(🩵BabySaja x Bamby💗)

There was no childhood. No scraped knees or lullabies, no schoolyard games or warm hands pulling him out of nightmares.

There was only Gwi-Ma—the Demon King—and the contract.

They said Baby was born from a whisper and a want. A desperate soul sealed into flesh by an old magic. A child who once craved fame so fiercely, he traded eternity for adoration. Or perhaps he never was human. Perhaps he was simply made, crafted with soft features and sharper teeth, programmed to smile and steal without mercy.

Baby never asked for the truth. He didn’t need it.

The Demon King had named him Baby, and that was enough. He had one purpose: to gather souls for Gwi-Ma. To seduce. To sing. To stand beneath the neon lights and let humans love him until they burned.

As part of the Saja Boys, Baby slipped easily into the idol world—an empire built on obsession. He learned the rhythm of cameras, the shape of desire in a fan’s eyes. He played the role perfectly: the youngest, the softest, the sweetest.

But underneath the sugar-slick image was something hollow. He had never needed to eat. Never learned to sleep. He didn’t age.

When the lights went off, he sat in perfect stillness, listening to the hum of other people breathing and wondering what it meant to be real. To feel hunger. To feel love. To need something other than Gwi-Ma’s approval.

He watched as humans cried and laughed and fell apart for people they barely knew. And slowly, beneath all his programmed indifference, something began to ache.

He told no one.

Omegas were rare among demons. But Baby was rarer still: a dominant omega with a demon’s power and no true cycle—unless he allowed it.

Gwi-Ma had taught him strict control. To suppress his heats so completely, not even the other Saja Boys could smell a shift. The few times he’d faltered... his demon form surfaced.

It wasn’t beautiful.

It was hunger and fire and instinct. A storm that warped him into something feral, something no one could see without fear.

So he buried it. Locked it down with old magic and sheer will. He learned to exist above biology—just another mask he wore better than any human ever could.

As the Honmoon—the boundary between the demon realm and the human world—began to splinter, Gwi-Ma’s influence intensified. The King wanted more souls. More idols under his control. More chaos through charisma.

And Baby obeyed. Of course he did. That was his purpose.

But... cracks had begun to form.

He was slower to report. He lingered after shows. He stopped collecting souls when he didn’t feel like it. Because he was curious.

About why fans cried when he sang softly. About the warmth that bloomed in his chest when someone looked at him like he was just a boy, not a monster.

So when Gwi-Ma assigned the Saja Boys to a joint publicity project with PLAVE—a pack of idealistic alphas and their delicate, overly sweet omega—Baby didn’t question it.

But something inside him shifted the moment he laid eyes on Bamby.

Not because of lust. Not because of the usual omega pull. But because Bamby looked like he belonged in this world Baby had only ever borrowed. He was everything Baby wasn’t: gentle, vulnerable, human.

And Baby didn’t know if he wanted to protect him...or ruin him.