#Green Screen Setup

[doink]

How to Create a Green Screen Photo in DoInk

Creating a green screen photo using the DoInk app is a such a quick and easy process. DoInk is often used by educators and content creators to make the most professional and realistic looking images with green screen effects. Here's a step-by-step video on how to create a green screen photo with the DoInk app!

[dkettchen]

a cool 5 hours of footage to edit down for matriarchy finale 🙃

[s-imagination]

Japandi | Living Room CC Pack |Early

Suprise, Suprise Simmers! I'm back with brand new CC pack for The Sims 4!

🌿✨ Discover the serene beauty of Japandi design in this Sims 4 living room setup, featuring 44 unique elements. This space blends Japanese minimalism and Scandinavian functionality with natural materials and a calming color palette. Highlights include a low-profile sofa with green cushions, a woven coffee table, a traditional shoji screen, and elegant wall art. The room exudes tranquility with its harmonious design and thoughtful decor. Perfect for creating a cozy and stylish home in your Sims 4 game! 🌱🪑

With this set you can create your own shelving system, open doors, closed doors, open space with doors, or closed closet, the choice is yours :) I'm continue my Japandi Collection with another room that is Living Room. In future I create more inspired Japnadi rooms so be sure to follow me on Instagram where I upload my progress on current projects.

Set contains:

Sofa

Arm chair

Loveseat

Coffee Table

End Table

Japandi poster

Single Shelf 1x1 ( Short/Medium )

Double Shelf 2x1 ( Short/Medium )

Double Shelf 2 2x1 ( Short/Medium )

Media Cabinet

Long Shelf

Short Shelf

Open Pillar ( Short/Medium/Tall )

Closed Pillar ( Short/Medium/Tall )

Closed Doors ( Short/Medium/Tall )

Open Doors Right ( Short/Medium/Tall )

Open Doors Left ( Short/Medium/ Tall )

Stereo System

CD Player

Mixer

Collection of Books ( 4 diffrent versions )

Book Organizer

Tea Pot

Ink Tray

Ceilling Lamp ( Short/Medium )

Little Weave Frame

THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW!

All items are Base Game compatibile

All of the textures and meshes are made by me, if you like to use them please mention me

Some of the objects are high poly so be careful

If you see any issues let me KNOW!

NOW AVAILABLE ON EARLY ACCESS!

Public realse June 27th!

You can find objects by typing "Japandi" or "S-im" in search bar in game!

[cressidagrey]

The Red Notebook

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Every season, Felicity Piastri keeps a red notebook—meticulously filled with race notes, corner analysis, and tyre data—not for the engineers, but for Oscar.

Warnings and Notes: This adds much needed context to a mention of the Red Notebook in the eventual Silverstone one shot. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Oscar knew every driver had their rituals.

Some tapped the side of the car before lights out. Some listened to the same playlist before quali. Some wore lucky socks. He wasn’t one for superstition. (Unless it was Felicity’s notes tucked into his gloves.)

Oscar was calm, calculated, precise. But if there was one thing in his world that carried the same sacred weight as a prayer before battle, it was this:

The red notebook.

Felicity had been keeping one since he was fifteen.

Oscar had never asked her to do it.

But she did it anyway.

Every season of his career, starting in 2016, from karting to F4 to now, had its own red notebook. Same brand, same size, same weight. Always red. The kind with a soft leather cover and a ribbon bookmark. He’d once asked why that colour.

Felicity had blinked. “Because Racing is in your blood.”

Every year, a new one. Lined up in a quiet row on the shelf at home. 2016. 2017. 2018. All the way through now.

The season’s notebook started the day before pre-season testing. She’d jotted down tyre compound data while he was still learning the steering wheel settings. 

She never missed a race.

Even before they’d been married, even before they’d been anything more than best friends, she’d been the one watching grainy livestreams of karting races at three in the morning. She’d pause, rewind, scribble something, frown, rewind again. Always in pencil first. Always rewatching later with a cup of tea and writing with black ink. 

Oscar still remembered when it started. One day he’d come back to Haileybury from a junior series race, his helmet still damp with sweat, and found her at the kitchen table with a notebook open beside her laptop. She’d been watching his onboard, pausing it at the exit of Turn 9.

"You were lifting earlier here," she’d said casually, as if they weren’t fifteen and chronically exhausted. "Were the rears giving out or was it just the balance shift?"

He’d stared at her. “How do you even—”

She’d shrugged. “I rewatched the last three races. Thought maybe it was setup. But I think it’s tire fatigue.”

She hadn’t been wrong.

She never was.

He’d protested, at first. Told her she didn’t have to. That she could sleep in. That she didn’t need to rewatch every one of his races in painstaking detail. But she’d just looked at him, calm and matter-of-fact.

“I like watching you work,” she said. “And I like knowing how to help.”

Since then, every race season had a notebook.

She’d never stopped. Not in F4. Not in Renault Eurocup. Not in F3. Not in F2. Not even now, when the races were streamed to millions, and Oscar had an entire team of strategists and data analysts and performance engineers.

By the time he got to F1, the habit was ingrained.

Every season had a new red notebook.

Neatly labeled with the year on the inside cover. Oscar – 2019. Oscar – 2020. Oscar – 2021.

 All the way up to Oscar – 2024, tucked beside her laptop, the pen clipped to the side like always.

Each race had its own section—track map hand-drawn in the corner, weather data scribbled in the margins, key overtakes underlined in green, mistakes circled in blue. 

Notes on setup balance, driver behavior, tire drop-off. Observations from free practice. Quali patterns. Sector deltas compared across weekends.

One red notebook for every season.

Lined pages, neatly labelled.

Her handwriting somehow managing to be both clinical and caring.

Oscar sometimes thought about all those notebooks. How they formed a silent record of his life—not the headlines, not the points on a screen, but the real story. The choices. The nuance. The growing.

Oscar had once asked what she’d do with them all.

She’d just smiled and said, “Maybe I’ll give them to you. When you’re old and don’t remember why you did all this.”

But he thought she was wrong.

Because all he’d have to do was look at her.

And he’d remember.

Every Monday night—after every race, whether he won, DNFed, or trundled home in P9—they’d debrief.

Not officially. Not in a team room. Just the two of them. 

Over the phone. Or curled up on a couch somewhere. He’d grab a water bottle. She’d open the notebook. And they’d go through it—one sector at a time.

“You want the good or the bad first?” she’d ask.

And Oscar would always say, “Start with the bad.”

She never softened it. That wasn’t her style. But she never made it cruel. Just observations, always grounded in care.

“You were oversteering into Turn 4,” she might say. “You hesitated on the switchback in Lap 36. And you always get a little sloppy after safety car restarts.”

Then she’d pause. Let him breathe.

“Your tire management in the middle stint was beautiful, though,” she’d add. “And your dive on Lap 21? That was perfect.”

She always ended on that. Something kind. Something true.

It wasn’t just racecraft. She tracked patterns— behavior, tyre drop-off curves, pit wall communications. 

She never shoved it in his face. Never acted like she knew better. She just… saw him. All of him. His driving, his instincts, his cracks, his triumphs. And she held it with reverence. She had, always.

That was Felicity.

Not loud. Not flashy. But constant. Fiercely observant. Quietly all in.

Oscar had always known Felicity was the kind of person who remembered things.

Not in the casual way, either—this wasn’t *oh yeah, I think you mentioned that once* kind of memory.

This was weaponized recall. Pattern-tracking. Observation to the point of quiet obsession.

She always said it wasn’t for coaching. She didn’t have the right license for that.

But they both knew—Felicity’s mind was the license.

Oscar hadn’t missed a single debrief with her since he was fiteen.

Even now — full McLaren kit, media commitments, a dozen engineers and strategists surrounding him — he still came home after every race and sat at the kitchen table with her, red notebook open between them, a cup of tea cooling by her elbow.

She’d never push. Never judge. Just turned a page and say, “I think you started lifting earlier here. Did it feel different?”

And she was always right.

He didn’t know what he’d do without her voice in his ear. Her notes. Her calm, razor-sharp logic that made him better every single season — not by force, but by faith. She believed in him like it was a given. Like his success was a shared equation they were solving together.

That notebook was sacred now. A quiet, red witness to every win, every loss, every hard-earned point. 

Felicity never missed a race. Never skipped a page. Never stopped showing up, quietly and completely, with the kind of devotion that made him ache.

And Oscar knew how lucky he was to be loved like that. To be studied and understood and quietly backed with a red notebook full of margins and maybes.

By 2023, the red notebook wasn’t just Felicity’s anymore.

It was still hers in the way rituals are—quiet, sacred, consistent. But now it had new fingerprints on it. Smaller ones.

Bee had started watching races more intently after the summer break that year. Not just to cheer for “Papa’s car” or to spot “the man who always says ‘box box’ in the funny accent.” No—she started paying attention. The way Felicity did. The way Oscar did.

It began with questions.

“Why did the other car pit sooner than Papa?”

“Was he happy with that last lap?”

Oscar hadn’t thought much of it at first. Just curiosity. The kind of natural interest you’d expect from a kid who was surrounded by racing. And who could identify tyre compounds before she could spell tangerine.

But then, one day after the Dutch GP, he opened the notebook and found a sticky note wedged between Lap 28 and 29. Bee’s handwriting was still wobbly, more squiggle than letter, but it was there. Carefully written in her purple glitter pen:

“I think Papa was fast in the twisty bits. The Red car was slow. Tell him?”

He’d laughed. Soft and stunned and warm all over.

Felicity had just smiled. “She asked if she could help.”

After that, it became a thing.

 Usually marked with a tiny star, or Felicity’s added annotation: “Bee’s call. She might be right.”

And the thing was — sometimes she was.

Bee had an instinct for rhythm. For flow. She couldn’t articulate it like her mother could, but she felt when something was off. Her feedback wasn’t technical, but it was honest. Raw. Oscar had learned not to dismiss it.

After the Japanese GP, she had scrawled, “Car sounded grumpy today.” Turned out there had been a small issue with engine mapping.

Bee’s contributions were scattered throughout the pages like little bursts of joy — added while Felicity reviewed footage with her on her lap or at the table. Sometimes Oscar came home to find the notebook open beside a half-drunk juice box and a crayon drawing of Turn 4 with a heart around it.

He never took them out.

Felicity never corrected them either. Never scolded Bee for scribbling in what had once been her own sacred system. If anything, she looked quietly proud.

“She watches with me now,” Felicity had told him once, her voice soft as she passed him the notebook. “She wanted to write something after Suzuka. Said she thought your car was sliding more than usual in the esses.”

Oscar had blinked. “She said esses?”

“Specifically. She said ‘I think it’s the bit where the car goes whoosh whoosh left right left really fast.’ So… the esses.”

Oscar had laughed. Then paused.

Bee was three.

Sometimes she asked questions that made even him pause — about racing lines and brake bias and why tyre wear seemed worse on warmer weekends. 

Sometimes, when Oscar flipped it open after a race, he’d find a different kind of note squeezed into the margins — messier handwriting, uneven spelling, sparkly gel pen in place of Felicity’s precise script.

“You did really really good at the overtake!!” “I think maybe you were sad in the middle. Was it because the tyres were bad?” “Next time try even more zoom!!”

There was one he’d never forget — a page where Bee had stuck a neon orange post-it and written, painstakingly, in huge capital letters:

“I WAS SO PROUD I DID A LITTLE JUMP.”

Underneath, in smaller, steadier handwriting:

Same. – F

Other times she just wanted to draw pictures of his helmet and write “GO PAPA” in shaky block letters across the page. But she was watching. Really watching.

And the red notebook had become a shared ritual.

Oscar would come home after races and find them curled together on the couch, the replay paused mid-turn, Felicity with her pen and Bee with her toy car in hand, mimicking every motion.

And when the notebook was passed to him, it felt heavier. Fuller. Like legacy.

Because in those pages—lined with analytics and corrections and glittery three-year-old commentary—was something unshakeable.

A family.

A home.

And the quiet, unspoken truth:

They saw him.

Every lap. Every decision. Every tenth gained or lost.

They watched. They learned. They remembered.

And in between the margins and the tyre notes and the childish stickers that said "GO PAPAYA GO!!", Oscar Piastri could read something else:

He was never doing this alone.

And after all these years, Oscar still found himself sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in his hand, watching the girl he loved scribble something in the margin of the notebook — the red one, the current one — and thinking:

She knows me better than telemetry ever could.

He didn’t need a strategist when he had Felicity. He didn’t need a publicist, a hype reel, or a season highlight package.

He had a girl with a red notebook and a brain like fire — and a heart that chose to use it for love.

And when he won—really won—it would be written there, too.

In pencil first.

In ink, later.

With love, always.

Written down. Every season. Every race. Every lap.

[windyengel]

Wip Wednesday?

Phantom floated lazily in a half-circle above them, legs crossed midair, arms tucked behind his head, that too-wide grin stretched across his face like a mask stitched on with mirth and menace.

“Let’s make a deal, Birdy.”

He spun slowly in place, green eyes glowing like dying stars.

“One date for every pitt I take out. I’ll start with the first one as a sign of grace.”

Somewhere in the mountains of Nanda Parbat, a pool began to bubble. Tim didn’t see it, but he felt it. The room chilled. Something ancient cracked apart. The scanners in Barbara computer rang in alarm.

The pit evaporated.

Not drained. Not destroyed. Undone.

Tim’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

Phantom pointed a glowing finger. “That one’s on me. Next ones are on you. Just say when.”

The second pit started to boil.

Jason surged forward, a hand out. “Stop—”

Phantom’s eyes didn’t leave Tim's.

Tim's eyes never left Phantom's

A third pit broke into steam and green fire.

The fourth trembled before erupting, sending up a column of ghostlight and screams. Somewhere distant, Ra’s al Ghul howled.

Phantom’s grin only widened.

Tim exhaled slowly, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His fingers curled into the chair arms.

Phantom floated closer. “Those were the ones you knew about.” His voice dropped into something deeper, more ancient. “Want me to handle the ones you didn’t?”

Tim’s mouth was dry. “How many?”

Phantom hovered until they were nose to nose. His voice was velvet, soft as snowfall:

“A lot.”

And then he leaned back again with a chuckle, twirling mid-air. “But don’t worry—I’ll only show you the ones I’m destroying. You just tell me when to stop.”

Tim stared at him, jaw tense. He could feel Barbara's eyes flick between them like a tennis match of insanity. Jason's fists clenched at his sides.

Tim breathed in deep, exhaled once. “...Keep going.”

Screens flickered to life on their own. Oracle’s setup surged with static and data feeds—grainy, spectral images of Lazarus Pits failing, collapsing, boiling away into nothing. Groups of twenty. Then forty. Then eighty.

The room filled with the low thrumming of eldritch static and the faraway screams of something ancient dying.

By the time number (xxx) imploded in a burst of unnatural light, Tim raised a shaking hand.

“Stop.”

Phantom halted mid-spin, upside down, and beamed. “Pleasure doing business with you, Birdy.”

[lymtw]

Feels

You've always done your best to drill into Toji's head that if he ever needs to have a heart to heart with you, you're there. He pushes his more vulnerable emotions down for you because he fears that if you ever see him break down, you'll be scared. Scared of possibly not being able to console him, scared that he'll break things, just scared in the worst ways possible.

Toji keeping it in works out for him anyway, because the man lives to protect your feelings. Your feelings are more than enough for him, even if he teases you for how emotional you are sometimes. He knows you're delicate, and you crumble at things that would be brushed off so easily by him, but that's not to say that he is asking you to modify yourself to make things easier on him. He's a big boy, he can handle hurricanes.

Toji invited you to spend the night at his apartment, bribing you with words that jumped out at you in his messages.

Movie night? My place?

You read the message over and over again for a good minute or so. Your heart started its usual routine of overworking itself, and you cursed yourself mentally for being such a lovesick fool for Toji. You loved the feeling that came with receiving a text from him first. He was looking for you, he was thinking about you, and from what you understood, he wanted to see you.

What's in it for me?

He chuckles behind his screen. You're an unintentional flirt, and it's amusing to him because it's the recurring reason for why you often find yourself wondering how you ended up with just his sheets wrapped around your body. You lack awareness in terms of how you phrase things, and Toji eats it up like a five course meal.

Time with your man. What else could you want?

Snacks, blankets, cuddles, xyz.

You bringing all that stuff with you?

Joking babe. I'll have that all here for you. Just come already.

Fine i'll be there in 10 <3

—

Toji could hear your car as you pulled up outside. He had everything set up on his coffee table. He would never tell you that he paid attention to the minor details of this setup. Maybe it would turn you off to hear that he unwrinkled a corner on a bag of chips, or that he squished the pillows so that they had more shape to them.

You knock, not having enough time to look around the area before the door opens. You're greeted by those devestatingly green eyes, a soft grin on his face when you smile at him. You throw your arms around his neck, causing him to stumble back at the force of your body in your momentum. He chuckles, sneaking a hand behind you to shut the door as you bombard him with kisses all over his face.

"Doll... do-..." you cut him off with your intoxicatingly sweet kisses. He can't help but smile at the feeling. "Doll," he calls, finally snapping you out of your romantic assault.

"Whoops." You laugh, a bright hue forming on your cheeks. "Just... happy to be here, I guess."

"I can tell. You almost ran us into the coffee table."

You take a step back to look at what he laid out for your movie night. It's precious, absolutely treasurable. He remembered your favorite chip brand and flavor, he remembered that you like juice more than soda. Up until now, you didn't know if behind those hunter eyes he actually made an effort to remember you.

"I'm choosing the movie," you say, putting your hand on his bicep.

"Ha, you thought I was gonna fight you on that?"

A smile creeps onto your lips again. "Your house, your rules, no?"

He sighs, remembering the time he said that to you when you proposed that he should get a dog. You insisted and insisted but he didn't want a dog, so as a last resort, he said it. You deflated towards him for a little, but eventually he made you laugh and the hard feelings were blown away.

"Just choose the movie, brat." He flicks your forehead before settling on the couch. Your brows furrow as you rub the stinging area, your expression quickly lifting again when you go to join him.

The snacks were opened before you even decided on a movie. They were looking irresistible, and they are your favorites for a reason.

"Mm... does this one look good?" You turn over to Toji, chewing on a mouthful of crunchy chips.

"Swallow your damn food before you speak." He cracks when you stick your tongue out, chunky and pureed chips sticking to it. "You're so gross."

"We've established that, already," you say, giggling. You turn back to the TV, leaving Toji to ponder your response.

"I'm just gonna scroll through all of these for three seconds and whatever it lands on, we watch. Cool?"

"Whatever you want, babe."

You nod, and do a countdown.

3... scroll... 2... scroll... 1... scroll

"This is it. Get comfortable," you say as if he's not in his own home. "Do you have to pee?"

"Nah, princess." He grins at your question.

"Alriiight," you say, excitedly, before playing the movie.

—

It was a pretty good movie. It was funny, there was romance, and it had a really good cast. You got to a good part in the movie, where the main characters, who are in love, reach dramatic turmoil. The conflict was a choice that the woman had to make. It was between the woman leaving the country for the next three years to make a life for herself, or staying behind with the love of her life, unable to give him everything he wants and more. She was fiercely independent, which was heavily weighing her decision.

You teared up at the dialogue. Both characters were reaching for each other, waiting for the other to say 'I can't be without you' or 'i'll follow you wherever you go'. The result was heartbreaking. The woman left the country, not even stopping by the man's house to say goodbye. She blocked his number and cut off all contact with him, leaving him a total mess.

"What the fuck..." you hear from beside you. You turn to Toji, and when you notice his sparkling eyes, you pause the movie.

"Oh, baby," you coo. His eyes mirror yours, glossy and full of emotional damage. He doesn't give you this rare sight for long. He uses his knuckles to dry his eyes before looking at you again. "You okay?" You brush his cheek.

He takes your hand and puts it to his lips, before using it to pull you closer to him. "Tell me you would never consider pulling something like that," he murmurs between you and him. His face is nose distance away from yours, so you try to pull back. He keeps a firm grip on your hand, holding you there with him.

You use your other hand to hold his face. "I'm not her. I wouldn't do that, Toji. I'm always within your reach." You give him a soft smile, pressing your forehead to his. "Just call and text me all day, or you know, when you miss me. You know, I'll be waiting for it, anyway." You chuckle, gently kissing his face all over again.

He catches your lips with his and pushes you down onto the couch. You don't mind that he's crushing you. Nothing is more important than making him believe that you're not going anywhere, and if that means he has to hold you down with his weight, so be it.

You realized that that movie scene must have resonated somewhere deep within Toji if it managed to bring tears to his eyes. And for that to be followed by a question that didn't sound like him at all... it just made your heart even softer for him.

His hands touch the warm skin beneath your shirt, while keeping the slow steady synchronization of his lips with yours. His hands don't wander to your erogenous zones. Instead, he keeps them on your stomach where he can feel the rise and fall of your breathing. He breaks the kiss, looking at you for a mere two seconds before burying his face into your chest, another area where he can feel you breathing. If he focuses hard enough, your heartbeat will reach his ears, inevitably forcing his to sync with it.

You decide not to say anything else. There's nothing else you could say to the man finding comfort in just being attached to you. You play with his hair, and focus on how fast your heart is beating in your ears, and he sighs because deep down he's hoping you'll stay true to your word. He can't see this happening with anyone else after you.

[synity]

hii can u write dk & woozi's sis who's a soloist + producer ? snippets of their life + carats making edits of them (were seen tgt in the green room & dk looks at them like they hung the stars) and cute interviews abt them

STARGAZER

(Lee Seokmin x FemReader ft.Lee Jihoon)

*Romance, Slice of Life, Rom-Com, Fluff, Idolverse AU, RPF (Real Person Fiction)*

[Green Room, Music Bank – 3:42 PM]

Seokmin sits in the green room, nervously adjusting his mic. He’s half-listening to his members when Y/N walks in, holding a tray of iced drinks with a shy smile.

Y/N: “Oppa told me you like peach oolong. Here.”

Seokmin lights up, eyes practically sparkling like he just won the lottery.

DK: “You’re the best… like actually. I mean—wow, thank you, angel.”

His voice cracks slightly and the staff behind the camera stifle giggles. Jihoon, who had been sitting next to them, raises an eyebrow.

Woozi: “I’m still here, just so you both remember.”

DK: “And I appreciate you too, hyung! Great genetics in the family!”

The interaction goes viral on X (Twitter), with CARATs captioning it:

“DK looking at Y/N like they hung the stars 😭✨ #SEOKYNDY #YNDK”

[Interview with Jihoon – Radio Appearance]

DJ: “So, Jihoon-ssi, we heard a cute rumor that your younger sibling is dating SEVENTEEN’s DK?”

Jihoon smirks, shaking his head.

Woozi: “They’re… loud together.”

laughter

Woozi: “But I trust Seokmin. He’s one of the kindest people I know. If it weren’t him, I might be in jail by now.”

[A CARAT-Made Edit: “He’s So Whipped 💘”]

🎞️ Soft music plays over a montage:

DK walking behind Y/N with a hand on her back protectively.

Y/N giving him a forehead kiss before a stage.

DK’s literal heart-eyes when she walks into a rehearsal room.

A fancam clip where he mouths “I love you” during “Fallin’ Flower” directly at her.

Caption: “This man looks at her like she’s his whole galaxy 🥹🪐🌟”

[YouTube Interview: “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done?”]

DK: “I once wrote a song just using her laugh. I recorded it secretly.”

Host: “That’s… wow.”

DK: “She has this laugh that sounds like wind chimes. Jihoon hyung helped me mix it into the bridge.”

[Text From Y/N’s Private IG Story (Leaked by DK 😂)]

📸 Photo of DK in pajamas holding a cat plushie.

Caption:

“He showed up at my door like this after practice just to say goodnight.” 😭❤️

[Woozi’s Vlive Clip]

Woozi: “I was mixing a track and Seokmin kept smiling at his phone.”

Chat goes: [DK & YN texting?]

Woozi: “Turns out she sent him a video of their dog sleeping. He watched it on loop for 10 minutes.”

[MCountdown Ending Fairy]

Y/N is backstage cheering. DK glances over as he finishes the final pose and breaks into the softest smile.

Camera zooms in.

“That smile wasn’t for the fans this time… 😭🫶 #SeokYNDyForever”

One Quiet Afternoon — DK x Y/N ft. Woozi

The Pledis lounge was unusually quiet that day. Rain trickled down the windows, soft and steady, a rhythm almost matching the calm inside.

Y/N sat curled up on the new gray couch, laptop on her knees, frowning slightly as she scrolled through color palettes for a stage outfit she was designing. Her glasses kept slipping down, and she kept pushing them up with the back of her hand.

DK walked in with two mugs one slightly chipped, filled with hot cocoa, and the other with tea. He placed the cocoa on the small table next to her and plopped down beside her with a little bounce.

"Your eyebrows are doing that thing again," he said.

Y/N glanced at him. "What thing?"

"Like…" He leaned closer, gently smoothing her brow with his thumb. "Like you’re trying to win a frowning contest with yourself."

She huffed a quiet laugh, eyes returning to her screen. "I just can’t pick between this navy or the darker blue. Jihoon’s stage lighting might wash it out."

DK leaned his chin on her shoulder, studying the swatches. "That one," he pointed lazily, “darker blue. He always uses warm-toned lights anyway.”

Y/N blinked. "Since when do you know lighting setups?"

DK grinned. "Since I fell for a genius and started paying attention."

Y/N blushed and looked away.

Suddenly, a quiet voice cut through the peace.

"Can you both shut up?" Woozi muttered from the corner, sprawled out on a beanbag with his AirPods in. "Some of us are actually working."

DK grinned wider. "Some of us are trying to have a cute moment, hyung."

"Try quieter," Woozi grumbled, but didn’t get up. Didn’t even look mad, really.

DK gently took Y/N’s laptop and set it aside, replacing it with the warm mug.

“You work too hard,” he said softly, nudging her head to rest on his shoulder. “Let me do the frowning today.”

She didn’t reply just smiled into her cocoa, sipping in silence while the rain tapped against the windows and Woozi mumbled about deadlines in the background.

Want me to write a version where fans somehow witness this moment from afar? Or a similar one from DK’s point of view?

One Quiet Afternoon

The cocoa warmed Y/N’s hands. DK’s shoulder was warm too solid, familiar. She let her head rest there a little longer.

“You smell like vanilla,” she mumbled.

Dokyeom huckled. “That’s my body wash. I bought it because the name reminded me of you.”

She turned her head slightly. “So I’m… a body wash now?”

He beamed. “No, you’re vanilla cloud comfort essence, obviously.”

Y/N groaned. “Seokmin, you’re impossible.”

“Impossibly cute?”

“Impossibly dramatic.”

Mingyu groaned louder from his beanbag, still not moving. “I beg you. I’m not even trying to third-wheel. You’re just making it impossible to exist in peace.”

Y/N giggled quietly while DK leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “He’s just mad I’m cuter than him.”

“I heard that,” Joshua muttered without opening his eyes.

Dokyeom looked over at both Joshua and Woozi with a sly grin, then back to Y/N. “Wanna sneak out and get tteokbokki before practice? the Hyung won’t even notice.”

“we're literally in the room,” Woozi said flatly.

Dokyeom grinned wider. “But you’re emotionally absent.”

Y/N nearly snorted her cocoa.

They didn’t leave right away. They just sat there for a bit longer DK quietly humming something under his breath, Y/N sketching lazy lines on her screen with her finger, Joshua reading a mazine and Woozi pretending to ignore them all while secretly smiling behind his AirPods.

The rain kept falling, soft and steady.

Outside, a few CARATs lingered by the entrance under umbrellas. One of them spotted the trio through the slightly open blinds Dokyeom's head tilted toward Y/N, her laugh caught mid-motion, and Woozi glaring like a fed-up cat.

The photo would surface on Twitter later with the caption:

"Dokyeom looking at Y/N like she’s his entire sky and Woozi silently regretting introducing them 😭💙☔ #Seokmin #Woozi #Y/N #caratlife"

But inside that lounge?

It was just a quiet afternoon.

No lights. No fans. No edits. Just them. Normal. Soft. Home.

[starset21]

I Know Love Pt.1

Pairing: Lando Norris x Piastri!sister reader

Summery: Lando has always been a friend, her brother’s easygoing, fun-loving teammate. But when a fleeting moment in the garage—a near fall, a steadying touch—sends an undeniable spark through her, she starts to see him in a different light. And she’s not the only one. Oscar notices the shift, and he’s not thrilled.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: Wow a Lando fic? who am I?

The McLaren garage was a controlled storm of movement—mechanics tightening bolts, engineers huddled over screens, the scent of fuel and rubber thick in the air. It was a world she had always been a part of, but this year, it was different. This year, she wasn’t just Oscar Piastri’s sister. She was an engineer. Fresh out of university, she had spent the last year interning with McLaren while finishing her degree. Now officially part of the team, she was living the dream she had worked for—traveling with one of the most competitive teams on the grid, analyzing data, working with some of the brightest minds in motorsport. And yet, as she stood in the garage, taking in the organized chaos around her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. 

She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Lando Norris.

He was perched on the edge of a workbench, race suit tied around his waist, arms crossed as he half-listened to an engineer briefing him about car setup. But his eyes—those sharp green eyes—kept flickering toward her. He had been doing that a lot lately. She tried to ignore it, just like she had ignored the lingering glances, the subtle teasing that felt just a little too personal, the way he always managed to be near her, even when there was no real reason to be.

Lando had been in her life since Oscar signed with McLaren. She had known him as her brother’s teammate, as the guy who spent way too much time in their apartment, as the one who dragged Oscar into ridiculous online challenges and way too many rounds of golf. But now?

Now she wasn’t just Oscar’s little sister who tagged along to races. She was a part of this team. She was someone Lando wasn’t supposed to flirt with, wasn’t supposed to look at like that.

And yet, here they were.

“Hey, rookie!” She turned at the sound of Oscar’s voice, watching as her brother waved her over from across the garage. She rolled her eyes at the nickname. He was already half-suited up, looking effortlessly in his element, the Piastri name printed proudly across his back. “Can you grab the updated telemetry from the board? We need to go over it before FP2.”

“On it,” she called back, already moving. The responsibility of being part of McLaren, of making real contributions to the car’s performance, was still something she was adjusting to. But she was good at her job. She had worked too hard, spent too many late nights studying aerodynamics, data analysis, and race strategy, to be seen as just Oscar’s sister. She was here because she had earned it. Navigating the crowded garage, she focused on her task—until the moment she didn’t. Her foot caught on a thick cable running across the floor, and before she could react, she was falling. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could hit the ground, strong hands grabbed her, pulling her back against a solid chest. 

Everything stilled.

A familiar scent of cologne and race fuel filled her senses. A steady grip held her firmly, keeping her upright. She knew exactly who it was before she even turned her head. Lando. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment too long before he finally loosened his grip. “You alright?” he asked, voice lower than usual, his breath warm against her cheek. Her heart was hammering in her chest—not from the fall, but from this. From him. She straightened quickly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up her neck. “Yeah, I just—” she exhaled, forcing a light laugh, “—was testing gravity. Works great, in case you were wondering.”

Lando smirked, the familiar mischief flickering in his expression. “Good to know. Maybe try not to test it in the middle of a race garage next time?” She rolled her eyes, brushing herself off. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But then, his voice dropped slightly, softer, more serious. “Careful, though,” he murmured. “I’m not always around to catch you.” And just like that, the teasing edge was gone, replaced by something heavier, something unspoken.

Her breath hitched slightly, her brain scrambling for a response, but before she could find one, Oscar’s voice cut through the moment. “What the hell was that?” She spun around to see her brother standing a few feet away, arms crossed, brows raised. Lando immediately stepped back, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just been holding her like that. “Nothing,” she said quickly, shooting Oscar a look. “I just tripped.” 

Oscar’s gaze flicked between her and Lando, his expression unreadable before he exhaled, shaking his head. “Right. Well, try not to break anything before FP2, yeah?” She gave a mock salute. “No promises.” As Oscar walked away, she turned back to Lando, expecting another smirk, another teasing remark. But he was already looking at her—like he was thinking about something he wasn’t saying. She should have walked away. Should have ignored the way her stomach flipped. Should have reminded herself that this was a bad idea. But instead, for a split second, she let herself wonder.

What if?

The garage was alive with movement—mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers cross-referencing data, the rhythmic hiss of drills filling the air as tire changes were simulated over and over. It was the kind of organized chaos she had come to love, the pulse of an F1 weekend beating strong around her. And yet, she felt… off. She was supposed to be locked in, completely focused. But ever since yesterday—since him—something had changed. It wasn’t anything obvious. Lando still moved through the garage like he always did—laughing with the team, listening to the engineers break down data, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. To anyone else, nothing was different. But she knew better. It was the way his eyes flickered toward her across the room, how he never seemed to look away fast enough. It was the way his presence felt closer— lingering near her workstation when he never used to before, standing just a little too near whenever she was giving Oscar or the engineers updates. And it was in the way she noticed him more now, too. She wasn’t blind—Lando had always been easy to look at, and plenty of girls did. She had spent years rolling her eyes at every new headline linking him to a model or influencer. It had never mattered before. So why did she care now?

She was deep in concentration, reviewing telemetry for the upcoming session, when Lando’s voice cut through the hum of the garage. "Whatcha looking at?" Before she could answer, he leaned down over her chair to glance at the screen, one hand bracing against the desk beside hers. His arm brushed against her shoulder, his body heat close enough that she could feel it even through the fabric of her team shirt. Her fingers tensed on the keyboard. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to keep her voice steady. “You suddenly care about telemetry when we aren’t in a debrief?”

Lando smirked. "I care about looking fast. And if you have some secret data to make that happen, I should probably know about it." She rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. “If you’re looking for extra speed, maybe listen to your engineers instead of flirting with them.” His smirk deepened. “Who said I was flirting?” She turned her head then, her breath catching slightly at how close he was. Their faces were only inches apart, and there was something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of amusement, yes—but also something heavier, something deeper than his usual teasing. For a split second, neither of them moved. Then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Lando straightened, grabbing a water bottle from the table like nothing had happened. “See you out there, rookie.” And just like that, he was gone, leaving her heart racing in his wake.

In the engineering office during a quiet moment between FP3 and qualifying. She was sitting at her workstation, buried in a complex set of calculations, when she heard it— Her name. Soft. Slow. Amused.

"Hey, you."

She glanced up and, of course, it was him. Leaning against the desk next to hers, looking far too relaxed for someone about to drive a car at 200 miles per hour. And then he did it again. Said her name, except this time, there was something in the way he dragged it out, a teasing lilt at the end that made her stomach flip against her will. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice level. “What do you want, Norris?” His smirk deepened, and she instantly regretted saying his name. “Just checking in,” he said, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “You seemed stressed earlier.” She huffed, turning back to her screen. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, quieter. She clenched her jaw. Focus. Focus. But then he leaned down, elbows on the desk, close enough that she caught the clean, fresh scent of him—something woodsy and warm that made her thoughts scramble. He tapped a finger against her laptop. “You work too hard.” She forced a scoff. “I think that’s a prerequisite for working in F1.”

“Doesn’t mean you should forget to have a little fun.” She turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re offering?” He grinned. “Maybe.” Her pulse spiked. It was dangerous how easy this was for him.

She thought she was done for the night. She thought she’d made it through without anything happening—without slipping up, without letting whatever this was get to her. But then she stepped into the hotel elevator and the doors started to slide shut, only to be stopped by a hand catching them. Lando. Of course. He slipped in, the doors closing behind him, and suddenly it was just the two of them in the small, enclosed space. And there it was again—that feeling, that unshakable sense that something had changed. They stood in silence for a moment as the elevator started its slow climb. Then Lando spoke, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You’re avoiding me.” She inhaled sharply, keeping her eyes locked on the floor numbers slowly lighting up. “I have not been avoiding you.” Lando scoffed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Oh, really?”

“You’re just in my space more,” she shot back. His lips quirked, but his eyes were serious. “Maybe.” Silence stretched between them. She could feel the weight of it pressing against her chest, thick and heavy. Then, he leaned in slightly. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that his voice was meant just for her. “You know I see you watching me, too, right?” She inhaled sharply. Heat crept up her neck, and she cursed her own reaction. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and stepping into her space. “I think you like me.” Her jaw clenched. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Not denying it, though.” She glared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. But before she could snap back, the elevator dinged, she instinctively stepped away from him and the doors slid open to reveal Oscar standing on the other side. His eyes flicked between them, sharp and questioning. Lando didn’t move for a moment, as if debating whether to push just a little further, but then he stepped back further with a knowing smirk. “See you tomorrow, then,” he murmured before walking past Oscar with an easy nod, disappearing down the hall. She exhaled, realizing just how tightly wound her body had been. Oscar, still holding the door open, gave her a look. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” He didn’t say anything, but she felt his judgment.

[fangirlfuel]

Just Here for Lance

---

Monza, Italy – September 3, 2023

---

You had never been to Italy before, but somehow, it felt like the right place to see your first Grand Prix in person.

Monza was fast, loud, and electric, everything Formula 1 promised to be, and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were only half interested in the race itself. Your eyes weren’t on Verstappen or Leclerc or Hamilton. They were on a different kind of presence. One that wasn’t always on the podium or leading the press conferences, but one you’d quietly rooted for since the moment you got into F1.

Lance Stroll.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself lowkey, unbothered by the chaos. Or how he never gave dramatic interviews or sought attention. He didn’t need to. He just drove. And you liked that. Liked him.

You'd spent the night before the race hunched over a small hotel desk in Milan with a black Sharpie and an old white sheet from your suitcase. The words came easily:

“I’M JUST HERE FOR LANCE.”

The sign was simple, bold, and honest. You weren't trying to be ironic or funny. You meant it.

---

Race Day

The grandstands buzzed with energy. Fans screamed for Ferrari. Red flags and tifosi were everywhere, but you stood out not in red, but in Aston Martin green, your sign held high as the national anthem played and the engines roared to life on the grid.

Lance was starting from the back—P20, due to a frustrating qualifying. The AMR23 hadn’t been kind to him lately, and Monza wasn’t a circuit that offered easy redemption. But you didn’t care about his grid position. You knew how strong he was mentally. He wasn’t someone who crumbled under pressure.

Every lap, you watched the timing screen with bated breath. He made small gains then lost time. The car clearly wasn’t cooperating. But still, he pushed.

You screamed for every overtake. Cursed under your breath when he fell back again. It wasn’t a points finish. It wasn’t even close. He came in P16.

But as the cars rolled into parc fermé and the crowd thinned, you stayed in your seat, holding your sign a little lower now not out of embarrassment, but out of empathy. You knew what that kind of race felt like from the outside. The ones that leave no glory and barely a headline.

---

You didn’t expect him to do much press. Lance didn’t usually speak much after frustrating races. But there he was, on the screen near the podium, still in his race suit, hands on his hips, eyes a little tired.

A Sky Sports reporter asked the usual questions about tire degradation, straight-line speed, and setup issues.

He gave his usual short, honest replies. Calm. Professional.

And then, unprompted, he glanced off camera and grinned slightly.

“Actually, I saw this sign in the crowd. Said, ‘I’m just here for Lance.’”

The reporter blinked. “Really?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “Yeah. Just… yeah. That was nice. After a day like this, that kind of thing... it means something.”

Your heart leapt. Your knees went weak.

He saw you. He noticed you. He remembered.

---

Later That Evening – Aston Martin Paddock

You thought it was a joke when a security guard came to find you in the fan zone, flashing a laminated paddock pass. “You’re the girl with the sign, right?”

You blinked, wide-eyed. “Um… yeah?”

He smiled. “Well, someone saw it. Wants to say thanks.”

The paddock was a world apart. Quiet. Professional. Controlled chaos. Everything gleamed carbon fiber, chrome, and green uniforms. You felt out of place in your sneakers and sunburnt skin, but no one questioned you.

When you reached Aston Martin's hospitality area, your heart was pounding like a race engine.

Then he appeared.

Still in his race suit, the sleeves pushed up, his curls damp from a post-race shower. He looked down at his phone, then up and smiled when he saw you.

“There she is.”

You stood frozen. “Hi.”

He nodded toward the sign in your hands. “So… you really were just here for me?”

You laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah. I mean… I like racing. But yeah. Mostly for you.”

He ran a hand through his curls and let out a soft laugh, the kind you don’t usually hear on camera.

“Well, sorry about the P16. Not exactly a performance worth the sign.”

You stepped forward. “I didn’t make it because of the results.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes met yours with curiosity. “No?”

You shook your head. “I made it because… I’ve been watching you for years. And I don’t think people give you enough credit. You’ve been through so much in this sport and you still show up and fight every weekend. That’s rare.”

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you ,really looked.

“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

You shrugged, feeling the burn in your cheeks. “Well, it’s true.”

Lance gave a small, warm smile. “Most fans want selfies or merch signed. You brought… this.” He gestured to your sign. “It’s kinda awesome.”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He nodded toward the motorhome behind him. “You hungry? The team always has leftovers after the debrief. And I feel like someone who brings that much positivity into the paddock deserves a decent pasta.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

He tilted his head with a teasing smile. “You said you were here for me, didn’t you?”

Your heart melted.

---

Later

You ended up sitting side by side at a small table behind the Aston motorhome, sharing a bowl of spaghetti and stories about how you got into racing. He listened, asked questions, and even laughed when you told him about the chaos of making the sign with hotel laundry.

At one point, he looked down at your hand resting near his and asked, almost shyly:

“So… will you be at Suzuka too?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

He gave you that dry, boyish smile. “Well… I kind of like having someone here just for me.”

You leaned in a little closer. “Then maybe I will be.”

“Bring the sign,” he said, almost whispering.

“Bring me back a top ten,” you shot back.

He laughed, and this time, it wasn’t soft or self-conscious. It was loud and unfiltered.

“Deal.”

---

To Be Continued…?👀

---

If you’ve made it to the end ,thank you. Truly. This story was a little love letter not just to the idea of fandom and soft, unexpected romance, but also to someone in F1 who rarely gets the fair credit he deserves: Lance Stroll.

You might be wondering why I chose Monza 2023 as the backdrop. It wasn’t a big win or a media-highlighted weekend. In fact, Lance started at the very back and finished P16 a race where he barely got any screen time, and most people didn’t even remember where he placed. And that’s exactly why I picked it.

Because this fic isn’t about fanfare. It’s about the quiet weekends the ones where the car isn’t performing, the critics are loud, and still, the driver shows up, puts in the work, and crosses the line. There’s something so human and humble about that. That’s the version of Lance that inspired this story: the one who keeps pushing, even when no one’s watching.

The girl in the stands with her handmade sign “I’m just here for Lance” she’s not just fictional. She represents a kind of fan who exists in real life. The quiet supporters. The loyal ones. The ones who stay even when everyone else walks away. And in this story, I wanted to imagine what it would mean for Lance to see one of those people. And how much it could matter.

Now, let’s address the narrative that always gets brought up when Lance’s name comes up:

“He’s only here because of his dad.”

There’s truth to the fact that privilege gave Lance opportunities others didn’t get. His father, Lawrence Stroll, is a billionaire and now owns the Aston Martin F1 team. Lance’s karting journey and junior career were heavily supported, and he entered F1 young, with significant resources behind him.

But here’s the thing: money can buy you a seat, not talent. Not skill. And definitely not longevity.

Formula 1 is the most competitive racing series in the world. Drivers get replaced all the time ,even champions. Sponsors demand results. Teams make cutthroat decisions. If Lance truly didn’t belong, he would have been gone years ago. And yet, since 2017, he’s:

Earned three podiums, including as a 19-year-old rookie in Baku

Taken pole position at the 2020 Turkish Grand Prix in a car that wasn’t even expected to fight for top spots, and in one of the most challenging wet races in years

Outqualified and outperformed experienced teammates on several occasions

Been especially strong in chaotic or wet conditions, showing real racecraft under pressure

Proven consistent pace in midfield machinery while maintaining a calm, team-first mentality

Is he flashy on social media? No.

Does he beg for attention? Also no.

That’s part of why people overlook him. But Lance Stroll is a serious athlete, and a driver who’s grown immensely, year after year.

What’s also important is how he handles all the criticism. Quietly. Without lashing out. Without playing victim. That resilience alone staying in the game despite the constant noise is something I respect deeply. And it’s what made me want to tell a story about someone choosing to support him out loud, even when the world isn’t clapping.

Because sometimes, even the strongest people need to be reminded they’re seen.

So, to those who are also just here for Lance this was for you, too.

Thank you again for reading. If you want more moments paddock passes, blushing interviews, Instagram thirst traps, maybe a jealous grid girl or two I’m always happy to continue their story.

.

[luvseisagi]

— flowers for you.

ft. nagi seishiro x reader wc. 2.4k

summary. romance with your boyfriend doesn’t need to be grand —sometimes it’s just a flower field in minecraft and a cozy evening together. content. gn!reader, no pronouns used but reader is referred as mom once (as a joke theyre not a parent). fluff, fluff, fluff!! crack (i tried), stablished relationship, nagi might be ooc, also he has a secret villager farm underground... author's note. im not used to write fluff so i hope this is good, tried to make it as cute as possible - just like nagi is :(( also, inspired by a tweet i posted a few days ago (in the header !!)..

𝜗𝜚 english isnt my first language, so any corrections or advice are highly appreciated, as well as feedback (please) ! enjoyy

you wake up to a soft buzzing sound. 

the fluffy blankets covering your body wrap you in a very comfortable warm, and the pile of plushies under your head, serving as your pillow, adapt to your movement when you change positions and end up facing the other side of the bed. 

where you expected to feel an arm, a leg, or a wide back to hug, however, you find nothing but more fluffiness and softness. 

still half-asleep, you open one eye, frowning. in the place where your boyfriend should be, there’s nothing but the huge stuffed seal he won for you at the last spring fair. 

a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you move again, stretching your arms above your head and then yawning. you are more awake now, but you stay in bed, adjusting your position next to the stuffed animal —you wrap your arms around it, and rest your chin over the seal’s head.

the room is dark, illuminated only by the dim light of the monitor. the only sounds you can hear, apart from your breath, are the clicking of the mouse and the keyboard keys being pressed. there’s also the buzzing that woke you up, coming from your boyfriend’s pc —he’s sitting in front of his setup, fully concentrated on the screen.

“you awake?” he asks, whispering in case you’re still sleeping. he doesn’t look at you, his greenish-gray eyes focused on the game his playing.

“mhm.”

you stay in the same position, small smile in your face. you have a perfect view of your boyfriend from there —the white, disheveled strands of his hair slightly toned by the blueish light of the screen. his bangs cover his forehead, some of them so long they brush the tip of his nose. his eyes look tired, as they always do, but his big grey pupils seem concentrated on whatever he’s playing. you can distinguish some traces of green that appear on his eyes only when he is excited, or planning something.

“i put shiro next to you when i left the bed” he says suddenly, taking you out of the trance you were in while looking at him “in case you felt lonely. i didn’t want to wake you up.”

a warm sensation grows inside your chest, slowly spreading throughout your whole body. you can't contain the smile that appears on your face, nor the cuteness aggression that hits you when imagining nagi taking shiro, the stuffed seal, and tucking him under the blankets at your side.

you hug it tighter.

“so” you start, giving your full attention to your boyfriend. he’s wearing a white shirt with some silly illustration on the front, his toned arms practically still, since he is only moving his hands and fingers to use the keyboard and the mouse “what are you playing?” 

he moves his gaming chair a little to the right, giving you space to see his monitor. on the screen, there’s a geometric world you know very well. 

your voice sounds indignant when you exclaim —“sei! you’re playing minecraft without me?” 

you can’t get angry at him, though. especially not when lets out a soft laugh, finally looking at you, puppy eyes asking for forgiveness. you are so cute when you pout, he thinks.

“you’d have complained if i woke you up from the nap” he says, instead. he doesn’t sound very sorry, an innocent grin on his face “you wanna see me play, tho?” 

still pouting, you nod. however, the screen isn’t positioned well for you to see it without nagi having to move constantly, and he wouldn’t be able to play like that.

he solves that rather quickly. before letting you move, or change your position to see better, he stands up and takes your laptop from the side table beside his bed. he’s then sitting on it, taking the place shiro was filling before.

“hey!” you exclaim, moving shiro to your side so he doesn't get crushed by the weight of your boyfriend “be careful. this is our child.” 

nagi laughs again, as softly as he is, and pats cutely the stuffed seal’s head.

“sure, sure, im sorry, kid.” he apologizes to shiro, while he’s waiting for his laptop to turn on “it seems like mom really found my replacement.” 

then he points to you arms, still hugging the stuffed animal tightly. you let out a sigh and roll your eyes in mock exasperation, but you can’t hide the smile creeping up on your face. nagi’s too cute even when he’s acting all dramatic.

you stretch your arm, your hand finding his over the keyboard of the laptop, and it doesn’t take even a second for him to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“nope. no replacements. shiro’s fluffy, but not as comfortable to sleep on like you are.” 

nagi rises his eyebrows, fake indignation in his voice.

“oh, so i’m just a pillow for you?” 

you nod.

“white and soft.” you state, solemnly “and warm, too.” 

he lets out a short chuckle, but his attention is back on the screen of your laptop. half distracted, looking for an specific app in the desktop, nagi tightens his grip on the hand you gave him before, and he brings it to his lips. then, he places a peck in your knuckles.

you feel your whole body melt by that delicate, intimate gesture. and you wish you could kiss him back, but you’re too comfortable lying on the bed to sit up and reach him, so you settle for caressing his fingers with the tips of yours.

“here.” 

nagi gets up, and you look up at him. you’re so used to seeing him sitting in front of his set up, or laying on the bed with you, you sometimes forget how tall he really is. so tall it makes you sigh. 

you’re so down bad it could drive you insane.

“i’ll stream my screen now” he says, walking to his desk and sitting on the gaming chair again. “so you can watch me play.”

the bed feels now colder without him, empty, but you move shiro to the place nagi just left to fill it. and just behind it lies your laptop, discord open on the screen —he just called himself so that he could stream the game to you.

your boyfriend’s not looking at you now, but you pout again, heart warm as you look at him. he does this frequently —small cute gestures, acts of service, anything to help you be comfortable at all times. 

nagi’s always had the reputation of being lazy, of not liking to make any effort, but that is a lie. sure, he might not be very passionate for things he isn’t interested in, but you know he would do anything for your comfort —maybe not with physical things, but he loves spoiling you.

he is very spoiled too, of course, but that’s fine for you since you love making little gestures for him too —cooking him lunch, playing with his hair, reading the mangas he likes, or hugging him in your naps or whenever you slept together.

that’s why, in your opinion, you work so good together as a couple —you do for him what you’d like him to do for you, and vice versa. you just had the luck to find someone with the same interests and needs as you. in this case, in form of a very tall, very handsome and very cute white haired video game and napping geek.

“yn, are you watching?” 

his voice startles you. you had been staring so focused at him that you had completely forgotten the stream on your laptop.

“oh, sure i am.” you say, your head immediately turning to the screen in front of you again “you are… why are you in my house?” 

he lets out a giggle. in the game, as you can see from his pov in the stream, he’s in front of a little house next to a lake.

“don’t you dare setting it on fire again, sei!” you complain, scared of his next actions “i got lost so many times looking for the same wood i used when i built it the first time, i’ll kill you if you destroy it again.”

he then sets the pov in third person, and starts moving in front of your house with a bucket full of lava on his hand, teasing you. that makes you complain again, this time louder —which seems funny to him, since he can’t stop laughing now.

“actually, i’m the one who went to collect the trees the ‘i-need-it-to-be-this-exact-wood’ princess wanted” nagi refutes, smiling.

“ah, still, i see that lava in your hands” you raise an eyebrow “don’t you dare doing nothing you might regret later, nagi seishiro. i know about your secret places.” 

“oh? which secret places?” 

you scoff, grinning.

“did you know that keeping villagers locked underground so they can breed and sell you things is an illegal activity and should be punished by freeing them when you’re not online?”

nagi gulps, and your grin gets wider, knowing well that you won this one when he changes the lava bucket on his hand for a cooked potato.

you usually play together in the same server, since it’s the only game where you don’t end up insulting other people online. you’ve been building your cooperative world for weeks now —he would mine materials and build farms, and you would constantly build and rebuild your house, because he loved to burn it down when you weren't on the server just to watch you pout when you complained after discovering it.

you got distracted by looking at him again until his voice broke the silence of clicks and pressing keys.

“come on, yn, look at the screen now.” 

“i swear, if you are trying to find more creative ways to destroy my- oh.”

instead of half a burnt edifice, you see your same little house from nagi’s point of view. he then sets the stream to third person pov again, surprising you with a very pretty scenery.

in front of the porch of the wood-made building, there is a wide variety of all kinds of planted flowers. it is like a colorful blanket under the sky, now growing darker, tinted by tones of blue, pink and lilac.

“sei.” you pout “this is so cute.”

you move your gaze up to him, who is already looking at you. he smiles.

“i might not be howl, or have a moving castle, but i can gift you a flower garden anyway.” 

that leaves you speechless for a bit. you aren’t the type to cry very easily, but you swear you could start sobbing for how cute he is. 

for how good his love is.

“i think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me.” is the only thing you can say, and think of, as you move the laptop and shiro from one side of the bed to another. 

“yeah?” he asks, looking at you as you get up and walk to him “even more romantic than sacrificing myself for your sake in among us?”

you nod, now standing in front of him, and he separates his chair from the desk to leave enough room for you to sit in his lap. you two fit so well like that —legs intertwined, his arm going automatically to your waist, your fingers to his hair. 

you place a peck on his cheek, and he lets out a cute pleased sound. 

“more.” he requests, like a baby.

that makes you smile again —he doesn’t need to say it twice.

his face is now covered by your kisses, and he giggles under your touch. his soft laugh reminds you, again and again, how lucky you are to have him —truly the love of your life, you’d say.

and he believes that too, as he watches you fixing your posture on his lap and facing the big monitor of his set up. he lets you take the controls, the mouse in your right hand and the w-a-s-d keys under your left fingers. 

although it’s his avatar in the game, he smiles softly as you run across the flower meadow he just planted for you. it’s night in the game already, and you need to kill some zombies and spiders, but you’re so cute when you’re playing he doesn’t mind that you’re wasting his enchanted bow’s life by shooting arrows that never hit their target.

he rests his cheek on top of your head, the height different making it easy for him to be comfortable like that. and you don’t complain, so he keeps watching you play —hands on your waist under his hoodie, the one you use as a pajamas whenever you stay at his house, lips and nose so close to your hair he gets lost in your scent. 

he loves you so much it could drive him insane.

nagi’s attention goes back to the screen the moment he sees you open a supposedly secret door. he frowns, but he says nothing, waiting for your next move.

and then you are right in front of his villager farm.

“wait, what are you doing?”

he can’t see your face from behind you, but he’s sure you’re grinning evilly. 

“keep calm, i’m just visiting your friends.” 

“i’m doing nothing wrong with them, yn.”

you scoff.

“oh, yeah, I’m sure the villagers love being trapped underground by you.”

nagi’s lips twist in a cute pout, his arms hugging you even tighter under your hoodie. you almost feel physically weak when he moves his head lower, his chin now on your shoulder, and he speaks softly.

“they are not trapped. they are…” his lips tickle your ear while he talks “i’m giving them the great opportunity to create a family and live from a worthy profession, as commerce is.”

you shake your head, not convinced by his answer.

“this is not the life they deserve, sei.” you say, your voice tinted by exaggerated empathy “and i’m gonna be their savior.” 

he’s about to laugh, but then he sees the inventory at the bottom of the screen. nagi raises his head, alarmed. 

“wait. wait, yn, what are you trying to do?”

your answer comes in a confident exclamation. —“im freeing these innocent people for being forced to procreate only for you to have any item you want!”

he extends his arm, in panic, and points to the lava bucket now in your hand.

“by burning them alive?!”

masterlist.

pls lmk what u think in the comments, reblogging, through messages, asks or wtv!! feedback is important to me in these first posts and i'd appreciate it a lot 🤲🏼

﹫luvseisagi, april 2025.

[theminecraftbee]

do we know why joes screen looks . like that

why in general? joe likes to wear chroma green to chroma key out himself on stream, it’s one of his stream bits. the stream quality being Like That is at least in part probably a response to this being an insane thing to do to your setup, and then when he cuts to other feeds I think it’s supposed to have a vaguely tv-like overlay to indicate this, even if it mostly makes the brightness uh, questionable.

basically, because he’s joe hills mainly,

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Choosing a venue/Location

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Part 3 of the wedding series, fluff

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ It’s time to decide the venue

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It starts with lace gloves and love bites.

You’re curled up on Rafayel’s lap in the sun-drenched glass atrium of your coastal estate, wearing the tiniest white negligee and pearl-trimmed slippers, flipping lazily through a crystal-studded wedding inspiration book while he absentmindedly plays with the ends of your hair. His fingers are still smudged with glitter from earlier, he’d tried to design a seashell-themed ring pillow before getting distracted by kissing your shoulder.

Your pretty engagement ring sparkles every time you turn the page. You pout softly.

“This one’s… too ordinary,” you murmur, pointing at a beach ceremony setup. “And that one’s too cold. I don’t want to freeze in my wedding heels. And this one, why is the aisle that short? I want a long, dramatic walk. I want you crying at the altar before I even reach you.”

Rafayel laughs softly, pulling you closer, his chin resting on your bare shoulder. “I will cry,” he admits, kissing the side of your neck. “But only if your dress has enough tulle to block the sun.”

“It will,” you declare dramatically. “I want to look like a pastry. I want people to wonder if I’m floating. I want the ceiling to be high”

Rafayel hums, pulling a velvet binder closer, his. “Okay. We eliminate every venue under 10,000 square meters. That leaves castles, private islands, and space.”

“…Space?”

He blinks innocently. “I asked Thomas about renting a skyport with a view of rings. He said it’s possible. A bit of bureaucracy, some strings pulled… But anything for you, baby.”

You shriek and toss a pillow at him.

“Rafayel!! We are not getting married in orbit!! I’ll faint!”

He laughs like you’re his favorite joke, catching the pillow mid-air and tossing it aside so he can nuzzle your collarbone. “Then Earth it is. But it has to be magical, my beloved bride.”

You flutter your lashes, lip gloss shimmering. “I want swans. And an orchestra. And cherry blossoms in the breeze. And a cake taller than your art studio.”

“Done,” he murmurs instantly, already texting Thomas. “Do you want the ceremony to be in daylight, or do you want stars? If it’s nighttime, I’ll find a forest that blooms with glow-flowers. If it’s daylight, I’ll make the clouds spell your name.”

You pause.

“…Can the vows be during sunset and the dancing under the stars?”

“Absolutely.”

“…And I want the aisle to start from the treetops and go down in spirals like a fairytale staircase. With a swan pond at the bottom. And fireworks.”

Rafayel presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers softly, “You’ll have everything. You’ll walk down a garden of stars. You’ll be the prettiest bride the world has ever seen.”

And when he takes your hand in his, delicately kissing your engagement ring, his eyes shimmer with something private. Something achingly soft.

“My wife,” he murmurs under his breath, as if still stunned by the word.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“Indoor or outdoor?” Zayne’s voice is calm, neutral, professional. As if he’s asking about a surgical preference.

But the way he’s cradling your thigh on his lap and brushing your hair behind your ear with the gentlest touch in the world? Not so neutral.

You’re perched sideways across his legs in the master suite, wearing silk baby-pink pajamas and a diamond anklet he clasped on this morning after your bath. He’s in dark slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, a tablet in one hand and the other very much occupied with your body.

You giggle softly. “Zaynie, I want both. A garden ceremony and a ballroom reception. Obviously.”

He exhales like he expected that answer. “Noted.”

His hazel-green eyes flick back to the screen, scanning venue portfolios with the ruthless precision of a man who once removed a bullet from a senator’s heart in thirty minutes.

“I’ve already ruled out all public venues,” he murmurs. “I don’t want anyone getting near you who doesn’t belong there.”

You lean closer, batting your lashes. “Possessive much?”

Zayne’s hand grips your waist tighter. “You’re going to be walking down that aisle in a custom gown with my ring on your finger. Everyone will know you’re mine.”

You go warm all over.

“…I want a cathedral garden,” you whisper. “With flower arches and a glass runway. Something ethereal. Like I’m floating. And I want white roses scattered in the fountain. And a choir.”

He nods once, already sending notes to his assistant. “And the reception?”

“Giant ballroom. With chandeliers. A Swarovski ice sculpture. String quartet for dinner and a DJ for dancing. No guests under couture, and no desserts under six layers.”

Zayne turns off the tablet and looks you straight in the eyes. “You’ll have all of it.”

Your breath catches.

“…You’re not going to say I’m being dramatic?”

“You are. But you’re also mine.” He cups your jaw gently, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “And my wife doesn’t settle for less than spectacular. Let them call it excessive. I’ll call it giving you what you deserve.”

You try to tease him, but it’s hard when he looks at you like that. Like the only thing that matters in the world is you. His voice drops, deep and sincere:

“I want people to remember it forever. I want you to walk into that garden and forget anyone ever made you fight for anything. I want you to know I’ll give you everything you ask for. Even the stars.”

You pout. “Then I want fireworks shaped like hearts. In the sky. After we kiss.”

He sighs, long-suffering but amused, reaching for his phone again. “Consider it handled.”

And then he gently pulls you closer and murmurs against your temple:

“This is your day. You’ve already given me everything by saying yes. Now it’s my turn to give you the world.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You’re lying on a velvet settee, draped in a pale pink satin robe, legs tucked under you, glossy lips pouting thoughtfully as you flip through a shimmering wedding catalog Xavier made appear in your hands five seconds ago with Lightseeker magic.

He’s on the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged like a sleepy angel in lounge pants, silver hair soft and messy from your fingers. He’s holding your foot in his lap, absentmindedly massaging it while watching you like you’re the moon itself.

“I want something different,” you mumble, tilting your head. “Everyone does ballrooms. I want to walk down the aisle and hear people gasp.”

“You already make people gasp,” Xavier says simply, gently pressing a kiss to your ankle.

You squirm a little. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he murmurs, and then leans back slightly, pale blue eyes glowing just a little as he speaks softly: “What if we had the ceremony in a suspended glass garden? In the sky. Above the city lights.”

You blink.

He continues, dreamlike and slow, like he’s imagining it just for you:

“There’d be floating platforms with trees. Bioluminescent flowers that open when you walk past. And when you enter… a path of light unfolds beneath your heels, guiding you to me.”

Your lips part slowly. “…Xavier.”

“And a harpist who plays only when you breathe. And floating stars in bowls of water instead of centerpieces. We’ll have dinner in a greenhouse ballroom. And when we kiss, the sky turns violet. Just like your cheeks when I call you wife.”

You cover your face with your hands, squealing softly.

“Are you crying?” he asks, visibly amused, his head tilted.

You peek between your fingers. “It’s the hormones.”

“You’re not pregnant yet.”

“I’m still hormonal!”

He chuckles and climbs up to kneel on the couch beside you, brushing your hair back and kissing your forehead like you’re a delicate jewel. “Then tell me what you want. Anything. Anywhere.”

You sigh dreamily. “I want it to feel like a fairytale. Like… time stops. Like everyone has to hold their breath because I’m that beautiful.”

“You already are,” Xavier replies without pause. “But yes. I’ll slow time for you, if that’s what you want.”

You smack his chest gently. “Xavi—”

“I’ll freeze the clouds. I’ll have white phoenixes fly overhead. I’ll write your name in starlight if I have to.”

You go still. “You’d really do all that for me?”

He smiles sleepily, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You said yes to forever,” he whispers. “I’d destroy planets to make you smile on our wedding day.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’re sitting on Sylus’s lap in his glass-walled penthouse office, draped in a white lace robe he personally commissioned from a Parisian designer. The one with your initials embroidered in crystal thread over your heart.

You’ve stolen his chair, his attention, and most of the buttons off his shirt.

He’s half-dressed beneath you, silver hair pushed back by your hands, red eyes fixed lazily on you like he’s amused by your very existence.

In front of you? A massive projection screen filled with wedding venue simulations. Not brochures, 3D reconstructions, with mood lighting, drone paths, and guest placement simulations. The man has twelve armories and fourteen private islands, you’re not browsing Pinterest. You’re reviewing classified dossiers.

“This one,” you hum, scrolling through a towering mountainside cathedral with suspended bridges. “Mmm. I like the drama. But the walk to the altar is too short.”

Sylus raises a brow. “You want a longer aisle?”

“I want an entrance, Sylus. I want people to feel like they’re watching a goddess descend from the heavens to marry the devil.”

He smirks. “So a dramatic descent… fireworks… velvet stairs… cathedral bells… anything else, my little tyrant?”

You look up at him sweetly. “Swans.”

He sighs through his nose. “Done.”

You don’t even question it.

He reaches for a sleek tablet and pulls up a confidential site labeled PRIVATE: OPERATION VENUS. Inside are architectural mock-ups of three custom venues he had built the week after you got engaged, just in case.

You blink. “Are those real?”

He just hums. “Finished construction last month. One’s built into the cliffs of the Amalfi coast. The other has a waterfall altar. The third has a mirrored aisle that reflects the stars overhead. I had to buy out an entire valley for that one.”

You blink again. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love,” he corrects smoothly, brushing your hair back from your face. “And when my spoiled kitten wants a wedding, she’s going to get the most luxurious, opulent, history-altering ceremony ever held. You’ll make emperors cry.”

You pout. “I don’t want anyone looking at me too long though. They’re not allowed to gawk.”

He grins darkly. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle security. And the guest list. And the facial recognition software.”

You laugh and tug his tie around your fingers, leaning in close. “You’re really giving me anything I want?”

Sylus leans in, breath warm against your lips. “Kitten, you gave me your forever.”

Then, softly:

“You’ll walk into that ceremony wearing a dress that costs more than a warship. You’ll smell like roses and danger. And when you say ‘I do,’ the sky itself will go quiet.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You’re barefoot in the Skyhaven penthouse kitchen, sipping imported iced peach tea in a silk robe while sitting on the pristine marble counter. Caleb’s standing between your legs, fully uniformed, looking devastatingly composed while scrolling through holographic blueprints.

And you? You’re playing with the lapels of his coat like they’re made of ribbon.

“I don’t want some hotel, Caleb,” you murmur, nose scrunching. “I don’t want to share my day with strangers. I want it to be ours.”

His violet eyes glance up, sharp and slow, before returning to the files in his palm. “Then we build it.”

Your heart flutters. “What?”

He gestures behind you with a flick of his fingers. A glowing 3D projection appears in the air, a private Skyhaven island. Floating on a reinforced anti-gravity platform. Yours.

“I started construction after I proposed,” he says calmly, like he isn’t casually giving you a floating wedding castle. “It’s not on any maps. No press. No civilians. Only the people you choose.”

You blink slowly. “…You built me an island?”

“I modified an old black site,” he shrugs. “Wiped the records. Installed a floral dome and artificial starlight ceiling. There’s a helipad, a waterfall altar, and enough shielding to stop a missile. No one gets near you.”

You look at him, stunned.

Caleb steps between your thighs again and cups your jaw, voice dropping:

“You’ll walk down the aisle on marble stairs. Your dress will trail behind you like moonlight. And when you reach me, I want everyone there to see exactly who you belong to.”

You flush immediately, squirming against his grip. “You’re obsessed.”

“You say that like it’s new.”

He shows you the custom itinerary. You gasp when you see your name written in golden script, your favorite song scheduled for the procession, the garden terrace reserved for a midnight dance, just the two of you, alone under a canopy of lights.

You sigh and smile dreamily. “I want the ceremony during golden hour. I want the altar surrounded by roses. I want champagne towers and a dance floor that lights up when we spin.”

Caleb leans in, foreheads touching, voice low and raw. “Done. Every detail. Every second.”

You toy with his collar. “This is my night. I want to be selfish.”

He smirks. “Good. I want you all to myself.”

Then, with a voice quieter than a whisper:

“This wedding isn’t for guests. It’s not for show. It’s a promise. And I intend to keep you like this forever.”

You melt into him, clinging to his uniform as he tucks you into his arms like you’re precious military cargo.

And on a classified, floating island in Skyhaven skies, the most private, powerful wedding in the galaxy begins to take shape, all for his pretty little wife-to-be.

[ahqkas]

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind. 

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window #6 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: Job hunting is inevitable as you want to be professionally employed again despite your secret camming side hustle with Jin. however, finally, you reached the final interview for a role you applied to at Netflix! But Jin wants to spontaneously also have a house/apartment party on the same day as well?! what kind of shit will happen as you juggle prepping and going to a big interview that could change your life and a party with friends after that might reveal secrets and have you thinking twice about your old childhood friend / housemate / camming partner? note: surprise again! uploaded this a day earlier since i somehow got time to edit and have this done! s/o to @daegudrama for continuously helping edit this mess of a fic. pls enjoy the climax ;) because its all downhill from here. warnings: HELLO! Another BTS MEMBERS cameo because bts know each other somehow in every universe, many more cameos, mild language, house party, this is the most tame chapter, job interview is a warning bc that triggers ME, yoongi being a lil shit, confessions, secrets revealed, jin is a simp, jealousy, namjoon kinda crushing on reader, drunk arguing, angst, drunk messy makeout, a lot of internal monologuing drop date: May 9th, 3:00pm pst word count: 11.6k crossposted on ao3 here <- chapter 5 | chapter 7 -> - -

Another day of streaming on Chaturbate, you sit perched on the living room couch in a maid outfit that leaves little to the imagination, your stockings tugging high against your thighs as Jin fusses over the setup.

“Hey,” Jin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s standing in front of you now, holding a small ring light in one hand and a cable in the other. “Do you think this angle looks okay? Or should I move it closer to the couch? I’m trying not to make it obvious to people who have been theorizing Big Tuna Man is me.”

You glance up at him, then at the setup he’s been tweaking for the past twenty minutes. The couch is bathed in a soft, flattering glow from the ring light, and the angle seems just right—enough to highlight your outfit without giving away too much of the room’s details. You can’t help but laugh a little at how seriously he’s taking this.

“Jin, it’s fine,” you say, adjusting the frilly headband perched on your head. “If people are that obsessed with figuring out if you’re Big Tuna Man, they’ve got way too much time on their hands. Besides, it’s not like your ‘just chatting’ streams show this much of the living room anyway.”

He frowns, still fiddling with the cable. “Yeah, but you never know. The internet’s full of detectives. One wrong angle, and someone’s going to connect the dots that Streamer Jin is BigTunaMan.” He steps back, tilting his head as he surveys the setup. 

“You usually set up a green screen for your gaming streams on the couch, I think you will definitely be fine.” He shrugs in defeat and settles for what he got set up.

You scoot over to make room for him on the couch, and he sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. He smells like his usual mix of citrus and something warm, like vanilla. It’s a scent you’ve grown accustomed to, one that feels like home.

“So,” he says, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him. “I overheard you talking on the phone with your friend earlier?

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Oh yeah, that’s Yunjin. She and another one of my friends want to come over to visit me and have a little get-together of sorts. It’s been very overdue and we’ve been delaying it because they’ve been busy with work.”

Yunjin was supposed to come over months ago when you moved in with Jin for a house warming party, but with her being busy at her corporate job as well, it just never seemed to work out. Same with Wendy.

But it seems like they finally aligned and took this upcoming Friday off.

Jin hums thoughtfully, his fingers drumming a light rhythm against his knee. “A get-together, huh? That’s cute. But…” He trails off, his lips curling into a grin that immediately sets off warning bells in your head that he’s plotting something.

You narrow your eyes at him. “But what?”

“Why not make it bigger?” His grin spreads wider, eyes gleaming with a mischievous light you know all too well. “We could throw an actual party. Like, a real one. I’ll invite my friends, you invite yours. We’ll have drinks, music, food—the works. No cameras, no streams, just a good time.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “A party-party? Since when are you the type to host anything? You’re usually the guest at other people’s parties.”

Jin gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him. “Hey! I am perfectly capable of hosting a killer party. I just… haven’t had a reason to. Until now.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Right. And where exactly are we going to fit all these people? Your apartment isn’t exactly a mansion, Jin.”

“Details,” he says with a wave of his hand, dismissing your concern. “We’ll make it work. Come on, it’ll be fun! Don’t you think we deserve a night to just… relax? No work, no stress. Just us and our friends having a good time.”

You hesitate, your mind racing with all the reasons this is a terrible idea. It’s not just the logistics of cramming that many people into Jin’s small apartment—it’s the stuff. The things that have become a part of your strange, shared life here. The sex toys, the costumes, the equipment. The things that live in drawers, closets, and sometimes out in the open because you’ve both grown too comfortable to care.

“Jin…” you start, your voice trailing off. “You realize we’d have to… hide everything, right?”

He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” You gesture vaguely around the room. “The… production set up. The costumes. The toys. Unless you want one of your friends stumbling across a vibrator in the kitchen or tripping over your favorite handcuffs in the living room.”

Jin bursts out laughing, doubling over as he clutches his stomach. “Okay, okay, fair point,” he says between laughs. “We’ll do a full sweep of the apartment before the party. No one’s gonna find anything they shouldn’t.”

You give him a skeptical look. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.” He sits up straight, his expression suddenly earnest. “I think it’d be good for us. To just socialize and be normal for a night here. No personas, no performance. Just you and me and our friends, having fun.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you forget to argue. He’s right. Things have been so tangled lately, so wrapped up in the strange bubble you’ve created together, that the idea of stepping outside of it—even just for a night—is undeniably appealing.

“Okay,” you say finally, leaning back against the headboard. “But if we’re doing this, you’re helping me clean. And you’re in charge of hiding your stuff.”

“Deal,” he says with a wink. “This is gonna be great, princess. You’ll see.” He laughs, the sound rich and warm, and it makes something in your chest tighten from the way he refers to you.

And as much as you hate to admit it, a part of you hopes he’s right.

“Gee, I hope so,” you deadpan, but you’re smiling. It’s easy to smile around him. Too easy.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled with words. You watch as he fiddles with the settings on his camera, his brow furrowed in concentration. It’s moments like these that make you wonder if he feels it too—this unspoken thing between you. The way your eyes linger a little too long when he’s not looking. The way he always finds an excuse to touch you, even if it’s just a casual brush of his hand against yours. The way the air seems to shift whenever you’re alone together, charged with something you can’t quite name.

But neither of you says anything. Not yet.

“Alright,” Jin says finally, breaking the silence. “You ready?”

“Always.”

Of course, the universe has an odd sense of humor. The one day you’re frantically juggling last-minute party preparations—decorations, confirming guests that will be there, and a “menu” that still isn’t finalized—is also the day of your final-round interview at Netflix. Not just any interview, but for a Consumer Content Insights Analyst role. You’d been dreaming about this opportunity for the last two weeks, and somehow, against all odds, you’d made it this far. 

You’ve made it to a couple of final rounds for other roles, so you’re telling yourself not to get your hopes all up, but to give it your best.

As you step into one of Netflix’s sleek, glass-walled buildings that late Friday morning, you can’t help but feel like a lost deer wandering into a forest of overachievers. The moment you step into the towering glass building, you feel like an imposter. The Netflix logo looms over the lobby, and the swarm of well-dressed employees moving with purpose only amplifies the pit in your stomach. You’re not supposed to be here. This is Netflix—Netflix. It feels too big, too surreal, too out of reach. The irony isn’t lost on you—your current odd way of life with Seokjin and your borderline-obsessive love for Netflix’s romcoms have collided in the most absurd way. Shows like Never Have I Ever, The Kissing Booth, and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before weren’t just guilty pleasures, but your comfort zone, your escape, and apparently, your secret weapon.

During the earlier rounds, you’d managed to strike a balance between professionalism and fangirling, especially with the Talent Acquisition lead. She seemed to appreciate your genuine passion for Netflix’s content, paired with the analytical chops you’d honed at your last job. It’s a miracle you made it this far, but here you are, standing in the lobby, clutching your portfolio and trying to remember if you’d actually brushed your hair this morning.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is it—the final hurdle. Whether it was your love for romcoms, your ability to geek out over data trends, or just sheer dumb luck, you’d earned this shot. Now, all you had to do was not screw it up.

But somehow, by some miracle, you’ve made it this far.

You smooth down the fabric of your blazer, clutching your portfolio just a little tighter as the receptionist checks you in. Your reflection stares back at you from the polished elevator doors, and for a second, you barely recognize yourself. You’ve spent months streaming in lace and silk, whispering sinful things into Jin’s mic. And now, here you are, dressed in corporate chic, about to pitch why you belong in a boardroom instead of on a not-safe-for-work streaming website.

The universe is funny like that.

By the time you’re escorted to the conference room, your nerves are a tangled mess. You pass by walls adorned with larger-than-life posters of their biggest hits—Stranger Things, Bridgerton, Wednesday, and, of course, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. It almost feels like a taunt. Your ridiculous love for Netflix romcoms might actually be the thing that gets you this job.

Inside, four panelists sit across from an empty chair, their smiles polite but unreadable. You recognize one of them immediately—Gia Kim, the woman who would be your direct manager if you get the job. You’ve done your research on her. She’s sharp, a powerhouse in consumer insights, and someone you know you could learn a lot from.

“Welcome,” Gia says, gesturing for you to sit. Her voice is even, professional, but there’s a warmth to it that helps you breathe a little easier. “We’re excited to chat with you today.”

You settle into your seat, offering a polite, rehearsed smile. “Thank you for having me. I’m really excited to be here.”

The first half of the interview goes as expected—questions about your experience, projects you’ve led, data you’ve analyzed, strategies you’ve developed. You navigate them smoothly, pulling from your previous job, highlighting how you’ve understood consumer behaviors, engagement trends, and audience retention analytics. The other panelists nod approvingly, jotting down notes, occasionally exchanging glances with one another.

Then, Gia leans forward slightly, setting her pen down. There’s a shift in the air, like she’s about to ask something different and out of the ordinary.

“One last question,” she says, resting her chin on her hand. “In this role, you’ll be helping us understand why people connect so deeply with certain stories, why certain characters or narratives resonate across different cultures. In your opinion, what makes a story unforgettable?”

The question hits you in a place you weren’t expecting.

Your mind floods with images of living with Jin these past couple of months. His laugh, his voice murmuring in your ear, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. The slow, dangerous unraveling between you, the blurred lines, the quiet moments off-camera that feels like it means more but just not addressing it.

What makes a story unforgettable?

You take a slow breath, collecting your thoughts before you speak.

“I think the most unforgettable stories,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful, “are the ones that reflect something deeply human back at us. The ones that make us feel seen, even in ways we don’t fully understand.”

Gia watches you intently, nodding for you to continue.

“Whether it’s a coming-of-age romance or a dark psychological drama, the best stories don’t just entertain—they expose us. They show us our own fears, our desires, our contradictions. They remind us of what we’ve lost, what we still want, and maybe, if we’re lucky, what we didn’t realize we needed.”

You swallow, feeling your chest tighten slightly. “It’s not just about the plot or the characters. It’s about the way a story lingers. The way it makes you think about someone days later, even when you don’t mean to. It’s the way it changes how you see yourself, or how you see someone else.”

There’s a silence. A pause.

Oh shit… did you fuck up with that philosophical ass response?! You look at each of the panelists waiting for a response, which ends up coming from Gia. Fuck. This may not end well after all– “That was… beautifully said.” Oh? Uh, you’re not sure if that’s sarcasm or genuine, because you can’t honestly tell after many amazing interviews that end up with a rejection days or even hours later. But fuck it! You tried, and if they don’t want you, then you’ll keep trying. Either applying to another role at this company or elsewhere. You recall a memory of Seokjin teaching you how to make pajeon, being afraid of flinging the pajeon once you try to flip the pan to cook it. “If you fling it, then you fling it. You can always clean up and try again.”

You smile, remembering that moment and the response you gave to their question.

The panelists exchange another glance, and for the first time all morning, you let yourself think—whatever happens, happens.

After coming home from your interview and running errands, you immediately notice two things upon opening the door: the living room looks completely different, and Seokjin is standing there in nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of ridiculously short shorts that show off his toned, golden legs.

He appears from around the corner, a bright grin on his face. “Hey! You’re back! How did it go?”

You blink, momentarily distracted by the absolute scam that is his genetics, before shaking yourself back to reality. “Oh, uh, I think it went well? But I honestly don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Jin waves a dismissive hand, walking closer with an easy confidence that somehow makes his whole outfit look even more intentional. “Nah, I’m sure you got this! I overheard you talking excitedly with the recruiter a few weeks ago, so I do think you have a high chance.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you set your bag down by the door. “Thanks for inflating my ego.”

“You’re welcome,” he quips, placing a hand on his hip. “I inflate mine all the time, and that’s how I got here.”

You burst into laughter, the stress from earlier melting just slightly. Typical Jin.

Stepping further into the living room, you finally take in the sheer effort that’s gone into setting up for tonight’s party. The couch has been pushed back to make room, streamers are partially hung along the walls, and the coffee table has been swapped out for a makeshift drink station, complete with bottles of soju, whiskey, and a ridiculous amount of mixers. The chairs from the dining table are missing—probably relocated to hold the obscene amount of food you assume Jin ordered.

And then, hunched on the floor with an expression of pure suffering, is a familiar figure.

Yoongi.

Jin’s longtime best friend, the guy who essentially convinced him to start streaming (games and porn) in the first place, and someone who, by all accounts, prefers the company of his music studio over people. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him. This is probably the fifth time you’re seeing him in person compared to any of his other friends. He doesn’t even bother to look up as he speaks.

“Hi. Nice to see you again after so long. My back is fucking killing me thanks to Seokjin making me from sit and hunch over to make this shit,” he deadpans, still threading a streamer through his fingers.

How lovely. Such a contrast from Jin, yet somewhat similar.

You blink, glancing at the pile of tangled decorations in front of him. “Uh, well, hi.”

Jin chuckles from behind you, clearly unbothered. “Yoongi’s not exactly a party planner, but he’s suffering through this for us. Isn’t that nice?”

Yoongi scoffs. “I actually am, and also I’m here because you bribed me with the promise of good food and free drinks.”

“Well, you are getting free drinks,” Jin points out, arms crossed. “That has to count for something.”

Yoongi finally looks up at you, his sharp eyes assessing. “Surprised your infamous roommate is still here, Jin. Do you know he talks about you way too much.”

You arch a brow. “Oh? And what exactly does he say?”

Jin clears his throat loudly, throwing a warning glance at Yoongi, who just smirks. “Nothing too incriminating, but just a lot about the sex you two are hav–.”

“Alright, alright,” you say, waving a hand. “Yoongi, if your back hurts, you could sit on the dining chairs—”

“He moved them,” Yoongi interrupts flatly, tilting his head toward Jin. “To put all the food and alcohol on the table. He’s also going to set up a beer pong table later.”

You sigh. “Never mind.”

With a shake of your head, you step toward the hallway leading to your room. “I’m gonna go change out of this stuffy blazer and then I’ll come help you guys. Sounds good?”

“Sounds good,” Jin calls after you. “But don’t take too long. I need you to approve my outfit choice.”

You pause mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder. “Why do I need to approve it?”

Jin grins. “Because you have good taste, obviously.” “Well, it’s not giving ‘party’ vibes to me, it’s giving ‘run club’.” Jin rolls his eyes and scoffs. Yoongi groans, already regretting being here. “God, just go change before he starts monologuing about how hot he looks.”

Laughing, you disappear into your room, already feeling lighter than you did when you first walked in. Twenty minutes later, you emerge from your room, freshly transformed. Your light green Solid Ruffle Knotted Rib Crop Tank Top hugs your frame just right, the delicate fabric subtly highlighting your curves, while your medium-wash flare jeans flare out at the perfect moment, accentuating your silhouette. A pair of star-shaped hairpins glint on either side of your hair, adding a playful touch to the look.

Yoongi and Seokjin—now dressed in a University of Michigan crewneck and khaki pants, respectively—are lounging in the living room when you step in. The moment they see you, their conversation trails off, and their eyes widen slightly. You pause, giving them a slow twirl, the fabric of your jeans swishing softly as you turn.

“Well?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Thoughts?” For a moment, they’re silent, their expressions caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, while Seokjin’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but no words come out. They just stare, dumbfounded, and you can’t help but laugh at their reaction.

“That good, huh?” you say, breaking the silence as you smooth out your top, secretly pleased with their stunned silence. Jin is the first to snap out of it, blinking rapidly as if rebooting his entire system. “H-Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. His eyes flicker over you, taking in the way the snug fabric of your crop top clings to your curves, the way your jeans sit perfectly on your waist, emphasizing all the right places.

Yoongi, ever the composed one, simply lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “I already know tonight’s gonna be a fucking headache.”

You smirk, placing a hand on your hip. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jin clears his throat, finally finding his voice. “I mean—yeah, obviously. You look… wow. Really good.” He gestures vaguely at your outfit. “Like, uh. Yeah.”

“Like, uh. Yeah?” you repeat, teasing. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, standing up from his spot on the floor and brushing imaginary dust off his sweats. “You know you look good. Don’t make him suffer.”

Jin scowls. “Shut up, dude.”

You laugh, reaching over to adjust one of your star hairpins. “Alright, enough staring. What’s left to do before people get here?”

Jin, still looking slightly dazed, snaps back into party-host mode. “Uh, we still need to get the speakers from Yoongi’s car, set up the drink station properly, and—oh! We need ice. Lots of ice.”

You nod, rolling up your sleeves (metaphorically, since you’re sleeveless, but still). “Alright. I’ll help grab the speakers. Give me the keys.” You motion towards Yoongi, who shuffles for them in his jeans’ pockets and hands them to you. “It’s parked in the guest spot by the gate. Don’t you dare drop those speakers, okay?”

“Got it, will be right back.”

You go out the door and leave it slightly ajar so you can come back in easily. The two men are working on their tasks in silence until they realize you’re at a far enough range where you won’t hear what is being said inside. Yoongi looks at Seokjin, who’s hunched over the cooler, shoveling ice inside a little too aggressively. The tips of Jin’s ears are still tinged red.

“So you two aren’t dating yet?” Yoongi asks casually, as if he’s commenting on the weather.

Jin nearly drops an entire bag of ice onto the floor. “Goddamn it, Yoongi…what are you on about now?”

Yoongi leans against the counter, expression unreadable as he watches Jin fumble to compose himself. “Well, considering how you’ve clearly gotten real close in the past few months, I was just wondering.” He shrugs. “You know, since you were so adamant that she, and I quote, ‘absolutely did not want to live with me and doesn’t like me at all.’”

Jin exhales sharply through his nose, standing up straight and dusting his hands off like that’ll help shake off whatever Yoongi is implying. “She didn’t like me at first,” he argues, though there’s no real conviction behind it.

Yoongi hums, clearly unimpressed. “And now?”

Jin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he focuses on the ice cooler like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. But Yoongi isn’t stupid. He catches the way Jin’s jaw tightens slightly, the way his fingers still against the rim of the cooler like he’s sorting through thoughts he doesn’t want to say out loud.

Yoongi smirks. Interesting, he thinks.

Yoongi doesn’t let up. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching Jin with that same unreadable expression.

“So?” he presses. “What’s stopping you now?”

Jin exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quieter this time. “We’re trying to be adults about this. Keep things professional since we’re roommates and agreed to do camming together.”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “Professional?” He snorts. “Jin, you two are literally fucking on camera for money. The line was crossed the second you got her naked in front of an audience.”

Jin glares. “It’s not just that.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch. Jin feels the weight of his own words settle between them.

“It’s different off-camera,” he continues after a moment, his voice low. “The way we talk. The way we are around each other. It’s… real.”

Yoongi tilts his head slightly. “And that scares you.”

Jin swallows. He doesn’t answer.

Because yeah. It does scare him.

He’s spent months pretending that what happens between you two is just another part of the arrangement. That the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way he feels a pull in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes, the way his body reacts when you’re just there—all of it is just residual chemistry from the streams.

But it’s not.

And the fact that he can’t stop thinking about you, even when the cameras are off, is proof of that.

Yoongi, ever perceptive, sighs like he already knows exactly what’s running through Jin’s head. “You’re an idiot,” he says finally.

Jin scoffs. “Yeah, well. You’re not wrong.”

The conversation dies down for a moment, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Then Yoongi straightens, glancing toward the front door. “She’s been gone a while. Think she got lost?”

Jin smirks, glad for the change of subject. “Nah, she probably got distracted by some guy’s dog in the parking lot. She does that.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah. You’re so fucked, man.”

Jin doesn’t argue. Because Yoongi is literally so fucking right.

By the time you return with the speakers, the living room has been completely transformed. Jin and Yoongi have finished hanging the last of the streamers, and the drink station is fully stocked with a dangerously large selection of alcohol. The speakers are strategically placed for maximum sound, and the atmosphere has shifted from quiet preparation to something far more electric—anticipation hanging in the air, thick like static before a storm.

As the sun dips lower, casting golden streaks through the windows, the apartment feels alive with energy. The furniture is arranged to make room for dancing—or whatever chaos the night might bring. The drink station is well-stocked, with liquor, mixers, and neatly arranged cups, and the snack table is just begging to be raided. In the corner, you spot Yoongi, who’s now pouring himself a drink, leaning back on one of the chairs like he’s already bracing himself for the mayhem to come.

For a moment, you just stand in the doorway, taking it all in. The apartment looks completely different now—transformed from your shared, quiet sanctuary into a party-ready space. And despite the slight unease fluttering in your chest, you can’t help but smile at the thought of the night ahead.

As if on cue, the first guests begin to trickle in.

Namjoon is the first to arrive, effortlessly cool in a fitted black shirt and jeans, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He gives you a friendly nod when he steps through the door and sets the whiskey on the kitchen counter, greeting Jin with a casual handshake that turns into a hug.

“Looking good, man,” Namjoon says with a grin. “Big night, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re doing it up right,” Jin replies, his voice just a little louder than usual, a bit of that party-host enthusiasm bubbling up in him. The two exchange a few more words, and Jin motions toward you. “Hey, come on over. [Y/N], I’m sure you remember Namjoon.”

Namjoon gives you an easy smile, his presence as warm and reassuring as always. “Hey there, it’s been a while! How’s everything?”

“Good, good,” you reply, trying to keep your voice casual as you glance around the room. “Job hunting, binge watching a show, the usual.”

Namjoon laughs softly, offering a comforting smile. “I get it. Hope it’s going better for you. You’ll land something soon, I’m sure.”

You offer a small smile in return, the familiar reassurance doing a little to calm your nerves. You hope so too.

The door bursts open once more, and Hoseok enters with his exuberance, his energy practically palpable as he greets everyone. He’s always the life of the party, and tonight is no exception. “What’s up, everybody!” he announces, practically vibrating with excitement. He immediately starts giving hugs to everyone in sight, first to Jin, then Namjoon, and then you, pulling you into a bear hug that’s more playful than anything else.

“Hoseok! It’s been some time since I last saw you. Busy with work?” You look at him joyfully after he lets go of the hug.

“I know, right?” he grins, practically bouncing on his feet. “I’ve been living my best life working as a Tour Choreographer, but I had to take a small break to party with you guys. Feels like it’s been forever since I last saw you at the hot pot hang out 2 months ago!”

You laugh, the infectious nature of his enthusiasm working its magic. “Yeah, but you were prepping for Bad Bunny’s tour! You haven’t missed out on much here.”

“But, hey, I’m here now, so the party’s officially started,” Hoseok declares, winking as he turns toward the rest of the room.

The next guests to arrive are Jimin and Taehyung, walking in together. They both carry themselves with an effortless confidence that seems to make the air around them shift. Jimin, with that familiar smirk, immediately catches your attention. He doesn’t say much but his presence is felt all the same. Then there’s Taehyung, with his boxy smile as easygoing as his flirtatious reputation he apparently has on Twitch. Though, most of it is him messing around with Jimin, whatever that means.

“Hey there,” Jimin says, his voice smooth, his smirk more of a playful challenge. “I wanted to see you again so badly, Noona.”

Here we go with the formal, endearing terms to call a girl slightly older than them.

“I…Jimin, just call me by my name! Not noona!” you laugh, feeling the warmth in your cheeks from his constant teasing. “I see you’re still driving people crazy as ever,” You don’t really see Jimin often as he lives across a few cities and doesn’t come over for irl streams, but his flirty attitude is also still the same as Taehyungs’.

Taehyung, ever the playful one, leans over to Jimin, raising an eyebrow. “Are you ever free to hang with us? We’ve been wanting to go out to a fancy omakase dinner, but Seokjin keeps cockblocking.”

You laugh as you glance at Jin, who’s watching with mild amusement. “I fear as long as that man is still around and acting as my supposed manager, it may not be possible,” Jin has warned you about their scandalous behaviors, so it may be best to stay away.

As they settle in, the door opens again, and Jungkook steps in, looking effortlessly cool in a simple black hoodie and sweatpants. You’ve been knowing he’s a big name in streaming, of course, one of the earliest people Jin started collaborating with. This is your fifth time seeing him, the first being when they did Jin’s first IRL stream together at Cheesecake Factory, then the Mario Party and Mario Kart March Madness competition streams they had. Don’t even ask what this means.

Jungkook flashes you a smile that feels both familiar and comforting.

“Hi [Y/N]! I missed you!” Jungkook greets you. “Glad to see you’re still here.”

“Aw, yeah, good to see you again,” you respond, your smile a little warmer this time. You glance at Jin, who’s watching the exchange with a slight smile.

Behind Jungkook, a few more people start trickling in—Mingyu, Yugyeom, Eunwoo, and Jaehyun, all streaming housemates from Jungkook’s crew at their “97z” streamer house. They’re all friendly, and soon enough, the place is buzzing with energy as they greet everyone. It’s a mix of Jin’s college friends and a few of his more recent streamer buddies: Kim Dong-hyun, Lee Yi-kyung, Kian84, Kang Seung Yoon, etc.

From the people that are Jin’s non-streamer friends, you spot a few familiar faces: Moonbyul, Sandeul, Hani, Ken—people from your elementary school days you haven’t seen in ages. You’re genuinely grateful to see them here, especially with the unfamiliar crowd. It feels comforting to have a piece of your past here among the chaos.

Then, just as the place starts to feel like it’s reaching its peak, the door opens again.

It’s Sakura. She’s an old work colleague you’re close to, and as soon as she spots you, she beams and rushes over to greet you. “It’s been so long! I’ve missed you at work.”

You hug her tightly, laughing. “Yeah, I’ve missed you too. Glad you made it.” “I’ll be here for a bit as I gotta rest after a tough week!” “No worries! We appreciate you coming by!”

The other familiar faces follow from your core college friend group, Daisy, Joshua, and Vernon, all grinning as they spot you. “We made it!” Vernon announces, clearly ready to dive into the chaos.

And just like that, the apartment is full. Music is playing, drinks are flowing, and the room hums with life. It’s chaotic, loud, and full of strangers you’re just getting to know—and old friends you’ve been craving to catch up with.

You’re beginning to get a little restless as the night progresses, occasionally scanning the room to see if Yunjin and Wendy have arrived yet. They had promised to finally hang out, after all this time, and it felt like everything had fallen into place for tonight—finally, after all the delays, they’d be here. 

You chat with your friends and Jin’s friends, exchanging pleasantries and getting to know the people in Jin’s circle, but in the back of your mind, you’re still waiting for the familiar faces that bring a sense of ease with them.

As you linger by the door, you start to wonder if they’re even going to make it.

Just as you’re thinking it, you hear the door creak open once more, and then you see them.

Yunjin steps inside first, her outfit effortlessly chic—she’s wearing a black leather jacket over a flowy white blouse tucked into high-waisted ripped jeans, with combat boots that give her an edge. She’s holding a large gift bag, clearly for you, as she walks in with a wide grin. Behind her, Wendy steps through the door, immediately catching the attention of the room.

Wendy’s fit is on another level—her black crop top is paired with a mini skirt that highlights her toned legs, and she’s wearing thigh-high boots that make her look like she’s walked straight out of an edgy fashion magazine. She has her hair styled in loose waves, and the confidence radiating off her only makes her look even hotter. You can’t help but feel a little grateful that she’s here tonight, if only to make the energy feel more familiar.

Both of them walk toward you almost immediately, and as they approach, your smile brightens. "You two are fashionably late! I’ve missed you guys soooo much," you exclaim, throwing your arms around both of them in a quick embrace.

“Same here!” Yunjin says, pulling back with a smile. “Sorry we’re late, work’s been crazy as an assistant to the creative director at my company. But we’re here now, and we’ve got gifts!” She hands you the large gift bag, and you take it with an appreciative grin.

“Thanks! You really didn’t have to,” you say as you look inside the bag to find a beautiful necklace and the moomin keychain plushie Yunjin promised to give you so long ago. Finally made its’ way to you.

“You deserve it,” Wendy chimes in, offering you a playful wink. “Also, I’m glad we’re finally doing something fun. It’s been way too long.”

As you continue chatting, you’re interrupted by a small group that gathers around you, eager to greet the two women. Daisy, Joshua, and Vernon, of course, immediately move in to say hi, pulling them into the fold of casual banter. You step back, watching them for a second, a soft smile tugging at your lips. It feels good to have all your friends under one roof.

Then, Yunjin glances across the room, narrowing her eyes as she scans the area. "Where’s your lovely roommate who’s been looking after you?" she asks, voice teasing but still holding a note of curiosity.

Without missing a beat, you point across the room, where you can see Jin chatting animatedly with a few of his gamer friends by the glass doors that lead to the balcony. “Oh, he’s over there, talking to a few of his streaming friends,” you say, feeling the conversation shift slightly in your stomach.

“Woah, he streams? Like on Twitch? Is he big on there?”

“He’s pretty up there! It’s this new hobby he started not so long ago.”

“That’s so cool!”

While Yunjin’s interest peaks in hearing about Jin’s side hustle,  Wendy’s eyes widen when she sees him, and for just a moment, you see something in her expression shift—surprise, maybe even a little discomfort, though it’s quickly masked. She doesn’t say anything, but then you catch the look she shares with Yunjin, who suddenly gets very quiet.

You quickly try to push the awkwardness away. “Hey, go on, mingle, get some food, drinks, whatever. I’ll be over in a second,” you tell them, trying to distract yourself and them. You’re not sure why the change in energy unsettles you.

The two women nod, heading off toward the snack table, and you turn your attention to the next task at hand—making sure everything goes smoothly for the night.

But just as you’re walking toward the kitchen, you’re suddenly pulled back by a hand on your arm. It’s Yoongi.

“Hey, Yoongi. What’s up?” you ask, turning to face him.

He looks around cautiously, making sure no one’s nearby, and pulls you just far enough away so you’re out of earshot from the rest of the group.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low. “I’m not the type to get into drama, but I’m curious. Why did you invite her?”

You frown, a little confused at what he’s even referring to. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Yoongi gestures vaguely in Wendy’s direction, where she’s now talking to Jin, her head tilted as she laughs at something he said. “That’s… his ex girlfriend,” he mutters, clearly unsettled by it.

Your stomach drops. “What?” you whisper, at a total loss for words.

“You didn’t know?” Yoongi’s voice is almost incredulous, like it’s impossible that you wouldn’t have known.

“No! I—I didn’t know,” you hiss, trying to keep your voice low. “Wendy and Jin…they were together?”

Yoongi’s lips press together in a tight line. “Yeah. They were. A while ago, but... still.” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “But hold on, you really didn’t know? This is fucking insane…”

You shake your head, your stomach twisting into knots. No, you hadn’t known. Not a clue. You’d known Wendy since your sophomore year of college, meeting her in an accounting class of all places. She’d been your friend ever since—reliable, kind, and always there when you needed her. But relationships? That was never something she flaunted. And with the way Instagram’s algorithm worked these last few years, you’d missed any subtle hints she might have dropped.

“No, I didn’t,” you mutter, your voice steady but laced with defensiveness. “I’m not exactly the type to stalk people’s love lives, especially on social media. I’ve been too busy worrying about my own shit, so… sorry.”

Yoongi’s face softens, realizing he’s been a little too harsh. “Sorry. It’s just… Jin was kind of broken up about it. He did like her, but they ended things because they just weren’t working out. Wendy wasn’t happy. Stuff like sex wasn’t really fulfilling for her, she wanted to be with him more, but he was always working. He loves his job at Riot so it was always his priority. And eventually, they grew apart. It wasn’t messy, though. They both agreed it was for the best.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “She was still important to him, and it kinda killed his confidence for a while.”

You feel your chest tighten. Wendy was his ex. Wendy was that ex he mentioned. The ex that he learned about more sexual stuff with.

“Jin finally moved on after starting his Twitch streaming hustle, but you know, shit always stays like that in your heart somewhere,” Yoongi continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’ll stop pushing. I just wanted to make sure you knew before you…” He trails off, looking back over his shoulder toward the crowd, where Wendy is laughing with Jin.

You let out a long sigh, the weight of it all settling in. The complicated side of Jin that you didn’t know about, and this now tangled web between your friendship with Wendy and what you’ve shared with him.

“What are you implying?” you whisper, barely audible.

Yoongi looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours, trying to convey something without saying it outright. And then it hits you—he’s not just talking about Jin and Wendy. He’s talking about you. About the late-night streams, the flirty banter, the way you and Jin have been dancing around each other lately. He’s talking about the possibility of feelings—real feelings—creeping in where they shouldn’t.

Your face flushes, and you quickly shake your head, as if trying to physically dispel the thought. No. Absolutely not. Whatever little thoughts you’ve had about Jin were born out of loneliness, boredom, maybe even a touch of curiosity—but that’s it. This thing between you two? It’s just a fun way to make money. A distraction. Nothing more.

You don’t like Jin. You can’t like Jin. Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t waver, his expression serious but tinged with something almost sympathetic. “You know what I’m talking about,” he says, his voice low. “But for the sake of Jin—and out of respect for you—I can’t say it out loud.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. Of course you know what he’s talking about. The late-night streams, the teasing banter, the way Jin’s voice seems to linger in your mind long after the camera turns off. But it’s just work, right? A way to make some extra cash, to fill the void until you land another corporate job. It’s not supposed to mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

Maybe you really need to separate yourself from whatever insane feelings or thoughts have been sprouting in your head over the past few months, you think, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself. Those good, mind-numbing orgasms? That’s just work. Don’t forget that. It’s transactional. It’s temporary. It’s not real.

But even as you repeat the words to yourself, they feel hollow, like a mantra you’re trying too hard to believe.

“I need some air,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Yoongi. He nods, his expression unreadable, and you slip away from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until you reach the center of the party. The music is louder here, the laughter brighter, but it all feels distant, like you’re watching it through a foggy window.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jin signaling to you, holding up a shot glass with that familiar grin of his. Normally, you’d smile back, maybe even tease him about how many he’s already had. But tonight, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you grab a berry cherry limeade BuzzBall from the table and head straight for the balcony, your heart pounding in your chest.

The cool night air hits you as soon as you step outside, and you take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs. You lean against the railing, the city lights stretching out before you, and take a long swig of the BuzzBall. The sweetness is almost too much, but the alcohol buzz spreads almost immediately. This is a distraction, something to focus on besides the mess in your head.

You look out at the stars, at the other apartments across the way. The lights flicker from behind windows, and for a second, it feels like you’re completely alone. In your own space, with no one else’s expectations weighing on you. But even then, you can’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest. You try to force it out—tell yourself you’re overthinking, that this is just another night. But the tension still clings to you, wrapping itself around your thoughts. The same dread and confusion you felt with Mingi, but now somehow it feels more twisted. Because you know, deep down, this is different. Jin isn’t like Mingi. Not at all. And that’s what scares you.

You think back to those weeks before when you were drowning in heartbreak after Mingi’s betrayal. You remember how desperate you felt, how everything seemed so out of your control. 

Just when you thought you’d moved on from the Mingi cheating disaster, thanks in no small part to Jin helping you forget, here you are again—caught in another complicated web of feelings you never asked for.

Back to square one.

Get a grip.

Before you can spiral any further, the sliding door behind you opens, and you tense, not ready to face anyone. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is, but you do anyway. But when Namjoon steps out onto the balcony, his presence is surprisingly calming. He gives you a warm, quiet smile.

“Hey,” he says softly, his deep voice carrying a note of concern. “You okay?”

You let out a humorless laugh, still staring out at the city. “I’m just… grabbing some air. It’s stuffy in there. Do I look not okay?”

Namjoon steps closer, leaning against the railing beside you. “Not really. But I figured I’d ask anyway.”

You glance at him, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos in your head. “I was thinking about how shitty my love life is,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to swear off any potential relationships.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “That bad, huh?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “Just… tired of the drama. Tired of feeling like I’m always one step away from messing everything up.”

He nods, his gaze thoughtful. “Sometimes it’s not about avoiding the mess. It’s about figuring out what’s worth cleaning up.”

You freeze for a moment, his words hitting closer to home than you’d like. But you quickly shake it off, not ready to unpack that just yet. “Yeah, well, I think I’ve done enough cleaning up for one lifetime.”

Namjoon chuckles softly, and for a moment, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter. But you’re careful not to say too much. Namjoon is sharp—too sharp. If you let your guard down, he’ll figure out exactly what’s going on with you and Jin, and that’s a conversation you’re not ready to have.

Not now. Maybe not ever. "Well, then let me help you. You wanna hang out sometime next week?"

 "Huh?"

You blink at Namjoon, caught off guard. "Hang out? Like… just us?"

He shrugs, taking a sip from his drink. "Yeah. Why not?"

Your brain short-circuits for a second, still stuck on the conversation you just had—your messy love life, the lingering thoughts of Jin, the complications of everything happening in your life right now. And now Namjoon, with his quiet confidence and perceptive nature, is offering you an out. A distraction.

“I mean, I guess,” you say hesitantly, swirling the drink in your cup. “What’d you have in mind?”

Namjoon smirks slightly, tilting his head in thought. “Dinner? A museum? A bookstore? Maybe something that doesn’t involve people getting wasted off Buzzballs?”

You huff out a laugh. “That might be a nice change of pace.”

“Good,” he says, his voice warm, reassuring. “Then it’s a plan.”

You don’t know why, but there’s something grounding about Namjoon in this moment. Maybe it’s the way he listens, how he doesn’t push, just offers you a space to breathe. You haven’t had that in a while.

But before you can say anything else, the balcony door swings open again, and Jin steps outside.

The air shifts instantly.

Jin’s gaze flickers between the two of you, something unreadable crossing his face before he covers it up with a lazy smirk. “What’s this? You sneaking off with my roommate, Joon?”

Namjoon, completely unfazed, leans against the railing with an easy grin. “She needed air. I’m just keeping her company.”

Jin hums, stepping closer. He’s got a drink in his hand, the condensation dripping down his fingers as he tilts his head at you. His tone is playful, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. “Didn’t take you for a party-escape type, Princess.”

Your grip tightens around your drink at the nickname. You haven’t heard him call you that outside of the streams before. Or even outside this home where only you two live in. You shoot him a look, forcing a smirk. “Didn’t take you for the type to notice when I’m not around.”

Jin’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second before he recovers, chuckling under his breath. “Please. I always notice.”

Your breath catches, but before you can process it, Namjoon clears his throat, setting his cup down on the railing. “Well, I should probably get back inside. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

You nod, watching as he heads back in, leaving you alone with Jin.

The silence that follows is thick.

Jin leans back against the railing next to you, staring out at the city. "So. You and Namjoon, huh?"

You scoff. “Don’t start.”

He grins. “What? I’m just curious.”

“No, you’re fishing.”

Jin chuckles, but there’s something behind it—something almost hesitant. He takes a slow sip of his drink before turning to face you fully. “Do you like him?”

You freeze. Of all the questions, you weren’t expecting that.

Your first instinct is to deflect, to make a joke, to push the attention away from whatever this is. But for some reason, the way Jin is looking at you—open, unreadable, waiting—makes your throat go dry.

You swallow. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice softer than you intended. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Jin studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhales, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Yeah. I guess not.”

But the way he says it doesn’t feel like he believes it.

And neither do you.

Jin’s presence lingers beside you as the two of you step back inside, the warm air of the party wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. The energy in the room is still buzzing—music playing, drinks flowing, laughter echoing from different corners of the apartment. But despite the crowd, your eyes immediately land on them.

Yunjin and Wendy, standing near the kitchen island with Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon all gathered around.

The moment Wendy spots you, her brows furrow slightly. “Where have you been for the last half hour?” she asks, tilting her head, curiosity laced in her tone.

And once again, it feels a bit hard to breathe. A bit hard to look at her.

The weight of Yoongi’s earlier revelation presses down on your chest like a brick. That’s his ex. That’s your friend. She dated Jin. She slept with Jin. She knows what he’s like behind closed doors. She knew before you ever did.

You force a smile, gripping your drink a little tighter. “Just needed some air,” you answer, voice even. “Namjoon came out to check on me just before Jin showed up.”

Jin hums beside you, taking a slow sip of his drink as if the conversation isn’t affecting him at all. But you feel it—the way his body tenses just slightly beside you and his usual playfulness is suddenly more subdued.

Wendy nods, but there’s something unreadable in her expression as she glances between you and Jin. “Well, good timing,” she says, her tone light but observant. “We were just about to take shots. You in?”

A distraction.

You exhale, finally forcing yourself to meet her gaze. The feelings swirling inside of you—confusion, unease, maybe even the smallest hint of bitterness—don’t disappear, but you shove them down.

“Yeah,” you say, lifting your cup. “I could use one.”

Jin watches you for a moment longer before flashing one of his signature grins. “Make it two for me.”

And just like that, the conversation shifts, the moment buried under the burn of alcohol and the chaos of the party. But deep down, the questions remain.

What does Wendy really think about all this?

And why does Jin keep looking at you like that?

The party is in full swing, and the energy has shifted into something livelier. In the middle of the living room, Jin and Namjoon are setting up a beer pong table, arranging the plastic cups in neat triangles at either end, filling them up with cheap beer. Yunjin, Wendy, Jungkook, Hoseok, and Yoongi have gathered around, some leaning against the counters, others lounging on the couch, watching with amused anticipation.

You’re feeling a little looser now, the initial unease from earlier beginning to wear off thanks to the alcohol. And maybe, just maybe, you need something to really push these thoughts out of your head. So when Namjoon asks for volunteers, your hand shoots up without thinking.

“I’m in,” you say, stepping forward.

Jin snorts beside you. “You?”

You shoot him a glare. “Yes, me.”

He raises an eyebrow, arms crossed as he tilts his head at you. “No offense, Y/N, but you’re not a great drinker.” Everyone laughs, which makes you scoff. “Excuse me? I can drink just fine.”

“You get tipsy off one soju bottle.”

“That was one time!”

Jin smirks, clearly enjoying this too much. “Yeah, one time last month. Pretty recent, don’t you think?”

The others chuckle at your expense, and you narrow your eyes at him, determined now. “You know what? You play against me then.”

His grin widens. “Ohhh, so we’re back to our childhood rivalry, huh?”

“You started it.”

“Oh no, you started it by thinking you could win.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, Namjoon steps up beside you, a relaxed smile on his face. “I’ll be her drinking partner,” he says casually.

Jin’s expression falters for just a second. “What? That’s cheating.”

Namjoon raises his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just here for moral support. Plus, you said she’s a lightweight, right? I’m helping balance it out.”

You grin, nudging Namjoon. “See? Teamwork.” You high-five the tall, buff man.

Jin clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed. “Whatever. I’m still kicking your ass.”

And so the game begins.

—

Though turns out, you’re actually pretty good at beer pong.

You weren’t sure if it was the confidence boost from earlier, the competitive streak inside you, or just pure dumb luck, but shot after shot, you manage to land the ball in Jin’s cups. The crowd hypes you up every time you score, and you can feel Jin getting more and more agitated.

But, of course, Jin is better. Annoyingly so.

Every time you think you’re about to get ahead, he evens the score, sinking shots with ease. He’s in his element—relaxed, confident, smirking every time he throws the ball. And the worst part? He knows how to rile you up.

“Wow,” Jin muses as he lands another shot effortlessly, arms stretching behind his head. “I almost feel bad, you were doing so well in the beginning.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you grumble, grabbing the ping pong ball.

“Too late.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fingers tightening around the ball. Okay. You need to distract him. You need something to throw him off so you’re back to winning.

And then…an idea pops into your head. A very reckless, impulsive idea, thanks to the alcohol.

You shoot Jin an innocent look, twirling the ball between your fingers. “Hey, Jin?”

He hums, not even looking up, too busy lining up his next shot.

“Can you tell me how you know Wendy?”

Jin freezes. His fingers slip ever so slightly, and his shot, which would’ve been perfect, veers off course and misses.

Bullseye.

Yoongi, who’s been watching from the side, lets out a sharp breath and shakes his head. He is definitely regretting ever telling you about his ex earlier.

Jin blinks at you, caught off guard. His face doesn’t immediately betray any emotions, but you can tell he’s scrambling to figure out why you’d ask. You see the way his brain works behind his eyes, piecing together the fact that you know.

Wendy, who had been sipping her drink and conversing with Hoseok, suddenly stiffens at the mention of her name. She glances at you, then at Jin, her expression unreadable.

Jin clears his throat. “We went out,” he admits, tone steady. “And we ended thing mutually, so I guess we’re just friends now.”

He turns slightly, nodding toward Wendy, silently asking for confirmation.

She meets his gaze and nods back, a small, tight smile on her lips. “Yeah. Just friends.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know why, but it feels heavier than it should be.

Jin shifts his attention back to you. “Didn’t know you two were acquainted too.”

You lick your lips, feeling something weird settle in your stomach. “Yeah. Wendy and I have been friends for years.”

Jin watches you carefully, his fingers gripping the ping-pong ball just a little tighter before he tosses it in the air and catches it again. There’s something unreadable in his expression—like he’s waiting for you to slip, to give yourself away.

“I don’t know how you found out,” he says casually, rolling the ball between his fingers. “Is the fact that I dated one of your friends bothering you?”

He shoots his shot. The ball arcs smoothly through the air, landing perfectly in your cup. Of course, it does.

You pick up the ball and twirl it between your fingers, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “Of course not,” you say simply, aiming for your next throw. “Why would it?”

Jin tilts his head, smirking like he doesn’t quite believe you. “No reason. Just thought you might have opinions on it.”

Your grip tightens slightly, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you launch the ball toward his cup. It bounces once, then sinks inside.

You meet his gaze, holding it. “It’s your life, Jin. Your past. Not mine. And not up to me to judge you on that.”

He stares at you for a beat too long, then chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Right,” he mutters, lifting his drink and taking a slow sip. “Not yours.”

But the way he says it makes something twist in your stomach.

And from the sidelines, Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, shaking his head like he’s already regretting ever opening his mouth.

Your fingers tighten around the plastic cup, the cold condensation pressing against your palm as you try to make sense of what you’re feeling. The truth is… you don’t know.

Sleeping with your friend’s ex-boyfriend? That alone should have you feeling guilty. But then there’s the fact that Jin isn’t just some guy—he’s your long-time childhood rival, the person who’s been tangled up in your life in ways no one else ever has. He’s always been there, challenging you, frustrating you, pushing you to your limits. And now? Now you’re living together, sleeping together, making money off your bodies while pretending none of it means anything.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But standing here, playing this stupid game with him, feeling his eyes on you like he’s waiting for something—some kind of reaction—it all suddenly feels very real. Too real.

The alcohol is starting to work its way into Jin’s system, loosening the sharp edges of his usual self-control. He walks toward you, his gaze darkening with something unreadable. And then, just as you’re about to take your next shot, he whispers it.

"Are you jealous?"

Your fingers slip, and the ball veers off course, bouncing off the rim.

Shit.

The surrounding group erupts in laughter at your failed shot, but all you can focus on is Jin, who’s watching you with that infuriatingly smug expression as he goes back to his side. Like he knows he hit a nerve. Like he’s enjoying this way too much.

Namjoon hands you a cup, a silent reminder that you have to drink now, and you take a slow sip, letting the bitterness coat your tongue.

You set the cup down, leveling Jin with a look. “Why would you assume that?”

He tilts his head, like he’s actually considering it. “Dunno. Just because you brought her up when you could’ve said anything else.”

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head. “Jin, we’re living together, but I know my own boundaries.”

His smirk falters for just a second. It’s quick—almost too quick—but you catch it.

He tosses the ball absentmindedly in his hand, his smirk still lingering but not quite reaching his eyes. Is the alcohol getting to him now? Or is it his own jealousy of you being alone with his friend? Either way, it’s loosening the usual filter between his thoughts and his words.

"You know your own boundaries?" he echoes, tilting his head slightly. "That’s funny. Thought we blurred a few of those while living together."

Your stomach flips, but you mask it with a scoff. “Oh, please. It’s not like—”

But the words catch in your throat before you can stop them. Not like you two sleep together? Not like you let him fuck you on camera? Not like you think about him more than you should?

Jin’s eyes widen slightly. He catches the slip before anyone else does. Shit.

You’re about to say something—maybe backtrack, maybe pretend it was nothing—but before you can, Jin moves.

In an instant, he closes the distance between you, his hand clamping over your mouth, muffling any potential disaster that could spill from your lips.

“Alright, that’s enough drinks for you,” he says quickly, his voice unnaturally light, like he’s trying to play it off.

The others blink in confusion, Yoongi narrowing his eyes as if already piecing things together.

“What the hell, Jin?” Jungkook laughs. “Where are you taking her?”

“She needs to cool off in her room,” Jin calls over his shoulder as he practically drags you away from the table, his grip firm but careful. You struggle slightly, letting out a muffled protest against his palm, but it’s no use—he’s already guiding you down the hallway.

Everyone that was watching the game looks at you two confused, but then go on to continue playing, now with Jungkook and Hoseok playing against Yunjin and Wendy, who is still stuck on the two of you being a bit weird. Before Wendy has time to question it to Yunjin, Jimin and Taehyung show up to watch them play.

On your end, the door slams shut.

Then—

Your back is against the wall.

Jin’s body is pressed against yours, his palm still covering your mouth, his other hand braced against the wall beside your head.

You freeze, eyes locking onto his, heart hammering against your ribs.

The air between you is thick, electric. His chest rises and falls, breath warm against your cheek. His eyes—usually so playful and teasing—are dark, serious. Frustrated.

You make an indignant noise behind his palm, glaring at him.

Jin exhales, running his tongue over his bottom lip before leaning in closer, so close that you feel his breath ghost over your skin.

He finally releases you, and you stumble slightly, glaring at him as you wipe your mouth. “Are you insane?”

Jin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Me? I just saved your ass from exposing everything in front of our friends!”

Your breath is still uneven from being manhandled into the room, your pulse racing for an entirely different reason now. You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. “I wasn’t going to say anything—”

“You were,” he cuts in, his tone lower, more serious now. “You almost did.”

Uh, well…

You can’t even argue with that. He’s right. You did almost say something. And now, you’re not sure if it was just the alcohol or something deeper clawing its way to the surface.

You suck in a breath, staring at him. “You didn't need to drag me away, though” you accuse, voice coming out shakier than you intended.

“You were about to say some dumb shit that neither of us need getting out,” he shoots back, still keeping you caged against the wall. “What the hell was that?”

Your face burns. “Maybe I was tipsy! I don't know!”

Jin exhales harshly, tilting his head back like he’s trying to gather patience. “Jesus,” he mutters.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your skin is burning under his proximity. He hasn’t moved. His hands are still caging you in, his body still too close, and—god, why does he smell so good?

Is that a scent of fig tree with a cedarand woody note? Wait, no, you gotta focus. You meet his gaze, pulse erratic. “Are you mad?”

Jin lets out a short, humorless laugh. “No shit.”

Oh no.

Silence.

Neither of you move. Neither of you look away.

And then—

His eyes flicker down to your lips.

Your breath catches.

"I'm sorry," you say. Jin’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident in the sharp rise and fall of his chest. His hands are still braced against the wall, caging you in, but his anger—hot and immediate—has shifted into something else entirely.

Something deeper.

His eyes flicker down to your lips again. Just for a second. But you catch it.

You feel it.

Your throat bobs, and you suddenly can’t decide if it’s the alcohol making your head light or the fact that Jin is looking at you like that.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to almost expose us," you repeat, softer this time. “I was just being stupid.”

Jin exhales through his nose, his gaze lingering on you, the sharp edges of his irritation dulling just slightly. He wants to keep being mad, wants to keep drilling it into your head that you were reckless, but…

You look too apologetic. Too sincere.

Too fucking cute.

The slight flush on your cheeks, the way your lips are slightly parted, the way your body feels small under him—it’s enough to make his resolve crack.

And maybe it’s the alcohol lowering his inhibitions.

Maybe it’s the past few months of unspoken tension between you two.

Maybe it’s the fact that he can still taste the way your body feels around him, that the memory of your breathless moans isn’t something he can just shake off like he does with meaningless encounters.

Maybe it’s all of that.

Or maybe Jin just wants to shut you up. Erase mentions of his past with thoughts of the present.

And so—without a second thought, without warning—he kisses you.

Leaving you in complete shock.

His lips crash onto yours, his hand moving from the wall to cup the side of your face, fingers curling into your hair as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss instantly.

You gasp against him, your body stiffening for just a second before melting into the heat of him. His mouth is hot, insistent, and when he presses in closer, slotting himself flush against you, you feel it—the tension between you finally snapping into something undeniable.

Your hands grip at his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer, and Jin groans low against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and straight to your core.

Fuck.

This isn’t like before.

This isn’t the mechanical, transactional chemistry you two have in front of the camera.

Or the casual closeness you have as friends in this home.

This is different.

This is raw. Messy. Real.

And that terrifies you.

Just as Jin’s lips part from yours, your phone vibrates in your back pocket, the sudden noise cutting through the hazy warmth of the moment.

You jerk away from him, breathless, pressing a shaky hand to his chest to create some distance. His brows furrow in confusion, lips still slightly swollen from the kiss, but you’re already fishing out your phone.

An unknown number flashes across the screen.

Your heart pounds for an entirely different reason now.

You swallow, trying to steady yourself before answering. The muffled bass from the party thrums behind the bedroom door, and you pray the caller doesn’t hear it.

“Hello?” you answer, your voice only slightly uneven.

“Hi, is this Y/N?”

You straighten at the sound of the polished, professional voice. “Uh—yes, this is she. How can I help you?”

“Hi, this is Gia, Content Marketing Director at Netflix,” the woman says smoothly. “The team and I discussed our decision, and I didn’t want to wait any longer to inform you. I’m calling to officially offer you the role.”

Your stomach drops.

“I—” You suck in a breath, gripping the phone tighter. “That’s… amazing. Thank you.”

Gia chuckles lightly, her tone warm. “Of course. We’d love to set up a time early next week to go over the details through a phone call. Would Monday at 10 AM work for you?”

Your thoughts are spinning, but somehow, you manage to ground yourself enough to say, “Yes! Monday at 10 works perfectly.”

Jin, still standing close, mouths, Who is it?

You shake your head quickly, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to process what’s happening.

Oh my god.

You just got the job.

Oh god.

“Perfect,” Gia says. “We’ll talk more then. Congratulations again, Y/N.”

“Thank you so much,” you manage, voice slightly breathless. The call ends with a polite goodbye, and you’re left standing there, phone still clutched in your hand, stunned.

Jin tilts his head, still waiting for an answer. “Well?”

You lift your gaze to meet his, wide-eyed and almost disbelieving.

“I just got the job offer at Netflix.”

And just like that—with a new situation arising, everything changes.

- -

a/n: i have no long notes to add. except REMEMBER TO PRE-SAVE AND PRE-ORDER JIN'S 2ND ALBUM ECHO, NOW !! but anyways, that was a crazy ending to this chapter. there's only one more left and that will be released the day before jin's album so look forward to that!!!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[oviraptoridae]

research & development is ongoing

since using jukebox for sampling material on albedo, i've been increasingly interested in ethically using ai as a tool to incorporate more into my own artwork. recently i've been experimenting with "commoncanvas", a stable diffusion model trained entirely on works in the creative commons. though i do not believe legality and ethics are equivalent, this provides me peace of mind that all of the training data was used consensually through the terms of the creative commons license. here's the paper on it for those who are curious! shoutout to @reachartwork for the inspiration & her informative posts about her process!

part 1: overview

i usually post finished works, so today i want to go more in depth & document the process of experimentation with a new medium. this is going to be a long and image-heavy post, most of it will be under the cut & i'll do my best to keep all the image descriptions concise.

for a point of reference, here is a digital collage i made a few weeks ago for the album i just released (shameless self promo), using photos from wikimedia commons and a render of a 3d model i made in blender:

and here are two images i made with the help of common canvas (though i did a lot of editing and post-processing, more on that process in a future post):

more about my process & findings under the cut, so this post doesn't get too long:

quick note for my setup: i am running this model locally on my own machine (rtx 3060, ubuntu 23.10), using the automatic1111 web ui. if you are on the same version of ubuntu as i am, note that you will probably have to build python 3.10.6 yourself (and be sure to use 'make altinstall' instead of 'make install' and change the line in the webui to use 'python3.10' instead of 'python3'. just mentioning this here because nobody else i could find had this exact problem and i had to figure it out myself)

part 2: initial exploration

all the images i'll be showing here are the raw outputs of the prompts given, with no retouching/regenerating/etc.

so: commoncanvas has 2 different types of models, the "C" and "NC" models, trained on their database of works under the CC Commercial and Non-Commercial licenses, respectively (i think the NC dataset also includes the commercial license works, but i may be wrong). the NC model is larger, but both have their unique strengths:

"a cat on the computer", "C" model

"a cat on the computer", "NC" model

they both take the same amount of time to generate (17 seconds for four 512x512 images on my 3060). if you're really looking for that early ai jank, go for the commercial model. one thing i really like about commoncanvas is that it's really good at reproducing the styles of photography i find most artistically compelling: photos taken by scientists and amateurs. (the following images will be described in the captions to avoid redundancy):

"grainy deep-sea rover photo of an octopus", "NC" model. note the motion blur on the marine snow, greenish lighting and harsh shadows here, like you see in photos taken by those rover submarines that scientists use to take photos of deep sea creatures (and less like ocean photography done for purely artistic reasons, which usually has better lighting and looks cleaner). the anatomy sucks, but the lighting and environment is perfect.

"beige computer on messy desk", "NC" model. the reflection of the flash on the screen, the reddish-brown wood, and the awkward angle and framing are all reminiscent of a photo taken by a forum user with a cheap digital camera in 2007.

so the noncommercial model is great for vernacular and scientific photography. what's the commercial model good for?

"blue dragon sitting on a stone by a river", "C" model. it's good for bad CGI dragons. whenever i request dragons of the commercial model, i either get things that look like photographs of toys/statues, or i get gamecube type CGI, and i love it.

here are two little green freaks i got while trying to refine a prompt to generate my fursona. (i never succeeded, and i forget the exact prompt i used). these look like spore creations and the background looks like a bryce render. i really don't know why there's so much bad cgi in the datasets and why the model loves going for cgi specifically for dragons, but it got me thinking...

"hollow tree in a magical forest, video game screenshot", "C" model

"knights in a dungeon, video game screenshot", "C" model

i love the dreamlike video game environments and strange CGI characters it produces-- it hits that specific era of video games that i grew up with super well.

part 3: use cases

if you've seen any of the visual art i've done to accompany my music projects, you know that i love making digital collages of surreal landscapes:

(this post is getting image heavy so i'll wrap up soon)

i'm interested in using this technology more, not as a replacement for my digital collage art, but along with it as just another tool in my toolbox. and of course...

... this isn't out of lack of skill to imagine or draw scifi/fantasy landscapes.

thank you for reading such a long post! i hope you got something out of this post; i think it's a good look into the "experimentation phase" of getting into a new medium. i'm not going into my post-processing / GIMP stuff in this post because it's already so long, but let me know if you want another post going into that!

good-faith discussion and questions are encouraged but i will disable comments if you don't behave yourselves. be kind to each other and keep it P.L.U.R.

[lucvly]

hii !! can u make a story of reader walking into matt’s room while he’s streaming n kisses him not knowing he’s streaming ? IDK IF YOU’VE ALR DONE SMTH LIKE THIS BUT

BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, BEAUTIFUL PROBLEMS. ( matt sturniolo. )

warnings › fluff, gamer matt lmao, use of y/n, NOT PROOFREAD.

author’s note › I LOVE THIS REQ AW. also i’m still trying out formats for my posts so ignore if every single one looks different oops. lowkey also got a little carried away w this one Sorry...

› all that could be heard from matt’s headphones were the sounds that his game elicited, while also occasionally hearing some of the chat notifications that appeared on one of the screens of the setup.

his headphones were very soundproof, just to help him focus on his game a bit more. this was one of the rare occasions he decided to stream, just because he hadn’t in a while and because chris brought up the idea of revisiting the concept. he agreed, and it turned out to be an amazing idea– a lot of people, more than usual, were in the stream watching matt and chris play.

their cameras were on, the green light on matt’s pc indicating the live was ongoing and that his camera was on, showing a smiley yet concentrated matt who was biting down on his bottom lip unconsciously, raising his voice at chris for something fortnite related you couldn’t quite understand– all you heard was a loud noise coming from his room as you walked through the door.

you furrowed your brows, dropping your keys on the counter of the kitchen before also setting down your purse and making your way to the room matt was currently playing in. you were so occupied running errands for the day all you wanted to do was get home to your boyfriend and his embrace.

the thought of him holding you in his arms is what kept you entertained all day, up until this moment when you mindlessly knocked softly on the door despite it being the slightest bit open, only enough for some light to come through but not enough to see what was going on.

no answer.

you thought nothing of it, pushing the door open with a small, tired sigh as you kicked your shoes off, a gentle smile appearing on your face at the sight of your boyfriend sat up playing on his computer, which wasn’t unusual. you assumed his headphones were what deafened the knocks to him.

matt was still concentrated on the game, commenting something to chris about helping him about because he was getting attacked, the noise coming from the keyboard echoing throughout the entirety of the room.

being so wrapped up in the game with his brother, he hadn’t even noticed your presence in the room, even when your shoes made a fairly loud noise, and you throwing your jacket on the lounge chair as you entered could’ve also been a dead giveaway, though you thought nothing much of it– he was always playing with his brother, and you could very faintly hear chris’s voice echoing from his headphones.

you made your way over to him, whispering a soft “hi baby,” then pressing a kiss to his cheek, not really wanting to interrupt his game, your plans were to simply take a quick shower before he could even finish the game so you could lay down with him after the long day that you had to endure, but all that quickly got shut down as matt instantly looked up at you.

“hi, we’re–” he started to speak, unsure of what to do, already hearing the blast of messages that were being sent through the chat. he mentally face palmed for not telling you he was planning on streaming today– it had completely slipped his mind, and he was about to pay the price.

it wasn’t like he didn’t want you in his public life, he would love for that to happen. he wanted to show you off and tell everyone that he was in a happy relationship with the love of his life– and he had been for a while, and that they knew nothing of it.

though there was already an incredible amount of situationship allegations and speculation surrounding the two of you– nothing was ever confirmed or denied, so people were really unsure of what your status was. you were never really seen publicly with matt, both of you deciding that would be the smartest decision you could probably make for the sake of your relationship’s privacy. there were a few leaked photos of you hanging out together at influencer parties, but nothing that were to give out any hints regarding your relationship.

“hey chris.” you waved casually to the camera, seeing chris’s face onscreen. though he seemed, odd. a smirk was on his lips as he attempted to hold in a laugh while he shook his head slowly, showing disappointment towards matt.

matt cleared his throat, his gaze making its way back up at you. “we’re– uh, streaming.” he let out a small chuckle.

your heart dropped, your face immediately showing off your sense of panic as you stepped back from the frame, no longer being visible to the camera, your mouth opening as if you were to speak but no words were coming out, except a frantic, yet soft “oh.”

matt chuckled once again. this definitely wasn’t the way he wanted to do it, but oh well, the opportunity already presented itself, so why not take advantage of it?

he pulled you back into frame, guiding you to sit on his lap so you were both visible to the camera now. his hands were on your hips, though that wasn’t visible to the camera, it was more of an act of reassurance towards you, trying to give an unspoken hint that it was okay.

“well, this is my beautiful girlfriend, y/n.” he spoke in a joyous tone, a small smile creeping onto his lips as he looked at you with a certain look that was everything the chat was talking about, getting bombarded with comments along the lines of “OH MY GOD??” “THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER :((” “BRB SOBBING.”

“and you already know my boyfriend matt.” you let out the softest laugh. you were definitely nervous, but turning slightly and looking into matt’s eyes, you were sure you were going to be fine, that it was okay.

the chat confirmed your suspicions, surprisingly everyone was being incredibly normal, gushing over the two of you. there were people already asking for couples content, and some others just telling you they were jealous in the nicest way possible.

“i can’t believe nick missed this.” chris finally intervened with a loud laugh. “kid would’ve had a field day with this one.”

you immediately turned to look at your boyfriend who was already staring at you in slight disbelief at your calm reaction to all of this, while still processing the fact that you just hard launched your relationship on a fortnite stream with his brother.

“can you kick someone off a stream?” you joked, trying to hold back the laugh that was threatening to leave your lips.