The afternoon sun filtered between the buildings, painting the ground with golden glimmers. In the distance, Enjin walked with his usual leader's bearing, and Zanka watched him with his arms crossed, nodding his head in profound respect. Enjin was his guiding star, the warrior he aspired to be like.
But then you appeared on the path, and Zanka's world shifted completely.
His arms relaxed instantly. His eyes, which had previously reflected serious discipline, lit up with absolute gentleness. He saw you stop and sneeze from all the dust around you.
'Look at her wrinkling her nose, how adorable,' he thought, feeling a flutter in his chest.
You took a few steps forward and greeted Tomme and Gris, who were preparing the truck for the day's mission, with that warmth that characterized you. Your laughter floated in the humid afternoon air.
'Ugh, what a pretty smile she has,' he complained internally, even though an identical smile was trying to sneak onto his own lips. He scolded himself to maintain his composure.
You said your goodbyes and resumed your walk toward him. The afternoon breeze was at your back.
'There she goes... Look how her hair moves when she walks.' Zanka froze, admiring the scene as if it were a living painting. The trouble started when your eyes met his and you gave him a small wave, quickening your pace in his direction. Romantic panic gripped him.
'Oh no, she's coming this way, act natural,' he told himself, straightening his back abruptly and crossing his arms again, only to uncross them because he looked too stiff.
"Hey, Zanka!" you said as you reached his side, your cheeks slightly flushed from the walk. "I saw you from back there. Were you training with Enjin?"
Zanka let out a laugh that was too loud and nervous, making everyone around him turn to look.
'Don't laugh so loud, she'll think you're stupid,' he immediately scolded himself, feeling the heat rise to his ears. The silence stretched for a second longer than it should have as you looked at him curiously, tilting your head.
'She asked you a question, answer properly, idiot.'
"Yes! I mean, no. Yes, Enjin... he was already leaving. I was just... looking at the ground. The ground is so beautiful today!" he blurted out, pointing at the earth with infinite clumsiness.
You blinked for a moment, processing the absurd answer, and then let out a clear, resounding laugh. It wasn't mockery; it was that laugh of yours that healed his soul. You covered your mouth with your hand, caught up in his strange energy, and visibly relaxed beside him, feeling completely at ease in his presence, no matter how silly his ramblings were.
Seeing your reaction, Zanka's shoulders slumped and his nervousness evaporated, leaving behind a deep warmth. He scratched the back of his neck, a genuine, slightly embarrassed smile playing on his lips. He was a lost cause with you, no doubt about it. But if making a fool of himself meant hearing your laughter every day, he was prepared to be the biggest fool in the world for the rest of his life.
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“Too cloying,” “too unnecessary” was what he always repeated.
But that didn’t matter.
Because if he had to ruin his taste, his teeth, and even his blood with sugar… he would. Without thinking twice.
For you.
The waitress of that small pastry shop, hidden on a street no one looked at twice, but that he had memorized within days. For Enjin, there was nothing sweeter than you. No dessert, no cream, no baked dough could compete.
And he had definitely tried.
That first day, he remembered it with an irritating clarity.
He had walked in with the excuse of buying something for Rudo, a rare gesture, even for him, and then he saw you. Smiling, calm, moving with that natural ease that seemed to ignore what you caused.
And that was it.
He fell for you.
“Love at first service,” he called it. And if anyone laughed, he didn’t care, because he knew exactly what he wanted.
And he had it right in front of him.
…
The bell above the door chimed again, at the same time. Like every day for the past two weeks.
You didn’t even look up right away. You didn’t need to, since you knew who it was.
You knew how he walked.
You knew the exact weight of his presence.
You knew… everything.
His order, his tone, his insistence.
And you also knew what would come next.
“Hey, doll.” his voice reached your back, low, drawn out, with that teasing edge that had already become dangerously familiar.
You rolled your eyes with a restrained smile while emptying the piping bag.
“Come on, don’t ignore me, you know what I want.”
You turned slowly, as if you had no rush to face him. As if you didn’t feel his gaze running over you without hiding it.
You walked toward the display, leaning just slightly to look at the cakes.
“Enjin, just give up,” you said lightly, almost sing-song. “I told you I wouldn’t go out with a customer. Just take your order and go back where you came from.”
When you looked up, he was already leaning on the counter, too close, smiling.
Not that wide smile he used with everyone.
No.
This one was different.
“That’s a problem,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Because I’m not planning to stop coming.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed a plate.
“You’re persistent.”
“I’m patient,” he corrected, not taking his eyes off you. “And I know how to recognize when someone wants it too.”
“You’re wrong,” you replied, resuming your movements with practiced ease.
“Yeah?” His voice dropped a little more. “Then look at me and tell me you don’t like me coming.”
You did.
You held his gaze firmly, but you didn’t say anything.
Instead, you just sighed.
And the corner of his lips lifted.
“Thought so.”
You set the plate in front of him with a bit more force than necessary.
“Your cake.”
“I didn’t come for the cake.”
“Then you came to the wrong place.”
“No,” he said, taking the plate without even looking at it. “I came to exactly the right place.”
That silence again.
That tension again.
He leaned a little closer to you. Enough to invade your space.
Not enough for you to push him away without it seeming like a reaction.
“Go out with me.” he said directly, like always.
“I already told you that—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he cut in with a low laugh. “You don’t go out with customers. I know it by heart.”
His fingers tapped softly against the counter.
“So let’s do something.”
You frowned, wary.
“Tomorrow I’m not coming as a customer.”
You blinked.
“Oh, really?”
“No.” He shrugged. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
Your heart gave a small jump you refused to acknowledge.
“Enjin—”
“And you,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “are going to finish your shift, walk out that door…” He pointed with his chin toward the exit. “…and you’re going to agree to go out with me.”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re not telling me no.”
“You insist too much,” you murmured, lowering your voice slightly.
“Because it’s worth it.”
His answer was immediate, without hesitation.
For the first time… completely serious.
And that was what disarmed you.
You looked at him for real.
Beyond the flirting, beyond the persistence.
There he was, waiting, with that irritating confidence.
Convinced as if he already knew the answer.
You exhaled slowly.
“Just once,” you finally said, crossing your arms. “If you end up disappointed, you don’t come back.”
His smile widened, more satisfied this time.
“Darling,” he murmured, leaning just a little closer. “That’s not going to happen.”
And when he pulled away, taking his cake as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just changed everything…
You already knew you had lost that small battle, even if you didn’t really want to win it.
Imagine: You were Enjin’s beloved little sister. The one he had always protected and spoiled, the one he was ready to deal with anyone over without asking too many questions.
And somehow, out of all the Cleaners, Zanka was the one who had caught your eye.
The only problem was that Zanka seemed to fear and respect your brother far more than he was willing to admit. So whenever you hinted at your feelings, he responded with tense silence, carefully kept his distance, and pretended not to notice your interest at all.
It did not upset you. Quite the opposite, it amused you endlessly. That was exactly why you loved creating situations that made Zanka especially uncomfortable.
Like accidentally getting locked inside the headquarters storage room with him.
It was unusually quiet in there today. Zanka pulled the door handle for the third time, then threw his shoulder against it and let out an irritated breath.
“Locked.”
You were sitting on one of the crates, idly swinging one leg.
“What a tragedy.”
He slowly turned his head toward you.
“Does this not bother you at all?”
“Should it?”
“We’re locked in a storage room.”
“I noticed.”
Zanka frowned even harder and grabbed the handle again, as though it might suddenly be moved by his persistence and open on its own.
You struggled to hide your smile.
The situation did look strange, to be fair. You had come here to collect supplies for the next mission. Zanka had entered first, with you following right behind him, and barely a minute later, the door had somehow ended up locked.
From the inside. Exactly how that had happened was something you preferred not to explain. Zanka preferred not to ask. Probably because he was already beginning to suspect the answer.
“You didn’t do anything, did you?” he finally asked.
You pressed a hand to your chest.
“How could you possibly think that of me?”
“Very easily.”
“That hurts.”
“You’re smiling.”
“Is that forbidden?”
He gave you a long, irritated look. That was exactly why you enjoyed teasing him so much.
Zanka could keep a perfectly composed expression during training, on missions, and even when Rudo pushed him to the edge of his patience. But the moment you stepped a little too close, a barely noticeable tension appeared in him.
Not because he disliked you. At least, you hoped not. The real reason was much funnier.
Enjin. Your dear older brother.
Zanka had once said, with complete seriousness, that getting involved with Enjin’s younger sister would be “practically voluntary suicide and an exceptional display of disrespect.”
Ever since then, you had considered it your duty to regularly remind him of that fear. Meanwhile, Zanka was studying the small window near the ceiling.
“If we move the crates…”
You let out a heavy sigh.
“Zanka.”
“What?”
“Relax for one minute.”
“I am relaxed.”
You looked at him. Then at the door. Then back at him.
“Of course you are.”
He was clearly about to argue, but you had already stepped closer.
“Sit down.”
“Why?”
“Just sit.”
“No.”
You placed your hands on his shoulders.
Zanka tensed immediately.
“Hey.”
“Sit.”
“I can do it myself…”
You pressed down lightly, forcing him onto the old wooden chair by the wall.
Zanka looked up at you with obvious displeasure.
“Happy?”
“Not yet.”
Before he could ask what that was supposed to mean, you calmly settled yourself on his lap. Zanka froze. He seemed to stop breathing altogether.
You rested one hand comfortably on his shoulder and playfully twirled a lock of his hair around your finger.
“Much better.”
Trying to preserve what remained of his composure, he let out a heavy breath and said seriously,
“Get up.”
“Why?” you asked, batting your eyelashes innocently.
“Because.”
“Very convincing, Zanka.”
“Get up.”
“Zanka.”
“What?”
You leaned a little closer, your warm breath brushing against his skin.
“Are you thinking about Enjin again?”
His expression told you everything.
You laughed.
“God, you really are afraid of him.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“Of course.”
“I simply respect him as my mentor.”
“How devoted.”
“Your brother once told everyone that if anyone at headquarters tried to make a move on you, he would personally…”
“Enjin says a lot of things,” you said, waving a dismissive hand.
“He was completely serious when he said it.”
“He was being dramatic. You know he’s hardly a saint himself.”
“That is exactly what worries me.”
You barely managed to hold back another laugh.
Zanka carefully placed his hands on your waist, clearly intending to move you somewhere farther away, but you immediately raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he asked irritably.
“Nothing.”
“Just say it.”
“You’re holding my waist all by yourself now.”
Zanka pulled his hands away at once. You burst out laughing.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“And you like that about me.”
You touched his cheek with the tip of your finger.
“No,” Zanka answered evenly.
You pushed out your lower lip in an offended pout.
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little.”
You leaned closer still, until your lips were barely brushing.
“Then why are you blushing?”
“It’s stuffy in here.”
“Zanka, it’s colder in here than it is in the hallway.”
“Stop while you still can.”
You smiled and finally rose from his lap. He immediately let out a breath of relief. Then you walked over to the door and calmly turned the small latch beside the handle.
Click.
The door swung open.
Silence fell behind you. A very dangerous kind of silence. You slowly turned around.
Zanka was still sitting on the chair, staring at you as though he had just witnessed the greatest betrayal of his life.
“You…”
“What?”
“You locked the door?”
“Maybe.”
“We could have left this entire time?”
You gave him an innocent shrug.
“At least you got to rest.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“I’ll tell Enjin.”
Zanka covered his face with one hand. Smiling in satisfaction, you stepped out into the hallway.
A second later, the top of your head appeared in the doorway again.
“By the way, Zanka?”
“What now?”
“Next time, you don’t have to move your hands.”
Then you disappeared before he had the chance to answer. For several seconds, Zanka remained completely still.
Zanka knew perfectly well what he felt for you. And he hated it.
Not because you were a problem—quite the opposite—but because a relationship, or any kind of distraction, went against the only thing that mattered to him: becoming stronger. It was an almost obsessive conviction. And yet… you didn’t fit into that logic. You never had.
Your voice, the way you moved around the infirmary, the calm with which you treated every wound… and, worst of all, the way you looked at him, as if he weren’t just an idiot who had lost yet another fight.
“I’m ready. Take off your shirt.” Your tone was soft, natural. Too natural.
Zanka blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “What…?”
He stared at you as if he hadn’t understood the language, while heat rose to his face uninvited.
“I need to change your bandages,” you repeated, tilting your head slightly, with that patience that always seemed to disarm him.
He clicked his tongue, more annoyed at himself than at you.
“I know.”
Even so, he hesitated for a second before obeying. His fingers tugged at the fabric clumsily, as if taking off his shirt had suddenly become a much more complicated task than usual. He set it aside, avoiding looking at you directly.
He could feel your eyes on him, and that was worse than any blow, because he felt the burning rush of blood climbing from his neck to his face.
You approached without hurry, your warm hands brushing his skin as you removed the bandages. The contact was light, professional… but enough to make his shoulders tense and steal his breath.
“You’re stiffer than before,” you murmured, focused, as you gently worked around his wound. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” he answered too quickly.
He swallowed when your fingers moved a little more slowly, cleaning the area. There was something in the way you touched him… careful, but firm… that made it impossible for him to ignore you.
“You should learn to dodge better,” you added, almost jokingly.
Zanka let out a short, dry laugh. “Next time, I’ll win.”
“Either way, I’m glad it wasn’t more serious than this. I like spending time with you, even if it’s because of your injuries.”
Your words were so natural that he couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise. You finished rebandaging him, leaning just a little closer than necessary. A strand of your hair brushed against his collarbone, and Zanka went completely still.
He didn’t dare move or breathe.
“All done,” you said at last, stepping back slightly.
Zanka frowned, as if something bothered him… even though he couldn’t quite tell what it was.
“Hey.”
You stopped before fully turning away. “Yeah?”
He hesitated… ‘Damn it.’
“Nothing.”
He clicked his tongue again, looking away.
It wasn’t the moment. But as he watched you walk away through the infirmary, with that same calm as always… Zanka knew he was losing.
He has an absurdly heavy sleep; literally nothing wakes him up. His way of sleeping is unintentionally invasive: he clings to you like you're a plushie, wrapping both arms and legs around you in a firm, constant hold. At first, it feels warm and comforting… until, in the middle of the night, he starts moving without control. It’s not unusual for you to end up trapped under his weight, struggling to breathe while he remains completely unconscious. Still, if you manage to adjust, his warmth is strangely soothing.
Zanka
Against all expectations, he prefers to be the little spoon. He’s reserved with his feelings, but when he sleeps, a quiet need for closeness slips through. He likes being held from behind, feeling that constant contact. He relaxes immediately when you wrap your arms around him, as if that’s the only thing that lets him lower his guard. However, his sleep is light in that sense: if you stop holding him, even for a moment, he wakes up almost instantly, searching for you again without saying a word.
Riyo
Sleeping with someone is not her thing. Her sleep is extremely light, almost nonexistent. Any movement, sound, or change in breathing wakes her up immediately. She prefers sleeping alone because it’s more efficient, more “controlled.” If you try to share a bed, she’ll likely end up frustrated after hours without rest, and with very limited patience, she’ll ask you to go back to your room… in the kindest way someone deprived of sleep can manage.
Rudo
He struggles to fall asleep, but when he’s with someone he truly trusts, everything changes. A nearby presence gives him a sense of safety he doesn’t usually admit. The moment he lies down beside you, he falls asleep with surprising ease. The problem comes later: he moves a lot in his sleep and isn’t aware of the space he takes up, so you’ll probably end up at the edge of the bed or half trapped against the wall. Still, there’s no doubt he sleeps more peacefully with you nearby.
Tamsy
He’s excessively affectionate—obsessive—even in his sleep. He holds you tightly. His arms stay firmly wrapped around you all night, making it hard for you to change position. Sleeping with him can be uncomfortable: you end up stiff, your body tense, waking up with back pain. But from his perspective, there’s no safer place than that constant embrace.
Follo
Definitely the type to cuddle in his sleep. He likes having you close, wrapping his arms around you and maintaining constant physical contact, but unlike Tamsy, his hold is more mindful—warmer than restrictive. He adjusts himself so you’re both comfortable, shifting if he notices you’re uncomfortable even while half-asleep. His presence is enveloping, protective, and makes sleep feel deep and steady.
Fu
He sleeps lightly but in a controlled way. He usually settles into a comfortable position and stays there, without moving much. He’s not particularly affectionate while sleeping, but he doesn’t reject closeness either: he allows contact if you initiate it, though he rarely seeks it out himself. He’s the type who seems calm on the outside, but is always partially aware of his surroundings, as if he never fully lets his guard down.
Jabber
Sleeping with him is unpredictable. He can start in one position and end up in a completely different one. He moves around a lot, invades space, and has no fixed pattern. Sometimes he unconsciously seeks closeness, drifting too close; other times he pulls away without explanation. He isn’t aggressive in his sleep, but he is chaotic, making sharing a bed with him a variable experience: some nights surprisingly calm, others… a complete mess.
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𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — August isn't sure if this is a gift from the Spherites or the fashion gods that he met you; either way, you're making the creative part in his brain go haywire.
warnings - August wants that cookie terribly, fem!reader, giver!reader (mentioned set instrument), reader is kinda mean @ first (dw August likes it), tension, August is all over the place… naturally, minor spoilers for Gachiakuta manga.
𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 - Hello, hello again! Sorry for the delay; this one’s for all my baby girls. I see your comments, ladies, and they make me smile. I’m lurking and stalking when you least expect it (please get the reference). But, I DO see all your notifications, and I am over the moon with the support. I don't know how many times I can thank you guys. But, I still am working on a pt. 2 for my Tamsy fic, but things are super slow since college 😮💨. So, please enjoy this August fic!
Word count (𝐰𝐜) - 1.7k words
You were quite literally the girl he had been dreaming of. His muse stepped from the pages of his sketchbook. Your features soften in the sun, glowing like shiny copper. You were ethereal. "Holy Divine," was August's only thought when he saw you. For the first time in his life, he was too stunned to speak. His wide gaze froze, unblinking, as he watched you filter through various fabrics just three feet away. The sun beat down harshly, and gusts of wind blew dust all around; still, he was frozen.
For a moment a tumbleweed passed between the two of you.
“What are you looking at?” Your voice was even perfect, he realized, as he listened to your cutting demand. Rather quickly, however, August was punched out of his daydream once his eyes met your own, which… seemed to be glaring lasers into him that could melt the plastic of his orange lenses.
“Huh?”
“Huh?” He hears you mimic his dumbfounded voice, your glare turning sharper, which makes your face scrunch cutely like a kitten's. A laugh burst from his throat at the comparison, but it died quickly on his lips seeing your glare turn into disgusted puzzlement.
He doesn't blame you for being, like, totally creeped out by some stranger staring bullets at you whilst trying to enjoy Canvas Town’s annual fabric and textile trade fair; if it were him, he’d be weirded out too!
That's a lie; he might not even have noticed because he’d already be knee-deep in a bin of precut fabric if he were being truthful.
What is this weirdo looking at? Was your first thought as you watched the slender blonde, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water? Hooking your finger at the arms of your sunglasses, bringing them down to rest at the tip of your nose, your eyes narrowed as you skimmed his profile under your scrutiny, you can see the tips of his ears turning beet red. “Do you know me or something?” You ask, uninterested, resuming your scavenge for material. You would be surprised if he did, but the way he's gawking at you like a sculptor studying a block of marble does interest you.
A sharp slap echoes through the air; your eyes widen, drawing your attention to the sound as you watch the man clutch his heart—his face scrunching in pain as your previous exasperation turns into pure panic. Because, you may be an asshole, but you aren't heartless.
“Hey, dude?! Are you—”
“A masterpiece! The very pinnacle of sartorial excellence!” August declared, rather loudly, as he threw his arms wide with a flourish, gesturing to you. He wasn't just saying that because your face was kissed by a goddess… though it was certainly a plus. But, because of your outfit.
Denim-on-denim that just enhanced the silken bronze of your complexion. Complemented with a fur-lined trim along the jacket and your jeans distressed with a flare toward the end, immediately drawing his gaze to your shoes. He first imagined was designer, but he does a double-take.
They're quite intricate in design, though. Seemingly designed to integrate a derringer dual pistol with the strappy gold heels with a reinforced steel toe cap, the barrel of the gun points forward, and the grip serves as your heel.
You’re a stone-cold fashionista.
Sprinting up, he’s about to yell before your manicured finger presses against his lips, instantly silencing him. August doesn't care; if anything, he's a bit too pleased that your nails are a glossy French tip, it's stubble, and it's a glamorous choice. He can't help but beam as he watches you with wide-eyed fascination; you would look perfect in leather. Studded belts and gold fill out your skin, but silver wouldn't dull it.
“You’re totally weirding me out, and I’m not a fan of that. So, you'd better say something fast, or I’ll be tempted to shoot you.”
So, the pistols were your jinki? He wasn't even sure if that was possible, considering firearms were ineffective against Trash Beasts, right? He's got to ask you about that. Spherites, his brain is working overtime as he regards your heels. You’re so confident, you could step on him like a bug… and he wouldn't mind that as long as he was able to get a low-angle shot of it.
“You, style icon, are frying my brain! Can't help but stare. You’ve got this aura that I need to capture. It’s the essence of a fierce, dapper spirit that must be intertwined into a gorgeous, indestructible design!" He angles his fingers in a camera motion as he examines your face, which is already immaculate.
“Whaaaaaat?” You drawl, stepping away from him as you raise a pointed brow. Your lips pout as you squint trying to pin down his erratic behavior. He reminds you of some kind of bee, fluttering about—reactively you swipe your hands around the air.
“Hell yeah! You heard me, gorgeous. You’re the wicked gal of my dreams who just magically became a reality. I can't let this chance pass me by!” His voice booms as he holds up a piece of cloth, shaking his head dramatically as he shucks it aside.
Okay, now you’re even more confused. Though you don't mind his compliments, they seem wildly thick. “Are you flirting with me?” You question.
August stops suddenly, letting go of a slice of velvet; the soft and smooth fabric slips from his hands as he snorts at your brazen claim. “Well, duh, little fashion killer, I absolutely am. But, right now a stitch is calling my name... Which is hard to follow if you keep staring at me with that stunning face of yours! Ya dig?" He’s already back to rooting through the fabric, muttering to himself. Once he picks up a sample, he examines it before putting it back.
This isn’t what you thought your morning would be like... at all. Originally after his own bold assertion, you planned on just leaving. You were definitely certain that this dude was a creep, but labeling yourself foolish, you were intrigued. Begrudgingly. As you walk skeptically behind him, long blonde hair rallies behind him, headbanging in time with the metal of his music, which is being ejected from his headphones.
You squint, sizing him up. You could take someone as willowy as him no sweat.
His body suddenly slides to a halt, forcing you to crash into him as you collide with his back. Your face rumpled in annoyance as you quickly pulled back, hands gripping his shoulders as you shook him. “Hey, watch it! I could've stepped on you!”
August follows in time with your vigorous grasp. A theatrical chuckle escapes his lips as the image conjures in his mind; he does really like it when you’re rude to him. Hopefully, that's just a sexual thing rather than some psychological defect.
August doesn't bother steadying himself as he loses himself in the cadence. He simply lets you shake him until you stop, at which point he spins around with a flourish, his goggles catching the sunlight.
“Well, that wouldn't be a total tragedy, doll, now would it?” he says, eyeing you playfully. His voice is loud and dramatic as he gestures at the two of you. “Just think of the poetry! A divine collision, the clashing of two beautiful forces, captured in one brilliant moment!” He places a hand to his heart in a show of performance art. "You are the perfect motivation for my next line of work!"
He leans in close, ignoring your exasperated expression, and whispers candidly, "You know... You really shouldn't be so rough with a genius. My creative sparks could get scrambled." He winks, then straightens up again, clapping his hands together. "Now, where was I? Oh, right! The perfect shade of royal blue to bring out your features..." He immediately begins walking again, leaving you stunned and even more flustered than before.
To your surprise, you walk behind him as he overflows with ebullience. You aren't sure why your interest has been so piqued, but it is, and it's ineffable. You lean against a rack slightly, watching him absorb himself in his craft. “I didn't say I’d be your model.” You
As he holds up another piece of velvet, you feel his eyes flicker to yours. He drapes the rich color over your shoulder, his fingertips lingering there.
A wide, confident grin spread across his face. "Don't worry, my little star," he declares, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "The velvet and I have already made the decision for you." He steps forward, not lingering any longer. Instead, moving with purpose, he drapes a different, even more striking piece of fabric over your shoulder—a romantic pink lace with an air of absolute certainty.
He taps your nose playfully with a roll of the velvety fabric, already eyeing another piece from his inventory. "Consider yourself the inspiration. It will be worth your time—I'm an artist, after all!"
You roll your eyes. “I don't even know your name—”
He feigns surprise, clutching his chest dramatically. "My name?" he suddenly shouted, his voice rising in volume. Then, he'd lean in conspiratorially, his goggles catching the light. "The name is Stilza. August Stilza, your future boyfriend too, to be precise. The one and only!" He followed up with a theatrical pose.
You do a double-take, your eyes widening as you snort at his boldness. “What?! No way, if you’re my future boyfriend, how come I’m suddenly meeting you now?” You raise your eyebrow skeptically, your lips curving into a smile despite yourself.
August leans into your space, seemingly unbothered by how close he physically is as he leans in further, the orange lenses of his goggles seeming to glint mischievously. Unfazed by your skepticism, his smile would become even wider, his eyes trailing to the glossy sheen of your lips before he pushes away, striking another dramatic pose.
"Ah, but that's what makes it so exciting, doesn't it?!" he exclaimed, one hand over his forehead as he pretends to swoon. "Fate is a temperamental artist! She loves a dramatic reveal! Today is not our final scene, my dear—it's the dramatic opening act of our masterpiece!"
With a wink, he continues, "Every great love story starts with a little disbelief. It’s what makes the happy ending so much sweeter. Besides," he adds, leaning in again, his voice dropping to a honeyed whisper, "how could I create your outfit for our wedding if I didn't get to meet you first?"
Content: Fluff, NSFW at the end, August being a silly guy!
Drunk!August who is somehow even more loud and boisterous than he usually is
Cover your ears if one of his favorite songs plays because he is singing his heart out till the end!
He'd probably get on a table, playing air guitar and bopping his head back and forth, blonde hair swinging around like a rock star
And trust me, this wacko designer will for sure bring the moves onto the dance floor
Since you're dating August, be prepared to get dragged along to dance with him!
Drunk!August who is incredibly affectionate and clingy when it comes to his darling girlfriend.
He'd have his arms wrapped around you, yapping about how gorgeous and dazzling you look.
He'd be burying his face into your neck, desperate to drown in your scent.
Peppering kisses all over your face and neck so much that you have to gently push him off like he's an eager, oversized puppy.
“Babyyyyyy! Come here, lemme give you more smoochies!”
“Mwah mwah mwah! So cuteeee, heheh, I've got the *hic!* cutest girl around! YA HEAR THAT EVERYONE? MY GIRLFRIEND IS ADORABLEEEEE!!!”
He also whines when you have to get up and leave him for whatever reason.
Even if you need to go to the bathroom, he'd stand outside, leaning against the wall impatiently as he waits for you to come out
And maybe as he waits he's still getting jiggy with it — imagine this dummy doing the sprinkler or macarena LMAO
Drunk!August with an insatiable appetite.
He'll be going to town on any junk food there is, the man has a black hole for a stomach, but he'll also want to share it with you!
“Sweetheart! Have this french fry! Oh oh- and try this fried chicken- ITS SOOOO GOOD- OH!! LET'S GET PIZZA TOO!!! YOU WANNA GET SOME WINGS WITH IT? AND LETS GET CHOCOLATE CAKE FOR DESSERT!!!”
Needless to say, neither of you are hungry after that feast…but hey! At least you have leftovers to take home!
He also loves when you feed him, having the dumbest biggest grin as you do. But beware! He may nibble your fingers!
Drunk!August where at the end of the night when you guys stumble back into your room, you become his personal pillow!
He flops right on top of you like a weighted blanket.
He's heavy but warm and cozy like a heater
Rubbing his cheek against yours, he wraps his arms around you and murmurs slurred affections.
“Mmm..love..love my girl *hic* my perfect girllll~”
A few kisses to your cheek. “You're the besttttttt~”
Without a doubt, you love that drunk fool. And you love love loveee the drunken late night cuddles…
[🌶Spicy Headcanon Incoming!!🌶]
Drunk!August who loves to worship your body even when he can barely think straight.
When you're out in public still, you have to give him little swats to make sure his hand doesn't trail too far up your thigh.
Don't blame him if he sneaks a little grab or two on your ass! What can he say? He loves all of you so much!~
When he's holding you close, he may leave a few hickeys on your neck and collarbone
When the two of you are alone in your bedroom, he's on you like a feral dog.
Teeth, tongue, and lips all over you! His hands never stay in one place for too long; one second they're grasping at your chest, the next they've snaked their way behind you to grip your plush ass.
"F-fuck...how are you so pretty, baby? Wanna..mark you up..."
In between murmurs of how damn beautiful he thinks you are, his hands are already sliding your pants down
Before you know it, you're on your back, legs locked around August's hips, barely holding any conscious thoughts as he fucks you. It's erratic, sloppy and uncoordinated, but each deep thrust is meant to show you how much he adores you. (And he's VERY vocal when drunk)
“S-sweetheart! Gorgeous- hah! You feel so good, baby!~ fuck fuck fuckkk- can't get enough of you"
In the morning, he's super smug about his performance last night. He lays on top of you, lazily rubbing your hip as he counts the marks scattered on your delicate skin
"...19...20...21! HAH! Damn, drunk me did go crazy last night! But next time, I'll beat that score~" He laughs and kisses you, proud and shameless (*ゝω･*)
A/N: WOO! (*‘ω‘ *) Drunk Auggie sure is somethin- kinda wanna try my hand at some actual fics inspired by these headcanons…i love this silly designer so much 🧡
The living room was unusually quiet that afternoon, but the atmosphere inside your head was an absolute storm. From your spot on the couch, you watched Zanka. The boy was completely immersed in a conversation with Enjin.
Well, "conversation" was putting it lightly. Zanka was practically radiating a bright energy, his cheeks slightly flushed and his eyes wide open, nodding fervently to every single word the blonde said. Those exaggerated reactions, that nervous stuttering, and that almost sacred devotion Zanka showed toward Enjin made your stomach churn.
You felt the bitter taste of jealousy burning your throat.
You and Zanka had been dating in secret for months, building something you considered special. However, Zanka never acted like that with you.
With you, he was stubborn, grumpy, sometimes strangely formal, and always trying to maintain a tough-guy facade. He never got "lovestruck" or submissive the way he did in front of Enjin. Insecurity had settled into your chest, convincing you of one single thing: Zanka had a huge, obvious, and incurable crush on Enjin, and you were just a consolation prize.
When Enjin finally said goodbye with a pat on Zanka's back, Zanka stood staring down the hallway for a couple of seconds with a goofy smile before turning around. The moment his gaze locked with yours, his expression instantly shifted to his usual defensive scowl, though his eyes softened when he noticed your silence.
"What's wrong with you?" Zanka asked, walking over to you and crossing his arms. "You've had a face like you swallowed trash all afternoon."
"Nothing is wrong," you replied, standing up abruptly. You tried to brush past him, but Zanka quickly blocked your path, grabbing your arm.
"Don't lie to me. I know you," he insisted, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. "Is it because of training? Or did I do something to upset you? Just speak up already."
His demanding tone finally snapped the thin thread of your patience. You pulled out of his grip with a heavy sigh, looking him dead in the eye.
"Why don't you go ask Enjin? I'm sure you'd answer him with much more enthusiasm," you snapped, the bitterness spilling out before you could stop it.
Zanka blinked, completely bewildered.
"What does Enjin have to do with this?"
"He has to do with everything!" you exclaimed in a frustrated whisper, careful not to draw the attention of the rest of the headquarters. "Look at how you get every time he's around. You get all nervous, your eyes light up, you jump to please him in whatever he wants, and you look like a damn excited puppy... You never get like that with me, Zanka. If you're in love with him, just say it. You don't have to pretend you care about me."
The silence that followed your words was dead quiet. Zanka stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, processing what you had just said. You expected him to get angry, to yell, or to confirm your worst fears. Instead, the corners of his lips began to twitch.
A small, muffled laugh escaped his mouth, followed by another, until Zanka covered his face with one hand, chuckling softly.
"Are you mocking me?" you asked, feeling humiliation rush to your cheeks.
"It's just... you're an idiot," Zanka said, lowering his hand to look at you. His cheeks were red, but this time it was out of pure amusement. "Did you seriously think I like Enjin? Enjin?!"
"You act like you do!" you shot back, crossing your arms.
Zanka took a step toward you, breaking the personal space between you. The mockery in his eyes melted into a spark of playfulness you rarely saw in him.
"Listen to me closely," he began, giving your chest a gentle poke with his index finger. "Enjin is my freaking role model. He's the man who saved me and the Cleaner I aspire to be. I respect him so much that I'm scared to death of disappointing him or looking like a fool in front of him. That's why I get tense and hyper. It's not a crush, it's respect, you total dummy."
You froze, feeling the entire theory you had built up in your head completely fall apart.
"So... you don't like him?"
"Of course not!" Zanka scoffed, taking another step forward, forcing you to back up until your spine hit the workshop wall. He placed one hand beside your head, trapping you, as he leaned in with a smug grin. "So... you were jealous. Making a tantrum just because I wasn't paying attention to you?"
"I wasn't making a tantrum..." you muttered, averting your gaze, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
Zanka let out a soft chuckle, thoroughly enjoying your shyness. He used his free hand to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him again.
"Do you want to know why I don't get like that with you?" his voice dropped, becoming unusually soft and husky. "Because with you, I don't have to pretend. I don't have to prove that I'm the perfect Cleaner or the strongest warrior. With you, I can just be Zanka. You give me a sense of peace that nobody else in this damn place gives me."
Your eyes widened at his confession. Zanka leaned in a bit further, closing the remaining distance until his lips brushed against yours in a slow, deep kiss, packed with a warmth that instantly cleared away any trace of insecurity in your body. His hands moved down to your waist, pulling you flush against him with a possessiveness that left you breathless.
When he finally pulled back, Zanka's breathing was slightly uneven, and a genuine blush dusted his features. He stared intensely into your eyes, showing a vulnerability he had never displayed to Enjin or anyone else.
"Is it perfectly clear who I belong to now?" he whispered, though he couldn't resist giving your hair a playful little tug just to tease you. "If you ever doubt me over a stupid thing like this again, I'll make you clean my boots for a month."
You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him right back to you.
✩ a/n — does this count as manga spoilers? ( i havent watched the anime ) oh well, i'll say manga-spoilers just in case. also! i told myself i wasn't gonna write for gachiakuta until i caught up with it but i miss regto like a mf (im literally on chapter 8) sooo yeah. if this is stupid pls leave me to live in my delusion.
✩ word count — 1.5k
✩ content — regto x fem! reader, found family trope goes hard, made it where you're like a mother figure to rudo :3, i do want everyone to know - i wrote this on a whim and bc i had the idea. i'm sorry if i got any story/literally anything wrong. , not proofread
✩ synopsis — Every morning you wake up hoping to see Regto and Rudo one more time. And every morning, you're met with an ache in your chest.
── .✦ what am i gonna be when you're just a memory ?
Your home isn’t big, but it’s always full.
The kind of full that means there are socks left on the couch and someone's toothbrush accidentally ends up in your cup.
The kind of full where laughter echoes against the chipped walls and the pan on the stove always has a little extra “just in case” Rudo’s hungry.
The kind of full where love shows up in odd places—like the way Regto folds your coat over the chair even though you’ll just wear it again, or the way Rudo always waits for you to taste dinner first like your approval means something. (It does.)
You wake up to Regto already halfway dressed, standing by the window with a cup of bitter tea. His hair is still wild from sleep, and his eyes crinkle as he notices you watching him.
“Morning, love,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“Morning,” you yawn, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “Did you let Rudo sleep in again?”
He grins guiltily. “You try telling that kid no when he’s snoring like an animal.”
“You’re both soft,” you tease.
He walks over and kisses your forehead. “Only for you.”
Breakfast is always a mess.
“Don’t put jam on your egg!” you exclaim, scandalized, as Rudo commits the culinary crime right in front of you.
“It’s good!”
Regto leans over. “Try it before you knock it.”
You glare at him. “You’re supposed to back me up.”
He shrugs. “I’m backing flavor.”
You throw your napkin at him. Rudo howls with laughter.
They fight over dishes. Regto ends up with soap on his shirt. You pretend to be mad. Rudo offers to clean the floor and accidentally breaks a plate.
You let out an exhausted sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
But you smile.
Because even if you have to sweep up ten plates a week—this is the kind of life you begged for.
It starts in the golden hours of a life you didn't know was ending.
The smell of old tools and soap clung to the walls of your home—humble, mismatched furniture, cracked windows mended with tape, and a little potted plant that Regto insisted would “bring the room together.” (It never really did. You kept it anyway.)
You were washing dishes when you heard them.
"—she smiled at me, y’know?! What was I supposed to do?!"
"Did you smile back?" Regto's voice was amused, light.
"I—uh, I think so? But then I... I panicked, okay?!"
You glanced over your shoulder from the sink just in time to see your boyfriend doubled over laughing. Rudo stood stiffly, ears red, arms crossed like he was trying to physically contain his embarrassment.
You dried your hands and leaned against the doorframe with a fond smile. “What’s going on in here?”
“Rudo’s in love,” Regto said dramatically, wiping a tear from his eye.
“I didn’t say that!”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? Then why are you bright red, huh?”
Regto slung an arm around Rudo’s shoulder. “He wants advice from a lady’s perspective. Right, kid?”
Rudo grumbled something unintelligible. Regto looked to you, suddenly a little more serious. “What would you say to a girl, if you were in his shoes?”
You looked at Rudo, his nervous fidgeting, the protective way he held his bag like a shield.
“I’d say,” you began softly, “don’t make it about winning her over. Just… be kind. Be honest. Tell her the toy reminded you of her—warm, soft, something you like. You don’t have to be smooth. You just have to be you.”
Rudo blinked up at you.
“Got that?” Regto nodded sagely, before grinning devilishly. “So basically—if you don’t give her that damn stuffy, another guy will, and she’ll be off before you can say ‘wait!’ ”
“Regto!”
You laughed—really laughed—as Rudo tried to tackle him, and Regto yelped like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
They rolled around the floor like idiots, knocking over a stool, and you didn’t even mind.
This was your family.
This tiny, ridiculous, beautiful little life.
You were out that morning.
Grocery run. Eggs, rice, and the little treats Rudo liked to pretend he didn’t get excited about.
You’d promised to make stew that night, even though you were tired, because Regto had been working too much and Rudo had been quieter than usual.
You remember thinking—just as you walked home—how lucky you were.
Arms full of groceries, humming a song Regto always mangled the lyrics to.
The street was quiet. Sunlight through the cracks in the rooftops.
You were thinking about your boys.
Then you saw them.
A cluster of uniforms.
Two officers gripping Rudo’s arms like he was dangerous.
His face was pale—blood smeared on his clothes. Not his. You knew it instantly.
Not his.
“Hey!” you yelled, dropping everything. Apples rolled down the street. A carton of eggs cracked beneath your heel. “What are you doing?! That’s my—let him go!”
“Step back, miss,” one officer warned.
You didn’t listen. You pushed forward, reaching for Rudo. “Rudo?! What happened—are you hurt? Did someone—?!”
You never finished your sentence.
Because the door was open.
And you saw it.
Regto’s body.
Collapsed inside the threshold like discarded cloth. Blood. So much blood.
You couldn’t tell where it was coming from. His eyes were closed. His chest—wasn’t moving.
You dropped to your knees.
A sound tore out of you—maybe a scream, maybe a sob, maybe both.
You weren’t sure.
You’d never heard yourself sound like that before.
They were saying things.
Accusing things.
“He murdered him.”
“He stabbed him.”
“Trash always returns to trash.”
“No!” you screamed. You stood, trembling. “That’s not true! He—he loved Regto! We—we were a family. He would never—!”
But they didn’t care.
They pulled Rudo away.
You chased them.
You didn’t care about your shoes or the bruises on your knees.
You didn’t care about the tears blinding you.
“Rudo!”
He looked back at you. His eyes wide, terrified—like a boy who just lost everything.
And then one of the officers shoved you.
You hit the ground. Hard.
Your palm scraped against the pavement.
Your mouth filled with the taste of copper and dirt and grief.
You watched them disappear down the street.
And the silence that followed…
It was the kind that doesn’t end.
They took everything in five minutes.
You sat on the floor of your kitchen that night, surrounded by grocery bags that never made it to the fridge.
The eggs had gone bad. The rice spilled across the tile like ash.
Regto’s blood was still under your nails.
Long after his body had been taken away and you were forced to scrub the floor clean of his blood.
Scrub away the only thing you had left of your love.
Even the slight stain left…you couldn’t bear to look at it.
You didn’t move for hours.
Didn’t cry. Not anymore. You’d already done that.
Screamed until your throat gave out.
Cursed gods you didn’t even believe in.
Now?
You sat.
And sat.
And sat.
They called Rudo a killer.
You refused to believe it.
Not just because he was your boy. But because you knew.
You saw his face. That wasn’t the face of someone who took a life.
That was the face of a boy who’d just lost his father.
Just like you had.
Every night, you light the stove.
Every night, you set three cups.
Every night, you talk to them like they’re still here.
“Regto,” you whisper, “I miss your laugh. God, I’d do anything to hear it again.”
“Rudo,” you murmur, eyes watering, “please, please be alive. I don’t care where you are. I just need you to be okay. You didn’t do it. I know you didn’t.”
You stare at the empty seats across from you.
The silence is cruel.
The house is colder now.
You’d give anything to go back.
To burn the stew again.
To scold Rudo for eating too fast.
To kiss Regto goodnight, only for him to pull you in and say, “Just one more minute.”
But all you have now—
Is a ghost of a family no one else believes in.
They say grief makes you forget.
But you remember everything.
The smell of Regto’s shirt.
The way Rudo used to call out your name like it was home.
The softness of three bodies in one small space, curled in warmth and care and light.
You remember it all.
Even if the world doesn’t.
Even if they think Rudo is gone.
Even if Regto never walks through that door again.
You stay.
Because love doesn’t end just because they’re gone.
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A high-pitched laugh echoed through the training yard, a sharp, breathless, and completely uncontrollable laugh.
You stood a few steps away, holding a clean towel and a water bottle, watching Zanka cover his face with both hands. His shoulders were shaking violently. Every time he tried to pull his hands away to look at you, a fresh wave of intense blush hit his face, and he was once again overcome by a fit of breathless giggles.
"Zanka? Are you okay?" you asked, taking a step toward him. "Did I say something wrong?"
"N-No!" he squealed, his voice cracking slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to channel his usual stern, battle-ready demeanor. "It's just... you can't just say things like that out of the blue! It's not fair!"
You blinked in disbelief. All you had done was hand him his water and mention how amazing his technique looked during today's session. You had specifically praised the fluid precision of his attacks, noting how his intense dedication made him look utterly captivating and reliable every time he wielded Assistaff. You meant every word, but you hadn't expected the usually stoic Zanka Nijiku to completely melt into a sea of giggles.
"But it's true," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "You really are the most reliable person here. You're amazing, Zanka."
He let out another loud, stifled gasp behind his hands, his ears turning a bright crimson that contrasted hilariously with his hair.
"Stop! Stop it!" he laughed, the sound bubbling from his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to maintain a tough expression, but the moment he made eye contact with you, his lips trembled, forming a wide, goofy grin. "A-Amazing? Me? I mean, just an average guy? But... hehe... do you really think I look fascinating?"
"I do," you teased gently, invading his personal space. Zanka was practically vibrating with nervous energy, his tough-guy persona completely shattered by a few sincere words. He buried his face in the towel you gave him, letting out a series of muffled, joyful giggles that warmed your heart.
You swear, no matter the time of day or where you are, he's always nearby. Leaning against something and giving you sweetheart-eyes, begging for your attention.
It was even worse at night, he was like a parasite- stuck to your side constantly. If he hadn't already fallen asleep at your side, he'd sneak in close to midnight, curling up into a ball next to you, his tail snaking over your thigh in a possessive manner.
Seriously! Personal space was just not a thing with him!
the kids tease you by calling enjin and you mom & dad.
The first time it happened you almost hurled your jinki across the, now empty, battlefield.
Riyo stood in front of you and Enjin with her arms behind her back. Girl was covered in dirt and fresh scrapes after nearly getting herself crushed during a cleanup mission. You were pissed. And concerned.
“You can’t just rush ahead because you think you saw movement,” you snapped. “What if that thing had gotten you?”
“And if you get hurt,” Enjin added with a sharp glare, “You slow the entire team down.”
Riyo nodded dramatically the entire time, eyes wide with fake sincerity. You wanted to shake her, because you’d be heartbroken if something serious happened to her. Until she opened her mouth tho.
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed once the lecture ended. “I get it. I’ll keep it in mind, mom and dad.”
You both stared at her. Then stared at each other - a silent dialogue followed. Like you had the gesture conversations with the others, Enjin and you communicated differently.
‘did she really just said that?’ his eyes said.
‘yes. Oh my god.’
‘huh. Odd. But kinda funny.’
‘Enjin!’
‘okay, okay. Not funny.’
All while Riyo grinned watching the two of you. Enjin then turned away to let out a traitorous chuckle and you groaned.
Should’ve been the end of it, right? A funny one time joke. Unfortunately team akuta and their supporters was full of the worst people alive.
Because two days later you walked into the headquarters, carrying supplies as you hear Follo yell from across the hallway.
“Mom said we’re meeting at six, dumbass.”
You stopped dead in the tracks. “Excuse me?”
Zanka immediately pointed at Follo accusingly. “I told him not to call you that.”
“You kind of encouraged him,” Semiu said flatly as she walked by.
Riyo was wheezing in the corner while your eye twitched dangerously. “None of you are funny.”
“Mom’s scary today,” Rudo whispered.
Enjin walked in at the perfect moment (later you’re convinced he waited around the corner, because no one walked in at a more perfect time). “Dad’s here. Everyone behave.”
The entire room burst into laughter. You wanted to die. You wanted to beat up Enjin who looked way too amused for someone who apparently didn’t find it funny.
“You’re enjoying this,” you accused.
“No idea what you mean,” he said, failing miserably to hide his grin.
Is anyone surprised that things only got worse, because Enjin started participating? No? Yeah. Exactly.
One afternoon Semiu sat behind her desk and lazily looked through a magazine while Enjin shuffled by. Then again. He huffed and puffed, all cow-eyed and pouting.
“Are you looking for your wife?” Semiu asked without looking up.
“My wife,” Enjin said loudly. “Took the day off.”
His voice sounded a tiny bit betrayed. How dare you to take the day off when it wasn’t his day off?
“Good for her,” Semiu replied.
“Yeah. My wife deserves that,” Enjin nodded.
Later Semiu told you about this conversation and you almost chuckled. Almost.
However. Bro Santa surprisingly suffered the most from it - mostly because he kept accidentally feeding into the joke.
But for starters. You were helping team child with some equipment. Also because you wanted to hang out with Dear Santa since you became similar to a motherly figure in his life.
It was a fun afternoon… until Enjin walked in. Took in the scene. Decided to open his loud mouth.
“Wow,” he sighed dramatically. “Couldn’t you at least wait until the divorce?”
Bro choked. “Divorce?!”
Team child looked between the two of you in horror.
“What’s wrong with you?” you asked in disbelief.
“You left me for the kids,” he said solemnly and then gestured towards bro. “And… Bro.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you stay.”
Bro looked genuinely stressed now. “Enjin, I never touched your wife, I swear. She’s just a good friend.”
“Hello?!”
“I know,” Enjin said all serious at the same time.
You kicked him in the shin and swore you still heard him cackle when you were back in your room. And, now all alone, you let out the tiniest amused snort. But it wasn’t funny, okay?
And if we already spill the truth a little here then we need to be completely honest. The dynamic actually fit.
You handled planning, schedules, injuries, and stopping everyone from killing themselves. Enjin handled morale, chaos control, and intimidation.
And together somehow you functioned exactly like exhausted parents managing a group of violent disaster children. And the team knew it.
“Mom, Rudo stole my chocolate bar.”
“Dad, Riyo threatened to shave off my eyebrows… again.”
“Can Mom stop glaring at me like that?”
“Dad said no, so I’m asking Mo.”
“… I never ask Mom anything again.”
Until then it wasn’t that bad. Or at least you thought it couldn’t get worse until you went on a mission together. Because if Enjin could do one thing then it was getting real loud when he was impressed.
A trash beasts twice your size charged towards your team. The force was enough to crack concrete and have the ground shaking. Before anyone else could React you slid underneath. Your jinki activated you drove it straight upward and took it down in one hit. The entire battlefield went silent for half a second.
“That’s my wife!”
Your horrified scream echoed immediately after. “Stop calling me that!”
Riyo nearly fell off her scissor laughing. Enjin shuffled closer, grinning proudly as he helped you up.
Meanwhile Gris looked emotional. “They’re so in love.”
“We are not—”
Enjin showed you off proudly. “Did you see that move?”
“Oh my god.”
He looked genuinely delighted which honestly made it worse. While the whole nickname saga was a joke - at least you thought so - Enjin’s pride about your growth and strength was honest.
And then it happened. You weren’t ready. It was the cherry on top. Corvus, the big boss, decided to join in.
That was the moment you realized there was no escape.
You sat in headquarters one evening with your head resting against the table, exhausted after a fourteen hour mission. Corvus approached you as calmly as ever.
“Have you seen Enjin?” he asked.
Hope blossomed in your chest as you looked up. When was the last time you’ve heard Enjin’s name? And not dad or husband?
Then he casually added, “Your better half, I mean.”
Slowly you closed your eyes. A migraine threatened to grow and take you out right here, right now.
“Please,” you whispered. “Not you too.”
Corvus actually smiled. And because Enjin had the perfect timing injected in his veins he had just walked by, listened and now laughed loudly.
Your head snapped around and yeah, Enjin was smug as hell. But beyond it he genuinely looked happy and proud.
Sighing you hid a smile behind your hand. “Come over. After the mission we deserve a drink… husband.”
Enjin stopped dead in the tracks. Also Corvus looked surprised before he gave you two some space.
“You did just—fuck,” he chuckled and sat down beside you.
Ha! Finally it was you taking the upper hand. At least until he reached into his pocket and pulled something shiny out that left you speechless.
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