Everything
Baby Saja x Reader
Just some pure, tooth rotting fluff w/ my fav Saja boy 🥹
A/N: Guys I’ve been obsessing over Baby recently… pls request sm to keep my hyper fixation alive y’all 💌
“In the past hour, I think I've managed to come up with at least fifty entire diss tracks for you.”
“Baby…keep your hand still.”
It was well past your usual bedtime. A couple hours ago, you had asked Baby if you could paint his nails. Had gotten out every bottle of nail paint you owned and everything, but you were met with a harsh no.
To win him over you had challenged Baby to a game of Mario Kart. You told him that if you won, he’d have to let you paint his nails any color you wanted. He had put in his conditions as well, but you didn't listen because you figured they wouldn't be important. You’d obviously win after all, right?
It was a heated race, and by the last round the two of you were tied. But a few well aimed bananas and shells later, Baby was well in the lead. It wasn't your fault, really! You were great at Mario Kart! But as Baby kept poking your side and distracting you through teasing, you felt your morale beginning to worsen. Just as Baby was about to cross the finish line, you made the spontaneous decision to press all your buttons at once. There wasn't any point to trying now that your stupid boyfriend was about to win.
Miraculously, just as you thought you were going to lose, your character somehow glitched to the very end of the track. You and Baby both snapped up, Baby stopping his continuous taunts to suddenly focus. As you started to laugh with a defiant “HA!”Baby began chanting his own “no no no no” at a continuously increasing volume.
Needless to say, you had obviously won. Obviously. Although Baby cried about how you had apparently cheated, you decided to redeem your reward, just as you deserved.
Despite his dramatics, it didn’t take too long for you to drag him onto your couch and gently sit on his lap. And now you were attempting to diligently work a light pink onto his left index finger.
And although this was only the first finger, it seemed like Baby only wanted the opportunity to get you onto his lap, because right before you lowered the brush, he yanked his hand all the way up and out of your reach. You frowned. He was teasing you, again. While you couldn't clearly see his face with your current position sitting forward on his lap, you could still feel his devilish grin and pointed stare drilling holes on the back of your head.
You grumbled to yourself as you reached up, your attempts to grab his palm futile,“You said you’d let me paint your nails!”
He snickered to himself as he watched you, clearly amused, “I said I’d let you, not that I’d make it easy.”
“I can't believe it,” you muttered under your breath, trying to twist around and get a good look at the liar, “You're so mean, I won that game fair and square!”
“Uh-huh,” He said skeptically, his iconic drawl sending shivers up your spine, “Cheating kills relationships, I hope you know that.”
You make a mock exasperated noise, “You're taking that line wayyy out of context, meanie-”
He jabs at your side with his other hand, catching you off guard and making you laugh, “Calling each other names kills relationships, I hope you know-”
“Well,” You state confidently, “Not letting your girlfriend paint your nails kills relationships, I hope you-”
Baby once again jabs at your side, this time lingering and tickling you. You try to squirm away but there's no hope, he's got firmly in his grasp. It's only after you beg for him to stop, albeit in a fit of laughter, that he eases his hold.
As you try to catch your breath, decidedly not trusting this bastard again, he's still smiling at you with that annoyingly sweet look. So you aim for a different tactic, “Have some pity for your poor girlfriend, will you? Just a poor girl tryna’ paint her man’s nails light pink…”
“Oh hell no.”
“But Baby. Your nails are gonna be pretty pink, almost as pretty as you-”
“Cyan hair, a bright pink sweater and baby pink nails? ‘S gonna clash so bad-”
“Soooo pretty-”
He audibly sighed, rolling his eyes and tipping his head back on the couch before dramatically dropping his hand into your lap, “Fine. Whatever it takes to get you to shut up.”
You continued to giggle to yourself throughout the night at how quickly he gave up at your pestering. You carefully applied the pink nail polish on each finger, but sometimes it would spill out onto the sides of his fingernail.
“‘s cold,” he murmured, leaning forward. He placed his head carefully on your shoulder once again as he peeked at your work. His breath was warm and spanned across your neck. You don't think you could ever forget nights like this, a safe space where it's only you, him, a cold night and a warm blanket.
You look up drowsily from your position on his lap, trying to get a glance at his face. You don't think you could ever forget him. His pretty features, distinctive smile, warm embrace. Eyes like stars, guiding you home.
He was home.
“…You're cute.” You murmured in response. You know he hates the cute allegations, the ones that belittle him to the childish persona necessary for him to perform for his band. He told you himself, his insecurity, how tired he was with it all.
In the shield the darkness of the night provides quiet moments where it's just the two of you about to drift into sleep together, he tells you how he feels the need to act tough and distant when he's not performing to fight back against the persona he has unwillingly created for himself. He tells you how being seen as soft, even by you, makes him feel like a weapon losing its edge.
You wished he knew he could be cute, and he could also be yours. You wanted him to know that one label doesn't define who he is, and that one label doesn't diminish his worth. Doesn't diminish what he means to you.
You continued to analyze his pretty face, tipping your head all the way back to get a look at him. You almost wished you didn't, because he had such a stricken expression of longing and warmth, a tear almost escaped your eye.
“You’re everything” he whispered back. Gently, he placed his forehead onto your own, almost as if you were a porcelain angel and he was your sole worshiper.
