In which Riddle catches (Y/n) having snuck into the Heartslabyul garden to spend time and talk with the hedgehogs at night.
But before he can begin with his chiding, (Y/n) begins talking about a crush — which immediately awakens his interest.
Request by anon.
"I swear... if it's Ace who broke into the Heartslabyul garden... I'll have his head."
A large scowl adorned Riddle's face while he stomped down the hallway that led to the back area of the dorm — the well-cared for garden of Heartslabyul. It was a strange thing that his furious stomping didn't cause any reactions or complaints from the residents; in truth, everyone had gotten used to wearing ear plugs during the night because of incidents like this happening more often than some students outside the dorm would think.
With clenched fists, the red-head's eyes were focused on the door leading to the garden. His footsteps grew quieter and quieter when he finally slammed the door open, letting the cool night air calm him down. A little bit less aggressive now, he wrapped his arms around himself — he was dressed in a thin pair of pyjamas — and stalked off into the night, following the footsteps the intruder had left.
Finally, he rounded the corner of the shed where the utensils for taking care of the garden, mostly filled with red paint and brushes, were kept. His teeth gritting against one another, he finally managed to spot a small silhouette sitting on the ground, surrounded by colourful and bright hedgehogs. "The boy needs to learn his—" Riddle grumbled under his breath, only to stop in his tracks when he realised that the intruder was no member of Heartslabyul. A gasp escaped his lips. "(Y/n)—?"
Before you could spot him, he made a mad dash for the shed; and indeed, he managed to hurl himself behind the small construction before you could spot him. Panting and wide-eyed, he peeked out from behind the wooden wall to watch the strange sight of you playing with the hedgehogs.
"Aren't you just adorable~? So small and precious!" you cooed as you brought the bright pink hedgehog to your face and rubbed your nose against the animal's. It let out a little squeal of delight at the attention it was drowned in. "I could eat you right up! But I of course I wouldn't do that... Riddle for sure would kill me."
The dorm leader sighed and rubbed his temples. "I can't believe Ace is innocent..."
Your giggle echoed through the otherwise silent garden, cutting through the night air like a blade. Luck was on Riddle's side that night with how occupied you were with the small animals and therefore didn't notice his presence, somehow. Continuing to coddle that pink hedgehog in your arms, you cooed, "Riddle would kill me anyway if he saw me here with you guys. I know I should be in bed... but how can I resist you?" The hedgehog squealed and nodded whenever you ran your hand over its softened spikes. "You're just so adorable!"
Riddle narrowed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to march out from his hiding place and scold you like he had planned to — but how would he be able to pull off such a feat if your laughter was so bright and cheerful? He couldn't bring himself to play the tyrant here and ruin your mood. A soft sigh escaped his lips at the thought of you already thinking of him as a cruel dorm leader due to how much he scolded and punished Ace and Deuce in your presence.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of you shifting your position to allow more of the hedgehogs to crawl onto your lap. A little bit more shy and disheartened, the boy peeked out from behind the shed to watch you play with the round animals.
"But... you know who else is adorable?" you asked the hedgehogs out of nowhere. They didn't seem to understand you, but it wasn't as if you cared; you just needed someone to pour your heart out to. Your eyes growing distant, you exhaled dreamily and began smiling. "There's this boy— he's very nice and polite to me, but I think I'm an exception. He really seems to hate my friends."
"Understandable." Riddle scoffed and waved his hand. "Who wouldn't hate Ace."
"Oh, you guys," you whispered to the hedgehogs, a small sigh escaping your lips. "I think I'm in love."
Riddle stopped in his tracks once he managed to comprehend what you just had said. His face grew a bright red — out of embarrassment, as well as anger — and his hands turned into fists. He clutched onto the wood panels of the shed so hard that he was sure he could hear cracks coming from it.
There was someone you liked? Another boy?
Riddle could feel his heart shattering into a thousand pieces with how his chest tightened in immeasurable pain. The sobs that built up in his throat were about to escape, and he only managed to keep them down with great effort. After all, the only thing that could worsen his mood was you discovering his presence right now.
Unaware of Riddle's suffering, you continued laughing and rambling about your dearest crush. The hedgehogs seemed to sense your enthusiasm and seemingly grew amused by your eyes that had taken a heart-shape. "He's just so adorable!" you cried out while cradling three hedgehogs in your arms. "And I admire how hardworking he is, you know?"
By then, there was steam escaping the dorm leader's ears. "I'm hardworking, too!" he seethed to himself, his teeth clenched and his eyes narrowed in anger. His words were bitter and irritated, laced with a small drop of jealousy. "I don't see what's so special about him..."
Much to Riddle's surprise, your smile soon dimmed down, now replaced with a slightly concerned frown. "As much as I admire him," you continued, sighing, "I worry for his health if he always aims for a perfect result without taking any rest."
"Tsk," Riddle muttered and scoffed, "how stupid must he be... how dare he make (Y/n) worry about him."
Yet, he didn't expect what you would say next. "Really," you muttered under your breath, "I should talk to Riddle about his perfectionism before he works himself to death."
Riddle's eyes were as wide as saucers once the identity of your crush was revealed to him. His hands were trembling, and he would have thought that he was dreaming if it weren't for the fast rhythm his heart had taken to. Then, realisation washed over him like cold water. The otherwise so smart boy slapped himself in the face and then buried his face in his shaking hands.
Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, Still Chaotic™, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really)
[a/n]: Woo, Saja Boys! I have nothing important to say... Yeah, enjoy.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, >Part 7<, Part 8
You woke up with a very specific kind of dread.
The kind that coils low in your gut and refuses to leave. The kind that whispers today's the day—and for once, it wasn't being dramatic.
You didn't need a vision. You didn't need tarot cards or the stars to align. You felt it in your bones. This was the day they'd come for you.
And not with knives.
Worse.
With words. With teasing. With war.
You should've known something was off the moment your phone started vibrating like it was trying to escape the counter while you were making breakfast.
A stream of unread messages from your friends (all clinically insane), your manager (marginally more functional), and one particularly concerning voicemail that simply said:
"Are you alive? Blink twice. The group chat is on fire."
You snorted.
Ironic.
You know what else had been on fire? Your apartment building.
You were tempted to reply with that, just drop it in the chat with no context. Let them laugh. Let them panic a little. Maybe both.
Yeah, you'll do that after finishing up your task.
You will, however, message your boss now. You can let your staff job end, but not the artist one. You didn't risk your life for the tablet and sketchbook just to let that career be done with after all.
Though, the real question was: Why the hell was your phone alive?
You'd gone to bed with it stone-cold dead—thanks to five fully grown men who all, very suddenly, refused to lend you a charger. Just for a few minutes. Just to send a single message.
It's not like you were going to report them to the police for emotional damage or something. (Though after their insults, you considered it)
All you needed was to text a friend. To ask if you could crash at their place.
To let someone know your place, and your charger, had both flatlined.
But no.
Petty. All of them.
But despite their words, here it was. Alive. Glowing. Thriving.
Weird morning. Especially because someone had knocked earlier. You opened it despite expecting it'd be one of those annoying boys who wanted nothing more than to already ruin this 'perfect' morning.
Instead?
No one. Just a charger that was neatly wrapped. Sitting there like a peace offering from the universe.
You stared at it for a solid ten seconds before picking it up. No note. No threatening aura. Just… a charger. New. Untouched. Slightly warm.
Whoever the hell left it—angel, ghost, early Santa, or tech fairy, you weren't going to complain.
You stopped believing in Santa years ago, but hey. If he was real and into USB-C now, you weren't about to argue.
You didn't ask questions and simply just took it with the thought: Whatever brings your phone back to life.
After checking your wound and changing the bandages, you made breakfast.
Left it in labeled containers, all carefully stacked in the fridge like some domestic housewife. Or maybe a single mother of five demonic children.
Speaking of five, they were out early. You didn't hear any ruckus or something...
You were probably just knocked out cold. The bed is comfy which is why you took it as them finally acting normal for once.
Who knows? Maybe they're at work, rehearsing like hell.
...
Hilarious.
They came back by noon.
You heard them the moment the front door slammed open—not closed, slammed—like their entrance needed to register on a seismograph.
Thudding boots, raised voices, obnoxious laughter. Not a conversation in sight. Just noise.
It wasn't "we're home."
It was we've returned to ruin your peace.
They'd arrived home loud, clearly on purpose.
Five hours of non-stop rehearsals (thanks to Jinu's tyrannical 6AM call time) and yet somehow, they still had the energy to cause problems.
Baby had flung the door open like a man returning from war, Abby dramatically limped inside like rehearsal had physically wounded him, and Romance whined about needing a new spine. Mystery just slipped through the doorway in silence. Classic.
But you hadn't come out to greet them.
That was weird.
Romance was the first to notice. He paused by your door, leaned in. No footsteps. No rustling. Not even your soft grumbling about noise levels or humanity's many flaws.
"...She asleep?" He murmured, only for no one to answer.
Mystery appears beside him and also copies his action.
Baby went into the kitchen to get a drink, only to stop dead when he noticed a note taped to the fridge. Sloppy handwriting. Quick.
'We're out of chili oil because a certain idiot poured the last bottle on popcorn. You know who you are.
P.S. I'm not dead, just busy. Don't knock.'
"Uh…"
Baby didn't even get to finish his sentence before Abby appeared behind him, clearly sniffing around for leftovers. He read the note over his shoulder and blinked. "So she was here. We were gone for five hours."
"Looks like someone didn't miss us." Baby said, acting cool like he hadn't been waiting.
"Not even me?" Abby gasped.
The former scoffed, eyes flicking to his phone like he wasn't checking your activity again. "Romance gave her that charger for what, exactly?"
Jinu entered next, took one look at the note, and scoffed. "Fine. If she won't come to us, we'll drag her out by sheer emotional violence."
And thus, the siege began.
They stomped down the hallway like it was a runway, deliberately letting each step echo off the walls. One of them (Jinu, you'd bet your left kidney) even let out an exaggerated yawn as they passed your room.
"Oh nooo," He groaned, too loud, too fake. "I forgot what silence sounds like. I think I miss it already. Abby, can you mourn for me?"
A knock—just once, knuckle to wood, like a test. A challenge.
You didn't answer.
So they tried harder.
"You think she's still alive in there?" Jinu muttered, eyes fixed on the door like it owed him answers. "Or did she ascend after sketching us...ugh, kissing?"
Abby let out a low whistle, flipping through the sketchbook again with the delight of someone finding blackmail material. "That shading, though. Real passionate. Her lines screamed yearning."
"I'm gonna throw up." Jinu said flatly before shooting them a warning look. They were at it again.
It seems like all those practice they did in the morning weren't enough considering they still have some energy and the audacity to try again.
"You're just mad she captured your good side." Romance chimed in, grinning as he leaned over Abby's shoulder. "Look at you, all soft and pretty. You even clutched his shirt like it was life or death."
Baby didn't blink. He simply leaned back in his chair, smug as ever, resting one ankle over his knee. "Don't be jealous I photograph well. Besides, he was the one looking like he'd melt if I let go."
"I'm setting it on fire." Jinu muttered, voice sharp.
"Don't you dare." Abby hugged the sketchbook protectively. "This is historic. I'm framing it."
Baby just smiled. But his eye twitched.
Cue more dramatic wailing. A fake sob. Someone began slow-clapping—probably Abby. Someone else (definitely Romance) made a gagging sound.
You could hear them moving past your door again, one set of footsteps deliberately dragging like a corpse being hauled across the floor.
"Oh! Oh! Mystery." One of them crooned. "Hey, remember when she called you baby? That was so special."
If you didn't know any better, you'd think Romance was setting you up for some even more shit. That he is.
Another loud knock. Then a pause. Waiting.
Nothing from you.
They persisted. They wanted to see your face. Wanted to hear the click of your door. Wanted you to snap.
"Do you think if I cry enough, she'll call me baby? No? What about 'cursed little meow-meow'?" Romance tried, far too casually for someone begging. "I'd settle for that."
He sounded so sure. Like this was a reasonable negotiation. Like this wasn't the third time this week he tried to emotionally blackmail his way into affection.
Abby scoffed from behind him, arms crossed. "Mystery didn't even ask. She just favored him. Like some divine right.”
There was venom there. Not real, not deadly—just the kind that bubbled out when pride was bruised and someone else had been crowned king.
Jinu leaned against the wall outside her door, voice dripping with faux sympathy. "Must be nice, huh? Getting your favorite sketched like he's some tragic Greek hero."
Baby nodded solemnly, tapping on the door. "Some of us get drawn in traffic. He gets drawn in lighting."
Jinu sighed. "You ever see how soft the shading was? She shaded his jawline like she loved him."
"Meanwhile, I looked like a tax scam with legs." Baby added, a quiet hum of betrayal in his voice. "My hands weren't even finished. Scribbled. Like an afterthought."
Jinu cupped his mouth and turned to the door. "Hey, [Y/n]? I get it. You've got your muse. But he better be paying rent for that kind of favoritism."
From the living room, you could hear someone snort. Probably Romance. Abby muttered something about needing popcorn.
Mystery didn't flinch. Reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, he looked like the picture of disinterest, arms folded, a slow, steady breath. Unbothered.
But the others were watching him.
They didn't say it, not outright, but it was all over their faces. Jinu tilted his head, like he was trying to figure out what game Mystery was playing.
Baby had gone quiet, unusually so, a little wrinkle forming between his brows. Romance narrowed his eyes just slightly, like he could read something in Mystery's posture that he didn't like.
And Abby? He looked like he'd bitten into something bitter.
Mystery didn't gloat, didn't rise to meet their silent accusations, didn't need to. He was calm. Maybe he was smug. Maybe he was just still. Either way, the others noticed.
Silence was a power move. Still, he glanced toward the hallway, just in case.
Baby gave your door one last mournful pat. "At least tell me—was it a kiss with meaning? Or just for shading practice? Because I need to know if I should feel violated or flattered."
Jinu muttered, "We weren't even posed right. My hand was—why was my hand on your thigh, man?"
Baby didn't look at him. "Don't speak to me."
At the other side, your grip on your pen tightened.
So this was the game.
A full petty-voiced, hallway-stomping, emotionally-damaged-circus-level bait operation.
Fine. You have time for this game. You talked to your friends, and you've already announced you're going on a short hiatus on your story.
You've buried men for less.
And yet, you didn't fall for it. Not immediately. Not when they started sighing like they were dying. Not when Baby fake-cried like a wounded anime sidekick.
Not even when they escalated into what could only be described as a coordinated psychological operation powered entirely by delusion, desperation, and unchecked male ego.
For exactly sixty-three minutes and forty-nine seconds, you waited.
You listened.
Every dramatic thump against the wall. Every exaggerated groan. Every insult flung at each other with the kind of flair that only heartbreak, insecurity, and mild art critique could birth. And worse? The teamwork.
Despite everything, they were still outside. Obviously.
Baby was sprawled on the floor like he'd been personally wronged by art itself. One leg twitched lazily as he nursed an imagined injury, muttering to no one in particular.
Jinu sat beside him with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his whole posture radiating indignation. "It's the proportions for me," He said. "Like—why would she give you a back like that? You look like you lost a fight with a baguette."
"No." Baby replied deeply, still staring at the ceiling. "She did that on purpose. I can feel it. That was targeted."
Romance didn't even respond. He was halfway through braiding his own hair with mechanical precision, each twist tighter than the last, as if his anger could be woven into rope.
Abby had gone eerily still. He sat with his arms propped on his knees, hands folded together like he was at a funeral. His eyes were locked on the door. No smirk. No commentary. Just quiet calculation. He hadn't blinked in minutes.
And Mystery… was curled into the far end of the couch, phone in one hand, thumb scrolling idly. He hadn't said a word since they'd started complaining, but his eyes flicked to the hallway every so often. Like he was listening for footsteps. For you.
You haven't come out no matter how much they tried to lure you. They were starting to get restless. At this point one of them was considering breaking down that door.
Or maybe they all did—
Click
The sound of the door unlocking sliced through the silence like a shot. Every head turned.
The door creaked open.
You stepped out, expression unreadable, a pad of paper cradled in one hand like it was something holy. Or dangerous. No fanfare. No apology. Just a quiet, steady calm that made the air feel heavier.
The boys stared.
Your eyes swept over them one by one, patient and clinical, as if you were observing a still life instead of a group of deeply offended demons.
Jinu squinted at you, like your existence alone was a personal attack. His arms were crossed, one brow raised, but his posture was too stiff—like he'd been waiting too long to act casual about it now.
"Oh, wow." He said, his tone all airy mockery. "Look who finally showed up. Should we clap? Or are you saving that for your next emotionally damaging masterpiece?"
You paused, eyes flicking over him in that slow, indifferent way you always did when he was performing. And he was performing.
Trying too hard. Smiling too wide. Letting his voice lift just a little too much on the sarcasm.
Jinu hated that about himself.
That whenever you didn't seem to care, whenever you looked bored or distracted or like your mind was somewhere else—he tried harder. Louder. Sharper.
Like if he could just say the right line, pull the right face, maybe you'd stop looking past him.
It was pathetic.
It was compulsive.
It was you.
"I mean," He added with a little shrug, voice curling at the edge, "if you were aiming for psychological terrorism, the 'kissing-Baby' bit really was inspired. Or do I need to thank you for exploring my sexuality for me?"
You blinked once, slowly. Then took a step forward.
It was so small. So casual. But the hallway shifted with it.
Jinu's mouth opened like he was about to keep talking, but his breath hitched just slightly. He didn't move. Didn't blink.
He thought maybe you'd say something sharp, something mean.
Instead, you just looked at him with a calm that felt unfair. Like you'd already won. Like you didn't even need to try.
"I think," You said, voice calm and thoughtful. "I need to push my art more."
The hallway went still.
The kind of still where even the walls seemed to hold their breath. Your tone hadn't been aggressive, but it carried the weight of certainty, like someone casually preparing to make a deal with the devil and fully expecting to win.
Romance's fingers halted mid-braid. Jinu's mouth hung open slightly, unsure whether to laugh or argue. Abby blinked once, very slowly, like he was rebooting.
Baby's smirk was gone.
He stared at you, not in anger, but in something far more unsettling—stillness. The kind of stillness that predators had when watching something unfamiliar walk into their territory. He wasn't unnerved. But he wasn't amused anymore either.
You took a step forward, just one, but it was enough. Baby straightened automatically, as if something in him recognized the shift even before his mind caught up.
You met his gaze and didn't look away.
"I'm thinking something more textured next time." You said quietly. "Maybe oil. Or charcoal. Something that clings to the page. Something that… glistens."
Jinu let out a breath like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What? No. No glistening. We are not glistening."
You tilted your head slightly, gaze flicking toward Baby. "You wouldn't mind modeling, would you?"
He raised an eyebrow slowly, his expression unreadable. "You sure you want to test that?" He asked, tone flat.
"I'm very sure," You replied, your voice smooth, unhurried. "Because I'm good at capturing the details people try to hide. And I think you have a lot of them."
For a long moment, Baby didn't answer. He just stared back at you, the usual glint in his eyes dulling into something colder, something quieter. Not quite respect. Not quite challenge. But close to both.
Then he shifted his weight back, jaw tightening just slightly.
You smiled. "There it is."
That was when your tone shifted, light and syrupy. "You gonna say something stupid again with that pretty mouth, sweetheart?"
It hit like a slap. Jinu audibly choked. Romance blinked. Mystery...he's Mystery. Abby turned his head so fast his hair fell into his eyes.
Baby still didn't react—not in any obvious way. But his mouth parted just enough to speak, then didn't. He breathed out through his nose.
The eye contact broke only when your gaze went to the paper in your arm. They still had the sketchbook, taking turns in getting to look at it over and over again like something so sacred, keeping it to their room like it rightfully belonged to them.
No matter. As long as they're careful in handling it, it's fine.
Besides, you'll take it back eventually.
You looked up with polite interest, like a doctor calling the next patient.
"Well then," You said, smiling sweetly like some psychopath. "Who's first?"
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then, in the hushed horror of what had just transpired, Jinu went and leaned slightly toward the others and whispered, "Did she just flirt?"
"I think?" Romance asked, blinking like he'd been hit with a flashbang.
Abby squinted. "I feel like I should be taking notes. That felt like flirting and a felony."
"She called me sweetheart." Baby appeared beside them. He blinked once. Slow. Like a program was loading.
Then he tilted his head, lips quirking into that faint, unreadable smirk. "Huh. Didn't know we were doing pet names now. Should I start calling her 'pumpkin' or would that get me stabbed?"
"She's never called any of us sweetheart." Jinu remarks, trying to snap him out of it. "She usually calls us things like 'emotionally bankrupt' or 'a waste of good paper.'"
"Maybe she really hit her head." Romance suggests the thought.
Abby wheezed then glanced a concerned look towards your way.
Meanwhile, you gave them all a pointed once-over, chin tilting up, the smugness practically glowing off you like a sunburn of pride.
"Thought so." You said with a casual flick of your wrist, like they were beneath you artistically and evolutionarily.
And with that, you turned and disappeared into the kitchen like a final boss retreating to your lair.
The five of them stared at the doorway long after you were gone.
"…So we all saw that, right?" Jinu whispered.
"Yeah." Romance said with a blink then nod. "Yeah, we saw her unlock something. In him."
Baby didn't speak. He just picked up the sketchbook that was on the couch like it was holy scripture, and followed after you.
"Don't do it." Jinu called after him.
"I'm not doing anything." Baby replied, voice airy, innocent. Not turning around. Not slowing down either, as he padded toward the kitchen like a man on a mission.
"You're gonna do something." Mystery said flatly. He didn't even sound annoyed—just resigned. The same tone you'd use watching a cat slowly inching toward the one fragile thing on a shelf.
He knows his friend after all.
Baby didn't answer.
But Abby shifted. He slouched, he stretched one leg across the couch like he was settling in for a show, then spoke without looking at anyone.
"He's not special." Abby muttered, eyes fixed on the large window or the view outside. The words came out too fast, too flat—like he was trying to convince someone. Maybe them.
Maybe himself.
But the bitterness slipped through anyway, quiet and sharp like a splinter. And he didn't take it back.
Because he was the one you handed the sketchbook to. You trust him.
So he sat back like it didn't matter. Like he hadn't just clocked the way Baby lit up, or the way the others went quiet.
If there was a race, Abby was already ahead. He just had to make sure it stayed that way.
And from the corner, Mystery turned.
No words. No sound. Just that slight shift. That impossible-to-miss stillness.
Abby didn't look at him. Didn't need to. He could feel it, the weight of that stare, even with Mystery's face half-buried under that wall of hair.
You could never tell what he was thinking, but somehow, it always felt like he knew everything. Like he saw the crack before it even formed.
The glance wasn't sharp, or cruel. But it landed. Quietly. Deeply.
Abby felt it slice clean through the confidence he wore like armor. He exhaled slowly, jaw tight.
Inside the kitchen, you were mid-sip of your drink, leaning against the counter with the kind of smug satisfaction usually reserved for cartoon villains.
Your expression froze the second you noticed movement. And then you sighed.
"Oh god. I can feel the stupid from here." You muttered, not even looking up. "What do you want now?"
"Peace." Baby said innocently. He stepped into the light, sketchbook still hugged to his chest, his eyes wide and glittering with the kind of faux-humility that could only mean trouble. "Forgiveness. Maybe a hug."
Your stare didn't falter. "You want me to kill you. Got it."
He clicked his tongue and grinned. "C'mon, don't be shy. I bring holy artifacts and everything." He waved the sketchbook vaguely before tucking it under his arm.
You raised a brow, unimpressed. "So now it's holy?"
"To me, yeah. It has my face in it. Multiple times."
"Defaced, you mean."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Only because you see me as art, and art demands suffering."
You made a noise between a scoff and a laugh, and he seized it immediately.
"Oh?" He leaned closer now, elbow on the counter, chin on his palm. "Did you just giggle, Sunshine?"
You visibly recoiled, feeling a sense of deja vu. "Don't call me that."
"But you like it." He said, eyes lighting up. "Remember the face you made when I first called you that? Priceless. Like you'd just been personally victimized by verbal affection."
"I will throw this cup." You sweetly tell him.
"You won't. You like me too much."
Arrogant bastard. But you didn't deny it... idiot.
You went quiet. The slow blink. The blank expression. The subtle reach toward the drawer where the knives lived.
Baby grinned. "See? That's the face. You do like me."
He's repeating lines from that day.
But of course, you didn't flinch. Didn't blink. You just lifted your drink and sipped it like it was wine and not sad powdered juice from the pantry.
"Like is a strong word."
"I'd settle for 'tolerate,'" He offered, smile still sharp, cocky. "Or 'secretly obsessed with but emotionally repressed and incapable of showing it without threats of violence.'"
You raised a brow. Then snorted.
"Believe what you want, Captain Ego."
Baby's smile twitched but before he could make a comeback, you had stepped forward and without ceremony patted his head. Twice. Right on the crown like a kid, or a gremlin, or a cat who'd just bitten someone and was now pretending it hadn't.
"There. Gold star for effort." You said, voice mock-sweet.
Baby visibly froze.
Not just paused. Froze.
His body was still but his brain? His brain was running emergency diagnostics in real time.
System reboot. Confidence overflow. Cooldown: 6–8 business days.
And of course, of course, this was when the others decided to show up.
From the open kitchen archway, four heads peeked around the corner like nosy neighbors.
Romance's eyes narrowed. "I'm the one who wanted head pats and he gets it?? Unbelievable."
"Favoritism." Jinu muttered beside him. He didn't know how many times he'd said that word this week, but he was prepared to keep repeating it like a broken record until he got a turn in that sacred spot. Soon. (Hopefully.)
Beside them, Abby scoffed, casually adjusting the hem of his fitted floral shirt as a breeze (conveniently) fluttered by, lifting the fabric just enough to flash the golden ratio of abs to skin.
"Can't say I blame her." He said, voice smooth, that same faint smirk curling his lips. His gaze softened, just a bit when he recalled something sweet from last night.
"But if it's abs she's into..." He glanced at Baby with something that wasn't quite disdain, but close. "She's already seen the best."
Mystery looked at him, expression unreadable as ever with all those hair. "You've said that three times today."
"And I'll keep saying it." Abby replied, his tone light but far-off, as if reliving the scene in his head all over again. "She gave me the sketchbook. Out of all of us."
Romance groaned. There he goes again. "You're reading into it. She just handed it to whoever was closest."
"I wasn't the closest." Abby's voice dipped just slightly, enough to sound almost wounded. "She chose."
"Okay, Narcissus." Jinu muttered. "Maybe let go of the echo and step into reality."
But Abby was already lost in thought, or was just ignoring him.
From the back, Mystery looked vaguely offended on principle. Meanwhile, Jinu looked like he was about to start a petition.
And Baby? Still frozen in place, one hand hovering over his hair like he'd just witnessed a miracle.
You gave them a saccharine smile. "Try harder." You sing-songed, walking past like you hadn't just emotionally defenestrated someone.
As you disappeared back into the living room, Baby finally moved—lifting a hand to his head like the phantom touch had short-circuited him.
"She touched me." He muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Romance shoved past him. "Good. Move. It's my turn in the emotionally confusing spotlight."
You were curled up on the couch now, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through your phone like a queen basking in her hard-won victory.
The living room had settled into a temporary calm—no more chaos, no more weird interrogations or backhanded compliments. Just you, the couch, and sweet, sweet digital nothingness.
That is, until a shadow fell over your screen.
"Hey." Romance said, stepping into view like he was making his grand entrance in some drama. His smile was soft. A little dreamy. Uncharacteristically quiet.
You blinked up at him, half-expecting another dumb line or one of his dramatics. After all, he had been thick as thieves with the three stooges who tried to ragebait you earlier.
But the expression on his face wasn't smug or teasing. It was… expectant. Like he wanted this to go right.
From behind his back, he pulled out a paper bag—worn on the edges like he'd been handling it too long or many times.
You raised a brow, suspicious. "If this is another prank, I'm letting Abby shoot you."
Romance snorted, but the way he sat beside you felt careful. Like he didn't want to ruin the moment before it began. "Relax. It's not cursed or anything. Just saw something online and thought of you."
You peeked inside.
And stopped.
Inside were art supplies—sketchpads, a pristine set of colored pencils, technical pens and pencils. High-end ones, too. The kind you used to stare at behind glass or scroll past with a sigh.
They looked expensive, sure, but that wasn't what made your chest ache.
It was the fact that someone thought of you at all.
You hadn't held materials this new in... you didn't even know how long. Just that it felt like forever. Long enough to forget what it felt like to be seen.
Your throat tightened. You blinked hard and swallowed it back.
"This—" Your voice cracked, embarrassingly thin. You cleared it fast and tried again. "This is for me?"
Romance nodded, feeling a bit shy under your gaze.
"For our artist-in-residence," He said, voice lower now. Gentler. "Figured you might want these. You know... since you lost your stuff."
You stared down at the contents, and something lodged itself in your throat.
He wasn't being flashy. Or flirty. Or insufferable.
Just… kind.
You turned your head away quickly, as if you were just adjusting your seat. But Romance stilled. For one agonizing second, he thought he'd messed up. That maybe it reminded you too much of everything you'd lost.
But then he saw you turn back, beaming like he just gave you the stars. A smile so real, so bright, so enchanting, it nearly bowled him over.
"Thank you, Rome."
Rome. A nickname. A soft one. He swore he heard distant bells.
Romance practically sparkled. "That's it? No 'good boy'? No head pats? Nothing?"
"Don't push it, Valentine." You said with a playful side-eye.
He clutched his chest like you'd wounded him, then burst into a warm laugh that filled the space between you.
"Want me to pose for your first masterpiece? Maybe shirtless? With grapes?"
You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you hugged the bag to your chest.
"Go touch grass."
Jinu leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed, a permanent scowl on his face. That bag you were holding looked like it belonged in a museum the way you were staring at it.
"That traitor." He muttered under his breath—low, like a hiss. But the bite in his voice dulled when he saw how soft your eyes had gone. His shoulders dropped a little.
Mystery stood beside Baby. No one could tell what kind of look he was giving you and Romance, but he did let out a little growl.
For some reason he feels threatened.
"Well played, Romance." Abby's voice came from the back. He huffs with his arms folded in front of his chest.
Baby squinted at the both of you like he was watching a scene from a cheesy romcom.
"What's next? Gonna feed him strawberries on a chaise lounge?" He scoffed, lips twisting into a pout that was 30% judgment and 70% hurt ego.
The living room was peaceful for exactly three seconds.
Then Jinu flung himself onto the armrest beside you like he was auditioning for a tragic opera. One hand over his heart, the other gesturing wildly.
"There she is," He declared, loud enough to summon ghosts. "The artist. The Rembrandt of betrayal."
You didn't even blink at his appearance. "Oh, sorry— I didn't realize the victim complex had legs."
Abby blinked. Baby choked on a snort. Romance discreetly turned his laugh into a cough. Even Mystery looked mildly entertained.
Jinu gaped, hand flying to his chest. "Excuse me?!"
You twirled your pencil like a knife. "You heard me, Kissyface."
He rose to his full height, indignant and dramatic. "You think just because you can smudge graphite like some charcoal-stained oracle from a crumbling dynasty, you have the right— the audacity— to pair me with him?!"
"Face it." You said coolly, resting your chin on your hand as if this was a courtroom drama and you were the judge. "You two had chemistry."
Baby scrunches his face in disgust.
Jinu looked like you'd just accused him of catching feelings (towards you, yes). "Chem—chemistry?! I was leaning in to threaten him!"
"And he leaned back." You replied, all sugar and venom, hands clasped like you were praying for his downfall. "With trust. And yearning."
He pointed at you like a scandalized noble on the verge of a duel. "I want a redraw. And I want it ugly. I want veins. Put rot in my eyes. Make me look like a cursed oil painting someone keeps in a locked basement."
You tilted your head. "Oh? Going for realism, are we?"
"No!" He snapped, flinging his arms up. "I want to haunt people. I want parents to shield their children. I want to be the reason someone drops their croissant."
"Aww~" You cooed, lashes fluttering. "I didn't know you wanted a self-portrait."
The boys oooohh'd like it was a street fight with no ref. Even Mystery coughed behind his hand.
Jinu narrowed his eyes, stepping closer until his knee brushed yours. "You think you're so clever, huh?"
You stood up slowly, letting the tension build between you. "I don't think," You smirked, flicking the chain around his neck just to watch it swing. "I know."
For a moment, neither of you moved. It was all smirks and sharp gazes, tension thick enough to carve names into.
Jinu didn't flinch. He leaned in like he was about to whisper a secret, voice low and wicked. "Careful. You keep poking around like that, you might wake something up."
You didn't back down. "What, your ego?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, sharp and reluctant. Like he hated that he liked the way you talked to him.
Too close. Too loud. Too much.
You were too much, and it was starting to get under his skin—in a way he couldn't shake off. Not since you got his attention that day and actually looked at him like he was human.
Or when you sympathized with him, like you understood something unspoken in him before he even realized he wanted someone to.
And definitely not since you smiled. That one smile. Casual. Soft. Stupidly bright.
It had no right to stick to his ribs the way it did, replaying in his head like a curse.
"I—" Jinu blinked, caught off guard by his own voice. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up.
He didn't know what he was about to say. Maybe something dumb. Maybe something true. Maybe something that would ruin the game you two were playing.
But before he could speak again, you were lifted.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
One second, you were standing your ground like someone ready to square up. The next, your feet left the floor abruptly, without warning, and a solid arm hooked under your knees like you were some stray kitten getting evicted from a crime scene.
"Up we go." Abby muttered, casual as ever, like you didn't just shriek in protest. Like this wasn't your emotional high point being hijacked in broad daylight.
"ABBY—!"
No response. No guilt. Just him adjusting your weight midair and—god—flipping you around until your arms were over his shoulders like a human backpack.
He moved toward the couch, posture unbothered, eyes half-lidded as he cast a quick glance at Jinu, who still hadn't moved. But his eyes? They were darker than before.
"Looked tense. I'm saving your life." Abby added lazily, as if he were rescuing you from something dangerous.
He settles you down beside Baby like you were cargo being relocated.
The said person (demon) made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. "...You pick her up every time you feel threatened. It's getting predictable."
He swung one leg over the other and looked like this was all deeply exhausting to watch. Then he smirked, leaned in, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.
"Bold of you to assume I ever feel threatened." Abby called back, unbothered by the sight.
Whereas, Mystery appears just as smoothly, slipping into your other side like he'd been waiting for his cue. He said nothing, just reached down and took your hand.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it belonged there.
He laced your fingers through his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
You glanced at him, questioning, maybe even accusing—but he didn't look back. Only watched Jinu, eyes narrowed just slightly, as if calculating whether he’d need to step in again.
"She looks better over here anyway." He said under his breath, voice light but just smug enough to needle.
"Oh, come on." You groaned, trying to shift under the weight of Baby's arm and Mystery's hold. "What is this, a security protocol?"
Romance and Abby now flanked Jinu, all three of them watching with a flicker of amusement like this was some kind of sitcom. You glared at the black-haired boy in the middle.
He's lucky he's got his underlings, otherwise you would've gladly made him eat his own medicine.
Seriously. What the hell was happening?
Was the world ending? Were you dying? Why were they all so touchy all of a sudden?
No—on second thought, this looked less like a tragedy and more like a magazine cover. You felt like you were five seconds away from a reverse harem photo shoot.
And honestly? It was never not flattering to be surrounded by beautiful men.
Even if said beautiful men were absolute children half the time, dragging you into their playground-level power games with zero warning.
The chaos, of course, did not end there. That had only been the opening act.
Because for the rest of the day, the boys turned it into a group effort. They were teaming up now.
Nothing new but it was still horrifying in itself.
Abby kept flirting like he was God's favorite creation. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to showcase the beginnings of his abs (he swore it was just hot in the kitchen, but you knew better), throwing wink after wink like he had them on a timer.
At one point, he leaned against the fridge and actually said, "Go ahead, babe. One-time offer to touch perfection."
You didn't even hesitate.
You pressed a palm to his stomach like a scientist taking samples, all business.
"Good texture." You said calmly as if this was no big deal. "I'm using you for a villain character. Thanks."
Abby froze. Romance choked on his orange juice.
Mystery was subtler. Of course he was. That was his whole thing—sly smiles and thoughtful little gestures that he always passed off as nothing.
He lurked close but never too close, brushed your hair back from your eyes with an excuse about ink smudges, handed you your favorite mug without being asked, adjusted the hoodie on your shoulder like it was a cape that needed fixing. (It just came to you that you needed your own clothes)
When you called him out for trying to "boyfriend" you, he blinked and just gave you a tiny smile without walking away.
You didn't know how to react so you walked away.
Now, Romance was the real threat.
He didn't need volume or antics. He simply existed and said sweet things like he was breathing them out. Flirted because he felt immune. Like he'd earned some sort of title—King of [Y/n]'s Soft Spot, or something equally ridiculous. You suspected he was right.
The others definitely felt it. Especially when you prepped some fruits and left out a personal plate for him.
Mystery saw it. He felt a sense of betrayal.
Because it felt like just yesterday—actually, it was yesterday—when no one was happy about him being the favorites. And now? Now you were just hand-feeding the enemy.
Which is why Baby had thrown himself across your lap for absolutely no reason.
"I think I'm dying." He muttered, flopping dramatically, cheek pressed to your thigh. "My head hurts. I need someone warm and comforting."
"You need a lobotomy." You replied flatly, not budging. "Get off."
He didn't. And maybe out of pity, maybe out of distraction, maybe just because you were scrolling through your phone and not really thinking—you started carding your fingers through his teal hair.
You didn't look down, didn't pause. Just kept scrolling as your nails gently scraped his scalp. You felt him freeze for a moment, then slowly relax.
Then came that smirk. The lazy, smug one.
You didn't look, but you knew. If he said a single word—
"Try. I swear I'm throwing you across the room."
He snorted. "Kinky."
You tried to shove him off, but he only let out a deep laugh, hooking his arms around your waist—or was that a hug? You weren't sure, only that his grin got wider.
They were relentless, but so were you. Always had been. Ever since day one, and you weren't about to roll over and let them have all the fun.
They wanted a rival? They got one.
Sure, they tried to bring you down. Ragebait you. Pick you apart piece by piece until you snapped. But you’d learned from the best.
His name was Gumball Watterson.
After all their shenanigans, you were starving. Which brings us here.
Currently stationed in the kitchen, you were handling dinner prep—volunteered, basically. It just didn’t sit right, letting the sketchbook pass off as payment.
Sure, they were rich, but you didn't like being indebted. Not for free food. Not for hot baths. Not even for reliable Wi-Fi.
You told yourself that until you had money in hand and could confidently slap it down with a smug little grin, you'd pull your weight in the kitchen.
You were in your own world.
The kitchen felt too big for one person, but you weren't complaining. Sleek marble counters. Gas stove. Cabinets that opened like magic with the slightest push.
It was the kind of kitchen you used to pause TikToks over just to stare at the layout. The kind you'd sketch in notebooks when you were younger, dreaming of "someday."
And now, you were in it. Living in it. Okay, temporarily, but that didn't kill the magic.
You moved with purpose, multitasking without missing a beat—slicing vegetables with precision while mentally narrating scenes for a cooking vlog you'd never make. Something about "effortless meals in an effortless life," which was a lie, but you liked how it sounded.
And then, of course, you felt it.
A presence behind you. Soft, but deliberate. A little too close.
You didn't even need to look.
"Don't try me, Jinu." You warned, voice light, but sharp enough to pass as a threat. "I have a knife."
(You did. And maybe you were smiling a bit too much while saying that)
"So violent." His voice dripped with mock hurt, eyes wide in faux innocence. "And here I was, hoping to be greeted with a smile."
You turned, finding him leaning against the counter like this was his show. That stupid smirk on his face, eyes scanning the kitchen like he owned the place.
(Which, technically, he did. But you refused to give him the satisfaction)
"I came to assist." He added, still putting on the act, hands held up like he was unarmed and misunderstood.
You squinted at him. "You mean sabotage."
"I'd never." His voice was mock-hurt. "I'm deeply offended. Chef."
That last part was added with a slight bow and a flourish of his wrist, like he expected applause. You stared at him, unimpressed.
Still, you handed him a cutting board.
"Fine. But if you ruin this, I'll force-feed it to you and make you rate it out of ten."
"Is that a threat or a date?"
You pointed your knife at him. He wisely said no more.
You were attempting a Korean-Chinese dish you'd seen online: jjajangmyeon. Rich, savory, dark. You'd always wanted to try making it from scratch, but the ingredients were pricey, and the time? Yeah. Who had time?
Apparently, you did now.
There was something satisfying about the way Jinu moved around the kitchen. Efficient. Almost graceful. He didn't hover or get in your way, didn't try to take over. Just peeled and chopped quietly, following your lead. The rare type of kitchen partner who didn't make things harder.
You kept side-eyeing him, suspicious.
And yet—no salt where sugar should go. No "accidental" spills. No dumb prank involving wasabi and dessert.
Huh.
You caught yourself smiling, just a little. Just… enjoying it. The peace. The normalcy. A warm kitchen and the sound of bubbling sauce, someone next to you who wasn't trying to ruin your life.
Your fingers reached for the drawer to grab a ladle—
And stopped. A hand was already there.
Yours, and his.
You both looked down at the same time.
Silence.
His hand was larger than yours, but not by much. Calloused and warm. There was no weird tension, just a… pause.
Only this time, his fingers didn't freeze. They moved, slightly. As if hesitating between retreat and—
He noticed. The bandages.
The humor in his face faltered. Jinu's thumb barely skimmed your wrist before he gently turned your arm just enough to see the edge of the wrappings peeking past your sleeve. A light touch—quick, but careful.
You blinked at him.
He didn't say anything. Just stared at your forearm, then back up at you. Like he was assessing damage. Like he gave a damn.
Your brain short-circuited.
You looked at his hand still holding your arm. Then his face. Then back to his hand. Straight-faced. Frozen. Processing.
Jinu suddenly looked like he'd just realized he was touching a live wire.
He jolted upright. He retracted his hand so fast it almost looked rehearsed, like some mental protocol kicked in. His arms snapped to his sides, stiff like he forgot how to function.
"Ladle's all yours." He said coolly, stepping back like a gentleman. Like nothing happened. Like he hadn't just glitched in real time.
He was trying not to look at you, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder like the ceiling fan had just become fascinating.
You didn't say anything. Just took the utensil and turned back to the pot. His touch lingered yet instead of being flustered you were trying not to laugh because what was that?
The whole thing felt like it crawled straight out of some cringy romance show.
Okay, maybe a little cringe. His hand was nice...and there was a flicker of worry in his eyes.
Jinu hovered for a second longer, then busied himself with wiping down the counter like his life depended on it. Like the silence had teeth.
He cleared his throat, voice a little stiff, ears betraying him with the faintest flush. "So… how's the sauce?"
You didn't look up. "Thick. Like your skull."
He blinked once. "…Solid burn."
A smug little smile tugged at your lips. He smiled behind your back, trying to look unfazed, but the curve of his mouth was just shy of flustered.
And just like that, the moment passed. Sort of.
You went back to stirring like nothing happened. No big deal. Just another normal cooking session. No hand-touching. No lingering eye contact. No weird pauses.
Behind you, Jinu hovered. Too quiet. Too still.
You glanced over your shoulder.
He was staring at the back of your head like it had personally betrayed him. When you caught his eye, he jumped slightly—then played it off with a clumsy stretch and a quick tug at the collar of his shirt.
"Whew. Hot in here, huh?" He blurted out, voice louder than necessary, already fanning himself. "Is it the stove or… chemistry?"
You blinked. Slowly. "What."
He coughed into his fist, looking like he wanted to crawl into the nearest drawer. "I mean— the stove. Definitely the stove. Ha. Ha… ha…"
You stared and he did the same.
You squinted at him. Jinu didn’t move, but his posture suddenly screamed guilty statue. "…Did you just flirt?"
His brows snapped together, and his ears flushed crimson—traitorously loud against the usual smug mask.
"No." He said a little too fast, voice climbing like it had something to prove. "Maybe— Shut up."
You blinked, like you couldn't believe what just came out of his mouth. Then, with all the grace of a daytime soap actor, you raised the ladle like it was Mjölnir and you were worthy.
"Oh my god. You did." Your eyes were wide at first, stunned, then narrowed with teasing delight.
"Okay, wow." He stepped back, hands raised like you were about to throw something. "Hostile kitchen energy. I am being persecuted for helping and also being hot."
You grabbed a stray green onion and flicked it at him.
He caught it with a dramatic flair—spinning it like a baton. "Still got it."
You shake your head. "Get out."
"I was already leaving!" He declared, pointing toward the door like a man who had made an executive decision. "Too pretty for manual labor anyway."
Your brow arched. A small scoff slipped out as you turned back to the pot, that tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Idiot.
He paused in the doorway, half his face still in view—grin cocky, but eyes flicking uncertainly toward you, like he was waiting for some kind of cue.
"You're welcome, by the way."
You looked at him, unimpressed. "For what?"
He shrugged, like it was nothing. "Not ruining dinner. And uh… for the—" He wiggled his fingers vaguely. "—hand-holding."
Your eyes narrowed. "You touched my hand and froze like the WiFi cut out."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. No words. Just existential regret.
You waved him off with your ladle. "Shoo."
He faltered.
"Okay, bye. Uh—b-bye." He stammered, throwing up awkward finger guns like his body couldn't decide what to do. "I'm leaving. Yeah." He spun around to go, paused, then spun back in, pointing vaguely at nothing. "Cool. Chill. Uh—"
You didn't even look up. "Door's that way."
"Yep. Knew that. I live here, by the way." Realizing he rambled on, he whispered his scolding to none other than himself.
And just like that, Jinu disappeared—like he was trying to physically outrun the memory of the past thirty seconds.
You stirred the pot again, fighting off the grin. But the way your shoulders trembled betrayed you. You bit your lip. A tiny laugh escaped.
Then another. A louder one.
You wiped at your eye as the laughter rolled out, helpless now. It wasn’t disappointment, not really. Just this dumb warmth bubbling under your skin like the simmering stew.
Loser, you thought, chuckling to yourself.
…But you kind of liked him.
Somewhere down the hallway, Jinu had to stop.
He didn't know whether to curl up in a ball, run into traffic, or just lie face down on the tile for the next century. So instead, he leaned back against the wall, running both hands over his face, groaning into his palms like he was trying to physically erase the memory.
You laughed.
Not just laughed. Full-on cackled like he was a walking sitcom special.
He'd take it as a win—if it didn't feel like his dignity had just thrown itself out the window. His face was so red it practically glowed in the dim lighting. He stayed there for a minute. Maybe two.
"Smooth, Jinu." He muttered under his breath, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Real smooth."
Eventually, he marched past the living room without saying a word. The others were sprawled on the couch, probably heard everything by how they stared at him like they wanted to say something but valued their lives too much.
He ignored them.
Straight to his room. Door shut. Goodbye world.
—
Dinner passed in a blur of teasing remarks, second servings, and the chaotic clatter of utensils as the boys tried to act like your cooking wasn't the best thing they'd had all week.
It was.
The gochujang sauce hit hard—too hard for some.
Abby coughed through the first bite, eyes watering, muttering something about betrayal while still reaching for another piece.
Romance tapped his chest like it might calm the burn. Mystery didn't say a word, just kept eating with quiet endurance. Jinu kept sipping water between bites, red-faced but determined.
Only Baby seemed unfazed, clearing his plate with calm efficiency and even spooning extra sauce on top.
You watched him with faint amusement, secretly pleased that someone was genuinely enjoying your creation. He looked effortlessly cool even now, casually blowing on a steaming bite before popping it into his mouth. Cute.
"You guys asked for a surprise." You said, biting back a smirk and trying to act all poised. "This one bites back."
"Yeah, well—it bit me first." Abby croaked, reaching for his fifth glass of water. "You could've warned us!"
"I did." You replied innocently, barely holding back a smirk. "I asked what you all wanted for dinner. You said, 'Surprise us, princess.'"
Romance let out a long, betrayed groan and collapsed over the table like the spice had just ended a long-term relationship with him.
"This isn't food." He whimpered, face buried in his arms. "This is a punishment."
Jinu, red-faced and hiccupping like a malfunctioning kettle, struggled to maintain what little pride he had left. "Well—the, uh, texture. The tofu. Very silky. Great mouthfeel."
You blinked then held in a laugh. "Did you just say mouthfeel?"
He looked like he regretted everything. Again.
Mystery? Still eating. Quiet. Stoic. Suffering in silence.
Dinner continued in loud chaos—chopsticks clattering, water being poured and spilled, praises slurred through mouthfuls.
You only rolled your eyes and told them to shut up and eat.
And they did.
—
Later that night, you were curled up in bed, phone balanced in one hand, your other leg bouncing lazily under the covers. The group chat was going feral—your friends all-caps screaming over Huntrix’s newest drop.
🎧 GOLDEN IS OUT‼️ GO LISTEN‼️
IT'S A MASTERPIECE???
I LOVE MIRA. RUMI. ZOEY.
HUNTR/X NEVER MISSES.
You laughed under your breath, replying with a flurry of emojis before clicking the link.
The song opened with a slow build—soft synths shimmering like city lights underwater, pulsing gently in your ears. Then came the beat: steady, unhurried, like a heartbeat finding rhythm.
And then that voice. Smooth, aching. Familiar in the way favorite songs always are.
I was a ghost, I was alone
Eoduwojin apgilsoge (Hah)
Given the throne, I didn't know how to believe (Hah)
Your gaze drifted up to the ceiling, where the soft glow of your nightlight stretched long shadows across the room.
From the living room came the muffled sound of laughter—familiar voices, the clink of glasses, someone shushing someone else far too loudly. The boys were still awake.
You exhaled, quiet and long.
Then your eyes fell to the bandages wrapped around your forearm, and for a moment, you replayed the memory in your head—reaching for the ladle, Jinu's hand brushing yours, the way he froze like his brain had blue-screened.
And how, instead of teasing you for once, he looked at your arm. Just looked. Like something fragile. Like it meant something.
Then your gaze flicked to the desk—Romance's gift bag sat there, still safely hidden inside it. You'll organize them tomorrow.
Today had been… chaotic. Noisy. Dumb, even. Baby had flung himself across your lap like a sleepy cat, groaning about a "migraine". You're still under the impression he only just wanted to be coddled.
Abby had picked you up earlier like it was nothing, making you yelp in surprise—and then just stood there, calm and sturdy, as if to say I've got you without needing the words.
Even Mystery, quiet and unreadable, had wordlessly placed a glass of water beside you when you thought no one was watching.
They'd teased you, poked at your patience, baited a meltdown—but underneath all the ridiculousness was something softer. Something steady. Like they'd made room for you without needing to say it aloud.
And you felt it.
For once, your life didn't feel like it was slipping past without touching you.
It felt alive.
Like maybe this noise, this mess, was something worth holding onto.
Your eyes softened as the chorus rose, swelling bright and full in your ears.
You know together we're glowing
Gonna be, gonna be golden…
And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe it.
Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, Still Chaotic™, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really), reader needs sleep
[A/n]: A little calm before we spiral again 😌 Still the same day as the fire rescue, just some filler flavor and sketchbook chaos. Next chapter? More damage. Stay tuned.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 >Part 6<, Part 7, Part 8
Abby lingered outside of your room.
Slowly, inevitably, his lips curled into a smile. He didn't even try to stop it. He exhaled, shaking his head before glancing down at the object in his hand. The sketchbook.
Your sketchbook.
You handed it to him. Not Jinu. Not Baby. Not Romance. And definitely not Mystery, who felt like the favorite and possibly even closest to you.
Just him.
Abby grinned wider, his ego inflating by the second.
You liked him best. That had to be it. Why else would you let him be the first? Obviously, your taste was impeccable. Stunning. Refined. Tragic, really, that it took a near-death experience for you to admit it.
(Even if you hadn't technically said anything.)
He flipped the sketchbook open with a lazy flick of his thumb, smirking like he already knew what he'd find.
Time to confirm it, their (mostly Jinu) wild theories about blueprints for assassination, pages of data collection, maybe even labeled diagrams of their emotional weaknesses in comic strip format.
At the very least, a panel or two on how she planned to kill them.
But no.
None of that.
His smirk faltered. Then settled into something gentler.
These weren't schemes. Or secret weapon notes. Or a coded confession to Huntrix.
They were just… drawings.
Real ones. Good ones. Frustrated ones. Admiring ones. Art for art's sake.
"…Hah," Abby said quietly, a little too pleased with himself. "Told you she wasn't the enemy."
He clutched the sketchbook closer.
"I knew it all along."
Despite his words, he continued to look through the pages. Not because he doubted, but because he's curious.
These were your drawings, after all.
The first few pages were older, lined with haphazard doodles and messy pencil marks, as if you were racing thoughts before they slipped.
Some were half-finished, others just empty silhouettes. Characters in stories. Fantasies. Whole worlds, sketched in a haze of graphite and ink.
He paused at one that looked vaguely like a knight, then another of someone with a glowing arm. Magical girls. Monsters. A fox-eared barista.
Huh. These were just fictional things. All fantasy. Impressive, yeah—but not what he expected.
Kind of amazing, honestly. The detail. The shading. The style.
Still, for someone who got yelled at, tripped over, and harassed by him at least three times a day, you'd think he'd have at least one angry doodle dedicated to his face. Just one. Was that so much to ask?
A little disappointing.
Not that he cared. (He totally cared.)
He sighed. Just one more page, he told himself. Then he'd hand it off to Jinu and the others so they'd shut up about their "data-gathering spy artist enemy" theory or whatever insane thing they were cooking up.
He turned the page.
And stopped.
A familiar shape came to view. Broad shoulders. Lean frame. A shirt he definitely recognized—
"...Is that a pigeon head?"
He blinked then tilted the book as if from a different angle, it might suddenly become respectful.
It did not.
The shading was immaculate. The pigeon eyes sparkled with contempt. The little caption beneath it read: 'Soaring dumbass, probably eats gravel.'
He stared.
Then he laughed—sharp and startled, hand slapping over his mouth as if you'd hear him from across the house. He's literally still standing in front of your room.
You drew him with a pigeon head. That meant something. That meant everything.
He didn't know whether to be offended or deeply honored.
So he settled on: "Yeah. She totally likes me."
He flipped the page.
The next was a hastily drawn Baby with 'Most Likely to Die First in a Horror Movie' written under his face. Next to it was Mystery frowning at a ghost with a speech bubble: "Please stop haunting me. I'm busy."
Abby tried not to laugh. He failed.
The page after that?
Romance. Shirtless. Dramatically posed on a pile of books. Except one of his eyebrows was taped to his forehead like a glued-on caterpillar. You'd scrawled, "He wouldn't shut up about Greek myths so I gave him a tragedy."
"Oh my gah—" Abby wheezed.
There were more.
A doodle of Jinu staring at a calendar like he was calculating your death date. Baby in a clown costume. Romance crying because his tea was too bitter. Mystery. Just Mystery. But instead of arms, he had spaghetti noodles for limbs.
He was already moving to flip another page but then he heard footsteps.
Abby quickly slammed the sketchbook shut just as Baby and Mystery rounded the corner into the hallway. Both looked immediately suspicious.
"Why do you look guilty?" Baby said, eyes narrowing.
"I don't." Abby straightened. "I look smug. Which is my default."
Mystery didn't say anything but when he saw the sketchbook, he looked at Abby like he was hinting or accusing him of something.
"Oh, this?" Abby gestured with the book, conceited. "[Y/n] gave it to me. Advance payment she said."
"...You mean she didn't threaten you?" Baby asked flatly after sharing a look with his friend.
Abby's lips curved even wider. "No. She let me borrow it."
He held the sketchbook a little higher, like it was a trophy.
Baby narrowed his eyes immediately. "You're lying."
Abby gasped, scandalized. "I would never lie about a legally binding sketchbook transaction between two consenting weirdos."
Before Baby could point that irritatingly snobbish smirk of his, Romance entered the hallway holding a bowl of soup like it was a peace offering from a much cooler alternate universe.
He raised a brow. "What's this about?"
"She's staying." Abby said smugly.
All three stopped.
"She what?" Romance blinked.
"She's staying here." Abby smirked, voice practically dripping with self-satisfaction. "And gave me this as advance payment."
He lifted the sketchbook again, flipping it over in his hand for dramatic flair. "Which means, by the way, I am currently the most trusted, most beloved, and most artistically appreciated member of this group."
Baby scoffed. "She was probably delirious."
"Deliriously into me." Abby shot back, beaming.
Mystery's gaze shifted toward the door to your room. His stare was neutral but sharp, like he was calculating just how deeply he should be concerned.
Romance squinted at the book in Abby's hands. "...She gave you her sketchbook?"
"Borrowed." Abby corrected. "Lent. Entrusted. Gifted temporarily with intent to impress. The phrasing isn't important."
"You asked for it, didn't you." Baby muttered, his arms crossed.
"I was charmingly persistent." Abby said, playing along with him. There was no need to go into detail with that story to someone who's in denial.
Mystery tilted his head the faintest bit. "Did she threaten you?"
"Nope." Abby popped the ‘p’. "Voluntary. Consensual. You can ask her yourself."
He gestured for them to enter the room as if it was a dare to go into somewhere scary.
Then he points to Romance's bowl with flair. "Thank you for bringing the sacrament."
Romance looked deeply unimpressed. "I'm starting to think we should've let her burn you."
Abby didn't seem offended, his mood too good that it broke the meter.
Jinu appears from down the hallway. He blinked at them, already annoyed. "Are we having a meeting here or—?"
His words cut off when he saw the sketchbook in Abby's arms. He stopped walking, his eyebrows furrowing. "You didn't steal that, right?"
"For the last time." Abby groaned dramatically. "She let me borrow it."
He placed one hand over his heart. "Do I look like a thief?"
"Yes." Baby, Jinu, and Romance all said in unison while Mystery only nodded.
Jinu squinted, skeptical. "And she just handed that over?"
Abby flashes a toothy smile. "With the grace of a woman who knows quality when she sees it."
"...So she was hypnotized."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Jinu."
Mystery remained silent, but his arms slowly folded. He looked at Abby like he was trying to find the exact moment he lost all respect for him. (It might've been now.)
Romance sighed and gave up trying to rationalize it.
So naturally, they opened it.
Abby was chill so maybe whatever's inside wasn't horrible? No data collections or death panels. Probably.
And also, Abby was glowing. Not in the supernatural way (for once), but in that "I knew it" kind of way that came with unbearable levels of smugness.
Without another word, he opened the book again. (He refuses to hand it over) Though instead of the first page, Abby just resorted to continuing on where he left off.
Not that they knew.
The first page they saw was a drawing of Baby and Jinu yelling at each other—with you in the background holding a sign that read: "Both of them are wrong. I just don't have the energy to argue."
They flipped again.
There were more. Some ridiculous. Some terrifying. One had Romance and Baby in bunny suits dancing under a disco ball.
Another had Jinu mid-sneeze with a line that said 'Bless you, you cursed little man.'
Then came the sketch where Abby was floating outside your window with glowing eyes and a handwritten caption: "Ghost of Unpaid Rent."
He was labeled 'Menace, Grade A' in the corner, with little sparkles around his head and an arrow pointing to your drawn self screaming inside the apartment.
Baby was drawn curled up on top of the copier, limbs dangling off the edges like a spoiled housecat who had declared the office equipment his throne.
There were papers flying out of the machine, most of which had blurry selfies of his face on them. One paw (hand) was slapping the copy button lazily, over and over.
You were drawn in the corner, screaming silently into a folder.
The caption beneath it read: Day 2. I've started negotiating with God. He hasn't responded. Probably because Baby threatened him first.
A Post-it was stuck to the corner of the page with an added note:
"I sprayed him with water. He winked. I think it made him stronger."
Next to it, there was a doodle of a smug cartoon cat, slouching in a shoebox labeled 'Do not disturb unless you're ready to be emotionally attacked.' The cat wore tiny sunglasses. The resemblance was alarming.
Baby stared at the drawing. Then stared harder.
"…I look good." He announced, looking somewhat proud. Either because of the drawing itself or it was you who drew it while thinking of him. Or maybe both.
Jinu snorts at him. "You look like a possessed raccoon."
"Exactly." Baby grinned, completely unbothered. "Handsome. Untouchable. The moment."
Romance tilted his head. "You're a cat. Slapping a copier."
"I'm the cat." Baby corrected, tapping the page. "This is art. She gets me."
"You're in a box labeled 'Do not disturb unless you're ready to be emotionally attacked.'" Abby read flatly, brows raised.
Baby smirked wider. "Tell me that's not accurate."
Baby leaned back smugly, arms behind his head. "Can't believe I live rent-free in her head and her sketchbook. What a life."
"She sprayed you with water." Romance pointed out, holding back a laugh.
"She drew me surviving it." Baby shrugged. "Only makes me stronger."
Mystery didn't say anything. But he did flip the page like even he had enough.
Jinu stared at the drawing.
A crown. A sash. The words "King of losers!" printed in bold, cursed lettering. The others were all kneeling dramatically around him like his loyal minions.
There was a beat of silence before he scoffed.
"Well," He said with a hand on his hip, "She got the royal part right."
Romance tilted his head. "Did she though? It's giving more... dethroned monarch who got kicked out for embezzlement."
"Wrong. I'm clearly adored." Jinu flipped his hair with dangerous precision. "Look how everyone's bowing. Even you, Baby. I should frame this."
"Frame it and I'll draw a mustache on you." Baby said, unimpressed.
"Oh no. Anything but facial hair." Jinu said dryly, already miming where he'd hang the sketch on a nonexistent wall. "I think above the bed. Or the throne. Whichever comes first."
"You don't have a throne." Romance states while the others hummed in agreement.
"Yet."
Abby clapped him on the back. "Buddy, she just publicly declared you the supreme loser."
"And she drew it," Jinu grinned. "Which means [Y/n] thought about me. Emotionally. That's art. It proves that despite everything, she still likes me."
Mystery blinked. Even he found this absurd. "You sound insane."
Jinu replied with his chin up, "I sound royal."
Yeah, they had enough. Abby turned the page.
Then came Mystery.
He was sketched multiple times—always in the background. In windows. Reflections. Crouching behind potted plants. One drawing had red circles around his eyes like a cryptid sighting, labeled:
"Proof he exists (???)"
And underneath it, your handwriting scrawled: "Seen only during 3AM snack runs. Leaves no footprints. Possibly floats."
Baby side-eyed him. So far drawings of his friend were 'mild' compared to them.
"Favoritism..." Jinu mutters with narrowed eyes, also noticing it. (He said it before, he'll say it again)
Mystery blinked slowly. Then flipped the page himself.
All five of them, in the rehearsal studio. Abby lying on top of the prop table like it was a chaise lounge. Jinu standing on a chair arguing with the director's notes.
Baby was trying to mic-tape his face like a mustache. Romance sipped your very obviously labeled thermos.
And Mystery, for some reason, was sitting on the stack of foldable chairs in the corner, watching all of it happen like he was above mortality.
You, meanwhile, were drawn half-sitting, half-falling on the floor with a bundle of tangled cords in your arms.
You had a speech bubble that read: "Are they even idols? They rehearse for ten minutes then torment me for the next three hours."
The caption beneath it: "Maybe this is my hell. Maybe I offended a sea witch. Maybe I didn't hold the elevator for someone and this is cosmic justice."
At this point Jinu was now convinced this is your kind of your humor.
And then came the threat.
The one Mystery still remembered clearly, mostly because he'd spent the whole day trying to decode what "suspicious things" meant.
A sketch of Baby and Jinu.
Kissing.
Violently.
Beneath the drawing, you had written: "Keep testing me and this becomes canon. Watch out Romance and Abby."
Baby recoiled like he'd just seen his future flash before his eyes and it owed him money.
"...No. Absolutely not." He hissed, staring like the paper personally offended him. "Is this legal? Can she do this?"
Jinu just stared, expression blank. He was silent and processing whatever that was you drew.
Then, very calmly, he said, "I'm setting that thing on fire."
"Don't you dare." Abby frowned for a second then grinned as he held the book tighter to his chest. "This is proof she likes me more."
"You can have that delusion," Jinu snapped, "but this—" he jabbed a finger at the page "—is psychological warfare."
Romance leaned over for a peek and blinked. "Oh wow. There's shading. She spent time on this."
Mystery said nothing. Just turned to the next page like he was trying to erase the last ten seconds of his life.
Romance doubled over laughing.
Mystery exhaled through his nose. Barely. Which was basically a wheeze by his standards.
"…Wait." Baby said slowly, brow furrowing as he squinted down at the sketchbook again. "Where's Mystery?"
The laughter stopped and they all turned back to the page.
Romance leaned in like he’d misread something. "She only threatened four of us."
Abby blinked, flipping the page back just to be sure. "...That's true."
Jinu's gaze sharpened. "That can't be right."
But there it was. Just beneath the drawing of Baby and Jinu kissing like it was a war crime, and beside the note that had Romance and Abby explicitly name-dropped.
A tiny, passing doodle. Casual. Effortless.
'Mystery… kinda safe, ig'
Abby recoiled like he’d been slapped. "Wow. Wow. She even hesitated putting you in danger. Look at that lowercase energy. That's affection. That's favoritism. That's emotional treason."
Romance leaned in again. "You're the favorite. I'm telling you."
Mystery tilted his head, as if considering this deeply. "Neat."
That one word was enough to send everyone into a spiral.
"No." Jinu said tightly, brows twitching. "No. We are not doing this. I know what this is. This is war."
"You're just mad she called you a 'cursed little man.'" Abby muttered.
"She did more than that!" Jinu snapped, voice shooting an octave higher as he jabbed a finger at the drawing like it committed slander.
Then he paused.
Straightened his back. Smoothed down an invisible wrinkle on his shirt. Cleared his throat like a prince about to deliver closing arguments in a courtroom.
"Ahem, 'Bless you, you cursed little man.'" He recited flatly, every syllable laced with quiet fury. "She weaponized politeness. That's a hate crime."
"I got called a spoiled cat and she still gave me sunglasses," Baby grumbled, crossing his arms. "And this guy—" He pointed at Mystery like he was snitching in court. "—gets a diplomatic immunity clause?"
Mystery blinked at them. "I didn't do anything."
"Exactly the problem." Jinu muttered, doing his best to keep his tone civilized and failing.
Abby turned the sketchbook toward them again and jabbed a finger at the corner of the page. "'Mystery… kinda safe, I guess.'" He read, voice filled with righteous fury.
Baby squinted at it. "Kinda safe." He echoed like it personally wounded him.
"She didn't even fully commit to complimenting you." Jinu scoffed, struggling to keep his composure. "That's worse. That's passive favoritism."
"This feels rigged." Baby said it lightly, almost casual—except for the way he side-eyed Mystery like tomorrow was already scheduled for revenge. "She gave me cat sunglasses, and gave him a pardon."
"You literally broke into the supply closet last night and used her office chair as a ladder." Abby snapped.
Romance raised a brow. "Are you jealous?"
Baby didn't even blink. "I'm confused." He said flatly, tone smooth as ever—too smooth. Like he'd already rerouted the emotion into something more useful. "And offended."
Jealous? Please. As if he'd admit to that. Even to himself.
"She gave me a tragic teacup breakdown." Romance added, rubbing his temple. "Meanwhile, he got a Get-Out-Of-Roast-Free pass."
"She said you cried." Baby pointed out. The former only shrugged at him.
"I got called 'king of losers.'" Jinu hissed, voice low and bitter. He practically dared them to top that humiliation.
"She chased me with a fork." Baby added, casual but pointed. Like he’d been waiting to bring that up again.
"She called me basic." Abby said after a blink, one of those slow, thousand-yard stares like he was reliving a nightmare. A war flashback, straight from 3 days ago.
The room went quiet.
Abby's voice dropped to a whisper. "It still echoes in my head at night."
Baby looked like he had to bite back a laugh when he shared look with the others. "Who's most beloved now."
Abby snapped his head toward them, basically glaring. "You don't understand. That's why I joined the stupid challenge. I deserve redemption."
"I got head-pats." Mystery chimed in.
Four heads turned toward him.
"Called me cute, too." He added while meeting their gazes, unbothered and simply proud, maybe even overjoyed. "Also... 'Baby.'"
Actual Baby twitched, his shoulders stiff and jaw tight. Like Mystery had just defiled his name in real-time.
"Oh, you're done tomorrow." Abby muttered.
Jinu's face went unnervingly still—cold, calculating, and so openly vengeful it was clear he'd stopped pretending not to be plotting emotional sabotage.
Romance noticed their leader and nodded his head in approval of whatever the former was cooking.
And Mystery? He just turned the page.
And just when they thought it couldn't get worse—there it was.
A soft page. A shift in tone.
You'd drawn them in moments they clearly didn't notice. The sight made them forget the previous page. (for now)
Romance with his head tilted as he tuned a guitar, expression oddly serene.
You'd written beside it: "When he stops talking, he looks almost… poetic. But don't tell him. Ever."
Jinu, caught mid-yawn, hoodie half-on, sprawled on the greenroom floor like someone unplugged him.
A soft note beneath it read: "Still a jerk. But weirdly peaceful when asleep. Must be the only time."
Mystery, drawn in profile, alone at the stairwell window. You'd captured the shadows under his eyes. The slant of light across his cheek.
All it said was: "Still as a ghost. Probably judging everyone. I would, too. Quiet like it's a power move. Whatever. It's kinda cool."
Then Baby. who was mid-laugh, one eye squinted, head thrown back at something you couldn't see. The motion was messy. Light. Alive.
You scribbled beside it: "Ugh. Fine. He's got a nice smile. Disgusting."
And finally, Abby. He was drawn from the back. Slouched on the rooftop ledge. Hoodie up. Earbuds in. Sunset behind him. You'd shaded it with more care than the others. As if you were afraid of ruining it.
No caption. Just a heart, scratched out once, then drawn again beside it.
No one spoke.
The room, which was moments ago bubbling with pettiness and sabotage, turned so quiet you could hear Romance blink.
Mystery was still, eyes on the page like he hadn't just exposed them all to emotional whiplash. He turned it again.
Another page.
Another quiet sketch.
And then another.
Romance swallowed first. "...She drew me like a sonnet." He whispered.
"You would think that's romantic" Baby muttered, but it lacked the bite. He was too busy staring at his own sketch, the one where he was laughing. Laughing, like he wasn't plotting crimes five minutes before.
"She said I had a nice smile." He added, softer this time. Then, like he realized it out loud, he frowned and leaned back. "That's disgusting."
Abby hadn't moved since seeing his drawing. Still clutching the sketchbook like it was sacred scripture.
"She drew the sunset..." He murmured. "From my perspective. That's...she saw me. I mean really saw—"
"Get a grip." Jinu hissed. Except his voice cracked halfway through.
He cleared his throat. Sat back with the practiced indifference of a man actively pretending he wasn't touched.
"She...must've drawn that when I dozed off." He said, eyes lingering on his own sketch. "Still a jerk? Seriously?" But his hand twitched like he was about to flip back to it. Again.
Mystery, still unmoving, just said, "She saw the light."
Romance blinked. "...Are you talking about the sketch or, like, metaphorically?"
Mystery only nods.
"..."
Abby wiped a hand down his face. "We were going to emotionally ruin her tomorrow."
"We still can." Baby said.
But no one sounded committed. Including him.
The next few pages shifted again.
Random characters you'd doodled on a whim. Some looked half-human, others completely monstrous—fangs, claws, elegant horns spiraling across the page.
Then came a string of gorgeous, fictional men. All sharp jaws and slanted eyes, bare shoulders and complicated armor. Some looked like swords-for-hire with tragic pasts. Others were clearly just soft pretty boys with luscious lashes and cheekbones that could slice bread.
One had demon horns. Another had earrings. Another had…a tail.
They stared.
Baby leaned in with a frown. "Who the hell is this supposed to be?"
"Her type." Jinu said dryly, eyeing the silver-haired swordsman with a six-pack.
Romance squinted at the page like it hurt his pride. "Looks like her type is emotional damage and abs."
"She has taste." Abby said, suspiciously quick to defend you.
"She has fantasies." Jinu added, flipping another page. "And a very active imagination."
Mystery just blinked once. "...This one has wings."
"I could wear wings." Baby said abruptly. "Like a cool cape. Or a feather coat."
"You'd look like a drowned pigeon." Jinu muttered and maybe even snickered at his imagination.
Baby scowled. "I could pull it off."
Yeah, they all knew he could.
Even Jinu knew it. That’s why he was still snickering, low and petty.
Baby crossed his arms, unimpressed but unbothered. "She called me a cat. I can do birds. I contain multitudes."
Romance raised a brow. "You'd preen all day."
"I already do." Baby replied smugly.
Mystery nodded once in agreement, like this was a known fact.
Romance leaned over, chin on Abby's shoulder, and sighed dramatically. "Wow. She really went in with the detail. Is this guy holding a sword with his mouth?"
"I think that's an earring," Abby said, already knowing what he'd do first thing in the morning. "But he is shirtless."
A long pause.
Baby tilted his head, voice smooth, almost bored. "If she wanted a shirtless model, all she had to do was ask."
He didn't even blink when all four of them stared at him like he'd just threatened world peace. Just that same smug little smile like he knew exactly what he was doing.
"It's not about the abs." Jinu said, arms crossed. "It's the brooding. That man looks like he's carrying five backstories."
"And a ghost lover." Baby added.
Romance nodded solemnly. "We're going to need…mood lighting."
They stared at the page a beat longer. Long enough to realize just how much effort you put into it.
Then Abby flipped to the next page.
There they were. In various candid sketches—practice pieces. Messy strokes. Shading studies. Notes scribbled on the side like:
"Jinu's jawline is unfair. Might have been chiseled by guilt and generational trauma."
"Romance's hair is shaped like a heart. Literally. This man is a walking valentine. I hate it here."
"Baby's lashes are too long. For what. Why."
"Mystery's silhouette at the vending machine—lighting test. Eerie but weirdly pretty."
"Abby's profile is great when he shuts up. Rare."
Baby barked a low, amused laugh. "Okay. Rude. But fine. I do have great lashes."
"You would cling to that." Jinu muttered, though he lingered on the jawline comment like he was trying to decide if it was a compliment. "...Unfair?" He repeated under his breath. "What does that even mean."
Romance was staring at his line in betrayal. "Heart-shaped?" He echoed. Then, smugly, far too smugly, he tossed his hair like he was auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
"Well. She's not wrong. I do radiate effortless appeal."
"She literally called you a valentine." Baby said, arms crossed. "Do you want a bow on your forehead or something?"
Romance raised his brows and smirked. "I can be gift-wrapped."
"I will set you on fire." Baby said sweetly.
Mystery, quiet as ever, was still focused on the vending machine sketch. His expression barely changed, but he tapped the edge of the page once. Thoughtful. Like he was mentally reconstructing the light and shadow.
"She noticed that?" He murmured.
Abby leaned in beside him. "Dude. You stood there like a cursed statue for twenty minutes. You were glowing."
Mystery looked at him. "I like vending machine light."
Baby made a strangled noise and slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.
Meanwhile, Jinu's brow twitched again. He squinted down at his line like it was a personal attack. It didn't click with him earlier.
"'Chiseled by guilt?'" He muttered. "I should sue."
"You should moisturize." Abby said, unbothered.
Romance chuckled. "At least you got chiseled. I got Cupid-coded."
"You're shaped like an ego." Baby deadpanned.
"Thank you." Romance replied brightly.
"Not a compliment."
"You said 'shaped like love.'"
"I said you look like a valentine. Those get thrown out." Baby smirked like he'd just dropped the mic.
But then, Abby found his line.
He went quiet. Then read it aloud, slowly, as if tasting every word:
"'Abby's profile is great when he shuts up. Rare.'"
He gawked at the words for a few more seconds.
"She watches me."
Jinu rolled his eyes. "She suffers through you."
"No—studies me." Abby said, clutching the sketchbook with reverence. "She's memorized my angles. My profile. This is a confession. An apology. A love letter in disguise."
"She said you talk too much." Baby pointed out.
"She said I look great." Abby countered, eyes wide with genuine delight. "And you know what? She's right. I am rare. Like a fine wine. Like a star aligning. Like a—"
Jinu raised a brow, bored. "Like a fungus. Persistent, irritating, and hard to get rid of."
Abby gasped, scandalized. "How dare—!"
"I dare hourly." Jinu said, folding his arms with a smirk. "And I'll do it again."
Romance snorted. "You're all so fragile."
"You just flipped your hair twice." Baby muttered.
"And both times it was magnificent."
Mystery watched them banter for a moment longer, expression unreadable beneath his bangs.
Then, wordlessly, he glanced back at the drawing—his own silhouette under vending machine light. He lingered on it this time, thumb brushing the edge of the page like he was seeing it anew.
A quiet huff of breath, almost a laugh. His mouth curved, just faintly.
Abby cleared his throat, then held the sketchbook a little closer to his chest. His grin dimmed into something smaller. Still amused. But softer.
"Focus." He said. "She captured all of us. That means we're eternal. Immortal. Muse-level icons."
Romance tipped his chin. "She drew my hair like poetry."
"I was slandered with lashes." Baby grumbled.
Jinu stared down at his note again, deadpan. "'Chiseled by guilt and generational trauma.'" He sighed. "She didn't draw me, she diagnosed me."
Mystery didn't say anything but smiled gently. He flipped back to the vending machine drawing and stared, basically admiring it.
But of course they had to check for some more.
They stared for a long beat.
Romance hadn't moved for the past three pages. The soup had gone cold in his hands, completely forgotten as he leaned in with the others, eyes scanning the final set of sketches.
Quiet, unfinished ones. You hadn't meant to show these.
There was one of Abby with his head down on the breakroom table, fast asleep mid-rant. One of Baby leaning back in a chair, still as ever, like the moment caught him off guard.
Jinu laughing, hand covering his face. Mystery sipping coffee in the early morning haze. Romance, caught mid-spin during one of his practice routines, looking like he actually belonged on a stage.
None of them said anything. Not at first.
Then Abby let out a low whistle. "Doomed, she is."
"Agreed." Romance murmured.
"Do we tell her?" Baby asked, eyes glinting with the kind of mischief that spelled nothing but chaos. "Or let her stew in suspense?"
Jinu grinned, matching the former's energy. "We weaponize this."
Mystery didn't speak, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
From the other side of the room:
You groaned, dragging a hand over your face.
They were still out there.
"…Didn't Abby say 'goodnight' already?" You mumbled. "It's been fifteen minutes. What are they doing, summoning demons? Planning a musical?"
Another chorus of remarks about your drawings and little side notes made you want to bury yourself under a hundred blankets and a rock.
Your eyes flicked to the door. You were debating whether to throw it open and yell, or crawl out the window and change your name.
And just to make everything worse? Your stomach growled.
Loudly.
You dragged a pillow over your face.
Why were they so obsessed with that sketchbook anyway? Jinu asked for it like it was sacred currency. Not even cash. And this was the same guy who called your mattress a "commoner bed." (Dick. Ridiculously pretty, but still.)
You didn't even want to think about the rest of them. They were rich, nosy, and clearly had nothing better to do than rip apart your art like it was state evidence.
They probably expected praise. Or bribes. Or attention. (And maybe you gave them that. Once. Briefly. While concussed.)
But still.
The sketchbook? That was weird. And a little flattering. And… okay, really flattering. But you need sleep.
You peeked out from under the pillow. Nope. Still loud. They sounded like they were bartering for pieces of your soul.
And that was enough for you to move out of the comfortable bed.
The door creaked open with the weight of divine wrath.
And there you were—hair a mess, expression hollow, wearing the kind of dead-eyed stare only the sleep-deprived and soul-shattered could pull off.
Your injured arm was still wrapped, your— Baby's hoodie slipping off one shoulder, and your entire aura screamed: You were this close to snapping.
The boys froze.
Five grown men. Silenced in an instant.
Romance still held the bowl of soup like an offering to a war goddess. His arms went stiff while he suddenly remembered his original purpose.
Abby slowly lowered the sketchbook behind his back as if he was afraid you'd take back his privilege on it. He's already planned to skim through this, his scenes to be exact so you can't.
Nobody breathed.
You looked at each of them. One by one. No words yet. Just eyes.
Baby stood straighter on instinct, locking eyes with you like it was a test. A flicker of something passed behind his lashes—surprise, amusement, respect, a twist of pride—but he didn't speak.
Didn't dare.
He just inhaled sharply through his teeth and let it hang in the air. Calculating.
Jinu blinked, and for once, visibly faltered. He actually took a half-step back, as if your glare had weight and presence.
"Okay," He said under his breath. "She's terrifying again."
Mystery raised one hand and slowly covered his mouth. Whether it was to hide a grin or out of self-preservation, no one could tell.
Romance's lips parted like he was about to say something flirty but chose to be smart and closed them. He blinked once. Twice. And stood still.
Even Abby, smug as he was earlier, froze like a man trying not to spook a bear.
You opened your mouth. And in a voice flat, tired, and sharp enough to kill:
"Shut up."
Mouths shut.
Even Romance's soup almost shivered.
You dragged a hand down your face. "I have been trying to sleep. I have been trying to exist. And you—"
You pointed at Abby, then slowly gestured across the rest, like you were condemning them all to community service.
"You've been out here narrating my sketchbook like it's a damn novella."
Jinu opened his mouth to speak.
You raised a finger.
He shut it.
Your stomach growled again.
And with the most exhausted sigh known to mankind, you nodded toward the soup. "Gimme that."
Romance stepped forward and held it out carefully, like handing over a precious relic.
You took it and said a quick thank you. No matter how angry and tired you were, you still needed to show gratitude.
After that, you turned around like a ghost, the door already swinging shut behind you.
But then you paused and looked back over your shoulder.
"...If I hear one more thing about Cupid, eyelashes, or emotional damage, I'm jumping out the window. Try me."
Door slam.
Silence.
They stood there, stunned into stillness. Then, very quietly, reverently, like he was witnessing a divine act:
Romance exhaled, slow and reverent. "She's so hot when she's angry."
"She said she'd jump out the window." Mystery cut in, tone flat before the others could add in their own reactions.
They all froze. A slow, dawning realization crept in.
Baby clicked his tongue. "...She might actually do it."
"A hundred percent." Jinu nodded without a second thought. "Wouldn't even hesitate."
Romance sighed, adjusting the soup bowl in his hands like it was suddenly heavier. "Can you blame her?"
"Nope." Baby said with a lazy gaze. "I'd jump too."
"Do we stop her?" Abby asked weakly.
Jinu shrugged. "We can catch her."
Romance grinned. "Or join her."
Mystery finally spoke again, voice soft like a threat: "We wait at the bottom."
Later that night, well past midnight…
They were still awake.
The apartment had gone quiet in that strange, heavy way it did only after all the laughter faded—leaving the charged tension behind, like static clinging to skin.
Abby was on the couch, legs crossed, flipping casually through the sketchbook like it was a sacred relic.
He wore an expression that could only be described as smug aristocracy. As if he had won.
Across from him, Jinu stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like a general preparing a diplomatic attack.
"I'm offering you five favors." Jinu began, dead serious.
Abby didn't even look up. "Declined."
The former scoffs, offended. "You don't even know what they are."
"I know it's not the sketchbook."
"I'll throw in a back massage."
"Jinu, no amount of blackmail or physical affection is getting you this book."
Jinu narrowed his eyes further. "You're bluffing. You want something."
"Yes," Abby said, closing the book slowly and dramatically. "To continue living. With her favor. Which I currently have. Because she handed me this personally."
Jinu muttered something demonic under his breath. It sounded like a curse or maybe a marriage proposal. Hard to tell.
Romance, curled up at the end of the couch with a half-eaten protein bar, raised his hand without lifting his head. "I'll sing you praises for a week. Out loud. In rhyme."
"Tempting," Abby mused. "but also sounds like a headache."
Baby padded into the room, popped a chili pepper into his mouth, crunched slowly, then said with absolute calm, "No sketchbook? Cool. Then your next water bottle's going to taste like regret."
Abby stared. "What does that even mean—"
Baby only gave an enigmatic smile as he continued to eat his peppers. "You'll find out."
There was a pause. Abby clutched the sketchbook a little closer, suddenly feeling like the air got hotter.
"…Is that a threat or a curse?" He muttered.
No answer. Just the sound of another chili crunch.
Abby flipped the book open again, not even pretending to entertain it now. "You guys don't get it. This sketchbook is proof. Not just that she tolerates me. But that she chose me."
Romance tilted his head. "You're not her chosen one. You're her chosen distraction."
Mystery didn't speak. He just sipped his drink without blinking, staring directly at Abby over the rim.
That was worse. Way worse.
"That's not what happened." Abby said proudly, hugging the book to his chest and ignoring Mystery's thing. "She handed it to me. Me. She knows art deserves art."
"You're art now?" Jinu asked, offended on behalf of all creative history.
"Art and muse. Model and icon. Multi-talented."
They stared at him. He grinned wider.
Silence.
Romance nudged Jinu. "We're going to steal it eventually, right?"
"Obviously."
"Good. Just checking."
Mystery nodded after sharing a look with the demon beside him.
Baby grinned. "I'll hold him down."
Abby just closed the book and stood up. "I'll sleep with this under my pillow now."
"You're insane." Jinu muttered, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His tone was flat, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away.
"She was supposed to give it tomorrow." He huffs, a little pout seen on his lips. "After I convinced her to stay. You stole the climax, Abby."
Abby just grinned, smug and undeterred. "Should've moved faster."
"I was building tension!" Jinu snapped. Then, muttering under his breath as he turned away: "Some of us are storytellers. Not speedrunners."
Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, still chaotic, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really), fire, mentions of blood
[A/n]: I have no control over these boys. I'm just her for vibes and suffering. (cuz they don't exist huehuhe) Reader deserves hazard pay <3
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, >Part 4<, Part 5
Day 5: Part II - Silence is Sexy Now Apparently???
Whoever answered your desperate plea for peace and quiet—thank you.
Even if they were, like, three business days late and definitely filed your request under "suffering builds character."
Because this past few hours? Felt suspiciously like divine intervention.
No stage-diva boys haunting your hallway like perfume-scented cryptids.
No "Noonaaaa!" yelled with the thunderous, bass-boosted agony of a man possessed. From Baby, of all people.
You told him to stop—said you didn't want people thinking you were older than you looked, especially not with his baby face and all that skincare witchcraft he hoards like it's sacred.
The little bastard just smirked harder, like he was saying, "Are you sure?"
You haven't known peace since your second day here. Much less now.
No Romance popping out from behind the prop shelf, dramatically clutching a scarf and declaring, "I dreamt of you last night. You were strangling me. Artistically."
It was a neck pillow. You yeeted it at his head. He thanked you.
No Abby blocking the hallway mirror to flex and ask you, completely straight-faced, "Is it villain-coded if I moisturize before world domination?"
You gave him a thumbs-up and left. He later claimed you were flirting.
No Mystery silently offering you your own coffee, only to walk away after you refused—leaving you standing there with the weird guilt of rejecting a ghost’s feelings.
You drank it anyway. It was your usual. How did he know?? You're still thinking about it.
And most importantly, no random interpretive dance ambush in the pantry while you were trying to microwave rice.
Just glorious silence and the sound of your sneakers not stepping on anyone's ego.
Which is why, for once, you were enjoying your break. Rooftop breeze in your hair, sketchbook in your lap, and the rare spiritual luxury of not being absolutely done with humanity.
Seriously. Whoever was pulling strings up there? You forgive them. They were late, but they came through.
Your only concern this morning was how many folding chairs you'd be emotionally blackmailed into hauling later. That, and whether you had enough lead in your pencil to finish this page.
You hadn't seen a single suspicious silhouette or reality-shattering jawline since clocking in.
Well, okay, fine. You did run into them earlier when you're getting for break time.
Romance had cornered you in the supply room like he was filming a music video, asking if he could "pose dramatically for your art." His eyes sparkled. Yours twitched.
Abby tried flexing casually while asking about your weekend plans, then pretended to drop something so you'd "just happen" to see his back muscles.
You did. You were mildly impressed. You told him to stop weaponizing gym memberships.
And Baby?
He just strolled over without a word and dropped into the seat beside you, one leg stretched out, the other slung over his knee like he was posing for a magazine titled Ego Issues Quarterly
He didn't even look at you at first. Just leaned back, arms draped along the chair like he’d been born lounging.
Then he said, voice low and lazy, "How much for the sketchbook?"
You didn't answer. He offered gum. You still didn't answer. He threw in a paperclip shaped like a bunny.
You almost caved. And by that, you meant throw hands.
And as all this happened, you did what you always did: stayed indifferent on the outside.
But on the inside?
You were clocking every angle. Every jawline, every shadow, every stupid strand of unfair hair volume. Half of you was annoyed; the other half was already tagging their bone structures under "good reference" in your brain's internal Pinterest.
You weren't immune. Just busy.
But amidst the usual dumb banter and war for your attention, one thing stuck out: Jinu.
He didn't flirt. He didn't joke. He barely looked at you ever since you step foot in the building.
You noticed it in passing—how quiet he was. A little more serious than usual. Like something had lodged itself in his brain and refused to vacate the premises. Definitely not just brooding-for-aesthetic. Actual thoughts.
Suspicious.
And maybe it was your artist brain short-circuiting from too many Pinterest boards, but the tension in his shoulders? The way his jaw kept ticking like it was chewing on unfinished dialogue?
Yeah. If he were a drawing, you'd label him "Haunted by Plot Twist, page 37."
You should've been concerned. You really should've.
But nah. Not your business. You had background extras to sketch, rent to pay, and three missing pen nibs to mourn.
Which brings us back to now.
You were so blissfully content, maybe even giggled to yourself once or twice like a tiny menace in a hoodie, that you didn't notice the bench shift beside you.
You blinked, mid-sketch, and looked up.
Oh. It was him. Mystery.
You paused. Blinked again. Yeah, not a hallucination.
Sometimes, he freaked you out a little. Not in the horror-movie way. Just... he was so quiet. Too quiet. Like his stage name wasn't just branding but a literal warning.
Mystery had a habit of showing up without sound, appearing like a cursed Pokémon spawn next to you, behind you, in your personal bubble.
Still, all things considered? He was the least annoying of the lot. Not to mention, you did admit to yourself you found him cute.
He didn't throw flirty one-liners at you like he was auditioning for the role of 'sexy second lead,' and he hadn't tried to yoink your sketchbook like it was the last horcrux. That earned him points.
So you let him sit. Whatever. It was a big rooftop.
You returned to your sketching, lazily doodling the closest prop in sight.
You had, like, five minutes left of freedom before someone inevitably called you to haul folding chairs, fix someone's wig, or hand-sew a button back onto a backup jacket.
You sighed just thinking about it. And then you felt it, the weight against your side.
You froze. Your eyes slid sideways.
Mystery had leaned in. Not dramatically, not like a collapsing tree, just... rested his shoulder against yours. Hair over his face as always, head dipped slightly.
You squinted at him.
Then, as if he might leap into action at any second, you closed your sketchbook. Slowly. Suspiciously. (Always be cautious!)
He didn't move.
"...Are you not feeling well?" You asked.
Mystery shook his head. Barely. Just enough for you to notice. Still, he didn't say anything else.
You glanced around like you were in a spy thriller. Was this a distraction? Were the others planning an ambush while he played decoy? You wouldn't put it past them.
You were starting to suspect you'd become their favorite form of enrichment. Like a stress ball. Or an emotional support disaster muppet.
But nothing. The rooftop stayed quiet. No one popped out with dramatic finger hearts or badly disguised attempts at small talk.
Maybe... maybe they were actually busy. Maybe someone finally got them to rehearse so hard they collapsed on the floor.
But this dude still had the energy to climb all the way up here? Then never mind.
You just hoped they stayed busy. That Mystery showing up here was his own decision not something cooked up by Jinu, mister I-have-a-switch, or the rest of his chaos committee.
You turned back toward Mystery, trying to play it cool.
Not to be weird or anything, but his cologne smelled... nice. Soft. Like citrus and something expensive. It didn't attack your nose like some of the cologne samples you once tried at the mall that nearly caused a coma.
His hair looked soft, too. A little fluffy. It reminded you of one of your grandparents' pets which was the sleepy little dog they had. It used to curl up beside you and doze off while you drew.
Was that what Mystery was doing? Were you warmth? A heating pad?
...Was he asleep?
You squinted again. No answer. You huffed and picked up your pencil. If you couldn't figure him out, you might as well draw through it.
Doodles. Hands. Some profile from memory. A chaotic blob that could become something. Anything to keep your hands busy and your eyes off the mystery boy literally named Mystery.
You didn't notice the small smile tugging at his lips.
A few minutes later, your phone buzzed. Break was over.
You stared down at the screen like it had betrayed you. Back to the world. Back to chaos. Back to sanity erosion.
But for now, for just a moment longer, you stayed seated. And beside you, Mystery didn't move either
Without speaking, or even needing to tell him to sit up, you saw Mystery already shifting, straightening just slightly as if he'd read your mind.
Okay...that's nice. Creepy. But nice.
You stood with a quiet sigh, brushing off your hoodie like it had personally offended you, sketchbook tucked under your arm like a child you were protecting from the world's sins.
"Later." You bid him casually with a little nod.
Mystery didn't answer. He rarely did. Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he didn't. You were starting to think he had a secret dice roll for social interaction.
And you didn't expect him to still be watching.
Didn't expect him to stay exactly where you left him, still leaning slightly, still barely moving, like one of those statues in horror games that only move when you look away.
For some reason, even with all that hair obscuring half his face, you imagined his eyes trailing after you like a dog watching its human leave for work. All soulful gaze and tragic resignation.
Like if you turned around, he might paw at the air and whine.
But you didn't linger, just pushed the rooftop door open then stopped. You blinked—because there, in the corner of your vision, saw a flash of pink. Not pastel. Not sky. Something unnatural.
A glitch or something. A smoke trail. Like someone mid-teleport in a fantasy game with their settings on 'extra dramatic.'
You stared one half-second longer than any sane person would, nodded like "cool, love that for us," and walked off. You had chairs to carry. Wigs to adjust. A paycheck to clutch like a rosary.
Let someone else deal with the possible interdimensional chaos cloud.
Behind you, Mystery finally sat up straight. His eyes never left the spot where you'd vanished through the door.
And that's when the others appeared with a flash of pink.
"Yo." Abby's voice cut through the rooftop air like a slap. He looked at Mystery, brow twitching. "Was that... you leaning on her? Or are the stage lights finally frying my retinas?"
Romance turned, jaw already dropped. "She let you sit next to her?" Then as if he came upon a realization, he added, "I mean— you got contact?"
He blinked, stunned. No way. You always swatted them off with a scowl. You pulled away like they were leaking radioactivity anytime they got too close.
But now Mystery got a seat? A whole moment?
What the hell.
The said person—demon didn't answer. He didn't have to. The silence was louder than anything he could've said.
Baby scoffed, arms folded tight. "Did you at least look at what she was doing?"
He told himself it was about the sketchbook. About the mission, but it wasn't. Not really.
No reply.
Romance tilted his head, his tone laced with mockery. "What—did you fall for that human or something?"
"A possible enemy." Abby muttered with syrupy venom. "Aww. That's adorable. What next? Gonna write her name in your demon diary?"
"Or give her your soul in a glittery envelope?" Baby flatly said with squinted eyes. "Just say you're in love with the enemy already."
He hadn't meant for it to land like that. Not really. But Mystery's hand twitched at his side, still silent.
Baby glanced away first with a little scoff.
"Maybe that's his plan now." Jinu's voice cut in, low and clipped. "Stay quiet. Earn her trust. Let her think he's harmless, just some weird, hoodie-wearing loner. Then when her guard's down, she gives him the sketchbook... or shows him what's inside."
His arms crossed tighter. "Wouldn't have to ask. Wouldn't have to flirt. Just sit there and wait until she spills like he's special."
Jinu paused for a brief second.
"Smart." He added. But it didn't sound like a compliment. More like a warning. Or maybe a grudge dressed up as logic.
They all turned to Mystery. He stared back—calm, and unreadable, like none of their noise registered. Not compared to whatever was playing in his head.
He blinked once then spoke, quiet enough to be lost in the wind. "She moves when I look. I don't want her to move."
It landed like a spell. Sudden. Off-key. Too soft to handle.
For a second, no one spoke.
Abby froze. No blink. No quip. Just stared like his system had crashed mid-update.
Romance let out a breath, hand on his chest like he'd been hit. No teasing now, just narrowed eyes and something twisted in his gut.
"That line had flavor." He muttered. "Did it taste like yearning?"
He tried to laugh, but it fell flat. Because he remembered your expression—your bored scowl, your insult about glitter, the way you spun that foam trident like you'd trained for it.
He was supposed to be the charming one. The safe bet. But you hadn't even twitched.
He'll probably start genuinely sulking, and that would just be humiliating.
Now Mystery, who barely talks, gets to sit next to you? Yeah. That stung. (Bruised something which certainly wasn't just his ego).
Baby blinked, disbelief cracking through his usual smirk. He expected poetry from Romance. Absurdity from Abby. But Mystery?
"That was a rom-com lead moment." Baby narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna be sick." Then, under his breath, "Mystery spoke and now the universe tilts."
He turned to Jinu, petty and itching. "Better switch up your shampoo, golden boy. Whatever you're using clearly stopped working."
It was a cheap shot. He didn't care. The feelings stirring in his chest weren't clean—so he'd call it strategy. Frustration. Anything but jealousy.
None of them had gotten that far.
Not Abby's showboating. Not Romance's smooth talk. Not Jinu's sudden fake kindness. Not even him with his cuteness.
And Mystery? Said one line and got further than any of them.
Unacceptable.
Abby huffed beside him, arms crossed in mirror defense. No words. Just a silent, sulky pout that made his fitted shirt feel too tight all of a sudden.
Jinu didn't react, he didn't flinch. Just stood still, jaw tight. Eyes unreadable. But inside? Yeah. He felt the burn.
He was the first. The one who let you in. Let you photograph them, bark orders, roll your eyes without consequence. You didn't swoon. Didn't care. Just worked.
He'd called it strategy. Keep you close. Watch you. (They know where you live).
But somewhere between your eye rolls and offhand insults, something else had crept in. Something not in the plan. Not strategy.
Now, seeing you sit still for Mystery—letting him close?
Jinu exhaled through his nose, soft and low.
"Hopeless." He muttered, gaze distant. He didn't know if he meant Mystery, who was clearly done playing spy, or himself, for ever thinking he could separate observation from obsession.
He exhaled through his nose. "Scratch him off. He’s not getting that sketchbook."
"Good." Baby said, a little too fast. His voice cut through the air, crisp and cool. "Less mouths. Maybe I'll actually get close enough next time without being called a stray cat."
Romance grinned, the mischief in his eyes impossible to miss. "You're still upset she called you a stray, huh? What was it? Something about turf wars with raccoons behind a 7-Eleven?"
Baby's scowl deepened like he was reliving it in real-time. He turned to Romance with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "She called you glitter vomit, Romance." He snapped. "So unless you wanna be part of the clean-up crew, shut it."
Romance's grin twitched. Just slightly. Like it was painted on, cracking at the edges.
"At least I sparkle when I'm insulted." He said through clenched teeth, voice still sugarcoated but sharp. "You hiss and knock over boxes like a third-tier saja who got rejected from charm school. I'd say it's embarrassing, but you made it an art."
Baby didn't blink. "Yeah?" He said, voice low. "Keep talking, sparkle guts. Maybe she'll pity you enough to sweep you off the floor."
They stared at each other, tension crackling, the air thick with the kind of petty animosity that only two beautiful people with bruised egos could manage.
Abby chuckled, but there was no heat behind it. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly ignoring the demon catfight behind him. "Still... maybe I should try the quiet and tragic approach. Think that's her type?"
Baby and Romance turned to look at him, their showdown paused—forgotten, maybe.
"Oh sure." Baby rolled his eyes. "Let me just uninstall my entire personality and start brooding in a corner."
"Maybe it'd work." Romance said, quieter now. His gaze flicked toward Mystery, then back to where you'd been. "She looked at him like he wasn't annoying unlike the rest of us."
Jinu watched his members bicker and spiral into their own egos like it was a full-time job.
Baby and Romance were still glaring at each other like petty rivals in a perfume ad. Abby looked like he was preparing for a tragic boyband concept era.
And Mystery? Mystery was just... staring into space like he was composing poetry in Morse code.
It was exhausting.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you all function." he muttered under his breath.
Considering he was the one who put this group together, Jinu really did understand what he was putting you through.
The difference was you didn't show it.
You just rolled your eyes, insulted their hair, dropped art references they barely understood, and carried on like they weren't literal demons sent to take your souls.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm. Fine. No more improvisation. No more solo disasters that ended in sulking, musical tantrums, or poetic self-sabotage.
And Jinu? He didn't look up. Just stared at the rooftop floor like it might cough up the answer. Like maybe if he glared long enough, the plan would fix itself.
This was getting out of hand.
When Jinu spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, but beneath that chill was something else. Tight and controlled, like if he let it slip even a little, the wrong truth might come out.
"Nothing changes." He turns around. "We get that sketchbook."
His eyes didn't waver. Focused and empty all at once, like he was looking straight through the moment—past them, past the plan, past himself.
The others turned, expression unreadable.
"Today." He added, this time sharper. "Settle it once and for all. No more delays. No more distractions."
Then, noticing a few people nearby, other interns passing through, a couple of techies on break, Jinu didn’t say anything else. He just walked off, quiet and brisk, the echo of his footsteps trailing behind like punctuation.
The silence he left was sharp.
Abby exhaled first. "It's just curiosity." He muttered, too fast—like it was supposed to explain everything. "She's weird. All that slang. Anime and internet soup or whatever."
"Yeah." Baby agreed, more casual but still frowning. "Seriously. What kind of human’s that unaffected? Even with my absolute cuteness."
Romance didn't say anything else. He just sighed. There he goes again with his face. (Says the guy who also admires himself in the mirror).
No one said what they were really thinking, and that made the silence stretch. No one moved or agreed to what Jinu said even if he was long gone.
But no one argued either.
And maybe that was answer enough.
-
You didn't notice the rooftop stares.
You were halfway across the lot now, a cardboard box in your arms and a pen behind your ear, chatting with one of the stage techs as you both walked.
Something about costume returns. Or lost props. Or a mannequin that got decapitated again. The usual.
The sun was high. Your feet ached. Your back was one bend away from cracking like bubble wrap.
But you still considered this peace. You could almost believe it was permanent but the last you believed that, they appear—
Your coworker flinched and hissed, "Kkamjjagiya!" (you surprised me) like they'd just seen a ghost.
You didn't have to turn around to know what caused it. The air got ten percent warmer and one hundred percent more unbearable.
Of course. Of course they were back after a few hours.
The Saja Boys stepped in one by one, doing That Thing™ they did. The posture shift. The twinkle in the eyes. The half-smiles like they knew they were dreams personified.
Romance was first, holding a clipboard like it was a bouquet. "Need a hand, sweetheart? Or two? Maybe three?"
You glared. He winked. Then his stupid ass tripped, but you could tell it was on purpose, obviously, because he fell right toward your sketchbook.
His fingers just grazed the cover before you slammed your clipboard down on his wrist.
"Ow." He said with a small hiss, rubbing his arm before flashing a grin like he''d been personally blessed by the pain. "Still feisty... and I still very much like it."
You looked at him like you had just judged his entire bloodline, and found all of them guilty.
"You're about to like ice packs too."
Romance chuckled, unfazed. "I accept my fate. But just so you know, bruises make great conversation starters."
He winked. "Want me to autograph the one you're about to give me?"
You blinked once. Then blinked again.
Then, very slowly, you lifted your sketchbook like you were contemplating smacking him with it, not out of rage, but sheer exhausted disbelief.
"...You want a pen to sign your medical bill too?"
Romance grinned wider. "Only if you draw on it first."
You groaned, already regretting every life decision that led you here.
Baby was next.
This gives you déjà vu from last night.
He popped up beside you like a clingy phantom and held up a crayon drawing of you riding a dragon, trying to use that face of his to his advantage, again.
"Fan art." He announced, grinning like he was unveiling a masterpiece. "From me. Artist to artist. Let's swap. Yours for mine?"
You blinked, brow rising. They're coming at you again, specifically your sketchbook.
"Did you just draw me stabbing Jinu?" You asked, trying your absolute best to keep your face blank because if you cracked now, even a twitch, you knew you'd never hear the end of it.
He'd say his drawing got you. That he got you.
Baby leaned in, clearly fishing for proof. "Maybe." He said, grinning like a devil. "But you're not denying it's good."
You held his gaze, lips twitching—just once.
Unfortunately for you, he saw it. And he lit up like a kid who'd just been handed a trophy for 'Most Annoying and Proud.'
"Aww, was that a smile?" He cooed, smugness practically oozing as he tilted his head. "It was. Don't lie."
You frowned, still holding the crayon drawing like it personally offended your degree. "No, it wasn't."
"Sure it was." He leaned in like he was about to stage whisper a secret. "Mystery said you smiled too. Now I got one. We're tied. Kinda makes us rivals, don't you think?"
You raised a brow again then stared at him flatly. "I'm getting security."
"You're getting sentimental." He shot back, still grinning. Then, quieter, just for extra effect: "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me, Sunshine."
You stopped mid-step then slowly turned, and stared at him like he'd just kicked a puppy and asked for applause.
Baby only beamed brighter, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just committed a social felony. Like he was proud of it.
He rocked back on his heels, smug as hell. "See? That face. You like me."
Haha. You wanna throw a chair at him.
Next was Abby.
He was already halfway through picking up a fallen roll of duct tape, like he'd just happened to be nearby and oh-so-conveniently useful.
His posture was casual, like this was a normal day and not a full-blown five-man flirt ambush.
He straightened, smiled, and held out the tape like an offering.
"You look stressed, babe." He said smoothly. "I can carry the box. And the sketchbook. And you, if needed."
You stared at him, deadpan. "You can carry yourself to the other side of the room."
He grinned. Unbothered. Then, because he was Abby, flexed just a bit like the room was his gym and the moment demanded it.
You blinked. "Was that necessary?"
"Everything I do is necessary." He said it like a motto. Like his muscles were a public service.
You opened your mouth, then shut it again.
Then, finally, inevitably, you smiled. Not a happy smile. Not even close. It was that exhausted, resigned, "Of course you said that" kind of smile. The kind you give your group project partner right before they say, "Trust me."
You don't bother to waste your energy on pushing him away. "...Help me tape the costume rack, you walking protein shake."
He beamed. "Gladly. Want me to flex while I do it?"
Your smile stayed, brittle and doomed. You didn't answer. Just turned away and sighed like someone whose will to resist was slowly being bench-pressed out of existence.
He still followed, tape in hand and biceps fully committed to the bit.
Jinu, who was leaning against the nearest wall with his arms crossed, watched it all unfold like a smug director of a very stupid play.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, all moody elegance and judgment, like he hadn’t tripped over a stack of crates last night and almost died from it. (yeah, you're exaggerating)
Huh. So mister switch-flip was back to his usual self—the smug, mildly infuriating version— if he was here now, watching you like he hadn't spent the last few hours pretending you didn't exist.
Maybe he got over whatever brooding anime arc he was stuck in. Or maybe his pride finally regenerated enough to rejoin the land of the socially functioning.
Either way, great. The cryptid council was back at full force.
"You know," Jinu poke, voice casual but eyes sharp, "for someone who draws so much, you never show anyone what you're proud of. Makes you look like you're hiding something."
You raised a brow. "I am. My patience."
A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a laugh. Nor quite a challenge. "Maybe you're just shy. Or maybe it's something else."
"Gaslighting won't get you what you want, Jinu."
He took another step, a smirk pulling at his lips. "You sure?"
You blinked at him, unimpressed. "I've met tax collectors with more charm."
That made him laugh. It wasn't loud, but real. "So you admit I've got some charm."
You tilt your head slightly and looked at him dead in the eye. "Barely."
For some reason, you found him extra irritating today. Not because he'd gone distant. Not because his silence had bothered you more than it should have. He was just... irritating. That was all.
Totally unrelated to how he acted this morning.
With that, the standoff lingered like static in the air.
And somewhere behind you, Abby muttered under his breath, "...Why is this kinda hot?"
Baby immediately turned to glare at him. "You're not helping."
It had been fifteen minutes since you last saw those try-hards. Five full minutes of blessed silence. No flirtatious quips. No ambushes. No bizarre "fan art trades."
But the peace only made you more suspicious.
What was with them today? They weren't just being annoying, they were focused. Like there was a mission. Like they were actually determined to get a look inside your sketchbook.
What suddenly lit a fire under all of them?
And then, without warning—
Mystery was there.
Not in a flashy poof of smoke or with a dramatic line. Just... there. Sitting silently at your usual corner, already pulling a chair out beside him like he expected you to follow.
You paused, internally finding that action adorable.
Of course, Mystery didn't speak. He never started the conversation. He just hovered—close, unnervingly so, and waited like your orbit naturally included him.
Still, when you sat to sort through prop lists, he followed suit. Close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough that it might be called respectful. Technically.
"You're not subtle." You muttered without looking up, pen scratching against paper like it was your only lifeline to sanity.
Mystery tilted his head in response. Just a fraction. Enough to acknowledge, but not enough to explain.
You sighed, flipping the page in your folder with just a little more aggression than necessary.
"Don't try to out-quiet me." You warned, eyes still fixed on your checklist. "It won't work. I invented deadpan silence. I thrive in it."
He didn't blink or moved, just continued to exist there: quiet, patient, unsettlingly still. Like a ghost who had no intention of leaving.
Like he'd wait all day if he had to.
You hummed lightly then turned your head slightly. You opened your sketchbook just a crack, just to glance at a reference. And like clockwork. there it was. A hand.
Creeping from the edge of your vision like a crab.
"Back off." You said without missing a beat, slapping the sketchbook shut.
"Rude." Baby muttered from behind a nearby column. "I was gentle that time."
You raised your eyes. Across the room—yes, they were all there. Sigh.
Romance, leaned against a mirror like he was waiting for a slow-mo spin. Abby pretending to fix a light fixture, flexing subtly. Jinu at the back, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his mouth like he was enjoying a live telenovela.
Losers. Every last one of them.
Mystery, on the other hand, didn't flinch. Just leaned in a little more. Like the rest of the chaos didn't exist. Like he was the only one in the room who understood that silence could be a kind of closeness too.
You side-eyed him. "You do realize they're all watching, right?"
Mystery, being him, didn't say anything at first.
Then, without moving his head, he said—quietly, just enough for you to hear, "Let them."
. . .
You coughed. Violently.
Not because you were choking. But because—what the hell was that?
Who gave him permission to drop a line like that? Soft, unwavering, lowkey romantic like he'd just stepped out of one of those late-night dramas you pretended not to watch but absolutely binged at 2 a.m.
You stared harder at your checklist like it was responsible for your sudden internal meltdown. No. Nope. You were not affected.
You were perfectly normal. Mentally stable. Immune to cryptic, poetic boys with sleepy voices and stupidly good hair.
You coughed again just to be safe. And to smother the tiny part of your brain that was currently kicking its feet and giggling like a schoolgirl.
It wasn't like the others' lines, the ones that almost worked or just made you cringe. This one hit different. Probably because you didn't expect it from him.
From across the room, several heads snapped in sync.
"???"
"Is she choking on air or dying?" Abby asked, eyebrows raised and genuinely confused.
"Wait—hold on. That was flirting, wasn't it?" Baby said, scowling. "Oh, so he gets bonus points for whispering cryptic nonsense, but when I bring bunny-shaped paperclips, I'm 'too much'? Unreal."
"She coughed like she just got hit with a K-drama line." Romance muttered, stunned. "What the hell did he say?"
Baby and Abby exchanged a look before shrugging.
Then Romance placed a hand over his chest, as if physically struck, and took a staggered breath. "Wait—no. Don't tell me. I'll spiral."
Then, snapping back with a bitter edge: "What, did he whisper poetry? A tragic backstory? I swear, if it worked—" He narrowed his eyes. "I'm deleting my entire personality."
Jinu gave Romance a long, unimpressed look. Then shook his head once—slow, like even he couldn't believe this was the conversation happening.
Without another word, he turned his gaze back to where you and Mystery sat, eyes narrowing like squinting hard enough might reveal the secrets of the universe.
Or at least, whatever the hell Mystery just whispered that made you cough like a lovesick drama lead.
His jaw ticked and his expression didn't change. But damn, was he staring hard.
"Whatever he said, I could've said it better—with more charisma and less blinking." Abby muttered, then added with a scoff, "If dead silence and vague stares are the new sexy, I've clearly been overperforming."
Romance folded his arms, bitter. "Don't. You'd combust."
Jinu said nothing. Still leaning against the wall like he had been for the past ten minutes, but now his eyes were colder.
Something in him ticked, like he was deciding whether to be impressed... or set someone on fire.
Then Mystery moved again, barely. His hand hovered near your sketchbook, one finger tapping the corner. Not taking. Just gesturing.
You glanced at him then sighed. You hand him a blank sticky note from your stack. It was a cute design.
He took it. Carefully. A tiny twitch of amusement crossed his face like a breeze over water—barely there, but real.
Baby watched, his eyes wide for a second then blank next. "She gave him stationery. That's it. I'm buying glitter pens."
"She gives him the cute stuff. I break my back carrying things and all I get is scoliosis." Abby deadpanned.
Romance groaned, covering his face. "This is it. This is my villain origin story. I'm dyeing my hair black and starting a solo."
Jinu still didn't speak. But when he did, his voice was sharp, low, and precise, like the clean pull of a trigger. No room for argument. No room for delay.
"We're getting that sketchbook. By sundown."
Bold words from Jinu. The kind you'd expect to trigger some epic music or a final boss cutscene.
Instead, the rest of the day passed in a blur of nonsense.
You dodged at least seven ambushes, blocked two fake "accidental" trips (looking at Baby), and barely survived a very dramatic confession from Romance that involved a bouquet made out of receipt paper.
Mystery just kept appearing at your side like a ghost with feelings. Abby tried to carry you again.
You were too tired to keep fighting them off. Too drained to question whatever demon pact they'd clearly made to break you down.
By the time you finally locked your sketchbook in your bag and dragged yourself home, your body was aching, your patience was threadbare, and your suspicion was officially at Defcon 1.
Something was off. You could feel it.
You didn't remember falling asleep, just the weight of exhaustion and the quiet hum of your apartment floor. It was normally peaceful here.
You even liked your neighbors. The college student who always microwaved noodles at 2AM, the elderly couple across the hall, the quiet guy with too many plants.
So when the screaming started, it didn't register at first.
The scream came again, sharper this time. Closer. Then the crack of glass. A choking smell. Smoke curling under your door.
You were on your feet in seconds.
The air had already changed, thick and sharp. Your eyes burned before you even opened the closet. You didn't remember moving, just grabbing your bag, your sketchbook, your phone—
You hissed as your hand hit the doorknob.
"...Fuck."
The door wouldn't budge.
The metal handle scorched your palm, and you jerked back with a hiss. Too hot. Too sealed. The smoke was rising fast now—choking, thick, clawing at your lungs like it had teeth.
You stumbled back, coughing hard, vision blurred as the room twisted in heat. You turned to grab your bag, the one thing you had to save, and as you slung it over your shoulder, your arm grazed the corner of the overturned desk.
A flash of pain. Sharp. You looked down and saw the crimson line blooming across your forearm, thin but angry, already staining the sleeve of your shirt. Glass, maybe. Or metal. You didn't know.
Your heart was a drumbeat in your ears. Loud. Wild.
You pressed your good hand over the cut, staggering toward the window. But the smoke was thicker now, a suffocating wall of grey, and each breath clawed deeper than the last.
Your knees buckled.
Just as your vision began to flicker, there was a sound—a crack like thunder and the crash of splintering wood. The door burst open.
Smoke billowed out into the hallway like a living thing, and through it stepped a figure—tall, fast, steady.
Your body didn't register the face. It didn't need to.
Because all you saw was the golden glow of his eyes. They were unmoving. Fierce. Anchored.
...Like sunlight piercing the storm.
You tried to say something, his name? A joke? anything, but your throat burned, and the room tilted sideways. The last thing you felt was the warmth of strong arms catching you.
And then darkness, but it wasn't lonely.
Because before the light slipped away completely, you remembered one thing: That beautiful, impossible glow. Golden. Bright.
what if your boyfriend chifuyu knows the future will never be nice to the two of you and he doesn't know how to change it.
a/n: I wrote this when I still had to finish the anime so I hope it's not too bad o(TヘTo)
words count: 4.6k
tags: angst, drama, love triangle(?)
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
Chifuyu leans against the wall of the abandoned warehouse, arms crossed, watching as Takemichi rubs his temples like he’s battling the worst headache of his life.
He just got back from another dive into the future, another desperate attempt to fix things before everything spirals out of control. Chifuyu is used to this by now. The frustration, the exhaustion in Takemichi’s eyes.
Takemichi looks uneasy, avoiding his gaze, shifting uncomfortably like he’s keeping a secret.
Chifuyu doesn’t like that.
“So?” he presses, forcing his voice to stay casual “I guess we didn't win yet.”
Takemichi hesitates “It’s… complicated.”
It always is. Chifuyu sighs, running a hand through his hair “Yeah, yeah, it always is. But you know what? I wanna know something else. You know I always try to not ask much but I'm too curious.”
Takemichi finally looks at him “What?”
Chifuyu smirks, trying to lighten the mood, though there’s a weight in his chest that he can’t explain “I never asked before but… What about me and y/n?” he asks, referring to you “Do we… you know… last?”
Takemichi blinks “Last?”
“Yeah. Do we stay together? Are we finally married?”
It’s supposed to be a stupid question. A joke, even. Because of course you do. You and Chifuyu have been through everything together. There’s can't be no version of the future where you aren’t by his side.
Right?
Takemichi’s silence is the first thing that unsettles him. The second is the way his friend suddenly refuses to meet his eyes.
Chifuyu feels something in his stomach twist.
“…Oi,” his voice drops “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Chifuyu, I—”
“Just tell me. The worst that can happen is that we gonna change the future.”
Takemichi takes a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his words shatter Chifuyu’s world.
“In every timeline I’ve seen 'til now… you never marry her.”
The air in Chifuyu’s lungs disappears. It’s like the room is suddenly suffocating, like the walls are caving in around him.
He swallows hard “Then… is she… alive?”
“Yeah, she keeps doing good actually.”
“Then… is she still around? does she marry someone else?”
Takemichi hesitates. But he can’t lie, not about this.
“…Mitsuya.”
For a moment, Chifuyu doesn’t move. He can’t.
His brain refuses to accept the words, refuses to process them.
Mitsuya? Mitsuya?
It has to be a mistake. Takemichi has to be messing with him... but his face tells him everything.
It’s true.
His fingers curl into fists. His heart pounds, a chaotic mix of emotions, shock, denial, fear. But the worst one is the burning, consuming jealousy that claws its way into his chest.
Mitsuya. His friend. The guy he trusts with his life.
And the guy who, in every future that exists, steals you away from him?
Chifuyu forces a laugh, but it comes out weird “Nah… nah, that’s bullshit.”
Takemichi doesn’t say anything.
Chifuyu’s jaw tightens “She loves me.” His voice is sharp now, more desperate than he wants it to be “She’s with me.”
Takemichi finally speaks, and his voice is gentle. Pitying.
“…She’s with you... now.”
Now.
The word slices through Chifuyu like a blade.
Because that means one day, you won’t be.
One day, you’ll wake up and love someone else.
One day, you’ll leave him behind.
His chest tightens painfully, like his heart is being crushed in a vice. He wants to scream, to fight, to tell Takemichi he’s wrong. But he can’t, because deep down, a part of him knows… you’ve always been close to Mitsuya after all.
A part of him knows, if he looks too closely, he’ll start noticing things he never wanted to see.
But he refuses to let that happen. He won’t let fate take you from him. He can’t.
Chifuyu doesn’t sleep that night.
He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, Takemichi’s words replaying in his head like a curse.
“In every timeline I’ve seen… you never marry her.”
“She ends up with Mitsuya.”
He hates it. Hates how it latches onto his brain, poisoning every thought, twisting everything he knows about you. About him.
It’s stupid. You love him. He knows you do. But now, he can’t shake the feeling that one day, that won’t be enough.
The next day, he finds you outside Mitsuya’s sewing room, your back against the wall as you wait for him.
You look up when you see him, eyes bright. His girl. His heart aches just looking at you.
“Chifuyu” you call out, pushing off the wall to meet him “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickers to the door behind you. Mitsuya’s door.
Something in him snaps.
“What about you?” his voice comes out sharper than he means it to “What are you doing here?”
You blink at him, confused “I told Mitsuya I’d stop by today. He’s fixing up my jacket.”
Of course. Mitsuya.
Chifuyu clenches his jaw, ignoring the way his stomach twists.
“So you just waited out here for him?” he asks, trying to keep his voice casual.
“Yeah?” you frown, tilting your head “Why?”
He knows it’s stupid. He knows he’s being irrational. But now, every second you spend with Mitsuya feels like a countdown.
Like every moment between you two is another step toward the day you wake up and realize you love him instead.
And the worst part? You don’t even know it’s coming. And he doesn't even know when does that exactly happen.
Chifuyu swallows down the jealousy burning in his throat and forces a grin, his usual grin, the one you love.
“I just didn’t know you guys were that close” he says.
You roll your eyes, laughing “Of course we are. He’s my friend.”
Yeah. Friend. Until he’s not.
The door behind you suddenly opens, and Mitsuya steps out, wiping his hands on a rag. He looks up, notices Chifuyu, and nods.
“Yo” Mitsuya greets.
Chifuyu nods back, but there’s something in his chest, something ugly, clawing at him as he watches you smile at him.
Is this what fate looks like?
Mitsuya turns to you, handing you your jacket “Should be good as new now.”
You take it with a grateful smile “Thanks, Mitsuya. You’re the best.”
Chifuyu watches as Mitsuya reaches out to fix the collar of your shirt, a simple, meaningless gesture.
Something inside him breaks, and efore he even thinks, he grabs your wrist.
“Come on” he says, voice tight “We’re leaving.”
You blink at him in surprise “Chifuyu?”
He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t want to let go.
Mitsuya watches him, silent. Calm, as always. But Chifuyu swears he sees something in his eyes, a question.
Chifuyu forces a grin, pulling you closer to him.
“She’s mine, Mitsuya” he says lightly, but there’s an edge to his voice.
Mitsuya doesn’t react, just watches. Like he’s studying him. Like he already knows something’s wrong.
You pull your wrist free, frowning up at him “What’s with you today? That was rude.”
He hates how guilty you sound, like you’ve done something wrong. Like you’re the one hurting him, when it’s fate itself that’s betraying him.
“Nothing” he lies, forcing himself to relax “Let’s just go.”
You hesitate, glancing back at Mitsuya, but eventually sigh and nod “Okay. See you later, Mitsuya.”
“Yeah” Mitsuya says slowly, watching the way Chifuyu keeps you close “See you.”
Chifuyu doesn’t look back as he leads you away, but he knows Mitsuya is still watching, and for the first time, Chifuyu realizes something.
He’s not just fighting fate anymore.
He’s fighting Mitsuya too.
Chifuyu doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re far from Mitsuya’s place. Even then, his grip lingers, fingers still curled around yours like he’s afraid to lose you.
You glance at him, brows furrowed “Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing” he says too quickly “Just wanted to spend time with you.”
You give him a look “You could’ve just asked instead of dragging me away like that.”
His stomach twists. You’re not mad, not really, but there’s something in your tone. Something off. Like you’re confused. Like you don’t understand why he’s acting this way.
Because you actually don’t. Because you don’t know what he knows.
He forces a smirk, bumping his shoulder against yours “I just missed my girl, that’s all.”
Your expression softens, but only a little “Still… you were kinda rude to Mitsuya back there.”
His jaw clenches before he can stop it “You always have to defend him like that?”
The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back.
You blink, surprised “What? Chifuyu, it’s not about defending him, it’s just—”
“Forget it” he cuts you off, shaking his head “Let’s go do something fun.”
You hesitate for a second, then sigh “Fine. But if you keep acting weird, I’m making you tell me what’s up.”
He just smiles, pulling you along, ignoring the tightness in his chest.
He won’t let fate take you from him. No matter what.
Later that night, Chifuyu watches you from across the room as you scroll through your phone. You’re probably texting Hina or some of the other girls, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.
His mind replays Takemichi’s words over and over again like a nightmare.
“She ends up with Mitsuya.”
His fingers curl into fists. He can’t let that happen. He won’t.
But would Mitsuya even fight for you?
Would he ever try to take you from him?
No. He knows Mitsuya. He knows he’d never do something like that. Mitsuya’s too good. Too loyal.
And that scares him even more. Because if Mitsuya isn’t the one stealing you away…
Then maybe it’s you. Maybe one day, without even realizing it, you’ll start choosing him instead. Maybe it’s already happening.
Chifuyu swallows hard.
He needs to do something. Now.
Mitsuya, on the other hand, notices the change almost immediately.
At first, it’s subtle. Chifuyu standing closer to you, always making sure to keep a hand on your waist or your wrist. The way he interrupts conversations just to pull you away.
It’s small things. Easy to brush off.
Until he realizes Chifuyu never lets you be alone with him anymore.
Until he catches the sharp glances Chifuyu throws his way when you aren’t looking.
Until Chifuyu starts watching, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Mitsuya doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches back.
Because he’s starting to understand.
Mitsuya leans against his worktable, arms crossed, watching Chifuyu from across the room.
It’s been like this for days now. Chifuyu hovering close to you, keeping you just out of reach. Always watching. Always waiting.
At first, Mitsuya thought he was imagining it. That maybe Chifuyu was just being overprotective, like he always was. But now it’s obvious.
Chifuyu isn’t just protecting you. He’s guarding you from him.
Mitsuya exhales through his nose, standing up straight “Chifuyu”
Chifuyu stiffens but doesn’t look at him “What?”
“You got a problem with me?”
Chifuyu finally meets his gaze. His eyes are sharp, guarded “No.”
Mitsuya tilts his head slightly, studying him “Then why are you acting like you do?”
Chifuyu exhales a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “Because it seems like you’ve been keeping her away from me.”
Chifuyu’s jaw clenches, but he forces a grin “She’s my girlfriend, Mitsuya. Maybe I just want to spend more time with her.”
Mitsuya doesn’t react “And maybe you’re scared.”
Chifuyu’s whole body tenses.
That’s all the confirmation Mitsuya needs.
Mitsuya takes a slow step forward, his voice calm but firm “You’re not stupid, Chifuyu. You know I’d never do anything to mess with your relationship.”
Chifuyu says nothing.
“But you’re still looking at me like I’m the enemy” Mitsuya continues “Like you’re waiting for me to take her from you.”
Mitsuya watches him for a moment longer, then sighs “If you keep this up, you’ll lose her anyway.”
Chifuyu’s breath catches in his throat.
“Not because of me, or because of fate itself” Mitsuya says simply “But because you won’t let her breathe.”
Chifuyu doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there. And for the first time, he wonders if Mitsuya is right.
If in his desperate attempt to fight fate… He’s becoming the reason you leave.
Chifuyu’s mood shifts over the next few days. You notice it immediately. His usual smiles are forced, and the protective gestures feel more suffocating than caring. He pulls you closer when you don’t need it, watches you with eyes that don’t just look. They study.
And the worst part? He barely acknowledges it. Like he’s pretending everything’s fine.
You can’t pretend anymore.
This isn’t the Chifuyu you know. The Chifuyu you know was always open with you. Always honest. Always real. But now…
You can feel the distance growing.
It hurts more than you thought it would.
So tonight, you decide to confront him.
You wait until the two of you are alone, until it’s just you and him in the living room, the silence thick and suffocating.
He’s on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, a manga in hand, but his mind clearly elsewhere.
You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze focused on him “Chifuyu.”
He doesn’t look up “Hm?”
You step forward, your heart pounding “Stop acting like this.”
He freezes, the manga slipping from his hand, but he doesn’t look up “What are you talking about?”
You take a deep breath, walking closer to him, every step heavy with the weight of your frustration “You’re being distant. You’re overbearing. You’ve been acting like… like I’m some fragile thing that needs to be kept away from everyone. And you know I don't like it.”
Chifuyu finally looks up, but there’s no understanding in his gaze. Just confusion “I’m just looking out for you.”
You shake your head “That’s not it. It’s more than that.”
He looks down at his hands, then back up at you, the walls around him thickening “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie to me, Chifuyu” you step closer, your voice firm but shaking from the emotion rising in your chest “You keep acting jealous... You think I would leave you for someone else?”
His eyes widen, and you can tell you’ve hit a nerve, but he still doesn’t speak.
“You’ve been pushing me away, and I don’t know why. I thought you trusted me, but now…” you take a breath, steadying yourself “Now, I feel like you don’t even know who I am anymore.”
He stands up suddenly, his face a mix of frustration and guilt “I trust you, Y/N! I do! But…”
He trails off, his voice faltering as if he’s trying to find the words to explain the chaos inside his head.
“But what?” you ask quietly.
Chifuyu rubs his forehead, as if trying to calm the storm in his mind “Every time I look at you, I think about what happens next. What if one day, you wake up and you’re not with me anymore?”
You blink, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. His eyes are dark, haunted, like he’s seen something he can’t shake.
“Chifuyu…” you whisper, stepping closer to him, your voice softening “I’m not going anywhere. I'm here...”
He looks up at you, his eyes wide with uncertainty, and for a moment, you see the fear, raw and unfiltered, that he’s been hiding.
“You don’t get it” he mutters, voice breaking slightly “I saw it, Y/N. In the future. In every timeline… you end up with Mitsuya. Not me. You marry him.”
You freeze. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can see the pain in his eyes, the torment he’s been holding in.
“You saw it?” you repeat, your voice shaking now.
“Not me, actually. But it’s the same…” he admits, his voice almost a whisper “No matter what… you end up with him. And it kills me, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch it happen.”
You take a step back, his confession crashing over you in waves. The room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.
But then, you find your voice “Chifuyu…”
You take his hands in yours, forcing him to look at you “Listen to me. I don’t know what you saw or not. But this…” you shake your head, feeling a mix of confusion and compassion “This isn’t about fate. It’s about us. I choose you. Every day, I choose you.”
Chifuyu’s eyes well with unshed tears, his hands trembling slightly as he holds onto you “But what if it’s already decided?”
You gently cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes “Then we fight it. Together.”
His breath catches, and for the first time in days, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.
“Chifuyu…” you say softly “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you need to trust me.”
He nods, his voice breaking as he whispers “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was so scared…”
You smile gently, brushing a strand of hair from his face “I know you were. But you can’t keep pushing me away like this. We’re in this together. Always.”
Chifuyu finally lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly like he’s afraid he might lose you all over again.
“I won’t let you go,” he says, his voice thick with emotion “I promise.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, Chifuyu feels like maybe he can stop fighting fate and trust that you are his, and no one will take you from him.
It’s a quiet evening when Takemichi arrives back from another dive into the future. He’s been gone for days, and you’ve been trying to distract Chifuyu from the anxiety that’s been weighing on him ever since the last conversation.
When Takemichi walks in, his face is grim.
Chifuyu notices him first. He’s standing in the doorway, his eyes tired and heavy with the burden of knowing too much.
You look up from where you’re sitting on the couch and smile, happy to see Takemichi, but Chifuyu doesn’t share your enthusiasm.
“Back already?” Chifuyu says casually, his tone sharp and protective.
Takemichi hesitates. The last time he revealed something, it only made things worse.
“You… you want to know what happens this time?” Takemichi asks, his eyes shifting nervously between the two of you.
Chifuyu stands up, walking over to where you’re sitting. His hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice as he answers Takemichi.
“No,” Chifuyu says, his voice steady “I don’t need to know. Whatever happens in the future… we’ll handle it.”
Takemichi blinks, surprised by Chifuyu’s refusal. Normally, Chifuyu is the one pushing for answers, the one desperate to fix things, but today… it’s different.
“Chifuyu…” Takemichi starts, but Chifuyu cuts him off, his voice unwavering.
“No, Takemichi,” Chifuyu says, shaking his head “I don’t need to know what happens with me and Y/N. I trust her. I trust us.”
You feel your heart swell, the love and reassurance in Chifuyu’s words more than enough to put you at ease. But then, a part of you know what Takemichi has seen, his face tells everything.
Takemichi swallows hard, looking between you both. He knows the truth. He knows what he’s seen. He knows what’s coming. And yet, he doesn’t want to say it.
Chifuyu’s grip on your hand tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t look at Takemichi. He stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I already know what you saw” Chifuyu replies, his voice calm and controlled, but there’s an edge to it “But I don’t care. This is our timeline. Our future.”
Takemichi’s eyes widen in confusion, not understanding what Chifuyu means. He expected a fight, maybe even an argument, but Chifuyu… Chifuyu’s eyes are clear. His gaze unwavering.
“You’re… you’re not angry?” Takemichi asks, his voice uncertain.
Chifuyu shakes his head slowly. He finally looks at you, his expression softening.
“No” he says simply “I’m not angry. I’m just…”
His voice falters for a moment, but he continues, his words filled with conviction “I’m choosing to believe in you, y/n. In us. And no matter what happens, I’m going to fight for that. For us. If that’s the future, it means that something might have happened and all I want is you to be happy, even if it's not with me.”
You feel a rush of emotions flood over you as you squeeze his hand tighter, the words meaning more to you than anything else. You don’t need the future to define what you have now.
Takemichi watches the exchange between the two of you, his chest tightening. He understands now. Chifuyu is choosing to trust you. He’s not going to let the future dictate his present.
“You really believe that?” Takemichi asks, his voice quiet.
Chifuyu nods firmly “Yeah. I do.”
There’s a long pause, and for a moment, the world feels still. Takemichi is silent, eyes searching Chifuyu’s face, and then, finally, he lets out a breath.
“…Alright.” Takemichi says, his shoulders slumping slightly “Then, I guess that’s all I need to hear.”
You can see the relief in Takemichi’s expression, the weight he’s been carrying lifting slightly as he looks at both of you.
“I’ll make sure this timeline works out for you guys” Takemichi adds with a small smile, stepping toward the door.
Chifuyu watches him go, then turns to face you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid to ever let go.
“I’m not going anywhere either” you whisper, holding him close.
“I know” Chifuyu replies, his voice steady but filled with warmth “And I’m not letting you go either.”
You smile against his chest, feeling the love and trust between the two of you stronger than anything fate could ever throw your way.
And for the first time in a long time, Chifuyu feels like the future doesn’t matter. Because as long as he has you, nothing else will ever break them apart.
The days after are peaceful. Chifuyu’s trust in you grows stronger with each passing day. He never mentions the future again, never brings up Mitsuya, and his affection for you deepens, he’s focused, determined to make the present his truth.
But something inside you feels weird.
You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to admit that the future still lingers like a shadow over your relationship. But after everything you’ve heard, after everything Chifuyu has sacrificed to believe in you, you can’t ignore the question that keeps pressing at the back of your mind:
Why do you never end up with Chifuyu in the future?
You’ve tried to push it away. You’ve tried to focus on the present. But the truth is, you can’t stop thinking about it. And deep down, you know you need to get the answer for yourself.
One night, when Chifuyu is busy with work and you find yourself alone, the weight of your curiosity becomes too heavy to ignore.
You slip out quietly, your heart racing as you make your way to Takemichi’s place. The chill of the night air doesn’t even register, all that matters is the unanswered question that’s been haunting you.
When Takemichi opens the door, his face softens at the sight of you.
“Y/N?” he asks, surprised “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you,” you say quietly, stepping inside. You don’t waste any time “I need to know. Why… Why don’t I end up with Chifuyu in the future?”
Takemichi blinks, clearly taken aback. He hesitates, looking at you with a mix of sympathy and something heavier. Something he doesn’t want to say.
“Y/N…” he begins, his voice soft and hesitant “Are you sure you want to know this?”
You nod, the resolve in your voice stronger than it feels “I need to know, Takemichi. Please. I have to know the truth.”
There’s a long silence as Takemichi looks at you, weighing the decision. He knows how much this will hurt. How much it could change everything. But he can’t keep it from you.
“Alright,” he says finally, his voice low “The reason… the reason you never end up with Chifuyu in the future… it’s always the same.”
You hold your breath.
“It’s because of Chifuyu,” Takemichi continues, his voice thick with regret “He never feels like he’s enough. He loves you so much that he convinces himself you’ll be better off with someone else. He pushes you away… he doesn’t want to be the one holding you back.”
Your heart sinks as you absorb his words. It’s not about Mitsuya. It’s not about you choosing someone else. It’s about Chifuyu, about his own insecurity, his fear of not being good enough for you, of loving you so much that he believes he’s destined to lose you.
“And no matter what happens,” Takemichi continues, voice trembling with empathy “Chifuyu doesn’t fight for you. Not because he doesn’t love you... he loves you more than anything. But because he thinks that’s what’s best for you. He believes you deserve someone who can give you the world, someone who won’t drag you down.”
The words crash over you like a wave, and you feel dizzy, your mind racing.
Chifuyu’s fear of being unworthy is the reason you’re torn apart. He believes his love for you is not enough to keep you.
You take a deep breath, forcing the tears back. You’ve spent so much time trying to make sense of everything, trying to figure out why fate always separates you and Chifuyu.
And now you know.
But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.
You stand there, numb for a long moment before you finally speak, your voice thick with emotion “So… it’s always his choice? He chooses to walk away from me?”
Takemichi nods, his eyes filled with sadness “Yeah. He never thinks he’s good enough for you. That’s the reason, no matter how much he loves you, no matter how hard you try, it always ends the same.”
Your heart aches as you let that sink in. The realization that Chifuyu, the person who loves you more than anything, could be the very reason you can’t stay with him.
You turn to leave, Takemichi’s voice stopping you just before you reach the door.
“Y/N,” he says softly “I’m sorry.”
You nod silently, wiping away a tear that threatens to fall. You need to go back to Chifuyu. To hold him. To remind him that he’s more than enough. You need him to believe in you, in both of you.
But deep inside, you know it won’t be easy. Because it’s never been about love. It’s been about belief.
And for now, you can only hope that, somehow, Chifuyu will find the strength to fight against the very thing that’s pulling him away from you: his own fear.
Everything started with Ace saying, ‘trust me.’ And like usual, Deuce did.
Now, days later, Deuce wasn’t sure which part was worse, the explosion, the lecture, or the fact that his future was currently being decided by the man who literally wore a bird mask and spoke like a failed soap opera villain.
“You told me that it was in the book!” Deuce hissed, pacing outside the infirmary doors.
Ace scoffed, wincing as a nurse rewrapped his bandaged hand. “It was! Okay… maybe not everything the google said it would work!”
“YOU GOOGLED IT?!?”
“Well excuse me for being creative!”
The alchemy lab had not survived. Walls scorched. Tables flipped. Glasses shattered. Professor Crewel had declared the scene a “murder of science,” and worst of all, someone sent a formal letter to their guardians.
Not them. Their guardians.
Oh…. They are done…
•
One week later Deuce sat on a wooden bench outside the Headmaster’s office, knuckles white as he clutched the hem of his jacket. He kept checking the clock. 9:57. 9:58. 9:59…10:00.
The door creaked open with an ominous groan, and Crowley emerged in. He peered down at Deuce, tutting softly.
“Ah, young Spade… Alone?” His voice was already dripping in theatrical disappointment.
Deuce stood quickly, his back straight like he was reporting for military duty. “Sir! Sorry… my mother couldn’t get time off work.”
Crowley sighed long and loud, already writing a mental essay about the disrespect of youth. “Of course not. Why would one’s legal guardian possibly be available?”
Deuce flinched. “B-but she sent someone in her place. My aunt. She should be here any second.”
Crowley raised a skeptical brow. “Aunt? If I remember correctly I asked the parents to show up not-”
The door behind Deuce opened. You stepped inside. Crowley’s breath caught. You were composed, graceful, dressed in a coat tailored so perfectly. Your steps were smooth, purposeful. A soft, kind smile tugged at your lips as your eyes met Deuce’s.
“Sorry if I’m late,” you said gently. “The front gates were a little… confusing.”
Deuce relaxed. “You made it.”
You turned politely to the Headmaster. “Good morning. I’m Y/N, Deuce’s aunt.”
Crowley blinked once. Then twice. He very nearly forgot his entire train of thought.
“My, my,” he said, voice changing from thunder to silk. “Well… my pleasure to meet you. My name is Crowley, Dire Crowley. I have to say, meeting with you wasn’t what I expected.”
You raised a brow. “Disappointed?”
“Oh no,” he said, taking your hand in both of his and not letting go. “I’d say pleasantly surprised.”
Deuce cleared his throat loudly.
Crowley still hadn’t let go of your hand…
•
Inside the office you sat beside Deuce, legs crossed, expression serene. Crowley, on the other hand, was flustered. He adjusted his feathered cloak three times before even managing to sit down.
The moment he did, the light from the window caught the side of his mask just so. He froze then angled his chair to better catch the glow.
Deuce rolled his eyes so hard they might’ve left his skull.
“Now then!” Crowley said, suddenly all business (well, mostly). “Let’s address the metaphorical and literal fire your nephew and Trappola started in the alchemy lab.”
You turned to Deuce with a raised brow. “Is that true?”
He shrank a little. “Yes, ma’am. I… didn’t mean to. I just… Ace was trying something stupid and I—”
Crowley held up a hand. “No need to rehash the whole disaster. The cauldron is gone, the walls burned, and several rune stones are now glittering sand.”
You sighed softly. “That does sound serious.”
Deuce looked down in shame, but your tone wasn’t angry. Just… disappointed. Which somehow stung worse.
Crowley, who had been watching your every expression like a hawk, clasped his hands together. “Naturally, I’m prepared to enact punishment. Detention, suspension.”
You arched a brow. “Is that so?”
Deuce winced.
You folded your hands neatly. “And Ace Trappola?”
Crowley’s smirk returned. “Detention, and he also has to clean the gym for two week”
Deuce blinked. “Wait, what? He is?”
Crowley turned to him. “Actions have consequences.”
You gave Deuce a reassuring pat on the knee.
Crowley stood and began circling the room. “Of course, one can’t always place the blame solely on the students. Perhaps there is fault in our… educational approach.”
“Or the fact that a bunch of teenagers are allowed to mix magical chemicals unsupervised,” you said dryly.
Crowley’s eyes sparkled. “Precisely! It’s a systemic failure. Obviously. Which is why…” he turned and flashed you a roguish grin “…I’d be very open to discussing solutions… over dinner.”
Deuce choked on air. “Wait… what?”
You blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Crowley tilted his head, his voice slipping into a suspiciously smooth purr. “A simple meal. For the sake of our shared goal… guiding young Deuce toward a brighter, less explosion prone future.”
Deuce’s mouth fell open. “Are you flirting with my aunt?!”
Crowley waved a hand. “Flirting is such a… base term. I prefer ‘diplomatic engagement.’”
You chuckled. “You’re not exactly subtle, Headmaster.”
He stepped closer, leaning slightly on the desk. “And you’re not exactly what I expected. You’re very… composed. And I have to say you’re stunning as well.”
“Thank you,” you said sweetly. “But you know… flattery won’t fix your lab.”
“True,” Crowley said with a wink. “But it might get your nephew out of punishment.”
Deuce’s head whipped toward you, panic in his eyes. “Auntie. Don’t fall for it! Please! Anyone but him!! IM BEGGING!”
You tilted your head thoughtfully. “That depends…” totally ignoring Deuce pleading.
Crowley paused. “On what?”
You stood, letting your coat flare behind you like a cape, mimicking Crowley’s own dramatic flair. “Is Deuce still in trouble?”
Crowley stared at you for a long moment. Then he sighed, smiled, and dramatically waved his gloved hand. “Consider this a verbal warning. One time only.”
Crowley gave a low, theatrical bow. “Miss Y/N, you have my word.”
You turned to Deuce and offered him a really satisfying smile. “Shall we go?”
Deuce look at you numb with shock. “You flirted me out of suspension...”
“I call it ‘situational diplomacy.’”
He muttered, “You’re scarier than Mom...”
You winked. “And don’t you forget it.”
Crowley, left behind in his office, pressed a hand to his chest and sighed dreamily.
•
Later that day Ace stared at the bright red detention slip in his hand. “This is bullshit!”
Jack looked up from his book. “What now?”
“Deuce gets off with a warning and I’m getting detention and cleaning duty?!”
Epel snorted. “Guess having a hot aunt helps.”
“Excuse me?”
Ortho appeared from the hallway, his eyes glowing. “Crowley’s heart rate increased by 47% during their conversation. I detect signs of biological attraction!!”
Ace shrieked. “CROWLEY HAS A CRUSH ON DEUCE’S AUNT?!”
“Confirmed.” Ortho said happily.
Ace collapsed dramatically on the floor. “This is it. The universe hates me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Maybe next time don’t cause any trouble.”
Epel grinned. “Maybe you need a ‘powerful ally’ too.”
Ace sat up suddenly, eyes blazing. “That’s it. Next time we break something, I’m calling my hot cousin.”
✦The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.
✦Humor, Fluff, Teacher!Reader, Ace Being a Menace, Protective Deuce
✦Word Count: 2,409
The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.
It all started on a sluggish Tuesday afternoon.
Ace flopped into the nearest stool in the art room, dramatically dragging his sketchpad behind him.
“Ugh. Can’t believe I had to fill an elective slot. Why couldn’t it be something easy like… broom flying or potion tasting?”
Deuce, ever the responsible one, sat beside him with better posture and a furrowed brow.
“You already failed broom flying, remember? And you can’t ‘taste’ potions if you blow them up.”
Ace rolled his eyes. “Still better than drawing. What am I gonna do? Doodle some hearts and hope I pass?”
Deuce sighed. “Just try not to get detention.”
But before either could complain further, the door opened.
And you walked in.
You were smiling. Softly, genuinely. Wearing a pastel-toned blouse smudged slightly with paint, hair tucked back with two clips, and a warmth that filled the whole room. The soft clink of your earrings and the smell of oil paint and florals preceded your calm voice as you greeted the class.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Y/N, your new art teacher. I’m really happy to be here with all of you.”
Ace sat up straighter.
You were… cute.
No—hot.
No—hot and cute?!
“Let’s start with something simple today,” you continued, motioning to the front of the classroom. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just draw what you feel. Art’s more about expression than execution.”
Ace’s brain short circuited at the way you smiled. Did your eyes just sparkle or was that the overhead lights?
You passed out supplies and complimented each student in some way. You were patient with Cater when he drew a selfie instead of the still life you’d assigned. You didn’t even get mad when Grim spilled paint on the desk. And when you stopped by Ace’s desk, leaning slightly over his shoulder to look at the messy sketch he’d done of a half finished apple, your voice was soft and encouraging.
“That’s a great start. Try adding some shadow here, just like this…” You gently guided his pencil with yours. “See? It gives the apple a bit more dimension.”
Ace, who normally hated being corrected, stared at you with wide eyes and a pounding heart.
He was in trouble.
When you moved on to help another student, Ace blinked down at his paper. For the first time in his life, he actually cared whether a drawing turned out okay. Not because he loved art, but because you told him he could do better.
He nudged Deuce with his elbow.
“Dude.”
Deuce didn’t look up. “Hmm?”
“She’s like… super cute and hot.”
Deuce paused, pencil in midair. “Don’t.”
“I think I’m in love.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. This is fate.”
Deuce finally looked at him, visibly alarmed. “Ace. No. She’s a teacher.”
“She’s not that much older.”
“She teaches us. That means she’s off-limits. There are rules. Probably laws. Probably murder attempts by Crowley if you even try.”
Ace grinned smugly. “You’re just jealous.”
Deuce groaned. “This is your worst idea ever. And that includes the time you tried to smuggle chocolate frogs during potion exams.”
Ace didn’t answer. He was too busy glancing at you across the room like a heart eyed fool.
•
You, meanwhile, had noticed Ace’s stares. And while you were used to the occasional flirty student like Cater had already jokingly asked if you were single, there was something particularly obvious about Ace Trappola.
He wasn’t subtle.
At all.
He’d stared for most of the class, and when you gave him a simple suggestion, his face turned red and he just… blinked at you like you’d cast a spell on him.
You didn’t blame him, students his age were bundles of hormones. You’d seen this kind of thing before. It was sweet, and innocent, and—
Entirely inappropriate.
But harmless.
You smiled to yourself as you continued circling the room, deciding not to make a big deal of it.
Kids would be kids.
Besides, it would fade.
Right?
•
After class, Ace lingered behind while others packed up.
“Um. Miss Y/N?” he called out, casually leaning against a nearby stool like it owed him money. “So… how long have you been drawing?”
You turned, pleasantly surprised. “Most of my life, really. I started with charcoal, but I’ve come to love oils and pastels too.”
“That’s cool,” Ace said, trying to act smooth. “You must be, like, really good.”
You laughed lightly. “I’d hope so, otherwise I wouldn’t be teaching you guys.”
He gave a sheepish grin.
You tilted your head. “Do you enjoy drawing?”
Ace shrugged. “I dunno. Never really tried. But today was… not bad.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully I can make it even more enjoyable for you.”
Ace smiled, and for a moment, his heart actually thudded. Like, hard.
Maybe this wasn’t just a little crush.
Maybe this was the real deal.
Maybe—
Deuce suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling.
“Let’s go, Ace. Lunch isn’t gonna wait.”
Ace blinked, startled. “Oh—right. Yeah.” He gave you one last smile. “See you next class, Miss Y/N.”
You nodded. “See you, Trappola.”
Once they were out of earshot, Deuce grabbed him by the collar. “Get a grip!”
Ace just grinned, heart still hammering in his chest.
“I’m doomed.”
•
The bell rang, signaling the end of another long art class. You stood at the front of the room with your usual warm smile, thanking the students as they walked out. Most of them nodded back or mumbled a goodbye, eager to head off to their next class or some club activity.
Ace Trappola, however, lingered by the door, fidgeting with his sketchpad and pretending he was in no rush. You noticed him immediately, he’d been unusually chipper all class, sneaking glances at you and asking questions he already knew the answers to.
“Trappola,” you said gently. “Is there something you need?”
Ace stepped forward, trying to look cooler than he felt. “Yeah, actually,” he said, stuffing one hand into his uniform pocket and giving you a half smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.”
You blinked, then tilted your head with a light laugh. “Absolutely not.”
His smile faltered just a little. “Wha—what? That’s it?!”
“I mean that kindly,” you added, your tone still calm and gentle. “You’re a sweet kid, Ace, but you’re a student, and I’m your teacher. Not to mention the age difference. So no, not now, not ever.”
Ace stared, slightly slack jawed. “You called me a kid?”
“You are,” you said simply, walking past him to stack a few leftover brushes in the sink. “I appreciate the honesty, though. That took guts.”
You thought that would be the end of it.
You were wrong.
The next day, Ace was back at it again, another compliment here, a cheeky grin there. And again, he waited until the end of class.
“Hey, how about that date?”
“Still no.”
Then again the day after that.
“I’m thinking maybe dinner and a walk by the school lake? Very romantic.”
“Absolutely not.”
And again. And again. It became a strange sort of routine. He didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest, even if his attempts kept getting shot down.
•
By the time lunchtime came around one week later, Ace was at the cafeteria table with his usual crew, slumped over his tray like a man defeated.
“She smiled at me today,” Ace groaned, stabbing a piece of sausage like it had offended him. “But then… boom! another rejection. ‘Absolutely not,’ she says. Again!”
Jack shook his head. “That’s because she’s your teacher. Of course she keeps saying no.”
“She’s also, like, an adult,” Ortho chimed in, blinking. “Biologically speaking, the odds of compatibility—”
“Please, Ortho,” Epel muttered, sipping his juice. “You’re not helping.”
Deuce sighed and rubbed his temples. “Ace, we’ve been listening to this every lunch for the last eight days. You keep asking, she keeps saying no. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Because she’s hot, and sweet, and cool!” Ace protested. “Have you seen the way she talks about art like it’s magic? Have you seen her smile when someone finally gets the shading right? I’m telling you, it’s fate!”
Epel stared. “Bro, this is either the dumbest thing you’ve ever done or the most hopeless romantic one.”
“Why not both?” Ace muttered dramatically.
Deuce looked between the others, then back at Ace. “Okay, listen. You need a distraction. Let’s head into town after class. We’ll hit up the game store or something.”
“Y’all are acting like I got dumped,” Ace grumbled, but he was already sitting up straighter. “Alright, alright. Maybe getting out will help. But just know I’m not giving up.”
“Of course not,” Jack said dryly. “Because you never listen.”
As the boys made plans, Ace found himself smiling again. He’d take the break. But deep down, he was already planning how to ask you again, maybe with flowers next time.
•
The town buzzed with its usual weekend energy, vendors shouting, students roaming, and shopkeepers setting out signs. It was the perfect place for a distraction, and Ace actually found himself enjoying it.
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Ace said with a grin, popping a candy in his mouth. “This was a good idea.”
“I told you,” Deuce said, arms crossed. “It’s nice to just chill without… you know, heartbreak.”
“You sound like I got dumped.” Ace rolled his eyes. “I never even got a yes.”
The boys had already hit up the arcade, where Ace had gone on a dramatic winning streak that included beating Epel at every racing game and losing horribly to Ortho in a rhythm battle.
They grabbed some snacks, wandered a bit, even found a cute photo booth. For a moment, Ace had stopped thinking about you entirely.
Ortho didn’t answer. He and Deuce were frozen, standing like badly coded NPCs trying to block Ace’s view of the other side of the street.
But it was already too late.
Ace leaned to the side and his heart stopped.
You were there, standing in front of a boutique. Dressed in something soft and elegant, makeup done just enough to highlight your best features. You looked like you belonged on the cover of a magazine. You were scrolling on your phone, casually unaware that you had just become the center of someone’s universe all over again.
“Oh crap…” Epel muttered.
“She looks… whoa,” Jack said with a sigh, already bracing for the incoming disaster.
Ace didn’t hear any of them. He was already crossing the street.
“Hey, hey!” he called, waving. “Fancy seeing you here!”
You looked up and smiled. That smile. It still had the power to melt anyone’s heart.
“Well, look at you boys,” you said sweetly. “Having fun?”
“Y-Yeah! Totally!” Ace grinned, flicking his hair back like he didn’t spend most mornings messing with it in the mirror. “But wow—you look amazing today. Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Special occasion or just naturally that stunning?”
Behind him, Deuce groaned into his hands. Jack facepalmed. Ortho was trying to calculate the fastest way to drag Ace out of the line of fire.
You were just about to respond when the door behind you swung open, and a familiar voice followed
“Apologies for the delay, Love. That employee was more clueless than a freshman on his first potion.”
Professor Crewel stepped out, dressed to the nines in an immaculate suit and silk gloves, like he had just walked off a fashion runway. His sharp eyes landed on Ace and the boys… and he froze.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“Oh no…” Epel whispered.
Crewel raised an eyebrow. “Students?”
You gave a sheepish sigh and looked at the group with a soft smile. “Boys, I guess I should’ve said something sooner. Crewel and I are dating.”
Ace blinked.
He blinked again.
And then he laughed, but it sounded like it might also be a sob.
“You’re dating Professor Crewel?!” he asked, voice cracking like a broken guitar string.
“You’re a literal child, Trappola,” Crewel said dryly, though he didn’t sound angry. “Be grateful your taste is excellent.”
“I mean—yeah—but seriously?!”
“I’m very serious,” you said gently, placing a hand on Crewel’s arm.
Crewel’s cold, stern face softened at your touch.
“Right. Sure. That’s cool.” Ace nodded, looking like someone just deleted his save file. “Totally… great. Great for you two.”
You both gave a polite farewell, and walked off hand in hand, leaving Ace staring at the back of your outfit like it had personally betrayed him.
There was a long, painful silence.
“…Well,” Deuce said, clapping him on the back. “At least now you have closure.”
Ace groaned. “My heart just got critical-hit KO’d.”
“You were going to get rejected again anyway,” Jack said bluntly.
“Yeah, but not this hard!!!”
Ortho tilted his head. “I can find you someone statistically more likely to say yes, if that helps.”
“I don’t need your pity matchmaking, Ortho,” Ace mumbled, sulking.
They were about to head back toward the café when Ace suddenly gasped.
“What?” Epel asked.
Across the street, another young woman had stepped out of a flower shop. Dressed like springtime and sunshine, fixing her hair in the reflection of the glass.
Ace straightened up, flashing a grin.
“…Or maybe it’s time for the next chapter.”
“NO!” all four boys said at once.
Too late. Ace was already strolling toward her.
Deuce dropped his face into his hands. “Here we go again.”
Jack growled. “You’d think rejection would teach him something.”
“Not Ace,” Epel muttered. “He treats love like a boss fight, keeps rushing in ‘til it works.”
Ortho blinked and said cheerfully, “I think it’s romantic.”
“It’s not!” the other three groaned.
And from across the street, Ace’s flirty voice rang out once more.
— how they react when your in-game relationship with them kinda flops
note: riddle, leona, and azul for now! might make more of this depending on how well it goes!!
part two with the other housewardens here!
— RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
The day you asked him if you could put him in your game, he insisted that you should make it as accurate as possible so it resembles him the best. At some point, during the personality segment of the customization, he had asked you if he could handle it instead. So, to some degree, he is very much confident that the mii is most like him.
What he wasn't expecting was for his mii to fall in love with another person at first sight! When you told him that you let his mii-self pursue someone else, the first reaction he had was to grab you by the shoulders to exclaim, "why would you think of doing that!?"
You had to insist that it's just a game and you're just having fun, also reminding him that it's not a reflection of your real relationship with him. Knowing Riddle, however, he's probably still very much bothered by the fact there's a (virtual) universe out there in which he's not together with you.
— LEONA KINGSCHOLAR
He wasn't very active with the creation process of his mii and pretty much let you handle it after he gave you the go signal. He only saw his mii-self after you finished and he could only chuckle when he saw how you made it resemble him so much.
He's not really familiar with the mechanics of the game and only really listens to what you tell him. So when you mentioned that his mii-self been repeatedly turning your mii's love confession down, the only thing that came out of his mouth was "delete that guy."
He's irritated that his mii-self would do that and insists that you should scrap the guy to make a new one, which you found sort of hilarious, seeing how seriously he was taking it. This time, he says he's going to be the one to personally facilitate the creation of a more "accurate" mii who will most definitely not reject you.
— AZUL ASHENGROTTO
Azul actually asked if he handle everything the moment you asked him. From his appearance to personality, everything was customized by him so he could ensure that his depiction wouldn't be inaccurate by any means. He prides himself in using the paintbrush feature (and ignores how it breaks the law of physics).
He was moderately interested in how his mii was doing in your island. When you suddenly mentioned that his mii was in a one-sided love with your mii, Azul was a little pressed. He went off on a tangent about how it was off-character, repeatedly assuring that "it's just a game! It doesn't reflect real life!"
He doesn't say it but he got extra flustered because that was his situation before you two started dating. Ever since this mii incident, he's been bugging you to make sure the two miis end up together.
I absolutely adore your writing and saw that your requests were open so was wondering whether I could request a crack drabble/one shot (I’m not actually sure what the difference between the two is) for Leona with a female s/o who slaps a wax strip on his leg before he realises and then attempts to run etc ?
Thank you!! ✨❤️
【❝A Hairy Situation❞】
【Synopsis: In which Leona’s scheming girlfriend — that being you — decide to play a prank on him that goes horribly wrong】
【Featuring: Leona Kingscholar】
【Tags: fem reader, established relationship, crackfic, Leona has hairy ass legs bc I said so (he’s just like me fr), reader is a hall of fame menace to society, Leona curses at reader a few times but it’s pretty warranted tbh, no beta, possible typos/spelling errors, please let me know if I missed anything】
【Word count: 1k】
【a/n: hi hi anon! I’m so so glad you’ve been enjoying my writing and I hope you like this one too! I’ve always had crazy hairy legs, but I’m too much of a baby to wax them lol! Like, I’ll go through the arduous process of shaving them every now and again, but I can’t for the life of me even dare to think about waxing them! I’m a big baby when it comes to pain, so waxing is a no go! Anyway, enough about my leg hair woes. Thank you again for the kind words and I hope you enjoy anon! o(｀ω´ )o】
The lion does not concern himself with the antics of his girlfriend.
Leona is a magnanimous boyfriend. For the most part, he lets you do what you want without question. Of course, he doesn't let you get yourself into any trouble and has firm boundaries about what is and isn't allowed in your relationship, but other than that, you're free to do as you please.
Perhaps Leona offers you too much freedom, lets you get away with a bit too much.
You'd try to pull one over on him plenty of times before, but he always managed to sniff out your plans before that came to fruition. One time, you got the bright idea of putting a bunch of cute clips and accessories in Leona's hair while he was sleeping — in reality, he was just pretending — and even then, he knew something was up. Before the first bow even found its way into his dark curls, he was awake and staring back at you with an unamused expression.
Suffice it to say, Leona knows when you're up to something. Call it a sixth sense, or a lion's intuition, whichever way you slice it, he's always one step ahead.
Well, usually he is.
This time, you actually managed to catch Leona off guard. He was actually asleep, peacefully dozing away while you were getting ready to execute your evil plans. What plans, you might ask? Your plans to prank Leona by waxing his legs while he was totally unaware.
Would this little prank send your poor boyfriend into a rage? Absolutely, but it would be funny and that's what matters. Whatever consequences this stunt will entail would be worth it for a good laugh. Plus, it's not like Leona's leg hair won't grow back, so it's not like any permanent damage is being done.
Quietly, you approach the sleeping lion, one half over your mouth to stifle your giggles while the other clutches at the wax strips you bought solely for this prank. Thankfully, the recent heat made your task somewhat easier, since Leona had taken to wearing shorts rather than his usual pajama pants.
Right there before your eyes, in all their hairy glory, were your boyfriend's beautifully toned legs. For a brief moment, you feel a tinge of guilt for what you were about to do, but the feeling disappears just as quickly as it reared its head. You've come this far, and you're not about to back out now.
Slowly and carefully, you apply the wax strip along the curve of Leona's calf, silently fighting back the urge to feel up the firm muscles beneath his skin as you smooth it against his skin. You freeze every time he stirs, just about pissing your pants every time he so much as breathes too hard. After a few agonizing moments, the wax strip is perfectly applied, just waiting to be ripped off by yours truly.
"What in the world are you doing?" The deep, groggy voice of none other than a newly awakened Leona staring you down like you're just some unfortunate prey animal that happens to stumble into his path.
"Uhhhh, nothing." It's an obvious lie, one that you don't expect Leona to believe for a single second. He's always been able to sniff out your lies, so there was really no point in even trying to pull the rule over his eyes.
You've been caught red-handed. There's no way you'll be able to complete your plan now, but maybe, just maybe, it's not too late. If you just pull the trigger, if you rip off the bandaid and run, then you can still complete what you originally came here for!
You move as quickly as you can, pinching the edge of the wax strip plastered along the length of his leg. Unfortunately, Leona is much quicker than you. In the blink of an eye, he realizes what you were planning and practically jumps out of bed, scrambling to get as far away from you as possible.
"Oh no you don't, you little shit! Are you serious? Of all the stunts you can pull, you chose this?" This was, of course, the reaction you expected. Leona could never be mad at you for very long, but you couldn't exactly blame him for being cross with you over this. I mean, if he'd try to pull something like this with you, you'd rightfully be pretty pissed.
"What? Are you telling me you don't want silky-smooth legs, Leona?"
"NO! I like my legs just the way they are, and I'm not about to change them now!"
"Not ever for me? What if I asked you to wax them for me?"
"Well, you'd be shit outta luck, because it's not happening!"
"How do you plan to get the wax strip off, then? C'mere and let me take if off for you, Leona. I promise it won't hurt… too much." Slowly, you once forward, stalking down the lion until he was crowded against his bedroom door. Surprisingly, getting caught turned this into a much more interesting ordeal.
"STAY AWAY!" With one last warning, Leona bolts out of the door. He's fast, but that doesn't stop you from giving chase anyway. You bump into Ruggie in the hall in your pursuit, but his screams at you and Leona to stop running around in the halls fall on deaf ears.
In an ironic twist of fate, the predator became the prey. No one was quite sure what led you to chase the poor Housewarden through the halls of the Savanaclaw dorm, but they didn't dare intervene in whatever the two of you were getting up to.
Legend has it that a deafening scream was heard hours later and a patch of hair was missing from Leona's leg the next day. If anyone were to ask, he'd tell them to kick rocks and mind their own damn business. You, however, know the truth of the matter and will never ever let Leona live this down, and he will always give you grief for it.
I wanted to ask whether I could request Riddle, Leona and anyone else of your choice with a female s/o who moves a lot in their sleep and sometimes sleep talks or like subconsciously will answer a question if asked but won't remember answering it at all?
I was always shocked to find out there's people who actually wake up in the same position they slept in while I on the other hand am constantly shifting sides left and right throughout the night, not that l'm fully conscious doing so since l'm a deep sleeper and apparently am always in an odd position or two while sleeping according to my friend.
I've fallen off my bed once or twice before though it's quite rare thankfully 🧍🏻♀️.
I've been woken up a time or two where l've apparently been asked a question and answered it but will have no recollection of it, not to mention that I somehow said yes to a food I heavily dislike so when it was presented to me l was so confused 😭.
Also please make sure to take breaks and drink a lot of water !!!
Hope that this is ok and that you have a wonderful dayyyyyyy 💕💕!!!
【❝Tossin’ and Turnin’❞】
【Synopsis: In which the twst boys find themselves with the most active sleeper in existence as a girlfriend】
【Featuring: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, and Lilia Vanrouge】
【Tags: fem reader, established relationship, basically just crack, some fluff ig, Riddle is concerned for you, Leona is going through it, Lilia takes pictures of you in your sleep (not in a weird way I promise), yeah that’s it I think, no beta, possible typos/spelling errors, please let me know if I missed any tags】
【Word count: Riddle (331) Leona (360) Lilia (361) Total (1k)】
【a/n: hi anonnnnn! Thank you so so much for this wonderfully silly request — I had such a fun time writing it! I promise I’m making sure not to burn myself out, and I’m drinking plenty of water too! Let this be a reminder for all of you to take a quick hydration break! Getting back on track, I really really enjoyed this request! I’m by no means a wild sleeper, but I have this quirk where I have to sleep right in the edge of my bed which has resulted in my almost falling off once or twice lol! Anyway, I hope you enjoy and that you have a wonderful day yourself! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡】
‧₊˚ ┊ Riddle is very heavily contemplating taking you to a sleep clinic so you can figure out what in the world is going on with the way you sleep. He's just as stiff and rigid while asleep as he is when he's awake. The most Riddle will move while asleep is to subtly shift his position to make himself comfortable. You, on the other hand, are always moving in your sleep to make up for how still your lovely boyfriend is. (chaotic sleeper gf x peaceful sleeper bf dynamic goes hard lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Riddle truly has no idea how you roll around in your sleep all night, but somehow still manage to wake up relatively refreshed and well-rested. He's not the most cuddly guy ever, but when he does want to, he finds it quite difficult to get any rest with you moving around so much. Riddle has been, hit, kicked, elbows, and literally knocked off his own bed from all your twisting and contorting in your sleep. Somehow, even the sound of poor Riddle landing on the floor and the startled gasps that subsequently follow. (he can never stay mad at you for too long, especially since you look so endearingly cute while you're sleeping)
‧₊˚ ┊ While the way you manage to twist and contort yourself in your sleep is astonishing to Riddle, he's even more so stunned by how much you talk in your sleep. He initially found your sleep-induced murmuring to be rather cute, but he, admittedly, got a bit weirded out by how you managed to answer his questions while dead asleep. Like, one time he mumbled to himself — "What am I going to do with you?" — when he found you sprawled out in some awkward position while asleep, only for you to respond with, "You're supposed to love me and take care of me." (Riddle would be lying if he said he didn't like having silly conversations while you're asleep, but he will never admit as much aloud lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ As we all know, Leona does not like having his sleep interrupted. Unfortunately for him, he just had to go and fall for a girl that basically does cartwheels in her sleep. Leona loves you, but you are a menace in the bedroom and not in a good way! When Leona really wants to sleep, he sleeps deeply. I'm talking loud ass dad snoring, sprawled out like a starfish, dead to the world deep. Yet somehow, someway, you always manage to wake him up with your bullshit and shenanigans. (if it were anyone else, he'd be fed tf up, but it's you — his silly little girlfriend — so he lets it slide)
‧₊˚ ┊ Now, Leona can be a bit of an active sleeper. He moves around a bit throughout the night, but certainly not to the extent that you do. While he might change his position once or twice while sleeping, you are switching it up, like every half hour or so, and he has no idea how you manage to do it. Leona tries to mitigate all your moving around by cuddling you — which is just to get you to stop kicking him in your sleep and totally not because he likes to hold you — but even then, you manage to escape his grasp. (he's got strong arms too, so you must be able to tap into some Herculean strength while asleep lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ What surprises Leona more than the sudden strength you manage to gain while asleep is how oddly aware you are. He quite literally thought he was hearing voices when he heard you talking in your sleep for the first time. One would usually expect like, nonsensical mumbles, but here you were speaking in complete sentences and answering questions. One time, completely exasperated by your strange sleeping behavior, Leona asked aloud, "What in the world is wrong with you?" The question was by no means serious, and he absolutely didn't expect an answer, but an answer he received. Through the haze of sleep, you replied, "Nothing's wrong with me." (he was so freaked out that he asked you another question while you were asleep ever again after that lol)
‧₊˚ ┊ Lilia is endlessly amused by the strange shenanigans you get up to while you're asleep! Being a bat fae, he's naturally inclined towards staying awake late into the night — usually gaming with his buddy Gloomurai (Idia) — which, thankfully, spares him the wrath of your tossing and turning. That being said, when he does join you in bed, he's not too bothered by all your moving around. Lilia has slept in worse conditions, so you accidentally bonking him on the head in your sleep is nothing to him. (he has a whole album of pictures of you contorted into weird poses he's found you in while you sleep. he doesn't show them to anyone and treats them like an inside joke between the two of you lol.)
‧₊˚ ┊ Lilia, like you, is an incredibly deep sleeper. Once his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light until his alarm goes off. As previously stated, he almost never realizes how much you're moving around while he's asleep, but once he wakes up and finds you upside down with your legs hanging off the bed, it clicks in his mind that you were going wild while he was out. Rarely ever does all your twisting and turning bother Lilia, but if it does, he'll just use his magic to float so he can sleep in midair and about getting elbowed in the stomach. (he thinks it's funny more than anything and makes sure you never feel too bad about striking him in your sleep)
‧₊˚ ┊ Now, if Lilia is amused by all your sleep-induced contorting, he's absolutely tickled by your sleep-talking! He loves going back and forth with you and having full-blown conversations while you're sleeping! He likes to record these interactions to show you when you wake up so you can both have a laugh about it. One of his favorite interactions went as follows: Lilia, through fond laugher, asked, "You're such a silly thing, aren't you?" To which you responded, "I'm not silly. I'm very normal." (he laughed for a good ten to fifteen minutes after that, which somehow didn't manage to wake you up and only made him laugh some more lol)
if we post too fast, we get accused of using ai (no, you don't know how fast someone can write. you don't even know if the "too-frequent-to-be-human updates" you see are something that have long been finished and sitting in an author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted, doesn't necessarily always mean it's recently written too. a lot of writers finish the whole thing first before they start posting it chapter by chapter).
if we take "too long to update", we get people pressuring us to "update faster" even though fanfics are our hobbies and we write for ourselves first and foremost.
if our works are grammatically correct, we get accused of using ai (some of us just love correct grammars).
if our works are not grammatically correct, we get insulted/criticized (mind you, not everybody writes in their native language. kudos to writers who write in their second, or third, or fourth language — I'm willing to bet a lot of people who criticize fanfics because of poor grammar can't even speak other languages besides english).
if our paragraphs are "too long and too detailed", we get accused of using ai.
if our paragraphs are "too short", we also get accused of using ai.
if we are autistic and we write in ways some deem "too robotic", we get accused of using ai.
some people just don't use their brains to think "ai was trained on human-made works, it was trained to look human-made. ai writes this way because the way it writes is the way real humans write — real humans whose works it was trained to mimic". instead they somehow disregard this logic and think "hmmm this work looks ai-generated. I will engage in witch hunt, be a bully and harass writers whose works I don't vibe with".
The shabbiness of Ramshackle and the unreliability of the Headmage aside, this was the most fun you ever had (in spite of the multiple life threatening overblots that seemed to haunt you).
Magic was amazing yes, but that wasn't what made NRC so enchanting to you. It was the people, the very world and air itself that seemed to called to you. The music was different, the literature and history was entirely foreign to you, and it delighted you to no end.
But it was all the new species here that had enraptured you.
You had grown to love Grim despite his brattiness, cooing over his fiery ears and pompous, childish way of speech.
He. Was. A. Baby.
Your baby.
The son you birthed and raised.
The first time a student in purple made a snide and disgusting remark about monsters in NRC, you had lunged towards him and broke his nose, snarling about how awful discrimination was, and that if he ever muttered such words near your vicinity you'd make sure he'd lose the ability to procreate, alongside a few limbs, magic be damned.
The entire cafeteria had gone silent as said student stumbled away, muttering curses under his breath as he hastily left.
That day, NRC learnt that despite your small stature and status as a 'magicless student', you were not to be trifled with, especially regarding your trash talking, shit eating cat.
Of course, on a completely unrelated note, when you first saw Leona, fuzzy ears peeking over a bush, all rational thought escaped you and you had given him a big hug, delighted by his fuzzy ears and swishy tail and cute cat like eyes. Nevermind he was a man. His cat-like features redeemed his unfortunate state.
This was definitely not because of the potion accident that had mystery liquid spilling and sparkling onto you, caused by the cutie duo you called friends, and your baby, Grim. Class had ended early because of them, and they were told (ordered) to send you back safely until it wore off. How you ended up in the garden, well, you couldn't quite remember, but it was probably Adeuce's fault anyways (and Grim).
You would never forget the look on Ruggie's face when he came across a small human girl babbling about lions and friend shaped murder cats, hugging the Leona Kingscholar as he sat, frozen, bewildered and blushing ever so slightly, entirely out of his depth.
Ruggie had cackled upon the scene, only to freeze as you snapped your heads towards him, eyes gleaming at the new set of fluffy ears and short, fuzzy tail that had blessed your presence. Before he could react, you had launched yourself at him, delightedly rambling about lions and hyenes and disney movies and documentaries as he caught you with an instinctive ease that reminded you of your older brother.
Now it was Leona's turn to laugh, snickering at his dorm mate's horrified and embarrased expression, as he held on to a girl chittering away like a particulalry deranged biologist who didn't get enough sleep (or alternatively just a really enthusiastic furry).
All that was registering in your head were the soft ears and the cute swishy tails both boys possesed, as you clung onto the hyena boy with all the strength you had in your body. You swore you would die before you let go, as you attempted to pet hyena boy's tail as he tried to (gently) get you off him, like you would a clingy housecat.
"Oi herbivore, knock it off," lion man cuts in, snickering as you held onto the hyena boy with all your strength as he tried to peel you off, albeit gently, face crimson.
"You're gonna give Ruggie a heart attack. Ya can't go around hugging people like that lady."
You turned from the sputtering spotted boy, locking eyes with the lion man, eyes glinting with a feral light.
He snorted again, his tail swishing languidly behind him, catching your attention as you crawled off hyena boy, whose name was Ruggie apparently (which was so freaking cute) who had now begun covering his face, whimpering in embarrasment.
You pointed at lion man with all the confidence and glee of a city girl on her first road trip who had just seen a cow or horse in the wild.
"Tail!" You exclaimed, before lunging at him again, trying to tackle his ass so you could touch the enticing swishy tail.
He let out a noise, holding his muscular arm out as you slammed into it, fingers wiggling as you were socially distanced against your will, whispering a "psspsspss" in hopes it would coax him (it always worked on Grim, no matter how much he denied it).
Lion man sent you a dry look of disbelief as you huffed in frustration, plopping your butt down to showcase how incredibly upset you were.
Ruggie had calmed down now, though a faint pinks till clung to his cheeks as he brushed himself down.
"Leona, what the fuck is going on-"
"THERE YOU ARE OMYGOD we've been looking for you everywhere," interrupted a panting Ace, who pointed his finger at you accusingly as you puffed your cheeks at him and pointed back.
Deuce, seemingly unaware of the two new fluffy companions you found, wandered towards you, squatting down, hands outstretched gently as he coaxed you.
"Come on prefect, we gotta bring you back to Ramshackle. Grim is waiting for you."
You eyed him suspiciously, before giving him a high five. Then, you turned back to the lion man, pointing at him, eyes wide and (literally) sparkling from the potion effects, "Can I pet you again pretty lion man please?"
All four boys present choked, with Ace letting out a noise akin to a dying seal, looking away when lion man threw him a dirty look. Deuce had gone pink, sputtering, and Ruggie had begin making a cute laughing sound like a spray bottle.
"Shishishi, pretty lion man. You're never living this down Leona," Ruggie pointed at him, slapping his knee in amusement.
Leona (what a pretty name!) ears had flattened in displeasure, and if looks could kill, the other three boys would be dead, buried, cremated. But to your surprise and joy, he didn't direct the harsh look at you, instead not meeting your eyes as he huffed out, "Shaddup herbivore. Oi, freshies, what's wrong with her?"
The Adeuce duo froze on the spot.
"Her?" They chorused.
"Yeah idiots. Her."
They stared at him, eyes wide, as he stared back, unimpressed, raising a brow as he swatted at your hands, which had been trying to reach for his tail. You crossed your arms and pouted up at him, which caused him to do another cute huff, fuzzy ears twitching, making you squeal and clap your hands, cooing again.
They ignored your ramblings, as Ace and Deuce stared at you, brains rebooting at the new piece of information.
"Wait, prefect, you're a girl?? But this is a boy's school?!" Ace exclaimed, whilste Deuce slowly turned lobster red, looking at the sky dazedly.
You turned towards the dynamic duo, before looking down at your ample chest. You pointed at it, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a little insult.
"I thought the boobs made it obvious? Or do I look like a man," You gasped, eyes tearing up at the very thought as you sniffled, tears dripping a glittery yellow as you started sobbing into your hands.
"I dunno, I thought you just had really thick chest muscles or something. Wait, are you crying??"
You shook your head, sobbing even harder, as Ace sputtered, rushing towards you, hands awkwardly hovering before he patted your shoulder hesitantly. Deuce was still in lalaland, looking as though he had just discovered enlightenment, or seen a group of hot women in bikinis, which you totally understood. You too, were a lover of women.
Leona clicked his tongue at Ace, before looking down at your sobbing form and sighing helplessly, patting your head. "Oi herbivore, don't cry. If anyone from the Sunset Savannah saw this I'd be canceled." He gestured Ruggie over.
"Here, pet his ears or somethin'."
Ruggie, who had come forward obediently, gaped at Leona's betrayal. But before he could protest, you looked at him sadly, tears streaming down your face as you made grabby hands at him, asking, "Ears?"
You had never seen a man fold so fast before. He crumpled like a wet paper bag, immediately kneeling and tilting his head towards you, grumbling up at the boys to "Shut up you assholes."
You pet his fuzzy, spotted ears, giving them a gentle scratch which caused to let a happy chuff as you giggled, tears slowing down.
Ace coughed at the sight, gesturing towards you. "Prefect, he - uh, she was involved in a potion accident. Professor Crewel said something about possible heightened emotions and impulses, and to bring him - her back to the dorm to wait it out." He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his heaed.
"We may have gotten briefly distracted and lost sight of the prefect. Sorry about…this," he gestured at you petting Ruggie and cooing about how he was a good boy (causing his little tail to wag), lips twitching.
He smacked Deuce, who was beside him, still in a daze. Deuce blinked, glanced down at you, then at Ace. "Ohmygod, prefect is a girl? You -, we bullied a -"
Ace shoved his hand against Deuce's mouth, flashing a fake smile to your two new fluffy friends. "We'll take prefect off your hands now, senpai."
Leona gave a small hum, eyeing the duo before shrugging and laying down again as he waved his hand dismissively, posing like a supermodel on the cover of Vogue magazine.
Ace had dragged you up and away from the fuzzy ears, causing you to let out a sad whimper as Ruggie winced in sympathy, looking two seconds away from snatching you back. His tail swished nervously as he stared back at Leona, who was staring at your trio in mild interest.
"Come on prefect, Grim is waiting for you. Ya gotta feed him remember?" Ace coaxed.
You perked up, hands reaching out to eagerly grasp onto Deuce, who had begun turning pink again. "Grim!! We need to feed my baby before he dies!!"
Ace rolled his eyes as your hands reached towards his, tugging him towards Ramshackle, blabbering about how much you loved Grim and his fuzzy paws and fluffy tummy.
You turned back to the fuzzy duo, hand briefly releasing Ace's arm from hostage as you waved frantically at them. "Bye pretty lion man and fuzzy hyena boy!! I'll be back! I need to feed my baby-"
Ace sighed again, tugging you towards Ramshackle with a grumble and very rudely cutting you off, causing you to start bickering with him.
Leona watched as the trio of freshies walked away, tail flicking in intrigue. "So that's the magicless herbivore everyone's yappin' about…"
Ruggie covered his ears protectively, cheeks still a faint pink as he turned to Leona, compliaining. "Leona, what the heck man -"
"Don't act like you didn't enjoy the attention," Leona drawled, smirking as Ruggie's face reddened. "What are ya here for anyways?"
Ruggie paused, opening his mouth, before closing it again.
warnings: afab!reader, pet names (baby, good girl), praise, reader is terrified of mikey LOL but warms up pretty fast, minor angst, pining, not implied kaku x reader, hes just mentioned cus i love him.
wc: 2.2k
a/n:i couldn’t get this song out of my head after i heard it and i thought it fit bonten!mikey so well. he’s so sad. TnT. i really wanted to write pt 2 of mikey’s part also, so this is purrfect!! may be a bit ooc, but idc. soft bonten!mikey ftw!!! this almost stayed sfw but i am nothing but a wh*re. a one track mind. anyways. soft… this is so soft. please love hims. ):
mikey has seen it all before, how could he not, when he holds the world in his hands? when one single command could ruin someone’s life, could set destruction wherever he wanted. each day comes and goes, routine settling deep in his bones. there’s no spark behind his eyes, hollow and empty. but he’s pretty like a seashell, fragility hiding behind the dark shadow of himself.
mikey didn’t think much when you were hired, wasn’t sure why he hired you anyway. but takeomi had insisted, have a pretty girl to take some of the burden off. but you ended up becoming less of his secretary and more of bonten’s secretary. and he found himself getting attached watching you flit around the headquarters like some maid. “ran, do you need help with that?” or “i’ll take the paperwork, don’t worry, kokonoi!” or “could someone please bring a warm tea up to mochi’s office?”
you maneuvered your way into all of them, gentle touches and even gentler wordings ringing in their ears like a song. you were available, physically and maybe sometimes emotionally, but you stayed at arm’s length and mikey knew why. simply put, you were afraid. afraid of getting too close, afraid that you were disposable like the random grunts who pissed haru off. but you were especially afraid of mikey, all of them would kill or order someone to be killed without a single hesitation, but who did they bow down to? their king, who they all followed dutifully. high above the king reigned supreme, and who were you but a simple pawn?
so you decided to drown in the work mikey gave you, heart hammering whenever he came too close. you needed this job, you needed to sustain yourself, you didn’t want to run back home, no you couldn’t run back home. even if you wanted to, you couldn’t put anyone you cared about in danger, not your parents nor your friends, knowing you stayed just a few feet away from the most dangerous men in Japan.
you had finished your work for today, finally done going through hours of mind-numbing paperwork. mikey had asked you to stay in late tonight and you had done just that, scrolling mindlessly on your phone waiting for your boss to come back. a means to distract yourself, since you loathed when it was just the two of you. that’s why you ran around the building like mad for other members that didn’t ignite your fight or flight. you hated the way your hands trembled when the door opened, automatically opening your texts with kakucho, not like he would come to your aid if you asked, never one to disobey his boss.
with the click of a lock, your stomach was flipping in waves, little alarm bells ringing through your brain and the grip on your phone became a little bit tighter. you could see him in your peripheral, the same expression as always, soulless, desolate, empty. sighing, he walked over to your desk, white locks falling by his eyes. there’s something on his mind as he reaches your desk, picking up some of your things, little trinkets you had gotten one day when ran mentioned how empty your desk was. he turns them in his hand, one by one, looking them over before setting them down.
“s-so,” you start, cutting through the silence, voice already shaky. “what’d you need from me, boss?” your hands start to move, one smoothing over your thigh, the other clicking the lock screen button on your phone repeatedly.
he doesn’t respond, instead sauntering to the couch and plopping down. he motions you over, two fingers up curled on his right hand, and you obey, slowly and shakily moving over. you sit opposite of him, trying to keep a good distance. if he’s upset by it, you can’t tell, dark eyes staring at you.
“i’m lonely.” he states, eyes trailing over you. your heart pounds at what he could be inferring, there’s no way, right? he’s never made a move on you before, it’s always been strictly business, besides he’s had you make dozens of calls to satisfy his urges before.
“oh! do you want me to make a call? i think, um, i think one of your girls should be free tonight, no?” you open your phone, contact: kakucho still visible on the top of your screen. are you alright? it reads, not realizing you had sent a text earlier, i’m scared.
he’s fast, snatching the device from your hands and throwing it to the floor, theres a few clacks as it bounces away. “i don’t want em.” you’re trembling, chest heaving, as he’s the closest he’s ever been, leaning into you as you try to back away. your body reacts on its own, shrinking down into the plush cushions. you brace yourself, waiting for him to start grasping at your clothes, but he doesn’t.
instead, one hand wraps around your wrist and gently tugs, “could.. you pretend you’re not scared of me? just for tonight?” his voice is so soft, whispery, and the hand around your wrist shakes lightly, like he’s the one who’s cornered.
you blink at him, there’s something in his eyes. something desperate and lonely, something that begs you to say yes. it melts away at your shaky core. just for tonight. you nod before adding, “i’ll try.”
he moves closer still and you steady yourself, deep breaths to make sure you don’t flinch. “just pretend i’m kakucho or somethin’,” he mumbles, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. you blush, it’s not like you were into kakucho, he just made you feel comfortable.
you’re still unsure what tonight will actually lead to, but you find yourself relaxing slightly in his arms. maybe it’s because you don’t have to do anything but stay there, in the embrace of a broken king.
“can i kiss you?” he asks, lips grazing your neck.
“where?” you gulp, a hint of that cruddy feeling in your stomach, clammy hands fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.
“here,” he breathes, pausing at your pulse-point.
you mull it over, but just for a moment, before you mumble out a shaky, “okay.”
he presses down and the kiss is soft, slow, and sweet. each time you anticipate that there will be something more, something harsh or heavy, there never is. every time he moves he asks again, “is it okay here?” and you say yes, over and over, as many times as he wants.
eventually, your hands stop trembling with fear, but want. each time his lips hover over a new spot you find yourself breathing out a yes before he even asks. one of your absent minded hands card through the tresses of his hair, as he moves a hand to the top button of your dress shirt.
“can i?” he asks, glancing up at you, a red tint on his cheeks. when you nod he seems to relax a bit as he slowly unbuttons your top revealing your bra underneath.
his hands ghost your exposed skin and you blush under his burning gaze. “you’re so beautiful.” his hands continue trailing, stopping at your waistband. “can-“
“yes,” you breathe, “you can.” it comes with an air of finality, the essence of letting go of your fear in return for what you desire. behind those cold, coal eyes, you think you see a spark, a dimly lit fire in the darkness of his soul.
he’s a little bit faster, only slightly, wanting to relish in the way you’re under him as he slips the rest of your clothing off, slick cunt on display. you react to every touch, a whimper escaping your lips when he flits his fingers over your clit.
he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. it’s tender, deep, and needy. he keeps kissing you as he slips one finger in, the gasp from your mouth allowing him to slip his tongue in. he inserts another, loving the way you arch up into him, messy tongues sliding over each other. he groans into you, feeling the way your needy cunt is already twitching on him, scissoring you open for later.
“mikey..” you sigh in between kisses, drool running down the side of your mouth, “please,” grinding your hips into his hand. he pulls his hand out to undress himself and you whine, trying to find something to grind onto. he thinks you’re a greedy little thing, but it’s better than when you shy away from him, much better in fact.
when he’s done, he hooks your legs up around his waist, giving his leaky cock a few pumps. he scans your face one more time as he lines up with your entrance, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop. he would if you wanted him to, but you give no indication, instead watching his cock with pretty, wanting eyes.
like before, he’s slow as he pushes in, the tightness of your pussy around his cock has his mind spinning. for you, it’s a little uncomfortable, the stretch being something you never get used to no matter who it is, but the gentleness and earlier prep has you melting into him. as he bottoms out, hips flush with yours, he presses his forehead to yours before leaning in for another kiss.
he stills for a bit, eyes shut, savoring the feel of your wet, tight cunt. how long has he wanted you? if he thinks about it, probably since the day he met you.
“mikey?” you ask, and he snaps his eyes open. you’re so pretty, he thinks, as even prettier words leave your mouth. “p-please fuck me already.”
you mewl into him as he starts to move, steady rolls of his hips into yours sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. he pants as he glances down, watching your greedy hole suck him in.
“you feel so good,” he groans, “like you were fucking made for me.” using a particular harsh slam to punctuate his sentence.
your toes curl as the wet slap of skin reverberates throughout the room, before you’re putting your arms around him to tug him close, nails digging into his back.
“you close, baby? gonna cum for me?” he murmurs into your ear, feeling you clench down on him. “you like that? you wanna be mine? want me to fill you up everyday, so everyone knows whose pussy this belongs to?” he’s rambling now, eyes squeezed shut as your tight cunt continues to twitch on his cock.
“yeah,” you babble back, his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over, “‘m wanna be yours, want you to fuck me everyday,” he’s so deep and fills you up so well, you can’t help but want this. “f-fuck, mikey, i’m cumming!” you gasp, clamping down and creaming all over him, body shaking as you whimper into his neck to ride out your high.
“good girl,” he groans, “such a good job, baby.” it’s sort of dream-like for him, the way you moan and whine as he fucks you makes him want to keep going. but the continuous twitch of your walls has his hips stuttering out as he fills you up, hot white ropes of seed washing over your walls. he collapses on you, head buried in your neck, wrapping his arms snugly around you.
its quiet as the two of you bask in the afterglow, save for the ring of your phone. you peek over and squeak, trying to move mikey off of you, “ah, it’s kakucho, he’s-“
mikey places a finger on your lips, brows knit with a pout on his face as he presses hard down on you to keep you in place. it’s foreign to see your boss look so childlike, but it’s pretty cute, your heart fluttering at the sight. “you didn’t pretend earlier, so you’re not allowed to mention him now.” he grumbles, and you tilt your head to the side wondering what he’s talking about.
“just pretend i’m kakucho or somethin’”.
“o-oh,” you stammer when the realization hits. “right.” you stare at the ceiling, wondering how you ended up in such a predicament, not too long ago you couldn’t even be within the same room as him without panicking. now, you’re in his arms, skin to skin with his seed inside you, your cheek resting on his head. you don’t notice the absentminded stroke of your hand on the small of his back.
but mikey does and is once again struck by how someone as gentle as you wormed their way into the worst crime syndicate. he’s not sure if it’s love, but it’s probably something close. he’s like putty in your arms, unwilling and unable to pull out, even as you shift your legs to find a comfier position.
“let me stay here,” he mumbles, drowsiness taking over his limbs. “just for tonight, you can hate me again tomorrow.” but you know it’s not just for tonight anymore. there will be tomorrow night or maybe it’ll be next week, but you know you’ll find yourself in his arms again.
“i never…” you mumble, frowning, you want to say you’ve never hated him. you were just afraid, but the words don’t come out stuck on your tongue.
“don’t worry about it.” he yawns and you nod, it’s so different right now. you’re afraid to say anymore and ruin the atmosphere.
mikey has seen it all, but he thinks that the view of you is the best he's seen. it’s quiet again and he stays on you, in you, as the gentle rise of your chest lulls him to sleep.
request: mikey with a s/o that has 4 brothers and her dad, and she’s spending time w her family but mikey thinks that reader is hanging out w other boys. he gets jelly jellyyy 🥲
cw: fluff, jealous mikey, Kantou Manji Mikey, fem!reader (can still read even if you don’t know which he is), and jokes
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
