#kpdh romance

[punnifullife]

So... about Kpop demon hunters.... 😳😳😳😳😳

[luxthestrange]

Lux*Taps mic and looks into the camera seeing directly at you*...I know what you are

[freeandiwill]

“Can’t, I’m on my period” with The Saja Boys

My first texting-format fic and I kind of hate it but I’m posting it anyway because I’m so brave. NSFW but not crazy explicit

Jinu

Abby

Romance

(Mystery and Baby in reblogs because of picture limit)

[t4kalcvr]

DON’T TEST ME — 𝖲𝖠𝖩𝖠 𝖡𝖮𝖸𝖲

WORD COUNT. 3,105 GENRE. romantic drama, yearning, && spicy romance. CONTENT CONTAINS. jealousy, suggestive endings, public settings, && silent treatment. REQUESTED BY. @ackerkisses

◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

JINU :: “YOU DONT EVEN REALIZE WHAT YOU DO TO ME.”

you didn’t notice the way he stared.

you’d only meant to be polite—smiling as the new producer introduced you to one of the rising idol trainees he was mentoring. the boy was sweet, younger than you, a little nervous. so you offered him a drink, complimented his jacket, maybe laughed a little too easily when he made an awkward joke. it wasn’t flirty, just kind. you didn’t even think about how close he stood, or how his eyes lingered a little too long on your lips when you talked.

but jinu noticed.

across the room, leaned in a dark corner like he was carved out of shadow, jinu saw every second. every laugh, every brush of your fingers against the boy’s arm, every soft look you gave that you didn’t even realize you were giving. he stood still, too still, like something ancient and dangerous waiting to be summoned. his jaw was locked, his eyes dark, and the minute the trainee leaned in just a little too close to whisper something to you—jinu vanished from the room without a sound.

you found him outside twenty minutes later. sitting on the hood of a sleek black car, elbows on his knees, eyes burning holes into the pavement.

“you looked like you were having fun,” he said before you could speak.

“he was just talking,” you replied gently.

“he wasn’t.” jinu turned toward you slowly, his expression blank, but his voice heavy with strain. “he was picturing things he’ll never get to touch.”

you blinked. “he’s just a kid—he was nervous—”

“you don’t even realize what you do to people,” he said, stepping toward you. “you smile and they fall in love. you laugh and they think they have a chance. and you—you just let it happen. you don’t even see it.”

your heart squeezed, your voice smaller now. “i didn’t mean to.”

“i know you didn’t.” he stopped in front of you, close enough that the wind barely fit between your bodies. “and that’s what drives me fucking crazy. you weren’t trying, and you still made him want you.”

his hand came up slowly, gently brushing your cheek, fingertips curling beneath your jaw. “do you know how hard it was to stay standing there? watching him look at you like that?”

you leaned into his touch without thinking. “no one else gets to touch me.”

“say it again,” he whispered, breath trembling against your skin.

“no one gets to have me,” you said, firmer now. “only you.”

the kiss hit you like heat.

he didn’t ask. he didn’t warn you. just took your mouth with his, hands sliding around your waist, gripping you tight like he was making sure no one could ever pull you away again. the kiss was messy, all tension and hunger, lips bruising and breath shared between gasps. his body pressed into yours, pinning you against the hood of the car, and you felt the barely restrained growl in his throat as your fingers tugged at his jacket.

he kissed you like a man starved. and when he broke for air, his voice came out rough, shaky, thick with need.

“i don’t want to stop.”

you looked up at him, lips swollen, chest heaving.

his eyes were glowing now—softly, unmistakably golden.

he tilted his head, leaned in close, and murmured, “get in the car.”

ROMANCE :: “SO WHY DOES IT HURT LIKE HEARTBREAK?”

you didn’t mean to ignore him.

he was running late, which wasn’t unusual for romance. he always made an entrance—flowing coat, lips pink with gloss, some tragic playlist spilling from his earbuds. so when he texted you that he was on the way, you just smiled and slipped deeper into the group conversation already happening at the café.

the guy across from you was one of your mutuals, someone from a label romance used to work with—a charming choreographer with too many rings and a lazy kind of smile. he leaned in when he spoke, complimented your laugh, told you you looked softer than usual tonight. you brushed it off with a smile, trying not to overthink it.

what you didn’t notice—what you didn’t see—was romance walking in just in time to catch that look on the guy’s face. that lean. that moment.

his smile didn’t crack when he reached your table. he greeted everyone just like always, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as if he hadn’t noticed anything at all. but you felt it. the tension in the way he held your waist just a second longer. the way his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes.

he was quiet the rest of the night. too quiet for someone called romance.

and when you walked out together, into the cool shimmer of streetlights and distant music, he still hadn’t said anything.

you tugged on his sleeve. “hey. what’s wrong?”

he looked down at you, blinking like you’d interrupted a spiral. his voice was soft.

“do you like him?”

you frowned. “what?”

“the choreographer.” his tone was still gentle, but his jaw tensed at the name. “you were laughing so much. and he kept looking at you like you were dessert.”

“i was just being friendly,” you said quickly, grabbing his hand. “i didn’t even realize.”

he let you hold him, but his eyes dropped to the sidewalk. “you don’t get it. when you smile like that… it feels like i’m watching you slip through my fingers.”

your chest ached. “romance—i didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“i know,” he whispered, finally looking at you again. “but you did.”

his voice broke just slightly at the end, and it made something inside you collapse. you wrapped your arms around his neck without thinking, pressing your face into the curve of his collarbone. he breathed you in like he’d been suffocating all night.

“you’re the only one i want,” you said into his chest.

his fingers dug into your waist. “then tell me he meant nothing.”

“he meant nothing.”

he let out a shuddered breath, then pulled back just enough to look at you—his hands still on your hips, his mouth hovering so close it hurt.

“say it again,” he murmured.

you cupped his face, lips brushing his as you repeated it: “he meant nothing.”

and then he kissed you like poetry.

like every line he’d ever written was for this moment. his lips were warm, slow, aching. but beneath the softness was something wild. desperate. almost bruising in the way he pressed your body against his, like he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else ever being that close again.

he kissed you like he was reclaiming you.

your fingers tangled in the back of his shirt. his hands slipped lower, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, closer still—until he made a decision.

without warning, he lifted you.

a soft gasp left your throat as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. his hands were firm, steady under your thighs, his mouth never once leaving yours as he turned toward the alley beside the café — dark, narrow, quiet.

not rushed. not rough. just purposeful. claiming.

he broke the kiss only long enough to whisper, “you’re mine. say it again.”

“i’m yours,” you breathed against his cheek, trembling from how close his voice was to breaking.

he pressed you gently against the old brick wall, still holding you off the ground, his body flush to yours, eyes dark with everything he couldn’t say aloud.

“now, let me remind you,” he whispered, “exactly how much.”

ABS :: “YOU DIDN’T EVEN LOOK AT ME”

he was only gone for five minutes.

five minutes to grab his protein shake from the car. five minutes while the group tour break was winding down and the stylists were resetting. five minutes, and somehow that was long enough for some other guy to slide into the seat beside you.

abs stood frozen in the doorway when he walked back into the studio, bottle in hand, towel slung over his neck, sweat still clinging to his collarbone. you were laughing—head tilted back, eyes shining—and he felt his heart drop straight into his stomach.

it wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to laugh.

you just… weren’t laughing at him.

the guy beside you was one of the backup dancers for the shoot—new, lean, overly confident. he was leaning way too close, clearly trying too hard. and you? you weren’t pushing him away.

you were smiling.

you were blushing.

you didn’t even glance at abs when he passed by.

he didn’t say anything. didn’t make a scene.

he just dropped his bottle onto the bench, tugged off the rest of his overshirt, and went back to the mirror wall like he was supposed to — jaw clenched, muscles tight, too aware of every movement behind him. his body was on autopilot, but his mind kept flashing back to the way the guy had touched your arm when he made you laugh. how easily you’d leaned in, let him linger.

when rehearsal finally ended and people started filtering out, you made your way toward him like nothing was wrong. you smiled, casually, like the warmth in your eyes had been there for him all along.

“hey, abs—”

“you didn’t even look at me.”

his voice stopped you mid-step.

he wasn’t smiling. he wasn’t teasing. his eyes — always bold, always bright — were dark now, unreadable.

you tilted your head. “what?”

“the whole time.” he wiped at his face with the towel, then dropped it onto the bench, stepping toward you. “you didn’t look at me once.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i didn’t realize—”

“you didn’t see me.” his voice was soft now, but dangerous. “you were too busy laughing at his dumb jokes. too busy letting him put his hands on you like he deserved to.”

you frowned, stepping closer. “he was just being friendly—”

“i don’t care if he was telling you the cure to death.” he was in front of you now, close enough for you to see the frustration trembling in his jaw. “i stood across the room and watched you give him everything you won’t give me.”

you sucked in a sharp breath. “what do you mean? i—”

his hands gripped your waist suddenly, dragging you forward until your chest met his — bare skin, flushed from dancing, warm and impossibly hard beneath your palms.

“you smile at everyone else like it costs nothing,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, “but you avoid me like i’m the one who’ll ruin you.”

your fingers curled against his abs — his actual abs — and he groaned low in his throat, like even that was enough to undo him.

“abs,” you whispered.

“tell me it’s not just me,” he said, eyes scanning yours. “tell me i’m not crazy for thinking that when you look at me like this…” his thumb dragged across your lower lip, “…it means something.”

“it does,” you breathed. “you do.”

that broke something in him.

his lips crashed into yours before you could say anything else. he kissed you like he’d waited all day to lose control — all tension and heat and too much teeth, like he needed to taste the words right off your mouth. his hands gripped the back of your thighs, and before you could process it, he’d lifted you — effortlessly, like you weighed nothing — and pinned you to the studio wall behind the changing curtain.

your legs wrapped around him instinctively. his forehead dropped to yours. your breaths mingled.

“you’re mine,” he growled, voice rough and low.

you nodded, eyes wide, pulse racing. “i’m yours.”

he kissed you again—harder this time, slower, like he wanted it to last.

and then he pulled back just enough to whisper—

“i hope you didn’t make any plans tonight.”

MYSTERY :: “DONT MAKE ME SHOW YOU”

you didn’t even know he was there.

you’d been standing near the snack table with one of the staff producers—just chatting, waiting for the next shoot block to begin. he was older, polite, a little too complimentary, but nothing you couldn’t handle. he smiled at you like he was trying to impress you. you laughed, thanked him for the candy he offered, shrugged when he said he liked your voice.

you didn’t think it mattered.

but behind you, partially hidden behind the set scaffolding, someone stood still. too still. a shadow folded inside itself. long strands of silver-lilac hair hiding the full weight of his stare.

mystery had been there since before the conversation started.

he hadn’t interrupted. hadn’t made a sound.

just watched.

the producer stepped closer. closer again. his laugh too familiar now. you leaned back slightly, uncomfortable for the first time.

and that’s when you felt it—

a presence behind you.

you turned, startled.

but the producer had already stopped talking. his face had gone pale.

because mystery was there. just behind you.

close. quiet. motionless.

his mouth was a straight line. his hair draped in front of his eyes like mist.

he didn’t say a word. didn’t have to.

you barely blinked, and the producer was already muttering something about “being needed on set” and backing away.

you turned slowly to face mystery, pulse fluttering. “were you there the whole time?”

he tilted his head. said nothing.

you took a breath. “he was just being nice.”

he didn’t blink.

you stepped forward, trying to read him, but his face was unreadable—like he was built from static and half-finished thoughts. but the energy pouring off him was unmistakable: jealousy.

not loud. not needy. but heavy. sharp. possessive in a way that buzzed in your teeth.

“i wasn’t trying to—”

he moved.

fast.

his hand found your wrist, pulling you into the shadows between the prop walls. you barely had time to react before your back hit the cold side of the sound booth, and he was there—towering over you, arms on either side of your head. his hair draped between you, brushing your cheek. and beneath the veil of silver, you saw it—

just a hint of his eyes.

dark. locked on your mouth.

burning.

“mystery—” you whispered, breath catching.

his hand rose, slowly. not to your waist. not to your throat.

to your lips.

his thumb dragged across them, slowly. like he was testing the softness.

his head tilted again, and this time, you caught it: the tiniest twitch of his jaw. like he was biting something back.

“are you mad?” you breathed, barely able to form the words.

he didn’t answer.

but he stepped closer—pressed himself flush to your body, one hand sliding to your lower back, the other tilting your chin up. still no words. just the quiet tremble of breath between you.

his mouth hovered next to your ear.

“don’t make me show you,” he whispered.

the sound of his voice—so rare, so low—made your whole body shudder.

you opened your mouth to speak, but he stopped you with the softest, briefest kiss—

just lips. no pressure. a warning.

and then his tongue flicked the corner of your mouth. curious. restrained.

and gone.

you exhaled a trembling breath. “i didn’t mean to make you jealous.”

his lips brushed your cheek, slow and deliberate. he didn’t move away. didn’t let go.

and then, in the softest, most dangerous voice you’d ever heard from him—

“well, don’t do it again.”

BABY :: “I WASN’T GOING TO SAY ANYTHING”

you were only waiting on your drink.

it was late. the others had gone ahead. baby had offered to walk you back, but you waved him off with a smile, promising you’d only be a minute. the convenience store was quiet, humming with cheap fluorescent light and the rustle of plastic-wrapped snacks.

you didn’t expect the cashier to flirt with you.

you didn’t even realize it was flirting at first—just thought he was being friendly. telling you he liked your outfit. asking if you came here often. calling you pretty so casually it barely registered.

you just laughed politely. made a joke. swiped your card.

and turned—

—right into baby.

he was waiting for you outside, under the neon buzz of the store sign. leaning against the wall. arms crossed. expression unreadable. his teal hair glinted under the flickering light.

you startled slightly. “you scared me.”

he didn’t move. didn’t speak.

just looked at you.

“…you good?”

nothing.

just the way his eyes flicked briefly back to the window.

to the guy who had just called you pretty.

you blinked. “he was just making conversation. i wasn’t—”

baby’s voice cut in low, low enough to make your skin tighten.

“i wasn’t going to say anything.”

he stepped forward once.

“but you keep testing me.”

your breath caught. “i’m not—”

“you smiled at him,” he said, still quiet, voice steady. “he looked at you like he could take something from me. and you let him.”

you opened your mouth. then shut it again.

because baby didn’t look angry.

he looked calm. way too calm.

and that was somehow worse.

“i wasn’t even thinking about him,” you said, softer now. “i didn’t realize it looked like—”

his hand caught yours suddenly. not rough, not loud.

but firm.

he pulled you around the side of the building, into the dark between concrete and vending machines, the air still heavy from summer heat.

his body caged yours against the wall before you could say another word.

his hands didn’t touch you — not yet — but they hovered, like he was waiting for permission he didn’t need.

you could feel him trembling.

“do you have any idea,” he said, eyes boring into yours, “how long i’ve been good?”

“baby—”

“how long i’ve watched you laugh at other people. play nice. let them look at you. want you. and i just stood there. because i trusted you.”

his voice dropped, almost a growl.

“but you don’t even see what it does to me.”

his palm flattened against the wall beside your head. his breath hit your cheek. his other hand lifted — barely grazing your collarbone, tracing the skin above your heart.

“i don’t want to be good anymore.”

you exhaled. “then don’t be.”

his lips brushed yours.

and then — just before he could take it further — he pulled back.

his eyes dropped to your lips. his voice came out hoarse, almost broken.

“tell me to stop.”

you didn’t.

and that was all it took.

his hand gripped your jaw. his mouth crashed into yours.

slow at first — like he wanted to taste everything you’d kept from him.

then deeper. heavier.

his hands at your hips now, your shirt fisted in his fingers, your back pressing into the wall with every breathless kiss.

he kissed like this was punishment.

or revenge.

or both.

he dragged his lips down to your jaw, and whispered —

“i hope you’re ready to deal with what you started.”

copyright © t4kalcvr 2025 all rights reserved

💬, OHHH MY GOSH I ACTUALLY SAW SOMEONE RECOMMEND MY ACCOUNT !!! MY HEART !!! I LUV YOU GUYYYSSS AHHH I CANT BELIEVE THIS !! I LUV SEEING THE WAY YALL TALK ABOUT MY WORK IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY, SEEING HOW MUCH YALL ENJOY MY WORK AHHH 😋🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 ANYWAYS ENJOY THIS REQUEST !! i’ll work on twin sin part FOURRRR !!! also i hope i tagged everyone again !! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF THERES A CERTAIN SAJA BOY OR JUST SAJA BOYS IN GENERAL THAT YOU WANNA BE TAGGED !! i have abby tags, saja boy tags, baby tags!! just let me know!

ko-fi 🎧

look here for more reads 📚 !!

🔖: @sukunasrealgf @sinamew @valentique @theshadowsden @randomagnes0210 @turkey-tom-mybbgalpha @decayingstrawberries @mysteris-things

[saltysbiscuits]

Silence Isn't Golden

Saja boys x reader

Warnings: Omegaverse, poly relationships, female reader, eventual smut, MDNI 18+

*Italicized is for the reader's thoughts.

A/N: Hello everyone! I did not expect people to like the first part so much??? Thank you all so, so much! I already had chapter 2 completely written lol I was just doing some editing to make it flow better. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Previous - Next

Chapter 2.

Morning light filters into your room, slowly warming the air as the day wakes. You startle out of your skin when Zoey rushes in and jumps on your bed. You try to focus on her hands as she signs, but you’re half asleep and she is moving way too fast. You grunt and shove her playfully, burying your face back in your pillow. It doesn’t last long before she’s pulling you to sit up, signing something about going to the doctor for Rumi so you need to get up. She runs out of the room, and you blink at the wall. ‘Damnit Zoey… I wanted to sleep in today.’ You grumble as you slowly get up, throwing on a HUNTR/X sweater and a pair of sweatpants. You pause as your about to open the door, a faint heat starting to curl in your stomach. 'Damnit I forgot to take my suppressants yesterday. And my heat cycle is not something I have time for now.'

With a huff, you divert to the restroom and grab bottle, pouring two pills in your palm before swallowing them. Your suppressants. You grimace at the taste, remembering what Celine told you as a teenager. ‘Two pills a day, keep the heat away. Thanks a lot Celine.’ You grumble and walk out into the kitchen, looking at the three girls as if they committed the worst crime ever. You immediately pour yourself some juice and down it before shaking your head. “Alright, where are we going?” You sign as you slip your shoes on and join them.

Mira sighs, looking tired already before starting to sign so she can explain. “Zoey found this ‘totally legit’ doctor she wants to take Rumi to and hopefully it’ll fix her voice. I’m not convinced.” Zoey gasps, looking offended. “He is too legit!” Rumi rolls her eyes and clears her throat. “Let’s just get going yeah?” You yawn and walk with them to the elevator, knowing this trip is going to be chaos. The streets are packed today, people rushing around and running errands. You wince as you get pushed by the crowd. You catch Mira’s hand, squeezing it to prevent being separated from them. Zoey was chatting animatedly with Rumi before suddenly darting down an alley.

You all stop in front of a totally legit doctor’s office. ‘Earthy and herby… so legit Zoey. I wonder where she even found this place.’ You shake your head as Zoey squeezes Rumi and pull her into the building. Mira rolls her eyes, muttering something to herself before she squeezes your hand lightly and walks into the store with you. As soon as you enter the receptionist gasps. “Oh! H-hello there!” The woman fiddles with her clipboard before checking something off. “I see you’re right on time. Head down the hall, second door on your right. The doctor will be with you in a few moments.”

Zoey immediately drags Rumi down the hall while you glance at the pictures on the wall. Mira tugs your hand softly and signs to you. “Let’s go.” You let her pull you, scrunching your nose up when you see a, clearly modified, picture of the doctor with the HUNTR/X girls. You enter the room specified by the receptionist and take a seat. This place wasn’t much better. The walls were filled with various celebrities and bands, all with the doctor in each picture. You roll your eyes and pick up a magazine, flipping through it nonchalantly.

You don’t notice when the doctor enters, not until he suddenly gets in your face. You jump so hard that the chair rattles, and you stare at him with wide eyes. He merely stares into your eyes before mumbling something you don’t catch, unable to read his lips as he moves too fast. From the looks on the girls’ faces they’re not very happy with him. He tries to stare at Mira, but she just scares him back with a smirk. You silently start rubbing the marks on your arm, starting to get slightly overwhelmed now. You don’t catch the rest of their conversation before they’re moving to leave.

You follow but pause in the lobby, tapping Rumi on the shoulder while signing. “Hey, I need to use the lady’s room. I’ll be out in a minute!” You give her a sheepish smile before darting down the hallway. ‘This doctor is a real quack.’ You roll your eyes for the third time at a picture of the fake doctor dancing with some idols. You slip in the restroom and lean against the door. Heat flared in your body and you lean over the sink, splashing yourself in the face. It has been years since your last heat cycle and this... It was strong and making you feel things you don't really want to feel right now.

With a huff you clutch your left arm, the marks beginning to itch and burn slightly. You roll your sleeve up and gasp, the whole mark was glowing and almost pulsing. You gently rub it, trying to ease some of the itchy feeling it’s causing all while fighting as your heat flared higher and higher until finally the suppressants from the morning kick in and calm it enough to be bearable, allowing you to compose yourself and head back out to meet the girls.

As soon as you exit the clinic two things hit you at once. One, Rumi and all the tonics are on the ground. Two, the smell. It’s a chaotic blend of spice and sweet, fruity but also tangy. Your whole body goes rigid and something in you just hums, wanting to follow the wafting smell like it’s leading you home. That’s how it makes you feel, like home, loved. It also causes your heat to flare against the suppressants.

Your eyes widen slightly and you move as if to follow it, however; before you can go far, Zoey grips your arm, signing to you. “Hey, you good? You just kind of spaced out.” Her touch snaps you out of whatever daze you were in, and you nod, moving to help Rumi pick up the fallen tonics. When you reach to pick up one of the pouches a warmth shoots up your arm and your fingers tingle. You stare at your hand wiggling your fingers as you straighten up, this has never happened before. You huff, turning to see the girls looking the other way. “What’s going on?” You sign to them while stepping up next to them. A an uncomfortable feeling blooms in your chest, tugging you towards the scent, like something is tugging on your soul. None of the girls answer, but Rumi grabs your hand and pulls you along after them.

Your brow furrows in confusion, the direction Rumi was pulling you in is right towards that scent. The girls pause and peek around the corner of a building, pulling Rumi’s hood up so no one would recognize her. As soon as they move forward your whole world tilts. There in the middle of the plaza are five boys. You freeze as soon as you see them, something inside you snapping. Everything fades into the background and all you see is them, everything about them is perfect. You feel a thrumming in your chest, the desire, the feeling of safety. They are your home; you can feel it.

Then the world tilts, you’re overwhelmed with their scents and suddenly everything is loud. Yes, loud. Your eyes widen and you realize you can hear everything. The screaming crowd, the boys singing, all the noise. You cover your ears. It’s too much, too loud. You fall to the ground and cry. It hurts, the rush of sound. You don’t notice all five boys staring right at you as they perform, nor do you see the girls rush to you in concern. You feel the marks on your arm flare, burning like molten lava and then everything is silent again as your body shuts down from the overwhelming amount of stimulation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Across town in a very fancy penthouse. “Did you see her?!” A loud voice yells, sounding both upset and obsessed. Romance comes into the living room clutching at his chest as though someone just ripped his heart out.

“Of course I saw her, I also caught her scent.” Mystery leans on the bookshelf in the far corner, his gaze piercing even though his eyes are covered by his hair, the others can tell his attention is fully on the current conversation.

 “She looked at us like we were her everything. Her scent flared like it was desperate, reaching.” Abby interjects, halfway to the bathroom with his shirt off. “Because it was.” Jinu enters, an unreadable look on his face. “But then she collapsed, what happened?” Romance sat up, pouting. “Because of the bond you idiot. Aren’t you supposed to be romantic? How do you not know about omega bonds?” Baby glares at Romance, tossing a sucker in the trash before shoving him off the couch and taking his place.

“That’s enough.” Jinu sighs, rubbing his forehead as he grabs a book. “They way she covered her ears, she was in pain.” He starts flipping through it before pointing to a certain page. “Human omegas. When bound to an alpha, a demon, humans tend to exbibit certain disabilities because of the differing levels of power. Blindness, being mute, being deaf or any number of issues. When interacting with their alpha for the first time they may experience dizziness, nausea and their disability will be cured.”

Jinu pauses scanning the page. “Ah, but there is a problem. While improved a bit, the omega’s disability will only be permanently cured once the bond is solidified. Until that time, the omega will only be free of the disability when near their alpha.”

Abby looked down at the page Jinu was reading from. “So, when she collapsed…”  “She heard everything.” Mystery finishes, suddenly appearing next to Jinu.

“Our poor baby…” Romance sighs, standing from the floor and sitting on Baby’s legs. “Her first experience with sound was the screaming crowd… No wonder she collapsed.” “Get off me idiot!” Baby grunts and kicks Romance off his legs. “So, she can’t hear again? We need to find her and take her now.”

“No, the hunters took her, remember? And she was clearly with them, if their reactions were anything to go by. We don't want her caught in any conflict. So, we need to plan this out first.” Jinu closes the book, setting it down and thinking. “She’s seen us and knows our scent now… After the game show tonight, I suggest we scent her out. We know she’s with the hunters. So, if we find where they live…”

Romance jumps up, waving his hand like a school kid. “We find our dear, precious omega!” Abby chuckles, his eyes flashing gold while he dries his hair. “Tonight, we hunt.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist:

@gremlinartstudio @gamer-kat @puppykick3r @moonjellyfishie @libdarkheart @myjointpainismoderatetosevere @stzatz4ever @the-sweet-psycho @poketrainer2270 @kimyeosinah-reum @she-yaa @yumiblaze @fries11 @fantasyhopperhea @horandog1993 @bookies16

[mekaylarose11]

I’ll add more later…

[writer-freak]

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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“Pink isn’t innocence. It’s a warning”