Chia

warnings; detail + lore + prose heavy, humanoid dragons, comfort, character death (not mc or dragon), power imbalance (technically), huge age gap (technically), mentor x student relationship (adults tho)

wc; 1,800

check a/n info on smutty part two!

please reblog + interact with this piece!!!

Your mentor confessed to you that there were few things more humbling than being called a "latent magic-user" by the dragons.

This had been inspired after an audience with the dragon queen in a place far away from the human realm, mere weeks after discovering you even possessed the ability to harness magic at all. You had stopped a pickpocket taking gold coins from an old woman, and a runaway carriage from crashing into a cabbage stand by freezing time in bouts of fright. Both the incidents and your life changed on that very same day.

This banner is so cute. Just another reimagining of this scenario. Kinda makes sense to be in your birthday suit tho if you transform from a cat then back to being a human 😂

Frame by frame ⬇️

"Oh, we've always had this one. Isn't that right, kitten?" He smirks as he pats the animals head, while it meows in an annoyed tone so similar to yours that Zayne absentmindedly thinks about how alike you two ar-

Oh shit.

"Are you alright?" Zayne hurries over, a frown on his face as he gently inspects your animal form. You purr under his touch, trying to show him you're doing fine.

"It's just an...unfortunate side effect. It should wear off soon." Sylus comforts him, while you do the same by butting your soft head against his hand. With his pounding heart starting to calm, Zayne allows himself to gently pet you.

"Most cats run away when they see me." Zayne muses as you climb into his lap, settling down. Sylus chuckles, leaning over to pet you.

"Well, we have that in common. However, I believe this one feels differently." Sylus can't hide his grin as you clamber all over Zayne, trying to show him your usual level of affection despite your current predicament.

"Hello." The doctor murmurs with a smile when you perch on his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his head.

Feeling overwhelmed at just how adorable this form of yours is, neither can help themselves from leaning in to press a soft kiss on your fur at the same time. In the blink of an eye, there's no longer a cat sitting in Zayne's lap.

🐰Bunny Batch🐰

A Second Life (Part 23)

LADS - Lingering Lust

Pairing: all LaDs men (together) × (F) Reader

Content: Set in an alternate universe where the LaDs men are a boy band known as Deepspace. The story takes place over several months.

Tags: boy band AU, slice of life, forced proximity, OOC, fake dating, humor, suggestive themes, explicit dialogue (sexual references, non-graphic), mentions of sexual harasment/inappropriate behavior (non-graphic), slow burn, why choose/reverse harem

Ongoing (part 3 of ???)

Word count: 3,286

Tag list : @cathedralofaudra @sunflowersandsnipers @chubbymochi123 @itsravenclaw379 @flowerscankill @yikesmama3

Part 1 Part 2

BEHIND THE HEADLINES

Part 3

“Why are you looking at that phone like it personally offended you?” Sylus asks, walking in with the others.

After Thomas left, you settled onto the couch in the living room with the new phone to study it.

Rafayel drops down beside you, far too close, his thigh pressing against yours.

You shoot him a side glance. “I’m trying to find the off button for Rafayel.”

“Rude,” he mutters.

“While you’re at it,” Zayne adds dryly, “see if you can find Xavier’s on button.”

You glance over. Xavier is slouched nearby, looking as if he’s still halfway asleep.

…

“Cutie, Thomas put me in charge of announcing our relationship!” Rafayel chirps, far too pleased with himself.

He grabs your hands, holding them between his. “Our first picture together has to be perfect, our best one.”

His expression shifts, brows knitting together. “Why are your hands so rough? And calloused? Don’t you use hand cream?”

You pull your hands free, retreating across the couch. “They’re what you’d call working-class hands.”

Rafayel hums thoughtfully. He pulls out his phone, tapping rapidly with practiced ease.

“All set,” he announces a moment later, looking satisfied. “I’ve arranged a spa day - VIP, fully exclusive. And when you get back, we’ll go shopping.”

“Shopping?” you repeat, caught off guard.

He gestures toward your outfit, eyes scanning you critically. “My girlfriend should have class.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with my clothes?” You glance down at yourself.

Rafayel looks genuinely offended, as if the answer is obvious. He starts counting on his fingers.

“So far, I’ve only seen you in a uniform that’s clearly too small for you”

Not my choice, you mutter under your breath.

“And sportswear.”

“It’s comfortable and practical,” you shoot back.

“Clothing isn’t just something you wear,” Rafayel counters. “It’s something you style. It’s a form of expression.”

You push yourself to your feet abruptly. “I’ll go to this spa thing, fine, but shopping is a no. I can just change into something else for the picture.”

As you turn and head toward your room, Rafayel calls after you. “Pick out a dress!”

…

Moments later, you return - now dressed in a plain, form-fitting black maxi dress with thin straps.

Rafayel looks you up and down. “Are you allergic to color?”

“This is the only dress I own,” you admit. “I don’t even know why I packed it. I usually only wear it to funerals.”

“I don’t see a problem,” Sylus says, his gaze lingering. “You can never go wrong with black.”

“That’s not exactly how you compliment a woman,” Zayne mutters, shooting Rafayel a disapproving look.

You stick your tongue out at Rafayel in response.

“Fiiine,” Rafayel sighs. “It’ll work. Stand by the window, facing out.”

You walk over, positioning yourself as instructed. Rafayel steps in beside you, slipping an arm around your waist.

You immediately tense at the contact.

“Relax, cutie,” he murmurs. “Now, use your hand - make the other half of a heart.”

You cringe but comply, raising your hand to mirror his, forming a complete heart between you.

Then—

Click. Click. Click.

“Done!” Caleb’s voice calls out.

Rafayel quickly retrieves the phone, scrolling through the photos. After selecting his favorite, he adds a filter, makes a few adjustments, and posts it to the band’s joint social media.

Caption: “No more distance between us. I finally have my cutie back by my side.”

And just like that—

The fake relationship begins.

…

Rafayel refuses to tell you anything about this so-called spa treatment - only that a car will take you into the city and that you should give your name at reception. So, with a mix of curiosity and unease, you arrive at the building, completely unsure of what to expect. You’ve never had anything like this done before.

…

The first person to greet you when you return to the villa is Rafayel.

Unfortunate for him.

“Cutie, you’re back!” he chimes, far too cheerful,making his way toward you. “You were gone longer than expected.” His expression shifts as he takes you in. “Why are you walking like that?” he asks, a mix of confusion and concern in his voice as he notices your stiff, wide-legged steps.

If looks could kill, Rafayel would have dropped on the spot - your glare sharp enough to end him five times over.

“Relaxing spa treatment, my ass,” you snap, your voice thick with irritation. “More like torture!”

Your frustration spills over. “My face looks like it’s been attacked by mosquitoes, my hair is full of who-knows-what, my legs are red raw. And, don’t even get me started on how my private parts have been violated, and not in a pleasurable way!”

Rafayel just stares at you for a second.

“Beauty is pain,” he says lightly.

You groan, fists clenched at your sides as you stomp away wincing with every step, muttering curses under your breath.

As you pass, Caleb glances at you, clearly puzzled.

You don’t even acknowledge him.

…

“What’s her problem?” Rafayel huffs, dropping dramatically into a seat. “Why is she so…feisty?”

“Want my opinion?” Caleb asks, sitting down beside him.

“Enlighten me,” Rafayel says, sounding defeated.

“You’re an ass,” Caleb replies matter-of-factly.

“Hey!” Rafayel protests, but before he can say more, Caleb cuts him off.

“Ever since you met her, you’ve done nothing but criticize her or throw out cheeky remarks that border on harassment.”

Rafayel opens his mouth to respond, but Caleb continues, not giving him the chance.

“She’s not one of your fangirls you can charm with a wink or a flirty grin.”

Rafayel still looks confused, clearly not following.

With a sigh, Caleb explains, “As celebrities, we’re always in the spotlight. To fans, we’re often nothing more than eye candy instead of actual people. And that’s exactly how you’re treating Y/N.”

Rafayel’s eyes widen slightly. A quiet “oh” slips from his lips as the realization hits - he’s the problem.

“I didn’t mean to…I…I just wanted her attention, and…the words come out before I can stop them,” Rafayel admits.

“I guess it’s easy to forget how to talk to people, especially women, when we’re not in the spotlight,” Caleb says with a shrug. “But that’s still no excuse,” he adds, scolding him.

“How do I fix this?” Rafayel whines.

“You can start by apologizing.” Caleb stands. “Though maybe give her some time to cool down first.”

…

You confine yourself to your room, sinking into a bathtub filled with cool water, hoping to soothe the sting and irritation off your skin.

…

You call your grandparents, doing your best to keep your voice steady and light as you insist that “everything is peachy.”

Your grandfather is quick to pick up on your mood. “So, is that what’s-his-name - the one with the purple hair - still alive?” he jokes.

You laugh despite yourself. He always knows how to lift your spirits.

You show them a picture of the view and your room. As promised to Thomas, you don’t share too many details. Not that you don’t trust your grandparents - you do and you know they’d be discreet - but your grandmother has a tendency to overshare without meaning to.

…

With a sigh, you finally unpack your suitcase, hanging your clothes, filling the drawers, lining up your shoes. You’d been stubborn about it, You’d been stubborn about it, convincing yourself that if you didn’t unpack, you’d be able to make a quick run for the hills.

…

You crack open your bedroom door and peer into the empty hallway, listening for voices or movement. Nothing. The coast is clear, so you head for the kitchen.

You open the fridge, finding it packed to the brim, and consider your options. Your eyes land on the cheese, ham, and other fillings. A sandwich it is.

You set your phone on the counter and press play on a song that never fails to lift your mood. Humming along, you sing the occasional lyric as your sandwich grows taller with each layer.

“Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?

You’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, a smooth criminal…”

Before long, the music takes over. The sandwich is forgotten as you break into dance, letting yourself get completely lost in it.

As the song fades, applause breaks out behind you.

You spin around to find all five of them standing there, clapping, amusement glinting in their eyes, smirks tugging at their lips.

“Kitten’s got moves,” Sylus remarks, clearly impressed.

Then you notice Caleb, phone raised.

“Did you record me?!” you gasp, rushing toward him. “Delete it!” you plead.

Caleb lifts his phone higher out of reach.

You stretch onto your tiptoes, even jump in a desperate attempt to snatch it.

Why are they all so damn tall? you think in frustration.

“A,a,a...Not so fast...I think I’ll keep this for blackmail,” Caleb smirks down at you.

…

“Were you planning on building a sandwich tower?” Zayne asks, drawing your attention to your abandoned creation.

“Interesting,” Xavier muses. “I’m going to make one too.” He reaches for the ingredients.

“It’s a ‘Shaggy sandwich,’” you explain.

All five of them stare at you, confused.

“You know - Shaggy? From Scooby-Doo?”

They still look lost.

“Don’t tell me none of you have ever watched Scooby-Doo,” you say, appalled.

They shake their heads.

You sigh dramatically. “All of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

——————————-——————————-——

With the villa being as large as it is, you’re still not familiar with its layout.

Luckily, thanks to the home app Thomas installed on the new phone he gave you, you at least know what’s behind each closed door. The only problem is…you don’t know which door leads where. So you end up opening one after another, searching for the room you actually want.

The gym.

…

Eventually, you push open a door and find it. To your surprise, right in the center of it sits a boxing ring.

Sylus is the only one there, throwing punches at a boxing bag.

“Need a sparring partner?” you ask.

He pauses mid-strike.

“Are you sure you’re up for something that intense?” Sylus asks, his gaze sharp with interest.

You pick up a pair of boxing gloves - slightly too big for your hands, but workable. Ducking under the ropes, you climb into the ring and settle into a stance.

“Let’s find out,” you reply with a cocky smile.

There’s no denying the difference in build, but you don’t let it throw you. Your posture stays steady, confident. You’ve got experience, a few years of training in mixed martial arts behind you. And you know better than anyone that technique can matter just as much as raw strength.

…

Your chest heaves, muscles straining as sweat drips down your skin. After proving to Sylus you can hold your own, he stopped holding back. The workout was brutal, but satisfying.

“If I’d known my cutie could throw punches like that, I would’ve been more careful from the start,” Rafayel says, suddenly appearing beside the ring. He hands you a bottle of water and a towel, which you take gratefully.

“Oh look, a punching bag,” you say after a long sip, flashing him a grin that’s all teeth.

“I deserve a few punches,” Rafayel replies quietly.

“Listen, cutie…I’m sorry.”

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden apology.

“I really am sorry for the way I’ve been treating you,” he continues, voice sincere. “For everything I’ve said. I didn’t realize how demeaning it came across. I genuinely like you. I want to spend time with you…to get to know you.” A blush rises to his cheeks at the last sentence.

He bows his head.

Sylus doesn’t interrupt, just watches in silence.

A few beats pass before you speak.

“Ever since my teenage years, I’ve felt objectified,” you say. “Boys and men only ever showed interest in my body. Girls mostly hated me out of jealousy.”

Rafayel lifts his gaze.

“Working at the diner didn’t help either. It was constant sleazy comments, unwanted attention. But I couldn’t say or do anything without risking my job. My family needed the money.”

You exhale. “So when you acted like all the other guys I’ve dealt with…it pissed me off.”

Rafayel can barely meet your eyes now, guilt settling in even heavier.

“But,” you add, your tone softens, “since you’re apologizing…I’ll give you another chance.”

You offer him a small smile.

Relief flickers across his face as he looks up again.

“However,” you continue, “if you go back to your old ways, I’ll make you my personal punching bag.”

Sylus lets out a low laugh from the side.

…

“By the way, kitten, where did you learn how to box?” Sylus asks, curious.

“To think you can give Sylus a run for his money in the ring,” Rafayel adds, sounding almost proud.

You lean back against the ropes. “One day, on my walk home from school, a group of older boys approached me with…bad intentions. They wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

A faint cringe crosses your face at the memory. “So I started hitting them. Didn’t expect them to hit back, though.”

“A passerby eventually stepped in. The boys ran off and it turned out the man was the owner of the gym just across the street. He took me inside to clean me up, patched me together, then told me that if I were going to throw punches, I should at least learn how to do it properly.”

“As it turns out,” you continue, “the gym had a boxing training space in the basement. And he used to be a professional boxer.”

Sylus hums thoughtfully.

“How old were you?” Rafayel asks.

“Fourteen,” you answer. “I begged him to teach me. To my surprise, he agreed. I started coming to the gym regularly after that.”

“We can tell,” Sylus says, his gaze tracking your posture. “You’re...well-conditioned.”

“Physical exercise helps when I’m wound up,” you reply with a small shrug.

“You said those boys attacked you…is that how you got the scar on your eyebrow?” Rafayel asks.

Your expression shifts instantly as your gaze darkens.

“No,” you reply quietly. “That’s…from... something else.”

Your tone is clipped, clear enough that you’re not willing to elaborate.

——————————-——————————-——

You study your reflection in the mirror, a small frown tugging at your brows. After three days of lounging around, the boys have returned to their schedules.

Thomas asked you to dress appropriately, something that fits the image of his assistant.

You sift through your clothes, searching for anything that gives off “nine-to-five office” energy, only to realize your wardrobe lacks such requirements.

Maybe you should’ve taken Rafayel up on that shopping trip after all.

In the end, you settle for the best you’ve got: a pair of black trousers and a black button-up that hangs a little too long on you - your ex-boyfriend’s. You tuck it in, roll up the sleeves, and try to make it work.

Paired with the black heels you thankfully brought along.

You give yourself one last glance in the full-length mirror. It'll have to do.

…

Out in the driveway, Thomas slips an ID badge, identical to his, around your neck, It displays your position as Assistant Manager, along with your photo and name. For safety, though, he’s used your middle name instead of your first.

“Zayne? Can I borrow your glasses?” you ask.

“Why?” Zayne looks skeptical, but he removes them anyway and hands them over.

You take them carefully and slide them on. “I just feel like the outfit was missing something,” you say with a grin.

The corner of Zayne’s mouth curls upward. He doesn’t ask for them back, simply letting you keep them as he heads for the car.

You’ll be riding separately - sitting in the front seat of Thomas’s car beside him.

…

The first item on the agenda is a photoshoot for a fashion magazine. The boys are ushered into the changing room, emerging moments later in sleek outfits from the brand.

They look, unsurprisingly, ridiculously handsome. You’re fairly certain they could pull off any style without effort. Rafayel, in particular, stands out. He adapts so easily it’s no wonder he’s considered the “face of the band.”

Next comes hair and makeup. You quickly learn that it’s a whole different process compared to everyday looks - everything is adjusted for lighting, camera angles, and the set itself.

…

“How do we look, Miss Bodyguard?” Rafayel asks, giving you a playful twirl.

“Why bodyguard? I’m the assistant,” you reply, tilting your head.

“As a bodyguard, you’re missing one key element,” Sylus says, sliding a pair of dark sunglasses onto your face.

You glance at your reflection and smirk. “Now I look like I walked straight out of Men in Black.”

The boys chuckle.

…

You never realized how much work goes into something as simple as taking photos. Between the outfits, constant hair and makeup touch-ups, lighting adjustments and endless angle changes - it’s a whole production.

The boys, however, are completely unbothered. They follow directions with ease, shifting poses like it’s second nature.

You can already tell, just by looking at them, that the photos will turn out incredible. Still, you can’t help but feel that the perfection feels…too polished, too…unnatural.

To you, the most meaningful photos are the ones captured in the moment. Then again, maybe that’s just your lack of understanding of professional photography speaking.

…

“Would you like to get your makeup done?” the makeup artist asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I’d be happy to do your hair too,” the hairstylist adds with a smile.

“That’s really kind of you,” you reply, “but I’m not here to model. Besides, you shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

“Nonsense,” the makeup artist says. “It’ll be a nice change of pace. We mostly work with men.”

“We’re all set up anyway,” the hairstylist chimes in, gently guiding you toward a chair in front of the mirror. “The shoot will take a while, we can still focus on our job and have a little fun.”

“I’ve never had professionals doll me up before,” you admit. “Alright…work your magic.”

…

Wanting the transformation to be a surprise, the stylists turn your chair so you’re facing away from the mirror. You let them work, doing your best to sit still as they move around you.

...

“Ready for the big reveal?” they ask in unison, spinning your chair back toward the mirror.

For a moment, you don’t even recognize the person staring back at you.

Your once-unruly hair is now perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. And the makeup look is bold, eccentric, bursting with color.

“Your hair was a bit of a challenge with its texture,” the hairstylist says, adjusting a few strands, “but I love how it turned out.”

“I might’ve gone a little overboard with the makeup,” the artist admits sheepishly. “I was just having so much fun…”

They both watch your reflection expectantly, a hint of concern in their expressions.

You break into a wide smile.

“I absolutely love it! Are you kidding?! This is so cool!!” you beam, unable to contain your excitement.

…

“Alright! That’s a wrap!” the photographer calls out.

Still smiling, you make your way over to the boys.

“Get this woman into an outfit that matches the rest of her look!” the photographer calls, snapping his fingers

You don’t realize he’s talking about you, until a staff member starts steering you toward the dressing room.

“Me?! Hang on a minute - I’m not a model!” you protest.

“Quickly now, we don’t have all day!” the photographer urges, completely ignoring your objections.

Pairing: all LaDs men (together) × (F) Reader

Content: Set in an alternate universe where the LaDs men are a boy band known as Deepspace. The story takes place over several months.

Tags: boy band AU, slice of life, forced proximity, OOC, fake dating, humor, suggestive themes, explicit dialogue (sexual references, non-graphic), mentions of sexual harasment/inappropriate behavior (non-graphic), slow burn, why choose/reverse harem

Ongoing (part 2 of ???)

Word count : 3,217

Tag list : @cathedralofaudra @sunflowersandsnipers @chubbymochi123

Part 1

Part 3

BEHIND THE HEADLINES

Part 2

“Are you sure you have everything?” your grandma asks as you wheel your suitcase out of the house, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“This is a terrible idea,” you mutter under your breath.

...

In the end, you agreed to the whole 'rent-a-girlfriend' plan. You regretted it the moment Thomas and the band left. You don’t know what he said or did, but by that evening you were flooded with messages: your colleague wishing you well, your boss thanking you for your time. Just like that, you were unemployed. Great.

Then came the text from Thomas. Have your passport ready. Pack your bags. A car will pick you up in the morning.

...

Despite your exhaustion, you didn’t sleep at all. You spent the night replaying every word of that conversation, packing and unpacking your suitcase. If not for the large sum of money now sitting in your bank account - the down payment for your “services” - you’d think it had all been some bizarre dream.

...

Now, standing on the sidewalk, your head throbbing and your stomach twisted into knots, you look at your grandparents.

“Are you certain you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” you ask.

Your grandfather opens his arms and you crouch down to hug him. His warmth is steady and familiar.

“Give them hell,” he whispers.

You let out a small laugh. Yeah - you definitely got your feisty personality from him.

You stand and turn to your grandmother, who presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Let us know when you land,” she says softly.

With one last look, you step toward the waiting car. The driver opens the back door for you and you climb in. With a polite nod, he starts the engine and pulls away.

You watch through the window as your grandparents grow smaller and smaller, until they’re nothing more than distant shapes.

With a heavy sigh, you close your eyes.

…

Since your town sits practically in the middle of nowhere, it takes a while to reach the nearest airport. During the drive, you barely notice the changing scenery. Instead, you scroll through whatever information you can find about the band.

You know of Deepspace, of course - everyone does. They were all the rage when you were in high school. Their songs are everywhere, blasting from radios. Catchy lyrics, addictive beats, the kind of music that makes you want to dance…not that you’d ever admit it out loud.

Still, you’ve never paid attention to their personal lives. In your eyes, digging into that kind of information, even if it’s public, feels like an unnecessary invasion of privacy.

…

When you finally arrive at the airport, the car doesn’t stop at the main entrance. Instead, it circles around to an area at the back where a smaller aircraft waits.

A private jet?

The driver steps out and opens the door for you, taking your bags before leading you toward the plane. He hands your luggage off to the crew, gives you a polite nod, then heads back to the car.

...

You step aboard.

Inside, Thomas and the band are already seated, waiting for you.

Thomas gestures to the seat across from him. Rafayel sits beside him, while the other four occupy the seats opposite.

“Tell the captain we’re ready for departure,” Thomas instructs one of the crew members as you settle into your seat.

It’s been years since you were last on a plane. As the aircraft begins its ascent, you're hoping the nausea won’t hit as the plane climbs higher and higher into the sky.

…

You stare out the window absentmindedly, the sky a clear, a deepening shade of blue, one that oddly reminds you of Xavier’s eyes.

“The flight will take several hours,” Thomas says, breaking your thoughts. “I’d like to go over as many details as possible in that time.”

You turn to him, giving him your full attention.

“I’ve prepared a contract. Take your time reading it and let me know if anything is unclear, if there’s something you disagree with or want to change,” he adds, sliding a stack of papers across to you.

…

You expect pages of dense legal jargon, but instead, the contract is surprisingly straightforward, written in plain language anyone could understand. It’s essentially a list of rules. Dos and don’ts.

You skim through it, then slide it back.

“Looks fine to me,” you say. “Although I think it’s missing a restraining order.” Your eyes flick briefly to Rafayel.

“Rafayel has promised to be on his best behavior,” Thomas replies.

“Rafayel’s not the type to be physically inappropriate without consent,” Zayne adds.

“He just has a big mouth,” Xavier says.

“He doesn’t come with a filter,” Caleb corrects.

“And his flirting skills need serious work,” Sylus throws in.

“Wow, thanks for the support,” Rafayel pouts, though he doesn’t deny any of it.

“Moving on,” Thomas says, steering the conversation back on track. “We’ve already come up with a story about how you and Rafayel started dating. Something that should feel natural.”

This should be interesting, you think.

“In short, you met by chance at a resort where the band was staying during one of their tours about a year ago. Since then, you’ve been in a long-distance relationship. Now that the world tour is over, you’ve made plans to stay with Rafayel while the band is on break for the next few months.”

You nod, signaling for him to continue.

“The one-year timeline helps everything add up,” Thomas explains. “The long distance, Rafayel’s busy schedule as a celebrity, and you being a non-celebrity - it all justifies why the relationship has been kept private and out of the public eye.”

Makes sense.

“As for what we need from you,” he continues, “for the next few months, you’ll essentially act as a model for Rafayel’s social media. All posts will be pre-approved and taken from angles that don’t reveal your face.”

Thomas pulls out his phone. “Do you have any social media accounts?”

“Just Tweet-a-Pic,” you reply. “I barely post and it’s set to private.”

“Found you!” Rafayel suddenly pipes up after being unusually quiet. “Cutie, accept my friend request!”

You take out your phone, open the app…and press deny.

“Cutie, you’re sooo mean,” Rafayel groans dramatically.

“I trust you enough not to ban your use of social media,” Thomas says, cutting in, “but you must not post anything that could link you to Rafayel or the band. The press, and the fans, are relentless when it comes to connecting dots.”

“Fans are scary,” Xavier mutters with a slight shiver.

“When news breaks that Rafayel is dating, the press will go wild,” Thomas continues. “Everyone will want to know who managed to capture his heart. He’ll be flooded with questions. Which is why the two of you need to get to know each other, at least on a somewhat personal level.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why? Just make something up. This whole thing is fake anyway.”

“Too many lies are hard to keep track of,” Thomas explains. “It can come off as staged or inconsistent. You don’t have to share anything you’re uncomfortable with, but some truth will make this far more believable.”

…

“Fine,” you say with an exaggerated sigh. “Ask away.” You turn to Rafayel.

He grins. “What’s your favorite position?”

You slam your hand on the table. “Why do I even bother?”

“Actually, I’m curious too,” Sylus adds, his voice low.

Your eyes narrow as you shoot him a sharp look. Then you sit up straight “Cowgirl.”

Sylus hums, clearly pleased by your answer.

“I’ll gladly let you ride me,” Rafayel says, thoughtfully, like he’s already picturing it.

He yelps when you kick him hard under the table.

“You know what? Scratch the fake girlfriend idea,” you snap. “I vote we throw Rafayel out of the plane. Imagine the headlines - ‘Deepspace member Rafayel meets tragic end at forty thousand feet.’”

Rafayel clutches his chest in mock horror while the others chuckle.

“By the way,” you add, shifting the topic, “what exactly did you tell my boss to get me fired so quickly?”

“I didn’t get you fired,” Thomas replies calmly. “I presented myself as an agent offering you a temporary job opportunity.

You lean back slightly. “I just hope they go easy on the others. One of us goes on maternity leave, and then I just disappear…”

…

Before you know it, the plane lands, the rest of the flight passing in a blur. Rafayel tries more than once to draw you into conversation, but you refuse to engage. The only person you respond to is Thomas.

A sleek limousine is waiting the moment you land.

Thomas takes his place in the front, separated by a pane of darkened glass, while the rest of you settle into the back. And of course, Rafayel sits right beside you. You immediately press yourself against the door, putting as much distance between the two of you as physically possible, as if you could merge into it.

…

The windows are tinted black, shielding you from the outside world, though you can still see everything beyond them. At first, the drive is a sprawling city. Towering high-rise buildings, crowded streets, traffic crawling along, people moving in hurried waves.

Then, gradually, the scenery begins to change.

The limousine veers off the main road, leaving behind the noise and chaos of the city. The streets grow quieter, more open. Soon, you reach the edge of a bay, the ocean stretching endlessly in the distance.

The car turns again, this time onto a narrow, sandy path that feels almost hidden, secluded.

It leads to an island.

A large metal gate blocks the entrance. The limo slows to a stop, waiting. After a moment, the gate creaks open, slow and heavy.

As you pass through, your eyes catch a sign.

MO Villa.

The limo pulls into the driveway and comes to a smooth stop. You step out and your breath catches.

Before you stand a huge villa.

An entire estate, connecting multiple elegant structures. White walls gleam contrasted by warm terracotta roofs. Palm trees and lush greenery are landscaped throughout, giving the entire place an oasis-like feel.

Beyond the estate, the ocean stretches out endlessly. This place of serene paradise looks unreal. Like something taken straight from a postcard.

…

Stepping inside, the villa is as luxurious as its exterior. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the space with natural light, reflecting softly off pale walls and elegant furnishings.

You stand there for a moment, taking it all in - eyes wide, mouth parted. You’re sure you look like a fish out of water, but you can’t help it. You can hardly believe you’ll be staying here for the next few months.

Your gaze drifts down the seemingly endless corridors, lined with doors that all look identical. “I hope this place comes with a map,” you remark.

“I’d gladly show you around, cutie,” Rafayel offers with a grin.

You stifle a yawn, covering your mouth as exhaustion finally begins to catch up with you.

“Perhaps the grand tour can wait,” Zayne says calmly. “You need rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Sleep sounds nice,” Xavier agrees, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Thomas says, already turning.

You follow him without protest. He leads you down one of the many hallways before stopping at a door and opening it. Inside, a bedroom awaits, your bags already brought in.

“Get some rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Thomas says before closing the door behind you.

You notice the lock. Without hesitation, you turn it. Just in case.

...

Too tired to explore, you collapse face-first onto the soft, king-sized bed.

You pull out your phone, managing just enough energy to send a quick message home - letting them know you’ve arrived safely and that you’ll call later.

With the time difference and your exhaustion, you can’t bring yourself to say more.

Your eyes grow heavy.

And within moments, you’re fast asleep.

…

You blink slowly, your eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness around you. The sky beyond the window is pitch black. You fumble across the mattress, searching for your phone, squinting as the bright screen lights up your face.

1:00 AM.

You slide off the bed and unlock your door. The hallway is dim and silent as you creep along, your hair sticking up, your clothes wrinkled from sleep.

You follow a faint light until you reach what looks like the kitchen.

There, a figure stands with his back to you.

Even in the low light, you recognize him.

Zayne.

“Looks like I’ve unmasked the Cookie Monster,” you say, your voice laced with quiet amusement.

He startles slightly before he turns to face, looking like he’s been caught red-handed.

“Y/N…what are you doing up?” he asks. “Can’t sleep?”

“Thirsty,” you reply simply, your voice still dry as you move to sit on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.

Zayne turns back to the counter, moving quietly around the kitchen. A moment later, he places a warm glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie in front of you.

He stays standing on the other side of the island, casually munching on his own.

You give him a small smile in thanks before taking a sip of the milk.

“I thought celebrities had strict diets and exercise routines,” you tease lightly.

Zayne’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. He raises a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

You mimic zipping your lips shut, playing along with the unspoken agreement.

A comfortable silence settles between you.

After a moment, you slide off the stool.

“Goodnight, Zayne,” you say softly.

“Goodnight,” he replies.

You make your way back to your room. This time, you change out of your clothes, slipping beneath the duvet.

And before long, sleep finds you again.

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

Sharp sunlight filters through the glass doors, while a gentle breeze slips beneath them, the net curtains swaying softly.

Now fully rested, you finally take in the room you’ve been given.

It’s calm. Elegant. Luxurious - like something straight out of a five-star resort brochure. Soft neutral tones blend with light wood finishes, and clean lines give the space a warm, airy brightness. Opposite the king-sized bed, tucked to one side, sits a small corner sofa with a glass-topped table. Floor-to-ceiling sliding doors open onto a private balcony, revealing a breathtaking view of turquoise waters and a stretch of sandy shoreline beyond.

Everything about the room feels refined, yet welcoming.

To one side, a spacious walk-in wardrobe offers more storage than you could ever need. Your belongings still remain crammed into your suitcase.

The bathroom is just as impressive, featuring a full-sized bath that doubles as a shower.

Your stomach suddenly growls, loud and insistent.

It’s been hours since you last ate.

You step into the shower, letting the warm water run over you. Afterward, you brush your teeth, put in minimal effort with your skincare and makeup, and run a brush through your hair.

Then you pull on a simple two-piece tracksuit - a light summer set of shorts and a T-shirt.

…

Despite the late morning hour, the villa is quiet. It seems the others are either still asleep or occupied elsewhere.

A man stands in the kitchen by the counter, moving between the fridge and cupboards - chopping vegetables, stirring pots. When he notices you, he offers a polite smile.

“You must be Miss Y/N. I’m the household cook. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, not pausing in his work. “If you have any dietary restrictions - intolerances, allergies, preferences - please let me know.”

“Nothing like that,” you reply.

“Would you care to eat? And if so, what would you like?”

“Yes, please. I’m not picky, I’ll eat anything,” you say with a small shrug.

“Please, take a seat. I’ll bring something out shortly.”

You move to the glass-topped dining table set beside the open kitchen and sit down. It feels…strange, sitting here alone. You’re used to shared meals, whether with your grandparents or coworkers.

Before long, the cook begins bringing out dish after dish. Plates are set in front of you one after another until the table looks more like a buffet.

You thank him and begin eating.

You’re so focused on your food that you don’t notice Thomas approaching until he speaks.

“Good morning, Y/N. I’m glad you’re up. I hope you slept well.”

You quickly swallow your bite. “Morning, Thomas.”

He takes a seat across from you. The cook places a cup of coffee beside him before returning to the kitchen.

“All alone?” Thomas asks, glancing around. “The boys must still be asleep.”

Noticing that you’ve paused your meal, he gestures “Please, continue eating. We have a few things to go over, but I can do the talking.”

You nod and pick up your utensils again.

Thomas slides a small box across the table toward you.

You open it.

Inside is a brand-new iPhone.

“I already have a phone,” you say, confused.

“Now you have two,” Thomas replies simply. “Sylus picked it out.”

He takes the phone from the box and places it on the table, screen facing you.

“First,” he begins, “the villa operates under strict security. Cameras are installed throughout the property - inside and out - with the exception of bedrooms and bathrooms. There are also guards stationed here at all times. The boys never leave without security. All entry points - the gate, front door, garage - require passcodes and fingerprint verification. We’ll set yours up so you can move freely.”

“That seems a bit…excessive,” you say, raising a brow.

“I understand it might seem that way,” Thomas replies calmly, “but these precautions are necessary. Not just for safety, but for privacy. A celebrity lifestyle comes with risks - stalking, harassment, theft, even kidnapping.”

Your expression shifts slightly.

“Fortunately, none of those have been an issue,” he continues, “likely due to the villa’s location on a private island. Still, I don’t take chances.”

You nod, understanding.

“I’ve also saved all important contacts into the phone - myself, the boys, security.”

He gestures toward it.

“Second, I’ve synced the calendar with the boys’ schedule. The highlighted events are the ones I’d like you to attend.”

Curious, you scroll through it briefly.

“I thought the band was on break?” you ask, noticing how full it is.

“On break from concerts and tours,” Thomas clarifies. “But interviews, rehearsals, fittings - those still continue. Of course, if you’d like to attend additional events that aren’t highlighted, just let me know and I’ll arrange it. As for your role, if anyone asks, you’re my assistant.”

Thomas notices your worried expression.

“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I’ll be by your side.”

That eases some of your concern.

“Outside of that, your time is your own,” he continues. “I don’t want you to feel confined. Just let someone know if you plan to leave the property.”

You nod.

“Oh, and I’ve set up your Wi-Fi access, as well as the home app. You can control lighting, temperature from your phone.”

With that, Thomas stands.

“Now,” he says, straightening his jacket, “let’s get you registered in the security system so the house doesn’t mistake you for an intruder. I’ve also asked the staff to gather, I’ll introduce you properly.”