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teffyx · 5 days ago

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Helloooo! Neww here! Could u do a seven minutes in heaven baby saja version plzzzzzzjdndndjsj

My loves ask and I DELIVER 🔥🔥 this is so disgustingly hot I might actually die and come back just to reread it 😩✋ anon you ruined my life (in the best way possible) and YES if you ask me to do this series for the other three I’ll do it without a single doubt 🤡💋 thank you for the 400+ followers, you’re all insane omg I love you, now go and suffer deliciously 🤭

Warnings: SMUT with a tiny bit of plot bc I’m a clown, oral (F!receiving), fingering, Baby with the filthiest mouth ever, basically pure filth conclusion

SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN 2.0

Baby Saja x Fem! Reader

Zoey—your unstoppable, loud, and utterly charming friend from Huntrix—had dragged you to an after-party at the Saja Boys’ penthouse. You had first agreed to go as her plus-one to the awards ceremony, since you were visiting from the U.S. for a couple of weeks, and honestly, you were beyond thrilled that she had invited you.

You spent the whole awards show with her, clapping enthusiastically as she and the girls celebrated their wins. Zoey introduced you to so many people—her bandmates, other artists, and even the rival group she laughed about, mentioning that her boyfriend was part of the Saja Boys. You had heard of them before—who hadn’t?—and though you’d never admit it aloud, their single had been stuck in your head for weeks.

When they finally introduced you to the boys, they greeted you with excitement and warmth. Apparently, Zoey never stopped talking about her childhood friend from America, the one she was constantly messaging or calling whenever she had free time. You felt incredibly at ease, so when Zoey suggested heading over to the Saja Boys’ penthouse for an after-party, you couldn’t say no.

Apparently, it was a usual thing for both groups to gather after events like this—to talk, laugh, and have dinner together.

So there you were, in the living room of the penthouse, holding a drink that was already starting to make you gigglier than usual. You were laughing uncontrollably at something Abby had just said.

“—and then he actually tried to convince me that glitter glue counts as a serious art supply!” Abby exclaimed, and you almost snorted out your drink.

Everyone joined in the conversation, even the usually quiet Mystery, who dropped little comments here and there that made everyone laugh.

“Wait, you’re telling me you used glitter glue?” Mystery asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes! And don’t even think about judging me!” Abby shot back with mock indignation.

You laughed so hard your cheeks hurt, feeling more at ease than you expected. Everyone seemed genuinely interested in having you there, enjoying your reactions and laughter—it almost felt like you belonged.

Everyone seemed comfortable with your presence, genuinely interested in getting to know you—everyone, that is, except one person. Baby.

You noticed quickly that his smile and politeness were only for the cameras. The moment he stepped into the penthouse, his frown surfaced, and he barely spoke beyond a few monosyllables here and there. He hadn’t said more than a greeting and a short, polite smile when Zoey had introduced you. At first, you didn’t think much of it—until you felt his gaze on you when you sat down on the couch.

He wasn’t looking at your face. His eyes were tracing the length of your legs. Your dress—short in the front, long in the back—shifted as you crossed your legs, the hem brushing mid-thigh. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention; his blue eyes slowly roamed your legs, but when you caught him staring, he didn’t look away like anyone else might. No, he held your gaze, silently asking, I’m watching you—what will you do about it?

When your blush betrayed you, he finally returned to his phone, as if nothing had happened.

It happened a few more times throughout the evening. You could feel his stare burning into you, but you didn’t reciprocate—you refused to blush any further.

It wasn’t until Rumi noticed that you realized you’d drifted off into your thoughts.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Rumi asked gently, tilting her head. “You’re… really red.”

All eyes turned toward you. Your hands flew to your face, trying to cool the warmth of your cheeks. You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “It’s the drink, I guess. I should go get some water.”

“No problem at all,” Romance said softly, the nearest to you. “Make yourself at home.” He gestured warmly toward the kitchen.

Before you could move, Baby stood, his voice deep and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’ll take you,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Anyway, I need another of these myself.” He waved his glass playfully.

The depth of his voice—so different from the clipped monosyllables he’d been using—made your heart skip a beat. You swallowed hard and followed him, nerves making your steps a little unsteady.

In the kitchen, he handed you a glass of water. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and a jolt ran through your body, your cheeks heating even more.

“Th-thank you,” you murmured, bringing the glass to your lips, trying to calm your racing heart.

He leaned casually against the counter, watching you drink. Then, with that teasing glint in his eyes, he said, “You should’ve said it was me who got you like this.”

You nearly choked on the water. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” you stammered, laughing nervously.

He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. “No point in lying when it’s obvious.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed his drink and returned to the living room, leaving you frozen for a moment. You drained the rest of your water, set the glass down, and hurried back to the couch—just in time to see him sliding back into his spot, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your heart was still racing, your body buzzing from the brief contact. The conversation in the living room continued around you, but all you could feel was the lingering effect of his gaze and words

The conversation flowed easily, laughter echoing around the penthouse, until Zoey nudged you and suggested, “Let’s play something!”

Everyone agreed immediately, tossing out ideas and suggestions. Finally, Romance grabbed an empty bottle and set it on the floor. “How about Spin the Bottle?” he asked with a grin.

Everyone nodded, including you, and you all arranged yourselves in a circle on the floor. You ended up sitting between Jinu and Mystery, and directly across from you was Baby. You tried to ignore him, but you could feel his gaze, steady and deliberate.

Before the game began, Abby returned to the living room, holding a deck of cards in his hands. You hadn’t even noticed he had left. Confused, you looked at him, and he explained, “These cards have dares. Some silly, some… a bit more exciting.”

He finished with a mischievous smile, and Mira lightly flicked him on the back of the head as he sat down. Still, everyone accepted the challenge, curious and slightly buzzed from the drinks.

The bottle spun, landing on someone at random, and the dares began. Laughter erupted as the dares ranged from silly to daring:

Mystery had to serenade Zoey in his best dramatic opera voice.

Romance was dared to do a real lap dance to Mira

Abby had to do his best impression of a chicken for thirty seconds.

Jinu had to let someone draw on his face with a makeup pencil—he chose you, smirking as your hand wobbled.

One of the cards made Rumi do a ridiculous dance in the center of the circle, while another dared a Mira to whisper a secret to the person on their left.

You were having fun, giggling through each round, when the bottle spun again… and landed on you.

You grabbed a card from the pile, reading it aloud: “Seven minutes in heaven with someone in the room.”

You laughed nervously, placing it on the floor. “Well, too bad everyone’s in couples… I guess I’ll just have to—”

“I’m single.”

The words came from Baby, cutting through your sentence like a spark. Silence fell immediately. You blinked at him, stunned, feeling like he had just said the most shocking thing you’d ever heard.

“W-what?” you stammered weakly.

“You can come in with me.”

The circle around you murmured their approval, some laughing, some teasing, giving you no chance to protest. Zoey grabbed your arm with a playful grin, practically dragging you toward the closet by the entrance where jackets were kept. She practically tossed you inside with Baby right behind you and shut the door.

You tried to open it, but Zoey’s laughter came from the other side. “Sorry! It locks from the outside!”

“Seven minutes started now”. You could hear her footsteps fading down the hall as the two of you were left alone, your heart hammering.

Baby was already behind you when you pulled away from the door. He advanced slowly, deliberate, while you stepped back until your spine pressed against the wall. His eyes never left yours—sharp, unyielding—as if you were prey and he was the predator, ready to devour you whole.

He lifted a hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a surprising gentleness. But his touch didn’t stop there. His fingertip traced down the side of your cheek, lingering just long enough to make you shiver, before resting beneath your chin. With the lightest pressure, he tilted your face up, forcing your eyes to lock with his.

Maybe it was the darkness of the closet, but you could’ve sworn his irises looked darker, almost shifting color—like something dangerous lived in them.

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, heat pooling deep inside you no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. You turned your face slightly, but he shook his head, closing the distance until his breath mingled with yours.

A smirk curved his lips, wicked and knowing. His voice dropped to a whisper that grazed over your skin like fire.

“Tell me, sweetheart… are you really going to sit here and play the good girl?”

Your pulse stumbled, your throat tightening as you tried to keep your composure. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered back, the words trembling.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against you. “You know exactly what I mean. You can keep pretending, but it doesn’t change the truth.”

And then, before you could react, his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was savage, hungry, his hand sliding to the back of your head to pull you closer, deeper. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders for balance as the world tilted, your knees weak under the weight of him.

Time blurred. The kiss was all-consuming, stretching into what felt like forever—until you felt his hand slip lower. With deliberate slowness, he brushed against the hem of your dress, lifting the fabric just enough to toy with the edge of your underwear. His fingers traced dangerously close, skimming along your inner thigh, his touch teasing, suggestive, maddening.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips against his mouth. Baby pulled back just far enough to watch your face, his eyes blazing with satisfaction.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his tone dark and taunting. “That’s not the drink talking. That’s me.”

Before you could answer, he slid two fingers along the side of the thin fabric, grazing your warmth through it, just enough to make your breath hitch. A low laugh rumbled from his chest at your reaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered something so shameless it made your whole body burn.

Then, with infuriating confidence, he pulled away. His gaze locked with yours as he brought those same fingers to his lips, tasting the trace of you with slow, deliberate satisfaction.

His smirk deepened. “Delicious,” he drawled, his voice like velvet.

You swore you could’ve come undone right there, just from the sight of it.

Before you could form a reply, Baby’s hands closed around your waist. In one sudden motion, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, forcing your legs to wrap around his hips. A startled sound tore from your throat at the unexpected movement, but he only smiled in return. It wasn’t the dazzling smile he reserved for cameras, no—this one was mocking, irritatingly confident, the kind of smile that told you he owned you, that he was about to teach you a lesson.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice breaking on the edge of hysteria. You kept it low, almost a whisper, because even if you were tucked away in the closet, you knew that if you screamed, the others outside might hear every sound.

His mouth curved into something darker. “I’m going to make you feel so good,” he murmured, his tone dripping with promise, “so good that the only thing that’ll leave your pretty mouth will be gratitude.”

He doesn’t give you any chance to breathe. His lips drag down your inner thigh, slow and wet, leaving open-mouthed kisses that make your skin shiver before he finally stops right at your core. He exhales against you, and you feel the warmth of his breath spread over your folds, making you tremble even before he touches you.

“Fuck… you’re dripping for me,” he whispers with a crooked grin, spreading you apart with his thumbs to watch your slick glisten in the low light. “So fucking pretty.”

He leans in and gives you one slow, deliberate lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit, groaning as if he just tasted heaven. His tongue is broad, dragging against every fold, and the wet sound it makes has your toes curling. You gasp, fingers instinctively tangling in his hair.

He chuckles against you, then presses another lick, sharper this time, focusing on your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue in little flicks. “Sensitive, aren’t you? Look how you twitch just from this,” he murmurs, before sucking gently, testing how much you’ll take.

Your hips jerk, chasing more, and he growls in satisfaction. “Fuck, babe. Can’t even sit still, can you?”

Then he does it again—long, deep strokes with his tongue—before flattening it and pushing into your entrance as far as he can reach, fucking you with his mouth. The sensation is so raw and filthy you let out a strangled moan, tugging his hair harder.

When his tongue slips out, he slides one finger in without warning. The stretch makes you gasp, and he groans low at how tight you squeeze him. “So wet… so tight around just one finger. You’re begging for it without even saying a word.”

He curls that finger slowly, dragging along your inner walls until he finds the spot that makes your thighs jolt. He smirks. “Ah… there it is.” And he presses again, harder this time, rubbing that spot until your moans pitch higher.

“Baby—fuck—”

He doesn’t stop. He adds a second finger, stretching you open deliciously, and your back arches against the wall. He pumps them in and out at a steady rhythm, twisting just right each time his fingertips drag over that swollen bundle inside you.

“Listen to you,” he mutters, his voice rough with arousal, “you sound so fucking good. Every little noise—fuck, it’s all for me.”

Then he lowers his head again, mouth latching onto your clit while his fingers work deeper. He sucks hard, tongue flicking in quick circles, and the combination makes your whole body shake and moan.

“Mm, don’t hide it,” he says when he pulls back for a second, spit and slick shining on his lips. “I want to hear every sound when I ruin you.”

He plunges his fingers back in, harder now, his palm grinding against you while his mouth devours your clit again. The wet, sloppy sounds fill the cramped space, and you can barely breathe as he fucks you with his hand. Your legs tremble violently against his shoulders, your nails scraping his scalp.

Just as your orgasm builds, as your moans grow desperate, he suddenly slows down—his tongue gentler, his fingers moving but deliberately holding you on edge. You whine in frustration, clenching around him, tugging on his hair.

He looks up at you, his lips glistening, his eyes sharp and merciless. “You wanna come, pretty girl?” he drawls, curling his fingers again but not giving you enough.

“Yes—please, Baby—”

He shakes his head with a dark grin. “Not until you ask nicely. Not until you thank me for making this pussy mine.”

Your breath catches, your body aching with the need he’s building inside you. He presses harder against your g-spot, dragging his tongue in circles over your clit but keeping you hovering, keeping you trembling on the brink.

“Say it,” he commands, voice low and hot. “Say ‘thank you, Baby,’ or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

The words tumble out of you between broken moans, desperate and humiliating: “Th-thank you, Baby—please—thank you—”

He groans like the sound alone gets him off, and then he finally gives in—fingers thrusting deep, tongue sucking hard, relentless as he works you over. You break within seconds, orgasm tearing through you violently, your walls clamping down on his fingers while he devours every drop of your release.

When you collapse against the wall, trembling and breathless, he eases his fingers out—slick and shining—before sliding them into his mouth and sucking them clean. He doesn’t look away from your face once, his grin wicked and satisfied.

“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly. “Remember that next time—your pretty little cunt only gets to come when you thank me.”

When it was finally over, he lowered you gently, your legs weak and unsteady. His arm circled your waist, holding you upright, steadying you with possessive care. With his free hand, he tugged your clothes back into place with practiced ease, as if nothing had happened at all.

But then his mouth was on yours again, stealing a kiss that made you moan softly into him. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and he didn’t let you pull away, kissing you with the same intensity as before. His hand tightened on your waist, possessive, demanding, until your arms wound around his neck instinctively.

And then—the door swung open.

“Time’s up,” Zoey’s voice rang out as she peeked in. She froze mid-step, her eyes widening at the sight of you and Baby tangled together, kissing like you couldn’t breathe without it.

“I knew it,” she gasped, half-shocked, half-triumphant. “Somebody owes me money.” With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the main room, muttering under her breath.

You tore yourself away from Baby, your face burning with mortification, your chest still heaving.

Baby only chuckled, unbothered, his smirk curling wickedly. “Hope you’re ready to choke on me later,” he murmured in your ear before stepping out of the closet as if nothing had happened, leaving you flushed, breathless, and hopelessly confused.

#kpdh #kpop demon hunters #saja boys #kpop demon hunters smut #baby saja #baby is an absolute menace #zoey x mystery x baby #baby kpop demon hunters #baby kpdh #zoeystery #poly saja boys #kpop demon hunters x reader

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teffyx · 5 days ago

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The lost sister 8

Saja Boys x Mira's Sister! Reader

Pt.1 <- Pt.2 <- Pt.3 <- Pt.4 <- Pt.5 <- Pt.6 <- Pt.7 <- Pt.8

W.C: 5330

Warnings: Family trauma, emotional distress, intimacy and cuddling, playful physical contact, flirty banter with mild suggestive tones, romantic tension (polyamory undertones), and a brief non-graphic kiss. Is a bunch of fluff before MORE AND MORE ANGST

N/A: After this everything’s just downhill lol so… be ready 💀. Will you hate me? yeah probably 😌 but like… what’s better than endless angst chapters? exactly, nothing. hope u suffer enjoy <3 love uuu 🫶

Romance feels the gradual shift in your body—how your weight settles heavier against him, how your breathing deepens until it’s slow and steady. You’re asleep.

Still, he doesn’t move. He just holds you for a little longer, memorizing the warmth radiating from you, the way your frame fits into his arms like it belongs there. There’s a kind of unspoken trust in the fact that you’ve let yourself fall asleep here, in him, and he’s in no hurry to give it back.

When he’s sure you won’t stir at the slightest touch, he shifts carefully, scooping you just enough to guide you toward the bedroom. His bedroom. The thought hits him—his sheets will smell like you.

It’s almost enough to break him in a different way.

Not now, he reminds himself, shaking it off before the heat crawling up his neck gets worse.

He lays you down gently, tucking the blanket around you like it’s muscle memory. The sight of you curling tighter around his pillow makes his chest ache in a way he doesn’t have words for. He bends down and presses a kiss into your hair—quick, quiet, selfish—then slips out, closing the door behind him with deliberate care.

The living room isn’t much better. Tension clings to the air like a storm about to break.

Mistery sits beside Abby on the couch, elbows on his knees, his knuckles bone-white from the pressure of holding them together. He doesn’t look up, just stares at the floor like it’s holding answers. Abby’s leaned back against the cushions, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze fixed on the ceiling as though the lights could explain why you’d been crying like that.

Baby can’t sit still—he’s pacing, shoes whispering across the floor with each pass. He looks like he could punch through the wall if it would make you feel even a little bit better. Honestly, if you asked him to, he’d burn the building down and smile about it.

Jinu is the only one perched somewhere else, on the kitchen counter with his phone in hand. He isn’t using it, though—every few seconds, his eyes flick to the hallway like he’s waiting for you to appear. So when Romance finally emerges, Jinu’s up instantly, practically sprinting toward him. The movement draws the attention of the others, every head turning.

Romance just lifts a hand in a silent wait, his expression unreadable as he heads for the couch and drops into it with an exhale that sounds heavier than it should.

Romance barely sits before Baby explodes.

“So? Are you gonna talk or what?” His voice is rough, low, but you can feel the panic underneath. He’s pacing again before Romance even answers.

Romance drags a hand over his face. “She ran into her sister.”

The room stills.

“She didn’t know YN’s working with us.” His voice is steady, but you can tell it costs him. “And Mira—” His jaw tightens. “—she said some things.”

Abby’s brows knit, slow and dark. “What kind of things?”

Romance hesitates, almost like saying it out loud will make it worse. “She told YN… ‘That’s why mom and dad always keep you on a leash.’” The words land like a punch, heavy and cold.

Mistery’s head snaps up, his eyes sharp even behind his mask. “She said that to her face?” His knuckles curl against his knees again, hard enough you hear the faint creak of leather.

Baby mutters something that sounds dangerously close to I’ll kill her, but no one calls him out on it.

Jinu, who’s been silent until now, takes a step forward. “Why would she say that? Unless…” He exhales sharply. “Unless she’s trying to push YN away from us.”

Abby leans back, crossing his arms tighter. “Isn’t it obvious? Mira knows what we are. She knows what Gwi-Ma wants. If she thinks her sister’s in danger…”

“She’s not wrong to think that,” Mistery cuts in, voice quiet but cutting. “Technically, we are using her.”

The words hang there—ugly, uninvited.

“No,” Jinu snaps, quicker than even he expected. His gaze sweeps over all of them. “That’s not what this is anymore.”

Baby stops pacing, his hands on his hips. “You gonna tell me you don’t remember why we approached her in the first place?”

“I remember.” Jinu’s tone softens, but it doesn’t lose its weight. “I also know I don’t want to let her go. Not because of the mission. Because…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “Because I like having her close. We all do.”

Romance glances down at his hands, a faint smirk tugging at his lips like he’s not ready to admit how deep it runs. Abby exhales, long and slow, like the admission has been sitting in his chest for days. Mistery doesn’t say it out loud, but the stillness in him says enough.

“We can’t pretend anymore,” Jinu finishes, his voice low. “Yeah, Gwi-Ma gave us orders. Yeah, the mission’s still there. But I’m not gonna stand here and say she’s just a means to an end. She’s…” He searches for the word, finding nothing neat enough to hold it. “…more than that now.”

The silence that follows Jinu’s words isn’t just thoughtful—it’s loaded. The kind of silence that weighs on your chest and presses the air out of the room.

They all know the risk. They all know that what just happened—speaking it out loud—was crossing an invisible line.

Mistery is the first to move, shifting in his seat, the leather of his jacket groaning faintly. His gaze is fixed on the floor, but you can feel the tension coiling in him, like a predator caught between fight and flight. “You know what happens if he finds out.” His voice is so low you almost miss it.

Romance’s smirk fades, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the edge of his ring. “If he finds out,” he echoes, but the false bravado in his tone doesn’t land. His eyes flick up briefly, scanning their faces—almost daring one of them to say he will.

Baby leans against the back of the couch, arms crossed tight, his jaw flexing hard enough to ache. “We’ve been careful so far.” But the way he says it, clipped and quick, makes it sound more like a prayer than a fact.

Abby stays still, almost too still, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something. “Careful doesn’t matter when it comes to him,” he says finally. “He doesn’t need proof. He can smell this kind of thing.”

“This kind of thing?” Jinu asks quietly, though the words carry an edge.

Abby’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Attachment.”

The word lands like ice water. They don’t have to explain the rest. Attachment is weakness. Weakness is leverage. Leverage is the quickest way for Gwi-Ma to tear them apart.

No one speaks for a moment. It’s like the room is holding its breath, each of them turning over the same truth in their heads: they can’t afford to feel this way.

And yet…

Mistery’s voice cuts through, almost reluctant, but certain. “Doesn’t matter. We’re past that point.”

Romance huffs a laugh, low and humorless. “Guess we’re already screwed, huh?”

Jinu leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at each of them in turn. “Have you noticed,” he says slowly, “that we don’t hear him when she’s around?” His voice drops even more, like he’s afraid speaking it too loud will break the spell. “When Y/N’s close… it’s like he’s not there. No whispers. No pull. Nothing.”

The others freeze, trading uneasy glances. Because he’s right. They hadn’t thought about it until now, but the realization hits like a cold draft through the room.

Jinu’s gaze hardens. “That’s why we protect her. No matter what.”

One by one, the others meet his eyes. None of them say yes. They don’t have to.

——

You come to slowly, the kind of waking where your mind doesn’t match the pace of your body. The sheets are warm, your head is heavy, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re still dreaming. You blink at the pale ceiling, unsure why the space feels both unfamiliar and… safe.

It takes another few seconds before you realize what’s wrong—you don’t remember lying down.

You push yourself upright, the blankets sliding to your lap, and your eyes dart around, scanning the cream-toned walls and the faint golden light spilling through half-closed curtains.

Then the memory hits you like a punch. Mira’s voice—sharp, cold, and merciless—echoes in your head. Her words crash against you all over again, stabbing at the tender places you’d tried to keep hidden. Your throat tightens, a flash of heat burning behind your eyes.

You remember stumbling away, tears blurring your vision, the cold air biting at your face as you tried to breathe through the mess Mira had left in you… and then colliding with Romance. He caught you instantly, steadying you before you could fall apart, and without a word, he led you back to the penthouse—into his room—where he held you until the trembling eased.

Somewhere between the comfort of his voice and the exhaustion weighing you down, you must have fallen asleep.

And now it all makes sense—the pale sheets, the warm cream tones, the faint scent of his cologne drifting in the air. That scent you’ve grown to recognize in just a handful of days, and—if you’re honest—grown to love.

You’re in Romance’s room.

The thought barely settles before the door opens. He’s there, leaning against the frame like he’s been standing there a while, his smile soft in a way that makes you forget the sting in your chest. Behind him, Abby peeks around his shoulder, her grin brighter, teasing.

“Well, look who decided to wake up,” Romance says, his voice low, like he’s still trying not to disturb you.

You blink at him, half-smiling despite yourself. “Was I out long?”

“Long enough for us to debate whether you’d joined the land of the dead,” Abby chimes in, stepping inside.

They close the door behind them. Abby sits at the edge of the bed, close enough for her knee to brush yours, while Romance circles to the other side and leans back against the headboard.

“You okay?” Abby asks softly, searching your face.

“I think so,” you say, though it comes out quieter than you mean.

Romance’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable but steady. “I told the others what happened,” he says.

A wave of relief washes over you. “Thank you… I really didn’t want to say it all again.”

“You don’t have to,” Abby says firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

That’s when you glance at the clock on the wall and your stomach twists. “Wait—don’t you guys have the variety shoot today? How long was I—”

Romance shakes his head before you can work yourself up. “Relax. You’ve been asleep for barely over an hour. We’ve still got a couple before we need to go.”

You exhale, tension bleeding out of your shoulders.

Abby smirks. “Honestly, we were gonna let you sleep longer, but we had to wake you before Jinu strangled Baby.”

Your brows rise. “What happened?”

“Baby refuses to wear the pink outfit you made him,” Romance says, his lips twitching. “He’s been… dramatic about it.”

“Dramatic?” Abby repeats with a laugh. “He said, and I quote, ‘I’d rather set myself on fire than wear that marshmallow of death.’”

You snort, clapping a hand over your mouth. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” Romance says. “Jinu’s thirty seconds from losing it. We’re trying to save them both.”

You’re still laughing when the door opens again.

Mystery steps in—and you freeze, though not for the reason Abby and Romance do. His hair is pushed back completely, revealing the full symmetry of his face, the deep brown of one eye and the striking pale gray of the other.

Both Abby and Romance instantly stiffen, glancing at each other in mild panic. Abby moves like she’s about to block your line of sight.

But you beat her to it, smiling gently. “I’m glad you feel comfortable like this, Min—”

You stop, realizing too late what you’ve said. Heat floods your cheeks.

Abby’s eyes widen. Romance looks from you to Mistery like he’s watching something he doesn’t understand.

Mystery, however, laughs—actually laughs—and it’s warm enough to ease the moment into something softer. “It’s fine,” he says, waving them off. “She’s seen me like this before.”

Abby blinks. “Wait… what?”

“I trust her,” Mystery says simply, his gaze lingering on you. “Besides, you know my name now. You can use them. That’s why i told you.”

For a second, no one says anything. The quiet feels… good. Warm. Like you’ve stepped into a moment that wasn’t meant to be broken.

Then Mystery clears his throat. “Anyway, I came to get you before Jinu commits a felony. Baby’s still refusing to dress, and I don’t want to be a witness.”

Abby chuckles. “Could be entertaining though.”

Your laugh comes easier this time, bright and unguarded. All three of them glance at you like they’re memorizing the sound.

You push off the bed. “Let’s go rescue them before it escalates.”

---

Jinu’s room is chaos when you open the door with the boys behind you.

On one side, Jinu stands by the dresser, jaw tight, one hand gripping the back of a chair like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing it completely.

Across from him, Baby leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“You’re putting it on,” Jinu says through clenched teeth.

“You can’t make me,” Baby fires back.

“Do you want us to be late?”

“Do you want me to look ridiculous?” Baby glances at you when you enter, like he’s found backup.

“Put it on,” Jinu says again, ignoring you entirely.

“No.”

Jinu’s eye twitches. “Baby—”

Before he can finish, Baby grabs the nearest object—a shoe—and lifts it like a weapon.

“Don’t,” Jinu warns.

Baby smirks. “Catch.”

The shoe flies. Jinu sidesteps, narrowly avoiding impact. He lunges, but Baby bolts—straight for you.

“YN!” Baby yelps, launching himself at you without warning.

The momentum knocks you off your feet, both of you hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs. You let out a startled squeak as he clings like a cat refusing to be pried off.

Above you, Jinu groans. “Exactly what I was afraid of.”

You barely have time to process what just happened before Jinu’s shadow looms over the two of you.

“Baby, get off her,” Jinu says, his tone flat in that way that means he’s one second away from snapping.

Baby doesn’t move. In fact, he tightens his hold around you, one arm hooked under your back, the other locking around your waist like he’s barricading you from the rest of the world. His legs are tangled with yours, and the weight of him keeps you pinned to the floor.

“Baby,” Jinu warns.

From the doorway, Abby’s voice pipes up. “You literally tackled her, what is wrong with you?”

“I panicked,” Baby says, not even lifting his head.

“That’s your excuse?!” Romance’s voice now, incredulous.

“It was a tactical maneuver,” Baby insists.

You open your mouth to respond, but that’s when you feel it—his head shifting slightly against your neck, his breath warm where your skin is most sensitive. The ticklish sensation makes you jolt, but before you can pull away, his lips are so close to your ear you can feel the faint movement when he speaks.

“Mm… you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low, almost a growl softened into a tease. The sound vibrates against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver racing down your spine. “Dangerous, though… makes me wanna stay right here.”

Heat floods your cheeks instantly. The combination of his tone—rich, velvety, and just rough enough to make your stomach twist—and the closeness of his body has your pulse skipping in ways you wish you could ignore.

“Baby!” Jinu snaps again, crouching to pry him off you.

Baby hums in mock innocence, still refusing to move. “What? She’s comfortable. I’m comfortable. Problem solved.”

Romance steps in, hooking his hands under Baby’s arms to try and drag him away. “The problem is you’re acting like a human seatbelt.”

Abby shakes her head, arms crossed. “More like a human octopus.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, even as Baby’s hold makes it impossible to sit up.

The sound of your laughter seems to make him pause for half a second, like he’s actually listening. Then he tilts his head just enough to glance at you, his gray-green eyes flicking down to your mouth before he grins, slow and entirely too smug.

“You should laugh more,” he says, still low, like it’s for you alone. “Looks good on you.”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “You’re impossible.”

“True,” he says without shame.

It takes both Jinu and Romance working together to finally pry him off you, his arms stretching out toward you like a child refusing to be taken from their favorite toy.

“Traitors,” he mutters at them as they haul him backward.

“You tackled her!” Jinu snaps. “We’re saving her life!”

Baby just laughs, unbothered.

“Alright, you’ve got to get dressed,” you say, keeping your tone light but firm as Baby groans, flopping up and crossing his arms dramatically.

“I don’t want to wear that,” he complains, wrinkling his nose like the idea alone is unbearable.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him your best ‘mom look.’ “That’s the vibe we picked. We all have to match.”

He scowls but clearly isn’t convinced. You soften your expression, batting your eyelashes just enough to tease. “Pretty pleaseee?”

After a long, exaggerated sigh, Baby finally relents. “Fine. But next time, I’m vetoing this entire look.” He mutters under his breath as he grabs the outfit, stalking out of the room with his usual mock-grump.

You wave the others off with a smile. “Go get dressed, you dorks.”

They scatter, leaving you alone for a moment. That’s when it hits—you don’t have an outfit ready for yourself, nothing you feel confident wearing on camera.

“Going back home isn’t really an option right now,” you murmur to yourself.

Just then, Romance appears in the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You can take whatever you want from our closets. No one minds. Plus, we have the guest bathroom if you want to shower.”

Abby’s voice floats from the hallway, calm and steady. “Seriously, we want you to feel comfortable.”

You smile softly, gratitude warming your chest. The boys head off to finish getting ready, leaving you alone with Jinu for a quiet moment.

He steps closer, eyes gentle as he asks quietly, “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you since you got here… after.”

Your throat tightens, but you blink away the sting of memory. “I’m… better now,” you whisper.

He nods, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Good. We’ve got your back.”

After he leaves, you take a deep breath and begin visiting each boy’s room.

You start with Abby’s��bright, bold, a cascade of colors and patterns that somehow feel like home. You quickly find a crisp, white button-up shirt, the kind Abby wears when she wants to look sharp but casual. The fabric is smooth, cool under your fingers.

Next, you step into Romance’s room, warm and familiar. The cream walls and soft lighting feel comforting. You grab a soft, light beige tee folded neatly on the bed—perfect for layering under Abby’s shirt.

Leaving Romance’s room behind, you move down the hall to Mystery’s. The atmosphere shifts immediately. Minimalism rules here—dark gray walls accented with sharp silver frames, a sleek black desk holding only a laptop and a few pens arranged just so. The room feels precise, controlled, much like mystery himself.

Your eyes land on a pair of wide-leg pants hanging casually over the back of a chair. Their flowing fabric contrasts beautifully with the room’s austerity—stylish yet relaxed. You carefully take them, imagining how they’ll move with you and catch the light.

Baby’s room surprises you with its coziness. Near the door, a pair of sturdy black boots catch your eye. You slip them on, feeling their weight ground you instantly.

Finally, you enter again in Jinu’s room. It’s refined and elegant but understated. Your gaze lands on a dresser where simple bracelets and a sleek silver necklace rest. You pick a couple of pieces, heart fluttering at the thought of carrying a bit of him with you.

Back in the guest bathroom, you layer the clothes with care—Abby’s shirt left open over Romance’s tee, the wide pants falling just right, Baby’s boots laced tightly, and Jinu’s bracelets sliding over your wrists. The faint scent of their colognes clings to the fabric and your skin, mingling in a way that makes you feel... connected.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“YN?” Romance’s voice calls through. “We’re all ready whenever you want to come see.”

You take a deep breath, smooth your hair one last time, and open the door.

You step out of the hallway, towel-dried hair falling loose over your shoulders, the mixed scent of five different colognes still clinging faintly to your skin. The air in the living room stills—like someone’s hand just pressed pause on the whole scene.

Romance’s eyes are the first to find you. His gaze drags slowly, almost lazily, but every inch he takes in sets something low in his stomach alight. The heat spreads downward, sharp and insistent, tightening everything in between. His fingers flex against his thighs, but the denim is already too tight, already biting into him.

Jinu’s look is sharper—quieter—but no less consuming. He swallows hard, feels the warmth crawl up his throat before dropping lower, heavy and unyielding. He shifts his stance, subtle but deliberate, trying to hide the way his body’s reacting.

Abby freezes mid-step. His smirk tries to come naturally, but there’s a slight hitch in his breath as his eyes travel up your legs to the curve of your waist. Heat pools fast, and he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the muscle in his jaw flexing just once.

Mystery’s hands pause at the edge of his vest. He doesn’t speak at first, but you can feel his gaze—steady, unwavering. Beneath the surface calm, there’s a slow burn building, the kind that makes his breathing almost imperceptibly deeper.

Baby’s grin falters for half a second before returning. His eyes flick down your body and back up, the movement too slow to pass as casual. There’s a quiet weight in his stare, and he feels the twitch in his jeans before he even thinks to move.

“Damn,” Baby says, voice lower than intended. “You… clean up nice.”

“You look…” Jinu starts, but stops, jaw tightening as his eyes linger on the slope of your neck for a beat too long.

Abby lets out a short huff of air, smirk returning in full force. “Didn’t know we were hiding a runway model in the studio.”

Mystery’s voice is low, steady, but the faint rasp gives him away. “It suits you.”

You arch a brow, stepping toward Romance first. “Let’s see… this here’s a little off.” You tug at the edge of his shirt, fingers brushing over his stomach. The contact is brief but electric—heat shooting straight through him. His hips stay perfectly still, but his breath leaves hotter than it should.

Next, Abby. You lean in, fastening a button near his collar. “Just one,” you murmur, not looking up. “Knew this fabric would make your eyes stand out.” His smirk curves higher, but his body stays rigid, his pulse skipping under your nearness.

Baby is next, shoulders squaring as you smooth the fabric over his arms. “Relax,” you murmur, your hands trailing slowly down to his wrists. His breath catches; his grin is back, but there’s tension in the way he shifts his weight.

Finally, Mystery. You step into his space, fixing the line of his vest and running your hand down a stubborn crease. “There,” you say softly, “perfect.” He doesn’t move, but his chest rises slightly more with each breath, the fabric over it straining just enough to betray him.

Romance’s fists curl tighter at his sides. The faint trace of his own scent on you, the warmth of your fingers—both have his demon snarling ugly, possessive things in his head. His jeans feel suffocating now, and every movement is a fight to keep still.

Jinu notices—too much. The restless tension in Romance’s stance mirrors the one in his own. It makes his pulse kick harder, knowing they’re both fighting the same losing battle.

Abby tilts his head, watching the silent exchange, and Baby smirks knowingly. Even Mystery’s gaze flickers once before settling back into that stoic mask.

Romance mutters something about getting water and disappears into the kitchen. Baby’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter; Abby’s lips twitch, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” you ask, glancing between them.

“Nothing,” they say in unison, eyes glittering with the kind of secret you’ll never hear.

——

You step into the bright chaos of the backstage area with the boys at your side, the air buzzing with pre-show energy. Staff members rush around, adjusting cables, testing lights, and handing off last-minute notes.

A woman with a clipboard hurries toward Jinu. “Is this your stylist?” she asks, glancing quickly at you.

“She’s in charge of our image today,” Jinu confirms, his tone calm but leaving no room for doubt. “If you have any questions about our look, talk to her.”

That gets the woman’s full attention. “Got it. We just want to make sure everything matches the stage lighting.”

You nod and immediately move toward the makeup station, the boys trailing behind. “Alright, they’re already dressed, so we just need light touch-ups.”

You start with Abby, tilting your head to examine him under the warm bulbs. “Keep his skin looking fresh—no heavy contour, just a subtle highlight on the high points so the stage lights catch him right. And for lips, stick to a sheer balm.” Abby flashes a quick grin in the mirror, clearly pleased with the minimal fuss.

Next, you turn to Baby. “We want his eyes a little sharper. Soft brown liner to define the shape, but nothing too smoky—it’ll make him look older, and that’s not the vibe we’re going for today.” Baby hums in acknowledgment, leaning back casually in the chair as the artist follows your notes.

Romance is next, already lounging like he owns the place. “His blush needs to stay warm-toned—peach, not pink,” you instruct. “And leave the freckles as they are. Don’t cover them.” You catch the way his gaze flicks toward you in the mirror, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You move on to Mistery. His long, dark hair still falls forward, covering most of his face until just above his lips. You take a moment, studying how the light hits him. “No foundation. Just powder for shine control,” you say quietly. “And keep his skin matte—it’ll help the shadows from his hair look intentional on camera.” Mistery gives a slow nod, almost imperceptible, but you can see his shoulders relax at your choice.

Finally, you reach Jinu. “Skin has to look natural, no heavy products,” you direct. “A bit of concealer if needed, but make sure the jawline stays sharp.” Jinu’s eyes meet yours for a brief second, something unreadable passing between you before he sits down for the touch-up.

You step back, scanning all five of them. “They’re ready,” you tell the crew.

That’s when two Hosts approach—a man and a woman, both in sleek outfits and holding cue cards. “Alright, gentlemen, here’s the rundown,” the female Host says. “You’ll open with a short interview, then we have three mini-challenges before your performance.”

The male Host grins. “First challenge is a rapid-fire Q&A—answer as fast as possible. Second is a coordination game; we’ll explain it on stage.”

“And the last one,” the female Host adds, smiling knowingly, “is a spicy endurance test. Whoever can drink the most spoonfuls of extra-hot sauce without giving up wins.”

The boys exchange quick glances—competitive sparks lighting instantly in their eyes.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Abby says under his breath.

Romance leans against the wall, his smirk widening. “Hope you’re all ready to lose.”

Baby scoffs. “Not a chance.”

Even Mystery tilts his head, a small curve forming at the edge of his lips.

“Five minutes,” the stage manager calls out.

You watch as the boys straighten up, their playful banter fading into sharp focus. The switch from casual to performance mode is instant—and electric.

The stage manager’s voice crackles through the comms, urgent and sharp.

"Two minutes! Positions!"

The boys start moving toward the side entrance, the muffled roar of the crowd seeping through the curtains. You can feel the pulse of the bass through the floorboards, rattling up your legs.

You take a deep breath and step forward, giving each of them a quick smile and a few words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this, Jinu—show them who’s boss,” you murmur, and he nods, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Romance catches your eye, and you flash him a wink. “Keep that smirk ready—you’re going to kill it out there.” He smirks in response, confidence brightening his expression.

Abby leans forward slightly, and you clap him on the shoulder. “Remember your cues, okay? You’ve got this.” He winks back, giving a subtle thumbs-up.

Mystery brushes past without a word, but you catch the faint graze of his shoulder against yours, and you murmur softly, “Keep calm, you’ll be perfect.” A tiny nod from him is your only acknowledgment, but it’s enough.

And then… it’s just Baby left.

He lingers by the curtain instead of joining the others, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely gripping the mic. His head tilts slightly, eyes catching yours under the bright backstage lights. There’s a faint sheen on his lips—lip balm, not gloss—and your brain instantly recalls the feel of them this morning.

“You should go,” you say, forcing your voice steady.

He doesn’t move. “Should I?” His tone is low, casual, but the faint curl at the edge of his mouth tells you he’s anything but indifferent.

“The show’s about to start,” you murmur, fingers tightening around your clipboard. “But… I know you’ll do great.” Your voice softens, a playful lift at the end, trying to tease and reassure all at once.

He steps closer—just enough to blur the air between you, the faint scent of his cologne curling around your senses. It’s fresh, warm, intoxicating.

“I remember you didn’t push me away earlier,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on yours. “Still thinking about how sweet your lips were.”

You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks. “That was—”

“A mistake?” he finishes, leaning in just enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. “You don’t look like you believe that.”

Your pulse hammers. You should step back, speak, do anything—but your feet stay rooted.

The crowd outside roars again, the bass vibrating through the walls, but here in this narrow backstage strip, the world narrows to just him.

“You’re late,” you murmur softly, your voice quieter than you intend.

“So make me leave,” he challenges, stepping closer, close enough that the heat of his body brushes yours.

Your breath hitches. “You think I won’t?”

He smiles—not wide, but slow, teasing, burning. “I think you don’t want to.”

The words hit you, dangerous and intoxicating. He slides his hands to your waist, pulling you gently toward him. His lips brush yours in a kiss bolder and more daring than this morning’s, lingering just long enough to leave your chest and stomach aflame.

When he finally pulls back, his voice drops, rougher and husky. “I’ll see you after.”

Then he’s gone—slipping past the curtain, swallowed by the stage lights and the roar of the crowd—leaving you standing there, heart hammering, lips tingling, legs weak, every nerve alight.

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Part 9

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