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tsuy4n · 4 days ago

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The Artist Who Lives for the Plot -🖋

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 teensy weeny angst,

[A/n]: Honestly, I don't feel too sure about this chapt but I had fun so it's a win. Enjoy, lovelies!💞

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, >Part 8<

You wake up to the worst sound imaginable.

Not your phone alarm. Not birds chirping. Not the faint hum of traffic or someone's obnoxious dog.

No. You wake up to a barrage of overlapping chaos.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!!

BWAAAAAAH. BWAAAAH.

COCK-A-DOODLE-FUCKING-DOO.

Your eyes snap open with the speed of someone who's just been told they're late to a final exam they didn't know they had. You sit up halfway, pillow lines still dented on your cheek. Brain foggy. Lips dry. Mood instantly ruined.

You blink once. Twice.

And mutter, hoarse and homicidal, "What the actual hell."

You glance at your phone on the nightstand. It's dark. No alarms going off. No calls. No sirens of doom.

Yet the sound is still going strong. Loud. Disrespectful. Echoing through the walls.

Grumbling, you swing your legs out of bed and drag yourself to the door like a zombie returning to the land of the vengeful. The noise gets louder as you approach.

You open your door and just stare. There they are. Right outside your room. Seven. Fucking. Alarm. Clocks. All of them different. All of them screaming.

There's a banana-shaped one that blinks with an obnoxious LED display.

A retro bell alarm that looks like it came straight from the underworld—complete with little devil horns. One is, why, duct-taped to a frying pan.

They're all lined up like a battalion of mechanical minions carrying out a coordinated psychological attack.

(You'd never guess Mystery helped place one of the clocks outside your door. He didn't care about the prank, he just really wanted you in the crowd.)

You just stand there, hair a mess, shirt slipping off one shoulder, processing whatever the hell Satan has in store for you again for surviving another day.

"Are you—kidding me?" You exhale through your nose before stomping forward and shutting each one off like you're defusing a bomb.

You don't even bother being gentle. They all get a slap or a swift flip. You swear the banana-shaped one whines on its way out.

Once the last one is silenced, the silence feels suspiciously loud. Like the calm before another storm.

You turn and grab your phone from the nightstand, about ready to choose violence. You don't even know which of them you're going to yell at first, but you're absolutely about to start swinging. Verbally. Maybe physically. Or artistically with ugly caricatures and shame posters.

You're already imagining it: each of their smug faces drawn with unflattering features. Huge ears. Crooked teeth. Jinu with a receding hairline. Tape them all around the house. Frame one above the toilet.

But then your phone lights up and you pause.

13 missed calls.

37 unread messages.

You blink then squint. "…They should just make a damn group chat at this point."

You scroll through the avalanche of chaos:

Romance Awake, princess? Destiny is calling. And by destiny, I mean me. I look hot today. Nothing new tho Try not to cry during the performance. Or do. I'll comfort you <3

Abby HEYYY BABE!! You coming or what??? If I don't see you, I'm posting that ugly pic I took of you sleeping on the couch.

Baby A voice message of him rapping over a beat made entirely of your recorded snores. ("This is art.," He said. You nearly choke on air.)

Mystery Hope to see you today :)

You stare at the smiley face. Cute.

And finally, Jinu. You pause at his message.

Jinu Jinu deleted a message Be there

You blink. "…What?"

No emojis. No punctuation. Just two words. You're not even sure if it’s a promise, a threat, or some kind of secret code.

He deleted a message before sending that, too. What did he write the first time? A poem? An incantation? A grocery list?

You reread it. "Be there."

Not I'll be there. Not See you soon. Just— Be there. Like a command from a prophecy. Did you summon him on accident?

You're 99% sure he didn't write this with thumbs. You've seen him struggle with a touchscreen before. He types with one finger. Like a grandpa. Staring with such concentration you half-expected the phone to burst into flames from sheer intimidation.

One time he got a notification that said Do Not Disturb, and he paused like it was a puzzle. "It says do not disturb... Should I knock first?"

Dead serious.

To be fair, the others are kind of weird too. They don't always get slang or certain references—like they missed a memo from 2005 to now.

Sometimes they’ll blink at words like "slay" or "rizz" like you spoke another language. And yet, somehow, they all still text leagues better than Jinu. Which is saying something.

Because Jinu… He texts like someone who's only heard of texting through folklore. You're convinced autocorrect gave up on him years ago.

And emojis? You saw him once try to drag a smiley face into the message like he thought it was a sticker.

At this point, you're not even sure the phone belongs to him. Could be a manager's. Could be cursed. Could belong to a demon pigeon with unlimited data. You wouldn’t be surprised.

Either way, you're saving the screenshot. For blackmail. Or for science.

Then you glance back at the seven clocks. Your rage returns in full.

From what you know, the boys don't own alarm clocks. Like, not once have you heard them ring before. Which begs the question:

Where the hell did these come from? Were they stacked away in a storage closet? Summoned from the void?

Is this some weird rich-kid tradition? Wake people up with designer alarm clocks and emotional trauma?

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You were going to brush your teeth first. Maybe slap on a face mask Romance has provided you. Pretend the day started normal. But then—

You see it. Something yellow taped to the wall outside your room. Large and bold letters. Bright. But you don't necessarily pay much attention to it.

Still groggy, you walk to the kitchen. Maybe if you remember, you'll get a good look at it eventually. You don't bother picking up the clocks. They can rot there.

You do, however, praise the boys for not putting them inside your room. Because if they had, one of them would've woken up with a sketch of themselves bald and crying. Framed.

You reach the kitchen, grab a glass, and pour yourself some water like you're trying to recover from war. That's when you spot the second flyer. Taped to the fridge.

You deadpan then shake your head. Finally, you decide to read it but with anger creeping.

And next to it, the most chaotic collective note you've ever seen:

SAJA BOYS

FREE CONCERT — TODAY @ NOON.

Come and capture our beauty! It'd be nice if you fall in love along the way (clearly Romance because he drew a little doodle of himself blowing a kiss) I'll see you there. (Mystery. It's not even a question or 'please' His text was much better...) You need more inspiration for your drawings. Better ones (Definitely Baby, because the last part was written with a glitter pen. He's the only one who likes to annoy you with it) And also to change your type. You need to witness history. (Jinu because it's FULL of arrogance) If you come, I'll let you take pics of me shirtless. You're welcome. (As if it's not already so obvious, it's Abby)

You don't know whether to laugh or strangle them.

Romance isn't wrong about their beauty, unfortunately. But the way his ego needs to be beaten with a stick is astounding.

Baby is clearly throwing shade at your art. Bold of him, considering he once got stuck in a folding chair for 5 minutes.

Jinu's line has you scowling. Change your type? What's that supposed to mean?! And what exactly is your type, huh?

You pause. Eyes flit to Abby's note. Hm. Maybe.

And Mystery… his is the most normal. Which is almost creepier. He wrote like he actually meant it. Which is somehow scarier than all the others.

Then your brain finally catches up. Those messages and the flyer.

Free concert.

SAJA BOYS.

TODAY.

You look at the clock on the microwave. 11:23 AM. You facepalmed. They didn't tell you last night.

They didn't mention this during dinner. Or while fighting over who left crumbs on the couch. Or when they bullied you into giving them attention at 1 fucking AM. (You were reading this fancomic and was at the good part, but of course!)

Damn it.

Did Jinu really let this whole thing happen? You had little belief on him. He may be insufferable like the rest, but he was at least smarter.

Mystery, too.

You bolt. Straight to the bathroom. Quickest shower of your life. Slapdash skincare. A swipe of lip tint so you don't look freshly resurrected.

You throw on the first halfway-decent outfit you can find, yank a cap over your head, shove your wallet and phone into your bag, and sprint like the building's on fire.

(You still haven't bought your own clothes. At this point, your wardrobe's just a rotating selection of the boys' stuff.)

Thank the heavens it's just one bus stop away. You'll let the air dry your hair— fuck, it's a bit chilly.

You grip the flyer tighter as you wait for the bus. You swear vengeance.

—

You arrive just as the crowd finishes forming, like some miracle child of speed and caffeine. You squeeze your way in, panting lightly, looking around as the music starts.

There was pink smoke at the middle. Right on time, you think. The saja boys appear with a synchronized dance.

Jinu steps forward and sings. You nearly choke.

His voice is smooth—clean, polished, almost… expensive. Like that feeling when you walk into a store and suddenly feel poor. That's what his voice sounds like. If only his personality wasn't so—

You don't know what hits you first. Their stage presence? Their aura? The fact that they actually look like idols in your eyes for the first time again?

Then Mystery takes over.

Oh. Oh no.

His voice is soft. Too soft. Gentle in a way that feels… wrong coming from him. You've heard him speak a few times before. He's got one of those low, nice voices you barely notice until he actually uses it. But this? This isn't just nice.

It's stunning.

A warm breeze after a long day. Cotton candy spun into a lullaby. Every syllable settles somewhere in your chest and refuses to leave. You blink, genuinely confused why your heartbeat feels louder all of a sudden.

You don't say anything, but your body betrays you. You stand straighter. Your grip on your phone tightens. You lean in.

Was this always in him?

You feel weirdly… proud. Like you just watched your dog roll over and recite Shakespeare. He's not your dog, obviously. That'd be weird.

But you've always treated him like one—quiet, observant, probably too smart, but still sort of harmless. And now he's got this voice? This voice that could easily seduce the stock market into crashing for him?

You gulp.

Adrenaline or admiration, you're not sure what's flooding your veins. Maybe both. Maybe something else you're not ready to name. But whatever it is, it doesn't stop.

Because right after him, Romance comes in and punches the mood sideways with a voice that fizzes like cola and sunshine. His vocal is similar to Mystery. Majestic. Heavenly. A goddamn deadly combo.

And then Baby crashes in with that stupid smirk and a rap flow that hits like a firework in the face. He's cocky, flashy, too much—and you eat it up. Against your will.

Abby backs him up. It was smooth, controlled, charming like he knows he is. Because he is.

You glance around like you need someone to witness this with you, but everyone's already too far gone.

You raise your phone. It's instinct. You start snapping pictures at lightning speed, ducking between heads, crouching for better angles like some desperate ninja mom at her kid's school performance.

You click your tongue in frustration. A better camera would be so nice right now. Stupid old phone. Why do you suddenly care about pixels?

This isn't even for blackmail. You just want to remember it. The moment you saw them not as the guys who ruined your peace and stole your (not really) couch, but as something else.

Performers. Artists. Stars.

Your eyes definitely lit up. You were lowkey fangirling. Very lowkey that you forgot about their real personalities for a moment.

This shit is good. So good that you almost screamed along with the crowd like someone possessed.

Then someone nudges your shoulder, acting all calm and cool but the smile on their eyes was so visible. "Hey."

You turn and spot her—tall, short-haired, wearing a black mask. Minji. Your face lights up even more. This day could never get any more better.

The two of you vibe wordlessly to the music, just copying the way how the boys moved their shoulders then laughing under your breath like it's your shared concert dream. Comfort, warmth. Pure friend vibes.

The song hits its final beat. The crowd cheers, feral. You and Minji scream a little too as Jinu speaks about a game show happening tonight.

And then poof. Pink smoke. Gone.

You blink. They vanished. Just like that. No trace. No one questions it because everyone was too focused on rambling and cheering about the new boyband.

Huh... something about that smoke feels familiar. Your eyes narrow a little.

Minji disturbs your spiraling as she sighed dreamily. "Oh my god, the hot boys vanished. I need all their names. I'm officially a fan. That pink long haired one? Mine."

You snort. She points at the flyer like it's sacred scripture. Then she turns to you, basically bombing you with questions like she had her system fixed.

"How've you been, though? After the fire and all? Where do you live now? I've got some clothes I can bring over. You still hate [color], right—"

Then your phone buzzes. More than once. Minju gestures for you to go on ahead since it seems like she also got an important text.

Jinu wee rr ou?

You squint your eyes as if the wording will magically fix itself. Did he type those words fast instead of taking his time?

An image of Jinu violently tapping his keyboard with one finger and crashing out cuz he's having a hard time came to mind. You snort but then you see those three dots appear.

—

Jinu where are you.

...No question mark? Just when you were thinking of replying, three dots appear again, then they quickly disappear.

Jinu 😄

That's much scarier. Just when you were getting a bad feeling, messages notified from the others boys as well.

—

Baby We said watch us not "watch us and bring your lover along so you could bond"

"What's he on about??" You mutter to yourself absentmindedly. He sounds like a bitter ex. And what? Lover???

Minji stares, wondering what's up because of the face you pulled.

Just when you're about to touch the 'back' button and check on the others, another message from him arrived.

Baby I bet he can't pull pink like I do.

You glanced at Minji, who also looked up from her phone and raised a brow. You pat her shoulder and she cursed at you despite not knowing what was happening. She just felt offended.

—

Romance Are you cheating on me??

"???"

Romance Just kidding You know better than that, right?

You do not know how to react to that. Or any of their messages.

—

You pause and stare at Mystery's mesage.

Mystery I thought you liked me best.

Your thumb hovers. Then lowers. Okay. What the hell does that mean.

Suddenly, the sweet one's acting like he's narrating the final act of your villain origin story. You don't know whether to be flattered, scared, or delete your entire online presence.

And as you're processing the messages you've read, your phone buzzes again— Of course. There's only one person whose message you haven't seen in this madness.

—

Abby So this is what we're doing now? Didn't realize being replaced was part of today's schedule.

Replaced??? By Minji??? Your literal girl best friend since middle school???

You stare at the screen like you're disintegrating. Like Thanos snapped his fingers and you were personally chosen to fade into dust.

You were going to choose peace. You really were. Turn off your phone, catch up with your girl, maybe eat something sweet and forget the world.

And then, Baby's message appears.

—

Baby Meet us here. [location] Unless you want us coming over and ruining your cute date :)

You freeze. They are unhinged. It's like they want to have a scandal right now, barely a breath past their debut.

—

Romance You should hurry btw! We're not stopping your favorite dog from waltzing back there😘

You blink as if an error has gone wrong with your system. Dog?

Does he mean—Mystery? That message really came from him???

You thought he was the tame one. The harmless one. The sweet, slightly offbeat guy who talked like whispers and moved like static. Sure, he creeped you out once or twice, but you chalked it up to the bangs. And the staring.

But now? Apparently he's the one you really need to keep on a leash. (Not that they all aren't but still)

One second you were floating, mesmerized by their performance, and the next, you're being reminded of who they 'really' are.

Or rather... how little you know.

—

Abby You should come on over now. We'll give you cake after we talk 💕

Talk? As if. You send a quick reply that you're on the way then shove your phone inside your bag.

You pull Minji into a hug so sudden she yelps. "You're the sweetest. This was amazing. I'll text you. Definitely. But I—uh, I gotta go now. You know. Evil emergency."

"Go, go." She laughs, clearly used to your dramatics but confused on what the last one meant. "I also need to do some work stuff at home. Be sure to chat!!"

You wave, backpedal, and disappear into the street. You're not sure whether to scold them or punch them when you arrive. Probably both.

...Probably.

—

It was a three-minute walk.

You didn't run—no. You're not some wide-eyed undergrad scrambling to avoid a professor's wrath. But that didn't mean you were strolling either.

Half of you thought, There's no way they'd risk their entire idol career over a misunderstanding, right?

The other half? Knew better than to underestimate five men with too much free time, too many pretty faces, and not enough impulse control.

You stepped inside the café. The moment you crossed the threshold, the air shifted—dense and heavy like fog before a storm. The lights seemed dimmer, the air colder, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

A staff member looked up, eyes locking with yours for a second too long before they went back to wiping the same spot on the counter. Their movements were smooth. Too smooth.

Like they were mimicking what a human might do, without fully understanding why. Something about their stillness tugged at the edge of your nerves.

No other customers in sight. Just you... and them.

You spotted all five instantly, seated around the largest table like it was some underground poker ring and you were walking into your own intervention. They felt different.

But you? You felt somewhat thrilled because the sight is so poster material. You almost forgot about the madness earlier, and almost told them to hold those poses still.

"Finally." Came a voice from behind you. You jolted—Baby's breath ghosting against your ear, his voice deceptively light like he needed to keep an act. "Our cute little artist has arrived."

You turned, startled. Since when did he get behind you? This was usually Mystery's role—haunting you like some brooding spirit. But he was seated, eerily composed beside Jinu, who sat dead-center like the leader of a particularly sexy cult.

Baby's tone was wrong. Still laced in sweetness, but it clung like spoiled syrup. He smiled like this was your doomsday.

Abby perked up next, flashing his usual grin. Only this time it didn’t reach his eyes. There was a glint there—something too sharp, too watchful. He stood and pulled a chair out for you like a gentleman, like a trap was about to be sprung.

"Princess." Romance greeted, stepping forward to take your hand like this was prom night and not the opening scene of a psychological thriller. "Mind telling us who the lucky guy is?"

You blinked as he gently guided you to sit. "…Huh?"

Baby dropped into the seat on your other side. Abby slid back behind you, and Romance sat to your right. Suddenly, you were flanked. Boxed in. Hands held, hair touched, like a very pretty hostage at a very chaotic court.

"Thought we had something special." Abby added with a teasing lilt that didn't quite hide the pressure behind his words. He twirled a lock of your hair between his fingers, smiling like he wasn't seconds away from biting.

Your brain stuttered, caught between is this a bit and am I being sacrificed.

Romance's thumb brushed your knuckles. His grin was still in place, perfect, sharp, dazzling—but for a second, just a blink, the edges of his irises caught the light wrong. A glint of gold. Not brown. Not hazel. Gold.

A flicker of something not quite human. And something disturbingly familiar.

The image stung. Not because it scared you. But because it reminded you of something.

Smoke. Sirens. Flames swallowing up your vision. And then: arms catching you. Holding you like glass. Eyes, glowing in the dark. Golden. That was the last thing you saw before collapsing.

But it stuck with you.

The same way certain panels stay burned in your mind from your favorite stories—the ones that made your chest ache, or your skin crawl, or both. And maybe you'd read too many of them.

Maybe your Webtoon-Manhwa-Wattpad-Manga-wired brain was running wild again. You did write one, after all.

Still. You knew tropes. Patterns. You had radar, and it was twitching like hell.

Your lips curled—barely. Just enough to tip the tension. You caught the exact moment Jinu's gaze narrowed, brows knitting like he noticed that flicker in you now. Spite. A little glint of mischief.

It was earned.

What kind of normal, functioning adult, human or not, wakes you up with seven alarm clocks outside your door like it's a horror movie?

Who tapes flyers around just to announce their new group's debut, as if you were their manager-slash-prisoner? As if you didn't need peace? Quiet? An ounce of sanity?

So fine. If they wanted to be weird? You could match that energy just fine. You've done it several times.

Mystery finally spoke. His voice cut through the cafe's low murmur, velvet-wrapped and ice-cold. "What's his name, [Y/n]?"

The room didn't go silent. But it felt like it did.

You tilted your head, playing it cool. Then you blinked at them. "Why do you wanna know?"

The question wasn't naive. It was a challenge. A dare wrapped in sugar.

Baby let out a low, short laugh beside you, slinging his arm casually across the back of your chair. "Nothing much." He hummed.

And you? You just smiled. Because spite looked good on you.

"Sure." You replied flatly, eyes flicking toward the too-casual arm, the possessive grip of Romance still intertwined with your fingers, and the sudden weight of Abby's hands resting on your shoulders like a crown of warning.

To you, this was amusing. To them, this was heresy.

If this was meant to scare you, it wasn't working. If anything, you were disappointed no one had brought roses or fake blood.

"You're not taking this seriously." Jinu said quietly. It was the first time he’d spoken since you sat down.

His lips were slightly pushed forward, like something had hit a nerve and he didn't know how to play it off. It threw you off.

You blinked at him. Was Jinu… pouting?

Not in the theatrical, deliberate way Baby did it. Not like Mystery, who used silence like a knife, or Romance, who turned guilt into performance art. No—this was different.

Jinu sat a little too still. His brows were drawn, and for someone so good at putting on a face, this felt off script. And somehow, that was worse.

Because you found this side of him cute and charming.

Your brain stalled. Was he actually upset? Or was this another mask—some guilt tactic he hadn't tried yet?

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't look at me like that." You said finally.

He didn't reply. Just gave a tiny shrug, like he was trying to pretend he hadn't reacted at all. But his silence said more than any smirk ever could.

You refused to let it rattle you.

"It feels like I'm in some reverse harem murder mystery." You say coolly while cocking your head. "Is there going to be a confession or a stabbing next? I just need to emotionally prepare."

Romance let out a short huff—could've been a laugh, could've been a threat. His grip on your hand tightened briefly, and you weren't sure if it was comfort or a warning. Abby was the only one trying to understand you just said.

Mystery stared at you like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. Baby, meanwhile, leaned forward like a shark sniffing blood.

And then, quietly, Jinu blinked. "…Reverse harem?" Sometimes you were a mystery like, well, Mystery.

The others froze.

Mystery goes into a deep thought. "…Is that one of your human cults?"

Romance tilted his head, puzzled. "Is that like a summoning technique?"

You blinked. Wait. They didn't know what it meant?

Baby was already pulling out his phone behind his back, whispering, "How do you spell 'reverse harem'? Like… with an H?"

They all reacted at once—blinking, smirking, looking away. Not one of them gave you a straight answer. Just the usual brand of cryptic silence.

"You could say that." Abby said lightly, still standing behind you. His voice was smooth, almost amused. "But let's not forget something important."

Then his hand settled on the crown of your head. Gentle, sure. But his tone carried something you couldn't quite name. Something that made your skin prickle beneath the contact.

You didn't flinch, though. You just sat there, perfectly still, like that was enough of a response.

There was a crackle in the air. That kind of dramatic tension that made you want to either bolt or clap sarcastically like you were in a play.

You didn't bother turning to look at Abby. Instead, you went with your usual defense: Sarcasm.

Why were they all so pressed about you hanging out with a guy? Not that you were, but still. The energy was just weird.

"Oh yeah?" You said, matching his tone. Your head tilted slightly, mock-patient. "That sounds totally believable coming from five guys cornering me in a café like this is a deleted scene from You."

The silence snapped tight that you could practically hear the chair creak.

And then casually, like you were just ordering, you said, "Her name's Minji, by the way."

All five froze. They didn't like that mischievous glint in your eyes though.

Romance, still holding your hand, said slowly, "...Her?"

You nodded. "Minji. That's who I was with. You know. We were catching up since it's been a while. She said she'd bring me clothes. So romantic. Truly scandalous behavior. I should be locked up."

There was a beat.

Abby blinked twice. "Wait. You were with a girl?"

The atmosphere flipped like someone hit a reset button. You almost let out a cackle.

Romance dropped your hand like it burned. Baby exhaled, slumping into his chair like the weight of the world disappeared on his shoulders.

Abby gave your shoulder a gentle pat as if telling you "good job for not having a man," before finally taking his seat. You think you're reading into it too much. Either way, you still didn't know how to feel about this whole thing.

Mystery, ever the subtle one, leaned back and stared at the ceiling like he hadn't just spent the last ten minutes telepathically interrogating you.

Jinu just stared. He blinked slowly, his pout gone, replaced with quiet betrayal. "…You could've just said that earlier."

You point your finger, dragging it on each of them with an annoyed smile. "You could've asked like normal people."

"We're not normal people." Baby said cheerfully, eyes now half-lidded. There it was, his grin, now back to being lazy and wicked. (like him)

Something about the way he said it made you pause. You weren't sure if he meant it like a joke, or if there was a punchline buried somewhere darker. The others laughed.

You huffed, eyes narrowing like you were staring down a bunch of misbehaving kittens and puppies. "Oh, believe me." You said flatly, "I know."

Then you turned back to Jinu, who smiled again—and it caught you off guard, again. He looked… relieved. Actually, they all did. With Mystery right beside him, arms crossed but shoulders loose, even he seemed to have calmed down.

That same tension from earlier, the one that had been buzzing under their skin was gone. They looked… oddly at peace now.

And that's when your brain started doing the thing.

You squinted at them. Just a little.

'Okay.' You thought, switching to detective mode like some main character in a show or comic. 'This could be two things.'

You said the thought out loud before you could stop yourself. "Either you guys are jealous… or you've unlocked some weird older-brother instinct and decided to collectively ruin my social life."

Abby scrunched his nose. "Older what—?"

Jinu glanced at the latter and scowled. "I don't like that one."

"Brother?" Mystery echoed with pure offense, as if the word burned his tongue.

Baby side-eyed you as if you personally offended him (you did). "What kind of tragic label is 'like a sister'?"

Romance basically facepalmed. "Oh, princess..."

They all pulled faces like you'd just called them your uncles. You blinked. Stared. Blinked again.

Your mouth was formed into an 'o'. "…So it's the first one, huh."

Oh.

Oh no.

You stared at them for a long moment, letting your thoughts spiral into dangerous, unsupervised territory.

'Five guys. Coordinated tension. One literally standing protectively behind me like we're seconds away from a fight scene. This is… this is Chapter 46 of every Reverse Harem Café AU I've ever read.'

You tilted your head, purely for science.

Your brain clicked the trope boxes like it was taking attendance. You blinked slowly, stunned. 'Am I the female lead right now?'

The jealous childhood friend.

The quiet one who stares too long.

The suspiciously flirty muscle-head.

The polite one hiding knives behind his smile.

The one who disappears then shows up exactly when you need him.

The thought hit you so hard, you actually laughed—right in front of them. They all turned, confused. You didn't care.

You threw your hands in the air like you'd just won a game show. "HA! I knew that manhwa addiction would pay off someday."

They ignored you. A mistake on their part because it only made you more annoying. Though they did find that smile on your face adorable, so maybe a little less annoying.

"Well, maybe next time," You said sweetly, clasping your hands together with faux innocence, "try sending a normal text before forming a jealousy-powered boyband intervention, huh?"

Abby stood up from his seat and went back to standing from behind you. He leaned forward, his arms draping heavily over your shoulders. His grin was dangerous, teasing. Like he was planning to match your energy or challenge you on whatever you've started.

"Don't be angry, sweetheart." He cooed. "Should I give you a kiss to make it even?"

You didn't even look at him—you just shoved his face away the second you caught the movement from the corner of your eye.

"Quit it!"

Abby only laughs and wraps his muscular arms around your shoulders now instead of letting it hang. He sticks his face close to yours, and you only huff. His muscles felt nice.

"Oh, but we need to make it up to you." Romance joins in with a dramatic sigh as he holds your hand back again. He brings it to his cheek and looks at you with doe eyes, attempting to be cute.

Your brow twitched. Pretty boys and their...well, pretty faces. Attempting to keep a cool front, you only stare at him with a dead look. That made Romance react like he got his heart break.

From beside you, Baby snorts. Then he reached his hand out, his turn on playing with your hair between his fingers as he smiled lazily.

On the other side of the table, you could feel Mystery's gaze on you, like he also wanted to do whatever the other three were doing.

Meanwhile, Jinu just sighed, defeated while his cheeks were lightly shaded in pink. He felt embarrassed for doing all of that and yet the boys seemed completely fine.

Moments later, Mystery stood up and Romance smiled at you charmingly. "Let's get you that cake, princess."

Before anyone could answer, Mystery had vanished—only to return seconds later, balancing two mismatched plates with all the flair of a stage magician. He placed them in front of you with careful precision.

One was a neat slice of strawberry shortcake. The other, a rich chocolate ganache that looked like it had six layers and trust issues.

"If none of them is your favorite," He said, tone light and gaze oddly focused, "we'll just order more."

He looked... expectant. Not smug or impatient, just waiting.

You stared at him then glanced at the others who were now on their own little worlds. They didn't comment, didn't snort, didn't tease. No one said a word.

You took the cake quietly and said, "Thank you." You don't know it was your eyes playing a trick on you, but it felt like Mystery lit up. You lift your fork and just took bite.

It was good. Really good. But that wasn't what had your brain stuttering.

Mystery was watching you like you might smile or praise him. Like a dog sitting patiently after learning a new trick. You were weirdly touched by that.

So touched that you almost forgot—

Oh, right. You were cornered five-to-one ten minutes ago like the final girl in a twisted boyband horror short.

You stared at Jinu dead in the eye. Mostly because he literally sat across you. "I deserve some nice coffee as well."

He laughs but doesn't say some stupid remark that'll result in both of you clashing.

And just like that, the mob boss tension disappeared. Romance started asking about performance feedback like he hadn't tried to scare you into confessing your feelings.

Abby went back to poking your cheek. Baby was plotting something in silence, scribbling little doodles on your napkin with a stolen pen.

You had just taken another bite when Jinu, with no transition at all, leaned forward. "...But you did like the performance, right?"

You glanced up slowly, unbothered, chewing in serene silence as you reached for your coffee with the grace of a noblewoman preparing to demolish a council of fools.

One pinky in the air, a faint hum of pleasure as the bitter warmth hit your tongue. It was giving CEO of Pretending She Wasn't Betrayed by Her Roommates This Morning.

Before you could so much as blink dramatically, Baby slid toward you with the ease of someone who had no concept of personal space or shame. He reached out, flicked your chin just slightly to tilt your face his way.

"Be honest." His voice dipped to that dangerously charming register. Classic Baby.

Saying you weren't affected by his action would be a big fat lie. But you were committed to this bit—stoic expression, deadpan delivery, the art of psychological warfare disguised as nonchalance. The calm and cool font was engaged. Bolded. Italicized.

And can you guess who didn't look too happy? Obviously, the evil Baby! He retreated with a pout that deserved to be painted in oils and hung in a museum.

But you know damn well he'll keep trying to get some kind of reaction out of you. And it won't just be him. Romance and Abby are both in it too.

You caught on it ever since it was your third day at work. They were trying a little too hard with those lines for getting a peak at your sketchbook.

You almost let that evil smile slip as the memory danced in your head. Instead, you crossed one leg over the other and gave them a look. One that could silence a boardroom.

"The vocals," You began, voice steady, tone measured. "were perfect."

Silence. Like a pin-drop could be dramatic enough to underscore what you just said.

"I mean—perfect." You repeated, like it wasn't clear the first time. "Stable, clean, stupidly smooth. And don't even get me started on the harmonies."

You tilted your head slightly, as if genuinely baffled. "Who even arranged that? Who gave you the audacity to slap me in the face with that bridge?"

Your eyes narrowed like you were reliving war flashbacks in high-definition Dolby Atmos. "You blended falsetto like that in broad daylight. Like the sun was out. No warning. No remorse."

Now you were off. Hands gesturing wildly, like punctuation. You weren't critiquing anymore, you were testifying.

"The song is literally contagious. Like I'm gonna be brushing my teeth tonight and then suddenly—bam—chorus in my head. And not even the annoying part, like, the good part. The kind that makes me pause and go, 'Damn, this goes kinda hard.'"

Your words sped up, your voice carried, a mix of disbelief and sheer pride tangled together. "The fact that that's your debut? No. No, I'm actually mad. That's criminal. That's not fair to the rest of the industry. Someone call the authorities."

You didn't even notice the five boys sitting in stunned silence, watching you like you were the sun and they were the last grapes in a drying vineyard.

"You set the bar. Now keep it there," You said, with a grin that made their hearts stutter. "No pressure."

For a moment, everything around them slowed—filtered through a dreamy haze. A soft warmth bloomed in their chests. You beamed at them like they were the sun, and every last one of them folded like wet paper.

Their glowing eyes dimmed down to a soft light. Their shoulders relaxed. Cheeks flushed (some visibly, some very much not—thankfully).

The tension from the past week—the suspicion, the sketchbook incident, the weirdness of being seen but not impressed—all of it melted away.

Mystery blinked, lips parted just slightly. Romance tilted his head like a lovestruck deer. Baby forgot how to be cocky. Abby looked at you with such a tenderness, like he didn't mean to, but couldn't help it.

And lastly, Jinu. He looked away, like if he didn't, he might say something stupid. Something like "Say it again." Something like "Please."

She's proud of us?

She's proud of us.

It was the kind of moment you'd see in a manhwa: pink sparkles, big eyes, twinkles, soft inner monologues about how you never expected this human to shine like this, how your words burned like gospel in their cursed little hearts.

And then—

You whipped your phone out like a weapon. The filter shattered.

"Also, look at these." You said casually, pulling up a gallery of photos. "I got all your angles. Yes, despite the crowd. Because apparently I'm just built different." You turned the screen to them and began scrolling.

Click. Click. Click.

You scrolled with purpose. "Look at that lighting on Jinu. Look at Baby's jawline. I didn't even try. It just happened. Like a gift. From God."

"You took these?" Baby asked, leaning in like he was seeing forbidden treasure and not exactly minding those last words.

"Obviously." You replied, smug. "You guys photograph ridiculously well. Like, it's actually sickening. Here— this one? Frameable. This one? Album cover. This one? Abby looks like he just won a lawsuit."

Abby blinked. Then slowly, a grin appeared on his lips. "…Huh."

Their bruised egos from earlier were rapidly being coddled into shape, poked, fluffed, and draped in compliments.

One by one, the demons started recovering—first from the gut-punch of sincerity, now from the onslaught of praise delivered with zero hesitation and far too much accuracy.

And maybe, just maybe... they were falling. Harder than they meant to. Even demons weren't immune to being seen.

You seemed genuinely pleased. Content. A little too content. Because suddenly, mid-scroll, it hit you. You'd just complimented them. Hard. And there was no taking it back.

Eyes wide, cheeks warm, you slammed the phone down like it burned you, and downed the rest of your coffee like it was the antidote. No way you were leaving a single drop.

Everything here was expensive, like pay-for-the-air-they-breathe expensive, and you weren't about to let embarrassment make you broke and flustered.

Which is why you stabbed your fork into the cake like it personally betrayed you, like it had the power to turn back time and chose not to, and then shoved it into your mouth like it owed you silence. The sweetness muffled the mess inside your chest.

Then, with your cheeks full and a mouthful of regret, you stood.

"Am momom." (I'm going home.)

You announced it like a threat, not a declaration. Not a goodbye. It was the verbal equivalent of flipping a table and storming out.

The boys blinked, visibly processing, until the full image of what just happened finally hit.

"Wait—wait—Did you see that??" Jinu's voice cracked mid-sentence, pointing dramatically at the empty space where you stood like he was in a courtroom presenting evidence. "Was she—was she blushing? I need confirmation. Was that what I saw?"

Abby, who was still frozen, slowly nodded like he'd just witnessed a miracle. "She's blushing."

Romance's voice went up an octave as he smacked Baby's arm with the back of his hand. "Someone take a picture. Take it now. Document this. For the archives. For me."

"You don't have to say it twice." Baby was already pulling out his phone, practically glowing. "Zooming in. Enhancing. Immortalizing."

Mystery didn't move. Just sipped his drink slowly, like a smug little dog. "Cute." He murmured. Like it wasn't earth-shattering. Like it didn’t knock the wind out of his chest too.

You didn't dare look back. You were already marching past tables and gasping waitstaff, your face hot enough to cook a second slice of that overpriced cake on your cheeks.

Dignity? Gone. Unraveling behind you like toilet paper stuck to your shoe in a storm. And behind you? Absolute chaos.

They scrambled like ducks in sneakers, voices overlapping like a badly edited group vlog.

You told them to shut up, and to grow up. You even spun around once with your hands out like you were casting a silence spell—but it only made them louder.

They trailed behind you like lost puppies, boy band edition. One of them might've been humming the chorus of their own song just to mock you. One kept trying to peek at your face. One was definitely recording.

They had you now. And they weren't letting up anytime soon.

—

You all made it home by 3PM.

But, unfortunately for you, the teasing didn't stop. You lasted three minutes. Maybe four. Then you locked yourself in your room and left the clocks by the door, a silent declaration that you were done for the day.

They were still there, of course. Hovering. Loud. Voices echoing down the hall as they rehashed every single compliment they'd overheard about themselves.

"I bet she's fallen in love."

"She said we set the bar."

"It's to be expected."

"Did you see the way she smiled at me?"

"She smiled at us."

They were basking. Absolutely basking. In your words, your praises, your sincerity—the kind that made their egos swell three sizes too big.

And yet, an hour later, they were gone.

You heard the sound of shuffling. Then a chorus of voices filtered through your locked door:

"Bye, princess~"

"Be sure to watch the game show."

"Later, sunshine."

"Don't miss us too much."

"Be careful when cooking."

Half-hearted sincerity, full-hearted teasing. Once the coast was clear and minutes had passed without a single creak on the floorboards, you cracked your door open and scrambled to the fridge.

The moment the fridge light hit your face, it was go time.

While they had been going on and on about the mystical beauty of your words, you'd been scrolling through quick recipes—tabs upon tabs of dishes, ranging from cute Western snacks to Korean comfort food.

The place was packed, courtesy of Jinu's overzealous restocking habits. Gochujang? Still there. Still deadly. You weren't touching it tonight. Only Baby could survive that volcanic mess, and last night's dinner was proof.

...Though why did it seem like it's been touched? You shrug. Maybe it's just you.

You laid out ingredients like a general planning battle. Rice balls? Sausages? Maybe tiny tteok skewers. There was enough for a feast, but time was tight. No clue when they'd be back. You had to be quick. Efficient.

And maybe still a little petty.

You eyed the chili flakes. Then the jalapeños. Then the small red bottle labeled 사망 소스 ("Death Sauce"). Baby's dish was getting a little love tap from all three.

He deserved it. Kind of.

As the pot simmered and you stirred his portion with the gloved hands of a vengeful chef, you glanced at the tablet propped beside the stove. The game show was live.

There they were. Wearing pink. With bibs. Their names printed in bright, kindergarten letters.

You didn't even have time to process how dumb they looked before the screen zoomed in on Baby, dead center, engaged in a hot sauce chugging contest with the co-host.

The host was red, teary-eyed, visibly suffering. Baby, on the other hand, looked like he'd just had a sip of water. No sweat. Just clearly enjoying what he was chugging.

He stared into the camera and said, in the most monotone voice possible, "Goo goo ga ga."

You blinked. Looked at the food you were making for him. Then back at the screen. "...Huh."

For a moment, you had doubts. But you kept cooking anyway. Maybe this wasn't a prank. Maybe it was a challenge.

Just as you started plating the sausages, neatly spelling out congrats in toothpicks and ketchup—Jinu's voice rang from the tablet.

"We have a special guest joining us tonight!"

Your ears perked up.

"Please welcome… Huntrix!"

You nearly dropped the chopsticks.

In all-black leather, platform boots, belts, spikes, and a very clear sense of dominance, the girls strutted into the spotlight. Their punk aesthetic slayed, as usual.

Rumi waved, animated and glowing. "We just wanted to stop by and congratulate our hoobaes on their debut and—"

"And, of course." Jinu cut in, voice booming. "Play games with us!!"

You snorted, cleaning up as fans on the livestream started chanting a phrase that made your brain stutter.

"In the balls! In the balls! In the—"

You didn't want context. You wanted peace. And just as if universe was playing a prank with you again, you heard this sound. Teeth on rubber. A horrible squeak.

You turned back toward the tablet just in time to see Huntrix sliding down a bright plastic slide—in leather. You winced on their behalf.

Then came the showdown. Apparently they were bowing. Just… bowing.

"Ours."

Back and forth, deeper each time, torsos folding like they were jointless. A fight of respect, taken to theatrical levels. The boys were too flexible.

Getting one last look, you finally broke. You laughed then looked at the dishes you've prepared. You're already imagining the faces they'll pull. And obviously the playful, teasing things they'd say.

You can't wait...

—

How many dishes could a single human make?

You didn't know. But judging by the spread you'd laid out on the dining table—soup, stir-fry, the tiny sausages, a roasted chicken you somehow revived from the depths of your freezer, noodles, a tray of sides, and even a few last-minute desserts.

You were starting to think maybe you weren't entirely human. Or at the very least, possessed.

With the last dish set down, you plopped onto the couch like your legs gave out beneath you. Ten minutes. That's how fast you'd moved. Like The Flash if he was fueled by stress and soy sauce.

You picked up your phone and scrolled, checking in on your own webtoon story. Maybe the comments would distract you. Maybe you'd reply to a few readers or sketch a bit of the next panel—

Twenty minutes later, your inbox pinged. Commissions. You blinked at the numbers. Huh. That could pay off the electric bill. Maybe even your crippling embarrassment from earlier. So you typed up a few polite replies, discussed rates, then locked in a few clients.

An hour in.

You sank deeper into the couch, fan clicking in lazy rotations overhead, and tapped on a link you saved from last night. A fancomic. Huntrix-based—obviously. The names were tweaked, but you could tell.

Mira was now Mina. Zoey became Zella. Rumi turned into Rue.

The story had you biting back a grin, heart doing somersaults. You laughed a little too loudly at one part and had to muffle your mouth with your hand.

Fifteen minutes flew by like nothing.

You curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, your old sketchbook perched on your lap—the one you'd yanked from the fire, instead of the new ones Romance bought you. This one had history after all...

Jinu returned it to you last night, and by that you mean by 2 AM in the morning (Of course you were still awake). You didn't like the smug look on his face when he said, "We can always take it back. Part of the agreement after all."

You flipped through the pages, half-smiling. There they were. Doodles of the boys from your first few days working staff—messy caricatures drawn in pure spite.

You stifled a laugh. God, you were mad back then. Some pages later though… things softened, and so did your gaze.

Your pencil hovered above the page, tapping lightly. Then it moved. Fresh lines formed as you drew Jinu's latest expression burned into your brain—irritated, smug, and just a little pouty when you teased him earlier.

You added a dramatic cape to his stick-figure form. "Mr. I-Know-Everything" was written in bold above him. You snorted.

But your hand didn't stop. You drew them all again. Just the way you saw them earlier this week. Softer.

It caught you off guard, honestly. The warmth in your chest. The ache of missing something that hadn't even been gone long. You caught yourself glancing at the door between strokes, like they'd walk in any second.

They didn't.

Your eyes flicked to the untouched food. You set the sketchbook aside, stretched your legs, and made your way to the kitchen.

If they were going to be late, fine. But they weren't going to eat cold dinner on your watch. You turned on the stove, heating up the pans with a quiet sigh.

Any minute now.

They probably stopped for a break. Maybe they got caught in traffic. Maybe they were—

You stared at Baby's plate.

After a beat, you reached over and sprinkled a small handful of chili flakes. Just a little more heat, you told yourself. He could take it. He liked the drama anyway.

Five more minutes.

You returned to your desk and pulled out your tablet. You found yourself sketching Huntrix—again. They did appear on the show today, and while you didn't expect it, it made you stupidly, ridiculously happy.

The boys deserved it. And with this exposure, they'd only climb higher.

Another hour passed.

Then another. You were still alone. You stood quietly and went to the kitchen again.

This time, you didn't cook or draw. You cleaned. Slowly at first, then faster. More methodical. Scrubbing. Wiping. Rearranging the fridge. Deep cleaning the sink. Organizing the spices alphabetically.

You didn't stop. Not until your shoulders ached and your fingers were red from the water.

You weren't sure how much time had passed. Just that the silence was thick now. And your thoughts had started to grow claws.

Trying to shake them off, you grabbed a towel, dried your hands, cracked your back with a wince, and walked toward the living room to pack up the uneaten food. Maybe bed would feel better. Maybe if you curled up and closed your eyes—

You stopped.

They were there. All of them.

Right there in the doorway, like they'd been standing for some time now. You didn't hear the door open. You didn't hear footsteps. Just… presence.

Their eyes widened as they stared at you.

Your hair was a mess. You probably had flour on your cheek or something. The food was still steaming faintly. Everything smelled like home.

You blinked, glancing between them… then to the table… then back to them again.

"…Err," You said, clutching the towel awkwardly, "Surprise?"

It came out like a question. Or a punchline. No one laughed. They just stared.

Then, Mystery moved.

Silently, he crossed the space and reached for your hands—fingers red from too many rounds with hot water and steel scrubbing pads. His palms were cold when they wrapped around yours.

For a moment, nothing. His hair still covered his eyes. You couldn't see his expression. But the way he held your hands, thumbs brushing gently over your knuckles like he was… worried—it told you everything.

"Idiot." He muttered, the insult barely audible. Soft. Like the word had stopped meaning anything cruel the second he said it.

Romance was next. He crouched by the table, inspecting the dishes like they were priceless art. "You roasted a whole chicken." He said, like it personally offended him. Then his voice dipped. "You didn't even… eat any, did you?"

You shook your head, too embarrassed to make any kind of witty remark.

He stood and turned, eyeing your red fingers again. "I'll get you hand cream tomorrow." He said, unusually focused. "And gloves. And a proper ladle, that one in the sink looked like it had been in a war—"

"You look like you've been in a war." Baby deadpanned from behind him.

But it didn't come with his usual sharpness. No drawl. No smirk. He wasn't even looking at you when he said it—he was watching the chili flakes on his plate, eyes wide. "You remembered I like it spicy." He mumbled.

He didn't sound like he was joking.

You let out a tired laugh—awkward, small. "I thought it'd be funny to give you stomach ulcers."

"Right." Baby said, poking your cheek as he remembered the scene from how it was puffed with the cake you shoved there. "Hilarious. Deadly love. Classic." He grinned.

Abby was leaning on the back of the couch, arms crossed. His gaze softened as you swayed slightly on your feet. "Sit down before you fall down." He muttered, voice uncharacteristically low.

You flashed him an animated smile. "I'm fine—"

"Sit."

You sat.

Jinu hadn't said a word this whole time.

He stayed by the door, watching, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He looked like he didn't know where to step without cracking the floor beneath him. Like he wasn't sure if he deserved to be in this room right now.

Then slowly, almost cautiously, he walked over. He didn't touch you. Didn't say much, just… sat beside you then pulled one of the plates closer to you.

"I'll serve you." He said, voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "Just… stay still."

You blinked. "What, no snark?" You asked, tone a little playful now. You'd recovered slightly, but the room was still thick with something strange. If you didn't break this tension, you might start info-dumping about fun facts just to escape it.

"No," Jinu replied back instantly. "Not today."

You stayed quiet.

The table creaked as the rest joined in. Plates were filled. Drinks passed around. It was domestic. It was warm. It felt like something normal people did.

And for five demon boys who weren't supposed to have hearts, or homes, or humanness left to give—this moment became something terrifying.

Because it meant something.

Baby chewed slower than usual, side-eyeing your tired frame every three seconds. He didn't say much more. But his foot brushed yours under the table once. Just once. Like he couldn't help it.

Mystery wouldn't stop glancing at your hands, then towards the kitchen like he was plotting to find a way to destroy every cleaning supply you owned.

Romance tried to keep it light, throwing small jokes about the game show earlier and how cute it was on how you used those sausages to write 'congrats', but every time your laugh faded too quickly, his smile did too.

Abby… kept watching Jinu. His gaze flickering between you and him.

And Jinu? He looked like someone had removed all the walls he spent decades building. And he didn't know how to put them back up.

Because as much as he hated this guilt, this slow-burning dread crawling under his skin, he knew what it meant.

You were never supposed to do this. To cook for them. To care. You weren't supposed to look like home.

Because if you ever found out what they really were—what they were meant to do—

You'd never smile at them like this again.

A breath—soft, uneven. Could've been Mystery beside you, or Baby exhaling through his nose after another silent bite. You didn't look to check.

You blinked twice, and then it happened. "Skrrk."

A sound escaped you—somewhere between a laugh, a snort, and a dying bird. Your hand flew up, slapping over your mouth too late.

Everyone froze. Five demons. Five apex predators. All staring at you like you'd just sprouted antlers and levitated. Eyes wide. Blinkless and silent.

You tried. Genuinely, you did. But the more you fought it, the harder it hit. Your laugh cracked through the room.

Not a polite giggle. Not the soft, sweet kind you use around strangers or customers. No, this was the feral, gasping, body-hiccuping kind. Like your soul had tripped over something on the way out.

"Oh my god." You choked through it, swiping at your face even though there weren't tears. "Why do you all look like you just found out I have a terminal illness? I made food. Not a funeral speech."

There was a beat.

Mystery, seated just inches from your left, tilted his head with the exact expression of someone watching a kettle boil over. His voice was low. Careful. "Are you okay?"

Like if you weren't, he'd need a containment spell.

Across the room, Romance blinked. Once and slowly. "She's snapped."

"She's always been like that." Baby muttered through another mouthful, tone flat—but his eyes stayed on you. Warily. Like he expected the laughter to evolve into weeping or maybe spontaneous combustion.

To your right, Jinu didn't say a word. He leaned back on the couch with his usual unbothered slouch, legs crossed, chin tilted just enough to look cool.

But you noticed the twitch in his fingers. The subtle glance he shot toward you, like he was afraid words might ruin this… whatever it was.

And then Baby stood. He didn't say anything, just vanished into the kitchen like he needed a tactical retreat. The moment held its breath.

Until, from down the hall:

"…She organized the spice rack."

A pause.

"Alphabetically." He added, reappearing in the doorway like he'd just uncovered an ancient secret.

Five heads swiveled toward you.

"Why." Jinu asked, slow and ominous, like you'd committed a war crime.

"I got bored!" You said, throwing up your hands, still a little red from hours of chopping and scrubbing. "And I didn't plan to! I was looking for paprika and then there were, like, three garlic powders just sitting there all smug and disorganized, and it… spiraled, okay?"

Romance clutched his chest like he'd been shot. "I'd die for you."

Jinu made a face. Somewhere between get help and unfortunately, I understand.

"I would!" Romance pressed, gesturing grandly. "You're telling me she did all this and your first thought wasn't 'wow, she's definitely into me'?"

You narrowed your eyes. Hard.

Romance leaned closer with a wink. "Say the word and I'll pose shirtless in front of the fridge light. Bring your sketchpad."

From across the room, Abby stretched. Deliberately. His shirt rode up with the grace of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. "I think she'd prepare something much more." He said, voice all lazy warmth. "She's got a good eye."

Unbelievable.

And then, without a word, Mystery lifted a spoon. Nudged it gently toward your lips.

You stared. "…You're feeding me my own cooking?"

He nodded. "You made it. You deserve to enjoy it."

His voice was low again. Too soft. Too honest. It unsettled something in your chest, but you were more caught off-guard by the quiet confidence in the way he held the spoon, the steady look behind his fringe.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing. And he did. That much was clear when you opened your mouth, just slightly, and he gently fed you the bite like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like you did this every day. Like he'd always belonged close to you.

You didn't miss the way his fingers lingered on the handle a little too long, the barest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when you chewed and nodded slowly.

And when you reached up to ruffle his hair, like it was routine, like you couldn't help yourself, he leaned into your hand with quiet satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut.

A hum vibrated softly in his throat. Pleased.

From the other side of the table, chaos stirred.

Abby exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, like he'd just watched someone commit a crime in front of him. "Favoritism is wild these days." He muttered.

Baby didn't choke on a grape. He picked one from the bowl and stared at it. Stared at it like it had personally offended him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he popped it into his mouth—crunching down like it was your heart he was chewing on. His expression was unreadable, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his eye.

"Of course it's him." He muttered, deadpan. "Why wouldn't it be."

He didn't look at you. He didn't need to. The tone said it all.

Romance, beside him, huffed in the same breath. "Favoritism." He declared under his breath, leaning back with the same grace as a kicked puppy. "I gift art supplies and pour my soul into canvases, and what does he do? He tilts his head and speaks gently."

"Tragic." Baby added dryly, arms crossing. "Guess we all need to learn to wag our tails more."

Across from them, Mystery blinked once, as if he knew the scrutiny was there—but chose peace.

He offered the spoon again. You accepted it with a half-laugh, too endeared for your own good.

Your hand reached up, fingers naturally running through his hair in a lazy pat. He leaned into it without shame. Like it was normal. Like you were normal. Like none of this made the tension in the room go nuclear.

Meanwhile, Mystery remained perfectly still, cheek tilted against your palm, his expression unreadable beneath his bangs—though you were sure he was soaking in every second of their suffering.

And then, from your other side, Jinu moved.

Elbow propped behind you, posture loose but placed, eyes half-lidded like he wasn't watching every breath you took. He leaned in just a touch, low voice brushing your ear.

"…What if I said I'd take you shopping?" He said, smooth as silk. "For better utensils. Ladles. Maybe… a matching set."

The words were smooth, but the glint in his eyes betrayed something else—challenge, heat, a little tilt of jealousy. He wasn't about to lose. Not to Mystery.

Especially not when Mystery was now purring under your touch like some smug, hair-covered villain who knew he'd won this round.

You didn't even have to look to know the rest of the boys were watching this unfold like it was the last straw. Abby cracked his neck. Baby stabbed a cherry tomato with too much force. Romance almost let out a loud scoff.

And Mystery? He finally opened one eye, just a sliver, to meet Jinu's gaze—and grinned. He earned a glare. Not that it bothered him anyway.

You turned your head slowly. He was closer than you thought. His cheek was inches from yours.

"Is this a seduction attempt," You asked. "or are you just really passionate about cooking tools?"

"Yes." He said, without a hint of shame.

"You're unbelievable."

"I'm charming."

You blinked while Jinu laughed. His smile curled, lazy and precise as as he went on like he wasn't lowkey asking you out. "I'll even carry the bags."

"...Fine." You said before you could stop yourself. "Let's go shopping."

And that—that—was when you saw it: the way his eyes lit up before he covered it with that practiced smirk, the one that said cool, chill, totally normal, like he wasn't already planning the most absurd spice rack haul of the year.

"Already did." Jinu replied, not missing a beat. He sat back and enjoyed his food like he won some amazing reward.

From across the table, Baby popped another grape into his mouth.

"Might as well offer to wash the dishes for her too." He muttered before standing up and walking away.

You were halfway into a sarcastic comeback when Baby returned. He set a drink in front of you, quietly, no commentary, before sitting back down like he hadn't just stormed off.

But under the table, his foot found yours again. Just a brush. Barely there. You smiled before opening your mouth without a second thought, just letting Mystery feed you at this point.

"You know." Romance said after a pause, stretching like a cat who knew he was annoying, "If this is how she cracks over spice racks, I dread what happens if we surprise her with a new toaster."

"Oh, she'd cry." Abby nodded sagely. "Real tears. Then she'd kiss me."

"No." You deadpan at him.

"Later." He said confidently with a hum.

For a beat, their expressions were unreadable—caught off guard, maybe, by the warmth in your voice.

You pick up your drink. Raise it with a bright, genuine smile.

"Congrats on your debut, boys."

Then Mystery raised his glass first, smooth and silent as always, like he'd been waiting for a cue only you could give.

Baby followed with a teasing grin, clinking his glass a little too close to yours. "Cheers."

Abby gave a small nod and joined in like it was protocol, but he was hiding a smile behind his glass.

Romance beamed, lifting his drink like it was a trophy.

Even Jinu, who looked like he didn't quite understand why this moment mattered—copied the others with a blink and a delayed grin, as if following their lead just to be near you.

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. Lightened.

...

Apparently, everything was a competition.

You weren't sure if it was because of you, or because these five were just built different in the worst ways possible. You were leaning toward the latter.

They had been trying to feed you for the past five minutes. Like, aggressively.

Romance started it, naturally. With that smug grin like he was doing you a favor. "Say ah, cutie~"

Then Baby joined in, all dead-eyed, holding out a bite like he couldn't care less whether you took it or choked on it.

His foot was still brushing against yours under the table, like he wasn't already twenty moves ahead in whatever game he thought he was playing.

Abby appeared close a second later, practically shoving a spoon into your face with a confident, "Open wide, sweetheart." Like this was cute and not a coordinated attack.

You swore you heard a low growl from Mystery's side. Not playful. Not theatrical. Just... guttural. Warning.

And then came Jinu. Jinu who said, voice flat as ever, "Everyone's doing it." Like peer pressure was a reasonable excuse for hand-feeding someone you shared exactly one brain cell of trust with.

You ate it anyway. You were hungry and tired and—okay—maybe a little weak to a pretty face and a spoon. Your heart was doing cartwheels. Your face, however, remained deadpan.

You accepted your fate. They were annoying. They were relentless. But the food was good and the attention was—

…Honestly? A little addictive. But if someone fed you one more bite, you were going to hurl.

Just as you opened your mouth to stop the madness, your gaze flicked to the hallway.

And there they were. Seven alarm clocks. Still standing guard outside your door like cursed relics of your morning trauma.

"You boys better pick those up."

Abby was mid-swoop with a spoon when he froze. "Here, prin—" Dead stop. Spoon in the air.

Everyone else turned to look. Then, as one, they turned back to you.

Jinu blinked. Slow. Flat. "...You haven't...?"

You met his eyes then took a calm sip of your drink. "No."

The room fell silent.

Romance made a dramatic noise like he'd just been stabbed. "Betrayal."

Mystery looked down, face hidden behind his bangs, but you heard the low tsk under his breath. He muttered something curt in another language. You didn't catch it. You were pretty sure you weren't meant to.

Abby let out a slow whistle. "Damn. Thought we got away with it."

You leaned back, looking far too at peace for someone at war. "Whoever did that outrageous thing," You said, "will be drawn bald. I'll print it and tape it around the house."

They all froze.

Five sets of eyes scanned the room like they were pointing invisible fingers at each other instead of a certain someone alone.

Romance looked like he was calculating. Strategizing. His mouth opened slightly like he was about to say something—maybe even sell someone out.

But one sharp glance from Baby across the table had him stiffening. He winced. Huffed. Shut his mouth with the dramatics of a man who just swallowed betrayal and found it tasted like soap.

Unapologetic, Baby grinned widely. "Not bad." He said, clearly impressed. Like being turned into a bald wanted poster was a flex.

Your eyes narrowed, eerily calm. "Ah. So it’s you."

Baby tilted his head, mock innocent. "Huh? I thought we were just talking about the clocks."

You crossed your arms and stared him down. Deadpan. Not buying a single drop of that sugar-coated voice.

He smiled sweetly. Dangerously. "Hey," He added, lazy like he had all the time in the world, "If you're gonna draw me kissing someone again, it better be you this time."

Abby's spoon clattered onto the plate, scandalized. "What?"

Mystery nearly choked on air. His hand came up to cover the lower half of his face, the rest already shielded by his hair. You could practically see the tips of his ears turning pink.

He was thinking that maybe instead of headpats he could go for something more, like level up? And so, he muttered behind his fingers, "I wouldn't mind that either."

Romance looked like he was about to argue—confident, composed, ready to spin some poetic line to one-up Baby's flirtation. Then Baby sent him another pointed glance. Sharp. Lethal.

Romance's eye twitched. He let out a dramatic sigh through his nose and pouted. "I already gave her art materials yesterday. That should've put me way ahead anyways."

Abby threw his hands in the air. "Okay, but I'm your most trusted and beloved man! You handed me that sketchbook!" (He's not getting over this any time soon)

Jinu, cheeks already flushed, mumbled into his sleeves, "...Could be me too." Quiet. Almost inaudible. Boy failure in HD.

You blinked then lifted one eyebrow. "Wow. All of you?"

"Technically, I said it first." Baby interjected coolly.

You ignored him. Your gaze slowly shifted to the seven clocks still standing outside your door. Your lips curled into a smirk.

"So," You said, deceptively sweet, "You're all admitting to the clocks then."

Dead silence.

You took a sip of your drink, satisfied. "Good. Then I'll make sure all of you get drawn bald. Or maybe something more."

Instant chaos.

"What?"

"You can't do that!"

"Please don't make it worse—"

"I'd take the bald one any day. It's better to know."

Only Jinu stayed quiet, blushing furiously in the background like he was lowkey okay with it if it meant attention.

You stood, chin up, calm and collected, the very image of smug authority.

"Thought so."

#kpop demon hunters #saja boys #kpdh #saja boys x reader #reverse harem #female reader #reader insert #abby kpdh #baby kpdh #jinu kpdh #mystery kpdh #romance kpdh

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gottalovesae · 2 months ago

Text

Operation: Cupid ✩ Oscar Piastri

Characters: Oscar Piastri x fem! reader, Lando Norris x fem! reader (platonic)

Summary: Lando playing matchmaker and trying to get his two best friends together in the most desperate and dramatic ways that only he could pull off. Oscar just being done with his friends antics and reader who just plays along.

1,750words

Warnings: brief indications showing reader is in the medical field.

Yours Truly: so tell me why I didn't notice until today that I accidentally posted this story unfinished. I woke up to notifications confused. So instead of deleting I'll finish it after my work shift. So full story will be completed by 5pm. Thank you to those who've already liked 🤍

Lando Norris has two goals in life at the moment: win the drivers championship and to get his two best friends together. Ever since Lando introduced them he could see that they were just perfect for each other.

Oscar Piastri, his teammate, was a brilliant driver, no doubt. Fast and focused, but also painfully oblivious. And Y/N, his best friend since diapers, intelligent, down to earth, and wit sharper than the Monaco hairpin.

And they were both, individually, one of Lando's closest friends. The problem? They were perfect for each other. An undeniable chemistry brewing between them whenever they were in the same room, a series of shared glances, jokes, and banter that Lando quickly noticed.

They always admired each other from afar, never too close, afraid to pass an imaginary line. The pieces were right there. They just needed a little.nudge. A nudge that came in the form of Lando Norris. He calls it Operation: Cupid.

Lando has tried everything, and I truly mean everything.

First, Lando "accidentally" double booked the same fancy restaurant for dinner with both Oscar and Y/N on the same night. He acted surprised when they both showed up and suggested that they all just have dinner instead. He bribed the waiter to give them the romantic corner table with candles and the best view. He pictured romantic glances, whispered conversations, maybe even a shared plate of pasta. In reality, dinner was spent locked in a heated debate about the best types of pizza dough. Both parties failed to notice the work Lando put into the evening. Strike one.

Then Lando tried "forced proximity." On a road trip, he "arranged" for Oscar and Y/N to ride in the same rental car. He expected shared bags of snacks, giggling over inside jokes, and singing along to karaoke, but yet again his hopes were just way too high. Oscar, the ever responsible one, meticulously mapped out a safe route, and Y/N spent the travel catching up on sleep with her her head conveniently (and infuriating so) rested on the window, and not Oscar's shoulder. Lando wanted to pull his hair out. Strike two.

The next attempt Lando came up with was a "team bonding" exercise. He convinced half the paddock (who were unwillingly dragged into this) plus her to go out for a weekend of... paintball. Yes, that's right people paintball. Again, Lando was expecting cutesy couple-ly stuff like them working together taking people down, having each others backs, and celebrating together when they won. Yet again he was wrong. Instead, Y/N with terrifying accuracy, had accidentally shot Oscar in the… well, let's just say it was a sensitive area. Oscar, in retaliation, had unleashed a wave of paintballs upon Y/N with the intensity of a warrior. Honestly Lando should've seen it coming knowing how competitive they both get. By the end of the weekend, both were covered in bruises and barely speaking to each other. This was strike three.

Lando was really desperate now. He truly did try everything. This next idea in his head would have to be the best performance of life. He swears this will work in the name of love.

Lando calls this plan "The Sidewalk Serenade."

The midday sun beat down on the Monaco sidewalk with relentless intensity. Lando Norris, professional racing driver and amateur Cupid, lay dramatically on the pavement limbs sprawled out, feigning unconsciousness with a dedication usually reserved for battling Max Verstappen for the lead on the final laps of a race.

"Ugh...the.the heat..t.o.o..much." he groaned, theatrically flailing his arms. He'd practiced this fall in his head for three days, meticulously calculating the right angle without actually cracking his skull.

A part of him, the small, rational part that hadn't been completely taken over by his determination that Oscar and Y/N were destined for each other, screamed that this was utterly ridiculous. He, Lando Norris, Formula 1 superstar, was pretending to faint on a public sidewalk. But the larger, more persistent part of him, the part fueled by the power of friendship, and a alarming amount of caffeine was completely unashamed. This was "Operation: Cupid," and damn it, he was going so see this through.

Across the street, Oscar Piastri stood frozen in a mixture of disbelief and extreme embarrassment. He'd been on his way to grab a quick lunch when he'd spotted Lando's..performance. His jaw hung, baffled.

"Lando?" he called out, his voice laced with exasperation and genuine concern. "What in the actual hell are you doing?"

Lando, maintaining his commitment to the charade, continued to groan. "Help...me... see...lights.."

Oscar sighed, running a hand through his hair. He considered turning around and pretending he hadn't seen anything. He really did. But the thought of Lando genuinely collapsing from heatstroke, however unwillingly, forced him forward and right into his friends trap.

As Oscar approached, he noticed a figure hurrying towards them from the opposite direction. It was Y/N. And the other half of Lando's audacious matchmaking scheme.

Y/N's brows were furrowed with concern. "What's going on here? Lando! Are you alright?" she asked, kneeling beside him and immediately checking his pulse.

He..he just collapsed," Oscar stammered, slightly reeling back awkwardly suddenly very, very aware of Y/N's proximity. "I don't know what happened."

Lando, internally delighted from the success of his elaborate plan, suppressed a grin and managed a weak, "|..I think I need.. a doctor.

Y/N skillfully assessed him. "His pulse is elevated, but regular. He's breathing normally. Lando, can you hear me? Open your eyes."

Lando fluttered his eyelids open, feigning disorientation reaching for her face. "Y/N? Is that..is that you? Am..I..dead?" 'Oh god,' Oscar thinks.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. "You're not dead, you drama queen. But you are being incredibly troublesome. Oscar, can you help me get him to his feet? He probably just overheated."

Together, Oscar and Y/N helped Lando stand. As he leaned on them, Lando subtly moved, making sure that Oscar and Y/N were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. He even managed to "accidentally" bumped their hands a couple of times.

"Maybe we should get you some water," Oscar suggested, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"And maybe we should check your blood sugar," Y/N added, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Unless you've been pulling one of your famous stunts, Lando."

Lando chuckled weakly. "Stunts? Me? Never." He then launched into a completely fabricated story about skipping breakfast and pushing himself too hard at the gym (mind you he hadn't even gone to the gym that day), throwing in a few dramatic pauses for effect.

As they walked towards a nearby café, Lando, hanging heavily between his two unsuspecting targets, felt a surge of victory. Now, all he had to do was fan the flames.

Lando, now miraculously recovered from his "heatstroke," was rambling about a near-miss on the track, but his eyes kept darting between Oscar and Y/N, gauging their reactions.

Oscar, still slightly flustered by the events of the past hour, found himself aware of her. He noticed the way her brow furrowed slightly as she listened to Lando's story, the subtle curve of her lips when she smiled, and the way her eyes sparkled. He had always found her attractive, but today, something felt different.

Y/N, for the most part, was trying her best to ignore Lando's antics and focus on Oscar. She'd always admired his quiet presence and his dedication to his craft. He was clearly embarrassed by Lando's behavior, but he handled it with a grace and good humor that she found endearing. Plus, she had to admit, he looked incredibly good in the afternoon sun, his normally meticulous hair slightly ruffled from their impromptu rescue mission from having to physically lift Lando from the pavement.

As Lando's story finished, he paused dramatically, expecting a reaction from Oscar and Y/N, who were lost in their own little bubble, their eyes locked in a moment of unspoken connection.

Lando cleared his throat loudly. "So..what do you guys think? Pretty crazy, right?"

Oscar and Y/N blinked, startled back to reality.

"Uh, yeah, crazy," Oscar mumbled, his cheeks flushing again.

Y/N nodded in agreement. "Definitely..intense."

Lando grinned, sensing an opening. "Well, I'm starving. How about we grab some dinner later? My treat."

Oscar hesitated, glancing at Y/N. "Actually, I was planning on just ordering in tonight. Big day of practice tomorrow."

Y/N chimed in, "I was going to catch up on some reading, but dinner sounds nice. Unless you're too tired, Oscar?"

Oscar's face lit up like a damn Christmas tree, completely disregarding what he said before. "Not at all! Dinner sounds great. Just the three of us?"

Lando, trying to suppress a smirk, feigned disappointment. "Oh, you know, I actually have a thing. Important..racing..stuff. You two should totally go without me." He winked.

Oscar and Y/N exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Are you sure, Lando?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with amusement.

'Absolutely! Definitely! You guys have fun. I'll catch you later," Lando said, practically shoving them out of the café.

With no choice, they both walked away together and immediately burst out laughing once they were at least a block away.

He's unbelievable," Oscar said, shaking his head. "I can't believe he actually faked a fainting spell."

"He's a terrible actor," Y/N agreed, "but I have to admit, it was kind of...sweet."

"Sweet?" Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Well, misguidedly sweet in his own Lando way,' Y/N corrected. "He obviously wants us to get together. He's been trying really hard."

"And do you?" Oscar asked, his voice suddenly serious.

Y/N stopped walking and turned to face him. "Do I what?"

Do you want to get together? With me?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I wouldn't mind getting to know you better, Oscar. Without Lando's....interference."

"Me neither," Oscar said, his smile mirroring hers. "How about we ditch the restaurant and just grab some pizza? My place, Netflix, no fainting allowed."

"Sounds perfect," Y/N said, her heart skipping a beat.

Lando, watching from across the street, pumped his fist in the air. Operation: Cupid was a success! He might have been a bit over the top, a bit ridiculous, and maybe a little bit manipulative, but he had brought two amazing people together. And that, he decided, was worth any amount of embarrassment.

A few months later, Oscar and Y/N were happily dating, Lando had calmed down with the constant matchmaking attempts. They were thankful for the nudges that brought them together. After all, sometimes the most unexpected connections come from the most ridiculous schemes.

As for Lando, he was already plotting his next matchmaking adventure. There were plenty more lonely hearts in the paddock, and he was determined to find them their perfect match.

After all, what were friends for?

#formula one fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #op81 x reader #lando x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #adri🤍

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cressidagrey · 7 months ago

Text

Such A Mystery - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Colette woke up slowly, for a moment disoriented and confused, before she remembered what had happened the day before.

It was dark in the room still, the sun not yet up, and the house was eerily quiet. She groaned quietly and slowly got to her feet, shuffling across the room to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her softly, switched on the light and turned on the faucet to wash her face.

The water stung at her eyes, but she relished the cold, biting pain.

By then Sassy and Jimmy were both demanding to be fed as well, and she padded out of the bedroom into the kitchen. The house was still dark and quiet, and the cats were both weaving around her legs, meowing and demanding food.

She flicked on the lights in the kitchen, blinking against the brightness, and then bent down to feed the two screeching cats.

Screeching cats and back pain, like somebody pushed a hot knife right into her lower back. What wasn’t there to love?

Colette groaned slightly, wincing as the pain in her lower back flared, and carefully straightened back up again. She ran a hand over her back with a grimace, trying to soothe the ache.

The cats behaved like Colette had let them starve for days and she rolled her eyes at their usual behaviour as she reached for her phone that laid on the kitchen island. Somebody, she was quite sure that it probably had been Lorenzo, had simply deleted every single social media app from her phone.

That was also a solution, she reflected drily. She checked the time, finding it shortly after six. Which meant that she could probably catch Max before he was stuck in pre race preparations.

Her heart sped up slightly the mere thought of him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Colette’s mouth. Without giving herself time to second guess herself, she pressed his contact and hit the call button.

He picked up immediately. Not that she had expected any differently from him.

"Mon Coeur," she greeted him softly. "Good luck."

"Liefje," his voice was groggy but warm, and Colette could hear by his rough tone that he hadn’t been awake for long. There was shuffling on the other end of the line, and a low yawn, as he probably sat up in bed.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked him.

"No. I missed you horribly," he answered and she knew he was saying the truth.

"Well, you'll be back soon enough and I'll go back to torturing you with my icy feet," she teased him. And hog all the covers, because Max always ran hot at night and sleeping next to him was like having her own personal furnace.

"I can't wait," Max said, his voice low and soft, and she could hear the smile in his voice. But there was something else...something else in his voice that she couldn't quite place.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her. "How is bébé?"

"Kicking a lot..." she answered softly. "I have some backpain, but nothing major."

"Keep resting, alright?" Max requested.

His voice was warm, normal…but she couldn’t help it…she couldn’t help but hear that something was wrong. She would have sworn on nearly everything that something was wrong.

So she asked him. "What's wrong?" Colette asked. "What aren't you telling me, Maxie?"

Silence. For a long moment on the other side of the line, before Max sighed quietly, sounding a little guilty. "If I tell you that it's nothing that you need to know, nothing you need to worry about...will you let it go?"

Colette was quiet for a moment, trying to process this.

Whatever it was, Max didn't want her to worry about it. He was probably trying to protect her. She swallowed, before slowly saying. "I will...if you make me a promise."

"Which is...?" Max's voice was hesitant.

Colette took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. "Promise me that you're okay," she said firmly. "Promise me that...that there's no reason for me to be upset." She hated not knowing, hated that he was keeping things from her. But as long as she knew that he was okay...then she would let the matter go.

Max was quiet on the other end of the line, for what seemed far too long. He was hesitating, and that worried her.

But eventually, he answered her.

"I promise, liefje," he promised her. "Talking with you makes everything better."

The tension, that had slowly built up in her stomach started to dissolve, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Okay," Colette whispered into the phone, and hoped she sounded more confident than she actually felt. "Keep your secrets. We'll talk when you are home," she promised him. And then he would tell her what was actually going on.

"We will," he agreed. "I can't wait. Did you get the flowers?"

"You sent me flowers?" Colette asked, her voice soft. "You didn't need to do that. And no, not yet,” she said with a smile. “But I bet they will be beautiful.”

"Not as beautiful as you," Max told her simply. "Now, go eat breakfast, and take it easy, alright?"

"See you soon," Colette said softly. "Go drive around in circles." She could hear him laugh, a soft sound.

"Take care of you and bébé," Max told her before he hung up.

She lowered her phone to her lap and let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and worry still coursing through her veins.

He was okay. He had promised her, and Max never lied. He probably just didn't want her to worry about anything.

The ring of the doorbell, made her pull on a dressing gown, and going to open the door, to get the flowers Max had bought her.

But when Colette did open the door...the bouquet of light pink tulips wasn't the best part of what was waiting for her:

"Surprise!"

Colette's head shot up, and her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the person on the other end of the threshold.

There, in a pair of torn jeans and a hoodie, a travel bag thrown over her shoulder...and holding an enormous bouquet of pink tulips...was Victoria.

Max's Sister.

"Vic!?!" Colette blurted out, taken completely off guard. "What are you doing here!?!"

"I thought you could use the company," Victoria answered simply, hugging her tightly, and Colette was already holding back the tears. "You know, while you deal with all this bullshit," Victoria said darkly.

Colette quickly nodded in agreement, feeling her eyes water as she clung onto Max's sister. The tears starting to well despite her best efforts, and her emotions starting to overwhelm her yet again.

"You've -... You've no idea how good this is, to see you," she tried to say past the tears, and Victoria pulled her into a tighter hug.

"I know, I figured as much," Victoria said brightly. "Can I get in, or are you going to make me to stand on your threshold for the rest of eternity?" she teased.

She looked down at Colette and at her baby bump with a grin. "How is my niece doing?"

"You don't know that it's a girl!" Colette complained, wiping away tears as Victoria entered their apartment.

"Max seemed quite certain a few weeks ago," Victoria teased her.

Colette rolled her eyes, but she was smiling through her tears. She closed the door behind them, and turned to look at her friend, and the enormous bouquet of tulips.

"I guess we're going to need a vase," she said pointedly, at the massive arrangement.

"The poor doormen gave that to me, got delivered this morning for you," Victoria told her. "I also got you that Acai bowl you like from the bakery own the street and croissants!"

Colette looked at the tulips, taking in their pastel colours and delicate petals. Max really could be sappy sometimes, and it warmed her heart immensely.

"Pink tulips," she said out loud. "Of course he goes all in the pink.”

"You two really are kind of adorable," Victoria teased her, and Colette felt her cheeks heat up.

"Sometimes we are," she relented, taking all the tulips into the kitchen and reaching for a vase underneath the sink.

As she filled up the vase with water, she asked, "You didn't come all the way from Belgium just to visit me, right? I feel bad, taking you from Tom and the kids."

Victoria huffed a little bit, and leant against the counter before answering.

"Oh, shut up," she said fondly. "I wanted to come here… Mama is helping Tom with the kids and Tom knows I've been worried about you, besides they are fine on their own for a few days.”

"I'm fine -.." Colette started to protest, but Victoria fixed her with such a look that she fell quiet.

"Please, you've been going through hell," Victoria said firmly. "Don’t try to pretend you're fine when you aren't."

Colette exhaled slowly, staring at the flowers in the vase.

"I'm not going to deny that things have been hard," she said quietly. "But I'm trying to take it easy...for bébé's sake at least."

"How are you feeling about it?" Victoria asked her curiously. "About it all...getting out there?"

Colette paused for a moment, her hands absently fiddling with the tulips in the vase.

"Honestly..." she admitted after a moment. "I...hate it," she admitted weakly. "We kept it secret for so long...that's all I ever knew, Vic. Like that's the benchmark. Max comes back home to me...and here...right here, we are just us. Everybody important does know, but we have our privacy...we have...nobody gives us a second glance. And now it's out there. And everybody talks about it...and judges us...and makes up this picture in their head that has nothing to do with us."

She paused for a moment, shaking her head and then exhaling slowly to try and keep the tears that were threatening to spill under control. Victoria stayed silent, watching her closely.

"It's...weird," Colette said then, her voice sounding as shaken as she felt. "I know...a part of it is the stupid hormones…Some of it was my own fault, because I really should have thought twice before being bitchy on instagram,” she said with a snort, making Victoria laugh. “But all the people on social media…all these articles…the journalists…None of them know anything about us. Yet they judge us and speculate, and write whole articles about us and how fucked up our relationship is,” she said darkly. "I don't like it," she said flatly, fighting back the sob that was threatening to rise up in her throat. "They act like they own a piece of us...like they know anything...it just...it makes me sick. "

She fell quiet, her hand shaking slightly as she fiddled with the tulips. The flowers were beautiful, but she was struggling to take pleasure in them, when her emotions was feeling like a storm in her chest.

Victoria was quiet for a long moment, and then she walked over to her and put her hand over top of hers to stop her from fiddling with the tulips. Instead, she gently pulled her into a loose embrace.

"It doesn't matter what some person on the internet says about you," Victoria said simply. "let them write their idiotic comments. It doesn't matter."

Colette rested her head of Victoria's shoulder, and exhaled slowly.

"I know it doesn't really," she admitted after a moment. "But it still hurts, in a way."

"People are stupid," Victoria said bluntly. "They make drama to fill their miserable lives, and write bullshit on social media, because they think they're entitled to everything. And that their opinion is somehow relevant. Don't listen to anything they say," Victoria continued. "They know nothing about your life. They know nothing about your and Maxie. They don’t know how fantastic you are. And they don’t know a thing about your happy home, the little baby on the way, and an the amazing, loyal and insanely talented man who loves you beyond all rhyme and reason."

"So let them eat their hearts out, and let's get you some decent breakfast. An I'll stay with you as long as you need me to, okay?" Victoria said, pulling back and gently grasping her shoulders.

Colette sniffed and nodded softly.

Victoria was just like Max. They didn't sugar cost, she cut it straight to the heart of every issue, and didn't let her bullshit herself.

"That sounds good," she agreed softly.

It did sound amazing. Better than anything else.

The Acai Bowl from the Bakery/cafe down the street was as amazing as always and so was the Croissant that Vic had brought with her.

“You can finally show me the nursery!“ Vic said brightly.

"You're a little bit too excited," Colette scolded her with no real force behind her words. "We are only talking about I think four pieces of furniture, Vic. And some animal themed decor,” she said with a snort.

Victoria gave her a dry look, and raised a perfectly arched brow. "You are underestimating me if you think I would not be interested in how my niece's rooms will look," she said with a scoff. “Besides I brought you some hand me downs from Hailey! We can put them in the closet!”

“Or nephew!” Colette pointed out, making Victoria laugh.

“How are you doing with names?” Vic asked her curiously.

“We have an agreement,” Colette said drily. “Max got to name the cats and the baby gets his surname, so first names are my choice.”

"You're not giving my niece 6 names like yourself, are you?" Victoria teased her. "Please don't give me a hard time to pronounce my own niece's name if you can avoid it."

Colette rolled her eyes. “ I only have four names,” she gave back drily.

"Four names is still two too many," Victoria said bluntly. "One is enough. Two is more than enough. You're not a French noble woman from the eighteen hundreds."

“You mean I shouldn’t name our son Perceval Verstappen?” Colette gasped, wide eyed, making Victoria stare at her.

"...Oh my god...no, you absolutely can't!" Victoria exclaimed in horror, before bursting into a peal of laughter.

“Excuse me, I happen to think Colette Marie Eugénie Veronique Leclerc sounds great,” Colette deadpanned before growing serious. “No, I am thinking only one middle name,” she told Vic with a shrug. “If it’s a boy I was thinking Emilian Hervé. After Max and my father.”

Victoria's face softened at that. “That’s so sweet,” Vic gushed. "Hervé is a nice middle name, and Emilian is beautiful as well. But what if it's a girl?"

Colette huffed and shrugged. "I...don't know yet," she admitted honestly. "But I have a few ideas. I figured I would see what feel right once they are here...but I do really think it will be a boy..."

"You know it's only a fifty/fifty chance, right?" Victoria teased her. Colette rolled her eyes.

"Of course I know that," she huffed. "I just…I just feel it, y'know?"

"You're just really hoping it's a boy so you can dress him in cute little race overalls that match Maxie’s," Victoria said with a smirk.

"That would be adorable! How can you fault me for that?!" Colette protested immediately.

Victoria laughed and gently squeezed her shoulders. "You have terrible taste," she teased Colette. "But I gotta say the baby will be cute, no matter the gender….though you do realize the chances are, if you get a mini Max, it will be a chaotic little hell raiser, right?"

Colette sighed. “I knooooooow,” she muttered. “He woul make me go gray before even reaching pre-school…”

“Besides Mini Colette would be just as cute,” Victoria teased her. “Max would be melting.”

"Max would absolutely melt," Colette admitted, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "He would be completely wrapped around her tiny finger and spoil her rotten."

"And she would be an absolute angel," Victoria continued with a smirk. "She'll be a daddy's girl and have him do her every bidding. She'll get away with murder."

Colette could only laugh at that description.

“What do your brothers think it will be?” Victoria asked curiously.

“Max has gotten to them,” Colette said darkly. “All think it’s a girl. Hasn’t stopped Charles from buying enough Ferrari onesies to dress a dozen babies though.”

Victoria guffawed, and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Charles bought an entire Ferrari-themed wardrobe?" She asked between giggles.

“Which then made Max decide that the kid also needed Red Bull merch,” she said with a sigh. “I thought I woul get at least one closet in the house that does not have these damn Polo Shirts in it, but nooooo…”

"Of course it did," Victoria said, sniggering again. "You really are in a family with more red bull merchandise than common sense..."

“I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, I just hope the baby is healthy,” Colette said seriously. Regardless if it was a boy or a girl…she didn’t actually care…she just thought it would be a boy.

Victoria nodded, her expression softening.

"I know," she said quietly. "Everything else, like boy or girl, eye colour, hair colour...who cares? All we need is a healthy baby."

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