paper-star-ships - Tumblr blog

paper-star-ships · 18 hours ago

Note

Hii!!! I've been obsessed with your works recently! Like, stalking your page and re–reading old posts obsessed. (Is that weird 😭) and I have a request!! This one isn't smutty and is more fluffier/domesticated.

Saja Boys reacting to Reader interacting with a scared child. Like, a child runs up to Reader and a Saja Boy (ex: Abby) and Reader starts comforting them and is full on maternal mode. And the saja boy is just staring like: "yeah, I want to marry this person and start a family with them one day"

Feel free to ignore this request BTW lol.

Marry you

Pairings: Saja boys x Female Reader Warning: fluff, lost child A little child got lost and you help them. While the boys have a basic internal crisis to make you their wife. Tags:@bypanana, @heartmew, @healmydesires, @lamogliedizayne, @gremlinartstudio, @chaoticfivesworld,@potato-vagina, @lillycore, @kittycatmuse, @osball, @kpopmultistans, @fanaticofmany, @queensnowlake-wof, @alastor-simp,@haydensjw

ABBY

The street was buzzing—music from a nearby pop-up market, smells of fried snacks, kids laughing, people milling around.

You and Abby were walking side by side, your hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. He’d just gotten a snack from one of the vendors—still holding it, big hand cradling the little paper tray like it might snap under his grip.

He was mid-bite when it happened.

A sudden cry broke through the noise—a small one, panicked, getting closer.

A little boy—couldn’t have been more than five—came barreling through the crowd, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was red-faced, sobbing, clearly terrified. And then—

He ran straight into you.

Your eyes widened. “Hey, hey, sweetheart—whoa…”

You dropped to a crouch instantly, hands gentle as you steadied the boy. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He hiccuped through sobs. “I-I lost my mommy—”

“Oh no,” you whispered, wiping his cheek softly with your sleeve. “Okay, shh. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Abby had frozen mid-step. Still holding his snack. Still chewing.

But his eyes?

Locked on you.

You were brushing the boy’s hair back from his forehead now, talking to him like he was the most important thing in the universe. Soothing him with a calm, soft voice that was both gentle and sure.

And Abby—this six-foot-something wall of muscle with a smart mouth and demon strength—just stood there, watching like his brain had short-circuited.

Because damn.

He’d seen you beautiful. He’d seen you flirty, angry, sassy, even downright chaotic.

But this?

This soft, maternal warmth pouring off you like instinct?

This protectiveness? This kindness?

It wrecked him.

He didn’t even realize he’d moved until he was crouching next to you, his big hand resting on your back as you calmed the kid.

“We’ll find your mom, little man,” Abby said, voice unusually soft.

The boy looked up, wide-eyed. Abby gave him the tiniest grin. “You hungry? You like fried shrimp?” He offered up the paper tray.

The boy sniffled… then nodded slowly.

You smiled at Abby—grateful, proud—and he swore the sun broke through the clouds just to light your face.

Minutes later, after security reunited the boy with his mom, and the crowd returned to its normal buzz, you looked over at Abby.

“Thanks for not making fun of me for going full mom mode.”

He blinked.

Then laughed—low, breathy.

“Make fun of you?” he murmured, slipping an arm around your waist. “Nah, baby… I was busy deciding how many kids we’re gonna have one day.”

You blinked. “Wait, what—”

“Two minimum. Maybe three. Or five. A whole team.”

“Abby.”

He smirked, but it wasn’t cocky this time. Just… sure.

“I’m serious,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Watching you with that kid just now? That was it for me. I want that. With you.”

You melted.

Like completely.

And when he kissed you—right there in the middle of the crowd—it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a promise.

BABY

The two of you were walking through the busy street market, arguing—lightly—about snacks.

“Okay but you already had the sweet pancakes,” you said, nudging his arm. “You don’t need the mochi.”

Baby scoffed. “I always need the mochi.”

“You’re gonna vibrate out of your own skin from sugar.”

“I’m a demon, baby. That’s called a buff.

You were about to sass back when something suddenly slammed into your legs.

You looked down just as a small child—couldn’t be older than five—latched onto your leg in full-on panic mode, tears streaming down their face.

“Whoa—whoa, hey, hey…” You crouched down immediately, hands reaching gently. “Are you okay? Are you lost?”

The kid sobbed harder. “I—I can’t find my mom—!”

Baby took a half-step back on instinct, eyes wide like the child was a wild animal about to explode. “Oh shit,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s crying. What do we do? Should I—do we call someone?”

You ignored him completely, tucking the child’s hair behind their ear and offering a soft, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here. We’re gonna find her. I promise.”

Your voice was warm. Calm. Steady.

You cupped the kid’s cheeks with your palms, wiping away some of the tears. “Can you tell me your name? That way we can help her find you.”

They nodded, sniffling.

You stood and reached gently for their hand, all protective instinct and kindness, scanning the crowd like you were ready to throw hands with the universe on this child’s behalf.

And Baby?

Baby just stood there, watching. Staring.

Like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

You weren’t just beautiful. You weren’t just sexy or smart or his.

You were… soft.

You were safety. You were instinctively nurturing, calm under pressure, pure love wrapped in mortal skin.

And the way you gently held that kid’s hand like it was second nature? Like you’d done it a thousand times?

Baby blinked, mouth parted slightly, voice stunned as he whispered to no one in particular:

“…yeah. I’m gonna marry the hell outta you someday.”

You turned, brows raised. “What?”

“Huh? Nothing,” he said, suddenly flustered, coughing into his hand like a bad actor. “I just said we should, uh. Help the kid. Yeah. That’s what I said.”

You gave him a squint, but you were too focused to tease him—leading the way through the market until the child finally spotted their mom down the aisle. They broke into a run, and the reunion was tearful and relieved, the mother mouthing a thank you to you as she hugged her kid.

You turned back to Baby, cheeks flushed with quiet emotion.

“That broke my heart,” you admitted. “I almost cried too.”

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just stepped forward and pulled you into his arms.

Strong. Warm. Silent for once.

Then, a beat later:

“I ever see you holding our kid like that one day?” he murmured, voice low and sincere, chin resting on your head. “I swear I’ll die on the fuckin’ spot. Just from how much I love you.”

You smiled into his chest.

And, yeah… maybe you wanted that too.

ROMANCE

The child came out of nowhere.

One second, Romance had been walking with you, half-listening to your laugh, half-daydreaming about how good your hand felt in his.

The next—a small body collided into your legs with a sniffled sob, nearly knocking you off balance.

Wide, teary eyes. Chubby cheeks stained with dirt. A scraped knee. And a tiny voice that trembled with panic:

“I-I lost my mama—”

You dropped down to your knees in an instant.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Your voice softened, your hands reaching gently, instinctively—thumb brushing under the child’s eye, tucking hair behind their ear. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Romance watched.

Watched the way your voice dipped low and sweet like honey. The way your expression changed—calm, patient, kind, even when the child clung to your shirt with tiny shaking fists. You shifted into a whole different version of yourself. Protective. Nurturing. Radiant.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

The child sniffled again. You whispered reassurances, checked their hands, their arms, carefully cleaning the little scrape with a tissue from your bag, gently pressing your lips to their forehead like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“We’ll find your mama, okay? You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

Romance’s chest clenched.

Not from jealousy. Not from concern.

But because something deep, so much deeper than just affection, sank into his bones.

God, you were beautiful like this. Soft. Fierce. Loving.

You looked like someone who could carry a whole world in their hands and still make space for more.

You looked like home.

When you turned and met his eyes—smiling gently, still holding the child close—he was already halfway gone.

He offered the child a wink and a warm smile. “I think I saw someone running toward the fountain looking worried. Could be mom.”

You nodded, taking the child’s hand. “Let’s go find her.”

And Romance?

He followed right beside you. One hand resting at your back. Eyes never leaving you. Mind already painting images in a future he wasn’t sure he deserved—but god, he wanted.

You, holding your own child.

You, smiling up at him from a couch surrounded by toys and crayon drawings.

You, barefoot in the kitchen, singing lullabies into a soft, sleepy head.

And maybe, just maybe—his ring on your finger.

After reuniting the child with their grateful mother and waving goodbye, Romance waited until it was just the two of you again.

You looked up at him, heart still full. “They were so scared.”

He smiled—gentle, but his voice was low with emotion. “You were… incredible.”

You shrugged. “I just did what anyone would do.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead. Held there for a second longer than usual.

“No,” he murmured. “You did what you would do. And I hope you know I fall in love with you more every time you do.”

You laughed softly, a little flustered. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“Always,” he said. “Especially about you.”

And as he laced his fingers with yours again, Romance swore—

One day, he’d build a family with you. Because you already held the heart of it in your hands.

MYSTERY

Mystery didn’t really do parks.

Too many people. Too many sounds. Too much sunshine. But you liked them, so here he was—walking beside you in all black, hands shoved in his pockets, hood up like he was avoiding being perceived.

Which, honestly, he was.

Until it happened.

A tiny blur of movement, fast and frantic, darted around the corner of a vendor cart—straight into your legs.

You gasped, steadying yourself, and looked down to see a kid. Couldn’t have been more than four or five. Big wet eyes. Cheeks flushed from crying. Breath hiccupping in panic. No adult in sight.

And before Mystery could even register what was happening—

You were on your knees.

“Oh, hey hey, sweetheart—it’s okay,” you said softly, your voice instantly gentle, arms open but not pushy. “You’re safe, alright? You found us. What’s your name?”

The child sniffled something incoherent, still shaking.

You eased closer, wrapping the light jacket off your shoulders and gently putting it around their back, shielding them from the breeze like it was instinct. You brushed their hair back. Cupped their cheek. Told them you were proud of them for being so brave.

Mystery?

Was standing off to the side.

Frozen.

He blinked once. Then again.

His mouth opened like he might say something—then closed, because what the fuck.

He had never seen you like this before.

Sure, you were soft with him sometimes. When you thought he needed it. But this?

This was different.

You weren’t trying. You just… were. Gentle. Warm. Instinctively protective. The kind of presence a scared little soul could run to without hesitation.

His stomach flipped.

And something deeper—some other part of him he never talked about, never even let himself think about—stirred.

Family. The word hit him like a punch to the chest.

Not a concept he ever let sit too long in his head.

Not until now.

You were kneeling on the pavement, arms around this shivering kid, whispering soothing things while scanning the crowd for a frantic parent. And all he could do was stare at you like he’d just realized the sun existed and he’d been voluntarily living in a cave.

“Yo,” came a voice, breaking the moment.

A flustered woman ran toward you, crying out the kid’s name. You stood instantly, gently helping the child to their feet, handing them off with a smile and a few more kind words.

Once they were gone, you turned back to Mystery like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened.

He was still staring at you.

“…What?” you asked, brushing off your hands.

He blinked again. “Nothing.”

“You’ve been staring at me like I just summoned a unicorn.”

“You might’ve,” he muttered. Then, after a beat: “You’re… good with kids.”

You shrugged, bashful now. “I like kids.”

“Yeah.” His voice was a little hoarse. “I can tell.”

Another beat. His eyes softened a fraction. “…You’d be a good mom.”

You froze, surprised.

Then smiled, something flickering behind your eyes. “You think?”

He nodded slowly. And for once, Mystery didn’t try to hide the look he gave you—the one full of something terrifyingly tender. The one that said:

“Yeah. I want that. With you.”

He stepped close, slipping a hand into yours like it was second nature.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured.

But what he meant was:

“Let’s build one someday.”

JINU

The street was busy — too busy — with festival booths, lights, voices, laughter. The kind of noise that blurred together and made it easy for someone small to get overwhelmed.

And then you both heard it.

A hiccupping sob.

You turned first, always faster with your heart than anything else. Just a few feet away, a little boy — couldn’t have been older than five — stood alone near a lamppost, cheeks streaked with tears, little hands clutching a crumpled piece of paper.

Lost.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Oh, sweetie,” you whispered, already crouching down in front of him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Did you get separated from your mom or dad?”

The boy sniffled hard, nodding wordlessly, tiny bottom lip trembling.

Jinu stood frozen a few steps behind you, watching — not the kid, but you. The way your voice softened like instinct. The way you held out your hand without pressure. The way you spoke like nothing else mattered except making this small person feel safe.

Something shifted deep in his chest.

The kind of shift that felt dangerous. Permanent.

You gently wiped the boy’s tears with your sleeve, brushing hair from his eyes. “Can I help you find them? We’ll stay right here, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”

He nodded again, and without asking, stepped into your arms — tiny body trembling, and you just held him. Rocked him, barely moving, one hand cupping the back of his head.

“I got you,” you whispered, almost too soft to hear. “You’re okay now.”

And Jinu?

He couldn’t breathe for a second.

Not because he was overwhelmed — but because everything in him suddenly wanted this. Not the chaos. Not the drama. Not the danger of his demon blood. Just… this.

You.

A quiet life. Soft mornings. Tiny hands grabbing at your clothes. The kind of peace you gave this child just by existing near him.

He blinked slowly, his glowing yellow eyes unreadable for a long moment.

Then he exhaled.

And smiled.

It was a rare kind of smile. Quiet. Crooked. Like he’d just figured something out and wasn’t sure if it terrified him or lit him on fire.

You looked up at him eventually, still holding the boy. “Can you call someone? Maybe security?”

He nodded, pulling out his phone — still staring.

“Already on it,” he murmured.

But what he meant was: You’re it for me. I’m going to marry you. And one day… you’re going to be holding our kid like that. And I won’t deserve either of you, but god, I’ll protect you with everything I have.

#txt.baby #txt.mystery #txt.jinu #AHHH IM GOING CRAZY #“’surprise! your gf is very nurturing and good with kids!’ THATS ME DAWG

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paper-star-ships · 1 day ago

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Their s/o climbs into their lap for no reason

Tags: gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, lap cuddles, domestic, physical affection

Jinu

genuinely thinks you’re trying to seduce him at first and panics internally.

sits frozen for 3 full minutes before realizing you're just cuddling.

his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. tries to act normal. fails.

doesn’t say much, just holds you tighter every minute, as if you’ll disappear.

pretends to scroll his phone, but he's not even doing anything. just scrolls up and down through his apps screen

Romance

Smug the entire time

wraps his arms around you like he’s been waiting for this all day.

rests his head against your shoulder. hums a random tune.

Let his hands roam just a little. back rubs, waist squeezes, the works.

absolutely milks the moment. won’t let you get up even if your legs go numb.

Abby

looks around like he’s unsure if this is allowed.

immediately goes soft once you lean into him though.

holds you with both arms like you’re precious cargo.

gently sways you back and forth for no reason.

says something like “you’re so cute when you’re clingy.”

Mystery

stares. stays perfectly still.

slowly places one hand on your back, the other on your waist.

buries his face in the crook of your neck like it’s nothing.

doesn’t talk, just breathes slow and steady.

his version of “this is nice” is a little sigh and a firmer hug.

refuses to move until you do. might fall asleep like that tbh.

Baby

acts unbothered. is very much bothered.

calls you clingy with a smirk, but is literally vibrating with happiness.

rests his chin on your shoulder. sways slightly.

makes fun of you for “missing him soooo much”

goes quiet after a while and just holds you tighter.

#txt.baby #txt.mystery #AND WHAT IF I MADE A TAG FOR JINU HM??? AND WHAT IF Y'ALL ARE MAKING ME WARM UP TO HIM W STUFF LIKE THIS????????????#txt.jinu #at this rate they will all have individual fic tags bruh 😭😭😭

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paper-star-ships · 2 days ago

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🌙Saja Boys x Reader — Cuddling

---------------

🧿 Jinu

You always sleep closest to the wall. Not because you prefer it — Jinu just insists on lying between you and everything else. Just in case.

The first time you ever cuddled, he hovered awkwardly over your side like he needed permission to breathe. That lasted about two minutes.

Then you murmured, “You can hold me, you know,” and his whole body shifted. An arm across your waist. His face tucked behind your shoulder. A long, quiet breath against the back of your neck.

Now, he’s a routine. A clock. A gravitational pull.

You move? He follows. He doesn’t even wake up anymore — he just adjusts. A thigh tangles with yours. His hand finds your heart, fingers splayed like he’s protecting something sacred.

Sometimes, if you’re half-awake, you’ll feel his nose nuzzle into your hair, and the softest, most vulnerable “Still here?” whispered against your scalp.

“Still here,” you always whisper back.

He won’t even pretend to be okay if you purposely scoot away. One time you rolled over to check your phone and he let out the most offended little “...Where are you going?” like you’d just left him at the altar.

You kissed his hand, rolled back. He tucked his chin into your shoulder with a sigh.

And in the dim hush of night, you swear his patterns glow just a little.

Like it’s reacting to you.

---------------

💪 Abby

Abby sleeps like a golden retriever in love. The minute you settle in bed, he's rolling toward you with the gravity of a falling star and landing with a soft, oomph right across your chest.

Limbs everywhere. Head nuzzled under your chin. He doesn't so much lie down as melt over you, sighing into your collarbone with a level of satisfaction only usually reserved for post-workout smoothies or perfectly grilled meat.

"You're the best pillow," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your chest.

"You're crushing my lungs."

"I'm your lungs now."

And he means it.

He always checks, though. Even half-asleep, he’ll shift and ask, “Too much?” If you say yes, he’ll roll off instantly — but not without pulling you back with him, so your limbs end up tangled again, just with you on top this time.

When you wake up, your legs are always knotted together. His hands are still around your waist, sometimes drifting to your back like he’s making sure you’re real.

And every time, without fail, the first words out of his mouth are, “Sleep okay, babe?”

You once asked him why he liked cuddling so much.

“You’re my person,” he said simply. “Feels wrong not to hold you.”

He’d give you the moon if you asked. Until then, his whole body is yours.

---------------

📚 Mystery

You both go to sleep separately. No touching, no promises. Mystery’s curled up near the far edge, his back a silent wall, hair shadowing his face. But around 2:37 AM — every time — he finds you.

You never hear him move. You just wake up held.

One arm slung low around your hips. His forehead brushing between your shoulder blades. His chest pressed so close that you feel his heartbeat through your shirt. Soft, steady, cautious. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he touches too hard.

He doesn’t say anything about it in the morning. Pretends it didn’t happen. But if you roll away, he subtly follows. Ankle brushing yours. His hand tugging your shirt back toward him. A soft huff of breath when you return to him again.

You once whispered, “You can hold me from the start, you know.”

He went still. Then:

“Too much. You’d notice.”

And what he meant was: You’d know I need you more than I want you to see.

So now, you wait for him. Leave a space in the sheets like a silent invitation.

He always fills it.

There was one night you reached for him first. Just a hand, resting gently against his back.

He flinched — then slowly leaned into it, like sunlight creeping toward a shadow.

Later, he murmured, “You feel like silence.”

You didn’t know what he meant. But it sounded like the kind of silence he missed.

---------------

💋 Romance

Romance cuddles like a man who believes cuddling is a high art form. Every night is a production. He fluffs pillows. Sprays linen mist.

Sometimes wears a silk sleep mask just for drama.

But when the lights go out, it’s just him and you, and the quiet sound of your breath syncing.

“Face me,” he always says, already reaching.

You end up tangled immediately — limbs overlapping, one of his legs hitched over your hip, his arm curved around your neck. He runs his fingers down your back like he's drawing sigils, humming tunelessly.

“You smell like sugar,” he whispers. “You just ate a cookie.” “You smell like better sugar.”

If you pull away in your sleep — even slightly — he’ll pull your arm back with exaggerated sighs like a romantic lead on his deathbed.

Sometimes he talks himself to sleep, complimenting your earlobe or serenading your elbow. But the second you stop running your fingers through his hair or touching him in any way, he whines like a cat being ignored.

He’ll stay tangled up with you all night. Zero complaints. And if he wakes up with a crick in his neck?

“Worth it,” he says, draped over you like a sleepy vine. “My spine can suffer for love.”

He once made you matching sleep masks. His said Dreamboat. Yours said Beloved.

You wore yours once. He cried.

You wear it every night now.

---------------

🔥 Baby

Baby lies stiff on his side at first, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to burn a hole in it. He always waits for you to make the first move.

You think it’s pride — that quiet, unspoken thing in him that says don’t ask for softness.

But the second your hand finds his, he softens instantly. Turns to you like a shadow curling toward light.

He’s quiet about it. No teasing, no words. Just closeness. His arms around your middle. His head pressed to your chest. Sometimes, one shaky breath.

The kind that sounds like he was holding it in until you touched him.

His hold tightens in the dark. Like something inside him cracks open — and you're the only one who can fill it.

Sometimes you wake up and he’s watching you. Not in a creepy way — just... watching. His chin on your chest, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, like he’s still learning how to believe you’re real.

You never call him out on it.

You just brush his bangs back and whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he burrows deeper into your chest, saying nothing — but you feel the trust bloom between your ribs like firelight.

You stay like that until morning. Even when it gets hot, even when your arm goes numb — neither of you moves.

And Baby, who usually wakes up first, never does on those nights.

He lets you hold him until you’re the one who lets go.

Sometimes, when the sun rises and paints the walls pink, you hear him whisper — so faintly it might be a dream:

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

---------------

M-List

#txt.baby #txt.mystery #AND WHAT IF I CRIED!!!! WHAT ABOUT THAT?!?!?!#🥺🥺🥺🥺

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paper-star-ships · 3 days ago

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Huntrix / Saja Boys

#img.baby #img.mystery #I LOVE THEM ALL SM

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paper-star-ships · 3 days ago

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Nya~!!! 💖

#img.timothy #AHHH LOOK AT HIM HES SO CUTE 😭😭😭#Remmebered this guy and now I miss him 😔

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paper-star-ships · 4 days ago

Note

yk what I have another idea. baking with the Saja boys (all together, platonically). Baking some chocolate chip cookies.chaos will ensue

-🌺

Thank you for the request! This was so fun to write and not at all based on previous experiences😅 Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys — Baking Cookies

--------------------

It started with a crinkle.

You turned your head just in time to catch Baby—with chocolate smudged on his cheek—digging into a half-empty bag of chocolate chips like a raccoon caught in the act. “We should make cookies.”

“No,” Mystery called from the hallway.

“Yes,” Baby said louder, already sliding off the counter with purpose.

“We don’t have ingredients,” Jinu sighed, peering into the fridge like it personally offended him. “Unless we want to make cookies with butter, pickles, and regret.”

“We have flour!” Abby said, lifting the industrial-sized bag above his head like Simba in The Lion King. A cloud puffed out and immediately coated him from the elbow down.

“And hope,” Romance added, draping himself against you with a mischievous smile. “Which is all we need, isn’t it?”

You blinked. “We don’t even have eggs.”

“Details,” Baby said, tossing you a spoon. “You’re in this now.”

--------------------

The kitchen quickly devolved into a battlefield.

It started when Romance “accidentally” dumped in three times the amount of sugar. The bag tore mid-pour, exploding across the bowl like glitter at a school assembly.

“Oops,” he said, shaking the rest in with flair. “A dessert for the soul.”

“Do you even know how much was supposed to go in?” you asked, already brushing sugar off your shirt.

“Emotionally? A lot.”

Jinu made a strangled noise and gestured to his scribbled recipe on the back of a fried chicken receipt. “We need exactly one-half cup. Not a personal crisis.”

“Too late,” Romance replied sweetly.

Meanwhile, Mystery held up a mystery powder in a plain bag.

“Please tell me that’s baking soda,” you said.

“Yes,” Mystery answered.

“We needed baking soda, not salt.”

“It’s white and powdery,” he said, completely unbothered. “Close enough.”

You shot Jinu a look.

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something about regretting ever learning what cookies were.

Over by the bowl, Abby stirred with the enthusiasm of a man possessed. His biceps flexed. The spoon bent audibly.

“Abby!”

He looked up, startled and apologetic. “My bad! I got excited again.”

You handed him a sturdier wooden one. “Please don’t turn this into a weapon.”

“No promises,” he said with a sheepish smile. “It’s already halfway to becoming a club.”

Baby, unsupervised for a total of thirty seconds, had climbed onto the counter and was aiming a lighter at the oven like he was about to perform a ritual.

“Baby!” you yelped. “Put that down!”

He jumped and grinned like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar—which, in fairness, was also happening. “What? It works in cartoons!”

“This isn’t Looney Tunes!”

“You don’t know that,” he said, flicking the lighter once for dramatic effect. “Have you seen Abby’s apron? That’s cartoon logic.”

(It was pink. It said ‘Hot Stuff’ and had a cartoon chili pepper flexing.)

Just then, Romance handed you a cookie blob vaguely shaped like a heart. Six chocolate chips formed a crooked, slightly sinister smile.

“This one’s for you,” he purred.

You narrowed your eyes. “It’s either haunted or deeply affectionate.”

“I contain multitudes,” he said, gently pushing it toward you like an offering.

A flour explosion erupted behind you.

You turned in time to see Abby try to open the bag with his bare hands. It burst like a firework. A solid two pounds of flour shot straight into the air and rained down like cursed snow.

“Sorry!” he coughed. “It slipped!”

Mystery, completely dusted and unmoving, just looked at you. “I'm haunted now.”

By the time the tray was ready, the kitchen looked like the end of a cooking show gone wrong. A light dusting of flour covered every surface. Sugar crunched underfoot. Someone—probably Baby—had drawn a demonic sigil in cocoa powder on the counter and surrounded it with mini marshmallows “for summoning ambience.”

“Are we sure we didn’t accidentally summon a cookie demon?” you asked, pointing at the sigil.

“Only one way to find out,” Baby said, dumping a spoonful of batter onto it and cackling.

Mystery licked batter off the spatula and gave his verdict. “I give this attempt a 6 out of 10.”

“We haven’t even baked it yet,” you said.

“I’m being generous.”

Jinu pulled the tray from the oven with oven mitts and pure prayer. The cookies were... uneven. Misshapen. Slightly sentient-looking.

“They’re beautiful,” Abby whispered, gazing at them like a proud dad.

“Beautiful disasters,” you muttered, but broke off a corner anyway. It was golden. Crispy on the edge. The middle gooey and warm.

Pause.

“Oh no,” you said slowly, “it’s actually good.”

Romance gasped and grabbed your wrist. “We’ve done it. We’ve weaponized sugar and incompetence into deliciousness.”

Mystery nodded solemnly and shoved a whole one into his mouth. “Could be worse.”

Baby slid up next to you with one slightly burnt cookie that had been drowned in syrup and sprinkles. “This one’s yours. I call it ‘The You Cookie.’ I gave it too much frosting because I love you the most.”

You eyed it. “You dumped pancake syrup on it.”

“Exactly.”

--------------------

Somehow—somehow—a fan managed to get a blurry shot through the window. The image later hit stan Twitter like a wildfire.

It showed all of you at the table:

Romance twirling a cookie like a rose. Jinu with his face in his hands. You, forehead dusted in flour and mid-laugh. Abby giving a thumbs-up with a cookie in his mouth. Mystery staring directly into the camera like it had personally betrayed him. Baby in the background, dual-wielding spoons and licking both.

And the top comment?

“Whatever they baked probably summoned an ancient god. I want some.”

--------------------

M-List

Taglist: @honey-and-sweetdreams @lyunsafebubble @reixtsu @ghostiiess @kpopmultistans @viktor-enjoyer @ash-creationz

#txt.saja boys #“I gave it too much frosting cause I love you the most” 🥺

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paper-star-ships · 4 days ago

Note

Hiya! Could I perhaps get the boys reacting to their gf just peppering their faces with kisses? (Bonus points if they're COVERED in cutesy lipstick marks after that–DOUBLE BONUS POINTS if a fan catches a pic of them like that somehow (when asked why their s/o didn't say anything she just shrugs; they look cute that way what do you want from her!))

Love your stuff as always! -💙

Thank you for the request! This was an absolutely adorable idea. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader — Marked by You

---------------------

🧿 Jinu

You’d barely had your second sip of morning iced coffee when you crawled into Jinu’s lap, balancing carefully as he tried to finish his planner notes.

“Wait, wait—!” he mumbled, but it was too late. You dotted a kiss to his nose, then his cheekbone, then his other cheek, then his jaw. You chased the corners of his lips with pecks, giggling the whole time as your lipstick left a soft trail of bubblegum-pink across his skin like a heart-shaped crime scene.

“You're not gonna warn me?” he said in disbelief, blinking up at you with a pen still in hand and his glasses sliding down his nose.

“You look cute this way,” you shrugged, patting his face. “It's fashion. You're trending.”

He looked like he wanted to argue—he really did—but you could see the way his ears turned red. He ended up letting out a long, helpless sigh and resting his head back on your shoulder.

Later, when he walked out to grab takeout from the front desk, he passed a group of teens who froze mid-conversation.

“Oh my god,” one whispered. “That’s Jinu. He’s—he’s COVERED in kisses.”

The fancam had nearly a million likes by morning. Jinu's only comment on it?

“This is defamation.” (Sent from your account.)

---------------------

💪 Abby

Abby had just finished his workout. He looked flushed, golden, sweaty — basically, a walking thirst trap.

So of course you ambushed him on the floor mat with open arms and a glittery tube of red lipstick.

“Babe?” he asked cautiously, muscles still flexing under the tank top. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You tackled him like a koala, straddled his waist, and smooched the life out of him.

Each kiss landed with a dramatic mwah. Abby laughed the whole time, limbs limp as he tried not to roll you both across the mat. But when you finally let him go and he looked at himself in the mirror—

“Wait. Why do I look like Valentine’s Day?”

“Because you are,” you said sweetly, snapping a picture.

Unfortunately, one of the gym trainers walked in right then and absolutely lost it. They posted it to their story with “our fave romantic wrestler got jumped” as the caption. Abby found out during dinner.

He just looked at you with a long, betrayed expression… then shrugged.

“Okay, but I do look good.”

---------------------

📚 Mystery

Mystery was halfway through reading when you silently straddled his lap and kissed his forehead.

Then his temple.

Then his nose.

He didn’t say a word. Not even when you kissed his chin. Not when you smooched his jaw. He just tilted his head slightly, letting you angle him like a sculpture.

“I’m decorating,” you explained, lips tinted with plum gloss. “You’re my canvas.”

“I see,” he replied evenly.

You smushed a final kiss to his cheekbone and sighed in satisfaction.

Only then did he speak again—voice low and unreadable.

“…You forgot one spot.”

You blinked, about to ask what he meant, when he tilted his head and tapped his neck, just below the ear.

Oh. Oh.

He didn’t move for you. He just waited, eyes barely half-lidded, until you leaned in again. You left a dramatic lipstick stamp right where he pointed.

Twenty minutes later, a fan who’d been standing behind Mystery in line at the bookstore posted a blurry shot captioned:

“not me behind this man who just finished a romance novel and has kiss marks all over his throat???”

---------------------

💋 Romance

Romance had just finished doing his hair. That was his first mistake.

His second mistake was standing near the vanity where you were testing a brand new lipstick — hot coral pink, glossy finish.

“Ooooh,” you whispered, eyes lighting up. “Hold still.”

“I literally just did my hair—”

Too late. You attacked.

Romance yelped as you cornered him into the mirror, covering every inch of his face in affection. You kissed his cheekbones, his forehead, his chin, his eyelids. You kissed the little mole near his ear, kissed the tip of his nose. He protested in dramatics, but never pushed you away.

When you finally stepped back to admire your masterpiece, he was glowing.

He stared at his reflection in horror.

“I look like a crime of passion.”

“You look adorable.”

“NO,” he said, snatching his phone and immediately opening the camera. “NO, wait—actually…”

He posted a full selfie to his story with a filter that added sparkles.

“Say hello to KISSCORE.™️”

One fan reposted it with the caption:

“this is not an idol this is someone’s boyfriend having the time of his life.”

And honestly? They were right.

---------------------

🔥 Baby

Baby was still rubbing his eyes when you pounced on him that morning.

You'd been waiting. Waiting until he was just barely awake, soft with sleep and warm under the oversized hoodie he stole from your side of the closet. He was a blank canvas.

You didn’t go easy.

Baby made a sound of protest and tried to roll away, but you climbed on top of him and showered his face in smooches.

“Babe—what—why do you taste like strawberry—”

You shushed him with another kiss. By the time you were done, his entire face was a collage of glossy kiss marks. His eyes narrowed at your smug expression.

“You didn’t even TRY to warn me.”

“I tried. You were asleep.”

He glared. But the glare softened quickly, because your grin was all teeth and affection, and he could feel the sticky gloss prints all over his cheeks, jaw, and neck.

Unfortunately for him, the fan photo was taken exactly twenty minutes later, when you stopped by a bakery and he turned to thank the cashier.

The post?

“He said ‘thank you!’ with like 13 lipstick marks on his face. No one survives this relationship.”

And he didn’t.

---------------------

M-List

#txt.mystery #txt.baby #AHHH SO CUTE ;;;

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paper-star-ships · 6 days ago

Note

Hello! Thank you so much for accepting our requests!! I was wondering what would be the place the Saja Boys would take the Reader for their first date? What would they wear?

If you take this request, thank you!!! Have a great day!

Thank you for the request! This took way longer than i was expecting it to, I had way to many ideas. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader — First Date

--------------------

🧿Jinu

Place: Quiet, tucked-away book café Outfit: Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, cardigan around his waist.

Jinu got there before opening.

He told himself it was just to scope the place out. Make sure it wasn’t too loud, too crowded, too overwhelming. But by the time the staff unlocked the doors and let him in with a soft smile, he’d already gone through three rounds of nervous pacing and helped them fluff the floor cushions.

He had one goal: make today feel gentle. Not showy. Not cool. Just quiet, like you deserved a place that let you breathe.

By the time you arrived, he was seated cross-legged on a woven cushion, nursing a spiced tea and practicing what he’d say. Then you walked in. And he forgot all of it.

“You came,” he blurted, voice a little too soft, eyes a little too wide.

You laughed. “You invited me.”

He looked like he wanted to melt into the bookshelf behind him.

But he handed you your favorite drink—already ordered, already perfect—and scooted over just enough that your knees touched when you sat down beside him. His voice stayed hushed, reverent, as he pointed out his favorite dog-eared passages and listened intently when you did the same.

You didn’t kiss. But when your pinky hooked around his by accident, he stared at it like you’d offered him your soul.

And honestly? Maybe you had.

--------------------

💪 Abby

Place: Outdoor climbing park Outfit: Sleeveless hoodie, joggers, sneakers.

“This isn’t weird, right?” Abby asked as he tightened your harness. “Like—it’s a date, but also maybe a team-building exercise? But a sexy one?”

You choked on your laugh. “Sexy team-building?”

“I dunno!” he shrugged. “I just thought, like—if you trust me to catch you when you fall, maybe you’ll also trust me with your number again next time?”

His plan was half chaos, half sunshine, but somehow it worked. He never rushed you. Never showed off. He just climbed alongside you, offering encouragement and steady hands when you needed them. And when you finally made it to the top, panting and a little exhilarated, he pulled two smoothies out of his bag like a magician.

“Mango for you. Or strawberry, if you hate mango. I got options.” You didn’t ask how he remembered. You just smiled.

The view was beautiful. The breeze was cool. Abby’s shoulder was warm against yours as you leaned in to rest.

“I like you,” he said. Simple. Sure. Like gravity. And when you looked up at him—messy hair, soft smile—you believed it.

--------------------

📚Mystery

Place: Abandoned after-hours art exhibit. Outfit: Black layers with soft texture. Long coat. Lace-up boots.

He didn’t explain where you were going.

Just took your hand in his—not tightly, just enough to guide—and led you through winding streets until you stepped through a tall glass door into near silence.

The world inside the gallery was made of shadows and soft purple glow. Art installations towered around you, strange and sacred. And no one else was there.

“I asked them to clear it out,” he murmured, his voice barely carrying. “Didn’t want to share this with strangers.”

Mystery didn’t talk much. But he watched you. Not in a way that made you nervous—just… deeply. Like he was trying to memorize the way light hit your face or how you tilted your head at the abstract sculptures.

“You’re not saying anything,” you said, a little shy under his gaze.

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “You’re already saying enough.”

Later, he touched your hand—slow, careful—and pulled it to rest against his chest for a moment, just long enough to feel the rhythm beneath it.

“I wanted to show you something beautiful,” he said. “And I wanted you to be part of it.”

--------------------

💋 Romance

Place: Rooftop jazz bar. Outfit: Deep red silk shirt, tailored black pants.

Romance didn’t just plan a date. He orchestrated an evening.

You were barely through the door when a staff member greeted you both by name. Your table? Closest to the view. The band? Just starting to play a song you mentioned once in passing. The way he looked at you?

Like you were the main character in every song tonight.

“I thought about playing it cool,” he said with a smirk, pulling out your chair, “but that’s not really my style. I wanted tonight to feel like something you’d remember.”

You tried to tease him, but it was impossible not to be swept into it all. The music. The laughter. The easy way he made you feel like you were the most fascinating person in the world.

He held your hand gently across the table, fingers tracing idle shapes on your palm.

“You make me nervous,” he said with a smile that almost didn’t reach his eyes. “But in a good way. Like… I care too much. And I don’t mind.”

When he asked you to dance, the stars were out. And the kiss—yes, there was a kiss—was soft and slow and everything he’d promised.

--------------------

🔥 Baby

Place: Bustling night market by the river. Outfit: Ripped jeans, graphic tee, bomber jacket.

He didn’t call it a date. “Wanna hit the food stalls or what?” he texted. “Don’t be late.”

But when you showed up, Baby was already there, looking off to the side like he hadn’t been waiting nervously for ten minutes.

He handed you a drink—your favorite, somehow—and mumbled, “Figured you’d want one.”

The market was chaos. Drums, voices, neon signs flashing. But Baby stuck close, guiding you with the lightest touches. He complained about prices. Glared at stall owners for skimping on sauce. Ate anything you handed him like it was no big deal.

When your hand brushed his in the crowd, he grabbed it.

“Just so you don’t get lost,” he said. “Nothing weird.” But he didn’t let go.

You ended up by the riverbank, fireworks going off overhead. Your fingers still twined, your cheeks aching from laughter and spice and sugar.

He didn’t look at you when he said it.

“I liked this,” he muttered. “With you. I don’t… usually like stuff like this.”

You didn’t kiss. He just leaned his shoulder into yours, quiet and steady, like that was his way of asking if you’d come back again.

You would. God, you would.

--------------------

M-List

#txt.baby #txt.mystery #SO CUTE AWW 😭😭😍

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paper-star-ships · 6 days ago

Text

what if we were a demon boy band and we all ran like goofy guys? haha jk...unless? 🤔

#img.baby #img.mystery #LOVE #LOOK AT MY SILLIES!!!!!

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paper-star-ships · 7 days ago

Note

COULD WE GET SAJA BOYS (SEPARATE) CATCHING THEIR ARTIST GF DRAWING THEM, AND FINDING OUT THEYVE DRAWN THEM ALOT?

-⭐️

Thank you for the request! I honestly had so many ideas for this one, it was tough narrowing it down. Here you go! 💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader — Drawing them

--------------------

🧿 Jinu

You thought he was asleep.

Curled up on his side in your studio, blanket over his shoulders and Derpy snoring at his feet, Jinu looked blissfully peaceful—mouth slightly parted, cheek squished against the pillow, patterns faintly glowing through his tank top.

He wasn’t asleep.

He’d peeked through his lashes about ten minutes ago. He’d seen the way your pencil danced. Not rushed or fussy, not trying to capture every hair, just… natural. Familiar. You were humming under your breath, flipping between sketchbook pages, completely focused. And he’d realized—

You didn’t just draw him once.

You drew him all the time.

A full page of just his hands—one wrapped around Derpy’s leash, one holding a teacup, one resting by his neck with the knuckle of his thumb bitten red. Another page of his demon form, incomplete but ethereal, with glowing lines where his mark pulsed. A half-dozen little faces—shy smile, dimpled grin, pouting at his phone, frowning in confusion, and one where he was just looking sideways like he was listening to you talk.

“Are you—?” he said softly, startling you.

You jolted. “Jinu! I thought you were asleep!”

“I was trying,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “But someone’s out here being cute with a sketchbook.”

Your face flushed. “It’s just practice—”

“No,” he said, sitting up slowly. “It’s not just that. Is it?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He scooted closer and gently took the sketchbook from your lap. Flipping slowly. Reverently. Letting the silence speak for him.

After a while, he whispered, “Can I keep one?” And then, quieter: “For when I miss you?”

--------------------

💪 Abby

You were sprawled across the couch with your iPad, balancing it on your knees while you sketched loosely from memory. Abby was in the kitchen making protein pancakes and humming something tuneless—but the moment he stepped out to check the pan, he froze.

“…Is that me?”

You looked up like a kid caught with candy. “Maybe.”

He crossed the room in three giant steps, tilting his head to see—and you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out when his eyes went huge.

“Wait—no way,” he breathed, flipping through the layers you’d drawn. “This is from last week! When I was lifting you up during the beach day?”

“And that one’s from when you were fixing the studio door,” you added, pointing to a slightly cartoonish version of him holding a screwdriver with intense determination. “And that one was you holding a puppy. I had to draw it from memory ‘cause you wouldn’t let me take a picture.”

He stared, brows furrowing, until he landed on a sketch that made him pause. You’d drawn him sleeping. Curled slightly in demon form, his patterns glowing warm across his bicep.

“…You drew that?” he whispered. “Even like this?”

You nodded. “You always say you’re the tank. But you’re also just—beautiful, Abs.”

He gave you a look. All soft eyes and too-much emotion, like he was trying to process something too big for his heart to hold.

Then he just flopped onto the couch, scooped you onto his lap, and said gruffly: “I’m gonna make that my phone background. And maybe tattoo it on my arm.”

You snorted. “I’m not that good.”

“You’re my favorite artist. That’s good enough.”

--------------------

📚 Mystery

You hadn’t even noticed he was behind you.

Which was impressive, because you always noticed when Mystery was around. He made the air shift. Made light distort. He was a presence, even when quiet. But you’d been too caught up in your drawing to notice the faint pressure of someone watching.

Until a shadow fell over your page and a voice murmured behind your ear:

“Is that how you see me?”

You yelped and spun, nearly erasing your work by accident. “Mystery!”

He was crouched in front of you now, calm and curious, head tilting as he scanned the sketchbook in your lap. His own face looked back at him—half-shadowed, bangs framing one glowing eye, mouth pulled into that unreadable smirk he wore when teasing the others.

“It’s… for a study,” you offered weakly.

“Study,” he echoed, reaching out and gently flipping the pages.

You tensed. There were dozens. Quick sketches from memory. Poses from when he stretched after training, or crouched on rooftops, or disappeared through shadows. Some were softer—one where he was leaning against your leg while reading. One where his bangs were clipped up as you cleaned a scratch on his cheek.

He paused on the last one. A charcoal sketch of him looking over his shoulder, not at the viewer, but directly at you.

“…You see me like this,” he said, more to himself than you.

You swallowed. “You don’t mind?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached up, pulled his bangs aside, and let you see both his eyes clearly for the first time in hours.

Then he murmured: “Draw me again. I want to see what I look like when I’m yours.”

--------------------

💋 Romance

Romance was halfway through a wardrobe change when he saw it.

You’d left your sketchbook on the coffee table, open to a half-finished page—and he’d been passing through shirtless, humming, looking for his backup earrings. But the moment his eyes landed on that page, he gasped. Loudly.

“BABE!”

You appeared from the hallway, confused. “What? What happened?”

He pointed dramatically. “You drew me shirtless??”

You blinked. “You were shirtless when you made me coffee this morning.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know you were mentally screenshotting it!!”

He flopped onto the couch and picked up the book with both hands like it was the Holy Grail. Page after page of him—posing, laughing, teasing, lounging. A few with him in full stage makeup, glitter still barely hinted with colored pencil. One of him kissing your cheek.

“You’ve been drawing me this much?” he asked, voice softening.

“Yeah,” you said, cheeks pink. “You’re really expressive. And your eyes are fun to get right. And—well, you’re beautiful, so—”

“Say less,” he declared, already lying dramatically across your lap. “Draw me like one of your French boys.”

You laughed. “I’m serious!”

“So am I! This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He paused, then looked up with a grin. “Wait, do you take requests? ‘Cause I have some concepts.”

--------------------

🔥 Baby

He noticed it because you left it open by mistake.

Baby had been rooting around for snacks. You were on a call, distracted, sitting on the floor by your bed—and he wandered into the room like a bored demon kitten. His eyes snagged on your tablet. The sketch app was still running.

He tilted the screen.

Froze.

Then blinked really hard and whispered, “...The hell?”

It was him. Dozens of drawings of him. In all kinds of poses—half-dressed and cocky, hoodie-hunched and grumpy, laughing with one fang poking out. Some were super stylized (he had fangirls in them?!), others detailed and intimate. One had him in demon form with hellfire wreathing his fingers.

You realized too late.

“Wait! Don’t look at that—!”

He jumped like you’d caught him watching a crime scene, but didn’t let go. “What do you mean, don’t look? You’ve got like—twenty of me in here! This one’s me eating tteokbokki, what the hell—?”

“I like drawing you!” you huffed. “You’ve got great expressions! You’re fun to sketch!”

His mouth opened to protest… then closed again.

And when he looked back down at the screen, he was blushing.

“I mean… they look cool,” he mumbled, scratching his neck. “This one? With the fire? That’s actually sick…”

He paused, side-eying you.

“…Can you draw me like, standing on a volcano or something? With my hair on fire?”

You rolled your eyes. “So basically, anime boss fight version of you?”

“Exactly,” he said smugly. “If I’m your muse, I’m gonna be the most badass one.”

--------------------

M-List

#txt.baby #txt.mystery #Much needed levity for me ngl #I'm looking into college classes #I've just come across general core curriculum classes for the first time and I think I'm about to have an aneurysm <3

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paper-star-ships · 8 days ago

Text

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), fire, mentions of blood

[A/n]: I have no control over these boys. I'm just her for vibes and suffering. (cuz they don't exist huehuhe) Reader deserves hazard pay <3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, >Part 4<, Part 5

Day 5: Part II - Silence is Sexy Now Apparently???

Whoever answered your desperate plea for peace and quiet—thank you.

Even if they were, like, three business days late and definitely filed your request under "suffering builds character."

Because this past few hours? Felt suspiciously like divine intervention.

No stage-diva boys haunting your hallway like perfume-scented cryptids.

No "Noonaaaa!" yelled with the thunderous, bass-boosted agony of a man possessed. From Baby, of all people.

You told him to stop—said you didn't want people thinking you were older than you looked, especially not with his baby face and all that skincare witchcraft he hoards like it's sacred.

The little bastard just smirked harder, like he was saying, "Are you sure?"

You haven't known peace since your second day here. Much less now.

No Romance popping out from behind the prop shelf, dramatically clutching a scarf and declaring, "I dreamt of you last night. You were strangling me. Artistically."

It was a neck pillow. You yeeted it at his head. He thanked you.

No Abby blocking the hallway mirror to flex and ask you, completely straight-faced, "Is it villain-coded if I moisturize before world domination?"

You gave him a thumbs-up and left. He later claimed you were flirting.

No Mystery silently offering you your own coffee, only to walk away after you refused—leaving you standing there with the weird guilt of rejecting a ghost’s feelings.

You drank it anyway. It was your usual. How did he know?? You're still thinking about it.

And most importantly, no random interpretive dance ambush in the pantry while you were trying to microwave rice.

Just glorious silence and the sound of your sneakers not stepping on anyone's ego.

Which is why, for once, you were enjoying your break. Rooftop breeze in your hair, sketchbook in your lap, and the rare spiritual luxury of not being absolutely done with humanity.

Seriously. Whoever was pulling strings up there? You forgive them. They were late, but they came through.

Your only concern this morning was how many folding chairs you'd be emotionally blackmailed into hauling later. That, and whether you had enough lead in your pencil to finish this page.

You hadn't seen a single suspicious silhouette or reality-shattering jawline since clocking in.

Well, okay, fine. You did run into them earlier when you're getting for break time.

Romance had cornered you in the supply room like he was filming a music video, asking if he could "pose dramatically for your art." His eyes sparkled. Yours twitched.

Abby tried flexing casually while asking about your weekend plans, then pretended to drop something so you'd "just happen" to see his back muscles.

You did. You were mildly impressed. You told him to stop weaponizing gym memberships.

And Baby?

He just strolled over without a word and dropped into the seat beside you, one leg stretched out, the other slung over his knee like he was posing for a magazine titled Ego Issues Quarterly

He didn't even look at you at first. Just leaned back, arms draped along the chair like he’d been born lounging.

Then he said, voice low and lazy, "How much for the sketchbook?"

You didn't answer. He offered gum. You still didn't answer. He threw in a paperclip shaped like a bunny.

You almost caved. And by that, you meant throw hands.

And as all this happened, you did what you always did: stayed indifferent on the outside.

But on the inside?

You were clocking every angle. Every jawline, every shadow, every stupid strand of unfair hair volume. Half of you was annoyed; the other half was already tagging their bone structures under "good reference" in your brain's internal Pinterest.

You weren't immune. Just busy.

But amidst the usual dumb banter and war for your attention, one thing stuck out: Jinu.

He didn't flirt. He didn't joke. He barely looked at you ever since you step foot in the building.

You noticed it in passing—how quiet he was. A little more serious than usual. Like something had lodged itself in his brain and refused to vacate the premises. Definitely not just brooding-for-aesthetic. Actual thoughts.

Suspicious.

And maybe it was your artist brain short-circuiting from too many Pinterest boards, but the tension in his shoulders? The way his jaw kept ticking like it was chewing on unfinished dialogue?

Yeah. If he were a drawing, you'd label him "Haunted by Plot Twist, page 37."

You should've been concerned. You really should've.

But nah. Not your business. You had background extras to sketch, rent to pay, and three missing pen nibs to mourn.

Which brings us back to now.

You were so blissfully content, maybe even giggled to yourself once or twice like a tiny menace in a hoodie, that you didn't notice the bench shift beside you.

You blinked, mid-sketch, and looked up.

Oh. It was him. Mystery.

You paused. Blinked again. Yeah, not a hallucination.

Sometimes, he freaked you out a little. Not in the horror-movie way. Just... he was so quiet. Too quiet. Like his stage name wasn't just branding but a literal warning.

Mystery had a habit of showing up without sound, appearing like a cursed Pokémon spawn next to you, behind you, in your personal bubble.

Still, all things considered? He was the least annoying of the lot. Not to mention, you did admit to yourself you found him cute.

He didn't throw flirty one-liners at you like he was auditioning for the role of 'sexy second lead,' and he hadn't tried to yoink your sketchbook like it was the last horcrux. That earned him points.

So you let him sit. Whatever. It was a big rooftop.

You returned to your sketching, lazily doodling the closest prop in sight.

You had, like, five minutes left of freedom before someone inevitably called you to haul folding chairs, fix someone's wig, or hand-sew a button back onto a backup jacket.

You sighed just thinking about it. And then you felt it, the weight against your side.

You froze. Your eyes slid sideways.

Mystery had leaned in. Not dramatically, not like a collapsing tree, just... rested his shoulder against yours. Hair over his face as always, head dipped slightly.

You squinted at him.

Then, as if he might leap into action at any second, you closed your sketchbook. Slowly. Suspiciously. (Always be cautious!)

He didn't move.

"...Are you not feeling well?" You asked.

Mystery shook his head. Barely. Just enough for you to notice. Still, he didn't say anything else.

You glanced around like you were in a spy thriller. Was this a distraction? Were the others planning an ambush while he played decoy? You wouldn't put it past them.

You were starting to suspect you'd become their favorite form of enrichment. Like a stress ball. Or an emotional support disaster muppet.

But nothing. The rooftop stayed quiet. No one popped out with dramatic finger hearts or badly disguised attempts at small talk.

Maybe... maybe they were actually busy. Maybe someone finally got them to rehearse so hard they collapsed on the floor.

But this dude still had the energy to climb all the way up here? Then never mind.

You just hoped they stayed busy. That Mystery showing up here was his own decision not something cooked up by Jinu, mister I-have-a-switch, or the rest of his chaos committee.

You turned back toward Mystery, trying to play it cool.

Not to be weird or anything, but his cologne smelled... nice. Soft. Like citrus and something expensive. It didn't attack your nose like some of the cologne samples you once tried at the mall that nearly caused a coma.

His hair looked soft, too. A little fluffy. It reminded you of one of your grandparents' pets which was the sleepy little dog they had. It used to curl up beside you and doze off while you drew.

Was that what Mystery was doing? Were you warmth? A heating pad?

...Was he asleep?

You squinted again. No answer. You huffed and picked up your pencil. If you couldn't figure him out, you might as well draw through it.

Doodles. Hands. Some profile from memory. A chaotic blob that could become something. Anything to keep your hands busy and your eyes off the mystery boy literally named Mystery.

You didn't notice the small smile tugging at his lips.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed. Break was over.

You stared down at the screen like it had betrayed you. Back to the world. Back to chaos. Back to sanity erosion.

But for now, for just a moment longer, you stayed seated. And beside you, Mystery didn't move either

Without speaking, or even needing to tell him to sit up, you saw Mystery already shifting, straightening just slightly as if he'd read your mind.

Okay...that's nice. Creepy. But nice.

You stood with a quiet sigh, brushing off your hoodie like it had personally offended you, sketchbook tucked under your arm like a child you were protecting from the world's sins.

"Later." You bid him casually with a little nod.

Mystery didn't answer. He rarely did. Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he didn't. You were starting to think he had a secret dice roll for social interaction.

And you didn't expect him to still be watching.

Didn't expect him to stay exactly where you left him, still leaning slightly, still barely moving, like one of those statues in horror games that only move when you look away.

For some reason, even with all that hair obscuring half his face, you imagined his eyes trailing after you like a dog watching its human leave for work. All soulful gaze and tragic resignation.

Like if you turned around, he might paw at the air and whine.

But you didn't linger, just pushed the rooftop door open then stopped. You blinked—because there, in the corner of your vision, saw a flash of pink. Not pastel. Not sky. Something unnatural.

A glitch or something. A smoke trail. Like someone mid-teleport in a fantasy game with their settings on 'extra dramatic.'

You stared one half-second longer than any sane person would, nodded like "cool, love that for us," and walked off. You had chairs to carry. Wigs to adjust. A paycheck to clutch like a rosary.

Let someone else deal with the possible interdimensional chaos cloud.

Behind you, Mystery finally sat up straight. His eyes never left the spot where you'd vanished through the door.

And that's when the others appeared with a flash of pink.

"Yo." Abby's voice cut through the rooftop air like a slap. He looked at Mystery, brow twitching. "Was that... you leaning on her? Or are the stage lights finally frying my retinas?"

Romance turned, jaw already dropped. "She let you sit next to her?" Then as if he came upon a realization, he added, "I mean— you got contact?"

He blinked, stunned. No way. You always swatted them off with a scowl. You pulled away like they were leaking radioactivity anytime they got too close.

But now Mystery got a seat? A whole moment?

What the hell.

The said person—demon didn't answer. He didn't have to. The silence was louder than anything he could've said.

Baby scoffed, arms folded tight. "Did you at least look at what she was doing?"

He told himself it was about the sketchbook. About the mission, but it wasn't. Not really.

No reply.

Romance tilted his head, his tone laced with mockery. "What—did you fall for that human or something?"

"A possible enemy." Abby muttered with syrupy venom. "Aww. That's adorable. What next? Gonna write her name in your demon diary?"

"Or give her your soul in a glittery envelope?" Baby flatly said with squinted eyes. "Just say you're in love with the enemy already."

He hadn't meant for it to land like that. Not really. But Mystery's hand twitched at his side, still silent.

Baby glanced away first with a little scoff.

"Maybe that's his plan now." Jinu's voice cut in, low and clipped. "Stay quiet. Earn her trust. Let her think he's harmless, just some weird, hoodie-wearing loner. Then when her guard's down, she gives him the sketchbook... or shows him what's inside."

His arms crossed tighter. "Wouldn't have to ask. Wouldn't have to flirt. Just sit there and wait until she spills like he's special."

Jinu paused for a brief second.

"Smart." He added. But it didn't sound like a compliment. More like a warning. Or maybe a grudge dressed up as logic.

They all turned to Mystery. He stared back—calm, and unreadable, like none of their noise registered. Not compared to whatever was playing in his head.

He blinked once then spoke, quiet enough to be lost in the wind. "She moves when I look. I don't want her to move."

It landed like a spell. Sudden. Off-key. Too soft to handle.

For a second, no one spoke.

Abby froze. No blink. No quip. Just stared like his system had crashed mid-update.

Romance let out a breath, hand on his chest like he'd been hit. No teasing now, just narrowed eyes and something twisted in his gut.

"That line had flavor." He muttered. "Did it taste like yearning?"

He tried to laugh, but it fell flat. Because he remembered your expression—your bored scowl, your insult about glitter, the way you spun that foam trident like you'd trained for it.

He was supposed to be the charming one. The safe bet. But you hadn't even twitched.

He'll probably start genuinely sulking, and that would just be humiliating.

Now Mystery, who barely talks, gets to sit next to you? Yeah. That stung. (Bruised something which certainly wasn't just his ego).

Baby blinked, disbelief cracking through his usual smirk. He expected poetry from Romance. Absurdity from Abby. But Mystery?

"That was a rom-com lead moment." Baby narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna be sick." Then, under his breath, "Mystery spoke and now the universe tilts."

He turned to Jinu, petty and itching. "Better switch up your shampoo, golden boy. Whatever you're using clearly stopped working."

It was a cheap shot. He didn't care. The feelings stirring in his chest weren't clean—so he'd call it strategy. Frustration. Anything but jealousy.

None of them had gotten that far.

Not Abby's showboating. Not Romance's smooth talk. Not Jinu's sudden fake kindness. Not even him with his cuteness.

And Mystery? Said one line and got further than any of them.

Unacceptable.

Abby huffed beside him, arms crossed in mirror defense. No words. Just a silent, sulky pout that made his fitted shirt feel too tight all of a sudden.

Jinu didn't react, he didn't flinch. Just stood still, jaw tight. Eyes unreadable. But inside? Yeah. He felt the burn.

He was the first. The one who let you in. Let you photograph them, bark orders, roll your eyes without consequence. You didn't swoon. Didn't care. Just worked.

He'd called it strategy. Keep you close. Watch you. (They know where you live).

But somewhere between your eye rolls and offhand insults, something else had crept in. Something not in the plan. Not strategy.

Now, seeing you sit still for Mystery—letting him close?

Jinu exhaled through his nose, soft and low.

"Hopeless." He muttered, gaze distant. He didn't know if he meant Mystery, who was clearly done playing spy, or himself, for ever thinking he could separate observation from obsession.

He exhaled through his nose. "Scratch him off. He’s not getting that sketchbook."

"Good." Baby said, a little too fast. His voice cut through the air, crisp and cool. "Less mouths. Maybe I'll actually get close enough next time without being called a stray cat."

Romance grinned, the mischief in his eyes impossible to miss. "You're still upset she called you a stray, huh? What was it? Something about turf wars with raccoons behind a 7-Eleven?"

Baby's scowl deepened like he was reliving it in real-time. He turned to Romance with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "She called you glitter vomit, Romance." He snapped. "So unless you wanna be part of the clean-up crew, shut it."

Romance's grin twitched. Just slightly. Like it was painted on, cracking at the edges.

"At least I sparkle when I'm insulted." He said through clenched teeth, voice still sugarcoated but sharp. "You hiss and knock over boxes like a third-tier saja who got rejected from charm school. I'd say it's embarrassing, but you made it an art."

Baby didn't blink. "Yeah?" He said, voice low. "Keep talking, sparkle guts. Maybe she'll pity you enough to sweep you off the floor."

They stared at each other, tension crackling, the air thick with the kind of petty animosity that only two beautiful people with bruised egos could manage.

Abby chuckled, but there was no heat behind it. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly ignoring the demon catfight behind him. "Still... maybe I should try the quiet and tragic approach. Think that's her type?"

Baby and Romance turned to look at him, their showdown paused—forgotten, maybe.

"Oh sure." Baby rolled his eyes. "Let me just uninstall my entire personality and start brooding in a corner."

"Maybe it'd work." Romance said, quieter now. His gaze flicked toward Mystery, then back to where you'd been. "She looked at him like he wasn't annoying unlike the rest of us."

Jinu watched his members bicker and spiral into their own egos like it was a full-time job.

Baby and Romance were still glaring at each other like petty rivals in a perfume ad. Abby looked like he was preparing for a tragic boyband concept era.

And Mystery? Mystery was just... staring into space like he was composing poetry in Morse code.

It was exhausting.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you all function." he muttered under his breath.

Considering he was the one who put this group together, Jinu really did understand what he was putting you through.

The difference was you didn't show it.

You just rolled your eyes, insulted their hair, dropped art references they barely understood, and carried on like they weren't literal demons sent to take your souls.

His fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm. Fine. No more improvisation. No more solo disasters that ended in sulking, musical tantrums, or poetic self-sabotage.

And Jinu? He didn't look up. Just stared at the rooftop floor like it might cough up the answer. Like maybe if he glared long enough, the plan would fix itself.

This was getting out of hand.

When Jinu spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, but beneath that chill was something else. Tight and controlled, like if he let it slip even a little, the wrong truth might come out.

"Nothing changes." He turns around. "We get that sketchbook."

His eyes didn't waver. Focused and empty all at once, like he was looking straight through the moment—past them, past the plan, past himself.

The others turned, expression unreadable.

"Today." He added, this time sharper. "Settle it once and for all. No more delays. No more distractions."

Then, noticing a few people nearby, other interns passing through, a couple of techies on break, Jinu didn’t say anything else. He just walked off, quiet and brisk, the echo of his footsteps trailing behind like punctuation.

The silence he left was sharp.

Abby exhaled first. "It's just curiosity." He muttered, too fast—like it was supposed to explain everything. "She's weird. All that slang. Anime and internet soup or whatever."

"Yeah." Baby agreed, more casual but still frowning. "Seriously. What kind of human’s that unaffected? Even with my absolute cuteness."

Romance didn't say anything else. He just sighed. There he goes again with his face. (Says the guy who also admires himself in the mirror).

No one said what they were really thinking, and that made the silence stretch. No one moved or agreed to what Jinu said even if he was long gone.

But no one argued either.

And maybe that was answer enough.

You didn't notice the rooftop stares.

You were halfway across the lot now, a cardboard box in your arms and a pen behind your ear, chatting with one of the stage techs as you both walked.

Something about costume returns. Or lost props. Or a mannequin that got decapitated again. The usual.

The sun was high. Your feet ached. Your back was one bend away from cracking like bubble wrap.

But you still considered this peace. You could almost believe it was permanent but the last you believed that, they appear—

Your coworker flinched and hissed, "Kkamjjagiya!" (you surprised me) like they'd just seen a ghost.

You didn't have to turn around to know what caused it. The air got ten percent warmer and one hundred percent more unbearable.

Of course. Of course they were back after a few hours.

The Saja Boys stepped in one by one, doing That Thing™ they did. The posture shift. The twinkle in the eyes. The half-smiles like they knew they were dreams personified.

Romance was first, holding a clipboard like it was a bouquet. "Need a hand, sweetheart? Or two? Maybe three?"

You glared. He winked. Then his stupid ass tripped, but you could tell it was on purpose, obviously, because he fell right toward your sketchbook.

His fingers just grazed the cover before you slammed your clipboard down on his wrist.

"Ow." He said with a small hiss, rubbing his arm before flashing a grin like he''d been personally blessed by the pain. "Still feisty... and I still very much like it."

You looked at him like you had just judged his entire bloodline, and found all of them guilty.

"You're about to like ice packs too."

Romance chuckled, unfazed. "I accept my fate. But just so you know, bruises make great conversation starters."

He winked. "Want me to autograph the one you're about to give me?"

You blinked once. Then blinked again.

Then, very slowly, you lifted your sketchbook like you were contemplating smacking him with it, not out of rage, but sheer exhausted disbelief.

"...You want a pen to sign your medical bill too?"

Romance grinned wider. "Only if you draw on it first."

You groaned, already regretting every life decision that led you here.

Baby was next.

This gives you déjà vu from last night.

He popped up beside you like a clingy phantom and held up a crayon drawing of you riding a dragon, trying to use that face of his to his advantage, again.

"Fan art." He announced, grinning like he was unveiling a masterpiece. "From me. Artist to artist. Let's swap. Yours for mine?"

You blinked, brow rising. They're coming at you again, specifically your sketchbook.

"Did you just draw me stabbing Jinu?" You asked, trying your absolute best to keep your face blank because if you cracked now, even a twitch, you knew you'd never hear the end of it.

He'd say his drawing got you. That he got you.

Baby leaned in, clearly fishing for proof. "Maybe." He said, grinning like a devil. "But you're not denying it's good."

You held his gaze, lips twitching—just once.

Unfortunately for you, he saw it. And he lit up like a kid who'd just been handed a trophy for 'Most Annoying and Proud.'

"Aww, was that a smile?" He cooed, smugness practically oozing as he tilted his head. "It was. Don't lie."

You frowned, still holding the crayon drawing like it personally offended your degree. "No, it wasn't."

"Sure it was." He leaned in like he was about to stage whisper a secret. "Mystery said you smiled too. Now I got one. We're tied. Kinda makes us rivals, don't you think?"

You raised a brow again then stared at him flatly. "I'm getting security."

"You're getting sentimental." He shot back, still grinning. Then, quieter, just for extra effect: "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me, Sunshine."

You stopped mid-step then slowly turned, and stared at him like he'd just kicked a puppy and asked for applause.

Baby only beamed brighter, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just committed a social felony. Like he was proud of it.

He rocked back on his heels, smug as hell. "See? That face. You like me."

Haha. You wanna throw a chair at him.

Next was Abby.

He was already halfway through picking up a fallen roll of duct tape, like he'd just happened to be nearby and oh-so-conveniently useful.

His posture was casual, like this was a normal day and not a full-blown five-man flirt ambush.

He straightened, smiled, and held out the tape like an offering.

"You look stressed, babe." He said smoothly. "I can carry the box. And the sketchbook. And you, if needed."

You stared at him, deadpan. "You can carry yourself to the other side of the room."

He grinned. Unbothered. Then, because he was Abby, flexed just a bit like the room was his gym and the moment demanded it.

You blinked. "Was that necessary?"

"Everything I do is necessary." He said it like a motto. Like his muscles were a public service.

You opened your mouth, then shut it again.

Then, finally, inevitably, you smiled. Not a happy smile. Not even close. It was that exhausted, resigned, "Of course you said that" kind of smile. The kind you give your group project partner right before they say, "Trust me."

You don't bother to waste your energy on pushing him away. "...Help me tape the costume rack, you walking protein shake."

He beamed. "Gladly. Want me to flex while I do it?"

Your smile stayed, brittle and doomed. You didn't answer. Just turned away and sighed like someone whose will to resist was slowly being bench-pressed out of existence.

He still followed, tape in hand and biceps fully committed to the bit.

Jinu, who was leaning against the nearest wall with his arms crossed, watched it all unfold like a smug director of a very stupid play.

He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, all moody elegance and judgment, like he hadn’t tripped over a stack of crates last night and almost died from it. (yeah, you're exaggerating)

Huh. So mister switch-flip was back to his usual self—the smug, mildly infuriating version— if he was here now, watching you like he hadn't spent the last few hours pretending you didn't exist.

Maybe he got over whatever brooding anime arc he was stuck in. Or maybe his pride finally regenerated enough to rejoin the land of the socially functioning.

Either way, great. The cryptid council was back at full force.

"You know," Jinu poke, voice casual but eyes sharp, "for someone who draws so much, you never show anyone what you're proud of. Makes you look like you're hiding something."

You raised a brow. "I am. My patience."

A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a laugh. Nor quite a challenge. "Maybe you're just shy. Or maybe it's something else."

"Gaslighting won't get you what you want, Jinu."

He took another step, a smirk pulling at his lips. "You sure?"

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "I've met tax collectors with more charm."

That made him laugh. It wasn't loud, but real. "So you admit I've got some charm."

You tilt your head slightly and looked at him dead in the eye. "Barely."

For some reason, you found him extra irritating today. Not because he'd gone distant. Not because his silence had bothered you more than it should have. He was just... irritating. That was all.

Totally unrelated to how he acted this morning.

With that, the standoff lingered like static in the air.

And somewhere behind you, Abby muttered under his breath, "...Why is this kinda hot?"

Baby immediately turned to glare at him. "You're not helping."

It had been fifteen minutes since you last saw those try-hards. Five full minutes of blessed silence. No flirtatious quips. No ambushes. No bizarre "fan art trades."

But the peace only made you more suspicious.

What was with them today? They weren't just being annoying, they were focused. Like there was a mission. Like they were actually determined to get a look inside your sketchbook.

What suddenly lit a fire under all of them?

And then, without warning—

Mystery was there.

Not in a flashy poof of smoke or with a dramatic line. Just... there. Sitting silently at your usual corner, already pulling a chair out beside him like he expected you to follow.

You paused, internally finding that action adorable.

Of course, Mystery didn't speak. He never started the conversation. He just hovered—close, unnervingly so, and waited like your orbit naturally included him.

Still, when you sat to sort through prop lists, he followed suit. Close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough that it might be called respectful. Technically.

"You're not subtle." You muttered without looking up, pen scratching against paper like it was your only lifeline to sanity.

Mystery tilted his head in response. Just a fraction. Enough to acknowledge, but not enough to explain.

You sighed, flipping the page in your folder with just a little more aggression than necessary.

"Don't try to out-quiet me." You warned, eyes still fixed on your checklist. "It won't work. I invented deadpan silence. I thrive in it."

He didn't blink or moved, just continued to exist there: quiet, patient, unsettlingly still. Like a ghost who had no intention of leaving.

Like he'd wait all day if he had to.

You hummed lightly then turned your head slightly. You opened your sketchbook just a crack, just to glance at a reference. And like clockwork. there it was. A hand.

Creeping from the edge of your vision like a crab.

"Back off." You said without missing a beat, slapping the sketchbook shut.

"Rude." Baby muttered from behind a nearby column. "I was gentle that time."

You raised your eyes. Across the room—yes, they were all there. Sigh.

Romance, leaned against a mirror like he was waiting for a slow-mo spin. Abby pretending to fix a light fixture, flexing subtly. Jinu at the back, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his mouth like he was enjoying a live telenovela.

Losers. Every last one of them.

Mystery, on the other hand, didn't flinch. Just leaned in a little more. Like the rest of the chaos didn't exist. Like he was the only one in the room who understood that silence could be a kind of closeness too.

You side-eyed him. "You do realize they're all watching, right?"

Mystery, being him, didn't say anything at first.

Then, without moving his head, he said—quietly, just enough for you to hear, "Let them."

. . .

You coughed. Violently.

Not because you were choking. But because—what the hell was that?

Who gave him permission to drop a line like that? Soft, unwavering, lowkey romantic like he'd just stepped out of one of those late-night dramas you pretended not to watch but absolutely binged at 2 a.m.

You stared harder at your checklist like it was responsible for your sudden internal meltdown. No. Nope. You were not affected.

You were perfectly normal. Mentally stable. Immune to cryptic, poetic boys with sleepy voices and stupidly good hair.

You coughed again just to be safe. And to smother the tiny part of your brain that was currently kicking its feet and giggling like a schoolgirl.

It wasn't like the others' lines, the ones that almost worked or just made you cringe. This one hit different. Probably because you didn't expect it from him.

From across the room, several heads snapped in sync.

"???"

"Is she choking on air or dying?" Abby asked, eyebrows raised and genuinely confused.

"Wait—hold on. That was flirting, wasn't it?" Baby said, scowling. "Oh, so he gets bonus points for whispering cryptic nonsense, but when I bring bunny-shaped paperclips, I'm 'too much'? Unreal."

"She coughed like she just got hit with a K-drama line." Romance muttered, stunned. "What the hell did he say?"

Baby and Abby exchanged a look before shrugging.

Then Romance placed a hand over his chest, as if physically struck, and took a staggered breath. "Wait—no. Don't tell me. I'll spiral."

Then, snapping back with a bitter edge: "What, did he whisper poetry? A tragic backstory? I swear, if it worked—" He narrowed his eyes. "I'm deleting my entire personality."

Jinu gave Romance a long, unimpressed look. Then shook his head once—slow, like even he couldn't believe this was the conversation happening.

Without another word, he turned his gaze back to where you and Mystery sat, eyes narrowing like squinting hard enough might reveal the secrets of the universe.

Or at least, whatever the hell Mystery just whispered that made you cough like a lovesick drama lead.

His jaw ticked and his expression didn't change. But damn, was he staring hard.

"Whatever he said, I could've said it better—with more charisma and less blinking." Abby muttered, then added with a scoff, "If dead silence and vague stares are the new sexy, I've clearly been overperforming."

Romance folded his arms, bitter. "Don't. You'd combust."

Jinu said nothing. Still leaning against the wall like he had been for the past ten minutes, but now his eyes were colder.

Something in him ticked, like he was deciding whether to be impressed... or set someone on fire.

Then Mystery moved again, barely. His hand hovered near your sketchbook, one finger tapping the corner. Not taking. Just gesturing.

You glanced at him then sighed. You hand him a blank sticky note from your stack. It was a cute design.

He took it. Carefully. A tiny twitch of amusement crossed his face like a breeze over water—barely there, but real.

Baby watched, his eyes wide for a second then blank next. "She gave him stationery. That's it. I'm buying glitter pens."

"She gives him the cute stuff. I break my back carrying things and all I get is scoliosis." Abby deadpanned.

Romance groaned, covering his face. "This is it. This is my villain origin story. I'm dyeing my hair black and starting a solo."

Jinu still didn't speak. But when he did, his voice was sharp, low, and precise, like the clean pull of a trigger. No room for argument. No room for delay.

"We're getting that sketchbook. By sundown."

Bold words from Jinu. The kind you'd expect to trigger some epic music or a final boss cutscene.

Instead, the rest of the day passed in a blur of nonsense.

You dodged at least seven ambushes, blocked two fake "accidental" trips (looking at Baby), and barely survived a very dramatic confession from Romance that involved a bouquet made out of receipt paper.

Mystery just kept appearing at your side like a ghost with feelings. Abby tried to carry you again.

You were too tired to keep fighting them off. Too drained to question whatever demon pact they'd clearly made to break you down.

By the time you finally locked your sketchbook in your bag and dragged yourself home, your body was aching, your patience was threadbare, and your suspicion was officially at Defcon 1.

Something was off. You could feel it.

You didn't remember falling asleep, just the weight of exhaustion and the quiet hum of your apartment floor. It was normally peaceful here.

You even liked your neighbors. The college student who always microwaved noodles at 2AM, the elderly couple across the hall, the quiet guy with too many plants.

So when the screaming started, it didn't register at first.

The scream came again, sharper this time. Closer. Then the crack of glass. A choking smell. Smoke curling under your door.

You were on your feet in seconds.

The air had already changed, thick and sharp. Your eyes burned before you even opened the closet. You didn't remember moving, just grabbing your bag, your sketchbook, your phone—

You hissed as your hand hit the doorknob.

"...Fuck."

The door wouldn't budge.

The metal handle scorched your palm, and you jerked back with a hiss. Too hot. Too sealed. The smoke was rising fast now—choking, thick, clawing at your lungs like it had teeth.

You stumbled back, coughing hard, vision blurred as the room twisted in heat. You turned to grab your bag, the one thing you had to save, and as you slung it over your shoulder, your arm grazed the corner of the overturned desk.

A flash of pain. Sharp. You looked down and saw the crimson line blooming across your forearm, thin but angry, already staining the sleeve of your shirt. Glass, maybe. Or metal. You didn't know.

Your heart was a drumbeat in your ears. Loud. Wild.

You pressed your good hand over the cut, staggering toward the window. But the smoke was thicker now, a suffocating wall of grey, and each breath clawed deeper than the last.

Your knees buckled.

Just as your vision began to flicker, there was a sound—a crack like thunder and the crash of splintering wood. The door burst open.

Smoke billowed out into the hallway like a living thing, and through it stepped a figure—tall, fast, steady.

Your body didn't register the face. It didn't need to.

Because all you saw was the golden glow of his eyes. They were unmoving. Fierce. Anchored.

...Like sunlight piercing the storm.

You tried to say something, his name? A joke? anything, but your throat burned, and the room tilted sideways. The last thing you felt was the warmth of strong arms catching you.

And then darkness, but it wasn't lonely.

Because before the light slipped away completely, you remembered one thing: That beautiful, impossible glow. Golden. Bright.

And safe.

#txt.Saja boys #YO THAT ENDING GOT MY JAW ON THE FLOOR!!!!!

618 notes · View notes

paper-star-ships · 8 days ago

Text

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), One (1) rusty bike lock, Unwilling reverse harem, Reader is done with them all (not really)

[A/n]: I'm so sorry for taking long! ;; next part will be out later, in a few hours or something so dw and please enjoyyy <3

Part 1, Part 2, >Part 3<

Day 4: Part II (evening)

You were clocking out late. Again.

The hallway buzzed with flickering lights, stage dust still clinging to your sleeves, sketchbook tucked under one arm. Your legs ached. Your brain even more.

By now, you'd memorized every crack in the tiles, every flicker of that busted vending machine light. You just wanted to get home, finish your panels, and maybe eat something that wasn't cup noodles. Bare minimum.

Then you stepped outside—and felt it.

Someone was watching you.

"Leaving work without saying goodbye? That hurts, y'know."

It was Abby, leaning against the lamppost like it owed him rent, and possibly his reflection rights.

You gave him a flat look. "I say goodbye to people I like."

He clutched his chest like you'd just stabbed him and insulted his jawline. "Ouch. And here I thought we had a vibe."

He didn't move, though. Just smirked like rejection was part of his workout routine while he watched you walk past him.

God, he even looked like he expected the streetlights to highlight his cheekbones.

And just when you thought that was it—

"[Y/n]~!" Romance appeared next, jogging lightly from the alley like he just happened to be there. His hair was perfect. His shirt was open just enough.

Coincidence? Please.

You sighed. "No."

He blinked, unfazed, smile still perfect. "You don’t even know what I was gonna ask."

"Still no."

He pouted like a rejected Disney prince caught mid-promposal, hand dramatically over his heart. "But I was going to say your outfit brings out your defiance today. Very... stabbing energy. I approve."

He fell into step behind you, the faint sound of cologne and confidence trailing after.

You raised a brow but continued on with walking. You didn't slow down, didn’t even look at them.

But inside?

Well.

Not that you’d ever admit it, especially not out loud. You could practically see the chaos it would unleash. They’d weaponize it. Swarm you. Probably choreograph a musical number about it.

Besides, the energy they gave off? Narcissists. The whole lot.

You’d said it once, loudly, and immediately regretted it when Abby started handing out autographed selfies as "emotional support" earlier.

You learned your lesson.

As you sighed about the happenings that had wormed their way into your supposed normal life, Baby appeared.

'Persistent.' You thought with furrowed brows as you walked.

Baby didn't announce himself. Just slinked into view beside you like a raccoon in designer knitwear, matching your pace with the quiet menace of someone who could charm a child and hex a CEO.

You didn’t even look at him. "Back off."

He blinked, all faux innocence. "This is a public sidewalk."

You glared at him. "So's a trash can."

"Harsh." He huffed, arms crossing in front of his chest like a scolded cat. Under his breath, he started muttering, something about revenge, something about tomorrow. Maybe glitter traps.

Maybe making you sweep the studio twice just so he could "supervise" from the beanbag chair like a tiny, unbothered boss.

You didn't ask. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you lifted your chin like a battle-worn queen, walking faster now, sketchbook still under your arm like a weapon.

Whatever he does—whatever any of them do—you're ready.

As you continued your walk yet again, like some adventurer activating random NPC monologues, you saw him.

Mystery.

He stepped forward just to wave his hand. No words. Just a...gesture.

You blinked, a little confused, but still replied. "...See you tomorrow."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he fell back. And that made your lips curve up. Just a little.

Okay, fine. He is cute.

Again, not that you'd say it out loud. God forbid one of them heard.

Unlike a certain someone who thought sarcasm was flirting and eyeliner made him invincible, all of them were idiots. Chaos wrapped in expensive cologne and questionable decision-making.

You were used to chaos. It almost made you uneasy when they weren't around.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the reason you never fully shoved them away.

They were annoying. Distracting. Unreasonably sparkly for your eyes... but they were also kind of—ugh—endearing. In a loser, try-hard, "we're definitely failing this mission but still doing finger hearts" kind of way.

You wouldn't say it to their faces. You had panels to finish. Rent to pay. A story back home that didn’t involve dodging demon-idols like you were in some cursed rom-com.

But you could spare five minutes. Maybe ten. Just long enough to pretend you weren't starting to care.

And finally...him.

Of course all five of them would show up right when you were trying to leave.

You didn't even flinch when Jinu appeared like some smug apparition, waving lazily before falling into step beside you like he belonged there.

You rolled your eyes.

There he went again, playing gentleman like he hadn't let that door close in your face this morning, or called your mattress a 'commoner bed.'

You didn't notice it at first, too busy sulking about his nerve and how this man probably dried his tears with designer cologne samples, but his smile twitched. Just slightly.

Then he looked at you, really looked. Like the words had tripped some kind of wire in his head. Soul.

His gaze lingered, curious now. Calculating, and a touch of amusement. Was that just a throwaway line? A sarcastic jab?

Or were you hinting?

You kept walking, completely unbothered. Maybe a little smug. Like someone who knew exactly what you said and didn’t care if it landed.

Jinu chuckled under his breath, more to himself than anything. "Careful." He murmured. "You say things like that, someone might actually come for it."

You thought of a comeback, something about how they're welcome to try, especially when you don't make enough for rent, but then you noticed: he was still walking with you.

You gave him a slow, suspicious glance. "You planning to follow me all the way to the bus stop or what?"

He grinned like this was the most casual thing in the world. "What, and miss this charming walk?"

You rolled your eyes. "You're not slick. You're just tall and well-lit."

"Guilty."

You didn't give him the satisfaction of laughing. Instead, you kept walking—shoulders tense, jaw set, and absolutely determined to ignore how he still hadn’t left.

But eventually, near the next corner, Jinu slowed his steps.

"Guess this is where I peel off." He said lightly, head tipping toward the alleyway. "Don't miss me too much."

You didn’t answer. Just waved him off without looking, or maybe practically shooed him.

Jinu watched you for a beat longer than necessary. Not just out of amusement anymore. There was something else now.

He turned, heading toward the alley, cool as ever. Or at least, trying to be.

...Only to immediately trip over a loose crate someone had left by the wall.

It wasn't dramatic. Just a sharp thud of a foot hitting wood, followed by a clumsy half-step and a quiet curse as he caught himself against the brick.

You stopped walking.

Jinu cleared his throat like he hadn't just almost fallen flat on his handsome face. "That was a—strategic pivot."

You heard him say those words from behind. That was definitely a crate collision. A soft scuffle. Some kind of grunt. The universal sound of "I meant to do that" followed by several seconds of oh no I didn’t.

You raised a brown then turned.

There he was—Jinu, Mister I-seduce-with-my-voice, straightening like nothing happened, hand casually braced against the wall like he wasn’t one misstep away from shattering his cool factor into a million tragic pieces.

You blinked again, then snorted. "Seriously?"

He met your gaze with the stubborn pride of a man who would never admit to tripping, even if you had video footage, witness testimonies, and a soundtrack of slapstick violin.

"I was surveying the ground." He said, completely deadpan.

You stared a beat longer. And then your lips twitched.

A breath of laughter escaped. Real and unexpected. You didn’t even mean for it to come out. "The leader of dorks…"

Jinu froze.

Not because of what he heard but because of what he saw.

That was the first time he'd seen you smile like that. Not a smirk. Not a tired, caffeine-deprived grimace. But a proper smile. Real, and unfiltered. Like something broke through your sarcasm firewall for a second and said surprise! humanity.

And worst part—it looked good on you.

Like, really good.

There was a moment. A weird, annoying moment where the world briefly went soft-focus and his heart gave the most inconvenient little thud like it was auditioning for your approval. How rude. How treacherous.

And most definitely embarrassing.

He glanced away quickly, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. "Watch your step." He muttered, clearly referring to himself and clearly pretending he meant it as deep, wise advice.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "See you tomorrow, Mister-switch."

He recovered just enough to throw the parting shot over his shoulder.

"Not if I see you first."

"Pff—sure." You snorted, shaking your head as you waved him off with a lazy little flick of your fingers. The smile stuck, annoyingly enough.

You weren't about to admit it, but… that may or may not have lifted your mood.

A little. Maybe.

"Keke...heh.."

Whatever. He still tripped.

Jinu stared and watched. He didn't moved right away, not until you disappeared around the corner.

And even then, he stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the empty space where your laugh had just been.

What the hell was that.

That was not part of the plan. That was not part of any plan. He was supposed to be cold, composed, vaguely threatening. Not… swooning like a man in a budget romance drama who just got saved from emotional death by a smile and a half-sarcastic insult.

He ducked into the alley, checked his surroundings, and stepped into shadow.

And just like that, he vanished.

But his pride? That stayed behind. On the sidewalk. Next to the stupid crate.

Jinu didn't disappear, not completely, because he stayed nearby.

And right now, he's perched atop a building across the street, crouched like a gargoyle with his silky hair flowing with the wind.

Dramatic, pointless, and... completely unnecessary. But fitting.

He watched you walk, still heading for the bus stop where fewer people lingered at this hour. Good.

Then it happened—a ripple. A flicker in the air. Like a tear splitting through the atmosphere itself.

He didn't move.

Just watched, every muscle in his body strung tight as the demon stepped out, slinking toward you like shadow given teeth.

You noticed.

But there was no scream. No dramatic gasp. Just a shift in your weight, the widening of your eyes—like your brain said "run" and your body said "fight."

And somehow, you did both.

It wasn't graceful. No summoned weapons. No elegant energy flares like the kind Huntrix used. You didn't even look magical. You looked cornered. Tired, and maybe even furious...?

And somehow still fast enough to dodge that first strike.

You grabbed the nearest object. A bike lock.

Was it even yours? Who knew. It looked like it had been abandoned on a pile of crates, maybe stolen, maybe cursed, maybe both.

But you gripped it anyway, rusted chain and all, and swung like you meant to knock the demon back into whatever budget horror film it crawled out of.

It screeched, stumbling, and you didn’t stop.

You kicked like you'd seen it in a street brawl scene, elbowed like you remembered from a how-to diagram, and maybe even threw in a spin from that one anime you half-watched while doing laundry.

It wasn't elegant. It wasn't trained. But it worked.

Self-defense. Pure, frantic instinct. The kind of grit born from late-night walks and too many true crime podcasts.

The demon hissed again before clawing at air and vanishing through the rift, which snapped shut with a warped hum. A few people glanced over—confused, too slow to make sense of anything.

You stood there, panting. Shaken, but clearly alive.

Then you looked down at the bike lock in your hand—ew. It was rusting, dented, and possibly biologically hazardous.

You squinted at it like it betrayed you mid-fight. "Great. If that thing doesn’t kill me, the tetanus will."

You glanced once over your shoulder, half-expecting the freak in the weird getup to come sprinting back with backup. But the alley was empty.

Gone. Just like that.

You furrowed your brows. 'What, did they just... run off? Through a manhole? That a cosplay villain or a track star?'

Either way, you weren't about to stick around to find out.

"Hope you get tetanus." You muttered toward the empty street—petty, winded, but absolutely victorious.

And then, without another thought, you bolted.

"...?"

Jinu didn't move. Didn't breathe for a second.

He hadn't seen everything, not the little details such as the tremor in your fingers or the disbelief in your eyes just that he saw enough.

You fought. And won.

With a rusted bike lock you picked out of trash like a last-minute boss fight drop.

He blinked once. Slowly.

Are you with Huntrix? Or just stupidly brave?

Were those moves actual technique? Or did you piece them together from Netflix, caffeine, and rage?

His eyes followed where the rift had closed. Then drifted back down to where you'd stood, where the bike lock had clattered to the ground after you'd taken off, forgotten.

He stared at it like it might answer for you, like it was some kind of cursed artifact.

A long beat passed.

Jinu's golden eyes narrowed as he went into deep thought, analyzing every possible detail—your stance, your grip, the swing of the bike lock. He mentally replayed it all, frame by frame.

The way you reacted, the seconds between noticing the threat and responding. The moment your body chose to fight.

You shouldn't have been able to do that. Not like that. Not with that.

Not against something like that.

And yet… you did.

He knew people could fight back under pressure. He'd seen it—adrenaline, desperation, muscle memory, bad luck wrapped in wild luck. Some humans were tough, some were clever, some were just too stubborn to go down.

Maybe you were one of those.

But still. The timing. The way you moved. The flash of your eyes like you knew what you were up against.

It didn't sit right.

He stayed silent, still as shadow on the rooftop, eyes tracking your form until it vanished into the dark. Confused. Curious. Conflicted.

And maybe just a little concerned. Not because he thought you were weak.

But because what if you weren't?

Day 5: Weapons of Mass Distraction

The rehearsal room was chaos.

Not the kind of chaos that looked productive—no, this was pure, unfiltered boyband entropy. Someone was messing with the Bluetooth speaker.

Romance was mid-vocal warmup and had already changed outfits twice. Abby was stretching in front of a mirror like it owed him money. Baby sat upside down on the couch for no reason other than to judge them from a physically impossible angle.

Jinu watched it all unfold with the calm exasperation of a man trying very hard not to commit murder.

"We debut in two days." He said, not for the first time.

Romance hummed a high note in response.

Jinu’s eye twitched. "I'm serious. If we don't stick to rehearsal—"

"She was here earlier." Baby said suddenly, flipping upright with the eerie grace of a cat sensing prey.

Everyone paused.

Romance perked up immediately. "Was she?" He turned, checking his reflection in the window like he could replay the moment. "What was she wearing?"

"Coffee-stained hoodie. Same one from yesterday," Baby replied, thinking back to the memory. "Same tired expression. Same fashion crimes."

He muttered the last part like an afterthought, a little too quiet. "Same unexplainable charm."

Abby let out a low whistle, not paying attention to whatever Baby said under his breath. "Damn. You clocked her like a sniper."

Romance arched a brow. "Didn't know you cared that much."

"I don't. I just have eyes." Baby scoffed, already regretting everything. Then, in a matter-of-fact tone, he added, "It's called observation."

Jinu looked skyward, as if begging for patience or divine smiting.

"Guys." Jinu snapped, his voice sharp as he found their nonsense tiring. "Focus."

His eyes were narrowed, cold, and the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm screamed barely restrained irritation.

"We're not here to flirt. Or play games. Or trail after her like lost puppies." He paused, the corner of his lips twitching out of frustration. "This is starting to look pathetic."

He let out a sigh before he went on. "We've spent more time this week tracking a staff girl with questionable sleeping habits and a caffeine dependency than actually rehearsing."

Romance raised a hand. "What if it's dignified pining?"

Jinu didn't even blink, didn't bother to put on a reaction. "You don't pine. You pose."

"And accessorize." Romance added under his breath.

He was ignored.

Jinu continued, his voice low, clipped and controlled. "You've all forgotten the bigger picture. We're not here for her."

His gaze flicked toward the large mirror, like they held answers no one else could see.

"We stick to the mission. Observe. Wait. Don’t draw attention." Then after a breath, he added, "Especially not from her."

"She has great hands." Abby muttered while rubbing the back of his neck. "Caught her sketching earlier. Thought she was talking to herself, but I swear I heard her say my traps were 'villain-coded.'"

He paused, then shrugged with a smug grin as he checked his reflection. "Not sure what that means, but I looked it up. It's... kinda flattering?"

Romance, who was now flipping through his phone without looking up, snorted. "Maybe she meant you look like the kind of guy who dies halfway through a revenge arc."

Baby deadpanned. "Or maybe she was drawing how to kill you. Probably all of us."

"She'd make it look aesthetic." Jinu said dryly. For someone who'd just finished scolding them all, he'd joined in a little too easily. "Title it something like, ‘How to Un-alive Five Men and Still Make Rent.'"

A beat of silence followed before they all stared.

Jinu blinked, realization creeping in half a second too late.

"...Anyway." He muttered as he redirected his glare at the floor. "Stick to the mission."

"No one's stopping you from checking her sketchbook." Abby fired back, folding his arms. "Oh wait— none of you've been able to."

Silence.

"Yet you didn't peek either." Romance said, side-eyeing him. "For all we know, there's a full-blown assassination storyboard in there. Panel one: you smiling. Panel two: you, beheaded."

Abby looked mildly offended. "She wouldn't."

The room paused. Silent.

Baby blinked then raised a brow. "You mean… betray us? Like, actively?"

Jinu gave him a flat look. "Well, she's weird. Suspicious. Might be working for Huntrix. Or maybe just high on espresso and vengeance."

"She looked sincere." Abby insisted, folding his arms. "Besides, have you seen how she reacts when we flirt? She flinches like we're trying to sell her cursed NFTs. No way someone that consistent is faking it."

Romance hummed thoughtfully. "I don't know... that could be part of the act. Like reverse psychology. Or trauma."

"Or," Baby cut in flatly, his eyes scanning the room before jabbing a thumb at his own face, "She's made of steel. Be real—what kind of person is immune to this?"

He gestured vaguely to all of himself, like the sheer audacity of anyone not falling at his feet was a cosmic insult.

Romance didn’t even blink. "Maybe someone with taste."

Abby cracked his neck. "Or someone with working eyes."

Baby glared at the two demons as they high-fived like villains congratulating each other on a heist. (This is why his best friend is Mystery. At least he doesn’t talk.)

Jinu exhaled sharply through his nose. "She's been guarding that sketchbook like it’s a vault. We still don’t know what’s in it."

Romance didn't even flinch. "Oh, please. If anyone's getting offed first, it's you. She probably draws you as the comedic relief that dies to raise the stakes."

Abby let out a loud snort. "So I'm what, the sexy second to go? Damn. At least give me a dramatic death."

Despite the chaos, Mystery remains silent.

But from where he stood, partially shadowed, his eyes lingered on the window like he could still see her walking away. He’d barely moved the entire conversation.

"She smiled." He said suddenly. He blurted out the thought.

The room turned toward him.

"What?" Jinu asked, caught off guard.

Mystery didn’t elaborate much. Just, "When she handed me coffee this morning. First time."

Silence. And not the chill kind.

Jinu blinked once. Slowly.

Because somewhere, behind the stern leader programming and near-death debut stress, his brain short-circuited into a half-second flashback.

That smile from last night. The one you gave him after calling him a dork. He remembered how it hit him like a slap and a hug at the same time.

And now Mystery got one too?

His eyes narrowed a fraction. Not at Mystery, but at... the air. The corner of the wall. Himself. Anyone nearby. Like he was trying to detect a glitch in the matrix.

Did you show a better smile? Was it longer? Voluntary?

"No. She's warming up to him." Baby said flatly, like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

He didn't like how fast that question formed. Or how it stayed.

Romance cracked the tension first, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "She’s warming up to us! Knew it."

He didn't even look at Mystery—just stared ahead, bored, unblinking, and vaguely betrayed.

"I hand her bunny-shaped paperclips. Re-labeled prop storage. Helped her haul five boxes of tangled extension cords." He tapped his lollipop against his thigh, expression unreadable. "Mystery breathes near a coffee machine and suddenly he's soulmate-coded?"

He popped the lollipop back into his mouth like punctuation, sharp and sweet and just a little bitter.

"Wild."

"...Or she's playing us." Jinu spoke after giving Baby a weird look. "This isn't a game. We're two days from debut. If she's with them, if she's here to derail us—"

"Then she's doing a terrible job." Abby cut in. "She's barely talked to us unless cornered, and the last time Baby asked for help, she nearly smacked him with a prop sword."

"She did?" Romance perked up immediately, standing to inspect his reflection in the window. "You think she meant that in a good way?"

"She also called Romance's jawline 'shonen protagonist-tier.'" Baby added reluctantly, brow slightly furrowed. The words tasted foreign, like something pulled from a fandom wiki he hadn't read.

There was a pause.

"...What's a shonen?" Abby asked.

"Anime thing... I think." Baby muttered, eyes narrowing slightly like accessing internal memory logs. He made a mental note to look it up later.

If it turned out to be an insult, he was absolutely going to rub it in later.

Romance tilted his head, squinting at his jawline like it might answer for him.

"Whatever it is, sounds like I'm the main character." He shifted slightly in the light, nodding to himself. "You think she'd like this lighting?"

Abby made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh.

He couldn't. The demon. The way you fought it. Not cleanly. Not like Huntrix would've. But raw. Real. Maybe even desperate.

...And that laugh—small, stupid, bright in all the wrong ways, still echoed in his head like a bug in the system.

He'd folded in ten seconds. And now here he was, glitching like a confused NPC while Mystery got his own moment delivered with caffeine and a post-it.

He swallowed the thought.

Then exhaled through his nose—sharp, like punctuation to the noise in his head.

"I saw [Y/n] last night."

Four heads snapped toward him.

Romance blinked. "Okay— what?"

"You mean when we all saw her?" Abby said, brows lifting. "Because I definitely remember the part where she told me she says goodbye only to people she likes."

"Right, and I saw her smile at Mystery like he personally handcrafted the sun." Baby scoffed, tone dry as dust.

Then he muttered, "So unless she proposed with a bouquet of sharpies and despair, shut up."

Jinu's eyes swept across them like a fed-up homeroom teacher counting how many brain cells had left the room. He didn’t sigh, or even yell.

He just said, "After."

Like a parent delivering the final warning before turning the car around.

He didn’t wait for anyone to respond as he continued. "She fought a demon."

Silence fell like someone had hit mute on the universe. Even the Bluetooth speaker gave up.

Romance's playful veneer evaporated. "Are you serious?"

A pause. Then, with a flicker of something almost like disbelief, maybe even amusement, he added, "...She used a bike lock."

"There was no spiritual energy." Jinu said, eyes turning sharp. "Just instinct... and street-level survival."

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"A what now?" Abby asked, blinking.

"A bike lock." Jinu repeated, tone dry. "Rusted. Looked like it had been sitting in garbage for a decade."

Romance slowly lowered the coffee he wasn’t drinking. "Please tell me she didn’t strangle it with the power of sanitation violations."

Baby looked, genuinely impressed. "No spiritual energy. No weapons. Just a tetanus booster and blind rage. I respect it."

"You said she fought it off?" Mystery asked quietly.

Jinu nodded once. "Kicks. Elbows. She moved like someone trying to stay alive...not win a fight."

"Street survival." Abby muttered, now actually considering it. "She's done this before?"

"Or she got lucky." Jinu said again, quieter. "Too lucky."

Romance sighed and leaned back into the cushions. "So what I'm hearing is: she's not only artsy and mysterious—she's now also feral and terrifying. Great. Add that to the list."

Baby raised a brow. "You mean the list titled 'Reasons She'll Never Like You Back'?"

"That list's a scroll." Abby added with a little laugh.

Romance didn't even argue. Just sipped his empty mug with tragic dignity.

Jinu, meanwhile, was still.

"We still don't know what she is," He said tightly with a sigh and shake of his head.

Silence took over the group, though only a few seconds.

Abby calmly spoke with a raised brow, "You didn't think maybe that was important to bring up before we spiraled about cursed NFTs and sketchbook espionage?"

"I was waiting for the right moment." Jinu muttered, defensive but flat.

"The right moment was twenty minutes ago." Baby deadpanned, voice flat as a ruler.

Mystery, from where he leaned, gave a slow nod of agreement.

Jinu didn't respond. Not to that. Not to any of it.

Because the worst part? He wasn't sure who he was protecting anymore.

You, or himself.

#txt.Saja boys #<- This series is to good not to tag 👀👀👀

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paper-star-ships · 9 days ago

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Saja boys with a reader who always cooks for them. After every performance always makes them an amazing Korean dish for them. Something cute and fluffy

Thank you for the request! This was such a cute idea. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader — Who Cooks for Them

-------------------

🧿 Jinu

He tried to beat you home once.

Just once.

After a late rehearsal, he sprinted ahead, half-joking with the others that he’d finally be the one waiting at the table first for once.

But when he opened the door, he was immediately hit with the scent of garlic and sesame oil—soft and homey and already done.

You were plating everything just as he arrived. Soy-braised lotus root. Japchae. Warm rice bowls. Even his favorite side dish: stir-fried anchovies with just enough sugar to make them crunch at the edges.

“You cooked already?” he asked, out of breath, setting his bag down.

You didn’t look up. “You looked tired earlier. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Jinu blinked.

There was so much in that sentence. The way you always noticed the tiniest things. The way you showed love in rice and soup and the care that most people rushed past.

He sat quietly at the table as you poured broth into his bowl.

When you finally sat next to him, he murmured, “It tastes like you missed me.”

You smiled. “I did.”

-------------------

💪 Abby

Abby could lift two other members at once and still have energy to run laps, but nothing wiped him out like performing.

That’s why you always kept his bowl the biggest.

Spicy beef stew with extra brisket. Doenjang jjigae thick enough to eat with a fork. Braised tofu with scallions and sesame seeds. And three kinds of banchan just because he liked options.

He walked in sweaty and radiant after their show, still high from the cheers.

Then he saw the table.

He paused mid-step, a sheepish smile blooming on his face.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he said, pretending to collapse into a chair.

You kissed the top of his head. “I already did.”

He snorted, reaching for his chopsticks. “I swear this stew makes my muscles stronger.”

You pretended to flex. “Good. I made it with love and protein.”

He pulled you into his lap before you could return to the kitchen, holding you with his cheek resting against your arm.

“You’re my favorite kind of recovery.”

-------------------

📚 Mystery

Mystery didn’t like eating with others. At least, not at first.

He didn’t like the noise, or the pressure to make small talk, or the expectation to smile between bites.

But with you, there was no pressure.

Just silence.

Steam curling from a shared hotpot. Soft music playing in the background. Your leg pressed against his under the table.

You remembered he liked his kimchi older, sourer. You kept dried anchovies separate because he didn’t like the texture. You even cooked his egg slightly runny—just like that one time he mentioned it without thinking.

He didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, he refilled your rice when it ran low.

You caught him doing it and gave him a soft look.

“You always eat more when you’re around me,” you whispered.

He nodded once, chewing slowly.

Because when you cooked for him, he remembered he had a body.

And when you sat with him like this, he remembered he had a heart.

-------------------

💋 Romance

He blew kisses to the fans all night. Winked onstage, flirted in interviews, posed like a prince.

But it was different when he came home to you.

His show persona melted off the moment he opened the door and saw the table already set.

Samgyetang. Gyeran-jjim. A tall glass of honey-citron tea.

You looked up from the stove, smiling in that quiet, soft way of yours. The one that always hit him harder than any spotlight.

“You didn’t have to—” he started.

“I wanted to,” you said, already walking over with a dish towel in one hand.

He watched you carefully unwrap his chopsticks, setting them gently by his bowl.

This wasn’t a grand gesture. There were no candles, no stage, no crowd.

But to him?

It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done.

He reached across the table and took your hand.

“Next time I win an award,” he whispered, “I’m thanking your cooking first.”

-------------------

🔥 Baby

Baby stomped in, still wired from the performance, hair a mess, hoodie halfway off his shoulder.

“I nailed that spin during the bridge,” he said immediately. “Did you see it?”

You turned from the pot on the stove and grinned. “Saw it. You looked cocky.”

“I am cocky,” he declared, plopping onto the barstool with the overconfidence of someone who hadn’t sat down in hours.

You placed a bowl in front of him without a word—kimchi fried rice, the way he liked it: extra egg, too much gochujang, sprinkled seaweed flakes.

He blinked.

“…Is that the heart I made on top with ketchup?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

His mouth twitched. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who gets pouty if I forget it.”

He stuffed a spoonful into his mouth before you could say anything else. It was still steaming, and he hissed through the burn, but didn’t stop eating.

And then, between bites, he muttered—

“Feels better than being on stage.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked up, mouth full. “This. You. The food. It’s… it’s better.”

You didn’t say anything, just leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He’d never admit it, but he savored your cooking like a secret.

Like something no one else got to have.

-------------------

M-List

#txt.baby #txt.mystery

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paper-star-ships · 9 days ago

Note

Yes! A blog for KPop demon hunters! 👉👈 I hope you didn't already do this one. How would the Saja boys react to an S/O that's easily flustered. Like they could just wink at them, and they'd be a puddle of mush.

Flustered

Pairings: Saja boys x Female Reader Warnings: Pure fluff, teasing You got flustered over every small things they did. And they love it so much...

ABBY

You were already pink in the cheeks.

All he’d done was walk in—drenched in post-gym sweat, tank top clinging to his chest, biceps flexing with every step—and give you a wink. That was it. Just one cocky, casual wink. And you felt like you might combust.

Your eyes dropped immediately to the floor. Shoulders tensed. Your lips parted like you wanted to say something, but all that came out was a squeaky, “Hi.”

Abby grinned, slow and smug. He stepped closer, tugging the bottom of his tank up just a little—just enough to flash his rock-solid abs.

“Damn, baby,” he said, voice low, full of that Abby heat. “You always get this red when I walk in, or did you just miss me that bad?”

You felt wrecked. Eyes wide, cheeks blooming to a dangerous shade of red, hands wringing in your lap like you were physically restraining yourself from touching him.

Abby let out a low chuckle and crossed his arms over his chest, which of course just made every muscle pop. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Girl,” he said, stepping into your space with that lazy swagger of his. “You look like you just saw me naked.”

You buried your face in your hands with a helpless groan.

“Oh my god—stop talking,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your palms.

“Nah.” He was grinning now, kneeling down in front of you, elbows resting on his thighs. “You blush so easy it’s criminal. You know that?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“I am lookin’ at you. You’re the cutest little flustered mess I’ve ever seen.”

You peeked out from between your fingers, pouting.

“Gonna cry if I flex again?” he teased, raising one brow—and flexing his arm on purpose, because of course he did.

“Abby!”

“What?” he laughed. “It’s not my fault I got a girl who can’t handle all this.” He gestured to himself with both hands. “I should come with a warning label or somethin’.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“But I’m your worst.” He leaned in, voice soft but smug. “And if you keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to put those pretty cheeks to use.”

You made another helpless little noise and buried your face again.

Abby just grinned, leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head, and whispered:

“God, I love you like this. All flustered and sweet. Makes me wanna ruin you even more.”

BABY

It started with just a smile. That slow, crooked, devastating kind of smile he knew got you every damn time. He looked up from where he was sprawled across the couch, one arm lazily thrown behind his head, black t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach.

And then—the wink. Wicked. Sharp. Intentional.

You froze mid-step, like your brain just bluescreened. Your mouth opened and closed once, twice, like you wanted to say something, but all that came out was a breathy, “...oh.”

Your cheeks flushed so fast it was almost comical. A bright pink rising from your chest to your ears in seconds.

Baby bit back a grin. Didn’t even have to touch you.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head, amber eyes sparkling with amusement. “That all you got for me, sweetheart?”

You flailed. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—! You winked at me!”

He sat up slowly, like a lion stretching after a nap. His smile deepened as he watched you try to hide behind your own hands, cheeks burning, eyes darting anywhere but him.

“You say that like I winked on accident,” he said, voice low and cocky. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Clearly,” you mumbled into your palms.

He stood and crossed the room with that signature slow strut—confident, but lazy like he had all the time in the world. And once he was in front of you, he dipped down just a little, getting way too close to your ear.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “it’s kinda unfair how cute you are when you’re like this.”

You squeaked.

“I just look at you, and your whole system shuts down. Like you’re overheating or something.”

“I am overheating,” you hissed. “Because you’re—!”

“Hot?” he offered with a grin.

You groaned. “Insufferable.”

He laughed, leaning back just enough to take in your red cheeks and watery eyes—completely wrecked from one wink and a few words.

“You are so damn easy to fluster,” he said, genuinely amused. “It’s actually dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

He shrugged, smug as ever. “You love it.”

Your eyes narrowed like you were about to argue, but the blush gave you away.

Baby leaned in one last time, voice dropping just enough to make your knees tremble.

“I could ruin you without lifting a finger,” he whispered. “Wanna test it?”

You nearly collapsed.

He caught you with one hand on your waist and a soft chuckle in your ear.

“God, I love you like this.”

ROMANCE

It was a quiet afternoon. You were curled up with a book across the room, pretending to read—though Romance could feel your eyes flicking to him every few seconds. He was leaned back in the armchair, hair slightly tousled, a soft long-sleeve clinging to him just right.

He noticed your stare. And oh, he smiled. That gentle, dreamy kind of smile that made your heart skip.

Then—he blew you a kiss. Slowly. Like he meant it. Like it was a promise and a confession in one.

You choked on nothing, the book nearly slipping from your hands. Your face went bright red, ears included, and you instantly buried your face behind the book like that could somehow hide your entire existence.

Romance’s grin grew. He stood slowly, walked over with that warm grace of his, and crouched in front of you with his chin resting on the cushion, gazing up at you like you’d painted the stars.

“Are you hiding?” he asked softly.

“No,” you squeaked, voice muffled by the book.

“You are. You’re blushing so much it’s glowing through the pages.”

“Stop it.”

He chuckled gently, reaching up to tug the book down—just enough to see your eyes, wide and watery.

“Baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You blush like it’s the first time I’ve ever looked at you.”

“It feels like it,” you muttered. “You’re unfair.”

He tilted his head, all soft curiosity and dangerous sweetness. “Because I blew you a kiss?”

You nodded, cheeks still ablaze.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I’ll blow you a thousand more if it keeps you looking this sweet.”

You gasped again, hiding your face in your hands now.

He laughed—soft, adoring, like you’d just handed him the sun.

“My god,” he murmured. “You really are my favorite thing.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, voice tiny. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” he echoed, pretending to be wounded. “I’m being romantic. You're the one who turns into a flustered little cherry every time I even smile.”

“Because you’re pretty.”

He paused. Blinking once. Then grinned like you’d just wrecked him. “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“You’re pretty,” you groaned.

He pressed a hand to his chest, actually swooning. “You want me to die, don’t you?”

You smiled, still hiding.

Romance leaned in and kissed the tips of your fingers, then your knuckles, and finally your forehead.

“I love this part of you,” he said gently. “This shy, soft part that melts just for me.”

Then, with a smirk that barely hid his own wrecked heart, he whispered:

“Now imagine what I’d do if I really tried.”

You nearly short-circuited. And he just kissed you again, like he had all the time in the world to adore you—because he did.

MYSTERY

They were all hanging out in the studio—Saja boys sprawled across couches, bickering over lyrics, half-finished snacks everywhere. Music was thudding low in the background, someone’s laugh echoing from the hallway. And you were sitting quietly off to the side, legs crossed, phone in hand, just existing.

That was when Mystery moved. No one noticed at first—he was always quiet, always shadow-smooth in his movements. But you noticed.

Because he came up behind you and gently rested a hand on your shoulder. Just enough to make your heart skip. And then—without saying a word—he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to your temple. Warm. Lingering. Barely audible over the buzz of the room.

Your entire brain short-circuited. Your shoulders jerked up like someone had hit you with a live wire. The phone nearly slipped from your hands.

And your face? Flushed. Instantly. From your neck to the tips of your ears, you were burning. Staring straight ahead like if you moved, you might explode.

“M-Myst,” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper, “you—what was that—?”

He just stood there for a moment, hand still resting lightly on your shoulder, lips quirked in the faintest—faintest—hint of a smile. Then he leaned closer, his voice low and softer than silk.

“You looked like you needed it.”

You blinked rapidly, mouth trying and failing to form words.

“Y-You… you never—”

“I know,” he said, stepping back just slightly. “That’s why you’re red, isn’t it?”

You let out a strangled sound—somewhere between a squeak and a full-body wheeze.

He tilted his head. “You okay?”

“I— I— no! I mean yes— but you— Mystery, there are people around!”

He glanced at the boys across the room. “They didn’t see.”

“They might have!”

He shrugged, still quiet, still unreadable—but his eyes were softer now. A little amused. A little proud.

“I’ll do it again if it helps,” he murmured.

You nearly imploded.

He leaned in just a little more—still teasing, but with that calm, deliberate edge of his. “You always get this flustered when I touch you in front of people?”

“I always get flustered when you do anything,” you hissed under your breath, clutching your phone like a lifeline.

He chuckled softly. So rare. So quiet. Just for you.

“Good.”

Then he walked back to his corner of the room like he hadn’t just annihilated your nervous system with a single kiss. And you sat there, still red, still buzzing, swearing under your breath that he was the worst—and loving every second of it.

JINU

You were sitting across the room, completely unaware that you were being hunted.

Jinu leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching you. His eyes—normally warm brown, soft and unreadable—glinted with something far less human. Gold. Not fully glowing. Just a flicker of that true form, barely visible in the dim light.

You looked up at the exact moment his smirk curled into place—slow, dangerous, intentional.

And that was it.

Your entire body tensed. Your breath caught. Your face went crimson in seconds, like your blood had ignited under your skin. You squeaked, choked on air, and immediately ducked your head like that could somehow save you from the weight of his stare.

Jinu’s smirk deepened. His voice came low, amused, lazy—taunting.

"That all it takes, love?"

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your hands were fidgeting in your lap now, knees knocking slightly together, lips parted like you wanted to scold him but couldn’t remember how language worked.

He pushed off the wall, strolling toward you slowly, like a predator who already knew he’d won.

“One little look,” he murmured, “and you're already squirming in that seat.”

“Y-You—!” you stammered, still bright red. “You did that on purpose!”

He raised a brow. “You mean this?” His eyes flickered golden again—brief, sharp, absolutely lethal.

You whined and turned your face away, burying it in your hands.

Jinu chuckled, crouching in front of you now, just enough so you had to feel the heat of his presence.

"You're not very good at hiding things, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Your face gives you away every time.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, barely managing the words.

“Like what?”

“Like—like you're about to eat me alive.”

That earned a low, deep laugh from him. “That’s because I am.”

You made a strangled noise.

Jinu leaned in, brushing his thumb over your flushed cheek. “God, you’re pretty when you're like this.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re the worst.”

“No,” he said gently, kissing the back of your hand. “I’m yours.”

His golden eyes shimmered again—slow, controlled, intimate.

“And I love watching what I do to you, just with a look.”

You melted. Right there. Completely wrecked from a smirk and the glint of demon fire in his eyes.

And Jinu? He looked at you like you were the most exquisite thing in existence—his exquisite thing—and he’d never stop playing with you if it meant seeing that blush again

#txt.baby #txt.mystery #0////0

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paper-star-ships · 9 days ago

Text

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/casual swearing, chaotic energy (duh), unhinged humor, reader suffering (comically)

[A/n]: I had so much fun writing, and dw. Part 2 will be coming soon. It's time to live with them. If it all fits, that'll be the last and final one! Thank you for your support <3

>Part 1<, Part 2, Part 3,...

Day 1: Staff Badge, Zero Fear

You just received a job. Technically, a side-job.

You needed the extra cash. Rent was due next week, and at this point, the only thing growing faster than your stress was the mold in your bathroom.

Being a webtoon artist had always been the dream. You studied—poses, anatomy, lighting, shading, even a bit of photography thanks to that one kind sunbae back in high school. You poured years into perfecting your craft. But… doing your dream job in reality?

Yeah. Not exactly how you imagined it.

Making money through art was already hard. Add today’s economy into the mix, and suddenly budgeting meant rotating between cheap instant meals and whatever eggs were on sale. Not the healthiest diet, but it got you through deadlines. Mostly.

Anyway. Enough with that depressing backstory.

Today, you were helping out behind the scenes—cleaning up, running errands, doing whatever the other staff didn’t have time for. The entire building was in chaos, people rushing around, shouting schedules, checking equipment. Apparently, some new boy group was debuting soon.

Like, in a week or something? You hadn’t seen them yet, but you had heard things.

"They’re gorgeous," One of the stylists whispered while curling a wig. "Like, inhuman levels of beautiful."

That alone was enough to catch your attention.

You weren’t trying to ogle anyone. You just needed some visual inspiration. For art, obviously.

So when someone asked you to bring water to the practice room? You may or may not have speed-walked your way there with the excitement of a fangirl and the blank expression of a very tired assistant.

The moment you opened the door, chaos greeted you. They were arguing. And loud.

Great for drama. Better for material.

"Do you want to achieve world domination or not?!" The black-haired one snapped, voice sharp like he was conducting a military operation instead of a boy group practice.

"Then hit the beat— on time!"

Ah, the leader. Jinu, you think was his name.

"You're 0.5 seconds off." The one who's half of his face was covered with hair flatly said.

"I told you, it’s called flair." Said the one with pink hair, heart-shaped bangs framing his face.

"You mean lag." The mint haired muttered, eyes glued to his phone.

"Shut it." Groaned the one with the ridiculous muscles, dabbing sweat off his face like a disappointed gym coach. "Let’s just start from the top before Captain Serious combusts."

That’s when they noticed you.

But by then, you’d already seen them—and everything else.

Oh, your eyes. They were blinding.

It was like walking into a manhwa panel. Ethereal lighting. Sweat glistening on toned arms. Perfect jawlines. Tall, broad silhouettes. You barely managed not to trip over your own feet.

This was it. The vision. You felt it. The inspiration burning through your veins.

You cleared your throat, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you set the bottles near the mirrors.

And then, you said it. Casual. Straight-faced. Deadpan. "If this is what world domination looks like, I think the lighting needs work."

Silence.

They stared, blinked, and glanced at one another. Confused.

Jinu sighed. "Let’s take five."

The rest of the group immediately relaxed, stretching, dropping to the floor, cheering like they’d survived a war. Understandable. You heard they’d been practicing for hours.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

A voice pulled your attention.

"Thanks for the drink, cutie." It's the long haired dude. His voice was smooth and his smile was confident, borderline illegal.

Romance. That had to be his stage name.

Your eyes did a quick scan. You were mentally labeling all of them. It wasn’t weird. Not in a weird way. No. This was research.

Another one, shirt clinging to his abs like it was painted on, snatched a bottle and chugged it like he hadn’t tasted water in days. Abby, clearly.

You blinked. He was broad. The kind of chest that made you think of shirt buttons fighting for their lives. He smirked at you.

You immediately looked away and bowed slightly, mouthing a silent apology for being caught staring.

Then your gaze moved to the one on his phone, laughing at something you can't tell.

"That's so dumb." Mint hair said under his breath. His face? Cute. His voice? Low. Totally not what you expected, but love. You eat that kinda character up in stories.

He must be Baby.

Then there was the guy with long pastel hair partially covering his face. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t even looked your way. Mysterious aura? Check. It's clear he's Mystery.

And finally, back to Jinu. The leader. He carried himself like someone dependable. Stern but fair, and he's like that because he wants to see them all succeed.

That's such an eye watering story.

You tried not to squeal. Really, you did. But your fingers were already itching to draw. You can't wait for break to come.

Speaking of break... You look at them. It's only been a minute since they started that. You shouldn't, yeah.

"Excuse me." And yet you're already speaking. "Would it be alright if I took some photos?"

The room quieted a little. You could practically hear their thoughts. Another poor staff member, helpless under their charms.

"Go ahead." Jinu said, offering a small smile. What a charming fella.

He seems like he’d be one of those knight captains in those historical webtoons. The kind who stands behind the throne, silent and strong, carrying the kingdom on his back without asking for thanks.

Daydreaming later, let’s get clicking!

With permission granted, you lit up and pulled out your phone, trying hard not to bounce in excitement. As soon as your camera opened, they were already posing.

Of course they were.

You took a few shots—clean, fast, a few from different angles. They assumed you were done. They assumed wrong.

You lowered your phone, frowned slightly, and pointed at Abby.

"Flex your arm. No—more toward that side. Yes, hold that. Chin down."

They all froze.

"Huh?" Abby blinked.

And just like that, a full-on impromptu photoshoot began. You were directing them like your life depended on it. They followed along, slightly confused but too prideful to stop now.

"Yo..." Abby muttered, peeking at one of the photos. "I didn’t know my abs could look this good. Muscle definition on point."

He's beyond satisfied and that boosts your confidence in your photography skills yet again.

Soon, the rest of them were swarming your phone, snatching it to see their pictures and gawk at their undeniably gorgeous self.

Before chaos could start between them, you took your phone back in your hands as a really huge and bright smile was on your face.

"Thank you so much for indulging this staff member her request!" You made your way to the door with an awkward half-bow, twisting the knob, turning back one last time.

"I’m rooting for you guys! You got this!"

And with that, you were gone. Silence lingered in the room.

"So are we just letting random staff direct us now?" Baby asked, glancing at the others. "Cool. Cool cool cool."

"Yeah." Romance agreed with a nod. "But she's cute isn't she?"

"Every girl’s cute to you." Abby said, bumping his shoulder against him and tossing an arm lazily around Romance’s neck. "Get new taste, man."

"She didn’t even ask for an autograph." Jinu added, almost puzzled. Usually people would ask for that. He did his research well, you know.

"She just wanted photos." Mystery mumbled, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"Of us," Abby said proudly, a sudden, inexplicable breeze swept through the room—no open windows, no vents. Just vibes(?)

The edge of Abby’s fitted shirt lifted slightly, just enough to reveal a flash of perfectly sculpted abs.

He smirked. "Duh."

Fast forward—

Your first day ended early. Convenient, right? That meant more time to look at the pictures you took earlier. You couldn’t wait to study those shots, not in a weird way.

You’d been stuck on one panel of your webtoon for days, and no matter how deep you dove into Pinterest or Google, nothing looked quite right.

But thanks to that idol group, your prayers were answered. Sort of.

You expected to be on the bus by now, earbuds in, zoning out to music. Instead, you were standing in front of a convenience store, digging through your bag for your wallet when a realization hit you like a truck.

No cable. No charger. Not even a hint of it.

You double-checked. Nope. Gone.

You groaned out loud, dragging a hand down your face.

"Perfect." You muttered with a scowl. "Love that for me."

Then again, a bit of late-night cardio never hurt anyone. Yeah, scratch that shit. The universe clearly hated you.

The studio was still unlocked, the lobby empty. You flashed your staff ID in front of the scanner near the door—it beeped, the lock clicked, and in you went.

The overhead lights had been dimmed. Most of the staff were long gone. The silence was oddly calming.

You retraced your steps, mentally going through every place you'd stopped during the day. The break room was empty. No luck. The side lounge? Same story.

Third option: the rehearsal room.

You sighed. "Third time’s the charm." You mumbled, adjusting the strap on your bag as you headed down the hallway.

Your steps slowed as you neared the practice room. The door was closed, but voices leaked through—low, intense. Not the usual banter or off-key singing. Just… murmurs. Uneven. Cult-like.

You blinked. 'Holy hell, they’re still practicing?'

You glanced at your phone. It was late. Your shift ended an hour ago.

What are they made of? Protein powder and ambition?

What are they eating? Dreams? Caffeine? Hope??

You needed to ask. Not for curiosity. For survival. Your deadline was crawling up your spine like a tax collector and you were this close to drawing stick figures for tomorrow’s update.

The lights under the door flickered—blue, then red, then something that looked like a Windows error message.

You stared. Paused. Maybe they were testing stage lights.

Maybe they were summoning Satan. You didn't care. You just needed your charger. So you pushed the door open.

"I’m really sorry for disturbing you, but—" No matter how tired you were from today’s chaos, you still had manners.

They stood in a loose circle, shadows stretched long and unnatural, and… was that a portal? How the hell did they manage that?

If it was an illusion, it was top-tier. What were they feeding these hologram artists? Everyone in this team was way too talented.

Six heads snapped toward you.

You only blinked, admiration shining in your eyes. "Cool cosplay. Is this for the music video?"

A beat of silence.

Then your gaze flicked to the ceiling, eyes narrowing in critique. "Lighting’s a bit much, though. Shadows are swallowing Jinu’s jawline—tragic. Tilt the main source up just a bit next time."

You said what you said and you don't want to wait for a reply. You turn on your phone flashlight and started scanning the floor, stepping past the demon-plush aesthetic like you were dodging cables on a cluttered set.

There. Your charger lay near the edge of the mirror wall.

You scooped it up with a triumphant sigh and gave them all a quick thumbs-up.

"Good luck on the scene rehearsal." You chirped, already walking toward the door.

Click.

The door shut behind you, leaving nothing but baffled beings.

"…Who was that?" One of the figures finally asked, voice low and sharp.

"Staff." Abby replied, blinking.

"A weird human." Baby added, eyes at the door just like the others.

The tallest demon tilted its head, "Should we take care of her?"

The hunger was clear in its tone. Like it could already taste your soul.

Jinu was the first to speak. "No," He said sharply. "Not yet."

There was a pause. The demon turned slightly toward him. "You hesitate."

"I don’t make moves without information." Jinu said, arms crossed. "She’s… off."

"Off?" One of the smaller ones asked. "She looked normal."

"She looked like she was analyzing us," He muttered as he thought back to your behavior from earlier. "Not scared. Not confused. She looked like she’d seen stranger things."

"She was watching our movements earlier," Mystery informed from his corner, his voice soft. "Sketchpad in her lap."

"You sure it's not some fanfic crap?" Baby deadpanned.

"No." Jinu replied, tone quieter now. "It wasn’t that kind of writing. It was too structured. Like she was mapping something out. Watching patterns."

The demons seemed vaguely amused by the theory.

"So… a spy?" One of them asked, half-joking.

"Maybe," Jinu’s expression darkened. "Or something else. Either way, I’ll figure it out."

He didn’t voice the rest:

She looked one of the demon in the eye like she was judging him.

She also told them to fix the lighting.

She moved like the demon was interrupting her schedule.

Either she’s an expert who’ll be a problem later…or just another idiot with good timing and bad boundaries. Still. Better to play it safe.

The demons didn’t press. They glanced at one another then shrugged. Fine. Let him figure it out. Would’ve been more fun if he let them eat her soul, but hey—he’s the leader.

Without another word, they vanished through the pink portals back to the demon realm, leaving behind silence.

It didn’t last long.

Romance sighed dreamily. "Okay but… if she is a spy, she’s kinda hot."

Jinu didn’t reply. He just rubbed his temples, the beginnings of a headache forming right behind his eyes.

First a debut, now possible espionage from the world’s most dead-eyed assistant with a sketchpad.

Great.

He’d already built enough stress to level a small village. Now this?

…Cool. Fine. He’ll handle it. He always does.

Still.

Lighting advice?? Who just— No. Never mind. He stood straighter, his focus clear as glass.

He'll take care of you sooner or later once he knows your motive.

And so you lived through the first day of your new side-job.

Sure, it ended with strange flickering lights, a suspiciously cult-like gathering, and the very real possibility that the idol group you just met might be into LARPing or, worse, weird method acting.

But hey, sick concept. You respect the dedication. You genuinely hoped they listened to your advice about the lighting.

Still, your charger was back in your bag, your sketchpad was bursting with ideas, you get to draw that panel finally, and your rent wouldn’t pay itself.

So, if a bunch of pretty boys wanted to summon smoke and dramatic lighting on company time?

Not your business—as long as they made great reference material.

As you draw, you think things like:

Abby’s arms practically had their own agency. You swore his biceps flexed every time he blinked.

Jinu looked like a man carrying the weight of his group… and your outstanding bills.

And Romance? Prince face, main character energy, and probably the type to Google himself just to read the fan comments.

You, on the other hand, were so innocently, completely unaware of what awaited you.

Probably harassment, but definitely plot.

Day 2: HR Is Not Ready for This

You didn’t expect much on your second day.

Maybe some light sweating, a few awkward water runs, and enough quiet time to sneak in some sketching or brainstorm for ideas on your story.

You just wanted to observe, breathe, survive. Simple.

But the universe and apparently five very nosy boys had other plans.

The moment you entered the room, the air shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough to feel… watched.

Your gaze moved from one to the next—Abby adjusting his shirt (and definitely flexing more than needed), Mystery casually stretching nearby like a ninja cat, Baby muttering to himself while scrolling, and Jinu… he was definitely looking at you.

But you didn’t notice that.

You were too focused on your clipboard, scribbling poses and notes like a diligent little artist.

"You’ve been staring again."

You jumped a little. Jinu’s voice. Low. Observant.

You blinked up at him. "Oh, um— sorry?"

His brow arched before a tiny smile tugged at his lips. An attempt to lighten up the air around. "It’s fine. Just… felt like you were memorizing our skeletons."

You laughed, a little too nervously. "No! I mean—well, kind of? I’m an artist."

"...Right."

Was that judgment? You should be offended, right? Yes. But inside.

"It’s for character design," You explained. "I draw for webtoons. You guys are… kind of perfect models."

Jinu studied you. Scribbly. Polite. Very tired. But his gut didn’t trust you. "…Just don’t publish anything weird about us."

You gave him a two-finger salute. "No promises."

He walked off—suspicious, calculating, and weirdly handsome about it.

You sighed, then looked down. You’d circled a line on your page.

"Too symmetrical. Suspicious."

The second day at work is fun! Yeah, right. Fucking fuck. Today's exhausting. And not the "Wow, they’re so dreamy, I’m swooning~" kind.

No. This was “I swear to god if one of them breathes over my shoulder again, I will throw this pen” level of tired.

You were just trying to observe quietly, take notes, and survive the shift.

But subtle glances? Apparently that translated to "please, harass me."

Romance started singing, badly, every time your pen moved. Said it helped set the mood. You told him to change the playlist.

Abby kept "accidentally" standing right in your view. Shirt raised. Flex engaged. Asking, "How’s the lighting on my triceps now?"

Mystery appeared over your shoulder with zero warning, stared at your sketch, nodded, then vanished again like an IKEA ghost.

Baby? Baby muttered your critique out loud just to mess with you.

"‘Neck angle inconsistent’? Wow, harsh." All while smirking so handsomely. Baby. As in the one from hell. With Wi-Fi and zero respect for your peace. Like his fucking members.

You squinted at him, nearly blessing the world with the ugliest scowl known to man. "How are you even reading that from across the room?"

He didn’t answer. He just smiled wider.

Oh, these bastards were enjoying your suffering.

Was bullying the new staff part of their team-building exercises? Hazing disguised as charisma? They haven’t even debuted yet!

The audacity when their Spotify numbers are still at zero.

You'd think world domination came with manners, but no.

Contrary to their faces—artfully sculpted by angels or Photoshop—their personalities were straight-up hellspawn. (Ironic.)

By the time you were done, your social battery had collapsed into dust. You passed by a staff member in the hallway, maybe a stylist or someone from props.

"You look… drained."

You nodded. "Drained is generous. I feel like I’ve been emotionally dry-cleaned."

They laughed. You didn’t. You're mourning your peace.

Meanwhile, back in the practice room:

The air was quieter now. But tense.

Jinu stood near the speaker, arms crossed. His expression unreadable. "She’s hiding something."

The others didn’t laugh this time.

"Maybe she’s just weird." Baby offered his thought.

"Doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous." Jinu replied.

"So what, we just keep annoying her until she cracks?" Romance said, upside-down on the couch, legs kicking in the air like a chaotic cat.

"No." Jinu’s eyes didn’t waver. "We keep watching her until she shows us what she’s really here for.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Abby grinned like he's excited and can't wait to act whatever on his mind. "So. Strategic pestering. Got it."

Jinu didn’t stop him, or anyone of the boys. Whatever it takes to make you crack he guess.

Later that night, you collapsed at your desk.

Still alive. Barely.

You flipped open your sketchpad, flipping past pages of poses, muscle references, and narrowed notes.

"Abby’s arms could run their own business."

"Romance: pretty, but loud."

"Baby = gremlin with a phone."

"Mystery—??? Stop teleporting???"

You sighed, poked at your charger, then scribbled one last line before calling it a night.

If tomorrow’s like this again, I might fake a cold. Or a coma. Or both.

Still... their interest in your art? Kind of flattering. Mostly annoying.

#to read later #this is too funny not to dedicate some reading time too ngl XD

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