blondechariot

[blondechariot]

bf kim mingyu

[blondechariot]

I might have missed it but do you have a list of rules about what types of requests you accept or what you will /won't write about. Thanks in advance :)

There you go Love 🥰🙈

[blondechariot]

~ STRAY KIDS being horny while reader is on her Period ~

pairing: Stray Kids x female!reader

warnings: Period mentions, Breast sensitivity

disclaimer: not my pic!

Bang Chan

Chan had been restless all evening. Music played softly from his laptop on the desk across the room, but for once he wasn’t working. His eyes kept drifting back to you, curled up against him on the couch, hoodie slightly loose around your shoulders. He swore he’d never felt this easily distracted before. Every time you shifted, every stretch, every absentminded brush of your hand against your chest — it was like gasoline poured onto a fire that was already burning low in his stomach.

When you leaned forward to grab the remote, your chest pressed against his arm, and Chan nearly groaned. He bit the inside of his cheek, shifting in his seat to compose himself, but then you winced softly and drew your arms in.

“You okay?” he asked immediately, his voice tight with concern. His hand slid instinctively to your waist.

You hesitated before answering. “Yeah… just a little sore. My boobs are kind of killing me right now.”

For a moment, Chan froze. His eyes darted down before he forced himself to look back up at you, though the flush creeping up his neck gave him away. He let out a breathy, nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh. That… explains a lot.”

You gave him a puzzled look, and he licked his lips, voice dropping lower. “They, uh… look different tonight. Fuller.” His words trailed off into something almost reverent, like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it out loud.

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you and sighed. “It’s just because I’m on my period.”

Instead of backing off, Chan leaned closer until his breath ghosted over your ear. His tone turned husky, teasing. “And you think that’s gonna stop me from wanting you?” One corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “If anything… you’re driving me absolutely insane right now.”

His hand slid beneath the edge of your hoodie, warm against your bare skin. He moved slowly, testing, until you shivered under his touch. The sound of your sharp inhale made his chest tighten.

“Sensitive, huh?” he murmured, lips brushing your jawline. When you nodded, he smiled against your skin. “God, baby… you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

He kissed down your neck in a line of slow, lingering presses, his thumbs brushing gentle circles just beneath your breasts through the fabric. You gasped when his touch grew bolder, and he pulled back only enough to meet your eyes. They were darker than usual, pupils blown wide, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“Tell me what you want,” he said softly, almost begging. “I’ll take care of you, period or not.”

You hesitated, and his smirk returned, though his gaze was still molten with need. “Okay… let me rephrase,” he whispered, thumb dragging along your swollen curve. “Let me make you feel good.”

Before you could protest, he guided you gently into his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pressing you down against him, and you could feel just how badly he wanted you. He ground up against you slowly, deliberately, drawing a low groan from his throat. His mouth moved hungrily along your collarbone, teeth grazing lightly as he murmured against your skin.

“Don’t think for a second,” he rasped, “that I’m letting a little blood stop me from worshipping you.”

Your breath came uneven, and Chan reveled in it. Every tiny sound, every shiver, every twitch beneath his fingers — he took it all in, pushing you closer to the edge while holding himself back with sheer willpower. His focus was entirely on you, on easing the ache in your body and replacing it with something else entirely.

When the tension finally broke and you slumped against him, he caught you easily, arms wrapping around you with surprising tenderness after the fire of moments before. He pulled your hoodie back down over your chest and pressed a soft kiss against your temple.

“Stay right here,” he murmured, smoothing your hair back. “I’m gonna grab you water and the heating pad.” His voice softened, but the playful glint in his eyes lingered. “And then—” he squeezed your waist gently, making you jolt, “—I’m coming back to finish what we started. You’re not getting away that easy.”

Lee Know

Minho wasn’t obvious about it — at least not at first. He had perfected the art of pretending he wasn’t bothered, even when every nerve in his body was burning for you. Tonight was no different. You were curled up at the far end of the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling through your phone. Innocent. Relaxed. And completely unaware of the way your hoodie clung to your chest.

He leaned his chin into his hand, watching you from the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. She doesn’t even notice… she’s killing me without trying.

When you shifted, stretching your arms above your head with a soft sigh, his eyes flicked down automatically. He caught the subtle swell of your chest straining against the fabric, fuller than usual, the way you winced just slightly as if they were sore. His smirk grew.

“You know,” he drawled lazily, making you glance over, “you look different tonight.”

Your brows knitted. “Different how?”

He tilted his head, lips twitching with amusement. “Bigger.” His eyes deliberately flicked down and back up again. “And before you ask — yes, I mean there.”

You scoffed, tugging the hoodie tighter around you. “It’s because I’m on my period. They get swollen.”

Instead of looking embarrassed or backing off, Minho leaned back, stretching his arms across the top of the couch like he had all the time in the world. “Ahh, that explains it,” he said with mock understanding. Then, after a beat, he added in a lower tone, “No wonder I can’t stop staring.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “Minho—”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk never faltering. “You want me to lie? Pretend you’re not driving me insane?” He shifted closer, the casual mask cracking for just a second as his hand came to rest against your thigh. “Because I am. Completely.”

His touch was deceptively light at first, fingertips brushing over the fabric of your sweats. Then he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur against your ear. “You’re sore, aren’t you?” His palm slid higher, not quite touching where you were most sensitive. “Poor thing… should I make it worse, or should I make it better?”

You swallowed hard, and his chuckle rumbled low in his chest. “So shy,” he teased, nipping playfully at your jaw. “But you don’t pull away, do you?”

His hand slipped under your hoodie, grazing the warm skin just beneath your ribs, inching higher with excruciating patience. Minho was controlled, savoring every flinch and every sharp inhale you made. Drawing it out because he loved watching you squirm.

When his fingers finally brushed the underside of your breast, you gasped and caught his wrist. He froze, eyes snapping to yours.

“Sensitive?” he asked, though the smug curl of his lips told you he already knew the answer.

You nodded, and he hummed approvingly, slipping his hand free only to cup your jaw instead. He kissed you slowly at first, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. But as your body relaxed against him, his control began to crack. The kiss deepened, his free hand gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him.

“You think your period’s gonna scare me off?” he muttered against your lips, breath hot. “Not a chance.” His mouth moved down your neck, biting softly at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “If anything, it just makes me want you more.”

By the time he finally let you breathe, your chest was heaving, and his smug expression had softened just slightly, eyes dark but warm. He brushed his thumb along your lower lip, studying you like you were a masterpiece.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, leaning in for another slow kiss. “Because if I didn’t, I’d already have you begging by now.” He smirked again, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Guess I’ll save that for tomorrow.”

Changbin

Changbin had never been good at hiding when he was turned on. Subtle wasn’t his strong suit — not when you were sitting right next to him, wearing that oversized hoodie, completely unaware of the effect you were having.

He shifted for the third time in ten minutes, tugging at the hem of his shorts like it might help. It didn’t. His eyes darted to you again, then quickly away, then back again, until finally he let out a low groan.

You looked over, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“You,” he muttered, throwing his head back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You’re what’s wrong.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He sat up, gesturing wildly at you with both hands. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Do you? Because I swear to God, baby, I’m going crazy here.”

You blinked, confused, and then his gaze dropped pointedly to your chest. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what he meant. “Binnie—”

“They’re bigger,” he said bluntly, his voice pitched in that half-whine he used when he wanted something. “Fuller. Perfect.” He groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not doing anything!” you protested, tugging your hoodie tighter. “It’s just because I’m on my period.”

At that, his head snapped toward you, eyes wide. For a split second, you thought that might cool him off. Instead, his expression only darkened, hunger flashing there.

“So what?” he said flatly, scooting closer until his thigh pressed against yours. “You think that matters to me? If anything, it just means I get to spoil you more.”

Before you could argue, his arms were around you, pulling you straight into his lap. You squeaked, but his grip only tightened, his lips finding your neck instantly.

“God, baby…” His voice was rough, broken by a low groan as his hands slid beneath your hoodie. “You feel so warm… so soft… I can’t— I can’t deal with this.”

Changbin touched you like he’d been starving, like he needed every inch of you right now. His hands cupped your sides, thumbs brushing teasingly close to your swollen chest, and when you flinched at the sensitivity, he froze.

“Did I hurt you?” His tone shifted instantly, worried.

You shook your head, breath shaky. “No, just… sensitive.”

That wicked grin spread across his face again. “Sensitive, huh?” His voice dropped low, playful and desperate all at once. “Then I’ll be careful. But you better not expect me to stop.”

He kissed you then, deep and messy, groaning openly into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. His hips shifted beneath you, grinding slowly, shamelessly, as if he needed the friction to stay sane.

“God, you’re killing me,” he mumbled between kisses, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea how bad I want you right now. No idea.”

Even when he finally pulled back to catch his breath, his arms stayed locked around you, holding you against him like he was afraid you’d slip away. His gaze was glassy, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from kissing.

“I don’t care what day it is,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting you out of my arms until I’ve made you feel how much I want you.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin had been sketching at the coffee table for the past hour, quiet, focused — or at least pretending to be. Every so often, his pencil would still, his gaze drifting to where you sat on the couch. You were curled under a blanket, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, lips tugging up into little half-smiles every now and then.

But what kept catching his attention wasn’t your smile. It was the subtle curve of your chest beneath your hoodie, the way it rose and fell as you shifted, heavier than usual, straining against the soft fabric. He’d noticed immediately — Hyunjin always noticed — and he couldn’t stop glancing, couldn’t stop imagining how you felt beneath his hands.

The pencil rolled out of his fingers, forgotten. He stood and crossed the room before you realized he’d moved.

“Hyun?” you asked, looking up as he sank onto the couch beside you.

His eyes were already on you — not on your face, not this time, but lower. His lips parted slightly, and he exhaled slowly as if trying to steady himself. “You’re… different tonight,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Different how?”

His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with delicate care, before resting lightly on your shoulder. “Softer. Rounder.” His gaze flickered down, then back up to meet yours. “Beautiful.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you tugged the blanket higher. “It’s just because I’m on my period. They’re a little swollen.”

Hyunjin’s lips curved, not into a smirk but into something softer, reverent. “So that’s it…” His thumb brushed against your jawline, tilting your chin toward him. “You think that makes you less desirable? Baby…” His voice dropped, velvet and low. “…it only makes you more irresistible to me.”

He leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips — slow, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the shape of you. Then another, deeper this time, his hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest warm and steady against your waist.

You melted into him, sighing when his mouth trailed to your neck. He kissed there too, feather-light at first, then harder, teeth grazing before he soothed the spot with his tongue. Each touch felt deliberate, like he was painting you with his mouth.

When his hand slid higher, brushing against the underside of your breast, you gasped, flinching from the sensitivity. He froze instantly, pulling back to look at you, eyes searching.

“Too much?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, biting your lip. “Just… sensitive.”

Something darkened in his gaze then, but not with frustration — with hunger. “Then I’ll be gentle.” His words were a promise. His thumb traced slow, teasing circles near where you ached, never quite enough, while his lips kissed every inch of skin he could reach.

“You don’t know,” he whispered between kisses down your throat, “how perfect you are to me right now.” Another kiss, lower this time, as his hand carefully cupped you. “You don’t know how badly I want to worship every part of you.”

By the time he finally pulled back, your breathing was shallow, heart racing. Hyunjin looked at you like he’d been starved for centuries and you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

He pressed one last kiss to your lips — tender, achingly slow. “I’ll wait if I have to,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “But tonight, I need you to know… you’ve never been more beautiful to me.”

Han

Jisung had been restless all evening, bouncing his leg, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, sighing every two minutes like he was suffering. You tried to ignore him, scrolling on your phone, but eventually his exaggerated groan broke your patience.

You glanced up. “What is it now?”

He slumped sideways against the couch dramatically, staring at the ceiling like the world was ending. “You. It’s you. You’re literally torturing me right now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Exactly!” He sat up suddenly, pointing at you with wide eyes. “That’s the problem. You’re just sitting there looking—” His words faltered, and his ears turned pink as his gaze flicked down your body. “Looking like that.”

“Like what?” you pressed, even though you already knew.

He flailed his arms, whining. “Like… all soft and— and bigger and…” He buried his face in his hands, muffling his voice. “I can’t do this, I’m literally losing my mind.”

You laughed, tugging your blanket higher. “They’re just swollen. It’s because of my period.”

His head snapped up instantly, eyes wide. “Okay, but—” He scooted closer, his knee knocking into yours, voice dropping to a whiny murmur. “That doesn’t make it better, babe. That makes it worse.”

You frowned. “Worse?”

He groaned again, grabbing a couch pillow and hugging it to his chest like a lifeline. “Because now all I can think about is how sensitive you must be, and how if I touched you—” His voice cracked, and he cut himself off with a nervous laugh. “See? Torture.”

Despite his whining, his hand inched closer across the blanket, brushing against your thigh. When you didn’t move away, his fingers slipped under, warm and tentative, tracing lazy patterns against your skin.

“Can I?” he asked quietly, suddenly serious.

You nodded, and that was all the encouragement he needed. His hand slid higher, resting just beneath your hoodie, his thumb brushing carefully at the edge of your ribcage. When his fingertips ghosted upward, grazing the underside of your chest, you gasped softly.

He froze. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly, cheeks hot. “Just… sensitive.”

His lips curved into a smile, soft and a little smug. “Knew it,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then your jaw, then lower. His mouth lingered at your neck, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses that made your skin tingle. All the while, his hand moved slowly, teasing, making you squirm.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathed against your skin, his voice low and shaky. “I’ve been dying all night, baby. Dying.”

When you finally turned your head to kiss him, he melted into it instantly, all whiny impatience turning into something deeper, hungrier. He kissed you like he’d been holding back for hours — messy, eager, desperate for more.

By the time he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, chest heaving. “I swear,” he whispered, still catching his breath, “I’m gonna lose it if I don’t get to touch you again soon.” Then he laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. “You’re literally gonna be the death of me. And I’m not even mad about it.”

Felix

Felix wasn’t subtle. He never really tried to be. When something was on his mind, it showed — in the way his freckles seemed to stand out against the flush on his cheeks, in the way his deep voice got a little huskier when he was flustered, in the way his hands fidgeted like he didn’t know what to do with them. Tonight, every single one of those tells was written all over him.

You were lying stretched across the bed, scrolling through your phone, your hoodie pulled snug around you. Felix sat beside you, supposedly watching a video on his iPad, but his eyes kept drifting over. Again. And again. And again.

Finally, you set your phone down and turned to him. “Okay, Lix. What is it?”

He blinked like you’d caught him red-handed. “Wh—what do you mean?” His accent thickened as he tried to play dumb, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“You keep staring at me,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

His lips parted, and for a moment he looked like he might deny it. But then his gaze flickered down, lingering a little too long before snapping back up to your face. He swallowed hard. “…It’s just… you look different tonight.”

You tilted your head. “Different how?”

He hesitated, then whispered, “Fuller. Softer.” His voice dropped into that deep, husky register that always gave him away. “Beautiful.”

You sighed, tugging the hoodie tighter. “They’re just swollen. It’s because of my period.”

His eyes softened instantly, but not in a pitying way — in a way that made your chest ache. He reached out, brushing his knuckles gently against your cheek. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Just… sensitive.”

Something flickered in his gaze then, a heat he rarely let show so openly. He leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours. “I don’t care what day it is,” he murmured, breath warm against your lips. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His mouth met yours in a slow, careful kiss — tender at first, but it didn’t stay that way. The longer you kissed, the more his restraint frayed. His hand slid to your waist, tugging you closer until you were pressed against his chest. His heartbeat pounded under your palm, quick and unsteady.

When his fingers slipped beneath your hoodie, he moved slowly, pausing as if giving you every chance to stop him. His touch grazed your side, then higher, warm against your ribs. The second he brushed against the underside of your breast, you gasped, flinching from the sensitivity.

He froze instantly, pulling back to look at you. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head quickly, breathless. “No… just sensitive.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a shy smile. “Then I’ll be careful.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “But, angel, I need to touch you. Please.”

You nodded, and his whole body seemed to relax. His hand cupped you gently, like you were made of glass, thumb brushing slow circles that sent sparks down your spine. His kisses grew hotter, deeper, until you were both breathless.

By the time he pulled away, his freckles were dusted pink across his cheeks, his lips swollen, his chest rising and falling fast. He rested his forehead against yours again, whispering, “You don’t know how badly I want you right now. But I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

Then he smiled, soft and playful, pressing one last kiss to your nose. “Still… you better prepare yourself. Because when you’re ready, I won’t hold back.”

Seungmin

Seungmin had been side-eyeing you all evening, though he’d never admit it. He sat at his desk with a book open in front of him, pretending to read. In reality, his eyes kept drifting over the top of the pages, lingering on you curled up on the bed. The hoodie you wore wasn’t unusual, but the way it clung to your chest tonight made his pulse race every time he looked.

You stretched, shifting onto your side with a little sigh, and that was the last straw. He shut the book with a soft thud, turning toward you with that dry, unimpressed expression he wore so well.

“You do realize you’re being distracting, right?”

You looked up from your phone, confused. “Distracting how? I’m literally just lying here.”

He arched a brow. “Exactly. You’re lying there. Looking… different.” His gaze flickered lower for half a second before snapping back up. “Don’t play dumb. You know.”

Your cheeks warmed as you tugged the blanket higher. “It’s just because I’m on my period. My boobs are swollen.”

His lips twitched, the corner of his mouth curving in a half-smile. “Ah. That explains it.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So that’s why you’re torturing me without even trying.”

You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

He stood, closing the distance between you in a few strides. When he reached the bed, he planted one knee on the mattress and leaned over you, eyes dark despite the sarcastic tilt of his smile. “Am I? Then why can’t I stop staring?”

Your breath caught as his hand slid beneath the blanket, warm fingers brushing your thigh. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t desperate like some of the others might be — Seungmin liked control, liked taking his time.

“Let me guess,” he murmured, voice dropping lower as he pressed his palm lightly against your hip. “They’re sensitive, aren’t they?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

His smirk deepened. “Thought so.”

He kissed you then, slow at first, almost taunting with how much he held back. But the moment you sighed into his mouth, his control faltered. The kiss deepened, grew hungrier, until he was cupping your face with one hand and sliding the other higher beneath your hoodie.

When his fingertips grazed the underside of your breast, you gasped softly, and he froze, pulling back just enough to search your face.

“Too much?” he asked.

You shook your head, breath uneven. “Just… sensitive.”

His eyes darkened further, and he chuckled low in his throat. “Good. Sensitive means I get to hear more of those little noises you make.”

His thumb brushed teasing circles near your chest, careful but deliberate, and his mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking until you squirmed. Every reaction you gave made his smirk widen, though his breathing was just as shaky as yours.

By the time he finally pulled away, his hair was mussed, his lips swollen, and his sarcasm was gone — replaced by something raw, almost desperate. He rested his forehead against yours, voice hoarse.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered. “No idea.” He kissed you once more, slower this time, and added, “And when this week is over… you’re mine.”

I.N

Jeongin tried to play it cool. He always did. But tonight, he was failing miserably.

You were curled against the arm of the couch, blanket draped over your legs, hoodie pulled tight around you. He sat at the other end, supposedly scrolling through his phone, but his eyes kept drifting over to you. The way your chest rose and fell caught him every single time. Fuller, rounder — he’d noticed the second you sat down, and now he couldn’t stop noticing.

When you shifted and winced softly, he spoke before he could think. “Are you okay?”

You glanced over, blinking. “Yeah, just… my boobs are sore.”

The word hit him like a lightning bolt. His ears turned pink immediately, and his phone slipped a little in his hands. “Oh.” He swallowed, trying to cover the way his pulse jumped. “Why?”

“It’s just my period,” you explained with a small shrug. “They get swollen.”

Jeongin froze. His throat felt dry, and heat crawled up the back of his neck. He tried to look back at his phone, but his eyes betrayed him, flickering down to your chest and then away so fast it almost made him dizzy.

“You—” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out low and rough. “You look… different.”

Your lips quirked. “Different how?”

His jaw clenched. He wanted to say it, wanted to admit it, but the words stuck in his throat. Finally, he muttered, “Just… really good.”

The way you smiled made something in him snap. He set his phone aside and shifted closer, every ounce of shyness warring with the bold streak that had been growing in him for months. His hand brushed your knee over the blanket, tentative at first. When you didn’t pull away, his palm pressed more firmly, sliding upward.

“Can I?” he asked, voice soft but weighted.

You nodded, and that was all the permission he needed. He leaned in, lips brushing yours hesitantly, then firmer when you kissed him back. The kiss deepened quickly, his nerves melting into eagerness, his hand slipping beneath the blanket to grip your thigh.

When his fingers found the hem of your hoodie and slid underneath, you gasped softly as his touch grazed your side. He froze, wide-eyed. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered. “Just… sensitive.”

Something shifted in his gaze — the uncertainty replaced by hunger. He nodded slowly, almost to himself, before whispering, “Then I’ll be careful. But I want to touch you.”

His hand slid higher, cupping you gently, his thumb brushing just enough to make you whimper. The sound made his breath hitch, and his lips found your neck, kissing sloppily, almost desperate now.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice shaking with need. “I didn’t think I could want you this bad.”

By the time he pulled back, his hair was mussed, lips swollen, chest heaving. He looked at you with a mix of awe and hunger, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

He pressed one last kiss to your forehead, whispering, “When you’re ready… I won’t hold back.”

[blondechariot]

💘💖💓

[blondechariot]

Can I request smut headcanons for poly Saja Boys making their female s/o squirt please?

pairing: Poly! Saja boys x female! reader

warnings: NSFW, group sex, Overstimulation,Edging, Squirting, Rough sex, Multiple partners,

disclaimer: not my pic

Yes i chose this picture on purpose hehe

Ooof this is probably the filithiest stuff i ever wrote....and i love it

it escalated into a whole one shot, i hope you dont mind :(

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the kind where the sunlight poured lazily through the blinds and the apartment seemed to breathe slower with you. No alarms, no rushing — just the soft hum of the TV in the background, forgotten, as you melted into the couch.

You were nestled between two of your boys — one on each side, their warmth sinking into you. Baby had his arm draped heavily around your shoulders, fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm; Romance had your legs sprawled over his lap, his hand resting dangerously close to your bare thigh under the oversized T-shirt you wore.

You felt spoiled, surrounded like this. Their quiet breaths, their casual touches, the way one of them occasionally leaned in to kiss the top of your head — it all built a tension that curled low in your stomach.

It started innocent. You tilted your head, brushing your lips against the shoulder of Baby. He chuckled, sliding his hand up to cup your jaw, guiding your face toward his. The kiss was slow at first, his lips warm and gentle against yours — but it deepened quickly, his tongue teasing against yours until you let out a small, needy sound.

Romance shifted with a smirk, tugging you closer across his lap. “Already getting greedy?” he teased, fingers squeezing your thigh before gliding higher.

You broke the kiss just long enough to shoot him a daring look — then leaned over to kiss him too. His mouth was rougher, more insistent, his hand gripping your hip to pull you flush against him. The sensation of their hands on you, their mouths claiming you in turns, made your head spin.

Soon you were caught between them, lips swollen from one kiss before being stolen by the other, soft gasps and laughter escaping between hungry touches. Romance's hand slid under your shirt, fingertips tracing up your spine, while Baby tilted your chin back for another deep kiss, swallowing every sound you made.

The couch was a mess of tangled limbs now. Romance's hand slid higher beneath your shirt, his palm warm against your back, while Baby stole kiss after kiss, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth just to hear your sharp inhale.

Your quiet little gasps must have carried further than you thought, because from across the room came a dry voice:

“Well, isn’t this cozy.”

You froze for half a second, lips still parted against Baby— but then laughter bubbled out of you when you turned your head. The other three had drifted in from the kitchen, clearly catching the scene. Jinu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he’d just caught his favorite kind of trouble. Abby dragged his tongue across his teeth, head cocked with that mischievous grin of his. And Mystery… he just raised a brow, though his eyes burned with something far from casual.

You opened your mouth to say something teasing, but Romance cut in first, murmuring against your ear, “What? You jealous?”

“Not jealous,” Jinu shot back, voice low, “just wondering why she’s hogging you two all to herself.”

That earned a rumble of laughter from Baby. He let you breathe only long enough to say, in a whisper, “Guess they’ll just have to come closer then, won’t they?”

And come closer they did.

Abby flopped dramatically onto the couch arm, leaning over to nuzzle at your neck with a mock pout. “You really weren’t gonna invite me?” His teeth grazed your skin in playful revenge, and you shivered.

Jinu dropped onto the floor in front of you, bracing his elbows on your knees. His fingers brushed your bare skin, featherlight, as his grin widened. “Look at you… flushed already. And this was supposed to be a lazy Sunday.”

Mystery didn’t even bother with words. He simply knelt on the cushion beside you, hand sliding along your thigh, steady and possessive, while his lips brushed over the shell of your ear. The way your body reacted — arching subtly toward him — made him smirk against your skin.

Suddenly, you weren’t kissing just one pair of lips, or feeling just two sets of hands. Their presence surrounded you, every breath charged with heat and amusement, every touch deliberate but unhurried. They weren’t rushing — no, they were enjoying this, watching your reactions, letting you drown slowly in them.

The air was thick with heat now, your body caught between them all. Their laughter, their murmured teases, the press of so many hands at once — it left you breathless.

Jinu tugged at the hem of your oversized T-shirt, knuckles brushing against your ribs. “This thing’s in the way,” he muttered, not even asking as he began to peel it up. The others didn’t protest; in fact, two pairs of hands helped, lifting your arms until the shirt was gone and tossed across the room.

Cool air kissed your skin for only a second before they were on you again.

Abby leaned down, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone. Romance slid his hand up your bare thigh until his fingers slipped under the edge of your panties, the slow drag making you gasp. Mystery caught that sound instantly, lips curling against your ear. “Sensitive already? We’ve barely started.”

Your protest turned into a moan when Jinu leaned in, kissing up your stomach, his tongue flicking teasingly at your navel before his teeth grazed higher.

It was overwhelming — deliciously so. Every touch was different: gentle, rough, teasing, possessive. When one kissed you, another was nipping your skin; when one hand squeezed your breast, another traced lower, testing how far they could push before you begged.

You tilted your head back against the cushion, chest heaving, as Baby claimed your mouth in a deep kiss — stealing your breath, swallowing your small cry when Jinu slipped his fingers beneath your panties and found you already warm and slick.

The kiss broke only so he could murmur against your lips, “God, she’s so ready for us.” His words sent a ripple of hunger through the others; you felt it in the way their hands grew bolder, in the low sounds they made against your skin.

You barely knew where to focus anymore. Baby's mouth was still on yours, hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours until you whimpered. Abby had worked his way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses over your stomach and down toward the waistband of your panties, his grin wicked against your skin when your hips jerked up instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice low and full of promise. “We’re not rushing this.”

Your breath hitched when a different pair of hands cupped your breasts, thumbs rolling across your nipples with just enough pressure to make you gasp. Romance chuckled darkly at the sound, nipping your earlobe before whispering, “She likes that. Sensitive little thing.” His words weren’t just commentary — they were fuel, drawing a ripple of agreement from the others as they touched you more boldly.

Jinu finally tugged your panties aside, his fingers sliding through your slick folds in a slow, deliberate stroke. He hummed, pleased, and pressed a teasing kiss just above where you needed him. You bucked helplessly, but he only chuckled, dragging his tongue in maddeningly light circles that made your legs tremble.

At the same time, Mystery closed his mouth around a nipple, sucking hard enough to make you moan into Baby's kiss. You were caught — every sound muffled by one of them, every reaction drawn out by the others.

“You taste so good,” Baby groaned against your lips. “She’s already dripping,” Jinu added, fingers stroking you slow, spreading the wetness but never quite giving you enough. “Look at her squirm,” Abby teased, voice husky. “Our pretty girl’s desperate.”

Their words, their hands, their mouths — it was a symphony of overstimulation. Your thighs shook as Jinu finally flattened his tongue against your clit, lapping slowly, savoring the way you cried out. Fingers curled inside you, stretching you deliciously, while more lips kissed across your throat, your chest, your stomach.

You were trembling, nails digging into whoever you could grab, the coil in your stomach tightening with every second. But just as the edge came rushing closer, Jinu pulled back, lips glistening, and smirked up at you.

“Not yet,” he said, voice low and smug. “We want to make this last.”

A chorus of approving chuckles followed, and you groaned in frustration — which only earned you more kisses, more strokes, more whispered teases. They weren’t going to let you come yet. No, they were going to keep you here, aching and desperate, until you could hardly think of anything but them.

They were relentless.

Every time you thought they’d let you come, one of them pulled away — leaving you panting, trembling, lips parted in frustration while the others laughed lowly at your need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Mystery murmured, dragging his tongue over your nipple before biting gently. “Mm, not sure she has any left,” Abby teased, sliding two fingers deep inside you only to still them right when your body clenched around him. “She’s begging without even using words,” Romance whispered, and the growl in his tone made you shiver.

They were taking turns, passing you between them like a prize. Romance had you straddling his thigh, grinding until your head tipped back — only for Abby to drag you off, flipping you onto the cushions so his mouth could worship between your thighs. Each time they pushed you closer, you thrashed, clawing at them, moaning their names — but they always stopped just short.

Your body ached, trembling from being pulled to the edge again and again. By the time Baby's pair of hands had you, sliding fingers into you while his thumb circled your clit, you were near tears. “Please,” you gasped, voice wrecked. “Please, I can’t—”

That broke them.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pumping faster. The others crowded around, watching as your body seized up, finally snapping. Your orgasm ripped through you so violently that you cried out, arching off the couch — and then it happened.

A gush spilled from you, wetness splattering against the Baby's hand, dripping down his wrist. For a second, you froze in horror, chest heaving.

“Oh my god—” you stammered, face hot. You tried to push his hand away, tried to curl up. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”

But the room had gone silent. All five of them stared, wide-eyed, at the mess you’d just made.

And then, like a switch being flipped, the air changed.

“Holy fuck,” Baby growled, eyes blown wide with lust. His hand flexed, spreading your slick over your skin as if he couldn’t help himself. “She just—” Mystery started, then cut himself off with a groan, palming his obvious hardness. “Did you see that? Look at her. She’s dripping.” “God, you’re fucking perfect,” Romance hissed into your ear, biting down on your shoulder as his other hand gripped your waist.

Embarrassment flooded you — but it didn’t last long. Because the way they were looking at you wasn’t disgust. It was hunger. Pure, feral hunger.

The gentleness was gone. Their touches grew rougher, less teasing, more desperate. Hands yanked at your panties, tearing them down your legs. A mouth latched onto your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Fingers spread you wide while Abby groaned about how wet you were.

The shift was instant.

One moment, they’d been teasing, dragging it out, savoring your desperation. The next — they were starving for you.

Your panties were gone in seconds, tossed aside. Hands gripped your hips, your thighs, your breasts — too many at once to tell who was touching where. A kiss was stolen from your lips, bruising and hungry, while Abby shoved your legs wider, groaning at the sight of your slick dripping down your thighs.

“You made such a mess for us,” he muttered darkly, dragging his cock along your folds, smearing himself in your wetness. “Gonna do it again when I’m inside you.”

The blunt head pressed at your entrance, and you cried out as he pushed in — thick, stretching you wide, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “Fuck, you’re tight—so tight even after all that teasing.”

But you didn’t get a chance to adjust. Because while he filled you, Romance was already slipping behind, his hands firm on your waist as he pulled your back against his chest. His teeth scraped your ear as he whispered, “She can take more. Can’t you, sweetheart?”

A whimper escaped you, but your body answered for you — clenching around the cock inside, grinding back instinctively.

Romance chuckled darkly. “That’s my girl.”

They moved in rhythm, Abby pounding into you from below, Romance grinding against your ass, rutting against your soaked skin until you were moaning nonstop. And while they fucked you, the others didn’t just watch — no, they wanted their turn too.

A hand grabbed your chin, forcing your head up, and another cock pressed against your lips. “Open,” Jinu ordered, voice rough. When you obeyed, he slid in slow, groaning at the heat of your mouth. Tears pricked your eyes from the fullness — stuffed from every angle, surrounded by nothing but their grunts, their curses, their praise.

“Look at her,” Abby growled, fucking into you harder. “Taking all of us like she was made for it.” “She’s shaking,” Romance moaned, fingers pinching your nipple. “Don’t stop. She loves it—look at her dripping.”

You could barely breathe, barely think, overwhelmed by them — but your body betrayed you, pleasure surging hotter with every thrust, every rough touch. When Abby shifted just right, hitting deep, your whole body tensed.

And then you broke.

Your orgasm tore through you with a cry muffled around the cock in your mouth, your vision going white as your body clenched hard. Wetness gushed out again, soaking Abby inside you, splattering down his thighs.

“Fuck—she’s squirting again,” he snarled, fucking you even harder as if to wring more out of you. The others groaned in unison, their hunger snapping.

It wasn’t lazy anymore. It was raw, feral, each of them desperate to feel you fall apart for them again and again — and you knew you wouldn’t last long before they had you ruined completely.

Your second orgasm hadn’t even faded when they shifted you again — hands lifting, turning, spreading you out like you weighed nothing. You were dazed, trembling, still clenching around the cock buried inside you when another voice growled from above, low and rough:

“My turn.”

Jinu pulled back with a wet pop, smirking as he guided you up, off his lap. Your body barely had time to whimper before you were pushed down again, bent over the couch cushions. Abby groaned at the new angle, sinking even deeper before he reluctantly pulled out, his hand smacking your ass.

“Nice and ready for the next one.”

A new thickness pressed to your soaked entrance, pushing in with one sharp thrust. You screamed into the cushions, your walls stretching again as Jinu bottomed out. His rhythm was instantly brutal, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there’d be bruises later.

“God, she’s still fluttering around me,” he groaned, pounding into you. “So greedy.”

Your answer was a strangled moan, your face pressed into the couch — until fingers fisted in your hair and yanked you up. Mystery was waiting, cock already in hand, smirk wicked as he dragged the tip over your lips.

“Don’t forget about me, sweetheart.”

Your mouth opened instinctively, letting him slide in as your body shook between the rough thrusts from behind. You were pinned, used, filled, your sounds muffled by the length stretching your throat. The other three hovered close, touching you, stroking themselves, waiting their turn.

When Jinu finally groaned and pulled out, his release painting your ass, Baby instantly took his place. No pause, no chance to breathe — just another cock pushing into your soaked heat, his groans vibrating in your ear as he slammed into you.

By now you were crying, not from pain but from the sheer overload — tears spilling down your cheeks as your body betrayed you, coming again, and again, each orgasm crashing harder than the last.

“She’s fucking dripping,” Romance snarled, fingers circling your clit until your legs gave out. “Look at her shake — she loves it,” Abby moaned. “Our perfect mess,” Mystery groaned before spilling down your throat, forcing you to swallow.

They didn’t stop. They couldn’t. Each took his turn, fucking you raw, marking you with bites and bruises, coaxing orgasm after orgasm until you were limp, every nerve buzzing.

By the time Romance had you — sprawled on your back, your thighs hooked over his shoulders as he fucked into you with furious abandon — the others were crowding close, watching, stroking themselves, groaning at every cry you made.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growled, snapping his hips harder, his thumb pressing cruelly against your clit. “Give us one more. Squirt for us again.”

And broken as you were, your body obeyed.

You screamed, back arching off the cushions, as another gush of wetness spilled out, soaking both of you. The boys groaned in unison, cursing, losing themselves at the sight. That was the final snap — release hitting them one by one, until your body was painted, used, worshipped in the filthiest way.

When it was finally over, you were wrecked, boneless against the couch, tears and sweat streaking your face. But the boys weren’t mocking. Their roughness gave way to reverence as they kissed you, cleaned you with gentle hands, murmured praises.

“Our good girl.” “So perfect for us.” “Made for all of us.”

And though your body was ruined, your heart swelled at the way they held you — like even on the dirtiest, most desperate Sunday, you were theirs.

[blondechariot]

Do you do specifically x reader fics only or do you do idol x idol? Just curious! Xx

I only do reader x Idol :) so no Idol x Idol

[blondechariot]

Hi how r u? :) may I plz request Saja Boys separately react to their femboy boyfriend being extremely attractive to the point that sometimes he's mistaken to be a girl because of his beauty and body (he has curves, like ample biceps, big butt, thick thighs).

pairing: Saja Boys x Femboy! Reader

warnings: pure fluff hehehe

disclaimer: not my pic!

Jinu

It was almost unfair how pretty you looked that day. The sunlight caught the curve of your jaw, the smoothness of your skin, the gentle shape of your lips — everything about you seemed to glow. With the way your hair framed your face, your body so delicate yet graceful, anyone passing by might have mistaken you for a girl. But Jinu? Jinu knew better.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk tugging at his lips. But for once, his eyes softened. He had seen you plenty of times before — messy, tired, even grumpy — but this was different. You looked… breathtaking. Too much, maybe. So much that it stirred something warm and protective in his chest.

“Yah,” he called lazily, though his tone gave him away, the slightest crack of fondness in it. “You trying to start trouble looking like that?”

You turned, blinking in confusion, your delicate features making the simple act look cinematic. “What do you mean?”

Jinu pushed himself off the doorframe and walked over slowly, his eyes never leaving you. He wasn’t subtle — he wanted you to know he was looking. Really looking. When he reached you, he tilted your chin up with the curve of his knuckle, studying every detail of your face.

“You’re too pretty,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “Pretty enough that people are going to start staring. And I don’t like sharing.”

His smirk returned, but it was softer this time, like he was trying to cover up just how serious he actually felt. Because it was true: you looked so stunning in that moment that a possessive pang twisted in his chest. The world didn’t deserve to see you like this — only he did.

You laughed shyly, trying to look away, but Jinu caught your cheek in his palm and forced your gaze back. “Don’t hide,” he said. His thumb brushed gently against your skin. “It’s not your fault you’re this beautiful. But if anyone else looks too long, I swear I’ll—” He broke off with a playful growl, pretending to bite at the air, making you laugh harder.

But behind the teasing, Jinu meant every word. He wrapped an arm firmly around your waist, pulling you closer, close enough that your body pressed against his. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple. “Even if you look like the prettiest girl in the world, you’re mine. Got it?”

You nodded, your heart fluttering at his words. Jinu grinned, satisfied, before pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead. He didn’t care if you looked like a girl or not. To him, you were his, the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

And if the rest of the world thought the same? Well, let them. He’d just hold you tighter.

Abby

Abby was never the type to be easily shaken. His calm, almost stoic demeanor made it seem like nothing ever got under his skin. But when he walked into the room and saw you… for the first time in a long while, Abby actually froze.

You were just sitting there, fiddling absentmindedly with something in your hands, completely unaware of how dazzling you looked. Your face was soft, features delicate and elegant, framed perfectly by the way your hair fell. The lines of your body, your posture, even the tilt of your smile — all of it combined into something almost ethereal.

To anyone else, you could’ve easily been mistaken for a beautiful woman. But to Abby, you were simply his, and somehow that made you even more stunning.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his usually calm eyes wide, his lips parting as if he’d forgotten how to speak. You noticed and tilted your head, blinking at him.

“Abby? What’s wrong?”

He let out a slow breath, trying to gather himself. Crossing the room, he knelt down in front of you, placing his large hands gently on your knees. His gaze softened, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were real.

“You,” he said finally, his voice quiet and steady, though there was a hint of wonder beneath it, “are too beautiful. Do you know that?”

Your face warmed immediately, and you looked away, flustered. Abby chuckled lowly, the sound deep and warm, before lifting a hand to carefully brush your hair back from your face. His fingertips lingered along your cheek, gentle, reverent.

“I’ve seen you a thousand times, but right now… it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time.” His lips tugged into the faintest smile, one reserved for you alone. “If anyone else saw you like this, they’d fall in love instantly. That scares me.”

You blinked, surprised. Abby wasn’t one for bold confessions. He usually kept his feelings tucked away behind quiet strength. But now, he was being vulnerable, and it made your chest ache with affection.

“Don’t be scared,” you whispered. “I only want you.”

His jaw tightened slightly, like he was holding back a wave of emotion. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes closed, and for a moment, the world stilled.

“I know,” he murmured. “But I still want to protect this. Protect you. Always.”

Abby’s arms slid around you then, pulling you into his lap in one smooth motion. You let out a small laugh of surprise, but he only held you closer, burying his face against your neck. His embrace was firm, grounding — like he was silently telling the universe to back off.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your skin. Not possessive, not demanding — but steady, like a promise carved into stone.

And in that moment, wrapped in Abby’s warmth, you believed it.

Mystery

Mystery always carried himself with an air of quiet elegance. He was composed, graceful, and sharp — someone who rarely let his emotions spill out into the open. But when his eyes landed on you that evening, all of that composure cracked just a little.

You weren’t doing anything special, just leaning against the windowsill, the fading sunset wrapping you in soft golden light. Your face, already delicate and striking, seemed almost unreal in the glow. The gentle curve of your body, the way your lashes caught the light, your lips parted in thought — it was enough to make Mystery’s breath hitch.

For once, the ever-collected Mystery was caught off guard.

He approached slowly, silent steps carrying him across the room until he stood just behind you. “You shouldn’t stand in the light like that,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual.

You turned, a puzzled expression on your pretty face. “Why not?”

Mystery’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes betrayed something deeper — a storm of emotions he rarely allowed to show. He reached out, his fingers brushing over your jaw as if he were afraid you’d vanish if he touched you too harshly.

“Because you’ll drive me insane,” he said simply.

You blinked, stunned. Mystery wasn’t one to give such straightforward words. Usually, his affection came in small gestures — a protective hand at your back, a lingering glance, a soft comment laced with wit. But now, looking at you, he couldn’t hold back.

“You look…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. Then he exhaled, letting the truth slip. “You look like you were made to break hearts. Even mine.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to laugh it off, but Mystery only stepped closer, closing the distance between you. His hand slipped from your jaw to cradle your cheek fully, thumb brushing against your skin. His eyes, usually so guarded, were locked on you with raw intensity.

“You’re not a woman, and yet—” He smirked faintly, tilting his head. “You’re more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen. Do you realize what that does to me?”

Your heart skipped, and for a moment, you couldn’t find words. All you could do was shake your head shyly.

Mystery chuckled softly, leaning in until his lips hovered just above your ear. “It makes me want to hide you away. To keep you all to myself so no one else can dare mistake your beauty as theirs to admire.”

You swallowed, the warmth of his words and the closeness of his presence leaving you breathless. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, his own filled with something fierce and unyielding.

“Don’t ever doubt this,” he whispered, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “You’re mine. And no amount of beauty — no matter how much it turns heads — will ever change that.”

With that, Mystery wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest. His embrace was protective, almost possessive, but above all, full of quiet devotion. He didn’t say another word, but he didn’t need to. The way he held you spoke volumes.

Romance

Romance had always been dramatic by nature — charming, confident, and never afraid to speak his mind. But the moment he caught sight of you, his usual smooth words seemed to tangle in his throat.

You weren’t trying to be stunning. That was the part that made it so unfair. You were just adjusting your outfit, brushing your hair back, humming softly to yourself. And yet — your face was radiant, your figure graceful, every little detail so mesmerizing that Romance felt his heart skip.

He blinked once, twice, then let out a sharp laugh — the kind he used when he was trying to cover up how flustered he really was. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head as he strode toward you.

You looked up, confused. “What is?”

“You,” he said immediately, pointing at you with a dramatic flair. “You’re unbelievable. Do you know how ridiculously beautiful you look right now?”

Your cheeks warmed, and you laughed, embarrassed. “Don’t exaggerate—”

But Romance wasn’t having it. He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer, twirling you in place as if the two of you were suddenly in the middle of a ballroom. “Exaggerate? No, darling. If anything, I’m not saying enough. Look at you — anyone with eyes would think a goddess just walked into the room.”

His words were bold, but his eyes were soft, gazing at you with something deeper than just playful admiration. He cupped your face, tilting it up so you couldn’t shy away from his stare.

“I’ve met hundreds of people, seen countless beauties… and still, you steal my breath every single time.” His thumb traced your cheek gently, his smirk faltering just enough to reveal the sincerity behind his theatrics. “You’re so pretty it almost hurts.”

Your laughter softened into something shy, your heart pounding as Romance leaned his forehead against yours. He sighed, almost dramatically again, but quieter this time.

“You know what the worst part is?” he whispered. “You don’t even realize it. You walk around like you’re ordinary, like you don’t turn the whole world upside down just by existing.”

You swallowed, touched by the intensity in his voice. “Romance…”

Before you could say more, he kissed your cheek, lingering longer than usual, his lips warm against your skin. “Promise me one thing,” he murmured. “Promise you’ll let me be the one who gets to admire you like this the most. The world doesn’t deserve you — but I’ll spend every day proving I do.”

Then, with a grin returning to his lips, Romance pulled you into a sudden hug, spinning you slightly off the ground just to hear you laugh. He set you down gently, still holding you close, still staring at you like you were the only star in his sky.

“Beautiful,” he whispered again, almost to himself. “My beautiful.”

Baby

Baby was usually sunshine in human form. Playful, energetic, always quick to smile or joke — he had a way of making everything feel lighter. But when his eyes landed on you that morning, for once, he went completely still.

You were stretching sleepily, hair a little messy, face glowing in the soft morning light. Your body moved with a delicate grace, your features so flawless that for a second, Baby wondered if he was dreaming. You looked so beautiful that it almost didn’t feel real — like someone had plucked you out of a painting.

His eyes widened, and then his lips parted in a soft, awestruck smile.

“...Whoa,” he breathed without thinking.

You turned your head, blinking at him. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he bounded over, flopping down onto the couch beside you and leaning in close, his wide eyes scanning your face as if to make sure you weren’t some kind of illusion. His grin spread slowly, full of both wonder and mischief.

“You look insanely pretty,” he finally declared. “Like, unfairly pretty. Like — if we went outside right now, people would actually stop in their tracks to stare at you. I mean, I always think you’re beautiful, but this? This is dangerous!”

You laughed, flustered, trying to wave him off. “You’re being silly.”

But Baby wasn’t joking. He scooted even closer until his nose nearly brushed yours, his expression suddenly softer. “I’m serious,” he said quietly. “You could pass as the prettiest girl in the world right now. But the thing is…” He tilted his head, his gaze locked on yours. “I know you’re not. You’re you. And that makes you even more special.”

Your chest tightened at his words. Baby wasn’t usually the type to get deep, but when he did, it was always heartfelt. His hand reached out, fingers tangling with yours, squeezing gently.

“Sometimes I don’t know how I got this lucky,” he admitted, his playful smile turning shy for once. “To have someone who’s not only this gorgeous, but who’s mine.”

You blinked at him, touched beyond words. Baby grinned again, shaking off the heaviness of the moment with a laugh, and threw himself against you in a hug. He nuzzled into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around you.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he chanted playfully, as if saying it enough times would make it truer. Then, muffled against your shirt, he added softly, “Don’t ever forget that, okay? No matter how pretty you look, no matter how many people stare, you’re mine.”

You hugged him back, feeling his warmth and the sincerity tucked behind his teasing tone. Baby pulled back just enough to kiss your cheek loudly, making you laugh. Then he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes shining.

“Prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “And you belong right here with me.”

[blondechariot]

I saw the Saja Boys x Reader with the cute puppy-dog eye look and was absolutely in love with it. But right now? I'm feeling VERY evil today >:) So idk if I'm allowed to request this but can I ask for a follow up of this but just... more angsty... like the reader just keeps using the puppy-dog eye look to get out of trouble until the Saja Boys were genuinely mad at her for once and the use of the puppy-dog eye look didn't work this time which in this case... an actual fight. And probably I'll also request that the endings of the scenarios are like comfort which is basically them forgiving each other and stuff because i'm generous <3 YOU CAN IGNORE THIS IF YOU WANT NO pressure dear <333 LOVE YA

pairing: Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: hurt feelings, angst, miscommunication, mild guilt and safe blame, emotional conflict

disclaimer: not my pic!

Jinu

Jinu wasn’t someone who got angry easily. Annoyed? Sure. Exasperated? Often. But genuinely mad? That was rare.

Which was why it hit so hard when he was.

It started with a lie.

You hadn’t meant for it to become a real lie. Just a white one — small, harmless. You told him you were staying home for the night to rest, but instead, you went out with some friends. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him there… it was just that you needed a break, something spontaneous. Something yours.

But someone posted a photo.

And Jinu saw it.

He was already waiting at your door when you got home — arms crossed, phone in hand, eyes unreadable.

“Didn’t you say you were staying in?” he asked calmly, too calmly.

You paused. “I… was. I mean, I meant to, but then they called, and—”

“You lied,” he cut in. “You told me one thing and did another.”

You tried to laugh it off. “Jinu, it’s not that deep. It was just one night out.”

“Then why not just say that?” he snapped. “Why lie about it?”

The sudden sharpness in his tone caught you off guard. You stepped closer, softening your features, trying to cool the tension with a familiar trick.

You tilted your head. Widened your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you said quietly, playing the card that always worked. “I just needed space.”

But he didn’t melt this time.

No softening. No twitch of the lips. No “you’re evil” under his breath.

He stared at you, eyes hard.

“You don’t get to manipulate your way out of this one,” he said coldly. “You lied to me, and now you're trying to blink it away like it's cute.”

You felt the sting immediately. “That’s not fair—”

“No, what’s not fair is trusting someone who can’t even be honest about where they are for one night,” he said, taking a step back. “This isn’t about where you went. It’s about the fact that you didn’t think I deserved the truth.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. The silence between you felt miles wide.

“…So what now?” you asked finally, voice small.

Jinu looked at you for a moment, then shook his head.

“I need space,” he muttered. “For real this time.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

You didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

No messages. No calls.

You paced. Stared at your phone. Thought about sending a dozen apologies, but stopped yourself every time. You knew he needed space — and if you really cared, you had to respect that.

Even if it hurt like hell.

That Evening…

You didn’t expect him to knock on your door.

When he did, your heart jumped. You hesitated before opening it, unsure what version of him you’d get.

He stood there, hood up, hands in his pockets, looking tired. But not angry.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“…Hi.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, stepping inside slowly. “I overreacted. But I wasn’t wrong to be upset.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have your own life,” he continued, eyes searching yours. “But if something’s bothering you, I’d rather you just tell me than push me out.”

You exhaled, guilt bubbling in your chest. “I didn’t lie to hurt you. I just… I needed a break. Not from you. From everything. And I didn’t want to explain it or make it weird.”

His shoulders dropped slightly.

“I get that,” he said. “But next time, let me be the safe space. Not the one you hide from.”

You stepped forward, more carefully this time.

“No puppy eyes,” you whispered.

He smirked — just barely. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” you said genuinely. “You were right.”

He pulled you into his arms then, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I hate fighting with you,” he mumbled. “Even when I’m mad, it feels wrong.”

“I hated it too.”

“You’re still my favorite person,” he whispered.

You smiled against his chest. “Good. Because you’re mine.”

Abby

You didn’t think it would actually upset him.

You’d made a comment. Something small. Offhanded. The kind of thing you say when you're tired and frustrated — not really thinking about how it might land.

But Abby heard it. And he didn’t brush it off.

The two of you had been working on a routine together — a combo he’d created himself. It was technical, challenging, and honestly, it was wearing you out.

“I’m just saying,” you muttered, mid-break, wiping sweat from your forehead, “not everyone has to train like they’re being judged by the gods. This isn’t even that important.”

You meant it as a joke. Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you just snapped.

But the second you said it, the energy in the room shifted.

Abby turned slowly, sweat glistening on his skin, jaw tight. “So that’s how you see it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The work I put into this. My routines. My effort. You think it’s over-the-top? Unimportant?”

Your stomach dropped. “No—I didn’t mean it like that. I was just frustrated.”

He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Frustrated. So that’s the part of me you throw under the bus when you’re tired.”

You stepped toward him, trying to soften your expression. “Abby, come on, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t give me that look right now.”

You froze. “What look?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know what look. The puppy eyes. You always use it when you want to shut down a fight before it even starts.”

You swallowed. “I just want to fix it.”

“No. You want to skip it.” His voice was calm, but sharp. Like a knife held just under the skin. “You want me to stop being mad so we don’t have to deal with the real problem.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“I’m not mad because you’re tired,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’m mad because you took something that means everything to me… and made it small. Just to make a point.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

“…I didn’t know it mattered that much to you,” you admitted, voice soft.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

He left the studio without another word.

You didn’t follow.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the spot he’d been standing in. The guilt settled on your chest like a weight. You didn’t cry. You didn’t text. You just… thought.

For once, you didn’t try to fix it fast. You let it sit.

That Evening…

You were curled up on your couch, blanket draped over your legs, still in your workout clothes, when the knock came.

You opened the door, and there he was — clean now, hoodie pulled low, hair damp from a shower. He didn’t say anything for a second.

Then: “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, stepping inside, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I overreacted. A little.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t. I hit a nerve. And I didn’t take your work seriously. That’s on me.”

He let out a slow breath. “It’s not just the work. It’s that… when I build something, when I choreograph or create, I put all of myself into it. And when someone I care about dismisses that—”

“—it feels like you’re being dismissed,” you finished softly.

He looked at you. Then nodded.

You walked over and took his hand. “I didn’t mean to shrink you. I’m sorry.”

He held your gaze for a long moment. Then pulled you in, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his forehead against yours.

“You don’t need to use the eyes,” he murmured.

“I didn’t this time.”

“I know.” He gave a small smile. “And that’s why I’m here.”

You smiled, fingers curling into the back of his hoodie. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Yeah. But next time you mock my routines, I’m making you lead the warm-up. Alone. With spotlights.”

You groaned. “You’re evil.”

“Only a little.”

Mystery

With Mystery, you never really knew how far you could push before something snapped.

He was calm. Collected. Quiet. But not passive.

When Mystery was mad, he didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t slam doors. He just… went still.

And that stillness hurt more than anything.

It started over something small.

You’d promised to be at his rehearsal. He never asked much from you, but this time he did. He was debuting a new segment in the show — something personal, something that showed more emotion than he was usually comfortable revealing onstage.

You said you’d be there.

But you didn’t show.

You forgot.

When you got home, he was already there.

Sitting on the couch in the dark. Jacket still on. Hands clasped between his knees.

You felt the shift in the air immediately.

“Hey,” you said gently, closing the door. “Sorry I’m late. I ran into—”

“You weren’t late,” he said quietly. “You didn’t come.”

The guilt hit instantly. “Wait—oh my god. The rehearsal. Mystery, I’m so sorry, I completely—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t look at you.

“I waited,” he said, voice steady. “I kept looking at the door. Even after we wrapped.”

You took a step closer, heart racing. “I forgot, I swear. I didn’t mean to. Things just got busy—”

He stood up slowly, finally turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, as always, but his eyes…

His eyes looked tired.

“You always say that,” he said softly. “That you didn’t mean to. But it keeps happening.”

You blinked. “I don’t do it on purpose—”

“I know,” he said. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Silence fell. Thick. Heavy.

You shifted your stance, feeling desperate to break the tension. You gave him the look. The one that usually softened him up. Puppy eyes. Small voice.

“I didn’t mean to let you down…”

He looked at you for a long time.

And then he said the worst thing of all.

“Please don’t do that.”

You froze.

“Not right now,” he added, quieter. “Not when I’m trying to process that the person I trust most… didn’t show up.”

“…Are you saying you can’t trust me anymore?” you asked, voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

“I need air,” he said simply. “Don’t wait up.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You didn’t cry.

You just sat on the couch where he’d been, arms wrapped around yourself, brain replaying his words over and over. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. But you had.

And worse — he’d let you know without even raising his voice.

That Evening…

You were curled in bed, wide awake, when the door finally opened again.

Mystery stepped inside slowly, removing his shoes without a word. He paused when he saw you sitting up, but didn’t speak.

“I didn’t sleep,” you whispered.

“I know.”

He moved closer, hands still in his pockets. “I’m not mad anymore,” he said quietly. “But I’m still… disappointed. That doesn’t go away quickly.”

You nodded. “I get that.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he continued. “But I do need to feel like I matter to you. And tonight… I didn’t.”

The guilt cracked in your chest. “You do matter. More than anything. I just… I messed up.”

He studied you. Then, slowly, sat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t need the eyes,” he said softly. “I just need you to show up.”

You scooted closer, laying your head on his shoulder.

“I will,” you whispered. “Next time. Every time.”

He leaned into you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I believe you.”

And in that quiet forgiveness, you both finally exhaled.

Romance

Romance loved hard.

He teased, he flirted, he joked around, but underneath all of it — the sarcasm, the sparkly eyes, the theatrics — there was a heart that felt everything too much.

And when he gave you his heart, he handed it over completely.

That’s what made this fight different.

Because this time, he didn’t yell. He didn’t make a scene. He just… shut down.

You’d made a comment earlier that day — during a group lunch, surrounded by people. It was supposed to be funny. A quick jab about how he always needed attention, how dramatic he was, how he “probably couldn’t survive five minutes without being the center of the room.”

The table laughed. He laughed too.

But not with his eyes.

You didn’t realize it then.

Not until hours later when you found him alone in the practice room, sitting on the floor, hoodie pulled over his head, headphones in.

You walked in, trying to smile. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

He didn’t respond.

“Romance?” you said gently.

He looked up, then pulled one earbud out. His voice was quiet. “What’s up?”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah.”

But it wasn’t real. You could hear it in the hollowness of that one word.

You sat beside him. “Hey. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

He exhaled, then looked over slowly. “That joke earlier?”

You blinked. “The dramatic one?”

He nodded. “Yeah. That one.”

“It was just teasing—”

“I know,” he cut in, voice even. “But it wasn’t just what you said. It was how you said it. And when. And who you said it in front of.”

You swallowed. “Romance, I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“I know,” he repeated, this time softer. “But you did.”

You hesitated. Then gave him the look — head tilted, eyes wide, voice soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would hurt you…”

He stared at you.

Then dropped his gaze.

“That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “You didn’t think. You just said it. Like it didn’t matter.”

Your heart sank.

“I’m used to people laughing at me,” he continued, “calling me too much. But not you. You’re supposed to be the one place I can be all of myself without feeling stupid for it.”

You sat in silence, stunned by how quiet his pain was. How un-performative it had become.

“…Do you hate me now?” you whispered.

He looked up again, expression softer now, but still guarded.

“No,” he said. “But I need space. Just for a bit.”

Then he stood and left, leaving the echo of your regret behind.

That Evening…

You found him on the rooftop of the dorm building, sitting on the edge with a blanket wrapped around him, knees pulled to his chest.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just sat beside him.

After a moment, he spoke. “You know what’s funny?”

You glanced over.

“I am dramatic,” he said with a faint smile. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I know. I do. I’m sorry.”

“I felt stupid for caring,” he admitted. “For letting it get to me.”

“You’re not stupid,” you whispered. “You’re human. And I should’ve protected that part of you.”

His hand found yours under the blanket.

“I forgive you,” he said softly. “Just… please don’t make me the punchline next time.”

You nodded. “Never again.”

And for once, the rooftop stayed quiet. No dramatics. No declarations.

Just you, him, and the slow return of trust.

Baby

Baby wasn’t just loud. He was alive.

Every feeling, every idea, every word — it burst out of him like he was afraid the moment would slip away if he didn’t live it fully. He made you laugh even when you didn’t want to. He lifted rooms with nothing but a grin.

But people like him? They’re the easiest to hurt without realizing.

Because they hide their pain behind noise — until suddenly, they go silent.

The fight started over something stupid.

You’d gotten frustrated after a long day. He was bouncing off the walls, full of energy, poking at you to come out, lighten up, be “fun again.”

You snapped.

“Not everything is a joke, Baby. Can you stop being so damn exhausting for five minutes?”

His smile faltered instantly.

It was like watching a switch flip. One second: joy. The next: blankness.

“...Exhausting?” he asked, voice quiet — too quiet for him.

You tried to walk it back. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, standing up quickly, laughing a little. “Don’t worry about it.”

But the laugh was empty. Mechanical. The kind he gave to fans when he was dead tired but couldn’t show it.

He turned to leave, but you caught his arm. “Wait—don’t go like this.”

He looked at you.

And you gave him the look. Your usual go-to. Soft eyes. Regretful pout.

But this time, he didn’t melt.

His expression stayed flat. Sad.

“I’m not falling for that right now,” he said. “You think being cute fixes everything?”

You stepped back, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his voice.

“Do you know how often people call me ‘too much’?” he asked. “Or treat me like I’m just noise? Like I’m annoying when I’m just trying to make things feel okay?”

“I don’t think that,” you whispered.

“You said it.”

He wasn’t yelling. That made it worse.

“I joke around because it’s easier than dealing with silence,” he said. “But if I’m too loud for you, then maybe I shouldn’t be here right now.”

You didn’t stop him when he walked out.

Not because you didn’t want to — but because you knew, for once, he needed to leave. To protect what was left of his joy.

That Evening…

You weren’t sure if he’d come back.

But around 9 p.m., your phone buzzed with a text:

“On the roof. If you wanna talk.”

You didn’t even put on shoes — just sprinted up barefoot, heart in your throat.

He was sitting alone, hoodie up, legs crossed, looking out at the city lights.

You approached slowly.

“Hey.”

He didn’t look at you. “Hey.”

You sat beside him. “I was wrong.”

Still no eye contact. “Yeah. You were.”

“I was tired and frustrated, but that doesn’t make what I said okay.”

He didn’t answer.

You reached for his hand, gently wrapping your fingers around his.

“I love how loud you are,” you whispered. “I love your chaos. I love your brain, your energy, your heart. I love that you fill every room you walk into — especially mine.”

A long pause.

Then finally, he looked at you. Really looked at you.

“I just needed to know you see me,” he said. “Not just the jokes.”

“I do,” you said. “I see all of you. And I’m so sorry for not showing that.”

He sighed, eyes wet but smiling faintly. “Okay. I forgive you. But if you call me exhausting again, I’m writing a rap about it.”

You laughed. “A diss track?”

“A romantic diss track,” he clarified, pulling you into his chest.

And just like that, the rooftop got a little louder again — because your Baby was back.

[blondechariot]

Can we request Dom/sub, creampie, bondage, cunnilingus, spanking, finger fucking, size kink, deepthroating, threesome, virginity loss, squirting, nipple play, praise kink, shibari, voice kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, body worship, crossdressing, coming in pants/underwear, and lingerie? Thanks!

Yesss to Everything!

[blondechariot]

hii! omg, pls don’t forget to rest always !! your health is your main prior <3

alsoo, do u have saja boys (separate) where u knock into their room and they comfort you since you were very stressed with the amount of school works? and if u don’t, can i pls request for you to make onee? tysmm

pairing: Saja Boys x reader!

warnings: mentions of stress or burnout, headache, comfort, physical vulnerability, crying

disclaimer: not my pic!

Thank you for your kind words :)

Jinu

It was past midnight when you finally gave in. Your head was pounding, eyes burning from hours of staring at your notes. All week you’d been pushing yourself, skipping meals, cutting sleep down to scraps. You told yourself you could handle it — but your body was screaming otherwise.

Your knuckles hovered over the boys’ hallway door before you finally tapped, almost embarrassed. Jinu’s door creaked open a moment later, and there he was — hair messy, oversized shirt hanging loose on his shoulders. He raised a brow at you, concern flickering immediately across his sharp features.

“Y/N? It’s late. What’s wrong?” His voice was soft, lower than usual, like he was already bracing for something.

You managed a tired smile. “Sorry for bothering you. I… just wondered if you had an aspirin? My head’s killing me.”

For a second, Jinu just looked at you. Not in annoyance, not even in surprise — but with that quiet, knowing expression that said he had already pieced together the bigger picture. He stepped aside, motioning you in. “Come inside. Sit down.”

You hesitated, but the gentle firmness in his tone left no room for protest. His room was dimly lit, warm with the faint scent of cedar and something clean, like fresh sheets. You perched on the edge of his bed while he rummaged in his drawer, pulling out a small bottle. But instead of handing it over right away, he crouched down in front of you, searching your face.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again, haven’t you?”

You swallowed. “I just… needed to catch up.”

“By starving yourself? By barely sleeping?” His voice wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight — frustration laced with worry. “Y/N, your body isn’t a machine. You can’t keep treating it like one.”

Your eyes dropped, guilt bubbling up, but Jinu sighed and shook his head before you could answer. He pressed the aspirin and a bottle of water into your hands, watching until you swallowed it. Then, without asking, he reached forward and brushed your hair gently back from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

“Lie back,” he said quietly, standing to adjust the pillows. “You need to rest, not just medicate the pain away.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Y/N.” Just your name, but the tone alone disarmed you. He was stubborn in that soft, unyielding way that made resistance pointless. Reluctantly, you leaned back against his pillows, and to your surprise, Jinu settled beside you on the edge of the bed. He didn’t crowd, just sat close enough that his presence felt grounding.

His hand found yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. “Close your eyes. Just for a little while. I’ll make sure you don’t oversleep, okay?”

The tension in your shoulders slowly bled out at his touch. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to take the weight off you for just a moment. His voice, quiet and steady, filled the silence.

“You’re smart, Y/N. Dedicated. But none of it matters if you collapse. Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself from now on. Please.”

There was a rare vulnerability in his last word, like he was letting you glimpse the worry he usually kept hidden under his confident, idol-like exterior. You turned your head toward him, meeting his eyes in the dim light. He didn’t look away.

“I promise,” you whispered.

A faint smile curved his lips, and he squeezed your hand lightly. “Good.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The pounding in your head softened under his steady presence, the warmth of his hand anchoring you. When your eyes finally drifted shut, Jinu shifted just enough to pull the blanket over you, careful not to wake you.

He lingered there, watching your face relax, before murmuring more to himself than to you: “Don’t scare me like that again, Y/N.”

And for the first time all week, you slept without nightmares.

Abby

The knock on his door was so faint it almost blended into the quiet hum of the night. Abby was sprawled across his bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone when he heard it. At first, he thought maybe he imagined it — but then it came again, soft, hesitant.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge, and padded over to open the door. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found when he saw you. Your eyes were glassy, your face pale, and you clutched your temple like the weight of the world was pressing down.

“Hey…” you mumbled, voice small. “Sorry. Do you—uh—maybe have an aspirin?”

Abby leaned against the doorframe, eyes scanning you from head to toe. He didn’t move right away. He just looked at you, piecing it together in silence. Finally, his lips parted, and instead of answering your question, he asked:

“When was the last time you ate?”

You blinked. “I… I don’t know. Lunch?”

“Lunch today?” His brows shot up.

“…Lunch yesterday.”

Abby exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering something under his breath before stepping aside. “Get in here. Now.”

The command was uncharacteristically firm, and you obeyed before you had the chance to protest. His room was warm, scattered with bits of his personality: a guitar propped in the corner, a half-finished doodle on his desk. He gestured to his bed. “Sit.”

You perched nervously while he rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a small box of medicine. He handed you the aspirin and water, but didn’t sit back down until he saw you actually swallow it. Then, to your surprise, he crossed his arms and tilted his head at you.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he asked, voice quieter now. “You’ve been killing yourself all week. Barely sleeping, barely eating. You walk around like a zombie, and now you’ve got a headache the size of hell’s gates. Did you really think none of us would care?”

You looked down, heat prickling at your cheeks. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

Abby scoffed, though not unkindly. He dropped down beside you on the bed, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “You’re not a bother, idiot. You’re… you. And I kinda like having you around, y’know?”

That last part was delivered with his trademark playful lilt, but his eyes were serious when you glanced at him.

Before you could answer, he reached forward and tugged the blanket off the bed, draping it around your shoulders. “You need to warm up. You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine.” He cut you off without hesitation. “You’re pale, shaking, and you look like you’re one bad thought away from falling over. Just… let me take care of you for once, yeah?”

His tone softened, and for the first time in days, you felt the tension in your chest ease. Abby leaned back against the wall, tugging you gently until your head rested on his shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “You don’t have to sleep. Just… rest. I’ll keep watch.”

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth radiating from his side, and the soft scratch of his thumb drawing idle circles on your arm all blended together until your eyelids grew heavy.

Just before you slipped under, you heard him whisper — almost too low to catch:

“Next time you feel like this… come to me sooner, okay? I’ll always make time for you.”

Mystery

The hallway was quiet when you raised your hand to knock. For a moment, you debated turning back — maybe you could push through the pain, maybe you didn’t need to disturb anyone. But your head throbbed like a drumbeat behind your eyes, and before you could second-guess yourself again, your knuckles tapped gently against the wooden door.

It opened almost instantly, as if Mystery had been expecting you. He stood there in a loose black hoodie, hair a little tousled, his eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on your face. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied you in silence with that unreadable, almost eerie calm he always carried.

“Headache,” you muttered softly, unable to meet his gaze. “Do you… have an aspirin?”

Mystery tilted his head, watching you for another long beat before stepping aside and motioning you inside. His room was dim, lit only by a soft lamp that cast golden light across stacks of books and neatly folded clothes. Everything was tidy, almost meticulous, and the air carried a faint hint of incense.

You sat gingerly on the edge of his bed while he crossed the room, pulling open a drawer. Without a word, he poured a glass of water, set it on the nightstand, and handed you a pill. You swallowed it quickly, murmuring a thank you.

Mystery finally sat down across from you, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “You’ve been studying nonstop,” he said quietly. Not a question — a statement.

You fidgeted under his gaze. “I had to catch up—”

“You had to exhaust yourself?” His tone was even, not judgmental, but there was a subtle firmness beneath it. “You haven’t been eating properly. You haven’t been sleeping properly. And now you’re here because your body is breaking down.”

You winced. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

His lips twitched, the faintest suggestion of a smile. “You think taking care of you is a bother?” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with quiet intensity. “You’ve seen us fight without hesitation. Do you think a headache is too much for us to handle?”

Your chest tightened at the words. You hadn’t expected him to frame it that way, but it made something in you ease.

Mystery reached out, almost hesitantly, then let his hand rest lightly against your temple. His touch was cool, steady, and the pressure somehow soothed the ache rather than worsening it. “Breathe with me,” he murmured.

You obeyed, inhaling slowly, exhaling just as slowly, his hand never leaving your skin. His eyes never wavered, and the steady rhythm of his voice grounded you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“Better?” he asked after a few minutes, voice barely above a whisper.

“…A little,” you admitted, the pounding dulled.

He nodded once, satisfied, and then shifted to sit beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. Without asking, he reached over and pulled the blanket around your frame, tucking it snugly.

“Lie down for a while,” he said.

“I don’t want to—”

“You will,” he interrupted softly but firmly, the way only Mystery could — no raised voice, no argument, just absolute certainty. “Just close your eyes. I’ll stay here.”

Something in his calmness made it impossible to argue. You leaned back against the pillows, letting your body sink into the mattress. Mystery stayed beside you, silent, but you felt the presence of his hand resting gently on your wrist — not restraining, just reminding you he was there.

The ache in your head finally began to fade, lulled away by the quiet steadiness of his presence. Before sleep claimed you, you heard him murmur something under his breath, so soft it barely reached your ears:

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Y/N. Not while I’m here.”

And with that, the weight you’d been holding all week slipped from your shoulders, if only for a little while.

Romance

By the time you reached Romance’s door, your head was pounding so badly you almost couldn’t see straight. You raised your hand and knocked softly, hoping you weren’t waking him.

The door opened almost immediately, and there he was — hair slightly mussed from sleep, his loose shirt hanging open at the collar. His eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

“Y/N,” he said gently, his voice low with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed, suddenly embarrassed under his gaze. “Sorry… I just—do you maybe have an aspirin? My head’s killing me.”

For a moment, Romance didn’t move. Then, without a word, he reached out and brushed his hand lightly against your cheek, frowning at the heat there. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured. “I could see it all week.”

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak. “I just needed to catch up.”

He sighed, shaking his head as if you’d just confessed to some grave sin. “You never take care of yourself when you should.” His hand lingered at your cheek for a moment longer before he stepped aside and motioned you in.

His room was cozy, lit by soft fairy lights strung along the wall. It smelled faintly of vanilla and clean linen. He guided you to sit on his bed, and while you perched nervously on the edge, he busied himself at his nightstand. Within seconds, he was pressing a pill into your hand along with a glass of water.

“Take this,” he said softly, waiting until you did. Then, instead of sitting across from you, he lowered himself onto the bed beside you, turning slightly so his body angled toward yours.

“You’ve been neglecting yourself, haven’t you?” he asked.

You hesitated. “…A little.”

Romance gave you that smile — gentle, patient, tinged with worry. He reached out and took your hand, his fingers weaving through yours easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I know you want to be strong, Y/N. But strength isn’t in how much you can endure alone. It’s knowing when to let someone take care of you.”

Your throat tightened. His words, simple as they were, hit too close to home. You blinked quickly, not wanting tears to fall. Romance noticed, of course — he always noticed. Without hesitation, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and drawing you gently against his chest.

“Shh,” he murmured, pressing his chin lightly to the top of your head. “It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. Just breathe.”

His warmth was immediate, steady and grounding. You closed your eyes, listening to the slow, even rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time in days, your chest loosened.

“You’ve been so hard on yourself,” he continued softly, his hand moving in slow, comforting strokes down your back. “But you deserve rest. You deserve kindness. Don’t you know that?”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

Romance pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression so tender it made your heart ache. “You could never be a burden to me. Ever.”

The sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. He smiled again, small but warm, and brushed a strand of hair gently away from your face. “Lie down, Y/N. Just for a little while. Let me hold you.”

You hesitated, but the exhaustion in your body made the decision for you. Slowly, you let him guide you down, your head finding its place against his chest again. His arms wrapped around you, protective and steady, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulled you almost immediately.

As you drifted, you felt him press the faintest kiss to your temple. “You’re safe with me,” he whispered. “Always.”

And with his warmth surrounding you, the pain in your head finally eased into nothing.

Baby

You almost didn’t knock on Baby’s door. Of all of them, he was the one you least wanted to worry — his heart was too big, too open. But the pounding in your head left you desperate, and before you knew it, your knuckles rapped lightly against the wood.

It flew open almost instantly. Baby stood there in a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, hair messy, eyes wide like he hadn’t expected anyone. The second he saw you, though, the playful sparkle in his gaze was replaced by pure concern.

“Y/N?” he asked, voice rising. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You shifted awkwardly, pressing a hand to your temple. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… was wondering if you had an aspirin. My head really hurts.”

Instead of answering, Baby reached forward and gently grabbed your wrist, pulling you inside before you could protest. “You don’t look okay. Sit—no, lie down.” He guided you toward his bed with surprising firmness, his usual easygoing tone gone.

“Baby, it’s just a headache—”

“It’s not just a headache,” he interrupted, already rummaging through his drawer for medicine. “You’ve been studying nonstop all week. You barely ate, you barely slept. Of course your head hurts! You’ve been torturing yourself.”

You blinked at his sudden intensity, guilt prickling at your chest. “I didn’t mean to—”

He spun back to you, pressing the pill and a glass of water into your hands, watching until you swallowed. Then he set them aside and crouched in front of you, his big hands gently wrapping around yours.

“You scare me when you do that,” he admitted, his voice softer now, almost trembling. “You push yourself until you break. And I don’t know how to fix it, except…” He trailed off, then let out a small sigh. “Except by being here.”

Your heart clenched. His worry was written all over his face, raw and unfiltered. Without thinking, you squeezed his hands. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

His eyes softened, but his brows knit together stubbornly. “That’s my job, though. To worry about you. To take care of you.” He rose suddenly, sitting beside you on the bed. Before you could react, he pulled you gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he was afraid you might vanish.

At first, you stiffened. But the warmth of him — his heartbeat pounding fast under your ear, his breath brushing your hair — made something in you unravel. Slowly, you melted into the embrace.

“Better,” he whispered into your hair. “Just stay here, okay? Let me hold you. You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You felt tears prick your eyes, though you didn’t mean for them to. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be sorry,” Baby said quickly, squeezing you tighter. “Just promise me you’ll tell me next time. Don’t hide it until you’re hurting like this. Please?”

The desperation in his tone left no room for argument. You nodded against his chest, and his whole body relaxed slightly, as though your promise had lifted a weight off his shoulders.

For a long time, neither of you moved. He just held you, rocking you slightly like he was soothing himself as much as you. The pounding in your head dulled, fading beneath the steady comfort of his arms.

Just before you drifted, you felt him press his lips lightly to the top of your head, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet:

“You’re too important to me, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

And with Baby’s warmth wrapped protectively around you, you finally let go of the weight you’d been carrying all week.

[blondechariot]

Can I request headcanons for poly Saja Boys reacting to his female s/o making flower rings and putting it on their ring fingers on all of them including yourself because it's the only finger that can fit please?

pairing: Poly! Saja Boys x reader

warnings: soooooooooooo much Fluff

disclaimer: not my pic

The sun had risen, blazed through the curtains… and set again, all without the boys catching more than a fleeting glimpse of you.

At first, they thought you were sleeping in. That maybe the last day had drained you more than usual. But when lunchtime rolled around and your door remained closed, curiosity began to bubble. By mid-afternoon, the Saja boys were practically climbing the walls with theories.

“She’s writing a hit song,” Jinu said confidently, lounging upside down on the couch. “That’s the only explanation. Probably inspired by me.”

Abby scoffed, sprawled out on the floor with his shirt rolled halfway up. “Inspired by your snoring, maybe.”

“She’s avoiding us,” Baby mumbled into his cereal bowl from the kitchen, pouting. “I didn’t even annoy her today. On purpose.”

Romance, seated in the armchair with his legs crossed, fingers pressed against his lips, mused aloud, “Perhaps she’s making us surprise weapons. Poison-tipped lipstick? Spiked high heels? I’d cry.”

“No crying,” Mystery said, without looking up from the book he wasn’t actually reading. “If she was making weapons, she’d have asked for my bone saw. She didn’t. So it’s not that.”

Each time one of them had gone to knock, you answered with a calm but firm, “Just a little project. Don’t come in.”

The way you said it made it sound… serious. Almost sacred.

So, they waited. Grumbled. Whispered at your door. Piled into the living room to wait.

And then, finally—your door creaked open.

You stepped out, hands behind your back, wearing a soft, satisfied smile. The kind that only appeared when you were really proud of yourself.

All five heads turned in unison.

“You’re alive!” Baby cried, springing over the back of the couch like a puppy.

“I told you she wasn’t possessed,” Mystery muttered, slipping a bookmark into his novel.

You took slow, deliberate steps toward them, expression unreadable. “Before any of you speak,” you said sweetly, “you’re going to sit. And you’re going to listen.”

They obeyed. Partially out of curiosity, partially out of fear. You were adorable—but terrifying when determined.

Once they were seated, you drew your hands forward.

Five tiny flower rings rested delicately in your palm.

Handmade. Slightly uneven. Wholesome and radiant.

Silence.

Then:

“…Are those for us?” Romance blinked slowly, leaning forward.

“Yes,” you said, tone deadly serious. “I made one for each of you. I spent all day choosing the right flowers and weaving them.”

“…Rings?” Jinu echoed, eyebrows lifting. “Like. To wear. On fingers?”

“Obviously.” You stepped closer. “Put out your hands.”

They didn’t move.

Not out of resistance—just shock.

“They’re enchanted, right?” Mystery asked, narrowing his eyes. “Do they explode?”

“No,” you said. “They’re just made of love.”

“Even worse,” Abby muttered.

“Abby.”

“…Fine.”

You began slipping the rings onto their fingers one by one.

To Jinu, you gave a ring woven from tiny white jasmine and sky-blue forget-me-nots. “Because you’re loud and bright but impossible to forget.”

“…I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” Jinu muttered. But he smiled. A little too proudly.

To Abby, a ring of soft lavender and chamomile. “Because you’re the quiet peace I didn’t know I needed.”

He went pink instantly. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, shut up.”

To Baby, a ring of tiny yellow daisies and baby’s breath. “Because you’re sunshine in demon form.”

Baby squealed.

To Romance, you presented a rosebud—tiny, delicate—framed with clover leaves and lilacs. “Because you’re dramatic and soft and lucky.”

Romance was suspiciously quiet. His hands trembled when you placed the ring on him.

And finally…

To Mystery, a ring made of night-blooming jasmine and deep indigo lobelias. “Because you’re the mystery that feels like home.”

Mystery stared at the ring. “That’s… actually kind of beautiful.”

You nodded. “That’s because it is.”

They were all staring at their hands now, as if they’d been given something far more powerful than the enchanted weapons they were used to wielding.

Then Jinu cleared his throat. “So… do we wear these to battle or like, bedtime? What’s the protocol here?”

“Every day,” you said firmly. “No exceptions.”

They all blinked.

“Every day?” Abby asked.

“You heard me.”

“Like… even if it doesn’t match my outfit?”

“Yes, Abby.”

“What if I’m showering?”

“Then wear it on your toe. Figure it out.”

Baby clapped excitedly. “I’ll never take mine off!!”

Romance rolled his eyes—but hid his smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, admiring his floral accessory.

“And you haven’t even seen mine,” you added, reaching into your pocket.

You pulled out your ring.

It was slightly bigger than the others, woven from six different flowers:

Red rose (Romance)

Pale pink carnation (Abby)

Yellow daffodil (Baby)

Deep violet orchid (Mystery)

Bright blue cornflower (Jinu)

And in the center, a white camellia—you.

“This is me,” you explained softly. “Surrounded by all of you.”

The room was quiet.

Emotion rippled like a slow wave through the space.

Romance placed a hand over his heart. “I’m going to cry.”

“You said no crying,” Mystery reminded him.

“Too bad,” Romance sniffled.

Abby cleared his throat and looked away, jaw tight. “Stupid idea. Stupid rings. Stupid you.”

Jinu stood up and dramatically flung himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re the sappiest human I’ve ever met. And I love it.”

One by one, the others joined in.

You were quickly swallowed in a giant, tangled group hug of limbs, warmth, and whispered jokes.

Baby buried his nose in your hair. “We love you.”

You kissed his forehead. “I know.”

“You know,” Abby mimicked, voice thick.

Later that night, you caught each of them admiring their rings in secret.

Mystery tucked his under his glove. Romance posed with it in the mirror. Jinu took selfies. Abby kept touching it and then pretending he wasn’t. Baby kept showing his to the cat.

They wore them the next day.

And the next.

Even on missions.

You never had to ask twice.

Because no matter how silly it looked, each of them knew:

Those rings weren’t just flowers.

They were proof.

That despite everything—the demons, the chaos, the past…

They belonged to you.

And you belonged to them.

[blondechariot]

Hey! Saw your post about my request, how about a situation where the boys are feeling threatened and reader steps up to protect them, and then a later situation where reader is threatened and the boys step up?

In my mind they really like reader, because she is one of the only people with their best interests at heart, so they are a bit protective of her

pairing: Saja Boys x Manager! reader

Warning: sasaeng behaviour, bullying, public humiliation, verbal harrassment, realistic idol life

disclaimer: not my pic!

The boys are finally backstage, lounging on bean bags and worn-out couches, water bottles half-empty, snacks disappearing at lightning speed.

You're just outside the dressing room, clipboard under your arm, directing one of the staffers about tomorrow’s media schedule.

“They need rest in the morning — no interviews before eleven. And no more back-to-back performances without breaks. I don’t care what PR says.”

But before your assistant can reply, a commotion erupts from the hallway leading to the exit.

Voices — loud and angry. And then you hear it:

“There she is! That bitch who stole them away!” “Who the hell does she think she is, bossing them around like she owns them?” “They were waving at us — and she dragged them away!” “Let the boys breathe!” “We hate her! Get rid of her!”

You freeze.

When you turn toward the noise, a small group of fans — maybe ten or twelve — has slipped through security, and they’re charging toward you, phone cameras already up, faces twisted with smug rage. Some are even livestreaming.

You raise your chin, unfazed.

“You shouldn’t be back here,” you say calmly, stepping forward. “This area is restricted. Security will escort you out.”

But they don’t back down.

One girl scoffs.

“Of course you’re acting all high and mighty. You’re just jealous they’d never look twice at someone like you.” Another shouts, “Power-tripping hag. You act like their mother. Newsflash: you’re not part of the group!”

Someone throws a half-full soda can — it misses your face by an inch and explodes against the wall behind you. The sugary splash hits your jacket.

You blink. A sharp breath in.

Not today. Not in front of the boys.

But before you can speak or call for security—

The dressing room door SLAMS open.

Jinu is the first one out. His usual smug grin is gone — replaced with pure steel.

“What did you just say?”

Behind him, Abby, Romance, Baby, and Mystery spill out like a tidal wave of righteous fury. They flank you instinctively — without hesitation. Abby’s jaw is tight. Mystery’s eyes are blazing. Baby looks like he might cry or bite someone — maybe both.

One of the toxic fans lifts her phone higher, already streaming live.

“Look! They’re here! We’re doing this for you guys! She’s controlling you! Say something!”

Jinu steps forward, voice dangerously calm.

“You don’t speak for us.”

He looks directly at the phone, expression cold as ice.

“You think you love us? Then show it. You don’t attack people we care about.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd. The “we care about” hits like a bomb.

“But—” one girl tries to argue, “—she treats you like kids! She's always—”

Romance cuts her off, all his usual flirtiness gone.

“She feeds us. She fights for us. When we’re overworked, when we’re sick, when we’re scared — she’s the only one who’s there every damn time. You think that’s control?” He scoffs. “That’s love. Something you clearly don’t understand.”

The fans falter.

Mystery steps in next, voice low and dangerous.

“If you can’t respect her, you don’t respect us. And if you don’t respect us… leave.”

“You’re not real fans,” Abby adds, arms crossed tightly. “Real fans don’t throw things. Real fans don’t bully women because they’re jealous.”

Baby suddenly shouts, voice shaking:

“She’s family! Don’t talk about her like that!”

There’s silence. The fans stand frozen — exposed, embarrassed, scrambling to shut off their streams. One begins to cry. A couple start to back away.

Security finally arrives and moves in, but before they’re escorted out, Jinu looks each one of them in the eye.

“You come after her again,” he says, his voice sharp as knives, “and we will speak out publicly. This isn’t just about today. It’s about every hateful comment, every creepy DM, every lie you've posted. She deserves better.”

And then he turns to you.

His gaze softens.

He walks up, pulls a tissue from his pocket, and gently dabs the soda splash off your jacket with a frown.

“You okay?”

You stare at him, blinking — and then nod once, quietly.

“Yeah. I’ve had worse.”

But something in you cracks just a little. The stress, the exhaustion, the constant fight to keep them safe, respected, loved — it all suddenly presses down.

Romance notices. He steps forward, places a hand on your shoulder, and looks at you like you’re not just their manager — but their lifeline.

“You don’t have to be the wall all the time, you know.”

Abby, always the observer, adds,

“We’re not just your responsibility. You’re ours, too.”

And Mystery, soft and reserved, simply murmurs:

“Let us protect you for once.”

Back inside the dressing room, the energy shifts.

You’re drying your jacket with a towel, sitting quietly for once. Baby curls up beside you on the couch and leans his head on your shoulder.

“Do you think they’ll really stop?” he whispers.

You exhale.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But the right people heard the truth today.”

Jinu hands you a fresh drink.

“You shouldn’t have to take that kind of hate.”

You glance up at all five of them — these ridiculous, chaotic, stupidly famous demon boys who never listen… except when it matters most.

“I don’t mind taking the hits,” you say, “if it means you don’t have to.”

Romance shakes his head.

“Nah. We’re done letting you stand in front of the fire alone.”

“From now on,” Abby says firmly, “we stand with you.”

[blondechariot]

mingyu for harper's bazaar sg.

[blondechariot]

hii! may i request Saja boys reaction to making out with them mid fight (separate) and also spicy if possible heh! tysm 🤍

pairing: Saja Boys x reader

warnings: Strong Language, NSFW, Angst & Emotional Conflict, Rough/Possessive Dynamics, Power Play / Control Themes

disclaimer: not my pic!

Jinu

You slammed the door shut behind you, the echo bouncing off the empty dressing room walls. “Are you kidding me, Jinu?”

The demon glared at you, shirt half-open and eyes glowing faintly red with restrained fury. “Don’t start with me.”

“Oh, I already started,” you snapped, chest heaving. “You went off-script. Again.”

He stalked toward you, voice sharp and venomous. “I did what I had to do.”

“No, you did what your ego told you to do! And you nearly got us exposed—”

“I saved your ass!” he yelled, voice booming, fangs flashing.

You stepped up to him, face inches from his. “I don’t need you to save me. I need you to trust me. But clearly that’s asking too much.”

Something snapped between you.

The air cracked like a storm. You were both breathing hard, nostrils flared, the sheer rage vibrating between your bodies. Then, suddenly, it wasn’t rage anymore.

It was hunger.

He grabbed your face with both hands, slamming his mouth against yours with a groan, lips harsh and needy. You clawed at his half-open shirt, ripping it the rest of the way down, buttons flying. His claws grazed your skin as they slid under your shirt, pulling it over your head without breaking the kiss.

“You piss me off so much,” he growled against your lips, biting your lower one just enough to sting.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you hissed, shoving him back into the vanity.

His eyes flared, glowing crimson with desire. He spun you around and lifted you onto the counter, knocking off everything in one sweep of his arm. The glass shattered, but you didn’t care. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed between your thighs, grinding hard.

You reached between you to unbuckle his pants, smirking when he cursed low and bit your neck. “Keep that up and I’ll lose control,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

“That’s the point.”

He growled and pushed your underwear aside, his fingers slipping through your arousal as he watched your face, eyes wild. “So wet already?”

“Shut up,” you breathed.

“No,” he said with a dangerous smirk. “I want to hear you.”

When he finally pushed into you, it was desperate and raw. You gasped, clinging to him, nails dragging down his back as he thrust into you over and over, hard and deep, pace punishing. His wings, barely restrained, flared behind him, brushing your bare thighs with warmth and power.

“Fuck, you feel—” He broke off, slamming into you harder.

Your head fell back against the mirror. “Faster.”

He obeyed with a feral sound, hands gripping your hips like you were the only thing anchoring him. The anger melted into something hotter, darker — need, obsession, emotion he couldn’t say out loud.

You clenched around him, gasping as your orgasm hit like a shockwave. He followed seconds later with a growl, burying his face in your neck as he came hard, muttering something in demon tongue you didn’t understand but felt in your bones.

You were both shaking, bodies pressed together, breath heavy.

Silence fell.

Then, quietly, you said, “You didn’t have to go that far, you know.”

Jinu kissed your shoulder, still holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish. “…I know. But when I saw you surrounded like that—I lost it.”

You exhaled slowly. “Next time, lose it with a little more warning.”

He pulled back, brushing hair from your sweaty face. “Next time, don’t make me think I’m about to lose you.”

Your chest tightened. The fight had burned out, but the feelings underneath still smoldered — dangerous and real.

And maybe that was scarier than the flames.

Abby

“You think I enjoyed letting them get away?” you barked, slamming the door behind you.

Abby scoffed without looking at you, pacing like a caged animal. “Doesn’t look like you gave a damn.”

“Excuse me?”

“You hesitated,” he spat, turning to face you fully now, eyes glowing with a furious orange-red hue. “You hesitated when I told you to strike.”

“I hesitated because you were being reckless!” you shot back. “You don’t think. You just charge in and expect everyone to clean up after you!”

He stepped closer, breathing hard, teeth clenched. “You don’t get to lecture me about control when you’ve been playing at being fearless but look like you’re two seconds from running every time things get real.”

“Fuck you, Abby.”

“Say it again.”

Your lip curled, heart pounding in your chest. “Fuck. You.”

He surged forward and shoved you against the nearest wall, the impact rough enough to rattle the frame. His hands pinned your wrists above your head as he growled low in your ear, voice like gravel. “You really wanna fight me, baby?”

“You started it,” you hissed, chest heaving against his. “You’re always starting shit you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I always finish,” he snarled — and then he kissed you like he wanted to devour you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was brutal. Tongues clashing, teeth biting, lips bruising. He growled deep in his throat as he let go of your wrists only to yank your shirt off, dragging it over your head and tossing it aside. His claws skimmed your ribs as he dropped to his knees, unzipping your pants fast, yanking them and your underwear down in one rough motion.

“Turn around,” he ordered darkly.

You didn’t move.

“I said—”

“You want me?” you cut him off, eyes flashing. “Take me how you really want to.”

Something unhinged in him. With a low snarl, he flipped you around and bent you over the arm of the couch, ripping your underwear off completely. His hand landed hard on your ass — once, twice — the sting making you jolt forward. You whimpered, grinding your hips back.

“That’s better,” he said, voice thick with lust and rage. “Keep that mouth shut now, yeah?”

You heard the rustle of his pants dropping. Then the thick, hot weight of him sliding against your folds — teasing once — before he rammed into you without warning.

You gasped, nearly losing your balance, but his claws gripped your hips tight, pulling you back into every savage thrust. He was rough — merciless — fucking you like he hated you. But you knew better. This was how Abby loved. Feral. Wild. Violent.

“You make me so fucking crazy,” he growled, fucking you deeper. “All that attitude… all that damn fire…”

You clenched around him, moaning. “Harder, Abby—”

He slammed into you harder, hand gripping your hair and yanking your head back so he could growl into your ear, “You want it rough? Then take it.”

His hips snapped against your ass over and over, and your orgasm built like a tidal wave, fast and overwhelming. You bit your lip, crying out as it hit — legs trembling, walls pulsing around him.

Abby cursed sharply, then came with a deep groan, spilling inside you with a final, punishing thrust.

You both stayed there, breathless, his chest pressed to your back, bodies shaking.

Silence.

Then he leaned down, voice rasping against your ear. “I hate fighting with you.”

You turned your head slightly, breath still shaky. “Then stop picking fights.”

He chuckled, deep and rough. “Can’t help it. You look too damn good when you’re angry.”

Mystery

“You disobeyed me in front of everyone.”

Mystery’s voice was cold, controlled, but the rage beneath it was undeniable.

You squared your shoulders, fire in your eyes. “You gave a bullshit order.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, muscles tense under his all-black sleeveless gear. “You don’t decide that. I do.”

“I’m not your pet. I’m your partner.”

“You’re my liability when you act like that.”

You laughed — short, bitter. “Oh, fuck you, Mystery.”

In a flash, he was in front of you, slamming his palm into the wall beside your head, the heat of his power crackling through the air. “Say that again.”

You didn’t flinch. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

You reached up and shoved him back.

To your shock — he stumbled. Eyes narrowing. Breath shallow. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t the one in control.

But then he grinned — slow, dangerous, amused. “You wanna fight me, sweetheart?”

“I want you to realize I’m not beneath you.”

He lunged — and you met him halfway.

The clash was explosive. You kissed him hard, biting his lip enough to draw blood. He growled and grabbed your wrists, slamming you back into the wall, holding you there like you were nothing. But you hooked your leg around his and flipped him into the mat below with a thud, straddling him and grinding your hips down over his hard length.

“Still think I’m a liability?” you sneered.

His eyes flashed violet. “I like this side of you.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his. “Then shut up and take it.”

You reached down, pulled his belt open, freeing him with practiced ease. He groaned low in his throat as your hand wrapped around him, stroking once — slow, just to tease.

But Mystery wasn’t about to stay pinned.

He surged up, flipping you in return and dragging you across the mat like a wolf with prey. Your back hit the ground, and his fingers tore at your clothes with supernatural strength, leaving them in shreds around you.

“You wanna be on top?” he growled. “Earn it.”

You kicked out, trying to flip again — but he caught your ankle and shoved your knees apart, sliding between them with a wicked grin. “Too slow.”

You reached up, gripping his hair, pulling him in for another searing kiss. “You talk too much.”

He growled into your mouth and shoved in, hard and deep.

You gasped, back arching off the mat, nails digging into his shoulders. He fucked you with sharp, punishing thrusts, every stroke a battle for dominance.

You scratched down his back, then pushed with your thighs, flipping him once more and riding him fast, wild, keeping your hands on his chest to pin him down.

Mystery looked up at you like you were a goddess and a threat rolled into one.

“Fuck…” he breathed, watching your body move above him. “You’re… dangerous.”

You smirked, breathless. “Only if you try to control me.”

He came with a snarl, hands gripping your thighs as you chased your own release — which hit seconds later like a shockwave, stealing the breath from your lungs.

The room fell silent except for the sound of ragged breathing, sweat slicking both your bodies.

He lay there, sprawled out beneath you, arm thrown over his eyes. “Okay,” he muttered. “You win.”

You slid off him slowly, grinning. “I know.”

Romance

“You don’t get to disappear like that, Romance.”

Your voice cracked, just a little, but you didn’t let it falter. You stood on the balcony in nothing but your sleep shirt, arms crossed against the cold, hair tousled from waking up alone — again.

Romance didn’t look at you. He leaned over the edge, dark eyes on the sprawling chaos below. “I needed space.”

“For three days?”

He finally turned, and something in his face broke your breath. Not anger — guilt. Regret. “If I stayed, I would’ve said something I couldn’t take back.”

“So you thought ghosting me was better?”

You stepped toward him, fists clenched. “I’m not fragile. You don’t have to protect me from your darkness.”

He laughed, bitter. “You say that like you know what it means to be cursed.”

“I stay. Every time. And you still push me away. You’re not protecting me, Romance. You’re just scared.”

His jaw flexed. “I’m scared I’ll destroy you.”

“Too late,” you whispered. “You already are.”

His eyes widened — like he didn’t expect to hear that. And maybe you didn’t expect to say it. The silence was deafening.

Then it snapped.

Romance was suddenly in front of you, hands in your hair, mouth on yours — not sweet, not soft. Desperate. Devouring. You grabbed his shirt and yanked him inside, lips never parting, until your back hit the glass door and he slammed it shut behind you.

Clothes fell like confessions — silent, fast, raw.

“You hurt me,” you breathed between kisses, shoving him down onto the couch.

“I know,” he rasped, letting you straddle him, “and I hate myself for it.”

You didn’t let him speak again. You kissed him with the force of every unanswered question, every night you cried alone. He let you take control — hands gripping your thighs, head tilted back as your mouth traveled to his neck, biting down until he hissed.

“I’m not letting you run from this,” you whispered, dragging your heat against his cock.

“Then don’t let me go.”

You reached down and guided him into you, both of you gasping at the stretch, the heat. But even then, you didn’t move. You stayed there — buried deep, foreheads pressed together, trembling.

It was the quietest fuck you ever had — and the loudest emotions you ever felt.

You rode him slowly at first, rolling your hips with a soft moan as he held your waist like you might disappear. But then the anger came back — and with it, the pace.

You started slamming down harder, faster, riding him like you were trying to break both of you open. He cursed your name, voice hoarse, head falling back.

“Tell me you feel this,” you said, biting his lip as your rhythm grew brutal.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “I feel everything with you.”

You came with a strangled cry, tears slipping down your cheeks without permission. Romance pulled you tight to his chest, burying his face in your neck as he spilled into you with a groan that sounded like a prayer and an apology in one.

You sat there for a long time, both of you shaking.

He brushed a thumb over your cheek, voice so soft it almost didn’t sound like him. “I’m sorry.”

You leaned your forehead to his. “Don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “Even if I ruin everything… I’ll do it beside you.”

Baby

“What the fuck was that?”

You didn’t even get a full step into the backroom before Baby was on you — jaw tight, pupils blown wide, body practically vibrating with tension.

You blinked, unbothered. “If you mean the mission, we completed it. You’re welcome.”

He slammed the door shut behind you with a bang. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Oh, you’re mad because I talked to someone? Cute.”

His lip curled. “You didn’t just talk, you were laughing at his jokes. Touching his arm.”

You scoffed. “Are you serious? That’s what this is about?”

Baby stalked toward you like a predator, expression twisted with something wild — jealousy, obsession, hunger. “You don’t get to act like that in front of me. Not when you know what I am.”

You stood your ground, heart pounding. “And what are you, Baby? My boyfriend? My keeper?”

He let out a sharp, unhinged laugh. “No. I’m the only one who gets to touch you like that.”

The air cracked around you — thick with heat, fury, and something darker. Possession. Lust. Madness.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he lunged — smashing his lips to yours in a savage kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

It was chaos.

You shoved him back into the wall, teeth clashing, hands tearing at his shirt. He growled, grabbed your throat, and pinned you, his thigh sliding between yours, grinding up until you gasped.

“You like driving me insane, don’t you?” he panted, eyes glowing neon pink, his demon aura spiking around him like a storm.

“You already are,” you gasped back.

He slammed you harder against the wall. “Take your clothes off.”

You hesitated. He leaned in, fangs brushing your ear. “Now.”

You obeyed — shirt, bra, pants, panties — all gone in seconds under his burning gaze. He didn’t bother undressing fully, just yanked his pants down far enough to free himself, already painfully hard.

Then he lifted you, effortlessly, and pressed you to the wall again, lining himself up.

“No prep?” you mocked breathlessly.

He smirked, unhinged and hungry. “You’re always ready for me.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, legs tightening around his waist, nails digging into his back. His hand returned to your throat — not tight, just enough to make you shiver — as he started fucking you like he had something to prove. Like he was punishing you for every look you gave someone else.

“Mine,” he growled with every thrust. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

You couldn’t speak — couldn’t breathe — couldn’t think. The bass from the club rattled the walls, but all you could hear was his voice, his breath, your own desperate moans as your orgasm built hard and fast.

When it hit, it was violent. Your entire body arched, toes curling, head falling back against the wall as you screamed his name.

He followed right after, slamming into you one last time, biting your shoulder as he spilled deep inside you, body trembling.

You both stood there for a long moment, drenched in sweat and breathless.

Then Baby kissed you — softer now, lingering, dizzy.

“I’d burn this whole fucking city down if anyone touched you,” he whispered against your lips.

You smirked, still panting. “Good thing I like watching you lose your mind.”

[blondechariot]

Hello, I hope you r alright! May I plz request Saja Boys separately react to their girlfriend giving them a cute puppy-dog eye look.

pairing: Saja Boys x reader

warnings: Fluff overload, Mild crack/humor, Light emotional blackmail, Reader is a menace™

disclaimer: not my pic

I'm sorry for being so slow guys :( I've had some troubles sleeping and work was very busy. I'm on vacation on monday but try my best to finish the remaining requests

Jinu

It was a tiny mistake.

An innocent tap here, a wrong swipe there — and suddenly, the best clip of the day was gone. Deleted. Permanently.

You stared at your phone in horror, then slowly looked up at Jinu, who was stretching across the room after rehearsal, damp hair sticking to his forehead, shirt clinging to his toned frame.

“Hey, uh… babe?” you called out softly.

He glanced over. “Yeah?”

You winced. “I… kind of accidentally deleted the last 40 seconds of the video. The good one. The really good one.”

He froze.

“…You what.”

“I was trying to trim it! Just the end. I didn’t mean to—”

He was already walking toward you, that unreadable idol-expression on his face. Calm. Too calm. Dangerous calm.

You panicked.

And just like that, your secret weapon was activated: wide, glistening eyes, a subtle pout, and a slight tilt of your head. The tried-and-true puppy eye combo. You blinked up at him, soft and apologetic. Harmless. Cute.

Jinu stopped short. His arms dropped to his sides. He stared at you for a full second.

“…Don’t do that,” he said.

You blinked again. “Do what?”

“That. That thing. With your eyes. You know what you’re doing.”

Your lips trembled slightly—just for dramatic effect. “I didn’t mean to mess it up…”

Jinu groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “You are the worst. The worst. You do this every time.”

“Do what?” you asked innocently.

“Turn into a human puppy just so I won’t get mad,” he muttered, his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re lucky I’m weak.”

You smiled. “So… you’re not mad?”

“I want to be,” he said, stepping closer, towering over you now. “But how am I supposed to yell at you when you’re looking at me like that?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, pressing your palms together. “Let me make it up to you? Bubble tea? Foot massage? Eternal devotion?”

He rolled his eyes, finally letting a smile break through. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But adorable,” you added quickly.

Jinu leaned down and kissed your nose. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Abby

Abby wasn’t the type to lose his temper.

He was steady. Focused. Always a little cooler than the rest — both in attitude and execution. His movements were precise, his looks flawless, and he handled chaos like it was part of the choreography.

Which made it all the more fun to mess with him.

Today, it was over a jacket.

His favorite one — black leather, minimal silver studs, custom fit. You’d borrowed it a few days ago “just for a selfie,” but then it kind of… lived in your closet for the rest of the week.

When Abby came looking for it before their interview, you’d been caught red-handed: curled up on the couch, still wearing it, sleeves pushed up, eating popcorn like you hadn’t just committed a crime.

“Is that my jacket?” he asked, pausing mid-step, eyebrows raised.

You looked up mid-chew. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve been looking for it for four days,” he said, voice calm, but with that tone. The disappointed one. The one that meant you’re about to get Abby’d.

“…Oops?”

Abby narrowed his eyes and walked toward you slowly, hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched just a little. “You said one selfie. Not a week-long custody battle.”

“I meant to give it back,” you said, voice soft. “I just… really like it.”

He crossed his arms, towering over you now. “Y/N.”

So you blinked up at him. Head tilted. Bottom lip poked out. Puppy eyes: engaged.

His expression didn’t change.

“…That’s not going to work,” he said flatly.

You didn’t blink.

Still nothing.

You added a quiet, “Please don’t be mad. I just wanted to feel close to you…”

Abby sighed.

Hard.

“You are unreal,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “You do something wrong, and then you go full Disney doe-eye mode like I’m the villain in your movie.”

You just looked at him more intensely. Silently. Regretfully. Cuteness dialed up to eleven.

He turned away. “Nope. Not looking. If I don’t see your face, it can’t hypnotize me.”

“I’ll give it back now,” you offered, starting to unzip it.

Abby looked over his shoulder — and that was a mistake.

Because there you were. Small and sweet and wrapped in his jacket. That damn look still in your eyes.

He sighed again, then walked over and pulled you to your feet by the sleeves. “Keep it,” he muttered.

You beamed. “Really?”

He smoothed the jacket over your shoulders, his touch lingering. “You look good in it anyway. You always do.”

“…So you’re not mad?”

“I want to be. But it’s exhausting trying to stay mad at you when you look at me like that.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll only use the eyes for good.”

“No promises,” he grumbled, but his fingers brushed over your hand as he added, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You smiled up at him. “Your favorite kind.”

Mystery

Mystery was quiet by nature.

He didn’t react much. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t show excitement easily. He had that unreadable expression on lock — the kind that made people nervous, like he could either be silently judging them or planning something five steps ahead.

But you? You always managed to throw him off his rhythm.

Especially when you did the look.

The crime this time: you accidentally spilled water on his lyric notebook.

To be fair, it was mostly intact.

But one of the pages had smeared slightly—lyrics he’d been working on for days. You’d moved a glass to make space on the desk, and it had tipped just enough to soak the corner of the page.

You froze.

He walked in just as you were dabbing at it with a towel.

“...What happened?” he asked, voice calm but cool.

You turned slowly, notebook still in hand. “I… might’ve spilled a little water on your lyrics.”

He blinked. Once.

Then crossed the room, gaze dropping to the page. He examined the smudged ink in silence, jaw tightening just slightly.

Your heart dropped.

“I’m so sorry,” you said quickly, standing up. “It was an accident. I didn’t—”

You paused mid-apology and hesitated.

Then slowly, carefully, you softened your face. Your eyes turned wide, a little shiny. Lips parted in a guilty pout. You looked up at him like a kicked puppy.

His eyes flicked up to yours.

He stilled.

Then slowly exhaled.

“…Are you trying to distract me?” he asked dryly.

You blinked. “No…?”

He gave you a long look, expression unreadable as always.

Then: “…You are.”

“No,” you whispered, blinking again.

A beat of silence.

Then—finally—the corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely. But it was there. A crack in the mask.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re pulling that face?” he asked, stepping closer, voice lower now. “You’ve used it three times this week.”

“Only twice,” you whispered.

He gave you a pointed look.

You stayed silent… and just blinked up at him again.

He stared down at you for a second longer… then reached out, gently tugging the notebook from your hands.

“I’ll rewrite it,” he said quietly. “Just… don’t touch my stuff next time.”

You grinned. “So you forgive me?”

“I forgave you the second you made the face.”

You threw your arms around his waist, and he let you, standing still for a second before slowly wrapping his arms around you too.

“You’re evil,” he murmured into your hair. “Tiny. Dangerous. Cute evil.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

Romance

Romance was, true to his name, all about passion.

Not just in love — in everything. He made breakfast like it was a scene from a movie. He rehearsed like the stage depended on his heartbeat. He kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

So when you messed up his favorite playlist — the one he used for warmups, workouts, his entire vibe — it was, as he declared dramatically, a betrayal of trust.

“You deleted it?” he gasped, dropping his water bottle like it physically hurt him. “My training soundtrack?”

“I didn’t mean to!” you held up your phone like it was the true villain. “I was cleaning storage space, and I thought it was the duplicate one!”

He paced away from you, one hand over his chest, like he needed emotional support. “That playlist was curated. Years of mood-building. Tempo perfection. Transitions like silk!”

“I said I’m sorry!”

He turned slowly, one finger pointed at you. “This is worse than forgetting our six-month anniversary.”

You gasped. “I did not forget our six-month—”

“I’m speaking in theoretical sins,” he snapped, hand dramatically sweeping the air.

You took a deep breath.

Okay. Time to bring out the big guns.

You stepped closer, tugged your sleeves over your hands just slightly (bonus innocent points), and gave him the look. Wide eyes. Slight pout. All heart and regret.

He blinked.

Paused.

Froze.

“…No,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You blinked again. Slowly. Adorably.

“You—” He stumbled a step back. “That’s cheating. That’s not fair. You know I’m emotionally weak to that face.”

You said nothing. Just tilted your head and looked even sadder.

Romance groaned loudly and flopped dramatically onto the couch like a Shakespearean lead in his final act. “I am but a man,” he moaned. “A fool. A simp. Why must you toy with me this way?”

You quietly sat next to him and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“…You forgive me?”

He peeked at you from under his arm.

“You know I do,” he grumbled. “You could burn down the studio and I’d probably write a love song about it.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best.”

“I’m the weakest,” he sighed, turning toward you and resting his forehead against yours. “That face is black magic, and you know it.”

“I promise to only use it in times of crisis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And this… was a crisis?”

You nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

Baby

Baby was chaos incarnate.

Sweet, flirty, a little unhinged — the type to say “I got this” and then do something completely reckless just for the plot. He was loud, fast, and full of energy, always bouncing between ideas and dragging you into whatever scheme he had that day.

But if there was one thing that could bring him to a full stop… It was you. With that look.

The incident in question? You broke his headphones.

His favorite ones.

You’d borrowed them to listen to your playlist while cooking, and accidentally let them fall off the counter… straight into the sink. Soapy water. Ruined.

You were still holding the soggy mess when he came bouncing into the room.

“Baaaaby!” he sang. “I found this remix—wait. What’s that?”

You froze like a criminal caught mid-heist. “...A mistake.”

He stared at the wet headphones in your hands.

Then at you.

Then back at the headphones.

“…No. No. Don’t say what I think you’re about to say,” he whispered.

“I might’ve… accidentally drowned them?”

He dropped to his knees like he'd just been mortally wounded. “You killed them?!”

“They slipped!”

“My sons!” he wailed dramatically, cradling the air where they used to be. “They were limited edition!”

“I’ll buy you new ones, I swear—”

He pointed. “They had character development! They’d been with me since my rookie year!”

You winced.

Then, slowly, you walked over to him.

You knelt down too. And you pulled out the look.

Big eyes. Sad pout. Soft voice.

“I didn’t mean to… Please don’t hate me.”

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

“No—no. Not the eyes. Anything but the eyes.”

You blinked.

“STOP BLINKING, YOU MENACE,” he shrieked, turning away dramatically. “I can’t fight you when you look like that!”

“But I feel bad…” you whispered.

He groaned, falling backwards onto the floor like he’d been defeated in battle. “I’m too young for this emotional manipulation.”

You crawled over and rested your chin on his chest, still looking at him with those wide, guilty eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“I want to be. But you’re too damn cute,” he muttered, covering his face with both hands. “This is abuse.”

You giggled and kissed his cheek. “I’ll buy you new ones. And ice cream. And maybe a hoodie?”

He peeked at you between his fingers. “...Make it bubble tea too, and we never speak of this again.”

“Deal.”

He sat up and hugged you tightly, sighing into your neck. “You’re lucky you’re my weakness.”

You smiled. “I know.”

[blondechariot]

~INTERRUPTED AGAIN~

pairing: Bangchan x reader

warnings: Emotional Intimacy, Explicit Sexual Content, established relationship

disclaimer: not my pic!

summary: Bang Chan and you have been trying for weeks to finally take the next step in your relationship — but life in a dorm with seven other chaotic members keeps getting in the way.

Soooo my best friend passed her exam and I am so incredibly proud of her! This is a treat for her to remind her how amazing she is!

@infinityprotectress

The dorm was unusually quiet.

For once, the chaos of eight boys living together was blessedly absent. Han was out shopping with Hyunjin. Seungmin and I.N were at the studio. Felix had wandered off somewhere with Changbin. Lee Know? He had a dance rehearsal and wouldn’t be back until late.

It was perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

Chan stood in the center of the living room, looking around like he didn’t trust the silence. “You’re sure they’re all gone?” he asked you, eyebrow raised.

You grinned, looping your arms around his neck. “I literally watched them leave, babe. We have at least two hours.”

His eyes sparkled with cautious hope. “Two hours, huh?”

“Mhm.”

You stretched up to kiss him—slowly, deliberately. It started soft, gentle even, but quickly melted into something deeper. Something hungry. Chan’s hands moved to your waist, gripping you tighter, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, like he didn’t want to get too carried away.

But it had been weeks. Weeks of almosts.

Almost in the car before Changbin called. Almost on the couch before I.N walked in. Almost in Chan’s room before Felix knocked with a smoothie emergency.

You were both at your breaking point.

So when you felt Chan’s lips trail from your mouth to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp—you knew he was done holding back.

His voice was low and thick in your ear. “Bedroom?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward his room, shutting the door behind you with a soft but decisive click. You barely had time to admire the way his jaw flexed before he was on you again—pressing you against the wall, lips hot and demanding. His hands slid up under your shirt, not rushing, but hungry, like he’d dreamed of this moment every night.

You moaned softly when he palmed your waist, thumbs brushing under your bra.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I want you so bad it’s driving me insane.”

You nodded, letting your fingers glide under his shirt, exploring the lines of his stomach, the warmth of his skin. He was solid. Safe. And god, he smelled so good—clean, musky, and uniquely Chan.

He kissed you again, this time slower. Deeper. Like he wanted to memorize every second of it. You felt him smile against your lips as his hands moved to your hips, lifting you with surprising ease. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, and he carried you to the bed, laying you down like you were made of glass.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, kissing down your jaw.

“I know. Me too,” you said breathlessly, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He let you pull it off, and for a second, you both just stared—taking each other in. Chan’s chest rose and fell, his muscles tensing slightly as your hands traced across his torso. He was warm, flushed, and obviously just as affected as you were.

You were just about to pull him back down to you when—

BANG BANG BANG.

“CHAN-HYUNG!!” It was Han’s voice, loud and obnoxious. “OPEN THE DOOR, I LOST MY KEYS!!”

You froze.

Chan’s face dropped, eyes wide. “No. No no no—he’s supposed to be gone for hours!”

Another round of aggressive knocking followed. “I’M COLD, BRO! AND I THINK HYUNJIN FELL IN A FOUNTAIN.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Chan let out a long, strangled noise of pure suffering. “I swear to god, I’m gonna start locking everyone in the basement.”

With a heavy sigh, he kissed your forehead, pulled his shirt back on, and mumbled, “I’m gonna kill him.”

You laughed, despite everything. “Rain check?”

Chan looked back at you, still flustered, but smiling softly. “I’ll cash that rain check in so hard, you won’t walk for a week.”

“Promise?”

He smirked. “Bet your ass.”

It had been three days since the last attempt.

Three long days of stolen glances, low-key thirst traps (courtesy of your tank top and Chan’s unfortunate habit of walking around shirtless after workouts), and an unspoken agreement: next time, no distractions.

So when Chan texted you:

🚿 No one home. Shower’s running. Door’s unlocked. Come in. Let’s try again.

You were halfway there before the phone even hit your bed.

The dorm was blissfully empty again. You stepped in quietly, slipping off your shoes, heart already racing. Water was running in the bathroom. You cracked open the door and found Chan standing under the spray, steam curling around him, body gleaming and—

“Holy shit,” you whispered.

He hadn’t noticed you yet. His eyes were closed, hands running through his wet curls, head tilted back under the stream. He looked like a music video, a shampoo commercial, and every fantasy you’d ever had rolled into one.

You leaned against the doorframe. “You always shower with the door unlocked, or just when you’re expecting company?”

His eyes flew open, and a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. “Only when I’m hoping for company.”

You stepped in and kicked the door shut behind you. “Lucky me.”

He reached out a dripping hand and pulled you closer. “Still feel like cashing in that rain check?”

You nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “Very much.”

Before you could say more, Chan kissed you — wet, hot, and urgent — pulling you under the stream with him fully clothed. Your shirt clung to your skin instantly, but you didn’t care. His hands slid over your soaked back, pressing you closer, and you felt every inch of him against you, all slick muscle and restrained need.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled against your lips. “I’ve been thinking about this non-stop.”

“Then stop thinking,” you whispered. “Do something.”

That was apparently the right button to push.

Chan spun you around, pressing your back gently to the cold tiles, his mouth dragging down your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin just under your ear. One hand found your waist, the other tracing down your hip, under your wet shirt.

You let out a soft whimper, your body arching into his touch. Finally. Finally—

SLAM.

“YOOOOO—WHO USED ALL THE—”

Seungmin’s voice echoed through the dorm.

You and Chan froze.

“…soap,” Seungmin finished in the distance.

Chan’s face was a picture of pain. “He’s home?”

You whimpered. “No. No, no, no—he was at the studio until eight!”

Footsteps got closer. “Hey, why are your shoes in the hallway?” Seungmin asked, suspicious.

You looked at Chan in horror. He looked back, equally betrayed by life.

“Into the closet,” he hissed.

“What—?”

“Bathroom closet. Go, now.”

You scrambled out of the shower, slipping on the wet floor and yanking the towel off the rack to cover yourself, while Chan turned the water off and yanked the curtain shut.

Seconds later, the door creaked open.

“…Hyung?” Seungmin’s voice was cautious. “Why are there two wet towels on the floor?”

“Uh—” Chan coughed, voice way too high. “Double-showered today. Needed to wash… my sins.”

You smacked your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. From inside the tiny linen closet, you could hear Chan scrambling to make his voice sound casual. You pressed your back against shelves full of shampoo bottles and old towels, dripping wet and absolutely mortified.

“Right,” Seungmin said, clearly unconvinced. “Well. Next time you sin, use your own damn body wash.”

Chan forced a weak laugh. “Will do, Minnie.”

Door shuts. Footsteps fade. Silence.

You opened the closet door just a crack. “Did he leave?”

Chan, still towel-clad and soaking wet, looked at you with a tired, exasperated smile.

“Yeah.”

A beat passed.

Then both of you burst out laughing.

The kind of laugh that starts from the chest and doubles you over, because this was now the fourth time you’d gotten interrupted.

“I’m starting to think,” you wheezed, “that the universe is actively against us.”

Chan, still chuckling, walked over, helping you out of the closet. “No. The universe is a twisted little gremlin named Seungmin.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned against him, still damp and warm from the shower. He held you close, kissing the top of your head.

“One day,” he muttered. “One day, we will have sex.”

You nodded solemnly. “And it will be legendary.”

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon.

The dorm was crowded.

Again.

Felix was baking something that may or may not have been edible. I.N was practicing choreography in the living room. Seungmin and Hyunjin were arguing over how to fold laundry. Han was doing whatever Han does — which seemed to be yelling randomly and making noise for no reason. Lee Know kept walking around with a knife for no real purpose. Changbin was asleep on the couch.

Chan sat beside you at the kitchen table, silently watching a single droplet of water slide down your neck. His jaw clenched.

You were in his hoodie. No makeup. Hair messy. And somehow, you still looked like a goddess sent to personally destroy him.

He had tried. He really had.

For weeks now, he’d played the respectful boyfriend card. He’d been patient. Gentle. Sweet. But after the shower incident, after hearing your soft little whimper echo in his mind for three straight days, something inside him had… cracked.

And now, watching you innocently eat strawberries like you weren’t driving him completely insane?

Nope. He was done.

Chan leaned over, speaking low enough that only you could hear.

“You have two minutes to meet me in my room.”

You blinked. “What—”

He stood up, quietly but with purpose, and walked down the hall. No explanation. No hesitation.

You watched him disappear into his room, heart pounding in your chest like a warning bell.

Two minutes later, you followed.

You knocked once.

The door whipped open.

Chan stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark with want. “Get in,” he said simply.

You stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And then? He pounced.

He kissed you like he meant to erase the last three failed attempts — hands on your hips, mouth greedy and warm. He walked you back until your knees hit the bed and pushed you gently down, following you, never breaking contact.

His lips dragged across your jaw to your neck, down to your collarbone, hands sliding under your hoodie—when suddenly—

BANG BANG BANG.

“CHANNIE-HYUNG, LIXIE BURNED THE COOKIES AGAIN—”

Chan. Lost. It.

He slowly turned toward the door, forehead resting against your shoulder, exhaling the longest, most done sigh of his life.

Then he stood.

Stormed out of the room.

You scrambled to sit up, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, peeking out the doorway.

Chan stood in the hallway, soaked in steam and frustration, voice calm — too calm.

“Everyone. Get. Out.”

Seven pairs of eyes stared back.

“Huh?”

“I SAID GET OUT!” he snapped. “Go to the store. Go to the gym. Go to the moon. I don’t care. Just get out of this dorm for two hours or I swear I will uninstall every toilet in this place with my bare hands.”

“…that’s not even physically possible—”

“WANNA TEST ME, HAN?”

Silence.

Then chaos.

Shoes flying. Jackets grabbed. Someone yelling “WE GOTTA GO, HE’S SNAPPING.”

In under 60 seconds, the dorm was empty.

Chan slammed the front door shut and locked it.

Then turned to face you.

The hoodie was off your shoulder. Your lips were kiss-swollen. You looked wrecked already — and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

He stalked toward you with a look that made your knees weak. “Where were we?”

You swallowed. “I think somewhere around—mmph—”

He kissed you hard, hand tangled in your hair, the other sliding up your thigh, pulling you flush against him.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “And I’m done waiting.”

You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed like you weighed nothing, laying you down and crawling over you with all the careful hunger of a man finally unleashed.

“I’m gonna take my time,” he murmured, “and no one’s interrupting us this time. Not Han. Not Felix. Not God himself.”

You grinned, breathless. “So… what are you waiting for?”

Chan's smirk turned downright dangerous. “I’m not.”

And then — finally — he didn’t stop.

[blondechariot]

Heyyyyy! I’ve been looking for saja boys and Im so glad I found you! Your writing is so real. I read the reader biting lip one (delicious😉) and it gave me an idea. I have really chapped lips sometimes and I’ve taken to chewing on them or picking the skin off. Could you do a Saja boys x reader who has those kinds of tendencies? Picking callouses off, picking at skin and lips maybe?

pairing: Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: none really

disclaimer: not my pic!

I'm ALWAYS biting my Lip, it's horrible....need me a Jinu who stops me from doing it hehe

Jinu

You were doing it again.

Teeth sunk slightly into your bottom lip, eyes distant, finger grazing absentmindedly at the skin around your thumb. A bad habit, sure — but not one you could turn off like a switch. Especially not when you were overthinking or stressed. Which, in your defense, happened often when you were dating someone like Jinu.

And of course, the moment you chewed a little harder on your lip, you heard a dramatic sigh echo through the dressing room.

“Really?” came his voice — velvet smooth, lightly exasperated, and annoyingly amused. “Again with the lip chewing?”

You looked up. Jinu was leaning against the wall like he was posing for a photoshoot. One hand in his pocket, the other twirling a silver ring on his finger, eyes locked on you with mock disapproval.

“I’m not even chewing that hard,” you muttered, trying to play it off. “It’s just a habit—”

Jinu crossed the room in two easy steps, bending slightly so his face was level with yours. “And you know what I told you happens when you do that, right?”

Your breath caught. “Nope.”

He tilted his head, lips quirking. “Liar.”

Before you could escape, Jinu cupped your face — fingers warm, his touch featherlight — and kissed you. Firmly. Right on the lips you were just chewing. Not sweet. Not soft. Playful. A little showy. He even made a ridiculous "mwah" sound at the end for dramatic flair.

You blinked. “What was that?”

“Kiss therapy,” he declared, backing away like he deserved a trophy. “Every time you chew, I kiss. Doctor’s orders.”

You snorted. “You’re not a doctor.”

“I could be,” he said, straightening his collar. “I’m very good with my hands.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

Unfortunately, you did.

Later that night, you sat curled up on the couch watching a horror movie while Jinu scrolled on his phone beside you. You didn’t realize you were picking at the skin on your arm until you felt him suddenly grab your wrist.

“Oh-ho,” he said, eyebrows raised, “I see someone’s breaking the rules again.”

You panicked. “Wait, I wasn’t—!”

But Jinu was already climbing halfway into your lap like a smug cat, gently pushing your hand away and peppering a series of obnoxiously loud kisses all over your face — your temple, your cheek, the tip of your nose. Anywhere except your lips.

“Stop!” you laughed, squirming. “That’s not fair!”

“You picked at your skin,” he said matter-of-factly, planting one last kiss on your forehead. “That’s double penalty.”

“You’re making this up as you go.”

“That’s literally the definition of love. Making up rules to be annoyingly close to someone cute.”

You gave him a look. “So your big strategy is to smother me with affection until I stop chewing my lip and picking my skin?”

“Exactly,” Jinu said, smug as ever. “Because unlike your bad habits, I am a good habit.”

“…That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re welcome.”

From that day on, the habit didn’t exactly disappear — but Jinu definitely made you hyper-aware of it.

Chew your lip while waiting for coffee? Instant kiss ambush.

Pick at your skin during rehearsal? Suddenly Jinu’s cupping your face like you're in the final act of a drama and smooching your cheek like a lunatic while the others groan in the background.

“Bro, get a room!” Abby shouted once during practice.

“We have a room,” Jinu said proudly, nuzzling your jaw. “It’s called everywhere she chews her lip.”

You could only groan, pushing him off — even as your heart did that stupid fluttering thing.

Because no matter how annoying he was…

It worked.

And honestly?

You kinda didn’t mind being kissed into better habits.

Abby

It started during an intense strategy meeting.

You weren’t really needed in it — the demon-fighting logistics were Abby’s thing — but you were sitting nearby, watching as he pointed to various diagrams on a tablet like an angry CEO who hadn’t had his coffee.

And you were doing it again.

Chewing your bottom lip. Picking the side of your thumb like it had personally wronged you. Completely unaware — until Abby’s voice cut sharp across the room:

“Hey. Mouth.”

You startled so hard you nearly swallowed your tongue.

“What?” you blinked.

“You chewed your lip. Again.” He didn’t even look up. Just waved a dismissive hand like he was scolding a cat off the table. “I told you. You do that, I have to intervene.”

You squinted. “You told me?”

“Oh, I absolutely told you,” Abby replied coolly, finally turning to face you with an infuriating little smirk. “You forget our new rule?”

“What rule?”

Abby stood up — slow, deliberate, like he was planning to either flirt with you or fight you — and walked toward your chair. He crouched right in front of you and tapped your lip with his finger.

“You chew,” he said with mock-seriousness, “I kiss.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

And then, without waiting for permission, Abby leaned in and pressed a ridiculously dramatic kiss to your lips. Not even romantic — just obnoxious. Like he was daring you to try chewing them again.

You stared at him.

He patted your head. “Fixed.”

“I hate you.”

“Liar. You’re obsessed with me.”

You thought it would stop there.

It didn’t.

Later that week, you were both in the practice room — you sitting on the floor, him stretching with a towel around his neck, shirt clinging to his skin from sweat.

You thought he wasn’t paying attention. You were wrong.

Because the second your fingers grazed a healing spot on your forearm and you started absentmindedly picking—

“Y/N.”

You froze.

You turned, slow. “...Yeah?”

Abby was already walking over.

“No, no, no, don’t—!” you tried to scurry away, but he lunged like a cat pouncing on a sock.

In seconds, he had you pinned down on the floor, hovering over you with the smuggest expression known to man.

“You wanna keep picking,” he whispered dramatically, “or you wanna keep breathing?”

“ABBY.”

And then he started attacking your face with kisses.

Not gentle, sweet ones. No. These were rapid-fire, silly little mwah mwah mwah smooches all over your cheeks, your chin, your forehead.

You screeched like a cartoon character. “GET OFF ME—”

He paused only to grin and say, “This is your fault, by the way. I told you I was aggressive with affection.”

“THIS ISN’T AFFECTION, THIS IS WARFARE!”

Abby finally got off you, chest rising with laughter, wiping pretend sweat off his brow. “Honestly, you’re lucky I’m so hot. Other people would pay for this kind of behavior.”

After that, it became a weird running joke.

You’d chew your lip during a quiet moment? Abby would suddenly grab your face, squint at you, and ask, “You wanna do this the easy way, or the smooch way?”

You’d pick at your skin in public? He’d tackle you with a “NOPE!” and declare, “EMERGENCY FACE ATTACK IN PROGRESS!”

The others got so used to it, they didn’t even flinch anymore.

“Ignore them,” Mystery muttered once as Abby noisily kissed your cheek during dinner. “It’s how they flirt.”

“They bicker like gremlins,” Baby added.

“They’re soulmates,” Romance concluded, sipping his tea. “Disgusting.”

You rolled your eyes.

But secretly? You kind of loved it.

Because only Abby could turn a bad habit into a running joke, a battle of wills, and a game of spontaneous affection.

And maybe, just maybe… you started picking less.

Not because it hurt.

But because you never knew when Abby would strike again.

And part of you didn’t want to miss it.

Mystery

With the others, your bad habit was obvious — you’d chew your lip, or pick at the skin on your arms, and someone like Abby would immediately pounce on you with dramatic chaos and unsolicited kisses.

Mystery?

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look like he noticed.

Which was somehow worse.

Because he definitely noticed.

You’d be sitting across from him, pretending to focus on something — your book, your nails, the coffee in your hand — and just as your fingers brushed your skin, just as your teeth grazed your bottom lip—

“Don’t.”

You’d flinch like you’d been caught trying to steal from a library.

“How do you do that?” you hissed.

Mystery didn’t answer. He just raised one brow and kept sipping his drink like he hadn’t just read your thoughts in real time.

It escalated.

One day, the group was hanging out in their shared apartment, sprawled across the couch watching a movie. You were curled up next to Mystery, his arm draped loosely around your shoulder, thumb absentmindedly tracing your collarbone. You were comfortable. Too comfortable.

Which meant… the habits started.

You didn’t even realize you were doing it — chewing your lip softly, lightly scratching at your arm, fidgeting with a hangnail.

Then you felt Mystery shift.

You barely had time to turn before he leaned over and planted a single kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Slow. Deliberate. Soft.

You blinked.

“What was that for?”

“You were chewing again.”

“I was barely—!”

Another kiss. This time on your cheek.

“Picking.”

“You’re just making things up now.”

“Nope.”

“...Are you using my habits as an excuse to kiss me?”

Mystery looked you dead in the eye. “Obviously.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I knew it.”

He shrugged. “You want me to stop?”

You didn’t answer.

Because no, you didn’t want him to stop.

After that, the game began.

You’d test him — sitting beside him and purposefully biting your lip in slow motion, making intense eye contact like you were challenging a wild animal.

He’d calmly put his book down, close it without breaking eye contact, and tilt his head.

“Really?”

You nodded once. Confident.

He’d lean in and kiss you so gently it felt criminal, then immediately return to reading like nothing happened.

“You’re unreal,” you muttered.

“I’m Mystery,” he said simply, flipping the page.

But the funniest part?

The man had kissing radar.

One time, you were across the room, chatting with Abby, and you caught yourself lightly picking at the side of your hand.

From the corner of your eye — bam — Mystery stood.

Abby blinked. “Where’s he going?”

Mystery was already halfway to you.

You backed up, laughing nervously. “Okay, wait, I wasn’t doing it that bad—!”

He was already there. One kiss on the forehead. One on your nose. One on your mouth, quick, like a punctuation mark.

And then he walked away. No explanation.

Abby stood there, stunned. “...Did I just witness a hit-and-run?”

Eventually, you started getting really flustered by how sneaky he was.

“You have like... sixth sense for when I mess with my skin,” you complained once, poking his chest as he leaned against the wall beside you.

Mystery grinned — subtle but evil.

“I don’t need a sixth sense,” he replied softly. “I’m just obsessed with your face.”

“...You are dangerous.”

“Only if you’re chewing again.”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

He kissed the top of your head.

"Safe zone," he whispered.

And truthfully?

You didn’t stop picking. Not completely.

But every time you did, and Mystery caught you with that signature soft smirk and a gentle kiss somewhere unexpected, it was like being reminded — not scolded, not corrected — just seen.

And for once, that made you feel safe enough to break the habit.

One kiss at a time.

Romance

You had to mentally prepare yourself for this one.

Because the moment Romance found out about your little habit — the lip chewing, the skin picking — he reacted like you had stabbed him in the heart with a decorative dagger from a Renaissance fair.

“Y/N!” he gasped one morning, clutching his chest like a scandalized nobleman. “What is this—this self-inflicted suffering?! This assault upon your perfect vessel?!”

You blinked. “I was literally just chewing my lip.”

“Your divine lip,” he corrected, grabbing your hand like he was about to propose. “The one I worship. The one I dream about.”

You tried to pull away.

He held on tighter.

“I cannot stand idly by,” he declared dramatically, “while you mutilate yourself.”

“Mutilate?” you echoed. “You’re being insane—”

“And you’re being reckless with the artwork that is your body!”

“Romance, I swear to God—”

And then he kissed you.

But not like others did — not a teasing peck or quick lip-grab.

No, Romance kissed you like he was starring in the final act of a period drama. Slow. Passionate. Tragic. Like he was afraid you’d vanish into mist at any second. His hand cupped your jaw like it was glass. His thumb grazed your cheek like you were a sacred relic.

When he finally pulled away, his voice was low and tortured.

“You chew that lip again, and I will be forced to do that every time.”

You blinked, dazed. “...Wait, was that a punishment or a reward?”

He grinned wickedly. “Both.”

From that moment on, it was hell.

Because Romance went all in.

You picked at your skin? He’d drop to one knee, kiss your hand gently, and say, “How dare you harm the skin I long to touch?”

You chewed your lip? He’d grab your face like a Disney prince and plant a soul-wrenching kiss on your mouth while whispering, “Save those lips for me, my heart.”

In the middle of anything.

You once did it during a group debrief after a performance, and Romance cut off Jinu mid-sentence by dramatically grabbing you and kissing you like the world was ending.

“Did he just—” Jinu blinked.

“Don’t ask,” Abby sighed.

“Just let them finish,” Mystery muttered.

At one point, you tried hiding it. Being extra careful. Staying aware of your fingers and your lips and your anxious little habits.

Romance noticed anyway.

“You haven’t chewed your lip all day,” he said, voice laced with suspicion. “Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re being... restrained.”

“I’m fine, I’m just—”

He leaned close. “You miss it, don’t you?”

You stared. “Miss what?”

“The kisses.”

You shoved him. “Shut up!”

He caught your hands. “Admit it.”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

“You crave me.”

“I crave peace.”

“And I crave you. So I will win.”

Then he kissed you anyway. Just because.

Eventually, he added a journal to the mix.

Yes. A journal.

Each time he caught you picking or chewing, he would write it down with a quill pen (where did he even get that?) and say things like:

August 2nd, 2:47 p.m. My beloved injured the corner of her thumb today. It broke my soul, but I bore the pain and kissed it better. She smelled like cinnamon and defiance.

You threw it across the room.

He picked it up and kissed it.

But the worst part?

It started working.

Every time your hand twitched toward a patch of skin, or your lip ended up between your teeth, you paused.

Because you knew.

You knew Romance would come swanning in from the hallway like a poetic hurricane and monologue about beauty and tragedy before kissing you like a man on the brink of death.

And even though you pretended to hate it...

You kinda loved it.

Even if it meant enduring sonnets and surprise make-outs in grocery store aisles.

Because when it came from Romance, even your bad habits became a stage for the most ridiculous, extra, and oddly sweet form of love you’d ever known.

Baby

You were fidgeting again.

Nothing serious — just chewing your lip a little while watching the team review combat footage. It was a quiet, focused moment.

Until you heard the very distinct, very dramatic inhale from the couch beside you.

You turned, knowing exactly what was coming.

“NOOOOPE.” Baby launched forward like a missile. “Not on my watch!”

Before you could protest, he tackled you into the cushions, hands gently squishing your cheeks together like you were a stress ball.

“Why are you like this,” you mumbled through squished lips.

“You were chewing your lip!” he cried. “Which means you’re stressed! Which means I gotta act FAST!”

“Baby, this is not what acting fast looks li—mmph!”

Too late. He kissed your cheek.

Then the other one.

Then the tip of your nose.

All while muttering: “Boop. Boop. Boop. Kiss attack initiated.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I’m adorable.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m your support system.”

You tried to wiggle away.

He followed you across the entire couch like an affectionate golden retriever on a mission from heaven.

Later, in the kitchen, it happened again.

You were waiting for tea to boil, leaning on the counter, chewing your lip and absentmindedly picking at the skin on your knuckle. Baby came in, saw you, and let out the loudest, most offended gasp known to man.

“MA’AM?!”

You jumped so hard you dropped the spoon.

“You’re picking again!” he pointed an accusing finger. “You know what that means.”

You backed up. “No.”

He advanced. “Yes.”

“Baby—”

“KISS ATTACK!” he shouted, then ran over and kissed your face like a toddler who’d been given espresso.

One on your temple. Your jaw. Your forehead. The back of your hand. Your shoulder. The air near your mouth, just to be annoying.

“I’m gonna LOVE that habit right outta you,” he announced triumphantly.

“You can’t just kiss things better like a cartoon character—”

“Wanna bet?!”

And the worst part?

He meant it.

Every time he caught you, he’d swoop in with open arms like, “Oh nooooo! Bad habit alert!” and cover you in kisses before spinning you around in a hug.

The others were exhausted.

“You’re encouraging her,” Abby groaned.

“She deserves encouragement,” Baby said proudly, carrying you piggyback around the training room. “She’s trying her best.”

“By picking her skin off?” Kai muttered.

“BY EXISTING IN A STRESSFUL WORLD,” Baby snapped, holding you tighter like you were a princess in danger.

You once asked him if he was ever going to not kiss you every time you chewed your lip.

He looked genuinely hurt.

“...Why wouldn’t I?” he said softly.

You blinked. “Well, I mean… it’s not that big a deal.”

“But it means you’re anxious,” he said, fiddling with your fingers. “And when you’re anxious, I wanna remind you that you’re loved. That you’re safe. That I got you.”

You melted instantly.

So of course, when you started tearing up at his words, your lip trembled… and you bit it.

Baby noticed instantly.

He squinted. “Oh my GOD are you baiting me right now?!”

“No—!”

He tackled you in a pillow avalanche and kissed your forehead so hard it made a thump sound.

“I knew it. You LIKE IT. You’re ADDICTED TO LOVE-KISSES.”

“Okay, calm down, Huey Lewis.”

“I WILL NEVER CALM DOWN, I’M TOO IN LOVE.”

You didn’t stop chewing your lip or picking at your skin completely.

But you didn’t need to.

Because with Baby, the kisses weren’t about control or correction.

They were about joy.

About reminding you — in the most chaotic, affectionate, giggly way possible — that someone saw you.

That someone cared enough to chase you around the room like a cartoon hero just to kiss the worry away.

And honestly?

You let him.

Every time.