#I do one thing right and three things go wrong

[heavenlybodies333]

They Always Come Back -S.R part II part I

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

Detox, Day 3

Of course he wasn’t going to send you to some rehab two states away—he was too much of a federal agent and too little of a father for that. No, he wanted eyes on you. So the same hospital that saved your damn life just happened to have a narcotic outpatient treatment program. And what a coincidence: the director just happened to owe Hotch a favor.

Three sessions a week. Random drug tests. Supervised medication protocol. All of it, specifically requested by your father.

Hotch wants you to “earn back his trust.” What trust? The man never gave you any to begin with.

You’re sprawled on your bed in your dad’s house—the one he barely sleeps in, because he’s always at work or with Jack or too busy running the Bureau to remember he has a daughter bleeding out at his kitchen table.

The ceiling fan makes a gentle clicking noise. The blanket smells like dryer sheets and bleach. Like something designed to erase your scent.

There’s a knock at your door. You don’t answer. But the door opens anyway.

“Don’t you fucking knock?” you mumble.

“I did.” Spencer steps into the room like it still belongs to him. Like you still belong to him.

He’s holding a tray. Soup. Bread. Water. You roll away.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You almost overdosed.”

“And you almost choked me out with your concern,” you snap. “So let’s call it even.”

He sighs. “You know you’re not alone in this, right?”

You glare. “Oh my God. Shut the fuck up.”

Silence. Then—“I have sessions too,” he says. “Hotch thought we could alternate appointments.”

You scoff. “Cute. Co-parenting me now, are you?”

Spencer’s jaw ticks. “I don’t want to parent you,” he says. “I want to fix what I broke.”

You feel your heart twist, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you throw a pillow at the door.

“Get out.”

He does. But the tray stays.

Detox, Day 4

The day starts with a lock on the liquor cabinet.

You didn’t even try to open it—Hotch just installed it like a silent accusation. Like he’s afraid you’ll fall into another bottle the second he’s not watching. Maybe he’s not wrong.

He leaves a note on the kitchen counter before heading out to Quantico:

Be ready at 2:00. Therapy. Spencer’s driving.

Nothing signed. Nothing soft. Just instructions. Like a case file. You crumple the note and throw it away. You don’t get dressed.

When Spencer arrives, he knocks once and lets himself in, again. You’re still in one of your dad’s oversized sweatshirts and no pants, curled in the corner of the couch.

“You’re late,” you mutter.

He checks his watch. “I’m not.”

“Well, I don’t want to go.”

“Too bad.”

You don’t move. Neither does he. “Do I have to carry you?” he asks eventually.

You arch a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” His eyes darken—but he looks away. Like touching you is still sacred. Off-limits. You hate how much that hurts.

You finally drag yourself to your feet, brushing past him on the way to your room to throw on leggings and grab your therapy binder—yes, therapy has homework, apparently—and when you return to the living room, Spencer’s standing by the door, keys in hand.

“Ready?”

“No.”

But you go anyway. The car ride is quiet. You stare out the window while he drives. You count the telephone poles. You bite your nail until it bleeds and then chew the skin beside it.

Spencer doesn’t speak until you’re two blocks from the outpatient building. “Have you thought about what you’re going to talk about today?”

You shoot him a look. “Jesus, are you quizzing me now?”

“No,” he says gently. “Just asking.”

You look back at the window. “I’m going to talk about how I hate being watched like a criminal in my own fucking house. How my dad doesn’t trust me. How the one person I thought gave a shit about me abandoned me the second things got hard.”

Silence.

“Good,” Spencer says quietly. “Start there.”

Detox, Day 6

You told yourself it would just be a walk.

Just one lap around the block. Just enough time to clear your head. Just long enough to feel like something—anything—was still yours to choose.

But your dealer lives three doors down. The universe has made it so easy. But you don’t even make it halfway down the driveway before you freeze.

Spencer’s standing in the shadow of the garage. Arms crossed. Hoodie on. Silent. Watching you like he’s been doing it all night. “You’re kidding me,” you mutter.

Spencer. Fucking Spencer.

“Seriously?” he says, voice low, tense. “After everything?”

“I needed air.”

“It’s midnight.”

“Good,” you snap, “then the disappointment won’t show on your face.”

You turn, fingers curled around your hoodie pocket. But his hand catches your wrist. “Don’t run again.”

You freeze. Your pulse jumps beneath his fingers, warm skin to warm skin, familiar in a way that hurts. “Just—don’t,” he says.

“I’m not your problem,” you whisper, voice catching on the tail end.

“You are,” he replies. “I can’t stop caring about you. Even if I should.”

The breath leaves your lungs.

“I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t called me,” he says, stepping closer, eyes searching yours. “If I’d ignored it. If I’d ignored you.”

“I didn’t call you. I called muscle memory.” You yank your arm free. “I didn’t want you, I wanted someone.”

“Bullshit,” he says quietly.

You shove past him. “You should hate me,” you spit. “I’d hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re more fucked up than I thought.”

You reach the sidewalk. He doesn’t follow. But when you come back ten minutes later—empty-handed, angry, shaking—he’s still there. Waiting. Tears come hot, humiliating, unstoppable. You hate crying in front of anyone—especially him—but the sob breaks free anyway.

Spencer gathers you before the first tear even falls. He pulls you against his chest, arms wrapping fully, completely—like he remembers the exact shape of you. You fist his shirt, shaking.

“I’m sorry,” you choke.

“For what?”

“For making you see me like this.”

His lips brush your temple. “I’d rather see you like this than never see you again.”

Detox, Day 8

The boredom is worse than the withdrawals.

No phone. No laptop. No exit.

Garcia blocked everything with a parental lock that should be illegal. You tried to ask her nicely. She sent you a selfie of your own hospital intake form. And Hotch? He’s not around. You think maybe that hurts more than anything.

But of course—you’re not alone. You can’t even fucking leave without someone chaperoning you like a toddler on a leash. And Spencer—of all people—is your assigned babysitter when Hotch is spending his late nights at the BAU.

Today, he’s at the coffee table, unfolding a chessboard.

You groan. “If you say one more line of psychobabble I swear to God I will scream.”

“We could play chess,” he offers, ignoring the threat.

“Or you could take your condescending Mensa-ass brain and leave me alone.”

He smiles, faintly. “There she is.”

You scowl. “Don’t pretend to be proud of my bitchy recovery.”

“Not proud.” He sets the board up anyway. “Relieved. Anger’s better than nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

He pauses, then quietly: “Because I didn’t last time.”

The room goes still. You don’t say anything until he makes his move. “Pawn to E4.”

“You’re going to regret this,” you mutter, curling your legs under you on the couch.

Spencer doesn’t flinch when you slam your pawn down in retaliation, nearly knocking it off the board. He just tilts his head, studies you the same way he does crime scenes. Like if he stares long enough, the puzzle will unlock itself.

"You always open aggressively," he says.

You roll your eyes. "Maybe I’m just trying to end the game faster so you’ll shut the hell up."

A small smile tugs at his mouth, and for a second, it almost feels normal. Like you’re back in your apartment, ordering Thai takeout and playing chess in your underwear while pretending the world didn’t exist outside of his hands on your waist.

Five moves later you’ve boxed yourself into an unwinnable position, furious at the board, at him, at the four sober days clawing at your nerves.

“Check,” he adds.

You don’t even look at the board. “Fuck your check.”

“Not quite how the game works.”

“I’m not playing anymore.” You shove back from the coffee table, the chair scraping hardwood as the chess board flies with pieces falling everywhere. The motion rattles a nearly empty mug—the chamomile Spencer made you instead of the glass of whiskey you asked for.

He stands too, blocking your retreat to the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere you’re not.”

“Running again?”

Your laugh is ugly. “What’s the alternative, Spencer? Sit here sober, saintly, and supervised?”

“No,” he says quietly. “Sit here angry. And seen. And safe.”

You hate that his voice cracks on the last word. It makes your throat burn. “M-Move,” you whisper.

“No.”

You shove his shoulder. He doesn’t budge. “Move,” you repeat, louder.

“Hit me if it helps.”

You do. Open palm, center of his chest—the same place you used to flatten your hand when you kissed him in stolen Quantico stairwells. The memory punches the breath from your lungs. His fingers curl around your wrist, gentle but immovable.

“I’m not your problem,” you say again, voice shaking.

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs. “But you called me. You overdosed, and you called me.”

Tears prick hot behind your eyes—rage, shame, want.

“Why, sweetheart?” His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, pulse point thrumming. “Why me?”

“Because I knew you’d come.” It spills out before you can stop it. Your voice is raw. “You always come.”

Something fractures in his expression—relief, devastation, desire all at once. He steps into your space, and you don’t retreat. Your back finds the hallway wall. “Are we both making bad decisions right now?” he asks, breathless.

“Probably.”

“Tell me to stop.”

You shake your head, throat tight.

“Say it,” he pleads, nose brushing yours.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

His mouth crashes to your throat, sucking bruises you’ll have to explain to your therapist. “I should stop,” he whispers against your collarbone. “I have to stop.”

You run your hands through his soft hair, meeting his lips with yours. “No. No you don’t get to, not this time. You left,” you gasp against his lips. “You left and you let him win—”

“I know,” he says, kissing you harder. “I know, I’m sorry—” You bite his lower lip. He moans.

“I needed you.”

“I know.”

He lifts you like you weigh nothing and lays you out on the couch, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. When he slides his hand under your sweatshirt, you don’t stop him. Your shorts are yanked down your thighs. He groans when he finds you bare underneath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice breaking. “You’re soaked.”

“For you,” you whisper.

He kisses down your neck, your chest, between your breasts, all while his fingers press inside you, curling just right, pulling a cry from your throat.

“I love how loud you get,” he says, biting your inner thigh. “Missed that, too.”

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder. His tongue flicks against your clit and you shudder, a whimper clawing out of your throat as his fingers dig bruises into your thighs to hold you steady.

“Spence—” your voice breaks. “F-Fuck, I can’t—”

“You can.” His voice is a low growl against you. “I’m not stopping until you do.”

You come undone on his tongue, one hand yanking his hair, the other clawing at the wall, thighs trembling around his head as he fucks you through it with slow, punishing strokes of his mouth.

When you finally push at his shoulders, whimpering from overstimulation, he rises slowly—mouth shiny, eyes wild.

“You taste the same,” he says, kissing you before you can respond. “Still fucking perfect.”

You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into him.

He shoves his pants down just enough, lining himself up against your slick entrance as your legs wrap around him like instinct. You’re already whining when he presses forward, slow and deliberate, filling you so deep you choke on it.

“Oh my god,” you sob. “Spence—fuck—”

“I’ve got you,” he pants, voice shaking. “Let me take care of you. Let me make it better.”

He does—long, measured thrusts at first, letting you adjust, then faster, harder when you hook your heels behind his thighs. Sweat beads at his temple; you lick it away. Every push rocks the headboard against drywall; somewhere distant you think Hotch will notice dents, but Spencer cups your jaw, forces focus to him.

You sob against his palm, and he lets you speak. “I missed you,” you cry. “Fuck, Spencer—no one’s ever—Jesus—no one fucks me like you.”

“That’s right.” His thrusts get harder. Sloppier. “Only me. Always me.”

You can’t answer. You’re too close. Your back arches as you clench around him, a strangled moan tearing from your throat. “You’re close,” he pants, grinding into you with precision now, every roll of his hips hitting something devastatingly perfect. “I can feel it—fuck—come for me, sweetheart.”

You dig your heels into his back, pulling him deeper, closer, his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers tight, grounding you.

He follows with a moan punched from his chest, hips jerking forward once, twice—then stilling as he spills inside you with a breathless, "fuck."

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your breathing—ragged and uneven. You can see Spencer looking up at the ceiling with tight shut eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs.

“You always say that,” you whisper, lips trembling. “And then you do it again.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Good.”

He leans his forehead to your shoulder. “I need you to stay clean,” he says.

You nod. “I need you to not leave again.”

He kisses the nape of your neck. “I won’t.”

You let him hold you even though you didn’t believe him, because love is the cruelest drug of all.

a/n: I spend too much time with limerence

[robinavich]

hey, siri | jack abbot

synopsis: you become privy to some abbot-sponsored healthcare fraud

w.c: 3k

ao3

an: this literally isnt even the fic ive been working on for weeks. I assume this is in the godlight storyline? not sure if I'm gonna do anything with this. is there anything here. might delete it. it's unclear. i'll delete it at a later date. this will never get finished. you are nothing to me

You’re half-slouched over the counter—on-call, because apparently that’s a thing that wasn’t in the job description on Indeed—glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

Pinned to the desk, the EMTALA medical screening exam form struggles under your elbow, lines crinkling with every movement like it’s physically trying to escape from your abuse. The corners curl upward, creased and folding, preparing to leap off the desk and report your treatment directly to the Bar Association.

It’s the kind of betrayal only paperwork is capable of—narc-like, obvious, and absolutely not HIPAA compliant.

Your lips lift in a soundless sneer, glaring down at the paperwork.

…manifesting itself by acute symptoms of sufficient severity such that the absence of immediate medical attention could reasonably blah blah blah…

One little insurance checkbox tells you to go kill yourself.

An Emergency Medical Condition IS present.

Below it, the same answer negated.

An Emergency Medical Condition is NOT present.

At the bottom, Jack Abbot, M.D. is signed, the form ready for submission with one stroke of your pen.

A small mhm escapes you as you clear your throat and shuffle the papers in front of you, fingers busy carding through the snitching form, smoothing out the crumpled pages before tucking it behind the next, restoring them to numerical order like that will make your choice easier. It’s a god-awful hand. Even you can recognize that.

Fingers interlace and fold neatly before you.

Your leg starts to bounce anxiously, eyes cutting to the doctor next to you.

And then back.

One small hand reaches out and clicks your pen, loading a round in the chamber.

It hovers over is NOT present.

You set it back down. It’s finally becoming clear why Robby fucking hates admin. Because truly this is fucking stupid. Why does this stupid piece of paper get to just decide that someone doesn’t have the right to life.

As the seconds creep past, your poor neck muscles rebel against the effort of holding your head up, letting gravity tug it down incrementally from where it’s slumped in your hand.

“It would be so easy to just…materially misrepresent the record right now,” you murmur, mainly to yourself, but your target audience is just anyone who will listen.

Abbot’s neck creaks as the fatigue-burdened bones slowly turn his head in your direction, eyes pleading.

“Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning,” he begs softly. “What the fuck does that mean, honey?”

“Like,” you shrug, not knowing how to will out words not snug in a cocoon of mitigation. “You ever think how easy it would be to just check off the wrong thing?”

Jaw flexing rhythmically while he digests your words, the doctor looks back at where his own charting is holding him hostage. He almost scoffs. “You ever think about how fast they’d disbar you?”

Your hand lolls sideways against your palm as you muster a crooked grin.

“You make enough money for the both of us, it’s fine.”

“What, and bank roll your little,” his hand flicks, as if he could materialize and itemize your bank statement midair, “designer matcha habit?”

Tired eyes squint at him sideways, the form before you momentarily forgotten. “Oh, please. You’ll grunt, and then hand me your little card, and then smuggle me into the building with some half-assed consulting badge you printed in the breakroom.”

His eyes cut to you, glinting.

Considering.

“No,” the words drop to a promise, scraping down your spine. “I’ll make you work for it, kid. Properly.”

From where your hand dangerously keeps you upright, your head slips and nearly hits the table. Catching yourself just in time, palm pressed hard against your forehead, you pray there’s a shadow dark enough in this world to hide how wide your eyes have gone.

But you’ve never heard a better incentive to destroy your career.

You could work for it.

You could be a housewife. Take a Pilates class. Breakfast ready for him every morning. Wake up before he comes home. Look pretty and be ready for him to fuck you. Anything you say, Jack.

That’s obviously so fundamentally who you are as a human being.

Rational brain presents an argument to the court. How long have you been working for this career? What was the outstanding balance on your loan this morning?

Both tremendously great points.

Lizard brain—smelling suspiciously of gasoline—presents a counter argument. It shrugs, tosses a lit match into the courthouse, and coos, yeah, but imagine how hard he’d fuck you in all the shiny jewellery he bought.

You clear your throat.

Actually, fuck this little checkbox.

“Okay, how bad could the fine be? Like three dollars?”

“That’s not my area—that’s supposed to be yours, actually, sweetheart,” soft, like he’s reminding you. Bastard. Rougher, “But I think it’s more than a damn Baja Blast.”

“Good on you for knowing the price of a Baja Blast, old man.”

His eyes slide shut and when they reopen they’re looking at the ceiling as if trying to find some patience God hid in the tiles. The man is really just trying to make it through the night.

Obediently perched on the edge of your chair, you patiently wait for his laugh.

Silence settles softly.

“So, do you, like, hate me or…?”

“No, honey, but you are currently the only thing standing between me and my job.”

As if that’s your fault. You weren’t the one who wrote into incomprehensible law, hey, let’s make sure companies can dictate who is sick enough to receive medicine. yes they stand to make a profit. no I don’t care.

“Okay, I’m sitting, but whatever.” You grab your phone, and flick it open, the confidence of your motions like you have God on speed dial. “Let’s ask the real expert, huh?”

Already knowing you’re not serious, he looks back at his chart.

“Hey Siri,” you ask, pitching your voice all fake-curious, eyebrows up like you’re genuinely about to learn something. “What’s the vibe with falsifying medical data so patients get care they don’t qualify for?”

Jack doesn’t even glance up from the chart he’s pretending to update, head sliding forward to squint at the computer screen. Tired exasperation threads his words.

“We did it a couple months ago and it was fine, so please be my guest.”

Your smile freezes halfway through its mocking curve. The words land between your eyes, gently rocking your head backwards.

Siri quietly reports her findings in your hand.

“You did what?” you ask, because surely that didn't mean what those words meant.

Jack doesn’t even turn to you. He just shrugs, all nonchalant and been there done that, as though what he just confessed wasn’t a felony charge. 

“Our jobs,” he says simply.

Simply.

Like our jobs covers the live ethical grenade he’s just tossed at your feet.

You’re not even sure why you feel surprised.

You look at him, and then back down to your glowing phone where Siri very unhelpfully displays medical malpractice attorneys near you, and then back up to Jack.

In fact, you’re sure you’ve seen Jack Abbot’s handwriting neatly printed in the bottom right hand corner of more flagged-for-legal-review, suspect paperwork on your desk than you’ve seen the scrawl of the actual chief attending on any paperwork that you didn't force him to sign at gunpoint.

All things that slip under the radar if you’re not looking for them. Supplies routed through different departments. Procedures using medical devices that cannot be accounted for in inventory. Repeated requisition forms requests with supplies that never officially get used.

If you wanted to be a villain—if you wanted to ensure that those barriers to care stay reinforced with steel—you could. You could dig in and report every instance where something doesn’t add up. But you sign off and forward to insurance. You haven’t taken a real math class since high school, so whatever.

It’s one thing when you’re not expected to know the numbers and the facts. It’s easy to turn a blind eye. It’s another thing when you do know the facts.

And, unfortunately, you’re fluent in words.

“You lied?” you repeat slowly, peeling the syllables apart in an attempt to reveal the sin wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. You swear you can hear the backfire of your brain short-circuiting.

“Not lied,” Jack corrects, finally looking at you again. Two large hands spread like life leaves no alternative other than mild felony. “We rephrased reality.”

Then, softer, earnest, “We helped someone. It’s fine, sweetheart.”

Your lips move of their own accord, absently mouthing we rephrased reality, the sentence unfamiliar and clunky on your tongue. You know you knew all of those words individually, but put together and presented like this, it’s just not clicking. Is it a new language? Is Jack into ConLang?

Rephrased reality?

Who is this fucking guy?

The vision fires like a bullet through your brain—a brief, crystal-clear image, of a man wearing safety goggles and an I have an idea demeanor.

Ginger guy? From MythBusters?

You’re fucking dating ginger guy from MythBusters? 

You push gently off the floor, the wheels of your rolly-stool shouting their dire need for WD-40 with every pass.

However, physics was also not a prerequisite for law school, so naturally, you miscalculate both force and distance, your not as gentle as you thought push sending you haphazardly knocking into his frame. You ricochet backwards several inches and hands fly up to scramble for hold on his shirt. His palm lands on your thigh, warm and steady, anchoring you exactly where he wants you.

“Careful,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t want to make anyone here do their job.”

And that felt suspiciously like a jab. Bitch.

“Jack, if you’re serious,” your voice—straightforward and devoid of all humor that typically resides there—lowers to a whisper that he shifts closer to hear. “This is malfeasance. You’re talking about fraud.”

Conspiratorially matching your low volume, he huffs out a laugh—half disbelieving, half impressed by your ability to effortlessly move from his light-hearted girl to someone who uses malfeasance in conversation. “Minor infraction. Good fraud.”

“While I don’t doubt it was,” your mouth hangs open as you pause, inhaling a stuttering breath to keep your composure, “good fraud, you’ll notice it still has the word fraud after it.”

“Kid, it’s fine. It’s not that deep.” A corner of his mouth twitches, too amused for your liking.

You scoff, frustration mounting. “With a brain as shallow as yours, nothing is.”

Where did he even learn not that deep?

Your head snaps up to his, brows furrowed. “And why are you talking like that? Who taught you that? Stop that,” you order in rapid succession. “Stop distracting me with your— your,” fingers wiggle in the air, face disgusted, “newfound child lexicon.”

He catches your hand mid-flail and folds it into his own. His other hand stays heavy on your thigh, thumb brushing idle circles that say stay put.

“I’m not doing that.” He was. “I have a weathered man lexicon.” He does not.

Jack’s tongue peaks out and swipes at his bottom lip.

“She was a kid,” he says earnestly. “She was pregnant.”

“Are we talking, like, how you call me kid, or, like, a kid kid?”

“Fourteen.”

It’s your turn to blink—slow, like maybe if you close your eyes long enough, the sight of him lounging there, genuine and morally flexible, will vanish and take his small confession with it.

But it doesn’t. He’s still there when your lashes lift again—calm, infuriatingly calm, watching you unravel with the same patience he probably uses to falsify half the fucking paperwork in this godforsaken department.

Slowly, it escapes you, taut and under your breath, dwindling composure fraying edges of the sound waves, “Oh my God, you’re using the past tense.”

“She didn’t die.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” you snap out between gritted teeth.

He’s just out there running circles around red tape with a perfectly straight face.

Like some sort of superhero.

A superhero who knows that you can only bend the rules where you know they’re weakest.

You breathe in, exhale every ounce of composure you have left, and narrow your eyes—zeroing in on the word that’s still rattling around like a loose screw.

“You said we?”

His shoulders move a fraction and you jab your finger into his chest.

“Shrug again and I’ll bury you under whatever version of reality you want, Abbot,” you warn.

His mouth opens like he’s going to explain, closes, then opens again.

Finally, he just says, “Robby.”

You blink.

Yeah. That checks out, actually.

But, like, in theory, though—you didn’t think he would actually ever do it. Yet, a stubborn, ridiculous part of you swells with pride. That’s your freaking day shift attending.

And now you’re actually kind of pissed at the night shift attending.

“He what?” The words slowly slip out of you, voice soft with incredulity. “You what? Y’all what?”

“You know,” he muses, ignoring your questions altogether. “I’m starting to think you were joking with that Hey, Siri thing.”

“Of course, I was joking,” you hiss out. “Why would I not be joking about that? Do you know what my role is here? What I get paid to do?”

You jab a finger at your own chest for emphasis next—your badge, heavy with Hospital Counsel, rattling the bars in its cage pinned to your ribs. Your entire job was to make sure this doesn’t happen.

Your eyes narrow.

Slightly leaning forward, you pin the doctor with your stare.

“You two keep this shit to yourselves. You take that and you— you bottle that up. You die with it,” you command, your voice low but firm. “Not even God should know, that’s how fucking good you should be at keeping this to yourselves.”

The last word snaps out sharper than you mean it to. It echoes a little in the too-quiet room. Jack doesn’t flinch, just sits there on that stupid rolling stool, eyebrows lifted slightly like he knows you’re not done yet.

You shift your weight, jaw still tight, eyes flicking off to the side—anywhere but his face. There’s a pulse of silence where your mind scrambles to stick to your training: Report. Reprimand. Get the compliance team.

Wash your hands.

But it doesn’t. It stalls.

You shift your weight marginally, eyes darting to the side.

If you don’t report this, you’re technically involved. So, really, now, you're implicated and you don’t even know what for.

Your spine, held stiff by principle and policy, loosens under the thought. Curiosity edges in, dragging your kicking-and-screaming legal training by the ear, shushing it with a sly little hey, girl, at least hear the man out. 

It floods through you, itching under your skin.

You really want to know what that whole story is.

Man, part of you wants to see where it goes so bad, you can practically taste the disciplinary action on your tongue. False binary is a fallacy, sure, but, like, you’re already in it now. Might as well be all in.

And, like, come on—this is Jack. You’re not gonna throw him under the bus. You love Jack. The man came over on his only day off and built you an Ikea bookshelf because you asked him what do I do with that little metal L? Which, for the record, you knew what to do with that metal L. 

And also, he can’t just drop that information on you and not finish that explanation. You’ll fucking kill yourself if you don’t get the rest of it. And you’ll do right when it coincides with his shift, just so he can deal with the trauma and the paperwork.

And also also, like, why do Abbot and Robby get to have a cute little secret? You wanna be in Secret Club. You can keep secrets. You’re so fucking good at keeping secrets.

You deflate a little, resignation further unwinding your spine.

Tongue pressing against your molars, your head dips down and your eyes flick side to side, scanning the corridor for any wandering admin or first-year resident who might overhear and rat you out.

You should report this. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because you know him. You know him the way you know your own heartbeat—constant, wildly inconsistent in what it wants to eat, sometimes too loud in your ears when things get overwhelming. But always there. You know the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he’s trying not to laugh at you. You know the weight of his silence and the difference between the kind that means leave me alone and the kind that means please sit next to me until it passes. You’re not married, but he’s it.

And he knows you too. He doesn’t flinch when you’re difficult. Doesn’t waver when you’re tired or sharp-edged or messy. He just stays.

And because under all the ethics and the contracts and the squeaky-clean policy talk, you live for this. The forbidden little confessions no one else gets.

The volume of your voice lowers under the hum of the department.

Someone coughs down the hallway.

“But, uh…You know, God gets off at, like, eight-thirty this morning, so, like…if, maybe, you wanted to tell God without, like, potential legal repercussions,” you tap your fingers together, steepled in front of you. “I think she would really like to know what— uh, what you’re talking about.”

Jack’s eyebrows climb on his head. “Would she, now?”

“Yeah,” you say, sucking your teeth. “Yeah, that’s why, um, they do confession.”

“Confession, huh?” The man across from you narrows his eyes, lips twitching. “That’s part of the job, though, right? So wouldn’t she be working?”

You think for a second.

That’s a good point, God would have to be on the clock to hear confessions. He could do pro-bono work, you suppose. There’s a lot of paperwork involved in that, though, and you’re sure he has, like, mass suffering to preside over.

“Yeah, well,” you wave your hand in the air, dismissing your inner-monologue. Maybe Abbot should be the lawyer. You’re obviously fucked. “Overtime.”

“Oh,” he says, tone pleasantly surprised. “God’s clocking overtime on the night shift?”

You nod, a little too quickly to hide your curiosity. “I mean, the union reps keep trying to shut that shit down, but,” you click your tongue, waving your hands vaguely at the divine hassle, “the angels are striking again, so…all hands on deck, there.” 

A short, forced classic angels, am I right? chuckle escapes your otherwise stoic face.

Then you shrug, nodding sharply again, and crossing your arms over your chest.

And then you swivel a little in your chair, your nerves jumping at the potential for drama.

“And, like, imagine, all those centuries of listening to claims— uh, murder confessions with nothing fun to break the monotony,” you say, almost pleading at this point.

Abbot shifts his jaw, the ghost of a grin flickering. “Sure. God probably doesn’t get enough hot goss.”

“Exactly, girl, so spill,” the words fly out of you, desperate. You pause, reining yourself in. “Uh, later. After— after eight-thirty. And also…” jerkily, your index unfurls and points to the ceiling, “to God.”

A flicker of something crosses his eyes—a little tired, partly entertained, and extremely fond at your flailing attempt at a theology lesson. His mouth curves into that rare, careful smile he never wastes on anyone else.

“Amen, honey,” he mutters.

Oh, he’s enjoying this way too much.

His gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing just slightly as if he’s consulting some internal filing cabinet labeled How to Pin You with Felony Charges. The warm hand resting on your thigh raises slightly, his index finger spinning a single, slow loop on the cloth, physically rewinding a VHS tape only he can see.

“Hold.” He says it low, an order. He pauses the invisible tape with a slow, deliberate sweep of his fingers, then lets his hand drift lower, palm curving around your leg. His thumb presses in, eyebrow lifting a fraction at your breath catching. “I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

“God gets off at eight-thirty, but he’s pulling OT to listen to my sins,” he recounts lowly, “while you, no relation, also get off at eight-thirty. Now, are you billing hospital time or holy time while my soul’s on trial?”

You press your lips together, left hand coming to rest idly on our cheek while you attempt to think—something getting increasingly difficult with every moment his palm sends warmth shooting up your leg.

“Can we do, like— maybe like, uh— like a divine double shift situation?” you ask.

He tilts his head forward slightly and his hand tightens around your leg, but says nothing.

You swallow, feeling the silence stretch between you.

“Yeah, I’ll admit that one got away from me,” you concede.

The silence grows. Does this guy even blink?

You pivot tactics then.

Slowly, you slink your foot around his metal one, and roll yourself closer, slotting one leg between his. Leaning forward, you begin to reclaim your personal space and launch a counter-attack on his. 

His arms brush yours.

“Holy time, obviously,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m God’s strongest soldier. I deal with you every day.”

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

What To Do When You Know Your Ending but Have No Clue How to Get There

congrats. you’ve unlocked the most ✨ cursed ✨ form of storytelling: knowing the destination but having zero map, no snacks, and one emotionally unstable protagonist riding shotgun.

aka: you know how your book ends. maybe even the Last Line™. but the middle? the plot? the scenes required to get there?

🦗🦗🦗

welcome to liminal writing hell. here’s what to do about it:

🚨 STEP 1: Write the ending anyway.

yes. even if you’re only on chapter three. write the ending now. not perfectly. not canon. just get it down while it’s burning in your brain.

this does 2 things:

gets you emotionally invested in where you’re headed

gives you a north star to align your scenes to

future-you will thank you when you're knee-deep in act 2, spiraling, and you need to remember what this mess was for.

🧩 STEP 2: Backwards logic it like a feral detective.

ask: what has to happen right before this ending can exist? then ask that question again. and again. until you’ve accidentally built a whole reverse-outline.

like:

✨ final scene: heroine stabs the love interest to save the world → she needs to know he’s the villain → she needs to see him do something unforgivable → she needs a reason to be in the same room as him when it happens → she needs to go to the city where he’s hiding → she needs to choose betrayal over loyalty

now reverse those like breadcrumbs through the forest of chaos.

🎯 STEP 3: Identify your mid-point emotional switch.

the best middles aren’t just “stuff happening.” they’re a turning point. a reversal. a Big Choice. often it’s the opposite of the ending.

ending = character sacrifices love midpoint = character believes love will fix everything

this sets up contrast + emotional stakes. the midpoint shows how wrong they are. the ending proves how far they’ve come.

no midpoint? no tension. build the middle to break them, then rebuild toward the finale.

🧱 STEP 4: Stack up your themes like Jenga blocks.

what are you actually saying with this ending?

if the ending is: “freedom comes at a price” then the story needs to explore:

what freedom means

who pays that price

how people deny the cost

how your protagonist learns to accept it

if your middle scenes aren’t touching these ideas? they’re just filler. start weaving the theme early, subtly, and repeatedly. make it hurt a little.

📦 STEP 5: Write “junk scenes” in the blank spaces.

not sure how they get from castle to climax? write a fake scene. not canon. no pressure. just vibes. let the characters mess around in the setting. argue. kiss. kill. eat soup. whatever.

you’ll learn what they want, what secrets they’re hiding, what tensions spark.

some of these junk scenes will turn out to be real. others will guide you to what needs to happen next. use them as scaffolding.

🧃 STEP 6: Accept that messy = forward.

you won’t always see the whole road. write the next landmark. write the next mistake. write the next bad scene and figure out why it doesn’t work.

knowing your ending is a gift. the rest? that’s the part where you dig.

you don’t need a perfect bridge. you just need enough planks to get across without falling into the river of I’ll-Fix-It-Later.

now go. write the scene where everything breaks.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[emeraldserenade]

Hey

Can I request something for Bob Floyd?

Bob and reader have been dating for a few months and are very happy. One day reader finds out that she is pregnant. She is nervous about telling Bob, especially because they haven't talked about that topic yet. Bob immediately notice that something is wrong. When reader tells him that she is pregnant, he gets excited and is very happy.

Thank you in advance 💗

Surprise Pregnancy ~ Robert "Bob" Floyd

synopsis: Even if it wasn't planned, Bob's excited to be a dad

tw: fem!reader, pre established relationship, pregnancy, Bob has a breeding kink, pilot!reader, reader's call sign is Doll,

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi, Sara!! I love this idea, Bobby would be so excited to have a baby with the woman he loves!!

➽──────────────❥

Dating Robert Floyd was a dream come true, he was attentive and loving. Even in the harder moments, the ones where you argued about things, he never raised his voice or made a harsh movement. He was careful and precise, like always.

Maybe that's why you weren't scared of Bob's reaction to you being pregnant. But you were still nervous, you two never talked about kids. It seemed to early in the relationship to bring them up, sure Bob's talked about making you a mom, but that's always when he's on the edge of falling apart in you. But now, you realized you were three months late, something you filed away as stress, and the positive pregnancy tests sat on your bathroom counter.

You had to tell him soon, you had to make the decision on whether to keep it or not. If you did keep it, you would have to move to desk duty as soon as possible. You decided to tell Bob that day, you lived in the same apartment. You paced your bathroom, your bedroom, your hallway, the living room, the kitchen, the hallway outside of Bob's door, and Bob's living room. Bob watched you pace, the way you would pause, look at him, shake your head, and go back to pacing.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Bob finally asked, reaching out to grab your hands. You let him pull you to stand in front of him and took a deep breath.

"I'm pregnant," you whispered, your eyes trained on your joined hands.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my," Bob slipped off the couch and landed on his knees. You were going to ask what he was doing but he landed kiss after kiss to your stomach. "I'm going to be a dad. You're going to be a mom," Bob mumbled, his face still pressed against you.

"You're not leaving?" You asked, it was the one thing you couldn't stop thinking about.

"What?" Bob stood up and held your face in his hands with reverence. "Why would I run, honey?"

"Because we haven't talked about kids and we've only been together for a few months," you told him.

"Darling, there is nothing more that I want than to have a child with the woman I love and intend to spend the rest of my life with," Bob reassured you.

"You love me?" You knew he did, you two just hadn't said it yet.

"Of course I do," Bob kissed you and you melted against him.

"The others are going to argue over godparentship," you laughed, your shoulders feeling lighter.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Bob sat in the room as you waited for the doctor to come back in. You had gotten an appointment as soon as you could and now you were laid out on a bed.

"Ok, let's see your baby," the doctor spoke as she walked in. "And you were right, tests confirm you're three months pregnant."

You suppressed your flinch at the cold gel but smiled wide when you saw your baby on the screen. "Can we get like 10 copies?"

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Hey," You walked in with Bob by your side, the rest of the team were all sitting at various spots of the empty Hard Deck. Pete was standing behind the bar with Penny and Bob gave your hand a squeeze to help ground you.

"Hey, you two," Natasha said and handed you both beers.

"Oh, I can't have this," you told her, setting the bottle down on the bartop.

"Why not?" Mickey tried to nudge it to you but you pushed it farther away. Bob slyly handed you the ultrasound photo from his back pocket and you handed it directly to Natasha, knowing how loudly she would react.

"No fucking way!" Natasha shouted as she pulled you into a hug.

"Congratulations," Penny said, having picked up on what was happening.

"What is going on?" Bradley questioned, Natasha still hugging you.

"Doll's pregnant," Penny told the rest and you were suddenly in a very large group hug.

"How far along?" Pete asked and you grimaced. Everyone went back to their original seats as Penny took away the bottle of bear and handed you a can of Sprite.

"Three months, but we've only known for a week," you responded.

"You're grounded, effective immediately," Pete told you and you laughed while nodding.

"I figured as much."

"Wait, how'd you not notice for three months?" Jake asked.

"I've always had spotty periods, plus I've been stressed," you told him.

"So?"

"Bagman, it makes sense," Natasha defended you. Bob pulled you back into his side, his arm sneaking around your waist to rest his hand on your stomach.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[shysuccubusstuff]

Milking time pt. 2

Content: Cow Hybrid! Caleb + Rancher! reader + Non proof-reader; Masturbation + Scent kink + Breeding kink + Size difference + Cunnilingus + Tummy bulge

Note: I was listening to one of these NSFW audios and I just got inspired so yeah, here it is! Idk if people want to hear it tho :P It's not really related to the actual content, but I just liked it ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ I can't believe I've been writing this for more than three days, sometimes my brain just doesn't want to cooperate cause I keep realising I may sound a bit repetitive at times... I hope you all like it!! (๑>◡<๑)

It had been quite a few months since Cow Hybrid! Caleb had been able to sneak into your bedroom, his cock about to burst as he basically begged you for help. Still, you had been unable to act as you had used to, your whole body reacting each time his calloused hands got close to you, your mind being suddenly flowed by the images, the feeling of your hands rubbing his... How were you supposed to work as always after that? Anyone would probably understand your position! Well, anyone except Caleb, of course.

Since that had happened, he had become even clingier than usual, constantly following around you like a lost puppy, his ears lowered as he tried to hide his huge frame behind a wooden post, his tail peaking from it even regardless of how much he tried to stop it from showing. He didn't really understand what was up with your sudden change in attitude, he had been your favourite since he had arrived, was it because of something he had done? Maybe you had started to hate him and wanted him dead? He would happily send himself to the closest butchery if it meant making you happy again.

Luckiily for him, the perfect chance for the two of you to be together after your dear aunt told you to go to the city a couple of hours away, as the most important fair for ranchers was about to begin. She briefly explained what you had to do, simply listening to the many conferences regarding the possible changes for the ranchers' rights and privileges, simple enough, right? Still, your aunt told you to go with Caleb, as he had never been there, and you really needed some "buff man" just for some of the ranchers to take you seriously, as annoying as it was.

With all said and done, your aunt prepared everything you both could possibly need, from your clothes to many different delicious plates in case the two of you missed her. She kissed both of your foreheads, waving goodbye at the two of you before going back to her chores.

Well, all left was spending the next five days there, it was fine, what could possibly go wrong?

The first three days had gone smoothly, with the two of you spending as little time as possible, constantly going around the fair talking to the many old friends of your aunt, letting them ramble about how it was when they were younger and similar anecdotes, with Caleb simply following you around like a lost puppy, staying in complete silence during the whole day, as you quickly fell asleep as soon as your face hit the pillow.

Caleb knew that he had to be patient, after all, despite hybrids are quite similar to humans, they did still present various differences, specially when it came to this kind of thing. He knew it, he kept reminding himself of that. But it was to no avail, really. His chest kept hurting each time he saw you speaking to all those other men, always smiling at them as they talked to you about some unimportant matter. Still, he couldn't help but act that way, rummaging around your luggage to look for his prize. It took him a while to find them, but as soon as he did he could already feel his head getting lighter, his face now buried on the soft fabric, inhaling with force, his hand already trailing down his body and removing all the buttons that kept his lower hidden. He got up, moving to the small bathroom and sitting on the toilet, muffling his moans with your underwear as he moved his hand up and down, his chest moving up and down as his breath quickened.

This kept going for a while, with Caleb trying his best to muffle his moans as much as he could, whispering soft praises to you even despite you were still asleep. "So good... You smell so good... Can't wait to breed you..." Small tears came running down his cheeks, the tip of his cock leaking as he saw the floor stained from his cum. "I'm sorry... I'm trying so hard for you... Just for you... Ugh... I love you, I love you..." Caleb whimpered as he finally felt like his head was a bit less crowded from lewd thoughts about you, the shame starting to make his face feel quite hot.

Caleb finally reached his limit by the night of the fourth day. The two of you were supposed to leave the next morning around the early morning, as you had already planned helping your sweet aunt with all the farm work that she may have been unable to do due to her old age.

Just as you were about to throw yourself to the bed, Caleb tugged from your pajama, his soft ears lowered as much as possible as fat tears fell down his face. "How much are you planning to ignore me? I know I misbehaved but I don't want you to keep on ignoring me... Please." Caleb got on his knees, his hands and head rubbing against your hands as a way to calm himself down. "If you really hated it, I won't ever do it again... I'll let you find someone for me to be with... Just don't ignore me... I can't... I just can't handle it. I've been trying to, these past couple days... I don't think I can go any longer without you." Caleb gaze lifted from the floor, looking at you with his purple eyes glistening under the dim lights.

"I... I'm sorry, Caleb. It's just that, I kind of... Well, I kept getting like, reminders of well, what happened between us and I kind of... couldn't help but feel a bit, ashamed?... About it, anyways, I didn't mean to hurt you, Caleb. You know you're my favourite, right?" You caressed Caleb's cheeks, petting his hair and moving it away so you could see his full face. Caleb pressed his face against the palm of your hands, his expression lightening up, suddenly getting up from the floor and getting on top of you, his cheeks flushing from pure bliss.

"Really?! You don't hate me? I'm so glad! I just... I'm sorry. My... my body seems to have become, attached to your scent, so each time I smell you it's... It's just too much for my body." Caleb moved away, sitting by your side and letting you see just how much it had affected him. "I'm sorry... I'm really trying so hard to keep myself on check... Just, I just didn't want to keep on using them without your knowledge... Let me just go to the bathroom, I'll be back---" You grabbed his hand, forcing him to sit back down on the bed and keeping your hand tightly grapped around his. "I... I can help you a bit, just if you want--" Caleb moved swiftly, suddenly having you under him once again, his hand already removing his overalls together with his undershirt.

"I'll be careful, if I hurt you just pull from my horns, ok?" Caleb started to kiss your whole face, leaving soft pecks as he slowly made his way towards your neck, his right hand massaging around your tummy, then removing your trousers together with your underwear in the blink of an eye, leaving them on the bed before focusing once again on you. "Such a pretty pussy... It looks so tasty... Let me just have a little taste, please?" Caleb moved down, getting on his knees on the floor before pulling from you by your ankles in order to get you to be close to te edge of the bed. He carefully put both legs on his shoulders, opening them with his hands before starting to leave soft kisses all over your lower half, your hands petting his hair as a way to avoid squirming as much as possible. "No running from me, baby." Caleb smiled, his mouth suddenly starting to suck on your clit as he used his fingers to play with your entrance, only moving up and down so as to lubricate his fingers. "So good, pips... Keep calm, I'm in charge right now." Caleb went back to focusing on his task, his tongue lapping your poor clit with his long tongue, one of his fingers slowly entering you, slowly opening you as he kept playing with that sensitive bud, making your whole body squirm as the stimulation started to feel a bit overwhelming.

Not like it really mattered to Caleb, his mind already far too gone from eating you out, that delicious scent making his mind go blank regardless of how hard you tried to get him to slow down, ignoring all the soft hits on his shoulder together with all the pleas each time you came all over his tongue. It wasn't until your whole body was about to give up on you, your legs trembling as if you had been working out for far too long, that you chose to grab his horns, his eyes finally focusing on you, getting away from your poor overstimulated pussy as he finally took a deep breath. "So-sorry! I got a bit lost there, promise I will behave next... Can we keep going?" Caleb looked at you with those sweet puppy eyes, his hands massaging your love handles as he waited for your response.

"Just... Just the tip, ok? Your cock is too big for me to... uhm... take." Caleb nodded, grabbing his cock with his right hand and giving your entrance a few slaps on the entrance, his eyes once again completely glued on the way your entrance kept twitching each time he hit it with the tip of his cock. Caleb moved his hands for a moment, holding both of your hands as his cock started to make his way inside you.

"Take a deep breath, pips... I'm still putting in the tip..." Caleb kept kissing your lips as his cock entered you, the stretch making you feel as if you were about to break just from the pressure that you felt in your tummy. "There... It wasn't so hard, right? Now we can take as much time as you need, no need to rush..." Caleb now focused on kissing your sweaty face, his eyes glistening with the pure feeling of love, hands interlocked as he forced himself to remain as still as he could.

And you knew you were supposed to stay still, let your body get accustomed to the... length. Still, you just had to prove yourself, wrapping your legs around his hips before suddenly pressing against his hips, forcing the weight of Caleb to rely against your smaller frame, the sudden pressure making all the air leave your lungs before you could take a deep breath as Caleb immediately moved away, his expression changing to one of concern as his eyes checked for any sign of discomfort. This concern soon changed into a slightly annoyed look, his eyes becoming a bit darker the moment he focused on your entrance. "Guess it's my fault for not expecting it... Since you want to be a brat, may as well treat you like one." Caleb smile turned a bit sadistic, lifting your whole body with ease as he moved the two of you towards the end of the bed, sitting just in front of the mirror. "Make sure to get your brain to remember this, baby." Caleb kept you still, slowly entering you. You clenched your eyes shut as the slighty painful stretch took place, trying your best to avoid seeing the lewd image of your pussy being forced open by Caleb's cock. After all, it wasn't as if you were able to do much more, with Caleb holding both your legs on a tight grip as a way to get you to keep the image as a reminder.

Despite Caleb's attempt of scaring you, he knew exactly just how important it was for you to get completely used to it, getting the horses to act as they should. "Now open wide..." Caleb moved, lifting your whole body with his arms, slowly lowering it as he slowly forced the tip of his cock inside, bitting his lips as he tried his best to keep calm. "Just like that... Relax, I ain't running nowhere, don't squeeze me so hard, pips... It's hard to stay calm." Caleb kissed the top of your head, letting you rest your back against his chest as he was finally able to bottom down once more, the feeling of being full being just enough for you to feel as if you were out of breath.

"Caleb~... You're too big..." You whined, the feeling mixing with the heat that you kept feeling on your face as you noticed the bulge that had formed on your tummy, forcing you to hide your face just as a way to avoid seeing it. As soon as Caleb noticed that, he removed them from your face, using one of his hands to force you to look into your reflection. "No running, pips, gotta make sure you get a detailed view of just how good I can make you feel." Caleb wrapped his arms around the back of your knees, making sure that you got a perfect view of the way your pussy greedily ate his cock each time he pull a bit of it out, making it an almost hypnotising view, seeing it enter you, then suddenly pulling away before giving you a kind smile, almost as if he was mocking you each time you tried to squirm away from his iron grip.

It took you just a few minutes to finally get used to the feeling, turning what were soft whines into lewd moans that kept escaping from your lips, eyes rolling back each time Caleb rubbed against that slightly rough spot. Suddenly, Caleb moved one of his arms, keeping your whole body lifted with just one arm as he used the free one to rub your tummy, making small pressure every now and then each time he pushed his whole lenght inside, ignoring each high pitched moan and whine that left your lips every time he forced you to cum all around his huge cock. "Caleb!... Too much, can't keep cumming! Please, please~...!" Caleb ignored you once more, kissing the top of your head as he kept hammering your gummy walls, making sure to stay a few seconds outside before forcing his lenght rapidly inside. "Sorry pips... I gotta make sure I get you all full~... Gotta prove I'm the best one for you." Caleb kept this fast rhythm for a while, bitting softly on your neck each time he came inside you, "a way to mark you" he said.

By the time you were finally released from his grip, the digital clock was already far past 02:00, your whole body sticky from the sweat, together with the mixture of your fluids, and the semen that was slowly leaving your pussy. Just as you were about to simply let yourself fall asleep from the exhaustion, Caleb took your body, carrying it to the warm bath and letting you sit on the tub that had already been filled. "Gotta make sure you feel comfortable enough to sleep, can't have you seeing aunty all dried up." Caleb peppered soft kisses all over your face, rubbing a warm towel all over your body and letting you fall asleep with ease as you felt him clean all your body.

[ashthesalamipiece]

Could you do dad! Bakugo x mom! Reader, with a reader who overworks herself a lot, constantly just doing something and never sits down, gets a couple hours of sleep but never complains, always makes time for their baby girl who’s around a year old, and katsuki too, but katsuki sees how it’s making her super stressed if things don’t get done fast

Sit Down, Baby

(dad!Bakugo x mom!reader)

The house was too quiet.

Which, in most homes with a toddler, would mean something was on fire or painted the wrong color. But in yours — it usually meant you were doing something again.

Not resting. Not sitting. Just… doing.

Bakugo pushed open the nursery door, and sure enough, your shadow moved across the hallway. You weren’t in bed. Again.

It was nearly 1AM.

He sighed, stepping out barefoot, rubbing the back of his neck. The baby had been asleep for hours — after a long bedtime of lullabies and a warm bottle that you insisted on doing yourself, even though you’d been up since 5AM, worked a shift, cleaned the whole house, made dinner, folded three baskets of laundry, and fixed that drawer in the kitchen that wouldn’t close right.

And now…

He found you in the kitchen again, standing on your toes, stacking baby bowls in the upper cabinet.

Katsuki crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway. “Babe.”

You startled slightly. “Shit—sorry, did I wake you?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. You didn’t.”

You offered a soft smile — one of those tired ones you’d been wearing lately like it was glued to your lips. “Just cleaning up a little more before bed. Didn’t want to leave it for the morning.”

“You said that last night.”

“I know.”

“And the night before that.”

You looked away. “Yeah.”

“...When’s the last time you sat down and didn’t do anything?” he asked, voice low.

“I’m fine, Kats.”

He hated that answer. Not because you were lying — but because you were so damn used to it.

“No, you’re not,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. “You’re runnin’ yourself into the ground. You don’t sleep, you barely eat anything that’s not cold, and you flinch if I try to do the damn dishes before you do.”

You bristled just a little. “I’m just trying to keep things together. You work, too. I’m not gonna leave everything for you.”

“Who said it’s gotta be one of us doing everything?” he shot back, keeping his voice calm but sharp enough to cut through your exhaustion. “You think I don’t see you falling apart? Your hands are shaking.”

You blinked. And looked down. They were.

He was beside you before you could hide them, gently pulling the bowls from your hands and setting them aside. His fingers wrapped around your wrists — not hard, just grounding.

“I don’t care if the house is spotless. I care if you’re okay,” he murmured, looking you dead in the eye. “You keep actin’ like the world’s gonna end if the bottles don’t get washed right away. Like she’s not gonna love you if you’re not perfect every damn second.”

Your throat tightened. “She deserves perfect.”

“She deserves you. Rested. Breathing. Not collapsing at 3AM because you forgot to eat dinner again.”

You tried to joke, “Are you getting soft on me?”

He didn’t smile. “Yeah. For you? Always.”

A beat of silence.

Then you crumpled into his chest like you’d been holding yourself upright on pure willpower. His arms wrapped around you immediately, solid and warm, one hand pressing against your back and the other threading through your hair.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, like a secret you weren’t supposed to admit.

“I know,” he said, kissing your temple. “So sit the hell down. I’ll finish this.”

“But—”

He pulled back, just enough to see your face.

“Baby,” he said, and his voice was soft but fierce. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in five. We’re in this together. You don’t have to earn your rest.”

You stared at him, eyes watery, lip trembling.

And for once — you listened.

---

Later, when he curled up behind you in bed, arms around your waist, baby monitor glowing quietly beside him, he whispered against your shoulder:

“You’re already doing enough. More than enough. You don’t have to bleed yourself dry to prove it.”

And in the dark, with your daughter safe and the house still, you finally let yourself sleep — held tight in the arms of the man who’d catch you before you could fall.

[erinwantstowrite]

Erin does this mean we will have a venom arc in the future in lof?

(since parasite is just venom and peter, I hope I hadn't got it wrong)

nah, not in LoF! but also technically?

originally, it's an ITSV au where piper and parasite destroyed their canons on accident. piper joined first because she was trying to make amends, then parasite came along. he's technically an anti hero who is barely hanging on to not be a full blown villain. he tries to do the "right thing" but is very impulsive, and that's part of the reason his canon universe was destroyed. she finally meets someone who understands that pain even if parasite isn't the most sane person around. he's mostly there so they can keep an eye on him (some are trying to reform him), piper ends up as the main person to keep him in check. which works most of the time because parasite grew attached to piper even if she's always angry. eventually though, parasite hits strike three while they're on a mission, and in the process they lose the person/villain they were tracking down. piper decides not to turn parasite in but rather keep him with her so he can catch the anomaly and bring it back to make up for the fuck up (this is a hopeless cause). but then he gets them stuck in the LoF Bat's universe where peter is, and piper about tears her hair out cause this is one of the universes they aren't EVER supposed to go to under any circumstances. ofc they meet the Bats and peter when trying to avoid them

[understeeringirl]

Distance makes it worse

Summary: The silence between you grows heavier every day. After the fallout, the pretending cracks wider, and the space feels colder. Lando is still trying — maybe too hard — but the distance lingers like a shadow neither of you knows how to shake. Words left unsaid, fears left unspoken, and a fragile hope that maybe this mess can still be fixed. But it’s going to take more than apologies and coffee. Warnings: emotional repression, subtle heartbreak, guarded conversations, slow rebuilding, vulnerability, mild tension Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader Word count: 3.4k Series: Wrong Side of the Camera - intro - chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight

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

You wake to the sound of your own breath.

Shallow. Steady. Real.

The fever's gone.

But the weight in your chest?

Still there.

You blink past the blur of dried sweat and sleep, feeling the ache in your limbs settle into something deeper. Your head pounds, your lips are cracked, and the world feels quiet in a way that’s almost cruel.

Then you hear it.

Breath. Shift. Movement.

You turn your head.

He’s still here.

Lando.

Curled on the floor by the dresser, hoodie bunched up beneath his neck, face slack with sleep. One leg pulled close, one arm stretched out like he’d reached for you and passed out halfway through.

You stare at him.

And all you can think is:

Of course.

Of course he stayed now. Now that you were too weak to scream at him. Now that you’d burned yourself into stillness. Now that there was no fight left to give.

But the thing is—you’re not soft this morning.

You’re not sick enough to forget anymore.

You remember everything.

The way he looked at you. The silence he left you in. The photo. The lie. The door you had to close just to breathe.

And suddenly, it’s like rage is the only thing keeping your spine straight.

You shift under the covers. The noise stirs him.

He lifts his head.

Eyes heavy. Voice cracked.

“You’re awake.”

You don’t answer.

He scrambles upright. Knees cracking, hoodie slipping. He looks like hell.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Do you—do you need anything?”

You sit up slowly. Every muscle groans. Your throat scrapes.

You take the glass of water beside the bed.

He moves forward like he’s going to help.

You flinch.

“I’ve got it.”

He freezes.

And suddenly the room is too quiet again.

You sip the water. Set it down.

And when you finally look at him, it’s not soft. It’s not warm. It’s not kind.

“You stayed.”

He nods. “Of course I did.”

You laugh once. Hollow. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

He swallows. “I was scared.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too. Right around the time I passed out on my own floor.”

“I didn’t know you were that sick. I tried calling—”

“You tried after you broke me.”

His mouth opens. No sound comes out.

You push the blanket off and swing your legs to the floor.

“You know what the worst part is?” you say, standing slowly, every joint protesting. “I still wanted you to be there. Even after the photo. Even after the lie. Even after you looked me in the eye and told me you’d be better.”

He looks like he’s going to speak.

You don’t let him.

“But you weren’t. You didn’t even try. You let me believe you were different. You let me trust you.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant.”

The words land hard between you.

You see it in his face—the hit. The way it rattles through him like a blow.

“You don’t get to fuck up and still feel like the victim,” you say. “You don’t get to show up when it’s convenient for you, act like you care when you’ve made it so clear you don’t.”

“I do,” he says quietly. “I care so much, it’s ruining me.”

“Then why did you leave me alone?”

He blinks. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“You’re right,” you snap. “I didn’t. I still don’t.”

He steps back like you slapped him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he says. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s not my problem anymore.”

You take a step toward the bathroom. You don’t bother hiding the way your legs shake.

Lando watches you, eyes wide, mouth trembling with words that never make it out.

“I’m going to shower,” you say. “When I come out, I want you gone.”

He exhales like he’s trying to keep from begging.

“Please,” he says. “Just talk to me. Just let me explain.”

“You had every chance,” you whisper. “You had so many chances.”

“I didn’t know how to handle it—how to handle us. It stopped feeling fake and I panicked, and I made the worst decisions because I thought if I pulled away, it would hurt less—”

“For who?” you hiss. “For me? Because it didn’t. It fucking destroyed me.”

He’s crying now.

You hate that it still gets to you.

You reach for the doorknob.

His voice cracks. “Please don’t walk away.”

You pause.

Then look at him one last time.

“You did it first.”

And then you close the door.

Lock it.

And turn the shower on full blast just so you don’t hear him on the other side.

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

He doesn’t move when the door clicks shut.

Doesn’t breathe.

Doesn’t think.

Just… stands there, staring at the grain of the wood like maybe if he waits long enough, it’ll forgive him.

The sound of the shower starts, and it’s like a punch to the ribs.

He presses his forehead to the door. It’s still warm where her hand was.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck—”

His voice cracks halfway through the third one, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop it from unraveling into something worse. Something pathetic.

He wants to knock. Wants to say something—I didn’t mean it, I was scared, please don’t hate me—but none of the words feel like enough. Not after what he’s done. Not after what she said.

And she was right.

God, she was so right.

He had walked away first. He’d disappeared, pulled back, shut her out. And all the while, she was still reaching for him.

And he’d missed it.

Worse—he’d let her feel alone.

He slides down the door slowly. Hears the water running. Imagines her under it—jaw clenched, skin burning, shoulders shaking.

He wonders if she’s crying too.

He buries his face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I ruined it. I’m sorry I ruined you.”

His phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. He doesn’t check it. Doesn’t need to.

Whatever’s out there—press, rumors, another photo—none of it matters.

The only thing that does is behind this fucking door.

And she wants him gone.

He sits there anyway.

Just in case.

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

You stay in the shower longer than you need to.

Hot water beating down on your shoulders. Skin raw. Eyes closed.

You let it scald. Let it sting.

Because at least that pain makes sense.

When you finally step out, the mirror’s fogged, the towel scratchy, your limbs weak—but you still move with purpose. You dry off slowly. Dress in the softest clothes you can find—sweatpants, hoodie, thick socks.

No makeup. No armor.

Just skin and silence.

You open the bathroom door and brace yourself for an empty room.

He’s still there.

Sitting against the dresser, knees pulled up, face buried in his arms like sleep never really came for him. He looks up the moment he hears you—eyes red, hair mussed, hoodie wrinkled like it’s the same one from yesterday.

You freeze.

He doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

The silence stretches like a dare.

He blinks. Stands slowly. “I—I didn’t leave.”

“I can see that.”

“I thought maybe you’d need—” He cuts himself off. Tries again. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You lean against the doorframe. Still tired. Still pissed.

“You said you would leave.”

“I know.”

You stare at him.

“You don’t get a gold star for sitting on the floor all night.”

“I know,” he says again. Softer. “But I didn’t know where else to be.”

There’s a pause.

And then you say it—flat, final:

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

He looks like he’s trying to stay upright on breaking glass. “I didn’t want to go.”

You sigh. The ache in your chest returns—not the kind from fever, but the kind he put there weeks ago.

He stands, eyes desperate but guarded. His voice is raw when he speaks, like he’s been holding it in for days.

“I’m not leaving. Not yet. Not until you say it’s okay.”

You stiffen, wrapping your arms around yourself, every muscle aching from the fever and heartbreak.

“Lando, I can’t do this right now. I have a shoot in two hours. I need space. You’re suffocating me.”

He steps closer, voice breaking. “I know I’ve been a mess. I’ve been an idiot. But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

You shake your head, frustrated tears threatening. “You don’t get to show up when it suits you and expect me to just… forgive. I’m exhausted. I’m sick. I’m trying to keep myself together, and you’re just here, making it harder.”

He reaches out, hesitant. “Please. Just one chance. One conversation. I’ll fix this. I swear.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, biting down your own need to beg him back.

“I can’t, Lando. I have to work. I have to pretend everything’s fine. And I can’t do that if you’re here, breathing down my neck, waiting for me to fall apart again.”

His jaw tightens. “Then let me help you. Don’t push me away.”

You shake your head again, tired and angry. “No. I need you to leave. For now.”

His shoulders slump, but he still doesn’t move.

“Please,” he whispers. “I’m begging you.”

He stays rooted, eyes burning with that stubborn mix of regret and hope. His voice cracks when he finally speaks, barely louder than a whisper but full of everything he’s been holding back.

“I’m not leaving.”

You cross your arms, tired in a way that goes beyond your sickness—like your whole body is done with the fight.

“Fine,” you say, voice flat, dry, drained. “Do whatever you want then.”

He blinks, like the words haven’t quite registered. Then he takes a slow step forward.

“I just want to make it right. I want to be here for you.”

You don’t look at him.

“You want to be here? Great. Then maybe start by leaving me alone for like, five minutes.”

He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading. “I can’t do that.”

You let out a humorless laugh, voice sharp with exhaustion. “Yeah, well, neither can I. But I have a Vogue shoot in two hours, so I don’t exactly have the luxury of being broken all day.”

He swallows hard, jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry for everything. For not being there. For messing this up. For making you feel like you were alone.”

You finally glance at him, the ghost of softness buried under a mountain of frustration.

“I know you’re sorry. I know you’re scared. But right now, I just need… I don’t even know. Space? Time? Silence?”

He nods slowly, like he’s trying to memorize your words.

“So.. can I just sit here and wait?"

You shrug, voice clipped.

“You do whatever you want. I’ll do what I have to.”

He steps back, chest tight, but doesn’t leave.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

You roll your eyes, a dry smirk breaking through.

“Great. Then get comfortable. This is gonna be a long day.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound rough but genuine.

“Yeah. A long day.”

You grab your bag, heading for the door.

He follows, just a step behind, like a shadow you can’t shake.

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

The Vogue studio buzzes with energy, but you feel miles away. Stylists swarm around, tugging, pinning, spraying—like they’re trying to fix more than just your hair and clothes.

Lando’s there, sitting on a stool in the corner, eyes flickering to you every few seconds, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

The photographer calls out, "Alright, let’s get this done!"

You step into position, plaster on a smile that’s all business, not emotion.

Flash.

Click.

Pose.

You hear the camera shutter but none of it feels real.

Between takes, Lando sidles up, voice low. “You okay?”

You arch an eyebrow, voice flat as ice. “Peachy. Just thrilled to be in front of a camera while my personal life is a dumpster fire.”

He winces but tries again, softer. “I’m here. I want to fix this.”

You turn away, voice sharp. “Great. Could’ve fooled me.”

He reaches out, but you step back, eyes rolling.

“Don’t,” you say. “Not now. Not like this.”

He bites his lip, nodding, defeated.

The stylist calls you back.

“Ready for the next one.”

You flick a glance at Lando—half apology, half warning.

Then you plaster that perfect, empty smile back on and face the camera.

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

The last flash clicks and you’re done. Done with the endless angles, the fake smiles, the pressure to be perfect when you don’t even feel like you’re fully here. You slip off your heels as soon as you can, massaging your aching feet and practically dragging yourself toward the exit.

Your fingers fumble with your phone as you step outside, desperately trying to get an Uber before your patience completely snaps. You’re halfway through the app when you hear it — that familiar voice.

“Hey.”

You spin around. Of course it’s Lando, standing there like a lost puppy who’s just realized the one thing he desperately wants is about to walk away.

“Are you serious?” you snap, voice sharp and raw. “Why are you still here? I told you I needed space. Needed. Not maybe, not later, needed. And here you are, following me out like I’m some stray you can’t stop chasing.”

He shrugs, looking sheepish and utterly clueless. “I just… I want to be around.”

You let out a humorless laugh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Around? Lando, I’m sick, exhausted. This is the last thing I need.”

He takes a step closer, eyes hopeful. “I’m sorry. I messed up. But I’m here now.”

You raise an eyebrow, deadpan. “Yeah. And that fixes everything, huh? You know what? I’m too tired to argue, so go ahead—tag along. But don’t slow me down.”

He grins like he’s just won the lottery. You shake your head, resisting the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation is.

“This is going to be a very long night.”

The Uber pulls up, and you slide in without looking back. Lando’s right behind you, practically shadowing your every move.

The car hums through the city streets, the dull glow of streetlights casting long shadows on your face. Lando reaches over, fingers lightly brushing your hand.

You pull your hand away like it’s on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice soft. “I know I’ve hurt you. I just want to fix this.”

You stare out the window, voice cool, almost tired. “Fixing things doesn’t happen with words anymore, Lando. It’s about actions. Real ones.”

He swallows hard. “I’m ready to do whatever it takes.”

You finally glance at him, eyes tired but sharp. “Good. Because right now, I’m running on fumes, and so is this.”

Silence settles heavy between you.

The car slows at your building.

You open the door, stepping out and pausing.

Lando’s eyes flick to yours, searching.

You don’t say anything as you head inside.

You close the door behind you, the weight of the day heavy on your shoulders. Lando lingers too close, eyes hopeful, voice tentative.

“Can we talk?”

You spin around, jaw tight. “No. Not tonight.”

He steps forward. “Please. Just a few minutes.”

You take a deep breath, all the frustration bubbling up. “I said no. Just—leave. For tonight.”

His face falls, eyes searching yours.

You slam the door hard enough to make him jump.

“Go. Just go. I need space. I’m exhausted. And I can’t do this right now.”

He stands there for a long beat, pain flickering across his face.

Then, finally, he steps back.

“Okay. For tonight.”

You don’t look back as he walks away.

The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows feels like the first breath you’ve taken all day.

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

You wake to the faint hum of voices and the smell of something warm—coffee, maybe? Your head still aches, but the worst of the cold is gone.

Blinking against the morning light, you try to sit up, only to realize your limbs feel heavier than usual.

Lando is already there, sitting beside the bed with a half-empty mug in his hands, eyes watching you with a mix of relief and worry.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly, voice soft like he’s afraid to break the fragile calm.

You glare at him, trying to summon some fire, but your voice comes out dry and low.

“What are you still doing here?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t about to let you face this alone.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your tone sharp. “I’m better. Don’t need a babysitter.”

He grins, undeterred. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You stare at him, stubborn and tired.

“Fine,” you mutter, voice rough. “But don’t expect me to be grateful.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and steady.

You shift under the covers, pulling the blanket tighter around you like armor. Your voice is sharp, even if your body feels fragile.

“Look, Lando, I don’t need you hovering.”

He holds up a small bouquet of wildflowers, colors bright against the dull light of your room.

“I’m not hovering,” he says softly. “I’m here. And I brought these.”

You snort, dry. “Flowers? Seriously?”

He grins, undeterred.

“Yeah. And I got you that herbal tea you like, plus some soup from that place you love.”

He places the tray carefully on the bedside table — a steaming bowl, the tea, and a small stack of your favorite books.

You stare, part amused, part exasperated.

“You’re spoiling me,” you say, voice tired.

“Only because you deserve it,” he replies, eyes sincere.

You look away, biting your lip.

“I don’t want to admit it, but… thanks,” you mutter, voice almost too quiet to hear.

He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

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

It’s been a week of the same tired routine. You wake up, groggy and stiff, the ache in your muscles a dull reminder that you’re not quite yourself yet.

You shuffle to the kitchen, expecting to find it empty, just like every morning before this.

But there he is.

Lando.

Leaning against the counter, dressed in one of your old hoodies that somehow fits him better than it should. He’s humming something off-key—annoyingly cheerful.

On the counter sits a mug—your mug—with steam curling lazily from the top.

Next to it, a sticky note, written in his hurried scrawl:

“For the world’s toughest girl. Don’t make me drink it.”

You scowl, crossing your arms, biting back a sarcastic remark.

“Are you seriously still doing this?” you ask, voice dry.

He looks up, grinning like a kid caught stealing cookies.

“What? You like it.”

You roll your eyes but let yourself grab the mug anyway, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” you say, voice low, skeptical. “You can’t just keep playing Mr. Sunshine and expect me to forget everything.”

He shrugs, eyes honest.

“Yeah, I’m not trying to erase anything. I just want to be here. If you let me.”

You sip the coffee, bitterness matching your mood.

“The silence was the worst part,” you admit, voice almost breaking. “You pulling away like I’m wasn't even here. Like I was just… some chore.”

He steps closer, cautious.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I was scared. And that scared me into shutting down.”

You look away, biting your lip.

“Scared of what?”

“Of how real this all feels,” he admits, voice low. “Of losing you, even before I had you.”

You stare at him, heart thudding.

“You should’ve told me,” you whisper.

He nods, taking a small step forward.

“I’m trying to.”

You set the mug down, a shaky breath escaping.

“This is going to take time.”

He smiles, relief flooding his face.

“I’ll wait. As long as you need.”

You meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me regret that.”

He grins.

“Never.”

For the first time in a long while, the morning doesn’t feel so heavy.

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

hi!! i'm so so sorry for taking so long to update this, but i just feel like i made such a mess and i didn't knew how to move forward but i did my best and i think i figured it out. thank you for sticking up with me and let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for this and future stuff!!

see you next lap, -N 🏁

taglist: @suibianupyourass

[rinis-rift]

3- Haunting the Horizon

3. House Hunting (gone wrong)

The Masterlist! | YOKAI FILES | prev. | next

ꕥ Yokai is from Japanese folklore, so what is one doing, wandering around the streets of Korea? Grabbing attention from the other beasts who dwell in their own underworld as well as their hunters? And when the dust settles, who will have the pleasure to have their blessing?

wc: 2.2k

Yokai!Male! Reader x Saja boys + Huntr/x

Extra: i'm gonna eat my own wrist bye guys, there's something that NEEDS TO BE DECIDED BUT I CAN'T DECIDE

Rumi couldn’t peel her eyes from the honmoon, she’s been entranced at the sight of the thin strings of protection, protecting the world from demons. She stood right in front of the window walls of their penthouse.

Just the night before, they saw golden hues appear on the usually white and blue strings, symbolizing the growing strength of the honmoon. All three of the hunters felt their excitement and exhilaration build up at the nearing of their goal.

The leader of Huntrix felt that sense of accomplishment the most as she had just released their new song, the one that is bound to seal the honmoon for good. “Golden”, sure, it wasn’t due for another few weeks, but what was the harm of pushing it forward?

They’re in the homestretch now! The logical thing to do is speed up!

And yet, despite the assuring signs of aureate in their visions when performing at bigger concerts, the girl with a long braid couldn’t help but feel even more protective of the nationwide barrier at their feet.

Just a few hours ago, while hanging out with the other two members of Huntrix, she felt the honmoon ripple. Shift like tectonic plates beneath the soles of her feet, she didn’t see any alarming patches of magenta, but it didn’t ease her worries, when it’s so close to being sealed, any problem feels like a bigger problem.

“Rumi? C’mon we gotta go! It’s time for our first. Live. of. Goldennnn!” A voice sings behind her, Rumi wipes the tense look on her face, and turns around with a bright smile. 

“Yeah Zoey! I’m coming!” She replied, hopping over the couch to meet the other two members at the elevator.. Right, she had a show to focus on, the more appearances, the closer they get to the Golden Honmoon.

Back to you, you’ve been walking around, using the cash that Bobby had ever so kindly given to you. You ate dinner and now the absence of the sun meant that you’d have to find shelter.

So you scout the houses. You stop at a normal looking building. It wasn't crazy small, but honestly, you didn’t see the need for something extravagant like Bobby’s house again. So you drop your stuff in the skinny alleyway next to the building, out of sight of anyone who was just going to pass by.

You close your eyes as you return to the form you’d use to haunt people’s residences, you definitely didn’t want to use this method, you never wanted to scare or hurt people, but this is just something that survivors do.

Time to imitate your Usutsuki Warashi cousins. (They are cousins to the Zashiki Warashi. They’re also house spirits, and while they don’t give blessings, they still curse the households they leave. They come out from the soil at night and make creepy noises, scare the people living there at night, never doing anything more.)

Without a word, you floated into the building, you went door to door, trying to figure out how many people lived in one house. Ideally, you’d just have to scare one person out of their house and not multiple.

Eventually, on the fourth door on the third floor, you poked your head through the door. This person had a pair of sneakers, loafers, and sandals, all in the same size. Jackpot.

You enter, you materialize your feet. Stomping to draw attention to yourself you glance at a clock, it was nine o’clock. Great, that’d add to your scary experience.

You opened the door from the hallway into the living room, you kept yourself barely visible, exploring the shared dining room and living room. It was quaint, but you couldn’t help but notice something.

“Huntr/x?” You could barely read the English, Bobby had taught you the alphabet, but you only knew words an elementary schooler would be familiar with. There were posters plastered on the mint green walls, ones with three girls, sometimes one on one posters, bringing to light the individual flair of each girl.

You looked from left to right, your eyes wide with the colorful accents and designs of each poster. The outfits each girl wore were very  beautiful, so sleek and unique, you never saw anything like it before. Sure, you’d see people who can dress, but to this level, it’s interesting.

On the right of the wall, was a girl with buns at the height of her ears, micro bangs and an almost mischievous and challenging smile on her lips, her strapless top wraps a black choker around her neck and connects to the top. In big teal lettering, it wrote “Zoey”. Another unique name, you’ve heard names that have more syllables, yet this one was like Bobby’s.

Your gaze travels to a poster that had big bold letters that read “Rumi”, her hair was braided from the center of her head, no stray hairs in sight. A bold yellow jacket with a white turtleneck that cropped on her torso. A confident look on her face as she stares straight ahead, her hair flows behind her like an accessory. Her name felt less foreign as you’ve met and heard of people with ‘Rumi’ as a name or something similar.

“Mira”, just a letter off from a common Japanese name like ‘Mirai’. But you brush it off, her eyes were sharp and glittery, an eyebrow raised as if she was looking down at you. A navy blue shoulder pad sat on her shoulder as her hands adorned fingerless gloves. A thick black choker on her neck with a golden pendant in the middle, her shirt had a blue geode like design with pink lettering you couldn’t read.

They looked so powerful, like they could have a nation of people at their feet. 

“G-get away from my Huntrix po-posters!” A voice shakes behind you.

Your head snaps towards the speaker, your neck snaps with a sickening sound as you spin your head one hundred and eighty degrees, the man behind you only grows more fearful as you fade in and out of his vision. Getting closer and closer with breath.

He wore glasses, had a larger build, and had that bowlcut you’ve seen all over the place, but nonetheless, he was a wimp.

By the time the distance had narrowed down to two feet or 60 cm away from the person, he’d already bolted for the door.

When you heard the eventual door slam shut, you beamed, jumping with joy as you had actually managed to make them leave! It’s not in Zashiki's nature to make people leave, but regardless, a boy’s gotta do what he’s got to do. You went back down to grab your things.

And once everything you owned had been moved inside, you sat on the couch. Sighing, you opened your backpack to write in your most recent journal. One that is not for notes of the human realm, but just for yourself.

You wrote down how you managed to scare someone like how the Usutsuki Zashiki would do, the meals you ate, the letter you gave to Bobby, the curse you sent, just the entire day, it was an important day to you.

 After journaling, you reached for the remote, it was different from the one that Bobby owned, but you used your super advanced critical thinking skills to decipher what button did what, and you were skipping through channels when you stopped at one.

First, it was a very different tone change from all the others. It was sad and held the weight of disappointment, the text rolled in and out of the screen at a pace you couldn’t exactly keep up with, when you managed to finally read everything, it said.

“Unfortunately cancellation of Huntrix’s first live performance of their new hit single, ‘Golden’ has brought down thousands of fans, we are waiting for news of refunds.”

It’s that name again, you glanced at the posters on the wall, underneath them on the drawers were these big sticks with buttons, the silhouette was like a four leaf clover, but the lines seem to allude that it was something else.

You don’t have a phone like Bobby so you can’t simply look them up, even if that’s what you desperately wanted to do, it seems like they’re well known, well liked.

They seemed so glamorous, put together, but still limited. Having to cancel a performance and all, but that gets you wondering, what kind of songs do they make? They’d have to be good to have amassed such a large fanbase and make room for themselves on television. 

You curled up on the couch, watching more random news and taking in the weather report, trying to understand the jokes that flew out of comedians' mouths like spitfire, but alas, you were growing tired. 

And as you close your eyes for slumber, another force rises, he’s restless. Below, in the underworld of this country, is a king who’s crown now collects dust beneath the humans, burning bright yet he is small compared to what he was before.

“Jinu, if your plan were to work, along with demolishing the hunters, I need you to add one more thing to your itinerary.” the flames growled, a smile growing on his face, plotting, scheming on what to do with this misplaced spirit.

The five demons stopped posing, the demons down below in a large crowd even exchanged glances with each other. They knew that Gwi-ma asking for a lot wasn’t abnormal, but to have something be asked alongside his lifelong goal? What could it possibly be?

The man in front, his eyes darted up at his master’s words, Jinu. “And what would that be?”

“I sense a new being up there, a soul who doesn’t belong here. He’s a yokai, that’s all I’m sure of. But I want you to find him and bring him back, if you succeed, I can grant your other members a wish of their own.” The growl in the word ‘members’ unnerved the other four, but they kept a face, not to seem weak.

“A yokai?” A member with bright maroon hair asks thoughtfully, he’s never heard of the words before.

“He’s from a different realm of monsters, he is a possibility of channeling more power.” Anyone could practically feel the greed radiating from his commands, it was sickening, but not something anyone could negotiate out of.

The leader, Jinu, is not one to back down for the sake of his goals, “We’ll do our best.”, a vow alongside his proposal to finish the hunters by using that fuels them against them.

Now, back in the human world, an idol girl sits at the top of a tall building, the live show was a bust all because of her and a strange issue with her voice. Like she was cursed to fail at a vital point in her career, right when everything was looking up for her, the golden honmoon especially.

A second passes after she slams her fists onto the building, her voice rattling in a tone she’s never heard before, demonic, disgusting, revolting. It sends shockwaves across the honmoon, bright magenta washing over the city in front her, it only makes her own heart heavier.

That night, she tries to seem normal and unaffected by the unlucky events, but her band members notice, but after some deflection. They leave the topic to marinate in the air, plus, a new topic grabbed them by the shoulders and basically shook them to pay attention.

Celine had called all three of them, perhaps not a new occurrence, but she always had something strict and important to say, and this time, it was no different.

“Girls, I know you guys must be disheartened by the Golden performance, but we have a bigger thing to worry about.” She starts, Zoey and Mira perk up visibly.

The older woman sighs, “We seem to have an outlier in Korea right now.”

“A what now?”

“There is something here, someone who isn’t supposed to dwell here, it’s not a demon, but if they’re indoctrinated to join them, the honmoon might become weak- if not, non-existent.” She says with a solemn tone.

“What?! A useless honmoon?!” Zoey gasps, shocked and ever so slightly panicking.. Mira puts a finger to her lips to shush the shorter girl.

“So I need you girls to be extra observant, I’m not sure how you’d identify them, but try to look for anomalies in a person, if you find them, keep them away from the existence of demons. I imagine Gwi-Ma is interested in them as well…” Celine explains,

Rumi was the most silent, most likely out of shame of what she had done, desert and abandon a show that was well anticipated by thousands of people. But this news shook her, an oddity that could make or break the honmoon? It puts so much more at stake, makes the hunters more vulnerable if demons find them before they do..

Lastly, within a stolen living room, a yokai stirs, feeling a strange wave of warmth wash over him, he opens his eyes, when he sees that it’s nothing, he yawns and gets up. Starting his nightly routine to go to bed.

Oblivious to damage he could inflict to the species he swore to learn about and adore.

taglist: @tofumiarchives @kaikaikarasu @amery-benson-cvii@the-drowning-dreamer

@simp4myself @zomqiez @pluto-tea @the-atticwitch

am i cooked

[neeeooon]

heyyy omg hella nervous here but I READ THAT CHIGIRI BLACK CAT X READER AND STOPPP I LOVED ITTTT. is there any way you’re going to continue it? no pressure!

I MEANT TO WRITE A PT 2 WHEN I PUBLISHED IT AND FORGOT SO THANK YOU FOR THIS 🖤🖤

reluctant roomie

shapeshifter chigiri hyoma x gn!reader. two for one deal pt 2! crack, reader is broke, chigiri doesn’t understand money, brief mention of a mouse

the weight on your chest was unfamiliar and a bit strange.

for the past two nights, chigiri has been slipping into your bed in cat-form to sleep beside you. you don’t think he knows that when he sleeps, he shifts back into a human.

his breathing was quiet and soft as he slept with his head on your sternum, hands tucked between his cheek and your shirt. you always woke up before him but pretended to be asleep so he could change back into a cat and creep back to his corner of the bed, pretending nothing happened.

the color of is hair surprised you every time you saw him. you figured with him being part black cat or whatever (you weren’t entirely sure how the whole thing worked), his hair would match the midnight black coat.

you tossed a long strand of cherry red hair over the side of your bed right before chigiri looked up at you.

his eyes narrowed into slits, but he seemed disinterested as he stretched before sauntering into the bathroom. when you heard the shower kick on, you figured he’d come out as a human.

as expected, twenty minutes later, there was a man wrapped in towels and a robe standing at the head of your bed. “hair dryer.”

you blinked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. he didn’t. sitting up, you asked, “what?”

“do you have a hair dryer?”

“oh. no, it broke a couple days ago. i’ve been air drying.��

chigiri stepped back in horror. “a couple days?!”

and thus, you put some pants on and introduced chigiri to the shopping mall. it was perfect, actually, since he didn’t have anything other than a bowl that read peanut.

“okay, just so you know, i haven’t been paid since the last time we talked money, so don’t go overboard with the—oh my god.”

chigiri looked over his shoulder from the register, your card in his hand and a pile of very expensive-looking clothing on the counter. “sorry, what was that?”

you huffed at his seemingly innocent expression and patted your suddenly very empty pockets. “cat burglar.”

“that’s rude and you used it wrong. so ha.”

you waited for his items to get bagged before snatching the card back. “it’s rude to steal a broke person’s money and spend it on… what even is this?”

chigiri held the jacket up with pride. “i don’t know. but it’s soft, and i love it.”

sighing, you pressed your fingers hard enough into your forehead to leave imprints. “let’s just get the hair dryer and leave.”

“i’m hungry, though.”

“maybe you should have thought about that before spending my entire paycheck on junk.” you would have been more angry if your stomach wasn’t also rumbling. you had no choice but to spend more money once chigiri offered to search the trash cans for something good.

you sat across from one another as you ate cheap pizza. well, you ate it. chigiri had been smelling and poking at it for the last three minutes. you could feel the veins in your neck aching, threatening to pop, when he pushed his plate around the table.

“didn’t your parents ever teach you not to play with your food?” you asked as you shoved the plate back in front of him. “i paid for that in coins. at least try it.”

huffing oh-so-dramatically, chigiri grimaced when the pizza flopped and managed to take a bite. despite all the hassle he’d been giving you, his eyes sparkled. “oh. it’s good.”

he was going to be the death of you.

☆ 🐈‍⬛

it felt like hours before you finally made it home, your arms sore from carrying all of chigiri’s bags. he skipped into your apartment, empty handed and smiling. “i won’t lie, that was fun!”

“for one of us,” you grumbled as you dropped the bags onto the floor. your head hurt, your eyes hurt, your limbs hurt, everything hurt. chigiri pounced on the piles and sorted through until he found the ugly jacket from before.

looking at it now, it kind of reminded you of his cat coat. the fabric was fur-like and black, but the design was horrendous and it was three sizes too big for the red-head. still, he slipped it on with a wide smile and held his arms out for you to see. “what do you think?”

you had to bite your tongue before gritting out, “it looks comfy.”

chigiri grinned and curled up on the couch while you took everything else out of the bags. you put the hair dryer in the bathroom and folded everything else (clothes and miscellaneous items chigiri charged to your card) into an empty dresser drawer.

too tired to make dinner, you flopped onto the bed and fell asleep before you could even take your jeans off.

☆ 🐈‍⬛

you woke up to panicked squeaking sounds.

slowly opening your eyes, you took five seconds to process the scene in front of you before screaming and falling off the bed.

chigiri sitting next to you in bed. wearing only boxers. with a mouse between his cupped hands. “good morning!”

you looked up from the floor and was surprised to find yourself dressed in pajamas. you probably changed and forgot due to how sleepy you’d been.

pointing a finger at the boy, you shouted, “what is that?!”

chigiri blinked. “a mouse.”

“why is it in my house?!”

“i found it in the garden.” you didn’t have a garden.

cranky from hunger and sore after falling off the bed, you shooed the red-head. “please just take it outside and leave it there.”

chigiri shifted, pulling his cupped hands closer to his face as he inspected the mouse. “but it’s a present…”

“humans don’t like presents like that,” you snapped, biting your tongue when you caught the flash of hurt across his features. sighing, you rubbed your forehead and stood up. “i appreciate the efforts you went through to catch that mouse. next time, though, bring me taiyaki. it’s even shaped like a fish.”

the mention of fish made chigiri beam to brightly you could see the points to his canines. “taiyaki. no mouse. got it.” he ran outside to return the mouse after that, giving you time to redress yourself and get ready for the day.

it would take a long time, and you’d known going into this that helping chigiri would be a challenge, but it was definitely eventful. sometimes, it was even fun.

when you exited the bathroom to find a certain fish-shaped pastry on your bed, you couldn’t help but smile.

[mxrderscenes]

yap session incoming

i think one of the most important things to remember in the apothecary diaries, specifically when disecting relationship dynamics (specifically jinmao but can be said for most relationships maomao has) is that maomao intentionally lies to herself and the people around her, but shes not very good at it.

this is one of the first things we learn about maomao in the series. when we're introduced to the rear palace, we learn that maomao is lying about her abilities to read, write, and create medicine. why does she do this? because maomao believes that ignorance is bliss.

later on in the series, we learn that this mindset came to her from luomen himself. maomao, at this point in the series, believes his word to be god, in a way. his words are her gospel. he is truly the only person she looks up to and she strives to become more like him every single day. she takes all of his wisdom to heart and does her best to follow his advice. luomen told maomao that keeping your head down and keeping your nose out of other peoples business is what keeps you safe. this is why she lies about what she can do, why she keeps her mouth shut unless she has undeniable proof, and why she makes excuses for herself.

and see, she tries to listen to this advice. she really does. but maomao has a few characteristics that make this particular task impossible, these being her insatiable sense of curiousity and her deep sense of justice.

she tells herself that the rear palaces issues are none of her business, but she solves the problems anyways. she knows that she could be beheaded for crashing the ceremonial rights if shes wrong about her theory, but she risks her life anyways. she knows that knowing jinshis true identity could get her killed, but she doesnt move her hand away. instead, she squeezes three times, because she needs to know.

she says she doesnt want to know, she says its none of her business, she worries about all of the things that could go wrong, but she does it anyways. her words and her actions do not line up because she lies to herself.

maomaos not pushing him away because she "doesnt like him," because she really does. when jinshi is being his true childish self, and not the image of the "mature eunuch" he needs to be, she finds herself at peace. shes drawn to him. when jinshi is riding up to the stronghold, and maomao is looking over the battlefield, she sees him and for a second wishes that the person that shes looking at is jinshi. quickly, though, she tells herself that its impossible, even though she knows that its not. but still, (and i HATE that they removed this from the anime,) maomao says that she cant look away form him. she asks why shes so drawn to the man on the battlefield. she tells herself that she cant understand it, but we all know that maomao isnt that dumb. she knows. and when jinshi finally breaks down that door, you can see the way she physically relaxes in his presence, and how SHE is the one to close the distance between them, saying that she missed how it felt being around him.

but why is she lying to herself?

because she knows his true indentity, and has known it for much longer than we're lead to believe. once a theory comes into her head, she cant just stop thinking about it. it continues to spiral, even when she says that she isnt going to think about it. we see this with almost every mystery that maomao solves. she cant stop until her curiousity and sense of justice are satisfied.

she knows who he is, and she knows what comes with that. she knows that this knowledge has the power to end her life, be it from the emperor himself or from the people who may attempt to assassinate her if she gets too close. imperial politics are ruthless and cruel and complicated, and maomao knows this. getting close to jinshi is essentially like putting a target on her back, and she tries to convince herself that it isnt worth it.

but shes failing.

because no matter how much maomao tells herself that it isnt worth it and that she should keep her head down, she never does. not for the palace, not for jinshi, not even for herself or the strangers that she passes on the street.

maomao is a liar, and you cannot believe her words more than her actions, because they contradict each other.

btw this isnt me saying that jinshi is right to push boundaries, because hes not and mr moon prince needs to learn consent. but the take that "maomao doesnt like jinshi" is just wronggggg, and i implore everyone to read the LNs or listen to the audiobooks on youtube, because it is SO much clearer in written format. some things just get lost in translation when switching between different mediums :)

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ strings and satin ( pjs ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 21.3k ⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — finally part two is here !! i had so much fun writing this—soft moments, stolen glances, and all. i hope you guys feel the slow pull between them as much as i did. part three’s already brewing in my head, so pace yourselves loves, we’re only getting started 🤍

⤷ warnings — college au, guitarist!jay, ballerina!reader, college!jay, college!reader, college!enhypen, band!enhypen, slow burn, friends(?) to lovers trope, soft!jay, mutual pining, reader falls first (definitely), domestic undertones, accidental vulnerability, soft tension, unspoken feelings, skinship, fluff, angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — three days. that’s all it takes for the boundaries to shift. one moment it’s just an arrangement—shared hands for the crowd, borrowed smiles for the rumors. the next, it’s late nights spent in quiet kitchens, borrowed jackets that still smell like him, and a warmth that lingers long after the rain has stopped. it’s easy to forget where the act ends and the real thing begins. but then he whispers promises against your hair, and you start to wonder if maybe this isn’t just a game anymore. or, where pretending feels a little too real, and you’re no longer sure if you want him to stop.

Jay walked just close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every now and then, his hand occasionally reaching over to pet Doobu as she purred contently in your arms.

The soft sound of her breathing mixed with your quiet laughter.

“So Heeseung went live on Instagram once,” Jay said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And for some reason—don’t even ask—he picked up my guitar and started messing with it. He thought he was being funny.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, already grinning. “He didn’t.”

Jay nodded, lips twitching like he was trying to suppress a smile. “He did. And then people started tagging me in the comments. I saw it, tuned my guitar back properly.”

That broke you. A laugh bubbled out of your chest as you hugged Doobu closer.

“Oh my god—that’s like… in ballet terms, that’s as bad as when your pointe shoes get laced up wrong. Total violation of personal space.”

Jay raised a brow, amused. “I have no idea what that means, but… yeah. I’ll take your word for it.”

Still smiling, you tilted your head at him. “Do you want to know about ballet?”

“Actually, yeah. I’ve been wondering,” he admitted as you both turned the corner.

“Take a right here,” you said softly, shifting Doobu slightly in your arms so she wouldn’t slip.

Jay followed, his steps slow and unhurried. “So… why ballet?”

You hummed, thoughtful. “I guess… it was something I really liked. When I was younger, I found the performances so beautiful—my mom told me to try it, and I did. I ended up loving it. So… here I am.”

Jay nodded quietly, his dark eyes on you as a faint breeze ruffled his hoodie. Then he tilted his head, voice dropping into that teasing tone you were starting to recognize. “In Decelis too… You must be rich.”

You laughed, shaking your head quickly. “I’m not. I mean—I got in on a scholarship, so… yeah.”

“That just means you’re really good,” Jay said matter-of-factly, and for a moment, his tone carried no teasing—just simple, quiet admiration.

Your cheeks warmed, but you looked away, pointing at the building with large glass windows just ahead. “That’s my dorm. We’re here.”

Jay’s steps slowed as you approached the steps. He opened the door for you with a small smile. “After you.”

“Thank you.” You stepped inside, glancing at him as he lingered at the entrance. “Do you… want to come up? You don’t have to, but—”

Jay’s hand flexed slightly around the paper bags he still carried. “No, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t.” You shook your head, a small grin pulling at your lips. “Come on. Let’s go.”

His eyes flicked to yours for a beat, and then he let out a quiet laugh. “Okay. Just for a bit.”

You led him to the elevator, your slippers making soft sounds against the tiled floor. He followed close behind, pressing the call button. Almost instantly, the elevator dinged and opened.

“Fifth floor, please,” you said as you stepped inside, shifting Doobu so she rested more comfortably in your arms.

Jay pressed the button, his knuckles brushing the panel lightly. The doors closed with a soft hum, the faint reflection of you both visible in the polished metal.

He looked at you briefly, lips quirking in the faintest smile as he spoke.

Jay leaned against the elevator wall as the soft hum of its ascent filled the quiet space.

His reflection in the polished metal flickered faintly as he spoke, voice low and teasing, “You know, if you ever wanna sneak off again, head to the quad. I’ll pick you up.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes going wide as you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him.

“Park Jongseong,” you said, mock scandal dripping from your tone. “That’s so low of you.”

Jay’s grin widened, the sound of his quiet laugh bouncing lightly off the elevator walls. “What? Your cat’s cute. I wouldn’t mind being her getaway driver.”

You huffed, clutching Doobu closer as she nuzzled contentedly against your hoodie. “I know she’s cute,” you admitted begrudgingly, “but she’s such a little troublemaker. I swear she does this on purpose.”

Jay’s hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing over the top of Doobu’s head, scratching gently behind her ears.

“Can’t blame her. She’s got a curious streak… kinda like her owner.”

Before you could retort, the elevator gave a soft ding and the doors slid open to reveal the fifth floor’s warmly lit hallway.

“Come on,” you murmured, stepping out as Jay followed closely behind, his hands now tucked casually into his hoodie pockets.

He glanced around as you led the way down the hall, his eyes flicking to the neatly numbered doors as if committing them all to memory. His gaze lingered for a fraction longer when you stopped at one of the nearer units—Room 507.

You shifted Doobu in your arms, the white furball now half-asleep again as you hesitated at your door.

Heat crept up your ears when you glanced back at Jay, who was watching you with a patient, expectant look.

“Um… could you—uh—hold her for a bit? I just need to unlock the door.”

Jay nodded without hesitation, stepping closer. “Yeah. Give her to me.”

Carefully, you handed Doobu over, your fingers brushing his hoodie sleeve in the process. “Thanks,” you murmured with a small, thankful smile as he adjusted his arms to cradle her gently.

“No problem,” Jay replied softly, his voice warm as Doobu immediately settled into his hold, eyes fluttering shut again.

He looked down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “She’s so relaxed. You’d think I was her actual owner.”

You chuckled nervously, turning back to the door as you fished your keys from your hoodie pocket. The soft jingle echoed in the hallway as you found the right one, slipping it into the lock.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mumbled, cheeks heating as you twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Jay tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Somehow I doubt your ‘mess’ and my ‘mess’ are the same thing.”

You laughed softly as you pushed the door open, the warm scent of vanilla from your room spilling out faintly. “You’d be surprised,” you said, stepping in first to flick on the lights.

The room wasn’t even messy—just lived in. A soft cream throw blanket draped over your small couch, a few books stacked on the coffee table, ballet shoes peeking from under your bed, and a lingering coziness that smelled faintly of your shampoo.

Jay took one step in, Doobu curling lazily against his chest like she’d been with him all her life.

The room wasn’t even messy—just lived in. A soft cream throw blanket was draped lazily over your small couch, the cushions slightly sunken like it was your favorite reading spot.

A sleek TV sat propped up on a modest wooden stand, a small stack of DVDs and game controllers tucked neatly beside it.

Near the far corner, a vanity mirror framed in glowing bulbs sat atop a dresser cluttered with skincare bottles and a stray pair of earrings.

Fairy lights dangled loosely along the ceiling, their warm yellow glow casting soft shadows across the space. A kitchenette hugged one wall, clean and minimal, with a mug drying upside down on the counter.

A bookshelf stood proudly near your bed, filled with everything from classic literature to ballet history texts, a few dog-eared novels stacked horizontally where they no longer fit.

But it was the wall above your bed that caught Jay’s eye—an entire collage of polaroids and ribbon cutouts, little scraps of you.

Friends laughing in candid shots, blurry pictures of stage lights from performances, faded ribbons from past competitions pinned carefully like trophies. It was vibrant and soft all at once—like you.

Jay blinked, taking in the details quietly, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

“Messy,” he said finally, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure. This looks like a Pinterest board threw up in here.”

You froze halfway through tugging off your hoodie, cheeks heating. “Shut up,” you hissed, ducking your head to hide your fluster. “It’s… cozy, okay? I like it this way.”

Jay smirked, bending slightly as Doobu let out a soft meow in his arms. “You’re really bad at taking compliments, you know that?”

Rolling your eyes, you took Doobu back into your arms, the little cat stretching her paws lazily before nuzzling into your hoodie again.

“I’m great at taking compliments,” you said, voice muffled as you buried your face briefly into Doobu’s fur. “I just… filter which ones I believe.”

Jay hummed like he wanted to say something more, but instead he leaned casually against the doorframe, hands sliding into the pockets of his cream trousers.

You cleared your throat, setting Doobu gently down on the bed. “Uh—you can… sit down, you know. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jay arched a brow, a teasing glint flickering in his eyes as he pushed off the frame slightly. “You’re telling me to sit down like I’m the guest of honor or something.”

You exhaled sharply, trying not to let your fluster show as you reached for his wrist. “I am telling you to sit. Here. Couch.”

He let you pull him with no resistance, his long fingers still half-tucked in his pockets as his amused smirk grew. “Okay, okay,” he murmured as you stopped him in front of the couch and all but shoved him down gently.

“There. Stay put.”

Jay chuckled as he sank into the cushions, legs spreading comfortably as his arm draped along the backrest.

“Bossy,” he teased lightly, tilting his head to watch you grab fresh clothes from the rack beside your vanity.

You shot him a look over your shoulder, your face already burning. “Don’t. Start.”

He only raised his hands in mock surrender, still wearing that faint grin as you disappeared into the bathroom with your clothes.

For a moment, silence settled in the room again, save for the faint tick of the clock and the low hum of the air conditioning. Jay let his eyes wander, his hands idly drumming against his thighs.

The first thing he noticed was the line of Dior lip glosses neatly arranged on your vanity. He leaned his head back slightly and hummed under his breath.

“Dior, huh? Someone’s got taste…” His gaze swept across the space again, taking in the soft pastel palette of your room, the fairy lights draped carelessly above, the plush throw pillows piled on the couch.

“Talk about contrast,” he murmured, a quiet laugh escaping him as he thought about his own room—dark walls, a clutter of guitar picks and stray lyric sheets, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air.

Yours felt lighter, softer. Like breathing fresh air after being cooped up too long.

The sound of the bathroom door clicking open snapped him from his thoughts. He straightened slightly as you stepped out, now dressed in light-washed jeans, a black shirt peeking from under a cream hoodie.

Your hair was quickly brushed and your skin glowed faintly in the soft light, a Dior gloss—cherry pink—already in your hand as you dabbed it on without much thought.

“Sorry for making you wait,” you said sheepishly, meeting his eyes with a small smile.

Jay shook his head as he rose to his feet. “You were quick. Don’t worry about it.” His tone was softer now, almost careful.

You grinned faintly, slipping your gloss back into the vanity drawer. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

As you scooped your keys from the table, you turned to Doobu still curled up on your bed. Pointing a stern finger at her, you said, “No more outside time for you, Doobu. I mean it.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh behind you, reaching for the door as you switched off the main light and let the fairy lights cast their warm glow over the room.

The soft twinkle reflected in his eyes as he glanced back briefly, committing the sight to memory.

You locked the door with a click, turning to him. “Where to?”

You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your laughter as Jay animatedly waved his hands around from across the small ramen shop table.

“No, no—listen,” he said, leaning forward with an exaggeratedly serious expression, his cap casting a faint shadow over his eyes.

“Jungwon was like—” He cleared his throat and pitched his voice higher, imitating the younger’s slightly frantic tone. “‘Come on, Jay. Come on, Jay. Don’t say anything! Stop talking, stop—stop—’”

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking your chopsticks off the table. “Oh my god, stop—you’re too good at that.”

Jay grinned, his eyes crinkling as he shrugged innocently.

“What? That’s exactly what he sounded like. I swear I thought he was going to faint when I said, ‘oh yeah, we’re working on—’” He clamped his hand over his mouth dramatically, earning another fit of laughter from you.

“You’re really one of the funniest people I’ve ever met,” you said between laughs, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jay leaned back in his chair, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. “That’s an achievement. I’ll take the trophy now.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as you reached for the menu. “Seriously, though… almost leaking your own song?”

“It wasn’t even on purpose!” he defended, throwing his hands up slightly. “I guess I was just… too excited for College Week.”

You raised a brow at him, lips twitching. “Oh? You guys have another song?”

He nodded, idly spinning his water glass between his fingers. “Yeah. This time it’s a song called Shout Out. It’s more sentimental than Karma.”

“That’s so fitting,” you teased, glancing down at the menu—only to stiffen slightly at the prices listed beside each dish.

Before you could even open your mouth, Jay’s voice cut in smoothly. “Hey. Don’t think too hard about it. Pick whatever you’re craving—I got it, yeah?”

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him, lips parting to protest, but he raised a hand like he’d already anticipated it.

“Nope. Don’t even start,” he said firmly, a playful edge in his tone. “Consider it my apology for dragging you and Doobu out so late.”

You let out a sigh but smiled anyway. “Fine. But you’re seriously too much sometimes, Jay.”

Jay smirked, resting his chin in his palm as his eyes softened slightly on you. “Maybe. But admit it, I’m fun company.”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered with a grin as you finally pointed at your choice on the menu. “Okay. I’ll get the miso ramen. And—uh—a side of gyoza?”

“Good choice,” Jay said with an approving nod before glancing at the menu himself. “I’ll get the tonkatsu. Extra spicy. And another side of gyoza. Can’t go wrong with those.”

As the waiter came to take your orders, you found yourself glancing around the small shop. The faint hum of soft jazz played overhead, the warm light above your table casting a gentle glow on Jay’s features as he absentmindedly fiddled with his chopsticks.

When the waiter left, Jay leaned back comfortably again. “So,” he said, that same soft smile still tugging at his lips.

“Tell me more about your performances,” Jay said as he leaned forward slightly, propping his elbow on the table. “You’re going to perform during College Week too, right?”

You nodded, fiddling absently with your chopsticks. “Yeah, I mean… we perform before you guys every year. Like a… opening act?”

Jay’s lips curved into a teasing smirk. “Oh—you’re the ones with the overly lullabying music?”

You gasped dramatically, swatting lightly at the air between you. “Excuse me?” you said with a laugh.

“I guess we are. But hey, someone’s gotta make the crowd feel all dreamy before you guys come in and break their eardrums.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

You twirled your straw in your glass. “Though—I mean, I guess this year’s different. We’re finally performing a pretty huge production piece. Something more memorable.”

Jay’s gaze stayed fixed on you, one elbow propped lazily on the table, his fingers idly tapping against his water glass.

“And I guess…” you continued, lips curving into a small smile, “I have a reason to stay later this time. Since you guys will be performing after us anyway.”

That made him pause, his brows raising slightly as he tilted his head at you. “Wait—you’ve never watched any of our performances?”

You blinked at him, chewing lightly on your bottom lip before tilting your head in return. “Is that… a bad thing?” you asked, voice teasing.

Jay shook his head almost immediately, a faint laugh slipping out. “No,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer. “Just the more reason for me to do better this year. Since you’ll be watching.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and you ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat creeping up your cheeks. But judging from the small, knowing smile tugging at his lips, he definitely noticed.

Still, he didn’t comment—just let the moment hang there gently between you, the quiet hum of the ramen shop filling the space.

The waiter arrived then, placing two steaming bowls of ramen on the table, the rich aroma of broth and spices instantly making your stomach growl.

“Tonkatsu for you, miso for you. Enjoy,” he said politely, setting down a plate of golden-brown gyoza as well.

“Thanks,” you and Jay said in near perfect unison, glancing at each other with faint smiles after.

Jay leaned back slightly, rubbing his palms together. “Alright—let’s eat.” His eyes flicked mischievously toward the gyoza. “But fair warning—if I finish first, I’m stealing those.”

You raised a brow, feigning offense as you adjusted your chopsticks. “In your dreams, Park Jongseong. Those are mine.”

He grinned, the corners of his lips tugging higher than you’d seen all week. “Yeah? Watch me.”

The two of you dug in, the clink of chopsticks and soft laughter between bites filling your little corner of the shop.

Neither of you noticed at first—not the subtle shift of heads from tables nearby, nor the quiet gasps as a few Decelis students did a double take.

“Is that—”

“Holy shit, it is.”

“Park Jongseong. With a girl? And he’s smiling?”

Phones slipped subtly out of pockets as some of the students tried to sneak photos without being obvious.

After all, it wasn’t every day you saw the stoic-faced guitarist of Decelis’ most popular band—the one who rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary—leaning forward over a bowl of miso ramen, laughing and teasing a girl like he’d known her forever.

One table, full of arts majors, whispered animatedly:

“Is that (L/N) (Y/N)? She’s in our department, right?”

“She’s in ballet. I think… I’ve seen her with Kazuha.”

“No way… he likes her?”

Meanwhile, Jay remained completely oblivious—or maybe he just didn’t care. His long fingers twirled noodles effortlessly, his posture relaxed, head slightly tilted as he listened to you animatedly talk about pointe shoes.

At a corner table, three students sat hunched over their phones, the glow of their screens reflected in wide eyes.

“Holy shit, zoom in—is that really Park Jongseong?” one whispered, pinching the screen to enlarge a blurry photo of Jay’s profile.

“It is! Look at the cap and the hoodie—he literally wore that after practice last week,” another hissed back, their tone urgent like they were breaking major news.

“Isn’t this… kind of a good source of gossip?” the first said, eyes darting nervously between Jay and the girl across from him—you.

The third leaned in closer, whispering like they were plotting a heist. “I mean… you could post it on the school’s gossip page. Everyone follows it.”

“Won’t they know it’s us?” the second asked, glancing around anxiously as though Jay might suddenly sense their scheming.

“You can send anonymous posts, dumbass,” the third snorted quietly. “Half the juicy stuff on there’s from people like us.”

They all turned their heads slightly in unison, pretending to sip on their drinks while sneaking another glance at you two.

Jay was laughing softly, head tilted back slightly, and you were smiling so wide it made them freeze for a second.

“…Do you think they’re, like… dating?” one muttered, leaning so far forward their chair creaked.

“Who wouldn’t date him? Look at him.”

Another girl, barely glancing up from her screen, muttered under her breath, “Well… I already submitted it. God, I’m just hoping I don’t get hunted down for this.”

“I—” she lowered her voice even further, leaning in like they were plotting international espionage. “I sent the photo to the gossip page. Anonymous, obviously.” She gestured vaguely to her phone, its screen dimming before anyone else could see proof.

“You’re insane,” the second whispered sharply, eyes wide as they darted between Jay’s table and their friend. “What if it blows up? You know how people get when it’s Jay.”

The third girl bit her lip, bouncing her leg nervously under the table. “This could actually start a war. Like—Decelis girls are rabid for him.”

The first scoffed but kept her voice low. “Please. He’s the one laughing and smiling with her. No one’s gonna blame us.”

The morning air was crisp as you walked beside Kazuha, her long hair tied in a neat ponytail that swayed slightly with each step.

She was already deep in thought, hands gesturing as she discussed the adjustments needed for the ensemble positions in one of the key scenes of your upcoming performance.

“So for that transition after the lift,” she said, brows furrowing, “I think we need to change the diagonal line to a V formation. It’ll fill the stage better once the curtains fully open.”

You nodded, hugging your jacket tighter around you as the cool air bit at your cheeks. “Yeah, that makes sense. The current one feels… a little too cramped for the audience’s perspective.”

Yunjin, walking on your other side with a stack of papers tucked under her arm, glanced up from the rehearsal notes she was scanning. “The performance is in, like… a week and a half, right?”

Kazuha sighed softly but nodded. “Yes. And we still have a lot to go through.”

You groaned, shifting the weight of your dance bag on your shoulder. “Don’t remind me. I can’t even rest without getting yelled at by our coach every morning. I swear she’s got some kind of sixth sense.”

That earned a soft laugh from Yunjin as she flipped to another page. “She probably does. Remember last year? She found out about Chaewon’s sprained ankle before Chaewon even told us.”

Kazuha let out a small laugh too, shaking her head. “Scary but… effective.”

You three turned into the university’s main gates, the familiar sight of towering glass windows and pristine hallways greeting you.

Your steps echoed faintly against the polished floors, but it wasn’t the sound that caught your attention.

It was the stares.

They were subtle at first—lingering glances from groups of students leaning against lockers, hushed whispers trailing in your wake.

You straightened your posture instinctively, forcing your focus on Kazuha as she continued talking about stage placements.

“So, we might have to ask the tech team to adjust the spotlights too,” she said, not noticing the way your eyes briefly flicked to a group of students murmuring to each other by the bulletin board.

“Mm… yeah,” you said quickly, nodding as if to ground yourself in the conversation.

“And maybe we should suggest they do a dry run with us next practice? Just so we’re sure the lighting cues match the music.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Kazuha agreed, her lips quirking upward slightly as she adjusted her tote bag.

Yunjin hummed in agreement too, her eyes still scanning her notes. “I’ll bring it up to the coach later.”

You exhaled quietly, trying to shake off the feeling of eyes on your back. You forced yourself to keep pace with your friends, asking Kazuha another question.

“Do you know if the props department finalized the backdrop yet? Or are we still waiting on their approval?”

Kazuha tilted her head slightly as she thought. “They sent a draft last night. I’ll show it to you later—it’s actually pretty nice.”

“Perfect. Maybe we’ll finally stop tripping over the old backdrops this year,” Yunjin said dryly as she shifted her papers and reached for the door to your first class. She pushed it open, holding it just long enough for you and Kazuha to slip inside behind her.

You were thankful—at least you had this class together. If there was one silver lining to your packed schedule, it was that the three of you always had at least one class to survive as a unit.

But the moment your group stepped in, the atmoshphere in the room changed.

It was subtle at first, like a hush spreading through the front rows, but then a ripple of murmurs followed—soft giggles, whispers too quick to catch, a few phones held lower than usual like people didn’t want to be caught staring.

It felt like the room had somehow gone quiet and loud at the same time.

You furrowed your brows but kept walking, following Kazuha and Yunjin to your usual seats near the middle. Your steps felt heavier with every glance thrown your way—like everyone suddenly remembered you existed.

Yunjin, ever the bold one, plopped her bag down and raised a brow, glancing at one of your classmates sitting nearby. “Okay… what’s going on?”

The girl blinked at her, hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You didn’t hear?”

You’d barely set your bag down when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning, you found a small group of students peeking at you from behind their seats, wide-eyed and grinning.

“(Y/N)!” one of them whispered excitedly, like they were sharing a secret. “You never told us you were dating the guitarist of Enhypen!”

You blinked. “…I’m sorry—what?”

The group tittered among themselves, holding back laughter like they’d been dying to bring this up.

“You and Jay!” another chimed in, phone clutched tight as if they were ready to pull up evidence. “You were seen eating ramen together last night—like together together.”

Your brows shot up, and you shook your head so quickly it made your hair sway. “Wait, hold on. I’m not—”

“Then how come you two were on a date last night?” someone piped up from the front row, a smug tilt to their voice.

Your head whipped toward them, your brows furrowing even deeper. “Wait—what? How did you even know about that?”

Another voice chimed in, half whispering but loud enough for everyone to hear. “(Y/N)… there were pictures.”

Kazuha’s head snapped up from where she was unzipping her ballet tote, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What pictures?” she asked calmly, though her tone held an edge sharp enough to cut glass.

Before you could even react, a phone was suddenly shoved in your face. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked on the screen.

It was grainy, taken from across the ramen shop, but clear enough. You and Jay. Sitting across from each other.

Your hand covering your mouth mid-laugh while Jay leaned forward, his knuckles resting casually under his chin as he smiled at you.

The warm lights of the shop softened everything, making the scene look far too intimate—romantic even.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “What… where did you even—”

“An anonymous sender,” someone else piped up behind you, sounding far too entertained. “It got posted on the university gossip page this morning.”

Yunjin, standing beside you, let out a sharp laugh—not out of humor but disbelief—as she snatched the phone from the girl’s hand. “Are you serious right now?” she said, scrolling through the post with narrowed eyes.

“This is what Decelis students are doing with their lives? Playing paparazzi?”

Kazuha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as her gaze swept over the room. “So let me get this straight—you’re all making up relationship rumors over one picture of them eating ramen?”

“It wasn’t just ramen!” a boy in the back said, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “There’s another picture! He even walked her back to her dorm. And—”

“Enough!” Yunjin snapped, slamming the phone down onto the nearest desk, making a few students jump. Her eyes darted back to you, voice softening slightly.

“(Y/N), don’t let this get to you. You know how fast this place eats up any ‘scandal.’”

You exhaled shakily, your face burning as you forced a small laugh. “It’s… fine. Let them think whatever they want. It’s not like it’s true anyway.”

Kazuha placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her voice calm and steady. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. They’re the ones crossing the line.”

You nodded slowly, biting down the retort building in your throat. What was even the point?

Anything you said now would only feed into their gossip. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line and lowered your gaze, forcing the words down.

“Yeah,” you murmured faintly, though your voice lacked conviction. “You’re right.”

Kazuha’s thumb rubbed small circles against your shoulder before she pulled her hand away, slipping into her seat beside you.

Yunjin, on the other side, gave your arm a reassuring pat as you sank into your chair, the weight of every pair of eyes still prickling at your skin.

“Just breathe, okay?” Yunjin whispered under her breath, leaning slightly toward you as she began to pull her own papers from her tote.

“This will blow over. It always does.”

You offered her a small, tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before dropping your bag onto the desk with a soft thud.

Slowly, methodically, you began pulling out your notebook, your pen case, your planner—anything to keep your hands occupied as your brain tried to ignore the hiss of whispers that still laced the air around you.

“Didn’t think she was his type…”

“She’s probably just using him to get clout.”

“Or maybe he’s the one using her.”

The murmurs continued, hushed but cruel, as though you weren’t even there.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you uncapped your pen, the tip pressing too hard against the paper as you absently doodled a small flower in the corner of your notes.

“Hey,” Kazuha said softly, turning in her seat to face you. “Ignore them. They don’t know anything.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes still fixed on the messy little flower sketch blooming under your pen. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” she said simply, her voice a quiet anchor.

Yunjin leaned her elbow on the desk, glaring subtly at the students across the room who hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at your table.

“God, the audacity of people here. You laugh with one guy, and suddenly you’re Decelis’ hottest headline.”

“Yunjin—” you started, but she waved you off.

“No, seriously. Let’s see them try saying this crap when Jay himself walks in here. Bet they’d choke on their words,” she muttered, flipping through her papers a little too forcefully.

You forced a laugh at that, though your cheeks burned with unease. “He’s not going to walk in here. This isn’t even his class.”

But even as the words left your lips, a flicker of dread pooled in your stomach at the thought.

What if he heard the whispers and saw the looks and thought… you’d started them?

You shoved the thought down and focused on underlining the date on your planner with shaking hands.

You grumbled under your breath, fingers dragging harshly through your hair before you pressed both hands over your face, willing your nerves to settle.

Your lunch sat cold and forgotten in front of you, the kimchi barely touched except for the absentminded pokes you’d made with your chopsticks.

Eunchae, sitting across from you, watched quietly with knitted brows, her spoon clinking softly against her bowl.

“Hey…” she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the cafeteria.

Before you could respond, a sharp, irritated voice cut through.

“What?”

Your head snapped up just in time to see Chaewon glaring daggers at a group of passing students. The group, caught in her icy stare, immediately looked away and scurried off like startled mice.

You blinked, startled at her sudden bite. “Chaewon…” you murmured. “You don’t have to scare everyone.”

She sighed, breaking her glare as her eyes softened on you. “You’re too nice for your own good.”

Kazuha, sitting beside her, nodded solemnly as she stabbed at her salad. “She’s right. If you don’t put them in their place, they’ll keep thinking they can talk about you like that.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh, staring back down at your tray. “I don’t want to make things worse…”

Before Kazuha could even open her mouth to argue, a shift in the room’s atmosphere made you freeze.

It was like someone had blanketed the entire cafeteria in a thick hush. Conversations faltered. Spoons hovered midair. Heads began to turn, whispers threading their way from table to table.

You frowned slightly, confused, until Yunjin tilted her chin subtly toward the entrance.

“Don’t freak out,” she murmured.

But then you saw them.

Seven boys—each effortlessly drawing attention without even trying. They strolled into the cafeteria with unbothered expressions, eyes straight ahead as if the stares and hushed gossip didn’t exist.

Your stomach flipped violently as your eyes caught on a familiar figure in a black bomber jacket and lightwash jeans.

Jay.

As the group cut through the rows of tables, Heeseung cracked a grin at something Jungwon muttered. Jake ruffled Ni-ki’s hair before Ni-ki swatted him away. Sunghoon trailed behind, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

But then Jay slowed.

Halfway through the cafeteria, he casually bid the others goodbye, gesturing toward an empty table near the windows. The others gave him nods, and he peeled off—heading straight for your table.

You could’ve sworn your soul left your body.

“Oh no,” you whispered, staring down at your untouched kimchi like it held the answers to life.

“This is it. He doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore. He’s going to say it’s better if we don’t talk.”

Yunjin moved closer to you, catching your panicked expression.

Her sharp eyes flicked to Jay as he approached with long, unhurried strides. “Hey. Breathe. It doesn’t look like he’s about to bite your head off.”

But you couldn’t move—not as he stopped right beside your table, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes soft but unreadable as he looked down at you.

“Hey,” Jay said, his voice warm. Softer than you expected. “Do you want to talk?”

Your head shot up, eyes wide in surprise as your lips parted soundlessly. “I—”

Your friends all exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from smug to encouraging.

Chaewon arched a brow at you meaningfully. Yunjin gave you a small nudge with her elbow. “Go on.”

Kazuha smiled faintly, folding her hands on the table. “We’ll keep your food safe.”

Your throat felt tight as you glanced between Jay and your friends. His gaze didn’t waver—not impatient, not demanding, just patient. Waiting.

Finally, you nodded once, small and tentative. “Y-Yeah… okay.”

He smiled, relief flashing across his features before he stepped aside slightly to give you space.

You pushed your chair back slowly, heart thundering as you stood. “Sorry,” you mumbled to your friends, though you weren’t sure what for.

“Don’t be,” Chaewon said with a teasing smirk. “Text us if we need to drag you back.”

“Or if we need to fight,” Yunjin added with a wink.

You shot them a flustered look before following Jay as he led the way out of the cafeteria, his pace unhurried. You could feel the weight of countless stares on your back as you went, whispers blooming like wildfire in your wake.

Then, out of nowhere, you felt it—a warm, reassuring hand settling lightly against the small of your back.

Your breath hitched. Your steps faltered for half a second.

Jay leaned down slightly, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath by your ear as he murmured, voice low and steady, “Ignore them. They don’t deserve any of your attention.”

You stiffened for a moment, not out of discomfort but from the way your heart stuttered in your chest.

Slowly, you turned your head up to him, your voice barely above a whisper, tinted with curiosity. “Then, who does?”

Jay glanced down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes softened as he tilted his head ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against the edge of your blouse.

“Me,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your cheeks flamed, heat crawling all the way to the tips of your ears.

But surprisingly, you didn’t move away. You let him guide you gently, his hand remaining in place only long enough to steer you past the stares and into quieter hallways.

The sound of your sneakers against the polished floor filled the silence as you both walked, the hum of vending machines and distant chatter fading with each step.

The tension in your chest eased little by little, though your mind refused to stop replaying the warmth of his hand on your back and the casual confidence of his words.

Finally, Jay stopped in front of a plain wooden door tucked into a quieter corner of the building. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocking it with a faint click before glancing back at you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now.

You stepped inside carefully, your eyes scanning the empty room.

The fluorescent lights flickered to life above, revealing chairs pushed neatly against the walls and two lone seats set in the middle—almost like a makeshift interview setup. A faint scent of fresh paper and disinfectant lingered in the air.

Jay followed you in, letting the door close with a muted thud behind him. “This room’s usually like this,” he said casually, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs.

“They use it for business proposal presentations… or council meetings when the big room’s full.”

He gestured toward one of the two chairs, his expression easygoing. “Sit. Please.”

You hesitated for a beat before moving forward and sinking into the seat, clutching your hands nervously in your lap.

Jay took the other chair across from you, leaning back slightly as he rested one ankle on his knee, fingers lacing loosely in his lap.

For a moment, the only sound between you was the faint buzz of the lights above. Then Jay exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his tone calm and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you.

You inhaled shakily, eyes falling to your lap where your fingers were fiddling nervously with the edge of your blouse. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Jay didn’t push. He stayed still, leaning slightly forward in his chair as if closing the gap between you would make the words come easier.

“Everything’s happening too fast,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it feels like my life, my choices—suddenly became everybody’s business.”

Your words cracked faintly at the end, and you swallowed hard, forcing back the tightness in your chest as you finally dared to look up at him. Your eyes were glassy, a sheen of tears catching the sterile light.

Jay’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression tender as he leaned in closer. He sighed softly.

“Is this how you usually feel?” you asked, voice small and unsure.

He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out a neatly folded black handkerchief. Without a word, he held it out to you.

You blinked at it before murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” and taking it hesitantly.

“Yes,” Jay said finally, his thumb brushing against his palm as if grounding himself.

“But that doesn’t mean I let it get to me. I don’t care about their noise when they don’t even know me.”

He hesitated for a breath before his hand reached across the small gap between you, gently closing over yours where it gripped the handkerchief too tightly.

His touch was warm and calming, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he spoke again.

“(Y/N), I know they’re spouting bullshit out there. Gossip is just… gossip. They don’t know anything about you. Or me.”

You sniffled, trying to lighten the thick air between you. “Says the famous one,” you teased weakly, your lips tugging up just slightly.

Jay let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and warm in the quiet room.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, his smile softening as he tugged the handkerchief gently from your hold.

Before you could react, he leaned in a little closer, his hand deft and surprisingly tender as he dabbed under your lashes, catching the tears that had managed to escape.

“Stop crying now,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with a hint of teasing. “I pulled you away to talk to you, not make you cry, you know.”

A small laugh bubbled out of you, watery and embarrassed, as you lowered your gaze. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Jay shook his head slightly, his dark eyes still fixed on you as he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket.

Then he leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing against his knee as he exhaled through his nose. “I have a proposal.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A proposal?”

His lips quirked—not quite a smirk, but something softer, almost shy. “Yeah. How about we give them something real to talk about?”

You blinked, tilting your head slightly as your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Jay’s gaze flicked to the side for a second, his fingers tapping against his thigh nervously. “Well… only if you’re comfortable with it. And I—I don’t want to force you into anything, okay? Like, if it’s too weird or—”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped as you reached forward, your fingers brushing his arm lightly. “Jay, calm down.”

He stuttered to a stop, his cheeks blooming a faint shade of red as his lips parted. “Sorry… I just—I mean…” His voice dipped lower as he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment.

“What if we fake date?”

Your brows shot up, surprise written all over your face. “Fake date?” you repeated, leaning back slightly in your seat, head tilting as you regarded him.

“How is that going to help?”

Jay sat up straighter, determination replacing some of his earlier hesitation. “It will. Think about it—if we own up to it, maybe people will stop talking. They’ll stop whispering and speculating because there won’t be anything left for them to ‘discover.’”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly. “All they’ve talked about this morning was me and you.”

Your lips parted in shock. “You’ve heard that too?”

He shrugged, his expression wry. “They weren’t exactly subtle.” His hand shifted, propping against the armrest of his chair as he leaned his chin into his palm, eyes fixed on you with quiet expectation.

“So… are you in?”

You glanced down at your hands for a moment, thoughts swirling. Part of you knew it was risky—dangerous even—letting people believe something that wasn’t true.

But at the same time, maybe it could help. If you and Jay played into the rumor, controlled the narrative, maybe the stares and whispers would die down faster.

And—your mind whispered traitorously—if it’s with Jay, would it really be so bad?

Your eyes flicked back to him slowly, his posture so relaxed yet his eyes holding just a flicker of nervousness. You nodded once, small but certain.

Jay’s brows lifted a fraction. “Wait—that’s a yes?”

A small laugh bubbled from your chest, easing some of the tension in the room. “It’s a yes.”

“Oh god,” Jay muttered, letting out a relieved laugh as he leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands for a second. “Great. Because this would’ve been really embarrassing otherwise.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Jay…” you said with a laugh, watching as he peeked at you through his fingers, still looking half-shy and half-relieved.

“What?” he said, dropping his hands and smiling sheepishly. “You don’t understand—if you’d said no, I’d have had to transfer schools or something.”

“Oh, come on,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a soft laugh. “You’d survive.”

Jay lowered his hands, the grin still tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “You do realize people see me as some emo guitarist with no heart, right?”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him as your smile lingered. “I don’t.”

He blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in your tone. Then—just faintly—his lips curled into a small, quiet smile that didn’t quite reach his usual confident smirk.

It was softer. It was real.

Jay didn’t say anything else. Instead, he stood up smoothly, extending his hand toward you. “Come on.”

You blinked at his outstretched hand, then placed yours in his, letting him pull you up.

“What now?” you asked curiously, steadying yourself as he grabbed his black jacket draped over the back of his chair.

He stepped closer—close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his cologne—and carefully draped the jacket over your shoulders.

The fabric was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry. His fingers lingered for a moment as he adjusted it, tugging the lapels gently until you were snug in the oversized material.

You blinked up at him, flustered. “Jay…?”

He met your gaze, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. “We do this naturally,” he said, voice low but steady.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you slid your arms properly through the jacket sleeves, the oversized fit practically swallowing you whole.

“There,” Jay said softly, satisfied as he took a small step back to admire his handiwork.

Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed your hand again, his long fingers curling loosely around yours. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You let out a surprised laugh as he tugged you gently toward the door. “Wait—where are we going?”

“What’s your next class?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with an easy grin.

“Performance training. Fourth floor,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart was thudding at the casual way he held your hand.

“Perfect,” he said simply. Jay pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, locking the room behind you with a soft click.

As the two of you stepped into the quiet hallway, his thumb brushed idly against the back of your hand, sending a small spark of warmth up your arm.

“You know,” he mused lightly as you walked, “people are going to lose their minds when they see us.”

You shot him a teasing glance, hugging his jacket closer to yourself. “And you’re okay with that?”

Jay looked down at you, his smile curling mischievously now. “Let them talk. Isn’t that the point?”

You could only laugh, shaking your head at his words, the sound soft but real. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, letting him tug you gently toward the nearest elevator.

“Unbelievably charming?” Jay teased without missing a beat, glancing back at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Unbelievably something,” you retorted, hugging his jacket a little tighter around your shoulders.

The elevator doors slid open with a chime, revealing an almost full car of students. The hum of conversations dulled instantly when you both stepped in, as if the air had been sucked out of the space.

You could feel the weight of their stares burning into your back, whispers beginning to bloom like wildfire again—but you and Jay? You didn’t so much as flinch.

If anything, Jay’s grip on your hand only tightened as he subtly moved his body closer to yours, his arm brushing yours in the cramped space.

“What room?” he asked you quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear over the faint hum of the elevator.

You tilted your head slightly toward him. “Room 408.”

He nodded, his thumb rubbing lazily over the back of your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The small, absentminded gesture made your chest tighten for reasons you couldn’t quite place.

You caught sight of your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator walls—his black jacket still draped over your shoulders, your hands linked, his posture casual yet protective.

You wondered, briefly, if this was what it might look like if it weren’t fake.

The elevator chimed again, the doors sliding open on the fourth floor. Jay stepped out first but didn’t let go of your hand, tugging you gently along.

The whispers started again behind you as the doors closed, but you barely heard them this time.

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was six in the evening and the studio was buzzing with muted conversations, the faint squeak of ballet shoes against polished wood, and the soft shuffle of fabric as dancers adjusted their skirts.

You nodded eagerly, brushing a stray hair from your face as your coach clapped her hands loudly.

“Alright, dancers—positions! Let’s clean the second half from the top,” she called, her voice stern yet warm. “And please—fingers! Hands are not claws. You’re not hunting prey.”

A few girls giggled softly at her remark, and you couldn’t help but smile too as you wiped the sheen of sweat forming on your forehead with the edge of your sleeve.

You were about to walk back to the center when your coach’s eyes caught yours. She raised her hand and beckoned you over.

“(Y/N), come here a second.”

You jogged toward her, the sound of your slippers padding lightly against the floor. “What’s the matter, coach?” you asked, catching your breath as you stopped in front of her.

She smiled kindly, her hands folded behind her back. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. Actually, I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind helping me out.”

Your brows furrowed slightly in curiosity. “Of course. What do you need?”

“Well…” She leaned in just a little, speaking low so only you could hear.

“After practice, would you and Yunjin mind getting everyone’s measurements for the final fittings? I need them sent over tonight so the costume department has time to adjust. I’d do it myself, but…” she gestured to the clipboard in her hand with a small sigh, “I’m staying back for a meeting after this.”

You nodded instantly. “Not at all, coach. I can handle it.”

“Perfect. Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a lifesaver.” She patted your shoulder briefly before straightening.

“Now get back into formation before I change my mind about calling you a sweetheart.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you jogged back toward your place.

The coach clapped her hands again, her eyes sweeping over the group like a hawk. “Alright—last run for today! I want grace, I want strength, I want artistry. And no, before you ask—falling out of a pirouette does not count as artistry.”

Groans rippled through the room, but you all fell back into your spots, shoulders lifting as you prepared.

Your chest rose and fell in rhythm as you lifted your arms, letting your body melt into the choreography. The music filled your lungs, your legs burning slightly as you held your arabesque a beat longer than usual.

“Good, good,” your coach’s voice echoed over the melody.

“(Y/N), mind your port de bras—don’t let it droop. Kazuha, sharper in the turns! And everyone—remember, this isn’t just steps. Tell me the story!”

The floor creaked faintly under your weight as you moved, sweat trailing down the back of your neck, but you didn’t falter.

Not when college week was so close. Not when this performance mattered so much.

As the music came to its tender close, you exhaled deeply, chest heaving as you dropped your arms gently.

Your coach clapped once. “Better. Much better. That’s the energy I want! Take five, then we’ll cool down.”

You bent slightly, hands on your knees as you caught your breath, already running through the routine in your mind again.

From across the studio, Yunjin—clipboard in hand, hair tied in a loose bun—flashed you a thumbs up.

Around you, the room hummed with life again as the dancers dispersed—some chatting in clusters, others flopping onto the floor in dramatic exhaustion.

“Kazuha, please,” you heard Chaewon wail from somewhere to your right. “I still have energy for at least another hour!���

“You’ve been dancing for four,” Kazuha said calmly, pressing her hand to Chawon’s shoulder like she was trying to ground a hyperactive child. “Sit down before you combust.”

You stifled a laugh and made your way over to Yunjin, clutching your water bottle like a lifeline. She was scribbling something on her clipboard, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying not to startle her. “Coach asked me to rope you into measurement duty later.”

Yunjin looked up, eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh really? She knows I’m too much of a pushover to say no.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “We can do it tomorrow if that’s okay with you. I mean, we’re both dead tired—”

But Yunjin shook her head before you could even finish. “No need.” She made another quick note on her clipboard and clicked her pen shut.

You blinked at her, confused. “No need? What do you mean?”

She tucked the pen behind her ear and gave you a breezy grin.

“I’ve already got it handled. I’ll coordinate with the other members of the costume department tonight. I’ll send out a group chat to set up measurement stations tomorrow. You don’t need to fuss over it.”

“Yunjin…” You let out a heavy sigh, guilt tugging at your chest. “I was supposed to help with that. Now I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” she said simply, waving you off as she slung the clipboard under her arm.

“You’re already carrying enough. Besides, I’m not in pointe shoes for four hours straight, so I have no excuse.”

You exhaled, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Jin. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can repay me by buying me milk tea later,” she teased with a wink. “Large size. Extra pearls.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Deal.”

“Alright, everyone!” Coach’s voice boomed across the studio, cutting through the chatter. “Circle up for cooldown. Don’t make me say it twice—your muscles will hate you tomorrow if you skip this.”

The dancers groaned collectively but began gathering in a loose circle, some dragging their feet dramatically. You joined the group, dropping down onto the polished wood floor with a tired huff.

Next to you, Kazuha stretched her arms overhead, giving you a knowing smile. “Survived another day.”

“Barely,” you murmured, already easing into a seated forward fold as Coach clapped her hands and started the cooldown routine.

It was comforting—the soft shuffle of tired dancers, the stretch of overworked muscles, and the low murmur of voices winding down after hours of practice.

But in the blink of an eye, the calm turned into a wave of movement.

One by one, your classmates started piling out of the studio, chattering about dinner plans and upcoming assignments, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

The sound of duffel bags zipping shut and water bottles being tossed into totes filled the air.

It wasn’t long before the room emptied, leaving you and Kazuha as usual—the last two standing. Or rather, sitting.

She remained cross-legged beside you, her expression relaxed as she scrolled through her phone, strands of hair sticking to her temples from sweat.

“Okay, okay. I need to use the restroom,” Kazuha finally said, pushing herself up with a small groan.

She grabbed her jacket off the floor and slung it over her shoulder. “You’ll be fine for five minutes, right?”

You glanced up at her with a tired grin. “Go. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kazuha paused near the doorway, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you want me to grab you anything on the way back? Food? Bubble tea?”

You narrowed your eyes at her teasing tone, already knowing where this was heading. “Don’t you dare start.”

But before you could even huff properly, she bolted out of the studio like a flash, laughing under her breath as her voice echoed down the hall. “Think about it! You might need comfort food after this!”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head with a small laugh as you leaned back on your palms. “Typical Zuha.”

The studio fell silent again, save for the faint creak of the air conditioning and the dull thud of your heartbeat finally steadying.

You glanced around—bags piled neatly by the mirrors, ballet shoes strewn on the benches, lights faintly reflecting off the polished wood floor.

Pushing yourself off the ground with a little groan, you grabbed your phone from your tote bag and connected it to the studio speakers.

With a few taps, a familiar melody filled the room, echoing warmly in the open space. You huffed, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face.

“Might as well be productive,” you muttered to yourself, rolling your shoulders as you stepped into position.

The soft piano introduction sent a wave of calm over you, your body falling naturally into the choreography.

Your satin skirt fluttered around your legs with every turn, the delicate fabric catching in the faint light.

Your movements grew fluid—each arabesque melting into a pirouette, each plié steady and precise. It was just you and the song, the rest of the world fading beyond the mirrored walls.

As the final notes played, you eased into your ending pose. A deep exhale escaped your lips, a sheen of sweat clinging to your skin. Straightening your posture, you let the quiet settle again.

But before you could fully catch your breath, three soft knocks sounded against the studio door.

You blinked, startled, and quickly dusted yourself off, running a hand over your slightly damp hair. Without bothering to peek through the glass panel, you strode over and pulled the door open.

Jay.

Guitar case slung casually over one shoulder, a plastic bag hanging from his other hand. He was still dressed in the same black shirt and jeans from earlier, his sleeves slightly rolled up.

“Hey,” he greeted simply, voice warm in the otherwise quiet hallway. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Jay? What… are you doing here?”

He tilted his head slightly, his usual stoic expression softening into a small grin. “My last class ended early, and band practice doesn’t start for another hour,” he said casually, stepping fully into the studio. “So, I thought… might as well be early.”

You moved aside instinctively, still gripping the door as you gestured for him to enter. “Oh. Right. Makes sense.”

As he stepped past you, you caught the faint smell of cologne mixed with something earthy and clean—like he’d walked straight from the evening breeze.

“And,” Jay added with a little more playfulness this time, setting his guitar case carefully against the wall and pulling a plastic bag from his wrist, “I’m trying to be a good boyfriend anyways.”

That made you pause mid-step, your breath catching faintly as your cheeks flushed.

You glanced at him, your lips twitching between a nervous smile and something incredulous. “Boyfriend, huh?”

He caught your gaze briefly, smirking faintly but saying nothing.

Instead, he grabbed two nearby chairs, scraping them gently across the polished wood floor. He turned them to face each other before sliding them up against the wall.

“Come sit,” he said simply, gesturing for you to take one of the chairs. “You look like you could use a break before your legs decide to give out.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, still flustered but oddly comforted. “Fine. But only because my legs actually might.”

You crossed the room and sat on the chair he set out, purposely scooting it a little away to put some space between you.

But Jay’s brows furrowed ever so slightly as he noticed, his hand reaching out without hesitation to grab the edge of your chair.

“Hey,” he muttered, pulling you closer until the legs of your chair lightly scraped against his. “None of that distance stuff. We’re supposed to be dating, remember?”

You sputtered, warmth creeping up your neck. “I—Jay!”

“What?” he asked innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Before you could argue further, he reached for the plastic bag resting at his feet and pulled out a small carton of banana milk and a neatly wrapped loaf of milk bread. He held them out to you casually.

You blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait—how’d you… how’d you know I like milk bread too?”

Jay didn’t miss a beat as he grabbed his own drink from the bag—an energy drink, the top already popped open.

“I asked Ni-ki,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip. “Who asked Kazuha.”

You stared at him incredulously, unable to stop the smile forming on your lips. “Kazuha already unblocked Ni-ki?”

Jay shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “I guess so. Or maybe Ni-ki just bribed her for information. You know how he is.”

As you were still processing that, Jay gently reached over again, plucking the banana milk from your hands.

He tore the straw from its wrapper with one swift move and punched it into the carton with ease before handing it back to you.

Your fingers brushed his as you took the carton back, cheeks warming even more at the simple gesture.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying not to let your voice give too much away.

Jay leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle casually on his knee as he watched you take a sip. “You don’t have to thank me every time, you know.”

You glanced at him from over the rim of your carton, lips quirking. “Maybe I just feel like you’re spoiling me.”

He smirked faintly, his gaze flicking away briefly as if to hide the warmth creeping into his eyes. “Good. Get used to it.”

You let out a soft breath, leaning your head back against the cool studio wall. The fatigue settling into your limbs made it feel easier to just sink into the stillness for a moment.

Jay tilted his head, watching you with those calm, unreadable eyes before giving your arm a light nudge.

“Don’t lean on the wall,” he said, voice low but teasing. “Lean on me instead.”

You shot him a sideways glance, lips pressing into a thin line like you were considering fighting him on it, but the way he was already patting his shoulder expectantly made you sigh in defeat.

“You’re so persistent,” you muttered, shifting closer until your head came to rest on his shoulder.

The scent of his cologne—subtle yet expensive—immediately filled your senses. It wasn’t overpowering, but warm and grounding, the kind of scent that could become addicting if you weren’t careful.

You forced yourself to take another sip of your banana milk, hoping the sweetness would mask the strange flutter in your chest.

“Are you like this with every girl you date?” you asked quietly, almost testing, as your thumb rubbed over the carton’s edge.

Jay hummed, his head turning slightly so the side of his face brushed against your hair. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever dated.”

You let out a short huff of disbelief. “Stop lying, Park Jongseong.”

He chuckled at your reaction, his voice low and rich as it rumbled in his chest. “I’m not lying. You really are the first.”

The confession made your throat tighten for reasons you couldn’t quite name. You turned your gaze down to the milk bread still resting in your lap, picking at the edges of the plastic wrap nervously.

“Well, you’re mine too,” you admitted softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, “even if it’s fake.”

Jay chuckled quietly at that, but it wasn’t the amused sound you were used to—it was quieter, almost bitter around the edges. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning his head gently against yours.

The weight of it sent a little shiver down your spine, and for a second neither of you moved, the faint thrum of the studio speakers humming in the background like a heartbeat.

Without thinking, you reached for his free hand, fingers brushing against his knuckles before intertwining with his. His larger hand folded instinctively around yours, warm and steady, as you pulled it onto your lap.

Jay didn’t say anything, but you caught the faintest upward curl of his lips reflected in the mirror across the studio.

He leaned in a little closer, gaze softening as he studied your mirrored forms—your loose hair slightly frizzed from practice, his dark shirt and jeans stark against your lighter tones.

His lips twitched, almost like he was amused at the contrast, but the smile he gave himself was small, private, and a little too fond for comfort.

“Kazuha’s taking too long,” you said after a moment, trying to shake off the quiet.

“Yeah?” Jay asked lazily, his thumb tracing a light circle over the back of your hand. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Said she needed to go to the bathroom,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “But knowing her, she’s probably halfway back from the convenience store.”

Jay let out a soft laugh, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Just like Ni-ki. I swear those two are more alike than they’d ever admit.”

“They really are,” you said with a small laugh of your own. “Chaos magnets.”

“Mmhm,” Jay agreed, the corners of his mouth quirking upward again.

He set down his half-finished energy drink on the floor beside him, leaning forward slightly as he fished his phone from his jeans pocket.

You blinked as he opened the camera app and tilted the screen toward the two of you, positioning it just right.

“Come on, pretty,” he coaxed, voice soft but playful as his thumb hovered over the shutter button.

You bit your lip, cheeks warming again as you leaned slightly closer to him for the photo.

Jay’s arm brushed yours as the phone clicked softly, capturing the two of you in the warm, lazy glow of the studio lights.

Before you could pull back, he flipped the camera one more time, holding it at a slightly higher angle.

You turned your head just as he snapped another picture, catching your profile in the frame, your loose hair falling effortlessly over your shoulder.

Jay studied the second photo, lips quirking upward faintly like he was proud of his candid capture. “Perfect,” he murmured to himself.

“Can I see?” you asked, craning your neck a little.

He angled the phone toward you, and you caught the sight of yourself leaning slightly against him, hair a little messy but soft, his hand still intertwined with yours in your lap.

“Not bad,” you teased lightly, sipping at your banana milk.

Jay let out a small chuckle, thumb hovering over the ‘post’ button as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can I put this on my story?”

You froze for a heartbeat, eyes darting between him and the phone. But the image staring back at you didn’t feel awkward or fake—it felt oddly comfortable.

“Yeah,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.

His grin widened—barely, but enough for you to notice—as he quickly typed out a single little swan emoji followed before he hit ‘post.’

You blinked at the words, trying not to let your smile give too much away as you took another sip of your drink. “White swan?” you asked, amusement creeping into your tone.

Jay glanced down at you, his dark eyes glinting. “What? You don’t like it?”

You shook your head, cheeks warming as you ducked slightly. “No… it’s cute.”

The studio felt more like a playground than a rehearsal room.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt as Jake bolted across the space, Sunghoon hot on his heels with a rolled-up sheet of paper like a sword.

“Sim Jaeyun!” Sunghoon yelled, his voice cracking slightly as he swung the paper at Jake’s retreating back.

Jake screeched dramatically, nearly tripping over a stray cable. “It was an accident, I swear!”

“Accident my ass!” Sunghoon shouted, finally whacking Jake on the shoulder with the makeshift sword. Jake yelped and flailed like a kid caught red-handed.

From his seat, Jay gave them a tired glance. “This is a music studio, not a playground,” he muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Heeseung, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, couldn’t hide his grin. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

On the other side of the room, Kazuha was locked in a bickering match with Ni-ki over a knotted mess of amp wires.

“I told you to untangle these before rehearsal!” Kazuha snapped, tugging on one stubborn cable.

Ni-ki threw his hands up defensively. “Hey! Don’t blame me—Jay was the last one to use this amp!”

“Ni-ki, don’t you dare drag me into your mess,” Jay said lazily without even looking up.

Amid all this, Jay finally set his guitar aside and stood. He made his way to where you sat on the floor with your knees pulled up and your bag acting as a makeshift backrest.

Without a word, he dropped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him, and then—to your surprise—he gently laid his head across your thighs with a dramatic sigh.

“They scare me sometimes,” he murmured, staring blankly up at the ceiling as if Jake and Sunghoon’s antics were some unsolvable cosmic riddle.

You bit back a laugh, reaching down instinctively to run your fingers through his dark hair.

“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” you teased, your fingers combing gently through the soft strands.

Jay let out another exaggerated sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch. “Hell no. You don’t get used to idiots. You just survive them.”

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. “Survive them? You’re dramatic.”

“I’m honest,” he shot back, cracking one eye open to look at you. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re lucky you haven’t been around them for long. Me? I’ve seen things.”

You raised a brow, fingers still threading lazily through his hair. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Jake pouring an entire bottle of soda on his guitar case because he thought it was waterproof,” Jay deadpanned. “And Sunghoon trying to dry it with a blow dryer while the guitar was still inside.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of you at the mental image. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was.”

You were about to tease him again when you realized—the room had gone eerily quiet.

The laughter, the yelling, even Kazuha’s dramatic scolding of Ni-ki—all of it had stopped.

Your fingers froze in Jay’s hair as you slowly looked up, only to find everyone staring.

Heeseung stood frozen mid-page flip, eyes wide. Jungwon had paused with his pencil half-raised like he’d forgotten what writing was. Kazuha and Ni-ki were no longer bickering about wires, now both gawking at you like you’d grown a second head.

Sunoo was the first to break the tense silence with his sharp voice cutting through: “Since when did you two get so close?”

Jay cracked open one eye, looking at Sunoo lazily as though this wasn’t the most incriminating position to be in—head in your lap, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“…We’re dating.”

You could feel your soul leave your body.

“What?!” Ni-ki shouted so loud Kazuha flinched. “What the fuck—since when?!”

Kazuha blinked rapidly, voice rising in pitch. “I’m sorry—what?! Jay, repeat that!”

“Since when?!” Sunoo echoed again, clutching his chest like Jay had just personally betrayed him.

Jay sat up slightly but didn’t move far, propping his chin lazily in his hand as his smirk grew wider. “Do I need to print you all a timeline?”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped as Jungwon mumbled under his breath, “This has to be a prank. Jay doesn’t even like people.”

Kazuha’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “You—you’re dating—(Y/N)?”

Jay’s dark eyes slid to her as he tilted his head. “Problem?”

She sputtered. “No! I just—I didn’t—I didn’t know you knew how to date!”

“Rude,” Jay said dryly, but there was amusement tugging at his lips. He finally leaned fully away from you, though not before brushing his hand over yours casually.

You, meanwhile, wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Jay—” you hissed under your breath, cheeks burning.

“What?” he whispered back with the faintest smirk. “We’re fake dating, right? So why not sell it?”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you muttered, face still hot as you looked away from the group.

Jay only smirked, standing up and casually ruffling your hair as he passed. “Says you, pretty.”

You swatted at his hand, glare sharp, but it only made him chuckle lowly as he strode off—the picture of someone completely unbothered.

As your eyes lingered on his back, you felt someone sit beside you. Kazuha had dropped onto the floor next to you, her brows arched so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.

“(Y/N),” she whispered sharply, leaning in close, her ponytail swinging. “You have three seconds—three—before I combust. Start talking.”

You pressed your lips into a tight line, waving your hands slightly. “Shh—it’s fake.”

Kazuha blinked. “…Fake?” Her voice was still hushed but dripping with disbelief.

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting uncomfortably as you leaned your head back against the cool mirror behind you.

“We did it so… everybody would shut up. About all the gossip. About me. About him.”

Kazuha’s brows furrowed as she processed the words. Her gaze flicked between you and Jay across the room—where he was now slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder, laughing at something Jungwon said.

She moved a little closer, her tone softer now. “Well… as long as you two don’t regret it.”

You offered her a small, tired smile, fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve. “Yeah. I know. It’s not… it’s not like we’re planning for this to last forever.”

Kazuha sighed, her hand settling gently on your arm in a way that made the tightness in your chest loosen slightly.

“I just… don’t want you getting hurt, (Y/n). You’re too soft for this, and he’s—” She stopped herself with a quiet exhale. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you whispered back, looking at her with a faint smile. “And… I’m glad you care about me that way.”

Your gaze drifted back across the room—unwilling, yet magnetic.

Jay had his guitar fully strapped on now, his fingers effortlessly checking the tuning as his bandmates huddled around him.

Despite his focus on Jungwon’s animated explanation, he caught your eyes across the distance.

The faintest smile tugged at his lips. One so soft and unguarded it felt wrong for it to belong to the Park Jongseong people whispered about.

Then he turned back, nodding at something Jungwon said, his voice low but calm.

You swallowed down the weight blooming in your chest, unsure what to call it.

It had been three days since you agreed to fake date Park Jongseong.

Three days of shared meals.

Three days of him showing up at the studio earlier than necessary, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you practice with that lazy smile.

Three days of him walking you to your next class—hand in hand like it was second nature—his own classes long forgotten as he grinned at you like you were his syllabus.

And now, you were alone.

The warm air of the coffee shop clung to your oversized bomber jacket, the faint remnants of Jay’s cologne still lingering in the fabric like a quiet ghost.

Your fingers flew across your keyboard, the laptop screen glowing harshly against the dim, cozy lights of the café. Half-empty mugs littered the table—one of them yours, the other untouched, bought out of habit as if Jay were here too.

You let out a groan, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Ugh. Why is this so hard?” you mumbled under your breath, staring at the blinking cursor taunting you with the words ‘final paper due before college week’ at the top of your document.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the lack of Jay.

You sighed again, slumping into the wooden chair.

Dangerous. This was dangerous. Because Park Jongseong wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Like air you couldn’t stop breathing. Like the warmth in your chest when he’d casually brush the back of your hand with his thumb during a walk.

‘You’re getting attached,’ a voice in your head whispered—you knew it was true.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, sliding slightly on the table. You blinked, snatching it up as your heart did a stupid little leap at the name lighting up your screen.

jay 🐈‍⬛ [3:27 P.M.]: what are you doing right now, pretty?

You exhaled, typing back quickly.

you [3:27 P.M.]: drowning in a final paper. what about you?

It didn’t even take him thirty seconds to reply.

jay 🐈‍⬛ [3:27 P.M.]: i know, look outside.

Brows furrowing, you twisted in your seat, eyes scanning past the glass window. And there he was.

Park Jongseong, dressed casually in a black cardigan layered over a white shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag slung across his body. Black-framed glasses sat neatly on his nose, catching the warm café lights. A small grin played at his lips as he walked toward the entrance, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, your cheeks warming as he stepped into the cozy café light and headed straight for your booth. He moved with that same calm, unhurried stride that always made people turn their heads without him even trying.

As he reached you, Jay tipped his chin toward the empty space on the leather seat next to you, one brow raised playfully. “Is this seat taken?”

You shook your head with a grin, scooting over instinctively to give him space. “Nope. All yours.”

“Good,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement as his gaze flicked briefly to the faint remains of your croissant on the plate.

But instead of sitting down, he rested his hand casually on the booth’s backrest and asked, “What do you want?”

“Food,” he clarified with a small smile, nodding toward the menu displayed on the table. “What do you want? You’ve been here for hours—you’ve probably run off caffeine alone.”

“I already had coffee,” you admitted, gesturing to the half-empty cup beside your laptop, “and a matcha latte. Plus…” You pointed sheepishly to the empty plate. “A croissant. Even.”

Jay’s eyes followed your gesture, then drifted back to you, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a sheepish smile.

But he only shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do you want those red velvet cookies you like? And another cup of matcha?”

Your lips twitched into a small, embarrassed grin as you nodded, unable to argue. “Maybe… yeah.”

“Thought so.” His voice softened with a quiet fondness as he glanced down at your nearly drained cup again.

“Oh,” you said quickly, remembering, “I actually got you coffee earlier, but…” You gestured toward the untouched cup in front of you, ice long since melted. “It’s, uh, a little sad now.”

Jay looked at it, then back at you, the corner of his lips twitching upward as he interrupted, “I’ll drink it. Don’t worry.”

You raised a brow. “You sure? It’s basically room temperature coffee-flavored water at this point.”

“I’ve survived worse.” His grin deepened as he reached for the cup and took a sip anyway, not even flinching. “See? Still good.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as you muttered, “You’re unbelievable.”

Jay set his messenger bag down gently beside you, only grabbing his wallet before straightening up again.

“I’ll get your order. Stay here. And don’t touch your laptop for five minutes, okay? Your brain needs a break.”

You watched him retreat toward the counter, his black cardigan catching in the warm café lights, and you couldn’t help the way your heart squeezed a little at how effortless he made it feel—this caring, this being around you.

It didn’t even take two minutes before he was back, balancing a small plate in one hand with a red velvet cookie neatly placed in the center and an iced matcha latte in the other.

He set them down gently on the table like they were precious cargo, the ice in the matcha clinking softly as he slid the plate closer to you.

“There,” Jay said with quiet satisfaction, sliding into the booth beside you. He pulled his messenger bag into his lap, unzipping it to fish out his own laptop. “Now you have no excuse not to take a break.”

You smiled at him gratefully, fingers curling around the cold cup. “Thank you, Jay.”

He arched a brow at you as he flipped open his laptop, the corners of his lips twitching into that familiar teasing grin. “So, how’s my pretty girl doing?”

You nearly choked on your sip of matcha, setting the cup down with a soft thunk. “You—” You groaned, burying your face into your hands as your cheeks burned. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes as he rested an elbow on the table, chin propped in his palm. “It’s the truth.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered through your hands, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

Jay only chuckled, reaching out to gently tug your hands away from your face. “C’mere.”

You sighed in defeat and leaned against his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you as his arm automatically draped across your shoulders. His thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles against your upper arm.

“This paper’s going to be the end of me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled as you pressed your face lightly into the soft fabric of his cardigan.

Jay tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you with a soft huff of laughter. “No, it’s not. You’re too stubborn to let a paper win.”

You groaned again, closing your eyes as he gently shifted his hand to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “I’m serious, Jay. I’ve rewritten this paragraph five times. I feel like my brain’s turned to mush.”

“You’re too cute when you’re frustrated,” Jay teased, his thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles on your shoulder as you buried your face in your hands.

You groaned louder this time. “Stop trying to charm me and help me instead,” you mumbled through your palms.

He laughed under his breath, warm and soft. “Alright, alright. I’ll help you. Come on—send me the document.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. “You? Help me? Jay, you hate English too. I know you do.”

Jay smirked, leaning slightly closer as his black-framed glasses slipped just a little down his nose. “Are you forgetting I grew up in the States?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard before a laugh escaped your lips. “Oh my God… yeah. I forgot about that.” You leaned your head back against his shoulder, eyes closing briefly.

“That’s actually so unfair. You’re good at everything, aren’t you?”

Jay chuckled, his hand moving from your shoulder to tap your chin so you’d look at him. “Not everything. But helping my pretty girlfriend survive her final paper? That I can do.”

You tilted your head at him, trying not to smile too hard as you asked, “Are you really sure about helping me? I don’t want to hear you complain halfway through.”

“Do you even have to ask?” he replied smoothly, already pulling out his laptop and sliding it closer. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he murmured, “Password?”

You sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide your smile as you pushed your laptop toward him. “Fine, Mr. Fluent. But if I still fail this paper, I’m blaming you.”

Jay laughed, eyes crinkling as he adjusted his glasses. “Deal. But trust me—you won’t. Now, let’s see what’s turning your brain to mush.”

The warmth of his presence next to you, his voice laced with soft amusement, made it dangerously easy to forget this was all supposed to be fake.

Before either of you noticed, time had slipped past. The soft hum of the coffee shop dimmed as people filtered out, chairs scraping lightly against the floor.

Your eyes wandered to the window, catching the faint blur of water streaking down the glass.

“It’s raining,” you murmured, voice soft with surprise.

Jay’s fingers paused on the keyboard, his black-framed glasses reflecting the dull glow of his screen as he looked at you. Then, he turned his head toward the window, sighing. “Well, we can’t do anything about it now.”

You frowned, hugging the bomber jacket closer as your thoughts drifted. “I need to feed Doobu.”

Jay’s gaze flicked back to you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as if he couldn’t help it. “You really are such a mom to that cat,” he teased lightly.

When your frown deepened, he chuckled and shut his laptop with a soft snap. “Good thing I’m prepared then.”

Your brows knitted as he leaned back in his chair and reached for his messenger bag. With an almost theatrical flourish, he pulled out a sleek black umbrella and gave it a little twirl in his hand.

“Really?” you asked, surprise breaking through your pout.

“Really,” he said, grin widening as he stood and offered you a hand. “Now pack up, pretty. We’re heading back before the rain gets any worse.”

You hesitated for a beat, staring at his outstretched hand and the casual way he said we’re heading back—like it was natural for him to be the one bringing you home.

With a soft huff, you started gathering your things, mumbling, “You act like I didn’t have a plan for getting back.”

Jay smirked knowingly. “Did that plan involve walking back alone in the rain with your laptop and a stack of papers?”

“…Maybe.”

He clicked his tongue, amusement glinting in his eyes.

As you zipped your bag and pushed it onto your shoulder, Jay was already standing, the black umbrella held loosely in one hand. His other hand was outstretched toward you, palm open, waiting.

You blinked at his hand for a moment before slipping your own into his, feeling the gentle but firm grip as his fingers curled around yours.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with a teasing undertone, dark eyes watching your face like he was memorizing it.

You gave a small nod, lips tugging upward despite the way your cheeks heated under his gaze. “Yeah. Let’s go before it gets any worse.”

The dorm lobby was alive with chatter—the low hum of voices, the occasional squeak of wet sneakers against polished floors, and the rhythmic drip of umbrellas shaking out rainwater.

You stood just inside the entrance, your bomber jacket clinging damply to your frame as Jay stepped back from the glass doors, his black cardigan wrung tightly in his hands.

He sighed, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair, water droplets falling to the floor with each movement. One foot still hovered near the door as if he’d been contemplating braving the downpour again, but he turned back to you instead.

“Here,” he murmured, slipping the soaked bomber jacket from your shoulders with a gentle tug. “No use keeping this on. You’ll catch a cold.”

You groaned softly at the clammy sensation of the fabric leaving your skin. “Ugh. I can already feel it in my bones.”

Jay chuckled under his breath, tucking the wet jacket over his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re so dramatic,” he teased, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement as he reached for your hand again. “Dry enough to head up?”

You nodded, though a small frown lingered on your lips. “I guess so.”

He caught the expression and tugged lightly at your hand, guiding you toward the elevators as laughter slipped past his lips. “Why’re you frowning like I just stole your cat?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, cheeks warming as you grumbled, “Because I feel gross, and it’s all your fault for saying we’d be fine with one umbrella.”

Jay grinned, unbothered by the small cluster of students watching from the lounge area—phones in their laps, murmurs passing quickly between them like wildfire.

It was still strange for them to see Park Jongseong—Decelis’ stoic, untouchable guitarist—smiling like this, soft and easy, his hand wrapped around yours as if he had no care for the whispers.

“Alright, I’ll take the blame,” he said warmly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as the elevator dinged open. “But for the record, we were fine. I didn’t hear you complaining when you were stealing my body heat earlier.”

You huffed, attempting to mask your flustered smile as you stepped into the elevator. “That’s because I had no choice. You’re warm. Like… unnaturally warm.”

Jay followed you in, his grin growing wider as he leaned slightly against the elevator wall, still holding your hand as if letting go wasn’t an option. “Maybe I just run hot because of all the staring we’re getting.”

You shot him a look, realizing just how quiet the lobby had become behind you, the eyes still trailing as the elevator doors began to close.

“Let them stare,” Jay added, his tone softer now, eyes on you instead of anyone else. “They’ll get tired of it eventually.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head as you muttered, “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes fondly but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned against him, the soft fabric of his soaked cardigan brushing your cheek.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your frame, tugging you closer in a loose embrace despite being drenched himself. His warmth was faint but grounding, his palm rubbing slow circles on your shoulder in an effort to coax heat back into your chilled body.

Jay smirked faintly, eyes soft as he looked down. “Then we’ll be sick together. At least we’ll match.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “That’s not something to be proud of.”

The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open to the fifth floor, cool air greeting the both of you as you stepped out.

Jay’s hand remained at your lower back, fingers resting lightly as you walked side by side down the hallway.

It didn’t escape your notice how natural it felt—how his steps matched yours, how he didn’t even have to ask which door anymore.

You shuffled the keys in your hand, fiddling with them briefly before finally finding the right one. “I swear my hands have turned numb,” you mumbled, attempting to insert the key while Jay hovered just close enough to catch it if it slipped.

“You need gloves,” he said absentmindedly, watching you with a small crease in his brows. “I’ll bring you some next time.”

“Next time?” you teased lightly, pushing the door open.

He grinned, unbothered. “Yeah. What, you think I’m letting you walk around in this weather alone again?”

Before you could respond, a familiar meow cut through your thoughts. Doobu padded toward you, tail flicking as her paws made soft thuds against the floor.

You couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on your face. “Hi, girl,” you cooed, crouching slightly to hold your hands out. “Give us a moment, yeah?”

Jay chuckled softly behind you, closing the door after you both stepped inside. He immediately began toeing off his sneakers, placing them neatly by the door. You followed suit, tugging off your damp socks and placing them near your shoes.

“Doobu looks offended you came home late,” Jay teased, eyes flicking to your cat as she stood by the doorway, watching him like a sentinel.

“She’s just being dramatic,” you said, waving Doobu off playfully. “She missed me, didn’t you, baby?”

Doobu blinked slowly at you before turning her gaze—suspicious and unyielding—back to Jay.

To your surprise, Jay crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet as he extended a hand toward her.

“Hey there, princess,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and careful, like he was approaching royalty.

You watched with wide eyes as Doobu—your notoriously selective little cat—didn’t hesitate. She leaned her fluffy head into his hand, her tail flicking lazily as she allowed him to scratch under her chin.

Jay’s grin widened, eyes softening at the white fluffball now purring beneath his fingers. “See? I told you she loves me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands rubbing your arms absently as your chest tightened—not with unease, but something else you refused to name.

Clearing your throat lightly, you asked, “Jay…?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, not even looking up as his fingers continued their careful strokes through Doobu’s fur.

You shifted your weight nervously from one foot to the other, cheeks burning as you avoided his eyes. “Do you… uh…” You paused, gripping the hem of your shirt tightly. “Do you want to stay over?”

That caught his attention. Jay’s hand stilled in Doobu’s fur as his eyes flicked up to you. He didn’t speak immediately—just watched you with a look that was almost unreadable. Your gaze darted away, heat climbing all the way to your ears.

When he finally did speak, his lips twitched into an amused smile as he let out a soft laugh.

“No need. The rain’s gonna stop eventually.” He stood, brushing his palms on his jeans, still looking at you with that knowing glint in his eyes.

You raised a brow skeptically, stepping closer to the window just as a loud clap of thunder rattled the glass. Sheets of rain poured relentlessly outside, heavy and unyielding.

“Really, Jay?” you asked, your voice deadpan as you turned back to him with a single raised brow.

Jay ran a hand through his damp hair, laughing under his breath. “Okay, okay… maybe not. But hey—we’ll see, yeah?”

You sighed, fighting the way your lips wanted to curl upward. “Right.” Gesturing toward your vanity chair, you added, “Sit down, will you? You’re dripping all over my floor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, plopping down in the chair with an exaggerated sigh as Doobu circled his feet like she’d adopted him already.

You knelt by your drawer, pulling out a folded set of your clothes and tossing them gently onto the bed for later. “Do you want to shower first or…?” You glanced back at him briefly, then looked away just as quickly.

“I’ll need to throw your clothes in the dryer if you’re planning to head out when—if—the rain stops.”

Jay leaned back in the chair, his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the temperature change. His eyes glinted with amusement as he watched you shuffle through your drawer.

“Offering me your shower, your dryer… should I be worried you’re trying to make me stay longer?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, though your lips threatened to betray you with a smile. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms above his head lazily. “Fine, fine. I’ll shower. Only because my clothes are sticking to me like a second skin.”

“Gross.” You wrinkled your nose teasingly, standing up with your hands on your hips.

Jay grinned as he began pulling off his damp cardigan. “You offered. Don’t act so surprised.”

You caught his smirk as you quickly turned your back to him, cheeks blazing. “Bathroom’s to the left. Towels are in the cabinet.”

“Got it.” He stood, ruffling your hair playfully as he passed you. “Thanks, pretty.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, muttering, “Just go already.”

As the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut echoed in the room, you exhaled, shoulders sagging a little as if trying to shake off the heat blooming in your chest.

But of course, that didn’t help.

Trying to distract yourself, you knelt again by your drawers, fingers fumbling slightly as you rummaged for an oversized shirt and a pair of soft pajama pants—something Jay could wear while his clothes dried.

Your hands stilled for a moment as you stared at the folded fabric in your grasp.

Shaking your head, you pushed to your feet, clutching the clothes to your chest like a flimsy shield. You padded toward the bathroom door and raised a hand to knock, hesitating for half a second before rapping lightly on the wood.

“Jay?” you called softly, praying your voice didn’t betray the fluster simmering in your veins. “Are you… um, are you fully dressed, or…?”

There was a beat of silence, then the door creaked open just enough for his face to peek through.

Black hair damp and sticking slightly to his forehead, glasses fogged faintly at the edges from the bathroom’s heat—he was still fully clothed, a teasing grin tugged at his lips as his dark eyes flicked to the bundle of clothes in your arms.

“Planning to see me naked or what?” he drawled, leaning a little too casually against the doorframe.

Your mouth dropped open, heat crawling up your neck. “W-what?!”

Jay’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself as he tilted his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, pretty. I know I look good—”

“Shut up.” You grumbled, shoving the bundle of clothes against his chest hard enough that he had to catch them. “Here. Wear these before I regret offering you my dryer privileges.”

His laugh echoed warmly as you grabbed the door handle, avoiding his gaze entirely. “Relax, I’m kidding—”

The words were cut off when you shoved the door closed in his face, his amused chuckle lingering through the wood like a ghost haunting your sanity.

You slumped forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the door, the faint sound of running water starting again on the other side.

“What am I getting myself into?” you whispered to no one in particular, clutching the edge of your hoodie as if it could steady the wild thrum of your heart.

Doobu, perched on the corner of your bed, blinked at you like she knew. Like she always knew.

Every little thing felt dangerous now.

It wasn’t part of the deal. None of this was.

You were supposed to keep this clean. Keep it simple.

But how could you, when the lines between fake and real blurred every single time he looked at you with those soft, knowing eyes?

Doobu’s tail flicked lazily against the sheets, her gaze still fixed on you.

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered to her. “I know. I’m an idiot.”

Your shoulders shook as you tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh.

Jay’s reflection in the mirror only made it worse: his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the heat of the room, fluffy, towel-dried hair falling haphazardly over his brows as he pouted behind you, hands working the blow dryer through your still-damp strands.

“Seriously, (Y/N),” he groaned, swaying slightly on his feet like it physically hurt him to say it, “pink Hello Kitty pajamas? With matching socks?”

You bit your lip hard, but the laugh still slipped out. “You look adorable, though.”

His eyes flicked up in the mirror, narrowing playfully at you. “Adorable? I’m a grown man, you know. The guitarist of a band. Not your—your sleepover buddy in Sanrio merch.”

“Mmhm.” You met his gaze in the glass, your grin widening as you teased, “You’re matching with me too, so you can’t even complain.”

Jay huffed, dramatic as ever, and reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose. Then, with a resigned sigh, he placed his chin carefully on top of your head, his fingers still gently raking through your hair.

“Be glad they’re fluffy,” he muttered. “If they weren’t, I’d have thrown a fit.”

You giggled, patting the top of his head like he was a sulky cat. “You’re surviving, big guy. Promise.”

When he was satisfied your hair wasn’t damp anymore, he switched off the blow dryer and set it aside. You stood, stretching a little as he followed you wordlessly to the bed. Both of you sank down onto the edge, the springs giving a soft creak.

Outside, thunder rolled low and lazy, followed by a flash of light that seeped through the cracks of your curtains.

Jay sighed, tipping his head sideways until it rested on your shoulder, his voice quieter now. “At this rate,” he murmured, “I think I’ll have to sleep over.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching sight of his soft profile, his lashes brushing his glasses. “That’s what I’m saying,” you replied with a small smile.

His lips curved into a grin against your shoulder. “Do I get extra points for being a respectful fake boyfriend and asking first?”

You laughed, leaning your head lightly against his. “I think you’ve already earned them, Jongseong. You dried my hair in Hello Kitty pajamas.”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking faintly. “Touché.”

Another rumble of thunder echoed outside, but in the warmth of your room, with Jay pressed comfortably against your side, it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Jay shifted, leaning back slightly so he could meet your eyes, his voice soft but teasing. “Do you want to eat?”

You blinked at him, eyebrows raising as you glanced at the window where rain still poured in heavy sheets. “Jay, no one’s going to deliver food in this weather.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I didn’t say anything about delivery. I’ll cook.”

You turned to fully face him now, your expression somewhere between incredulous and amused. “You can cook?”

He stood, stretching a little as your shirt fell loose around him, then looked down at you with that confident half-smile of his. “I can. I’m pretty good at it, actually. So, what do you want?”

You paused for a moment, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. “Anything with soup. I want something warm.”

His grin widened as he gave a mock salute. “Soup it is. Your personal chef, at your service.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he made his way to the small kitchenette tucked into the corner of your dorm. He flicked on the light above the stove, already pushing his black-framed glasses up into his hair to keep them from fogging.

“Alright, chef Park Jongseong reporting for duty. What do we have to work with?”

You leaned back against the pillows, watching him open the fridge. “Literally everything.”

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder as he started checking the contents of your fridge and drawers. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t cook much, you’re stocked like a mini grocery store.”

You let out a small groan, pulling the comforter over your head like a turtle retreating into its shell. “That’s because Yunjin’s always dragging me to the supermarket with her. She acts like we’re shopping for a family of five.”

Jay laughed as he pulled out a few ingredients, setting them on the counter. “So basically, I should thank Yunjin for keeping you from starving?”

“Exactly.” You peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see him open a cabinet, finding pots and pans with a triumphant little hum.

He moved like he belonged there—like stepping into your small kitchen wasn’t foreign to him at all. In one smooth motion, Jay set the pot on the stove, grabbed vegetables from the fridge, and pulled oil and condiments from the shelves as if he’d memorized where everything was.

You didn’t even remember showing him.

It was amazing. Endearing, too, in a way that made your chest ache.

How did he manage to fit so seamlessly into your world? Into your space?

You hugged your knees tighter, eyes following the way his shirt shifted with every movement, the soft strands of his hair falling into his face until he brushed them back with a flick of his fingers.

With a small huff, you pushed the blanket off and stood up, padding softly across the room until you were behind him.

Jay was just tilting the bottle of oil over the pot when you slipped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his back.

He froze mid-pour, setting the oil bottle carefully down on the counter. His hands hovered for a moment before he let them fall over yours, thumbs brushing lightly against your knuckles.

“…What’s up?” he asked quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, “Nothing.”

His head turned slightly, as if trying to catch your expression. “Doesn’t sound like nothing, pretty.”

You exhaled shakily. “Thank you… for everything.”

Jay let out a quiet chuckle, one hand leaving yours to rest over your forearm, squeezing it gently.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just—” He stopped himself when he felt you press a little closer, like you didn’t want to let go.

Slowly, he turned in your embrace, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed softly under your eyes, catching the faint glassiness there.

“Hey… why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he murmured, his brows knitting together as he searched your expression.

You shook your head quickly, eyes falling shut under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m not,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed the tightness in your chest.

Jay sighed, his hands gentle as ever as he tugged you closer. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said quietly, leaning down until his lips brushed the crown of your head.

He pressed a lingering kiss there, the warmth of it sinking straight into your bones.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just standing there in the soft kitchen light, his forehead resting against your hair as his arms curled protectively around you.

“Stay here for a bit,” he whispered, his voice almost lost in the sound of the rain outside. “Let me take care of you.”

You stayed still for another moment, his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat making it so tempting to stay there forever. But with a small sigh, you loosened your hold on him.

“Go on. Finish cooking, Jay,” you said softly, stepping back.

His brows furrowed as he caught your wrist, keeping you close. “Promise me you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low but firm.

You blinked up at him, meeting those searching brown eyes behind his glasses. For a heartbeat, it felt like he was seeing through every wall you’d ever built.

But you managed a small, reassuring smile, nodding as you said, “I’m okay, Jay. Really.”

His eyes scanned your face one more time, as if memorizing every detail, before he let out a quiet breath and nodded. “Alright,” he said gently, finally releasing your hand. “But you tell me if you’re not, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your smile growing just a little softer.

He lingered for half a second before turning back to the stove, picking up where he left off with his chopping and stirring. You, on the other hand, padded back to the bed, curling up against the pillows as you grabbed the remote.

“What do you want to watch?” you called out, flipping through the streaming apps idly.

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation, his focus on carefully stirring the pot.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so easy to please.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Not really. I just trust your taste, pretty.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you quickly turned back to the TV, muttering, “Fine. But don’t blame me if we end up watching some cheesy rom-com.”

“Cheesy rom-com with you sounds perfect,” he teased, and you groaned, burying your face in the pillow as you tried—and failed—not to smile.

In the kitchen, Jay hummed softly under his breath, the sound blending with the gentle clatter of utensils and the comforting scent of soup starting to fill your dorm.

Every now and then, he’d glance your way, his expression softening like he couldn’t believe you were really here—like this wasn’t just some arrangement.

Time slipped quietly between you both after that. The sound of the rain outside became background noise to the soft dialogue of the movie you’d picked—a mellow rom-com that played lazily on the screen.

You had gotten so lost in the plot, your legs curled up beneath you, blanket tucked over your lap, that you didn’t notice when Jay padded softly around the room behind you.

At some point, the faint clinking of dishes came from the kitchenette, followed by the low hiss of something being poured. But your eyes stayed glued to the screen as your fingers fidgeted absently with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn’t until the bed dipped gently beside you that you tore your gaze away, startled.

Jay sat down next to you, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he placed two plates down on the small table in front of you—each holding a hollowed-out round of bread filled generously with steaming vegetable chowder.

Your brows arched in surprise as you glanced from the plates back up to him. “Wait, what’s this?”

“Vegetable chowder,” he said simply, brushing his slightly damp hair from his forehead. “In bread bowls. Thought I’d go a little fancy for you.”

Before you could answer, he got up again, moving back to the kitchenette where he grabbed two glasses of water.

He returned and set them down neatly beside the plates, as though he’d done this a hundred times before.

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest as you murmured, “You didn’t have to, Jay.”

He looked at you then, his eyes soft, almost teasing. “You say that like I don’t want to.”

Your lips twitched upward into a small smile as you reached for the plate he slid toward you. “Thank you,” you said softly, wrapping your fingers around the spoon resting on the side.

Jay’s eyes followed your movements as you scooped up a bit of the steaming chowder, bringing it to your lips carefully.

You blew on it a little before tasting it, the warm, savory flavor melting on your tongue.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise as you looked back at him. “Wait… this is actually really good.”

“Actually?” he repeated with a mock frown, though there was amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s all I get?”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could even stop it, and quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Okay, okay,” you said between little giggles. “It’s really well made. Creamy, perfectly seasoned, not too heavy—I love it.”

His grin softened into something warmer as he leaned an elbow on his knee, chin resting against his palm as he watched you take another bite. “Thank you,” he murmured.

You licked your lips, savoring another spoonful before looking up at him again, curiosity flickering across your face. “Seriously though… where did you learn to cook this good? You’re like—surprisingly domestic.”

Jay chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling pleasantly in his chest. He leaned back against the headboard, stretching one arm across the top as he thought.

“My mom, mostly. She loves to cook, so she made me help out the chefs a lot when I was younger. Said every man should know how to make at least one good meal.”

You grinned at the image of a tiny Jay peeling vegetables or stirring soup under his mom’s watchful eye. “That’s so cute. And the ‘chefs’ part?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well… them too. I mean, my parents hired some of the best chefs back home. I picked up a lot just by hanging around the kitchen when I didn’t feel like doing homework.”

Your eyes went wide, and you pointed your spoon at him dramatically. “Wait—you have chefs? Oh my God. You really are rich rich.”

Jay let out a laugh that had his shoulders shaking, his head tilting back slightly. “I told you,” he said with a smirk, “I’m not rich. My parents are. Big difference.”

“Uh-huh.” You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was a smile tugging at your lips as you took another bite. “Totally sounds like something a rich person would say.”

Dinner passed in a comfortable ease, the sound of rain still thrumming heavily against the window, but it felt less suffocating now—almost soothing.

You found yourself laughing too easily at Jay’s sarcastic remarks about the plot of the movie playing faintly in the background, and he seemed just as content throwing glances your way between bites.

By the time both your bowls sat empty on the small table, the two of you had migrated further up the bed.

Jay’s glasses had been discarded somewhere near the footboard, and you were now curled beside him, the both of you cocooned in the thick duvet as the movie rolled on.

“I still can’t believe he didn’t run after her in the first place,” Jay muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the screen where the male lead was pacing a dimly lit airport.

“Like, are you serious? She literally confessed, cried, and this guy just stood there like a log.”

You hummed, nodding faintly as you shifted closer to him. “I know, right? Classic. We love emotionally constipated male leads,” you mumbled, voice quieter now as you rested your head fully against his shoulder.

His arm tightened instinctively around your frame, hand brushing lightly up and down your upper arm as his focus returned to the screen.

Another scene played out—a heated fight, tears, a final desperate plea—and Jay made another comment, his voice soft and laced with mock exasperation. But when there was no reply, his brow furrowed slightly.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured, glancing down.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, he found you sound asleep against him, lips parted slightly, your lashes casting delicate shadows over your cheeks.

His expression softened in an instant. A quiet laugh left him—low, breathy, fond—as he carefully reached for the remote to lower the volume.

“Of course you’d knock out now,” he teased softly, though there was no bite to it.

Jay shifted carefully, sliding down until his head rested against the pillows. He pulled you with him, repositioning you so your cheek rested comfortably over his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you.

Your fingers, loose at first, instinctively curled into his shirt like they belonged there.

He smiled at the small gesture, his thumb brushing tenderly over your shoulder as he pressed his lips lightly to the crown of your head.

“Sleep, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm against the glass, but in the warmth of your room, nestled in Jay’s arms, it felt a world away.

Light spilled into your room in faint golden streaks, slipping past the curtains and painting your walls in a quiet, sleepy glow.

The world outside was still a little dark, the rain from last night leaving droplets clinging to the window.

You moved slightly under the covers, the movement making you aware of the steady warmth pressed against your side.

Your brows furrowed for a second before the memories came flooding back—his laugh over dinner, the way his fingers brushed your hair dry, his arm pulling you closer as you both sank into the mattress.

It wasn’t a dream.

You sighed softly, instinctively shuffling closer to the heat, letting the fabric of his t-shirt brush against your cheek as you tucked your face against his chest.

He smelled faintly of your soap and something that was just… Jay. Comforting. Familiar.

If this was fake, your heart was clearly doing a terrible job at remembering it.

You tilted your head slightly, gaze catching on his sleeping face—his dark hair a little messy, strands sprawled across your pillow; his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks as he breathed steadily, lips parted just slightly.

He looked younger like this. Softer.

A smile tugged at your lips before you sighed again and started to moved away, only to freeze as his arms instinctively tightened around you, pulling you back flush against his chest.

“Jay,” you whispered under your breath, trying not to laugh as you wiggled slightly. “You’re literally—like—a human seatbelt right now.”

His hold didn’t loosen.

Groaning softly, you reached out blindly for your phone on the nightstand, your fingers barely grazing it before it almost slipped.

You let out a panicked squeak, fumbling as you caught it just in time. Relief washed over you as you lay back with a soft sigh, unlocking the screen to check the time.

6:07 AM. Just in time.

A low, sleepy groan sounded from above you, and you turned your head slightly to see Jay’s lashes flutter as he stirred. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

“…what time is it?” he murmured, his brows drawing together slightly.

You glanced back at your phone before looking at him again, his dark eyes only half-open but focused on you now. “Six. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

He hummed low in his chest, voice still heavy with sleep. “Mm… six? Too early.”

“I know,” you whispered, a small laugh escaping as you tried to slide away again. “But I should get up—”

Before you could finish, his arm looped fully around your waist, tugging you back so quickly that you let out a surprised yelp.

“Jay!”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your hair, voice muffled and almost childlike. “You’re warm.”

You froze for a moment, your cheeks heating as you stared at the ceiling. “…You’re clingy.”

“Mmhm.”

But still, you let yourself relax back into his hold, your phone falling onto the mattress beside you.

“…You drool in your sleep,” you teased after a moment, just to distract yourself from how loud your heart was pounding.

His lips curved lazily against your hair. “Liar.”

You huffed out a laugh, fingers instinctively starting to trace light, absentminded circles over the fabric of his shirt—right along his stomach.

Jay flinched slightly at the ticklish touch but didn’t stop you, a soft chuckle rumbling low in his chest.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand shifted to cradle the back of it gently.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes still heavy with sleep but impossibly warm as they softened on you. “Good morning,” he whispered.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Good morning,” you whispered back.

Jay let out a deep sigh, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. “We have classes this morning, right?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with reluctance.

“Mm,” you hummed a yes, not trusting your voice to sound normal with how close his face was to yours.

He groaned dramatically, his head falling back onto the pillow. “This is way too early. Who invented morning classes? I just wanna talk.”

You laughed, patting his chest lightly. “This is normal for me. I take forever to get ready.”

His brows raised slightly, a playful grin tugging at his lips as his hand rubbed soothing circles on your arm. “You? Taking forever to get ready? No way.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes with a laugh.

Before he could say something else, the mattress dipped, and both of your heads snapped to the side just in time to see Doobu hopping up onto the bed.

Her fluffy white paws padded across the blanket until she stopped right at Jay’s stomach.

Without hesitation, she circled twice then plopped herself down, curling up like she owned the spot.

You blinked at the sight, and Jay glanced down in surprise as the small weight settled on him. “Well… good morning to you too, Doobu,” he said with a soft laugh, lifting a hand to tentatively scratch behind her ears.

You reached over to pet her as well, smiling at your cat. “Hi, Doobu. You’re really getting comfortable there, huh?”

“She’s got good taste,” Jay teased, watching as Doobu purred loudly under your combined affection.

“Or maybe she just likes warm, grumpy guitarists,” you shot back, laughing when Jay gave you a mock-offended look.

“She doesn’t even know I play guitar.”

“She knows enough.”

Jay snorted, shifting slightly as he kept petting Doobu. “Great. My competition for your affection is your cat. I can’t win this one, can I?”

You leaned your chin back on his chest, grinning at him. “Not unless you can purr like her.”

He raised a brow. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you countered with a cheeky smile.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing over your jaw for a brief moment before settling back on Doobu. “Fair enough.”

Eventually, the two of you managed to drag yourselves out of bed—though not without Jay dramatically groaning about how ‘it’s illegal to get up this early.’

You rolled your eyes and tugged him toward the kitchenette where the two of you brushed your teeth side by side at the small sink.

Your reflections stared back at you from the faint sheen of the kitchen window, where rain streaked down lazily and blurred the view of the nearby field outside.

The ground was still soaked, puddles reflecting the gray morning sky.

Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the temperature shift.

“We both have rehearsals today, right?” he asked, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded, spitting out toothpaste foam before grabbing your hand towel.

“There was a bunch of guitar cases when I peeked into the studio yesterday. Were those yours?”

Jay leaned his hip against the counter, grinning sheepishly as he folded his arms. “And the others too. We all kind of tried to ditch practice early yesterday, but I guess karma’s making us pay for it today.”

You laughed softly, handing him his folded clothes that had been hanging near the bed to dry. “Here. Better change before your precious guitars start a search party for you.”

He smirked, taking them from your hands. “Aye aye, captain. I’ll get dressed real quick.” He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

While he changed, you rifled through your drawers and quickly pulled out your outfit—black jeans, a pink frilly blouse, and your favorite soft pink cardigan.

As soon as Jay emerged, now looking effortlessly put together in his black cardigan layered over his white shirt and jeans again, you darted into the bathroom to change and wash your face.

By the time you came out, he was standing by your vanity, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag.

You took his place at the seat, doing your skincare and swiping on some lip gloss as Jay picked up his phone to check something.

“You ready?” he asked after a moment, watching you toss your lip gloss back into your pouch.

“Almost. Can you refill Doobu’s bowl, please?” you said without looking up, focused on zipping your bag.

“Sure. Where’s her food?”

You pointed to the lower drawer by the fridge. “There.”

He crouched down easily, pulling it open and fishing out the bag of Doobu’s food. She must’ve heard the familiar sound because she immediately pranced over, tail held high and brushing against Jay’s shin.

“You’re so spoiled,” Jay murmured to the cat, shaking out the food into her bowl before straightening. “But I get it. You’re cute.”

“She’s training you already,” you teased, sliding your laptop into its sleeve.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking as he put the bag back and shut the drawer. “Not hard. Your whole apartment’s kind of training me.”

“Training you?” you asked, amused as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Yeah.” He grabbed cardigan from the back of your chair and shook it out lightly before slipping it on.

“To… I don’t know. Make dinner, feed cats, be the kind of guy who carries an umbrella without forgetting it in every store.”

“Sounds like you’re saying I’m turning you domestic.”

“Sounds like you’re admitting you like having me here.”

You shot him a playful glare as you brushed past to put on your shoes. “Shut up and put your shoes on, Park.”

But you didn’t miss the soft grin tugging at his lips as he obeyed, crouching down beside you at the door.

You tried—tried so hard—not to let your eyes linger. Not to let your heart skip at the way he tied his sneakers with practiced ease, one hand braced casually on his knee.

But it was useless. Everything about him was slipping through the cracks you’d carefully built in your chest.

If this was fake, if all of this—his quiet laughter in your kitchen, his hands in your hair, his patient presence folded into your small world—was just part of the act—

Then what did it say about you that you wanted the real thing?

You shook the thought away quickly, standing as Jay followed suit. His shoulder brushed yours lightly, and for a second it felt… too normal. Too easy.

You grabbed your keys from the counter, sparing one last glance at Doobu still curled up on your bed. “Bye, Doobu. Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” you said softly.

Jay crouched slightly, pointing at her like he was scolding a child. “And stop stressing your mom out, okay?”

You laughed, fumbling with your lock as he straightened up, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured as the door clicked shut.

“Ridiculously charming,” he countered with a wink that had you rolling your eyes—but not without smiling.

Outside, the air was cool and damp, the faint smell of rain lingering as Jay stretched his hand out toward you expectantly.

“Come on,” he said with a small tilt of his head, fingers wiggling slightly like he was daring you not to take them. “We’ve got all morning before classes start.”

You stared for a beat too long before slipping your hand into his. His grasp was warm, familiar.

“You’re turning soft, Jay,” you teased, the words laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

His lips quirked as he squeezed your hand, a flash of mischief lighting his eyes. “Only for you.”

And maybe—just maybe—you let yourself believe him, if only for a moment.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified ⤷ piece taglist — @strawjayrries @dearestdreamies

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[bloodlineslut]

chapter f i v e

A/N: oh Lord this is where the sweet toxicity starts...

In the early hours before India awoke from her slumber, Jey had managed to quietly leave to go get Waffle House to bring back to the hotel room. There was one just right up the street, so he made it back in time before she woke up.

As he was taking the contents out of the bags, India stirred awake out of the bed, grabbing a big T-shirt from her suitcase to clothe her naked body. On her way out of the bedroom, she made a quick stop in the bathroom and was slightly shocked at her appearance.

Hair was messy and sticking up in spots, makeup from the previous night was still on and a bit smeared, and three hickies in different spots on her neck and chest.

She thought back to last night—the way Jey took his time with each and every inch of her body, the way he talked to her, the way he held her, the way he cleaned her up after.

It was almost too good to be true.

At this thought, India found herself smiling before hearing his voice call out.

“India! Got us some breakfast, come on in here and eat.” She glanced at the wall in disbelief. She really wasn’t expecting him to still be here if she was being completely honest with herself. She quickly combed her hair, being careful since it was a sew-in, brushed her teeth, and rinsed out her mouth with some Listerine mouthwash.

After turning off the bathroom light, she walked to the direction of where his voice called out from earlier. He had put their plates in front of the two stools that were at the bar area of the little kitchen area.

Jey was pouring some lemonade into one cup as he saw her walk closer to him. “Good morning. I got you Waffle House, I hope you like this.” He sort of said it like a question.

“Aw thanks Jey. And yea I do love Waffle House. My sister and I used to eat it almost every day in high school.” India sat down in the seat next to his now-sitting figure and saw the million different plates of food that he had sat in front of him.

Her eyes widened. “You gon’ eat all of that? No way.”

“Aye, we get it from our dad forreal.” He said and patted his stomach, making India laugh as she dug into the food.

In between bites, they made simple conversation. It was almost as if they didn’t have the most amazing, mindblowing sex.

Then again, maybe India spoke too soon.

“India.” He just simply said her name, looking at her with his head turned.

“Hm?”

“Aye. Last night…You was really good. Like, I enjoyed it.” He admitted in all seriousness. Jey was typically closed off when it came to admitting his feelings if they were anything other than family or friends. He wanted to keep her around, but he wasn’t ready to actually commit to anything.

India smiled, now a bit shy at the mention and his confession. “…I did too. I liked it a lot, too.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of you?” The question both confused India and caught her off guard a bit. She furrowed her brows as she looked up at him from her plate.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like…” he shrugged. “We can kick it and spend more time together. I keep you fly and shit. Anything you need, I’ll get it for you.” He casually said before taking another bite of his hashbrowns and waffles that he gently stabbed onto the same fork, continuing to eat.

India knew they weren’t going to suddenly be in love or anything after they had sex, so it’s not the situation that surprised her, it was more so the question.

“You wanna be my sugar daddy? J-” Her eyebrow was raised at him.

“Wait nah nah, don’t call it that.” He waved his hand a bit dismissively.

“Well that’s what it sounds like!” India laughed. “I mean…you are a little older than me, you got money, now you wanna buy me stuff. It’s giving sugar daddy behavior.”

Jey looked at her. “Man, stop.” He shook his head. “And we don’t gotta always have sex. I just like being around you forreal.”

India didn’t say anything right away, because she liked being around him too, and was afraid to say the wrong thing in fear of running him off. Jey didn’t seem to really care about her silence as he kept talking.

“You like sneakers?” Jey pressed. “You look like you be wearin’ them.” He glanced her over, imagining her in a fly ass outfit and some Jordan’s.

“I do love a good pair of Air Forces.” She forked some eggs and grits before bringing it to her opening mouth.

Jey looked at her in shock and amusement. That had always been his number one shoe, ever since he and his brother were teenagers.

India noticed that he was quiet and felt his eyes on the side of her face, so she turned to ask him what was the matter.

“Nah, nothing. You just…you’re so cool, you know that?” Jey complimented her in such a simple and boyish way but it warmed her heart to hear that.

“Aww, thank you Jey. You know, you’re not so bad yourself.”

This made him smack his teeth. “Yea, yea.”

They had finally finished eating breakfast, with Jey proving India wrong that he couldn’t eat all of that food. She only ate half of her food, full from eating all of the waffles first before anything else.

“You don’t have a boyfriend though, right?” He inquired, stacking his empty plastic plates to throw them all away in the trashcan that was nearby.

India shook her head no.

“Damn.” Jey sighed. “I don’t see how. You’re so pretty though.”

His comment made a ghost of a smile threaten to appear on her face. “It’s hard out here.” India simply said and shrugged her shoulders.

Jey pulled his phone out of his pants pocket to check the time, remembering that he told Jimmy they would workout at one of the nearby gyms before their content they had to film later in the day.

He shot Jimmy a quick text saying that he’d see him in about 20 minutes before turning back around to India.

“India. As much as I hate to leave you, I gotta hit the gym with my brother today.” He grabbed and caressed her hand.

She nodded in understanding. “Of course. Is there another show tonight or…?”

Jey shook his head. “Nah, but we do have to do some media stuff later like content for the company.”

“Ohh, that sounds fun!” She chirped.

“It ain’t.” He deadpanned at her cheery expression, causing her head to cock to the side in disbelief, letting out a laugh.

“Aight, yea I’m playin’. It’s fun like when you’re not tired, though. But we get through it somehow.” He rubbed his eyes, that lingering tiredness always seeming to be present as of late.

They stand there, hands still in the other’s embrace before she broke away first. “Well you better get to the gym for your brother!” She playfully pushed him towards the door, making him laugh.

“Aight aight, damn. Kickin’ me out already huh?”

“Just a little.” She teased him again, loving this goofy but calm side to him.

Does he ever get mad?

“Imma call you later.” He turns around in the doorway. “You gon’ answer?”

India rolled her eyes, but smiled at his ridiculous question. “What you think?”

Jey nodded quickly to himself. “Yea, she’ll answer. Okay, bye mama. Have a good day.” He pulled her in for a hug and she was growing to actually crave his arms around her, even though they only spent not even a full day together.

In the minutes after he was gone and out of the room, she still sat around in a bit of a daze. Her mind was so occupied by Jey that she didn’t even check her phone to see if anyone had called or texted her, which she always did first thing in the mornings.

Going back to the bedroom, she feels around the sheets until finally locating it and unlocks it to see dozens of missed calls, mainly from her sister. She immediately calls her back and Ivy answers on the second ring.

“Ho I oughta come up there and slap you!” Her sister’s voice came through the phone.

“I’m sorry Ivy, I haven’t been on my phone all morning, but I’m okay sissy.”

“Mmhm…He must’ve had your mind gone huh?” Ivy spoke teasingly.

“Girl, it was so good.” India simply said, implying that she had her world rocked just a few short hours before, making Ivy scream through the phone. India moved the speaker away from her ear so her eardrum wouldn’t burst.

“She got dicked downnn, she got dicked downnn!” Ivy sang as India just shook her head at her sister’s ridiculous antics. “Wait, does mom know that you have a new boyfriend?”

“Oh my God he’s not my boyfriend…and no I didn’t tell her I was going to meet some fine ass wrestler to have sex with. She would freak out and tell me he might kidnap me or something.” It was true, their mom was very caring but she could be a bit overprotective about the smallest things.

“Girl, she would be up there in a New York minute.” Her sister honestly admitted, making India nod her head and giggle.

“Anyway, how did you and Mikey enjoy the show?” She just knew her nephew was screaming and jumping up and down the whole time.

“Girl, he loved it. His little voice is gone today from all that screaming he did.” India smiled, just imagining his cute little face lit up with excitement.

“Did ya’ll get T-shirts and stuff?”

“You know that. He talked me into getting some too. I needed some sleep shirts anyway, chile.” India laughed at her sister’s nonchalant honesty. “Oouu. If Mikey knew that you and J—the astronauts in space would hear that scream.”

“Shhh. Don’t tell him anything though ‘cause we’re not together like that, you know?”

“Well…what are ya’ll? Friends with benefits?” Ivy inquired.

“No…I don’t think so.” Ivy smacked her teeth at this uncertainty.

“Ho, how you don’t know? He had to have said something about that.”

India sighed deeply before explaining. “Basically he said he liked being around me and that he wanted us to keep seeing each other and that he would buy me stuff, if I wanted.”

“…That dude is your sugar daddy, India.”

“No no no. It’s not exactly like that—”

Ivy interrupted her words. “All that man gotta do is spoil you and sweet talk you. The second you get to actin’ up, boom. Pull out a new purse and then here you go, ‘Okay I guess we can make up…’” Ivy mocked her sister’s voice.

“You’re grilling me right now—” Ivy interrupted, again.

“I know you finna be like that, not even intentionally. Because that last man? Didn’t spend one dime, nickel, or penny on you. So if Jey start buying you shit, you’re not gonna know how to say ‘no’. Watch.”

“That is so not true! I can say no.” She defended herself against her big sister.

“Alright, alright. Imma see, and then I will gladly say that I was wrong.”

Ivy nodded her head with confidence that she would sooner or later find out will falter.

“He made you laugh?” Ivy asked.

“Yea, why?”

“Oh yeah, you gone.” Ivy scoffed at her sister’s so-called knowledge of everything about her, knowing damn well she practically helped their mom raise her.

“So, he’s a funny guy.” She put her hands up in mock surrender.

“Hm. Laughed ya ass straight out of them panties…”

“Ivy!!”

“Oops, my bad. Is he still there?” Now she wanted to ask.

“No, he left like 15 minutes ago to go workout with his brother at the gym.” Ivy was now standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror, getting ready to do her skincare for the day.

“Is he coming back later?”

“I honestly have no idea.” She answered with no lies.

“He’ll definitely be back later.” She could just hear her sister’s smirk on her face through the phone. “Hey, I’m just glad one of us is getting it in.”

Ivy just slowly shook her head and playfully rolled her eyes. Her sister always made her laugh in every situation.

Not soon after, she heard the sound of faint crying in the background on the phone. “Oh Lord that’s Mikey. He probably stepped on another toy and hurt his foot again. If Jey come back later, you owe me a coffee.”

“Okay I guess. Tell my nephew that I love him, and I love you too.”

“I will, love you girly. Bye bye.” That was the end of their catch-up call, leaving India to shower and wash her face, doing some extra steps in taking care of her skin since last night she was a bit busy…

The rest of her day went by surprisingly fast, with no social media tasks to do today as her manager, Karli, handled all of them today. India sent her a quick ‘thank you’ text, promising to meet up with her for lunch soon, to which she responded happily that she would love that.

Now it was nearing 11 PM and India had ate dinner, a place with really good stir fry that she found on UberEats that she paired with ice cold water, and for dessert she just drank some boba milk tea.

She was in bed, underneath her covers with all of the lights off except the light from her mounted TV on the wall as she scrolled through Insta. As she was tapping through people’s stories, she unintentionally came across Jey’s story.

A wave of emotions came over her.

It was him, what looked like his brother and his girl, and a random girl at the club. But the random was dancing all on him, twerking and throwing it in a circle for Jey to catch. And the next picture just pissed her off even more.

India’s jaw clenched. “Wowww. Niggas ain’t shit huh?” Obviously Jey wasn’t her boyfriend or husband, but she wasn’t expecting him to be all up under a girl the day after they had sex.

She just tossed her phone near her pillow and put on her comfort show, trying not to let that ruin her night, but it was a bit hard.

It was even harder after Jey noticed that he posted that video on his main IG story instead of his close friends. Then he started texting and calling her.

Jey: India baby, answer the phone.

Jey: I ain’t mean for you to see that. It’s not like that fr. She just some random.

Jey: Princess cmon, don’t do me like that

India saw all his missed calls and texts and made no moves to answer any of them.

The incessant calling got so annoying to her that she answered it just to tell him to leave her alone.

“Please stop calling me Jey.”

“India. Baby just listen to—”

“I know you’re not my man and I’m not your woman, but damn Jey! Like what the fuck?”

“Listen though. She came all up on me dancin’ and shit.”

“Okay Joshua.” She called him out by his real name that he said she could call him by.

“Really, the government name? It’s like that?” As mad as she was at him, that damn sexy ass voice slipped through the cracks of her anger, but she quickly locked back in.

“Yea it’s like that. Goodnight.” She hung up the phone. She didn’t even know why her feelings were so strong towards him, she just knew that they were.

Maybe it was just the thought that someone would actually spend time with her and take care of her in the ways that she begged her ex boyfriend to do, but all that was down the drain right now.

India continued to watch her show on the TV, hoping that the rest of her night was as peaceful as it could get, until she heard knocks on the room door.

She slowly sat up in bed and squinted her eyes in disbelief. “I know damn well…” She threw the covers off of her and marched to the door to look through the peephole and low and behold, it was him.

She rolled her eyes so hard they damn near got stuck back there. She sighed, trying to keep her annoyance and anger at bay.

Her hands betrayed her by unlocking and opening the door, but only enough for him to see her face. “What do you want Jey?”

He quickly took off his black sunglasses. “Aight, hold on. Can I come in and talk?” He licked his lips and India’s eyes caught the action, getting a little distracted for a second.

“No, we can talk right here.”

‘Ummm, you really not supposed to be talking to him at all.’

“C’mon mama…You really want all these people in these rooms to hear what we got goin’ on?” He motioned to the opposite sides of the hallway.

India really just could not stand on business with Jey at all…

…shown by the fact that they were now kissing on the couch in the living area, with Jey licking and sucking on her neck and whispering apologies and promises that he would make it up to her with roses and gifts.

She definitely owes her sister that coffee…

taglist!: @chrissyxcxox @christinabae @trippinsorrows @nayys-world @4milly @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @levissslutt @m00nlitnight @luuvprincess @sheaabuttaababyy @prettypink-princesss @fearlesschimera @romanreignsbae @amandairene88 @pittieprincess22 @moxley99 @princess-saki1 @sharmelasworld @marababyyyy @shanthefemalerapper @theusotwinzcom @bettybelle @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @kelbrave

[yearningforsolitude]

Special Delivery

benjamin poindexter x reader

warnings - fluff, smidge of obsessive behavior? gender is not used but reader is described as shorter than dex & use of the word "pretty" as a describing word.

word count - under 1k

a/n - this is my first time writing for dex, so i apologize if the characterization seems off at all for him! i'm working on something else right now that might be a little more in character. either way, i hope you enjoy! any feedback is appreciated <3 (also, i made cinnamon rolls today so that's what inspired this hehe)

────── .✦

Three sharp knock-knock-knock’s to Dex’ apartment door are what pull him out of his thoughts. He checks the dark face of his watch for the time—7:37pm. Odd. No one was ever at his apartment this late. Well, no one was at his apartment ever, really. He makes his way over to the door, checking the peephole. There you are. Standing in front of his door like that was exactly where you were meant to be. No, there must be a mistake. Is what immediately comes to Dex’ mind. He has never seen you before. Not around his building, not even around his block. Dex would have remembered seeing you before if he had. He backs away from the peephole, debating on if he should answer the door. Ultimately, he decides to answer it.

He slowly opens the door separating the two of you and finally gets a good look at you. You’re shorter than he is, well dressed, pretty, and you’re holding something in your hands as you look up at him, smiling. This really must be a mistake.

“Hi there, neighbor!” You say, smiling sweetly up at him. Oh, so this is who has been making all the noise in the neighboring apartment. Before Dex can say anything, you’re speaking again. “I just wanted to come over and introduce myself,” You explain yourself, giving him your name. “I just moved into the apartment next to you and figured that this was probably the appropriate thing to do. Oh! And I made you cinnamon rolls, so I hope you like them. Oh no, are you allergic to cinnamon?” Dex is trying to process the information that you are rapidly throwing at him, categorizing it for later use. Before he can answer your question, you open your mouth and begin to speak again. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. This happens when I’m nervous. What’s your name?” The words tumble quickly from your mouth as you begin to laugh, cheeks turning red. Dex mirrors you and begins to laugh as well. 

“Benjamin Poindexter, but you can call me Dex. And no, I’m not allergic to cinnamon.” He says, answering both of your questions in one swift response. “I was wondering who has been making all the noise over there today.” He says, trying to make a joke, but the words land wrong. Your smile falters slightly and he’s mentally kicking himself. Way to go, Dex. “I’m just joking,” He clarifies, still smiling in hopes that he can somewhat salvage this first interaction. “Uh, if you need any help with moving anything, let me know. I know these stairs are a killer.” He says, and he’s not lying, but he hopes that you can’t tell that he’s trying to steer the conversation away from his poorly made joke. Your smile becomes larger again and he thinks that he hasn’t ruined the interaction.

“Will do, neighbor! I mean—Dex.” You say, smiling somewhat shyly now, and he likes the way his name sounds falling from your lips. “And here are those cinnamon rolls,” You extend your arms, the tupperware with designs of flowers on it now floating in the air between the two of you in your grasp. “If you like them, please let me know! And, well, if you don’t like them, please just lie to me and say that they were good.” You laugh lightly as Dex reaches out and takes the tupperware from you, his fingers coming in contact with your warm hand in the process. Your hand was soft under his fleeting touch. Something else for him to add to the growing list that he’s already mentally compiling of things that he likes about you. “I’m sure they’ll be good.” He says, and he truly thinks that. Sure, he doesn’t typically eat cinnamon rolls, but how could someone mess one up? 

“And if you don’t mind, could you just give me back the tupperware when you’re done with them? That’s my favorite tupperware that I have.” You say, dropping your hands down to your front and fidgeting with your fingers. Dex notices. He wonders if you asking for the tupperware back is your way of creating another opportunity to see him again. It has to be is what he tells himself. He nods in agreement that he will and you give him a small “Goodnight, Dex. It was nice meeting you.” Before making your way back to your apartment. He waits until you’ve closed your door and are safely inside before he closes his own.

He steps back into his kitchen and sets the tupperware on his counter. The intricate design of flowers on the side is an interesting choice to him—but it fits you. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, but he doesn’t care. Dex isn’t used to people being kind to him. Genuine kindness is what you’ve shown him tonight, and that’s not something that he’s easily going to be able to forget. He won’t forget it. He takes the top off of the tupperware and a waft of cinnamon fills his nose. It smells good—he wonders if that’s what your apartment smells like. He takes a bite and is shocked at how good the cinnamon roll truly is. He’s going to have to find ways to get you to make more of them for him, he’s sure he can be of service to you somehow. Free cinnamon rolls and more excuses to be in contact with his pretty neighbor? How could he pass that up?

Throughout the evening, he listens for you. He's not trying to be weird, of course not, but the walls are paper thin and how could he not hear you? Right? He hears you singing words to songs he doesn’t know. He hears you hammering nails into the walls. He wonders how you’re decorating your apartment. And as he goes to sleep that night, he is acutely aware that the only thing separating the two of you are the thin apartment walls.

He finds security in that.

[shinysobi]

should have been you (l.jh)

when everything goes wrong, everything goes wrong (and taking your fate in your hands is not a bad thing) hahah what do you mean writing an smau in a day is a bad idea? but yes, i had a lot of fun doing this and well, this is dedicated to my lovies: @haologram, who helped me write the whole thing, and got excited at all the right places, @mylovesstuffs, bc she sent a three-hundred word paragraph yelling at me about how good the idea was, and ofc my little freaks who asked to be tagged: @facethesunflower, @gyupremacy ! enjoy, and let me know what u think!

@/yurivictims: this means only one thing in korea

@/woozilovers: svt and lunar maknaes posting cute photos of woozi and yn? i'm nooticing

↪@/yurivictims: "prone to schizophrenia" sounds about right

@/yeseularts: how are you feeling about going back into the studio maam

↪@2lazyforuserid: man idk ive got creaking joints but the studio is a fuck ton better than the gym, celeste <3

@/yurivictims: NO WAY YN DROPPED THE F BOMB

↪@/2lazyforuserid: i am 29 ofc i say fuck

@/koreaboo: y/n of lunar, caught smoking on a seoul street

@/yeseularts: okay why the fuck are we still debating the smoking situation? y/n is a grown adult, and she's smoking a cigarette, not hurting people. shut up and let her live

@/woozilovers: y/n's scandal ranking, #1: misandry [=], #2 smoking [NEW]

@/leeuji: "she smokes" okay and? I STILL LOVE HER

@/yurivictims: don't let yn's smoking scandal distract you from the fact that we're getting AOTY this year

@/yurivictims: byeol yeseul and yn really said NO FUCKS GIVEN

↪@/woozilovers: idk if i want yn or if i want to be yn

@/yeseularts: saw their bandmate getting criticised for a lil smoke and said 'we dont care about ur moral policing' that is my FAMILY yall

@/woozilovers: HUH? TOMORROW? TOMORROW NEW SONG? YEARNING TIME?

@/woozilovers: "your hair spilled out onto the white sheets, your eyes that hold galaxies in them" WOOZI DOWN BAD

@/woozilovers: this song is about yn-[TRAIN PASSES BY]

@/yeppeuda: no way he uploaded that song. finefinefinefinecoolcoolcoolcool im fine actually

@/leeuji: does she know?

@/yurivictims: NEW SONG AND ITS QUEER CODED? A WIN?

↪@/yurivictims; "musical genius, the weight of the world on your shoulders", look me in the eye and tell me it is not yeseul and byeol tell me

@/yeseularts; y/n indie release... im so up

@/koreaboo: celestial entertainment and pledis ent issue joint statement regarding dating rumours of their artists y/n and woozi: they are close colleagues

@/yurivictims: shut the fuck up koreaboo

@/woozilovers: koreaboo is a blight on society and must be eradicated

↪@/yurivictims: you ship them

↪@/woozilovers: im not forcing them to sign the marriage certificate stfu

@/woozilovers: both yn and woozi pining all over their songs..is it that serious

@/koreaboo: seventeen's woozi, "I do enjoy Lunar's music" (lnk.to)

@/yurivictims: i be having a good day and this bitch comes to ruin shit for me @/koreaboo

@/koreaboo: lunar's yn, "i think woozi is one of the greatest songwriters of our generation"

@/yeseularts: man i thought this was a joke at first but i cant defend you guys anymore

@/yurivictims: okay gimme 3 reasons why u think yn is dating woozi

↪@/woozilovers: han river dates, song refs, they even have couple items

↪@/yurivictims: and 50 million other people have the same item, are they in a relationship?

@/woozilovers: that did not happen right im not hallucinating right did @/yurivictims curse me with schizophrenia guys

@/woozilovers: sensing something shift in the universe... ominous

↪@/yeseularts: oomf you might be right about that

@/woozilovers: ...what

@/yeseularts: no way...oomf vindicated

@/yurivictims: [CLOSED].

@/koreaboo: Celestial entertainment and pledis ent. both confirm that y/n of lunar and woozi of seventeen are in a relationship, "we ask you to look upon them with kindness."

@/woozilovers: do i get to come to the wedding?

[prettydaisygirl]

Hi love! I saw your requests were open (which is exciting bc I LOVE your stuff) and specifically for Sirius and Remus which is PERFECT because those are my favs 🤗 so what about one of them with a reader who is overworking herself and stressed out and they’re trying to remind her to slow down and take care of herself and ask for help but she’s not listening and you can decide where it goes. I was trying to think of something Angsty bc I do love my angst too 😬

thanks for requesting this! I've discovered that I absolutely love writing for Sirius so I will take any and all requests with him thank you very muchhhh hope you enjoy <3

boyfriend!Sirius Black x fem!reader who is overworked ✿ 732 words

cw: fem!reader, slight angst, Sirius being a protective boyfriend, reader being stubborn, fainting

sirius black masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

It’s Thursday evening, and you and Sirius are cuddled up together on the couch, watching a movie. Or at least, you’re supposed to be watching it. You’ve fallen asleep against him, again, for the third night in a row. 

He encourages it, actually, running slow hands up and down your back. He’d made you some tea earlier, and picked a slow movie he knew would have your eyelids drooping. You’ve been working too hard recently, waking up too early and staying at work too late. If the dark circles under your eyes didn’t give you away, then you falling asleep at the dinner table earlier definitely did.

He’d already said something to you about it last week.

“You can’t keep going like this, love.” He’d said then, “They’re working you to the bone.”

“I need this promotion,” You tried to argue. It was enough of an excuse for you, but not for him. “If I want it, I have to prove to them that I mean it. It’s only a few more weeks.”

But Sirius didn’t know if you could handle this for a few more weeks. He doesn’t know if you’ve been eating enough, you’re long gone before he wakes up in the morning. You eat your dinner like you’ve been starving.

He’s worried about you. 

So, getting you to sleep a little longer, laying on his chest, was just a part of his duty as a good boyfriend, right?

You look a bit better the next afternoon when he sees you, but it doesn’t matter. You fall right back into your routine, and by the time you admit you picked up an extra weekend shift, Sirius is fed up.

“Love.” He takes both of your hands in his own, raising them to his lips. “You can’t keep going like this. You’re going to get sick.”

“I’m fine.” You insist, shaking your head. You don’t tell him about how you’ve felt dizzy sometimes recently, or that you’ve had a headache for the last three days. “They announce the promotion on Friday. If I can just work until then-”

“Do you hear yourself?” Sirius regrets snapping the moment the harsh quip leaves his lips, but he’s angry and he can’t take it back now. “You have to stop. You need to take a break.”

Your eyes grow hard, lids narrowing at him. “You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

Sirius falters, taking a breath in, trying to get control of his temper, his frustration. “Baby, look, I didn’t-”

“Sirius, this is my career.” You stress, running a hand through your hair and shaking your head. “This isn’t something I can just set aside and do later. I need this promotion. I want this job. So just… stop.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

The both of you dance awkwardly around each other for the rest of the night. He insists on a goodnight kiss and you give him one, but he still feels like ants are crawling beneath his skin as he lays next to you. He just has a bad feeling.

He tugs you closer and wishes there was more he could do. 

So he tries. 

He wakes up with you the next morning, though he thinks he’d rather do just about anything than wake up early. He does it for you. He makes you breakfast, and you seem grateful. It doesn’t get rid of the bags underneath your eyes.

Things take a turn for the worse on Wednesday. He can tell something is wrong the moment you walk through the door. He steps over to hug you and you just sort of… collapse into his arms. Literally, you faint into him.

“Okay, baby, you’re okay…” He guides you over to the sofa gently, and gets a cool rag to place over your forehead. You wake soon after, blinking slowly like you’re unsure of what’s happening.

“You fainted.” He tells you before you can ask. “You’re staying home tomorrow.”

You don’t argue, even though part of you wants to. Part of you wants to scream at him that your job is on the line but you physically can’t. So, you stay quiet. And you let him take care of you. 

And in the end, missing one day doesn’t even matter.

You get better, and you get the promotion.

And Sirius gets to brag that he was right. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl