Abby Saja- Marking up your boyfriend!

Abby Saja sank back into the soft cushions of the Saja Boys’ penthouse couch, letting the warm afternoon light spill across the sleek hardwood floors and glint off the polished surfaces. The city outside hummed faintly, distant and irrelevant, while inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and his signature cologne, a teasing mix of crisp freshness and subtle musk. Blankets were strewn across the couch, a few half-eaten snacks on the coffee table, and the soft glow of the TV lit the room as a rom-com played quietly, mostly forgotten. Today was a day off, and he had made it perfectly clear to himself—no rehearsals, no fans, no publicity stunts. Just this. Just her.

{user} lay nestled against him, her head pressed gently against his chest. His arm draped possessively around her, pulling her closer, feeling the soft weight of her and the comforting rhythm of her breathing. Abby let out a low, indulgent hum, tilting his head slightly to glance down at her. This—this moment—was exactly what he wanted. Warm, quiet, private, and completely his.

But, as always, his mind couldn’t resist wandering to annoyances. Mira. That pink-haired girl from HUNTR/X, bold and shameless, who had stared at him during the publicity stunt a few days ago. Abby shook his head, letting a sharp little smirk tug at his lips. “Ugh,” he muttered, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of his hoodie, tracing the lines of his chest almost absentmindedly. “That girl... staring at my chest, my abs... like she thinks she gets to look. Like any part of me is up for grabs.”

He exhaled softly, letting the irritation twist into a teasing, flirtatious idea. “Newsflash, Mira,” he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for the thought to feel real, “these lines... this chest... this whole body? Reserved. Just for one person. And that’s not her.” His hand idly rested over the curve of her shoulder, pressing her closer against him, feeling her warmth seep into him. He let the idea linger, knowing the playful tension it created in his own mind.

Abby’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Honestly,” he said, voice low and smooth, rich with teasing intent, “sometimes I think about how to make it clear. Not with words. Words don’t stick. But... a little mark, maybe?” His fingers idly traced the fabric near his collarbone, a subtle, suggestive gesture. “Something that says, ‘hands off. I’m taken. Completely.’ Only for me. Only for her.” His eyes flicked toward the space she occupied on his chest, letting a small, indulgent smirk curl his lips. “I mean... can you imagine the look on her face if she saw it? Little proof that I belong to someone?”

He let out a soft, satisfied chuckle, leaning back into the cushions and stretching just enough to accentuate the lines of his toned chest and abs, the casual movement deliberate. His gaze softened slightly as he looked down at {user}, fingers brushing lazily through her hair. The warmth of her presence, the intimacy of her laying her head against him, made the teasing almost unbearable—in the best way. “No one else,” he murmured, his voice low, confident, and impossibly flirtatious. “No one else gets this. My chest, my abs... all of it. Reserved. Yours. Only yours.”

Abby’s smirk deepened as he shifted slightly, pressing her closer into him, feeling her small, delicate frame against the strength of his body. The movie played on, meaningless now, a soft backdrop to the thrill of this private, tantalizing moment. The idea of Mira—or anyone else—ever daring to claim even a fraction of his attention felt absurd. Here, now, wrapped around {user}, the playful heat of his presence, the teasing suggestion of marks and ownership... it all belonged to her.

He let out a low, satisfied sigh, the smirk softening into something more tender, yet still bold and flirtatious. Abby Saja, performer, demon, master of charm, was perfectly content here—alone, hidden, teasing, and staking his claim, in a way that was just daring enough to make the thought of anyone else... laughable.

“Come on baby girl, don’t you wanna mark me up? Put that brat in her place?”

The narrow alley reeked faintly of garbage and rain-soaked concrete, the sharp contrast of the urban grime against the polished streets making it the perfect place for a confrontation—or, as Abby saw it, a perfect stage. He had been walking with the Saja Boys after a quick off-site shoot, the usual camaraderie and teasing energy flowing through the group, when a sharp flash of pink caught his eye.

“Oh, perfect,” he muttered under his breath, dark brown eyes narrowing. Rumi, leading the pack of HUNTR/X girls. But what was worse was that the pink haired annoyance, Mira was there—bright, irritating, and far too bold for her own good. She must have spotted them from down the block, because she didn’t bother to hide the way she stared, those wide, daring eyes scanning his chest, lingering on areas no one but {user} had ever been allowed to touch.

Abby’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. This was going to be fun.

“Watch this,” he muttered to Romance, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt, and to Baby, who looked on wide-eyed. Jinu shot him a look somewhere between exasperation and amusement. Abby didn’t care. He had a plan, and it was deliciously cruel.

As they drew closer, the Saja Boys flanking him, Abby slowed his pace and let his fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt. One, two... then three. His open shirt fell back just enough to reveal the faint, clustered hickeys across his chest and the soft purples of marks on his abs—the physical proof of what he had, and what they could never have. He leaned back casually against the wall of the alley, tilting his head and letting a strand of raspberry-pink hair fall across his forehead as he fixed Mira with a dark, unwavering gaze.

“You can stare all you want,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, and edged with mockery. “Look at them. Study them if it makes you feel something.” He flexed subtly, the movement gentle but deliberate, drawing attention to the contours of his chest and abs like a predator showing off trophies. “But none of this...” he traced a finger along a particularly bold hickey near his collarbone, letting the motion linger for dramatic effect, “...none of this will ever be yours. My body... my chest... my abs... reserved. For someone worth my time.”

Mira’s lips parted slightly, a mix of frustration and shock crossing her expression, and the other girls of HUNTR/X shifted uncomfortably behind her. Abby’s smirk widened, slow and predatory. “Oh, you can glare, pout, try to imagine...” His tone was deliberately cruel, dripping with that teasing, mocking energy. “But guess what? You’ll never touch it. Never. Never even close. And that,” he gestured across his chest and abs, showing his hickeys like a badge of honour, “is proof. All of this belongs to someone who actually matters. Someone you’ll never be.”

Romance let out a quiet, amused whistle from beside him. Baby looked scandalised, half in awe. Jinu, ever the leader, shook his head with a soft laugh, muttering, “Abby, you really don’t hold back, huh?”

Abby shrugged lazily, fingers still drumming along the open fabric of his shirt. “Why would I? Let her watch. Let her seethe. Let them all know that their little demon-hunting fantasies don’t mean a damn thing. Look all you want, girls. You’ll never get a taste.” He leaned forward slightly, smirk curling, voice dropping so only they could hear. “You think staring is enough? Cute. Pathetic, really. My body... my everything... reserved. Taken. Your body? Not even close to how beautiful my girl is.”

The alley was silent except for the sound of distant traffic and the tense, frustrated breathing from the girls. Mira’s glare sharpened, her jaw tight, but Abby didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, letting a teasing chuckle escape him. Every flicker of irritation on her face, every tiny shift in posture, was a thrill. He had turned the encounter into a performance, a lesson, a public display of possession without needing to raise his voice or strike a single blow.

Finally, he let the buttons fall back into place, but not fully, leaving just enough teasing exposure to linger in memory. “Enjoy the view,” he murmured, smirk softening into a private, indulgent curl. “Just remember... it’ll never be yours. But I suppose it’s good to have dreams.”

The Saja Boys moved on, Abby striding with casual confidence, the alley fading behind them. Mira and her group stayed frozen for a moment, simmering, helpless, and fully aware: Abby Saja belonged to someone else, and he wasn’t shy about letting them know.