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Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 8: 𝐎𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔.𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒔.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍/𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅, 𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔), 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒅𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 (18+)

—𝑬𝒎𝒓𝒚𝒔 🩷

w/c: 10.6k+ not proof read

comments and reblogs would be appreciated!

The first thing you felt was the purring.

It thrummed through your bones—low, steady, soothing—and so close it felt like it was coming from inside your own chest. You didn’t open your eyes right away. You didn’t need to. The heat pressed against you, the arm slung tight around your waist, the deep inhale brushing against the curve of your throat—everything in you already knew who it was.

Mystery.

He was draped over you, skin to skin, shirtless and half-asleep, warm in a way that made the ache between your thighs pulse again. His lips brushed your collarbones like they belonged there, over and over, soft and deliberate. Each kiss landed directly over the mark he’d left on your skin the night before, a slow claim he was reasserting in the laziest, most dangerous way.

His breath hitched when your body shifted—just slightly closer to him. And this time, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t hide. The soreness in your muscles only reminded you how thoroughly they’d claimed you, and instead of curling inward, you leaned into it. Into the feeling. Into him. Into the terrifying, addictive truth that he was yours just as much as you were his.

His lips stilled at your throat, breath warm against your skin, but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, dragging your hips just slightly deeper into the cradle of his body.

The oversized shirt you wore slipped slightly off your shoulder as you reached up sleepily, fingers brushing against the sharp edge of his jaw. His skin was warm, and your thumb traced the curve of his cheek until you could tilt his face toward you. His mouth parted like he couldn’t quite believe you were touching him like that—so gently, so freely.

His light purple hair spilled across his features in a soft, tangled mess—like it always did, hiding too much of him. But when you brushed it back, you saw the way his lashes fluttered, the way his pupils stayed wide, dilated, drinking you in like you were something unreal.

Your body moved before your thoughts could keep up.

You swung your leg over his hips, easing yourself into his lap, straddling him fully now. The shift in weight made your shirt ride up higher—exposing the bare skin of your thighs as they bracketed his waist. His eyes snapped open, and stayed open this time, locking on where you sat.

His entire body stilled beneath you.

Then his gaze dragged up slowly, reverently, from your thighs… to the shirt that barely covered you… to your mouth.

“Mmm—baby…” he rasped, his voice low and ruined from sleep, eyes blinking through the haze of lavender strands that had slipped back into his face. His fingers flexed on your hips like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you still or pull you closer.

You leaned in, still quiet, still suspended somewhere between dreaming and desire. Your hand slipped into his hair again, brushing it gently back so you could see him. Really see him. The flushed tips of his ears, the dazed heat in his eyes, the soft tremble in his jaw like he was barely keeping himself together.

And then you kissed him.

Your lips met his softly, unspoken, unhurried.

Mystery froze for a second—completely still beneath you like he’d short-circuited.

His fingers slid to your hips, gripping you with the gentlest desperation, thumbs pressing into the soft stretch of bare skin beneath the hem of your oversized shirt. The kiss deepened naturally, like his body already knew the rhythm of yours. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was slow and sweet and aching, the kind of kiss that said I missed you even in my sleep.

You shifted again, settling more comfortably on his lap, deepening the kiss by just a breath. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging it back to bare more of his face, because you needed to see him. Needed to feel all of him.

His breath hitched. He exhaled shakily into your mouth.

“God…” he whispered, lips brushing yours, voice hoarse and wrecked from sleep and want. “You’re gonna kill me like this…”

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long the kiss had lasted. Minutes? Hours? A heartbeat stretched across eternity?

All you knew was his mouth never left yours for long. And your body never stopped pressing into his— straddling his bare waist like you belonged there.

His hands anchored you gently at your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin, reverent and unhurried. His lips tasted like sleep and want and something older, something deeper. Like he was feeding on the moment. Like the bond was still blooming between your ribs.

But somewhere in that haze—somewhere between the way his lips kept tugging at yours and the warm press of his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your spine—something flickered in the back of your mind.

A thought.

A memory.

A responsibility.

An entire day waiting for you. Something you were supposed to do. Handle.

Your lips parted from his with a soft gasp, breathless, and you pulled back slightly, your hand still tangled in his hair. “Wait—”

He didn’t even hesitate.

He chased your mouth like he was starving for it, heavy-lidded and greedy, kissing you again before you could finish the thought.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed against your lips, velvet and rasp, slow and hungry. “Don’t pull away darling. C’mere…”

“Wait,” you said again between kisses, breathless and dazed, laughing as you placed your palms to his chest to hold him back—barely. “I just remembered—I have work—”

He didn’t even pretend to listen.

Instead, he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he could devour the protest off your tongue. His smirk ghosted against your lips when you whimpered, when your hands pushed weakly at his chest.

“I’m working too,” he said, voice low and wicked, nosing along your jaw. “Working on kissing you until you forget what you were saying.”

You almost did.

But you managed to brace your hands more firmly against his chest, pushing just enough to create a breath of space. You were panting, flushed, legs tangled in the sheets, the hem of your shirt hitched high over your hips.

“I’m serious,” you said, trying not to fall apart under the heat of his gaze. “The schedule—we have a full shoot today, remember? I have to get the rest of you up, make sure you’re fed, dressed—”

He groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like your words physically pained him.

“God, you’re evil baby," he muttered against your skin, his lips grazing your pulse before dragging a long, slow kiss over your throat. “You’re sitting here in nothing but a shirt, warm and pretty in my lap, and you're talking about work?”

Your breath stuttered. “Myst—”

His nose brushed your cheek, voice a deep rasp against your skin. “We cleared everything. Canceled the whole schedule.”

You stared, heartbeat skittering. “You what?”

“We decided last night.” His lips traced your jaw, slow and teasing. “You’re not going anywhere today.”

“I—Myst, I have things to do,” you tried, even as your hand gripped his shoulder like you didn’t mean it. “I’m supposed to be managing you—”

“You are,” he murmured, kissing the mark on your neck with possessive reverence. “You’re just not leaving our bed to do it.”

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his face. “All of you agreed to this?”

He nodded lazily, like the question barely needed answering. His eyes dragged over your flushed face, gaze simmering with hunger. When he saw how hard you were trying to stay composed, trying to breathe through the haze, his smirk returned. Slower this time. Hungrier. Drunk.

“We weren’t gonna let you get up and pretend nothing happened,” he said, voice rough and fraying at the edges like it physically pained him to speak instead of kiss you.

“After last night? After claiming you?” His hand curled around your waist and pulled you closer until your legs tangled. “No one’s letting you run off. Not when you still smell like us.”

“I…” Your breath caught as his lips brushed your shoulder again, then lower, teeth scraping softly. “I thought you’d all just… go back to normal.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

And they glowed—deep and molten, golden shadows swirling with something dark and ancient. Something that didn’t understand the word normal.

“This is normal now,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with a fingertip. “You’re ours. That doesn’t reset in the morning.”

Then, like the words alone weren’t enough to make you feel it, he kissed you. Slow, deep, drugging. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thoughts scatter like ash.

You turned your head away just to catch a breath, dizzy and half-gone. But he followed.

His lips trailed after yours, brushing your cheek… your jaw… the corner of your mouth. A kiss for every place you tried to escape. You murmured his name like a warning.

He only smirked against your skin, utterly unrepentant.

“Mm. Look at you,” he whispered, lips pressing to your throat, hot and open-mouthed. “Already trying to run.”

You gasped as he kissed lower, mouth dragging over your collarbone, nipping just enough to make you twitch.

When you pressed your hand to his chest again, trying to slow him, he only chased you more. His hands roamed. His lips found every inch you exposed.

“You’re lucky…” he murmured against your collarbone, voice thick and full of wicked amusement, “...I like the chase.”

Just when you thought he might relent, he dragged you back into another kiss.

This one was messier, needier, drunk with want. His fingers tightened at your waist, possessive and coaxing.

Even when you tried to breathe, tried to speak, his mouth was already back. He kissed you again, soft but urgent, murmuring something like “Don’t stop” between kisses “Not done with you yet”.

His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your knees buckle—then his tongue soothed it, coaxed another kiss from you, slow and open-mouthed and dizzying.

He kissed you again.

And again.

Like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, until all that was left of you was his.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and it broke something in him.

He groaned, hands sliding down to map every curve he hadn’t touched yet—possessive, reverent, like he owned the shape of you.

Then—

grrroowllll

Your stomach betrayed you with a loud, unapologetic rumble.

You froze.

Mystery blinked, lips still hovering against yours. Then his eyes widened a little… and the smirk that spread across his face could’ve lit the room.

A low, husky laugh slipped from his chest, and before you could stop him, he dropped his head to your neck with a snort, shoulders shaking.

You groaned in mortification, hiding your face in his shoulder. “No. Don’t. Don’t you dare—”

“You got hungry while I’m here kissing you?” he teased, voice thick with affection and laughter. “Seriously?”

You swatted at his arm, weak and blushing and still half-drunk on his kisses.

He only laughed harder.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and bit your cheek.

“Hey!” you gasped, smacking at his chest with a muffled squeak.

He just licked the spot, eyes gleaming, smug and unrepentant. “Sorry, darling… you’re just too cute.” he purred, voice dropping a note lower, richer. “Can’t help it. I’m starving—might as well eat you up.”

Before you could recover, he was all over you again—assaulting your cheek with slow, messy kisses, every so often nipping you just hard enough to make you gasp. It wasn’t gentle.

You squirmed, giggling now, voice caught somewhere between a flustered whimper and a laugh. “Myst—!”

He hummed like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard, nosing along your jaw. “Mm. Say my name again like that and I will keep you from breakfast.”

Then his hands slipped beneath your thighs, and with a low grunt, he stood—lifting you effortlessly into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“Time to feed you,” he murmured, voice thicker now with sleep and satisfaction. “Before you start gnawing on me.”

“I can walk,” you mumbled, but you were already curling into his warmth, letting him carry you.

“I know,” he said, tilting his head to press a slow, possessive kiss beneath your ear. “But I like carrying you.”

And you didn’t argue after that.

Not when he was holding you like you were something rare and breakable, like putting your feet on the ground would somehow be a tragedy. His bare chest was hot against your body, the strong flex of his arms and the scent of your bond still humming between your skin making it hard to think clearly.

Dizzy and pliant, you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed against his collarbone as he carried you down the hall.

・・・・・⟢・・・・・⟢

Abby stood at the stove, tall and shirtless, a comically tiny apron tied low around his waist—white with bold red lettering that read Kiss the Cook. The fabric barely covered anything important. His back flexed as he flipped a pancake with casual precision, muscles rippling in the soft gold wash of morning light. His hair was tousled, sleep-warm and wild, like someone had dragged fingers through it.

Mystery snorted beside you. “Subtle.”

Abby glanced over his shoulder and immediately grinned when he saw you draped in Mystery’s arms, cheeks flushed, legs still lazily tangled around his waist. “Well, well,” Abby teased, voice rich with amusement. “Look who finally crawled out of bed.”

Your eyes widened. “What... what are you wearing?”

Abby turned fully, posing like a devilish model. The apron barely clung to his hips, riding scandalously low. “Do you like it?” he asked, all mock innocence, though the curve of his mouth said he knew exactly what he was doing. “Romance picked it out. Said it matched my energy.”

You stared. Blinked. Tried so hard not to drool. “He’s not wrong.”

Mystery let out a low breath, clearly amused, before finally placing you down onto the kitchen counter. The cold marble met the backs of your thighs with a sharp sting, making you jerk and hiss softly as your borrowed shirt rode high, in a way that didn’t help your modesty or the boys’ restraint.

“Cold,” you muttered, shifting with a squirm.

Mystery’s lips twitched in a lazy, sinful grin as his hands smoothed along the backs of your thighs, slow and teasing, his palms warm where the marble wasn’t. His fingers lingered just under the hem of the shirt. He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear.

“You should’ve let me carry you straight to my mouth instead of the kitchen,” he murmured, voice thick and low, a shiver running through each word. “Bet that would’ve warmed you up faster.”

You opened your mouth to answer but Abby swept in like sunlight and sin, a spatula in one hand and nothing but trouble in his eyes.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous,” he drawled, flashing a grin that was all teeth and charm, like he already knew you were seconds from melting. He raked one hand through his messy hair, the movement stretching the muscles in his bare chest. They rippled with just enough flex to make your breath catch.

“What do you want in your pancakes, hmm?” His eyes dragged down your body—slow, indulgent, lingering a little too long on your bare thighs. “Chocolate? Strawberries?”

Then his voice dropped a note lower, velvet and wicked.

“...Or me?”

Your breath hitched. Words short-circuited somewhere between your mouth and your brain.

Mystery chuckled low against your neck, the vibration sliding straight down your spine. His lips grazed your skin, deliberate. “She’s full from earlier,” he said, all innocence layered over implication. “But maybe she’s got room for dessert.”

Abby tilted his head like he was genuinely considering it. “I do make a mean whipped cream.”

Your entire body flushed. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands—but it did nothing to hide your smile or your wrecked composure.

“Correction,” Abby said smoothly, stepping in close—too close—until the warm press of his bare skin brushed your knees. “Irresistible.”

And then—before you could even think of stopping him—he leaned in.

His mouth met yours in a slow, devastating kiss, warm and lazy like honey poured over fire. The ties of his apron grazed your thighs as he bent closer, teasing silk against skin, the heat of him melting into you with every second.

By the time he pulled back, your lips were swollen and parted, eyes dazed like you’d forgotten your own name.

He lingered close, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with maddening care. His voice dropped to a low purr.

“Now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Your brain sputtered like static. “Just… syrup,” you managed, breathless.

Abby chuckled, the sound satisfied and deep, before stepping back with a wink. “Classic. Sweet.”

He glanced down your legs again, eyes darkening slightly.

“Just like you.”

Abby plated two servings—one for you, one for Mystery—but when he turned to hand yours over, he didn’t pass the plate.

Instead, he picked up the fork, sliced off a bite, and looked you dead in the eyes as he lifted it.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he said softly.

You obeyed, letting him feed you the warm, fluffy bite dripping in syrup. Your lips closed around the fork, and his eyes dropped—watching the way your mouth moved, the slow pull of your tongue, the delicate sound that slipped from your throat when you swallowed.

“Good?” he asked, voice thicker now, thumb brushing across your lip where a smear of syrup glistened.

“Mmhmm,” you managed, still chewing, heat blooming in your cheeks.

But he didn’t look away.

He held your gaze as he brought that same thumb to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick it clean, slow and deliberate. His smirk deepened, satisfied.

“Messy girl,” he murmured.

Before you could react, Mystery leaned forward, fork already prepared with a piece of pancake topped by a single plump blueberry.

“Try mine,” he said, voice all velvet and smoke.

You leaned forward, lips brushing the tips of his fingers as you accepted the bite. His eyes darkened slightly, his hand lingering just a moment longer against your mouth before he drew back, chewing his own bite with a pleased hum.

“Where are the others?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from the heat curling low in your stomach.

Abby answered between giving you bites. “Living room. They already ate.”

“They said we should take our time,” Mystery added, scooting closer, his thigh pressing against yours. “Said you looked too good sleeping between us to wake you early.”

Abby reached down to rest a large palm on your bare knee, then slowly slid it up to your thigh, fingers idly tracing circles just under the hem of your shirt. “They’re not wrong.”

“You’re spoiling me,” you whispered, already feeling drunk on the way they looked at you.

Abby’s lips lifted into a slow smile. “Good.”

Mystery leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, his voice a silken thread as he murmured, “Let us.”

・・・・・⟢・・・・・⟢

You whimpered before you could help it, squirming slightly on the counter, your belly already tight and achingly full—yet Abby still wasn’t finished. He lifted the fork again, syrup dripping from the bite as he nudged it toward your lips with calm, deliberate insistence.

“Abby…” you whined, voice airy and petulant, your pout forming automatically as you tilted your head away, lips barely parted. “I’m full…”

He gave you a look. Patient. Playful. But with that steady, unwavering heat behind it that made your thighs press together. His hand didn't move from your leg—instead, it wandered higher, teasing just under the curve of your hip.

You turned your eyes to Mystery like he was your last hope.

He stood against the fridge, arms crossed, his empty plate forgotten on the counter behind him. Watching the scene unfold like it was the best part of his morning. His smirk was slow and amused, his gaze unreadable—but sharp.

“Mystery,” you breathed dramatically, reaching one hand out toward him like a starved maiden begging for rescue. “Help me. Please.”

His brows lifted with exaggerated interest. “Help you with what, exactly?” he said, the drawl in his voice practically sinful. “Chew?”

You groaned and collapsed back against the cabinet with a theatrical sigh. “I’m dying…”

“Mm,” he mused, finally pushing off the fridge. He moved toward you slowly, like he had all the time in the world, his steps smooth and silent. “You look pretty alive to me. And very, very spoiled.”

You tried again, this time sweeter. Softer. Almost a whimper. “Help,” you whispered, lashes fluttering. “I’ll cuddle you after.”

Mystery’s mouth curved, clearly tempted—but before he could take another step, Abby’s voice cut through the air like velvet steel.

“Don’t.”

He didn’t even look at him. His gaze never left yours, unwavering as he lifted the fork again and tapped the edge lightly against your lower lip in silent command.

You froze, breath catching. That single word—low, firm, possessive—set something off inside you, a shiver that ran straight down your spine.

Mystery blinked once, then chuckled softly, lifting both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, clearly amused.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then bent to your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, just for you, “You’re so cute when you’re bratty…”

And then he just… turned and walked off. Casual as ever, like he hadn’t just left you breathless and exposed on the counter. The soft click of his steps retreating made the silence around you feel even heavier.

“You traitor!” you called after him, squirming when Abby’s hand curled more firmly around the back of your thigh.

“Mm,” Mystery replied lazily over his shoulder, that smirk audible in his voice. “I’ll cuddle you later… if you survive.”

“Mean,” you muttered, pout deepening. But when you turned your head back—

Abby was still there. Still standing between your legs. Still holding that same damn fork with that same maddening patience.

Still feeding you like you hadn’t already told him three times you were full.

“You really trying to get someone else to rescue you right in front of me?” he asked quietly, not angry—just amused. Dangerous. Dark amusement lacing his words like heat curling at your spine.

“I was just—” you started, trying to sound innocent.

He arched a brow, tilting his head in that slow, pointed way that made your breath catch.

“You were just being a bad girl,” he said simply, voice dipping deeper.

Your cheeks burned. Your thighs clenched around his hips instinctively as he leaned in, lips brushing a warm, unhurried path across your cheek, grazing lower until his breath kissed your ear. His words poured into you like smoke.

“You didn’t eat dinner after everything we did to you last night,”he murmured, thumb stroking the side of your throat, right over your fluttering pulse. “You passed out with nothing in your belly. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

You swallowed hard. You could feel the heat of him, his focus, his care—twisted up in that firm, quiet dominance that made your body respond before your brain could catch up.

“I’m full,” you whispered, almost pleading.

Abby’s eyes dropped to your lips, then your stomach, and back again.

“Then you should’ve told me that two bites ago,” he said, voice edged with dark amusement, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth. “But you didn’t. You just kept whining and fluttering those lashes like you didn’t know better.”

He leaned in until your noses almost touched, gaze locked on yours, unblinking.

“Now you’re gonna finish like a good girl.”

Your breath hitched.

He raised the fork slowly, deliberately. “Open.”

You hesitated, lips parted—but the warmth of his hand on your thigh and the dark heat in his gaze stole your will.

You obeyed.

He fed you the last bite with such care it almost hurt, his other hand sliding up your spine in long, possessive strokes. Every movement felt like praise and punishment all in one.

You chewed and swallowed obediently under his gaze, your lips wet and trembling when you finally licked them clean.

And then he was there—close, closer—pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then lower, hovering by your mouth like he was considering stealing a taste.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with pride, with hunger, with something darker.

Your whole body lit up.

Abby helped you down from the kitchen counter with practiced ease, strong hands gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His fingers lingered for a beat too long on your hips before one palm drifted lower.

pat pat

A soft, deliberate pat on your ass. Just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re good to go, baby,” Abby murmured, voice thick and low, like he hadn’t quite shaken off the heat of feeding you. “Living room’s yours.”

You made a noise under your breath, equal parts flustered and annoyed, your body still too warm and too soft from his touch. Pouting, you started to pull away—but your knees didn’t quite cooperate at first, and he chuckled behind you, smug and unbothered.

You turned to glare at him over your shoulder, lips twitching in an unconvincing attempt at indignation.

Abby winked, unapologetic. “You’re welcome, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks still hot, breath not quite steady.

Barefoot, still flushed, you padded toward the living room. Your steps were slow, hips swaying a little more than necessary—calculated. Punishing. If they were going to toy with you, you could play too.

Mystery had left you at Abby’s mercy without a whisper of warning. That wouldn’t go unanswered.

You were plotting.

But the moment you stepped down into the sunken den, every thought flew from your head.

You stopped short, heart skipping.

All four of them were already there—sprawled across the massive sectional like a centerfold pulled straight from your most dangerous dreams. Limbs relaxed, legs spread, arms thrown over the back of cushions. Their postures were effortless, obscene in how much space they took up. Shirts tugged low or half-forgotten. Collarbones and veins and bare chests on display like they hadn’t even noticed. Like you were the one intruding on them.

Romance’s shirt hung completely off one shoulder. Baby had his hoodie up but nothing underneath. Jinu was in his tank top, damp and clinging to his chest in all the wrong ways.

And in the center—of course—was Mystery.

He lounged like he owned the couch, like he was born into that space with the air bowing around him. One hand twirled a coin between his fingers in lazy, practiced flicks, while the other stretched across the back of the cushions like an invitation—or a trap. His long legs were spread wide, his expression unreadable except for the heat simmering behind his lashes.

And then he looked at you.

He didn’t even turn his head. His eyes just found you like gravity bending toward a single fixed star.

You raised a hand and pointed at him, murder in your gaze.

Mystery blinked, then let a slow, amused smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Uh-oh.”

“You,” you hissed, storming forward. “You ditched me.”

He caught the coin mid-spin, set it aside with deliberate care, and finally—finally—sat up to face you, slow and regal like he was indulging you.

“Correction,” he said smoothly. “I strategically retreated.”

“Coward.”

His eyes dipped—slowly, brazenly—down your body, then back up again. You felt every inch of his gaze like heat tracing under your skin.

“You were in excellent hands,” he murmured. “Judging by how flushed you still are… I’d say it worked out.”

Then Romance made a strangled gasp from his side of the couch. “Wait,” he cried, clutching his chest like a drama prince. “Was it bad? Did he feed you?”

You reached for a pillow on instinct. “I should smother you with this.”

Romance only grinned wider, unbothered.

Your gaze cut back to Mystery. “And you—you're lucky I don’t have something heavier in hand.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something intimate and dangerous.

“Wouldn’t stop me from catching it,” he murmured. Then, slower—deliberate, a dare you could feel between your thighs—“Or throwing you right back.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself, heat curling low in your belly. God, he was so smug. And worse—he could back it up.

“God, you’re all so—ugh!” You ran a frustrated hand through your hair, only to wince at the way your scalp still tingled, every nerve remembering Abby’s touch like a brand.

“I think she’s mad,” Jinu whispered theatrically to Romance.

“She’s so hot when she’s mad,” Romance whispered back.

You narrowed your eyes and stepped into full manager-mode, arms crossing tightly under your chest. “Since you’re all listening so well,” you said, voice sharp as glass, “let’s talk about the real problem here—why the hell did all of you cancel your schedules today?”

“She’s doing the hands-on-hips thing,” Baby whispered from his corner, still half-reclined with one knee bouncing lazily. “Oh, she’s serious.”

“Damn right I’m serious!” you barked, leveling them all with a glare. “You think you can just wake up, decide you’re not feeling it, and throw away an entire day’s work? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to line everything up—?”

“We worked very hard last night,” Jinu muttered lowly, just loud enough for them to hear.

That earned a chorus of snickers and a loud choking noise from Baby.

Your jaw dropped. “You—! That has nothing to do with—!”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Mystery drawled, finally pushing up from his lounge into a slow, predator’s lean. His elbows rested on his knees, dark gaze laser-focused on your collarbone—right where his mark pulsed, hot and aching. “We did mark you. That makes today your rest day.”

“You can’t just—!”

And then Abby strolled in behind you, calm as ever, toweling off his hands like he hadn’t just heard the entire argument.

“We adjusted the day,” he said, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.

“You canceled it,” you snapped, rounding on him. “Without discussing it with me—your manager. No one even told me!”

He didn’t even blink. Just tilted his head as he met your fire head-on, calm and unbothered. “You needed the morning. We all agreed.”

Mystery didn’t flinch. “And we did tell you.”

“You told me after.”

You bristled, but Jinu stood and crossed the space with silent intensity, head tilted as he studied you like a puzzle only he could solve. “You think any of us could sit through press conferences or dance rehearsals knowing your scent is smeared on our skin… while you’re here, walking around all soft, marked, and fragile—”

“I’m not fragile,” you bit out, defensive heat rising in your chest.

But they weren’t even listening to your words. They were listening to your pulse. Feeling the spike in your tension. The too-tight way your arms crossed, the rapid flutter of your heart, the barely-concealed tremble that threaded through your body like static. It echoed down the bond—their bond—burning bright and wild.

“No,” Abby rumbled behind you. “But you’re ours.”

Then, without warning, his arms slid around your waist from behind, strong and sure. You gasped as your back met his chest, heat bleeding through his bare skin to yours.

One big hand pressed over your lower belly. The other rested high over your ribs, fingers spreading like he could hold your heart still through the touch.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re shaking”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, even as your hands curled around his wrists like you needed him to keep you upright.

“No, you’re not,” he said gently, pulling you closer until you were fully cocooned in his arms. “You’re overwhelmed. We can feel it. We didn’t mean to push you.”

You blinked, throat tightening around something you couldn’t name. “Because you—”

“—acted like demons protecting their mate?” Jinu said coolly, gaze fixed on you like he could see straight through your skin. “Yeah. We did. And we’re not sorry.”

“You don’t need to manage anything today,” Mystery added. “You need to be taken care of.”

Romance finally sat up, patting his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mere, sweetheart. You’ll feel better.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but the words dissolved when you finally saw it.

Romance’s tail was out.

The long, sleek appendage curled lazily behind him, the pointed heart-tip flicking once, then swaying back and forth with a rhythm that felt almost… hypnotic. You hadn’t even seen it emerge. You’d been too busy trying to scold them, too caught in your own heat and fluster. But it was there now, bold and relaxed, a devilish punctuation mark to the open space he was offering you.

Abby smiled against your temple, his lips brushing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. “Let us spoil you,” he murmured, voice velvet and smoke. “You deserved it baby.”

“I don’t need to be spoiled,” you whispered, though the words trembled, teetering on the edge of surrender. And they heard it. Felt it.

Abby’s laugh was low and dangerous, a purr rolled in thunder. “You were marked by five demons last night, baby,” he rumbled. “You couldn’t even walk straight this morning.”

Heat rushed up your neck, flooding your cheeks as flashes of memory teased at your mind—gripping hands, growled praise, whispered filth as you shattered again and again beneath them.

“Exactly,” Baby drawled from the couch, arms behind his head, hoodie riding up to expose a sliver of smooth muscle and toned belly. His grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp.“So sit that pretty ass down and let us baby you before you pass out on your feet.”

Romance’s tail swayed again, curling slowly as if beckoning you. That damn heart-shaped tip lifted in an almost teasing arc before it flicked once more, waiting.

“You’re so stubborn,” Abby growled at your back, voice dropping to something that curled around your spine. “Always pretending you don’t want this.”

You turned, ready to snap back—but didn’t get the chance.

Because his arms were already around your waist.

And then you were airborne.

“Abby—!”

“Nope.” His breath was warm against your ear, his tone soft but final. “You’re clearly overwhelmed. And we’re not letting our mate burn herself out.”

He walked you straight over to Romance, who was already leaning back, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, the other held out in invitation. His tail swayed lazily behind him, the heart-shaped tip already twitching in anticipation.

The moment Abby placed you into his lap, you felt it—Romance’s tail immediately curling around your waist in one smooth, possessive loop.

Your body tensed. Your breath caught.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice suddenly much softer.

Romance grinned against your temple like a devil who’d just caught his favorite sin. “There she is,” he purred.

His tail gave a gentle tug around your hips, tugging you deeper into his lap, dragging you closer until there was no space left between you. Chest to chest and you straddling one of his strong thighs. Heat radiated from beneath you, his muscles shifting like coiled silk.

All around you, the boys were spread out across the massive couch in various states of chaos and focus. Abby lounged with a drink in hand, legs wide, his gaze cutting your way now and then with that sharp, knowing gleam. Jinu sat on the floor, one arm draped over the cushion, knee raised, his head tilted back—but his eyes, half-lidded and dark, never strayed from where you sat. Mystery was silent in the corner, elbows on his knees, eyes unreadable but fixed on your hips like he was trying not to move. And Baby—Baby was upside down on the far end, humming something soft and strange, but even he had gone still, the hum pausing mid-note as his eyes flicked to where Romance’s tail held you in place.

But you couldn't focus on any of them.

Not when Romance's hand slid to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair with slow, hypnotic intent. One stroke. Another. Fingertips dragging against your scalp, grazing just behind your ear—

Your body gave out.

A soft, broken sound slipped past your lips—half sigh, half whimper—as you melted into him, spine curving, your cheek brushing against his shoulder like it was your final place of rest. Your head lolled gently, the muscles in your thighs twitching as you clung to his lap like it was the only stable ground left.

Romance’s other hand cradled your lower back, firm and steady, anchoring you with just enough pressure to make you feel owned. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice like a velvet rope pulling you deeper. “Just relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

His lips ghosted against your temple, down toward your jaw—but never fully landed. Just enough to make you ache.

Romance’s fingers slid again through your hair, nails dragging ever so gently.

You whimpered—barely audible, but real.

And that was when Baby spoke, voice a lazy purr from across the massive sectional.

“Mmh. She’s so quiet now,” he teased, hanging upside down with his strands brushing the floor, a wicked grin stretching his lips. “Is she asleep?”

His words barely touched you. Everything felt slow and liquid and safe. His arms caged you in warmth, the slow drag of his fingertips through your hair lulling your body toward sleep. The weight of the boys’ gazes around you should’ve been suffocating, but somehow, it only made you feel more protected.

You were seconds from slipping under when you remembered it.

His tail.

Still curled tight around your waist.

Your lashes fluttered open, breath hitching in your throat. The realization bloomed like heat under your skin, turning your limbs molten with curiosity. Your fingers twitched against his forearm—testing, teasing, emboldened by the way he hadn’t let go.

You hesitated. Then, like you were asking something innocent—like you weren’t straddling a demon’s lap in a room full of them—you let the question fall out in a whisper.

“…Can I touch it?”

Silence.

The air shifted like pressure dropping before a storm.

Abby, who’d been lounging with his drink balanced casually on his thigh, sat bolt upright like someone had snapped a leash. Jinu turned, slow and sharp, his head tilted, mouth parted, eyes locked on you like he didn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Baby gasped his hand smacking over his mouth with a delighted slap like he couldn’t hold it in. Even Mystery moved, his cold gaze zeroing in on you, jaw twitching, his entire body alert with interest like a predator catching a tremor in the ground.

But Romance?

Romance didn’t flinch.

He just leaned back a little, tilting his head, a slow, lazy smirk curving his lips like you’d just whispered something filthy straight into his ear.

“You really want to touch my tail, sweetheart?” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek, lips hovering close enough to steal your next breath.

You swallowed, your thighs tightening around his. “…Yes?”

His purr hit you like thunder under your skin.

“You always ask the dirtiest things,” he said, voice dipping until it was thick velvet wrapped around you, “in the softest little voice.”

You blinked, flustered, but caught in his gravity. “I didn’t mean it like—!”

“Oh, I know how you meant it,” he interrupted smoothly, that grin never fading. His hand slid lower down your back, fingers tracing the base of your spine. “But my tail… it’s a bit sensitive.”

As if to prove it, the silk-wrapped coil around your waist shifted—slowly, deliberately—unwinding with a sensual slowness that made your stomach flip. Then it rose between you, the heart-shaped tip hovering in the space just below your chin.

Your breath stuttered.

Then—flick.

The tip brushed your cheek in the lightest, most feather-soft tease. You flinched and giggled without meaning to, your body jolting slightly in his lap.

“Romance—!” you squirmed, trying not to laugh as the tip flicked again, brushing the edge of your nose, then tracing a teasing path down your jaw. “That tickles—!”

He made a pleased noise behind you. “It likes you.”

Your hand moved instinctively, swatting gently, but the moment your fingertips brushed the smooth surface, his whole body shuddered. A low, deep purr rolled from his chest, so rich it made your bones vibrate.

“Oh…” you whispered, eyes wide.

Romance’s breath stuttered against your neck.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “There. Just like that.”

His tail curled into your palm on its own, like it wanted more, like it knew it was being touched by you. The texture was smooth, warm, responsive, almost like a second spine. You stroked down the length slowly, testing the reaction.

Romance groaned.

A dark flush crept up your neck as you glanced back at him. His eyes were glowing. Not just gold, but bright—lit from within with something hungry and unrestrained. His lips were parted, breath heavy, and the muscles beneath you had gone taut, like he was holding himself still with everything he had.

“You okay?” you breathed.

His laugh was low and wrecked. “Sweetheart, I’m holding on by a thread.”

You made the mistake of looking to the side.

Jinu’s mouth was slightly open like he'd stopped breathing. Baby was fanning himself with the hem of his hoodie, cheeks flushed bright pink. Mystery had a pillow hugged to his chest, eyes wide behind his bangs like he wasn’t sure whether to flee or watch harder. And Abby—he hadn’t moved an inch. Still, quiet, unreadable… but his eyes were pinned to you, dark and sharp like a predator tracking prey.

You swallowed hard.

“…Are they really that sensitive?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your tails, I mean.”

The room shifted again—not in silence, but in tension.

Romance exhaled a slow, hot breath against your jaw, then leaned back just slightly so you could see the curve of his smirk.

“It depends,” he said, voice like a secret. “On the Demon. On the moment.”

His fingers trailed lazily along your outer thigh, a slow back-and-forth stroke that made it hard to think. “But mostly? Yeah. They’re sensitive. Especially around the base… ”

He paused.

“And the tip.”

You froze.

Your fingers were still resting on the soft underside of his tail—the tip.

The same one that had been nuzzling your palm like it couldn’t bear to be away from you.

“Oh,” you breathed, finally understanding.

Romance’s smirk deepened, eyes half-lidded as he purred, “Exactly.”

He shifted slightly beneath you, enough to lean in. “It also only reacts like that,” He murmured, dragging the tip of his tail across your palm like a kiss. “when it’s someone specific.”

You blinked. “Specific how?”

Baby made a dramatic noise. “It means you, dummy.”

“Baby—” Jinu hissed, mortified, but Baby just kept talking, his cheeks pink.

“Our tails don’t do that for anyone else,” he said, gesturing to the way Romance’s tail had wound itself tighter around your wrist like it was staking a claim. “That clingy, cuddly thing? It only happens when we’re around someone we’ve bonded with.”

Your heart stuttered. “Bonded?”

“It’s not—” Jinu jumped in, face flushed, clearly trying to salvage what pride they had left, “—It’s not that simple.”

He nodded toward Romance’s tail, which was still curling tighter against your skin, as if it were echoing his words. “It just… happens. You don’t trigger that kind of response unless…”

“Unless you’re the one,” Mystery said quietly, still hugging a pillow to his chest. “It’s instinctual. Not conscious. Our bodies just… know. When someone touches us and it feels like home. Smells like something we can’t let go of.”

You blinked down at the tail coiled around your wrist, warm and possessive. Its slow movement felt like a caress—like it was soothing you, too.

“So, like… mates?” you asked, the word fragile in your mouth.

Romance didn’t even hesitate.

“Exactly like mates.”

Your chest tightened. The word hit something deep. Raw.

Romance didn’t move. He was watching you with those molten gold eyes, waiting to see how you’d react. Not pushing. Just… waiting.

You swallowed. “You said it reacts when it feels something,” you murmured, barely able to trust your own voice. “But what if you haven’t… decided yet?”

“It doesn’t care,” Mystery answered before anyone else could. “The tail knows before we do.”

He sat forward slightly, gaze fixed not on you, but on the way Romance’s tail had coiled around your fingers like a living confession.

“Some of us can hide it better,” he continued, almost to himself. “But the tail doesn’t lie. It wraps around what it wants. It touches what it’s craving.”

Your breath caught.

Romance’s tail tightened slightly in your hand, like it was responding to the words without his permission. Like it agreed.

Jinu cleared his throat. “It’s instinctual. Tails react to emotional bonds… to compatibility, scent, touch—” He coughed into his sleeve. “Especially touch.”

Baby, draped across the rug like a sulking prince, let out a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s the same for all of us. Not that our tails are out right now, but if they were?”

He held up one hand, fingers wiggling like he was imitating a twitch. “It’d be game over. No use pretending.”

You looked down again, your gaze drawn helplessly to the tail now twined between your fingers like it had been made for your hand. It was warm. Alive. Slowly curling tighter, pulsing with quiet want.

“So…” you whispered, barely breathing. “This means…”

Romance chuckled, voice low and reverent, like he’d been waiting all day for you to get it.

“It means,” he said, voice silken and reverent, “I want you.”

The tail twitched in your grasp, curling possessively.

His gaze burned.

“Every part of me does,” he murmured, thumb brushing a slow stroke along your thigh. “Even the ones I can’t control.”

And then you felt it.

Not just his hand at your waist or his tail brushing your thigh like it couldn’t help itself—but something else. The way the air shifted. The way all of them went still.

The moment you realized… this was real. All of it.

The fire in their gazes. The aching restraint in their hands. The way their demon instincts whispered mine every time you so much as breathed near them. The way your name sounded different when they said it—like a prayer, like a promise.

You blinked hard, chest squeezing around something that had been growing, quietly, insistently, since the first time you saw them.

And now?

Now it felt like the final piece had dropped into place.

You weren’t just theirs.

They were yours.

You blinked hard and leaned in closer to Romance, your fingers twisting in the front of his shirt like you needed something—anything—to hold on to. His breath ghosted over your cheek.

“I love you.”

The words were soft, but they rang through the room like a shot.

Not whispered in a haze of heat. Not slurred or unthinking.

Romance went still. Every inch of him locked up beneath you, like your voice had frozen time. His tail twitched sharply in your grasp, startled and trembling. His pupils dilated instantly—so fast it made you shiver.

“What?” he rasped, almost afraid to believe it.

“I love you,” you repeated, firmer now. Certain. “Not just one of you. All of you.”

Jinu sucked in a sharp breath, like he’d been struck clean through the chest. “You… mean it?”

“Yes.” Your voice cracked. “Even when you’re impossible. Even when you’re annoying. Even when you make me feel like I’m losing my mind—I love you.”

The moment the words left your lips, the silence snapped.

“Gods, I’m gonna cry,” Baby whimpered.

He launched himself toward you with trembling arms, crawling across the cushions and wedging himself between you and Romance like his body couldn’t not be close. His eyes were wide and glassy, lip trembling as he clung to your side.

“I knew it,” he sniffled. “I knew you loved me. You were just being mean and pretending you didn’t—but I feel it.”

You cupped his cheeks gently, brushing your thumbs beneath his eyes. “I love you, Baby,” you whispered, smiling through the tears threatening to fall. “I always have.”

His lower lip wobbled harder. “That’s it. I’m never letting go of you. Ever. You’re stuck with me now.”

He kissed your cheek with a loud, wet smack, arms tightening around your waist like a clingy little shadow. His scent—warm, sweet, his—wrapped around you like comfort.

From the other side of the room, Jinu's breath hitched.

Then his eyes flared gold.

A visible tremor ran through him, not of fear, but of barely contained need. Hunger. Something primal and deep, pulsing just beneath the surface.

He rose from the cushions with quiet purpose, moving toward you with a kind of reverence that made your throat go tight.

He knelt beside you slowly, like approaching a shrine, and lifted his hands to your face. Careful. Steady. Like you were made of something he didn’t dare rush.

His thumbs swept softly along your cheeks, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. His gaze dragged across your features like he was relearning every inch.

“We love you,” he said again, his voice lower now, rougher, like it scraped against something unspoken. “And now that you’ve said it…we’ll never let you forget it.”

Your pulse jumped.

Jinu tilted your chin with two fingers. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the wild spice of his power coiling around your senses.

Everything stilled.

Everything waited.

“Say it again,” he whispered, breath warm on your lips. “One last time.”

Your voice shook, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

“I love you.”

Jinu exhaled like he’d been drowning for weeks. Then his mouth crashed into yours, not in violence, but in something even more devastating.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. But gods, it was deep. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Like your mouth had been haunting his every waking thought. Like the words you’d just said had shattered something inside him and all he could do was put the pieces back together with his lips pressed against yours.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled, your heart racing like a trapped thing.

And then you saw them.

The others.

Their expressions had changed.

They were staring at you like they could already feel your scent buried in their lungs. Like they’d finally been given permission to crave you out loud.

They were demons.

And they were in love.

And now that you’d said it—now that you’d looked at them and bared your soul without flinching—they would never let you go.

You belonged to them.

But gods help anyone who forgets…

They belonged to you, too.

・・・・・⟢・・・・・⟢

The moment you stepped into the sleek black van, Baby was already there—waiting like he knew exactly where you'd be before you even moved. Without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours. Then, with that lazy, smug kind of grace only he had, he sank down into the plush bench seat and tugged you with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snug against his chest.

“Mmph. You're mine today,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a sleepy cat marking its favorite spot. His breath was warm, his body hotter.

Behind you, a long, pointed sigh cut through the thickening air.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jinu muttered, voice sharp with a thread of barely disguised jealousy.

“Doing what?” Baby asked innocently, already pressing another soft nuzzle into your neck, lips brushing your pulse. “It’s not like anyone stopped me.”

Romance climbed in next, throwing himself onto the opposite cushion with a huff, one leg thrown wide, his chest rising and falling too fast to match his casual pose. “You moved faster than I’ve ever seen you move. I was literally reaching for her—”

“Should’ve reached quicker,” Baby muttered, arms cinching around your waist like a velvet trap. His smile was pure wickedness, hidden against your skin.

“You little—”

“He’s using his maknae privilege again,” Mystery noted, voice calm but eyes sharp as he settled in beside Romance, crossing his arms as his gaze pinned the pair of you. “It’s manipulation. Classic strategy.”

“Not manipulation if she likes it,” Baby said, just loud enough for them to hear—just low enough for only you to feel the vibration of his voice against your neck.

Your fingers lifted on instinct, slipping into his hair, threading slow and gentle through the soft blue strands. He groaned, low and wrecked, like the touch undid him. His mouth brushed your skin again, softer this time.

The van hadn’t even started moving, but you were already sinking into him, pliant and flushed, his warmth curling around you.

“Let him be,” you murmured, voice softer than silk, but carrying weight. The kind of softness that soothed and silenced, that made hearts still—and demons listen. “He’s just being sweet.”

Baby beamed, proud and smug, hiding it in your neck like he knew exactly what he was doing. And you knew he did.

That single sentence hit like a shot to the chest.

Romance’s head snapped up. “Sweet? That little gremlin?”

“He’s not hurting anyone,” you said softly, your fingers still threading slowly through Baby’s hair. He melted at your touch, the smallest, pleased purr vibrating through his chest.

The van erupted with groans and protests.

“You’re spoiling him!” Jinu said.

“She likes spoiling me,” Baby murmured into your throat, not even bothering to lift his head.

Romance groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Can we please just get moving before I do something regrettable like yank you into my lap instead?”

The words hit like a punch to your gut. Your gaze snapped to him.

He looked just as wrecked.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tried, breath catching halfway through.

His smirk curved slow and dark. “Try me.”

That image alone sent a flutter through your stomach. You were already practically draped over Baby’s lap, and now all five of them were sprawled across the seats inside the van—like kings at rest, waiting for their prize to fall straight into their hands.

“Fine,” you said, trying to sound composed even though your skin was singing. “Before this turns into an actual brawl—where are we going?”

That finally got their attention.

Jinu leaned forward, expression softening. “We booked out a private bathhouse for you.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“Mmm,” Abby confirmed, voice deep and rumbly from the front. “Private bath. Massage. Full package. Just us. No one else.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now, wrapped in confusion and a sudden, inexplicable swell of emotion.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” Romance said, a little more serious now. “And we don’t like seeing you worn down.”

“You take care of us every day,” Abby added. “So today, we take care of you.”

A pause hung in the van, heavy with emotion and unspoken want.

Your voice came out quieter. “All of this… for me?”

Baby finally looked up at you, his eyes lazy and golden. “You’re ours.”

Jinu’s voice followed, steady and calm and final. “We want to spoil what belongs to us.”

The rest of the ride passed in a haze of heat and teasing tension. They were all on you—touching, smelling, stroking little parts of you as if their hands needed constant confirmation that you were still here.

The car slowed, pulling into a secluded alley where soft lights lit the entrance of a modern, private bathhouse. The windows glowed golden from within, steam wafting behind the tinted glass.

Jinu stepped out first, always the first to move when it came to you. He turned, hand extended, eyes gentle. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You took it, and instantly Abby was there on your other side, steady and warm. Baby was still clinging to you, of course—unapologetically threading his fingers between yours. The others flanked you without speaking, their presence solid, instinctive.

Inside, the lobby was dim and polished, wood and slate and soft jazz humming in the air.

At the reception desk sat a young woman, tablet in hand. Her eyes lifted.

And her entire posture changed.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes going wide at the sight of the five men surrounding you. She stood straighter, her voice sweetening. “Good evening. Do you… have a reservation?”

“Under Jinu,” he replied smoothly, placing a hand lightly on your lower back. “Private suite. For six.”

The receptionist blinked, trying to smile through her sudden fluster. “Ah, right… I see it here. Wow, that’s a long session. You boys really know how to indulge.” Her voice dropped just enough to make her intention clear.

Her gaze swept over the group, eyes lingering a little too long on Abby’s arm, on the way Romance’s shirt hung slightly open, on the silver of Mystery’s rings. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and bit her lip.

They didn’t even glance at her.

Not even once.

Every gaze was already locked on you.

You, standing between them with damp lashes and flushed cheeks from the car ride. You, wrapped in the scent of all five of them, marked in ways no one could see but they could smell.

They weren’t flirting back. Not one of them smiled. Not one of them responded to her attention. Instead, they were fixed on you.

Baby had his chin on your shoulder. Jinu’s hand never left the small of your back. Abby's form loomed just behind you like a silent wall. Romance tilted his head, gaze half-lidded, watching your mouth. And Mystery... Mystery wasn’t looking at you anymore.

He was watching the receptionist.

So when she finally glanced at you, the flicker in her expression wasn’t curiosity. It was dismissal. A silent Really? Her?

She didn’t even try to hide it.

Baby’s voice came first. Low. Lethal. Lazy.

“Don’t look at her like that.”

The girl blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” Jinu’s smile was still polite, but his eyes had gone cold. “Fix your face.”

Mystery stepped slightly in front of you, eyes narrowed. “Do your job. Give us the key.”

Abby’s tone dropped a level deeper. “Now.”

The girl startled. Her hands scrambled a little as she reached for the keycard, placing it on the counter with a too-bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy your stay.”

They were already done with her.

Romance turned without so much as a glance in her direction, his full attention on you as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek. The back of his knuckles grazed your jaw, slow, reverent. It made your knees feel like mist.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Their hands never left you.

They didn’t have to drag you toward the private suite—you followed willingly, instinctively, caught in the trance of their proximity, your steps synced to theirs like you belonged nowhere else but between them.

You barely noticed the shift in atmosphere as you passed through the lounge.

Didn’t notice the hush that fell.

You didn’t notice the way one pair of familiar eyes widened from across the room.

But Rumi did.

She heard your laugh before she even saw your face—softer, breathier than she remembered. And when she looked up and caught sight of you, something in her stilled.

There you were.

Surrounded.

Encased in shadows and warmth and something far more dangerous.

The Saja Boys encircled you like a pack—like you were prey and queen all at once. A treasured thing they’d stolen back from the world.

Rumi’s grip on her drink faltered. Her lips parted—about to speak your name. But the sound never left her throat.

Because then she saw your smile.

The slow, dreamy curve of it. The softness in your eyes as Jinu leaned down to murmur something against your temple. She saw how Baby’s fingers idly played with the hem of your sleeve, how Romance reached forward to adjust the collar of your blouse like you were something delicate.

And you… you didn’t resist any of it.

You were relaxed. Dazed. Glowing.

Theirs.

Rumi’s chest tightened, a strange ache blooming in the silence.

The last time you spoke, it had ended in a fight.

Now she stood frozen, watching them worship you with nothing but their eyes, their touch, their silence.

And then the boys noticed her.

Jinu slowed first. His steps didn’t falter, but his head tilted ever so slightly—those golden eyes finding hers with chilling ease. His gaze, moments ago so tender on you, turned cold and blinding, like sunlight catching the edge of a blade. Warning. Dismissal.

Abby didn’t bother with subtlety. He met Rumi’s gaze head-on, unblinking. A slow dare flickered in his gold-rimmed stare. Then his hand, broad and deliberate, slid down the length of your back in a possessive stroke that sent a shiver through you. His palm lingered at your waist, fingers splaying like he was staking a claim.

Romance didn’t stop touching you. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes locked on Rumi’s as his fingers tilted your chin up, gentle but firm. His voice dipped low as he whispered something against your lips that made you gasp, cheeks flushing under the weight of it. Whatever it was, it was not meant for her ears.

Baby was last.

He blinked slowly at Rumi, his expression unreadable and gaze cool. Then he turned deliberately to you. His lips brushed your cheek, slow and warm, leaving behind a soft smear of affection like a brand. And then, with a purr that curled around your spine, he said, “Almost there, pretty thing. Just a few more steps and we can finally have you all to ourselves.”

It wasn’t just teasing.

It was a promise.

And through it all, Mystery didn’t glance Rumi’s way once. His full attention was on you, hand resting low on your back like a quiet claim, thumb brushing your spine in rhythmic circles. He didn’t need to look. His message was already clear.

Rumi sat frozen, heart thudding painfully behind her ribs.

The gold in their eyes pulsed a little brighter now—subtle but unmistakable. It was deliberate, like they wanted her to see. Like they needed her to understand what she was witnessing wasn’t a game, wasn’t a casual fling, wasn’t some passing obsession.

You were claimed.

Desired.

Guarded like treasure and worshipped like sin.

Theirs.

The door to the private suite opened with a soft click, and Jinu guided you inside with gentle pressure at the small of your back.

Romance didn’t stop grinning.

He looked back one last time, eyes catching Rumi’s like a hook, and gave her the smallest nod—mocking, amused, unapologetically smug.

And then the door shut with a deep, final thud. Sharp as a heartbeat.

Just like that, she was shut out.

She saw everything.

The glow in their eyes. The way their bodies gravitated toward you like you were gravity itself. The touches—casual in motion, loaded with heat. The way their stares softened when they looked at you, like you were the first and last thing they ever wanted.

Like they would raze the world just to keep you warm.

And in that moment, Rumi understood something that rattled in her bones.

Maybe they were demons.

But they didn’t look incapable of love.

Not anymore.

Not when it came to you.

Next Chapter...

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