Hello! I'm not sure if I you're taking requests rn (if you aren't then js ignore this) anyway, if you are I would like to request the saja boys since I'm so obsessed with them at the moment reacting to you singing their part in the song 'your idol' thank you for reading <3
Singing their line in "Your Idol"
Tags: gn!reader, reactions, subtle fluff, reader sings
so i was on Genius to figure out which lines belong to whom. jinu needs to give mystery some more lines oh my lord
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You're in the kitchen, microwaving leftovers, casually mumbling lyrics without really thinking. The song is just playing in your head; background noise, the kind that sticks. But when the beat drops and you hit his part.
"I'm the only one who'll love your sins; feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin.” You commit. Voice lower, smoother than before. You’re not performing, just playing around. Still, the delivery’s solid.
You don’t realize he’s standing in the doorway until he clears his throat. You freeze. Then turn.
He’s watching you with his arms crossed, that familiar glint in his eyes.
“Keep going,” he says, trying not to smile. “That was hot.”
You laugh, flustered. “I wasn’t even trying. I didn’t sing it properly.”
“No, you sang it beautifully,” he says, stepping closer. His voice drops a little. “Sing it again.”
At first, you think he’s joking, but his gaze lingers; he looks focused. Like he’s hearing those lines for the first time—except they’re yours now.
Later that night, after things have calmed, he pulls you close. His hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.
“I like hearing you sing,” he murmurs.
You hum, half-smirking. “Guess I’m your idol now.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Don’t push it.”
But his arm tightens around you anyway, and when you’re both drifting off to sleep, he mumbles something under his breath.
He’s already memorized the sound of your voice.
It starts off innocent enough. You’re just messing around while he warms up, casually mouthing along to the backing track. Then your voice slips out—clear, smooth, and a little too confident.
"Know I'm the only one right now..."
His head snaps toward you. You keep going, fully leaning into it now, mimicking the way he performs it. There’s a playful tilt to your voice; you even match the subtle rasp he throws in when he sings live.
By the time you hit “I will love you more when it all burns down,” he’s staring at you like you just committed a personal crime. His mouth is open, brows drawn, absolutely stunned.
He throws his hands in the air. “Okay. Beyoncé. Chill.”
“You’re just mad I sound better than you,” you tease.
“First of all, blasphemy. Second...” He pauses, still blinking. “Yeah. I’m mad. Mad and personally attacked.”
You walk off, still singing under your breath, deliberately soft but perfectly on pitch.
He points after you. “You’re banned. No more covering my lines. Especially not if you’re gonna sound better than me.”
You shrug like you didn’t just shake him to his core.
Ten minutes later, he’s sitting alone on the couch with his phone at half volume, listening to the secret recording he made while pretending not to be impressed.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “maybe just one more time.”
You don’t even hear him come in. You’ve got your headphones on, mind fully in the zone, singing to yourself like it’s no big deal.
"Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed—play me on repeat..."
You pause when you hear something behind you. A choked squeal, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone collapsing onto the floor.
You turn around and find him face-down on the carpet, legs kicking like he just got electrocuted.
He lifts his head slowly, clutching a pillow to his chest. His face is flushed, hair slightly messed up. “I’m fine,” he says, breathless. “You just sounded so cool.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“I thought I left the stove on, so I came back. And then I walk in and your voice just hits me like a truck.”
You try not to laugh. “I was just messing around.”
“Mess around more,” he says, standing up and walking over to you like he’s not entirely grounded in reality. “That was actually lamazing.”
From then on, he starts asking you to do it again. Not in a serious way—more like he’s obsessed. Every time the song comes on, his eyes snap to you.
Doesn’t matter if you’re brushing your teeth or half-asleep on the couch; he’ll nudge you and go, “Say the line again.”
“The ‘I can be your sanctuary’ part. But, like, flirty.”
He’s so serious about it, too. Head tilted, expectant, already biting back a smile.
You sigh and do it once more, voice low, soft, like you’re trying to sell the line.
He covers his face immediately. “Oh my god. I’m dating the coolest person alive.”
And yeah, he asks again the next day. And the day after. And the day after that.
You’re singing quietly under your breath, lost in your own world as you wipe down the counter.
"More than power, more than gold."
You don’t even realize he’s behind you until his hand brushes your waist. You freeze.
“You remembered that line,” he says.
You glance at him. “It’s short. Easy to remember.”
He leans in closer. “Still sounded good.”
He doesn’t smile. Just stares a second longer, like he’s thinking about something.
“You don’t talk much,” you add. “Hearing your line was kind of a big deal.”
He shrugs. “Hearing you say it might be better.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t lie.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Sing it again.”
“Wanna hear it,” he says simply.
You hesitate. Then you say it again, a little softer this time.
He pulls you into his chest without warning, rests his chin on your shoulder, and repeats the line back.
You don’t get anything else done that night. Not really. Every time he looks at you, your mind goes blank. His voice keeps playing on a loop. And the worst part is you know he knows.
You think you're alone, so you're just messing around—rapping his part, voice dropped an octave, trying to nail that deep, cocky tone he always pulls off without effort.
"Unh! bichi naneun fame, gyesok oechyeo, I'm your idol."
You lean into it, letting the lyrics roll off your tongue like you’ve done this a hundred times. The smirk comes naturally; it's his, but you wear it well.
He’s in the doorway. You don’t notice him until you hit,
"Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral,"
and that’s when he starts slow-clapping.
“Damn,” he says, dragging the word out. “Didn’t know I had competition.”
You shoot him a look. “I sound better than you.”
“Oh?” He raises a brow, strolling in like he’s not already losing his mind. “That confidence is cute.”
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, studying you like he’s torn between being proud and mildly offended. You don’t stop.
"Uh, yeah, natji anneun fever, makin' you a believer—"
His jaw tightens; you catch the twitch in his fingers. There’s a grin building on his face, but he’s doing everything he can to keep it from cracking.
“You gonna finish that verse or do I have to put you in your place?”
You glance at him, unbothered. “Make me.”
He walks over—slow, calm, dangerous in a way that makes your spine straighten. He leans in until his mouth is just behind your ear, and whispers, “I liked it better when you were out of breath.”
Then he pulls back like nothing happened, drops onto the couch with a sigh, and mutters, “Still proud of you though. You had the flow right. Almost had me beat.”
He’s lying. He’s been reeling since the first line. You’ll catch him mumbling the verse under his breath later, pretending he’s not still thinking about the way you made it sound.
