#In EVERY AU EXCEPT 1 he's cat

[deceit-and-knowledge]

Meow

s: ...meow..

[wickjump]

ran out of tags so this was cut short but.stage 1 ily… i want to learn more about you i think you’re so neat… i want to give him a nice sandwich. anyway uhhmm i don’t know much about stage 1 so this might be off but whatever freedom of speech 🇺🇸🦅

the idea of stage 1 trying to warn and protect the others in the gang from himself makes me a little sad. im picturing him wringing his little hands together all nervous and afraid after he offered them something—food, a safe place to sleep, something, trying to make up for anything he remembers or thinks he remembers doing in Stage 2 (even if the things he remembers were a dream, he can’t really tell if it was real or not) —and them not knowing what is going on with him or if they can trust him at all. last time they saw him he looked different and he definitely didn’t care about anyone but himself.

and like, depending on how they react to him—he could come to desperately cling on to this one fragile connection outside of his programming and maybe there’s hope for him even if he doesn’t think it’ll last, but if they reject him or react with indifference or hostility it could send him deeper into dissociation—or even trigger Stage 2 as a defense mechanism

[nedo21god]

I love @madamadamiu AU so muchhhh—thank you for sharing it with us!!1!! I've been thinking about some headcanons for it and wanted to drop them here

1.Rodimus is terrified of fire. His first family perished in a house fire—one he accidentally caused by knocking over a candle late at night. The blaze devoured everything before help could arrive. Orion found him alone in the ashes and brought him to the shelter.

2. Nickel is a vet. She got tired of seeing the DJD strays wandering the streets, sick or injured, so she took them in. Gave them top-tier treatment and a warm place to rest. She never forces them to stay—but they always come back to her.

3.Ravage once had a breakdown. Something about family, school—no one really knows. What everyone remembers is Megatron approaching silently, curling around Ravage and—for the first time—purring. He even licked his forehead, awkward and rough. Ravage cried himself to sleep in his paws.

4. Sometimes Rung does that. He lies down on the floor and calls the cats to come lie on top of him

5. Froid runs his own shelter... But his methods are twisted. He believes in breaking cats to make them obedient, "better" pets. He calls it training. The others call it cruelty.

6. Orion kept trying to adopt Megatron. Every time, it ended in chaos—shredded furniture, broken lamps, ruined walls. And Megatron, sitting calmly amid the wreckage like he expected this to happen

7.The Wreckers are a rescue organization. They step in when cats are abused or in danger. They were the ones who saved Fortress Maximus from Overlord.

8.Ultra Magnus began comforting Megatron during storms. Bad weather hits, and Megatron curls in tight. Magnus, grumpy but reliable, lets him press close and hums quietly through the thunder.

9. Overlord once tried to adopt from the Lost Light shelter. He came in, suave and smiling, said he wanted Rewind—and maybe Chromedome too. But when the gentle giant Fortress Maximus, usually soft and polite, suddenly attacked Overlord, Rung didn’t hesitate. He threw Overlord out.

10.Fort Max and Red Alert were adopted by Cerebros. He sends Rung daily photo updates—sleepy cat piles, Red Alert doing recon under the couch, Fort Max trying to fit in a too-small box.

11. Magnus doesn't really like other cats. He tolerates them. He needs his space. He hates being touched. Except by Rodimus. Rodimus climbs on him, sleeps on top of him, bats at his tail, and even steals his food—and Magnus just lets him.

12. Tyrest was Ultra Magnus's original owner. Even before he lost his mind completely, he was… off. He kept adopting cats that all looked the same—large, stern-faced, silent types—and naming every single one “Ultra Magnus. He believed his cat was immortal.

[ilikeblueberryz]

⸺ roronoa zoro

(none of these works are mine !) Disclaimer : all fanfics listed here belong to their respective authors. please check out their profiles for more amazing work!

[ f ] fluff [ s ] smut [ a ] angst [ sm! ] social media!au

[ f ] ୨୧ tiny mishap ୨୧ in which your very protective boyfriend interrogates you about a certain wound you have (by @daegall)

[ f ] ୨୧ wake him up ୨୧ you're tasked with waking up zoro for dinner, but it's hard to make him budge. (by @sleepymarimo)

[ f ] ୨୧ insomnia ୨୧ you find yourself unable to sleep, and all of your friends are determined to help. unfortunately, nothing seems to work...until you find yourself in the lap of a certain swordsman. (by @froggiewrites)

[ f ] ୨୧ afternoon naps and flower crowns ୨୧ how zoro would react when his s/o secretly puts a flower crown on his head while he is sleeping? (by @punkrottenlibrary)

[ f ] ୨୧ a little crazy ୨୧ (by @pholla-jm)

[ f, a ] ୨୧ lips on every cross ୨୧ zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you. (by @revasserium)

[ f ] ୨୧ get some sleep ୨୧ you just can't get to sleep thanks to a terrible rainstorm terrorizing the ship. luckily, your tossing and turning inspired nami with an idea: just go sleep with the swordsman. (by @mydearlybeloathed)

[ f, a ] ୨୧ once upon a dream ୨୧ long ago, you were cursed to one day sleep for an eternity—unless you’re presented with true love. you thought destiny couldn’t find you on the high seas, but when you're sorely mistaken, it's up to a certain swordsman to get his act together and rescue you from eternal sleep. (by @/mydearlybeloathed)

[ f ] ୨୧ matchmakers! ୨୧ you're a vice captain of an ally crew and your crewmates want to set you up with zoro so badly! the strawhats are doing the same thing, pushing their swordsman to take the leap. (by @/sleepymarimo)

[ f ] ୨୧ seeing zoro after the 2 years timeskip ୨୧ (by @arixella)

[ f ] ୨୧ knight ୨୧ as a princess, you constantly have a bounty on your head, which means you are almost always under attack whenever the crew docks on an island. so, after zoro saves you from being kidnapped again, you both have a heart to heart... which ends in a little confession. (by @zorosangell)

[ f ] ୨୧ pick me up ୨୧ zoro never paid your jokes or pickup lines any mind. that is, until something happens that makes you stop. ( by @togenabi)

[ s ] ୨୧ bewbs ୨୧ boobs blurbs ( by @kyluff)

[ f ] ୨୧ you around kids ୨୧ (by @inseobts)

[ f ] ୨୧ no title ୨୧ (by @lvmimisvmim)

୨୧ busted! secret relationship ୨୧ what if the two of you are in a secret relationship and suddenly everyone start to realize something is going on? (by @/inseobts)

[ f ] ୨୧ stone cold feelings ୨୧ boa hancock’s love-love beam turns everyone to stone, except you and zoro (and luffy). and so boa makes her mission to understand why zoro didn't turn to stone and shamelessly flirts with him (or at least she pretends to)… (by @/inseobts)

୨୧ no title ୨୧ they catch you playing with your boobs (by @zorosgirlfriend)

୨୧ hey princess pt1 ୨୧ you find freedom, love, and a true family among pirates—only to risk everything, even your life, to protect them from the chains of your past. (by @/inseobts)

[ f ] ୨୧ i'm your husband ୨୧ (by @/inseobts)

[ sm! ] ୨୧ down the all, chp 1 ୨୧ when your cat suddenly disappears from your apartment, you go crazy trying to find him. only to find your beloved cat, kuro, in the arms of your hot neighbor, roronoa zoro. trying to get your cat and the heart of your neighbor proves to be a difficult mission to say the least. (by @shotosjupiter)

[ f, a ] ୨୧ for you ୨୧ you take a life-threatening blow for Zoro in battle and he is marred with guilt. (by @clare-875)

[ s ] ୨୧ beyond the blade ୨୧ (by @2b4st4r)

୨୧ being the boatswain ୨୧ without a major, eye catching skill, you attempt to make up for it by doing everything for everyone all at once--the crew only notices when it all comes crashing down. (by @/mydearlybeloathed)

[ f ] ୨୧ sake ୨୧ your friends-with-benefits relationship with zoro becomes complicated when he gets monstrously drunk and begins to confess his deepest, darkest feelings about you. (by @/zorosangell)

[ f ] ୨୧ in plain sight ୨୧ when the straw hats start speculating about zoro's mysterious girlfriend, you and he decide to let the rumours run wild—until the truth comes out most unexpectedly. (by @annievrse)

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ strings and satin ( pjs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 ⤷ word count — 19k ⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — finally here it is ! i loved writing this so, so much—i hope you guys fall for it the way i did. there’s definitely a second part coming, so don’t forget to pace yourselves, loves 🤍

⤷ warnings — college au, guitarist!jay, ballerina!reader, college!jay, college!reader, college!enhypen, band!enhypen, slow burn, strangers to lovers trope, soft!jay, emotionally constipated!jay (but he’s trying), late-night cat hunt (we love doobu), subtle mutual pining, jay is in denial (maybe), reader is confused (definitely), domestic undertones, accidental vulnerability, soft tension, unspoken feelings, kpop demon hunters reference, fluff

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as a ballet major with a bleeding heart and a cat that bites, you’ve learned to keep your world simple: dance, stretch, cry a little, repeat. you don’t do rumors, don’t do games, and you definitely don’t do campus heartthrobs with guitars and god complexes. so when a blurry photo and one harmless conversation spark a wildfire of dating rumors between you and park jongseong—guitarist, campus enigma, known for broken amps and colder stares. except, he’s nothing like they say. or, where he plays like the world’s his stage, but you're the only thing that makes him nervous.

The practice room was warm. Not hot, exactly—just the kind of warm that stuck to your skin, that lingered in your collarbones and made your bangs cling annoyingly to your forehead.

You stood in front of the mirror wall, catching your breath, fixing the satin skirt tied loosely around your waist.

Your black cropped shirt had already slid down one shoulder, exposing the strap of your leotard underneath. You didn’t bother fixing it.

Your focus was elsewhere—mostly on your discomfort, and the silent scream your thighs were making from doing that god-awful développé combo three times in a row.

“Hey,” Kazuha called softly from the side, wiping her neck with a towel as she approached you, “you okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Yeah. Just… not my usual skirt,” you muttered, glancing down.

Kazuha tilted her head. “I noticed. It’s shorter than usual.”

You gave a dry laugh, fingers tugging lightly at the tie. “Yeah, it’s my old one. From high school. My usual skirt’s in the laundry and I forgot to grab it this morning, so I’m surviving with this thing.”

Your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror—sweaty, flushed, still catching your breath. Your ponytail was coming loose and you were already sure your tights were rolling at the waist.

You turned slightly to the side and tugged the skirt again, voice flat. “This is what I get for being too lazy to do laundry.”

Kazuha laughed, leaning back on the barre. “It’s kinda cute, though. Retro. You look like you're in a throwback recital.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway.

Getting into Decelis University hadn’t been easy. The performing arts department—especially the dance conservatory—was known across the country for its prestige and high expectations. Hundreds auditioned every year. Not all made it past the first round.

You did.

On your first try.

Full-ride scholarship. Competitive record. Trophies and tears to back it all up.

People said you made it look easy, like you were meant to be there. But it wasn’t ease—it was effort. It was years of calluses, missed parties, bleeding toes, and sacrifice. You didn’t just want to dance. You needed to.

Kazuha tossed her towel on the bench, pulling her leg up on the barre to stretch. “You staying late again tonight?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on your reflection again. “Yeah. I have to perfect the solo for finals. My second rotation’s on Friday.”

“You know,” she grinned, “you say that like you’re not already one of the top students here.”

You shrugged. “Perfection’s the bare minimum.”

Kazuha blinked at you like you were insane, but she didn’t push it. She knew you well enough by now.

The speaker clicked as the next song loaded, soft classical strings filling the room again. You took a breath, stepped forward, and let your body move—not perfectly, not effortlessly, but honestly.

Your feet kissed the marley floor with a quiet grace, arms extending with purpose as you lost yourself to the swell of the violins.

You didn't think, didn't worry—this was the part where everything else slipped away. Just you, the music, and the ache in your chest that only dance could reach.

Just as Kazuha stepped forward to join you in the center, the door handle jiggled behind you.

You both froze mid-pose.

Then—knock knock knock.

Sharp. Persistent. Not polite.

You blinked at Kazuha, who mirrored your confusion, and as you turned toward the door, you caught a chaotic shuffle of movement behind the foggy glass panel.

“What the hell—” you muttered, already walking over as Kazuha crossed the room to pause the music.

Three heads crammed into the glass at once, pushing and jostling to get a peek inside, like some low-budget Scooby-Doo skit come to life. Behind them, more bodies shuffled around, some holding instruments.

You squinted. One had a guitar case strapped to his back. Another was holding drumsticks. Someone in the back had an amp cord looped around his neck like a scarf.

Kazuha tilted her head. “Are we being… robbed? By a band?”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest. “Who even lets them in here?”

The glass panel fogged slightly from the nose of someone pressing into it a little too eagerly.

You sighed, took a few steps forward, and called out—loudly enough to be heard through the semi-soundproof barrier, “Do you need something, or are you just here for a group peep show?”

That did the trick.

The door burst open like someone forgot subtlety existed. Seven guys came tumbling in, all trying to talk at once, their words tangling into a mess of “wait—no you ask—dude, she’s literally glaring—” while you stood, unamused, watching the circus unfold.

Kazuha blinked, frozen in place like her brain short-circuited at the sheer volume of testosterone in the room.

The boy with dyed blonde hair lit up like a switch. “Kazuha!”

Her head whipped around at the sound of her name, and when she caught sight of the voice—tall, bleach-haired, grinning like a kid—her face softened instantly.

“Oh, Ni-ki,” she said with a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s you.”

You blinked.

Wait. Ni-ki?

As in—her cousin Ni-ki?

The one who, according to Kazuha, played bass ‘like he was born doing it’ and could barely stay out of trouble for longer than a week?

The dots connected in your head like a quiet click—that was the cousin who hung out with some band. That was the chaos she warned you about when she said don’t mind the noise if you hear it down the hallway.

“Wait,” you said slowly, glancing between her and the group of rowdy boys trying to look innocent while still blocking half the studio entrance. “This is your cousin?”

“Yup,” Kazuha replied, already looking more amused than confused. “And that—” she gestured loosely toward the rest of them, “—is his band, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing?” you deadpanned. “They walked in here like they were about to headline Coachella.”

The boy in the front—tall, dark eyes, jet-black hair pulled back under a hoodie—finally stepped forward, less loud than the others, but still undeniably present. A black guitar case hung across his back, the strap slung casually over one shoulder like it belonged there, like he belonged here.

He wasn’t smiling.

He looked at you, at the studio, at your sweat-damp shirt and worn-out ballet shoes, and then back at you.

He raised a brow.

And then he said, “Is this the part where we pretend to be sorry for barging in?”

Your arms stayed crossed, lips twitching. “That depends. Is this the part where you explain why you’re here like this is a battle of the bands?”

Kazuha snorted. Ni-ki cackled.

The guy with another guitar case nudged the hoodie boy with his elbow. “Jay, say something normal, you’re scaring them.”

You raised an eyebrow.

The rest of the room seemed to pause, some failing to hide their grins while others tried very hard not to look like they were watching a drama unfold.

The so-called Jay hadn’t looked away from you once—dark eyes unreadable, the weight of his stare almost intrusive if it didn’t feel so curious.

You refused to break eye contact. If he was testing you, he’d have to try harder.

Kazuha stood quietly beside you, arms lightly crossed over her chest now, the tension in her jaw suggesting she was just waiting for someone to say something stupid so she could comment.

Finally, someone near the door cleared his throat—a polite, practiced sound that immediately drew your attention. The boy who stepped forward looked nothing like the storm standing across from you.

He was shorter than Jay, cleaner cut, dressed neatly in a dark crewneck and jeans. He smiled, dimples flashing as he extended a hand toward you.

“Hi,” he said with a slight bow, voice warm and measured. “I’m Yang Jungwon. Sorry to barge in all of a sudden. I know it’s unexpected, but…”

He reached into his back pocket and unfolded a neatly creased slip of paper, holding it up for you to see.

“It says here on the permit that we were assigned this studio for band practice at 7:30 PM,” he added carefully, his smile faltering just slightly. “And, uh… well…”

His voice trailed off as you took the paper from him, your eyes skimming over the familiar university header. You read the fine print, squinting at the date and time listed in the middle of the page.

Your jaw tightened.

It was 7:32 PM.

You looked up. Right on cue, another boy—tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly pretty—piped up from behind Ni-ki, his tone light and almost too casual.

“Well, it is 7:30,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, an easy grin on his face. “Technically.”

You gave him a flat look. He smiled wider, clearly not sorry.

“I’m Lee Heeseung,” he added, a little sheepishly this time, like that would soften the blow.

“Oh,” you said dryly, crossing your arms. “So your plan was to just burst in and interrupt mid-combo because you had a slip of paper and a sense of entitlement?”

Heeseung winced, looking to Ni-ki for backup, who was definitely not paying attention—too busy playing with the hem of his oversized jacket while whispering something to Kazuha.

Jay finally blinked, his voice low and slow as he spoke for the first time. “No one said it was a good plan.”

Your eyes flicked to him again, sharp. He still hadn’t moved from where he stood—hoodie half-zipped, guitar case slung over one shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He didn’t look embarrassed. He looked bored. Or tired. Or both.

“And you’re Jay?” you asked, tone unimpressed.

His head tilted slightly. “Unfortunately.”

You gave him a look. He held it again.

“God,” Kazuha muttered under her breath beside you, “do you two want a chair so you can keep eye-fighting in comfort?”

Jungwon, ever the peacemaker, gently stepped between you again, holding up his hands.

“Look, I think the admin office made a mistake. We’re not trying to kick you out or anything. We just… really need a place to rehearse tonight. Our usual room’s under maintenance.”

You glanced at the clock near the mirror.

Your solo practice was supposed to end at 7:30, but you usually stayed longer—everyone knew that. No one ever came after you. No one dared.

Until now.

You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Give us five minutes to cool down and grab our stuff. You guys can have it after.”

Jungwon looked relieved. “Seriously? That’s—thank you.”

Heeseung threw a little fist bump in the air, whispering a triumphant “yes” under his breath.

Without another word, the group finally started moving—some quieter than others—as they drifted further into the practice room. You and Kazuha stepped aside instinctively, watching as they began unloading.

The boy with the second guitar case unclipped it and set it gently on the floor. Jungwon followed him, coiling a few amp cords neatly, while someone near the door nearly dropped a whole keyboard with a loud thud.

You flinched.

Your jaw tensed. "Seriously?"

“Sorry!” the boy called out quickly, already scrambling to fix it.

Ni-ki ducked around him and pushed the door open again, holding it wide with his foot as another boy wheeled in a full drum kit like this was a full-blown arena setup and not just a shared university room.

“Careful with that, I tuned the snare this morning!” Jungwon scolded, and Ni-ki just huffed dramatically but helped anyway.

Across the room, someone handed Heeseung a mic stand like it was a sword and he was about to lead them into battle. You watched with a quiet sigh as chaos began blooming in your sacred space.

Beside you, Kazuha chuckled under her breath.

You nudged her shoulder with your bag. “Your cousin’s just as hardheaded as you, you know that?”

She laughed softly, looping her sweatshirt over her arm. “I know. I’m sorry. It runs in the family.”

You knelt down to grab your ballet flats, towel already half-hanging from your tote, when a shadow fell across your line of sight.

You looked up.

It was the same boy who had nearly dropped the keyboard earlier. He was standing in front of you now, hands clasped in front of him, an almost apologetic smile stretched wide across his face.

His hair was cropped short, brushing just above his brows. His eyes practically sparkled.

“Hi,” he said brightly, almost like he meant it. “I’m Sunoo. I—uh—just wanted to say I’m really sorry about earlier.”

You blinked. He had that kind of smile that felt like it came with its own lighting—warm, unguarded, maybe a little too charming for your own good.

You stood, slipping your shoes into your bag. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you said lightly, waving a hand as if to brush it off.

Still, he bowed slightly, earnestness in every movement. “Still. I apologize. Jay usually isn’t that…”

He hesitated, searching for a polite word.

You offered, “Intense?”

He laughed. “Yeah. That. Or dramatic. Or socially incapable, depending on the day.”

You let out a small, unwilling laugh. Damn him and his infectious energy.

Behind him, the tall boy who had helped Ni-ki drag the drum set in let out a sigh as he leaned against the mirror wall, arms crossed.

“Yeah, seriously,” he said, brushing hair away from his forehead. “We don’t usually come in here, and we didn’t mean to crash your rehearsal or anything.”

You turned to him, a little caught off guard by his voice—deep, smooth, kind of casual in a way that made you think he wasn’t used to saying sorry out loud.

“Oh—yeah, I’m Sunghoon,” he said quickly, standing up straighter. “I play bass. In the band. That’s here. Right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at his awkward phrasing. He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling under his breath.

“Sorry. That came out weird.”

Before you could respond, Ni-ki—who’d reappeared from behind the keyboard stand—elbowed Sunghoon in the ribs with a mischievous grin and said, “You mean I’m the better bass player.”

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. He just deadpanned, “Ni-ki, shut the fuck up.”

“You say that now,” Ni-ki replied, holding up a guitar clip like it was a trophy. “But when I go solo and top the charts, don’t come crying.”

Kazuha laughed, grabbing your arm gently as she looped hers through yours. “Okay, that’s our cue. We should go before my cousin starts making powerpoints about why he deserves a bass solo.”

Ni-ki beamed. “You’d watch it, admit it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said flatly, already tugging you toward the door.

Despite Ni-ki being the only one actually saying goodbye, a soft chorus of murmured goodnights and lazy waves followed behind you—Jungwon giving you a polite nod, Sunoo offering a sparkly smile, and Heeseung shooting a goofy two-finger salute like this was some kind of after-school special.

You glanced back once, just briefly—only to find Jay still watching you.

Still standing near the mic stand, still quiet, expression unreadable.

There was no smirk, no apology. Just stillness. Like he was memorizing something, but didn’t want to show it.

The door shut with a soft click behind you.

The hallway outside was colder—empty, quiet, the lights humming faintly above your head. Your footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, and Kazuha’s arm still looped around yours like second nature.

You sighed as you leaned into her slightly, the ache in your shoulders finally catching up to you.

“My God,” you muttered, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Your cousin’s band is weird.”

Kazuha laughed, eyes crinkling as she bumped your hip with hers. “I told you they were rowdy. You just didn’t believe me.”

“I thought you meant, like… normal band rowdy. Tattoos. Bad rehearsal schedules. Not actual sitcom-level weird.”

“Oh, that is their normal,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a soft scoff, nudging her with your shoulder. “You say that like you hang out with them.”

“I don’t,” Kazuha said quickly, laughing. “Not really. I mean, I’ve never actually seen them practice or perform—Ni-ki just never shuts up about them.”

You hummed in response, the sound quiet between your steps as the two of you walked in sync down the empty corridor. Your shoes squeaked faintly against the tile, the overhead lights casting soft shadows on the tiled floor.

Now that the noise and tension of the room had faded behind you, your body started to relax, step by step.

Kazuha glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “But like… I have heard they’re popular or something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Popular how?”

“Like… actually good,” she said, lifting her hands a little as if that explained everything.

“Ni-ki said they’ve won the university’s Battle of the Bands for the last few years. Every time. So now they automatically get a slot in all the school events—like festivals, College Week, charity nights…”

You slowed your steps, head tilting slightly. “Wait,” you said, frowning. “You mean… those guys are the ones that perform after us during College Week?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to remember. You knew College Week. Your dance troupe always had one of the final performances. But you never stayed long enough to watch what came after.

By then, you were usually backstage, catching your breath, fixing your makeup, or already halfway home with sore feet and sore everything else.

“Huh,” you muttered. “Weird. I’ve never actually heard them before. Like—properly.”

Kazuha hummed in agreement beside you as the two of you turned left at the corner, heading toward the student entrance.

“They’re good,” she said casually. “From what I’ve heard. Ni-ki plays me demos sometimes when I sleep over and pretend to be asleep.”

You looked at her. “That’s creepy.”

She snorted. “He puts his phone under my pillow. He calls it subliminal promotion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing lightly down the hall.

The two of you finally spotted the main exit doors at the far end of the building, glowing under the fluorescent lights like a way out of chaos.

Kazuha reached forward to push one open, and the second the glass door swung wide, a rush of cold night air swept in—sharp and biting, cutting through the warmth clinging to your skin from practice.

You shivered, instinctively hugging your arms over your chest. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stepping outside. “I forgot to bring my leg warmers again.”

The sky had already deepened into a soft navy, stars just barely peeking out beyond the clouds. The faint buzz of field lights nearby hummed in the distance, illuminating the quiet path that cut across campus toward the dormitories.

Kazuha slipped her arm back through yours. “You’re always forgetting those.”

“I was in a rush!” you said defensively. “Besides, I wasn’t planning on staying that long. Or dealing with an entire band.”

“I’d say that’s your own fault for being talented and dedicated,” she teased, bumping your hip lightly.

You groaned, breath fogging in the air. “Wanna crash at my dorm tonight?”

Kazuha perked up immediately, turning to you with eyes bright. “Wait—are you gonna cook curry?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, lips twitching. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” she grinned, not even a second of hesitation.

She tightened her hold on your arm and tugged you faster down the pavement.

“Come on, let’s stop by the convenience store near the dorms first! You need something warm. Let’s get you that fancy black tea you like—what’s it called again? The one that smells like actual flowers and money?”

You rolled your eyes, but let her pull you anyway, the weight of her excitement warming you more than your sweatshirt did.

“It’s not that fancy,” you mumbled. “It just doesn’t taste like cardboard.”

Kazuha snorted. “Mm, cardboard tea. A classic.”

Your steps fell in sync again, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes as the golden glow of the dorms and the soft neon flicker of the convenience store came into view.

“Do we need anything else?” you asked absentmindedly, your voice quiet against the wind.

“Just curry cubes,” she said, already scanning the store shelves from outside. “And maybe a pack of Pocky if you’re feeling soft.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m not feeling soft.”

“You will be,” she grinned, tugging open the door. The bell jingled.

The lock clicked softly as you turned the key, Kazuha hovering patiently behind you with her arms full of grocery bags and her cheeks pink from the walk.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, and the familiar scent of soft linen, citrus cleaner, and a little bit of cat greeted you instantly.

The moment the door cracked open—a little white blur padded across the wooden floor, tail high and curling like a question mark.

You lit up. “Hi, Doobu! Mommy’s home,” you cooed, immediately crouching down to scoop her up.

She let out a pleased trill, practically melting into your arms like she’d been waiting all day for this moment. Her fur was as soft as ever—warm and fluffy and slightly dramatic as she pressed her face to your chin and gave a little snuffly sigh.

“God, clingy,” you mumbled affectionately, rubbing your cheek against hers as her tail flicked lazily behind her.

Kazuha stepped in behind you, carefully closing the door with her foot as she dropped the plastic bags down on the small table beside the TV.

“For a school dorm, you’re living kinda luxurious,” she muttered, glancing around.

She wasn’t wrong.

Your dorm was unusually spacious—one of the perks of applying early and having ‘scholarship kid who needs personal space for daily injury recovery’ written in your file.

There was a small kitchenette in the corner, a two-seater couch against the wall, fairy lights strung up along your bookshelf, and a thick pink carpet you refused to get rid of even though Doobu had shed all over it.

Speaking of—

Doobu sniffed at your shirt suspiciously.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, following her nose with a fond eye roll. “I had to deal with weird boys today.”

Doobu gave a grumpy-sounding purr, like she understood exactly what that meant.

Kazuha came to your side, reaching out to scratch behind Doobu’s ears. “I don’t know what you feed her, seriously,” she said with a shake of her head. “She’s so chonky.”

You laughed. “Cat food, duh.”

Doobu meowed again like she agreed, batting her paw gently at your necklace before giving a little yawn and curling closer into your arms. Her soft belly pressed against your forearm like a warm pillow.

Kazuha leaned her head on your shoulder. “Okay, I vote we wash our faces, put on something fluffy, and start on curry.”

You tilted your head. “You mean I start on curry.”

She gave you an angelic look. “Well, someone’s gotta entertain the cat.”

You both giggled, shoulders bumping gently, the warmth of home already settling around you like a blanket.

Not long after, you’d changed into your fluffiest oversized tee and tied your hair into a messy bun, steam from the rice cooker wafting through your dorm.

Kazuha sat cross-legged at the small dining nook peeling open packets of curry mix like she’d done it a hundred times.

Doobu, in the meantime, had circled your feet three times before flopping dramatically onto her back like she owned the floor.

Fifteen minutes and one mini kitchen disaster later, you were perched on your bed with a steaming bowl of curry and rice, your legs stretched out under a throw blanket.

Kazuha sat beside you, her own bowl balanced on her lap, a green clay facemask smeared evenly across her cheeks—yours was a little more chaotic, mostly because she insisted on artistic freedom when applying it on you.

The TV played softly in the background, some K-drama with way too many dramatic hallway scenes and brooding men in trench coats. You weren’t even fully following the plot anymore, just laughing when Kazuha made commentary.

“Oh my God,” she said, mouth full of rice, “he’s literally been staring at her for five minutes. Say something, you dramatic coat rack.”

You snorted. “He’s trying to speak with his eyes, Zuha. Let him suffer in silence.”

“Okay Shakespeare, relax.”

You giggled again, leaning back on your hands as you spooned more curry into your mouth, warmth blooming in your stomach.

Doobu had settled into her cat bed just under your bunk, tail flicking occasionally as she napped peacefully, her belly rising and falling in the soft golden glow of your fairy lights.

Just as you reached for your water, your phone buzzed loudly on your bedside table.

Both of you froze at the sound cutting through the moment, your ringtone echoing awkwardly in the room like it didn’t belong.

Kazuha paused the drama with her chopsticks still in hand. “Who is it?”

You glanced at the screen, brow lifting. “Unknown number.”

She hummed. “Might be important.”

You sighed, putting your bowl on the side table and swiping to answer as you leaned back against your headboard. “Hello?”

“Hey, um—sorry—hi! Is this Jeong (Y/N)?” the voice asked, polite and just slightly breathless. “This is Jungwon. From earlier.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“…How’d you get my number?”

There was a pause on the line, followed by the distinct sound of Ni-ki laughing in the background.

“Oh—I, uh—sorry! I came from Student Affairs with Ni-ki and Jay just now,” Jungwon explained quickly, clearly flustered. “Ni-ki was trying to reach Kazuha but apparently—uh…”

“She blocked him,” you finished flatly, glancing at Kazuha.

She didn’t even flinch. “Deserved. He replaced my healing playlist with Mongolian throat singing.”

You blinked. “…That’s so specific.”

She shrugged. “It was an experience.”

Back on the phone, Jungwon stammered, “Y-Yeah, well, I’m only calling because, uh—not me, technically—Jay gave me his phone to call you.”

You blinked again, this time slower.

Your fingers tensed a little around the device. “Jay?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon said sheepishly. “I mean—it’s his phone number, not mine. But, like, he told me to—um—just give him the phone. Give—give me a sec—”

You heard more shuffling, the soft thud of something being handed over, and then a low, familiar voice spoke next.

“Hey.”

You sat up straighter without meaning to.

Jay’s voice was smooth. A little quiet. Just like earlier. But something about hearing it now—soft and direct, in your private space—made your stomach flutter once.

“This is kind of last-minute,” he continued, “but our practice room’s under construction. There’s water damage and they’re doing renovations.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

He sounded mildly annoyed now, like it physically pained him to say the next part.

“It’ll be down for at least two weeks,” he muttered. “And apparently we need to share your room. The studio, I mean. Starting tomorrow.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

You blinked at the wall.

“…You’re calling to tell me that we’re gonna be stuck together for two weeks?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jay said, voice dry.

“Wow. You sound thrilled.”

“I’m always thrilled,” he deadpanned.

You pulled the phone away from your ear slightly and looked at Kazuha.

She was already wide-eyed. “What? What’d he say?”

You pressed the phone back. “Why do you guys even need to use the studio again?”

There was a pause. A beat.

Then Jay said, quieter this time, “Because we have a performance soon. A big one. We need the space.”

You exhaled through your nose, head tilting back against the wooden headboard, your eyes focused on the ceiling as a long silence stretched between you. The line didn’t hang up. He didn’t say more.

Neither did you.

There was a pause. Then—

“Seven onwards,” Jay replied, tone steady.

You closed your eyes for a beat, pressing your lips together. That meant long nights. Tired legs. Sharing mirrors. Sharing space.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Got it.”

Another pause. Faint static hummed between your ears. And then—

“…Thanks.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else.

You lowered your phone slowly, setting it on the nightstand beside your lamp, and let out a low cough—half irritation, half disbelief—as you mumbled under your breath:

“Rude.”

Kazuha was still staring at you, her bowl long forgotten, chopsticks perched against the rim like they’d been abandoned mid-bite.

“Well?” she prompted, peeling the now-dry mask from her cheek. “What did they want?”

You leaned back against the headboard again, letting your legs stretch out in front of you as Doobu gave a tiny sneeze from her bed below.

“They need the studio,” you muttered.

Kazuha blinked. “Again?”

“For two more weeks.” You rubbed your temple. “Apparently their practice room’s under construction or whatever. Water damage.”

She blinked again, expression unreadable. Then she shrugged. “Well… that’s not that bad.”

You whipped your head toward her. “You weren’t the one being stared down by Hoodie McBrooding in the middle of rehearsal.”

She snorted. “I was there. He wasn’t that scary.”

“He looked at me like I insulted his guitar.”

“Maybe you did.”

You threw a pillow at her, making her laugh as she ducked and caught it mid-air.

“I’m just saying,” she said with a grin, fluffing the pillow behind her, “if they’re really sharing the space, this might actually be kind of fun.”

“Fun is not the word I’d use,” you muttered, eyeing your phone like it might ring again.

Kazuha leaned back beside you, slipping her feet under your blanket. “Mm. I give it three days before someone flirts with you.”

You blinked. “Why would you say that?”

She grinned. “Because I know men. And I know your face.”

You groaned, pulling your blanket up over your head. Doobu meowed from below, clearly siding with Kazuha.

It was six in the morning when you blinked awake to the weight of soft fur pressed against your arm.

The bed wasn’t empty—Doobu was curled into a fluffy comma by your side, tail twitching as if to say how dare you even think about moving right now.

You reached over to gently run your hand down her back, your fingers brushing the warmth of her little body as she gave a contented little sigh in her sleep.

Your phone buzzed.

You squinted against the sudden brightness as you grabbed it, groaning as your dry eyes adjusted. The first thing on your screen was a message from Kazuha.

zuha [6:00 A.M.]: left at 5am to get ready, good luck waking up loser 💗

You scoffed under your breath, thumbs already typing a grumpy reply before tossing the phone aside. Still, you sighed and sat up, letting your legs dangle off the side of the bed.

You stretched slowly, your spine cracking, and rubbed the sleep from your eyes as Doobu rolled onto her back like a little queen.

“Be good today,” you murmured as you leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. She purred, obviously pleased.

You padded into the bathroom, letting the warm spray of the shower melt away the heaviness from your limbs. Afterward, you tied your hair up, added a little makeup—just some blush and gloss and eyeliner to hide how tired you felt.

You pulled on a soft white ruffled blouse, tucked it into a pair of pale jeans, and layered a white jacket over it. Warm enough to fight the cold, but still light enough to move in.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled faintly.

You kissed Doobu goodbye at the door, her round eyes blinking sleepily up at you from her cat bed.

“Don’t start a coup while I’m gone.”

She meowed like she made no promises.

The walk to campus was quiet.

The sky was still tinted pale gray, the kind that hinted at the rising sun behind soft clouds. Your boots clicked softly on the pavement as the cold air kissed your cheeks, your breath visible in soft puffs.

You moved slowly, soaking it in. The silence. The morning stillness. The kind of peace that only existed before the world woke up.

Until footsteps joined yours.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. But they fell in sync with yours too easily, too closely. Your shoulder barely brushed against fabric—black fabric.

You turned slightly, just enough to see the hem of a long, inky button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, a silver watch glinting at the wrist. Black jeans. Clean loafers. And a guitar case slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Jay.

You raised a brow. “…Stalking me already?”

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I live across the quad. You just happen to be slow.”

You blinked. “Not slow. Calm. It’s called appreciating the morning.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s cold. That’s all I’m appreciating.”

You gave him a look, then returned your gaze to the path ahead. “Nice fit, though.”

That made him pause for half a second. Then he glanced down at his shirt like he forgot he was even wearing it. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

You caught a glimpse of his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the calm in his eyes, the way his hair was still slightly tousled from the wind.

Admittedly, the man had taste.

“Didn’t think black-on-black was a thing before sunrise,” you said dryly.

Jay glanced sideways. “You’re wearing white like you’re in a coffee commercial.”

You choked. “Excuse me?”

“All white, floating around in a dreamscape,” he deadpanned, eyes still forward. “All you need is a cup and a wind machine.”

You couldn’t help it—you let out a laugh, the sound cracking through the crisp air.

Jay didn’t say anything, but you saw the faintest quirk at the edge of his lips again. Like he was trying really hard not to smile.

“…You’re weird,” you mumbled, glancing at him again.

“Takes one to know one,” he replied.

You scoffed, raising a brow in mock offense as your eyes flicked toward him.

“Wow,” you muttered, hands deep in your jacket pockets. “Coming for my entire personality before sunrise. That’s bold.”

Jay only shrugged, unbothered, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. “You started it.”

The two of you fell into silence again—not the uncomfortable kind, but the type that sat easily between two people who didn’t know each other well enough to fill it, and maybe didn’t mind that.

Your eyes trailed over the field as you passed it, where a few student athletes were already stretching, setting up cones and goalposts. You watched as one of them kicked a ball lazily toward the net.

“You play bass like Ni-ki and Sunghoon?” you asked suddenly, keeping your gaze forward.

Jay shook his head once. “No. Electric guitar.”

You nodded, quietly filing it away in the drawer of things you weren’t sure why you wanted to remember.

He didn’t offer more, but you didn’t really mind. You were content with the crunch of gravel beneath your boots, the wind playing with the strands of your hair that had come loose. The cold nipped at your cheeks, leaving them pink, but you liked the sting—it kept you awake.

A soft rustle came from your side, and you noticed Jay glancing at you again.

He wasn’t subtle about it. Not really.

He looked at your hair where it swayed against your shoulder, at the faint shimmer of your highlighter catching the morning light, at the soft pink ribbon that dangled from your tote bag—a leftover from the ballet shoes you had shoved inside before leaving.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away either. Not until you caught him.

You turned slightly, brows raised, your mouth tugging upward at one side. “Staring’s kind of rude, you know.”

Jay blinked, deadpan. “You have glitter on your cheek.”

You blinked back, lifting your hand to swipe at your face. “Do I?”

He watched you try, then sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of tissues. Wordlessly, he offered you one.

You took it with a quiet thanks, dabbing carefully.

“Better?” you asked.

Jay looked at you, slower this time. “Yeah.”

Another moment passed before you tilted your head toward him. “So what’s the big performance all about?”

He looked back at you, one brow lifting slightly. “Don’t we have College Week?”

You blinked. Froze. Then groaned like something hit you physically.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “I totally forgot about that.”

Jay actually laughed—soft, deep, amused under his breath. “You perform every year, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t remember until like, the week before,” you grumbled. “Last year I sprained my toe trying to cram the choreography into three days.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “That’s possible?”

“Apparently,” you said, exasperated. “My teacher still makes fun of me for it.”

A beat passed.

“…You’re kind of dramatic,” Jay said.

“You’re one to talk. You wear black button-ups at dawn.”

Jay gave you a look, but you caught the way the corners of his lips pulled upward.

The gates to the building appeared ahead of you, golden light just beginning to slip past the horizon behind it. You exhaled, watching your breath cloud in the air.

Jay suddenly spoke, quieter this time. “You looked like you liked the morning.”

You turned to him, a little startled by the softness in his tone.

“I do,” you replied, voice matching his. “It’s quiet.”

He nodded. “You look like you belong in it.”

That made you pause.

You didn’t have time to respond—Jay pulled the heavy glass door open for you and gestured subtly for you to go ahead. His face was unreadable, that same practiced neutral he always wore, but the soft pink dusting the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Thanks,” you murmured, stepping inside.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied simply, the door shutting softly behind the two of you as the cold gave way to polished floors and tall ceilings.

You both fell into step again, your footsteps echoing slightly as you walked side by side down the long hallway of Decelis’ east wing. The building was quiet this early in the morning—some classrooms still locked, lights flickering to life one by one, janitors mopping in the distance.

Jay glanced over at you. “What’s your first class?”

You blinked, glancing down at your schedule in your head. “Oh. Arts. I think we’re covering expressionist pieces this week.”

He hummed, nodding. “Makes sense. You… kind of give that vibe.”

You squinted at him. “What vibe?”

He looked straight ahead. “You know. All poetic and floaty and stuff.”

You snorted. “Wow. So insightful.”

Jay smirked, just barely. “I try.”

“And you?”

“Business math,” he replied, as if the weight of the world rested on those two cursed words.

You groaned instantly. “Ugh. Math.”

Jay turned to you, brow lifting. “You don’t like it?”

“Hate it,” you declared with no hesitation. “With a burning passion. I think numbers were invented just to make me cry.”

That made him laugh under his breath. “That’s dramatic.”

“You look emo right now. Don’t talk to me about dramatic.”

You saw the corners of his lips twitch again, his eyes dancing with quiet amusement.

And then—just like that—you came to a stop.

You glanced at the plaque beside the door:

ROOM 1B-04 ART HISTORY – PROF. CHOI

“Well,” you said, adjusting your tote bag higher on your shoulder. “This is me.”

Jay looked up at the sign and nodded once. “Art history. Got it.”

You looked up at him, lips quirking into a soft smile. “Try not to die in math.”

“No promises,” he said with a small shrug.

You hesitated just a second longer. “Bye, Jay.”

He gave you a small wave—fingers lifted, the gesture almost lazy, but his eyes lingered for a beat too long. “Later.”

The door clicked shut behind you as you entered, and Jay stood there for a second, just looking at the nameplate again.

Then—without a word—he turned and walked all the way back down the same hallway the two of you had just come from. He passed the entryway, the glass doors you came in from, then turned toward the elevators at the far side of the west wing.

When he stepped inside, he hit the button for the third floor.

Business math wasn’t even remotely on the way.

And yet he walked you the whole time anyway.

Now, alone in the elevator, Jay leaned back against the cool wall, head tilting up as he let out a long breath.

‘It was just a nice gesture’, he told himself.

Nothing big. Nothing deep. Just something to make up for being—well. Kind of an asshole last night.

He shook his head once, jaw tightening at the thought. He’d been tired, irritated, and none of that was an excuse—but still. You didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t even react the way most people did. No sarcasm, no petty comeback, no wide-eyed awe or annoying flirtation. You just went silent at him. Met him exactly where he was.

Yeah. Had to make up for it. That’s all.

The elevator chimed softly.

The third floor was just starting to wake up—some lights flickering on, the coffee machine across the hall hissing in the break room, students murmuring half-asleep greetings as they passed. Jay walked down the long corridor, muscle memory carrying him as he reached the classroom near the end of the hallway.

He pushed the door open with one hand.

“Yo,” came Jake’s voice from across the room, already lounging with a pen in his mouth. “You’re a few minutes late.”

Jay didn’t even glance at the clock. “Yeah. I was busy.”

Jake raised a brow, his smirk a little too knowing. “With what?”

Jay walked past him, slinging his guitar case off his shoulder and leaning it carefully against the chair next to his. “Just busy,” he said simply, voice flat as he pulled his seat out.

Jake snorted. “Okay, then. Mysterious rockstar things, got it.”

Jay didn’t respond, only exhaled through his nose, resting his arms on the desk.

Jake didn’t press any further.

It was only after the classroom started to fill in around them—students trickling in one by one, the professor still nowhere in sight—that Jay reached into the pocket of his pants.

He pulled out his phone, screen lighting up with a soft glow.

He opened his contacts and stopped at the one number Jungwon had dialed last night to call you.

Just a random string of digits. No name. No photo.

He hesitated, then tapped edit.

Then paused. His eyes flicked to your tote bag again in his mind, to the soft pink ribbon hanging out like a little flag.

He typed in your name slowly, deliberately—

(Y/N) 🎀

Jay stared at it for a second. Just long enough for the corner of his mouth to lift—barely there, just the ghost of a smile.

Then he hit save.

And tucked the phone away like it meant nothing.

Even though, deep down, he knew it already meant a little too much.

It was just past one in the afternoon, and you were quite literally seconds away from collapsing into your desk.

The sun filtered lazily through the windows of the arts building, golden and too tempting, especially when paired with the drone of your professor’s voice at the front of the room.

“…and if we consider the range of motion relative to the joint axis, then the flexibility of the hamstring significantly affects the body’s—”

You drowned her out halfway through.

Kinesiology. Again.

God, how many times do we have to talk about hamstrings?

Your cheek rested on your fist, elbow propped on your desk, lips pursed in a subtle pout as your professor continued with the enthusiasm of someone who had never seen the sun in her life.

“Now, these handouts,” she said, finally changing the slide on the screen behind her. “Please read them thoroughly—we’ll be applying this next week during assessments. Pass them around.”

You barely resisted the urge to groan. The stack of papers was passed to the row in front of you, then to you. You took one, handed it back without a glance, and immediately began packing up the moment the bell rang.

Your bag hit your shoulder with a soft thump, the only thing more desperate than your escape being the dramatic sigh you let out as you pushed through the doors and stepped into the hallway.

The cafeteria was already buzzing when you got there. Somehow still not flooded—yet. You weaved between groups of students chatting loudly, trays clinking, the smell of coffee and fried chicken lingering in the air.

You spotted a seat by one of the tall windows—sunlight spilling across the table like it was calling your name.

You made a beeline for it and dropped into the chair with a soft huff, letting your shoulders relax for the first time all day.

Pulling out your laptop and your phone, you set them both down and opened your notifications—only to be met with a string of messages from your group chat with your friends.

zuha [1:14 P.M.]: guys i can’t make it to lunch TT i have to finish two portfolios before 3

chaewon [1:14 P.M.]: same! i’ve got a crit w/ my prof in 20 minutes

yunjin [1:14 P.M.]: i’m dying in editing class bye

manchae [1:15 P.M.]: pls save me

kkura [1:15 P.M.]: sorry baby i’ll treat you to strawberry milk later

You sighed, thumbs tapping out a quick reply.

you [1:15 P.M.]: okay study well :( don’t forget to eat!!

You turned off your phone, placing it face-down on the table, and opened your laptop with a soft click. A sea of reports blinked back at you—deadlines lining the corners of your screen like silent threats.

You pulled one up, adjusted your seating, and leaned in to start typing, the warmth of the sun kissing your cheek as your fingers danced across the keyboard.

The ambient chatter faded into soft background noise—until a shadow crossed over your screen.

You paused, blinking, then glanced down—familiar shoes coming into view. Black loafers. Paired with dark jeans cuffed slightly at the ankle. And then—

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked, low and smooth.

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting a very Jay-like expression: blank, almost bored, but eyes just a bit too focused on you to match the rest of his face.

He wasn’t carrying his guitar today. Just a laptop tucked under his arm and his phone in hand. Minimal, neat. The sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt were still rolled up to his elbows.

Jay nodded once and sat down across from you, sliding into the chair with quiet ease. He placed his laptop on the table, phone on top of it. His eyes flicked over to your trayless setup.

“You’re not with Kazuha?” he asked, voice lower than it needed to be—like the question was just for you.

You sighed, slumping slightly in your chair. “Nope. All my friends bailed on me for deadlines.”

Jay’s head tilted slightly to the side. “But you’re here. In the cafeteria. And…” he glanced at your table, “you’re not eating anything.”

You let out a short laugh, soft and almost embarrassed. “I’ll eat in a few. I was gonna finish something first.”

Jay said nothing for a second. Then stood up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “What do you want?”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

He looked down at you, dark eyes steady. “To eat. You said you’re not eating yet. So what do you want?”

“I—Jay, you don’t have to—” You frowned a little, sitting up straighter.

Jay clicked his tongue lightly, cutting you off. “Come on. What do you want?” His voice was gentle, but it left no room for arguing.

And god—he was tall. Standing there with the sun lighting up the ends of his hair, shirt slightly wrinkled from his classes, his height felt… kind of overwhelming. You sighed, giving in.

“Fine,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. “Anything. I’m not picky.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

You pursed your lips, thinking. “…Banana milk. And maybe tonkatsu with curry if they still have some.”

He nodded. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. “None.”

Jay gave the smallest smile—so quick you almost missed it—and turned around to head toward the food stalls.

You watched him go, unable to stop your gaze from lingering on the clean lines of his back, the careful way he walked, the way he held his phone in one hand and checked something on it like he was making sure he got your order right.

The heat was crawling up your cheeks before you even realized it, blooming just under your skin and warming your ears.

You looked away, exhaling through your nose as you tapped your keyboard blindly, pretending to be busy—even though your fingers weren’t even on the right keys anymore.

But, your eyes found him again.

Jay stood by the food stall, head tilted slightly down as he tapped on his phone with one hand, the other holding the receipt.

He said something to the lady behind the counter—voice too soft for you to hear from this distance—and you saw her nod and begin plating the orders.

Your gaze wandered—he stood so casually, weight resting on one leg, hair slightly mussed from the wind earlier. There was a quiet patience to him, one that surprised you more than it should have.

You sighed softly, more to yourself than anything, muttering under your breath as you leaned forward, “I could’ve bought my own food…”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched. And when he finally turned and walked back toward you—two trays balanced carefully in his hands—your heart had the audacity to skip.

He placed them down with quiet precision, yours sliding just in front of you as the scent of warm curry hit your nose.

You blinked. “Thanks.”

Jay gave the tiniest smile, barely there. “No problem.” And he sat back down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You glanced at the tray. Banana milk, tonkatsu, steaming white rice with curry just the way you liked it. You didn’t even remember saying half the details.

He pushed a set of utensils toward you without a word, and you blinked again, heart fluttering at the small gesture.

“Thanks… again,” you murmured, accepting them as you pushed your electronics aside.

Jay did the same, nudging his laptop farther away as he grabbed his chopsticks and cracked them apart with a soft snap.

There was a moment of comfortable silence. Just the two of you and the hum of the cafeteria around you.

You fiddled with your banana milk straw for a second before asking, “Where’s your band? Thought they’d be glued to you.”

Jay took a sip of his miso soup, looking unbothered.

“They’re all busy. Practice. Class. Jungwon’s chasing down a professor. Ni-ki’s retaking a test he didn’t study for. Heeseung’s probably asleep somewhere.”

You laughed. “Sunoo?”

“Also probably asleep.”

You shook your head, smiling. “I didn’t know you did lunch like this.”

Jay didn’t look up as he stirred his curry around gently with his spoon. “I don’t,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Oh.”

That one word fell from your lips heavier than intended—softer, a little too laced with disappointment. Your smile faltered just a bit, a quiet frown forming before you could stop it.

But then Jay set his spoon down, the quiet clink of metal against tray pulling your eyes back to his. “But,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours, “I love curry.”

You blinked again, confused, but then—

“And you,” he continued, voice calm but not cold, “need to eat.”

Your breath caught, just for a second.

Jay was staring at you—not in a way that felt overbearing or cocky, but in a way that looked like he was trying to read you.

Not just the expression on your face, but the space behind your eyes, like there were answers only you could give. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, just the faintest softness lingering in the corners.

You stared back, lips parting slightly. You weren’t used to this side of him—not the aloof reputation, not the guitar-slinging campus enigma that everyone whispered about. No, this was something else entirely.

You smiled, quiet and warm. “Thank you, Jay. Really.”

His lips twitched into a small smile as he nodded once. “No problem.”

He went back to his food like it was no big deal, but your heart felt anything but calm.

You tried to do the same, digging into your curry with a distracted hum, before glancing back at him. “So… how much do I owe you—?”

“No,” he said instantly, cutting you off.

You blinked. “What?”

“No,” he repeated, tone firm but not unkind.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “But I want to—”

Jay gave you a look—before he reached across the table, plucked your unopened banana milk off your tray like it was his, and silently started unwrapping the straw.

You stared as he poked the straw through the foil with surgical precision, then slid the drink back in front of you without a word.

“…Still,” you mumbled, fingers wrapping around the bottle.

Jay met your eyes. “And I said no. You’re not paying me for any of the meals you’ll be eating when you’re with me.”

That made you pause.

Your hand froze mid-air. Your brain might’ve, too.

“…When I’m with you?” you repeated, voice a little more breathless than you meant it to be.

Jay’s lips curled into the tiniest smirk. It wasn’t smug—it was playful. Mischievous. The kind of smirk someone wears when they know exactly what they’re doing to you.

“Depends,” he said, eyes flicking from your drink to your face. “Are you planning to eat lunch alone again tomorrow?”

You opened your mouth to respond—maybe to say yes, maybe to say something clever—but all that came out was a short laugh and a shake of your head.

“I guess that depends,” you echoed back, your grin growing.

He raised a brow, a subtle challenge.

“On whether you’re showing up with curry again,” you teased, sipping your banana milk.

Jay chuckled under his breath, low and smooth. “Then I guess I’ve got my answer.”

You tried to focus on eating after that, really—you tried—but something about the warmth on your cheeks and the smug little tilt of his mouth had you poking at your rice with more enthusiasm than coordination.

Still, you managed a few bites, asking him casual things between sips of banana milk.

“So… when did you start playing guitar?”

“Middle school,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully. “My dad had one lying around. Got curious.”

“Is it hard?” you asked, chin resting lightly on your palm.

He raised a brow. “Compared to what?”

“Ballet.”

He scoffed a quiet laugh, like it was the most ridiculous comparison he’d heard all day. “Hard to say. You make ballet look easy.”

You blinked, heart hiccuping a little. “…You’ve seen me dance?”

“Once,” he said with a little shrug, lifting his tray. “Before I scared the shit out of you in your studio.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Right.”

Jay smirked faintly, standing. “Mhmm.”

Before you could pick up your own tray, he was already reaching for it—wordless, fluid, like it was second nature. You moved to stop him.

“Jay—”

“Nope.” He cut you off smoothly, stacking both trays before walking off without looking back.

You sighed, lips twitching upward as you shook your head.

When he returned, he checked the sleek black watch on his wrist, lips tugging down a little. “Come on. We both have one more class this afternoon.”

You blinked, glancing at your laptop. “Already?”

Jay nodded, and just as you started packing up your things, he reached out a hand toward you. You looked at it, confused.

“…What?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned over, hand brushing against your side as he effortlessly plucked your bag from the seat beside you.

You blinked. “Hey—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, tucking his own laptop under one arm and slinging your bag over the other.

You reached out again to take it back, but he shot you a look—stern, brow raised like a tired parent dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

You huffed. “You’re annoying.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Grumbling under your breath, you fell into step beside him as he pushed open the cafeteria doors for you. “So… where’s your next class?”

You sighed dramatically. “Second floor. Art theory.”

Jay nodded. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

You side-eyed him. “Why are you suddenly so nice to me?”

He smirked, not bothering to look at you. “Maybe I just like carrying your stuff.”

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to hide the way your smile grew too wide.

The studio lights cast long shadows over the polished floor, the mirrored walls reflecting every movement with brutal honesty.

You and Kazuha were the only ones left—again. Yunjin had dropped by earlier, but a project pulled her away, leaving you and Kazuha stuck in the studio running Swan Lake for the nth time that week.

You landed on your toes with a little huff, arms curved above your head as you wobbled slightly. “I didn’t even wanna be the White Swan, like come on, give me a break.”

Kazuha looked up from her own stretch, raising an unimpressed brow. “Stop acting like you didn’t fight blood and bone to audition.”

You groaned, flopping back down onto the floor and stretching your legs out in front of you. “Okay, fine. I do want it. But the work is slowly killing me.”

She laughed as she sat beside you, pulling her foot up into a butterfly stretch. “That part’s valid.”

You sighed, leaned back on your hands, and casually added, “Oh, by the way, Jay treated me to lunch earlier.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kazuha stopped mid-stretch, twisting to look at you so fast you thought she might’ve pulled something. “What?”

You blinked at her, deadpan. “What?”

“What?” she repeated, louder, eyes wide. “Park Jongseong, rock band Jay, treated you to lunch?”

You shrugged, rolling your neck as you moved into another stretch.

“Yeah. We bumped into each other this morning. He walked me to class, then sat with me during lunch ‘cause you all were busy.”

Kazuha stared at you like you’d just said you got proposed to. “Girl—what the fuck? You let that man walk you to class and feed you?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your hands over your thighs to shake off the lingering ache.

The hem of your skirt settled lightly against your legs as you turned toward her with a half-annoyed, half-exasperated look. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” she said, stepping forward dramatically, finger pointed, “is that Jay doesn’t just do that. He barely talks to people unless it’s his band. Even Ni-ki was surprised he agreed to this whole studio arrangement.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “I mean… he’s not that bad, Zuha. He just did it ‘cause he was eating alone, too.”

Kazuha looked at you flatly. “Yeah. And I’m Korean.”

You squinted. “But you aren’t.”

“Exactly,” she huffed, walking back to the speaker as she tapped the screen and said, “Shut up and get into position.”

You stifled a laugh, fixing the ribbon on your skirt and stepping slowly toward the center of the room. The soft opening chords of Swan Lake echoed through the studio, and almost instinctively, your entire body shifted.

Your breathing slowed, arms lifting in delicate arcs as your chin tilted slightly upward.

Light from the windows caught the sheen of sweat on your collarbones, the glow on your cheekbones, and the pale shimmer of your satin skirt.

You moved like you were born from the music itself—weightless, barely touching the ground.

Kazuha couldn’t help but smile, her gaze soft and proud as she leaned her hip against the mirrored wall, arms folded loosely. “Yeah, (Y/N)’s made to play the White Swan.”

But just as you bent into the first arabesque, a loud bang sounded on the studio door.

Kazuha groaned and immediately pressed pause. “What now—”

You blinked out of your daze, lowering your arms with a frustrated sigh. You padded toward the door, soft steps echoing faintly across the floor as you pulled it open—

And were greeted with a tuft of blonde hair and the brightest grin you’d seen all day.

“Hi there,” Ni-ki said cheerfully, pushing a rolling cart in front of him that carried half of Jungwon’s drumset. His own bass was slung over his back, dangerously close to sliding off.

Behind him, the rest of the band stood loosely huddled with various instruments in hand—Jungwon with his sticks poking out from his tote, Sunghoon balancing his amp like it weighed nothing, and Sunoo waving excitedly.

“Delivery boys,” Heeseung deadpanned with a mock bow.

You blinked. “You’re early.”

“We came straight from class,” Jungwon said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he stepped around Ni-ki. “Didn’t want to waste time.”

“You guys could’ve texted,” Kazuha called from inside.

“We did,” Sunoo pouted, stepping in behind Ni-ki. “But someone blocked Ni-ki.”

Kazuha threw him a pointed look. “I told you, deserved.”

Ni-ki dramatically clutched his chest. “I’m literally your family.”

“I said what I said.”

You shook your head fondly as the group started filing in like they owned the place, all noise and energy and guitar straps.

Ni-ki rolled the cart in with zero regard for studio etiquette, and Jake was already dragging an extension cord from the corner like he’d done it a hundred times.

You stepped aside quickly, flattening yourself against the door as Heeseung strode in next, his mic stand folded neatly under one arm and the actual mic dangling precariously from his other hand. He shot you a polite, small smile as he passed.

“Thanks,” he murmured, careful not to bump into you.

Then came Sunghoon, carrying his bass like it was a part of him, the strap slung lazily over one shoulder. He gave you a nod as he maneuvered around Ni-ki’s still-parked cart.

Jay entered last.

His black button-up was slightly unbuttoned now, revealing a sliver of skin that caught the light just enough to make your throat dry.

The strap of his guitar bag sat snug across his chest as he adjusted it, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He glanced at you and offered a soft, “Hey.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the acknowledgment, but quickly recovered. “Hey,” you replied, stepping back to let him through.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the studio seemed to hum alive with the sounds of their set-up—clinks of metal stands, low murmurs of discussion, and the occasional curse word when Ni-ki nearly dropped part of the drum kit.

Sunoo had gravitated toward Kazuha in the corner, the two chatting animatedly as she tied her hair up again.

“Woah—really? Swan Lake?” Sunoo’s voice carried easily over the sound of Heeseung testing his mic.

Kazuha glanced up at him, her face bright with amusement. “Yeah. Me and (Y/N).”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re both in it? That’s… that’s huge, isn’t it? Like, I swear even people who don’t care about ballet know that one.”

Kazuha smirked as she crossed her arms. “She’s playing the White Swan.” She tilted her head toward you with a subtle grin.

Sunoo’s gaze shot to you so fast you froze mid-step. “The White Swan? That’s the big part, right? The main girl?”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of Jay adjusting his amp a few feet away. “I mean… yeah, but it’s not really finished yet, so—”

“Still,” Sunoo cut in, his grin infectious. “That’s insane. You’ve got to invite us when it’s done. I wanna see it.”

You blinked, surprised at his genuine excitement. “Uh… sure?”

“Promise?”

“I—uh, yeah. Promise.”

“Good.” Sunoo’s smile widened, almost mischievous now as he added, “Jay would wanna see it too, right?”

You caught Jay’s eyes flick up briefly from where he was adjusting his guitar strap. He didn’t say anything, but there was the faintest quirk of his lips before he looked back down.

You cleared your throat softly, heat creeping up your neck to the tips of your ears as you turned on your heel, walking back to where Kazuha and Sunoo were crouched over a tangled mess of speaker wires.

Sunoo shot you a knowing grin the second your shadow fell over them, his eyes sparkling mischievously like he’d caught the tail end of something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Need a hand?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the slight edge of nervousness betrayed you.

Sunoo smirked wider. “We’re good here. But you seem… flustered. Everything okay?”

Kazuha, bless her, didn’t even look up. “Leave her alone, Sunoo.”

You barely had time to respond before Ni-ki came bounding over, rolling his bass strap into his hand. His dyed blonde hair fell into his eyes as he grinned down at you, full of mischief like he was ready to stir up trouble.

“So,” he started, rocking back on his heels, “are you and Kazuha staying to watch? It’s gonna get loud in here, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard by his enthusiasm.

“Oh—well, I’m not really sure. We might have to run through some choreography again,” you admitted, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt as you glanced at Kazuha for backup.

“We’ll stay,” Kazuha said simply, already settling herself cross-legged by the speakers like she was setting up for a full private concert.

“Oh,” you murmured, caught between protesting and following her lead. “I guess we’re staying then.”

Ni-ki’s grin widened. “Good. You’ll love it.”

And maybe you were imagining it, but when you caught movement in the mirror across the room, you realized Jay wasn’t watching his reflection like the others.

No—his eyes were on you.

He knelt by his amp, one knee pressed to the hardwood, black button-up sleeves rolled messily up his forearms as he plugged the cable into his guitar.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, but every now and then, his gaze flicked up—not to the tuning pegs, not to his bandmates, but to you. Like he couldn’t help himself.

You froze for half a second under the weight of it, lips parting slightly, feeling every bit like a bunny caught in headlights as Ni-ki kept rambling about their setlist.

Jay’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in the tilt of his head, the faint crease of his brows, the way his eyes followed your movements even as he reached for the volume knob.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. But it made your chest feel too tight for comfort.

You padded quietly across the wooden floor, the sound of your ballet flats muffled against the worn panels.

Kazuha glanced up at you as you settled beside her, tucking your legs neatly under you. She offered a small smile, the kind that said she noticed the pink lingering on your ears but wasn’t about to say a word about it—not yet anyway.

Your gaze drifted back to the seven boys scattered across the studio. They were lost in their element, voices low but urgent as they muttered among themselves, hands moving quickly as they adjusted knobs, checked wires, and tested mics.

Jungwon stood near the drum set, leaning slightly on a cymbal stand as he gestured toward Sunghoon’s bass. “You’re a little flat on the E string, try tuning up just a hair.”

Sunghoon gave a small nod, fingers turning the tuning peg with practiced precision as he strummed lightly. “Got it. How’s that?”

Heeseung, crouched with his mic in one hand, grinned. “Better. Jungwon’s ears never fail.”

Jake, who was sitting cross-legged by the amp, chimed in. “Do we want to start with Karma or Blessed-Cursed? Karma has a softer open, might be easier to soundcheck.”

Jay was leaning against the wall now, his black top unbuttoned just slightly at the collar as his fingers skimmed the strings of his guitar in a soundless rhythm. He hummed, low in his throat, eyes on the floor but clearly listening.

“Go with Karma. Better flow into the setlist that way.”

“You guys read my mind,” Jungwon said with a grin.

Ni-ki was already setting his bass strap across his shoulder, bouncing slightly on his heels. “Let’s not waste time. I wanna hear how the mix sounds in this room.”

Sunoo, who had been coiling cables neatly, added, “We’ll need to check the balance too. The acoustics here aren’t what we’re used to.”

You couldn’t help but watch them, your chin resting lightly on your knees. There was something mesmerizing about it all—the way their movements fit together like gears in a clock, efficient and familiar. It was chaos, but it was their chaos, and somehow it worked.

“They’re… really good at this,” you murmured softly to Kazuha, not taking your eyes off the group as Heeseung tested his mic with a smooth, “Check, check, one, two.”

“They’ve been at it for years,” Kazuha replied, her voice low but warm.

“Even if some of them don’t seem like it, they’ve always been serious about music. Ni-ki says they barely ever waste a practice session.”

Sunoo pressed a few keys on his keyboard, the warm synth notes cutting softly through the quiet air of the studio.

“Sorry for the wires,” he said into his mic with a sheepish grin, his voice light and melodic even in the test run.

Jungwon cracked his knuckles, adjusted his drumsticks in his hands, and leaned slightly toward his mic, his expression calm but focused.

“We are Enhypen,” he said, voice smooth yet commanding, like he’d done this introduction a hundred times. “And this is Karma. An original.”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Original?

Before you could fully process it, Jungwon tapped his sticks together—“One, two, three, four”—and the room came alive.

The first sound was Jay’s guitar, low and steady, the distorted riff crawling like electricity over your skin. His fingers moved fluidly over the strings, confident and deliberate.

It wasn’t flashy, but there was weight in every chord, a rhythm that anchored the entire song as Jake joined in with his own guitar, layering bright accents and counter-melodies like sparks dancing over embers.

Then Jungwon came in. His drumming wasn’t frantic—it was calculated, tight, every beat hitting perfectly as his foot worked the bass pedal with precise force.

You could feel it in your chest, that deep, steady thrum that pulled you in and refused to let go.

The rock instrumental wasn’t loud in the grating way you expected from underground bands—it was powerful but clean, addictive even. The kind of sound that could fill an arena yet still feel intimate in a room like this.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until Kazuha nudged your knee.

“They’re… insane, right?” she whispered with a grin, her eyes locked on Ni-ki as he stepped forward for a small bass run.

You could only nod, your eyes catching briefly on Jay again. He wasn’t looking at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t looking at his bandmates either.

He was looking at you. Fingers steady on the strings, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your eyes were locked on Jay, unable to look away even if you tried. He was in his zone—fingers gliding across the frets with a practiced ease that spoke of years spent mastering his craft.

The way he leaned into his guitar slightly during heavier riffs, the faint furrow of concentration between his brows, even the subtle tap of his foot in time with Jungwon’s drums—it was mesmerizing.

And damn it, he knew how to play. No unnecessary flair, no overcompensation. Just clean, precise chords that bled into Jake’s bright melodies and Sunghoon’s heavy bass lines like they belonged there all along.

They all were good—no, they were phenomenal. Voices layered perfectly, harmonies slipping in like silk as Heeseung and Jake took turns on the vocals, with Sunoo and Jungwon occasionally adding backing vocals that rounded everything out.

Even Ni-ki’s occasional adlibs on the bass fit seamlessly, his energy infectious as his head bobbed with the beat.

As the song started to wind down, the final chorus hit with one last punch of sound—Heeseung’s voice raw and gripping, Jay’s guitar sliding into a clean, lingering note that seemed to hang in the air long after Jungwon gave a final, decisive hit on his snare.

The silence that followed felt heavy but electric.

You exhaled, realizing too late that you’d been holding your breath for most of the song.

Heeseung was the first to break it, pulling back from his mic with a grin. He ran a hand through his hair, sweat sticking a few strands to his forehead as he looked over at you and Kazuha.

“Well?” His voice echoed lightly through the room, still amplified by the mic. “How’d we do?”

You blinked, caught off guard at suddenly being the center of seven pairs of eyes.

Kazuha let out a low whistle, clapping her hands together. “I mean… that was insane. You guys sound like you’re ready to headline college week and then some.”

“Right?” Sunoo grinned, tapping a few playful notes on his keyboard as he leaned toward you. “(Y/N), what about you? You were pretty quiet over there.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, trying to find the words.

“I… you guys were incredible. Like, seriously. I didn’t expect it to sound that—” You made a vague gesture in the air, your mind still fogged from the performance. “—that good. That clean.”

“Clean?” Ni-ki raised a brow, smirking. “That’s it? We pour our souls into the song and all we get is ‘clean?’”

“She’s stunned.” Jay’s voice cut in suddenly, calm but with the faintest edge of amusement. He still sitting on his amp, one leg crossed casually over the other as he adjusted the knobs on his amp. “You can tell.”

Your head snapped to him, but he didn’t look up—fingers busy with the guitar strap, lips twitching into what looked dangerously close to a smirk.

“Guess we’ll take that as a compliment,” Jake chuckled, his dimples deepening as he leaned his guitar against the wall.

“You should.” Your voice was softer now, almost too quiet as your eyes flickered back to Jay. “It was really good.”

The clock above the studio door blinked 11:03 PM in harsh red digits when Jungwon clapped his hands, declaring, “Alright, pack it up before someone locks us in here.”

The sound of zippers, metal clasps, and light chatter filled the space as the boys moved quickly—Jake carefully winding his guitar cable, Sunghoon clicking his keyboard case shut with a soft snap.

Jungwon muttered under his breath as he berated Sunoo, “You almost killed my snare earlier—careful, man. That drum costs more than my entire existence.” Sunoo only laughed sheepishly, clutching said drum like it was a newborn child.

Kazuha was kneeling near the mirrors, folding up her jacket as she handed you your pointe shoes with a little grin.

“Here. Thought you’d want to put these away before they get stepped on.”

“Thanks, Zu,” you murmured, fingers moving to re-lace them neatly before slipping them into your tote. The satin was frayed at the edges, little scars from all the rehearsals you'd been throwing yourself into lately.

By the door, Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder, bass case in hand. “Everyone done?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices, yours included as you adjusted your bag strap.

Ni-ki, ever the chaotic younger one, suddenly grabbed Kazuha’s arm as she tried to slip past him.

“Did you film me? Tell me you filmed me—I swear my solo was sick.”

You laughed at Kazuha’s wide-eyed expression as she tried to shake him off. “Ni-ki, let her breathe. She’s not your personal videographer.”

“Should be,” he shot back with a pout, finally releasing her.

The group filed out into the hallway, their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. The building was quieter at this hour—no chatter from other students, no professors barking reminders.

Just the shuffle of sneakers and the occasional creak of instrument cases shifting against shoulders.

You hung back slightly, letting the line of boys and Kazuha move ahead as you pulled your jacket tighter around you. The hall’s faint chill clung to your cheeks. You didn’t notice Jay slowing down until you caught up beside him.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his pace shifting effortlessly to match yours.

“Hey.” His voice was low, almost lost to the quiet hallway.

“Hey,” you replied, tucking your hands into your coat pockets.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just the sort of silence that settled when two people didn’t feel the need to fill it.

The air smelled faintly of dewy grass and cold concrete, your breath coming out in soft little puffs that fogged in front of you. Your gaze drifted to the field outside, now cloaked in darkness with only a few stray lampposts keeping it alive in faint golden light.

“…What did you think?” Jay’s voice broke the quiet, low and steady, pulling your attention back to him.

You blinked at him, tilting your head slightly. “Huh?”

“The songs,” he said, his dark eyes catching a glint of light as he glanced sideways at you. “Were they… good?”

You nodded almost immediately. “Oh—yeah. They’re good. You guys are really good.”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, his lips pressing together in a subtle nod. But you weren’t done.

“And you’re… really good at playing that guitar,” you added, words softer now. You didn’t know why your cheeks felt warmer as you said it.

Jay looked at you fully this time, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small, quiet smile. “Thank you.”

You returned it with a shy one of your own before tucking your chin back into the soft folds of your white jacket.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt a little different—like it wasn’t just there by default, but because neither of you wanted to disturb it.

“…Aren’t you cold?” you asked suddenly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He glanced down at you, buried like a marshmallow in your jacket with your tote bag swinging at your side. The faintest laugh escaped him. “No, not really.”

“You’re insane,” you huffed, your breath fogging in the chilly night. You exhaled again on purpose, watching the puff disappear like smoke as you hugged yourself tighter.

Jay chuckled under his breath but didn’t argue.

The group had slowed as they reached the path that split off toward the quad. The boys began murmuring their goodbyes as Sunghoon and Ni-ki led ahead, Sunoo falling back slightly to walk closer to you.

Jay suddenly stopped and turned slightly. “Guys, this is my stop,” he said, jerking his chin toward the dimly lit path across the field.

“Oh yeah, mine too,” Heeseung added, adjusting the strap of his mic stand case on his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow,” Jungwon called, waving his free hand.

Jay’s eyes flicked back to you once more. “Bye, (Y/N).”

Your name on his lips—simple, soft—sent an odd warmth rushing up your neck. You raised a hand hesitantly, giving him a small wave. “Bye.”

Heeseung shot you a bright grin and waved too before both boys began crossing the field.

You didn’t notice Jay slowing for just a moment, glancing back over his shoulder one last time.

His eyes caught on you, furrowed brows and lips parted slightly as you nodded at something Sunoo animatedly explained to you, trying your best to keep up.

A small smile tugged at Jay’s lips as he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then he turned back, shoving his hands into his pockets and falling into step beside Heeseung as their voices faded into the cool night air.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of their shoes against the pavement echoing faintly in the stillness of campus. The air smelled faintly of cold grass and leftover rain.

“Hey,” Jay said suddenly, voice calm but a little lower than usual. “You wanna stop by Prada with me tomorrow?”

Heeseung’s brows shot up slightly in surprise as he glanced at his friend. “Prada? Sure, I guess. I need a new bag anyway—my old one’s starting to look beat up.”

Jay nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead at the dimly lit path. “Thought so. You’ve been carrying that same one since last year.”

Heeseung chuckled, adjusting the strap of the mic case on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. So, what about you? What do you need?”

Jay’s hand brushed against his guitar case as he shifted it slightly, his expression neutral as he replied, “A scarf.”

“A scarf?” Heeseung repeated, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Since when do you get cold?”

Jay’s lips quirked faintly—not enough to call it a smile—as he muttered, “It’s not for me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity written all over his face. “Then who’s it for?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay’s tone was final but not sharp, and he quickened his pace slightly as if to move the conversation along.

Heeseung raised his hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. Your secret’s safe, Romeo.”

Jay shook his head with a quiet scoff, but the faintest flush crept up his neck under the dim streetlights.

They didn’t speak again as they reached their dorm building, the sound of the door clicking shut behind them echoing in the empty hallway.

It was Saturday morning—the kind of golden, lazy one that draped sunlight through your open curtains and made the dust motes dance in the air.

Your dorm room smelled faintly of Sakura’s lavender hand cream and the cup of instant coffee you’d abandoned hours ago.

The TV buzzed softly in the background, some slice-of-life K-drama playing with warm colors and melodramatic music. Laughter bubbled from the floor where Yunjin, Kazuha, and Eunchae sat sprawled out on blankets, their hair tied messily back, snacks scattered between them.

You were curled up at the head of your bed, your laptop balanced on your knees as you furiously typed.

Beside you, Sakura sat cross-legged, her hands skillfully moving a crochet hook through pastel yarn. The soft sound of her work was oddly calming against your clacking keyboard.

“Is that your Art History paper?” Sakura asked without looking up, her voice soft but teasing as she looped another stitch.

You let out a distracted hum, barely glancing at her. “Yeah… it’s due at three. I’m almost done.”

“Almost done, she says,” Yunjin snorted, tilting her head back from the floor to peer at you. “Why are you even cramming that? Didn’t the professor give you like… a week?”

“I thought it would be easy, okay?” you muttered defensively, your brows knitting as you hit delete on a sentence for the third time. “Turns out, it’s not.”

Chaewon let out a giggle from where she was cradling Doobu in her lap. The cat was purring like a tiny engine, squishing its face happily into her hoodie sleeve.

“Yeah, you hear that, Doobu? Mommy’s a really bad crammer, huh? Good thing your aunts aren’t.”

You shot her a mock glare over your screen, your lips twitching despite yourself. “Ha. Ha. So funny, Chae. Keep talking—I’ll assign you to finish this paper for me.”

Eunchae snorted and threw a pillow lightly at you. “She’d probably do a better job.”

You caught it with one hand, tossing it back at her with a small laugh. “Traitors. All of you.”

“Not a traitor,” Kazuha said from the floor, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of tteokbokki she’d brought from the convenience store earlier.

“I’m just saying… you’ve been acting busy all week. Between rehearsals and… other things.”

Her voice trailed, and Yunjin’s head snapped toward her with a grin. “Other things? Wait. Wait. Did something happen?”

You felt your fingers hesitate on the keyboard for a second too long, and that was enough for Yunjin to pounce. “Oh my God. You’ve been quiet since yesterday too. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“I think there is,” Sakura chimed in, side-eyeing you with a knowing little smile, her crochet work still going steadily.

“There’s nothing,” you said quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “Seriously. You guys are so dramatic.”

But Kazuha just leaned back on her hands and raised a brow at you. “Is it about Jay?”

You froze mid-type, your fingers pausing above the keyboard. “…Excuse me?”

“Jay who?” Yunjin asked immediately, her head snapping between the two of you like she’d just caught the scent of drama.

“The one from my cousin’s band,” Kazuha replied casually, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

Sakura’s crochet hook stilled as she turned her full attention to you, eyes widening slightly. “Wait… Park Jongseong?”

“The emo guitarist?” Eunchae added in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The one Ni-ki’s always talking about in Biology? That guy?”

“Oh yeah,” Kazuha chimed in, nodding thoughtfully as if she’d just remembered a passing detail. “I forgot you guys are in the same class.”

Chae-won tilted her head at you from the floor, still holding Doobu lazily in her lap. “So? What’s up with him?”

You let out a groan, throwing your head back against the headboard dramatically as your laptop slid slightly down your thighs. “First of all, he’s not emo—he just… owns a lot of black clothes, okay?”

The room broke into quiet snickers, Sakura biting back a smile as she picked her crochet back up.

“Second,” you continued, shooting them all a weak glare, “he’s… nice. That’s it. He’s just nice, okay?”

Kazuha’s grin widened as she dropped her bomb. “And he bought her lunch yesterday.”

You buried your face in your hands, muffling a groan. “Zuha—”

“Oh, oh!” Kazuha added cheerfully, “And he walked her to class too.”

Yunjin’s jaw dropped as if you’d just confessed to dating a K-drama male lead. “What? Jay? That Jay? Doesn’t he like… not talk to anyone at all?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, throwing your hands up in defense as your friends all gawked at you like they were watching the climax of a drama. “Maybe he just—was being polite? Or he felt bad? I don’t know! Stop looking at me like that.”

“Polite?” Eunchae repeated, raising a brow.

“Girl, he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole whenever Ni-ki drags him to our morning classes, and you’re telling me he voluntarily walked you to class and bought you lunch?”

You let out an exasperated groan, flopping back against the headboard and covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know, okay? I’ve barely even talked to the man! I already told you guys—he’s just nice. End of story.”

Sakura, sitting cross-legged on the other end of your bed with her crochet still in hand, hummed thoughtfully. Then she said, far too casually, “What if—and it’s a very big what if—he likes you?”

You peeked through your fingers, shooting her a look so sharp it could cut steel. “Sakura.”

“What?” she said with a little shrug, feigning innocence as her eyes sparkled like she’d just lit a fuse.

Kazuha, lounging lazily on the floor with her hair tied up, raised a brow and added fuel to the fire.

“I mean… it’s not impossible. Ni-ki literally says he’s single, and—if we’re being honest—Jay doesn’t seem like the type who cares about romance.”

“Exactly!” Eunchae said, snapping her fingers. “So what if you’re like… the first person who’s caught his eye or something?”

“Guys—seriously?” you muttered, your ears already burning as you hugged a pillow against your chest.

“You’re all making this sound like some kind of webtoon. He’s not interested. He’s just… being decent. That’s it. End of story. Period.”

But Yunjin, sprawled on your rug with her legs propped up on the edge of your bed, smirked knowingly. “You don’t sound very sure, babe. Are you sure it’s not you who’s starting to like him?”

Your head snapped down, “Yunjin.”

“What?” she said with a laugh, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m just saying. You’ve got that look on your face when we brought him up.”

“I do not—” you began, but Kazuha cut you off with a teasing grin.

“Yeah, you do. You’re blushing right now.”

“I’m not—oh my god.” You buried your face into the pillow, groaning as the girls broke into laughter and squeals.

When the sound died down just enough for you to breathe, you peeked out from the pillow, face still flushed, and mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed anywhere but at them.

“He’s… popular, you know? And he’s intimidating. Like… the way he carries himself? I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

Kazuha raised a brow, smirking as she picked up her water bottle. “You’re saying that like you’ve been analyzing him.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, grabbing your laptop again and pulling it onto your lap as a weak distraction.

The sound of your fingers clacking on the keys filled the room as you added, softer this time, “I’m just saying—I have to agree with Kazuha. Maybe he’s not into romance at all.”

You took a breath, forcing a little laugh that sounded too tight. “So yeah. He probably just… took pity on me or something. Like, no big deal.”

The room fell quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

You didn’t look up, too focused on pretending to type as if your project was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

You blinked, your fingers pausing mid-word.

“We all know you—inside and out. You’re beautiful, and you’re talented, and you’re so kind it’s almost annoying sometimes,” she said with a small laugh, her eyes searching yours. “Jay wouldn’t be taking pity on you. Not a chance.”

“Exactly,” Yunjin chimed in from her spot on the floor, propping her chin up with her palm.

“And we’re not saying this just because we’re your friends. You really are that girl. Like, honestly? Half the campus has been trying to get your number since freshman year.”

You snorted, shaking your head, but Eunchae leaned forward too, her expression serious for once. “Plus,” she said matter-of-factly, “don’t you, like, reject guys every month? All because they’re too into you, or too clingy, or whatever?”

You groaned again, tugging the pillow back up to your face as their words made your ears burn even hotter. “Oh my god. Can you guys not bring that up right now?”

“Nope,” Chaewon teased, scratching Doobu’s chin as the cat purred in her lap. “Because we’re trying to remind you who you are.”

“You’re not someone he’d ‘pity,’” Sakura said softly. “You’re someone people fall for. And maybe he’s no exception.”

You blinked at her, the words sinking in like warm tea on a cold day. Your lips tugged up, small but genuine, and you nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice quiet but full of gratitude. “Really. You guys are… way too good to me.”

Yunjin stretched her arms over her head with a dramatic sigh, the elastic between her teeth as she tied her hair up into a quick bun.

“Good to you? Babe, we’re saving you from spiraling into overthinking about some tall broody guitarist who might actually like you.”

“Yunjin,” you said with a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“What?” she grinned, hands on her hips now. “It’s true. Anyway, I’m hungry, and clearly you’re too distracted to feed yourself, so—” She pointed at you with mock accusation. “What do you want? Name it.”

You shook your head, amused. “Anything will do. There’s still stuff in the fridge.”

Yunjin nodded like she was preparing for battle. “Perfect.” She waved dramatically as she made her way toward the kitchenette. “Come on, Eunchae. You’re my sous-chef.”

“Eh? Why me?” Eunchae grumbled but still hopped up from her spot on the floor to trail after her. “Fine—but I’m not cutting onions!”

You shook your head fondly, the soft smile still lingering on your lips as you turned your attention back to your screen. Fingers danced across the keyboard, the steady click of the keys mixing with the sounds of Sakura’s crochet hook tapping against itself.

Then you felt a slight weight on your shoulder. Sakura had leaned her head there, peeking at your screen. “You spelled ‘kinesiology’ wrong.”

You snorted, backspacing quickly. “I always do.”

She hummed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know, (Y/N)… we’re really proud of you. Not just because of ballet or school or whatever. Just… for being you.”

You paused, the words catching you off guard, and turned slightly to glance at her. She wasn’t looking at you—her eyes were on your laptop, her expression calm and warm.

“You guys are seriously going to make me cry today,” you teased lightly, though your throat tightened a little.

Sakura’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes finally meeting yours. “Good. Means we’re doing our jobs as your best friends.”

You laughed softly and shook your head before turning back to your screen. “I really am glad I have you all, you know?”

“We know,” she said, patting your leg before picking up her yarn again.

In the background, you heard Yunjin yelling something about “Where’s the sesame oil?” and Eunchae responding with “You’re holding it!”

The scent of something beginning to fry wafted from the kitchenette, and you let yourself relax—shoulders uncoiling from a tension you didn’t realize you’d been carrying all morning.

It was perfect. Cozy. The kind of afternoon that felt like a bubble outside of time.

You smiled faintly as you hit the final save on your document, Sakura peeking over your shoulder to murmur, “Finally.” You chuckled. “Took me long enough.”

By the time six in the evening rolled around, the sky outside your window was a watercolor wash of peach and violet. The air had cooled further, and one by one, your friends began gathering their bags, the lingering laughter softening into sleepy goodbyes.

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm,” Yunjin said with a grin, pulling her hoodie over her head.

“Don’t mention it. Come any time,” you said, hands resting on the doorframe as you watched them shuffle into their shoes. “And thanks for doing the dishes, Zuha.”

Kazuha waved you off, tugging Eunchae’s sleeve to hurry her along. “You let us stay; it’s the least I could do.”

Chaewon turned back briefly, holding Doobu like a baby in her arms. “Bye-bye, mommy’s little princess. Don’t keep her up too late.”

You laughed. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Night!” they chorused back, their voices overlapping as they spilled into the hallway.

Doobu trotted out after them as if to see them off. You crouched and scooped her up easily, cradling her against your chest. “Come on, girl,” you murmured, pressing your cheek into her soft fur. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You nudged the door closed with your foot, the faint click echoing in the now-quiet room. The air still smelled faintly of fried rice and buttered eggs.

As you laid Doobu gently onto the bed, she circled twice before curling into a neat ball beside your pillow. You smiled, slipping under the covers, pulling the blanket up to your chin and her tiny body close to yours.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, joined by faint footsteps down the hall—someone passing by, a door closing a few rooms down. It was soothing in a way, grounding.

Slowly, sleep crept in, your eyes fluttering shut as your breathing evened out.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out when your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

With a groggy groan, you reached out blindly, fingers fumbling until you grabbed it. Blinking against the harsh light of the screen, you squinted at the time. 9:12 PM.

“Ugh.” You stretched lazily, arms above your head, a yawn spilling out as you rubbed your eyes.

But when you turned back, your brows furrowed. The blankets were rumpled—too rumpled—and the familiar soft weight of Doobu was missing.

“Doobu?” you called softly, still half-asleep.

Silence.

“She’s probably under the bed,” you mumbled to yourself, slipping one foot to the floor. You crouched down, peeking under. “Doobu?”

Nothing.

Maybe the bathroom. You padded over, cracking the door open. Empty.

“Come on, girl, where are you?”

Panic didn’t hit right away—not until your eyes flicked to the door and you noticed it.

A sliver of faint golden light where there shouldn’t have been any. Your door wasn’t fully shut.

“…Shit.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you crossed the room, heart thudding. You tightened the knot of your hooie over your pajamas and cursed under your breath again.

Pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click, you huffed out a shaky breath, shoving your phone into the pocket of your oversized hoodie.

“Shit… okay, okay, don’t panic,” you muttered, yanking on your outside slippers so hard you almost tripped. Fingers raked through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame the mess from your nap as you stepped into the hallway.

The air outside was cooler than your room, and the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above you. You padded quickly down the corridor, whisper-yelling, “Doobu? Come on, girl… where the fuck did you go?”

Your voice echoed faintly against the closed doors lining the hall.

“Shit, shit, shit—she can’t have gone far,” you hissed to yourself, scanning every corner like a deranged detective.

You peeked around the trash bins, past the stairwell, even crouched briefly to check under the benches near the elevator. Nothing.

You bolted up the stairs to the next floor, slippers slapping quietly against the steps. As you rounded the corner, a small group of arts students you recognized from studio night looked up at you from where they lounged against the wall, sketchbooks in hand.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” one of them greeted cheerfully.

“Hey,” you said a little breathlessly, not slowing your pace as your eyes darted around. “Sorry—uh—if you guys see a white cat, she’s mine. She slipped out.”

“Oh no,” another said, eyes wide. “We’ll keep a lookout!”

“Thanks,” you called over your shoulder, already halfway down the hallway.

“Doobu!” you hissed again.

“Do not make me climb this entire fucking building in my pajamas. I swear to god—” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Way to go, (Y/N). Lose your cat and look like a sleep-deprived idiot in the process. Great job.”

Your slippers squeaked faintly against the linoleum as you turned another corner, scanning the dimmer end of the hall where the lights flickered faintly.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, your breath visible in the cold drafts slipping through the windows.

“Doobu? Baby girl? Please don’t make me cry right now…” you muttered desperately.

You made your way down the other floors, checking every nook and cranny, even peering behind trash bins and under staircases. Your slippers scuffed against the stairs, the sound almost swallowed by your frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Every student you passed got the same frazzled question. “Hey—sorry, have you seen a white cat? Fluffy, kind of round?”

Some shook their heads apologetically, others blinked in surprise at the sheer panic in your tone before nodding.

“Oh, I’ll keep a lookout!” a girl carrying an armful of books promised.

“Thanks—thank you so much,” you said breathlessly, bowing your head slightly before bolting down the next set of stairs.

When you reached the ground floor, you didn’t even pause. The cold air slapped you in the face as you pushed open the glass doors to your dorm building, the metal handle biting into your palm from your tight grip.

“Shit—Doobu, where the hell are you?” you whispered harshly, stepping into the crisp night air.

The campus was quieter now, the golden glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the empty walkways. You scanned the quad, your eyes darting across the open field, the benches, even the bases of the trees.

Your slippers whispered against the pavement as you jogged lightly toward the benches near the edge of the field.

“Doobu!” you called again, voice cracking slightly. “Come on, girl… don’t do this to me.”

Muttering curses under your breath—“Goddammit, (Y/N), you’re so careless…”—you almost didn’t notice it.

But then—there it was.

A tuft of white fur. A bushy tail flicking lazily.

Your breath caught in your throat. Doobu sat primly on one of the benches under the golden streetlights, her little face upturned like she owned the entire campus.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in disbelief, your knees nearly giving out in relief. You walked closer, slowly, carefully, afraid that a sudden movement might startle her away again.

Your cat sat so calmly on the bench, tail curled neatly around her paws, completely unbothered as if she hadn’t just sent you on a heart attack-inducing campus-wide manhunt.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

There was someone sitting on the bench with her.

A man.

He was leaned back casually, one arm resting along the backrest as his other hand absentmindedly stroked Doobu’s fur. She—your Doobu, who notoriously despised every single male human who dared to even look her way—was preening under his touch.

The little traitor was even leaning her head closer, purring so faintly you could hear it from where you stood.

Your eyes flicked up, scanning the guy. Black hoodie pulled over his head. A gray cap tucked low enough to shadow his face. Cream pants loose but clean. His sneakers looked a little scuffed, as if he actually walked around campus instead of just cutting through in a car.

Then he laughed quietly—low and warm, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it—and said to your cat,

“I bet your owner’s losing her mind looking for you, huh?”

Your jaw nearly dropped. He was talking to her?

You let out a shaky sigh, deciding to ignore him completely as you stepped forward. “Hey, Doobu,” you murmured softly, crouching slightly as you reached a hand out. “You scared the shit out of me. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

At the sound of your voice, Doobu’s ears twitched. She gave a soft purr, standing on her paws to hop down—only to pause when the guy slowly drew his hand back, letting his palm rest on his knee.

That’s when he finally looked up at you.

Sharp eyes under the cap. Lips quirked in an almost imperceptible smile.

“She’s got a habit of wandering off, huh?” he said, voice low and smooth with the faintest trace of amusement.

Your heart stuttered at the sound, recognition dawning like a wave crashing down on you.

“…Jay?”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “You didn’t notice? Thought you were too focused on your runaway cat to see me.”

You straightened, blinking at him incredulously as your cat jumped off the bench and started rubbing against your legs.

“I—You—what are you even doing here?” you asked, your voice tight from a cocktail of exhaustion and mild embarrassment.

Jay didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, reaching down to grab two sleek Prada paper bags sitting on the concrete by his feet.

He swished them in the air casually, the crisp sound of the handles snapping into place breaking the quiet night.

“Shopped a little,” he said, his tone easy. “Went with Heeseung. We had some free time.”

You blinked at the bags, then back at him as he patted the now-empty spot on the bench beside him. “Sit down. You look like you ran a marathon.”

Hesitating only a moment, you bent down to scoop Doobu off the concrete, clutching her soft, warm body against your chest as you crossed the few steps to the bench.

Sitting down beside him, you let out a slow, shaky breath. Doobu purred against you, seemingly unbothered by her little adventure.

Jay was already looking at you—one elbow draped casually over the backrest, his dark eyes unreadable under the brim of his cap.

You glanced down at the bags and pointed at them. “So… you’re rich-rich, huh?”

His lips quirked, a small laugh rumbling out of him. “Not me. My parents are.” He nudged one of the bags with his foot before adding, “And anyway, I bought these using my own money. No trust fund involved.”

Jay chuckled again, softer this time. “I guess.”

There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head slightly, his eyes darting to the white fluff curled in your lap. “Can I?” he asked, one hand lifting a little as he gestured toward Doobu.

You looked down at your cat, who blinked up at you lazily as if granting her approval herself. “Sure,” you murmured.

Jay shifted closer, his fingers brushing over Doobu’s head with surprising gentleness. She pressed into his touch, tail flicking lazily as a faint purr rumbled from her chest.

“She likes you,” you said quietly, unable to hide the faint trace of surprise in your voice.

“She’s cute,” Jay murmured, his thumb stroking behind her ear. Then his eyes flicked back to yours. “So… what happened? How’d she get out?”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as you leaned back slightly against the bench. “I didn’t close my dorm room all the way. Must’ve been when I fell asleep earlier. She probably pushed it open and slipped out.”

You buried your face briefly in Doobu’s fur, muffling a groan. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Jay said simply, his voice steady and calm. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

You peeked up at him, startled by how sincere he sounded. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were on Doobu as he continued stroking her fur—but there was something in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, hugging your cat a little closer. “For finding her.”

Jay glanced at you again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t find her. She found me.”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself, your nerves slowly beginning to settle. “Typical. Little traitor.”

Jay chuckled too, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Doobu’s fur. “She’s got good taste, though.”

You froze slightly at that, unsure how to respond as the warmth from his words and the gentle sound of Doobu’s purrs filled the air. Your eyes flicked to his, catching the way he was already looking at you—something soft and unspoken in his expression.

Then his gaze dropped, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head toward you. “Not sure about her owner, though. Teddy bears and choo-choo trains? Really?”

You blinked in confusion for a moment before glancing down at yourself, realizing too late he was talking about your pajama set—the faint pastel print of tiny teddy bears riding toy trains now painfully obvious.

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my god—Jay!” You slapped his arm, mortified.

He let out a laugh—louder this time, low and warm in his chest—as his hand came up to rub the spot where you hit him. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Shut up!” you hissed, cheeks flaming as you buried your face in Doobu’s fur. “I was in a rush, okay? I didn’t think anyone was going to see me like this.”

Jay’s grin softened, his dark eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Okay, okay. No need to hit me. I surrender.” He raised both hands in mock surrender before leaning back against the bench again, his posture relaxed and easy.

You frowned at him anyway, though the heat in your cheeks didn’t let up. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he said with a light shrug, still smiling.

The evening breeze picked up then, making you instinctively pull Doobu closer to your chest. You shivered slightly, tugging at your thin jacket as a chill ran through you.

Jay’s eyes flicked to you, catching the way your hair was slightly mussed from sleep and the faint flush on your cheeks. The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly—not in amusement this time, but in something gentler.

He glanced down at the Prada bag at his feet, pulling one of the items out. The soft, knitted material clung to his hand as he carefully tore off the tag, fingers meticulous so as not to snag the fabric. Without a word, he scooted closer until his knee brushed yours.

You blinked as he draped the scarf around your neck, the sudden warmth making you jolt slightly. “Jay—?”

“Relax,” he said calmly, adjusting it so it sat snug yet loose enough to breathe. “You need it. You’re freezing.”

Your hands went up to touch the scarf, the fine, soft knit catching between your fingers. “Jay, I… I can’t accept this. It’s Prada. This probably costs—”

“No returns, I’m afraid,” he interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes meeting yours again with a quiet finality.

“But—”

“Don’t,” he said simply, voice low but firm as he reached over again. His hands were careful, almost tender, as he wrapped it more securely around your neck. “And you’re still cold. So don’t argue.”

You stared at him, your protest catching in your throat. The scarf smelled faintly of new fabric and something warm—something that somehow reminded you of him.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you murmured finally, lips twitching into a small smile.

“Maybe,” Jay said again, his lips curving ever so slightly as he leaned back, resting an arm on the bench’s backrest. “But I’m also right.”

You ducked your head, hiding your warming face in Doobu’s fur as she purred sleepily in your lap.

Jay glanced at you once more, his fingers flexing faintly like he wanted to reach for you again but thought better of it. Instead, he moved just slightly closer, the edge of his shoulder brushing yours as the cool night settled comfortably around you both.

“So… any plans after this?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze unreadable as it lingered on you.

You tilted your head slightly, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “No, not really. Why?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. “So you’re free.”

A small giggle escaped you before you could stop it, the sound carried away slightly by the night breeze. “Yeah, I’m free. Why?”

He looked ahead for a second, lips twitching as if debating saying the next words. Then he glanced back at you, meeting your curious eyes. “Do you… want to eat dinner?”

Your face lit up, eyes widening a little in surprise. “Yeah—sure. If it’s not a bother?”

Jay shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes softened. “Never. It’s not.”

He glanced down at the white ball of fluff curled in your lap, still purring lightly. “But… what about Doobu?”

You followed his gaze, only now realizing your cat had made herself at home again, her tiny body rising and falling against your arms as she napped.

“Oh. Right.” You laughed a little sheepishly. “Would it be alright if I take her back to my dorm first? I should probably change too—”

Your voice trailed off as the memory of his earlier teasing came back, cheeks heating instantly. “—before you start commenting on my pajamas again,” you muttered under your breath, burying your face in Doobu’s soft fur.

Jay laughed at that—low, warm, and unrestrained this time. It sent a strange flutter through your chest.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, standing smoothly as he grabbed his paper bags off the concrete. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You stood too, cradling the now-sleeping Doobu in your arms. She stirred slightly at the movement, her tiny head tucking into the crook of your shoulder as her tail curled closer to you. You adjusted your hold on her carefully, trying not to wake her.

Jay’s eyes softened further as he watched you fuss over your cat—something unreadable flickering behind them. Then he shifted his bags to one hand and gestured with the other.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply, his tone making it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “But I want to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting down the smile threatening to break through. “Okay… thank you.”

Jay only nodded, falling into step beside you as the two of you started walking back toward the dorms. His steps were unhurried, his presence steady next to yours as the faint sound of crickets and your own quiet breaths filled the night.

Doobu shifted slightly in your arms, letting out a soft sigh as if content, and you felt your chest loosen—somehow lighter with Jay’s warmth just a few inches away.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove ⤷ piece taglist — @strawjayrries

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

[jungkoode]

legend: ongoing ♪  |  completed ✓  |  upcoming ✎

⚠︎ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 (18+) — so the smut tag goes w/o saying

disclaimer | mini series and one shots on my side blog @kikiskook

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london's literary golden boy meets his professional nightmare. he thinks bestseller status means rules don't apply. you think his ego deserves a restraining order. when his contract lands on the chopping block, you're both chained to an impossible deadline.

♦︎ series

strings attached (to my heart) ♪ (25k) • spiderman au • college • virgin!jungkook • spiderkook ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

when your local friendly neighborhood spider-man can't stop bringing you snacks at your favorite cafe, and a certain clumsy freshman keeps showing up at the most suspicious times, something's gotta give. featuring: a supply closet, some very interesting revelations, and jungkook absolutely losing it when you touch him.

♦︎ fanfics

the 25th hour ♪ (56k) • dystopian • time-bending • psychological • starcrossed+fated lovers ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

in a world where time is strictly regulated, some people called Outliers still experience the forbidden 25th hour. when they do, they're erased—rewritten into obedient citizens with no memory of who they were. you've always been normal, until the night you wake at 1:59 AM and meet min yoongi.

♦︎ fanfics

we grew up somewhere along the way ♪ (29k) • osaka 2003 • childhood friends to lovers • grumpy x sunshine ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

five years in osaka turned hoseok into someone you barely recognize—a hentai manga artist with stained fingers and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. you were supposed to get a coffee, catch up, and move on with your lives. instead, you keep finding excuses to show up at his tiny apartment.

♦︎ mini-series

off-labels ✓ (40k) • medical school au • brother's best friend • competency kink ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

when your brother's best friend is the golden boy of Seoul National's medical program, and you're just trying to survive your first year of med school without combusting every time he offers to "help you study." between his perfectly pressed white coat, those steady hands that have probably held hearts, and the way he keeps finding excuses to explain anatomy in that low voice—you're starting to think your chronic overthinking might be the least of your problems.

♦︎ fanfics

code : epitaph ♪ (10k) • dystopian • blood bonds • 60 days survival • e2l—pure hatred ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

veyrah is a dying planet where survival means sacrifice and hatred runs deeper than blood. namjoon—the cold engineer of a system designed to decide who lives and who dies—gets paired to you as a 100% genetic match, and thus you're both sentenced to 60 days of forced proximity before the final transference. one of you will survive the blood ritual. one of you will die.

♦︎ fanfics

5 seconds to freedom ♪ (15k) • street racing • tokyo • heiress x racer • rivals to lovers • latino!jimin ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

in tokyo's underground racing scene, respect isn't given—it's earned at 200km/h with your life on the line. for years, you've been untouchable as "panda," the drift queen whose AE86 has humiliated men with cars worth ten times yours. then he arrives. jimin—"jaque"—with his midnight purple skyline and spanish curses when he's pissed.

♦︎ fanfics

out of line ♪ (17k) • football • real madrid • arrogant!tae • slowburn ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

there are rules in football—on the pitch, off the pitch, and especially around the team physio's daughter. taehyung's only got one left to break. he's madrid's golden boy: number 2 on the field, number 1 in his own mind. you're the one girl he can't seem to intimidate, the one who makes him feel second.

altars in shallow waters ♪ (24k) • stalker!tae • ballerina!reader • paris • psychological • dark romance ♢ ao3 • wattpad • taglist

in the forgotten corners of paris, where mold creeps up studio walls and mirrors collect the ghosts of movement, there's a ritual forming. he watches from the shadows as you dance—counting your breaths, cataloging your mistakes, collecting the ribbons you discard. this isn't romance. it's what happens when two broken people turn each other into gods.

♦︎ fanfics

in the presence of you ✎ • royalty • 1700s/1800s • arranged marriage • slow burn ♢ ao3 tbd • wattpad • taglist

when two kingdoms collide, the casualties are counted in pride. yours being the most devastating. aurenne's spoiled crown princess shipped off to daeryndor like a pretty peace offering—married to a man who treats you like an inconvenient ghost in his own palace. two kingdoms, two heirs, one marriage bed you're both too proud to share—until you're not.

[colouredbyd]

Remus Lupin: Masterlist ⏾⋆˚

🌷= fluff 🌙 = angst 💌 = hurt/comfort 🌱= crack 🍄= smut ♡ = d's favs

♡ Caught In The Web 💌🌱🌷(10k) (part 1)

spiderman au: when your fascination with spiderman leads to danger, secrets unravel. with regulus by your side and remus hiding more than he admits, you realize heroes are closer than they seem.

↳ Web Of Secrets 💌🌱🌷 (13k) (part 2) when danger resurfaces and secrets unravel, your fascination with Spider-Man deepens—but with remus by your side, you learn that heroes aren’t always who you expect.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy! 🌷🍄 (5.8k) (part 1)

a sunshine-soft baker moves to town with ribbon-wrapped sweets and a voice like honey—and cowboy!remus’s been having thoughts far less innocent than her pies

↳ Hold On Tight, It’s a Wild Ride! 🌷🍄(8.6k) (part 2) after getting caught in a steamy situation by biker!sirius, you slip from remus’s grasp—now two dangerous men and a brat are tangled in a game that’s riding straight to hell.

Unbearable, Desperate, and Holy 💌🌷 (3.6k)

remus has always believed he’s destined to break what he loves—until you. slowly, he learns that even the most guarded hearts can rest when they’re no longer alone.

snickers & remus

↳ (3.8k) Cattitude Problem 🌱🌷: in which remus pushes you into shifting into snickers, but earning your forgiveness proves harder when you fight back.

↳ (1.8k) Midnight Zoomies 🌱🌷: in which you, a chaotic orange cat, unleash midnight zoomies and drag padfoot into full-blown dorm destruction.

Champagne Problems 🌙 (6.9k)

you’ve always known remus was yours—through childhood, hogwarts, and the coming war. except sometimes, you don’t know the answer until someone’s on their knees and asks you

R u mine? 🍄 (4.1k)

after a week-long fight, you try to make remus jealous—and it works. with the full moon close, he snaps and reminds you who you belong to.

Crawling Back To You 💌🍄 (4k)

you’re sirius black’s sister, and remus lupin is the one person you shouldn’t want—yet before every full moon, he’s yours in secret, tangled in sheets and forbidden love.

[ohtheewhorer]

The Bewitching Hour

Promo 1: The Hitching Hour

Zombie!Husband!Joel Miller x Witch!F!Reader

TW/Tags: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, fluff, angst, golden age sitcom-styled, horror, and old Hollywood elements, age gap (r- late 20s-early 30s, joel- late 50s-60s), canon Joel death, sad reader, crying, undead Joel via necromancy, necrophilia (because zombie!Joel), kissing, 1950s-60s and possibly beyond au, married reader and Joel, golden retriever!traditional husband x black cat!progressive wife, (Inspired by WandaVision)

Summary: Oh, Heavens! You and Joel are getting hitched!

You squeeze your eyes in a tight, pulsating manner as the sunlight seeps past your closed eyelids; pulling you from sleep. There’s a feeling of a single tear that escapes and glides down your already tear-stained cheek. It’s pretty much a habit by now that you cry in your sleep every night since Joel’s death. Nothing that requires any immediate attention, though. Not when it’s already such an exhausting effort to sleep at all.

But it isn't until you feel the rough, calloused pad of someone’s thumb softly swiping across your supple face—a pleasantly warm contrast that you welcome—that you decide to wake; eyes fluttering open.

You raise your head up and off a window track, recognizing you’re in some vehicle. Who’s? You have no clue. But your focus is overtaken by the presence of the person standing above you.

They stand tall in a crisp gray suit, sunlight shining over them and obscuring their face to the point where you’re convinced they are a god.

“Am I…in heaven?” You whisper, leaning into their caress just a little.

A familiar hoarse yet hearty chuckle rings out from them before saying, “No fair, darlin’,” A step forward into your frame of view. “That’s my line.”

He flashes you that famous smirk you fell in love with except you could’ve sworn you saw a sparkle effect and sound accompany it. Not that it matters what you saw anymore. Hell, you can’t see at all from the tears that begin to well up in your eyes as you look up at the man in front of you; living and breathing. “J-Joel?”

“My pearl?” He parrots you before swiping away more of your tears. “Jesus Christ, woman, what’s with the waterworks? We’re celebratin’ today, ain’t we?”

“W-we are?” You ask.

“Most definitely,” He smiles proudly. “Today, you’ll officially take my last name, Mrs. Miller. So c’mon and hop outta this car so I can kiss the devil outta ya.”

Your heart soars, rushing out of the vehicle and into his arms. “Oh, Joel…”

“Oh, pearl…” He fawns, dipping you before planting a passionate kiss on your lips.

A/N: Stay Tuned Folks For The Upcoming Series “The Bewitching Hour”

Starring:

You as You

Joel Miller as Joel Miller

Ellie Williams as Ellie Williams-Miller

And much, much more…

[woninggg]

The boxer next door—part 1/3

Choi Seungcheol 崔胜澈 × reader

Genre: Slow burn, domestic fluff, ex-athlete au, slice of life, grumpy x sunshine, soft romance

summary: After leaving the ring for good, retired boxer Choi Seungcheol tries to find peace in a quiet neighborhood, a pink apron, and his dog Kkuma. What he doesn’t expect is your fat demon of a cat launching herself into his dog and obliterating your herb garden.

Your garden was your sanctuary.

Some people journaled. Some people drank. You grew things. Tomatoes, mostly. Basil. A few cucumbers.

It wasn’t much, just a little box of earth in a neighborhood filled with square lawns and pastel doors. But it was yours. You fought tooth and nail to keep it alive.

Unlike your cat.

Mochi, despite the name, was a menace. She was fat, grumpy, and absolutely certain that she owned you. The only living thing she hated more than birds was dogs. Specifically, the fluffy, yappy kind that barked too loud and peed on your garden hose.

So of course, your new neighbor had one.

You’d only seen glimpses of him at first.

The man next door. Quiet. Built like a statue. He kept to himself. Always wore hoodies, even in summer. His garage light stayed on late, but the house lights never did. He walked his dog— Kkuma, according to her pink little tag, twice a day like clockwork. Morning. Sunset.

That only made you more curious.

You finally saw him one morning while walking out to grab your mail. Hood up. Broad shoulders. Quiet steps for someone so big. He didn’t look at you, but you caught a glimpse of him from the side. There was a faint scar above his brow. A fresh one, too, maybe a year old. You recognized it because your older brother had one just like it from splitting his forehead open on a playground bench as a kid.

Your nosy instincts began to itch.

Not that you did anything about it. You just watched. From your kitchen. Through the blinds. While sipping tea like an undercover spy.

You didn’t even know his name. But you gave him one.

Mr. Pink Apron.

Because that’s what he wore. Every time he was outside baking—yes, baking. He wore this ridiculous pink apron with frills and flour stains, and he’d squat by his little flower boxes, muttering something to the dog by his side.

He was…intimidating. But not in a bad way. In a "he could throw a man across a parking lot but also probably writes poetry" way.

The whispers at the corner store were vague.

Some said he used to be famous.

Some said he was recovering from something.

Some said he’d punched a guy so hard his jaw dislocated and they both had to retire.

You didn't care about the rumors, and you definitely didn’t expect to interact with him for the first time by watching your cat body slam his dog into your basil.

It happened fast.

You’d cracked your back patio door open to get some breeze, and you thought you’d locked the screen.

You were wrong.

The screen door didn’t latch.

Mochi saw movement.

Mochi launched herself like a cannonball on a mission from hell.

And suddenly you were running barefoot into your backyard in your floral robe and one fuzzy sock, shrieking like your house was on fire.

“MOCHI GET BACK HERE—!”

Your cat had launched herself off the porch like a cannonball, tail fluffed to max volume, she was in attack mode.

You had no idea what happened. One second she was sniffing a beetle, and the next she was flying through a hole in the fence and body checking a whole dog.

“KKUMA—!”

That was when you saw him.

Mr. Pink Apron in the flesh.

Except this time the apron was gone, and he was wearing just a tank top and sweat pants, and god, his arms—

You should not have been ogling the man while your cat was physically assaulting his dog.

He looked up just as you clambered through the broken fence plank, hair flying, chest heaving, and—

Your breath stopped.

Because holy shit, he was hot.

Like, "saw a man so beautiful I cried" level hot.

Jet-black hair, a bruising scar by his jaw. Deep-set eyes with lashes that belonged in a Maybelline commercial. His shoulders were a war crime. And his hands— one of them had thick bandaging wrapped around the knuckles.

You stopped a foot from him, holding your cat like a baby, both of you panting.

“…Hi,” you gasped. “Um. Sorry. She hates joy.”

His brow lifted slightly. “She also hates dogs.”

“She hates everything, really.”

Kkuma barked once, then trotted behind his leg, unfazed. Your cat snarled and hissed and tried to wriggle from your arms like a drunk uncle at a wedding.

“…I—uh—I swear she’s usually friendly,” you blurt. “Well. Not friendly. Just… less murdery?”

A beat. Then his gaze drifts to you, really looks at you and you feel flushed, suddenly very aware of your robe, your hair sticking out, and the fact that you are not, in fact, wearing a bra.

Your gaze flicked around, suddenly landing on your garden. Your poor, innocent little garden.

Trampled. Flattened. The tomato vine was crying.

“My basil!” you whimpered.

He crouched down slowly, one hand reaching to pick up a shattered clay pot. “I’ll… replace that. All of it.”

You nodded dumbly. Still catching your breath.

“Name’s Seungcheol,” he said. “I live—”

“Next door. Yeah. I know.”

He paused. Smirked. “You’ve been watching me?”

You choked. “NO—! I mean. Not, like, watching watching. Just. Neighborly observations. Casual glances.”

His eyes twinkled. “Casual glances through your kitchen blinds?”

You wanted to melt into the soil next to your dead basil.

Mochi hissed again.

“I think she wants to kill me,” Seungcheol said.

“She wants to kill everyone. You’re special if she just glares.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

------🍮

Later that day, you’re halfway through vacuuming up potting soil when there’s a knock on your door.

You open it—and nearly choke.

Seungcheol.

Same pink apron. His hair tucked under a backwards cap, awkwardly holding a tupperware container.

“Hey,” he says.

You blink. “Hi.”

“I brought cookies.”

Of fucking course he did.

“They’re oatmeal chocolate chip,” he adds, lifting the lid just enough for you to see. “With cinnamon. I didn’t know if you were allergic to anything.”

You short-circuit a little. This man looks like he could crush a watermelon between his biceps but here he is, offering spiced cookies like some kind of domestic demigod.

“I—wow. You didn’t have to. It was my cat’s fault.”

He shrugs. “Still. Thought it might cheer you up. Your garden looked like you were trying.”

You snort. “Trying and failing.”

“I can help,” he says. “With the plants. If you want.”

“…You garden?”

He nods. “Used to box. Now I bake and grow flowers. Keeps my head quiet.”

You blink at him, still short-circuiting. This is a lot of wholesome masculinity for one Wednesday afternoon.

“Okay, well…” you open the door a little wider, hesitating. “Do you wanna—come in? Just for a minute? I’m still vacuuming soil out of my carpet, but I have…like, water. Or juice.”

He smiles. Not a full one, just a little quirk of the mouth that makes your stomach flutter.

“I’ll take water,” he says, stepping inside.

He smells like soap and cinnamon and summer. Kkuma waits politely on your porch, tail wagging. Mochi watches from the kitchen counter like she’s planning another attack.

You gesture vaguely to the couch as you head to the kitchen, trying to pretend your robe isn’t slipping off one shoulder and that your house doesn’t smell vaguely like potting soil.

“Sorry about the mess,” you call out. “I wasn’t planning on… visitors. Or war.”

He chuckles. It’s low, like it rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Is that the culprit?” he asks, nodding at Mochi.

Mochi sneezes and turns away, her entire body radiating judgment.

“She’s not sorry.” You laugh.

He sets the cookies down gently on the table and looks around. There’s a softness in his eyes— like he’s cataloging things. The sun-faded curtain. The chipped mug on the shelf. The faint floral smell coming off your dish soap.

“I like your place,” he says.

You blink. “Really?”

You turn to hand him the water, and he’s watching you.

Not like a creep.

Not like a man.

Like someone seeing you for the first time.

He shrugs. “Feels… alive. You know?”

You don’t, actually. No one’s ever described your cluttered chaos as anything but messy. But coming from him—with his clean lines and quiet presence—it feels like a compliment. Like something he means.

You stare at him. He looks away quickly, rubs the back of his neck. The pink apron is embroidered with a tiny cupcake. You’re losing your fucking mind.

“Thanks,” you say, trying not to combust.

You fiddle with the edge of the tablecloth.

“So… flowers, huh?”

He smiles, and it’s the first real one you’ve seen—slow, crooked, the kind that sneaks up on you.

“Yeah. Dahlias, mostly. And snapdragons.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Those sound fake.”

“They’re not. They’re dramatic little assholes. Real temperamental. Gotta check the soil every other day or they freak out.”

You grin. “So basically, they’re the flower version of cats.”

“Exactly.”

There’s a pause. A gentle shift.

“I could use the help,” you say quietly. “I keep overwatering my basil"

He chuckles, low and warm.

“First rule of gardening,” he says. “It only works if you’re patient.”

You look at him.

And maybe it’s something in his voice. Or the way his shoulders have relaxed. Or the way he’s standing like he doesn’t want to leave just yet.

But something about him feels patient.

And safe.

And a little bit sad.

You swallow.

“Okay,” you say. “Tomorrow morning?”

He nods. “I’ll bring gloves. And coffee.”

You smile. “Deal.”

He moves to leave, then stops in the doorway.

“Oh—and one more thing?”

You tilt your head.

“Your cat?” he says. “She scratched my ankle. I think I’m bleeding.”

You gasp. “Mochi!”

From the couch, she yawns. Unbothered. Unapologetic. Regal in her cruelty.

He laughs and waves you off, but you’re already rushing to the kitchen drawer, yanking it open like you’re preparing for surgery.

“I have band-aids! Wait—do you want one with ducks or cherries? Or like… the boring kind?”

He looks over his shoulder, amused. “Surprise me.”

You grab the cherries. Because of course.

When you crouch in front of him, he automatically shifts his stance, offering you his ankle like it’s the most normal thing in the world and not completely derailing your brain. His sock is rolled down a little, and the scratch is thin but angry looking.

“Mochi’s got a vendetta,” you mutter, gently wiping around it with cotton first. “I think she hates men on sight.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Your fingers slow for a second. You smooth the band-aid over the scratch like it’s fragile. Like he is.

“There,” you say softly. “All better.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you from where he stands— close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him, to notice the faint scent of cinnamon and sun-dried cotton clinging to his skin.

“Thanks,” he says, just as quiet.

You stand up, suddenly aware of the space between you. Or lack thereof.

He’s taller like this. Closer. You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, and for a second, the room stills again— like it did earlier, but deeper now. Thicker. Like time’s holding its breath.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he steps back. Just an inch. Barely.

“I should let you rest,” he says. “See you tomorrow?”

You nod, and your voice feels like it’s catching on something soft in your throat.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He lingers in your doorway for a second too long before finally turning to go. Kkuma perks up as he steps outside, tail thumping against your welcome mat. Seungcheol gives the dog a soft pat on the head, then glances back at you one more time—like he’s making sure this wasn’t just a weird dream.

You lift the tupperware and shake it playfully. “Don’t forget to bring more of these.”

He grins. That same crooked one that ruins you just a little.

“Only if you promise not to let your cat assassinate me again.”

“No promises.”

He laughs again. Then he’s gone.

You close the door gently, cookies pressed to your chest like they’re sacred. When you glance toward the couch, Mochi is still sprawled there, smug and content.

“You’re a menace,” you whisper. “But I think you just changed my life.”

She flicks her tail. As if to say, you’re welcome.

[thelikesofus]

Buddie Fic Recs

This is my 5th Buddie Rec List! I started compiling this list last April and omg looking back through them now I desperately need to reread them all. Highly recommend all of these fics, also please show the authors some love in their comments xx Happy Easter lovelies <3 REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

where our eyes are never closing by @rewritetheending | T | 6k

After the lightning strike, Buck asks Eddie to take candid photos of him to help prove to Buck that he still exists. Absolute PEAK Softness. Buck through Eddie's eyes! I was a mushy puddle by the end. 10/10 would recommend. 

i got all my sisters with me by @useramor | T | 6k

Established relationship Buddie. Eddie’s sister has a baby and they travel down to Texas to meet the baby. DIAZ SIBLINGS UNITE! Seriously though the sibling dynamic in this is off the charts and Buck and Eddie are sickeningly in love, it is quite beautiful.

meet me where the tide comes in by @iinryer | G | 4k

A 3+1 fic about Eddie getting kissed on the head. FOREHEAD KISSES PTSD MORE HEAD KISSES AND BOYS IN LOVE!! Need I say anything more??

The one where Buck gets turned into a dog by @911onabc | G | 9k

Law Suit era BUT WAIT WAIT….DOG BUCK!! I am a sucker for fic where one of them gets turned into an animal. They are much more free with their affection when they think it's just a dog, or just a cat, and the bond between Eddie and "Boy" is so so wonderful. And I do love a happy ending xx

can't do this anymore (do it anyway) by @chronicowboy | T | 2k

Short and sweet but GOD this packs a punch. Eddie starts dating after the lightning strike and Buck is feeling Big Bad about it. He is so sad it truly breaks my heart but all works itself out in the end and Eddie proves Buck’s fears wrong.

We Found Each Other (Over There)  by @thekristen999 | T | 46k

Buddie WWII AU. A combat medic and a G.I. meet during one of the world’s greatest battles. This fic is a legitimate masterpiece. I cannot describe to you the quality of this fic because it is beyond words but I will tell you I stayed up until 3:30 am to finish it in one sitting and was left broken but made so so whole again. 

the mortifying ordeal of being known by @the-amber-raven | G | 60k

AU where Bobby is Buck’s adoptive Dad and Eddie is dating Buck but Eddie and Bobby think they are talking about two different people. Buck is training at the fire academy but hiding it from Bobby. This fic is the most beautiful tangle of miscommunication, love and family. 

like all good things are by @try-set-me-on-fire | T | 7k

Perfect, amazing, soul-destroying, magical, healing Fic. This literally covers all the bases. Chim and Bobby both get injured. OH! and Buck and Eddie were secretly dating all along. READ THIS FIC PEEPS!

find a way to you (if it kills me) by @eddiediazes  | M | 19k

The one where Eddie decides to start dating again, Buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief. BUCK PINING LV.10000000!

and i’d choose you (in a hundred lifetimes) by @monsterrae1 | E | 16k

Amnesia Exes fic by the wonderful Rae. Buck and Eddie fall in love via a penpal program and then Buck vanishes. This fic is set four years later. I literally could not put it down. I was reading it in class and then sat in my car for who knows how long just to finish it because I could not continue my day without knowing how it ended.

he never thinks of me (except when i'm on TV) by @loserdiaz | M | 18k 

APRIL'S FAMOUS!BUCK AND ARMY!EDDIE FIC!! In which Eddie finds out years later that his unrequited feelings for his high school best friend were not actually unrequited, Buck is stupidly famous now and they pine. OH THEY PINNNEEEEE! It’s delicious. 

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by @chronicowboy | M | 21k 

Alternative S7, Buddie Divorce Era Pt.2. Buck does something reckless and Eddie gets angry about it but these boys cannot communicate effectively to save their lives! This fic is peak angst to a happy ending and I felt like I had a hole in my chest OMG.

left your mark on this heart by @chronicowboy | G | 5k

Buck gets medically diagnosed with butterflies and the doctor makes him write in a notebook every time it happens. Surprise, surprise, the cause and effect is Eddie-related. The notebook entries kill me in the best way, the happiest happy ending

ALSO, YES THIS IS THE THIRD FIC BY THE SAME AUTHOR ON THIS LIST WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?? READ IT IS WHAT! COS THEY'RE SO DAMN GOOD. 

endless numbered days by @cal-daisies-and-briars | G | 13k 

Buck and Eddie's wedding but from Bobby's POV as Bobby reflects on the family he lost and the one he gained. Absolutely beautiful, I cried.

don’t wanna let you love somebody else but me by @shitouttabuck | T | 14k

Chris wants dating advice so obviously Buck and Eddie decide to Fake Date for research purposes. This fic is PEAK adorable, sappy, and awkward Buddie. They’re idiots but we love them and the certainly love each other. READ THIS FIC! 

[wwwdamerc]

I have so many ideas for Marvey fics, my head is gonna explode🤯

1.A Fire Hazard (called Mike) Firefighter Harvey/Clumsy Mike au: Mike accidentally keeps setting things on fire, one time a cat gets stuck in a tree which is not even his but he's somehow there. It helps that the firefighter is super hot. "How about you stop getting into trouble and just call me next time you fancy meeting me." Harvey says, putting his number in Mike's phone.

2. "Are you two a couple?" - (are you guys familiar with MeetcuteNYC on Instagram?) The host of MeetcuteNYC comes across Mike and Harvey on the road, who are walking together, bantering, laughing, lost in their own world. "Excuse me are you two a couple?" He asks. Mike immediately says no but Harvey's in a good mood, wanting to mess with the guy, says yes, and goes into detail with how they met, what does he like about Mike, meanwhile Mike is gaping at him. But then decides to play along, leading to confessing things to each other without realising how true they are. (This one is inspired by @blake-d fics)

3. Keep you safe (Stockholm syndrome, Dark!Harvey): While Harvey is driving Mike to prison, someone purposefully rams into his car and kidnap Mike. When Mike wakes up, tied up, mouth taped, he sees his kidnapper is none other than Harvey Specter. "Don't worry Mike, you're safe here. No one can take you away from me. You don't understand how bad Prisons are but I will protect you, even if it's from yourself." Mike is flabbergasted, "You set it all up?"

4. Pretty boy (Hooker Mike, Detective Harvey) He thought he knew who he was. A detective. A straight man. A man in control. Harvey Specter lives by the rules—until a chance encounter on a cold New York street shakes everything. When a stakeout leads him to Mike Ross, a sharp-tongued, blue-eyed escort with a smile that disarms and a past full of secrets, Harvey makes a decision that could cost him everything, and Harvey risks everything, his job, his relationship with his longterm girlfriend Scottie, for a night with a momentary fascination, a male hooker. He thought it was a one night stand, until Mike turns out to be a witness in a ongoing case Harvey is working on.

5. Lovesick (Hanahaki disease): Harvey gets Hanahaki disease (where a person coughs up flowers due to unrequited love), full of angst, pining, oblivious Mike, but with happy ending.

6. (Dad!Harvey): Harvey has a 21-22 y/o son (Alex), no one knows this except Donna. Alex got to know he has a father after his mother's death (at 18), already an adult, so Harvey doesn't know much about his personal life. The son gets job as an associate in Pearson Harman. When Harvey sees Mike already knew Alex, sees how they interact, he comes to wrong conclusion that they slept together. (Characters are openly bi in this one, so it's not an odd assumption). Alex plays matchmaker subtly. Funny, cute, rom-comy stuff, jealousy, misunderstandings

7. Good boy (Petplay, Daddy kink, PWP): Harvey thinks it annoys Mike when he uses puppy metaphors. Meanwhile Mike keeps getting most inconvenient boners every time Harvey does it, or praises him or yells at him.

[sugar-coat-it]

Body piercer! Matty

Part 2 , Part 3

May I present my pride and joy (and first AU), body piercer Matty <3, based on the 2020 NOACF mohawk era

Fem! reader

****CW! Needles, pain****

Contains: Matty piercing reader’s nipples*, lustful fantasies, praise, Matty has a tongue piercing, HELLA tension and pining, Matty being a sweetheart through the whole thing

*note, I don’t have nipple piercings lol, apologies if any of this is inaccurate.

Word count: 5313

—------------------------------------------

PART ONE- Fate lands you in Matty Healy’s capable hands when looking to get your nipples pierced. Tension ensues.

—-----------------------------------------

The thought of getting your nipples pierced had been in the back of your mind for what felt like years. It nagged at you every time you saw a pretty girl with barbells poking out under her tank top, you wanted to be her. You’d done all the research, article after article on the healing period, the pain level, and the kinds of jewelry you can get. You also knew fairly well how they enhance sexual encounters, which had a whole draw of its own. You’d done everything except actually make the appointment. That is, up until a few days ago. Fresh off of a breakup and tired of feeling sorry for yourself, you’d called your local tattoo parlor and scheduled a slot with a body piercer named Maddie, then hung up feeling rather pleased with yourself for finally getting it done. The anticipation of the leadup to the appointment had you biting your lips raw. You’d gotten other piercings before, but never in a place so intimate. Never one that required taking your top off, that’s for certain. But friends had been encouraging you nonstop, telling you what a “hot girl” move it was, and who were you to argue? 

Finally, the day comes, and you’re swinging open the parlor door a little too hard, evidently very tense. The bell that jangles when the door opens clanks against the wall, making the man behind the counter startle. Wide-eyed and wincing, you shoot him an apologetic look, embarrassed that you’d practically ripped their front door off the hinge. Great start!

Slowly, after making sure the door is safely shut, you approach the counter, absentmindedly toying with the rings that adorn your fingers, twisting them between your thumb and your forefinger. The man at the counter is exactly who you’d expect to be working at a tattoo and piercing parlor, but an even more stunning rendition if you were being honest. His slightly sleepy-looking eyes brighten a little at the sight of you, a fluffy mohawk of chocolatey waves sitting atop his head. He’s adorned with inked patterns along his skin, a patchwork of symbols across his arms that you restrict yourself to only glancing at for a moment. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he greets you with a warm smile, offering a little wave before you start to explain why you’re here, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Hi, I’ve got a 1:00 appointment?” you explain before providing your name, trying your hardest to stop fidgeting.

Your mind is in about 20 places, and it doesn’t help that your heart just fluttered at the eye contact he’s holding with you. The man nods at you, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he picks up the scheduling book, sifting through the pages with black polished nails. When he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of the single silver hoop earring that he’s sporting quite well. Curiosity creeps up like a slinking cat, making you wonder what other modifications he might have. His narrowed eyes scan the book, toffee-colored irises flicking over names until he finds yours penciled in, jabbing his nail against the page.

“Yeah I see you, you’re with me then. And, you did your paperwork and payment stuff, it looks like,” he says, snapping the schedule closed definitively.

“Oh, no I don’t think…” you start to correct, tilting your head at him with confusion until you trail off into quiet.

 That’s when it catches your eye, the nametag on his white tank top reads “Matty”. Then it clicks. Matty. Not Maddie. You’d scheduled your appointment to get your tits pierced with a guy. A very attractive guy that was now going to watch you squirm like a child. Your jaw drops slightly, a sinking feeling in your gut starting to fester as you realize your mistake.

“Everything alright there? Second thoughts, perhaps?” Matty prompts, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you. 

“No… no second thoughts. To be honest, I thought I had an appointment with a female piercer,” you answer, preemptively grimacing before you’d even finished your sentence.

“Oh, shit. Well, that’s not ideal. Listen, we can get you in here another day then, no problem. Tell me what works for you,” he says, already scrambling for a pencil to put your name elsewhere in the book. 

“Actually, I think it’s fine. I’m already here, right?” you offer, shrugging to try and appear more nonchalant about the whole thing (your palms are sweating).

“Are you sure? Seriously, I don’t want you uncomfortable on my watch. It’s not a big deal to get you a different appointment,” he frowns, absentmindedly twirling the pencil between his fingers. 

His eyes are strangely soft for someone with such an intimidating job, you can only describe the feeling they give you as melting. You can’t quite place why, but his presence alone is somehow quelling your nerves, even if it’s just a bit. Your hands start to still, dropping to rest at your sides as you decide to let him do it anyway. He looks trustworthy, right? 

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you, truly,” you say, a soft smile pulling at your lips at how keen he seems on making you comfortable. 

Matty nods slowly, rising from the chair while eyeing you like he’s not sure if you’re going to turn on your heel and run out the door if he looks away. He asks you to follow him to the back, you’re trailing close behind as he pulls his baggy camo pants further up his hips by his belt. The room he leads you to is small and fairly chilly, but only in temperature. The space itself feels homey, plastered with stickers and posters of various punk bands, it doesn’t feel like some sterile hospital room. 

“Stay standin’ for me, just need to get some things,” he instructs, turning to reach for his supplies, including the jewelry you’d selected over the phone, “and, whenever you’re ready you can take your top off, okay?” 

Without the pressure of his eyes on you, it takes a moment before you slowly ease your shirt up and over your shoulders, setting it beside you. You take a slightly uneven breath as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra, suddenly forgetting the muscle memory from doing it for so many years. The moment it’s off, the rush of cold air instantly sends a shiver licking up your spine. You lean back against the counter, trying to appear as casual as you can as you eye the piercer. Your eyebrows slope with admiration, softening your expression as you realize that he’s now aimlessly fishing through a drawer, trying to give you time to ease into undressing while he’s still turned around. He stays with his back to you until you clear your throat, signaling that you’ve finished. His expression is unphased as he turns around on the heels of his platformed lace-up boots. God, he really is beyond cool, isn’t he? 

“Right, I’m gonna put these on, and then I’ll mark the placement,” Matty explains, holding up a pair of latex gloves. 

Matty pulls the gloves over his sizeable hands, the bulging veins catching your eye as he flexes his fingers to test that they’re taught. He’s taking a few steps closer to you, now only about an arm's length away as he explains that he’s not going to touch you without the gloves, though of course, your first unfiltered thought is that you wish he would. His eyes hadn’t strayed from your face for even a second this whole time, being remarkably neutral despite the fact that you were topless. Though, you suppose that sort of thing must not phase him since he’s probably pierced tons of nipples. That doesn’t stop the odd tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even glanced at your body. You swallow the feeling like it’s bile, knowing that it’s totally unreasonable to want him to gaze at you with anything but professionalism. 

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you? Need to clean the area,” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, it’s making you slightly weak in the knees, he’s just so fucking gentle. 

You nod, rolling your shoulders back in preparation for him to touch you while he pours solvent on a cotton pad. His disciplined, gloved hands reach out, and only now does he allow his gaze to dip down to your chest. You could swear his breath hitches just a little, the quiet room allowing for the smallest sounds to be heard. Maybe he is just a man after all. The thought makes pride simmer in your chest, but you’re not dwelling on it for long, your mind going blank the moment he starts to swiftly swipe the pad along your nipples, sanitizing your skin and also effectively making them harden from the stimulation. You tense up, standing straighter than before as you bite back any semblance of a reaction. Matty throws you a glance to assess your discomfort, soft brown irises following the slopes of your features. He places the sanitizing supplies to the side, now uncapping a purple skin marker. This was going to be a long process if he kept looking at you that way.

“Nothing's happening yet, okay? Just gonna draw on where they’re gonna go,” he says, holding it up while raising his eyebrows as if to say “Look, it’s harmless”. 

Matty leans in again, his eyes narrowing with concentration, gloved knuckles brushing the side of your breast as he marks a dot on the side of your nipple. Watching Matty stare at your tits with such laser focus has your cheeks flushing just slightly, heat prickling at the bridge of your nose. He runs the tip of the marker from one side of the hardened bud to the other, marking a symmetrical dot. Tingles spread under your skin like wildfire, he’s barely touched you and yet you can feel yourself buzzing at the slightest sensations. His pretty brown eyes meet yours and he just smiles at you sympathetically, knowing how hyperfocused on his every movement you must be.

“You’re not breathing,” he whispers, playfully jabbing the capped end of the pen against your arm. 

Your eyes widen as you realize that he’s absolutely right, you’d been holding your breath this whole time. You release your bated breath, your chest heaving slightly as Matty keeps looking down at you, giving you a moment to regain your senses. You swear the eye contact while being inches away from him is making you more lightheaded than the lack of oxygen. With a satisfied nod, he resumes, repeating the same process of drawing the dots at the peak of your other breast. Then, he takes a step back, biting the cap of the marker between his canines while he evaluates his work. This allows you another moment to admire him as he eyeballs the symmetricalness of his markings. Your mind is wandering, perhaps trying to distract you from how intently this man is studying your breasts. You’re wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so gentle with you. What if he touched you instead with greed, the need to satiate himself? In your head, you imagine the warm, honey tones of his eyes darkening like tinted glass as he drinks you in not as his client, but as something to desire, to want to feel flush beneath his calloused fingertips. This version of Matty doesn’t try to limit every graze of his working hands, he’s starving; groping, and mapping every part of your skin that he can reach. You’re jumping the gun now, the image flashes through your mind like a ricocheting bullet: Matty’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands are mean as he grabs a handful of one of your tits, his thigh is hitched between your legs, keeping your thighs parted. His head dips down, his shaggy mohawk tickling at your neck as he tugs on the silver barbell through your nipple with his teeth, pain melding with pleasure till they’re impossible to separate. And, oh, fuck, does he have a tongue piercing? Your eyes flick down to his mouth now, mind reeling as you spot the silver stud on his tongue revealed by the way he’s chewing on the cap of the marker. You are losing yourself, and fast, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Alright, looks just about even. Would you go ahead and lie down there, darlin’?” he asks, cocking his head towards the reclined padded chair next to him. 

Now is where the nerves are starting to kick in, it’s all fun and fantasizing about your body piercer until you actually have to sit in the chair. You were hardly able to mentally fawn over the pet name as you took unsure strides to situate yourself in the cold, plastic parlor recliner. Matty busies himself with preparing various metal objects while you stare up at the ceiling, squinting at the fluorescent lights and wondering why you wanted your tits pierced so badly in the first place. Then, his unreasonably darling face is in your field of vision, peering down at you with a consoling smile.

“Comfy?” he prompts, a needle in one hand and a small pair of forceps in the other.

It’s not a comforting sight, no matter how lovely the man holding them is. 

“Sorta. I’m actually kind of a chicken about these things,” you admit with a wobbly smile in return.

“No… really?” he grins boyishly, clearly being sarcastic with you. 

You shoot him a look for that, but it melts away into a little laugh, you can’t seem to even fake a cold stare around him, it’s sort of pitiful. Standing over you, Matty raises the forceps close to your breasts but doesn’t touch you with them just yet. You bite your lip, lifting your head to get a better look at what’s happening, even though you’re not entirely sure you even want to watch. 

“Now, this is just going to feel like a little pinch, shouldn’t hurt,” he says, his voice lowering a little before he slips in a: “You’re doing really good.”

The praise tears your gaze away from his hands and onto his face, blinking in disbelief at the way he’d caused a fizzling pang of desire inside you so effortlessly. That feeling doesn’t get any weaker the moment you feel the cool metal clamp around your nipple, your lips parting with a soft gasp, hands tensing with the urge to hold onto something, to hold onto him. Matty’s pierced tongue darts out past his lips in concentration, soothing over his bottom lip as he lines the needle up next to the hardened bud. You jolt at the sharp tip of the object against your sensitive skin, your hand shooting out to grab onto Matty’s bicep in a moment of pure reaction. Both of you seem equally shocked that you’d suddenly clutched his arm, your nails slightly biting into his skin amongst the spattering of pretty freckles that mark him. There’s a moment of the loudest silence you’ve ever heard, his stare feels like it’s searing you. You’re about to rush into apologizing, but then he’s placing his tools back down onto his tray of supplies, tentatively reaching to rest his larger hand over yours, enveloping it in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m just lining up my shot. I’m gonna tell you when it’s time, okay? Just breathe with me for a moment,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing tenderly over the back of your hand. 

He takes an exaggerated breath, encouraging you to do the same, his chest rising beneath his white tank top. You mirror Matty, taking a deep breath in of, well… him. He smells like a dizzying combination of Marlboros and woody aftershave because of course, he does.

“That’s it, much better. It’ll be a whole fuckin’ ordeal if you pass out on me, so stay with me here. Can you do that?” he questions, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah… yeah, I can. Thank you,” you say softly, trying to disregard the sparks radiating under Matty’s palm. 

You stay like this for a few breaths longer, Matty doesn’t look away from you and you’re not so sure that it’s only because he doesn’t want you to conk out. His gloved hand gives yours an encouraging squeeze before letting go slowly. The heat still lingers as he retrieves his tools a second time, the flexing of his bicep under your grasp reminds you that you should probably let go of him now. But, the moment you start to retract your hand, he glances at you and speaks in that silky tone of his.

“You don’t have to let go, s’okay. You can use me like a stress toy, or something. I don’t really care,” he shrugs, winking at you. 

You just nod dumbly, your eyes going a little wider as you settle your hand over his bare arm again, right over the top of his Newcastle United seahorse tattoo. You’d like to use him in other ways too, but that’s not very appropriate, now is it? 

You let out a sigh as you come to the same point in the process again, Matty lining up the needle diligently while keeping your nipple clamped with the metal forceps, but this time, you get to cling to his arm. You don’t want to distract him, because it would be your loss in the end, but there is a sense of satisfaction when you feel his bicep flex slightly as you trace your thumb along the symbol inked on his skin, following the curve of the seahorses mane with your nail. 

“Okay, love. Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m going to do it on three, and when I say three, I need you to take a sharp breath in for me, like this,” he instructs, then shows you what he means with a harsh inhale through his nose. 

You breathe out a weak “okay”, already gripping his arm harder from the anticipation building up to a high. You decide it’s best not to watch, especially since you’d promised you wouldn’t pass out. You let your head rest back against the chair, your nose scrunching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Matty begins to count down, increasing the pressure of the clamp. 1. 2. 3. You inhale sharply through your nose at the same time that an unprecedented amount of burning pain reverberates through your chest, your eyes snapping open. You’re clawing at his arm, a cry ripping past your lips while tears well up and blur your vision. It’s a feeling so intense that it’s seeping through you to your stomach, crawling like the meanest sunburn. Of all the piercings you’ve gotten, you can say without a doubt that this takes first prize for the most painful.

“Oh, fuck!” you sob, the sound being embarrassingly close to a full-bodied moan. 

Matty slides the jewelry through while swiftly retracting the needle, trying to stifle the way the sound you’d made was affecting him, echoing in his skull in a way he knows it shouldn’t. He doesn’t even flinch despite the way your nails are leaving angry, red crescents marred on his skin. He quickly screws the barbell together before completely retracting his hands from you, taking one more glance at his handiwork before consoling you, his heart seemingly aching for the pretty girl in his chair.

“I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, but you’re halfway done. Doing so good, you’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching the gloved back of his hand to your face to wipe some of the stray tears on your cheeks.

You just whine, the radiating pain only now starting to subside as you keep your hold on his arm, now smoothing over the marks you’d left with your fingertips as if you’re kissing them better. His thumb grazes along your cheek for a little too long for it to be accidental. Matty’s praise while he wipes away your tears is making your mind fuzzy, it’s like he’s numbing the pain; the sweetest morphine. 

Your gasps for breath are slowing, the pain like a dull pulse, easing its grip on you. Mortification is starting to sink in now that you’re not reeling from shooting pain. One of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen just watched you in one of your most vulnerable moments, and there’s still one piercing to go, much to your dismay. 

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” you admit with a breathy laugh at your own expense. 

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed. You could’ve done much worse, probably,” he says, looking amused as he shakes his head at you.

“Like what?” “I dunno… like, socked me in the face as a fight or flight response.”

You laugh at that, a bright sound filling the room that makes Matty’s smile grow fonder as he gazes down at you with those pretty, sparkly eyes. The moment lingers on for a few beats, tension blooming between you that almost makes you forget about the throbbing ache of your left breast (almost). 

“You do know I have to do the other one right? Unless you’re a bit odd and like the one-piercing look,” he reminds cautiously over the clinking metallic sound of him picking up his tools. 

“I know,” you sigh, “can you do it fast?” 

“Erm… I’ll do it as quickly as I can without making it cockeyed, but I reckon you’ll be fine. Besides, the second one’s always easier from what I’ve seen.”

He doesn’t seem like the type that would elude you for the sake of false security, so you take his word as gospel, settling in to prepare yourself for what’s hopefully a more tolerable experience. His next words have your heart thrumming against your ribs.

“Can you handle it?” he asks, more of a challenge than a question.

You nod at him quietly, absentmindedly drawing little feather-light swirls on his bicep. The incentive of his praise is becoming all too tempting. You want to handle it, you want to show him that you can do it. There’s a new, honeyed kind of heat seeping into your bones. 

“Good girl. You’re a strong one, love,” he praises, sensing just how eager you are.

The next pulse you feel doesn’t come from your chest. Good girl? He has to be fucking with you. Jesus, does he talk to all of his customers like this? Does he wipe all of their tears too? Something in you wants to believe he doesn’t. He watches as your lips part slowly, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. You have to know.

“Do you call all your customers that?” you whisper, blinking up at him coyly.

“Not really, no. Only the pretty ones who deserve it.”

Your breath comes out as a shudder, it’s unfair how easily he leaves you stunned. He clicks his tongue casually before getting back to work, all too pleased by the look on your face. You know the routine by now, Matty makes quick work of clamping your nipple and arranging the prodding tip of the needle just so. You’re still clinging to his arm, or your personal stress toy, something you’ve grown very familiar to the feel of throughout your time here. The countdown starts, he’s not giving you as much time to prepare. 1. 2. 3. What was more like a shriek from earlier comes out as a whine this time, a high-pitched, whimpery noise spilling from you. You don’t curse or practically maul his arm this time, but it’s still painful, you can’t say you’re fond of how vividly you can feel the needle go in and out amidst the burning sting. 

“Beautiful, atta girl,” he whispers, screwing the end of the barbell on before leaning back to admire his work, his eyes unabashedly glued to how the jewelry sits prettily on your breasts.

You have no clue if he’s talking about you, your tits, or the job he’d done, but it makes your skin warm all the same. 

Finally, you allow yourself to look at your chest, gently sliding your hand off of his bicep to prop yourself up on your arms and get a good look at the two new adornments. Shit, they look good on you, better than you’d hoped, and perfectly symmetrical thanks to him. He smirks when he notices the way you’re gawking at the piercings, knowing that the pain is barely a thought in your mind now, too distracted by how newly desirable you must feel. Matty likes knowing that one, he’s good at his job, and two, that he’s just helped you feel sexier. He’s really enjoying watching you admire yourself and in turn, his work. There’s a slight stir beneath his baggy pants, which he knows should never happen while he’s with a client, but you might just be the sweetest thing that’s ever been in his chair. He’s allowing himself a pass.

“Shit, Matty, they’re really nice,” you gape, your stomach swooping when you glance up to see the smug look playing on his lips.

“Yeah, they came out mint. Suit you nicely, don’t they?” he says, daring to dance along the line of being unprofessional as he then glances down at your tits and whistles. 

What a boy.

“Thank you… for everything I mean.”

“Don’t mention it, you were great,” Matty smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves off your gushing.

Butterflies are rampaging in your stomach, god, why does he have to be so lovely? He looks like he has something he wants to say, but it goes unspoken, rattling around in his head instead. His expression is hard to read, but would you be deluding yourself to say there’s a tinge of longing? A few beats of quiet tick by, and you’re now becoming acutely aware of the fact that you no longer have a reason to be topless, awkwardly crossing your arms. Always so attentive, Matty suddenly straightens up and reaches over your body, his chain dangling in front of your face as he grabs your shirt and bra from the counter. He places them on your lap and politely turns away as if he’s never seen you undressed, clearing his throat like that will clear the thick tension in the air. 

You wince as soon as the cups of your bra meet your immensely tender breasts, sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth as you power through clasping it. The sensitivity is something you’d been warned about, and now you get to joyfully experience it firsthand for the next however many weeks. Your eyes are on Matty’s back as you slip your shirt over your head, taking note of how rigid he seems as he gathers the after-piercing care papers for you. But maybe it’s in your head. You haven’t known him very long at all, it’s a dangerous game to assume any of the tension of this afternoon was real when you were freaking out for more than half of it.

“Right, any questions for me?” he asks, striding over to hand you the pages.

Are you single?Can we go out?Should we make out right now?How are you real?

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not woozy, you can go ahead and stand up when you’re ready,” he says, clasping his hands together as if he’s wrapping up his job well done. 

With the care pamphlet in one hand, you start to slowly swing your legs over to the side, noticing the way Matty stands at attention like he’s ready to catch you if your legs give out. But they don’t, you’re able to stand with minimal wobbles, shaking out your hands to try and relax your poor, recovering body. 

The walk back to the front of the parlor is quiet, the both of you trying to grapple with the tension you couldn’t quite leave behind in the chair. There’s not much else to say, is there? You’re both standing next to the door now, and Matty retracts one of his hands from within his pockets to hold it out to you. Nothing says “I just blurred the lines of professionality while piercing your tits and now this is goodbye” like a good old handshake, does it? You try to keep your expression neutral even though this all feels quite bittersweet, grasping his hand with a firm shake. It’s the first time you’ve felt his hand without the latex glove between you, they’re soft, but you can tell he works with his hands, the callouses on his fingertips grazing your skin.

“Lovely to meet you, sorry I wasn’t a chick,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry about that, I’m glad it was you,” you reply, perhaps being a little too sincere, but it feels right to say. 

“... well, listen, get home safe, alright? Take care of yourself, call if you have any problems,” he says, once again seeming like he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something to you. 

You reach for the handle of the door, but you don’t open it. You look back at him like you’re giving him one more chance to tell you what you’re hoping to hear, but he doesn’t, he just offers a nod with an unreadable expression on his face. Heartache.

“See you, Matty,” you nod in return, opening the door and shutting it behind you.

You evaluate your situation on the walk back to your car. You’ve rid yourself of the urge to get your tits pierced, and they look fantastic, but your new problem is that you have a massive crush on your body piercer that you’re likely never going to see again unless you get another piercing. It’d be a rather expensive hobby to get a piercing just to see his face, so scratch that. Your only option is to be reminded of him every time you take your shirt off, how miserable is that?

Little do you know, the moment the shop door closed behind you, Matty groaned with his face in his hands, mentally kicking himself for not asking you out, or at least getting your number. Sure, you were a client, he had to be careful, but shit, you weren’t just any client, now were you? What was wrong with him? Something about you left the body piercer stiff and tongue-tied, replaying every moment of your encounter back in his mind. Never in his life had Matty Healy felt anything for a customer.

—---One month later—----

After a hellish month of healing, scabbing, and getting your piercings caught on things, you’ve decided that there’s no real point in having nipple piercings if no one gets to see them but you. You’d like to tell yourself that you don’t think about Matty as much anymore, but that would be laughably dishonest. Dating apps are just about one of the most aggravating wastes of time ever, and you’ve had no luck meeting people naturally, so here comes the next best thing: blind dates. Your close friend fancies herself to be somewhat of a matchmaker, she’s been talking up this guy to you for days now, telling you how funny and totally your type he is, and nothing could possibly go wrong if she set you up. You have your doubts, but still, you find yourself in a cafe waiting for your mystery man to sweep you off your feet with his supposed punchy one-liners. What you don’t expect, however, is to watch a very familiar mohawked man stride into the place, the eyes that have patronized your dreams every night scanning across the cafe until they lock onto you. 

—----------------------------------------------

Don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging with just tension, ofc there’s going to be a smutty part two <3

Thank you very much for reading, I hope it wasn’t underwhelming! And thank you to any other writers that I reached out to to consult about my ideas, ily, mwah!

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 1

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.4k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, plot, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Synopsis: After Makarov gets away again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you with each interaction. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

You’ve always been a light sleeper, if you could even be called that. The truth was that you hardly slept at all. Bedtime was always more like cat-nap time. Light, soundless, ready to pounce at the sound of dust falling to the floor. That’s how you trained yourself and the habit stuck, even if you don’t take missions anymore. It was hard to deprogram a killing machine. 

The two years have been peaceful even if you were always on edge. Semi-retirement has been kind in only giving you the sounds of the forest trees in the wind, the gentle rush of the creek, birds singing every morning, and most importantly, no visitors. The world didn’t know that you existed and you preferred to keep it that way for as long as you could. While you did feel the phantom blood dripping down your hands every now and then to an unsettling reminiscent degree, you did like this little slice of heaven that was your off-grid cabin. It was a good place to be before you undoubtedly go to hell in the end.

You were in your bed when you heard the rustling of the forest floor just outside your window. Steps. But not the steps belonging to a fox or bear you have learned to recognize over time. These were the steps of a man. No, multiple men. The way the foot falls of a man walking is an undeniable melody you have heard thousands of times. In the dead of night, you bolted up out of bed and reached for your throwing knife and a pistol, always kept at your bedside. Like a thief in your own home, you silently followed the sounds outside along the walls until you reached the living room. They were going to come in through the front door. 

Under the cover of darkness, you readied your aim at the door. To your surprise, they were messing with the keypad that locked your house down, inputting codes with a subtle click and then beep of a correct code. No one should know the code except for two people. Laswell and yourself. 

As soon as the door revealed moonlight and a silhouette, you fired your gun. A warning shot. Grazing right past neck. The men stopped and immediately aimed their own rifles, but the one in front held his hand up in surrender. Following orders, the rifles were lowered. You were the first to speak, your voice dripping with venom. “State your purpose and maybe I won’t kill you all where you stand.”

A gentle yet deep Liverpudlian accent voiced back. “Easy now. We don’t mean harm. Laswell sent us here. Code Swan.”

“Song?” You replied, your muscles still tense, unwilling to lower your defenses until the full code was complete. It is what ensured both yours and Laswell’s safety.

“Black Death.” He replied back. You stayed in position for a few moments before finally sighing and lowering your weapon. You turned on a table lamp next to you to get a better look at the intruders. Four men stood in your doorway. One with a fishing hat, one with a mohawk, one with a baseball cap, and one with a skull mask. They were all tall, big with muscle, and seemingly not American from their patches. An interesting bunch to say the least. 

“Fucking Laswell.” You cursed Kate’s name. She should have contacted you about this. You were just about to paint the porch with her mens’ brains. You hated surprises. You often killed them before finding out the intentions. 

With a wave of your hand, you invited the men to come into your cabin. They cautiously came in, surveying the layout and now understanding what Kate meant when she said that you were “belligerent.”

You turned on the main lights and tried to get a fire going to relieve some of the autumn chill that had crept through the house. Their leader began to unload his things on the kitchen table, sighing from the weight relief. His men joined in, save for one. You could feel his eyes on you as you encouraged the fire. You didn’t even have to look back to know that he was watching your every move. 

“It’s rude to stare.” You warned curtly as you stood and turned. The man in the skull mask and balaclava didn’t avert his gaze.

His voice was rich and gruff like gaboon ebony. His Manchester accent came clear as day. “You’re half naked.”

He was referring to the large band shirt and boyshort panties that you were wearing. What did he expect from someone that thought that enemies were breaking in? You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “I’m in my pajamas. Besides, a good soldier shouldn’t get distracted by any amount of nudity.”

His blue eyes narrowed at your dig. He was a good soldier. An excellent soldier actually. One of the best. But excellent, good, or bad, no one would be able to resist staring at your figure. The exposed thighs, the large neckline of the shirt hanging off your shoulder, various scars scattered across skin like an abstract painting. He’s never seen anyone like you before. 

Too bad you had a combative mouth. 

Before he could get a word in, you had walked off into the kitchen, not bothering to go get pants on. It was your home for fuck’s sake. Besides, there were more pressing matters than your clothes or lack thereof. 

You began to pull out all the food you had out of your fridge. Everything from deli meat to leftover lasagna was being laid out on the large quartz island. You weren’t going to heat anything up or make something new, but the laid out spread would be enough. You weren’t a completely heartless host. Just a bare minimum one.

Once the food was out for pickings, you headed back near the dining room, leaning against the doorframe. The boys had maps, blueprints, and laptops covering every surface of your table. Your beautiful, hand-made pine table. This was to be their new safehouse for now. Hopefully not for too long.

“Captain, it’s connecting now.” The one with the mohawk called out. The captain came right over to greet the screen.

“Laswell, can you hear us?”

“Loud and clear, John. Did everything go well?” Kate chipperly asked. You haven’t heard her voice in a long while. You almost forgot how nice her voice actually was.

“She nearly shot my fuckin’ neck off.” Mohawk-guy grumbled. 

Kate gave a light, short laugh. “Sounds like it went smoothly then. The best that it could be. She there?”

All four men looked up to you, expecting you to come over and face Laswell through the screen. However, you stayed where you were. Instead, you spoke loud enough for your friend to hear. “Kate Laswell.”

“Hex, I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you about this beforehand. You know I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t an emergency situation.” She began to apologize and justify. It was always an apology followed by a justification. You wondered if she even ever means her apologies, but in the end, you never really cared enough. However, now it is different.

“I don’t exist, Kate. And now four new people know that I do. . .” You retorted back.

It was silent for a moment, the tension in the air thick. She was on the other side of the screen, but it felt like you were going to get into a physical fight with her anyways. “They’re trustworthy. I trust them with my life and the lives of millions upon millions. Just like I trust you. And as the only people that I trust, I need you to help them.”

“They have already taken over my home. What more do you want from me?” You clenched your jaw, trying to prepare yourself for an answer you probably wouldn’t like. Like hell were you going to play dorm mother to them and like hell you were going to just move out. The last thing you wanted was to take care of these men longer than necessary. This was already pushing that line for you.

“Athame.” She bluntly said. That was the worst answer she could have said. The confused looks the men gave each other made you grateful for a fleeting second. They didn’t understand your secret codes and languages. But they will soon.

Your jaw was clenched so hard that your teeth ached. You damn near cracked them. While your voice before was dripping with venom, it was now drowning in it. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hex, I-”

You finally came over, nearly pushing the captain out of the way in your warpath. Through the screen, Kate could see how angry you were. Not just angry, furious. She steeled herself, ready for your onslaught of curses, stopping herself midway through her explanation. “I don’t do this shit, Kate! I work solo for a very particular fucking reason. And now you want me to work with four strange men?! Now you want me to play nice?! I’m not a fucking soldier that can just be ordered around!”

“I know! I know. . . But. . . we’re desperate. I’m desperate, Hex. Please, this is the last favor I will ever ask from you. This is an awful target we’re talking about. Someone that is better off in this world dead.”

“You mean Makarov, right? Why should I clean up your government’s fuck-up? Again, might I add.” You spat. You lived off the grid and weren’t a citizen of anywhere, but you still watched the news. You always knew what was going on in the world among other secrets. Makarov was a threat to the world, but as far as you were concerned, it wasn’t your problem. If anything, the government needed this lesson as a direct consequence of their negligence and incompetence. 

“Because Chalice.” She simply stated, knowing that her final word was a last ditch effort. Chalice was an agreement that you two had made long ago. It could only be used once in your lives, a truly desperate resort for help. If one of you uttered it, then the other would have no choice but to help, no matter the request. That was the law between your friendship, among other things. The other code words were favors, but this was the ultimate one. Life or death.

You considered punching the laptop in anger. Right at Kate’s face. You didn’t like her call for Athame or Chalice, but now you didn’t have a choice but to comply. It didn’t mean that you weren’t still furious though. “Fuck you, Kate.”

“Thank you, Hex.” She breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to tell you more about what she needed from you, but she knew that you had to cool off first otherwise you would burst into flames. That would've made things harder for all of you. So, she nodded as a signal for dismissal which you gladly took. You retreated to your room, locking the door shut and basking in the darkness. 

You could feel the blood boil within you. It burned your insides and choked you. Grabbing your pillow, you pressed it against your face and screamed out your frustration. When that didn’t help, you punched the exposed logs of your cabin wall until your knuckles were splintered and bleeding.

~

Ghost sat on the couch, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. The rest of the meeting with Laswell was brief, wanting them to try to decompress for the next several hours. Sleep, eat, process. All in the comfort of an assassin’s home. 

Compared to your personality, the cabin was decorated warmly. Everything was cozy, earthy, and fresh. The fire crackled comfortably, the plush couch was broken in, and every wooden piece of furniture looked hand-made. Bookshelves were filled with classic books and another shelf collected various music records. The only thing that seemed out of place was the lack of real personal mementos. No pictures, no art, not even knick-knacks. The others didn’t seem to notice or care as they picked through the food left in the kitchen. But for Simon, it left him uneasy.

He recalled the briefing before they were sent to the middle of nowhere to you. Kate said that you were an old friend of hers from high school. You have been friends ever since, but you were different than most people. You were a deadly assassin unknown by the world. No records, no pictures, not even a birth certificate. You handled delicate problems with grace and grave justice. You always worked alone, you didn’t trust others, and you were deadly. Everything about you was a secret until Kate made the crucial choice to ask for your help. Hell, they didn’t even know your call sign until Kate said it over the video call. 

“You should eat, Lt. There’s a lot of options, but they’re dwindling fast.” Soap patted him on the shoulder, awakening him from deep thought. Ghost looked up at the sergeant, watching him stuff a sandwich into his mouth. It looked like all the deli meat from one packet was in between the bread. No lettuce or tomato. 

“In a bit. I’m gonna talk to Hex real quick and ask some questions.” He replied and got up from the couch. 

Soap swallowed nervously. “Kate said that she’s gonna need time to cool off. . .”

“Our new member is part of the team now. She’s gonna have to get used to us even if she wants time for herself.” He justified it with a shrug of his shoulders. Soap shook his head and walked back into the kitchen, knowing that what Simon was about to do was most likely going to be a bad idea.

Ghost walked down the hall, observing each door as he passed them. Most of them were slightly open revealing extra bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom. Only two of them remained closed, both locked with keypads. For a second, he wondered which bedroom was yours before he could hear the sound of light music behind one of them along with swearing. It made him wonder what was behind the other door that was locked down.

Deciding to let it go for now, he approached your door and knocked. “Hex, open up.”

He heard you let out a frustrated groan before the door opened up. It was only just enough to see you, the pure darkness behind you, and the blood dripping down your fists. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and quirked a brow that you couldn’t see behind the mask. It didn’t take a genius to realize what you had done. “Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?”

You scowled at him, a fire in your eyes that made Simon’s heart skip a beat which confused him. He wasn’t afraid of you, so why would his heart alter its beat for you?

“If I knew that you were just going to insult me, I would’ve shot you dead on my porch.” You bitterly snapped, moving to close the door in his face. However, Ghost stopped it from slamming and took your hand in his, observing the damage you’ve done to yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat. Electricity ran through you at his touch. When was the last time someone has touched you? You attempted to pull back, but his hand firmly gripped yours. “Hey! What the fuck? Let go of me!”

“Calm down and let me see. It hurts, doesn’t it? Stings?” 

You narrowed your eyes, but eventually nodded. It did sting and the dripping blood already stained your carpet. However, you could take care of it yourself. You didn’t need some man coming in to try to fix you. “I’ll be fine. I can tend to it myself.”

“First aid in the bathroom?” He asked, seeming to ignore your clear hint that you wanted to be alone. 

Understanding that he probably wouldn’t drop this until he saw gauze around your knuckles, you headed to the hall bathroom with a huff, opened up the cabinet, and took out the first aid kit. You then took a seat at the edge of the tub and began patching yourself up. Every now and then you looked up towards the doorway, making sure that the skull man was watching you take care of yourself. Without his help. Without anyone’s help.

Finally, your hands were wrapped and the bleeding had stopped. You held up your hands towards him. “Happy now? Will you leave me alone now?”

“Hex.” Ghost simply said as a warning. God, you were infuriating. An attitude problem was something he would normally be able to snuff out immediately. He did it all the time when training new soldiers. Not you though. New soldiers were like little candles, easily blown out of their fire with just a breath. You? You were like a raging forest fire. One that clearly had its own traumas over years of service that the world may never know. 

You didn’t like how he studied you. How his eyes trained on you were a mix between hatred, curiosity, and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A magnetic pull that begged for you to look at him too. You also didn’t like how he was trying to treat you like one of his rookie soldiers. The only thing you wanted to do to make it all stop was to push him away. “Don’t talk to me like some new recruit straight out of school. I’ve already earned my place in the world with the amount of scars I have. So, don’t treat me like I’m under you. I won’t even let your captain talk to me like that.”

After putting the first aid back where it belonged, you attempted to leave the bathroom and retreat back to your bedroom. Yet, Ghost wasn’t giving up just yet. His hold body blocked the bathroom exit. He was tall, strong, and sturdy. It wasn’t hard for him to completely fill up the space. However, that didn’t intimidate you. You got up close, and looked straight into those icy blues. Even with the black warpaint, you could tell that his lashes were meant to be blonde. Some of the paint had flecked off revealing some true color. You wondered what the rest of his face looked like for a second. Just a second.

You stood your ground, engaging in a heated staring contest. It was like lightning crackling between the two of you. After a while though, Simon finally gave in and held his hand up like a handshake. “Lieutenant. They call me Ghost.” 

Hesitantly, you took his hand and firmly shook it, refusing to back down from a battle of wills. “Hex. That’s all you will know me by.”

Suddenly, he pulled you in closer, your chest almost touching his. On instinct, you pulled a knife from the waistband of your underwear. It was the one you took with you earlier for the showdown at the door. You held it to his neck, blade dipping in until you could feel the push back of skin. Ghost didn’t flinch or jump back at your defense. Instead, he whispered into your ear that he wanted to get close to in the first place. “As hard as you may try to fight it, you’re going to know me. And I’m going to know you.”

You bit back the shiver that went down your spine from the whisper, aching to slice his throat in retaliation. Chalice had you pinned, though. You had to avoid killing the people you are going to be working with at the very least. 

Ghost slowly backed up and headed back towards the kitchen for some food, leaving you to process what just happened. You silently walked back to your room without looking back at him, ears turning red and heart racing unnaturally. You didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by giving him any more attention. However, Simon was already somewhat satisfied. 

Yet, there was a part of him that wanted more.

Soap was eating a piece of lasagna when he walked in. Gaz and Price were quietly conversing at the other end of the island. It took a lot of food to fill up men like them. It wouldn’t take long for them to eat you out of your house and home unfortunately. 

“So, how did it go?” Soap nosely inquired. As Simon surveyed the food before picking out a tupperware full of stew, he shrugged casually.

“She almost sliced my head off.”

Soap suppressed a chuckle and did his best impersonation of Laswell. “Sounds like it went smoothly then.”

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Sep 28th

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1. hello itmf request for madam lan (twin jades mom) fics where she lives and meets wwx as lwj's partner. ive read sami's fics with her alive, and i just got to read more. canon or modern era is fine. thank you for your hard work as always!

Every Mother’s Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, WangXian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, Madam Lan rescues women from abusive husbands in feudal Japan and honestly that’s so valid of her, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & Qingheng-Jun)

💖 Do you want to hear by allollipoppins, dameauxgentianes (T, 12k, WangXian, time travel fix-it, canon divergence, not everyone dies au, epistolary, Madam Lan lives, minor character death, dark LWJ, Lan WWX, bad parents JFM & YZY, good uncle LQR, no sunshot campaign)

🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, WangXIan, Canon Divergence, Fix It, Not Jiang Family Friendly, JFM & YZY Bashing, Fix it for our main characters, Time Travel, Butterfly Effect, Madam Lan Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, Artistic License, Unreliable Narrator, JC Bashing, non-yunmeng WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Good Uncle LQR, OOC, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX gets the love and care that he deserves from the very beginning, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiangs, verbal and physical (c/o Zidian) abuse from YZY)

no step had trodden black by Stratisphyre (T, 32k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, madam lan lives, past rape, golden core reveal, hurt/Comfort, referenced to attempted suicide & suicidal thoughts, canon-typical violence)

pale shadows of forgotten names by Chrononautical (T, 56k, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Good Sibling LXC, Badass LXC, He gets there in the end it just takes a while, Not particularly JGY friendly, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the universal fear of growing up to become one of your parents, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives AU, Except WN but he’s very polite, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between wangxian, Drunk LWJ, to lighten the mood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Traumatized WWX, though he will not admit it, Taking time to heal, canon-typical communication skills)

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2. ITMF: A fic where JWY is a protective sibling. A fic where you cant help but picture him as a cat that hissed to LWJ and JZX with his siblings behind him. It doesnt have to be the focus of the story. Thanks

What If..... Jiang Cheng Understood? by ToxicAngel13 (M, 66k, WIP, WangXian, Ribbons, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WangXian Get Married in the Cold Springs Cave, Protective JC, Confused WWX, Angry LWJ, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Uncle LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, YZY Bashing, POV JFM, Not JFM Friendly, Hurt/Comfort, Protective NHS)

Trust in my Word by TheObsoleteOne (E, 40k, WIP, WangXian, XiYao, ChengSang, A/B/O Dynamics, Protectiveness, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Omega WWX, Alpha LXC, Alpha LWJ, Good Sibling JC, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Soulmates, Protective LWJ, Precious WWX)

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3. Hi! I’m looking for fics that diverge from canon at the Xuanwu of Slaughter cave, I would love something where they’re not so sick but they’re trapped with each other or where they get together at that point! @alienspectator

Five Things That Didn't Happen in Xuanwu Cave series by Deastar (E, 26k, WangXian, Xuanwu of Slaughter Cave, Fluff Marriage Proposa,l or perhaps more accurately discussion of marriage proposal, Rule 63, Gender Changes, Female WangXian, very soft despite the setting, Kissing, Non-Oblivious LWJ and WWX, Class Issues, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, Huddling For Warmth, LWJ is on the Asexuality Spectrum, what if the famed horny clench was actually solely a toppy clench, Service Top LWJ, cute tentative D/s dynamics, like the baby fawn stumbling around on its wobbly little legs version of D/s dynamics, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Dirty Talk, Omega LWJ, Omega WWX)

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4. Hello, could you please recommend the fics where lan zhan has a huge inner critic and can't cope with expectations of him and the contradictions of others to the rules he was raised with.

Like people acting , dumb, rude, hypocrite and he judges

And if Wei Ying is ok with him being judgemental and helps him

Thank you!

Vandalize by The_Gourmet_Gamer (E, 66k, WangXian, Modern, Vampire, Hurt/Comfort, Forbidden Love, Religious Guilt, Homophobia, Anxiety, Eventual Happy Ending, Blood Kink, First Time, First Kiss, Smut, Consensual Non-Consent)

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5. Hi! i’m looking for fics where jiang cheng loses his golden core but wei wuxian decides to not give up his own for him.

This could be time travel fic or fic where wwx decides he has more to live for and couldn’t ruin his future. I’m not necessarily looking for jc bashing but i wouldn’t mind it either! thank you for all your help 🫶

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending) Time traveller WQ stops the operation & talks WWX out of doing it

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) Time traveller WWX decides to leave the cultivation world behind right after the fall of Lotus Pier, so when JC inevitably loses his core, WWX isn't around to fix it

Half of my soul by Asphodel_Meadow (T, 8k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Fix-It, 5+1 Things, kinda soul bond but with their golden cores, POV Outsider, POV Alternating)

violent delights by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account) (T, 4k, WWX & WQ & WN, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Transfer, No Golden Core Transfer, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Found Family, Canon JC Characteristics)

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6. Greetings and thanks for all you do! I seem to have read a lot of fics lately that are not JC or JYL friendly. It's gotten me down and I'd vowed to skip those for awhile. Today I read a fic that wasn't tagged as such, so it caught me unawares. 😥 I still read it bc I found the main plot enjoyable. But now I'm definitely ready for some recent fics that are happy endings for all the Yunmeng siblings. 🙏

The most dangerous thing is to love by KatAnni (E, 113k, WangXian, Golden Core Reveal, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Hurt!WWX, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-it, Medical Procedures, Fainting, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Asexual JC, homophobia doesn’t exist here, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Wedding Night, Whump)

Tether by WithBroomBefore (T, 40k, WangXian, SangLi, WWX’s passive suicidality, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Lives, JYL Lives, Golden Core Reveal, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV JYL, Grief/Mourning, Sunshot Campaign, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, LWJ makes friends, Fix-It, Happy Ending) these aren't really recent but The most dangerous thing is to love and Tether otherwise fit the request.

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7. Hihi 🫶 itmf for scary yllz Wei wuxian, just anything with wwx being insanely powerful and spooky!

No jc bashing or a/b/o please

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect) link in #8

Old Foreshadows by protos_metazu_ison (M, 15k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, War, Universe Alteration, Sunshot Campaign, Rated For Violence, Timeline What Timeline, Mojo’s post)

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

transmuter by WithLoweredVoices (Not rated, 113k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Magical Realism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending) if the requester doesn't mind modern magical realism: transmuter

~*~

8. ITMF: where after wwx dies like in canon or give up yin tiger tally and vanishing with wen remnant, the jin start showing their color. I want them to remember wwx warning that said the jin wants to replace the wen. I want that when i read the fic give the feel that wwx says "i told you so" Or "you chose the wrong person to put your trust to". Thanks!

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect)

~*~

9. Helloooo~

I'm really in the mood for Wei Wuxian embracing the GusuLan sect and having his very own forehead ribbon! Do you beautiful people know of some? @lostandmessedup

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

🔒 The Straightest Path by meyari (T, 30k, WangXian, NieLan, MingLi, ChengSang, war and death, Grief/Mourning, Politics, plotting for neuroatypicals, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Non-Canon Relationship, No Yīn Iron, Sect Leader LWJ) which has Wei Ying marrying into the Lans after the burning of Cloud Recesses but I honestly don't remember if getting his own forehead ribbon is featured in this story.

~*~

10. Would love to see people's favourite fics featuring switch dynamics and/or bottomji. Bonus points for subji (does not need to coincide with bottomji). @linderel

Respectable, Decent, and Quiet by Theotrix (E, 5k, WangXian, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, repressed lwj, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Loud Sex, Emotional release)

this bed of love by YaYa (Terabyte_my_ass) (E, 4k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Tender Sex, its so fucking tender and soft, super sensitive LWJ, Blink and you miss it humiliation kink, and a little bit of praise kink, First Time Bottoming, Bottom LWJ, POV LWJ, Coming Untouched)

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Time, Pining while fucking, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Angst with a Happy Ending, CQL Verse, almost everybody lives/almost nobody dies, epistolary-ish, canon-ish side pairings, radishes) Been a while since I read it, but IIRC this longfic has bottom!LWJ

Requester might also be interested to know there's a Bottomji event due to start posting stuff in a few days

Howling by MimiSpearmint (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mortal Instruments Fusion, Horror, Eldritch, Domestic Fluff, Single Parent WWX, Witchcraft, Getting Together, shifter!lwj, yllz!wwx, Intercrural Sex, Hand Jobs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Switch WangXian, a bit of a degradation kink, anti-STI sex talismans, Anal Sex, Oral Sex)

best laid plans by ilip13 (E, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Also some angst for our suffering hero, Developing Relationship, Porn with Feelings, An Ode to Switching, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Unreliable Narrator)

pretty things by ablinka (E, 7k, WangXian, Modern, Established Relationship, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Submissive LWJ, Trans Male Character, Trans LWJ, Trans WWX, Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Vaginal Sex, Strap-Ons, tdick penetration, dysphoria plays a significant role in the fic but does not actually occur, [slaps roof of pwp] this bad boy can fit so much fucking gender in it)

all of ScarlettStorm's fic but especially 花束 | bouquet by ScarlettStorm (E, 7k, WangXian, PWP, Rope Bondage, Flower Arrangement, tender kink, A Nice Afternoon ™, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom WWX, Sub LWJ)

~*~

11. ITMF: I read many tgcfxmdzs fic where hualian is wwx (or any character in mdzs) parents/guardian/teacher, is there a fic that are opposite of that? Like WWX is Hua Cheng teacher or something? Thanks

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12. hello! for the next itmf I was wondering if you could rec fics where jc and lsz start developing an uncle-nephew relationship. no modern aus please

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

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13. Hi!!! This is for itmf. Is there any fic where

A) the Yiling town people protect Wei Wuxian

B) the civilians realise that cultivation world is the villain and protect Wei Wuxian and the Wen Remnant.

Thank you in advance❤️ @chibiizzy

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14. hello and thank you for the work you do! i was wondering for the next itmf if you have recs of post-canon lxc and wwx developing a brotherly bond. it would be nice if lxc apologized to wwx for what he said at guanyin too

Preparing the Soil by Rynne (T, 26k, WangXian, LQR & LWJ, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Family Conflict, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Chinese Holidays, Chinese New Year, Birthdays, Good Kid LSZ, Meta Arguments, POV LWJ, Protective LWJ, Married WangXian, LWJ’s Birthday, LSZ’s Birthday, Soft WangXian, LWJ Has to Talk a Lot, Gusu Lan Sect Rules, Gusu Lan Sect, Letting Go of Resentment, The WWX Rule, Good Sibling LXC, Improving Uncle LQR, Grappling with the Lans’ Part in the Siege, learning to be better, Music, LWJ is a Composer, LWJ Is Good at Communicating Actually, Not JC Friendly)

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, POV Outsider, 5+1 Things)

Of poisons and forgiveness by Anonymous (G, 1k, LXC & WWX, POV LXC, WWX deserves to be taken care of, WWX Needs a Hug, Hurt WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning, Poison, Talking, Apologies, Post-Canon, WWX is a Lan, by Marriage, LXC considers joining WWX protection squad tbh, WWX appreciation)

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15. Hiii , looking for fics where wwx did s*x (sex) work(or something like that) to earn money for the burial mounds settlement, and lwj caught him / learned about it.. thx!

🔒 Tender by Deastar (E, 20k, WangXian, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Sex Work, (not between the main characters), love in the time of income inequality, Canon Divergence, Hopeful Ending, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon)

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16. Hello, itmf WY being calm, serious in his communication with LZ during cr period. Like his laughing and being brash is a disguise most of the time, but the way he approaches LZ is sincere.

Thank you 🙏

~*~

17. Thank you for all the work you do!

For an I'm In The Mood For: I'm in the mood to read:

A. Wangxian fic where the emphasis is on their relationship developing, any sex is fade-to-black or implied/way off "screen" and/or

B. Fic featuring asexual Wei Ying or Lan Zhan or both.

I'm just super tired of fics that are 90% PWP. (Can't believe it, but I am, lol).

17A)

through a window softly by impossibletruths (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Neighbors, Music, They Play Music Together But They’ve Never Met, It’s very romantic, Graduate School, WWX Is Doing Music Education and LWJ Is Doing Composition, Music As Love Language, Just A Whole Lot Of Classical Music In General, Podfic Available, Spanish Translation Available, Russian Translation Available)

fish & wild geese by impossibletruths (T, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, Farm/Ranch, Poetry, Grief/Mourning, Cooking, Catharsis, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hunger as a Metaphor for Grief, Farming as a Metaphor for Healing, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Mentioned Madam Lán)

🔒 The Promises We Make by Mayarenerose (G, 34k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LWJ & WN, LWJ & JC, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, Gratuitous Bed Sharing)

And Yet Here You Are by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Cloud Recesses, settling down, Separation Anxiety, Teacher WWX, very light angst, Chief Cultivator LWJ)

17B)

Picture Perfect by manaika (M, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, Past Relationship(s), Widower WWX, Grief/Mourning, Getting Together, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Stepfather WWX, LSZ is a Wèi, Single Parent WWX, Aromantic Relationship, Platonic Life Partners, it’s all in the past and only mentioned/discussed when relevant, Sex-Favorable Asexual WWX, RomanceHurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Food Intake Related Medical Issue (not what you think) )

🔒 The Bunnysitter: a Post-it Romance by theLoyalRoyalGuard (G, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, really it’s just soft and fluffy, with a tiny bit of angst for seasoning, Asexual LWJ, autistic LWJ, adhd WWX, I mean he’s basically the ADHD poster child, cellist LWJ, Hacker WWX for justice, background 3zun, [Podfic] The Bunnysitter: a Post-it Romance by Cathalinareads (Cathalinaheart) )

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[sprite-and-the-bunnydragons]

Linked Seas—Mer AU General Lore

Posting these ahead of MerMay next week! Expect adventures in this world very soon😁

Also! If anyone has asks about this AU, I have major brainrot over it and would LOVE to yap if given the chance/a general direction

Without further ado, here’s the general lore:

taking kind of a Warrior Cats approach to this, and giving the mers their own (highly territorial) pods/clans/tribes/etc. Each tribe has their own laws and customs. Most of them get along fine unless someone encroaches on their territory. With only a few exceptions, you stay in the tribe you’re born to. Lose your tribe or weren’t born into one? Too bad (see “Scavengers” in the next post).

But the Demise Tribe has started destroying and taking over weaker tribes and expanding their empire across the ocean. The only groups to stand up to the Demise Tribe and survive (or even win in a few cases) are the Wisdom Tribe and the Chain Tribe.

Mers can have a wide range of tail colors/styles, and not all of them are based on actual fish/sea creatures. For instance, Twilight has a shark build, but his tail fin is built like a dolphin’s fluke and he has Twili markings down both sides. He also doesn’t need to keep swimming to breathe. Legend would have had a frilly, gorgeous tail, but because of his lifestyle, he’s lost/injured off most of his ornamentation (see his section in the character post).

Mer also have natural abilities with magic, some more than others. They do have to learn individual spells, though. Transforming into a human is a complicated spell, and not many bother with learning it. Most mer don’t care too much about what happens on the surface. For reference, the surface is your typical Hyrule, medieval tech/customs with magic. Not terribly important to the stories, but it’s there.

There’s no monetary system between the tribes, it’s more of a barter system. Mer tend to be excellent hagglers.

Mer have longer lifespans than humans by a few decades, and age slower than humans. Guppies (kids) are from birth up to around age 15-16. Adolescents/Adoles (teens) go from 15-16ish to their early twenties. Adults start from early-mid-twenties and up. Mer don’t show much sign of aging until they’re at least 80 years old.

Time and Malon are in their 40s-50s (roughly equates to 30s for humans, like in the comic). Warriors and Twilight are technically adults, but not by much. Sky’s on the cusp of adulthood, still classified as an adolescent. Wild, Hyrule, and Legend are all around the same age, hovering between guppy and adolescence. Wind is solidly a guppy and hates every minute of it. Aryll’s even younger, which takes some of the sting out for Wind. Everyone’s afraid to ask Four and Shadow’s age (they’re twins separated at birth, recently reunited in this au). They just … don’t seem to grow. Wind’s started a rumor that Four and Shadow are secretly immortal. The twins have neither confirmed nor denied this. They’re fine with being lumped with the guppies for now.

Mer tribes are HIGHLY protective of their guppies (and often adolescents). Some tribes (like the Chain) keep them in a separate, guarded nursery until their scales thicken and they’re strong enough swimmers to explore close to home. Most mer in tribes take care of the younger ones, regardless of whose offspring is whose.

Mer are extremely social and tactile. They thrive on physical affection. Without it, guppies grow up smaller and sicklier, if they survive at all. Most mer become anxious and prone to disease without a strong family/tribe group.

Most clothing is optional for mer, but they tend to prefer the extra protection and adornment. They love jewelry as a general rule, but are also prone to collecting other interesting items. Once a guppy becomes an adolescent, it’s tradition in most tribes for each tribe member to give the young one a gift. Gift giving is common among mer for holidays, festivals, and often just to show affection and care.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

[ray935sworld]

Black cat magic (Pedrenzo)

- The Dani Pedrosa cat shapeshifter AU that was really needed. - Part 1

Tw: short mention of self worth issues

Sometimes Dani thought it was a bad joke. He was a bad joke. His whole existence and being and... His ability. He didn't know what else to call it.

He didn't understand it. He didn't know how and he refused to ask so he just accepted that the universe probably had a good laugh when he created him. He couldn't explain it to himself any other way.

The smallest rider could make himself even smaller. Just one thought, a little bit of concentration and he'd turn into a small cat.

Not a kitten, a regular, adult cat just like he had grown up. When he had been a kid, his cat self was a young cat as well. He grew up in both forms.

But even as he cat, he looked like he had stopped growing too soon. Just like he did. In cat and human form, he was smaller than average.

And he didn't just turn into any cat. He'd turn into a black cat. Pitch black. That and his dark brown eyes that almost looked black, made him look like a ball of darkness.

But above all - the unluckiest rider on the whole grid turned into a black cat. A black cat. The symbol of bad luck ever since the medieval time. The more he thought about it, the more he heard whoever gifted him this ability giggle.

Maybe he was his own bad omen?

He didn't really believe in stuff like that, so he just decided that the universe, the gods, karma or whatever was responsible for all this, had thought they were really funny the day he was created.

He accepted it. He couldn't do much more but telling himself he was okay with it, felt like he had at least some say in this. He accepted being the punchline in the joke and decided to make the best out of it.

Being a cat shapeshifter had it's advantages after all.

He could just sneak around the paddock, no one batting an eye. Nobody cared about him - except for the occasional pats that he either gladly accepted or he could just run off without being slandered for it later - no one asked questions, shoved a camera in his face or yelled the occasional insult behind him when he was just passing through.

He had gotten used to it by now. He had to. In a sport like this you'd need a thick skin. Or thick furr. Dani had both.

But he appreciated the calm and quiet he got out of being a cat.

He knew he could try and sneak into the garages, get a peak of the best bikes currently on the grid, trying to find out what made them better, but at the end of the day, he never managed to get any actual details.

Maybe because he would always get picked up by a mechanic, sometimes get lifted up like simba in the lion long while announced they had a visitor. He got some pat pat pats on the head - sometimes with the thick gloves which felt weird and rough on his head - and some cuddles.

So he just decided to wander around the paddock, appreciate and watch the chaos around him without being dragged into it. He could lay on the sun. Enjoy the fresh air.

And by now he was sure he knew the word for 'cat' in the language of every country they traveled too. He enjoyed entertaining the fans like that. Approaching the young fans, run around them, play a little. Especially with those wearing samurai 26 merch.

He had gotten quite popular in the paddock too. The people always traveling, riders and team members, had noticed that where ever they were, the small black cat appear too, sooner or later. There had been a silent agreement that it must be the cat of someone on the paddock, even if no one ever stepped up to say it was there's.

"We think it's one of the mechanics" Casey explained one evening. "But they can't say because they aren't actually allowed to bring the cat. So Panther is just roaming around freely and being silently taken to every race"

Dani nodded in agreement. At least part of it was true. But then he blinked in confusion. He had never heard that name before.

"Panther?" "Yeah" Casey nodded. "I mean - the cat needs a name, right? And since we don't know it's real name - Panther. I mean, it's a black cat. He looks like a panther."

Dani chuckled. He couldn't really deny it or put anything against it. He did look like a panther. And he was fast. And telling him his name would give the game away.

So he just smiled.

Now it was one of those nights. He needed to relax, calm down, be outside without having people stare at him. So - panther it was.

It had been a rather shit weekend. He had crashed. More than once. His whole body was sore. His muscles were aching and he was tired of his team.

He liked them. He really did. But right now he didn't want to face them again after having to explain his stupidity in details already. So escaping on silent paws really seemed like the best idea so he could just lay down in peace.

So he did. He was hiding between some containers, enjoying the last bits of sun from the day. Soon they would disappear but now he felt them warming his furr. He did a big stretch to really enjoy the moment.

His claws went over the ground. An even sound was created. He listened to it, his eyes closed. He thought about nothing. The day was forgotten. The crash never happend. Everything was fine.

He was just relaxing. He was calm. He knew he'd be left alone. He was happy.

He was so deep in his little moment, that he didn't hear the silent steps coming closer. It was only when there was a hand on his shoulder, slowly petting him all the way down to his side, that he knew he wasn't alone anymore.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement. He flinched, spun around, laying on his stomach now, looking up with big eyes.

He frowned a little when he noticed it was Lorenzo sitting down next to him.

"Hola Pantera" he muttered. Pantera. Panther. His given name changed with the languages of whoever was addressing him. But it was always the same. Panther.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" he asked. His voice was soft. He sounded turred, exhausted. If Dani hadn't known it better, he would have thought he might have cried. But him crying? He couldn't imagine it.

Carefully he reached for him again. Dani blinked at the hand. He and Lorenzo still weren't the best friends. Or friends. Colleagues? Maybe.

They got along. They could talk to each other without threatening to carve the other ones eyes out.

So Dani was hesitant. He wanted to be alone. He wanted his moment of piece and quiet, with no one around him. And now he was here.

He knew he could just - get up. Leave. Look for another spot. Right now he was a cat. No one would hold that against a cat. But something inside him refused. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to leave Jorge alone.

He still wanted to be alone. Yes. He wanted peace. And alone. But somehow he didn't mind having Jorge around while he was having a peace and quiet moment.

Dani refused to think about that too much. He decided he just wasn't cruel. He wouldn't convey his rivalries on his cat side.

He knew how much influence animals could have. They could easily brighten up someone's day. And he wouldn't take that away from someone that really seem to need it. So he didn't. He wouldn't run solely from certain people because they normally had some fights.

And it was quite funny to get some love and appreciation from people that otherwise cursed him.

Jorge was one of those people. Still.

He wasn't really one that paid much attention to his cat form. He had noticed him eying him often. But he barely approached him. And when he did, he had been hiding in some forgotten corner. Never on the main road. Never in sight.

It had taken a while till he noticed it, but when he did, he couldn't help but wonder why. Maybe it was because when Jorge sat down next to him, he'd always have a soft smile on his face.

Just like now. His grey eyes were shining, almost glowing at him. His voice was careful. Not too loud. Not rough. No edges in his words.

He was petting his head, messaging his little ears. Dani leaned into the touch. He turned a little, allowing Jorge to pet him some more. The younger man just chuckled.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked playfully.

He was soft. Dani appreciated it. Soft and careful. Almost like he was someone else. Like he had been switched for a softer version of himself. Same face. Same voice. Other soul. No anger.

There was no yelling, no snarky sarcastic comments. Nothing. No shoving. No bad jokes. No disrespect. He was just being soft.

It made him wonder how much he knew about the younger one really. He wondered which one was the real Jorge.

"Yeah... Well at least you seem to be okay with having me around." he muttered.

He froze at that statement. It was said with such ease as if he was describing the weather but it hold so much more.

There was so much pain hidden in those few words. Dani looked at him, wondering if he actually meant what he was saying.

Slowly he leaned more into his touch. He head bumped him against the hand, hoping to convey a little bit of appreciation towards him.

The only difference he notice were the tears forming in his eyes. This wasn't good. This was NOT good.

And suddenly, he was being picked up by him. Just like that. Off the ground. Off his feet.

A surprise sound left his cat throat. He felt Jorge wrap his arms around him. He was hold very tight. And very secure. He was sitting on the ground cradling the cat in his arms.

"I know you're just a cat and you have no idea who I am or what I'm even saying but - fuck - I - I just needed.. Someone. I have no idea when I last hugged someone and you let me pat you so - Fuck." he muttered and now Dani really felt bad.

"I know I'm pathetic. I'm crying to a cat but I was so fucking stupid today. I'm stupid. I'm useless and - and - I know that." he continued speaking but a deep sob got in between his sobs. Now he was really crying.

With Dani in his arms.

The older one just sat there frozen. On one side he was sure Jorge wouldn't want him to see him like this. He was vulnerable. He expected to be alone. He thought he could yell at the universe without someone seeing him.

He hadn't allowed Dani to see him like that.

"But - I just can't. I fucked up again and I just want a hug. I don't wanna be angry anymore. I'm angry all the time. I'm tired of it."

But on the other hand - he feared he'd break him if he left now. He obviously needed the comfort. He needed to hold someone. Even if it was just a cat. He needed the comfort of touching another living soul.

And Dani would not break that. So he just stayed silent, leaning against him. He nuzzled a little hit in his hug, as if he was making himself more comfortable in his arms. He softly pushed his head against his chest. Right where his heart was.

"And-" Jorge was still talking. But chocking out words might be the better phrasing. "I never do anything right! Not riding. Or - Or the - the PR. They... They all - ha-a-ate me... Like everyone. I have no friends. No - No one to rant to - and..."

He felt like the words were swallowing him whole. "I try! I try to be a good rider and play nice but... I... I want to be a good human. And... I want to be liked. I don't - I don't wanna be like this. I don't wanna be angry. But... What if I'm not and they'll hate me even more? If they hate me for who I am? I mean... I fucking hate myself too so why - why would I expect them to like me? How could I ask them to like me when I can't even stand myself. They will - Fuck and now I'm crying to a cat"

'And the cat feels pretty bad for you now' Dani added in his mind but decided to just try and offer some comfort.

He kept his head against his chest, snuggling up closer. He let out a soft meow, hoping it would distract the other.

"I'm stupid, I know." He muttered and Dani just wanted to hug him properly. He wanted to wrap the younger one up in a blanket and figure out what made a teenager think like that.

He wanted to protect him and prove him that his words were wrong. Because - that's a teenager crying in the darkest corner of the paddock, telling a cat how useless he is and how much he hates himself and that it's no wonder he has no friends. He didn't like any of that.

They remained like that for a few more minutes. Jorge had gotten a lot more quiet by then. He was still just holding onto the cat like it could safe his life. And really? Maybe he could. He felt a little bit like it.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your sun bathing nap time" he whispered and picked the cat up to look at him. He gave him a soft smile and kissed his head. "Thank you for being my friend. Even if you have no idea who I am."

He sat him down on tbe ground and left. Dani watched how he turned around and made his way back. He just sat there for another moment.

He really wanted to go back to sleep. Sunbathe. Relax. Just like he planned to. But he couldn't. Not after what just happend.

So he got up and ran to his motorhome. He jumped on a stag of boxes opposite and climb through tbe window he had kept open for that very same reason.

In a swift movement, he turned back. His body grew longer and bigger. The familiar burning in his bones tortured him again. It hurt a lot. Every time. But it was only for a few seconds. Only until his muscles adjusted to his other form.

He stood up from the ground and grabbed the clothes he had shed before going on his little walk.

And now he was there. He stood in the middle of the room, suddenly unsure where his need to do something actually lead him. What excatly would he do?

He looked around and bit his lip. Jorge had been crying. Maybe he still was. His eyes would certainly still show it. So he wouldn't even face him right now.

He sighed and decided to make some dinner first. Then he would try and talk to him. He had already decided that enough was enough. Whatever was going on - the crying, the aggressiveness, Jorge apparently not being the asshole he appeared to be - would be over now.

Dani was determined to find out what was going on. Maybe it was to finally settle the picture he had of Jorge. To have it confirmed or denied.

He told himself it was just that. That it was an inconsistency in an already strange picture. It was just something he had to figure out to be able to settle it for his own mind.

But he almost feared it wasn't that. He thought it might be deeper. Not just him being noisy and his need to be correct.

If it was just that, he wouldn't have an emotional reaction to it. He knew he wouldn't feel bad for Jorge. He wouldn't have the feeling of drowning at the thought of what might cause thoughts like this.

And then there was the kiss. The burning sensation that was still on his forehead as an ever lasting reminder of his gentleness. He hadn't imagined it. Or overestimated it. It had been real. And he could still feel his lip - warm, careful and surprisingly soft - against his skin.

After he decided that enough time had passed, the paddock was empty enough, the evening late but mit yet over. It was more than acceptable to go and visit a colleague.

They all did. Even if not all of them would admit it. But sooner or later they would all go to visit someone. They were all humans, no matter how much the world wanted to see them as foreign aliens. They were in need of connections. And getting to know the people you see every two weeks for more than 4 days just seemed normal. And they needed normal. Sometimes.

It still felt weird to Dani. Jorge wasn't excatly on his list of people's he'd visit. But he wasn't on the list of people who he expected to see as vulnerable as that.

So he decided to take a bottle of alcohol. Cheap. But with a good burn, and knocked on Jorge's door.

He pushed the feeling of uncertainty and awkwardness away. He shifted, regretting his ideas. But not enough to run. Not just yet.

Then the door was opened. He saw the younger man stand there, looking at him, confused. He felt his eyes scan him from head to toe.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jorge asked, his voice on edge. Dani just lifted the bottle. He gave him a shy smile. Not to much to look like he was mocking him. Not to little to make him think he wasn't being honest.

"Peace treaty?" he asked. "What?" "It's my offer of peace. We both had a shit race... Why not have a shit race together?" In his head it made sense. But now having it said out loud, it almost sounded stupid.

"You... You want to... Hang out?" the other asked. He seemed uncertain if it was some kind of prank. Dani didn't hold it against him. He probably would have the same reaction if the rules were reversed.

"Yeah. I mean - I can go if you want to. I just thought... Why not?" "Because you don't even like me. Why would you-?" "Yeah well, maybe I'll like you after this? Come on. You can't have only enemies around here."

It was a bold statement. "And we're not yet racing against each other again. Let's make peace before you're a pain in my ass again in MotoGP. I don't want to have the racing fun ruined by some childhood rivalry."

Jorge grinned. Maybe he just wanted to get drunk. Or he liked Dani's reason. Or he was amused that Dani admitted that he would make it in motogo and fight against him once more. Maybe all if it above. Maybe nothing.

Who cared?

"Okay" he agreed with a smile that could mean anything or nothing. "But don't you dare throw up on my sofa, lightweight."

Dani spun around to give Jorge a fake shocked face. "Okay first off all, I can handle way more then you. And that's the first thing you say after a peace treaty?" "Well, if we're friends, I'm allowed to make fun of you, am I not?"

Friends.

Dani tilted his head, aware he had never mentioned anything about a friendship between them. Taht had been entirely on Jorge.

'You really need a friend' he thought. 'You need a friend so much you hold onto the first person that reaches for you. From rivals to friends in a second.'

And he wasn't here to deny it to him. He was here to offer it to him. So he just smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, you are... Fucker" Jorge chuckled and took 2 glasses out the cupboard "Well then... I guess we need to see how much of a lightweight you really are, Pedrosa." "Bring it on, Lorenzo."