Literary Angel

🪕 Jinu is bad at dropping hints. Arguably as bad as he is as taking them. As far as he knows, you haven’t given any signs he can kiss you. And as far you know, he hasn’t indicated he wants a kiss.

🪕 Sweet mother of god, yes, he does. Please don’t deprive this old man. His fragile heart can’t take it.

🪕 His idea of seeking your affection consists of longing stares (when your back is turned), vague noises (clearing his throat when you sit beside him), and if he is feeling particularly bold? He might brush his knuckles on your skin.

🪕 Fortunately for him, Abby is a bro and whispers in your ear one evening to please kiss the poor guy soon. Something about Jinu crying himself to sleep at night beginning to be a bit annoying.

🪕 You think that was a joke. It probably was… Probably.

🪕 Well, you are hardly made of ice. So, with a mischievous grin, you approach Jinu while he is working. He’s all tucked away in a corner, chewing on one corner of his lower lip, brow flip-flopping between up and down. 

🪕 Sitting beside him, you tap his shoulder. His eyes find yours, and his abused lip slips from his teeth as he smiles.

🪕 You ask if he wants a kiss. No beating around the bush. No hesitation. And for your boldness, you receive wide eyes and a nondescript response which seems to lean towards a yes. It also resembles the sound an excited dog might make, oddly enough.

🪕 His brain might be broken, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning in, eager as a buck in mating season. Right before his lips can graze yours, you push a chocolate kiss between your mouths.

🪕 The mushy mess of his brain gathers itself enough for him to register you’ve just pulled a joke on him. A joke he doesn’t understand, because what is a chocolate kiss and why would you be so cruel as to deny him a long-awaited kiss?

🪕 You laugh and, without explaining the joke to the frazzled boy, push the chocolate into his mouth. Then peck his lips, innocent and sweet. And with your delicate affection, you’ve short-circuited what remained of his brain. 

🪕 TLDR: You broke Jinu. Good job. Go get yourself some chocolate.

🍼 Few people are as addicted to kisses as Baby Saja. They give him a sense of pleasure beyond what even sex can provide. There’s something about the softness that just melts his hard exterior.

🍼 Chaste kisses when you pass each other in the hall. Shoulder kisses in the shower together. Neck kisses when you cuddle. Deep, steamy kisses that make toes curl when you go to bed.

🍼 He loves them all. And because of that, you often find your lips chapped, swollen, and occasionally painful.

🍼 One evening, after a particularly lovey-dovey day, you wince as you casually taste a sauce you're making. Ouch. That little demon (/affectionate) did a number on you.

🍼 Now… teasing Baby is a risky game. Especially as it comes to his favorite form of affection. When you spot an unopened package of chocolate kisses, the idea forms in your brain. It’s dangerous, it’s silly, it’s… Perfect.

🍼 You approach him before bed, all smiles and twinkling eyes. Baby clocks you’re up to something immediately.

🍼 He playfully demands what you’re up to, and you shrug, bouncing onto the bed beside him. You rattle off some excuse about being happy, like you always are with him.

🍼 Baby, who lives on kisses, also detests sweet talk. Not because he doesn’t love you or feel the same, but because he can only be so soft before the other Saja Boys start giving him looks. He rolls his eyes, blushing a faint pink, and tells you to shut up.

🍼 Your opening! You grin and tell him to make you, if he’s bothered by your words. He’s on you in seconds, smirking like he figured out your game, a gleam in his eyes as he declares his intent to steal a kiss.

🍼 The second he tries to seal your honeyed words away, you plant a chocolate between his lips.

🍼 He stares at you. You can hear his patience stretching to its limit because he knows. He understands what you’ve just done. And how dare you.

 🍼 You explain your lips are sore from earlier and he is only allowed to have chocolate kisses for the rest of the night. Prepare for Baby’s ultimate weapon: the doe eyes.

🍼 He will apologize for being too rough, but… Like I said, the boy is an addict. Lips hurt? Suck it up, buttercup, Baby needs his real kisses.

🌽 Funnily enough, Abby was the one who bought the damn chocolates. It was one of his “I’m sorry for losing track of time and/or being late” gifts.

🌽 I digress. Abby loves to give gifts. He never asks for anything in return, but if you were to offer a little smooch? Boy is all over that. And by that, I mean you.

🌽 One particularly long night of training leads to him bringing home an extravagant selection of desserts to bribe your forgiveness. One day you’ll tell him you understand and don’t need gifts, but in the meantime? Free sweets.

🌽 The two of you nibble on the treats, curled up together under a blanket. You already have the chocolate in your pocket and are just waiting for the right time. Once he sits up, ready to put up the remainder of the treats?

🌽 His eyes go wide when your question reaches him. This is normal; Abby always acts like he never expects you to choose to be affectionate again. But after the surprise wears off, he gets cocky. Smug.

🌽 Of course you want to kiss him. And hey, he wants to kiss you, too. Win-win, right?

🌽 Abandoning his task, he slides back onto the couch, wrapping an arm around you. Very suave, like the idea of kissing you doesn’t have his heart racing a million miles an hour.

🌽 He leans in, lips ready, eyes closed. You casually pluck the chocolate from your pocket and smush it to his lips.

🌽 The moment? Ruined. His ego? Mostly intact, but you might have left a kiss-sized bruise. 

🌽 When he realizes what you’ve done, he pops the chocolate in his mouth, nodding. Playing it off like the cool guy he is. You pranked him, sure, no biggie. The second you turn your back, however?

🌽 Run, bitch, run. You hear his manic giggles before you realize what is happening. His arms have you anchored to his body. There is no escape.

🌽 His eyes gleam as you look over your shoulder. His canines flash beneath his lips, and he leans in. You know what he is thinking, what he wants, before he even says anything.

🌽 “I believe I was promised a kiss, pretty thing.”

🌹 Unlike Baby, Romance is not addicted to kisses. They are not some drug he craves; rather, they are the oxygen his body demands.

🌹 Denying Romance a kiss will result in the saddest eyes, second only to Baby, and the biggest pout, second only to Mystery. And unlike them, he knows how to cry on demand. Will he use it? Depends how “mean” you are being about his kisses.

🌹 “But darling~ I’ll die without your sweetness!” / “Sweetheart, do you wish to see me suffer?” / “Oh, cruel love o’ mine, what have I done to deserve this cold shoulder?”

🌹 Dramatics. Words, actions, aura. Everything. Is. Drama.

🌹 And why, you might wonder, would you deny Romance a kiss, especially at the cost of facing his (very loud) sulking? Well, Romance is many things, some of which lend themselves well to the idol lifestyle. Others… Not so much.

🌹 Jinu literally smacked him away from you in public when your back was turned to prevent him tackling you out of affection and exposing your relationship. Seriously. He rolled up a magazine and just beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

🌹 In hindsight? Very funny. At the time? …Still pretty funny.

🌹 Romance is not one to be deterred, however, so you came up with a gameplan. A special, alternative kiss for him in public. The next time he tries to smooch you, you press the candy to his lips and grin at his shocked expression.

🌹 These are the only kisses you get in public, you tell him. He pouts, as expected, and pockets the candy. Moping. Teary-eyed. He whimpers something pathetic about how chocolates couldn’t compare to the sweetness of your lips.

🌹 Later, when you get home, you ask to see the chocolate. Romance passes it to you, still a bit broody over earlier, but his mood lifts the instant you pop the kiss in your mouth and press your lips to his. First gentle, then intense. 

🌹 A kiss for a kiss, you explain after cleaning the chocolate from the corners of your mouths. You would think, with the way he stares at you, that you’ve woven the night sky and hung every star personally.

🌹 Needless to say, he will accept this alternative. Actually… He seems to enjoy it more than expected, winking at you as he pops a spare chocolate in his mouth. You might have created a monster.

❓️ Mystery never asks for kisses. If he wants one, he stands in your line of sight, within arm’s reach, and puckers his lips ever so slightly.

❓️ From there, you have the wheel. Do with it what you will. (Please give him a kiss. He asks for so little. Throw in bonus head scritches, too.)

❓️ But I get it. You want to torment the sweet boy who has never done a thing wrong in his life. (Unless you count my Shameless verse where he sorta killed and ate a couple some a lot of people. Miniscule stuff, really. How could you hold that against him?)

❓️ You buy a bag of candy and sneak it into the house. You are officially armed and dangerous. Mystery will have no clue what hit him.

❓️ He stays over one night for some peace and quiet since, apparently, the other four have started a multi-hour wrestling match on the one night he wanted to space out in silence. You graciously agree to let him spend the night or however long he needs for his “Mystery time”. 

❓️ The two of you end up sitting in mute serenity. You read a book or surf your phone, he zones out, head in your lap. You stroke his hair, and every few minutes, his throat emits a rumbling noise. 

❓️ Once he is nice and relaxed, you test the waters by poking his cheek. A smile quirks the corners of his mouth, and that means you can break the silence without upsetting him.

❓️ Sweetly, you ask if he wants a kiss. To which he, of course, does not answer, but he purses his lips. Expectant. Eager, even.

❓️ Jesters have nothing on you, you think, plopping an unwrapped chocolate right on his mouth. You hold your breath, waiting for the reaction. And wait. And wait.

❓️ His mouth opens, and his tongue scoops in the chocolate. A few tentative chews, and he nods. Accepted. Then he puckers again.

❓️ The reaction is not what you wanted, yet somehow not surprising, given Mystery is, well, Mystery. So you repeat your joke. And he swallows the next chocolate. And the next. And the next. You’re starting to lose steam when you catch a smirk through the puckered lips.

🪕 Jinu stumbles upon you when he comes to pick you up for your super special VIP pass backstage to one of the Saja Boys concerts.

🪕 You are sitting in your living room, a green candle clutched to your chest, the flame dancing curiously beneath your sealed gaze. He can hear you murmuring to yourself, but can’t quite make out the words.

🪕 He watches as you open your eyes and puff a breath over the flame, extinguishing it. Only then do you notice him. Startled, you begin to explain you were performing a ritual to bring the Saja Boys success with their show tonight.

🪕 It takes a bit of explaining because this old man is so confused. Like, are you actually magic? Are you a demon or demonkin? What exactly is a “witch” and why do they enjoy “crafting”?

🪕 You end up having to explain it on the go unless you want to be late. He listens intently, like he is absorbing every word and saving it for later.

🪕 Jinu is a quick learner once you get past the cultural difference and his endless inquiries that make you want to kiss him — god, why is he so cute when he is confused?

🪕Being a demon (and having a poor self-image), he won’t judge you. In fact, he finds your practices charming and supports them. He likes your positive outlook on things, and to celebrate learning something new about you, he’ll buy several books to further his knowledge of Wiccan history.

🌽 Abby pops over to your house one day with lunch and, to his surprise, finds you setting an array of crystals out on your balcony. He chuckles and jokingly asks if they need a little Vitamin D. 

🌽 His eyes go wide when you explain you are charging the crystals. Not because he’s thinking, “Oh, wow, Wiccan stuff!” More like he’s trying to figure out why you have solar-powered crystals. And what do they do when they are charged?

🌽 Needless to say, he doesn’t understand, and you will be forced to explain yourself or face a million bizarre and nonsensical questions — “So, like, do they light up or something? Or vibrate?”

🌽You’re going to need those crystals for strength, to be honest, because this boy is clueless and doesn’t understand half of what is coming out of your mouth. Finally, he gets (sorta) that this is a lifestyle and belief system type of thing.

🌽 Abby, of course, accepts your Wiccan beliefs. Enthusiastically asks if you need help. If you let him touch anything, make sure it isn’t breakable.

🌽 While he isn’t the type to go off and do a bunch of research, he’ll do just about anything you ask of him. He is a hype man when it comes to you, and if anyone ever tries to belittle your ideology?

🌽 That’s what the muscles are for, babe. (Please stop him before Jinu has an aneurysm.)

🌹 The night of a full moon, you prepare a bath cleanse at your house, not prepared for any visitors. You should know better than to think Romance would ever forsake the joy of surprising you.

🌹 You are barely settled into the water when you hear him call out your name, cheerful and mischievous all at once. It sounds like he is skipping down the hall.

🌹 You call back to him, and he pokes his head in ever so slightly. His lashes rest heavy over his sultry gaze as he asks if he can join you, and you explain tonight you really planned to bathe alone. (You do let him enter the bathroom, though, because otherwise he’ll sulk.)

🌹 He sniffs at the herbs and oils you’ve added and makes a quizzical comment, leaning over the edge of the tub to watch you. He will continue staring until you fill him in and explain your performing a cleanse.

🌹 Romance is confused. Not by the idea of cleansing but by the idea that you, his perfect love, would need to be cleansed. He also worries that the “negativity” you are cleansing is because of him.

🌹 You elaborate while distracting him from his worries by letting him comb your hair, massage your shoulders, basically give you the whole spa treatment. He kinda gets it by the end of the bath, and now? Now he’s excited. Because you gave him a new piece of you to worship.

🌹 The next time you want to bathe, whether for cleansing or just to relax, he will insist on you teaching him how to prepare your “special bathes” so he can help. Do yourself a favor and teach him, otherwise he’ll bug you every time you so much as move towards a bathroom.

❓️ Mystery wakes up one morning to an odd-smelling smoke and finds you walking around the Saja Boy penthouse with a burning bundle of… something? When he asks, you say it is frankincense and explain you are purifying the space.

❓️ Does he know what that means? …Actually, he kind of does. Born in a time steeped in superstitious beliefs, Mystery isn’t a total stranger to some of your Wiccan ideas and practices.

❓️ He pays close attention every time you explain something new to him. Expect questions! You are his person, and he wants to understand every aspect of your way of life and thinking.

❓️ For a good while, he will only ever watch you set up a ritual or perform a cleansing — he would hate to ruin what you’re trying to do. Or worse, taint it with his evil energy.

❓️ You have to coax him into joining you. Reassure him that 1) he isn’t evil and 2) he isn’t going to ruin anything. He appreciates it, but he’s a long way from buying into your positivity as it relates to him.

❓️ In the end, Mystery prefers helping less directly. Need him to pick up specific crystals or new candles? He’s your boy. Running low on incense? He grabs a bit of everything since he doesn’t know the difference and the smells confuse his nose.

❓️ And maybe, with a lot of time, he’ll let you teach him how to perform some rituals himself. Admittedly, he is quite curious.

🍼 From the moment he stepped into your apartment, Baby knew you were a plant-lover. Honestly? One of the things he likes about you, a fellow green thumb who enjoys growing things, from herbs to flowers.

🍼 What he didn’t know at the time, however, was the purpose behind your plants. He figured the herbs were for cooking, the flowers maybe just to liven up the space or for fun.

🍼 Until one day you carefully harvest some sage and rosemary, bundle them together, and set them aside for drying. When he asks about it, you explain you are letting them dry so you can create a smudge stick.

🍼 That gets his interest. Growing plants to burn? Not something he ever tried, but he’s down to mix his love of plants with his love of fire.

🍼 (You will need to sit him down and explain that a smudge stick isn’t just “a bunch of plants you burn” if you don’t want your apartment going up in flames.)

🍼 While he grasps the ideology once you explain it to him, he doesn’t truly get it. He might tease you, depending on how sensitive you are. If you get upset, he’ll apologize because, at the end of the day, he’ll support you no matter what.

🍼 You want to burn some herbs? Cool, he keeps a lighter on him anyways. You want to sunbathe your crystals? He’ll help you find the best spot. You want to say some mumbled prayers over candles? Hey, he’s a writer, he can help you come up with the words.

You wait until he settles in for the night, cozy under the blanket of your bed. He jots down notes about new song lyrics or promo ideas in a spiral you gifted him a few months ago to celebrate the Saja Boys fanclub’s latest milestone. In the ensuite, you smirk at your reflection and take a deep lungful of air.

“JINU SAJA!”

An immediate CRASH! gives away his panic. A few moments later, he stumbles into the bathroom, wide-eyed and clutching his foot.

“Sweetheart?!” He gasps around a groan of pain. “Ah, my toe, shi — no, sorry, are you okay? You sounded distressed.”

Ugh, he is too adorable. Those damn eyes of his are sweet as melted chocolate. Why’d he have to go and hurt himself, though? How can you laugh and pull a “gotcha!” moment if he is in pain?

Sighing, you duck your head and wrap your arms around his torso. “Jinuuuu~ You weren’t supposed to hurt yourself. I wanted you to think you were in trouble.”

His dark lashes flutter over his cheeks. “You wanted to…? Oh, was this a joke?” You rub your forehead into his chest. “Um, do you want me to… try again?”

“No, it only works if you don’t see it coming.”

He clearly does not understand, but he nods regardless. “I see. I’m sorry I ruined the joke.” A brief pause as he looks over you. “So, uh, you aren’t hurt, then?”

Well. Good attempt. Go cuddle your Saja Boy. And maybe get him some ice.

~🌽~♡~🌽~♡~🌽~♡~🌽~♡~🌽~♡~🌽~♡~🌽~♡~🌽

A rare day off for the Saja Boys should mean you have ample time to spend with your boyfriend. Like the clueless gym-junkie he is, however, he spends half the day in his private gym. You arrive, scowling, and glare at him across the room.

His sixth sense activates. He racks his weight, wincing, and turns to meet your stare. A nervous chuckle fills the silence.

“...Hey, babe. Fancy meeting you here, huh?”

You deadpan, “Yeah, no shit, it’s almost like I wanted to see my boyfriend on his day off.”

More silence, more tension. He lifts his hand to point towards the bathroom. “I, uh, I'm gonna go get cleaned up. So we can hang out.”

“Make it fast.”

Abby knows better than to argue. When he rejoins you, damp with fresh water instead of grimy sweat, he wastes no time in throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you towards the exit. He doesn't apologize using words; rather, he relies on over-the-top affection and bubbly praise.

Bastard knows you're weak to him.

The rest of your designated “date” time flies by, and by the end, you almost forgive him for squandering a good six hours in the gym.

Almost.

You unlock your apartment and invite him in, which he accepts with a suggestive grin. He asks if he can spend the night, wiggling his eyebrows because he knows the answer.

Abby makes himself at home, heading to the kitchen to whip up a post-dinner snack, and returns with a plated sandwich and a bag of veggie crisps already half-devoured. Your time is upon you.

“ABBY SAJA!”

He freezes. Your eyes meet. You expect him to question you.

Instead, he calmly sets the plate down, pops one more crisp into his mouth, and then…

He bolts for the door.

You don't know it yet, but by the time you process his escape, he is halfway to the nearest convenience store to pick up bribe-level goodies to win your forgiveness.

Hey, even he knows his charm can only do so much in a single day.

~🌹~♡~🌹~♡~🌹~♡~🌹~♡~🌹~♡~🌹~♡~🌹~♡~🌹

The idea comes to you in a dream, and for some reason, you cannot get it out of your head. Pulling such a silly prank on Romance, sensitive and dramatic loverboy extreme, seems kinda… Cruel. But the devil on your shoulder goads you on.

Romance arrives early on the morning of his day off. A bouquet of your favorite flowers and packaged box of fluffy croissants sit in each of his hands.

“Good morning, my darling. You are an absolute vision this morning, as you are every morning.”

Damn. The guilt is overwhelming, and you haven't even done anything yet! 

He escorts you to the couch like your apartment is his and you are the guest. You sit, and he slides a pillow behind you, tucks a blanket around your legs.

Okay, well, this is a bit much even for him.

“What are you doing, goofball?” You laugh and undo his blanket work. “I feel like you're about to confess a crime.”

His hand flies to his chest. “My only crime is being an utter failure of a boyfriend. Two days have passed since I last lavished you with my devotion, love, and I fear you might think me aloof.”

You try to refute his words, but he covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, darling, I shouldn't be comforted when I have committed such an atrocity.”

“ROMANCE SAJA!”

He flinches, then looks at you, doe-eyed and mouth agape. Not exactly how you saw going about this, but it works, you guess.

You smile, roll your eyes, and yank him into a kiss. Instantly, he melts, lips dancing against yours.

When you break the kiss, you tap his forehead. “You… are a goddamn fool.”

Romance considers you, and a sly smirk curves his lips. “Of course I am. I'm in love.” His hand trails up your leg as he leans in. “Perhaps I could do with some comfort after all.”

Overall, the prank is a success. Except for the hard to explain marks on your neck, but that is tomorrow's problem.

~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓️

Pranking Mystery is hard. For starters, he is such a silent presence by your side. How could he do or say anything wrong if he follows you like a mute puppy? Come to think of it, you are certain the two of you have never argued.

When Mystery disagrees with you, he pulls you into an honest conversation where he listens to your side, no interruptions. If you change his mind, he tells you, no dancing around to save face. If not, he explains his view. At the end, if you two can't agree, you agree to disagree.

All of this is to say… Pulling a prank with the goal of making Mystery think he is in trouble is a hard sell. Why would he ever assume he is in trouble when he is such a well-behaved puppy boyfriend? And if he did fall for it, would you be able to live with the guilt?

One way to find out.

The setting? Rehearsal. Mystery is notorious for overpromising on his schedule. He doesn't mean to stay late and leave you hanging — and truthfully? You blame Jinu nine times out of ten. Mystery is merely too passive when it comes to his junior holding the Saja Boys hostage.

You make your way into the building, greeting the receptionist as you pass. She shouts the room number for the day after you.

As you approach the door, you hear the beat of one of their new songs blasting. You stop outside the door and suck in a plentiful breath.

“MYSTERY SAJA!”

The music dies. You throw the door open, and what you see startles you. Your dear Mystery is crouched on the floor, head tucked. Upon seeing you, he slinks over like a wounded dog.

The other Saja Boys look at him, then at you. Immediately, they begin apologizing for keeping him late, especially Jinu. He takes full responsibility and swears it will never happen again, pleads for you not to be angry with Mystery.

It is kinda sweet how they jump to their hyung's defense. You glance at Mystery as he buries his face into your thigh, whimpering, and sigh.

You just had to prank him, didn't you? You monster. And to make matters worse, he won't even hold it against you when you fess up.

I hope you're pleased.

~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼

You spent the evening scrolling through your phone and came across an old trend. At first, you think it’s a bit mean-spirited, but when you consider how much of a dickhead Baby can be — not an insult since he openly admits it — the spark of an idea ignites.

He arrives at your apartment after a long day of idol responsibilities. You watch him remove his shoes, flicking the screen of his phone as he shoots off a text to his fellow idols. His gaze catches yours, and he offers a tiny smile, settling onto the couch beside you. You snuggle into his side, dousing him in featherlight kisses, and he hums, the picture of contentment.

He has no idea what is coming, you think while plotting for the best time to pull off your trick.

The two of you agree to a movie before bed, and as Baby flicks through the options, you escape his grasp under the guise of getting snacks.

Rustling chip bags extra loud for the sake of believability, you allow a bit of time to pass before screaming, “BABY SAJA!”

You wait. No, you anticipate.

Nothing.

That makes no sense. Your voice echoed through the apartment. He could not have missed you shouting his name. Was he ignoring you? What if you had been hurt?!

Pouting at your failed prank, you stomp out, about to legitimately give him an earful. From the kitchen doorway, you realize… Baby is missing.

Before your brain can fully process your empty living room, a ghost's breath chills your neck.

“Boo.”

You screech. Baby snickers. You are barely recovered, one hand clutching your chest, when he pinches your cheek.

“Did you know you become extra lovey when you're planning something?”

Your glare bounces off his smug smirk. He continues, “Better luck next time.”

Without a word, you creep over to the couch and snatch a pillow. He knows he's in for it and darts off down the hall, cackling like a demented goblin.

Next thing you know, the girl is in love with your boyfriend, batting her eyes and giggling each time he smiles. It’s his brand. You knew going into this relationship he has a particular image to uphold: the attractive flirt who never crosses the line but promises love beyond what you can dream of. Or some shit like that. You blank out when Jinu rambles about those things.

For the most part, you don’t mind it. You’ve learned the difference between Romance’s “idol smile” versus his “you” smile. Every once in a while, however, one of the assistants forgets themselves. Such is the case today.

The girl is pretty. Fit like an athlete. Skin perfect like a model. Voice… Okay, a little squeaky and obnoxious, but who's perfect? And she's nice. Gives fresh-faced newbie experiencing her first crush vibes.

When Romance sits for her to begin applying his make-up, he flashes her his usual smile, politely thanking her for the work she does. You watch her melt under his gracious attention and the heat of her own cheeks.

You sigh, texting and smiling to yourself while seated on a loveseat tucked into the corner of the room. No anger or resentment. Hey, you fell for him, too, so how can you judge?

Mystery, a rare companion at these shoots, peeks over at you from his station. He says nothing, either because he doesn't want to disturb the assistant or because he's, well, Mystery. But you feel the piercing sensation of his quizzical stare.

“This is normal,” you assure aloud, shrugging it off, smile never faltering. “Trust me. Every single time.”

Nothing special happens, or so you think. The artists finish their make-up, the boys run off to their joint shoot, and you wait in the distance, fondly observing Romance dazzle everyone.

Then, from behind, a giggle. You peer over your shoulder and see the lovestruck assistant whispering to a peer. You can barely catch her voice, but you read her lips: “He kissed me.”

You tense. You hadn't paid attention most of the time you waited, and you consider she might be talking about some private relationship outside work. But she keeps looking at Romance, giggling, beaming.

Kissed? He wouldn’t. Romance is not the type to cheat. If he kissed her, it must have been an accident. Perhaps he was distracted and acted on instinct. Kissing is basically his second language, the way he shows even platonic affection. 

You glance towards your boyfriend. He and Mystery are talking with the photographer. He looks unbothered and oblivious. Totally normal.

He notices your intense eyes tracking him and offers a tilt of his head, a curious smile. You subtly beckon him to a supply closet. He embraces your trap without question, eyes half-lidded in anticipation.

Before he gets a word in, you shove him against a wall, hand to his throat, lips curled in a sinister grin. He trembles. Not from fear, no. Arousal. Excitement. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as you lean in, nipping at his jaw. Your name falls from his lips in a moan, and his mouth finds your temple’s pulsepoint. 

“To what,” he whispers, silky, almost a purr, “do I owe the honor? Did you miss me so much even when I was right in front of you?”

Rolling your eyes, you address his playful taunt with action rather than words. The way you grab him leaves his knees wobbling, his breath ragged. You fondle him through the fabric of his pants and smirk when his eyes roll back. Poor Romance is a simple man. It takes so little to have him buckling beneath you.

“M-My love, you…”

You interrupt, “Did you kiss that assistant?”

It takes him a minute to process your words. “...What? Of course not, my lo—”

A quick clench of the hand, an upwards jerk to increase the pressure, and he collapses over your shoulder, crying through his hand. “F-Fuck, yes, please…!”

“She said you kissed her.”

“H-Her hand. Her hand, I swear, that — ah, my love, harder…”

Pleased by his answer, you take away his source of friction. The whine he rewards you with is so pathetic you almost feel bad. Almost.

His big brown eyes delve into yours. “I-I’m sorry. It didn’t mean anything, I just… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you laugh, petting his head. “Let’s avoid it in the future, though. Some of these little girls don’t know how to handle you.”

Your words are his safety, and he latches on to them, hugging your legs. “Yes, I promise, no more. So, please, can we…?”

Shaking him off, you reach for the closet door. A smug grin spreads across your face at his perplexed expression. “We’ll see if you can earn it, you flirt.”

~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓~♡~❓️

When Mystery invites you out on a date, you never know what's coming. Sometimes you walk through the park together. Sometimes he takes you to the roof of the Saja Boys's penthouse for a midnight picnic under the stars and city lights.

And other times you end up running for your life through the city while he hunts you from foreboding alleyways and building roofs.

You enjoy it, of course. He wouldn't do it if it scared or upset you. The problem is he starts his hunts out of the blue, no rhyme or reason. One minute you're picking up a fresh batch of baked goods to bring to him, the next an ominous growl by your ear whispers for you to run.

The first time he ever did this, you spun around and smacked the everloving shit out of him. You couldn’t see most of his expression, of course, but you could tell he was startled. Not hurt, somehow, but caught off-guard by your attack.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You demanded.

He tilted his head in that cute, canine-like way. “...Playing. Date.”

You then explained to him for far too long why he freaked you out. By the end, you weren’t convinced he understood, but he at least apologized. And then asked if you could play now.

Sigh.

So, yes, now you always wonder whenever you are out and about if a familiar yet ominous voice will command you to run from the shadows of an alley. Like now.

You hold your bag of goodies tight in your hand, fist pinning the bag closed to prevent loss of items. Passersby stare after you as your figure darts through the crowds, around corners, into more foot traffic to blend in.

There isn’t a point really. You know that. Mystery always finds you. No matter how fast you run, no matter how congested the area is, no matter if you hide or not. His uncanny ability to track you down is animalistic and more than a bit frightening. It is also, oddly, sexy as hell.

You stumble into a wooded park and, finding some thick foliage to hide among, you collapse. Your chest heaves, and the muscles of your feet and legs burn, protesting the sudden exertion.

Only a minute passes — not enough to catch your breath or massage out the pain — when you hear a growl. Deep. Rumbling straight from the throat. You weakly hold up a finger and, through shaky breaths, call out, “Pause. Break. Take five. Uncle.”

A switch flips, and he’s at your side, sitting in a crouch. “Okay?”

You open your mouth, but only gasps come out. “You… I… Rah?”

He nods and pulls out a bottle of water he apparently stored in his pocket. “Understood. Here.”

You toss back the water like it is life in a bottle. Honestly, a can of oxygen might have been more effective, but beggars can’t be choosers. Per usual, he stares from beneath his bangs, head slightly off center. His lips twitch into a smile.

“...Weak.”

You pause your drinking and glare. “Excuse me?”

“You’re weak. It’s cute.”

The baked goodness in your bag suddenly resembles ammunition. “Myst. I know you struggle with words, so I’m going to give you one chance to rethink your attempt at flirtation.”

He stares. You stare. He stares, then smirks. “Fragile but adorable, like a baby animal.”

War is declared. You launch your attack directly at his head, and he dodges. Each hand-picked loaf of sweet bread rolls behind him. You soon run out, so you chuck the water bottle at him. Also a miss. Well, only one reliable weapon left: you.

The two of you roll around, almost certainly squishing one of the bread loaves, but you cannot seem to gain the upperhand. Mystery entertains your attempts at wrestling, smirking and twisting with you. He even lets you pin him for a moment.

You are about to throw in the towel for the sake of your lungs, but a final thought occurs to you. A sneaky thought. Oh, this would be fun.

As he once again tops you, an exaggerated moan slips out of your mouth. His body goes rigid, the only movement him pulling back to see your face. You bat your eyes up at him, throwing in a few heavy breathes to really frazzle him. 

Another staring contest ensues, but instead of your eyes, he watches your mouth. Absorbs every open-mouth inhale, every gust of air billowing out. Muscles spasm in his arms, and his teeth grit together.

Your knee bends and the meat of your thigh catches between his legs, molds to the hard length you find there. His throat bobs as his mouth falls open. No sound escapes, yet you sense his muteness faltering as he grinds back on your leg.

Mystery leans in, hovering a breath away from your mouth, breath hot on your face. “A new game?”

“Since we played yours,” you reply, biting your lip up at him, “I think it’s only fair to play mine. You already know the rules, right, handsome?”

For a minute, he contemplates you. The smirk creeps back onto his face, and he flips you on top of him, silver hair fanned out beneath his head. “Okay. You win.”

~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼~♡~🍼

If someone warned you when you began dating Baby Saja that he was a total menace, you would have laughed and said, “Yeah, sounds about right.”

If the same someone warned you he was a clingy nightmare of a menace, you would have brushed it off. Mister “don't fucking touch me” Baby? Clingy? The same guy who glared at you for months whenever you tried to adjust his clothes before a performance? The one who, even after warming up to you, literally hissed when you brushed his hair out of his eyes?

Fat chance, you would have thought. More's the fool you, friend.

Having been with him for a few months, you could now attest… You were indeed foolish for not heeding those imaginary warnings.

Baby lays across you, pinning you beneath his body, his hands holding his phone behind your head. Sometimes random music blares out of the speakers. Occasionally you hear snippets of an interview or fan event. None of that matters or makes up for the fact you. Can’t. Move.

“Baby.” You feel the curve of a smirk as he hums. “Get off me.”

“Mm, nope.” He pops the word obnoxiously in your ear, rubbing your cheeks together like a cat. “Ask nicer, babe.”

Nicer? Nicer? He’s lucky you don’t flip him onto the floor and kick his scrawny ass. The idea is becoming more and more appealing. Not that you would win a fight with him. (You’ve tried.)

You struggle under him, and he chuckles, nuzzling into your neck. He isn’t heavy, yet he manages to hold you down without the slightest bit of effort, kicking his legs like some teenage girl giggling over her phone.

Squinting, you bite at his skin, craning your neck in awkward angles. Doesn’t bat an eye. In fact, he nips you back hard enough to earn a yelp. The return bite is a warning to behave and let him have his way.

Fuck that noise.

You manage to catch his hair in your mouth — an unpleasant sensation, to be sure — and yank it. His fingers pause their skimming on the screen, and you think you’ve made a dent in his armor.

Nope. He pinches a bit of hair and pulls enough to feel the ghost of a sting. “Play dumb games, babe, get dumb prizes. Don’t push it.”

“Don’t threaten me.” His amused laughter makes your eye twitch, and you mutter, “Brat. Jerk. Asshole.”

Baby tucks back enough to meet your gaze, the shine in his blue eyes devious. “You knew what I was like before you kissed me. Can’t act all outraged now that you’re suffering the consequences.”

“You weren’t a clingy monster before,” you argue, and he smirks. His nose pushes into yours as his eyes dig through your own and bury into your very soul. Your heart thumps, and like he can hear it, he smiles wider.

“My being clingy,” he coos, fingers brushing your side, “is a reward for being my favorite person. Congratulations.”

You swing your arm and whack him on the shoulder. “Well, you did say dumb games get dumb prizes.”

Both of you squint at each other, and the phone behind your head goes silent. You see the kiss coming and meet him halfway, ready to fight a battle you know you can win. Though Baby loves to claim he’s a top, that he never gets flustered, it’s a lie. You know it. He knows it. In a way, kissing you is his way of surrendering, apologizing for being, as you put it, a brat.

For all the well-deserved hell you give him, you don’t mind. Sure, it sucks when he decides the two of you aren’t moving for hours on end. And yeah, you sometimes want to beg for a moment alone when he follows you through the house like a lost duckling. Thinking back to how he used to treat you, however, it is hard to hold it against him for more than a heartbeat.

He moans into your kiss and flops over, letting you crawl on top of him. His dark lashes flutter as you kiss down his jaw, his neck, his collar bone. Your hand slips to the front of his pants, grazing his erection, and his hips jerk as a result.

“Tease me, and I’ll fuck you into the mattress until you can’t walk.”

You laugh and rub your nose to his. “Is that so? What a scary boy you are, my baby.”

His teeth flash in a snarl. “I’ll show you scary. I mean it, babe, don’t tease.”

Your gaze softens at his furrowed brow, his tight jaw. “I know. Relax. Be a good boy, yeah?”

The words ease the tension in his body, and he closes his eyes, breath steady. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be good, so take care of me.” Pause. “Now.”