saja boys turn ons? fem reader!
A/n: Thank you for the request I really love writing for these boys and I hope you like this <3
Jinu
Confidence wrecks him. You so much as smirk at him across the room, and he’s already biting his lip. When you don’t even try to be sexy but just carry yourself with confidence? He’s a goner.
You compliment him and actually mean it? His ears go red but he’s hard under the table.
Back of the neck kisses. Doesn’t matter if it’s playful or lingering, press your lips there while he’s mid-task and he physically shivers. You’ve got him glitching, staring at the wall like “I need a minute.”
You in his clothes (duh). No matter if the hoodie falling off one shoulder, hugging your figure, or if the sleeves are too long
Your scent mixed with his? It does things to him. “You trying to kill me?” he mumbles, barely holding himself back.
The sound of your laugh when it’s just the two of you.
Something about knowing he made you laugh like that, vulnerable and unguarded, turns his brain to soup. He gets this look, soft eyes, parted lips, like he’s two seconds from kissing you breathless.
When you’re a little bratty. You tease him just enough to make him raise an eyebrow and lean in. “You sure you wanna keep talking like that, baby?” he’ll murmur, voice low and honeyed.
Eye contact.
Not the flirty kind. The quiet, intense kind that happens when you’re sitting close, and you’re not even speaking, but just looking at him like you see him. It makes his breath hitch every time.
You wearing lip gloss. Especially if it’s shiny or slightly tinted. The second he sees it, he’s already thinking about kissing it off. “If you’re gonna wear that around me, don’t be surprised when I mess it up” he warns, already pulling you in.
Hands, yours specifically. The way you touch him without thinking (tugging on his sleeve, playing with his hair) he short circuits a little every time. But when your hands get intentional? Like gripping his jaw or sliding up under his shirt? It’s over.
Vulnerability. Not just yours, but his too.
The intimacy of holding each other in silence, post-argument or post-anxiety spiral, when you're just there shaky breathing and slowing heartbeats. He finds it painfully intimate. “You’re everything” he whispers.
The way you say his name when you need something. Doesn’t matter what, attention, a kiss, help with something. You just say “Jinu?” a certain way and his chest tightens. His hands are already on your hips, like, “Yeah, baby?”
When you notice him. Not just how he looks, but when he’s stressed, when he’s quiet.
You call him out gently. “You okay?” Or “You’ve been clenching your jaw again.” He melts. That kind of care? It’s better than anything physical. But also, it leads to things physical. Always.
Low-cut shirts on you. He tries to be respectful. Tries.
But he stares. Then glances away. Then stares again. You catch him and he just goes, “What? You wore that knowing I’d look.”
Your scent on his pillows. You leave his place and his bed still smells like you? His brain goes blank. He’ll curl into the sheets, groaning, “Fuck, I miss you already” while tugging the fabric closer.
The way your thighs press together when you're shy. He notices everything. You giggle and shift in your seat, trying to play it off, but he’s already leaning closer, whispering, “You squirming for me, sweetheart?”
When you act innocent. You pretend you didn’t mean to say something dirty, wide eyes blinking at him. He just tilts his head, smirks slowly, and says, “Oh, so you didn’t know what that would do to me? Guess I’ll have to show you.”
Romance
Emotional intimacy is his biggest aphrodisiac. You open up about a fear, a childhood memory, a weird dream you had last night, and he’s sitting there, wide-eyed, looking at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen.
His hand finds yours your fingers intertwining with each other. “You’re so... beautiful,” he breathes. He's not just turned on, he's moved.
He completely falls for softness. The way you sigh his name when you're half-asleep. The gentleness in your eyes when you touch his face. He feels his pulse stutter and his breath catch like you just kissed him even without touching him at all.
The idea of “coming home” to you? Instant turn on. You greet him at the door with a soft smile and arms wide open, and suddenly his workday is a blur. “You are so perfect” he murmurs into your neck. Then his hands start wandering, slowly but surely. You are his peace… and pleasure.
Wearing something casual but cozy destroys him. You in one of his oversized sweatshirts, legs bare, sipping tea? He’ll pause mid-step just to take you in. “You’re literally art” he says, dazed. A minute later, he’s behind you, hands slipping around your waist like he needs to touch you in any way possible.
Caring for him makes him melt (and ache). You fix his collar, remind him to eat, pack him snacks with sticky notes that say “don’t skip meals, love💕”and suddenly he’s looking at you like he’s going to drop to one knee and pull you into his lap. “How are you real?” he whispers, voice thick with desire.
Dancing with you. No real music, just swaying in the living room, your head against his chest, your breath against his skin. He kisses your hairline and whispers, “Don’t let go.” Then you smile up at him and he’s gone. That kind of closeness has him wanting more.
Seeing you love things. Doesn’t matter what it is, a favorite song, a silly hobby, a book that makes you cry. When your face lights up in that way? He gets turned on in that slow, aching way. Like, this is the person I get to love. This is who I get to kiss everyday.
When you take care of yourself. You drink water, stretch, journal, rest when you need it, and he’s beaming. “Proud of you” he says, pulling you in for a kiss. Then his hands don’t quite leave your waist. “Can I reward you for being so good?”
You calling him “my love.” It undoes him. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve said it, it always lands right in his chest.
Soft and deep and yearning. He responds with a soft groan, a kiss to your palm, a low, “Say it again. Please.”
Lingerie is nice. But his real weakness? You in anything that smells like him.
His shirt, his robe, a hoodie he left on your chair. He sees you curled up in it and immediately feels that familiar ache. “You know what that does to me, right?” he says, half-laughing, half-serious.
The way you look when you’re focused. Reading, cooking, writing, he watches you in awe. Then you catch him staring, and he just smiles, slow and lazy. “Sorry. You’re distracting. Beautifully distracting.”
When you spoil him. Light scratches down his back, feeding him bites of dessert, running your fingers through his hair while he lies in your lap. He sighs like he’s in paradise. But when you kiss his temple and say, “You deserve softness too”? He blinks up at you like he might completely fall apart.
Your sleepy voice. Half-conscious “Come back to bed,” or drowsy “I missed you” while reaching for him? His whole chest tightens. He climbs back under the covers instantly, pulling you into his arms, whispering, “God, you’re gonna kill me with that voice.”
When you praise his heart, not just his body.
You tell him he’s kind. That he makes you feel safe. That he sees you like no one else does. And suddenly his fingers are tracing your jaw, his lips brushing yours, voice shaking a little when he says, “You always know what to say to make me fall even harder.”
Kissing you mid-laughter. You’re both laughing, cheeks flushed, and he just has to kiss you. There’s something about joy on your face that makes him need to feel your mouth on his.
Abby
You standing up for yourself? Automatic weakness. Someone says something mean, and you hit back with confidence? His eyebrows go up, his hand goes straight to your waist, and he leans in like, “That was hot. Do it again.”
You defending him? He’s borderline feral. “You always this ride-or-die, or just for me?”
When you’re playful-mean. You tease him, roast his playlist, sass him back when he’s flirting too hard? He’s thriving. That smug grin only grows bigger. “Damn, you got claws, huh?” he chuckles, low and impressed. “Keep talkin’, see what happens.”
Wearing his stuff casually like it’s nothing. His shirt hanging off one shoulder, his rings on your fingers, a tank top that smells like him, he sees it and pauses. Just stands there like, “You’re tryin’ to kill me, right?” He’ll try to act chill about it, but his hand is on your hip in two seconds flat.
You grab his hand mid-walk, say “Dance with me” in the kitchen, or tug him back into bed in the morning like, “Just five more minutes.” He acts like it’s an inconvenience, but his heart? Mush. And the way you look at him when you do it? Yeah, now he needs to make out with you immediately.
Physical confidence gets him. Doesn’t matter if you’re shy or bold, when you walk into the room like you know you look good? His jaw ticks. He stares openly, arms crossed, biting his lip with that look that says I’m about to ruin you, but only after he whispers, “Goddamn, babe.”
You reaching up to fix his clothes/hair. He’ll tilt his head down and watch you with this lazy little smirk like, “You takin’ care of me now?” But when your fingers linger just a little too long at his collar? His breath hitches. That close-up intimacy turns him on fast.
Making him work for it. If you pull back during a kiss, or keep teasing without giving in right away? He groans. Hands on hips. Tongue against his cheek like he’s trying to keep it together. “Alright,” he laughs lowly. “I see how it is. You wanna play, sweetheart? Fine. Just remember who’s better at this game.”
When you take initiative. Grabbing him by the collar, pushing him down onto the bed, whispering what you want into his ear? He’s toast. He’ll act cocky, “Oh, you takin’ charge tonight?”but you’ll notice how quickly he melts under your touch. Especially when you lean in and say, “Be good for me.” Instantly obedient.
Your duality. You show up to brunch looking like a dream, being sweet to the waiter, but he still remembers what you sounded like the night before, his voice low as he leans over the table: “You’re sittin’ here bein’ all innocent… after what you did to me last night?” He’s obsessed with the contrast. Obsessed with you.
Post-shower skin. You step out with wet hair, dewy skin, nothing but a towel covering youand his brain short-circuits. “Babe… come on,” he half-groans, staring like he’s in a trance. He pulls you in before you can finish drying off, mumbling, “You’re gonna get me in trouble looking like that.”
When you give him the look™. You know the one. Chin tilted, eyes slow-blinking, smirking just a little. The one that says “I’m thinking something dirty but not saying it.” He narrows his eyes, grins, and growls, “What are you thinking, huh?” even though he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.
When you sit in his lap without warning. He could be scrolling on his phone or gaming or just chilling, and suddenly you’re straddling him like it’s the most casual thing in the world. He blinks up at you, hands already sliding to your thighs. “Oh? You need somethin’, baby?” Yeah, it’s over.
That one sound you make. It could be a giggle, a whimper, the way you say his name when you’re slightly annoyed, but once he hears that version of your voice? His pupils dilate. “You have any idea what that does to me?” he murmurs, leaning closer. Spoiler: you probably do.
When you’re lowkey jealous. He flirts shamelessly, yes, but when someone else tries and you get possessive? He loves it. “Aw, you jealous?” he teases, wrapping his arms around you. But then he leans in, all serious: “Good. You should be. I’m all yours, baby.”
You hyping him up. He knows he’s hot, but hearing it from you? Way different. “You’re staring again,” he jokes, but when you say, “Can you blame me? You look fine as hell,” he actually blushes a little. Tries to play it off. Fails. Immediately pulls you into a kiss.
Play-wrestling. You try to tickle him or tackle him onto the couch, and now it’s on. He flips you under him in two seconds flat, grinning, panting a little. You’re both laughing, limbs tangled, cheeks flushed, and then he goes quiet, gaze dropping to your lips. We all know what is happening next.
You biting your lip. Doesn’t matter if you’re focused on something or doing it on purpose, he zeroes in every time. “Okay, that’s not fair,” he mutters. “What am I supposed to do when you look like that?” Spoiler: he will kiss the expression off your face in seconds.
Mystery
When you ignore him. Not in a cruel way, just casually. You’re focused on a book, humming to yourself while folding laundry, scrolling your phone with a leg draped across his lap. And he watches. Quietly. The way your lips purse. The curve of your neck. The lack of attention is what makes him throb.
The moments before you kiss him. That suspended, loaded silence where your face is inches from his and you don’t move.
His breath shortens. His fingers twitch. He won’t close the distance first, but he aches for it. And when you finally press your mouth to his? His hands clamp to your waist like he might shatter any second.
The low sound you make when you’re trying not to make a sound. That muffled whimper into his shoulder. The shaky breath you hold between your lips. His eyes darken instantly. He leans in and growls so close to your ear, “Let me hear you. Don’t hide from me.”
Another one who can't help himself when he sees you in his clothes. One of his oversized hoodies. Socks that barely stay up. No jewelry. No makeup. No distraction. He watches from the doorway and doesn’t speak. Just exhales slowly, because that’s his favorite version of you. And it always ends with you pinned to the wall.
When you don’t look at him. You’re shy after something filthy. Or flustered by the way he’s watching you undress. You avert your eyes. And that’s when he moves, right behind you. One hand sliding over your stomach. His lips at your ear. “Why won’t you look at me, sweetheart?”
Being in your own bubble with you in public. You’re in a crowded place, but you’ve leaned close to whisper something in his ear. No one else hears it, but he does. And that soft, private intimacy?
It’s more arousing to him than anything else. His hand finds yours under the table, sliding fingers between yours slowly, possessively.
When you touch him like you’re allowed to. Not teasing. Just casual. Brushing your thumb across his jaw. Running your hand down his chest while you pass by. He doesn’t react right away, but his breathing changes. You’ll feel it later when he presses you to the mattress and rasps, “Touch me like that again. See what happens.”
The way you say his name when you’re scared. Not in danger, just overwhelmed. Like when he goes quiet during sex and you're unsure what he’s going to do next. You whisper, “Mystery?” and he freezes. That exact tone? Makes his chest tighten and his grip turn bruising. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
When you dare him. You think he won’t do something? Tell him that. Smirking, bold. He never responds immediately. But that small, slow blink he gives you? That’s the warning. You’re already in trouble. “You think I won’t?” he echoes. “Cute.”
When you let him watch. You’re undressing for bed or slipping off your tights after a long day, and you don’t ask him to help, you just let him sit and look. He won’t move. Won’t blink. But his knuckles are white where his hands rest on his knees. He doesn’t need to touch you to be turned on. He just needs permission to observe.
When you cry a little during intimacy. From pleasure, from being overwhelmed, from how intense it is. Your body trembling, tears in the corners of your eyes. That’s when he breaks. Kisses your eyelids. Murmurs so softly it’s almost awestruck: “You're so beautiful when you fall apart.”
Hearing you say things you don’t mean to say. It slips out. A gasped “I need you so bad,” or a desperate “Please don’t stop.” The way your voice warps when your guard’s down? That unfiltered desire is his undoing. He’ll kiss your throat and growl, “Don’t lie to me later and say you didn’t mean it.”
When you wake him up with your touch. He doesn’t sleep deeply, but your hand on his stomach, your lips against his jaw in the dark? He shifts immediately. Rolls to pin you beneath him, eyes barely open, already hard. “Can’t even wait till morning?” he whispers into your mouth. “Good.”
When you flinch, but like into him. You’re startled by thunder, or a loud sound outside, and instead of jumping away, you reach for him.
Instinctively. Like he’s your safe place. That tiny motion floods his entire system with heat. His palm cups the back of your head and he whispers, “I’ve got you. Always.”
When you tell him you dreamed about him. Especially if the dream wasn’t safe for work. You mention it offhand, expecting him to tease you, but he just tilts his head. “What was I doing in it?” You hesitate, and his hand slides slowly around your throat. “No. Say it. I want to hear what your subconsciousness begs for.”
Baby
You getting annoyed at him is a guaranteed turn-on. If you roll your eyes, snap “Baby, seriously?” or swat at him? He grins. Like full-smirk, tongue-between-his-teeth grin. “You’re so fuckin’ cute when you’re pissed. Keep going, I’m almost there.”
Your attitude? His fuel. Talk back, raise your brow, sass him with a “You wish”? He stares for a beat, then laughs low. “Oh I do. And you’re gonna prove me right real soon, sweetheart.”
He lives for visual contrast. You in one of his oversized shirts, or your legs crossed in a short skirt, lips glossed, acting all innocent? Game over. He’ll pull you into his lap just to ruin that image. “You tryna get fucked.”
He’s obsessed with when you try to act unaffected. When you pretend he’s not getting to you? That’s his kryptonite. You’re flushed, biting your lip, clearly struggling to ignore him, he leans in like he’s telling you a secret: “Say you don’t want me again. Go on. Lie to me.”
Hair-grabbing. Both ways. You tug on his hair mid-kiss? His breath hitches. He’ll turn it into a challenge. “You pull again, I’m bending you over this couch. No warnings.”
He gets hard watching you fight him for control. Even over stupid things, who picks the movie, who finishes a slice of pizza. “Oh, so we’re fighting now?” he’ll murmur, backing you into a wall. “Bet you don’t argue this hard when I’m inside you.”
Your thighs are his religion. Doesn’t matter what they’re doing, crossed in annoyance, bouncing as you sit, wrapped around him, he worships them. His hand always ends up there. Doesn’t even notice he’s doing it half the time.
He loves when you show off without meaning to. Wearing something a little too tight, stretching with your arms over your head, licking sauce off your finger, he’ll pause mid-convo just to watch. “Keep doing shit like that, and I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens next.”
You trying to tease him is his favorite game. He lets you think you’re winning, sits back, lets you grind, stroke, whisper, until you’re right on edge. Then he flips you without warning. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. Now take it.”
He gets off on being your only. You tell him no one else makes you feel this way? He’ll go still, sharp smile spreading across his face. “Damn right they don’t.”
If you whimper his name, it’s over. Doesn’t matter where or when. He’ll physically pause whatever he’s doing, just to savor the sound. “Say it again,” he whispers, palm sliding up your thigh. “Nice and breathy this time.”
Watching you squirm in public? You’re trying to stay composed, maybe he slipped his hand a little too high, maybe he murmured something filthy in a crowded room, you glare, cheeks red, trying to act normal. He just raises a brow. “Act like you don’t love it.”
Eye contact. Prolonged eye contact. You hold his gaze a second too long, or look up from beneath your lashes? He growls low, tilts his head. “Lookin’ at me like that, baby? You better be ready to back it up.”
Watching you eat. Mostly something like Popsicles or anything that makes you lips shiny and you have your tongue out. His eyes are glued to your mouth. “You better not waste any of that” he mumbles, not talking about the food.
Catching you checking him out. He always notices. That quick once-over you think he missed? He didn't. “You stare any longer, baby, I’m gonna give you something worth staring at.”
Sass, spark, and even a bit of fearlessness. You bite your lip and say, “What if I don’t behave?” His jaw tics. “Then I ruin you so thoroughly behaving’s the only thing you’ll remember how to do.”
Divider by: @cafekitsune
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