#I’ll try not to be too late for the next one

[butterfly-wingss]

Medicine.

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Jason fucking hated making this call but he had too. “Can’t get to the phone right now leave a message. BEEEEEEP”

Of course, of fucking course “Hey, Danny,” he shakes out through ragged breaths. “I- I need more ecto, I- its just. I need”

He felt like an addict, calling him up begging for something to make him feel alive. It’s pathetic, he’s pathetic.

Pain shoots through him in a flash. A burning fire in his bones, smoke in his lungs. ‘Withdrawals’ something dangerous in the back of his mind whispers.

“Find me when you’re free yeah?” Jason is barely able to get out before collapsing.

————

Danny hated how his fraid never asked for help until it was too late.

He dose the same but that’s irrelevant.

By the time he got to Jason he was curled up in a corner, scratching at his chest.

Danny gently took the other mans hands in his. “I’m here Jay,” rubs small circles into his hands. “I got the ecto.”

Jason bares his teeth then cowers further into the corner. “We can fight if you want?”

He tries to yank his hands back but otherwise doesn’t try to fight. Danny bundles him up in his arms. Jason squirms but doesn’t thrash like he used too. That’s good.

He situates them so that Jason is in his lap held in place with Danny’s arms and legs. He hates it but they both agreed that its important that Jason get his ecto; heads in duffle bags after all.

He tips Jason’s head back and gives him the ecto shot. He doesn’t need to force it down, once the body realises what it is he gulps it down and practically begs for more, if its this bad he probably needs it.

Danny gives him another shot. He squirms a little more, mostly just turning around in Danny’s hold until he’s crying into him.

“’M sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” He mumbles. Holding Danny’s shirt tight.

“It’s okay.” He runs a hand through Jason’s hair. “Let’s get you to bed yeah? I promise it’ll be more comfortable.”

———— Jason wake up groggily and slowly. His chest is warm. His pillow is ice cold.

Danny.

He doesn’t want to get up yet. He just wants to lay here, ice and fire in equilibrium. Once he fully wakes he has to be Jason, the red hood, the phoenix knight.

A knight can’t live in this moment. He can’t force that of his king. Jason’s just being needy. He got the ecto and now he needs more, needs the gentle touches Danny always give him, need the comfort of his presence, needs the very air in his lungs.

Jason’s greedy. He’s addicted. He’s violent and he should never have been made a knight. They were kids, they shouldn’t have been able to decide.

Cold fingers rake through his hair “You should have called me before, why don’t you ever call me before you need me…” Jason doesn’t reply.

He doesn’t want to wake up, he doesn’t want Danny to stop. “I love you, I don’t want you to hurt.”

It’s not like that, Jason reminds himself. He knows Danny doesn’t love him like he wants. Danny loves all his fraid. It didn’t mean anything. A protector spirits love is a blessing, especially one so powerful.

He doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t even notice, but he leans into Danny more. What he does notice is Danny’s please little hum. Jason allows himself a few more minutes to be greedy.

Eventually though he has to wake. “Good morning.”

“Danny.” he mumbled. Shit, he can’t do this.

“You feeling better?” Icy fingers still run through his hair. This is unfair. He needs to move.

“Breakfast, what’d you want?” it take every ounce of his self control to get up. He faintly notes he’s in sweats and and one of his biggest hoodies instead of his Red Hood gear. He can’t let the thought linger.

“I’ll eat anything you make, your cooking’s amazing.” Danny says with a bright grin, adorable fangs on full display. Fuck this was gonna be difficult.

————

Jason made pancakes, he didn’t do much, Alfred gave him a jar of pancake mix all he did was add milk and eggs and it was ready.

They eat and made pleasant conversation about what they’ve done since they last saw each other, Jason steering far away from his night life. Eventually they finished up, Danny insists on washing the dishes and practically shoves Jason into the shower.

When Jason comes back out to the living room there’s a pillow fort set up on his couch and Princess Bride ready to go on his TV.

“Danny.” It’s barely a breath but Danny still hears it.

“Jay. Oh hot chocolate or coffee? You have a bunch of tea too but I don’t understand tea so you might be better off making your own if you want some. Or you could show me.” No one smiles like that in Gotham.

All causal and soft and blindingly bright. Either you can’t afford to smile, so anytime you do it takes all the energy out of you. Or you’re rich enough to by a plastic smile and plaster it on constantly.

The only good thing about living with B was finding out those rich fucks were as miserable as Alley kids.

“I can do it, just start the movie.”

“He says like it’s not his favourite.” Danny mocks.

The spend the rest of the day in their little fort. Watching movies, eating snacks, all cuddled up.

It’s not good for Jason’s heart or his sanity but he’s greedy. He doesn’t want to push Danny away so he’ll take what he can get. Even if it feel like being stabbed every time he lets go. Even if it’ll be impossibly colder without this block of ice next to him. He’ll take it. And he’ll hold the memories close like they could provide a fraction of the comfort Danny so freely gives him.

[thatonegrimm]

Hiya Grimm! I love the way you write! I'm short (4ft6) and the boys are tall, could I get some funny moment drabbles of the saja boys (sep or together) reacting to the height difference? Take care of yourself and drink some water!

Hi Anon!! Thank you so much—you’re seriously too sweet 😭 And don’t worry, I’ve got my water bottle right here (because you told me to 💙). Also, I LOVE this prompt?? Tall demon boys + tiny reader = comedy gold. Let’s get into it 💌

🌙Saja Boys x Short!Reader

Your height is officially now the bane and the delight of the entire Saja Boys dorm — you are pocket-sized and they are unwell about it.

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

🧿 Jinu

Jinu is so careful around you it’s like you’re made of glass.

You once tried to give him a backhug and accidentally latched onto his waist. He turned scarlet.

“W-Wait, was that your head?? I thought—I mean—I didn’t think it would be that low—NOT THAT IT’S BAD—”

The poor man nearly short-circuits every time you ask him to reach something. He acts like you’re making a formal request to the throne.

“Jinu, can you grab the chips?” “Of course. It would be my honor. You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

He genuinely starts storing things lower just to make your life easier.

You caught him rearranging the pantry at 2am with a deep, solemn expression.

“This world wasn’t built for you,” he mutters, “but I’ll fix what I can.”

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

💪 Abby

Abby thinks you are the cutest little gremlin to ever exist.

He has no concept of personal space when it comes to you. If you’re standing next to him for longer than five seconds, he’s just gonna pick you up.

One time you told him to “put you down,” and he literally just set you on top of the fridge.

“Wait—NOT LIKE THAT—”

He calls you things like “travel-sized” and “fun-sized fury.” You tried to punch his knee once. He giggled.

When you get mad at him, he holds your head with one hand and lets you flail like an angry Roomba.

Abby’s favorite activity? Putting his chin on your head like it’s a shelf. You’ve bitten him for this. He considers it flirting.

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

📚 Mystery

You thought he didn’t care. He didn’t say anything about your height. He just blinked at you slowly like a lizard.

Until one day, you saw him trying to copy the way you walk. Small. Deliberate. Compact.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you… mocking me?” “No,” he said. “Learning.”

He absolutely weaponizes the height difference. He’ll vanish into a shadow and reappear directly behind you—looming.

It’s like being haunted by a very tall cat.

You once climbed on the counter to reach something. Mystery walked by and pushed the item closer without a word, then left like a cryptid.

He later offered you a knife with zero explanation.

“What’s this for?” “To stab their knees.” “Whose knees?” “Any knees. They’re at your level.”

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

💋 Romance

Romance takes every opportunity to tease you.

“Oh no,” he gasps dramatically. “Where’s my kiss? I can’t see you. Are you down there, tiny thing?”

You socked him in the thigh once. He moaned on purpose. You: “STOP BEING WEIRD—”

Him, scooping you into his arms bridal-style: “I can’t help it, you bring out my instincts.”

He insists on taking selfies where you look absurdly small next to him. He always squats just a little to make you even tinier.

Your revenge? Climbing him like a tree.

“Are you—using me—for elevation??” “You’re tall. I’m resourceful.”

He’s never recovered.

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

🔥 Baby

You were worried about the height difference at first. But Baby? Baby is thriving.

“You’re fun-sized,” he smirks. “Pocket edition. Travel demon slayer.” “I’m literally not a toy.” “Too late, I already told the group chat you fit in my carry-on.”

He will absolutely lean on things just to look smug. Will lean on YOU if you let him.

At some point, he started calling you “Lil’ Boss.” He crouched next to you once, chin in hand, and said, “Damn. I could yeet you so far.”

You climbed him like a jungle gym and bit his shoulder.

He looked delighted.

“Okay. This is why you’re my favorite.”

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

M-List

[rooksamoris]

“Jamil, it’s okay to cry. Burns hurt, you know,” you told him, reassuringly. You had caught the little boy standing over the tanoor oven. It was taller than he was, and still he tried to make khubz over it since Kalim had mentioned wanting some.

Recently, his parents had lectured him again about how he was expected to treat Kalim. He questioned it, but that did not end well. He was just expected to understand why things were the way they were. He was expected to silently watch as his parents prostrated before Kalim’s father like he was some untouchable god. The feeling of his father’s hand pressing down the back of his head so that he would bow was burnt into his memory. His forehead against the ornate rugs which were worth more than his life.

Jamil was frowning, looking down at the burn on his hand while you carefully rubbed aloe gel on his skin. You were another servant here, and he was lucky you had been the one to catch him at the oven unattended. He thought you were stupid and naive, despite being a lot older and bigger than he was. He had seen it, the way you studied hard late into the night only to wake up and scrub the floors and take care of Kalim and his siblings, like those tests and books would ever get you out of this hell. 

He stayed quiet.

You reached into one of the counter’s drawers for the bandage roll, “Why were you at the tanoor?” you asked.

“Kalim said he wanted khubz and jam and we were out of khubz,” he mumbled, looking away from you so that you would not see how glossy his big eyes had become. He was trying to hide behind his long hair. He felt that crying over his circumstances was pointless. His forehead was on the rug, held down by bags of sand each time he tried to lift it.

Gently, you began to wrap up his hand, careful to not press too harshly on the burn, “Next time he wants khubz, tell me and I’ll make it. It’s dangerous to use the tanoor.”

“I can do it,” he said.

“I know you can, but I also know your parents scolded you for using the stove without a grown-up.”

That made his frown deepen and he turned to look at you with lowered brows, “I—”

You sighed, silencing him by ruffling his hair, “Don’t argue with me,” you said, before standing up and lifting him off the counter. You handed him a woven basket with the khubz he had made and a jar of fruit jam, “Now, go take these to Kalim.”

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[r66dusthewriter]

Hello! This is my first ever request! I was wondering if you could do a Drew starkey x actress(reader) who have been together for a while now but the public doesn’t know. And they’re spotted together in the set OBX 5 being all cute

I loved you here

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: Extra fic this week! this is my favorite trope so ask for more, i begggggg. Actually i'm already plotting for a fic hehehe, might've already written it even 👹

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 0,8k

It was the last first day back on set and as bittersweet as that was, you couldn’t help the flicker of joy curling in your chest. For the first time in months, you and Drew would be in the same city, your schedules finally aligning like stars that had kept missing each other in orbit. It sounded like an insane way to maintain a healthy relationship, seeing each other between shoots, flights, time zones and premieres, but it worked and had worked for five years now, soon to be six. 

Quiet, solid and steady amidst the chaos.

Everyone was already out in wardrobe, gathering in groups on set to take promo pictures when you finally stepped out of the makeup trailer. Your stylist adjusted a hair strand behind you as the makeup artists trailed out, checking your face under the light one last time.

You picked up your pace slightly, not wanting to keep anyone waiting and then you saw Drew standing near the edge of the uneven ground where the trail met the set’s main path, a little higher up than the rest. His gaze lifted, caught yours and as always, softened instantly.

You smiled. “Hi baby.”

“Hi,” he said back, just as warm. “You didn’t have to rush.”

You reached the edge of the drop and before you could think of climbing down, Drew stepped forward, gripped your waist and lifted you gently off the ledge, placing you down right in front of him like it was second nature. You steadied yourself with a hand on his chest. “You didn’t have to wait.”

“I wanted to,” he simply said, his voice low and easy. “You look beautiful.”

You brushed his hand as you fell into step beside him, pinkies barely brushing until they caught and looped together for just a second between you and around, castmates and crew chatted as they walked, heading toward the first shoot location.

“Last first day,” he said quietly.

You glanced around, the familiarity of it all sinking in. “I’m definitely crying on the last day.”

“I’ll start tonight,” he laughed.

You chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Have you thought about what you’re gonna ask to keep?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost too quickly.

You gave him a look. “Oh really? That confident?”

“Mhm. I’m not asking though and I already stole it.”

You blinked, curious. “It better not be more of the gold, because if you’re stockpiling, I’ve got to return mine before we get in trouble.”

Drew grinned, turning his head just enough to catch your expression. “It’s you, baby. Found you here first and I’m not giving you back.”

You bumped into him with a laugh and slid an arm around his waist as you walked. He squeezed your side gently in return.

“That was smooth,” you said, impressed.

“I try.”

You reached up and plucked the sunglasses off his face, sliding them onto your own. “You nailed it, baby. Don’t doubt yourself.”

It had been obvious from the start that you were each other’s best thing. The quarantine FaceTime calls, all the red carpets, night shoots, line rehearsals and late-night takeout meals in cramped trailers, were all part of the story. Growing up in this industry with Drew had changed your life in more ways than you could count but most of all, it had made everything feel a little less heavy and a whole lot more worth it.

For the next few hours, as you moved between locations for the photos, you and Drew created a game. One of you would point at a spot on set and the other would tell the memory tied to it. That bench where you both fell asleep during a night shoot in season two, that path you’d ran off to, to kiss hiding from prying eyes and the dock behind the crew tent where you’d whispered “I think I’m in love with you,” when you hadn’t meant to.

As always, unsurprisingly so, you forgot people could see that sort of connection, much less film it, which was what happened.

You and Drew had always been quiet about it and as discreet as you could, or at least, you thought you were. But that moment had been captured, as many others by the always-watchful lenses of fans across the field. The videos were posted within the hour and then they were everywhere.

obsessedfilmupdates  are they friends?

outerbnxfiles  Sooo much worse

rafeanatics  Last year hoping they’ll fall in love 😪

sunkissedstarkey  I need them to realise they’re perfect for each other like FAST

outerbanksfeed   Stand down, soldier. I think we did it

The comments poured in like waves, relentless, warm and achingly observant. Fans had always seen it, what had always lived quietly between the takes and under the surface. The comfort, the soft familiarity and the way you looked at each other like home. Even without confirmation, it was a fantasy millions had collectively chosen to internalise. It maybe wasn’t yet real to them but clearly it wasn’t a performance either and that was more than enough.

If this was the beginning of the end, this last season, this last stretch of long nights and early mornings, you were okay with it—because he had been there at the start and you knew, no matter where the story ended on screen, he’d be there long after the credits rolled.

[formulafanfics13]

the cracks don’t ask permission - MV1

masterlist || Part 1

Summary: After years apart and a child kept secret, you let Max Verstappen meet his daughter, Aurora, for the first time. The reunion is raw, emotional, and quietly devastating — but it cracks something open. As Max proves he’s changed, and Aurora calls him a “safe dream,” old feelings resurface. You kiss him. And it feels like coming home.

Warnings: Emotional intensity, references to past heartbreak and single motherhood, heavy themes of secrecy and regret, child involved, complicated family dynamics, subtle reconciliation, mentions of long-term relationship with another man, brief mention of lying. Bittersweet, then hopeful.

You keep your eyes on the floor. Think about nothing. Think about everything. About Monaco. The hallway. The words you never meant to say. The look in Max’s eyes. He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. He just looked at you like you ripped the heart out of his chest and walked away with it. Because you did.

And the worst part? He was right. You do still love him.

You feel it, underneath your skin, the fracture you tried to seal cracking again. Because you can’t unsee it now. Max’s eyes. Her eyes. The way she moves. The way she scrunches her nose when she’s annoyed, his nose, his exact frown, the one you used to mock when he missed pole.

You’d convinced yourself she didn’t look like him. You were wrong.

You tuck her into bed that night, forehead kiss, lullaby hum. But she asks, “Mama, why are you sad?” and it hits you in the chest like a sniper shot.

“I’m not, baby.”

“You’re lying.”

You blink. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugs. Innocent. Honest. “Your face is loud.”

You cry in the kitchen after Matteo falls asleep on the sofa. You think it’s the end of it. You pray it is. It isn’t.

Max texts you a week later. You don’t know how he got your number. You’re not even surprised.

Unknown Number I don’t want to fight. I just want to know her name.

You stare at the screen for thirty-three minutes. Then reply.

You It’s Aurora.

You close the app. Turn off your phone. But when you wake up the next morning, he’s sent another one.

Max That’s perfect. Of course it is. You always picked the best names.

He doesn’t message again after that. But something inside you won’t settle.

The next time you see Max is not planned. It’s Barcelona. Another sponsor event. Matteo can’t make it. You go alone. Half-day. Smile and wave. But you see the Red Bull logo the second you step out of the car and your stomach sinks. You try to stay in the back. Quiet. Off-radar. But Max sees you anyway. Of course he does.

He corners you in a side room. Not aggressive. Not dramatic. Just there. “I don’t want to start anything,” he says. “I know you’ve moved on.”

You say nothing.

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop seeing her in my head. I see her in you. And I’m not asking for custody or visitation or to fuck up your life. I just… I need to know her.”

“Max.”

“I’ll stay away. If that’s what you need. I just want to meet her. Once. Five minutes. I’ll never ask again.”

Your breath hitches. “You don't get to pop in and out of her life,” you whisper. “You don’t get to disappear and reappear and expect access.”

“I didn’t disappear,” he snaps. “You did.”

The silence turns sharp. You look away. He exhales. Softer now. “I’d be good to her.”

You don’t mean to, you really don’t, but you say it before you can stop yourself. “She’d love you.”

It breaks him. You see it. The hit. The devastation. The inhale he can’t catch. And when he speaks next, it’s like he’s barely holding it together. “You kept her from me. For years. And I get why. I do. But if I walk away now, I’ll never forgive myself. Not again. I let you go once. I didn’t fight. Because I thought you’d come back.”

He steps closer. You don’t move. “I never stopped loving you. Not one fucking day. And I know it’s too late. I know you’ve got him, and a life, and she calls someone else Papa. But let me meet her. Let me see her, just once. That’s all I’m asking.”

You whisper, “Why now?”

He laughs. Broken. “Because now I know she exists.”

You should say no. You do say no. But that night, you watch Aurora sleep, little fists curled, lashes long and dark like his, and something inside you buckles. The next morning, you text him.

You We’ll be at the park on Sunday. 10 a.m. If you come, you come as a friend. No explanations. No claims. If she doesn’t like you, it ends there. No second try.

He replies instantly.

Max I’ll be there.

It’s cold for June. Not enough to cancel plans, but enough to pull a cardigan around your shoulders and worry whether Aurora will ask to leave early. You don’t tell her who you’re meeting. You just say a friend. You pack juice boxes and tissues and two granola bars. She wears the yellow sundress Matteo picked out, the one with tiny sunflowers stitched along the hem.

You keep checking your phone. You don’t know why. Max didn’t need a reminder. You know he’ll come. You just don’t know what it’ll feel like.

Aurora chatters beside you, holding your hand, pointing out clouds shaped like bears and balloons caught in trees. She’s everything good you’ve ever touched. Everything innocent. Everything Max never got to see.

Until now. Because there he is. Sitting on the same bench where you always take your coffee. Black hoodie. Jeans. Cap low. Nothing fancy. But the second Aurora sees him, she stops walking. Your heart stutters.

She blinks up at you. “Who’s that?”

You swallow. “An old friend.”

Max stands. His hands are in his pockets. He looks nervous. Not in the way you’ve seen before, not race-start pressure or PR exhaustion. This is different. Raw. Human.

Aurora tilts her head. “He looks like me.”

You inhale. Hard. Max steps closer. Slowly. Like he’s not sure the ground will hold. “Hi,” he says, voice soft. “I’m Max.”

Aurora stares. Then, with that signature tilt of her head, the one you’ve always known came from him, she asks: “Are you my daddy?”

Your stomach drops. Max’s face goes blank. His mouth opens. Closes. Then he kneels, right there, on the pavement, crouched to her level.

“I’m a friend of your mama,” he says gently. “I didn’t get to meet you when you were born. But I’m really happy I get to meet you now.”

Aurora thinks. Frowns. Then shrugs. “Okay.”

You exhale so hard it feels like your ribs crack. Max glances up at you. Just for a second. Just enough to silently ask: Can I? You nod. And then she walks right into his arms.

Max doesn’t cry. Not out loud. But you see it. The way his whole body trembles when her little hands wrap around his neck. The way his eyes shut like this hurts just as much as it heals.

She says, “Your face is loud.”

He laughs, wrecked. “Yours too.”

They sit on the bench together. Talk about squirrels. Favourite colours. She tells him her teddy bear is named Pistachio and hates bananas. He listens like she’s the only person on Earth. You sit on the grass. Watch them. And when Aurora runs off to the jungle gym, Max stays quiet. Then says, “Thank you.”

You blink. “For what?”

“For letting me see her.”

You nod. Don’t speak.

He swallows. “She’s perfect.”

“She’s her own person.”

“I know.” He hesitates. “But she’s… she’s also us.”

Your throat closes.

“She has your laugh,” he adds, eyes still on her. “And your hands. And my frown. Poor girl.”

You laugh wetly. He looks at you for the first time in weeks. And it’s all there. The pain. The love. The fucking ache of what could’ve been.

“She asked if you were her dad,” you whisper.

He nods. “I heard.”

“She’s never said that before. Not once.”

“She’s smart,” he says. “She knows.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve. “She calls Matteo Papa.”

“I know.”

“He loves her.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Silence. Then “She can love more than one person,” he says, voice barely there. “So can you.”

You look at him. Really look. He looks older. Tired. But steady. Real. You say, “You’re not who you used to be.”

He smiles. “Neither are you.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re better.”

“No,” he says. “But maybe we’re braver.”

Aurora runs back over, demanding snacks. Max pulls one from the bag and hands it to her. She beams. He beams back. And then, she rests her head on his shoulder. Like it’s always been his. You feel something crack wide open.

Later, walking home, she asks, “Will I see Max again?”

You hesitate. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” she says instantly. “He feels like a safe dream.”

You can’t speak. Not until she’s asleep in bed, soft breaths and tangled curls. Not until you step outside and find Max still waiting on the corner. You don’t say anything. You just walk to him. And kiss him. Quiet. Soft. Familiar. He kisses you back like he never stopped. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s been waiting years. And maybe he has.

When you finally pull back, breathless, he says, “I never asked you to leave him.”

You nod. “I know.”

“I just wanted to be enough.”

“You always were.”

He cups your cheek. “So what now?”

You don’t have the answer. But you have this. Him. Her. Here. The rest, you’ll figure out. Together.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `shh! no flirting in the library!, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: you're a librarian at the local library. sam flirts with you whilst you're under the impression he's 'just here to study'. word count: 630 pairing: sam winchester x librarian!reader

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The first time you see him, he’s hovering in the history aisle and a cart of books you still haven’t had time to shelve. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, flipping through a tattered book that looks like the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, like he’s scanning for secret codes in the margins. He doesn’t ask for help. Just places the book back and disappear into the stacks with a furrowed brow and that rare look of someone actually enjoying the silence.

He keeps coming back, though.

More and more.

Always in the late afternoon, when the sun cuts through the windows and the place feels more like a forgotten church than a public library. You try not to stare. You attempt to focus on restocking the shelves and logging donations on the iPad, pretending the very attractive man in the green flannel isn’t right next to you.

On day four, he finally approaches the desk.

“Do you have anything on the Harpocration manuscripts?” he asks, like it’s a normal everyday request. His voice is deep and low enough that it practically hums across the counter.

You blink. “…As in the ancient lexicon of the ten Attic orators?” The words sort of spill out. Nerd vomit.

He raises his eyebrow, impressed. “You’re speaking my language.”

He laughs softly, and a shy smirk appears quickly before you’re unable to conceal it. “Sorry,” you whisper, “it’s just—you ask for the weirdest books.”

“I get that a lot.”

Eventually, it becomes a thing. Every couple of days, he shows up asking about ancient, locked-away books that seriously no-one asks for. A defunct collection of exorcism rites had to be moved to the stockroom after someone tried to steal it 40 years ago, yet he shows up again, today, asking for it.

No one has asked for it in forty years.

“I’m guessing you’re not a casual Latin hobbyist,” you hover, pretending that you’re stacking the shelves close enough to him, causing his head to pop up from above his leather journal. It looks older than him.

“You could say that. I do a lot of research.”

“Work?”

“Yeah. Work.”

He looks at you, leaning on the desk slightly. You squint.

“What do you do for work?”

“Y/N.” Your boss interrupts, stern and clipped from across the room. “You’re not here to chat. Keep your voice down, please.”

You glance around the room; the whole place is a ghost town except for the one guy sleeping in the corner with a copy of The Economist.

“Sorry.” You apologise, shooting your boss an awkward smile.

The man sitting in front of you, the mysterious flannel-clad researcher smiles like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I didn’t realise I was getting you in trouble.”

You wave it off. “It’s fine. It’s just… strict here. For no reason.”

“I’ll try and keep my obscure Latin questions to a whisper next time.”

There’s a beat of silence, one that stretches too long to be casual. You place a few more books onto the shelves before he taps his finger on the table lightly, catching your attention.

“Hey, uh…” He hesitates.

“Yeah?”

“Since I keep dragging you into conversation, mostly about my weird research rabbit holes, maybe I can buy you a coffee? Outside of the library. No shushing involved.”

You smile. “Only if you promise to not quiz me on Harpocration.”

“No promises,” He grins, his eyes lighting up. “But I’ll try to behave.”

You grab a sticky note from behind the counter and jot your number down in your neatest handwriting, sliding it across his desk like it’s some covert message.

He takes it with a grin that lingers even as he walks away.

You’re pretty sure this is the first time you’ve been shushed into a date.

[saintrafayel]

Growing pains (nsfw)

Synopsis: You have your first heat around Xavier, making you shut him out despite his worries.

Pairing: Xavier x sheep!hybrid reader.

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, Smut, p in v sex, breeding, reader is lowkey a menace, jealousy from Xavier, kinda hard dom! Xavier, creampie, possessiveness, implied scent kink if you squint, reader calls Xavier master, dom/sub dynamics, porn what plot, I’m tired I didn’t beta this too well, or tag too well either

Word count: 2.2k

“My star, come out to eat.” Xavier quietly ask as he knocks on your bedroom door. He hasn’t actually seen you all day, you were napping when he came home and he thought it would be best to make you dinner before you awoke. You’ve been quiet and sleeping in more lately, he didn’t want to disturb your routine, lest you panic. Xavier didn’t think much of it, but his concern spikes when he hears you whimper out a meek ‘no,’ in response.

You don’t say ‘no’ to him anymore, you’re eager, you’re docile, you’re his sweet, giving lamb. For a moment, he feels his heart ache at your response.

Xavier attempts to open your door only to find out that you’ve even locked it, something you haven’t done since you’ve gotten comfortable around him. “Starlight? Open the door, please.” He calls out once more, pinning his ear against it. A quiet sob leaves your sweet lips, but you don’t respond. He firmly knocks this time, the worse case scenarios racing through his head. Are you hurt? Did he make you mad? Are you too sick to move? Did you have a scary nightmare again?

“Little lamb, open this door immediately. Please respond to me.” Xavier keeps his cool but he feels as if he’s being torn apart by your silence.

“No!” You cry out, “I-I need to be alone! Not hungry…” you add. Xavier could hear the sounds of heavy pants on the other side of the door, and he’s had enough. You haven’t kept secrets from him in months, what the hell is going on with his sweet little lamb? ‘Drastic times call for drastic measures,’ Xavier reassures himself mentally.

A moment later, you bleat in fright at the sound of your door slamming against the wall, a waving Xavier stood in the hallway on the other side with a piece of your door knob on his other hand.

“Sorry lambie, master’s gotta make sure you’re okay.” Xavier explains, throwing the knob to the floor as he rushes to your bedside. He takes in the state of your room first, noticing how unusually messy it was. Your blankets had been thrown on the floor as well as some of your plushies. He immediately notices the heat radiating off of your naked body and one of his shirts next to your face… did you take it from him?

“No! Go-go away! This is humiliating!” You yell as tears threaten to spill from your precious eyes. You turn your body to face away from him as Xavier connects the dots.

“My starlight, why didn’t you tell me you’re in heat?” He gently speaks, making sure to settle his tone. You were such a sensitive darling… he can’t imagine how intensified everything was for you right now. Xavier places his hand on your forehead and gasp; your body temperature was abnormally high.

“It’s embarrassing… don’t- touch me!” You pant out, yet you push your head against his hand as if to ask for more.

“This is a normal function of your body, it’s not embarrassing.” He reassures, trying his best to ignore the sweet smell of your slick in the air.

“No! I’ll- I’ll take care of it…” you groan pathetically, attempting to move away from him. Xavier all but growls at the loss of your body heat, a feeling akin to that of jealousy and ire burning in his chest. Your soft and dainty hands had no reason to make you cum, that was his job and his alone. The audacity…

“Absolutely not.” Xavier responds, quickly moving to pin your body under his. He makes sure to place one knee inbetween your thighs, feeling them clench in desperation for any sort of aide. He grabs ahold of your hands, pinning the other while he brings your right one to his face, the scent of your juices were obvious to him. Xavier sucks your pointer and middle finger into his mouth, softly moaning as the flavor of your slick is recognized by his taste buds. He pulls out your fingers with a dramatic ‘pop!’ As they leave his lips, and you wish you could hide your face in the soft pillows below you as you begin to grind on his knee. “You’re mine, little lamb. Let Master take care of you, it’s what you need. Even your body knows it.” Xavier reassures, bringing his knee closer to your dripping and neglected cunt.

“‘M sorry master, I feel humiliated…” you admit, “just- just scared you’ll think I’m weird.” And yet you continue to grind on him as you speak, making Xavier chuckle. “I forgot what it’s like, the heat suppressants aren’t in my system now and it’s- so overwhelming!” You cry in frustration. Of course it was, you’ve gone years taking suppressant shots before he adopted you. You’ve probably forgotten what it’s like to experience a heat by now.

Xavier let’s go of your hands as he stands up, much to your dismay. Did he hate you? Will he take you back to the shelter? Would this be your final day together? You let out a small cry as you lose contact with his knee. “Don’t worry, starlight. I’m only taking off my clothes.” He assures while he undoes his sweats, pulling them down along with his briefs. You sigh in relief when you see his hard cock burst out of its imprisonment, Xavier truly was the best master you could ask for.

“You’re staring, what a curious lamb I have,” he points out, “Gonna make it all better, I promise…”

His shirt is off, and he crawls back on top of you. Xavier quickly pecks your mouth before he grabs ahold of your face. “What position does my little lamb want? Or can I have the privilege of eating this sweet pussy before we begin?” He whispers into your right ear. You feel your body shiver from his tone, and you speak up.

“Doggy… later Master. I can’t- I can’t take this anymore!” You whine. Xavier flips you over onto your tummy and raises your hips with ease. He lines himself up with you, taking note of how quickly your tail wags in anticipation. Xavier looks down to see some of your slick dripping down to the bedsheets, he bites his lip at the obscenity of it all, finally pushing himself inside of your warm cunt. You let out a sigh of relief as you feel his cock filling you; only Xavier could bring you this amount of pleasure, only he could relieve you of your struggles.

“I love you, Xavier…” you moan as he finally bottoms out, you roll your eyes in ecstasy as the wonderful sensation of being full with your lover puts you at ease.

Your confession sends a dull throb to his cock, he grabs ahold of your hips and pulls out, only to slam himself back inside of you. “I love you too, little lamb…” he says between pants, picking up a steady rhythm to fuck you in. “You feel wonderful, little lamb,” he groans, “next time, tell master- fuck, tell master you need his cock.” He instructs, hips thrusting gently into you as clench around his length.

“I want- I wan’ more!” You moan, fucking back into him. Xavier grips into the fat of your ass as it bounces back towards his cock, moaning at the sight. Apart of him couldn’t believe how… different you were right now. Did your heat make you this desperate? “Want it rough-rougher! Please Master, please please-“ you begin to babble cries of ‘please’ and ‘more’ over and over, letting your desires take over your anxious brain.

“That’s what I’m here for, starlight.” He whispers as he grabs onto your hips, pulling your body back for you. “Master’s always here for you, I want you to use me when you’re like this.” Xavier reassures.

“Want you to breed me.” You demand, forcing his brain to short circuit. His hips lose their rhythm for a moment, the vivid image of you swollen with his children flashing through his mind. You’ve never asked him to cum inside before… you’ve always been so careful, asking him to wear a condom which he has no issues with. Would you want this if you were in the right state of mind, would you-

“If you don’t… I can always ask someone else to fuck me right.” You smirk with a devilish tone he’s never heard from you. Any sense of hesitation was thrown out the window. His fingernails dig into your skin as he pulls you back onto his cock roughly.

“How- how dare you.” He growls, quickly forcing your pliant body to slam back into his over and over. “You’re mine- not anyone else’s.” He seethes out, beads of sweat beginning to form at his forehead. “My lamb, my pet, mine, mine-dammit!- mine.” You feel a firm bite on your left shoulder, forcing a bleat from your lips. “No one else can pleasure you like this- say it.” He seethes out. The image of you under another man while you were in heat, in your most desperate and sensitive form made Xavier sick with nausea and ire.

“Just you master-just Xavier!” You whine, clenching around his cock as he fucks into you with purpose. You feel a building pressure stirring within you; something that only Xavier had the ability to do. “Gonna cum!” You warn. Xavier smirks, pulling out of you immediately while you pathetically whine. “But-“ you begin, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

“I thought you said you could find someone else to fuck you right?” He mocks, slapping his cock on your ass as if to tease you further.

“No- just you Xavier, promise!” Your voice shakes in desperation. “Won’t tease you again, won’t ever look at anyone besides you!” You rush out in tears. Before you had the chance to turn back and look at him, Xavier pulls your head back by gripping onto your messy hair, forcing you to look up at him.

“Are you sure you’re not a wolf in sheep’s clothing?” He smirks, suddenly stretching out your needy cunt to the brim with his cock. Xavier observes as your eyes roll to the back of your empty head as he continues his assault on your dripping pussy, relishing in it all; your expression, the sound of his balls smacking your clit, how you clench around him as he pounds into your pliant body.

“What does your collar say?” He ask, staring down at you as you arch as much as you can handle. He’s holding a firm grip on your hair with one hand and your hips with the other, making sure you couldn’t move or switch from your position.

“Xavier’s lamb!” You pant out, the sweet pressure building inside of you once more.

“Who’s lamb?”

“Yours! Yours, yours-yours yours!” You babble. Despite the rough treatment Xavier was giving you, you couldn’t help but to look up at him with adoration and love. A Part of Xavier felt as if he should tenderly kiss you right now, while the other urges him to fuck you until you couldn’t move an inch away from him. The latter seems much more appealing right now.

“Who’s gonna breed this pretty little lamb?” He rolls his eyes as you deliciously clench around him, it shouldn’t be long before you finish. He could handle you, Xavier knows this won’t be the last time he cums inside of you tonight.

“You Xa-Xavier! You’re gonna- gonna breed me, gonna have your babies- fuck!” With a harsh thrust, you feel the pressure inside of you finally release. You try your best to look straight into Xavier’s eyes; he adores when you make eye contact while cumming.

“I love you, I love you, I love you I love you I love you I love-“ you blather on, too overwhelmed by your orgasm. Xavier bites his lip and tries to stop himself from cumming, but you felt so wonderful around him. He lets go of your hair and puts both hands on your hips again, bouncing your body back into his.

You’re stunning, even when you’re fucked out and incapable of doing anything but letting Xavier ravage you. Even when you’ll be round and swollen with his child in the near future.

His fingers dig into your skin as he feels himself climax into your sweet cunt, his body finally collapsing on top of yours. As Xavier fills you to the brim, he suddenly feels you clenching around him. Even when you’re exhausted and unable to think, your body knows it needs every drop of his cum inside of you.

Xavier doesn’t say much while he cums, he merely chants your name until he finishes and sighs. He lifts himself up after a few seconds before one of your hands reaches for him.

“Don’t… don’t pull out yet, Master.” You meekly ask, “I want it to take…” the slight tone of embarrassment is back in your voice, forcing a small chuckle as he carefully lays on his side and pulls your body along with his. Xavier makes sure he’s still inside, plugging in his cum and preventing it from leaking. Maybe he overdid it, he’ll let you rest for now and truly get back at you for your comment later on.

You swear you hear sweet nothings whispered into your ear as exhaustion drives you to sleep, lulling you into a pleasant dream of you and Xavier cuddling with a child that has his hair and your ears.

[belli5]

Love Sick.ᐟ ೀMC⁷¹

╰ Synopsis When you come down with a fever, Macklin refuses to leave your side, determined to care for you, no matter how many kisses it risks or rules you break together.

tags/contains Fluff, Macklin Celebrini x fem!reader. Mild illness, nothing that I’m aware of.

➺ from Sera, to you📨. SOMEONE PLEASE SEND IN GOOD/CUTE MACK PHOTOS TO ME, because genuinely I can’t find no more.

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!

You wake up to the sound of your own cough, it’s not delicate or cute, but it’s loud and rattling and makes your throat feel like sandpaper. Your nose is stuffy, your head is pounding, and when you open your eyes, the soft morning light sneaks in just enough to remind you it’s too early to feel this awful.

You groan and burrow deeper under the blankets, trying to find a pocket of cool air in the warmth of your feverish body. You’re aware that Mack isn’t in bed next to you, which is odd, because he always is. Even on practice days, he’d sooner be late than leave you alone in the morning without a kiss goodbye.

A second later, you hear him: the soft clang of a mug against the counter, the hum of your boyfriend’s off key morning voice, you smile despite the ache in your head.

You close your eyes and drift for maybe a minute before the door creaks open.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Macklin whispers, stepping inside. He’s holding a steaming mug and a little tray with toast and a cut up orange.

You groan again. “Mack.. I feel gross.”

“You look cute.” He grins, setting the tray on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed and brushes his fingers through your hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Not good.”

“Aw, baby.” He leans in and kisses your forehead even though you weakly push at his chest.

“Stop! I don’t want you to get sick,” you protest, voice muffled and scratchy.

“I don’t care,” he says simply and kisses you again, softer this time, right above your brow. “Can’t keep me away.”

You huff, half amused, half miserable. “You’re gonna get sick and then you’ll blame me when you can’t play.”

“I’ll blame my weak immune system, not my beautiful, sick girlfriend.” He reaches for the mug and hands it to you. “I made you tea and toast, you need something in your stomach, baby.”

You sit up slowly, and he props the pillows behind you. When you reach for the mug, your hands tremble just enough that he catches them in his warm ones.

“Careful.” He brings the mug closer, steadying it as you sip and the tea burns in the best way, and you sigh in relief.

“Thank you” you whisper when you’re done.

“You don’t have to thank me” he says, but he looks pleased anyway. “Eat a little toast?”

“Mm.” You nibble at it, managing maybe two bites before you give up and sink back into the pillows. Mack puts the tray aside and pulls the blanket up around your shoulders.

“I’m gonna run you a bath later,” he says, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Or a shower, if you want, it might make you feel better.”

“Deal..” you mumble, your eyelids drooping.

You drift in and out for hours, sometimes you wake up and Macklin’s not there, you can hear him moving around the apartment, opening cabinets, calling his mom to ask how much medicine to give you because he wants to get it right.

Later that day when Macklin decides you’ve been cooped up in bed long enough. He finds you exactly where he left you: curled under the blankets with tissues scattered on the nightstand, your phone abandoned on your chest.

“Hey,” he says gently, kneeling next to the bed, he’s got a fresh glass of water in one hand and a little bowl of strawberries in the other. “C’mon, pretty girl, sit up for me.”

You groan dramatically and burrow deeper into the pillow. “Noooo..”

He laughs softly and sets the bowl down so he can peel the blanket away from your face. “You have to eat and drink something or you’ll shrivel up.”

“What if I wan—”

“Too bad.” He grins, undeterred, and slides a hand under your shoulders to help you sit up. “Up we go.”

You’re too weak to argue much, so you let him prop the pillows behind you, he tucks the blanket back around your legs like he’s cocooning you. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, legs turned toward you, one hand stroking your hair away from your forehead.

“You’re burning up again,” he murmurs, frowning just a little, like he feels how you’re feeling. He dips the back of his fingers to your neck, and you shiver under his touch.

“Stop fussing,” you whisper.

“Never.” He leans forward and kisses your forehead anyway. “Open your mouth.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“For the strawberries or I’ll do the air—”

“Mackl—”

But he already picked up a piece and is handing it to your hand. You huff out a tired laugh, which turns into a cough, to which he rubs your back while you catch your breath, patient as ever.

You pop the strawberry in and he watches you chew like he’s waiting for a gold star, taking tge bowl of strawberries from him.

“There she is,” he teases, voice soft. “Good job, baby.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile, he wipes a bit of juice from your lip with his thumb when it’s needed. He doesn’t rush you, just talks to you in that soft, sweet voice, telling you about the silly thing one of his teammates texted him, or the fact that he wants to make you soup later, even though you both know he’s a terrible cook.

When the strawberries are gone, he sets the bowl aside and hands you the water, waiting until you drink almost half before he lets you stop. Then he pulls you gently into his lap, your legs draped over his thighs as he settles back against the headboard with you curled up against him.

“You wanna be so close to me..” you mumble, nuzzling your face into his chest.

He laughs, nose brushing your hair. “Takes one to know one.”

You feel his hand slide up under the hem of his own shirt you’re wearing, big and warm against your back, rubbing gentle circles into your fever hot skin.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry if you feel sick afterwards,” you apologise weakly, eyes already fluttering shut.

He presses a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and lingering. “Shh, it’s okay, baby.”

[keelt9]

BET A MOLE, BET A KISS Pt.2

Masterlist // Pt.1

Nothing more relaxing than after 6 hours of sleep, a grosseri shopping in the morning; not the most healthy one.

Cookies, chips and some fruits too; after all it was a hard week. Plus Charlie is now at home too.

With a half of cookie in her mouth she realises in the hallway that goes to the living room, there is a black bag and brown suitcase.

“Morning.” Oscar perks from the stairs. 

“You're here!” Y/N runs upstairs leaving the bags crash on the floor.

Oscar hates that she runs on stairs, she could fall or hurt, silly but that's what it is. “Don't ru…”

She crashes with him taking all his breath away, as he laughs.

“Hi.” Oscar said as she saw his face. 

“Hi.” She has that cute smile on her face.

He notices next to his face there is a half red velvet cookie, causing her to giggle. “Really, you don't drop the cookie?”

“It's a delicious cookie.” Y/N eats the rest of the cookie, notices a strange sensation in her ribs. 

Looking down she finally saw two markers, red and black.

“Are you doing something?” Y/N taking a step back. 

“Well.” Oscar smiles to himself. “While I was winning, by the way…”

Every time, winning or not, Y/N makes sure to give him a special cuddle; sometimes it's a lovely hug, a face covered with kisses, refuse to leave his hands for as long as she can or his favourite, lately, that heart stop kiss. 

Like now, a kiss that is hard not to follow for the way she puts her hands at both sides of his neck as he's set the pace of the kiss, first goes tender until he makes sure to remember in detail every curve of her lips on his.

“Congrats champ.” Y/N said before giving him a last peck. “So are you making something?”

“Oh, right, well, while I was flying back home an idea with a twist came to my mind.”

“Ok.” Y/N switches her face, she concentrates now.

“I want to bet my moles.” Y/N laughs, she didn't mention it because she wants to try it, only because that causes curiosity in her.

Y/N grabs his face, giving him a peck. “I didn’t say that with a purpose, you asked me what ignited my curiosity and that was.” 

“I know, but I want to try it.” Oscar said, seeing her shake her head. 

“Why markers?” She grabs it, thinking, are we serious about doing this?

“How could I know you’re not cheating?” Y/N scoff rolling the markers among her fingers.

“Waterproof?” She scoffed. “Are you actually planning this, huh?”

Oscar nods. “Ok, but first, I’m hungry and I just left 3 bags of chips on the floor, so we have a few things to do.”

After an improvised breakfast as a quick cleaning, they go to the room with the markers, conscious they’ll be there for a long time.

“Wait…” Y/N stops, placing both of her knees at the side of Oscar's waist. “What if I win…”

Oscar smiles, that’s a question that already has a clear answer. “We can’t do anything you want me to do for a week, so…I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Y/N smirks. “Anywhere?” 

“Anywhere.” She giggles. 

Oscar touched the side of her thighs. “What if you win?” 

“Oh, I want an honest answer and full will.” He licks his lips.

Y/N sighs. “My vacations are close, and for a month I won’t leave your side. Going to the race weeks isn’t that hard.” She leaned down to kiss his lips.

“It’s not about the race, it’s kind of dreamy from you thinking once you tell me you’re on vacation, I’ll leave you here.” Both of them giggle against each other's lips. “Nice try.” 

Oscar loves having her like this, without worries, just relaxing as she plays with each other's words. Outside of those four walls, the world could collapse and still, he will be holding her tight, like now. Her hands holding his face as he holds her waist.

“Is something more than a 3 second decision.” Y/N narrows her eyes. 

“Ok.” She opens the red market but Oscar realizes they miss an important specification. 

“Wait, tell me your range.” He stretched his hands to take the noteblock she has in her night table, taking the black market too.

Y/N scoff. “Do we actually need to write it down?” 

“It’s called being fair, my love.”

With names and numbers written down and glued to the headboard of the bed finally, the counting starts; with laughs, love touches and some of them are more naughty than others. 

For Y/N it was hard to focus from time to time, on the other hand, Oscar enjoyed the moments where her face burns red and the teasing is enough for she smiles sitting back as she takes a deep breath getting her focus again.

Her touches are so delicate and precise that Oscar needs to take deep breaths too to concentrate, just for making sure she’s actually counting and not cheating, the perks of having a surgeon as a girlfriend.

“Done!” Y/N sat back on his lap raising her eyebrows.

“Who wins?” Oscar sits properly, refusing to leave her standing from his lap.

Y/N smirks, making Oscar impatient, when she lifts her eyes from the note she previously took where she writes the number, she tilts her head with a smile. “Are you sweating?”

“A little bit.” Oscar giggled. “Having your girlfriend all over your body kind of makes you sweat, you know?” 

Y/N laughs but pouts. “I guess my dream trip must wait.” She turns around the note, the number that Oscar writes has a smiley face next to it.

Oscar sighs in relief, making Y/N push him softly due she misunderstands his sighs.

“It's not for that!” Oscar grabs her face and puts a kiss on her forehead. “Ready?”

Y/N nods with a calm face. “Remember to think about it deeply before answering, ok?”

“Oscar, I he…” Oscar takes out a small velvet bag from down on the pillow. “Do you have everything prepared, huh?” Y/N chuckles, still doesn’t get what the bag is related to the question.

“I have a good feeling about this.” She smiles but with a conflicted one, the circle shape marks in the tiny bag.

“You know I appreciate you giving me jewelry but…” She grabs his hands over the bag. “Most of the time my hands need to be free of everything and the tingle sounds on my neck are distracting but…”

“It’s not that type.” Oscar turns her hand making a delicate ring fall in the palm of her hand. 

Y/N hiss as her heart beating increases, the beeping on her clock announces it, Oscar takes a deep breath, preparing himself.

“Y/N… D…”

“YES!”

Y/N grip the ring throwing her arms around his neck, not even letting him ask and more less thinking for more than 3 seconds, Oscar laughs holding the back of her head.

He softly whispers at her. “Can I at least ask you properly?” She laughs splitting, in her eyes are already tears but she takes a deep breath.

Oscar takes the ring of her hand. “Y/N, would like to …?”

Y/N sobs, nodding as Oscar softly puts the ring where it belongs, tingling his finger with hers.

“It was worth it, right?” Y/N wipes her tears with confusion. “Bet my moles.”

Y/N shakes her head laughing. “I love you so much.” She said kissing him over and over again. 

“It’s not a soft lunch, NOT AT ALL!” Charles almost ripped his neck from Oscar's body, when he found it in Austria.

Oscar laughs consciously that outside of the building, a lot of cameras are waiting, not precisely for all the drivers. 

“We haven’t said anything.” Oscar insisted for the 1947 time of the day.

“You hav…” Charles takes a deep breath seeing Albon walks and reaches them. “It’s not like you need it!”

“You post a story where you can clearly see her, so cute by the way…” He lifts his phone, showing him the screenshot he took. 

Oscar laughs, shaking his head. “We were having breakfast, and, yeah, holding our hands.”

Charles bluffs. “I went with you to buy that ring, I know what it means!”

“Not counting the rock in the middle.” Albon chuckles seeing his phone. “Where is she? I want to congratulate her, well, both of you.”

“Somewhere in the hospital working.” Was the last words of Oscar before a swarm of drivers found him hugging him as they congratulated him for the big news.

They haven't said anything but a photo speaking more than a thousand words.

“Ok Oscar, take one last look please…” Tom mentions approaching him with a tablet in his hands with a mischievous smile on his face.

On the screen you can see Y/N arriving at the McLaren garage as under the line of her name you can read it, Oscar Piastri’s fiancé.

Oscar smirks as his cheeks turn pink. “Sadly you need to get into the car, like 10 seconds ago, so people make sure she is there when the race finishes.”

Oscar nods, putting the helmet on adjusting to his balaclava, going inside of the car, as people surround him.

Tom leans on the car. “Side note Oscar, it will be nice if you win this time.” Oscar's eyes narrow, a sign of a smile before Tom walks away to his spot.

“Box, box.” Y/N hears Tom's voice, as multiple mechanics run to their places with all they need. 

Her anxiety began when the left back tyre wasn’t coming out, the sound of the cars passing and the anxious glances from the main console isn’t the most relaxing thing.

For the cameras you can see the mechanic hit the tyre a couple of times before finally coming off; quickly Oscar rushed himself reaching the rest of the cars, still, the clock of the pit stop set 3.5 seconds. 

“Ok Oscar. Verstappen, Lando, George and Leclerc ahead. 13 laps remaining.” Tom mentions as the full team moves around the control panel setting the strategy that put him back in the first place.

In the first laps, Oscar passed Charles in one soft movement around a corner. Reaching George was tough, he had warm tyres and Oscar barely put him on temperature, still he managed to pass him seeing Lando so close; he could take the risk and push him or wait until the tyre warms, still 6 laps remaining. He pushes him, overtaking in a beautiful move that leaves Lando confused as Oscar passes at his left.

“Verstappen, 1.4.” Tom indicates Oscar. “Soft tyres.”

Oscar mumbles something as Y/N bites her nails, only 4 laps remind and Max is pushing trying to increase the gap.

“He will make it right?” Mark laughs seeing her walking to the limits of the wires allows her.

“OH! Max blocked him in the 2 corner!” Y/N hears, seeing the replay of Max blocks, closing the space in that corner for impeding the pass of Oscar. 

Y/N mumbles twisting her fingers “Let’s go babe, three more laps.” 

Max doesn't hesitate but he tends to let his emotions push him, in the straight he tries to increase the gap…until the car decides another thing, turning slippery causing him to lose for a second the car as Oscar pushes this time blocking the corner.

“I can’t see!” Y/N tries to cover her eyes leaving a gap between them observing the last laps, it’s like a pure haunting decided for .101 of difference.

When the flag waves, Oscar was the first one to cross that line.

“Great, great race Oscar, well done.” Tom congratulated him.

“Nice job guys.” Oscar's heavy breathing is heard. “Can you make sure my fiance is watching?”

Y/N's face is about to explode when she hears Oscar, hiding her face in her hands as Mark told her to follow the guys to the podium. 

With the helmet on after celebrating with the team, Oscar walks to the left side where Y/N is waiting with a red face and wide smile. 

She hugs him tightly as he laughs lifting her from the ground. 

“That’s not a soft launch.” Y/N claims as Oscar takes the helmet off. 

Y/N touches the lines of the helmet left on his face as Oscar giggles. “I can’t kiss my fiance properly with that.”

Y/N smiles as he leans capturing her lips in a soft kiss, hands on her waist as hers taking the helmet trying to cover their faces from the cameras, a small issue the ring is at plain sight for photos.

[white-birdie]

Afterglow

Fem!Reader who likes to yap and spill the most random facts during the afterglow.

This is for my girls with a chatty brain like mine, that likes to come up with random stuff at the most inappropriate times.

CW: none. This is just some stupid brain fart I had while watching a documentary on YouTube. Fluff and banter and a homeopathic dose of smut.

"You know what…"

"Here we go again", Simon sighs exasperatedly, although there is no malice behind his words.

Not that he hadn’t already noticed the tiny twitch at the corners of your mouth anyway, even through tired, half-lidded eyes. Ever the attentive observer.

He pulls you deeper into his embrace, kissing the slightly damp skin where your neck meets your shoulder, and the stubble on his chin scratches a particularly sensitive spot, causing you to shudder comfortably before you continue. "I learned something interesting about the mating life of barnacles the other day."

"Barnacles."

"Yes. Did you know they have the largest penis in the animal kingdom? Compared to their size of course."

"That so." Another kiss on your shoulder blade.

"Uh huh. Eight times their body length."

Simon pauses for a moment, giving you a half amused, half serious look. "Fucking hell. You trying to tell me something?"

Giggling, you cuddle further into his embrace.

"Nah, you're more than enough for me. No need for a sixteen meter penis."

"Glad to hear that", he deadpans. "I'm already carrying enough gear around. Wouldn’t even know where to put it."

“For one, you could wear it around your neck like a scarf.”

Simon huffs at that, biting your earlobe in retaliation, purring “I prefer to have your thighs around my neck.”

Goddamn, goosebumps. You almost forget what you were about to say next.

"Anyway”,you breathe. “The wildest thing is how barnacles mate. They stay in their shells and just reach out with their penises, poking and prodding blindly at any opening they can find."

"Sounds like my teenage years."

"Simon!" You laugh, giving his chest a playful pat.

"What."

"Aaaanyway, they aren't prude either. Sometimes there might be up to seven penises reaching into the same shell."

"Alright, I’m not exactly sure where this is going, love."

"Just imagine that…"

"I'd rather not."

But you aren't stoppable at this point.

"Like, you're sitting in your single room apartment, minding your business, and suddenly you remember that you left the window open, but it’s already too late - seven penises are coming in and you are like ‘not again’-”

“I’d fend them off with my own large penis. Use it as a whip or somethin’.”

Clearly tired of this topic, he’s reaching for you in earnest now, pulling your hips back against his groin.

“Wait, did that turn you on?!” you gasp as you feel him pressing hard against you.

“No. Now get on all fours, princess.”

—

Later you lie on Simon’s chest, listening to his calm and steady heartbeat - when a thought crosses your mind.

“Did you know that male mantis can still mate even after the female mantis bit off their-” - “NO!”

—

As you probably already noticed, english is not my first language. Feel free to point out mistakes and I’ll happily correct them. Other than that I’m trying to get into writing - we will see how it goes.

The video in question: https://youtu.be/4qKbI2NR_XE?si=G-Ria7M5E9hiTZVB

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Hyunjin's muscles

Happy Sunday with Hyun's muscles 🤭 (wait for the last one 🔥)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: it doesn't have a full sex scene but this is definitely nsfw. Mdni!

Alexa, play Mania de você by Rita Lee (I love her sm 😭)

Things you’d do to Hyunjin’s muscles (and he’d act dramatic about it, but secretly love every second):

Biting Hyunjin’s bicep during a teasing fight:

 You’re arguing again. He said something dumb and smug, and now he’s grinning like he won the conversation— arms crossed, sleeves pushed up, muscles showing just to distract you. So you grab his arm and bite his bicep.

Not hard but enough to leave a mark. He gasps so dramatically like you stabbed him.

"Did you just…?!”, he pulls his arm back and stares at it in disbelief, “You just bit my gentle muscles?!”

"Gentle??”

“Yes!”, he holds his arm like he needs ice, “Do you have any idea how hard I work to keep them smooth and sculpted and beautiful?! And you just… you attack me?”

You giggle,“I just wanted a little taste”

“Well, next time, ask first”, then he mumbles, “Or kiss it after. Yeah, that’s the rule now”

You roll your eyes but lean in and kiss his “gentle” muscle

Making him lift you just because he can:

You wrap your arms around his neck and ask sweetly, “Can you carry me?”

He scoffs like it’s the easiest request in the world, “Obviously”

Then he lifts you— bridal style with his head tilted back, groaning like it’s a weightlifting competition

You giggle, trailing your fingers down his bicep, “Damn, you’ve been working out. These arms are…”

He cuts you, “Perv”

You open your mouth to protest, but he suddenly shifts his grip like he might drop you.

"Say one more thing about my muscles and I will let you fall”

You cling tighter, "You wouldn’t”

He smirks, “Keep talking to find out”

Then he spins you in a full circle, laughing when you squeak again.

“You are insane, bro”, you mutter.

"I am not your bro. I am your boyfriend”, he corrects you

Painting on his back while he reads on his stomach:

He’s shirtless, stretched out on the floor with a poetry book in his hands. You’re bored so, naturally, you grab your brush and dip it in lavender paint.

“You better not…”, he warns without even looking up.

But it’s too late— he feels a swirl on his shoulder blade.

Hyunjin exhales through his nose. Not annoyed, just dramatic.

“Why do you treat me like a canvas?”

"Because you are one. A very toned, stupidly beautiful canvas”

He giggles, holding back a smile, “You’re such a perv”

But he sets the book aside anyway and rests his head on his arms, “Fine, you can paint me. I’ll pretend this isn’t just an excuse to touch me”

You grin and keep going. You paint flowers, random lines, a few smudged hearts. He only flinches when it tickles followed by one of his adorable giggles.

“Ok, I am done”, you say proudly

"You missed a spot. Middle of my back”

You laugh as he smiles shyly against the floor trying to hide how much he enjoyed it.

Pressing your hands and face to his bare back, just to feel him:

He’s fresh out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel. And his back? Exposed.

You don’t say a word. You just stop behind him, press your palms flat against his bare back then slowly lean in, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades

"Are you okay, babe?”

“You’re warm”, you murmur.

He swallows. His hands stop moving, towel forgotten

"You can’t just… do that” he says, voice a shaky

"Why not?”

“Because I… get flustered”

You smile against his skin, then kiss where your cheek had been resting. He arches slightly, breath catching in his throat.

"I swear” he mutters, “you’re gonna be death of me”

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind. He doesn’t move at firdt. Then eventually, he drops the towel and turns, arms sliding around you with a soft sigh, like he is holding the most precious thing ever.

Tracing your tongue along the V-line he pretends not to know he has:

The room is on fire, bodies tangled, sheets kicked halfway down the bed. Hyunjin’s beneath you— breathless, flushed, hips lifting instinctively every time you grind down.

You slow the rhythm suddenly, trailing your mouth along his stomach. He gasps when your tongue traces the V line, right above his hip.

"Shit…” he moans

He shudders when you do it again, “You’re cruel”

You press another kiss at the edge of his hip, “You knew what you were doing when you hit the gym”

His hand finds your hair, trembling.  And when you look up, his mouth is parted like he’s about to beg.

 Things Hyunjin would do with his muscles just to tease you (and then pretend he’s the victim when you react):

Rolling his sleeves up slowly while making eye contact:

It’s just a lazy morning. You’re talking about nothing when he slowly starts rolling up his sleeves. Painfully slowly, like he’s in a nsfw tv commercial.

His veins peek out, forearms flex— he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Naturally, you stare.

He pauses and then gasps

“Are you…”, he blinks at you, faking innocence, “Objectifying me right now?!”

You roll your eyes, “You literally rolled them up in slow motion right in front of me”

"I was hot”

“You are hot, Hyunjin”

He fails at trying to bite back a smirk as he starts rolling the other sleeve up. Even slower this time.

Coming behind you at the sink and casually caging you in with his arms:

You’re just washing the dishes, minding your business, when you feel him step behind you— one arm on either side of the counter, muscles brushing your shoulders like it’s a coincidence.

He leans in close, draping himself around you, and hums, clearly amused.

"Hyunjin”

“Hum?” he says, smugly.

"Move”

"I moved” he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Closer”

You roll your eyes and of course he’s already grinning.

“Haven’t you missed me?” he murmurs, lips ghosting your ear. 

That’s when you feel it— his hips press against your ass, his abs against your back 

Your breath catches and an involuntary small whine escapes your throat as your fingers tighten around the edge of the sink.

He hums, pleased

Lying on the bed, arms behind his head, looking like a dream:

You walk into the bedroom and stop at your tracks. Hyunjin’s stretched out on the sheets, tank top clinging in all the right places, arms folded behind his head like a model in a photoshoot.

He blinks up at you when you raise an eyebrow

"What?” he asks, with the most unconvincing innocence you’ve ever heard, “This is just how I relax”

Your gaze drops to the sculpted biceps, the bare skin, the smirk he’s trying to hide

“You’re exhausting”, you mutter.

He sighs, long and dramatic, “I know. But sadly for you… I’m yours” 

You throw a pillow at him and he catches it smirking. Caught in the act

Flexing his abs when he comes just to make you come faster:

He's already close. You can feel it in the way the rhythm falters, the way his grip tightens on your hips, the way his breath turns even more ragged against your skin. And then— he does it. Flexes. On purpose.

His abs tighten, pulling tight with every movement as he throws his head back and groans through his release— a deep, wrecked sound that sends heat straight down your core.

And of course his plan works cause you come seconds later, body shaking, nails digging into him like you’re both furious and grateful for what he just did.

He’s still panting when murmurs, “Why are you looking at me like I did something wrong? I was just trying to motivate you”

You scoff, heart still racing.

He brushes his lips over your jaw, smirking, “Did it work?”

You don’t answer— he already knows the answer. He can feel it, still pulsing around him.

His smirk grows even wider as he presses a kiss to your cheek, voice clearly pleased.

"Yeah… definitely worked”

Jeongin's version

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin , @yxna-bliss , @moonchild9350, @vernorica123

[loverboysturn]

⸝⸝ lucky can’t help it when matt shows up to brunch looking that good ꒱

warnings: mentions of alcohol and kissing. think that’s it !

note: this is from lucky’s perspective. saw this photo of matt on my pinterest feed and had to write something hehe.

“fuckin’ finally,” chris mutters under his breath as you and birdie approach him and nick who are already seated at a table in the front outside area of your favourite brunch spot. both of you with an iced coffee in hand that you know you didn’t have time to stop for but did anyway, like you weren’t twenty minutes late already.

nick claps slow, sarcastic claps as you approach. “what time d’ya call this?”

you grin as you sip your straw, sliding into the seat next to him. “stop crying, i’ll buy your first mimosa.”

birdie sits herself down in the seat next to chris, sliding straight into his side like she hadn’t just left him earlier that morning. he kisses her temple, and whispers something in her ear that only she can hear, and she laughs out loud at it.

nick makes a half hearted joke about how their pda makes him feel sick sometimes as he snatches the iced coffee from her hands, downing the rest of it.

you hardly pay attention to any of the conversation around you though, because matt’s not here yet.

“i think i saw matt paying for parking,” birdie says to the group, but her comment obviously directed at you like she can read your mind. you nod, trying not to seem obvious but suddenly your mouth feels dry, despite the large iced coffee you’d just downed in two seconds flat.

and then, he turns the corner.

he’s in a white shirt and black jeans, tattoos on display, his sunglasses are on and his hair is just the way you love it. your stomach flips in an annoying, newly familiar way that almost makes you want to roll your eyes.

he barely looks at you, just says a quiet “hey” to the group as he approaches but his hand brushes yours for a second too long when he passes the chair you’re sat on as he makes his way to the spare seat at the end of the table, and that’s all it takes for you.

“shit,” you say quickly, pretending to look through your bag in a panic. “matt, i think i left my purse in your car last night.”

you didn’t, it’s in your bag buried at the bottom.

he also knows you didn’t.

he looks over at you, his expression is slightly confused but slightly amused by your act. a subtle smirk creeps onto his face but he doesn’t question you, he just nods pulling his car keys out of his back pocket. “yeah i think you did, come on.”

you both get up from your seats leaving chris, birdie and nick at the table discussing an event you all have to attend with your parents that upcoming weekend. you both turn the corner leaving them out of sight and ear shot as you follow matt to his car parked half a block down.

he stops, leaning against the side of his car, arms crossed, watching as you walk up to him.

“you didn’t leave anythin’ in here last night.” he says, a smirk on his face.

you shrug, trying to stay cool. “i know.”

he’s pulling you in closer then, one hand sliding around the back of your neck, the other snaking tighter around your waist. his mouth meets yours, slow at first but then he’s quickly deepening the kiss.

you kiss him back, gripping the front of his shirt as your body presses into his, his back is against the car and your heart is pounding in your chest at the way his kiss makes you feel but you don’t want to be the first to pull away.

he pulls away first, only just. “been wantin’ to do that since last night,” he says, slightly breathless, lips brushing yours for another peck as he rests his forehead against yours.

you giggle, pulling g back from him completely then, smoothing your dress out and fixing your sunglasses as he watches you.

“c’mon, pretty girl.” he chuckles, tapping your ass lightly as you turn.

you walk back to the table side by side.

“you get what you were lookin’ for?” chris asks as you both sit back down in your seats.

“yep,” you whisper quietly, picking up the menu pretending to read it like you’ve never been here before to hide the flush in your cheeks.

birdie doesn’t even look over from the seat opposite you. just sips her mimosa, smirking slightly as she whispers under her breath, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“i’m sure she got exactly what she wanted.”

divider credit: enchanthings-a

[arixella]

hi! I was wondering if you can do an ask imagine of Luffy x reader attempting to take their own life or successfully did it. If that's too uncomfortable can you write one with Luffy comforting or helping with much weaker crewmate? Angst for if you want.

Your Still Part of My Crew

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x gn! reader

a/n: hey yall ive been on vacation sorry but im working on everyones request and the request box is closed rn 😭 (edit: it’s open now!)

summary: After freezing during a fight and feeling like dead weight to the crew, you find unexpected comfort in Luffy’s quiet presence and unwavering belief that you still belong at his side — weak or not.

wc: 650

contains: angst, self doubt, hurt/comfort,

It was late. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting the Thousand Sunny in deep hues of navy and silver. Most of the crew was asleep, except for you. You were sitting alone on the lawn deck, knees pulled to your chest, heart heavy. Your hands were still trembling. Today’s skirmish hadn’t even been a real fight — just a handful of marines too stubborn to back down. But they were strong. Much stronger than you. You’d frozen. Again.

You heard the others talking after. Not cruel, not loud — but it didn’t take much to hear what wasn’t said. “They’re not strong enough.” “Why did Luffy bring them along?” “They could’ve been killed today.”

And you agreed. You were too weak. What were you even doing here, among legends?

“Oi.” A familiar voice broke the quiet. Your breath caught. You knew that voice anywhere. Luffy.

He plopped down next to you without a word, his straw hat casting a moon-shaped shadow across his face. Neither of you spoke at first. The sea whispered against the ship, and the wind tangled through your hair. You didn’t want him to see your tears, but you couldn’t stop them.

“I messed up,” you muttered finally, voice shaking. “I’m not like the others. I hold you all back.”

Luffy’s gaze stayed on you, quiet but heavy. “So?”

You blinked. “So? I almost got everyone hurt.”

“But you didn’t,” he said plainly, like it was that simple. “We’re all still here. You’re still here.”

You looked down. “But I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t. I was scared.”

“I get scared too,” Luffy said, softer this time. “But being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

You didn’t respond. The silence stretched again.

Then, you felt something light brush your head — his hat. His treasured straw hat, now resting on your head.

“Luffy—”

“I don’t care if you’re strong or not,” he said, finally looking at you. His dark eyes were steady, unwavering. “You’re my crewmate. That’s all that matters.”

Your breath hitched.

“You think I let just anyone on my ship?” he grinned. “No way. I chose you. So don’t go trying to decide for me if you belong.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already moving closer. Not in a loud, flashy way — but solid. Reassuring. He placed a hand gently on your back.

“You’re allowed to grow at your own pace. You’ll get stronger. I know it.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he brushed a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

“And even if you don’t,” he added with a crooked smile, “I’ll protect you anyway.”

Your chest cracked open at that. No one had ever said something like that to you without expectation. Without condition.

You leaned into him before you could stop yourself. He didn’t flinch. Just wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Under the stars, held against the warmth of your captain’s side, something began to settle in your chest. Not confidence — not yet. But hope.

And sometimes, that was enough.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[serveandchoke]

Message In a Bottle

Jannik Sinner x Reader

Synopsis: You ever send someone a message at 2am and wonder if it actually landed somewhere? This is that — long-distance tension, bad timing, soft yearning, and the one person you can’t stop thinking about no matter what timezone you’re in. Just two people throwing feelings into the universe and hoping the other catches it.

A/N: Hey guys! I'm reallyyyyyy sorry for not writing and publishing! College's been taking up all my time, and I was lucky enough to have the rarity of getting free time so I could write this small fic. I have a few ones in the works, so yeah look out for that one. ♡♡

The thing is — she never meant to fall for him.

Not really. Not like this.

It started harmlessly. A conversation at an event. A shared laugh over the same stupid meme. A follow-back. A couple of DMs. Nothing serious.

But somehow, "nothing serious" turned into late-night FaceTimes. Turned into missing each other’s texts. Turned into looking at the sky in two different countries at the same time, wondering if he was doing the same.

And now, she’s sitting at her kitchen table, staring at her phone, pretending she doesn’t want to text him first.

Because it’s been three days. Not that she’s counting.

(But she’s totally counting.)

--

Jannik’s on the other side of the world — literally. Somewhere between press, practice, and pretending to sleep on a plane again. He’s been running on caffeine and adrenaline, earbuds in, hood up, zoned out to music he can’t even hear.

He’s been trying not to think about her. Not because he doesn’t want to — but because it’s getting harder not to.

It’s stupid, how fast it all happened. How easy it felt. How the second he met her, something in him just… clicked.

She was all fire and charm, didn’t try to impress him, didn’t ask for photos or act like she cared that he was that guy. She just handed him a drink and said, “You looked like you needed this.” And honestly, He did.

And now, weeks later, he’s opening his phone mid-layover, scrolling up on their chat thread just to reread the old stuff.

She hasn’t texted first in days, which means he’s probably next up.

He types:

this airport is so cold it’s actually illegal

Then deletes it.

Types again:

why do all sandwiches in europe taste like regret

Deletes that too.

Jesus. What is he even doing?

---

She’s doing the same thing — hovering over her keyboard, staring at a half-written message:

I walked by a guy who smelled like your cologne and now I hate everyone else

Too much. She deletes it.

Instead she types:

hey, are you alive?

or did you marry your physio and forget to tell me

She hits send before she can overthink it. Then immediately tosses her phone across the couch like it’s cursed. Fuck.

---

He sees the message while boarding the plane.

Smiles. Actually smiles. His physio side-eyes him like he knows something.

He replies:

yes, he proposed. i'm sorry you had to find out like this.

And she fires back:

wow. not even a voice note? fake husband.

The banter slips right back into place. Easy. Familiar. Like no time passed. Like they’re right back in that weird little space between something and not quite.

And Jannik thinks: god, I miss her.

---

Weeks go by like this. Back and forth. Messages in different time zones. Snapshots of whatever city he’s in. Voice notes of her rambling while walking home from work. He saves the ones where she laughs without realizing it. And then, finally–

He has a break. Not long. Just enough.

So he books the flight. Doesn’t even tell her. Just shows up in her city, texting:

any chance you’re home tonight?

She’s confused. Texts back:

yeah?? why

And then her doorbell rings. She opens it, and he’s standing there — hoodie up, hair messy, suitcase by his side. Looking tired. And annoyingly perfect. He grins.

“Hey.”

She just stares for a second. Then hits him in the arm.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I was gonna ask if you had dinner plans,” he shrugs. “But I’ll also accept being physically assaulted.”

She’s still blinking, like she doesn’t believe he’s real.

Then: “You’re seriously here? Just like that?”

He nods. “Just like that.”

She pulls him in — into the apartment, into a hug, into whatever this thing is between them that neither of them wants to label but both of them feel.

And as he wraps his arms around her, tucking his chin into her shoulder, he says it — not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough.

“I kept thinking about you.”

She breathes in his scent. It's familiar, and it's real. It was an addiction.

Warm and kind of overwhelming in the best way.

“Me too,” she whispers.

Because for weeks they’d both been tossing words into the void. Hoping the other would catch them. Hoping timing wouldn’t win.

And now, it feels like the bottle finally washed ashore.

Exactly where it was supposed to.

[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

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© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[sunshine-on-marz]

Never Gonna Hold The Hand Of Another Guy

JJ Maybank x Reader

Warnings: military, injury, death, angst, mentions of abandonment and a parent leaving

I’m assuming that the military has the equipment to make calls and stuff now but shhhh I like letters. Also I apologize for knowing so little abt how joining the military works I simply don’t care to learn 🫡

All the letters are also in the alt text of the photo if you have trouble reading the font!

You’d spent your whole life begging people to stay. First your father, then your friends, then your boyfriends. Your life was a revolving door for people who just wanted to get a taste of something then go be free. JJ promised he’d never make you feel like that, and truth be told he didn’t.

This was so much worse.

He’d made the decision 6 months ago, after the gold ran out and the surf shop stopped making enough profit for anything other than barely keeping you and your friends above water, he decided he’d enlist. He’d send you guys money as a boost and it was a chance for him to get off the island. A chance to escape all of the pain and build a name for himself in a way that mattered. That’s how he’d explained it to you and the others. You didn’t care. To you it was your boy—the love of your life, the wild reckless soul you’d fallen deeper in love with every day for years—signing himself up for god knows what. You tried not to think like that, and you were able to stay pretty positive until now. Even all the way through his boot camp, 4 months of letters and Polaroids, you were able to smile and tell yourself that he’d be home soon.

Now was different. He was being deployed somewhere he couldn’t even tell you. Maybe you should’ve seen this coming. He was strong and clever, and apparently he could behave when he needed to, he was practically ripe for picking. And all you could do was beg.

“Baby..” your voice wobbled and broke as you sat down on the bed next to the suitcase he was packing.

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered, blinking back tears of his own, “not right now. Not when it’s too late.”

You let out a shaky breath as you hid your face in your hands. “What am I gonna do?” You ask in a voice so soft JJ almost didn’t hear it.

“You’re gonna be strong” he says as he closes his suitcase and puts it on the ground, then sits in the empty space next to you. “You’re gonna be okay, mama, I know you will. Then I’ll come home and we’ll be okay.”

You let him pull you into his arms. “Please don’t go” you whisper.

“I wish I didn’t have too” he says into your hair as he places small kisses against your temple.

The next morning is worse. You and all your friends stand outside the house, JJ has already said goodbye to all of them, now it’s your turn. You’re standing infront of him in his army greens, your hands on his arms. “Be safe.” You say, trying to keep your voice stable in spite of the tears welling in your eyes.

“Be strong” he says back, but he lets you hear his hurt, you aren’t sure if it’s on purpose or if he just can’t hold it back. “I love you” he whispers as he kisses your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you too.” You say, nodding as you let go of him, taking a step back into the arms of Kiara who’s already holding them out to hug you. John B walks over to catch JJ before he gets into the truck with his buddies from boot camp, he hands him a Polaroid and gives him one last hug. JJ smiles. And with that, he’s gone.

You crumple in Kie’s arms, her kneeling down behind you and hugging you tightly. “He’s gonna be okay” she says through her own tears, you only sob into her shoulder, hoping she’s right.

The next few weeks are rough, you and your friends trying to find a new normal without JJ around. The girls do their best to keep you busy, Kiara even offers you to spend the night in her room if you ever get too lonely—an offer you take her up on quite a few times. Slowly, you fall back into a rhythm.

The first letter comes soon after you find said rhythm.

You look the letter and placed it in the drawer next to your bed. Tears running down your face not because it was sad but because it was him. For the first time in weeks you felt close to him again and that’s what made it feel like you could keep going.

The letters kept you going, truly. Every update you shared, every “I love you you” wrote or read, they all made it a little more bearable. It’s only a month before he’s meant to be home and you’re excitedly awaiting the arrival of what should be your last letter from him before he’s in your arms. You rush to the door when you hear a knock, but when you open it, you see two men in their military best. Ones holding a bag that looks like JJ’s, the other is holding an envelope.

“Is this Jackson Maybank’s residence?” The man with the envelope asks, tears fill your eyes. You aren’t stupid enough to think this will be good news.

“Yes sir. I’m his spouse. May I help you?” You ask, a little on edge but most trembling.

“I’m so sorry ma’mm. Private Maybank was killed in combat-“ the man continues his speech but you don’t hear it, your head pounds and everything starts spinning. JJ’s gone. JJ’s gone. You scream so loud you’re sure the whole island heard it. It makes your friends rush to the living room, you collapse and you aren’t sure who catches you. The room erupts into chaos, sobs, denial, anything you could imagine. It’s all a blur. The next thing you know you’re on the couch with a letter in your hands and a duffle bag in your lap. The world is devoid of color. Devoid of vibrancy. Devoid of JJ. The sky weeps alongside you as soft cracks of thunder echo through the now silent living room. Sarah rubs your back. You open the letter.

You truly don’t know if you’re going to make it. Everything was in throbbing pain and yet you felt nothing at all. It was almost out of body, the way you felt. You ran your thumb over the red stained corner of the page. You knew what it was, but your brain couldn’t seem to comprehend it. How could JJ be dead when he promised he’d come home. How could he be gone and you be here? He was your everything, your other half. How on earth could you possibly exist without him.

“I have to call Luke.” You say as you get up and go to the kitchen, rummaging around the junk drawer for the peice of paper you know has Luke’s number on it.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea” Pope says through his own tears.

“I have to” you say. Luke picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Who’s this?” He asks, he’s drunk, belligerent. Everything JJ would have remembered him to be.

“He’s dead” you choke out “Luke, JJ’s dead”

The line is silent for a moment. “Bullshit.” Then he hangs up. You drop the phone and sink your the floor. You don’t know what you expected from that call. You don’t know why you had to make it. But now that you had it all felt real. Like you’d done your job and now the grief could hit. You sat there, on the kitchen floor, and you sobbed. You sobbed until you fell asleep. Then you woke up the next morning in an empty bed and cried some more. But the world kept spinning. And the day after that you got up. You make breakfast for the whole house. You cleaned the living room. You made all the calls needed to arrange for JJ to have a funeral. And you felt nothing. You were numb. Until the funeral. More specifically, until your speech.

Your friends all went first. Beautiful speeches, some funny, some sad, all perfect encapsulations of what JJ brought into their lives. Then it was your turn. You made eye contact with Luke as you stood at the podium. That made it real.

“I stand here infront of you to give a speech about the love of my life,” your voice shook. “And this is an impossible task. Because I can’t possibly fit everything that was JJ into a single speech. He is-“ you pause. “Was, the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me. To all of us. He was a hero, a survivor, a brother, a friend , a lover. He once looked at me, with those eyes that I swore held the universe, and he said ‘I hope when I die, people think of me and smile’. I only hope he knows he got his wish.” Your head turns to the coffin. It’s closed and empty. His body is still on the battlefield. “And I hope that the afterlife brings him the peace he never knew. The peace I pray that I brought him a fraction of. I love you Jay. I’ll miss you forever” you can hardly get the worlds out before you’re crumpling to the floor, John B and Pope rushing up to catch you. They help you to your seat. You cry for what feels like hours until it’s time to receive the flag. The military part of the ceremony isn’t something you can bring yourself to pay attention to, not when you’re truly feeling the loss of JJ for the first time since the night you found out, but when they lay the flag on your lap it feel like it’s made of steel. Like it carries the weight of millions of dead soldiers. You hand it to John B as quickly as you can. Nothing about this feels honorable. JJ was dead, and you were meant to feel honor? You could hardly bear it. And yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away as they placed the coffin in the ground. The empty coffin. The one meant to symbolize the love of your life. Cleo pulled you into a hug and Kiara held your hand as tight as she could. You cried until your throat gave out.

Luke came up to you, after everyone but you and the pouges had left. He held out his hand, you looked at him like he was contagious. “For the record, i know i was a screw up. I’m glad he had people who cared” he said before walking away. You didn’t know whether to laugh at the unexpectedness of Luke Maybank apologizing, or cry at the fact that he couldn’t do it while JJ could hear.

You sit at the grave for hours. Eventually it’s just you, Kiara, John B, and Pope, Sarah and Cleo deciding to give you guys some space. “The gang’s all here” Kie whispers. John B nods.

“It’s never gonna be the 5 of us again” Pope says, you sigh.

“I want the world to stop- everything should’ve frozen when he died- why- why does everything keep moving?” You mumble

John B answers “Because how else could we make sure no one ever forgets him?”

You and the pouges drink around the fire that night, sharing stories, pouring 1 then 2 then 3 out for JJ. Sarah makes you a hot chocolate when you say you don’t think you can stomach a beer. Everything still hurts, it will for a long time. Probably forever. But you smile, because you know JJ’s watching.

I am.. sorry. This one hurt to write. I don’t usually do angst no comfort but this is my late 4th of July gift to you all. Love ya!