr vibrating from his chest, crawling over your skin like velvet.

He nuzzled deeper into your hair, rubbing his cheek against your temple, breath hot. You could feel him scenting you. There was no mistaking it.

“…Was that necessary?” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

“Mmm.” His hum rumbled through his chest, lazy and low like a satisfied cat, but there was a sharpness just beneath it. “She needed a reminder.”

“Baby—” You tried to twist in his arms, but his hold only shifted, one hand spreading across your waist to anchor you still. 

“You told us to behave,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “But they’re making it very hard.”

You exhaled shakily, trying not to melt under the heat of his touch—or the awareness that the rest of the boys were watching from nearby, each of them tense, hungry, and very aware of what just happened.

You shifted in his arms, trying to break the spell. “You know they’re just teasing you, right?”

He nuzzled into you more, completely unbothered. “Don’t care.”

And when you finally managed to look to the side—

You caught Romance smirking darkly.

Jinu’s expression was unreadable, his jaw tense.

Mystery watching Zoey with a glint that promised payback.

And Abby?

Abby was already rolling his sleeves up.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The studio had long since wrapped for the night, but the air still hummed with leftover energy—stage lights cooling overhead, distant clatter from staff cleaning up, and the constant bickering between your boys and HUNTR/X echoing through the empty soundstage like a drama on loop. You leaned against a folding chair by the stand, sipping water, watching chaos unfold with barely-suppressed laughter.

“Unnie~,” Zoey sing-songed, batting her lashes as she looked to you. “You’re really not gonna ditch them and eat ramyeon with us? It’s just one bowl.”

"Don't look at her," Baby shot her a dark look, arms folded tightly across his chest. “You already had your turn. She promised us dinner.” His voice was smooth, but his tone had thorns.

Romance clicked his tongue dramatically. “I still can’t believe you thought you could just take her,” he muttered at the girls. “You tugged her like she was a plushie. Not happening.”

“You boys don’t own her,” Mira quipped, twirling her ponytail with a sweet, faux-innocent smile. “Last time we checked, she still has a brain. She can say no.”

“She didn’t say no,” Jinu replied without missing a beat, voice low and smug. “She also didn’t say yes to you.”

That made Mira smirk wider. “So possessive, tiger boy.”

Jinu’s eyes flared golden for a split second before his lips twitched into something sharp. “Only when someone touches what’s ours.”

You almost choked on your own breath.

Abby was standing off to the side. “You know,” he drawled, “I’m all for peace and love and group harmony and whatever. But if you touch her again like that, Hunter, I might accidentally step on something fragile.”

Zoey raised both brows and clutched her chest dramatically. “You’re gonna hurt us now?”

“No,” Abby said, grinning toothily. “I was talking about Baby. He’d be the one trying to hold me back.”

“True,” Baby piped up, looking smug. “And I wouldn’t.”

Romance huffed like a sulking child. “Can we go home now? I’m starving. Emotionally. Physically. And spiritually.”

“You’re spiritually starving?” Rumi asked, clearly amused. “From what, not having her sit on your lap?”

“She didn’t even touch me during lunch break,” he grumbled. “She was too busy talking to you girls.”

“Jealousy isn’t a cute look on demons, you know,” Mira teased. “I thought you all had control.”

Mystery, silent until now, gave a slow smile that didn’t quite reach his glowing eyes. “We do,” he murmured. “Unless you push too far.”

God, they were so petty. And so clearly yours. You could feel it with every stolen glance, every territorial response, every little jab delivered with honeyed venom.

You were so caught up watching the tension unravel between them—entertained, delighted, aroused in the quietest, deepest way—that you didn’t notice the figure approach until a shadow fell across your shoulder.

“Miss Y/N?” he said, his voice strangely empty.

You turned, blinking at the unfamiliar staff member. He looked… off. The way his eyes never quite focused. His skin just a bit too pale beneath the studio lighting. You immediately felt the drop in temperature, like the air around you had thickened.

“One of the hosts requested to speak with you. Privately. I was asked to bring you.”

You nodded slowly, you glanced back at the boys. They were mid-argument with the girls again. You turned back to the staff member. “Okay,” you said, playing along. “Lead the way.”

The man turned and you followed him through the darkened halls. The sound of your footsteps echoed strangely, as if the building had hollowed out the moment you stepped out of their sight.

You frowned slightly. “Which host wanted to see me?”

He didn’t answer.

You slowed a little, unease creeping in. “Is he in the green room?”

The man kept walking.

Not the green room. Not the offices. Not anywhere familiar.

You slowed just slightly. “Hey, which host was it again? I didn’t catch a name—”

He stopped in front of the door. The one labeled with your boys’ stage name, stylized in elegant calligraphy. You recognized it instantly.

“The host is in there?” you asked, frowning.

Still no answer.

He simply pushed the door open and gestured for you to go inside.

You took a cautious step forward. The room was dimly lit, faintly warm. Their scent was still thick in the air—cologne and shampoo and something deeper, darker, unshakably theirs. Your pulse kicked up, caught between comfort and unease. 

You turned back to the staff member. “So… where exactly—”

Click.

The sound of the lock echoed like a gunshot in your bones.

You froze.

The staff didn’t move. He just stood there. Watching.

“...Why did you lock the door?” you asked carefully.

No answer.

“Hey,” you said, your voice suddenly tight. “What are you doing?”

Silence.

You took a step forward. “Open it. Now.”

But he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

That’s when the chill finally registered. The drop in air pressure. The weight settling into your chest like fingers around your ribs. Your stomach coiled.

Something was wrong.

You took a step back, heart pounding.

“I said,” you said firmly, voice edged with warning, “open the door.”

Still, the staff didn’t move.

Instead, his head tilted slightly. Almost curious. The gesture was wrong—mechanical, like a puppet moving out of sync with its strings. His eyes flicked over you slowly, unnervingly calm. 

“I knew you’d be pretty,” he murmured, voice shifting into something low and strange, almost admiring. “But I didn’t realize just how much. No wonder they’re so… attached.”

Your heart stuttered.

“They cling to you like animals.” His mouth curved in a grotesque mimicry of a smile. “It makes sense now. Why they defy him. Why they’ve turned their backs on everything.”

You took another step back.

“They never should’ve bonded with you.”

Faster than anything should. His arm lashed out, fingers locking around your neck with brutal precision. You were yanked off your feet and slammed against the mirrored wall so hard the glass trembled. Your breath vanished on impact.

The world blurred.

You gasped, lips parted in panic, fingers clawing at his wrist, legs kicking uselessly in the air.

His body shifted in real time, like watching a mask peel away. The skin of his face quivered and melted, features distorting. His jaw unhinged unnaturally, teeth pushing outward into something sharp and jagged. His eyes—once eerily blank—flared with a sickly yellow light that pulsed with barely-contained violence.

“You’re their mate,” the thing hissed, its breath sour and freezing against your cheek. “The bond is sealed. That’s why they disobey him.”

The word mate rang through your skull like a gunshot.

He knew.

“You’ve made them weak,” it snarled, tightening its grip with bone-cracking pressure. “You made them feel. You made them hope.”

Your fingers dug harder, frantic now, your vision flickering at the edges. Your lungs screamed. Your heart pounded. Still—something stronger than fear burned inside you.

They’ll come. They’ll know. They’ll feel it.

“They were loyal to His Majesty,” the demon spat. “Until you.”

Blackness crowded your vision. Dots of white burst like stars behind your eyes.

“And now?” it purred, leaning in so close its monstrous face eclipsed everything else. “Now, I’ll take you. And they’ll finally remember who they belong to. They’ll crawl back to him once there’s nothing left to protect.”

The last thing you saw before your consciousness slipped was its grin—wide, jagged, triumphant.

Next Chapter...

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @libdarkheart @amery-benson-cvii @nubyeol @type-ink @tiredlittlevirgo @wtfgiyuu23 @i-am-here3 @mxn14 @buttermilktea11 @the-bookish-artist @ironsaladwitch @zuoran03 @aurorarose2112 @permanenceimp @otakuudere666 @attackonjacksons @ikykwkleeknowwww @what-just-happened-to-me @yharnam-prophet @yuurisfavblog @cici4954 @boo-shalala @wonwoossglasses @b-bianka-13 @wthamidoingwithmylife @ashleygryffindor @littlewhitefairy7777 @herondale-lightworm @pl4netx1a @rivainimermaid @lionheart178 @irethepotato @gl00muraaii @blurghbleep @ateezswonderland @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @amery-benson-cvii @katzline @the-fanss @sylum @call-me-nyxx @craftygamerscrafts @keikeikeikeie @existingtoreadfanfics @suika-ira @cherrybb-ily  @3vrenie @determinednature @2emotionallyunstable @fxckinbreathe @starfishfaerie @aurorab-0-realis @baby-bread-in @sra7riddle-malfoy @frostbitetrap-blog @athena-portgas @piancqwrites @soleilscb @cottonheadedninnymugggins @scara-simp69 @aurorarose2112 @bad4amficideas @ineed-myspace @yukimaniac @thegreatpapaya666 @xsammijoanneex @winter-solstice24 @kpopgirliez @gwinamlvr @renchai

[emryshunts]

Hi

I love your saja boys story especially their demon forms with the horns and tails and I was wondering if you have a picture of what they look like with the horns and tails

Hi! I don’t have any official illustrations of the boys with their horns and tails just yet. Since I don't know to draw 😅 however, I did ask my best friend to sketch out their horns and tails based on how I described them in the story, and I also feel super lucky to have an adorable doodle by the talented @lostgirlinthewoodss featuring Romance with his horns and tail out, cuddling with MC 🥹✨

Here are the sketches—hope you enjoy seeing them as much as I did! 💫

[emryshunts]

Heyy!! I love your manager reader story so so much and I love what you did with giving the guys horns and tails that only come out when they are comfy (are their horns um.. “sensitive” too)

But I wanted to ask if you could do the same thing with mystery’s tusks he has!!

I just think they r so cute and it would be another suprise for reader just to see him rocking up like a woolly mamoth!! heres photographic persuasion okay ily!!

Demon in Disguise

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦—𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬, 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝… 𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐲-𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐬𝐤𝐬??? 𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐔𝐒𝐊𝐒??? 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?! 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k not proof read

You had grown used to seeing their true forms now—and somehow, it made everything feel more real.

Romance would lean his head on your shoulder with his spiral heart-shaped horns peeking through his curls, purring as your fingers traced the ridges. Abby’s thick, wing-like horns flared wide whenever you praised him, his muscular tail curling possessively around your thigh when he pulled you into his lap. Baby’s sleek, curved horns glowed faintly when he nuzzled against you, his arrow-tipped tail twitching happily at the sound of your laugh. And Jinu—Jinu’s dark, crescent horns and smooth tail would shimmer into view the moment you touched his chest or whispered his name. 

Even when they weren’t paying attention, their bodies betrayed them—horns peeking through hair, tails flicking out when you so much as smiled. Once, Baby’s tail thumped against the back of the couch like an excited dog just because you walked in wearing his hoodie. 

Jinu’s tail had coiled around your ankle like a silken ribbon the night you leaned in to whisper a simple “goodnight” against the shell of his ear—then tugged you back gently, like he hadn’t had enough.

Romance’s tail curled into a soft question mark behind him whenever you gave your attention to someone else, his pout barely hidden. “Am I boring you, sweetheart?” he’d ask with a wounded smile, already pulling you closer, his horns brushing against yours.

And Abby? Abby’s tail had once wrapped around your wrist like a cuff the moment you teased him about going out alone, his gaze dark and unreadable. 

They didn’t even seem to notice anymore. Like your presence alone slipped them into something more true.

Like their instincts couldn’t help but surface when you were near.

And yet… there was one person who still hadn’t revealed anything.

Mystery.

That night, the two of you were in the living room. The others were scattered around the penthouse, absorbed in their own little worlds. Abby was in the kitchen slicing fruit, his tail lazily swishing near his calves. Romance was sprawled on the floor, headphones in, scribbling lyrics into a worn notebook. Baby curled up asleep on the rug, soft snores puffing out of him like a cat. And Jinu? Folding laundry down the hallway, humming low, lost in his domestic rhythm.

You were on the couch, sunk into soft cushions. Mystery lay between your legs, head in your lap, arms snug around your waist. His face was buried just beneath your ribs, purring faintly like a pleased predator who had caught his prize. You threaded your fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp while your other hand lazily stroked his nape.

“Comfy?” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his temple.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, eyes closed. “Could stay here forever.”

You smiled, playing with a lock of hair that fell across his forehead. “I think you’ve got a bit of competition. The others might fight you for this seat.”

He didn’t answer. Just pressed his cheek harder against your thigh like he was claiming it. His arms flexed slightly around your waist. That was his answer.

Still… something tugged at you.

You glanced toward the others—tails flicking lazily, horns faintly visible as they moved through their routines. All of them had let you see this side of them. Trusted you with it. Their bodies responded instinctively—to your voice, your touch, your scent.

And yet…

Your eyes drifted back down to Mystery, still nestled against you, still cloaked in the calm of his human disguise. There were no horns. No tail. No glimpse of the demonic form you knew existed just beneath the surface. He looked peaceful—perfect, even—but you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest.

“Myst…”

He gave a sleepy hum. “Mmmm?”

You brushed his bangs away from his face, your thumb tracing the slope of his brow. “How come I’ve never seen your horns?” Your voice was quiet, careful. “Or your tail?”

The moment shifted.

You noticed it instantly, felt it in the shift of his breathing. Your chest tightened.

“I mean… it happens with the others,” you continued, gently.  “Sometimes without them even trying. Like their bodies are reacting to me. Doesn’t that happen when you’re bonded...?”

Still, no answer.

“Myst?” you said again, barely above a whisper. “Did I… do something wrong?” Your hand stilled against his scalp. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

His purring had faded to silence.

That silence struck harder than expected. It filled the room like a fog, thick and suffocating. You felt it press against your ribs, coil around your breath. Your hand, still resting on his scalp, trembled slightly.  You weren’t trying to accuse him. You just—needed to know. Needed to understand.

Maybe you had gone too far. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked.

You almost pulled away.

But then—Mystery moved.

Slowly, he shifted in your lap, his face turning up toward you, cheek brushing your inner thigh. His eyes met yours.

“No, baby,” he whispered, voice fragile as thread. “No, it’s not like... don’t ever think that.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I’m not hiding because I don’t trust you,” he murmured, lashes fluttering. “I’m hiding because… because I do. And I didn’t want to ruin this. You make me feel so—” he exhaled shakily, looking away for a second before forcing himself back to your gaze, “—wanted. Like I’m something soft. Safe. You touch me like I won’t break you.”

Your heart clenched.

“Myst…” you breathed.

His hand moved—slow and reverent—slipping up to cup the back of your thigh, holding you there like he needed to ground himself.

“I didn’t want to ruin that illusion,” he said softly. “Because there’s more to me. Things I can’t hide forever. And I was scared that if I show you… you’ll look at me differently. Like I’m wrong. Like I’m disgusting.”

You leaned down, both hands cradling his face now, your thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “There is nothing about you that could ever disgust me. You hear me?” Your voice trembled, but your words were steel. “I will love every part of you. Even the ones you’re scared of... whatever it is, I want to see it.”

His breath hitched.

For a moment, he just stared at you—like he couldn’t believe you’d said that, like it hurt to even hope. Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate. His lashes fell shut.

And instead of answering—

He showed you.

The transformation was slow, reverent. First, the horns—shorter than the others’, but wickedly curved like crescent moons in his head, obsidian black with faint silver ridges. Then his tail unfurled from his lower back, long and dark, with a sharp black point at the tip twitching nervously like it didn’t know where to settle. 

And then… the tusks.

They peeked from his upper jaw as his lips parted in a shallow breath. Smooth and ivory-white, they curled delicately over his bottom lip, sharp but beautiful. Not monstrous. Not wrong.

Just—him.

You stared.

And didn’t move.

Mystery froze under your gaze. His body went tense, tail stiffening behind him like a drawn bowstring. It twitched once, betraying a split-second tremor—like he was already bracing for the worst. For you to flinch. To recoil. To say something.

His gaze dropped, voice tight and whisper-thin. “I knew it,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have—”

That’s when it hit you.

He looked so damn cute.

Your scream made him flinch.

Then you pounced.

One second, you were sitting like a normal person. The next, you were full-on launching yourself at Mystery, tackling him flat onto the cushions with a delighted squeal as if his transformation had just unlocked your final evolution. You straddled his waist, buried his stunned face in your hands, and smothered every inch of his cheeks with kisses.

“Oh my god—Myst—you’re so cute, are you kidding me?!” you gushed, your voice rising with every kiss. “Why didn’t you show me this sooner?! These tusks—they’re adorable. You’re adorable!”

He blinked up at you, stunned speechless, his mouth slightly parted, his tusks brushing against your cheek as you nuzzled him like he was the last warm thing on earth.

Your hands slid down his jaw, thumbs tracing the edge of his new features with breathless reverence. “I love them,” you whispered against the curve of his tusk. “I love you.”

Mystery’s face went scarlet.

He groaned—more like a whimper, really—and let his arms curl tight around your back, burying his face under your chin like he couldn’t take another second of being looked at like that. Like maybe if he held you hard enough, close enough, you’d never leave. Like he was terrified and elated all at once.

He trembled.

Not because he was afraid.

Because, for the first time, he believed you.

SLAM!

A sharp thud cracked through the penthouse, followed by the chaotic sound of stomping footsteps and something heavy hitting tile.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Abby’s voice bellowed from the kitchen, unmistakably holding a knife, the blade still glinting as he stormed toward the living room.

“Is she hurt?!” Jinu’s voice followed, sharp with panic. You could hear the sound of his sleeves being rolled up mid-sprint, jaw set like he was seconds from choosing violence.

Romance knocked over his own notebook with a startled yelp, scrambling to his feet so fast he tripped over the corner of the rug.

And Baby—half-asleep, half-feral—growled from the floor like he’d just been woken mid-hibernation. It didn’t sound human. It sounded like something with fangs. “Who touched her?!”

But when they all turned—panting, frantic, ready to fight—they stopped.

And then blinked.

Because there you were, wrapped around Mystery like he was the best gift you’d ever been given. Your legs were curled around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were pressing kisses all over his flushed face while he practically purred in your arms.

And he… he looked absolutely wrecked.

Mystery’s horns shimmered under the overhead light, glinting wickedly as he let you kiss all over him without protest. His tail twitched and coiled in embarrassment, but his arms only pulled you tighter, like he was terrified this was a dream and he might wake up without you. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, and a low, rumbling purr spilled from him without restraint, vibrating through both of your bodies like he couldn’t control it anymore.

His tusks glinted when he smiled—dazed, drunk on affection—and his face was so red he might’ve been glowing.

Abby was the first to speak, eyes wide. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Jinu exhaled hard, rubbing a hand over his heart. “I thought someone was attacking her.”

Romance tilted his head, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “Mystery finally showed her, huh?”

Baby had already dropped back onto the rug, curling up like a cat mid-nap. “She’s fine. Hyung’s doomed.”

But you didn’t register any of it at first.

Because all your attention was on the boy in your arms—the boy still trembling beneath your touch.

You pulled back just slightly, enough to cup his jaw in both hands, brushing your thumbs gently along the line of his tusks.

He swallowed, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “You… really like them?” he asked, voice husky, almost broken. So small. So hopeful.

“I love you,” you whispered. The words came raw, unwavering, your voice anchored by the truth of it. “Every single part of you.”

And then you kissed him—slow, deep, reverent. 

He whimpered into your mouth.

A low, guttural sound that vibrated against your lips, his tusks nudging gently into your skin as he kissed you back with growing hunger, growing need. His horns brushed your forehead. His tail winding tight around your thigh. One of his hands slid up your back, fingers splayed, holding you like he could finally allow himself to be vulnerable in your arms.

From the side, Romance let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re gonna break him.”

But his voice was warm. Almost proud.

“She already broke all of us,” Jinu murmured, reverent, his eyes fixed on the way you kissed Mystery.

You broke the kiss just enough to rest your forehead against his, both of you breathless and trembling in the charged quiet. Mystery’s cheeks were flushed a deep, damning crimson, his lips kiss-swollen and glistening. His tusks gleamed faintly in the ight, catching the soft glow like moonlight on polished ivory. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, body trembling—

But not from fear anymore.

From relief. From surrender. From the unbearable sweetness of finally being seen.

You giggled, voice low and dizzy with affection, your fingertips drifting up to stroke along the base of his horns. They were warmer now, pulsing faintly under your touch. Sensitive. His breath hitched.

“So…” you whispered, a smile curling at your lips, “are you gonna let me touch your tail properly now?”

His eyes darkened.

Lashes lowered.

You didn’t need words.

Because the way his tail coiled around your waist—slow and deliberate, like silk ropes winding around prey—told you everything you needed to know. It slid higher, curling just beneath your ribs, then slinking lower to your thigh, where it wrapped snugly and held.

He buried his face into your shoulder with a choked sound, arms locking tight around your back like he needed your weight on top of him to stay grounded. His nose pressed to your throat, breathing you in like oxygen, like scent alone could anchor him. His fingers clutched at your shirt. His tail tightened around your thigh again, twitching with need.

And then—he purred.

Louder this time. Rougher. Deeper.

Because now you’d seen all of him.

And still chose to stay.

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 @𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐂 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠—𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭!! 𝐌𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐭. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 💕✨

Outtakes:

You: “Myst, quick question.” Mystery: *bracing for anything* “…Yes?” You: “What happens if I tug your horn and tail at the same time?” Mystery: *pauses, blinks* “…Are you trying to summon a feral version of me?” Abby:*from the kitchen* “DON’T LET HER DO IT—!” Romance: *perking up* “I wanna see what happens. For science.” Baby: *sitting up abruptly, dead serious* “I volunteer as tribute!” Jinu: *pulls out phone* “I’m documenting this for historical accuracy.” You: *grinning* “So you don’t know what happens?” Mystery: *backing away slowly* “I will evaporate from existence if you test it. Don’t do this to me.”

.....

You: *sitting behind Mystery, hands reaching for his tail* “Can I?” Mystery: *tense* “…Go ahead.” *You gently trace down his tail. He visibly shudders.* Mystery: “—oh.” All the boys simultaneously: “RIGHT?!” Mystery: *in visible emotional crisis* “…I’ve been living in a self-imposed hell.”

.....

Baby: *patting the cushion beside him* “Come, hyung. Sit. You must be educated.” Mystery: “Educated in what?” Romance: *whispering reverently* “The divine art…of being pet.” Jinu: *dead serious, eyes glowing faintly* “The first time she touched my tail… I died. Twice. Came back just to feel it again.” Abby: *smirking, arms crossed* “When she combed her fingers through my horns and praised me, I nearly combusted." Baby: *giddy* “My tail wags on its own. Like it has free will. I giggled. I giggled, Hyung.” Mystery: *flatly* “I’ve seen you threaten people with your pinkie toe. You giggled?” Baby: *grinning proudly* “Like a schoolgirl.”

.....

You: walks in, barefoot, hoodie-swaddled, looking for snacks You: Pauses in the doorway. Romance: purring seductively Abby: purring like thunder Baby: vibrating like a smug cat Mystery: red-faced, refusing to join Jinu: judging with a clipboard You: *blinks slowly* “…I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see this.” You: Backs out slowly. Baby: “Wait—who was winning?!” You: *still backing out* “Therapy. Therapy is winning.”

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @libdarkheart @amery-benson-cvii @nubyeol @type-ink @tiredlittlevirgo @wtfgiyuu23 @i-am-here3 @mxn14 @buttermilktea11 @the-bookish-artist @ironsaladwitch @zuoran03 @aurorarose2112 @permanenceimp @otakuudere666 @attackonjacksons @ikykwkleeknowwww @what-just-happened-to-me @yharnam-prophet @yuurisfavblog @cici4954 @boo-shalala @wonwoossglasses @b-bianka-13 @wthamidoingwithmylife @ashleygryffindor @littlewhitefairy7777 @herondale-lightworm @pl4netx1a @rivainimermaid @lionheart178 @irethepotato @gl00muraaii @blurghbleep @ateezswonderland @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @amery-benson-cvii @katzline @the-fanss @sylum @call-me-nyxx @craftygamerscrafts @keikeikeikeie @existingtoreadfanfics @suika-ira @cherrybb-ily  @3vrenie @determinednature @2emotionallyunstable @fxckinbreathe @starfishfaerie @aurorab-0-realis @baby-bread-in @sra7riddle-malfoy @frostbitetrap-blog @athena-portgas @piancqwrites @soleilscb @cottonheadedninnymugggins @scara-simp69 @aurorarose2112 @bad4amficideas @ineed-myspace @yukimaniac @thegreatpapaya666 @xsammijoanneex @winter-solstice24 @kpopgirliez @zebs-stuff

[emryshunts]

Hiiii

Firstly BWUSBSJWIUDHDNSKWISJSH WHY WAS THAT SOO GOOD LIKE 😔😔😜😜✨👀👀 it's really well written like goodness gracious, who's the dive who wrote this toe curling fic. The anticipation that we have been waiting, the teasing not just by the mc but somehow it feels like you are lowkey teasing the readers too😔😔💔💔

And also the rock paper scissors is really accurate lol it's really funny behind the mc's back that they're deciding who's gonna rail her by that game😭😭 Baby is waay too freaky too just no sugar coated words, no hesitation just pure, "Who's gonna rail her" JAHSBZHSNZBSIWUW THIS DEMON IS WAYY TOO UNHINGED

You did a really great job, it's really fun to read your fics I cannot possibly get over this lol the way reader and abby flirting or just seducing each other is just soo yummy like GIRL MOVE IT'S MY TURN 😜😜

Anyways dis is me reminding my fav author to hydrate and rest. Health is important to our lives stay safeee

eagle anonn 🦅🦅

AHHHHH 🥹 Eagle Anon strikes again with the chaotic love and perfect unhinged commentary—thank you so much for this!! 😭😭😭💗💗

First of all, I HOWLED at “Girl move it’s my turn”—because honestly?? That’s the exact energy the boys are dealing with too. Everyone fighting for a slice of that reader attention.

Now let’s talk about Baby…

Originally that line was “Who’s gonna fuck her” and it was so raw, so feral, it nearly lit my laptop on fire. But then I paused and thought, hmm, maybe that’s too blunt. So I downgraded the word but not the energy — because “who’s gonna rail her” still hits like a demonic punch to the gut. 😩🔥

And the rock paper scissors? ICONIC. Because of course these overpowered, otherworldly, centuries-old demon men can’t settle this with strategy or maturity. Nahhh. They’re shirtless in hot water playing a children’s game while plotting who gets to touch mc. I HAD to highlight the fact that no matter how demonically hot and powerful they are, they’re still five chaotic men sharing one brain cell.

As for the teasing—you caught me 😏 That’s a mutual suffering situation.

Thank you so much again for reminding me to take care of myself. I’ll keep writing if you promise to keep screaming in the comments 🥹💜

[emryshunts]

Okay genuine question… does anyone here read manhwa?? Because listen—I don’t even read it yet, and I’m already fighting for my life not to start a fic inspired by like… five different manhwa male leads. I don’t even know the plots. I just see the art, the energy, the vibes, and I’m like DEYMMM. Why is everyone so hot and emotionally damaged???

I’m this close to spiraling into a whole new fic and dragging all of you down with me. So help a writer out—do y’all know any good apps or websites where I can actually read these stories properly? I wanna understand the tropes, the pacing, the drama, before I go full chaos and write something wild with dangerous, emotionally unwell male leads in love with the reader.

Send help. Or links. Preferably both. 🤲🔥

[emryshunts]

Hey uh. You write smut good. Very good. Um. *thumbs up*

Thank you, I’m just out here trying to give everyone emotional damage and toe-curling scenes. Glad it’s working *thumbs up back with trembling hands*

[emryshunts]

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @aurorab-0-realis @baby-bread-in @sra7riddle-malfoy @frostbitetrap-blog @athena-portgas @piancqwrites @soleilscb @cottonheadedninnymugggins @scara-simp69 @aurorarose2112 @bad4amficideas @ineed-myspace @yukimaniac @thegreatpapaya666 @xsammijoanneex @winter-solstice24 @kpopgirliez @zebs-stuff

Bath House

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲) 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k+ not proof read 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 18+ 🔞🔞🔞

The moment the door clicked open, silence swept over the group like a spell.

Soft, golden light bathed the suite in a sultry glow, shadows pooling across polished wood floors and sleek, obsidian furnishings. To the left, an oversized sectional coiled around a sunken lounge area—a plush nest of velvet cushions and thick throws. It wasn’t just cozy. It was a place made for limbs entangled, for bare skin and lazy kisses, for surrendering to warmth and weight and want.

On the low coffee table, a chilled bottle of wine glistened in its cradle, surrounded by silver trays of indulgence: chocolate-dipped fruits, seared cuts of meat still pink and warm, delicate buttered rolls steaming as if freshly pulled from an oven. Nestled among them was a bowl of strawberries—halved, ruby-red, glistening with juice, each one begging to be bitten, or better yet, fed from someone else’s fingers.

In the far corner, a massage table stood surrounded by candles that flickered low and lazy, their scent a dizzying blend of ylang-ylang, cedar, and heat. Towels were rolled neatly at the foot, and a bowl of warm oil shimmered under the dim light.

But your eyes were pulled to the right.

To the door left slightly ajar.

To the thick steam that curled out like fingers through the crack, beckoning you closer.

Calling you.

Abby moved first, silent as a shadow.

His black shirt clung to the stretch of muscle along his back, each step smooth and measured, predatory in its ease. As he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder with a knowing smirk, eyes dark with something electric.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice deep and low. “Take a look.”

Your body moved before you could second-guess it. You stepped forward, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears, and pushed the door open.

The private bathhouse hit you like a dream.

Hot mist curled over the surface of the pale blue waters like breath over bare skin. Moonlight poured in through the slatted roof above, casting silver ribbons across the pool’s surface. Smooth, dark stones lined the perimeter, and somewhere near the back, water trickled down a miniature rockfall, the sound delicate, rhythmic, almost… hypnotic. Bamboo walls held the heat in close, and the air was saturated with steam and scent—mineral-rich, woody, and something else. Something wilder. Something that smelled like them.

This was no ordinary bath.

This kind of place is meant for skin against skin. For whispered moans swallowed by mist.

Someone’s breath ghosted beside your ear.

“Do you like it?” Jinu’s voice was low, rasped and proud. “We told them to make it perfect for you.”

He paused, letting his next words curl slowly over your skin.

“We didn’t want anyone else in this world touching this water but us… and you.”

Your throat tightened.

The air felt hotter suddenly. Heavier.

You couldn’t tell if it was the steam or him. Or the way the others were approaching behind you, the weight of their presence settling over your shoulders like a velvet net, tightening with every breath you drew.

And still, you couldn’t look away from the water.

Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like—your body beneath theirs, heat sliding between the steam, mouths tasting the water off your skin.

You swallowed hard, heart racing.

A hand slid around your waist—light, teasing, until fingers dipped into the water just beside your hip.

Mystery.

He didn’t speak right away. Just lifted his hand slowly, letting warm droplets cling to his fingers before pressing them gently to your wrist, directly over your pulse.

“Perfect temperature,” he murmured, voice low and laced with something dangerous. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. “Almost as perfect as you.”

Before you could gather your thoughts, Jinu’s voice slid in low and velvet-smooth behind you. “Go on and change, baby.” His gaze unapologetically traced the lines of your body, slow and reverent.

“We’ll wait.”

You barely had time to turn away before the soft rustle of fabric filled the air. Fingers tugging at zippers. The whisper of shirts sliding off bare shoulders. The sound of breath and heat and temptation unspooling all around you.

Abby was first.

He tugged his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, muscles rippling under golden skin as mist coiled around him like smoke around fire. The shadows caught on the marks sprawled across his chest and waist, teasing at what the rest of it looked like. His abs flexed with each breath, tight and defined, as his fingers moved to the button of his pants.

Your breath caught hard in your chest.

“Go on, baby,” Jinu said again, that quiet command in his voice curling low and sweet around your spine. The kind that made your knees weak and your will weaker. “We’ll be in by the time you’re done.”

“Unless…” Baby drawled, head tilting, his smirk all teeth and mischief. “You’d rather change out here with us. We won’t mind.” His tone made it clear how much they’d enjoy that option.

Your mouth opened, but the words didn’t come.

Romance was shrugging out of his sweater, slow and lazy, like he knew you were watching. His hair stuck to his temples, damp from the heat, framing a smirk that curled slowly when your gaze lingered too long.

Mystery didn’t say anything—he just met your gaze with that unreadable expression and unhurriedly peeled off his jacket, revealing smooth, pale skin and lean muscle underneath. 

His eyes dropped to your lips. 

And stayed there.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

Baby let out a low chuckle as he peeled off his hoodie, tousling his hair with one hand, not bothering to hide how openly your eyes traced the dip of his waist.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teased. “Haven’t seen us shirtless before?” He winked, voice playful but thick with heat. “It’s not like you haven’t touched it.”

Your mouth opened but no sound came out. Instead, you watched as muscles, marks, and bare skin came into view one by one, each boy shedding layers like it was the most natural thing in the world—and suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter.

“I—I’m going to change!” you blurted, voice too high, too fast. You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolted toward the bathroom.

Their laughter chased after you, low and fond and sinful.

You slammed the door shut behind you and pressed your back to it, gasping like you’d just run a marathon. “Oh my god,” you whispered, dragging a shaky hand through your hair. You could still hear them faintly through the door, light conversation, water lapping, the occasional soft chuckle that made your thighs press together instinctively.

It didn’t help.

You peeled off your clothes with trembling fingers, every brush of fabric against your skin making you flinch. It felt like every inch of you was on fire, too aware, too exposed. Like their gazes were still clinging to you. Like you could still feel them.

Was it the heat of the bath?

No. It was them. Their energy. Their scent. Their attention.

You reached for the towel neatly folded on the counter, praying, begging, for some kind of dignity.

But the moment you shook it out, you froze.

Your breath left you in a strangled whisper. “Oh hell no.”

It was short. So short. And thin, so thin it might as well have been made of fog. You held it up to the light and stared in horror. It wasn’t a towel. It was an invitation. A setup. A trap.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You glared at the towel rack like it had betrayed you. Then the walls. Then the whole stupid private bathhouse.

“What kind of luxury place gives out rags instead of towels?” you hissed. “Where’s the robe? The oversized fluff cocoon? This isn’t a towel, it’s a scandal.”

But there was nothing else.

With a groan of defeat, you wrapped the offending cloth around yourself anyway, yanking it as low as you could, though it still barely reached mid-thigh. One wrong move and this whole thing would slip.

“I hate this towel,” you muttered, clutching the ends tightly. “I hate them. I hate how smug they’re gonna look when they see me in this.”

You paused, breath catching.

Swallowed hard.

“And I really hate how hot I feel just thinking about them looking at me in this.”

Your reflection stared back at you from the steamed-up mirror, flushed, flustered, wrapped in a scandalous scrap of fabric and still trembling slightly.

But your skin tingled with anticipation.

A knock sounded. Three gentle taps.

“Sweetheart?” Jinu’s voice drifted through, low and smooth like dark wine. “You alive in there? The others are already in. The water’s perfect.”

Your heart slammed into your ribs.

“I’m fine!” you called out too fast, too loud, your voice nearly cracking. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

A moment of silence followed, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, “We’ll be waiting.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your hands to stop shaking as you adjusted the towel. It clung to your body like it had a mind of its own, molding to every curve, catching at your hips, your thighs, the swell of your chest.

The fabric soaked in the heat and softened with it, making every movement feel suggestive. You tugged at it again, uselessly, and tried not to imagine their faces when they saw you like this.

With a frustrated breath, you twisted your damp hair into a quick, messy bun. A few strands clung to your collarbones and the curve of your neck, kissed by steam and sweat. The mirror offered no comfort, just a vision of you undone, glowing, practically trembling.

This is fine, you told yourself. You’ve seen them shirtless before. This is just communal bathing. Normal. Cultural. Innocent

…ish.

Then, breath held tight, you cracked it open and stepped out.

The breath you’d taken vanished.

You hadn’t expected them to look like that.

You froze. Your hand instinctively gripped the towel tighter around your chest, breath catching violently as the scene unfolded in front of you.

They hadn’t noticed you yet.

The five of them were gathered near the large onsen-style bath, towels slung low on their hips, backs and chests bare, golden under the soft steam curling around them like sin incarnate. Their voices were low, casual, but the sight was anything but.

Abby stood with one arm draped lazily over Baby’s shoulder, laughing softly about something you couldn’t hear. His muscles flexed slightly with the movement, abs sharp under the water-slicked light, towel sitting dangerously low on his hips. 

Baby, perched on the edge of the bath, had his hair tied up messily, a few damp strands sticking to his neck. His long legs stretched out in front of him, one foot tapping gently against the floor as he teased someone mid-sentence. You watched his mouth move—playful, sharp, curved in a smile that could cut glass—and your stomach dropped.

Romance leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, towel wrapped around his head like a loose turban. He looked calm, distant, but every now and then, he’d glance at the others and murmur something quiet that made them smirk. His toned chest rose and fell slowly, and for a second, your eyes fixated on a single bead of water rolling down from his collarbone, past the curve of his chest, and disappearing into the dip of his towel.

Mystery was sprawled lazily on a lounge chair, arms behind his head, one knee bent. His towel clung to his hips like it had been draped there on purpose by the gods themselves, and his hair was still damp—dark lavender strands clinging to his temples. He wasn’t even speaking, just watching the others with a kind of slow, languid focus that made your pulse spike. 

Jinu sat at the edge of the bath, long legs submerged up to the calves, elbows resting on his knees. His towel was twisted casually around his waist, revealing far too much thigh and not nearly enough modesty. He was talking—voice low, commanding, almost amused—and gesturing with his hands as he explained something to the group. His wet hair was slicked back from his forehead, sharp jawline on full display, the kind that could ruin your life in one glance.

You took a breath. Then another.

Steady hands, even as your pulse thundered.

You stepped into view, towel still wrapped securely around you, posture composed, chin slightly raised. A soft mist coiled around your ankles from the heated stone floor, your bare feet making quiet contact as you walked toward them like you weren’t falling apart inside.

Their laughter faded.

The conversation fell flat like someone had cut the sound with a knife.

Romance’s mouth parted slowly, like he forgot how to speak. Jinu’s gaze darkened,tracking every subtle sway of your hips. Baby blinked hard and let out a low, helpless laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he was doomed. Mystery tilted his head with quiet wonder, while Abby, half-submerged with steam rising off his shoulders, muttered a curse that sounded almost like a prayer.

"Careful, baby," Abby called out, his voice low and commanding as you stepped toward the water’s edge. His eyes never left you. “The rocks get slippery near the middle.”

"Here," Jinu added, already rising to offer his hand like it was instinct, his tone softer, gentler—something sacred in how he held it out. “Let me help you.”

You took it, your fingers slipping into his grasp. His palm was warm and steady, and the subtle clench of his hand told you he wasn’t ready to let go. Not even close.

On your other side, Romance had moved—quiet as a shadow, just close enough that the heat of his body kissed your skin. His fingers brushed your lower back as you stepped into the steaming water, anchoring you. "Slowly," he murmured near your ear, his voice low and intimate, “don’t want our girl getting hurt now, do we?”

Your heart stuttered.

The moment you slid into the warm pool, a sigh slipped past your lips—soft and unguarded. The heat embraced you, curling around your limbs, settling low in your belly. But it wasn’t just the water that shifted something inside you.

It was them.

The atmosphere changed in an instant—tightening, humming, thick with something unspoken. Like desire had taken form and hung in the air between every ripple.

Romance was the first to speak. His voice dipped low, slow as honey, laced with warmth and reverence as his gaze swept over your face, your shoulders, the way the water kissed along your skin.

“Did we forget to tell you how beautiful you are tonight?”

Jinu gave a soft, humorless laugh from somewhere to your left, though his eyes never left you. “Tonight? You mean always.”

You blinked, breath catching—because suddenly they were all so close. The bath wasn’t small, but with five demons orbiting you like heat-drunk moons, it felt intimately crowded. Pressurized. Like the space had narrowed down to just your body, their bodies, and all the heat between.

Mystery tilted his head, his expression softer than usual—though the sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed the hunger simmering beneath. “You always do this on purpose, darling,” he murmured, voice low and honeyed, threaded with something rough. “Always making us ache… and you don’t even have to try.”

There was no blame in his words. Just longing. And maybe the barest tremble of restraint.

Baby had drifted closer—close enough for your skin to sense him without touch. His arm rested along the edge behind you, his presence a hum along your back. His voice came quiet, reverent.

“She doesn’t have to try,” he said, almost to himself. “She just exists. And here we are already on our knees.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “You’re all being dramatic.”

“No,” Abby said, with quiet conviction. “We’re being honest.”

Romance’s fingers skimmed the surface of the water, slow and deliberate, the ripple brushing your skin like a ghost of a touch. His eyes were half-lidded as they tracked the movement, but his words were all for you.

“You still don’t see it, do you, sweetheart?” His voice was rough silk, curling around your name like smoke. “You walk into a room, and it’s like… we forget how to breathe. How to function. Everything else just disappears.”

Your breath caught, lashes fluttering as you let your eyes drift closed. Their words didn’t just settle into your chest—they soaked through, slow and thick and inescapable.

You sank deeper into the warm pool until the water cradled you just beneath your collarbones, steam curling up your throat, brushing soft and damp along your lashes. With a soft sigh, you cupped your hands and dipped them beneath the surface, letting the water pool in your palms.

Then, slowly, deliberately, you lifted the water and let it spill over your shoulder, fingers trembling just enough for it to cascade in thin, glistening rivulets.

Warmth cascaded down your skin in a glistening trail.

The moment it happened, the air shifted.

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know they were watching.

You could feel it—how the water wasn’t the only thing burning against your skin now.

You dipped your hands again, slower this time, letting the movement draw out. The heat pooled in your palms, and you poured it down the curve of your chest, letting it trail over your arm, painting your skin in liquid light. It felt good. Clean. Quiet. But the longer you lingered in that slow, sensual motion, the heavier their gazes became.

When you finally opened your eyes, they were closer.

Not by much. But enough.

Jinu’s voice broke through the hush, gentle but reverent. “Can we—” He stopped, licked his lips, then offered you a soft, boyish smile that made your heart stumble. “Can we help?”

Your heart skipped.

That one simple sentence made the bathhouse suddenly feel smaller, warmer, heavier.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he added quickly, but his voice dropped with something deeper. 

You blinked at him. “Help?”

“Wash you,” Baby added quickly, cheeks pink, eyes wide and almost pleading. “Only if you want. It’s just… watching you touch yourself like that—damn” He groaned and dropped his head for a second, embarrassed. “That came out wrong.”

Romance bit his lip, clearly holding back a laugh, but his voice was velvet when he spoke. “What he meant was… we want to take care of you. Touch you the way you deserve. If you’ll let us.”

You tilted your head, just slightly. “All of you?”

Abby’s jaw flexed, his gaze unreadable, but his voice was soft. “Of course all of us. You're ours… aren’t you?”

Mystery’s fingers brushed the surface of the water near your thigh, careful not to touch. His voice was barely a whisper. “We’ll be gentle,” he promised. “Or not. Whatever you need. Just… let us. Please.”

The moment you said yes, it was like something ancient uncoiled in the room.

Five demons moved at once—without a word, without needing one. Like they’d rehearsed this in dreams. Like they were following a rhythm only they could hear. And every motion—every stretch of an arm, tilt of a bowl, graze of cloth—was coordinated not for efficiency, but for you.

Only for you.

Warm water trickled down your shoulders first, then the gentle drag of a cloth followed, smoothed down your arm in a slow, sensual sweep. Another hand—bigger, rougher—grazed your thigh beneath the water, washing in long, reverent strokes. Fingers found your nape, massaging in slow, hypnotic circles as someone combed careful fingers through your wet hair.

They never got in each other’s way.

They didn’t speak, not at first. Only soft breaths and the lapping of water filled the space—until your sigh broke through it all, quiet and sweet and utterly unguarded.

A sound like surrender.

A sound like home.

“Just like that,” Romance murmured behind you, voice low and smug as his hands glided down your back. “You sound so good when you relax.”

“You’re melting...” Baby added, clearly grinning. “Is our hands really that nice, pretty girl?”

You hummed again in response, too boneless to form words.

And it made them lean closer.

You didn’t need to look to know they were smiling.

Abby had one massive hand on your thigh under the water, kneading gently, the other slowly massaging your shoulder. “You don’t even realize how perfect you are like this, do you?” he whispered near your ear. “Letting us take care of you. Letting us spoil what’s ours.”

Jinu moved, circling in front of you, eyes raking over every softened line in your face. He dipped a cloth in the water, then leaned in, brushing it over your collarbone with a touch so intimate it made your breath hitch. His tone was calm—commanding, even—but his eyes were wild with adoration. “Just relax for us baby. We’ve got you. We always will.”

Behind you, Romance’s lips ghosted along the slope of your shoulder. “Our pretty girl,” he whispered, a hum buried beneath the words. “Letting her mates take care of her… you don’t even know what that does to us.”

You cracked a smile, heart stuttering behind your ribs, caught somewhere between flustered and drunk on the way they loved you.

“You’re getting cocky,” you teased, voice soft, lips curling like you could still pretend you weren’t melting for them.

But then you laughed.

A real, breathless, sun-warm sound, halfway between a sigh and surrender. You reached out –instinctive—and brushed your fingertips along Mystery’s jaw just as he leaned in to kiss your neck.

That did it.

The sound of your laughter bounced off the steamy tile walls, bright and open and completely unguarded.

And they stilled. All of them.

Just for a beat.

And then—they pounced.

Not to claim, but to drown you in affection.

Kisses fell in waves, one after the other. Light and teasing on your cheeks. Warm and slow on your shoulders. Wet and playful along your collarbone. Gentle lips pressing, brushing, nuzzling—all of it ridiculous and overwhelming and so full of affection it made your breath catch in your throat.

You giggled helplessly, twisting just enough to squirm away, but never really trying to escape.

“Okay—okay!” you gasped between bursts of laughter. “You’re going to tickle me—!”

“There it is,” Baby whispered, practically glowing as he tucked a kiss behind your ear. “That laugh. I’d fight gods for that sound.”

“You’re so damn cute,” Abby growled, his voice low and fond as he nipped near your collarbone. “You think we’ll stop just ‘cause you giggle, baby?”

“I’m encouraged, actually,” Mystery said, smirking against your skin as he stole a kiss to your wrist. “Might double it down just to hear it again.”

“You better kiss us back,”  Romance added, pulling back only to pout at you with full, glossy lips.  His fingers brushed your hip, his voice dipped low.  “Or we’ll keep going ‘til you’re breathless.”

You let out a shaky little laugh, breath catching at the edges. “Maybe I want that,” you whispered, teasing—but soft with the truth of it, your pulse already fluttering beneath your skin from how close they were.

Then—just to shut them up—you turned and caught Jinu’s lips in a kiss.

A gentle brush of lips that lingered like a promise. His breath caught, just barely, before he melted into you—his hand twitched against your waist. Then tightened. Then dragged you closer like he couldn’t help it. 

The sound that left the others?

Raw. Possessive. Feral.

A chorus of soft growls, groans, and bitten-off sighs that made your pulse jump and your spine curve just a little closer to them

You’d undone them.

And they had you completely surrounded.

“Why did she kissed him first” Baby whined, as if heartbroken, eyes wide and dramatic as he flopped against your side.

“Unfair,” Abby growled, voice lower now, thick with playful jealousy. His hand slid slow along your thigh, fingers curling gently.

“You better earn the next one then,” you purred, a spark of mischief in your voice—breathless, teasing, barely holding back a smile.

And oh, how they responded to that.

Their eyes darkened like smoke. Hungry. Enchanted. Starving to please. The air thickened with want—no longer sharp and desperate, but reverent. Patient. Predatory.

Wrapped in steam and arms and something deeper than desire, you couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the next began. Their touches blurred together—soft caresses along your back, reverent kisses to your shoulder, fingertips tracing your spine as if memorizing it.

Still on you.

Still learning you.

Still worshiping the very sound of your happiness like it was sacred.

And this time—you didn’t hold anything back.

You let them have it all.

Because deep down, you knew: they’d already claimed every part of you.

And you were starting to like it that way.

You were now nestled against a warm, firm chest, the scent of him seeping into your hair like smoke and honey. Abby had you tucked between his spread thighs, your back resting against his torso while the rest of the boys lounged in the far side of the bath, giving space—but not without lingering glances.

His hand reached out casually, holding a crystal bowl piled high with glistening strawberries. The contrast of the fruit’s red against the strength of his hand made your stomach twist—not with hunger, but something needier.

“Open,” he murmured near your ear, his voice dipped low and thick. The pad of his thumb dragged lazily across your lower lip, parting them before sliding a slice of fruit into your mouth. You obeyed, dazed, the sweet-tart burst on your tongue only half as intoxicating as the sensation of Abby watching you with those dark, possessive eyes.

“That’s it,” he breathed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips brushing skin but never settling. “Sweet little thing…”

You swallowed, barely, your body softening under his touch.

“Abby,” you whispered, shifting slightly to face him more, but his arms only wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you flush against him.

“Hmm?” He leaned forward, his breath brushing your cheek. “You need something princess?”

You tried again, this time turning fully in his lap. Warm water slipping along your skin and the soft swell of your breasts brushing his chest, Abby froze like you’d struck him. Your cheek smushed against one of his big pecs, and you felt it rise under you—his breath catching sharply before he let out the smallest, weakest sigh, like all his composure had been punched out of him at once.

Still, his hand moved. Trembling now, fingers slick with water as he reached for another strawberry like it was instinct, like denying you wasn’t an option. He brought it to your lips with reverent precision, but he didn’t say a word. Just stared—entranced—as your mouth wrapped around the fruit.

His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, jaw clenched tight like he was holding himself together with threadbare control. You felt it in the way his arm tightened behind your back, as if anchoring himself with you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’ve been going to the gym too much,” you murmured, voice sultry against his skin. Teasing. Dangerous. Your fingers slid low over his abdomen—slow, deliberate—counting the ridges of muscle with silent awe. One. Two. Three.

Then higher.

Your palms curved boldly over the broad weight of his pecs, thumbs grazing his nipples just to see if he’d flinch.

“Seriously,” you whispered, breath hitching as you looked up at him. “This isn’t fair.”

Abby huffed a low laugh, voice rumbling against your shoulder as he looked down at you curled against his chest.  His lips brushed the crown of your head, and you felt his smile even before he spoke.

“You’re being extra clingy today,” he murmured, voice thick with affection and something darker, something low and coiled beneath his tongue.

Then he purred and the sound slithered down your spine like silk-drenched sin. 

“You feelin’ needy, princess?”

Your voice came out in a breathy whimper, trembling as you clung to him. “I don’t know—just… just want you so bad…”

Your fingers curled into his skin like you might fall apart without him. “Need you to touch me. Need you to take care of me…"

That did something to him.

You saw it in the way his eyes darkened instantly, heard it in the way he sucked in a breath through his nose like he was scenting your need.

“Good girls don’t beg like that” he said, voice rougher now, deeper.

“Ask properly, baby.”

You didn’t dare glance at the others, though you felt their stares like heat on your skin—unmoving, unblinking. Watching. Letting him have this moment with you, even if their restraint was fraying with every breath you took. 

They wanted to see what Abby would do with you first.

Your thighs pressed together under the water, heart thudding. And then, barely above a whisper, you gave him what he wanted.

“Abby… please.” A breath. A gasp. “Need you...”

Abby lifted you out of the water like you weighed nothing, his strength casual and complete. Your slick skin clung to his chest, your breath catching at the sensation of being carried like that—safe, cradled, wanted. He didn’t stumble. Didn’t falter. Just held you against him like you belonged there, like there was no question.

The others still didn’t move. But they were watching, barely breathing.

"Yeah?" Abby’s voice ghosted against your temple as he walked with you, one arm cradling beneath your thighs, the other anchoring you close to his chest. “Then let me take care of you, princess.”

He carried you to the edge of the bath and laid you back on the warm stones like you were something sacred. The towel clung to your body like a second skin. His eyes flicked over it, nostrils flaring, and a sharp growl vibrated low in his chest.

Then he leaned in.

His palms braced on either side of your head, trapping you beneath him, his body radiating heat as his damp hair dripped slowly beside your cheek. His nose brushed yours, lips hovering just above, his breath mixing with yours.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, voice low, roughened with restraint, even though his body was already lowering toward yours, drawn like gravity, helpless to stop.

Instead of answering, you reached up and tangled your fingers in Abby’s damp hair, pulling him to you. The kiss you gave him wasn’t soft—it was needy, full of everything words couldn’t hold. 

He met it head-on, mouth crashing over yours with a deep, rough groan that rattled through your chest. His hands sank against the stone on either side of you, but his body pressed into yours like he was seconds from coming undone—like holding back had never been an option.

The towel you wore clung to your body. The fabric hugged every curve and shift of your hips, rising higher with each breath, revealing more than it hid.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, eyes dark and blown wide with want. His breath fanned across your mouth, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. He didn’t look at the others. Only you.

"You’re not getting out of this now," he murmured darkly, voice dripping with reverence and need.

And then he moved.

You barely had a moment to breathe before he lowered you again onto the warm, wet stone, his hands sliding beneath the towel to adjust it—not to preserve your modesty, but to bare you. 

He gathered the damp fabric in both hands, bunching it slowly around your hips. The motion was deliberate, dragging tension out with every inch exposed. His thumbs grazed the softness of your inner thighs as he shifted the towel higher, until it was a useless mess of fabric at your waist.

There was no hiding now.

The soaked towel offered no protection—not from his gaze, and not from the others’.

And they all saw it.

You heard the shift of breath. The faint, involuntary curse under someone's breath. The tension that rippled through the air like a wire pulled tight. They didn't move. They didn't interrupt.

The water lapped gently in the background.

Abby’s broad palms slid up your thighs, parting them with a slow, possessive certainty. He didn’t hide what he was doing. He wanted them to see. 

And then he dropped to his knees and devoured you.

Abby didn’t hesitate. His tongue dragged through your folds with unrelenting purpose—slow at first, savored. Then deeper. Harder. Slick, obscene sounds filled the misty air, every wet, hungry stroke amplified in the charged silence. He licked into you like a man who hadn’t eaten in days—like he needed this to breathe. And in a way, he did.

Because he was possessed.

By you.

Your thighs trembled, reacting before your mind could catch up, but his arms—those thick, marked arms—wrapped tighter around them, locking you open for him. His strength kept you spread, helpless beneath his mouth, vulnerable under the weight of their silent hunger.

You could feel the others' eyes on you, the heavy silence of the room only amplifying the wet suction and the soft, helpless sounds you couldn’t stop from spilling. Every flick of his tongue sent your hips jolting forward, chasing him. You whimpered his name like a plea, fingers scrambling into his hair as if you could anchor yourself to him before the pleasure drowned you whole.

Your body wasn’t yours anymore.

You bucked against his face with ragged, helpless rhythm, lost in sensation, and he welcomed it—pulled you closer, pressed deeper, letting you grind against him with no shame. Letting your need soak into his mouth, into his skin. A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest and vibrated straight through you as he sealed his lips around your clit again, then… it slowed.

Tormentingly slow.

His lips trailed downward in aching inches—kisses molten with restraint. From the top of your swollen clit to the tender opening below, he moved with reverence and something darker. 

You whimpered, head tilting back against the stone, teeth catching your bottom lip as your hands tightened in his hair.

"Abby... please..."

But he only grinned into your skin like a man who lived to unravel you piece by piece.

And then—without warning—his tongue plunged back into you.

Hot. Deep. Possessive.

Your body jolted like it had been struck by lightning. He angled his head just so, tongue licking up every desperate clench of your cunt while his nose ground mercilessly into your clit with every breath. 

He groaned into you—filthy and satisfied—like he was feasting, not pleasuring. Like he wanted to make sure you felt him in your bones.

You moaned again, raw and unrestrained, your fingers scrabbling against slick stone for something, anything, to hold. But he didn’t let you reach for the edge. Instead, he offered you his hand—large, veined, warm—sliding into yours with a grip so tight and grounding it nearly undid you all over again. His fingers laced through yours like a silent command as if to say stay here. With me.

His other arm locked tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you down like you were trembling prey caught between his teeth. 

His tongue moved faster now—deeper. Curling, twisting. Ruthless. Every time his nose bumped your clit, your vision splintered into white. The pressure built like a vice in your belly, unbearable and addictive, until—

“Abby—!” you gasped, breath hitching.

But he only moaned in response, the sound vibrating through your core as he kept you anchored to his mouth, to his heat, to him.

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. A scream broke from your throat, strangled and breathless, as your body shook and shook, unraveling in his hands. He held you through it, mouth still locked to your soaked center, pulling every last ripple from your spasming core like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of your surrender.

“Mm,” he groaned darkly, voice frayed and hoarse against your slick skin, lips brushing your tender clit with every syllable. “Tasty.”

You blinked down at him, dazed – only to be caught in a stare that made your heart seize.

His glowing eyes flicked up, half-lidded and burning as they pinned you down. He looked like a beast mid-hunt—feral and in love. His horns curled up through his hair, dark and gleaming in the low light, untamed like the beast wearing his face. And behind him, his tail moved with a lazy, possessive sway—back and forth, back and forth, like a warning to anything that might dare come near.

Before you could gather a single thought… he dove back in.

He’s not done, yet.

[BEHIND THE STEAM: BATHHOUSE] What were the boys doing while you changed? Plotting. Obviously.

The bathhouse air was heavy with steam, sweet with hinoki and honeyed cedar, glowing soft gold under the warm flicker of overhead lanterns. The boys had claimed their spots in the water, muscles half-submerged.

But no one was relaxing.

Not really.

You were still in the bathroom, the soft sound of fabric rustling and your breath catching faintly behind the door.

They were trying to behave.

Trying.

That lasted… maybe four minutes.

“Okay.” Baby slapped the water with one hand, sending a soft ripple across the pool. His voice cut through the humid air like a blade of mischief. “Who’s going to rail her?”

Romance choked. Jinu sputtered. Mystery opened one eye, blank and unbothered. Even Abby, lounging near the edge with one arm draped over the stone, let out a quiet exhale through his nose.

Jinu groaned, sinking deeper into the water as if trying to drown the sudden rush of images. “Can we just—can we just not do this right now?”

“No,” Mystery replied smoothly, eyes slipping shut again as if meditating. “You smell frustrated already, hyung.”

“I’m fine,” Jinu snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

“I said what I said.” Baby grinned, leaning back against the stone edge like a smug little devil prince. His teal hair clung to his neck, cheeks flushed from the heat. “Look at this setup. Warm water. Soft lighting. The love of our life is in the next room tying up a towel. A . Towel. And you think we’re gonna meditate through it?”

Romance groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not be feral for five minutes?”

Mystery hummed lazily from the far end. “It is a little unrealistic,” he murmured.“Even I’m struggling. And I have the best self-control here.”

“Lies,”  Jinu huffed, flicking water toward him. “You tried to bite her thigh because she giggled too pretty last week.”

“It was pretty,” Mystery muttered.

“She’s always pretty,” Romance added in a dazed sigh, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.  “Especially when she’s soft and sleepy. Or needy. Or—”

“Focus!” Baby smacked the surface of the water again, steam puffing up like smoke around him.  “This is a logistics problem now. Who’s going to handle her tonight? Like—seriously. One of us needs to step up. Because if everyone tries at once, we’re going to destroy her. And not in the fun way.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“He’s not wrong,” Jinu muttered, dragging a wet hand through his hair. “We need a plan before she walks out here”

Romance chuckled, low and distracted, the sound curling through the steamy air. His damp hair clung to his temples, skin flushed, jaw tight. His glowing eyes stayed locked on the faint outline of the bathroom door like it might open at any second. “She hasn’t even shown herself yet and you’re all vibrating like feral animals.”

“Speak for yourself,” Abby said, voice a gravelly drawl. He was spread wide across the edge of the bath, thick arms resting along the stone ledge, gold eyes glowing low through the fog. “But if anyone pounces at her before she even sits down…” His voice dropped to something dark and silken. “I’m drowning you.”

“Who said anything about pouncing?”  Baby widened his eyes innocently. ““I can be gentle. Sweet. Tender. Slowww.” He stretched out the word, biting down on his bottom lip until his fang dented it. “And then ruin her so bad she forgets her own name.”

Mystery gave a low, amused hum. “You just described four very different strategies in one sentence.”

“Exactly. Versatility.”

“We’re not turning her into a prize,” Romance muttered, even as his fingers flexed against the water like they were already remembering the shape of your hips. His gaze flicked to the bathroom door again. The fifth time.

A thick beat of silence followed.

And then—

“...Rock, paper, scissors,” Mystery said, flatly.

Four heads turned toward him.

“What?”

Romance groaned, floating dramatically on his back, arms spread like a martyr. “We are literal demons, and this is the method we’re going with?”

“You have a better idea for choosing who gets to touch her first?” Baby shot back, voice clipped with need. His teal bangs were dripping down his forehead now, his expression pinched somewhere between lust and panic.

Romance opened his mouth. Closed it. Lifted a finger. Lowered it again.

“…Fair enough.”

“Alright then,” Abby rumbled,as he pushed himself out of the shallows, water dripping off the sharp lines of his chest. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the mist. 

“Let’s settle this.”

“You’re way too excited about this,” Mystery muttered as they instinctively shifted into a loose circle, bare shoulders slick and glowing under the haze like a coven of wayward, very horny demons.

“I’m focused,” Abby said, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop.

“More like obsessed,” Jinu muttered, but there was no bite to it. Only resignation.

Baby clapped once.  “Let’s go! Best of three. Winner handles our girl tonight. Everyone else keeps their claws to themselves—unless she begs, obviously. Then… we improvise.”

They all rolled their eyes. But no one objected.

They raised their hands.

“Rock… paper… scissors!”

First round.

Baby lost.

“Wait, wait, wait—why would you all choose rock?! You KNOW I go scissors first!”

“Exactly,” Jinu said, grinning. “Pattern recognition, dumbass.”

“Rematch!” Baby barked, already shaking out his hands.

“Rock… paper… scissors!”

Second round.

Romance lost.

He stared down at his open palm like it had betrayed his soul. “…I’m a lover, not a fighter. What do you want from me?”

“Stop throwing paper like it’s romantic,” Mystery said flatly.

“It feels romantic.”

“Rock… paper… scissors!”

Third round.

Mystery threw scissors.

So did Jinu.

Abby, once again, threw rock.

Jinu sighed, watching his fate unravel in real-time. “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered. “I should’ve switched.”

“I always use rock,” Abby said with a satisfied little shrug, the smirk curling over his lips slow and cruel. “You’ve known me for a century.”

“He’s a brick wall,” Romance sighed.

Abby’s smirk was slow and merciless. “I told you. I never switch. You all overthink it.”

“You’re telling me you won every round with only using rock?!” Baby shouted, pointing at him with full-body offense. “You demon-headed gorilla!”

“Correct.”

Mystery crossed his arms and muttered, “I hate how that worked.”

Baby muttered under his breath, “I’m never playing that stupid game again.”

Then the click of the bathroom door handle turning silenced everything.

They froze.

Steam parted.

“She’s coming—!”

“Act natural!”

Instantly, the five of them dropped into their roles like they hadn’t just been fighting to the death over who got to touch you first.

Abby swung one arm over Baby’s shoulder, body tilted just enough to flex his abs without looking like he was trying. He laughed—too casually—his voice smooth as silk, towel slung so low on his hips it felt like a dare.

Baby, mid-grumble, snapped into smug mode instantly. He stretched his long legs out in a casual sprawl, toes flexing slightly against the warm stone as he tilted his head, twisting his teal hair up into a loose knot with a flick of his fingers. Smirk sharpening as if he’d been lounging for hours and not actively threatening to bite someone’s hand off five seconds ago.

Romance leaned back against the stone wall, arms folded loosely, towel wrapped around his head like he’d been deep in a meditative trance. His chest rose slowly, like he hadn't just lost three rounds of rock-paper-scissors and threatened to scream. His eyes drifted lazily between the others, lips twitching as he murmured something low that made Mystery roll his eyes and Jinu nearly break character.

Mystery flopped onto the lounge chair, draping one arm behind his head and one leg up just enough to be illegal. His eyes were half-closed, chin tilted, the picture of vague disinterest. Like he was floating above them all. Like he didn’t know them. Like he hadn’t just suggested rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to you first.

And Jinu planted himself on the edge of the bath, elbows on knees, eyes half-lidded and jawline gleaming. He gestured lazily mid-story, pretending he wasn’t still seething about Abby’s undefeated streak.

They looked relaxed. Effortless. Hot.

They looked like they hadn’t just turned your arrival into a full-blown mating ritual disguised as spa etiquette.

And you?

You stepped into that room like a lamb.

A very doomed, towel-clad lamb wandering straight into the wolves’ den.

Outtakes: Abby:*still in between your thighs.* Baby:*muttering to Jinu* “Hyung, he’s been down there for ten minutes. Should we send a search party?” Jinu: *pinching the bridge of his nose* “No. He’s in his element. Like a shark with a scent trail.” Romance: *wistfully* “It’s romantic, really.” Mystery: “It’s obscene.” Baby: “It’s efficient.”

.....

Abby: *emerging with a satisfied growl, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand* You: *barely functioning* “I—my soul just left my body.” Mystery: *deadpan, blinking slowly* “We noticed. You almost ascended.” Jinu: *low and rattled* “Holy—fuck. We almost sent her soul straight to Gwima!” .....

Massage Therapist: “Deep breath... and exhale.” You:*already sinking into bliss* “Mmm... that feels so good…” The Boys: *from the lounge, in perfect demonic harmony* *unholy growls that makes the floor vibrate* Massage Therapist: *hand pausing mid-stroke, eyes wide* “…Did you… did you hear that?” You: *barely opening your eyes* “Hear what?” The Boys: *Another growl. Louder this time.* Massage Therapist: “Oh my god. Is this place haunted?!” You: *sighing into the table, too relaxed to care* “This is why I can’t have anything nice.” Massage Therapist: *visibly sweating* “Is that—Latin? Why is it growling in Latin?!” You: *muffled by the headrest* “Ignore them. They’re just... passionate.”

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[emryshunts]

Bath House

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚����𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲—𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲) 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k+ not proof read 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 18+ 🔞🔞🔞

The moment the door clicked open, silence swept over the group like a spell.

Soft, golden light bathed the suite in a sultry glow, shadows pooling across polished wood floors and sleek, obsidian furnishings. To the left, an oversized sectional coiled around a sunken lounge area—a plush nest of velvet cushions and thick throws. It wasn’t just cozy. It was a place made for limbs entangled, for bare skin and lazy kisses, for surrendering to warmth and weight and want.

On the low coffee table, a chilled bottle of wine glistened in its cradle, surrounded by silver trays of indulgence: chocolate-dipped fruits, seared cuts of meat still pink and warm, delicate buttered rolls steaming as if freshly pulled from an oven. Nestled among them was a bowl of strawberries—halved, ruby-red, glistening with juice, each one begging to be bitten, or better yet, fed from someone else’s fingers.

In the far corner, a massage table stood surrounded by candles that flickered low and lazy, their scent a dizzying blend of ylang-ylang, cedar, and heat. Towels were rolled neatly at the foot, and a bowl of warm oil shimmered under the dim light.

But your eyes were pulled to the right.

To the door left slightly ajar.

To the thick steam that curled out like fingers through the crack, beckoning you closer.

Calling you.

Abby moved first, silent as a shadow.

His black shirt clung to the stretch of muscle along his back, each step smooth and measured, predatory in its ease. As he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder with a knowing smirk, eyes dark with something electric.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice deep and low. “Take a look.”

Your body moved before you could second-guess it. You stepped forward, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears, and pushed the door open.

The private bathhouse hit you like a dream.

Hot mist curled over the surface of the pale blue waters like breath over bare skin. Moonlight poured in through the slatted roof above, casting silver ribbons across the pool’s surface. Smooth, dark stones lined the perimeter, and somewhere near the back, water trickled down a miniature rockfall, the sound delicate, rhythmic, almost… hypnotic. Bamboo walls held the heat in close, and the air was saturated with steam and scent—mineral-rich, woody, and something else. Something wilder. Something that smelled like them.

This was no ordinary bath.

This kind of place is meant for skin against skin. For whispered moans swallowed by mist.

Someone’s breath ghosted beside your ear.

“Do you like it?” Jinu’s voice was low, rasped and proud. “We told them to make it perfect for you.”

He paused, letting his next words curl slowly over your skin.

“We didn’t want anyone else in this world touching this water but us… and you.”

Your throat tightened.

The air felt hotter suddenly. Heavier.

You couldn’t tell if it was the steam or him. Or the way the others were approaching behind you, the weight of their presence settling over your shoulders like a velvet net, tightening with every breath you drew.

And still, you couldn’t look away from the water.

Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like—your body beneath theirs, heat sliding between the steam, mouths tasting the water off your skin.

You swallowed hard, heart racing.

A hand slid around your waist—light, teasing, until fingers dipped into the water just beside your hip.

Mystery.

He didn’t speak right away. Just lifted his hand slowly, letting warm droplets cling to his fingers before pressing them gently to your wrist, directly over your pulse.

“Perfect temperature,” he murmured, voice low and laced with something dangerous. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. “Almost as perfect as you.”

Before you could gather your thoughts, Jinu’s voice slid in low and velvet-smooth behind you. “Go on and change, baby.” His gaze unapologetically traced the lines of your body, slow and reverent.

“We’ll wait.”

You barely had time to turn away before the soft rustle of fabric filled the air. Fingers tugging at zippers. The whisper of shirts sliding off bare shoulders. The sound of breath and heat and temptation unspooling all around you.

Abby was first.

He tugged his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, muscles rippling under golden skin as mist coiled around him like smoke around fire. The shadows caught on the marks sprawled across his chest and waist, teasing at what the rest of it looked like. His abs flexed with each breath, tight and defined, as his fingers moved to the button of his pants.

Your breath caught hard in your chest.

“Go on, baby,” Jinu said again, that quiet command in his voice curling low and sweet around your spine. The kind that made your knees weak and your will weaker. “We’ll be in by the time you’re done.”

“Unless…” Baby drawled, head tilting, his smirk all teeth and mischief. “You’d rather change out here with us. We won’t mind.” His tone made it clear how much they’d enjoy that option.

Your mouth opened, but the words didn’t come.

Romance was shrugging out of his sweater, slow and lazy, like he knew you were watching. His hair stuck to his temples, damp from the heat, framing a smirk that curled slowly when your gaze lingered too long.

Mystery didn’t say anything—he just met your gaze with that unreadable expression and unhurriedly peeled off his jacket, revealing smooth, pale skin and lean muscle underneath. 

His eyes dropped to your lips. 

And stayed there.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

Baby let out a low chuckle as he peeled off his hoodie, tousling his hair with one hand, not bothering to hide how openly your eyes traced the dip of his waist.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teased. “Haven’t seen us shirtless before?” He winked, voice playful but thick with heat. “It’s not like you haven’t touched it.”

Your mouth opened but no sound came out. Instead, you watched as muscles, marks, and bare skin came into view one by one, each boy shedding layers like it was the most natural thing in the world—and suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter.

“I—I’m going to change!” you blurted, voice too high, too fast. You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolted toward the bathroom.

Their laughter chased after you, low and fond and sinful.

You slammed the door shut behind you and pressed your back to it, gasping like you’d just run a marathon. “Oh my god,” you whispered, dragging a shaky hand through your hair. You could still hear them faintly through the door, light conversation, water lapping, the occasional soft chuckle that made your thighs press together instinctively.

It didn’t help.

You peeled off your clothes with trembling fingers, every brush of fabric against your skin making you flinch. It felt like every inch of you was on fire, too aware, too exposed. Like their gazes were still clinging to you. Like you could still feel them.

Was it the heat of the bath?

No. It was them. Their energy. Their scent. Their attention.

You reached for the towel neatly folded on the counter, praying, begging, for some kind of dignity.

But the moment you shook it out, you froze.

Your breath left you in a strangled whisper. “Oh hell no.”

It was short. So short. And thin, so thin it might as well have been made of fog. You held it up to the light and stared in horror. It wasn’t a towel. It was an invitation. A setup. A trap.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You glared at the towel rack like it had betrayed you. Then the walls. Then the whole stupid private bathhouse.

“What kind of luxury place gives out rags instead of towels?” you hissed. “Where’s the robe? The oversized fluff cocoon? This isn’t a towel, it’s a scandal.”

But there was nothing else.

With a groan of defeat, you wrapped the offending cloth around yourself anyway, yanking it as low as you could, though it still barely reached mid-thigh. One wrong move and this whole thing would slip.

“I hate this towel,” you muttered, clutching the ends tightly. “I hate them. I hate how smug they’re gonna look when they see me in this.”

You paused, breath catching.

Swallowed hard.

“And I really hate how hot I feel just thinking about them looking at me in this.”

Your reflection stared back at you from the steamed-up mirror, flushed, flustered, wrapped in a scandalous scrap of fabric and still trembling slightly.

But your skin tingled with anticipation.

A knock sounded. Three gentle taps.

“Sweetheart?” Jinu’s voice drifted through, low and smooth like dark wine. “You alive in there? The others are already in. The water’s perfect.”

Your heart slammed into your ribs.

“I’m fine!” you called out too fast, too loud, your voice nearly cracking. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

A moment of silence followed, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, “We’ll be waiting.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your hands to stop shaking as you adjusted the towel. It clung to your body like it had a mind of its own, molding to every curve, catching at your hips, your thighs, the swell of your chest.

The fabric soaked in the heat and softened with it, making every movement feel suggestive. You tugged at it again, uselessly, and tried not to imagine their faces when they saw you like this.

With a frustrated breath, you twisted your damp hair into a quick, messy bun. A few strands clung to your collarbones and the curve of your neck, kissed by steam and sweat. The mirror offered no comfort, just a vision of you undone, glowing, practically trembling.

This is fine, you told yourself. You’ve seen them shirtless before. This is just communal bathing. Normal. Cultural. Innocent

…ish.

Then, breath held tight, you cracked it open and stepped out.

The breath you’d taken vanished.

You hadn’t expected them to look like that.

You froze. Your hand instinctively gripped the towel tighter around your chest, breath catching violently as the scene unfolded in front of you.

They hadn’t noticed you yet.

The five of them were gathered near the large onsen-style bath, towels slung low on their hips, backs and chests bare, golden under the soft steam curling around them like sin incarnate. Their voices were low, casual, but the sight was anything but.

Abby stood with one arm draped lazily over Baby’s shoulder, laughing softly about something you couldn’t hear. His muscles flexed slightly with the movement, abs sharp under the water-slicked light, towel sitting dangerously low on his hips. 

Baby, perched on the edge of the bath, had his hair tied up messily, a few damp strands sticking to his neck. His long legs stretched out in front of him, one foot tapping gently against the floor as he teased someone mid-sentence. You watched his mouth move—playful, sharp, curved in a smile that could cut glass—and your stomach dropped.

Romance leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, towel wrapped around his head like a loose turban. He looked calm, distant, but every now and then, he’d glance at the others and murmur something quiet that made them smirk. His toned chest rose and fell slowly, and for a second, your eyes fixated on a single bead of water rolling down from his collarbone, past the curve of his chest, and disappearing into the dip of his towel.

Mystery was sprawled lazily on a lounge chair, arms behind his head, one knee bent. His towel clung to his hips like it had been draped there on purpose by the gods themselves, and his hair was still damp—dark lavender strands clinging to his temples. He wasn’t even speaking, just watching the others with a kind of slow, languid focus that made your pulse spike. 

Jinu sat at the edge of the bath, long legs submerged up to the calves, elbows resting on his knees. His towel was twisted casually around his waist, revealing far too much thigh and not nearly enough modesty. He was talking—voice low, commanding, almost amused—and gesturing with his hands as he explained something to the group. His wet hair was slicked back from his forehead, sharp jawline on full display, the kind that could ruin your life in one glance.

You took a breath. Then another.

Steady hands, even as your pulse thundered.

You stepped into view, towel still wrapped securely around you, posture composed, chin slightly raised. A soft mist coiled around your ankles from the heated stone floor, your bare feet making quiet contact as you walked toward them like you weren’t falling apart inside.

Their laughter faded.

The conversation fell flat like someone had cut the sound with a knife.

Romance’s mouth parted slowly, like he forgot how to speak. Jinu’s gaze darkened,tracking every subtle sway of your hips. Baby blinked hard and let out a low, helpless laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he was doomed. Mystery tilted his head with quiet wonder, while Abby, half-submerged with steam rising off his shoulders, muttered a curse that sounded almost like a prayer.

"Careful, baby," Abby called out, his voice low and commanding as you stepped toward the water’s edge. His eyes never left you. “The rocks get slippery near the middle.”

"Here," Jinu added, already rising to offer his hand like it was instinct, his tone softer, gentler—something sacred in how he held it out. “Let me help you.”

You took it, your fingers slipping into his grasp. His palm was warm and steady, and the subtle clench of his hand told you he wasn’t ready to let go. Not even close.

On your other side, Romance had moved—quiet as a shadow, just close enough that the heat of his body kissed your skin. His fingers brushed your lower back as you stepped into the steaming water, anchoring you. "Slowly," he murmured near your ear, his voice low and intimate, “don’t want our girl getting hurt now, do we?”

Your heart stuttered.

The moment you slid into the warm pool, a sigh slipped past your lips—soft and unguarded. The heat embraced you, curling around your limbs, settling low in your belly. But it wasn’t just the water that shifted something inside you.

It was them.

The atmosphere changed in an instant—tightening, humming, thick with something unspoken. Like desire had taken form and hung in the air between every ripple.

Romance was the first to speak. His voice dipped low, slow as honey, laced with warmth and reverence as his gaze swept over your face, your shoulders, the way the water kissed along your skin.

“Did we forget to tell you how beautiful you are tonight?”

Jinu gave a soft, humorless laugh from somewhere to your left, though his eyes never left you. “Tonight? You mean always.”

You blinked, breath catching—because suddenly they were all so close. The bath wasn’t small, but with five demons orbiting you like heat-drunk moons, it felt intimately crowded. Pressurized. Like the space had narrowed down to just your body, their bodies, and all the heat between.

Mystery tilted his head, his expression softer than usual—though the sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed the hunger simmering beneath. “You always do this on purpose, darling,” he murmured, voice low and honeyed, threaded with something rough. “Always making us ache… and you don’t even have to try.”

There was no blame in his words. Just longing. And maybe the barest tremble of restraint.

Baby had drifted closer—close enough for your skin to sense him without touch. His arm rested along the edge behind you, his presence a hum along your back. His voice came quiet, reverent.

“She doesn’t have to try,” he said, almost to himself. “She just exists. And here we are already on our knees.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “You’re all being dramatic.”

“No,” Abby said, with quiet conviction. “We’re being honest.”

Romance’s fingers skimmed the surface of the water, slow and deliberate, the ripple brushing your skin like a ghost of a touch. His eyes were half-lidded as they tracked the movement, but his words were all for you.

“You still don’t see it, do you, sweetheart?” His voice was rough silk, curling around your name like smoke. “You walk into a room, and it’s like… we forget how to breathe. How to function. Everything else just disappears.”

Your breath caught, lashes fluttering as you let your eyes drift closed. Their words didn’t just settle into your chest—they soaked through, slow and thick and inescapable.

You sank deeper into the warm pool until the water cradled you just beneath your collarbones, steam curling up your throat, brushing soft and damp along your lashes. With a soft sigh, you cupped your hands and dipped them beneath the surface, letting the water pool in your palms.

Then, slowly, deliberately, you lifted the water and let it spill over your shoulder, fingers trembling just enough for it to cascade in thin, glistening rivulets.

Warmth cascaded down your skin in a glistening trail.

The moment it happened, the air shifted.

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know they were watching.

You could feel it—how the water wasn’t the only thing burning against your skin now.

You dipped your hands again, slower this time, letting the movement draw out. The heat pooled in your palms, and you poured it down the curve of your chest, letting it trail over your arm, painting your skin in liquid light. It felt good. Clean. Quiet. But the longer you lingered in that slow, sensual motion, the heavier their gazes became.

When you finally opened your eyes, they were closer.

Not by much. But enough.

Jinu’s voice broke through the hush, gentle but reverent. “Can we—” He stopped, licked his lips, then offered you a soft, boyish smile that made your heart stumble. “Can we help?”

Your heart skipped.

That one simple sentence made the bathhouse suddenly feel smaller, warmer, heavier.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he added quickly, but his voice dropped with something deeper. 

You blinked at him. “Help?”

“Wash you,” Baby added quickly, cheeks pink, eyes wide and almost pleading. “Only if you want. It’s just… watching you touch yourself like that—damn” He groaned and dropped his head for a second, embarrassed. “That came out wrong.”

Romance bit his lip, clearly holding back a laugh, but his voice was velvet when he spoke. “What he meant was… we want to take care of you. Touch you the way you deserve. If you’ll let us.”

You tilted your head, just slightly. “All of you?”

Abby’s jaw flexed, his gaze unreadable, but his voice was soft. “Of course all of us. You're ours… aren’t you?”

Mystery’s fingers brushed the surface of the water near your thigh, careful not to touch. His voice was barely a whisper. “We’ll be gentle,” he promised. “Or not. Whatever you need. Just… let us. Please.”

The moment you said yes, it was like something ancient uncoiled in the room.

Five demons moved at once—without a word, without needing one. Like they’d rehearsed this in dreams. Like they were following a rhythm only they could hear. And every motion—every stretch of an arm, tilt of a bowl, graze of cloth—was coordinated not for efficiency, but for you.

Only for you.

Warm water trickled down your shoulders first, then the gentle drag of a cloth followed, smoothed down your arm in a slow, sensual sweep. Another hand—bigger, rougher—grazed your thigh beneath the water, washing in long, reverent strokes. Fingers found your nape, massaging in slow, hypnotic circles as someone combed careful fingers through your wet hair.

They never got in each other’s way.

They didn’t speak, not at first. Only soft breaths and the lapping of water filled the space—until your sigh broke through it all, quiet and sweet and utterly unguarded.

A sound like surrender.

A sound like home.

“Just like that,” Romance murmured behind you, voice low and smug as his hands glided down your back. “You sound so good when you relax.”

“You’re melting...” Baby added, clearly grinning. “Is our hands really that nice, pretty girl?”

You hummed again in response, too boneless to form words.

And it made them lean closer.

You didn’t need to look to know they were smiling.

Abby had one massive hand on your thigh under the water, kneading gently, the other slowly massaging your shoulder. “You don’t even realize how perfect you are like this, do you?” he whispered near your ear. “Letting us take care of you. Letting us spoil what’s ours.”

Jinu moved, circling in front of you, eyes raking over every softened line in your face. He dipped a cloth in the water, then leaned in, brushing it over your collarbone with a touch so intimate it made your breath hitch. His tone was calm—commanding, even—but his eyes were wild with adoration. “Just relax for us baby. We’ve got you. We always will.”

Behind you, Romance’s lips ghosted along the slope of your shoulder. “Our pretty girl,” he whispered, a hum buried beneath the words. “Letting her mates take care of her… you don’t even know what that does to us.”

You cracked a smile, heart stuttering behind your ribs, caught somewhere between flustered and drunk on the way they loved you.

“You’re getting cocky,” you teased, voice soft, lips curling like you could still pretend you weren’t melting for them.

But then you laughed.

A real, breathless, sun-warm sound, halfway between a sigh and surrender. You reached out –instinctive—and brushed your fingertips along Mystery’s jaw just as he leaned in to kiss your neck.

That did it.

The sound of your laughter bounced off the steamy tile walls, bright and open and completely unguarded.

And they stilled. All of them.

Just for a beat.

And then—they pounced.

Not to claim, but to drown you in affection.

Kisses fell in waves, one after the other. Light and teasing on your cheeks. Warm and slow on your shoulders. Wet and playful along your collarbone. Gentle lips pressing, brushing, nuzzling—all of it ridiculous and overwhelming and so full of affection it made your breath catch in your throat.

You giggled helplessly, twisting just enough to squirm away, but never really trying to escape.

“Okay—okay!” you gasped between bursts of laughter. “You’re going to tickle me—!”

“There it is,” Baby whispered, practically glowing as he tucked a kiss behind your ear. “That laugh. I’d fight gods for that sound.”

“You’re so damn cute,” Abby growled, his voice low and fond as he nipped near your collarbone. “You think we’ll stop just ‘cause you giggle, baby?”

“I’m encouraged, actually,” Mystery said, smirking against your skin as he stole a kiss to your wrist. “Might double it down just to hear it again.”

“You better kiss us back,”  Romance added, pulling back only to pout at you with full, glossy lips.  His fingers brushed your hip, his voice dipped low.  “Or we’ll keep going ‘til you’re breathless.”

You let out a shaky little laugh, breath catching at the edges. “Maybe I want that,” you whispered, teasing—but soft with the truth of it, your pulse already fluttering beneath your skin from how close they were.

Then—just to shut them up—you turned and caught Jinu’s lips in a kiss.

A gentle brush of lips that lingered like a promise. His breath caught, just barely, before he melted into you—his hand twitched against your waist. Then tightened. Then dragged you closer like he couldn’t help it. 

The sound that left the others?

Raw. Possessive. Feral.

A chorus of soft growls, groans, and bitten-off sighs that made your pulse jump and your spine curve just a little closer to them

You’d undone them.

And they had you completely surrounded.

“Why did she kissed him first” Baby whined, as if heartbroken, eyes wide and dramatic as he flopped against your side.

“Unfair,” Abby growled, voice lower now, thick with playful jealousy. His hand slid slow along your thigh, fingers curling gently.

“You better earn the next one then,” you purred, a spark of mischief in your voice—breathless, teasing, barely holding back a smile.

And oh, how they responded to that.

Their eyes darkened like smoke. Hungry. Enchanted. Starving to please. The air thickened with want—no longer sharp and desperate, but reverent. Patient. Predatory.

Wrapped in steam and arms and something deeper than desire, you couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the next began. Their touches blurred together—soft caresses along your back, reverent kisses to your shoulder, fingertips tracing your spine as if memorizing it.

Still on you.

Still learning you.

Still worshiping the very sound of your happiness like it was sacred.

And this time—you didn’t hold anything back.

You let them have it all.

Because deep down, you knew: they’d already claimed every part of you.

And you were starting to like it that way.

You were now nestled against a warm, firm chest, the scent of him seeping into your hair like smoke and honey. Abby had you tucked between his spread thighs, your back resting against his torso while the rest of the boys lounged in the far side of the bath, giving space—but not without lingering glances.

His hand reached out casually, holding a crystal bowl piled high with glistening strawberries. The contrast of the fruit’s red against the strength of his hand made your stomach twist—not with hunger, but something needier.

“Open,” he murmured near your ear, his voice dipped low and thick. The pad of his thumb dragged lazily across your lower lip, parting them before sliding a slice of fruit into your mouth. You obeyed, dazed, the sweet-tart burst on your tongue only half as intoxicating as the sensation of Abby watching you with those dark, possessive eyes.

“That’s it,” he breathed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips brushing skin but never settling. “Sweet little thing…”

You swallowed, barely, your body softening under his touch.

“Abby,” you whispered, shifting slightly to face him more, but his arms only wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you flush against him.

“Hmm?” He leaned forward, his breath brushing your cheek. “You need something princess?”

You tried again, this time turning fully in his lap. Warm water slipping along your skin and the soft swell of your breasts brushing his chest, Abby froze like you’d struck him. Your cheek smushed against one of his big pecs, and you felt it rise under you—his breath catching sharply before he let out the smallest, weakest sigh, like all his composure had been punched out of him at once.

Still, his hand moved. Trembling now, fingers slick with water as he reached for another strawberry like it was instinct, like denying you wasn’t an option. He brought it to your lips with reverent precision, but he didn’t say a word. Just stared—entranced—as your mouth wrapped around the fruit.

His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, jaw clenched tight like he was holding himself together with threadbare control. You felt it in the way his arm tightened behind your back, as if anchoring himself with you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’ve been going to the gym too much,” you murmured, voice sultry against his skin. Teasing. Dangerous. Your fingers slid low over his abdomen—slow, deliberate—counting the ridges of muscle with silent awe. One. Two. Three.

Then higher.

Your palms curved boldly over the broad weight of his pecs, thumbs grazing his nipples just to see if he’d flinch.

“Seriously,” you whispered, breath hitching as you looked up at him. “This isn’t fair.”

Abby huffed a low laugh, voice rumbling against your shoulder as he looked down at you curled against his chest.  His lips brushed the crown of your head, and you felt his smile even before he spoke.

“You’re being extra clingy today,” he murmured, voice thick with affection and something darker, something low and coiled beneath his tongue.

Then he purred and the sound slithered down your spine like silk-drenched sin. 

“You feelin’ needy, princess?”

Your voice came out in a breathy whimper, trembling as you clung to him. “I don’t know—just… just want you so bad…”

Your fingers curled into his skin like you might fall apart without him. “Need you to touch me. Need you to take care of me…"

That did something to him.

You saw it in the way his eyes darkened instantly, heard it in the way he sucked in a breath through his nose like he was scenting your need.

“Good girls don’t beg like that” he said, voice rougher now, deeper.

“Ask properly, baby.”

You didn’t dare glance at the others, though you felt their stares like heat on your skin—unmoving, unblinking. Watching. Letting him have this moment with you, even if their restraint was fraying with every breath you took. 

They wanted to see what Abby would do with you first.

Your thighs pressed together under the water, heart thudding. And then, barely above a whisper, you gave him what he wanted.

“Abby… please.” A breath. A gasp. “Need you...”

Abby lifted you out of the water like you weighed nothing, his strength casual and complete. Your slick skin clung to his chest, your breath catching at the sensation of being carried like that—safe, cradled, wanted. He didn’t stumble. Didn’t falter. Just held you against him like you belonged there, like there was no question.

The others still didn’t move. But they were watching, barely breathing.

"Yeah?" Abby’s voice ghosted against your temple as he walked with you, one arm cradling beneath your thighs, the other anchoring you close to his chest. “Then let me take care of you, princess.”

He carried you to the edge of the bath and laid you back on the warm stones like you were something sacred. The towel clung to your body like a second skin. His eyes flicked over it, nostrils flaring, and a sharp growl vibrated low in his chest.

Then he leaned in.

His palms braced on either side of your head, trapping you beneath him, his body radiating heat as his damp hair dripped slowly beside your cheek. His nose brushed yours, lips hovering just above, his breath mixing with yours.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, voice low, roughened with restraint, even though his body was already lowering toward yours, drawn like gravity, helpless to stop.

Instead of answering, you reached up and tangled your fingers in Abby’s damp hair, pulling him to you. The kiss you gave him wasn’t soft—it was needy, full of everything words couldn’t hold. 

He met it head-on, mouth crashing over yours with a deep, rough groan that rattled through your chest. His hands sank against the stone on either side of you, but his body pressed into yours like he was seconds from coming undone—like holding back had never been an option.

The towel you wore clung to your body. The fabric hugged every curve and shift of your hips, rising higher with each breath, revealing more than it hid.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, eyes dark and blown wide with want. His breath fanned across your mouth, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. He didn’t look at the others. Only you.

"You’re not getting out of this now," he murmured darkly, voice dripping with reverence and need.

And then he moved.

You barely had a moment to breathe before he lowered you again onto the warm, wet stone, his hands sliding beneath the towel to adjust it—not to preserve your modesty, but to bare you. 

He gathered the damp fabric in both hands, bunching it slowly around your hips. The motion was deliberate, dragging tension out with every inch exposed. His thumbs grazed the softness of your inner thighs as he shifted the towel higher, until it was a useless mess of fabric at your waist.

There was no hiding now.

The soaked towel offered no protection—not from his gaze, and not from the others’.

And they all saw it.

You heard the shift of breath. The faint, involuntary curse under someone's breath. The tension that rippled through the air like a wire pulled tight. They didn't move. They didn't interrupt.

The water lapped gently in the background.

Abby’s broad palms slid up your thighs, parting them with a slow, possessive certainty. He didn’t hide what he was doing. He wanted them to see. 

And then he dropped to his knees and devoured you.

Abby didn’t hesitate. His tongue dragged through your folds with unrelenting purpose—slow at first, savored. Then deeper. Harder. Slick, obscene sounds filled the misty air, every wet, hungry stroke amplified in the charged silence. He licked into you like a man who hadn’t eaten in days—like he needed this to breathe. And in a way, he did.

Because he was possessed.

By you.

Your thighs trembled, reacting before your mind could catch up, but his arms—those thick, marked arms—wrapped tighter around them, locking you open for him. His strength kept you spread, helpless beneath his mouth, vulnerable under the weight of their silent hunger.

You could feel the others' eyes on you, the heavy silence of the room only amplifying the wet suction and the soft, helpless sounds you couldn’t stop from spilling. Every flick of his tongue sent your hips jolting forward, chasing him. You whimpered his name like a plea, fingers scrambling into his hair as if you could anchor yourself to him before the pleasure drowned you whole.

Your body wasn’t yours anymore.

You bucked against his face with ragged, helpless rhythm, lost in sensation, and he welcomed it—pulled you closer, pressed deeper, letting you grind against him with no shame. Letting your need soak into his mouth, into his skin. A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest and vibrated straight through you as he sealed his lips around your clit again, then… it slowed.

Tormentingly slow.

His lips trailed downward in aching inches—kisses molten with restraint. From the top of your swollen clit to the tender opening below, he moved with reverence and something darker. 

You whimpered, head tilting back against the stone, teeth catching your bottom lip as your hands tightened in his hair.

"Abby... please..."

But he only grinned into your skin like a man who lived to unravel you piece by piece.

And then—without warning—his tongue plunged back into you.

Hot. Deep. Possessive.

Your body jolted like it had been struck by lightning. He angled his head just so, tongue licking up every desperate clench of your cunt while his nose ground mercilessly into your clit with every breath. 

He groaned into you—filthy and satisfied—like he was feasting, not pleasuring. Like he wanted to make sure you felt him in your bones.

You moaned again, raw and unrestrained, your fingers scrabbling against slick stone for something, anything, to hold. But he didn’t let you reach for the edge. Instead, he offered you his hand—large, veined, warm—sliding into yours with a grip so tight and grounding it nearly undid you all over again. His fingers laced through yours like a silent command as if to say stay here. With me.

His other arm locked tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you down like you were trembling prey caught between his teeth. 

His tongue moved faster now—deeper. Curling, twisting. Ruthless. Every time his nose bumped your clit, your vision splintered into white. The pressure built like a vice in your belly, unbearable and addictive, until—

“Abby—!” you gasped, breath hitching.

But he only moaned in response, the sound vibrating through your core as he kept you anchored to his mouth, to his heat, to him.

And then it hit.

Your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. A scream broke from your throat, strangled and breathless, as your body shook and shook, unraveling in his hands. He held you through it, mouth still locked to your soaked center, pulling every last ripple from your spasming core like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of your surrender.

“Mm,” he groaned darkly, voice frayed and hoarse against your slick skin, lips brushing your tender clit with every syllable. “Tasty.”

You blinked down at him, dazed – only to be caught in a stare that made your heart seize.

His glowing eyes flicked up, half-lidded and burning as they pinned you down. He looked like a beast mid-hunt—feral and in love. His horns curled up through his hair, dark and gleaming in the low light, untamed like the beast wearing his face. And behind him, his tail moved with a lazy, possessive sway—back and forth, back and forth, like a warning to anything that might dare come near.

Before you could gather a single thought… he dove back in.

He’s not done, yet.

[BEHIND THE STEAM: BATHHOUSE] What were the boys doing while you changed? Plotting. Obviously.

The bathhouse air was heavy with steam, sweet with hinoki and honeyed cedar, glowing soft gold under the warm flicker of overhead lanterns. The boys had claimed their spots in the water, muscles half-submerged.

But no one was relaxing.

Not really.

You were still in the bathroom, the soft sound of fabric rustling and your breath catching faintly behind the door.

They were trying to behave.

Trying.

That lasted… maybe four minutes.

“Okay.” Baby slapped the water with one hand, sending a soft ripple across the pool. His voice cut through the humid air like a blade of mischief. “Who’s going to rail her?”

Romance choked. Jinu sputtered. Mystery opened one eye, blank and unbothered. Even Abby, lounging near the edge with one arm draped over the stone, let out a quiet exhale through his nose.

Jinu groaned, sinking deeper into the water as if trying to drown the sudden rush of images. “Can we just—can we just not do this right now?”

“No,” Mystery replied smoothly, eyes slipping shut again as if meditating. “You smell frustrated already, hyung.”

“I’m fine,” Jinu snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

“I said what I said.” Baby grinned, leaning back against the stone edge like a smug little devil prince. His teal hair clung to his neck, cheeks flushed from the heat. “Look at this setup. Warm water. Soft lighting. The love of our life is in the next room tying up a towel. A . Towel. And you think we’re gonna meditate through it?”

Romance groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not be feral for five minutes?”

Mystery hummed lazily from the far end. “It is a little unrealistic,” he murmured.“Even I’m struggling. And I have the best self-control here.”

“Lies,”  Jinu huffed, flicking water toward him. “You tried to bite her thigh because she giggled too pretty last week.”

“It was pretty,” Mystery muttered.

“She’s always pretty,” Romance added in a dazed sigh, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.  “Especially when she’s soft and sleepy. Or needy. Or—”

“Focus!” Baby smacked the surface of the water again, steam puffing up like smoke around him.  “This is a logistics problem now. Who’s going to handle her tonight? Like—seriously. One of us needs to step up. Because if everyone tries at once, we’re going to destroy her. And not in the fun way.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“He’s not wrong,” Jinu muttered, dragging a wet hand through his hair. “We need a plan before she walks out here”

Romance chuckled, low and distracted, the sound curling through the steamy air. His damp hair clung to his temples, skin flushed, jaw tight. His glowing eyes stayed locked on the faint outline of the bathroom door like it might open at any second. “She hasn’t even shown herself yet and you’re all vibrating like feral animals.”

“Speak for yourself,” Abby said, voice a gravelly drawl. He was spread wide across the edge of the bath, thick arms resting along the stone ledge, gold eyes glowing low through the fog. “But if anyone pounces at her before she even sits down…” His voice dropped to something dark and silken. “I’m drowning you.”

“Who said anything about pouncing?”  Baby widened his eyes innocently. ““I can be gentle. Sweet. Tender. Slowww.” He stretched out the word, biting down on his bottom lip until his fang dented it. “And then ruin her so bad she forgets her own name.”

Mystery gave a low, amused hum. “You just described four very different strategies in one sentence.”

“Exactly. Versatility.”

“We’re not turning her into a prize,” Romance muttered, even as his fingers flexed against the water like they were already remembering the shape of your hips. His gaze flicked to the bathroom door again. The fifth time.

A thick beat of silence followed.

And then—

“...Rock, paper, scissors,” Mystery said, flatly.

Four heads turned toward him.

“What?”

Romance groaned, floating dramatically on his back, arms spread like a martyr. “We are literal demons, and this is the method we’re going with?”

“You have a better idea for choosing who gets to touch her first?” Baby shot back, voice clipped with need. His teal bangs were dripping down his forehead now, his expression pinched somewhere between lust and panic.

Romance opened his mouth. Closed it. Lifted a finger. Lowered it again.

“…Fair enough.”

“Alright then,” Abby rumbled,as he pushed himself out of the shallows, water dripping off the sharp lines of his chest. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the mist. 

“Let’s settle this.”

“You’re way too excited about this,” Mystery muttered as they instinctively shifted into a loose circle, bare shoulders slick and glowing under the haze like a coven of wayward, very horny demons.

“I’m focused,” Abby said, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop.

“More like obsessed,” Jinu muttered, but there was no bite to it. Only resignation.

Baby clapped once.  “Let’s go! Best of three. Winner handles our girl tonight. Everyone else keeps their claws to themselves—unless she begs, obviously. Then… we improvise.”

They all rolled their eyes. But no one objected.

They raised their hands.

“Rock… paper… scissors!”

First round.

Baby lost.

“Wait, wait, wait—why would you all choose rock?! You KNOW I go scissors first!”

“Exactly,” Jinu said, grinning. “Pattern recognition, dumbass.”

“Rematch!” Baby barked, already shaking out his hands.

“Rock… paper… scissors!”

Second round.

Romance lost.

He stared down at his open palm like it had betrayed his soul. “…I’m a lover, not a fighter. What do you want from me?”

“Stop throwing paper like it’s romantic,” Mystery said flatly.

“It feels romantic.”

“Rock… paper… scissors!”

Third round.

Mystery threw scissors.

So did Jinu.

Abby, once again, threw rock.

Jinu sighed, watching his fate unravel in real-time. “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered. “I should’ve switched.”

“I always use rock,” Abby said with a satisfied little shrug, the smirk curling over his lips slow and cruel. “You’ve known me for a century.”

“He’s a brick wall,” Romance sighed.

Abby’s smirk was slow and merciless. “I told you. I never switch. You all overthink it.”

“You’re telling me you won every round with only using rock?!” Baby shouted, pointing at him with full-body offense. “You demon-headed gorilla!”

“Correct.”

Mystery crossed his arms and muttered, “I hate how that worked.”

Baby muttered under his breath, “I’m never playing that stupid game again.”

Then the click of the bathroom door handle turning silenced everything.

They froze.

Steam parted.

“She’s coming—!”

“Act natural!”

Instantly, the five of them dropped into their roles like they hadn’t just been fighting to the death over who got to touch you first.

Abby swung one arm over Baby’s shoulder, body tilted just enough to flex his abs without looking like he was trying. He laughed—too casually—his voice smooth as silk, towel slung so low on his hips it felt like a dare.

Baby, mid-grumble, snapped into smug mode instantly. He stretched his long legs out in a casual sprawl, toes flexing slightly against the warm stone as he tilted his head, twisting his teal hair up into a loose knot with a flick of his fingers. Smirk sharpening as if he’d been lounging for hours and not actively threatening to bite someone’s hand off five seconds ago.

Romance leaned back against the stone wall, arms folded loosely, towel wrapped around his head like he’d been deep in a meditative trance. His chest rose slowly, like he hadn't just lost three rounds of rock-paper-scissors and threatened to scream. His eyes drifted lazily between the others, lips twitching as he murmured something low that made Mystery roll his eyes and Jinu nearly break character.

Mystery flopped onto the lounge chair, draping one arm behind his head and one leg up just enough to be illegal. His eyes were half-closed, chin tilted, the picture of vague disinterest. Like he was floating above them all. Like he didn’t know them. Like he hadn’t just suggested rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to you first.

And Jinu planted himself on the edge of the bath, elbows on knees, eyes half-lidded and jawline gleaming. He gestured lazily mid-story, pretending he wasn’t still seething about Abby’s undefeated streak.

They looked relaxed. Effortless. Hot.

They looked like they hadn’t just turned your arrival into a full-blown mating ritual disguised as spa etiquette.

And you?

You stepped into that room like a lamb.

A very doomed, towel-clad lamb wandering straight into the wolves’ den.

Outtakes: Abby:*still in between your thighs.* Baby:*muttering to Jinu* “Hyung, he’s been down there for ten minutes. Should we send a search party?” Jinu: *pinching the bridge of his nose* “No. He’s in his element. Like a shark with a scent trail.” Romance: *wistfully* “It’s romantic, really.” Mystery: “It’s obscene.” Baby: “It’s efficient.”

.....

Abby: *emerging with a satisfied growl, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand* You: *barely functioning* “I—my soul just left my body.” Mystery: *deadpan, blinking slowly* “We noticed. You almost ascended.” Jinu: *low and rattled* “Holy—fuck. We almost sent her soul straight to Gwima!” .....

Massage Therapist: “Deep breath... and exhale.” You:*already sinking into bliss* “Mmm... that feels so good…” The Boys: *from the lounge, in perfect demonic harmony* *unholy growls that makes the floor vibrate* Massage Therapist: *hand pausing mid-stroke, eyes wide* “…Did you… did you hear that?” You: *barely opening your eyes* “Hear what?” The Boys: *Another growl. Louder this time.* Massage Therapist: “Oh my god. Is this place haunted?!” You: *sighing into the table, too relaxed to care* “This is why I can’t have anything nice.” Massage Therapist: *visibly sweating* “Is that—Latin? Why is it growling in Latin?!” You: *muffled by the headrest* “Ignore them. They’re just... passionate.”

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Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 8: 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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

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

—𝑬𝒎𝒓𝒚𝒔 🩷

w/c: 10.6k+ not proof read

comments and reblogs would be appreciated!

The first thing you felt was the purring.

It thrummed through your bones—low, steady, soothing—and so close it felt like it was coming from inside your own chest. You didn’t open your eyes right away. You didn’t need to. The heat pressed against you, the arm slung tight around your waist, the deep inhale brushing against the curve of your throat—everything in you already knew who it was.

Mystery.

He was draped over you, skin to skin, shirtless and half-asleep, warm in a way that made the ache between your thighs pulse again. His lips brushed your collarbones like they belonged there, over and over, soft and deliberate. Each kiss landed directly over the mark he’d left on your skin the night before, a slow claim he was reasserting in the laziest, most dangerous way.

His breath hitched when your body shifted—just slightly closer to him. And this time, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t hide. The soreness in your muscles only reminded you how thoroughly they’d claimed you, and instead of curling inward, you leaned into it. Into the feeling. Into him. Into the terrifying, addictive truth that he was yours just as much as you were his.

His lips stilled at your throat, breath warm against your skin, but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, dragging your hips just slightly deeper into the cradle of his body.

The oversized shirt you wore slipped slightly off your shoulder as you reached up sleepily, fingers brushing against the sharp edge of his jaw. His skin was warm, and your thumb traced the curve of his cheek until you could tilt his face toward you. His mouth parted like he couldn’t quite believe you were touching him like that—so gently, so freely.

His light purple hair spilled across his features in a soft, tangled mess—like it always did, hiding too much of him. But when you brushed it back, you saw the way his lashes fluttered, the way his pupils stayed wide, dilated, drinking you in like you were something unreal.

Your body moved before your thoughts could keep up.

You swung your leg over his hips, easing yourself into his lap, straddling him fully now. The shift in weight made your shirt ride up higher—exposing the bare skin of your thighs as they bracketed his waist. His eyes snapped open, and stayed open this time, locking on where you sat.

His entire body stilled beneath you.

Then his gaze dragged up slowly, reverently, from your thighs… to the shirt that barely covered you… to your mouth.

“Mmm—baby…” he rasped, his voice low and ruined from sleep, eyes blinking through the haze of lavender strands that had slipped back into his face. His fingers flexed on your hips like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you still or pull you closer. 

You leaned in, still quiet, still suspended somewhere between dreaming and desire. Your hand slipped into his hair again, brushing it gently back so you could see him. Really see him. The flushed tips of his ears, the dazed heat in his eyes, the soft tremble in his jaw like he was barely keeping himself together.

And then you kissed him.

Your lips met his softly, unspoken, unhurried.

Mystery froze for a second—completely still beneath you like he’d short-circuited. 

His fingers slid to your hips, gripping you with the gentlest desperation, thumbs pressing into the soft stretch of bare skin beneath the hem of your oversized shirt. The kiss deepened naturally, like his body already knew the rhythm of yours. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was slow and sweet and aching, the kind of kiss that said I missed you even in my sleep.

You shifted again, settling more comfortably on his lap, deepening the kiss by just a breath. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging it back to bare more of his face, because you needed to see him. Needed to feel all of him.

His breath hitched. He exhaled shakily into your mouth.

“God…” he whispered, lips brushing yours, voice hoarse and wrecked from sleep and want. “You’re gonna kill me like this…”

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long the kiss had lasted. Minutes? Hours? A heartbeat stretched across eternity?

All you knew was his mouth never left yours for long. And your body never stopped pressing into his— straddling his bare waist like you belonged there.

His hands anchored you gently at your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin, reverent and unhurried. His lips tasted like sleep and want and something older, something deeper. Like he was feeding on the moment. Like the bond was still blooming between your ribs.

But somewhere in that haze—somewhere between the way his lips kept tugging at yours and the warm press of his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your spine—something flickered in the back of your mind.

A thought.

A memory.

A responsibility. 

An entire day waiting for you. Something you were supposed to do. Handle.

Your lips parted from his with a soft gasp, breathless, and you pulled back slightly, your hand still tangled in his hair. “Wait—”

He didn’t even hesitate.

He chased your mouth like he was starving for it, heavy-lidded and greedy, kissing you again before you could finish the thought.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed against your lips, velvet and rasp, slow and hungry. “Don’t pull away darling. C’mere…”

“Wait,” you said again between kisses, breathless and dazed, laughing as you placed your palms to his chest to hold him back—barely. “I just remembered—I have work—”

He didn’t even pretend to listen.

Instead, he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he could devour the protest off your tongue. His smirk ghosted against your lips when you whimpered, when your hands pushed weakly at his chest.

“I’m working too,” he said, voice low and wicked, nosing along your jaw. “Working on kissing you until you forget what you were saying.”

You almost did.

But you managed to brace your hands more firmly against his chest, pushing just enough to create a breath of space. You were panting, flushed, legs tangled in the sheets, the hem of your shirt hitched high over your hips.

“I’m serious,” you said, trying not to fall apart under the heat of his gaze. “The schedule—we have a full shoot today, remember? I have to get the rest of you up, make sure you’re fed, dressed—”

He groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like your words physically pained him.

“God, you’re evil baby," he muttered against your skin, his lips grazing your pulse before dragging a long, slow kiss over your throat. “You’re sitting here in nothing but a shirt, warm and pretty in my lap, and you're talking about work?”

Your breath stuttered. “Myst—”

His nose brushed your cheek, voice a deep rasp against your skin. “We cleared everything. Canceled the whole schedule.”

You stared, heartbeat skittering. “You what?”

“We decided last night.” His lips traced your jaw, slow and teasing. “You’re not going anywhere today.”

“I—Myst, I have things to do,” you tried, even as your hand gripped his shoulder like you didn’t mean it. “I’m supposed to be managing you—”

“You are,” he murmured, kissing the mark on your neck with possessive reverence. “You’re just not leaving our bed to do it.”

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his face. “All of you agreed to this?”

He nodded lazily, like the question barely needed answering. His eyes dragged over your flushed face, gaze simmering with hunger. When he saw how hard you were trying to stay composed, trying to breathe through the haze, his smirk returned. Slower this time. Hungrier. Drunk.

“We weren’t gonna let you get up and pretend nothing happened,” he said, voice rough and fraying at the edges like it physically pained him to speak instead of kiss you.

“After last night? After claiming you?” His hand curled around your waist and pulled you closer until your legs tangled. “No one’s letting you run off. Not when you still smell like us.”

“I…” Your breath caught as his lips brushed your shoulder again, then lower, teeth scraping softly. “I thought you’d all just… go back to normal.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

And they glowed—deep and molten, golden shadows swirling with something dark and ancient. Something that didn’t understand the word normal.

“This is normal now,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with a fingertip. “You’re ours. That doesn’t reset in the morning.”

Then, like the words alone weren’t enough to make you feel it, he kissed you. Slow, deep, drugging. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thoughts scatter like ash.

You turned your head away just to catch a breath, dizzy and half-gone. But he followed. 

His lips trailed after yours, brushing your cheek… your jaw… the corner of your mouth. A kiss for every place you tried to escape. You murmured his name like a warning.

He only smirked against your skin, utterly unrepentant.

“Mm. Look at you,” he whispered, lips pressing to your throat, hot and open-mouthed. “Already trying to run.”

You gasped as he kissed lower, mouth dragging over your collarbone, nipping just enough to make you twitch.

When you pressed your hand to his chest again, trying to slow him, he only chased you more. His hands roamed. His lips found every inch you exposed.

“You’re lucky…” he murmured against your collarbone, voice thick and full of wicked amusement, “...I like the chase.”

Just when you thought he might relent, he dragged you back into another kiss. 

This one was messier, needier, drunk with want. His fingers tightened at your waist, possessive and coaxing. 

Even when you tried to breathe, tried to speak, his mouth was already back. He kissed you again, soft but urgent, murmuring something like “Don’t stop” between kisses “Not done with you yet”.

His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your knees buckle—then his tongue soothed it, coaxed another kiss from you, slow and open-mouthed and dizzying.

He kissed you again.

And again.

Like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, until all that was left of you was his.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and it broke something in him.

He groaned, hands sliding down to map every curve he hadn’t touched yet—possessive, reverent, like he owned the shape of you.

Then—

grrroowllll

Your stomach betrayed you with a loud, unapologetic rumble.

You froze.

Mystery blinked, lips still hovering against yours. Then his eyes widened a little… and the smirk that spread across his face could’ve lit the room.

A low, husky laugh slipped from his chest, and before you could stop him, he dropped his head to your neck with a snort, shoulders shaking.

You groaned in mortification, hiding your face in his shoulder. “No. Don’t. Don’t you dare—”

“You got hungry while I’m here kissing you?” he teased, voice thick with affection and laughter. “Seriously?”

You swatted at his arm, weak and blushing and still half-drunk on his kisses.

He only laughed harder.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and bit your cheek.

“Hey!” you gasped, smacking at his chest with a muffled squeak.

He just licked the spot, eyes gleaming, smug and unrepentant. “Sorry, darling… you’re just too cute.” he purred, voice dropping a note lower, richer. “Can’t help it. I’m starving—might as well eat you up.”

Before you could recover, he was all over you again—assaulting your cheek with slow, messy kisses, every so often nipping you just hard enough to make you gasp. It wasn’t gentle.

You squirmed, giggling now, voice caught somewhere between a flustered whimper and a laugh. “Myst—!”

He hummed like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard, nosing along your jaw. “Mm. Say my name again like that and I will keep you from breakfast.”

Then his hands slipped beneath your thighs, and with a low grunt, he stood—lifting you effortlessly into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“Time to feed you,” he murmured, voice thicker now with sleep and satisfaction. “Before you start gnawing on me.”

“I can walk,” you mumbled, but you were already curling into his warmth, letting him carry you.

“I know,” he said, tilting his head to press a slow, possessive kiss beneath your ear. “But I like carrying you.”

And you didn’t argue after that.

Not when he was holding you like you were something rare and breakable, like putting your feet on the ground would somehow be a tragedy. His bare chest was hot against your body, the strong flex of his arms and the scent of your bond still humming between your skin making it hard to think clearly.

Dizzy and pliant, you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed against his collarbone as he carried you down the hall.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

Abby stood at the stove, tall and shirtless, a comically tiny apron tied low around his waist—white with bold red lettering that read Kiss the Cook. The fabric barely covered anything important. His back flexed as he flipped a pancake with casual precision, muscles rippling in the soft gold wash of morning light. His hair was tousled, sleep-warm and wild, like someone had dragged fingers through it.

Mystery snorted beside you. “Subtle.”

Abby glanced over his shoulder and immediately grinned when he saw you draped in Mystery’s arms, cheeks flushed, legs still lazily tangled around his waist. “Well, well,” Abby teased, voice rich with amusement. “Look who finally crawled out of bed.”

Your eyes widened. “What... what are you wearing?”

Abby turned fully, posing like a devilish model. The apron barely clung to his hips, riding scandalously low. “Do you like it?” he asked, all mock innocence, though the curve of his mouth said he knew exactly what he was doing. “Romance picked it out. Said it matched my energy.”

You stared. Blinked. Tried so hard not to drool. “He’s not wrong.”

Mystery let out a low breath, clearly amused, before finally placing you down onto the kitchen counter. The cold marble met the backs of your thighs with a sharp sting, making you jerk and hiss softly as your borrowed shirt rode high, in a way that didn’t help your modesty or the boys’ restraint.

“Cold,” you muttered, shifting with a squirm.

Mystery’s lips twitched in a lazy, sinful grin as his hands smoothed along the backs of your thighs, slow and teasing, his palms warm where the marble wasn’t. His fingers lingered just under the hem of the shirt. He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.

“You should’ve let me carry you straight to my mouth instead of the kitchen,” he murmured, voice thick and low, a shiver running through each word. “Bet that would’ve warmed you up faster.”

You opened your mouth to answer but Abby swept in like sunlight and sin, a spatula in one hand and nothing but trouble in his eyes.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous,” he drawled, flashing a grin that was all teeth and charm, like he already knew you were seconds from melting. He raked one hand through his messy hair, the movement stretching the muscles in his bare chest. They rippled with just enough flex to make your breath catch.

“What do you want in your pancakes, hmm?” His eyes dragged down your body—slow, indulgent, lingering a little too long on your bare thighs. “Chocolate? Strawberries?”

Then his voice dropped a note lower, velvet and wicked.

“...Or me?”

Your breath hitched. Words short-circuited somewhere between your mouth and your brain.

Mystery chuckled low against your neck, the vibration sliding straight down your spine. His lips grazed your skin, deliberate. “She’s full from earlier,” he said, all innocence layered over implication. “But maybe she’s got room for dessert.”

Abby tilted his head like he was genuinely considering it. “I do make a mean whipped cream.”

Your entire body flushed. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands—but it did nothing to hide your smile or your wrecked composure.

“Correction,” Abby said smoothly, stepping in close—too close—until the warm press of his bare skin brushed your knees. “Irresistible.”

And then—before you could even think of stopping him—he leaned in.

His mouth met yours in a slow, devastating kiss, warm and lazy like honey poured over fire. The ties of his apron grazed your thighs as he bent closer, teasing silk against skin, the heat of him melting into you with every second.

By the time he pulled back, your lips were swollen and parted, eyes dazed like you’d forgotten your own name.

He lingered close, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with maddening care. His voice dropped to a low purr.

“Now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Your brain sputtered like static. “Just… syrup,” you managed, breathless.

Abby chuckled, the sound satisfied and deep, before stepping back with a wink. “Classic. Sweet.”

He glanced down your legs again, eyes darkening slightly.

“Just like you.”

Abby plated two servings—one for you, one for Mystery—but when he turned to hand yours over, he didn’t pass the plate.

Instead, he picked up the fork, sliced off a bite, and looked you dead in the eyes as he lifted it.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he said softly.

You obeyed, letting him feed you the warm, fluffy bite dripping in syrup. Your lips closed around the fork, and his eyes dropped—watching the way your mouth moved, the slow pull of your tongue, the delicate sound that slipped from your throat when you swallowed.

“Good?” he asked, voice thicker now, thumb brushing across your lip where a smear of syrup glistened.

“Mmhmm,” you managed, still chewing, heat blooming in your cheeks.

But he didn’t look away.

He held your gaze as he brought that same thumb to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick it clean, slow and deliberate. His smirk deepened, satisfied.

“Messy girl,” he murmured.

Before you could react, Mystery leaned forward, fork already prepared with a piece of pancake topped by a single plump blueberry.

“Try mine,” he said, voice all velvet and smoke.

You leaned forward, lips brushing the tips of his fingers as you accepted the bite. His eyes darkened slightly, his hand lingering just a moment longer against your mouth before he drew back, chewing his own bite with a pleased hum.

“Where are the others?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from the heat curling low in your stomach.

Abby answered between giving you bites. “Living room. They already ate.”

“They said we should take our time,” Mystery added, scooting closer, his thigh pressing against yours. “Said you looked too good sleeping between us to wake you early.”

Abby reached down to rest a large palm on your bare knee, then slowly slid it up to your thigh, fingers idly tracing circles just under the hem of your shirt. “They’re not wrong.”

“You’re spoiling me,” you whispered, already feeling drunk on the way they looked at you.

Abby’s lips lifted into a slow smile. “Good.”

Mystery leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, his voice a silken thread as he murmured, “Let us.”

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

You whimpered before you could help it, squirming slightly on the counter, your belly already tight and achingly full—yet Abby still wasn’t finished. He lifted the fork again, syrup dripping from the bite as he nudged it toward your lips with calm, deliberate insistence.

“Abby…” you whined, voice airy and petulant, your pout forming automatically as you tilted your head away, lips barely parted. “I’m full…”

He gave you a look. Patient. Playful. But with that steady, unwavering heat behind it that made your thighs press together. His hand didn't move from your leg—instead, it wandered higher, teasing just under the curve of your hip.

You turned your eyes to Mystery like he was your last hope.

He stood against the fridge, arms crossed, his empty plate forgotten on the counter behind him. Watching the scene unfold like it was the best part of his morning. His smirk was slow and amused, his gaze unreadable—but sharp.

“Mystery,” you breathed dramatically, reaching one hand out toward him like a starved maiden begging for rescue. “Help me. Please.”

His brows lifted with exaggerated interest. “Help you with what, exactly?” he said, the drawl in his voice practically sinful. “Chew?”

You groaned and collapsed back against the cabinet with a theatrical sigh. “I’m dying…”

“Mm,” he mused, finally pushing off the fridge. He moved toward you slowly, like he had all the time in the world, his steps smooth and silent. “You look pretty alive to me. And very, very spoiled.”

You tried again, this time sweeter. Softer. Almost a whimper. “Help,” you whispered, lashes fluttering. “I’ll cuddle you after.”

Mystery’s mouth curved, clearly tempted—but before he could take another step, Abby’s voice cut through the air like velvet steel.

“Don’t.”

He didn’t even look at him. His gaze never left yours, unwavering as he lifted the fork again and tapped the edge lightly against your lower lip in silent command.

You froze, breath catching. That single word—low, firm, possessive—set something off inside you, a shiver that ran straight down your spine.

Mystery blinked once, then chuckled softly, lifting both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, clearly amused. 

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then bent to your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, just for you, “You’re so cute when you’re bratty…”

And then he just… turned and walked off. Casual as ever, like he hadn’t just left you breathless and exposed on the counter. The soft click of his steps retreating made the silence around you feel even heavier.

“You traitor!” you called after him, squirming when Abby’s hand curled more firmly around the back of your thigh.

“Mm,” Mystery replied lazily over his shoulder, that smirk audible in his voice. “I’ll cuddle you later… if you survive.”

“Mean,” you muttered, pout deepening. But when you turned your head back—

Abby was still there. Still standing between your legs. Still holding that same damn fork with that same maddening patience.

Still feeding you like you hadn’t already told him three times you were full.

“You really trying to get someone else to rescue you right in front of me?” he asked quietly, not angry—just amused. Dangerous. Dark amusement lacing his words like heat curling at your spine.

“I was just—” you started, trying to sound innocent.

He arched a brow, tilting his head in that slow, pointed way that made your breath catch.

“You were just being a bad girl,” he said simply, voice dipping deeper.

Your cheeks burned. Your thighs clenched around his hips instinctively as he leaned in, lips brushing a warm, unhurried path across your cheek, grazing lower until his breath kissed your ear. His words poured into you like smoke.

“You didn’t eat dinner after everything we did to you last night,”he murmured, thumb stroking the side of your throat, right over your fluttering pulse. “You passed out with nothing in your belly. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

You swallowed hard. You could feel the heat of him, his focus, his care—twisted up in that firm, quiet dominance that made your body respond before your brain could catch up.

“I’m full,” you whispered, almost pleading.

Abby’s eyes dropped to your lips, then your stomach, and back again.

“Then you should’ve told me that two bites ago,” he said, voice edged with dark amusement, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth. “But you didn’t. You just kept whining and fluttering those lashes like you didn’t know better.”

He leaned in until your noses almost touched, gaze locked on yours, unblinking.

“Now you’re gonna finish like a good girl.”

Your breath hitched.

He raised the fork slowly, deliberately. “Open.”

You hesitated, lips parted—but the warmth of his hand on your thigh and the dark heat in his gaze stole your will.

You obeyed.

He fed you the last bite with such care it almost hurt, his other hand sliding up your spine in long, possessive strokes. Every movement felt like praise and punishment all in one. 

You chewed and swallowed obediently under his gaze, your lips wet and trembling when you finally licked them clean.

And then he was there—close, closer—pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then lower, hovering by your mouth like he was considering stealing a taste.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with pride, with hunger, with something darker.

Your whole body lit up.

Abby helped you down from the kitchen counter with practiced ease, strong hands gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His fingers lingered for a beat too long on your hips before one palm drifted lower.

pat pat

A soft, deliberate pat on your ass. Just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re good to go, baby,” Abby murmured, voice thick and low, like he hadn’t quite shaken off the heat of feeding you. “Living room’s yours.”

You made a noise under your breath, equal parts flustered and annoyed, your body still too warm and too soft from his touch. Pouting, you started to pull away—but your knees didn’t quite cooperate at first, and he chuckled behind you, smug and unbothered.

You turned to glare at him over your shoulder, lips twitching in an unconvincing attempt at indignation.

Abby winked, unapologetic. “You’re welcome, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks still hot, breath not quite steady. 

Barefoot, still flushed, you padded toward the living room. Your steps were slow, hips swaying a little more than necessary—calculated. Punishing. If they were going to toy with you, you could play too.

Mystery had left you at Abby’s mercy without a whisper of warning. That wouldn’t go unanswered.

You were plotting.

But the moment you stepped down into the sunken den, every thought flew from your head.

You stopped short, heart skipping.

All four of them were already there—sprawled across the massive sectional like a centerfold pulled straight from your most dangerous dreams. Limbs relaxed, legs spread, arms thrown over the back of cushions. Their postures were effortless, obscene in how much space they took up. Shirts tugged low or half-forgotten. Collarbones and veins and bare chests on display like they hadn’t even noticed. Like you were the one intruding on them.

Romance’s shirt hung completely off one shoulder. Baby had his hoodie up but nothing underneath. Jinu was in his tank top, damp and clinging to his chest in all the wrong ways.

And in the center—of course—was Mystery.

He lounged like he owned the couch, like he was born into that space with the air bowing around him. One hand twirled a coin between his fingers in lazy, practiced flicks, while the other stretched across the back of the cushions like an invitation—or a trap. His long legs were spread wide, his expression unreadable except for the heat simmering behind his lashes.

And then he looked at you.

He didn’t even turn his head. His eyes just found you like gravity bending toward a single fixed star.

You raised a hand and pointed at him, murder in your gaze.

Mystery blinked, then let a slow, amused smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Uh-oh.”

“You,” you hissed, storming forward. “You ditched me.”

He caught the coin mid-spin, set it aside with deliberate care, and finally—finally—sat up to face you, slow and regal like he was indulging you.

“Correction,” he said smoothly. “I strategically retreated.”

“Coward.”

His eyes dipped—slowly, brazenly—down your body, then back up again. You felt every inch of his gaze like heat tracing under your skin.

“You were in excellent hands,” he murmured. “Judging by how flushed you still are… I’d say it worked out.”

Then Romance made a strangled gasp from his side of the couch. “Wait,” he cried, clutching his chest like a drama prince. “Was it bad? Did he feed you?”

You reached for a pillow on instinct. “I should smother you with this.”

Romance only grinned wider, unbothered.

Your gaze cut back to Mystery. “And you—you're lucky I don’t have something heavier in hand.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something intimate and dangerous.

“Wouldn’t stop me from catching it,” he murmured. Then, slower—deliberate, a dare you could feel between your thighs—“Or throwing you right back.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself, heat curling low in your belly. God, he was so smug. And worse—he could back it up.

“God, you’re all so—ugh!” You ran a frustrated hand through your hair, only to wince at the way your scalp still tingled, every nerve remembering Abby’s touch like a brand. 

“I think she’s mad,” Jinu whispered theatrically to Romance.

“She’s so hot when she’s mad,” Romance whispered back.

You narrowed your eyes and stepped into full manager-mode, arms crossing tightly under your chest. “Since you’re all listening so well,” you said, voice sharp as glass, “let’s talk about the real problem here—why the hell did all of you cancel your schedules today?”

“She’s doing the hands-on-hips thing,” Baby whispered from his corner, still half-reclined with one knee bouncing lazily. “Oh, she’s serious.”

“Damn right I’m serious!” you barked, leveling them all with a glare. “You think you can just wake up, decide you’re not feeling it, and throw away an entire day’s work? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to line everything up—?”

“We worked very hard last night,” Jinu muttered lowly, just loud enough for them to hear.

That earned a chorus of snickers and a loud choking noise from Baby.

Your jaw dropped. “You—! That has nothing to do with—!”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Mystery drawled, finally pushing up from his lounge into a slow, predator’s lean. His elbows rested on his knees, dark gaze laser-focused on your collarbone—right where his mark pulsed, hot and aching. “We did mark you. That makes today your rest day.”

“You can’t just—!”

And then Abby strolled in behind you, calm as ever, toweling off his hands like he hadn’t just heard the entire argument. 

“We adjusted the day,” he said, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.

“You canceled it,” you snapped, rounding on him. “Without discussing it with me—your manager. No one even told me!”

He didn’t even blink. Just tilted his head as he met your fire head-on, calm and unbothered. “You needed the morning. We all agreed.”

Mystery didn’t flinch. “And we did tell you.”

“You told me after.”

You bristled, but Jinu stood and crossed the space with silent intensity, head tilted as he studied you like a puzzle only he could solve. “You think any of us could sit through press conferences or dance rehearsals knowing your scent is smeared on our skin… while you’re here, walking around all soft, marked, and fragile—”

“I’m not fragile,” you bit out, defensive heat rising in your chest.

But they weren’t even listening to your words. They were listening to your pulse. Feeling the spike in your tension. The too-tight way your arms crossed, the rapid flutter of your heart, the barely-concealed tremble that threaded through your body like static. It echoed down the bond—their bond—burning bright and wild.

“No,” Abby rumbled behind you. “But you’re ours.”

Then, without warning, his arms slid around your waist from behind, strong and sure. You gasped as your back met his chest, heat bleeding through his bare skin to yours. 

One big hand pressed over your lower belly. The other rested high over your ribs, fingers spreading like he could hold your heart still through the touch.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re shaking”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, even as your hands curled around his wrists like you needed him to keep you upright.

“No, you’re not,” he said gently, pulling you closer until you were fully cocooned in his arms. “You’re overwhelmed. We can feel it. We didn’t mean to push you.”

You blinked, throat tightening around something you couldn’t name. “Because you—”

“—acted like demons protecting their mate?” Jinu said coolly, gaze fixed on you like he could see straight through your skin. “Yeah. We did. And we’re not sorry.”

“You don’t need to manage anything today,” Mystery added. “You need to be taken care of.”

Romance finally sat up, patting his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mere, sweetheart. You’ll feel better.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but the words dissolved when you finally saw it.

Romance’s tail was out.

The long, sleek appendage curled lazily behind him, the pointed heart-tip flicking once, then swaying back and forth with a rhythm that felt almost… hypnotic. You hadn’t even seen it emerge. You’d been too busy trying to scold them, too caught in your own heat and fluster. But it was there now, bold and relaxed, a devilish punctuation mark to the open space he was offering you.

Abby smiled against your temple, his lips brushing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. “Let us spoil you,” he murmured, voice velvet and smoke. “You deserved it baby.”

“I don’t need to be spoiled,” you whispered, though the words trembled, teetering on the edge of surrender. And they heard it. Felt it.

Abby’s laugh was low and dangerous, a purr rolled in thunder. “You were marked by five demons last night, baby,” he rumbled. “You couldn’t even walk straight this morning.”

Heat rushed up your neck, flooding your cheeks as flashes of memory teased at your mind—gripping hands, growled praise, whispered filth as you shattered again and again beneath them.

“Exactly,” Baby drawled from the couch, arms behind his head, hoodie riding up to expose a sliver of smooth muscle and toned belly. His grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp.“So sit that pretty ass down and let us baby you before you pass out on your feet.”

Romance’s tail swayed again, curling slowly as if beckoning you. That damn heart-shaped tip lifted in an almost teasing arc before it flicked once more, waiting.

“You’re so stubborn,” Abby growled at your back, voice dropping to something that curled around your spine. “Always pretending you don’t want this.”

You turned, ready to snap back—but didn’t get the chance.

Because his arms were already around your waist.

And then you were airborne.

“Abby—!”

“Nope.” His breath was warm against your ear, his tone soft but final. “You’re clearly overwhelmed. And we’re not letting our mate burn herself out.”

He walked you straight over to Romance, who was already leaning back, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, the other held out in invitation. His tail swayed lazily behind him, the heart-shaped tip already twitching in anticipation.

The moment Abby placed you into his lap, you felt it—Romance’s tail immediately curling around your waist in one smooth, possessive loop.

Your body tensed. Your breath caught.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice suddenly much softer.

Romance grinned against your temple like a devil who’d just caught his favorite sin. “There she is,” he purred. 

His tail gave a gentle tug around your hips, tugging you deeper into his lap, dragging you closer until there was no space left between you. Chest to chest and you straddling one of his strong thighs. Heat radiated from beneath you, his muscles shifting like coiled silk.

All around you, the boys were spread out across the massive couch in various states of chaos and focus. Abby lounged with a drink in hand, legs wide, his gaze cutting your way now and then with that sharp, knowing gleam. Jinu sat on the floor, one arm draped over the cushion, knee raised, his head tilted back—but his eyes, half-lidded and dark, never strayed from where you sat. Mystery was silent in the corner, elbows on his knees, eyes unreadable but fixed on your hips like he was trying not to move. And Baby—Baby was upside down on the far end, humming something soft and strange, but even he had gone still, the hum pausing mid-note as his eyes flicked to where Romance’s tail held you in place.

But you couldn't focus on any of them.

Not when Romance's hand slid to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair with slow, hypnotic intent. One stroke. Another. Fingertips dragging against your scalp, grazing just behind your ear—

Your body gave out.

A soft, broken sound slipped past your lips—half sigh, half whimper—as you melted into him, spine curving, your cheek brushing against his shoulder like it was your final place of rest. Your head lolled gently, the muscles in your thighs twitching as you clung to his lap like it was the only stable ground left.

Romance’s other hand cradled your lower back, firm and steady, anchoring you with just enough pressure to make you feel owned. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice like a velvet rope pulling you deeper. “Just relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

His lips ghosted against your temple, down toward your jaw—but never fully landed. Just enough to make you ache.

Romance’s fingers slid again through your hair, nails dragging ever so gently.

You whimpered—barely audible, but real.

And that was when Baby spoke, voice a lazy purr from across the massive sectional.

“Mmh. She’s so quiet now,” he teased, hanging upside down with his strands brushing the floor, a wicked grin stretching his lips. “Is she asleep?”

His words barely touched you. Everything felt slow and liquid and safe. His arms caged you in warmth, the slow drag of his fingertips through your hair lulling your body toward sleep. The weight of the boys’ gazes around you should’ve been suffocating, but somehow, it only made you feel more protected. 

You were seconds from slipping under when you remembered it.

His tail.

Still curled tight around your waist.

Your lashes fluttered open, breath hitching in your throat. The realization bloomed like heat under your skin, turning your limbs molten with curiosity. Your fingers twitched against his forearm—testing, teasing, emboldened by the way he hadn’t let go.

You hesitated. Then, like you were asking something innocent—like you weren’t straddling a demon’s lap in a room full of them—you let the question fall out in a whisper.

“…Can I touch it?”

Silence.

The air shifted like pressure dropping before a storm.

Abby, who’d been lounging with his drink balanced casually on his thigh, sat bolt upright like someone had snapped a leash. Jinu turned, slow and sharp, his head tilted, mouth parted, eyes locked on you like he didn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Baby gasped his hand smacking over his mouth with a delighted slap like he couldn’t hold it in. Even Mystery moved, his cold gaze zeroing in on you, jaw twitching, his entire body alert with interest like a predator catching a tremor in the ground.

But Romance?

Romance didn’t flinch.

He just leaned back a little, tilting his head, a slow, lazy smirk curving his lips like you’d just whispered something filthy straight into his ear.

“You really want to touch my tail, sweetheart?” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek, lips hovering close enough to steal your next breath.

You swallowed, your thighs tightening around his. “…Yes?”

His purr hit you like thunder under your skin.

“You always ask the dirtiest things,” he said, voice dipping until it was thick velvet wrapped around you, “in the softest little voice.”

You blinked, flustered, but caught in his gravity. “I didn’t mean it like—!”

“Oh, I know how you meant it,” he interrupted smoothly, that grin never fading. His hand slid lower down your back, fingers tracing the base of your spine. “But my tail… it’s a bit sensitive.”

As if to prove it, the silk-wrapped coil around your waist shifted—slowly, deliberately—unwinding with a sensual slowness that made your stomach flip. Then it rose between you, the heart-shaped tip hovering in the space just below your chin.

Your breath stuttered.

Then—flick.

The tip brushed your cheek in the lightest, most feather-soft tease. You flinched and giggled without meaning to, your body jolting slightly in his lap.

“Romance—!” you squirmed, trying not to laugh as the tip flicked again, brushing the edge of your nose, then tracing a teasing path down your jaw. “That tickles—!”

He made a pleased noise behind you. “It likes you.”

Your hand moved instinctively, swatting gently, but the moment your fingertips brushed the smooth surface, his whole body shuddered. A low, deep purr rolled from his chest, so rich it made your bones vibrate.

“Oh…” you whispered, eyes wide.

Romance’s breath stuttered against your neck.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “There. Just like that.”

His tail curled into your palm on its own, like it wanted more, like it knew it was being touched by you. The texture was smooth, warm, responsive, almost like a second spine. You stroked down the length slowly, testing the reaction.

Romance groaned.

A dark flush crept up your neck as you glanced back at him. His eyes were glowing. Not just gold, but bright—lit from within with something hungry and unrestrained. His lips were parted, breath heavy, and the muscles beneath you had gone taut, like he was holding himself still with everything he had.

“You okay?” you breathed.

His laugh was low and wrecked. “Sweetheart, I’m holding on by a thread.”

You made the mistake of looking to the side.

Jinu’s mouth was slightly open like he'd stopped breathing. Baby was fanning himself with the hem of his hoodie, cheeks flushed bright pink. Mystery had a pillow hugged to his chest, eyes wide behind his bangs like he wasn’t sure whether to flee or watch harder. And Abby—he hadn’t moved an inch. Still, quiet, unreadable… but his eyes were pinned to you, dark and sharp like a predator tracking prey.

You swallowed hard.

“…Are they really that sensitive?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your tails, I mean.”

The room shifted again—not in silence, but in tension.

Romance exhaled a slow, hot breath against your jaw, then leaned back just slightly so you could see the curve of his smirk.

“It depends,” he said, voice like a secret. “On the Demon. On the moment.”

His fingers trailed lazily along your outer thigh, a slow back-and-forth stroke that made it hard to think. “But mostly? Yeah. They’re sensitive. Especially around the base… ”

He paused.

“And the tip.”

You froze. 

Your fingers were still resting on the soft underside of his tail—the tip.

The same one that had been nuzzling your palm like it couldn’t bear to be away from you.

“Oh,” you breathed, finally understanding.

Romance’s smirk deepened, eyes half-lidded as he purred, “Exactly.”

He shifted slightly beneath you, enough to lean in. “It also only reacts like that,”  He murmured, dragging the tip of his tail across your palm like a kiss. “when it’s someone specific.”

You blinked. “Specific how?”

Baby made a dramatic noise. “It means you, dummy.”

“Baby—” Jinu hissed, mortified, but Baby just kept talking, his cheeks pink.

“Our tails don’t do that for anyone else,” he said, gesturing to the way Romance’s tail had wound itself tighter around your wrist like it was staking a claim. “That clingy, cuddly thing? It only happens when we’re around someone we’ve bonded with.”

Your heart stuttered. “Bonded?”

“It’s not—” Jinu jumped in, face flushed, clearly trying to salvage what pride they had left, “—It’s not that simple.”

He nodded toward Romance’s tail, which was still curling tighter against your skin, as if it were echoing his words. “It just… happens. You don’t trigger that kind of response unless…”

“Unless you’re the one,” Mystery said quietly, still hugging a pillow to his chest. “It’s instinctual. Not conscious. Our bodies just… know. When someone touches us and it feels like home. Smells like something we can’t let go of.”

You blinked down at the tail coiled around your wrist, warm and possessive. Its slow movement felt like a caress—like it was soothing you, too.

“So, like… mates?” you asked, the word fragile in your mouth.

Romance didn’t even hesitate.

“Exactly like mates.”

Your chest tightened. The word hit something deep. Raw.

Romance didn’t move. He was watching you with those molten gold eyes, waiting to see how you’d react. Not pushing. Just… waiting.

You swallowed. “You said it reacts when it feels something,” you murmured, barely able to trust your own voice. “But what if you haven’t… decided yet?”

“It doesn’t care,” Mystery answered before anyone else could. “The tail knows before we do.”

He sat forward slightly, gaze fixed not on you, but on the way Romance’s tail had coiled around your fingers like a living confession.

“Some of us can hide it better,” he continued, almost to himself. “But the tail doesn’t lie. It wraps around what it wants. It touches what it’s craving.”

Your breath caught.

Romance’s tail tightened slightly in your hand, like it was responding to the words without his permission. Like it agreed.

Jinu cleared his throat. “It’s instinctual. Tails react to emotional bonds… to compatibility, scent, touch—” He coughed into his sleeve. “Especially touch.”

Baby, draped across the rug like a sulking prince, let out a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s the same for all of us. Not that our tails are out right now, but if they were?”

He held up one hand, fingers wiggling like he was imitating a twitch. “It’d be game over. No use pretending.”

You looked down again, your gaze drawn helplessly to the tail now twined between your fingers like it had been made for your hand. It was warm. Alive. Slowly curling tighter, pulsing with quiet want.

“So…” you whispered, barely breathing. “This means…”

Romance chuckled, voice low and reverent, like he’d been waiting all day for you to get it.

“It means,” he said, voice silken and reverent, “I want you.”

The tail twitched in your grasp, curling possessively.

His gaze burned.

“Every part of me does,” he murmured, thumb brushing a slow stroke along your thigh. “Even the ones I can’t control.”

And then you felt it.

Not just his hand at your waist or his tail brushing your thigh like it couldn’t help itself—but something else. The way the air shifted. The way all of them went still.

The moment you realized… this was real. All of it.

The fire in their gazes. The aching restraint in their hands. The way their demon instincts whispered mine every time you so much as breathed near them. The way your name sounded different when they said it—like a prayer, like a promise.

You blinked hard, chest squeezing around something that had been growing, quietly, insistently, since the first time you saw them.

And now?

Now it felt like the final piece had dropped into place.

You weren’t just theirs.

They were yours.

You blinked hard and leaned in closer to Romance, your fingers twisting in the front of his shirt like you needed something—anything—to hold on to. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

“I love you.”

The words were soft, but they rang through the room like a shot.

Not whispered in a haze of heat. Not slurred or unthinking.

Romance went still. Every inch of him locked up beneath you, like your voice had frozen time. His tail twitched sharply in your grasp, startled and trembling. His pupils dilated instantly—so fast it made you shiver.

“What?” he rasped, almost afraid to believe it.

“I love you,” you repeated, firmer now. Certain. “Not just one of you. All of you.”

Jinu sucked in a sharp breath, like he’d been struck clean through the chest. “You… mean it?”

“Yes.” Your voice cracked. “Even when you’re impossible. Even when you’re annoying. Even when you make me feel like I’m losing my mind—I love you.”

The moment the words left your lips, the silence snapped.

“Gods, I’m gonna cry,” Baby whimpered.

He launched himself toward you with trembling arms, crawling across the cushions and wedging himself between you and Romance like his body couldn’t not be close. His eyes were wide and glassy, lip trembling as he clung to your side.

“I knew it,” he sniffled. “I knew you loved me. You were just being mean and pretending you didn’t—but I feel it.”

You cupped his cheeks gently, brushing your thumbs beneath his eyes. “I love you, Baby,” you whispered, smiling through the tears threatening to fall. “I always have.”

His lower lip wobbled harder. “That’s it. I’m never letting go of you. Ever. You’re stuck with me now.”

He kissed your cheek with a loud, wet smack, arms tightening around your waist like a clingy little shadow. His scent—warm, sweet, his—wrapped around you like comfort.

From the other side of the room, Jinu's breath hitched.

Then his eyes flared gold.

A visible tremor ran through him, not of fear, but of barely contained need. Hunger. Something primal and deep, pulsing just beneath the surface.

He rose from the cushions with quiet purpose, moving toward you with a kind of reverence that made your throat go tight.

He knelt beside you slowly, like approaching a shrine, and lifted his hands to your face. Careful. Steady. Like you were made of something he didn’t dare rush.

His thumbs swept softly along your cheeks, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. His gaze dragged across your features like he was relearning every inch.

“We love you,” he said again, his voice lower now, rougher, like it scraped against something unspoken. “And now that you’ve said it…we’ll never let you forget it.”

Your pulse jumped.

Jinu tilted your chin with two fingers. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the wild spice of his power coiling around your senses.

Everything stilled.

Everything waited.

“Say it again,” he whispered, breath warm on your lips. “One last time.”

Your voice shook, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

“I love you.”

Jinu exhaled like he’d been drowning for weeks. Then his mouth crashed into yours, not in violence, but in something even more devastating.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. But gods, it was deep. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Like your mouth had been haunting his every waking thought. Like the words you’d just said had shattered something inside him and all he could do was put the pieces back together with his lips pressed against yours.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled, your heart racing like a trapped thing.

And then you saw them.

The others.

Their expressions had changed.

They were staring at you like they could already feel your scent buried in their lungs. Like they’d finally been given permission to crave you out loud.

They were demons.

And they were in love.

And now that you’d said it—now that you’d looked at them and bared your soul without flinching—they would never let you go.

You belonged to them.

But gods help anyone who forgets…

They belonged to you, too.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The moment you stepped into the sleek black van, Baby was already there—waiting like he knew exactly where you'd be before you even moved. Without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours. Then, with that lazy, smug kind of grace only he had, he sank down into the plush bench seat and tugged you with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snug against his chest.

“Mmph. You're mine today,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a sleepy cat marking its favorite spot. His breath was warm, his body hotter. 

Behind you, a long, pointed sigh cut through the thickening air.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jinu muttered, voice sharp with a thread of barely disguised jealousy.

“Doing what?” Baby asked innocently, already pressing another soft nuzzle into your neck, lips brushing your pulse. “It’s not like anyone stopped me.”

Romance climbed in next, throwing himself onto the opposite cushion with a huff, one leg thrown wide, his chest rising and falling too fast to match his casual pose. “You moved faster than I’ve ever seen you move. I was literally reaching for her—”

“Should’ve reached quicker,” Baby muttered, arms cinching around your waist like a velvet trap. His smile was pure wickedness, hidden against your skin.

“You little—”

“He’s using his maknae privilege again,” Mystery noted, voice calm but eyes sharp as he settled in beside Romance, crossing his arms as his gaze pinned the pair of you. “It’s manipulation. Classic strategy.”

“Not manipulation if she likes it,” Baby said, just loud enough for them to hear—just low enough for only you to feel the vibration of his voice against your neck.

Your fingers lifted on instinct, slipping into his hair, threading slow and gentle through the soft blue strands. He groaned, low and wrecked, like the touch undid him. His mouth brushed your skin again, softer this time.

The van hadn’t even started moving, but you were already sinking into him, pliant and flushed, his warmth curling around you.

“Let him be,” you murmured, voice softer than silk, but carrying weight. The kind of softness that soothed and silenced, that made hearts still—and demons listen. “He’s just being sweet.”

Baby beamed, proud and smug, hiding it in your neck like he knew exactly what he was doing. And you knew he did.

That single sentence hit like a shot to the chest.

Romance’s head snapped up. “Sweet? That little gremlin?”

“He’s not hurting anyone,” you said softly, your fingers still threading slowly through Baby’s hair. He melted at your touch, the smallest, pleased purr vibrating through his chest.

The van erupted with groans and protests.

“You’re spoiling him!” Jinu said.

“She likes spoiling me,” Baby murmured into your throat, not even bothering to lift his head.

Romance groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Can we please just get moving before I do something regrettable like yank you into my lap instead?”

The words hit like a punch to your gut. Your gaze snapped to him.

He looked just as wrecked.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tried, breath catching halfway through.

His smirk curved slow and dark. “Try me.”

That image alone sent a flutter through your stomach. You were already practically draped over Baby’s lap, and now all five of them were sprawled across the seats inside the van—like kings at rest, waiting for their prize to fall straight into their hands.

“Fine,” you said, trying to sound composed even though your skin was singing. “Before this turns into an actual brawl—where are we going?”

That finally got their attention.

Jinu leaned forward, expression softening. “We booked out a private bathhouse for you.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“Mmm,” Abby confirmed, voice deep and rumbly from the front. “Private bath. Massage. Full package. Just us. No one else.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now, wrapped in confusion and a sudden, inexplicable swell of emotion.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” Romance said, a little more serious now. “And we don’t like seeing you worn down.”

“You take care of us every day,” Abby added. “So today, we take care of you.”

A pause hung in the van, heavy with emotion and unspoken want.

Your voice came out quieter. “All of this… for me?”

Baby finally looked up at you, his eyes lazy and golden. “You’re ours.”

Jinu’s voice followed, steady and calm and final. “We want to spoil what belongs to us.”

The rest of the ride passed in a haze of heat and teasing tension. They were all on you—touching, smelling, stroking little parts of you as if their hands needed constant confirmation that you were still here. 

The car slowed, pulling into a secluded alley where soft lights lit the entrance of a modern, private bathhouse. The windows glowed golden from within, steam wafting behind the tinted glass.

Jinu stepped out first, always the first to move when it came to you. He turned, hand extended, eyes gentle. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You took it, and instantly Abby was there on your other side, steady and warm. Baby was still clinging to you, of course—unapologetically threading his fingers between yours. The others flanked you without speaking, their presence solid, instinctive.

Inside, the lobby was dim and polished, wood and slate and soft jazz humming in the air.

At the reception desk sat a young woman, tablet in hand. Her eyes lifted.

And her entire posture changed.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes going wide at the sight of the five men surrounding you. She stood straighter, her voice sweetening. “Good evening. Do you… have a reservation?”

“Under Jinu,” he replied smoothly, placing a hand lightly on your lower back. “Private suite. For six.”

The receptionist blinked, trying to smile through her sudden fluster. “Ah, right… I see it here. Wow, that’s a long session. You boys really know how to indulge.” Her voice dropped just enough to make her intention clear.

Her gaze swept over the group, eyes lingering a little too long on Abby’s arm, on the way Romance’s shirt hung slightly open, on the silver of Mystery’s rings. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and bit her lip.

They didn’t even glance at her.

Not even once.

Every gaze was already locked on you.

You, standing between them with damp lashes and flushed cheeks from the car ride. You, wrapped in the scent of all five of them, marked in ways no one could see but they could smell.

They weren’t flirting back. Not one of them smiled. Not one of them responded to her attention. Instead, they were fixed on you.

Baby had his chin on your shoulder. Jinu’s hand never left the small of your back. Abby's form loomed just behind you like a silent wall. Romance tilted his head, gaze half-lidded, watching your mouth.  And Mystery... Mystery wasn’t looking at you anymore.

He was watching the receptionist.

So when she finally glanced at you, the flicker in her expression wasn’t curiosity. It was dismissal. A silent Really? Her?

She didn’t even try to hide it.

Baby’s voice came first. Low. Lethal. Lazy.

“Don’t look at her like that.”

The girl blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” Jinu’s smile was still polite, but his eyes had gone cold. “Fix your face.”

Mystery stepped slightly in front of you, eyes narrowed. “Do your job. Give us the key.”

Abby’s tone dropped a level deeper. “Now.”

The girl startled. Her hands scrambled a little as she reached for the keycard, placing it on the counter with a too-bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy your stay.”

They were already done with her.

Romance turned without so much as a glance in her direction, his full attention on you as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek. The back of his knuckles grazed your jaw, slow, reverent. It made your knees feel like mist.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Their hands never left you.

They didn’t have to drag you toward the private suite—you followed willingly, instinctively, caught in the trance of their proximity, your steps synced to theirs like you belonged nowhere else but between them.

You barely noticed the shift in atmosphere as you passed through the lounge.

Didn’t notice the hush that fell.

You didn’t notice the way one pair of familiar eyes widened from across the room.

But Rumi did.

She heard your laugh before she even saw your face—softer, breathier than she remembered. And when she looked up and caught sight of you, something in her stilled.

There you were.

Surrounded.

Encased in shadows and warmth and something far more dangerous.

The Saja Boys encircled you like a pack—like you were prey and queen all at once. A treasured thing they’d stolen back from the world.

Rumi’s grip on her drink faltered. Her lips parted—about to speak your name. But the sound never left her throat.

Because then she saw your smile.

The slow, dreamy curve of it. The softness in your eyes as Jinu leaned down to murmur something against your temple. She saw how Baby’s fingers idly played with the hem of your sleeve, how Romance reached forward to adjust the collar of your blouse like you were something delicate. 

And you… you didn’t resist any of it.

You were relaxed. Dazed. Glowing.

Theirs.

Rumi’s chest tightened, a strange ache blooming in the silence.

The last time you spoke, it had ended in a fight.

Now she stood frozen, watching them worship you with nothing but their eyes, their touch, their silence. 

And then the boys noticed her.

Jinu slowed first. His steps didn’t falter, but his head tilted ever so slightly—those golden eyes finding hers with chilling ease. His gaze, moments ago so tender on you, turned cold and blinding, like sunlight catching the edge of a blade. Warning. Dismissal. 

Abby didn’t bother with subtlety. He met Rumi’s gaze head-on, unblinking. A slow dare flickered in his gold-rimmed stare. Then his hand, broad and deliberate, slid down the length of your back in a possessive stroke that sent a shiver through you. His palm lingered at your waist, fingers splaying like he was staking a claim.

Romance didn’t stop touching you. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes locked on Rumi’s as his fingers tilted your chin up, gentle but firm. His voice dipped low as he whispered something against your lips that made you gasp, cheeks flushing under the weight of it. Whatever it was, it was not meant for her ears.

Baby was last.

He blinked slowly at Rumi, his expression unreadable and gaze cool. Then he turned deliberately to you. His lips brushed your cheek, slow and warm, leaving behind a soft smear of affection like a brand. And then, with a purr that curled around your spine, he said, “Almost there, pretty thing. Just a few more steps and we can finally have you all to ourselves.”

It wasn’t just teasing.

It was a promise.

And through it all, Mystery didn’t glance Rumi’s way once. His full attention was on you, hand resting low on your back like a quiet claim, thumb brushing your spine in rhythmic circles. He didn’t need to look. His message was already clear.

Rumi sat frozen, heart thudding painfully behind her ribs.

The gold in their eyes pulsed a little brighter now—subtle but unmistakable. It was deliberate, like they wanted her to see. Like they needed her to understand what she was witnessing wasn’t a game, wasn’t a casual fling, wasn’t some passing obsession.

You were claimed.

Desired.

Guarded like treasure and worshipped like sin.

Theirs.

The door to the private suite opened with a soft click, and Jinu guided you inside with gentle pressure at the small of your back.

Romance didn’t stop grinning.

He looked back one last time, eyes catching Rumi’s like a hook, and gave her the smallest nod—mocking, amused, unapologetically smug.

And then the door shut with a deep, final thud. Sharp as a heartbeat.

Just like that, she was shut out.

She saw everything.

The glow in their eyes. The way their bodies gravitated toward you like you were gravity itself. The touches—casual in motion, loaded with heat. The way their stares softened when they looked at you, like you were the first and last thing they ever wanted.

Like they would raze the world just to keep you warm.

And in that moment, Rumi understood something that rattled in her bones.

Maybe they were demons.

But they didn’t look incapable of love.

Not anymore.

Not when it came to you.

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[emryshunts]

Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 8: 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥/𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬), 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 (18+) —𝐄𝐦𝐫𝐲𝐬 🩷 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k+ not proof read 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

The first thing you felt was the purring.

It thrummed through your bones—low, steady, soothing—and so close it felt like it was coming from inside your own chest. You didn’t open your eyes right away. You didn’t need to. The heat pressed against you, the arm slung tight around your waist, the deep inhale brushing against the curve of your throat—everything in you already knew who it was.

Mystery.

He was draped over you, skin to skin, shirtless and half-asleep, warm in a way that made the ache between your thighs pulse again. His lips brushed your collarbones like they belonged there, over and over, soft and deliberate. Each kiss landed directly over the mark he’d left on your skin the night before, a slow claim he was reasserting in the laziest, most dangerous way.

His breath hitched when your body shifted—just slightly closer to him. And this time, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t hide. The soreness in your muscles only reminded you how thoroughly they’d claimed you, and instead of curling inward, you leaned into it. Into the feeling. Into him. Into the terrifying, addictive truth that he was yours just as much as you were his.

His lips stilled at your throat, breath warm against your skin, but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, dragging your hips just slightly deeper into the cradle of his body.

The oversized shirt you wore slipped slightly off your shoulder as you reached up sleepily, fingers brushing against the sharp edge of his jaw. His skin was warm, and your thumb traced the curve of his cheek until you could tilt his face toward you. His mouth parted like he couldn’t quite believe you were touching him like that—so gently, so freely.

His light purple hair spilled across his features in a soft, tangled mess—like it always did, hiding too much of him. But when you brushed it back, you saw the way his lashes fluttered, the way his pupils stayed wide, dilated, drinking you in like you were something unreal.

Your body moved before your thoughts could keep up.

You swung your leg over his hips, easing yourself into his lap, straddling him fully now. The shift in weight made your shirt ride up higher—exposing the bare skin of your thighs as they bracketed his waist. His eyes snapped open, and stayed open this time, locking on where you sat.

His entire body stilled beneath you.

Then his gaze dragged up slowly, reverently, from your thighs… to the shirt that barely covered you… to your mouth.

“Mmm—baby…” he rasped, his voice low and ruined from sleep, eyes blinking through the haze of lavender strands that had slipped back into his face. His fingers flexed on your hips like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you still or pull you closer. 

You leaned in, still quiet, still suspended somewhere between dreaming and desire. Your hand slipped into his hair again, brushing it gently back so you could see him. Really see him. The flushed tips of his ears, the dazed heat in his eyes, the soft tremble in his jaw like he was barely keeping himself together.

And then you kissed him.

Your lips met his softly, unspoken, unhurried.

Mystery froze for a second—completely still beneath you like he’d short-circuited. 

His fingers slid to your hips, gripping you with the gentlest desperation, thumbs pressing into the soft stretch of bare skin beneath the hem of your oversized shirt. The kiss deepened naturally, like his body already knew the rhythm of yours. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was slow and sweet and aching, the kind of kiss that said I missed you even in my sleep.

You shifted again, settling more comfortably on his lap, deepening the kiss by just a breath. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging it back to bare more of his face, because you needed to see him. Needed to feel all of him.

His breath hitched. He exhaled shakily into your mouth.

“God…” he whispered, lips brushing yours, voice hoarse and wrecked from sleep and want. “You’re gonna kill me like this…”

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long the kiss had lasted. Minutes? Hours? A heartbeat stretched across eternity?

All you knew was his mouth never left yours for long. And your body never stopped pressing into his— straddling his bare waist like you belonged there.

His hands anchored you gently at your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin, reverent and unhurried. His lips tasted like sleep and want and something older, something deeper. Like he was feeding on the moment. Like the bond was still blooming between your ribs.

But somewhere in that haze—somewhere between the way his lips kept tugging at yours and the warm press of his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your spine—something flickered in the back of your mind.

A thought.

A memory.

A responsibility. 

An entire day waiting for you. Something you were supposed to do. Handle.

Your lips parted from his with a soft gasp, breathless, and you pulled back slightly, your hand still tangled in his hair. “Wait—”

He didn’t even hesitate.

He chased your mouth like he was starving for it, heavy-lidded and greedy, kissing you again before you could finish the thought.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed against your lips, velvet and rasp, slow and hungry. “Don’t pull away darling. C’mere…”

“Wait,” you said again between kisses, breathless and dazed, laughing as you placed your palms to his chest to hold him back—barely. “I just remembered—I have work—”

He didn’t even pretend to listen.

Instead, he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he could devour the protest off your tongue. His smirk ghosted against your lips when you whimpered, when your hands pushed weakly at his chest.

“I’m working too,” he said, voice low and wicked, nosing along your jaw. “Working on kissing you until you forget what you were saying.”

You almost did.

But you managed to brace your hands more firmly against his chest, pushing just enough to create a breath of space. You were panting, flushed, legs tangled in the sheets, the hem of your shirt hitched high over your hips.

“I’m serious,” you said, trying not to fall apart under the heat of his gaze. “The schedule—we have a full shoot today, remember? I have to get the rest of you up, make sure you’re fed, dressed—”

He groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like your words physically pained him.

“God, you’re evil baby," he muttered against your skin, his lips grazing your pulse before dragging a long, slow kiss over your throat. “You’re sitting here in nothing but a shirt, warm and pretty in my lap, and you're talking about work?”

Your breath stuttered. “Myst—”

His nose brushed your cheek, voice a deep rasp against your skin. “We cleared everything. Canceled the whole schedule.”

You stared, heartbeat skittering. “You what?”

“We decided last night.” His lips traced your jaw, slow and teasing. “You’re not going anywhere today.”

“I—Myst, I have things to do,” you tried, even as your hand gripped his shoulder like you didn’t mean it. “I’m supposed to be managing you—”

“You are,” he murmured, kissing the mark on your neck with possessive reverence. “You’re just not leaving our bed to do it.”

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his face. “All of you agreed to this?”

He nodded lazily, like the question barely needed answering. His eyes dragged over your flushed face, gaze simmering with hunger. When he saw how hard you were trying to stay composed, trying to breathe through the haze, his smirk returned. Slower this time. Hungrier. Drunk.

“We weren’t gonna let you get up and pretend nothing happened,” he said, voice rough and fraying at the edges like it physically pained him to speak instead of kiss you.

“After last night? After claiming you?” His hand curled around your waist and pulled you closer until your legs tangled. “No one’s letting you run off. Not when you still smell like us.”

“I…” Your breath caught as his lips brushed your shoulder again, then lower, teeth scraping softly. “I thought you’d all just… go back to normal.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

And they glowed—deep and molten, golden shadows swirling with something dark and ancient. Something that didn’t understand the word normal.

“This is normal now,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with a fingertip. “You’re ours. That doesn’t reset in the morning.”

Then, like the words alone weren’t enough to make you feel it, he kissed you. Slow, deep, drugging. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thoughts scatter like ash.

You turned your head away just to catch a breath, dizzy and half-gone. But he followed. 

His lips trailed after yours, brushing your cheek… your jaw… the corner of your mouth. A kiss for every place you tried to escape. You murmured his name like a warning.

He only smirked against your skin, utterly unrepentant.

“Mm. Look at you,” he whispered, lips pressing to your throat, hot and open-mouthed. “Already trying to run.”

You gasped as he kissed lower, mouth dragging over your collarbone, nipping just enough to make you twitch.

When you pressed your hand to his chest again, trying to slow him, he only chased you more. His hands roamed. His lips found every inch you exposed.

“You’re lucky…” he murmured against your collarbone, voice thick and full of wicked amusement, “...I like the chase.”

Just when you thought he might relent, he dragged you back into another kiss. 

This one was messier, needier, drunk with want. His fingers tightened at your waist, possessive and coaxing. 

Even when you tried to breathe, tried to speak, his mouth was already back. He kissed you again, soft but urgent, murmuring something like “Don’t stop” between kisses “Not done with you yet”.

His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your knees buckle—then his tongue soothed it, coaxed another kiss from you, slow and open-mouthed and dizzying.

He kissed you again.

And again.

Like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, until all that was left of you was his.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and it broke something in him.

He groaned, hands sliding down to map every curve he hadn’t touched yet—possessive, reverent, like he owned the shape of you.

Then—

grrroowllll

Your stomach betrayed you with a loud, unapologetic rumble.

You froze.

Mystery blinked, lips still hovering against yours. Then his eyes widened a little… and the smirk that spread across his face could’ve lit the room.

A low, husky laugh slipped from his chest, and before you could stop him, he dropped his head to your neck with a snort, shoulders shaking.

You groaned in mortification, hiding your face in his shoulder. “No. Don’t. Don’t you dare—”

“You got hungry while I’m here kissing you?” he teased, voice thick with affection and laughter. “Seriously?”

You swatted at his arm, weak and blushing and still half-drunk on his kisses.

He only laughed harder.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and bit your cheek.

“Hey!” you gasped, smacking at his chest with a muffled squeak.

He just licked the spot, eyes gleaming, smug and unrepentant. “Sorry, darling… you’re just too cute.” he purred, voice dropping a note lower, richer. “Can’t help it. I’m starving—might as well eat you up.”

Before you could recover, he was all over you again—assaulting your cheek with slow, messy kisses, every so often nipping you just hard enough to make you gasp. It wasn’t gentle.

You squirmed, giggling now, voice caught somewhere between a flustered whimper and a laugh. “Myst—!”

He hummed like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard, nosing along your jaw. “Mm. Say my name again like that and I will keep you from breakfast.”

Then his hands slipped beneath your thighs, and with a low grunt, he stood—lifting you effortlessly into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“Time to feed you,” he murmured, voice thicker now with sleep and satisfaction. “Before you start gnawing on me.”

“I can walk,” you mumbled, but you were already curling into his warmth, letting him carry you.

“I know,” he said, tilting his head to press a slow, possessive kiss beneath your ear. “But I like carrying you.”

And you didn’t argue after that.

Not when he was holding you like you were something rare and breakable, like putting your feet on the ground would somehow be a tragedy. His bare chest was hot against your body, the strong flex of his arms and the scent of your bond still humming between your skin making it hard to think clearly.

Dizzy and pliant, you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed against his collarbone as he carried you down the hall.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

Abby stood at the stove, tall and shirtless, a comically tiny apron tied low around his waist—white with bold red lettering that read Kiss the Cook. The fabric barely covered anything important. His back flexed as he flipped a pancake with casual precision, muscles rippling in the soft gold wash of morning light. His hair was tousled, sleep-warm and wild, like someone had dragged fingers through it.

Mystery snorted beside you. “Subtle.”

Abby glanced over his shoulder and immediately grinned when he saw you draped in Mystery’s arms, cheeks flushed, legs still lazily tangled around his waist. “Well, well,” Abby teased, voice rich with amusement. “Look who finally crawled out of bed.”

Your eyes widened. “What... what are you wearing?”

Abby turned fully, posing like a devilish model. The apron barely clung to his hips, riding scandalously low. “Do you like it?” he asked, all mock innocence, though the curve of his mouth said he knew exactly what he was doing. “Romance picked it out. Said it matched my energy.”

You stared. Blinked. Tried so hard not to drool. “He’s not wrong.”

Mystery let out a low breath, clearly amused, before finally placing you down onto the kitchen counter. The cold marble met the backs of your thighs with a sharp sting, making you jerk and hiss softly as your borrowed shirt rode high, in a way that didn’t help your modesty or the boys’ restraint.

“Cold,” you muttered, shifting with a squirm.

Mystery’s lips twitched in a lazy, sinful grin as his hands smoothed along the backs of your thighs, slow and teasing, his palms warm where the marble wasn’t. His fingers lingered just under the hem of the shirt. He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.

“You should’ve let me carry you straight to my mouth instead of the kitchen,” he murmured, voice thick and low, a shiver running through each word. “Bet that would’ve warmed you up faster.”

You opened your mouth to answer but Abby swept in like sunlight and sin, a spatula in one hand and nothing but trouble in his eyes.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous,” he drawled, flashing a grin that was all teeth and charm, like he already knew you were seconds from melting. He raked one hand through his messy hair, the movement stretching the muscles in his bare chest. They rippled with just enough flex to make your breath catch.

“What do you want in your pancakes, hmm?” His eyes dragged down your body—slow, indulgent, lingering a little too long on your bare thighs. “Chocolate? Strawberries?”

Then his voice dropped a note lower, velvet and wicked.

“...Or me?”

Your breath hitched. Words short-circuited somewhere between your mouth and your brain.

Mystery chuckled low against your neck, the vibration sliding straight down your spine. His lips grazed your skin, deliberate. “She’s full from earlier,” he said, all innocence layered over implication. “But maybe she’s got room for dessert.”

Abby tilted his head like he was genuinely considering it. “I do make a mean whipped cream.”

Your entire body flushed. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands—but it did nothing to hide your smile or your wrecked composure.

“Correction,” Abby said smoothly, stepping in close—too close—until the warm press of his bare skin brushed your knees. “Irresistible.”

And then—before you could even think of stopping him—he leaned in.

His mouth met yours in a slow, devastating kiss, warm and lazy like honey poured over fire. The ties of his apron grazed your thighs as he bent closer, teasing silk against skin, the heat of him melting into you with every second.

By the time he pulled back, your lips were swollen and parted, eyes dazed like you’d forgotten your own name.

He lingered close, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with maddening care. His voice dropped to a low purr.

“Now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Your brain sputtered like static. “Just… syrup,” you managed, breathless.

Abby chuckled, the sound satisfied and deep, before stepping back with a wink. “Classic. Sweet.”

He glanced down your legs again, eyes darkening slightly.

“Just like you.”

Abby plated two servings—one for you, one for Mystery—but when he turned to hand yours over, he didn’t pass the plate.

Instead, he picked up the fork, sliced off a bite, and looked you dead in the eyes as he lifted it.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he said softly.

You obeyed, letting him feed you the warm, fluffy bite dripping in syrup. Your lips closed around the fork, and his eyes dropped—watching the way your mouth moved, the slow pull of your tongue, the delicate sound that slipped from your throat when you swallowed.

“Good?” he asked, voice thicker now, thumb brushing across your lip where a smear of syrup glistened.

“Mmhmm,” you managed, still chewing, heat blooming in your cheeks.

But he didn’t look away.

He held your gaze as he brought that same thumb to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick it clean, slow and deliberate. His smirk deepened, satisfied.

“Messy girl,” he murmured.

Before you could react, Mystery leaned forward, fork already prepared with a piece of pancake topped by a single plump blueberry.

“Try mine,” he said, voice all velvet and smoke.

You leaned forward, lips brushing the tips of his fingers as you accepted the bite. His eyes darkened slightly, his hand lingering just a moment longer against your mouth before he drew back, chewing his own bite with a pleased hum.

“Where are the others?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from the heat curling low in your stomach.

Abby answered between giving you bites. “Living room. They already ate.”

“They said we should take our time,” Mystery added, scooting closer, his thigh pressing against yours. “Said you looked too good sleeping between us to wake you early.”

Abby reached down to rest a large palm on your bare knee, then slowly slid it up to your thigh, fingers idly tracing circles just under the hem of your shirt. “They’re not wrong.”

“You’re spoiling me,” you whispered, already feeling drunk on the way they looked at you.

Abby’s lips lifted into a slow smile. “Good.”

Mystery leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, his voice a silken thread as he murmured, “Let us.”

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

You whimpered before you could help it, squirming slightly on the counter, your belly already tight and achingly full—yet Abby still wasn’t finished. He lifted the fork again, syrup dripping from the bite as he nudged it toward your lips with calm, deliberate insistence.

“Abby…” you whined, voice airy and petulant, your pout forming automatically as you tilted your head away, lips barely parted. “I’m full…”

He gave you a look. Patient. Playful. But with that steady, unwavering heat behind it that made your thighs press together. His hand didn't move from your leg—instead, it wandered higher, teasing just under the curve of your hip.

You turned your eyes to Mystery like he was your last hope.

He stood against the fridge, arms crossed, his empty plate forgotten on the counter behind him. Watching the scene unfold like it was the best part of his morning. His smirk was slow and amused, his gaze unreadable—but sharp.

“Mystery,” you breathed dramatically, reaching one hand out toward him like a starved maiden begging for rescue. “Help me. Please.”

His brows lifted with exaggerated interest. “Help you with what, exactly?” he said, the drawl in his voice practically sinful. “Chew?”

You groaned and collapsed back against the cabinet with a theatrical sigh. “I’m dying…”

“Mm,” he mused, finally pushing off the fridge. He moved toward you slowly, like he had all the time in the world, his steps smooth and silent. “You look pretty alive to me. And very, very spoiled.”

You tried again, this time sweeter. Softer. Almost a whimper. “Help,” you whispered, lashes fluttering. “I’ll cuddle you after.”

Mystery’s mouth curved, clearly tempted—but before he could take another step, Abby’s voice cut through the air like velvet steel.

“Don’t.”

He didn’t even look at him. His gaze never left yours, unwavering as he lifted the fork again and tapped the edge lightly against your lower lip in silent command.

You froze, breath catching. That single word—low, firm, possessive—set something off inside you, a shiver that ran straight down your spine.

Mystery blinked once, then chuckled softly, lifting both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, clearly amused. 

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then bent to your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, just for you, “You’re so cute when you’re bratty…”

And then he just… turned and walked off. Casual as ever, like he hadn’t just left you breathless and exposed on the counter. The soft click of his steps retreating made the silence around you feel even heavier.

“You traitor!” you called after him, squirming when Abby’s hand curled more firmly around the back of your thigh.

“Mm,” Mystery replied lazily over his shoulder, that smirk audible in his voice. “I’ll cuddle you later… if you survive.”

“Mean,” you muttered, pout deepening. But when you turned your head back—

Abby was still there. Still standing between your legs. Still holding that same damn fork with that same maddening patience.

Still feeding you like you hadn’t already told him three times you were full.

“You really trying to get someone else to rescue you right in front of me?” he asked quietly, not angry—just amused. Dangerous. Dark amusement lacing his words like heat curling at your spine.

“I was just—” you started, trying to sound innocent.

He arched a brow, tilting his head in that slow, pointed way that made your breath catch.

“You were just being a bad girl,” he said simply, voice dipping deeper.

Your cheeks burned. Your thighs clenched around his hips instinctively as he leaned in, lips brushing a warm, unhurried path across your cheek, grazing lower until his breath kissed your ear. His words poured into you like smoke.

“You didn’t eat dinner after everything we did to you last night,”he murmured, thumb stroking the side of your throat, right over your fluttering pulse. “You passed out with nothing in your belly. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

You swallowed hard. You could feel the heat of him, his focus, his care—twisted up in that firm, quiet dominance that made your body respond before your brain could catch up.

“I’m full,” you whispered, almost pleading.

Abby’s eyes dropped to your lips, then your stomach, and back again.

“Then you should’ve told me that two bites ago,” he said, voice edged with dark amusement, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth. “But you didn’t. You just kept whining and fluttering those lashes like you didn’t know better.”

He leaned in until your noses almost touched, gaze locked on yours, unblinking.

“Now you’re gonna finish like a good girl.”

Your breath hitched.

He raised the fork slowly, deliberately. “Open.”

You hesitated, lips parted—but the warmth of his hand on your thigh and the dark heat in his gaze stole your will.

You obeyed.

He fed you the last bite with such care it almost hurt, his other hand sliding up your spine in long, possessive strokes. Every movement felt like praise and punishment all in one. 

You chewed and swallowed obediently under his gaze, your lips wet and trembling when you finally licked them clean.

And then he was there—close, closer—pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then lower, hovering by your mouth like he was considering stealing a taste.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with pride, with hunger, with something darker.

Your whole body lit up.

Abby helped you down from the kitchen counter with practiced ease, strong hands gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His fingers lingered for a beat too long on your hips before one palm drifted lower.

pat pat

A soft, deliberate pat on your ass. Just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re good to go, baby,” Abby murmured, voice thick and low, like he hadn’t quite shaken off the heat of feeding you. “Living room’s yours.”

You made a noise under your breath, equal parts flustered and annoyed, your body still too warm and too soft from his touch. Pouting, you started to pull away—but your knees didn’t quite cooperate at first, and he chuckled behind you, smug and unbothered.

You turned to glare at him over your shoulder, lips twitching in an unconvincing attempt at indignation.

Abby winked, unapologetic. “You’re welcome, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks still hot, breath not quite steady. 

Barefoot, still flushed, you padded toward the living room. Your steps were slow, hips swaying a little more than necessary—calculated. Punishing. If they were going to toy with you, you could play too.

Mystery had left you at Abby’s mercy without a whisper of warning. That wouldn’t go unanswered.

You were plotting.

But the moment you stepped down into the sunken den, every thought flew from your head.

You stopped short, heart skipping.

All four of them were already there—sprawled across the massive sectional like a centerfold pulled straight from your most dangerous dreams. Limbs relaxed, legs spread, arms thrown over the back of cushions. Their postures were effortless, obscene in how much space they took up. Shirts tugged low or half-forgotten. Collarbones and veins and bare chests on display like they hadn’t even noticed. Like you were the one intruding on them.

Romance’s shirt hung completely off one shoulder. Baby had his hoodie up but nothing underneath. Jinu was in his tank top, damp and clinging to his chest in all the wrong ways.

And in the center—of course—was Mystery.

He lounged like he owned the couch, like he was born into that space with the air bowing around him. One hand twirled a coin between his fingers in lazy, practiced flicks, while the other stretched across the back of the cushions like an invitation—or a trap. His long legs were spread wide, his expression unreadable except for the heat simmering behind his lashes.

And then he looked at you.

He didn’t even turn his head. His eyes just found you like gravity bending toward a single fixed star.

You raised a hand and pointed at him, murder in your gaze.

Mystery blinked, then let a slow, amused smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Uh-oh.”

“You,” you hissed, storming forward. “You ditched me.”

He caught the coin mid-spin, set it aside with deliberate care, and finally—finally—sat up to face you, slow and regal like he was indulging you.

“Correction,” he said smoothly. “I strategically retreated.”

“Coward.”

His eyes dipped—slowly, brazenly—down your body, then back up again. You felt every inch of his gaze like heat tracing under your skin.

“You were in excellent hands,” he murmured. “Judging by how flushed you still are… I’d say it worked out.”

Then Romance made a strangled gasp from his side of the couch. “Wait,” he cried, clutching his chest like a drama prince. “Was it bad? Did he feed you?”

You reached for a pillow on instinct. “I should smother you with this.”

Romance only grinned wider, unbothered.

Your gaze cut back to Mystery. “And you—you're lucky I don’t have something heavier in hand.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something intimate and dangerous.

“Wouldn’t stop me from catching it,” he murmured. Then, slower—deliberate, a dare you could feel between your thighs—“Or throwing you right back.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself, heat curling low in your belly. God, he was so smug. And worse—he could back it up.

“God, you’re all so—ugh!” You ran a frustrated hand through your hair, only to wince at the way your scalp still tingled, every nerve remembering Abby’s touch like a brand. 

“I think she’s mad,” Jinu whispered theatrically to Romance.

“She’s so hot when she’s mad,” Romance whispered back.

You narrowed your eyes and stepped into full manager-mode, arms crossing tightly under your chest. “Since you’re all listening so well,” you said, voice sharp as glass, “let’s talk about the real problem here—why the hell did all of you cancel your schedules today?”

“She’s doing the hands-on-hips thing,” Baby whispered from his corner, still half-reclined with one knee bouncing lazily. “Oh, she’s serious.”

“Damn right I’m serious!” you barked, leveling them all with a glare. “You think you can just wake up, decide you’re not feeling it, and throw away an entire day’s work? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to line everything up—?”

“We worked very hard last night,” Jinu muttered lowly, just loud enough for them to hear.

That earned a chorus of snickers and a loud choking noise from Baby.

Your jaw dropped. “You—! That has nothing to do with—!”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Mystery drawled, finally pushing up from his lounge into a slow, predator’s lean. His elbows rested on his knees, dark gaze laser-focused on your collarbone—right where his mark pulsed, hot and aching. “We did mark you. That makes today your rest day.”

“You can’t just—!”

And then Abby strolled in behind you, calm as ever, toweling off his hands like he hadn’t just heard the entire argument. 

“We adjusted the day,” he said, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.

“You canceled it,” you snapped, rounding on him. “Without discussing it with me—your manager. No one even told me!”

He didn’t even blink. Just tilted his head as he met your fire head-on, calm and unbothered. “You needed the morning. We all agreed.”

Mystery didn’t flinch. “And we did tell you.”

“You told me after.”

You bristled, but Jinu stood and crossed the space with silent intensity, head tilted as he studied you like a puzzle only he could solve. “You think any of us could sit through press conferences or dance rehearsals knowing your scent is smeared on our skin… while you’re here, walking around all soft, marked, and fragile—”

“I’m not fragile,” you bit out, defensive heat rising in your chest.

But they weren’t even listening to your words. They were listening to your pulse. Feeling the spike in your tension. The too-tight way your arms crossed, the rapid flutter of your heart, the barely-concealed tremble that threaded through your body like static. It echoed down the bond—their bond—burning bright and wild.

“No,” Abby rumbled behind you. “But you’re ours.”

Then, without warning, his arms slid around your waist from behind, strong and sure. You gasped as your back met his chest, heat bleeding through his bare skin to yours. 

One big hand pressed over your lower belly. The other rested high over your ribs, fingers spreading like he could hold your heart still through the touch.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re shaking”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, even as your hands curled around his wrists like you needed him to keep you upright.

“No, you’re not,” he said gently, pulling you closer until you were fully cocooned in his arms. “You’re overwhelmed. We can feel it. We didn’t mean to push you.”

You blinked, throat tightening around something you couldn’t name. “Because you—”

“—acted like demons protecting their mate?” Jinu said coolly, gaze fixed on you like he could see straight through your skin. “Yeah. We did. And we’re not sorry.”

“You don’t need to manage anything today,” Mystery added. “You need to be taken care of.”

Romance finally sat up, patting his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mere, sweetheart. You’ll feel better.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but the words dissolved when you finally saw it.

Romance’s tail was out.

The long, sleek appendage curled lazily behind him, the pointed heart-tip flicking once, then swaying back and forth with a rhythm that felt almost… hypnotic. You hadn’t even seen it emerge. You’d been too busy trying to scold them, too caught in your own heat and fluster. But it was there now, bold and relaxed, a devilish punctuation mark to the open space he was offering you.

Abby smiled against your temple, his lips brushing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. “Let us spoil you,” he murmured, voice velvet and smoke. “You deserved it baby.”

“I don’t need to be spoiled,” you whispered, though the words trembled, teetering on the edge of surrender. And they heard it. Felt it.

Abby’s laugh was low and dangerous, a purr rolled in thunder. “You were marked by five demons last night, baby,” he rumbled. “You couldn’t even walk straight this morning.”

Heat rushed up your neck, flooding your cheeks as flashes of memory teased at your mind—gripping hands, growled praise, whispered filth as you shattered again and again beneath them.

“Exactly,” Baby drawled from the couch, arms behind his head, hoodie riding up to expose a sliver of smooth muscle and toned belly. His grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp.“So sit that pretty ass down and let us baby you before you pass out on your feet.”

Romance’s tail swayed again, curling slowly as if beckoning you. That damn heart-shaped tip lifted in an almost teasing arc before it flicked once more, waiting.

“You’re so stubborn,” Abby growled at your back, voice dropping to something that curled around your spine. “Always pretending you don’t want this.”

You turned, ready to snap back—but didn’t get the chance.

Because his arms were already around your waist.

And then you were airborne.

“Abby—!”

“Nope.” His breath was warm against your ear, his tone soft but final. “You’re clearly overwhelmed. And we’re not letting our mate burn herself out.”

He walked you straight over to Romance, who was already leaning back, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, the other held out in invitation. His tail swayed lazily behind him, the heart-shaped tip already twitching in anticipation.

The moment Abby placed you into his lap, you felt it—Romance’s tail immediately curling around your waist in one smooth, possessive loop.

Your body tensed. Your breath caught.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice suddenly much softer.

Romance grinned against your temple like a devil who’d just caught his favorite sin. “There she is,” he purred. 

His tail gave a gentle tug around your hips, tugging you deeper into his lap, dragging you closer until there was no space left between you. Chest to chest and you straddling one of his strong thighs. Heat radiated from beneath you, his muscles shifting like coiled silk.

All around you, the boys were spread out across the massive couch in various states of chaos and focus. Abby lounged with a drink in hand, legs wide, his gaze cutting your way now and then with that sharp, knowing gleam. Jinu sat on the floor, one arm draped over the cushion, knee raised, his head tilted back—but his eyes, half-lidded and dark, never strayed from where you sat. Mystery was silent in the corner, elbows on his knees, eyes unreadable but fixed on your hips like he was trying not to move. And Baby—Baby was upside down on the far end, humming something soft and strange, but even he had gone still, the hum pausing mid-note as his eyes flicked to where Romance’s tail held you in place.

But you couldn't focus on any of them.

Not when Romance's hand slid to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair with slow, hypnotic intent. One stroke. Another. Fingertips dragging against your scalp, grazing just behind your ear—

Your body gave out.

A soft, broken sound slipped past your lips—half sigh, half whimper—as you melted into him, spine curving, your cheek brushing against his shoulder like it was your final place of rest. Your head lolled gently, the muscles in your thighs twitching as you clung to his lap like it was the only stable ground left.

Romance’s other hand cradled your lower back, firm and steady, anchoring you with just enough pressure to make you feel owned. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice like a velvet rope pulling you deeper. “Just relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

His lips ghosted against your temple, down toward your jaw—but never fully landed. Just enough to make you ache.

Romance’s fingers slid again through your hair, nails dragging ever so gently.

You whimpered—barely audible, but real.

And that was when Baby spoke, voice a lazy purr from across the massive sectional.

“Mmh. She’s so quiet now,” he teased, hanging upside down with his strands brushing the floor, a wicked grin stretching his lips. “Is she asleep?”

His words barely touched you. Everything felt slow and liquid and safe. His arms caged you in warmth, the slow drag of his fingertips through your hair lulling your body toward sleep. The weight of the boys’ gazes around you should’ve been suffocating, but somehow, it only made you feel more protected. 

You were seconds from slipping under when you remembered it.

His tail.

Still curled tight around your waist.

Your lashes fluttered open, breath hitching in your throat. The realization bloomed like heat under your skin, turning your limbs molten with curiosity. Your fingers twitched against his forearm—testing, teasing, emboldened by the way he hadn’t let go.

You hesitated. Then, like you were asking something innocent—like you weren’t straddling a demon’s lap in a room full of them—you let the question fall out in a whisper.

“…Can I touch it?”

Silence.

The air shifted like pressure dropping before a storm.

Abby, who’d been lounging with his drink balanced casually on his thigh, sat bolt upright like someone had snapped a leash. Jinu turned, slow and sharp, his head tilted, mouth parted, eyes locked on you like he didn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Baby gasped his hand smacking over his mouth with a delighted slap like he couldn’t hold it in. Even Mystery moved, his cold gaze zeroing in on you, jaw twitching, his entire body alert with interest like a predator catching a tremor in the ground.

But Romance?

Romance didn’t flinch.

He just leaned back a little, tilting his head, a slow, lazy smirk curving his lips like you’d just whispered something filthy straight into his ear.

“You really want to touch my tail, sweetheart?” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek, lips hovering close enough to steal your next breath.

You swallowed, your thighs tightening around his. “…Yes?”

His purr hit you like thunder under your skin.

“You always ask the dirtiest things,” he said, voice dipping until it was thick velvet wrapped around you, “in the softest little voice.”

You blinked, flustered, but caught in his gravity. “I didn’t mean it like—!”

“Oh, I know how you meant it,” he interrupted smoothly, that grin never fading. His hand slid lower down your back, fingers tracing the base of your spine. “But my tail… it’s a bit sensitive.”

As if to prove it, the silk-wrapped coil around your waist shifted—slowly, deliberately—unwinding with a sensual slowness that made your stomach flip. Then it rose between you, the heart-shaped tip hovering in the space just below your chin.

Your breath stuttered.

Then—flick.

The tip brushed your cheek in the lightest, most feather-soft tease. You flinched and giggled without meaning to, your body jolting slightly in his lap.

“Romance—!” you squirmed, trying not to laugh as the tip flicked again, brushing the edge of your nose, then tracing a teasing path down your jaw. “That tickles—!”

He made a pleased noise behind you. “It likes you.”

Your hand moved instinctively, swatting gently, but the moment your fingertips brushed the smooth surface, his whole body shuddered. A low, deep purr rolled from his chest, so rich it made your bones vibrate.

“Oh…” you whispered, eyes wide.

Romance’s breath stuttered against your neck.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “There. Just like that.”

His tail curled into your palm on its own, like it wanted more, like it knew it was being touched by you. The texture was smooth, warm, responsive, almost like a second spine. You stroked down the length slowly, testing the reaction.

Romance groaned.

A dark flush crept up your neck as you glanced back at him. His eyes were glowing. Not just gold, but bright—lit from within with something hungry and unrestrained. His lips were parted, breath heavy, and the muscles beneath you had gone taut, like he was holding himself still with everything he had.

“You okay?” you breathed.

His laugh was low and wrecked. “Sweetheart, I’m holding on by a thread.”

You made the mistake of looking to the side.

Jinu’s mouth was slightly open like he'd stopped breathing. Baby was fanning himself with the hem of his hoodie, cheeks flushed bright pink. Mystery had a pillow hugged to his chest, eyes wide behind his bangs like he wasn’t sure whether to flee or watch harder. And Abby—he hadn’t moved an inch. Still, quiet, unreadable… but his eyes were pinned to you, dark and sharp like a predator tracking prey.

You swallowed hard.

“…Are they really that sensitive?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your tails, I mean.”

The room shifted again—not in silence, but in tension.

Romance exhaled a slow, hot breath against your jaw, then leaned back just slightly so you could see the curve of his smirk.

“It depends,” he said, voice like a secret. “On the Demon. On the moment.”

His fingers trailed lazily along your outer thigh, a slow back-and-forth stroke that made it hard to think. “But mostly? Yeah. They’re sensitive. Especially around the base… ”

He paused.

“And the tip.”

You froze. 

Your fingers were still resting on the soft underside of his tail—the tip.

The same one that had been nuzzling your palm like it couldn’t bear to be away from you.

“Oh,” you breathed, finally understanding.

Romance’s smirk deepened, eyes half-lidded as he purred, “Exactly.”

He shifted slightly beneath you, enough to lean in. “It also only reacts like that,”  He murmured, dragging the tip of his tail across your palm like a kiss. “when it’s someone specific.”

You blinked. “Specific how?”

Baby made a dramatic noise. “It means you, dummy.”

“Baby—” Jinu hissed, mortified, but Baby just kept talking, his cheeks pink.

“Our tails don’t do that for anyone else,” he said, gesturing to the way Romance’s tail had wound itself tighter around your wrist like it was staking a claim. “That clingy, cuddly thing? It only happens when we’re around someone we’ve bonded with.”

Your heart stuttered. “Bonded?”

“It’s not—” Jinu jumped in, face flushed, clearly trying to salvage what pride they had left, “—It’s not that simple.”

He nodded toward Romance’s tail, which was still curling tighter against your skin, as if it were echoing his words. “It just… happens. You don’t trigger that kind of response unless…”

“Unless you’re the one,” Mystery said quietly, still hugging a pillow to his chest. “It’s instinctual. Not conscious. Our bodies just… know. When someone touches us and it feels like home. Smells like something we can’t let go of.”

You blinked down at the tail coiled around your wrist, warm and possessive. Its slow movement felt like a caress—like it was soothing you, too.

“So, like… mates?” you asked, the word fragile in your mouth.

Romance didn’t even hesitate.

“Exactly like mates.”

Your chest tightened. The word hit something deep. Raw.

Romance didn’t move. He was watching you with those molten gold eyes, waiting to see how you’d react. Not pushing. Just… waiting.

You swallowed. “You said it reacts when it feels something,” you murmured, barely able to trust your own voice. “But what if you haven’t… decided yet?”

“It doesn’t care,” Mystery answered before anyone else could. “The tail knows before we do.”

He sat forward slightly, gaze fixed not on you, but on the way Romance’s tail had coiled around your fingers like a living confession.

“Some of us can hide it better,” he continued, almost to himself. “But the tail doesn’t lie. It wraps around what it wants. It touches what it’s craving.”

Your breath caught.

Romance’s tail tightened slightly in your hand, like it was responding to the words without his permission. Like it agreed.

Jinu cleared his throat. “It’s instinctual. Tails react to emotional bonds… to compatibility, scent, touch—” He coughed into his sleeve. “Especially touch.”

Baby, draped across the rug like a sulking prince, let out a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s the same for all of us. Not that our tails are out right now, but if they were?”

He held up one hand, fingers wiggling like he was imitating a twitch. “It’d be game over. No use pretending.”

You looked down again, your gaze drawn helplessly to the tail now twined between your fingers like it had been made for your hand. It was warm. Alive. Slowly curling tighter, pulsing with quiet want.

“So…” you whispered, barely breathing. “This means…”

Romance chuckled, voice low and reverent, like he’d been waiting all day for you to get it.

“It means,” he said, voice silken and reverent, “I want you.”

The tail twitched in your grasp, curling possessively.

His gaze burned.

“Every part of me does,” he murmured, thumb brushing a slow stroke along your thigh. “Even the ones I can’t control.”

And then you felt it.

Not just his hand at your waist or his tail brushing your thigh like it couldn’t help itself—but something else. The way the air shifted. The way all of them went still.

The moment you realized… this was real. All of it.

The fire in their gazes. The aching restraint in their hands. The way their demon instincts whispered mine every time you so much as breathed near them. The way your name sounded different when they said it—like a prayer, like a promise.

You blinked hard, chest squeezing around something that had been growing, quietly, insistently, since the first time you saw them.

And now?

Now it felt like the final piece had dropped into place.

You weren’t just theirs.

They were yours.

You blinked hard and leaned in closer to Romance, your fingers twisting in the front of his shirt like you needed something—anything—to hold on to. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

“I love you.”

The words were soft, but they rang through the room like a shot.

Not whispered in a haze of heat. Not slurred or unthinking.

Romance went still. Every inch of him locked up beneath you, like your voice had frozen time. His tail twitched sharply in your grasp, startled and trembling. His pupils dilated instantly—so fast it made you shiver.

“What?” he rasped, almost afraid to believe it.

“I love you,” you repeated, firmer now. Certain. “Not just one of you. All of you.”

Jinu sucked in a sharp breath, like he’d been struck clean through the chest. “You… mean it?”

“Yes.” Your voice cracked. “Even when you’re impossible. Even when you’re annoying. Even when you make me feel like I’m losing my mind—I love you.”

The moment the words left your lips, the silence snapped.

“Gods, I’m gonna cry,” Baby whimpered.

He launched himself toward you with trembling arms, crawling across the cushions and wedging himself between you and Romance like his body couldn’t not be close. His eyes were wide and glassy, lip trembling as he clung to your side.

“I knew it,” he sniffled. “I knew you loved me. You were just being mean and pretending you didn’t—but I feel it.”

You cupped his cheeks gently, brushing your thumbs beneath his eyes. “I love you, Baby,” you whispered, smiling through the tears threatening to fall. “I always have.”

His lower lip wobbled harder. “That’s it. I’m never letting go of you. Ever. You’re stuck with me now.”

He kissed your cheek with a loud, wet smack, arms tightening around your waist like a clingy little shadow. His scent—warm, sweet, his—wrapped around you like comfort.

From the other side of the room, Jinu's breath hitched.

Then his eyes flared gold.

A visible tremor ran through him, not of fear, but of barely contained need. Hunger. Something primal and deep, pulsing just beneath the surface.

He rose from the cushions with quiet purpose, moving toward you with a kind of reverence that made your throat go tight.

He knelt beside you slowly, like approaching a shrine, and lifted his hands to your face. Careful. Steady. Like you were made of something he didn’t dare rush.

His thumbs swept softly along your cheeks, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. His gaze dragged across your features like he was relearning every inch.

“We love you,” he said again, his voice lower now, rougher, like it scraped against something unspoken. “And now that you’ve said it…we’ll never let you forget it.”

Your pulse jumped.

Jinu tilted your chin with two fingers. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the wild spice of his power coiling around your senses.

Everything stilled.

Everything waited.

“Say it again,” he whispered, breath warm on your lips. “One last time.”

Your voice shook, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

“I love you.”

Jinu exhaled like he’d been drowning for weeks. Then his mouth crashed into yours, not in violence, but in something even more devastating.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. But gods, it was deep. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Like your mouth had been haunting his every waking thought. Like the words you’d just said had shattered something inside him and all he could do was put the pieces back together with his lips pressed against yours.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled, your heart racing like a trapped thing.

And then you saw them.

The others.

Their expressions had changed.

They were staring at you like they could already feel your scent buried in their lungs. Like they’d finally been given permission to crave you out loud.

They were demons.

And they were in love.

And now that you’d said it—now that you’d looked at them and bared your soul without flinching—they would never let you go.

You belonged to them.

But gods help anyone who forgets…

They belonged to you, too.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The moment you stepped into the sleek black van, Baby was already there—waiting like he knew exactly where you'd be before you even moved. Without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours. Then, with that lazy, smug kind of grace only he had, he sank down into the plush bench seat and tugged you with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snug against his chest.

“Mmph. You're mine today,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a sleepy cat marking its favorite spot. His breath was warm, his body hotter. 

Behind you, a long, pointed sigh cut through the thickening air.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jinu muttered, voice sharp with a thread of barely disguised jealousy.

“Doing what?” Baby asked innocently, already pressing another soft nuzzle into your neck, lips brushing your pulse. “It’s not like anyone stopped me.”

Romance climbed in next, throwing himself onto the opposite cushion with a huff, one leg thrown wide, his chest rising and falling too fast to match his casual pose. “You moved faster than I’ve ever seen you move. I was literally reaching for her—”

“Should’ve reached quicker,” Baby muttered, arms cinching around your waist like a velvet trap. His smile was pure wickedness, hidden against your skin.

“You little—”

“He’s using his maknae privilege again,” Mystery noted, voice calm but eyes sharp as he settled in beside Romance, crossing his arms as his gaze pinned the pair of you. “It’s manipulation. Classic strategy.”

“Not manipulation if she likes it,” Baby said, just loud enough for them to hear—just low enough for only you to feel the vibration of his voice against your neck.

Your fingers lifted on instinct, slipping into his hair, threading slow and gentle through the soft blue strands. He groaned, low and wrecked, like the touch undid him. His mouth brushed your skin again, softer this time.

The van hadn’t even started moving, but you were already sinking into him, pliant and flushed, his warmth curling around you.

“Let him be,” you murmured, voice softer than silk, but carrying weight. The kind of softness that soothed and silenced, that made hearts still—and demons listen. “He’s just being sweet.”

Baby beamed, proud and smug, hiding it in your neck like he knew exactly what he was doing. And you knew he did.

That single sentence hit like a shot to the chest.

Romance’s head snapped up. “Sweet? That little gremlin?”

“He’s not hurting anyone,” you said softly, your fingers still threading slowly through Baby’s hair. He melted at your touch, the smallest, pleased purr vibrating through his chest.

The van erupted with groans and protests.

“You’re spoiling him!” Jinu said.

“She likes spoiling me,” Baby murmured into your throat, not even bothering to lift his head.

Romance groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Can we please just get moving before I do something regrettable like yank you into my lap instead?”

The words hit like a punch to your gut. Your gaze snapped to him.

He looked just as wrecked.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tried, breath catching halfway through.

His smirk curved slow and dark. “Try me.”

That image alone sent a flutter through your stomach. You were already practically draped over Baby’s lap, and now all five of them were sprawled across the seats inside the van—like kings at rest, waiting for their prize to fall straight into their hands.

“Fine,” you said, trying to sound composed even though your skin was singing. “Before this turns into an actual brawl—where are we going?”

That finally got their attention.

Jinu leaned forward, expression softening. “We booked out a private bathhouse for you.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“Mmm,” Abby confirmed, voice deep and rumbly from the front. “Private bath. Massage. Full package. Just us. No one else.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now, wrapped in confusion and a sudden, inexplicable swell of emotion.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” Romance said, a little more serious now. “And we don’t like seeing you worn down.”

“You take care of us every day,” Abby added. “So today, we take care of you.”

A pause hung in the van, heavy with emotion and unspoken want.

Your voice came out quieter. “All of this… for me?”

Baby finally looked up at you, his eyes lazy and golden. “You’re ours.”

Jinu’s voice followed, steady and calm and final. “We want to spoil what belongs to us.”

The rest of the ride passed in a haze of heat and teasing tension. They were all on you—touching, smelling, stroking little parts of you as if their hands needed constant confirmation that you were still here. 

The car slowed, pulling into a secluded alley where soft lights lit the entrance of a modern, private bathhouse. The windows glowed golden from within, steam wafting behind the tinted glass.

Jinu stepped out first, always the first to move when it came to you. He turned, hand extended, eyes gentle. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You took it, and instantly Abby was there on your other side, steady and warm. Baby was still clinging to you, of course—unapologetically threading his fingers between yours. The others flanked you without speaking, their presence solid, instinctive.

Inside, the lobby was dim and polished, wood and slate and soft jazz humming in the air.

At the reception desk sat a young woman, tablet in hand. Her eyes lifted.

And her entire posture changed.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes going wide at the sight of the five men surrounding you. She stood straighter, her voice sweetening. “Good evening. Do you… have a reservation?”

“Under Jinu,” he replied smoothly, placing a hand lightly on your lower back. “Private suite. For six.”

The receptionist blinked, trying to smile through her sudden fluster. “Ah, right… I see it here. Wow, that’s a long session. You boys really know how to indulge.” Her voice dropped just enough to make her intention clear.

Her gaze swept over the group, eyes lingering a little too long on Abby’s arm, on the way Romance’s shirt hung slightly open, on the silver of Mystery’s rings. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and bit her lip.

They didn’t even glance at her.

Not even once.

Every gaze was already locked on you.

You, standing between them with damp lashes and flushed cheeks from the car ride. You, wrapped in the scent of all five of them, marked in ways no one could see but they could smell.

They weren’t flirting back. Not one of them smiled. Not one of them responded to her attention. Instead, they were fixed on you.

Baby had his chin on your shoulder. Jinu’s hand never left the small of your back. Abby's form loomed just behind you like a silent wall. Romance tilted his head, gaze half-lidded, watching your mouth.  And Mystery... Mystery wasn’t looking at you anymore.

He was watching the receptionist.

So when she finally glanced at you, the flicker in her expression wasn’t curiosity. It was dismissal. A silent Really? Her?

She didn’t even try to hide it.

Baby’s voice came first. Low. Lethal. Lazy.

“Don’t look at her like that.”

The girl blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” Jinu’s smile was still polite, but his eyes had gone cold. “Fix your face.”

Mystery stepped slightly in front of you, eyes narrowed. “Do your job. Give us the key.”

Abby’s tone dropped a level deeper. “Now.”

The girl startled. Her hands scrambled a little as she reached for the keycard, placing it on the counter with a too-bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy your stay.”

They were already done with her.

Romance turned without so much as a glance in her direction, his full attention on you as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek. The back of his knuckles grazed your jaw, slow, reverent. It made your knees feel like mist.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Their hands never left you.

They didn’t have to drag you toward the private suite—you followed willingly, instinctively, caught in the trance of their proximity, your steps synced to theirs like you belonged nowhere else but between them.

You barely noticed the shift in atmosphere as you passed through the lounge.

Didn’t notice the hush that fell.

You didn’t notice the way one pair of familiar eyes widened from across the room.

But Rumi did.

She heard your laugh before she even saw your face—softer, breathier than she remembered. And when she looked up and caught sight of you, something in her stilled.

There you were.

Surrounded.

Encased in shadows and warmth and something far more dangerous.

The Saja Boys encircled you like a pack—like you were prey and queen all at once. A treasured thing they’d stolen back from the world.

Rumi’s grip on her drink faltered. Her lips parted—about to speak your name. But the sound never left her throat.

Because then she saw your smile.

The slow, dreamy curve of it. The softness in your eyes as Jinu leaned down to murmur something against your temple. She saw how Baby’s fingers idly played with the hem of your sleeve, how Romance reached forward to adjust the collar of your blouse like you were something delicate. 

And you… you didn’t resist any of it.

You were relaxed. Dazed. Glowing.

Theirs.

Rumi’s chest tightened, a strange ache blooming in the silence.

The last time you spoke, it had ended in a fight.

Now she stood frozen, watching them worship you with nothing but their eyes, their touch, their silence. 

And then the boys noticed her.

Jinu slowed first. His steps didn’t falter, but his head tilted ever so slightly—those golden eyes finding hers with chilling ease. His gaze, moments ago so tender on you, turned cold and blinding, like sunlight catching the edge of a blade. Warning. Dismissal. 

Abby didn’t bother with subtlety. He met Rumi’s gaze head-on, unblinking. A slow dare flickered in his gold-rimmed stare. Then his hand, broad and deliberate, slid down the length of your back in a possessive stroke that sent a shiver through you. His palm lingered at your waist, fingers splaying like he was staking a claim.

Romance didn’t stop touching you. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes locked on Rumi’s as his fingers tilted your chin up, gentle but firm. His voice dipped low as he whispered something against your lips that made you gasp, cheeks flushing under the weight of it. Whatever it was, it was not meant for her ears.

Baby was last.

He blinked slowly at Rumi, his expression unreadable and gaze cool. Then he turned deliberately to you. His lips brushed your cheek, slow and warm, leaving behind a soft smear of affection like a brand. And then, with a purr that curled around your spine, he said, “Almost there, pretty thing. Just a few more steps and we can finally have you all to ourselves.”

It wasn’t just teasing.

It was a promise.

And through it all, Mystery didn’t glance Rumi’s way once. His full attention was on you, hand resting low on your back like a quiet claim, thumb brushing your spine in rhythmic circles. He didn’t need to look. His message was already clear.

Rumi sat frozen, heart thudding painfully behind her ribs.

The gold in their eyes pulsed a little brighter now—subtle but unmistakable. It was deliberate, like they wanted her to see. Like they needed her to understand what she was witnessing wasn’t a game, wasn’t a casual fling, wasn’t some passing obsession.

You were claimed.

Desired.

Guarded like treasure and worshipped like sin.

Theirs.

The door to the private suite opened with a soft click, and Jinu guided you inside with gentle pressure at the small of your back.

Romance didn’t stop grinning.

He looked back one last time, eyes catching Rumi’s like a hook, and gave her the smallest nod—mocking, amused, unapologetically smug.

And then the door shut with a deep, final thud. Sharp as a heartbeat.

Just like that, she was shut out.

She saw everything.

The glow in their eyes. The way their bodies gravitated toward you like you were gravity itself. The touches—casual in motion, loaded with heat. The way their stares softened when they looked at you, like you were the first and last thing they ever wanted.

Like they would raze the world just to keep you warm.

And in that moment, Rumi understood something that rattled in her bones.

Maybe they were demons.

But they didn’t look incapable of love.

Not anymore.

Not when it came to you.

Next Chapter...

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[emryshunts]

Whaddup baby! It's your wild raccoon. I ADORE Bound to them you are one of my fave authors ever. Now I'm a curious cat...Can I ask for like a descriptions of their tails and horns? Like the other anon said a girly just wants to play with them, personally I'd love to put bows to their tails and horns lmao... Or like in another scenario would they be comfortable to let them out? like if you are petting their hair and they are relaxed would they let their horns and tail out? P.S I'd love to draw it

HELLO MY WILD RACCOON!!! You have no idea how much I smiled reading this—thank you for loving Bound to Them, you're seriously feeding my soul.

And yessss, let’s talk about horns and tails because I love that you're curious and even want to draw them—AH! So, I actually asked my best friend to sketch them out for me, and we settled that all of the boys’ tails are black, though each has a unique shape and texture that matches their vibe. As for the horns—Romance’s and Abby’s are the only ones with a different color. Romance’s horns are the same shade as his hair (that soft, gorgeous color), while Abby’s are a deeper, darker version of his. Jinu, Mystery, and Baby all have black horns, which adds to that sleek, shadowy aesthetic they give off.

As for them letting them out... YES. They would definitely let them out if they’re relaxed around you. Especially if you’re stroking their hair, touching them gently, maybe whispering something sweet… their bodies respond on instinct when they’re near their mate, so the horns and tails might slip out before they even realize it. And once they're out? Yeah, they’d let you pet them, play with them... even tie little bows if you're bold enough. They’d grumble and blush and pretend to complain—but they’d melt.

That said, I always encourage artistic freedom! If you wanna change up their horn or tail color to match your vision, go for it. I’d LOVE to see your drawing if you ever make one, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tag or DM me!! I would LOVE to see it. The thought of their smug little demon faces with bows on their horns is destroying me in the best way.

[emryshunts]

For will be fine is mc ignorant towards sex and all things involving it like organisms and stuff due to her being locked away her whole life? Because if so omfg the boys are gonna have sooo much fun tormenting her LOVE YOUR WORK

Since she’s been locked away her whole life, she definitely has strong Omega instincts—things like wanting to be close, craving touch, or even reacting intensely to their scents—but she doesn’t fully understand why or what any of it actually means. She doesn’t know what heats are, or why her body reacts the way it does around the boys. It’s all instinct without knowledge, which makes her super vulnerable but also so endearing to them.

As for the boys, they’re absolutely aware she’s their mate—and they feel it deep in their bones—but they’re being really careful with her. They don’t want to scare her off or overwhelm her, especially since she’s so inexperienced and still figuring herself out. So yes, while they are struggling to hold back (lol), their top priority is making her feel safe, wanted, and slowly easing her into understanding everything she's never been taught. It’s going to be such a soft yet intense journey.

Thank you so much for loving the story!! 💜✨