ᕱ⑅ᕱ Symptoms: Asking the Saja Boys if they like you, but the thing is....they're already married to you.
꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Medicine: fluff, gender natural!reader, no use of yn, marriage, SMAU
₍ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ₎ Notes: Sorry for not posting for 33550336 cycles (っ◞‸◟c) I got busy lately (and definitely will again in the future.) Also I somehow got into kpdh....Might as well start posting about them a LOT ಠ‸ಠ
Hii I love your writing sm !! I was hoping to request a Submisive Abby Saja x Dominate reader if that’s cool with u :3 I’m talking like he’s super chill in public even a little cocky if u will. But behind close doors he’s an absolute mess (definitely a bigger and or mommy kink icl so sue me—) if ur not comfortable with the request feel free to ignore. Please take care of urself and dont burn out <3
He always walks in like he owns the city--grinning sharply, jaw set, that cocky strut that screams untouchable. People see him as untamed and unbothered, a devil-may-care dream wrapped in swagger. But once he's alone with you, his paradise, it all crumbles.
Abby practically collapses into you the second the door shuts behind him. The glow from the hallway fades as the lock clicks, and in its place, quiet. No lights, no cheers, no blinding cameras. Just you, waiting on the bed, arms open and soft like a prayer.
He drapes himself across your body with a heavy sigh, burying his face in the curve of your chest. Not even trying to hide how done he is with the day.
“I’m so exhausted,” he mutters, voice muffled against your shirt.
You hum, your fingers finding the strands of his hair and brushing them back lazily. He melts into your touch instantly.
"Long day pretending again?" you murmur, nails just barely scraping his scalp.
He nods, a whine catching in his throat.
“Poor thing,” you croon, your voice low and dipped in something sweeter, darker. “You need something to help you feel better, baby?”
That’s all it takes.
He breathes in like he’s been underwater all day and just broke the surface. His grip tightens around your waist, needier now, more deliberate.
“Please, mommy,” he groans and this time, it’s not fatigue speaking. It’s desperation. Raw and aching.
Your nails trail down the back of his neck, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a smirk curling at your lips.
“What would make my Abby feel better, hmm?”
He shivers, clinging to you like you're the only thing anchoring him. “Make me forget everything. Please. Please, mommy.”
You smile. “Get underneath me, baby.”
With a curious expression, Abby rolls you both over on the bed so you’re straddling him now.
“Mommy, please do something.”
“Shh, shh. Be patient, sweetheart.” You unbutton his shirt at a teasing pace. He reaches for the buttons to speed up the process, regardless you swat his hands away.
“Did I ask for your help, sweetie?” you smile sweetly, but really, your temper flared at what he just did.
“No, mommy. I’m sorry. I just really needed this.” He stammered.
“Lie back and let me mommy do the work, or you get nothing at all. Are we clear?” you speak firmly.
Abby gulps, then nods.
Your hands finally undo the last button. You ease the sleeves off his shoulders, then press your lips to his chest. Abby’s fingers curl around your thighs gently as if anchoring himself to the moment, like he still can’t believe you’re really spoiling him like this.
“My good boy has worked so hard today, hasn’t he? Mmm, you did such a good job, love.”
You scratch your nails gently along his abs, your lips brushing kisses down the trail of his skin. He shudders.
“You deserve a little reward, don’t you? Do you want that, baby?”
“Yes. Yes, mommy,” he gasps, voice already fraying at the edges.
You tilt your head, innocently, your words drip slowly and stickily like honey.
“What should I give my sweet boy, hmm?” you coo, tugging your shorts down inch by inch. “How about... a treat?”
Abby’s breath hitches. His hands on your thighs involuntarily flex and squeeze the flesh. You chuckle at his excitement.
You crawl over him until your crotch is right over his face. He stretches his neck to bury his nose in your heat, which was covered by the thin fabric of your shorts. He moans as he takes a deep breath. Your scent was stronger in this place. It made his body run hot.
“Couldn't even wait,” you mumble as you lift your hips to take off your shorts, along with your underwear. Your core hovers over Abby’s face, teasing him by lowering your hips an inch or two, then lifting them back up. His breath ghosts over the sensitive flesh, making you more aroused.
Taking pity, you allow a bit of yourself to graze over his lip. He eagerly flicks his tongue out. He groans at the taste.
“More please, mommy.” he rasps.
You guided his head between your thighs like it was his rightful place, and he didn’t argue, just opened his mouth like a good boy and let you teach him how to please you.
Every flick of his tongue, every eager moan against your skin, made your voice go liquid. You praised him with a lazy smile and a tight grip in his hair. “That’s it. Just like that, baby.”
As you near an orgasm, you buck your hips against his mouth, pulling his head tighter against you. His chest burns, every inhale shallow and strained, but he doesn’t come up. He can’t. Not when you're grinding against his tongue, using him like he’s nothing but a toy. Abby whimpers into you, the sound lost between your thighs, but he keeps going, suffocating on your pleasure like it’s the only air he needs.
Your thighs tremble as the last wave crashes through you, the kind that leaves your body humming, eyes fluttering, lips parted in bliss. You ride it out slowly, grinding down one last time against his mouth until it’s almost too much. Abby’s hands don’t stop holding you steady, even when you finally lift yourself off him with a soft, breathless whimper.
He looks wrecked beneath you. Lips wet, chest rising too fast, eyes glazed over like he just tasted divinity.
You smile, lazy and knowing, and coax him up with a gentle pull. “Come here,” you murmur, already sinking back into the sheets, fingers trailing down his arms as you guide him above you. This time, you want to feel all of him. The heat. The weight. The tension he’s been holding back.
Your legs part, slow and inviting, and your voice comes out low, teasing. “Think you can handle it, sweetheart?”
He nods–quick, eager, like his body’s already moving before his mind can catch up. Fingers fumbling at his waistband, the rustle of denim barely audible over his breathing. He strips them off in a rush, movements jerky with need, like the space between you two has suddenly become unbearable.
The room faded into static as he lowered himself to meet you. His breath stuttered against your cheek, and suddenly, it was just skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat, need against need.
He moved like a man possessed–frantic, breathless, as if you might slip through his fingers if he dared to slow down. Each thrust was less a rhythm and more a plea, rough and unsteady, driven by the kind of need that left no room for grace. His hands clung to you like a lifeline, nails digging in, arms trembling with the effort to keep himself grounded when everything in him screamed to let go. He chased the friction like it hurt to be apart from it, rutting into you with an urgency that bordered on delirium, gasping every time he felt you clench around him, like it was too much and still not enough.
His body trembled with the strain, muscles tight, jaw clenched, brows drawn low in a raw, crumpled expression of helpless desire. You could see how close he was to unraveling. He pressed himself flush against you, panting like he couldn’t catch his breath, hips snapping forward with uneven force, like the sensation was dragging him under. No thoughts behind those eyes anymore–just you, the heat, the friction, and the terrifying depth of his own desperation. He looked at you like he didn’t know if he was begging for release or for you to take it away. But either way, he’d keep moving until you decided for him.
And gods, the sounds. The broken little gasps and sharp whimpers he tried to swallow, the way your name and title fell from his lips like a jumbled chant, desperate and hoarse and half-lost in the haze of it all. Every motion screamed please, even if he never said it. He needed this. He needed more than air, more than thought, more than anything. And it showed in every inch of his body as he gave in completely, grinding out those needy, clumsy thrusts that made it clear.
Abby’s voice came out ragged. barely a whisper, barely coherent. “Please… I- I need to-” He choked on the rest, hips stuttering like he was fighting his own body. His fingers curled into the sheets, then into your skin, then into nothing at all, too lost to know where to anchor. “I’m so close, I c-can’t. I need to finish, please, just-”
His breath caught. He looked down at you with wet, glassy eyes, pupils blown wide, lips parted and trembling. His whole body trembled, shoulders quaking with restraint, thighs shaking from holding back. Every inch of him screamed surrender.
But your voice, soft but sharp slices through the haze. “Not yet.”
His lips quivered. “But-”
You pressed a finger to his lips. “You don’t get to finish unless I do.”
He whimpered. Gutted and gorgeous, like the denial alone unraveled something deep in him. But he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Not when you needed more.
So even as his body begged for release, trembling from restraint, he kept moving with slow, dragging thrusts that made him shudder with every roll of his hips. Each one felt like it might be his last, like he was skating the edge of control so thin it might snap with just a breath. But he gritted his teeth and bore it, because you weren’t done yet. And he knew he wasn’t allowed to cum until you did.
“I’m… I’m trying,” he gasped out, voice cracking like his composure. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, slick with sweat and need, his fingers digging into your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. “Please, please, just tell me what you need. I’ll do it. I swear I’ll do it.”
You clenched around him, and the sound he made was half a moan, half a cry. He almost stopped right there. But your voice snapped him back, low and firm.
“Keep going. I’m not finished.”
That broke something in him. His rhythm faltered for just a second before he picked up the pace again, thrusts messier now, more frantic, more needy. His hips moved with a desperation that bordered on worship, chasing your pleasure with the kind of wild-eyed focus that only someone truly undone could manage.
“Tell me I’m doing good,” he breathed, nearly delirious. “Tell me I’m- tell me I’m making you feel good. I need to hear it.”
You didn’t say anything. You just moaned, high and breathless, and that was enough.
His pace stuttered again–closer now, closer than ever. His entire body was tense, jaw clenched so hard it ached, every muscle drawn tight with restraint. Still, he didn’t let go. Not yet. Not until…
Your breath hitched.
Your nails dug into him.
Your body arched.
And only then did he cum, falling apart with a sound that was pure wreckage, like he’d been holding his breath for hours and could finally exhale.
“That’s it,” you whispered, fingers slipping into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, guiding his head down as he shook in your arms. “That’s it, baby. Don’t run from it. Feel it. Let it hit you.”
He gasped against your skin, still trembling, hips twitching weakly. “Mommy- mommy, I can't stop.”
“You did so well,” you murmured, kissing the side of his face, your voice all honeyed sweetness over the ruin in him. “Took care of me so well. You were perfect. Just like I wanted.”
He whimpered again–helpless, soft–and buried his face deeper into your neck like he didn’t know where else to go. He needed to be held.
“I can’t-” His voice broke, his whole body pulsing with the last waves of release. “I can’t stop shaking…”
“I know,” you cooed, one hand sliding down his back, stroking gently. “That’s your reward. Don’t fight it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”
He let out a breath that sounded like it scraped straight from his soul, arms tightening around you like he’d drown without the contact. “Please don’t let go,” he whispered.
“I won’t,” you promised, steady and true. “You’re mine, remember? I’ll hold you together.”
Isn't it ironic how Jinu named the boy band Saja (Lion) Boys and decided to call their fandom The Pride when all his life he's lived with nothing but his guilt and shame? 😀
