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sakamaki-paramour · 17 days ago

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SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 7

Ah shit, here we go again. (peak reference tbh)

cw: implied female reader, she/her used, alcohol problems mentioned, Stockholm Syndrome developing, lots of condoms, cursing, arguments, mentions of murder, mentions of killing animals and children, the boys lowk being horrible people

Things have been going surprisingly well.

Like, unrealistically well. Your fever’s gone. That’s one miracle. You’re walking around again. Your sarcasm’s returned.

You’re loosening up.

It’s almost… nice?

They’re not making it easy, though. Abby can’t stop picking you up. Romance sings when you walk into the room. Baby gives you exactly one scowl per hour but with less venom and more confused affection. Mystery’s become a piece of furniture in your room. And Jinu keeps acting like he’s not completely smitten.

They’ve got it bad.

And it shows.

They hover. But in a way that makes you want to hit them with a throw pillow, not a restraining order. So, in all fairness, you’re not exactly angry when you wake up this morning and find three of them arguing in the kitchen over who’s the hottest.

The air smells like coffee and Abby’s banana protein pancakes, and your voice actually doesn’t crack when you ask Baby to pass the syrup. You’re… okay. Not free, not safe, but okay.

Until.

“Well, I told Rumi to fuck off first.”

The room goes silent.

Your brain stalls. You blink. “Sorry… who?”

Jinu stiffens.

“…Huh?”

“Rumi?” you repeat, slower. Colder. “As in… my Rumi?”

Abby immediately freezes. Romance swears under his breath and stares at the wall like it’ll dig him out of this. Baby is quiet, which somehow makes it worse. Mystery’s mouth is open.

Jinu opens his mouth. Closes it. Sighs. “Fuck.”

Until now—until this—you had every reason to believe the girls didn’t know where you were. That they’d given up, maybe. That your absence had gone unnoticed in the flurry of schedules and stage rehearsals and demon hunting.

But no.

They’ve been interacting with the boys. You suppose fighting.

Actively.

And no one told you.

“How long?” Your voice is flat.

They all freeze.

Jinu finally breaks. “A few weeks.”

A few. Weeks.

Romance, trying to lighten the mood like a fucking idiot, adds, “I mean technically they jumped us first, so—”

“Shut up.”

He does.

Because you’re not laughing. Not being cute. Not brushing it off like you always do when they steal your things, or open your bedroom door without knocking, or try to get you to sit on their lap while watching horror movies. This is different.

They’re laughing. Boasting about it. Jinu and Abby had the audacity to walk in here days ago, asking how you were feeling while your team was out there bleeding because of them.

You’re making them wait. Letting the silence rot between all of you. Letting them sit in it.

And they do.

The five of them—each one known for being chaos incarnate, flirtatious, cocky, lethal—are silent. Not because they’re guilty (they are), or sorry (they are not), but because they feel it now. That shift in you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jinu is the one standing closest. You can feel him inch back like his body’s trying to shrink out of frame. Like maybe if he’s less visible, the guilt’ll shrink with him. “We didn’t want to upset you.” he says, voice as steady as he can manage.

You lift your head. Look him dead in the eye. “Oh, so instead you lied.”

He opens his mouth—then closes it. Good choice.

“Was that your idea?” you ask, tone surgical. “Or was it a group effort?”

“I mean…” Abby starts, voice lighter than it should be, huge arms crossed over huge chest. “It wasn’t—technically lying.”

“So when you came back days ago, covered in bruises, and said it was ‘just rehearsals,’ that was a lie.”

Romance opens his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, Romance.”

He shuts the fuck up.

“When you said you’d ‘be back in a few hours’ but didn’t come back until morning, that was a lie. When you brought me a new hoodie and said it was because you saw it and thought of me, but really it was to distract me from the blood on your knuckles, that was a lie too.”

Baby is looking at the fridge like he’s contemplating shoving his head inside it.

Abby’s chewing the inside of his cheek.

Romance looks genuinely sick for once.

Mystery just watches. Still, like he’s not trying to defend himself. Like he already knows what he did.

Romance dares to take a step forward. Maybe to hold you. Maybe to beg. But your body stiffens so instantly he backs off again. “Babe, they came in throwing blades, what were we supposed to do? Give them a kiss and a gift basket?”

You stare at him. Flat. Blank. Silent.

It’s so quiet you can hear Abby scratch the back of his neck. You don’t even look at him, but he speaks anyway, trying for gentle. “Babe… we didn’t tell you because it was—”

“Because you knew I’d lose my shit?”

No one responds.

“Because you knew I would lose my mind if I found out you were throwing punches at my team—”

“Not your team anymore.” Baby mutters.

You whip toward him, eyes narrowed. “Say that again.”

He meets your gaze. He’s leaning back in his chair, leg crossed, arms folded, cold as ever.

“You heard me.” he says. “You’re not with them. You’re here.”

“We’re not bad guys.” Abby cuts in quickly—too quickly—rising to your level, towering above you, his palms open, pleading. “Look at you—you’re not hurt, are you?”

“Emotionally?” you snap. “No, just mildly traumatized and gaslit.”

“You’re not a prisoner anymore.” Jinu finally says. “You’ve had food. Freedom to walk around. We never hurt you—”

“Except for the fucking torture, right?”

Dead silence.

Even they can’t argue that one.

“Tell me,” you say, stepping forward, “how the fuck did you expect this to go? You think if you kissed me enough I’d roll over and forget I had a life before this? You think if you played nice long enough, I’d pick you?” You pause. “Is that it? You want me to choose you?”

Romance’s eyes dart to Jinu. Then away.

You stare at them all.

Baby breaks the silence. “You’re still here.”

You glare at him. “Not by choice.”

“Still here.” he repeats, like he’s already won the argument.

“You think I won’t leave the second I can?” You want to scream. You want to sob. You want to run.

“We already told you.” Jinu says, voice lower now. “They came to us.”

You nod once. “And you fought back.”

“Of course we did.” Abby, crossing his arms. “They attacked us.”

“Oh, really?” you say. “That’s your logic?”

Romance leans on the counter. “C’mon, babe. You know how they are.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“They’re not saints.” he says. “They came at us. You think we’re just gonna sit there and—”

“YES!” Your voice snaps. No longer calm. No longer soft. “I think you should’ve sat there and let them take me back! I think you should’ve not kidnapped me in the first place, and then you wouldn’t be stuck choosing between torturing my friends and cooking me fucking breakfast!”

Baby mutters, “fuck” under his breath and looks away.

Abby groans, his tone picking up that boyish frustration. “They weren’t gonna listen! They weren’t gonna negotiate!”

“Because they don’t negotiate with kidnappers!”

“We didn’t hurt them.” Jinu tries again.

“Oh, well gold star.” you sneer, standing up. “You didn’t kill them? Wow. You must feel so fucking noble.”

Romance steps in. Too smooth. Too confident. “I think you’re being dramatic.” he says.

And he grabs your wrists.

You gasp, not because it hurts, but because he twirls you. Like a fucking dance move.

One minute, you’re fuming. The next, you’re spinning, half a step, palm on his, like this is a prom. And it’s infuriating how good he is at it.

“See?” he purrs. “Still got chemistry.”

You slap him. It lands before he’s even finished the sentence. A full, stinging crack across his cheek.

Baby actually smiled at that.

Romance licks his split lip. Tastes blood. Smiles.

“Hot.” he says quietly.

You want to scream.

“I think you’re children.” You swallow, look away, back at them. “I think you’re selfish, violent, obsessed with things you don’t understand. I think you use your trauma as a crutch and call it charm. And it’s not. It’s just… pathetic. And you’re all so used to each other,” you continue, breath trembling. “so proud of how loyal you are. How tragic. But the second I showed up, you turned into these desperate, groveling, love-sick animals who’d rather claw each other’s throats out than admit that none of you even know what love is. You’re pathetic. All of you.”

They all shift in place. Romance folds his arms across his chest and drops his gaze. Baby looks away entirely. Mystery is looking at the floor. Abby shifts, frowning, about to interrupt—but you lift a finger. He stays silent. Jinu is the only one looking at you.

“You think your trauma makes you special? That your pain gives you permission? It doesn’t. All it’s done is make you selfish. Scared little boys with sharp teeth. And you hide behind charm or sex appeal or that stupid, smug god complex—” you jab a finger at Romance, who smirks half a second before his face falls again “—because it’s easier than admitting you’re all lonely. You’re selfish. You’re cruel. You don’t even understand why I’m angry, and that’s the worst part. I think you all genuinely believe you’re doing the right thing. And I think that’s the scariest fucking part.”

None of them speak.

“I think you’re so used to taking what you want and surviving that you don’t even stop to consider the damage. That maybe the world doesn’t revolve around your trauma. That maybe you’re not the only ones who lost something.”

You glance at Jinu.

“You’re kind. But you’re spineless when it counts. You’re just a liar that makes everyone else feel better about being cruel. You’re selfish.”

Jinu looks down. His fingers twitch at his sides.

Your eyes fall to Abby next.

“You cover your obsession with jokes and muscle, but all I see is someone who’s used to getting attention and can’t stand it when it’s not handed to him.”

Abby laughs—just once. No humor. Not a sound he meant to make.

Then Romance.

“You’re not charming. You’re not sexy. You’re a lonely kid with a voice like honey and the emotional intelligence of a dead plant. You use people. You seduce people, then call it love when they don’t run away.”

His jaw ticks. But he doesn’t interrupt.

Baby stands back, arms folded.

“I don’t even know what you want. You act like you’re too cool to care but I’ve seen you. You’re a fucking wreck under that little attitude. Maybe stop pretending.”

Nothing. Not a blink.

“And Mystery,” you say, turning slightly to look at him at least. “I don’t care how sweet you are to me. If you really cared, you’d help me leave.”

You take one step back toward the hall. Then another.

“I just want to go home.”

Romance—fucking Romance—mutters, too softly, too desperate: “…Babe?”

But you don’t look back. You don’t answer. You just wave him off like a mosquito. You disappear down the hall and slam your door shut.

They stand in the kitchen like kicked dogs.

Baby runs a hand down his face. Jinu leans on the counter, hands bracing himself like he might throw up. Abby’s arms fall to his sides, broad shoulders slumping like someone deflated him. Mystery, true to himself, doesn’t do much.

Romance exhales, loud and shaken. “…Well. That went amazing.”

And then Abby mutters, completely deadpan and casual, “You got a boner.”

Romance doesn’t even look at him. “I know, bro.” (AN: imagine his face like :c)

“From the slap?”

Romance shrugs. “From the whole thing. I dunno. She was really mean. That’s kinda my thing.”

The silence that follows is… horrible.

“…she’s right.” Mystery mutters.

Romance rubbing his jaw where your hand landed. Abby chewing his thumb knuckle. Jinu still frozen, calculating every mistake. Baby with his head tilted back.

So yeah.

It was going well.

You’d laughed with them. You’d eaten at the table instead of the floor. You’d let Abby put his hands all over you. You’d let Romance kiss your cheek, let Jinu tuck you in, let Mystery sit at the foot of your bed. Baby had even tolerated you breathing the same air as him without an eye-roll.

It was progress. Weird progress.

You were softening.

And so were they.

But this? This moment? This was inevitable. The guilt. The resentment. The slow, creeping rot beneath the bandage. You were never going to just be okay with it. Not forever. Not really. It was always going to slip. One of them was always going to say something they shouldn’t. And you were always going to reach your limit.

And now here it is.

Later that night, they’ve all scattered. Romance is lying on the floor of the living room with his hands on his face like he just got dumped. Abby sits in one of the chairs, arm over his eyes, breathing deep, Mystery next to him because he likes company. Baby’s sprawled upside-down on the couch like gravity doesn’t apply to him, throwing a stress ball at the ceiling and catching it over and over again. He looks bored. He’s not. His stomach’s been in knots for hours. Jinu’s in his room, laptop closed for once.

They’re not talking.

Because what’s there to say?

You’re right. You’re so right. And they all know it.

But knowing it doesn’t mean they’ll do anything about it.

Because they’re still—god, they’re still so fucking selfish.

They could do something, too. That’s the fucked up part.

Jinu could open your door, fall to his knees, and tell you that he’s sorry. That he knows he ruined you a little. That he doesn’t even deserve to say your name, let alone be gentle to you like he’s been doing.

Abby could throw you over his shoulder and take you to the edge of the city and ask, not demand, ask you—do you want to go? And let you go if you said yes. Even if it would break him in half.

Romance could look you in the eye and say I love you. Not in the smirking, purring way he’s used since the beginning, but in the kind of way that hurts. The kind that’s too vulnerable. Too real. He could say it. He could give up the act.

Baby could—fuck, he could apologize. That alone would do damage.

Mystery could sneak into your room and just sit with you, like before, and you’d probably forgive him more than anyone.

But none of them do.

They do nothing.

Because doing something would mean doing the right thing.

And they are so, so far from ready to stop being selfish.

Because even now, even after all that… they still want to keep you.

They could do something about this. They could unlock your door and say the thing that matters. They could fall on their knees, tell you everything you deserve to hear. Tell you they’re sorry. That they’ll let you go.

They could.

They won’t.

Because even now, the thought of you walking out that door guts them more than your hatred ever could. Even knowing they’re the reason, they still want to keep you here. Keep you angry. Keep you close.

They’ll lie to themselves about it in a hundred ways. Tell themselves it’s for your safety. For love. That the world’s worse than them. But deep down, all five of them know, they’re still bad people. They could knock on your door, say sorry, say please, throw themselves at your feet, weep into your lap, tell you that they’ll never touch the girls again, never lay a finger on anything sacred to you. Romance could kneel. Jinu could kiss you all over. Baby could beg, he’s done it before. Abby could hand you his whole spine. Mystery would lie at the foot of your bed and growl at anyone who came near.

They could do all of that.

But they don’t.

They’ve all done things.

Horrific, catastrophic things.

Jinu is horrible. He’s betrayed people. Chosen wrong. Killed for convenience. Selfish. So so so selfish. Abby used to enjoy it. The fight. The torture. He was the one they’d send in when subtlety failed. There are people whose last word was his name. And not screamed lovingly. Romance has laughed during murder. Whispered to people while choking the life out of them. He thinks affection makes up for his sins, but all it does is soften the guilt enough that he keeps doing the same thing. Mystery’s killed children. That’s not metaphor. That’s not subtext. It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t speak about, because if he did, none of them could ever look at him the same. Baby might be the worst of them all. Because Baby liked watching. He liked watching Gwi-Ma do his damage. He stood still through most of it, eyes wide and curious, taking notes. It took you for him to start feeling things again.

So no. They weren’t ever good. And they won’t be.

It was going so well. But they are the villains of this story. And the five of them? They know it. They just… don’t care enough to stop.

Jinu knows he should set you free. Let you walk. Tell you everything you deserve to hear, all of it, raw and bleeding.

But he won’t.

Because he wants to be forgiven without changing.

And that makes him worse than all the rest.

Abby? He’s lying face-down on the living room rug now, shirt off, arms out like he’s been slain in battle.

He just can’t bring himself to be a better man.

Not when he already knows how to be a monster so well.

They took you. And instead of giving you back, they held tighter. They justified it a hundred different ways.

“She’s safer here.”

“She’ll understand later.”

“We’re not that bad.”

Bullshit.

He knows exactly who they are.

He’s ripped creatures in half and smiled through it. Done things with his bare hands that would make your stomach turn. And if you really knew him, the real Abby, the one who isn’t grinning and picking you up and ruffling your hair, you’d never touch him again. Never let him touch you again.

And still, he wouldn’t take any of it back.

Romance still has his cheek red. Lip split. Half-hard in his sweatpants because his body doesn’t know how to separate humiliation from desire anymore. You slapped him, and all it did was make his chest burn hotter.

Then he thinks about the first time he saw you cry, tied to a chair, trembling while Baby pressed cold steel to your neck.

His stomach turns.

He’s disgusting. He knows that.

He wants you to want him so badly he’s willing to bend the world around you until you have to stay.

You hit him.

You really hit him.

He smiles a little. Then drops it.

He wants you so fucking badly it makes his bones hurt. And he knows, knows, that he could walk into your room right now, fall to his knees, and beg.

And you’d hate him more.

Because Romance? Romance never stopped being a whore for pain. His own. Yours. Anyone’s.

He’s disgusting.

And he doesn’t stop being disgusting. That’s the problem. He likes how fucked up he is.

Baby is a ghost in his own life. He remembers choosing to kill someone because he didn’t like the way they looked at him. He’s not sorry. Not really. But he’s sad. And that’s a different kind of damnation.

You make his chest hurt. You make his hands twitch. He wants to hold your wrist. Just your wrist. Feel your pulse. Remember you’re real.

But then he thinks about what you’d say if you knew who he really was. If you knew how many people he’s reduced to ash and didn’t blink.

You wouldn’t even let him touch your sleeve.

So he won’t try. If he doesn’t care, it can’t hurt. Right?

He wants you too, of course. Of fucking course. But he’d rather implode in silence than admit it. He’d rather cut out his own tongue than beg. That’s how Baby works.

He’s the most dangerous one. Because you’ll never know how far down he’s buried the truth.

Mystery lies curled into Abby’s side, face buried in a black pillow.

He remembers begging. He remembers whimpering in a voice too small for someone like him. He remembers clawing at a cell wall until his nails came off.

You make him feel safe.

But also weak.

They could change. Let you go. Apologize. Mean it. But they won’t. Because they’re still demons. Still bad. Still selfish. Still fucked up beyond repair.

So yes.

They could fix this.

But they won’t.

Don’t even mind this shit time skip to the middle of the night. You didn’t want to come out of your room. Really, you didn’t. But your stomach? A traitor. So here you are, barefoot and furious in the oversized hoodie someone (probably Jinu) gave you, holding a wooden spoon like a weapon, stirring with passive aggressive grace.

Footsteps.

He’s standing there. You can feel him. And you know it’s him. Jinu.

You catch the glow of faint lavender patterning beneath the collar of his sleep shirt. Pulsing against the skin of his neck, running like divine ink down his collarbones and disappearing under cotton.

The bastard is glowing.

Eye contact.

You grip the spoon tighter.

“…accident.” he mutters under his breath.

You don’t respond. Just keep stirring the sauce. Still angry. Still hungry.

“Can I help with someth—”

WHACK.

You slap on his hand with the wooden spoon. He pauses. Laughs under his breath. “Right. Fair.”

He inches closer again.

WHACK.

This time, the spoon hits the back of his arm. Harder. Sharper. Still not even your best.

Jinu winces, grinning now. “You’ve got good aim.”

You go for his back again, and he takes it like a champ. You’re honestly giving it your all now. Not holding back. You shouldn’t.

You’re mad. You’re so mad you could scream, but you won’t. Because screaming means you still care. And right now? The only satisfaction you’re going to get is from beating this man with a fucking utensil.

You go for his arm. Then his chest. Then his back, chasing him in a slow circle around the island. You don’t say a word. You don’t have to. The wooden spoon speaks.

And the most infuriating part? He lets you.

Jinu laughs under his breath—quiet, chesty. Like it’s a relief to be punished. Like this, all of this, is sweeter than any kiss you could’ve given.

He takes another hit. And another. You go for his chest this time. He lets you. You’d probably keep going, if he didn’t lean forward with a casual, devastating smile and murmur, “Those are really cute panties.”

Your hand freezes mid-swing.

You blink.

“Hey, hey, compliment! I was being polite!” he says, laughing, even as you swing again—and this time he catches your wrist. His grip is gentle. Not stopping you out of strength, though you both know he could. But stopping you like he’s catching falling leaves.

“I deserved all of that.” he says, eyes flicking over your face.

You rip your hand back, step away, turn your back to him. Stir the sauce harder. More chili oil. Fuck it. Let it burn.

“I hate you.” you mutter.

“I know.” he says.

You throw a noodle at him. It sticks to his chest. The glowing lines pulse softly.

He peels it off like it’s gold.

Even when you’re pissed—especially when you’re pissed—you still look so goddamn perfect.

And he’d let you kill him. Spoon and all.

If it meant he could stay near you just a little longer.

And yeah, okay, maybe your underwear does have tiny strawberries on it and a stupid little bow and fuck you were just trying to be comfortable—

You swing the spoon again.

He lets you hit his chest. Twice. And starts laughing.

He watches you ladle soup into a bowl. Doesn’t touch anything, just stays standing there, unreasonably tall. He’s too nice, and it pisses you off.

“I know what you’re doing.” you mutter finally.

He raises a brow. “And what’s that?”

“Trying to be the nice one. Good cop. Gentleman. Makes you feel better about keeping me here, right?”

“No.” he says quietly. “It doesn’t.”

You shove the pot back on the stove with a little more force than necessary. You don’t spare him another glance.

You’re already halfway out the kitchen before he moves.

“Wait—hey. Can we just… can we talk?” he tries.

You keep walking.

“Come on, just—talk to me.” he tries again. “Y/N. Please.”

You keep walking.

“Wait—fuck, just—can you stop for a second?”

You don’t. But you slow. That’s all he gets.

Jinu jogs a few steps to catch up, barefoot on the cold wood floors. He steps in front of you, blocking the hallway, still glowing faintly violet in the low light, his demon marks curling up his throat.

“I know you’re pissed—”

“Understatement of the year.”

He winces. “Okay. You’re furious. Look, yeah. I fucked up. We fucked up. But it’s complicated—”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, turning away. “do not hit me with the ‘it’s complicated’ speech—”

“—You were a threat to us when this started—”

“Nice.”

“—But now you’re not.”

“Oh, so I’m just a cute little hostage now, got it.”

He groans, exasperated, like he’s the one who’s suffering. “You’re twisting everything I say.”

“You’re saying stupid things.”

“And you’re acting like we’re the enemy.”

“You are.”

“Look, I didn’t lie, exactly—”

You raise your brows.

“I didn’t lie.” he insists, though he did. They made up lies after lies when coming home. Technically he’s also lying now. “We just didn’t tell you. It’s… it’s different. You’re important. And we didn’t know what the girls would do if they thought we had you. And yeah—okay—they do know now. But we’ve been handling it.”

You just stare at him.

He tries again. “We didn’t want you to panic—”

“Oh, so I’m stupid now.”

“No!” he blurts out, way too fast. “No, no no no, that’s not what I meant, I meant—fuck—you’re not stupid—you’re terrifying when you’re mad actually—”

You roll your eyes, stepping past him.

He follows. “And okay! Yes! We’ve been fighting the girls. But only when we had to, alright? They’ve been coming for us.” Jinu, baby, your mission is to kill them.

You stop. Turn slowly. Your expression is brutal. Beautiful.

“I didn’t kill them.” he says, voice lower now. Softer. “Not any of them. I could’ve. I didn’t. None of us did. Not even Mystery, and that’s saying something.”

“You kept me here.” you murmur.

He swallows. “I know.”

“You knew they knew where I was.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t let them come for me.”

“I didn’t let anything happen. I protected you. I’ve protected you every night. Do you know how many times I’ve kept Abby from opening that front door with a fucking rocket launcher?!”

You scoff. Turn again. Keep walking.

“I made mistakes.” he says to your back, following you, earnest in that awful, boyish way, like honesty could be an apology if he says it with enough pout. “But I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“No.” you say without turning. “You did it because you don’t give a fuck about them.”

He doesn’t deny it. Because it’s true. He doesn’t give a fuck about the HUNTR/X girls. Doesn’t give a fuck about your old life, your found family, the blood and blades.

He only gives a fuck about you.

“I don’t want to be here.”

“I know.”

“I hate what you’ve done.”

“I know.”

You wait. For him to walk away. For him to give up. For him to say something that’ll prove he’s as evil as you tell yourself he is. But Jinu doesn’t.

You don’t look back when you leave Jinu in the hallway. You don’t slam your door, too dramatic. Too loud. No, you close it slow. Quiet.

And you are pissed. God, you are so fucking pissed. You’re pissed at them. At the lies. At the way you’re starting to forget what freedom felt like. At how you’ve somehow become a thing to be kept, not a person to be trusted.

And now, lying across the entire width of your oversized, silky bed…

…is your baby.

Well. Jinu’s baby. But what’s his is yours now.

Derpy lifts his head immediately. The size of a damn refrigerator.

“Hi, my beautiful boy.” you croon, already climbing into the bed to scratch behind his ears. He lets out a guttural mrrowwwl that shakes the bedframe.

“My handsome, handsome man.” you whisper as you press your face into his thick neck fur. “The love of my life. There’s my beautiful, perfect man.”

The moment you sit on the bed, he’s there, head butting into your shoulder, curling his huge body around yours like a fortress. You lean into him with a soft, exhausted sigh.

“There we go.” you coo, brushing your fingers through his mane. “My sweet boy. My pretty baby. Love of my fucking life.”

He rumbles, a sound between a purr and a growl, low and content, as you press a kiss to the side of his face and nuzzle into the fur at his neck.

“Best man I’ve ever known.” you murmur.

Another rumble. He flops onto his side, spine against your thighs, a big warm weight that makes everything else disappear. You curl around him, fingers sifting through thick fur, your voice soft and petty and dripping with sugar.

“You’re the only man I’ll ever love. My love. My beautiful baby boy.”

You fucking love this thing.

“You’re the best boy.” you murmur, kissing his jaw. “The best boy in the whole world. They’re all bitches. You’re my real soulmate.”

Another tail thump. He noses into your shoulder, exhaling warm air. You swear this fucking thing knows everything. Feels everything.

You press a kiss to his face, fingers threading into the thick fur at his neck.

“Sweet dreams, baby boy.”

All this while Romance is lying on his bed, arms folded behind his head, one leg propped up.

When your voice hits his ears, his breath catches. He can hear you, super senses, obv.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just lies there, staring up, jaw tight.

The love of my life.

He almost laughs. Almost. But it’s not funny.

Baby is in his chair. Not bed. Feet tucked under him. A tray of untouched snacks next to him.

My love. My beautiful baby boy.

He’s going to kill himself in three two one GO!!

Abby is half asleep in bed, hugging Jinu’s bird to his chest like a therapy pillow. The bird does NOT want to be there but Abby’s warm so whatever. It’s fine.

Best man I’ve ever known.

He pulls the blanket over his face. Just for a second. To hide the way his mouth twists. Then tugs it back down because he doesn’t want poor Sussie to fucking die there.

Mystery sits on his bed. Shirtless, but not for the attention. Just because he runs hot and has no sense of shame. And because he’s a boy and boys can do that and I’m so jealous. He has his legs drawn up. Knees to his chest.

You’re the best boy—a little smooch sound as you kiss Derpy—The best boy in the whole world.

He just listens.

He doesn’t know how to compete with a damn cat. But he would kill for you to talk to him like that. To kiss him the way you kiss that fur.

Jinu went back to his room. He hears you talk to his cat like it’s your firstborn, kiss it like it’s your reason to keep going. Hear the love in your voice, the softness that used to be for people, before they twisted it out of you.

He hears it.

And it fucks him uuuuup.

He smiles. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes closing, breath catching.

Lucky bastard of a cat.

Gwi-Ma licks at their minds. Lays between the folds of memory. He whispers. He watches. And when the silence gets too quiet, he shows them things.

And his boys?

His precious little murder sons?

He never leaves them alone.

They’re vulnerable.

Which makes this so much more fun.

Half an hour later, Jinu’s in the shower, water scalding. Hands pressed against the tile, head bowed, steam billowing like it could burn the guilt off his skin if he just stands still long enough. That’s when he hears Gwi-Ma’s voice,

“You did this.”

Jinu freezes.

“You could’ve told her. But you didn’t. Because deep down, you liked it. You liked having something she didn’t. Liked having her trapped.”

His jaw tightens. He breathes deep. Tries to shake it off.

“You’re just like them. Worse, maybe. They want her. You keep her.”

His breath stutters. A drip of water slithers down his spine.

“She hates you. You know that, don’t you?”

Jinu sighs. Rolls his eyes.

“You make a very pretty mistake, Jinu.”

Next is Romance. His room is dim. Red lights. Velvet curtains. Mirrors. Too much cologne in the air, like he’s hiding in it.

He’s sprawled on his bed, one arm over his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“She doesn’t want you. She never did. She thinks you’re pathetic. Clingy. Disgusting. You talk too much. No one laughs because you’re funny. They laugh because they know you’re afraid.”

Romance exhales.

“Afraid of what you are without a joke. Afraid she’ll see the rot underneath that pretty mouth.”

Then, the image of a woman with her neck twisted, body limp. Romance did that. Back, way back, years ago.

He didn’t mean to.

He puts a hand over his eyes, but the image stays. Carved into the backs of his lids.

“Tell her that story next time she calls you unbearable.”

Then Baby. His room is chaos. He’s awake. Always awake. He has to be. Because when he sleeps, Gwi-Ma waits. But even when he’s awake, sometimes—

“Tick, tick, tick. You’re wasting time.”

Baby stops on his phone.

“She’ll never forgive you.“

Bro?? Shut up, dude.

“Why do you think they call you Baby? Because they’re waiting for you to grow up and disappear.”

Abby is chewing on his cheek in his room, but doesn’t cry. Didn’t even cry when his brother died. Didn’t cry when he watched his soul get swallowed.

But tonight? Tonight Gwi-Ma brings back the screams. And the worst part? He liked it. He remembers the rush. The high. The way the sound made him feel like a god.

“She’ll never forgive that.” the demon hums. “Not even if you lie. Not even if you bleed. She’ll know what you did.”

Abby runs a hand through his hair.

“She thinks you’re stupid. Big, pretty idiot. All abs and no spine. She laughs at you, you know.”

Mystery is picking the nail polish off his nails, the picture of rivers of blood in his head. The girl who tried to kiss him once, dead before she hit the ground. The small dog that barked at him for too long, snapped. The countless limbs he’s torn off things no one ever named.

And then, your voice.

“Monster.”

“Rabid.”

“I could never love you.”

Yeaaaaah, Gwi-Ma’s not a nice guy. But he likes you.

You’re a pretty little human, in his head. Fair, is the word he uses, but not in the justice sense. You’re kind. Smart. Funny. The dream human really. You amuse him endlessly.

Not that he’s met you yet. No. That would ruin the game. That would tip the balance. Not until the boys are dangling off the edge. Raw. Exposed. Not until they’ve given everything for you and you’ve spit it back into their hands.

And you’re funny.

Yes, he laughs. Demon overlords laugh, didn’t you know?

And right now, as he watches Mystery walking toward your door? He laughs and listens.

Mystery stares at the door for a long time. He’s one of the only ones who knocks. Only Jinu and Mystery ever knock. The rest barge in.

But not him.

No.

Mystery always knocks.

From inside, your voice cuts through the wood. Muffled. Cold. “Go away.”

He doesn’t. He opens the door instead. Slowly. Steps in.

“I said go away.”

He stands in the doorway. Stares at the floor.

“I won’t ask again.” you add.

He lifts his head. “Okay.”

But he still doesn’t leave. He steps in. Quiet. He stands near the dresser, not quite in your space, but not giving you peace either.

Silence.

You finally look at him. Tired. Angry. But not as angry. Because it’s Mystery. And he doesn’t lie to you. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t charm. He just is.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice rough with sleep and disdain.

He shrugs.

“You’re not sleeping in here.” you say flatly.

“I’ll stay on the floor.”

“You won’t.”

Another pause.

“I like it here.”

You blink. “What?”

He’s still not looking at you. Just the floor.

“…Then go lay down. On the floor.”

His chest lifts. A single breath. No joy. Just relief. He moves silent. Takes the blanket you keep folded near the chair. Lays out beside the bed. Not touching. Not close.

You roll onto your side, facing away. But your voice, soft, comes a moment later: “You’re still a bastard.”

“I know.”

“…But thank you for knocking.”

He doesn’t reply. Silence, completely.

Then, you ask, “What’s up with you?”

It takes him a second to realize you’re talking to him. “Nothing.”

You sigh.

God, he’s… sweet.

Not nice in the polished, obvious way Jinu is. Not in the performative, “look at me being tender” way Romance pretends. Mystery’s kindness is raw. No other word can describe it.

You hate that Mystery, the one who bites people, the one who fights like he wants to break his own ribs doing it, the one who doesn’t speak unless it’s to warn or protect or curse, is the one you feel safest with. You hate that you’re curling into your sheets right now and not kicking him out. You hate that you just handed him a spare pillow without thinking. You hate that you’re starting to feel… Comfortable.

Your voice is small, muffled in fur. “You’re weird.”

His lips twitch. Almost a smile. “You’re warm.” he says softly. A beat. Then, “Good smell.”

You snort. “That’s not flirting, Mystery.”

“Wasn’t trying.”

You shift, curling on your side.

Then silence. Like, twenty minutes of rock hard silence. You’re not falling asleep, for some reason, so you speak again

“…You asleep?”

You ask it like a joke. Dry. Barely a whisper.

Mystery doesn’t turn his head, but you hear the faintest hum in response. He breathes in. The sound shaky. Like he’s trying to hold a thought together. “…You hate me?”

It’s so quiet. Not pitiful. Not self-loathing. Just curious. Bare and open and fucking gutting.

“No.” you say finally, and your voice is softer than it should be. “I don’t hate you. But I’m angry. And I’m still not okay.”

He nods.

You’re angry. You’re hurt. You’re homesick in a way that’s too heavy to name, and the fact that the only person in this entire fuck who makes you feel slightly okay is the quietest, most unsettling one of the bunch? That makes you madder than anything else.

“I’m not talking to you anymore.” you mutter into the pillow.

No response.

“Even if you’re nice.” you add, voice muffled.

Still nothing.

You wait a few beats. Almost long enough to fall asleep. Then: “You’re still annoying.”

A pause.

Then the softest breath of sound. Almost like a laugh. Almost. But not enough for you to call it one and get mad about it. He’s smart like that.

You kick your foot once under the blankets, just to release the heat building in your chest. Derpy beside you stretches, tail flicking against your leg like a shhh.

You glance down at him. You whisper to Derpy because he’s safe and he doesn’t ask anything of you. “Don’t let him crawl into bed. If he does, maul him.”

A deep, satisfied huff answers you.

You smile into your pillow. Just a little. You fall asleep fast after that.

Now, a few hours later, it’s 5:43 AM. Everyone’s asleep. You should be, too. But no. Your refrigerator-sized tiger had a nightmare (you think—he thumped his tail hard enough to knock over a lamp), and now you’re awake. Fully. Aggravatingly. Unforgivably awake.

So you do what any hostage on the edge of a psychological breakdown would do.

You go to make tea.

You stepped over Mystery. Now you tiptoe into the kitchen. Early. Quiet.

The sun hasn’t even fully risen.

Perfect.

You want five minutes. Just five fucking minutes to be a human person and sip tea in silence.

“Baby. Love of my life!”

Romance.

You turn around. “…You have toothpaste on your neck.”

He swipes at it immediately. “No, I don’t—wait, seriously?”

You don’t respond. Maybe if you don’t make eye contact, he’ll vanish.

That’s when Abby walks in. Shirtless. Of course. Dripping sweat. Probably from working out at four in the morning like a psychopath. He’s holding a protein shake the size of your head and doing that thing where he flexes accidentally-on-purpose every time he reaches for something.

Romance slaps his bicep. “Daaaamn, buddy.”

“Can’t help it.” Abby says, flashing a grin.

You turn around. Instantly regret it.

Because now Baby is leaning in the doorway. Hoodie up. Mismatched socks. Holding a banana like it personally offended him. Eyes rimmed red like he hasn’t slept.

He looks at you.

Rolls his eyes.

Takes a bite.

You narrow your eyes. “Did I do something to you in a past life?��

He shrugs, chewing.

Romance sighs. “God, the tension in here is delicious. Can we get some music going?”

“Absolutely not.” you say.

“That’s not a no.” Romance says.

You turn your back to them again.

Romance rests his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “So… how’d you sleep, sweetheart? Alone?”

You pause. Turn slowly. Level him with a look. Then: “No. I slept with something feral, dangerous, probably cursed.”

“Ohoho?” he perks up.

“Yeah.” you lick your spoon. “Your mom.”

But he’s already sidling up behind you like he’s going to wrap his arms around your waist. You hold up a butter knife. He backs up, hands raised. “Respectfully. Respectfully.”

You flip him off without looking.

Baby snorts. You glance over.

He’s flipping you off too.

You squint. “You’re just a hater.”

He shrugs like obviously.

Abby takes a swig of his shake and flexes again. This time, harder.

Romance slaps his bicep again. “Ooooh! Man! What the hell are you made of? You been growing?”

Abby flexes harder. “I mean, a little.“

Romance sidles closer again, brushing your elbow.

“Still mad at us, bunny?” he murmurs, eyes too soft.

You don’t answer. Because yes. You’re mad. Still. Infinitely. Rage. You haven’t forgotten the lies, the fighting, the kidnapping, the part where your only real joy right now is a bird and a giant magical tiger who doesn’t talk or flirt or flex near tea kettles.

You don’t answer him. Just sip your tea.

Romance watches you do it. “Do you want sugar, baby?”

“No.”

Romance puts his chin in his hand, grin lazy. “Soooooo. Hypothetically. If you had to choose between the charming bad boy with incredible bone structure—” points at himself “—or the athletic, dependable golden retriever type—” thumbs at Abby “—who’s your bias, baby?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Okay, damn. Which answer is that?”

“That’s a what the fuck are you doing here and how did you get past auditions.” you say calmly, sipping your tea.

Romance is snorting. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

You shrug. “Figure it out, Fifth Harmony.”

Abby throws his hands up. “That’s not even the same—”

Without a word, Baby walks straight past you. Goes to the corner cabinet, the one that absolutely does not contain cereal. And opens it.

He pulls out a bottle.

Not some cutesy fruit liquor. Not a fun little mimosa situation. No. A full, dark, evil-looking bottle that probably tastes like ass but like… good ass. Could be whiskey. Could be some magic. Knowing Baby? It’s probably both.

He unscrews the cap with one hand.

Takes a long drink.

Doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t breathe.

You blink.

He keeps going.

You stare harder. Bro just chugs. Not even a flinch. Not even a wince.

Insane.

You just sit there, quietly drinking your little tea, watching as Baby shrugs, takes another sip, and slides the bottle toward the middle of the counter without even looking at either of them.

Romance raises his brows, then grabs the bottle. “Shit, if we’re drinking, we’re drinking.”

He takes a sip.

Makes a face.

“Okay, yeah, fuck me.”

Abby catches it next, sniffing the top. “This is either gonna ruin my morning or make me invincible.”

Romance is making a face. “That’s the spirit, biceps.”

Abby drinks. Immediately coughs. Puts up his arm to wipe his mouth, pretending he’s not dying.

“You good?” you ask dryly.

He slams the bottle down. “Absolutely.”

Romance grins and slaps him on the back. “You took that like a little bitch.”

Abby coughs into his arm. “It’s burning my lungs.”

“Your lungs are soft now.”

“Your mom’s soft.”

“Oh, we’re doing moms again? What are we, twelve?”

“Yeah, and I fucked yours.”

They pass the bottle back and forth, each pulling faces worse than the last. Meanwhile, Baby’s just sitting, drinking slowly, like this is nothing new.

You’re quiet, but you watch him.

Romance is back in his chair, kicks his feet up, lifts the bottle and grins over at you. “Want a sip? Might make us more tolerable.”

You take a long, long look at him. Then at Abby. Then at Baby. And snort. “Not even if you poured it over pancakes.”

The bottle is almost empty and Baby still looks like he’s prepping for his kindergarten class photo. Lips pink. Angelic face, really,

Aaaaand yeah, he probably has an alcohol problem. And yeah, it’s probably from whatever the hell he’s not talking about. And yeah, none of you are gonna fix it over fucking breakfast.

Abby grins. Then turns to you, flexing his arm. “Feel this.”

You stare at him.

He flexes again.

“Go on.” he says, patting his own bicep.

You sigh, reach over, and squeeze his bicep with the same energy as checking if bread is stale.

“Holy shit.” you mutter, so so so sarcastic.

Abby grins. “Knew it.”

Romance takes the bottle again, throws his arm around your shoulder like he belongs there. “You wanna feel mine?”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” he purrs, grabbing your hand and placing it on his ass.

You yank your hand back instantly. You glance over at Baby. He glances back.

“…What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” you say.

Romance hands him the bottle again with a “you good?”

Baby shrugs, downs another mouthful.

Abby winces. “That much this early?”

Baby: “Fuck off.”

Romance fans himself. “Honestly? A little turned on.”

Abby’s still flexing. This time, both arms. You’re not sure if he even realizes anymore. Romance is poking him now, laughing.

They’re yelling, laughing, throwing insults and flexing in between. A sock hits the wall at one point. You think it was Baby’s. No one reacts.

Romance is giggling with his entire chest, smacking Abby’s ass. “Yessss, KING! I want to see that form, baby!”

Abby grunts. “You’re gonna see these fists if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Abby grabs Baby by the ankle. Baby doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink. Then Abby hauls him up, over his shoulder, fireman-style, with zero effort. Baby has his arms folded, expression blank, while Abby mutters “one… two… fuck yeah, three—” under his breath and Romance counts reps while drinking straight from the bottle.

You raise your brows.

Jinu enters, wrapped in a robe, hair a mess, expression done. “Why are you all screaming at six in the morning?”

“Jinuuuu.” Romance sings. “Good morning, handsome. You’re glowing.”

Jinu ignores him.

Abby perks up too, still holding Baby. “Yo, man. Looking good.”

Romance wiggles his brows. “You come here to scold us or spank us, daddy?”

Jinu closes his eyes. Inhales slowly. His hair is sticking up in the back. His voice is sleepy and hoarse. His robe is gaping slightly at the chest.

Which is, unfortunately, noticeable.

Then his eyes shift. To you. To the bottle on the counter.

He’s already at your side. Hand on your arm. Soothing. Caressing.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, so soft you nearly laugh. “Did they make you drink? Did they pressure you?”

Romance holds up both hands. “Hey hey hey—she didn’t touch the bottle! I offered!”

Jinu gently covers your ears like you’re five years old.

“Baby.” Jinu hisses, “Put the bottle down.”

Baby takes a long sip, staring at him dead in the eyes.

Jinu’s jaw clenches. His hand never leaves your arm. “Why is it always you three when shit starts? Do you know what happened the last time she had alcohol?!”

“She spit in your mouth.” Abby says.

“She SPIT IN MY MOUTH.”

Romance nods. “That was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.”

They do not understand humans.

At all.

You’ve figured it out by now.

They think you’re fragile. Breakable. Like one wrong step and your heart will just stop working. One sneeze, one too-strong hug, one bad slice of bread and you’ll be dead. Gone.

“Did you drink any?” Jinu asks, fingers brushing over your arm, eyes scanning you.

“I’m fine.” you murmur, already irritated.

Romance pipes up, already mid-laugh. “We shared it—”

Jinu cuts him off with a look that could kill a man in the womb. Then he grabs the bottle from the counter, hands it to Abby, and growls: “Put that shit away before I break it over your head.”

Abby blinks. “Damn, okay.”

“Metal.” Baby mumbles, taking it from Abby and sipping again.

“Insane.” Jinu hisses, brushing your hair out of your face gently. “Are you okay?”

You shrug him off. “I’m not your fucking responsibility.”

“Go back to bed.” he says.

Abby drops Baby, mostly because Baby is now biting his shoulder, but not without a smug pat to his ass. Baby lands on his feet, glares at all of them, and brings the bottle to his lips again.

“No.” Jinu growls.

Baby pauses. Looks Jinu dead in the eye. “Fuck you.”

Then drinks.

“Jesus.” you mutter. “Could you all just—die, or something?”

Jinu sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Come on. Let me walk you back to your room.”

You shrug him off. You just… slip your arm out of his reach.

Romance climbs to his feet, wheezing, face flushed. “Okay—okay—hold on, me next—Abby, throw me—”

You stand, turning away, not looking back. You don’t owe them your voice today. Not after what they did. Not after the lies. Not after the war they started behind your back.

Romance visibly stumbles. Literally. His knees buckle. Hands slap the counter. “Oh my—okay—hello—hello—“ all this because he caught a glimpse of your ass.

Back in your room, you step over Mystery without a word. Your ankle bumps his side. He stirs.

“Move.” you mutter.

He blinks up at you. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even complain. He rises to his feet.

“Hey, baby.” you whisper to the tiger, crawling into the bed, laying half over him.

He rumbles. The deep, echoing purr vibrating under your ribcage.

“Love of my life.” you say, petting his massive cheek. “Handsomest man in the world.” You turn your head just enough to glare at Mystery. “Go.” you say firmly. “I’m tired. Of all of you.”

He nods. Slowly. Almost ashamed. “Sorry.”

You keep stroking the tiger’s fur. Burying your face into his shoulder. Letting the fur soak up the headache behind your eyes.

“So beautiful.” you murmur, kissing the tiger’s shoulder. “My sweet boy.”

The tiger makes a pleased rumble, tail flicking contentedly.

After that, the boys left. They always do, and almost everyday, you’re alone. I mean you have Derpy and Sussie but c’mon, that is not the same as having human company. Wanted human company.

You miss your girls. God, you miss them so bad it aches. You wonder what they’re doing. If they’re planning. If they think you’re dead. If they think you switched sides. You press your forehead to your knees as you lay in bed. Try not to cry. Fail.

You hate the boys.

You hate them.

You hate the way they took you, the way they manipulate, the way they joke, the way they flirt. The way they walk.

But you also…god fucking damn it.

You love them. A little.

You love the way Jinu always speaks softly to you, even when he’s just done being an asshole to the others. You love the way Baby pretends not to care but was immediately there when you screamed about the spider which you’re still scared of because holy shit it was HUGE. You love how Romance checks your room “by accident” just to see if you’re breathing. You love the way Mystery growls at anyone who touches you, even his own people. You love how Abby looks and how that personality matches his looks for some reason.

Stockholm Syndrome, they’d call it.

Fuck no. No.

You want to hate them. But you’re so fucking tired.

You’ve just been around them too much. That’s it, yeah, that’s it.

THUD.

Something slams into your door. Hard.

You freeze.

Another sound. This time less thud and more oh fuck I just tripped over my own feet.

“—fuckin’ move—dude, I got it—no you don’t, you’ve got claws out again—stop, STOP—I’M FINE—”

You grab the bedside lamp and nearly hurl it.

Then, the door opens. And there’s Abby. And behind him? Mystery.

But the real kicker?

The flowers.

This is a bouquet. And it’s gorgeous. Elegant. Vibrant. The kind of bouquet a guy tries for. The kind someone asks for help to pick out because he cares.

And Abby’s the one holding them.

“Hey babe.” Abby says.

Mystery nudges him with his elbow, expression stone-flat but intentional.

“Oh—right. Yeah. We got you these.”

Abby holds the flowers out.

His arm is kind of trembling.

“We thought you’d, like… girls like flowers, right?” he mutters, voice too low and too soft to be coming from Abby. “So. Yeah.”

You blink.

Behind him, Mystery steps into the doorway, one hand shoved in his pocket and he just nods.

You stare.

Abby clears his throat.

“We, uh… we passed this stall on the way back from—doesn’t matter. We saw ‘em and…” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly seventeen. “You’re always mad. Which, like, hot. But also maybe we thought this’d… help.”

You just blink at him.

“Fuck, I knew this was stupid.” he mutters, glancing at Mystery. “Told you we should’ve just brought food.”

Mystery shrugs.

“They’re nice.” you mutter, a little confused.

“…Nice.” Abby nods. Then, mutters, “Fucking expensive too.”

You blink. Your lips part, but no words come out. You stare at them.

“I—I don’t know what the fuck they mean. I didn’t look at the flower language thing, okay? They just looked cool. Red means… passion, or something. I think. Or murder. Either way, felt on-brand.”

You slowly reach out. Take them. The bouquet is heavy in your hands. Warm. Alive. You look down at it. Then back up at them.

Abby’s trying so hard not to look nervous. His jaw’s tight. His fingers twitch. Like he’s waiting for you to throw them in his face. Or cry. Or scream.

Mystery just watches. Like he always does.

“…They’re beautiful.” you whisper.

Both boys blink.

You pet the petals softly, then glance up. “I love them.”

“Yeah?” Abby asks, exhaling. “Course you do. I mean. Babe like you? You deserve nice things.”

You roll your eyes. But you’re smiling. A little.

He nudges Mystery. “Told you. Boom. Nailed it. Fucking flower genius.”

“…They’re really pretty.” you murmur. Flowers do feel nice.

Abby swallows. Doesn’t meet your eyes. Nods like a fucking idiot. “…Yeah. You are too.”

You look up at him. Sharp. Deadpan.

He winces. “I meant the flowers. I mean—fuck—I meant—”

Mystery elbows Abby in the side.

Abby exhales hard, shakes his head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Still wanted you to have ‘em.”

You look at the flowers again.

You feel horrible. Heavy. Mismatched. Twisted in the chest. But this feels nice.

Abby leans back a little, stretching an arm over his head. Shirt rides up. Abs. Obscene ones. Glowing faintly from demon marks. Veins like river maps on his biceps. Pure fucking genetics.

“Could’ve died.” he says with a deep, theatrical sigh. “Still had time to think about you. Bring you shit. That’s gotta earn me a tiny bit of forgiveness.”

You don’t respond.

He flexes subtly. Chest tightening under the shirt, arms folded to make his shoulders pop. His jaw is flexing too, a jock move, the kind that screams yeah, I do push-ups for breakfast, you should sit on my face sometime, it’s fine.

Mystery pets the tiger. Glances at Abby. Abby meets his eyes and gives him a look like, back me up, bro. Mystery blinks. Then, very slowly, turns back to the cat and keeps petting it like this has nothing to do with him.

Abby shifts position, flexing just enough to make every muscle in his arm do a magic trick.

You do not look.

You look.

Fuck.

“Anyway.” Abby says, voice too casual to be truly casual. “We were thinking.”

“No one asked you to.”

“Cool, but we were anyway.”

“I don’t care.”

“Thought maybe tomorrow,” he says. “we could get you out.”

You raise your brows.

“To the rooftop for a walk. Kinda romantic.”

You stare at him. Then at Mystery. Who is absolutely not backing him up, still gently stroking the tiger’s chin like he’s trying to win custody.

“You want to take me out on a date.”

“��Date’ is a strong word.” Abby says. Remembers girls like honest and vulnerable guys. Also remembers that girls like tough guys. Slaps himself in his head. “….Yes I do.”

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs, flexing again. On purpose. “Being nice.”

“You’re trying to seduce me.”

Mystery lets out a quiet sound. You think it’s a laugh. Or maybe he just breathed weird.

Abby keeps talking. “You’ve had a rough day. I get that. I don’t blame you for being pissy.”

You give him a long, cold look.

“C’mon, babe. You know you want—”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Need anything?” he asks, ignoring what you just said, casually flexing as he scratches the back of his neck. Like you don’t see right through it. “Water? Blanket?”

“Out.”

“C’mon, babe, don’t be like that. I brought you flowers. And I look like this.” He gestures at his entire existence. Then, grumbling, frustrated, he reaches back. Grabs Mystery by the collar. Mystery just lets it happen. As he’s dragged out, his hand rises in a casual wave. You’re not sure if it’s goodbye or an apology.

Abby mutters the whole way down the hall: “Fucking ungrateful. I’m being NICE. I BROUGHT FLOWERS. What the fuck else do girls want, man? Should I bleed? Should I paint a fucking mural—”

The door closes.

Finally.

Silence.

Then a muffled voice through the wall:

“Was that too much?”

Mystery: “Yes.”

“…But she looked—”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

A beat.

“Shit.”

Your tiger nosedives back into your lap like nothing happened. His tail curls possessively around your waist.

You kiss the top of his head.

The flowers sit in your hand. They’re lovely. And you’re tired. Tired of the ache in your chest. Tired of feeling torn between two worlds, between memory and this fucked up reality where even your emotions go up and down.

Abby lets go of Mystery’s shirt with a huff and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t speak. Mystery doesn’t either. Until—

“Didn’t pet the cat long enough.”

Abby glares sideways at him. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

Mystery shrugs.

“And I was nice, too.” Abby continues. “Like not even a dick about it. Fuckin’ rooftop date idea? Gold. That’s ideal boyfriend material.”

“Mm.”

“Did it work?” comes Romance’s voice, smoooooooth, already halfway to drunk. He’s standing in the doorway of his room in a silk robe that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide the toned frame beneath it, bare chest out, legs long, posture lazy. A glass of wine in one hand, a tub of ice cream in the other. The robe is crimson, of course. Of fucking course it is. There’s a slit up the thigh. He’s not wearing pants. Just boxers. And confidence.

Abby scowls. “Do I look like it worked?”

“She told us to fuck off.” Mystery mutters.

Romance whistles low. But he is proud of Mystery for talking.

Romance snorts so hard he almost drops the ice cream. “God, you suck at this.”

Abby growls and rips his shirt clean in half.

Romance pauses mid-spoon. “…See, that’s your problem. You keep doing that. Like—do you have a shirt allergy? What the fuck?”

“I was stressed!”

Mystery silently reaches over, plucks a petal out of Abby’s hair, and hands it to Romance. Romance takes it.

The three of them walk into Romance’s room. It’s brutal. Silk sheets. Mood lighting. A full-length mirror directly across from the bed (of course). The mattress is too big. There’s at least five different brands of lube on the bedside table and two unopened boxes of condoms—

Abby immediately starts poking around. Opens the nightstand. Pulls out a handful of condoms.

“Help yourself, why don’t you.” Romance drawls as Abby grabs a strip of condoms from the stash. “Actually, take more. I have the twelve-pack somewhere in the drawer under the incense.”

“You got the good kind now?” Abby asks, actually checking expiration dates.

“Mm. Thin as regret.”

Abby pockets them.

Romance sits down on his bed and crosses his legs, wraps himself tighter in his robe, and spoons ice cream into his mouth.

Abby sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, scowling. “I just… I thought flowers were supposed to do something.”

“They are.” Romance says, digging his spoon into the ice cream. “They say, ‘Hey. I’m trying.’ And you were. It’s a good move.”

“Next time I’ll let Mystery hand them over.”

Mystery: “No thank you.”

Abby throws his hands up. “He doesn’t even talk. Why is he so likable?!”

Mystery hums softly and reaches for Romance’s spoon, steals a bite of ice cream without a word.

“…Hey.” Romance says mildly. “That’s mine.”

Mystery shrugs. Drops down into a beanbag.

“Alright, let’s talk about it. What’d you do? What’d you say? Give me details.”

Abby rubs his face. “I walked in. Said some smooth shit. Flexed a little. Told her I’d take her out.”

“And?”

“Didn’t work.”

Romance nods solemnly, wine glass swirling. “She’s building a wall to protect her vulnerability. You’re not the problem.”

Delusional fuck.

Abby squints. “Can you say that with less wine in your mouth?”

Romance leans back, robe falling wider open. “She’s not saying no. She’s saying not like this. Fuck, I’m brilliant.”

Abby groans, pulling a pillow over his face. “We are NEVER doing the flower idea again.”

“Oh, but we are.” Romance says smoothly. “It was sweet. Girls like that.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She does.” Romance corrects, “She just hates you.”

Mystery nods solemnly. “True.”

“We all came up with the flowers thing together.” Abby mutters, face buried in a pillow.

Romance smirks. “Yeah. And I said ‘wait until she’s calm.’”

“I panicked!”

Mystery’s hand goes up. “I didn’t vote.”

“She’s homesick. She’s furious. You can’t flirt that away. You can’t push her into love. You have to earn her trust. Carefully. No more manipulation. No more lies. Just be there. And not like—‘oh I’m here to flirt and make you giggle’. No. Just be present. Let her be mad. Let her be soft. Let her breathe.”

The room is quiet for a moment.

Abby blinks. “Did you just therapy us?”

Romance raises a brow. “Are you gonna cry?”

“Fuck you.” Abby mutters. “I might.”

Mystery, flat: “He’s right.”

Romance gestures toward the discarded ice cream box. “You wanna win her over, you start with consistency. Show up. Don’t push. Be soft. Be useful. Maybe shut up a little.… she’ll come around.”

Abby doesn’t respond.

Mystery exhales through his nose.

Romance dips his spoon again, stares at the melting in his cup. “You gotta mean it. You gotta… slow it down.”

Abby finally looks up. “Since when do you know anything about slowing down?”

Romance smirks, raising his glass. “Since I met her.”

Abby’s stretched out on the edge of the bed. Condoms still in his pocket, head thrown back. Mystery is curled up in the oversized bean bag with his legs half out, hoodie pulled up over his nose.

Romance finishes the last of his wine, sighs, and sets the glass down. “Alright.”

He stands, letting his robe slide off.

Okay okay don’t panic he’s wearing boxers.

He reaches for a tiny glass jar of body oil from the shelf and pops the lid.

Abby doesn’t even blink. Just throws an arm over his eyes. “If you oil your ass in front of me again—”

“It’s self-care.” Romance says serenely, rubbing the oil into his chest with slow, luxurious strokes.

“You wax your legs.” Abby adds.

Romance hums. “And they’re smooth.”

There’s a brief pause as Romance reaches behind his shoulder, getting into the hard-to-reach places. “So. Anyone else wanna slap Baby in the face lately, or is it just me?”

“Been acting like a bitch.” Abby mutters.

Romance doesn’t pause. “Thank you. He’s been using my face mask again.”

“That kid needs to be thrown into a lake.” Abby says.

“With a brick.” Mystery adds. “He spit in my coffee.”

Romance gasps again, absolutely horrified. “On purpose?!”

Mystery nods.

“That son of a bitch. I tried to pet him on the head yesterday,” Romance adds with a sigh, massaging oil into his biceps now. “and he said, quote, ‘Touch me again and I’ll piss in your expensive shampoo.’”

Mystery actually snorts. Real laughter. A miracle.

Romance points his oil-slicked finger at him triumphantly. “HA! Let’s talk shit some more. Mystery, your turn. Who are you beefing with lately?”

Mystery shrugs. “Jinu.”

“Wait, for real?” Abby perks up.

“Yeah. He’s been weird.”

“He used to be fun.” Romance says, hand now trailing oil absently down to his ribs. “Like genuinely fun. Mean. Threw hands in bars. The whole package. Now he’s just…” Romance gestures with the bottle. “Mr. Responsible. Mr. I’m the Leader. Mr. Don’t torture the hostage again, guys, she’s traumatized.” He mocks the voice. Mockingly well.

Abby snorts. “He gave me a full lecture the other day.”

“He washed your mouth out with soap last month.”

“I said ONE curse word on camera! He used to drink, he used to throw shit, he used to yell dumb stuff like the rest of us. Now he’s just like—” he thinks. He can’t think of anything. He sighs and gives up.

Mystery shrugs. “He’s coping.”

Romance smirks. “He’s been coping since 1837.”

“Dude hasn’t smiled in six months.” Abby mutters. “Unless Y/N’s around.”

Romance exhales through his nose. “I get it, though.”

“Yeah.” Abby sighs. “Same.”

Mystery gives the world’s most disinterested nod. “Mm.”

Romance breaks the silence first. “Still—”

“Still.” Abby echoes.

“He needs to get laid,” Romance finishes.

“BADLY.” Abby agrees.

Mystery mumbles, “He took my knife.”

“WHICH one?” Abby turns.

Mystery shrugs. “The little one.”

Romance gasps. “Your baby knife?!”

Mystery nods. So sad.

“So anyway,” Romance says between strokes. “I don’t care if Baby’s the youngest, I swear if he slams one more cabinet door—”

“I’m breaking his legs.” Abby finishes, not even looking up.

Mystery, adds flatly: “He eats my leftovers.”

“He labeled it and Baby still ate it,” Romance says with a scandalized gasp, massaging oil into his neck now. “And then gaslit him. Like, oh my god, what pizza? I didn’t see your name on it? It was in the shape of an M, you ass!”

“He said the M stood for ‘mine.’” Mystery mutters.

“I hate him.” Abby says.

Romance rubs oil into his thighs. “He’s so evil. Cute evil. A tiny little dictator.”

“He called me old yesterday.” Abby mutters.

Mystery shrugs. “He called me a virgin. Then blew smoke in my face.”

Romance pauses, hand halfway down his thigh. “Aw. Baby…”

Abby shakes his head. “That’s fucked up.”

“It was mint.” Mystery says quietly. “It hurt.”

Romance walks over and pats his head, glistening and unbothered. “We’re gonna bully him so hard.”

Abby cracks his neck. “Honestly? Deserves it. He’s been acting like his trauma is the only trauma that matters.”

“Oh, here we go.” Romance mutters, grabbing his wine again, pouring more into the glass. “Get it out, king.”

“I’m serious! It’s always, ‘I was too young,’ or, ‘They ruined my life,’ or, ‘I don’t dream anymore’ like okay, cool, join the fucking club! My family’s dead and my soul is owned, we’re all going through it!”

“Big facts.” Romance agrees, raising his glass. “Anyways, you guys staying?”

Abby groans. “I should sleep. Gotta wake up and remind Baby he’s the worst person alive.”

“Healthy.” Romance nods. “What about you?”

Mystery, in the bean bag, is half-asleep already. Hoodie pulled up, arms crossed. “I have a bed.” he mumbles.

Romance shrugs. “Then go lay in it, mon chéri.”

With a low grunt, Abby hauls himself up off the bed. “Alright, I’m out. Thanks for the therapy, and the oil show.”

“You’re welcome.” Romance says brightly.

Mystery stands next too, slow and silent, brushing invisible lint off his hoodie like he wasn’t just shit talking Baby a three minutes ago.

Just as they turn to leave, two foil-wrapped objects slap against their chests.

Romance, now leaning against the closet doorframe in nothing but those obnoxiously expensive boxers, is holding the third strip of condoms in his teeth like a war prize.

“Take backups.” he mumbles around the foil. “And don’t say I never gave you boys anything.”

Abby laughs, a sharp bark of it. Slaps Romance on the back hard enough to echo. “Legend.”

Mystery doesn’t react at all. Just catches his set one-handed and pockets them without breaking eye contact. Unfazed. Respect tbh.

Romance watches them go with a shit-eating grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Then the list’s wide open.” Abby shoots back, walking out into the hall.

Mystery just waves.

Romance blows a kiss and shuts the door with a snap.

He sighs once more, dramatically of course, then walks back to the mirror, adjusts his boxers slightly, and whispers to his own reflection:

“…I am so fucking hot.”

And with that, the two slide out into the hallway. They walk in sync, not fast, not loud. It’s late. Quiet. Not because they’re tense, but because they’re sneaking. Or at least, trying not to wake anyone up. Namely: you.

Then they pass your door.

Abby doesn’t even stop, just lifts the strip of condoms in the air like a flag and waves it a little in front of the closed door, one brow raised.

“Goodnight, babe.” he whispers, quiet, cheeky, wicked.

Mystery side-eyes him. But he doesn’t stop him.

Neither of them say a word. Not even a laugh. They’re silent, out of respect for the sleeping hostage in the next room. Real gentlemen shit.

And just like that, they move on.

Let’s be honest.

They’re idiots. Like, actual idiots.

Let’s take a moment. Let’s just… talk about it. Just… talk. Because it’s so stupid. The entire situation is so fucking stupid.

They’re… so selfish.

That’s the core of it, really.

They want you. Not because you’re useful now, they know they’re not getting what they needed. They just… fell into this.

You hate them. You do. You hate them for what they’ve done. For not telling you the girls know about you. For lying. For fighting the girls.

You hate them.

But god, some nights…

Some nights, when everything’s quiet, you think you might love them, too.

Just a little.

And it’s so fucking tragic.

But they still plan to kill the girls.

That’s the plan. That’s the goal.

It’s why they took you in the first place. And they haven’t changed it. They haven’t really considered what happens after. They don’t know how they’ll keep you. How they’ll live with themselves. How they’ll explain. How they’ll survive the wreckage when it crashes around them.

Because they aren’t thinking about you.

They’re thinking about themselves.

How they feel. What they want. What you mean to them.

It’s so fucking selfish.

They should’ve done better. They could’ve. They still could.

But they don’t.

Because it’s easier to keep you in a cage than it is to confront what they’ve done and ask for your trust like real people.

They want you to love them back—but they won’t let you leave.

They want you to feel safe—but they won’t stop hunting your friends.

They want your heart—but only on their terms.

They want, they want, they want.

Are you hearing this? Fucking hilarious.

BUT JINU.

LOVE OF MY FUCKING LIFE JINU. WAS. NOT. FUCKING. CAPABLE. OF LETTING YOU GO.

He’s selfish.

They all are.

Demons.

No matter how many flowers they bring, or how many dumb jokes they make, or how quiet Mystery gets when you cry, they are selfish. Ruined. Fucked by centuries of pain they never unpacked. Boys who were hurt and became hurting machines. Hurt people hurt people.

And it’s not fair.

What happens after they win? Are you supposed to just forgive them? Are they gonna hand you a smoothie and say, “Cool, now we’re dating, right?” Put a ring on your finger while the blood’s still drying on the walls?

They don’t think that far. They never did.

Because they’re selfish.

Because they were boys before they were demons, and boys grow into men only when they learn to look at someone else’s pain and not walk away from it.

And they haven’t done that yet.

They’re pussies.

But they’re learning. I guess.

The AMOUUUUNT of memes I got from y’all thank you SOOOO much, y’all are hilarious I can’t (also if u send them in, tell me if you want credit or not!! Also feel free to take credit for these)💋

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy @gl00muraaii @boo-shalala @stxrrielle @vixyvlo @ny0000mw00m @loreleis-world @mshope16 @littlemissfix-itfic @fandomhoedamien @spiderset @azzberry @aerrz3 @tatsuri-zomushiki @theferretkids @apelepikozume @scpdragon @justanindiangirl12 @fuevrois @soggumm @ri-eveowe @lucifers16ducks @elixua @xh01bri @greensunflowerjuna @valeriele3 @lovely-maryj @c0sm1cp0tat0 @wantstoliveinfantasy @i-am-here3 @naarra @confusedparticle @itsberrydreemurstuff @asphodeloss @x-w-a @nosbaby07 @prorpy @blobbyblobblobblobblob @ryukumi @ryuucollapse @rainbowcupcakes23 @nnasv @aika-3 @thegirloftheirdreams

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sakamaki-paramour · 17 days ago

Text

K-pop Demon Hunters | Fanfic ⋆☕︎ ˖

🖤 SAJA BOYS °˖➴ Ours 1/?

Saja Boys x reader

» soul bond, fated mates, slight angst, smut (eventual), suggestive language, possessive relationship, obsessive behavior, steamy scenes, slight violence, dark themes. - the Saja Boys fight each other for a bit -

Warning: MDNI! 18+ Intended for mature audiences!

You caught their eye at a fan sign, and from that moment, the Saja boys were irrevocably bound to you. Soon, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of their escalating possessiveness, fierce rivalry, and undeniable allure. But this connection is no mere attraction—it's a bond born of a dark, ancient pact and a fate you never knew existed, your soul tied to theirs by a demon's curse. Will the consuming desire of the Saja boys be your only salvation... or your ultimate doom?

16k | this is a lengthy one, sorry in advance, got a bit carried away - do you prefer longer chapters 10k - 12k or more or shorter ones around 5k - 7k?

M.list

Chapter 1: The initial spark

The air in the fan sign hall hummed with a thousand excited whispers, a symphony of anticipation.

(Y/N) moved through it, a lone island of calm amidst the storm. Her steps were steady, her gaze fixed on the brightly lit stage where the Saja boys sat, a dazzling constellation of talent and charisma. In her hand, an album — a birthday gift for her coworker.

She wasn't a fangirl, not really.

She just appreciated good music.

She was next in line, the girl in front of her moving nervously from one boy to the other, she gave two steps forward, and then, she looked up.

Her eyes met Abby’s, and the world—the whole buzzing, whispering, vibrant world—screeched to a halt. It wasn’t just a glance; it was a jolt, an electric current that surged through her, stopping her breath in her throat. Abby, perched on his stool with an easy, confident smile, went utterly still. The smile faded, replaced by something primal, intense.

Around him, the other four members of Saja froze too. Jinu, who had been laughing, stopped mid-chuckle. Mystery's cool, observant gaze sharpened, locking onto her. Romance, mid-autograph, paused, pen hovering over an album. Baby, always brimming with playful energy for the fans, became a statue.

Five sets of eyes, suddenly unblinking, unyielding, impaled her.

A strange, unfamiliar thrumming started deep in (Y/N)’s chest, echoing the sudden tension that gripped the stage. Confusion flickered in their eyes, mirroring her own.

This wasn't normal.

This wasn’t how fan signs worked, all their eyes fixed on her, five boys unmoving.

Yet, she kept walking, an invisible string pulling her forward, drawing her to each of them in turn.

First, Jinu. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he took the album, his fingers brushing hers. The touch sent a surprising warmth through her arm. He signed slowly, painfully slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, searching, probing, as if trying to decipher a secret language in their depths. His gaze was heavy, possessive, making her skin prickle.

Her heartbeat increased as she moved to the other boy, Jinu's eyes never leaving her figure.

Romance.

He lifted her hand, not to sign, but to trace a phantom line on her palm before reluctantly taking the album. His smile, usually so carefree, was now laced with something darker, more predatory. “Beautiful,” he murmured, not looking at the album, but at her. (Y/N)'s breath hitched at his touch, her heart was going so fast she was certain they could hear it.

Next, Abby.

He didn't speak, just leaned forward, his eyes burning into hers. He signed with deliberate, almost painful slowness, his movements fluid, sensual. Every brush of his hand against hers, every shift in his posture, was a silent claim. Her legs trembling, her heart racing, her breath caught, all she could do was stare at these gorgeous men that were fixated on her.

The long line of fans forgotten as all they did was stare, eyes half lidded, predatory and lingering in her figure.

Baby was next.

He was unmoving the second she stepped in front of them. He gripped the album tightly, his knuckles white, before scrawling his name with an intensity that surprised her. His eyes were wide, fixed on her, a raw hunger shimmering within them. She could swear he growled as their fingers brushed, a primal need settling deep in her core at the faint sound.

And finally, Mystery.

He was the quietest, but his gaze was the most unsettling. It felt like he was dissecting her, seeing past her polite smile, past her carefully constructed composure, right into her very soul. He took the album with a steady hand, but his dark eyes never wavered, a silent promise lurking within their depths. (Y/N) let out a small "thank you" eyes briefly gazing towards the other boys, before going back to Mystery and giving a small smile.

The brief ritual felt like an eternity.

With each signature, the invisible string connecting them tightened, making her pulse race. When it was over, she nodded, a shy smile on her lips, and reluctantly turned to walk off the stage. She felt their gazes like physical touches on her back, burning hot, demanding her return. She didn't look back, but the sensation of being watched, desired, claimed, lingered long after she had disappeared into the crowd.

Backstage, as the vibrant energy of the fan sign dissipated it was replaced by a tense silence. The Saja Boys were no longer the carefree idols the fans knew but primal, restless, like caged animals in need of release.

"What in the hell was that?" Baby was the first to break the silence, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

"Her scent," Abby murmured, eyes closed, inhaling deeply as if trying to recapture it. "Gods, it was like… everything I ever wanted. Sweet. Alluring. Begging for me."

Romance, usually so composed, was pacing. "The pull. Did you all feel it? Like a string, snapping tight. Right to her."

"A soul calling out," Mystery said, his voice low, his expression unreadable. "I felt her. Her soul, raw and beautiful. So close, begging for ours."

Jinu, quiet ever since she walked away, finally spoke, his eyes hard. "She was ours the moment she stepped onto that stage. The second our eyes met. Don't deny it." He looked at each of them, daring them to argue. "We need her back."

Days blurred into a monotonous cycle for (Y/N).

Her office, usually a bustling hub, felt like a pressure cooker. Her boss, Mr. Byun, was constantly on her case about overdue files, even though half of them were still waiting on his approval. Her coworker, Hani, seemed to take perverse joy in piling her own tasks onto (Y/N)'s desk, feigning helplessness with a saccharine smile.

"Could you just quickly proofread this for me, (Y/N)?" Hani would say, dumping a thick stack of papers. "My eyes are just so tired from all the filings today!"

Meanwhile, Mr. Byun would bark, "Where's the Jung-Kang brief, (Y/N)? We needed that yesterday!"

(Y/N) would sigh, knowing full well she'd sent it to him last week. The fluorescent lights hummed a dreary tune, and the office felt heavier than usual.

She’d been feeling miserable there for months, a growing dread that clung to her every morning. Her enthusiasm for her job as a lawyer’s assistant had long since withered.

Meanwhile, the boys couldn't get (Y/N) out of their minds. Her face, her scent, the raw pull they felt—it consumed their thoughts.

"We need to find her," Abby stated during a late-night strategy session in their penthouse.

"Our staff demons are already on it," Jinu replied, swirling a drink in his hands. "It wasn't hard. Her name, (Y/N) (L/N). Works as a lawyer's assistant. Lives in a two-bedroom apartment, good neighborhood. Has a dog. A Yorkshire, named Kai"

Romance smirked. "A dog, huh? Domestic. I like it."

"She’s exactly what I felt," Mystery added, his gaze distant, as if still sensing her. "That longing, that quiet frustration. She needs us."

Baby grinned darkly. "So, the 'exclusive fan meet' then? That's our play?"

Jinu nodded. "Yes. We'll send an email. Make it sound... exclusive. Personal." He looked at them, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What if she doesn't attend?" Romance asked, eyes fixed on a random spot on the floor.

Abby scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Then we go after her. There’s no 'if' in this... She will come."

"No," Mystery corrected, his voice low. "She has to. The bond demands it."

As (Y/N) was reviewing an absurd email sje received from her boss, her phone vibrated. An email popped up in (Y/N)'s personal email inbox. The subject line read:

"Exclusive Saja Boys Fan Meet Invitation."

(Y/N) frowned.

An exclusive fan meet?

She wasn't even a true fan, didn't sign up for any event or enter any raffle.

She almost deleted it, thinking it was a mistake or some kind of mass spam. But then, a thought sparked.

Her friend. The album.

Taking a few good pictures, getting some more signatures, maybe even a quick selfie—that would make up for the lukewarm birthday gift she'd already given.

Besides, she really needed a distraction from the shittiness of her recent weeks. And honestly, who would pass up an opportunity to be around five very attractive men, even if she wasn't fangirling?

She clicked "Accept."

The day of the small fan meet arrived, cloaked in an air of mystery for (Y/N).

She arrived early, unsure of what to expect. A polite staff member ushered her into a large, dimly lit arena. The stage was set for a performance, but it was empty.

"The boys are just finishing up practice," the staff member explained with a smile. "Please, make yourself comfortable. You can watch from here."

(Y/N) nodded, taking a seat in the third row from the front, the only person in the vast, empty space. She watched, a curious observer, as the stage lights flickered on, illuminating the Saja Boys as they walked out, stretching, chatting, getting ready for what she assumed was a routine rehearsal.

"She's here," Mystery murmured, his voice barely audible, as they stepped onto the stage.

"I feel it," Baby breathed, a predatory grin touching his lips. "Stronger than before."

Romance chuckled, stretching his arms above his head, his eyes already scanning the empty seats. "Good. Let the show begin."

Jinu's eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto her. "Ours."

Abby just smirked, a dangerous heat already building within him.

Their eyes locked onto her, and the practice transformed into a private performance, just for her. They sang, not to the empty seats, but directly to her, their voices rich and resonant, filling the space with a potent intimacy, their song "Soda Pop" resonating in the arena.

Their movements, usually sharp and precise, became fluid, sensual, designed to mesmerize, to draw her in. They moved for her, their hips swaying, their gazes never leaving hers.

She felt the pull again, stronger this time.

It wasn't just in her chest; it was a deep, insistent ache between her legs, a warmth spreading through her veins. They moved closer to the edge of the stage, their faces etched with a dangerous allure, their eyes burning into hers, overtly seducing her with every note, every gesture.

She was breathless, eyes fixed, utterly captivated. Thighs rubbing against each other, trying to keep the need that had pooled between her legs at bay, as she watched the five men own the stage, singing and dancing — just for her.

As the ache in her core reached her limit, the final note hung in the air, vibrating with unspoken promises. When the song ended, they didn't break character. They held her gaze, their chests heaving, sweat gleaming on their skin, before slowly, reluctantly, walking backstage, giving her long, flirty glances and knowing winks.

A moment later, the staff member returned, a bright smile on their face. "Ms. (Y/N), the boys are ready for you. Please, follow me."

(Y/N) stood, still a little shaky, the echo of their gazes imprinted on her mind. She followed, her heart pounding in her ears, her cheeks flushed. The staff member led her down a short corridor and pushed open a door.

It was the guys' changing room.

The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and raw masculinity. The boys were lounging, shirts off, bodies glistening from their performance.

"She smells divine" Abby said, shirt already off his body. "The pull is still there, stronger now"

"I want to make her mine" Mystery growled, his sweaty shirt coming off, yet his eyes never leaving the door. "She is begging to be taken"

Baby growled at the silver hair man's comment. "She'll be mine, she wanted me. I could smell her arousal"

"We could all feel her arousal radiating from her during the performance" Romance smirked, leaning back on the chair he was sitting on, shirt forgotten beside him, "I felt her the second she walked in"

And just as Jinu was about to say someone, the door opened, and she walked in.

They all froze.

Abby and Jinu sat like kings on plush sofas, legs spread wide, radiating an almost aggressive confidence. Mystery stood, arms crossed, his intense eyes already fixed on the door as (Y/N) walked in. Baby took slow sips of water, leaning casually against the wall, but his gaze was sharp, predatory. Romance was slumped in a chair, a towel draped carelessly around his neck, a smirk already playing on his lips.

(Y/N) paused, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. The sheer masculinity of the scene—the bare chests, the sweat, their intense gazes—was overwhelming. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" she stammered, flustered. "I can… I can wait outside while you guys change." She started to back away.

A low chuckle rumbled from Abby. "No need, sweetheart," he purred, a predatory glint in his eyes. "We're perfectly comfortable."

Romance slowly uncrossed his arms, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Unless, of course, you're uncomfortable seeing us like this?" His eyes traced a lazy path over her body, from head to toes admiring her, making her breath hitch.

(Y/N) bit her lip, her mind racing.

Why were these five gorgeous hunks flirting with her like this?

It had to be marketing, right?

A fan service tactic to make her fall completely for them, to become a devoted fan.

That had to be it.

"No, it's fine," she managed, trying to regain some composure, though her face felt hotter than ever.

"Good." Jinu's voice was deep, commanding, as he straightened slightly on the sofa, making sure his broad chest was in full view. "Come closer, love. Don't be shy."

Mystery's eyes drilled into her. "We don't bite... unless you want us to." His lips quirked into a subtle, dangerous smile.

Baby pushed off the wall, taking a step towards her. "Come on, princess. We don't have all day."

She walked further in, her movements stiff, trying to project an air of nonchalance she didn't feel.

Jinu pointed at a sofa, across from the armchairs je and Abby were sitting on. Romance was perched on a chair to her left, Mystery next to him and closest to the door, with his eyes fixed on her and then Baby, on her right was leaning on the wall, a bit forward as if he was trying to smell her from were be was.

"So," Abby began, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes never leaving hers, "how long have you been a fan, little bird?"

"And who's your favorite?" Baby chimed in quickly, looking at her playfully, but his eyes were serious, competitive.

"Don't worry, you can tell us," Romance drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "We can take it."

(Y/N) shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, well, actually, I'm not really a fan," she confessed shyly, feeling a blush creep up her neck. "I just... I attended the fan sign to get a gift for a friend. But... I do enjoy your music," she added quickly, trying to soften the blow.

A collective, low growl rumbled through the room. Abby's smirk tightened. Baby's playful demeanor dropped. Romance's gaze darkened.

"You're not a fan?" Mystery's voice was barely a whisper, yet it held a distinct edge. "Then why did you come today?"

"Well, the invitation was just... there," she explained, gesturing vaguely. "And I thought it'd be a good distraction. Work's been really awful lately."

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I’m a lawyer’s assistant, and honestly, the stress… the endless paperwork, the impossible deadlines," She started rambling, eyes fixed on the floor as she ranted. It felt good letting go of all her frustrations for once "...dealing with my boss and certain coworkers. It’s just so draining. I’ve been feeling so off, so done with it all. I want to quit, but I can't. Bills, responsibilities, you know."

She stopped abruptly, mortified.

Had she just poured out her work woes to five famous, half-naked men she barely knew? "Oh, my gods, I'm so sorry!" she stammered, covering her mouth with her hand. "I don't know why I just... ranted like that. It's really not cool, sorry I poured all my troubles onto you"

Abby's smirk widened, taking on a suggestive, knowing quality. "Sounds like you need someone to take care of you, then, little bird."

Baby winked, a playful glint returning to his eyes, but his voice was deep, possessive. "Someone to make sure you never have to feel 'off' again."

Romance, now rose from his chair with a lazy, deliberate grace. He pulled a shirt from a hanger, shrugging it on slowly, his movements designed to draw her eye, a playful smile on his lips feeling her gaze on his movements. He then moved, with unsettling speed, to sit beside her on the two person couch, his thigh brushing hers. He took her hand, his fingers warm and soft against her skin, and brought it to his lips, pressing a light, lingering kiss to her knuckles. "You'd never have to worry about a thing with us, sweetheart."

Mystery let out a low, guttural growl, his eyes flashing. "Romance, get your hands off her." His voice was laced with barely controlled fury.

Abby and Baby tensed, their own eyes narrowing, mirroring Mystery's possessive aggression. Low growls rumbled in their chests, directed solely at Romance. The air thickened with unspoken threats, a silent battle for dominance.

Jinu, who had been watching, his anger barely contained, finally spoke, his voice dangerously quiet. "Shut it."

He looked at each of them, his gaze cold, commanding, as if silently agreeing on a truce, a common goal. Then, he rose from the sofa, moving towards her like a hunter closing in on its prey. He knelt in front of her, his large frame dominating her space, his scent—warm and subtly musky—enveloping her.

"My love," he purred, his voice a seductive balm that sent shivers down her spine. "It sounds like you're in need of a change. We've been looking for a personal assistant. Someone... special. Someone who understands responsibility, who's used to managing chaos. Someone like a lawyer's assistant, perhaps." He paused, his thumb stroking her knee, a gentle, comforting touch that contradicted the fierce intensity in his eyes. "We'd like to offer you the position."

(Y/N)'s mind reeled.

An assistant? For them?

"Why? Why me?" she stammered, overwhelmed.

Mystery's voice was firm, unequivocal. "You're perfect."

Baby's eyes twinkled, a playful yet undeniably possessive look. "We like you. We want to help you out." He gave her a deliberate wink, making her blush deepen.

Abby crossed his arms, leaning back against the sofa, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He watched, with open amusement, as her eyes involuntarily drifted over his toned body. "What better way to have you near us, little bird?"

Jinu's grip on her knee tightened gently, reassuring, yet demanding. "We want to care for you."

Romance, still seated beside her, reached out and gently stroked her cheek, his fingers surprisingly soft. "You'd be utterly cute as our assistant."

(Y/N) stared at them, five sets of intense, hungry eyes fixed on her. "Are... are you serious?" she managed, feeling a dizzying mix of disbelief and an unsettling thrill. She knew she should be terrified, alone in a room with five half-baked m'en, two of them touching her and they were offering her a job?

They didn't know her, she didn't know them. Yet, something deep in her knew she could trust them, they'll protect her. She felt the pull, the need to lean towards Romance touch, to let Jinu comfort her, or to shamelessly stare at Abby's body being displayed for her.

But the rational part was stronger. She stood up abruptly, needing to create some distance, the sheer intensity of their gazes making her feel suffocated, yet strangely desired.

Jinu rose with her, sensing her distress, his movements fluid. "We are completely serious. We understand this is out of the blue, but we're serious." He took a few steps and reached into his jacket, pulling out a small card with a number written on it. He pressed it into her hand. "Think about it, my love, yes? We don't want to pressure you to answer right now"

She clutched the card, her fingers trembling slightly. "Th-thank you," she stuttered, giving them one last, bewildered look before she practically fled the room, the scent of them, the heat of their gazes, imprinted on her senses.

Back home, the familiar comfort of her small apartment wrapped around (Y/N). Freshly showered, she curled up in bed, her dog, Kai, a warm, furry weight against her side. Her mind, however, was miles away, replaying the day's bizarre events.

The boys dancing, shirtless, flirting with her. It had to be fan service, right?

Even so, they were undeniably hot. Every single one of them. And the way they looked at her... like she was the only one in the room, the only one in the world.

And how easily she had opened up to them. Spilling her work woes, her frustrations, how sweet, how concerned they had seemed.

The job offer. Being their assistant.

Was she crazy to even consider it?

They seemed serious, terrifyingly serious. She drifted off to sleep, her thoughts swirling with images of five glorious, fine-looking men, all looking at her as if she were the sole reason for their existence.

In their changing room, the moment the door clicked shut behind (Y/N), the fragile truce Jinu had established shattered.

"You let her leave!" Baby snarled, his eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage. "You let her just walk away!"

"Don't have to rush it and then have her disappear, idiots," Jinu growled back, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze fixed on the door as if he could still see her. "She would have run if we pushed too hard, then what?" He screamed. "I won't lose her because of you"

"She's mine," Abby declared, standing up, his large frame confronting Jinu, muscles tensed.

"Ours," Mystery corrected, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed. "She belongs to all of us."

"I'll claim her," Baby muttered, his voice a low, primal rumble. His knuckles clenched, claws subtly extending and retracting from his fingertips.

"Savages," Romance added, his tone disdainful, but his eyes were just as possessive. "She deserves my love, just mine."

"What would you do if she doesn't call back, huh?" Baby challenged Jinu, defiant, his voice laced with doubt.

Jinu turned, his gaze cold, unwavering, fixed on the closed door. "She will," he answered, his voice devoid of any uncertainty.

Utterly, terrifyingly sure of it.

Two days later, work was as horrible as always. Her boss had torn into her for a misplaced file (that he’d clearly moved himself), and Hani had "accidentally" spilled coffee all over her desk, forcing her to clean it up while she disappeared for an extended lunch break. The fluorescent lights seemed to mock her misery, and the stagnant air pressed down on her, the bright screen and constant incoming email notifications drilling her head adding to the splitting headache she's had since the early morning.

She arrived home, utterly drain collapsing onto her sofa. Kai, sensing her distress, nudged her hand before curling onto her lap, a warm, comforting presence. As she absently stroked his fur, her gaze fell upon the small, elegant card Jinu had given her. His number, perfectly printed.

She stared at it for a long moment, the chaos of the fan sign, the intensity of their gazes, the startling job offer, all swirling in her mind.

She couldn't take another day of this job.

With a sigh, a mix of trepidation and desperate hope, she picked up her phone. She dialed the number, her thumb hovering over the call button for a hesitant second.

Then, she pressed it.

It rang once.

Then twice.

And then, a click.

"Hello?" Jinu's voice, raspy with excitement, answered on the first ring.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her heart pounding.

"I accept," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I'll be your assistant."

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a/n: if there's anyone missing or wants to be tagged pls lmk and I'll add you to the tag list <3 I'll post new episodes every Sunday

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