blondechariot

[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.

[blondechariot]

🎀

[blondechariot]

Can I request headcanons for poly Saja Boys reacting to his female s/o, who always thank them even for something as simple as passing her the keys & always offer to help unless she's too busy, will be surprised when any of them or all of them do the same because she's used to having to help because it's the least she's expected to do & all of her efforts without hearing a word of thanks too please? Sorry for this request because I had a bad day 😔

pairing: poly! Saja Boys x reader

warnings: Self-worth issues, Emotional trauma, Crying

disclaimer: not my pics!

oh no :( I hope you feel better...here i give you a big hug from Mingoo (he is my ultimate Bias) so you can smile!

Your apartment smells faintly of ginger tea, fresh rice, and bandages. You’re moving on autopilot — slippers scuffing across the floor as you arrange bowls on the low table, folding clean towels, brewing another pot of tea.

They’ll be back soon. You’ve already checked the clock six times. Every time you glance at the door, your stomach coils with a mix of dread and anticipation. What if one of them is hurt? What if someone—

Click.

The door opens.

You freeze in the middle of the room, hands still holding a folded towel, your heart leaping up into your throat.

They stumble in — a little bloody, a little bruised, but breathing. Alive.

And somehow, that’s all it takes for your eyes to sting with relief.

“Hey, angel,” Jinu says, flashing you a tired grin as he kicks off his boots. He’s got a scratch on his cheek and dried blood down his arm. “Told you we’d come back.”

“I made soup,” you say quickly, voice tight. “And tea. And—”

“You didn’t have to do all that,” Abby says gently, brushing ash from his hoodie. His fingers are scraped, his knuckles red.

“I wanted to.”

You don’t say it like it’s a sweet gesture. You say it like a duty. A ritual. Like something you have to do to prove your worth.

The boys settle into the living room as you start fussing over them — disinfecting cuts, bringing food, picking bits of demon ash out of their hair. Baby sneezes and you’re already there with tissues. Mystery hides a limp, but you make him sit so you can check his ankle anyway.

They don’t argue. They just watch you.

Watch the way your hands tremble when you think no one’s looking. Watch how you flinch slightly every time someone raises their voice — even if it’s just out of excitement. Watch how you say “I’m fine” every time someone asks about you.

Romance gently catches your wrist as you pour him tea.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Have you eaten?”

You blink at him. “I— it doesn’t matter. You need food more.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His voice is quiet, steady, kind.

That makes it worse.

You try to tug your hand away. “I’ll eat later.”

“No, you won’t,” Mystery says calmly. “You say that every time.”

You freeze.

The room is too quiet. You suddenly feel watched — not in a bad way, not judgmental — but in a way that makes your throat close up. Like you’ve been caught carrying too much for too long, and they’re only just realizing it.

“____,” Abby says, his tone softer than usual. “Why do you take care of everyone but yourself?”

You’re not sure what to say. The answer feels too raw. Too ugly.

Because if you don’t, people leave. Because if you’re not useful, you’re disposable. Because in the past, your love was something people used up.

You shift uncomfortably. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“No,” Baby says firmly, tugging on your sleeve. “Not anyone. Not everyone would take care of five injured demon boys without asking for anything back. Not everyone would give this much.”

“I don’t mind—”

“We mind,” Jinu interrupts, his voice unusually serious. “You’re running yourself ragged for us. And we love you for how much you give, but we’re not going to stand by and let you burn out.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out choked. “I’m fine. Really. I just— I don’t want to be a burden.”

That’s when something cracks.

In you.

In them.

“A burden?” Romance echoes, eyes narrowing with disbelief. “You think we see you as a burden?”

You swallow hard, voice barely a whisper. “I’ve always been too much. Or not enough. I’m used to giving everything and still being left behind.”

Silence.

Then, without another word, Mystery stands up and walks over to you. He doesn’t say anything. Just gently presses his forehead against yours and cups your face like you might fall apart.

“You’re not too much. And you’re not alone anymore.”

The others rise one by one — forming a soft, protective circle around you.

Jinu wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let us love you back, sweetheart.”

Baby climbs into your lap like a cat and rests his head against your chest. “Let us take care of you.”

Abby strokes your hair with slow, reverent fingers. “You don’t have to earn our love. You already have it.”

Romance kisses the top of your head, murmuring, “You’ve spent so long giving. Let yourself receive.”

The tears come before you can stop them. Hot, humiliating, unexpected.

You press your face into Baby’s hair, shaking. “I don’t know how to let people take care of me.”

“That’s okay,” Mystery whispers. “We’ll show you.”

And they do.

That night, they tuck you into bed — your bed — and curl around you in a warm cocoon of limbs, voices, and soft kisses.

Jinu feeds you spoonfuls of your own soup, telling you it tastes better because you made it with love.

Romance brushes your fingers with his, tracing soft patterns into your palm until you drift off.

Abby whispers little affirmations into your ear — things like “You’re not replaceable” and “You’re safe now.”

Mystery lays his hand over your heart, grounding you.

Baby stays curled against your chest, quietly humming lullabies into your collarbone.

And when you wake up the next morning, blurry-eyed and overwhelmed, you find a breakfast tray at your side, your tea just the way you like it, and a note scribbled in Jinu’s handwriting:

“Your turn now. 💜 We’ve got you. – All five of us.”

[blondechariot]

hello!! may i request another poly sajaboys x flirty! fem reader , but with a different scenario ? i was thinking sajaboys meeting reader in the gym or any public place hehe with ofc a little spice ?

pairing: Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: Heavy Flirtation, Fearless Female Reader, Attitude, Power Play

disclaimer: not my pic!

The stage lights flicker off, and the crowd's roar slowly fades into the buzz of excited conversations and selfie flashes. The Saja Boys are off-stage now — breathless, buzzing with adrenaline, and still high from the wave of cheers.

Jinu is toweling off the sweat from his neck. Romance is already checking social media. Baby is grinning like he just personally cured world hunger. Mystery is leaning on the barricade, watching people disperse. Abby looks like he’s trying not to smile but failing.

Jinu (smirking): “That was solid. The crowd ate it up.”

Romance (showing his phone): “We’re already trending. ‘Saja Boys serve soda pop and sex appeal.’”

Baby: “That’s not even our hottest song. Imagine when we drop ‘Midnight Fever (I just made this up)’.”

Mystery (quietly): “Wait. Look.”

He nods toward the edge of the crowd.

And sure enough — there you are.

Standing with your arms crossed and a cup of something iced in your hand, you’re wearing a crooked little smile and leaning lazily against a lamp post. You're out of uniform, dressed down in loose jeans and a fitted top, but unmistakably you.

And the second your eyes meet theirs, you give a slow, unimpressed clap.

You (raising a brow): “Cute choreography. Very... bubbly.”

Jinu (walking over, full confidence): “You came to see us. Didn’t think you were the fangirl type.”

You (deadpan): “I’m not.”

The others fall in behind him, forming a half-circle around you like a very attractive, mildly offended pack of puppies.

Baby: “Wait, seriously? You didn’t like it?”

You (shrugging, nonchalant): “It was fine. But I’m not really into pop music.”

That lands like a slap. A soft, glitter-scented slap.

Abby (blinking): “…You’re joking.”

Romance (frowns): “Do you have taste buds? For music, I mean.”

You (sipping your drink): “I mean, you guys look good. I’ll give you that. But all that sugar-sweet, high-energy jumping around?” You wrinkle your nose. “Not really my vibe.”

Mystery (narrowing his eyes): “Then what is your vibe?”

Jinu (folding his arms, intrigued): “Yeah. If we don’t do it for you… what does?”

You smirk.

And then you step in just a little closer — just enough to make Baby’s ears go pink and Jinu tilt his chin in curiosity. You let your gaze flick across them all slowly, deliberately, and you speak with a teasing lilt.

You: “I’m into something a little more… rough.”

The word hangs in the air.

Rough.

Romance raises a brow. Jinu blinks. Mystery looks you up and down like he’s trying to decode an ancient rune.

Baby (slowly): “…Like rock music?”

You (grinning): “Among other things.”

Abby (coughs, clearly flustered): “Define ‘rough.’”

You don’t answer. You just give him a lazy smile and lean back against the post, sipping your drink like you didn’t just flip their whole world upside down.

You: “You boys are used to people melting for the glitter and gloss, huh?”

Jinu (smirking, recovering): “Usually.”

You: “Too bad. I like my music like I like my men — loud, dark, and a little dangerous.”

Mystery (to himself, quietly): “She might kill us.”

Romance (stepping closer): “That’s funny. You look like the sweet type.”

You (tilting your head): “I am sweet. Just not soda pop sweet. More like… spicy cinnamon. Burn-your-tongue kind.”

Now it’s silent.

You don't move.

Instead of walking away, you take one final sip of your drink — eyes locked on them over the rim of your cup — and then slowly push off the lamppost, taking your time like you own the sidewalk. The boys are still processing your "rough" comment like it was a dagger wrapped in silk.

You (smirking): “What? You thought I’d just walk off and let you recover your pride?”

Baby (blinking fast): “I… yeah, actually.”

You: “Aw. That’s adorable.”

You step closer, right into their personal space, arms casually crossed, but your voice low and deliberate.

You: “So what was the plan, exactly? Charm the random barista into giggling over your glitter jackets and bubblegum choreography? Cute. But next time, try someone easier.”

Romance (bristling slightly): “We don’t do easy.”

You (grinning): “Oh? Then why do you all look like I just kicked your confidence in the shins?”

There’s a pause. You’re enjoying this. Watching the famous Saja Boys — Seoul’s hottest idols, dripping in swagger and stage lights — stumble just a little under the weight of your stare.

Jinu (recovering, licking his lips): “Okay, hotshot. Since you’ve got such taste, tell us what you’d rather see.”

You (cocking a brow): “You really wanna know?”

They all nod, curious, challenged, slightly desperate for your approval — not that they’d admit it.

You (slow drawl): “I wanna see sweat. Scratches on guitars. Vocals that growl, not twinkle. I want hips that grind, not skip. You get me?”

You glance at Jinu, who’s still trying to smirk through the sudden shift in temperature.

You (teasing): “You’d look good all messed up. Bet you clean up too well on stage.”

Jinu (quiet, a little breathless): “You’re dangerous.”

You: “Takes one to know one, pretty boy.”

Then you turn to Mystery, whose eyes haven’t left you once.

You: “You, though… you’ve got something in there. Bet if you stopped hiding behind the hoodie, you could probably break hearts.”

Mystery (voice low): “I don’t break hearts. I collect them.”

You (deadpan): “That would’ve sounded hotter if you didn’t whisper it like a villain monologue.”

Baby is watching you like you’re made of fire and chaos and everything he wasn’t warned about in idol training.

Baby (softly): “You’re like… totally unfiltered, huh?”

You (with a wink): “Babe, I’m barely getting started.”

Abby (to the others): “She’s either going to ruin us… or be our creative director.”

Romance (muttering): “Ruin us. Definitely ruin us.”

You move toward them again, just a step, just enough to feel the way they instinctively straighten up.

You (sweet and syrupy): “Tell you what — I’ll give your little 'Soda Pop' some credit. You’ve got moves. Charisma. Stage presence.”

You pause, letting your eyes travel down then back up with no shame whatsoever.

You: “And you’ve got legs. Dangerous ones. I’m not blind.”

They all perk up slightly — finally, a compliment.

You (leaning in, voice like velvet): “But charm? Real, gritty, blood-pumping charm? That’s not in the hair gel or the choreo. That’s in the eyes. In the bite.”

You look at Jinu, then Romance, then Mystery again.

You: “Think you boys can show me that sometime? Or is it all stage lights and marketing?”

Jinu (steadier now, smile sharp): “We can show you. All of it.”

Romance (cocky again): “Might have to book a private performance.”

You: “Careful. I don’t tip unless it’s good.”

They all go very quiet.

And that’s when you finally pull back just a little, letting the tension breathe, but your smirk doesn’t fade for a second.

You: “Let me know when you’re ready to get a little dirty. I’ll be around.”

Baby (barely whispering): “We are not ready.”

Abby (equally stunned): “But we want to be.”

[blondechariot]

Can I request nsfw headcanons for poly Saja Boys reacting to their female s/o accidentally turning all of them on except she's completely oblivious because she's not doing anything suggestive let alone sexual please? She's both confused and flattered when she finally knows about it!

pairing: poly!Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: Polyamory, light NSFW, Voyeuristic Tension, Praise Kink,

disclaimer: not my pic!

The afternoon sun spills through the windows, casting warm light across the apartment floor. A mellow jazz track plays in the background — something lo-fi and cozy, perfect for a lazy day at home.

You’re wiping down the kitchen counter, humming to yourself, a little flour still smudged on your cheek from the muffins you baked earlier. Your hair’s pulled up in a messy bun. You’re wearing an oversized shirt — you think it’s Jinu’s, judging by the subtle cologne clinging to the collar — and biker shorts. No makeup. No effort. Just comfort.

You stretch on your toes to reach the top shelf, swaying a little to the music, totally unaware of the silent audience gathering behind you.

Behind you, five pairs of eyes are locked on every casual move you make.

Jinu leans against the doorway with his arms crossed, a toothpick hanging forgotten from his lips. “...Is it just me,” he murmurs under his breath, “or is she actually killing me right now?”

Abby doesn’t even blink. “Nope. This is a public execution.”

You keep moving, blissfully unaware, humming along with the song as you grab the trash bag and double-knot it. You tug your shirt back down absentmindedly when it slips off your shoulder.

Mystery shifts ever so slightly, perched on the couch arm like a shadow, his gaze sharp. You bite your lip in thought while trying to remember where you put the dish towels.

Romance exhales through his nose like he just got hit by a freight train. “It’s the damn shirt,” he mutters. “Off her shoulder. The way it falls like that. She doesn’t even know.”

Baby whispers, “She just folded my hoodie and hugged it. I’m ascending.”

You start folding the laundry. One of the hoodies — Romance’s — still smells faintly like him. You hold it to your chest for a second, smiling to yourself before folding it neatly. You’re still swaying gently to the music, completely lost in your own world.

You don’t see it, but all five of them go still. Not one of them breathes.

Abby speaks like it’s a prayer: “I would die for her.”

Jinu smirks, eyes never leaving you. “We might have to fight for her.”

Mystery’s voice is low, steady. “No need. She’s already ours. She just has no idea what she’s doing right now.”

You turn around, laundry basket in hand, and freeze. All five of them are just... staring. Watching you like you're art. Or dinner. Or both.

“…What?” you ask, blinking. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Silence.

Then Baby breaks into a grin. “Because you just summoned five demons and didn’t even realize it.”

Romance groans into his hands. “You have no idea how much self-control I’m using right now.”

You raise a brow. “I’m literally folding your laundry.”

Jinu, in his usual deadpan, just nods. “Yeah. And now I need a cold shower.”

Mystery says nothing. But his eyes — those dark, calculating eyes — are burning into you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

You stare at them for a beat, then blink — once, twice — and suddenly it clicks. Their gazes. The flushed faces. The way Baby is literally holding a cushion over his lap like his life depends on it.

You burst out laughing. “Seriously? That’s all it takes to get you horny?”

Five very different reactions happen at once.

Romance grins like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What can I say? Domestic goddess mode does things to us.”

Abby raises a brow. “You were humming, babe. Humming. We didn’t stand a chance.”

Jinu smirks, tilting his head. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re hot. Own it.”

Mystery just shrugs with an unreadable look. “The shirt helped.”

Baby grins devilishly. “You hugged my hoodie. That was practically foreplay.”

You let out another snort of disbelief, tossing a towel into the laundry basket. “Wow. All this time I thought I had to wear lingerie or whisper dirty things in your ears. Turns out I just need to fold your socks.”

You place the basket down and walk toward them slowly, an exaggerated sway in your hips just to mess with them. “So... you’re saying if I grab a broom and do a little spin—” you twirl playfully, “—you might explode?”

Romance clutches his chest. “Please. You’re gonna kill me.”

Jinu watches your every step like a predator, but he’s grinning. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep teasing us like that, and someone’s gonna forget how to play nice.”

You raise a brow. “Is that a promise?”

You lean against the arm of the couch where Mystery is sitting, gaze flicking between them all. “Five powerful demons, absolutely wrecked by me doing chores. This is so going in my journal.”

Baby groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re evil.”

“I’m evil?” You laugh again, then lean in closer. “You’ve all been undressing me with your eyes for ten minutes straight.”

Abby grins. “Not undressing. Worshipping.”

“Sure,” you say sweetly, “but your hands were twitching.”

Then everything stills. You feel it — that shift in the air. The banter lingers, but now there’s something darker beneath it. A thrum of want.

Mystery is the first to move.

Silent and precise, he stands up from the couch, facing you. His eyes roam over you once more, but slower this time — not hungry, not frantic, just... devouring. With intention.

He steps closer. One step. Then another.

You don’t move. You barely breathe.

His hand comes up — not rough, not rushed — and he brushes his thumb over the flour smudge still on your cheek. His voice is low, deliberate.

“You think it’s funny, how you affect us?” he murmurs. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

Your pulse skips. “Maybe I do now.”

The corner of his mouth lifts.

The other boys are silent, watching. Waiting.

Then Mystery’s other hand curls around your waist and pulls you flush against him — firm, controlled, and slow. His breath brushes your ear as he whispers,

“Then maybe it’s time we show you.”

Mystery’s fingers tighten slightly at your waist, and the air stills. His gaze never leaves yours. You can feel every breath he takes, the heat between you simmering like it’s about to boil over.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “You’ve been playing with fire.”

His lips graze your cheek — not quite a kiss, not yet — just enough to make you shiver. “Let’s see if you can handle the heat.”

Before you can respond, his mouth finds yours — firm and controlled, like he’s been waiting for this. His hand presses to the small of your back, holding you in place while he kisses you deeper, slower, until your knees threaten to give out.

And then you feel it — a different presence behind you.

Jinu.

He chuckles low against your neck, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt, his palms rough from swordwork but warm. “Guess the teasing phase is over, huh?”

Jinu presses a kiss to your shoulder, his teeth dragging ever so slightly over your skin. “You should’ve seen yourself. Folding socks like a damn goddess. Do you know what that does to a man?”

Behind him, Romance speaks up, voice laced with amusement and hunger. “I told you we’d break first. I just didn’t think it’d be Mystery.”

“You were five seconds away from losing it,” Abby teases, already approaching. “Don’t pretend you had control.”

You gasp as Baby suddenly appears in front of you, tugging your shirt just enough to peek at your bare shoulder, his eyes wide and gleaming with mischief. “You’re so pretty when you’re confused. But even prettier like this — all red and flustered and surrounded.”

Romance slides in behind Mystery, hands finding your hips. “This is what you wanted, right? You kept pushing and pushing…”

You don’t get a chance to answer. Not when Mystery captures your mouth again, and Jinu’s hands are exploring under your shirt, slow and reverent, fingers brushing skin like it’s holy.

Not when five different touches map your body at once.

Your shirt is the first thing to go. Jinu pulls it off slowly, deliberately, kissing the newly exposed skin of your back as he goes. You feel their breath hitch when they see you — not because you’re trying to be sexy, but because you’re just you.

No posing. No act.

Just flushed skin, soft gasps, trembling anticipation.

And they devour it.

Abby steps close and tilts your chin toward him. “You were teasing us,” he murmurs, “but you forgot what we do to people we worship.”

Then he kisses you — not rushed, not rough, just deep and endless — and as he does, Baby drops to his knees in front of you.

He presses kisses along your inner thighs, just above your shorts, looking up at you with heat. “You okay, baby?” he whispers. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “No—just... overwhelmed.”

He smiles. “Good.”

You don’t know who removes your shorts. One of them does — probably Romance, judging by the teasing glide of his fingers afterward. He’s always been a little dangerous with his affection.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs behind you, mouth brushing your ear. “You like being the center of all this, don’t you?”

You do. God, you do.

Mystery backs off for a moment, just enough to watch. His eyes are molten, lips parted slightly as he takes you in — hair messy, lips kiss-swollen, body trembling under all their hands.

He mutters something in Korean under his breath. A curse. A prayer.

Then he reaches forward, lifts you by the thighs, and carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing. You let out a little gasp as your back hits the cushions.

They're all on you within seconds.

Their mouths. Their hands. Their voices.

Jinu's lips at your neck. Abby’s breath in your ear. Baby’s hand between your thighs, fingers teasing but not entering. Romance tracing circles along your ribs with his tongue. Mystery... just watching, stroking your hair back, whispering how beautiful you look like this.

“Tell us what you want,” Abby murmurs. “Tell us how to touch you.”

You arch into them, mouth falling open, hips already moving on instinct.

“I want—” your voice catches, breathless. “I want all of you.”

That’s all it takes.

Clothes come off.

Kisses get deeper.

Fingers slip inside.

And somewhere in the chaos — moaning, begging, worship — you realize: it’s not just lust. Not just heat.

It’s love.

Raw and overwhelming and devoted.

Five demons, completely and hopelessly obsessed with you.

[blondechariot]

Can I request poly Saja Boys with a female s/o who has just turned into a demon?

Hoping this to be a more of a positive thing instead of angst/hurt, but ofc understand if some of that is unavoidable

Make as spicy as you want \o/

pairing: poly! Saja Boys x demon!reader

warnings: NSFW, Group Sex, Soft Dom, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Emotional Intimacy, Affectionate Sex

disclaimer: not my pic!

The silence in the dorm was heavy, disturbed only by the faint humming of the bathroom light above you. Steam clung to the mirror’s surface, curling around the sharp new edges of your reflection. You reached up slowly, hands trembling as they brushed over your now glowing collarbones, tracing the faint veins of power etched into your skin like silver fire.

Your eyes… No longer fully human. There was a red shimmer underneath your natural color — something deep, predatory, glowing from within.

Your breath caught. It wasn’t just your eyes. Your body felt different. Your pulse thrummed louder, skin hypersensitive, every nerve on edge. Even the air brushing your bare shoulders felt like a thousand whispers all at once. And your body... it was warmer. Wilder. Hungry.

The transformation had been sudden. Violent. And now, alone in the bathroom, you stood in a loose black tank top and shorts, staring at the unfamiliar girl in the mirror.

You whispered, barely audible. “Is this still me?”

There was a quiet knock.

“Hey… can we come in?” It was Romance, voice as soft as velvet.

You didn’t respond, but the door creaked open anyway. One by one, they entered — Jinu, Abby, Baby, Mystery, and Romance — each of them different, powerful, beautiful… demons themselves.

They didn’t flinch when they saw you. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t look away.

Jinu stepped forward first, his tall frame reflected behind yours in the mirror. “You don’t have to hide from us,” he murmured, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “We see you.”

Baby was next, moving quietly to your other side, resting his chin on your other shoulder like he always did when you were sad. “You’re still you,” he said softly. “Just… upgraded.”

You let out a breathy laugh that turned into a sob. “I feel like a monster.”

Abby stepped in behind you and met your eyes in the mirror. “You look like a goddess.”

Your cheeks burned. The way they were looking at you — like you were glowing — it was overwhelming in a different way.

Mystery leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed lazily, but his gaze was intense. “You’re beautiful,” he said, voice deep and calm. “Powerful. Don’t confuse change with losing yourself.”

You shook your head. “But I don’t feel like me. I don’t even recognize my own body anymore…”

Romance slid behind you slowly, hands settling lightly on your hips, his lips close to your ear. “Let us help you feel like you again.”

Their eyes shimmered. Not just with desire — though it was there, thick in the air — but with something deeper. Love. Devotion. Recognition.

You weren’t alone in this.

And the way they were touching you — gently, reverently — it made your skin burn in a different way. Your breath quickened. You swallowed hard.

Jinu met your eyes in the mirror again. “Say the word,” he said softly. “And we’ll remind you who you are… and how wanted you are.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat was tight, your heart thundering. Everything felt… louder now.

The hum of the light. The heat of their bodies standing around you. The slight shift in the air as Romance’s fingers brushed against the fabric of your tank top.

You sucked in a breath. Even that felt different. Like you could taste the electricity in the air.

“What’s happening to me…” you whispered, your voice fragile.

“Your senses,” Mystery murmured, brushing your damp hair back from your neck. “They’re sharper now. You feel everything more.”

“Twice as much,” Abby added. His fingers ghosted over your bare arm — just barely — and it felt like fire across your skin. You gasped.

Jinu stepped closer behind you, his voice low and coaxing. “Let us show you.”

Your body tensed, but not from fear. From awareness.

Romance slid his hands slowly down your sides. “Don’t fight it. Just breathe.”

You nodded, trembling.

Baby leaned in, his fingers lifting your hand gently. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Just feel.”

You did.

The world slipped away. And all that was left… was touch.

The feel of Jinu’s hand spreading across your lower back. The warmth of Mystery’s breath against your throat. Romance’s lips brushing your shoulder — barely a kiss, just heat.

Then — Abby’s voice, calm and close: “Your skin’s vibrating. Do you feel that?”

You whimpered. “I… I do.”

They weren’t moving much. Just touching. Barely. But every single point of contact felt like your body was being rewritten.

Like the edges of you were blurring — melting under the warmth of their hands and voices and attention.

“I’m burning,” you gasped, overwhelmed.

“No,” Jinu whispered at your ear. “You’re awakening.”

You didn’t even realize you were trembling until Baby wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, grounding you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

A soft whimper slipped from your lips. Your tank top stuck to your back, damp with sweat. The boys were so close — but still patient. Still slow. Their touches weren't demanding. Just… present. Worshipful.

They were guiding you through your senses. Through your new body. Through the storm of power and desire and confusion.

Romance tilted your chin up with two fingers. His gaze was intense, but kind. “You’re not broken,” he said. “You’re not lost. You’re just more.”

And you were. More aware. More alive. More desperate for… something.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Just another sharp, shaky inhale.

They were still looking at you like you were precious. Like you were untouchable — unless you asked for more.

Mystery leaned in close, his lips almost at your ear. “Tell us what you want,” he said. “And we’ll give it to you.”

Your body felt like it was humming — every breath, every brush of skin, too much and not enough all at once.

“I don’t know what I want,” you whispered shakily, staring into Jinu’s deep, steady gaze. “Everything’s too much. It’s— it’s like I’m drowning in my own skin.”

“You’re not,” he murmured, fingers stroking the side of your neck. “You’re just... awake now.”

And then, without warning, his lips brushed yours.

Not demanding. Not greedy. Just a soft question.

You gasped into him — and that single sound, that single kiss, hit you like a wave. Your knees buckled, and Baby was there in an instant, catching you with strong arms and holding you against his chest.

Your breath trembled. “God, it’s like I feel every heartbeat.”

Romance smiled, voice low and warm. “You do.”

You didn’t know whose hands were on you now. One tracing your spine. Another ghosting under the hem of your tank top, fingertips just barely brushing your skin. A third tilting your chin again, lips pressing reverently to your throat.

You moaned softly — a sound none of them had ever heard from you before. It echoed in the small bathroom like a secret set free.

“I—” you gasped, chest rising and falling. “I need more.”

Mystery pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Then ask for it.”

“I want to feel it,” you whispered. “All of it.”

That was all they needed.

The atmosphere shifted — still gentle, still slow — but charged now. Hands found skin. Lips explored your shoulders, your collarbones. One of them — you thought it was Abby — slipped your tank top upward with maddening slowness, baring your torso to the warm air and their hungry eyes.

Your skin flushed under the attention, tingling everywhere they touched.

“You’re shaking,” Baby said at your ear, voice full of heat and tenderness. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you breathed, eyelids fluttering shut. “It feels… unreal.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Good.”

Jinu’s mouth trailed lower, brushing over the curve of your breast — and when his tongue flicked against your skin, you cried out. The sound was raw and shocked and absolutely involuntary.

You covered your mouth in surprise. “I—!”

Romance took your wrist and gently pulled your hand down. “Don’t hide it. We want to hear every sound you make.”

You whimpered again as another set of lips — Mystery’s, low and careful — kissed just under your ribs. Abby’s hands spread across your hips, steady and grounding, thumbs stroking slow, hypnotic circles.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly. “Let us take care of you.”

You nodded, breathless.

Then Baby’s lips were at your ear again: “Let us worship you.”

Your legs gave out.

They caught you before you could fall, gently lowering you onto a soft surface — someone had pulled towels and blankets onto the floor, creating a warm nest. You were surrounded by their bodies, their heat, their breath.

Hands slid up your thighs.

Lips worshipped every inch of skin they revealed.

And for the first time since becoming a demon… you didn’t feel like a monster. You felt adored. Alive. Divine.

Their hands moved like silk over your skin — slow, reverent, never rushed. You were lying back on layers of towels and blankets, breathless and flushed, your body still reeling from the way your senses had sharpened. Every touch felt like fire. Every whisper made your core throb with need.

You were surrounded. By them. By heat. By love.

Jinu leaned over you, kissing a line down your chest while Romance settled behind you, letting your back rest against his chest. His arms curled around your waist, anchoring you, lips grazing your neck between each ragged breath you let out.

“Breathe, angel,” Romance murmured. “We’ve got you.”

Mystery was at your thighs, strong hands parting them slowly as he kissed the inside of your leg — soft, warm, teasing. “You smell like magic,” he murmured against your skin. “Like power and sugar.”

Baby’s hands were on your waist now, sliding your shorts off, watching you with gentle awe like you were sacred. When he saw how wet you were, he groaned low. “Look at you…”

“Perfect,” Abby breathed beside you, brushing your hair out of your face. “You’re glowing.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed, caught between too many sensations. Fingers stroking, lips kissing, voices grounding you. Their touches were so different — Romance gentle and steady, Mystery slow and intense, Baby teasing and playful, Abby thoughtful and focused, Jinu bold and reverent.

And all of it was for you.

Your hips bucked instinctively when Mystery licked a slow line between your legs. Your cry was sharp and full of surprise — your body jolting with the overwhelming pleasure.

“Too much?” Jinu asked immediately, pressing a hand gently to your chest.

“No,” you gasped. “Please… don’t stop.”

Mystery didn’t. He groaned against you, tongue working in slow, devastating patterns while Abby kissed down your shoulder, murmuring how beautiful you looked. Baby’s fingers stroked your thighs. Romance kissed your ear and whispered: “Let go. We want to see you fall apart.”

And you did.

Your first orgasm hit so hard your vision went white. You arched, cried out, and shook — but they held you through it. Romance’s arms never let go. Jinu’s hands caressed your stomach, helping you breathe. Abby kissed your forehead while Mystery licked you through the aftershocks. Baby chuckled, eyes full of affection. “You’re so sensitive now,” he whispered. “It’s addictive.”

You didn’t even get a chance to come down before they shifted around you.

“Can we have you now?” Jinu asked, voice rougher now. “All of us. Slow. Together.”

You nodded, dazed. “Yes… please.”

Your legs were trembling, breath shallow as you lay on your back, heart racing from your first release. And yet… your body wanted more. You craved it. The way they looked at you, touched you — like you were divine, a being made of fire and silk — made you ache.

Jinu was the first to kneel between your thighs.

He met your gaze as he slowly guided himself to your entrance. “You’re sure?”

Your hand reached up, brushing his jaw. “Yes. Please.”

He pressed in carefully — slow, smooth, every inch drawing a gasp from your lips. Your body stretched to take him, pulsing around him already, the sensation so much deeper than before. You clung to his shoulders, moaning as he began to move.

“Look at her,” Abby whispered beside you, watching the way your back arched. “So perfect like this…”

Jinu leaned in, kissing your mouth as his hips rocked into you slowly, rhythm steady and controlled. “You feel like heaven,” he groaned. “So tight… so good…”

He didn’t rush. He felt you. Matched your breathing. Stroked your sides, worshipped your body. When you came again — trembling, gasping his name — he let out a ragged moan and kissed you through it.

When he pulled out, panting and grinning, Mystery took his place.

He didn’t ask. He looked at you — and you nodded, breathless and eager.

“Good girl,” he whispered, guiding your legs around his waist as he pressed into you in one long, slow thrust.

His rhythm was deeper. He kept his eyes locked on yours, expression intense. Mystery held your wrists gently above your head, lips brushing yours between each deep thrust.

Every roll of his hips hit something deep, sharp, dangerously good. You choked on a moan, arching up to him.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” he groaned. “You’re so damn tight.”

He lasted long enough to feel your third orgasm clench around him — and that was all it took. He kissed your jaw hard as he came, shuddering deep inside you, before pulling out and letting Baby slide in next.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Baby cooed, playful and soft. “My turn.”

You didn’t expect how different he felt — his hips snapped just a little faster, his teasing grin growing wider every time you gasped. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?” he chuckled, pressing a thumb to your clit while he thrust.

You cried out, hands flying to his chest, but he caught your wrists and pinned them gently. “Stay still for me,” he murmured, and the command made your toes curl.

He leaned in and kissed you — hot, messy, needy — and your body gave in again, another orgasm ripping through you, tighter and shorter than the last, but no less overwhelming.

By the time Baby pulled out, Abby was already at your side, wiping sweat from your forehead.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your cheek.

You nodded, flushed and breathless. “I need you.”

That was all he needed.

Abby moved behind you, pulling your hips into his lap as he sat and lowered you onto him, face-to-face, your legs around him.

His hands stayed on your back as you sank onto him. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he began to move. “Just like that…”

You clung to him, sobbing from overstimulation and joy. “I c-can’t— I’m so—”

“You can,” he whispered. “You’re safe. You’re loved.”

He moved gently — just enough — letting you rock on him until your whole body shuddered with your fourth release. Abby held you tight as he finished, groaning softly into your neck.

When he finally let you go, you didn’t think you could take any more…

But then Romance took your hand and pressed it to his chest.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

He lay back, guiding you to straddle him. You were trembling, barely coherent, but you needed this — him.

You sank onto him slowly, your voice breaking from the heat.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re unreal…”

He let you take your time, guiding your hips gently, moaning with every movement. You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, lips brushing as he whispered:

“You’re ours now.”

You came undone one last time — body falling against his as your fifth orgasm washed over you like fire. Romance kissed you deep as he came inside you, hands gripping your thighs like he never wanted to let go.

You collapsed in their arms afterward — warm, shaky, glowing. The five of them curled around you, kissing your skin, stroking your hair, whispering praise and love until your breathing slowed.

You weren’t afraid of your new body anymore.

You were powerful. You were divine. And you were theirs.

[blondechariot]

Hi~ can I please request Saja Boys separately react to their girlfriend getting a sneaky tattoo of their name right above her kitty and they find out.

pairing: Saja Boys x female!reader

warnings: NSFW, Power Dynamic, Tattoo, Vulnerability

disclaimer: not my pic!

Jinu

Jinu had been restless for days.

You hadn’t been distant in a cold way — just… off. Short kisses. Fewer cuddles. Always shifting in your seat or avoiding long touches. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Babe,” he asked, leaning against the doorframe one evening, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You dodging me, or are you hiding something?”

You looked up from the couch with a little smirk, one he knew too well — a dangerous one.

“Hiding something,” you teased, lifting a brow.

His jaw clenched just slightly, not from anger, but anticipation. He stepped closer.

“You gonna tell me, or am I gonna have to figure it out the hard way?”

You bit your lip, then stood — slow and confident now that the healing was complete. “It’s better if I show you.”

That got his full attention.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down inch by inch. His breath caught when he saw that you wore nothing underneath.

But then he saw it.

A small, stylized “J” — not a plain letter, but your own sexy little version of his stage tag — etched in sleek, black ink just above your folds.

His eyes widened. Then narrowed.

He stared for a long, tense second, lips parted, not even breathing. “You… tattooed me… there?” His voice dropped an octave.

You nodded, smug. “I needed a few days to let it heal. Didn’t want you messing it up.”

He was on you in seconds.

“I’m gonna ruin you now,” he growled, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the bed like a man possessed.

He spread you out beneath him, his lips hot and trailing down your body like fire. “You branded yourself for me, baby?” His tongue darted out, licking just beside the ink. “Fuck. That’s so hot I can’t think straight.”

Your legs trembled as his breath teased lower, closer, hovering just beneath the tattoo — then he looked up at you.

“You know I’m not stopping until I’ve made that tattoo drip for me.”

You gasped, and then his mouth was on you.

Jinu licked you slow at first, savoring every inch, like he wanted to taste the dedication in your skin. But once you moaned his name, he snapped.

His tongue worked mercilessly, fingers digging into your thighs to keep you open while he tongue-fucked you so deep your hips bucked. He sucked right under the tattoo — over and over — until it was swollen and slick and his.

“Say it again,” he groaned, pulling back for a breath, eyes wild. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Jinu — fuck, only you.”

He growled — actually growled — and went right back down, eating you like a man starving. You came hard, screaming, legs shaking as he held you there, licking you through every wave.

And when you collapsed, breathless, he kissed the tattoo one more time.

“Mine,” he whispered. “Forever.”

Abby

Abby noticed your distance too, he didn’t press you tho.

He just… hovered. Quietly. Patiently.

He’d linger in doorways, silently offering tea. Sit beside you without a word, watching whatever show you picked, his fingers occasionally brushing yours as if to remind you he was still there. Still yours.

And when he finally broke?

It wasn’t with confrontation. It was with a whisper.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“What? No! Abby, no—God, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

He blinked, clearly flustered by your sudden emotion. “Then what’s been going on…?”

You gave him a slow smile. “I wanted to surprise you. But it needed to heal first.”

He tilted his head, curious. “Surprise?”

“Mhm.” You rose, cheeks hot, but heart pounding with excitement. “Lie down.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “Wh– here? Now?”

“Don’t worry,” you purred. “It’s a good surprise.”

He obeyed, lying back on the bed, arms tucked behind his head like an unsure angel.

You stepped between his knees, hooking your fingers into your waistband, slowly easing down your shorts — and the moment your bare skin was revealed, Abby sat bolt upright.

A tiny, intricate four-point star, etched in fine black ink just above your folds — the same one from his favorite storybook. The one he once said reminded him of you.

But this one was labeled with one word: Abby’s.

He stared. Blinked. Froze.

“Wha—” His voice cracked. “You tattooed… that?”

You bit your lip, suddenly shy. “I told you. It had to heal. I couldn’t risk you distracting me before it was done.”

The tips of his ears turned crimson. “You… you think of me when you look there?”

“I think of you when I touch there,” you said softly.

That broke him.

Abby surged forward, pulling you into his lap like he forgot how to breathe. His hands were trembling, but his mouth was suddenly confident — kissing up your thighs, breath warm and ragged.

He knelt in front of you like a prayer.

“You’re mine?” he whispered, fingers ghosting the tattoo. “This little star — this… this is for me?”

You nodded. “All yours.”

He moaned, actually moaned, and pressed his lips reverently to the ink.

“I’m going to take care of you. Right here,” he murmured. “Over and over until that spot knows me better than anything else.”

And then he dove in.

Abby was slow, gentle — but thorough. He licked long, languid stripes up your slit, never straying far from the tattoo, like he was obsessed with the idea of worshipping it. Every suck, every swirl of his tongue came with whispered praises:

“So good for me.” “So beautiful, baby.” “I love you like this. Just like this.”

You came with a cry, thighs clenching around his head — but Abby didn’t stop. He kept going, licking and kissing until your entire lower body trembled in his arms, until tears pricked your eyes and you couldn’t say his name anymore.

Only after you collapsed onto the bed, boneless and flushed, did he crawl up beside you, eyes full of love and something darker.

“You’re gonna show me that every night now,” he whispered. “Right before I ruin you.”

Mystery

You didn’t expect him to notice right away.

Mystery was always quiet — observant, but never pressing. He gave you space without question. That was just who he was: unreadable, controlled, and always in charge of his emotions.

But apparently?

He noticed everything.

“Something’s wrong,” he said one night, his voice flat but laced with a warning edge.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been walking slower. Sitting gingerly. Shifting like you’re uncomfortable.” His eyes flicked to yours, cool and unblinking. “What did you do?”

You smirked. “Maybe I just needed time to let something heal.”

He paused.

A long silence stretched — until he spoke again, slower this time. “What. Did you do.”

You stepped closer. No teasing now — just a slow, intense stare as you reached for the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“I did something for you, Mystery.”

His jaw twitched.

When you pushed the fabric down, revealing the ink just above your mound, he froze.

It was a sleek, abstract symbol — a mirrored pair of crescent moons forming a single eye. The same symbol etched into the hilt of Mystery’s weapon. The same one he wore on his back.

Your ink matched his. Placed right above your most private place.

His breath hitched.

“That’s mine.”

You nodded. “Yours.”

The silence after that was thick, dangerous.

Then he moved.

Fast.

You were on your back before you could blink, your legs spread open with his body between them, fully clothed and radiating heat. His eyes never left the tattoo.

“You marked yourself for me,” he said, low and sharp. “Above your pussy.”

Your breath caught. “Yes.”

His hands gripped your thighs. “Do you know what that means to me?”

You tried to nod, but he leaned down and growled into your ear:

“It means I own this. Every inch. Every pulse.”

Then he entered you — hard, deep, with one sharp thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. He barely gave you time to adjust before setting a brutal rhythm, each stroke hitting deep and purposeful, like he wanted to fuck his name into your soul.

His mouth hovered by your ear the whole time, whispering commands and dark praise:

“Look at me.” “Feel me right under that tattoo.” “Say it — tell me who you did this for.”

“You—fuck—you, Mystery—!”

“Damn right.”

You were writhing under him, clawing at his shoulders, gasping for every breath as he fucked you into the mattress — relentless, controlled, and completely unhinged beneath the surface. He cupped your chin, making you look at him as he came, growling deep and low into your skin.

Afterward, he kissed the tattoo — once.

Then stood, adjusting his shirt like nothing happened, except for the fire still burning in his eyes.

“Next time,” he said calmly, “you show me the second it heals. Understood?”

You nodded, dazed, barely breathing.

“Good.” A pause. “Because I don’t share what’s mine.”

Romance

Romance thought he had you figured out.

You were quiet lately — twitchy. Flinching when he reached for your waist. Dodging his usual gropes with a flushed smile and a muttered, “Not yet.”

He assumed it was your turn to tease him. A game.

And Romance lived for the chase.

“Doll,” he purred one evening, draping himself across the couch behind you. “I’m starting to feel neglected. You trying to make me beg for attention?”

You turned your head slightly, lips curved. “No. I’ve just been waiting.”

He perked up. “For what?”

“For something to heal.”

That made him blink. “Heal…? Wait, what—”

You stood, reached for the hem of your loose tee, and pulled it up, revealing nothing underneath. Then you slid your shorts down slow… slower… until they dropped to the floor.

Romance sat up — instantly. His eyes zeroed in on the skin just above your pussy, then widened, lips parting in stunned silence.

There, in fine crimson ink, was a tiny pair of lips with a single heart — his signature emoji, the one he always signed his notes with. And right beneath it?

“Property of R.”

The man froze.

“Holy—” He choked, scrambling to stand, then paused, almost like he couldn’t look away from the ink. “Is that… real?”

You nodded. “Had it done while you were gone. Hurt like hell. But worth it.”

He looked like someone had smacked him in the face with a truck full of lust and ego all at once.

“You—You got my fuckin’ signature above your pussy?”

You smirked. “You always said you wanted to leave your mark.”

He snapped.

Romance shoved you gently against the nearest wall, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up like you weighed nothing. He kissed your tattoo, bit your inner thigh, groaned like a sinner.

“I’m gonna ruin that pretty skin,” he hissed. “And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of a mirror so you can see how obsessed you are.”

“You’re the obsessed one,” you teased, breathless already.

“Damn right I am.”

He dropped to his knees and buried his face between your thighs like a man unhinged. His tongue was fast and nasty, licking over your clit, then swirling around the tattoo like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he groaned. “Heaven that belongs to me.”

You were panting, shaking, grabbing at his hair while he licked and sucked until you came screaming his name. But Romance wasn’t finished.

He stood, chest heaving, unzipped his pants and dragged you to the mirror by the vanity.

“Bend over,” he said roughly, voice low and cracked. “I want you to see what you look like — dripping, shaking, with my name written on you.”

He bent you over the vanity, held your hips like a man possessed, and slid into you hard — fucking you deep, watching your face twist in the reflection as your tattoo bounced with every thrust.

“You’re mine,” he groaned, one hand on your throat, the other splayed over your stomach. “You fucking branded yourself like a filthy little slut, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Your reply was just a broken cry.

When you came again, he kissed the mirror, kissed your shoulder, kissed the damn tattoo again after pulling out and covering you with hot, messy love — smearing everything with himself like he was marking territory.

“Next time?” he panted. “Let me watch when you get inked. I want the artist to see how lucky I am.”

Baby

Baby had been worried. Like, genuinely.

You weren’t clingy anymore. You avoided cuddles. Every time he so much as brushed your waist, you flinched. And Baby? He didn’t handle emotional distance well.

He followed you around for days with that same worried puppy look on his face, rubbing the back of his neck, whispering:

“Did I do something wrong…?” “Are you mad at me?” “...Did I talk too much again?”

Each time, you assured him you were fine. That he didn’t mess up. That you loved him. But it didn’t erase the wrinkle between his brows.

Until tonight.

You padded into his room in nothing but one of his oversized T-shirts, the hem barely covering your thighs. He looked up from his phone, surprised.

“Hi, baby,” you said sweetly.

“Hi,” he murmured, voice small. “Are you… okay now?”

You giggled and straddled his lap. “Better than okay. Wanna see why I was being weird?”

He blinked. “Yes?”

You grinned and leaned back, lifting the shirt up — slowly, teasingly — until he got a glimpse of bare skin. No underwear.

And just above your folds?

A tiny cherry blossom, inked in soft pink, with a subtle “B” hidden in the petals. A callback to the flower he once picked for you during that picnic, the one he tucked behind your ear with a shy smile and said:

“You look like spring.”

Now that flower was permanently above your pussy.

Baby stared.

Then blinked.

Then stared harder.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

“Babe?” you whispered. “You okay—”

He flipped you.

You barely had time to squeal before you were pinned to the mattress, shirt bunched above your chest, Baby hovering over you with an expression you’d never seen before.

Eyes wild. Mouth parted. Entire body tense.

“You got my flower,” he whispered. “Right… there.”

You swallowed. “I wanted it to be just for you.”

His breath caught. “You put my name inside it.”

You nodded, blushing. “It had to heal. That’s why I’ve been—”

“Quiet,” he cut in. “I need to taste it.”

And then Baby lost his mind.

He went down on you like a man possessed — but it wasn’t rough. It was hungry. Addicted. Tongue circling the flower, kissing it, moaning into it like the ink had him in a trance.

“Mine,” he murmured. “Mine mine mine mine—”

You cried out, already overstimulated before he even slid a finger in. He kept eating you through it, moaning every time your hips jerked, every time you whimpered his name.

And when he finally pulled away — lips shiny, hair a mess — he pulled his shirt off, dragged you on top of him, and slammed into you with one deep, needy thrust.

“I’m not sweet right now,” he growled into your neck. “You did this. You marked yourself. You belong to me.”

His grip was brutal — one hand fisted in your hair, the other on your ass, guiding you to bounce on his cock while his eyes stayed locked on that flower.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he groaned. “Marked up. Mine. I wanna see it every time I fuck you.”

“Baby—ah—please—”

“Oh no, you don’t beg yet.” He flipped you again, fucked you deeper, faster, until your legs shook and you couldn’t breathe. “You wait till I say you can beg.”

You came twice more before he finally spilled inside you, breath ragged, hands gripping your hips like he’d never let go again.

And after?

He kissed the tattoo. Again. And again. And again.

Then whispered: “Next time you get inked, I’m holding your hand the whole time. And when it heals, I’m eating you for hours.”

[blondechariot]

Hiii! Me again hehe sorry. Btw loved the piercings scenario just wasn't expecting it so quickly 😂

I was wondering if you would mind doing Saja boys and Atz scenario (individually) where the boys find out they weren't their SO bias within the group. I haven't seen that prompt done in a while 😅

Thanks love ✨

Pairing: Ateez x reader

Warnings: Comedy, Soft!ATEEZ, Established Relationship, Teasing

Disclaimer: not my pic!

You guys have me giggling and kicking my feet when you call me love 🤭🥰🥹

Hongjoong

Your legs were curled up on the worn couch in the corner of his studio, your phone balanced lazily on your stomach as you scrolled. It was late, the kind of late that made the room feel slower — just you, Hongjoong, the hum of equipment, and the quiet loop of a beat he’d been tweaking for over an hour.

He sat at the mixing desk, slightly hunched, one hand on the dial, the other absently chewing on a straw. His bleached hair was messy from constantly raking his fingers through it, and his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. You loved watching him like this — focused, passionate, completely in his element.

But at this exact moment, you were only half paying attention. You’d fallen into a rabbit hole of your own: your ancient stan Twitter.

You didn’t even remember why you logged in, but once you saw those old tweets? It was over. You were giggling to yourself now, reading cringey posts from the early days of your ATEEZ obsession.

“Joong,” you called softly.

He hummed without looking back. “Mhm?”

“Wanna hear something cursed?”

“Always.”

You grinned and held up your phone. “Look at this tweet. ‘If Yeosang looks at me one more time, I’m going to ascend like a goddamn anime protagonist.’”

You laughed. “I was so gone for him back then.”

For a moment, there was no reaction. Just the instrumental looping in the background.

Then Hongjoong slowly swiveled in his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, expression unreadable. “Did you say… Yeosang?”

You blinked, suddenly sensing something was off. “Yeah? Back when I first got into you guys. He was my first bias.”

Silence.

“…So not me,” he said slowly, pointing at himself with his pen. “Even with this hair? This voice? The entire genius mastermind with a heart of gold energy?”

You burst out laughing. “I didn’t even know who was who back then! It was just ‘oh, that guy’s face is beautiful, boom — bias.’”

But Hongjoong was already turning back to the computer, dramatically over-exaggerating his typing.

“Guess I need to cancel that surprise song I was writing for you. Gotta rename it to ‘Plan B.’”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, tossing a pillow at him.

He caught it mid-air, smirking. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s cool. Just… didn’t realize I was the rebound.”

You climbed off the couch and padded over to him. He had that playful smirk on, but his ears were flushed pink — a telltale sign that he was just a little affected. His pride had taken a tiny hit.

You leaned down, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind, cheek pressed to his. “You’re not the rebound, Joong. I fell in love with your mind. Your soul. Your heart. Yeosang was just… a gateway drug.”

That made him huff a laugh.

You continued, softening your voice. “You were the one who made me stay. The lyrics you wrote, the way you talk about music, the way you take care of the team. That’s what made you my bias. And now… the love of my life.”

He looked down for a second, then turned his head just enough to meet your eyes. “You’re dangerously good at that, you know. Making me forgive you.”

“I’d hope so.” You kissed the corner of his mouth.

He turned fully in the chair, pulling you onto his lap without hesitation. You laughed as he adjusted you, arms wrapping securely around your waist.

“…Still gonna make Yeosang do the ugly parts of the choreo next comeback,” he muttered, nose brushing yours.

You grinned. “Possessive much?”

“Always,” he said, voice low. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Seonghwa

You didn’t mean to say it.

Not like that. Not with that tone and that timing — but it was too late now. The words were out there. Floating in the air. Hanging between you and a very still, very quiet Seonghwa.

It had started so innocently.

You and Seonghwa were having one of those cozy, domestic nights you both loved so much. Pajamas, dim fairy lights, takeout boxes scattered around the coffee table, and a rom-com playing in the background that neither of you was really paying attention to anymore.

Your feet were tangled under the blanket, his hand lazily resting on your thigh, thumb tracing circles through the fabric of your sweats. It was peaceful. Soft. Easy.

Until you made the mistake of opening your camera roll.

“God, I forgot I had these,” you murmured, scrolling through a collection of concert videos and fan-taken photos from before you’d met him. Before you were dating. Before you had ever imagined that he would one day be the one sitting on your couch, stealing your fries and brushing his knuckles against your skin just because he could.

Seonghwa leaned in, interested. “What is it?”

“Just old ATEEZ stuff. From before I ever got into the fandom properly.”

His eyes sparkled. “Oh? This is when you started falling for me, then?”

You laughed. “Mm… not quite.”

He tilted his head, still smiling. “No?”

You scrolled again and without thinking, said the sentence that detonated the bomb.

“I think I actually biased San first.”

Silence.

It took you a second to realize what you’d said. And by the time you did, Seonghwa had slowly — so slowly — pulled his hand away from your thigh, sat back against the couch, and was blinking at you like he had just been slapped with a fish.

“I’m sorry,” he said, blinking again. “Did you just say… San?”

You cringed, shrinking slightly. “Okay — in my defense —”

“No. No. I just need to process this.” He crossed his arms. “You mean to tell me… you took one look at Choi San, that tiny chaos demon, and thought: That’s the one for me?”

“I mean, have you seen his stage presence?” you mumbled.

“Oh, I’ve seen it,” he snapped dramatically, turning away from you with a loud sigh. “God, you really said ‘no thanks’ to celestial beauty and chose unhinged thirst traps.”

“Okay, rude.”

He pouted harder, turning up the drama to level ten. “And here I was thinking I was your obvious pick. Elegant, charming, emotionally stable—”

You snorted. “Stable? Seonghwa, you cried over a broken chopstick last week.”

“That was a sentimental chopstick!”

You burst out laughing and reached for him, but he scooted to the far end of the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders like a dramatic Victorian widow.

“I feel… betrayed,” he mumbled.

“Baby, you’re being so extra—”

“I just need time.”

“You’re literally the one I’m dating.”

“But am I the one you wanted first?” he asked, with a perfectly timed gasp.

You finally crawled across the couch and dropped into his lap, forcing him to untangle from the blanket. He grumbled but didn’t push you away, and you knew then that the pout was only for show.

You cupped his cheeks and looked into his sulky, pretty eyes. “You were my endgame, Hwa. Even if it started with San, it always led to you. You’re the one I love.”

He sighed. “I guess I can’t argue with destiny.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“…But I am hiding all your San photocards when I get the chance.”

You kissed him. “Fair.”

He kissed you back, mumbling against your lips, “You’re lucky I’m gorgeous.”

You smiled. “I know.”

Yunho

You didn’t think he’d take it personally.

Yunho — your sunshine, your safe space, your endlessly affectionate boyfriend — was not the type to get insecure over little things. He was confident in his own skin, never too prideful, and always the one laughing things off when others got dramatic.

But when he found out you didn’t originally bias him?

Yeah. That hit just a little harder than either of you expected.

It was during a lazy weekend afternoon, the kind where time didn’t matter. Yunho had dragged you to his place after brunch, promising “the ultimate chill day,” which apparently meant a Lord of the Rings marathon, excessive snacks, and you curled into his side like a human plushie.

At some point during the movie, your conversation drifted away from hobbits and into the early days of your ATEEZ obsession.

“I still can’t believe you used to be just a face on my screen,” you murmured, tracing the slope of his arm with your fingertip. “And now you’re here. My boyfriend. My cuddle monster.”

He chuckled, tightening his grip on you. “Mmm, pretty wild, huh?”

“I still remember the first fancam I saw of you,” you added with a dreamy smile. “Your smile was so big, I swear I fell a little bit in love right there.”

He turned to face you, grinning wide. “So I was your first bias?”

And you — in your infinite, innocent, very unaware honesty — answered with a sweet, casual: “Oh, no, it was Mingi.”

Yunho blinked.

You felt his whole body go still under you.

“…Wait. What?” he asked, his voice soft but... not as playful as before.

You looked up. “Yeah, Mingi was the first one who caught my attention. I thought he was cool and charismatic. You didn’t really show up in my feed at first.”

Yunho didn’t respond.

His arm dropped from your shoulder. Not in a dramatic way, not harsh — just quiet. Gentle. But distant. He leaned back against the cushions, staring blankly at the screen, where Frodo was busy being traumatized.

You blinked. “Yun?”

He gave a small smile. “No, it’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. You knew that smile. It was the one he used when he got hurt but didn’t want to say it. When he’d rather swallow it down than make you feel bad.

Your heart sank.

“Wait, are you… are you upset?”

He shrugged. “No. Just didn’t expect it. I mean… I thought you saw me first. Thought I was your obvious favorite. The way you always talk about how I made you feel safe and seen and all that…” His voice trailed off.

You sat up, moving in front of him, gently cupping his face. His eyes flicked to yours, and yeah — there it was. That soft, quiet insecurity that Yunho never liked showing.

“Yunho,” you said, voice warm and firm. “You are my favorite. Mingi might’ve been my first bias, but you’re the one who owns my heart now.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands fidgeted in his lap, something you rarely saw him do.

You slid into his lap, straddling him, resting your forehead against his. “I didn’t fall in love with a bias list. I fell in love with you. The way you hug like it’s the safest place in the world. The way you dance like you’re flying. The way you make me laugh until I cry. You’re not second to anyone.”

Yunho’s eyes searched yours for a long, quiet moment.

“…Promise?” he whispered.

You kissed his nose, then his lips. “With everything I’ve got.”

Finally, finally, he smiled for real — that huge, dimpled, heart-melting grin that made your stomach flip. His arms came around you again, squeezing you so tight it almost hurt.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I believe you.”

Then: “But I am gonna make Mingi carry all my stuff for the next two weeks. Just because.”

Yeosang

It all started with a game.

You and Yeosang were having a quiet evening at home, the kind he secretly loved — no cameras, no crowds, no chaos. Just the two of you, a fuzzy blanket, some tea, and a stack of board games he insisted on playing because “they build trust.”

Tonight’s pick was a couple’s quiz deck — one of those silly but strangely deep card games full of questions like “What’s my most annoying habit?” and “When did you first know you loved me?”

You were halfway through the stack, giggling as you answered a question about which of Yeosang’s features you liked best (his hands, obviously — elegant, soft, deceptively strong), when he drew the next card.

“Oh,” he said, glancing at it. “This one’s funny.”

You leaned in. “What is it?”

Yeosang cleared his throat, voice calm as ever. “Who was your first ATEEZ bias?”

You paused.

And in your deeply foolish, too-comfortable state, you smiled and answered with zero hesitation:

“Jongho.”

Silence.

You looked up — and immediately regretted it.

Yeosang was sitting perfectly still, card in hand, face unreadable. He blinked once. Slowly.

“…I see,” he said.

You tilted your head. “What?”

“I just thought,” he said quietly, “since we’re dating, I would’ve been your original bias. You know. Maybe.”

He set the card down gently and leaned back against the couch, folding his arms.

You blinked at him, stunned. “Wait… you thought you were my first bias?”

He gave you a dry look. “Yes. Obviously.”

You laughed. “Sang, you barely even made eye contact in the first videos I saw! You were so mysterious, I thought you hated cameras.”

“I was building intrigue,” he deadpanned. “There’s a difference.”

You tried not to laugh harder but failed. “No, really — I loved Jongho’s voice and his baby face. He was adorable. It wasn’t until I saw you dance that I even noticed you.”

He turned his face away. “So I was just background noise.”

“Oh my god—”

“Just part of the decor. The moody one in the back.”

“You’re being so dramatic right now.”

Yeosang looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Jongho.”

“Yes?”

He said nothing. Just stared at you for a long moment. Then quietly added, “I bet he doesn’t forget to put the toothpaste cap back on.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, first of all, you literally left the milk out this morning.”

“That’s unrelated.”

“You’re such a salty little menace.”

He turned away again, biting back a smirk. “Maybe I’ll call Jongho. Ask him how it feels to be someone’s first choice.”

You climbed over the couch to sit in his lap, legs on either side of his thighs, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“Yeosang. Look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, eyes flicking up beneath soft lashes.

“You were my second bias. But you were the first one I fell in love with. There’s a difference.”

He studied your face for a long moment. Then, quietly: “…I guess I can live with that.”

You kissed him slowly, deliberately, until the tension in his jaw melted into your hands.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Still banning Jongho from movie night though.”

San

San was not the jealous type.

At least, that’s what he always said.

But you knew better.

You’d seen the way his arm would tighten just a little around your waist when someone looked at you too long. The way his eyes darkened when you mentioned certain male celebrities. The way he low-key glared at Yeosang for being "too photogenic" when you commented on a selca.

So yeah, no. San was very much the jealous type — not in a toxic way, just in that adorably dramatic, possessive, mine kind of way.

And tonight? You were about to test those limits without even realizing it.

You were sitting on the floor of your shared apartment, surrounded by old fan merch — cleaning out your closet had become a full-blown nostalgia session. San had joined in, flopping next to you and digging through the photo cards, lightsticks, and posters like a curious cat.

He held up a signed album. “You actually waited in line for this?”

“Three hours,” you said proudly. “In the rain.”

He blinked. “For me?”

You opened your mouth.

Then paused.

Because it wasn’t for him.

“…Actually,” you said cautiously, “I waited for Wooyoung.”

San froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

You looked up, wincing. “He was my first bias.”

The silence that followed could’ve shattered glass.

San’s expression shifted instantly — from curious to confused to personally betrayed. He stared at you like you’d just confessed to running over his cat.

“…Wooyoung?” he repeated, in a voice barely above a whisper.

You winced again. “Yeah. He was super flirty and funny in the videos. I thought he was adorable.”

San slowly leaned back, hand over his heart like he’d been shot. “So all this time… you were one of them.”

“One of who?”

“The Woo girls.”

You couldn’t help it — you laughed. Hard.

He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t funny. You chose him? Over me? The guy with the killer abs and emotional range of an Oscar winner?”

“I didn’t choose him. I just… noticed him first.”

San flopped back on the floor, arms spread like he was reenacting a murder scene. “This is betrayal. Emotional treason.”

You crawled over and hovered above him. “San—”

He covered his face dramatically. “Don’t touch me. I need to wallow.”

You straddled his hips anyway and tugged his hands down. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I loved you with my whole chest,” he whispered dramatically. “And you were thirsting over Wooyoung’s TikToks.”

You leaned down until your nose brushed his. “And now I thirst over you.”

His eyes flicked to yours, still wounded — but intrigued.

You kissed his cheek. “I didn’t know who you really were back then. I just saw the performances. But once I saw you — really saw you — there was no going back.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Would I be on top of you right now if I was lying?”

“…Possibly.”

You kissed him again — slower this time — and he finally gave in, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you down until you were pressed against his chest.

He exhaled into your hair. “I’m still telling Wooyoung he can’t come over anymore.”

“No you’re not.”

He grinned. “Fine. But next time we play charades, I’m teaming with Jongho. That’s your punishment.”

Mingi

Mingi didn’t expect much.

Not in a self-deprecating way — just in that humble, bashful, “aw shucks” sort of vibe that clung to him even when he was lighting up stages with fire and sweat.

He never demanded to be your favorite. Never boasted like San, teased like Wooyoung, or pouted like Seonghwa.

But he thought — quietly, secretly — that maybe he was your first.

After all, you always said he was unforgettable. That his voice gave you chills. That his laugh made you melt. That his height, his energy, his softness — it was all so “you.”

So yeah. Deep down, Mingi assumed you had fallen for him from the start.

Which is why your offhand comment hit harder than you realized.

You were in bed together after a long day, limbs tangled lazily under the sheets, your head resting on his bare chest while his fingers traced idle shapes across your back. The soft glow of his phone screen lit up the room while a lo-fi playlist played in the background.

You were scrolling through a thread of “bias vs. ultimate bias” memes and laughing quietly to yourself.

Mingi peeked over. “What’s so funny?”

You turned your phone so he could see. “Just fans exposing their bias journeys. Like this one — she started with Seonghwa and ended up a full-blown Jongho simp. Wild.”

He chuckled, amused. “That’s kinda like you, huh?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know… started with me, ended up staying with me.”

Silence.

You bit your lip.

“…What?” he asked, suddenly still.

You hesitated. Then, very quietly: “I actually… started with Hongjoong.”

The air changed.

Mingi’s hand stopped moving.

“You what?” he said slowly.

You lifted your head and winced at the look on his face — not angry, not dramatic… just genuinely hurt.

“You didn’t start with me?”

“No, but—”

“You told me I was the first member you noticed.”

“I said you were the first one who made me laugh. That’s not the same thing.”

He blinked, then sank into the pillow. “Oh my god.”

“Mingi—”

“You’re telling me I lost to the guy who wears leather harnesses in meetings and writes lyrics at 3AM while mumbling to himself?”

You burst out laughing. “Don’t slander your leader like that.”

But Mingi was spiraling. Genuinely spiraling.

“I can’t believe I wasn’t even the first,” he muttered, turning his head dramatically to the wall. “I thought I was the moment.”

“You are the moment,” you said, sitting up. “You’re the one I fell in love with.”

“Second-place love,” he pouted.

“Mingi, come on—”

“No, no. I get it. I’ll just go be loud and dance in the corner like an extra again.”

“You were always in the center—”

He turned toward you with big, wide eyes. “...But not in your heart.”

“Oh my god.” You couldn’t help but laugh again, despite yourself.

You crawled into his lap, cupping his cheeks. “Let me be clear. Hongjoong was the fire that caught my attention. You were the warmth that stayed. You’re my comfort. My home. The one I want forever.”

Mingi’s eyes softened.

“You mean it?”

“Every word.”

He kissed you, hands gripping your waist with that signature blend of need and affection that only Mingi could pull off. When he pulled back, he still looked slightly wounded — but much more smug.

“Still gonna make Joong carry the next three suitcases.”

Wooyoung

If there was one thing Wooyoung was absolutely certain of in this life, it was that he had been your bias from day one.

You laughed the loudest at his jokes.

Blushed the hardest when he teased you.

Stared the longest when he performed.

In his mind, it wasn’t even a question. It was simply fate — the universe put his chaotic, beautiful self into the world, and you immediately fell head over heels.

So when you casually revealed the truth, he didn’t take it well.

At all.

It started while you were filming a “couple Q&A” video for your shared YouTube channel — an idea he had pitched with a mischievous grin and a promise of “don’t worry, baby, it’ll be cute and totally not embarrassing.”

Lies.

You were seated side-by-side, camera rolling, a bowl of spicy noodles between you, taking turns answering fan-submitted questions.

“Alright,” Wooyoung read aloud, grinning. “Who was your first ATEEZ bias, and who’s your ultimate now?”

He winked. “Easy. Me and… me again.”

You laughed. “Wow. That confidence.”

He nudged you. “Go on. Tell the people.”

You smiled, facing the camera. “Well… my first bias was…”

You paused. Smiled wider.

“Yunho.”

The silence was instant and devastating.

Wooyoung whipped his head toward you so fast, his hair flipped like a shampoo commercial.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned to him, blinking. “Yunho.”

He stared.

“No. Nope. Try again.”

You held in a laugh. “It was Yunho, babe. His energy was so fun and wholesome—”

“Fun and wholesome?!”

“Yeah! He was just—”

“—He’s like a golden retriever in human form!”

You shrugged. “Exactly. I loved that.”

He flopped back in his seat, hand dramatically pressed to his forehead. “I’m ending the video. I’m blocking the WiFi. I’m telling the label we broke up.”

You cackled, full-on laughing now as Wooyoung continued to spiral on-camera, grabbing the bowl of noodles and dramatically shoveling some into his mouth like it might dull the emotional pain.

He chewed with exaggerated sadness. “So all those times I thought you were looking at me during performances—”

“I was eventually!”

“—You were actually imagining Yunho’s big dumb smile?”

“WOOYOUNG!”

He blinked innocently, pouting. “I just feel… betrayed. Betrayed by your eyeballs. And your taste.”

“Oh my god, stop being such a diva.”

He sighed and put the chopsticks down. “You really never liked me first?”

“I love you now,” you said gently, sliding closer to him. “Isn’t that what matters?”

He didn’t look at you for a moment.

Then, in a much quieter voice: “I just thought I was the one who stood out right away.”

You blinked. That wasn’t sass. That was real.

Your heart softened.

You reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “You didn’t stand out first. But when you did? You never left my mind again. You’re unforgettable, Woo. Once you get in… you stay.”

He glanced at you, searching your face.

“…You sure?” he whispered.

You leaned in and kissed him. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

Finally, his shoulders relaxed. He grinned, cocky and crooked. “Damn right.”

Then he looked back at the camera and winked. “Cut that part out though. We’re not giving Yunho the satisfaction.”

Jongho

Jongho wasn’t the type to ask for validation.

He didn’t need constant praise or loud affection. He was secure in himself — steady, observant, grounded. The kind of guy who’d silently open every door for you without comment, then make fun of you five minutes later for tripping over a curb.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

Especially when it came to you.

You were different. You saw past his strong image — the high notes, the jawline, the serious expression — and somehow got to the quiet boy beneath all that.

That’s why he liked you. Loved you, actually.

And why your little confession, as harmless as it seemed… stung more than he expected.

You were on a late-night walk with Jongho, one of your favorite couple traditions. No cameras, no noise. Just the two of you, fingers interlocked, walking under the glow of streetlamps as the city settled into its quieter rhythm.

He was sipping boba with one hand and holding yours with the other, listening to you ramble about your old K-pop playlists and cringey stan days. You were both laughing at how deep you’d once been into fan edits and reaction videos.

“You know what’s funny?” you said, smiling. “I actually thought San was my forever bias. I used to go feral over his performances.”

You said it casually. A throwaway line.

But Jongho went very still beside you.

You looked up. “What?”

He was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft, clipped: “…San?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Back then, I thought I’d never switch.”

Another pause.

Then: “That’s interesting.”

You frowned. “Are you mad?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not.” He took another sip of his drink. “Just thinking.”

“Jongho—”

He stopped walking.

You turned to face him, and there it was — the look. That unreadable, calm stare he always wore when something actually bothered him.

“I just thought,” he said slowly, “out of all of us… you saw me first. That I wasn’t the loudest or flashiest, but I was yours from the beginning.”

Your heart dropped a little. He rarely spoke like that. So open. So honest.

You reached for his hand again. “I didn’t know you yet. San caught my attention first. But you… you kept it.”

He looked down.

“San was the spark,” you said softly, “but you’re the foundation. You’re my calm. My real.”

Jongho exhaled through his nose — not quite a sigh, but something close. Then, with a small shake of his head: “You’re lucky I like you.”

You smiled, looping your arms around his waist. “So you forgive me?”

“…We’ll see,” he muttered, but his arms came around you anyway. “Might have to hear you say it a few more times.”

“What? That I love you?”

He nodded.

You leaned up and whispered against his jaw: “I love you, Choi Jongho. You are my ultimate in every way.”

He finally smiled, soft and crooked. “Good.”

Then — completely deadpan — “You still have to delete that old San edit though.”

“NO I DON’T—!”

[blondechariot]

Hey! I loved your saja boys x manager reader so much! I was wondering if you could expand on that concept a bit more?

Yes sure I can definitely do that! Do You have ideas?

[blondechariot]

MINGYU X BVLGARI requested by @moonlight-gyu ♡

[blondechariot]

Can I request headcanons for poly Saja Boys reacting to his female s/o, who likes keep quiet as she enjoys just watching everyone flirt with each other, will immediately be flustered if even one of them or all of them decided to suddenly focus on her instead please?

pairing: Poly!Saja Boys x reader

warnings: NSFW Content, Power Dynamics, Flustering, Light Dom

disclaimer: not my pic!

It started with a stupid bet. Something about who could hold a plank the longest while the others tried to distract them. Typical Saja chaos.

You sat curled up on the couch, sipping your drink, eyes wide with amusement as Mystery and Romance both lowered themselves to the floor — faces set in determined glares, arms tense, backs straight.

“Alright,” Jinu announced with mock-seriousness, crossing his arms. “No touching. Just talking. First one to drop gets punished later.”

Baby perked up immediately. “Punished? Like, how punished?”

Jinu only smirked. “Depends how dramatic you make your fall.”

Abby flopped down next to you, one leg bouncing. “This is gonna be fun.”

Mystery was solid. Stoic. Not even flinching. Until Romance murmured sweetly, “You know, your ass looks really good from this angle.”

Mystery’s brow twitched.

“And I know for a fact,” Romance continued, voice like silk, “you make that same face when you’re—”

“Shut up,” Mystery growled, still perfectly still, but his ears slightly pink.

You let out a snort. Abby grinned beside you. Jinu just leaned down, casually brushing his fingers along Romance’s shoulder like it was nothing.

“Can’t wait to see you lose, pretty boy,” Jinu whispered in his ear.

Romance turned to smirk at him, lips parted. “You’ll just use it as an excuse to pin me down later.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Meanwhile, Baby had crawled over to Mystery and laid down in front of him, chin on his hands like a schoolgirl.

“Hey, Mymy,” he sang. “If you drop first, I’ll sit on your lap the whole night.”

“You already do,” Mystery muttered, his core still tense.

“Yeah, but this time I’ll grind.”

That almost made Mystery’s arm shake.

You were howling at this point, clutching your drink as you watched them go at each other. Your cheeks were warm — not just from laughter, but from the sheer flirtatious energy they threw at each other like it was second nature.

You loved it. Not just because they were hot (which they were, painfully so). But because they were happy. Free. Affectionate.

Their love for each other wasn’t quiet — it was bold, teasing, loud. And you could watch it all day.

Eventually, Romance “accidentally” dipped his hips and Mystery won. But before he could gloat, Jinu tugged him to his feet by the waistband and said, “You still get punished. Just for being smug.”

Mystery raised a brow. “You gonna make me beg for it?”

“Do you want to?”

Your jaw dropped. Abby actually choked.

The flirting had escalated fast. From teasing plank challenges to whispered threats of punishment and lingering touches. You were still breathless from laughing — cheeks warm, eyes glittering with amusement.

And then you said it. Without thinking. Without fear. Drunk on the power of watching five ridiculously attractive men flirt with each other like a live show crafted just for you.

“Honestly?” you said with a smirk, taking a slow sip from your cup. “I could do better than all of you.”

The room went silent.

Five heads turned.

Romance arched a brow, slowly rising from the floor like a panther catching prey. “Oh?”

Mystery straightened from his seat, cracking his knuckles. “She thinks she’s slick now.”

Baby gasped dramatically, crawling into your lap like a trap. “Better than us?”

“Y-you know I didn’t mean—” you began, but Jinu was already moving.

He walked around the couch, leaned over you with both hands braced on either side of your head, voice smooth and low. “So confident all of a sudden, sweetheart.”

You swallowed. Hard. Big mistake.

Because Abby was already behind you, fingers trailing down your shoulders. Romance leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “You like watching us that much?” he whispered. “Got your thighs pressed together the whole time?”

You did — and they knew it.

Your cocky little smirk vanished instantly.

Baby grinned and tugged at your hoodie. “She’s blushing! You’re blushing.”

Mystery’s voice was like velvet. “That’s not the only place she’s warm, I bet.”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan — but you didn’t push them away.

You couldn’t. Your pulse was pounding. Your breath came quicker. You were trapped in the middle of five wolves who were suddenly very interested in the idea of making you pay for being smug.

Jinu tilted your chin up. “Let’s make a new bet,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “See how long you can keep that smirk once we start touching you.”

Your mouth went dry.

You didn’t answer.

Because you would lose.

“You’re awfully quiet now,” Jinu murmured, thumb still pressing against your lower lip like he owned it.

Your heart pounded. Every part of your body was on high alert. You weren’t sure where to look, who to speak to — or if you even could.

Because they were everywhere.

Baby was in your lap, legs slung over yours, his hands now creeping beneath your hoodie to rest warm against your waist. “Thought you said you could do better than us,” he purred, voice teasing, eyes sparkling. “What happened to all that confidence, pretty girl?”

“Gone,” Abby supplied smugly from behind, brushing your hair aside to press a featherlight kiss to your neck. “It melted the second five pairs of eyes turned on her.”

“She’s so sensitive,” Mystery muttered, his hands already sliding up your thighs — over your clothes, barely grazing — but every motion burned like fire. “Look at her breathing.”

Romance, of course, took it further. His hand trailed up your side, slow and possessive, lips brushing against your jaw. “Try not to moan, angel,” he whispered. “Let’s see how long that bratty mouth stays shut.”

Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

That was when Jinu grinned.

“Ohhh, that’s a tell.” He reached down between your legs, pressing his palm just over your clothed heat — not moving, not even rubbing — just resting there with authority.

“Poor thing’s throbbing,” he said calmly. “And we haven’t even kissed her properly yet.”

You whimpered — actually whimpered — and clapped a hand over your own mouth.

“Too late,” Abby said behind you, pressing a smirk to your cheek. “We heard that.”

“She’s not gonna last five minutes,” Baby giggled, rocking slightly in your lap.

“I give her two,” Mystery added, fingertips now skimming the inside of your thigh like he wasn’t even trying — but oh, he was.

Romance tilted your chin. “One.”

Then he kissed you — deep, slow, and possessive.

You moaned.

Immediately.

Jinu laughed softly. “One minute? Try one second.”

[blondechariot]

Can I request headcanons for poly Saja Boys reacting to his female s/o, who kept trying to leave when they just started dating her because all of them were dating before even meeting her and she's too used to being the third wheel so she leaves to give them privacy please?

pairing: poly!Saja Boys x reader

warnings: Emotional Insecurity, Past Relationship Trauma, Isolation, Mild Angst

disclaimer: not my pic!

This actually made me really sad :( sending hugs to everyone who ever felt left out once in their life. You are all beautiful and deserve better

At first, no one noticed.

The Saja boys were chaos wrapped in charm — teasing each other at breakfast, wrestling over the last dumpling, or sprawled across the couch in a tangle of limbs and blankets. You loved watching them. The way they laughed together, moved together, fit together. They had a rhythm — something instinctual, something old.

You were the new beat.

And even though they never made you feel unwelcome, you couldn’t help but feel… temporary. Like a guest in someone else's love story.

It started with the smallest things.

At dinner, if there were six chairs but only five seats filled, you took the farthest one. Out of the way. Just in case someone wanted to sit closer to someone else.

When they played video games, you handed them controllers and watched from the floor, pretending you were “just bad at it anyway.”

You excused yourself early from cuddles, even when one of them reached out to tug you closer.

You said, “You guys go ahead, I’ll just clean up.” You said, “It’s fine, I’ll shower later.” You said, “Don’t worry about me.”

You smiled. Always smiled. Because you were happy. Weren’t you?

But deep down, you were doing math. Always calculating space. Who wanted to sit next to whom. Who deserved the middle seat. Who had history — and who was just tagging along.

One afternoon, they were curled up watching a movie. You came in with drinks, but they were already close, already comfortable — Mystery’s head on Romance’s lap, Abby half-asleep against Jinu’s chest, Baby squeezed in beside them with a blanket over his shoulder.

There was a small spot left on the edge of the couch, barely big enough for you.

You stood there for a second. And then, quietly, you set the drinks down and backed out.

You told yourself it was fine. They were tired. They looked happy. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. So you curled up on the floor with a pillow and scrolled through your phone, pretending to laugh at memes you didn’t really read.

Nobody said anything. They didn’t mean to miss it. But no one reached for you, either.

Later that night, in the bathroom with the door locked and the fan on, you stared at your reflection.

You whispered it to yourself like a prayer. "They love you. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be clingy. Don’t ruin it."

You splashed cold water on your face. And when you came out, you smiled. Like always.

Jinu noticed it first. Not because you were loud about it — quite the opposite.

It was the silence that got to him.

You used to sit in his lap during breakfast, stealing pieces of fruit off his plate. Now you sat across the table, smiling politely, like a guest.

You used to interrupt his conversations with cheeky remarks, little touches on his arm, a kiss to the cheek when he was trying to be serious. Now you let him finish his thoughts — every word — and nodded like a stranger.

He noticed the way you’d bring everyone their mugs of tea but “forget” yours. The way you hovered in doorways instead of walking in.

The way you looked at them — like they were a painting behind glass. Beautiful. Untouchable. And you were just… lucky to look.

One night, Jinu came back from training late and found the others all half-asleep in a pile of limbs on the couch. You weren’t there.

He checked the kitchen. The bathroom. Finally found you curled up in the laundry room of all places, surrounded by a warm pile of clean towels.

"Hey," he said gently, crouching down. "Everything okay?"

You startled — tried to smile, tried to act casual. “Oh! Yeah. I was just folding stuff. Didn’t wanna wake anyone.”

It was almost believable. Except the towels weren’t folded. And your eyes were red.

Jinu didn’t push. Not yet. He sat beside you and offered his hand. You didn’t take it. You just leaned your shoulder against the dryer and looked down at your lap.

A long silence stretched between you.

"Do we make you feel like you’re not part of this?" he asked softly.

You shook your head too quickly. "No! Not at all. I just… I don’t want to get in the way. You guys have a thing. A bond. I don’t want to ruin that."

Jinu blinked, stunned. Because in his mind, you were already part of their bond. The softness in Mystery's voice. The brightness in Abby's laugh. The way Baby's hands reached for yours when he was scared. The way Romance only cooked your favorite meals now.

You weren’t the outsider.

But you clearly thought you were.

"You’re not in the way," he said, voice low and serious. "You’re in us. In all of this. You’ve changed it — for the better."

You gave a little laugh. But it cracked at the edges. "I know. I just… I don’t want to take up too much space."

That was when it really hit him.

You weren’t asking for more.

You were trying to shrink. To fit. To avoid being too much.

His heart ached.

That night, Jinu didn’t say anything to the others just yet. He climbed into bed beside you, wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, and kissed the back of your neck.

But he didn’t fall asleep. He lay there for hours, thinking.

Because you deserved better than silent guilt and unnoticed space.

You deserved proof. And he would make sure you got it.

The next morning, Jinu sat quietly at the kitchen table, nursing his coffee while the others filtered in one by one — hair messy, shirts half-buttoned, sleep still clinging to their voices.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Watched as you poured everyone’s drinks again — and forgot your own. Watched as you pulled a chair away from the center and sat at the end of the table. Watched as you listened, laughed, nodded… but never entered.

Finally, after you’d stepped out to get something from the hallway, he spoke.

“She thinks she’s the third wheel.”

Every eye snapped to him. “What?” Mystery said, frowning. “Wait, who?” Abby asked. “You mean—?”

“Her,” Jinu said, voice quiet. “She’s been pulling away. Leaving herself out. Not because she’s mad. Because she thinks we were already complete without her.”

There was silence. Then Baby said softly, “But we’re not.”

“I know,” Jinu said. “But she doesn’t.”

That day, things began to shift. Not all at once. Not in loud declarations. But in a thousand quiet ways.

Romance was the first to move. That night, he cooked her favorite meal — and only her favorite meal. When she insisted everyone else might want something different, he looked her dead in the eyes and said, “Tough. We’re all eating what you love tonight. Because you’re the center today.”

She blinked. He winked.

Abby started pulling her into conversations. Not just including her, but looking at her first. “What do you think?” he’d ask before anyone else spoke. “You always have the best ideas.”

He’d say it so confidently that it made her wonder if maybe… maybe she did.

Mystery didn’t say much — he never did. But the next time she brought mugs of tea and forgot hers again, he disappeared for five minutes and returned with a cup. Set it in front of her wordlessly. And then switched seats to sit beside her instead of across.

Baby began dragging her into the center of everything. Onto the couch. Into the bed pile. Onto his lap. “You go in the middle,” he said firmly. “You’re the warmest.”

It was such a simple thing. But she cried in the bathroom later.

And Jinu? He started saying it out loud. Often.

“You’re not extra. You’re ours.” “You don’t have to earn your place — you already have it.” “You don’t have to make space. There is space. For you. Always.”

Eventually, you began to believe it.

You started talking more. Reaching out more. Taking up space without apology.

And the first night you climbed into the middle of the bed pile without waiting for anyone to invite you — Baby immediately threw a blanket over your head, Abby cheered, Romance called it “about damn time,” and Jinu just kissed your forehead like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

You didn’t say it that night. But when you drifted to sleep surrounded by warmth and love, you thought: "Maybe I’m not on the outside anymore."

And for once, your heart didn’t argue.

[blondechariot]

the image u put in the fic you just posted is AI...

that's why i put the disclaimer, that it is NOT my pic :) I found it on pinterest

I just didn't want to use the same pics all over again so i used something different