being the manager for a demon boy band is not for the weak…
“Guys, you’re on in six.”
Your first mistake? Going into the dressing room by yourself. Forgot about the Buddy System™ that you, yourself, made up. For your own protection, of course.
Second mistake? Not keeping your eyes on them the entire time. You should always have eyes on all of them.
You glanced at your tablet once — count it, once — and you got yanked into the room, the door slamming shut. Your tablet is gone and so is your phone, vanished to the couch in the corner.
“Good evening, Manager.” Jinu greets you in a sweet sounding voice, all of them gathered around you like a bunch of sharks that just scented blood in the water.
“Hello…” You say, slowly, warily glancing at their coy expressions. The lock clicks, with Baby giving you a smug, sharp toothed grin. “So,” you look away, clap your hands together while trying to sound unaffected, “you have six minutes before you go on stage.”
“Six minutes, wow,” Baby mocks, pushing off the door to join the others in crowding you.
“I think six minutes is enough,” Abby shrugs, his eyes bright yellow and his grin spelling trouble.
Romance nods, glossy bottom lip caught between his teeth as he gets in close. He’s warm and smells like the flowery shampoo that sponsored them. “We can do a lot in six minutes.”
You go to say something, anything, and whatever it was just dies the second they all move— latching on to whatever exposed skin they can, pawing at your clothes.
You manage to free a hand, tangle your fingers into Jinu’s hair and give a little feeble tug with your human strength. He pops off the skin of your throat with a wet sound, lets out a drunken sounding chuckle as he looks at you through his lashes.
The patterns have made their way all up their faces, bright and jagged and alive. The human facade is gone.
“You’re fine,” He coos at you, like you’re a skittish thing he wants to keep cuddling. Wickedly sharp claws fiddle with the buttons of your shirt, and someone’s nose runs along the other side of your neck.
“You should relax, Manager,” Mystery’s soft voice murmurs, his clawed hands massaging the tension from your shoulders.
Baby lets out a victorious little noise in the back of his throat when he manages to wiggle his hand into your pants, fingers wrapping around your cock to give you a squeeze.
Your grunt is swallowed up by Abby’s lips. His fangs nip at your bottom lip, his clawed hand squeezing your jaw to open your mouth. His tongue delves in the second your teeth unclench, laving over yours with a satisfied groan.
Mystery’s helping Baby tug your pants down, and one of them is nibbling at the vein on your hip. Sucking bruises to match the ones forming on your throat and jaw.
“Can’t wait to have you inside me again,” Romance whispers hotly into your ear, claws ghosting over the trail of hair leading down.
The timer on your phone shrieks, startling all of you into stillness. It’s time for the show to start— ten thousand fans waiting for them in the sold out stadium.
The door’s unlocked, and each of the boys presses a kiss to your cheek as they depart. All perfectly composed, like they weren’t actively defiling you a moment ago.
Your lips are kiss swollen, your hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled to hell, your pants low on your hips— and you’re uncomfortably hard.
“We’ll see you after the show, Manager.” Jinu says sweetly, waving, before they walk down the corridor.
You scream into your hands.
❤️❤️
