The rest of the day melted into a golden haze, slow and sweet as honey under the spring sun. Time no longer mattered—not the hours you'd spent flying, not the years that felt like lifetimes apart. All that mattered now were the hands that held you, the arms that circled you, and the lips that found yours when words weren't enough.

It began with soft nuzzles—Lee Know brushing his nose along your jaw, your scent pressed into his skin like a promise. Felix curled himself against your side as if making sure you were real, his fingers gently stroking the scales that shimmered just beneath your skin. I.N, ever the gentle soul, tucked flowers into your hair as he hummed under his breath, weaving petals into your braid like a prayer of devotion.

Jisung was bolder. He stole kisses when he thought the others weren't looking—on your cheek, the corner of your mouth, the shell of your ear. Not that anyone was fooled. Not that you minded.

Your kind—dragonkin—didn't bond lightly. And you certainly didn't marry by chance.

Your mother, fierce and regal, had not arranged your union out of politics or convenience. No, she had seen the truth of your connection. These men—these werewolves, these soul-bonded protectors—were your equals. Your complements. Your fire and your shield. They had passed every trial, fought every doubt, stood by you when others would have turned away in fear or awe.

They were your mates.

And for a dragon, that meant everything.

Changbin wrapped you in his arms as the sun dipped lower in the sky, his chin resting atop your head. His warmth was steady, grounding. "I still remember the first time I saw you," he murmured. "Eyes like gold and fury in your bones. I knew then... you were mine."

You smiled against his chest, heart fluttering as Hyunjin came to sit beside you, his long fingers gently tracing a pattern down your arm. "You left claw marks on my soul," he said with that soft, lyrical voice of his. "I didn't even know I was bleeding until you were gone."

Bang Chan returned from the palace kitchens with a knowing grin and arms full of food, but he set it all aside just to kneel before you. He took your hands in his—rough from training, scarred from battle—and pressed his lips to your knuckles. "You don't ever have to leave again. You've done enough fighting. Now, let us be your home."

There were no grand declarations needed after that.

Just touch.

Just scenting—Lee Know draping one of his shirts over your shoulders, Hyunjin nestling into your lap with a satisfied sigh, Jisung pulling you back onto the grass just to trace your silhouette in the clouds.

Just soft murmurs and playful growls, the occasional flash of claws or wings, and a tangled pile of limbs as the stars began to bloom above you.

By nightfall, your scent was thoroughly intertwined with theirs once more—layered over muscle and fur, over warm skin and cooler breath. It was the scent of belonging, of bonds rekindled, of soul-deep recognition.

And when the moon rose over the palace and your wings shimmered in its glow, you whispered a vow to yourself and to them:

You were home.
And you were never flying away alone again.

You woke to the soft hum of dawn, sunlight spilling gently across the polished floors of your palace quarters. The air was warm with the scent of fur and musk and the lingering embers of shared dreams. Arms, tails, and bodies were draped over you like vines of love—heavy, comforting, impossibly close. It took a moment to remember where you were, until the distant trill of your phone broke through the haze.

You groaned softly, shifting against the press of a bare chest—Felix's. One of Hyunjin's long legs was tangled around yours, his tail draped lazily over your stomach. I.N had curled around your back like a puppy in a den, soft breaths brushing the back of your neck. With a slow sigh, you began to unwind yourself from the living knot of your mates, planting a kiss on Jisung's forehead as he murmured something in his sleep.

Finally, you were free enough to slip out of bed.

The marble floors of the kitchen bit coldly at your bare feet, but it was grounding—real. You welcomed it. With a wave of your hand, small runes shimmered to life in the air, stirring utensils and lighting flames. Bowls lifted themselves, eggs cracked midair, and strips of meat floated toward the fire to sizzle. Magic twirled lazily at your fingertips, familiar and obedient, weaving breakfast from memory and instinct.

Your phone rang again, buzzing against the stone counter.

You picked it up and pressed it to your ear as a coffee cup floated toward you. "Hello?"

A familiar voice—crisp, businesslike, and yet tinged with affection—came through the speaker. "Mina. Good. You're awake."

You smiled faintly. "Morning, manager-nim."

"I'm happy you're back," she said, and you could hear the soft smile in her voice. "Things were a little too quiet without you. The world missed its dragon."

You took a sip of your floating mug and hummed. "Well, the world will have to wait a little longer. I'm still recovering from cuddle ambushes and about seventeen tails wrapped around my ribs."

She chuckled, then leaned into the real question. "How was your time with the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.? Were they everything people say they are?"

You stared out the wide window over the fields, where sunlight was already beginning to paint the grass gold. You thought of Skye's tearful eyes, Coulson's quiet wisdom, Fitz and Simmons babbling over tech, and Ward's arms wrapped hesitantly around you in a rare show of emotion.

"They were," you said, voice softer. "They were as good as the stories... maybe even better."

"Did you bond with them?"

A small laugh escaped you, unexpected and fond. "I did," you said. "In a way I didn't think I would. They're not wolves. Not dragons. But... they were good people. Brave. Loyal. Smart. They reminded me what it meant to fight for more than just blood."

There was a pause, a respectful silence on the line.

"And now?" your manager asked gently.

You glanced over your shoulder as the faint sounds of waking stirred from the hall—footsteps padding closer, groggy voices calling your name, one of them probably already sniffing for bacon.

"Now," you said with a smile, "I remember what I came home for."

And with a flick of your hand, plates floated into the air—piled with food, warmth, and love—ready to welcome your pack back into the new day.

Your manager's voice dropped into something a little more cautious, edged with professionalism and something you couldn't quite name—hesitation, maybe.

She sighed on the other end. "Mina... I hate to be the bearer of this, but JYP is placing you on temporary hiatus. They want you to take some time away from the public eye."

You froze mid-step, one hand halfway to the floating tray of croissants. The kitchen was no longer warm. It was still, cold in that strange emotional way only certain words could summon. "Why?" you asked, quiet but sharp.

"Well," she continued, "they're requesting you see your psychiatrist again. And your...birth control specialist."

You blinked.

The magic faltered for just a moment—one of the teacups clinked against its saucer in midair as your concentration slipped. You pressed your palm flat against the counter and grounded yourself, jaw tightening.

"I'm not pregnant," you said plainly, golden eyes narrowing. "Dragons know when they carry eggs. My body would have already begun preparing the nest. My mates would be reacting. There'd be no doubt."

"I know," she said softly. "I believe you. But it's not really about that. It's just for... 'security reasons.' They want documentation. Something concrete for the press and the board and—" She stopped herself before the list became insulting.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, fighting the heat curling at the back of your throat. Security reasons. Of course. A dragon in the limelight. A polyamorous bond with wolves. Living in a palace. There was always something.

"This isn't about my health," you said flatly, voice like flint. "It's about control."

There was silence. Then, finally, your manager spoke again—lower this time, with something warmer in her tone. "I know. Believe me, I know. But let them do this. Just for now. Go to the appointments, get the checkups. Prove them wrong. Then you go back—with the boys. You finish the comeback. Stronger than ever."

You stood there, still in your silk sleep shirt, magic trailing like mist from your fingertips as breakfast waited in midair. Beyond the arched window, your mates were laughing in the sun, voices carefree, unaware of the storm brewing behind your eyes.

"...Fine," you said at last, the word rough around the edges. "But tell them this: a dragon on hiatus is still a dragon. No paper can cage me."

She chuckled faintly. "I'll make sure that message is passed along, Your Majesty."

You ended the call with a sigh and a flick of your wrist. The floating plates returned to the table gently. You gathered yourself, squaring your shoulders as your tail flicked once in irritation.

Then you turned—back toward your mates. Back toward the laughter. You'd face this storm. As you always had.

With fire in your blood... and love at your side.